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#sorry for any messages / tags that I've been ignoring

peachsayshi · 2 months

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greetings my darlings can we talk about takuma ino's fixation with dating older women? because the man has a pattern...

#also I'm back & feeling significantly better <3 #sorry for any messages / tags that I've been ignoring #I will try to slowly get through all of them this weekend xo

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taecdimples · 1 year

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In light of the recent news, I've decided to put this blog on semi-hiatus for the rest of the week. Any fandom posts not related to Moonbin, Astro, or Aroha will be queued until April 23.

If anybody needs a safe space to vent, grieve, or even share a favorite memory, you are welcome to DM me or send an ask. I'll be here to listen ❤

Additionally, if there are any tributes, words of comfort, or resources you'd like to pass along, let me know and I'll share so others can see them too.

If you'd rather not see such posts during this time, I'll be tagging related posts with "astro" and "moonbin" for filtering.

My heart goes out to Aroha during this difficult time. Stay safe, stay well, and know that you are loved ❤

#disclaimers in the tags >>>#i am not a professional so i can't give professional advice #if you need major help please seek a helpline or any of the resources listed in tumblr's support section #but if you just need to talk to someone I'm here for you ❤#secondly any hateful or bullying comments WILL be reported #any hateful messages or asks WILL be ignored and deleted #finally i admit that i am not an aroha myself #I've been a very casual listener at best #so if I don't understand everything about Moonbin or Astro then I beg your forgiveness and patience #I can see how much Moonbin meant to so many #he seemed like such a lovely soul and I'm so sorry that this happened #love you guys ❤️#astro #moonbin

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lost-and-ephemeral · 2 months

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Series: In Her Shadow, pt.2 (ft. main trio)

Part 1 | Part 2

Slowly but surely she replaced you in his heart.

Pairing: Xavier x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader (seperate)

Tags: angst, hurt no comfort, reader is not MC, breakup

A/N: I recieved a lot of comments and request asking me to continue, so here we are! I've tried my best. Ty everyone, I appreciate every message, even if it would be hard to mention every single one of them in this post. Also, if you want to be tagged in future fics, let me know!

-`♡´- MASTERLIST -`♡´-

Rafayel

You began to notice that Rafayel was spending less and less time with you, choosing his bodyguard over you.

It wasn't obvious at first, yeah, but as time went on, everything became so noticeable that you couldn't ignore it anymore. Especially when he forgot about your plans with him and didn't even consider apologizing for it.

The smell of someone else's perfume in his studio, the way Rafayel would leave you at home and take her to all the important events because "you probably don't like spending time among journalists and annoying guests." It seems that he didn't even notice the moment when you were completely estranged from each other.

And all your attempts to talk to him about it ended with nothing.

"She's my bodyguard," he'd say. "No wonder I take her everywhere I go. Is there anything wrong with that?"

Yes, a lot of things were wrong.

But he was completely unwilling to notice it, and you were tired of collecting the shards of your broken heart from the floor day after day. Those warm feelings that brought a sense of lightness and happiness in your heart suddenly turned into pure torture.

You had to end it all, even if it'll hurt so much.

When you arrived at his studio this morning, you came face to face with "Ms. Bodyguard" herself. She was just about to leave, and didn't even hesitate to embrace your beloved. Right in front of you.

Maybe you would've exploded from all these negative emotions, if you had any strength left to be mad or to cry. But there was only emptiness in your heart.

You became strangers to each other.

"I'm breaking up with you," you said without any regret and pushed him away as he tried to hug you. "I don't want to be a second choice after your precious bodyguard."

"W-wait, why? What... But I didn't do anything!" he replied confused, apparently not realizing how much he's been hurting you all this time.

"Maybe that's the point. That you'd do anything for her, but not for me."

He looked at you with the same confusion in his eyes, trying to figure out if it was a joke, but you continued before leaving this place forever.

"You were everything to me, Rafayel. But for you, I was just a small episode of your life. I'm tired. You've been spending all your free time with her, like I didn't exist. It'll be better this way. Goodbye."

No matter how long he was calling your name, asking you to stop, to come back and talk with him, you didn't.

Zayne

Loving a cardiac surgeon with his busy schedule is hard.

But it's even harder when he no longer cares about your existence and spends a significant amount of time with his childhood friend.

After Zayne forgot about your reservation at the restaurant, making you feel like you were the last fool in this world, some more time has passed.

Yeah, he apologized. No, he didn't start spending less time with his "friend".

It's hard to count how many evenings you spent alone when he stayed late at work for her or was invited to a "friendly" dinner with her. But it happened often enough so finally your love turned into suffering.

At first you tried to convince yourself that you're too jealous and he's just happy to finally reunite with someone close to him from his youth. You care about your friends too, don't you?

But it only got worse.

All your plans were constantly adjusted to his friend's wishes. She wants to take him to a cafe at the same time you were planning to go to the cinema? "Sorry, love, let's reschedule our date for another day". You've made him his favorite dinner? Too bad, his friend already brought him dinner at work and he's not hungry.

Eventually you started feeling like he stopped enjoying your time together and just continued to exist in the same apartment with you out of habit.

Talking didn't get you anywhere, because Zayne didn't notice how much he was hurting you (or he simply didn't want to notice it) with his actions and only distanced himself from you even more.

At some point you felt like he put an ice wall around himself again.

He stayed late again this evening, completely forgetting his promise to spend time with you. You packed your things with tears in your eyes, ready to say goodbye to life with Zayne once and for all.

And he showed up at the doorstep of his apartment just as you were ready to leave.

"What's going on?" his voice didn't betray a shred of emotion. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to leave you and your lovely friend together so I don't have to be an unwanted addition to your life."

Zayne was taken aback at this statement and was about to say something, but you interrupted him.

"You were the one who brought happiness and comfort into my life. You were the one who made me feel loved and wanted. But now I realize that I wasn't good enough for you. Goodbye."

You walked away and closed the door behind you, leaving him all alone.

Xavier

Before, you without a doubt would've said that your relationship with Xavier was the ultimate dream.

But now it wasn't actually true.

Yes, your beloved still showed care and attention every spare minute he had. Just not to you. It seemed as if his colleague started to occupy his every thought.

During dinner, on a walk, after missions. He was always talking about her, how strong she is, and how lucky he is that she chose him as her partner. His eyes were shining with delight you had never seen before.

You were happy for him, but only until it crossed the line. Only until you started to feel like he was in love with her, not with you.

One day you found yourself completely miserable. Xavier texted you that he would be late because they had "decided to celebrate another successful mission". Except that you were usually the one he shared his joy with. But things have changed.

Even though you were the brightest star in his world, you were inevitably lost behind the glow of the Moon.

You were trying to be better, to be more interesting. Trying to reach an unattainable ideal. But you couldn't. After all, maybe you were never meant to be together if it turned out like this. Maybe you weren't enough for him.

You couldn't remember the last day you didn't cry. Sometimes alone, sometimes locking yourself in the bathroom after another conversation about this "super-strong collegue". But Xavier didn't seem to notice it at all.

"I thought maybe you'd be interested to know what happens during missions," he said when you brought up this painful topic.

And, yes, you were interested. But all you heard was, "She took down that Wanderer so easily, I couldn't take my eyes off her." Or, "she's so good with her weapon, it's amazing."

He distanced himself from you so much that you hardly spent any time together.

He wasn't even home the day you left.

Xavier sent you a message saying he'd be late again. As usual, with her. Even though he promised to have a movie night and you had already prepared everything you needed for it.

Maybe it's even better if you don't see the look in his eyes the moment you tell him you're breaking up with him. You packed your things and left a note on the table, next to the snacks you bought.

"Maybe in another universe I would be worthy of you so you could look at me with the same adoration. I can see that you enjoy spending time with her much more. And we should break up so you don't torment my heart anymore. Goodbye."

You glanced around his apartment one last time before leaving it forever.

♡ tags: @skyowlz @prettytemis @aishasreality @randompersonwhoexist @kreishin @reni502 @moonyzstarz @chin-chii

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader

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celerydays · 4 months

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Hi! I have been following you for some time and I notice you draw more and more Sebastian and Ominis doing stuff that makes me... uncomfortable.....

Sebastian and Ominis are best friends, why people are obsessed with drawing them into weird gay stuff? Seriously.... Why can't be friends.... without all Sebinis... Just stop it...

Normally I would delete messages or simply ignore the things that make me feel uncomfortable–

But, you're on anon and this is my ask inbox, so I can only assume you want an actual, public response. So alright. Fine.

Like I said: normally I would just remove odd, uncomfortable, or even outright rude messages without making a whole thing of it. I curate my own online experience and I try my best to live by that rule.

However, I've now gotten multiple unsolicited DMs over the course of a couple of months expressing the exact same sentiment (and nearly word-for-word as this ask, so I highly suspect I already know who you are). I have duly ignored or glossed over them hoping that the person/people would take the hint to simply stop engaging with the same message over and over again. But an anon ask is my last straw, I guess.

So if you are the same person as in my DMs, I'm finally giving you a response (and if you're not the same person – which I highly doubt – then I'm speaking to both of you).

Firstly, I want to say that I am sorry that your worldview is so limited that this is your stance and feelings on gay/queer ship content for Sebastian and Ominis.

Next, I ask that you please:

Don't make your homophobia anyone else's issue but your own. Don't come into DMs/ask inboxes/comments to make your discomfort with the content I create my problem. I don't know what you hoped to accomplish by sending this message but it's unlikely that you'll find the same feelings or sympathy from the person who is actively creating queer/sebinis content.

Curate your own online experience. Once again, do not make your content consumption anyone else's problem but your own. The "unfollow" button is there. Tumblr has a tag filtering system and I try to tag my art and content as accurately as possible. If you do not like something/it makes you uncomfortable, then do not continue to consume it. And if you still decide to stick around for whatever reason, then please keep your thoughts/opinions on this matter to yourself because I can promise that I don't actually care why you would continue to be here and looking at my art if it makes you unhappy.

Widen your worldview and try to reframe your perspective. Consider that Sebastian x Ominis is just as canon as Sebastian x f!MC or Ominis x f!MC. As much as we like to ship our various MCs with the canon characters, MC never actually amounts to canonically being confirmed as anything but being just friends with everyone. Using the "they are just best friends" / "why can't they just be portrayed only as friends" could literally be applied to just about any other non-canon/non-confirmed ship between friends regardless of gender. If even one of them, Ominis or Sebastian, was portrayed as cis female in canon, I would suspect that you would better "understand" why a ship between these two "friends" may exist. Then also consider a cis male MC; it's possible you may suddenly reframe all the interactions between Ominis x m!MC or Sebastian x m!MC in your head to be "totally platonic/friendly". Your issue is certainly not with their canon relationship vs. fandom portrayal (but I think we both know that).

Educate yourself. Go outside and meet and talk to people, I dunno. It is 2024 my dude. I don't even know how you're on Tumblr – the most queer-friendly social media site – with those kind of narrowed views and stigma.

I would like to finish by saying: I don't wish you the best. What I do wish is for you to learn, grow, and be better than this.

And also please stop sending me messages of this nature, because the next ask or DM I get like this, we're moving on to blocking at this point. And if your purpose was to get me to stop, I can tell you that these messages have only fueled the explicit sebinis smut maker in me. 😤

#I'm sorry for anyone who sees this and did not want a rant on their feed today #ask #anon #sebinis #hl

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angelltheninth · 10 months

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Helloo!!! Can you do a bestfriends to lovers with sae? I've been having this idea for sometime, and if you don't mind maybe shy!reader? If you don't feel like writting this feel free to ignore the request! I love your work so much 💗💗(sorry any english error, it's not my first language 😅)

Your English is good don't worry.

Pairing: Sae Itoshi x Reader

Tags: fluff, best friends to lovers, protectiveness, kissing, clothes sharing, slightly possessive Sae

A/N: People craving a lot of fluff content from me lately.

Best friend!Sae who sends you short messages through the day. They're usually a sentence or maybe even just a few words but its his way of making sure you're okay. He might be very dismissive of most people but he always makes sure you get home safe after watching one of his games.

"Let me know when you're home. Look, if you're not gonna tell me I can walk you there myself. Because its not a good idea to be walking back at night all on your own, you're so clumsy and shy that even if someone tries something I bet you couldn't say no. What if some scumbag wants to buy you drinks? Exactly, so text me, I want to know you're okay."

Best friend!Sae who hates it when his teammates flirt with you in front of him. They keep telling him to make a move on you. But if he ain't then they sure as hell aren't missing out on a cute lady like yourself. They interpret your shyness as you liking them but Sae knows you just don't know how to turn them down properly so he will do it for you. Not only that he can even pretend to be your boyfriend when you go out to prevent any more incidents.

"I'm your best friend, of course I'll do you this favor. I still stink you need to grow a bit of a spine when it comes to talking to people but until then I guess I can watch your back. Don't give me that look, you're not being a bother, really."

