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#feel free to tag more characters cuz i'm all out of tags
yaboirezzy · 1 year
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"I'm not here to warn the chaos, I am the chaos"
Gotta be one of my favorite character personality
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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year
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Pink Scarf - Part 20 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)
Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)
Requested: kinda
(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)
Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]
TW: SEXXXXXXXX. Dom/sub stuff. Angst (as always). Fluff (finally)? Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  
Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 15.2k (CUZ Y'ALL DESERVE IT)
A/N:  🎶And now, the end is near/And so I face the final curtain🎶
Babies, we are at the end. I don't know what to say other than thank you all so very much, thank you for you patience, and I'm gonna miss the hell out of Reader and Elvis and their stupid, mutual pining asses. (I'm not crying, you are!) 😭 Oh, and I highly recommend listening to Without Love (I Have Nothing) (1969) before reading the middle section here. I've included the first takes to the final master version because the first takes are stripped down & give more of the intimate feel I was getting at, but the final master is excellent, so I wanted to give you listening options! It'll really give you an idea of what the moment feels and sounds like! (I'm such a nerd, I know. Also, only Elvis could nail a song like this in a few takes, lord have mercy.)
I will write a short Epilogue sometime soon, so stay tuned! Also, I am very seriously thinking about publishing a physical book of Pink Scarf (and a Kindle version, too) BUT ONLY IF people are wanting and willing to buy it! It would likely include new bonus chapters/material. Please let me know in the comments, asks, or DMs if this is something you want! Like I said, I don't wanna do it if no one wants it, so let me know!
I sincerely hope y'all will stick around for my next projects as I try to get my writing career off the ground. Y'all are the OG's and the best fans a girl could ask for! 💗
If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜
Finally, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY! I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋
If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!
I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 
Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 
(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)
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Stop her, stop her, stop her…
The words echo in his head, but Elvis is frozen to the spot, watching your back as you walk out the door and possibly out of his life, feeling so raw he fears his heart might liquify and pour out of his mouth. The way you look so angry, more angry than he’s ever seen you, and so disappointed in him—it breaks his goddamn heart. Your vitriol paralyzes him, drying up the words that he can’t seem to tell you.
But he’s done it all for you, every stupid decision he made, he did in the name of love—and of keeping you safe and keeping you sane (you fuckin’ liar, you know that ain’t true, he lambasts himself).
“You screwed with our lives because you could. You and your fucking egomaniacal, insane, manipulative bullshit…” Your words cut like daggers into his skin. He wants those words to be utterly untrue, outright lies, but he knows—he knows—that you are not entirely off base.
And perhaps that’s been the problem all along: he doesn’t truly believe he deserves you. For all the reasons you spit at him and for the fact that he has ruined you in more ways than one.
But the one crucial thing you are dead wrong about is that he didn’t care, that he’d just fucked you and wanted to pretend it never happened. He may be many of the things you said—egotistical, manipulative, stupid for lying to you—but he loves you, more than he has ever been able to express.
If anything, he’s cared too much.
But you are convinced of the opposite and, stupidly, he didn’t tell you any different.
This is the thing that finally gets him moving. His heart thrums in his chest as he races out the door, desperate to catch up to you. He looks around frantically for you, barely processing the confused and pitied looks of the men around him and flies out the main door of the penthouse suite.
“Y/n!” he shouts, hoping he can salvage this because he needs you more than he needs air to breathe.
I love you, I love you, I love you! screams in his mind but not out of his mouth, for reasons he can’t entirely explain. He arrives in the hallway just in time to see the elevator doors close behind you.
He’s too late.
“Fuck!!” he screams, and without thinking turns and plunges his fist into the wall. Plaster and paint flake around the new divot and burning pain radiates up his arm.
He nearly collapses from the way his heart tears in two, the gravity of the situation hitting him all at once. He’s barely slept in days, what with taking care of you in the hospital, being wracked with worry, and then having to come back and give high quality performances as if life was normal. His heart is beating too fast and his limbs feel weak.
Suddenly, everything feels much too heavy.
His legs threaten to give way and he leans against the wall, furious at you for making him feel these things. But he is more furious at himself.
You didn’t even say you were sorry, you stupid fucker, a little voice berates him.
I have nothing to be sorry for, the stubborn part of him, the one driven by his ego, replies.
The inner voice laughs sardonically. You have everything to be sorry for.
“EP!” he hears Jerry’s alarmed voice from far away. But he’s beyond caring.
I’ve lost her, is all he can think as his vision blurs and narrows, After all this, I’ve still lost her.
Jerry rushes to his side, but the despair and fury within Elvis drives him back into the penthouse, causing destruction along the way. He barely registers tearing the rest of his room apart, only knowing that he needs some outlet, some release of these horrible feelings trapped inside of him. To purge himself of the fact that even with all he tried to do to prevent it, his worst fears had still come to pass. Distantly, he’s aware of the breaking glass and the ripping of fabric and the roaring sound coming from his mouth, but everything is unfocused and red in his mind.
Elvis does this until finally his body gives out and he collapses on the bed. As he comes back into himself, his heart is beating so hard and so fast that he’s actually a little afraid he will give himself a heart attack. Trying to steady his breathing, he looks up, and seeing himself in the mirror above the bed, he hardly recognizes the man lying there.
Self-pity descends rapidly. There’s no way she’ll ever love me after this. How could she?
Early in his life, he’d thought June had been his last hope of ever having a woman love him for who he truly is, stripped of fame, warts and all, but he’s long since realized that you are that woman. You are his last chance at having that kind of true love in his life. And now those dreams are dying right in front of him because of his own stupidity.
I’ll always be alone.
And with that thought, he closes his eyes and wishes he were anyone else but Elvis Presley.
*
The commotion outside his bedroom door has Elvis lifting his chin expectantly yet not hopefully. He’s spent the last three hours faking his way through his midnight show trying to push the horrified and angry look on your face out of his mind. Trying to forget that he let you walk out his door.
Needless to say, it wasn’t his best show, though bellowing out his feelings through the music was cathartic in its own way.
He’s not sure why he had frozen like he did. It certainly wasn’t like him to cow-tow in the midst of a fight, but he had promised himself in the hospital that he’d be gentler with you. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing you so completely furious. Maybe it was that you’d finally remembered what happened after so many years, unearthing his deepest, darkest secrets and mirroring them back to him in the worst of ways. Or maybe it was that so many of your words rang with truth, even though you’d misunderstood the core reasons behind his actions.
Either way, he feels like his heart was ripped out of his chest. Part of him yearns to do more self-destructive things, but instead he sits still on the edge of his giant bed, the one you should be in right now, trying to understand just how completely he managed to screw this up.
“Fuck you, Elvis Presley. It would’ve changed everything.”
Your words ring through his head again and again, like a broken record. What did you mean by that exactly? Because the crushed look on your face when you said it made it seem like you had feelings for him back then that if realized would’ve changed your relationship, and that sends a wave of heartache through him so strong that he feels like he might vomit.
“Jerry, I swear to God, if you don’t let me in there, you’ll be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future!” He hears Sandy’s voice through the door and closes his eyes, trying to prepare himself for what he thinks is coming.
The door bursts open and he opens his eyes to see Sandy storm in, Jerry looking incredibly apologetic and a bit mortified that he was unable (or unwilling) to stop his wife.
Elvis waves Jerry off. He knows he can’t stop the onslaught. Jerry raises his eyebrows in an, “Are you sure?” way, and Elvis sends him out with a look.
“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Presley,” Sandy seethes, pointing at him once the door is closed behind her.
“Nice to see you, too, Sandra,” he responds wearily.
“Oh, don’t you ‘Sandra’ me,” she spits, then looks him over carefully, as if really seeing him. She surveys the disaster of the room, which he had completely torn to shreds after you left, then looks back at him. “You look like shit,” she adds matter-of-factly, almost as if she’s glad of it.
He can’t help shooting her a withering glare, but Sandy’s blood is up and does not falter under his gaze like most would.
“How is she?” he finally asks, dreading the answer.
“Well, let’s see…in the last three days her husband beat her up, her life imploded, and she just found out that her lover has been hiding some pretty crucial shit from her for over a decade. She sobbed for two hours straight and has been near catatonic since, so she’s just peachy, Elvis,” Sandy says sarcastically.
“Watch your tone, Sandra,” he warns, feeling his temper threaten.
“No, I don’t think I will, Elvis. Not when y/n is absolutely miserable and you are sitting up here doing nothing about it,” Sandy shoots back.
“This ain’t none of your business,” he says, vexed, standing and pointing a ring-clad finger at her. He likes Sandy, but he sure as hell doesn’t like her calling him out like this, not when he’s already been beating himself up about it.
Sandy laughs wickedly, “You made it my business the moment you let her tell me and started using me as cover for your lies.”
He can’t argue with that. Deflated, he runs his hand over his face. He is utterly miserable.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Sandy says, and this time, her voice is quieter, gentler. “How could you keep something like that a secret for this long?”
He doesn’t want to say and certainly doesn’t want to appear vulnerable, but the ache in him is so bad, he can’t hide it. And he knows for a fact Sandy won’t let this go. Finally, he relents.
“I-I-I was trying to protect her, to protect our friendship… I w-was terrified I’d hurt her, that I’d…taken her against her will, and I-I-I could barely live with myself. I couldn’t burden her with the enormity of what we’d done” he says.
“And what about pushing her and Jack together, all the interfering? How exactly does that line up, E?” Sandy asks pointedly.
Elvis clears his throat and looks down. That is not something he is proud of. He wants to say he didn’t mean for it to go that way, but it would be a lie.
“It wasn’t like that, not at first. By the time I realized how I really felt about her, Jack had already swooped in and asked her out. I had nothin’ to do with it,” he says defensively.
Sandy crosses her arms, not accepting that and waits for him to continue.
“Well, then…then I-I realized she’d be better off with a man who could give her the stability and the family she wanted. I couldn’t be there for her, not the way she deserved. My career was just takin’ off and I—well, hell, it didn’t even matter until that day at Graceland, and I was ready to throw it all out the window when I’d thought she felt the same way about me that I felt for her, but-but then she…the overdose, she didn’t even remember…How was I supposed to explain that to her, Sandra? How? How was I gonna look her in the eyes and tell her she came on to me and we made love on the floor and that it completely changed everything? Who was gonna believe that? You know as well as I that it would’ve ruined her!” he says, his heart pounding, voice quavering, and his blood up.
Sandy looks at him carefully. “You were afraid she didn’t feel the same way. And that she doesn’t now,” she states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
His head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide and caught like a deer in headlights.
“I had to protect her. And I had to set her up so she’d always be taken care of. And if she was with Jack, I could do that for her, for them. They could be happy. I wanted them to be happy, I-I swear. I thought they’d be happy!” he yells, back off the rails, pacing the room like a caged tiger.“I-I-I could…w-w-well, if she wasn’t with me, at least with him I would always know she was okay, and I could see her and it wouldn’t be some random-ass man that I didn’t know or trust takin’ her away from me forever!”
Sandy stays quiet, her gaze intense and knowing, and just waits for him to continue.
“I-I-I needed her to still be in my life, Sandra. I didn’t know Jack would fall so deep into the hole that he’d throw everything away. I didn’t think he would ever, ever hurt her!”
The words of his confession ring out and then die. Silence sits heavy for a moment.
“Wow. I have to say, that’s some masterful denial there,” Sandy finally says harshly. “Did you really think it was gonna be good for their marriage to take him away for months at a time? To feed him women and drugs and then be like, ‘Ooops! I didn’t know! It’s not my fault!’? Really?” she adds cuttingly, but steadily.
She’s right and he knows it. And she’s pushing him to admit the one thing he’s not sure he can.
He wants to get angry. He wants to scream and throw her out for her audacity. Instead, he just feels a rock in the pit of his stomach, realizing the truth of what she’s getting at:
That he’d knowingly sabotaged your marriage and then, when it was really bad, he’d taken advantage of the situation.
“You need to own up to what you did and apologize, and then you need to tell her what you’re so afraid of, Elvis. I can’t emphasize enough how much she needs to know that you love her,” Sandy continues with conviction.
His mouth pops open and then closes again, wordlessly, at hearing his feelings shared out loud so easily when he’s been harboring them alone for so many years. “You didn’t see how angry she was with me, how betrayed she looked…There’s no way she feels how I do, not after this,” he shakes his head.
Sandy rolls her eyes and mutters something unintelligible under her breath. “Listen, I have a pretty good idea how pissed and betrayed she’s feeling. And I’m not gonna speak for her, but…” she worries her lip a little, “you two of you really need to talk about how you truly feel about each other. Without all the other shit in the way.”
Something in the way she says it gives him hope.
“You need to fix this, Elvis.”
“I-I-I don’t think I can,” he states, defeated.
“Oh, please. We both know you can do anything when you want it bad enough,” she smiles slyly.
Once again, she’s right. “Why are you helping me?” he asks.
���Because I love her, too, and she deserves to be happy. She deserves the best,” she says knowingly, “That and this mess has everyone on pins and needles. We all just wanna fucking relax.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe he can salvage this. Just not right now. He is too exhausted and things feel too raw.
"Just...wait a little bit," Sandy adds carefully, as if reading his mind. “I think you both need a little breather.”
He nods.
“But don’t wait too long,” she says on her way out the door, her voice warning him of his worst fear: if he waits too long, he will lose her.
The door clicks shut behind her and silence falls once again. He glances at the bottles on the bedside table. As exhausted as he is, he’s still keyed up too much to sleep.
He doesn’t want to rely on the sleeping pills, in fact, he hadn’t needed them at all when you were in his bed, but his body craves them and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to resist at the moment. So, he pops a few down and waits for the drowsy effect to take hold of him.
When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you.
**
You are itching to play, yearning to feel the white and black ivories under your fingertips. It feels like it might be the only thing keeping you sane these past few days—this need to pour your entire heart into something beyond yourself.
Unfortunately for you, the only pianos you know of are in Elvis’ suite, on his stage, and in the rehearsal room. Two of those aren’t even options at this point. It’s bad enough that anywhere you go in the hotel, all you see is his visage, all you hear is his music feeding through the speakers. An ever-constant reminder of how stupid you are to have ever thought you’d be more to him than just a friend.
You can’t seem to escape him.
You are able, with little effort, to convince Sandy to talk Jerry into letting you into the rehearsal space. Both of them keep looking at you with kind yet sad eyes, as they’ve been witness to all your special humiliations these past few weeks. You suppose it’s good that you are not alone with this, but sometimes all you want is to scream bloody murder and get as far away as possible from Vegas, from Jack, from Elvis.
But you can’t go home, not right now. You learned that Elvis sent Jack back to Memphis to “get himself together” and that Red is his babysitter. But that means you can’t go back to Tennessee, not yet. You can’t face him with all this still up in the air.
So, you are stuck in the limbo that is Las Vegas. You have nothing of your own, no money, no way to get home even if you wanted to. You are exactly where you feared you would be: Alone and heartbroken and stuck.
You hadn’t counted on also being beat to hell, both physically and emotionally.
Which is why you are so desperate to get to a piano. It’s the only way you can get these awful feelings out of your system. You just need to lose yourself in music, in creating it.
But when Jerry lets you in to the large rehearsal space, you are not alone. Someone is already at the piano, their back to you, playing a mournful gospel-style ballad. Someone is already leaning into the keys and singing.
I awakened this morning, I was filled with despair All my dreams turned to ashes and gone, oh yeah
You frantically backpedal and look at Jerry in a panic, but he shakes his head only somewhat apologetically and will barely look you in the eyes as he closes the door, shutting you in with the very person you are trying to escape.
Damn him and Sandy both.
As I looked at my life it was barren and bare Without love I've had nothing at all
You lean your forehead against the door and close your eyes, not wanting to turn around and face him. Instead, you breathe shaking breaths and press your palms into the cool door in order
to not to let the intense waves of anger and sadness that are crashing over you drown you.
You’re not even sure that he knows you are here, his voice ricocheting and echoing throughout the large space. He sounds so consumed by the music that your presence may have gone unnoticed. You aren’t sure if you want him to know you are here or not, but either way, you are swept up into the music with him, your soul clamoring for any part of him despite your mind’s warnings.
Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing at all
You don’t want to hear him, not at all (liar), but his melodic voice is hypnotizing, drawing you in with its rich baritone and crying tenor notes and possessed vibrato. And whatever headspace he is currently in has his voice sounding absolutely hauntingly beautiful. It makes you shiver. You are forced to listen, to hear the meaning behind the words.
Once I had a sweetheart who loved only me There was nothing, oh that she would not give, oh no
It's unfair, just how good his voice is at making you listen to it, more than just his words alone, making you hear his soul through the sound. You suppose that is his true talent: being able to pour emotion into a song in such a way that it transcends the music itself. With your eyes shut, it threads through your mind, simultaneously lulling you and making you want to weep. You know you are getting a window into his heart by listening, and it is telling you what you want to hear the most but are terrified to accept.
But I was blind to her goodness and I could not see That a heart without love cannot live
Oh god, oh god, oh god, your inner voice cries because you are suddenly and all at once bombarded with memories. His voice strips you bare, cutting through all the anger and fear and heartache, finally let yourself realize what your subconscious has been trying to tell you for a long time.
Echoes from both the near and distant past trigger inside your mind, your head aching with the residuals of the concussion. First, it’s your own voice, calling back to that moment on the lawn so many years ago, telling Elvis about how you knew Jack was the one: He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be…
Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all
Then, Elvis’ words flood your mind, flashing from one moment to the next:
“I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”
“I take care of what’s mine.”
“You were made for me.”
“You belong here with me.”
“It’s meant to be…”
Your heart slams against your ribcage, making it hard to breathe. It’s like he’s been telling you all along, yet you’ve been too blinded by fear and guilt and the sheer impossibility of it all to truly see.
I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing
 At all
The final phrase is nearly a wail in the most beautiful of ways, the last run falling away and leaving a hollow silence in the room.
The memories come quickly now, a barrage of feelings and images: A boy backstage nervous as hell and his smile as you made him laugh. His eyes searching yours oh-so-closely in a diner booth as you tried to get over Ted. His melancholy the night you got engaged. Dancing, no, clinging onto you at the wedding before his world changed completely, and then again that mournful Christmas he’d returned, when you swore that Elvis wanted you more than anything in the world.
It’s the same way he looked when you climbed into his lap and rode him that fateful, forgotten day at Graceland.
His words from the other day, the ones that felt so possessive and manipulative take on different meaning as the puzzle pieces finally click into place, one by one:
“You are all I’ve been able to concentrate on, ya know that? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I want you. I want you to be with me. Be with me.”
“Baby, you have me, you’ll always have me. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.”
“Let me take care of you. Let me be your everything.”
“I thought I told you, honey—I always get what I want, and I think I’ve made it quite fuckin’ clear who I want.”
“I need you.”
You are nearly brought to your knees with overwhelm, breathing too fast as you cling to the wall, anything, to ground you.
Then, like a freight train, it finally hits you, finally clicks, the thing he’s still hiding from you.
You suddenly remember the blanket of Elvis’ warmth surrounding you as you turned cold, bleeding out in his arms. The way his crystalline blues were terrified and beautiful and pleading. He rocked you in his arms, begging you not to leave him.
“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go…”
Your heart stops. And you finally remember.
“…I-I love you, y/n, please, I love you.”
He’s loved you all along.
All of his cagey behavior, his deceit, the manipulations, it wasn’t to mess with you. It wasn’t because he didn’t care. It was because he loves you.
Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you turn around to face him. And as always, he’s right there, right where you need him.
“I…I…” is all you can manage to eek out.
He grabs your tear-stained cheeks in his big hands, his azure eyes deep and soulful, looking at you imploringly, and he whispers, “I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you more than anything in this life. I think I loved you the moment you steamrolled me in the hallway at school.”
