#it’s cuz when i read a book i like to see all versions of it (so the graphic novel version or movie or musical too if there is one)

[sockiesock]

i swear to god i genuinely dislike graphic novels and comics but i’ve been reading SO MUCH of them lately 😭

[katiekatdragon27]

Sometimes I forget that Flatland is something I can interpret as my own thing so I'ma do that now.

Ik these look very inspired by Flatland 2007, cuz they lowkey are, but I just really like how A. Sphere looks I'm sorry (ik the creator is bad but I can't help the brainworms). I wanted to add quirks tho so it's better imo. My versions of the characters if you will. More fun to draw for me and less ugly (on A. Square's end).

They have actual names and design purposes for each thing. Abel's glove to prevent contamination into himself from Flatland, Anthony's glasses and front hairs being makeshift arms, all that has a reason lol.

More explanations of stuff below cut:

The Flatland parts of Flatland the book stay the same mostly. I'm not changing much there. I do want to flesh out Spaceland tho, so I'ma do that cuz I'm super self-indulgent.

In my version of Flatland, I think it would've been fuunier if out of frustration, Abel Spherious ("A Sphere"), grabbed Anthony Squaur ("A Square") out of Flatland and yoinked him out without thinking about the consequences. He realizes shortly after that he probably shouldn't have done that, and it will probably have horrendous consequences later down the line.

Abel almost kills Anthony on accident, so uh, yikes. But then after bringing him out of Flatland, he decides to work with it, taking him back to his office to do his report on Flatland. He sorta keeps him hidden, but on the last day Anthony gets leaked to the public and the war starts over it rip. However, the span that this is like 3 days, so they get time to chat and develop communication skills n stuff.

Also, since the gravity is so harsh on Anthony's body, he struggles with talking, only emerging little squeaks. Eventually he's able to use a device to get his thoughts across (probably like a telegraph or smth), so the first day or so of being out of Flatland was a terrible time for communication. Especially when you're so entranced with the idea of seeing your "god's" insides.

Also, Abel just kinda finds Anthony gross in general (cuz he looks like a bacteria) and rejects all advances until Anthony learn to properly yap though morse code. When Anthony writes the Flatland novel, Abel translates it for the world of Spaceland to read and not want to obliterate Flatland. However, that is after his misadventures in the fourth dimension (boo a Heightlander's Escape reference tomato tomato).

These are some studies of the two. I really like the hairs on Anthony, it makes him so much more expressive. Also, Abel is a slaying king, I love him sm.

Also, Abel is like the last person who should be in charge of a company. That shit goin down the drain in a week I swear (he came to work high every day his first month of being CEO). I'll probably change the name a lil I just have to cook.

Also, silly joke of how Anthony and Abel met lol.

Have a good one broskies :)))

[derpydoteddrake]

Viktor is under some kind of influence, but at first glance it's hard to tell the exact nature of it.

But I believe its more simple than one would think.

The core is basically jingling keys in front of him and telling him to look at them.

But I believe its more simple than one would think.

The core is basically jingling keys in front of him and telling him to look at them.

Firstly, why is the sky hallucination sus? could it just be his own mind?

Her guiding him to her book and later showing up next to the shimmer addict could be explained as just his conscious.

However, he also woke up to her screams and it was her voice that guided him to the addicts, both things go beyond what could manifest only from his own perception of things.

Not only that, this is the exact place where he later cocoons himself again. So it's no accident he ended up here.

It's also good to note how Viktors saw her differently then how she was, he sees him as a more idolised version of herself, which is als a good indication that she is not real.

But then in act 2 she appeals completely harmless, she doesn't push him into anything, and it looks like she offers some sense of emotional support.

And that's the point, it's feeding into viktors weaknesses as a person, all it needs to do, is give him the illusion of company, and keep him in his head.

Viktor was always a loner, but he also seeked out second opinions and he was in fact very lonely and wished for company.

This is exactly what the core is giving him the illusion of. A second opinion and company.

By herself “sky” does not offer any new information to viktor, she is either stathing things he is already aware of, things viktor thinks she would say, or reassures him.

“She liked me, she would be concerned about me!”

“I remember telling her that once!”

“She was caring, she would be upset at someone's death!”

In fact, it might even try to distract him from the important things, we don't see a lot of it, but the moment Viktor starts to wonder what's up with Jayce, she attempts to move his thoughts elsewhere from thinking about what is wrong with him.

Viktors perception of the world is fundamentally changed, this is already pretty isolating but now he has a mind buddy! He's Not alone anymore, there's someone who talks to him, who cares about him, who he can share ideas with,

someone who loves him.

I'm going to concede, I do think their relationship has a romantic undertone, if for nothing else it's because viktors perception of sky is pretty heavily defined by her love letters to him.

Regardless of your reading (how much do you think he reciprocates that), it is giving him the company he wished for.

Why is that bad?

It's because it keeps him docile, and so far up his own 4ss that he doesn't realise how messed up what he is actually doing is. He is stuck with his own regurgitated thoughts.

The only thing he ever gets is reassurance that what he is doing is in fact good, he doesn't have an outside perspective on what's happening with him or around him.

He doesn't have the head space to self reflect cuz something always chimes in, always keeps him thinking, solving problems, solving puzzles.

We never once saw him actively trying to talk to any of his followers, the only people who he does are not affected by him, and come to him directly, he didn't even bother seeking out Jayce himself.

The only way he communicates with them is when he wants to do his creepy puppet thing and if the only thing left in his followers head is gratitude towards him and he never examines what it did to them as people, no wonder he doesn't notice a thing.

He just unquestionably spreads the core's influence.

No wonder the first awful idea anyone gave him in who knows how long that isn't his own stuck with him.

He always had a tendency to get sucked into his work and dont bother with people (ironically that is one of the reasons sky got dusted) and don't bother with anything else, and now the conditions are orchestrated for this to basically keep him in his own head.

He doesn't really care about his followers either, he watched one of them get smashed and didn't give a damn.

He doesn't care for them as people, they are more akin to problems he can solve and move on. He was barely even bothered about Jayce's condition, probably assuming he will come to him and he can fix him right away.

We can see this in his visions of how he conceptualizes himself, he looks very human, and yet he got these unsettling yellow eyes. He is blind to the ways he changed, just look at how he acts in them.

At first glance he appears a lot more emotive and it also tells us that he is fairly enjoying himself and his new perception of the world but also the main thing we see of him is his endless curiosity about things, not his empathy towards them.

He is well meaning of course, but he doesn't/cant reflect enough to see what he is really doing. Namely taking away the things he saw in these people, their dreams.

And he constantly has problems to solve, we saw how many people went to him, he always has something to think about, and he always has someone to talk to about it without needing to waste precious time on seeking out a second opinion.

In s1 he barely reacted to the beginning of a civil war going around him, now people depend on him and in the middle of a civil war he doesn't have any way of protecting these people.

He barely gives a damn about him slowly deteriorating. He doesn't live in reality anymore. He cannot see the forest for the trees. (though he might have had some plans we don't know of, since Salo was gathering materials for him.)

And his guilt just amplifies this.

From s1 one of his strongest traits was how much he believed if he gets the right tools, and the opportunity, he can help people.

“Do you think my life ambition is to be an assistant?”

“If you are going to change the world don't ask for permission.”

“All I did was believe in myself.”

This is what skys death puts into question.

This is why he almost jumped afterwards, this fundamental belief in himself was put into question. He got the chance to do what he wanted and someone died.

This is where his guilt comes into play, he isn't making his own dream a reality, we saw that what he really wanted is to give people tools that they can use to create, but that's not what he is doing.

He is doing what he believes Skye's dream was.

It doesn't even look like he invents things anymore, he just mostly uses his powers and studies botanics. (tho we saw Salo steal some stuff for him so he might have some plans that we don't know yet?)

This is even the context he brought her up to jayce: she had such dreams.

From her notes we can assume she hoped to help make a zaun that is cleaner and more connected to nature.

This is the reason why he is so receptive to skyes positive affirmation, its because in his head he is correcting his wrong, her affirmation and forgiveness gave him back the belief that he can still do good.

Now he has the right tools and the opportunity to do it, so he won't fail again.

He is literally wearing her symbol on his clothes.

He is doing this out of some kind of repentance for his sins.

So the way he sees it: he is helping these people, who on they own free will just happen to stay here cuz its nice and he conveniently can puppet them if needed, he doesn't question that cuz he never bothers to talk to them and skys happy and she talks to him so why bother when no one sees the world like he does.

What he doesn't realise is that he is pretty much meant to die there.

There's a reason why his palace was builded here, he literally got told to build it there. It was there so he could die and cocoon himself again.

When he first saw jayce and encountered the singularity, he was literally describing himself.

“self annihilating and replicating” That's him, this entity is connected to him, he is meant to die and be reborn over and over again. He might not completely embody it yet, but he is a product of it. (and he will probably gonna try to harness it, that's what the beginning of ep 6 set up.)

I don't think he expected jayce to shoot him, when he saw what he was going to do he looked pretty shocked, but he was intentionally kept docile by the core basically guaranteeing that even actually he will die out.

And then he had the audacity to conclude it must have happened cuz people just suck.

He tried nothing to prevent this and he is already out of options.

To his defense he was probably really lost in the sauce at this point.

This is also why he was making his following, he was supposed to draw power from them after he dies so he can be reborn again.

This also means that singed and ambessa are probably interfering with this process.

It would explain why he looks so wrong in the poster.

In conclusion, the core keeps Viktor in a mind state where he is docile enough not to question what's happening around him using his already existing flaws against him in order to spread itself.

One last thing I would like to add is that I don't think this will be his final transformation, I believe the final one will either happen at the top of the hex gate or at the bottom of it.

[snap-fyre]

Something I really enjoy about the Alex Rider series is that it’s not shy about showing Alex’s vulnerability.

Reminder that I haven’t read the books since I was a child and have forgotten a lot, but I’m pretty sure in those Alex was usually portrayed as the typical teenage boy protagonist. He was snarky/sarcastic, gave the bad guys henchmen nicknames, and for the most part he really worked alone. I’m almost finished season 2, but a difference I noticed is that he hasn’t got his all the really cool spy gear (that I was always envious of) he would usually be given at the beginning of missions, and when he was in a bad situation he could only rely on himself to get him out of it. But in the show they took those away, and due to that he really has to rely on people.

Both in season 1 and now in 2 he couldn’t have made it without Kyra (when he gets captured/caught and strapped to a table, then when he impersonates K7 and she has to guide him out) and its obvious that his relationship with Tom (Jack too, but I really think Tom’s a big one here) is really special to him, not just because he’s able to think outside the box (like when Alex wanted to just wait all day for the journalist guy and Tom was all ‘i’ll just set off the alarm and evacuate the building) but also because he’s his best friend and makes him laugh/smile. Alex smiles so much at Tom’s antics and I really love the show for choosing to maintain that this is a teenage boy who needs his friends to keep him grounded.

And when he’s all convinced that Yassen is in the area he tells everyone!! Jack, Tom, even Sabina! (who really he should’ve at least tried to keep the whole spy thing a secret from i feel like come on, Alex, please) He jumps out in situations when he should stay hidden! He is not secretive when it comes to those he loves! And you can see that he wants and needs them to believe him. From what I remember, book Alex was more ‘ooh! Cool teenage spy, beating up all the bad guys and saving the world cuz Blunt won’t let him go!’ (Or maybe not, I’ll reread them someday) but this Alex cares!! This version of Alex cared so much about what happened to his uncle Ian, he cared so much that his evil clone was hurting Tom and ran as fast as he could to get to them, he cares so much about Kyra he went on a drugged up rant about how she’s special and he wouldn’t fall for fake Kyra’s tricks again. He cares so much about Sabina and her dad.

TV! Alex I will always love you.

[eetherealgoddess]

helloo, I just want to tell you I've been your fan since I downloaded tumblr. I can't, your fanfics are to die for. 😭 I'm sorry, I've been the one liking your stories from the start, I hope it doesn't bother you and I'm sorry if it does.

can I request a really really dark supernatural au smut bonten x fem reader? I can't explain how much I love your supernatural au fanfics😭

Although idk who you are specifically, I appreciate all your likes and the request so you don’t have to be sorry!! I embrace all feedback!! Unfortunately, I don’t think I made this dark enough, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!! ♡︎♡︎♡︎

Y’all it’s wild cuz blood actually makes me queasy and uncomfortable. Especially gore and yet I write and read it even though I gotta pause to breathe from time to time lmao. This one is FULL of blood and gore. So be mindful!! ꨄꨄꨄ

ꨄBlood Thirstyꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Bonten Djinn Au

❦Your blood is enticing to Bonten❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

The male leads are Djinn, based off of the show Supernatural, though I’ve created my own version for the story. I’ve never watched the show but I searched up supernatural monsters and found Djinn.

In this story, they’re tattooed beings who drink blood and eat flesh. They trap their victims by luring them with their glowing eyes that cause a hypnotic trance. Their tattoos will glow the same color as their eyes. They can only be killed with a silver knife laced with an antidote created by Djinn slayers.

Djinn are not mine nor is this the original type of creature. There’s also another definition that has nothing to do with the show so you should research that if you want to find out because I don’t have enough info on that to be able to explain it.

Not fully proofread

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Blood Thirsty

You were quiet, hand covering your own mouth as your eyelids flutter closed. You lean your back against the shelf of books, hiding in an aisle of the abandoned library as you sit with your knees to your chest. You contain your vomit as you listen to the sounds of your friend's flesh ripping apart, the blood splattering against the floors as the putrid smell of death reaches your nose. Your other hand is placed against your pounding heart as your body tenses, hair sticking up as you prevent yourself from having an anxiety attack.

Earlier, you and your friends had gone to a local nightclub just to get out and have fun. Because the night club is owned by Djinn yakuza members, it was a sacrificial night, the full moon being the reason for this massacre. A ritual that was made into an agreement between humans and Djinn. Djinn can survive off of animal prey, which is what they eat until the night it’s time to feed. You had no idea the building was owned by not only a criminal organization but Djinn creatures at that. Not until one of your friends said, “Who knew Djinn could give us such a great time?”

Apparently your other three friends didn’t know either, eyebrows furrowing when they heard the news. It was already dangerous to be out late at night since that’s when they prowl on a full moon, but to also attend a Djinn club is just asking to be somebody’s meal. You smacked her shoulder and asked, “Why did you bring us here knowing that it’s feeding night?”

“They’re hot!” She responds, “If they’re gonna be active tonight then I know I can score at least one in exchange for my blood!” The creatures are known to be attractive, adding to the hype of the tattooed beings. Unfortunately, your friend is so boy crazy that she’ll put everyone at risk just for a chance with a murderous creature.

You all escaped and ran as fast as you could when all hell broke loose, ending in this dark dusty library, choosing your spots to hide in. You knew you couldn’t stay in the same spot for long. You knew you were going to have to move before they stopped feeding. The blood curdling screams of your friends begin to quiet down as you look over to the original friend who put you all in this predicament. She sat at the aisle across from you, eyes wide as well as her own hand covering her mouth as her body trembled. You both eyed each other in terror before you motioned for the door opposite of the sound. It was a few aisles down. You both have the potential to make it as they continue to eat.

You nod at her before standing on your feet, crouching as you peeked behind your aisle, instantly regretting it as you turned back away from the gruesome scene. Holding your stomach you ease your way to the other side of the aisle in front of you, hands trembling as you hold your breath once pausing, listening for any movement towards you. When all you heard was the usual ripping and bone cracking you turned to look at your friend who's following behind on her own side. You both move again and again until you finally make it out of the door, sprinting down the hall until you make it outside.

Your original plan was to keep running until you didn’t hear your friend behind you, turning around you noticed her standing in place, staring to the side.

“F/n! F/n! Come on!” You call out to her, confused as to why she stopped.

“But he’s so pretty.” She says breathlessly, her eyes beginning to glow purple.

You follow her sight, startled when you notice the shirtless man with a large tattoo on the left side of his torso, as well as a symbol on his neck. His purple mullet flowing in the wind as he stands across from her, eyes and tattoos glowing purple. Blood stained his mouth as well as his chest, his hands dripping with the substance as he licked some of the liquid off his fingers. You turn away as you grab her face, turning her to face you.

“Wake up! Wake up now! We’re gonna be killed!” You shake her face as her mouth hangs open, slobber dripping as you shift your gaze back to the male who stood still. You know you should leave her, but you can’t. You know it’s her fault, as well as yours for even being out in the first place on a night like this. Tears fall down your eyes as you contemplate whether or not to leave her to die. The only way she can be pulled out of the trance is by the Djinn releasing her or death.

You could be a savior and offer yourself up, but fear overtook your senses. You couldn’t possibly save her, so you decide to make a run for it while you still can, releasing her face. Before you could run, claws wrap around your wrist, yanking you back as you fall on the grass, bottom making contact with the ground as another tattooed being crouches over you. You noticed the yellow glow against the tiger symbol on his neck as well as the symbol that matches with the purple eyed Djinn on the right side of his chest.

His smile was as cold as his golden gaze, eyes refrained from glowing as he stared down at your fearful face. Blood covered his torso as well as his hands. You could see that his teeth were also stained with red as his smile widened.