Best friend!Sae who takes his protectiveness too far when he almost gets into a fight with someone over you. If he did that it would damage his career, if not kill it. You couldn't let him do that so you ended up dragging him away from the nightclub and back to his apartment. When you get there he's fucking pissed off, not with himself but with you for stopping him, he should have broken that jerk's face for the things he said about you. It was scary seeing him like that.

"Why did you stop me? He would have deserved what he got. My career? Its not more important then you. This isn't the alcohol talking! Damn it! Don't you get it?! Do I have to spell it out?! Shit, sorry, I... didn't mean to yell at you. I... fuck, forget it."

Best friend!Sae who doesn't contact you for a few days after that, but you know he's reading your texts. A few days after you go to the same nightclub, where you found him, arguing with the same guy. Upon approaching him Sae locked eyes on you and decided better then punching the guy in front of him, he should send a message to everyone in the club by pulling into a kiss so needy, so passionate, so rough that you could hardly believe that it came from your normally calm and collected best friend.

"I should have done that the first time around. Does everyone here get it now? Do you get it? Was that kiss clear enough for you? I've been wanting to do that for a few months. Of course I couldn't just say it, when did you know me to be the romantic type."

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock headcanons #bllk imagines #bllk headcanons #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #bllk x you #blue lock x you #sae itoshi imagines #sae itoshi headcanons #sae itoshi fluff #sae imagines #sae x reader #x reader #fluff

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cosmicjoke · 27 days

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Just adding this on, but this isn't an attempt on my part or an encouragement to harass these people, though I'm sure everyone reading this already knows that. Just a means of letting others know who's behind at least some of the harassment lately.

Alright, well, here comes the call-out post that I promised anon. Have fun with it, I guess. It's about to get long, folks. A group of @tsuki-no-ura followers, who's been obviously vague posting about me for months at this point, specifically targeting every topic I discuss on my blog by making counterarguments to it on their blog, even though I never directed any of my analysis posts or anything else at them, nor has anything I've ever written been in direct response to anything they've written, is certainly behind at least some of the harassment. And other than the times I've tried having conversations with tsuki in the past, when I used to follow them, and wanted to discuss their posts with them, which almost always went ignored, I haven't at all addressed them or made reference to them, either implied or specifically, in any of my analysis posts. I only made reference to them a few weeks back when I found out that they'd essentially said my defense of Levi's violence was tantamount to Nazism, which I wasn't going to let stand. That's the only time I've ever directly referenced them. And yet, every time I make an analysis post, a counterargument to it magically appears on their blog the same day or a few days later, something that was brought to my attention by a mutual of mine. I had no idea until a couple weeks ago that this was happening, because I stopped following them more than a year ago, and only just recently blocked them. But they're obviously stalking me. And, inevitably, every time they do this, a slew of anon hate messages get sent, both to me and various other blogs that I follow, or that follow me. This isn't a coincidence:

@clearavenuelover, @66honeybadgers, and I'm sure various other of their groupies, are the ones almost assuredly largely behind the anonymous attacks on Levi blogs over the last, several months. They start out with their passive-aggressive bullshit, and eventually, of course, it turns to outright hostility, because that's just who these people are. @clearavenuelover purposefully tagged me in one of tsuki's posts, and so obviously they're aware of their followers harassing other Levi fan blogs. This is the link to the post they tagged me and other Levi fan blogs in: https://www.tumblr.com/tsuki-no-ura/739123803956854784/okay-so-here-i-come-with-my-discourse-causing

And yet more evidence that these people all congregate in the same circles and circle-jerk each other over how they think they're "winning" some non-existent contest against me and other Levi fan blogs.

And look who liked this answer as soon as it was put up:

And here @66honeybadgers is again, name-dropping tsuki-no-ura while they continue to harass me:

And this is clearly the same douche-bag that asked me a few weeks back if I considered myself a "Levi expert", and has now, over the last two days, continued to harass me for daring to express my opinion about Levi on my own blog, dropping the "friendly" act and showing their outright hostility:

This is clear harassment from a very specific corner of the fandom, mainly, surprise, surprise, eruri shippers, or even just Erwin stans who want to make everything about him, and get angry at anyone who dares to express any different view from the ones they hold, to the point of actively seeking out and stalking our blogs, hate reading our posts, going into our inboxs and sending us anonymous hate messages, trying to cram their opinions down our throats and then getting upset when we don't listen or accept their views. And then they want to go around acting like they're all the victims. What a joke these people are. Anyway, I just thought I should make this post so that actual Levi fan blogs can know to avoid and block these assholes. I can't say if they're behind ALL of the harassment, but they're certainly behind some of it, and it's good to expose them because they're cowards, and once they've been exposed, they won't have the fucking balls to continue.

#call out post #harassment #anon hate #anon asks #you asked for it #so now you're gonna get it #have fun with your new-found fame #anon discourse #discourse #anon harassment #fandom discourse

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novakiart · 27 days

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hey! first of all, recently discovered your account and. almost binged it in one sitting. amazing quality stuff, i'm in awe! also, while i'm RAPIDLY making my way through the old content, any new recommendations on fanfiction/comics/anything at all? atp i trust you more than i trust myself. no pressure, feel free to ignore this message! tnx, byee

thank you so so much!!! also ohh wow it's like you're putting your life in my hands... a potentially catastrophic misjudgement

since you've consumed my tumblr I'm assuming you've already seen my fic recs tag, which is filled with kind strangers on the internet recommending all the good stuff, including some recs of my own! if you missed it, I also have some comic recs here

as for some recent stuff I've liked, they've all been pretty lighthearted:

another one bites by seateainthemountains is chaotic and goofy in a very comic book-y kind of way

ryanoid on the brain by firefly_ika is another goofy one but also short and sweet. peter versus bug spray

it had to be you by fancastical in which wade recognises peter every time - except when it counts. I'm just a wimp for identity fics, sorry

cross the highways of fantasy is another one by fancastical and is a special shout out because I adore the concept of peter and weasel having history (and peter and wade using that to be insufferable)

five times peter says I hate you, and one time he (finally) doesn't by bestie has a brief scene with wade wreaking havoc with photographer-on-the-job peter and that's a woefully underrepresented trope I adore

I hope you find something you like here!

#the faith you afford me is so scary omg #most times i still feel like i'm coasting at the edge of the fandom #like from my pov i am still the young padawan among gods who surely know better than i do #i have a lot of Thoughts about peter and wade but are they correct......#but i appreciate the trust nonetheless!! and hope this helps #mags answers #anon #fic recs #<3<3<3

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itsmealaiah · 4 months

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Cold shoulder (2008 Bill x F reader)

tags/ warnings: suspicions of cheating

a/n: thank you so much for this request love you!! mwah 💋💋

angst to fluff

The darkness of the room envelops me like a warm blanket, and I can't help but feel a little self-conscious now that I'm alone with my thoughts. I sit up in bed, pulling the sheets with me as I go, and hug my knees to my chest. It's been hours since I've seen Bill or even heard from him, and my anger has slowly turned into a pit of despair in my stomach.

I let out a shaky breath, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and reach for my phone. There's no point in trying to sleep anymore, and I can't help but hope that maybe I'll get some sort of message from him. I don't know what I'd do if he really was cheating on me. I mean, I know we've only been together for a few months, but it still hurts.

I flip through my contacts list, debating whether or not to text any of my friends. Maybe one of them could talk some sense into me, or at least make me feel better. But then again, what's the point? They'd all just tell me to leave him or something stupid like that. No, I don't need any of them. I just want Bill.

With a sigh, I climb out of bed and pad over to the window, pulling back the curtains to gaze out at the darkened cityscape beyond. The neon lights of the buildings and streetlamps cast a surreal glow over the world below, making everything seem unreal and distant. It's almost as if I'm looking at a painting, or a movie set. This isn't my life, this isn't real. It can't be.

I hear the door click open behind me, and my heart leaps into my throat. "Bill?" I whisper, not daring to turn around. I feel him come up behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, and he presses his lips to the nape of my neck. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, "I shouldn't have left you like that."

The warmth of his body and the softness of his lips send a shiver through me, and for a moment, I'm tempted to forget everything. But then I remember how he's been acting, and the anger and hurt rise up inside me once more. "Why didn't you just say that in the first place?" I snap, pulling away from him and spinning around to face him. "Why did you have to leave me here, all alone, thinking the worst?"

His eyes widen in surprise, and he takes a step back, his hands flying up in the air in a defensive gesture. "I didn't mean to make you think that!" he protests. "I was just busy, you know? We're on tour, and I've got a lot of things to do."

I roll my eyes, unable to contain my frustration. "Yeah, I know that. But you could have told me, you know? I'm not just some groupie you can ignore when you're done with me." I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. "Look, I'm tired of feeling like this. I'm tired of wondering where you are and who you're with. Either you're going to make some time for me or…" I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

Bill looks torn, his expression pained. "Or what?" he asks softly. "I know I haven't been the best boyfriend lately, but I love you, and I want to be with you. I just…" He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I just need to focus on this tour, okay? I'll make it up to you, I promise."

I want to believe him, I really do. But I can't help feeling like something's not quite right. "And how are you going to do that?" I ask, my voice small. "Because right now, it doesn't feel like you're really here with me."

He steps closer, taking my hands in his. His grip is firm, but gentle. "I know it doesn't feel like that, baby, but I am. I promise you, I am." He leans in, kissing my forehead. "I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. I love you, and I want to make things right between us."

I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his words. A part of me wants to believe him, to trust him. But another part of me is still afraid. "Okay," I whisper, meeting his gaze. "Okay, let's give it a try."

He smiles, relief washing over his face. "Thank you, thank you so much." He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me. "I love you, you know that?" he whispers in my ear. "I'll make sure to make time for us, I promise. Just give me a chance to make things right."

As he holds me, I can feel the tension begin to ease from my shoulders. Maybe, just maybe, I can trust him. I can feel the exhaustion from the past few days finally catching up to me, and I know that I need to sleep. "Okay," I say, yawning. "But no more sneaking out like that, okay?"

He chuckles, nuzzling his face into my neck. "No more sneaking out. I promise." His breath is warm against my skin, and for a moment, everything feels alright. "Now come on, let's get some sleep."

I nod, leaning into him. "Okay," I murmur, closing my eyes. As I drift off to sleep, I can feel the weight of the past few days beginning to lift. I hope that tomorrow will be better. I hope that I can trust him. And I hope that we can find a way to make this work.

a/n: requests open!

#bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz fanfic #tokio hotel x you #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel #itsmealaiah

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travlersjoy444 · 1 year

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I've Been Tired

2012 Leo x reader

Summary: After being blown off by Leo for the third time in a row, you finally snap. Hurt, no comfort, and...I'm only a little bit sorry. If people like this, I might do a sequel.

*Update, I did, it's a miniseries now.

No.2: 'My Brother's an Idiot' Blues*

Bad end: "No." and No pt.2

Good end: "Yes."

Tagging @xyntix for this Leo angst because apparently we both enjoy hurting the Blue One >:)

***

You were tired, quite frankly.

It wasn’t like you were mad at Leo, just….tired. Hurt, maybe.

And so maybe you’d pulled a Raph and stormed off, but it was probably better than yelling and fudging the situation up even more, right? Plus, you were pretty sure your frustration was at least sorta justified- it wasn’t like you were mad that Leo liked Karai, that’d be shitty of you- no, you were mad that he’d skipped movie night for the third week in a row. Which wouldn’t be a huge deal on its own…if you’d maybe been able to see him for more than two minutes in the past three weeks.

What was the point, you wondered, throwing a pebble off the fire escape, of having a best friend if said best friend is constantly ditching you to make heart eyes at Public Enemy No.1’s hot daughter?!

And it wasn’t like you couldn’t understand crushing on someone who you shouldn’t crush on- that was fair! Karai was really hot! Even you could see that!

What you didn’t understand was ditching your friends for it!

Like- you’d never ditch vigilante-ing with Raph or blueprint-making with Donnie for your crush on Leo, unless it was an emergency. That was like, the whole point of being friends with someone, sticking with them!

You sighed and chucked another rock off the fire escape, feeling slightly satisfied as it smacked the concrete in the alley below.

You missed movie nights.

You missed Leo.

And clearly, he didn’t miss you.

Which….hurt. A ton.

You bit back tears and threw another rock, and replayed what happened just an hour ago in your head for the millionth time.

***

1 hour ago

“Hey, Nardo?” You said, hearing the familiar sound of your voice echoing down the sewers. Leo had missed your movie night again, and due to the lack of reply to your worried message, you were checking in to make sure Shredder hadn’t killed everyone or something.

Leo always responded to messages within minutes, replying with perfect grammar and punctuation. So you were admittedly kinda worried.

“(Y/N)!” Mikey grinned, waving at you from the couch. “Wassup?”

You smiled, hopping over the turnstiles. “‘Sup Mike. I’m looking for your Fearless Leader…would you possibly have any theories for his whereabouts?”

