#Will hopefully be posting soon but the last time I said that it was kinda a lie so I won't make any promises

[celestiallights515]

Snippet 1.4

Previous

The next morning, Henchman sat in the infirmary of Villain's Headquarters, the atmosphere as thick as smoke. Henchman figured Villain let slip to someone what they were planning to do the Henchman as a punishment for what they'd done, or maybe even details of how they'd be tortured or killed, or maybe even thrown out for the heroes to round up like a stray dog, most likely with their tongue cut out and hands broken so they didn't stand a chance at revealing anything they'd learned about Villain

They didn't really know anything useful for the heroes anyway. They knew Villain's favorite color (dark blue), favorite foods (anything with chocolate), allergies (blueberries), their least favorite movie genre (horror) and a couple other things they picked up from being around Villain so much.

They learned why Villain didn't get on well with their parents (they very much had a favorite child and it wasn't Villain) and what'd brought on their anger towards the Hero Agency once Villain brought them into their confidence, sure, but they didn't know much more about plans then the average civilian--that would be Right Hand. Their actual duties consisted of watching over supplies, managing other henchmen and keeping an eye on the overall workings of Headquarters.

Henchman hoped that taking down Hero would make Villain proud of them. Would make them allow Henchman into their inner circle and bring them into their confidence. They'd hoped to get as close to Villain as Right Hand--closer, after bringing down Hero. And instead, they'd suffered two humiliating defeats (and several broken ribs).

It all came to a head when Medic came in to check on Henchman's stitches. in addition to the blunt force trauma of being thrown through a window and into a wall, glass shards stuck into their back and left jagged, stinging wounds that oozed blood well into the night. Henchman sat on their cot, facing away from Medic as their wounds were inspected and re-dressed, and even then they could feel the hesitation Medic's hands, which were usually sure and quick.

Silence hung in the room like a dead man.

"What are they gonna do?" Henchman asked in a croaky voice, just barely above a whisper.

Medic paused. Considered. "What?"

"Villain. What are they gonna do to me?"

Again, they were met with silence. Henchman was sure the stress was worse than any answer Medic could've given until... Medic laughed. They laughed. It wasn't a snort or a scoff, or even a giggle--and they didn't even try to hide it! Medic stepped back for a moment, cackling as Henchman's stomach dropped. Of all the answers they were expecting, that was one they hadn't prepared for in the slightest.

"Oh, God, I needed that. You're hysterical."

"I'm being serious!" Henchman whirled around half way before the agony from the mess that somehow made up their abdomen sent lightning-hot reminders of why that was a horrible idea.

"Stop it, you're gonna hurt yourself," Medic scolded lightly, laughter still dancing in their eyes. "Have you really been stressed about that the whole time?"

"YES!" Henchman was near screaming now, though they weren't sure if it was ager or confusion that raised their voice. "Why wouldn't I be? Did you see how furious Villain was before they left? And I haven't seen them since. I left without permission and acted without orders; they have every reason to be upset. And everyone and everything's been so quiet today, it's like I've been handed down a death sentence."

Medic cleared their throat and the last embers of amusement flickered out. "Yeah, well, you're right about that, but you're not the one in danger. Or at least, you weren't when it mattered."

The tone of Medic's voice was dead serious--terrifying--and didn't help the growing pit of anxiety that had hunkered down in Henchman's stomach. They felt like they were going to pass out, woozy and dizzy and like the world was tipping out from under them.

A sharp snap under their nose anchored them a little more steadily to the bed they were sitting on, Medic having circled around the cot to look Henchman in the eyes. "You're fine, relax. The rest of us weren't supposed to tell you because it was bad, even for Villain, but I don't think you're in for anything more than a slap on the wrist, and neither does anyone else."

And they wouldn't understand that even if Henchman wasn't going to be killed, as thankful for that as they were, even a slap on the wrist as Medic said would destroy everything Henchman had been working towards. Everything they'd been hoping for. They should've known going into the fight that they were putting Villain's trust in them on the line, and they had--to a point.

They never expected they would fail as horribly as they did, nor that Villain would react with the kind of quiet fury usually reserved for their rare interactions with heroes or other members of the Agency itself. They hadn't expected to be sent to the infirmary the way that they were, or to be teleported directly to it from an alley just off the main scene of the fight after barely getting away.

And what they really weren't expecting was what hurt most: The fact that Villain had put them here and walked off without another word. They'd spoken in their office, but beyond that, there wasn't even a threatening note, or a warning given through Medic. They'd been effectively put in time out, knowing what might be coming but not having enough confidence to really prepare themselves one way or another.

“Hey, what did I just say?” Medic says, this time with annoyance in their tone. “Even if I don’t know the details, I know you’re gonna be fine, okay? You’re gonna be fine, and I don’t think you’re clocking Villain’s feelings towards what you did to Hero as correctly as you think you are, yeah?”

Their assessment was fair, if not a little stinging. They’d never been good at reading people, but they’d hoped Villain was the exception. Even with their monotone voice and often stony demeanor, Henchman knew how tired they were in a glance after a fight; knew when to call for Medic or coffee or let them get straight to their personal rooms and block everyone else from entering–something Right Hand was usually supposed to do. 

The entire night, they’d tried not to deliberate too much on Right Hand. They’d tried to ignore the stinging jealousy of the fact that there was already someone that was so close to Villain they could almost read their thoughts. They knew Villain kept a certian amount of professionalism and distance between themselves and Right Hand that didn’t seem to be present between Villain and Henchman, but most liekly because it wasn’t seen as necessary. They weren’t close enough for it to matter in the first place. 

“Okay,” Henchman murmured, and one look at Meidc’s face made it clear to even them that they didn’t beleive them for a second. Nevertheless, Medic stepped away. 

“Okay,” they echoed, with much more confidence. “You seem to be healing well, all things considered, and I have other patients I need to take care of, so I’m going to leave you here, okay? Try not to freak out too much on me, yeah?”

Henchman gave a weak nod, and an even weaker smile. They were sure that Medic could see them spiraling form the outside, but if they did, they didn’t say anything about it. “Yeah.”

Next

Tagging: @nameless-beanie @crow-with-a-typewriter @mylovelyme (If you wanted to be tagged and weren't please just poke me with a stick)

#heroes and villains #short story #snippet #villains and heroes #villain #writing snippet #henchman #villain x henchman #supervillian #TW injury #Henchman got their ass beat (again) #This one got a little out of hand #hope it was worth the wait #Will hopefully be posting soon but the last time I said that it was kinda a lie so I won't make any promises #Meant to post this yesterday but my internet was down for some reason #choose your own adventure #SPOILER: hero got their ass beat too

[fire0nfire]

king of my heart | smau

pairings: lando norris x fem!reader | pato o'ward x fem!reader

summary: y/n is an F1 content creator loved among the grid and the fans, and more than one person ships her with lando due to how close they've always been. but when y/n goes to her first IndyCar race, the last thing she expects is being involved in rumours with another mclaren driver.

warnings: love triangle? kinda.

author's note: i might turn this into a mini series but i'll see how it goes. btw english it's not my first language so if there's any grammatical error please let me know so i can fix it, ty🧡 now enjoy!

part 1 | part 2

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

yourusername posted to their story!

[caption 1; it's indycar weekend in Long Beach, babyyyy!] [caption 2; time for practice and snacks🌞]

patriciooward

liked by indycar, zbrownceo, yourusername, and 83,527 others!

patriciooward INDY500 colors and back in the streeetz🤩

user1 lookin' goooood🔥

arrowmclaren it'll look even better with confetti covering it😉 user2 admin knows a win is coming!! 💪

user3 Este es tu año, cabrón! VAMOOOOS 🇲🇽

user4 is it a requirement to be handsome to drive in mclaren? cause daaaamn

user5 same girl, same

yourusername black is the new papaya fr 🔥 can't wait for tomorrow!

patriciooward hopefully you'll be wearing #5 user6 OMG?!?!!!??? yourusername can't show favoritism! i'm a professional, sir patriciooward it can be our secret then 😉 user7 OH MY- HELLOOOOO? user8 landonorris come get your girl bro!!! user9 omfg mr o'ward i wasn't familiar with your game user10 y/n sweety, wrong mclaren driver landonorris 🤨 user11 she really said i want a mclaren, don't care which one😭 user12 and she's so real for that

user13 let's goooo Pato!! 🦆🧡

user14 y/n and pato's exchange?? NEW SHIP HAS ARRIVED!

user15 i feel like i'm betraying my roots but pato and y/n would be the it couple fr user16 SO TRUE user17 pato and lando deserve sooo much better.

user18 NOT LANDO REPLYING TO THE COMMENT 😂😂

user19 f1twt is about to have a blast with this one 🍿 user20 they already have #teampato and #teamlando hashtags going on 😭😭

yourusername posted to their story!