“Where do ya think you’re going?”

You could only stare back at his face before you looked over to your friend, your hand reaching out in reflex as you called out to her when she walked over to the male. A hand on your chin forces you to turn your attention back to the brunette with blonde strands hanging over his face.

“Hey! Pay attention to me. I asked you a question.” He eyes you with an irritated gaze, causing you to yelp when he squeezes your chin tightly, claws poking your skin.

“Playing with your food, Kazu?” Another shirtless man walks toward the two of you from inside the building, fresh blood covering his mouth as well as his whole torso while the large tattoo on the right side of his body as well as the one on his neck glows purple.

He stops next to you both, sniffing the air as he eyes you and your friend with a lazy smile.

“Are you radiating that sweet scent, darling?”

“N-no! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You say as you pull back from the man’s grip.

The purple eyed man’s fingers met his chin. “Hm. Of course you don’t. You smell it?” He faces the crouching man.

“Yeah. That’s what brought me over here. Never smelled blood like that before.” The tiger symboled man pushes himself from the ground, standing over you as their intense gazes study you like you’re a new specimen.

Your eyebrows furrow as you notice their eyes becoming dim, faces turning red as they hold dazed looks on their faces.

“Man, your smell is intoxicating.” Kazutora breathes out, chest rising as he drags a large sniff of the air.

“Maybe we should preserve this one, yeah?” The short haired man suggests.

“You think boss’ll allow it?” Kazutora questions.

“Allow what?” A pink haired man entered the scene, walking until he reached the two men standing above you. His hair covered in blood as well as his face, hands, and chest, as if he rubbed himself against the liquid while feeding. You eye the blue glow of his wrist, the symbol matching the iciness of his piercing eyes. He sniffed the air, facing you as he observed your figure. Bending over, he grabs your arm, pulling you up on your feet and smelling the limb.

His face instantly warms, eyes dazed as he continues to sniff the sweet aroma, using a hand at the back of your neck to pull you closer as he nuzzles your neck. You put your hands on his chest as you pushed yourself away, his hand preventing you from moving as you struggled in his grasp.

“What is that?” He pulls back, turning to the others as he releases your neck only to keep a hold of your arm.

Kazutora shrugged. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

You hear the sound of flesh ripping along with a familiar scream of pain. Turning your head, you eye the gruesome sight. The man has your friend’s detached arm in his hand. A big gash is left where her arm used to be as her legs tremble, her eyes staying wide as they continue to glow purple. Blood drips from the wound as he bites into the flesh of the arm, more blood staining his mouth as he moans while satisfying his hunger.

Your hands shake as you eye the display in horror, tears streaming down your face as you watch your last friend become a beast’s meal. Instincts going haywire, you wanted to run away, but if you did, you knew you’d be easily captured by the Djinn considering their abilities. They have the upper hand against the human species. You’ve always wondered why they didn’t just take over. You could only stand there amongst the men, feeling helpless, weak, and vulnerable. It disgusted you to be so human in this predicament. You were going to die and you had no choice but to accept it.

“Awe, she’s crying. I think you’re hurting her arm, Sanzu.” Kazutora jokes, pointing at your tears. You ignored him as you turned your head away from your friend who’s shoulder just got bitten off, using both of your hands to cover your ears, the sound driving you crazy.

Sanzu releases you just in time for you to lean over and vomit. Bile burning your throat as you gag and dry heave.

“Disgusting.” Sanzu hissed as he walked towards the purple mullet. Kazutora leaned over with his hands on his knees.

“It’s amazing how you still smell sweet. There’s no way boss won’t take you home with us.” He beams.

“He does have a thing for sweet things.” Ran states with a cigar in his mouth, sparking it before shoving the lighter in his pants pocket.

A short man walks out of the building, the men immediately turning their attention to him. The atmosphere darkens almost as much as the voids you’d call his eyes. He gave you an icy glare, causing a rapid chill to run up your spine as well as sending alerts to your instincts. Your body tenses as he comes closer. You hear him sniffing, eyeing the blood on his mouth as well as on his chest, bloody claws by his sides. He stops in front of you, gazing into your soul as you shift in discomfort.

His gaze slightly softens as the familiar red hue forms on his face, panting softly as he drags more of your fumes through his nostrils. You eye the blood staining his platinum hair, the stench of flesh and blood surrounding you. His palm rests on the side of your neck for a moment before he uses a claw to nick the skin, slicing a small cut in between your neck and shoulder causing you to flinch. He leans in, warm breath grazing your neck before his tongue slithers against your wound. His sunken eyes widen as his hands grab your shoulders, pulling you in as you place your hands on his chest in an attempt to push him away before you yelp from the fangs piercing through your skin.

He gulps your blood down, moaning against you as you fall backwards. He lands on top of you, a hand sliding behind your neck while the other balances next to your head. Your hands grip his shoulders as your eyes shut tightly in pain. You hiss and whimper under him as the others, including Sanzu and Rin, watch as if they’re in their own trance. He finally pulls his teeth out of your neck before he grips the back of your neck tightly as he nuzzles against the wound. Your blood rubs along his face as he engulfs himself. He breathes your scent in deeply before pulling back.

He pants as he sits on top of you with intense eyes. You avoid eye contact by looking at your own blood covering the hand that felt the moisture from your neck. Your hand trembles as you look at the men who stood around you. He stands up and walks away from you. He flicks his head, motioning for them to grab you. When you see this, your fight or flight kicks in causing you to hop up and run. The only place you could go was the forest but if you stayed hidden there until the sun rose, they would have to let you go in order to not break the treaty.

“So she wants a chase?” Rin questions with a smirk as all the executives stand and watch you run.

“Bind her and bring her to the car when you’re done.” Mikey says before he hops into the car.

With a wide grin that shows their sharp stained teeth, the four men began to sprint after you, Ran dropping the cigar in the process.

You run as fast as you can, grunting and breathing hard as your heart pounds. Your chest tightens as the pain in your legs form fast from running at a speed you’ve never had to run. You hop off of mini hills as well as passing many trees. The only light allowing you to see in the moonlight shining through the leaves. You just had to find a hiding spot to survive the night. You wouldn’t have run into the forest if they weren’t blocking your way. You knew you couldn’t pass them.

You groan as the pain becomes almost unbearable, the tightening of your body making it harder to breathe. You knew you’d have to stop soon but your adrenaline is pumping and you refuse to let them catch you. At least not easily. You thank the heavens that you hadn’t worn heels, the platforms of your shoes smacking against the grassy terrain, attempting to not fall on loose twigs or branches. As you run, you also gaze around for any mud to prevent yourself from sliding on it.

You pant, mouth wide open as you peek behind you. Seeing nothing there you continue to run as you look for the perfect hiding place. If you were being honest with yourself, there’s a low chance of surviving without being caught. They probably know exactly where you are and just allow you to run because they like to play with their prey. You’re not dumb. You were just scared. You had to try. Before you could plant your feet into the ground, you run into a figure in front of you, slamming into them.

Your friend's blood stains your clothes, mixing in with your own as the man wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in as he leans over to smell your blood.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met.” A hand covers your mouth, blocking your scream. You’re forced to turn the other way, your back against his chest as he holds you in place. The other men stood in front of you in a curve, staring you down with glowing eyes.

“I don’t think I want to put her in a trance. I like it when they fight.”

“I want a taste. Mikey made you look so good.”

Suddenly, fingers connect with your chin, moving your head to the side as the person in front of you sniffs before leaning into the spot Mikey focused on.

A long tongue glides against your neck, the short haired man moaning softly before his teeth sinks in. You yelp in pain as another bite comes from behind, the man’s younger brother getting his own taste from the other side of your neck. The arm around your waist tightens you in place. You smack Ran’s shoulder as you try to push him away, tears rolling out of your eyes at the pain.

“You guys are hogging her all to yourself.” Kazutora states before snatching one of your arms. He bites into your forearm, eyes widening when the blood hits his taste buds, eagerly draining you. Sanzu does the same to the other arm, shutting his eyes as he drinks from you. You could only cry out in agony as they drain from you. Your body weakens as well as you becoming light headed. This goes on until you begin to see stars, your vision blurring. They pull away from you just in time before you faint, your body weak against the man behind you as you lean back.

Suddenly, your bottom met the ground as the man sitswith his back leaned against the tree. You begin to feel kisses littering all over your neck, lips hitting the blood that continues to ooze out.

“You taste so fucking good.” He whispers as he licks the liquid. Your eyelids are heavy as you sit barely awake. It feels like your black out drunk, going in and out of consciousness from whatever was spiked in it.

You look into the eyes in front of you, the person kneeling before you as two palms hold your cheeks, lips meeting yours as you’re forced to kiss the man. You couldn’t even flinch when he nipped your lip, blood drawing from you as you sat weakly.

“Let me go.” You whisper against his lips, not having enough strength to say much in a louder tone. He pulls back as he smirks.

“Go where? You can’t even walk.” Sanzu says as he crouches beside you, eyeing the wound on your neck and using his fingers to force you to turn towards him.

The red hue is still stuck on all of their faces, dazed eyes as if they’re intoxicated by your scent.

“I wonder what your thighs taste like.” The golden eyed man states before kneeling and pulling your leg open. He leans over and begins licking and sucking your thigh before sinking his teeth in. Another grunt leaves out of your mouth from the pain.

“I wonder how you taste down here.” A hand coming from behind slips into your pants as you try to wiggle out of his grip.

“Stop! Don’t touch me!” You cry out angrily. The hand dips into your panties, slowly rubbing up your slit before landing on your clit.

“I bet your cum is as sweet as your blood, huh?” The man behind you chuckles as he rolls his finger against your clit.

“I think we should find out.” His brother adds on, smiling as they nod at each other. Kazutora moves away from your thigh as he wipes his mouth, licking the blood he wiped from the back of his hand.

Rin pulls his hand out of your pants before reaching under your thighs and pulling them as far back as he could. Ran uses a claw to cut a slit from the zipper of your pants down to your ass. He tears a hole into the pants, stretching them to get a good view of your panties.

“No! Stop right now! Please!” Your head falls back on Rin’s shoulder weakly as you use your hands to cover yourself. Sanzu grabs them, securing your wrists above your head.

Ran leans over as he slices through the middle of your panties. He closes in and takes a big whiff of your vagina. Using two fingers, he gently spreads your lips apart with one hand while the thumb on his other hand pulls the hood of your clit back, revealing the bud.

“What a pretty pussy.” You twitch slightly as you feel a blow of air on your clit.

Your face warms up when you feel his lips grazing your clit, leaving a soft kiss on the bud. He does it once more and then again as he looks at you with intense eyes. You bite your lip, sucking your teeth as you turn away, only for Sanzu to use one hand to force you to look up at him. Leaning over with one hand still gripping your wrists, his lips meet yours. Rin keeps your legs pulled back, piercing his claws into your skin to draw some blood, watching as you flinch in pain, all the while Ran licks up your clit before he gives a few more kitten licks. Finally, he closes his mouth around the bud, sucking and flicking his tongue as he dives in.

Kazutora, who's still kneeling on the ground, licks up the blood dripping from your thighs. You whimper against Sanzu’s mouth.

“I think we should put the bind in between her breasts.” Rin says as you jolt from Ran’s tongue. Sanzu pulls back.

“We should put it on her face, that way everyone knows who she belongs to.”

Kazutora pulls back. “But she has such a pretty face, I don’t want to mark it.”

Ran continues to suck your clit as he lowers his head to lick some of your slick from the hole itself, his long tongue pushing inside as he uses a finger to rub your clit. He doesn’t pay much attention to the conversation, too obsessed with drinking your juices as your pussy contracts. Your head falls back with your eyes shut tight.

“Fine. Take her arms.” Kazutora grabs your arms as he stands up, Sanzu kneeling to tear the middle of your top open, revealing the lack of bra.

“Wow, you were already ready.” Kazu beams.

Sanzu sticks out a claw as his eyes glow, along with his tattoo. The beam reaches his hand as the claw meets with your skin, Rin holding you tighter as you scream in pain. The claw penetrates your skin as it drags into the shape of their Bonten symbol, blood dripping down as you struggle in his grip.

“Stop! Stop! It fucking hurts!” You cry out, your own nails digging into the skin of your palms. Kazutora forces you to turn to him with one hand, trapping your screams with an open mouthed kiss.

The contrast of pain between your chest and pleasure from your pussy shamefully causes you to near your orgasm as Ran tongue fucks you and rolls a finger around your bud. Your pussy drips with juice as your body convulses, just in time for the bind to complete as it glows a blue color that swirls into all of their signature colors before it resembles a normal tattoo. You yell out as you finally reach your limit, creaming on his face as he laps up the juice. Not long after, you finally pass out from all the overwhelming sensations.

[jazzyblusnowflake]

You've got some cool headcanons for Nuzi and Vuzi, but what about the third? You got any for EnVy?

Wow i suck at answering these on time smh. sighhhh, in my defense i procrastinate answering some questions cuz i don't wanna just put together some random stuff and call it a day-

i actually wrote some stuff for some asks before but had to delete it last minute cuz i thought its worth putting more time than that, i guess TvT sorry, im probably taking this too seriously idk.

My eNVee headcanons TvT:

[yall know the drill, the drone versions only, the human versions aren’t involved, and no nsfw- for now.]

k so, light envuzi involved too, Uzi is the mediator here, whether u consider her a friend here or their mini toaster in the middle- also there's some of the stuff from my future version where V is safe and sound thankfully. and also maybe some stuff from their past too.

With how N was realizing that V was lying or hiding stuff from him in a constant manner, naturally he grew to grieve the loss of who V USED to be, and with that loss he tried to accept that he has to let her go, because the V he fell in love with was long gone. despite this, when they both started teasing each other over their relationship with Uzi and N started to bite back a bit at Vs behaviors with more self confidence, they grew to form a completely different kind of relationship. Uzi was just having fun seeing them try to win her over lmao; but in the end they kind of started enjoying eachothers company again. Uzi felt happy seeing them get closure for the things they went through and was more than happy to support them through it.

Back at the manor V was fixed up after J and N, she was one of the later drones added to the family, she hardly spent much time at the manor at all before the great yeetening happened- she was originally a maid drone for a family before she was broken and dumped in the drone corpse junkyard. Maid drones are programmed with sweet and soft AIs with more round/short body shapes to have a friendly image in a household, they are made to be able to deal with both adults and kids, and they are best made for cleaning and setting up the house in mind. N was made as a butler/chauffeur before getting broken and yeeted in the junkyard [yes he can drive]. Due to V getting broken for some sort of mistake during work, she was left scarred after her reboot to make any more mistakes, which left her slightly jitter-ish and clumsy. Tessa put N in charge to help her around and although at the beginning V didn't talk much and felt unsure, slowly N became her safe space- especially since Tessas abusive parents remind V alot of her old household. N in turn thought V was always cute, he helped her with her work, having more steady hands, which ended with a lot more hand touching and blushing on both their ends :p

N was the one that suggested glasses for V which Tessa decided to try doing to see if it would help her visual efficiency in any way, and it did. V as a DD often tries to rely on her real eyes rather than look through her main visor, the glasses remind her too much of N...

N and V sometimes used to get out of the manor in secret spots to spend some time away from the chaos to help V calm down. during this time they would read books, learn stuff from each others past lives, and sometimes draw lol, but V just liked watching and listening to N, she felt happy with him. although unlike N, V felt a bit nervous around the animals in the area XD

N and V actually have shared kisses, just not on the lips. with N kissing her on the back of her hand as a gentleman and V giving him kisses on his cheek [Tessa's idea of a cute plan to put them under a mistletoe lol], but Vs last words to N was a promise to give him a kiss before she became comatose. as more drones in the manor stopped working and Ns efficiency and work became less useful to the manors occupants due to him wanting to spend time with V all the time, Louisa and James started becoming more impatient with Tessa's drones, which lead to the whole "get rid of them" line...

back in the current time V is obviously trying to protect N in her own traumatized way; but even then, most of the things she had done to "shelter" N, was probably not the best choice one could make, and some of it was done out of jealousy towards N and Uzi getting closer. However, slowly she started convincing herself that N deserved someone like Uzi. V had convinced herself that she deserves nothing. She was willing to give up everything for N and keep him safe from the beginning, even if it meant knocking N down a few limbs/heads just to keep him away from danger- which is problematic in itself. she made choices based off fear and urgency. she was always traumatized.

When N and V started getting along together a bit more and hanging around a bit in the human cities- V takes N to a bookstore she found once and they spent the whole day in the shelter of the store reading different old books. V still does not admit she did this to see N happy again lol.

When N started showing V affection again, V started becoming heavily touch starved and dependent on him again, just like the manor days, which she feared, which caused a minor set back for a while where she tried to avoid N. Uzi had to come and fix this shit cuz apparently only she can scold 2 dinosaurs without feeling intimidated. after N and V kiss for the first time PROPERLY after the whole solver BS ends, V just gets more touch starved and she hates both N AND Uzi for this lmao.

N and Uzi know that one of the only ways to make V calm down is to act soft with her, occasionally praising her and calling her nice things; even when V is literally threatening to bite their head off- [shes bluffing-.......mostly.]

