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#new tag lololololol
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Lmao I'm done tagging posts on here
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solaireverie · 7 months
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sv5 | stars all aligned and they intertwined
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pairing: sebastian vettel x f!singer!reader
summary: [ social media au ] despite parting ways years ago, you and sebastian somehow find each other again (or: sebastian becomes your wag after his retirement)
warnings: language
faceclaim: anne hathaway + pinterest
author's note: seb is literally the definition of a wife guy. i love him so much. enjoy!
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liked by phoebebridgers, oceanblvd, sebastianvettel and 3,459,127 others
yourusername the biggest thank you to everyone who came last night. i adore adore adore all of you with my whole entire heart ❤️
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user MOTHERRRRR I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU FOR THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE!!!!!!
↪ yourusername i'm so glad you enjoyed it 🥰
↪ user holy shit y/n l/n replied to me i can die happy now 😵‍💫
user the finger in the first pic??? y/n girl are you trying to tell us something 🤨
↪ user i don't get it? does it mean anything special?
↪ user it's one of the most famous celebrations of ex-formula 1 driver sebastian vettel. they dated a while ago and he was at her concert last night!!!!
↪ user awww that's cute 🥺
sebastianvettel Always lovely to see you again 😄
↪ yourusername likewise 💕
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liked by sebastianvettel, gigihadid, charles_leclerc and 874,935 others
tagged: sebastianvettel
yourusername behind the scenes 🎥
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user new music soon??? 👀👀👀
↪ yourusername maybe 😉
charles_leclerc 🤍🤍🤍
↪ yourusername ❤️❤️❤️
user seb and charles in the likes 😳 ariana what are you doing here?
↪ user seb's also tagged lololololol the rumors are terrible and cruel but honey most of them are (probably) true ✨
sebastianvettel Mein engel ❤️ [ my angel ]
↪ yourusername mein weltmeister (und fotograf) 💕 [ my world champion (and photographer) ]
↪ user absolutely unwell over this interaction. what do you mean seb took the photos. why are they calling each other pet names in german. UNWELL.
↪ charles_leclerc trust me it's worse in person
liked by lewishamilton
↪ user charles?!?!?!??!?! lewis?!?!??!?!??! y/n's collecting all the fast car boys fr 😭
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liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, charles_leclerc and 481,359 others
tagged: yourusername
sebastianvettel These hands had to let it go free and this love came back to me
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yourusername this love is alive back from the dead ❤️
liked by sebastianvettel
user THEY'RE SO FREAKING CUTE?????????
user so happy for them 🥺 it was really obvious that they were in love and that it was just bad timing the first time around...
charles_leclerc mom & dad :)
↪ yourusername who taught him this??? charles darling i'm afraid i'm not quite at that age yet
↪ danielricciardo i claim the fifth
↪ yourusername you're not even american 😑
user the caption sounds a lot like a lyric 👀
liked by yourusername
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liked by sebastianvettel, dyl.an, billboard and 7,936,872 others
tagged: sebastianvettel
yourusername I fell terribly in love with someone when I was in my mid-twenties, before either of us knew who we were. It was a love that people write tragedies about, a cautionary tale told to children for years to come, a car wreck you can’t look away from. In the end, I walked away from everything we’d built with tears in my eyes and walls around my heart. 
I don’t regret the paths I chose and sacrifices I made. The starkest realizations I’ve had about myself came in the days after, when I cried myself to sleep and pretended I didn’t know his name. I created some of my most beautiful music when I couldn’t enter a room without seeing him in the crowd. I grew from the experience the way forests grow back after a wildfire.
However, I always regretted letting go of him. He was the one I knew I could always count on, the one who held me in my darkest days, the one whose smile I searched for wherever I went, despite knowing I was the one who erased it from my life.
Ten years later, after I had already buried everything we once shared, I received a text from an unknown number. 
What came next is well-documented in pictures, notes scribbled on coffee cups, and train tickets across Europe. While we may have been the right person at the wrong time a decade ago, patience rewards those who wait.
I found myself falling for him all over again. It felt like a homecoming and a rebirth at the same time. We had changed and matured in our time apart, but we still knew each other like the backs of our hands. At his core, he is still the man I loved, and something in my soul knew that. 
Love is a strange thing. It is something we feel deep in our beings yet something we will never fully understand. It is untameable, maddening, and fickle. It is also enchanting, captivating, and thrilling. If there’s someone in your life who loves you, count yourself lucky. If you love someone, I hope they appreciate you.
This album is both a love letter to him and for him. It is an ode to his figure against the sunrise and arms around my waist. It’s a time capsule of carnival games, elaborate bouquets, and endless late-night conversations. I treasure each and every second I get with you, especially the ones we spent writing some of the tracks together.
My love, adore adore adore is yours.
comments on this post have been limited
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likes and reblogs are appreciated!
masterlist
for the nerds like me, here's a breakdown of y/n's music in this verse
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f1bordeaux · 8 months
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If You Cared (Part 3) | mv1
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It's been years since you've indulged in a vacation. What better time is there than summer? Your family, the beach house in Italy-it seems perfect. But, for things to be just like good old times, your family needs to invite his. So of course you are having mixed feelings as the boy who broke your heart re-enters your life like nothing happened. Warnings: None Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader Word count: 2.5k Poetry style | Story style A/n: Part 3 has arrived! I rewrote this about a million times so I kinda just gave up lololololol It isn't proofread sry next chapter will prob have smut in continuation to the end of this chapter? I haven't decided yet. I'm hoping to finish this series by Saturday because then I go on hiatus for 3 months so look out! As always, let me know if you wanna be in a continuation tag! Part One|Part Two|Part Three|Part Four|Part Five
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When Max woke up the room was dark-pitch black almost.
All he could see was the turquoise glow from the pool outside, thanks to the glass patio door. He studied it for a while, watching the water idly float around, watching trees sway in a soft wind. It looked tranquil. It looked calm. For a moment, he almost fell back asleep, tucked in the corner of the couch underneath two or so blankets. Then you moved.