[caption 1; preparation for ✨qualy day✨] [caption 2; that's how you arrive in style]

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, alexanderrossi, shelovesformula1, and 76,088 others!

yourusername First IndyCar race ✅ can't explain how incredible this weekend was! I’ve had the pleasure of chatting to so many cool people, discovering so much about this series and meeting so many of you! 🧡 can't wait to show you everything soon 😘

user1 what a babeeeee 😍

frosenqvist so great to meet you! hope you come to another one again soon! 🏁

arrowmclaren we second this! user2 she's an indy girl now 😎 tkanaan especially after all the fun we had last night😜 yourusername oh i'll definitely come back for more races (and parties ofc🙊) user3 she's part of the family now! love to see it user4 mclaren team 🤝 us: being in love with y/n

user5 PATO INTERVIEW??!! WE WON

lissiemackintosh so happy to have met you!! 💖

yourusername can't wait to see u again 🥹 user6 MY FAVES 🤩🤩 user7 girls supporting girls 💞 user8 we need a colab!

landonorris y/n get out of there. That's not your family!

carlossainz55 y/n please hurry, the kid has missed you maxverstappen1 y/n please hurry, we can't stand him anymore maxfewtrell y/n please hurry, he gets whiny when you're not around alex_albon y/n please hurry, oscar is about to commit crime oscarpiastri that is correct, so please y/n hurry landonorris when i asked y'all to back me up, this is NOT what i meant 🙄 yourusername if it helps at all, i've miss you all 🫶 (except Lando) landonorris i hate y'all fr user9 this is the kind of content i pay my internet bill for 😂

user10 literal queen 👑

user11 she couldn't become lando's wag so now she goes to indy to try to find a man lol such a clout chaser

user12 girl stfu she's literally just doin her job user13 try not to sound so bitter next time 💋 user14 get a life, hater

user15 MOTHER IS MOTHERING

user16 i don't think we're talking enough about that last photo

user17 RIGHT?! Y/N X PATO LET'S GOO user18 nah y/n x lando >>>>>>>>

patooward Indy looks good on you 💯 i wonder who took that amazing first pic

yourusername credits to you, amateur😘 user19 you can't convince me they're not flirting user20 i truly don't know if i wanna be pato or y/n... i only know i'd hate to be lando rn 😭 user21 y/n and lando are the endgame user22 Y/N X PATO TILL THE END

landonorris posted to his story!

[caption; safe and sound where she belongs]

sooo.... y'all want part 2?

#kingofmyheart #lando norris #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris f1 #f1 content creator #lando norris imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 social media au #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #f1 fanfiction #pato o'ward #pato o'ward x reader #pato o'ward x y/n #pato o'ward x you #pato o'ward imagine #indycar social media au #indycar #f1 #formulaone #pato o'ward fanfic #indycar fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #female!reader

[hihello-pinky]

part one ,, last part

i’m still stuck on Sight part 4 but heyyy i got kinda inspired to make this pt 2.

will post part 3 hopefully before the year ends lol.

not edited/written at 3am

8:50 PM

suna watches as osamu guides you out of the restaurant with a hand on your lower back. he hears atsumu whistle across him. “i swear to god, if my idiot of a brother won’t make a move on y/n, i will.”

he resists shaking his head, knowing that atsumu already has eyes on someone else, but he doesn’t bring it up. instead, his brows furrow, concern about you starting to cloud his mind.

he’s always been observant of you. it was only after he began dating hani that he started to spend less time looking at you. that was a few months ago and yet, he wonders why he wasn’t able to tell that you were feeling unwell.

“are you okay, love?” hani asks beside him, breaking him out of his reverie.

“yeah…”

something passes along her face but he’s not able to catch it and what it can mean. instead, hani gives his hand a squeeze. he knows it’s meant to be reassuring but to suna, it feels as if he’s being held back from running towards something that he has always wanted.

QUESTIONS

suna always looked forward to practice and to say it’s purely because of volleyball would be a lie. sure, he loved the sport, but his excitement towards practice was amplified by something else – the thought of seeing you.

he wasn’t sure when he began to develop feelings for you that crossed the boundaries of platonic friendship. maybe it’s the way that whenever you would pass by their room, you’d look through the window and give him your sweet smile. maybe it’s the way you would always scold the twins during lunch whenever they get engrossed in their banter rather than eating. maybe it’s the way you would tie up your hair in a messy ponytail during practice, hands busy scribbling down notes on your manager’s pad.

suna wasn’t sure but by the beginning of sophomore year, he knew in his heart that he liked you.

on that particular day, you arrived at the gym a few minutes late and he was surprised to see that you weren’t alone. another girl was with you. as you introduced to the team that she’s your friend from student council, he could feel her curious eyes on him.

hani nakamura was her name, you said.

that day after practice, he noticed you and hani pass by the convenience store where he and the twins stopped by at. he immediately but subtly went ahead outside, only to see a glimpse of you blushing as you talked to hani.

he couldn’t help but think that the two of you were probably talking about boys, hence your blush. isn’t that what girls do? that night, when he got home, suna began playing scenarios in his head on how best to confess to you.

8:55

“i’m tired,” hani says softly as she rests her head on his shoulders. it snaps suna out of his thoughts, a reminder that he’s already dating the girl beside him, who, unlike you, will never play with his feelings.

he strokes her hair gently. “should we go?”

her response is a pout and a cutely-said “yes please.”

around him, his teammates fake barfing. “you two lovebirds are so cheesy! get out of here!”

suna is unable to resist his smirk as he shakes his head. “we’ll go ahead. y’all better also leave soon before you get wasted.” to atsumu he says, “except you, idiot, since you’re already wasted.”

hani giggles beside him as she links her arm with his. they both walk towards the parking lot, hani excitedly talking about everyone’s reactions when they told them about their relationship.

once they reach his car, hani murmurs, “oh no…”

“what?” suna’s instantly alert, “what’s the matter?”

hani looks at him sheepishly as she says, “i need to run to the restroom. sorry, love. be right back!”

suna exhales in relief and smiles. “okay. be careful. i’ll start heating up the car.” he waits for her to disappear from his view before he turns towards his car but before he could open the door, something catches his eyes.

it’s you inside osamu’s car, legs bent towards your chest, body shaking. and though he can’t hear it, he knows you’re crying.

he feels a little pain by his chest as he resists the urge to run to you, to comfort you and ask what’s wrong and to just make sure that you’ll be okay.

instead, he shakes his head and refocuses on his car but not after mumbling to himself, “stupid osamu and his non-tinted windows.”

EXPECTATIONS

it felt as if the universe was against suna’s plan of confessing his feelings to you. whenever he tried to get you alone after practice, something comes up and then either you or he would need to go ahead.

it was beginning to frustrate him. it didn’t help that on your non-busy days, your friend, hani, was always tagging along. after the first time, hani’s visits during their practice frequented and it soon became apparent to suna how close the two of you had become.

an idea suddenly came to suna.

since hani was close to you and it seemed as if she would never leave your side, what if he befriended her? maybe she could even give insights on and help with his confession.

he didn’t let the thought sit too long in his head; by the next time hani accompanied you to practice, suna started a random conversation. this would soon mark the beginning of their friendship.

suna admittedly only talked to hani in hopes of getting help confessing to you but what he didn’t expect was for him to actually get along well with her. once their friendship had reached a comfortable level, he finally decided to open up to her.

what he didn’t expect was the words that would leave hani’s mouth. “oh, suna-senpai, are you sure? i’m not sure if it’s my place to say, but…”

she was looking at him with sympathetic eyes, making suna feel foolish as he replayed what he had shared – about his changing feelings at the beginning of the school year, about the hints you’ve been dropping to him for the past months.

he awkwardly scratched at his nape. “well?”

hani bit her lip. “y/n-senpai actually likes someone in the volleyball team. you’re actually very close to him, maybe that’s why she was being too close to you as well…”

the end of her sentence was blurry to suna as he watched across the court how you playfully interacted with osamu.

suna’s eyes hardened as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “i see.”

11:42

suna couldn’t fall asleep. it’s been a few hours since he dropped hani off at their house but he’s still wide awake, his eyes fixed on the dull ceiling of his room.

thoughts of you swarm his mind.

after that conversation with hani many months ago, his treatment towards you never changed. he was mad at first but then realized that what you did to him had the same intention as why he even approached hani in rhe first place; the stark difference being he didn’t intend to toy with the girl’s heart.

nonetheless, he let the matter go. you were all still young and stupid anyway, and at the same time, he got too pre-occupied with his budding relationship with hani.

still, it bothered him. the sight of you sobbing in osamu’s car wouldn’t leave his mind. what could have happened to make you have a breakdown like that?

he contemplated on sending you or osamu a message just for his peace of mind and before he can decide who to text, his phone rings.

his eyes widened once he saw your contact id. he stared at it for a few more seconds before swiping right.

“y/n?”

“… hey, suna. i didn’t think you’d pick up.”

he hated how you sound stuffy but chose not to comment on it. “well… what’s up?”

a barely-concealed sniffle. “c-can we talk?”

“okay, sure. go ahead.”

“no, i mean in person. the 12th convenience store?”

he smiled at the mention of the place. “okay. see you in a few.”

“see you.”

once you hang up, suna dropped his phone on the bed and immediately went to get his favorite hoodie.

the same hoodie that you’ve been asking for him to give to you ever since he let you borrow it on one rainy afternoon.

#haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #suna rintarou #haikyuu fic #haikyuu!! #suna angst #suna rintarou angst #suna x reader

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Prologue

Jasper Hale x Reader

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None for this chapter [this also isn’t beta’d so bear with me]

Notes: it took me so long to work up the courage to actually post my first work, so enjoy! I’ll be over here anxiously awaiting your thoughts.

Word Count: 705

Series Masterlist

A clear horizon. An orange sunset fading into vivid pinks and purples as the atmosphere darkens in preparation for the night. Evening sun warming your face, the space around you drifting into silence as calm settles into your bones, time halting its ever constant forward march, no thoughts or worries.

That’s what it felt like, the moment my eyes met Jasper Hale’s. Like I was done searching for what my heart was in need of as soon as I glanced into those golden pools of his.

• January 24th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

Based on the non-stop gossip floating around this microscopic high school, I’m the newest kid on the block. Dethroning the most recent to wear the title, Bella Swan, the Police Chief’s daughter.

Now, I’m not opposed to the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State, but Forks could strive to be a little more than a one-stoplight town and add a few more amenities. This big city Texas girl needs a little more than Forks Outfitters - the one stop shop for food, basic clothing, and hardware.

I left Dallas because my mom needed me here, my dad didn’t want to trade sunshine and big ranches for rain and freezing temperatures. They’re happily divorced, but I can tell that over time it’s worn her down. I’m just a junior in high school, but I guess she and I can navigate this together.

