#ghost… when i catch you… 💔

[comfortless]

hi sorry that ask about König having a tight knit friend group was adorable and now I need to inject it with angst, imagine him being the last one of the group to be unmarried/single. his friends kids even ask if uncle Noni (they couldn't pronounce König when they were babies and now it's stuck) is ever gonna have kids :c

The thought of him just feeling like an eternal third wheel..? Further confirmation of what he expects: that something must be terribly wrong with him for him to be so alone when everyone around him just… isn’t. He glosses over the facts that his social media accounts are mainly empty (when he has them active at all), that in social gatherings he makes no attempt to approach a new face, that he’s never been one to participate in dating apps or meet-ups for blind dates. It’s not him: it’s either everyone else or the god he prayed to as a boy has turned their back on him entirely.

Imagine if the friends he has have all met their partners and spouses by chance or have been highschool sweethearts, too… He feels like some higher power has deemed him unworthy of having some perfect person delivered to him in a twist of fate like they have, and it’s something that he ruminates on often.

The bitterness eats away at him a lot, but he wants to be happy for the people he cares about. Likes thinking that he’s somehow better than other men, because he doesn’t make an attempt to flirt with his pal’s wife (even if he’s probably thought of her in ways he shouldn’t and often, too). They do their best to tone down the PDA around him, but even the subtle glances, whispers behind palms, and brushes of their hands leave König feeling worse each time he’s around them. His friend gets to go home and make love to the woman he loves: König gets his lonely hand, a porn video, and a horrible envy burning in his gut for another night.

It lessens a bit when they have children. König plays the role of a good ‘uncle’: carries the kid(s) on his shoulders when they want to feel real tall, lets them chase him with sticks or their toy trucks, pretends to be a big hungry wolf when they wanna play tag — he’s good with children! He likes spending time with them, and it’s a good distraction from the lovestruck stares their parents are giving to each other.

But when they start asking Noni why he doesn’t have a girlfriend or children of his own, he has to bite his tongue and tell them some sappy shit he doesn’t even truly believe: that he’s waiting for the right girl to come along to marry, that he wants to spend time with them before they’re older and forget all about him.

The wife is sympathetic and shushes them, telling them it’s rude to ask questions like that. König tries his best to brush it off when she pats his shoulder and gives him an apologetic pout.

Not that his heart is in a flurry because she defended him from children of all things, not at all. As good of a man he knows his friend to be, König is certain he could be even better to her and her kid(s).

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Just got this idea and it made me cry ok so for 141+König where the reader suddenly walks up to him and just kisses and holds him while crying cause they love him so much and they panicked at the thought of losing him maybe sth happened and they got scared or maybe they were just thinking about it idk FUCK I love them so much can't bear the thought of anything happening to them 😭💔

141 + Königs Reactions To You Crying For/Over Them

Warnings: swearing, crying, mentions of death, mentions of bullying, angst

Simon Ghost Riley-

You hadn’t been able to find Simon all day. You chalked it up to the both of you being busy on base, but usually you’d always caught a glimpse of him throughout the day.

You had a gnawing feeling at your chest, but weren’t able to act upon it until later that night. You found Simon on the rooftop of base, staring up at the night sky as he took a drag of his cigarette.

“I thought you quit smoking.” You teased, slowly walking up to him.

When Simon didn’t give his usual witty remark in reply, you knew something was wrong. His eyes remained glued to the stars, and you could see that his eyes were red.

“Simon, are you okay?” You asked, your hand resting on top of his in a comforting gesture. “Talk to me.”

Simon tore his eyes away from the sky, and flicked his cigarette over the railing. “It’s the anniversary today.”

“Anniversary?” You asked, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“It’s been 6 years since they died.” Simon said, his voice hoarse from crying.

“Your family?” You asked, giving his hand another squeeze. In the years you’d been together, Simon had only talked about his family a few times, and you were never one to press the subject. Simon was a reserved man, and you’d don’t want to push your luck with that.

But Simon told you everything that night. Every little detail of his life when he was a child. The kind of man his father was. How his family was murdered and that the only thing he could do for them was to get revenge. No detail was spared, and once he was done speaking, Simon found a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He’d finally let someone in.

He took a breath, and looked up at you to find you sobbing. You didn’t know what to do, other than throw yourself into Simon’s arms, gripping around his waist at tight as you possibly could.

“Simon, I am so, so sorry you’ve gone through that. I don’t know.. I don’t know what to say other than I’m here for you. I will always be here for you.” You cried into his chest. “I love you, more than you’ll ever know.”

“I know, kid.” He said, his eyes softening as he looked down at you. “I know.”

John MacTavish-

You awoke in a cold sweat, breathing rapidly as you blinked away hot tears. You’d just had the worst nightmare. You were out on a mission, when Johnny was killed right in front of you. The dream felt so real, and your heart was aching at the very real possibility that you could lose him on a mission.

You looked next to you, and found Johnny’s side of the bed cold and empty. It was clear he hadn’t been in bed for some time.

You threw the covers off of you, throwing one of Johnny’s hoodies on before making your way toward the gym- somewhere you knew he would be at this hour.

You breathed a shaky sigh of relief as you laid eyes on Johnny. He’d worked up quite the sweat, and it was clear he’d been here for some time.

Your legs reacted before your brain could catch up, and you found yourself grabbing Johnny by the collar of his shirt and roughly placing your lips on his.

You pulled back, breathless as you looked up as Johnny with tears in your eyes. He immediately frowned, his brows furrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart. Are you alright?” His hands rubbed at your arms soothingly.

“I- I had a dream. You were gone and there was nothing I could do.” You sobbed, rubbing away at your tears as your eyes drifted to the floor. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

Johnny pulled you close to him, his arms holding you tight against his chest as he pressed kisses along your temple. “I’m here, Bonnie. It was just a dream. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I couldn’t sleep.”

“It felt so real.” You said, pulling away. “I.. I don’t know what I’d ever do if I lost you. I just.. I can’t even comprehend it.”

“Then don’t. Because I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep coming back to you, okay?” Johnny asked, lifting your chin up so that your eyes met his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You sniffled in return, rubbing your teary eyes against his shirt causing Johnny to chuckle softly. “Let us get back to bed, yeah?”

“I’m not even tired anymore.” You mumbled, not pulling your face from Johnnys chest.

“Well, it’s a good thing a beds good for more than just sleeping, eh?” Johnny threw you a cheeky smile, before lifting you in his arms. “Gotta show my babe I’m not going anywhere.”

John Price-

Everything happened so fast. One minute, John was by your side as a hail of bullets rained down on the two of you in the field. The next, John was halfway across the field, oblivious to the enemy behind him. It was a blur, the man raised his gun, and proceeded to shoot John in the chest.

“John!” You shrieked, watching as the man you love fell to the ground. Your heart began to beat wildly in your chest as your brain started to malfunction. Nothing else around you in that moment mattered. He couldn’t die, not like this. He couldn’t leave you.

You sprinted across the field, ignoring the shouts of the other soilders around you, your eyes welling with tears as John’s frame came into view.

You skidded to your knees, your hands immediately reaching for John’s face.

“John!” You whimpered, your eyes skimming down the length of his body.

“Baby, hey. It’s okay. The vest caught it. It just knocked the wind out of me.” John reached out to grab your hands, trying to calm you down, to no avail.

Your hands continued to frantically pull at his vest, you needed to see he was truly unharmed with your own eyes. “No! No you got shot!”

John grasped your hands in his gently, forcing you to look at him. “Y/N. Look at me.”

You blinked away tears, your bottom lip wobbling as you threw your arms around him in a tight embrace. “I thought I lost you.”

“I hope you know it’s going to take a lot more than a stray bullet to keep me from you.” John said, before capturing your lips in his. “I promise you I’m okay, alright?”

You nodded, pulling away to help John to his feet. With one final firm kiss, the two of you finished out the mission, neither one of you straying too far from the other.

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

You twiddled your thumbs anxiously, your eyes darting back to the front door of the base every few minutes, praying Kyle would walk through the door.

141 was expected back three days ago, and according to Laswell they’d gone radio silent the day they were supposed to come back.

You choked back a sob, burying your face into your arms. You don’t know what you’d do with yourself if Kyle never came back. He was your everything.

You slowed your breathing, trying to regain your composure when the click of the front door caught your attention. Your head jumped up, your heart immediately skipping a beat as Kyle and the rest of the 141 walked through the front door, looking a little worse for wear.

Without a second of hesitation, your legs moved faster than they ever had in your life as you slammed yourself into Kyle, your arms encompassing his waist in a firm grip.

Your relationship wasn’t common knowledge, so Kyle was quite surprised when you made such a public display of affection, but it wasn’t unwelcome in the slightest. His squeezed you in return, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m here, babe. It’s okay.”

“They kept saying you weren’t coming back. That you were all dead.” You cried softly, burying your face in your boyfriend’s chest. “I was so scared.”

“I know, I’m so sorry. Everything’s going to be okay.” He promised, holding you tighter. “I’ve got you.”

The two of you remained inseparable for the remainder of the day, neither one of you taking your eyes off each other.

König-

It was no secret that König wasn’t the most popular person on base. Between his height, the frightening mask he wore, and his timid nature, he wasn’t known for making many friends.

It’d come as a shock to the majority of the people on base when it was announced that you and König were a couple.

You’d heard the whispers of course, just as König did. The rude comments thrown about him behind his back, unbeknownst to you, had König’s self esteem plummeting.

You didn’t find out until late one night when you found your boyfriend alone in the weapons locker, looking the most upset you’d ever seen him.

“Babe? You weren’t at dinner, is everything okay?” You asked, pausing a few paces in front of him. You’d never seen him like this and you were unsure of how to react.

“I’m a freak, Maus.” König spoke, his voice so quiet you can barely hear him. “No matter what I do, no matter how good I am out on the field, no matter how well I follow orders… I’ll always be the outcast.”

Your heart shattered at his words, hot tears forming in your eyes as you stepped closer to him. “König, that’s not true.”

König finally looked up at you, a solemn expression on his face- something you never wanted to see on your lover again. “It is. I know you’ve heard what they say. I’m a monster. I’m weird. I look more like the villain than the hero. It’s all things I’ve told myself before.”

“Look at me.” You said, crouching before him. You quickly wiped away the stray tears that began to fall as you spoke. “You are not any of those things. Those people are fools. They haven’t gotten to know the man underneath the mask. On the field, you’re the battering ram. A powerhouse. The perfect weapon. But off the field? You’re the best fucking person I know.”

You pulled him into a tight hug, holding him close to you as you rubbed his back soothingly. “I love you so much König. If I have to, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you how great of a person you are.”

“I don’t deserve you Maus.” He murmured, squeezing you tighter. “But I thank god every day you’re in my life.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: ahh not super happy with this turned out- I’m not sure if I captured this request the best🥺

Excited to keep putting out the next few requests. Thank you again everyone for all your support❤️

[devilsadvocate54]

obsessed with u | ellie williams [prologue]

football player! ellie x football player! reader

summary | catching feelings for the rival team's goalkeeper definitely wasn't a good idea. you tried to ignore your feelings until you realized that the goalkeeper in the question felt the same way. smau.

warnings | men dni ,, minors safe. really shit ass writing. ellie is annoying af. two idiots in lov. swearing.

author’s note | ts idea came to my mind thanks to the pin i saw last night. i was literally jus scrolling thru pinterest and saw that pin. i wanted to do this as a fic, but i gave up when i realized i couldn’t write fic. anyways enjoyyy 🧍‍♀️

-> next chapter | main masterlist here !

prologue ##

@/elliewlliams ..

@/agirlfromcali ..

@/agirlfromcali ..

liked by dinawoodw and 786 others

appreciation post for ma babies🙈🙈 (no training for today is unbelievable ++ finals are kicking my ass fr))

..

@/dinawoodw girl wheres ur face at

@/agirlfromcali no idea (i look like a ghost)

@/sarahhh when r we meeting i missedu💔💔

@/agirlfromcali same heree hope soon bby

@/elliewlliams cute dogs

@/agirlfromcali thanks

@/emwantstoplay SIR?? EXCUSE ME

@/agirlfromcali

liked by elliewlliams and 234 others

here we go again ⚽️⚽️

@/elliewlliams goodluck

[slasherwife]

Slashers reaction when their s/o catches them without mask for the first time? Pls and thank you!

s/o catches their slashers without a mask

awww yes!! i must give happy endings to all of these 😭🫶

warnings: extra short bc daddy bo doesn’t wear a mask 🥲💗

thomas hewitt:

He feels guilty

He wasn’t careful and now he’s scarred you from letting you see his scarred face. He’s ashamed he couldn’t keep you from himself 😭❤️‍🩹

And in a way it feels invasive. He feels like he’s been seen naked, and he quickly looks away with the feeling of embarrassment and shame fills him💔

He goes to leave, quickly entering the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

after about a minute of refusing to look at himself in the mirror, he hears gentle breath coming from the other side of the oak wood door.

his better half, asking if he’s okay. that it looked like he saw a ghost, and then laughing. then telling him that you miss him. and that, “by the way, you’re beautiful.”

he starts to cry, smiling, and looks into the mirror at the face that they said was beautiful. 💗💗

jason vorhees:

jason isn’t really self aware like thomas is. he isn’t one to worry about what he looks like anymore 🤗

i mean, he does worry that you won’t find him attractive, but it’s not to the point where he will refuse to ever let you see him with his mask off!

the first time was when he was down by the lake, sitting down washing a trap that had flesh still inside, minding his own💞 he had taken off his mask to breathe freely the lake air.

he had thought you’d been asleep for a long time, inside the cabin. and he had been so threaded in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the door open.

“hi jason” your voice rang out sweetly, slightly caught off guard because his mask was off but nontheless wanting to greet him🫶

he says nothing (obv), but instead of giving you his long soft glance like he usually does, he looks away, and down, almost trying to hide his face as he grows stiff

you grow slightly deflated, but your love for him seems to intensify, and you can’t stop the words before they come out, “you have beautiful eyes.”

jason’s eyes flicker to you, then back to the ground, then pats the ground beside him for you to keep him company 💕💕🥺

michael myers:

this guy is the literally opposite of thomas he does not care at all😭 he is literally so not self aware at all

he likes his mask but sometimes the thing gets real smelly so he has to throw it in dishsoap water yk 🥲

then you come around the corner he’s like “oh hey y/n” literally nothing off about what’s being seen atm 😃😂💞

you TRY to play it cool but at the same time you’re like fangirling over seeing your hot smexy murderer husband without a mask for the first time 💕😇

but at the same time like he probably sleeps without the mask on so i’m assuming y’all sleep separate until now 🥲

if not then you see it so early into the relationship like it’ll be no big deal 😇💕

bo sinclair:

boy doesn’t wear a mask, his face is too hot and sexy to be contained 😍

vincent sinclair:

absolutely horrified. he doesn’t even like being alone without his mask on that much.

has literally considered waxing the actual mask to his face permanently😕❤️‍🩹

he just was repairing it— he got too close to a radiator on accident and needed to repair it. then his baby walked in🥺

hears the door open and IMMEDIATELY flinches away. he knows you caught a glimpse, and he’s terrified, and mortified.

he’s breathing deeply, frozen, stiff, like one of his sculptures. you on the other hand are concerned. 🥹

“darl? is everything okay my love?” you call out softly, so not to startle him💞 he doesn’t answer, and doesn’t move.