N is usually the one that initiates any closeness with V. after their first kiss, N does tell her that she's done stuff that he might not be able to casually forgive, but at the same time he has seen her grow, and she does have good in her that he still loves her for.

V has nightmares and hardly ever sleeps, and when she does, its usually cuddling N or Uzi.

V tries to wear her glasses more often in the future. N likes it a lot :"3

V is surprisingly a good mom :p [spoilers for my au lmao bye] but yeah, since her original OS was for a maid, she still has some functions to be good with little ones. she cant help herself, she just really likes babies and kids.

N likes sometimes ballroom dancing with V for old times sake...

[i think this is as far as my brain will allow me, please excuse me as i jump off a cliff :") ]

[jaykorianddickkoriforlife]

I don't think anyone can understand how obsessed I am with the idea of reading Snow's point of view of The Hunger Games. I used to want Peeta's version, but after reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, there is nothing more that I want than to read Snow's complete obsession with destroying Katniss. All the memories of Lucy, the rage he must've felt when he heard Katniss sing that song, the hatred he must've felt for Cinna when Katniss's dress changed into the form of a mockingjay. I want to read his reaction when he realized that Plutarch had betrayed him, the fury that followed at the reminder that the Mockingjay, that Lucy's greatest revenge, was managing to beat him more, and more. This mere girl from District 12 was destroying his entire foundation both literally and mentally.

Weirdly enough, I do believe he saw a lot of similarities between Katniss and him as well, especially involving Peeta, and I genuinely want to know his thoughts on that because Lucy was more warm-hearted, and naive, but Katniss was more cold, and logical like him.

I also want to read his descent into power and how many people he continued on poisoning. I want to see what finally caused the relationship between Tigress and him to end to the point where she'd wish Katniss good fortune on her plan to kill him, the ruin of their relationship. I want to see her reaction when she found out that Snow was selling off the victors into prostitution when he knew damn well that she had to do it to be able to feed them all when they were starving and poor, knowing how much pain it caused her, and still forcing that fate onto others without a care which was most likely the tipping point of their severed connection, but still, I want to see the denial, and all the signs she must've seen before having to face reality. I want to read what happened between the timeline after The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and before The Hunger Games. I want to read about his cruelty as messed up as that is only because it'll make reading his downfall only sweeter.

I'll use my imagination for now, but still, hopefully it happens cuz damn, what a book that will be.

[ragzonacamrencruise]

Azutara #10

highschool popular kid / nerd au

oooooh i got it. okay let's go.

***

Katara forgets how to breathe for a moment.

Most of her junior year, she spent sat at them bleechers, her nose buried in at least two books alternatively, checking out the dissimilarities between them talking about the same subject. She then combines the two to create her own version, taking the gist of it and applies it to her exams. It seems to be working really well cuz she keeps getting straight A's.

She always prefers the bleechers, mostly because of the ample space the benches provide her to actively spread out the study material. But also because the ambient noises of students training for various different sports, provide for a great white noise for some reason.

AP Biology rocks her world like no other subject has ever done. In knowing the intricacies of the human body, as well as other nuanced processes that tag along with it, Katara's even better than her teacher, sometimes. Proving to be humile, she bites her tongue every time her teacher get it wrong. So, it's safe to say that Katara knows fairly well how the human body works.

That is exactly the reason why she's surprised when she realises she forgot how to breathe. Standing there, two meters away from her, sweat glistening on her body, looking directly at her, is the school's most popular girl.

Azula Fyre.

All these days Katara spent on the bleechers, she had had to control her eyes whenever they betrayed her, straying to the pale Asian girl, running the circumference of the whole ground at least 5 times before she went in for her routine workout. And each time she passed Katara, the blue-eyed girl couldn't help but stare at Azula's lithe frame, whizzing past her. In theory, Biology came easy to Katara. But practically, she has no control over her body whenever the popular girl is involved.

Azula steps closer to her, cautiously. "Do you ever do anything else other than study all the time?"

Up unitl now, Katara, not really keen on sending her body into a frenzy, had been quiet, trying her best to ignore Azula's scrutinizing look. But now that she's directly speaking to her, and no one's around for at least 50 meters, Katara has no choice but to interact.

"Who? Me?" She asks. She knows it's dumb. But she can't help but let her brain short-circuit.

Azula lets out a chuckle, the afternoon sun doing it's best to tan her pale skin. "Yeah, you. There's no one else here. I see you here all the time and you've always got your nose buried in heaps of books."

"Right." Katara blinks, looking around awkwardly, trying to settle her nerves. "I do other . . . stuff. It's not just reading."

Azula arches one perfect brow. "Like what?"

Katara takes a moment to answer. Not because she doesn't know the answer, but because she just started sweating through her shirt for some reason and her body doesn't seem to be listening to her. "Does wrestling with my brother for mundane stuff count?"

Azula lets out a breath, smiling ever-so-slightly. "Maybe." She steps closer and takes a seat right beside Katara.

Katara tries to go back to reading. She really does. But the heated presence of Azula physically stops her. She doesn't know why or how.

"You're Katara Ocean, right?" Azula quips, after a second, resting her palms on either side of her toned thighs, looking at the blue-eyed girl sideways.

Katara perks up. "You know my name?"

"Uh . . ." Azula blinks for a moment, seemingly faltering for some reason. But she quickly collects herself. "You're in Bio with me."

Of course.

"I'm Azula." She says, with a soft smirk on her face. "You would know that if you turned your head to the back of the class too, from time to time."

Katara fights a smile, which unfortunately for her, breaks through her lips with barely any resistance. "I know that." She manages to mumble, looking down at her books.

Even if she didn't turn around in Bio class, she would've known that.

Azula tries to catch Katara's eyes, bending forward a little. "Then you must also know that I do track."

Katara nods, looking at the pale girl through her eyelashes. What she doesn't know is why is this girl talking to her?! She literally is at the top of the food-chain. And Katara is . . . well, Katara. She hangs out mostly with Aang, who's a freshman and her brother Sokka, who's a senior. She keeps to herself most of the time.

Seeing that Katara isn't that responsive, Azula lets out a short sigh. "Well . . ." She says, making a move as if to get up.

But Katara, seeing that her chance is slipping right through her fingers, interrupts her. "Do you only sprint?"

"What?" Azula sits back down, smiling.

"Track." Katara says so fast, it's barely English. "Do you only sprint?"

Azula looks at her curiously for a hot second. "No, I'm uh . . . I signed up for marathons too."

Katara frowns. "That's . . . dichotomic . . ." Azula raises her brow again so Katara explains herself. "I mean, sprints require white muscle groups to-"

"-to provide me with a quick, short burst of energy, I know." Azula finishes Katara's sentence and Katara can do nothing but let her lips fall open at her surprise.

She's smart too?!

Azula looks down at the ground. "I need to improve my stamina; build up my red muscle groups so that I can sustain for long periods of time too." Then she turns to Katara. "That's why I signed up for marathons and been practicing for it ever since."

Her almost golden brown eyes scan Katara's face, noticing her surprised look. "What?"

Katara closes her mouth in a hurry. "N- Nothing."

"I'm in Bio class with you remember? If that's what you're thinking . . ."

"She taught us that completely wrong in class."

"Well," Azula gets up from her seat, with a tone of finality in her voice. "I may be a jock. But I'm not that dumb."

She smirks at Katara and her stomach suddenly flips without her permission. "See ya later! It was nice meeting you!" Azula shouts over her shoulder as she sprints away in direction of the locker room.

The grin on Katara's face doesn't let her read anymore.

...

"Yes, Miss Fyre?" The Biology teacher, Mrs. Hung, pulls her glasses down to the tip of her nose to see better.

Katara turns around in her seat to follow her line of sight, and soon enough, her eyes fall on Azula's raised hand, at the back of the class.

"15." Azula states simply, with a bored look on her face.

"That's incorrect." Mrs. Hung says with a sigh. "Anybody else?"

"15 is the correct answer." Azula says again with an annoyed look on her face.

Mrs. Hung sighs again. "I'm afraid the correct answer is 12, Miss Azula."

Azula rolls her eyes. "No. I'm pretty sure it's 15. You forgot to add the 3 molecules of ATP when pyruvic acid is converted to acetyl coA and oxidation by the mitochondrian transport system. The answer, hence, with basic math, 12 + 3, is 15."

Katara gulps.

Azula's right. Mrs. Hung's been messing up the entire Kerb's cycle today and it feels like that was Azula's last straw. But the look on Mrs. Hung face, the glare that she's aiming at the popular girl, her cheeks turning redder than Rudolph the reindeer, alarms Katara.

"Are you questioning my method of teaching, young lady?!" Mrs. Hung boils.

"I most definitely am, old lady." Azula says with a smirk on her face.

Katara's eyes widen. The whole class goes "ooooooooohhhh" at that.

"Alright, that does it!" Mrs. Hung yells. "Miss. Fyre, out of my class. Now!" She points to the door.

"Gladly." Azula breathes a huge sigh of relief, gathering her notes in her arms and walking to the front of the class.

When she reaches to where Katara's sitting, her golden brown haze locks with sparkling blue ones and Azula throws her a victorious smirk, just before exiting the class.

That's the second time this week Katara's had trouble breathing.

...

That afternoon, as soon as Azula's golden brown eyes fall on Katara, she comes running to the bleechers. Katara's face heats up quickly as she makes the blunder of looking at the popular girl's toned abs in her track uniform as she runs.

She averts her gaze as soon as Azula nears her.

"One may think Hung will shut up for decades after I embarrassed her like that. But that isn't gonna stop her, is it?" The lithe girl breathes out, panting a little.

Katara looks up with a hesitant smile. "But, you shouldn't have done that."

"What? And let her grow a bunch of dumb-witted jerks?! I don't think so."

Katara doesn't try to stop her grin this time.

Azula looks at her longingly. "You can laugh. It's funny."

"It was kind of funny." Katara chuckles.

Katara's eyes, heavy from straining to hold itself up, drops down to Azula's heaving chest, where a single drop of sweat runs the length of her neck and drips down, and disappears between her-

Katara clears her eyes and averts her throat-

Wait, no- She clears her throat and averts her eyes.

God! She really needs to get a grip!!

"Your hair looks . . . very dark." Azula says hesistantly, and Katara meets her gaze again. "It can house an entire school of Anglerfish in it. Because . . . it's so dark." The pale girl slightly points her finger to Katara's hair to further insinuate her point.

Katara frowns slightly. That was a very . . . specific compliment to give. If you can even call it a compliment. Azula seems to realise her plight too and she subtly scratches the nape of her neck awkwardly.

Nonetheless, Katara offers her a sweet smile. "Thank you."

Azula's face immediately lights up, and Katara practically swoons at the girl's smile. She tries to distract herself again, by letting her eyes fall down to the book in front of her, but not before she hears the golden-eyed girl mumble something along the lines of ". . . can't believe that worked!" to herself.

A few seconds of silence passes, until Azula breaks it, again. "I'm sorry, I know I should just let you study, but my track-meet is coming up this weekend and I was thinking that maybe you could . . ."

Katara looks up at her, eyes wide with surprise. "Y- You want me to attend your track-meet?"

Azula offers her a nervous smile. "Well, the whole school would be here, and since you study so much I thought maybe you wouldn't be interested these kind of . . . activities. I thought if I invited you personally maybe- you know what? Forget it. I never should've asked and-"

Katara involuntarily reaches out to place her palm on the rambling girl's arm. "I'll be there."

Azula sucks in a sharp breath. "You will?!"

"Of course." Katara reluctantly withdraws her hand from Azula's arm, but not before getting a glimpse of how toned it felt under her fingers.

The grin Azula gives her could dull the Sun. "Okay, great!" She stands up abrupty. "I will look forward to it." She walks back awkwardly. "See you there. Bye!"

Katara waves her goodbye and Azula once again, sprints to the locker room.

...

It's loud. Very loud and Katara almost starts an headache. But she pushes it to the sidelines as she focuses on a jumping Azula, way over there on the race track. She's twisting from time to time, hopping on her feet, warming up.

Katara's never seen the bleechers so full. Ever. She's sitting at the blue side of the seats that represent their school. Azula hops a little more, and Katara stares at her, hoping against all odds that she would win.

Suddenly, Azula's eyes find her, and Katara's breath catches painfully in her throat. Even from this distance, her golden brown eyes are striking.

She waves directly at her and Katara's face heats up quickly. Every person around Katara waves back to Azula, thinking they were the ones being waved at.

Azula just rolls her eyes, noticing it and returns back to hopping.

A few minutes later, a shrill whistle echoes through the area and the contestants immediately fall into position, bracing their fingers on the ground, ready to sprint.

It's a 200 meter run, and Katara's heart rate quickens in anticipation, her eyes never leaving the pale skinned girl. A voice on the mic says, "Set." and the runners' butt lift in unison.

Silence falls heavy on the bleechers, building up the anticipation. Then suddenly, the shrill whistle blows again and the runners take off in jet speed.

The crowd erupts in cheers, urging their favourite players on immediately. Katara clasps her fingers together, watching with bated breath.

Azula runs like the wind. She runs so fast that there's at least a meter's gap between her and whoever's behind her. She quickly takes the lead, crossing the finish line in a whirlwind, securing the first place, with the kind of ease only she seems to posses.

The crowd goes wild. Their cheer slowly turns into a chant of Azula's name over and over again. Every one rushes into the track, scooping Azula in their arms and lifting her up.

Katara almost cries.

...

Monday afternoon sees Katara hesitantly walking into an empty girls' locker room, eyes scanning for a specific someone.

A locker door shuts close and immediately reveals Azula clad in just her bra and sports shorts. Katara gulps, averting her wandering gaze quickly. But before she could even start talking, Azula's captivating gaze falls on her.

"Hey!" She beams. "I was so worried! You weren't there after the track-meet ended and I didn't see you at the bleechers today either."

"Sorry." Katara says sheepishly. "I was a little . . . pre-occupied."

Azula gives her a suspicious look, but doesn't question it further. She throws a towel over her forearm and holds her silence for a second longer before she chuckles. "I had no idea you'd know the way to the locker, considering how your nose is always in a book."

Katara reaches over and slaps Azula lightly on the arm. "Shut up."

The motion causes the towel over Azula's arm to fall to the floor. Katara immediately steps closer, bending forward to pick it up, before Azula could. She straightens herself, a sudden rush of adrenaline pumping through her viens. "I'm so sorry. I-"

And for the fourth time, Katara forgets how to breathe, as she suddenly realises how her face is merely an inch away from the sprinter's face.

"Don't worry about it . . ." The golden-eyed girl is saying, but she trails off, too close to even whisper. Her gaze dips to Katara's lips, staying there a second longer before she returns her now darkening eyes back to Katara's brilliant blue ones.

"Azula . . ." Katara whispers.

And before she knows what's happening, Azula is upon her, hungry lips crashing with hers in a cacophony of new emotions Katara didn't know the human body could feel.

It all happens so fast. One moment Katara's eyes are widening from the shock and the next moment she's kissing the popular girl back just as hungrily. The towel in her hand falls down once again and neither even pays attention to it.

Azula's hands find her hips and she grasps it firmly, before lifting Katara up with ease, slamming her against the locker. The blue-eyed girl could do nothing but whimper, as she wraps her legs around Azula's toned back. She tries to keep up with the pace Azula's setting, but fails miserably.

Azula pulls back a little, planting her lips under Katara's ear. "I've been wanting to do this since I first saw you at the damn bleechers months ago." She rasps into Katara's ear and Katara can only shudder in response.

She clutches onto Azula's neck for dear life, as she captures her lips again with a raw hunger, devouring her to submission completely.

Silent whimpers from Katara's throat when the kisses become deeper and filled with more purpose, makes Azula pull away, resting her forehead on Katara's.

"Azula . . ." Katara says again, but her brain seems to freeze completely, focusing on nothing but the way Azula's holding her right now, painfully aware of the fact that Azula's between her legs.

"I wanna do this right." Azula states, panting like she just ran one of her sprints. "Jasmine Dragon. Saturday night. 7 pm."

Katara nods frantically, bumping her nose against Azula's. The sprinter lets out a chuckle, kissing the tip of Katara's nose softly, before giving her a chaste kiss again on the lips.

She lets her down from her grip, and Katara slides down, knees buckling under her. She fights the urge to just slam her lips back on Azula again.

"Get out of here before I change my mind." Azula breathes out.

Katara stumbles all the way back to her home, her brain still not grasping on to what the heck just happened, a stupid smile on her face.

***

i throughly enjoyed writing this omggggg

if you find any typos, no you didn't 🤭

[adreamemporium]

Hi! Since you saw Ewan at CCXF and outside of it, I wanna ask if you think Ewan loves fan saying hi to him or he only did it to be polite? Also is there anything else you can share about your meeting with Ewan?

I’ve also seen some people on here saying that they think Ewan looked uncomfortable at times at CCXF. Whats your thoughts on that?

Hi, nonnie!