Shock courses through you at hearing the words come out of his mouth, right here, in the present. You let out a choked, tearful laugh. It cuts through the anger you still feel and banishes your heartache, letting a swell of warmth overtake you. Despite all your feelings for him, you hadn’t even let yourself truly hope that he could feel the same way about you that you do about him. And to learn he’d felt this way for so long without your knowing…it feels inconceivable.
“I-I-I…and I’m so sorry, y/n.”
Elvis Presley doesn’t apologize. He buys obscenely lavish gifts. He skirts around the subject and gets really nice with those puppy dog eyes, but he doesn’t apologize, so this in itself floors you.
“I-I-I shoulda told you…but I thought…,” he steels himself against the emotions that are so obviously plaguing him before continuing, “that I’d taken advantage of you when you weren’t yourself, that I’d hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself, y/n. The guilt was eatin’ me alive and goddamn if I was gonna subject you to that pain. And I figured God wanted me to take on that burden for you, that there had to be a reason you didn’t remember. You wouldn’t have to face your betrayal of Jack or your regret for bein’ with me. I thought I was protectin’ you, protectin’ us.” He stops there, voice trembling, eyes open and honest, and you know then that while it had been wrong of him to hide this from you, he had truly believed that he was doing what was best for you. As mad as you are, part of you hurts for him because he’d gone through it all alone.
“I knew I couldn’t give you what you deserved, so I went meddlin’ in your life in the selfish need t’keep ya close to me, t’have some part of you as mine,” he rambles, racing through the words, utterly focused on getting out what he needs to say.
“I just needed you in my life. And I-I-I need you now. I needja more than anythin’,” he keeps going, his voice still shaking and the pads of his thumbs caressing your cheeks before trailing down your neck and your arms. You can feel them shaking, too, a sweaty heat emanating from them as he grabs your hands in his. His eyes are stormy and grey and deep with emotion, pulling you in, forcing you to accept his words.
He takes a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “It w-was wrong of me to-to sabotage what you had with Jack. And then to swoop in when you were vulnerable—it’s unforgivable. And if ya can’t forgive me…well, I-I’m gonna hafta understand. But I-I-I hope you do, that you can. I know I ain’t always a good man, y/n. I try to be, but bein’ with me—well, you already know it ain’t easy, the way my life is…” he trails off.
Part of you wants to interrupt him, to shout your love for him to the heavens, but frankly, his words have you speechless. And you know by his demeanor that he needs to get this out.
Tears pool in his eyes as he struggles to go on. “I know it’s been hard on you, all this. And if you can forgive me, if you wanna be with me, I promise I’ll do better t’make this work for ya. You make me a better man, y/n. You keep me on the ground, and God knows I need that more than anythin’,” he chuckles a little at that before his face drops into something much more serious.
“Come back to me, y/n. Please, come back to me. I love you,” he whispers, eyes imploring you. He is so used to demanding, but this he begs of you.
You are outwardly quiet, though your blood rushes in your ears. You want more than anything to concede to him with these revelations, to fall haplessly into his arms, and any other woman might. Honestly, you would have, just a few days ago, but Elvis cannot erase the harm he caused you with these welcome words or soulful singing or puppy dog eyes. You cannot escape the feelings of betrayal that have permeated through you these past few days.
“Elvis, I…I want to trust you again. I really do,” you finally get out, “because…because I love you, too. I think I have for a long, long time.”
Saying the words aloud lifts a weight from your shoulders, making you feel almost lightheaded.  You were so scared to say them, to reveal this hidden part of you, and the way his face lights up in such a hopeful way, it almost makes you start crying again. He squeezes your hands so hard that it hurts. But you have more to say and can’t let this distract you.
“But my mind it—it made me forget. I don’t know exactly why or how. I think I was so afraid that I could never have you, that there was no way you’d ever in a million years have those kinds of feelings for me…I think I had to protect myself,” you explain.
An inner strength you didn’t know you had until this very moment allows you to keep going. You take a deep breath. “Elvis, I want to forgive you, and I want to be with you, I do. But I am exhausted. I am weary. And I am still angry at you, and at Jack, and at myself. I need a little time to figure out what my world is now, without the oppressiveness of Vegas pushing in on me.”
You look up at him, hoping he understands, hoping he is willing to give you what you so desperately need.
He blinks as if coming out of a trance, surprise and confusion and dismay playing out on his features so quickly. You know he expected something different from you, and as much as you want to give it to him immediately, you know you cannot.
“I need to leave Vegas, E. I need space. I want to forgive you, but I need to heal,” you say firmly, looking into his eyes, holding back the sob that wants to break through. You can only hope that he sees and hears the truth in you. “I can’t start a life with you like this, bruised and broken.”
He shakes his head, small at first and then in outright protest. “No, no, baby, please, I need you here. I love you,” he says with a mixture of frustration and pleading and hurt, grabbing your cheeks again.
Tears pool and fall freely now, but you stay resolute, grabbing his wrists. “No, right now you need to be Elvis Presley and finish this engagement strong. You need to show the world that you are back and to spread that joy of music and performing as only you can.”
“None of that matters, baby. No, I need to be with you. I’ll cancel the rest of the performances,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting you every step of the way.
“The hell you will, Elvis Aron Presley. That’s not what I want, not for me or for you,” you say fervently, pulling away to look at him, bringing your hands to his face this time. “You need this. Seeing you up there…you are more alive now than you’ve been in years. I know how much you love this and your fans—”
“I love you more,” he interrupts, and it both makes your heart soar and breaks it at the same time. You close your eyes briefly to center yourself before looking back at him.
“And I love you. But I need space, and you have to finish this. Once it’s done, once I’ve had time to heal and forgive, then you come back to me, you hear?” you say, unable to keep the emotion from your voice but keeping it resolute all the same.
You watch him struggle. You can see how young he looks all of a sudden and you know he’s afraid you’re abandoning him. You’re afraid, too, but if the two of you have made it this long, you can stand it a while longer. Ultimately, you know if you fall back into him now, you’ll always hold resentment and that will poison you both over time, and you can’t have that.
Elvis closes his eyes and nods once. “Okay,” he whispers, so quietly you can barely hear it. A lone tear streaks down his cheek.
“Okay,” you whisper back.
He kisses you then, so softly, so gently, that you can’t help but lean into it. The chaste kiss is mournful and longing and hopeful all at once. It’s a kiss that is laced with the possibility that it could be the last one. You desperately hope that isn’t true, but only time will tell.
When you both pull away, you can feel the tether between you, the one that has always been there, tighten.
“Will you go to Hillcrest?” he asks, raising his eyes to yours hopefully, but it is more an offer than a question. The house in Beverly Hills is his home away from home.
You consider this and realize, other than going home to your parents (who you don’t quite feel ready to face yet, either), it’s your only option. It’s also a concession that will keep you connected to him, and you are comfortable giving him that. With its gorgeous views and serene setting, it will be a perfect solace.
“Yes,” you respond, and he seems sated by that. “Thank you,” you add quietly, then before you can second guess yourself, you tear yourself gently from his grasp and walk out the door.
Graciously and swiftly, he has Jerry take care of all the arrangements. Sandy is set to join you, and once you are both packed and ready, Jerry takes you to the airport and sees you both off.
Before he leaves, Jerry stops you. “He wanted me to give you this,” he says quietly, then opens your hand and places something soft in it.
Surprised, you look down, and see the familiar pink silk scarf folded there. You haven’t seen it since Jack ripped it from your neck that horrible night. Your fingers close around it. The message is clear: The ball is in your court.
“Send it when you’re ready for him,” Jerry adds with a knowing look.
You nod. You put the scarf in your purse.
Elvis Presley loves me, you think as you sit on the plane, but that feels trite, knowing other women have been able to say the same at some point or another.
Elvis has loved me since we were teenagers. He’s in love with me and has been all this time.
Now that is something that sends a thrill right through you.
You reach into your purse and run the silk between your fingers.
When it’s time, I’ll know.
**
Four Weeks Later
The hot California morning sun beats down on the umbrella that shades you. You had been reading and wanted to get some fresh air, the cold of the air conditioning giving you a bit of a chill in your white sundress but you cannot help but close your eyes drowsily as the heat swallows you like a blanket.
The last month was restorative, to say the least. It had been such a relief to get out of the stifling cacophony of Vegas, and it had allowed your brain to rest and recover from your concussion. Your bruises healed, and Sandy was there to both listen and have a good time when you needed it. You talked and thought through all your memories, working to understand both your reasons and Elvis’ for the way things had gone for your entire relationship.
You hadn’t heard from Elvis, as he was taking your need for space seriously, but Elvis’ lawyer had visited a few times, drawing up divorce papers that surprisingly took you a few days to sign. Not because you didn’t want to, of course, but because you had to fully process all that had happened and what it all meant to you. Sandy sat through your crying and guilt and shame like a champ, supporting you wholeheartedly once you finally picked up the pen and signed away your destructive marriage.
Once the lawyer had called back a week later saying that Jack had signed the papers, you felt like a new woman. Like you could finally start anew. Part of you had expected more of a fight out of Jack, but you did not dwell on the reasons he might have signed so willingly.
Sandy had headed home to Memphis to join Jerry once the Vegas engagement and resulting celebrations were over. You sent the pink scarf with her, with instructions to give it to Elvis only once you called her to do so, once you were finally ready. She’d smirked and rolled her eyes but was happy to do it all the same.
“Whatever I can do to finally get you two idiots on the same page,” she’d said lovingly.
You’d called her last night.
You can’t help but feel nervous. Even though a month was certainly not the longest you two had gone without speaking, this time it felt poignant and heavy in another way entirely. Your thoughts ran away from you at times: What if he’s changed his mind? What if he met someone else in Vegas?
It was possible and even probable that he’d been with other women since you left. You know how he is, and a man like him is not liable to change overnight. But you’ve spent most of your relationship with other people, and he still loved you after all this time, so even if he had been with someone else, you doubted it meant anything at all.
Of course, it still sends a red heat of jealously through you all the same. You push the thought as far away as you can, swinging your legs off the lounge chair, puttering back inside.
The cool air hits you like a wall of ice, and you close the sliding glass door quickly, goosebumps raising on your skin.
“Y/n.”
The familiar drawling baritone freezes you in your tracks. As your eyes adjust to the darkness inside the house, his tall frame becomes apparent across the living room and goosebumps rise over your skin for an entirely different reason than the cool air.
He looks incredible, magnificent even, wearing a silky white button up, the buttons undone at the top to reveal his tan chest, a pair of perfectly tailored black pants flattering him in all the right ways. But most significantly, the pink and black scarf is draped around his neck.
“Elvis,” you whisper, your heart fluttering in your chest.
That tether that you’ve learned has always been subconsciously tying you two together yanks you towards him. Your book drops to the floor and your bare feet run for him before your brain can catch up to you.
He meets you halfway and you throw yourself into his open, waiting arms. Your lips crash together with fervor, thirsty for each other after such a long drought. Soft, sweet, pillowy lips drink you in as your heart races and he pulls you in tighter. His familiar scent and warmth engulf you in such a comforting way that it brings tears to your eyes.
When your kiss finally slows and you both come up for air, you whisper, “You came.”
“Of course, I came.” As if there was ever any doubt.
Elvis pulls you to the couch, cradling you in his lap as he showers you with gentle but intense kisses. The heat between you builds but unlike in Vegas, it is more patient—openly full of love and admiration.
“I missed you,” he says into your mouth, his statuesquely perfect nose nuzzling into yours.
“I missed you, too,” you admit with a smile.
“Good,” he smiles, that lip of his curling up almost shyly.
His lips find your cheek, then placing soft kisses over your nose and eyelids and your forehead, as if committing your bone structure to memory with his mouth. It is unhurried because, for once, you have all the time and privacy in the world. You sigh underneath the reverence of his kisses as they trail down your jaw.
“Baby,” you say, stopping him, “as much as I want to continue this, I have things I need to say before that happens.”
He gives you one last kiss before bringing his attention to you. His gorgeous azure eyes fix in on you in such a way that you feel overwhelmed. It’s amazing to you how, even after all these years, he still has the ability to completely render you speechless with his magnetism and beauty.
“Yes?” he says, steeling himself for what may or may not be coming.
You tear your gaze from him enough to refocus. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I need you to know that I forgive you, for all of it. I forgive you, and more than anything, I love you. I want to be with you, though I know we need to figure out what that looks like. I mean, if that’s what you still want, of course,” you fumble, looking away, not wanting to make assumptions.
“Oh, it’s very much what I want, lil’ mama,” he purrs happily and seductively, using his pointer finger under your chin to turn your head, bringing his lips once more to yours. Fire blooms in your chest and radiates down into your belly as his tongue dips into your mouth. “I love you. I want you to be with me. Always have, baby.”
“I signed the divorce papers, and so did Jack,” you blurt out, needing to make sure he knows and understands.
Elvis chuckles, the low rumbling vibrating under your hand on his chest. “I know, Satnin,” he drawls, his bedroom eyes sharp underneath the haze of lust you see in them.
“Of course, you do,” you laugh, shaking your head, taking the moment to run your fingers through his coiffed dark hair.
He looks at you deeply, firmly but gently grabbing your chin in his hand. “Let me be your everything,” he whispers. It is somehow both a question and a command.
Your stomach drops, but not out of fear this time. No, it is a tingling anticipation that wafts over you and makes your breath catch. You run your finger over his lips, pulling down on that full bottom one.
“Yes,” you nod. You unfurl from his arms and stand, reaching for his hand.
Elvis looks up at you through those long, dark lashes with something between wonder and eagerness. You pull him off the couch wordlessly, his fingers intertwining with yours as you lead him through the house to the master bedroom.
When you finally arrive, you look up at him almost bashfully. “I was wondering if we could try something new?” you ask. You’d been thinking about this for weeks now, all the different ways you want him, but this one thing had stuck in your mind after all you’d been through.
His eyes sparkle almost gleefully with curiosity and lust. “What’re you thinkin’, baby?” he purrs.
You take a deep breath before speaking. You’re not sure if he’ll go for it, but you figure it won’t hurt to ask. “I want to be in charge,” you finally say, matter-of-factly.
His dazed look at your request quickly turns to interest as his brow furrows with consideration. He doesn’t mull long, however, much to your pleasure, before uttering, “Hmm, why not, baby? Let’s try it.” He smiles coyly before bringing you in for a long kiss.
Your heart begins to thump in your chest. You’ve never done this, and you bite your lip, knowing that you have to change your attitude for him to take you seriously. You draw on the strength you’ve gained over these past weeks and take a deep breath to steady yourself.
“On your knees,” you command.
Elvis looks at you with amused surprise at the order. “What?”
“Did I stutter?”
His left eyebrow shoots up so far you think it may try to escape his pretty face and his brilliant blues go wide.
“No, ma’am,” he says, his voice getting breathy and quiet. His eyes don’t leave yours as he slowly sinks, his knees finally touching the floor.
A thrill shoots through you seeing him like this, humbled before you. This man who commands and dominates every room he walks into, brought to his knees for you. You doubt anyone in his adult life has truly had him like this. You relish in the way it makes your heart race in your ribcage.
“Say it again,” you whisper. He seems to know what you mean.
“I love you,” he replies quietly, his eyes open and shining up at you. There is an innocent and boyish quality to them.
With everything that has happened, you have a renewed sense of purpose and confidence which makes you bold.
You lean down and grab his chin in your hand firmly, feeling the light scratch of dark stubble under your fingers.
“Show me,” you command.
He nods furiously in compliance, that look of innocence tempered by sparks of lust in the depths of his oceanic blues. He is more than willing and up for the challenge, and the look sends a shiver of anticipation through you so strong that you can already feel warmth gathering low in your belly. It’s been over a month now since you had him last and each day felt like torture.
Elvis runs his hands up the backs of your calves, caressing your bare legs and resting on the backs of your thighs, his eagerness and yearning evident in his speed. He wants you, too, and he is oh so used to getting what he wants that it gives you pleasure to stop him.
“Uh uh,” you tsk, grabbing his chin again, “you’re gonna take it nice and slow, baby boy, and then maybe, if you’re really good, then you’ll get what you want.” It comes out like a purr, dangerous but alluring, surprising even you. But the look on his face is worth it, the way he nearly crumbles when you call him baby boy, the way his pouty mouth falls open slightly, the way he squirms on his knees, itching to take you but following your lead instead.
“Now, are you gonna be a good boy and do what I tell you?” you coo with an edge of warning. You’ve never in your life have done anything like this before, and you hadn’t planned this, but the control, the power just comes naturally, his responses fueling you forward.
He nods again, unconsciously wetting his plump lips with the tip of his tongue.
“Use your words,” you order.
“Uh-um, y-yeah, yes, I-I-I promise…mama,” he stutters out, picking up your cues and nodding, eyes are wide and becoming more yielding as he begins to submit to you.
Something about the way he does it has that warmth surging in your belly yet again.
“Good,” you say, running your nails up and through his raven locks, scraping his scalp and making his eyes roll back at your touch. You pull back quickly, leaving him a little breathless.
“No hands. Use your mouth,” you order with a smirk.
You watch his Adam’s apple bob with a gulp. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, faster this time. He’s adapting quickly to your game, and the way he bows down to your feet, kissing the bare skin so softly as he makes his way slowly up your ankle to your calf has a thrill shivering through you. His pillowy lips and the tip of his tongue brush and lick their way up your legs, as he alternates one to the other. The sensation, especially after being deprived of his touch for so long, has you sighing softly, and his eyes roll up to yours, framed deliciously by those impossibly long and dark lashes. The blue of them has darkened with lust, but they remain compliant and eager to please.
That alone has the coil in your belly rapidly tightening, and you feel wetness begin to seep into your panties the closer his mouth comes to the place you want him the most.
Your breathing speeds up with this teasing when he meanders under your dress, peppering kisses along your panty line until his hot breath ghosts over the thin cotton of your panties. It puffs over your clit, and you pull your dress up with one hand to watch. His hands fly up to your ass of their own accord, squeezing and clutching at your panties to bring them down.
Using your other hand, you fist it tightly in his hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look at you. “What did I say about hands, baby boy? I thought you were gonna be good for mama,” you tsk, shaking your head.
It’s a test. You relish in watching him quell the dominant urges he’s having by biting back a smirk of insolence, his lip sandwiched between his teeth so hard he could break the skin. The fire in his eyes almost dares you until he sees the serious look in your own and you tighten your grip in his hair. He winces a little and you watch him consider his options. You don’t let up during this battle of wills, unyielding and unbreaking of the eye contact that might usually level you.
No, after the last six weeks, this time you are going to get what you want.
Finally, he gets it, letting his arms drop to his sides. His face smooths, that innocence returning, and he submits completely to you.
“Good boy,” you breathe, releasing the grip on his hair and running your thumb over his lush bottom lip. His mouth opens and you push your thumb in, scraping at his teeth, then pushing into the soft warmth of his pink tongue. A low moan escapes him as his eyelashes flutter, and you allow him to suck it in, rolling his tongue over your thumb. A pleasured hum escapes your lips at the sensual sensation, and you feel it tingle straight down into your pussy.
“Try again,” you say, looking down at him, pulling out your thumb. You pull up your dress once more.
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers eagerly, and you see the wheels turning for a moment before he continues. This time, he sits on his hands before he kisses directly over your sensitive nub, wetting the fabric with his tongue before kissing upwards. Then, he snaps the elastic between his teeth and slowly but surely pulls your panties down your legs. Your slick is already evident in the fabric, leaving little trails down your thighs. Gravity takes hold once they reach your knees, and they drop to the floor.
“There’s my clever boy,” you praise him, stepping out of your underwear, running your thumb over his high cheekbone. This causes that signature crooked, boyish smile to spread across his features, reminding you just how incredibly beautiful he is.
And he’s all yours.
As he lathes his tongue back up your thighs, cleaning the slick from them on the way back up to your core, your body shudders with delight and you feel him smiling against your skin. Looking down you see it is not a smirk, but genuine pleasure at making you feel good, and that sends warmth through your chest in addition to the heat rapidly building in your core.
