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loguetowns · 1 year

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the one that (almost) got away

roronoa zoro x fem!reader

it takes him 12 hours to realize

3.6k words

a/n: ok listen, i think i started writing this like 6+ months ago and it’s just been sitting in my drafts bc idk how to commit to endings so y’all are gonna have to take this as it is. also i have no concept of how sailing works or how long it takes oops

9:00 pm

“y'know, there's really no point to a farewell party if the one leaving isn't there.”

you look up from your spot on the library floor. your eyes land on the green-haired swordsman leaning against the doorframe and you smile.

“i’ll be there in a second. i just have some more stuff to go through.”

zoro eyes the mess of books surrounding you, recognizing a few of nami’s atlases and robin’s textbooks. “you haven’t finished packing yet?”

“i’m mostly done. i’m just trying to decide which books i want to keep.” catching his eye, you joke, “why? you want me gone that bad?”

crossing the room, a scoff leaves his lips. nothing could be further from the truth.

“you got me. i am so sick of you,” he says with a grin. “can’t wait to get rid of the annoying librarian invading my napping spot.”

zoro plops down on the bench behind you, catching a whiff of your shampoo as he lies down. you sit with your back to him, sorting through your piles, but zoro can hear the smile in your voice when you speak.

“you’re such a pretender, eh?”

zoro puts on a look of overdramatic offense, a hand on his chest. “me? you’re talking about me?”

at his poor acting, you turn around. you rest your chin on the bench, your face so close to zoro’s that one could only describe it as a kissable distance.

“you act like i'm all in your space, but nami told me that you never used to spend any time in here at all!”

“pfft, why would you ever trust what that con artist has to say?” zoro pokes your forehead. “you see it with your own eyes. am i or am i not here every day?”

you purse your lips as you think back to the last few months; he’s right.

you’ve spent most of your days in the ship’s library, and zoro has almost always stopped by. in the beginning, it would be for a few minutes, but over the last little while, he’d be in here as long as you were.

zoro smiles as he watches you think, eyebrows furrowed as you replay the last few months in your head. little do you know that this is exactly why the library is his new hideout. watching your pretty little mind work — doing what you love, thinking and studying and reading — is a far better use of his spare time than anything else he could be doing.

“anyway,” he says. “i guess your silly star stories have been a good trade-off.”

now it’s your turn to be mock-offended.

“silly star stories? you’re the one who asked about the constellations in the first place!”

“only because you kept talking about these fictional gods like they actually did something important.”

“says the guy who's completely enthralled by hades,” you roll your eyes.

“king of hell, god of the underworld,” he grins. “that’s my kinda guy.”

zoro laughs when you shake your head at him. he’ll never tire of teasing you; you are far too adorable with your little sigh and a ghost of a smile on your lips.

“did you know,” he says with a playful look. “that you still owe me about ten more constellation stories? d’you think you could squeeze in one more before we head up?”

zoro smiles at you, and you can't help but smile back.

you have so many treasured memories with zoro in this library; ones of just the two of you (him napping while you studied), ones with nami and robin (and sanji until nami kicked the boys out for their incessant bickering), and ones where the night listens in as you recite the history of the stars.

whether you were telling the story of another righteous deity enacting justice, or the tale of mere mortals who insulted the gods, zoro would listen with his eyes closed, lying across the bench as he is now, and you’d sit in front of him as you are now.

everyone’s waiting for you upstairs and you hate to disappoint, but some things are more important — like telling a silly star story to a silly swordsman.

“of course i can.”

12:00 am

raucous laughter and cheering that’s loud enough to deafen anybody; empty plates, once piled high with food, now scattered around the room; bottles on bottles of sake and rum and whiskey and every liqueur that one would hope to find on a pirate ship.

these are zoro’s requirements for a good time, and suffice to say that your farewell party has them all in spades.

zoro watches his friends’ tomfoolery from his spot at the table (currently, luffy’s trying to get franky to see how far he can slingshot him) when you plop yourself into the seat beside him.

“this,” you say as your arm knocks against his, “is the best party i’ve ever been to.”

zoro takes a swig from his glass, “you haven’t partied until you’ve partied with pirates.”

“seriously! you guys are insane!”

as if to prove your point, franky chooses that exact moment to show off a juggling sequence involving a barrel of whiskey, a giant potted plant, and a squealing chopper.

you gasp at the spectacle but quickly dissolve into laughter when nami saves chopper, and it’s with both awe and pure excitement that you turn to zoro. laughter is etched into your lips, your cheeks are flushed, and zoro can’t help but marvel at how you’re even cuter when you’re having fun.

“what, you’ve never seen a cyborg man toss a speaking reindeer in the air before?”

you nudge him with your elbow, “well, excuse me for leading such a mundane life where animals don’t speak and men don’t tinker with their bodies.”

“ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.”

you look at zoro quizically.

he takes a sip of his beer, “most men do tinker with their bodies.”

it takes you a moment to catch his innuendo and zoro roars with laughter when the realization hits you. embarrassment tinges your pretty face and you shove him with a loud “ew, zoro!” but he can’t stop cackling.

“you’re disgusting!”

you make to swat zoro across the chest but he quickly catches your hand. he leans in to waggle his eyebrows at you, “but i’m not wrong, am i?”

you groan loudly, which only makes him laugh again.

perhaps it’s the alcohol that let his inhibitions go, or maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t have much longer with you, but when you hastily change the subject and there’s no longer a reason for him to still be holding your hand, he doesn’t let go.

when nami joins you two, his fingers slips between yours and to his surprise, yours do the same. sanji joins your threesome, then franky and robin, and in no time at all, it’s no longer just the two of you at the table.

but zoro doesn’t care.

drunk, carefree, and more content than he’s ever been, zoro closes his eyes and smiles. he lives in the moment, and in this moment, he’s happy — happy with a full stomach and a full glass, happy to be surrounded by his favourite people, and happy that, under the table, you’re still holding his hand.

3:00 am

“and what’s that one?”

hands swinging between you, you and zoro dodge the tide as you roam further and further from the thousand sunny. the sand is cool under your feet and the tide kisses your toes with each step. your other arm is stretched above you, pointing at a constellation in the distance.

“what is this - a pop quiz?”

you smile, “i want to make sure you don’t forget about my ‘silly star stories.’”

zoro groans, “has anyone told you that holding grudges isn’t healthy? keeping going and you’ll turn into a bitter old thing some day.”

you stick out your tongue, “you’re just afraid you’ll get it wrong.”

“wrong?” zoro scoffs. “i’ve gotten the past six right.”

walking along the beach, you and zoro fall in step with each other and your footsteps match the ebbing waves in perfect rhythm. you smile in his direction and his chest is flooded with a warmth that has nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol he’s consumed.

“alright, let’s see what we got here.”

zoro follows your gaze at the cluster of stars you’ve chosen, and he grins when he sees the constellation. “really? at least try to make this hard for me, please.”

his cocky attitude leaves you speechless, making zoro laugh.

“you’re so annoying!” you shove him with your free hand and the force of his stumble pulls you along, and you shriek as he drags you into the ocean with him. he doesn’t let go of you, not even for a second — not when water splashes your legs, not when zoro’s pants get soaked as he spins you around.

your laughter is warmth in its purest form, the kind that you can feel all the way down to your cold toes. when he sets you back down, you give his hand a little squeeze, to which zoro answers back with a tender smile.

now with wet feet and a distance between you that’s even smaller than it already was, zoro continues to walk alongside you.

“moving on from your pathetic distraction attempt,” — you let out a dramatic gasp — “i’ll tell you exactly who we were looking at.”

pointing at the starry zodiac sign, zoro speaks with complete confidence.

“virgo the maiden, otherwise known as persephone, wife and muse of the best god of them all, hades—”

“fanboy much?” you tease but zoro pretends not to hear you (the little tug of his lips tells you that he does).

“—who snuck her a pomegranate seed because he couldn’t bear for her to leave him.”

zoro puffs his chest with pride, relishing in this one niche study of which he is now an expert. it’s incredibly endearing how pleased he is with his answer and you almost feel bad for correcting him.

almost.

“good answer,” you grin. “but you left out the little detail about how she was kept in hell against her will.”

zoro gasps, “are you accusing my idol of being a kidnapper?”

“your idol!” your cheeks already hurt so much from smiling but another giggle slips out. “first of all, these aren’t my accusations. historians have told their love story this way for years—”

“slander is what this is.”

“—and secondly, why would you want to look up to hades? he’s literally the antagonist in every story.”

“he’s the king of hell! that’s so bad ass.” zoro winks at you, “don’t be surprised if you hear them calling me ‘zoro, king of hell’ some day.”

“what’s wrong, demon of east blue doesn’t go hard enough for you?”

embarrassment rushes to zoro’s face and he’s never been more grateful for the night. “who told you that? was it usopp or nami? i bet it was nami.”

“i might hold a grudge but i don’t snitch,” you flash a mischievous smile. “anyway, let’s get back to how you want to be just like devil who tricked a poor girl in returning to the underworld.”

“come on, can you blame a man for doing whatever it takes to stop his beloved from leaving him?”

it sounds like an innocent question — harmless banter, really — but something in the way he says it makes you stop dead in your tracks. a silence falls and in its wake, all you can do is stare at the man you’ve spent the last several months with, the same man that you have to say goodbye to tomorrow.

moonlight falls unto the both of you and bathes zoro in soft light. it illuminates his eyes and when you meet his gaze, you see a sense of longing there that you feel in your chest. a longing for what, you don’t know — or rather, you don’t want to know.

at least, not yet.

so you hold his hand a little tighter, and underneath the watchful eye of the gods and constellations, muster a smile,

“i guess not.”

6:00 am

if this was any other morning, zoro would be awake and working out already. he'd be done his fourth set of bicep curls or, at the very least, working on his form. he could even be in the middle of deadlifts (because he knows not to skip leg day), but he definitely wouldn't still be in bed the way that he is right now.

the thing is though, if this was any other morning, he wouldn't have you sleeping next to him, curled into him like you were made to be a perfect fit.

he's never been more glad to still be in bed.

your breath matches the rise and fall of zoro's chest, perfectly in rhythm with the waves outside his window and the beat of his heart, like the universe meant for all these things to be in harmony at this one singular moment in time.

your lashes flutter in response when he shifts his weight.

he takes a peek at you, “psst, are you awake?”

eyes still closed, you manage a noncommittal grunt but your body says otherwise.

zoro can’t help but smile as he watches you start to wake up. your toes wiggle beneath the covers and you rub your eyes before looking up at him with an adorably sleepy look that he would love to wake up to every day.

if only he could.

you focus your gaze on zoro like he’s an anchor in a sea of slumber. the way that you look at him, as if he’s the only thing that you see, fills his chest with a golden warmth akin to the breaking dawn.

you offer him a soft smile, and zoro wonders if the sun knows that you glow brighter than it ever could.

“why are you up at this ungodly hour?”

he chuckles, low and tender, “’m used to it. i’m usually up by now.”

“freak,” you mutter. zoro laughs, and you can’t think of anything else that sounds more beautiful at six in the morning.

you’re not usually up this early but what you notice is that, at dawn, time has a habit of moving slowly. it’s as if the morning casts magic upon those who rise with the daylight — and you’re so thankful for that.

because if time moved any faster than this, you’d have to say goodbye that much sooner.

“are you going to miss us?” zoro puts his arms around you.

you murmur into his chest, “of course, i will.”

“who do you think you’ll miss the most?”

you give pause and zoro’s almost certain you can hear his heart beating a little louder — he can definitely hear it. he doesn’t typically get nervous like this but, then again, nothing about the way you make him feel is typical.

you seem to have come to a conclusion because you look up at zoro and he holds his breath.

“sanji.”

he blinks.

“wait, are you serious?”

you’ve never seen zoro looks so wonderfully scandalized before, and you burst into a fit of giggles. as soon as you start, he knows he’s been had. he scowls but only for a moment; for who could be upset in the presence of such twinkling laughter?

“silly man,” you snuggle closer, "of course i’m not serious.”

“okay, good.” you can hear the smile in his voice. “i don’t know if my ego could handle losing to him.”

zoro holds you close, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. his movements are slow, steady, comforting — ‘round and ‘round, in the same spot, like he’s drawing an invisible mark that is only known to the two of you.

"but, you know,” you hum, careful not to disrupt the peace. “you wouldn’t.”

“wouldn’t what?”

“lose.” and after a beat, you quietly add, “you wouldn’t lose to anyone.”

and just like that, zoro’s on cloud nine, airborne and weightless. he’s always known that he has a place in your heart, but this is the first time that you’ve ever hinted about where that place may be. if he allowed himself to be hopeful, it almost sounds like a confession.

but almost isn’t good enough for him. zoro wants more — wants to find out exactly where he belongs in your life, wants to know if he can make himself at home there.

it’s a shame that he’s out of time.

you interrupt his thoughts with a whisper, barely audible above the sound of the ocean and his aching heart,

“will you miss me?”

more than anything.