About your last question, I couldn’t see anything because I was behind them so all I could see was their back lol. Also the audio wasn’t great and with all the screaming I couldn’t hear anything. I thought everything was going well because all their managers and their team were behind them and they were smiling. I already saw the interview on YouTube and I think the whole thing was messy and cringe, the questions weren’t that interesting, that guy saying Mexican women would love to keep him in their homes… So as a whole, that was a mess. Minutes later I saw him in the thunder stage and he was relaxed, so I don’t think there was a problem after that. What I think is that he is way more calm when you are talking alone with him and that’s the real Ewan. He does an incredible job on stage, but we shouldn’t get fool, he has a reserved personality.

About the rest of your ask, have in mind that I’m again talking based on what I experienced, I would say he truly loves saying hi to the fans. We have to consider that we are talking about the same guy that takes the time to send little messages to his fans when he receives fan mail.

The first time I saw him I was working and he was doing press, so the two times I talked with him were brief and it was just a kinda random talk lol it was when he told me he needed a hat for the sun. That day I mostly saw him work while I was doing my own.

The second time I met him he recognized me and smiled to me, so I said hi and it was when he made room for me to sit down at his side. We talked for a few minutes (although I felt it was for hours lol) about how different book!Aemond is to the show version and I told him I loved what he and Leo did with the character and they were the reason Aemond was my favorite character cuz when I read the book he wasn’t my fav. He simply smiled and thanked me for what I was saying. I told him I had a fanart and that it would mean the world to me if he could signed it and he took the time to admired it before doing it and see the details.

But I think what I will treasure the most (apart from having one of my Aemond designs autographed) will be when I gave him the dragon egg I made for him. I explained to him that I’m a dragon fan since I was little and that back during got s1 I couldn’t find the dragon eggs to buy them, so I made them. While I was saying all of that he was attentively looking at me and listening, so when I started to take the egg out of my purse he started to realize what I was gonna give him and had a huge smile when he saw the little green egg and simply excitedly exclaimed “Vhagar!”. I swear he looked like a little kid with a toy, he took it and started to see all the details, asked me how long it took me and then he told me “You’re a legend!” and hugged me. I swear to god I wasn’t expecting it and almost died in that moment. His manager asked me if I wanted a picture and he quickly said yes because he wanted to show the egg, so she kindly took it, we talked for a few more minutes and then he asked me if I was going to be at ccxp, I said yes and he told me he hoped to see me there and then we said goodbye. And that was it. 🥹

I swear to god he is everything the rest of the cast have said he is: the loveliest person ever, a complete angel, super gentle, incredible thoughtful, kind, a fantastic human being… and I have just quoted Elliot Grihault, Harry Collet, Tom Glynn Carney and Fabien Frankel only.

So tl;dr, if you ask me, no, he didn’t do it just to be polite, he truly cares and enjoys saying hi to his fans. He truly listen to what we say and takes him time with us. What it is import here is to ALWAYS respect him, his privacy, his boundaries and not be invasive. He is open to meet us, make sure we aren’t nervous, listen to what we wanna say, tell us that everything’s ok… but let’s not forget that at the end, he is also a human being as any of us and he does has a reserved personality.

PS. BTW, I just wanna add something else. When I was literally admiring my design with his autograph and saying it would have a pretty frame, both, his manager and him, said “aaw” lol 🥹

Here is my design:

[briebysabs]

Cuz lemme describe my dilemma the last two episodes. Mega spoilers if you haven’t seen iwtv but like watch it what are you doing. I just need to spill so much out ok first of all, I can’t believe we need to rely on Lestat to give us the closer version to truth. It’ll obviously be biased but at the very least no one fucked with his memories and they won’t be missing everywhere.

See when Louis admitted Armand sold them out I was surprised he knew that. Ofc this is before the reveal in ep 8 and my thoughts were…and you went back to him?? He played a key role in Claudia dying. Like even if he too was “a victim”, even if I didn’t hate him viciously afterwards. I’m not getting back together with you so I was confused, more side-eyeing Louis’ choices. And then I found out he stayed partially to spite Lestat. Then it made more sense it was less forgiveness and more so the ultimate revenge against Lestat. Loumand is so fascinating to me but thats a separate thread. Then ofc the reveal Armand directed the whole thing. Which was so clever. Because I read the book, I watched the movie. I should know this but they’ve emphasized this is a retelling so I’m like oh maybe his role in Claudia’s death is different this time. So even some readers buy into the lie.

And I knewwww I knew in my gut first instinct when the crowd started shouting banishment “holy shit Lestat.” But it panned to Armand and I was like oh. And now it’s so obvious bc of course dumb butt Lestat wouldn’t let Louis die he was so pained remembering their fight. Anyway I just had to say months later bc I was scared to finish it but I have. I’m so hyped for season 3 Sam Reid bless us once again. And if IWTV doesn’t get nominated for a single Emmy I swear to FUCK-

[opossumanon]

Asexuality in fanfiction (Please read tags for warnings yall)

The awkward thing about asexuality is that when reading fanfic about a character who's ace, usually the fics I read will either

Make the character not asexual

Has the character be asexual and despises sex (Which leads to that character basically being raped by their romantic interest; seriously this trope happens WAAAAAAAY more often than I'd like)

Maybe occasionally has the character's ace-ness be nuanced, but it only goes as far as "I'm bored by sex but I'm chill with doing stuff to my partner" which only shows one other way to be asexual

This particularly annoys me because I'm asexual. I probably fall into the sex-positive category. The reason I am still ace is because I do experience arousal, I would like to have sexual experiences with others (Wouldn't be the end of the world if I didn't but it's still something I'd like to do), but I don't get "turned on" by other people. Basically if someone who's hot were to walk up to me naked I wouldn't be guaranteed to have a reaction but sometimes I can just be sitting and then suddenly have the urge to do the horizontal mambo. (I know there's probably a micro label for this, I just don't give a shit)

I know my case is rare, I know that aces like me are only brought up to try and excuse asexual erasure (I fucking hate it), but I still can't help but be disappointed that the only options for asexuality (In fanfic) are being 100%, being 0%, being some version of a stone, or being raped.

What about aces like me? What about aces who aren't like me but are still different than the three types listed above?

It's funny too cuz I remember this one fic that had smut between two characters (Consensual and both parties actually enjoyed it), one of which is ace in his original/comic book form, and the writer was all "I feel bad cuz [character] is ace in the comics and us aces get so little rep already" and I'm wondering how the author, who's ace themself, forgot about how asexuality is a spectrum?

You can have an ace character who gets horny and likes sex but just doesn't get turned on by people!

You can have an ace character who doesn't want anything to do with sex 99% of the time, but every once in a blue moon decides they want to roll in the sheets with their partner that night!

You can have an ace character who only gets aroused in specific circumstances, such as how long they've known the object of their arousal for!

Asexuality is such a wide spectrum that includes so much nuance, and seeing fic writers basically spit on it is so disheartening as a writer myself. One of the main ingredients to being a good writer, in my personal opinion, is to be able to take an aspect of your character and explore it/redefine it/expand on it in a way that satisfies the story!!!!

I don't know how to end this post tbh, I just wanna say that asexuality is more than three subtypes and you're allowed to narrow in on certain parts of the spectrum for your character, regardless of how "well-known" that part you're focusing on might be.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - Part 20 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

TW: SEXXXXXXXX. Dom/sub stuff. Angst (as always). Fluff (finally)? Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 15.2k (CUZ Y'ALL DESERVE IT)

A/N:  🎶And now, the end is near/And so I face the final curtain🎶

Babies, we are at the end. I don't know what to say other than thank you all so very much, thank you for you patience, and I'm gonna miss the hell out of Reader and Elvis and their stupid, mutual pining asses. (I'm not crying, you are!) 😭 Oh, and I highly recommend listening to Without Love (I Have Nothing) (1969) before reading the middle section here. I've included the first takes to the final master version because the first takes are stripped down & give more of the intimate feel I was getting at, but the final master is excellent, so I wanted to give you listening options! It'll really give you an idea of what the moment feels and sounds like! (I'm such a nerd, I know. Also, only Elvis could nail a song like this in a few takes, lord have mercy.)

I will write a short Epilogue sometime soon, so stay tuned! Also, I am very seriously thinking about publishing a physical book of Pink Scarf (and a Kindle version, too) BUT ONLY IF people are wanting and willing to buy it! It would likely include new bonus chapters/material. Please let me know in the comments, asks, or DMs if this is something you want! Like I said, I don't wanna do it if no one wants it, so let me know!

I sincerely hope y'all will stick around for my next projects as I try to get my writing career off the ground. Y'all are the OG's and the best fans a girl could ask for! 💗

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stop her, stop her, stop her…

The words echo in his head, but Elvis is frozen to the spot, watching your back as you walk out the door and possibly out of his life, feeling so raw he fears his heart might liquify and pour out of his mouth. The way you look so angry, more angry than he’s ever seen you, and so disappointed in him—it breaks his goddamn heart. Your vitriol paralyzes him, drying up the words that he can’t seem to tell you.

But he’s done it all for you, every stupid decision he made, he did in the name of love—and of keeping you safe and keeping you sane (you fuckin’ liar, you know that ain’t true, he lambasts himself).

“You screwed with our lives because you could. You and your fucking egomaniacal, insane, manipulative bullshit…” Your words cut like daggers into his skin. He wants those words to be utterly untrue, outright lies, but he knows—he knows—that you are not entirely off base.

And perhaps that’s been the problem all along: he doesn’t truly believe he deserves you. For all the reasons you spit at him and for the fact that he has ruined you in more ways than one.

But the one crucial thing you are dead wrong about is that he didn’t care, that he’d just fucked you and wanted to pretend it never happened. He may be many of the things you said—egotistical, manipulative, stupid for lying to you—but he loves you, more than he has ever been able to express.

If anything, he’s cared too much.

But you are convinced of the opposite and, stupidly, he didn’t tell you any different.

This is the thing that finally gets him moving. His heart thrums in his chest as he races out the door, desperate to catch up to you. He looks around frantically for you, barely processing the confused and pitied looks of the men around him and flies out the main door of the penthouse suite.

“Y/n!” he shouts, hoping he can salvage this because he needs you more than he needs air to breathe.

I love you, I love you, I love you! screams in his mind but not out of his mouth, for reasons he can’t entirely explain. He arrives in the hallway just in time to see the elevator doors close behind you.

He’s too late.

“Fuck!!” he screams, and without thinking turns and plunges his fist into the wall. Plaster and paint flake around the new divot and burning pain radiates up his arm.

He nearly collapses from the way his heart tears in two, the gravity of the situation hitting him all at once. He’s barely slept in days, what with taking care of you in the hospital, being wracked with worry, and then having to come back and give high quality performances as if life was normal. His heart is beating too fast and his limbs feel weak.

Suddenly, everything feels much too heavy.

His legs threaten to give way and he leans against the wall, furious at you for making him feel these things. But he is more furious at himself.

You didn’t even say you were sorry, you stupid fucker, a little voice berates him.

I have nothing to be sorry for, the stubborn part of him, the one driven by his ego, replies.

The inner voice laughs sardonically. You have everything to be sorry for.

“EP!” he hears Jerry’s alarmed voice from far away. But he’s beyond caring.

I’ve lost her, is all he can think as his vision blurs and narrows, After all this, I’ve still lost her.

Jerry rushes to his side, but the despair and fury within Elvis drives him back into the penthouse, causing destruction along the way. He barely registers tearing the rest of his room apart, only knowing that he needs some outlet, some release of these horrible feelings trapped inside of him. To purge himself of the fact that even with all he tried to do to prevent it, his worst fears had still come to pass. Distantly, he’s aware of the breaking glass and the ripping of fabric and the roaring sound coming from his mouth, but everything is unfocused and red in his mind.

Elvis does this until finally his body gives out and he collapses on the bed. As he comes back into himself, his heart is beating so hard and so fast that he’s actually a little afraid he will give himself a heart attack. Trying to steady his breathing, he looks up, and seeing himself in the mirror above the bed, he hardly recognizes the man lying there.

Self-pity descends rapidly. There’s no way she’ll ever love me after this. How could she?

Early in his life, he’d thought June had been his last hope of ever having a woman love him for who he truly is, stripped of fame, warts and all, but he’s long since realized that you are that woman. You are his last chance at having that kind of true love in his life. And now those dreams are dying right in front of him because of his own stupidity.

I’ll always be alone.

And with that thought, he closes his eyes and wishes he were anyone else but Elvis Presley.

*

The commotion outside his bedroom door has Elvis lifting his chin expectantly yet not hopefully. He’s spent the last three hours faking his way through his midnight show trying to push the horrified and angry look on your face out of his mind. Trying to forget that he let you walk out his door.

Needless to say, it wasn’t his best show, though bellowing out his feelings through the music was cathartic in its own way.

He’s not sure why he had frozen like he did. It certainly wasn’t like him to cow-tow in the midst of a fight, but he had promised himself in the hospital that he’d be gentler with you. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing you so completely furious. Maybe it was that you’d finally remembered what happened after so many years, unearthing his deepest, darkest secrets and mirroring them back to him in the worst of ways. Or maybe it was that so many of your words rang with truth, even though you’d misunderstood the core reasons behind his actions.

Either way, he feels like his heart was ripped out of his chest. Part of him yearns to do more self-destructive things, but instead he sits still on the edge of his giant bed, the one you should be in right now, trying to understand just how completely he managed to screw this up.

“Fuck you, Elvis Presley. It would’ve changed everything.”

Your words ring through his head again and again, like a broken record. What did you mean by that exactly? Because the crushed look on your face when you said it made it seem like you had feelings for him back then that if realized would’ve changed your relationship, and that sends a wave of heartache through him so strong that he feels like he might vomit.

“Jerry, I swear to God, if you don’t let me in there, you’ll be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future!” He hears Sandy’s voice through the door and closes his eyes, trying to prepare himself for what he thinks is coming.

The door bursts open and he opens his eyes to see Sandy storm in, Jerry looking incredibly apologetic and a bit mortified that he was unable (or unwilling) to stop his wife.

Elvis waves Jerry off. He knows he can’t stop the onslaught. Jerry raises his eyebrows in an, “Are you sure?” way, and Elvis sends him out with a look.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Presley,” Sandy seethes, pointing at him once the door is closed behind her.

“Nice to see you, too, Sandra,” he responds wearily.

“Oh, don’t you ‘Sandra’ me,” she spits, then looks him over carefully, as if really seeing him. She surveys the disaster of the room, which he had completely torn to shreds after you left, then looks back at him. “You look like shit,” she adds matter-of-factly, almost as if she’s glad of it.

He can’t help shooting her a withering glare, but Sandy’s blood is up and does not falter under his gaze like most would.

“How is she?” he finally asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, let’s see…in the last three days her husband beat her up, her life imploded, and she just found out that her lover has been hiding some pretty crucial shit from her for over a decade. She sobbed for two hours straight and has been near catatonic since, so she’s just peachy, Elvis,” Sandy says sarcastically.

“Watch your tone, Sandra,” he warns, feeling his temper threaten.

“No, I don’t think I will, Elvis. Not when y/n is absolutely miserable and you are sitting up here doing nothing about it,” Sandy shoots back.

“This ain’t none of your business,” he says, vexed, standing and pointing a ring-clad finger at her. He likes Sandy, but he sure as hell doesn’t like her calling him out like this, not when he’s already been beating himself up about it.

Sandy laughs wickedly, “You made it my business the moment you let her tell me and started using me as cover for your lies.”

He can’t argue with that. Deflated, he runs his hand over his face. He is utterly miserable.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sandy says, and this time, her voice is quieter, gentler. “How could you keep something like that a secret for this long?”

He doesn’t want to say and certainly doesn’t want to appear vulnerable, but the ache in him is so bad, he can’t hide it. And he knows for a fact Sandy won’t let this go. Finally, he relents.

“I-I-I was trying to protect her, to protect our friendship… I w-was terrified I’d hurt her, that I’d…taken her against her will, and I-I-I could barely live with myself. I couldn’t burden her with the enormity of what we’d done” he says.

“And what about pushing her and Jack together, all the interfering? How exactly does that line up, E?” Sandy asks pointedly.

Elvis clears his throat and looks down. That is not something he is proud of. He wants to say he didn’t mean for it to go that way, but it would be a lie.

“It wasn’t like that, not at first. By the time I realized how I really felt about her, Jack had already swooped in and asked her out. I had nothin’ to do with it,” he says defensively.

Sandy crosses her arms, not accepting that and waits for him to continue.

“Well, then…then I-I realized she’d be better off with a man who could give her the stability and the family she wanted. I couldn’t be there for her, not the way she deserved. My career was just takin’ off and I—well, hell, it didn’t even matter until that day at Graceland, and I was ready to throw it all out the window when I’d thought she felt the same way about me that I felt for her, but-but then she…the overdose, she didn’t even remember…How was I supposed to explain that to her, Sandra? How? How was I gonna look her in the eyes and tell her she came on to me and we made love on the floor and that it completely changed everything? Who was gonna believe that? You know as well as I that it would’ve ruined her!” he says, his heart pounding, voice quavering, and his blood up.

Sandy looks at him carefully. “You were afraid she didn’t feel the same way. And that she doesn’t now,” she states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide and caught like a deer in headlights.

