#and the cliffhanger is having me mentally sob

[littlehappyrabbit]

finished watching new underverse episode! My heart didn't make it

[latenightdaydreams]

OMG HANDMKFUXHAB

reader running away makes me so happy 🥺🥺 if you plan on making a part 4 for the creepy trucker series im on the edge of my seat!!!!

I'm so happy so many people enjoyed the cliffhanger with her running away!! I hope part 4 doesn't disappoint🩷

Trucker!König x Stranded!Reader Part 4 (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part1, Part2, Part3, Part5

Master List✍🏽

Tags: @nachofriess, @blue-spices, @teddy2510, @soosouyoung, @vivasab0tage

🚫As usual this story has HEAVY triggers! Please do not read if you cannot handle them! Ily all and I hope you take care of your body and mind🩷🚫

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>cw: fem/afab, non-con, p in v, being chased, pregnancy, Stockholm syndrome

3.2k word count

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As you run you can hear the booming of footsteps, quickly in your mind you’re trying to figure out where you will go; you can’t just keep running, he will outrun you. You see a woman getting into a car with a man so you run to her, yelling in your native language, “Help me! Please!”

The woman looks at you scared and locks the car doors, hitting the guy to start driving. He does and quickly tries to get away from you and whatever danger you, a foreigner, is causing. Your heart sinks and you begin to cry loudly, clearly very distressed. You don’t stop running.

Across the road you can see a row of small businesses. Without thinking you just run across the road. You hear a car horn and tires screeching.

“MAUS!” König shouts as he sees you almost get hit by a car. He sees the car stopping just before it hits you. He freezes for a second as you do in front of the car. Then you look over at him and keep running. König pursues.

You continue to run, more cars having to stop, honking at you for dashing in front of them. König is right behind you also causing traffic to stop as he runs in front of cars. You make it to the other side.

Running into one of the stores, you run up to a man shopping and begin to ask him to call the cops. The man looks at you confused and backs away. Running pass, him, you go to the woman working behind the register.

“Please help me. There is a man that kidnapped me and is chasing me! Please!” She looks at you with the same look before telling you to go.

“No, no, I need help! Please!”

“Get out!” she shouts at you; she assumes you caused trouble for yourself and wants nothing to do with it.

Then König comes into the store, his eyes looking over the place and you run and hide; ducking behind the shelves in an aisle. You can hear your heart beating in your ears, your breathing shaking as you try to sneak out of the store past König.

König walks up to a man and in German begins to describe you, asking if he saw you.

“My crazy wife is manic and ran out of the car, she isn’t taking her medicine, please I’m trying to help her.” König lied very convincingly to the man. He nodded and pointed to the other side of the store where he saw you run.

You hear his footsteps as you try to guess which way they’re about to go. You take your chance and make a run for it. König’s head snaps and begins to run after you. The lady behind the counter yelling at you and König to take this somewhere else.

Just as you’re about to escape through the door, the man in the shop grabs you. You begin to fight the man, “Let me go!”

“Bitte sei ruhig.” The man says thinking that you’re a mentally ill person.

Then you hear König’s voice, thanking the man for his help. His massive hands grasp your arms tightly and pull you to him. He wraps your arms in an x across your chest and wraps his arms tightly around them, lifting you.

You kick back, trying to hit König and shake your body trying to break free, but nothing works. König thanks the man again and begins to walk you out of the store. You’re crying as he does, making sure to quickly cross the road again.

“You fucked up Maus, you really did.”

“Please just let me go!” You sob still trying to break free but twisting your body.

König squeezes you so hard the air leaves your lungs, “Stop!”

You give up and just sob, “Please, let me go!”

“You’re mine, you have to realize that.”

You sob as he walks back to the truck. A small group of people standing outside and watching this happen. König looks at them, feeling panic but trying to appear as a worried husband. He loudly apologizes to the crowd for your behavior and tells the same lie about you being manic.

One older woman in the crowd didn’t believe König, something in her gut telling her that you’re in trouble and that he is lying. She feels helpless watching this scene play out in front of her. She seems to be the odd man out so she is scared to say something. She just watches with sadness in her eyes.

Once back inside the truck, König slams you down hard on the bed and slaps you. “You stupid bitch! You could have gotten hurt! Gotten me caught! Selfish!”

König grabs your handcuffs and restrains you again. This time also grabbing a rope and tying your ankles. You try to kick him as he reaches for them, but he is stronger than you as he grasps them firmly. He ties them so tightly that it hurts. He grabs an old t-shirt laying on the floor and stuffs it into your mouth so he doesn’t have to hear your screaming anymore.

“I was being nice to you, and you fucked it up.” He grows at you as he quickly gets into the drivers’ seat and begins to drive off.

The woman watches the semi take off as she gets on the bus with her group. A heavy guilty feeling in her stomach because she didn’t do anything. She sits next to her friend on the bus, 40 minutes pass as she sits in silence.

“What is wrong?” Her friend asks.

“I-I feel as if that man was lying. That woman looked terrified.”

Her friend nods her head, “She did.” They both take a deep breath before she speaks again, “Maybe you should report it?”

“I think I will.” She takes out her cell phone and calls the emergency hotline. She describes you and König, giving details about the odd situation that unfolded before you all today. She tells them the address and describes the semi the best she can, but she never got his license plate. The man on the line thanks her and they get off the phone.

Because of the adrenalin that flooded through your body, you ended up crashing hard and falling asleep after an hour. König was relieved, but now paranoid that someone might have called for help. Every few minutes he looks over his shoulder to check if he’s being trailed by a cop. This whole situation made him realize you’re safer at home where you can use the bathroom and eat inside the house instead of interacting with the outside world. You’ve lost those privileges.

Hours pass since the incident; you don’t know exactly how much time though. You open your eyes to very bright sunlight flooding your vision. You try to move your hand in front of your eyes to block the light, but you’re still cuffed. This time though you realize your legs and arms are handcuffed spread apart. You’re on a bed in some house. You lean your head forward and look around. You see a wooden desk, wooden dresser, and a dark blue recliner. Next to the recliner is a tripod and a ring light.

Trying to pull yourself free you realize that you’re completely naked. You begin to shake and pull, letting out an aggravated groan once you can’t pull your limbs free. Heavy footsteps travel down the hall, approaching the door to the room you’re in.

König opens the door and walks forward towards you. He stops near the side of your bed and caresses your stubbly legs. “Finally awake.”

You look at him with fear in your eyes, “Where are we?”

“My house, our house.” He sits beside you on the bed. “Why did you run? I was so nice to you.”

“I- I,” you can’t even think of a way to answer without angering him and making things worse. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” König tilts his head to the side and looks at you with a blank stare.

“Yes.”

“No, you aren’t Maus. You’re just scared. But don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. You’ve just lost your privileges. You’re safe. Don’t worry.”

While he is trying to be comforting, he isn’t. He’s the one keeping you captive. He’s the one hurting you and taking you away from a happy life. You keep your eyes on him and then look back towards the bright light from the windows. You realize the window is open and there’s a light breeze coming in.

“Don’t bother screaming Maus, I live in the country. Just you and me for miles.”

You don’t look back at him, just let those words sink in and look out of the window.

“Welcome home, I’ll show you around soon. It’s a nice place to raise a family.”

Your head snaps in his direction, “A family?”

“Ja, Maus. A family. You’ll make me beautiful babies. Plus men will pay extra for your pregnant body.”

König rubs his hand along your abdomen and smirks.

Meanwhile, police have made their way to the truck stop you were seen at. They talk to the woman that was working the cash register that day.

“They came in, both went to the bathroom, and then next thing I knew she was running and he chased after her. When they came in they looked like maybe boyfriend and girlfriend? They were close.”

“Okay, are there any surveillance cameras I can look at?”

“I’ll have to get my boss.”

“You do that.” The cop puts away his notepad and looks around the store before the boss walks out.

“Right this way, officers.”

You don’t even know how much time has passed and there has been no sign of help. You remain inside of König’s home. Your stomach is growing, swollen with his child. An old medic friend from his military days comes to the house to check on you and the baby, König tries his best to take good care of you.

It’s a warm day and you stand outside in a green summer dress, 6 months pregnant. You’re kneeling in the flower bed and pulling weeds. You stand and begin to walk to the water hose, and then your chain pulls.

König has a metal shackle around your ankle, bolted to the house so you can’t run off. He hears the chain pull as he is behind the house trimming back bushes.

“Need something, Liebling?” He walks over to you wearing jeans and a black shirt, both covered in small green specks from the bush leaves.

“The hose,” You point only a few feet away from you.

He walks over and grabs it for you, “Don’t stress yourself out, you still have to film today.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

König leans in and puckers his thin lips waiting for you to kiss him. You tiptoe to meet him the rest of the way and kiss his lips. He smiles at you before slapping your ass and walking back to what he was doing.

You water the garden, feeling your baby move within you. Resting a hand on your stomach, you begin to caress your belly. You let out a deep sigh and look around, trying to imagine giving birth to your baby here and raising your child here. König as a father…how will that work? Will I eventually fall in love?

“Liebling, are you okay?” König walks up behind you, wrapping one arm around you resting on your stomach as the other takes the water hose from you. “You’re drowning the flowers.” His voice has a light chuckle.

“Oh, sorry. I was thinking about giving birth. Being a mom. I’m scared.”

König drops the hose and wraps his arms around you.

“Don’t be scared. I knew from the moment I saw you that you’d make an amazing mom. Don’t stress you and our baby out, okay? I’ll run to the city tomorrow and get you whatever you’re craving.”

You nod your head, “Thank you König.”

“Of course, now let’s go film, ja?”

Filming was your least favorite thing to do, but it’s how König makes enough money to stay home with you, so you do it. He takes out a key and unlocks the cuff on your ankle. His arm goes around your body tightly so you can’t run away if you try.

Walking back inside, he brings you into the bedroom. “Shouldn’t I shower first?”

“Nein, the sweaty look is hot.” He kisses your forehead.

You sit on the bed as he sets everything up, placing the cameras where they need to be and making sure the lighting in the room is good. Once done he strips down to nothing, his cock soft but still 6 inches. He begins to record on all cameras and walks up to you on the bed.

He gets behind you and begins to massage your swollen breasts. You’ve already started to fill up in preparation for the baby, growing two bra sizes. König does everything he can to stimulate more lactation. He begins to squeeze your breast, forming a small wet patch on your dress. You look away embarrassed, he laughs. He squeezes more, letting the wet patches continue to grow, his erect cock rubbing against your back now.

“Let’s take this dress off Liebling.” He whispers as he helps you stand.

Once standing he slowly takes off your dress, his hand gliding over your pregnant belly. His lips kiss your neck tenderly as he makes his way down to your breast. Squeezing, he squirts a small amount of milk on his face before wrapping his mouth around your breast and suckling, drinking in any milk he can squeeze out of you. You let out soft moans as he licks your nipple before sucking again.

“Your milk is so sweet.” He growls as he seats up on the bed.

Again, he goes behind you and begins to squeeze your breasts for the cameras. Make sure to get good squirts of your milk, rubbing some of the milk all over your breast to make them shine. His head resting on your shoulder watching as he does this. Turning his head he begins to kiss the side of your face and you turn your head to meet his mouth and kiss him back.

He lets out a soft moan as he gently cups your breasts in his large hands. His tongue pushing into your mouth and twirling around, mixing your spit with his. Pulling away from the kiss a line of spit follows.

“Lay back Maus.”

You do as he says and lay back flat on the bed. He comes up and caresses your large stomach, leaving a trail of kisses up to your lips again as he positions himself between your legs. He reaches over and grabs one of the cameras and holds it angles at your pussy. He slaps his heavy cock over your tiny clit, causing you to mewl and move your hips. Disgusted with yourself because you actually want his cock.

“Beg for it.”

“Please fuck me.”

“Be more specific, Liebling.” He slaps your clit with his cock again.

“Please give me your cock. Please.”

“Good girl, that’s what I like to hear.” He begins to slip his cock into you.

You moan out and grasp the bed sheets as you feel his cock push in all the way. His hand pulls one of your legs back, making sure to leave room for your big belly. He holds the camera up to your face and you make sure to act as if you don’t want to be recorded; he said the men like it more when I act like I hate it.

“Moan for me.” He taps your face.

You let out a tiny soft moan while suppressing the enjoyment that you’re feeling. He puts the camera down to rest his hands on your belly as he begins to buck his hips more rapidly into you. It hurts so you genuinely moan in pain and try to scoot back.

“Don’t run for it.” He grabs your hips and pulls you towards him.

“It hurts!” you moan out as you squirm.

König lets go of your hips and leans forward, holding your shoulders, and he begins to fuck you so hard you begin to scream.

“Ja! Scream for me! Hure!” He lightly slaps you but you act like it was worse.

Recording takes hours to complete. König helped you get all cleaned up after and chained you to the bed again, the chain is long enough for you to walk around the room, but bolted to where you can’t get to the door or window.

“I’m going into the city to get you food and treats, what are you craving?”

You shrug and think for a few seconds, “Maybe something cakey? Also, just some stuff to make brownies or cakes to have around the house.”

“I can do that.” He leans down and kisses you gently.

“I love you both, I’ll be back.” He caresses your stomach.

“We love you too…” you watch him leave the house.

Once you hear the car door close you rush to the drawers trying to look for something that you can use to break free from the shackles. As usual, there was nothing. You sit on the bed and cry, hugging your stomach.

“I’m sorry baby, I don’t know what to do.” You whisper to your stomach. You feel torn between wanting to run towards freedom and wanting to stay here with König. A weird part of you beginning to feel for him, but also wanting your old life back. You can’t even recognize yourself anymore.

In the city König goes into a local grocery store. He collects everything you asked for plus just thing for the house. He finds a baby onesie that says “I love Daddy.” König holds the tiny little piece of clothing in his hands, smiling thinking about holding his baby in his arms. He adds the onesie to the cart.

He walks up to the front of the store and begins to bag his items as the older woman working the register scans his items. He looks around the store as he waits for his payment to process and he sees a board of posters.

“Here’s your receipt.”

König’s attention turns back to the nice woman. He smiles and grabs the piece of paper from her, grabbing all of his bags and walking to the poster board.

In big red words he reads the words MISSING. König stays there and reads the details. His heart sinks.

Young woman, your skin tone, hair color, body build. His semi-truck color, build, hair color. The fact you’re foreign and what language you speak is even listed. He can feel his cheeks turn red as he begins to sweat. He reaches up and rips the sign off the board and turns to leave the store.

He sits in his SUV and looks at the poster. He wonders how many there are and how much information the cops actually know.

“FUCK!” He yells in his SUV and he runs his hands down his face. He takes a deep breath before pulling out of the parking spot and beginning to speed home to you.

[feyreswaterybowels]

⭒The Silent One⭒

#3 Azriel x Fem!OC

⭒Part 1⭒Part 2⭒Part 3⭒Part 4⭒

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Azriel finds the guy that sold Cassandra. Lots of bonding happens with Cassandra, Azriel and other members of the IC. Slight cliffhanger.

Warnings/Tags: mentions/implied rape. Mention past sexual abuse. Mentions pregnancy from rape. Slow burn. Violence. Brief victim blaming. Found family. Protective!azriel. Protective!IC. GRAMMER ERRORS—I plan on going back to edit this please don’t judge me too hard I’m gonna have a busy week and just really wanted to get this posted for y’all🩵

Authors Note: all reblogs, likes and comments are welcome, appreciated and encouraged! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for the next chapter. Regular italics are inner thoughts and bold italics are mental communication.

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Azriel stands in the darkness of night watching. Waiting. Body thrumming with anger. Calm cold anger. The kind that got people killed if they didn’t give him what he was looking for.

Only moments after Cassandra’s departure had his shadow returned to him. Telling him where to find this Vale. This horrid male who was taking females away from their family and selling them off—profiting off of them like livestock.

He sees the male, recognizes him from the briefs flash of memory Cassandra let slip at dinner, the one where this mad had choked her, slammed her against the wall just for needing to use the restroom.

The male is loading something up in the back of a wagon, the building behind him dark and dingy. Azriel let his shadows take him closer. Closer. Until he was standing in the alley between this man's house and another. The smell was horrid, small creatures scurrying about looking for their meal for the evening.

The male retreats into the building and Azriel lets a shadow loose to follow him—to be his eyes inside of this building. Inside is just as dark and dingy and piled high to the roof with…stuff. The blue skinned male navigates the maze of boxes and bins and trash with ease. He seems to be the only one here but Azriel knew better so he waits following the man through the seemingly endless maze.

That’s when he hears it, his shoulders going tight, his jaw clenching. Crying—no sobbing. A girl begging to be left alone as the male grabs her and pins her down to the floor.

“Fuck,” he growls. He pounds his fist against the outside of the building, taking chucks of the stone out. It’s loud enough to distract the man, to get him away from that girl as he rushed from the room under the floor, locking the locks and coming out. Looking around wildly for the source of the sound.

Azriel winnows, leaning against the wagon the man had been loading before, whistling to get the man attention. He whirls around, black eyes narrowed in anger, freezing in place when they land on him.

“Shadowsinger?” He grunts, narrowing his eyes at Azriel. “What brings you to these parts?”

Azriel looks him over, the smell of shit, piss and rot was overwhelming even from this distance.

“Vale,” Azriel says, to let the male know he knows who he is, rightfully see the fear in his eyes. “I’m looking for something and I hear you’re the one to help me.”

“I ain’t got nothing you need, pretty boy,” Vale sneers, crossing his arms, looking Azriel over. Trying to come off as tough but it’s actually laugh-able.

“Are you sure?” Azriel asks, pushing off the wagon. Letting his wings spread wide, walking closer, towering over the male. “See, I’ve got this female telling me you bought her from her dad and sold her to a pleasure house. I mean, tell me I’m wrong, man. I’ve just gotta check on these things. It’s a pretty serious accusation and all.”

“That chick’s got the wrong guy. I would never do something like that. These bitches are always trying to get us males in trouble,” Vale said, seeming to relax. Big mistake.

“You think so? Just tell me if you know her man. About this tall, really pretty, tan skin, white hair. Wings.” Azriel growls the last word, the man’s eyes widening again, taking a step back.

“Look, man, it’s not like that. Her dad owed me money, so he gave me her instead cause he couldn’t afford to pay me back, okay? So I didn’t technically buy her,” He stammered out, trying to explain himself.

“Oh,” Azriel said, nodding his head. “Well, I mean, if you didn’t technically buy her then no law was broken.”