9:00 am

surely, zoro’s dream to be hades has been granted. otherwise, why would it feel like he’s in hell, standing on the deck, all alone and watching your dinghy sail away from the thousand sunny?

zoro’s had his fair shares of farewells while aboard the ship, and to be honest, yours wasn’t any more emotional than anyone else’s. you left with a smile as beautiful as the morning sun and with far less tears than he expected (which he’s thankful for because he would hate to see you cry). as far as bittersweet goodbyes go, yours was definitely more sweet than bitter.

and yet, here zoro stands, with a bad taste in his mouth that he can’t explain. he can still see you from where he stands, and watching your little boat in the distance is the only thing that seems to settle his uneasy heart.

should he have bid adieu privately? maybe he should’ve left you with a memento of some kind? should he have done more than offer you a quick hug? was it his imagination, or did you hold onto him just a beat longer than you needed to?

zoro’s so occupied by these messy thoughts that he doesn’t even hear sanji approach him.

“well?”

startled, zoro can only stare at the blond cook. ignoring the dumb look on his face, sanji continues.

“what’d she say when you told her?” sanji nods in the direction of your boat.

“told her what?”

“that you love her,” sanji takes a drag of his cigarette, looking at zoro directly now.

he speaks so frankly, so matter-of-fact and candidly, that it takes zoro a second to really register what it is that he’s saying.

he loves you.

and as soon as he thinks it, the truth comes barreling through all the doubts clouding his head. clarity floods his chest as he comes face-to-face with what his yearning, pining heart has been trying to tell him this whole time.

he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you-

fuck.

he loves you.

and he never told you.

epilogue — 9:30 am

sails closed, your boat floats with the current and the salty breeze reminds you that your adventure with the strawhats has come to a close. compared to the never-ending bustle of the crew, it’s almost too quiet being at sea alone. the silence lends itself to your overactive mind, working full time to unravel the tightness you feel in your chest.

you’re lost in thoughts of what could’ve, should’ve, and would’ve been — so much so that you don’t even hear the commotion behind you. it’s not until you hear zoro call your name that you hear the frantic swimming and you whirl around.

“zoro! what-”

“can you help me first?” he splutters.

you pull yourself together long enough to run to the side of your dinghy, pulling a sopping wet pirate on board. zoro leans back, trying to catch his breath as you rummage through your things.

“are you crazy? do you know how far we are from the sunny?” you throw a towel over him before reaching for another. you start drying off his hair, frantically fussing over him.

“you think that just because chopper gives you the clearance that you can push yourself over the limit-”

“y/n.”

“this is why you’re always on house arrest! you’re actually insane, you know that?”

“y/n.”

“i know you work out, but for goodness’ sake, zoro, you’re only human-”

“y/n.” zoro holds your wrists, forcing you to stop with a start.

in all your worrying, you didn’t realize that you’d been gravitating closer to zoro until you’re staring into his dark, obsidian eyes. there’s clarity in the way that he looks at you. his eyes are shining with a fierceness that you’ve only seen in his worst fights, and you brace yourself for whatever comes next.

because you know that this will change everything.

“hades and persephone.”

“huh?“ you blink at him. “did you hit your head-”

“ask me if i think hades loved persephone.”

you stare into zoro’s eyes, desperation reflecting back at you. there’s a hidden question there and you understand immediately.

quietly, you ask, "do you think hades loved persephone?”

“i do,” he whispers. “i think he loved her and he would've been stupid to let her go.”

your breath catches. zoro places a hand over yours, surprisingly warm as his fingers find their home between your own.

the heavens watch on as the two of you finally open your hearts and give way to the stuff that myths and legends yearn for — a connection that can only be described as fated, destined, purely and resplendently magical.

the gods smile at the two lovers who find themselves falling into each other, laughing as you confess, over and over again,

i love you.

#zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro fluff #zoro fluff #one piece x reader #¡! �� [ fics ]#i know i just wrote a zoro fic BUT #this fic has been stuck in my drafts for too mf long #i didn't even proofread the epilogue bc fuck it #i just need her to go out into the world ok #i promise i will write non-zoro stuff soon #(maybe)#(jk i will)

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vinelark · 11 months

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ALL timkon recs I BEG

hello hi! here are some of my favs! it got long so putting some under the cut

💄 Lipstick on the glass by @cairoscene read for timkon being soft and goofy and disgustingly in love, set in vague future college-y years with amazing core four dynamics too. cair is one of the funniest people to ever exist and we are so blessed that they decided to write some timkon. (also read for my own greatest contribution to literature, the fictional “jerry the void nexus” meme)

🎢 been a number and a name by @wynterstars i had SO MUCH FUN reading this one, a 90s comics-divergent AU where robin and superboy become friends—and crushes—when superboy is pretty new on the scene. feat. lex luthor being terrible, tim staging a rescue operation that at one point involves platform shoes and a blonde wig, spice girls references, and fantastic action sequences. it’s also a series, with an installment focusing on kon & clark, and a currently updating longfic sequel with SO MANY timkon identity shenanigans (my beloved) and kon feelings (also my beloved).

📸 the surveillance series by @smilebackwards i feel like i rec this all the time but it’s because it’s THAT GOOD. a tim-centric AU where tim joins the family late, but is still involved in bat business without the bats realizing. there’s some fun timkon identity shenanigans at the top, and some of my all-time favorite tim characterization (ruthless! lonely! brilliant!) plus a great tim & bruce arc, too.

🦉 Detours by miyaji_08 this is part 2 of a series and i def recommend reading the whole thing! a reverse robins + joker jr au that has lots of trauma and lots of healing, and in part 2 there’s timkon identity shenanigans that’s simultaneously enemies to lovers + And They Were Roommates. tim sure does run a gauntlet of horrors in this series, but it has so much healing and also one of my fav reverse robins concepts i’ve read so far.

📱 unfurl by @burins tim and kon might be dating, and there’s no kryptonian sex ed handy. bruce, being bruce, makes it his business, which means talking to clark and Realizing some things about his own feelings. superbat are billed first here, but i think timkon steal the show—i laughed out loud like five different times reading this. hilarious and sweet on all sides. (and if you like this, check out their timkon road trip fic!)

🌾 A Saturday Evening by malcyon in which tim visits the kent farm for family dinner with kon, feat. very sweet established relationship timkon and fun superfamily dynamics, and it touches on tim’s past grief over kon’s death (and complicated feelings post-undeath).

🤼‍♂️ Sore Loser by @hearteyeshayley kon learns that tim always let him win while sparring, and has to process that. this was such a fun exploration of tim’s prowess as a fighter—one who regularly has to go up against superpowered friends and foes alike—and also tim as a person who is always doing mental calculations about the people around him (in an endearing way). kon, too, got his time to shine and grow, and the ending was so smart and sweet.

🔮 Ascension by Violet_Witch an AU longfic where tim is a witchling and kon is a fallen angel who has (oops) just lost his wings. tim sets out to help get kon’s wings back, and there’s a ticking clock because angel wings are dangerous in the wrong hands—and tim has a big, horrible secret that’s about to come due. the plot/worldbuilding of this was WILDLY cool, and there was a big ol misunderstanding in the middle that had me clawing my face off (in a good way).

🌌 straight on ’til morning by merils kon vs. the terrifying ordeal of growing up, feat. sweet friends-to-lovers timkon and really thoughtful exploration of some of kon’s canon past relationships and their abusive dynamics. i haven’t finished this one yet but it’s been rec’d multiple times and i’m excited to dive back in (and it's recently complete!)—and what i have read so far gave me an amazing sequence of kon and dick interacting and dick’s big brother mode activating in an instant, which is something i now desperately need more of.

📧 aaaand would it even be a reclist by me if i didn’t include send to all by @cairoscene the absolute moment i find myself feeling down i go reread this and boom. i am instantly laughing again. timkon are just one part of a bat grab-bag here but they are so so funny and cute and in-character. maybe one day i’ll compile the timkon-centric sequel that exists in my head but for now i’ll just go reread this for the zillionth time.

okay yeah!! i’m probably missing so many good fics here because i constantly have like a zillion tabs open that i plan to read someday. also i reserve the right to reblog later like OH I FORGOT— but in the meanwhile, happy timkon reading!

#timkon #fic rec #asks

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froggibus · 1 year

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Stay A While - Jason Todd/Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff w a shot of angst

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: you’ve always been one to suffer in silence, shutting yourself in your apartment for the duration of your episodes. but Jason Todd doesn’t want to sit idly by and watch you suffer alone, even if it annoys you

CW: depressed! reader, mentions of depressive episodes, negative thoughts/self talk, Jason is overbearing, mentions of insomnia, reader struggles to eat, some violence (out on patrol), the rest of the family kinda sucks in this lmao

this is for the people who followed me expecting Batfam/DC content and didn’t unfollow when I didn’t post any for months 😭 I love y’all. also idk the idea of soft! Jason makes me so emotional. also I WOULD LOVE SOME DC OR BATFAM REQUESTS!!! if there’s anything you want me to write I will gladly do it 🫶🏼 (also let’s ignore the fact that this is like my 3rd angsty post in the past few days oops)

————

It was common knowledge around Wayne Manor that disappearing into your room (or apartment) for a few days meant something different for everyone. Usually, it wasn’t anything to worry about.

Sometimes it would be Tim finally sleeping when he’s pushed himself too far. Other times, it was Dick working a case and refusing to leave until he knew what to do. For Bruce, it usually meant he was injured and trying to hide it from everyone.

Jason was still finding these things out little by little, so when you suddenly disappeared into your apartment, he was worried.

“Honestly, it’s nothing to worry about,” Tim tried to ease his mind. “Y/n tends to retreat when things get bad.”

“And you guys are okay with that?”

Dick shrugged, adjusting the ice pack he had pressed to his forehead. “We tried the first time it happened. After a while, we realized that alone time is the only thing that really works. If y/n needs help, y/n will reach out.”

And the topic ended there. Or at least, it did for Dick and Tim. Jason couldn’t stop thinking about it though—did they really just let you suffer in your apartment all alone whenever you had an episode? The thought made his skin crawl.

He’s had a few bad episodes over the course of his life, and while he managed to deal with it alone, he didn’t think that you should have to.

Maybe that’s what led him to your apartment at four in the morning with a bag of takeout.

You open the door dressed in your pyjamas despite not having slept a wink. You're almost surprised to see Jason standing there with the paper bag. Didn’t everyone know to let you ride it out on your own? You thought they decided to stop bugging you ages ago.

Still, you don’t think it was fair to slam the door in his face, and instead welcome him inside. “What are you doing here, Jason?”

“Just thought I’d check on you,” he sets the bag on the counter. “Haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

You squint at him. Did he really think you were that dumb? You figured he would have asked Dick or Bruce right away if you suddenly fell off the face of the earth, and they would have told him about your situation. Jason and you had never been particularly close, either, so why was he here?

He raises his hands in defeat. “I just want to make sure you’re taken care of somewhat. Alright? I’ll leave you alone after that.”

“I mean, I’m fine aren’t I?”

Your words come out harsher than you’d like, but you can’t help but be annoyed at the sudden intrusion. Not to mention the implication that you can’t take care of yourself.

“You clearly haven’t slept in a while so we both know that’s some bullshit.”

You sigh. He’s right, after all. You can’t remember the last time you slept, let alone for more than a few hours. Though used to staying up late on missions and patrols, you never went this long.

“I just have a lot on my mind, I guess,” you admit. “But I can take care of myself, Jason. So while I appreciate the concern, you can leave.”

He doesn’t protest, instead grumbling to himself while you show him to the door and effectively kick him out of your apartment. He stands outside the door for a while, wondering if he should try harder.

He decides against it, and thinks he’ll just have to check on you again tomorrow.

—

You almost feel guilty unpacking the takeout he got you, but then again, there weren’t many days lately where guilt and stress didn’t weigh heavily on you. As soon as you felt that familiar flood of negative thoughts and emotions, you knew it was time to withdraw. Still, through all of your episodes, you were yet to experience one quite this bad.

It’s nice that Jason checked on me, you think to yourself. At least someone thought of you. Sure, you’d told the others countless times over the years that solitude while you sort through your thoughts was imperative, and it was true. Regardless, it was nice to have someone check on you, even if it was annoying.

You dish yourself a plate of Chinese food and sit down on your couch, looking out at Gotham city through the window. It’s a dim, rainy night and the weather does nothing to help your mood. You find yourself picking at your food, having only a few bites before packing it up and leaving it in the fridge.

You didn’t eat much, but it’s a start.

—

Jason tries to push back the thoughts of you on patrol the next night, but he can’t. He just thinks of the bags that line your under eyes and the way your voice cracked when you said you were fine.