“i went looking for some petrol, i knew you wanted some for your art. it’s in the shed.” he noticed that you never called his statues “sculptures” or “wax dolls” like bo always did. you called them “art” 💝💞

“honey you don’t have to hide from me. i will always respect your privacy, i will never ask you to show me your face. but you will never have to hide from me because i love all of you.” 🥹💗

you say this to him and he softens like the wax on his mask. it was within the next few days that he’d rather throw it into the fire than melt it into his skin forever 💞💞

[hyperactively-me]

Can you imagine king ghost and princess are having a super intimate moment, like they about to kiss 💋 😘 😗 buuuuttt 🍑 just before it can happen someone calls ghost for urgent king things and bros dying inside because he has to leave 💔

The soft crackling of the fireplace filled the room, casting a warm, flickering light that danced across the room's rich tapestries and polished furniture. You and King Ghost had found a moment of solitude in the midst of the palace’s hectic schedule. The two of you were nestled together on a plush couch, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder as you both read a book. His arm rests on the back of the couch, his hand settled on your shoulder. 

Simon's fingers lightly traced mindless shapes on your shoulder, and his warm breath tickled your ear as he spoke. “I can't believe the main character made such a reckless decision,” he remarked quietly, his voice filled with playful disbelief.

You chuckled softly, turning a page. “Well, you know how some characters can be. Always getting themselves into trouble.”

Simon licks his lips, his eyes flitting down to your neck as he responds, “Much like someone else I know.” 

You couldn't help but smile at his teasing tone. “Are you comparing me to a fictional character?”

He chuckled, the deep sound rumbling in your ear. “Only in the best way, love. You’ve livened up the place with your personality since you’ve been here."

As you continued to read, Simon's hand began to slowly trail up and down your arm, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. His words and touch were a sweet distraction from the story, and you found yourself more focused on him than on the book.

Simon's voice grew softer, more quiet. “Y’know, I could think of a more interesting way to spend our afternoon than reading.”

You looked up at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Oh really? And what might that be?”

He leaned in, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours. “A kiss,” he whispered.

You freeze for a moment, your heart stopping in your chest. A kiss. From him.

A real kiss. You hadn’t admitted it out loud to him, but you had grown genuine feelings for him recently. After spending so much time together, getting to know each other, you grew affectionate of Simon. You enjoyed being around him, loved his personality, for who he was. You weren’t sure when you would be ready to admit it to him, but his words in the moment make you want to scream it from the top of your lungs, to dance and jump up and down with joy.

Before you could tell him, and before he could close the gap between you, the doors swung open with a thud, and in walked one of the royal advisors, his face etched with urgency. 

“Your majesty,” the advisor said, trying to catch his breath, “I apologize for the intrusion, but there's an urgent matter that requires your immediate attention.”

Simon let out a sigh of frustration, his head hung low by your shoulder, an annoyed expression painted on his face. He slowly drags his head upwards, staring at you longingly. He stares at your lips for a moment, then looks into your eyes, the way they’re widened with anticipation. Fuck.

He looks at you apologetically. “I'm afraid I have to go, love. Duty calls.”

You sighed, but a small smile played on your lips as you gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Go on, they need you.” 

Simon rose from the couch, reluctantly leaving your embrace. “I promise I'll make it up to you later,” he said, determination in his eyes.

You nodded, knowing that duty often came first. “I'll hold you to that.”

As Simon made his way to the door, you watched him with a mixture of affection and longing. Despite the interruption, the moment you had shared on the couch had only made you more anxious to tell him. And you were going to hold him up to it.

[lu-dao-writes]

— 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 (𝙃𝙪𝙖 𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙣𝙜)

꒰ྀི 🥀ˎˊ˗ 𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 He loves you not.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) Spoilers, cheating, hurt no comfort, HC’s unapologetic devotion for XL in front of you, rough sex, HC is not so great in this one, jealousy, gn!reader, mention of using sex as a coping mechanism, minimum editing.

𝘼/𝙉 I’m getting back into my danmei lmaoo. It’s nice to also post short pieces since I’ve been burnt out with long projects. So also I’m aware of the whole statute scene, but I didn’t go into depth because I’m not that far🥲. But I also appreciate all the likes I’ve gotten on my TGCF stuff! Also uh… This definitely also gave me vibes. Idek if the song works completely but it’s 🥵MINORS/AGELESS DNI! ⋆💔˚｡⋆ ྀི꒱

Edited 01/24/24: I made a whoopsie on the timeline. I mistaken chapters and pages like a dummy 😅😅. Holy balls I’m sorry y’all����.

Never did you imagine catching the Huā Chéng’s attention nor having his good graces.

You are nothing but a simple god in the heavens. Nothing highly praised, but important enough to be recognized and worshiped.

Of course you kept your meetings a secret and you enjoyed every small moment you had with him, after all, he is a very busy man, one of the four calamities in the ghost realm. You understand the workload.

You love him though with all his perfect and imperfections.

But…

You noticed a change as of late, and it all started when crown prince Xiè Lián arrived in the heavens for the third time apparently.

You knew very little of him initially, but you gathered the opinions of others due to the nasty things that were spewed from one mouth to another.

Obviously this wouldn’t do, so you opted to help him with the case in Mount Yujun, and you weren’t alone. Two “junior” officials also join you as well, and though they’re incredibly amusing, they’re also a headache as usual.

Anyways. While on this mission Xiè Lián was anything but what was being said in the heavens by the other gods. He’s incredibly humble, kind, has strong morals, and is charitable. A perfect friend to have in your life.

You don’t pry into his history, and you can tell he’s appreciative of that.

Once the mission is over with you come to your own conclusion and don’t regret it. You planned to even come visit him and help him out at his shrine until that familiar presence has you frozen in place.

What is Huā Chéng doing here..?

You left before you could be detected, fleeing back to your little palace and drowning yourself in your duties while unwillingly being stuck in your thoughts as well.

As days go by you note that when your beloved finally comes to you, it’s after his highness returns from another mission…

Huā Chéng is overwhelmed with emotions, that much is obvious when he grabs you so tight, his body tense and shoulders trembling just faintly.

His turmoil distracts you from your unsteady heart and you offer to remedy his burdens by being the one to lovingly service him.

But he turns your offer down.

Instead he resorts to his usual, just putting you on your hands and knees and then making you ride him with your back facing him when he grows tired of doing the work.

You’ve… Never had too much of a problem with this, the positions always hitting you deeply in those special, toe curling spots, and honestly he fucks you dumb to the point you got no thoughts.

But this didn’t soothe your paranoia, and you weren’t sure how to bring it up to him.

So you resort to soothing yourself.

‘It’s just insecurity. I’m just blowing it out of proportion.. Huā Chéng loves me.’

It only works for so long.

After that night Huā Chéng became distant again and soon did the unthinkable.

He snatched Xiè Lián from his palace where he was made to be confined in, and made a nice little show about it in the communication array.

You were dazed and hurt, not sure what his plans were and why he’s so infatuated with Xiè Lián. You weren’t sure if he wanted to hurt him or…

Or…

Your chest is heavy, but you push through and go with Fēng Xìn and Mù Qíng to find the runaway duo.

In the end, you wished to have just stayed tucked away in your palace, distracting yourself with your work for a moment longer than seeing this .

There’s many.. Many statues of Xiè Lián, all depicting a specific moment in his and Huā Chéng’s lifetime, or just because Huā Chéng wants another beautiful image of the crown prince.

It’s sick and painful. Your body trembling and your mind sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss that’s your proven thoughts.

Some can say it’s romantic.. Other can say it’s creepy. Pick your poison. But you felt humiliated above all else. It makes you question whether your relationship was even real this entire time.

When Huā Chéng makes his sudden appearance, he doesn’t even look ashamed, his attention and concern solely on Xiè Lián.

When you finally managed to leave Ghost City, like usual, you locked yourself away and finally exploded, taking your anger out on some of your furniture before sobbing on the cold floor, nothing but the shadows on the wall to comfort you in your grief.

All along Huā Chéng has been devoted to and in love with Xiè Lián.

The times you’ve had sex you’re sure he’s imagined him in your place.

In the meantime you were just something to keep him occupied until he had his chance.

You felt used and foolish and you had a tidal wave of resentment for Huā Chéng at his callousness.

And unfortunately you couldn’t help but have a little resentment for Xiè Lián…

You only distanced yourself from him and his party of growing allies, ignoring the hurt in his eyes when you brush him off, and ignoring him when he came to your palace asking for you and checking on you.

Your bitterness was just too immense.

You assume that no one knows still about you and your one sided relationship with Huā Chéng, otherwise you’re sure your doors would’ve been blown open and you’d be dragged into court for an interrogation by now.

Huā Chéng has yet to face you, and it hurts, but you’re not surprised either. You’re sure you’re not going to get an apology either.

Love truly can be a curse…

But for now you’ll let yourself mourn and stew in your anger. You’ll throw a small pity party for yourself and be a little destructive.

“Hi…! I know it’s late and this is completely random, but is that offer still available…?”

“Of course, come right on in~.”

You only hope that Péi Míng doesn’t pry too much…

[sashasspace]

 HEARTBREAKER CHALLENGE 💔

I was inspired to do a different gameplay and the heartbreaker challenge ideas came to me as I wanted to create a mini LP to explore the new sims 4 expansion pack Lovestruck, so I made it into a whole challenge 😂

The goal is to become the ultimate heartbreaker 

What you must complete ✅

You must be heartbroken first to embark on this journey!

As a result of the heartbreak, your Sim must have either the erratic trait or the evil trait plus one of the new traits from lovestruck!

It’s recommended your Sims to have another not so savory trait (ex: noncommittal, paranoid, hates children, snob, kleptomaniac..)

Keep breaking Sims’s hearts until until one of them passes away from heartbreak

Summon the ghost of a heartbroken sim, win their heart back just to break it again 

Extra tasks✨

Complete the Villainous Valentine aspiration

Make sure to have a horrible date to the point the Sim wants to cancel the date

Make sure majority of your friends list hates you

Witness the death of 3 sims and get outlived my enemy moodlet at least one time

Make a sim’s partner die from a heartbreak (not your love interest)

Try to have a romantic dynamic with one sim to see what they bring out you

Change the mind of a sim who doesn’t find your sim attractive and break their heart for even thinking that 

Set up sims to date using hook up feature from city living then when they get hooked up, start flirting with said sim and have the friend who you hooked up catch you guys in the act!

Vlog your messy life like it’s a reality tv show and see if you can get banned from switch mod

Steal money after you stole someone’s heart

Add a strange quirk to your sim to make them unique

Use extreme violence mod or life's drama to spice it up!

Thanks for reading this and if you play with this challenge, please tag me. I'd love to see the mess!

[omenics]

heyy I was wondering if you could write for carmilla and a shy s/o?

(Ignore if you don’t feel like it! Tysm have a great day/night!)

𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆.

› ..your heart yearns for her, and her hands beckon your embrace. — i did write this with a fem reader in mind, but can be read as gn. i refuse to write male readers with carmilla bc she is so lesbian coded istg. ALSO!!!! sorry if this isnt much of a shy reader! but i did my best im sorry 💔💔 pls forgive me if u dont like it lol

“What is it, sweeting?” She murmured, hands holding your face. Her thumbs caressed your cheekbones, the skin swelling with heat.

“Nothing.” You simply said, averting her gaze. Your eyes drifted away from her blue ones, down to her crimson lips, to her pale neck, and to the carmine of her gown, and then to the gold upon her fingers. God, she was beautiful, one of the prettiest creatures you’d ever seen. However she let a smile play on her lips. It was small, corners flicking up in amusement.

“Nothing?” Carmilla repeated, her head tilting slightly, just slightly and leaning down closer to your face. “Your stares from afar are nothing?” She was teasing you, left hand moving to cradle the base of your skull, resting on the nape of your neck as her right went down to your jawline, thumb sliding over your lips.

You were cute, with your averted gaze and flushed expression. It was just like when she first met you, well, saw you. Your eyes never met hers, your voice was always quiet, too soft for her ears to catch. She picked up on your heart picking up whenever she walked near or caught your gaze, the pumps echoing throughout the walls of her palace. But now in these moments you were hers, wrapped on her finger, heart in her hands.

“Yes, nothing.” You flushed, chewing the inside of your cheek. Your weary gaze met hers, greeted with nothing but amusement and warmth.

Her lips parted into a grin, white fangs dipping ever so slightly into her bottom lip. Goodness, your voice. It was a melody, a string of perfection to her ears.

Soft, quiet, tender.

She had never loved much in this world, living a life of anguish, a life of contempt. But you… your spirit, your soul, damned to hell she was. Her love was sinful, unholy. Her heart had a yen for you, for centuries. For a love she did not know she needed.

“I have ached for you,” she murmured. “I have yearned for you. For centuries I did not know what caused my anguish.” Carmilla’s tone was tender. Something you only knew. “But you, my love. You cured it. For that, you have my undead heart, forever and always.”

You could feel the truth in her words, and your heart fluttered. You leaned into her touch, although it was cold, you warmed it.

Her lips touched yours, ghosting over your own. Her eyes were closed, as yours followed suit. Your blush grew hotter, a hand resting upon her shoulder. You melted into her, and she you.

You were hers. Forever and always you were hers. She claimed your heart, your soul. Your love.

[thisismeracing]

King of my heart | MS47 | part. 13

Pairing: mick schumacher x hamilton!reader (she/her)

Warnings: curse words, twitter environment, mention of food, not proofread etc, etc. Minors DNI!

summary: The media is getting enough content to make Yn decide to take a step back from social media and everything that can further expose her personal life. Besides that, she has to deal with ghosts from the past and the curious gazes of fans who start to connect the dots when enough data is gathered.

a/n: none of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps. everything else is made up by me and I do not give permission for it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

a/n2: I tried some new tolls on this chapter (gossip websites and other social media profiles), so please let me know if you guys like it or if it was better the way I was doing it before.

a/n3: The angsty season is about to begin, so get ready!!! I have the next chapter almost ready, so we're gonna try something new: as soon as this chapter hits 100 notes I'm posting the new one.

ALSO, I'm really thankful for all the likes, reblogs, and comments on Komh, it means a lot and it motivates me to keep writing. Thank you, guys! *mwah* 💖💗

part. 12 | series masterlist | part. 14 | taglist

theofficialyn

liked by zendaya, lewishamilton, and others

theofficialyn recharging the energies with the fam 🤍

view all 4,496 comments

hammertim3 Forever thankful to you for feeding us some wholesome Lewis content 🙏🏾

mickshoemaker not to start drama or anything, but the first picture…and the sixth…am I the only one seeing Mick’s hands?

⤷ parisyn you guys are reaching, this is getting out of hand. just top

lewishamilton I love you to infinity, bitsy 🖤

swiftieeras Yn wearing skinny jeans is something else 😍

summerseasonf1 It’s so good to see them happy

roscoelovescoco I love’s spending’s time’s with you’s, aunties Yns 🧡🧡

user1999 why are the polaroids face down in the fourth pic?