“That’s right!” The male nods, sighing in relief. “No law was broken, man. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t do that—”

“Yeah. I get it,” Azriel nods, shifting. Looking towards the building, then back to the low life in front of him. “And that female inside? Did you buy her? Is she here of her own free will allowing you to rape her daily?”

“Fuck,” Vale whispers, turning and running down the cobble stone road. Azriel stands there watching, a grin stretching his lips as he lets the male think he’s getting away.

“Send Morrigan,” He calls out to Rhys as he watches the male.

“She’s coming.”

Then he's gone again, just as Vale looks over his shoulder to try and spot him, only to smack hard into a body that came out of nowhere. He looks at the shadowsinger towering over him, swallowing thickly.

“What do you want from me?” The male nearly cried out as Azriel grabbed him and pulled him up, slamming his face first into a stone wall. The resounding crunch of his nose breaking is ever satisfying.

“Her name is Cassandra,” Azriel snarls into the man's ear. “She told us what you did to her. What you did to that female you have locked in that disgusting building. We know there’s more girls. We will find them all and when we do, I’ll let each one take a turn with you. Their weapon of choice. And you’ll feel exactly what they felt.”

“Ple-please. Please, just kill me,” The man begged, fighting in Azriel’s grasp but he was no match for Azriel’s strength.

“And what kind of justice would that be? Did you stop when those girls begged you to? Did you give them death with they would have preferred that over you using their bodies?” Azriel asked, scenting the smell of urine as the man pissed himself. “You deserve everything you’ve got coming to you.”

Before the pathetic excuse of a male could beg or plead any more Azriel grabbed the back of his head, smashing it into the wall, letting him fall unconscious to the ground. He left him there binded and hidden by shadows, stalking back to the building where he spotted Morrigan easily.

“Don’t tell me this is where he’s been keeping those poor girl?” She asked when she spotted him approaching.

“Unfortunately, I think it is. She said under his house but he could live here. I’ll question him more. I know there’s at least one female inside,” Azriel explained, guiding Morrigan into the building. Be could get the female on his own but he knew it was safer to have a female companion—after all they’d been through the least he could do was make sure a female was the one to comfort them.

They get to that basement floor, unlocking the various locks and pulling the hatch open. It’s as dark and dingy down here as it was in the rest of the building. Morrigan enters first, taking Azriel’s hand to steady herself on the old wobbly stairs.

“Your wings won’t fit down here,” She said, hushed. He nods at her. “Send a shadow if I call for help.” It’s said jokingly but he knows she’s serious. He’d rip the floor from this building to help her if she needed it.

Mor squinted her eyes in the dimness of the sellar, resisting the urge to plug her nose from the horrid smell.

“Hello? Is anyone down here?” She calls out, looking up from at Azriel when there’s no reply. “Hello, my name is Morrigan. I work for the High Lord. The male keeping you here is—”

Morrigan’s cut off when I body slams into hers, knocking her to the ground. She cries out in surprise when a sharp sting slices across her cheek.

“Stop, hey, stop! I’m here to help!” Mor calls out, trying to catch the hands of the female fae on top of her.

“Mor!” Azriel’s deep voice calls.

“I’ve got it!” Mor calls back, grabbing the girls wrists. “Please, stop! Vale is gone! He can’t hurt you, please, stop!”

The girl stops fighting then still tense where she’s straddling Morrigan’s middle section.

“He’s gone?” She whispers and Mor nods.

“Yes, he’s gone. He can’t hurt you any more. I swear,” She promises. Eyes finally able to take in the sight before her.

A fragile, naked, malnourished body sits atop her. Eyes not only shut but scarred as if they’d been cut—maybe by the same person that took Cassandra’s tongue. But what really got Morrigan, what had her ready to lose the contents of her stomach was the rounded belly attached to that nearly skeleton body. Her eyes welled and she helped the female to shift off of her body.

“Are you pregnant?” Mor whispers, trying to keep her voice from breaking as the female nods.

“Please, don’t let him take this one too,” She cries, reaching out to find Morrigan’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Promise me I get to keep my baby.”

“I promise, no one is going to take your baby away from you,” Morgan swears, a single tear falling down her cheek. “What’s your name, sweet girl?”

“Neema, my name is Neema,” She answers and Mors eyes widen. The girl Cassandra told them about.

“You and your baby are safe, Neema. We’re gonna take you away from here, okay?” Morrigan says, standing and helping the pregnant female stand as well.

“I have my friend Azriel here too, he will not touch you, he’s only here to make sure no further harm comes to you. He’s handing me a cloak for you to wear,” Morrigan explains so the female doesn’t feel uncomfortable. She nods, allowing Mor to wrap the cloak around her.

“Are there any other females here?” Azriel asks gently, wishing he hadn’t with the way she clenched at the deep mess of it.

“Not—not that I know of. The females come and go. There’s been no others for months…” Neema answers, grasping the fabric tighter around her body.

Azriel and Mor share a look the last females had to have been Cassandra and the other two she mentioned.

“I’ll stay and check the building before I head back,” Azriel informed, consciously softening his voice so as not to scare the female again.

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Morrigan winnows away with Neema and Azriel searches every inch of the building with his shadows. No signs of any other females. He leaves the building, needing to relieve himself of the horrible stench.

He retrieves the still bound and unconscious male, winnowing him to his dungeon. He strips him, places a gag in his mouth, dumps him into a chair and binds him to it. He would be dealt with later.

The sun would be rising soon and he wanted to be there when they informed Cassandra they found the male and the female—her friend?

He enters Rhys' study, Cassian and Mor there too.

“How is she?” He asks, glancing at Morrigan then his brother.

“Resting,” Rhys answers. “Madja looked her over. Thankfully the baby seems healthy, Madja’s main concern is getting Neema to gain some weight and begin healing herself.”

“We offered her to live amongst the priestesses in the library, she agreed,” Morrigan said, her brown eyes bloodshot and cheeks flushed.

“Good, that’s all good, they’ll help her heal,” Azriel nods his head crossing his arms. “I have the male in my dungeon.”

“Have you gotten any information out of him?” Rhys asks, standing from his desk.

“Not much. He admitted to knowing who Cassandra was, receiving her from her father and holding her. He never admitted to selling her but that information won’t be hard to get out of him,” Azriel explains and Rhys nods in agreement.

“You get whatever information you can out of him and then he’s dead,” Rhys orders, Azriel doesn’t need to confirm he already knew what Rhys decision would be.

“Are we telling Cassandra?” Cassian asks, the first words he’s said the whole time.

“We are. She needs to know he’s here, it may bring her some comfort knowing he’s locked away and Neema is safe. I think you should be the one to talk to her, Azriel,” Rhy says, turning his attention to the shadow singer.

“Me? Not Mor?” Azriel asked, a bit confused.

“Yes, you. She’s comfortable with you. You’re the one that apprehended him. I believe she would prefer to hear it from you,” Rhys nods.

“Okay, I can do that,” Azriel agreed.

“You handle that, I’ve got some business to attend to with the priestesses. We’ll all meet up in a few hours to discuss further action.” Rhys stepped around his desk, patting Azriel’s shoulder when he passed by him.

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An hour goes by before Azriel tracks Cassandra down. Finding her in the library, flipping through a book where she’s sat in the large window seat that overlooked the city below. A steaming cup of tea next to her.

“I thought you couldn’t read?” Azriel asks, leaning against the door frame, grinning when those green eyes meet his.

“I can’t. I’m looking at the pictures,” She said, holding up the book, some romance book from the looks of the two people in a colorful garden.

“Ah,” Azriel says, walking further into the room. Trying not to focus on the way her eyes track up and down his body the closer he gets. He holds his hand out for the book, flipping it over the read the title, snorting at it. “Secret Garden Romance, huh?”

She shrugs, taking the book back.

“I asked the house for a book with a lot of pictures, this is what I got,” She said, a small sweet breathy laugh escaped her lips and he couldn’t help his own smile.

“Did you end up getting some sleep?” He asks, watching her set the book down and grab the warm mug.

“I slept but not great,” She shrugs. “I can’t stop thinking about my sisters.”

“We’re gonna do everything we can to find them, I promise you that,” Azriel said, not even waiting for a beat. He would find her sisters and he’d beat the shit out of her father too.

“You know I took my older sister's place. It was supposed to be her he sold off but the way she had cried when he told her. I couldn’t let him do that to her so I told him to take me…I didn’t really know what he meant when he was selling me. I thought I’d be a servant like the ones we had when I was a kid or something. I never thought…” She trailed off, taking a deep breath.

“You’re not to blame for what happened to you. You were protecting your sister. You did a very selfless thing. You're safe now and your sisters will be, too,” Azriel said, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned towards her.

“Well, what about you?” Cassandra asked, gently changing the subject. “Did you ever get any sleep?”

Azriel sighed with a head shake. “No, actually. That’s kind of why I came to talk to you.”

Cassandra fixed him with a curious look, leaning forward as if to give him her full attention for whatever he needed to say. He looked into those glowing green eyes, filled with curious concern.

“We found that male. Vale. We found him,” Azriel said, watching the vast range of emotions flash through those emerald eyes.

“He’s here?” Is what she asks, fear tinging her voice. Azriel straightens his back.

“He will not touch you,” he declared, holding her gaze. “He won’t even come near you.”

I’ll fucking kill him if he does. He thinks but doesn’t add it out loud.

“He can’t get out of…wherever he is?” She asks, and he wants to reach out so badly to comfort her. The ache in his chest drawing him to her.

“No. He’s being held in a very secure place. I promise you’re safe here. You’re safe with us.” Azriel promises. You’re safe with me.

“Were there any females with him?” She asks and Azriel nods.

“The girl you told us about, Neema. She was the only one there—it had been only her for months.”

He watches as her eyes fill with tears, offering his hand for her to hold. She takes it, thumb tracing his scars unconsciously.

“Just her…alone with him for months. Gods, is she…I feel like okay isn’t the right word for what I want to ask,” She says, sadness written all over her face.

“She will be okay,” Azriel said. “She’s in bad shape. Pregnant, malnourished but we have an amazing healer and a library below the mountain. Many priestesses live there. Many of them have experienced similar traumas. They’ll help her heal.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment. He wasn’t sure what was going through her head as she sat there silently, grasping his hand and tracing his scars.

“I want him to die.” It’s fierce. Heated. Emotional. And it does something to Azriel’s heart, to his brain. He squeezes her hand. “I want him to feel everything we felt. To know the fear he put us through. I want him to suffer and then I want him to die.”

“He will die. I swear to the Mother. I’ll get every drop of information from him and when it’s time his death will be painful and slow,” Azriel swore, gently swiping a tear from her cheek.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

The next day is a day Cassandra would remember forever. She hadn't slept much the night before but Morrigan had practically begged her to have lunch.

Cassandra wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for a day out in the city but she felt safe with Morrigan. She nearly asked if Azriel could come too until she learned he would be spending the day collecting information from Kamari and Vale.

Morrigan picked out her outfit for the day and it was one of her favorites she’s worn since being here. A flowy silk top that tucked into a dark pair of slacks that raised high on my hips. They emphasized her longer legs in a way she had never noticed before. She had also pinned Cassandra’s hair up and out of her face.

She liked the way Azriel smiled at her when he saw her dressed this way. She blushed but was quickly rushed away by Morrigan, shouting something about wanting you to herself for the day for girl time.

Their first stop was a place she called the River House. A beautiful home that her mother would have loved. Morrigan had only had them stop here briefly to grab a few tote bags, wanting to shop while they were out but promised to bring her back and give her a proper tour of the house.

The city was even more beautiful when you were in it. The sun was shining bright in an endless blue sky. Better than any dreams she had ever had about it.

They went to bakeries, where Cassandra single handedly filled half a tote with various pastries.

Then a clothing shop where Morrigan helped her pick out some new clothes. A few everyday pieces. A gorgeous gown she wasn’t sure where she would wear it but Morrigan swore she would need it sooner or later. And then the softest, satin, dark blue nightgown—it had reminded her of the stones that glowed atop Azriel’s hands. Morrigan herself had picked out quite a few outfits and gowns of her own and a lace set that looked like something the girls in the pleasure houses would wear but she paid no mind to it—she was sure it would look gorgeous on Morrigan wherever she planned to wear it to.

Then they went to a place near the river for lunch, the glistening river was the perfect view while they ate.

“Do you feel like you’re settling in okay?” Morrigan asked, sipping on some kind of iced fruit tea while they waited for their food.

“I’m still…adjusting. I enjoy the company of everyone. I feel like I can trust you all. It’s just odd.” Cassandra says, taking a drink of her tea that was just slightly too sweet but she wasn’t complaining.

“What’s odd?” Morrigan asks gently.

“Trusting strangers more than I’ve ever trusted anyone else,” She says it like a confession, like she should be ashamed for feeling that way.

“I don’t think that’s odd,” Morrigan shrugged. “You’re around people like you, people you can relate to and get to know. It’s easy to feel safe with us in turn, causing your trust. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Cassandra smiles at Morrigan.

Their food comes soon after and they talk the whole time. Morrigan gives her the rundown of how Rhys, Azriel and Cassian all knew one another. She explained more about their titles and what each one of them did as a member of the inner circle. She told her about so much that Cassandra could believe she’d spent her whole live knowing practically none of it.

When they go to a bookstore Cassandra looks at a few before putting them back. Morrigan grabs them and tells her they’ll teach her to read—that she’ll love these books and so many more.

And when they finally get back to the House of a Wind it’s late. She's exhausted from carrying around nearly overflowing tote bags and eating more muffins then she can count.

A top the house where they have to land they��re greeted by the three males. Their solemn faces wiping the smile off your face. She caught Azriel’s eyes, sees the look of pure death there—a look that she just knows means he wants to kill someone.

And just like that, her perfect day with Morrigan took a turn straight down hill.

Tag List: @aelinwya @starlightandsouls @fullmoon-94 @aetherl0l @caticorn61 @lilah-asteria @blackgirlmagicforever @div94 @purple-writer8 @little-missbookyworm @saltedcoffeescotch @namelesssav @slytherintaco @whatsupb @little-missbookyworm

[bibibbon]

MHA chapter 419 rant

What the actual hell is this chapter ?!?!?!? What is going on horikoshi?!?!??

So suprise AFO IS BACK👎👎👎 seriously what the hell I knew he was gonna come back but he is so boring and I hate him as a villain like wdym you only pulling up with a plan that failed multiple times cos you have thing for your brother like!?!? The doctor and the hero comission could of been better villains. My point still stands AFO being the main bad guy even though this mf was killed and injured by everyone is lame and stupid 😭. Like can AFO just disappear out of existence already like?!?! Also I really doubt that dfo is true considering this guy just loves to act like a season 1 bakugo and call Izuku useless every breathing moment he gets. Also at this point afo out here using shigaraki like a wet human suit thing and that's it

Shigaraki is dead?!?!!!? Vile. Y'all telling me that shigaraki is basically dead this guy basically killed himself after a little fight (it wasn't little that's a hyperbole it was huge he deserves better than this disservice) sigh so shigaraki died with all his memories and the truth of his own origin which is completely sad and wow the amount of retconning for this is insane. Wdym to tell me that AFO needed someone emotionally weak to take advantage of so he chose kotaro, befriended the guy and manipulated him into having Tenko and then used Tenko as his little thing to make the perfect vessel!?!???!? DAM SHIGARAKI IAM SORRRY HORI DID YOU LIKE THIS

Izuku lost two arms and is getting the worst end of the stick as always. As an izuku Stan this isn't it for me like what are you telling me that HE LOST TWO ARMS AND THEN PEOPLE DO COME BUT I AINT SEEING NONE TRYNA HELP THIS GUY. ALSO IZUKU IS NOW ARMLESS AND QUIRKLESS WHATS GOOD ON HERE??!?????!?!? Also looks like izuku out here being the only one who doesn't actually get a full heart to heart with their villain at least ochako and toga were treated better and got that little sob scene where they called eachothers names out and what not but izuku and shigaraki gotta be sentenced to pure suffering for no reason 🤦‍♀️. Also the whole page is Hella and I mean Hella creepy and off like wth is this it's too gory (I know that's not valid criticism but this is my opinion) Izuku out here being the only one who can't be a proper hero like the guy couldn't even stand up to AFO unlike bk this is just mountains and mountains of disrespect and disservice . SOMEONE CHECK UP ON POOR INKO AND IZUKU

The quirks the backstory the things?!?!. So basically overhaul had the oh quirk or whoever the guy in the picture manga panel thingy which looks like OVERHAUL. This guy had an op quirk like he had the power of destruction and reconstruction but then afo takes that away and then has the doctor somehow somehow genetically modify it ( istg i still dont know how that works or how he could do that) and then TOOK SHIGARAKIS OG QUIRK WHICH (what was his og quirk we arent ever told) and then proceedes to set this child who wanted to be a hero for pure failure. Also what is going on with AFO and kotaros relationship and why does the description of kotaro being mentally/emotionally weak heavily remind me of inko midoriya. Also the RETCON LIKE OH AFO IS LIKE HAVE A KID FOR ME OR SOME BS AND HE HAS A KID AND THEN KOTARO APPARENTLY FULLY LOVES HIS FAMILY HOWEVER IT LOOKS LIKE KOTARO LOVES AFO More THAN HIS FAMILY

Eraserhead making a comeback and finally apologising (or not). I mean at least Eraserhead is back and apologising to his student for failing to be a teacher to him which ok cool cliffhanger I guess. Also where is mic I don't think I can take it if mic is secretly off screened especially cos Eraserhead is crying why is the guy crying like is he crying for izuku which dam as he should your student is dying but he was legit shouting left and right for bakugo 🤷‍♀️. Also Eraserhead has a lot of apologies for izuku considering how he treated the poor dude. ALSO DOES THIS MEAN OBORO IS BACK TO THE PLOT SOMEHOW ( I love oboro) but how does this work how did it happen how did he break free Iam so confused did much due for oboro or something.

Sato, ojirou and sero out here coming in clutch. but none y'all running to see if izuku ain't gonna die from blood loss or something. Cool entry I guess everyone can take a good fight with AFO but Izuku because hori doesn't like izuku and izuku just sucks!!!. I get it 1A is too big so hori out here needing to give everyone their little moments but like?!?! This just makes afo seem so weak it first went from only all might being the one to even fouch and defeat afo and now its everyone thats not the ofa users which great (sarcasm if you couldn't tell). ALSO THIS MOMENT DONT WORK BECAUSE IZUKU LACKS DEVELOPMENT AND SO DOES 1A and their whole dynamic?!?!?!!!!!???!