You cannot help the moan of pleasure that escapes you when he finally reaches the apex between your legs and flattens his tongue over your folds. He drags it slowly, deliberately, ending with little flicks on your clit. Heat rolls over you, setting every nerve aflame, and this time when you grab his hair, it is to pull him encouragingly closer into your wet curls.
“Yes, good boy, just like that,” you sigh breathlessly as he begins to shower your pussy with attention, going slowly as you requested. He is soft and persistent, swathing gently through your folds, parting your labia with his tongue before rolling back to your clit. Oh, lord, he is so very versed in this, you remember quickly, as he suckles and presses soft kisses to that most sensitive place.
Your eyes fall shut as you grip his head and shoulder for balance. You cannot help the keening and panting that begins to emanate through you as the coil in your pelvis tightens. Even after only a short amount of time together, he somehow knows exactly how to play you for the most pleasure.
In a daze, your eyes open and you look down at him, his dark hair messy from your hands. That’s when you notice it: he is not touching you with his hands, as promised, but you see how he’s somehow undone his trousers without your knowing. You watch silently for a moment as one of his ring clad hands fondles and tugs at his cock, and it sends a thrill of arousal through you to catch a glimpse of him pleasuring himself like this when he doesn’t know you’re watching. Battling the swell of ecstasy that rockets through you, you curiously watch how his hand slides up and down over his length, pulling at the foreskin that mostly envelops his red tip, how his long thumb glides effortlessly over it, swirling the slick of precum around and over and down. It’s a well-practiced motion and it almost seems unconscious considering the way he is utterly focused on your pussy.
You gasp with pleasure as he massages your clit deftly with his tongue, and coupled with watching him jack off, you feel a desperation for more friction, more of him, building until you realize that it is you who is in control of this moment, not him. With a swell of need you push him back abruptly, his eyes bewildered, and lips shining with your arousal, hand still on his cock, wondering what he did wrong.
“Oh, what a naughty little boy you are. I didn’t say you could touch yourself. I didn’t say you could get yourself off, did I?” you say in a chastising tone.
And, oh god, the bashful look he gives you, dropping his cock, and how his cheeks redden at being caught as he looks down, those lashes fanning out, has you biting back a smile and more heat swelling under your dress.
“No, ma’am,” he says mournfully, shaking his head slightly. And then he’s blinking up at you with those deep blues, waiting for what you are going to do next, what his “punishment” might be, you realize.
“I guess I’m gonna need to teach you a lesson then,” you sigh with exasperation. But his disobeying you only serves to make you more aroused. You put your foot on his chest and push him down and backwards with a low growl. It’s like something primal has come over you, not only your need to dominate him, but also this flaming heat consuming your body and needing his mouth on you more definitively.
“Get on your back,” you demand.
Elvis scrambles backwards quickly and you are grateful for his flexibility as he easily untangles his legs from underneath him and falls back onto the thick shag carpeting. You step over him, sliding your dress up and over your head as you do so, leaving you in only your bra. When you look down, you see his blissed-out eyes wandering over your body with something akin to awe.
You lower yourself down to your knees, straddling his chest, which is already heaving from his arousal. He’s wearing the pink silk scarf, the one from your first night together, and it feels fitting, you think, as you lord over him and unravel it from around his neck. He watches you so intently in any other circumstance you might falter under his gaze, but while blown with lust, you can see by that bashful look in his eyes that he is committed to following your lead here.
“Hands above your head, baby boy,” you coo, running your hands up the underside of his arms, guiding them over his head. “Since you can’t seem to keep from doing naughty things with them, I’ll have to make you stop,” you admonish.
You sit fully on his chest then, feeling as the wetness of your cunt stains the front of his lovely silky shirt, and then you lean over, fully aware that it puts your breasts temptingly over his face. You hear him whimper, knowing he can’t touch you, and you smile as you use the black and pink scarf to tie his wrists together above his head.
You intertwine your fingers with his as you slowly pull back over his body, scooting your hips back as you go until your face is hovering just above his. He’s panting now, little puffs of breath coming from his lips as you ghost your own over his face. Tipping his chin up to try and capture a kiss, you pull back a bit.
“Nuh uh, baby boy. You have work to do first,” you shake your head, kissing the tip of his nose. Then you tempt him by flicking the tip of your tongue over the beautifully perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip, and he fully whines and squirms under you.
You laugh at that, the fact that you are able to put him in this position, to make him want you enough to be vulnerable and needy like this. Then you become more serious, looking him in the eyes.
“Now use that wicked little mouth of yours to make me come,” you say in a low, sultry, daring tone. “And no touching unless I say so!”
“Y-y-yes, ma’am,” Elvis moans as you maneuver your body up and over his head, bracketing it in with your thighs. Your need for him is quite evident as you lower your already-soaking pussy onto his face and as his pouty mouth kisses your most sensitive areas, you know you are so wound already from this little game of yours that you fear you might come undone too soon.
You’ve never done this before and while part of you is a little worried about the mechanics and fears smothering him, that primal, instinctual part of you starts rocking your hips over his mouth.
“Oh!” you gasp quietly, unable and unwilling to contain the soft moans that his lips and tongue begin drawing out of you as you begin to ride his mouth. When he fully groans against you, the vibrations send a shockwave through your core, nearly snapping that coil inside you already. You steady yourself, finding a comfortable rhythm, and experimentally run your hands up your torso, using them to grope your breasts. You feel him moan again and look down to see him carefully watching you, his eyes blown black.
Sensing how it’s driving him wild, you lift your hips a little to give him air and reach down under the lace of your bra, using the pads of your fingers to lightly drag against the sensitive areola, taunting him and pinching your nipples to attention with a moan of your own.
“Fuckkkk,” he breathes out, the air tickling your labia.
“Language!” you hush him and plant back down on his face. His arms fight to come down and grab you, but between being tied and the way your weight is, he cannot, and groans against you again instead. He works you tirelessly now as you writhe over him and you feel that telltale tightening begin in earnest. You are nearly desperate as his tongue lathes against your folds again and again, dipping in and out of your hole, circling your clit and back again. He eats you expertly, willingly, and you ache for him.
“Good boy, there’s my good baby,” you pant quietly as your heart flutters and your breathing starts to hitch.
But when his tongue slips daringly lower, perhaps accidentally, perhaps not, you careen forward with a shocked gasp as it grazes your other hole.
“Elvis!” you gulp, clasping his hands with your own to steady yourself, stilling your hips. You aren’t quite sure how you feel about that slip yet, only knowing that it’s a place that has been forbidden before now. Your heart pounds so hard you hear the blood in your ears, your body on high alert.
“Hmmm?” is his only response before he tests you again, gently, letting his tongue circle that illicit spot lightly.
“Elvissss…” The moan escapes you before you can stop it because the unfamiliar feeling of his tongue there has your already aroused body teeming with the new sensation and you know you shouldn’t like it, you’re not supposed to like it…
“Yes? You like that mama?” he replies surprisingly bashful, submissively, compared to the sensual dominance that you are used to from him.
“I-I-I’m not sure, baby boy,” you finally stammer out honestly.
You feel him nod underneath you, as if understanding, and he goes back to suckle your clit, making you jump a little and roll your hips. And when his tongue travels back through your swollen folds and he goes a little farther to include that little secret spot, you can’t help but cry out in pleasure this time.
He smiles against you, and you respond by rolling harder on his face, effectively shutting him up. The carnality that flows through you banishes your prudishness and you let him kiss and eat you fully now, from hole to clit, letting the sensations consume you completely.
You fuck his face wildly. You don’t try to stop the keening noises crying from your lips, you just grip his hands for dear life as the coil inside you constricts, your body flooded with fire, desperate for the blast of release his talented mouth promises you. Frantic now, chasing that high, your body tenses over him and he groans loudly into your cunt, his tongue deep inside you, as your thighs squeeze his head.
The peak hits you incredibly hard and you cry out as you shatter above him. White stars flash behind your eyes followed by inky blackness. You can barely breathe for the way it hits you. He continues to lick and suck you through your orgasm, coaxing you, moaning into you in order to continue your pleasure for as long as possible. He devours every drop of your arousal. Shaking and shuddering and oversensitive, you finally scoot your hips back, allowing him to come up for air with his own gasp.
“Did I do good, mama?” he puffs, looking pleased, his face covered in your slick.
“You did perfect, baby boy,” you breathe out, kissing his cheeks, then his swollen lips, tasting your tangy sweetness there. Your body shivers with aftershocks as you come back into yourself, your mind concocting all the ways you want him tonight, all the ways in which you can show him your love and vice versa.
You look down at him, enjoying the sight of pussy-drunk lust on his boyish features, the vulnerability of his hands restrained above his head, the way his bedroom blues dreamily follow your gaze and your lead.
Your need for him feels insatiable. You want to wreck him, ruin him, in the best way possible. Biting your lip you roll your hips into his waist, feeling the cold of his belt sear into your bare core and Elvis’ eyes roll back a little as you drag your nails down over the part of his chest that is exposed above his shirt.
“You gonna continue to be good for mama, baby boy?” you lean down to coo in his ear, scootching your hips back just enough to feel the tip of his rock-hard length through his pants, and you can feel the shudder that ripples through him.
He nods furiously. “Y-yes, mama, oh yes, I’ll be good.”
“I’m so glad, baby,” you whisper, “Mama’s got somethin’ special in store for you.”
Elvis whimpers at that, and you can tell it is taking every ounce of self-control he has to keep from taking you right there and then, but he stays good and still and relatively quiet for you. You kiss down the shell of his ear, nibbling on the perfect lobe, and then you focus your attention on the divot just behind it where his jaw meets his skull. Lapping there for a minute, you take your time as he hums and tenses beneath you, turning his head the opposite direction to give you the access you want. You make your way agonizingly slowly down his neck, using your lips and teeth and tongue in all the ways you’ve learned he likes. By the time you reach his collarbone, he is practically writhing under you.
His breath is beginning to heave and become labored when you start down his tanned chest, the course hair there tickling your lips as you go. One by one, you pop the remaining buttons open, and with each, a pretty little huff escapes his pouting lips. Oh, how beautiful he looks with his cheeks all flushed and his hair mussed, those eyes alternating between peering down at you and looking up to the heavens.
Once again you move your hips back, this time hovering just above the erection raging in his pants. It’s enough that he can feel your heat, but you give him no friction whatsoever, and this is what finally has him bucking his hips up desperately, but you are prepared, dodging well out of the way before he finds any sort of relief.
“Now, now, that’s not how good boys behave,” you tsk at him, earning a huff in response. You use your nails to scratch down his now-exposed treasure trail, your lips following close behind and he fully whines by the time you reach the belt line.
“Please, please, mama,” he mewls at you, raising his head to look at you with begging eyes.
“All in good time,” you muse quietly, shooting him a soft smile.
You take your time with his heavy belt and zipper, causing him to spring forth, his cock hard and veiny, precum already oozing a sticky string between his tip and his abdomen, but you leave him there, untouched. Moving lower, you slowly, deftly, remove one shoe, then the other, doing the same with his socks. Then you pull his pants down his long legs, letting your fingers ghost over his sensitive skin. It’s torture, based on the way he squirms and sighs, and you find yourself full of emotions.
A small part of you relishes in making him squirm after finding out what he’d kept from you all these years, for all the time you may have lost with him because of his self-righteous ego. But a much larger part of you wants this with him, for him, because you know he’s likely not given himself to anyone like this. Not the great Elvis Presley, the man who strives for excellence and control in all things. You cannot imagine him letting just any woman bring him to his knees, tying him up, letting her have her way with him. At least you hope not.
But perhaps that is your own ego talking.
But a sense of unease, jealously perhaps, wafts over you, diminishing your confidence slightly.
“Baby boy?” you hum pensively at him, running your finger softly up the sole of his foot, causing him to jump and giggle a little.
“Yes, mama?” he responds softly, tilting his chin down to look at you.
You frown, worrying your lip a little, wanting to approach this skillfully as not to ruin the mood, but you have to know. Now that the thought is there, you must know.
“Have you ever let anyone else do this? Touch and tease you like this?” you ask, trying to keep your voice sultry and light, running your fingers up the underside of his arm, dragging across the pink silk that binds his wrists.
His brow furrows for a moment as he tries to interpret what’s going on underneath the bravado you’re showing, trying to glean your true meaning, and then his face softens and smooths with realization, his eyes wide and open for you. “Not like this, mama. Just for you. Only you,” he says genuinely, and you know it’s true, that he’s not just giving you lip service within the game you are playing.
“Good,” you nod, more moved by this than you want to show right now, your heart swelling with this new knowledge. You kiss him gently and softly on the lips. 
“Do you trust me?” you add more mischievously, your confidence returning.
“Completely,” he nods back.
“Then it’s time to get on the bed, baby boy,” you purr.
He brings his arms down in front of his abdomen, the scarf still taut at his wrists and his shirt open and flowing behind him, and you help him to standing. His eyes sparkle a little with what you think is anticipation. Once to the bed, he snakes his long, beautiful body backwards until he is lying up against the dark pillows.
Your mouth waters at the sight of him lying there, vulnerable and all yours. Getting between his legs, you start at his feet, massaging the ropey muscles with your hands, and alternately kissing your way over the arches, his ankles, and up his calves, up every perfect part of him. You pay attention closely to these spots you’ve never really explored before, listening and watching him carefully. When his breath catches, or he hisses in through his teeth, you know it’s extra sensitive, and of course, when his mouth falls open and his eyes roll back you know you’ve hit the jackpot.
You take your sweet time working up his muscled legs, bringing up and opening his knees to give you more access to what you are finding is the highly sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. Warmth rolls through you when you nip there, very close to his balls and he nearly jumps off the bed.
“Stay still and be good, baby boy,” you purr at him with a sly smile against his leg, and he whines in protest but stills himself. You think it’s high time you give him some well garnered attention to his large, heavy testicles. His musky scent fills your nostrils, setting your biological need for him on fire. You wiggle a little on your knees with anticipation but since you aren’t sure exactly what he likes or what his boundaries are yet, you want to make sure he has an out.
“Baby,” you say seriously, looking into his eyes, “if you really want me to stop, like really, I need you to tell me, okay? Say…” You stop, looking around for inspiration, something he would never say in the heat of the moment, and then your eyes land. Perfect.
“Say ‘pink scarf’ if you really want me to stop baby, okay?” you urge.
Elvis nods, looking excited and also a little concerned at the prospect of what you might do to him to require him to use such a phrase. “Pink scarf, got it,” he breathes.
With that, you feel better, and return your attentions down in between his legs. His cock is hard and buoyant against his pelvis, precum glistening the angry red tip that is peeking out from his lighter foreskin, but that is not what you’re going to focus on, not yet.
Using your thumbs, you apply gentle pressure to the insides of his thighs, massaging slow circles up, up, up, closer to his most sensitive areas. Lying on your stomach between his open legs, you test the waters by running your nails softly over the darkened, wrinkly skin of his ball sac.
He hisses in at that, his lower half tensing as you gently continue, using your thumb, pointer, and middle fingers to explore the area. In his arousal, his balls are pulled up tight to him, but it doesn’t detract from the fact they are still rather large compared to what you’re used to. His breathing becomes more labored as you roll his testes between your fingers, cupping them, then pulling gently.
His hips roll and wiggle. You love the effect you are having on him, the way he responds so readily under your touch, and you wonder if this is what it’s like for him when he plays with you. It sends heat of a different kind rolling through your body each time he jolts or gasps.
Which is exactly what he does when you nuzzle his sac with your nose before flattening your tongue against the seam and licking a long stripe from back to front. His hips rise off the mattress and running your hands over the crease of where his legs meet his torso, you push those famous narrow hips back down to the bed.
“Oh mama, oh mama,” he whispers quietly, almost like a begging prayer, as you continue lathing your tongue back and forth and up and down over his balls. He begins to writhe in earnest, despite your hands holding him, his legs pulling up and boxing you in.
“Be still,” you command, lifting your head, pushing his bent legs back open.
He obeys instantly, looking down at you with wild, shining eyes, nodding almost unconsciously in reply, as if preparing himself for whatever you deem to do next.
You use your hands again, one to push his legs up, tilting him towards you, the other rolling him like dice, before lifting his sac enough to lick the underside completely. Taking inspiration from his playbook, you then flick down over his taint, applying pressure with your tongue, his musky scent consuming you.
He moans long and loud at that, unable to contain himself as you shower this newly found spot with all your attention. As you lick and press and roll, he mewls and begins to shudder. Your heart beats faster against your ribcage at his reactions, how he pants above you, and you wonder what will happen if you press your thumb to that softer spot right above his puckered hole.
So you do. You press that spot over and over and watch him tremble and writhe until he looks damn well possessed.
“Please, oh please, oh GOD!” he cries out and eventually his entire body tenses, hips lifting as though he were coming inside you, and he shudders wildly before falling hard back onto the bed. Heart pounding, you lift your head to see a milky white leak from his tip. It’s not cum in the sense you are used to, but some sort of release nevertheless.
You’re not one hundred percent sure what just happened, but you are pleased you made him feel so good. You watch him lying there, gasping from pleasure, his hands clenching and releasing against their bonds, trying to recover from whatever that was. His face is flushed red, making the blue of his arousal-darkened eyes look almost preternatural, and tears leak, dampening his dark lashes. He looks positively bewildered.
“Good job, baby boy,” you praise him, kissing the inside of his knee.
“Wh-wh-what w-was that, mama?” he gasps, asking.
“That ever happen before?” you respond, curious, instead of answering him.
He shakes his head, his hair flopping as it lolls from side to side.
“Hmm…well, did it feel good, baby?” you ask because you aren’t entirely sure what happened, but you don’t let him know that. You don’t let him know about your own fresh arousal that’s leaking down the sides of your thighs or how your heart is fluttering in your throat at the sight of him such a mess before you. Not yet.
He nods furiously, eyes unfocused.
You smile at the blissed-out look on his face. You crawl up him to give his open lips a little kiss. “Mama’s not done with you yet, baby boy,” you whisper against his lips before pulling back.
His dreamy eyes go wide, but you don’t dwell, instead making haste to kiss down his chest once more, stopping to tongue and scrape his nipples with your teeth, making him jump underneath you once again. You kiss down the flat planes of his belly, detouring to give a little attention to his bound hands, sucking a digit or two into your mouth on the way down.
He fully shivers at that, moaning, sending a thrill of your own down to your toes. His belly is already heaving again with anticipation as you arrive at your next destination. His length bounces as his stomach moves, the milky white having leaked onto his belly, but whatever release he’d had did not affect the hardness of his cock, much to your pleasure.
Your goal here is to worship and tease, rather than the ways you’d had him in your mouth before. The way he’d fucked down into your throat both gently and harshly prior to this was not going to be his experience this time. No, this time is all about giving him a night he’s unlikely to ever forget. It is about claiming him as your own while showering him with love and attention on your terms. You’ve never had that before, not truly, and oh how sweet you are finding it already…
First, all you do is hover over his cock, so closely that he can feel your hot breath against him as you run your open mouth up and down his shaft. He squirms his hips from left to right, his hands fisting, and you can sense how it is taking everything in him not to buck up into you.
“Mamaaaa…need y-you,” he begs.
This makes you smirk coyly.
“Hush, baby,” you admonish him with a furrowed brow, stilling his hips again with your hands. “Be a patient good boy and you’ll get what you need.” Eventually…you think smugly.
He can only manage a whimper in response.
Finally, you place soft, barely there kisses up his shaft, feeling his rapid pulse through the throbbing veins. His foreskin awaits and you kiss gently around it, and it must be very sensitive because he’s fully gasping now, quiet “uh, uh, uhs” escaping his lips. Using only your tongue, you dip it into and under the foreskin, swirling it around the head.
“Oh, oh, no, t-too much, too much, mama!” he half moans-half cries, nearly levitating off the bed, but you don’t stop, instead sucking the tip of him into your mouth and soothing the head with your tongue.