⤷ mickceded because it's none of our business. y’all too curious

.📧

theofficialyn

liked by charles_leclerc, normani, and others

theofficialyn All tested and perfectly ready for the collection's launch on August. For more info visit ynthebrand.com

view all 5,204 comments

user0 These heels look lowkey ugly, and let's not even get on the unsafe portion

lewishamilton so proud of you ❤️

queenyn I loved how she went full mode on the colours, there are just enough options and they are all so pretty aaaaa

francisca.cgomes I am so ready for those boots to come out!!!! Loving everything, Yn 😍

⤷ hammermilton all the wags supporting Yn, brb I'm gonna cry

hater12 those green heels are horrendous 🤢🤢

user45 those are regular shoes, nothing much about them...I don't see why everyone praises Yn, honestly

user1 overrated.

huser99 🤮🤮🤮🤮

leferrariclerc We rarely get mickyn interactions anymore and I blame it on the lack of limits from some of you on the fandom 😭

⤷ schumini he doesn't even like her stuff anymore 💔

username3 Those all jeans outfit lmao you guys call it style? she dress as bad as lewis 🤡🤣

ynfrance whats up with all the hate?????????? Yn deserves better!

⤷ swiftieracing I think the haters finally were able to catch up with the news that she's lewis sister and so she got his fans but his haters as well.

⤷ verstopping I honestly don't understand why people hate on Lewis, much less on Yn now

taglist: @sachaa-ff @ferrariloverr @kenanlotus0 @mickslover @mellowpizzapuppy @dalsuwaha @formulakay3 @mishaandthebrits @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie

DRAMA IS ABOUT TO BEGIN AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Get ready for some angsty chapters <3

I have the next one almost ready, so we're gonna try something new: as soon as this chapter hits 100 notes I'm posting the new one. Let's do this, I'm excited (but also kinda insecure) about the next one, fingers crossed you guys will like it 😘.

[09232003]

Pranks the housewardens would play on you

Riddle wouldn’t prank you, but if you’re close enough and he’s feeling frisky, the mood might overtake him. He tricks you by “hiding” catnip in your pocket, but in reality he’s enchanted something you own to act as catnip. You think you’ve bested him by throwing the catnip away but it’s really just oregano. You played right into his trap fool. Dozens of cats follow you around the campus and the island, even Lucius, the one Riddle thinks is the most controversial and noisy.

Leona pretends you’re invisible and he realizes he likes ignoring you a little too much. You can call for him and scream his name, but he’s not budging. He only breaks once when he’s laughing so hard his eyes water because you’re bawling behind him, thinking you died like one of the Ramshackle ghosts. Eventually he shifts from you being invisible, like reacting to your poking and prodding but not seeing you, to you being dead. “I can still hear them sometimes. Sad, but they should’ve never challenged the king of beasts to a fight.” Apparently he killed you?

Azul has no time for you, but he’ll make time to call you stupid 💔 He’ll often volunteer you to preform or do things that put you out there, claiming that you were so excited beforehand to preform your song and now our rude hosts were denying you the opportunity. OR, he changes your name to something silly. It’s legally binding so you have to go through the courts to change it back from Toilet Idiot chan. And that was your birthday gift 💔💔💔

Kalim tells you to look over there and tickles you when you turn. He only knows how to play little baby pranks that he does on his younger siblings. Or, when flying on the carpet, he’ll pretend that you’re crashing and won’t pick the carpet up until you scream. He’s done this several time, but you can’t be too sure that he’s joking.

Vil mixes up your hygiene routine, not enough to kill you, but enough to annoy you. If you ask to borrow sunscreen, he knows you prefer super sheer, but he’ll hand you a pigmented white one. Or, because he’s a mom, he’ll tell mom/dad jokes. “Hi Hungry, I’m Vil.” “Don’t call me Shirley, and I’m not joking.”

Idia knows that you’re not aware of the history and customs of Twisted Wonderland so he’ll make up outrages lies and berate you for not knowing them. These are effective because you only catch on when someone, probably Riddle, corrects your knowledge of the Kingdom of Hearts, an imaginary fairytale setting. You’d expect Ortho to step in and say something, but he interprets Idia’s behavior as fitting of a friend, so he’ll just back up his lies.

Malleus doesn’t know how fragile humans are so he flies you high up and drops you with no intention of catching you. Before you break your spine he uses magic to catch you. You try to tell Lilia who tells you not to tattle, but to not accept rides from Malleus. Unfortunately, his rides are too convenient for someone without a car, bus pass, or a broom so that’s off the table. There’s a 2 in 3 chance he’s going to “prank” you, but you must get used to it.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Chapter 10 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Ahhhh, my babies, we've finally reached the chapter I've been itching to tell you about for ages! And I cannot WAIT to hear what you think about it!

We left off in Chapter 9 with poor Lori fighting physical exhaustion and a gamut of feelings for Elvis (who's being a stubborn idiot), and when they arrived home to Graceland, their frustrations came to a head. Elvis finally confronted her about her past and a terrified Lori didn't take it well.

Now in Elvis' perspective, we pick up immediately after her collapse. He is mortified and lovesick and convinced that he's harmed her beyond repair. Oh, Elvis. 💔

Like I said, I can't wait to hear your screams about the twists in this chapter, so please don't hold back! 😁 I hope you enjoy!

Much Love! xoxoxox, Madi 💗

TW: Please scroll to the end only if you need them--I don't want to spoil anything for those who hate spoilers!

Broken Glass Chapter 10

Shit shit shit shit, Elvis chants in his head as you vomit violently onto the pavement, go grey as a ghost, and your terrified eyes roll back into your head. His lean arms wrap around you quickly when you collapse, keeping you from falling into your own sick or hitting your head on the ground.

“Shit,” he curses, out loud this time, following your center of gravity and scooping you up into his arms. “Lori! Come on, darlin’, wake up f’me,” he pleads softly.

Your body seems awfully tiny and much too light for someone who’s presence he can never truly ignore, even when he wants to. His heart slams in his chest, his blood already up from his temper, though it fizzled out the moment you started shivering and sobbing and apologizing like he was sending you to the gallows. The look of resigned fear on your face was enough to give him nightmares and that was before you’d lost consciousness.

He is no stranger to fainting women, it being a staple of his fame since almost the beginning. While he never could quite understand why he of all people caused such a reaction in young ladies, he was always as calm and gentle as he could be. It was his fault they got overexcited, after all—they couldn’t control it just as much as he couldn’t.

But this was different.

You certainly hadn’t passed out because you were overcome by the joy of his presence. Instead, you look like death, and he’s not remotely calm about it.

“What the hell happened? What’d you do to her?” Gene asks accusatorily, running up behind him, followed by the rest of the guys in various states of concern.

“What’d I do…? Shut yer damn mouth ‘fore ya catch flies, ya idiot, and go call the doctor,” Elvis huffs back, hoisting you up into his arms, swinging around, and hightailing it towards the house.

The fear that lances through him at your pallor and lifelessness hits like a knife. The seed of anger he’s held on to so tightly this last week withers at the thought he’s done real damage here.

This is my fault.

He’s not exactly sure how but he knows. He only had to take one look at your face when he called you out to understand you hadn’t meant to hurt him and your past scared you enough to risk the lie. Stupidly, he’d wanted the satisfaction of confronting your wrongdoing, for you to have a smidge of the hurt he was feeling.

But he never wanted this.

How could he have missed something was wrong? You are so damn strong, meeting every challenge thrown your way that he never considered you might be unwell. Selfish idiot, he chastises himself.

He comes close to kicking down the door to his home, but Charlie scoots around him fast enough to open it before he resorts to property damage.

“Come on, Little Bird, wake up for me,” he murmurs softly as he oh so gently sets you on the long sofa. He hates the boneless way you settle, eyes closed and completely unconscious. Nerves shudder down his spine and he doesn’t bother to hide them.

“Did someone call the damn doctor?” he yells at Charlie.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s on his way.” Charlie has the sense to look worried, unlike his idiot cousin who peers over his shoulder.

“Wipe that dumbass look offa your face and go get her some water!” Elvis snaps at Gene, who looks at him wide eyed for a moment before disappearing.

Brushing a lock of hair off your forehead, he holds and rubs your cold little hand in his as he quietly talks to you.

“I’m sorry, Lo, I-I-I shouldn’t’ve come atchu like that. I-I realize now that, um, maybe you had your reasons f’not telling me ‘bout your past. I jus’ thought you knew you could trust me, and-and it hurt that you din’t and sometimes I just get so mad I can’t see straight but I shouldn’t take it out on you…” he rambles quietly, “Please jus’ wake up, now, you gotta wake up, honey. I can’t do this without ya.” The admission falls breathlessly from his lips, soft as snowfall.

His heart plummets when he thinks about all the ways he’s taken his anger out on you this past week—ignoring you, throwing girls in your face, making snide comments—and his ego wants nothing more to justify his actions, but in truth, you were right. He had been playing mind games and not communicating why he was upset. He should have just asked you about it right after Frank spilled the beans instead of punishing you for something you didn’t even know he’d found out.

Lord, his mama would have his hide for such childish behavior.

Shame flames his cheeks and worries surround him like a dark cloud until the doctor shows up. You still haven’t so much as stirred and it has him nibbling at his nails—a nervous old habit he’s never quite been able to kick.

When Dr. Shaw arrives, Elvis shoos away the audience of men who’ve crowded the living room when he wasn’t looking. At least they all have the sense to look concerned.

“What happened?” Dr. Shaw asks, setting his bag down next to the couch.

“I-I-I don’t know exactly, one minute she was fine, well maybe not fine cuz we were in a bit of a disagreement, ya see, and well, she, maybe she was worked up? One minute she was standing there and the next she lost her lunch on the pavement and passed out,” he says, unsure if he’s making any sense.

“Did she hit her head?” The doctor asks, examining your hairline.

“Naw, I caught her before she hit the ground.” His leg jiggles uncontrollably, wondering if you’re okay, wondering what he could’ve done differently.

Dr. Shaw looks at Elvis over his glasses, taking in his nervousness. “Has she been ill otherwise?”

Elvis blinks. “Um, I-I-I’m not sure.”

The doctor is one of the only people who knows about his illness, who you really are and what you are doing here, so it’s unsurprising he looks a bit incredulous. “Elvis, you’re spending all of your time with this young woman, and you don’t know if she’s been ill or not?”

More shame bleeds through his chest and settles like a stone in his stomach. His face flushes red hot and the temperature in the room seems to have gone up without him noticing.

“Um, no, I-I guess not, sir,” he mumbles.

He knows his faults, and generally being uncaring isn’t one of them. But these past few weeks, he’s been thinking mostly about himself. His feelings. How your secret affected him. Not how it affected you, or why you might need to hide it. You’d tried your best to take care of him, apparently to the detriment of yourself.

No, he’d been mighty careless with you, and spitefully so.

Dr. Shaw gives him a pursed-lip look.

“I, well, now I know the new hours are keepin’ her busy, what with how I gotta live and all. I-I-I guess she’s seemed tired?” Elvis adds, desperate to fill the silence.

He doesn’t feel he can share all the other pieces, like how you’d been on the run from your mafia fiancé who’d…

Oh, Lord.

Dread rolls in his stomach when he realizes his misstep.

The nightmares. You quivering in terror on the bathroom floor. The bruises. Bruises he’d seen staining your body in places no bruise should ever be. The way you’d flinched when he touched you roughly.

Your fiancé had done that to you. That man was the reason you fled New York.

How stupid he was for not putting it all together sooner. Your fiancé hurt you, and you tried to escape the only way you could.

And Elvis was so afraid of loving you, so consumed by his own feelings, he punished you for it. Just another man in your life punishing you for something that wasn’t your fault.

Fuck.

His gut rolls, leaving him queasy. Through his horror, he wonders if you’ll ever be able to forgive him. If you even should.

Your little moan steals his attention as you stir slightly on the sofa.

“Lori?” he asks, jumping to, wanting you so badly to wake up so he can apologize, so he can make it up to you. “Please, baby, you gotta wake up now. The doc is here.” He grabs your hand and doesn’t even care how desperate he sounds.

“Mmm?” Your eyes flutter open and his heart swells to see those crystal blues start to focus.

“What happened?” you moan quietly, rubbing your eyes.

“You, uh, you got sick, darlin’ and then fainted,” he coos but there is an edge of disappointment in it, in himself.

Your eyes narrow and then widen with what he assumes is your memory coming back. He watches the trepidation and embarrassment fill your eyes. You slide your hand out of his, shirking back from him, and his heart crumbles a little.

I did this.

“Dolores, can you tell me what happened? How are you feeling?” the doctor asks.

Your attention pulls away from Elvis, your trepidation clouded by your struggle to focus.

“Oh, I’m sure I’m fine, probably just carsick from the bus ride,” you say, voice wavering, unconvincingly trying to blow off the concern.

“You’re not fuckin’ fine,” Elvis snaps before he can stop himself.

Your eyes widen and Dr. Shaw clears his throat.

“Excuse my language,” he apologizes, then tries to continue more gently, “but you’re not. You’re always gettin’ on me about not tellin’ you what’s what, so now you better answer the doctor’s questions truthfully, honey.”

There’s a beaten, submissive look in your eye that nearly breaks his heart. You turn your attention back to Shaw.

“I’ve had an ongoing headache for days…weeks, maybe? And I am exhausted,” you admit quietly. “Carsick on the rides. It’s probably just a virus. Nothing a l-little rest won’t cure.”

Dr. Shaw purses his lips. “I’d still like to do an examination and some tests. Is there somewhere more private we can go?”

“Upstairs.” Elvis jumps up, eager to be helpful and expend some of the nervous energy coursing through him. He extends his hand to help you off the couch, but you shrink back from him. Stomach churning with guilt, he watches as you warily push yourself off the couch to standing.

You wobble and sway on your feet, and his instinct kicks in as he immediately swoops his arm under you and lifts.

“Elvis, stop, I can get up the stairs by myself,” you protest halfheartedly, but by the way your body sags against him, he doesn’t believe you.

“Hush.”

Scowling, you don’t fight anymore, your eyes getting a dim and faraway look when your head plops on his shoulder with defeat. It’s worrisome.

By the time he maneuvers you up the stairs and into the bedroom, his growing unease has taken root. And it grows more when he sets you on the bed and you look like a shadow of your usual self. Like darkness is trying to swallow you whole and you are letting it.

He looks at Shaw, his eyes trying to convey the deep concern he now feels for your wellbeing, the concern that should’ve been there for weeks if not for his head being wedged so far up his own ass he refused to see what was right in front of him.

“Thank you, Elvis,” Shaw says, “Now, I’ll need some privacy to do the examination.” The doctor nods his head towards the door, dismissing him.

“Aw, hell no. I’m not leavin’ her like this.” He shakes his head stubbornly. The thought of her alone with any man but him suddenly makes his skin crawl, even though he’s known Shaw for years.

“Elvis, I’ve got her. Go. I’ll be down to update you in a bit.” Shaw’s voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for question.

Elvis clenches his fists, his nostrils flaring.

Breathe. In, out.

It’s your voice saying it. He looks to you, sitting stock still against the pillows, staring into space, and realizes your voice is only in his head. It’s both heart-wrenching and comforting.

Finally, he nods curtly, then leaves his—our—room, shutting the door quietly behind him, resisting the urge to leave it open just a crack in order to listen in, to make sure no harm comes to you. But even in his current state, he knows that is overstepping. He forces himself to walk down the stairs, his mind churning.