I Have ALREADY SEEN THE SHIGARAKI MIGHT COMEBEACK COS AFO CAN HEAR HIS ECHO BUT I DONT WANT HIM BACK AND IF HE DOES HE SHOULD DIE WITH IZUKU COS I GENUINELY GIVE UP

In conclusion, I hope both izuku and shigaraki die and izuku to be remembered as the greatest hero and that's it honestly!!

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙍𝙀𝙀: 𝘋𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘔 𝘈𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘔𝘌

"but as it came down near, so did a weary tear I thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag."

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: you bite your nerves and go out to dinner with spencer, which goes surprisingly well, but then things take an unexpected turn when a conflicting invite is placed at your feet.

word count: 2658

warnings: mental breakdowns (only in the flashbacks!), mentions of cheating, so much fluff good god, once again loser gf x loser bf... did i mention fluff?

a/n: i think i'm becoming a cliffhanger pro of sorts at this point LMAOO. aside from that, i'm so incredibly happy at the influx of encouragement, but also, i wanted to know if this series should take an angstier turn? or just leave it as a fluffy hurt/comfort fic with a potential smut?

masterlist | series masterlist | AO3

The apartment was silent.

You were deep in drunken contemplation as you looked at the blank canvas in front of you. Your head was swimming, eyes occasionally crossing, but nevertheless, you lifted up your glass to throw back the rest of the golden, aged whiskey.

The ice clinked loudly when you slammed it back on the spare stool next to you in frustration.

Why couldn’t you do this? Why couldn’t you think?

Your visits to your at home art studio lessened and lessened as it neared closer to the anniversary of your father’s death.

It’d been a year since you left, but being able to do art hadn’t gotten easier.

The arts were something you had shared with your dad. He was the one that introduced it to you, putting the pencil in your hand and had given you your first sketchbook. He was an artist himself, and you often painted or sketched together in silence.

It felt like a disservice to let your passion die with him, but you just can’t.

“Why can’t I do this for you?” It was a slurred whimper, but pathetic all the same.

Helpless anger boiled in your gut.

You were a failure, you failed everyone around you. A failure and a coward.

The word coward circled around your head like a moth to flame.

“‘M not a coward…” You murmured to yourself, but you didn’t believe it. “I’m not!” You all but yelled to no one.

Then, you blacked out, grabbing the glass and chucking it at the nearest wall. It shattered, exploding into millions of microscopic pieces. It was like something inside of you broke as well.

“I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!” You repeatedly shouted, but you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop smashing and grabbing, taking the dull end of your paint brush and stabbing it through the material of the canvas, ripping it in a slash.

Moving, moving, grabbing, ripping, destroying; you tore down finished paintings off the wall, old and new, all but obliterating me.

By the time you were done, you had collapsed to your knees, pressing your forehead to the cool floor, and just sobbing.

You hadn’t painted since then.

You weren’t the only one who had decided to come early.

You spotted him sitting in a booth tucked away into the corner. He looked nice, handsome even.

His hair was an adorable mess, his button down and tie was replaced by a collared shirt and purple cardigan, followed by brown slacks and his signature black Converses.

Yeah. He looked really nice.

You rubbed your clammy hands on your jeans harshly, the slight burn helping to ground you as you nibbled nervously on your lip. You could do this.

When you near him, he looks up, eyes widening slightly before scrambling to slide out of his seat to greet you.

He breathes your name. “Hey.” It’s shaky and anxious and it causes you to relax. “Hey, Spence.” You say back, but it’s a little less breathless.

It’s awkward for a second before you both laugh shyly, choosing to sit down across from each other.

“So… How was your day?” Your voice cuts through the tense atmosphere. He looks up from the menu a little startled before relaxing. “It was good! It was nice to be able to wake up a little bit later than I usually do.”

“I have a feeling that your ‘waking up later’ is a bit different from mine.” You tease, and he huffs with a shy smile. “You know I like waking up early.”

A waitress comes around to ask about drinks, but the whole time she’s staring at Spencer. He gives her a flat smile before returning his full attention back towards you. A strange feeling of satisfaction fills you at the sight of him brushing her off, even if had no idea he was doing it.

Your eyes follow her with a raised brow as she leaves.

“Wow, Spence. You’re a big ladies' man, arent’cha?” You ask with a smirk. “What are you talking about?” Spencer asks with a slight pout. “I’m talking about our waitress and the fact that she was making goo goo eyes at you.” He blinks. “Oh.” He says intelligently. You chuckle, shaking his head. “You’ve always been too oblivious for your own good.” You would know.

“Too bad you’re here with me.” You continue with a self-deprecating joke. “I’m glad I’m here with you.” He murmurs with big brown eyes. You feel yourself flush at his affections and drop your gaze back to your own menu. Maybe you’re hiding your face behind it. Sue you.

“God, I’m so hungry.” You say to yourself, but he hears you and laughs… fondly? 

“Yeah, the food here is pretty good.” He comments on his own.

Finally, the silence this time around is comfortable.

“Can I ask you how your day was?” Spencer asks carefully. “Of course you can.” Before you speak, the dreaded waitress brings both of your waters.

“Thank you.” Spencer says respectively, and you think she could’ve swooned. “No problem.” And you all but roll your eyes.

After she leaves, you continue.

“My day was fine,” You shift uncomfortably. “I uh… I went to my first AA meeting today. It was… eye opening to say the least.” You shrug, leaning forward on your elbows to sip leisurely on your water.

“That’s great. Have you thought of getting a sponsor yet?” You purse your lips in contemplation at his words. “I haven’t really thought about it, but if I were to, I’d probably have to pick Miranda. She’s a sponsor at my location. I’ve met her. She’s nice.”

“That’s nice.”

You roll your lips between your lips at his answer before sighing and slumping back into your seat, leaning back against the wood of the booth.

“Fuck, Spencer, listen – I’m sorry everything is so awkward between us. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You’re my best friend.” You fiddle with the straw wrapper nervously. “I know I hurt you – and don’t even try to act like I didn’t, because I did – but I really, really, want to make things right with you.” You ramble anxiously, tearing the paper to shreds.

“I…” You look up and he gulps. “I would really like that.” He admits softly.

“I’m sorry I left.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t stop you.”

The rest of dinner goes by surprisingly well now that the emotional ice was broken.

You heard more about his job and what he does, praising him and he flushes a pretty red all the while brushing your compliments off.

Spencer holds the door open for you to exit.

“I told you I could’ve paid.” You grumble. “You can pay next time, I promise.” He says with a gentle grin. Your steps stutter before faltering completely. You pause to turn and look at him. “Next time?” You question in surprise.

His words seem to catch up to him, because he pauses too.

“Do you… not want there to be a next time?” His voice is drenched in sadness, and it makes your heart hurt. “No, no! That’s not what I meant! I just… I’m kind of just waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? It’s like tonight has been really great, but I feel like once I go home, you’ll totally ghost me.”

Spencer says your name and gets into your space. Your body buzzes at the limited distance between your bodies, but you refuse to shiver.

“____.” He says with a full frown. “I’m not going to ghost you or leave you, not when I just got you back. You aren’t the only one that missed their best friend, you know? I want to see you again, every day if I could.”

You stare up at him with tears burning in the back of your eyelids, turning your head to the side to blink them away.

“God, when did you become such a sap?” You grumble, smacking his chest lightly. But the truth was, your stomach swarmed with butterflies, and you were a bit nauseous, but this nausea was different. It was nice, and you had no idea what it meant.

He chuckles softly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. “I know it’s something you need to hear.” He says it like it’s nothing. Spencer’s always been an enigma like that.

“I don’t know when we’d be able to meet again though.” Spencer says with a thoughtful expression in his face. “My schedule isn’t very fixed, and my job takes me everywhere. I can’t give you a definitive time.”

“It’s fine, Spence.” You wave him off. “Don’t stress about it. I have faith in you, you know.” You say slyly. “Well, I’m glad.”

“I had a good time tonight.” He continues, and you nod in agreement. “I did too. Made things a little bit easier for me.” You confess, scratching at the back of your ear.

“You know you can talk to me about it, right?”

“Yeah… but it’s just… we just started being friends again, so I don’t want to stress you out with all my shit.”

“You wouldn’t ever stress me out with your ‘shit’, and with the way I see it, we never stopped being friends, we're just picking up from where we left off.”

“I’ve never thought about it that way.” You respond breathlessly. I mean, you really aren’t in a good place where positive thinking comes naturally. Maybe you should call your mom’s therapist tomorrow.

“Well, I should head home, I know my mom’s waiting for me even though she shouldn’t.” You huff fondly. “Tell your mom I said hi, okay? And be safe.”

“I will.”

You both stood there for a moment, like you want to make a move, but you step back and clear your throat. You don’t think you’re ready for physical affection just yet. There’s always a risk for you to crumble where you stand, and Spencer has softened you up more than you would have liked to have been tonight.

“Ah – uh, good night.” You bid sheepishly, and his ears flush pink in the moonlight.

“Good night.”

You see Spencer again after two weeks of radio silence.

You knew he’d have to be dragged away eventually, but you found yourself missing him more often than not now. You two had started texting daily, even exchanging good morning and night messages.

You’d ask him how his day went, and he’d ask you about your meetings or anything else you wanted to talk about really. It was like he was always interested in what you had to say, and you had forgotten how it felt to be heard.

It was strange, really, you didn’t find anything you did all that interesting, but Spencer seemed to want to hear all about it.

You’ve been going to AA weekly, and you even visited your mom’s therapist once and that was an intense experience. It had brought a lot of uncomfortable feelings to the surface, often causing your cravings to flare up.

It wasn’t like you weren’t willing to try, but therapy was one of those things that you had decided to go slower on. There were a lot of demons you weren’t ready to face yet, five years of self-inflicted trauma does that to a person.

You had just been sitting on the step of the porch smoking with a coffee. It was a familiar breakfast combination, one that you would have often back in New York while you sat on the balcony.

There was no rest in the city, no matter how high up your apartment was, it was always bustling, so you often fled the loudness of your mind just to step into something far fainter. It was an equal balance you suppose, the beeping of cars in the morning bringing some solace to the wicked hangover you were probably sporting.

Those were the days where you had been able to see Luke.

You wouldn’t say you missed him per se, because the way you felt about him was… different, to say the least. You loved him of course; what woman would say yes to a man she didn’t love? But it wasn’t the kind of love that he needed, and you knew that. 

You tried so hard to be the perfect girl he was with back when you’d first met, often hiding the nasty, ugly parts of yourself from him with a smile. Many of your self-destructive tendencies happened when he wasn’t home.

The difficult part of it all was that he wasn’t unkind to you at all; he never raised his hand or his voice at you. He gave you your own credit card, never pressured you into sex or demanded where dinner was. He was just a nice guy.

So, you really didn’t blame him for cheating on you.

You honestly don’t even consider it cheating at this point, you had been so emotionally checked out of the relationship that it wasn’t even like you two were together. Space managed to wedge its way between the both of you, splitting farther and farther until it finally separated. Cue that fateful night.

Hurt people, hurt people.

Your phone buzzes in your hand, bringing you out of your thoughts and you peer down at it lazily, but you almost choke on the smoke in your lungs when you see his text.

Spence [10:30 AM]: Good morning! I’m in the office right now, but I just wanted to see if you wanted to grab lunch together during my break?

You [10:31 AM]: Sounds good. Where are we meeting?

Spence [10:31 AM]: Here’s the thing, I don’t think I’d be able to leave the office for that long, so I was thinking we could eat here? It’s really no problem if not. I just wanted to save the trip for both of us.

You stared at his text unblinking for a moment, a sinking feeling settling in your gut.

The office was where his team was at, so basically his family by proxy. 

You had heard about them when you two had gone out for dinner, the man gushing about them fondly. It was cute, the way he looked up to them, but you couldn’t help but question how much they knew. Of course, they sounded like nice people but… but when you had left, Spencer should have just gotten the job at the BAU.

Did they know how fucking awful of a person you were? You wouldn’t have been surprised if they did. If you were Spencer, you’d curse yourself up and down. 

Maybe you were being too critical.

You nibble on your bottom lip before taking the final drag of your cigarette, putting it out on the now ashtray that sat on your stoop. Your mom had complained about finding the buds scattered throughout the yard, talking about how the tobacco was killing her plants or something. You’re not even sure if that’s scientifically possible.

Anyway, you look back down at your phone.

You [10:36 AM]:  That’s fine with me. What time should I stop by? Also, what do you want to eat?

Spencer [10:36 AM]: Great! My break usually starts around 12:30 to one, so any time after that should be good! And surprise me! You know what I like :)

You gawked at the usage of his emoticons, who taught him how to use those? It made you grin.

But then your smile quickly dims when you realize that you only have two hours left to get ready – you haven’t showered yet, let alone brushed your teeth – and leave as well as get the food all the while trying not to drown in your sea of overthinking.

Once again you find yourself attempting to swallow down the anxiety that rattles your bones, and the itch that alights in your nerves.

Welp.

It’s time to meet the family.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @angelwings-crossbowstrings @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna @agent-nobody-knows @fanfic-viewer @dragon03138

[sombra7567]

My thoughts after binging Saku’s, Escaped’s, and Scythe’s channels

*slams down my files on the three of them* I finished my run, the fixation is over, they have power over me NO LONGER! I’M FREE-

*sees notification for new upload, immediately grabs headphones* Heyyyyy, how’ve y’all beennnnn…

(Very long rant under the cut, turn back nowwww-)

Saku: (the KING- MILORD- MAJESTY-)

Mental state after finishing binge: *entangled in a net made of a significant amount lore, dangling from several cliffhangers I’m waiting to be resolved*

Favorite series: The Noble Trials

Series I thought I’d dislike but ended up loving: The Noble Trials (I was ignorant but I saw the light)

Random notes:

Second VA in this community I subbed to, first to introduce me to lore-based stories and world building in ASMR.

His range. Seriously, I was blown away by how diverse his characters are. When I went from listening to Isaac and Elias to Cevyk and Dontis, I honestly could not believe it was the same person.

Speaking of Cevyk, Saku’s world building also amazed me. Especially when I’m listening to Cevyk’s audios or The Noble Trials. This man just has new realms, plus languages, PLUS hierarchies and cultures floating around in his mind. AND he made a transcript of the Episode 5 debate. I love learning about that level of creativity in people so much.

And this technically goes for all three of them so I’m just gonna get it out of the way- I love the amount of effort they put into their work BESIDES their acting. The soundtracks, the sound effects- all of it helps add that extra bit of immersion and helps me see the scene more clearly in my mind.

Escaped: (freaking Escaped.)

Mental state: *sobbing, actually crying, tears are literally dampening my squishmallow one day- is wheezing and gasping for air because she’s laughing so hard the next*

Favorite series: … it’s a tie between Blue Infinity and Der Wolfsjäger

Series I thought I’d dislike but ended up loving: Slash and the Basher

Random notes:

The angst. I thought Saku was bad. I thought NORA was bad. Escaped might be a D-list villain, but he’s an A-list angst maker. Like Nora made me cry, but he didn’t have me weeping for 10 minutes. However, the angst always has a purpose, fits the story, and adds another layer of depth, so I do like that... BUT STILL-

I reallyyyyyyy love the way Escaped writes romance. The confession scenes for his characters feel super genuine. AND I love how he takes into account how long the characters have known each other, really appreciate that detail.

The amount of times I have gasped, shrieked, clapped a hand over my mouth, clutched my pearls, side-eyed the screen- the comedy and writing in these audios is so freaking good, I love it.

I really like how you can easily imagine each of his series in a different form of media- whether it be a comedy TV series or a two-hour long movie I’d ruin my sleep schedule to watch.

Scythe: (don’t even get me STARTED HAHAAAAA-)

Mental state: *limping a little, heavily bandaged, still a little blood seeping from a few cuts, has THE biggest grin on her face nonetheless*

Favorite series: Demon Hunter, War of the Witches, or Lullaby

Series I thought I’d dislike but ended up loving: Lullaby (JAYJAY, MY CHILD, MY PRECIOUS ANGEL-)

Random notes:

He was the first VA that made me sub in under five minutes. Soooo… yeah, he definitely captured my attention. I absolutely ADORE the intros to the audios and the fourth-wall breaks. Creators interacting with their characters is one of my favorite tropes to see lol.

Again. WORLD BUILDING. L O R E. ALL THE FREAKING LORE AND HOW IT CONNECTS AND- how. How do you guys honestly have this in your brains, how do you come up with this stuff, HOW. Anyway, I think that’s why Scythe’s channel was particularly rewarding to finish… knowing that everything is part of a larger story and getting to see it unfold was soooo cool to see.

These were some of the BEST fight scenes I’ve heard so far in this media. So I’m always doing some other activity when I’m listening to ASMR cuz it helps me focus, but the fight scenes and other tense moments had me frozen, like I was locked in. Literally had me on the edge of my seat and I enjoyed every minute of it.

The horror. Absolutely perfect. Like Scythe and Saku know how to do horror, because I love watching horror movies but some of their audios made my stomach do flips. It was amazing. And the amount of monsters and mythics Scythe brings to the table ughhhhh, I LOVE IT-

Again. Range. I love how he’ll go from chill, sweet Father Light and Siren to screeching, howling demons and entities. Coolest thing ever.

The collabs with Ms. Kittenish, she is wonderful and also beautifully terrifying, I hope you guys have a happy relationship for a very long time.

ALSO HIS SINGING?!?!?! HELLO?!?!?! HE’S AMAZING!!!! I can’t stress this enough, I love hearing people sing in audios, and Scythe is so freaking good RAAAAAGH-

Um… thank you guys for telling your stories and showing your creations. 2024 was rough for me, especially the last half of it. Finding your channels helped give me something to focus on, something to distract myself with it, something to look forward to. Plus it made my winter break WAY more fun XD

Honestly, if I could just talk to the people I admire (just creators I admire in general- there’s a lot like this-) for like 10 minutes, just to see how they think, I’d walk away happy. I love the fact that people like this exist, because I’m always wondering what goes on in another’s brain. Here, I can catch a glimpse of your imaginations.

Also, now that I know about y’all, I have a way to incentivize myself for this next semester! I can use your audios as rewards for studying or doing well on a test, or if I just need a break (Biochem major, almost done, but BRUH- science is no joke-)

Again- thank you guys so much.

Best of life, luck, and health to you allllll,

-Nyx 🖤🐈‍⬛

No one asked for this but ALSO *yeets list of favorite audios at your head-*

[aceofwhump]

Hey friend, I'll give you the same recs I gave Whumpypepsigal (love y'alls whump blogs!)

One Day on netflix- so much whump, and well done, too. Mostly emotional, but some physical, specifically episodes 5, 12, and 14. A little in each but mostly in those episodes. I want to see these actors in so much more. Both of them can CRY man, like, seriously their tears physically hurt.

