#and she told me about the same thing from her side. and she told me about how she loved london because she would walk the streets | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog · 2 days

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First off your writing is incredible. I was in literal tears reading your Daryl fic.

But I thought I'd send in a request, a jealous Daryl. Doesnt have to be established reader, pretty easy. I just like it when he's all riled up. 😂 Please and thank you

Jealousy

Summary: He could have just told her, couldn’t he? That would have been simple. He’d had to yell at her instead though, because Daryl can never do things the usual way round. Hand down her skirt and about to run away for the second time really was more his style.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Nervous!Daryl. Angst. Fluff. Friends to lovers. Alexandria era. Vague, very short smut.

A/N: Thank you for this request and the beautiful compliment! I may have rushed the editing a little so if you notice any errors please tell me!

It’s not that she’s been avoiding him, it’s the complete opposite, she’s absolutely, inarguably, infuriatingly normal. He’s clawing at the walls of his own brain and she’s acting as if everything is fine. Maybe it is, he thinks, maybe she’s over it, maybe she’s been over it since the second he screwed it up and he’s the only one still hanging on to whatever it was in the first place. He can’t even claim he’s hanging on to much, they’d barely even kissed and it was months ago, but he hadn’t exactly been good at this kind of thing before the world threw a damn apocalypse into the mix.

He’d loved her since the moment he’d heard her laugh. He’d found her in a cabin in the woods on a run, just after Woodbury had fallen, back when the prison was still strong. He didn’t want to bring her back, one more mouth to feed, one more person to keep an eye on, but she’d saved him from a rogue walker he hadn’t seen coming, shrugged like it was nothing, like she’d have done it for anyone. She’d offered him food and water, a rundown but relatively safe place to lay low for a few hours, she was kind. The words were tumbling from his lips before he’d really thought about them.

He’d avoided her for a good while, despite her efforts to befriend him, he’d lost so much already he didn’t want to let her in. But then he’d said something sarcastic, something snappy and prissy and she’d laughed; an honest to goodness belly laugh that had her head throwing back and him smiling from the side of his mouth despite himself and something deep in his chest felt warm.

So he’d loved her, quietly and from a distance. Safe. Until she’d kissed him.

He watches as she laughs, the same laugh, big and warm and real. It’s not aimed at him, and he hates it. After he’d run away from her, he worried he wouldn’t hear it again, but he’d been wrong, and this was worse. He taps his fingers against his thigh, trying to keep a scowl from his face. Failing. He thinks steam would come out of his ears if it were within the realm of possibility.

He’s always too late. Always takes too long to get comfortable. Always spends so long waiting that he misses out on the thing he wanted, and she’s not a thing but his blood is fucking boiling. At the man she’s talking to, at himself, at her too if he’s a little honest.

The man, who’s name he doesn’t know and now never wants to, is handsome. If you’re into that suburban, well groomed, boring kind of thing. He has a punchable face. Daryl is not allowed to punch people unless its necessary anymore, Rick has told him that explicitly but surely flirting with his…flirting with the woman he’s in lo…flirting with her makes it necessary.

He can’t stand the thought that he might not be the last person to kiss her lips. He can’t stand looking any longer, but he doesn’t mean for his knife to clatter loudly on the floor as he tries to flee. He doesn’t dare turn around, but he’d be able to tell she was looking at him even in pitch black. Knows she’s watching the solid, tense set of his shoulders as he retreats.

She startles at the sight of him sitting on her porch, quickly schooling her face into the nonchalance she’s been practicing around him since they arrived. It was easy enough, on the road, to pretend he hadn’t hurt her. They were so busy trying to survive, so busy being busy that she could avoid an inevitable conversation where she’d had to apologise for getting their wires crossed.

But since they’ve been behind the walls of Alexandria? She can’t stop herself from searching him out, finding excuses to be near him, trying to act like they were back at the prison. Friends. She can do friends. She has been absolutely nailing being just friends, as long as she can ignore the tightness in her chest and the way she feels like she’s going to cry every time she walks away. Friends.

She flips the knife in her hand with ease, shielding his hand from the blade as she passes it back to him. He nods his thanks as he squints up at her.

“What crawled up your ass tonight?” She asks, but there’s a teasing smile on her face as leans against the railing to her house. The porch light is dim, warm golden yellow illuminating them. Daryl hasn’t been one for a lot of words in a long time, but he intends to bat the question away, distract her with something funny, something acerbic but good natured. Friendly, he can do friendly. He can’t, could barely do it on the road after everything happened. Now though, when she’s showered and brushed her hair and dressed up, lit up by a damn porch light? He doesn’t stand a chance.

“Dun’ kiss him”

“What the fuck?”

Fists clenching to calm himself down, unfurling them when he feels more grounded, he looks up at her again, daring to lock his eyes onto hers.

“Ya like him…tha’ guy?” He tries to keep his voice steady, hopes she doesn’t understand he’s begging her to say no, begging for her to give him a chance, but how many can one man have?

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Dun’ kiss him, please” He asks again, with a shake of his head, knocking his hair in front of his eyes as the ground in front of him becomes the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. She sighs quietly, but the sound reverberates in his brain, he can hear the disappointment that weighs it down, the disappointment he’d hoped to avoid by avoiding talking about this thing between them entirely.

“I’m not having this conversation with you on the porch” She pushes herself off the railing, turning to open the front floor. She means for him to leave but he follows her inside, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh as he closes the door behind him. Every part of his body is telling him to run.

“I know I ain’t got no right t’ ask”

“No, you don’t. Why are you asking?”

“‘cause I can’t stand it”

“Why do you care?”

“’cause ya shouldn’t be wit’ him!”

“Who should I be with then, Daryl? Huh?” He doesn’t respond, not that she expects him to, head hanging low toward the ground “You have no answer, because it’s not you, is it? You didn’t want me!”

“I didn’t-what?”

He’d tried to make it obvious, had given her extra food, had nudged her shoulder with his, had talked to her more than anyone else. But she’d tried to kiss him and he’d fled, had retreated safely back into the comfort of his walls. Then he’d come back. He’d kissed her and again he’d fled. Daryl Dixon is the human embodiment of emotional whiplash. He knows he’s not easy, but he thought at least he’d been clear, he can’t imagine the way he looks at her has ever been subtle.

“I did want ya”

Her mind thinks over the weeks he’s been standoffish, the time he’s spent avoiding her touches, thinks back the first week they’d arrived here and he’s barely spoken a word, all the while watching her with an intensity that would have been uncomfortable if she hadn’t wanted his attention.

“I can’t do this, you can’t play with my head because you’re jealous all of a sudden”

“Ain’t jealous” He argues, knowing they both know he’s lying, but he still, even now, won’t let himself be vulnerable. “I know I fucked up, ‘kay? I know, but I’m ‘ere now!”

He snarls, frustrated and bordering on vicious, practically diving towards her as his hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise. He smashes his lips against hers, unpractised and clumsily before his brain catches up and he goes to pull away. Her response is so fast he doesn’t get a chance, dragging him back in as his brain shuts down.

The kiss is hard, angry and fast, all hip bones pressing into hip bones and teeth clacking against teeth. It’s not the romantic, affectionate start she was hoping for. It’s not the gentle steady and slow he was. She’s angry, he is too she can feel it in his body as he presses it against her.

The room spins, air thick and foggy with months’ worth of frustration, tension so thick it could be cut, it’s only when he swallows a heady, deep moan from her that he realises he needs more. Tongue sweeping into her mouth he grips the fabric of her skirt in his hand, bunching it up until he can reach an insistent, rough calloused hand inside her underwear, ripping his lips away from hers to heave a breath in. She’s soaked, dripping around his fingers and he’ll have time to be absolutely fucking floored by that when he recounts this later. His forehead sticks to hers as she moans.

It’s not that he hasn’t had trysts before, it’s just that they were short and unimportant, he’s barely been confident enough to use his hands. He wants to touch her in the right way, wants to know what he’s doing but she’s snaking a hand into his trousers and wrapping her fingers around his cock so thinking isn’t the top of his priorities right now.

It feels incredible, and in the vague recess of his brain he thinks he should have done this at a pace he'd be more comfortable with but he hasn’t done this in years, and barely successfully then so its not long before he comes all over her hand, whining as his head dips down to pant heavily against her collarbone. His fingers still, embarrassed and suddenly full of crippling self-doubt. She knows he’s going to remove them about a second before he does.

A thud echoes through the suddenly too big room as she tips her head back to hit the wall behind her.