God, let there be cute boys at this high school, I’m begging you.

I was almost immediately accosted by what I deemed the welcoming committee the moment I locked the door to my car and began the dreaded ‘new kid’ trek to the front office of Forks High School. Stares came from anyone loitering in the parking lot before class while this overly-excited kid, who introduced himself as Eric Yorkie, began what had to be a well rehearsed ‘anything you need’ spiel.

All hopes of flying under the radar halfway through junior year vanished into thin air and I hadn’t even made it to the sidewalk yet.

“Eric? I really appreciate your help and concern, but I was hoping to kinda just glide in on my first day and blend in.” I said as we walked together through the wet parking lot, dodging the bigger puddles so I wouldn't soak my shoes before I got to my first class of the day.

“Oh that’s pretty much impossible here, newcomers are always the only thing everyone talks about. Don’t be scared to hit me up with questions later though, good luck!” Shouting that last part as he dashed off to class, turning the heads of a few close students.

A deep sigh passed my lips as I trudged on, pulling open the heavy door to the administration office. It’s nice to have someone offer help on my first day, I just wish this town was big enough so that I could get lost on everyone’s list of priorities to gossip about or stare at.

Today is going to be a long day.

“Good morning dear!” A sweet older woman announced from behind the central desk in the front office. The name plate in front of her reading ‘Administrative Secretary Shelly Cope’.

“Good morning Miss Cope. I’m Y/n Y/l/n, here to pick up my class schedule and hopefully a map of the place?” I said, cutting to the chase. The front office is a giant fish bowl to the students walking by outside, no one wants to spend more time than necessary here on their first day.

“Oh yes! I’ve got it all printed out and ready to go for ya dear, along with your locker assignment.” She says with a smile, passing the papers across her desk. “Let me know if you have any questions or if you need help with anything!”

“Yes ma’am, thank you!” I responded, half reading my new schedule - half aware of where I was going as I press a shoulder to the exit.

First period Biology

Second period English

Third period Spanish

Fourth period Trigonom-

The front office door smacks straight into an unsuspecting, gorgeous, golden-eyed fellow student, sending the papers clutched in my hands to the ground.

Next

#jasper hale x reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #jasper whitlock hale #jasper hale fanfiction #twilight #twilight fanfiction #reader insert #slow burn #bless-my-demons #redamancy series

[polariae]

Hi my loves!

So I would like to inform u of some problems about the fanfic Savior i am Co working on and the truth on how my Fanfic Ideas of my OC Izumi x Geto got taken advantage of. And how the tragectory of everything went on. From the start to the reason why I wanted her to stop/delete my FF.

As u know I have had my OC Izumi for some years now as a staple in my artworks and I got so much love and curiosity from yall to know more about her. I ofc had a whole backstory in my mind already fleshed out from the start for Izumi, since i just love to make up stories and backgrounds for OC characters. Its just something that comes naturally and all my maladapive daydream girlies will know exactly what im talkin about 😂 and after so many DMs about wanting to know more about her i was like, a fanfic would be amazing to do!

The problem was, English is not my first or second language and I just didnt had the means to bring my thoughts rightly to paper. I also am really invested in drawing here and that takes up all my freetime already. So i had no time or skills to make this FF work.

Thats how I came across a tumblr user who had open a requests on her page so I dmed her. I liked her other work she made with Geto (even tho it was kinda brutal) i liked her writing style a lot. So I asked her if she would like to write this story with me. We agreed that I would give her my ideas and she would write it. I saw her as a friend and trusted her.

But soon she wanted to add and change things up, she said that thats how it is with co writing and thats just how its gonna be. I was okay with that at first, since the changes were sometimes beneficial and it was fun to brainstorm with her. It was clear that this was my vision and any changes had to get through me. We both agreed on that but I was naïve and let myself get talked into things. I just wanted her to keep writing and was dependent for her collaboration.

For anyone who read the FF: The character Kai was never planned by me, it was a character she wanted to have in it, hes someone who abused Izumi in her captivity. He was like the prisonguard of her. I was like okay fine u can add him but i said from the beginning that I do not want him to touch Izumi in a sexual way.

I shouldve known immediately that things will go south as the writer said she wanted to add sexual abuse in it.

I was very reluctant but I sensed how she spoke that she wouldnt wanna write further so I agreed in just very mild things, which already were awful enough but i tried to make the best out of her wishes. Since she was insisting. And i hoped that if id agree to this mild things that that would be it and hopefully not picked up further in the story and at last forgotten by the readers.

My only thing i always said was: I dont want to have any of this abuse to interfere with Izumis and Getos relationship. That was a big thing since I wanted them to have a romantic and loving relationship further on. The NSFW scenes were planned to be sweet, and sensual especially cuz Geto wouldve been all Izumi knew sexually and her first (and Geto is just peak hotness and perfect for that) Izumi should enjoy her firsts with Geto fully.

Going on she started to change more things.. and it got further and further away from how Izumi and all was. She started to change Izumi and her personality. Shes so far off of what I pictured her to be and what was discussed. But that wasnt the worst thing.

Then the writer just started to take things to new levels, Izumi having to be forced to suck Kai off for food, Kai fingering her to her orgasm against her will etc.

Pls know that she just posted the chapters without informing me, so i always tried to talk her into removing these scenes but to no avail.

Boiling point was now the latest chapters cuz she made Izumi have panic attack and flashbacks. Worst, she made her having one as Geto and Izumi tried to take things further in the bedroom. She made Izumi think of Kai and her sexual abuse. Tormenting Izumi with memories of Kai sexually abusing her when Geto was touching her. Its awful.

And that was what made me just so so sad. Cuz Kai wasnt even supposed to be in the story at all. And now exactly what I didnt wanted happened. At this point i wasnt even invested anymore in the story cuz it just wasnt enjoyable to read about all this mess. Izumi was snappy, her personality is weird and unpleasant and it was just such a weird vibe between Geto and Izumi. The writer always talked her way out by saying thats just how trauma works ect. Without acknowledging my wishes and my OC Izumi. Izumi and Geto just were soo weird together and after this all their whole dynamic was not there anymore. It wasnt loving, it wasnt sweet.

And i would like to add that im a sucker for Angst. Like im not someone who reads fluff. But this was even for me not even Angst anymore, it was just uncomfortable.

Like it was the drop that made it overfloat. What made me not wanting to be associated with it anymore. She wrote on many Autors Notes especially the recent ones, that she does not have the drive to write more on the FF. That she healfheartly literally ended the FF today in 3 chapters. This fanfic just has nothing to do with what I imagined anymore and im sad that i gave away all my ideas away to her tbh. If i had known I wouldve never asked her to write my ideas out. It also became her most read Fanfic. We discussed sooo many cool ideas and scenes for this fanfic till the end chapters like i just dont understand why she just insists in having this sexual abuse in it and tormenting Izumi. And also drag it over so many chapters. So many of you DMed me and said hoe uncomfortable it made u feel reading the latest chapters and how the storyline just didnt seem the same anymore. Which was as u see now absolutely true.

I asked her many times on why she insists on having sexual abuse in it so much? But shes never gave me an answer, no she tries to turn in on me saying "u agreed to it". Which as I discussed with u above was not what happened AT ALL. She says she cant remove it anymore, wether the scenes or Izumis mental torment and trauma. But she COULD.

ITS A FANFIC. U can always make it work.

Its also funny how she tries to say "im doing it for free" to hint that she can do whatever she wants. In that case i just have to say; i also gave all my ideas for free like? Its insane how this is even a conversation.

The gaslighting she is doing in the chat is hard to manage and Im srsly so sad and also annoyed that this had to happen.

I wont engage in this with her more cuz I have to keep my mental health in tact.

You saw how she is turning things around, how she manipulates and changes the context of conversations. I remember vividly how the first times she laughed at how emotionally invested i was in my story and belitteling me. I created Izumi nearly 4 years ago while I was batteling severe anxiety while i was homebound. How she always blackmailed me in saying "ur not paying me so I can do whatever I want" and when I then gave her some payed content for free she is now changing the narrative as if she never asked for money. I was the one who thought we would do this for fun and was always hurt when she talked about this tid for tad mentality.

I tried to build a friendship and let things that she said pass during our "friendship" out of good faith. I was hurt how she treated me and dismissed me and my character requirements and how now that I was the one saying I dont see her as a friend anymore she turns it around to make it seem im the "mean" one for now standing up for myself. I am still shook about this disingenious behavior. I never sent hate to her even tho she tries with all her power to say so. I even insisted to keep things kind and graceful. And after she shit on me and I saw that she wouldnt budge, I stood up for myself. Also; Calling me a bitch and telling me to fuck off is no "quirky" way to talk to people as seen below. Especially in this context.

Shes now deleting every comment that doesnt benefit her on the comment sections. Im not surprised. So be it.

Tbh I do not care anymore. I just made story posts but since she showed the DMs I wanted to post the truth for u to read here as well. Iwont let this negativity from her linger any longer and give her any platform.

As I said in the DM i rather had kept this private but I had to share the truth in this matter since she spread misinformation. You deserve to know how things really went behind the scenes. And im sick and tired that my kindness is always taken advantage of.

I had to speak up for myself, my Ideas and my OC. Thank u for all that messaged me and having my back! Everyone of u sent nothing but love and support my way my heart was bursting out of greatfulness.

I LOVE YOU.

If you've read so far im so so grateful for ur time. And in due time I will tell the real story of Izumi and Geto in a FF worthy of their love.

Latesr DMs she also posted but here with context.

