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theerurishipper · 1 year

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Zuko Did Not Abuse Azula in the Comics.

I'm gonna do it. After a lifetime of never posting any of my own posts in the ATLA fandom, I am gonna talk about this. "This" is the arguments sprung forth that Zuko abused Azula in the comics, more specifically The Search. Now, I don't think the comics are well-written, but what they don't do in any capacity is paint a picture of Zuko abusing Azula. And despite this, I've seen several claims about how Zuko did in fact, treat Azula cruelly and horribly and let the Gaang abuse her happily. And I might not like the comics, but that's just flat out wrong. So, I'm writing a rebuttal to all the arguments I've seen on the topic, at least, as many as I can remember. What I'll do is quote an argument and use evidence from the comic to rebut it, and hopefully people will stop claiming that the abuse victim treated his abusive sister the way she treated him all their lives. So yeah.

To be clear, I'm not making this post to hate on Azula's character or something. I'm not making this to start a fight, or to make people angry. I mostly made this to express my own frustrations about some things I've seen.

And it's probably a bit too late for this, but if you think Zuko did abuse Azula or whatever, you're entitled to your opinion, but please don't interact with this post. I've tagged the anti tags and placed my text under a read more, so y'all don't have to read it.

This gets long, so under the cut it is. Let's go.

Argument: "Azula is protesting being treated cruelly and Ty Lee chi-blocks her for no reason at all! And Zuko doesn't protest this cruel treatment of his sister! He's abusing her!"

Ty Lee chi-blocked Azula after Azula attacked Zuko and displayed violent behavior. On top of being Zuko's bodyguard and therefor responsible for protecting him, Ty Lee also has a great fear of Azula because of how Azula treated her in their past. Zuko tries to be kind to his sister by bringing her tea and she attacks him. Furthermore, Zuko also protests her being chi-blocked even after she does so. He tries to treat her with dignity and be kind to her but Azula herself is the one to sneer at his efforts.

Argument: "Zuko is awful for leaving Azula alone with her abuser! He doesn't care about her well-being!"

I agree that Azula shouldn't be allowed to talk to Ozai. Ozai abused Azula as well, and contact with him would only cause her more problems. However, Zuko doesn't know this. He himself is an abuse victim, and all he's seen his whole life is that Ozai favored Azula over him. And Azula used this to place herself in a position of power over him. She's always tried to drive it into his head that their father liked her better than him and that he was worthless in Ozai's eyes. Naturally, Zuko assumes (incorrectly) that Azula has some kind of special relationship with Ozai that he doesn't. He knows Azula has not had a perfect and healthy life, but he is not privy to the details. He doesn't know what's going on in her head. This is because he is not a mind reader, and she refuses to let herself be vulnerable in front of him because she believes she is better than him and that vulnerability is a weakness.

Even in the comic, she expresses no hatred or fear of her father, and doesn't indicate to Zuko that she does not want to be alone with him. She shouldn't have contact with him, of course, but she refuses to admit that her father is responsible for how she is now and that he has hurt her. She blames her mother, she blames Zuko and his friends, she blames Mai and Ty Lee, but she refuses to blame herself and most importantly, she refuses to blame Ozai. She's still behaving the way he wants, attacking Zuko and, if I may bring up Smoke and Shadow even if it pains me, she's trying to get Zuko to be like Ozai. She herself expresses the desire to speak with Ozai in the panels above, so if she herself hasn't acknowledged the way Ozai has hurt her or how he has abused her, and if she is still under the belief that he loves her, how is Zuko supposed to know any better? He's not doing anything he thinks might hurt her because she hasn't expressed that it hurts her, because she herself doesn't believe it does. And yes, it does hurt her, but it's not Zuko's fault for not being able to magically comprehend that, especially since she has spent her life driving the opposite message into his head, that Ozai favors her and not him.

Argument: "Zuko threw his little sister in an institution! He didn't care for her or for what became of her! He just left her in there to rot!"

What should he have done then? How should he have dealt with her? Azula may be traumatized and in need of help, but Zuko isn't the one to give that to her. He doesn't owe that to her after everything she's done to him, and he doesn't have the capability to help her himself. Azula has always expressed hatred for her brother and has been very clear about the fact that she considers him weak. He tries to help her and she rebuffs him continuously, choosing to attack him instead. She still wants him dead, and she has still not expressed any opposition to the things she learnt from Ozai. She still considers her brother a failure, she still hasn't mentioned that she thinks genocide is wrong, and she certainly doesn't think she's to blame for anything.

Given free reign, she attacks Zuko and manipulates him, and she is obviously too dangerous to let loose. The most Zuko can do is get her the help she needs, which is what he tried to do. I find the whole way these comics deal with mental health distasteful, especially with regard to Azula, but that's a flaw in the writing, not the characters. Zuko could have thrown her in prison like Ozai, since she was complicit in his war efforts. But he recognized that she needed help and tried to provide it for her. I wonder what anyone who criticizes Zuko for this would suggest he should do instead. Keep in mind that Azula is an imperialist and staunch supporter of Ozai's quest to take over the world. She also attempted to kill Zuko multiple times and has expressed no remorse for it.

And also, there is the argument that the institution is abusive and that Azula was mistreated in there. And where is the evidence of that? No, seriously, I went and looked through the comics, and I didn't see any evidence that Azula was abused in there. It seems to be a headcanon. Of course Azula resents being put in an institution, especially when she believes nothing is wrong with her and since she so adamantly refuses to let anyone help her. But nowhere does she mention that she hates it because the people there hurt her or something. And where else could she get help for her problems? Should Zuko take on a second job as her therapist? Should Iroh leave his life in Ba Sing Se behind to come and help a niece who has only ever hated him and wanted him dead? People say that the straitjacket is proof of her being abused, and I don't really like it either, but considering that she is eagerly awaiting the opportunity to attack Zuko, the straitjacket is probably a precaution to make sure she doesn't hurt anyone. Not that it stops her.

And when Zuko does try to help her some other way by offering for her to stay in the palace instead to make her more comfortable, she attacks him. So.

Also, these comics totally forgot how lightning-bending works.

Argument: "Zuko violently coerced his mentally ill sister to come with him on a mission to find his mother!"

She's also Azula's mother, actually. And he didn't coerce her. She blackmailed him and forced herself onto the trip. It was entirely her own decision to come with them and it was not Zuko who forced her to do anything.

Argument: "The Gaang attack Azula for no reason! They're threatening her violently!"

I mean, considering everything she's done to them and still hasn't given up on wanting to do, it's expected that they would be wary of her and perceive her as a threat. Remember when the Gaang pulled their weapons on Zuko, and only didn't attack him because he tried talking to them? Azula here is still antagonizing them and is still calling them derogatory terms like "peasant," so she still hasn't given up her beliefs of superiority. Which obviously doesn't give them a very positive impression.

