#i feel. not weak or anything but just. entirely exhausted from years of this and it feels like the last two decades are really making

[marilynthornhilllover]

I know that you love me, you don't need to remind me,

Emily. P x Jennifer. J x Fem!Reader

Warning: talk of drug consumption, reader is high, mood swings, use of guns (weed) , bad flirting, mommy kink, praise kink, teasing, cringe kiss etc .

A/n: I saw that new jennifer and emily episode where Emily was high and they were so cute! Had to make a fic😌

It was that quite long awaited time of the year where criminal agents are given two weeks off from work. You were beyond exhausted but nevertheless was very happy to finally be able to take off your FBI vest and feeling relieved that you won't have to be picking it up for another week or so.

You soon realized that you literally didn't have plans arranged for the upcoming two weeks ahead, or even tonight. Everyone was pairing up as they packed up their office stuff and headed out. Spencer and Derek laughed and gave eachother a high five as they made their way downstairs to sign out while Emily and jj were already giggling about some random joke as they continued to pack up.

You nervously decided to walk up to them standing in the corridor like a shadow making sure not to seem creepy— but maybe you were doing the opposite. Ever since you joined the team, yes you did make friends but no one ever went the extra mile to offer to hang out with you. Only Emily would now and then eat lunch with you at her desk.

Jennifer wasn't bad either, she did offer to help you with a case file once, you went over to her house which you complimented her for the cozy interior, and yes the boys were also good to you but on a employee holiday like this no one was paying any attention whatsoever to you. They already plans of their own.

You on the other hand, had none, all you were gonna do was shower, eat, sleep and repeat for the next week or so. Nothing productive, not as if you had anything to do either. Prentiss and Mantegna had insisted that someone help you with case files so its not as if you have a major cade to crack over the holiday.

You were as free as a bird and your energetic self needed something to reinforce that energy into. If you could have went on a cruise for two weeks you definitely would have.

Emily scoffed at Jennifer's joke before turning around and spotting you cuddled up in the corner like a little mouse. She tilted her head to the side before approaching you with a warm smile.

" hey hon, you got any plans for the holiday?" She asked chewing a piece of gum that she had been for the entire day — somtimes you wonder if any flavour at all is still existence in it.

" uhh nope, but I'll sure my couch has plans for me though" you said sarcastically and of course she laughed, because Emily laughs at anything and everything which you did find cute. Emily always made sure that she kept everyone at a level where they felt at their absolute best when around her.

She was never mean to anyone really. Always funny, ambitious, smart and talented she was everything. Sometimes her aura was just too high, but she was always still approachable and not prideful.

Emily was like one of those drugs that you couldn't stop using because it feels too good, and when you do take it, it altars with your entire brain function and chemistry.

And speaking of chemistry, that was something you and Emily had alot of. Everytime her eyes made contact with yours, you felt as if your body was thrown into the deepest pits of hell. You'd get shivers everytime she passed you or called you a pet name. You'd go completely weak in your knees when she made the littlest amount of psychical contact with your skin — it was absolutely ridiculous just how easily she could get under your skin.

Or the time when you were making coffee in the kitchen and she needed to grab something from the top shelf and she moved you by putting her hands on your hips, with her chest pressed so closely against your back with face by your neck.

Emily made you question things. You knew you always had a thing for older women, always, since highschool and it never seemed to go away. And Emily was exactly your type, you just weren't sure if she felt the same way in return and you didn't wanna ruin the amazing friendship you both had by letting your stupid emotions and hormones get the best of yourself.

" well I'm sure you'll find something to entertain yourself, JJ and I are hooking up at her place tonight for snacks and a movie" she placed hands on her hips are she turned to look at jj who was texting away on her phone before turning back to you. You gaved her a akward smile, before a breathy nervous laugh escaped your mouth.

" hooking up huh" you saw as her eye brows quirked before a sly smile came into evidence on her face and quickly glanced at Jennifer who was now angrily texting before taking a step closer towards you, closing the the last gap space that was there. Her body heat and perfume over took your senses making your breath hitch.

You pressed your palm against her chest sneaking a quick glance at jj and the camera above. Emily was looking at you with a teasing smirk, she leaned down besides your ear and whispered.

" do wanna hook up with me as well?" She pulled back to see the reaction on your face and just as she imagined it was absolutely priceless. She chuckled before pulling away completely.

" oh my God emily would you leave poor y/n alone, let's go already" Jennifer said with a tint of exhaustion and annoyance her voice. Emily chuckled before gently caressing your cheek. The both women waved you goodbye before departing and going their way.

You sighed before picking up your bag and leaving, you locked your office door and went home. You did decided to walk with a few case files home and evidence objects to keep yourself busy during the holiday to stop yourself from going insane from the intense boredom you were prone to have.

— — — —

Emily and Jennifer had just sat down and were about to enjoy their late afternoon with wine and salt and vinegar chips when a continuation of loud knocking could be heard on jj's front door. Both women looked at eachother with utter confusion on their faces — the weren't expecting anyone. Jennifer decided to get up and go check the door, Emily following closely behind with her hand placed tightly on her gun.

The door bell soon started ringing along with the knocks which triggered Jennifer even more. Unlocking the door Jennifer threw it open, not caring what stood on the opposite side of it, after all emily was ready to protect her best friend at all cost, even if it meant shooting someone in their foor.

" if I had my way I swear I would—" as soon as she saw you she stopped talking, her eye brows quirked as she squinted her eyes to make a better appearance of your face in the dim moon light. Emily let out a soft sigh when she saw you but quickly went back into a state of worry at the same time.

Now you had both women wondering what you were doing at their house.

" y/n? I didn't know you were coming over, did Emily invite you?" Jennifer turned around hoping to get a confirmation nod from Emily but she shook her head and pursed her lips, letting her know she was just as confused as her.

" Well aren't you guys a bit rude, aren't you gonna invite me in?" You muttered but before they could react you let yourself in. You carefully walked down the long fancy corridor switching off some lights on your way because they made your eyes burn, making your way to the living room area, having knowing your way around jj's house since the last two times you were there.

You stumbled over the coffee table and landed right onto the sofa, face first with a soft groan. You dropped the ziplock bag of cheese puffs you had brought onto the floor.

She walked up to you and you and sat beside you on the couch, she picked you up by both your forearms and made you look at her.

Both women side eyed eachother, both in desperate need to know what on God's green earth was going on. Jennifer leaned against the wall to further scrutinize you. Emily on the other hand was just worried how you got here on your own with no car or phone.

" hey y/n sweetie are you..... drunk?" Her voice sounded like when water got into a phone speaker and you tried to play a song— you couldn't understand it. You rubbed your eyes and glanced at the table to which your face instantly lit up when you saw the salt and vinegar lays chips.

You grabbed them ferociously then took out some chopsticks you had stuffed in the back pocket of your jeans and started eating the chips. At this point both women were flabbergasted, mouths open, jaws dropped. Jennifer took a deep breath before she turned around and went to her fridge to grab you a drink to help you sober up because it was crystal clear that you were beyond drunk, drunk was an understatement.

" what time is it?" You suddenly asked putting the chips down and dusting off your hands.

" time for some hydration, here you go" Jennifer said as she passed you a bottle of cold cranberry juice. Once again your face lit up like a child on Christmas day.

" ohhhh, it's got what plants crave!" You exclaimed. The look on Jennifer's face when you said that was priceless as Emily silently continued to look at you with a completely blanket stare.

You placed the bottle of juice at the side of your head as if it was an ice pack and burped. You cleared your throat before speaking up again.

" have you guys seen that movie! Idiot city!.... wait city Idiot... wait... yeah" it's like your body was replaced with a child's and this called for huge concern. Emily sighed heavily and took the bottle from your hand.

" Idiocracy?" Jennifer whispered and you nodded.

" I knew I liked you! Ohhh, I and on my way here I saw a cat jumping off your house roof then it turned into a dog and flew away as a mosquito" you said before the loudest laugh took you over that you almost started crying.

Emily whispered " oh good lord" before she shook her head, Jennifer was still completely and totally lost for words. Jennifer had a feeling that being drunk would not cause someone to behave like this— well of course she knew, she's a profiler. She had a feeling you were high, but she didn't want you to act out and she would need proof for Emily because knowing her she wouldn't believe for a minute you would do drugs.

" umm y/n what's in the bag?" Jennifer asked and your eyebrows quirked, you placed your finger at you ear urging her to repeat even though she was so damn close to you.

" What's in the bag" she repeated as she dragged her words this time. You shrugged.

" I don't know what time the supermarket closes" emily stood up and walked towards to kitchen to grab her phone, you had the agent stressed. Jennifer just took it upon herself to grab the bag of " cheese puffs" before she walked towards emily.

" look I know you may not believe but I have a pretty good feeling that, that girl right there is literally the profound definition of what we call high" emily scoffed.

" Oh come on, she probably had too much wine I mean weren't we just about to drink wine as well?" She restated trying to convince Jennifer, but honestly to this rate she just couldn't, Jennifer was already convinced from her own opinion.

" emily elizabeth prentiss which wine do you know makes someone this drunk?" Jennifer asked, emphasizing on the last two words of her sentence. Emily shrugged before looking back at you, who was now sniffing the air every two seconds like a curious dog. Jennifer rolled her eyes before opening the bag of cheese puffs and taking a sniff.

She gaged before pulling away quickly.

" this smells like straight up weed!" She swiftly turned to let Emily have a sniff, to which Emily pulled away as well. Jennifer closed the bag and turned it around where there was writing in black. " DO NOT OPEN, CONTAINS CASE 101 EVIDENCE".

" you ate the case evidence! Oh my god!" Jennifer looked like she was going to erupt like a volcano and her high pitched tone of voice was making your head hurt and ears ring.

" I was hungry, and I didn't know that they were edibles" you whispered as you squinted your eyes since it was getting harder to see. Jennifer looked at you in disbelief as she turned to Emily for back up. Before Emily could utter a word Jennifer was already furious.

" Emily, don't even! She basically ate the entire bag!" She shouted. She saided pacing the room with her fingers gently massaging her temple to calm her.

" what are we gonna tell hotch, or even worst David" Jennifer covered her face with her both her hands before leaning over the kitchen counter.

" Well I mean, she probably just ate the backup stash, it should be fine, we should really be worrying about is her health" emily muttered scratching her head. Jennifer looked up at emily as her jaw dropped.

" your defending her?!" Emily raised her hands in defense but before she could reply Jennifer took the chance.

" I seriously cannot believe you right now!" Jennifer once again, started pacing the room, this time even more quicker.

" Oh come on jj, what are the odds that people make silly mistakes like these?" Jennifer stopped, and looked at emily with wide eyes.

" Well with the odds as high as her I'd say zero!" She said angrily before picking up her phone.

Emily sighed before looking over at you who was now eating the chips and gnawing your teeth wildly making crumbs fall all over the place. In a way Emily felt bad for you, mostly pity because she knew what you did was down right stupid but Jennifer was being a tadbit too harsh on you in your current position — knowing you couldn't properly comprehend the situation or what was going on.

" ok I'll take her home and we can speak to the team about this tomorrow when y/n is a better state of mind, ok?" Emily said in a reassuring voice. Jennifer sighed in frustration before biting her lip and nodding approvingly.

Emily carefully picked you up off the couch and wrapped her arm around your waist as she insisted to take you home safely. Her body warmth was comforting and her perfume was like a lullaby putting you to sleep this time. You melted in her embrace as she took you outside.

Your vision was blurred and the cold air on your skin — although you had a jacket on, was making you shiver. Seeing this emily hugged you tighter. She opened the door to her wagon and assisted you into the passenger seat and putting on your seat belt for you. You looked at her, she looked like one of those ancient paintings,the ones you can't withdraw your eyes from, the Renaissance ones.

You weren't sure if maybe it was the drugs or the hormones that came after taking the drugs but you felt the need to kiss emily, your eyes flicked down to her lips that were slightly parted as she concentrated on getting the seatbelt to adjust to your liking. Her smooth skin and wrinkled lines that ran across her forehead and eye line area, her little cute eye bags from all the hard work she does.

You couldn't resist the urge, she was a drug, she was your drug. You licked your lips and leaned in. Your lips connected with hers in a slow soft kiss. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to enjoy the moment. Emily didn't pull away, she was surprised yes, but she didn't pull away. Emily couldn't cover up the feeling she felt for you but she also didn't want to take advantage of your drunken state.

Taking it that she was enjoying it as much as you, you tried to force your tongue into her mouth but that's when she pulled away. Your brows furrowed and for a moment the drugs may have returned your common sense and you realized what you did — what you were trying to do. And soon the embarrassment and cringe settled in.

" sorry, oh God I'm so stupid!" You whispered as you fought back tears, you covered your face with both hands and started sobbing. Emily sprinted around to the drivers seat to comfort you. She gently peeled your hands away from your face, holding your palms in hers she caressed them with her knuckles softly. You sniffed and shook your head in denial before looking out the window.

" hey, sweetheart look at me please" her voice was as soft as an angel and so gentle as if you were something valuable that could be broken, that's something you loved about emily, she was so comforting in all circumstances, no matter what. She placed her hand under your jaw and turned you to look at her. She stared at you with her cute Bambi eyes so filled of love, and she so badly wanted to say " I love you" but she knew you wouldn't be able to comprehend them.

" look y/n, i wanna— kiss you back but I can't. That doesn't mean I don't want to, I just want you to be able to give me your full sober concent." She spoke as slowly and clearly as possible so you won't misinterpret anything.

" and your not stupid, we all make mistakes my love. Once I accidentally— well I got drunk the morning of my Law exams and failed them, and that did set me at a disadvantage for my career but I still made it into this job" she continued to rub your knuckles and wip every tear that fell from your eyes.

" and this joke takes y/n, but it also gives.... it gave—" she took a deep breath before exhaling heavily. " it gave me you." Hearing these words made your heart flutter souly. Your little smile came across your face which emily mirrored.

" now, my sweet girl, my I take you home?" She spoke in a old French accent waving her hand a fancy motion, You both laughed until you were out of air. after the laughter died down She chuckled and placed a hand on your thigh squeezing the tender flesh which made your breath hitch.

The drive home was long but certainly not quiet at all, you and Emily blasted high 2000s music all the way until she arrived at your home. You knew there was gonna be alot to discuss the next day but you should be fine once you have emily by your side.

[shadowdaddies]

Hi!! I adore your writing! I would love if you wrote a story with Azriel, where reader (mated with Az ) hears the IC talking about someone being clingy/annoying, and she thinks it’s her, so she withdraws herself entirely, even from Az and he finally finds out and explains they were talking about someone else, and then fluff. Love you!

hi! thank you for the request, love you!💜 (Madja stans if you're out there, maybe avoid this one)

Family

Azriel x Reader (ft. the IC and Valkyries)

You had only been mated to Azriel for about six months now, but the way that the Inner Circle had accepted you as part of the family immediately meant the world to you. You had struggled much of your life with friends and family making you feel like you were clingy, or a burden when you spent ‘too much’ time with them, so being able to be around your new family in Velaris was a breath of fresh air, lifting a weight off your chest for the first time in years.

Skipping down the stairs to join your family for dinner, you heard them from where they were already seated at the table. You froze in your tracks when you heard the words spill from Feyre’s mouth. “I know, she can be quite overbearing. It was tiresome when I had to see her so much before. I’m glad I’ve had a break from her visits, at least for the time being.” 

Tears sprang to your eyes as everyone around the table laughed at the comment, Nesta adding to the insult. “Well, I have no way of avoiding her, at least for now.” It felt as though your heart was caving in, completely crushed by Nesta’s words in particular. You had enjoyed starting training with the Valkyries lately, and you thought of the other females as your friends. 

Unable to hear anymore of their jokes, you covered your ears, running back upstairs to your room and locking the door behind you. Not a moment later, Azriel knocked on the door. “My love, is everything alright?” 

Sniffling through your silent cries, you refused to be any more of a burden than you apparently were. “I’m fine, Az. I’m just not feeling well, so I thought I would go to bed early.” 

There was a long silence before you heard a soft sigh through the door. “Okay. I’ll bring you some leftovers. Please let me know if you need anything from me, angel.”

Once you knew Azriel was back downstairs, you let the tears out. Yet again, you were unwanted, and it hurt that much worse to know that your mate was sitting at that table as well. If he didn’t defend you, he must feel the same way. After crying out every tear you could produce, you found yourself exhausted, sleep claiming you quickly. 