It’s only when he damn near loses an eye to a stray bullet that he realizes he can’t ignore it anymore. He ducks around a corner, ready to head back to his bike.

“Hood, where are you going?” Nightwing calls after him.

“I gotta go check on something!”

Red Robin scoffs, “y/n is a big kid, Todd. Just leave it alone.”

He shakes his head at the younger boy. He wants to argue with him but for once in his life, Jason Todd bites his tongue and turns the other cheek.

When you open the door, you’re unsurprised to see Jason Todd standing there in his Red Hood suit. “Jason?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, walking past you straight into your apartment. “I’m back.”

“I—welcome back?” You close the door behind him, spinning around on your heel and raising an eyebrow at the man in your living room.

“Look, I know I said I’d leave when I knew you were taken care of but I don’t—you’re not. Like, seriously, y/n, just talk to me.”

You sigh and take a seat on the couch. “Do you really want to listen?”

“Yes,” he says and sits down next to you, dropping his helmet on the cushion next to him. “If it helps you, I’ll listen til my damn ears bleed.”

His words are almost enough to bring a smile to your face, the muscles twitching almost painfully. You nod slowly, drawing your knees into your chest.

Jason analyzes your body language, seeing just how vulnerable and small you really are despite your usual front. He knows to tread lightly here.

“I—,” you tug on your hair slightly, trying to think of how to verbalise it. “Have you ever been so tired, like beyond tired, that you can’t sleep?”

He goes to speak, but thinks the better of it. You don’t need to hear about his own problems right now, but the truth is he has. He’s been where you are before—guilt and misery weighing so heavily on him that he can’t breathe.

“I don’t even know what triggered it. I was fine one day and then all of a sudden….” You gesture to your current state in hopes he gets the idea. “I really hate feeling like this,” tears prick at your eyes and your nose stings with every word, “but I’ve never really found a way to make it stop and—and—“

Jason is almost as surprised as you are when he sets a gloved hand on your shoulder. “Y/n,” his voice is soft, “it’s okay to feel this way.”

His touch helps ground you and you manage to take a deep, shaking breath. “I don’t want you to see me like this, Jason,” you say quietly, voice so soft he almost doesn’t hear.

“There’s no shame in the way you’re feeling.”

“I know that I just—can you just go? Please?”

He opens his mouth to speak, to argue with you, but thinks the better of it. You look so soft and sad and vulnerable. He doesn’t want to push his luck and push you further away from him.

He grabs his helmet and stands up. “Have a good night, y/n. I hope you manage to get some rest tonight.”

You watch Jason Todd walk out of your apartment door for the second night in a row.

—

Jason is surprised when his phone screen lights up with your picture while he’s on patrol. The last person he’d expect to call him at two in the morning was you, especially considering he hadn’t heard from you in a few days.

He tried to come and visit you the next night, but he couldn’t bring himself to knock at your door. Y/n’s tough, he thought to himself. You don’t need his help.

He can’t pick up the phone in the middle of a fight, though, and has to wait until the henchmen are in a pile on the ground. He doesn’t even retort to Damian’s comment on how long it took him to take them down—his mind too focused on you and what could possibly be wrong.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, pressing redial on your number. Please be okay, he thinks.

You answer on the third ring, your voice sounding soft and defeated. “Jason?”

“Y/n? Is everything okay?”

“I-I just…” you sigh into the phone and Jason’s heart clenches at the sound. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

Jason considers this for only a second. “Alright, I’ll be there in 10.”

He hangs up the call and shoves his phone back into his pocket, making the walk back to his bike.

“Todd?” Robin says in his earpiece.

“Pipe down, brat. I have more important things to deal with tonight.”

“More important than protecting the city?” Nightwing says over the comms.

You have no idea, he wants to say. But he doesn’t, opting to turn off the ear piece and focus on getting to you as quickly as he can. He said he’d be there in 10 minutes, but he’s at your apartment door in 7.

You’re waiting at the door when he knocks, a blanket over your shoulders, curled in on yourself. As soon as you open the door, you’re wrapping your arms around him.

His suit is damp from the rain, soaking into your pyjamas and making you shiver. Still, you don’t let go of him. It’s been a particularly rough day, and you needed some company to combat the thoughts filling your head.

“Miss me?” He jokes.

You say nothing, content to hold him as close to you as possible. He rubs your back gently before wrapping his arms around you and half carrying you back into your apartment.

He closes the door behind him, awkwardly adjusting to hold you up with one arm. Not that it’s much of a struggle for him, considering he’s a lot bigger than you are.

He’s torn, he doesn’t want to let go until you do, but he wants to talk to you and figure out why you needed him so badly. Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to make that choice because suddenly you’re pulling away from him and tucking your hair behind your ears.

You look anywhere but him. “Um, thanks for coming…”

“Anytime.”

You try to think of something to say after that, anything to break the ice and explain yourself and not make this a huge waste of time for him. Before you can speak, though, Jason goes first.

“You don’t have to explain it to me if you don’t want to,” he says. “I know it’s hard.”

You nod slowly, every movement of your body feels sluggish and heavy. You got a few hours of sleep the other day, but only out of sheer exhaustion. Now, it seems the exhaustion is catching up.

“I’m just gonna…sit down,” you plop onto the couch cushion and pull your knees into your chest. You pat the cushion next to you, inviting him closer.

Jason takes off his helmet and jacket, laying them on the kitchen island before sitting next to you. “Have you slept much?”

You shake your head, resting your cheek on the cushion and looking into his eyes. “A few hours the other day but…nothing since.”

“Did you want to try while I’m here?”

His eyes are soft, a jarring contrast from his other features. It’s almost as if he’s pleading with you.

“Y-yeah, okay,” you slowly rise from the couch, your damp pyjamas clinging to your body. You usher for Jason to follow you to your room.

You dig through your drawers, looking for a pair of clean pyjamas. You settle on a t-shirt you stole from Dick ages ago and a pair of sweats you used for training. Jason looks away while you change, trying his best to respect your privacy despite the way his face heats up.

You crawl into your bed, trying to rearrange the messy comforter to cover your body. “Do you…is it okay if you lay with me? It only has to be until I fall asleep.”

Jason knows he’s pushing his limits, his heart racing at the thought of being in bed with you. He shakes the thoughts away—this is completely innocent. He’s just taking care of you.

“Yeah, I can stay a while.”

Jason lays down next to you, his broad frame taking up more than half of your bed. Your breath catches in your throat at his proximity, and his warmth draws you in. Somehow, for the first time in days, his presence is enough to let you relax.

Jason lays with you for some time, just staring at the back of your head while you cuddle your pillow. You must have fallen asleep at some point, because your breathing is even and your body is relaxed.

He smiles, it’s the most calm he’s seen you in days. He knows you’re sleeping now and he can leave, but he doesn’t want to. What if you wake up and he’s gone? He doesn’t want to risk upsetting you.

You roll over in your sleep, your head landing perfectly under his arm and on his chest. His breath hitches in his throat at the contact. He tries to adjust his body to make it as comfortable as possible for you to lay on him.

He wraps an arm around your waist, cradling you within his own body. Jason can’t help but think to himself in this moment that he’ll take care of you no matter what, even if you can’t take care of yourself.

#dc #dc universe #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood x you #red hood x reader #jason todd angst #red hood angst #hurt/comfort #batfam #batman

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danikamariewrites · 10 months

Text

Cassian x adhd!reader

A/n: I wanted to see where my thoughts on Cass with this concept would take me plus I realized I haven’t written anything for him yet oops. I also kinda got carried away with this one. Should I finish the trio and do one for Rhys (and possibly one for Eris👀)? My requests are still open!

Warnings: some angst and mentions of mental health struggles

Cassian is really good at reading people and telling when there’s something wrong (like in ACOMAF when he was first training Feyre he just let her punch it out and she finally talked)

You would mask it for the first few months of your relationship but he picked up on your ADHD when you first met

He knew you would come to him when you were ready to talk about it

And when you did talk to him about your ADHD he was so understanding. Cass wants to learn everything about you, including how your brain works

If he had questions you couldn’t answer he’d do his own research in the library or ask Madja a million questions about how to help you

Cassian could always tell when you zoned out or when you were in your own little world. When trying to get your attention he was always gentle about it

Whenever you were sitting still for too long doing work and needed a break he will always stop what he’s doing to be with you, if you want him to be. He would go on walks with you, let you pace around and talk at him, mini dance parties, or even take you to spar for a bit.

There were times when you thought your ADHD had its perks because sweet, wholesome moments just between you and Cassian would come from it

For example after he was coming home from Windhaven you guys were going to go away for the weekend to the cabin in the mountains and you had to find your duffel bag

You swore it was in the walk-in closet you and Cass shared so you started digging through the piles and shelves looking for the bag

But of course you get sidetracked, you found Cassians favorite hoodie that had been missing (it wasn’t actually missing you wore it while he was gone once and then hid it you just forgot where it was)

You put the hoodie on and then other piles of forgotten stuff grabs your attention and you start digging through everything in the closet making a mess

There’s a skirt Feyre gave you with the tag still on that you put on over your leggings, you put things in piles, and then you found a box of jewelry Cassian never wears. One thing in it is a bracelet with a broken clasp so you sit down on the floor between the piles of stuff and attempt to fix it

You didn’t hear the front door open or Cassian calling your name. When you finally noticed him he was standing in the doorway laughing, “Hey baby, find your bag?” Your cheeks got hot as he made his way into the closet sitting with you

“Find anything interesting?” “Yeah a few things. That pile over there is pretty cool.” He finds your collection of headbands and puts one on

After an hour you fixed the clasp and your both wearing random shit you found. You look at each other and laugh at how ridiculous you look. Sighing your shoulders slump, “I still need to find my bag and pack. Sorry Cass I dragged you into my crazy distraction.” Cassian looks at you with a questioning smile, “you don’t need to be sorry baby. Plus I found your bag,” he pulls the duffel from behind him, “like 20 minutes after I got here. I just thought we were having fun.”

You jump into his lap wrapping your arms around his neck tightly “I love you Cass.” He kisses your forehead and then all the way down to your nose, “I love you too baby.” Then plants a kiss on your mouth

But there are also the bad/frustrating moments

One time you were cleaning up around the house and misplaced an important document Cassian needed to give to Rhys but you couldn’t remember where it was or if you put in his office

You were trying to retrace your steps and could tell Cassian was getting frustrated. You were apologizing profusely, you didn’t realize the document was part of the stuff you were organizing

He snaps at you. You knew in the back of your mind he was mad about the paper and not at you. But you had a hard time separating that especially when regulating your emotions at the same time

Your eyes started to water and your bottom lip trembled. As soon as he saw your face and the tears fall he instantly regretted yelling.

He rushed over to you, pulling you into a tight hug and cradling your head to his chest swaying you back and forth slowly. “I’m sorry baby I didn’t mean to snap, I’m not mad at you I swear.” You stand like that for a few moments, “I know Cass I just feel like it’s my fault and I can never remember things I’m sorry.”

Cassian pulls back to look at you, “you have nothing to be sorry for. It happens sometimes, we all misplace things. It’ll be fine I promise.”

When you’re fidgeting or having a hard time sitting still he’d hold your hand. Sometimes you would just hold his hand or squeeze and you’d be fine, the weight of his large hand comforting you

Other times you would play with his fingers or trace shapes on his palm. Sometimes you’d even tap at the bright red siphon on the back of his hand, you’d stare at it getting lost in its glow and how beautiful it is

When you get over stimulated at home he takes away whatever is bothering you and rubs up and down your arms, “you ok baby? What can I do to help?” You just lean your forehead against his chest and stay silent, trying to breathe in and out

Once your better you cuddle up to Cassian in bed

If you guys are out with the IC he would take you outside for fresh air and wrap a wing around you to show that you’re safe

If you seem like you’re going to have an anxiety attack he lets you squeeze his hands and he talks you through it, “it’s going to be ok, just take deep breaths baby, in and out.” He breathes with you

When you are ok enough he takes you in his arms to fly you home. He does a lap over the city first so you can enjoy the view and get lost in its beauty

tags: @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane

#acotar fanfiction #acotar reader imagine #acotar #acotar reader fic #acotar imagine #acotar headcanon #acotar fic #cassian acosf #cassian imagine #cassian x you #cassian x reader #cassian acotar x reader #cassian headcanons

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diodellet · 3 months

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Hihi Lili here, this is the first time I’m requesting something on here/ I'm not used to tumblr very much TT so i’m sorry in advance if I get anything wrong!!

For the valentine’s event would it be okay to ask for 1. w/ Jamil :3 and have she/her pronouns? As for a descriptors the only thing I really have for that is long black hair and warm brown skin if that’s alright :>

Also I just wanted to mention too, I absolutely love your writing especially the way you write Jamil it’s so so so good omg

💌Jamil Viper + Prompt #1 (“It feels… good to be around you.”)