And Southland, its available to buy but its also free on Tubi. Whump wonderland- physical, mental, emotional, and also just freaking brilliant. Develops its characters and gets darker as it goes along. Mostly male whump but some lady whump. Hurt/comfort, breakdowns, tears/sobbing, major character deaths, injuries, addiction- holy cow. And brilliantly done. Shawn Hatosy, Ben Mckenzie, Micheal Cudlitz, and many more. Hot damn. You gotta check it out. AND IT WAS CANCELLED in its 5th season and ends on a damn cliffhanger. It could have gone on for many more seasons. Season 3 is the best for whump though- all the seasons are, but I swear like every single episode has some form of very well done whump. Enjoy!

Thanks for the recs!!! I've heard of One Day or at least I've seen pepole talking about it on tumblr when the show was released and it looks like a tearjerker from people's reactions. But oooooh I love me some good emotional whump and they're good criers???? SIGN ME UP!

I think I've heard of Southland! Never seen it and I don't know anything about it lol but that sounds great! Love Ben Mckenzie so I'd check it out for him for sure. AH cancelled with a cliffhanger!? That's the worst!!

[soaps-mohawk]

Rory. imma be fr with you right. I thought you were joking when you said there was cliffhangers. I was so mistaken 😞

me rn⬆️⬆️

I mentally cannot handle the absolute BOMBSHELL you have dropped on us, it was so perfectly crafted and everything links up to it and the foreshadowing UUGGNGHHH ITS SO UNBELIEVABLY GOOD!! I am gnawing on the bars of my enclosure, slobbering over everything, shaking sobbing crying throwing up

But nevertheless, (in my opinion), that was your best chapter to date. 11/10 it was absolutely amazing and captivating :3

Ballin’ and bawlin’,

🇦🇹 anon :3

Mhm I don't kid about my cliffhangers. Nor about my angst hehe

We're still not done with the revelations too. There's going to be a lot of light bulbs going off during the next couple of chapters hehe. I've hinted at a lot and left little crumbs all over the fic. I'm so interested to see who picked up on which ones.

Awww thank you!!! I'm so happy you think that honestly 💚 It's definitely up there on my list of favorites too. I think chapter 11 still holds the title though.

[stephstars08]

Still Alive ~ Chapter Seven

Ethan Landry x Reader

Warnings: Adult Language, Ghostface Attack, Blood, Angst a tiny bit of Fluff, Anxiety, Trauma, Mention of Murder, Mental Breakdown, Trust Issues, Death Threats, Weapons, and Cliff Hanger. (Sorry if I forgot any!)

Word Count: 2,861

Author’s Note: Hello Everyone! I hope everyone’s holiday weekend is going good so far! Just wanted to update you all on more of my writing. The story I am working on right now won’t be ready to post till I would say the middle of June. It’s just taking me a little bit longer to write it since the chapters are going to be long. I apologize, I will try to stay active on here by posting other types of media. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Already warning you now that this chapter and next chapter will be all angst. Also they both will be ending in a cliffhanger! Next chapter will be posted on Friday!

When Kirby notified Sam and Tara that the killer is at Gale’s home, they stole Detective Bailey’s cop car to get to Gale as fast as they could. Y/N was sitting in the passenger seat while she gave Kirby the directions while she drove as fast as she could. Ethan, Chad, and Mindy stayed in the back of the van. As Kirby drove Y/N kept reassuring herself that her mom was going to be okay. Her mom is a fighter. Her mom has been attacked by every single Ghostface and has turned out just fine. But at the same time, that’s what she thought about when her dad went to save Tara. She couldn’t help but worry that when she gets there, her mom could be laying on the floor all bloody like her father. Y/N can’t lose Gale. Gale is the only blood relative that she has left. She can’t lose her mom the same way she lost her dad.

“Right there.” Y/N pointed to the building her mom lives in. Kirby parked the truck right in front of the building. Y/N quickly took off her seatbelt and got out of the van. She ignored everyone calling out to her and ran into the building. She knew it was stupid going up there without a weapon knowing Ghostface could still be up there, but she didn’t care. She had to know if her mom was okay. She was going to take the elevator but knew that it could take too long so she bolted to the stairs. She ran all the way up the stairs to the top floor since her mom lives in the penthouse. When she got to the front door it was wide open. Y/N wasn’t going to lie, she was fucking terrified to go in there, but she knew she had to suck it up. When she walked inside the penthouse, she saw Sam and Tara watching a duo of paramedics working on someone. When Y/N got closer she saw it was her mom laying lifelessly on the floor with multiple stab wounds on her body.

“No!” Y/N cried as her eyes flooded with tears. Sam and Tara looked over at her, with tears in their eyes as well. Y/N fell to her knees and cried. Sam and Tara ran over to her to comfort her. Sam was on her right while Tara was on her left. Tara wrapped both of her arms around Y/N while Sam held onto one of her hands. Tara moved Y/N’s head up against her chest trying to shield her vision from the paramedics who were doing CPR on Gale. Sam kept apologizing to Y/N but due to her heavy crying she couldn’t answer. Every time she opened her mouth only sobs came out.

Yes, Y/N was sad but the more she cried the more rage started to fill her body. She knew that rage because it was the same rage she felt when she found out about her dad. The same rage she felt when she saw her dad’s dead body in a black bag. When she finds the motherfucker that did this, they are going to have their blood on her hands.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N was sitting in the ICU waiting room by herself while everyone else was in the regular emergency room. They let Y/N ride in the back of the ambulance with her mom while Kirby drove everyone else to the hospital. After Kirby dropped them off, she went back to the crime scene to do some more investigation.

As Y/N sat in the chair she had venom running through her veins. She was furious. All of that sadness faded away as the anger took over. When will this fucking nightmare end? She squeezed the armrests of the chair so hard her knuckles turned white. She kept hearing her father’s voice in her head telling her not to break but she was breaking. She wasn’t even trying to calm herself down.

“Ms. Riley.” She heard her name being called in the empty room. When she looked up, she saw a doctor. “Are you Ms. Weathers daughter?” The doctor asked her in a curious tone. Y/N just gave him a slow nod. “We got her stable and we’re just about to take her into surgery.” The doctor told her which did ease her mind just a little bit. When Gale got to the hospital her breathing was shallow so they knew they had to get her stable and her breathing under control before they could nurse her wounds. Y/N’s grip on the armrests loosened a bit at that news. “When she’s out of surgery we will give you another update.” The doctor told her which she answered with another nod. Once the doctor left the room she stood up and made her way to the other waiting room which was at the front entrance of the hospital.

When Y/N got there she saw Sam was crying again and the group, especially Tara, was trying to calm her down. Y/N just stood there looking at her friends. She can tell that they also looked completely drained like she was, but the only difference was that they looked scared. Y/N wasn’t feeling scared at all. “Y/N.” Ethan said being the first one to see her just standing there staring at them. Y/N finally walked over to them.

“How is Gale?” Sam asked her full of worry. “Yeah, is she going to be, okay?” Tara asked, matching her sister’s tone. “They got her stable, she’s going into surgery right now.” Y/N answered with zero emotion on her face and in her tone. “Okay, what about you? Are you okay?” Mindy asked, noticing right away that something was going on in Y/N’s head. “You know, I am so fucking tired of being asked that question.” Y/N answered in a snappy tone which took all her friends by surprise. Usually, she comes up with a lie, so her friends don’t worry about her, but she wasn’t herself at this moment. She felt like she was dead inside, and she wasn’t going to hide it. “Y/N- “Chad started but she cut him off right away. “I’M NOT OKAY!” Y/N yelled as her hands turned into fists. She wasn’t looking at any of her worried friend’s faces. She was staring straight at the glass doors. It was good thing that it was just them in the room.

“I’m going to go find this fucker!” Y/N hissed and started her way towards the doors. “Y/N!” Ethan called out to her, but she kept on walking. He let out a sigh as he quickly rushed over to her. Before she could walk out the doors Ethan grabbed one of her arms and turned her around to face him. “Ethan, let me go!” Y/N told him in a warning tone. “No! You need to stay here with your mom!” Ethan told her in a stern tone. “But- “Y/N started but he cut her off. “I know you want to find this fucker and we will but right now you need to be here with your mom.” Ethan told her with a stern look in his brown eyes. When she looked into his brown eyes that’s when she realized he was right. That’s when she finally jumped back into reality. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves down. “Okay.” Y/N said with a slow nod.

“We’re going to be here for a while so how about I go to your apartment and bring you a fresh pair of new clothes.” Ethan said as he rubbed his hands up and down both her arms. When he said that, that’s when she realized she had her mom’s blood all over her shirt from the ambulance ride. I guess when she was holding her mom’s bloody hand, she wiped the blood off on her shirt without realizing it because of how emotionless she was. “Please, don’t go by yourself.” Y/N said in a pleading tone, finally showing some kind of emotion since arriving at the hospital. She looked at him with a soft gaze. “We’ll go with him.” Chad said walking over to them with Mindy following right behind him. “We’ll be back as soon as possible, okay?” Ethan said to her. Y/N just gave him another nod. She knew if she said anything she would beg him to stay. He’s the only one that’s been keeping her grounded. He gave her a soft kiss on the top of her head and walked out the doors. Chad and Mindy followed right behind him.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N and Sam were the only ones sitting in the waiting room together since Tara went to get drinks and snacks from the vending machine. “Y/N.” Sam said to her in a soft tone. “Yeah?” Y/N said looking over at her. “I’m so sorry.” Sam said to her for like the hundredth time as her eyes started to tear up. Sam wasn’t looking at Y/N since ever since they sat down her eyes were glued to the floor. “Why do you keep saying that?” Y/N asked with confusion in her tone. “Because all of this shit is happening because of me.” Sam told her with frustration in her tone looking over at her. “Sam, this is not your fault, you didn’t ask for this shit to happen.” Y/N told her. “But your dad got killed saving me.” Sam said as a few tears streamed down her face. “He died doing what he loved, he died being a hero.” Y/N corrected her. “Don’t listen to those assholes online. As long as the people who love you believe in you and know who you are, that’s all that matters.” Y/N explained to her as her lips curved into a small smile. “You’re not your father.” Y/N added which made Sam feel a whole lot better. She’s told herself that a hundred times but hearing someone else say it finally made her feel like she isn’t her dad. She may have Loomis blood in her, but she’s not them. She doesn’t have the same mind as them. Sam gave her a hug which Y/N returned right away. Y/N knew that’s what Sam needed to hear. Even though they have only known each other for less than two years, they feel like they have known each other their whole lives. When you share the same history with someone, it brings you so much closer to them.  “Thanks, Y/N.” Sam said as she started to finally relax. “No problem.” Y/N told her as she lightly rubbed Sam’s back.

The girls broke their hug when they heard a voice call their names by the doors. When they looked over, they saw Chad helping Mindy who had a stab wound to the stomach. She had one arm wrapped around her brother’s shoulder and the other hand on her bleeding stomach. “Mindy!” Y/N said quickly standing up and running over to her friend with Sam following close behind her. “What the hell happened?” Sam asked full of worry. “We were on the subway going to the apartment when Ghostface came out of nowhere and stabbed Mindy in the stomach.” Chad explained to them. “Hey, I’m- “Tara started walking in but cut herself off when she noticed Mindy. Tara dropped the drinks and snacks onto one of the chairs. “Holy shit, Mindy!” Tara said running over to them stand next to Y/N and Sam. “HELP!” Y/N and Sam yelled out. They got the attention of two nurses who quickly ran over to the group. “We got her.” One of nurses reassured as her and the other nurse took Mindy from Chad and walked her out of the room to get treatment.

“Wait, where’s Ethan?” Tara asked, being the first one to notice that he was nowhere to be seen. “I don’t know. When we got off the subway to tend to Mindy he was gone and so was Ghostface.” Chad answered with a shrug finally starting catch his breath. A million questions started to flood Y/N’s brain.

Did Ghostface take Ethan? Did he get killed? Is he apart of this whole fucking scheme? Could Ethan be Ghostface? Was he just pretending to like her to get to Sam and Tara? Was everything he said to her a fucking lie? Y/N broke out of her thoughts when she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. Y/N took out her phone to see that familiar caller ID flashing on her phone. She answered the call and put the phone up against her ear.

“Where is Ethan?” Y/N said into the phone in a demanding tone. “What’s wrong, Y/N? Worried about losing your boyfriend as well?” The sinister voice on the other end teased her. “Stop fucking with me and tell me where the fuck you are!” Y/N snapped into the phone losing her patients. “I’m at the shrine with your boyfriend and I suggest you come here if you don’t want to see him laying on the floor in a bloody puddle like your father.” The killer told her in a taunting tone. “Oh, and I would come alone!” They told her in a stern tone and hung up on her.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked her. “They took Ethan to the shrine and said if I don’t get there now, they will kill him.” Y/N answered as she put her phone in her pocket. “They also told me to come alone.” She added. “So, what’s the plan?” Chad asked in a curious tone. “I’m going with Y/N to the shrine because this sounds like a fucking trap to get Y/N alone to just kill her.” Sam explained. “I’m coming too.” Tara said, which made Sam immediately shake her head no. “No, you’re staying here with Chad to look after Mindy and Gale.” Sam told her in a stern tone.

“I still think you two should have an extra hand. We don’t know how many Ghostface’s we are dealing with.” Chad mentioned remembering how the killer never works alone. “I can call Kirby to meet us there.” Y/N said which Sam agreed with. “Let’s go kill this son of a bitch.” Sam said to Y/N. Tara and Chad watched them walk out the doors. Tara really wanted to come but knew not to argue, which was probably the first time she didn’t argue with Sam since the return of Ghostface.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N and Sam went to the shrine they saw Kirby already there waiting for them. “Alright, tell me the plan you two came up with.” Kirby said to them. “While I distract the killer or killers, I want you two to go look and find Ethan.” Y/N told them. “That’s the fucking plan?” Kirby asked obviously not a fan of it. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good plan.” Sam said agreeing with Kirby. “Well, we don’t have fucking time to come up with a better one alright!” Y/N said with frustration in her tone. “The killer told me to come alone and if they find out that you two are with me who knows what will happen.” Y/N added thinking back to the last thing the killer told her. “Ugh, fine! You’re lucky I brought two guns with me.” Kirby said taking one of her guns out of her holster and handed it to Y/N.

“Let’s go.” Y/N said and walked inside of the old building. “Don’t need a DNA test to prove that she’s the daughter of Gale Weathers.” Kirby said to Sam as they followed Y/N inside. “I’ll be in the screening room.” Y/N told them and walked away from them before either one of them could say anything. “You take the left side of the building while I take the right.” Kirby told Sam, which earned a nod in response. The girls went their separate ways but made sure to keep an eye on Y/N and any sight of Ghostface.

When Y/N walked into the screening room flashbacks quickly flooded her mind. She wanted to run out again, but she knew that she had to face her fears like Sidney did last year. She knew that Sidney was scared to go back into Stu Macher’s house, but she sucked it up and did it to make sure everyone was alright.

Y/N walked over to the glass case where the drawing of her dad was in. As she stared at the drawing the white ripped up curtain came down over the stage startling her. She pointed her gun at the stage but saw no one in sight. A video started to play. It was a video showing her and Ethan on the college campus a couple days ago sitting under the tree talking. She then remembered when she got that call before Ethan came up to her. That was Ghostface calling here. They were there spying on her getting ready to strike. She was the first person on their hit list, but Ethan showed up distracting her and fucking up their plan. “What the fuck.” Y/N mumbled as her eyes were glued to the video.

“Hello, Y/N.” She heard a voice say behind her.

*Tags*

@sweetirilly  @aqellano  @igotmajordaddyissues  @athenalive  @hotweeb  @ghostlyboiii  @marshallowy  @rolly-polly-molly​  @callsignwidow

IF YOUR NAME IS CROSSED OUT IT’S BECAUSE TUMBLR WOULDN’T LET ME TAG YOU!

[onewmin]

the perfume on the shelf. pt. 6 | bangchan

Pairings: Bang Chan x Fem!reader, Kim Yugyeom x Fem!reader

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend was never a part of the plan. So you end it up. But does he want to put a stop to it, too?

Warnings: AU, Smut (minors dni), it’s not specified but the seggs is protected, a lot of kissing, oral (f. receiving), profanity, angst, a brief mention of self-harm, the reader and everybody else is mentally unstable (who isn’t right), mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of smoking, Lee Know flirts with a girl, another shitty cliffhanger in the end, typos

Author’s note: originally, this part was planned to be longer and cover the period after the ending, but I felt like it would’ve been too much. It’s not as long as I wanted it to be and maybe not that heartbreaking, but the pain still awaits you later hehe hope you enjoy the chapter!! Let me know what you think!!

Disclaimer: the names and appearances of real people are used for inspiration and writing purposes only. I do not claim anything, everything belongs to its owners.

Part 5 | Part 7

Despite Chan’s constant doubts and destructive thoughts about you still being in love with Yugyeom, that was far from the truth.

Yugyeom was a lingering memory, a bright sun ray that shone to you many years ago. Now he was just there, in the past, while Chan himself had occupied the pedestal inside your heart.

However, you really wanted him to fall down from it this time.

It’d been three weeks since he pushed you off the cliff of love and hope, leaving you to an inevitable, gruesome fall. You fell down from the highest peak into the lowest pit, and there was nothing. Just darkness and loneliness. Although the latter was not for long.

A couple of days after Chris broke up with you, Minho showed up at your door, bottles of beer in his backpack. You got drunk while watching another stupid reality show and ended up crying on the floor, the two of you sobbing in unison.

“He said to me”, Lee Know hiccuped, wiping the tears from his cheeks, “he said, ‘You’re an asshole, Minho’”, his imitation of Chan’s voice was so on spot, you let out a half-laugh through your tears.

“I’m an asshole? For putting up with his terrible dancing and constant nagging that his feet hurt?” Minho was hitting his chest with the fist, the two of you now sitting on the couch. “For sticking with him when his first album flopped? For investing my time, my life in his fucking career?”

You were nodding frantically, chewing the chips, the cheese taste mixing up with salty aftermath of the tears, streaming down your face.

“Never have I ever been an ass to him! Ever!” The tone of his voice rose, cracking when he started sobbing again. “And now he basically fires me! Me! His best friend!”

“No fucking reason”, Minho was lying on the floor again, with you sitting next to him. “Just this sudden bullshit. Why would he do this to me? To you? To us?”

You shrugged your shoulders, taking another sip of beer from another bottle. Was it your third? Fourth one?