“You’re lookin’ for Leo? I thought he was at your place for movie night?” Mikey said, confused.

“Well…he never showed up…Is he in trouble?!” You asked, swallowing.

“Dunno, he left an hour ago-” But he was cut off by a loud voice approaching the lair.

“...And I keep telling you she’s bad news, Fearless! You can’t keep looking for Karai, she’s -how many times do I hafta say this- THE SHREDDER’S DAUGHTER!” Raph’s voice said, and a few seconds later he appeared at the turnstiles with a sheepish-looking Leonardo in tow.

“Oh! (Y/N)! Look, there’s Leo!” Mikey grinned.

“Thanks, Angelo.” You said dryly, looking up at Leo as he made his way down the stairs.

“Look Raph, I’m sorry. But I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doing, okay? I wasn’t in any real danger.” He said tiredly, collapsing on the couch next to you.

Raph spluttered, gripping his sais in frustration. “Leo- she was about to stab you when I swooped in and saved your shell! This is- just- LEO! UGHHH! You’re giving Mikey a run for his money as the dumb one!”

He chucked one of his sais at the ground before storming off to his room, muttering angrily under his breath.

“Wha- Hey! I’m right here, bro-” Mikey protested.

Leo rolled his eyes, turning back to you. “Sorry about the rude welcome, (Y/N). Please ignore Raphael.”

“…So you were with Karai again?” You said softly, shoulders sagging.

You were half aware of Mikey staring at you sympathetically as Leo stiffened.

“...Oh….I missed our night again, didn’t I?” Leo said quietly. “(Y/N)- I swear, I’ll make it up to you, okay? I…I got distracted-”

You shook your head. That’s three times.

“That’s…the third time, Nardo. Third time in a row.” You said, trying to look anywhere but his eyes.

Leo winced, and grabbed your hand. “Hey. I’m really really sorry. And if you want, we can watch something still, it’s not that late-”

You twisted your hand away and crossed your arms over your chest protectively as you willed yourself not to cry. “Leo…you said that last week.” And it didn’t happen then, either.

His eyes widened guiltily.

Mikey stepped in front of you, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “That’s low, bro.”

Leo looked away, subconsciously picking at his wrist wrappings.

You felt the water behind your eyes rise, and you wiped your hand over them.(Karai probably didn’t cry. Karai wasn’t a total baby like you.)

You shook your head, and looked back up. “It’s okay, Angelo.” You said sarcastically, letting out your inner Karai. “I don’t need him to pretend I matter- he’s a shitty actor.” You said coldly, and Leo’s eyes looked glossy now too.

“(Y/N)- You do matter to me, a ton- I swear. You’re my best friend!” He exclaimed, standing up.

“Ooh, sorry, looks like I was mistaken. He’s not a shitty actor, he’s just a shitty friend!” You grinned manically at Leo as he crumbled further at the words.

You swallowed, suddenly aware that you were being kinda immature, and the manic energy faded.

“You say you’re my best friend, so fuckin’ act like it.” You said softly, unable to summon any more venom.

Leo opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“Nothin’ to say. That’s what I thought.” You lied, disappointment surging through you. You weren’t sure what response you’d hoped for, but you’d at least expected something…something to suggest that he cared. That you were worth arguing for.

That he had some reason for what he did.

But he just stared at the ground in shame.

You turned and walked up the stairs to the turnstiles.

He didn’t stop you.

You passed the turnstiles.

He let you.

You left.

He didn’t follow.

You kinda wished he would.

He still didn’t.

***

Donnie poked his head out of the lab. “Guys, can you keep it down? I’m kinda in the middle of- woahhhh, what happened here? Did Space Heroes finally stop airing?” He said, taking in the scene in the living room.

“Nah, Leo just screwed things up with (Y/N).” Mikey said tightly, glaring at Leo, who was sitting on the couch with his knees pulled to his chest and his face buried in his knees. (He felt pathetic.)

“(Y/N)...as in (Y/N) whom he’s had a crush on since…forever.” Donnie said with a sigh.

Leo noted how it wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Ding ding ding, that (Y/N).” Mikey said, and Leo could hear the disappointment in his tone.

“Well that’s just fantastic,” Donnie said sarcastically, and he walked over to the living room. “So what happened, Mikey?”

“Ask Leo.” Mikey scowled.

“He’s not gonna answer, look at him.” Don said, and the eyeroll he undoubtedly gave was practically audible…

Or maybe not, Leo thought, freezing as he felt Donnie pat his shell.

“You okay, Leo?’ He said gently, and Leo glanced up to see sympathetic brown eyes staring at him.

“I messed up, Donnie.” He said softly. “I should probably talk to Sensei…I was…really really dumb.” He said, slowly standing up.

“Well…I’d love to say something comforting, but seeing as I have no idea what the context is….” Donnie trailed off, and Leo took a deep breath.

“Well, the short version is that I ditched (Y/N) again because I wanted to find Karai. The long version is…longer.” He said simply.

“Oh boy, that again?” Donnie said, frowning. “This is what…the third week now?”

Leo cringed. “I know, I know.”

“Yeah, but this time (Y/N) got mad.” Mikey said, crossing his arms. “And you know what? I was kinda proud!”

“Yeah. I…I deserved it.” Leo muttered, and Mikey looked up in surprise. Leo ignored him. “I don’t know, I guess I just figured it wasn’t that big a deal.”

“It was a big deal. (Y/N) thought you got hurt, dude.” Mikey said, but he sounded more sad than angry now.

“Oh, great. Well now I miraculously feel worse.” Leo said dryly.

“So…how come you ditched your crush in the first place?” Donnie said, raising a non-existent eyebrow. “‘Cause if April invited me over every week to watch movies…in her house…one on one….” He trailed off, smiling dreamily. Mikey punched him lightly.

He shook his head, snapping out of it. “Uh- ahem. So- go on, Leo?”

Leo shrugged. “I don’t know.”

It was a lie. He definitely knew, but how do you tell your brothers that you can’t imagine a universe where your crush likes you back? About how you don’t wanna feel like you’re being annoying, that they’re only hanging out with you because they have nothing better to do?

And he didn’t particularly want to admit how nice it was when Karai flirted back. And maybe it wasn’t about Karai so much as it was about the attention…and the idea of how cool it would be to actually save her from the Foot Clan and have her join their side.

That was something Captain Ryan would do.

Maybe Leo liked the attention, maybe he wanted to play hero…but he didn’t really know how to say any of that to his brothers without revealing too much…

“Oh that means he definitely knows.” Mikey sighed, glancing up at Donnie.

“Yeah, well…he’s not gonna tell us, is he.” Donnie said, crossing his arms.

Leo shook his head. “Look, guys. I just feel like I’m - we’re- so close to getting Karai to join our side and leave the Shredder. And whenever I’m not out there, it’s like I’m losing her or something, I don’t know.”

Donnie nodded at the answer. Mikey didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t say anything.

“So…what’re you gonna do about (Y/N), then, bro?” Mikey said.

Leo shrugged again, feeling helpless. (What would Captain Ryan do?) (...Captain Ryan wouldn’t be here in the first place)

“I don’t know.”

And he didn’t.

You’d never been mad at him before.

…He’d never ignored you before.

Donnie shrugged and turned the TV on, and Leo tried to let himself get lost in the show.

It didn’t really work.

***

#tmnt x reader #tmnt 2012 x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt 2012 leo x reader #leonardo x reader #tmnt 2012 leo #2k12 leo x reader #2k12 leo

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sweet-s0rr0w · 1 year

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Firstly, I am finally unshadowbanned! So sorry again if I missed any tags or messages in the past month, I was not ignoring you ❤️❤️

2022 has been a tough one for me fandom-wise; I've had writer's block since I posted my Wireless back in July, and consequently haven't read nearly as much as I'd have liked to, especially in the latter half of the year. BUT, I did this last year, so I thought I'd continue the tradition with a selection of fics I enjoyed in 2022! Absolutely not a comprehensive or objective best fics list, and very much subject to my shit memory, so might well be added to at a later date.

Drarry

Salt and Sauce by @onbeinganangel (T, 3.3k)

To Make A Way by @cavendishbutterfly (E, 5.5k)

Not Nineteen Forever by @sorrybutblog (E, 5.9k)

An Emerald In The Sky by @corvuscrowned (M, 6.6k)

First Week of Eternity by InnerLilith (E, 7.8k)

Per my last letter (I hope you choke on it) by @fluxweeed and @lastontheboat (T, 10k)

The Pirc Defence by @sleepstxtic (E, 10k)

Take the Moon by @tackytigerfic (M, 15k)

Yours Truly by @skeptiquewrites (M, 15k)

Witness Marks by @gryffindorhearts (M, 16k)

any day now by @oknowkiss (E, 17k)

Preserving Lemons by @saintgarbanzo and @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 17k)

The Only Magic Left Between Us by @lqtraintracks (E, 24k)

Heal Thyself by astolat (T, 47k)

Paper Rings by @lettersbyelise (E, 50k)

Meet Me at Midnight by @the-starryknight (T, 57k)

In Free Fall by @kbrick (E, 81k)

A Case of You by @epitomereally (E, 97k)

Other HP

The Hollow by @wolfpants (E, 13k, Remus Lupin/Draco Malfoy)

Licurici by @lou-isfake (E, 133k, HP/DM/Charlie Weasley)

#drarry #rarepairs #ss recs #my 2022 faves

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 1 year

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Dark Necessities [Part 1]

Jake Lockley X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals

Masterlist • ao3 • want to be tagged?

Summary: “I can’t do this anymore Jake... I can’t…” ‘Kill any more people’ is what you want to say, what you should say. But he’d know you were lying. “I can’t do this so frequently.”

Before he left Egypt, Jake destroyed all the remaining ushabti’s – setting all the previously imprisoned god’s free. That was the main reason he felt so responsible for what happened to you.

A/N: Look, I'm so sorry, I have been writing this for ages and I just have to post it. (Part 2 will feature Steven and Marc.) I've just gone and made up my own lore here with some of the gods.

Warnings: hahaha, oh no, typos, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, mentions of murder, mentions of eating people, reader can't speak Spanish, please let me know if I have missed a warning

Word Count: 5230

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @jake-g-lockley @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @welcometostayingawake @mbakubabe @solobagginses

( @romanarose & @melodygatesauthor I've tagged you both too, because I thought you might like, I hope you don't mind!)

__________________________________________

You hit the door with the side of your fist, four hard knocks.

There was still blood under your fingernails, a few faded out red streaks along your hands where the puddle water hadn’t been enough to wash it away.

You knew he was in. Could feel it. That pull beneath your breastbone, that sense that another avatar was near.

The buzz of hunger played at the back of your mind, drawn out and dull. It was a constant thing, like a live wire of electricity. At least it was quieter for now.

There was movement on the opposite side of the door, a pause before a lock clicked and opened.

Jake stared at you for a moment before you spoke, his expression betraying nothing.

“I need to speak with your god.” You said, your voice was low, gravely. The taste of iron coated your tongue.

He opened the door a fraction wider and motioned you inside.

You stepped in as he quickly shut and locked it behind you.

It wasn’t exactly the place you had pictured for him. Open plan, littered with books, it seemed more like the home of a scholar. Though, it wasn’t as if you knew much about Jake’s personal life. In fact you knew nothing outside of his role as the fist of Khonshu.

The light of the fish tank caught your attention and you walked towards it slowly, like a predator trying to show they were no danger. Two goldfish swam in the water. It was peaceful to look at them, easy to ignore the sensation of Jake watching your every movement.

“What are you doing here?” His tone was short, gruff, bordering on anger. You didn’t care.

“I already told you I need to speak with your god.” You spoke blankly, doing your best to suck out any emotion and failing.

“That’s not what I mean.” He walked closer to you, his reflection growing in the glass of the tank as you continued to stare at the fish.

You were a distraction that thundered too hard in the back of his mind. “You didn’t message first. Anyone could be here.”

His turn of phrase caught you off guard a little, but you let it slide. “You’re the one that gave me your address.”

He breathed out through his nose; a short sound you knew would be accompanied by him clenching his jaw, tightening his hands into fists before relaxing.

“I told you, you need to message me. You don’t know where I could be-”

“I could feel you here.”

Jake paused, about to press further when something caught his eye. He had been too frustrated at first to properly look at you, to pay his usual attention to every small detail. There was a sheen of sweat coating you skin, beads of it collected at the hollow of your throat. The urge to reach out, to touch you, to run his tongue along your jaw was too strong.

He clenched his teeth together and pushed the thought away. “There’s blood on your neck.”

You ran your hand over your skin as you turned to face him. Tiredness ate into your bones, it made them weak, like they could crumble at any moment.

“I need to speak to him, Jake.”

“You can’t-”

“Jake-”

“Tomorrow. He won’t be here until tomorrow.”

You frowned. “I thought he was always with you?”

He shrugged, preferring to look at your ear instead of your searching eyes. The way you gazed up at him, he wouldn’t- he couldn’t- he would get lost. “We have a different set of rules.”