The simple admission catches you both offguard, spills out into the dim silence of Jamil’s bedroom like moonlight.

You look up from your lap to meet his gaze in the mirror. He’s partway through fixing your hair into two braids, with the first completed one resting over your left shoulder. You can faintly detect the lingering fragrance of the hair oil that he applied beforehand.

“I’m sorry?” Your pulse thrums erratic in your ribcage.

He clears his throat, but it does little to diminish the embarrassment in his voice. “Please forget I said that.”

“No, no I didn’t mean to—I like being around you too…!” You turn to face him properly but he puts a stop to that action with a free hand planted atop your head, keeping your gaze pointed towards the mirror.

“Let—let me finish first.”

“...okay.” And you keep your head still, your nerves hyperaware of his touch and each gentle tug as he continues the braid.

“I didn’t mean to let that slip out, but I’ve been thinking about…this for a while now.”

Of course, there wasn’t any denying the fact that the two of you were in some kind of relationship, something deeper than friends but not as exclusive as boyfriend and girlfriend. Nevermind marriage, that was completely out of the question. Yet even something as amorphous as soulmates has crossed your mind more than once.

“And I realized that this hasn’t—that I haven’t—been fair to you. Especially if I keep being careless.”

Maybe that was part of the problem, that until this point, the both of you were careful not to disturb what you’d kept unspoken. That you merely followed his lead, folding yourself neatly along the boundaries that guided his life. That you left yourselves susceptible to moments of sudden openness.

“So you don’t have to keep playing along, I’ll understand.”

With a final twist of the hair band, his fingertips brush against your shoulders before pulling away.

Before he moves out of reach, your hand closes around his. “Jamil. ”

His expression is one of practiced calmness, but there’s a tinge of vulnerability in his irises that tears at you. “Yes?”

“Never put words into my mouth again.” And you grab him by the front of his shirt to pull him in for a kiss to punctuate that statement. If he got the wrong idea from that, well.

a/n: aaaaa ur too kind lili 🤧💕💕don't worry, ur doing absolutely gucci!! (belated) happy valentines!! thanks for sending in a request ahahahaha i think i got a little bit carried away with this one oops, either way i hope u enjoyed reading this💕💕

#aka jamil viper would it kill u to stop catastrophizing for 0.5 seconds #jamil accepting rejection as a contingency plan THIS GUYYYYY I SWEARRRRR #this drabble was jamil basically going: i like u oops wait that was too honest bye #and reader going: u fucking dumbass i like u too stop running #dellet-writings #dellet-asks #just-a-little-silly #jamil viper x reader #fem!reader #twst x reader #jamil viper #twisted wonderland x reader

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beneathashadytree · 1 year

Note

Hello there I found your blog and was wondering if you still do KnB requests been a bit sad lately with all sorts of different situations. Mostly because of insomnia and depression probably a bit of the jitters if you know what I mean. I would like request comfort headcanons Idk anything easy and convenient for you with the Takao or Midorima (whichever is easier for you to write) mostly cause I want to sleep so maybe I can read them lull their SO to sleep you know that fluffy goodness to help cheer me up. Does that make me weird? Idk. Sincerely Anon.

SOOTHING - MIDORIMA SHINTAROU X READER

Warnings : none I believe, this is set during college, Midorima is a pre-med student, this is not proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : comfort and fluff <3

Word count : 1.2K words (oops hehe)

Additional notes : So sorry for taking so long, nonnie! I’m sure by now you know how things have been for me. I was halfway through this when I realized that you’d asked for headcanons, and by then I was in far too deep to stop🫣 Given how soft I am for Midorima, I decided to choose him! I hope that—despite being so late—this request offers you some semblance of comfort 💗

Requests : Are closed for the time being.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

A groan came from their right, causing them to still in place and awkwardly twiddle their thumbs around their phone. Though they hoped that they hadn’t woken Shintarou up, they could tell from the stirring that it was too late to lament that.

“It’s not the brightness,” he mumbled, before they could apologize for their phone’s screen. “Just didn’t feel you close.”

“Aha,” they quietly said, knowing that their lover was referring to the way they usually curled into the warmth of his chest and never let go—something that they haven’t done in over a month, maybe. That was something they ought to remedy now.

Really, it was completely out of their hands. After all, they couldn’t even remember the last time they’d gotten a good night’s sleep while cuddling Shintarou. That was partially owed to the fact that he was too much of an early riser to wait up for them in bed, and was almost always found passed out under the covers before the clock struck 10.

The other reason (that also contributed to the former) was that they simply could never fall asleep so easily anymore. No matter how much they tired themself out, how many glasses of warm milk and chamomile tea they had, how many damned sheep they had to count behind closed eyelids, sleep just never came to them. Only when they’d bored themself halfway to death did their body sometimes give up on resisting the urge, and they woke up a disoriented mess a couple of hours later. Needless to say, it was never enough.

Their growing insomnia seemed to drag along with it a whole bunch of other symptoms that made their overall day-to-day life all the more tiring. Constantly feeling weary, they barely trudged through their daily routines and ran on 2-4 hours of sleep a day, if any at all. They couldn’t pull themself to brush their teeth in the morning without a sigh, nor could they shower without feeling their muscles ache from disuse.

And what probably pained them the most? Their tired, tired heart. There was a certain desolation in every chamber; some sort of numbness they just couldn’t fight back. It threatened to choke them every single time they gasped around its cloaked darkness, and struggled to stay afloat under its influence.

God, how they wished that Shintarou was around more often. To their disappointment (that they tried their utmost to shove below the surface), ever since the new college year had started, his time had been split between spending it studying as hard as it took him to maintain his excellent scores, and at strenuous basketball practices—trainings hard enough to have him barely conscious as he walks through the door at night.

It’s not like he was neglectful. If anything, he was just as (to some, surprisingly) wonderful of a boyfriend as he’d always been, but he just seemed far too drained these days to notice much changes in his partner. He’d greet them with an “I’m home,” before helping himself to a belated lunch that they’d prepared for him. He was an awful cook, so he never offered to help out with that, but he did always contribute to the rest of the household chores despite how exhausted he always was.

Really, Shintarou wasn’t just thoughtful in that subconscious way. Though he still struggled with receiving and doling out the affection he felt deep in his heart in direct ways, he made sure to softly kiss them at least once or twice a day, with that subtle quirk of his lips that they happened to love far more than his rather cocky smirk on the court.

As always, he was ever-so-attentive over meals, tired eyes still trained on his sweetheart as he listened to whatever stories they had to tell, pitching in every now and then with his commentary. And when they turned to him with an encouraging sweet smile of their own, he’d be flushing to his ears and haltingly retelling some events of his own, encouraged by the love he knew awaited him.

So really, it wasn’t his fault that they’d suffocated every terrible thought and feeling in front of him, and that they took advantage of his early sleep schedule to hide their insomnia. But they did feel guilty that he had to find out in such an irritating way like this: abruptly woken up by his partner’s phone screen lit up in his face.

Shintarou didn’t bother to wear his glasses, probably knowing that he wouldn’t last long. He never was the type to stay awake during the night, so he simply resigned himself to leaning over, gently taking their phone and setting it on their bedside table. His body was warm against their back, and they couldn’t help but involuntarily lean into him—something he clearly encouraged, as the distance between them became all that much smaller.

Pressed into his chest like that, they could feel something thawing deep inside of them. Something rock-hard melted in the pit of their stomach, and for some reason it felt a little easier to breathe. They couldn’t stop themself from twisting around and facing him, tired eyes meeting his bleary ones.

He cleared his throat twice, before asking, “Can’t sleep?”

After a few seconds of contemplating their options, they decided that there really was no point in hiding it any longer. They nodded. “Yeah. Haven’t been able to sleep since… I think it was the start of the season.”

A crease formed between his eyebrows as he put two and two together. “That’s been more than a month.”

Shrugging, they just opted to wrapping their arms around him and indulging in his warmth. With careful, steady hands, Shintarou began to finger through their hair. It was a little awkward, given how stiff his approach was, but it was endearing nonetheless. If nothing else, they could feel the love at his fingertips.

It was surprisingly soothing, and almost like magic, they could feel the knots in their muscles come undone. “Tell me what you took in class today.”

He gave them a skeptical look. “Are you sure you want to know about something so boring like that?”

“‘S exactly what I need to fall asleep,” they replied, pausing for a second to press a kiss to his sternum above his sweatshirt. “Besides, nothing’s boring when it comes from you. I could honestly listen to you read an IKEA table instruction manual.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” came his muffled reply from above, though they could barely see out of the corner of their eye the faint blue on his cheeks and the half-smile on his face as his hands trailed to their hips. Still, as they knew quite well, he could never refuse any request of theirs.

So, with a resigned sigh and a squeeze to their hips, he pulled them just the tiniest bit closer, close enough so that they could smell his perfume they always said they liked. Already, they could feel their eyelids drooping against their will, driven into a cocoon of comfort and familiar heat that lulled them to an easy sleep in the arms of the man they loved so dearly.

“First class of the day was Chemistry, with an advanced approach to sulfur and its derivatives…”

Taglist: @mrsgiovanna

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gigantomachy1916 · 2 months

Note

for the fic writer asks: 9, 17, and 19 :-)

9. Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you’ve written!

Mmm not every single day but I have written 37 out of the past 38 days, between 200 and 11,000 words each day! Got a streak going (almost... shouldn't have skipped that day). Sentence from today:

Grasping a handful of Floo powder, he stepped through to the Zabini home, where he was immediately greeted with the pungent stench of marijuana.

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic?

They don't have diners in the UK! Also the exhibits of the Atlanta aquarium, and the mechanics of hopping trains, and the fact that gamma ray bursts are the most energetic processes in the universe, though I didn't end up using that last fact.

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

Ummmmm I'm gonna give you a long teaser cause I can't fuckin help myself, I've been working on this fic for SO LONG and wishing I could share it. Here's part of a scene from what's currently Chapter 5 of Fuel to Fire under the cut.

............

Sirius grabbed onto the front of Remus’s robes with an intensity that frightened her, eyes blazing. “You found the traitor?” he demanded. “Did you kill him?”

“I wouldn’t let them,” Mary said. “We need him to prove that you’re innocent.”

Turning to look at her, Sirius asked, “Them?”

Oops.

“Severus helped me,” Remus admitted.

“Severus Snape?” Sirius demanded. “What the fuck, Remus!” He still hadn’t let go of his robes, and Mary was getting a little nervous.

Deciding that, since scolding Snape had worked surprisingly well, she’d try it on Sirius too, Mary folded her arms and told him sternly, “Snape is my friend. Well, I’m a bit mad at him right now, because he didn’t tell me you were innocent at first. But he’s going to help us clear your name, so you can’t fight with him. Okay?” He seemed a little mentally addled, maybe because of being a dog for so long, so she was trying to keep things simple.

Sirius stared at her for a moment before turning back to Remus incredulously. “Snivellus is the Fawn’s friend?” he repeated. “Remus, what? How the fuck did this happen? What is she talking about?” Then something seemed to dawn on him, because he turned back to stare at Mary, betrayal in his eyes. “Is he here? I thought I smelled someone else, but I forgot, in all the…” He broke off, clearly unsure how to sum up ‘Mary and Remus petting him and calling him a good boy and convincing him to turn back to human.’

At that point, of course, Snape decided to make things even more difficult and step out from behind a tree, a rather obnoxious smirk on his face. Because he couldn’t just be nice, no, he had to revert to acting like a damn teenager at the worst possible moment. “Black,” he drawled.

Sirius was on his feet in an instant, advancing on Snape, and Mary quickly rushed to put herself between them, wondering where the fuck Sirius had gotten a wand from. And now Snape had his out, too. She stood with her back to Snape, her hands extended in Sirius’s direction, trying to stop him. “I told you, Snape is my friend!” she exclaimed, exasperated. “And I’m… I’m going to be very cross with you if you hurt him after he helped me find you!”

Looking a little uncertain, Sirius at least hesitated, and Mary, wanting to press her advantage, said the first thing that popped into her head: “Don’t be a bad dog!”

And for a moment, Sirius actually looked abashed, giving her what could only be termed ‘puppy dog eyes.’ Behind him, Remus burst out laughing, and even Snape snorted over her shoulder. “Yes, Black,” he taunted. “Don’t be a ‘bad dog.’”

Mary rounded on him at that. “Theíos!” she hissed, hands on her hips, not even realizing she’d reverted back to their old form of address. “You promised to be nice!”

“I haven’t hexed him yet,” Snape pointed out, sounding rather like he was sulking. He sniffed slightly and leaned backwards, away from Mary. “You reek of dog.”

(Behind her, she heard Sirius demanding, “Did she just call Snivellus her uncle? Remy, what is going on?” His voice was genuinely distraught, like the very foundations of the universe were unraveling beneath him.)