He almost jumped, completely forgetting that you had been sitting on the couch, too. As fate would have it, you had also fallen asleep, curled into his side with your arms around his waist. One of his hands rested on your back, another one on the top of the couch. He hadn’t even realized. Now that he did, however, he felt a little warmer, his heart felt a little fuller, his smile grew a little wider.
Max reached for his phone on a couch cushion nearby. The time was two-almost three-in the morning. He could only assume that the two of you fell asleep during family movie night and nobody had bothered to wake either of you. He was grateful for that.
Over the past four days, the two of you had grown incredibly close-inseparable even. After his apology, the days were spent falling back into the familiar rhythm you’d built as children. Everything you did, you did together. Chores? Apparently dishes were a two-person job! Mopping the floor? Two is better than one! Grocery shopping? It can be done twice as fast with two people! Even when it came to seating arrangements you and Max were together. In the car, at a meal, at a game around the table, on the couch for movies. If Max was there, you were there. If you were there, Max was there.
You rustled a little, aiming to get more comfortable in your sleep. Max waited until you stilled before slowly picking you up and laying you back down. He placed a butterfly kiss on your forehead. If you had been awake, a blush would be painting your cheeks red in seconds. Instead, you just nestled deeper into the blankets. Max smiled, turning on his heel and carefully sliding the back door open.
The cold air was refreshing, it was like a jumpstart for his lungs. He inhaled sharply, sitting down on a patio chair. His mind became occupied with plenty of questions, with plenty of memories, with plenty of possible outcomes for this summer. What would become of you two once you parted ways? Do you remember that time the two of you built a fort in the living room, and your parents let it stay up until the following summer, and when you came back it was still up? You two would be ok in the end, right?
“You should tell her, Max.”
He spun around, surprised at the sudden voice. Mia approached him, taking a spot on a lounge chair next to his. “What?” He spoke, voice raspy.
“Luca told me.”
“Luca, right.”
Mia nodded, bringing her sleeves up to her eyes. She sipped on a glass of water. “Do you love y/n? Or is this a joke to you? I mean it obviously started that way-”
“It’s not a joke.” He sighed. “I do love y/n. I swear I do.”
“What’s to come after this then, hmm? When you go back to Monaco and she goes to New York, what happens then?” Mia’s voice grew increasingly loud. Max’s eyes shifted from her face to the back door. Your figure was still curled up on the couch, but there was no way to know if you were awake or not.
“I don’t know, Mia.” He stood up, turning to go inside. “All I know is that I love her.”
“You loved her as a kid and you still left her.”
“Mia that won't-”
“Did you really change or is this just you trying to fabricate a lie once again?”
He tried to speak, to voice his opinion without waking you. “Will you let me-”
“You should stop getting so close with her. I can almost smell your bad intentions-”
“Mia!” He yelled, voice bouncing off the walls and echoing through the yard. She looked at him with wide eyes. “I’ll figure it out.”
With that he walked inside, noticing your movement on the couch. You sat up, rubbing your eyes similarly to how Mia just had. “Max?”
“Hello, beautiful. Let’s go to bed, ok?” He reached out a hand, one that you hesitated to take.
“Why were Mia and you outside? Why did you shout her name?”
Max just shook his head, opting to pick you up bridal style. You smiled, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. Sleep toyed with your body, pulling at your eyelids and weighing your limbs down. Your sister walked inside as Max began to walk up the steps. You didn’t see it, but he gave her an apologetic look. She returned one of anger, one of dread. Dont fuck this up or it’s over for good, she was telling him. I know, he wanted to say. Trust me, I know.
Max walked you up the stairs, his body heat providing a comfort no blanket ever could. He pushed your door open and laid you down before pulling your sheets over you. His hand came to your hair, brushing a few strands away from your face. You looked so delicate laying there. He could break you in seconds. He hated knowing that he had that power over you.
With a small kiss goodbye to the cheek, he was standing, ready to go into his room and try to fall asleep on his own cold, lonely bed. You hand caught his wrist, though, stopping him in his tracks. “Stay.” Your words were so quiet that he almost didn’t hear you. “Stay, Max.”
He swallowed thickly. Through your closed door, he could hear Mia’s footsteps as she wandered down the hall and back to her bedroom. Was she right? Was this wrong? Would this just lead into another heartbreak at the end of the summer? Would you always hate Max unless you were dating him?
“Y/n I-��
“Please?”
He crawled over you, his chest pressing into your back. The two of you didn’t last long like that, however. You rolled over, curling into his body. His arms wrapped around you, his hands meeting at the small of your back. “Thank you,” You whispered.
And you swear he said, “You’re welcome, my love.” As you fell asleep.
-
You woke up alone, an indentation in the spot beside you as the only evidence that Max had once been there.
You begin to wonder how long ago he left your side. Did he leave as soon as you fell asleep? Did he leave a little while ago? Did he leave somewhere in between? You smiled as your hand touched the spot on your duvet where he was. It was still warm.
“Good morning!” Your mother beamed as you walked down the stairs. Max and Luca sat at the kitchen bar, your mother and Max’s stood behind it, cooking up some sort of food. “Sleep well after your slumber on the couch?”
“God, you should have seen how you and him were cuddled up.” Luca gagged. “Disgusting.”
You smacked the back of his head as you passed him to sit next to Max. “You’re seventeen, not twelve, Luca.” Max smiled at you as you took your seat. He ran a hand across your thigh before pulling it back. Your skin missed his touch almost immediately.
“Yacht today-sound good with you three?” Sophie asked.
“Always.” Max added, raising his glass in the air. “We haven’t been on it yet this year.”
Luca sighed. “My dad and I have been working on it. A few tweaks here and there. We’re confident now that we can take it out and not get stranded.”
“Awesome.” He responded.
“Better grab a few emergency flares just in case.” You said, your mother sliding you a glass of coffee and a carton of creamer across the bar. “We all know Luca isn’t the smartest of kids.”
He stuck a middle finger up at you, to which you returned.