Argument: "Iroh always expresses ill will and hatred towards Azula and thinks she's a lost cause! He encourages Zuko to hurt her because he thinks she's irredeemable!"

Iroh expresses the wish for Azula to find peace the way he believes Zuko will.

Argument: "The Gaang treated Azula cruelly and threatened her for no reason! They started abusing her the moment they got the chance to, when Azula was defenseless and unable to protect herself at all!"

Here we have exhibit A, where Aang cruelly laughs in Azula's face and greets her mockingly, while Azula is respectful of the people she has hurt many times over.

Oh wait. He greets her cheerfully and kindly, and she starts ordering the Gaang around like they're her servants.

Argument: "Sokka threatened Azula violently for no reason and Azula was just defending herself!"

Sokka didn't even do anything to her. He waves his boomerang near her and tells her not to try anything. And yet the way some people will use this scene is to suggest that he was outright attacking her when she was vulnerable or something. And yet she is well off enough to shoot lightning at him unprovoked. Considering all of Azula's actions, they are well within their rights to keep her in control. Would you say Katara was unjustified for threatening Zuko with death right after he joined them? Was she abusing Zuko then? The answer is no.

Azula has been well known for committing many acts of violence against them, including but not limited to pursuing them relentlessly, attacking them, taking over Ba Sing Se, trying to kill them, actually killing Aang, almost killing Zuko, and she is complicit in the crimes of the Fire Nation. She has done nothing to prove that she's changed her ways and that she is now not interested in killing them, and we later learn that she still does want to attack them. Sokka is well within his rights to threaten her since she has inflicted so much harm on his friends and might still do so. But Azula has no such right. The only reason she has so much free reign is because of Zuko's compassion. The Gaang are right to be suspicious and wary of her after everything she's done and she has no right to be disdainful about that. Do you think if Zuko showed up to join the Gaang and shot sparks at them when he got irritated, that they would not be in the right for perceiving it as a threat? Would you say that Zuko should be allowed to act violently with the Gaang in that situation?

She is here because she manipulated her brother and the fact that she is being allowed on this trip unbound is much more than what she realistically deserves. And she proves Sokka right by attacking him. Sokka merely waved a boomerang in her face (he wasn't even that close to her, actually, and he certainly wasn't in her face) and warned her not to try anything, and she tried something instantly. Just before this when Zuko was with her, she attacked him. No matter her mental state or her age, Azula is dangerous and deadly, and she has not changed. They have no reason to trust her. They have the right to be distrustful of her and to warn her not to step out of line. I know people like to ignore the fact that Azula is still an Ozai sympathizer and an imperialist who partook gleefully in the war efforts and like to only see her as a mentally ill 14-year-old girl, but that's not what the show says, and neither do the comics, so.

I'm guessing it's wrong of the Gaang to react when someone who has previously proved to be more than ready to hurt them and kill them tries to hurt one of their friends. Sure, Azula wasn't going to hurt him severely, but she sure did hurt him enough for him to yell out and fall down. And considering everything else, the Gaang are right to try to protect themselves from someone they perceive as a threat. Sokka wasn't even close to her, damn it. Azula has no right at all to be making demands of the Gaang, and they don't have an obligation to treat her the way she wants to be, like they are her servants and like they are inferior to her.

Argument: "Zuko threatens Azula for no reason and abuses her!"

Azula is someone who has proven to be a threat time and again, and here she is yelling strange things and inching closer with an angry look in her eye. For people like Zuko, it is understandable that this looks like a threatening situation. We know what Azula is talking about, but all they can see is her behaving in a way that could be threatening.

She yells accusatory things and looks angry, and she is moving closer to the rest of the Gaang, almost like she is ready to attack them for something. And so Zuko tells her that that's enough. And he releases some... steam, I guess? He doesn't even bend a flame. And yet he's abusing her somehow. And then she makes it sound like he's overreacting. If someone you knew was dangerous started coming closer to you while yelling with a strange look in their eyes, would you try to wonder why exactly they're behaving like this and if they're alright, or would you prepare to defend yourself?

And here we also see Azula blaming the Gaang for ruining her life and not, you know, her abuser Ozai. So sure, of course she'd accept Zuko's help when she thinks he's to blame for her misfortune and not her own actions and Ozai's abuse.

I too wish Toph was here.

Argument: "The Gaang abused a defenseless Azula, Part 2."

Defenseless Azula breaks the deal she forced Zuko to make with her and jumps off Appa when they're too high.

Aang saves her and she blasts him.

Now, we know in this scene that Azula is having visions of her mother and that she's hearing things. We know that she's not exactly of sound mind when she goes on rampages. But the Gaang doesn't know that. Zuko doesn't know that, and he has no way of knowing because she won't tell him. Even when he asks her who she is talking to, she just yells at him and rebuffs him.

Look at Zuko, saying that he doesn't want to fight Azula with a sad expression. How abusive!

Azula throws the first blow here. She isn't seeing things when she attacks Zuko, she just used him to get here and now she wants to get rid of him. And Zuko is doing what he said he'd do, keeping her in line. And don't say he should have just let Azula go. He wouldn't be a very good Fire Lord if he let the lightning bending imperialist go off on her own.

And then the Gaang takes her down after she attacked them first. So if that's abuse, then I don't know what to say.

Argument: "Zuko abusing his sister, Part 3."

Very abusive, yes.

Oh, and he finds a secret she's been keeping from him! That's so abusive!

Argument: "Zuko abusing his mentally ill sister, Part 4."

She attacks him first. You could make the argument that it's because she's having visions of her mother, and yeah, she is. But Zuko doesn't know all this because she won't tell him. And also, as it should be obvious to everyone, that's not an excuse.

Then there's a fight scene.

Argument: "Zuko cruelly held Azula off a cliff to threaten her and hurt her! He's abusing her while she is clearly not well!"

Ah, this infamous scene. Where Zuko holds his weak and defenseless sister off a cliff and laughs maniacally at her suffering while she pleads with him to spare her- oh wait.

Obviously, he dragged her to a cliff just so he could hold her off it. It's not like they were fighting in that environment. It's not like she just fell near the cliff's edge and he picked her up.

I honestly don't see anything wrong with what he did. He's clearly defending himself from her, and holds her over the cliff so that she won't attack him again, and so that he can make her listen to him after she has acted out again and again in a violent and dangerous way. She was attacking him, and this was the only way he could get her to listen to him. If you think he was considering dropping her, you don't know Zuko at all.

Anyway, this is actually one of the few scenes from any of these comics that actually made me feel something. It's an expression of the tragedy of their relationship from Zuko, and also him standing up to another abuser in his life. Yes, Azula abused Zuko, that much is not up for debate. Here, Zuko is finally confronting Azula on the horrible was she's treated him their whole life. I don't begrudge him that. And him saying "since the day you were born," is obviously not literal. Like, I can't believe I have to say this unironically. If people say "I must have walked a thousand miles," do we take it literally or do we understand that it is an exaggerated way of expressing that someone has walked a long way? It's the same thing here. Just because Zuko exaggerates his speech does not mean that the sentiment he is expressing is untrue. This is such a stupid line to get hung up over, but gotta take every inch you get when the whole text is against you, I guess.