“I can’t understand what’s inside his head”, he sighed. “Is it the concussion speaking for him or was he like that the entire time?”

You took a deep breath and exhaled in response. Weeks spent crying and drinking with Minho at both yours and his places, talking shit about Chan and how unfairly he treated the both of you. And neither you, nor Minho had come to any sort of common conclusion. He stood his ground, stomping his feet drunkenly, his words slurring, saying Chris might’ve hit his head so bad that all of the common sense flew out of the window.

You noticed a slightly hilarious pattern: Minho was ready to come up with any bizarre theory in order to excuse Chan’s behaviour. He pushed the both of you away because of the concussion, Lee Know was confident that was the truth. You, however, couldn’t agree with him.

The more you drank after work, the more you threw up afterwards, sitting on the dirty tile floor of whatever bar you were in, the less you could excuse Chris. Sure, he suffered from the aftermath of the accident, this you could understand. But his sudden change of demeanor? Beyond your comprehension. No therapist in the world could’ve explained this to you. Yours included.

“Don’t you think this is a sign you’ve been waiting for? The sign to leave this guy and move on with you life?”

Ah, crap. Could this woman not memorize everything you say? “I don’t think so”.

“Why’s that?”

“Because, I think, he’s just hurt. And he’s trying to push everyone away so that… So that we don’t see him… like this”.

Oh wait, was it your savior complex hitting up again? How mysteriously hurt poor Chan must have been! Pushed everyone away, humiliated his best friends in their own eyes, and told you he lost interest the second his love stopped being unrequited! Poor Chan! How must he suffer!

Oh yeah, he must. Sitting at another bar, Minho’s drunken ranting as the background music, you wished with all your heart Chan was suffering. He put you through so much, making you love him, care for him, and then he made you hate him. To be honest, though, “hate” was a strong word to use; hating him was still impossible. You despised the man he turned out to be, even if he lied to you about ‘falling out of love’ for some reason.

“What fuckin’ reason there has to be to say that shit? What’s the fuckin’ fuck?”

The look on your therapist’s face gave away her genuine surprise at your sudden loss of composure. In over than two years of therapy, you had never even cried during sessions. You’d curse, get slightly angry, but never too emotional. You called this an ‘emotional constipation’, just to make your therapist crack a smile. A clown is always a clown, you’d say, taking pride in getting her to laugh. Although the fun would always wash away when she immediately started writing stuff down.

“Go on”.

Two simple words would bring you to the literal edge of glory: you jumped from your seat, aggressively walking from one corner of the room to another, curse words spilling from your mouth; also, of course, you blamed god for everything — if you could, you’d include your religious trauma in every conversation possible.

“If God was real”, you’d keep on, “would he ever allow Chan in my life? Would he ever let that happen?”

“Did God choose to be in a relationship with Chan, or was it you?”

How dare she? “How dare you?” You stood up, snatching your bag from the floor. “Am I the bad guy here?”

“No”, she said softly, not even moving a muscle during your tantrum, “you’re not, but you desperately want someone to be the bad guy. You cannot paint Chan as a villain because you love him”, you huffed at her words, “but you don’t love the God. So in this case, the latter has to be the bad guy. Correct me, if I’m wrong”.

She was not indeed wrong. But you were resisting therapy: if not, you’d have to face the truth — there were no bad guys. Everyone was just human, making human mistakes. The ones you’d been constantly making while choosing to stay in this relationship with Chan over and over again.

Like him fixing your dinner three months in a row after he came back from tour. Or him helping you take showers when your leg was broken. Or taking care of your cat when you went to see your parents.

He was doing basic shit! Basic shit every decent human being would do when their close friend needed that! Although it’s pretty hard not to praise men when they do the bare minimum, right? ‘Cause it’s so rare. Rare for you specifically, as every man in your life — apart from Yugyeom and Chan — was a self-centered piece of garbage.

And you could take Yugyeom for granted, as he wanted you to have it that way, because he saw the way your father treated your mother — “You’ve got to have an example of a healthy relationship. And I will give it to you”.

Why did he leave then? Why did you leave and led me to keep on falling for the mere shadows of you, Yugyeom?

You shook your head, trying to get rid of the thought. Lately you’d been remembering a lot of things about Yugyeom — probably because you met him all those weeks ago. The most disturbing thought? Oh, it wasn’t that good. It was horrible, so horrible that you had to physically distract yourself.

“Why did you order more drinks?” You looked at Minho, who leaned back in his seat, eyes wandering around the bar room. “Earth to Minho”, you waved your hand in front of his face, while he was staring through you. “I’ll cancel it”.

“No!” Your eyebrows raised in question, as he jumped up from his seat. “This bottle will be the last one, I swear”. Minho grabbed your hands in his, silently begging to let him have the last drink. However, you were not going to indulge in; you found yourself getting accustomed to drinking, to drowning your sorrows in the alcohol. You were tired of it.

You were never the type to get addicted to some bad habits: smoking never stuck to you; you did smoke for a couple of months after your breakup with Yugyeom and you did it occasionally during your latest relationship, but it was never something you couldn’t live without. Drinking, on the other hand, could become addictive if you just didn’t quit it.

How easy it was, to sit around the table with your friend, sipping on alcohol, empty bottles creating a circle on the surface. Eventually you’d run out of space, and that was the reason to pay and leave. Same thing happened to you several years ago, when Yugyeom and you put an end to your relationship; Chan had to drag you from bars and hide alcohol from you so that you wouldn’t have drown in pain. Yeah, you couldn’t get an addiction, as you thought. But you were becoming quite a regular at a broken hearted people pub.

Amidst your verbal fight with Minho, whose retorts consisted of non-comprehensive drunken blabbering, his hands gripping the beer bottle while you were trying to tear it away, you heard a familiar voice behind you. As happy as you were to hear her, the sound of her high-pitched, usually matter-of-fact voice somehow brought chills down your spine.

“That’s enough”, Eunjoo moved you to the side, the grip of her hand on your shoulder making you squeeze your eyes shot. Has she been working out? “Give me that”, she took the bottle from Minho’s hands with almost no effort, as he seemed to oblige to her mere presence. His eyes followed Eunjoo, when she put the money on the table, her fingers tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. You might have been tipsy, however, the way Minho stared at your best friend couldn’t escape from your attention.

“What’re you doin’ here?” You frowned at her, while Eunjoo observed Minho. Oh right, it was the first time you old best friend and your new bestie met; before that you had no idea whatsoever, but now you thought that they kind of had the same vibe to their personalities.

“Came to collect you”, she replied. What? First she uses a contraction, and now she starts a sentence without the subject in it? Is it really Eunjoo?

“To be honest”, she continued, “I’m really tired of your regular hangovers. Especially I’m tired of your absolutely fucked out look at our job. Where you need to work, and not nap every two hours”. What the literal fuck? Did Eunjoo just curse? Wha-a-at? “I wonder, why you’re still not fired. Oh wait”, she pointed a finger in your direction, “it’s because I’ve been covering for you”.

You sighed. Knowing that it wasn’t the best thing you’d done, you felt the wave of embarrassment rush through your body. Eunjoo had to cover your hangover in front of the boss, and you were forever grateful. If only you had actually thanked her for that.

“Anyways, I’m here to take you home”, this time, her touch on your shoulder was gentle. “And this… friend of yours, too”.

“I’m Minho”. He suddenly appeared in front of Eunjoo, almost pushing you away. You grimaced at his awkward attempt to get her attention.

Eunjoo nodded in response to his words; she didn’t look as if he’d interested her in any way. Hopefully, he won’t, you thought, fastening the seatbelt on the passenger seat of her car, Minho might be a good friend, but his dating history is pretty ugly.

Oh yeah? And Chan’s dating history is all about rainbows and flowers? Isn’t he the one to toss girls away when they reciprocate the love?

You let out a deep sigh, Minho’s drunken flirting with Eunjoo serving as a background for your thoughts. With all the love you had for Chris, either as his friend or failed lover, it was impossible to wrap your head around the bullshit he told you. You wished you could talk it out, spill your secrets and unsaid words, but he didn’t want to. He went radio silence for weeks without any warning, so he wasn’t interested anymore, right?

It isn’t like you could text him, yeah? It isn’t like a dialogue requires two people for it to happen, is it?

After dropping off Minho at his place — and his unsuccessful attempts to get Eunjoo number — she drove you to your apartment. The ride was accompanied by a midnight radio program with the very familiar host to the both of you.

“How’s Youngjae doing?”

“Fine. As far as you can hear, he enjoys his job very much”. Ouch. Your attempt to break the silence was a failure.

“Eunjoo-“

“Shut up”, she hit the brakes at the red light, her sharp knife voice cutting through you. “I get it, okay? You’re going through a tough time”. Youngjae’s contagious laugh filled the car, but this time, none of you smiled. “But you’ve got to move on too. If you keep on drinking, you’ll lose your job. And what are you going to do, huh? Is this Minho going to give you money? Or, d’you think Chan will do it?”

You shook your head, eyes squeezed shut, head low. Felt as if your mother had been scolding you. Only Eunjoo knew you better than your mom did, and Eunjoo was actually sincere and worried about you. She was your best and only real friend, after all.

“You’re smart”, she took a turn to your apartment complex, “smarter than all of those guys. Smarter than Chan”. The car stopped at the parking lot, both of you sat in silence for a moment.

“Don’t waste your life on chasing someone who doesn’t want you”, she covered your hands with hers. “Don’t drink your life away because he decided you weren’t good for him. You might be not enough for this asshole, but you’re certainly enough for everyone else, for me, for yourself. He’s not worth your suffering”.

Your eyes welled up at the words. Pulling her in for a hug, you had to blink rapidly to avoid another crying session.

“Thank you, Eunjoo. Thank you for everything you do for me”.

She hugged you tighter. “You’re always welcome. I know how hard it is for you to say this, and I’m thankful, too”.

“You may take all of the time in the world to overcome this pain”, the two of you were face-to-face again, “you shouldn’t bottle your emotions up. Just… Just talk to me instead of drinking, okay?”

You nodded, a smile creeping up on your lips. Eunjoo’s cousin laughed again, his radio program turned into another comedy show, and the two of you giggled at him. Never in your many failed friendships and toxic friends would you think a girl with a rigorous attitude with whom you had to share the same space at work, could be your closest friend.

Your cat greeted you with serious complaints and loud purrs, obviously demanding food and attention. Several minutes passed before you took your clothes off and stepped into the shower.

Chan used to say that showering together would help saving water, and you always chuckled at his proposals. It’s not like you ever rejected his shenanigans; you didn’t indulge in shower sex, but being naked with him under the water was another intimate moment to cherish.

You hated how everything was about him. Every surface of your flat was interwoven with the memory of him, his fingers squeezing your hips, lips brushing over yours, head in the crook of your neck. He was with you in the shower; he was cooking in your kitchen; he was sprawled on your couch, watching another episode of that dating reality show; he was snoring in your bed, his legs atop of yours. There wasn’t a single place in this apartment that he hadn’t graced with his touch. And you despised yourself for still craving his presence, even after all the pain he caused you.

Brushing your teeth, your brain visualized Chan behind you, a toothbrush in his hand, the other wrapped around your waist. Every little action of his was engraved in your head, not letting your breathe even for a second. How were you supposed to move on when the only thing you see was Chan?

“Do you want to move on?” Your therapist asked you.

“I don’t know”.

“Let’s put it into a different perspective. During your last conversation, he stated he’s been in love with you. Correct?”

“Yes”.

“He also said he liked the process of ‘chasing’ his potential partners. Correct?”

“Yes”.

“And he added that whenever someone reciprocated, he’d lose interest. That includes you. Correct?”

“Uh, yes”.

“After all of the above-mentioned, do you still believe he’s in love with you?”

“Yeah”, you breathed out, the voice of yours being unsteady. “I guess”.

“Why?”

“Because… Because”, you almost choked on your words, “he couldn’t fall out of love with me just suddenly. He couldn’t”.

Coming back to that conversation over and over again, you sat on the floor in your living room, tears falling down your cheeks. Was he ever truly in love with you, or was it another projection of yours? And if he was, how could he be so cruel?

A phone call distracted you from yet another sobbing section of your ‘pining over Chris’ daily program. Of course, only Han Jisung would call you at 1 A.M.

“Sorry for the late night call”, he said after countless apologies, “I just thought I should tell one of you”.

“Tell us what?”

“He’s insufferable”, Han whined, “I dunno what to do to bring him back to his normal self. He’s sulking, keeps being silent and just-“ You heard him sigh. “He’s constantly in his bed. Either sleeping or napping. Or he just lies there, watching the ceiling”.

You kept quiet for a swift moment only. “What d’you want me to do? Call his therapist or something”.

Jisung let out a nervous laughter. “Yeah, like his parents haven’t tried that already. He doesn’t speak to therapists”. Han’s heavy breathing signaled at him being on the verge of crying. Shit, Chan had fucked everyone over.

“He falls asleep quite often”, Jisung continued. “And he sleeptalks, y’know that. And when he does that, he only says your name”.

No. Ah-uh. No. Just no. Why would Han say that?

“So please, if you can, just come and see him. You want him to get better too. I know that”.

Your phone was on the floor next to you, as you scratched you nose to avoid crying. But your lip began to tremble, tears collecting in the eyelashes and everything turned into a blur — there were just your tears, and your wails muffled as you hugged your knees tightly. You used to get noise complaints for your loud moans of pleasure; however, now you’d get some more complaints for your almost-howls and incredibly hurtful sobs. Your chest was aching from the heavy breathing mixed with cries, and your jaw was in pain from open-mouthed inhaling and exhaling. That was a breakdown, such an extreme and terrible one that you couldn’t even see anything because of the amount of tears collected on your eyelashes.

If he was so hurt, why, why would he bring you so much pain? If he was so pathetic afterwards, why break up with you in the first place? Why? Why? Why?

Because he’s an asshole, your inner voice interfered, and because he doesn’t know how to express basic human emotions. You did your best for him, tried your hardest to overcome the most difficult thing — inability to express your emotions. You were there, on your knees in front of him in that hospital room, begging him to love you. Begging him to give the two of you a chance. But he rejected you back then. And now, what? He was mournful? Pining over you?

Ah-uh. He lost the right to it the second he shitted in your ears with that ‘the thrill expired’ bullcrap. He should’ve had a normal fucking conversation with you, talking about his feeling, working it out. But no, this asshole decided to leave you with a plate of shit and run away from human communication just to, what seemed like, die in complete loneliness. The loneliness he created himself. It was nobody’s fault but his.

“I hope he feels what I felt”, you mumbled while washing your face in the bathroom. It was still puffy, under eyes and lips red from all the crying you did; you cursed Han and his damn phone call. Why was he such a good friend? Oh yeah, probably because Chan hadn’t been a fucking butthead to him. Smart choice; otherwise, Mr. Bang would have no more friends left in his life.

You wouldn’t go and see him, right? “Right, of course I wouldn’t”, you stated out loud when raiding your closet in search of that lingerie set Chris loved. Just in case, you kept on telling yourself, I’m looking for it just in case.

You sat on the bed, wearing the said bra and panties, facing the mirror. Disheveled hair, a puffy face, your neck and chest red from all the nervous scratching you did in the last few minutes. It wasn’t like you were going to actually see him, right? And, what’s more important, you weren’t going to let him touch you again, were you?

“I’m not”, you were, as always when alone, talking to yourself; now, as you ran from the bedroom to the living room, dressing up, brushing your hair, you abruptly stopped mid your shenanigans.

Right in front of you, in your bedroom, on that bookshelf with all the books you’d bought but never read, was that damned perfume. Gently kept in between the books, so that your cat wouldn’t throw it on the floor, that perfume bottle was the most vivid proof of your and Chan’s relationship. The only thing, besides photos and gifts, that could transcend you to every moment spent with him. You hated this fucking perfume.

Spraying some on your skin, just on the back of your neck and your wrists, you put it in the bag. You petted your cat, promising you’d come back just in a couple hours, and then the lights in your apartment went off, keys turning in the door.

What the hell were you doing? One call from Jisung, swearing Chris was suffering without you, and? You were wearing that lacy lingerie under your clothes, clean-fucking-shaved, smelling like his favourite perfume, riding in the cab? That’s how easy it was?

You shook your head, disagreeing with your own thoughts. You were desperate to feel him again, to wrap your hands around him, to kiss his plushy lips, to run your hands through his hair. You needed that more than air, but you also couldn’t keep this up just in the name of love.

He was your temple, taking up all of the space in your life. Everything was about Chan, every day of yours accompanied by the presence of him. In those several months of being with him, you found yourself behind the closed doors; you locked them with your own hands. Cancelling plans just in case Chan called? Done. Not communicating with some of your old friends just because they didn’t like Chris? Do-o-ne. You practically had no hobbies by now, because your only hobby had been Chris, and how to keep him interested, and how to make him laugh, and how to make him fall in love with you.

How unhealthy was that?

So now you were going to end it. For good. You were ready to take the last leap and jump, just to get it over with. ‘Cause no matter how much you loved him, you were exhausted. And no amount of love could outweigh the tiredness this relationship had brought you.

And you were there. Staring at Chan, who was wearing his gray pajama pants and nothing more, dumbfounded look on his face. You couldn’t but notice a slight bulge, and you swallowed, images of him floating around your mind.

He let you in, still not a word said. You put the bag on the drawer, quickly putting the perfume bottle on it. You’d leave it here; if he was so desperate to see you, next time he could just spray some perfume around to pretended you were there. You were going to leave this perfume to him, because to you, it was too hurtful to even look at.

You turned around to face him. In the dim light of his apartment, Chan looked pathetically beautiful, as if he’d been a God, sent to Earth just to become your fatal personal tragedy.

One step further. You were right in front of him, hands carefully cupping his cheeks. He watched you with caution, as if you’d been a hallucination, destined to turn into air the moment he dared to touch you.

Today would be the last time he ever lands his hands on your body. The last time you ever let him this close.

No words exchanged between the two of you, when he leaned in, his lips lingering over yours, just slightly touching. Your eyes darted from his lips to his eyes, and there it was. With that simple look, he squeezed your waist and pounced on your lips. You dived in, letting his tongue meet yours in a passionate, i-missed-you-so-much dance. You kissed and kissed, and the only thing you could taste on his lips was betrayal. Because no matter what he was doing now, the memory of him torturing you with his words would forever be engraved in your mind.

When you finally broke the kiss, he was looking at you with a wide smile on his face. Oh, darling Chris, you thought, insinuating yet another heavy kiss, this is not a make up type of situation. You’re getting dumped tonight.