“I had to protect her. And I had to set her up so she’d always be taken care of. And if she was with Jack, I could do that for her, for them. They could be happy. I wanted them to be happy, I-I swear. I thought they’d be happy!” he yells, back off the rails, pacing the room like a caged tiger.“I-I-I could…w-w-well, if she wasn’t with me, at least with him I would always know she was okay, and I could see her and it wouldn’t be some random-ass man that I didn’t know or trust takin’ her away from me forever!”

Sandy stays quiet, her gaze intense and knowing, and just waits for him to continue.

“I-I-I needed her to still be in my life, Sandra. I didn’t know Jack would fall so deep into the hole that he’d throw everything away. I didn’t think he would ever, ever hurt her!”

The words of his confession ring out and then die. Silence sits heavy for a moment.

“Wow. I have to say, that’s some masterful denial there,” Sandy finally says harshly. “Did you really think it was gonna be good for their marriage to take him away for months at a time? To feed him women and drugs and then be like, ‘Ooops! I didn’t know! It’s not my fault!’? Really?” she adds cuttingly, but steadily.

She’s right and he knows it. And she’s pushing him to admit the one thing he’s not sure he can.

He wants to get angry. He wants to scream and throw her out for her audacity. Instead, he just feels a rock in the pit of his stomach, realizing the truth of what she’s getting at:

That he’d knowingly sabotaged your marriage and then, when it was really bad, he’d taken advantage of the situation.

“You need to own up to what you did and apologize, and then you need to tell her what you’re so afraid of, Elvis. I can’t emphasize enough how much she needs to know that you love her,” Sandy continues with conviction.

His mouth pops open and then closes again, wordlessly, at hearing his feelings shared out loud so easily when he’s been harboring them alone for so many years. “You didn’t see how angry she was with me, how betrayed she looked…There’s no way she feels how I do, not after this,” he shakes his head.

Sandy rolls her eyes and mutters something unintelligible under her breath. “Listen, I have a pretty good idea how pissed and betrayed she’s feeling. And I’m not gonna speak for her, but…” she worries her lip a little, “you two of you really need to talk about how you truly feel about each other. Without all the other shit in the way.”

Something in the way she says it gives him hope.

“You need to fix this, Elvis.”

“I-I-I don’t think I can,” he states, defeated.

“Oh, please. We both know you can do anything when you want it bad enough,” she smiles slyly.

Once again, she’s right. “Why are you helping me?” he asks.

“Because I love her, too, and she deserves to be happy. She deserves the best,” she says knowingly, “That and this mess has everyone on pins and needles. We all just wanna fucking relax.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe he can salvage this. Just not right now. He is too exhausted and things feel too raw.

"Just...wait a little bit," Sandy adds carefully, as if reading his mind. “I think you both need a little breather.”

He nods.

“But don’t wait too long,” she says on her way out the door, her voice warning him of his worst fear: if he waits too long, he will lose her.

The door clicks shut behind her and silence falls once again. He glances at the bottles on the bedside table. As exhausted as he is, he’s still keyed up too much to sleep.

He doesn’t want to rely on the sleeping pills, in fact, he hadn’t needed them at all when you were in his bed, but his body craves them and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to resist at the moment. So, he pops a few down and waits for the drowsy effect to take hold of him.

When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you.

**

You are itching to play, yearning to feel the white and black ivories under your fingertips. It feels like it might be the only thing keeping you sane these past few days—this need to pour your entire heart into something beyond yourself.

Unfortunately for you, the only pianos you know of are in Elvis’ suite, on his stage, and in the rehearsal room. Two of those aren’t even options at this point. It’s bad enough that anywhere you go in the hotel, all you see is his visage, all you hear is his music feeding through the speakers. An ever-constant reminder of how stupid you are to have ever thought you’d be more to him than just a friend.

You can’t seem to escape him.

You are able, with little effort, to convince Sandy to talk Jerry into letting you into the rehearsal space. Both of them keep looking at you with kind yet sad eyes, as they’ve been witness to all your special humiliations these past few weeks. You suppose it’s good that you are not alone with this, but sometimes all you want is to scream bloody murder and get as far away as possible from Vegas, from Jack, from Elvis.

But you can’t go home, not right now. You learned that Elvis sent Jack back to Memphis to “get himself together” and that Red is his babysitter. But that means you can’t go back to Tennessee, not yet. You can’t face him with all this still up in the air.

So, you are stuck in the limbo that is Las Vegas. You have nothing of your own, no money, no way to get home even if you wanted to. You are exactly where you feared you would be: Alone and heartbroken and stuck.

You hadn’t counted on also being beat to hell, both physically and emotionally.

Which is why you are so desperate to get to a piano. It’s the only way you can get these awful feelings out of your system. You just need to lose yourself in music, in creating it.

But when Jerry lets you in to the large rehearsal space, you are not alone. Someone is already at the piano, their back to you, playing a mournful gospel-style ballad. Someone is already leaning into the keys and singing.

I awakened this morning, I was filled with despair All my dreams turned to ashes and gone, oh yeah

You frantically backpedal and look at Jerry in a panic, but he shakes his head only somewhat apologetically and will barely look you in the eyes as he closes the door, shutting you in with the very person you are trying to escape.

Damn him and Sandy both.

As I looked at my life it was barren and bare Without love I've had nothing at all

You lean your forehead against the door and close your eyes, not wanting to turn around and face him. Instead, you breathe shaking breaths and press your palms into the cool door in order

to not to let the intense waves of anger and sadness that are crashing over you drown you.

You’re not even sure that he knows you are here, his voice ricocheting and echoing throughout the large space. He sounds so consumed by the music that your presence may have gone unnoticed. You aren’t sure if you want him to know you are here or not, but either way, you are swept up into the music with him, your soul clamoring for any part of him despite your mind’s warnings.

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing at all

You don’t want to hear him, not at all (liar), but his melodic voice is hypnotizing, drawing you in with its rich baritone and crying tenor notes and possessed vibrato. And whatever headspace he is currently in has his voice sounding absolutely hauntingly beautiful. It makes you shiver. You are forced to listen, to hear the meaning behind the words.

Once I had a sweetheart who loved only me There was nothing, oh that she would not give, oh no

It's unfair, just how good his voice is at making you listen to it, more than just his words alone, making you hear his soul through the sound. You suppose that is his true talent: being able to pour emotion into a song in such a way that it transcends the music itself. With your eyes shut, it threads through your mind, simultaneously lulling you and making you want to weep. You know you are getting a window into his heart by listening, and it is telling you what you want to hear the most but are terrified to accept.

But I was blind to her goodness and I could not see That a heart without love cannot live

Oh god, oh god, oh god, your inner voice cries because you are suddenly and all at once bombarded with memories. His voice strips you bare, cutting through all the anger and fear and heartache, finally let yourself realize what your subconscious has been trying to tell you for a long time.

Echoes from both the near and distant past trigger inside your mind, your head aching with the residuals of the concussion. First, it’s your own voice, calling back to that moment on the lawn so many years ago, telling Elvis about how you knew Jack was the one: He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be…

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all

Then, Elvis’ words flood your mind, flashing from one moment to the next:

“I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”

“I take care of what’s mine.”

“You were made for me.”

“You belong here with me.”

“It’s meant to be…”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, making it hard to breathe. It’s like he’s been telling you all along, yet you’ve been too blinded by fear and guilt and the sheer impossibility of it all to truly see.

I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing

 At all

The final phrase is nearly a wail in the most beautiful of ways, the last run falling away and leaving a hollow silence in the room.

The memories come quickly now, a barrage of feelings and images: A boy backstage nervous as hell and his smile as you made him laugh. His eyes searching yours oh-so-closely in a diner booth as you tried to get over Ted. His melancholy the night you got engaged. Dancing, no, clinging onto you at the wedding before his world changed completely, and then again that mournful Christmas he’d returned, when you swore that Elvis wanted you more than anything in the world.

It’s the same way he looked when you climbed into his lap and rode him that fateful, forgotten day at Graceland.

His words from the other day, the ones that felt so possessive and manipulative take on different meaning as the puzzle pieces finally click into place, one by one:

“You are all I’ve been able to concentrate on, ya know that? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I want you. I want you to be with me. Be with me.”

“Baby, you have me, you’ll always have me. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.”

“Let me take care of you. Let me be your everything.”

“I thought I told you, honey—I always get what I want, and I think I’ve made it quite fuckin’ clear who I want.”

“I need you.”

You are nearly brought to your knees with overwhelm, breathing too fast as you cling to the wall, anything, to ground you.

Then, like a freight train, it finally hits you, finally clicks, the thing he’s still hiding from you.

You suddenly remember the blanket of Elvis’ warmth surrounding you as you turned cold, bleeding out in his arms. The way his crystalline blues were terrified and beautiful and pleading. He rocked you in his arms, begging you not to leave him.

“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go…”

Your heart stops. And you finally remember.

“…I-I love you, y/n, please, I love you.”

He’s loved you all along.

All of his cagey behavior, his deceit, the manipulations, it wasn’t to mess with you. It wasn’t because he didn’t care. It was because he loves you.

Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you turn around to face him. And as always, he’s right there, right where you need him.

“I…I…” is all you can manage to eek out.

He grabs your tear-stained cheeks in his big hands, his azure eyes deep and soulful, looking at you imploringly, and he whispers, “I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you more than anything in this life. I think I loved you the moment you steamrolled me in the hallway at school.”

Shock courses through you at hearing the words come out of his mouth, right here, in the present. You let out a choked, tearful laugh. It cuts through the anger you still feel and banishes your heartache, letting a swell of warmth overtake you. Despite all your feelings for him, you hadn’t even let yourself truly hope that he could feel the same way about you that you do about him. And to learn he’d felt this way for so long without your knowing…it feels inconceivable.

“I-I-I…and I’m so sorry, y/n.”

Elvis Presley doesn’t apologize. He buys obscenely lavish gifts. He skirts around the subject and gets really nice with those puppy dog eyes, but he doesn’t apologize, so this in itself floors you.

“I-I-I shoulda told you…but I thought…,” he steels himself against the emotions that are so obviously plaguing him before continuing, “that I’d taken advantage of you when you weren’t yourself, that I’d hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself, y/n. The guilt was eatin’ me alive and goddamn if I was gonna subject you to that pain. And I figured God wanted me to take on that burden for you, that there had to be a reason you didn’t remember. You wouldn’t have to face your betrayal of Jack or your regret for bein’ with me. I thought I was protectin’ you, protectin’ us.” He stops there, voice trembling, eyes open and honest, and you know then that while it had been wrong of him to hide this from you, he had truly believed that he was doing what was best for you. As mad as you are, part of you hurts for him because he’d gone through it all alone.

“I knew I couldn’t give you what you deserved, so I went meddlin’ in your life in the selfish need t’keep ya close to me, t’have some part of you as mine,” he rambles, racing through the words, utterly focused on getting out what he needs to say.

“I just needed you in my life. And I-I-I need you now. I needja more than anythin’,” he keeps going, his voice still shaking and the pads of his thumbs caressing your cheeks before trailing down your neck and your arms. You can feel them shaking, too, a sweaty heat emanating from them as he grabs your hands in his. His eyes are stormy and grey and deep with emotion, pulling you in, forcing you to accept his words.

He takes a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “It w-was wrong of me to-to sabotage what you had with Jack. And then to swoop in when you were vulnerable—it’s unforgivable. And if ya can’t forgive me…well, I-I’m gonna hafta understand. But I-I-I hope you do, that you can. I know I ain’t always a good man, y/n. I try to be, but bein’ with me—well, you already know it ain’t easy, the way my life is…” he trails off.

Part of you wants to interrupt him, to shout your love for him to the heavens, but frankly, his words have you speechless. And you know by his demeanor that he needs to get this out.

Tears pool in his eyes as he struggles to go on. “I know it’s been hard on you, all this. And if you can forgive me, if you wanna be with me, I promise I’ll do better t’make this work for ya. You make me a better man, y/n. You keep me on the ground, and God knows I need that more than anythin’,” he chuckles a little at that before his face drops into something much more serious.

“Come back to me, y/n. Please, come back to me. I love you,” he whispers, eyes imploring you. He is so used to demanding, but this he begs of you.

You are outwardly quiet, though your blood rushes in your ears. You want more than anything to concede to him with these revelations, to fall haplessly into his arms, and any other woman might. Honestly, you would have, just a few days ago, but Elvis cannot erase the harm he caused you with these welcome words or soulful singing or puppy dog eyes. You cannot escape the feelings of betrayal that have permeated through you these past few days.

“Elvis, I…I want to trust you again. I really do,” you finally get out, “because…because I love you, too. I think I have for a long, long time.”

Saying the words aloud lifts a weight from your shoulders, making you feel almost lightheaded.  You were so scared to say them, to reveal this hidden part of you, and the way his face lights up in such a hopeful way, it almost makes you start crying again. He squeezes your hands so hard that it hurts. But you have more to say and can’t let this distract you.

“But my mind it—it made me forget. I don’t know exactly why or how. I think I was so afraid that I could never have you, that there was no way you’d ever in a million years have those kinds of feelings for me…I think I had to protect myself,” you explain.

An inner strength you didn’t know you had until this very moment allows you to keep going. You take a deep breath. “Elvis, I want to forgive you, and I want to be with you, I do. But I am exhausted. I am weary. And I am still angry at you, and at Jack, and at myself. I need a little time to figure out what my world is now, without the oppressiveness of Vegas pushing in on me.”

You look up at him, hoping he understands, hoping he is willing to give you what you so desperately need.

He blinks as if coming out of a trance, surprise and confusion and dismay playing out on his features so quickly. You know he expected something different from you, and as much as you want to give it to him immediately, you know you cannot.

“I need to leave Vegas, E. I need space. I want to forgive you, but I need to heal,” you say firmly, looking into his eyes, holding back the sob that wants to break through. You can only hope that he sees and hears the truth in you. “I can’t start a life with you like this, bruised and broken.”

He shakes his head, small at first and then in outright protest. “No, no, baby, please, I need you here. I love you,” he says with a mixture of frustration and pleading and hurt, grabbing your cheeks again.

Tears pool and fall freely now, but you stay resolute, grabbing his wrists. “No, right now you need to be Elvis Presley and finish this engagement strong. You need to show the world that you are back and to spread that joy of music and performing as only you can.”

“None of that matters, baby. No, I need to be with you. I’ll cancel the rest of the performances,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting you every step of the way.

“The hell you will, Elvis Aron Presley. That’s not what I want, not for me or for you,” you say fervently, pulling away to look at him, bringing your hands to his face this time. “You need this. Seeing you up there…you are more alive now than you’ve been in years. I know how much you love this and your fans—”

“I love you more,” he interrupts, and it both makes your heart soar and breaks it at the same time. You close your eyes briefly to center yourself before looking back at him.

“And I love you. But I need space, and you have to finish this. Once it’s done, once I’ve had time to heal and forgive, then you come back to me, you hear?” you say, unable to keep the emotion from your voice but keeping it resolute all the same.

You watch him struggle. You can see how young he looks all of a sudden and you know he’s afraid you’re abandoning him. You’re afraid, too, but if the two of you have made it this long, you can stand it a while longer. Ultimately, you know if you fall back into him now, you’ll always hold resentment and that will poison you both over time, and you can’t have that.

Elvis closes his eyes and nods once. “Okay,” he whispers, so quietly you can barely hear it. A lone tear streaks down his cheek.

“Okay,” you whisper back.

He kisses you then, so softly, so gently, that you can’t help but lean into it. The chaste kiss is mournful and longing and hopeful all at once. It’s a kiss that is laced with the possibility that it could be the last one. You desperately hope that isn’t true, but only time will tell.

When you both pull away, you can feel the tether between you, the one that has always been there, tighten.

“Will you go to Hillcrest?” he asks, raising his eyes to yours hopefully, but it is more an offer than a question. The house in Beverly Hills is his home away from home.

You consider this and realize, other than going home to your parents (who you don’t quite feel ready to face yet, either), it’s your only option. It’s also a concession that will keep you connected to him, and you are comfortable giving him that. With its gorgeous views and serene setting, it will be a perfect solace.

“Yes,” you respond, and he seems sated by that. “Thank you,” you add quietly, then before you can second guess yourself, you tear yourself gently from his grasp and walk out the door.

Graciously and swiftly, he has Jerry take care of all the arrangements. Sandy is set to join you, and once you are both packed and ready, Jerry takes you to the airport and sees you both off.

Before he leaves, Jerry stops you. “He wanted me to give you this,” he says quietly, then opens your hand and places something soft in it.

Surprised, you look down, and see the familiar pink silk scarf folded there. You haven’t seen it since Jack ripped it from your neck that horrible night. Your fingers close around it. The message is clear: The ball is in your court.

“Send it when you’re ready for him,” Jerry adds with a knowing look.

You nod. You put the scarf in your purse.

Elvis Presley loves me, you think as you sit on the plane, but that feels trite, knowing other women have been able to say the same at some point or another.

Elvis has loved me since we were teenagers. He’s in love with me and has been all this time.

Now that is something that sends a thrill right through you.

You reach into your purse and run the silk between your fingers.