#notice #geto fanfic

[citrusy-lemons]

pancake-cakes

tasm!peter x reader

summary: late night cravings bring out some deeper feelings.

author's note: HOLY SHIT, count on me to go MIA for a month after posting. honestly tho i'm so sorry, i've got school and extracurriculars and projects and shit and i haven't really gotten time to write and my schedule is still super hectic, hopefully i'll be able to get other stuff out soon but no promises :/

let me know what you think? constructive criticism is welcome and please be nice :)

see, the middle of the night wasn't meant for this. it's to sleep and dream and pee.

not for baking a cake without having most ingredients of the cake. but you'd gotten a sudden craving and it was a weekend tomorrow, so bad decisions were inevitable.

did you have a million assignments to do? maybe. but peter also had a million assignments to do and he was still here, so technically, he's also making bad decisions. he was aware of that fact.

mind you he did try to convince you to go back to sleep at first but you wore him down. he didn't put up a big fight, he never did, against you.

he's convinced himself that he was only there to watch over you and make sure you didn't slice a finger or spill the flour, not to help you out with your late night shenanigans. but he was cutting up the strawberries so, really, he didn't have a strong resolve.

"you know, i think that when the box says 'pancake mix' you're supposed to make pancakes," he said, turning to you, who was reading the back of said box.

were you trying to bake a cake in the middle of the night with pancake batter cuz you didn't have the stuff for the cake and didn't want to go to the grocery store to get it? kinda. would peter have gone and got the stuff himself if you'd asked? yes.

"i didn't listen to you the last 17 times, i'm not gonna listen to you now, and besides," you said, pouring the mix into a bowl, "a pancake is just a cake but made on a pan instead of an oven. we're just changing the recipe a bit," you shrugged, like it was obvious and he was the stupid one.

"there are so many things wrong with that sentence, i dont even know where to begin,"

"here's a hint, don't."

you were being mean, you knew that. you didn't mean it. peter knew that. and you knew that peter knew that but you would apologize later. he knew that. he sighed dramatically.

"you wound me,"

you rolled your eyes at that. pretending to be annoyed at him was easy. wiping the smile away from your face when you were around him wasn't.

"if i had a dollar for every time you're wounded, i'd be filthy rich."

he glanced up at you. he knew that that wasn't completely a joke, it had a bittersweet tone to it. was that the reason why you were up at this ungodly hour? peter knew that you'd been stressed lately, he didn't know he had a hand in that.

"hey, you wanna tell me what's up?"

you didn't meet his eye, but you did stop fiddling with the bowl. almost immediately, you grabbed the knife out of his hand, mumbling, "you're cutting them all wrong,"

you both knew that wasn't true. one of the perks of having grown up with may was that peter was a fantastic cook. he'd been doing this sort of stuff forever. you needed to get better at excuses.

he gently laid his hand over yours to stop you and said your name softly, pleadingly. a long pause. you complied.

"it's just that," you started with a sigh, and dropped the knife, "you're my best friend peter, and i know that being spiderman means a lot to you," hesitation creeps up as you get to the actual issue. peter senses a 'but' coming. you look at him.

"but you come home every night with bruises everywhere, in pain, and i know you say that they'll go away in the morning and they do but," you're rambling now, he doesn't stop you.

"you have to see it from my perspective, i-" another sigh, you look away, "i get scared, peter."

oh. you were worried for him. he wonders how he didn't realise that before. that time he came home with a stab wound and you looked like you were going to cry he thought you were nauseous at the sight of blood. peter was an idiot.

"i know i shouldn't but i dont like the thought of you getting beat up every night." you were talking with your hands now, "imagine how you would feel if i came home with bruises all over my body and told you not to worry and that i'll be fine in a couple hours." you looked at him again. there was a sort of pain in your eyes. peter wishes it weren't there.

"it doesn't feel good peter. and you assume that i'm supposed to be okay with it?" you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, turning back to the strawberries. your hands were shaking.

peter thought about it. about what you'd said. you were scared for him and he understood that. it couldn't have been easy to be with someone like him. but he couldn't very well abandon spiderman. it was a part of him now. he knew that you knew that, but at the same time, he understood your point.

he thought about how he'd feel if the roles were reversed. if you came home with the type of wounds he did every night, he would be terrified. he couldn't blame you, of course he couldn't.

but he was spiderman, he had a responsibility, an unspoken vow to this city. he had opportunities and powers that no one else did, and he wanted to do good with it.

he hadn't asked for it, but he still had it. if he gave up being spiderman, he didn't think his conscience would let him live with it.

"i'm not asking you not to be spiderman," you spoke, finding your voice, "of course i won't do that. i'm just saying..." you trailed off, unsure of what you wanted and whether you were allowed to have it.

peter took both your hands into his, silently begging you to look at him. you did.

"i know what you're saying, and i understand. i don't blame you, i get where you're coming from and i promise, i'll be fine," he said, softly. he knew you were anxious about his safety.

"i can't give up being spiderman, and i know that's not what you're saying, but you have to understand, i can't not do it, it's a part of me, and i swear i will be more careful," his brown eyes bore into yours, willing you to understand. you blinked and unconsciously looked to the floor.

"but what if, being careful isn't enough one day? what if it isn't just some robbers or burglars but some other things? what if it's one of those aliens or mutants or something and you can't defend yourself? what am i supposed to do then, pete?"

you closed your eyes again, trying to stop the tears. peter's heart was tearing itself knowing that he was the reason for them. how could he tell you that him being the cause for your tears hurt more than any knife in the world?

"hey, look at me," he said, searching for your eyes. you shook your head but looked up at him anyway, the tears in your lashes resolutely not giving in to gravity.

"nothing is going to happen to me. i've handled stuff like that, you know. i know you're worried and upset but i promise, nothing will happen. you need to trust me, okay? we're going to be fine. please, I need you to trust me."

he said your name like it's the last time he'll ever get to, not in a way a friend is supposed to.

you sniffed, "i trust you, i do. it's this city that i don't trust," you steeled yourself, "but if you're sure, and you believe we'll be fine, then i do too."

he cracked a smile then, and pulled you in for a hug. a tight one. neither of you let go for quite a few minutes. you relished in it.

"god, okay i know i'm being silly, i'm sorry," you said after you'd pulled away, rubbing at your eyes.

"you're not being silly, don't be sorry. it's completely okay and valid. don't ridicule your thoughts, you're allowed to feel," peter said, in a scold-ish manner that he'd no doubt learnt from may.

"and please step away from the strawberries, and go back to butchering your so-called 'cake'," he said with a teasing smile, bumping his hips into yours to move you back to the bowl of pancake mix.

you scoffed incredulously, back into your playful demeanor, "excuse you, i would have perfected this pancake-cake if i weren't feeling sleepy right now, so, unfortunately for you, you won't get to taste this deliciousness, whenever i do get to make it,"

"oh, what a tragedy, i won't get to torture my tastebuds with whatever concoction you manage to brew up,"

you shoved at him, not that he moved an inch, and grabbed the plate of cut strawberries.

"just for that, i'm gonna eat these strawberries in bed using your pillow as a table, and you know i can be a very messy eater," you laughed like an evil sorcerer and ran towards the bedroom.

peter, horrified at the thought of sleeping on a sticky pillow, ran after you, forgetting that he had sticky hands himself. (pun intended, i'm sorry i couldn't not do it)

"come back here you!"

the pancake mix in the bowl, the half pack of strawberries waiting to be cut, and the anxiety were all left forgotten back in the kitchen.

#peter parker #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter fic #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter angst #tasm!peter one shot #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker fluff #tasm!peter #reader insert #andrew garfield #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker x reader #andrew!peter imagine #andrew!spiderman #andrew!peter parker #andrew!peter x reader #andrew!peter x you #tasm #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker reader insert #amazing spider man #spiderman #spider man #the amazing spider man #the amazing spiderman #tasm fic #peter parker fanfic

[hjparisian]

make a wish- harry j potter x reader

p: harry j potter x reader (she/her pronouns) w: kinda deep, mainly fluffy, not proof read summary: it's (y/n)'s birthday but it doesn't feel like it. she doesn't want to celebrate it as it is a reminder that she's growing up and is getting older. boyfriend harry (and the rest of her friends) are determined to remind her it's still a special day. a/n: its my birthday today and this is based on my own feelings of getting older. sorry for not actively posting as much, i haven't had much motivation but will hopefully get back soon as i have so much planned out including a harry x reader book for a different platform

It was a special day, and no, not Christmas. It was (Y/N)'s birthday. But to (Y/N), it just felt like any other day. As the years keep going by, her birthday just felt less special. With the end of the school year slowly coming, (Y/N) realized that her youth is slipping away, nearing the stages of adulthood but not feeling prepared.

(Y/N) walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, fellow students wishing her a happy birthday as she walked towards the Gryffindor table where she'd eat with the rest of her friends. She began piling some fruit onto her plate when she saw Hermione and Ron sit down in front of her.

"Happy birthday (Y/N)" the two said to her. "I can't believe you're getting older," Ron points out

"Thank you," she said with a sour smile. "Where's Harry?" She asks wanting to divert from the reminder that she's another year older as well as wondering where her boyfriend is.

"He's still getting ready, he overslept a bit," Hermione told the girl.

Right after she said that, the subject in question rushed over to the group, taking a seat next to the birthday girl.

"Sorry I'm a bit late," Harry told his friends as he piles food on his plate. He looks over to his lovely girlfriend and kisses her cheek. "Happy birthday love!"

"Thank you Harry," (Y/N) says.

"How does it feel to be another year older?" asks Harry. "Are you planning on doing something big today? Fred and George could probably get food over to the common room and we can have a big party for you?"

As interesting as it sounds to (Y/N), she really had no plans. The day no longer felt special now that she's getting closer to adulthood. What was the point of celebrating something that no longer makes her excited?

Losing her appetite from these thoughts, she decided to leave, wanting some alone time. "I think don't wanna do anything. I should go now, I need to grab something from my dorm." She quickly left the hall, leaving her half filled plate behind.