“Can’t you summon him?”

“Our deal allows us both to have time away from each other, except for dire situations.” Not a complete truth, not a complete lie.

You nod, close your eyes for a moment and swallow down a breath, missing the way Jake watches your lips.

“It happened again?”

“... Yes.”

“Do you want a drink?”

“No.”

He gives you a short nod, “take a seat,” and motions to the sofa.

You slump down while Jake makes himself a coffee. The cushions are soft and welcoming, it would be so easy to close your eyes. To give yourself over to rest. Even if it was only for a little while.

Jake sits opposite you and you try to sit up straighter.

“What did you do with the body?”

You stare blankly at him; his words don’t really register for a moment. “There wasn’t any left.”

He nods again. Expression uninterested and calm. But you could tell the difference, the slightly bob of his throat, the smallest spike of his heartbeat. Fear, you think, disgust. And it makes you sick.

“I can’t do this anymore Jake... I can’t…” ‘Kill any more people’ is what you want to say, what you should say. But he’d know you were lying. “I can’t do this so frequently.”

A small sad smile pulls his lip upwards ever so slightly. If you had been the avatar for anyone else he would have just told you to ‘give it up’, relinquish your role.

But Set had never been one to share those rules.

It had been Jake who had released him, released all the bound gods under Khonshus direction. It had been an easy thing with most of the other free gods searching for avatars to replace the ones that Harrow had butchered.

He felt responsible for you. He was responsible for you.

“Set still doesn’t talk to you?”

You shook your head. “No matter what I try.”

“Before tonight... when was the last time you… ate?”

“Yesterday.”

“And before that?”

“Three days ago.”

There’s a bleakness to your tone that hurts, a resignation that’s nearly taken over.

“You can speak with Khonshu when it’s light,” he stood quickly, with that panther like grace you had come to admire. He left his coffee, untouched, on the floor by his chair and strode behind you, coming back a moment later holding spare clothes and a towel. “Go clean yourself up properly.”

His hands linger on yours as he passes them over, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. You don’t argue.

He directs you towards the bathroom and you shower quickly, the water turns a pale pink before it runs clear.

You spend a little too long just holding on to the clothes he gave you. Dark, clean, soft material. Pyjamas. He didn’t seem the sort to wear- the image of Jake in bed, naked, barely covered by a thin sheet sprang into your mind.

You screwed up your eyes as your cheeks burned, these weren’t the thoughts to be having right now.

The pyjamas smelt undeniably of him. The scent heavy, but comforting as you put them on, like you were surrounded in his presence.

The condensation on the mirror hid your face. A small mercy. You didn’t want to see yourself. See how you had changed under Set’s influence.

It didn’t used to be so bad, so strong.

You first met the god at night, still reeling over your sister’s death. He didn’t so much as speak but implant thoughts, sensations, feeding your rage and thirst for revenge. I’ll show you who cut her, who ripped her from this world. I’ll make you strong. I’ll help you devour them. Do. We. Have. A. Deal?

It had been two men that had taken her life. You had found them easily with Set’s eyes and ripped them apart easily with his hands. Their blood and flesh had slid down your throat so sweetly, sating that hunger in your soul. His hunger.

You hadn’t needed to feed again for six months. The urge boiling up and spilling over.

He preferred those who had taken lives, they tasted better, smelled sweeter. Your instincts pulled you closer to them, Set’s instincts, moving you like a puppet as the form overtook you, as you gave into the urge to feed.

Six months became three, then one, then less and less and less until the feeling never left. Only dulled briefly after the latest kill.

Jake was speaking on the phone as you exited the bathroom, quick sentences in Spanish.

You sat back on the sofa, sinking down. Your wet hair cooled your feverish skin. You were always hot now, burning a few degrees higher than normal. Save when you were starving, if you were trying to resist Set’s need to eat. Then everything would cool, your skin would numb and vision would dull to a point.

Jake’s voice was soothing, rhythmical, despite the fact that you couldn’t understand a word he was saying. It was nice to be around someone else, someone who knew what was going on.

The sound of Jake’s footsteps made you jolt awake. The spiking sensation of falling. You didn’t remember when you drifted off to sleep.

He held out a hand, like someone who was trying to calm a wild animal. But his eyes were kind. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You must be tired.”

You almost laugh, “yeah,” and look down at your hands, the traces of blood long gone. You weren’t sure if you could deal with the intensity of his gaze. The scrutiny.

“You can stay here tonight,” he paused, meaning to say something else but only added, “I’m not going to turf you out.”

“I,” stupid emotion overcame you, tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. “Thank you.” Viscously, like you were trying to scrub them clean, you rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand.

Jake paused, clenching and unclenching his jaw before he finally sat down next to you. A careful and controlled movement.

“I’ve just been speaking to a contact.” He waits for you to look back at him, to make sure you hear the full weight of his words. “We’ll figure something out. Even if Khonshu can’t help. I’m not going to abandon you. You have my word.”

You nod again, it seemed easier than speaking.

He didn’t have the skills for this. This wasn’t what he was meant to deal with. He wasn’t built for kind words and reassuring glances. But that’s all he wanted to do. To kiss away those tears that lingered in the corner of your eyes, to make you fall apart in ecstasy instead of despair.

“Thank you,” you whispered again, not knowing what else to say.

He’s so close.

Your gaze flits between the day-old stubble on the sharp line of his jaw, the way in which he bites ever so slightly on his plump bottom lip.

It’s too much. It’s all too much. Like he is waiting for you to say your next line, play your next move, when you have nothing. Lost for thoughts other than him, like his presence is the only air in the room, overwhelming and all encompassing.

The dull buzz of hunger throbs in the base of your skull, the electricity of it sparking out across your spine like a whip.

Jake touches your hand, the barest grace of his cool fingers along your feverish skin. The softest thing that breaks a crack into your chest.

He opens his mouth, teeth realising his lip, and begins to say your name. The first syllable forming in such a hushed and reverent tone, like the sweetest music – beautiful and you can’t bear it.

You can’t let him say it, not like that, not like this, not – you lean closer in a rush, shutting him up in the only way you can think of and press your lips to his, swallowing down the sound of your name.

He stills, surprised, as a hush falls over the room.

That snap of hunger bites in deeper and you come back to yourself. Embarrassment and guilt flood your mind and you instinctively pull back, apologises already beginning to form on your tongue.

But you don’t get far. Jake’s hand slides against your cheek, his fingers sinking into your hair and curling around the nap of your neck, gently stopping you from pulling away.

His kisses are so soft it’s almost painful, careful and languid as if you are some fragile thing that could break instead of the monster you are.

His tongue ghosts over your bottom lip just before he drinks down a particularly needy moan that escapes your lips. A sound that would in any other circumstances bring embarrassment, but you are too far gone to care. Already drunk and burning from the taste of him.

You tangle one hand in his hair, so soft, the other in his shirt, trying to bring him closer and deepen the kiss, accepting his tongue as he slips it past your lips.

He licks into your mouth and you must taste like blood, like death. But he only groans in pleasure when your tongue strokes his, moans when you scrap your nails along his scalp. He’s water hitting the desert sand, being drunk down greedily into its depths.

You let him push you back down against the settee, let him hook his hand behind your knee and move your legs apart so that he can settle in-between them.

He grinds down against you, giving you both the friction you crave.

“Fuck.” He hisses, the sound coming out needy and desperate as he breaks the kiss.

You hunger for the taste of him, the need of him is so sharp it is at the point of pain and while Jake is momentarily distracted you lick a stripe up his neck to his jaw.

He lets out a beautiful sound and you kiss your way back down the path you just made as he bucks into you. His fingers tighten and a shudder of a hiss escapes his lips when you pass over his pulse point.

You pause briefly to glance at his face, his eyes closed and brow furrowed so wonderfully. The light from the lamps gives him a halo, a soft glow, making him look like some angelic work of art.

As his eyes begin to open you latch back onto his neck, sucking at that sweet spot to drag more of those wonderful sounds from him. Music you could never grow tired of.

Languidly, you scrape the edges of your teeth over his skin, soothing it quickly afterwards with your tongue, and repeat as a dark bruise begins to form. The purple of it spreads like ink in water.

He bucks his hips unthinkingly, his length rubbing deliciously against your clit and your growl against him, once again scratching your nails along his scalp.

Jake shivers, letting out a shaky string of Spanish under his breath that sends a spike of heat straight to your core.

Your thighs clench around his waist instinctively, the hunger is there, Set’s hunger. You can feel it in the back of your head, running along your spine. You want Jake. You need him. You are going to devour him.

But not in the way you have feasted on so many others, you want his moans, his sighs, only his pleasure.

You kiss his neck again, nipping at the flesh just under his jaw as he grinds against you, already achingly hard. His hand is holding your hip so tightly, his knuckles white, the grip so strong it would surely leave bruises on any other lover.

Then suddenly Jake pulls away, sitting up quickly onto his knees. You let him go, resisting the urge to cling onto him, to keep his chest against yours.

This is it. Spell broken.

But his eyes don’t leave yours, his lips are slightly swollen, dusted a darker shade of pink from your bites and kisses. He’s breathing heavily, his pupils blown wide, and if he notices the faint sheen of red in your eyes, Set’s sheen, he doesn’t say anything.

“Can I,” he licks his plump bottom lip that is already shiny from your spit, biting it momentarily between his teeth.

You’d never known Jake to be hesitant with his words, or actions for that matter. But you can see it now. The smallest twitch of a tendon in his neck, an uncertain furrow to his brow. You wait for him to continue.

“Can I take you to bed?” He speaks quietly; sure of his words but uncertain of your reaction. Trepidation on his tongue.

You can’t stop the grin that spreads itself across your face, the first true smile you have given in what feels like an age.

You rush to sit up, kissing him quickly before whispering in his ear, “you can take me to bed Jake Lockley.”

There is the smallest tremor, a shiver that runs through him at your words, and you take particular pleasure in that.

He places butterfly kisses against your neck, your shoulder, breathing in deeply as he inhales your scent mixed with the smell of his shower gel. His fingers skim the bottom edge of your- his top, lightly tracing the line of exposed skin. The touch is teasing, never quite daring to dip under the material and something inside you snaps.

You grab hold of his shirt, unbuttoning it just enough so that you can pull the offending thing over his head without ripping it into pieces.

You’re a little rough, but Jake doesn’t seem to mind as you run your hands along his chest. Repositioning yourself on top of him, your knees caging in his thighs.

He wines at the loss of your lips, reaching up to pull your mouth back to his and sighing against you when he finally gets his wish.

You try to fight the giddiness, the joy that threatens to boil over and leave you lightheaded. It doesn’t seem right after so many months of pain and self hatred. After what you’ve done. But try as you might, you just can’t help yourself and quickly decide to bask in his light for as long as he wants to give it.

He bucks up against you as you grind down on him, his hand warm on the small of your back as he pushes you further, encouraging you to roll your hips.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth as you drag your cunt over a particularly sensitive spot. You nip at his lips and do it again, watching him intently as he screws his face up in pleasure. Oh god, you could do this all night.

“You like that?” You tease, rubbing yourself over him again.

He nods furiously, eyes closed, mouth tightly shut, like he doesn’t trust his own voice.

“Good.” You whisper as you drag your clit back down the clothed length of him, the sensation sending sparks along your spine. You can feel your wetness soaking into your borrowing pyjama bottoms.

Jake lets out a particularly needy groan and grabs a hold of the back of your head to press his lips to yours. Greedily, you force your tongue into his mouth and he accepts it without hesitation, moaning happily.

His free hand snakes up under your top to cup your bare left breast, pinching and rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers.

It’s your turn to hiss out a muffled, “fuck.”

You could cum like this, you realise. The way he’s touching you, the way you’re moving against him, the taste of him and those sounds he’s making, it’s all too much, it’s all too good.

Jake pulls at your top, bunching up the fabric in his hands and you break away from him quickly to let him pull the offending thing over your head. He throws it somewhere behind the settee as you quickly go back to rocking against him and sucking bruises into his neck.

“Can I- mierda-” he cuts himself off with a low groan as he thrusts up against you. “Please...”

You slow, but don’t completely stop your hips and pull away from him slightly to give him room to speak.

He looks wrecked, his hair a mess from your constant pulling, his skin flushed. He gazes up at you with hazy eyes and his voice is thick when he finally can form a coherent thought. “Can I taste you?”

His words send heat straight to your core. The cool air of the flat on your feverish skin is the only thing stopping you from combusting into flames. You swallow and nod quickly, this time not trusting your own voice.

You shuffle back a little to pull off your pyjama bottoms and Jake moves with you, sitting up slightly as if he can’t bear more than a few seconds without your touch. He pulls impatiently on the left leg when it gets caught around your ankle, finally freeing you, and you can’t help but let out a small laugh.

Jake grins up at you, peppering light kisses to your chest before wrapping his arms firmly around your hips and laying back down, pulling you with him.