When it’s time, I’ll know.

**

Four Weeks Later

The hot California morning sun beats down on the umbrella that shades you. You had been reading and wanted to get some fresh air, the cold of the air conditioning giving you a bit of a chill in your white sundress but you cannot help but close your eyes drowsily as the heat swallows you like a blanket.

The last month was restorative, to say the least. It had been such a relief to get out of the stifling cacophony of Vegas, and it had allowed your brain to rest and recover from your concussion. Your bruises healed, and Sandy was there to both listen and have a good time when you needed it. You talked and thought through all your memories, working to understand both your reasons and Elvis’ for the way things had gone for your entire relationship.

You hadn’t heard from Elvis, as he was taking your need for space seriously, but Elvis’ lawyer had visited a few times, drawing up divorce papers that surprisingly took you a few days to sign. Not because you didn’t want to, of course, but because you had to fully process all that had happened and what it all meant to you. Sandy sat through your crying and guilt and shame like a champ, supporting you wholeheartedly once you finally picked up the pen and signed away your destructive marriage.

Once the lawyer had called back a week later saying that Jack had signed the papers, you felt like a new woman. Like you could finally start anew. Part of you had expected more of a fight out of Jack, but you did not dwell on the reasons he might have signed so willingly.

Sandy had headed home to Memphis to join Jerry once the Vegas engagement and resulting celebrations were over. You sent the pink scarf with her, with instructions to give it to Elvis only once you called her to do so, once you were finally ready. She’d smirked and rolled her eyes but was happy to do it all the same.

“Whatever I can do to finally get you two idiots on the same page,” she’d said lovingly.

You’d called her last night.

You can’t help but feel nervous. Even though a month was certainly not the longest you two had gone without speaking, this time it felt poignant and heavy in another way entirely. Your thoughts ran away from you at times: What if he’s changed his mind? What if he met someone else in Vegas?

It was possible and even probable that he’d been with other women since you left. You know how he is, and a man like him is not liable to change overnight. But you’ve spent most of your relationship with other people, and he still loved you after all this time, so even if he had been with someone else, you doubted it meant anything at all.

Of course, it still sends a red heat of jealously through you all the same. You push the thought as far away as you can, swinging your legs off the lounge chair, puttering back inside.

The cool air hits you like a wall of ice, and you close the sliding glass door quickly, goosebumps raising on your skin.

“Y/n.”

The familiar drawling baritone freezes you in your tracks. As your eyes adjust to the darkness inside the house, his tall frame becomes apparent across the living room and goosebumps rise over your skin for an entirely different reason than the cool air.

He looks incredible, magnificent even, wearing a silky white button up, the buttons undone at the top to reveal his tan chest, a pair of perfectly tailored black pants flattering him in all the right ways. But most significantly, the pink and black scarf is draped around his neck.

“Elvis,” you whisper, your heart fluttering in your chest.

That tether that you’ve learned has always been subconsciously tying you two together yanks you towards him. Your book drops to the floor and your bare feet run for him before your brain can catch up to you.

He meets you halfway and you throw yourself into his open, waiting arms. Your lips crash together with fervor, thirsty for each other after such a long drought. Soft, sweet, pillowy lips drink you in as your heart races and he pulls you in tighter. His familiar scent and warmth engulf you in such a comforting way that it brings tears to your eyes.

When your kiss finally slows and you both come up for air, you whisper, “You came.”

“Of course, I came.” As if there was ever any doubt.

Elvis pulls you to the couch, cradling you in his lap as he showers you with gentle but intense kisses. The heat between you builds but unlike in Vegas, it is more patient—openly full of love and admiration.

“I missed you,” he says into your mouth, his statuesquely perfect nose nuzzling into yours.

“I missed you, too,” you admit with a smile.

“Good,” he smiles, that lip of his curling up almost shyly.

His lips find your cheek, then placing soft kisses over your nose and eyelids and your forehead, as if committing your bone structure to memory with his mouth. It is unhurried because, for once, you have all the time and privacy in the world. You sigh underneath the reverence of his kisses as they trail down your jaw.

“Baby,” you say, stopping him, “as much as I want to continue this, I have things I need to say before that happens.”

He gives you one last kiss before bringing his attention to you. His gorgeous azure eyes fix in on you in such a way that you feel overwhelmed. It’s amazing to you how, even after all these years, he still has the ability to completely render you speechless with his magnetism and beauty.

“Yes?” he says, steeling himself for what may or may not be coming.

You tear your gaze from him enough to refocus. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I need you to know that I forgive you, for all of it. I forgive you, and more than anything, I love you. I want to be with you, though I know we need to figure out what that looks like. I mean, if that’s what you still want, of course,” you fumble, looking away, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Oh, it’s very much what I want, lil’ mama,” he purrs happily and seductively, using his pointer finger under your chin to turn your head, bringing his lips once more to yours. Fire blooms in your chest and radiates down into your belly as his tongue dips into your mouth. “I love you. I want you to be with me. Always have, baby.”

“I signed the divorce papers, and so did Jack,” you blurt out, needing to make sure he knows and understands.

Elvis chuckles, the low rumbling vibrating under your hand on his chest. “I know, Satnin,” he drawls, his bedroom eyes sharp underneath the haze of lust you see in them.

“Of course, you do,” you laugh, shaking your head, taking the moment to run your fingers through his coiffed dark hair.

He looks at you deeply, firmly but gently grabbing your chin in his hand. “Let me be your everything,” he whispers. It is somehow both a question and a command.

Your stomach drops, but not out of fear this time. No, it is a tingling anticipation that wafts over you and makes your breath catch. You run your finger over his lips, pulling down on that full bottom one.

“Yes,” you nod. You unfurl from his arms and stand, reaching for his hand.

Elvis looks up at you through those long, dark lashes with something between wonder and eagerness. You pull him off the couch wordlessly, his fingers intertwining with yours as you lead him through the house to the master bedroom.

When you finally arrive, you look up at him almost bashfully. “I was wondering if we could try something new?” you ask. You’d been thinking about this for weeks now, all the different ways you want him, but this one thing had stuck in your mind after all you’d been through.

His eyes sparkle almost gleefully with curiosity and lust. “What’re you thinkin’, baby?” he purrs.

You take a deep breath before speaking. You’re not sure if he’ll go for it, but you figure it won’t hurt to ask. “I want to be in charge,” you finally say, matter-of-factly.

His dazed look at your request quickly turns to interest as his brow furrows with consideration. He doesn’t mull long, however, much to your pleasure, before uttering, “Hmm, why not, baby? Let’s try it.” He smiles coyly before bringing you in for a long kiss.

Your heart begins to thump in your chest. You’ve never done this, and you bite your lip, knowing that you have to change your attitude for him to take you seriously. You draw on the strength you’ve gained over these past weeks and take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“On your knees,” you command.

Elvis looks at you with amused surprise at the order. “What?”

“Did I stutter?”

His left eyebrow shoots up so far you think it may try to escape his pretty face and his brilliant blues go wide.

“No, ma’am,” he says, his voice getting breathy and quiet. His eyes don’t leave yours as he slowly sinks, his knees finally touching the floor.

A thrill shoots through you seeing him like this, humbled before you. This man who commands and dominates every room he walks into, brought to his knees for you. You doubt anyone in his adult life has truly had him like this. You relish in the way it makes your heart race in your ribcage.

“Say it again,” you whisper. He seems to know what you mean.

“I love you,” he replies quietly, his eyes open and shining up at you. There is an innocent and boyish quality to them.

With everything that has happened, you have a renewed sense of purpose and confidence which makes you bold.

You lean down and grab his chin in your hand firmly, feeling the light scratch of dark stubble under your fingers.

“Show me,” you command.

He nods furiously in compliance, that look of innocence tempered by sparks of lust in the depths of his oceanic blues. He is more than willing and up for the challenge, and the look sends a shiver of anticipation through you so strong that you can already feel warmth gathering low in your belly. It’s been over a month now since you had him last and each day felt like torture.

Elvis runs his hands up the backs of your calves, caressing your bare legs and resting on the backs of your thighs, his eagerness and yearning evident in his speed. He wants you, too, and he is oh so used to getting what he wants that it gives you pleasure to stop him.

“Uh uh,” you tsk, grabbing his chin again, “you’re gonna take it nice and slow, baby boy, and then maybe, if you’re really good, then you’ll get what you want.” It comes out like a purr, dangerous but alluring, surprising even you. But the look on his face is worth it, the way he nearly crumbles when you call him baby boy, the way his pouty mouth falls open slightly, the way he squirms on his knees, itching to take you but following your lead instead.

“Now, are you gonna be a good boy and do what I tell you?” you coo with an edge of warning. You’ve never in your life have done anything like this before, and you hadn’t planned this, but the control, the power just comes naturally, his responses fueling you forward.

He nods again, unconsciously wetting his plump lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Use your words,” you order.

“Uh-um, y-yeah, yes, I-I-I promise…mama,” he stutters out, picking up your cues and nodding, eyes are wide and becoming more yielding as he begins to submit to you.

Something about the way he does it has that warmth surging in your belly yet again.

“Good,” you say, running your nails up and through his raven locks, scraping his scalp and making his eyes roll back at your touch. You pull back quickly, leaving him a little breathless.

“No hands. Use your mouth,” you order with a smirk.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob with a gulp. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, faster this time. He’s adapting quickly to your game, and the way he bows down to your feet, kissing the bare skin so softly as he makes his way slowly up your ankle to your calf has a thrill shivering through you. His pillowy lips and the tip of his tongue brush and lick their way up your legs, as he alternates one to the other. The sensation, especially after being deprived of his touch for so long, has you sighing softly, and his eyes roll up to yours, framed deliciously by those impossibly long and dark lashes. The blue of them has darkened with lust, but they remain compliant and eager to please.

That alone has the coil in your belly rapidly tightening, and you feel wetness begin to seep into your panties the closer his mouth comes to the place you want him the most.

Your breathing speeds up with this teasing when he meanders under your dress, peppering kisses along your panty line until his hot breath ghosts over the thin cotton of your panties. It puffs over your clit, and you pull your dress up with one hand to watch. His hands fly up to your ass of their own accord, squeezing and clutching at your panties to bring them down.

Using your other hand, you fist it tightly in his hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look at you. “What did I say about hands, baby boy? I thought you were gonna be good for mama,” you tsk, shaking your head.

It’s a test. You relish in watching him quell the dominant urges he’s having by biting back a smirk of insolence, his lip sandwiched between his teeth so hard he could break the skin. The fire in his eyes almost dares you until he sees the serious look in your own and you tighten your grip in his hair. He winces a little and you watch him consider his options. You don’t let up during this battle of wills, unyielding and unbreaking of the eye contact that might usually level you.

No, after the last six weeks, this time you are going to get what you want.

Finally, he gets it, letting his arms drop to his sides. His face smooths, that innocence returning, and he submits completely to you.

“Good boy,” you breathe, releasing the grip on his hair and running your thumb over his lush bottom lip. His mouth opens and you push your thumb in, scraping at his teeth, then pushing into the soft warmth of his pink tongue. A low moan escapes him as his eyelashes flutter, and you allow him to suck it in, rolling his tongue over your thumb. A pleasured hum escapes your lips at the sensual sensation, and you feel it tingle straight down into your pussy.

“Try again,” you say, looking down at him, pulling out your thumb. You pull up your dress once more.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers eagerly, and you see the wheels turning for a moment before he continues. This time, he sits on his hands before he kisses directly over your sensitive nub, wetting the fabric with his tongue before kissing upwards. Then, he snaps the elastic between his teeth and slowly but surely pulls your panties down your legs. Your slick is already evident in the fabric, leaving little trails down your thighs. Gravity takes hold once they reach your knees, and they drop to the floor.

“There’s my clever boy,” you praise him, stepping out of your underwear, running your thumb over his high cheekbone. This causes that signature crooked, boyish smile to spread across his features, reminding you just how incredibly beautiful he is.

And he’s all yours.

As he lathes his tongue back up your thighs, cleaning the slick from them on the way back up to your core, your body shudders with delight and you feel him smiling against your skin. Looking down you see it is not a smirk, but genuine pleasure at making you feel good, and that sends warmth through your chest in addition to the heat rapidly building in your core.

You cannot help the moan of pleasure that escapes you when he finally reaches the apex between your legs and flattens his tongue over your folds. He drags it slowly, deliberately, ending with little flicks on your clit. Heat rolls over you, setting every nerve aflame, and this time when you grab his hair, it is to pull him encouragingly closer into your wet curls.

“Yes, good boy, just like that,” you sigh breathlessly as he begins to shower your pussy with attention, going slowly as you requested. He is soft and persistent, swathing gently through your folds, parting your labia with his tongue before rolling back to your clit. Oh, lord, he is so very versed in this, you remember quickly, as he suckles and presses soft kisses to that most sensitive place.

Your eyes fall shut as you grip his head and shoulder for balance. You cannot help the keening and panting that begins to emanate through you as the coil in your pelvis tightens. Even after only a short amount of time together, he somehow knows exactly how to play you for the most pleasure.

In a daze, your eyes open and you look down at him, his dark hair messy from your hands. That’s when you notice it: he is not touching you with his hands, as promised, but you see how he’s somehow undone his trousers without your knowing. You watch silently for a moment as one of his ring clad hands fondles and tugs at his cock, and it sends a thrill of arousal through you to catch a glimpse of him pleasuring himself like this when he doesn’t know you’re watching. Battling the swell of ecstasy that rockets through you, you curiously watch how his hand slides up and down over his length, pulling at the foreskin that mostly envelops his red tip, how his long thumb glides effortlessly over it, swirling the slick of precum around and over and down. It’s a well-practiced motion and it almost seems unconscious considering the way he is utterly focused on your pussy.

You gasp with pleasure as he massages your clit deftly with his tongue, and coupled with watching him jack off, you feel a desperation for more friction, more of him, building until you realize that it is you who is in control of this moment, not him. With a swell of need you push him back abruptly, his eyes bewildered, and lips shining with your arousal, hand still on his cock, wondering what he did wrong.

“Oh, what a naughty little boy you are. I didn’t say you could touch yourself. I didn’t say you could get yourself off, did I?” you say in a chastising tone.

And, oh god, the bashful look he gives you, dropping his cock, and how his cheeks redden at being caught as he looks down, those lashes fanning out, has you biting back a smile and more heat swelling under your dress.

“No, ma’am,” he says mournfully, shaking his head slightly. And then he’s blinking up at you with those deep blues, waiting for what you are going to do next, what his “punishment” might be, you realize.

“I guess I’m gonna need to teach you a lesson then,” you sigh with exasperation. But his disobeying you only serves to make you more aroused. You put your foot on his chest and push him down and backwards with a low growl. It’s like something primal has come over you, not only your need to dominate him, but also this flaming heat consuming your body and needing his mouth on you more definitively.

“Get on your back,” you demand.

Elvis scrambles backwards quickly and you are grateful for his flexibility as he easily untangles his legs from underneath him and falls back onto the thick shag carpeting. You step over him, sliding your dress up and over your head as you do so, leaving you in only your bra. When you look down, you see his blissed-out eyes wandering over your body with something akin to awe.

You lower yourself down to your knees, straddling his chest, which is already heaving from his arousal. He’s wearing the pink silk scarf, the one from your first night together, and it feels fitting, you think, as you lord over him and unravel it from around his neck. He watches you so intently in any other circumstance you might falter under his gaze, but while blown with lust, you can see by that bashful look in his eyes that he is committed to following your lead here.

“Hands above your head, baby boy,” you coo, running your hands up the underside of his arms, guiding them over his head. “Since you can’t seem to keep from doing naughty things with them, I’ll have to make you stop,” you admonish.

You sit fully on his chest then, feeling as the wetness of your cunt stains the front of his lovely silky shirt, and then you lean over, fully aware that it puts your breasts temptingly over his face. You hear him whimper, knowing he can’t touch you, and you smile as you use the black and pink scarf to tie his wrists together above his head.

You intertwine your fingers with his as you slowly pull back over his body, scooting your hips back as you go until your face is hovering just above his. He’s panting now, little puffs of breath coming from his lips as you ghost your own over his face. Tipping his chin up to try and capture a kiss, you pull back a bit.

“Nuh uh, baby boy. You have work to do first,” you shake your head, kissing the tip of his nose. Then you tempt him by flicking the tip of your tongue over the beautifully perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip, and he fully whines and squirms under you.

You laugh at that, the fact that you are able to put him in this position, to make him want you enough to be vulnerable and needy like this. Then you become more serious, looking him in the eyes.

“Now use that wicked little mouth of yours to make me come,” you say in a low, sultry, daring tone. “And no touching unless I say so!”

“Y-y-yes, ma’am,” Elvis moans as you maneuver your body up and over his head, bracketing it in with your thighs. Your need for him is quite evident as you lower your already-soaking pussy onto his face and as his pouty mouth kisses your most sensitive areas, you know you are so wound already from this little game of yours that you fear you might come undone too soon.