You awoke the next morning to a pounding on your door, a nervous Nesta on the other side. “Hey, are you in there? We missed you at training today. I had some things I was hoping to talk to you about.” 

You scoffed internally at her claims, knowing exactly how untrue they were after her words last night. Managing to produce a fake cough, you responded in a weak voice. “I’m just not feeling well. I’m sleeping but maybe we can talk later.” 

The sorrow was palpable in Nesta’s tone. “Okay then. I hope you feel better. Please let me know if I can do anything for you,” she said softly, before walking away.

Unable to be around these people any longer, you put on a coat and headed out for a walk along the Sidra, the fresh air helping to clear your spiraling thoughts. None of it made sense - they seemed so truly happy to spend time with you, so why would your family say those things? 

Just as you started to question everything, shadows swirled in front of you, your mate appearing with concern clear in his hazel eyes. “Love, what is going on? First you skipped dinner last night, and now Nesta tells me you missed out on Valkyrie training as well. Talk to me.”

Filled with anger, you couldn’t push down your emotions any longer. “I heard you all talking at dinner last night, Azriel!”

Your mate staggered backwards, raw confusion written across his face. “Love, what are you talking about? What about dinner?”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at his attempt of evading the conversation, which earned you a rare seething glare from the shadowsinger. “I heard Feyre and Nesta, and all of you laughing. They were talking about how overbearing and tiresome I am, and how Nesta ‘has to spend time’ with me now. And you - you didn’t stand up for me, Azriel.” 

Tears pricked your eyes as you watched his reaction to your words. The confusion, and the realization. Instead of apologizing, Azriel just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between scarred fingers. You were about to fly into another fit of rage when he spoke. “We weren’t talking about you. With Nesta’s new pregnancy, she is having to see Madja for check-ups often. Even though she has the hips to birth an Illyrian baby, Madja has been very concerned and it’s been driving Nesta crazy. Feyre was talking about the same, with her pregnancy with Nyx.” 

Immediately, you were filled with shame over your assumptions. Burying your head in your hands, the self-loathing came rushing into you with a renewed force. “I’m so sorry, Az. I should’ve known better than to assume - I’m just so used to feeling like a burden and I thought...” 

Azriel stepped forward, wrapping one arm around your waist as the other came to cup your chin, moving your hands away so that he could see your face. “I understand, my love. I know what you feel. But we are your family, and you are not a burden. You are so loved, and I need you to feel comfortable talking to me about these things.” 

You nodded, a soft smile of relief gracing your features as you leaned forward to give Azriel a gentle kiss. He wrapped you in both of his arms, his warm embrace filling you with immediate calm. He pulled back, the smirk on his lips highlighting the dimples that you loved. “You should speak to Nesta.”

You nodded, knowing he was right, and the two of you walked back home hand in hand, enjoying the sunset over the Sidra. When you arrived home, Nesta was waiting in the kitchen, concern etched on her face as she noticed your still-puffy eyes. “Hey, Nes,” you said weakly, and Azriel gave a kiss to your temple before leaving the room.

Nesta stood up, walking over to you with a purpose as she wrapped you in a hug. “I don’t know what you’re going through, but I hope you know that I am here for you, if you ever want to talk.” You nodded, taking a deep breath as you hugged your friend. After a long moment, Nesta pulled back, a smile on her face. “I did need to talk to you about something this morning - if now is a good time.” 

You eagerly nodded, encouraging her to continue as you took a seat next to her at the kitchen table. The beautiful female rested a hand on her stomach, absentmindedly rubbing where her baby rested as she spoke. “Madja wants me to rest from now through the rest of the pregnancy. The girls really love and respect you, so I was hoping that you could take over training them in the meantime.” 

Your heart swelled at her kind words, the affirmation that you needed in that moment. Diving forward, you brought Nesta in for another hug as you nodded, tears lining your eyes yet again. “Yes, Nesta. I’d be so honored to help with training. Thank you.” 

You pulled back, your friend taking your hand in hers as she gave it a reassuring squeeze, just as Rhys and Feyre walked in with Nyx. The little boy ran up to you, “Auntie! I missed you at dinner last night. Uncle Az said your tummy hurt. That happens to me, too.” You laughed at the sweet child, lifting him into your arms for a hug as you followed Rhys, Feyre, and Nesta into the dining room. 

Taking your seat next to Azriel, Rhys poured the wine for everyone - Nesta raising her glass as she proposed a toast to you, one of the new leaders of the Valkyries and a great addition to the family. Leaning into Azriel’s side, you smiled as you looked around at your family - thankful for this unparalleled love, love so great, love that you deserved.

[fen-luciel]

Jealousy part 2

Part 1 here part 3 here

Warnings: age gap/toxic behavior

Vernestra-Padawan reader/jedi Qimir

I lied. Or rather, I had some ideas while I was writing, so instead of three parts, there will probably be four. Nothing is certain, but... you have been warned.

Leave a comment and share if you are enjoying the story.

I can't say exactly when things started to change. Maybe they were never normal from the beginning, but I was too distracted to see it, blinded by this lie that I childishly told myself.

The more comfortable I felt with Qimir, the worse his relationship with Vernestra became, to the point where in the naivety of my young age, I thought it was my fault, but in truth, I couldn't even see the problem.

I had learned to recognize my master's moods very early on. I understood before even talking to her if she was nervous because of some diplomatic mission or worse. Sometimes I was left to myself for entire days, i knew her missions were very important and that I would only slow her down, but all I could do was read and train with other padawans and read again and... do nothing.

So, while I daydreamed about the magnificent future missions with my master... I spent time with Qimir.

Of course, he was busy too, but I eagerly awaited his return each time. He would tell me what he did, who he met on his travels, the fights to the last breath, and, he was good at narrating them. He often came to see me in the library, where he would put on a silent show due to the librarian's constant admonishments, using books as pieces of the story and his lightsaber to represent himself. I laughed so much that my cheeks hurt, I used my hands to muffle the louder sounds, and Qimir seemed to love every moment of it. Sometimes, I wondered if he didn't deliberately behave insanely on missions just to tell me about it when we would meet.

The months passed quickly. After about a year as a padawan, I began to distinguish between what I was good at and what I was terrible at. For example, I was great at controlling the Force, but terrible at using the sword. Not because I wasn't good from a technical standpoint, but more for a mental reason, the idea of hurting someone paralyzed me. I wanted to be a Jedi who protected the weak, but I had missed the part where, if you're protecting them, it's because someone is hurting them, someone who probably should be stopped even with the use of force.

Worse still, I was terrified of my master's weapon, the whip seemed so unpredictable to control, yet she used it with deadly precision and wanted me to try it too. She believed my fear was natural for a young mind, that I just needed to unlock myself, but for me, it wasn't like that.

And it got worse when I sought comfort in Qimir.

Maybe, in hindsight, I should have realized something, but it's easy to talk when the worst has already happened. I remember very well what happened that evening, I was exhausted after all the sword training. Vernestra didn't seem particularly happy with my outburst a few hours earlier when I tried to say that maybe I wasn't suited to be a knight, that I could have pushed myself into the medical field or even just be an assistant, maybe a volunteer in war zones. She thought I was speaking without knowing anything, pushing me all afternoon to train in various forms. My hands hurt from calluses, but instead of running to the infirmary, I decided to knock on Qimir's room.

"I don't understand why she doesn't want to accept it. I... don't want to hurt anyone." I broke the tense silence that had formed while Qimir wrapped my fingers with the bandages he had in the bathroom.

"No one said you have to. You're a Jedi, our job is to fight for those in need." He was focused on looking at my fingers, so he didn't notice the grimace I gave him, "And I understand that. But I don't feel suited for that role. Many Jedi perform different duties, fighting isn't essential for everyone." He sighed a laugh.

"I think Vernestra is worried about your safety, it's okay to seek your vocation elsewhere, but our faith leads us to interact with dangerous environments, even the most peaceful mission could hide a terrible evil." He finished the bandaging, then gently took my hands in his, the warmth of his palms a pleasant consolation to the painful throbbing of the blisters that filled my fingers.

He looked at me again with a sad smile on his lips, "I understand that you feel sure of what you want. But, flower, you're still a child. And you have many years ahead of you before you face the final exam, you don't know what will happen or if you will change your mind, don't take what you feel for granted." I blushed foolishly at the nickname he had started calling me some time ago, something about how "I seemed delicate like a flower".

"I know, but... don't you think lightsabers are terrifying?" I stuttered uncertainly, looking into his eyes.

And that moment. That single instant when he gave me that sweet smile, I shivered.

"That's what makes them so beautiful, right?"

I didn't have an answer, maybe yes, but I wouldn't have had the courage to tell him at the moment. I only know that I swallowed a bitter bite and freed myself from his grip, a heavy breath escaping my mouth, "I have to go, thanks for the bandages," I got up quickly and fled from that room as if I had someone on my heels.

That shiver down my spine, that rancid smell at my nose, I couldn't imagine it at the time, but that was the first time I felt fear.

Of course, I blamed myself entirely, I was exaggerating, everyone said so, I was terrified of violence in a way not suitable for the role I was supposed to fill in the future, I should have recovered quickly and restarted my training. I tried to forget that evening, as I had gradually forgotten that conversation on Hoth, but that was just the beginning.

The missions with Qimir keeping us company decreased over time, sometimes he just stopped by for a greeting or joined us more to keep me company if he had a free moment. I really appreciated the time together, I liked that we could remain silent without making it seem strange, once on Naboo he showed me almost the whole city since he had already visited it before. We got ice cream overlooking a lake in complete silence, the sunset was spectacular, and with the light sounds of the forest accompanying us, I fell asleep with my face pressed against his side.

The next morning, I found myself in my room with his cloak as a blanket since I was still dressed. When I tried to return it, he teased me, saying I had slipped on the ground when I pressed against him. I yelled at him that he was rude to tell me that, but only because I didn't have the courage to admit that I found it hilarious. If I had given him rope, he would have teased me about it for months.

When I was finally old enough to accompany the master on some of her more dangerous missions, my opinion on weapons had not changed, but I had made peace with myself and decided to find my combat style.

I was proud of how I built my lightsaber, but I had to modify it when I implemented the double-sided exit to have a double-bladed saber. It made me feel safer using it, more protected, and it was a more versatile weapon, especially for more enemies. So, once I got used to using it combined with a defensive fighting style, I finally felt complete.

On the field, I rarely used the lightsaber, trusting more in my control of the Force to block my opponents and stun them. I knew Vernestra was not entirely happy with how I restrained myself, but I tried to excel in everything else, hoping it was enough.

On a return trip to Coruscant, both wounded and tired, we talked once again about the problem that had arisen when it was needed.

What was supposed to be a quiet afternoon defending senators had turned into a nightmare when a bomb exploded at the meeting place, civilians fleeing in terror, and only a Jedi and a padawan handling the dozen terrorists shooting at the crowd.

The situation obviously got out of hand, and we survived by a miracle. Before calling the council to let them know what had happened, seeing me still so shaken, Vernestra hugged me.

I clung to her robe, barely holding back tears, the memory of all the wounded passing under my eyes still fresh, but she grabbed my shoulders, and looking at me with a determined face, she said, "You did well. I am proud of you."

A few minutes later, when we could finally sit down, I had the courage to speak.

"I killed them. It was so..." I was looking at the blue of hyperspace around us, lost in my thoughts, I don't know if I was talking more to myself or to her.

"You did what was necessary. On other occasions, we could have captured them, but we were at a disadvantage. Sometimes, to save lives, you have to make drastic choices," her tone always confident, as if it were all normal, and technically it was, for her.

I no longer knew what I was doing at that point.

"I know, but... my hands..." were shaking. They shaking even then, in the peace of our shuttle. I held onto the armrests tightly as if I were afraid of falling.

"Maybe Qimir is right."

I turned suddenly, confused, hearing his name mentioned out of nowhere. She sighed before looking at me again, "He thinks it would do you good to train with him a bit. He has been suggesting it to me for a while..." she cleared her throat before looking away.

"Maybe dealing with a more aggressive combat style like his would help you unlock. I know you two have become friends, and... he is much better than me at making you feel comfortable. He might be more helpful than I am."

I was taken aback, more by the fact that Qimir had suggested something like that without letting me know anything. It gave me a strange, somewhat unpleasant feeling that I couldn't quite identify.

But still, my problems at the moment were different, so I nodded. I already felt guilty enough for hesitating in the face of danger. Despite the comforting words, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I had failed.

“Just… be careful, okay?”

The look he gave me is one I would never forget. That… knowing glint deep in his eyes, like a warning bell. But I ignored it.

I nodded, but I ignored it.

When we got home, she headed towards the council room to submit her report. She advised me to go rest since it was already evening, but after saying goodbye to her, I quickly walked down the Jedi corridor. I had been injured and was limping slightly, the next day, I could get myself healed quickly by a healer using the Force, but at that moment, it was a different kind of pain tormenting me.

I knocked hard on Qimir's door without even thinking about it, two, three times before I heard some commotion on the other side, bare footsteps approaching the door before it opened.

“I hope you have a good reason for knocking on my door at this hour—” he mumbled sleepily, his hair messy and wearing only a pair of sweatpants. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, confused, when I jumped into his arms.

My face pressed against his warm chest, and the tears I had been holding back until then started to fall relentlessly, accompanied by a few sobs.

He woke up suddenly, understanding what was happening. He effortlessly picked me up before entering the room and shutting the door behind him. “Hey, hey, my sweet flower, what's wrong?” he whispered in my ear, now fully awake.

I hid my face in his neck while he hugged me tightly, my legs hanging down the sides of his hips, my tears wetting the skin of his chest as I tried to stammer out coherent words.

I had never felt so small until that night, hidden in his arms. Although his cheerful personality made him seem childish at times, I tended to forget that we were a little over ten years apart, we didn’t really share anything except our loyalty to the Order and the same master, but we weren’t the same age, and we didn’t even have similar hobbies. We… he treated me like a little sister with absent parents.

I had run off to seek the safest comfort I knew, and he had given it to me without a second's protest.

He listened to my tear-flavored words without saying anything, his fingers brushing through my hair, partly caressing my scalp. He held me against his chest tighter when my sobs were too much to utter even a single syllable. He didn’t say anything when I was done, had me take off my shoes and most of my dirty tunic, and then lay down in bed with me.

I was pressed between the wall and his warm body, one arm on my side, and the covers wrapped around me like a cocoon.

The next day, still comfortably pressed against his chest, I took a moment to sort out my thoughts. I was ashamed of having lost my composure like that, i shouldn’t have fallen victim to fear, so I slipped away at dawn to avoid facing him. We never talked about what happened, I didn’t have much to say anyway and went back to focusing on my studies.

A few days later, Vernestra came to tell me she would be away to resolve the conflict that had arisen after that attack and that I was entrusted to Qimir as she had mentioned. I had already forgotten about that story, but it all came flooding back when we said goodbye on the platform. Her hesitant look as she stopped halfway up the ramp. I saw her sigh, maintaining a stoic expression before coming back to me one last time. “Trust your instincts, Padawan. If something makes you uncomfortable or… you just leave, got it? You’re still too young for certain matters.”

I didn’t have time to ask her what she was referring to, she boarded the ship right after and left, leaving me there with questions on the tip of my tongue.

Qimir sought me out soon after. I was hiding in the library every afternoon, hoping not to run into him and avoid training, but of course, it didn’t last long. With his usual light smile and calm demeanor, he approached me one morning, “Are you perhaps skipping your training, Padawan?” he asked, mimicking an authoritative tone.

I couldn’t even laugh. In the end, I gave in. I had promised my master, and the fear I felt that afternoon still gave me nightmares, so I followed him into the training room.

Fighting Qimir was like facing a hurricane, seemingly chaotic but, in reality, a perfectly concentrated deadly force of nature. I was used to exhausting rhythms, so I didn’t find it difficult, but what destabilized me was his gaze. It seemed like he really wanted to kill me.

Fast and lethal with his double violet lightsabers, he often aimed at my legs to make me fall and gain an advantage over me. I squirmed uneasily under that assault, of course, that was the goal of that training, but… there was a cold wind behind him. A suffocating sensation, a chill on my skin that made me doubt who or what I was facing.

Vernestra was away for just under a month, during which I trained with Qimir when I wasn’t studying. One of the last training sessions was grueling. I began to doubt he wanted to take it easy on me from the beginning, we clashed forcefully -with our lightsabers- because “it’s needed to keep you sharp ” as if the strikes he aimed at me weren’t enough to keep me alert.