Going on the yacht meant there was only one possible destination. There was an island off the southwest coast of Elba called Pianosa. A small, secluded, rocky beach named Belvedere beach called Pianosa home, and it was also where your family would spend their day. It took about three hours to get there, and you all would normally stay until sunset, arriving home in the late hours of the night. You have plenty of fond memories surrounding the trip. When coming home, everyone would fall asleep except for you and Max who would sit by your father as he navigated his way home. Sometimes, when it got boring watching him, you two would run around and play in the hot tub. This year, you hoped, would be no different.
“So, you and Max.”
“Stop it, mom.” You sighed, walking shoulder to shoulder with her. The boat was a few feet away, and Max was already on it with your dad, Luca, and Victoria’s husband as they lifted heavy coolers and bins onto the deck.
“What? It looks like things are going well for you two.”
“They are, but I’m not getting too invested. He’s gotta’ go back to Monaco and I have to go back to New York. Those two places are very far away.” You stepped onto the dock. “Not to mention we have very different lives.”
Your mother just shrugged, placing one foot on the boat and accepting a helping hand from your father. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll find a way to be.”
He reached out a hand to you. “She’s a woman of wisdom, darling.”
You scoffed. “Apparently everyone is.”
The yacht took off quickly after you all boarded. You sat alone in the lounge on the second floor. You could feel the wind on your face as the boat sped up. It was refreshing. You’d missed the yacht. You’d missed a lot of things about Elba summers, you realized.
“There you are.” Max walked down the stairs behind you. “Why are you alone?”
“Just needed a breather.”
“Are you ok?” He sat down on the couch next to you, a worried look on his face.
“Yes.” You laughed. “I’m alright.”
The trip went smoothly. You and Max hung out in the lounge the whole time. At one point, Victoria and her husband came down with their two children. The six of you talked the whole time. Victoria spoke of motherhood and how amazing it had been. You all reminisced, too. She reminded you of birthday parties and summer outings. She reminded you of girl nights and bedroom sleepovers.
Once the boat ported, Luca was the first to jump off the side, nearly missing a rock. Of course your mother scolded him. What was a family trip without Luca getting in trouble? You and Mia tanned on the front of the boat until lunch on the first deck. You slid into the booth followed by a dripping wet Max. His hand was cold as it touched your thigh before pulling away-the same as he did in the morning.
“Stop, you’re cold.” You swatted at him as he scooted closer to you. “Max! Stop!”
He laughed before grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his shoulders. “So whiney.”
After eating, everyone took a quick breather before jumping back into the water. Mia went to continue tanning, you stayed seated on the first deck. Max stayed with you, too. And you were sure that a good conversation could happen but of course, Luca was there so all that was said was nonsense. At one point, Max and your little brother got in an argument on whether or not white was a color or shade. How intelligent.
“Jump in with me.” Max begged.
“Let me get in through the ladder first then I’ll jump in.”
He shook his head. “That’s wimpy. Jump.”
“Max-”
“Jump.”
You would never win this argument. So, hand in hand with him, you and Max jumped off the edge of the boat. The water was freezing. You began to worry about having a heart attack. It was a serious worry, ok? You spent the rest of the afternoon floating in the ocean, sometimes with a raft and sometimes on Max’s back. You played stupid games with Mia and Luca, you showed Victoria’s kids how to build a ‘good’ sand castle, you pushed your father off the boat-life was good.
When everyone was asleep on couches and chairs, your father pulled the boat away from the island and began the return to Elba. Max and you were together-of course-in the hot tub. You were exhausted, the sun had done a number on your body. The bubbling water and warm temperatures in the hot tub made it hard to keep your eyes open. Plus, the sun was down now, so it was relatively dark.
“I had a lot of fun today.” Max said.
You hummed, eyes closed as you leaned your head back. “Me too.”
“I always have fun around you and your family, so thank you.”
You opened your eyes, lowering your head to look at him. His hair was messy, his face was red. He looked tired but he still somehow looked so good. He only thought the same things about you. “You’re welcome around us anytime.”
He began to move closer to you, body cutting through the water. You watched him intensely as he came to your side. His eyes flicked between your lips and your eyes. You could feel his breath on your cheek. What was this? What was he doing? Why were you allowing it to happen?
His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. “You’re so pretty.” He whispered.
“No,” You shook your head. Hopefully your sunburn was masking the blush that was darkening your cheeks. “I look disheveled.”
“You always look good, y/n.”
It was your turn to avert your gaze from his eyes to his lips. They looked so plush, so full, so warm. You wondered if they felt the same as they did all those years ago. Max’s hand came to your neck. His index finger skimmed your jaw. His eyelashes fluttered shut. You found yourself mindlessly following suit. Before you knew it, those warm lips you were wondering about were on yours. He was soft, careful with the way he handled your skin. His other hand came to hold the opposite side of your face.
He pulled away after only a few moments. “Y/n I-”
“Max-”
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask or anything I don’t know why I did that-”
You lifted your thigh to slide onto his lap. His eyes were wide as you wrapped your arms around his neck, elbows resting on his shoulders. “Do it again.”
“What?” He whispered.
“Kiss me, Max.”
He swallowed hard, adjusting how he was sitting in the hot tub. “Absolutely.”
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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year
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Pink Scarf - PART 18.2 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)
Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)
Requested: kinda
(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)
Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]
TW: Sex. SO MUCH ANGST. Medication/drug use/overdose. Dub con (sort of?). References to medical trauma, miscarriage, infertility. Blood. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  
Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 16.3k (LOLOLOLOLOL)
A/N: Y'ALL, I'M SO SORRY, it's a monstrosity. I couldn't help it. There was just so much to be said while still in E's POV, so that's how we ended up here, over 16k. But we finally learn Elvis' BIG SECRET and experience the mighty fallout from that in his eyes, so hopefully it's worth it. This is my Thanksgiving gift to all of you, but you may want to pace yourselves. I feel like I had to rip my heart out a little bit to really get in E's headspace. Prepare yourselves emotionally. That's all I will say.