You’ve never done this before and while part of you is a little worried about the mechanics and fears smothering him, that primal, instinctual part of you starts rocking your hips over his mouth.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly, unable and unwilling to contain the soft moans that his lips and tongue begin drawing out of you as you begin to ride his mouth. When he fully groans against you, the vibrations send a shockwave through your core, nearly snapping that coil inside you already. You steady yourself, finding a comfortable rhythm, and experimentally run your hands up your torso, using them to grope your breasts. You feel him moan again and look down to see him carefully watching you, his eyes blown black.

Sensing how it’s driving him wild, you lift your hips a little to give him air and reach down under the lace of your bra, using the pads of your fingers to lightly drag against the sensitive areola, taunting him and pinching your nipples to attention with a moan of your own.

“Fuckkkk,” he breathes out, the air tickling your labia.

“Language!” you hush him and plant back down on his face. His arms fight to come down and grab you, but between being tied and the way your weight is, he cannot, and groans against you again instead. He works you tirelessly now as you writhe over him and you feel that telltale tightening begin in earnest. You are nearly desperate as his tongue lathes against your folds again and again, dipping in and out of your hole, circling your clit and back again. He eats you expertly, willingly, and you ache for him.

“Good boy, there’s my good baby,” you pant quietly as your heart flutters and your breathing starts to hitch.

But when his tongue slips daringly lower, perhaps accidentally, perhaps not, you careen forward with a shocked gasp as it grazes your other hole.

“Elvis!” you gulp, clasping his hands with your own to steady yourself, stilling your hips. You aren’t quite sure how you feel about that slip yet, only knowing that it’s a place that has been forbidden before now. Your heart pounds so hard you hear the blood in your ears, your body on high alert.

“Hmmm?” is his only response before he tests you again, gently, letting his tongue circle that illicit spot lightly.

“Elvissss…” The moan escapes you before you can stop it because the unfamiliar feeling of his tongue there has your already aroused body teeming with the new sensation and you know you shouldn’t like it, you’re not supposed to like it…

“Yes? You like that mama?” he replies surprisingly bashful, submissively, compared to the sensual dominance that you are used to from him.

“I-I-I’m not sure, baby boy,” you finally stammer out honestly.

You feel him nod underneath you, as if understanding, and he goes back to suckle your clit, making you jump a little and roll your hips. And when his tongue travels back through your swollen folds and he goes a little farther to include that little secret spot, you can’t help but cry out in pleasure this time.

He smiles against you, and you respond by rolling harder on his face, effectively shutting him up. The carnality that flows through you banishes your prudishness and you let him kiss and eat you fully now, from hole to clit, letting the sensations consume you completely.

You fuck his face wildly. You don’t try to stop the keening noises crying from your lips, you just grip his hands for dear life as the coil inside you constricts, your body flooded with fire, desperate for the blast of release his talented mouth promises you. Frantic now, chasing that high, your body tenses over him and he groans loudly into your cunt, his tongue deep inside you, as your thighs squeeze his head.

The peak hits you incredibly hard and you cry out as you shatter above him. White stars flash behind your eyes followed by inky blackness. You can barely breathe for the way it hits you. He continues to lick and suck you through your orgasm, coaxing you, moaning into you in order to continue your pleasure for as long as possible. He devours every drop of your arousal. Shaking and shuddering and oversensitive, you finally scoot your hips back, allowing him to come up for air with his own gasp.

“Did I do good, mama?” he puffs, looking pleased, his face covered in your slick.

“You did perfect, baby boy,” you breathe out, kissing his cheeks, then his swollen lips, tasting your tangy sweetness there. Your body shivers with aftershocks as you come back into yourself, your mind concocting all the ways you want him tonight, all the ways in which you can show him your love and vice versa.

You look down at him, enjoying the sight of pussy-drunk lust on his boyish features, the vulnerability of his hands restrained above his head, the way his bedroom blues dreamily follow your gaze and your lead.

Your need for him feels insatiable. You want to wreck him, ruin him, in the best way possible. Biting your lip you roll your hips into his waist, feeling the cold of his belt sear into your bare core and Elvis’ eyes roll back a little as you drag your nails down over the part of his chest that is exposed above his shirt.

“You gonna continue to be good for mama, baby boy?” you lean down to coo in his ear, scootching your hips back just enough to feel the tip of his rock-hard length through his pants, and you can feel the shudder that ripples through him.

He nods furiously. “Y-yes, mama, oh yes, I’ll be good.”

“I’m so glad, baby,” you whisper, “Mama’s got somethin’ special in store for you.”

Elvis whimpers at that, and you can tell it is taking every ounce of self-control he has to keep from taking you right there and then, but he stays good and still and relatively quiet for you. You kiss down the shell of his ear, nibbling on the perfect lobe, and then you focus your attention on the divot just behind it where his jaw meets his skull. Lapping there for a minute, you take your time as he hums and tenses beneath you, turning his head the opposite direction to give you the access you want. You make your way agonizingly slowly down his neck, using your lips and teeth and tongue in all the ways you’ve learned he likes. By the time you reach his collarbone, he is practically writhing under you.

His breath is beginning to heave and become labored when you start down his tanned chest, the course hair there tickling your lips as you go. One by one, you pop the remaining buttons open, and with each, a pretty little huff escapes his pouting lips. Oh, how beautiful he looks with his cheeks all flushed and his hair mussed, those eyes alternating between peering down at you and looking up to the heavens.

Once again you move your hips back, this time hovering just above the erection raging in his pants. It’s enough that he can feel your heat, but you give him no friction whatsoever, and this is what finally has him bucking his hips up desperately, but you are prepared, dodging well out of the way before he finds any sort of relief.

“Now, now, that’s not how good boys behave,” you tsk at him, earning a huff in response. You use your nails to scratch down his now-exposed treasure trail, your lips following close behind and he fully whines by the time you reach the belt line.

“Please, please, mama,” he mewls at you, raising his head to look at you with begging eyes.

“All in good time,” you muse quietly, shooting him a soft smile.

You take your time with his heavy belt and zipper, causing him to spring forth, his cock hard and veiny, precum already oozing a sticky string between his tip and his abdomen, but you leave him there, untouched. Moving lower, you slowly, deftly, remove one shoe, then the other, doing the same with his socks. Then you pull his pants down his long legs, letting your fingers ghost over his sensitive skin. It’s torture, based on the way he squirms and sighs, and you find yourself full of emotions.

A small part of you relishes in making him squirm after finding out what he’d kept from you all these years, for all the time you may have lost with him because of his self-righteous ego. But a much larger part of you wants this with him, for him, because you know he’s likely not given himself to anyone like this. Not the great Elvis Presley, the man who strives for excellence and control in all things. You cannot imagine him letting just any woman bring him to his knees, tying him up, letting her have her way with him. At least you hope not.

But perhaps that is your own ego talking.

But a sense of unease, jealously perhaps, wafts over you, diminishing your confidence slightly.

“Baby boy?” you hum pensively at him, running your finger softly up the sole of his foot, causing him to jump and giggle a little.

“Yes, mama?” he responds softly, tilting his chin down to look at you.

You frown, worrying your lip a little, wanting to approach this skillfully as not to ruin the mood, but you have to know. Now that the thought is there, you must know.

“Have you ever let anyone else do this? Touch and tease you like this?” you ask, trying to keep your voice sultry and light, running your fingers up the underside of his arm, dragging across the pink silk that binds his wrists.

His brow furrows for a moment as he tries to interpret what’s going on underneath the bravado you’re showing, trying to glean your true meaning, and then his face softens and smooths with realization, his eyes wide and open for you. “Not like this, mama. Just for you. Only you,” he says genuinely, and you know it’s true, that he’s not just giving you lip service within the game you are playing.

“Good,” you nod, more moved by this than you want to show right now, your heart swelling with this new knowledge. You kiss him gently and softly on the lips. 

“Do you trust me?” you add more mischievously, your confidence returning.

“Completely,” he nods back.

“Then it’s time to get on the bed, baby boy,” you purr.

He brings his arms down in front of his abdomen, the scarf still taut at his wrists and his shirt open and flowing behind him, and you help him to standing. His eyes sparkle a little with what you think is anticipation. Once to the bed, he snakes his long, beautiful body backwards until he is lying up against the dark pillows.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him lying there, vulnerable and all yours. Getting between his legs, you start at his feet, massaging the ropey muscles with your hands, and alternately kissing your way over the arches, his ankles, and up his calves, up every perfect part of him. You pay attention closely to these spots you’ve never really explored before, listening and watching him carefully. When his breath catches, or he hisses in through his teeth, you know it’s extra sensitive, and of course, when his mouth falls open and his eyes roll back you know you’ve hit the jackpot.

You take your sweet time working up his muscled legs, bringing up and opening his knees to give you more access to what you are finding is the highly sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. Warmth rolls through you when you nip there, very close to his balls and he nearly jumps off the bed.

“Stay still and be good, baby boy,” you purr at him with a sly smile against his leg, and he whines in protest but stills himself. You think it’s high time you give him some well garnered attention to his large, heavy testicles. His musky scent fills your nostrils, setting your biological need for him on fire. You wiggle a little on your knees with anticipation but since you aren’t sure exactly what he likes or what his boundaries are yet, you want to make sure he has an out.

“Baby,” you say seriously, looking into his eyes, “if you really want me to stop, like really, I need you to tell me, okay? Say…” You stop, looking around for inspiration, something he would never say in the heat of the moment, and then your eyes land. Perfect.

“Say ‘pink scarf’ if you really want me to stop baby, okay?” you urge.

Elvis nods, looking excited and also a little concerned at the prospect of what you might do to him to require him to use such a phrase. “Pink scarf, got it,” he breathes.

With that, you feel better, and return your attentions down in between his legs. His cock is hard and buoyant against his pelvis, precum glistening the angry red tip that is peeking out from his lighter foreskin, but that is not what you’re going to focus on, not yet.

Using your thumbs, you apply gentle pressure to the insides of his thighs, massaging slow circles up, up, up, closer to his most sensitive areas. Lying on your stomach between his open legs, you test the waters by running your nails softly over the darkened, wrinkly skin of his ball sac.

He hisses in at that, his lower half tensing as you gently continue, using your thumb, pointer, and middle fingers to explore the area. In his arousal, his balls are pulled up tight to him, but it doesn’t detract from the fact they are still rather large compared to what you’re used to. His breathing becomes more labored as you roll his testes between your fingers, cupping them, then pulling gently.

His hips roll and wiggle. You love the effect you are having on him, the way he responds so readily under your touch, and you wonder if this is what it’s like for him when he plays with you. It sends heat of a different kind rolling through your body each time he jolts or gasps.

Which is exactly what he does when you nuzzle his sac with your nose before flattening your tongue against the seam and licking a long stripe from back to front. His hips rise off the mattress and running your hands over the crease of where his legs meet his torso, you push those famous narrow hips back down to the bed.

“Oh mama, oh mama,” he whispers quietly, almost like a begging prayer, as you continue lathing your tongue back and forth and up and down over his balls. He begins to writhe in earnest, despite your hands holding him, his legs pulling up and boxing you in.

“Be still,” you command, lifting your head, pushing his bent legs back open.

He obeys instantly, looking down at you with wild, shining eyes, nodding almost unconsciously in reply, as if preparing himself for whatever you deem to do next.

You use your hands again, one to push his legs up, tilting him towards you, the other rolling him like dice, before lifting his sac enough to lick the underside completely. Taking inspiration from his playbook, you then flick down over his taint, applying pressure with your tongue, his musky scent consuming you.

He moans long and loud at that, unable to contain himself as you shower this newly found spot with all your attention. As you lick and press and roll, he mewls and begins to shudder. Your heart beats faster against your ribcage at his reactions, how he pants above you, and you wonder what will happen if you press your thumb to that softer spot right above his puckered hole.

So you do. You press that spot over and over and watch him tremble and writhe until he looks damn well possessed.

“Please, oh please, oh GOD!” he cries out and eventually his entire body tenses, hips lifting as though he were coming inside you, and he shudders wildly before falling hard back onto the bed. Heart pounding, you lift your head to see a milky white leak from his tip. It’s not cum in the sense you are used to, but some sort of release nevertheless.

You’re not one hundred percent sure what just happened, but you are pleased you made him feel so good. You watch him lying there, gasping from pleasure, his hands clenching and releasing against their bonds, trying to recover from whatever that was. His face is flushed red, making the blue of his arousal-darkened eyes look almost preternatural, and tears leak, dampening his dark lashes. He looks positively bewildered.

“Good job, baby boy,” you praise him, kissing the inside of his knee.

“Wh-wh-what w-was that, mama?” he gasps, asking.

“That ever happen before?” you respond, curious, instead of answering him.

He shakes his head, his hair flopping as it lolls from side to side.

“Hmm…well, did it feel good, baby?” you ask because you aren’t entirely sure what happened, but you don’t let him know that. You don’t let him know about your own fresh arousal that’s leaking down the sides of your thighs or how your heart is fluttering in your throat at the sight of him such a mess before you. Not yet.

He nods furiously, eyes unfocused.

You smile at the blissed-out look on his face. You crawl up him to give his open lips a little kiss. “Mama’s not done with you yet, baby boy,” you whisper against his lips before pulling back.

His dreamy eyes go wide, but you don’t dwell, instead making haste to kiss down his chest once more, stopping to tongue and scrape his nipples with your teeth, making him jump underneath you once again. You kiss down the flat planes of his belly, detouring to give a little attention to his bound hands, sucking a digit or two into your mouth on the way down.

He fully shivers at that, moaning, sending a thrill of your own down to your toes. His belly is already heaving again with anticipation as you arrive at your next destination. His length bounces as his stomach moves, the milky white having leaked onto his belly, but whatever release he’d had did not affect the hardness of his cock, much to your pleasure.

Your goal here is to worship and tease, rather than the ways you’d had him in your mouth before. The way he’d fucked down into your throat both gently and harshly prior to this was not going to be his experience this time. No, this time is all about giving him a night he’s unlikely to ever forget. It is about claiming him as your own while showering him with love and attention on your terms. You’ve never had that before, not truly, and oh how sweet you are finding it already…

First, all you do is hover over his cock, so closely that he can feel your hot breath against him as you run your open mouth up and down his shaft. He squirms his hips from left to right, his hands fisting, and you can sense how it is taking everything in him not to buck up into you.

“Mamaaaa…need y-you,” he begs.

This makes you smirk coyly.

“Hush, baby,” you admonish him with a furrowed brow, stilling his hips again with your hands. “Be a patient good boy and you’ll get what you need.” Eventually…you think smugly.

He can only manage a whimper in response.

Finally, you place soft, barely there kisses up his shaft, feeling his rapid pulse through the throbbing veins. His foreskin awaits and you kiss gently around it, and it must be very sensitive because he’s fully gasping now, quiet “uh, uh, uhs” escaping his lips. Using only your tongue, you dip it into and under the foreskin, swirling it around the head.

“Oh, oh, no, t-too much, too much, mama!” he half moans-half cries, nearly levitating off the bed, but you don’t stop, instead sucking the tip of him into your mouth and soothing the head with your tongue.

You look up at the man you are in love with, in all his messy ecstasy, as tears stream down the sides of his pretty face, but he does not say the words, only sighing at this little bit of relief you give him. So, you continue, after this moment of reprieve, sending your tongue up and down his shaft, then kissing and tonguing his sensitive tip as though it were a dripping ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

“Please, please, please,” Elvis pants out of that wonderous and full mouth of his. By the time you use your hand to fondle his balls again, he is so fully enraptured, staring up into the mirrors above you, that you’re not sure he’s even on the same plane as you anymore.

God, it has you nearly coming undone yourself to see him like this, bringing him closer and closer to the edge without letting him fall over. You find yourself pressing your thighs together, desperate for your own friction.

His gorgeous eyes flutter down to you as you once again tongue his tip. “B-bein’ good, m-mama, please, needju,” he whimpers, his words slurring together.

“Bein’ so good, baby boy,” you praise him, then you take him fully into your mouth, pumping once, twice, and then you feel his entire body tense and shake.

“F-f-fuuuuckkk,” he groans gutturally, his hips bucking into your throat, coming completely undone nearly instantly. His eyes roll back into his head, beads of sweat mixing with the tears down his face, and the prominent vein in his neck pulses in time with his salty, thick release. It coats your tongue, and you swallow him down readily before gently lathing your tongue over the tip of his sex. He squirms under you, rocked and hypersensitive as you pop off him.

“Thank you, mama,” he whispers, looking so relieved and sex drunk that you are beside yourself now. Every nerve ending inside you is on fire. Before he can soften, you climb onto his lap, lining him up with your entrance and sliding him through your soaking folds and into your heat.

Elvis’ eyes widen in shock and he wiggles his hips down into the mattress as if trying to escape. little “ah ah ah!” puffs come from his lips, like he’s handling a hot potato.

“M-mama, ah, ah! I-I-I can’t,” he shakes his head before slamming it back onto the bed.

“Oh, you can, baby boy, you can, I promise,” you say breathlessly, relishing the feel of him filling you, even though he’s beginning to soften slightly. You roll your hips in his lap. “You’re gonna keep being such a good boy and make me come, right, baby?” you encourage demurely, hooking enough into his ego and his need to please you to keep him going.