Ron looks at her fading figure, slightly confused. "That's kind of odd," he points out. "Is she okay?"

"I hope so," Hermione says. "But she usually isn't like this. She was so excited last year. I'm worried."

Harry was worried too. He always wanted to ensure the happiness of his lover. He had to find out what was clouding (Y/N)'s mind and try to cheer her up.

"What if we throw her a surprise party?" Ron says. "Everyone likes surprises."

"Not everyone enjoys surprises, Ronald," Hermione huffs out. "It isn't a bad idea though. And like Harry said, we can use the twins help. We can invite her friends to the Gryffindor common room. What do you think Harry?"

"It's not a bad idea. But I want to check on her to see if she's alright," He says.

"Well you're going to have to wait until later. Class is going to start soon," Hermione said.

Unfortunately Harry had to wait til after classes to have a proper chat with (Y/N) since all the classes they had together decided to be busy so there was no time for them to chat. Didn't help that in half of them they don't even sit by each other.

The moment classes ended, Harry went to find (Y/N), dragging her to his dorm.

"Harry where are we going?"

"My dorm."

Harry opens the door to his shared room, closing it behind (Y/N). He drops his stuff beside his bed and goes over to his girlfriend and gives her the biggest hug, which she returns.

"Are you okay love? You don't seem excited today." He hears her sigh, cracking open her true emotions. He brings her to his bed to lay down, wrapping his arms around her as she lays her head on his shoulder.

(Y/N) began to speak."I don't know, its just, its kinda of dumb."

"Whatever you're feeling is not dumb (Y/N)," Harry tells her.

(Y/N) could feel the tears trying to build up in her eyes. "Well my birthday just doesn't feel special anymore, it just feels like another day. I feel like it's just a reminder that I'm almost an adult now and I have to start figuring my life out. Graduation is coming closer and closer and after that, we're all going to go chase our dreams and who knows if we will be in contact. I just wish we were still first years exploring Hogwarts for the first time. I miss being a little kid and having no worries. I'm not ready to get older Harry."

Harry shifts his body to face her, and giving her a kiss on her lips before responding.

"(Y/N), it's okay to feel like this. What you're feeling is completely valid. Growing up is scary, but it means new experiences to try. We still have a lot of time. You don't need to grow up yet and you don't have to have your life situated right now. Sirius told me to live in the present. If we spent too much time worrying about the future we will forget to live in the moment." Harry pauses for a second. "I promise you that we will all still be in contact together. Hermione and Ron could never forget you. I could never forget you. If anything, Ron and I already planned to get houses right next to each other so we will always be together."

Harry leans over and opens his bedside table, pulling out a small box and hands it to (Y/N).

"This is one of your gifts. Open it," Harry tells her.

(Y/N) removes the wrapping and opens up the small box. Inside it was a ring. It was simple, but it was beautiful. She puts it on her ring finger. It was a perfect fit.

"It's a promise ring," said Harry. "To prove that I will always be right by your side. That I promise to love and take care of you even after Hogwarts. I see a future with us (Y/N), and I don't plan on letting go of you."

The tears in (Y/N)'s eyes filled up again, but for a happier reason. She wrapped her arms around Harry's neck and pulled him into a big kiss.

"I love you so much Harry," She tells him. "You're the most amazing person ever."

Harry smiles at her. "I love you too (Y/N). Don't make your self grow up yet. You're perfect just how you are."

(Y/N) smiles back at Harry. The one man who validated her feelings, telling her it's okay to feel what she feels, who comforted her. Birthdays don't have to be a reminder that she's getting old, rather, it should be a day to celebrate life. She doesn't have to force herself to be an adult yet. Will these thoughts continue to plague her head from time to time? Yes, but it will all be okay. She just has to remind herself to live in the moment and enjoy life.

"So," (Y/N) began. "You said this was one of my presents. What about the other?"

"Oh we'll come back right here for it." Harry winks at (Y/N) causing her to blush. "But first, there's something else waiting for you." Harry takes (Y/N)'s hand and brings her out the dorm.

"Gonna need you to close your eyes," Harry tells her.

"Why?"

"Just do it. Please? I promise I won't let you trip and fall."

(Y/N) closed her eyes. Harry held her hand as he guided her down the stairs to the common room.

"Alright, you can open your eyes now love."

As (Y/N) opened her eyes, she sees a bunch of people jumping out from behind furniture.

"SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY (Y/N)!"

The common room was decorated in streamers and confetti. A sign hanged in the middle of one of the walls saying "Happy Birthday (Y/N)!" All of her friends from every house was here, to celebrate her.

Hermione and Ron came up to her and gave her a hug. Fred and George were right behind them with a big cake with candles.

"Make a wish!" The twins said.

(Y/N) thought for a moment. I wish to just enjoy my life with the people I love the most.

She blows out her candles, everyone cheering.

"What did you wish for?!" Someone in the crowd asks.

(Y/N) chuckles before letting her answer slip. "This!"

Fred and George helped pass pieces of the cake around. Harry went closer to (Y/N), placing his arm around her waist and gave her a kiss.

"Happy birthday (Y/N)."

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry james potter #harry james potter x reader #hjp x reader #hp fanfic #harry #hjp #harry potter x fem!reader

[seeminglydark]

Idk if this means anything to you but I'm a comic artist who's had a hard time doing art for a few years. The first four was because of life hardship and lack of time/chronic pain, but now lately I've had time but a mental block. I'm creeping up on 30 and felt bad about myself for "missing out" on my opportunity to be a comic artist. It was really validating to see you post about being 41 (correct me if I'm wrong) especially since you have such wonderful comics that I've been following for a while now. It makes me feel less like I'm wasting my time putting my things in order when I "should" be drawing.

Hopefully this doesn't come across as offensive or anything. It was just comforting and validating. Anyway, big fan! Love your characters a whole lot and hope you have a good day!

Dear Anon

I am 41 years old. I have wanted to make comics my entire life. before my dad got sick, and my childhood kinda fell apart, all i did was draw. after that, i used the stories in my head to cope. life moved on. i was convinced not to accept a partial scholarship to an art school in California. life got hard. i worked at a hotel, and after i escaped an abusive relationship at 22 i hitchhiked/bused far far away to start over. i tried to make comics again, but i had to survive, and so i got another job doing the only thing i knew how to do, hotels. and i worked. and worked. and life got harder and times got heavier and i didn't get time to draw and i worked double hours, 15 to 17 hours a day. and i went four years without drawing a single thing.

i kept working myself into the ground. i was 29 now. i picked up a pen again and drew a red haired boy. he had a hard life and no love and no friends. his problems were on the outside, for everyone to see. he ran away but his problems went with him.

i was 32. surely i was too old now. my time to be an artist was gone. i had no school. no hope. i was so far behind the younger gen i saw online. i cried. all the time. i wrote stories in my email drafts while i worked shifts. i stayed up late trying to learn how to draw again. i cried some more. the boy grew. i called him Fiach. worthy. a raven. later i renamed him Avery. he was like a bird, he had wings, he was my hope. i started writing some friends for him. the people i wished i had around me.

i started finding time and space. i got a new job, something where i was lucky enough to set my own hours. for the first time i had a partner who believed in me. things were hard. but i was drawing now. and that helped.

i went on a road trip and i started drawing pages of an unnamed story on 6 by 8 paper in a sketchbook. i drew 20 of them. 'what could i call this?' i thought. Nothing Seems as Dark...no says my partner. Seemingly Dark. he made me a logo. i was 35. i bought an ipad, i cant do this on paper, its too much story i have too much to say. so i learned how to draw digitally by tracing my own trad art pages.

I spoke to my dad for the last time on June 17th, fathers day that year. he said 'you're good. i'm proud. and you're gonna do amazing things. none of this is your fault. and we will speak again soon.' i didn't know id never hear his voice again. he died a week later.

i turned 36. i kept trying. i'm old, i don't understand the internet. how can i share this?

i stumbled across Lore Olympus. i was introduced to webcomics. id read comics online before but the thought never occurred to me. i opened an account on Tapas. and then i stared at it. what if no one likes it. what if its bad. my art isn't good. i should wait til i'm better. but will i ever really be better? or will i always believe that tomorrow is better? do it now. if even one person gets something out of this story, this story about a boy who is you, a boy who looking for hope, a boy who might make it, then that is enough isn't it.

June 17th 2018 i launched Seemingly Dark.

SD's five year anniversary is in a week. 0ver 700 pages. leaps and bounds in progress with my skills. a printed comic under my belt as of monday. i was always a storyteller. but i was always an artist too.

I am 41 years old, dear anon. I did not truly embark on this journey til i was 35. life got in the way. even now, chronic illness gets in the way. but its worth it. its never ever too late. i believe in you the way my dad believed in me. i reset my life again and again. but I was always an artist. and if thats who you are, and who you want to be, even if things dont go the way you wished they could, you're an artist too.

im 41 years old. i speak about my age, even though i often feel too old to belong in spaces, cuz really, in this case age is just a number. take care of yourself. do what you need to do. and little by little, when your able, carve out your space until it becomes more of a habit. sometimes i think about all the years i lost not drawing or creating. but there's a lot of factors that make me believe had i made my story then, it wouldn't be the story it is now, i needed to live a bit. i needed to find myself. i know this was long, but i just wanted you to see i also had to put my life in order, and getting notes like this reminds me it wasnt at all a waste. im glad i could offer you some comfort. thats honestly the best compliment i could ever receive.

TL;dR I was 35 when i sat down and seriously started making comics, because life always got in the way and so did my confidence. i always feared being too old. im 41 now, still going strong.