A quick note about the pictures...the first is actually from when he bought Graceland in March 1957 and it just works PERFECTLY for the beginning. I couldn't resist the pics from Red West's wedding in 1961, even though I know the timeline and the people don't match but the VIBES, the VIBES my friends, are oh so Jack and Reader's wedding so I just had to include them. The one for 1960 was taken the night of the Rollerdome. *sob*
If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜
Speaking of Thanksgiving, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY which is always evident but especially so when someone tried to steal PS last week and y'all went 'ride or die' for me instantly, without question, getting it taken down in record time. I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋
If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!
I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 
Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 
(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)
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(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.
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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.
*
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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.
*
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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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romana-after-dark · 5 months
Text
Blessed be the Fruit: Bonus Chapter
Commander!Joel Miller x fem!OC! Angela Dempsey x Commander!Tommy Miller
Series masterlist : Join dark!Romana's tag list : Dark!Romana's Masterlist
Summery: In the weeks before Joel's new handmaid arrives, Tommy and Angela have some fun at the Jezabels and Joel watches... an it's a good thing he does
Content and warnings: Joel watching Tommy and Angela fuck, jerking off, subby!tommy, top Angela, degrading, objectification, choking, almost murder lololololol protective Joel, creampie.
AN: Just a lil thing to hold y'all over. Chapter 5 is in the works but its taking me forever bc i keep getting distracted with other shit and I need to get the next chapter of this Javier x reader x santi fic out lololol
Support writers, reblog and leave comments!
****************
“You gonna do more than watch this time, Joel?”
Angela spoke as she teased Tommy’s body, both of them fully dressed for the time being, but Angela’s dark green dress and skimpy panties running over Tommy’s pants could hardly be counted as ‘dressed’.
“You know the drill, now get to work. Tommy looks like he’s about to have you on the wall.”
Angela shot him a look, but she knew he was joking. “Just for that, I’m gonna tease him a little longer.”
“Joel, shut the hell up!” Tommy grunted blow her, gripping at the bedsheets.
This scene had been displayed time and time again. Joel Miller liked to watch. Tommy liked to be on bottom. Angela liked to pretend she had some semblance of control over her life. The last two years, Tommy took her out here and honestly? She liked it. She got to pretend she was normal. She got to be sexy, fun, she got to play with Tommy’s body the way men liked to play with hers. The clock was ticking and there was no baby to show for it, and it wouldn’t be long before she was shipped off to her next commander, and she doubted he would be as kind as Tommy; and Tommy was kind. She liked him. Many handmaids fell for their commanders, naive and innocent and stupid girls years younger who thought oh, he’s different, his wifes a bitch, but he loves me, he just can’t leave her. Tale as old as time. 
It wasn’t like that with Tommy, Angela just liked him, she enjoyed his company. He didn’t try to tell her they’d run away together, they just had sex, played games, hung out. Deb really was a bitch, and Tommy wasn’t fucking her much. She believed him on that, considering that she slept in a separate bed. Joel was still fucking Gina though, and Angela couldn’t fault him for that. Gina was a cunt, but beautiful, with flawless dark skin and perfectly braided curly coils every single day. She’d been a knock out before, when the hair was allowed down and Angela was sure that’s the Gina Joel got to see in bed. Still, Joel still came out here with Tommy, riding separately. He’d find a girl later on, but for round one, Joel liked to jerk off while watching you fuck his brother.
He liked watching you bounce on Tommy’s cock while you looked directly at him.
“Fuck, Ang… oh my god, please let me cum, please” Tommy whined, youthful body writhing and he really did look so, so good like this. Sprawled out and desperate. 
“Not yet, Tommy, I’m not done using you yet. Lay there like a good toy and shut up.” Angela liked degrading him, reducing Tommy to what Gilead made her feel like. It wasn’t personal; Tommy treated her like a person, but there was no pure blood in Gilead. Angela looked away from Tommy’s tanned chest and back to Joel, whose face was calm and collected but the rapid rise and fall of his chest matched more closely to how furiously he was jerking his cock. “Hear you’re getting a new handmaid, Joel? Your cunt of a wife not, ooo, not tight enough?”
“Nothing tighter than my right hand, but yeah, she hmph, won’t shut up about wanting another.”
Joel was handsome, she gave him that, and his cock was massive. Longer than Tommy, but not as thick. “Gonna bring her here?”
“No.” He chuckled. “You don’t need another plaything.”
She pouts and is about to retort when Tommy speaks again. “Angela, please-”
“Shut up!” Angela covers her mouth as she rides him slower, making him groan at the torture. “Grown ups are talking.”
This makes Joel smirk. “Wanna keep my privet life private… but don’t worry, I’ll still come by for a show.”
“And what a show it is.” She releases Tommy’s mouth, slowly riding up and down Tommy’s cock, the man beneath you barely holding on as she touches herself, her full body. Angela knew she was hot, ample tits and the curve of her, soft skin and dark, curly hair, she liked being wanted, and she liked being in control of that want. She did not like when Tommy grabbed her hips, hard, and attempted to control the pace.
Angela and Tommy had done breath play plenty, so he didn’t blink when her hands wrapped around to choke him. What he didn’t realize that in playing the brat, he had accidentally triggered something in her. This is where she had control, and she refused to let him take it. So Angela chocked him. And it was hard. Faster and faster she road him, continuously spearing herself on his dick and choking him harder and harder. She thought she might break a windpipe… and the thought made her orgasm around her. Her fluttering walls, the deep, intense pleasure, the power and control over Tommy right now as he gagged and coughed and wheezed… What if she just did it? What if she ended it right now? She’d end up on the wall, but that's where she was going anyway. This way, there’d be one less commander… What if she did it? Tommy’s eyes were unfocusing… she could watch the life leave his face….
The sound of the chair creaking caused Angela to look up, seeing Joel had taken note of the prolonged and aggressive choking of his brother, and had slowed down his own hand while waiting for the scene to play… Angela let go, allowing Tommy to breath and Tommy came inside her right then.
