#💔🥂❤️‍🩹

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! (Coming Soon)

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life). 

TW: Hospitals, illness, allusions to abuse. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: It’s good to be back, my lil’ darlin’s! I’ve missed y’all! Broken Glass has a decidedly different feel than Pink Scarf, and I really hope that you enjoy it. This will be more of a slow burn and not quite as smut heavy as PS, but we’ll get there eventually! The original character of Dolores can also be read as Reader, but her back story needed to be pretty specific so I decided to go the OC route. I’m excited to dive into some of my favorite tropes with this one, and hopefully I can do them justice.

Delicious 1960 Post-Army E has me in almost as much of a chokehold as ’69 E, so it was only right that I give him the attention he deserves! 

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

I imagined it 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’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

Bellevue Hospital

New York City, New York

March 1960

“Nurse Cannava!”

The shrill call of Charge Nurse Irma Hunt grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but you don’t dare show it on your face. Instead, you take a deep breath through your nose and hurry over to the severe woman.

“Yes, Nurse Hunt?” you say as evenly as possible. You’ve only been an official Registered Nurse for a few months and cannot afford to make a wrong step with this drill sergeant of a woman. You’d rather be extra deferential and placating than looking for a new job, no matter how much you want to run in the opposite direction any time she calls your name.

She looks at you critically, peering down over her glasses with her sharp stare. “Nurse Calhoun was pulled away to surgery before she was able to finish her other duties. I need you to change the sheets for our VIP patient while he’s upstairs for x-rays. I need you to be quick. In and out, no funny business, you understand me?”

“Of course, Nurse Hunt,” you nod frantically. It’s the middle of the night, so it is strange for the patient to be doing tests at this hour. Though if they are trying to keep his identity under wraps, it makes sense that they would choose an hour where less people were involved.

“And absolutely no telling anyone about our patient. We must uphold the strictest confidentiality, now more than ever,” she adds with a glare.

The threat is clear:

Don’t mess this up.

“I understand.” Curiosity of who it could be itches at the edge of your mind, wondering about this VIP that has the woman in more of a harsh mood than usual.

Maybe it’s Ricky Nelson or Mario Lanza or Marlon Brando, your mind titters, but it’s probably just some stuffy politician. You figure it’s better to have low expectations and be pleasantly surprised than to have high ones and be disappointed.

Ever the realist.

Regardless of who might be, you don’t have time for silly schoolgirl fantasies. There is a job to do, and you best be getting to it before getting into trouble.

You scurry away to gather fresh linens, then make your way back to one of the few private rooms on the floor. Most patients are relegated to the open wards here in Manhattan’s biggest hospital, but there are special cases, such as this, it seems, where a more private setting is needed.

There’s a large man at the door, keeping watch, and he looks you up and down with narrowed eyes longer than you’d like, sending a chill into your gut. But this is nothing new. You hold your ground, straightening your spine and lifting your chin.

“Nurse Hunt asked me to change the sheets,” you say, clipped. He smiles, as if in on a joke you’re not privy to, then opens the door.

At 20, you are the youngest nurse on the ward. People, especially men, tend to underestimate you, but you have something to prove and no time for nonsense. Graduating high school early, you were thrilled to be accepted to Bellevue School of Nursing, one of the best programs in the country. The four-year experience had been grueling, but since you had to live in the dormitory, it got you out of the house and away from your damned father and his cronies.

In the process, you discovered that helping people truly is your calling. So, while young, you are good at your job and take it seriously.

This is why you hurry in and start stripping the bed as quickly as possible. As curious as you are as to who this mysterious man might be, getting the job done is much more important than snooping around the room.

You tug and pull the sheets as taut as possible, perfect hospital corners making the bed crisp and neat. Your attention to detail and cleanliness are a sense of pride, so spending a little more time than necessary making sure the bed is perfect is worth it. The intention isn’t to linger, but if this VIP is as important as everyone is making him out to be, you want to make sure everything is done right.

Finally, after inspection, you gather up the dirty sheets and make your way around the bed, just as the door opens to the room.

Damn. You weren’t fast enough.

Your gaze cannot help but drop to the man in the wheelchair. A bandage is stuck at the edge of his thick chestnut locks. Although he is obviously ill, his sapphire eyes rimmed with dark circles and his pallor pale, there is absolutely no mistaking who the VIP is.

America’s biggest rebel-turned-G.I., the one and only Elvis Presley.

You are not a fan, but your heart unwillingly kerthunks against your ribcage anyway because he’s still one of the most famous men on the planet, and you are shocked at how pictures barely do the man justice.

Dear lord, even sick, he is wildly gorgeous in person, you catch yourself thinking. His essence seems to fill the room, pushing all the oxygen out, because suddenly you can’t catch your breath. Suddenly, you understand why millions of ladies fall faint at his feet.

Surprised to see someone in his room, his eyes rake up your body from your toes to your little white nurse’s cap. You hold back a shiver as those famous bedroom eyes finally land on yours.

“Well, hello there, little bird.”

Little bird? You know you shouldn’t let it bother you, but the pet name rankles you in its familiarity. You’ve been called all manner of things by all manner of men, both in and out of this hospital, but this is a new one, and though certainly not the worst, it bothers you all the same. Perhaps it’s because he acts as though he is owed this familiarity and expects you to be grateful for it.

His lilting Southern drawl is creaky and hoarse from illness, making him a little less mystical, which allows you to quickly recover your wits. Trying not to show annoyance on your face, you straighten your posture while moving aside to let the orderly push Elvis into the room and help him onto the bed.

“Goodnight, sir,” you say politely, as pissing off this VIP will do you no favors, but your eyes harden at the way his gaze openly lingers on you. You attempt to skirt around him as quickly as possible, but the room, though private, is not large, and the wheelchair and the two men take up much of the space.

“Hey, little bird, wait!” he calls out before you even reach the door.

Stopping in your tracks, your infernal heart continues to pound in your ears. All you want is to get out of this suffocating room, but you inhale and turn around instead. The orderly gives a wink before sliding out of the room behind you. You resist the urge to huff.

“It’s Nurse Cannava, sir,” you say firmly, trying to take the edge out of your voice, albeit unsuccessfully. “Is there something I can help you with?”

That sly, signature grin spreads almost bashfully across his face and if you weren’t so perturbed by the suggestiveness of it, you might keel over from its brilliance filling the small space.

“Call me Elvis, little birdy,” he drawls, blatantly ignoring using your given name, as requested. “Could ya be so kind as to get me some water? Please?” he asks kindly, which is far more than you expect.

“Yes, certainly, sir,” you reply, equally ignoring his request to call him Elvis. You turn on your heel and escape as quickly as possible before he can ask any more of you.

A breath shudders through you once you’re out in the hallway. You hadn’t realized you were holding it. You are as bothered by this reaction as by the fact that you must get this man water and go back in there without showing him that you are in any way affected by the fact that he’s Elvis Presley or that his behavior has you decidedly on edge.

He’s a patient, you remind myself silently, and this is part of my job. A job I desperately need to keep if I want to get out of that nightmare of a house...