After pacing the length of the house multiple times, beating himself up for his poor treatment of you, furious at your former fiancé for hurting you, and tying himself into knots with worst-case scenarios, he eventually finds himself at the piano. The only thing that ever truly quiets his mind is music. His fingers fly over the keys and he pours it all into the spirituals coming to him from deep within his soul.

God loves him best when he sings. Maybe He’ll hear his pleas for forgiveness, his prayers for healing—not for himself, but for you.

Lost in the music, he’s not sure how long he sings, but stops abruptly when Dr. Shaw appears in the doorway.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the doc says.

Elvis waves his arm dismissively. “How is she?”

Shaw hesitates. “It could just be a virus, but I took some blood and urine to test.”

There’s something he’s not saying, Elvis can tell. “And?”

Another pause. “I’m a little concerned about her…state of mind. I know I’ve only met her once or twice, but she seems withdrawn, almost traumatized. You said there was an argument?” He looks at Elvis with an undercurrent of judgement.

Heat blazes across Elvis’ cheeks, while guilt stabs in his belly. “I-I-I…yes, sir, but I’d never hurt her! And I-I don’t think…I-I mean, I don’t know…I think something happened t’her before we met,” he eventually gets out. It’s not his place to share your secrets, but damn if he’s going to let this doctor think he’s hurt you physically.

Dr. Shaw’s eyebrow raises, but he doesn’t press. He looks over Elvis with pursed lips and a watchful eye before his gaze softens.

“Can I go up and see her?” Elvis asks, almost desperately.

Shaw nods. “But she needs to rest. Stay off her feet. Eat well, if she can, and drink plenty of fluids.” Not run around after your ass, is the unspoken instruction. “Make sure she’s doing those things but…I wouldn’t press her.”

“Yessir.”

There’s tension hanging in the air before the subject is changed. “How are you feeling? Do we to have someone else step in until Ms. Cannava is well?”

Elvis grimaces, shaking his head. The last thing he needs is someone else poking around in his business, in your business. “I’m alright, sir. Probably could use a little R & R myself.”

Shaw looks at him with a critical eye. “Alright, son. Let’s keep it low-key, shall we? I’ll be back tomorrow to check in and hopefully we’ll have some answers.”

And with that, Elvis sees the doctor out.

He lasts approximately 90 seconds before he runs to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and takes the stairs quickly enough that he spills half the glass before he makes it to his room.

“Knock, knock,” he says gently, opening the door. You are laying on your side now, away from him, curled in on yourself on top of the covers and the sight nearly does him in for how vulnerable you look.

“Doc said you need plenty of fluids, so I brought you some water,” he rambles, coming around and setting the glass on the stand next to the bed. “Can I getchu anythin’ else?”

You blink slowly, but don’t respond otherwise. His stomach drops. It’s unnerving, the way you’re staring through him at the wall, vacant and broken.

He can’t have done this, right? Not like this. There’s got to be more to this than a silly fight.

You’re a fuckin’ asshole, the voice in his head berates. He wants to disagree but can’t. But this isn’t the time for him to feel sorry for himself. Standing here being useless isn’t helping anyone.

What would Little Bird do? The thought snaps him into action. “Imma gonna just take off these shoes a’ yours, okay?” he says gently, not wanting to startle you. With care, he takes off your heels one by one, setting them on the carpet at the end of the bed. He wants you to be comfortable but hesitates to undress you, unsure if that would be crossing a line. But he can’t well leave you to sleep in the clothes you wore on the bus for near a day.

After a minute of indecision, he plows forward. “Alright, honey, I’m just going to help you out of these clothes, just down to your slip, okay? Nothin’ more, don’t you worry.”

You don’t fight him at all, wordlessly allowing him to move you upright and undo your blouse. There’s certainly nothing untoward about the way his fingers manage the buttons or how they unzip your skirt. It’s not the way he ever wanted to be doing these things, though, he thinks as he strips your clothes and pulls down the spread on the bed. You have no outward reaction to him lying you down and pulling the covers up over your body, other than letting your eyes fall closed.

He thinks back to the care you’ve shown him when he’s been such in a state, and it’s what gets him through the feeling of helplessness churning in his gut.

Once you are tucked in, he grabs his own pajamas. He’s got no urge to leave you or deal with the idiots downstairs. No, even though his mind is going, he joins you in the bed, attempting to read the book on his nightstand while worry nags at him. Eventually, his eyes droop closed and the darkness takes him, too.

*

You are a bit more responsive the next day, eating a bite of the toast and jam he’d brought up for you, but you stay in bed, eerily quiet and entirely too withdrawn for his liking. He does his damnedest to follow Dr. Shaw’s instructions and leave you be, but it’s nearly impossible for him to not check on you multiple times an hour.

Honestly, he’s not sure you even register his presence half the time and fuck if that doesn’t stab him straight through the heart.

Charlie and the other boys do their best to distract him, but he’s got no humor for the usual fun and games. No, he’s much too wrapped up in his own head, vacillating from wanting to punch his way through the wall and being so lovesick he feels nauseous. The only thing keeping him from totally spiraling is the fact you are still here and alive and in his bed. He hasn’t lost you yet, he doesn’t think.

He can’t lose you.

By the time Dr. Shaw arrives in the evening, Elvis is about ready to jump down his throat with questions. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“Let’s go upstairs, son,” Dr. Shaw says, in a somewhat ominous tone. If the doc wants him there for the conversation, the news can’t be good.

Elvis’ heart knocks against his ribs with each step closer he gets to you. You can’t be sick. He’s only just found you and Lord, does he need you more than he needs air. If he’s learned nothing else, it’s that.

Fidgeting, he lets the doctor in the room, following close behind.

“How are you feeling today, Lori?” Dr. Shaw asks, sitting near you on the edge of the bed.

Your usually bright and savvy eyes seem dull as you take the effort to focus on the doctor and his question. “I’m tired,” you whisper sluggishly, shrugging.

“Well, I think we have an answer as to the reason for that,” Shaw says kindly, then motions to him. “Elvis, why don’t you sit?” He gets up from the bed, offering Elvis his spot.

Oh, God, it’s that bad. His dinner threatens to make a reappearance, but he swallows the bile down, sinking onto the bed near your legs.

Dr. Shaw clears his throat. “Ahem, well, Lori, the good news is I don’t think you are sick in the real sense of the word.”

A wave of elation hits Elvis. Thank you, Jesus.

“You are, however, pregnant.”

The crest hits, disbelief slamming into him, taking his breath away in a whoosh.

“How’s that possible?” It falls out of his mouth immediately and without thinking, imbued with much too much innocence after his jaw hits the floor.

A deeply biological sense of panic washes over him then because it is most unmarried men’s nightmare, especially a man like him, to be blindsided by news like this. But his biology and his brain aren’t on the same level because it takes him longer than it should to reconcile there is absolutely no way this child is his.  

This isn’t technically his mess.

But the doctor doesn’t know that and peers over his spectacles with a raised eyebrow. “I trust I don’t have to give you a talk about the birds and the bees, Elvis.”

A flush of heat hits his cheeks and he shakes his head. “No, sir.”

All at once, the gravity of the situation sinks in. The bruises. Your fiancé. That fuckin’ monster. The slightly judgmental way Shaw is looking at Elvis because in the doc’s mind, Elvis is the one who got you in trouble.

Shit.

Finally, his head turns to you. Your olive skin is deathly pale, your icy eyes more intense than usual and shining with unshed tears as you stare straight ahead. Your fingers twist around and around themselves, something he’s noticed you do when you are nervous.

Elvis lightly places his hand on your shin and your eyes whip to his for the first time in over a day. At least you don’t flinch at his touch this time. Instead, his touch seems to ground you and he watches carefully as you come back into yourself and out of wherever your head has held you prisoner since he yelled at you yesterday.

Dr. Shaw looks at the both of you before continuing. “It’s very early days, my guess is—”

“Four weeks,” you finish, the pain of knowing exactly how long etched in your features. It makes his heart ache for you, and more than anything he wants to find the man who did this to you and make him regret he was ever born. But now isn’t the time for all that.

Four weeks is the same amount of time you’ve known each other, meaning this happened after he’d already met you.

How?

“Yes, and anything can happen in these early days, as you well know. I know this is a…delicate situation.” There is unspoken subtext in the doctor’s words, and while Elvis is piecing it out, you seem to understand immediately. The look you give him is heavy and filled with words you cannot say out loud yet. The silence sits heavy between you two.

The doctor takes his cue. “You two have a lot to talk about. Why don’t I come back tomorrow to do your exam and get you set up with what you’ll need going forward? Keep your activity light for now.”

You nod. “Thank you, Dr. Shaw,” you whisper.

Elvis stares at you, trying to psychically glean what you are thinking, but your eyes have shuttered and his own thoughts are going a mile a minute. It’s hard to focus until after he sees the doctor to the door.

“Doc, this probably goes without saying, but we need to keep a lid on this,” Elvis says quietly. He’s too much in shock to understand all the ramifications just yet, but he knows this world is unkind to unmarried young ladies who find themselves in the family way, even if it wasn’t their fault.

He’s got to protect you.

“Of course, Elvis. The same discretion I apply to you will apply to her, don’t worry son,” the man says, patting his back in solidarity.

He ignores the concerned and curious looks from the guys in the living room as he takes the stairs two at a time, his anxiety rising the more he’s away from you.

Skidding through the door, he grinds to a halt when he sees the empty bed. Frantically, he looks around the room, finding you in the closet.

“Little Bird, what’re you doin’?” he says, watching in disbelief as you start pulling clothes and throwing them on the bed before dragging your suitcase, which had only been put away yesterday, back out into the room.

“I have to go,” you say, deliberately not looking at him as you rummage in the closet.

“Go?” he asks stupidly. “Go where?”

“I don’t know…maybe out West somewhere. Canada, maybe,” you mumble, as if this a normal conversation.

His pulse thunders in his head. “What…no, why do you think you’re goin’ anywhere in your condition?”

“I’m not an invalid, Elvis, I’m pregnant,” you scoff. “I’m—” your breath hitches for a moment, your shaking hand revealing your true feelings no matter how calm you are trying to appear. “This isn’t on you, and I know you were getting ready to let me go because I lied to you, which I’ve accepted, but I had no idea…I should’ve known. And I thought I’d have more time to get ready…”

His mouth might be catching flies for how dumbfounded he feels as he tries to follow your rambling train of thought. You scurry into the bathroom and rustle around before returning with some of your things, which you dump haphazardly into the suitcase.

“I know you were getting ready to let me go…” circles round in his head a few times before it hits.

You’re running. And you seem to think it’s what he wants.

“Stop.” The command is low and firm.

You freeze in the closet for a moment before grabbing another armful of dresses, ones he bought you even though you insisted you didn’t need anything.

“Dolores, stop this right now and sit yer ass down, goddammit!” he raises his voice, pointing to the bed.

Finally halting, he watches a shudder run through you before you defeatedly sit on the very edge of the bed, your arms full of clothes. Refusing to look at him. He can’t tell if you are more afraid or ashamed, but either makes his heart crumble and the thought of you leaving has him wanting to break in two.

He sinks to his knees in front of you, desperately wanting to take your hands in his own but not wanting to overstep in your fragile state. He softens his voice like he’s going to sing a lullaby.

“Little Bird, I don’t want you to go. Why would you say that?” It comes out too pleadingly, but he can’t bring himself to care.

You blink rapidly, once, twice, processing his words, the unemotional mask you are trying so hard to keep on your face cracking. “You…you were so angry I lied and have every right to be! I thought you’d want me gone as soon as you found someone new,” you whisper.

“Honey, no—”

“And now, as if Gianni hadn’t already done his worst, now I’m…I’m pregnant.” Your voice chokes and the façade finally collapses as sobs wrack your shoulders.

Elvis can’t stand it any longer, sinking onto the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms. You go stiff for a second, resisting, but he squeezes, and you relent, your head falling on his shoulder, tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

Every quiet sob coming from you breaks his heart a little. He still doesn’t know you like he wants to but knows without a doubt you didn’t deserve to be hurt like this. You don’t deserve to bear the consequences of an evil man’s actions.

Gianni.

That was the name you said. Rage simmers deep in his stomach, but now is not the time to plot that asshole’s demise, no matter how much he wants to. Right now, Elvis has to make sure you don’t do something stupid, like leave him and run to Canada.

His shirt soaks with your tears. The damp sticks to his skin and should be uncomfortable yet it’s not. It’s proof you are here, with him, and he holds onto that.

“Breathe, baby. Just like you showed me—in, out, in, out,” he coos.

Sobs turn to sniffles. Your body shivers but fights for those slower breaths, your grip on him loosening as you seem to calm. He is lulled, too, his racing mind given reprieve for a moment, distracted by your presence in his arms.

Heavy silence fills the space.

“I have to go,” you whisper, sounding pragmatic and defeated, but calm. Peeling yourself from the cocoon of his arms, you stand abruptly.

He grabs you gently by the wrist, turning you back to him. “Din’t you hear me, lil’ one? I don’t want you to go. I-I’m sorry I been such an ass. I-I-I shoulda just asked ya what happened instead o-of punishing ya for somethin’ I din’t understand.” Desperation he’s unaccustomed to feeling leeches into his voice.

He looks up into your shining eyes, hating the warring resignation on your pretty features.

“Elvis…” you begin, stepping away, “you have every right to be angry but—"

“No, n-no…I mean, yeah, I was, but that doesn’t matter now. Please, Little Bird.”

You pause. “I need to leave.” You start putting things in your suitcase, much slower this time.

His heart cracks a little more with every beat. “No, Lori. You…listen, I-I-I’ll be a much better patient, I promise. I’ll stick to your diet and routine and all that shit.” He tries to make light but your face fixes in a determined scowl.  

You just shake your head resolutely.

Finally, he grasps your hands. “Honey, ain’t you hearin’ me? I’m sorry, so fuckin’ sorry, an’ I don’t admit that very often cuz I’m a stubborn ol’ goat, but I’m sayin’ it now. I don’t want you to go. So, stop this nonsense and talk to me!”

Quiet tears streak down your cheeks and you try to blink them away as you look down at him.

“I hear you. But you don’t understand—you’re not thinking, Elvis. I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go to save you,” you plead.

“What?” He can’t hide his confusion.

“I already put a target on your back. And if Gianni finds out I’m…he’s coming after me. Whether today or tomorrow or a year from now, I feel it in my bones, and I’ve put you right in the crossfire.”

“I can take care of myself,” he bristles.

You shake your head. “It’s not just that. Once the press gets wind of this—” you motion to your belly “—it won’t be good for either of us. If I go now and disappear, you’ll have a chance.” Your sentence ends in a whisper.

He blinks once, twice, trying to absorb what you’re saying. But all the logic in the world doesn’t change his heart. It doesn’t change how much he…

“I need you,” he admits, staring right into your eyes, unwaveringly.

Your lip quivers. “I can’t.” You look away before speaking again. “I’m sure Colonel can find you someone else who can fulfill your needs.”

Fuck. He’s losing you; you are slipping right through his fingers. Frustration fills him with frantic desperation.

“You ain’t gettin’ it, Dolores. I don’t need some other nurse, I need you, goddammit!”