“You leaving?” She lets out an incredulous laugh, hurt, betrayed, surprisingly unsurprised. The zip on his trousers seems louder than anything she’d yelled at him less than an hour before. It feels like an eternity before she lowers her head to look at him, doesn’t bother to mask the absolute disappointment on her features.

“I-uh-yeah-I”

She can practically see the walls slamming back up around him, the walls she’s been watching for weeks. A tear rolls down her cheek as he turns away from her, heading towards the front door.

“You don’t get another chance with me, Daryl” the finality in her voice makes him pause, hand on the doorknob. She sighs, hating that she’s about to give him the grace she is “You need to make up your mind, because I’m not waiting for you, not again. If you’re not certain by tomorrow you need to leave me alone”

The shaky nod from him is so small its almost imperceptible.

She’s not expecting the knock on her door as soon as the sun is up, really she isn’t. The whole night has been sleepless and filled to the brim with dread, knowing for sure that he wants her but fully believing he will never be able to let himself have her. She isn’t unaware of Daryl’s tendency to self-destruct. Maybe this is it, she thinks, maybe he values her enough as a friend if nothing else, to tell her face to face, but he’d never been able to before and the tiniest hint of hope lights her up as she treads carefully down the stairs.

Daryl stands there with a small, nervous but hopeful smile on his face. The hope hasn’t missed him, either. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, so out of his depth he might as well be drowning, but the knowledge that she wants this too means he’d rather fumble his way through this with her than do well without her.

“I’m a’ idiot”

“Yes you are” She laughs, setting him alight on the inside. The laugh that started al of this, almost. Doubt underneath her voice is the thing that finally settles it for him, makes him pull her towards him, gentle this time, the way he’d wanted. He’ll never let her doubt his feelings even when he doubts himself.

“I always wanted ya” he murmurs against her lips before closing the distance.

“You’re not going to run away again?”

“Ain’t runnin’, ain’t ever runnin’ again”

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liahaslosthermind · 1 day

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~ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒔 ~

(Past) Rhysand x OC, (Eventual) Azriel x OC Part 2 of Betrayal

Summary: He was out of his mind with grief. Azriel had been through his fair share of trauma. He had seen and done horrific things, but that was always with Adelaide by his side. Now, he didn't know what to do, and he was losing it. Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and ideology, Death of a loved one, grief, Hurt/No Comfort

His limbs ached as he stood up from his chair. He had been sitting there so long that walking felt much harder than it usually did.

He rubbed the haze from his eyes while walking to the door, the incessant knocking making his headache worse.

"Fuck, Az. You look- how do you- do you want me to..." Cassian stood in front of his brother, a man he'd known for 500 years, and didn't recognize the person he saw.

It had been the first time in almost 2 months that Cassian's knocks were answered. He had come to her room, everyday, multiple times a day, to plead with his brother to talk to him, to eat something, to just let Cassian look at him so he could see he was alive.

Azriel said nothing as he turned around and went back to the chair he had been occupying. Cassian closed the door behind him as he took in the room.

It was the same as it had been the day she left. Even though this had been the place Azriel spent most of his days, the Shadowsinger had kept it all the same, only touching her bed that he would sleep in the nights he could stomach it, or the chair he was currently in now.

A mess of papers on the desk brought tears to Cassian's eyes. Adelaide, sweet and caring Adelaide, had been making a list of Solstice gifts for her family when she was called to join some of the Inner Circle on a meeting all those months ago. A meeting that had been a trap for them. A meeting that ended up taking her life.

Azriel cleared his throat when Cassian went to pick up a piece of paper. He had tried to hard to keep her room clean while also not disturbing things from the spot she had put them in.

"Nesta told me that her and Elaine have been leaving you food but it remains untouched."

"Is there a question, brother?" Azriel asked. His voice had always been rough, and he had always been more on the quiet side, but Cassian could tell that because of lack of use, it hurt him to speak.

"Why aren't you eating? How can we get you to? I would do anything, Az." he pleaded.

The spymaster didn't answer.

"Whats the end goal? Believe me, if you want 1,000 years to mourn her, I will be with you every step of the way. I've tried to give you space, but you are killing yourself! You sit in here all day, only coming out when everyone is asleep or gone. What do you need to care about your life again?"

He was met with a distracted look from Azriel.

His brother was never distracted. He was never careless. He hadn't missed a day of training for no reason in hundreds of years. Cassian knew he still trained every once in a while, but Azriel always found times to do it when no one else was around.

Azriel didn't have an answer for Cassian, at least not one he would like.

How could I care for my life when her's is over? he thought. By the desperate look on Cassian's face, he could tell his brother knew the answer.

"I lost her too. I know it was different with the two of you, you were each others'... person, but she was as much my sister as you are my brother. I didn't... I didn't even get to say goodbye." Cassian finally broke at the confession. He hadn't let himself think about it, he had to keep himself together for Azriel. "The last time I talked to her, we where fighting over food. She stole the slice of cake I had saved for myself, I called her an inconvenience and a burden, she called me a spoiled bat who needs to learn to share." He let out a bittersweet laugh at the memory. They were usually at each others' throats, and when they weren't, they were teamed up to annoy someone else in their family. But they loved each other, always were there for one another, except in the end, when it mattered most.

"24 hours later, I was picking out the sarcophagus my sister was going to be laid in. I would have let her have all of my leftovers, all of my desert, if it meant I just got one last conversation with her." Choking up, Cassian sank to the floor, a wave of familiar grief washing over him.

Azriel joined him, crying as he hugged his brother.

The two illyrians, sat like that for a while. Long after their tears had dried, long after the sun had gone down, Cassian finally spoke up.

"Why don't you go see her? Visiting helps me, talking to her even though I know she can't hear is something I do often."

In truth, Azriel hadn't gone to his best friend's mausoleum since the funeral. He couldn't see her like that, couldn't come to terms with it.

These past 6 months had been dark. Everyone was mourning her, many of the people of Velaris included, but none more than Azriel. Part of him had died, laid in the cold marble box that held her body. For the first few months, he had completely disconnected from reality. He went on with his daily routine, he trained, ate, went on missions, did paperwork, slept. But it was as it he was on autopilot, as if the real Azriel had been asleep that whole time.

Two months ago, he woke up. It was sudden, he had gone to his room for the first time in a while to grab some books that had been long overdo at the library, and the priestesses had kindly told him if they didn't get them back he would be banned for life.

Thats when he saw the blanket on the chair by his desk. She had given it to him over a century ago. It was a birthday present, a wool blanket that was enchanted to smell like her always. She had played it off as a self centered gift, so he doesn't forget about his favorite person while away on missions, in front of their friends, but Azriel knew it wasn't that. Adelaide had always been a master gift giver, and she also knew Azriel had trouble sleeping most nights, but he never had any problems falling asleep on the couch next to her after a long night of conversations, wrapped comfortably in her own wool blanket.

He hadn't slept without it till the night she died.

Then, he picked it up, trying to see if the enchantment still worked. And that was all it took for him to wake up. It was awful, every bad feeling he had been too far disassociated to feel hit him at once. He curled up on the floor with the blanket wrapped around his hands and stayed there for days, silent tears never ceasing to fall.

After getting yelled at by Madja, who Nesta had called to knock some sense into him, he got up and went to her room, where he remained most of his days.

He sat in the chair in the corner of the room, only eating to quiet his stomach, and tried as hard as he could to detach himself from the never ending agony that was his life now.

He told Cas he would see her, the general's face lighting up at the news.

He felt guilty, making Cassian so happy for something he knew would later destroy him.

Hours after Cassian had left the room, as the sun came up, Azriel went to his room to grab the blanket he hadn't touched in 2 months. Then he grabbed Truth Teller, wrote his final request, and went to see Adelaide.

The building was large, and beautifully constructed. He would have been happy that she had a resting place deserving of her, but he knew Rhysand only spent that much money and made it this beautiful to try and lighten the guilt he felt.

The Shadowsinger stopped by the entrance, the sarcophagus without a lid placed up on the platform.

Before the funeral, Helion had come to place a enchantment on her body that would keep it preserved.

It had been a show of good will, Adelaide had been head of the Night Court's scholarly texts, education, and research. The two had met to have academic conversations at least once every few months for decades.

But as Azriel looked down at her, it felt like a cruel punishment from Helion.

6 months later, she was still as beautiful as she was the last time he saw her, and she was still just as dead.

This was where he would remain, his final request was to be laid to rest in the same building. He would be adding unnecessary pain onto his loved ones who had suffered so much already, but for the first time in his life, Azriel had decided to put himself in front of his family.

Looking her over one last time, he realized he was now completely numb.