#rj rambles #this is really long im sorry anon #i think my late comic blooming story is kinda important for people to hear #thankyou for giving me a reason to tell it

[missmaywemeetagain]

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

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Elvis in March 1957, Graceland)

March 1957

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

Stop that shit right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Loved.’ As in past tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You taste so sweet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is in love with you.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod but say nothing.

“Okay, baby.”

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

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

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

But you’re not his girl.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.

His head falls back onto the wall with a thump.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

He can’t bring himself to call Jack.

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

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

His prayers work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He vomits again, tears running down his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, God. Please forgive me.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Lord. Oh, Jesus.

He thinks he might vomit again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he will damn himself for your salvation every time.

December 28th, 1957, Graceland

Oh, God, what have I done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He clings to this.

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

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

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

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

The only time he truly falters is during the dance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But a mother knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-you knew?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “O-okay, Satnin.”

And with that, he does as he’s told.

*

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

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

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

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

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

*

March 1960

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

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

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

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

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

Then you almost bleed to death in his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, anything for you.

*

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

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

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

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

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

Anything for his friend, right?

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

That is the bargain.

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

But you are not his, you never really were.

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

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

Especially Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are his. You’ve always been his.

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

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

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

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

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

Anything for you. Anything but letting you go.

*

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

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

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

Not again, not again, not again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There was an incident…” Jerry begins diplomatically.

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

“Sandy!” Jerry admonishes her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack flinches.

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

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

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

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

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

“How long, Elvis?”

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

“Opening night.”

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

The room goes silent yet again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I love her,” Jack sobs.

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

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

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

Elvis releases him.

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

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

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

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

No one does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He loves you so deeply he can hardly breathe.

So, he waits. He prays.

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

*

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[seokjinsonlyone]

in which you get cornered...

a follow up to this drabble

When Tae asked if he could post a couple photos of you on Instagram it didn’t seem like a life changing moment. You were vaguely aware of the implications of the action, but you’d gradually shifted out of your social media era over the years so it didn’t seem like that big of a deal to you. Your main concern was making sure he picked pictures where you didn’t look like an ugly little swamp creature because he had a penchant for putting his phone in the worst angle possible at the worst time possible and snapping away. He was annoying like that. 

But, the ones he wanted to post were cute. One was an off guard of you laughing at night on one of your walks, the flash was on but it was that perfect amount of blurry that made it trendy. The second was from your stop at Ikea a few weeks ago. You two were posted up in front of a mirror, you leant back against his chest, his arm secured around your waist. It was kinda hot. Made you two look like some sort of power couple. It was currently your home screen. So, you approved of his selections, liked the post a few days later when you remembered to open up the app, and didn’t think much of it afterwards. That should have been the end of it.

Apparently, it was not.

“I dated Tae last year.”

You look up from the sink where you were washing your hands and over to the girl fixing her lashes a few feet away. You weren’t sure how that concerned you or what you were supposed to do with that information. “Okay?”

“Don’t expect it to last long,” she warned nonchalantly.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s all great in the beginning. He’s super sweet, walks you to class, buys you coffee, all that good stuff. But pretty soon he’s going to get bored of you and he’s gonna drop you just as fast as he picked you up.”

You swiped a few paper towels, mulling over her statement. “It’s Taehyung,” you decided to address first.

And now it was her turn to ask the questions. “What?”

“Like you said, you dated him a year ago, and I have no idea who you even are, so it’s not Tae, he’s Taehyung to you now.” You didn’t like her addressing him so casually as if she had any type of relationship with I’m now. “And I’m not like you so I’m not going to presume to know anything about the nature of your relationship with him, but I’m guessing maybe it didn’t work out because you’re the type to accost people he’s close to in the bathroom.” You shot her a disgusted look and exited the room.

You were off put by the encounter. A little nauseous if you’re being honest because it wasn’t even the first one like it. Well, it was the first of his scorned lovers to approach you (and hopefully the last), but it seemed like everyone had something to say about you and your relationship with him. Even your friends from back home questioned how you bagged him. You know they didn’t mean it in a bad way, that Tae really was just that handsome and great, but everything was starting to get overwhelming, was bristling you in the wrong way.

What’s even worse was that you actually were about to meet him in a little cafe just off campus and you knew he’d be sitting there with a coffee waiting for you just like that girl claimed he did for her. You spent the walk over there frazzled, working yourself into a tizzy, so by the time you got there you were completely over it and him. You saw him looking cute and cozy in his oversized hoodie, waiting in a booth with your coffee reserving the spot next to him. You took the to go cup and tossed it in the trash. “Let’s go,” you commanded, not even making eye contact with him and walking back out the door. 

It took a good twenty seconds before you could hear him catching up to you. “Hey! Hey!” He spun you around to face him. “Umm! That coffee ain’t cheap. Why’d you throw it out?”

You rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone and sending him $6 before continuing to stomp away. Of course he was worried about his money and not the fact that you’re so upset that you threw away a perfectly good cup of coffee. Maybe that girl was right. Maybe the end was coming soon. 

“I didn’t mean for you to send me the money,” he huffed trailing behind you. “Can you just- Can we-“ He grabbed your hand to prevent you from getting any further away and dragged you to the bench a few feet away. He tugged you into his lap, his arms completely engulfing you so you had nowhere to go, nowhere to look but right at him. “Now, can you please tell me what’s wrong?”

You stewed in silence for a bit longer before spitting out, “Your ex cornered me in the bathroom.”

“My ex?”

“Yes.”

His eyes flitted around in thought. “Aaliyah?”

You scoffed. “Am I supposed to know her name?”

He breathed out a laugh. “I’m just– I haven’t had a girlfriend since, like, before I graduated? Like, junior year?”

“Well, I’m sure you weren’t walking around this campus celibate for the past 3 years. I don’t know if it was a girlfriend, a hookup, a summer fling– whatever. She said she dated you last year.”

“What’d she look like?”

“Oh my god! That is soooo not the point.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. What’d she say?”

“She told me all about how you used to walk her to class and buy her coffee and then dropped her when you had your fill. Told me to expect the same.”

He had that same lost in thought expression before his eyes lit up in recognition. “Are you talking about Emi?! About 5’6 with the blue black hair? Because we never dated. I helped her study sometimes, but that was it.”

“I mean. I guess. But, you’re not listening to me. I don’t care who you did or did not date. You don’t seem traumatized or jaded enough for me to worry about that.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Well… you don’t believe her, do you?”

You shrugged. “I’ve seen the greatest minds of our generation fall victim to a three month situationship.”

“This isn’t a situation. You’re my girlfriend, and I’m falling in love with you.”

Your breath hitched, eyes wide as saucers as you stared at him, nowhere near prepared for such an admission.

He unwrapped his arms from around you to cup your face, thumb lightly caressing your cheeks. “Don’t look so surprised. I told you I would,” he said softly before bringing his lips to yours and indulging you in the softest, sweetest kiss you ever had in your life. Pillowy lips slotted between yours, applying just enough pressure so that you know he’s there with you, for you. You melted into him, pressing your forehead against his once he pulled away, hoping he wouldn’t be able to notice how erratic he had your heart beating. He pressed another kiss to your cheek. “Now, what’s really the problem?”

You wriggled your arms out of his hold, to wrap around his neck and sighed. “I just don’t understand why.”

“I don’t know why she would do that either, baby.”

“No. I don’t understand why you like me. They always say don’t ask questions you don’t wanna know the answer to, so I didn’t. Didn’t wanna jinx it, but now it seems like everyone has something to say about us. No one understands why you’re with me, and I don’t either.”

He was silent for a few moments which you appreciated because you wanted a real answer. “I think you’re a really intimidating person. Like, you always look like you don’t wanna be bothered. Kinda mean, to be honest.”

“That’s just my face.”

“I know that now, but I’m saying when I first met you, you just seemed unfriendly and standoffish.”

“Okay. I get it. I’m unapproachable. Can you skip to the part where you tell me why you like me?”

He breathed out a laugh. “I mean, I don’t know. You’ve got that tsundere thing going on that kinda does it for me.”

You blinked at him.

“I’m serious! You act like you’re all big and bad, but really you’re just my baby.” You pouted. “See,” he stole a quick kiss, “so cute.” He was silent for a few more moments, simply enjoying the feel of you scratching lightly at his scalp before he started talking again. “And even when we were just friends, I could tell how much you cared about me. About everyone, really. And you care for people in the way they understand even if they take it for granted sometimes. It made me want to care about you, too.”

You cuddled him to you, satisfied with his answer. “I’m sorry for throwing away the coffee you got me.” 

He squeezed you tighter. “It’s okay.”

“And block Emi, please. I’m pretty sure she cornered me because of your post.” 

He opened his account and handed you his phone instead. “You can go through and remove whoever you think is gonna give you trouble.”

And in that moment you couldn’t help but feel like you were falling in love with him, too.

a/n: i blame tae's constant lives and boyfriend looks for this like what am i to do but to write about it 😔✊

#bts #bts fanfic #kim taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung x reader #taehyung #taehyung fluff #kim taehyung x reader

[softxsuki]

Hello, can I please ask for an urgent request?

My mental health is acting up badly again (please don't read any further if it'll make you uncomfortable), sorry if it feels like I'm oversharing with the added context.

I have recently been having suicidal thoughts again, and I lost my therapist together with my job, and since moving back to my hometown again I also lost all my safety net of the last four years.

Can I have any Tokyo revengers character with a fem reader who is feeling left behind and lonely because she feels out of place? (Like, too overweight, too unfeminine, too geeky, too weird to be loved)

I'll understand if this makes you uncomfortable and don't want to write this, thanks for having your requests open 🩷

Kazutora Comforting Reader Who Feels Out of Place

Pairing: Kazutora x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of feeling lost, lonely, bad self image, feeling like a bother, undeserving of love

Genre: Comfort

Post-Type: Headcanons

Word Count: 310

Summary: In which Kazutora comforts you after learning of your feelings of lonliness, and feeling out of place in the world.