This thought steadies you more than anything. You’ll do almost anything to be in a position to permanently leave home and to do so without having to marry that mook Gianni. And hell, you’ve dealt with much worse in terms of patient behavior. Getting Elvis water is objectively the easiest thing you’ve had to do all shift.

You can’t seem to help straightening your starched white apron before taking a deep breath and marching back into the room, pitcher of water and a glass in hand.

“Here you are, sir,” you say, trying not to sound terse, trying not to look directly at him. It’s almost like the feeling that you shouldn’t be looking at the sun, yet your eyes want to do it anyway. Even without looking at him, you can sense his heavy gaze lingering over you. You blush involuntarily, the blooming warmth a betrayal of your modesty. In response, you place the pitcher and water down on the table near him and turn to flee as quickly as possible without making it seem like that’s what you are doing.

“Hey, now, little bird,” Elvis says, catching the hem of your skirt, halting your exit. “Why ya tryin’ to fly away so fast?”

“Oh Madone,” you mumble under your breath, your Italian heritage making an appearance as you roll your eyes to the heavens before turning back around and pulling the fabric from his long fingers. Heat washes over you in an angry wave, turning your blush a deeper shade of red.

“I have other patients to tend to, sir.” It’s not a lie but sure feels like one with the strained way it falls off your tongue. Your lips press into a thin line of a smile, desperately trying not to glare at him but catching his eyes with your unamused ones all the same.

“Elvis,” he corrects me, maddingly, that smirk playing on his lips, a playfulness in his glassy, feverish eyes. “And I was just wonderin’ if ya could pour me a cup, since it’s all the way over d’ere?”

The water is on the table right next to the bed, and he certainly looks able to pour it himself, and you both know it, but he just smiles, playing this infuriating game, wasting your time.

Finally, you sigh and relent. It’ll be faster to just do it than to try an argue about it. He’s a patient, after all.

You still feel his eyes on you as you turn sideways and dutifully pour the water out. His presence, especially when focused on you alone, feels incredibly overwhelming, mixing a healthy dose of trepidation in with your irritation. You keep your face as neutral as possible and hand over the glass.

What you don’t expect is for him to touch you, his fingers circling over yours, blazing hot from the fever he looks to have. You loathe the way your heart flips in your chest when he looks up at you through impossibly long, feathering lashes, those gemstone eyes of his expressive beyond imagining and conveying more than just playfulness.

“Thank you, little bird,” he whispers. The sound swirls up your spine, breaking through your annoyance just enough to see the blithe, handsome boyishness of him. It promises an unfamiliar temptation, one you’ve seen only in movies and never willingly and truthfully experienced for yourself. Your mouth goes bone dry.

He is dangerous, you think, but not because you are afraid of him in a physical sense (and lord knows you’ve feared too many men already in your short lifetime). No, his is a danger of an entirely different sort. He makes you want to trust him, and in your experience, men are never, ever to be trusted.

“Nurse Cannava! What are you doing in here?” Nurse Hunt’s shrill admonishment startles you out of the hypnotizing stare of the teen idol, causing you to jump back as though he was on fire. You let go of the glass, slipping your hands out of his, but he does the same, and the glass spills water all over the newly changed sheets before tumbling to the floor where it shatters with a crash.

The tinkling of the glass explodes in your head, and a latent and all-too-familiar fear associated with the sound freezes you to the spot. Try as you might, you cannot stop the involuntary trembling that rushes through your limbs. Air attempts to fill your lungs, but the breaths are too short and shallow to do any good. The wave of panic threatens to undo you, right here, in front of both your superior and the most famous man in the world.

It's just broken glass. I’m safe. I’m at work. He can’t hurt me here. The mantra plays in your head over and over as you clasp your shaking hands in front of you, trying to pull yourself together before anyone notices anything amiss.

“I told you to be quick and quiet, not go around cavorting with our patient!” Hunt hisses harshly, glowering, but it snaps you out of the trance-like state that has overtaken you.

Now, instead of fearing things that cannot hurt you here, you are suddenly afraid for your job. Nurse Hunt is a terrifying and formidable leader and being on her bad side means a world of hurt going forward. Your heart feels like a hummingbird’s, fueled by anger, embarrassment, and lingering panic. You resist the urge to give Elvis a scathing look, knowing it will likely just result in more trouble. Instead, you quickly raise your eyes and catch a strangely curious yet concerned look from the man.

“I-I’m s-so sorry, Head Nurse,” you finally stammer out, realizing she is waiting for you to say something. “I’ll clean that up right away.” You start for the bed but are stopped by the crunching glass beneath your practical white nurse’s shoes.

“Ma’am?” Elvis croaks out suddenly, gently, capturing the older woman’s attention. “I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t mean to be a bother, but it wasn’t the young lady’s fault at all. I asked her for the water. She was just doin’ her job, and I distracted her. It’s my fault.” His bedroom eyes widen with an almost childlike deference as he looks at her through those long lashes.

Elvis oozes an effusive charm that makes the formidable woman’s hardened veneer crack. It might not be obvious to one who doesn’t know her, but her gaze softens ever so slightly.

You almost want to roll your eyes and scoff, but the strange thing is that it doesn’t feel at all like a put-on. It first strikes you as some sort of malevolent manipulation, like he wants to impress you somehow by getting you out of the mess he got you into, but he seems nothing but honest. He looks truly sorry.

You stand stock still, hands still clasped in front of your apron, needing to know your fate before moving. Nurse Hunt finally sighs, having weighed her options of denying her VIP’s puppy dog eyes or making your life miserable.

“Alright, Mr. Presley. Nurse Cannava will help you move to that chair there so she can change your sheets again and clean up this mess,” she says through pursed lips. “And you let her be and do her job, you hear? You’re not the only patient on the ward, young man.”

“Of course, ma’am. I really am sorry about the mess,” he says softly, seriously, nodding.

“Quickly, Nurse!” Nurse Hunt barks. Picking your jaw off the ground, you hustle to the other side of the bed, still amazed he was able to soften the old goat in any way.

It’s not until your arm is around his waist while the other steadies him in a well-practiced and trained move that you realize that you are holding a barely clothed Elvis Presley. A brief but decidedly improper and embarrassing thought flirts in the back of your mind as you help him into the chair in the corner. His skin is hot with fever, easily felt where your skin touches his and it radiates through his thin hospital gown. It burns into you, through you, melding with the unnerving, angry fire that already consumes you. You can feel his eyes on you but don’t dare to look at him, not with Hunt watching, making sure you don’t drop the prize patient.

You suppose you are glad for the fact that your cheeks were already on fire from humiliation, so neither can see just how uncomfortable and ashamed you feel right now. The way emotions flash rapidly through you, you’re amazed you can concentrate at all, but you manage to deposit the singer in the chair, unscathed.

Nurse Hunt huffs a little, but seems satisfied, and takes her leave, on to the next crisis.

A relieved but shuddering breath releases from you and without looking at the man in the chair that has caused so much trouble tonight, you jump to removing the sheets you made so perfectly not minutes ago.