“Shit!” The sudden movement surprises you, but you’re laughing again as you grab hold of the settee to steady yourself and not to fall completely on top of him.

He bites the skin below your belly button before kissing it and wiggles himself down so that his neck is on the armrest. His pyjama bottoms are still caught around your right leg.

Jake doesn’t give you a moment to enjoy the view before he brushes his thumb against your clit, running it up and down through your soaking folds. You bite back a sharp moan. You’re so wet you could probably take all of him right then and there without a problem.

He lets out a groan and a deep rumble of Spanish before teasing your entrance with his fore and middle fingers. Not quite dipping in, but just enough to coat them with your slick before he shoves them into his mouth and moans loudly, his eyes screwed up as his tongue works to taste every last trace of you.

You clench around nothing, barely having a moment to commit the scene before you to memory before he’s pulling you up and against his face in one swift motion.

His mouth feels like heaven as he licks up through your folds and swirls around your clit. The movements soft and languid, like the first kisses he gave you.

Instinctively you buck your hips, trying to grid down on his mouth and chase that toe curling sensation, but his arms hold you firm, barely letting you move and only allowing the gentlest rock.

“Jake,” you wine and your voice doesn’t sound like your own, too desperate and ruined.

He just hums as he continues to softly lap at you, kitten licks that are driving you insane.

You run your hand through his hair, lightly pulling on his curls to try to ground yourself but that just causes a rumble of a groan to reverberate through his chest and lips, to vibrate against you.

“Oh shit, Jake,” it’s too much, it’s all too much and not enough. You’re water breaking at a cliff's edge.

Suddenly he’s pulling you closer, his hands squeezing your thighs. No longer teasing as he presses your pussy fully against his face, moving you up and down to grind harshly against his mouth until your thoughts catch up with his intentions and you remember how to move.

You ride his face desperately, biting the inside of your mouth to retain some resemblance of control. All thoughts are blank from your mind, the only focus is the sensation of Jake’s mouth against you, the creaking sounds of the settee.

You’re so close. And Jake feels it, the tightening of your thighs and abdominal muscles. He scrapes his teeth against your clit, so similar to how you marked his neck before, then sucks on it hard and you are lost.

You cum violently against his face, pulling fiercely on his hair – a sensation that cracks out like whip to his neglected cock and he moans blissfully against you. You buck twice before Jake’s arms take over in an effort to keep you upright.

He licks into you, desperate to get every last drop of your release, but too soon for his liking you are calling his name and moving back from him. He shifts so that you can sit back a little, his hands resting on your waist.

You breathe heavily.

“You okay?” He asks with a smile, the lower half of his face shining in the lamplight.

You nod. “Just give me a minute.”

“That good?” He cocks an eyebrow at you and you laugh, swatting his arm.

“I’ll murder you.”

“I’ll die happy.” The soft look in his eyes catches you off guard, that crack in your heart widens. You can’t deal with that right now.

Hurriedly you lean down to kiss him but stop just before your lips meet his. He frowns up at you for a second before you rub your hand over his mouth and chin, wiping away your release.

“Hey!” He chuckles, trying to grab hold of your hand to stop you. “That’s mine.”

You seize his wrist before he can stop you, leaning your weight against his other arm at the same time.

“Is it?” You pull a face at him, struggling to stay serious and bumping your nose against his.

“Yes,” he breathes, “I earned it.” He lifts his head up quickly to kiss you before you can pull away, not that you would have even if you could.

He sighs into the kiss, his eyes fluttering closed before yours. It’s then that you realise he seems to be happiest when part of him is connected to you.

You rock back against him again, the material rub of his jeans reminding you that he is still partially clothed. You’d have to remedy that.

As you move back on your knees to unbuckle his belt Jake moves with you, sitting up quickly so that he can continue to kiss you. Sneaking his tongue into your mouth and soothing a deep down ache in your heart.

His right hand runs up and down your back while his left undoes his belt and jeans.

You’re so caught up in the feel of his lips against yours, how he sighs and moves against you that you don’t notice as he gently coaxes you up. How he pulls at your hip, until you feel the brush of denim as he pushes his jeans and underwear down to his thighs.

You rock back, gliding over his cock with your folds and covering it with your wetness.

Jake gasps into your mouth, both of his hands flying to your waist as he encourages you to repeat the action. The task of completely removing his jeans momentarily forgotten.

He’s so warm, the slide of his velvety soft skin sends sparks of pleasure up your spine that eradicate almost every other thought.

“Fuck,” Jake pushes you back and forth over his length, the muscles in his arms twitching under your hands. “I need to be inside of you, I-”

You raise yourself up quickly, fuelled with such a burning need that the movement is almost automatic. You take hold of his cock before lining it up with your entrance and slowly easing yourself down onto him.

Jake clutches you tightly, you can feel the tension in his muscles as he fights the urge to ram into you.

A little choked sob escapes your throat the moment he’s fully sheathed in you; the tip of his cock pressing so deep at this angle that you can see stars.

“You okay?” His voice is strained, but controlled, as his hands come to rest on either side of your face. There’s a level of concern in his eyes that seeps into your chest.

You nod furiously, so caught up in the feeling of him inside you that you nearly forget how to speak. “I’m good,” you shift your hips a little, rocking back and forth ever so slightly to adjust to the stretch of him. “You feel so good.”

His cock twitches as you speak and your walls clench around him instinctively as Jake groans as he buries his face into your chest. Littering you breasts with kisses as he slides his hands down your spine to rest at your lower back.

His hold is light, reverent. But guiding, as he encourages you to move how you want to. How you need to.

You lift your hips and slowly sink back down onto him and Jake can’t help but rising up to meet you, watching you intently as you gasp and throw your head back, how you screw your face up in pleasure.

Your mind is empty, your brain overcome with the feel of him and your body takes over. You lift up again, bouncing hard on his cock as he thrusts up to meet your every movement.

The creak of the settee and the slap of skin against skin are drowned out by both of your moans. Heat is quickly coiling in your stomach as you hurtle towards another orgasm; you grip hold of Jake’s shoulders and push forward, changing the angle slightly.

Jake swears, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, before shoving his thumb in his mouth to wet it and then pressing it to your clit.

You cry out at the touch as he circles your bundle of nerves perfectly in time with the slide of his cock. Your thigh muscles are burning with the force of your thrusts, but you are too far gone to care, to even truly feel it as the pleasure rises higher and higher.

“Amor, fuck,” Jake’s voice is low, strained, as if he’s trying to hold onto any last part of his self control. “I’m going to-”

His words push you over the edge, your moan cutting off his words as your orgasm blinds you, seizes every muscle into bliss.

Jake thrusts up into your tight heat once before he groans and comes, holding you close as he emptied himself into you.

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as you come back to yourself and loosen your grip on Jake’s shoulders. As you shift slightly, material brushes against your skin and you can’t help but laugh as you look down to see his jeans just above his knees. “You’re still wearing your trousers.”

Jake stares at you blankly for a moment, thoughts fucked completely out before he registers the meaning of your words and grins. He nestles into your neck. “Sorry.”

That makes you laugh again. “Why are you sorry?” You move, running your hands through his soft hair so that you can look him in the eyes. “Weren’t you uncomfortable?”

He shrugs, grinning. “I didn’t notice. I was a little preoccupied.”

You snort. “Were you?”

He nods and leans up to kiss you again. It’s soft and sweet. Gentle as he dips his tongue between your lips. There’s a rush of heat downwards and you can feel him start to grow hard again.

Jake nuzzles his nose against your cheek, and there’s something about the movement, the openness of the gesture that makes you cling tighter to him.

“I should be sorry,” his voice is low in your ear. “We never did get to the bed. But,” he raises his eyebrows suggestively as he moves back ever so slightly. “The night is young.”

#jake lockley x f!reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley #female reader #fem reader #moon knight #moon knight x f!reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight mcu #fanfic #my writing #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #x reader

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

Text

Pink Scarf - Part 19 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

TW: References to sex. Continued ANGST. Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: Thank you for your patience, my beautiful lil mamas, Part 19 is finally here! We are back in Reader's headspace, and lordy, oh lordy, it's A LOT...just remember, I DID warn and promise y'all pain before a happy ending. And the end is coming soon. 😭 I know, babies, I know. 💖

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

For the first time in over a week, you aren’t bombarded with images of the past or worries for the future as your subconscious desperately tries to guide you places you are not ready to go to yet. As you stir awake, you feel somewhat rested, peaceful almost. Your eyes flutter open and even though the room is dim, you still squint and hiss at the light that pierces through your eyes and seems to rocket through your head like a spear. You can’t help but groan a little at the pain behind your eyes.

The room is not familiar, however, which sets you on edge, that peacefulness of good sleep draining from you quickly. Frantically, you try to puzzle out where you are and how you got here but thinking sends a wave of nausea through you that you can’t ignore. You groan again at the feeling and crack your eyes open the slightest bit.

A man, first crouched in the uncomfortable looking chair he’s perched in, sits up ramrod straight at your movements. Despite the dark circles around his eyes, he’s a vision to behold. You know without a doubt he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on, what with his high cheekbones, lusciously pouty lips, and chiseled jaw covered in what looks to be a day’s worth of dark stubble. Raven hair frames his face, thick sideburns curling at his ears and locks haphazard on his forehead. And those eyes, dear lord, those impossibly long, dark lashes rim his eyes. His eyes, which feel as deep and dark blue as the ocean itself, cut through the fog in your head, widening and looking over you with care and concern.

You know those soulful, familiar eyes anywhere.

Elvis.

You blink and the world starts to snap into focus. Through the pain and nausea, you take in your surroundings. The uncomfortable bed you’re in. The IV in your arm. The dreary paint on the walls. The smell of antiseptic.

The hospital. You are in the hospital.

This must be why Elvis looks positively distraught, his large hand now frantically grasping at yours on the bed. You swear he is shaking, steadied only once he touches you and a wave of relief falls over his handsome yet worried features.

“Y/n. Oh thank God, y/n,” he murmurs. “Are you okay? How do you feel? What do you remember?” he barrages you with questions that you aren’t sure you have the answers to yet, especially with the way your head is pounding so distractingly. For some reason, the whole scene suddenly strikes you as silly, what with the most famous man in the world looking at you so damn seriously. You can’t help yourself.

“Who…who are you?” you croak out quietly, your unused voice cracking.

The look on his face is priceless as he rolls through shock, terror, and dismay all at once. His face falls dramatically then and there is no way you can keep up the pretense because the little boy look that comes over him is just too much.

“Gotcha,” you chuckle, cracking a smile that suddenly makes your face feel like it’s on fire and making you regret your smile instantly.

“You little minx,” he growls, a relieved grin spreading over his face before he sees the pain on your face. “You’re hurtin’. Goddammit, I should’ve killed him…” he mutters heatedly under his breath.

It takes more than a moment to process what he is saying and connect that with the burning tightness of the left side of your face. You bring your hand up slowly, gingerly touching the unfamiliar swollen, hot flesh of your cheek. You can’t help but hiss at the painful sensation that runs over you when you do so.

You close your eyes, feeling Elvis’ heavy but comforting hand squeeze yours.

What in the hell happened?

Reaching back in your memory, you attempt to piece together why you are here, why you are in so much pain. Dread fills your heart as flashes of memory come at you:

Jack accosting you in the bathroom.

Losing his mind at seeing the hickies on your breast.

Him dragging you out and humiliating you in front of everyone.

Then…then…

Oh, god.

Jack did this. He hit you.

Your head falls back, and you cover your eyes with your free hand. A wave of shock, then a wave of deep sadness overcomes you. Hot tears spring to your eyes and spill down your cheeks and you don’t attempt to stop them. The salt of them stings the abrasions on your face.

How could he? How could he?

Sobs wrack your body, each one a pulse of pain through your head, shooting red-hot through you. You knew, you knew deep down it was over, but you never expected it to come to this. You never thought Jack had it in him to truly hurt you. But you are lying in a hospital bed, living proof that the man you once loved was truly gone.

And it feels devastating, yet also strangely relieving, in a way you could’ve never imagined.

“Oh, Satnin, baby. Oh, I’m so, so sorry,” Elvis whispers at you, clutching your hand, his concern evident but unsure.

The wave of devastation crashes over you, both the physical and psychic pain nearly unbearable as it throbs in your head. You feel utterly raw. Humiliated. Gutted. Guilty. Relieved. Furious.

The sudden image of slapping Jack’s face as he knelt bloody on the floor resonates through you, the sting still evident in your palm.

Elvis had almost killed Jack, blinded by a protective rage, you now remember. You’d stopped him.

Part of you wishes you hadn’t.

It all feels quite unreal yet simultaneously overwhelming, all these flashes of memory hitting you in rapid succession. And you know there are more troubling memories waiting in the wings, ready to knock you off your feet once again. You can sense them lingering at the edges of your mind, somehow closer than they have ever been but still just out of reach.

All at once you don’t feel strong enough to bear them.