A particularly painful strike to the thigh made me fall heavily to the ground, the fabric of my robe smoking from the slash. When I looked up at him, now disarmed, I almost vomited. Those eyes… now I could recognize them. The eyes of a killer. The same as those men that afternoon weeks before who had charged into the crowd.

I fled the room, took a shower, and went to bed without dinner. I was sure I was going insane. I was tired and nervous and seeing things that weren’t there. I tried to shake off that voice in my head that screamed at me to be careful with Qimir, the guilt clashing with the fear. I tried to bury it all once again, deeper and further away.

And so my routine returned to normal once everything was back to how it was before, and the master had returned, although… I had started to avoid Qimir. It wasn’t that I was running away from him, it was more like a need for personal space, let’s say. Luckily, he was sent on a mission, but he wrote to me almost every evening with messages about his goals, to which I replied with monosyllables. He realized something was wrong, but when he asked me how I was or if something had happened, I dodged the question.

During a mission in the Outer Rim, I was able to indirectly spy on a call between Vernestra and Qimir. She was scolding him for some unspecified decision, but it was the final warning that made me waver. “You’re losing your composure lately. Leave the mission and return to Coruscant to meditate on your choices.” My breath stopped when I heard him shouting through the holopad. I couldn’t quite make out the words, but he was complaining about the poor results of the missions or something like that. I swallowed down that memory too. It had been an outburst due to a tense situation, it could happen. I had to stop thinking about it.

Shared missions completely disappeared. Qimir and I only saw each other to spend time together. One evening, he took me to dinner in a somewhat shabby place with the promise that I could bring my fellow Padawans there when we were older. The light conversation at the table was pleasant before silence surrounded us.

“I’m sorry we see each other less lately,” he finally sighed after dessert.

I shrugged, relaxed. “Well, we have our duties. And I need to keep studying.” I thought I had given a satisfactory answer, but he looked more frowned than before. “It’s unfair. I want a Padawan too.”

I chuckled at the thought. “I think you need a few more years for that.” But he didn’t laugh, instead, he… stared at me in a way I couldn’t decipher. “Why do you say that? You’re growing well.”

I frowned at the answer. “Qimir, I’m Vernestra’s Padawan. No offense, but it’s she who’s raising me,” I maintained a smile that he didn’t share. “You spend more time with me than with her.”

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. I wanted to tell him that it was normal since we were friends, but that had little to do with the conversation we had started. To tell him that, as good as he was, he still struggled to act like a real authoritative figure suitable for a young boy who needs to learn the Jedi way, but… of course, I said nothing.

I didn’t feel like it. That conversation died just as it had begun.

It seemed that as time went by, that cheerful air around him faded. Maybe it was the maturity I was gaining that woke me up from that waking dream I was living. I recognized certain expressions or glances better, those smiles that once warmed my heart now had a bitter aftertaste. I began to wonder if something had been wrong from the start. Sometimes those strange warnings from Vernestra or those fragments of memories where I had seen him in a different light, more sinister, would come back to me.

So, I made a decision.

It was better to put some distance between the two of us, maybe growing up, I would be able to face him better, understand what was going through his head, and once matured, I would be able to help him as he helped me.

I don’t know if that decision was the straw that broke the camel’s back, if it was something inevitable that had already begun, or if there was no escape. Looking back at everything that happened, the mistakes had started much earlier, but how much blame did I truly deserve?

I was young, naive, it wasn’t my job to see beyond the veil of lies, beyond the Jedi, beyond the Force.

I wouldn’t have been able to recognize the dark side under those circumstances.

And in fact, I didn’t recognize it until it was too late.

And there it was, right in front of me, taking my breath away.

[doumadono]

hi i wanted to send an emergency request so if it makes you uncomfortable but ive been struggling with an eating disorder for 2 years now i was wondering if you could do katsuki comforting reader who cant get herself to eat.

Sanctuary of gentleness - Bakugo x Reader

A/N: I'm really sorry to hear about the struggles you’ve been facing. Healing is not linear and every small step you take towards recovery is a victory. It's important to be kind to yourself and recognize the strength it takes to face each day

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

The day had stretched out long and weary, a tapestry of endless hours that found you curled up on the living room sofa, a book lying forgotten on your lap. Sunlight waned, slipping through the curtains in lazy, golden streaks, as the clock ticked towards the time Katsuki would come home.

You hadn’t eaten anything all day. The very thought tightened an invisible band around your chest, making it hard to breathe, to move, to think beyond the numbing fear that came with every mealtime.

The sound of the door slamming jolted you from your reverie, heralding Katsuki’s return. His heavy footsteps resonated against the hardwood floor. "Hey," he started, his voice rough around the edges after a day of shouting orders and battling foes. "I'm home."

He was ready for a night of quiet, hopefully punctuated by the comfort of a shared meal with you, his beloved fiancée, but the apartment was too quiet, the usual signs of life unsettlingly absent.

He appeared in the doorway, his hero costume replaced by an oversized, grey t-shirt and black sweatpants, his face drawn tight with exhaustion, hair disheveled. He found you in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over your legs.

You glanced up, managing a weak smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Welcome back," you murmured.

Katsuki’s brow furrowed as he approached you, a twinge of concern tightening his chest.

The kitchen was untouched - the pots and pans in their places, the plates clean, the entire space too orderly. "Did you eat anything today?" he asked, his tone sharper than he intended.

Your silence was answer enough.

"Dammnit!" Katsuki exploded, his temper flaring as it often did when he felt helpless. "You need to eat, damn it! You can’t just -"

But he stopped, the anger draining from him as he took a closer look at you.

There were dark circles under your eyes, and your hands were clasped tightly in your lap. This wasn’t the stubbornness he often dealt with in the field; this was something deeper, something painful.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the spikes falling disorderly, a rare sign of his agitation. "I’m sorry," he muttered, sitting down beside you. He took a deep breath, his next words more measured. "Talk to me."

You shifted, leaning into him, your head resting against his strong shoulder. "I don’t know, Katsuki. It’s hard to explain," you whispered, the weight of your confession making your voice tremble. "Everything’s just too much. And I am not hungry... Even if I feel dizzy and unwell..."

Katsuki’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. His heart ached at your admission, his usual solutions of fighting through the problem useless here. "I know, babe, I know it’s hard," he said, his voice a low rumble coming from deep withing his chest. "But you gotta eat. We’ll figure this out, okay? Together."

You nodded against him, the fight draining out of you. "I want to get better," you admitted, "But I'm afraid I'm not strong enough. I'm so scared."

"Then we start small," he said decisively. "What about some green tea? And maybe some toast?" His proposal was gentle, a stark contrast to his usual bluntness.

"That sounds okay," you agreed.

Katsuki stood, extending his hand to you. "Let’s go then. I’ll make it." His words were a command, but his tone was soft, caring.

In the kitchen, Katsuki moved with a sureness. He heated the water, and soon tea was ready. He watched you out of the corner of his eye as he buttered the toast.

You sat at the counter, watching him, the normalcy of the situation making you feel calmer.

When he placed the cup and plate in front of you, his hand lingered over yours, warm and reassuring. "It’s okay to struggle," Katsuki said, meeting your gaze with an intensity that only he could muster. "But you’re not alone. Never."

Katsuki sat across from you, and started eating his portion.

As you nibbled on the toast and sipped the tea, Bakugo talked about trivial things - something funny Kirishima had said, a weird quirk a villain had used that day - his words light, but his presence a steadfast anchor in the storm of your thoughts. There was no impatience in his gaze, no biting remarks about the speed at which you ate. Instead, there was an unspoken encouragement.

When the plates were finally empty, Katsuki leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on you, but now there was a hint of pride in his eyes. "See? You can do this," he said, his voice low and reassuring.

You looked up from your plate, meeting his gaze. "It was good," you whispered softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But I'm full."

Finally, the dishes were cleared, and you both moved to the living room, the space familiar and comforting.

Katsuki, usually a bundle of restless energy, seemed more at ease, his demeanor gentle as he sat down beside you on the couch. He draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, and you leaned into the warmth of his body, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your side. He kissed the top of your head softly, a gesture so laden with affection and resolve. "We're a team, remember?" he whispered, his voice a low rumble. "No matter how tough it gets, we face it together."

You nodded, the simplicity of the moment wrapping around you like a cocoon. "Together," you agreed, the word a lifeline in the swirling sea of your thoughts.

Katsuki had always been a fortress of strength, but now he was also a sanctuary of gentleness.

[synthwavecryptid]

Can’t sleep, so I’m thinking about how Hosea said himself he spent a year drinking after Bessie died

(putting all my thoughts on it under a cut because alcoholism)

Like. It’s already bad enough that he chased the bottom of a bottle for a year, and while I’m curious as to what broke that habit cycle, I’m also curious how the fallout went

Because recovery is ugly. It isn’t easy, even when weaning off in a controlled environment. Cold turkey even worse. It’s an addiction, and that comes with withdrawal. So I know, for fact, this man was sick as a damn dog for WEEKS.

I’m just. Very heart sore thinking about him highstrung and anxious, pacing around camp when he should be laying down because he’s too jittery to run a con and his hands too shaky to hold a gun. Can’t sleep for shit, sweating through his shirts, and dropping weight because he’s unable to keep much of anything down, living off of weak herbal tea and biscuits. Running the whole gamut of extremes from exhausted, to furious, to tearfully begging for a drink and to keep him away from drink in turns.

I’m also of the mind that Dutch is not the caretaking type, is awkward with comfort and out of his depth with nursing, but he does his damnedest to do right by Hosea anyways.

Dutch may get overwhelmed, and frustrated, and sometimes just plain scared, but he always comes back bearing clean clothes, fresh tea, or a book to read to Hosea while he’s flat out and fighting hallucinations.

It may also be borne of selfishness, and Dutch’s brand of possessiveness, because without Annabelle Hosea is Dutch’s anchor; and without Bessie, Dutch can have Hosea entirely to himself again like the good ol days. I don’t personally think he hated her, per se, but I do think he was viciously jealous.

So now they’ll weather this storm together, married in action but not law like Bessie was and Dutch never can be; for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, til death do they part.

(hearing about Hosea’s struggles hit me in the feelings pretty hard because alcoholism got my ass too. not as badly, and my partner hadn’t died, but it still was a 0/10 experience. I’ve been sober a few years now. You’re not alone 🩷)

[lelianasbong]

Wyllstarion thought that’s rattling around in my brain—Wyll’s so willing to give anything for others, even if it’s something he needs, something he can’t afford to lose. So in the long term, if he gets into a position where he trusts Astarion enough to let him feed, it’s entirely possible that he offers himself up even when he shouldn’t—when he’s been injured, when he’s too weak and doesn’t have enough blood to be giving any away.

And Astarion, who has experienced attentiveness to his unspoken needs for the first time in 200 years because of Wyll, notices and stops himself, even though it goes against every instinct he has, and tells Wyll to rest instead.

HE WOULD BE THAT GUY. I hope you don't mind - I wrote a thing based off your thing.

Wyll coughed suddenly, the motion pulling at his wounds under carefully-applied bandages, causing him to grimace both in pain and at the memory of its source. Hours ago now - had it been hours? It must've been hours, the sun had set - he'd taken his own rapier to the gut after a frankly embarrassing display of being disarmed by his opponent in the melee.

He was laid up in their makeshift medical tent now, hurt but healing, his injured ego a small price to pay for his life.

He'd gotten too used to fighting creatures with more teeth than brains, wasn't prepared in the moment for an opponent that could match his wits, not in this barren hellscape where everything was more monster than man.

Sloppy, he thinks, angrier at himself than his enemy (long dead now - few could survive a githyanki silver sword to the skull, and gods if he wasn't grateful for that). He could hardly afford to be careless now, not with so many depending on him.

He vows to pull Lae'zel aside when he's back on his feet, ask her to spar, to encourage more drills and bouts of one-on-one sparring amongst their group in general. The better to brush up on his skills and endurance and test the limits of his companions' own.

They could use the practice, and not just because they'd had their asses summarily handed to them today.

Astarion was wan and bleary-eyed next to him, looking less ethereal in the moonlight than sickly, every bit the walking corpse he was in actuality. His features were drawn tight with exhaustion and pain - nursing several broken ribs, his left side mottled purple with angry bruises from a glancing hammer-blow that had his body ragdolling across the battlefield. It might've been comical if they hadn't narrowly escaped with their lives.

The vampire spawn was plainly exhausted and - and there was hunger there, too, his eyes a little wild with the sharp aroma of blood permeating the med tent, cutting through the noxious scent of sweat and stale air, the suffusive atmosphere of worry that hadn't much abated.

Shadowheart had spent herself patching them all back together and was finally resting, the candle in her tent snuffed out with a tired sigh. The camp was quiet except for Wyll's slightly ragged breathing, the muffled sounds of Karlach snoring into her pillow. Somewhere in the distance or the depths of his psyche, he heard the rushing of a river.

He wasn't feeling his best self. But he wasn't feeling his worst self either. A day of moderate hiking followed by getting his shit wrecked by marauders had him losing precious pints that Shadowheart had tried her damndest to get back in him, to some avail. The pain was tolerable. There were stitches in his side from where the blade had pierced his abdomen - Astarion's work. The lad was surprisingly deft with a needle, and hardly prone to fainting at the sight of blood.

Astarion, who hadn't yet left his side. Wyll wondered distantly if the scent of blood in the air was more a balm or tease for him - did it soothe, the way the scent-memory of the market in the lower city soothed Wyll? Cinnamon apple pie and brioche bread fresh from the ovens, the air suffused with saffron and cloves, spices of every sort peddled by merchants from Neverwinter to Chult. Or was it torturous, to be so near an ambrosia you could only half experience, to merely smell what you were forbidden to taste?

He wondered, but now was hardly the time to grill Astarion on the intricacies of his vampiric hunger. Still, he wasn't looking well. Apart from the extensive bruises and the shattered ribs that lie beneath them, his skin was waxy and clammy like a mortal with a cold sweat, eyes sunken deep in their sockets. Shadowheart could only perform so many miracles a day.

Feeding would hasten his healing. And Wyll wasn't feeling the worst he'd ever felt.

Fancy a nightcap? he thought, didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Astarion stiffened beside him, subtle as the sun. A moment passed, the other man took a deep breath - necessary only insofar as it seemed to fortify him, his atrophied lungs didn't ache for air, did they? -

An unidentifiable look passed over his tired features before he schooled them into something more imperious, raising a dubious eyebrow. A cool hand landed on Wyll's arm, rubbing soothing circles in his bicep.

"You smell about as appetizing as bilge water, darling," he sniffed delicately, attempting haughty but finding that it didn't quite land. "I'd rather partake of fresh food, if it's all the same to you." He wouldn't meet Wyll's eye, and Wyll couldn't bring himself to comment on the tremor in hands or how very large his pupils looked in the lamplight.

Nor did he seem inclined to leave Wyll's side, and Wyll found that he couldn't bring himself to comment on that either. He chuckled tiredly instead, eyes falling shut, blessedly dark and drifting on the effects of a potent healing potion.

"Another time, then," he assented, mumbling through his exhaustion, "when I'm less rank and more appetizing."

He felt more than heard Astarion's answering laugh - curiously wet, but the threads of conscious thought were tenuous now and the observation escaped him as soon as it was noted, as the Blade of Frontiers drifted at last into a dreamless sleep.

[morehotch]

[8:02 PM]

when aaron walks into your shared apartment, you’re for once thankful that jack is at jess’s for the night. you immediately stand up, chest tightening just looking at his bloody lip, the small scratches on his cheeks and forehead, and bandaged ear. he looks entirely exhausted and hurting; watching him makes your heart sink and breath hitch. 

aaron warned you that he was a little ‘banged up’ from the unsub when they confronted him; he called you from the jet before they took off, detailing how he and morgan went in to successfully save the unsub’s last victim before he set off one last bomb. still, no words could prepare you for how you feel when he walks in the door. you never feel okay seeing him after a case; always on some level mentally and physically exhausted- but this. 

you suck in a deep breath, tears instantly welling up in your eyes as aaron’s brows furrow and his frown deepens. you can immediately tell he feels bad for upsetting you and you hate it. you hate everything about him coming home so broken and exhausted yet still so determined to be strong for you. 

“honey,” aaron starts, loosening his tie and walking towards you, “i’m okay, i promise.”

you stand to hug him carefully, thumbing over his cheek that doesn’t have a bandage on it. “you need some new bandages and ice,” you decide softly. 