“Hey, little b—Nurse Cannava,” Elvis catches himself, “I-I-I meant what I said—I really am sorry I made things harder on ya.”

You refuse to look at him. Instead, you grit your teeth and yank the sheets off, furious. Storming out of the room, you quickly retrieve a new set of sheets and a broom and dustpan for the glass on the floor.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he mutters as you stomp back in the room, dutifully ignoring his presence. You busy yourself with the glass first, sweeping it into a pile, then bending over to sweep it into the dustpan. You realize too late that you’ve just effectively but unwittingly shown Elvis your rear end. You can practically hear the smirk on his face, which is confirmed once you flit your eyes over to him.

A new wave of heat flushes over your cheeks, but you pretend you don’t notice his leering. Nothing good has come tonight from you paying any sort of mind to what Elvis is doing. You go about your business as swiftly as possible, counting the seconds before you can remove yourself from his suffocating presence.

“You just gonna ignore me now, honey? Come on, I-I-I said I-I was sorry,” he stutters petulantly after another minute of silence.

Your response is to tug the sheets as tight as you can. You move around the other side, hating that your behind will be in his face while you finish the bed, but it can’t be helped. You grit your teeth and focus on smoothing the sheets instead of the hole Elvis is burning through your backside.

“Well, at least I got a nice view in the room…of the city, I mean,” he chuckles. The innuendo is crystal clear.

You whirl around and want to slap that stupid grin right off his pretty face. You’ve never felt so unprofessional or off the rails as you do with this man.

He’s a patient, he’s a patient, he’s a VIP patient, you remind yourself, trying to take calming breaths. But try as you might, you can’t seem to keep your damn mouth shut, that Italian temper flaring, boiling your blood.

“Eyes up!” you snap your fingers at him. “I have work to do and a job to keep, and talking with you only gets me in trouble, so leave me be!” Blood throbs in your ears as you attempt unsuccessfully to keep your fury at bay.

“Ooh, I heard New York cherries were feisty, but I hadn’t the occasion to see it for m’self,” he muses, thinking he’s just about the funniest thing since Lenny Bruce.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” you mutter under your breath, fuming, turning around to finish the bed. Once it’s done, you breathe a sigh of relief and make to leave.

“Hey, little bird, you want an autograph or somethin’?” Elvis asks, still vying for your attention for whatever reason.

God, the ego on this one. “I don’t want anything from you.” You can’t help but turn towards him, even though you know you should leave as fast as your legs will carry you.

“Not a fan, huh? Bet I can change your mind,” he says, his left eyebrow quirking up suggestively. The man is as gorgeous as he is infuriating.

“I prefer Ricky Nelson, so no thanks,” you shoot back at him.

He fully laughs at that, a big, hiccupping, musical sound that under any other circumstance might be attractive and endearing, but now it just seeks to make you angrier. Your seething seems to amuse him all the more, however, as he erupts into more peals of laughter.

“You’re somethin’ else, lil’ bird,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. But his face suddenly turns alarmed as he can’t seem to catch his breath, the laughter turning into gasps.

“Elvis, enough of that. Let’s get you into bed.” Your training immediately overrides whatever negative feelings you might have towards the man. “Try to take slow, deep breaths,” you say calmly, crossing the room quickly.

His face turns red and panic starts to bloom in his darkening, churning eyes as he wheezes. You help him up and out of the chair, and he shudders, leaning all his weight on you. His breathing is too labored and he’s burning up, and you’re not sure he’ll make it the short way to the bed.

Indeed, the two of you only make it a single step before his long legs give way, and it’s all you can do to brace his tall, lean body and keep him from hitting the tile floor hard. Instead, you slide down together, and you make sure to cradle his head as he collapses.

You don’t panic. In fact, you are the calmest you’ve been since meeting the superstar because this you know you can handle. This is what you were born to do.

“We need some help in here!” you shout out to the ward before turning your attention back to Elvis, now sprawled on his back on the floor. You quickly grab the oxygen mask from his bedside and turn the nozzle to get the air flowing.

“Elvis, you’re going to be okay. I need you to try and breathe deep for me, as deep as you can,” you say, fitting the mask over his mouth. He coughs, struggling to get the air in his lungs. He seems in and out of consciousness, those panicked eyes of his now a stormy, glassy gray as they try to focus on you.

“That’s it, just breathe now,” you coo at him, taking his vitals. His pulse is too fast and thready. You give him a small smile, trying to keep him calm.

An orderly, a doctor, and another nurse rush in. You quickly rattle off numbers and facts regarding his respiratory distress.

“Let’s get him on the bed,” the doctor orders, and the four of you lift him on a count of three.

Elvis flails his hand, gripping your arm. It’s certainly not the first time a patient has grabbed you out of fear, but it is the first time you’ve ever felt a jolt of electricity running through you from it. Looking in his eyes, the terror you see there gives you pause.

He’s just a man, you think. A very frightened young man.

And he wants comfort. Care. So, despite wanting to throttle him earlier, you hold his hand. He clings to you as the team tries to stabilize him. Your touch seems to settle him a little, despite the way his eyes flutter and he still gasps for breath.  

You all manage to get him breathing better, but he won’t let go of you. He starts to panic again every time you try to move away, throwing his vitals into a tailspin. As weak as he may be, that strong guitar-playing hand of his has you in a vise-like grip. The doctor looks at you judgmentally, and you make it clear that you have no idea why this is happening, that you’d rather not be relegated to hand-holding duty. But since his vitals are better holding your hand, the doctor nods his okay.

Give the VIP patient what he needs, is the clear message.

Elvis stabilizes. The room clears, and you stand at his bedside, waiting for him to fall asleep, to relax, to release you—anything that will allow you to leave and get back to work and forget the last half an hour ever happened. His eyes are closed, but every time you try to slip away, he just pulls you back. You try not to sigh audibly, to let your frustration show. You are usually much more compassionate and professional, rarely letting patients get under your skin. But Elvis…well, he seems to bring out an unwanted side of your normally mild and shy self.

He’s not consciously trying to be bothersome like he was earlier; he’s much too scared and out of it for that, you reason.

And at least this is better than cleaning bedpans, you chuckle, finally deciding to sit on the edge of the bed and make yourself a little more comfortable. You take this somewhat surreal moment to really look at him.

He is truly beautiful. There is an almost angelic innocence about him with his pale skin and high cheekbones, the way his cheeks are somehow both full and soft, but his jaw chiseled at the same time. His lips are pillowy and full, though nearly colorless now due to the lack of oxygen. His hair gleams, a deep, golden chestnut—a far cry from the rebellious black locks he was known for at the height of his fame a few years ago. With his straight nose and fanning, long lashes, it seems as though he was carved in stone by the masters and brought to life somehow.

Your heart skips, quite involuntarily.

Of course, there are imperfections. He’s got a day’s worth of dark stubble growing and you can see places where his skin is mottled from what was probably youthful acne. The circles around his eyes are too dark and…

I am really reaching here, you think. No, you are quite at a loss because even his “imperfections” add to his beauty.