Everybody knows, you suddenly realize. Your affair with Elvis was now out there for everyone to see, for everyone to judge. You open your tear-filled eyes to look at the beautiful man before you, the one you love so much it feels as though it might destroy you, because god knows you haven’t forgotten that. You cannot bring yourself to regret being with him, no matter if it led you to be here, broken and battered in a hospital bed in Las Vegas.

But something is not right. Something besides the obvious. And it’s right there, just out of view.

Your head hurts too much to dwell on it, however.

“I’m gonna take care of you baby,” Elvis finally says after what you realize is too many moments of silence. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I won’t let him hurt you ever again.”

The way he says it so softly and with such righteous conviction strikes something within you. The clasp of his hand on yours is almost too tight, the look on his face both filled with remorse and determination. You know what he says is true—he will not leave you to face this alone.

Despite this, the uncomfortable elephant in the room lingers: you would not be here if not for Elvis, and you both know it.

But with the pain in your body and the ache in your heart, that is not a mountain you can begin to climb yet. There are too many unanswered questions that you need to figure out and this is not the time or place. So, you let Elvis hold your hand with that mournful look in his churning eyes and you try to heal.

“Watch your step, watch your step!” Elvis supports you gingerly, his strong arm holding you at the waist, as if just walking will shatter you into a thousand pieces.

“E, I’m okay. I promise I can walk on my own. It’s just one step,” you say, trying to keep the annoyance out of your tone. He’s been hovering as much as possible for the past two days you’ve been under observation at the hospital, only leaving when absolutely necessary to do his two shows a night. He sent the hospital staff into a tizzy with demands for your care while still managing to be charming and effusive to all the employees in a way that only he could get away with.

You’re not sure that he’s slept in the past few days, as he seems obsessed with making sure you are alright. Your pleas for him to go back to the hotel and get some rest fell on deaf ears. Hopefully, now that you’ll be in the hotel, he will relax a little.

While your face is healing, it is still covered in a nasty bruise, which you are reminded of every time Elvis looks at you because the wince that passes over his features, while nearly imperceptible to others, is quite evident to you. It serves to remind you how you got here and how he seemingly thinks him controlling everything about your recovery is going to somehow put you back together and make everything how it was before.

But it’s not like it was before.

Not with the looks that the Mafia are giving you. You can sense their pity, their judgement, their fear. Because Elvis having a known affair with you threatens them all. What if it was their wife or girlfriend? What if Elvis turns on them the way he turned on Jack? Jack was their friend, too. It’s written all over their faces. And you can tell they’ve been put on best behavior because more than usual they defer to Elvis, and they are suddenly wildly uncomfortable around you, even though you’ve been part of the group for years.

You can’t help but feel like the king’s consort. The mistress. The usurper.

The only exceptions are Jerry and Sandy, of course. And Charlie, in his usual Charlie way, has been kind and endearing. But the rest are quiet. Too quiet.

You don’t know what’s happened to Jack. You also haven’t seen Red, though you can’t say you’re upset about it. The few times you tried to ask Elvis, he brushed you off, saying you didn’t need to worry about such things while you’re trying to recover.

All of it has you unsettled. You knew there would be consequences, of course you did, but you didn’t expect it to be this strange.

Thankfully, your headaches are becoming less frequent, but when they do come, they are intense and debilitating, and weirdly, each one brings a host of images and fractured memories that you must try to make sense of. The doctor said this should hopefully get better as your brain heals from the concussion. A full recovery, he said, but it might take some time. Elvis takes this to mean you need constant care, and honestly you don’t have the energy to argue with the man about it right now, so you let him escort you into his bedroom suite as though you are frail and fragile.

“There you go, Satnin, all set,” he says, fluffing the mountain of pillows behind you, and then he gently takes off each of your shoes. You lean back with a sigh, suddenly grateful for the comfort of his huge bed in his penthouse suite because that hospital bed was truly terrible.

“Maybe you wanna to get into your pajamas?” he suggests. “I had all your things brought up, but I also went ahead and bought you some things, since I know you hadn’t planned on being here this long, and—” he rambles. The look on his face is almost childlike in his need to please you, to take care of you. It is quite the adjustment after spending a week basking in his masculine sexual dominance. You aren’t complaining at this change in him; in fact, it reminds you of when you first met, of those early years. It’s just giving you a bit of whiplash.

“It’s okay, honey, I’m fine for now,” you interrupt, trying to keep your tone light. Bringing your hand up, you pinch the bridge of your nose as another headache threatens. Overly attuned to you, Elvis grabs one of your feet and starts rubbing, using his strong hands to knead deep into the sole of your foot.

The hurts-so-good feeling has you groaning and your head falling back onto the pillows.

“That feel good, mama?” he drawls quietly.

All you can do is nod and hum in response. You’re certain if this had happened a few days ago, that statement, this action, would be laced with a fierce sexual energy. You imagine that it would last only a minute before he pounced and worked you into a state of pleasurable bliss. That latent desire is still there—you can sense it—but with everything that has happened, it takes a backseat to your pain.

This both saddens you and makes you feel grateful. You covet your sexual relationship with him, as it is the definitive thing you know he wants and needs from you. You know this for sure, and with your ever-present uncertainty about the rest of your relationship, it makes you feel off-kilter to not be able to share that with him. However, his commitment to being by your side despite the lack of sex, has been somewhat reassuring. You desperately hope it’s not just a sense of guilt that keeps him here with you.

You sigh, your eyes falling shut, and relish in the feel of his hands on you in such a comforting way as he treats one foot, then the other, to this intimate treatment. But he is uncharacteristically quiet.

He practically has you in a stupor by the time he finishes with the second foot, managing to stave off your impending headache. Opening your eyes, you catch him looking at you, those deep blues of his taking on a darker hue in the dim lighting. You can see the wheels turning, the way his hand flexes and releases over his tailored pants, how he worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

“What is it, E?” you ask gently, almost afraid it might spook him.

“I-I-I…can I hold you?” he stutters, changing tactics midway to get the sentence out, betraying his nerves.

“Of course, baby,” you respond quietly.

“I-I just don’t want to hurt you,” he says, crawling up the comforter to lie next to you. “Are ya sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” you say, as he curls into you, his arm coming over you.

All at once, you are flooded with memory. Your teenage bedroom. Your single bed. Elvis nestling close into your side, his cheeks still salty with tears. The way your heart races at his proximity and the way his touch, though innocent, burns through you like wildfire. His breath warm on your neck, tickling your bare skin.

He shows up on your doorstep such a mess, coming to you, of all people. You don’t quite understand it. (You’re still not sure you understand it—why it’s you, of all people, at that point in his life, that he’d chosen to come to.)

You fall into caring for him so easily, like it is second nature to run your fingers through his hair and massage his back as he cries in your lap, even though you’ve never touched him like this, so intimately, before. When he asks to stay, those bedroom eyes of his begging, your heart leaps in a way you are ashamed of. Your entire body feels on fire, flustering you as you consider the implications, consider just how badly you do want him to stay, and if it’s worth it to see where this might go.

It only gets worse when you find him stripped down to his underwear, waiting for you innocently in your bedroom, a place no man has stayed before. Your heart stops in your chest at the sight of him sitting there, exhausted and emotionally spent. Before you take him into your bed, he’s so good in reassuring you he would never hurt you, that he won’t touch you like that. Of course, he wouldn’t; you know this. But your trepidation isn’t because you are afraid he’ll take advantage of you—it is because part of you wants him to.

The memory makes you blush furiously. Yet another important moment you had buried so deep that remembering it now makes it feel like it just happened.

After the initial tension of him being curled so close into you wanes, you relax and let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t go. Oh, how you relish in the softness of his skin against yours, the musky scent and heat of him surrounding you as he holds on to you through the night. You wake up multiple times, thinking you must be dreaming that Elvis is in your bed, but are pleasantly surprised to really find him there, his warm, lean, young body pressing into yours in various ways. The moonlight through the window lets you see just how innocently beautiful and vulnerable he is like this, like some kind of angel not of this world, his long lashes falling over his cheeks. You feel grateful to see him this way, tucking the moment away in your mind. Despite the rollercoaster of hormones coursing through you, you’ve never felt so safe before, not with Ted, not with any man.

Or felt so aroused. That terrified you, you think, as the wave of feeling crashes over you in the present. You want him with an intensity that shocks you to your core. But he is your friend, for god’s sake, and he’d come to you upset and trusted you to help him, and here you are, suddenly lusting after him like every other girl on the planet. Oh, yes, you are so very ashamed of yourself, for the dirty thoughts you’re thinking.

But, oh, how you imagine him waking to kiss you passionately, willing him to touch you everywhere, wanting him to run his long, calloused fingers up under your nightgown and into your panties. Thinking that, in an instant, he could easily slide between your legs, and you would let him. You’ll gladly give yourself to him right this minute if he wants you. You screw your eyes shut, trying unsuccessfully to block out the image of him slowly entering you, joining with you, rocking you into submission, into ecstasy.

Back then, those thoughts were more dangerous than anything, especially when the man in question was in your bed already, holding you close. It was a different time, and at nineteen, you were young and bound by propriety, and yet, in that moment, you hadn’t cared about that part.

But it is Elvis. Your dear friend. He doesn’t think of you that way. He’s on the brink of stardom and already has half the country fawning over him, with girlfriends in every town. You know this, logically. You know this, but for the first time, you allow yourself to think that maybe there is more to the two of you than just friendship. That maybe there is a reason he’d come to you in his hour of need.

A wave of heartache rolls through you as you recall that next morning. You blearily wake up from your fitfully aroused but somehow comforting slumber to him pulling you close, pressing the front of his body into the back of yours. The heat of him permeates through the thin cotton of your nightgown, which is quite a pleasing sensation in the cold of this late-winter morning. You sigh and wiggle back into him instinctually, before you can think too much on it, just needing to be closer to him. But then he jumps out of the bed in a flash, as if you were on fire, scurrying to clothe himself, and then he practically leaps out the window to get away from you.

He didn’t want you. Of course, he didn’t want you. He probably regrets the whole thing, with the way he leaves you lying there. He is Elvis Presley, after all. Your friend, but nothing more. You’d been foolish to think it anything more.

His abrupt absence leaves you cold, tears welling in your eyes, yearning for something you know you could never have from him (or so you’d thought, at the time). You pull the covers over your head, the scent of him on your sheets enveloping you. The grease he used in his hair left a stain on your pillow, but you don’t care in the slightest because it is something tangible, something that lets you know him holding you through the night had been real and not a dream.

Now it hits you suddenly that—oh, god—that was the day Jack had asked you out for the first time. You’d been sad all day, trying to push Elvis out of your mind and Jack had shown up at the diner, suddenly quite brazen in his attraction to you. While you weren’t entirely surprised, as the two of you had been dancing around each other for some time, the timing of it helped bring you out of your funk, reminding you that in the real world, a good man like Jack wanted you.

You’d quickly accepted because you liked Jack and there was no reason not to.

Elvis Presley was just your friend, after all.

Now you realize that in that short 24-hour period, the trajectory of your entire life changed. Maybe you’d fallen into Jack’s arms so quickly because Elvis’ rejection had upset you more than you wanted to admit. It had been easier and more realistic to date Jack, and it had taken your mind off the unwanted thoughts you had for Elvis.

Oh, no.

The intense discovery of this long-hidden memory and the emotions to go with it rocket through your skull with a shooting pain, causing you to hiss. Tears flood your eyes, from both the ache in your heart and the pain in your head.

“Baby, you okay? What can I do?” Elvis shoots his head up, noticing your distress, looking you over carefully.

You can’t explain, not now. “Bad headache,” you breathe out instead. “Can you get my medicine?” You didn’t want to take pain meds if you could help it, but in this moment, everything, pain and otherwise, is too overwhelming and you think maybe you just need some sleep.

So, you take the pill he gives you gratefully. You try not to think about how the way he looks at you now has that same boyish quality it had all those years ago when you’d taken him into your bed and into your arms, and he’d left you cold.

It’s okay, you think. He’s here now, taking care of me. He wants me now, even if he didn’t then.

And with that, you drift aimlessly away into welcome darkness.

Everything is fuzzy, the dull ache in your head muddling the flashes that are floating to the surface in your dreams.

You kiss Elvis’ forehead, the tears on his baby-faced cheeks, his pouting, full lips. You can taste the salt of his tears on your tongue.

Not Elvis now, you think, Elvis a long, long time ago.

But that doesn’t make sense. You didn’t kiss Elvis until two weeks ago.

He’s so sad, though, so alone. He needs you, he needs you, he needs you…

And you need him.

But it’s wrong, all wrong. And so right, all at once. Your body tingles through the ache in your head as you ever-so-gently press your lips to his. You’ve wondered for so long what he tastes like.

Soft and sweet, like marshmallows.

His bright blue eyes widen with shock.

“Y/n, baby, you don’t want this…” he whispers. The words echo and swirl around you.

He’s right, isn’t he? You can’t want this. You shouldn’t. Of course not…

You’re so angry, so sad, and he’s so beautiful.