You look up at the man you are in love with, in all his messy ecstasy, as tears stream down the sides of his pretty face, but he does not say the words, only sighing at this little bit of relief you give him. So, you continue, after this moment of reprieve, sending your tongue up and down his shaft, then kissing and tonguing his sensitive tip as though it were a dripping ice cream cone on a hot summer day.
“Please, please, please,” Elvis pants out of that wonderous and full mouth of his. By the time you use your hand to fondle his balls again, he is so fully enraptured, staring up into the mirrors above you, that you’re not sure he’s even on the same plane as you anymore.
God, it has you nearly coming undone yourself to see him like this, bringing him closer and closer to the edge without letting him fall over. You find yourself pressing your thighs together, desperate for your own friction.
His gorgeous eyes flutter down to you as you once again tongue his tip. “B-bein’ good, m-mama, please, needju,” he whimpers, his words slurring together.
“Bein’ so good, baby boy,” you praise him, then you take him fully into your mouth, pumping once, twice, and then you feel his entire body tense and shake.
“F-f-fuuuuckkk,” he groans gutturally, his hips bucking into your throat, coming completely undone nearly instantly. His eyes roll back into his head, beads of sweat mixing with the tears down his face, and the prominent vein in his neck pulses in time with his salty, thick release. It coats your tongue, and you swallow him down readily before gently lathing your tongue over the tip of his sex. He squirms under you, rocked and hypersensitive as you pop off him.
“Thank you, mama,” he whispers, looking so relieved and sex drunk that you are beside yourself now. Every nerve ending inside you is on fire. Before he can soften, you climb onto his lap, lining him up with your entrance and sliding him through your soaking folds and into your heat.
Elvis’ eyes widen in shock and he wiggles his hips down into the mattress as if trying to escape. little “ah ah ah!” puffs come from his lips, like he’s handling a hot potato.
“M-mama, ah, ah! I-I-I can’t,” he shakes his head before slamming it back onto the bed.
“Oh, you can, baby boy, you can, I promise,” you say breathlessly, relishing the feel of him filling you, even though he’s beginning to soften slightly. You roll your hips in his lap. “You’re gonna keep being such a good boy and make me come, right, baby?” you encourage demurely, hooking enough into his ego and his need to please you to keep him going.
All you know is that you need him, need to keep him inside you, to have him fill you up, even if you have to wait.
The noise that comes from him is somewhere between a groan and a growl, his eyes screwing shut for a moment as he tries to compose himself enough to continue. You still, placing your hands on his chest, and wait for his response.
“How about this? You’ve been so good for mama. I’m gonna take this scarf off you and you use those hands to show me some love while we wait,” you say.
That has him opening those glassy, pretty eyes of his and nodding.
“Mama’s gonna keep makin’ you feel real good, don’t you worry now, baby,” you tut at him, untying the knots at his wrists. The silk yields easily. You lean forward on top of his chest and throw it around his neck.
Elvis rolls his wrists a few times then wraps his arms around your back, holding you fast to him while he continues to breathe heavily. The feeling of being draped on him and held in his long arms sends an almost wholesome warmth through your body. Oh, how you missed being close to him like this. It’s almost as if you didn’t know it until this very second, that string that has been pulling you two together for so long finally loosening as you fall unencumbered into each other’s arms.
After a long moment, he calms and his hands start roaming slowly over your back. You can feel the cool of his rings against your fiery skin and it sends shivers through you. You feel starved for him, hence your desperate need to have him inside you and to show him with every fiber of your being that you will be all he ever needs from here on out.
You hum softly, pleased, when his hands find your ass, your hips, and you swivel them. He is soft inside you for the moment, at least, and you feel the sharp intake of breath at your movements, his hands gripping you to keep you still.
Still sensitive, you think.
His hands flutter up and down your sides then, softly enough to make you want more. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest, the rhythm beginning to match yours the longer you stay intertwined. This is what you’ve been missing, needing, all along. Him vulnerable and sated under you. Knowing that you are the only one he truly wants. Knowing that it’s been that way for almost as long as you’ve known him.
“Say it again,” you whisper into his neck, kissing his pulse points.
It only takes him a moment to understand what you are asking.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“Mmmm,” you hum, kissing your way up his strong, angular jaw to his lips. “Again.”
“I love you.” It rumbles in his chest so you can feel it vibrate into yours.
Each time he says it, it dances through you, lighting up all the dark spaces that were so afraid and convinced he would never feel the same.
You kiss his lips, softly at first, then deepening as your own love pours out of you and into him.
His hands are everywhere now, one tangling in your hair, the other snapping the clasp of your bra undone. Your mouths separate just long enough for you to rip off the lace and fling it to the side. The feel of his bare chest against yours makes you feel like you are melting into him. Your mouths are unhurried but intense, tongues exploring, devouring each other whole.
“I love you,” you say into his mouth, voice hushed and reverent.
He pauses for a moment, pulling back just enough for you to get lost in the oceanic depths of his eyes as they gaze at you adoringly, as if memorizing your features. “I’m yours,” he says. Then he pulls you back down to him, his mouth consuming you once more.
You’re not sure how long you lay there, kissing, touching, exploring each other as if it were the first time, but it is long enough that you feel him begin to stiffen inside of you once more, just as you knew he would. Slowly, you begin to rock on top of him, your hands and lips tracing his Apollo-like features. Your fingers rake through his raven hair, damp with sweat from the exertion.
Elvis’ hands cup your face, your neck, tangling through your hair, caressing your breasts. He touches you reverently, though as your passions increase, his hands light streams of fire over your skin wherever they deem to touch. A heated coil tightens again in your belly, more gradually this time, but deep all the same.
The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing that has synced between the two of you, a hushed feeling that matches the intensity of your lovemaking. His deep gaze threatens to consume you from below as you ride him, and every cell in your body is being called to his.
He fills you in ways no one ever has and as no one ever could. Perhaps he was made just for you, you think, with how perfectly you align. You realize that this is the first time you’ve had him with all your memories intact. Every moment the two of you have had since the beginning now swells between you, a now shared history that makes this moment all the more poignant.
You are lost in the depths of him just as much as he is lost in you. You can see it now, so obviously, and you wonder how you spend so very long without him. Beyond his talent, beyond his gorgeousness, lies that both human yet ethereal man, and he is wonderful and he is flawed, and he is finally yours.
He expertly touches your sensitive bud, sending you careening towards the edge of an abyss that once frightened you. Because of course this was never just about sex, though your brain tried to trick you, making you forget that your love for him started so very long ago. But what terrified you six weeks ago now feels ripe with possibility. What made you feel trapped has now been set free. And as that coil snaps and you fracture above him, it allows your true self to emerge for the first time in a very long time.
“I love you, Elvis,” you breathe, locking eyes with him as you fall, knowing he will be there to catch you.
Your moan of pleasure, his name a whispered prayer on your lips, coupled with the sight of you has him following right behind you, all his years of fear and guilt splintering into pieces along with the most intense orgasm he has ever had.   
“I love you, y/n,” he returns in equal measure.
You collapse into his arms, unaware of the tears on your face until you feel them wetting the pink scarf that somehow remains around his neck. Elvis holds you to him, his fingers twirling the ends of your hair, not just with possessiveness and control, but with unfettered love. There is aways to go between the two of you in your relationship, now that you remember everything that has happened, but you have no doubt that the two of you will figure it all out, together this time.
For the first time in forever, you feel truly at peace.
Finally, you are exactly where you need to be.
With the man you love eternally, who loves you just as much.
Here, with Elvis.
*
Please let me know in the comments/DMs/asks if you are interesting in buying a physical and/or ebook of Pink Scarf (with bonus chapters/material)! 💗🧣💗
*
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melodrangea · 3 months
Note
Hello! I see that requests are open and I am in need of more SE content, so I figured I would just slide on in! I realise you said obscure characters, so I don't expect this to be answered because my home boy is one of the main characters, feel free to ignore this! But I've been so obsessed with the idea of Kid with a reader who kinda just let's people walk all over them. They're too shy to speak up! And out of fear of upsetting Kid they dress as symmetrically as they can! They even started folding their toilet paper and picking up various other habits to please him:') Since they tag along with him everywhere he and the sisters go, they figured it was the least they could do:')))) So maybe one day something happens to say... maybe their outfit or smth? Perhaps it tears on a mission in a way that is asymmetrical. They start crying cuz they are afraid Kid will yell at them or worse- stop talking to them entirely! How does Kid react?
Stay hydrated and eat well!!!!! OR I'LL TAKE YOUR SOUL>:DDDD (Politely ofc U_U) 💛💛💛💛💛💛
Firstly I would like to say I'M FINALLY BACK BITCHES
Between holidays and my computer breaking and needing a new one I was unable to post for the longest time because shipping is a bitch but I'm totally back now and will be posting at least once or twice a week!
Now! Getting back into it...
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-Kid would be the type to absolutely not realize that you are doing all that you do to please him
-he would love the matching outfits and all the symmetric habits you pick up but he figures that's just what happens in relationships and that you enjoys his habits
-after hanging out with them for a period of time, Liz does pick up on what you're doing and worries that you are doing it for different reasons than Kid thinks
-but she doesn't say anything because it doesn't seem to be really affecting you
-that is until you go on a mission together
-you and your weapon partner go on a joint mission with Kid to spend more time together and because Kid wanted to be able to protect you
-anyways the fight gets under swing and slowly but surely you're taking damage
-you don't notice but you outfit it coming undone; the laces rip on your right shoe, one of the buttons on your shirt gets torn off and you build up battle grime etc..
-once the fight is over you go to swipe the hair out of your face when you realize a part of you bangs has been trimmed on the left side
-you panic and inspect the rest of your outfit, realizing the rest of the imperfections in your outfit
-without even meaning to your eyes start to fill with tears, terrified that Kid is going to be upset with you, you heart begins to race and you feel your heartbeat in your ears
-you weapon partner is off assessing damage with Liz and Patty so Kid is the first to notice you upset
-he rushes over to you, at first thinking that you got hurt
"y/n are you alright? are you injured?" his eyes scan over you, hands rubbing soothingly across your jaw.
your lip quivers and tears stream down your cheeks, "I'm sorry" you whisper.
Kid's brow scrunches, "for what?"
you release a shaky breath, "I don't look perfect anymore. One of my buttons is gone, my shoes are dirty, I think that guy with the sword chopped my hair. Please don't be mad at me."
Kid frowns, "oh darling, what makes you think any of that matters to me? I admit I like symmetry but you could be wearing rainbow tie-dye and glow in the dark sketchers for all that I care. "
your eyes widen, "really?"
"really"
-after that mission you slowly start to develop your own style, occasionally swinging for matching outfits of course
-Liz helps Kid point out other habits that you copy unintentionally and helps you to gently shut them down
-Kid is your biggest supporter in helping you choose your own style, he can and will take you shopping whenever you feel like (live laugh love Kid's daddy's money agenda)
-and if you want to keep some of the habits you've picked up Kid is also happy because it means that you like him for who he is <3
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tis all for now my lovelies
please don't be shy about asking because you think the character is "too mainstream", I'm pretty sure my entire inbox is Kid anyways so his character and I are getting fairly acquainted
as usual I am at your writing service my dears
-Melodrangea <3
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bugtastic · 11 months
Note
Please spill the modern au thoughts, I'm hungry for any takes of the characters in a happier setting
i had to edit this cuz i accidentally posted this without a check up first- anyways-
vash is my first victim. >:)
tags: fluff, a little bit of angst on vash's side, gn!reader.
warnings: none i think!
modern!vash, who is unemployed due to his reputation as the "humanoid typhoon". he causes disaster at every job he worked at. broken machines, gadgets, you name it. he was cursed out by his bosses many times. almost the whole city knows about him at this point.
"All you do is bring bad luck everywhere you go!"
modern!vash, who spends his time at your shared home, waiting for you to come home like a pet waiting for its owner.
modern!vash, who feels guilty that he can't lighten the stress off your shoulder. you have been working overtime again, just so you're able to afford a place for you and him.
modern!vash, who feels guilty that he can't lighten the stress off your shoulder. you have been working overtime just to pay the bills and to keep the small apartment you've both been living in. you're struggling and he can see that. he sees it every night when you go to bed and he feels you fall asleep in his arms.
modern!vash, who cleans the house and cooks for you both because of said guilt. you told him many times that it's okay, he doesn't need to clean the whole apartment just for your sake. he is stubborn, let me tell you. he will become the ideal malewife.
modern!vash that decorates the place to feel like home. trinkets he collects from his walks with Meryl and Wolfwood end up somewhere on a shelf. you swear that every day you come back home from work you see a new pebble in the plant vase you gifted vash before you started dating.
modern!vash, who texts the group chat with his friends, asking if anyone has free time for a short walk.
modern!vash, who looks at Wolfwood and Meryl as they bicker once again. Wolfwood pokes Meryl on purpose and he laughs silently to himself. The only thing missing is you. The four of you would be out hanging together. He misses holding your hand when he goes outside. But you're not here because of him.
modern!vash, who cries in your arms when you comfort him. you say you're more than happy to work overtime for both of your sake until he finds a stable job. he can't help but clutch the fabric of your shirt tighter, thinking 'I don't deserve you' and 'How selfish of me'. But now that he has you, you can't help but keep you to himself.
"How selfish of me. But I love you too much to let you go, my Mayfly"
modern!vash, who refuses every job offer his brother gave him. he doesn't associate with him anymore, not after what he did to you and his friends after rem's death. he will accept any other offer, but not Nai's.
modern!vash, who looks at the clock, hearing every tick the clock makes. you were already supposed to be home. it's past 9pm. where are you? did you get in trouble?
modern!vash, who worries and runs to the door, putting his shoes on as he speed dials your number on his phone.
-
You huff as you carry 2 heavy bags. After work, you went shopping for some supplies to make dinner. Vash has been cooking dinner every single day and the moment you protest and want to cook him, he hushes you and kisses you with a giddy smile on his face. You noticed when he gives small pecks on your lips, he giggles softly to himself.
Ah, if you only saw that smile turn into a small pout the moment you leave for work.
You swore that if he gives you those puppy eyes again, you will fight your inner self and be stubborn. You wanted to make him dinner too after all the hard work he's doing around the apartment. Cleaning and cooking, you're sure it must be tiring at some point for him.
After walking up many stairs you arrive at your door. You put the bags down as you reach for the keys to the apartment in your jacket. As you were about to put the key in its hole, the door suddenly flew open.
Vash stared at you in shock. His phone was to his ear and barely dressed to go outside. Wearing a gray tank top and black shorts are not ideal for going outside at night.
"Vash, what are you doing?" you asked. The blond registers your appearance, the shock fading away and for pure joy to replace it.
"YOU'RE BACK!!!" he picks you up in his arms and hugs you tightly. You yelp as you feel the air in your lungs slowly running out from his death squeeze.
"Where have you been? You were supposed to be here an hour- mmmmf-!" You press your lips to Vash's, successfully shutting him up.
"Stop worrying, I was out shopping. Now put me down, I need to cook dinner." You pat your hand on his shoulder signaling him to put you down. He slowly starts putting you down purposefully, he wants you in his arms juuuust a little longer. You sigh and wrap your arms around him. He feels your arms slowly envelop him. His heart might have just skipped a beat no biggie hahah. "I missed you too Sunshine." you say as you finally feel your feet touch the ground. You look up at Yash and you can tell he's not on earth right now. He's in a daze with a goofy smile on his face. You couldn't help but mess his hair up a bit, ruffling his fluffy blond locks.
He snaps back, finally registering what you said before. "Wait, dinner? But I'm supposed to make you food!" He exclaimed as you took the grocery bags and ran into the apartment before Vash to stop you.
"I'M MAKING DINNER AT THAT'S FINAL VASH! YOU CAN'T STOP ME FROM SPOILING YOU!" you yell down the hallway as you make your way down to the kitchen. Vash dramatically gasps and slams the apartment door shut.
"You have been working all week! You should rest Mayfly, overworking yourself just to make me happy... I don't deserve-" He gasps lightly as you pull him down by the collar of his gray tank top and kissing him. You were going to make the kiss short just to stop him from degrading himself.
That didn't up happening.
Vash hurriedly cupped your face with his hands and desperately pulled you closer to him, deepening the kiss.
He's been waiting all week for you to come home and kiss him properly after all.
You are the first one to break the kiss and take deep breaths. Vash was silently looking at you, just staring at you. His eyes softened as he leaned in for more, only for you to stop him by putting your hand over his mouth.
"This won't stop me from cooking, Vash." You scold him. Truthfully, that wasn't his plan to begin with but he'll use it as an excuse for now to hide his neediness. He laughs a bit, his face painted red.
"Can we cook together at least? Please? Preeeetty pleaseee Maaayfly?" He's giving you those puppy eyes again. You huff. You can't fight against that.
"Fine, let me do the main part at least." you say with a sigh. You can practically see the nonexistent tail wag behind your boyfriend.
"Okay! I'm happy with anything, really, as long as you're with me." Vash picks you up again and sets you on the counter. He goes through the grocery bag to see what you've gotten. His eyes shine brightly as he sees fresh doughnuts you've bought for him. After a while, you two end up talking about your day. He talks about how Wolfwood and Meryl fought as usual as you laugh with him. You can't help but stare Vash as he's talking. His energetic movements when he talks about the simplest things, his bright blue eyes, his smile. You can't get enough of that bright, gorgeous smile.
You think to yourself...
If you were to choose who you could spend your life with, you'd choose Vash Saverem in every universe. No matter who he is.
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puppyluver256 · 9 days
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Awwww yeah, finally at a point where I can start sharing what I've been working on! So those of my age or older, who remembers that reality show The Mole? If not necessarily that, who in the Mario fandom encountered krisetchers' Mole-themed Mario fics in the mid 2000s and early 2010s? That's basically what I'm doing here, a crossover fic based around The Mole. One of these twelve characters I've got here is a Mole, trying to ruin the other players' chances to add money to a group pot, and it's their job to figure out who it is. I've already got five episodes within 15 chapters finished, so after I've got the upcoming bios all posted I'll start posting those next Tuesday! :D (cuz the show used to air on Tuesdays, at least the US version and the season I saw live-ish at like eight or nine years old hehe)
💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖
~Likes are appreciated, but reblogs are preferred as they let more people see my artwork! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~
The Mole and related concepts © Stone Stanley Entertainment Piers, Sabrina, and other Pokemon concepts © Nintendo/GameFreak Revali and other Legend of Zelda concepts © Nintendo Shiver and other Splatoon concepts © Nintendo Dr. Boris Habit and other Smile For Me concepts © LimboLane Toriel and other Undertale/Deltarune concepts © Toby Fox Melia Antiqua, Taion, and other Xenoblade concepts © Nintendo/Monolith Soft Hornet and other Hollow Knight concepts © Team Cherry Isabelle and other Animal Crossing concepts © Nintendo Geno and other Super Mario RPG concepts © Nintendo/SquareEnix Magolor and other Kirby concepts © Nintendo/HAL Labs Artwork © PuppyLuver Studios
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neptune-lover · 10 months
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Pregnant? Pt6
Author note:HOWDY sorry this took forever I've been sick the last few weeks and late last week I ended up getting an allergic reaction to something we still don't know yet I see my allergist soon about it but I've also had writers block so I apologize this took so long but here it finally is
Tag list: @hauntedpostpersona @moxkindagirl @babybatlover
Tw: talks of pregnancy, mentions of death and miscarriage, mentions of vomit/throwing up and mentions of sex, use of their real names
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It's been about a week since Rhea took the test and you guys went to the appointment and found out that both of you we're in fact pregnant about 2-2 and a half months to be exact. Both of you and all 3 of the boys were very excited but some other people didn't have the best opinions about this. Of course you guys had to tell hunter so he could plan a head and set up a promo to announce you departure from the company for about the next year. The boys decided that it was alternate 1 being home and the other two being away every week so one of them would be home with both girls. Hunter was very excited to hear the news considering he was the one who brought you to NXT from Japan all those years ago. But some of your fellow could workers were not the happiest although you had the ones who were your closest friends out side the WWE Universe like Baily, Becky, Asuka, Seth, liv and so many others but then again not all of you got along in real life like solo sikoa which was weird because the rest of the bloodline were very good friends with you and Damian. Speaking of bloodline Sami was another wrestler fond of you all because of the whole poly thing he never understood and though it was selfish for someone to date more than one person. But all your guy's friends threw a party for you and Rhea as a going away for now kinda thing which was a lot of fun Bad Bunny was there as him and Damian were still the best of friends Rey was there as he was happy he was getting 2 grand kids and he said that if Eddie was still with all of you he would be so happy for all of you and be proud if how far Dominik has come and some of your friends brought their little ones as everyone loved them like edge brought Ruby and lyric and Becky and Seth brought Roux but it was a lot if fun and you were so tired afterwards that when you got home you and Rhea got changed into some pj's and just passed out on the bed. It's been a few days since the party and currently you were sitting on the couch waiting for Finn to finish cooking lunch because you were extremely hungry and today Rhea decided she wanted to backstage with the other two because it was Finn's turn to stay home today so it would just be the two of you.