Okay, so objectively, he’s pretty—when he’s quiet and sleeping. It’s just when he opens his big mouth that he becomes less attractive. This reminder makes you feel better and less like a fawning teenager.

Finally, his hand relaxes, and you slip out of his grasp without him reaching for you. As if trying not to wake a sleeping baby, you very slowly and quietly raise yourself off the bed. But curiosity gets the better of you, halting your leave, and you quietly open his chart at the end of the bed.

Your eyes scan the pages quickly, widening, hardly containing your disbelief. They glance up at the unrealistically beautiful young man in the hospital bed. Though you barely know him, and what you do know of him has already driven you mad, you can’t help but feel a sense of sadness and dread.

It’s the thing all his bravado and beauty distracted you from.

Elvis Presley is a very, very ill man.

*

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[missmaywemeetagain]

@ab4eva - This is so valid and our lil’ Lori is out here trying her very best to seem like she’s enjoying herself! 🤭😘☺️ 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Elvis with Lamar Fike and Nancy Cathcart on route to Fort Hood Texas June 1958.

[pjackk]

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[queers-gambit]

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

a collection of varying Muses labeling Reader as "clingy".

featuring muses: Carmy Berzatto, mafia!Bucky Barnes, modern!Aemond Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, and Joel Miller.

"The enemy uses those things you're insecure about. Free yourself and take your power back by being secure in who you are - flaws and all," — The Day My Soul Cried: A Memoir by American award-winning playwright, producer, screenwriter, podcaster, advocate, Yvonne Pierre

total fics: 7

status: active

-> will be updated accordingly

requests CLOSED requesting rules and masterlist

"Stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime," — Mineko Iwasaki, Japanese businesswoman, icon, and the most famous Geisha. author of Geisha, a Life

🍒 pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

God's Plan

your boyfriend carries the worst parts of his job home, bringing to life one of your deepest-seeded insecurities. -> or being called clingy [during a fight].

word count: 3.1k+

🎭 drama 🥺 hurt 🚫 no REAL comfort 🙊 general language and content warning 🍄 toxic relationship

read here

part two: Two to Tango

the aftermath of Carmy's words seem to rattle him more than you.

word count: 5.4k+

🎭 drama ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💔 small angst 🧸 small fluff ☠️ discussion of deceased family member 🙊 general language and content warning 💣 relationship angst 🔏 barely edited

read here

🍒 pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader fandom masterlist: Marvel

Curiosity Killed The Cat

few weeks after rescuing you from a kidnapper, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become. -> or overhearing being called clingy.

word count: 5.1k+

🎭 drama ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🦋 modern AU 💸 mafia AU 🙊 general language and content warning 🥊 brief depiction of physical violence and / or aggression 🫠 description of self-destruction 🔏 barely edited

read here

🍒 pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x female!reader fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

You Might Think It's Foolish

meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time creates anxiety, so, you stick to his side. at dinner, his mother calls out your clinginess - and Aemond doesn't defend you. -> or when someone else calls you clingy and he doesn't defend you / agrees with them.

word count: 3.1k+

🎭 drama 💔 angst 🥺 hurt 🚫 no comfort 💣 relationship angst 🐝 stand alone 🙊 general language and content warning 🐍 toxic family 🍄 toxic relationship...? 🔏 barely edited

read here

Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few Thy Voice

similar to Penelope Featherington, you overhear your best mate's choice words about you after dancing at a ball.

word count: 18.3k+

🎭 drama 💔 angst 🥀 unrequited love 🥺 hurt 🚫 NO comfort 💣 relationship angst 👯‍♀️ BFF trope 🍒 author's favorite 🐝 stand alone / oneshot 🙊 general language and content warning 🍄 toxic relationship 🥂 alcohol mentions 💛 requires maturity and caution 🚺 misogyny 😵‍💫 wonky brain go wonky 🫠 depiction of self-destruction 🍑 character with given nickname ⏳ AU timeline 🦻 eavesdropping trope ❗️ single, non-graphic line that alludes suicide as an unserious threat to convey displeasure 🚹 men 2️⃣ written after season two 🔏 not edited

read here

🍒 pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

Not All That Glitters is Gold

during your engagement dinner, you learn from your fiancé's niece that he holds choice words about you. -> or (publicly) discovering you're being called clingy by your man from someone else.

word count: 3.1k+

🎭 drama 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💣 relationship angst ⏳ AU timeline 🙊 general language and content warning 🔏 barely edited

read here

🍒 pairing: Joel Miller x female!reader fandom masterlist: The Last of Us

Save Me From Myself

in a moment of unparalleled anger, you learn what Joel really thinks of you.

request: Can i request joel miller for the clingy baby series!! Maybe they were traveling together w ellie and she clings to him bc he always kept her safe until he calls her clingy one day.

word count: 1.9k+

⚠️ mild spoilers 🙊 general language warning 🥺 hurt 🚫 no comfort 💔 mild angst ❗️ short fic!

read here

🍒 pairing: Eddie Munson x female!reader fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

Pretty Boy Swag

your big ass family comes to town and hosts a town-wide family reunion. after they meet your boyfriend for the first time, your proximity is criticized, and when you try to fall back, Eddie's swift to your side again. -> or when someone else calls you clingy, you try to fall back but your man doesn't want that.

word count: 6.2k+

⏳ AU timeline 🐝 stand alone / oneshot 🙊 general language and content 🐍 toxic family 🎭 drama 🧠 depiction of mental health: insecurity, anxiety 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🧸 some fluff 🚬 drug use 🥂 depiction of alcohol use 💍 established relationship 🥰 romance 🛑 abrupt ending 🔏 not edited

read here

requesting rules and masterlist

[writing-reference-redux]

Romance prompts!

60 ideas for writers and artists!

Either choose your own prompt, or ask your followers to choose for you by sending you a character or ship and the number or emoji. Also, let people know if you welcome combos (combining two prompts into a single story or art piece)!

😍 - At first sight

🥰 - All fluff, all the time

🤩 - Starstruck

😳 - That came out wrong

😢 - You can cry on my shoulder

🤒 - In sickness and in health

🪦 - Till death do us part

🐌 - Taking it slow

🦚 - Trying too hard

🚦 - Mixed signals

👽 - (Not) too different

💋 - First kisses

👂 - A familiar voice

🔒 - Lockdown (Happy to be stuck with you)

💅 - Getting all dolled up

👑 - You treat me like royalty

💍- Marry me?

🍼 - And baby makes three

🐈 - And kitty makes three

🐕 - And puppy makes three

💐- The perfect bouquet

🔥- Cozy by the fire

☂️ - You can share my umbrella

🍪 - Baking together

☕️ - Join me for coffee?

🥂 - A toast to us

🍷 - A little tipsy

🍽️ - Dinner date

🍦 - Ice cream date

🛒 - Shopping date

🎤 - Karaoke date

🛶 - Boating date

🛼 - Roller skating date

🚙 - Road trips and romance don't always mix

🩼 - Stay off of that leg, I'll take care of everything!