Argument: "The Gaang abusing Azula, Part 5."

Where the Gaang verbally abuse Azula who is clearly hurt by their cruel words- hold on.

Ah, yes. Call the people who are somehow still putting up with you "louts," Azula. I am sure that is a very good and proper way to treat people who have every right to throw you back in jail and be on their way. They don't even say anything back to her. The Gaang has the patience of saints, honestly.

Thank you Sokka for being the one with common sense. I suppose he's also a villain now for saying "she's tried to kill us twelve times" when that's not true, it was only about two times. Which clearly makes it better.

Argument: "Zuko abusing Azula, Part 6."

Azula antagonizes a child, Zuko tells her to knock it off.

He's being so cruel to her.

Argument: "The Gaang abusing Azula, Part 7."

She attacked them. They defended themselves. It doesn't matter if she saw her mother in a vision. That's not an excuse and it's not the Gaang's problem. It's not Zuko's obligation to help his abuser, especially since she doesn't want his help anyway.

Gee, all these arguments are starting to sound awfully similar. It's almost like Azula always instigates fights and the Gaang defend themselves. Hmm.

Argument: "Zuko abusing Azula, Part 8."

She attacked first. Again.

This time she even attacked two actually defenseless people.

Argument: "Zuko gave the Gaang permission to attack Azula for no reason at all! The used their position to abuse her!"

No, he gave them permission to take her down because she went too far and attacked innocent people who did nothing to her.

Honestly, Zuko should have done this a lot sooner. She's tried to kill them four times already. She hasn't listened to them when they tell her not to do something and she's endangered all of them many times. She's being granted more than she deserves by the Gaang, and yet she goes on to do things they explicitly tell her not to do because it might hurt the forest or other people. She's proven that she is not concerned about who she hurts as long as she gets what she wants, and it took until she attacked people who weren't the Gaang for Zuko to suggest taking her down. The fact that he didn't give the okay for this the first time she tried to kill them is honestly a testament to his character.

Azula had this coming. No amount of the excuse of mental illness is enough to justify her actions. Even if she has a mental illness, it doesn't give her the right to attack others. And Zuko has all the right to defend himself and realize that working with Azula is impossible. He doesn't look happy to be doing this. He looks quite sad, in fact. I joked around a little in this post but seriously, anyone who says Zuko is the one abusing Azula is interpreting the text in very bad faith. I know people like it when Azula is a victim so that they can justify her hurting others, but Zuko and the Gaang had every right to retaliate throughout this comic whenever Azula attacked them or hurt someone else. These two siblings aren't even the last non-Gaang people Azula hurts in this comic.

Argument: "Zuko abusing Azula, Part 9."

Wherein Azula attacks her mother who doesn't remember her and her defenseless family with the intent to kill.

Now I'm not heartless. I feel for Azula here, I really do. That panel of her with tears in her eyes truly makes me feel sad. She definitely didn't deserve what happened to her throughout her life at Ozai's hands. She didn't deserve to feel unloved and feel like her mother thought she was a monster. She didn't deserve to be abused by Ozai. Azula deserves to heal, she deserves to be loved, she deserves to be treated well and she deserves better.

None of this gives her the right to hurt other people. Innocent people. She may feel her mother has wronged her, but it's not true. And she doesn't get to attack her mother, who doesn't even remember her, out of hatred and anger. She doesn't get to kill this innocent woman and attack her family. And Zuko is not in the wrong for stopping her. Zuko is not the wrong for protecting his mother and her family. Zuko is not abusive for defending other people and himself from Azula. Because even if Azula is hurt, she is taking it out on other people who have done nothing to deserve it.

Zuko redirecting her lightning back at her doesn't kill her, and I'm sure Zuko knows that it wouldn't. He doesn't want her dead. He doesn't want to hurt her. He wouldn't have thrown her over the cliff for that very reason. Despite everything, Zuko loves Azula. He cares about her. He wants to have a good relationship with her. He's very affected by the knowledge that their relationship is so bad. He truly wants to help her. But it is Azula who is resistant to that help. It is Azula who thinks her brother is weak and deserves to be hurt. It is Azula who despite wanting love, chooses to push people away and hurt them over and over again.

He's saddened at her running away, he chases her and pleads with her to let him help. But it is Azula who refuses him, who rebuffs him and attacks him at every turn. It is Azula who is always the aggressor, it is Azula who is at fault in their relationship, all because she believes that everyone is to blame for her mistakes but herself. And the only way she can heal is if she realizes who the blame truly lies with, Ozai, and rejects everything he's taught her, that love is weakness and to rule with fear. She needs help, but Zuko is not obligated to provide it to her. And yet he does, out of the kindness and compassion in his heart, and the love he has for his sister.

Argument: "He abused her in the show, then! Since this post only talks about the comics!"

That's because it should be obvious to anyone watching that Zuko didn't abuse Azula. If anyone thinks Zuko abused Azula, I invite them to watch a show called Avatar: The Last Airbender. It's really quite good.

So I feel like I've covered most arguments I've seen. But I do want to talk some more about why exactly I wrote all this, why I wasted two hours of my life on this.

Anyone who goes through the ATLA tag on my blog will probably reach the correct conclusion that Zuko is my favorite character, and that he and his arc mean a lot to me. And so, it's honestly not great to see people undermine all of the suffering Zuko has gone through in his life, all to justify Azula's abusive behaviors. It's not wrong to like Azula and love her character. She's a complex character that many find relatable, and that's not wrong. But to accuse another character, her actual victim in the series and one whom many can relate to as well, of being her abuser and denying her abuse of him... it's not a great look. It reeks of victim blaming and abuse apologism. And it's not true. Azula is an example of how victims of abuse can become abusers themselves. This is what she represents in the show. And it is not wrong for people to call out Azula and not Zuko, because Zuko got called out in universe, called himself out and he changed. Zuko redeemed himself and became a good person.

Azula has not done that. She hasn't changed, she hasn't acknowledged that she is wrong, and therefore people are allowed to criticize her and dislike her, and they are allowed to call out her abuse and her other actions. People call out Zuko for his bad actions as well, but the fact of the matter is that he changed, and people don't feel the need to call him out anymore because he's done it himself. Zuko doesn't need the same criticism Azula does because he grew and she didn't, that's it. So all the talking points about how people don't call out Zuko as much as Azula or that they don't criticize his bad actions are moot because of his very widely acknowledged and celebrated redemption arc. Because he realized his mistakes and worked hard to fix them. So, there is really no point in criticizing him anymore the way there is for Azula, since she hasn't changed. And it is not "hate" for people to understand that despite Azula's abuse at Ozai's hands, she dealt the same thing to her brother for years. And it is not wrong for people to criticize her for it.