Hey guys that's all for part 6 I hope you enjoyed again so sorry it took so long I had a bunch if shit going on and I don't always also have a bunch of motivation so being sick and all that didn't help with that but hopefully I will be back to making a bunch of stuff soon and don't forget to check out my request post I'm currently working on one but please feel free to flood my inbox cuz that also give me motivation and also if you aren't sure if I do a character ask in the request and I'll DM you if I make stuff for that character or not
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bcbdrums · 3 months
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Given the fact that we were talking about our perceptions of certain kinds of ships in regards to Stein and how they suit or do not suit his character, how do you feel about smut/the relationship dynamics within Stein x character smut fics?
All righty then...! Here comes a very long rambling of my headcanons about Stein, his two primary relationships, and his relationship with those deeper intimacies. This takes some turns before it gets to the main point but well, I love talking about this man. Extremely long post under the cut.
Also - there are two blogs I tag at the very end of this post - you two feel free to ignore all my ramblings, just know I praise you both at the end and I still re-read your Soul Eater stories VERY regularly.
I'm truthfully still trying to reorganize my thoughts on this specific topic because 1) I have listened to many a headcanon from others on the subject and I always try to give validity to their thoughts even when they differ from mine, and 2) I've also read tons of smut fic with Stein out of sheer desperation for...well, Stein fic. (Come on Stein fandom where you at? Write me some gen fic too, lol)
I have not read too many fics of him with Marie cuz those always contain manga spoilers so I'm skipping those for now until I finish reading (exactly halfway through!). So what I've read is mostly Stein/Spirit smuts and just a couple with Marie, and I want to say….almost zero?? I think zero of those fics (and boy I've read plenty) have "hit the spot" in terms of what I would want for a Stein smut. They're good stories, in some cases great stories, well-written and thoughtfully conceived, but they're not fitting my headcanons and interpretations of who I see onscreen (and who I see in the manga so far).
All that said now… Some of my own relevant headcanons for him, and then I'll get more into fic of others.
I go back and forth toying with the idea that Stein experimented with intimacy just a little as a teen. He's not immune to puberty and hormones; he's human whether he likes it or not, which isn't to say mind over matter doesn't work for him. (Clearly it does, in staving off madness among other things.) But he's a scientist. He's curious. And I can see him justifying an experiment or two in his teen years. But they would in fact be just that, experiments. It's still a big maybe. I can't say for certain he would, it's the sort of thing like…if all the dots line up just right, he'd attempt it. If not, he wouldn't. And it would only be with those two people: Marie and/or Spirit. He doesn't trust anyone else enough. (Yes, I'm on board with the popular fanon that Marie was one of his other weapon partners after Spirit.)
Another teen headcanon... I can also easily see a sort of angsty distraction possibility for him. When he loses Spirit to Kami, I can see him getting into a "romantic" relationship with Marie as sheer distraction, and even misguided retaliation. Spirit "cheated" on him with another meister and abandoned him, so why shouldn't he do the same with another weapon? Which sucks for Marie but well she's not healthy about relationships any more than Stein or Spirit are. But this is just another sort of maybe-thought; another situation where all the dots would have to line up just right for him to go for it. But I can see it, no question, just like the prior thought.
As for Stein as an adult, at the point we see him in the show… While I think relationally he and Spirit have the most interesting dynamic to explore, the one he shows more openness toward is Marie. It's clear that he cares for her. And he doesn't fully understand that either. Now I don't think he wants to get into bed with her, or marry her, or anything traditional to a romance. But I also don't think Marie is going anywhere. Thinking post-anime now…. Unless he gives her a sign that there is nothing between them, I think she's staying put. But sadly for her, I think there is something between them... Sadly because, Stein doesn't know what it is, and it's not "love" the way that Marie wants it. It's just something he's unfamiliar with. Meanwhile she's devoted to him, poor woman.
Now, end of the anime… Let's talk about this…. Marie helps him back to sanity with her healing wavelength. But…then he's just "okay"? No he isn't. Look at that man. His dark circles are darker, his eyes are more haunted. That man has been living off madness and cigarettes for weeks. When is the last time he ate anything? Showered? Legitimately got any sleep?? How he's even standing up let alone fighting Medusa is beyond me, and then he performs freaking major surgery and then waltzes into the death room afterward like he's fine. Because...that's who Stein is.
Stein will fight until he is incapable of fighting anymore, to serve those he loves. Yes I said loves. And it is agonizing how much he strives to show his love for others, and it's something he doesn't even realize he has within him. He thinks he can't understand love? It's because he feels it so deeply and passionately it's beyond definition. Part of this however I'm also certain is motivated from his deep desire for purpose as an adult. The manga shows that aspect of his character even more-so than the anime (in what I've read so far). That man is desperate for purpose and to belong somewhere, with someone. He can't escape his human nature even if he doesn't understand it, can't define it, and even though it drives him crazy all on its own…
So bringing this back to Marie… End of the anime. I don't think Marie is leaving. She's gonna stay, help nurse Stein back to health and sanity despite his pretending he's fine (or perhaps even sheer ignorance of his condition), and Stein…is gonna be confused the whole dang time about his feelings for Marie. He knows he feels something but he has no idea what it is or how to process it. But "love" in the romantic sense he doesn't possibly consider, because well...his conceptions of that sort of thing aren't based in anything healthy (see: Spirit's relationships).
So yeah… She's not leaving. He won't reject her attentions because he does care about her, just not in a way he understands and also not in the way she wants. And as she starts to realize that he has some kind of feeling for her, I think she'd turn up the romance and she'd make a move on him. OR…she'd play the extremely...long...patient game, and wait for him to make a move on her, when it's within his comfort zone. And let me be clear… This man still does not know what love is in this traditional sense, does not understand love. He knows what physical attraction and hormones are and darn him he can't shake those either, but as an adult he wouldn't act impulsively on them nor would he confuse them with love. Stein is the ultimate master of mind over matter. If he were to sleep with her, it would be a choice; a decision he makes consciously and deliberately. I see this within the realms of possibility. But if he chooses it himself, if he's the one who makes that decision simply out of his wanting to…it would be a long, long time that that woman is waiting for him. But I do think it possible. The question is simply, how long will she wait. And she's also the type to try to stir things up (see: her behavior toward Joe in the manga). So who knows when they may end up in bed together... These dots are more complicated to align than those of his teenage years. And if Marie made the move first...I think he'd accept it. Because, see again, his wanting to belong with someone, and he knows he feels something different with Marie.
As for Spirit, well... Stein sees that Spirit likes women. And Stein sees that Spirit can't commit. I think Stein "loves" Spirit more than he loves Marie. First love, young love... Spirit is the relationship of his life, even though that's yet another thing he cannot possibly understand. I think that while part of him, the mad obsessive part, and the curious part, does want to be close to Spirit in the intimate way…it's not out of a healthy desire or even typical motivations. It would come from a desire to possess, from his deeply human but inexplicable yearning to be closer to the one he loves even though it's not the right type of love for that type of intimacy. Not really sure Spirit would be all-in if Stein were to make the move... I think Spirit would take persuading. It's another circumstance where all the dots have to line up just right, and in this case probably more while caught up in madness than in sanity. Because as previously mentioned… In his right mind, Stein knows that Spirit likes women and more importantly that Spirit cannot commit. And he's ironically smart enough to know not to attempt a traditional human romance with someone who cannot commit. I don't think Stein would himself attempt intimacy with Spirit in his right mind at all, unless something happened to make him utterly desperate not to lose the man... Another instance of, all those dots have to connect.
But ugh, the angst. Spirit abandoned him after five years... Stein is not going to willingly subject himself to possible heartbreak again. Plus, he does not think Spirit has forgiven him for the "experiments." I think he thinks Spirit only hangs around him now as an adult as his handler, despite desperately wanting his friendship again. But I think he figures it's a lost cause so he just takes what is offered and never pursues more.
Okay but before I digress further into my endless thoughts about Stein's and Spirit's relationship (I'll do another post for that maybe), back to the point of your question.
I am really not one for labels, partially because I don't understand them but also because I think the spectrum is just so deep and too much defies definition. But if I were to label him, I guess I'd go with...gray ace with demi leanings…?
The man is driven only by curiosity, about anything and everything. But the level of intimacy we're talking about is more than he ever wants to trust anyone with. It's always gotta be on his terms, and more often than not…his terms would be unhealthy.
So let's talk about what shows up in fanfic, since that was what the original question was about. And once again, I like to lend validity to everyone's interpretation. Just because it isn't mine doesn't mean it's wrong or shouldn't exist. But you did ask about MY thoughts, so that's what I'm sharing here.
Once again, I've barely touched Stein/Marie fic because I'm avoiding manga spoilers. In the one or two I've seen, he comes across as not connecting emotionally in the typical way, but knowing that there is indeed something different about being with her. He knows she cares about him, and he cares in return. But it doesn't come across as anything intimate on his side of it. This isn't a characterization I particularly like, because Stein as an adult... As I said, I think he'd choose that intimacy if and when he wants it. In the stories, it comes across more as him just doing her a favor, just going along. It doesn't sit right. But like I said, that's only two stories. For other Stein/Marie, I reserve opinion for later.
Stein/Spirit... Okay. I've noticed a great many commonalities in the fics I've read. And this isn't a taste or preference thing; like I said I have devoured almost every smut fic just in desperation for any fanfic of them. Would prefer more gen fic less smut personally, but anyway.
Most fics have Stein in the dominant role, Spirit in the submissive role. I understand that interpretation but it's not how I see them. I see them as equals if they were to get into that type of intimacy. There is often a lot of bloodplay, frequently madness on Stein's part, major instances of non-con, pet play, BDSM, sometimes light cannibalism... It all suggests an impersonal and unhealthy relationship most of the time, which again...is not at all how I see them if they were to become a couple. Could such things come about? Unhealthily, possibly. But darn me and my desire for happy endings.
These two men are so broken, that if they were to become a healthy couple...I feel like it would be slow, cautious...extremely hesitant. There is extreme distrust on both sides, and also misconceptions about how the other feels. Which...I will save that analysis for later. Focusing back on smut fic.
I have seen only a few that touch on the give and take in a trusting relationship (all by the same author) that come closest to what I feel is accurate to the characters onscreen as I see them, but still the emphasis is too much on lust. It still isn't hitting the spot for me due to a lack of that relational development... Make no mistake, the stories are great, but I personally am hoping for something much deeper.
In my view, Stein just does not seek out physical intimacy in that way. I don't think he can fully escape the innate human need for touch, but in terms of a drive to get into bed with anyone... I think the occasional human desire for it crops up, and he easily ignores it/packs it away because it's not useful to him. It doesn't bother him. He doesn't think about it.
So this is where that...gray-ace, demi vibe comes into play for my view of him. Talking about Stein here as an adult and in control of himself, not consumed by madness... This is I supposed a bit of a summation of my thoughts.
If he did get into a relationship with anyone (and again I think his only choices are Spirit and Marie), it would not be based on the physical at all. I also don't think he would rush into any relationship. It would be a long process before he trusted the person enough to consider them a romantic partner. And really, we could get away from the word romance entirely... Life-partner is a better word, in Stein's case. If the person wanted physical intimacies, I think he would be responsive to that. The other person would be in the lead, but in no way dominating. It would have to be an equal trust thing or else Stein would nope out hard. Stein would gradually learn what it is he likes physically, and how to give his partner what they want. He can come to enjoy it because this is his life-partner, the one he belongs with, the one who needs him and is part of his purpose. But again...the physical is not something that drives him at all. Not in how I see him portrayed onscreen or in the manga.
So, overall, in my point of view nearly all smut fics miss the mark. Now...the stories I've seen where I think the physical intimacy is nailed don't even get to smut. Those are the stories by @asymmetryestablished (AO3 NothingSoDivine) and their characterizations of Stein and Spirit defy description in any words I have. The other author who nails it is @wispforever (same on AO3) and the closest to physical intimacy they get is dancing, but my gosh still the characterizations are utter perfection. I will be re-reading y'all's Stein/Spirit stories forever.
I hope I did in fact answer your question, but overall, I was delighted to just spill out so many of my thoughts about Stein even if in summary form. Yes this was a summary... Okay. I'm done. Thanks.
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fluffytriceratops · 1 year
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Introducing Kristina and Raphael’s third and final child!
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Meet Inigo! <3 The drawing is kinda shitty, I whooped it out of my ass pretty quickly and used my finger for most of it cuz I was too lazy to go get my apple pencil lol. But here it is!
Because you guys have been so kind and patient with me, I decided it was about time I introduce Inigo. I love this boy so much. I don't know too much about him rn, but I'll eventually make a post with some more info on him at another date. ^^
Some smol tidbits about this boyo:
He is the youngest of his family. (and by his family I mean Raph, Kris, Mo, and Tiri) But he doesn't really act like it. He actually doesn't mind being the youngest. It doesn't change much in his opinion. He was named after the character from The Princess Bride. A favourite book/movie of both Kristina and Raphael. And yes, I am a simp for him. I mean, how can I not be-
Tags: @thelaundrybitch @rheawritesforfun @digitl-art-monstr @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @mysticboombox @drowninghell @squirrelfurs @lec743 @raphielover @raphslovemuffin80 @post-apocalyptic-daydream @bibiz82
(If you would liked to be tagged in my future TMNT (+tmnt oc) realted work, feel free to let me know and I'll happily add you!)
I love you all so so much! Have a lovely day/night!! Stay safe and take care of yourselves! I'm sending all the virtual hugs to you!!!! <333
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dreadfutures · 8 months
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🙤 Self-Recommendation Tag Game 🙧
Rules: Share five of your own fanworks (fic, art, etc.). Then, tag five more people to share the things they've made.
1. Something you absolutely adore: 2. Something that was challenging to create: 3. Something that makes you laugh or smile: 4. Something that surprised you (how it turned out, how other liked it, etc.): 5. Something you want other people to see:
Tagged by @demandthedoodles thank you!!!! I AM FINALLY FREE OF MY PHD AND CAN PARTICIPATE THINGS WITH BRAINPOWER AGAIN
I will tag, with no obligation, @anneapocalypse | @tobio-fish | @exalted-dawn | @v-arbellanaris | @shift-shaping (and anyone else who sees this and wants to tag me with their self recs, cuz I have so much catching up to do)
Show me your art, writing, meta, collages, whatever it is you've ever done that you like <3
1. Something you absolutely adore:
Starting off with a fic, one of the pieces I'm most proud of is CHRYSALID, a Dragon Age genfic about Cillian from multiplayer:
Chrysalid | Rated: G | Cillian | Chapters: 9/9 Herein the Dalish mage leaves his intended role as First behind and follows a butterfly migration to the Arbor Wilds. I had always wondered how Cillian, a Dragon Age Inquisition Multiplayer character, discovered the path of the Arcane Warrior. I really enjoyed putting myself in some of these settings and atmospheres, and I enjoy re-reading it too!
2. Something that was challenging to create:
These hands were both obsession and study for me. blood, subsurface scattering, and extreme light sources hello
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3. Something that makes you laugh or smile:
I did a little series of doodles of some DA ocs wearing academic regalia and Talenna ended up spicy and Neria ended up doing the same pose I did when I graduated: enjoying an elote
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4. Something that surprised you (how it turned out, how other liked it, etc.):
TIME TO GET SAPPY.
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I started writing Dead Pasts and Dread Futures in 2020 because I needed to survive a huge depressive episode and the feelings of loss and loneliness and grieving over friendship and responsibility at the end of Trespasser really hit home. I was just writing drabbles, and then I was just writing a few chapters, and then I was writing a massive and ever-growing monster of a fic, all by the seat of my pants. In the middle of COVID, and in the middle of PREPARING FOR MY PHD ADVANCEMENT. I wrote over 500,000 words. It launched me head-first into a community that I am still so close with even now. That alone is so shocking to me, since it hasn't happened with any other fandom I've been in or written for, even for my popular Zelda stuff.
But now, years after that fic was COMPLETED, it's still growing and getting comments and I'm blown away by it. I'm not one to obsess over stats but it really boggles my mind.
5. Something you want other people to see:
I always want people to look at my version of Felassan thanks <3
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intervalart · 6 months
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Werewolf and Vampire AU Masterpost (specifically for the LAL western chapter)
I can't believe this is a thing I'm writing because this is normally NOT my thing, but the brainworms are very very real, so a few things I'm gonna get out of the way right now:
•The tag I use for this is "bark bark flap flap", so if you wanna mute it cuz you're sick of seeing it, please feel free.
• The end goal of this for me is not shipping. If it happens to end up that way, that's fine (I am even warming up on the prospect as I write the characters more), but overall I'm just playing with character chemistry. I'm stating this up front because of the explicit sexual culture around werewolves and vampires online. I will not be making any sexual content for this AU (ESPECIALLY not anything omegaverse, I have very little tolerance for that malarkey). At most it may be gore.
I would request you not use my AU writings/character designs/story beats etc for sexually explicit material, but obviously I can't stop you. Just keep it away from me, thanks.
The rest is under the cut, from hereon, gods help us both.
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The overall premise here is set in the Wild West chapter obviously, but I'm not opposed to other timelines and their monster AUs hopping in for fun. (I know there's a popular theory about Oboro being a fish yokai of some kind, that one rocked)
In this AU, Sundown is the werewolf and Mad Dog is the Vampire.
"But Aima-" I hear you cry. "Mad Dog should be the werewolf cuz he literally has Dog in his name." You are not incorrect. And if you wanna expand on this yourself you are welcome to! But personally I think that since Mad Dog is already a tumblr sexyman fruitcake, his vibes work better with vampires overall. And Sundown is a stoic lone wolf anyway lol
ANYWAYS, there's monsters all around the Wild West, and the frontier folks are out there just tryin' to make it.
Mad Dog in this setting is still a Bounty Hunter, but also goes after monsters. He's still clever and crafty, but one night, he bites off a little more than he can chew, and the target he's pursuing gets the better of him and is interrupted before he can totally drain him, when causes him to turn instead. (Will make a post later discussing how vampirism and lycanthropy spreads in this universe, but the long and short of it is vampirism is a parasite, lycanthropy is a virus)
Sundown is the werewolf, in fact that's where his name came from in this AU (The sun setting and shifting into a werewolf). The current lore is Sundown saved his town from a werewolf, but got infected himself, and took out his own town.
Sundown and Mad Dog have still known each other a long time, but neither either of them knew each other when they were human. There's a bit of hypocrisy to them both, since Sundown could find others affected by the virus and stick around with them in a pack, meanwhile Mad Dog is still a monster hunter when he's a monster himself.
Annie in this setting is also a monster hunter, in training under Dallas.
O. Dio is a kelpie (design is still a WIP), and the Crazy Bunch is a group of aquatic monsters that roams around taking over water sources for their territory, and their main beef with Success is (since they used to be a mining town), some of their water runoff was contaminated by mercury.