“you don’t have to do that,” he whispers but it’s not convincing as you shake your head adamantly. “i want to. let me help you, please.”

aaron doesn’t say anything, only nodding, as you get up and he follows you into the bathroom. you pull things out of the first aid kit you keep tucked away in the bathroom. usually it was reserved for jack’s soccer games and other unpredictable kid activities but times like these it was always helpful too. 

“stay still,” you mutter and aaron immediately obliges. he looks up at you through hooded eyes that gaze at you with so much admiration that you’re momentarily distracted by their intensity. 

just by your face alone, aaron must be able to tell you don’t think he’s okay. 

“i already got cleared by the medic at the scene, honey.” his voice is thick but he’s not fighting you. you can tell he feels guilty. 

the way he says it so casually and the way his eyes contain such a raw form of honesty make you look away momentarily, knowing how easily convinced you are by him.

“i don’t care.” you say it with such sternness that aaron doesn’t bother arguing with you anymore as you begin to refocus on re-bandaging his ear. “i still want to take care of you,” you whisper, disinfecting his cuts and wiping the excess blood from his face.

but the further you examine his injuries, the more concerned you become. “you need ice for the swelling, they didn’t give you ice? maybe you should call your doctor tomorrow for your ear, especially because of your injury a few years ago.” you hear yourself ramble frantically, trying not to get worked up as you grasp tightly onto his cold hand, looking around your bathroom for anything to soothe his irritated skin.

“it’s okay,” aaron looks up, managing a reassuring smile and searching your eyes in an attempt to ground you.

“no, no it’s not,” you say, pouting, “you can’t come back to me all bloody and bruised.” you suck in a deep breath as your thoughts overwhelms you entirely, “i don’t like it.” you try to wipe your watering eyes and stop your fumbling lip. you turn away from him to face the sink, hating how weak you feel when aaron is always so incredibly strong for you.  

he looks up at you and feels bad. aaron doesn’t say anything, what can he say? he has always been scared, terrified, that you would slowly grow tired of the repetitive wounds, days without seeing him, and his constant, demanding work.

he fears someday you’ll decide that you’re tired of all the baggage that comes with him; the pain and suffering he brought home weekly or all the nights you’ve spent staying up waiting, worried, and scared. aaron wouldn’t blame you if you were tired of all of it.

but you never are. you’re different from anything aaron has ever seen or experienced. your touches are delicate and careful, roaming his body softly and gently, like no one else ever has. you take care of him and listen. you understand and always try to understand. you love jack, love him, and it’s so encompassing and beautiful that aaron hates when you have to see him like this. 

you can easily tell what he’s thinking about, the guilt that he permanently carries on his shoulders. “i’m not leaving,” you say quietly, gripping his chin carefully and urging him to look up at you. you smooth a hand over his shoulder, still covered by his dress shirt. 

“i know,” he whispers hoarsely.

“i want you to feel extra sure then,” you smile, letting his arms snake around your hips to pull you closer as his head buries into your leg, covered by your soft pajama pants.  

it’s silent for a few moments and aaron shows no signs of moving, head still resting on your hip, eyes glued to your bathroom counter; your toothbrushes in a cup together. the shampoo you always use that smells like mango, your lives so perfectly intertwined together. 

you say after a moment of silence, continuing. “i think you need a reminder sometimes,” you whisper, hand running through his hair. you toss the old bandage in the trash, bending to kiss the crown of his head, “i’ll always stay because i love you.” 

and aaron entirely believes you. 

[dairy-farmer]

There’s a lot of Bruce being a creep but what if Jason? What if a Jason never died au in which he brings home his first boyfriend and they’re all super excited — until he brings home this tweeny kid, Tim. They’re in the same class but he’d been bumped up a few years.

He’s all of 13 years old to Jason’s 18 and Jason is *very* handsy, extreme pda — Jason’s (more than) a little and feels like he can get away with it, which he can. I can’t think of many specific examples, but maybe them making out during movie night and Jason pressing his hand into the crotch of Tim’s pants, pressing his fingers against his pussy through the fabric while Tim very much does not enjoy it, Jason and he sharing the same bed when he stays over and *everyone* can hear them fucking, or maybe the two of them were home alone and Jason’s fucking Yin hard enough to bruise around the manor and the others come home and are like ‘what the fuck Jason’ and Jason just *keeps going*, harder so he can finish himself off.

The family are weak to Jason, spoil him rotten, he’s an entitled brat who had to be taken off active duty years ago because he’s a liability who can’t follow orders. They’re as helpless as ever to him fucking this kid, and so end up turning a blind eye as always as Jason becomes even more blatant with what he’s doing, and the entire time Tim seems less than comfortable with it — but is seemingly devoted to Jason?

cw//underage, grooming

jason has had so few good things in his life after he was forced to permanently retire from robin and tim is one of the few things jason has to look forward to and enjoy. and so maybe jason is a little rough with him, maybe he accidentally squeezes tim too tight or keeps going even when tim is making those pained animal noises. maybe he's a little mean, pinching tim's tits and cheeks when he makes whining sounds over jason shoving his underwear to the side to sink his fingers or cock into tight, wet heat. so maybe he gropes and touches tim to his heart's content but its not as if tim ever really protests it even though...well...he'd like it if jason was a little gentler and if maybe he and jason could just.... watch a movie or spend time together without jason pressing rough fingers into tim to keep him open and wet for his cock. which tim does appreciate a bit since jason likes to fuck hard and tim's cunt was always left throbbing, aching, and bruised afterward. tim didn't really see what was so good about mashing their parts together but jason was a big fan of it, making tim do it whenever they had time. like when jason would invite tim over to "sudy" together but that would just lead to him pushing tim down and unbuckling his uniform pants before shoving into tim. other times when jason's dad would pick them up from school he'd climb on tim in the back seats leaving tim to try to keep his voice down as if he could hide from mr. wayne what they were doing.

of course tim doesn't protest. jason was robin. and tim had held a candle to the robin mantle ever since dick had created and so...so tim is willing to overlook how all jason seems to really want to do is keep tim plugged on his cock. even though tim doesn't really like it because it leaves him so sore and achy like the muscles deep in tim were exhausted. sometimes jason doesn't even put things in him, not hid fingers or cock. sometimes they'll be sitting and finally watching a movie but then jason's hands will drift down and cup tim right between his legs, palm squeezing and pressing firmly to tim's cunt as if to remind him that it belonged to jason even if it was attached to tim.

and tim lets him do it. even if he may occasionally protest, even if he may not fully like it all the time. it's jason.

and the rest of the family are so reluctant to take anything more away from jason when, for the first time since he was retired, he seems....happy. jason was ill suited for robin. his temper and mental health worsened being robin. it didn't help that jason had never really healed from the violence he experienced and witnessed on the street. being a cape was an emaciating job, all you ever saw was the worst humanity had to offer and the unspeakable things they were capable of and that...that drained people. years and years of it all had a tendency to erode away empathy, patience, and kindness. and bruce and dick had seen how it was doing that to jason how he was growing harsher and crueler and resistant to bruce's orders. jason had done a good job while active but...maybe asking jason to be a cape just wasn't a sustainable option. and so for his own good he was fired. maybe they should've been more careful, nicer. because jason turned all the frustration all that pent up emotion all out onto tim. and while bruce and dick both wanted to step in at times, especially when loud, wet slaps and the sobs of a child came from the direction of jason's room...they didn't. they still loved jason and didn't want this...phase to bring him harm. they knew how it looked, jason was practically an adult and would be in a few months and tim was barely through puberty. but they couldn't bring themselves to stop jason so...they didn't.

and so even though it may turn their stomachs at time...they chose to let all of it continue.

[dreamingofep]

Sinned Awakening pt. 20.1 🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis/Vampire Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: No

Prompt: Getting promoted to be Elvis full time housekeeper, you realize the man holds secrets beyond belief and your undeniable attraction makes you fear the unknown. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, tension, ANGST, mentions of blood/gore!!!

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Hello everyone! It's late but I had to post this now.🤭 I've been busy writing this next part and it was getting WAY too long so I had to make the hard decision of cutting it into two parts. The word count was over 10k and I hadn't even edited it yet🫣 I'll have the second half of this chapter up in a few days so you won't have to wait too long to see what happens next. I hope you enjoy this next part!

A reminder, this is Vampire!Elvis so there is going to be mentions of blood/gore from here on out. If that's not your thing, sorry but it's needed for the story.

If you'd like to start from the beginning, start here I hope you enjoy and message and comment what you think!

The last few days felt like a total blur. You would give anything to go back up to the penthouse, get no cleaning done, and fight how much sexual tension there was brewing between you and Elvis. In your mind, none of this nightmarish stuff has ever happened to you but every time you close your eyes, it replays over and over on a loop and you can’t stay away from it. You had a hard time sleeping even though you were mentally exhausted. Elvis urged you to get some rest and that he’d be there the whole time to protect you. You were still scared though. Still scared Raphael had you in his grasp and wouldn’t let you go. 

You finally get released from the hospital even though your doctor insisted you stay long for testing because he grew quite concerned about those mysterious bite marks on your body. Elvis convinced them to not worry and released you right away. Before you knew it, you were on a plane headed for Memphis. 

You were still pretty groggy and ached when you moved too much. You were carried onto Elvis’ private plane and placed gently on the bed in the back of it. Blankets were placed over you and you gladly pulled them closer to your body. You couldn’t stop shivering and you didn’t know why. Maybe it was just your body in shock. Elvis lays in the bed with you and pulls you close, pressing your body into his and you yelp in discomfort. A sharp rush of pain grew where his hand was laid across your torso. You didn’t understand why it hurt so much right there. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks panicked. 

You close your eyes and take a sharp breath in. 

“It hurts. It hurts when you touch me here,” you whisper, knowing that it doesn’t sound right coming from your lips. You turn over to plead with your eyes for him to understand. 

His eyes grow with a look of hurt, not liking what you said. He slowly retracts his hands and looks over your body lying there. 

“I’m sorry baby. I should have known. I can feel how much your body aches,” he says sorrowfully, “please rest honey. We’ll be home in no time.”

You do as he says and by the time you wake up, you both are landing in Memphis. It was a short drive from the airport to Graceland and he held your hand the entire time in the back seat of his limo. It was cold this time of year and you could feel the cold from the windows of the car. 

You see a group of people waiting outside the gates of Graceland and they all scream and shout when they see the limo pull up. Elvis just smiles and waves at them, not stopping to sign any autographs. He looks worried at you as the car drives up the long winding driveway. The limo pulls to the side of the house and makes a gentle stop. Elvis helps you get out of the car, carefully picking you up, and carrying you inside. A few maids and cooks were waiting to greet him when he stepped through the doors, but their smiles soon faded into looks of concern when they saw you weak in his arms. 

“Can you please make some soup for her? And make sure no one comes into our room. Just leave the food at the door please,” he says gently. They nod their heads quickly and go to the kitchen. 

He takes you up the white staircase and leads you to the double doors of the master suite. It was low-lit, a lot like his suite in Vegas. Black and red tapestry hung in the room and gold fixtures hung on the wall. He places you down in the soft lush bed and quickly drapes a blanket over you. You look up at him and see how he wants to comfort you in some way but is too afraid of touching you. Your heart aches for him. You hated seeing how he 

“Are you comfortable honey?”

You nod your head at him and smile sweetly at him. Something about being here in his house was very comforting. The house felt very still and warm. You always expected his house to be lively and loud but based on how you’re feeling, he probably didn’t want that for you. 

There was a soft knock at the door and Elvis went to grab the food left at the door. He helped you eat some of the chicken soup and it did taste really good. You don’t remember eating much food in the hospital as your stomach was either nauseous or the food tasted awful and you refused to eat it. You eat a good portion of the soup now and look at him longingly. There was so much pain written across his face. You hated to see him like this, but you knew it was only because of what happened to you that he was feeling like this. You wish you could convince him that you’re okay and not going to perish by just one look. 

A heavy silence fills his room and he carefully picks up your hand to hold it. He places a gentle kiss on the top of it and sighs. 

“How do you feel baby?” 

“I’m okay,” you whisper. 

“You’ll get better every day, don’t you worry.”

You give him a reassuring smile, hoping that he is telling the truth. 

“Do you remember anything from that night baby? What was the last thing you remember?” He asks gently. 

You nod your head, “yes…. I remember Raphael biting me and the door burst open… that’s about it,” you say hoarsely. 

His face drops and he grows worried. You grow concerned and don’t understand why he’s giving this reaction. 

“Why? What happened?” You ask. 

He shakes his head at you and breathes in deeply. “I’ll tell you another day honey,” he says shortly. 

You sigh in protest, wanting to know what had happened. You hated when he tried to deflect from any problems you were facing. 

“Fine,” you say slowly getting out of bed. You’re able to walk fine but you feel aches and pains shot through your body, especially your neck. 

“Where do ya think you’re goin’?” He asks. 

“I’m just going to take a shower and get out of your way since you don’t want to talk to me.” You say shortly. 

“Honey, it’s not like that. I just don’t want to overwhelm you. Let me help you at least. You’re still pretty weak,” he advises, “let me draw a bath for you and help you. Please, honey, understand that this isn’t easy for me to see you like this.” 

You sigh, frustrated with everything but understand he’s only trying to help you. You felt bad he had to watch you in the hospital for those few days unable to do anything.

“Okay, I’m sorry for snapping at you,” you say softly. 

Elvis gets up off the bed and walks over to the bathroom, flipping the light switch on. You sit back down in the bed and wait for the tub to fill up and for Elvis to come back to get you. 

After a few moments, he emerges from the bathroom and helps you walk over. The cold marble made you shiver and hoped the bath water was warm enough to warm your shivering body. For the first time in days, you look at yourself in the reflection of the mirror. You had on an oversized T-shirt you didn’t recognize and some soft sweatpants. A large brown bandage was plastered across your neck as well as your wrists. 

You glance up at Elvis and watch where his gaze is drawn, how it stares lasers at your covered wounds. He can’t hide the fact that he was disgusted by the sight of the damage Raphael caused and spurts of anger were felt coming off of him. 

He carefully brushes your hair to one side of your shoulder and gently puts his hand on your arm. 

“We have to take off these bandages baby. I’ll be gentle and clean them for you,” he says sweetly. 

You nod your head and part of you doesn’t want to see them become uncovered. But you knew you had to face the reality of your situation sooner rather than later. His cold fingertips lightly graze your neck, giving you goosebumps. He carefully pulls the bandage off and you wince. You watch as he slowly reveals your wound to you, how it’s red and blue and ached terribly. You can see the perfect indentation of his teeth in your neck and how deep his fangs really went. You felt like crying, all of this was too overwhelming. But you tried to pull it together as you had other bandages left to uncover. 

You didn’t want to look at Elvis’ eyes and how hurt they must look. That would for sure make you crumble. He moves into your wrists, taking off those bandages but you decide not to look at them. You already saw how those looked at the house. 

“Okay baby, can you lift your arms so I can help you get out of this shirt?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” you say. 

He nods his head and takes off your shirt, then followed by your sweatpants. You look back at your body in the mirror and another bandage is on your chest, tummy, and one on the inside of your upper thigh. Your eyes shoot a panicked look at Elvis, not remembering how these happened. He doesn’t look at you right away, he is focused on removing them and trying not to hurt you. He kneels down on his knees and removes each one. This explains why it hurt so much on the plane when he pulled you in to lay next to you. 

Each bite mark looked worse than the last. You finally let out all the tears you were holding back. You push at his chest and turn your back to Elvis, gasping in between sobs. 

“Don’t look at me, please. I’m disgusting,” you whimper. 

“No baby, no that’s not true. You don’t need to hide from me. Come on, let’s get you in the tub,” he says softly. You feel him take your hand and lead you to the water. 

The water was perfect temperature and the warm water soothed your body instantly. You lay back and wince once your bite marks emerge in the water. The wounds burned and you had to take deep breaths to calm yourself down. 

He gently washes your hair, massaging your head and relieving some pent-up stress. He was being so tender with you. Not that you didn’t think he had that side, he had showed you that side of him a few times. But he was normally so dominant, so in control of everything, you loved this side of him and how he was treating you. 