“That’s enough, children!” Remus snapped in the exact tone of voice he used when her class was acting up. “Sirius, Severus is Mary’s Head of House. He looks after her, and he helped me recapture Pettigrew.Yes, it’s strange, I thought so too at first, but he’s nice enough to her.” He stressed the final two words, making it clear the statement did not apply to anyone else. “Severus, if you cannot stop actively antagonizing Sirius, kindly go back to the Castle and leave us to talk. We have a lot to discuss, and we are not going to get anywhere with the two of you at each other’s throats.”

Both men turned to glare at him—Sirius out of betrayal that Remus would defend Snape, and Snape out of indignation that Remus would dare tell him off. Mary gave Remus a grateful smile, glad that she wasn’t the only one with any sense in this situation.

“I will not go back to the Castle without Miss Potter,” Snape argued. “Black may not have killed Pettigrew or those muggles, but he is clearly volatile. I will not leave her alone with him.” Completely ignoring the fact that Remus would be there too, of course.

“I am not volatile, I just hate you,” Sirius retorted, and Mary rolled her eyes.

“If it’ll stop you guys from killing each other, fine. I’ll go back to the castle with Professor Snape, and you,” she addressed Remus, “can find me once you’ve filled Sirius in on everything.”

Remus seemed fine with that plan, but Sirius was not. “Hang on!” he protested, grabbing Remus’s sleeve. “You’re not just going to let him take the Fawn somewhere alone, are you?”

“Merlin and Morgan!” she swore, fed up with his attitude and with being talked about like she wasn’t even there. “My name is Mary, and I don’t need Remus’s permission to follow my Head of House back to the Castle. Besides, if Snape wanted to kill me, he’s already had plenty of opportunities. I’m alone with him in his private lab basically all the time.” Sirius only looked more outraged at that, so she simply turned on her heel, giving Snape an unimpressed glare. “If you’re quite finished being rude to my godfather, you may escort me back.”

Snape huffed at her audacity, and possibly at the fact that she was clearly imitating him in her haughtiness, but he did so, placing a rather possessive hand on her shoulder and pushing her quickly along, which only sparked another outraged noise from Sirius behind her back. Anyway, he retracted his hand soon enough, wiping it on his robes and complaining, “You are absolutely covered in slobber. Honestly.”

“Yeah, I guess Sirius really likes to lick,” she agreed, and he gave her a look of such utter disgust that she had to laugh.

“That is perhaps the single most repulsive thing you could have said.”

#ask response #my fics #thank you blondiest #i have been working on this fic for so fucking long and wishing i could share it #fuel to fire #snarriet #but like pre-relationship i guess #cause she's 13 in the excerpt #fic snippet

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watery-melon-baller · 1 year

Note

3, 7, and 40 for weekend and belos'

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

ooooh theres so many i would never touch. the first one that comes to mind is accidental pregnancy which like. i dont even write romance much. also hate student/teacher. uhh nonromance id go with. uh. i cannot think of anything rn lmao

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

ooooh id have to go with a snippet from a shera fic i did a while back. torn between two but ill go with the shorter one just because. not sure what counts as a snippet oops.

"Adora rolls her eyes, but stands up to join them. As she runs over, she knows that she’ll trip over her dress several times, and their clothes will all be covered in grass stains that will take forever to wash out. But Adora is here, in a future where there is no war to fight, where they can laugh freely and love and she doesn't feel selfish anymore for wanting a happy ending."

bad at explaining myself but like. its the potential of a happy ending, of not everything being perfect but it good, and thats worth living for. its a whole metaphor about feminity and wartime and accepting yourself. that its okay to be safe now, its okay to be soft and vulnerable and to start healing. apologies for being incoherent

40. Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one).

ohohohohhohho you know whats funny. i actually did have an alternate ending planned where hunter just. slept through the rebelllion and just woke up after it was over and was like "what the fuck." anyways i sat down and wrote this in a night (ive been saving the ask until it was finished so thats why im answering it late sorry!) so enjoy 2k words of that under the cut. apologies for typos i tried my best to read this over lmao. you can also read this on ao3 now yipee

Hunter stared at his clock, and scowled. Shit. He had 20 minutes until the coven head meeting!

He stood up, quickly scrambling for his notes. He wanted to try and get there early, so he could figure out somewhat of a plan.

Flapjack lifted their head up, disrupted from their slumber. What is boy doing?

His foot slipped on a piece of paper, and he barely managed to catch himself on the edge of his desk. “I have a meeting! I need to go talk to the other coven heads, and-”

Have time! Should rest!

He scowled. “Flapjack, I don’t have time to rest! I need to prepare my notes! I still haven’t figure out what I’m going to say to Terra, or Adrian, or how to deal with the recent riots-”

Nap time! Boy too tired to think!

“You always say it’s nap time.”

Because boy is always tired!

He sighed, flopping back on his bed and letting the stack of papers in his arms scatter onto the floor. Flapjack did have a bit of a point. He had been staying up later and later, getting less sleep in favor of trying to take care of… well, everything.

He could get ready in ten minutes. It wouldn’t take long to teleport. Just closing his eyes for a few minutes surely wouldn’t hurt. And he wouldn’t actually fall asleep. He would just lay here!

“Just ten minutes. Then I have to go.”

Flapjack chirped. Nap! Nap!

“Not a nap, Flap,” He mumbled. “M just resting my eyes.”

He didn’t even realize he was falling asleep.

___

He woke up to the smell of smoke.

He shot up out of bed, head swiveling as he took stock of the room. Everything seemed to be in order, except-

“FLAPJACK!”

The bird had at some point moved inside his shirt. They peeked their head out, looking adorable as always, but Hunter wasn’t fooled.

He glared at them. “I said ten minutes.”

Boy needed nap!

He pointed at the window. “IT’S DARK OUTSIDE NOW! IT’S NIGHTTIME!”

Not that late. Sun just set. More like evening!

He dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “Flapjack. I missed the coven head meeting. The one thing I cannot, under any circumstances, miss.”

Flapjack did not look even remotely apologetic.

Hunter sighed, standing up and brushing back his hair. The smell of smoke was still lingering in the air, and he poked his head out the window, following the smell.

Ah. That might be a problem.

The area of the castle where Terra and Adrian had been fighting the other day looked even worse than before, mainly because it was on fire. Several scouts were running around in a panic, and if he listened closely, he could hear the faint sound of screaming.

Flapjack had moved to sit on his desk, and he slowly turned to glare at them. “Flapjack.”

They chirped.

“This is why we don’t skip coven head meetings! Look at what happened while I was asleep. The castle is on fire!” He sighed.

Could be worse!

He flung his arms out, staring the bird down in frustration. “How could this be worse?!”

The Titan must have thought that was funny, because at that moment his door was slammed open with a war cry.

“GOLDEN GUARD!”

Something (someone?) charged through his door, and he screeched, barely avoiding their tackle. Whoever it was slammed into his wall, sending feathers flying everywhere. Why there were feathers, he didn’t know. Maybe they were because of the large wings that were almost smacking him in the face.

Flapjack screeched, dive bombing the intruder, and Hunter quickly scrambled back, grabbing a heavy textbook detailing the criminal justice system and hurling it at their face. They shouted in pain, falling back onto the floor, and Hunter decided that was his cue to go.

He skidded out into the hallway, his slippers barely staying on his feet, while Flapjack circled nervously around his head. Behind him, he could hear the sound of the mystery attacker getting up, and he risked a glimpse behind him as Flapjack transformed into a staff.

“Golden Guard, kid, wait a second-”

Their voice sounded somewhat familiar, but he was too busy grabbing his staff. The last thing he saw before teleporting away into a haze of golden light was what looked to be some kind of harpy woman, heading straight for him.

He bounced across the castle, not having much of a destination in mind besides something that was away from the harpy lady. He materialized in a small room with dim lighting, and as he leaned against the brick walls he realized he was in the break room.

There were technically several break rooms scattered around the castle, but those were all empty storage closets scouts had converted into a break room in their free time with their own money. (Hunter may or may not have contributed to them with money from the castle treasury). This, however, was the official break room, the one all the coven heads used, and the one that the Emperor made somewhat of an attempt to maintain.

He hadn’t been here in a couple weeks, with the whole “accidentally killed my Uncle and now running the government from my bedroom” issue. Not much had changed since the last time he was here. The table was still stained, one of the chairs still had a wobbly leg, the sink was still dripping water because no one knew how to fix the leak, there were still a few spare coven cloaks lying in a pile on the floor, and the fridge still had several post-its about labeling your food properly and not letting it sit in the fridge for months and stink up the room.

The bulletin board, however, had a few changes. The ‘days since Kikimora tried to assassinate someone’ board had been reduced back to zero (last time he saw it it was at 11, which was a new record), and there were several notes stating that due to being understaffed, everyone would be getting extra shifts. Which was weird, because Hunter thought he was in charge of scheduling guard shifts, but he had handed off so many of his duties to Kikimora and random coven captains that he wasn’t sure anymore. Also, why had no one told him they were understaffed?

Someone had also brought in cookies, and there were still a few left. Yay! He grabbed one from the box, biting into it.

“Want a piece? Its chocolate cricket flavor.” He broke off a small chunk, offering it to the palisman, who began gleefully pecking it. He finished eating the rest of the cookie, wandering over to the sink.

He smacked the faucet, hoping that maybe this time it would stop the leaking, but it did nothing. Like it did every time. He sighed, and turned towards the clawfee machine, turning it on. Next to the sink was a small collection of drying dishes, one of which included a mug that said ‘world’s best nephew’ in hot pink script.

“Hey Flapjack, I found my favorite mug!” He picked it up, thankfully finding it clean. He had been searching for that mug for weeks! Although, it seemed a bit inaccurate, with the whole ‘killed my uncle’ and ‘being a grimwalker of his brother’ thing. Nope, that was a problem for another time.

He shrugged, watching as the clawfee pot came to a boil. Flapjack was hopping around the table, pecking the various crumbs that had been left behind. Hunter should probably be stopping them, but he figured if Flapjack had survived this long with such little self preservation, they would probably be fine.

Probably.

He poured the clawfee into his mug, and moved to sit down in a chair. The good chair, not the one with the wobbly leg that made you rock back and forth every time you moved the slightest inch.

He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and stared vacantly at the wall. “So,” he said calmly. “I think there might be a rebellion going on right now.”

Flapjack chirped anxiously. Hunter stared at the bird. “You know, this is why we don’t skip coven head meetings.”

He sipped on his clawfee, savoring the bitter taste. Oh, sweet caffeine, how he missed it. Having energy was fantastic.

“I should probably go out there and deal with that.”

Or don’t! Don’t risk yourself!

“Flapjack, I don’t think that's an option.”

Run away to woods! Can hunt for worms!

“I can’t eat worms! You can hunt all you want, I’ll forage for berries.”

Good plan!

Hunter groaned. “Terrible plan.” It wasn't like he had any ideas. He had been slowly preparing a runaway bag, but he had hoped he would have a few more weeks before he had to use it. This was his punishment for procrastinating.

He stood up, taking a long swig of the coffee. “Okay, my stuff is in my room. Let’s see if we can try to sneak back there, and if anyone is still alive.” He looked down at himself, grimacing at his lack of armor. He was still in his PJS!

Hesitantly, he lifted one of the coven scout cloaks from the pile on the floor, checking it over. There didn’t appear to be any visible stains, so he shrugged, putting it on.

Flapjack chirped, and fluttered on top of his head. Hunter sighed, but said nothing, pulling up his hood to cover the bird. He opened the door and hesitantly peeked his head out. There didn’t seem to be anyone, so he stepped out into the hallway, letting the door shut behind him.

Picking a random direction, he began walking, the only sound being his bunny slippers slapping against the tile. He nervously clutched his cloak, suddenly beginning to regret every decision he had ever made that had led him to this situation.

He rounded a corner to see a hallway that looked very much destroyed. A section of the ceiling had collapsed, and plants and abomination goo was everywhere. Several coven scouts were lying unconscious on the floor.

Hunter bit his lip, and with a start realized he was still holding his mug. There was still a little bit of clawfee in it, so he could throw it at someone and run if he needed to. The perfect weapon. What a plan.

He froze at the sound of footsteps, frantically looking for a place to hide. He slid behind a pile of rubble, hoping that he would just be mistaken for an unconscious scout.

The sound of footsteps grew closer, and then stopped. “I could have sworn I heard something over here,” a familiar voice muttered. Oh shit.

Hunter involuntarily flinched, shifting the rubble he was hiding behind with his movement.

“Over there!” Oh, he recognized that voice too, although it was only marginally better than the first one. Maybe if he stayed very very still, they wouldn’t notice him?

He yelped as abomination goo wrapped around his legs, dragging him out into the open and pinning his arms to his side. He scowled at the awkward angle his arm was held at, the clawfee slowly dripping out of his mug and onto the floor.