Azriel held the gifted blanket and went to take off the one she currently had. Based off the fact it seemed to have been picked out with meticulous care to match Adelaide's coloring, and her outfit, there was no doubt it had been placed their by Mor.

On her lap, previously being covered by the blanket, laid a large and very old book.

Had one of the scholars she worked with placed it? One of the educators?

Strange marks littered the cover, but no title. Not till he opened the first page did he see what it was.

The Walking Dead

A cruel pick. Who would ever leave such a book with a corpse?

The second page was blank, so was the third, so was the fourth. Thumbing through the book, Azriel just about gave up looking at the blank pages when he finally found one with writing.

It seemed to be a poem, but it was formatted too strangely.

The title at the top read Eternally Intertwined.

A spell.

He almost dropped the book at the realization.

No one had left this book, it had been fate that had given it to him, kept it here waiting for him to stumble upon it.

He knew what he needed to do.

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #rhysand angst #rhysand x reader #azriel angst #azriel #acotar fic #rhysand x oc #azriel x oc #~ lia's betrayal series ~#rhysand

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days

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Bad Guy 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The men your mother brings home rarely stick around, but her latest catch can’t seem to unhook himself from your life.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Note: don't act like you don't want a meanie

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The stump of the cone drips down your fingertips as the car jolts to a stop. You lurch against your seatbelt and hold up your hand and cup the other beneath, trying to keep the melting mess concentrated. Chris cranks the shifter as he idles in front of your mother’s house.

“Hey, told ya not to get that all over,” he sneers.

“Sorry, I...” you utter. “I’ll get out.”

You balance the cone with one hand you do your best not to smear the mess as you unbuckle the seat belt. He huffs as he turns off the engine and his own belt recoils sharply. You glance over as he gets out and slams the door. He stomps around the car and wrenches open your side.

“Out, now,” he barks.

You obey and climb out, stepping up on the curb to examine the front of your shirt. He snaps the door shut and snarls again.

“Keep pushing your chest out like that, someone might just take it as an invitation,” he grits.

You wince and look up at him, hunching your shoulders. He makes everything you do a crime. As if you’re intentionally trying to offend him.

“Well, thanks for the ride,” you mutter. “I’ll just go--”

“I’m comin’ with ya. Mom’s waitin’,” he insists. “Sure, she’s real worried about you. Girl your age can get up to all sortsa trouble, can’t she?”

He points you up the slanted walk and you glare ahead. Your eyes hurt as they long to roll. He walks beside you, crowding you on the thin blocks of pavement. As you get to the steps, he reaches over and taps your ass.

“Go on, get up,” he orders you.

You squeak and hurry up the steps. You just want to get away from him. He probably wants the same thing with the way he speaks to you.

You wrench the door back with your free hand and angle inside. He catches the door behind you, brushing close as he follows you inside. You feel a tickle on your lower back and hurry up.

“Gail,” Chris calls past you.

There’s no answer. You don’t worry about it. Most of the time, your mom isn’t home when you get in. It never bothers you as you like having the house to yourself.

You go into the kitchen and toss what’s left of your cone. You rinse your hands and ignore the man as he trudges around your house. Your mother’s squeaky hinge whines and he comes back out with a harrumph.

You dry off and go back into the front room. He’s not far behind as he flops onto the couch with a growl. You peek over as he pulls out his phone and taps on it with his thumb. He jams the screen so hard you expect it to crack.

“See where you get it from, huh,” he scoffs. “Damn woman.”

You quickly flit away before you can hear any more of his gripes. He just seems the type to look for anything to be mad about. You might be a cynic, but you’re not an asshole about it.

You change out of your uniform and toss it into the basket by the door. You’re annoyed. If he had driven a bit slower, you could have worn it at least one more time.

You shimmy out of your pants and pull on some linen shorts and find a loose tee patterned with sunflowers. You stretch out on your bed and put on the next episode of your serial addiction. As you settle in, you hear him moving around in the kitchen.

From what you can guess, your mom isn’t even there. She tends to do that. Just wander in and out whenever it suits you. If you were less of an introvert, you might have actually gotten in trouble as a teen with so little parental supervision. Come to think of it, she seems to have lived your teenage rebellion for you.

A pounding on the door shakes you from your Netflix-induced trance. You sit up and sigh as you go to the door. It’s bad enough he’s getting in the way of your late night snacking but not he’s interrupting your binge.

You crack the door open an inch and look out, “she’s probably down at Jim’s,” you say.

“I didn’t ask that,” he brings his hand up to grim the door frame. “Did I?”

“No,” you frown.

“'No, sir,'” he wags his index at you. “You should try a smile. Be a lot prettier if ya did.”

You blink. The only response you have will only piss him off. You clamp your lips tight and shrug instead.

“There’s shit all in the cupboards.”

You squint and shake your head, “okay?”

“I mean, you can figure it out, can’t you? Man’s gotta eat.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “what?”

“Don’t tell me ya can’t cook neither. What kinda man’s gonna want a woman can’t do nothing?” He snorts.

“I-- I don’t want to,” you blurt out. “Cook for yourself.”

You push the door but he slaps his hand against it and forces it inward, “what did you just say, girl?”

“I... you’re here for my mom. Go down to Jim’s and tell her to cook--”

“You’re right. I’m here ‘cause your mommy’s a slut. Any other man stick around, huh? Pay for her bills? Her food? Don’t sound like men to me, and you,” he grabs your chin and you whimper, “don’t speak like much of a lady.”

“Let go of me,” you smack his wrist, “ow.”

“See, I knew your mama isn’t shit. The way she acts, shoulda figured you’d be the same.” He yanks you into the hall, “don’t worry, I’ll teach ya manners, girl.”

“Ah, you’re hurting me--”

“What do you think your husband’s gonna do when you get mouthy, huh? I’m saving you a lot of hard lessons,” he shoves you past him and you hit the wall with your shoulder. He snaps his knuckles against your ass. “I saw a box of macaroni, think you can boil some water or is that too much for that empty head of yours?”

“What is your problem?” You turn and lean against the door. “I didn’t do anything and... and...” your words fizzle out as you see the way his icy eyes sear. You gulp. “Why are you so mean?”

“Mean?” He laughs, “keep talking and I’ll put you over my knee. Now take your ass to the kitchen and make some dinner. I know you ain’t some child eating ice cream for supper, hm? Can’t be walking around like that.”

He reaches for you and tugs the hem of your tee, letting it go so the fabric springs back up and you feel air flow along the underside of your tits. You quickly cross your arms and try to dissolve into the wall. You stare at him, annoyed but frightened. It occurs to you that he’s a lot stronger than you.

“Well, you gonna walk around dressed like a woman, may as well be one,” he points down the hall. “You won’t like me when I’m real hungry.”

You peel yourself off the wall and cower as you pass him. You feel his gaze on you, as oppressive as his presence. You bite down on your lip, as much to keep your thoughts inside as to keep from screaming. You should’ve known that one day your mother would bring home the wrong sort. Well, she always does but they can’t be bothered to stick around.

You enter the kitchen and go to the cupboard. You search around for the sole box of mac and cheese. That’s your insurance policy. Your mother rarely grocery shops. She only ever goes to the bar or the liquor store. She drinks, she doesn’t eat.

You grab a pot and fill it with water. As you light the burner, you glance over your shoulder. Chris stands in the doorway, watching, like a warden in a jail. You add salt to the water. You step back and wait for it to boil. The silence scrapes your ears.

You sway listlessly and another growl rolls up his throat. He clicks his tongue. “Must get good tips down at the ice cream joint, huh? Wearing your cutoffs like you're at the beach.”

You turn and frown, “...what?”

“Nah, nah,” he shifts to stand inside the door, leaning his back on the wall, “not ‘what’. You say, ‘sorry, sir, my sweet little head’s empty and I don’t understand. Please explain to me what you mean.’

Your lips part and you stare at him. He snickers.

“The way you look at me, I know you don’t got much going on in there, do ya, girl? So let’s think. You go down to the parlour in those jean shirts, wagging your ass as the boys, and they toss you a couple dollars extra. Hell, I bet those pudgy-bellied dads with all their regret and whiny brats like ya too.” He sniffs and his eyes pinpoint, “keep that up, you’ll find out how much you could make on a pole, flirting with all those greasy dicks down at Bunnies.”

You recoil at the mention of the strip club. The very thought makes your skin crawl. And your shorts aren’t that short. Your boss said they’re just fine and it’s so hot out in the summer.

“Shouldn’t flaunt it if you’re not selling it,” he says.