“Oh god, oh god Angela, you’re fuck’n perfect.” He continued to praise her as she road his overstimulated cock, leaving him twitching and whining about cumming a second time, but Angela’s eyes were on Joel.
He had gone back to his position, fighting himself with ferver but glaring a deathly look at her. Joel knew what Angela had almost done, and the look he gave her said if she ever touched his baby brother's throat again, what he’d do to her was far worse than the wall.
Maybe it was the fear in her eyes that made him cum.
***************
Angela Angela Angela..... if ur gonna kill someone, dont kill tommy. But, heat of the moment... more will be reveled about angela and tommy soon but this is just a hint.
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darwinquark · 11 months
Note
bae you been too quiet!! what are your thoughts on the new episode?!?!
I'm assuming this was sent before the break up ep lololol - I thought they were really cute! Not my fave iteration of them (a little rushed/saccharine and the storyline tipped too hard into being Jughead's plot with Veronica tagging along to feel super balanced), but definitely cute, especially how blushy and smitten they both looked. Honestly, I think my preferred version of Jughead and Veronica is too rooted in push-and-pull/two messy, judgmental snobs realizing their scars match to fully work in a bubblegum 50s timeline, but it was adorable to see them so happy (although editing around those bangs/that crown is going to be a nightmare).
I think if I had to reimagine them in the 50s, I would've kept the monster movie scene but made it a little more bickery/defensive so that the moment where they unexpectedly love the same movie feels more surprising, especially when it triggers those tentative smiles. Probably would've used that scene as more of a first note of surprise/realizing there was more to the other than the start of a full-blown romantic interest, and would've had them brush it off as a one-off even if they spent most of the night talking. I also would've liked both Veronica and Jughead to each have individual ties to Ethel's story so that them teaming up would've had more of an out-of-necessity flavor and given them a lot more room to snipe at each other, bicker over how to do things, and bond more naturally, with the obvious backdrop of developing confusing feelings along the way. I also think it would've been a great way for them to see the heroism in the other since everyone else just wrote Ethel off but both of them weren't afraid to put their reputations on the line to help her. Basically, I would've Dair-ified the hell out of it and made it a little more balanced.
Also I just re-read your message and realized at no point did you ask me what I would've done differently lololololol I am so sorry
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Loki Episode 1 Reactions (Less Coherent Edition)
It's been two and a half years, y'all, and what a start to the new season it was. (I've seen mixed reviews in the tag, but personally the initial reaction is I loved it.) What I apparently forgot in those two years, however, is that my in-the-moment reactions notes are not very coherent. So I apologize in advance if you aren't sure what part the note refers to. I'm going to make another post tomorrow with some more coherent thoughts around the episode and some predictions about the season in general (I'm also going to be rewatching the episode later so that might lend more clarity to the next post as well). I also cut out a chunk of my reactions that were just me screaming a character's name when they showed up, unless it makes sense for the next note to leave it in (and there were a lot of these, since it's been two and a half years since I've seen my friends).
Obligatory spoiler warning if you weren't already expecting them. Prepare for some wildness. I've bracketed [ ] some brief clarifying post-ep notes (not everywhere though).
I'm obnoxious, I'm watching the entire recap.
The editing of this recap is interesting.
The bleak theme is worrying. I don't like it. But I do love the color scheme of the logo.
SYLVIE???!!!
CASEY!!!
Okay hopefully that wasn't Sylvie.
Someone give this boi [Loki] a nap. He's had a very very very long day and it's only getting longer.
What the fuck is happening.
X-5 you've got the haircut of a cop, I've decided I don't like you.
Man, I hope we fix this time-slipping in this episode, it's stressing me out too fucking much.
Oh motherfuck. This is driving me insane. This is Sisyphean torture. [I don't remember what specifically I was referring to, so I don't remember if this is an accurate description.]
OH MY GOD I LOVE LIZ CARR I HOPE SHE STICKS AROUND [Man, Liz Carr is just hopping from franchise to franchise this summer. She's in Loki, Good Omens, The Witcher)
OH SHIT. Renslayer and Kang. If they kiss on tape I'm marking it on the Bingo.
I DESPERATELY want to know what B-15's backstory is. She's a fantastic character and I want to know how she used this personality on the timeline.
Keep that Hitler youth-looking fuck away from my girl!
Oh my god, I'm going to be watching this conversation in the hall between Loki and Mobius over and over, because I love every part of it. The panicking, the teasing, the touching, the making each other feel better. Just the entire debriefing, reuniting conversation is EVERYTHING to me right now.
"In order to do that I need a Loki Who Remains." I love this
"I have no memory of having my memory wiped." Mobius. This is Catherine Tate on Nevermind the Buzzcocks telling David Tennant "I don't know songs I've never heard of" solidarity [I understand I'm making obscure 13+ year old references but this quote lives in my head rent free]
Ugh I HATE time travel. But it makes sense why his name is OB now. Also his door is a circle.
OB IF YOU KILL LOKI I WILL END YOUR CUTE BESPECTACLED FACE FASTER THAN YOU CAN SAY "No...wait."
OB IF YOU KILL MOBIUS I WILL PERSONALLY FLAY THE SKIN FROM YOUR OWN BONES
Mobius writing "skin" into the dust on the computer lololololol
WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING JUST LET LOKI CONFESS
OB I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS IF ONE OF THESE BOYS EVEN SEEMS TO DIE AT THE END OF THIS EP
HOW IS HE GONNA HOOF IT BACK IF HE CAN BARELY CRAWL [I started getting really stressed at this point. It's pretty much caps lock from here on out.]