Elvis. Your Elvis.

No, he’s not, he’s not, he’s not.

He belongs to no one. He belongs to the world.

Need pulses through you, a need so deep it brings you to your knees. It cuts through the pain in your head. It singes through your heart.

It’s unbearable.

It burns through you, from the inside out.

Those eyes, deep as the ocean, rimmed in black, plunder your soul. You ride the swell of the waves in them as they rise higher and higher and higher until they shatter underneath you.

The fall is blissful and terrifying, all at once, but Elvis is with you the whole way.

Free falling through the abyss, you are scared. It’s never-ending. You don’t know when you’ll hit bottom, and the anticipation of it runs like ice through your veins.

Guilt. Shame. That ache in your chest.

And then you hit bottom.

Your eyes pop open with a shuddering gasp. Gripping the sheets for dear life, you frantically try to piece out where you are, that you are not falling anymore.

Just a dream. Just a crazy, medication induced dream, you pray, seeing that you are in the darkened suite in Elvis’ penthouse.

But the unease remains, lurking more visibly now in the corners of your mind, trying to tell you something you don’t want to hear. Something you don’t want to see.

The door to the bedroom slowly opens and you jump, a hand flying over your chest in surprise. Elvis strides in quietly, clad in his white gi jumpsuit, sweat pouring over him. He must have just finished a show.

You had been asleep a while.

You are still amazed at how his presence fills a room, even when it’s just you here, even when there is no one to impress. He looks gorgeous and you know he’s riding the post-show high by the way his eyes sparkle and by the flush of his cheeks.

“You’re awake, baby. How’re ya feeling?” he asks, gliding over to you on those long legs of his.

You are still reeling from the dream. You shake your head, trying to clear that feeling of dread, of falling, and as he sits on the bed next to you, you are sucked into those oceanic eyes once again.

Your heart races.

“Are you okay?” He looks concerned, brushing your sweaty locks off your forehead, thumb grazing your cheek.

“Are you okay? he whispers, his thumb grazing your cheek. You sit still in his lap, saying nothing and can feel him begin to soften inside of you, the wetness of spent arousal leaking down your thighs under your dress…

The flash of memory hits you hard, because it was then, not now. Triggered by the same gesture, the same man, but it was a different time. He looked so young…

But that’s impossible. Impossible. The first time you had sex with Elvis was less than two weeks ago.

Your heart thunders in your chest because suddenly you don’t think that’s true.

You kiss Elvis’ forehead, kiss the tears on his baby-faced cheeks, and then, with a strange boldness, you kiss his pouting, full lips. You can taste the salt of his tears on your tongue.

His pants scratch at your bare thighs as you straddle his narrow hips. His tongue explores your mouth, sending searing heat through you. Boldly, you rock in his lap, feeling him grow underneath you.

You need him, oh, god, how you need him.

The flashes aren’t complete, but they are real. You are suddenly so sure that they are, and you don’t understand, not at all. You look at Elvis now, wild-eyed, silently seeking answers. How? How?

His long fingers are cold as they part your wet folds, and he pushes one, then another deep into your heat while his thumb massages that ever-sensitive bundle of nerves at the front. It stings at first, this surprising intrusion, but he’s gentle, letting you adjust around him, letting you decide when to move.

Your breath is coming fast now, and Elvis looks more than concerned.

“Satnin, what’s happenin’? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says, eyes searching you.

You screw your eyes shut. This can’t be real. It can’t be.

You sink down on him slowly, the tightness of your canal stretching around his considerable size as you try to take him all in. It’s easier now, after he prepped you with his fingers, and the discomfort wanes quickly as you bottom out. He’s hitting places inside you that you didn’t know existed until this very moment.

Elvis looks utterly ethereal as you begin to ride him, his mouth open and pink, his freshly dyed raven hair falling in his eyes. Everything about him looks carved out by the gods, and his eyes drink you in in a way that strips you bare, right to the heart of you. He looks at you as though you hung the moon and the stars.

Those eyes are now looking at you in a panic.

He brings you to the brink easily and you crest the wave hard, your orgasm fracturing you into a thousand pieces as you fall. You’d never felt this way before, not with Ted, not with Jack, not even with yourself. The pleasure of it rips through you and he follows quickly, a warm, sticky heat pulsing deep as you cling to each other for dear life.

Oh. Oh god…

It was real. You know it now. You are more sure of it now than you’ve ever been.

Graceland, you realize suddenly, when he took you to see Graceland for the first time. That’s where it happened. Nineteen-fucking-fifty-seven.

Elvis and you had sex, a long, long time ago. And he kept it from you. Pretended it never even happened.

You push away from him and stagger off the bed in daze, flooded with so many emotions and sensations at once that you don’t know how to react. Dizzy, you sway a bit on your feet.

Flashes keep hitting you as you move. Waking in the hospital, not knowing how you’d gotten there. Elvis, worried at your bedside. The pills. The accidental overdose.

You think you might be sick.

“What the hell is happenin’? You’re scarin’ me. Talk to me, baby,” Elvis says from behind you. He feels so far away, but that deep seeded need to flee him is rolling through you and you walk unsteadily forward, though you aren’t sure exactly where you are trying to go.

Oh, he must have been so relieved when you didn’t remember anything about that night. That he didn’t have to take back what he’d—you’d—done. That it didn’t completely derail his friendship with you or Jack. That he got to keep being Elvis without any repercussions.

Twelve years. Over a decade built on lies and half-truths and pretending.

Tears are streaming down your burning cheeks now. You feel humiliated. Shocked at both yourself and at him. You’d cheated on Jack, with Elvis. It didn’t matter that Jack had cheated first. You’d had feelings for Elvis all the way back then, feelings you acted on in a moment of vulnerability for both of you. He’d been devastated about June, scared about his fame. You’d wanted to comfort him, but you had also wanted to prove to yourself that if a man like Elvis Presley could want you, then of course Jack should.

You’d thrown yourself at him. He didn’t stop you. And then he lied to you about it all.

If you’d have remembered…Christ, the repercussions would’ve been life altering.

Elvis grabs you then, in the present, his hot, long, ring-clad fingers circling your arm, pulling you back towards him.

And it is then that your anguish fully turns to anger. After everything that has happened these past two weeks, these past fourteen years…Suddenly, that sense of betrayal, your seeming lack of control of anything in your life, all the fear of the past, present, and future, pushes you to the brink. You feel done being at the mercy of the universe, done at being at the mercy of the lies and whims of men.

“Take your fucking hand off me, Elvis,” you hiss, venom in your glare.

You watch as his brilliant blue eyes widen in surprise, and with that, he releases you.

“Is this all a game to you?” you ask pointedly, voice shaking under the weight of your simmering fury.

“W-what?” he says, shaking his head. “Baby, I can’t emphasize enough that I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You lied to me. You’ve been lying to me for years,” you throw at him. A fueled rage clouds your judgement. You are quickly becoming unhinged and near irrational, but you are unable to stop it, almost like you are possessed, out of your mind, and watching your unusual behavior from afar. It’s as though a part of you wants to blow all of this up and you are powerless to stop this destructive side of yourself.

Elvis throws his hands up in surrender and begins to turn away. “That concussion has you bein’ all crazy, honey. I don’t even know—”

“That day at Graceland, right before you bought it. When I accidentally took too many pills for my headache. You know the one, don’t you?” you interrupt scathingly.

He stops and looks back at you, that pretty brow furrowing, and you think you can sense his panic truly brewing now. “I-I-I thought ya didn’t remember nothin’ about that afternoon.”

“Oh, I didn’t.” You think now you do, but you have to be sure. “You were awfully upset that day because of June, weren’t you? Going on and on about how you’d never know if a women would truly love you. And, come to think of it, you never did tell me how it was that I fell asleep,” you add, turning the knife with both curiosity and fervor, glaring at him.

His eyes truly widen now, his pouty mouth popping open and then shuttering closed again, his pallor turning pale.

And there you have your answer. You are not supposed to know this. He’d told you about June all over again after you’d left the hospital because you hadn’t remembered him telling you at Graceland. But he definitely hadn’t told you again about his insecurity of not knowing if a woman would love him for who he really is.

It’s all true.

That realization is horrible and vindicating and almost relieving all at once. You weren’t wrong when that voice in your head was telling you he was keeping something important from you. You weren’t crazy. And you even think this isn’t all he’s been hiding, but you can’t go there now. It’s too heavy a punch to the gut, and all you see is red.

A frantic, small voice in your head tries to remind you that you should consider Elvis’ feelings about that day, how he was vulnerable and frightened when he couldn’t wake you, and that your concussion has you not in your right mind and missing pieces of all this, but your rage kicks those thoughts aside and you plow forward anyway. You have too many unanswered questions.

“We had sex, Elvis. In 1957! How could you…how dare you then pretend it never happened! How could you not tell me?!” you scream at him, in a way that is utterly unlike the passive and quiet woman you’d become over the years. The woman who had learned to cower instead of speaking up for herself. The stubbornness and fire from your youth flares, driving you forward recklessly. It hurts your head to do it, but you can’t help it.

Elvis just stands there, staring, silent, using that well-honed talent of his to make his beautiful, godlike face an unreadable mask. It kills you inside, but you wait, unwilling to let him off the hook. But he still does not speak.

“Did it even mean anything to you?” you then ask quietly, tears prickling your eyes again, “Or was I just another notch on your bedpost?”

He blinks slowly and presses his lips together, and your heart sinks because you can’t tell if being with him so intimately meant anything to him at all. You should be able to tell, but you can’t, not when he’s shutting you out like this. And that deepest fear being realized both destroys you and pisses you off even more.

Finally, Elvis breaks his silence, voice low and measured and too careful for him, like he’s reciting lines in a movie, “It wasn’t…You were high. Your judgement was impaired. I was mortified...” He trails off, looking away. Then he pauses, taking a deep breath before challenging you with his intense eyes, “And would tellin’ you have changed anythin’?”

You choke at that and shake your head as you turn away from him. The words linger in the air, and you are irate at them, at him. They whirl within you, stabbing you in their coldness. He was mortified by being with you. Good god. The wound of that cracks through you like ice shattering.

You know deep down you didn’t sleep with him because you were accidentally high. You are certain of it. It wasn’t just about getting back at Jack, or just about feeling attractive and desired. No, it was so much more than that. After remembering what you have, you know you’d given yourself to Elvis willingly, medication or no, doing something you’d sworn after Ted that you wouldn’t do again until marriage.

He presses you on this, this thing you can’t believe he’s asking. “Would it’ve? You were with Jack, you loved Jack. And I’d just gotten home and was leavin’ again just as fast. What would’ve it changed, y/n, other than to make things awkward between us and ruin our friendship? Other than to ruin what you had with Jack?” Elvis asks from behind you, his gravelly voice strained.

You’re shaking now, your whole being quaking with physical and emotional toil, another headache slamming down upon you. Yes, you’d loved Jack, you truly had. And you know you’ve fallen in love with Elvis these past few weeks. But all of this craziness—these revelations, these secrets, these memories—are finally confirming something your mind has been trying to tell you lately about all those years ago, something you suspected and feared, but didn’t want to admit:

You have been in love with Elvis since the beginning. You had loved him then just as you love him now. And if you had remembered that, if he’d wanted it, if he had asked you, at any point, you think would’ve dropped everything for him.

Even if it would’ve ruined you both.

A bile of panic rises in your throat because, besides the times you truly can’t remember because you’d literally been dying, there had been all those other moments throughout the years where you’d pushed down your love for him. Important pieces of your life that you’d just forgotten, sometimes right away, in order to spare yourself the pain of this realization, the pain of Elvis’ rejection.

Maybe it started in the diner when he comforted you after Ted broke your heart, or maybe it began even earlier because god knows you can’t trust yourself or your memory. In fact, you are quite sure that there are still things he’s keeping from you, pivotal things you still don’t remember and it’s maddening. But after the diner, it feels like every moment you repressed is a missing piece to the puzzle of your life and reminder of how everything has gone so completely wrong.

Oh, and isn’t it rich that you are laying into him about keeping this naughty little tryst from you when you’ve been conveniently forgetting all these crucial moments of your relationship over your lifetime, a logical voice in the back of your head hurls at you.

Fuck you, you throw back, dread seeping through you.

And now your deepest fears are confirmed—Elvis hadn’t wanted you, not like that. He was mortified by it, in fact. He had a taste of you in a moment of weakness, because he’s just a man after all, and got lucky when you didn’t remember. Thinking better of it, he kept it all to himself. All these years, he’d lied by omission. And for some goddamned reason, he’d swung back around to you after all this time, destroying your life as you knew it in the process.

You spin back around to face him. Nausea rolls in your stomach because, suddenly, you’re not sure you know the man in front of you at all.

“Fuck you, Elvis Presley. It would’ve changed everything,” you say vehemently, honestly, leveling him with your stare.

And it looks like you just slapped him by the way he recoils.