Currently I'm just running on the premise of them hanging out, and being In Situations, with no real chronological story beats, but it's implied that Sundown wants to find a cure for his lycantrhopy (because therapy doesn't exist yet I guess lol). Or just be killed (like the canon). Whichever comes first.
Sundown has 2 forms, human and werewolf. He only shifts on the night of the Full Moon, and in emergencies/life or death cases. When he shifts, he usually doesn't remember the events of the night, only brief flashes and strong emotions. He does however have a brewed draught concocted of various vile herbs etc. that he can take the day of his shift that helps him stay more cognizant. But he can't always get all the ingredients for it, so it's not consistent.
Mad Dog has 3 forms, the humanoid form is the default, when he's running low on energy/blood he takes the little bat form, and he can take the big bat form whenever he wants, but it uses up a lot of energy, so he tends to not use it unless he has to.
Here's some reference for them so far (x) (x) (as a side note, I differentiate the big bat form with 2 thumbs and the small bat form with one thumb.)
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I will add more links, refs, and info etc. as I drum it up, so if I reblog with edit notes... Y'all know why.
Also, as an aside, I don't know if I will continue to put this in the Live A Live tag cuz I don't wanna flood it with my silly AU when people are probably looking for canon stuff. I'll be open to feedback on that point though.
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dislifeismid · 2 years
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maybe tang twins, falken, jacob, li ling and long mian with a s/o that is a dancer/ invites them to dance?? if they're too many feel free to take some out 💕 tyvm(✿◠‿◠)
Oajskdnf no because i spend all my free time watching Odorite it's finally paying off???? (Odorite are the dancer version of Utaite, whilst Utaite may do vocal covers of vocaloid songs for example Odorite do dance covers. It's a fun tag to explore (踊ってみた/ 'Odomitta') for anyone who likes funky dances.
Espers with a dancer s/o
Tang xuan
Gahh your excited hyperactive lil baby loves you smmmmm
Jk i don't really like giving anyone diagnostics let alone fictional characters just like i don't like assigning sexualities and such but like either way hyper or nah this guy cannot stay still for long k
He's already lowkey a dancer himself i feel it.
I mean he just HAS the fit the vibe.... i can totally imagine he's not shy about dancing in front of others. Even if he's bad, he dances. 100%. In that lounge area at the top if the tower where Disc hangs out?? Oh yeah. If he's vibing he'l get up and move.
He's always tapping his foot to music at the least
His style of dancing is def hip hop ish. Break dancing, for sure....
He also can do cute ish stuff. He's definitely always on beat, either way. He's always grinning whilst dancing, he CANNOT have a bad time while dancing.
He's most agile with his feet obviously. Have you seen his art??
So silly and fun to dance with. He's hyping you up and dancing with you, always. He has a hard time holding himself back from jumping in if he's not allowed :(
Best dance partner on this list if not.......
Like full on whistling with his fingers and clapping, you're so talented!! Show him sometimes yeah???!
12/10 plz dance w me Xuannie
Tang yun
Surprisingly good...
He's flexible so good opportunities. More tham that he's super expressive in his movements- he definitely excels at like creepy ish songs.
He's good at acting insane what can i say (cuz it might not be acting....)
He's also just super fashionable~ he looks so cute in anything you put him in. He can also pass as a girl if you try.
But he's also not a huge fan of dancing itself and won't agree to join you that often.
He also thinks watching you is kinda boring cuz it takes a while to get a correct shot sometimes if you film and ugh....
Give him some pudding he'l wait patiently for you to finish whilst swinging his legs lazily~ (kinda like a certain relative of his..)
6/10 it's better than most
Jacob
Sleepy boy.... sleepy sleepy lil man..... moving too tiring :C
He's actually really good at it, you'l never know til you force him.
He's really really cute at super cute soft dances. He likes the comfy clothes one wears whilst dancing, since they're usually oversized to show movement/motion. (What my dancer friend told me anyway 🤷‍♀️)
You'l be jealous by the end.
Listen Jacob is smart asf he's just unmotivated, so he's hiding a few skills you don't expect. Being a natural at this is one of them.
He doesn't even really understand or can explain how he does it
"Uh... i just do?... or something........."
He's suuuuuper tired after so!!! Hugeeeee breaks...
8/10 for talent but looses points for lack of motivation to actually participate
Li ling
Yknow he doesn't understand dancing much cuz he's not a very artistic guy n all
But!! He thinks it's super cool!!
He'l watch and cheer you on but he's not too good at it and doesn't understand it that well.
But you seem happy! So! Clearly it's great!
What i'm saying is chances are he won't dance but will cheer you on either way!!
7/10 for being more supportive than Yunnie
Long mian
Elegant dragoon man also does not fully understand dancing...
Well see sorta.
His inner dragon kinda just sees it as some mating dance.. but it's not. It's just. For fun? And some dances are so.. weird to him...
He's good at classic dancing. Elegant slow stuff. He probably thinks ballet is pretty. He's also probably just generally a fan of traditional chinese dances..
If you're into modern dances he'l literally cringe at you 😭
6.5/10. Yeah ok he insulted you but he looked hot while doing it okay?? 🙄
Worst is he'd probably be so good at other dances if he tried cuz he definitely understands the artistic aspect..
Falken
5/10 so neutral
No reaction from this gentleman literally-
Like it doesn't affect him idk.
If you wanna dance, sure, he can like twirl you around a lil...
He won't really take it that seriously. If you're a dancer? A job is a job, not really his business. You're talented, he's proud of you. But that's about it.
Just the ultimate neutral.
Bonus; David
Plz plz plz plz you two... 🙏🙏🫠🫠😭😭😭
14/10. No comment.
First of all he's like so good at dancing too
And always willing to if you ever want to dance??
Heck he probably asks you first
Ugh Jacob is such a simp for his s/o lmao
But like in a cute way ok
It's adorable to see this man totally crumble and loose all his cool and blush like a madman because GAHHH YOU'RE SO COOL AND CUTE?!
He feels like he does not deserve to KNOW you like?????
Urgh and he has the trendiest shit
He probably helps you dress and vice versa....
Just, def the best for any dancer out there. You both learn from one another every day!!
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honey-rye · 3 months
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Now that we're entering into 2024, I'm asking some artists and writers that I follow:
1) What is the one piece you're most proud of from this past year?
2) What are some pieces that you would have liked more people to see? If you can include links, I'd love to go check them out!
3) What were your top three favorite pieces (art, comics, fics, etc) that someone else has made this past year?
(As always, no pressure to respond! Feel free to just ignore, or let me know if you'd rather I not send you these kinds of asks in the future.)
i am so excited to answer this oml
a piece I'm most proud of from this year has to be Leo watching the snow which you can find here -> (Leo watching the snow)
I had the idea to draw this and immediately got to work, I love watching a snowstorm or even just a light flurry, it's beautiful and I tried to capture it the way I saw it with my favourite boy at the centre. I didn't even realize it kinda fits alongside Fall Leo until a moot pointed it out!
2. some pieces I wish more people had seen- some of my WROC posts, which you can find here -> (Risetober 16, WROC Mikey, Sun in the Apocalypse)
two of these feature my oc Jax, who ends up being a vital part of the resistance. I put a lot of effort into these works that I wish more people saw, and the other is a doodle dump of wroc Mikey, whose design fought me every step of the way.
3. top three pieces would be Warriors Heart by Peanutrat20, the entire Cass apocalypse series that I binge read in a day, and the commision Shardknight did for me -> (Warriors Heart by peanutrat20, Cass Apoc. Series by somerandomedudelmao, Jax and Leo by shardknight)
Warriors Heart I'm super excited about cuz I know all the secrets and I've read all of my beloved moots pre-story stuff, and I can't wait for the full story to come together!
Cass Apocalypse Series along with a few others really inspired me to start a comic for my own apocalypse series, I'm still figuring things out as I go but I love to look back at their work, their style, everything. It's incredibly inspiring, their characters are wonderful.
WROC Jax and Leo I commissioned, and Soph delivered. They're adorable, and I love looking back at it. Their art means everything to me, its so squishy, and to see my sillies in it had me kicking my feet in excitement lmao.
thank you so much for the ask, I love answering your questions they really make me think!
(I didn't tag anyone but I've linked the accounts of all the people mentioned, if there's any issue please let me know!)
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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year
Text
Pink Scarf - PART 17 (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: SEXXX. Verbal Abuse. Assault, both sexual and physical. Blood. Violence. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  
Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 10k
A/N: PREPARE YOURSELVES, cuz this is an INTENSE roller coaster ride, y'all. Also, PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. I'm not gonna say much else, other than this is a beast and I cannot wait to hear the unhinged responses after. And thank you for your patience!
As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋
If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!
I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 
Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 
(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)
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“You need me?” you question him, honestly taken aback by the sentiment, even though he has said it before. It’s just still so hard for you to believe that a man like this needs a woman like you. Running your fingers through the soft, damp hair at the nape of his neck, you look at him with wide eyes.
“Yeah, baby, I do. I really do,” Elvis says, wrapping his arms tight around you and pulling you close. His head buries in your neck, in your hair, breathing you in.
“Show me,” you whisper in his ear, surprised by your own boldness. But his declarations have you some kind of way and that coil is still like hot coals smoldering in your belly. You feel his body stiffen against you, knowing that he is even more stubborn than you and doesn’t want to give in to you just yet.
You run your hands over his exposed chest and under the deep V of the fabric, grazing over his nipple with your fingernails. He twitches and jumps under your touch, despite his efforts to stay neutral.
“I need you,” you breathe, pitching your voice up the slightest bit as you look into his eyes. And you do. You desperately need him, in every way. If you could crawl inside of him, you would. You need to believe his promises are true, that he will take care of you and be everything you need. You need him to show you.
This must read on your face, because he cannot seem to mask his response this time, his azure eyes widening and pupils dilating.
“Take care of me,” you say, your voice nearly a whine.
That’s the ticket. “Fuck, okay…yeah, let me take care of ya,” Elvis breathes in your mouth as his lips find yours, your sins forgotten for the moment, if not forgiven completely. His lips devour yours and your hands can’t get enough of him, starved from before when he had you tied up. They roam over his chest, wind around his neck and into his hair before scraping down his back and clawing at his waist.
Elvis pulls back for a moment and surveys the space in the room. You can see his wheels turning, then how his lips curve up in a smile as he figures out how he wants you. He leaves you hanging for a moment as he pulls a chair right in front of a huge, floor length mirror. Sitting in the chair, his legs spread wide, he beckons you to him.
“Come sit on my lap, baby,” he purrs at you, and you immediately obey, settling on one of his strong thighs and burying your head into that deliciously long neck of his. The salt of his sweat stains your lips. His strong scent surrounds you, magnifying your need for him. You suddenly feel very small in his arms in addition to that need. He seems to sense this, letting you first cuddle into him a bit before winding his large hand below your jaw and peppering kisses down your neck.
“Gonna be a good girl and do as I tell ya?” Elvis asks, his voice low and gravely as he grabs your chin.
You nod. He truly fucked the fight right out of you before, over there against the wall.
“That’s my girl. Now turn and face the mirror for me,” he says, guiding your hips to swivel in his lap. He pulls your dress up and over your waist, leaving you in your lacy panties. You feel a little self-conscious looking at yourself perched on his lap like this, your cheeks a flaming shade of red. You are very close to the mirror, too close. But you watch as your eyes go wide when he grabs your inner thighs, spreading them open with his large hands while sliding his strong thighs in between to keep yours apart.
The lacy fabric of your already-soaked underwear strains as he massages your legs from your knees to your hips. The groping shoots fire through you and you press back into his lap, encouraging him to continue. When he ghosts over your core, it steals your breath away, and you are so incredibly ready for whatever he has to give you.
“Let get these off,” he says, tapping your clit over your panties and causing you to jump with the sensation. Nearly frantic, you shuck them down and off with lightning speed, along with your heels. Elvis chuckles, spreading you open even further when you sit back in his lap. Your muscles strain with the stretch, but you don’t care.
“Be a good girl and put your feet up on the mirror for me,” he instructs, and albeit confused, you do as you’re told. “Nice and wide for me, honey. Yeah, just like that.” He scoots your hips down a bit as you adjust and cradles your upper body with his, his head resting over your shoulder, looking at you both in the mirror. You are completely exposed and utterly vulnerable before him once again.
“Now look at that,” he breathes almost reverently, “You’re stunning, in every way.” You both watch in the mirror as he runs his fingers down your face, your jaw, then over your body. You shiver in his lap, earning his famous lopsided smile in return.
Elvis gets more serious as his fingers reach your core. “But ain’t this the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in your ear, running his pointer finger ever-so-lightly over your folds as you watch. The combination of sensation and the visual you are not used to seeing has you squirming in his lap, aching. He locks his other arm around your pelvis, pressing you against him and immobilizing you.
“Be good, baby. You promised,” he says in your ear, and you watch yourself nod furiously, stilling. He commences his lecture. “I wantcha to see what I see, baby. Look at how pretty and red you are for me like this, all slick and swollen and needy,” he says, watching intently, hungrily, as his finger grazes your lower lips, up one side and down the other. You whine and grip his arm for purchase, feeling like he is calling all the blood in your body to gather in your cunt. It feels heavy and pulsing, burning with need for him.
Elvis brushes up to your clit. “Hmm, one of my favorite little spots,” he hums, circling it softly, making you keen as you lean back into him. Then, obscenely, he uses his first two fingers to spread your lips apart. “Christ, baby, look at that,” he says, voice filled with lust and awe, “You’re fuckin’ weeping for me.”
Your eyes travel down to your exposed hole, and sure enough, you are literally dripping with arousal, both yours and his. It glistens as it gathers, a slow, eager little drop sliding out. You cannot stifle the low moan that escapes your lips at the erotic nature of this little show, your pussy buzzing with heat and want, on display for all to see.
Elvis senses you need more, and he lets your folds wrap around his long middle finger, dragging it up and down through your slick as you watch.
“Oh, god,” you sigh, thankful for the friction, your hips automatically rolling for him.
“Touch yourself, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he says, moving your hand over your mound and guiding your fingers in slow circles over your clit before he returns to rubbing in between your slick lower lips. The wonderful combination makes your eyes flutter closed and your head fall back onto his shoulder.
“Nuh uh! Eyes open!” Elvis nudges you, and your eyes pop open. “I want you to watch yourself come, baby. I need you to see what I see.” He smiles, and it’s almost boyish in its mischievousness.
It’s not going to take much, considering how primed that coil was before you even sat down, and how strangely erotic this whole scene is. How it’s making you feel lightheaded and buzzy and hot all over. You begin to work your clit furiously, watching as Elvis runs his fingers over then through your sopping, swollen folds. When he dips one long finger, then another into your weeping hole while you watch, the string of curses that leaves your lips is utterly filthy.
Your senses are overloading, which you imagine was his intention. The sight of you swallowing his fingers so needily, so readily, your arousal shining, the wet suckling sound coming from your cunt as he expertly works his fingers in and out of you pushes you headlong to the edge. Coupled with this and your barrage on your clit, you hit your climax hard with a loud cry, pressing your heels into the mirror with such force, you’re afraid you might crack it.
“Look, look, look, baby,” he pants, forcing your focus back to him, back to what he’s doing to you. “Look at how you flutter around me!” He’s right; you watch, mesmerized as your hole clenches at his fingers through your orgasm, and fuck if that isn’t amazingly hot.
You whimper at the sight, shuddering and panting at the exertion. He chooses that moment to curl his fingers, pressing that special spot inside you that is only his, and another wave of pleasure shoots through you so strongly that you lose your breath. You crest the hill again, stars shooting through you, forgetting that you ever came here to break this off, to run away from him.
There is a wild, desperate look in your eyes that you’ve never seen before as you writhe against him in your ecstasy, keeping you fucking down onto his fingers even though you are sore from before. You can’t stop the waves that keep crashing over you, engulfing every inch of you as you watch it happen before your eyes.
And Elvis looks gorgeous, those blue eyes flashing with his magnetic sexual energy, his pouty lips open and pink and panting right along with you. He is hard again, his length pressing into your spine through his suit as you furiously roll on his fingers, and you can feel him begin to shudder underneath you. You know he gets off on watching and this is quite the show. You rock your hips more deliberately now, feeling the length of him slide between your ass cheeks, and he groans.
“Am I gonna make you come in your pants, E? Gonna make a mess for me?” you mewl seductively, wanting to push him over the edge, too. “You like watching me get off on your fingers, don’t you?”
“Jesus, baby, yes,” he moans, “but I need to watch you come again. Come with me, honey.”
You’re not sure you can. You are overstimulated and over stretched and near hysterical with pleasure. Your heart is thrumming so fast you can barely breathe.
“You can do it. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you, baby. Watch me take care of you,” he pants heavy in your ear, his eyes glassy, unable to take his eyes off your pussy. He moves his hips in tandem with yours now, then without warning, slides a third finger inside you.
Your eyes are glued to the mirror, seeing just how well you take him. You automatically adjust to him, and he works you as only he knows how. You work your clit and grit your teeth as you feel that coil poised to spring again.
“E-El-El-vis…F-f-fuckkk!” you cry breathlessly, coming completely undone around him again.
“Oh, fuck, honey…GodDAMN!” he groans into you simultaneously as he slams his hips up with a violent shudder that matches your own. You can feel the heat pulse under you, dampening the fabric of his suit.
But you continue to shake and shiver on top of him, your orgasm ripping through you, stealing everything you have left, draining every ounce of energy from your reserves, which isn’t much considering the insanity of the last 24 hours. You sense much too late that your body cannot keep up. Your heart is too fast, your breathing too labored, and your muscles too weak.
You shouldn’t be surprised, then, when your body goes limp, the blood drains from your head with a cold rush, and the world goes dim and then black.
*
“Y/n! Y/n! Jesus, Satnin, c-come on baby, w-w-wake up!” you hear Elvis’ panicked voice from far away, but you are so very tired and just want to sleep, thinking maybe it’s a dream.
…no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I lo…The faraway echo of long-ago words in this too familiar panicked voice fades away like a dream. You slip back into darkness.
It’s the piercing fear in his voice when he calls your name again that has you finally coming back into yourself. You blink a few times, willing the world to come back into focus, confused.
“O-oh, shit. Oh, t-thank God,” Elvis breathes. He is right above you, his eyes bright and flooded with fear, near tears.
“Wh—what happened?” you murmur, feeling buzzy and strange, and like things aren’t moving fast enough.
“You scared the shit outta me is w-what happened!” he looks down at you, now placed on the couch, his eyes quickly shifting from fear to anger. “You—you just fuckin’ collapsed!”
Your eyebrows furrow as you try to remember what happened. You’d come here to break up with him, to tell him you were leaving…then you argued. Then you fucked. The mirror.
Oh, god, had you passed out from coming too hard?
You start to giggle at that, uncontrollably.
“Baby, what the fuck? It’s not fuckin’ funny!” Elvis fumes, leaning over you.
That just makes you laugh more. “I came…s-so h-hard I p-passed out!” you hiccup out.
“That’s not normal!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air.
Another peal of laughter at the absurdity of it rolls through you. He’s not wrong, but whatever is happening to you seems to be overpowering your sense of self-control.
“Are you on something?” he asks suddenly, grabbing your jaw to get you to focus. He looks over you carefully and then a flash of horror comes over him at what you assume is the thought that he’s somehow taken advantage of you.
“N-no, of course not,” you finally manage to get out. You are shivering now though, and suddenly freezing. “S-something’s not r-right,” you finally chatter out.
“No shit,” Elvis mumbles, eyes narrowed, obviously trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. “Baby, when was the last time you ate?” he asks.
You blink at that, trying to run through the last day in your mind, but all the days have been running together. You honestly don’t know.
“I-It’s been at least a day, I think,” you finally eek out. “Maybe l-longer?”