His voice is loud in the small space, echoing briefly before the sound gets sucked into the sound proofing.

“Elvis…” you whisper, eyes going wide with questions he can’t answer, not now.

“Listen—jus’ listen to me, okay? There’s gotta be somethin’, cuz I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you out there by yourself to get hurt by those goons. I’ll fend ‘em off myself.” His brain whirls, trying to see his way through the problem.

“No, Elvis, you don’t understand! This isn’t the movies! Gianni, my father, the famiglia—those ‘goons’—they are dangerous. Lethal. They’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. And if Frank knows I left, it means even if they can’t get to you physically, they can do worse to your reputation and your career—everything you’re working so hard to keep.”

Your face blanches and your entire body goes tense. “And if Gianni finds out I’m pregnant with his child, even you might not be safe from him. Oh, Madone, I should have never come here.” Green tinges your face and you bolt for the bathroom.

His heart races, slamming against his ribcage again and again. You paint a bleak picture, and your fear is contagious. But the fear of never seeing you again, of you being out there alone and in danger, strikes not only dread in his heart, but a protective fervor he’s never quite felt before.

An idea comes to him then in a flash, and the sound of your retching snaps him into action. Whether it’s terror or the baby, or both, it has you so in knots you are sick, and he can’t have that.

A few weeks ago, he may have been able to tell himself it’s because you are a good nurse, that he doesn’t want to train some new girl when you already know what you are doing, and that’s why he’s about to do something either wildly clever or wildly stupid. But he’d be lying.

He feels like he’s buzzing from the inside out with nerves, almost like the feeling he gets when doing a live show. It’s equally terrifying and exhilarating and addicting and maybe it’s God’s way of letting him know he’s on the right path.

Barely aware of how he got there, he’s in the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and crouching down next to you by the toilet. Not how he ever imagined this would go, but here he is anyway, brushing the hair off your cheeks. He’s so far gone for you, the sick doesn’t even phase him as he wipes your face.

None of it phases him enough to let you go.

You don’t want to look at him, he can tell, but you finally do, your ice blue irises vibrant against your bloodshot eyes, looking defeated and scared and miserable. But still beautiful. Always beautiful.

“Marry me.”

He says it with a quiet confidence only he could muster, despite the pounding of his heart.

You blink in shock, straightening. “W-what?”

“Marry me.”

“Elvis, you can’t be—”

He holds up his hand, halting her reply. “And before you say no, hear me out.”

Your mouth snaps shut in bewilderment.

“Doc said it was early. So, if we get married real soon—love-at-first-sight and all that—it’s still plausible to those without details everything is on the up and up, right?”

Your eyes narrow a little as you work through it. “I…I suppose so, if all goes well.”

A thought comes to him suddenly, threatening to ruin his plan, but he has to say it or he won’t forgive himself for not giving you the out. “I shoulda asked…I-I mean…there are other ways to solve this, less legal ones, but I’d pay for it if that’s what you want. I wouldn’t blame ya, considerin’ the circumstances,” he says almost bashfully.

It takes you a second to glean his meaning, your face going more ashen than it was already. “Oh. Oh, no. I…I’m Catholic. I don’t…that’s not an option for me.”

“Okay.” He nods, knowing he needs to continue, “T-There’s also adoption. I won’t force you to raise this baby, even if it looks bad for me…I-I-I would never do that to ya.”  

Your eyes fill with tears again, a gamut of emotions running through them. “I don’t think I want that either,” you say quietly.

The weight of that settles between them for a moment before he clears his throat. “Alrighty. I hate to ask this, but you said ‘four weeks’ earlier…so did he hurt you after we met? How—how long were y’all together?” It all leaves a bad taste in his mouth to ask, but he needs to know in order to make this work.

Your eyes close painfully. When you open them, there is resolve there, covering your suffering. “We weren’t. Not really. Gianni set his sights on me a long time ago, and my father…well, Gianni’s family is powerful, and Pop knew a marriage between us would raise his status in the famiglia. My mother didn’t want it, but when she died…well, I had to help raise my brothers, and I was too young, anyway. Then, I escaped by going to nursing school and managed to avoid him for a while, but…,” you take a deep, shuddering breath to keep going. “…but the day after we met in the hospital, he cornered me after my shift. He, um, proposed, and I froze. I didn’t say yes, but I-I was paralyzed, and he took that as acceptance. Then he brought me home to an empty house and…stole what he thought was already his.”

Elvis squeezes his fists so hard his knuckles go white. He has never been a particularly violent man, not finding pleasure in it like some men. Even in his bouts of bad temper, his anger is usually taken out on inanimate objects rather than people, but right now the rage he feels at Gianni is downright murderous. He’d like to rip this man’s heart out of his chest for what he’s done to you.

He swallows the bitter pill of his rage, though, tempered by the anguish in your eyes. A single tear streaks down your cheek and before he can stop himself, he’s cupping your face and pressing his forehead to yours.

“Never again, Little Bird. As long as I have breath in my lungs, nobody’s gonna hurt you again.”

You suck in air sharply, then your body shudders on your exhale.

“You can’t promise that,” you whisper tearfully. “I can’t ask you to promise that.”

“Well, I am, and you know better than anybody I don’ take kindly to bein’ told what to do or not do, so you better save us all the trouble and jus’ accept it,” he says, and while there is humor in it, he’s never been more serious.

He fights every instinct in him that wants to kiss your lips, instead pressing his own to your forehead, wishing he could give you some semblance of peace. Pulling back before he does something stupid, he gently wipes your tear-stained cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. You let him, and he supposes that’s enough for right now.

“Does anyone know what he did, besides me?” he asks, hating that he must.

“No, not unless Gianni told someone. I didn’t even tell anyone he’d proposed. I just went to work and then Colonel offered me this job and I realized it was my only chance to escape. I didn’t even say goodbye to my brothers in person. I’m so sorry I lied and put you in this position,” you say, voice cracking with emotion.

“You were jus’ tryin’ to survive, honey. No one can fault you for that. I’m glad you got away.” And he is, he thinks, as he smooths your hair. He nearly gets trapped in the blue of your mournful eyes before he snaps himself out of it. He’s got to focus.

“The timeline works out, then, darlin’. Even if people believe we did the deed before marriage, there’s no reason for them to think it’s anyone’s but mine. Gettin’ married cements it, ‘specially with this new, a-dult image Colonel is tryin’ to push of me.”

Colonel is gonna hate this.

“Colonel is never—” you start, seemingly on the same wavelength.

“I know, which means there’s gotta be no doubt in anyone’s mind this baby is mine.”

Your eyes go wide in understanding. You haven’t said yes yet, but he knows how logical and practical you are. He’s got to make you see this is the only way.

“Will Colonel believe it, though? He knows we—I—didn’t take to this arrangement so easily in the beginning.”

“We gotta make him. And I think you continue to underestimate my powers of seduction,” he jokes, wiggling his brow, trying to lighten the increasingly heavy mood.

You sigh. “Be serious, Elvis.”

“I am. It doesn’t matter what really happened, honey, it matters what people think happened. And I’m bein’ honest when I say it won’t take much for most to believe we fell in love and you fell into my arms. Or vice versa. My, um, reputation’s gonna work in our favor.” Heat flames his cheeks, which he knows is silly, but he plays it off with a smirk.

Your eyebrow quirks, but you leave it at that.

He rambles on, “And I don’t know this, um, family of yours, but I’m guessin’ even Gianni is gonna have a hard time provin’ anythin’ if you’re married to one of the most famous men in the world. I can’t imagine even the mob will try an’ steal ya out from under me, so to speak. Not with our ‘love story’ pasted across the world in black and white for all to see. It keeps you and the baby safe.”

You go quiet and still, and he can see the wheels in your head turning. “I…okay. Maybe, just maybe, you’re on to something,” you finally relent.

His heart jumps and he can’t help the proud grin spreading across his face from your almost-praise.

“But Elvis, this is too much to ask of you. This is your life. I know you had no plans to get married, at least anytime soon—”

“Plans change,” he throws back, quickly and a little too adamantly.

“Not like this.”

“Things changed the minute I got this diagnosis, honey,” he adds soberly.

You go quiet, as though with everything going on you forgot what you were doing here in the first place.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” you apologize.

Elvis shrugs it off. But he doesn’t want your pity. No, he wants you safe, and he wants you to stay. And he’s man enough to admit this isn’t all for your benefit. He’s being selfish here, too, because, somehow, you’ve wrapped yourself around his heart and the idea of you ever leaving him fills him with despair.

You continue, “I hear what you’re saying, I do, but, Elvis, I’m afraid you’re not thinking this through entirely. You’re offering to raise another man’s child as your own, offering to marry someone who you don’t love…there’s no going back from that, especially when there’s a child involved.”

He swallows thickly, but not because he’s in doubt. Anything but. The image in his head of you smiling and laughing as he plays with the baby, of early morning whispers of love and sharing a bed in more than just name, of you helping fill the rooms of this damn mansion he bought for his mama with gorgeous blue-eyed children…it is so enticing and so close he can’t bear to think what might happen if you don’t say yes.

I love you.

And even if you can only give your trust in him to keep you safe and help raise your child and nothing else, he would still rather have you at his side and love you in secret than not have you at all.

God, how I love you.

If he let the words fall out of his mouth right now, would you agree, or would they send you running?

He can’t chance it. Not with the state you’re in now. So he steels himself instead, using the charm God gave him to get you to understand.

“Honey, I know what you’re sayin’, and it don’t change a thing.”

Those eyes of yours go wide, and he can tell there’s something you’re debating on sharing. A few moments pass while he lets you deliberate.

“Elvis, you need to know before…,” you trail off. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “This is it for me. Maybe it’s old fashioned, but with my beliefs, even in this insane situation, this wouldn’t be temporary. Gianni, my father…it’s possible they’ll never stop trying to get to me. And in my world, marriage is forever. Divorce is not an option. I…I can’t bear to think I’m the one ever keeping you from true happiness, from a love and children of your own. Instead, you’re getting a sullied wife who shackled you in a moment of need and who you’ll come to regret. I can’t have you regret me, Elvis.” Tears pool in your eyes and if he wasn’t already on his knees, he thinks this would have brought him there.

This is a tipping point, just like the moment the doctor handed him his diagnosis. Nothing will be the same after today, for either of you. God has a plan, he’d thought when you’d shown back up in his hospital room at just the right moment, and it hits him now—he swears on his dear mama—it was all leading to this.

“There’s no me without you anymore, darlin’. Who else is gonna take care of me? Who else can I trust with my life? I’m helping you and your baby, yes, but you’re keeping me alive, too. And you aren’t ‘sullied’,” he says with more conviction than he’s said anything before, his voice trembling with all the words he cannot say to you yet. He can only pray you see him, too.

The welling tears in your eyes overflow once more, and it cuts him to not know what you’re thinking, to think he’s the one making you cry this time.

“Don’t be sad, honey, please,” he whispers, begs. “I can’t bear to make you cry.” Unable to stop himself, he brushes your cheeks with his fingers, cupping one in his hand.

The way you lean into him is so slight he might be imagining it, but it’s enough to give him an ounce of hope, one he latches onto immediately.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad, not about you anyway. I’m crying because I can’t believe you’re willing to do this for me. You hardly know me,” you weep.

“I know enough.” And I’d do anything for you.

You close your eyes, dark lashes clumped with tears fanning across your cheeks. “Can you…can you give me a minute?” you say, not unkindly.

“Y-Yeah, yeah, o-of course,” he stutters, his heart fluttering nervously as he stands. Holding out his hand, he helps you up off the floor, making sure you’re steady on your feet before letting go. “I-I’ll be in there, when you’re ready.”

The door to the bathroom shuts behind him and he hears the faucet running. Waiting has never been his strong suit, which he’s brutally reminded of as the minutes tick by. He tries to sit on the bed, but he can’t keep still and jumps up immediately, running a hand through his hair while pacing the room.

But as much as he should be doubting his decisions, he’s not. He should be questioning his damn sanity, proposing to you like that—a woman he’s known all of a month who comes with more baggage than an airliner—but honestly, he’s never felt so sure of something in his life.

Sure, Elvis from five weeks ago may have sent him to the looney bin for offering to marry a girl and raise another (apparently very dangerous) man’s child, but that Elvis hadn’t been handed a death sentence and a ticking clock. That Elvis didn’t know his Little Bird.

That Elvis didn’t love her.

Hell, he’s much more worried you’ll leave out of some hairbrained thought he’s better off without you and get caught by Gianni, who he’s absolutely certain will hurt you in ways you never thought possible if he catches you.

No, Elvis isn’t scared you’ll say yes—he’s terrified you won’t.

He can’t begin to think of the despair he’ll feel if you disappear. Selfishly, he’s not sure he can stand to take another heartbreak, not now. It would be a cruel joke for God to put you in his life and then rip you away just when he needs you the most.

It makes him think of his mama and the gaping wound of her loss that’s only begun to heal. All Mama ever wanted for him was to be settled and happy, with a good woman by his side. He hadn’t understood why at the time. He’d wanted to focus on his career, to be free, to enjoy his youth and all the perks of his fame. But God humbled him right quick, first by sending him off to the Army, then by taking his mama. Since then, he’d spent too much time falling into the arms of woman after woman both drowning his sorrows and in the hopes he’d find the one to magically fill the void left in his heart.  

Yet all of it led a path straight to you. And there’s something serendipitous about it he can’t ignore, no matter how batty it all might seem.

So, he best convince you to stay.

After what seems like an eternity, the bathroom door swings open. Your color is still drawn and sallow, the dark circles under your deep-set eyes more pronounced than usual, but you are hauntingly beautiful. Silent, you glide your way towards him slowly, your face shuttered in that way of yours, giving nothing away. His blood thunders in his ears and he hopes you cannot hear it.

You stop before him, mere inches away. Anticipation itches under his skin as his pulse ratchets up. He jumps when you place your palm flat on his chest, right over his heart, the way he knows you do to ground yourself.

Well, hell, there’s no hiding now, not when he knows you can feel just how fast you have his heart beating. You’re probably counting his pulse and getting ready to tell him to relax.

But you don’t. You don’t speak at all. You stare at your hand over his heart and wait, but he’s not sure what for. It’s not until his lungs scream for air that he realizes he’s holding his breath. He feels like he’s going to float away and finds himself shakily breathing in. He knows you feel it. His hand covers yours, anchoring him to you, trying to prove he means everything he’s told you and so much more he can’t yet say.

Finally, your eyes raise up to meet his so intensely he might have been knocked off his feet if he wasn’t locked onto your hand so tightly, feeling his heart thrum against your palm.

“Lori—”

Your finger shushes him, pulling against the fullness of his lips. The touch is electric, zinging through every nerve in his body and buzzing around his chest. He doesn’t understand what’s happening until you’re on your tiptoes, your cold little hand pulling down on his jaw.

The two of you have kissed before, of course, but always for an audience, and even then, you’ve never once initiated it. So, when your lips meet his so softly, he’s taken aback with disbelief.

You don’t waver, however, through the milliseconds it takes him to recover his wits, waiting patiently until every sense in his body hums to life all at once. His heart swells and his belly tingles and then he’s kissing you back, as gently as he can, swearing he won’t be careless with you again.