You can’t stop yourself from digging deeper, too angry to care, “But I’m sure that’s not what you wanted, since you were so quick to decide that I didn’t need to know, so fucking cocksure that you didn’t even deem to ask what I wanted. No, you just got laid and got lucky and moved right on to the next girl.”

“Th-that’s not—“ he sputters, those azure eyes a little frantic.

“Isn’t it, though, Elvis? Isn’t that exactly what happened? We fucked and you decided it was a bad idea, so you didn’t bother to tell me when I couldn’t remember myself. Who cares what I thought, right?! Then you went on with your life as though nothing happened.”

As if it hadn’t mattered at all, as though you hadn’t mattered enough to bother. You can’t bring yourself to say that part, though, as the icy pain of saying the rest out loud like this sends more tears pouring down your cheeks, despite your anger wanting to keep them at bay.

As if the rest isn’t bad enough, another thought hits you sideways, “My god, you even pushed Jack to marry me, didn’t you?” You look at him incredulously, remembering how Jack had joked about it after he’d proposed. The words ache through you as you say them, as you realize the implications of that. Yet another one of your deepest fears confirmed.

Elvis looks stricken as he backs up to the bed and sinks down on the edge, putting his head in his hands.

“I-I-I w-was no good for you,” he mumbles.

“You don’t get to decide that, Elvis! You took those choices away from me!” you cry at him.

You watch as he holds his tongue, as his body stiffens at your words. His jaw clenches and his breathing changes. You know the signs by now, but you don’t care. You don’t care that he’s getting ready to explode and that it’s you pushing him over the edge. You want him over the edge. You want him to care enough to be mad about it.

“And what? Did you finally decide after twelve years that maybe you did like my pussy after all, so you decided to come back for more?” you spit at him nastily, driving him right over the threshold.

“I was protecting you!” Elvis bellows, leaping to his feet, face red with anger. His eyes darken and flash in a way that might have caused you to pause before, but not today, not after this.

You don’t let up. “Protecting me from what exactly? A bad marriage? A man that doesn’t love me?” you laugh haughtily at the irony.

He doesn’t elaborate, just bites his tongue in frustration and glowers at you, pulling himself back.

Then, another sinking realization drags you under. “Good lord—you had your hands in my relationship with Jack every step of the way. From day fucking one. You pushed us onto each other, a-a-and then you took him away from me, over and over again. The women Jack ‘dated’…Jesus, that was when he went to Vegas to see you that first time, wasn’t it? Of course. I should’ve known that’s when he started fucking other women. Because of you,” you point at him, more fury boiling in your stomach as you ramble.

God, was it all lies and subterfuge? Every fucking thing in your life related to these men?

Elvis stands there, jaw gritted so hard he might crack his veneers, his hands fisted at his sides, his leg going a million miles an hour. But you don’t stop.

“And then you came back home to find me upset, pretended like you didn’t know why, and then you fucked me?” The memories come to you too quickly, too painfully, fractured moments flashing in your aching head, weaving back together what you’d lost for so long, fueling your pain, fueling you forward. “And that was just the beginning. You sucked Jack and me both into your world, then played with our lives because…why? Why, E?” you demand.

Still, he says nothing, eyes fierce and his body vibrating with energy, letting you continue your verbal assault.

Your heart is going so fast you fear it’s going to explode, but you continue anyway, knowing that this isn’t like you, that perhaps this isn’t truly what you want. I love him, don’t I? But you are so mad, so exhausted from feeling like a plaything in the lives of the men around you, that you can’t stop. They’ve treated you as if you have no agency of your own. As if you were nothing without them. And you are done.

You shake your head. “You screwed with our lives because you could. You and your fucking egomaniacal, insane, manipulative bullshit. Nobody can be happy unless the King is happy, right? What the fuck is wrong with you?” you hiss, beside yourself with anger at him, on what he’d done to your life. In this moment, your love for him is entirely consumed by your rage, as your addled and bruised brain tries to piece together just how screwed up this entire situation is.

Elvis roars then and sweeps everything off the nightstand, sending things shattering and flying to the floor. You do your best not to wince at the outburst, unwilling to let him shake you. Then, he looks at you, like a caught, caged beast, his chest heaving and eyes dangerous. But he isn’t blacked out, and you know it because you can see the gears working in his head. You can see that the emotion in his face is not anger alone. There is a deep pain there and it confuses you.

Dread settles into a knot in your stomach because suddenly you can’t shake that terrible feeling that you are still missing something vital here, something both Elvis and your traitorous brain are keeping from you, but your head is pounding and your blood is up and you can’t think straight.

You stand toe-to-toe, staring at each other, chests heaving in the heavy silence.

He breaks first, but with an almost frightening level of clarity that you don’t expect after his outburst. “Fine. Y-you w-w-wanna make me th-the-the villain in this story, then fine, I-I’m th-the fucking villain, honey. I-I-I always w-was,” he stutters wildly, cutting, his stormy eyes narrowing like a crocodile as he levels you with them.

He doesn’t deny any of it. He doesn’t even defend himself anymore.

You don’t know what to do with that.

All you know is you hurt. Everything aches, inside and out. You feel like an absolute fool. You are infuriated with him and maybe even more furious at yourself. Then, your heart breaks, sending a wave of sorrow flooding through your chest and down your limbs.

Everything with Jack was bad.

Somehow, this is worse.

It feels like your entire world has been pulled from underneath your feet. The devastation you felt about Jack feels like nothing now compared to Elvis’ betrayal, and the weight of both together is crushing you from all angles.

There is no escape. You can’t breathe.

Somehow, you’ve lost them both. Or maybe you never really had either of them to begin with.

You silly, stupid girl. I tried to warn you.

You manage to hold back the sob that threatens to break you.

Wordlessly, you nod, clench your fists, then turn and walk out.

Elvis doesn’t stop you.

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galaxythedragonshifter · 5 months

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Prayer request cause I'm genuinely in mental pain rn:

(kinda a father issues vent too, so if you just want to hear the prayer request (or you have a trigger), scroll to the bottom)

My "father" invited us to Denny's next Saturday (the 23rd), and he wants to give us Christmas gifts.

Now, this might sound nice, if you didn't know him.

But yeah, it's just a manipulation tactic to try and "buy" our affection. I'm assuming he wants information as well, and he wants to gain something from this visit and future visits.

His exact words were:

"(Name) I apologize for my words. I won't make excuses. I was wrong and I'm sorry. I love you and (brother) very much. I'm hoping maybe you would like to come visit me for Christmas."

After I failed to respond, he sent:

"Maybe you feel uncomfortable coming to see me. How about this. You me and (brother) meet at Denny's and have dinner sometime soon. Just the three of us. We can have a nice visit and I can give you your Christmas gifts."

Again, this sounds nice and genuine, but based on his behavior my whole life, it's not. I don't trust him as far as I can throw him.

The issue comes in where I don't know how malicious he is exactly. I don't know if he's been in my room or not (we already established he's stolen things from our house), and I don't know how much he knows about me. He also hasn't gotten it through his head that he's lost me. He can't "buy my attention" anymore. I'm not 14 anymore. Apparently ignoring him for 2 years hasn't worked.

I don't know how much he's learned from breaking in, and I don't feel comfortable not knowing how much about my likes and interests he knows about. (Because he could potentially use said information in court to claim he knows his kids, even if he doesn't.)

Before he sent those texts, he'd texted something else that started off nice, but the second message became an attack on my mom. I assume he was drunk during the time, and that had been the first time he'd contacted me in two years (which is a horrible way to use his communication rights).

He wants to use his visitation (and his nonexistent relationship with us) for his personal gain. He's got something to gain from it, or he wouldn't have bounced from agressive to "nice" so quickly.

Prayer Request:

I'm just... really nervous. I haven't spoken to him in two years, and I've gotten a decent amount of anxiety from him in the past two years. I want the confidence and knowledge to say what needs to be said, and reply to whatever he says in the best way possible.

I'm already trying to pray for that, and I'm practicing, and I'm gonna see my counselor on Monday.

Tags: @firstfandomfangirl , (I don't know any more Christian blogs help-)

#galaxy rambles #prayer request #its just.... holy crap it hurts when someone who is supposed to love you pretends to and you know better #they are supposed to raise you and instead they break your heart and cause years of pain #for not just you but the rest of your family too #im going to be recording the whole dinner. he might also be recording but thats fine #luckily the state laws allow recording without the consent of the other party #i almost didnt post this because it feels weird to vent about my personal problems like this #maybe its imposter syndrome idk

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ymnfilter · 3 days

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Hey I'm new and I'm a huge doctor who fan, You do not know much of a shock it was to go on to the Rose/Doctor tag and just see a basically a 100K story I got so excited! Until I realized it wasn't complete, So I'm jumping on here before I get by hopes up too much—because unfortunately I read the one shot where the doctor is a simp in all regenerations And I adored it, Like normally in these stories when they meet out of order Rose is the one falling in love and he's the one with all the info Which adds a difference to them power dynamic that I never liked. But I love the twist on it. And I always adore the doctor as a simp for Rose in any context! is this just you reposting an old story that you don't intend to finish or reigniting an old passion for an old work? And please don't take this the wrong way, I am in no means trying to be nosy or pushy. And I'm truly sorry if this comes off that way! (You can't really get tone from text, So I'm always a little bit nervous when asking these questions) Thanks for answering if you can! 😁

Hii!!! It has been a while since I've been able to go on either ao3 or tumblr. (Life got in the way big time 😬😬) When I logged in yesterday, I saw that there were a bunch of messages asking about my dw fics, daffodils in particular,

I honestly thought, at the time, that deleting those fics was the right thing to do. I had given up on becoming a writer, and i did not want any reminders that would make me feel bad for giving up.

It was such a stupid decision, especially since I did end up writing again, and now am alhmd writing professionally.

There were wayyy too many asks in my inbox for me to answer them all, and some were so old that I would just feel awkward replying to them all. So, instead I mass uploaded all of daffodils that I had saved on my drive.

I do miss writing for the dw fandom, but I am also currently working on an original fiction that takes up most of my brain space. I remember daffodils in particular took a lot of time to plan and write. I cannot definitively say if I will update it or not. I'm sorry I can't give you a straightforward answer.

Though, I will say I did leave the fic on a good enough note that you won't be frustrated by a cliff hanger or anything like that even if it takes me a while to update.

Again, thank you for reading my fics!

(To all the people who did write to me about the fics, I am so sorry if it felt like I was ignoring you. I saw most of the submissions just yesterday and the first thing I did was reupload daffodils. I will also reupload all the rest of the fics in due time. Thank you for reading. You guys have literally made me the writer that I am. I love you, and though I could not answer you all individually, just know I read every single one of your asks, and I will try my best to be a lot more active on here from now 😘😘)

#the doctor/rose #the tenth doctor/rose tyler #doctor who #rtd era doctor who #rose tyler #the doctor/rose tyler #ninth doctor #ninth doctor x rose tyler #daffodils #ao3 #doctor who fanfiction

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thebibliosphere · 2 years

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Hey, so, feel free to ignore this question if you don't have the spoons, but I was wondering if you and your MCAS followers might be able to give me some tips.

I've recently started driving alone, and today I went into anaphylaxis (after eating a safe food!) while on a highway in a rural area. The paramedics got to me before I passed out, but my question is - any tips on what to do to ensure safety in that type of situation? Anything I can keep in the car to help first responders out, that sort of thing. Idk what might be useful, especially because I don't have an official MCAS diagnosis.

Thanks for everything you do!

Ps. Also loving the pride and prejudice stuff 😍

Oh no! Dawnie, I'm so sorry, that's so scary.

A good rule of thumb is to always carry all your meds and to also wear medical jewelry. A simple medical bracelet with "anaphylaxis" on it is a good place to start, as the rescue meds for allergic IgE anaphylaxis and MCAS anaphylaxis are the same.

If you have epi-pens, never ever store them in the car for any length of time if you live in an area where things can get hot as it can make the epinephrine not work as well. You can and should however keep them on you at all times, and also have an identifying tag on your bag that lets people know there's an EPI pen inside. I have these ones attached to visible places on my backpack (link) You can get custom ones too that say things like "inhaler inside" or "medication inside."

The mast cell disease society also has a handy protocol guide which you can keep on you and shove at doctors/first responders/leave visible in your bag in the event you are brought in unconscious (link). I have mine in a red folder that says "IN THE EVENT OF MEDICAL EMERGENCY" in big bold font.

It also has a handy guide at the back for what to say to doctors/paramedics so you don't have to think too hard about it, as well as further suggestions for what to put on medical alert jewelry which might be helpful. You should also make sure your emergency contacts are listed clearly on those forms/somewhere in your belongings, and if possible have a protocol in place with them for what to do if they don't hear from you at a certain time if you've been traveling alone.

If I think of anything else, I'll drop you a message, but those are the first few things I can think of off the top of my head. I hope you're resting and recovering well <3

#chronic health tag #mcas #anaphylaxis

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