“’Maybe longer?’ Goddammit, y/n, you can’t just go without fuckin’ eating!” he yells, getting up from the couch and storming over to the phone at the other end of the room. You hear him ordering someone to bring food immediately as you attempt to sit up, but your dizziness has you lying back down quickly.
Yeah, well, maybe if I wasn’t in a constant swarm of emotional and physical upheaval for the last week, I would remember to eat, but who’s fault is that?
Elvis slams down the phone and paces back over to you. “When was the last time you slept, y/n?” he angrily asks now, his eyes a churning gray-blue, as he pulls your dress down modestly and throws one of his plush robes over you.
“Um, on the r-roof,” you get out.
“Christ, that was barely sleep,” he mumbles, obviously frustrated as he continues to pace the room. “You have to take better care of yourself, y/n!” he erupts.  
You recoil a bit but are touched by his anger, knowing it is fueled by concern. But you are also annoyed because it isn’t all your fault.
“Well, I’ve been a b-bit busy,” you manage.
“Not that fuckin’ busy!”
He’s not getting it. You shake your head, tears coming to your eyes.
“Th-this is part of the problem, E. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, I’ve been so s-stressed, I don’t know which way is up…” you shiver out.
He halts. Your words must be sinking in because the blood drains from his face and you’re suddenly afraid he might pass out.
“This is because of me,” he finally says. The way he phrases it, you’re not sure if it’s a question or statement.
“It’s not—” you start, not wanting him to spiral more than he already is.
“Goddammit, you’ve been tellin’ me you’re strugglin’, and I been yammerin’ at you to trust me to take care of you and then I did the opposite. Shit,” he curses. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Elvis deflates onto the couch next to you and pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids.
You are too tired to respond other than to brush the errant tear that runs down his cheek with your thumb. You wish you could see this sensitive side of him more often.
“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna get some food in ya, then I’m sending Jerry with you upstairs so you can rest—”
You open your mouth to argue.
“There’ll be none of that,” he hushes you. “There’s no way you’re doin’ the show tonight. And Jerry’ll get you woken up before we come up after the show, and everybody’ll be none the wiser.” He gives you a stern look.
There’s no point in fighting him or telling him how his plan could go wrong. You’re still confused exactly how things with Jack are going to be handled or if anything Elvis said while fucking your brains out earlier was going to come to fruition, but you’re not in the frame of mind to try and solve that this minute. So instead you just nod.
The food comes, somehow all of your favorites. He knows my favorite foods? runs through your mind, but you are too hungry to dwell on it. Then, as he instructed, you head upstairs with Jerry, who without judgement, sends you into Elvis’ suite to rest. You think your mind won’t possibly let you sleep, but between the food and your exhaustion, you drift off before your head hits the pillow.
*
Circle G Ranch, February 1967
You wake up early, your eyes blinking out the dull winter morning light streaming through the window. Well, it’s not early for normal standards, but in Elvis’ world, most haven’t even gone to bed yet, you think, looking at the clock. You being awake now is likely due to the fact you couldn’t keep up with the partying last night and had excused yourself much sooner than usual to go to bed.
It takes you a moment to realize where you are. Being at Elvis’ newly acquired ranch in Mississippi has been a welcome change of scenery yet is still a little disorienting. You are used to Memphis, and even occasionally California, but this place is new for you all.
Completely dissatisfied and not having any semblance of control with his career, Elvis recently decided that he wanted a place in the country, a place where they could all come to relax and ride the horses he’d bought for all the men and their wives. A place where they could work the land and have a little fun. And you wonder if he just wanted to feel a little normal for once, thinking that a ranch would do that for him, that it could give him the control he so desperately craved. That maybe it might bring him some of that happiness and zest for life that had been bled out of him for all these years, turning him into someone you barely recognized.
So, Circle G Ranch was purchased, and you’d all arrived to take in its splendor and fresh air. And it was working. Elvis seemed happier here than he’d been in a very long time, the sparkle beginning to return in those expressive eyes of his. And when Elvis was happy, everyone else was allowed to be happy too, theoretically.
You think maybe all that horseback riding and fresh air is part of the reason you were so tired last night. Turning over, you notice that Jack hasn’t come to bed. Your heart sinks, though out here in the middle of the country, it’s not like he can get in too much trouble. It’s just likely the guys are still awake.
Either way, there is an emptiness in your chest that misses your husband. Each time he leaves with Elvis, less of the man you knew returns. You are hoping that some leisure time on the ranch will help him, too. There is less temptation out here, and more opportunities for you two to spend time together.
Unfortunately, he has not been very receptive to that so far, opting to hang with the guys more than you. But considering that he has been drinking more, part of you is glad for it. If the last couple of years have shown you anything, it’s that Jack is a mean drunk, just like his father.
With that thought, you decide to get up instead of dwelling on things you cannot change. As you get dressed, you hear the door of the trailer slam.
“Jack? Is that you?”
“Who else would it be?” he replies belligerently. The tone of his voice tells you immediately all you need to know. Your heart speeds up as a warning discomfort blooms in your chest. You steel yourself before walking out into the living area.
“Morning, sweetie. Want me to make you some breakfast?” you ask in a light and easy voice. If nothing else, food might help sober him some.
Jack’s response is a grunt in the affirmative, and then he shoots you a glare, his brown eyes dull but cutting all the same. You have no idea what you may have done to upset him, but he is obviously not happy with you. The tightness in your chest increases and you force a smile, not wanting to set him off. If you act like everything is fine, he might forget what is bothering him. It happens that way sometimes and is generally the best-case scenario when he’s like this.
“Okay, I’ll get that started,” you smile, and he settles with a huff on the couch. Scurrying off to the kitchen, your smile falls and you get to cooking as quickly as possible. Steak and eggs, you think. That’s his favorite and will help clear his head.
Your mind races as you cook, trying to find a reason for his ire. You dissect every moment from the day and night before but cannot pinpoint anything in particular that you might have done to make him upset. This has you feeling uneasy, on eggshells. If you knew what you’d done, you could apologize and make up for it before things get out of hand, but it occurs to you that he might be too far gone for that anyway.
Lost in your thoughts, it takes until you smell the meat smoking to realize you may have cooked it too long. You are hoping he is too drunk to notice. With renewed focus, you plate your breakfasts and walk to the tiny table.
“Soup’s on, babe!” you say in a cheerful sing-song voice. Part of you cringes inside to hear yourself like this.
He grunts off the sofa and stumbles to the table, plopping down with a screech of the chair. You keep yourself from wincing at the sound, wanting to stay as sunny as possible as you begin to cut into the meat. You’re unable to keep from looking up at him to check his body language, his affect, as he begins shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth without so much as a word to you.
You pick at your own breakfast, your appetite low because you feel so on edge. You can sense the tension in the room and know better than to speak at this point.
“What the fuck is this?” Jack grumbles, throwing his knife and fork clattering onto the plate.
You look up quickly, your heartbeat skipping. He’s fuming now, his eyes bloodshot and narrowed at you, his scar an angry red with the flush on his cheeks. You don’t have time to piece together whatever has happened before he continues, his voice shaking low with anger.
“First, you embarrass me by taking off in the middle of everyone having a good time last night. Everybody asking, ‘What’s wrong with her, is she okay?’ blah, blah, blah,” he says with a mocking venom that sends a chill right down your spine. “And now you can’t even make me a decent breakfast. Can’t even get that right,” he growls, pounding on the table.
The table rattles and you start to shake a little, frozen to the spot. You realize that maybe Jack is more than just drunk, that maybe he took something on top of it that has him worse than usual.
“I…I’m sorry, I was just tired from all the activity yesterday, and I can make you a new—” you sputter out quickly, but still unable to move, trapped in his furious gaze.
“I don’t wanna hear your fuckin’ excuses, you stupid bitch!” he screams, exploding out of his seat, the chair toppling over behind him with a clatter. “What I want is a fuckin’ steak that’s not cooked to death!” he roars, then picks up his plate and hurls it over the table near your head. You barely have time to register what’s happening, leaning out of the way at the last second on pure instinct, and the plate careens into the wall behind you with a crash, sending food and ceramic flying everywhere.
Your brain misfires and your heart leaps to your throat, the terror in your veins pulsing through you so intensely that all you can do is turn and run. You have to escape because you don’t know what he’s gonna do, he’s never thrown anything at you before, and he’s yelled, yes, but not done anything to hurt you, and oh, god, you have to get out, get out, GET OUT.
You fly past Jack, his rage too consuming and his senses too dull to catch you as you go, and you are out the door of the trailer in a flash, not stopping to see if he’s following you. No, all you can think is you have to get away, you have to escape, and you fly through the rows of trailers housing the other men and their wives. Your heart slams against your ribcage, fueling your body forward as you sprint down the dirt road towards the barn in the distance. Your socks stick to the cold ground as you run but you don’t care—all you need is to get to the horses. You’re not sure why, but you just know that if you can get to the horses, you’ll be safe.
You run and run, only hearing the crash of the plate in your ear, feeling the splatter as it shatters behind you. Only hearing Jack’s screams, “You stupid bitch! You stupid bitch!” You don’t even register the tears burning down your cheeks as you finally reach the barn, flinging open the door with what little strength you have left and frantically looking in the stalls for the horse that Elvis gave you.
Moonbeam. You finally see her near the other end of the barn, her gray and white coloring standing out in the sea of darker equines. You skid to a stop in front of her. Knowingly, as if she can sense your distress and your need for her large, calming presence, she turns and pokes her head out of the stall, nuzzling your tear-stained face.
“Oh. Oh,” you gasp, completely out of breath from the exertion. You cling onto Moonbeam’s strong neck, her coat soft and warm under your shaking arms. Your chest heaves, desperately trying to take in air. If you could, you would jump right on Moonbeam’s back and ride as fast and as far as you can, but she is not saddled, and you have no idea how to get her ready.
The light tap on your shoulder sends you flailing into the stall door with a shriek.
He’s found me he’s found me he’s found me, is all that runs through your head, though if you were anywhere near logical, you’d know that Jack was in no state to chase you all the way to the barn.
“Hey! Hey, y/n, it’s okay! Honey, it’s just me!” You turn toward the warm, familiar voice and are met with concerned deep blue eyes, a far cry from Jack’s bloodshot and brown glaring ones.
“Oh,” is all you can manage to huff out as you look at Elvis, your muscles starting to burn and shake. Your heart is still beating too fast.
“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” Elvis says worriedly but gently, looking over you, seeming to sense how on edge you are. He goes to touch your shoulder, but you reflexively shirk backwards, knocking your elbow into the door with a thud. He quickly backs away a step, putting his hands up in a non-threatening way.
You suddenly slam into the present moment, realizing that you must look insane. Your hair is windblown, you are makeup-less with tears streaking down your face. It’s the dead of winter and you are without a coat or shoes, your socks dirty and torn and bloody from your sprint. You have food splattered down your left side, and you are gasping for air like you’re drowning.
“Y/n, I need you to tell me if you’re okay,” Elvis says, quiet and calm, as if talking to a spooked horse.
You glance over his shoulder, suddenly afraid that Jack could stumble through the barn door at any moment. Wide-eyed and frantic, you look back at Elvis. You realize he’s between you and the door and that gives you some comfort. Jack would have to get through Elvis to get to you, and while you know you’re not in your right mind, you are completely certain that Elvis wouldn’t let Jack hurt you.
With this relieving thought and your adrenaline beginning to wane, you suddenly feel extraordinarily tired as well as embarrassed that Elvis is seeing you like this. You realize he’s waiting for an answer, but you cannot speak. You don’t want to bother Elvis with any of this, so you nod your head, bobbing it up and down quickly.
Elvis tilts his head and looks at you perceptively. Of course you’re not okay, and Elvis reads it all over your face and appearance. You finally give up under his watchful gaze, shaking your head. It falls back against the door behind you, and you choke back a sob. Your exhausted body shakes with cold and the remnants of your fear, and you slide down the door, unable to support yourself any longer.
“Oh, shit, okay. Honey, it’s okay,” Elvis coos at you, stepping quickly to your side but not wanting to touch you and invade your space, lest you freak out again. Instead, he slides down the door with you, letting you lean into him for support. And you do. As you reach the cold, straw-covered ground, you lean your head onto his shoulder, his warmth radiating comfortingly into your side. You begin to shiver.
“Here, baby,” he says, taking off his thick coat and wrapping it around your shoulders. Immediately, you feel calmer, as the heat and his distinctly Elvis scent of musk and Old Spice, coupled with the woodsmoke from last night’s campfire surrounds you like a blanket.
You both sit in silence for a while as your body comes back down from the fear of Jack’s outburst. He’s yelled at you before, even called you names, but he’d never gotten so close to actually physically hurting you.
He must’ve been on something, you think. Jack would never hurt me.
I should’ve been more careful with the breakfast. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve stayed up last night with him. The thoughts run through your head, as though if you examine them enough, you can possibly avoid setting him off in the future.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Elvis asks quietly, sensing the wheels turning in your head as only he can.
Humiliated, you shake your head vehemently. Elvis does not need to know the specifics of your marriage. He does not need to know of your failures.
But part of you wants to tell him he’s created a monster.
Without Elvis, Jack might never have gone into the bottle. Without Elvis, he wouldn’t be taking other shit that makes him fly off the handle at any moment. Without Elvis, without Elvis, without Elvis…
You are too exhausted for blame and anger right now, though, so you bury it instead. It is what it is.
Elvis doesn’t push you, though you can tell he wants to know everything. You can practically feel that he’s quelling some deep instinct to protect you, his muscles tensing and releasing, his jaw working. But maybe he begins to piece it all together himself because he remains quiet. You are safe now, and that’s what matters, right?
And perhaps it is your heightened emotions, but you suddenly crave the nearness of the man who used to be your best friend. The man that, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, time and circumstance somehow stole from you when you weren’t looking.
So you lean into him, into his strength and sensitivity and his unique power to draw you to him, even when part of you wants to blame him for everything. Even after all these years of confusing behavior and emotional distance, you can’t begin to imagine your world without Elvis Presley in it.
And now you sit here on the cold floor of a horse barn in the middle of the Mississippi countryside in the dead of winter, wondering how in the hell your life became this.
*
Jerry wakes you gently with a whisper and a poke on your shoulder but you startle anyway, pulled out of the dream violently with a gasp.
“Sorry, y/n, but everyone is on their way up soon. EP told me to wake you,” he says apologetically.
The room is dark, and you are still exhausted, but you are somewhat grateful to be pulled out of that dream-memory. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and a sick feeling in your stomach. You can’t help but chastise yourself for letting Jack grovel the way he did after he’d sobered up that day, for how you forgave him so easily because it certainly was not the last time he went crazy like that on you.
“Thank you, Jerry. I’ll be right out,” you say blearily. You blink the sleep from your eyes and stagger into the bathroom to make yourself presentable.
Anger at Jack festers like an open wound, but the dream has also reminded you of your anger towards Elvis about all of it. That makes you feel uneasy, especially coupled with that nagging feeling that he is hiding something from you. You don’t want to feel angry at Elvis, but some of his actions over the years have contributed to your overall dissatisfaction with your life.
You didn’t fully realize until now how upset it had made you that he just stopped being your best friend one day. You still don’t understand all of it, though you feel like these unearthed memories are trying to get you there. But it doesn’t change the fact that both he and Jack abandoned you in different ways. And this pisses you off.
Fucking men, you think, touching up your makeup and straightening your dress. Your unease deepens when you realize you are going to face the group very soon and you have absolutely no idea what Elvis is going to do or even if he will do anything. Is he just going to pull you to his side and tell Jack to go fuck himself? Is he going to act like it never happened at all? You’re not sure which is worse.
Your stomach churns and you desperately need to talk to Elvis before he does something stupid. Panic rises, but you slam it back down, willing yourself to just be normal for the time being.
Be normal. What a laugh. As if any of this is remotely normal.
Steeling yourself, you head out to the living room just as people start walking through the door. Sandy finds you immediately, giving you a concerned and questioning look. You can’t tell if she’s surprised to see you or not, but you turn from her, still annoyed that she ratted you out (even if it was in an attempt to help you).
As the room fills and bustles, something is itching at you, poking at the corners of your mind. You think maybe it is paranoia. It feels as though Red keeps shooting knowing, snide looks your way. You can’t help but examine everyone around you, searching for signs that they know. You squirm in your skin, unable to get comfortable.
It doesn’t help that Jack slides in behind you when you aren’t looking, wrapping his arms around you a little too tight. He reeks of whiskey and cigar smoke so badly you choke. “Where you been, treasure?” Jack asks a little too pointedly, suspiciously, as if he knows something is up. Your heart plummets and you resist the urge to push him away but can’t help but try to worm your way out of his clutches as Elvis strolls in the room.
Elvis’ intense eyes find you immediately, and you watch his jaw clench as he keeps himself in check. You manage to slip out of Jack’s grasp and Elvis relaxes a bit, distracted by one of the guys. It seems like he doesn’t want to make a scene over the two of you in front of the group, which has you breathing a sigh of relief.
What doesn’t have you relieved is that Jack is once again all over you as everyone finds a seat. You feel trapped as the conversation begins to flow, wanting nothing more than to go hide in Elvis’ room, far away from the fumbling hands of your husband. His hands are heavy on you, creeping up your thigh, drawing circles on your shoulder with his fingertips. It used to be a comforting gesture, but now it feels possessive.
He knows. Maybe Red already told him, you panic. Your heart gallops in your chest and you try not to lose it.
No, don’t be an idiot. He wouldn’t be this quiet if he knew, right? Jack is a few drinks in at this point, and the more he drinks, the louder he generally gets. Though based on his hands, you think that he is feeling something else altogether.
You can feel Elvis’ jealous eyes bore on you as Jack touches you, but you are caught between a rock and a hard place. If you shirk your husband’s advances to obviously, it will seem strange and garner attention, but if you don’t, you fear Elvis will give you both away. And you aren’t ready for that, not before the two of you come up with a cohesive plan.
If you are going to leave Jack (no, when you leave Jack, you remind yourself), you certainly don’t want to do it in the middle of an afterparty with the whole gang listening in.
“I’m going to get something to drink,” you finally whisper, excusing yourself with a forced smile, needing to escape Jack’s clutches. “You need anything?” you ask.
“Oh, I need something alright,” Jack breathes sloppily in your ear, attempting to be seductive and failing. But it has an edge to it that worries you.
“You’re hilarious, babe,” you say as sweet as you can while standing to make your escape. Jack takes the moment to grope your ass and you can almost feel the wave of irritation coming off Elvis from across the room. “I’ll get you a drink,” you sputter out, sliding out of Jack’s grasp, shooting Elvis a quick, warning glance to not do anything stupid. Then you scurry away as fast as you can without seeming strange.
Instead of heading to the kitchen, you make a beeline for the bathroom, desperately needing a moment away from all the eyes you feel are on you tonight, wanting things from you that you cannot give.
Fucking men, you think again, closing the door behind you.
To your shock, it doesn’t close. Jack pushes in and your heart drops into your stomach. The look in his dark and muddled eyes bodes nothing good.
“Hey, treasure,” he slurs with that disturbing edge to his voice, grabbing your waist and pulling you in for a sloppy, whisky-tinged kiss. You try rather unsuccessfully to not cringe at the feel of his lips on yours.
Maybe he’s too drunk to notice, you hope.
“I thought you were going to get drinks,” Jack says suspiciously. He locks the door behind you, warning bells exploding in your brain for a multitude of reasons, one being Elvis breaking the door down, another being whatever Jack expects of you.
“I had to pee first, babe,” you say as evenly as possible, “Now get so I can!” You playfully swat him on the shoulder, as you’ve done a million times before in your life together, but this time is different. This time, Jack’s chocolate eyes blacken as he grabs your wrist.
Your breath catches, and your heart starts to speed up as Jack’s hand tightens. “Honey, you’re hurting me. Let go,” you whisper.