He goes to get a clean wash cloth and lathers some soap on it. He was gentle as a feather as his hand washed your body, making sure not to make your wounds hurt more. You look down at the wash cloth and see red stains staring to appear on it. Little dribbles of blood started leaking out of your bite marks and you hold your breath. Your skin was so fragile that the slightest thing was opening the wounds again. You look up at him panicked, not wanting him to endure this torture. 

“Elvis, you don’t have to do this,” you whimper. 

He licks his bottom lip, eying the drop of blood falling down from your neck and down onto your breast in a slow teardrop. He takes a deep breath before wanting to speak, his eyes lighting up with hunger, and he swallows harshly. You don’t know when the last time he fed but you can only assume it was when he fed from you over a week ago. Your finger swipes up the blood and gathers it on your finger, slowly putting it to his lips. He grunts as you’re inches away from his mouth.

“No, baby, I’m okay,” he sighs, looking away from you. You take your other hand and place it on his chin, moving his face to look back in your direction.

“Taste it, baby,” you sigh. His dark eyes meet yours and he opens his mouth slightly, allowing your slender finger to enter his mouth. His lips close and you feel his tongue lick the pad of your finger and sigh deeply. He closes his eyes and swirls his tongue around your finger then pulls his head away. You couldn’t help but sigh when you watched him taste you, completely turned on just watching him getting to enjoy you.

He gently takes your hand and kisses the back of it, taking a deep breath of your scent.

“Thank you, you didn’t need to do any of that. I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you remember?” He says cheekily.

“I know, just thought why let it go to waste,” you say shyly. 

“You’re too good to me.” He says softly, rubbing your arms with the washcloth. You know it’s not easy for him though. No matter what control he might possess right now, he still wanted your blood an ungodly amount. He glides the washcloth across your breast, cleaning off the rest of the trickling blood that came out. You couldn’t imagine how hard this was for him to do, letting your blood go to waste and just wash it away. His face was well-controlled and very focused on not hurting you. You take a sharp breath in, feeling the pain that comes with him touching you like this. Your skin stung as he washed your body and only the sound of your breathing and the small water droplets falling off of you was heard.

“Can you stand up now baby? So I can wash your legs?” He asks.

You nod your head and grab onto his shoulder to maintain your balance. Nerves rushed through you as your naked body stood in front of him, battered and scarred. You felt more exposed than you had ever felt in your life. You didn’t want him to see you like this, especially when the marks were so evident on you. You could only imagine what was going on in his head as he got a closer look at them.

He drops the washcloth in the sudsy water, his fingers trembling as he runs them up along your leg and onto your thigh. 

“Oh God,” he mutters. You look down at the mark on your thigh and that one looks the worse. You didn’t need to look at it for long and it made you sick that they could do this to you. Elvis let out a pent-up sigh and you could tell he was angry. The more he inspected your contused figure, the more you could tell he couldn’t stand the sight of it.

You gently push his chin up to look at you, tears filling your eyes. “Honey, please don’t look too long. I can’t see you like this,” you plead. His jaw clenches and he grunts, not saying anything back.

He finishes washing your body without saying a word and quickly grabs you a towel and drapes it over your shoulders. He grabs a fluffy robe from behind the door and helps you in it. You walk back into the bedroom and crawl back into bed. The bite on your thigh made walking uncomfortable and sitting down even harder too. Every move you made opened the wound back up, causing blood to leak from it. You put pressure on it with your hand over the robe, naively thinking that will help the scent of you from lingering in the room. You look back at Elvis as you realize he didn’t follow you into the bedroom. He stands in the doorway of the bathroom, looking down at the floor sullenly.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Hmm?” You say confused.

“I’m sorry for all of this. You should have never had to go through this,” he sighs defeated, not looking in your direction.

Your emotions were on the brink of collapse and you wanted to cry again.

“Baby, please, come here,” you beg. He walks slowly to the bed and leaves space in between you two.

You grab at his wrist to make him look at you.

“This isn’t your doing, Elvis. You weren’t the one that hurt me. You’re not responsible for their actions,” you try to reason.

“I should have been there… I should have gotten to you sooner and got you out of there quicker. I’m so sorry honey please forgive me,” he pleads.

“You have nothing to be forgiven for. You haven’t done anything wrong,” You assure him by rubbing his hand gently, “But please, tell me how these other marks happened. I don’t remember them happening at all. I need to know.”

Elvis scoots closer to you and lets out a deep breath before speaking. He goes to reach out for your chest, lightly grazing your skin that’s showing from the robe. Your skin instantly gets goosebumps as he touches you. 

“When I got there… Raphael was biting your neck, making you scream in agony like I’ve never heard before. It was painful even for me to watch…I pulled him off of you and you hit the floor, your body weak and frail. That’s when some of his men came from upstairs and tried to get me away from him.”

“They held me back briefly, but it was enough time for him to get back to you and take another bite… right here,” he says as he touches your chest. You look down at his finger slightly shaking as he touches you.

“Then I broke free from their grasp, running to Raphael and pulling him off of you as quickly as I could. His teeth tore into your skin so badly though… I dragged him outside and… did what I had to do.” He says through his teeth. He looks back at you and falters his gaze instantly.

“By the time I got back inside, Daniel was feeding off of you… biting you here and here,” he says touching your tummy and then slowly trailing his hand down to the inside of your thigh, lifting the robe to expose the bite mark.

Your heart sinks, feeling disgusted Daniel ever touched you in the first place. 

“Oh God,” you whimper, tears filling your eyes again. You pull the blanket on the bed, covering your body to shield him from your bite marks. 

“They were all taken care of honey, they’ll never hurt you again.”

“Why? Why did they do this? They caused such damage,” you sniffle. 

He lets out a frustrated sigh, not liking to see you like this. 

“They weren’t good men honey. They always had ill intentions when it came to you. I might never really know why they fed so aggressively, but I have a feeling they did it out of pure spite. To show me that they got their way with feeding on you while I didn’t. That they chose to bite those particular places on you because… they knew I’d always see their marks in the most intimate of places on you.”

That felt like a punch in the gut. It made you sick and angry that they would ever dare think of such a thing.

“I’m sorry. Elvis, I’m so sorry. I tried to stop them, I really tried. They threatened me they were going to compel me to forget you. I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t have you taken away from me like that,” you sob uncontrollably. 

He quickly pulls you into his arms, soothing you through your cries and rubbing your head gently. 

“Baby, baby don’t be sorry. I understand. You had to make unthinkable decisions and I couldn’t imagine what that must have felt like,” he says gently, kissing the top of your head, taking a deep breath in of your scent. 

“It was awful, they were so mean to me. He told me, that having a Chosen wasn’t real. He said you were lying to me just to keep me to yourself.” You cry. He pulls his body away from you to look at you. 

“No, honey. No, he was lying to you. I’d never lie to you about something like that baby. You’re mine,” he says exasperated. 

You watch as his eyes start to turn dark, the pools of blue starting to bleed red. You pull your head away from him, scared of thirsty eyes in your face all the time these last few days. He winces, closes his eyes, and tries to gain back control. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you. I’m just upset with what they did to you and what they told you,” he says frustratedly, getting up off the bed and taking a few deep breaths before looking over at you, “You still believe me don’t you? That we are meant for each other?” He says weakly. 

“Yes… I do,” you say softly, wiping the tears from your eyes. 

“Good,” he says, “I can’t live without you, baby. It nearly killed me to see you like that. I know we’re not fully bonded, but I… I could feel your pain. It hurt me so I couldn’t imagine how bad it felt for you, I’m just so sorry.” 

“I didn’t know that was possible…”

“I didn’t either. I was on stage that night you got taken and I sensed something was wrong, but I blamed it on my nerves. Then I felt this shooting pain in my wrist. I haven’t experienced an ounce of pain since I’ve gotten bit. That's when I knew, it had to be you that was in pain and in trouble. I lost it. I went on a blind rampage and was yelling for you, trying to see if I could pick up your scent.”

“But I couldn’t. I was too blind to notice they took you. They took you right in front of me and they laughed about it. I felt like an idiot,” he seethed.

“But you found me, that’s all that matters now. You can’t live replaying the past and torturing yourself over what you could have done. I’m here now baby. You saved me,” you say exasperated.

He gives you this look of doubt like there was more to this story he was keeping from you.

“What? What is it?” You ask.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. And you’re right. I have you now and that’s all that matters,” he says solemnly, shooting his eyes away from you as he speaks. He gets up off the bed and starts toward the door, giving him a confused look as he suddenly needs to go. 

“Wait, where are you going?” You ask. 

“I’m going to take care of some things downstairs. I’ll come and check on you in a bit, he says sweetly with a smile. 

“Okay, I-,” your brain freezes and your heart shudders in your ribcage.

I love you, your brain screams, wishing you had the courage to say it loud.

“I’ll call for you if I need anything,” you say with a convincing smile. He nods his head and leaves you alone in the cold, empty bed.

*

Elvis runs downstairs and heads into the bathroom and quickly shuts the door. He looks into the mirror and sees his blood-red eyes look back at him. 

You fucking pathetic, disgusting creature, he thinks looking in the mirror

Your woman is upstairs hurting and all you can think of is how good her blood tastes? Jesus, you’re vile. 

He was starving and having to be around your open wounds was torture. He hadn’t eaten for over a week and it was starting to get to him. That last time he fed was from you and that spoiled him. It made him want only your blood from now on, nothing else would do. 

He wanted you to feel better and get back to normal. But he couldn’t lie to himself… things were going to take a while to get back to normal. Not after everything you endured and what he wanted to do to you…

Stop no, it’s because you love her. You love her so irrevocably, you can’t live without her and that’s why you thought of doing that life-altering thing. You vowed you would give her the choice when the time came, he thinks. 

Elvis squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out those thoughts. He knew there was blood in his fridge and was going to have to drink it whether he liked it or not if he wanted to be around you while you were recouping. He lets out a soft groan and turns to go to the kitchen. There wasn’t anyone down here this late at night so he didn’t have to hide what he was about to do. 

He opens the fridge and pulls out a blood bag from the top shelf. Walking over to the sink, he cusses under his breath, wishing he could have an ounce of control when it came to blood. Even though you had only been in the house for less than an hour, your scent was everywhere and beckoning him to go back upstairs with you. He made all his men stay somewhere else tonight. He didn’t want them near you as your wounds were still healing and open with the temptation of your blood swirling in the air. All he wanted to do was nuzzle into the crook of your neck and breathe in the scent of you. He wanted to hear how melodious your heart sounded when you lay there sleeping. But even that seemed like it was too much for him. He would have to fight taking a taste of your blood that pooled underneath the surface of your bite marks. He curses at himself and angrily closes the fridge.

He held the bag in his hand and wasn’t patient enough to open the blood bag properly. No, he was so hungry and wanted any blood to satiate him for a little while and be able to go back upstairs with you. He felt his fangs emerge and he sunk them into the bag, greedily gulping down the blood. He squeezed it tightly, forcing more blood to flow into his mouth, and groaned. He couldn’t help but picture you now as he fed, wishing he was drinking from your perfect body.

It wasn’t the best, but it would have to do. This tasted like the most bland thing he’s ever had but at least it would calm his appetite. He sucks the last drop of blood out of the bag and throws the plastic bag in the trash. Going back to the sink to wipe his face clean, Elvis gruffly groans, upset at all the events that you’ve been put through lately. He wished he could fix them all and take your pain away. There was a way to… but he wouldn’t do that to you. 

Not yet. 

He knew this was part of his instincts he couldn’t control. If anything, it just further solidifies that you are in fact his Chosen. That every cell in his body screamed to make you his and protect you for life. 

*

*

*

Tagging:

@powerofelvis @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @loving-elvis @theresalwaysep

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog. @myradiaz @tacozebra051

@thatbanditqueen

@18|kpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything . @ohjustpeachy

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony @generoustreemystic @kendralavon7 @lettersfromvenus @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog @louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938 @50sexyshadesfashionista @oldh0llyw0od @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part fourteen - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: dubcon ; choking ; breathplay; nsfw

“You could have been killed.”

“You would have done the same thing.”

She thinks too highly of him, he realizes, but that’s the least of his problems right now.

“It doesn’t matter what I would have done,” he says.

She looks at him strangely, as if he’s missing her point in favor of blunt, stubborn thinking.

“I’m not mad,” he tells her, face getting softer.

“You seem mad,” she argues quietly.

“I’m frustrated,” he supplies.

“Is it because of me?” Her eyes get glossy and make him feel terrible.

He stomps on his aching chest with the boot of logic until it quiets.

“A little bit,” he tells her, never one to lie. He wants to elaborate, but she starts yelling at him before he can.

“I didn’t do anything!” She is suddenly a tantrum throwing ten year old who can use big words. “I’m just- I just wanted to see you and then everything escalated so quickly and I thought they were going to hurt her more than they already had.”

His voice is calm and quiet as he tries to co-regulate her emotions with his own.

“I understand,” he provides, subduing the angry child inside of her. “But there is a difference between bravery and a death wish. You versus several men should flag as the latter.”

She opens her mouth, but he raises his hand to placate her. “I didn’t say it wasn’t brave.”

Instead of coming down, her anger just spreads and rages like a flame catching on dry wood. “But just that I’m a stupid, weak woman? I wasn’t trying to be brave, I was trying to help her! If it was just the one, I could have handled it! She was screaming!”

It is a harsh and exaggerated version of what he is saying, but he still can’t discredit her logic entirely.

“That’s not what I think,” he says.

The smile on her face is meaner than she’s capable of being. He’s never seen her try so hard to be indifferent and he hates this look on her.

“It’s the you being dead part that I’m talking about,” he says, eyebrows pilling down as if the thought alone hurts him.

“Why do you care, John?” She asks, slowing down a bit, letting melancholy talk her out of anger.

There’s so much he could say in response to that, none of which would make this less complicated than it already is.

Maybe he should have stayed away from her originally, but the thought didn’t even occur to him because he craved her presence so much. Even now, leaving her life alone sounds a lot like trying to quit smoking crystal meth.

Except he knows that if he quits cold turkey, he will end up consuming every ounce he can get his hands on no matter what price is payed in the end.

If he leaves her, then she’s free game for the other side of him that eventually and brutally gets what it wants, and so he’s staying right here.

“I do care.”

He knows she’s going to tell him how he really feels despite what he just told her with his own mouth, but saying ‘I care because you’re the only thing I do care about and you’re never leaving me whether you like it or not ’ is just too much.

“You don’t have to.” He’s exhausted with her trying to sound independent and aloof, when she doesn’t have to be. Not with him.

And it irks him. And he knows it’s not fair to be mad because he comes and goes as he pleases and holds his emotions dangling in the air where she can’t reach, but his anger gets the best of him whenever it concerns her.

Everything gets the best of him when it concerns her.

“I do. You need protection if you’re not going to care about protecting yourself.”

She laughs without mirth, looking down at her hands and picking at them so she doesn’t scream at him again. “No, I don’t need you to protect me.”

like hell you don’t, is what he wants to say with teeth and venom.

“But you don’t care about protecting yourself,” he reiterates, jamming his pointer finger into the table and making it shake to get her attention.

She looks back up at him, shoulders tensing in surprise.

“Why should I care about myself?” She asks, and the fact that she means it with her hard, wild eyes and fervent tone just makes him more angry.

There are probably a million reasons why she should care about herself, but the one that mostly concerns him is that he needs her and can’t fathom a life void of her presence. He’s so fucking selfish it would make Dionysus himself appalled.

“Because you’re softer than you think you are,” he says, cursing himself for never finding the right words despite thinking about what he wants to say so extensively.

It just offends her, like he knows it will as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, but he has to stand by it because it’s not as if he’s not telling her the hard truth.

“I’m stronger than you think I am,” she says.

“There’s a difference between strength and valiance.”

Now they’ve just arrived back at the original point and are effectively running in circles and he’s never been a fan of repeating himself.

She can’t believe he thinks this lowly of her. It fucking hurts - hurts that he feels like he needs to stay around to keep her head from being lopped off just because he has some imaginary debt that he has to pay to her.

She wants him to leave but at the same time if he leaves she feels like she’ll snap and lose the remaining hope she’s been grueling to hold onto. Instead of becoming hardened by this conversation like a strong person would be, she’s crumbling more by the second and ready to grovel at his feet and she absolutely despises herself for showing him that she’s just an obsessed, weak girl that wants his approval so bad it’s disgusting.

Tears that have been threatening her this entire time begin to win their way out of her eyes.

“It’s okay to be soft,” John says, thumb twitching to wipe the first drop of fluid off her cheek. She pushes him away, and her prize is him grabbing her wrist in his iron grip before she can move.