All this talk about how Azula is always being hurt and betrayed by everyone, and all this talk about how Zuko is weak unlike Azula is the exact same reasoning Azula uses that enables her to abuse others within the story, the reasoning that Ozai instilled in her. It is quite literally the parroting of Ozai's beliefs, that Zuko is weak and soft, and that Azula is strong and powerful and yet she's a victim of everybody. She believes that others deserve to be hurt because they are too weak or because they are responsible for her suffering, and not her or Ozai. In the end, it wasn't Zuko who drove away her friends Mai and Ty Lee, and Mai and Ty Lee did not "betray" her. It was Azula's cruel treatment of them because she controlled them through fear that drove them away from her, and when push came to shove they stood up for the people the loved and for themselves. It wasn't Zuko who drove away their mother, it was Ozai. It wasn't Iroh who hated Azula and wanted her dead, it was Azula who hated Iroh and wanted him dead, and these are all things she learnt from Ozai. She can only ever grow if she realizes her mistakes and accepts the blame for her own actions, and if she stops blaming her victims for her suffering and starts blaming her abuser.

Blaming Zuko for defending himself from her and calling that abuse is victim blaming. Whether you like it or not, Azula did abuse Zuko. She had power over him, she targeted his insecurities constantly, she lied to him multiple times and made him doubt his own perceptions, she manipulated and gaslit him and made him feel unsafe in his home. She supported Ozai's abuse of Zuko and participated in it and took pleasure in it. Zuko never did anything of the sort to her. He reacted to her abuse in a way he never did with Ozai until the end, but that does not mean he wasn't affected by it or that it didn't happen, because it did, and even though he fought back with her, he was often defeated and Azula always managed to manipulate and terrify him. For fuck's sake, he literally had a chant, "Azula always lies," so that he could comfort himself after she terrorized him, something that he's been saying to himself for years according to Zuko Alone. People will point to Zuko challenging Azula as him abusing her back, but what defines abuse is the power dynamics. There is no such thing as mutual abuse. Abuse is all about one party having power over the other, and in Azula and Zuko's relationship, she had all the power over him because she was the favored child. Of course, this was also damaging for her, very much so, but it means that she had power over him, and he didn't.

Azula is a tragic character and her life is a sad one. But that doesn't make her any less of a bad person, and it doesn't mean she is not a toxic individual. Her actions have hurt other in many ways, and she does not feel remorse. She finds pleasure in the pain of others, especially her brother, at whom she smiled in glee when he was being maimed by their father. She took over a city and killed someone and did it with a smile on her face. She tried to kill her brother and laughed about it. She gleefully suggested genocide, and wanted to take part in it. And she hasn't changed, so people are allowed to dislike her and call her out for it. Personally, I believe that Azula has the capacity to change and to redeem herself. I don't think she's too far gone or is irredeemable. She is not as bad as Ozai, and it's not too late for her.

No one deserves a redemption. It has to be something you actively work for, something you do and it is something that you have to work for. Azula can change if she truly wants to. She has people who are willing to help her if she so chooses, like Zuko for better or worse for him. But that means admitting to her mistakes, acknowledging that she is wrong and has hurt people, and making the effort to change, which so far she has not done. And Zuko is not obligated to forgive her or help her in any way, and neither are the Gaang or Iroh.

You can like a villainous character. You can like a character who is a bad person. It's not wrong. What is wrong is to paint another character in a bad light, in a false light, to justify your love for another character. And especially in this case since Azula is Zuko's abuser, turning the tables and calling him her abuser for defending himself against her all because you want to excuse Azula's actions and want her to be a victim is really not great. Accusing Iroh and Ursa of being responsible for her downfall is not great. All this is directing blame away from the real abuser, Ozai. And it veers into victim blaming and abuse apologism, like I said.

Being a fan of Azula doesn't mean you can handwave away her less than savory traits or cherry-pick the ones you like. She is a victim, but she's also an abuser. And it is not "bashing" or misogyny for people to call her out. Calling out Zuko is also okay and allowed, but it is honestly less productive since he changed himself already. I understand that people don't like when their favorite characters are criticized or hated, but that doesn't mean characters who do bad things are exempt from being called out. And it doesn't give anyone the excuse to start misrepresenting other characters and hating on them to prop up their fave. Fans of characters who are villainous should understand that. And in this case, anyone who is a fan of Azula should understand that.

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prostocupoftea · 26 days

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I have done what kinitopet fandom (probably) does not have but totally does (not) need... a CRIME AU! i am so sorry

Tw on poorly drawn guns, masks, scars, robbery police etc baisicly crime stuff

I have so much work why am i doing this... it is like 3 am...... aNYWAY---

More yapping and magnifyed parts under the cut

I was just literally sitting in the bus from uni and like "jeez can't imagine how those with full au-s abt tsp or kp, that must be so hard, i have one design and im already dying

And than i thought what au can i do for kinitopet

And here i am, 5 hours later with full ref-sheet and a little story idea in my head

Okay now to the au

It might be bad it might be okay-ish, well an okay-ish option is that they are like "Bad Guys"-ajesent group, you know, rob banks, skedadle with money, no killing, etc, all to make them redeamable, but, i mean.... they are horror charscters.... we all want our qute kinito but, u know...... he literally does not take "no" for an answer, just saying

So my idea is that maybe kinito does crime to get attentoin of that one detective, you know, "You" and does those "hello, you!" like he is talking to everyone while specifically naming You (((:

Aaand he is really in crime for that cat-n-mouse game, money are a bonus to do more crime with, he is just resl smart and wants to find soneone who is as intelligent as him and can catch him (or at least follow his clues)

Also they wear matching fake tatoos bc statistically most people are gonna notice a tatoo and they are gonna search you by it

And they have their secret normal lifes ofc bc why not

Sooooooo, i'll probably would never draw those guys again unless i guess y'all really like them, but in any case be free to take them and do whatev ya want, just tag/credit me (:

#kinitopet #kinitopet au #sam the sea anemone #kinito the axolotl #jade the jellyfish #i sexualized both men in kinitopet and what you have done in your life #i am not sorry #sam literally wears men version of bikini armor plate that protects n o t h i n g #kp brainrot so much my gray matter is dripping from my ears #i wanna punch myself in the face #btw i am still rigging that model #so do not worry. i'll get there #kinito fanart #btw i have no idea why new york #just wanna to make him say “hello new york”#also cool screens on buildings #perfect for announcing crime >:)#kinitopet crime au #prosto cup of art

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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!)

Stop her, stop her, stop her…

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

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

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

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

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

If anything, he’s cared too much.

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

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

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

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

He’s too late.

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

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

Suddenly, everything feels much too heavy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ll always be alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something in the way she says it gives him hope.