Your back was against the wall, his hands under your shirt, dancing on your bare skin, but not touching where you needed him. Between lips nibbling, him trailing kisses down your chin, teeth grazing down your neck, you could feel the pool of arousal in your panties. Chris could feel it too.

Now your back was against the mattress, his silky sheets welcoming you back in their embrace. Chan was hovering over you, looking you deep in the eyes, touches lingering all over your body, as if you were made out of porcelain, as if he was scared to break you. Too late for that, the inner voice stated, while you roamed your hands all over his body, you already broke me, Chris.

Withholding this intense eye contact while taking off your jeans, Chan let out a gluttural sound, almost a growl, when he saw black lace panties — the set he bought you himself. He trailed kisses from your knees up to inner thighs, humming into your skin. He sharply sucked the same skin into his mouth, marking you as always. Some of the bruises looked like stars when fading away, and you used to think your thigh scars, left there by your teenage self, were vanishing under the love bites Chris was leaving.

But the stars did fade away, and the scars stayed. Under the stars, you were still bleeding — but this time it seemed to be unstoppable; you felt as if you could die from all of that internal bleeding.

A tender kiss Chris left on your yet closed core got you arching your back, your hand immediately landing on his head, fingers in his soft curls. You knew he was smiling when taking off your panties, and you felt it when he left soft kitten licks on your now dripping pussy.

He responded to your moans with a hum, sending vibrations all over your body. You tugged on his hair.

“Are you going to actually fuck me tonight?”

These were the first words uttered tonight. Chris grinned and took his pants off in one swift movement. His dick, hard and leaking with pre-cum, seemed to hypnotize you. You briefly noticed saliva running down his chin from all the excessive sloppy kisses he’d been giving your folds and a smug smile on his face — all just ‘cause he got to taste you again.

“I’m going to”, his knee was between your thighs now, “fuck you senseless”. He tugged on your earlobe with teeth, making you moan into his shoulder.

Slipping a finger inside your slit, Chris caught your whimper by his mouth, covering your lips with his. His thumb pressed to your clit, drawing circles around it, and you almost lost the thin thread connecting you to the harsh reality. It was your last time with Chris. Last time kissing him. Last time being his girl.

“Oh, fuck”, Chan groaned, when you reached for his cock. The mere touch of yours made him twitch and stop all of his movement to keep his composure. “You’re killin’ me, baby”, he rasped, head buried in the crook of your neck.

No matter what he said, you still battled with your reasonable self: she told you not to lose focus, to get pleasure but to never forget — you were leaving him for good. Your emotional side, however… She was already on the cloud nine, willing to obey to any command Chan requires from you. But even her, this bubbly and sweet self of yours — even she knew this pleasure would turn into pain later. Although she didn’t mind loving Chris, even she couldn’t be in love with him any longer. Even your tender persona had found out how much pain Chan inflicted on you.

Pushing in his girthy cock into you slowly, Chris stared right into your soul, observing the way your face expression changed. Your mouth fell open, eyes hazily watching him mirroring you, his grip on your hips tightened. You’d have crescent marks in the morning — the last signs of your love with him ever existing.

Finally, swallowed by warmth, Chris bottomed out, letting you adjust, as you gripped him, head thrown back. He peppered kisses all over the side of your neck, hands massaging your breasts slowly, pinching nipples to make you gasp.

As he sluggishly thrusted into you, Chan couldn’t take his eyes off you. You knew he was watching, as he always did, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to stare back at him. You wanted to cum, not to cry.

As he felt you getting comfortable enough, Chan set a pace, massaging your inner walls in a frantic tempo. You squeaked every time he hit that spot, burying himself deep inside of you. You grinded against him, begging for more friction, as your nails left marks all over his shoulders.

“This is what you want?” His thumb started drawing circles on your clit, your composure long lost under the thick layer of pleasure.

Except for your mewls and Chan’s groans, the sound of skin on skin clapping was filling in the room. Although the way your pussy squelched every time Chris pounded into you was the only sound you could hear.

“Shi-i-i-t”, he hissed, his cock throbbing inside of you, “I can’t g-get enough of y-you”, Chan stuttered, your walls fluttering around his cock made him lose his mind little by little.

“I love you”, he huffed, forehead pressed to yours, “I love you so fucking much”.

Savoring his words — words you hoped to hear every time you were this close, you couldn’t bring yourself to reciprocate. You wish you could give in and forget all of that like it was a bad dream. You wish you could. But you never would.

“Shut up”, your breath hitched as you pulled him in for another sloppy kiss.

You’d yield to temptation one more time, to feel his hot breath on your skin, to feel the shockwaves gripping your body as you saw the stars while he chanted your name, reaching his high. The sheer layer of sweat covering the both of you, Chris watched as your breath steadied and you got up on the wobbly legs.

“Wait for me in the shower”, he puffed, still laying on his back, eyes shut.

“I’m going home”.

You stepped out of the room, collecting your jeans from the floor when he appeared behind you. “What? Why?”

You sighed. “Do I really need to explain this to you? After everything you’ve done to push me away?”

“But I-I thought… You and I, we…”

“What? Fucked?” You put your jeans on and huffed at his words. “Doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stay with you after you pushed me away”.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered. Chan screwed up his face and sniffed, and deep inside you felt like shit for making him feel this way. “I’m an idiot, baby, I have no excuses. Just if-“

“No”, you retorted. “No. You’re only interested now ‘cause I’m out of reach again, aren’t I? ‘The thrill of chasing’, that’s how you call it?

“Baby…” His eyes were closed as he let out a deep sigh. Yeah, you fucked up big this time, Chris. There’s no way out.

“Is there anything, anything I can do for you to forgive me? Please?”

“Yes, there’s one thing. Disappear from my life forever”.

Taglist:

@heylookwhoitis @amaranth-writing @itstorimf @tenshimara

[kennyomegasweave]

Playboyy Finale Reaction

I am just sitting in my bed staring off at my wall in utter silence.

Under the cut are my live thoughts during this finale and you can see me descend into insanity.

Oh poor Phop is in hella debt? Baby. 

FIRST, SOONG DOESN'T WANT TO BE YOUR SUGAR BABY. But also Soong. Baby. Just let yourself be a sugar baby. He's younger than you anyway. "I don't want to sit around and do nothing and still live an expensive life." Okay Soong that's admirable but like. Couldn't be me. 

Okay, if Nont and Prom think someone's gonna bust in the door, maybe don't stand in the doorway? Also. Yes Nont, finally get your dad involved. There's no need for your friends to be doing all this. Your dad is rich and connected.

"No one has issues with me like you do." Captain, my favorite boy, Puen isn't the one that's been an asshole here. I'm sorry though, are we gonna get Captain having some character growth in the last two episodes after being the absolute worst? Oh baby. 

TUTOR. SOONG. NO. First. Oh. He's really gonna fuck up his relationship over this huh. Goddammit First. Baby you can't just make appointments to beat up men sexually when you feel bad. That's not what we do love.

NUTH. My boy. NO.

Aww Nont is like this was not the fucking plan. Has a single plan of Nont's gone well? Because I don't think anything's gone like he wanted this entire show.  

Oh shit wait. Damn. Is Nuth gonna go down for Nant's murder now??? Holy shit. Can someone please go find Phop cause he is just sobbing alone in their shitty apartment.

Hey Keen! My love! Just sitting on the couch like you belong. Glad you're here to campaign for Nuth. That's my boy. My two boys.

I kinda feel like Nont should have brought Prom as backup for this scene. Cause everyone else has their man (except Porsche because Jump said he didn’t want to hang out with these losers I guess?) and he's just standing there like 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️.

Well. My dear sweet mentally unwell child is in prison. So. I mean. I guess that's that. FOR FIVE YEARS??? HE'S GONNA DO FIVE YEARS??? OH MY FUCKING GOD. 

Jump and Porsche are cute. But Nuth is gonna be in prison for five years and Phop is a baby in hella debt and I'm just like.

I mean, lick that dick Porsche, but what does that mean to me right now. When Nuth is IN PRISON for FIVE YEARS. 

....is Phop OD'ing??? What in the fuck is going on??? Like is he really fucking dying right now??? Alone??? In his fucking bathroom while his man is in prison??? 

Welp. I think the baby just fucking OD'd alone in his bathroom while his man is in prison so like. When I tell you. There's 13 minutes left in this show and I'm done. I AM DONE.

At this point I am so angry that I'm not even reacting. Like. This show really just wanted to hurt my fucking feelings and did. Unless they do some surprise twist? I'm sick. This is SICK.

What the fuck is that painting??? Am I supposed to recognize who that is??? Cause Zouey's art is shit and I don't. What the fuck is going on here. I've long since realized I'm too dumb for the plot so like I just need someone to tell me if Phop is alive cause I don't think he is. And I need to know. I NEED TO KNOW.

I'M STILL ABSOLUTELY FURIOUS ABOUT PHOP BUT THEY JUST BUSTED OUT SOME BONKERS ASS SHIT WITH FIVE MINUTES LEFT WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON. 

Umm okay so it just ended??? I'm guessing they cliffhangered it for a second season? But these shows RARELY ever get a second season??? Oh this was an entire waste of my fucking time. I'm not even mad. I'm actually laughing. lol

WAIT IS THIS WHOLE THING NUTH'S SCREENPLAY??? DID PHOP KILL NANT??? What the shit is happening here??? Again, I'm not even mad now. I'm in awe of this. lol

Well, that certainly happened. Alright then. I don't even know what to say at this point.

[my-name-is-jefferooni]

I JUST SAW “GRIME TIDINGS” AND I AM SHOOKITH TO MAH CORE

The new episode was… Oh my god. There’s so much Sonadow in just this first episode and I am close to fucking SOBBING.

So to start off, we got the fabled “Sonic feels bad about how Nine took the shards” in the cavern scene and even though it ended far too quickly compared to most other predictions, it was still very enjoyable! Shadow wasted absolutely no time in getting Sonic back in the game, while it took Sonic a while to realize that now is NOT THE TIME FOT A GODDAMN MENTAL BREAKDOWN. Twas a great interaction that had my soul flying outta my body frfr

THEN SONIC’S FRIENDS LITERALLY START FLYING AWAY AND MY HEART JUST SHATTERS BECAUSE WTF THEY LITERALLY JUST WENT TO SAY HI TO GOD I AM NEVER GONNA BE NORMAL ABOUT THAT THEY LEGIT JUST SAID “Bye Sonic cya in heaven” AND THEN WERE GONE LIKE WHAT

Poor Sonic just had to speed run the five stages of grief lmao

AND THEN ALL MY WORRIES WASH AWAY WHEN I SEE SONADOW WORKING TOGETHER TO GET OUT OF GHOST HILL AND IT IS SERIOUSLY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SEQUENCE OF 3D ANIMATION I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. There is so much squash-and-stretch, so much dynamic posing, so many fast movements, so many moments where you blink and you miss something. It’s so fluid and so expertly done, my heart was melting when I saw it. Prime is just straight up eye candy at this point and I am not in any way complaining. This scene was so pretty and so epic and so intense. And I could feel literally every impact. Wonderful story boarding to whoever did the storyboards. You have my full respect.

And then Shadow gives Sonic a compliment and my soul once again leaves my body. I am not okay.

AND THEN THE SONADOW FANKID BATTLE ENSUES WOOHOOOOOOOOOOO

And then. AND THEN. WHEN NINE BRINGS OUT THE OTHER 4 ROBOTS TO FIGHT SONIC AND SHADOW THE TWO HEDGEHOGS LOOK AT EACH OTHER AND GO “Behind you!” AT THE SAME TIME AND I START DYING AGAIN. Feel bad for Big tho. Bro didn’t get a robot… 🥺 Feel so horribly bad for Shadow too. He got stuck fighting the Rouge robot during the fight. Must’ve been a horrible experience. Can’t wait to see how he’ll react to the other versions of her though! If we even get to see him again…!

Which by the way, the ending scene…? OH MY GOD??????????? THEY REALLY HIT US WITH THE BIGGEST CLIFFHANGER EVER. SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG. SHADOW THE GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING HEDGEHOG. THE BITCH WITH ALL THE EMO DRIP AND THE HEELIES. THE ONE WHO CAN FUCKING FLY NOW. YEAH. HE SACRIFICED HIMSELF FOR SONIC. WHAT!!!!!?????????

Obviously, he’s not gone for good. Cuz then we wouldn’t be able to call this season “Sonadow Prime season 2.” But the fact that he gave himself up and chose to fight off a whole horde of super strong and powerful robots that could beat him in an instant all because Nine had his sights on the blue blur…? That is A LOT. Especially since we’ve waited like 2 whole decades for some good Shadow characterization. In no way am I complaining, duh, but for someone like me…? MAN I WAS NOT OKAY.

Sinister Nine is… It is wild. I always knew he was gonna be a problem ever since Shadow pointed it out at the beginning of season 2, but I never expected him to actually be this evil. He lands next to Sonic and Shadow before the sacrifice, and when he reveals what he plans to do to Sonic… He’s hardly recognizable anymore. It’s scary, how utterly broken and changed he feels. This is still the same fox as before though, just a bit more sure of what he wants. And that’s terrifying.

So naturally, when Shadow figures it out, he is mortified.

AND I START INTERNALLY SCREAMING BECAUSE I WAS NOT EXPECTING HIM TO REACT THAT WAY OH MY GOD BRO WAS FLABBERGASTED HE WAS SO TAKEN ABACK HE WAS SO HEARTBROKEN HE WAS LIKE “Why u tryna hurt my boo???” AND THAT MAKES THE SACRIFICE HIT THAT MUCH HARDER. OH MY GOD. MAKES IT WORSE THAT SONIC HAD NO IDEA WTF HE WAS TALKING ABOUT TOO.

Anywhizzle my energy has dwindled since my first watch because it’s been like 30 minutes but I just wanna add that. I am pretty sure it’s official that the Prime Universe is dead. Gone. Deceased. That shit ain’t coming back, I can guarantee. We spent like half the episode trying to get out of Ghost Hill and then mourning the loss of it, and I highly doubt all that screen time is gonna go to waste. They’ll probably say that Sonic succeeded and that we’ll be shown everyone returning to normal, but based off what we see I at least hope this isn’t the case. This now feels more like a show about moving on, about finding out who you are and making friends. It’s about change, but it’s also about connection. And with the Prime Universe gone, with Ghost Hill destroyed, and with the Paradox Prism in Nine’s grasp until the foreseeable future… I really doubt we’ll see Ghost Hill restored. This fact is amplified by the fact that we’ve been getting more screen time and development with each different universe/shatterverse.

Aight that’s all for now bye bye

[edosianorchids901]

So I know you don't know me but I'm not part of any group so can't sob to anyone else. How am I supposed to cope after ending of series 2?????!!!

Well, if you’re me (aka someone who gets incredibly stressed by relationship drama and can’t handle cliffhangers especially for things that may not get renewed), you pretend the last chunk of the episode didn’t happen and they’re off happily having breakfast at the Ritz. I’m planning to write something to that effect soon because I’m dealing with too much IRL stress to be able to handle this being unresolved for years…

Once I cool down a bit and am in a less actively distressed state (it was really bad timing for me with mental health stuff), I’m planning to go read a bunch of fic that was published pre-S2 so I can get back to enjoying a more comfortable version of the universe ❤️

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Yello Crystal it's me I promise I'm still alive :'D just mental health going Up and down. Anyway new chapter! I actually had to read 2 chapters because- yes I don't have any questions which is weird for me ;w;

Excuse me Do you know how My heart was beating from the newest Chapter!? HELLOOOO /pos I swear I thought for a minute that Chase is gonna loose his kids. You can't do this to me 😭😭😭 AAAAAAAAA The action going on omfg. I swear It feelt like I was in the story I feel their panic so much. I mean I knew it will end on a cliffhanger BUT STILL NOT FAIR 🥲

Also.. the story coming to an end Crystal what will I read when it ends 🥺 I started that fic when I was 16 I'm turning 20 this year!! 4 years of reading this I'm damn. I swear I will get emotional when it ends, I knew you said once to me that it probably will go around 50 chapters But still!! Like wtf am I gonna read 📚 lemme JUST AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I just love this FF so much so really do expect me to be a sobbing mess when it ends

Ahem *Yeets love, affection, food and drinks at you* remember to eat and drink! 💙

I cosplayed from it- Hello that means something!!

Yeah Hunter I can't believe it either! The ending really snuck up on me! Of course, even after the King is defeated, there will be a few chapters of things settling down, but after we're over that hill the end will be in sight.

I'm glad you liked the chapter though! I went into it a bit worried about how it would come out, but then halfway through I was on a roll, words just flowing off the keyboard. It was great!

And if you're looking for something to read after FM, well, I have a lot of other fanfics. I mean, if you want to. Some are even completed! XD

Seriously, though, it's insane that you've been reading for so long. I can't believe how long this fic has been happening! And it means so much that you love it so much. Seriously, thank you so much for all your support <3 You and everyone else who's read this long!

[raccooncityriots]

That post I reblogged earlier really puts into words why most of us are absolute shit at trying to help new fans get into gundam. Where should you start? My honest advice is to treat it like American comics. Watch which ever series has characters and/or mechs that look interesting to you and if you end up confused as hell just start backtracking until you aren’t anymore. Worst case scenario, google a line up of the masked men and woman and just pick one of those to be normal about.

Anytime people ask me where to start I get stuck in a mental loop. What do you like?? What do you want?? Do you want gundam focused or people focused? Do you want complex politics that make sense or do want a good time? Are you willing to watch three old ass, under budget anime series in their entirety for an hour long movie with beautiful animation and a cliffhanger you may not see resolved in the next ten years? Are you willing to look past product-of-the-time-boarder-line racist caricatures in giant robot form? Are you just here to try to understand why Char is selling you a Big Mac? What do you want?!

What am I supposed to say? “SEED and Unicorn both have multiple songs that make me fight the urge to openly sob in my car when they come up on my playlist still today in the year 2023. There was a summer of my life I watched Wing in its entirety back to back for literal months. I absolutely love 00. It has some of the absolute worst character development decisions in all gundam. They did Thunderbolt dirty. I refuse to watch Age because it looks like a MegaMan ripoff.

Hope that helps xoxo”

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 18.1 (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: References to sexual situations. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: OKAY Y'ALL, Part 18 is split into two parts (18.1 & 18.2), so be aware that there is a bit of a cliffhanger for this reason. This part as a whole is another monster, but in a completely different way than the action-packed Part 17, and I didn't want to torture y'all anymore by making you wait for a GIANT chapter, since I was at 13k+ with no end in sight! We're diving into uncharted territory here (which was a challenge, let me tell y'all!) and 18.1 is all in flashback because of this. The vibe is DIFFERENT for obvious reasons, which you'll understand shortly. I promise there’s a good reason for the pivot, which will become more apparent in 18.2. Thank you so much for your patience, and I really hope you enjoy this perspective change in the story!