“I’m sorry.” She says her favorite words and he has no idea what she’s apologizing about. For trying to swat him away? For being emotional? For the events that day? None of which are things she should feel sorry for. In fact, he can’t find a reason that she should be remiss, especially while he’s staring into her broken face and feeling like the biggest asshole alive.

She complies, but it’s not like she has a choice when he’s effortless at manipulating her body into any angle he wants.

Right now, that angle is vertical so that he can kiss her.

His lips touch her top one, opening slightly, gently coaxing, anger forgotten at the doorstep of her sadness.

She opens her mouth for him, and he holds the entire side of her face in his huge, sturdy hand while they take turns sucking lightly at each other’s lips.

Her hands take their favored place gripping onto the soft leather of his jacket, helping her boost onto her toes to reach his face.

If she could think, it would be about how her feelings and her doubts don’t matter as long as they can keep doing this slippery dance of mouth and tongue.

He’s all consuming, this man. All she can taste is his warm saliva. All she can feel is him pressed against her and the expert motion of his big, teasing tongue. All she can smell is his fading cologne and his spiced skin. All she can hear is the wet suck of their embrace. She’ll understand anything he wants, do anything he wants, kneel at his feet and kiss his shiny dress shoes and say thank you for the opportunity to do so.

His resolve blooms like a delighted sunflower opening directly under the warm spring sun, and he can think more than she can but it’s only about how fucked he is because this woman exists. And how there is, after all, a merciful and loving God, merely because she does exist .

The kiss is not enough, they both decide. She presses herself against him and he palms her waist hard enough to ident.

His jacket comes off, so she grabs around his neck and he lifts her completely off her toes and backs them into the couch.

He lays with her on top of him, and she doesn’t bother asking him whether she’s crushing him or not because he’s pushing her hips into his abdomen so hard that it’s like he wants her to smother him with her body.

She gets her hands into his trimmed mane and the bulk of it feels wonderful against the nerves in her fingers. Soft silk that would make any blonde, hair obsessed movie star jealous.

He tugs the hem of her shirt and she helps him get it off, then plops down so that their hips align.

He has to sit up and lean back against the arm of the couch to reach and keep kissing her.

She’s distracted by the feeling of something obscenely large pressed up against the junction of her thigh and actually wondering if it’s a weapon or his dick and then dwelling on how she’s going to take it inside of her if it’s the latter.

He chuckles and holds her in place and nuzzles her while she laughs and folds in to protect herself, playful even despite the desperation of their desire.

He’s laughing so hard that his lips are quaking when he has mercy and, instead, kisses her cheek. He grabs her hair softly and brings her ear to his mouth where he can’t help but suck and bite at the dangling lobe before talking orotund just for her. Just because he knows that she likes it.

Her giggles turn to breathy whines while he massages through her bra with one thick hand.

“Soft girl,” he says. “Let me protect you.”

She turns slack and pliant in his grip while her insides melt and mix into throbbing mush from his words.

“Do I have a choice?” She asks him, rubbing her hands over the rocky runway of his chest.

He’s glad she asks, because he was just about to mention it. “No.”

“I’ll-ah-think about it.” Despite her defiant words, she is thankful for the lifted responsibility, and hums, snuggles deeper into him like a cat curling into a dryer.

He pulls her nipples out above the seam of her bra and worries them with calloused thumbs.

She moans, kisses at his neck and chest, lifts his shirt up over his stomach. He gets it off with one hand, and she pulls away to stare at him.

He trades pulling her bra off for her admiring his body.

She wants to look uninterrupted at this beautiful bare man that she’s never seen fully before, but he can’t keep his hands off her puffy tits.

Her mouth is made clumsy by his teasing when she tastes the raised scars on his chest.

She wants to kiss every pink mark slashing his golden skin, and the little, determined creature tries despite his rude hands plucking and pinching her body incessantly. She kisses right down to his belt, and his hands bunch her hair while she takes her turn terrorizing him with her sinfully soft mouth.

She licks the fluffy line of hair on his tummy, pulls on his belt loops to urge his pants off.

Her nurse brain brims with pride upon seeing the barely-there, scabbed stab wound spanning between his sculpted hip bones.

He lifts his ass up, puts both hands behind his head to hold himself and watch the show of her struggling with denim and shoes and socks to get him in his boxers.

Her perfect jiggling tits, determined expression, caring hands get him to a point that he’s so hard he’s aching, and it’s not difficult to see the mountain of his cock underneath clinging fabric.

He almost thinks she’s about to ask him something while she stares at his dick like it’s the first time she’s seeing one, but she surprises him and kisses his thighs instead.

He hums pleasantly, relaxing for her mouth while she moves it up to his hips.

Her timid hand rubs at his length, exploring, assessing. Of course he’s thick and curved just right, she should’ve expected it since he’s so perfect in every other way. She looks up at his handsome face and her cunt clenches at the lazy, sultry expression he wears. Crafted by Aphrodite herself.

She can’t keep his eyes for long, instead goes back to kissing the skin she exposes as she pulls his underwear off.

He’s velvet stone, dark, wide, long. Wiry, thick black hair covers the base of him and clear fluid stains the deep red tip.

She kisses his shaft, trails her lips up to the top and tastes his cum.

John rubs her scalp, hums in approval.

She gives his slippery head a wet, sloppy peck, then pulls away to talk into the sensitive tip of his cock.

“You’re so fucking hot,” she tells him, flushing at her boldness.

“Prove it,” he says.

She takes the start of him so well in her wide, warm mouth, sucking and licking while her hand massages the length of his dick. Saliva spills down to help balance friction.

Sloppy slurping noises eclipse his whispering sounds of pleasure.

It doesn’t take long for her jaw to start aching, so she lets up suction in favor of taking as much of him in her throat as she can. She makes herself gag on him a couple times, and he pumps into her mouth, and she smiles even while she chokes.

It rubs her sore, but she gets more saliva as a prize and uses it to soak him.

Finding a rhythm that she can handle and that makes his thigh tendons and cock clench reflexively, she stays steady for a bit and just bobs her head and sucks while she rubs with her palm.

He grips onto her head, pushes her too far and makes her choke and sputter again. She comes up for breath and he rubs her cheek, coaxes her slippery mouth open with his thumb and lays it heavy on her tongue. She suckles, looks at him through shy lashes.

“You okay?” He asks, obviously holding back.

She’d rather handle choking than the feeling she gets from his caring, apologetic voice, especially when she already feels so Goddamn helpless and thick headed.

“I’m a big girl, John,” she says, plopping off his finger, “I can handle it.”

“Is that what you want?” He asks, gripping her harder, sliding his dick against her lips, almost angry with the way her defiance delights him. He opens her mouth wide with his fingers and lays his fat tip on her tongue.

She groans, canting her hips at the sudden change of his attitude, and blindly nods.

“Are you sure?” He asks, teasing her with his thick head pulsing hot.

She growls in frustration, looks up at him with her fierce, tough, beautiful eyes.

He shoves in while simultaneously pushing her head down, stretches her to gagging and then past that, feels her teeth as she struggles to breathe and keep wide for him at the same time. Her nails dig into his skin, reflexively pushing away, trying to get oxygen back.

He lets her go, and she comes up for breath, sputtering and coughing, tears already dribbling down her cheeks. He keeps her lips around his head while she barely collects herself, and then pushes back in and makes her jaw pop.

Instead of letting up, he fucks her mouth. She has to breathe through her nose and concentrate every oral muscle she has on relaxing so she doesn’t vomit on his dick. Her throat screams at the intrusion, tears streaming down her cheeks and puddling into his pubic hair, vision turning blurry and lungs burning.

She’s drowning on his cock and he’s not stopping and there’s nothing she can do against his cruel, relentless grip except take it.

It’s heaven.

Still, her body reflexively fights for air, hands clawing and pushing and feet kicking at the couch cushions for purchase.

He releases her and she wretches her mouth off to gulp oxygen. His hands are weighty on her cheeks, smearing the mixture of his cum and her tears into delicate skin purely for visual entertainment.

His grip constricts like he’s going to take her mouth back, and she opens wide despite her raw throat and streaming tears, a line of obscene drool dribbling from her swollen lips, starving for more of him.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs, faux soothing, keeping her head where he wants it with his hands threaded through her hair. “If what you need is a big, mean man to put you in your place, then that man is going to be me. Do you understand that?”

His brave human nods yes, falls to pieces in front of him with a tiny smile and he could cum just by watching it happen.

He spends the next few minutes fucking her throat at his leisure, being just soft enough to keep her conscious until he cums.

Half of it shoots down her esophagus while half of it leaks out of her mouth and coats her chin and his stomach.

He lets her go, and while she pulls back and sputters and swallows, it dribbles down onto her neck and chest.

Her hazy vision returns and her lungs greedily suck all the air they can hold.

His cum dribbling onto her puckering nipples is a wonderful, obscene sight. It’s hard to look away from the view, but he pets her face with pride to coax her teary eyes onto his own. She smiles, kisses the pad of his thumb.

“Come here,” he tells her, patting his chest. She crawls up and lays her head on his shoulder, still whimpering and coughing.

He soothes over her hair and back, holds her tight. “How you doing, honey?” He asks, pressing his fingers into her spine and working out the knots he finds there.

She sniffles. “I’m fine. That was wonderful.”

His grin is heinous, carving into the crown of her hair.

She’s still in her pants while he’s completely naked underneath her, so he tugs at her waist band to make it even. Once they get them off, he replaces lost heat with the blanket from the back of the couch. He turns, having already mastered the art of cuddling, and she tucks into his side so that his deflating cock is pressed against her ass. His hands rest on her tummy and she thinks he’s going to go lower, tenses in anticipation for the relief of his fingers, but he stays put, and, after a minute, she hears the faintest snore leave his mouth.

She turns her head, and there he is with his jaw popped open and eyes closed, sleeping peacefully.

He looks fucking adorable like this, and she can’t believe that a few moments ago this man was thoroughly throat fucking her. The thought of a big, soft, dangerous, Discovery Chanel lion taking a well earned nap after having his fill of a fresh zebra comes to mind, so she leaves him sleep and snuggles tighter beside him, closing her eyes and trying to follow despite the unfair arousal still running rampant through her body.

She wakes up in his arms while he’s carrying her to bed. The sun has gone down outside and the apartment is black, so she can’t see anything, but she can tell he’s got his clothes back on by the feel of him, and her face drops in dissapointment. He navigates them right into her room despite low visibility and lays her down on the mattress.

She tugs on his forearm lazily. “Lay with me?” Her voice is hoarse and quiet.

He kisses her forehead and tucks a blanket around her. “I have to work,” he says.

She lets him go. “Tonight?”

“Yes,” he tells her.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” She asks.

If he says yes, he might be lying. “You will always see me tomorrow if I’m alive,” he promises, kissing her fingertips, then her wrist.

“Don’t die,” she whispers, eyes wide awake and anxious now. “Please.”

He kisses her palm, then the top of her hand. “Okay.” It’s stupid to agree to her terms, because he can’t guarantee his mortality, especially with what he’s going to be doing, but he doesn’t want her to be worried.

He gives one final kiss to her lips and then he’s gone.

————————————————————

“John,” Marvin greets, nodding, opening the metal door so that he can step inside.

John tips his head. “Marvin.”

“How you doing?” Marvin asks, blowing smoke into the air.

“Good. Yourself?”

“I been better,” Marvin says. “He’s got us working for our money tonight. I’m guessing it’s because you’re back, huh?”

“I’m here,” John replies.

Marvin sighs and stamps his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe. “Let’s get to work.”

John sits at the round table with the rest of them. Smoke clouds the dark room in thick curtains. He greets familiar faces, listens to hushed conversations of the people around him. A woman in fresh leather sets a drink in front of him and he gulps it down.

Viggo sits next to him and pats him on the back. “You seem relaxed. Just get your dick sucked or something?” His voice is low and private.

John takes another drink.

“Three minutes late, too. She must be good at it.” Viggo grins.

The cat’s out of the bag, just like he figured it would be, but he still grips the glass so hard he feels it crack in his fist.

He turns to him. “Don’t.” It’s a simple word that holds enough warning weight to make Viggo’s face apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “And for the record, I would have done the same thing to those idiots.”

John barely relaxes his grip.

“You don’t have to worry about them,” Viggo says. “He came crying to me like a child, but I’m glad he did. Because now I can offer your girl protection as well, John.”

He says nothing.

“If you’re back in, people are going to start noticing that you’re distracted. And you can’t always protect her while you’re on the job.”

John’s jaw ticks.

“All I’m saying is, your lady love is worth the services I can offer.”

“I don’t want her involved,” John says.

Viggo snorts. “Немного поздно для этого.”

John takes the last drink of his spirit. “Yeah.”

“Excellent.” Viggo smiles.

[gabessquishytum]

Mob boss Hob has an exhausting job as the most feared man in the city. He is lethal with a weapon and his fists. He spends his time overseeing an empire, never letting himself appear weak or soft. He doesn’t let anyone know for example, that he feeds the feral cats in his alley.

But he also happens to be a legendary power bottom, known for riding men into oblivion. He regularly rides his bodyguard, Cori, like a champion jockey, usually teasing a knife down Cori’s chest because Cori had a thing for blood.

But Cori can tell it isn’t enough. Hob is still high-strung. There is a part of his mind that never shuts off. Even when he’s coming on Cori’s cock, he’s on high alert, thinking of the empire. And no matter what, Hob won’t let Cori be more than a glorified dildo.

Cori knows that what would help Hob would be to submit, to truly get his back blown out. He isn’t about to give anyone that kind of power. But Cori’s job is Hob’s care, after all. And Cori knows one person who is a match for Hob. His own former boss.

Dream is retired from the mob game. He left it as a legend. He now is an artist. With a knife and a gun, yes, but also with a paintbrush now.

He, of course, remembers hob, who’d been a young upstart when Dream left the game. And when Cori reaches out and explains that Hob needs to be fucked good and proper by someone who can actually make him give up his constant control, Dream is very intrigued.

Cori warns dream ahead of time: Hob is desperate for it, but too prideful to take it lying down. Dream is in for a fight if he wants to give Hob the dicking down he’s craving.

I love Mob boss Hob so much. Combined with slutty power bottom Hob, he’s perfect.

When Dream thinks of Hob from the old days, he imagines this twinky, puppyish young man who always used to be smiling. Definitely not the tough guy that Cori is describing to him. But then again, people change. Dream knows that. He goes into the prearranged meeting with Hob expecting just about anything.

And Hob is polite, respectful, as he should be to someone of Dream’s reputation. He's filled out over the years into a stunning man. And yes, Dream can tell. The poor boy just can't switch off. All the time he's talking to Dream, he's thinking about something else entirely. And that's something that Dream won't tolerate.

He doesn't expect Hob to physically fight back, but that's not a problem. Dream is retired, sure, but that just means he's got more time to train. He gets Hob slung over his lap without breaking much of a sweat, and waits for Hob to stop spitting and swearing at him before they actually get started.

(Watching through the security feed Cori is actually a little scared. He's never seen the boss so mad, and he knows for a fact that Hob carries a switch blade at all times. He's a tiny bit worried that Dream is going to get shivved. But Hob just kicks and screams and eventually, goes quiet.)

Instead of letting Hob go on top like he wants to, Dream makes him kneel on all fours. Hob is grasped by the hair and manhandled, has his arse slapped and spanked, all while Dream praises him for being a good, calm boy. He makes sure that Hob feels thoroughly degraded before he even starts on fucking him: it's important to make Hob forget who he is and just let him enjoy being a good whore.

Hob finally, blissfully gets his hole filled with Dream's cock. He's whimpering and slurring out please and thank you until he can't even speak. He can't even keep his arse up in the air. His eyes are glazed over and he really is so pretty. Dream thinks he might want to keep him. He uses Hob until he's satisfied, and he even lets the poor little mob boss cum. He's earned it this time.

An hour later Hob practically floats out of his private office. Head empty, no thoughts. Cori is extremely impressed. He has to make sure that the boss doesn't walk into traffic all afternoon. And that evening, Hob is on fire- he has a meeting with a group of local officials and makes the biggest deal the city has ever seen.

Good thing Dream has agreed to stay on in a private consultancy capacity, eh? (He's also persuaded Hob to finally adopt those cats for real.)