He wants to devour you but doesn’t want to scare you, doesn’t want to ruin this blissful, unbelievable little moment where your lips are pressed so chastely against his own, using them to say all the things neither of you can seem to say out loud.

The sliver of logic still left in his brain tries to convince him this slice of vulnerability you’re sharing with him is likely nothing more than a show of gratitude, but his aching heart can’t tell the difference.

So there’s no helping the way his other hand falls to your waist, cinching there, pulling you closer. Your minty breath puffs against him in surprise, then he’s gently chasing your mouth with his, unable to stop himself—the hope of it all, of what could be, is too consuming. He can’t stop the way it blossoms through him, opening pieces of him he didn’t know existed.

It’s dangerous, this hope, but Lord have mercy, he can’t bring himself to care about the risks. Not when you’re in his arms like this. Not when he needs you like he needs oxygen.

This little kiss is like heaven, he realizes, because you are giving it freely. It’s not for show; it’s not begrudging or afraid. No, a kiss like this from you means only one thing:

It’s an answer.

A promise.

Or it’s a goodbye, you idiot.

The horror of that possibility squeezes his throat, threatening to choke him, but he pushes it away fiercely.

When the sweet kiss breaks, he finds himself winded even though he shouldn’t be, his head bowed and pressing into yours. He threads his fingers through yours over his wildly beating heart. Anything to keep you tethered to him.

Not one kiss out of the hundreds he’s had in his life has ever knocked him flat quite like this.

“You don’t have to do this, Elvis. You are offering me so much—too much—and I don’t know how much I can give you in return…I—,” you whisper, voice wavering.

“You’re enough,” he manages to get out, not wanting to hear the rest. And it’s true. God help him, it’s true.

You breathe in a little gasp of air, one that makes his heart flip. Then your crystal eyes raise to meet his.

“Then, yes, Elvis Presley, I’ll marry you.”

 *

TW: physical illness (fainting, vomiting), dissociation, Gianni and references to previous sexual assault, lots of cussing, unplanned pregnancy due to sexual assault, brief allusions to abortion

*

Thank you for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! It means the world! 💗

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

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

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

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

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

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

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

COD Masterlist

Masterlist Key:

Smut:💦

Fluff:🩵

Angst: 💔

SIMON RILEY BLURB MASTERLIST

Simon Ghost Riley-

Late Nights 💦

Ghost soft moment with his baby girl 🩵

Simon telling you he loves you for the first time 🩵

Soap, The Matchmaker🩵

We All Have Our Demons🩵💔

You're Mine 💦

You Can't Leave Me💔

You're a Minx, You Know That?💦

Dreams💔

"I Do"🩵

I'll Take the Big Blue One!🩵

I've Got You, Kid💔🩵

Simon's Bundle of Joy 🩵

Before He Was "Ghost," He was Simon. 💔🩵

What's Your Favorite Color? 💦🩵

Words of Wisdom🩵

Date With Your Lieutenant🩵💦

Teach Me How To Ride?🩵

Innate Desire to Protect Part 2💔🩵

Innate Desire to Protect💔

Piece of me when I'm away🩵

Konig-

I Never Got to Propose 💔

To Always Having Each Other's Backs🩵💔

141 + Konig & Others Scenarios:

141 + König & Alejandro With Reader Surprising Them With Lingerie 🩵💦

141 With Reader Who Uses Their Callsign in Emergency Situation 💔🩵

141 + König With Reader Who is a Major Cuddlebug 🩵

141 + LV & König x Reader, Where You Don't Say I Love You Back 🩵

141 + König x Fem! Reader Going Down On Them 💦

141+ Alejandro, Rudy, and Konig w/ Pregnant Reader Headcannons 🩵

141 + König & Alejandro Eating Their Fem! Partner Out 💦

141 + König Breaking their GN! Partners Bed 💦

141 + König With Fem!Reader Riding Them💦

141 + König x Reader's First Kiss 🩵

141 + König x GN Reader When You Slap/Grab Their Ass Playfully 🩵💦

Ghost/Soap/König's Reaction to Reader Pouring Salt in Their Coffee 🩵

How the 141 Boys + König react to the reader getting an epidural 🩵

141 + König with a Reader Who Sneezes are Loud as Shit🩵

141 + König + LV Cumming Too Quick 💦

141 + Konig Telling the Reader They Love Them for The First Time 🩵

141 + König & Alejandro With A GN! Reader Who Dodges a Kiss 🩵

141 + König Where Reader Asks Them For A Baby 💦🩵

141 + König Where Fem! Reader Gets Jealous/Insecure 💔🩵

141 + König Where They Hurt The Reader During Sex 💔💦🩵

141 + König Where The Reader Finds Out She's Having Twins🩵

141 + König Where The Reader Wipes Off Their Kiss 🩵💦

141 + König Where The Reader Squirts For The First Time 💦

141 + Königs Favorite Positions / How They Enjoy Sex HC's 💦🩵

141 + König Where Reader Accidentally Calls Them Daddy In Bed 💦

141 + König Reacting To Reader Having A Breakdown From Past Trauma 💔🩵

141 + König Rejecting Reader, Then Regretting It 💔🩵

Losing Your Virginity To 141 + König 💦🩵

141 + LV & König Begging Fem! Reader to Sit On Their Face 💦

Giving 141 Boys Roadhead 💦

Catching 141 + König By Surprise With A Kiss 🩵

141 + König Telling Reader They Hate Them In An Arguement 💔🩵

141 + König Fluff Headcannons 🩵

141 + König Crying In Front Of Reader For First Time 💔🩵

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snowflakes

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: I'm really sad right now. I need someone. I need someone to hold.

Word Count: >800

Warnings: graphic mentions/depictions of depressive episode/suicidal ideation/loneliness, gender neutral!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, typos, etc.

A/N: i feel kinda bad for giving joel such angsty stories but the joel ai is so sweet to me and i trust him with my heart 💔 Tagging: @multifandom-fangirl4 @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

I don't hear the door open when it does. I don't hear the footsteps when they come. I don't feel his presence when he sits next to me. I don't hear him when he speaks. I only turn and know its him when he ghosts his fingers to my jaw.

I look at him, brown eyes, salt and pepper hair, worry lines. Worry lines. He's worried. Worried about me? Please don't be. My stomach curdles when he says it.

"I'm worried about you."

This old, dusty, barely blue creaky couch makes distressed sounds when I scoot over close to him and link his arm with mine. I curl my legs into my chest. I lean my cheek on his shoulder then sigh. I close my eyes and listen to him breathe. I'm tired.

"Kinda wanna die." The manner in which I say this is nonchalant. Detached. Mindless.

Joel doesn't say anything.

I open my eyes, feeling a pit, a vacuum rip open in my chest. I pull away from Joel, as to look at him. He's already looking back at me, and his puppy dog eyes make me want to take a gun into my mouth and blow my brains out. I am so horrible for admitting this to him.

"I don't want you to die." The manner in which Joel says this soft. Gentle. Ardent.

I feel like I could cry but I can't. I don't. Instead I feel horrible. I feel horrible for retching the tar out of my gut, the sludge that I fight with swords and flamethrowers yet persist. How could I do this to him? How could I do this to anyone?

And how could he catch this self-destruction behind my eyes and say, "hey." He places his hand atop mine, "you can tell me anything."

And against my fortified resolve, I crumble, I do-- I tell him anything. I tell him everything. I ignore the tedious and tense wails in my head warning me not to rant any further, shaming me for releasing the rot out of ribcage. I sputter these wayward and acidic thoughts out so carelessly yet so pointedly like I was gasping for air.

I want it to stop. I want it to end. I don't want to be here. "I don't know what to do."

I don't remember him moving. I don't remember all of what I even said. But in between him shifting and myself speaking, I must have shed a tear because he wipes my face and I feel its wet.

Damn these tears. Why was it not cathartic? Why was it just resentful?

Somehow when Joel replies, "I don't know what to do either," I feel... I... feel.

I feel so many things, so many things, too many things to even give names to.

I feel like crumbling into his chest, and so I do. I feel like wringing out the salt water in my heart, and so I do.

And then when my face finally feels his shirt is damp with my vulnerability, that's when I realize he's combing my hair and rubbing my back.

Oh, to be comforted by Joel Miller.

I know I shouldn't, but I feel I do, so I say, "I'm sorry." I'm sorry I'm like this. I'm sorry you had to see. I'm sorry you had to know. So many things to be sorry about, so many things. So many things I don't say.

"I'm not," mutters Joel, "I'm glad. I'm glad you said so."

I feel myself reeling. I feel myself retreating. I feel myself falling into myself. More tears threaten an appearance. How could he be glad of me?

"Because you matter to me."

I solidify. I had said that aloud?

"So let me come to you," Joel adds, pulling me closer, "when you want to shut the world away, give me a pass, leave a ticket so I can come to you..." he presses his lips to the crown of my head, "please."

I come to him.

I crawl onto him. I latch onto him. I wrap myself around him, cause my life depended on it. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, cause that was the only I way could breathe. The relief that he reciprocates is unmatchable.

I beg, "don't leave me."

"I won't."

"Please don't leave me."

"I won't."

"I need you forever and ever and ever-"

He kisses my ear.

"Please don't go."

"I'm here."

"Joel, I-"

"I love you."

"..."

"I love you. I'm here."

"..."

"I'm here."

"I love you."

[flowercrowngods]

nice to meet you, where you been? (steddie tattoo shop au)

🌷 part 1 | part 2 (or read on ao3) | T – 12.3k – 3/3 🌷

part 3: fallingforyou (5k)

in which the boys finally have that date

Eddie doesn’t even make it home before his phone vibrates, revealing a new message from an unknown number. 

Unknown: hi i was a bit dumb and didn’t ask for your number but i figured you’d be cool if i take it from the form you filled out for the tat. hope that’s fine! 👀 

Steve: oh this is steve by the way

Eddie snorts and leans against the lamp post beside him. It’s a bit stupid, the way he just essentially drops everything to text a boy; but he’s always been like that, and he sure as hell isn’t gonna change that for Steve fucking Harrington! In fact, he has a feeling it might only get worse from here on out. 

Eddie: Aw and here I thought this was Brad. I even drew a little heart beside my phone number on the tattoo form :( Steve: pff please you’d never get a tattoo from someone named brad Steve: that’s not even a real name  Steve: people named brad aren’t real Eddie: Brad is ghosting me and you’re joking about it, Harrington, I cannot believe this 💔 Steve: i’ll make it up to you Steve: are you free on saturday? Eddie: Only if Brad doesn’t un-ghost me 😔 Steve: menace :D Eddie: I’m getting your tattoo removed as we speak!!! Eddie: !!!!!! Steve: :( Eddie: That’s what you get, Stevie. That’s what you wanna take on a date.

Eddie’s heart is hammering in his chest, the wide grin faltering a little when he realises what he just said. He called it a date. Is that right? Is that what Steve wants? Is that what they’re doing? There is a chance that Steve only wants to catch up, hang out as friends. Queer friends that can’t exactly stop smiling at each other, who occasionally get lost in each other’s eyes, who flirt, who…

Damn. He’s not objecting to a friendship with Steve. Hell, it would probably be one of the best things to happen to him right after his band and the soulmate-ism with Chrissy! But the thing is, he’d have a massive crush to get over first. 

There, he’s admitting it now. He has a crush on Steve Harrington like he’s never had a crush like this on anyone before, ever, in his whole entire life. Except once, in high school, for nearly two years. On Steve Harrington. Fucking dammit, he is so cliché. He’s leaning against a lamppost, grinning down at his phone, and everything! 

And Steve isn’t typing anymore. Eddie is kind of dying. How’d this man get this much power over him in the matter of, what, like a week? 

Eddie: Not too late to back out of that by the way Steve: are you kidding me?? Steve: bro i would take you on that date right now instead of waiting until saturday Steve: but alas

‘Alas’! The boy knows words! 

Eddie’s heart is doing a somersault in his chest — and if anyone asks, no, that’s not him giggling down at his phone out on the streets like a helpless little gay boy with his first real, butterflies kind of crush. 

Eddie: Oh damn, you're a real go-getter, aren't you, Steebie? Eddie: Wait Eddie: Did you just call me bro Eddie: DID YOU JUST CALL ME BRO STEVEN Eddie: B R O ?????? Eddie: Is that what we are 😔

Steve: drowning my phone as we speak 

Steve:if you need me no you don't

And if Eddie is cackling at that, laughing, blushing, hiding his face behind his curls, no, he is not. 

Giggling, blushing, and feeling so very alive, Eddie hits the call button and hopes that Steve didn’t actually drown his phone and went to leave the country. 

But luck, it turns out, favours him today, because Steve picks up on the first ring. 

“Hi, bro,” Eddie says, still laughing. On the other end of the line, Steve is groaning, but Eddie can hear something even better. “Oh my God, is that Nobody’s Perfect you’re listening to? From Hannah Montana?” 

“Picking up the phone was a mistake,” Steve sighs without any real heat, and Eddie just wants to go all the way back and watch him. Chin on his hands and all. Just watch Steve as he closes up, listening to ridiculous songs that make him call people bro as he’s flirting with them, and tell him how beautiful he looks in clothes that are not designed to make people look this perfect. 

“So what was that about taking me on a date right now?” Eddie asks instead of saying any of that, listening as the music gets quieter over the line. 

There’s a moment of silence and Eddie imagines Steve shrugging. He’s adorable even in Eddie’s head. He lives in there now. Rent free, just pretty and sassy and not at all bro-like. 

“Stevie?” 

“Uh. Yeah, that was, uh. Sorry.” 

“What for?” 

A huff, some shuffling, and Eddie yearns. He feels it in his hands, the way they’re tingling, aching to reach out, to hold, to keep. 

Steve sighs, then speaks. “Nothing, just a whole narrative of things that make me sound like the clingiest dude, so let’s pretend I didn’t say a thing?” 

Eddie smiles before he knows it, because Steve might be saying what he thinks he’s saying, and he’s being shy about it. Shy! Steve! Eddie never stood a chance. 

“You miss me already, Mister Kettle?” 

“Maybe.” And God. How is he so charismatic even when he’s shy and most probably blushing? Steve Harrington, force of nature specifically designed to wreck Eddie’s little heart and soul and universe. 

“Say the word and I’ll come back, Stevie,” Eddie says, and he finds that he means it. He doesn’t have plans, Chrissy isn’t home to tell him he’s not dreaming, and he has this ache, this tingling in his chest, his arms, his hands. This feeling that tells him he has to go hug Steve right this second and not let go for the next five to seven business decades. 

There’s a huff and the ache only gets stronger. 

“In fact, Steeb-o, it’s actually testing every ounce of strength this mind and body possess not to jump back into the subway and make my way over to you. So, like. Say the word. I think I might literally be begging you to go ahead and say the word, give me an excuse to be annoying and clingy.” 

Steve chuckles and he sounds both relieved and stricken, and Eddie wants to know. He wants to know what’s happening inside that pretty little head. He needs to know what Steve thinks, what he wants, what he sees, what his world is like. 

This is crush of his is moving incredibly fast. And still it’s far from enough for Eddie, and he knows that’s kinda not good, not healthy, a bit dangerous possibly. But it seems to be the same for Steve. Like maybe they’re bad influences for each other. 