[A/N: This doesn't make me uncomfortable at all! Thank you for trusting me with this request. I'm so sorry for the wait, life has been busy and I'm mad that my writing isn't at it's best right now, so this is kinda...mid. SORRY. I hope it was okay that I picked Kazutora, IK ppl have conflicting feelings about him, but I adore future Kazutora sm, so hopefully this gives you some comfort. So sorry for all the terrible things you've had to go through, I hope they get better for you soon! ]

Kazutora:

After spending most of his teen years locked up, he felt similarly when he was thrown into a changed world overnight, alone

He felt stuck in time as everyone else he once knew was now completely different, they had all moved on with their lives while he was left behind to figure things out on his own

You were the person that helped him with that, thanks to your endless love and support 

Now that you were feeling the same way, he wanted to make sure he could help you just like you helped him

“You’re your own person. I don’t want you to blend in with everyone else. You stand out uniquely just as you are, there’s nothing you need to change about yourself. If people can’t see that, then they’re not even worth your time. The right people will stop to get to know you and love you…like I do.”

There was no such thing as ‘too geeky’ or ‘too unfeminine’ about you to Kazutora. Anything you found weird about yourself was perfect in his eyes. Whether you’re thinner or chubbier than the average girl, none of that mattered to him

He didn’t fall in love with you for your body or your looks, even if you did look perfect in his eyes, he fell for your essence–all the little things you did or said that were unique to you, he was completely infatuated with it all

Does his best to make sure you don’t feel alone with him, but also doesn’t want you to feel suffocated around him so he gives you your space to do your own thing as well

Tell him what you need him to do to get you back on your feet–he’d do whatever you ask of him, despite how impossible it may seem, he’ll get it done no matter what

Look at him…

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted: 11/5/2023

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #kazutora x reader #kazutora hanemiya #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev x you #kazutora x you #kazutora x y/n #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo rev headcanons #kazutora headcanons

[fishsticksloser]

Can i request rottmnt platonic child!fem! Reader & April one-shot?

April sign up to babysit reader for hours from 3 pm to 8 pm, however reader manage to escape from the apartment thanks to mayhem teleporting her accidentally, so now April go on a wild goose chase to find reader before her mom (reader's mom) come home.

Babysitting Disaster

April + gn!reader

Warnings: kids, losing said child, swearing, kinda short

A/N: This was gonna be posted yesterday, but I was just not feeling good. Also if you haven't yet, check out my Discord server where you can hang out with like minded people, share fanart/fanfics, and get updates before they're posted here.

Everything was going well. In April's opinion at least. She headed over to babysit you right after her last class and you were a pretty easy kid. You were quiet, respectful, and sweet. April immediately thought that she'd babysit you again if there was ever a need.

You and Mayhem got along really well, playing with each other. For the first time in a while, Mayhem was being friendly with someone else (he doesn't hate the turtles but doesn't really like them either).

Right after dinner though, she was cleaning up when April saw a flash of light. She wondered for a moment if Leo just showed up and went to check it out. But she didn't see anything when she went into your room. In fact, she didn't hear anything either. At first she thought nothing of it, you were a quiet kid.

Soon though, she realized you weren't in the apartment at all. Neither was Mayhem. "Shit..." April grabbed her jacket and rushed out. She had no clue where Mayhem could've teleported them, but she did know someone who might be able to help.

"You're conversing with Donatello." April hears as she finally makes it out of the apartment building.

"So... Remember how I was babysitting that toddler?" April asks, hearing his brothers in the background so they'll probably hear her predicament. Donnie hums in acknowledgement. "Mayhem may or may not have accidentally teleported them somewhere..."

"You're telling me you lost a kid?" Donnie snorts. April hears his brothers stop talking for a moment.

"April lost a kid?" Raph asks, his voice full of worry and concern.

"Technically..." April closes her eyes, waiting for Raph or even Mikey and Leo to yell at her. But all she hears is a heavy sigh.

"Sigh... I guess I can look at any crazy activity and hopefully find the kid." Donnie huffs, making his way to his lab. "You're lucky I figured out how to track that mystic stuff."

"If we're able to catch them in like... An hour, that'd be fantastic." She pleads, starting to walk down the street.

"Yeah, yeah..." Donnie waves off her concern, getting the system running. "The others are coming to hopefully help, but knowing them..."

Donnie stayed at the lair while his brothers joined April in her search. Someone had been close a few times, but ultimately Mayhem teleported himself and you away. April was growing desperate and scared that she wouldn't get you home before your mom got home.

Thankfully, Leo's portals saved the day. He managed to separate you and Mayhem. Leo teleported April, himself, and you back to the apartment.

"Thanks, guys." April let out a relieved breath when Leo placed you back in her arms. She took you to bed while Leo and the boys went home. She tucked you in tight. "You scared me, you could've gotten hurt. Next time, stay where you are and I'll find you, okay?" April tells you sternly, but her voice is still soft.

You fall asleep not long after and April finishes cleaning up before your mom comes home. Next time, Mayhem was staying home.

#{fish answers•°} #{snipersiniora•°} #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #rise leo #rise donnie #rise raph #rottmnt x reader #rise mikey #rise april #rottmnt april #april o'neil #tmnt 2018 #tmnt #tmnt april #save rottmnt #save rise of the tmnt #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rottmnt #unpause rise of the tmnt #unpause rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise season 3 #rise movie #rise mayhem #rottmnt mayhem #tmnt donatello #leo tmnt #tmnt raphael #mikey tmnt

[risustravelogue]

Headcanons - Periods with Alhaitham

Summary:

Alhaitham reacts to you having your period, before and after becoming a couple.

Featuring:

Classmate turned Boyfriend!Alhaitham

Tone:

Fluffy, with some hurty angst as filling (well, it was hurty for me at least).

Note:

Something I put together for @haithamuse's birthday collab. Happy (early) birthday Esther! 🥳 Enjoy! 💚 CW: Depression.

🔗 AO3 | masterlist 🔗

Back when you were still classmates with him…

He was very clinical and awkward about it.

He was more protective of you when you absolutely had to go out to the field together to research something.

He didn’t confirm or deny this behavior when you asked him about it. He just… left. (You would later find out that it’s because he didn’t realize he was doing that and was flustered because you noticed.)

He’d treat you to hot cocoa when you were working together on your assignment at Puspa Café. “I need you to focus on this assignment and not the pain,” he said. Eh, it was a good enough excuse, and you can never refuse the café’s perfect hot cocoa.

When you lost contact with him for a few years due to his busy work…

You found yourself missing his little gestures every month. Especially when you were at your lowest and just wanted to see light at the end of the tunnel.

Depression is bad, getting dumped because of it was worse, and to add this longing feeling you previously dismissed as “fleeting” on top of it… sometimes you’re amazed you didn’t completely shatter. Really, you can never thank your best friend Tighnari enough for preventing that from happening.

You almost cried when you met him again by chance a few months after you got your depression medicated.

That light of hope sent warmth all over your body as your gaze met his. He got up from his seat and walked toward you with restrained haste, a small smile and a “hi” forming on his lips. Your eyes felt hot as you held yourself back from embracing him there and then. “Hi,” you said. I’ve been missing you. “Long time no see.”

You are eternally grateful that that hope was not unfounded.

After becoming a couple…

He pampers you during your periods. Scratch that, he always tries to pamper you—not without awkwardly failing at times, though. It’s something of a work in progress.

He’d tail or hover over you all day if he could, so he can swoop in whenever you feel dizzy from the blood loss.

Every time he finds out that it’s the first day of your (irregular) period, he comes over to your place with one week’s worth of your favorite brand and blend of dark chocolate in hand.

Sometime last year, you had to go to the desert on your period for a work trip. He tried to convince you to postpone it.

“You’re still as protective as ever, Haitham. Even from our time as classmates,” you commented. This time, he didn’t leave. Instead, he took your hands and said this with Zaytun Peach-pink cheeks while looking straight into your eyes: “I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”

It was one of the few times you didn’t cave into his wishes because, to be honest, he’d have to be the Grand Sage to postpone that trip.

Little did you know that he’d got appointed as the Acting Grand Sage this year, a few months after you got married. He used—if not abused—his authority to get rid of your workload during your period while he had the power. Then he took a one-week leave (and gave you yours without telling you) to become your one and only househusband.

“Just this once,” he said when you (affectionately) chastised him about it. “Might as well, you know? What good is being an Acting Grand Sage if you can’t exercise your power to spoil someone you love more than anything in this world?”

…

Just… just let him pamper you, all right?

End note:

Hope you enjoyed it! 💚

I'm working on expanding the second part's angst because I want to hurt all of you cry by myself explore the feels. Already have a draft ready, just need to edit it. Hopefully I can post it soon!

To Esther: you can think of it as a second (kinda impromptu) birthday present since it's really angsty so far. Hehehe. Hope it doesn't trigger anything unpleasant though.

© @risustravelogue 2023 • no to reposting, yes to reblogging. feel free to send an ask to suggest, chat, etc. :)

#alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #kurisu writes #kurisu's headcanons

[latelyanobsession]

Crop Tops and Flip Flops

summary the origin story of billy’s lifeguard photo.

warnings none

word count 847

note i’ve squinted at this pretty hard. i think it reads as a x gn!reader you can always get a hold of me if i’ve missed something. but hopefully it’s readable for everyone’s enjoyment.

also i wrote this in a way of billy being kinda camera shy because i can imagine him being yelled at by neil to have to smile in pictures all the time, so the idea of having to act fake or forcibly smile for a photo vs being able to be genuine may make him less fond of having his photo taken.

As always any feedback is much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

It was a mildly warm Saturday afternoon in May and you were on a mission. 