[scepterno]

you've made the mistake of endorsing my josé redemption arc so i shall release the horrors within

because i like to think that josé, to some extent, in the back of his mind always felt bad about hurting alejandro. yeah, he thought it was necessary to get him to man up and for alejandro's own good in the long run, hell he even enjoyed taking his frustration out on someone else sometimes. but you don't press lit cigarettes into your little brother's skin and just not care. you don't have someone looking at you with hate and fear and exhaustion in their expression every day and not feel anything. you don't hurt someone day after day and remain oblivious to what it does to them

and maybe years down the line, after a lot of therapy and a long and ongoing process of healing, josé will look at the tiny circular scars on alejandro's arm and feel this... pit in his stomach. something heavy and cold that claws at his insides and makes him nauseous, it clogs up his throat and makes him want to look away. it's the same feeling he gets whenever he sees the relief on alejandro's face when josé doesn't turn something into a competition between them, or when he tenses up at being called "al", and so on

it's so different from the warmth he feels deep in his chest whenever alejandro laughs at something he says, loud and unburdened and giddy, whenever he lets josé see him weak and in pain without trying to cover everything up, whenever he shows the tiniest bit of trust in his older brother

being part of alejandro's life means he has to put up with that annoying twig boyfriend of his, who seems dead set on antagonizing josé with snarky comments and long, hard stares that seem to burn the side of his face. but the effect is lessened whenever alejandro comes to his defense with an easy smile and a "he's not so bad, come on, stop being mean". it also means he has to deal with the lovey-dovey looks exchange between the two of them, which, eugh. but fine, whatever, he can handle it

he still fucks up sometimes, of course he does, they both do. they step on toes and revert back to old habits and hurt each other and pull away. sometimes it feels like it's an uphill battle of three steps forward, two steps back. it's painful, it's messy and it's a long, long process. but they're burromuerto men, which means they're stubborn beyond reason and the very thought of giving up is appalling to them

one time josé goes over to alejandro's and noah's apartment when the little bastard is at work. they're supposed to hang out, just the two of them, watch some cheesy telenovelas and poke fun at the acting, predict the plot 30 minutes in, and get way too invested in the characters' relationships. which is why he's confused to find the apartment silent and empty, no sign of life in the living room or kitchen. he knows alejandro's home, his shoes are at there under the hangers and the door was unlocked, so where is he? he calls out his name as he makes his way towards his bedroom, knocking on the door and waiting for a reply. still nothing. he pushes the door open cautiously and feels his heart drop to his stomach

he recalls both carlos and alejandro mentioning something about "bad days" offhandedly, but neither of them seemed particularly interested in talking about it in more detail, and so josé never bothered asking either. and now he can only assume this is what they meant, because to him this seems pretty fucking bad. alejandro's in his bed, blanket pooled around his hips, a layer of sweat covering his entire body, hair messy. one of his hands is gripping the sheets next to his thigh, knuckles white from the effort, while the other one is pressed to his forehead, obscuring his eyes from sight. he's shaking, jaw clenched tight and in the silence josé can hear how ragged and uneven his breathing is.

he can only stand and stare for another moment, before he calls out alejandro's name again, quiet and more uncertain than he's felt in a long time. alejandro startles at josé's voice, tensing up, before lifting his hand away from his face enough to look at josé. his eyes are bloodshot and filled with tears, exhausted and pained and utterly miserable, and josé doesn't know what to do

later on he's sitting on the edge of alejandro's bed, one of his hands caught in a death grip so tight he swears he can hear his bones creaking, his other hand wound around alejandro's shoulder and buried in tangled, sweaty hair. alejandro has his forehead pressed to josé's shoulder, his entire frame trembling like a leaf, breathing a mix of sniffles and gasps under the weight of his sobs, his hand clutching at josé's back so hard josé can feel his nails digging in.

and it's sat like this, holding alejandro, lightly scratching at his scalp, desperately trying not to fuck this up, that he realizes he doesn't want to see his little brother in pain anymore. fuck what the doctors say, or what his father or the rest of the family will think. this is his hermanito, and josé cannot stand seeing him in pain, not anymore

holy fuck anon just send me to an early grave why dont you UROGUGHGT *psychic damage* *psychic damage* *psychic damage*

yeah so this is EXACTLY what i had in mind with their relationship. you nailed it. it's on the damn cross. i dont even know what to say other than holy shit, you get exactly what i was putting down. AND THEN YOU RAN WITH IT. you dropped this bomb ass mini fic into my inbox and just. HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO RESPOND?? my jaw is between my feet.

we stan the burromuerto brothers redemption and healing arc WE STAN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BURROMUERTO BROTHER SUPREMACY!!!!!

[thevillainsmustache]

Jack tries to come out to Polly, but she is way ahead of him.

“Did you see Mr. Ross off?” 

“Yes, I did.” Jack took his time preparing his tea, giving himself time to think. After all these years, he didn't want to begin his relationship with his mother with any more lies and secrets, but he didn’t know how to begin. “I’ll be going back to London next week, just for a few days. I… made Alan a promise.”

Jack tried to continue, but his mother interrupted him. “Of course, my dear. I understand. Though you know what responsibilities you have here as well. All of this going back and forth from London will be exhausting.” Polly’s clear blue eyes caught Jack’s and held him steady, her words full of meaning. 

Jack’s heart gave an anxious tug. “I… Of course.” 

“You should bring Mr. Ross here, to Cheetham, as often as you can. I am sure you extended an offer of welcome to him, but this is my offer to you—Cheetham is safe. I won’t have any fear of servants talking, or sneaking around and secret rendezvous, not while I am mistress of this house. Here you can be yourselves.” She sipped her tea, looking like the grand lady discussing nothing more sensitive than the weather, or the dinner menu. 

Jack was speechless. 

Pride sparkled in Polly’s eyes, and a small, measured smile crossed her lips. “This offer extends to the Blythes, Mr. Courcey, and Miss Debenham as well, and it is my dearest wish that they take full advantage of it.” 

A vast warmth of gratitude and love for his strong and pragmatic mother spread through Jack’s chest and limbs. He set down his tea. “I am not concerned about the servants. I merely wanted… clarity between us, and for you not to feel imposed upon.” It was a weak statement, but Jack wasn’t entirely sure what he’d wanted from his mother. 

“My dear, do you think that I am blind, or ignorant to the ways people can love each other?” Her expression lost the gentle, mocking kindness it had held moments before, and her gaze was unwavering on Jack. “My son was lost to me for 16 years. If you think that I would accept and love anything less than the whole of you when you returned, then you have severely underestimated me.”

Jack felt a flush of embarrassment and shame creep onto his cheeks. 

“It would be enough for me if he just made you happy, but Mr. Ross is a very charming, handsome young man, and it is clear that he cares for you a great deal. I like him very much.” 

“Alright, that’s enough, Polly,” he said, feeling quite overwhelmed with all this talk of feelings. 

She lifted her tea to her lips.“I like him better than you sometimes.”

[tetsustation]

[ BREAKING THE ICE — PART I ]

pairing :: eren yeager x f!reader

synopsis :: eren’s partner is out on injury, or so you’ve heard from across the ice. it’s a shame, considering the fact that they were an award winning pair. for that reason alone, you’re not entirely sure how to react when you’re recruited as her replacement. eren does, however—and the emotion is anything but positive.

word count :: 3.4k

genre :: modern!au, figure skating!au, kind of e2l, kind of hurt/comfort

warnings :: swearing

notes :: i've been working on this for like two years now on and off so i'm posting the first half—there's more than this but I just want to gauge if this is something you guys are actually interested in. no better time than the present!

Where do you belong? That phrase has never been anything but foolish rhetoric to you, and at its core, easy to answer—no where, because no match is made in heaven, no shoe has ever been crafted for your foot, and your fate is nowhere near predetermined. That being said, the closest place you could rule as such is on the cool, shaved ice. 

Although right now, you wish to be anywhere but. Colliding with the sleet in a rather dramatic manner, you watch your useless limbs as you glide backwards—giving into gravity until your figure makes a full stop. Perhaps it’s time to throw in the towel after all, you flop onto your back and let the condensation soak your sweater.

“What do you think you're doing?” The exhaustion drips from his tongue, and yet he refuses to drop.

“Napping,” You remark sarcastically—clearly conscious. From a distance, you can hear the scratch of his skates as he glides over.

When coming to a stop, he makes a point of pivoting his feet to send loose snow directly into your face. Sputtering, you sit up—albeit, struggling slightly due to the lack of grip. He’s staring down at you, gloved hand on his hip, he strangely resembles your mother whenever she scolds you for something utterly ridiculous. 

Frankly, you have no interest in speaking first, and he catches onto that fact. He releases a sigh that holds the weight of a day's work, before looking around the empty rink, and back down to you. 

“Is this your way of telling me you're giving up?” 

You scoff, “The rink closes in forty minutes, Eren.” Gesturing to the red, ten foot clock behind him, masked as a scoreboard, “I think this matter might be beyond us.” 

And he rolls his eyes at you, the same way that makes your jaw crick uncomfortably. The green looks dull under the fluorescents, but piercing, nonetheless. Sinking to the floor with a steady knee, he leans into you, and as a result you lean back half-heartedly, “As soon the rink opens tomorrow, we’re trying again.”

You go to speak, retort that overworking yourselves would do no good, but as he skates away, he turns around and consequently halts your hesitant tongue, “No excuses!” With that, he’s gone. Hopping off the ice and into the locker rooms.

Flopping back down, you letting the chill soothe your aching calves, you wonder how persistent he’s going to be. Mentally, you curse Jean for convincing you to do this, but then again—if anyone’s going to push you to do your best it's him (and as reluctant as you are to admit it, so is Eren). 

A weak groan slips your lips as you use the energy you have left to curve your spine into an upwards position. In front of you, your legs are spread apart as you stretch—but it only sends the shooting pain back up to your hamstrings. These bruises might not ever go away, but a bath might make them feel better—or so you hope.

Mikasa Ackerman broke her ankle a week and a half ago, two weeks from tomorrow. When you heard the news while tying the laces on your skates, you scoffed, “Poor Eren—there goes their qualifier.” It was a little apathetic, you can admit that much now, yet the world loves to play its cruel hand with you because soon enough your own partner had offered you up as bait in her place.

“—She’s great, really! Adaptable and flexible.” Jean argued, pushing you forward by the shoulders to a miffed Eren, “The two of us aren’t going to make it this year, not with our fiasco of a choreographer—but you two, together? I can see the headlines already, man. Trust me.” A piece of meat up for auction, was the only way you could describe how you felt.

“Jean, quit it.” You turned your head to the side, and whispered through gritted teeth (as if Eren wasn’t right there, and couldn’t clearly hear the words as they left your mouth). 

“No. If you win with him it’ll be good coverage for the both of us.” Meanwhile, the man staring you down looked more disinterested by the second, most likely not interested in taking a fresh Senior skater in to replace his partner, two months before qualifiers. Honestly, you weren’t too sure why Jean tried so hard in the first place, it was a matter for your managers and sponsors. 

Still, he didn’t let up, “If you win this with her, you and Mikasa can take the win to the finals,” you wondered if he fact-checked that, most likely not. “A couple did it in the ‘80s, if you have a viable reason there's a loophole to switch partners between the competitions, so long as the male partner remains consistent.” He explained, rather adamantly. 

Eren nodded, not entirely convinced—yet, he didn’t not turn it down completely. Candidly, you weren’t sure which outcome you preferred. Yes, it would be a great opportunity, but then again, you weren’t entirely sure you could reach the bar set high by the skating enigma of Mikasa Ackerman. Eren’s death glare told you, you couldn’t—but Jean’s shook your shoulders so vigorously your vision got cloudy. 

“I’ll think about it,” Is all Eren said, and he did. 

The next day, Eren took you on as his partner, for the sole reason that he hates losing, especially after putting so much work into this program. Still, he vaguely insults your talent in comparison to his usual partner, which erupts a fire underneath your skating skirt. 

As the days pass, Eren only expects more of you, and you can’t blame him. It’s going well, but not as well as it would’ve gone with Mikasa. His coach notices, and so does the choreographer—still you don’t let up, not that he lets you, anyways. 

The connection that Eren and Mikasa have is almost telepathic. In all the times that you’ve watched them practice in your shared rink, not once have you heard them speak to each other on the ice. They communicate through eye contact, the occasional nod of a pointed chin—any verbal communication they do is reserved for behind closed doors.

Suspicion is what it arouses in you, but their scores are near perfect in the eyes of all the judges in the province, so there is no grounds to protrude on their methods. Yet, you never expect to take her place, to be forced to cooperate with the King of angry glances, meant to speak a thousand words. 

That’s why this is so difficult for you, or at least, that’s the conclusion you’ve come to. Mikasa has come to watch you practice, made notes on your technique and passed a sheet of crumpled note-paper to you after your daily practice, but not enough to make a dent in the supposedly flawless instruction of his—now your—coach. 

It’s difficult, and frankly, you miss the days where people just said what they meant. Jean was never like this, you can’t help but think. However, this isn’t Jean, and in a way you're happy it isn’t. An irritating challenge is a challenge nonetheless, and you’ll be damned if Eren Yeager blames his lost ticket to finals on you.

Especially after the number of bruises you’ve acquired, from all the times he’s dropped you.

Deep down, you believe there is a reason why Jean put you up for this program (aside from Mikasa’s obvious injury). Despite Eren’s reserved nature of fending for himself in the rink, the set was for the most part, separated. A collection moves that we're paralleled, adjacent to one another, instead of moves that lie in the hands of both.

That is, except for three instances within the seven minutes in which the classical hymn plays. These are virtually unavoidable. While you can perfect your own moves alone, and mirror Eren’s stature down to a ‘T,’ there’s only so much you can do for yourself when he’s lifting you up with a single hand, palm nearly shaking against his own. 

It’s not that you don’t trust Eren—although, it's kind of a stretch to say that you do—the problem at hand is that he doesn’t trust you, because you're not Mikasa and you can’t hold your own against the stiffness of his locked elbows. Or at least, you’ve explained that much to Jean and Sasha on the benches outside of the rink, while adjusting your shoes with vigor. 

“It’s gonna be a process to adjust to each other.” Your former partner reasons, stretching out the blades of his shoulders, “The jumps are going to take a while, I don’t suggest pushing it—or you’ll seriously get hurt.” 

His vague allude to Mikasa doesn’t slip your mind, but you give Eren the benefit of the doubt, there’s no way he actually would wish malice upon his partner of over a decade. You, however, are unfamiliar to him, he’s not used to your agility, and you're not used to his rigidity. There’s a frozen sea separating your techniques, but Jean is right, adjustment is everything.

“You should talk to him,” Sasha suggests, standing against the glass and watching Niccolo practice his triple axel for the umph time, “If he’s too stiff, of course you’re going to fall.” A hiss slips from her lips as the blonde in the rink misses his landing, wiping out not-so-gracefully. 

A yank of the wrist and the sound of strained laces is music to your ears, “I feel like everything I tell him goes in one ear and out the other.” You adjust, “He’s convinced his way is the only way, he’ll listen to me but the second it seems unnatural to him he shifts back to what he’s used to.” 

Standing up, you grunt, “When is he going to learn I’m not Mikasa?” It’s a bitter fallacy on your lips, but aggressive nonetheless. It could even pass as a growl, if you listen closely. However, when you hear the door open and close, and watch Eren walk past the bench you're standing in front of with a stoic expression—you hope it’s meek and unintelligible through the glass doors. 

Behind him is Eren’s coach—your coach—you stand a little straighter. Levi Ackerman is small, and not very menacing from afar, but he has the bite of a bark and the skills of a lion. In your core, you fear him, but out of respect more than anything else. The coach you and Jean shared was much nicer, but then again, you and him weren’t up for finals, now were you? 

“Stretch out, and on the ice in twenty.” He snaps a pointer finger to the rink where Niccolo is currently stepping out defeatedly, “We’re doing the lifts again today.” 

The bruise on your hip from yesterday aches at the mention, but alas, your work is cut out for you. Jeans sends a half hearted condolence your way, already marking up how much ice you’ll need for your bath tonight to soothe the pain. Stepping onto the ice is anything but unfamiliar, but today it feels distant—somehow, the momentary skate to Eren feels grueling as he waits for you with crossed arms.

“Play the track!” Levi yells elsewhere, where someone is waiting from the booth above the rink, “I want to see how much ground you covered without me.” 