All you know is that you need him, need to keep him inside you, to have him fill you up, even if you have to wait.

The noise that comes from him is somewhere between a groan and a growl, his eyes screwing shut for a moment as he tries to compose himself enough to continue. You still, placing your hands on his chest, and wait for his response.

“How about this? You’ve been so good for mama. I’m gonna take this scarf off you and you use those hands to show me some love while we wait,” you say.

That has him opening those glassy, pretty eyes of his and nodding.

“Mama’s gonna keep makin’ you feel real good, don’t you worry now, baby,” you tut at him, untying the knots at his wrists. The silk yields easily. You lean forward on top of his chest and throw it around his neck.

Elvis rolls his wrists a few times then wraps his arms around your back, holding you fast to him while he continues to breathe heavily. The feeling of being draped on him and held in his long arms sends an almost wholesome warmth through your body. Oh, how you missed being close to him like this. It’s almost as if you didn’t know it until this very second, that string that has been pulling you two together for so long finally loosening as you fall unencumbered into each other’s arms.

After a long moment, he calms and his hands start roaming slowly over your back. You can feel the cool of his rings against your fiery skin and it sends shivers through you. You feel starved for him, hence your desperate need to have him inside you and to show him with every fiber of your being that you will be all he ever needs from here on out.

You hum softly, pleased, when his hands find your ass, your hips, and you swivel them. He is soft inside you for the moment, at least, and you feel the sharp intake of breath at your movements, his hands gripping you to keep you still.

Still sensitive, you think.

His hands flutter up and down your sides then, softly enough to make you want more. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest, the rhythm beginning to match yours the longer you stay intertwined. This is what you’ve been missing, needing, all along. Him vulnerable and sated under you. Knowing that you are the only one he truly wants. Knowing that it’s been that way for almost as long as you’ve known him.

“Say it again,” you whisper into his neck, kissing his pulse points.

It only takes him a moment to understand what you are asking.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“Mmmm,” you hum, kissing your way up his strong, angular jaw to his lips. “Again.”

“I love you.” It rumbles in his chest so you can feel it vibrate into yours.

Each time he says it, it dances through you, lighting up all the dark spaces that were so afraid and convinced he would never feel the same.

You kiss his lips, softly at first, then deepening as your own love pours out of you and into him.

His hands are everywhere now, one tangling in your hair, the other snapping the clasp of your bra undone. Your mouths separate just long enough for you to rip off the lace and fling it to the side. The feel of his bare chest against yours makes you feel like you are melting into him. Your mouths are unhurried but intense, tongues exploring, devouring each other whole.

“I love you,” you say into his mouth, voice hushed and reverent.

He pauses for a moment, pulling back just enough for you to get lost in the oceanic depths of his eyes as they gaze at you adoringly, as if memorizing your features. “I’m yours,” he says. Then he pulls you back down to him, his mouth consuming you once more.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, kissing, touching, exploring each other as if it were the first time, but it is long enough that you feel him begin to stiffen inside of you once more, just as you knew he would. Slowly, you begin to rock on top of him, your hands and lips tracing his Apollo-like features. Your fingers rake through his raven hair, damp with sweat from the exertion.

Elvis’ hands cup your face, your neck, tangling through your hair, caressing your breasts. He touches you reverently, though as your passions increase, his hands light streams of fire over your skin wherever they deem to touch. A heated coil tightens again in your belly, more gradually this time, but deep all the same.

The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing that has synced between the two of you, a hushed feeling that matches the intensity of your lovemaking. His deep gaze threatens to consume you from below as you ride him, and every cell in your body is being called to his.

He fills you in ways no one ever has and as no one ever could. Perhaps he was made just for you, you think, with how perfectly you align. You realize that this is the first time you’ve had him with all your memories intact. Every moment the two of you have had since the beginning now swells between you, a now shared history that makes this moment all the more poignant.

You are lost in the depths of him just as much as he is lost in you. You can see it now, so obviously, and you wonder how you spend so very long without him. Beyond his talent, beyond his gorgeousness, lies that both human yet ethereal man, and he is wonderful and he is flawed, and he is finally yours.

He expertly touches your sensitive bud, sending you careening towards the edge of an abyss that once frightened you. Because of course this was never just about sex, though your brain tried to trick you, making you forget that your love for him started so very long ago. But what terrified you six weeks ago now feels ripe with possibility. What made you feel trapped has now been set free. And as that coil snaps and you fracture above him, it allows your true self to emerge for the first time in a very long time.

“I love you, Elvis,” you breathe, locking eyes with him as you fall, knowing he will be there to catch you.

Your moan of pleasure, his name a whispered prayer on your lips, coupled with the sight of you has him following right behind you, all his years of fear and guilt splintering into pieces along with the most intense orgasm he has ever had.   

“I love you, y/n,” he returns in equal measure.

You collapse into his arms, unaware of the tears on your face until you feel them wetting the pink scarf that somehow remains around his neck. Elvis holds you to him, his fingers twirling the ends of your hair, not just with possessiveness and control, but with unfettered love. There is aways to go between the two of you in your relationship, now that you remember everything that has happened, but you have no doubt that the two of you will figure it all out, together this time.

For the first time in forever, you feel truly at peace.

Finally, you are exactly where you need to be.

With the man you love eternally, who loves you just as much.

Here, with Elvis.

*

Please let me know in the comments/DMs/asks if you are interesting in buying a physical and/or ebook of Pink Scarf (with bonus chapters/material)! 💗🧣💗

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[zinniax]

I recently read the lost sisters after legit months since htkoelths let me tell you it has made me want CARDANS VERSION EVEN MORE.

Moral of the story in my own mind the pov is like this Jude=selfless, Taryn=self love, and Cardan=self worth.

jude/taryns piggy back off of eachother bc whereas Taryn tried to manipulate the game or social structure so she can fit in; jude isn’t worried about fitting in she just wanted respect amoung her peers and changed the game completely. They both wanted a place in their community or world and not be looked down upon. Cardan version would not only be pivotal in knowing the entire scope of love he has for jude but see how he legit is the game! He is the prince but yet he couldn’t count on his friends, he didn’t really have family, and he admitted In not so many word that he was jealous of jude bc madoc loved her when she isn’t even technically his. And that type of isolation he felt and the moment anyone gave him attention (where it be positive or negative) he latched on to it but then throughout the books grew up and matured and finally became part of a community/family and is like hey I have someone who I love and she loves me back🤯

Taryn I still don’t like her don’t get me wrong I can see from her point of view she was like this is the only way but no matter what her sister never crossed her mind, she didn’t feel bad, she didn’t feel remorse, she only did bc she got caught. Taryn is for tayrn she loves herself to much to be anything else (again wheather it’s positive or negative) I got the vibe that she envied jude just a little bit just cuz jude didn’t care for the social aspect of it when taryn did. when jude constantly sheilded and tried to protect her siblings- hello she didn’t even mention that Locke tried to kill her for fun for her sister cuz she didn’t wanna ruin anything for taryn.

And I know a lot of you are pro-taryn after reading her book but really it just proved that taryn loved herself, her sense of importance is insane like how? When she didn’t do anything worthy to attain that title. And it also goes to show how oriana and madoc raised them, they really are the product of their environment. Jude took after madoc and Taryn took after oriana. Oak takes more after all of them especially jude/cardan or at least his ideas (again that might be my own self conscious wanting jurdan babies and living vicariously through oak)

I don’t necessarily hate taryn but really it’s hard to like her. As someone who has a sibling I just couldn’t fathom being ok with anything happening to my sister(irl brother) let alone plot/ mastermind a whole ass plan that might hurt her physically, emotionally, or mentally. (Side note I really hate Balkian and Valerian)

[unbizzarre]

Byerly Vorrutyer Character Designs

BYERLY VORRUTYER of Lois McMaster Bujold’s Vorkosigan Saga

Tried to go for a rapidly-aging prettyboy with the gothic heavy lidded eyes (idk how to describe the eyes I’m talking about) and a face that reads as male while having something slightly feminine about it. A face that smiles often but is composed, cool. Slightly wavy black hair that is either shortish, chin length, or slightly shorter than shoulder length (I haven’t decided yet 😅)

Designing faces is not my strong suit so I am working backwards from a few references I like. Will probably simplify artstyle, slightly lengthen hair and mix with a dash of Professor Venom from OK KO (for that little bit of haggard twink energy) to creat the final design.

References:

Wardrobe:

Materials: silk, velvet, ruffles lace, detailed embroidery, military piping, sheer cloth, fur — echoes of beautiful luxurious handmade traditional artisan clothing- but all a little to gaudy and cheaply produced - the barrayaran aristocrat version of fast fashion. Androgynous and galactic styles occasionally thrown in to add to mystique

-SHIRTS: silk shirts // shirts with poofy or frilly sleeves // patterned shirts // sheer shirts // velvet shirts // shirts that are tucked in the pants but so unbuttoned the entire chest exposed

- SUITS: velvet suits that absolutely reek of cologne // sleezy yet sharp barreyaran style black suits you might smoke a cigar or play pool in // pastel suit for daytime garden parties

WARDROBE ACCENTS

- bigass fur coat - maybe even almost a midieval king robe

- several offensively knock off fast fashionmilitary style jackets

- luxuriously patterned bathrobe

- see through shawl / wrap / night robe thing

- some gaudy galactic style outfits

- a few sexy or frilly dresses to piss off the family

- a few a casual / slightly more subdued blend of komarran, barrayaran and practical galactic clothing he only really wears at home (stuff he wears when he’s not preforming for an audience). maybe some sentimental pieces. What’s hidden beneath the camouflage.

- some bling: rings and earrings. A few broaches and cuff links probably not that many necklaces

EDIT: here are some reference collages I put together! Note that these references aren’t the exact items that he would have in his closet but rather there are aspects to each piece that I would want to incorporate into his design. Maybe it’s the cut of a sleeve, the silhouette of a coat, the way a robe drapes, the embroidery pattern on some fabric, or the general partied-too-hard vibes of a particular photo of a model.

Bastardized military jackets:

Neglige options / heavier nightfrobe options:

Bigass fur coat:

Shirts (please ignore the long blue scarf in the central image like wtf is that- the rest of the suit is nice tho):

Party vibes:

A lot of these aspects would then be mixed with my own head cannon for the rules/cuts of barreyaran mens clothing (I went to a library and spent a stupid insane amount of time looking through books with midieval, 1800s and 1900s men’s fashions and France, Russia, and Greece- + additional books of traditional folk clothings and textile patterns + several other books of historic military uniforms…. The process and choices were so long that I had to give up and just stop thinking about any sort of vorkosigan related character design for a couple months cuz my head hurt. - I will probably make another post at some point with more annotated collages and possibly some of my own drawings synthesizing the concepts, but uh not right now because I need a nap just thinking about trying to organize it all.)

If you’d like to see a little more of vorkosigan universe costume imaginings here’s my Pinterest board on it (kinda) https://pin.it/2rOoHsq it’s a extremely disorganized and from early hyperfixation days so none of my fashion history research stuff is there (cuz that was all physical book stuff) but uh, you can look at it if you want.

P.S.

If you have any feedback or critiques on the design so far, or ideas for how you think By should look, let me know! I love hearing other people’s interpretations 😊.

Photos of faces you think look like By, pictures of outfits that feel Byerly-ish, or direct quotes from the books about his demeanor or appearance are also welcome!

@starfishlikestoread it’s been approximately a thousand years but I’m finally getting around to that Byerly fanart! Hope you enjoy 😅

[megamindsecretlair]

Most disliked popular books??

Cuz I gotta be messy lol

I love being messy on this app 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Most disliked 🤔🤔 idk if these are popular books, but I'll never read a single word from these books/authors because fuck em 🤣 and ik you aint ask for all this but here ya go 💀

1. Uglies by Scott Westerfield. The main character was SO annoying. And inconsistent asf. I can handle annoying, I can't handle inconsistent. Like it completely turned me off of anything he'll ever write.

2. Lightlark by Alex Aster. The book itself was a smash up of every better YA book to come about, which, whatever ppl can write what they want. But the author? Trash. All up and down tiktok, she makes it seem like she got popular because of her writing. When her family is Uber rich and paid to publish the book, and is paying to produce the movie version. It's an entire no from me. Like be honest about it. Plus the main character made a lot of dumbass moves that had nothing to do with the main concept. Im convinced it was AI tbh.

3. Guilty Pleasures by Laurell K Hamilton. Its an old vampire series, though I think she's still writing books 🤔 started in the 90s. I was with the series up until...book 7. The series followed a really cool necromancer who got into urban fantasy shenanigans, she wasn't oversexed. A little self insert (no shame in the game for that) In fact, she had a lot of hangups about sex, much to the annoyance of the guys who were interested in her. And it was very much a mature series dealing with relationships that I appreciated. But im huge on consent. And in book 7, she does a lot of shady shit to like..."force" the main character to completely abandon all her hangups and blames it on a version of mating bullshit and a mix of magic. Im like naw, fuck that. You can't cheat your way to changing a character and she fn lost me. Im never reading that shit again.

4. Twisted Love by Ana Huang. That shit was boooooring. And 200 pages too long. (I think it was like 440 pages altogether). Enemies to lovers is always hit and miss for me chuz its never really enemies. They're juss two ppl who bicker a lot until they have sex. Fine. Whatever. But gawdt this was boring. Maybe I'm juss not into the bad boy being an asshole in order to win someone's affections 🤔 like...he's gotta have something to redeem him. All the twists were obvious asf, the sex wasn't even that great. Turned me off the author completely.

5. Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas. See number 4 lol. 200 pages too long, the main characters had 0 chemistry. The main character served entirely no purpose. And there was shit that came up at the end that was never introduced and yet became a major plot point. Idk how they can turn enemies to lovers and fake dating into a terrible time, but they did 😪 never reading anything from that author again 💀

I could go on, fr. I'm picky dammit 🤣🤣🤣

[dino-boyo-agere]

Spider-Man headcanons for @dovey-luv-bug cuz he's da bestest superhero there is!!!

I'm going: Peter Parker, Miles Morales, Gwen Stacy & Collectively ╰→ personally, I have the comic versions of them in mind

Peter Parker's Spider-Man -any one of them lol-:

He definitely has ADHD and is constantly stimming.

Also always has some stim toys at hand

Peter is a wild child, always running around.

Confident in his regression and pretty open about it, he actively tries to break the stigma.

Peter tends to get hurt, scraped knees, little cuts, etc. So his cg always carries Band-Aids.

LOVES to play "big brother" for other little ones and/ or kiddos.

He will get mad at you, if you forget to give his teddies a good night kiss on the forehead.

Prefers to read the good night story himself, instead of being read to.

When he's smaller than 7, Peter just makes up a story, that he think would fit the pictures in the book.. reading is hard.

Does not enjoy bath time, it's boring.

Miles Morales' Spider-Man:

Probably definitely autistic..

He is less hyperactive then Peter and prefers to chill and watch cartoons over actively playing.

HUGE cuddle bug!

Bad textures can ruin his whole day.

Gets overstimulated quite quickly, when smol and is prone to meltdowns.

Miles is way less confident about his regression. He tries to hide it because he's embarrassed about regressing.

Extra clumsy when little & needs all his boo-boos kissed immediately!!

The phrase "I'm a big boy 😤" gets repeated like a broken record.. It's not convincing anyone though.

Tends to get lost in "bad thought spirals" and needs his cg to pull him out of them.

Has a plushie he tells all his worries to. It's a dog with a zipper on the belly, so he can write down/ draw his worries and put them in the pouch if their to hard to talk about (yet) and puppy can eat them up.. His cg checks the notes every once in a while (with permission ofc). The plushie's name is "Therapuppy".

Really enjoys bath time, especially the extra attention from his cg.

Likes drawing & crafting of any kind.

Gwen Stacy's Spider-Woman/ Spider-Gwen:

Also autistic, definitely.

She is a flip and i see her slightly leaning to being a cg.

Just like Peter, Gwen talks openly about age regression, to break the stigma.

Also loves to help take care of "little sibbies" when small (just like Peter does).

Likes being called "big sis" when smol and "Ma" when in cg headspace.

Gwen likes to dance when & with little(s)

Definitely overprotective and overly cautious.. even when tiny, she worries quite a lot.

Likes to doctor her plushies and dolls back to health.

Enjoys to play pretend and go on adventures.

Collectively -all 3 Spider-Babs-:

Neurodivergent!!

It's a trauma response for all of them, but Peter & Gwen came to love it and like to regress just for fun and to relax sometimes. Miles will get there too, someday..

Sweetest little angels, so affectionate.

None of them have one certain cg, whichever trusted person is available will take care of the tiny ones! (often a Avengers member.. Though I personally especially LOVE Wade Wilson [Deadpool] as Peter's cg cuz I luv their comics together.. Aunt May is also an amazing cg!! Miles' Mom and Dad actually really enjoy to take care of little him & so does Gwen's dad with her.)

That's all I can think of right now, I might add to it later though! <3

.ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･».ﾟ°･⁠✧ ↓ DNI ↓ ✧･° ﾟ.«･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ.

Tagging @pink-crayon-princess bc they said they'd love to hear some head canons aswell <3