OH MY GOD OH MY GOD WE'RE GONNA END THIS EPISODE WITH MO BITING IT AND THEN LOKI FIXES IT IN EP TWO AND BRINGS HIM BACK
OR LOKI BITES IT AND THE OTHER WAY HAPPENS
THERE'S ELEVEN MINUTES LEFT BUT I DON'T TRUST MARVEL NOT TO MAKE ELEVEN MINUTES OF CREDITS
MARVEL DON'T MAKE ME CHECK OFF THE CRYING BOX [on the Bingo Card] ON EPISODE ONE
MARVEL
I WON'T BE ABLE TO SLEEP
MARVEL
LOKI
MOBIUS
LOKI
MOBIUS
SYLVIE MY DARLING MY PERFECT LOVE THANK YOU OH MY GOD
How wild is it that Loki comes flying back from the jaws of death itself and saves Mobius from getting his skin ripped off and they land on the floor of the TVA in each other's arms, and the first thing Loki does is bring up his ex-girlfriend [I wouldn't classify Sylvie as this, but I'm being tongue-in-cheek, and Mobius did accuse Loki of falling for himself in season 1, so]
OKAY BUT I WAS RIGHT THAT WAS SYLVIE AT THE BEGINNING [Before you reply, remember I can't respond to those, and also I forgot that was the past and at the end Loki's in the future. HOWEVER, I do still think that was Sylvie at the beginning.]
SHE IS IN BROXTON HELL YEAH WHOEVER FIGURED THAT OUT (I don't remember who that was) FOUR FOR YOU HOLY SHIT
Oh Sylvie :(((
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twenty questions for fanfic writers
i was going through my likes and realized @deliriumsdelight7 tagged me over a month ago MY BAD SORRY LOVE U
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
255 😅
2. What's your total AO3 word count?
3,267,300 😅😅
3. What fandoms do you write for?
currently only for stranger things, but in the past i've written for julie and the phantoms, 1d, shadowhunters, young royals, and 911.
4. What are your top five fics by kudos?
can't help falling in love with you
keep me up all night
tell me how to feel about you now
if we don't leave this town (we might never make it out)
underneath (some calm exterior)
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
i do! i like doing it :)
6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
ohhh that's definitely always have & always will. a close second is the new one before i bury you lol
7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
literally any of my other fics hahahaha i love a happy ending!!!
8. Do you get hate on fics?
not so much on the fic itself but hate as part of larger fandom issues bc people are mean to total strangers on the internet for no fuckin reason
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
all the kinds, probably. i'm sure there's a few kinks i haven't and will never write but i'm open to most things. (and hilariously in connection to the previous question, my writing smut is one of the reasons i got hate in my last fandom)
10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?
i mean, not really unless you count AUs as being crossovers lol. i once had an idea for a teen wolf/1d crossover but it never got off the ground.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
yes and it SUCKED. fuck that douchebag and fuck wattpad.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
i've had a couple people ask over the years but i've said no 😅 idk what it is but i just feel weird about it
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
yes! once with @cunnninghams and i've got a few in the works with @cyraclove 🥰
14. What's your all-time favorite ship?
ughhhhhh don't do this to me i can't answer!
15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?
lol unfortunately i think i roll til i change my luck might wither away into nothingness before i ever finish it
16. What are your writing strengths?
i like to think that i'm good at writing realistic dialogue and maybe describing scenes like they're in a movie bc that's how i see everything i write in my head.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
brevity.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?
the few times i've done it i've gone to someone who's fluent to double-check my dialogue bc i don't wanna be That Person
19. First fandom you wrote for?
lololololol simple plan back in the days of bandom and no u cannot find that fic anywhere thank u
20. Favorite fic you've written?
oof another tough question, but off the top of my head i'd say the hellcheer mechanic au. lots of good memories writing that one 💛
tagging @magicalrocketships, @dearmrsawyer, @alexenglish, @cyraclove, @medusasfinalgirl, @hangon-silvergirl, @a-strange-inkling, and anybody else who hasn't been tagged already and wants to do it!
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strideofpride · 4 months
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3, 15, 16 & 19 for the ao3 ask game :)
3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?
answered here
15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?
The only one I'm for sure taking is the "about to turn 40, have we become our parents" AU. At this rate, I'm probably gonna be taking like a rolling stone into 2024 as well. I hope to have the dairthaniel AU I've been working on up by New Year's, but we'll see.
16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?
Oddly enough it's "Canon Compliant" lololololol
19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?
I mean...it's not going to be a happy portrayal but I'm really excited to explore Derena's marriage in said 40 AU lol.
ao3 wrapped
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downwarddnaspiral · 1 year
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trying to write a little today
it’s rough going. gads, it’s like I never learned how to make words.
Doesn’t help that this was my FTH auction prize fic that lost steam most of the way through, because I was going to school, the Stucky tags are so damned congested on AO3 and out here, and it just didn’t get much traffic, and that made my muse say “fuck this shit lololololol” and then it languished unwritten in the dustballs. honestly, I’d rather play with my LoMy/Loki pieces or my SamBucky Frankenstein AU, or even paint today, but I want to get more of this cranked out to eventually finish it and put it to bed. This was supposed to be a “fun” story, too, since it’s just a cowboy AU, but trying to move it along has been like pulling teeth. It’s incomplete, so it isn’t even in the FTH collection for this year, and I don’t even really feel like requesting to add it. My last update barely got touched. 
I love Stucky, but it’s gotten too popular. I’m not doing Fandom Trumps Hate this upcoming year, because I have too many commitments with school (three classes I’m taking this semester, unless I have to drop one if it ends up being too much), I work full-time, and this hasn’t been the best mental health year after losing Dad this autumn. I’ll still play with fandom and fic as time allows, but it’s definitely going to take a back seat (we’re even talking rear compartment of the station wagon, here) to nutrition and science classes, gym workouts, or picking up the occasional extra shift of work.
I don’t have any New Year’s resolutions, because I generally think they’re bullshit. You never know what the year is going to bring. You’re never even guaranteed so much as your next MINUTE. You can make plans as much as you want, but sometimes, folks, God laughs. I have a few things I wanna get done, though.
Mammogram
Colonoscopy
Getting a killer grade in general chemistry and then, hopefully, physiology or organic chemistry in the fall
Renewing my BLS so I can teach U-Jam or Zumba class as a side gig.