The melody is crisp, and echoes through the rink with a boom. Sometimes you can’t help but like a bat in a cave, this climate isn’t welcoming to the typical person—but you’ve become adept at it after so many years that you can navigate it like the back of your hand. The ice is where you live and breathe, fly to the best of your capability against the push of gravity. It’s freedom, but at what cost? 

Eren nods you off, to which you follow him in a series of turns, he glides and you mimic, the two of you look as if you're attached by an invisible string that strains each time the direction of your skates change. The ice comes up in flakes of snow, and they sting your nasal cavity as you take a deep breath in, readying yourself for the upcoming lift.  

Levi is standing against the rink, his skates perpendicular to sustain balance, and his arms crossed in premeditated judgment. You’re painfully aware of the fact that he doesn’t expect much from either of you, the condescension of your ‘adjustment phase’ still at the forefront of your mind. Still, he’s there to guide you, you keep going.

“Start crouching! Give him room for the lift!” 

A good eye is what Levi has, he can tell you’re milliseconds out of sync, and that's all it takes to send you belly up to the unforgiving ice. Crouching, you make a straight line to Eren—his eyes don’t give you the confidence you need to latch onto his palms and lift yourself, but it’s too late to stop. 

Grasping his palm flat in yours, fingers outstretched and face one another, your grip and jump—to which Eren lifts you over his shoulder. The only thing holding you up is the grip on his hand, and he’s barely paying any attention to it, already attempting to move away from the spot in which you hopped from.

It becomes increasingly difficult to keep your legs still, as he moves quickly across the ice—you can feel your forearms shake slightly, and that's all it takes to come tumbling down. 

Eren barely has enough time to recapture your hand, before you slip behind him and onto the ice with what might as well be a splat. The blades of your skates clang, and you can feel a multitude of eyes stare down your splayed figure. Only taking a moment to take back your stolen breath, you sit up and brush off. 

Never is Eren entirely apathetic, as he skates over and leans down to your eye level, where you're just barely holding yourself up by the frozen heel of your hands, “Are you alright?” His eyes flick downward, falling on your hip, “Same spot as yesterday,” he looks up again, “Does it hurt?”

No shit, you think, ‘Course it hurts.

The nature of his question is polite, but you can tell by the way his hand is twitching that it wasn’t an invitation to rest—instead, he’s eager for you to get back up, refusing to be stopped by something as measly as a fall. Nodding, you grab his hand and hoist yourself back up. 

“My bad,” Is all you shout to the room. 

“Good.” Levi affirms, “Let’s keep moving.” 

The empathy that Eren shows you the first couple of times you fall dissipates as the day goes on. With each flop on ice, he becomes more irritated—clearly frustrated with evident roadblock you’ve seem to have placed in his otherwise ‘perfect program.’ When stepping off the rink, he doesn’t give you a goodbye. 

It’s grueling on you, honestly it is. To come in everyday and take his attitude along with Levi’s insistence on perfection. Perfection goes both ways, you believe, and Eren is hardly upholding his end of that promise. The only comfort you find on the rink is Levi, though he can only do so much for you, and you’re not sure if his mild surges of pity are endearing or degrading. 

Frankly, you can’t remember the last time you had this many bruises, up down the sides of your legs and alone the cranes of your pelvic bone. The locker room is the last place you want to be, although for the first time in a while you find yourself smiling upon entering,

“Long time no see.” 

Jean is propped against the lockers, Niccolo is next to him motioning about this and that while holding up a blunt skate. “You’re one to talk!” 

 You watch him stand up straight, striding towards you, but is cut off by Sasha who is closer by just a couple feet—having been seated on the bench untying skates of her own. She’s quick to come hug you, nearly knocking you off your feet, but it’s the last tumble you're worried about taking today and quickly reciprocate her affections. 

Once your autonomy was returned to you, you walked over the bench and threw a leg over the other end so that you were straddled—a stretch that always made you feel comfortable enough to sit for long periods of time. It all felt too familiar—the red plastic beneath you, and the friendship you seem to have neglected over the past couple of weeks—while training with Eren, he became your life, and the rest faded to fuzz and scratched ice. 

They smiled down at you like you were the face of the hour, an enigma, it wasn’t praise but from the people who established you at this rink—you couldn't help but feel some sense of gratitude as they spared you their silent approval.

“So,” Jean started, “How is training with Yeager?” 

The smile you wore dissipated to crumbs of false pride when you recalled just how awful you truly felt—how demeaned you felt beside Eren who stood tall despite his own shortcomings. And you hated how noticeable it all was, how your momentary joy fleeted and the exhaustion in your shoulders hit you like the initial fall, your shoulders slouching as you looked anywhere other than directly into their eyes. 

“Awful,” was all you said, “It’s awful.” 

Ever distasteful towards the awkwardness of competition Niccolo cleared the air with a clap, “That’s Yeager for you, he’s a real stiff one.” 

“You're telling me, he’s got a real stick up his ass. Just—shoup—right up there.” To which Jean had accompanied with a rather lewd hand gesture. 

This was news to you—yes, you had heard tales of Eren being a diva to some extent, but he was practically a god amongst others at this rink and in all the competition magazines. Him and Mikasa owned the region’s senior competition stats, it was impossible that sleazy locker room talk was enough to dethrone him of that.

Sasha, always blunt in her sentiments, places a hand on your own, “He’s nothing but a name without Mikasa, don’t take it to heart—do your best.”

Jean picks it up, “We recommended you for a reason, you’re the best of us without all the unnecessary press.” 

“Plus you challenge Yeager,” Niccolo chimes, “No one challenge’s Yeager.” 

“No one challenges him because he’s a fucking prick,” Jean couldn’t seem to help but blurt. 

His eyes swell like saucers when the locker room door hits the opposite wall with a slam, and none other than the subject-of-conversation himself briskly walks past you and Sasha, only to open his own locker with another slam. The room falls painfully silent, and Jean opens his mouth to speak only to subsequently close it—as rectifying the situation is really beyond him at this point.

Eren manhandles his duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder. When he closes the locker he looks around the room, scanning for the eye contact that no one will make with him. He huffs, and mumbles something that vaguely resembles a bitter affirmation that you were indeed discussing him. Knowing the walls and the echo of the place better than anyone, it was unlikely he missed the comment that brought the conversation to a halt. He stormed out in the same fashion in which he came, and you were all left to your devices. 

Niccolo kicked Jean for his ignorance, to which he took with nothing more than a grimace. Sasha turned to you again, the color had faded from your face, and she didn’t quite have the words to console you, so she only said, “At least it wasn’t you.”

Though, it might have well been. Jean was your partner before you were Eren’s, just like he was bonded to Mikasa in such an all consuming way, something similar could be said about you and Jean. Thus, his sentiments were yours and vice versa. 

Yes, you missed your friends dearly, and for a moment it did feel nice to joke with them. Although, you knew that the consequences of such were only going to make practice that much more difficult for you tomorrow. Grabbing your belongings half heartedly, you said your salutations. The smile that sat on your face didn’t quite come back for the rest of the night.

[ TO BE CONTINUED ]

✿ TETSUSTATION — 2023; do not repost, translate, share without permission, or recycle my writing & layouts. this blog does not hesitate to hardblock in that instance!

[vaporwavedoggie]

Ahahahah I should probably explain why I'm not on here as much atm, along with most of my other social media.

It's gonna be long but I know I have some folks on here worried about me so I'll put everything under the cut.

Alright buckle up, this will get long.

To shorten things, my chronic pain is significantly getting worse very quickly, along with heart issues.

Not to mention my shit mental health.

But here's the long story:

There's something up with my heart. I don't know exactly what the diagnosis will be, I have a few more tests including a fun little holter monitor placement or whatever it's called.

It's where I wear this monitor over my heart for a few days and press a button whenever I start having flareups. My flareups consist of my blood pressure suddenly dropping very low (I think the lowest it was clocked was somewhere in the 80s/60s range if I remember correctly), headaches, bad chest pain, limb weakness/numbness, sudden exhaustion/passing out, etc.

They did an echo on my heart but the results didn't tell me much other than I have a dialated left atrium. No idea what that means, don't know if it's even related to the shit going on with me. I won't find out until the other tests are done and looked over.

I'm going as far as to try and give up cigarettes for the time being for this. My doc gave me a ton of nicotine patches, so I'm really hoping those will help with the urges. I'm going to be going from smoking about half a pack or so a day to patches that are 7mg of nic, so uhhh yeah.

Another reason why I'm distancing myself from online spaces more other than my personal discord servers is because stressful stuff, discourse, all that makes my flareups much much worse. I'm doing it not to be a bitch, but for my own health. So for a bit I'll probably only post art I occasionally draw n what not.

Now on to the other issues. My lower back keeps me in damn near constant chronic pain. They did an xray on it, and my MyChart (fun little doctor app) said this about their findings:

"Vertebral body heights and alignment are well-maintained. No fracture or subluxation. Pedicles are intact. Mild loss of disc height at L5-S1."

I'm not entirely sure if that's anything important, again, I go to my pcp about it in the beginning of October since there's a few more issues they'd like to test me for before coming to a diagnosis and treating me.

As for my back pain though, it's to the point where it's nearly disabling me physically.

I've had it for many years. Idk exactly when it all started, but I really started noticing it around the time I was 19-20. I have a theory it's because one of my first jobs that I worked for about a year was at a warehouse. It was very physical labor.

I'd be lifting heavy boxes constantly to the point where when I got home I couldn't bend down from the pain. I'd just have to flop down on my bed and pass out. And this went on about 4 days a week for a year.

At first, it started off as a small patch on my lower back, at the base of my spine, not being able to be touched. The gentlest poke would feel like stabbing pain. And it only got worse over the years, with the area spreading.

Now it's to the point where I can't stand for long, and when I sit or lay down I have to shift my position every 10-20 minutes or it flares up. And I dread going to sleep for a number of reasons. Not just because of the night terrors I have damn near every night due to my CPTSD, but because I wake up in excruciating pain most of the time due to not being able to shift my body in my sleep.

Worst part is, when I sleep, I'm dead to the world. If the night terrors aren't too horrible that night, I'm like a rock. No one can move me. Lord knows my husband has tried. And I'll sleep for about 12-20+ hours at a time at this point.

Funny thing is? No matter how much sleep I get, even if I get the base recommended amount without under or over sleeping, I'm ALWAYS exhausted.

My doc has sent a referral for me to get a sleep study but they have yet to reach out to me. I suspect this may also contribute to my heart issues but idk for sure.

So yeah. It's not enough that I deal with shitty mental health issues on a constant, but also chronic physical health issues as well.

Worst part is my family is borderline poverty. Despite everything I'm STILL trying to get a job because my family needs the money, along with others in the house, including my oldest son and teenage son.

Yet for whatever reason, everyone claims they're hiring, yet won't hire any of us. For me, I understand. I always struggled to keep a job due to various issues. But my sons have a completely clean slate, and my roomie has a great resume with plenty of long history, yet no one will hire anyone. Not even McDonald's.

People act like it's all us. We try everything we can, from dressing up in our nicest clothes for the interview, following up with the job, being friendly, giving the interviewer our skills. Worst part is they act like they're fucking impressed, then turn around and claim they've decided to go with someone more qualified for the position, or they're not hiring anymore.

Yes, I know I'll hurt myself if I try working a job and pushing myself beyond my limits every day, but it's taking too damn long for disability to do shit. Disability is very hard to get in Texas for whatever reason and God it's stupid. It usually takes a minimum of 2-3 years for most, and we don't have that time.

The price of rent, groceries, and everything else keeps skyrocketing, yet my roomies won't get a raise on their disability, my husband won't get a raise on his job other than just a few cents once a year.

We're living by the skin of our teeth. Paycheck to paycheck. Most of our food comes from various food banks in the area we make multiple trips to a week.

Then when it comes to my mental health issues, I'm handling it the best that I possibly can.

My CPTSD has been flaring up. Then there's the other shit going on with my head I won't get into.

I'm nearly constantly haunted by trauma and I'm so fucking tired of it. I have to keep myself busy or it creeps into my mind. And I have somnophobia because every time I sleep I'm almost guaranteed to have a night terror. No, prasosin won't help.

Anyways that's a small portion of the shit im going through and why I probably won't be online much until I get shit sorted out.

Is it weird to be the happiest you've ever been in your life, yet also the most miserable??

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook:

Dont Play With Your Food

In which darkness drowns out the light again, and history repeats itself.

Tags/Warnings: HEAVY angst, Black Panther Hybrid!Jungkook, Bunny!Reader, hybrid trafficking, trauma, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

A/N: You all always want angst. Here you have angst.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Bad dreams haunt you to this day.

You're stuck between other shivering hybrids, some young and some older, most crying or quietly whimpering to themselves- you included. It's dark, the steel of the trailer you've been tossed into together with the others rattling loudly with the movement of the truck driving somewhere you're not sure of. Everything smells like fear, so much so that it's making you almost nauseous.

You're desperately closing your eyes, pulling your ears down, but you don't wake up like you usually do. No- pulling your ears actually hurts. When you open your eyes, the scene is still going.

You're not dreaming.

So how did you get here?

It all happened so quickly. You've been slowly coming out of your shell more and more these days, an entire year after living with both Namjoon and Jungkook giving you the needed confidence and comfort to try and become more brave. So when Seokjin couldn't take on your regular checkup appointment, you didn't really have any problem going to a different doctor. Namjoon and Jungkook dropped you off at the Seoul Central Hybrid's medical center, promised to pick you up- but then, something went wrong, you name maybe got mixed up with someone else's? You're not entirely sure. All you know is that someone came to pick you up, yes- but it wasn't your owner, nor your mate, and in your still slightly tired out state from the local anesthetics, you couldn't really voice out the mistake to anybody.

And now, you're here. With no idea where you're going.

You don't know how long you've been in here- you know you've dozed off here and there because of absolute exhaustion, so at this point, there's no clear telling what exactly is happening around you. You're cold now, shivering horribly, even with all the other hybrids around you trying to include you in sharing warmth. There's a skinny penguin hybrid near you who pitifully tries to scoot closer- but he can't really seem to move his own body any longer either, survival instinct keeping him from getting any closer to you. The crying had also become more or less quiet and soft, most younger hybrids by now too exhausted to really complain vocally anymore.

You're hungry. Incredibly thirsty. You feel like dying.

Until the container doors open, and you're blinded, and too weak to really attempt at fighting back. You just let them pull you out by your leg, before you pass out into a dreamless sleep yet again- to awake back in a cage, back underground, history repeating itself again it feels like.

And back home, it's absolute chaos.

Namjoon has taken an emergency vacation from work and is currently talking to police for the second day in a row now- agitated that the search efforts lead nowhere it seems. You've vanished- no one wants to take accountability, neither the medical center nor the staff management there, and he also can't forget about the currently raging panther hybrid he still needs to take care of. Jungkook is pretty much ready to tear the house apart- he's more than just nervous, constantly jumpy at every noise, can't sit still, can't think clearly.

He keeps carrying your stuff around; clothes you've worn, stuffed animals you've scented, just to have at least a trace of you around at all times. He knows bothering Namjoon every second of the day isn't helping, so he tries to keep himself quiet. But he still can't help but listen in on small conversations his owner has here and there.

"What do you mean you can't do anything now?!" Namjoon barks into the telephone. "No, I realize that it's difficult, but- No, there has to be a way, try and contact them then!" He aggressively responds to someone on the line. "I.. alright. It's not like I can do anything else- yes, I will. Thank you." He sighs out, before he slaps his phone onto the kitchen counter, head falling into his hands.

He knows Jungkook is standing behind him. He can see him in the blurry reflection of the fridge, holding a green lizard plushy in his hand- one of your favorites, because it's soft, and it used to be Jungkooks in the first place before he gave it to you. "Did they find her?" He asks quietly, and Namjoon has to clear his throat to attempt speaking clearly.

"They found her collar in an empty container in Nagoya. The container had no valid identification, so it's assumed she's… been.. illegally shipped to japan for underground trading." Namjoon explains, waiting for his hybrid to say something- but he doesn't. So he says out loud what he doesn't want to hear himself. "They said right now, they can't proceed with any investigations. They have to.. send out requests, get permits for something- I don't know." He sighs.

"So she's gone." Jungkook silently states.

"She's not gone- we'll get her back." Namjoon promises, as he turns around; seeing his hybrid standing defeated clearly now, eyes dull and already swimming with emotions.

And instead of saying anything, Jungkook just.. leaves the room, and crawls underneath your blankets in your safety cage;

Surrounding himself with what's left of you for as long as it's still there.