You stare at the floor and drop your arms, tugging the hem of your shorts to make sure they aren’t bunched. “Sir, I’m not... flaunting it.”

“Coulda fooled me.” He exhales loudly. “You wanna end up like your ma?”

No, you don’t want to end up with a man like him. You keep that thought to yourself. You shake your head and take the box of the macaroni. You tear off the top as the water starts to boil.

“So maybe you should take some advice from someone older and wiser. Do you know what your mama’s problem is?” He asks.

You shake your head again. You dump the noodles into the water. You go to the drawer and open it to grab a wooden spatula. As you do, he shuts it on your fingers. You yelp as he keeps your hand trapped. You look up at him as he stands close.

“She can’t hang onto a man. She’s too easy. No guy’s gonna take care of a fucking mess like her. And what good is she without a man lookin’ after her? Living in this hellhole with some deadbeat daughter--”

“That’s...” you whimper and squirm as you try to free your fingers. “Ow, please--”

“It is true,” he insists against your unspoken protest. “Whatcha think you’ll be doin’ in another few years? You’re gonna age out and those tips are gonna dry up like sand.” He taunts as he leans in, “and you’re only happiness will be at the bottom of a glass--”

“Stop. Please,” you beg as the drawer crushes your knuckles. You can’t bear it anymore. You put your hand on his hard stomach and push. “Ow! It hurts--”

He lets up on the drawer but only to grab your arm. He twists your wrist around and you bend with the angle of your arm. He has you facing the tile as he hyperextends your elbow. You whimper and wiggle your throbbing fingers.

“See, a woman don’t just need a man to take care of her,” he puts his hand on your ass and brushes up your shorts. “He needs to discipline her.” He pulls his hand away and the drawer rolls open. “And I know your mama didn't do none of that.”

He rests the spatula against your ass and you twitch, “sir, please, I wasn’t--”

“Either you shut up and take it like a good girl or each noise means the next one’s harder,” he swings his arm back then forward. The wood strikes your ass in a radiating crack. Your legs tremble and you yowl. “Now what did I say?"

He spanks you again with the spatula, this time on the other cheek. You grunt behind your teeth and reach back with your other arm. He raps your knuckles with the wood and you recoil. You bend your arm to your chest and he swats you again. Your ass burns from his cruel force.

He does it again, and again, and again. You try not to make a sound but the whimpers fall out of you. Your arm strains from the angle and his unyielding grip, your ass pulsing in agony. The spatula thwaps down over and over until your eyes are streaming and all you can muster are hollow gasps.

He lets you go and you crumple to the floor, holding yourself on your hands and knees. He whips the spatula down to it hits the tile and bounces. You wipe your face and look up at him. The air smells like fire. He sighs as his eyes drift to the stove, the water boiling over.

“Fuck damnit, girl,” he tuts, “figure it the fuck out.”

He shakes his head and marches out of the kitchen. You stare after him, breathless and battered. You can’t believe he just did that.

#chris #destroyer!chris #chris x reader #dark!chris #dark chris #destroyer #series #fic #bad guy #dark fic #dark!fic #au

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moopsoup · 19 hours

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You walked into the apartment you shared with Satoru and Suguru, your keys clinking as you lazily tossed them onto the counter. With a heavy sigh, you made your way to Suguru’s room, your feet dragging slightly. You needed a break, a distraction from your other boyfriend, Satoru’s, stupid actions. God, how you wanted to strangle the shit outta him sometimes.

Pushing open Suguru’s door, you plopped down onto his bed with a frustrated pout, your body sinking into the plush mattress. Suguru glanced up from his book, a knowing glint in his eye. "Let me guess, the idiot did something again, hm?" he murmured, setting the book aside and sliding closer to you.

You nodded, snuggling into his chest as you recounted Satoru’s thoughtless flirting. "Satoru was flirting with this girl at the cafe. Flirting, Sugu. There’s no way he doesn’t do that shit on purpose. But anyway, she asked for his number he just brushed her off with one of his stupid charming smiles and told her I was his girlfriend. I should be happy about that, right?" You let out an irritated huff, your brows furrowing. "I don't know, it just really rubbed me the wrong way, you know? Like, he knows he’s hot as shit so why’s he entertaining other girls. But he’s aggravatingly loyal at the same time so I can’t say anything about it" you whine with a pout.

Suguru tsked, what an idiot, he thought, his fingers trailing down your side as he listened. "Mm, sounds like he knows what he’s doing," he said simply, nonchalantly hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

You shivered as he slowly slid them down, exposing your lace-trimmed panties. "I just don't understand why he has to be like that, Suguru," you sighed, your voice tinged with hurt. "He knows I don’t like it."

"Poor thing," Suguru breathed as his hand slowly went down to rub firm circles against your clit through the thin fabric. You let out a soft hum, arching into his touch as you were already soaking your panties at his ministrations. "Let me make you feel better," he murmured before pulling your panties to the side, deftly slipping two fingers into your slick heat. You whimpered, your hips rocking against his hand, his skilled digits curling just right to have you squirming as a fresh wave of arousal flooded you. "Mmm, that's it, let me take care of you," Suguru purred, his voice dripping with desire. "Thank you, Sugu" you let out a soft breath, your walls fluttering around his fingers. "Needed this so badly."

Suguru pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his cock straining against his own shorts as he felt your arousal coating his fingers. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I’ll make you feel much better" he promised with a sweet curl of his fingers before withdrawing his hand with a reluctant sigh. You whined at the loss of contact, aching to feel his skilled fingers inside you again.

"I know exactly what you need," he murmured, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and slowly pushing them down. His thick, pretty cock sprang free, the tip drooling with precum.

You bit your lip at the sight, your body aching to be filled by him. You could see his cock a million times, and every single time without fail, you’d be dripping at the mere sight of it. Suguru wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding you to straddle his hips. "That's it, just let me take care of you," he purred, slowly easing his cock into your slick, welcoming heat.

You let out a shuddering moan as he stretched and filled you, the delicious sensation making your toes curl. Suguru's strokes were deliberate and measured, his hips rolling up to meet yours in a steady, sensual rhythm. So different from Satoru. Not that you disliked how Satoru fucked you. Satoru fucked you sooo good every. single. time, it’s just Suguru did it differently. You clung to his shoulders, your mind blissfully blank as he fucked you with such care and attention.

The room was filled with the sounds of your soft moans and Suguru's low, guttural grunts as he rolled his hips up into you. His hands roamed your body, caressing and squeezing in all the right places, eliciting shivers of pleasure from you.

"Mm, you feel so good," Suguru hummed softly, his hands on your hips, guiding you up and down his cock while he also rolled his hips up into you. You could feel every vein on his cock, deliciously dragging in and out of your walls. One hand moved from your hip to circle your clit with his thumb. Suguru didn't even have to fuck you hard and fast to have you trembling on the edge of ecstasy. As you looked down at his face, you were struck by just how breathtakingly beautiful he was. Like he was GORGEOUS. His eyes were dark with lust, half-lidded and smoldering with desire, and that look alone had your thighs trembling. Swear on your soul you could bust just at the sight.

Suguru's slow, measured thrusts, combined with the expert strokes of his fingers on your clit, had you wound tighter than a coiled spring. That look in his eyes, paired with his sensual movements, was enough to send you hurtling over the edge. With a soft gasp, your mouth falling open in a perfect 'O', wave after wave of shattering ecstasy washed over you. Your eyes rolled back as your walls clenched and fluttered around him, your entire being consumed by the blinding pleasure.

The sound of your pretty little gasps and the feel of your soaking, quivering pussy drove Suguru wild. If you weren’t on the pill, he’d put a baby in you at Mach 20 speed. With a guttural groan, he snapped his hips up, burying himself as deep as he could inside you, spilling every last drop of his cum in you.

Just then, you heard the door open, and Satoru stood there, an eyebrow raised at the debauched sight before him. "Mm, someone’s been taken care of, I see." he purred, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Round two so I can make it up to you, hm?"

#jjk geto #jjk gojo #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #smut #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #mdni blog #18+ mdni #mdni #i need him #busting a nut

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readychilledwine · 3 days

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What Dreams May Come

Part One - Asher

Summary - 50 years after sending his pregnant mate and children into hiding, Tamlin wants nothing more than to reconnect with his family.

Warnings - Rhys Slander is HEAVY in this series, references to smut, references to abuse, death, schmurder, fated mates and hidden family trope, kind of angst, tension, if you see an error, no you didn't 👀

A/N - I was going to wait to post this mini series, but I can't. I've been rereading it over and over and judging it harshly (as I do all my writing), so I'm putting it out there before I abandon it. Ps- each child has their own powers. You will learn each child in depth during Araceli's chapter. These are just little previews. Bonus points if you can figure out what Asher’s might be.