“You need to fix this, Elvis.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t seem to escape him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn him and Sandy both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I take care of what’s mine.”

“You were made for me.”

“You belong here with me.”

“It’s meant to be…”

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

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

At all

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you.”

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

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

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

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

Your heart stops. And you finally remember.

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

He’s loved you all along.

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I-I…and I’m so sorry, y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you whisper back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. You put the scarf in your purse.

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

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

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

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

When it’s time, I’ll know.

Four Weeks Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d called her last night.

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

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

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

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

“Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On your knees,” you command.

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

“Did I stutter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show me,” you command.

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

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

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

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

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

“Use your words,” you order.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he’s all yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get on your back,” you demand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But perhaps that is your own ego talking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Completely,” he nods back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods furiously, eyes unfocused.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mamaaaa…need y-you,” he begs.

This makes you smirk coyly.

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

He can only manage a whimper in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still sensitive, you think.

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

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

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

“I love you,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you are exactly where you need to be.

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

Here, with Elvis.

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

Taglist:

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

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

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

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

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

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

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis @godlypresley @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03

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

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margowritesthings · 6 months

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MARGO'S 1K CELEBRATION I - TROPE BINGO

Y'ALL. I can't believe this. 1,000 is such a mind boggling number to me, considering these weird word children would otherwise just be sitting in my brain on their own. I can't thank you enough for your support over the last year. this blog is one of the best things that has happened to be, and now that i'm pursuing my dream of becoming a published writer i truly believe it has changed the course of my life. YOU have changed my life. thank you for being there to read and support. i love y'all.

soooo reading and writing romance is basically my only prsonality trait, so why not celebrate 1k followers with the thing that got me here! im putting you guys as the star role in your own romance- follow along the steps below and send me an ask with your trope and character selection + any extra info.

STEP 1 - PICK A TROPE (please pick up to 3 tropes!)

➼ friends to lovers ➼ enemies to lovers ➼ s/he falls first ➼ one night stand ➼ grumpy x sunshine ➼ small town ➼ billionaire ➼ mafia ➼ forced proximity ➼ marriage of convenience ➼ fake dating ➼ second chance ➼ one bed ➼ childhood sweethearts ➼ surprise pregnancy ➼ why choose? (send up to 3 characters for a reverse harem ship) ➼ random!- i will use a generator ➼ writer's choice- i will choose based on your profile (mutuals only)

STEP 2 - PICK A SHIP there are 3 ways to get your ship:

➼choose a fandom (or multiple fandoms) from the below list and I will choose for you (the more info about yourself you provide the better this choice will be) ➼choose a specific character from the fandoms in the list (or multiple and I will choose) ➼(mutuals only) tell me your fandoms and I will choose for you based on your profile/what i know about you/what you provide me with (even if the fandom ISNT on the list below)

FANDOMS PARTICIPATING IN THIS CELEBRATION: ➼ red dead redemption ➼ bridgerton ➼ marvel ➼ starfield ➼ fallout ➼ skyrim ➼ stardust ➼ star wars ➼ doctor who ➼ daisy jones and the six ➼ mad men

STEP 3 - EXTRA INFO

IMPORTANT- INCLUDE YOUR GENDER AND SEXUAL ORIENTATION IF LETTING ME CHOOSE THE SHIP. Add anything about yourself you want me to know. If you're on anon, this is very important!! I cannot make anything personalised for you if I do not know anything about you. Any icks, anything you want me to include, turn ons, etc. Basically provide me with anything you think might help me make the best gift for you!

RULES

➼ Followers only please, I cannot police this as I have asking on anon enabled, but this is a celebration for my followers so if you are gonna enter please do ensure you are following me

➼ Likes and reblogs are really appreciated! if you do enjoy my work you can also check out my masterlists which can be found here or buy me a coffee here!

➼ At the least, I will be able to make a moodboard for your ship + tropes, but if the inspiration strikes me I will write headcanons and drabbles too. These are a bonus and should not be expected with every entry

➼ 18+ - some of these tropes will include explicit detail, so 18+ only please

➼ Please grant me patience! i am doing this alongside a full time job and have some personal stuff on, but i do want to celebrate so im trying to fit this in as best i can. please be kind and respectful of my lil internet space :)

➼ all posts will be tagged #margo's 1k celebration

tagging my frens to say THANK YOU cause i couldn't do it without ya <3: @inkandbloodbound @cowboydisaster @musicallisto @saradika @sickvictorianangel @alottanothing @twola @photo1030

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helluva-shit-show · 5 months

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Gonna be walking away from the Hellaverse. After the bullshit that happened with Valentino/his voice actor and taking a hard look at why the atmosphere of these two shows are the way they are, I can't interact with this media anymore.

I don't think you're a shitty person if you like Valentino or Stolas. I think you're a shitty person if you continually write rapists as "quirky, funny, hot" or as "tragic, sad, hurt, needed it for comfort". I think if you, the media creator, have to repeatedly say, "technically, it's consensual," I think you've already lost the argument.

Consent is not a kink. Consent is not a fetish. It is not an "option" you can choose to uncheck in a sexual relationship. If you don't have emphatic consent from your sex partner, then that is rape.

If you (Valentino) physically forced your partner, that is rape. If you (Stolas) extorted, coerced, or guilted your partner, that is rape. If you (Verosika and succubi / incubi) had to use external agents to alter your partners ability to make a clear headed choice, that is rape. If you (Blitz) engaged in sexual contact under false pretenses, that is rape.

It's actual canon rape, over and over again, character after character, and it never gets called out in show. It never earns the consequences it should. It's not funny, it's not cute, it's not kinky or hot or sexy. And Ozzy's piss-poor 18 second clip doesn't erase any of it.

It's normalized in the show and it serves no purpose, it's not trying to make some bold statement about or for victims. It's not some grandiose satirical comment on anything.

Again, I don't think less of fans for having their favorite character or characters. I don't think you're a bad person for liking the show. I will probably still watch the critical tag when new episodes drop. I'll leave all my posts up, I'm not deleting the blog, but I can't personally contribute to the fandom anymore. Not while Vivienne Medrano is the one creating the canon. I'm not wasting my breath or time on her vile trash.

And I know tumblr has been a far more constructive and accepting place for show criticism than other places online. I have seen some amazing takes, re-write ideas, fan-comics, character re-designs, theories and analyses here. Y'all are amazing, and this is not a critique on any of you, y'all keep doing you. Hope you guys continue to flourish, and I'm gonna try to do the same in spaces that make me happy.