✈️ - Flying home to you

🛟 - You saved me

⛺️ - First time camping together

🏠 - The house that love built

📺 - ...And chill

☎️ - Waiting by the phone

💬 - Feel like chatting?

⏰ - Waking up beside you

💸 - We may not have money, but we have each other

⚖️ - Equals in every way

⚔️ - The art of love is the art of the fight

🔑 - I'll give you my key

🛁 - Join me for a shower?

🛏️ - Between the sheets

🎁 - A little gift to show how much I love you

💌 - Our old love letters

💔 - Heartbreaking

❤️‍🩹 - Heart-mending

📖 - A romance for the books

💤 - Dream a little dream of me

👋 - If you love someone, let them go

💃 - Play something we can dance to

🌶️ - Hot stuff

🎂 - Happy Birthday, baby

🎵 - Every old songfic is new again

[yourdaddyfigur3]

Welcome to my blog!!!

Previously known as @yourdaddyfigure. This is strictly a (18+ only) blog. So please if you’re under the age of 18 kindly show some respect and do not follow me or any blog I interact with in this community.

I very much love interacting with my mutuals and following. So please feel free to come chat, all I ask is that you please be respectful and I promise to do the same. Also, don’t get angry at me if I don’t respond to your messages immediately. This will lead to you getting blocked. We all have our own things to worry about outside of tumblr and sometimes needing a mental break is very much needed.

Note I’m not interested in any sexting, so if that’s your endgame here you will sadly be disappointed. I much rather just have genuine conversations with all of you and hear all about you instead.

The best way to reach me is through ask which are open to all. 🫶🏼 I am more likely to reply to asks & anons.

I am straight however please note that I heavily support LGBT+🏳️‍🌈 and if you do not, well there’s the door.

A Couple Rules!

First and please I can't say this enough. DO NOT address me as Daddy EVER. May it be in comments, messages, or even ask. Yes, I am a Daddy, but I am not YOUR Daddy.

This blog will not tolerate any type of negative behavior. Be kind or leave. If you're going to be negative on my blog in any way, may it be comments, ask or messages you will be immediately blocked no questions asked.

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Please respect yourself and my mutuals always!

So for now this is all I got 🥰 sorry that it’s pretty lengthy. If any of you actually took the time to read all of this, thank you so much and here’s your golden star 🌟. Stay safe and hydrated my friends!

If anyone is interested in joining the emoji army you’re more than welcome to do so! Just please don’t copy someone’s emoji. The list is below 👇 Thank you! 🫶🏼

Emoji Army:

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[asqadia-banthen]

i cannot hold it in anymore, i just wanna

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[nam-gyu-playerrr124]

found a way to not be liked. /Hj

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[crazylittlejester]