Darius crossed his arms, lifting an eyebrow at Hunter. “Ah, Little prince. You’re looking… unwell.”

Hunter, very maturely, stuck out his tongue, something that only caused Darius’s scowl to deepen.

Behind Darius, Luz cheerfully waved at him. “Hi Hunter! You kind of caught us at a bad time.” She turned down the hallway, cupping a hand to her mouth. “HEY GUYS, WE FOUND HUNTER! OVER HERE!”

Darius winced at her yelling, rubbing his ears. Hunter wished he could do the same, because wow Luz could shout loud.

The two of them turned back to face him and he grimaced. “Uh, hi?” He said awkwardly. Maybe they would be nice and just kill him right away. Luz could probably convince them not to hurt Flapjack.

Luz shoved her hands in her pockets, grinning casually. “Hunter, my man! I’ve been looking for you! Sorry about the whole, uh, overthrowing the government thing.”

‘It’s fine,” He said, even though it was very much not fine. “It was already falling apart anyways.”

Darius stepped towards him, frowning. “About that, actually. We have quite a few questions to ask you, Golden Guard.”

Luz’s grin became just a bit more shaky. “Not bad questions! Just, uh, questions. It’ll be great!” She did not sound convinced of her own words. “It’s fine.”

Hunter sighed. He should have just stayed in bed. This was all Flapjack’s fault. He was never trusting that adorable little bird again, no matter how cute they were.

#fanfic #ask game #toh #weekend at belos's #lilac post #writing #can't believe none of you bothered to mention the numerous typos I had to go back and edit :(

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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 1 year

Text

DADDY ISSUES - Part Thirteen: Hot Girl Bummer

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: After being gone for nearly three weeks, Elvis is returning from his US tour. You've never been more excited to see someone but something is different. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: mentions of violence and guns, mentions of drugs, sexual themes, pain as a result of sex, sexual shame, angst

Rating: M || Word Count: 8072 (oops 😅 )

A/N: It's really important y'all read this because this chapter is heavy, with a capital H. It does contain some serious sexual themes that may be triggering to some readers. It's a very short section (700 words) and I've marked a place where you can skip that content if you wish. I don't want any of y'all to have to read something you don't want to see or experience, so please pay attention to that as you're reading. While it definitely drives home the unfortunate changes in E + Reader's relationship, you do not have to read it to understand the plot. It's solely here to demonstrate how far both characters have fallen.

I also hope I didn't scare you off cause it's not like a graphic depiction of sa or anything! I'm honestly not even sure it needs this much of a warning, but better safe than sorry! It's just a little more intense than the smut I usually write and I really want to make sure you guys stay safe and aren't triggered when you read my writing.

I love you and stay safe out there!! :) 💕

Song Rec: hot girl bummer - blackbear

This is Part 13 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

As you move to cross off your calendar with a big red X, you realize that Elvis has been gone for fifteen days. The worst fifteen days of your life.

After spending the night with Elvis, you’d woken up to an empty bed and empty room. You slept soundly through the entire night, not waking or dreaming one time that you could remember. You also couldn’t remember being that well rested in a long while. With a yawn, you stretched out before climbing out of bed and wrapping yourself in a blanket.

“Elvis?” you asked, although the cold silence of the hotel room gave away the fact that Elvis wasn't there.

When you padded into the kitchen, you found a note on the dining table.

Princess, I’m sorry to leave this way but we had to get going early this morning if we’re gonna make it all the way to Tennessee in time for the first show. I hope you enjoy your time off and I’ll see you in a few weeks. Take care of yourself and be ready for me when I get back. I’lll make up for all the time we missed out on. Here’s a number you can reach me at if you need anything. Or you can always call Jerry. D

Fifteen days later and you find yourself re-reading the note again. During his absence, your goal has been to refresh yourself, do some self-care, spend time with friends, and just enjoy some decompression time. But nothing has gone according to plan. The very first night spent without him ended with you, wasted and sobbing, getting sick into the toilet in your bathroom. Consequently, you spent the next day recovering from a nasty hangover. And the days after that were spent lounging around doing nothing but watching daytime television and reading magazines while you snacked.

You’ve been too embarrassed to reach out to Max and your other friends since you basically ditched them all for Elvis. Life feels so boring without him and whenever you do manage to get out and do an activity of some kind, you find yourself distracted by wishes that he were there to enjoy it with you. You considered returning home to LA for a while but, to be honest, you don’t have the energy to pack up and travel back. Plus, it’s been a while since you talked to Trixie. You never managed to call her back after she saw you on the magazine cover, which means you haven’t talked for several months. She’s called you a few times since then but you somehow always seem to be on your way out or too busy to answer. Now, it’s been so long that you’re too ashamed to answer.

Stuck at the hotel, everything reminds you of Elvis. His absence feels like an entire chunk of your life has been erased. Of course, you’re extremely proud of him and happy that he’s at least able to travel, if not internationally. You really do want him to enjoy his tour and all that but…fighting boredom isn’t the only reason you need him to come back.

Last night, one of the hotel staff brought up a massive stack of envelopes, many of them stamped with big terrifying red letters reading PAST DUE. You read through them all. Several threatened legal action if you didn’t pay back your debt or pay off your bills soon. Your gut reaction was to completely lose it and freak the fuck out, wondering how the hell you’re going to pay for it all. Then, of course, you remembered what your life is and what you “do” for a living.

You took a few moments to compose yourself before giving a call to Elvis at the number he’d left for you. No answer. You called again a few hours later and again this morning. No one ever answered. Next, you tried Jerry who answered and promised you that he’d relay the message. Something in his voice sounded off, distracted. You aren’t totally sure you trust him. It doesn’t matter anyway since, according to one of the letters, you have less than one week to pay your bill or you’ll be contacted by authorities of some kind. Elvis won't be back by then.

It’s not that you’re ungrateful. In fact, you are are very, very thankful for everything Elvis has given you and done for you. But this is a serious problem. If your bills aren’t paid…you shudder to think what might happen. Not to mention that these payments are probably only past due because you’ve moved all the way out to Las Vegas and forgotten to change your billing address. The companies probably sent the bills all the way over to Trixie in LA.

As these realizations begin to hit you, guilt and repentance swim around in your stomach. That’s why Trixie has been calling you. She was trying to get ahold of you to tell you that your bills were piling up. Now, you wish you would have answered. And then you feel even worse, knowing that you should have answered anyway, even if the call wasn’t an urgent warning regarding your financial stability.

Since Elvis won’t be back for another week, you’ll have to find some way to pay it yourself if you can’t get ahold of him. You’re starting to grow desperate and concerned. After trying the number Elvis left for the third time today and receiving no answer, you have enough panicked courage to finally call Trixie back. You sit, frozen, for about twenty minutes while the phone buzzes on the line as it waits for you to punch in the numbers. You anxiously twist the phone cord in your fingers as you wait for her to answer, hoping and praying that she’s at home and not busy. Finally, the line clicks on.

“Hello?” Trixie’s familiar, sweet voice chimes in.

“Trix! Oh my god, I’m so glad you answered! It’s me, Y/N!” you say excitedly, smiling as you grip the phone against your ear.

You’re greeted by silence and wait for several seconds until you start to wonder if you’ve been disconnected.

“Oh…hello,” she finally replies.

“Hi, um…sorry I’ve been distant lately. It’s been kind of crazy around here.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.”

“Right…” you say awkwardly. Your palms are starting to sweat and you’re wondering if this is a terrible idea. “So, how are things at home? How are you?”

“I broke up with my boyfriend so not great.”

“Oh?” your eyebrows furrow. You didn’t even know she had a boyfriend… “I’m sorry. I didn’t know-”

“Yeah, you didn’t. Maybe if you’d ever bothered to return my calls you would have known. Or you could have answered them in the first place. Any of the five million times I’ve tried you.”

“Uh…” you stammer. You know she’s right but aren’t sure what you can say in response. You don’t need to worry about it, though, because she continues before you have a chance to say anything else.

“I’ve called you thirty-five times since the last time we talked, you know. We haven’t talked in seven months.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you fall into the chair by the phone, shocked. It can’t have been seven months….right?

“Oh…I-”

“Yeah. Have you even been paying attention? To anything other than yourself for the past seven months? It actually doesn’t even matter because I’ve been calling you to let you know that you have bills piling up here. You owe a lot of money to a lot of people and some of these are from several months ago. I tried to send them to you but I never knew if they went through because I couldn’t get ahold of you. Cause, you know, you stopped answering your phone.”

Silence falls as your brain tangles itself around trying to figure out what to say in response.

“Well, that’s actually why I called you…I was wondering if you might be able to,” you pause and gulp, wincing at the thought of what you have to do. “…lend me some money to help with them. I…”

You fade out as you immediately start to regret asking her to bail you out again. What right do you have to ask her this? After you’ve ignored her completely for the past, apparently, seven months?

“No, please, tell me,” she spits into the phone. “How’s it going up there? Daddy’s forgotten to pay your bills?”

You scoff. You can’t explain why, but her bringing up Elvis just makes your blood start to boil.

“Listen, Trixie, I’m sure it’s just a mix up. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls but-”

“What? You were too busy fucking a celebrity to talk to your best friend? The person who gave you somewhere to live for a year when you didn’t have anywhere else? The person who barely knew you at all and still welcomed you into her home, paid for your room and board, cooked for you, was literally your only friend. Y/N, I don’t know who you’ve become over the last seven months. I haven’t even gotten to talk to you, so how would I know. But I just don’t care to know anymore. I’m tired of waiting around to see if you’re actually going to talk to me. It sounds like you’re doing great up there. I saw you and Elvis on a magazine again a few weeks ago at some Vegas club or something. Really nice. I hope you’re enjoying yourself up there and good luck with your bills. I don’t think we should speak anymore. In fact, I’d prefer it if we didn’t.”

“Trixie! I….what? No! Wait, Trixie-”

“Sorry, but I can’t waste my time on someone who so clearly doesn’t care about me.”

The click that sounds when Trixie hangs up the phone is final and harsh. You frantically tap at the receiver, hoping that you’ve just lost each other, even though you know the truth is that she hung up on you. Completely and totally deflated, you put the receiver down and shuffle into your bedroom.

You have to do something about this and fast, probably without Elvis' help, unfortunately. Your eyes sadly trace the faded walls of the apartment that's now dirty, dusty, and not nearly as chic as it was when you moved in. You suddenly sit up straight when your eyes land on the diamond choker sitting on top of its velvet box. You stand up and walk over to it, reaching out to hold it in your fingers. You heave a deep breath, knowing what you have to do.

At least Elvis is returning soon…

─────

When Elvis flight finally lands, you get a call from Jerry letting you know that he’s back and wants to see you tonight. You can barely contain your excitement as you throw your magazine to the side and the bag of chips you’ve been snacking on all day. You take a shower and change into a brand new sexy black dress with Elvis’ favorite pair of deep red lingerie underneath. At the appointed time, you leave the apartment and make your way upstairs to his room. You take a deep breath and smile before sticking your key into the door and pushing through.

“Hi there,” you say, smiling widely as you step into the room.

Your smile quickly drops as your eyes land on the Colonel. Elvis lifts his head and your heart pangs at the noticeable bags under his eyes and disheveled hair. You glance over at the Colonel, who is glaring at you with a cigar between his fat lips.

“And what do you think you’re doin?” he asks, waddling over to you. “Just bargin into Mr. Presley’s room like this.”

“Mr. Presley asked for me,” you say coldly.

“Mr. Presley is in a business meeting,” he replies, blowing smoke in your face just as he’d done before. This time, you wave a hand between you to dispel it.

“Mr. Presley scheduled a business meeting with me at this time,” you respond, staring directly into his eyes. God, you really hate this man. “So I guess that means your time is up. Have a lovely day, Colonel.”

He sticks the cigar between his teeth and glances back at Elvis, who’s sitting lazily on the couch with his eyes half-closed. You peer around the Colonel and your eyebrows knit together. Your daddy doesn’t look well. The Colonel leans in closer to you and you glare at him, disgusted.

“You better watch yourself, little girl,” he growls, flicking some ash from his cigar onto the floor. “If you know what’s good for you.”

With that, he manuevers around you and exits the room. You watch over your shoulder with distaste as he shuts the door behind him. He’s up to something and he’s dangerous. You’ve always disliked him but now you know he’s more of an ass that you originally thought. Shaking your head, you recenter your attention on Elvis.

“Hi daddy,” you say with a smile.

“Hello,” Elvis replies dryly, his expression unchanging.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” you say with a chuckle, tilting your head in the direction the Colonel left.

Elvis doesn’t respond. Your smile falters a little but you don’t lose hope just yet. After stepping further into the room, you prop yourself on the arm of the couch.

“So did you miss me?”

He doesn’t respond, clearly involved in reading a letter or something that he's holding in his hand.