...like TADC :)

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seulszn · 2 months

Note

Weren’t you that same person that’s started beef with seattleellie and elsweetheart? At the moment your such a fan and such a attention seeker all because your blog isn’t doing good like theirs, who gives a fuck about how you feel about things going on in this fandom your not some for that can just go around and say “oh I don’t like this so imma snap my fingers and change the outcome” the world doesn't evolve around you. I'm so tired of you black people get so sensitive over nothing it's not that serious grow up. And about that Palestine thing grow up boycotting isn't gonna do anything to “free them” you and everyone who is doing stupid childish shit called a week boycott is stupid you tend to us write stop that boycotting shit if your gonna do that then get off this app and leave the tag alone we want to to write.

Weren't y'all the same people that tried to silence me after I got r@pe and death threats and sat here and called me a attention seeker all because I was speaking on something that was important to the community? Weren't y'all the same people that sent death threats to innocent black writers because we told y'all how we don't like how y'all ain't inclusive? Weren't y'all the same ones trying to defend the “childlike reader” or that “innocent reader” or whatever the fuck y'all call that preverted shit? I'm not a attention seeker or a fan I could care less about those people bringing up old drama to try and bash me is funny and who cares if my blog isn't doing well I don't need followers or recognition to know if my work is doing good or not (yet like some people) in happy with my 100+ followers and I'm not gonna sit up here and play following Olympics with anybody. And I have the freedom to speak my mind on anything I don't like in a certain community but people need to stop being so ignorant and actually take into ignition that this fandom is so fucking shitty at the moment and your right the world doesn't evolve around me I never said that it did I'm not a stuck up bitch. And pooka your racism is showing “you black peope” baby their would be no world with out “you black people” we are the blueprint and no matter how much that makes you fume out the mouth it's just a honest truth. And we aren't sensitive speaking out about things that are wrong isn't being sensitive. If you support Isreal 🤢 just say that but I'm a Palestine supporting country always was and always will be you need to grow up instead of arguing with me about that and boycotting does do things your just to ignorant to see. And writer aren't your slaves we don't need to write just because you want us to that's actually a pretty cruel thing to say we don't get paid to write we are writing because we enjoy it it's something we like so if you have any genuine problem with us boycotting then that's on you

#bellaxellie #☆— mj speaks #ellie williams #the last of us #abby anderson #ellie william x reader #abby anderson x reader #tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie tlou2 #ellie x black!reader #black tumblr #free palestine

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kiwiana-writes · 6 months

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Weekend WIP Game

@welcometololaland has invented a new WIP game and we're all blessed for it.

Rules: List your WIPs below (if you only write one fic at a time, feel free to include future WIPs/ideas!) then answer the following questions. Then, tag as many people as you have WIPs (or more). (If you're an artist or other non-fic fandom creator, questions can be found here!)

1. WIP List: Sigh.

-The Last Five Years || The Next Five Years -The way we get into each other's bones [Angstapalooza RWRB Edition] -[Alex & Bea fake date] -[arranged marriage redux] -[Bodyswap] -[D&D flirting] -[fetlife lol] -[Findom] -[Hands free] -[Henry writes] -[Henry/Alex/Liam/Spencer] -[Hockey bf Henry] -[horny soulmates] -[Leverage AU] -[Orpheus and Eurydice] -[Rafael prequel] -[Shaan/Zahra] -[Vegas fuckup] -As sure as the dawn brings the sunrise -Auroras and sad prose -Buzzing through my veins -Chantilly lace and a pretty face -Climb up and meet the sky -Hold up, rewind, knock me off of my feet -Just one moon (and one golden sun) -Rafael is surrounded by disaster queers [Actor AU verse] -Secret Agent Raf 5+1 [Actor AU verse] -What's left of me in our little vignette -Years of dreams just can't be wrong

2. Which of your WIPs is currently the longest? The way we get into each other's bones [Angstapalooza RWRB Edition]

3. Which WIP do you expect will end up the longest? The Last Five Years || The Next Five Years - it's designed as a duology, so idk if each individual fic will beat out angstapalooza, but the duo definitely will, and y'all will want to read them together (unless you love pain I guess??)

4. Which WIP is your favourite to write/the most enjoyable to write? Why? It changes day to day but right now I have @clottedcreamfudge going fucking feral at me over [Hockey bf Henry] at any given hour of the day which definitely makes it really fun to just... write a snippet and immediately be shrieked at.

5. Which WIP do you find the most intimidating to write? Why? For some unknown reason, Years of dreams just can't be wrong which is the Anastasia AU?? I don't know why it's fucking with me so much, but it's very rude actually.

6. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about. Why? The way we get into each other's bones [Angstapalooza RWRB Edition] -- it's gonna be a balancing act in terms of not being gratuitous emotional pain etc

7. Which of your WIPs will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? Why? The long ones: The way we get into each other's bones [Angstapalooza RWRB Edition], The Last Five Years || The Next Five Years, [Leverage AU]. Maybe a few of the others depending on how the plot spins out.

8. Have any of your WIPs been struck by the curse of writer's block? ...have you seen the length of this list?

9. Which WIP has your favourite OC? Tell us about them? [Rafael prequel] is the only one that has any OC of substance right now lol

10. Which WIP is the sexiest? In terms of what is actually on the page right now, not what is planned to be written, it might actually be [Henry writes] right now.

11. Which WIP is the angstiest? The way we get into each other's bones [Angstapalooza RWRB Edition]

12. Which WIP has the best characterisation (in your humble opinion)? ...I mean I hope all of them lol. For fun let's say Chantilly lace and a pretty face

13. Which WIP has the best scene setting (in your humble opinion)? Climb up and meet the sky, the vintage plane fic my beloved.

14. Which WIP have you worked the hardest on? The way we get into each other's bones [Angstapalooza RWRB Edition], though Years of dreams just can't be wrong has given it a surprising run for its money.

15. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for? Why? The way we get into each other's bones [Angstapalooza RWRB Edition] -- I wrote a fic lovingly deemed angstapalooza for another fandom and people collectively lost their shit over it, so... idk I guess y'all love pain???

16. Do you dream about any of your WIPs? Yes. And then I wake up and can't remember enough to write it down and then I cry.

17. Do any of your WIPs have particular complexities that your other fics don't? Oh for sure! The Last Five Years || The Next Five Years has the non-chronological chapter order baked into the format, so making sure the chronology is right and that readers can follow where we're at is a complexity. [horny soulmates] has one of those worldbuilding things where the less thought you put into it as a reader the better because otherwise it's a Problem so trying to make sure it makes sense without being horrifying if you think about the real world implications is a balance lmao. What's left of me in our little vignette has some time-related fuckery. [Orpheus and Eurydice] is written in verse, so. You know.

18. Which WIP is the funniest or has the most humour? In terms of what's actually written right now, probably Hold up, rewind, knock me off of my feet? But I like to think they're all funny lol.