🥀What Dreams May Come Masterlist🥀Tamlin Masterlist🥀Master Masterlist🥀

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears (seriously peep the blog. Adorable season court Dividers)

Asher was thoroughly unimpressed with the horned beast staring him down as he flirted with the twin river nymphs he had been chasing for a few days now. Feral eyes were locked on his chocolate brown ones before the body of the beast because to slowly approaching. Asher sighed as the nymphs dove back into the water of the river, whispered melodically in their native tongue. “And what manner of beast are you,” He motioned up and down. “I believe parents should write stories about you. Ugly thing, you are.”

He froze as the beast shifted, long blonde hair and sun kissed skin replacing the fur. Strong arms went across a wide chest, “Be careful with your words, son. You look just like me.”

Asher, in fact, did not look like Tamlin. Tamlin screamed of sun, golden blonde hair and green eyes, Asher sang for the moon, dark short hair styled to one side, deep chocolate eyes he must have gotten from his mother's side, tanned skin. It was in their facial structure, the sharp jawline, the nose. That is where the signs of Tamlin rested in his son.

He had grown into a tall male, strong from what Tamlin could tell, but definitely with the same soft heart he had. Tamlin could see it in those eyes. Eyes that currently swan with confusion. The Lord of Sping simply opened his arms smiling as his first son dropped the act and came to him.

“Dad,” the word was foreign on Asher’s tongue. They had been in hiding for so very long, not even mentioning the word out of fear. Asher had not been held by his father since he was 4, but it felt like he remembered.

Hugging Tamlin, hugging his dad, it reminded him of the first warm rain in a season. Of getting a blanket warmed near the fire on cold nights from his mother. Asher melted into it, savored it as he took in the vaguely familiar scent of petrichor and freshly trimmed grass.

“I missed you,” Tamlin's deep voice made his eyes close as he rested his head on his shoulder. “Tell me everything. Tell me every happy moment, every ache, tell me you hate me. Anything, Asher. Anything.”

His mother was not home when Asher brought him back to the cave she had turned into a true home. The rumors that she could move mountains were, possibly, not rumors in her son's eyes, because, behind the waterfall the cave was hidden by, she had created a home. Everything he and his siblings had needed was magically summoned and made by his mother. They never wanted anything during the 50 years they had been isolated.

Asher knew now his mom's magic ensured they had beds, blankets, comfort, through technically stealing. To be conjured, it had to come from somewhere. He had written a poem once about being a shopkeeper in the Night Court and coming into an emptied out shop, but Asher would put money on his mother somehow leaving a note to bill the High Lord of Night.

Asher had also written a poem about his Uncle finding said bill. His mother told him it was inappropriate while smiling and folding it into her back pocket.

He and Tamlin stayed quiet as he let the blonde male look around, “They say you can take the female out of the Night Court, but never the Night Court out of the female.”

Asher scoffed at that, “I believe she picked our furniture and goods on where she wanted to take from. Can't feel bad stealing from a rich asshole,” he quoted her exact words.

Tamlin gave him a look, his lips clearly trying to remain in a stern position. “Your uncle is a-”

“Pompous asshole who feels that he is the change the world needs by just existing and not acting,” Asher was raising a dark brow at him as he poured them some tea. “Mom told me.”

“Asher,” Tamlin continued to try to be firm, “We do not speak of family that way.”

Asher blinked at him, unphased. This child, his oldest son, his mind was unwavering. Not even the Gods themselves could convince them of his Uncle Rhysand's good had they tried. It was his mom's fault, she was blunt and cut throat with her honesty, even when she knew lying would have been best.

Asher had found the history. He'd read the story of how his grandfather had threatened the life of his grandmother, forcing his father's hand to tell him where Rhysand would be meeting his mother and youngest sister. He read how his grandfather forced his father to watch as he mutilated them.

He then read how Rhysand and his maternal grandfather got their revenge. Minds being melted, an innocent female, a victim in her own right, slaughtered mercilessly. Asher’s mother had still chosen his father, though. She was the only one who saw both sides and felt both heavy hands. Asher knew from the sadness in her eyes she would pick Tamlin again and again, though he had not met his own mate to know why yet.

“Do you always chase females,” Tamlin finally sat, relaxing enough to truly appreciate how handsome his son was.

A wide grin appeared on Asher’s face, “I can't help but to chase them. I've never met an ugly female, father.”

Tamlin internally cringed at the word father, so informal to the earlier plea of “Dad”. “So no type?”

“Pretty, and they all are. Has to enjoy my poetry, and they all do. I have a, uh, certain way with words."

“So you seduce them with just words?”

Asher glanced up, “Why try something else when I am so good at it.” His face was filled with pride as he went to the book shelf and grabbed a leather book worn with love. He handed the heavy collection of paper to him, “Go ahead. Tell me how fantastic I am.”

Tamlin chuckled as he opened the book. It was definitely made in the Night Court, a sign of where his wife had been technically stealing from outside the obvious furniture and leathers Asher was wearing. The pages were thick, stained slightly from ink transferring from paper to hand and back. His son's handwriting was influenced by his wife. Soft scrolls flowing together like a melody. The poetry was good, very good. “You haven't decided if you like Quatrain or Villanelle, have you?”

“No,” Asher shifted. “Should I have?”

Tamlin shook his head, “I'm over 500 years old and still bounce from around with different formats and stanza structures.” He continued reading an odd feeling setting into him before he closed the book and saw the shocked look on his son's face.

"You write poetry?!" He watched deep eyes light up and the conversation flew from there, father and son, bonding over poetry, over literature.

The topics grew, varying from serious, to funny, to gossip. Tea constantly poured between them as they discussed being forced to train, of their mutual love of chocolate, of their favorite writers. Tamlin learned so much as the hours past before Asher asked if he wanted some fresh air.

Asher was strong, mentally, emotionally, and physically. It comforted Tamlin as they moved outside using a back magical gate made by Araceli. It took them to a vegetable garden that thrived, insects flying all around, fruit hanging from heavy trees. “Where is this place,” Tamlin looked around.

“We're still in The Middle,” Asher laid out the blanket before gently tossing his bag down. “I'm sure you secretly do recognize the cottage we're near.” The High Lord did, nodding as he studied the place he'd been told his whole life to avoid. The Weaver’s home was deadly, dangerous, and forbidden. Yet his son sat outside of it like it wasn't even phasing him. “Mom made her a deal. The Weaver likes her hair. Mom likes the protect she gives us. Once a year, mom let's The Weave cut her hair for threads in exchange for protection and us being allowed to grow this garden.”

The horrified expression on his father's face wasn't missed by Asher. A bargain with a being like The Weaver was not taken lightly. His mom worked hair to ensure her hair stayed healthy, long, and ready. The Weaver claimed her hair had some magical properties, but all Asher envisioned when he was young was the ancient being using them as some sort of enchanted tie to his mom, ready to rip her from them and eat them at any given notice.

“Is she insane?!”

Eyes narrowed at him, “She was alone,” Asher emphasized the word making it a dagger. “She did a lot of dangerous things to protect us. You should be worshiping the very ground she walks upon.”

Momma’s boy.

Asher was still momma’s boy.

Tamlin shook his head, “I love her. More than you know and understand. I love you more than you understand.”

“Loved them so much you hid them away in one of the most dangerous places in the realm?” The soft female voice had Asher smirking. Tamlin turned to face a young blonde, her hair falling in soft waves with braids placed strategically to help prevent the locks from falling into soft green eyes.

This. This was him. Had Tamlin been born a female, this is what he'd look like. One cheek dimpled as she smiled, the asymmetry flattered her, complimenting soft cheek bones, a gently sloped nose, full blush lips. Along every inch of her face, freckles danced, marking her skin like soft kisses.

“Sister,” a pen met paper as Asher spoke. “You are busy little bee I see.”

Her hands were both filled with baskets almost overflowing with herbs, vegetables, edible flowers. Her nails had dirt under the nails and staining the skin. She carrying a look of pride and accomplishment Tamlin knew well. This was her garden and it was fruitful. “Your squash was ready,” she was speaking to Asher but her eyes were on Tamlin. “Momma said she could turn it into soup?” Asher nodded, but he was deep into capturing Something on page, a grunt was his only other response. She continued to stare at Tamlin, “Do you know which of your children I am?”