I've set the mood with lyrics from Teresa Brewer's Till I Waltz Again With You which is the song Elvis really sang in the talent show in '53 (unfortunately there is no recording of him singing it *sob*), and I've added pictures of our boy in the different years referenced, just to really give you a mental picture and break your heart a little bit. Only because I love y'all!

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. 💜

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

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

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

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

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

Elvis in 1951

You'll be waiting for my arms

You'll be waiting for my arms

September 1951

Elvis meanders down the hall through the crowds between classes, quiet, blue eyes sharp and watchful. He heads towards the lunchroom, his cheap and worn guitar slung over his shoulder. His dark blonde hair is too long for the popular style, greased and pushed back, a stray lock falling into his eyes. The style of his clothes is too bright and bold for a scrawny 16-year-old white boy, gaining him stares that range from curiosity to contempt, but he doesn’t care. He is wholly himself, a separate standout from the masses, but somehow unassuming through it all.

A few weeks into junior year, he already has his head down and tries to pay attention in his classes as best he can, even though sitting still is hard. He knows he must graduate and his mama and daddy will have his hide if he doesn’t, so he sits in the back row and listens and does his work as best he can. He makes decent grades. He’s respectful to his teachers, all “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, sir,” just like he was raised. All the while, his fingers drum out rhythms on his legs (the desk is too loud—he learned that the hard way a long time ago), his mind whirling and spinning with melodies and harmonies and dreams for the future.

But mostly he observes. He knows he’s different. He knows most kids don’t understand what he’s about. He’s a poor, church-going kid from the projects who is so quiet that he seems a little slow, except that those piercing blues see and hear everything, constantly cataloguing, constantly adapting, constantly thinking, constantly moving. Always searching for a way to get his family off the dole and into comfort. So, he waits and watches and learns. He doesn’t care if that earns him strange looks.

The halls start to thin as underclassmen hustle to their classes and upperclassmen run to lunch, loud and hungry and antsy. Elvis is not in a hurry, though, yet not without direction.

The little, fluttering thing that rounds the corner is, however, and plows straight into him, managing to knock herself and her books to the floor. He’s not quick enough to get out of the way, but he is fast enough to catch her as she goes flying backwards.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, his hand grasping your forearm as momentum carries you in the other direction. He somehow manages to swing his guitar down gently enough that it doesn’t splinter but the strings thrumb in a dissonant chord as it hits the ground.

The move to save both the guitar and the girl throws off his center of balance, so as you wheel back, you take him with you. In your panic to stay upright, you grab at him desperately, latching onto his wrist, which damns you both, but does serve to soften the blow as you land with a gasp on your backside.

His fancy shoes have no traction on the slippery tile, and he struggles and slips this way and that before gravity wins the battle, sending him ungracefully to his knees, pinning your skirt between your legs. He manages to catch himself with his free hand at the very last moment, avoiding completely crushing you under his weight. His breath huffs out with the exertion, and that’s how he ends up sprawled on top of you in the middle of the hallway, your books scattered around like shrapnel.

Time seems to slow for a second, and he really looks at you for the first time, his face in too intimate of a proximity for comfort as he looks into your big, wide eyes and sees a pink blush grace your cheeks. Your pretty hair surrounds you like a halo in disarray. And your lips, well, they are much to close because he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. His chest heaves and then catches because you are quite beautiful, sprawled out there on the tile under him.

Then reality and propriety rushes at him like a freight train, realizing the compromising position you are both in, through no fault of your own, but compromising, nevertheless. He feels heat rush to his face at the inappropriateness of his thoughts.

“Aw, h-heck, s-sorry,” he blunders, pushing up and back off of you as fast as his lanky limbs will allow.

“No, I should be the one that’s sorry,” you bluster back, leaning on your forearms “I was too much in a hurry and wasn’t looking where I was going.” Your voice is light and as pretty as you are.

“Are ya o-okay?” he asks, truly concerned but also happy with the excuse to look you over as you sit upright, your hair cascading over your shoulders. Taking in your slightly disheveled state, he can’t help but feel like you’re the loveliest girl he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s not just because you’re pretty—of course you are—but more like the feeling he gets from you, like you’ve reached something inside of him that no one else ever has. He can’t explain it. It’s like he’s always known you somehow. Shaking off those strange thoughts, he kneels, gathering your scattered books off the black and white tiles.

“Aside from my bruised ego, I think I’m fine,” you sigh shakily, “and now I’m late for class, on my first day, no less.”

“O-Oh, y-you’re new?” he asks, stammering yet again. He doesn’t understand why he’s so tongue-tied. He talks to girls all the time. The boys may despise him for a multitude of reasons, but the girls…well, he likes them a lot, and they seem to like him right back, with all his sweet Southern politeness and his pretty eyes and how he strums on his guitar and warbles at night in the shadows at the Courts. He’s had girlfriends from the time he was twelve, and he seems to have some innate knowledge of what women of all ages like. It’s one of the things he’s good at—talking sweet to girls and kissing on them.

But this pretty little girl has him thrown for a loop.

You’re both kneeling now, gathering papers and books. “Yeah, we just moved here…oh, thank you,” you say as he picks up your books and stands, offering his hand to help you up. Your hand is soft and cool in his larger one, the touch of your skin on his shooting and crackling through him like lightning. Those eyes of yours catch his briefly, and he almost feels dizzy with the way they make him feel.

Lord have mercy, he thinks, what the hell’s wrong with me?

“Oh gosh, I hope I didn’t break your guitar!” you gasp, seeing it discarded on the floor, obviously mortified at the prospect. It’s the last thing on his mind, and he manages to tear his gaze from you for a second to look down at the instrument. Honestly, he’d break a hundred guitars if it meant running into you again, but by some miracle, it’s undamaged.

Elvis picks it up and strums it. “It’s fine, no harm done,” he drawls, lip curving up in a shy, boyish grin.

Relieved, you flash a little smile, and the sight nearly knocks him over. “Well, good,” you say breathlessly, taking your books back. “I really am sorry, again. I—uh—I gotta get to class.” You are obviously worried about being late, face still flushed with embarrassment. Before he can say another word, you are already rounding the corner, scurrying away, your hair bouncing in your wake.

He stands there, staring after you and blinking as if coming out of a trance. He realizes he didn’t even catch your name or get a chance to introduce himself. All he knows is that you’re a pretty little freshman that just moved here, and while this information is pertinent, it doesn’t really help him much.

Walking to lunch in a daze, all he can think about is how he can go about seeing you again.

Till I kiss you once again Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

Unfortunately, he doesn’t see you, not for a while anyway. The school isn’t that damn big, but he never seems to be able to catch you or your name. Which is a damn shame because his thoughts seem to drift towards you when he least expects it. You show up in his daydreams or when a song he’s singing strikes him a certain way. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

By the next time he finds you, he’s just about put you out of his mind. But the minute he sees you that morning, out in front of the school, giggling with your new girlfriends, it’s like you’ve plowed into him all over again. His heart thuds a little harder in his chest as he passes you, trying not to stare, but he manages to catch your eye for a split second all the same.

At first, there’s no hint of recognition, which nearly breaks his heart, but then your eyes widen with realization and a hint of a shy smile plays on your lips. He returns it in kind, unable to stop himself from the bashful and relieved way it spreads over his face. For a moment, he considers stopping and asking all the questions he’s dying to know the answers to, but the flow of the crowd pushes him onwards and into the building.

He’s near giddy the rest of the day, wondering how and why the pretty girl he barely knows has captured him so completely.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in 1953

April 1953

Standing backstage in the high school auditorium, Elvis wonders why the hell he’s agreed to do this damn talent contest. His hands are shaking and clammy and he can feel the vomit rising in his throat. He’s scared shitless because he’s really only ever sung in the dark to his neighbors at the Courts, or in church with the congregation, but something inside him knows he needs to do this, even if it’s just to show himself that he can. It’s like a part of his soul drives him forward, even though his mind thinks he’s nuts.

It's not until he sees you backstage, ahead of him in the line, that his mind switches from crippling stage fright to a sense of excitement and curiosity. Your hair is done up real pretty and you’re wearing your Sunday best, he can tell. You don’t see him right away, and he knows he’s staring, but at least it’s keeping his mind off his churning stomach. You must feel his gaze because you turn and look back, your intelligent, wide eyes locking onto his.

It sends a thrill of a different kind through him when you tiptoe back towards him, and his heart races a little more than it already is.

You look him over carefully, and he might feel more self-conscious except your eyes are kind and concerned. “You okay?” you ask in a hushed whisper, not wanting to interrupt the current act on stage.

“I-I-I-I…yeah,” he stutters, unable to get the words out. His legs are wiggling, hands shaking, and he feels like he might puke all over your shiny shoes, but sure, he’s fine.

Lord, why is it in this moment of all moments that you come to talk to me?

You smile knowingly. “Yeah, I’m real nervous, too,” you breathe, seeing right through him. When he looks at you this time, he can see it, how you wring the sheet music in your hands and your eyes keep darting to the stage. It makes him feel a little better, somehow, knowing he’s not alone in this.

You stand there with him for a moment, and it should be awkward, except it isn’t at all. That strange familiar feeling of you makes this seem natural. He can’t seem to get any words out, so he just waits and jiggles.

“It’s gonna be fine. I think we’re just supposed to imagine everyone naked, right?” you whisper a little too seriously and that sets him off, a loud chuckle erupting from his mouth. Hearing the word “naked” come from your proper, pretty little lips just tickles him in a variety of ways, and he can’t help it.  Other people in the line shoot him warning looks for being too loud, so he quells his laughter as best he can.

You look over, your eyes dancing more with amusement than nervousness, and you cover the giggle that starts to come out of your mouth. He’s reminded once again by the warmth that spreads through his chest that you are the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on, and hell, you’re funny, too.

You have to stop looking at each other because you’re one small step away from setting each other off into more peals of nervous laughter, which would surely disrupt the show. He watches as you bite your pink bottom lip and thinks of how much he’d like to do the same to you, imagining how soft it would feel yielding to him. Then he tries to push that less than appropriate thought right out of his head as soon as it pops up because, damn, this isn’t the time or place for that kind of thinking.

As your laughter dies, you look down at your feet, obviously feeling a swell of fear as you play with the necklace around your neck. He can feel it coming off of you in waves, despite your attempts to comfort him.

Suddenly, he can’t stand the sight of your uncomfortableness. He has the deep urge to fix it and make you feel better. Without thinking, he nudges you with his elbow. When you look up at him in surprise, he crosses his eyes, making a googly-eyed silly face at you. It has the intended effect, sending you into a fit of giggles, earning a glare and shush from the teacher in the wings.

It’s the cutest thing, watching you laugh like this, and it sends a rush of calm and satisfaction over him to know he’s the cause. He almost forgets that he has to go out there and sing in a few minutes.

“I’ve got to go, we’re on next,” you whisper.

“You’ll be great,” he says. He doesn’t even know what you’re going to be doing but it doesn’t matter. Anything you do will have his attention.

You smile shyly, as if reading his mind somehow, and he feels heat rise to his cheeks that has nothing to do with his stage fright. You nod, then skip off to the front of the line.

He watches in awe from the wings as you accompany your singing friend on the piano. Your hands fly over the keys with practiced, concentrated ease, and if he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t ever have guessed that you were nervous.

He suddenly thinks he needs to take up the piano. Maybe you could teach him and then he’d have an excuse to see you.

That thought is fleeting though, as your performance is through in the blink of an eye, and you exit the stage with a relieved smile, meaning that he’s one step closer to having to get out there himself. Now that he knows you’re okay, his nerves come rushing back. His leg vibrates uncontrollably, but he still manages to give you a thumbs up.

You slow as you pass him, placing your hand lightly on his bicep. He stills and looks at you in surprise at the contact.

“Thinking of them naked works,” you whisper with a smile, “Break a leg out there.” Then, you give him a light squeeze before being ushered away. Sparks fly through him at the echoes of your hand on his arm.

Elvis thinks his heart might explode. It’s crazy, this way you make him feel like he’s flying. It carries him out onto the stage, where he sings a rendition of Teresa Brewer’s “Till I Waltz Again With You” that somehow brings the house down and wins the talent show. They even call him out for an encore.

Thinking of them naked works, indeed.

But when he closes his eyes to sing, it’s you he thinks of. It’s you that gets him through.

The feeling he has coming off that stage is a buzzing, electric high he thinks could get used to. A dangerous, tiny thought in the back of his mind tells him to chase it like there’s no tomorrow, but the relief at the whole thing being over is too strong and pushes the thought away.

But the feeling lingers in his body like lightning in the clouds, just like your touch.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

Elvis in 1955

Winter 1955

Jack somehow convinces him with a begging phone call, on this cold-ass winter night on one of his only nights back home in Memphis in so long he doesn’t even remember the last time he slept in his own bed, that he has to help Jack get some broad at some diner across town.

And because Jack’s his best friend and he hasn’t seen him in years due to Jack’s stint in the Army and his insane touring schedule, Elvis bags off his family and Dixie (poor, lovely Dixie) and jumps in the Caddy to head to this diner across town. He figures he’s gotta eat anyway, so might as well get some time in with an old friend, and it’ll be a bonus if he can help ole’ Jacky Boy get some tail.

Absolutely exhausted from gallivanting all over the South, playing sold-out shows, and doing other things he’ll never tell his mama about, he drags himself into the diner, hands stuffed in the pockets of his big wool coat. Good old Jacky sees him coming and leaps out of the booth to give him a big, manly hug.

Elvis can both see and feel the change in Jack. There’s a bravado to him now, an air of machismo that is new. He’s broader and more muscular than the boy who enlisted right after graduation instead of waiting for the draft to get him. And Elvis gets it—Jack didn’t have much to stay for, what with his father being such a mean drunk and him having no special skills to speak of. Jack figured, why not just get it over with?

Even though Jack’s only a little over four months older than Elvis, he was a grade ahead in school, but that discrepancy never mattered much to either of them.

“Look at ya, ya sonnofabitch! Finally got some meat on those bones!” Jack says gleefully, slapping him on the back.

“And you’re as ugly as ever,” Elvis shoots back with a smile, sliding into the red booth.

“Damn, man, I’m hearin’ your songs all over the radio. Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it when I got home and every station I turned on was your warbling ass,” Jack teases in a congratulatory tone.

“Honestly, I’m so damn tired I could sleep for a week, but we’re back out on the road tomorrow,” he replies.

“What happened to that scrawny, shy kid who’d only play in the dark, huh? I’d be scared shitless to get up in front of all those people! Now you’re playin’ all the time…I just can’t believe it, man,” Jack shakes his head.

Elvis shrugs, “Can’t really ‘splain it. It’s like the biggest rush ya could ever have and it just overpowers the fear. The crowds are wild though—never knew chicks could be so crazy.”

“Oh, I bet you are just drowning in it, ain’t ya?” Jack says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Elvis shrugs nonchalantly but his lip curls up into a mischievous grin as he looks out the window. He was indeed taking advantage of his newfound popularity with the girls, almost to an insatiable extent. He’d done good resisting in those first few months, knowing he had Dixie waiting for him at home, wanting to be faithful to her, wanting to be a good Christian boy. But damn, the more he was on the road and the higher the highs of his performances, he just needed a way to wind down at the end of the night. And there were just so many pretty girls literally tearing themselves apart to get to him.

In the end, he hadn’t been strong enough to resist. He knew cheating on Dixie was wrong, and he felt terrible about it, having her waiting here at home for him like she was, but with every show he was learning that he wasn’t gonna be giving any of this up any time soon. No, he wanted to take this as far as he could go, and while a small part of him wanted to hang on to the idea of starting a family with Dixie, a bigger part knew that wasn’t in the cards, not anymore.

“Speakin’ of, what the hell am I doin’ here? You suddenly forget how to talk to girls while in the service?” Elvis ribs, yet truly wants to know.

Jack lowers his voice to a hush and leans in, his eyes darting up every so often to make sure he’s not overheard. “No, man, but this girl, she’s different, I’m tellin’ ya. This ain’t about gettin’ laid. I don’t know what to say, I walked in here right off the train my first day home and it was like the goddamned heavens opened. Every time I try an’ talk to her, I just get all tongue tied like an idiot. I figure, you were always good with talkin’ to girls in general, so I need your help buddy.”

“You’ve got it bad, man. She must be a real looker,” he says, shooting up an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. She’s smart…oh, shit, here she comes! Be cool,” Jack hisses, leaning back too casually, a dumb grin spreading over his face. Elvis can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his friend being so head over heels for a girl he barely knows. He leans back, taking a much more relaxed and subtle stance than his friend, one that has been well practiced these past few months, as the waitress comes up from behind him to take their orders.

If nothing else, watching Jack be a dumb shit is entertaining, he thinks.

The waitress bounces over and Elvis rolls his eyes slowly up her body, taking in every lovely curve along the way.

“Oh, hi, Jack! I see you’ve got a friend with you today.”

Elvis freezes, his eyes reaching your face just as you start speaking and look over at him.

It’s you.

Holy shit, it’s you.  

His brain short-circuits. He hasn’t seen you since he graduated a year and a half ago. And damn if you don’t look prettier than ever, all grown up and filled out in all the right places, your smile brightening the room.

His lips part as his mouth drops, he can’t help it.

“Um, yeah, y/n, this, uh, this is my friend Elvis,” Jack stumbles over the introduction, looking to Elvis for help. But in this moment, Elvis feels utterly useless, every ounce of confidence he’s gained in the past year draining out of him all at once.  

His heart gallops in his chest, and he sits up straighter. He can see you looking over him expectantly, eyes narrowing as if trying to place him. He knows he shouldn’t care if you remember him, but by god, if you don’t, he thinks he might be crushed. But he’s also aware he’s different, too. He’s filled out and his hair’s darker, and why in the hell would you remember him from all those years ago anyway? You’d barely spoken to each other in four years.

“Elvis…” His name drags and plays on your tongue in a way that makes his toes tingle. “Like that singer?”

Of course, that’s how you recognize him, he thinks. But at least you know of him, even if it’s not in the way he wishes. He decides to lean into being “Elvis” because maybe that’ll make him feel less like an awkward high schooler and more like a cool cat. Regardless, the shyness he’d felt for being odd in high school is now mostly gone, and his unique style is part of the reason he was garnering so much attention these days. His confidence, especially with the ladies, is ever-growing. He knows he’s getting to be hot shit in the South and now has an image to live up to. There is no space for shy Elvis Presley here in this diner, for all the reasons. So, he manages to turn up the dial on his Southern charm, forcing himself to relax in your presence.