19. Do any of your WIPs contain outside POVs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? How are you finding that process? [Henry/Alex/Liam/Spencer] runs through all four listed POVs which is fun and also requires a lot of pondering about whose POV we have when for maximum impact. [Rafael prequel], Rafael is surrounded by disaster queers [Actor AU verse], Secret Agent Raf 5+1 [Actor AU verse] are all Rafael POV, but the latter two are actor AU verse so I have a bit more leeway -- the first one is is canon compliant, though, so teasing out the little info we get about him and building the timeline is a beast of a job. [Shaan/Zahra] is fully epistolary so doesn't technically have a POV I guess.

20. Tell us one thing we don't know about one or more of your WIPs. The way we get into each other's bones [Angstapalooza RWRB Edition] is a prologue + 10 chapters and all those chapters are titled already lol, because I've never approached something in a normal order in my life.

Definitely NOT tagging as many people as I have WIPs holy hell but let's go @affectionatelyrs @celaestis1 @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @daisymae-12 @dumbpeachjuice @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @hypnostheory @indomitable-love @inexplicablymine @lilythesilly @maxbegone @myheartalivewrites @nontoxic-writes @orchidscript @rmd-writes @sherryvalli @smc-27 @sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @suseagull04 @tintagel-or-cockleshells

#wip ask game #weekend wip game #kiwiana-writes

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future-boi · 5 months

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Get To Know Me Tag Game!

Thanks to @mythical-bookworm and @alex-a-fans for tagging me.

tbh this is just a song rec list LMAO [easier to open in a browser fyi]

1) Spell your name in songs

Y'all get two for the price of one cuz I couldn't decide if I wanted to go with all non-English songs or not.

The non-English songs are labeled with 🧋 in case you wanna avoid 🤪

Warning: Most of the songs in english have swear words so... just in case u got kids or ur strict parents around LMAO.

⚡️ F: Fighter Not a Lover

aro/ace people gonna love that shit ^ + no swear words

alt: fml u fucked me up

⚡️ U: URARA🧋

It translates to 'Oo-la-la', which I now realize is the magazine Biff was carrying around in the second movie... this was unintentional and the meaning of the song is very wholesome, trust me

alt: Upside Down

⚡️ T: this was a demo for this one song...

That one's like 50% f-bombs ^ i love it

alt: Toxic but its NOT Brittany, B*tch 💅

The most aggressive entry on this list

⚡️ U: Up Up and Away

The only f-bomb is in the second verse

alt: Unmei no Roulette Mawashite 🧋

'unmei' means 'destiny' so you know I had to include it

⚡️ R: Raining in Manila (half 🧋)

Couple of dudes just vibin' out in the studio, what's not to love?

alt: RAHHHH

^im convinced this is what suburbanites see in their nightmares

⚡️ E: Electricity (half 🧋)

alt: Extensyon

Both make up the most WHOLESOME entry in this

⚡️ -(hyphen): Hatid Sundo 🧋

Baby. Baby boi. Baby. vibes ^

alt: Hell to Sell

EVIL. vibes ^

🚫🧢 I have a problem with tonal whiplash. Did I cheat and use the hyphen to include the most wholesome and cute song right before pulling out the lowkey most scandalous song in the list? YES.

Just realized it doesn't work as well if you can't understand it, but trust me. I mean just listening to its vibes is enough 😩

⚡️ B: Balik Sa Umpisa 🧋

Any song that samples/remixes 'Stand By Me' is a W in my book.

alt: Bodybag

I'm just self-reporting at this point.

Ok the rest are very wholesome songs I swear

⚡️ O: Oretachi Rookies 🧋

alt: Oh, Imagine That

ok this one's tied for most wholesome in the list

⚡️ I: I/Me/Myself

gnc/nb people gonna love this shit ^

alt: I Really Like You

that was a struggle, R is the top pick to check out imo. E, O and I are the wholesome ones with no swear words if u care.

2) Why did you choose your URL?

Its based. ..off the song in the musical. I got back into the fandom because of the musical so I owe it that much. 'boi' sounds more gender-neutral than 'boy'

3) What is your middle name?

That's a secret!

4) If you could be any mythical creature, what would you be?

Shapeshifter.

5) Favorite color?

Purple. Lavender/Periwinkle specifically.

6) Song you love right now?

What? 🧋 The amount of crackhead energy, but genuine emotion... AND AESTHETIC. it was literally made for me LMAO Ken is so aggro but hes singing about not littering. like why is he so intimidating-- but i support the eco-friendly king. but fr the song is about waving ur flag with pride??? PRIDE???? and they look androgynous asf??? whats not to love

7) Top four fandoms? (Current Fandoms?)

Back to the Future

That's it

jk uhhh, Invincible

Thats it, dont wanna get into past fandoms rn

8) Tag nine people

mf u think i know 9 people??

im playin, lemme tag some cool people... not that u have to do this, i just wanted to bother u 🤪 but feel free to do it, i wanna hear other music 🥺🥺🥺

⚡️ @maxintime LOVE UR ART STYLE. BEEN TOO SHY TO BOTHER U THO 😭

⚡️ @jowritesfanfiction my inspo, my density, ILY. Im never shy bout bothering u in my posts HAVE U GOTTEN THE RESTRAINING ORDER AGAINST ME YET 🤪🤪😭😭😭 ive tagged this mf in every other post istg

⚡️ @moth-makay ur great frfr 😭😭 all the hugs. r u gonna post more art??? cuz u shouuuld 🥺

⚡️ @bttf-dork ur name and pfp give comfy vibes??? its very endearing. dunno how to describe it, but i like seeing u in my notifs 🥰 bUT UR ART DOHHH. immaculate. underrated.

⚡️ @pepsifox88 i hope u continue to cook ✨ everyone go and GIVE THEM SUPPORT, I AM NO LONGER ASKING

and to the rest of u, thank u for liking a bunch of my work, whenever i see long lists of likes like that, or if i see ur name often 'nuff, i always notice 😇, i never know how to say thank you!!

@leftoverspagehhti

@karorurodriguez

@epikprinc

@mapleflavedpepperoni

@xmaster3000

@jayisnotdrawing

@jackofthecards

@ectojester

@cat0marble

Didn't include everyone, but just know that i noticed you!!! 💝

watch me get reported for harassment by all these people 😂

#music

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barnesafterglow · 1 year

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yes, you heard that right, i'm fucking back. and i'm going to make it everyone's problem.

in all seriousness, i know i've been gone for quite some time now, even before my "official" leaving, but life has changed pretty drastically since then. i've got a new job i love, i'm planning a wedding, and overall i'm just in a much better place than i was before. hopefully, that means you're stuck with me for the foreseeable future

so to welcome myself back (and assure myself that i do in fact deserve attention) i've decided to host a little sleepover. this bitch is gonna last from today until whenever i stop getting asks tbh bc timelines are for losers and posers.

- classic sleepover games such as: fmk (don't y'all do me dirty), top 5, would you rather, etc etc

- moodboards: send me a character + vibe/song/etc and i'll make a lil somethin

- drabbles/headcanons: send me a request and i'll whip up a couple hundred words of pure goodness (re: insanity)

- recs: rec me songs, books, fics, etc, or ask me for my own!