Tamlin wanted to roll his eyes at her, say of course, but he refrained, watching as she moved, sitting next to Asher but slightly behind him. “I know my own baby girl, Taryn,” the High Lord said. “Your dimple gives you away.” He couldn't help but reach for her cheek, but a firm hand stopped him from touching her.

“I don't believe my sister gave you permission to put your hands on her face.” A smirk of pride grew on Tamlin's face as Asher now fully looked at his father and little sister. “You may touch her when, and if, Taryn allows. Until then, no.”

Taryn leaned her head onto Asher’s shoulder as Tamlin lowered his hand. “You two are close?”

“Very,” they answered in unison.

“How were Darya and Amaya?”

“Who?”

“The river nymphs twins,” Taryn glared at Asher. “The two you've been trying to bed for a week now?”

Asher sighed and laid back, “They're impossible!”

Taryn and Tamlin glanced at him, “How so,” the high lord asked.

“They're identical! They said they only sleep with males who can tell them apart! Their hair is the same length. Their eyes both sparkle like a clear lake. They both have the perfect little nymph figure. Hair black as coal. They're gorgeous, fun, witty.” Asher covered his eyes by dramatically laying his arm across his face, “One of them I am most interested in. I believe it is Darya.”

“Does she have a shell braided Into her hair?”

Asher nodded at his sister's question, “She's.. she's just stunning. Inside and out. I may be in love."

Tamlin hid a smile as he reached into Taryn's woven basket filled with fruit and stole an apple. Asher continued telling Taryn his woes before sighing. "I wrote a new poem for her," he whispered with an air of insecurity. "I just.. wish she would respond some way, any way really.

He stood and then reached down to grab each basket, “I'll take these home. I.. I'm going to try just her. Maybe that will help?" He looked to his sister and father for some reassurance.

Taryn nodded, “I like that idea.”

“I think she's special.”

“Then she is,” Tamlin answered simply. “Go. I'll take care of Taryn.” Asher nodded, disappearing in the same gate his mother had opened.

Silence fell between the two on the blanket. The air was thick and heavy, a contrast to the brightness of his daughter's garden, to the smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes.

“You may hold me.”

4 words. 4 soft words. Spoken with hesitation, anger, grief, fear.

Yet they opened a floodgate as a father pulled his daughter to him, the process beginning again as the sunset behind them.

Tamlin knew his goal as he took him the scent of strawberries lingering in her blonde hair.

Board by board. Brick by brick. Nail by nail. He was going to rebuild his family. Even if doing so hurt him in the process.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

And my fellow Tamlin girlies:

@nocasdatsgay @pit-and-the-pen

#elizabeths.updates #send asks #acotar #acotar x oc #tamlin acotar #tamlin x rhysands sister #tamlin x oc #high lord tamlin #high lord of spring #tamlin #tamlin x Rhysand's sister oc

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mouseymilkovich · 2 days

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Fools | Carmy x Reader Fic

read speechless first! | masterlist | playlist | pinterest board | next chapter

Fic Summary: The Beef is closed, The Bear is coming. You've taken fewer hours at your job to lend a hand— for Sydney, of course. You and Carmy decided to stay friends— just friends. Things would be better that way, right? ...or wouldn't they?

Chapter Summary: Time for your new journey, alongside your best friend, Sydney Adamu, and the man who complicated your life these days, Carmen Berzatto. You're determined to make being "just friends" with Carmy work, but is he as determined as you are? | Carmy Berzatto x fem/afab reader (using they/them pronouns)

Important Info: The sequel to Speechless! (Seriously, read that first otherwise this fic won't make much sense), (texting, the usual) pink = reader, green = Sydney

Content Tags: Smut in the first chapter? You bet baby! Reader mentions wanting to drink, unprotected sex (reader is still on birth control tho dw), reader gets sad

Chapter One: Bad Idea, Right?

Word Count: 2k

"It's so weird, seeing The Beef sign not hanging," You commented as you approached the restaurant with Marcus, coffees in hand. Sydney and Carmy were already standing outside, watching the sign being taken away.

"Yeah... kinda feels bittersweet," Marcus replied as you both reached Sydney and Carmy. You each handed them the coffees you had for them.

This whole "just friends" thing with Carmy was proving to be more difficult than you initially thought. He still haunted your dreams, your nightmares, and a good majority of your thoughts. Now, that you were taking fewer hours at work to help with The Bear, you were in close proximity to Carmy almost every damn day. Part of you wondered if he felt the same, but you still remembered those stinging words of him calling you a "little fling" that day— you were long past that fight, you'd made up, but those words still haunted you. It were as if you'd meant nothing to him at all.

"Let it go," You internally reminded yourself— then your mind devolved into the actual song. Damn Disney and their catchy music.

"C'mon, let's go inside," Sydney nudged you, breaking you from your thoughts.

You followed her inside, leaving Marcus and Carmy on the sidewalk. Sugar was inside, busying herself with something that you really didn't understand, she was more on the business side of things.

Your thing was interior design. Of course, your boring little office job wasn't for that, so when Syd had offered to hire you on for interior design for The Bear, you jumped at the chance— even if it meant spending more time than you'd like with Carmy.

"You seem distracted. You alright, dude?" Syd asked you, sympathy behind her tone.

"Yeah... just... this whole being just friends thing with Carmy is weird getting used to. That's all," You reassured. You'd made a decision that you wouldn't be hiding shit from her this time; but, some things you wouldn't go into extensive detail about.

"It'll be alright, just think of this as... getting to spend more time with me?" Syd muttered with a playful nudge.

"Yeah, you're right." You smiled softly.

It was something you'd talked about when you were approaching your final year of high school— Syd opening a restaurant, you designing the interior of said restaurant. It was nice to finally see that dream through... even if it involved the man who complicated your life these days.

Well, at least with Richie taking on the role of maître d'hôtel at The Bear, you'd be working in close proximity with him more than Carmy. You'd gotten along with Richie since the first moment you stepped into The Beef while Syd was working there, so there was that at the very least. You'd also be working closely with Marcus, and the rest of the former Beef staff who'd become your friends— that was a plus at the very least in all of this.

"I've been sketching and writing down loads of ideas," You told Sydney. You could only hope you could run those ideas by Sydney more than Carmy.

Of course, the boys came inside in that moment, and Carmy had to chime in. "Can't wait to see them."

So much for running those ideas by Sydney more than Carmy.

You gave Carmy an awkward smile over your shoulder, then looked at Sydney again. "Um, wanna come over tonight and we can talk some of it over?"

"Shit, I'm sorry, I can't— I would, I really would but I have a meeting with this up and coming journalist about the restaurant," She frowned.

"Oh, it's okay! We can worry about it another time—"

"I can come talk some of it over if you want?" Carmy suggested.

Of course he suggested coming over. Why did he insist on tormenting you? Still, you were determined to make this "just friends" thing work. So, you relented, a big ass forced smile on your face.

"Sounds great!"

┈

You wished so desperately you could've backed out of this. But, no, this "just friends" thing was going to work, come hell or high water, and you were not going to sacrifice your interior design job just because of stupid Carmy... and his stupid handsome face and stupid good looking body and stupid charming smile. Stupid Carmen Berzatto.

Carmy came to your apartment with you, you both headed inside. You decided to make a mental note, "Always bring your art tablet, sketchbook, and notebook with you to the restaurant from now on."

"Want some water? Pop? Wine? Snacks?" You asked, trying not to sound as nervous as you felt with Carmy being back in your apartment for the first time since your fight with Sydney.

"I could actually go for a coffee, maybe?" Carmy muttered, sitting on your couch.

"Alright. Well, um... make yourself comfortable!" With that, you scurried to your kitchen.

Why did it suddenly feel like you were living in a really fucked up romcom?

You took a deep breath, making Carmy a coffee and yourself a tea. This was for work, Carmy was here strictly for business.

You'd also made the decision of no more drinking if a situation involved Carmy— that would be a bad mixture. But man, you'd kill for a fucking glass of wine right now.

Okay, this would all be fine. You were not intoxicated, you had no excuse to make any moves on Carmy, absolutely none. But what if he did that stupid thing where he flexed in that stupid white t-shirt and— STOP.

Jesus Christ. You gave yourself a quick splash of cold water to the face. Calm down, calm the fuck down.

You finally made your way back to the living room as you took a deep breath. "Here you go, Carm!"

"You remembered how I take it?" He asked.

"Well, yeah, I did just get you a coffee this morning—"

"That's different. You buy different coffee."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Why are you being so weird?" You grumbled.

"Me? Why are you being so weird?" Carmy asked, almost sounding offended. "You've been like this all day."