“Daddy, did you miss me?” you repeat. No response again. You raise your voice. “Mr. Presley!”

“What? Oh, sorry, baby,” he says in a speech that’s almost slurred. He turns this time, although still neglects to lift his gaze to yours. You take a deep breath.

“Did you miss me?”

“Uh, yeah sure. Course I did,” he glances up at you as he sorts through his mail, shaking his head dismissively.

“Okay…well I missed you. A lot,” you say, sliding down next to him and threading your arms around his torso.

He barely reacts and, then a few seconds later, gently removes your arms from around his body. You gulp as you feel your heart starting to drop. You decide to stop messing around and just get to the point.

“Okay well, do you want me tonight or not?” you ask bluntly, placing your hands on your hips.

“Yeah, sure thing. I'm just gonna shower first,” he says, throwing you a tight-lipped smile.

He makes his way into the bathroom before you even have a chance to protest. You’re left, standing confusedly in the middle of the couch with your hands outstretched and mouth hanging open. With a deep sigh, you wander over into the bedroom and notice the stack of mail that Elvis carried in there with him. You sneak a little peek at what’s there. As you sort through it, you notice another receipt for Elvis Presley Enterprises. Glancing around the corner to make sure that Elvis is inside the shower, you then turn to the envelope and pull out the thin piece of paper to read.

Again, you see that EP Enterprises has paid over 50% of the total cost to the Colonel and for several other things that seem unnecessary. As your eyes hit the bottom of the receipt, you still don’t see any payments being made to you or any of the government or company agencies that you owe money to. Your mind flashes back to the very first time Elvis suggested this arrangement to you, what he said about paying your bills. That you wouldn't have to worry about a thing. Either he lied or something else is going on here. You think, too, about the Colonel’s threat. You better watch yourself, little girl. If you know what’s good for you. That man doesn’t scare you by any means. But he is starting to seriously piss you off. He has to be behind this. You just know it.

You hear the shower click off and clutch the paper tighter in your hands, wandering over toward the bed and taking a seat on it. After what feels like a lifetime of waiting, Elvis comes out from the shower with a towel around his waist. Although he hasn’t even been gone for a month, you can see the changes in his face and body. He looks disheveled, probably just tired from all the work and constant performances. But his stomach is rounder than it was, his face drawn, his hair long and unkempt. As you stare at him, you start to wonder if you’re looking at the same man you’ve known.

“Um, Mr. Presley,” you say.

Your eyebrows furrow as you watch him pop more pills into his mouth and down them with a glass of water. You resist the urge to say something about how many he’s taking; what do you know, anyway? You’re not a doctor. He glances over at you and hums in response.

“Could we…talk about something?” you ask nervously, clutching harder onto the receipt.

“Yeah. What’s up, sugar?” he asks, making his way toward the bed and sitting down next to you.

You turn toward him.

“Well it’s just that, uh…I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I received a stack of bills in the mail the other day. It was a big stack and they were all past due. When you first proposed the arrangement to me, you said that you’d be happy to pay my bills for me and Jerry also said that-”

“Whatcha got there?” he gestures to the crumpled piece of paper in your fingers and you crunch it tighter, suddenly realizing that you probably shouldn’t be reading your sugar daddy’s mail without his knowledge or permission.

“Nothing, just a tissue. Anyway, I just-”

“I’ll take care of it. Make me a list of what and how much and I’ll make sure it gets done. It was supposed to have been taken care of already,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing and his tongue running over his teeth.

“A-are you sure? I noticed that-”

“Done,” he says resolutely and you clamp your lips together.

You guess it’s none of your business, his financial decisions. Plus, he probably knows already anyway. Why wouldn’t he? It’s not like the Colonel is some distant man who never sees Elvis in person. Quite the opposite, in fact, as you know very well by now. You clutch the receipt in your fingers.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“Not a problem, doll. Hey, we can get to it in a few minutes. I just need a rest real quick.”

“Don’t you even worry, big daddy,” you say with a smile, your insides starting to churn with excitement at the thought of getting down and dirty with him again. You’ve missed it so, so much. His sounds, his approval, his touch. “You just lay back and I’ll take care of everything.”

He lays back and you hop off the bed, lifting your top from your frame. With one finger nestled underneath your bra, you freeze as you realize that he’s deep asleep. His mouth is open, a thin line of drool already starting to trickle out. He’s also snoring loudly. You sigh and shake your head, confused by this new Elvis. He seems totally different, utterly disinterested. You assume again that he’s just tired from traveling and performing fifteen shows in as many days. At least, that’s what you desperately hope.

Unfortunately, you soon find out that he’s not just tired. He’s changed.

Over the next several months, you start to notice a number of Elvis’ bad habits growing exponentially worse Most frustrating among them being the drugs. It seems like almost every time you see Elvis nowadays, he’s popping one pill or another. When you meet him in the dressing room or in his room upstairs, he hardly even seems awake sometimes. You tried to be optimistic at the beginning, prompting him to take care of himself. You encouraged him not to take so many pills or to skip a show and give himself some rest. But he’s refused to listen to anything you have to say.

The sex has become unbearly boring and standard, even worse than it was in the beginning. He moves so much slower than he used to. It barely takes any effort on your part to make him finish anymore. You rarely find yourself interested in the sex and more often than not, you have to finish yourself off in the bathroom alone. Sometimes, he barely does anything and expects you to ride him to completion, after which he just falls asleep. Every time, you tuck him in and give him a kiss on the forehead, hoping one time he’ll somehow notice. And then you’ll see a glimmer of the man you used to know, the one you had grown so fond of.

But he never does.

He still buys you expensive gifts and, for a while, you didn't receive any more past due bills, so you figured he took care of your debt, which, of course, you appreciate. But you get to see him less and less these days. One night, when you’re tidying up his room, which tends to get very messy very often now, you discover a bra that doesn’t belong to you. You finally have to face the reality that he’s seeing other women.

As you’ve hashed over a thousand times, you know you’re not exclusive and with his lifestyle and the arrangement you agreed to, you never could be. But still…your heart wants something you just can’t have. Sometimes it feels like you’re starving for his attention, like your life has no meaning without him in it. But your whole relationship has become one giant business transaction with no meaning and no emotion.

When you started feeling even more isolated than the three weeks he was gone for the US tour, you found yourself returning to the backstage area as you tried to make other social connections. Or rekindle the ones you flushed down the toilet.

After several weeks, you finally managed to run into Max. You approached him with a big smile on your face and a friendly wave, but he hadn’t care one bit. He met you with a flat face and cold exterior. When you asked him how things were going, he responded with silence. Then he very emphatically and very bluntly told you that he wants nothing to do with you and none of the people in his circle do either. He went on a long rant about how he never actually knew you, about how you led him on and then dropped him like he was nothing. And he finally answered your long-wondered question. He always knew that your entire purpose there was to fuck Elvis. He’d left you standing still, frozen with guilt and shame, in the backstage hallway.

You also tried Trixie more than several times. And every time the phone rang and rang and rang with no answer. You don’t even know how she knows its you but she always seems to know. The singular time she picked up, she also hung up before you even had the chance to apologize.

In the last month, you’ve also started receiving past due statements again and you’ve never been more frustrated. Whenever you try to bring it up to Elvis, he just assures you that it’s being taken care of. To be quite honest, you don’t know that he even has the mental capacity to have it taken care of adequately anymore. And you’re sure the Colonel just tells him whatever he wants to hear, anyway.

Just six months after returning from the first US tour, Elvis informs you he will be leaving again for another one. The night before his departure, Jerry hand delivers a letter that explains everything. You sigh and shake your head.

“He couldn’t even have walked down here to tell me himself?” you ask, shaking your head.

Jerry just shrugs and shoots you a pitying look.

“Could I come in?” he asks and you shrug, opening the door wider for him. You sit on the couch together in silence for several minutes until he speaks.

“I’m sorry. I know he’s different,” Jerry says, gently taking your arm. “You can leave at any time, you know. You don’t have to stay here. I know it probably hasn’t been what you expected and it’s been…difficult for all of us to watch what’s happening to him. I don’t…know how to help him.”

“I’m glad it’s not just me who’s noticed. What’s wrong with him? He used to be so warm and loving and now…it’s like a different person came back in his place. The drugs, the girls, the guns…it’s all so-”

“I know. I think it’s the stress, the pressure. He has an addiction to performing, to being onstage, to being loved by the masses. The Colonel has him doing all these damn shows, these tours that are unhealthy and too busy, and Elvis just won’t listen to a thing I say.”

You nod.

“Did you know the Colonel takes 50% of Elvis’ earnings?”

“Yeah, I did. But how do you know about that?” he quirks an eyebrow at you.

“I’ve been sneaking peeks at his receipts. How is that legal?”

“Unfortunately, totally legal. Elvis signed his life away when he was 21. He didn’t know any better and things were different back then. Y/N, the Colonel is…a dangerous man. You cannot tell anyone about this, but…I’m looking into his background now. I’m very interested to see what I might find.”

“Jerry,” you start, unsure whether to continue, “I have a question. Elvis told me that he’s been paying my bills and my debts. But a few months ago I got past due statements. They went away for a while but I’ve started getting them again. Is it possible that Elvis doesn’t know where his own money is going?”

“Possible? I think it’s probable. His father’s the business manager but Vernon has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He’s completely overmatched in every way. He went to jail for tax fraud for god’s sake. Hey, I’ll look into it for you. I think it’s likely that the Colonel has been stopping those payments from going through.”

You nod.

“Yeah, I don’t think he likes me very much. I think he actually threatened me a while back,” you say.

“What did he say?”

“I don’t really remember, honestly. Something about ‘watching myself if I know what’s good for me.’”

Jerry nods, rubbing his fingers along his chin. You glance over at him and your eyebrows raise. You’ve never really paid attention to how handsome he is. You always knew, of course, that he’s good looking but…

You chat for a little while longer. You start to tell him about your struggles, the loneliness and the anxiety. Your weekly breakdowns triggered by the fact that you have no friends, no steady income that you can be sure of, and no romantic interests that make you feel good about yourself.

“I’m always here for you,” Jerry says, leaning forward and taking ahold of your hands. He squeezes them. “You know that, right?”

“Thanks, Jerry. You have no idea how much you’ve meant to me during this whole crazy thing,” you say, squeezing his fingers back. “I could never have done this without your support.”

His eyes flick down to your hand and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a small smile. You pull away and he gets ready to leave so he can finish up the rest of his work for the day.

Once Jerry is gone, you don’t know what to do with yourself other than flop on the couch and try not to have yet another breakdown out about your dwindling funds.

The next three weeks move slower than molasses as you pass your time with lots of sleep and not much of anything else. Elvis and Jerry are both gone on the second US tour. You manage to finish three novels and catch several movies at the theatre…by yourself. You don’t have the energy or social battery to even bother trying to make friends in Vegas anymore and all you really want is to go back home to Los Angeles. Back to when you were safe, happy, and healthy living with your best friend and in charge of your own schedule. As you lazily glance at the calendar, your head snaps up and you smile. Today is…

You pick up the phone and dial a number that you hope still belongs to the same person.

“Steve?” you ask when the line clicks on.

“This is he. May I ask who I’m speaking to?” your cousin’s familiar voice sounds on the other end of the line.

“Steve, thank god! It’s Y/N,” you say, leaning into the speaker of the telephone, as if that action will somehow give you comfort.

“Y/N! It’s so good to hear from you. I heard that you, er…took Elvis’ offer after all,” he says.

“Yeah, I did...” you reply with a gulp.

“How’s it…going?”

You pause for a few seconds, taking a deep breath and releasing it before responding.

“I’d rather not talk about it, if I’m being honest. Besides, I called to say happy birthday anyway! How are things going in Burbank? How are you doing?”

“Good, good. Sharon and I got engaged last month, actually,” he says and you can practically hear the happiness in his voice.

“Oh wow!” you respond excitedly, although you can practically feel your heart cracking into a million pieces at the thought of being so utterly alone. “That’s so great! Congratulations, Steve! When’s the wedding?”

“Seven months from Monday,” he says. “You’re invited, of course. We’re hoping to send invitations out soon but work’s been a bit busy, you know, Christmastime and all that.”

“Oh…I guess it is Christmas time, isn’t it?” you ask, the realization suddenly hitting that you’re already two weeks into December.

“Unbelievably, yeah. But enough about me. I really would like to know how you’re doing? Is…he taking care of your bills and things like he promised? I…actually came up to visit a few weeks ago but couldn’t get backstage to see him.”

“You…were here? Why didn’t you come see me? You could have stayed with me?”

“I….”

“What?”

“Well, you weren’t there?”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“No…I had to have been here. I moved here and I live here now. I haven’t left in…” your eyes widen as you think about it, “well, months. I was definitely here.”