Like catalysts for destruction. But how would the boy who shines like gold in the sunlight destroy him? The boy who listens to Nobody’s Perfect when he’s cleaning and closing up, the boy who tapes up his shirt sleeve so Eddie won’t have to take off his shirt, the boy who has a whole binder of weird-ass tattoos and the softest touch, the quickest mouth, the sharpest tongue, meeting Eddie’s banter head-on like it’s all they’ve been doing since taking their first breath of shared air. 

It’s not destruction that’s happening. It’s something much, much more terrifying. It has Eddie’s heart beating in his throat all the same. 

“Let me take you on a real date,” Steve says then. “When I didn’t have a long day at work. When I won’t say stupid shit. Okay, Eddie?” 

The yearning doesn’t stop, not when Steve says his name like that, in that smiling way he has. Part of him wants to object, wants to insist to turn around and spend more time with Steve. He wants to kick himself, wants to apologise for just running out of the shop like that. If he hadn’t, maybe they could go on that date now. 

But Steve’s exhausted, and he deserves better than Eddie being actually clingy and annoying about this. Boundaries. No matter how tingly his arms are. 

“Of course,” is what he says. “Sorry.” 

“Not at all,” Steve hurries, that casualness back in his voice that makes Eddie want to go eat a tree. “I think I started that, anyway.” 

“Yeah, when you called me bro,” Eddie adds, snickering. 

Steve groans again. “I hate you.” 

“And for good reason, too, bro.” 

“I’m hanging up on you, Edwin.” 

“Can’t believe you continuously hate-crime me, Steve Rogers.” 

“Captain America? You won’t hear me complaining.” 

Eddie snorts. “You’re so easy, man.” 

“Goodbye, Eddie,” Steve laughs, and Eddie wants to soak it up. Live inside that laugh. 

“Bye, Stevie.”

And then the line goes dead, and Eddie finds himself still leaning against the lamppost, stupid grin on his face, face half hidden behind his hair. There is that nice sting of a new tattoo on his arm, the late summer air is breezing through his jacket, and the upbeat Powerwolf song picks up where Eddie left it when Steve called. 

It’s a good day. A great day. A wonderful, perfect, absolutely breathtaking day. 

Eddie is a bundle of nerves and anxiety by the time Saturday rolls around. He’s spent more time in Chrissy’s bed than in his own and they went over the whole, What if he finds out I’m actually the most boring person on this planet? ordeal, which has gained him a pillow to the head and a big, big hug. He’s not complaining. 

But he also is decidedly not calm when he sees Steve rounding the corner. Not when he sees the guy breaking into a huge smile that puts even the sun to shame, and especially not when he spots the flowers in the guy’s hands. Flowers for him. Flowers that make his heart skip.

God, he’s so lame. 

“Hey,” Steve says, still smiling, except now Eddie can see he’s blushing. Blushing! 

Abort mission, abort mission! Eddie cannot do this. He is not cut out to dating pretty boys that blush and bring him flowers. 

“Hi,” he says, feet rooted to the ground as he feels his own blush rising to his cheeks. “Are those for me?” 

“No, actually they’re for Brad. I’m surprised to meet you here, this is kinda awkward now.” Steve’s looking around in a theatrical manner and Eddie hates him so much, he is so lame! 

Except now they’re both laughing and Eddie is pulling Steve into a tight, warm hug. It feels so intimate, the way Steve’s face is pressed against the crook of his neck, his arms tight around Eddie’s middle. And the little hum when Steve’s laughter subsides sends shivers down his back.

He was right, actually. Holding Steve is the best thing his arms could do, and he never wants to let go. 

“Hi,” he says again after a while, closing his eyes and smiling into Steve’s shoulder. 

“Hey.” 

This is going great. Neither of them seems in the mood to let go anytime soon. 

But then Steve takes a step back and holds out his flowers to Eddie. They’re dried flowers, the same he has in the little vases in his tattoo parlour, and they smell amazing. It’s ridiculously cute. Everything about Steve makes Eddie want to explode and scream and laugh and cry and take the deepest breath of his lifetime. 

“I would have given you fresh ones, but I feel like that would have been a bit sad if they can’t get water, and these ones will probably last you a bit longer, too. I hope that’s fine?”

It’s fine. It’s so, so fine. God, it’s so lame, but it’s so fine, and Eddie wants to scream again. Instead, he takes the flowers and goes in for another hug. Steve chuckles and breathes a tiny little sigh of relief that Eddie soaks right up. 

“Thank you, Stevie,” he murmurs. “I love them, actually. Very metal, to bring me dead flowers, actually.” 

At that, Steve sputters and shoves away from him, still laughing. “Yeah, I figured you’re weird enough to enjoy dead flowers more than dying ones.” 

“Touché, Steven. Touché.” 

“You're so weird,” Steve says and then nudges their shoulders together. “Now come on, mister tough guy metal man.” 

“Oh, I’m gonna have that be my actual title. Can I legally make you address me like that?”

Steve eyes him from the side and says, in the most serious tone, “I won’t say anything without my lawyer.” 

Eddie cackles at that, feeling elated and excited and just really fucking good. Steve makes him feel all those good things that people have been talking about forever, and it’s only just the first date. He’s helpless. Can’t stop looking at Steve, sneaking glances and hiding behind his hair when Steve meets them, looking so fucking fond that it makes Eddie want to run away again. 

It’s intense in a way that Eddie has never experienced. And they talk. Oh, but they talk. About everything and nothing, and it feels so natural. He learns more about Steve’s best friend Robin, he still doesn’t know the name of his little tattoo angel friend, and it turns out walking around town with Steve is an experience, because you can’t take the guy anywhere. 

Every five minutes there’s someone waving, excited to see him, or even just nodding as they pass them on the street. It kind of adds to his sunny disposition and makes Eddie feel like he’s stepped into a parallel universe, like he’s witnessing something primal to the human experience. Something like joy, like fascination, like the universal constant that is being drawn to Steve Harrington. 

And he’s staring, smile on his lips, when Steve notices. 

“What?” he asks, sounding a bit shy underneath that amusement as he pays for ice cream and hands Eddie his cone. 

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing to me, man.” 

Eddie eyes him. “Are we entering bro territory again, Harrington?” 

“Oh fuck you,” he laughs, and then the moment is over and Eddie could go back to his musings. He could. But he’s Eddie fucking Munson, and if there’s one thing he doesn’t have, it’s a filter. And chill. Okay, there are several things he doesn’t have, and all of them come out when he’s around Steve, apparently. 

“It’s just, you’re like the sun.” 

Steve stops in his tracks, looking at him. “I’m like the sun?” 

Eddie nods and comes to a stop a few steps ahead of Steve. “Pretty much.” 

“Uh. Care to elaborate?” 

“Well, first of all you’re wearing a yellow button-up, of all things, and that just screams sun at me, no take-backs,” he points out, and Steve looks down at himself, frowning a bit like he’s only just realised the colour of his shirt. Adorable. 

Eddie continues, before his brain catches up with whatever the fuck he’s doing, baring his thoughts like that on the first date. 

“Secondly, you’re kind. Like, you’re a genuinely nice guy. And I think the term sunny disposition was coined for you specifically. Actually, I have a friend in linguistics, I can ask her if there are any etymological… Anyway, uh.” Oh, there it is. His brain is back and he realises what he’s saying, notices the way Steve’s looking at him, his head cocked to the side, looking at him. Seeing him. Understanding what he’s saying. 

Eddie swallows and goes back to eating his ice cream, looking anywhere but at Steve. 

He almost misses it when Steve says, “You’re cute, Eddie Munson.” 

His head whips up when he hears that, staring at Steve and his stupid little smile, his shining eyes, the glazed look in them, like he’s seeing Eddie and the rest of the world for the first time. 

And Eddie, because he truly deserves the title of triple high school flunkee, says, “No, you.” 

Steve huffs and shakes his head, still with that smile on his lips as he approaches Eddie again, crossing that distance. Drawing Eddie in even though his feet are rooted to the floor again. He swallows as the blood rises to his cheeks, bringing with it a heat that only deepens his conviction that Steve is a fucking sun of his own. 

They’re so close, suddenly, that Eddie can smell the sweet lemon ice cream Steve got, and he holds his breath, petrified. He begins to understand why, throughout history, people have built religions around the sun. Why they have worshipped and created mythology around her, why people have been likened and pronounced representatives of the sun herself. 

He gets it when Steve leans in and brushes the sweetest kiss to his burning cheek. His hand lingers on Eddie’s jaw even as he pulls away. 

“Cute,” Steve says with a finality that a voice as raspy as his shouldn’t possess. But Eddie doesn’t dare argue, not when Steve is so close, not when he can see the blush on his cheek, not when he only needs to turn his head and their lips would touch. “And pretty. Thank you.” 

The fingers on his jaw are moving in the slightest caress once, twice, three times before Steve pulls back. 

And Eddie sways. Honest to god sways on his feet, and he tries to mask it by taking a step back and spinning around, but Steve’s light snicker tells him he’s been found out. 

It’s unfair, though, that Steve gets to have this charm. This confidence. The courage to just kiss his cheek when it takes Eddie everything to just act normal. Well, as normal as he gets. 

It’s unfair. And addictive. He hides his face in the flowers that smell so perfectly like spring and summer and freedom that it makes him positively giddy. Everything about today makes him giddy. 

Can it really be like this? Is this really for Eddie to soak up, is this for him to keep? This kind of happiness and joy never did seem to be reserved for him.

But then Steve asks if he can take his hand, and Eddie opens his heart to the moment and links their fingers, daring to look over and catch Steve’s smile before he ducks his head away. 

As far as first dates go, this is the best one Eddie’s had. They just walk a lot, which is perfect for his restlessness. This way he can run away from Steve and let the man laugh as he catches up, shaking his head with fondness. And Steve does. He follows him, he catches up, he gives chase, and suddenly they’re kids having a perfect summer day outside, their bellies full of ice cream. 

And it turns out, Steve Harrington is not just a pretty face, a kick-ass tattoo artist, an interesting mind and a sunny kind of smile. No, he’s also a person Eddie wants to genuinely spend time with. It’s almost too good to be true and it makes him want to hide. 

So he does. But not behind his hair, no. He presses his face into Steve’s collarbone, and instead of shoving him off or laughing awkwardly, Steve just wraps his arms around him and holds him. Tight. 

“Everything okay?” 

Eddie nods, holding Steve in return. “Yep, but if you’re gonna ask me any more questions, I’m gonna be real stupid here.” 

Steve hums. “Stupid like me saying I didn’t really want to wait until today and just see you again right away on Tuesday?” 

It makes his heart jump, because, yeah, something like that. Something exactly like that. 

“Uh-huh. It’s just…” He sighs and steps back to look at Steve. “I’m having a really wonderful day. And it feels sort of forbidden.” 

“Forbidden how?” 

“Like… God, this is gonna sound very, like, thirty steps ahead, probably. But you’re, like. Man. You’re kinda perfect, and I can’t really wrap my head around the fact that we’re on this date, and that you’re calling me cute and pretty. Because people don’t do that. Not to a trans guy, not to me. And I didn’t even know I wanted that, but, boy. Boy. I do. I really fucking do.” 

Steve is smiling by the end of it, and Eddie doesn’t quite understand. He should be running, should be looking at him with pity in his eyes, or that misplaced kind of understanding that’s really just nothing else but pity, just disguised with a dash of transphobia. 

“Why are you smiling?” he asks when he’s just about to explode. 

Steve shrugs, but that smile stays. “I like that you just… Say these things. That I can ask you what’s up and you’ll tell me. I don’t know, makes me feel like you trust me.” 

“I do.” 

That smile widens a fraction, and Steve takes his hand. “Well, let me return the favour, hm? I like being here with you. I’m having a really amazing time and I don’t want it to end. I didn’t want it to end on Tuesday either, I don’t know. It just… I don’t know, it feels right. And you are cute. And pretty. And funny, and just really great to spend time with. It feels like I get to be a version of myself with you that’s just, like, all of it, you know? It’s scary, of course it is, and makes me feel a bit stupid, too, but more than that it’s just really great. I’m sorry people are weird, but believe me when I say that, yes, you get to have cutesy dates, too. I’d take you on one, like, every week if you want.” 

“Every week, huh? What, do you have a crush on me, Harrington?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” 

And just like that, they’re laughing again. Relieved, happy, filling their little bubble with joy and sincerity and butterflies. 

Things are moving fast, but Eddie feels that if they went any slower, the world might actually end. 

They don’t kiss that day. 

In fact, it’s past midnight when Steve cradles Eddie’s cheeks outside the door to his apartment, looking at him like he hung the moon. Eddie’s not any better off, he feels. 

“Can I kiss you, Eddie?”

“I’ll bite you if you don’t.” 

Steve hums as he leans and brushes his lips against Eddie’s. It’s a good kiss. Oh, it’s a great kiss. It might just be the best kiss of his life when he feels Steve’s tongue against his lips, and he moans a little as he winds his arms around Steve’s neck, holding him there. Keeping him. 

They kiss lazily, perfectly, for so long that it leaves Eddie a bit dizzy. And when he breaks away to take a breath, Steve leans his forehead against his temple. 

“Goodnight, Eddie,” he whispers. “Thank you for today.” 

Words fail him, so he just nods before pulling Steve in again by the back of his neck, kissing him some more. Because how in the world could he not? 

“When can I see you again?” he asks, just to be a little pathetic. 

Steve moves the kisses from his lips to his nose, his cheek, his eyelids and up to his forehead, making Eddie glad there’s a locked door behind him. 

“Tomorrow sound good?” 

“Tomorrow sounds perfect,” Eddie breathes. “Best fucking day of the week.�� 

Steve laughs and presses one last chaste kiss to his lips. 

“For the record,” Essie says, pulling away from Steve, a bit breathless, “when you say tomorrow, you mean today, right?” 

And Steve pauses. Steps away from Eddie. “I can’t believe I like a guy who thinks the day is over at midnight.” 

Eddie would laugh at that, but… “You like me, huh?” 

“Very much. Thought that was obvious what with the kissing and the handholding and the whole speech thing we had going on earlier.” 

Eddie is too giddy to retort and he’s only mildly petrified when he actually giggles, darting forward for another kiss. “Goof. Goodnight, Stevie. Now leave before I do something stupid like inviting you in.” 

“Oh yeah, we wouldn’t wanna do that. You’d end up seeing all my tattoos and spontaneously combust. I can’t bear that kind of responsibility.” 

“Your— Steve!” But the man is already retreating, walking backwards to watch Eddie as he laughs, giving a silly little wave that has no business being so cute. “Get your ass back here,” Eddie hisses as loud as he dares, aware of the time and the fact that his neighbours will be asleep already. And that’s not even mentioning Chrissy. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Eddie.” 

“Will you show me your tats then?” 

“What? Sorry, I suddenly can’t hear you anymore, you’re so far away.” Asshole. Beautiful fucking asshole who kisses so good that Eddie’s still leaning against the door. He hates him. So much. They’re gonna have a spring wedding. 

Tomorrow finds Eddie outside of Steve’s door, fighting both nerves and a big smile as he knocks. Seconds later, the door sweeps open with a flourish and Steve is on the other side, smirking at him, looking so damn put together that Eddie falters a bit. 

“So rude of you to turn up your damn charm, Harrington.” 