"Oh my god, like what?" You asked.

"Just... I don't know!" Carmy exclaimed.

Suddenly, you realized the proximity to Carmy was a little too close.

"Like... nervous and fuckin' jittery around me and shit," Carmy muttered.

"No I'm not!" Yes you were.

And then Carmy smirked. You felt a chill run up your spine, and an all to familiar warmth in your stomach... arousal. From Carmy. Stupid, stupid, hot Carmy.

It only took a matter of seconds for both of you to snap. Carmy was kissing you, you were kissing him back. You knew Carmy being in your apartment was a bad idea.

You barely even remember how the two of you ended up in your bedroom, all you knew was that you were naked, he was naked, and he had you on all fours at the foot of your bed, and he was wasting absolutely no time fucking pounding you.

It'd been a while since you'd gotten fucked like that— well, fucked at all, admittedly. Since before your fight with Sydney, actually, cus you and Carmy hadn't done anything that night, and you hadn't bothered to see anybody else since your fight with Carmy.

"Ah— Carm— holy fuck—" You cried out as he pulled you up, the angle making him hit that soft spot inside you.

"Fuck, you feel s'fuckin good, baby," He groaned in your ear, one hand pawing at your tits, the other using his thumb to tease and rub your clit.

You tossed your head back against Carmy's shoulder, every sensation drawing you closer to the edge.

"C'mon, wanna feel you cum on my dick, pretty girl," He growled in your ear as he felt your walls clenching.

"Jesus— fuck—" You yelped, Carmy let you fall forward against the mattress as you came, your breathing becoming ragged and heavy.

"Good girl, gooood girl," Carmy grunted as he kept fucking into you, nearing his own orgasm. His familiar, obscene sounds filled the room as his hot seed filled you. "Fuck, takin' it like a fuckin' champ, babe."

You knew Carmy, though. He had a knack for making you cum multiple times in one night, so you knew this was just the beginning.

┈

After a night of sleep from Carmy thoroughly fucking your brains out, you awoke to an empty bed— not only that, but no note, no text. So, you got up, thinking maybe he's making coffee, or breakfast— nope. Nothing, nobody. No Carmy.

You sighed, realizing that last night was a huge fucking mistake. The biggest mistake you'd made in a while, probably a close second to getting involved with him in the first place. This was a thorough disaster, and you decided to make a promise to yourself right now, no more Carmy, no matter how tempting he may seem, this feeling the day after was not worth it, this pain was not worth the high.

You made yourself a coffee, and sat on the couch, contemplating what to do. Do you tell Sydney what happened last night, and beg her not to let you be alone with Carmy ever again? Do you even acknowledge what happened around him at all? Did he feel that it was a mistake too? As the thoughts swirled around your brain, you felt tears pricking your eyes.

Goddammit, of course you were gonna tell Syd. You promised, no more fucking secrets. But that didn't change how awful you were feeling.

i'm gonna be running a little late today. long story, promise i'll tell you later.

oh my god.

tell me you didn't.

How did she figure it out from a single text message? She did always seem to know you a little too well.

i did.

You felt yourself actually starting to cry now. How could you let this happen, after everything? The fights, the makeups, deciding to be only friends... you felt so stupid.

Yeah, this pain was definitely not worth the high.

Soon enough, Sydney let herself and Marcus into your apartment, she had coffees and he had a box of freshly made donuts.

"Oh my god," You mumbled upon seeing them, tear stains tracked all over your cheeks.

"Cheer up squad at your service!" Marcus announced as each of them sat either side of you.

They sandwiched you in a tight hug, Sydney giving you a little kiss on the cheek. It was obvious that Sydney knew by your text how upset you were.

"So... what happened?" Sydney asked softly.

You sighed, and explained that you tried to keep things neutral and normal, then next thing you knew, he was kissing you, you were kissing him back. And then things moved to the bedroom and got heated quickly. Then in the morning... there was nothing. No note, no text, no Carmy. Just a whole load of nothing.

"Can I kill him? I'd like to kill him," Sydney said casually. "I would really, really like to kill him, actually."

You sighed, putting your face in your hands. "Syd, please, I don't wanna confront him with this. I'm embarrassed enough as it is."

Syd sighed and nodded, her arm falling around you to rub your shoulder. "It's okay, yknow. Shit happens."

"Yeah, shit happens," Marcus nodded in agreement. "It was just as much his doing as it was yours."

"Please promise me you guys will keep me from letting him come to my fucking apartment again," You groaned. "Please."

"We'll try our best," Syd muttered, then laughed a little. "I could move in. That would help, right?"

"Very funny," You sighed, knowing your shitty, small one bedroom apartment would definitely not house two people very well.

Thankfully, Sydney and Marcus spent the morning with you, letting you wallow in your sadness and embarrassment in their company. Ah, true friends.

Eventually, you all headed to the future site of The Bear, and you'd discovered that Carmy, Sugar, and Sydney, were aiming to have the damn thing open in three months, with the help of funding from the Berzattos uncle Jimmy. You'd really have your work cut out for you...

In more ways than one.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

tags ; @maggiesarchives @carmenberzattosgf @buendiabebeta @turtle-cant-communicate @fastboatsmojito @wabi-sabi1090 @dearpyramus

click here if you'd like to be tagged in any future updates of my work!

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allieslobster · 2 days

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I posted my opinion on the whole mike monologue so I wanted to also rant about this.

Why? WHY!!! WHYYY WHAT IS THE POINT?! No, but seriously like what is the point of this love triangle? I don’t understand the point in this conflict if it isn’t going to be resolved in a way where the audience goes “ohhh okay now i understand.”

And no, no I will not accept the theory that Will is being used to uplift mike and eleven’s relationship because how is that fair? Yeah, that’s super smart to use the gay character to uplift a straight relationship despite expressing Will is madly in love with Mike. They could have gone such a different route in expressing Will’s queerness like showing really rely on his family for support, meeting a love interest in California, or not needing a love interest and just working on accepting who he is.

But, they chose to again and again SHOW will longing over Mike. Just emphasizing the love triangle, every shot of Mike and El consisted of Will being in the background, or watching them but they always really highlighted Will’s presence. Why? Why all of this if the season five resolution to this whole love triangle is just going to be Mike saying he doesn’t feel the same but will always support Will and then continues to be with El despite it constantly being shown that they really just don’t understand each other.

I completely understand all relationships have conflicts, and despite me believing that even if byler wasn’t a thing I still wouldn’t ship mileven, a part of me also believes that if Mileven was set up differently I would support it more. Because yeah, they can argue and that’s normal but I constantly see people side with El and I want to give her a hug, too. BUT, let’s keep in mind that mike also feels unloved in this relationship.

Eleven doesn’t come to Mike for anything deeper than just superficial connection, she RAN away from Mike at rink o mania. Mike doesn’t come to El for anything deeper because why would he? He told her he was trying to understand, and that he’s been bullied and she dismissed that. It’s unfair to the both of them, and we know Mike has it in him to apologize and be understanding because that’s what he does for Will all of the time when he immediately realizes his wrongs and apologizes for it instead of blaming him. And Will does the same, always reassuring him.

I don’t get why people think it’s so crazy to ship byler, there was literally a whole scene of them in the van just expressing themselves and communicating even if Will wasn’t being honest. Will was sacrificing something for Mike, trying to uplift him and I think in season 5 when or if mike finds out he was lying, it’s going to spark a huge conversation.

There’s a reason this was tweeted.

This just goes hand in hand with the notion that season five is going to be will and mike centric all mixed in with the paranormal. Where Will and Mike’s connection is what saves them in the end just like it did in season two. BYLER ENDGAME!!!

#byler #mike wheeler #stranger things #stranger things cast #will and mike #netflix #anti mileven

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writteninlunarlight-years · 2 days

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The Things I Wanted To Say

This is part two of the story Things I Wish I Got To Say. This is another old one that I must have deleted when I purged my account when I went on hiatus.

You were like any other demon in hell. You were cold and calculating, standoffish and stubborn. It was cute, but I wouldn’t tell you that to your face. I knew you had your set ways in life, and I had mine. I never thought the day would come when I would never see that familiar smile again. Something so cherished in my time by your side that I refused to forget even in my new life.

I thought surely Charlie's magical ideas would never be actual or possible. However, her smile and joy were so contagious that I returned to that hotel countless times to help her achieve her dreams. See, when I died the first time, I was being attacked; in my defense from the attacker, I killed them, and I was cast to hell. It's an odd thing to be considered a sinner, but I wouldn’t change it for the world, especially since I got to see you all those days.