YOOO ITS MEWING ANON AND YOU POSTED MANDERIN WARS ANON FIC COOL DUDE THAT IS SO SIGMA (I can’t fucking spell) when I saw that the fic took 5 months it reminded me of that super sigma fic rq I sent you (the one that’s gonna take like four whole Zelda game development cycles to make but YOU ARE AWSOME FOR SAYING YOU WILL. anyways I am glad that ask is between you me and GOD if literally anyone else had seen that I’d be like 😀😃😄😁😆🥹😅😂🤣🥲☺️😊😇🙂🙃😉😌😍🥰😘😗😙😚😋😛😝😜🤪🤨🧐🤓😎🥸🤩🥳🙂‍↕️😏😒🙂‍↔️😞😔😟😕🙁☹️😣😖😫😩🥺😢😭😤😠😡🤬🤯😳🥵🥶😶‍🌫️😱😨😰😥😓🤗🤔🫣🤭🫢🫡🤫🫠🤥😶🫥😐🫤😑🫨😬🙄😯😦😧😮😲🥱😴🤤😪😮‍💨😵😵‍💫🤐🥴🤢🤮🤧😷🤒🤕🤑🤠😈👿👹👺🤡💩👻💀☠️👽👾🤖🎃😺😸😹😻😼😽🙀😿😾🫶🤲👐🙌👏🤝👍👎👊✊🏻🤛🤜🫷🏻🫸🤞✌️🫰🤟🤘👌🤌🤏🫳🫴👈👉👆👇☝️✋🤚🖐️🖖👋🤙🫲🫱💪🦾🖕✍️🙏🫵🦶🦵🦿💄💋👄🫦🦷👅👂🦻👃👣👁️👀🫀🫁🧠🗣️👤👥🫂👶👧🧒👦👩🧑👨👩🏻‍🦱🧑‍🦱👨‍🦱👩‍🦰🧑‍🦰👨‍🦰👱‍♀️👱👱‍♂️👩‍🦳🧑‍🦳👨‍🦳👩‍🦲🧑‍🦲👨‍🦲🧔‍♀️🧔🧔‍♂️👵🧓👴👲👳‍♀️👳👳‍♂️🧕👮‍♀️👮👮‍♂️👷‍♀️👷👷‍♂️💂‍♀️💂💂‍♂️🕵️‍♀️🕵️🕵️‍♂️👩‍⚕️🧑‍⚕️👨‍⚕️👩‍🌾🧑‍🌾👨‍🌾👩‍🍳🧑‍🍳👨‍🍳👩‍🎓🧑‍🎓👨‍🎓👩🏻‍🎤🧑‍🎤👨‍🎤👩‍🏫🧑‍🏫👨‍🏫👩‍🏭🧑‍🏭👨‍🏭👩‍💻🧑‍💻👨‍💻👩‍💼🧑‍💼👨‍💼👩‍🔧🧑‍🔧👨‍🔧👩‍🔬🧑‍🔬👨‍🔬👩‍🎨🧑‍🔧👨‍🔧👩‍🔬🧑‍🔬👨‍🔬👩‍🎨🧑‍🎨👨‍🎨🧑‍🚒👩‍🚒👨‍🚒👩‍✈️🧑‍✈️👨‍✈️👩‍🚀👨‍🚒👩‍✈️🧑‍✈️👨‍✈️👩‍🚀🧑‍🚀👩‍⚖️👨‍🚀🧑‍⚖️👨‍⚖️👰‍♀️👰👰‍♂️🤵‍♀️🤵🤵‍♂️👸🫅🤴🥷🦸‍♀️🦸🦸‍♂️🦹‍♀️🦹🦹‍♂️🤶🧑‍🎄🎅🧙‍♀️🧙🧙‍♂️🧝‍♀️🧝🧝‍♂️🧌🧛‍♀️🧛🧛‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟🧟‍♂️🧞‍♀️🧞🧞‍♂️🧜‍♀️🧜🧜‍♂️🧚‍♀️🧚🧚‍♂️👼🤰🫄🫃🤱👩‍🍼🧑‍🍼👨‍🍼🙇‍♀️🙇🙇‍♂️💁‍♀️💁🏻💁‍♂️🙇🙅‍♀️🙅🙅‍♂️🙆‍♀️🙆🙆‍♂️🙋‍♀️🙋🙋‍♂️🧏‍♀️🧏🧏‍♂️🤦‍♀️🤦🤦‍♂️🤷‍♀️🤷🤷‍♂️🙎‍♀️🙎🙎‍♂️🙍‍♀️🙍🙍‍♂️💇‍♀️💇💇‍♂️💆‍♀️💆💆‍♂️🧖‍♀️🧖🧖‍♂️💅🤳💃🕺👯‍♀️👯👯‍♂️🕴️👩‍🦽🧑‍🦽👨‍🦽👩‍🦽‍➡️🧑‍🦽‍➡️👨‍🦽‍➡️👩‍🦼🧑‍🦼👨‍🦼👩‍🦼‍➡️🧑‍🦼‍➡️👨‍🦼‍➡️🚶‍♀️🚶🚶‍♂️🚶‍♀️‍➡️🚶‍➡️🚶‍♂️‍➡️👩‍🦯🧑‍🦯👨‍🦯👩‍🦯‍➡️🧑‍🦯‍➡️👨‍🦯‍➡️🧎‍♀️🧎🧎‍♂️🏃‍♀️🏃🏃‍♂️🏃‍♀️‍➡️🏃‍➡️🏃‍➡️🏃‍♂️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍➡️🧎‍♂️‍➡️🧍‍♀️🧍🧍‍♂️👫👭👬👩‍❤️‍👨👩‍❤️‍👩💑👨‍❤️‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩💏👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨🪢🧶🧵🪡🧥🥼🦺👚👕👖🩲🩳👔👗👙🩱👘🥻🩴🥿👠👡👢👞👟🥾🧦🧤🧣👟🥾🧦🧤🧣🎩🧢👒🎓⛑️🪖👑💍👝👛👜💼🎒🧳👓🕶️🥽🌂🐶🐱🐭🐹🐰🦊🐻🐼🐻‍❄️🐨🐯🦁🐮🐷🐽🐸🐵🙈🙉🙊🐒🐔🐧🐦🐤🐣🐥🪿🦆🐦‍⬛🦅🦉🦇🐺🐗🐴🦄🫎🐝🪱🐛🦋🐌🐞🐜🪰🪲🪳🦟🦗🕷️🕸️🦂🐢🐍🦎🦖🦕🐙🦑🪼🦐🦞🦀🐡🐠🐟🐬🐳🐋🦈🦭🐊🐅🐆🦓🦍🦧🦣🐘🦛🦏🐪🐫🦒🦘🦬🐃🐂🐄🫏🐎🐖🐏🐑🦙🐐🦌🐕🐩🦮🐕‍🦺🐈🐈‍⬛🪶🪽🐓🦃🦤🦚🦜🦢🦩🕊️🐇🦝🦨🦫🦡🦦🦫🦥🐁🐀🐿️🦔🐾🐉🐲🐦‍🔥🌵🎄🌲🌳🌴🪵🌱🌿☘️🍀🎍🪴🎋🍃🍂🍁🪺🪹🍄🍄‍🟫🐚🪸🪨🌾💐🌷🌹🥀🪻🪷🌺🌸🌼🌻🌞🌝🌛🌜🌚🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌓🌒🌔🌙🌎🌍🌏🪐💫⭐️🌟✨⚡️☄️💥🔥🌪️🌈☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️🌦️🌧️⛈️🌩️🌨️❄️☃️⛄️🌬️💨💧💦🫧☔️☂️