Visiting my mom once she has moved to her assisted living complex in MA. 
Paying down my credit card debt again, which ballooned when I had to buy that super expensive plane ticket to go to Pop’s funeral.
Some more actual dental care.
Trimming some of my social network site crap that I don’t use anymore. I already dumped Twitter, but now I’m eyeing my Pillowfort and Dreamwidth accounts as going to the chopping block next. Mastodon is just a fucking waste of time.
Getting my sister’s guitar re-strung and tuned and actually finding someone to give me some lessons without breaking the bank. My stepmom shipped it to me this week, and it’s resting safely in my room, waiting for me to buy a gig bag for it.
Art. Art. And more art.
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peggystormborn · 11 months
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Ally drives a Saab I think. Most recently into the rear bumper of a cute guy. On purpose. And then it's shocked. SHOCKED. That he suggests maybe she did exactly what she actually did. She then proceeds to act like her usual lunatic self but in an aggressively flirty way. The dude is mad but also kinda looks like maybe he has a boner.
Richard catches ling pretending to be blind and walking into traffic. She's on her way to dance with old dudes at a nursing home because reasons. (It's a ling! Can sometimes be nice ! And not the resident C U Next Tuesday all the time! episode) Richard tags along and finds wattle heaven. Ling's fave old dude is getting the boot from the old dude/dudette home because he apparently tells everyone the place is infested with pygmies. No worries, Ling and the funny little man are on the case! I'm sure this will go super well!
Ally is having dinner with rear ended hottie and his laugh is super obnoxious. And goes on for like, a loooong time. He later sends her a massive bouquet of flowers and she regrets everything ever.
There's a pretty good bit where Ally is desperately trying to get her new dude to laugh in the unisex so she can show everyone the horrors and fails miserably, making Elaine and Nelle think she's fucking nuts (not that they weren't already well and truly aware). Until Elaine dings Ally for being a big loser and...
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Ling's sweet old man freaks out on the stand over the real looking pygmies he is definitely really seeing. I'm not sure why this nursing home's reaction to this is to kick him out on the street when he's having fucking delusions. That seems... slightly irresponsible.
Ally dumps the bad laugher and he laughs at her. Karma I guess? Ally I dunno that guy was pretty hot, I feel like I could put up with a bad laugh to hit that.
Old man is def nuts and getting kicked out so Ling invites him to live with her. But on the way home he freaks again and runs into traffic. RIP crazy old dude.
LOLOLOLOLOL bad laugh guy has a fake neck brace and a real case of butthurt so he's suing.
Oh my God ling just pull the plug on the old man literally everyone thinks you should.
It's...kinda wild going from the bad laugh guy and his bad laugh brother shaking Ally down for a payout by laughing terribly in tandem, to ling taking her old man boyfriend off a respirator.
I'm a little surprised ling hasn't sued the lady that ran the home for contributing to poor old guy's death but I guess it's not that kind of episode.
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jessss-ica · 1 year
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what color brings you peace?
tag someone (or multiple people) who make you feel good. 
what calms you down?
what’s something you’re excited for?
what’s your ideal date?
how are you?
what’s your comfort food?
favorite feel-good show?
for every emoji you get, tag someone and describe them in one word.
compliment the person who sent you
1. every shade of green
2. Honestly you and @softbull let me vent a lot, ily both of you for that 🤍
3. Music does
4. I’m seeing blink 182 in June and fall out boy a few days after my 30th birthday in July
5. I don’t have an “ideal” or “perfect” date. Going out with someone that treats me right and I feel 100% myself with and comfortable with is more than enough to make me happy
6. lololololol I am chugging along like the little train that could
7. Cake lol
8. One tree hill, new girl, avatar, friends are my go to’s
9. Don’t get this one lol
10. You’re a great guy and a great friend ☺️
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littleworks · 2 years
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Thanks for the tag @lelephantsnail !! It was so cool to read about your favorite architects!! I'm a gaudi girl myself.
Name- great question, pass for now.
Sign- Taurus sun, cap rising, Leo moon. Lol. I feel embarrassed that I know all this, but I lowkey love astrology.
Birthdate-- no thank you.
Time-- evening.
Height-- short
Favorite artist/band-- cold war kids are my favorite to see in concert! I also love walk the moon, especially their early stuff. Regina spektor, Hozier, MGMT, passion pit, kishi Bashi, Taylor swift (my insomnia music), Nathaniel ratcliff, lizzo, billy Joel, Beirut, and Lord Huron are all honorable mentions.
Last movie- ice age! It was good, though I'm always surprised by how much fat shaming is in movies of that era. Also that so much of the humor was straight up bullying? Lame. I did love the found family aspect and the conscious choice to find new ways of relating to each other. And Sid the sloth is great-- hot tubs and bitches all the way.
Last show- I just started "a league of their own" on Amazon and I am into it. The hair cutting scene? Holy seduction, batman! Also the dialogue is great, I love the costuming. Excited to see where it goes! I just finished only murders in the building and the finale was...weird. Like wtf? It was good! I liked it, but it just felt like filler? When it was the finale? I hope they make another season, I really like the characters, but yeah.
When I created this blog- umm I have no idea. Maybe 2017? Maybe 2015? I didn't really use it until like 2019/2020.
What I post- so when I started it was really just about reposting the things I liked as a way to rediscover what liking things felt like. So really anything that catches my eye, that I find pretty or interesting or compelling.
Other blogs- none!
Do I get asks- only from porn bots. Love you guys, you're doing the Lord's work.
Average hours of sleep- lololololol. Ok the average is probably like 8, but that's only because my fourteen hours are balanced by threes. It's gotten a lot better!
What I'm wearing-- bike shorts, and stolen husband shirt.
Dream job--marine biologist. Lol. But seriously I would love to scuba dive all the time. Umm orchardist and wine maker! Artist! Seriously, I don't really know. These are things I do know--i like doing creative things that make the world a better place, working from ideation to implementation with the ability to create alone and collaborate with a group of trusted, fun people, with a low urgency to impact ratio. So a job that incorporates all that please.