“Well, Miss y/n, seein’ as I never met another man with that name, I suppose, yes, like that singer,” he responds with a coy smile.

“Aw, don’t let him trick ya with that modesty. This here’s the one and only Elvis Presley,” Jack kicks him under the table, the message clear: Use your fame to help me out.

Your face lights up a little at that, which has a little flutter rolling in his empty stomach. “Now, Jack, you never told me you were friends with a celebrity,” she teases, her attention divided between the two men.

Elvis has to very consciously remind himself that he is here to help Jack, not steal you out from under him, but it is taking everything in him not to reach over and play with the hem of your skirt and tell you just how much he wants to take you home to his mama, Dixie be damned.

Jack smiles almost giddily, obviously pleased with your attention. “Well, I’m not one to go showin’ off or nothin’,” he says self-deprecatingly.

Elvis rolls his eyes at that.

“Well, my sister is gonna be beside herself when I tell her who came in tonight. She’s thirteen and might be your biggest fan, Elvis,” you say cheerily. He notices you aren’t completely beside your own self over him being here, which he has some mixed feelings about. On the one hand, he desperately wants your attention and admiration, but on the other hand, it’s kinda nice that you aren’t fawning all over him. It makes you even more appealing somehow.

“So, what can I get ya?” you ask, taking out your pen and paper, looking from man to man.

“I’ll have a hamburger, well done, please, and one of your vanilla milkshakes,” Elvis says, unable to take his eyes off you.

“I’ll have the same, except the burger medium rare, like a real man,” Jack jokes, poking fun at Elvis’ picky eating habits. Thankfully, you don’t react, and Elvis can’t help but kick the shit out of Jack’s shin.

Jack winces.

“Hmm, why do I get the feeling that you two are gonna be trouble?” you smile knowingly at them, pointing at each with the top of your pen. “I’ll be back with those in a jif. Try not to kill each other before I get back.” You bounce away and both men turn to watch.

“No promises, honey,” Elvis calls after you.

“Y’see what I mean, don’tcha? Ain’t she just special somehow?” Jack whispers excitedly, totally gone over you.

Oh, Elvis knows intimately how special you are, but he can’t say it, so he settles for a, “Yeah, man, she seems great,” and tries not to feel sullen about how he’s got to be Jack’s wingman for his own dream girl.

They shoot the shit, and he does his best to get Jack talking to you when you come by, even though it’s hard because he wants you for himself. It’s painful having to keep himself so in line, his heart cinching in his chest every time you come by to check on them. That’s when Elvis knows he’s in deep trouble. He reminds himself often that he is off the market anyway, at least when here at home in Memphis.

He promised to help Jack out, and so he will, even if it kills him.

“I gotta take a leak, man,” Jack says after the food is finished, scooting out of the booth.

You sashay over to clear the plates, and Elvis can’t help but stare as you lean over the table. Your eyes dart to his and he swears he sees a hint of pink on your cheeks. Warmth spreads across his chest and he tries not to avert his eyes. Any other girl he would confidently ogle, so he tries his best to stay the course.

“Y’ know, I’m not sure how you do it,” you say, breaking some of the tension as you stand over him, hands full of dishes.

“Do what, honey?” he drawls, raising only his eyes. Now that Jack’s gone, he’s laying it on thick and can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Not when it’s you.

You shift your weight, but otherwise ignore his advance, much to his chagrin. You’re probably used to getting hit on by customers. “Getting up in front of those big crowds, all those people, and singing like that. I could never,” you shake your head.

A split second and he decides to play his hand, mostly because he has to know, just has to, so leaning back confidently, he drawls again, “Oh, well, a pretty girl once told me you just hafta picture ‘em all naked.” A slow grin spreads across his face.

Your eyes widen as it hits you. He watches you carefully, cataloguing your expression as you remember, your eyes travelling over him quickly, trying to reconcile your memory of him with the man in front of you. Your cheeks go rosy, and he relishes in the fact that he’s the reason.

“Well, damn, I guess I give really good advice,” you finally say, a little breathless, with a shake of your head.

Elvis can’t help the loud laughter that escapes him at that. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but you surprise him with your quip. You smile back at him, proud of yourself. The smile makes him feel special somehow, like he’s the only guy in the world.

“You’re really somethin’ else, y/n,” he says, his laughter dying down and being replaced too quickly by the awe he always seems to feel in your presence.

Something flashes over your face, something he can’t quite interpret. “Right back atcha, Elvis Presley,” you respond, and there’s something in the softness of your voice and in the way your big eyes stare straight into his that sends electricity zinging down his spine.

Then, as he watches as you walk away, he knows with absolute certainty that this won’t be the last time you see him.

Till I waltz again with you Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

And it isn’t. In fact, Elvis somehow manages to stop into the diner nearly every time he is home from then on out. Sure, Jack is his best excuse, but he also rounds up the band and Sam and even Dixie once or twice to go to this great diner he “just happened to find.”

Once he knows you are more often than not going to be there because it’s your family’s place, he wants to go frequently, and Jack is thrilled because the man might be more entranced with you than he is.

It’s not long that being friendly customers turns into being friends. Even when they find out you’ve got a serious boyfriend (because of course you do), neither him nor Jack is much dissuaded by the fact. Elvis would much rather have you in his life as a friend than not at all, and Jack is somewhat delusional in thinking you’ll drop your boy for him.

And while Elvis wants more than anything in the world to have you all to himself, he knows it’s likely not in the cards, at least not now, and maybe not ever. Not with the boy you want to marry you ever so close and Jack waiting in the wings like a puppy. And certainly not when he is running himself ragged with tours and recording, with his very real dreams of stardom so near he can taste them. But, as reality shows when he and Dixie finally part ways in late spring, it is no kind of life for a successful relationship.

So, he has to be content with watching you walk away with someone else, knowing he can’t have you, even though those electric shocks go through him every single damn time he sees you.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in early March 1956

March 1956

Elvis’ career takes off so dramatically that he barely has time to process his good fortune. In the moments when he’s not traveling, recording, touring, or appearing on television, he relishes the somewhat normalcy of hanging out with friends and family. It’s steadily getting harder for him to go out without being bombarded by fans, but he generally enjoys the attention. He’s grateful for his fans and for his budding success, though sometimes it feels so overwhelming he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There are moments when he desperately wants to be still and alone but when he finally has a moment to himself, it feels like the world is closing in on him.

It’s one of these moody, antsy nights that he finds himself at your doorstep, without anyone else in tow. The last time this happened was the night he signed his contract with RCA. You’d been the first person outside of family he wanted to share the news with and without a thought, he’d ditched everyone else and showed up at the diner in his fancy suit, uncharacteristically lifting you up in a hug and spinning you around in his exuberance.

But the mood tonight is decidedly less enthusiastic. He’s tired but hasn’t been able to sleep in what feels like days, pressure pushing in on him from all sides. Usually he didn’t mind, taking it all in stride as part of his new life, but tonight he was worn and restless, his body vibrating with energy that has no outlet.

When he feels like this, he gets needy. He’s already the sort of guy that thrives on physical touch, but in the state he’s in, it’s a necessity rather than a preference. Normally, he might go out with a girl and fool around a bit, but the idea of having to charm and swoon and put on airs right now feels impossible. But he knows he needs a woman’s touch to soothe him and that’s how he finds himself here, alone, knocking on your door.

Your eyes widen with surprise when you open the door and then soften with concern at the state of him, near pitiful with the dark circles rimming his eyes, his body slumped against the door frame, and his pallor a sickly pale.

God, he just wants to weep at the welcome sight of you.

You quickly and quietly usher him inside. By some merciful twist of fate, you are alone. Your mother and sister are out of town visiting relatives and your father is working late at the diner.

This visit should be awkward but isn’t—it’s as though he has been dropping by your house alone and unannounced your whole lives with the way you receive him, and for this he is thankful. And perhaps this is why everything seems to hit him at once, a wave of anxiety rolling over him so strongly that he can barely speak as you lead him to the couch.

It’s suddenly all too much, this feeling of responsibility towards his family and friends and fans. He’s overworked and overtired and the panic of his rising success has him shaking before you, his heart beating too fast and his breathing too shallow, making him dizzy and lightheaded. As he hyperventilates, you hum at him softly, prompting him to put his head between his knees while rubbing circles on his back. Tears leak from his eyes, staining his cheeks and where he leans his head against his forearms on his knees. He too worked up to even be embarrassed by how completely raw and vulnerable he is before you.

With very few words, you just seem to know what’s happening. You don’t ask him to explain or to defend his feelings, you just accept them for what they are and accept him for all that he is. There are no expectations. He feels incredibly relieved by that.

As he eventually starts to calm, he falls over, exhausted, laying his head in your lap. He feels your slight hesitation, but only for a second, before your fingers begin to cart through his hair. He cannot help the small whimpering moan that escapes his lips at the tenderness of the gesture, one he so desperately needs in this moment.

You are exactly what he needs, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to deny that right now.

Perhaps that is why, once his breathing slows and he feels himself start to fade away into drowsiness that he turns in your lap and asks what he does.

“Can I stay?” he breathes, begging, looking up into your beautiful eyes. The plea is not full of lust, yet there is an open-endedness to it that he doesn’t hide, as his need for your comfort in any way you will give it to him is his prerogative. He cares for you far more that he dares to admit and cannot resist the pull of your soul to his, not tonight.

He watches your face carefully, seeing your brow furrow in the slightest and how you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. Propriety says you shouldn’t dare go there—you both know this—but at this point he’s not beyond batting his long lashes at you hopefully and a little mournfully.

“Oh, alright,” you finally concede, “but you need to be quiet as a mouse. I don’t know when Daddy will be home. And no funny business, Presley.” You point at him playfully, but there is a seriousness to your tone that makes him nod to give you reassurance. Exhaustion and moodiness cloud the way his heart wants to soar at this development of trust between you two, but he is too worn out to even muster a joke about the situation. That and he admires you too much to do anything that might jeopardize your blossoming friendship.

And with that settled, he raises from his all too comforting position in your lap. Much to his dismay, he’s unsteady on his feet, his attack having drained him of what little remaining energy he had, but you are quick to come to his side and walk him through the house to your room.

This doesn’t stop an unintentional tension from building, however, as you enter your room with him held close. He waits for you, wanting to follow your lead, wanting you to be comfortable, though he would just as soon collapse on your single bed without another thought.

You turn to him as though not exactly sure what to do next, your mouth opening then closing quickly, and he suddenly wants to kiss you so damn badly it’s painful. But it’s not the first time he’s felt that way in your presence, and probably won’t be the last, but then again, it never has been just the two of you alone in your bedroom before.

“I…I’ll be right back, I’m just going to…to go change,” you stammer, grabbing what is likely a nightgown out of your dresser. “Um, make yourself comfortable.” Then you escape into the hallway beyond, and he can’t help the little smile that plays at his lips in your wake.

He takes the moment alone to remove his coat and jacket and slip off his shoes and socks, folding them neatly at the end of the bed. He hesitates for a moment with his shirt and pants, but as emotionally wrought as he is, all he can think of is the calm feeling of being near you and ends up stripping down to his boxers and undershirt. Figuring he can always put them back on if it eases your mind, he then sits on the edge of the bed and waits.

It's not long before you come back, clad in a pretty white nightgown with little blue flowers all over it, your hair all brushed out and face washed pink. His heart actually skips at the sight. You look gorgeous and he has to remind himself that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here for you, yes, but not in that way. Luckily, his exhaustion overrides that sort of thinking rather quickly—he’s not sure he could do much in this state, even if you wanted to. You shut the door quietly behind you, even though there is no one else home to hear.

The air in the room feels heavy with potential and he can sense your trepidation as you turn back towards him and sit near him on the edge of the bed. His body begins to drag with sleep, the comfort of your arms and your bed beckoning to him. Finally, he chooses to break the silence.

“I’m not going to hurt you...I would never do that. I promise I won’t touch you like that. I just want to—” he says softly.

“I know, Elvis,” you interrupt quietly, “It’s okay. I know.” And your eyes are so big and sweet and open to him that it nearly makes him want to start crying all over again. Part of him wishes he didn’t need you like this, that you didn’t have to see him in this moment of weakness, but part of him is glad it is you. It could only be you, really, that he would give this part of himself to, he realizes, though he’s not entirely sure why. It’s that strange, unspoken bond between you two that has lingered under the surface from the beginning. This almost unreasonable need to take care of each other even when it doesn’t always make sense.

Once you climb under the covers and invite him to join you, he falls in next to you faster than you can blink. The bed is small which doesn’t matter much since he instantly curls close into your side as you lay on your back, notching his head into your shoulder. He can smell the soap and cold cream on your skin, and he drapes his arm over your midsection as though he’s done it a million times before. You stiffen at the contact at first, but then he feels you relax, your head leaning onto his, eventually running your fingers soothingly over his arm.

Yes, this is what he needs, he thinks dreamily, feeling like he can finally breathe again. And it’s not long before he drifts off into a deep slumber, surrounded by your comforting scent and warmth.

It’s the gray early morning light peeking through your white curtains that has him stirring awake, and it takes him a good minute to figure out where he is and who he is with, a feeling he is all too used to considering how much he’s on the road. But waking in some seedy motel in the middle of Texarkana in the arms of some random chick from the night before is not anything like waking in your cozy little bed, your warm body pressed back into his.

There is a care here with you that he yearns for, positively aches for, but did not realize he wanted or needed until this very moment. He is surrounded by the sweet smell of your silky hair, the warm softness of your bare legs against his convincing him that everything about this situation is just right. In his sleepy, unthinking haze, he pulls you closer, spooning you tightly into him, thinking he could just stay here forever, blissfully unaware yet of why he shouldn’t do so.

Until his virile, 21-year-old body reminds him, that is.

Perhaps it is the drowsy little sigh that escapes your lips in the same moment you unconsciously wiggle back against him that does it. Suddenly, he is very much awake, in more ways than one.

A stupid, instinctually carnal part of him very much wants to lift the hem of your nightgown up higher than it is already bunched and slide himself right between your inviting, bare thighs and into your heat, and dear god, that thought has him unraveling himself from you quicker than lightning.

Aw, hell.

He rolls over and sits up too fast, forcing himself to think of anything and everything but how you are lying in that bed so invitingly near. He closes his eyes against the brightness of day and breathes a few deep breaths before reaching for his clothes at the end of the bed.

A lesser man might allow himself to slide back into that bed, but by god, he swore he wouldn’t touch you like that and he refuses to take advantage when you’ve been so good to him. This thought, more than anything, sobers him as he puts his clothes on.

“El…Elvis? Are you okay?”

Oh, the way your sweet little voice sounds all clouded with sleep has him biting his lip so hard he nearly draws blood.

“Yeah, baby, it’s all good. Go back to sleep, honey,” he whispers, finishing the buttons on his shirt as quick as he can.

The domesticity of this little scene coupled with the ache in his groin has every damn cell in his body wanting to get back in that bed, and maybe if it wasn’t you, he would. But it is you. And as desperately as he wants this, he respects you too much to let his hormones get the best of him.

So, before he can change his mind, he kisses the top of your head for a little too long, breathing in the scent of you one last time, then puts on his shoes, grabs his coat, and climbs out the window, escaping into the dawn.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

His thoughts drift to you all day. He doesn’t even want to change or shower because the smell of you still lingers on his clothes, on his skin. The unfamiliar feeling of being so well rested and content has him singing and smiling all day, prompting his mama to ask him, with a knowing eye, exactly where he was last night.

And this gets him thinking about how much he would love to wake up beside you every damn day if he could, how amazing that would feel, and about how maybe, just maybe, it’s possible that he can.

Ted is out of the picture, and it’s been long enough now that you’ve moved on through the heartbreak. You’ve even casually dated a little bit, though no one has seriously caught your eye.

But then there is Jack, who is still pining hopelessly over you, refusing to make a move. And Jack is one of his best friends. It wouldn’t be right to sweep you off your feet right out from under his nose. He knows he could do it, too, and not just because he’s cocky in his growing fame. After last night, he just knows somewhere deep in his soul that if he asked, you’d be his.

And he wouldn’t even consider it except now he’s had a taste of you, of your sweetness and your comfort and your care and goddamn it, your smell is still all over him.

Well, shit or get off the pot, Jack, he thinks, because I ain’t waitin’.

He works himself up into it, trying not to think about all the obstacles in the way, namely his career and how it’ll take him far away from you, but in this endorphin-fueled moment, none of that matters. Only you matter, that and how you make him feel like he’s on cloud nine and how now that he knows what it’s like to wake up next to you, he knows he wants that again and again for as long as possible.

In truth, if he’d stop long enough to really think on it, he’s known it for a long time.

He’ll catch you at the end of your shift tonight. He buys a bouquet of flowers and everything. Energy pulses through him all day, sending his fingers tapping and his legs bouncing so much that his mama tells him to go run it off. Junior and Gene and Red think maybe he’s lost his mind because he’s even more restless than usual.

Finally, after a full day of working himself up into a near frenzy, he jumps in the Caddy and heads to the diner, ready to make you his.

But when Elvis parks in front and looks through the window of the car and into the diner, he sees Jack has gotten there ahead of him. He sees Jack holding your hand and then kissing it, pulling you into the booth next to him. He sees the lovely way you blush and smile in response.

And then he watches as Jack pulls you into him for a long, lingering kiss on the cheek. The way your eyes flutter closed tells him all he needs to know.

Fuck.

He’s too damn late.

Jealousy roars through him as he sees his best friend touching you, touching you when it should be him, not Jack, doing so. He can’t help but feel the memory of your body pressed so perfectly against his just mere hours ago. At that, at the thought of never having that part of you ever again, Elvis’ heart breaks into little pieces. He rests his forehead against the top of the steering wheel, unable to look at the romantic little scene before him.

This is how it was always supposed to be, he tries to convince himself. It was always Jack who was pursuing you, not him. And the worst fucking part is that he knows that Jack can give you something he can’t: Jack can be there for you, stable and sure, with you in the same damn city every damn day.

He cares for you, but he knows that his career is taking him places you cannot follow. And it wouldn’t be fair of him to ask you to put your life on permanent pause for him, no matter how desperately he wants you, no matter how deeply he believes that there is something powerful drawing you two towards each other with every breath.

He cares enough for you that he realizes, at least for now, that he has to let you go.

Friendship it is, then.

My light, my light I will keep my promise true Till I waltz again with you

Elvis in 1956

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