🌊🌫️🍏🍎🍐🍊🍋🍋‍🟩🍌🍉🍇🍓🫐🍈🍒🍑🥭🍍🥥🥝🍅🍆🥑🫛🥦🥬🥒🌶️🫑🌽🥕🫒🧄🧅🥔🍠🫚🥐🥯🍞🥖🥨🧀🥚🍳🧈🥞🧇🥓🥩🍗🍖🦴🌭🍔🍟🍕🫓🥪🥙🧆🌮🌯🫔🥗🥘🫕🥫🫙🍝🍜🍲🍛🍣🍱🥟🦪🍤🍙🍚🍘🍥🥠🥮🍢🍡🍧🍨🍦🥧🧁🍰🎂🍮🍭🍬🍫🍿🍩🍪🌰🥜🫘🍯🥛🫗🍼🫖☕️🍵🧃🥤🧋🍶🍺🍻🥂🍷🥃🍸🍹🧉🍾🧊🥄🍴🍽️🥣🥡🥢🧂⚽️🏀🏈⚾️🥎🎾🏐🏉🥏🎱🪀🏓🏸🏒🏑🥍🪃🏏🥅⛳️🪁🛝🏹🎣🤿🥊🥋🎽🛹🛼🛷⛸️🥌🎿⛷️🏂🪂🏋️‍♀️🏋️🏋️‍♂️🤼‍♀️🤼🤼‍♂️🤸‍♀️🤸🤸‍♂️⛹️‍♀️⛹️⛹️‍♂️🤺🤾‍♀️🤾🤾‍♂️🏌️‍♀️🏌️🏌️‍♂️🏇🧘‍♀️🧘🧘‍♂️🏄‍♀️🏄🏄‍♂️🏊‍♀️🏊🏊‍♂️🤽‍♀️🤽🤽‍♂️🚣‍♀️🚣🚣‍♂️🧗‍♀️🧗🧗‍♂️🚵‍♀️🚵🚵‍♂️🚴‍♀️🚴🚴‍♂️🏆🥇🥈🥉🏅🎖️🏵️🎗️🎫🎟️🎪🤹‍♀️🤹🤹‍♂️🎭🩰🎨🎬🎤🥁🪇🎹🎼🎧🪘🎷🎺🪗🎸♟️🎲🪈🎻🪕🧩🎰🎮🎳🎯🚗🚕🚙🚌🚎🏎️🚓🚑🚒🚐🛻🚚🚛🚜🦯🚲🛴🩼🦼🦽🛵🏍️🛺🛞🚨🚔🚍🚘🚖🚡🚠🚟🚃🚋🚞🚝🚄🚅🚈🚂🚆🚇🚊🚉✈️🛫🛬🛩️💺🛰️🚀🛸🚁🛶⛵️🚤🛥️🛳️⛴️🚢🛟⚓️🪝⛽️🚧🚦🚥🚏🗺️🗿🗿🗿🗿🗽🗼🏰🏯🏟️🎡🎢🎠⛲️⛱️🏖️🏝️🏜️🌋⛰️🏔️🗻🏕️⛺️🛖🏠🏡🏘️🏚️🏗️🏭🏢🏬🏣🏤🏥🏦🏨🏪🏫🏩💒🏛️⛪️🕌🕍🛕🕋⛩️🛤️🛣️🗾🎑🏞️🌅🌄🌠🎇🎆🌇🌆🏙️🌃🌌🌉🌁⌚️📱📲💻⌨️🖥️🖨️🖱️🖲️🕹️🗜️💽💾💿📀📼📷📸📹🎥📽️🎞️📞☎️📟📠📺📻🎙️🎚️🎛️🧭⏱️⏲️⏰🕰️⌛️⏳📡🔋🪫🔌💡🔦🕯️🪔🧯🛢️💸💵💴💶💷🪙💰💳🪪💎⚖️🪜🧰🪛🔧🔨⚒️🛠️⛏️🪚🔩⚙️🪤🧱⛓️⛓️‍💥🧲🔫💣🧨🪓🔪🗡️⚔️🛡️🚬⚰️🪦⚱️🏺🔮📿🧿🪬💈⚗️🔭💊💉🩸🧬🦠🧫🧪🌡️🧹🪠🧺🧻🚽🚰🚿🛁🛀🧼🪥🪒🪮🧽🪣🧴🛎️🔑🗝️🚪🪑🛋️🖼️🪆🧸🛌🛏️🪞🪟🛍️🛒🎁🎈🎏🎀🪄🪅🎊🎉🎎🪭🏮🎐🪩✉️✉️🧧📩📨📧💌📥📤📦🏷️🪧📪📫📬📭📮📯📜📃📄📑🧾📊📈📉🗒️🗓️📆📅🗑️📇🗃️🗳️🗄️📋📁📂🗂️🗞️📰📓📔📔📒📕📗📘📙📚📖🔖🧷🔗📎🖇️📐📏🧮📌📍✂️🖊️🖋️✒️🖌️🖍️📝✏️🔍🔓🔒🔐🔏🔎🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜🖤🩶🤍🤎💔❤️‍🔥❤️‍🩹💗💓💞💕❣️💖💘💝💟☮️✝️☪️🕉️☸️🪯✡️🔯🕎☯️☦️🛐⛎♈️♉️♊️♋️♌️♍️♎️♏️♐️♑️♒️♓️🆔⚛️🉑☢️☣️📴📳🈶🈚️🈸🈺🈷️✴️🆚💮🉐㊙️㊗️🈴🈵🈹🈲🅰️🅱️🆎🆑🅾️🆘❌⭕️🛑⛔️📛🚫💯💢♨️🚷🚯🚳🚱🔞📵🚭❗️❕❓❔‼️⁉️🔅🔆〽️⚠️🚸🔱⚜️🔰♻️✅🈯️💹❇️✳️❎💠🌐Ⓜ️🌀💤🏧🚾♿️🅿️🛗🈳🈂️🛂🛃🛄🛅🛜🚹🚺🚼🧑‍🧑‍🧒🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒🧑‍🧒🧑‍🧒‍🧒⚧️🚻🚮🎦📶🈁🔣ℹ️🔤🔡🔠🆖🆗🆙🆒🆕🆓0️⃣1️⃣2️⃣3️⃣4️⃣5️⃣6️⃣7️⃣8️⃣9️⃣🔟🔢#️⃣*️⃣⏏️▶️⏸️⏯️⏹️⏺️⏭️⏮️⏩️⏪️⏫️⏬️◀️🔼◀️🔽➡️⬅️⬆️⬇️↗️↘️↩️↙️↖️↕️↔️↪️↩️⤴️⤵️🔀🔁🔂🔄🔃🎵🎶➕➖➗✖️🟰💲♾️💲💱™️©️🔝👁️‍🗨️®️🔚🔙🔛🔝🔜〰️➰➿✔️☑️🔘🔴🟠🟡🟢🔵🟣⚫️⚪️🟤🔺🔻🔸🔹🔶🔷🔳🔲▪️▫️◾️◽️◼️◻️🟥🟧🟨🟩🟦🟪⬛️⬜️🟫🔈🔇🔉🔊🔔🔕📣📢💬💭🗯️♠️♣️♥️♦️🃏🎴🀄️🕐🕑🕒🕓🕔🕕🕖🕗🕘🕙🕚🕚🕛🕜🕝🕞🕟🕠🕡🕢🕣🕤🕥🕦🕧🏳️🏴🏴‍☠️🏁🚩🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🇺🇳🇦🇫🇦🇽🇦🇱🇩🇿🇦🇸🇦🇩🇦🇴🇦🇮🇦🇶🇦🇬🇦🇷🇦🇲🇦🇼🇦🇺🇦🇹🇦🇿🇧🇸🇧🇭🇧🇩🇧🇧🇧🇾🇧🇪🇧🇿🇧🇯🇧🇲🇧🇹🇧🇴🇧🇦🇧🇼🇧🇷🇻🇬🇧🇳🇧🇬🇧🇫🇧🇮🇰🇭🇨🇲🇨🇦🇮🇨🇨🇻🇧🇶🇰🇾🇨🇫🇹🇩🇮🇴🇨🇱🇨🇳🇨🇽🇨🇨🇨🇴🇰🇲🇨🇬🇨🇩🇨🇰🇨🇷🇨🇮🇭🇷🇨🇺🇨🇼🇨🇾🇨🇿🇩🇰🇩🇯🇩🇲🇩🇴🇪🇨🇪🇬🇸🇻🇬🇶🇪🇷🇪🇪🇸🇿🇪🇹🇪🇺🇫🇰🇫🇴🇫🇯🇫🇮🇫🇷🇬🇫🇵🇫🇹🇫🇬🇦🇬🇲🇬🇪🇩🇪🇬🇭🇬🇮🇬🇷🇬🇱🇬🇩🇬🇵🇬🇺🇬🇹🇬🇬🇬🇳🇬🇼🇬🇾🇭🇹🇭🇳🇭🇰🇭🇺🇮🇸🇮🇳🇮🇩🇮🇷🇮🇶🇮🇪🇮🇲🇮🇱🇮🇹🇯🇲🇯🇵🎌🇯🇪🇯🇴🇰🇿🇰🇪🇰🇮🇽🇰🇰🇼🇰🇬🇱🇦🇱🇻🇱🇧🇱🇸🇱🇷🇱🇾🇱🇮🇱🇹🇱🇺🇲🇴🇲🇬🇲🇼🇲🇾🇲🇻🇲🇱🇲🇹🇲🇭🇲🇶🇲🇷🇲🇺🇾🇹🇲🇽🇫🇲🇲🇩🇲🇨🇲🇳🇲🇪🇲🇸🇲🇦🇲🇿🇲🇲🇳🇦🇳🇷🇳🇵🇳🇱🇳🇨🇳🇿🇳🇮🇳🇪🇳🇬🇳🇺🇳🇫🇰🇵🇲🇰🇲🇵🇳🇴🇴🇲🇵🇰🇵🇼🇵🇸🇵🇦🇵🇬🇵🇾🇵🇪🇵🇭🇵🇳🇵🇱🇵🇹🇵🇷🇶🇦🇷🇪🇷🇴🇷🇺🇷🇼🇼🇸🇸🇲🇸🇹🇸🇦🇸🇳🇷🇸🇸🇨🇸🇱🇸🇬🇸🇽🇸🇰🇸🇮🇬🇸🇸🇧🇸🇴🇿🇦🇰🇷🇸🇸🇪🇸🇱🇰🇧🇱🇸🇭🇰🇳🇱🇨🇵🇲🇻🇨🇸🇩🇸🇷🇸🇪🇨🇭🇸🇾🇹🇼🇹🇯🇹🇿🇹🇭🇹🇱🇹🇬🇹🇰🇹🇴🇹🇹🇹🇳🇹🇷🇹🇲🇹🇨🇹🇻🇻🇮🇺🇬🇺🇦🇦🇪🇬🇧🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿🇺🇸🇺🇾🇺🇿🇻🇺🇻🇦🇻🇪🇻🇳🇼🇫🇪🇭🇾🇪🇿🇲🇿🇼 grr yknow?