Dream trip-- ahhhh I miss travel so much!! Ok here are a couple of my main dreams right now:
--Wander around the Greek islands for a month or two. Slowly, without too much of a plan, maybe just a daily budget so I don't worry too much. But just drift, and nap, and eat and swim and lounge.
--Go snorkeling/diving in Lombok!
--Drive or bike around iceland. Camp and swim in hot springs.
--Food tour along the silk road route!
Favorite songs-- with lyrics!
Royal blue by cold war kids
"From now on wear my love for you loose
From now on I am just passing through
From now on trust my feeling is true
From now on call me Royal Blue"
Simple song by the shins
"You sure must be strong
And you feel like an ocean
Being warmed by the sun"
Fragments
I'm so mad that this song is from rachet and clank omg.
"And with every new world that unfurls you will find
There is more to your life than the one you designed
There is far more to fight for
Than what you are leaving behind"
Anyone who sees this is welcome to do it!!
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stabbystiletto · 2 years
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I know it's a shitty wip lol 😅 but I just saw the trailer for season 2 and had to literally drop what i was doing to grab my tablet and start a new fanart lololol 🤣🤣🤣🤣
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This one⬇️⬇️⬇️ is older lol but holy shit I just got the motivation to work on it again 😆😆😆
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Also it's nowhere near done lol but I'm posting this anyway cause I like I said I just saw the trailer for season 2 and HOLY SHIT I was like "okay, okay, this is good, I dig it, murders in a religious school, very nice, angry Nica, I dig it" but then.
The pink car, I'm like okay Tiffany got herself a cute car, nice but then I read the license plate
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YOU SEE THIS SHIT I WAS LIKE CAN IT BE AND THEN AND THEN AND THEN
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GLEN AND GLENDA THEY REALLY DID IT THEY BROUGHT THEM BACK THEY BROUGHT THE TWINS BACK I WAS A LITTLE NERVOUS THAT THEY WOULD BRING THEM BACK AS JUST ONE PERSON BUT THEY KEPT THE TWINS AND THEY'RE NON BINARY BOTH THE TWINS ARE NONBINARY I CAN'T EVEN PROCESS THIS PROPERLY LOLOLOLOLOL 😆😆😆🥰🥰🥰🥰😍😍😍😍😆😆😆😆😃😃😃😃🤯🤯🤯🤯🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤
(yeeeeea, the tags are long as hell sorry lololol but i had a lot of feelings about this lolololol 😅😅😅😅😅 who knew tumblr had a limit on the number of tags lololol learn something new everyday lolololol 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣)
#i wish i could say I didn't cry lol but as soon as tiffany opened the door and said 'glen and glenda!' and i saw there was two of them#i started crying lolololol 😅😅😅 i still am 🥲🥲🥲#i know it's kinda a dumb thing to get so worked up about but whatever i have my reasons okay and i just wasn't expecting this lololol 😅#in season 1 chucky just said that he had a queer kid and tiffany only mentioned glenda so#it seemed like even if they did put glen/glenda in they might retcon the twin thing#I'm just really happy that they kept it 🥰🥰🥰☺️☺️☺️#god I'm so excited to see them interact#what kind of dynamic do they have?? do they get along and act super close??#do they argue and fight because their personalities are so different??#does glenda talk glen into committing murders with them??#does glen have a crisis of conscience and end up betraying glenda cause they're not as evil as the rest of the family??#does glenda bully glen a lil cause they view their sibling as 'soft' but then murder anyone else who's mean to them??#like a whole 'i can bully them cause we're twins but you can't' kinda thing??#these are questions I've had ever since i first saw seed of chucky lolololol i really hope this season answers some of them i can't wait 😆#if i recall correctly the only real interaction we saw in seed was when glenda pointed at glen and said 'you're pissing your pants!'#which might indicate they have a bit of an antagonistic relationship with their twin#but it could also be typical behavior for a kid who just saw their sibling piss themself lololol there's not a lot to go on 😆😆😆#anyways i just was not expecting this it really took me out in a great way#an amazing way#i know it's kinda dumb but I've been kinda 🙃🙃🙃😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨💀💀💀 lately and this really put the wind back in my sails 😊😊😊#for the moment at least but you know what I'll take it lololol 😉😉😉😃😃😃#also i know it's not what this post is about but the way tiffany styles nica#like how she dresses her the way she she her hair and makeup#nica looks so pretty lol 😆 like i get it's a fucked up situation but she looks really good lololol 😆😆😆#I'm so excited to see how nica gets ger revenge on tiffany 😃😃😃 gonna be good lol 😆😆😆#also just throwing this out there but what if the twin on the left with the green furry jacket and the super shirt hair is glenda#and the one on the right with the purple sweater and long hair is glen#👀👀👀👀👀#i mean personality wise i feel like it could fit#plus didn't glenda have more vibrant redder hair?? i feel like glenda's hair was more red than glen's
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Name Meaning: June Himalia
Progress: 10%
Lore: Nisse Tomte
Progress: 20%
Lore: Wishing Fairies
Progress: 0%
Story: The Cherry-Blossom Harlequin
Progress: 30%
I promise I��m not dead, lol! Just got very busy with end of the semester stuff, but now it’s been mostly taken care of, so we’ll return to our weekly scheduled stuff (kinda)! To get things rolling I’m gonna start doing these update posts at the end of the week to keep track of how things are evolving!
As you can see the next future instalments will be mostly lore focused on a couple of creatures that I’ve mentioned in passing, but plan to expand upon properly now!
Fun Fact: Apparently a Nisse Tomte’s eyes share a similarity with that of cat eyes!
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gatalnta · 4 years
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𝐄𝐋𝐀’𝐒      𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃      𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒      𝐓𝐎      𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄       𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒      ;      𝘢      𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘭      𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦      𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴      .      ❛❛          my      neck      hurts      just      𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐      at      you      ,      master      skywalker      .          ❜❜          /          @oletherois​      .
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