“Only for you, Munson,” Steve says, taking Eddie’s hand and pulling him inside. “Only for you.” 

Eddie steps into his personal space and kicks the door shut gently. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m charmed. What’cha gonna do about it, big boy?” 

Steve hums, bringing his hands up to Eddie’s neck. “Think I’m gonna kiss it better, see if that helps.” 

And then he does. He pulls Eddie in, closing what little space was left between them and takes his breath away with a long, gentle, intimate kiss. 

“God,” Eddie breathes against his lips, his own hands landing in Steve’s hair, which earns him another hum. 

“Yup.” 

God, he’s so lame. 

“So,” Eddie says with one last kiss to Steve’s lips. And then another. And another. “Show me your tats?” 

Steve laughs and leads the way further into the apartment. It’s nothing like Eddie expected. Sure, it’s tidy and clean, because Steve just seems like the kind of guy who folds his laundry immediately and takes his dishes to the sink instead of letting them pile up or soak. But there are posters on the wall, there are little figurines and fairy lights lining the shelves, pictures of Steve and a girl that looks vaguely familiar. So many pictures actually, of Steve and the girl and other people, laughing and blurry at times, testaments of good times. 

They make Eddie smile a bit. Fucking sunny boy Steve, alright. 

Steve and Eddie end up talking for a while first, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and some stupidly delicious cupcakes. 

“Robbie made those.” 

“Your roommate best friend? The one with the fear of needles or something?” 

“The one and only,” Steve laughs. “She has a little bakery down the street, actually. Used to stress bake half her life before she turned it into a business. The night before her finals in high school, she made three cakes and dour batches of, like, three different types of cookies. She aced her finals, of course.” 

“Of course,” Eddie grins, taking another bite of the cupcake. He’ll have to stay with Steve just to get his hands on more of these, damn. Chrissy is coming with him to get more tomorrow, he decides.

“I also told her you chose her favourite little angel and she wants to marry you now. Except, I reminded her that you’re a man and she, very respectfully, passes.” 

“Shame.” 

“Very. Guess now you’re stuck with me.” 

“Damn. The hardship,” Eddie sighs with all the drama lessons he ever had in his life, and it makes Steve chuckle as he takes his hand. They stare at each other for a moment or two, just soaking up the smell of coffee and their respective smiles. 

The moment ends when Steve raises his hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles before rising to his feet and tugging him along into his room. Eddie zones out for a bit just watching Steve move in his space, talking about something that Eddie doesn’t really comprehend because he’s busy staring as Steve takes of his shirt, and— 

Oh. 

They’re wings. 

Steve has wings. Four of them, and they’re like mandalas. Intricate little things, but when Eddie takes a closer look, trailing his hand along Steve’s warm skin, he can’t help but notice that the lines are a bit like smoke. They don’t seem to follow any pattern or direction, and up close, they don’t look like wings. Up close they look like disjointed, wonky lines. Like a freestyle tattoo, almost absentminded in its ink.

They’re beautiful, covering Steve’s whole back, mixing fine line patterns with stronger, thicker, almost aggressive lines. Eddie could stare for hours, tracing the abstract lines, trying to figure them out and giving up with the fondest fascination. 

And that’s how they find themselves in Steve’s bed, shirtless, Steve lying down on his front, his head placed comfortably on his folded arms. Eddie is straddling his legs, moving his hands up and down Steve’s back, which turns into a light massage and Steve purrs underneath his touch. 

There’s nothing sexual about this — and not just because they’re both sort of ace. It’s just tender. Trusting. Gentle. 

Steve’s shoulders, his chest the insides of his upper arms, they’re all covered in tattoos. All rather abstract versions of common motifs. There are monsters, too, and it’s like someone turned Lovecraftian storytelling into a tattoo machine and used Steve as a canvas. Eddie somehow has no doubt that Steve designed most of these together with Robin or that artist friend Will he mentioned yesterday.

He wants to ask, wants to understand, wants to know it all. But words don't belong in this moment, so Eddie keeps up the gentle motions of his hands. Soon, Steve is falling asleep under his hands and Eddie joins him after a while. They’re wrapped around each other, comfortable, without a care in the world. It’s rather perfect. 

And if you ask Eddie years down the line, he’ll say that this is the moment he knew he could very well fall in love with Steve Harrington. In fact, he’s already on his way there. 

---

okay whew, we are done? i think? maybe? there might be a buckingham part to this at some point, but if y'all have anything you wanna see in this verse, i'm open to being pestered very kindly and patently please i am quite literally on the verge of an anxiety attack rn)

thank you @ everyone who was even mildly enthusiastic about this little thing, you 12 people have my whole heart 🤍🌷🥹

tagging:  @inmoonywetrust @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @vampireinthesun @ajamlessbaby @momotonescreaming @zerokrox-blog @hotluncheddie @saganarojanaolt @eboyawstenn

[jwirecs]

Recommended NCT Fics of October 2022💖

hello, hello! here are my nct recs of october! hopefully these beautiful stories will have more recognition as well as the writers 💝

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

Catch Me If I Fall || @meraki-mark​​💕💔✅💯💯💯💯

↳ mark lee, the kid that finished all the work first and had almost a perfect gpa. he was your best friend. everything changed when the masked web-slinger showed up to save the day one fateful night.

THE SEQUEL I CRIED. Y DID YOU DO THIS TO ME. my ass was literally in bed crying during the sequel i cant

Convenience Store Love || @yeow6n​​​​💕💔🔄

↳ with college draining your wallet and your mental health, you needed to find a job. luckily for you, your friend, mark, recommends you a job at a convenience store, that is just so conveniently located at the corner of your street. mark didn’t mention a cute, chocolate haired boy working there though!

Ghosting You || @just-come-baek​​ 🔞💕✅💯💯

↳ You met Jaemin about a year ago. After a night full of adventures, he promised to give you a call. He did not. Sometimes universe gifts second chances, but you didn’t really expect to meet again with him. Especially not when you decided to go to the countryside to flip the haunted house that you recently inherited.

Hot & Cold || @ddeonuism​​​💕💔✅

↳ Donghyuck and Y/N, Y/N and Donghyuck. Whatever the order was, everyone knew it wasn’t the same without the other; everyone knew that you two would end up together, one way or another. Only, no one ever told Donghyuck that it would take this long. It took an unnecessary long time for him to get where he wanted you to be, but it was worth all the years if it meant he’d get you in the end. After all, he wouldn’t spend all of his time and effort to plan on confessing with an old pink Nintendo DS Lite and a Pokémon Pearl cartridge.

Lifetime || @donkey-hyuck​​​💕✅💯

↳ you were everything, as he was to you.....in which jaehyun recalls all the moments he’s spent with you and his daughter. a lifetime of endearment and a lifetime of his little family. a lifetime full of never ending love<3

My Forever Only || @peanutpinet​​💕💔✅💯

↳ you were working under a company that was going to collaborate with Jaehyun but your ex-company wanted to sue you for something and when you suddenly weren’t the one that would help Jaehyun, he started to question about your presence and when he found out what actually happened, he was ready to make a move and make sure that your ex-company was going to burn for you

He Fell First, and He Fell Harder || @purinpeach​​​💕✅💯💯

↳ jeong jaehyun really loves basketball. but also, he’s terribly in love with his childhood best friend of seventeen years, you.

Pineapple || @haetkeeper​​ 🔞💕🔄💯💯

↳ when paired up with the worst partner in the entirety of the university, this research paper is going to need a lot of work—too bad the topic of interest is sex education. with two geniuses like yourselves, you have two different project ideas, but both of them require you to get a whole lot closer to donghyuck than you’ve ever wanted to be. (yall already know what people say about eating pineapples for us females)

Dirty Love || @justwritedreams​​​ 🔞💕✅💯

↳ Requests: Can i request for fuckboy jeno and fuckgirl yn who have nvr slept w eo and finally do + can i request for uni ice hockey captain jeno x reader fluff and maybe abit of smut

The Cursed Nine Tailed || @onyourhyuck​​🔞💕💔✅💯💯💯

↳ Na Yuta is cursed and he blames you. You’re a powerful ruling Shaman in the mountains, keeping peace restored. Yuta is a fox with chaos in his body. He knows you’re here to punish him for god’s works.

The Beauty Within || @justwinwin​​​💕💔✅💯💯💯

↳ you never passed up the chance to get in the good books of all your teachers. So when the opportunity arised to possibly make your chemistry teacher actually like you, seeing as he was the only one that seemed to have it in for you, you couldn’t say no. Only problem? You had to tutor the bad boy.

Pretty Little Weapon || @lisired​​​​🔞💕💔✅💯💯

↳ A lifetime worth of adversity had brought you to Bloodlust. You joined them to escape your history, but with Mark Lee - an undercover narcotics agent with a secret to keep - comes the threat of being forced to confront your past. Old wounds are opened, but scars heal.

Who’s Gonna Drive You Home? || @alreadyblondenow​​​ 🔞💕💔✅

↳ (no summary but its a love triangle between taeyong x reader x jaehyun. and we love a good ol love triangle. its a two part series fyi)

The Scent of Blood || @yutaholic​​​ 🔞💕💔🔄💯💯

↳ the vampire and the werewolf; enter this love triangle at your own risk

Do check out all of the other NCT Fics that i have reblogged as well!!

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

Hey!! So I had an idea floating around my head and I had to share it, feel free to use it or scrap it if it doesn’t fit with your story but, what if reader is having like bomb ass morning sex with Ghost and they’re so happy and in love and then reader wakes up and realizes it was alll just a dream and they realize Ghost is gone and everything that happened last night was still true 💔

Can’t wait to see how the story progresses! Thanks for listening 💕

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Chef F!Reader 

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, the usual brand of melancholy, “bomb ass” sex (or an attempt at it) and the tiniest hint of a plot but only if you squint. 18+ only.

LENGTH: 1.2k

A/N:  I changed the prompt a little as I wanted it to fit neatly into the timeline but I hope you enjoy it, lovely 🖤  

(More Situationship Simon here.)

____

The first time Simon takes the mask off is when you’re panting underneath him, eyes squeezed tightly shut and hands fisting the covers as he opens you up on his tongue and on his fingers.  

You’re overwhelmed and almost close to tears when he suddenly stops, your orgasm so close that you feel it building in the pit of your stomach.  But he has other plans. Because it’s not good enough for him that you come in his mouth, he’d like to feel you shatter around him.  So in a rare show of vulnerability, he takes his mask off and he makes you come apart at the seams. 

You catch only the barest hint of colour on his cheeks before you’re unable to keep your eyes open anymore, coming for him hard.   His mouth doesn’t stop moving on you, though, and you’re whining, your voice sounding delirious at this point.   It’s the most peculiar feeling you’ve known–your mind’s trying to tell you to squirm away from his mouth even as you fist the covers under you to give you just enough leverage to push your cunt into him.  

The dichotomy isn’t lost on you—though, in the throes of your pleasure, any nuance to appreciate it is. 

That evening, he makes you ride his face, and you swear, you swear, it changes your life. 

____

The last time Simon takes his mask off in front of you is when he comes to your house on that day.  

You only have to hear the sound of the key turning in the lock for a smile to break on your face, almost involuntarily.  It’s been about two months since you’ve seen him.  You’ve both gone longer without seeing each other, of course,  but this one’s special.  This time he says he’s on leave for three months.  This time, it’s the middle of December and bitterly cold outside.

This time you’re going to pluck the courage to ask him to spend Christmas with you.

So when you hear the door open, you’re up and sprinting. Simon only gets a split second of a warning before he’s dropping whatever’s in his hands and opens his arms for you.  And when you crash into his arms, he lifts you off of your feet with a small oof.  He takes a step back—it’s only later that you see the bandages at his side and note that he seems to be favouring one knee over the other—but you bury your face in his neck, trying to crawl inside him. It’s nothing short of bliss.  In any case,  it’s not like he seems to mind—his arms tighten around you in silent understanding.  You both don’t say a word for a few moments, choosing to languish in the calm, the sweet silence, the welcome quiet of his homecoming.  

You’re the first to break contact, and he takes a deep breath—inhaling the scent of your hair?—and puts you down on your feet.  You’re astonished at the reminder of how big he is compared to you.  He towers over you—large and broad and fucking gorgeous, and if you could see yourself right now, you’d see your eyes shining up at him, your affection and your love and your attraction trying to make themselves known to him in your glassy stare.  

You stand on your toes to kiss his cheek, but it seems he’s not done making you moon over him yet.  He tugs his face covering off— a simple black surgical mask today—and shakes his hair at you, spraying you with cold water, making you giggle.  He’s not done though—he leans forward, a whispered hi at your ear, and presses cold lips to your cheek, making you squeal and squirm from him, before he’s kicking your door entirely shut, and dragging you to your bedroom.

He seems like he wants to savour you, but you’re overcome with sudden desperation, feeling feral for this man.  Please, you beg.  What you don’t say is that you want him to take his time with you, give you all of him, demand that you give yourself to him in return. 

But what you need right now, more than anything, is for him to put his hands on you, remind you of what you’ve both been deprived of for weeks.

But Simon is nothing if not intuitive, and he’s always been entirely in tune with your body.  He knows what you need, and he’s more than happy to oblige. 

He kisses you like it’s an art form, his tongue soft but moving deliberately.   His hands are on the sides of your face, and if that wasn’t enough to make you completely melt into him, he moans when you grind into him, the soft noise sounding almost involuntary.   

There’s barely any time wasted after that, and in a matter of moments, he’s pressed deep inside you.  He hasn’t even bothered removing his clothes, you note, nor yours.  Your panties are quickly slid to the side, and he’s pile-driving his hips into yours.  The deep rocking motion has you sliding upward, and in a moment of desperation you’re throwing your arms up, hands wrapping tightly around the posts of your bed so you don’t slide away from him.  

But the image of you in that moment— your arms above your head, breasts bouncing in time with his thrusts and your silk top pooled around your waist, head thrown back and your mouth slack from the exquisite pleasure—is too much for Simon, who bends over in half to stoop down to you to kiss you.  Fuck, love, he whispers against your mouth, and your eyes almost roll back into your head at the accompanying thrust.  His hands come to your hips and hold tight, the way he knows you like, and you just know that you’ve got the most glazed-over look in your eyes, but he doesn’t care, holding you still and making you take it.  

Makin’ a mess on my cock, pet, he says, and you look up to see him watching where you’re joined and it’s almost in slow motion that you see his hand leave your hip and make its way to your clit when—

You’re jolted out of the dream by a blaring alarm.  Fuck.  

You can taste the evidence of brackish water on your skin and your head pounds behind your eyes from lack of any meaningful sleep.    

It’s the morning after you were the architect of your own doom, but the world hasn’t shifted from its axis—though yours certainly has—and you’ve got work and responsibilities, but still no Simon.  You glance at your phone quickly, checking for a missed call, a message, anything to show that he’d wanted to fix things and talk to you with the same insane desperation you did.  

There’s nothing.

You get dressed idly, wondering if you’ll see him waiting for you outside your flat, or at the restaurant, or at the supermarket.  In the days that follow, you even wonder if you’ll see him in your flat one day after work.

(That line of thought dies a gruesome death when you wake up one morning to see an envelope with your keys, sitting on the floor inside your flat.  You cry yourself to sleep that night.)      

You wait for him for a whole three months before you finally stop.