stay sigma!

DID YOU JUST SEND ME EVERY SINGLE EMOJI IN ORDER IM FUCKING CRYING OH MY GOD

i DID post mandarin wars anons fic!! well… the first chapter at least 😭 I REALLY HOPE THEY’RE ABLE TO SEE IT

and i’ll get to yours at some point don’t worry man, it just may not be a while i have school starting up soon (boooo)

[my-castles-crumbling]

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This my favorite <3

[wilted]

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[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Ch. 8 💔🥂💔

Ah, my darlin’s, I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this one! We pick up about a week after Lori’s vulnerable middle of the night meltdown and the intimacy beginning to build between her and Elvis. (Catch up here: Broken Glass Masterlist )

Back in Elvis’ perspective, we jump through a couple of key things this man was up to in March 1960—he was a busy, busy man! The recording session and the Sinatra Special rehearsals make an interesting backdrop to the confusion and tumultuousness going on in his head and body in this chapter.

I highly recommend listening to It Feels So Right and Fame and Fortune (links here) as you read those parts to really get a feel for those moments and how the lyrics mirror Elvis’ feelings. 🎶 Also, most of the pics in the collage are from the days I'm referencing in this chapter, just in case you need, ahem, visual stimulation. 😏

Anyway, thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this chapter—things are starting to get JUICY! 😘

xoxoxo, Madi 💗

TW: ANGST, UST, references to sexual situations, masturbation, references to Lori’s previous abuse, Elvis’ rage issues, Frank-fucking-Sinatra…

Read HERE on Patreon 🎉 Read HERE on AO3 📖 Read HERE on Wattpad ✍🏼

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

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

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-little-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @ohjustpeachy1 @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[jaritza121]

For all of the times they screwed us over❤️‍🩹 💔 🥂

[fighter-paladin]

Fuck it. Every emoji

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[queers-gambit]

The Rings of Power

requesting rules and masterlist

requests are CLOSED where to watch: Amazon Prime / Amazon Video

Shadows of the Past

the High King recruits you personally for the expedition headed by your intended, Herald Elrond. your company encounters the darkness and Galadriel portrays an apology to her friend.

pairing: Elrond x betrothed!female!reader

word count: 5.1k+

🖤 reader insert 💔 small angst 🐑 filler ❤️‍🩹 literal hurt and comfort 💍 established relationship 🛑 abrupt ending 🍭 insinuated friends to lovers 🐝 oneshot 🙊 general language and content warning 🥊 depiction of canon-typical physical violence and / or aggression 🩸 depiction of injury and blood 🔏 not edited

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Tower Scrolls

during the Siege of Eregion, Elrond barters for his fiancé's life, and her life's work.

pairing: Elrond x betrothed!female!reader

word count: 4.1k+

🖤 reader insert 🎭 drama 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🐑 pure filler, no worth 💍 established relationship ⚠️ spoilers 🐝 oneshot / stand alone 🙊 general language and content warning ☠️ canon-complicit character death 🥊 depiction of physical violence and / or aggression and / or abuse and / or torture 🩸 depiction of injury and blood 😵‍💫 wonky brain went wonky 🛑 abrupt ending 🔏 not edited

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Match Made in Grey Haven

you find yourself in what feels like a distant relationship through penned letters. overcome with shyness during his visits, you avoid Herald Elrond - until your grandfather (and co.) steps in as matchmaker.

pairing: Elrond x shy!female!reader

word count: 2.9k+

⏳ kinda AU timeline: takes place before TROP 🧸 fluff 🎭 small drama 🥰 romance ❤️‍🩹 small hurt and comfort 🍭 friends to lovers 🐍 small family angst: dead parents 🥦 healthy family relationships 😵‍💫 wonky brain went a little wonky 🧠 depiction of mental health: anxiety and maybe being shy? 🛑 abrupt ending 🔏 not edited

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part two: The Risk

after your wedding, you and Elrond embark on your honeymoon touring Middle-earth. your company is attacked on the road by Orcs. help comes from an old friend.

word count: 7.1k+

⏳ AU timeline 🧸 little fluff 🥰 romance 🎭 drama 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💍 established relationship 🍭 friends to lovers 🙊 general language and content warning 🥦 kinda healthy family views 🥊 depiction of physical violence 🥂 alcohol consumption 🩸 depiction of blood and injury 👰‍♀️ wife reader 😵‍💫 wonky brain went VERY wonky 🔏 not edited 🛑 kinda abrupt ending ?

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Commander

being on opposite sides of the Rings eventually sends your husband back into your arms, and between your legs. haha, nice.

word count: 4.6k+

🖤 slightly reader insert 🎭 drama 💔 angst 🥰 romance ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💦 smut 💣 small relationship angst 💍 established relationship ⚠️ slight spoilers 🔏 not edited

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Bait and Switch

Adar knows you by surname and reputation, but makes a fatal mistake: underestimating the mutual desire to reunite with your husband.

word count: 7.7k+

🖤 reader insert 🎭 drama drama drama 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💣 relationship angst (reader's a POW) 💍 established relationship ⚠️ spoilers 🐝 oneshot / stand alone 🙊 general language and content warning 🥦 healthy family dynamic 🥊 depiction of physical violence and / or aggression 🩸 depiction of blood and injury and slight gore (Reader bites off Orc finger) 💛 requires maturity and imagination 🩺 depiction of medical phenomenon (cauterization) 👰‍♀️ wife!reader 🛑 abrupt ending 🔏 not edited

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requesting rules and masterlist

[jammylittlefingers]

It’s the oldest goblins 8th birthday. This feels like the first one that’s undeniably “old”, full child, can’t cling to that early childhood label any more. Sigh. The days are long but the years are short. Time really is wild. And parenthood needs a rewind and a pause button. (Also FF to be honest. There’s certainly plenty of boring and annoying bits.)

I was actually surprised when I read my last entry, both that it was so long ago- 2 years? 3 maybe? And that I was still have echoes of birth trauma. I still hate how both their births went, and some things do bring it up. But birthdays are no longer a trigger. And I had actually forgot that they used to be. Amazing what the mind smoothed over with time.

My feral little wildling. After teaching early childhood for a decade I thought I knew it all, and she blew it all out of the water. My first, my hardest, my unique little wonder. I remember so vividly journaling when she was a toddler, that I worried she would grow through me, break me apart. Like ice in a rock, like plant roots through paving stones. And they do, but there’s always pieces to put back together, better, w more experience, and amazing memories. Today she turns 8 and she’s found so much calm and joy, we’ve grown together and figured so much out together. I can’t wait for more. Parenting is such a hard job, such a blessed and cursed job. A gift. Soul rending indeed. 💔❤️‍🩹 Cheers to 8 years.🥂