The Hawkins Community Pool would soon be opening for Memorial Day and Ms. Warner asked you to take pictures for the Hawkins High yearbook. 

Mr. Kleckly, the Parks and Rec superintendent also wanted to borrow you and your camera for a modest price of $10 a day for the pool’s annual opening and a few extra afternoons to document a summer of fun on behalf of the city. 

You would be returning to take pictures next weekend and at least another five through the end of July.

You were rather proud of yourself for landing this coveted side hustle. 

Not many high schoolers were given such a privilege, it being previously farmed out to the Hawkins Post.

Pulling into the parking lot you smiled. Summer was about to start, you could hear it already.

They were testing the speakers, The Beach Boys’ Kokomo blaring out from the pool, a man yelling in to the electrical closet to adjust the volume.

Pulling your camera bag from the back seat and your additional lens, you headed to the pool.

Walking in the front gate you walked up to the admissions and concessions window. 

A curly-haired brunette, her hair in a high pony and sunglasses perched atop her head, was sitting on the counter. 

Her legs were crossed as she gossiped with a broad-chested jock pulling water bottles from their packaging.

Looking away from him, she focused her eyes on you, blowing a large bubble of gum until it popped obnoxiously.

“You here for pictures?” she questioned, chewing away.

“Uh... yeah.” you said, shrugging with all your gear.

“Awesome.” she popped another bubble.

Hopping from the counter, she waved for you to follow.

There was a folding table near some lockers that had been set up for you.

“Just let us know when you’re ready.” she walked off to go finish her conversation.

“Thanks!” you called after her.

Placing your bags down, you unpacked and pulled out your camera.

You first took a few test shots of the empty pool. Testing the lighting. Seeking out which angels you preferred best.

Next you pulled out your most reliable lens. Testing more shots.

California Girls was starting to play over the speakers. And you started to bob your head along to the song habitually, as you adjusted the lens.

Bringing the camera back up to your eye, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Beach Boys fan?”  a husky voice asked.

He was so close to the camera, your lens was fogging over.

Your hold on it fumbling as you tried to compose yourself. You damn near dropped it.

“N-no. Not really. It’s just catchy.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, steadying your grip on your most prized possession.

He smirked. “Don’t we have a class together?”

Checking your camera for damage, you looked up at him.

“Maybe.”

“Yeah. Spanish... that’s it.” he looked at you smugly.

You weren’t so sure you liked that look.

Securing the strap around your neck, you put the last adjustments on your camera.

“Do you wanna go first?” you asked.

“First?” he questioned.

You gave a small wave with your camera. He shook his head ‘no’.

“–’M sure Heather would love to...” he drawled.

“Ok.”

Turning on your heels you headed back to the entrance to grab the other lifeguards.

As he predicted. Heather indeed loved to.

You actually lied and told her you were running out of film so that you would be able to move on to the others.

All the while you saw your classmate hanging in the background.

Lighting up a cigarette, watching as the others posed candidly for you.

You couldn’t recall his name but it was becoming clearer to you...

You hadn’t seen many pictures of him for the yearbook layout either.

Did he not like having his picture taken?

He seemed like a pretty outgoing guy.

Soon enough he was the only remaining person in need of photos.

“Your turn...” you smiled softly.

He took one last drag from his cigarette before ashing it out on the trash can lid.

Nervously pulling at the cutout neckline of his crop top, he awkwardly looked at you.

“Where ya want me?”  he asked.

“How bout over there?” you pointed to the lifeguard tower.

He nodded, heading over.

“Do I have to smile?” he truly seemed out of his element.

You laughed.

“Not if you don’t want to. This isn’t a cover shoot for Vogue.”

He laughed lightly, becoming more relaxed.

“Do whatever you want. Be yourself.” you reasoned, lifting the camera.

Dropping back his shoulders, resting an arm on the chair he lifted his head high and stared forward.

“Ya ready?” you asked.

“Yup.”

Click click. Click click.

“Do you want to take any others?” you asked simply.

“Nah I’m good.” he stated, walking away.

“Hey...” you slipped the strap from your neck to your shoulder, “remind me your name.”

Pulling his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose he smirked.

“It’s Billy.”

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things oneshot #stranger things drabble #billy hargrove #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #gn!reader #stranger things x gn reader #billy hargrove x gn!reader #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove headcanon #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x y/n

[ottiliere]

hello! ur posts on the vagus nerve and its connections to digestions have encouraged me to do a lil mini dissertation thingy kinda focused on it/around it, ur big thread on PVT and everything really piqued my interest when i read it and i just held onto it for like a year or smthing until like last week when i started the project. Ik u said recently in one of ur posts i believe that ur not going to post the big dirk PVT post and im not here to be like yo post it because i also think u said that ur kinda moving away from like hs/dirky stuff rn ?? (im forgetting if i saw that sorry) but yeah i just wanted to say thank u etc etc, like ive never done an ask before so sorry if this is phrased weirdly but ur blog is just like one of those blogs that fundamentally changed how i view certain things in life for the better lol, like whether its ur beautiful representations / depictions of mental health in like just beautifully painted art (seriously the way u make it look like idk how to word it cartoony/really 2d but then it stands out against the background + if u zoom in and see the tiny pixel details == it makes me mad) or just like the huggeee long form posts that i like to chew on and save cuz theres so many details that AFFAAT like the way you talk abt the topics u portray has made me concious of how i would want to do so in the same way ig u get me. anyway this got really long and idk if i come across coherently, but ur just a random person on the internet whos art and written thoughts that u decide to share makes me happy when i see it == makes me pace around my room and distract me from this fat essay lmao so tldr: i really appreciate what u do + i hope like that ur doing well and that u keep arting and thoughting no matter what it is that u choose to focus on

(uve made me comitted to reading jthm, playing psychonauts and giving jjba w/ dio another go lmao) 🫶🫶

Hello! I’m sorry this reply is coming so late, this ask in particular is very sweet and has stuck out to me.

I’m really happy to have introduced you to PVT, this is something I’ve heard from a few different people on here and it’s very sweet… I did my thesis on it in college and the time really flew by while working on it, things you don't think could possibly attributed to "nerve issues" being nerve issues is always an eye-opener, isn't it? being able to research things that interest you & access information in general really is a privilege in this day and age.

“The topics [I] portray” are very important to me, so it’s heartening when others take interest in spite of the obvious deterrents. A lot of what I love making art about is unpalatable to most, and while I do understand the reasons for that on principle, it can make things feel a little insular. I genuinely believe there’s a lot of value in depicting tableaus of misery.

The last year has brought a lot of very unforeseen changes, and my life is quite different from when I initially made this blog to post about him! That’s also part of why I’ve been so sparse here…though I’m working to change that quite soon. I love sharing my work, and I’ve had the privilege of meeting some truly wonderful people through this website. That said…with where I’m at now, I’m not sure I’ll be posting the Dirk essay anytime soon, I’m afraid.

I’ve undertaken a few ongoing projects, one of which in particular is an original project I plan on sharing publicly here hopefully within the next month or so. I hope it’s something you & anyone else who’s stuck around with me here will enjoy, but failing that, I’ve really enjoyed working on it thus far.

Thank you for the sweet ask, take care, and good luck with your project!

#ask #I'm not afraid to admit that my fondness for dio is entirely contingent on things I made up about him in my head over the years. #there's a draft here filled with thousands of words about him that I started writing up in response to some ask I got earlier this year #but I never finished it... :( and I also never posted the dozens and dozens of pictures I frenetically drew of him either. maybe someday #on another note: I did my yearly reread of johnny the other month. I'll do something big with him one day but this year is not the year #similarly sasha answers in the queue. I'm glad you enjoyed psychonauts it's one of the greatest games ever visually and re: gameplay. etc #lucy art

[camellia-salazar]

Too late to post on Christmas, too early to post on New Years, just in time to post these in December.

Remember last year that I said I felt like drawing characters in winter clothes? Well this is it. I lost motivation afterwards lol

This was part of the collection of drawings I did a while back, but I reached the limit to that post so I'm posting it here. (Ft. the weird costume box thing I talked about before, the more I think about it the more weird it seems to me).

Getting back into MFN got me to draw the characters so hopefully I improved since the last time I drew some of them. Oh look Gorgon got a mustache now.

The characters I actually wanted to draw from MFN but felt like I should draw Gordon and Ricky first. Still got to draw these guys tho yay

Finished this during both Christmas Eve and Day. But didn't want to post this before the recent MFN fan arts I did. (Also sorry for the bland gray background I can't think of a good one).

Drew this sometime after the Christmas party one. I was gonna give up but then motivation hit me fast so I finished it. I just love to draw characters together like this (Again, sorry for the background).

Started drawing this a couple of months or so ago, but for some reason I stopped drawing it after getting a lot of it done. Then I recently got the motivation to finish it finally and I'm glad I did. (Shouldn't have took so long ngl).

So there you go, some more fan art for whoever likes these characters and/or the stuff they're in. Kinda wish I drew more wintery or Christmassy stuff but I feared not posting it soon before the month ends so yeah.

Thanks for viewing my fan art and reading the texts. Merry (late) Christmas! And Happy (early) New Years!! 🎄🎉

((my favorite part was drawing them sweaters✨))

(i dont got enough tag room to tag every avenue q character on here RIP)

#fanart #baldis basics #ed edd n eddy #bluey #my friendly neighborhood #mfn #centaurworld #soul eater #101 dalmation street #foster's home for imaginary friends #avenue q #baldi #principal of the thing #eene eddy #bluey heeler #mfn gordon #mfn ricky #mfn norman #mfn junebug #mfn lenard #mfn liliana #mfn george #wammawink #maka albarn #crona gorgon #dorothy dalmatian #terrance fhfif #bloo fhfif #mac fhfif #multifandom