“That’s so strange…the hotel staff told me that you were gone on a trip. I thought-”

“The hotel staff? Which hotel staff?”

“I…can’t remember, honestly. It was some big guy with a nametag on, so I assumed he was a staff member. Why do you ask?”

“Because I'd bet money that the Colonel told him to lie to you. He knows damn well that I’ve been here for the last two years. Every day for the last two years.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know…”

A few seconds of silence pass and you momentarily wonder if you’ve been disconnected before Steve speaks up again.

“Y/N, be careful up there. The Colonel’s a very bad, very dangerous man. I think he’s taking advantage of Elvis and I’d hate to think that he’s doing the same with you. Maybe you should…”

“Should what, Steve? Please tell me.”

“Maybe you should just pack up and come home. If you’re still in that much need of money then maybe I can help you out again. I’m sure I can find something for you-”

“No, Steve, it’s alright. Everything’s fine. If I need anything, I’ll be sure to let you know. But everything’s fine, I promise.”

“If you insist. Damnit. Hey, listen Y/N, I gotta go. Apparently we’ve had a crisis at the office, but I’ll give you a call later, okay? Feel free to reach me any time. I’m here if you need anything.”

“Will do. Oh, Steve!”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course.”

And the line clicks off. You put the phone down and curl into a ball on your bed, shutting your eyes and hoping to sleep through the next five days until Elvis has returned from his second US tour.

Sure enough, five days later, you receive news from the buzz around the casino and hotel that Elvis is arriving later in the afternoon. You feel intense shame and embarrassment about the fact that your entire being feels lit up with joy and happiness when you realize that you might finally be able to be held in his arms again. Nothing in you is even interested in being fucked or pleasured at this point. All you want is to touch his face, feel the softness of his hair, be held tightly in his strong arms, so close to his chest that you can feel his heart beat against your skin.

You wait all day for a phone call or a letter or something. You receive nothing. Not a damn thing. The next night passes the same and you wonder if he’s forgotten about you. On the third day, you decide to march right up to his room and confront him. Ironically, you finally get the call that afternoon, an invitation actually, to attend the late show that evening and then visit him afterward.

With excitement unmeasurable, you get yourself ready to meet him, all dolled up in your best makeup, which you take an extra hour and extra care to do perfectly, just the way you know he likes it. You also wear his favorite pair of lingerie and his favorite black dress. At the last minute, as you’re sliding a finger into your TCB ring, you get a lurching feeling in your stomach. You look up at yourself in the mirror and hold a hand up to your throat, dragging your fingers across the bare skin. It feels like something is missing, you know exactly what. Your outfit would be complete with it.

With a disappointed sigh, you make your way downstairs in perfect time for the show to start. You’re seated toward the back at a table almost in the darkness. You gulp in slight embarrassment before sitting down. While unhappy that it seems like Elvis is trying to hide you, you’re actually quite relieved to be sitting in the darkness with how you’ve chosen to dress and present yourself. Anyone passing by would probably automatically assume you’re some kind of prostitute. Isn’t that what you are, anyway? And should you feel more shame than you do?

You don’t have much time to speculate on it because the band strikes up a chord and the show starts. You smile. It’s been almost a whole year since you came down to enjoy a show. At the beginning of your residency there, you came down all the time to see his shows. But the novelty wore off quickly. The last time you attended a show was the vibrator incident...

This time, however, you actually find that you enjoy yourself quite a bit. With Elvis paying for everything, you order a full meal and a glass of wine. And without a vibrator in your panties, you can actually enjoy your meal and watch Elvis at his very best. You get to see an old version of Elvis. Not the man you'd known so intimately nor the one you’ve grown to despise over the past couple of months. This is the man you find yourself dragged toward, attracted to, entrapped by. This is the Elvis who got you to say yes so many months ago.

That is, until something happens, of course, to ruin all of that. You watch in horror as two random men from the audience run up onto the stage as if they’re going to attack Elvis. You jump out of your seat, your fingers flying up to your mouth as you watch, unable to do anything from where you’re seated. Luckily, they seem to just be overexcited fans. But you can’t help but notice Elvis reach into the tops of his boots for something, something you’ve definitely noticed he sneaks into his boots before he goes onstage. The guns. “Protection,” as he’d called it.

The two men are escorted out, walked right past your table. But you hardly even notice them. Your attention is held firmly on Elvis as his wild eyes fly around the stage and the audience. Your heart is pounding in your chest with adrenaline and fear. You reach up to feel it beat against your breast and feel overwhelmed by the sensation. Elvis stumbles around onstage, his face shadowed so that it appears hollow and haunted and…evil. He looks erratic, terrified and wrathful at the same time.

The reality of what could have happened hits you. You fall back into your seat as your chest starts to heave. Elvis could have died…been shot onstage. Suddenly, you’re thrown back to 1968 when you all watched Bobby Kennedy die on national television. All the fear from that moment, from watching someone’s life drain from their body, it all returns to you.

The show comes to an abrupt end when they escort Elvis offstage. You stand, grabbing your purse, and make your way toward the door where Stanley the security guard always stands. As soon as you approach, he holds up a hand telling you to stop.

“I’m sorry, Miss Y/L/N, but we’re not allowing anyone backstage right now. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait. It’s probably a good idea for you to return to your room for the evening. If Mr. Presley wants to see you, I’m sure he’ll call,” Stanley mumbles, offering a small smile.

“Thanks Stanley,” you say and return the expression. “Will you just tell him that I’m here for him. If he needs me, that is.”

“I'm not sure that's within my pay grade, ma'am,” he replies, but he must have noticed your panicked expression because he adds, "But I'll certainly do what I can."

With a deep sigh, you make your way back upstairs to your room, where you crash on the couch and drop your head into your hands. You only have a few minutes to sulk before you get a telephone call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Jerry. He’s asking for you,” Jerry says and you breathe a sigh of relief. You know Elvis hadn’t gotten hurt or anything but you are intimately familiar with how unstable his mental state is right now.

“I’ll be right up,” you say and hang up before Jerry even has a chance to say goodbye.

When you emerge from the elevator, you immediately hear raised voices, Elvis’ and a woman’s. You don’t even bother waiting to come in, desperate to see him, to know that he’s fine, that he’s okay. A flurry of emotions swirl around in your stomach. You’re angry that people would dare try to hurt Elvis, you’re angry at Elvis for being who he is, you’re frustrated that you even have to go through this, you’re terrified for his safety, you’re scared of what’s to come, and most of all, you’re griefstricken at the thought of living a life without him.

As you make your way through the massive rooms, the screaming stops. Your eyebrows raise as your gaze falls on Priscilla Presley walking straight toward you. She holds your gaze, her eyes full of anger. You don’t back down, though. Normally, you would feel awkward and guilty seeing her. But at this point, you’ve grown to become so unhappy and possessive over Elvis that you couldn’t give a flying fuck what she thinks of you. He’s unhappy with her, anyway, that’s why you exist in the first place. You raise your neck and stare her down as she passes. As she nears you, you watch as her anger quickly fades into grief, plainly displayed on her face. You know any normal person would be feeling some guilt at this moment but, in all honesty, you don’t feel anything. You don’t care.

You waltz into the room to see Elvis sitting on the bed, already half-undressed and just in a pair of boxers. You immediately approach him, dropping to your knees between his legs. You raise your hands to his face, gently brushing his hair back from his forehead. You push your thumbs into his skin to massage it a little.

“Mmm,” he hums in approval.

“Are you alright?” you whisper.

“Mhmm, just fine,” he replies.

── tw | scroll to the bottom of the post to skip ──

“Can I help, at all?” you ask in your most seductive tone, stepping in front of him and running your hands smoothly down his chest.

In all honesty, you don’t really want to have sex. You aren't feeling very sexy right now at all. But you can tell that he needs it, needs something. You wouldn’t go as far as to say that he needs you but…he needs something that you believe you can provide. He lifts his blue eyes to yours, they’re more grey these days except for when he’s onstage performing. He doesn’t react, but you can see in his eyes that he wants it. You gently push him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him and starting to press kisses to his hot skin. He barely moves, allowing you to manipulate him easily.

He’s still sweaty from being onstage but you don’t mind. You’re used to it at this point and besides, it’s sexy as hell. You kiss down his neck, dragging your lips between pressing them down. You trail down his chest onto his stomach.

When your finger hooks into the waistband of his underwear, he jerks to life. His fingers curl around your arms and he pulls you up and then spins you around, shoving the top half of your body down on the bed, a little harshly but not it's not painful. You assume the familiar position, arching your back and cooperating to step through your panties as he pulls them off. He slides the fabric of your dress out of the way and you wait patiently until he slides into your folds.

You wince and clutch onto the sheets on the bed. You’re drier than normal. You're far too emotional to get wet enough, even with Elvis Presley behind you. He doesn’t seem to notice or care, though, because he starts to pump in and out of you mercilessly. You bury your head into the sheets, biting and tugging on the fabric as he slides in and out of you.

The air is silent aside from the sounds of your skin slapping together and Elvis’ quiet groans. As he drills into you, you can feel yourself loosening up just a tad. You release a few strained moans from the combination of pain and pleasure. The friction isn't very enjoyable but you remind yourself that this is your job, this is what you are to him. That this can help you, too.

His speed increases and you feel a tear slipping out of your eye, but whether it’s from the pain or the emotion, you aren’t sure. His fingers grip into your hair, pulling your head up. You experience a moment of relief and moan loudly. You want so badly for this to feel good.

You tilt your head to the side and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Before, you loved the way you looked in the mirror as he was fucking you. You were so turned on, so desperate for him, so fucked out. Now, you just look worn, sullen. Used. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, not wanting to face what you are. A slave to his sex. And now a slave to him.

Finally, you feel warmth flood your insides as Elvis finishes himself off. You twitch as you realize he's finished inside of you. He's never done that before. He grunts and leans over, his body weight pressing onto your back. When he rests his forehead between your shoulder blades, you feel your face screw up in grief. It’s so cheap, so pathetic, to grasp at this one moment of intimacy. But you do, all the same. He only remains there for a few moments before removing himself and going immediately into the bathroom. You remain in position until you hear the door shut and then fall over on your side.

Your shoulders begin to shake and you cry silently. Tears stream down your face, stinging your cheeks. When you pull yourself to sit up, you wince at the soreness of your heat. You reach down to touch yourself and bring a finger up. It's covered in a thick layer of Elvis' cum. The sight makes you both proud and ashamed, joyous and devastated. You invited him to do it and you don’t regret it. But...

───── tw ─────

You miss the man you used to know, the strong, passionate one you had fights with. The one who knew what he wanted, who he was, what you wanted. The one who cared, who took an interest in you, who had fun. This wasn’t sex between two people who wanted it. This was sex between an object and someone who just needed to feel something.

Your eyes lazily drift over to the framed picture of Lisa Marie and you think through everything that's happening. You wipe your tears away and sniff. Filled with intense rage, you stand and slam the picture face-first down onto the nightstand. You don’t want to see her. You don’t want her to see this. Why does she have to exist anyway? You stand with clenched fists, facing what you’ve done as your chest heaves. Suddenly, you’re filled with fear and panic. You kneel down and pick up the frame to see that the glass has shattered in a few spots.

“No, no, no,” you say as the tears start to steam down your face again.

You shakily lift some of the glass shards and attempt to piece them back together but it’s no use. You drop your head and the glass but not before one of the shards slices a small pinhole prick in your finger. Biting your lip in pain, you press your wounded finger to your chest and crawl back into the bed. You don’t even bother to tuck yourself in. You curl up into a ball and squeeze your eyes shut, hoping for sleep to take you away as soon as possible for as long as possible.

After a few minutes, you hear rummaging from the bathroom as Elvis comes back out. You don’t react when he touches you softly, so much softer than he was when he was fucking you fifteen minutes ago. You feel a warm, soft rag being drug over your body, cleaning up any bodily fluids that he’d left on you. You convulse when he hits your sore folds and he stops immediately, massaging his fingers into your shoulder. He doesn’t apologize, but gently, so so gently, presses the wet rag against you, dabbing up anything that might be leaking out.

Then, he’s gone again, only for a few seconds. When he returns, he gently lifts your legs and pulls the covers out from under them and then over your body. He tucks you in and then climbs in behind you, wrapping his warm arms around you. Normally, you would find this comforting and you’d be practically begging for this. But tonight, not so much. You really just want to be left alone, to vanish in thin air, to dissolve into nothing.

“You alright, baby?” he whispers, gently stroking your hair out of the way.

You squeeze your eyes tighter, not having the strength to respond. You hope he’ll just figure that you’re asleep. He sighs and gently strokes his knuckle down your cheek, pausing by your jaw. You feel him push his head against your neck and then the shudders of his body as he cries quietly. You feel your own tears slipping from your eyes, staining your cheeks with cold streaks of liquid. The last thought of the night is spent wondering how you both could have fallen so far.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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