- ask me about any of my current wips (caution: there at least 100 of them). alternatively, send me a number 1-78 and i'll tell you about my unhinged fic ideas that are not yet written

- cupid shuffle: i'll give you song recs from my everyday playlist

- love letters: mutuals only. i will wax poetic about my deep rooted love for each and every one of you

- give me any of your hottest takes or unpopular opinions, or ask about mine!

- ask me anything from my writing process, what i've been reading lately, or just any questions about me in general (bc i am very interesting and cool)

tagging some mutuals bc i have missed y'all

@demxters @itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare @sweetdreamsbuck @petal-veined @scrumptious-delusion @treatbuckywkisses @smokeinherperfume @imaginearyparties @inklore @lilacletter @abovethesmokestacks @bucky-barmes @jen-with-a-pen @thornsnvultures @navybrat817 @fandoms-writings @writing-for-marvel @aphrogeneias

#vibes for this are “she's unhinged”#she's back sleepover

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snickerdoodlles · 13 days

Note

For the author ask thing L and M? ❤️

ooohh choosing violence i see, i approve 😂❤

L. favourite fic of yours?

gonna throw you a curveball here. while i love the question choices, i also don't want to tag someone with a post that's gushing about their story and then in the same breath talk about something i don't like. so! as you all know, i've been into KimChay for A Hot Min, so let's take a min to gush over one of my favorite lil fics that's been around since the beginning of the BOC airing:

reverence is a little collection of KimChay vignettes. it's what i would consider 'old' KimChay fandom because it has a lot of influence from the Filmania kp trailer and novel versions of them, but it still largely reads as Kim and Chay and everything's little snapshots that can be as connected or unconnected as you want to read them (ft the occasional AU chucked in for flavoring). i really like vignettes so it's very happy days for me whenever i feel like dipping my toes back into this fic for a reread 🤗

M. least favourite fic of yours?

i'm not gonna trash talk anyone's fic here, something that's not for me can just be not read by me, and that's that. so! instead i'm gonna call this the continuation of the Kim tea ask, because there was one important take i completely forgot about when answering that question lol:

☕ fic that shit talks WDYS

this includes: every damn fic that had some variation of Chay saying "YOU WERE THE ONE THAT LEFT". tell me you didn't pay attention to the lyrics without telling me you didn't pay attention to the lyrics. Jeff did not pour his blood sweat tears and more into that song for y'all to dismiss it like this. BOC did not completely rework Kim's storyline to include music so that he sung this to Chay as an apology for this. also, similar weird take that goes hand-in-hand with the dismissals: Kim did not """"steal Chay's song"""" -- WDYS is the song they literally worked on together. Kim is helping Chay write it on screen. Kim finishing it as an apology to Chay to explain Why He's Like This is a really good step towards a reconciliation between the two of them actually.

i just. aurgh. it's a fantastic song that is basically the thesis statement of kinnporsche: the series, for all three pairings, and it's just really annoying to see yet another fic ignore all of that to play off the one english line for a cheap shot at Kim. ik a decent chunk of my irritation here is the number of stories vs any story specifically, and it's not like there's ever a limit on how many times a concept will be used, but. ugh. i do not care for it At All.

[fic author asks]

#kinnporsche #tea asks #it's funny to go from LOOK AT THIS SHINY to ARGH tea 😂#but yeah following up the reverence author im about 98% sure they deleted their tumblr so we should be all good there 🤞#generally i try not to get actually heated about fandom takes i disagree with but the WYDS nonsense starts tapping into like #dismissing the actual song and intent behind it #and as someone who *really loves* listening to musicians inspiration behind songs and the story behind that song in particular #those fic/fandom takes go beyond Take I Dont Agree With to Stop Disrespecting Actual People's Work #i think we all made that joke at some point when we first watched it because there was just the one line in english but like.#once the english translation was out. [s i g h s]#ANYWAYS

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lamaenthel · 6 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

thank you for tagging me @ahsokathegray !!<3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

25!

2. What's your total A03 word count?

231k lmaoooo when did that happen I feel like I've been in a fugue state since February

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Star Wars (and technically, TECHNICALLY The Matrix but it's a Star Wars AU fusion lmao)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Porg Eyes, Princess For A Year, Ram'ser'ika, Better Than Nothing, The Contingency

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes every single one omfg I love everyone

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Well, Soft Dark Nothing is Ahsoka and Rex on the moon right after The Tribunal crashed so by default it's gotta be her (rip Jesse my beloved)

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

Not Bad ends up with Snips n Skyguy going to Biscuit Baron lmao

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet but I live in fear every day especially since I'm dipping my toe in the Republic Commandos pond and I know the girlies are passionate

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do and it's ridiculously graphic HAHAHA no but there's a reason I haven't posted any Rexsoka smut. Makin y'all wait for it until they COMMIT, gotta keep that tension in there somewhere uwu. But wlw, mlw, mlm, aliens and cyborgs gonna work their way in there eventually (?) I have Not Out Loud, which is an mlm fic with Boba tying up Cal and facefucking him (Kesett nation rise)

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Go Ask Ahsoka is the Matrix crossover that I wrote for AU August which I will eventually update lmfao

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No but I would cry

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not like… technically but Erika is my beta and my bestie and she comes up with amazing ideas and lets me play with her OCs so honestly she counts (ilu)

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Rexsoka 💙🧡, closely followed by Anidala (burning down the galaxy for a single person is objectively WRONG but also hot)

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Well Do Not Go Gentle is a huge fucking project that I HOPE I finish one day

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm pretty good at action. I enjoy it which helps lmao

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I get really ahead of myself laying out hints and red herrings which I then forget about (Princess For A Year especially is the worst about this, I am so sorry for all of those hints about Sylen being a pretend Mandalorian I fucked up so bad with that one but I'm going to rewrite it eventually to bring back a bunch of my dropped subplots)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I enjoy it and do so regularly. Mando'a nuhur'shya ni ru'kar'tayli. And it makes my brain work in unexpected ways, it's like a puzzle trying to figure out the wacky ass baby's-first-conlang grammar that is Karen's creation (what the fuck kind of language doesn't have a passive voice)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

OKAY OKAY TECHNICALLY, TECHNICALLY????? It was the Lion King. I was in first grade and we had to write a little storybook and illustrate the pages they gave us with crayons and my story was How Simba Lost His Mane lmfaoooo

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

I have poured my whole heart, soul, brain, and pussy into Tivaevae pls read it it's longer than The Hobbit

no pressure tags: @soliloquy-of-nemo, @tangledlichen, @ink-in-books, @hannah-schooler

#tag game #LOOK MA I DO ACTUALY REMEMBERED TO DO ONE OF THESE #rexsoka #kesett #my writing

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Pink Scarf - PART 17 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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! 👀💋

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!)

“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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