His dark eyes rake over your body with what you think is lust, but it is tainted with something frightening. “Oh, I think you came in here because you wanted something else,” he says, backing you into the vanity. “You know, some of the guys are saying that you’re stepping out on me. Can you believe that?” His head buries in your neck, his lips dragging roughly against your skin.
Fucking Red.
“W-What? That’s ridiculous,” you manage to eek out, trying to lean away from his touch, but there is nowhere for you to go. Your heart is in your throat, but before you can say anything else in your defense, he’s changing the subject.
“You’re wearing this scarf again?” Jack questions because it impedes his barrage of his mouth on your neck. He unties it and you watch the pink and black silk flutter to the floor.
“It goes with my outfit,” you reply. You attempt to push him away but get nowhere, his broad chest stubbornly immobile. “Seriously, Jack, I need to pee,” you whine now, hoping that will do the trick. Every nerve in your body is on alert as he kisses your skin, as he presses into you. You can feel the bulge in his pants growing, poking into your pelvis.
Every fiber of your being wants out of this enclosed space, a space that only a moment ago felt like a refuge but now feels like a prison. You don’t want this, and if Elvis finds out, there will be hell to pay. But Jack is too far gone to listen and too strong for you to move.
Jack picks you up easily and places you on the counter, his hands pushing the unyielding fabric of your dress up your thighs so he can spread them open and step between them. It feels cold—nothing like the warmth and passion you felt when Elvis did the same thing earlier.  
“I told ‘em, ‘Not my treasure. She knows her place. Besides, who else would want her anyway?’” he laughs cruelly, grinding into you. The words cut, as he intended, and you become fully aware that you are in trouble. Your stomach rolls, nausea consuming you.
“Jack, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to do this right now. You’re too drunk,” you protest, pushing your palms into his chest to try and put space between you.
But he seems to take your protests as being coy, or perhaps he just doesn’t care, and chuckles darkly into your neck. “Didn’t stop you from sucking my dick the other night.” He lathes his tongue against your collarbone, causing an icy shiver down your spine that he interprets as positive, smiling on your skin. His hands roam to your back and unzip your dress.
You squirm, but it only serves to assist in his attempt to undress you, his hands roughly pulling down your sleeves and bra straps.
He stops abruptly, to your relief. “What are those?” Jack asks, suddenly on edge, his tone changing completely. He pulls back from you and for that you are grateful but confused.
“What’s what?” you reply as he stares at your chest, his eyes narrowing, the lust being replaced fully by anger.  
Jack is on you in a flash, too fast for you to register what’s happening and then he’s yanking down the front of your dress, your bra, exposing your breast.
“Jesus Jack! What are you doing?!” you shriek, trying to pull away as he manhandles you, but you have nowhere to go.
“What the fuck are those?” He pulls you roughly off the counter and spins you around to the mirror, pointing to the series of purple welts on your breasts.
Oh, fuck.
“I…uh…I…,” you sputter incoherently. Your brain misfires, too panicked to think of anything clever or even anything at all. There’s no logical explanation for the dark bruises other than them being what they are. Your mind flashes back to the other night, how Elvis had claimed you, his pouty mouth suckling your skin roughly as he’d fucked you into oblivion on the couch.
You hadn’t even thought to cover them with makeup, since Jack hadn’t seen you naked in eons.
“You stupid fucking slut! Who are you screwing?!” Jack screams, ballistic, swinging you back around to face him.
You’ve never seen him this angry, his face and scar turning beet red, his eyes like daggers. But this reaction is rich coming from him, which triggers your own anger as much as your fear.
“Really, Jack? You barely come home and when you do you smell of cheap perfume, but me, I’m the slut?!” you yell back at him, your body shaking all over, as you pull up your bra and dress. You certainly hadn’t planned to do this here, now, but you’d known in your heart for days that this was coming.
The vein in his forehead pulses dangerously, and he looks like he truly wants to hurt you. He grabs your wrists painfully as you try and zip up your dress. You’ve never seen him look at you this way, even in his worst moments, and it send a shudder of fear through you. “You’re my goddamn wife! Nobody touches my wife!” he yells, his spit flying in your face, ignoring your reasoning completely, too far gone.
Then, he unlocks the door and yanks it open so hard it slams into the wall with a crash, and then pulls you into the hallway, dragging you behind him.
“Jack, stop. You’re hurting me!” you say, trying to wrench out of his iron grasp. “What’re you doing? This isn’t the place for this,” you hiss frantically, scared of what he might do or say next.
Jack manhandles you into the living area where people are conversing and laughing at someone’s jokes, and roughly pushes you into the middle of the room.
The laughter dies out quickly as all eyes turn towards you.
Your heart pounds in your chest and heat burns your cheeks. You are furious and scared and now embarrassed, the back of your dress undone in front of everyone. You watch as Sandy’s eyes widen, immediately gleaning what’s happening, and she starts to stand, but Jerry grabs her arm to stop her.
You rub at your raw wrists, but you don’t turn to look at Elvis, who is behind you. That would give it all away, and for now you at least have control over that.
“Who is it, huh? Who are you fucking? All of them?” Jack shouts at you in front of the group, pointing aimlessly at the men. There are confused and alarmed glances on most faces, though Sandy, Jerry, and Red all attempt to cover their knowledge with surprise. Some are better than others at concealing it, but Jack is too busy looking at you to see them.
“Hey, man, cool it,” Elvis says from behind you, trying to be nonchalant and deescalate the situation, but you can hear in his voice the effort it’s taking him to be calm.
Jack whirls you around roughly by the arm to face Elvis, as though he’s trying to shame you at court in front of the king. Elvis looks at you, unable to hide his concern and budding fury completely, and you shake your head the smallest amount, for only him to see, telling him to lay low and not give himself away. You may be fucked, but this can still be contained, at least until Jack has calmed down and not everyone is watching.
“This ain’t your problem, EP!” Jack yells. It’s as though the most obvious has escaped Jack’s rage-addled mind, since he’s not even considering Elvis when he’s the biggest threat of all.
But one doesn’t yell at Elvis. Not without repercussions.
“The hell it isn’t, not when you come in here drunk and hot like this, fixin’ to ruin everyone’s mood,” Elvis warns, standing slowly. He’s not yelling yet, but his eyes are starting to turn hard and dark. Elvis can be incredibly patient, but if his temper turns, it won’t be pretty. And he was already done with Jack before this wretched display. The tension in the room thickens to a heightened degree, leaving everyone on edge.
So hot with fear and embarrassment and anger, you think you might burst into flames right here. Your heart is thundering against your ribcage and you can barely breathe. Your legs itch to run, but you are surrounded by prying eyes, trapped between the two most important men in your life.
Jack is incensed, fuming, and not backing down. He’s gearing up for a fight, which is bad. His grip on your arm tightens and you can’t help but wince. You watch as Elvis takes a step towards you both and you shoot him a look to stay put.
“Jack, stop this,” you say as calmly as you can. “Let’s just take a breath and talk somewhere else and let the party go on.”
Jack’s chest heaves and he turns on you. “Shut the fuck up, you whore!” he snarls.
Then his fist brutally collides with your face.
Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion after that. The pain is instant, radiating through your cheek and your jaw, up into your eye socket. The metal of his rings snag at the corner of your mouth and scrape your face. Shock and disbelief course through you as the air rushes out of your lungs and hot tears spring to your eyes. The momentum of his strike sends you careening to the floor, and you manage to throw your hands out to catch yourself just before you hit the carpet.
A stunned silence falls over the group.
He hit me. He fucking hit me, you think in disbelief, through the pain, through the ringing in your ears.Jack had never, ever laid a hand on you before. You reach your hand up to your face, and it comes away bright red, bloody, your lip split. You can’t hold back the choked, shaking sob that escapes your lips.
Everything explodes at once.
The roar that comes from Elvis is like nothing you’ve heard before. The anger he’d shown you is but a fraction of what you see now as he crosses the room, a menacing bull after a matador. He strides so quickly and fiercely with those long legs of his that Jack barely has time to register what is happening before Elvis punches him square in the jaw, then rapidly again right in the nose. You can hear the sickening break of it which turns your stomach. Or maybe it’s your own pain doing that, you’re not sure at this point.
Elvis doesn’t even say anything, so blacked out with rage that he can’t even speak. You watch from the floor as Jack stumbles back and his eyes widen in shock, then confusion.
“EP? What the—?” Jack starts to say, holding his nose as it starts to bleed down his face, but before he can get it out, Elvis has him by the throat. Those long fingers wrap around and begin to squeeze as Elvis walks Jack back into the wall. Shocked, you watch from the floor as Jack’s face begins to turn red and he begins to sputter, clawing at Elvis’ hand and arm. True fear begins to play over Jack’s features.
Suddenly, the guys are all yelling and rushing around you. Sandy’s hands yank you up and back out of the fray, and you feel dizzy, swaying on your feet. You’re not sure how, but she manages to get you on the couch, zipping up your dress in a flash, and then examines your injuries.
“Are you okay? Y/n, are you okay?” she asks frantically, but with the commotion in the room and the fuzzy white noise in your head, she feels a million miles away. Your eyes are locked on the insane sight in front of you, freezing you with shock.
The guys are desperately trying to pull Elvis off Jack, but his hand is like a vise around Jack’s throat. He’s strangling him, truly choking him because you can see Jack’s face start to go purple and his eyes begin to roll back.
Three of the guys are on Elvis’ back now while Red chops at his arms, trying to break his hold on Jack’s throat unsuccessfully.
Oh my god, if Elvis kills him, I’ll lose them both and it’ll be all my fault, you realize.
You rise to your feet, ignoring Sandy’s protests, ignoring the dizziness and throbbing in your head, and you somehow, through pure will, push yourself through the throng of men to Elvis’ side.
“Elvis! Elvis, you have to stop this,” you say firmly, staring into his beautiful, terrifying face. His eyes are black and unyielding, almost unrecognizable. His jaw is so clenched in his murderous fury that you think he’ll crack his teeth. You’re not even sure if he can hear you because he doesn’t give any indication that he can, but you have to get him to stop.
“Baby, you can’t do this. You’re killing him. You can’t kill him. Satnin, I can’t lose you and if you do this, we’ll both be lost,” you murmur, pleading in his ear for only him to hear, hoping against hope it gets through to him.
You watch Elvis blink a few times, as if waking briefly from his trance, his shoulders relaxing just enough that when Red slams down on his arms again, they give way. Jerry pulls you backwards with a yelp, as Jack coughs, sucking in deep, rattling breaths as he slumps down the wall.
You do not go to him.
Elvis’ lapse in rage is short lived, for he sees Red and turns on him quickly with another roar, throwing brutal punches. You see on Red’s face that he knows exactly why Elvis is coming for him. A few punches land hard, and you hear more of the crack of flesh on flesh. You can’t help but smile a little inside at Red getting what’s coming to him, but horrified at yourself, you push that thought right out of your brain.
But there is a reason Red is Elvis’ bodyguard. He’s tough and scrappy and much more prepared for a fight than Jack was. You can see he doesn’t want to hurt Elvis but blocks and dodges some of his punches more readily. Four of the Mafia surround Elvis now, grabbing his arms, his waist, holding him back from Red, holding him down.
Elvis struggles against them and lets out one last terrifying primal cry before they get him subdued, pushing him to his knees. His chest heaves as they continue to hold his arms, his chin lowered, those lethal blue eyes peering out from under the black hair falling in his face. They still home in on Jack and Red, who are licking their wounds at the other end of the living room.
Adrenaline courses through you, your heart threatening to pound through your ribs, the blood rushing in your ears, as you watch four men have to hold down the man you love to keep him from killing the men that hurt you. And you aren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. A small part of you is frightened by this side of Elvis, how he is gone so deep into his rage that the man you know is barely there at all. And you can’t help but feel responsible for this turn in him.
But another part of you feels vindicated and relieved and almost proud of his defense of you. Part of you swells with so much love for him that you want to fall to your knees and kiss him as if your life depended on it.
“You sonofabitch. You fucking wife-stealing asshole,” Jack rasps out bitterly at Elvis, cowering on the floor with Red and a couple of the other men surrounding him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” some of the guys cry, having to hold Elvis back from going ballistic again. His glare at Jack is so fierce, you think the look alone might kill him from across the room.
But you don’t stop to find out because you wrench out of Jerry’s grasp and somehow make it over to Jack before your brain catches up with your body. You don’t even have time to think twice before your hand pulls back and slaps open-handed across Jack’s cheek, the smack reverberating in your ears and stinging through your hand and up your arm.
But you don’t care.
Silence falls over the room once more. Jack stares up at you wide-eyed, with shocked indignation.
“Shut the fuck up, Jack,” you seethe, now fully infuriated that the man you once loved had hurt you so badly, in so many ways. “You lost me a long time ago, and Elvis had nothing to do with it, you cheating, lying, drunken bastard!” You lean over into his face, your voice low and biting, “And don’t you ever, ever, lay your hands on me again, or next time I won’t stop him from tearing you apart.”
You watch the mixture of surprise and contempt and fear play over Jack’s features for a moment before stepping back. You look back at Elvis and see his lip curl into a sly grin.
And then it all hits you at once. All your mistakes. Everyone staring at you in shock. Your dirty laundry aired out for all to see. The blood and pain bruising on your face, your head pounding, your vision hazy. The mortifying violence that has occurred in your name. Your lover almost murdering your husband.
Oh, god.
Suddenly, vertigo hits you hard and you are so dizzy that the room swims and sways in front of you. The bile rises so quickly that you don’t even have time to process what is happening before you are hurling your dinner onto the shag carpet.
Something is quite wrong, you realize. All your anger and doubts and regrets and love drain from you with a tingling coolness, and everything and everyone feels very far away, their cries muffled by the pain in your head. Then you fall into a dark oblivion, leaving the pain and consequences of your actions far, far behind, and you wonder fleetingly if it was all worth it.
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queerfox-tales · 2 months
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Past, Current and Next WIP tag game
Past WIP: abandoned or simply unfinished work from some time ago
Current WIP: a work being done presently
Next WIP: an upcoming work
(feel free to do the tag yourself if you wish)
My answers:
Past: I don't have many. 1 or 2. One was supposed to be a horror mystery at a ski resort hotel. I don't even like skiing. Mostly cuz I kept falling. I was going to make my "me" character snowboard and do flips or something. I was also going to attract my crush. Which in the physical world wanted nothing to do with me. They were so cute though. Still to this day, objectively my cutest crush. Alas, the story failed. I kept writing about eating instead of anything related to the plot.
Current: I'm finishing my _Portae Inter Nos_ series in both English and French. I'm working on my _Iter Liberti_ series. See previous post for info on it. Or my site for info on series 1 and novellas 1-4.
Next: Omg, my next series. Mates, I am so excited for it. I want it to be so much. I'm playing with/exploring spiritual elements, lost native background (on the smaller side. I played with it as a writer in my own way in _Iter Liberti_. Here, it'll be an actual character that has it), empathy vs compassion including certain aspects that society likes to compare autistic people with psychopaths and sociopaths. I plan on bringing up more societal crap that people seem to ignore or are truly ignorant of the fact that it is crap. I've got characters with disabilities that I'm excited to hopefully portray realistically while being on the "hero team". I'll be needing beta readers or something for that for sure to confirm it all. That's only some stuff. I'm just excited to play with a lot of things that previous series (and my prior writing skill) didn't allow for. Express things I need to get out there... oh, another aspect I'm excited for is having a character who is going to have sex for the first time in their 30s. They also have an abusive childhood (including the sexual kind) so I'm debating whether I should have them realise issues during the novellas or if they knew of problems before and are still trying to deal with them during. Or both realising and dealing? It's going to get heavy but I'm hoping to write it in a lighter way so it doesn't get too intense. Or maybe I'll just go deep. Not sure. We'll have to wait to find out what works better for the story.
Thank you for reading my post.
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puppyluver256 · 11 months
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[Image Description: A feminine mime in the vein of the webcomic Cirque Royale. They have lavender skin, short black hair, pointed ears, clawed hands, and blue eyes. Their nose is a little black circle and black heart and star markings are under their eyes. They are wearing pink circular glasses, a black and white striped t-shirt, a black jacket with white accents, black shorts, black and white striped tights, and black boots with pink zipper pulls. They are holding their hands up and smiling with visible razor-sharp teeth. The background is a pixelated radial gradient of white and grey, with a soft pink aura around the character. End ID.]
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A familiar face, but something's a bit different about them! Yeah, I've been following the webcomic Cirque Royale for some time, not too long after I started being a mime enjoyer iirc, and I wanted to draw Muette like the mimes in that comic! Of course "Muette" feels like kinda a weird name for that universe as all those mimes have actual people names, if some being fairly obscure due to the chosen naming scheme being specifically references to painters, so I decided to give 'em a new name for this look: René Courtois. Idk off the top of my head if there's a painter named René, but it works for me XD
I changed their outfit to a mimey take on what I normally wear since their normal outfit seems like something more for special occasions going by the recent Lantern Day storyline and the unused outfits, while keeping the tights of course because they're fun, also I made their glasses pink to keep that accent color pop in the general head area hehe :3 Idk what their mime powers would be tho, that's something to think about for later if I wanna turn René into a proper OC I guess. I also can't imagine them getting wrapped up in something that would land them in the... *ahem* situation that a lot of Circue's mimes unfortunately find themselves in, but considering the wide range of what seems to get people in trouble in Mimopolis...yeeaaah I'm just not gonna think about that possibility so that I don't get sad cuz I just want them to be happy and live their lil mime life in peace okay (:
💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖
~Likes are appreciated, but reblogs are preferred as they let more people see my artwork! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~
Cirque Royale and related concepts © Brittany K. / @cirqueduroyale René Courtois (aka Cirque!Muette, in any form) and artwork © PuppyLuver Studios
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moondal514 · 7 days
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I read rarepair fics sometimes so I thought I’d make a fic rec list to spotlight some of my faves from the MDZS fandom (defining “rarepair” as pairing with under 100 fics for it in the tag on ao3 as of this date)
horrible mirror by Sectionladvivi
After Xue Yang loses Xiao XingChen, he seeks out the one person who may be able to help - Lan WangJi, still suffering in seclusion after Wei WuXian's death, already working to build a bridge between the dead and the miserably alive.
Xue Yang/Lan Wangji. The inspiration for this fic rec list cuz I’m not even kidding a little bit when I say this fic melted my brain and prob awakened something in me
welcome to my table, bring your hunger by Sour_Idealist/ @souridealist
Carp Tower is a dangerous place to be a young widow who is known for her gentleness. The reeking cellars beneath the stairs are no better, but they're honest.
Xue Yang/Jiang Yanli. A pairing that I absolutely would never have had the creativity to come up with left to my own devices and this fic I particularly love for its complex yet incredibly consistent characterization
cut through the clouds, break the ceiling by littledust
A-Qing, former teen runaway and current teen barista, cons her way into free tutoring from one of the cute prep school boys who does his homework in the cafe ever day. After all, if she passes the GED test, she might be able to escape customer service someday. Then feelings happen, and it's terrible.
A-Qing/Ouyang Zizhen. Super cute modern coffeeshop au
The Peace of Weapons by Zelos
He’d lived as a healer, and died as a knife. Somehow all his paths seemed to follow someone else’s lead. It was only the who that changed.
But perhaps this was fitting. They were not the same, but they were both weapons. Against the bared steel of their mutual existence, maybe they could both be brittle. Even spiritual swords could break.
Maybe he was just tired of being alone. Maybe he wasn’t the only one.
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Wen Ning finds someone who understands.
Wen Ning/Song Lan. Fierce corpse bonding road trip
the truth is without you i'm pathetic by pennydaniels
If it's a choice between sending Jiang Cheng to Nightless City as a concubine or going herself, Yu Ziyuan will always choose to go herself.
Wen Ruohan/Yu Ziyuan. Technically this one is more of a Yu Ziyuan character study than a shippy fic but I think it should could count and I would highly rec it anyways because it is one of the few takes on Yu Ziyuan I’ve seen that does her full justice
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