What hurt the most when I left hell wasn’t the sword to my chest or the ringing in my ears. It was knowing I would never see that smile again. That was the worst part of it all, honestly. I got so used to the sound of your static, the buzz of your voice, the joy hanging off your arms.

I still remember when you taught me how to dance. I was horrible at it, I know, but you made me feel like I was the best at it all the same. You made me feel the best at a lot of things, from dancing to cooking. You even let me write scripts for you a time or two.

I still laugh when I remember how I told you ‘I Know’ when you confessed your love for me. Would you believe me if I told you I was just scared you were lying to me? Yet when you held me close after saying it, you washed all those worries away. I was fortunate to be there with you.

I sometimes still wish I listened to you that night when you begged me to run away. Maybe had I listened, I would still be by your side or have seen your smile. Yet I didn’t. Would you like to know why, my love? Because the thought of you dying without me was too heartbreaking to handle. I couldn’t imagine a life without you, yet here I was, making you live without me.

When I arrived in heaven with Pentious, everyone was shocked. These two angels were there, Emily and Sera. One sure looked more happy than the others. However, Pentious and I fought to make Charlie's dream a reality here in Heaven, too…I know she saw me up here when she visited last. Did she tell you I was alive and well?

Do you care I am alive and well?

I wish to see you again, my love…maybe one day, you will be redeemed as well.

To: My Radio Demon

From: Your Doe

A loud banging was heard at my door. I rushed to cover up my desk, and as I made my way to the door, I straightened myself out, whipping my eyes from the tears I let out. Charlie had brought me the letter that Alastor had written in my absence, and I felt compelled to respond even if he would never read it. Opening the door, I see the young Seriphem Emily standing before me with a bright smile. “OH, Y/N, YOU NEED TO COME WITH ME QUICK!”

I laughed. She was always so happy when a new batch of hotel residents was redeemed. She always wanted Pentious or me to be there so we could help them adjust to this new life. “Em, please I…I have had a long day…How about you ask Pentious to go instead.” Though I hated to see her frown, she nodded in sad agreement. I closed the door and returned to my desk, looking at the two letters next to each other. When would Charlie be back to give this to him? Would he even read it? Does he hate me for dying?

As thoughts swam through my head, I recounted the years since my arrival here in Heaven. Looking at all my new photos of my time and journey here, I wondered if my old room in Hell still had those photos from my time there. Charlie said Alastor wouldn’t let a soul into my room once I was gone.

It took a lot of arguing and convincing to get the angels on Charlie's side even after we appeared here in Heaven. Yet I couldn’t be more proud of the progress all of us have made. Smiling, I let more tears fall. I missed you so much. As I let the dam of emotions release, I heard another knock at my door.

I hoped it wasn’t Emily, though I have always been kind; I knew my current temper would rival my old self in Hell. “EMILY GO AWAY I CAN’T GO OUT NOW!”

I had so much sorrow and pleading in my voice that I hoped she understood. Yet the knocking continued, only growing more frantic. I sighed, not even bothering to clear my desk as I made my way to the door. Em had often seen me cry over Alastor, so why would this time be any different?

As I opened the door, time seemed to freeze, to stop dead still. I couldn’t believe my eyes. A new wave of tears and emotions overran my being, and before I knew it, I was jumping into Alastors' arms.

“Hello, dear, long time no see. Did you miss me?” He spoke so clearly, with no static or radio edge. It was odd at first, but it made no difference; the man I loved was standing before me here right now. “Alastor! You are here! How? What?” As I spoke, I pulled away and saw he no longer sported the Red and Black of his typical look. No, he looked ethereal, angelic. Alastor had been redeemed, The Alastor, overlord, and soul owner was redeemed. “Well, my darling, it took a lot of work and quite a few freeing of souls to make this happen.” He smiled, but not the strained, forced smile; it was a regular, normal smile. I felt so at peace; my Alastor was back.

“Oh, Al, you did all of this for me?” He nodded his head, pulling me back into him once more. This time, over his shoulder, I could see a smiling Charlie, Pentious, and Em at our reunion. Pulling me back to face him, I yanked him into the room and closed the door. “Al, we have so much to catch up on; there is no time to waste.” A warm chuckle left his chest as he held me once more. We had all the time in the world now, safe from hell, contracts, and everything that wasn’t our pure, happy love.

I finally have the chance to tell him all the things I wanted to say…

#x reader #lunarwritings #moons #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin #hazbinhotel #hotel hazbin #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin fanart #hazbin art #hazbin hotel x you #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x you

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blazeeblake · 1 day

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Unsettling

Inspired by this post. I wrote this late at night, zoning out on cold medicine while attempting to recover from a booster shot, so I can’t vouch for the quality 😅:

Dinner had been going great as far as Buck could tell. He and Tommy were still in the figuring it out stage of things, but a meal with Chim and Maddie felt like a step in the right direction; at least, up until the moment his sister unsuspectingly guided the conversation into a minefield.

“So, Tommy,” she began between bites of salad, “I have to say, I was really surprised when my brother told me about your date — not so much in terms of the pronouns of it all, but because the way he told it, you were way more focused on Eddie when you two met.”

Tommy shrugged, pushing around the remainders of his own plate, “Course correction’s a skill you hone when you’re tangling with baby gays— not that I’m sure Eddie even counts in that department. At this rate he’s essentially embryonic. Like, indefinitely.” Maddie cocked her head to the side, whatever follow up she may have had fading away into a loaded silence that descended over the room.

“H-huh,” Chimney chuckled unevenly, “well, uh, I don’t want to speak for anyone that’s not here but I’m pretty sure—“

“Wait,” Buck interrupted, brows knitting together, “You were trying to date Eddie?”

“Uh, yeah,” Tommy replied, as if it was painfully obvious, “At least, until I realized where things stood with him, and then I—

“Course corrected?” Buck finished, “With me. Your second choice.”

“Oh, like I’m not your second choice. Seriously, Evan, don’t be dramatic.”

“Maddie, honey,” Chimney broke in, rising out of his seat, “why don’t we go get dessert ready?”

“Ready?” Maddie repeated, eyes darting between her brother and his date, “It’s already—“

“What are you talking about?” Buck pressed, far too preoccupied with his burgeoning confusion to notice Chimney coaxing his quietly protesting sister out of the room.

Tommy rolled his eyes, pointedly setting his fork down, “Oh come on. Eddie’s on a special level of oblivious— and I mean, no surprise there, Catholicism builds its closets nice and sturdy— but you can’t expect me to believe you’re just as clueless, Mr. Trying to get my attention by pulling another boy’s pigtails.”

“Wha— No,” Buck sputtered, his breath hitching strangely and tripping him up, “Th-that wasn’t about Eddie. He’s not even— and even if he was, we’re not… I mean, we wouldn’t.”

“Right, because you’re scared it would burst the little bubble you two live in where you can have your cake and call it normal friendship,” Tommy concluded, his tone once again gratingly matter of fact, “Face it. A relationship with Eddie is heavy lifting from any angle, so we both opted out for each other, no harm, no foul.” Buck blinked, momentarily stunned into silence as his mind tried and failed to construct a solid counter to the conclusion Tommy had all but thrown in his face. All of it made sense, perhaps more sense than the raw foundations of yet another relationship built on someone else’s initiative and his own need to reach for any degree of being wanted, no matter how scant. The truth of it all stung and made his heart beat faster than he could stand, but at the same time there was something freeing in all that chaos.

“He’s not,” Buck managed softly.

“Gay?” Tommy replied, “Right, and Elton John just needs to meet the right girl.”

Buck shook his head, “No, I mean, he’s not heavy lifting or whatever you said. If you think that, you don’t know him at all— a-and maybe you don’t know me either if you think I’d feel that way.”

“Ev—“

“It’s Buck. And if all of this was settling then I guess you were right the first time: I’m not ready.” Tommy eyed him for a beat before sighing and pushing his chair back from the table.

“At least you’re consistent,” he said as he stood and began making his way to the front door, “A little slow on the draw but still miles more self aware than your buddy. I’d say good luck pulling him out of Narnia, but I’m not gonna hold my breath.” Buck didn’t respond, instead opting to drop his gaze to the floor and let his racing thoughts drown out his surroundings until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m guessing you heard all that?” He asked.

“Sorry,” Maddie said, giving his arm a gentle squeeze, “The acoustics down here are pretty unforgiving, privacy-wise.

“Sorry I ruined dinner,” he muttered.

“Technically,” Maddie reasoned, “I started it, so—-“

“I vote we blame no Buckley or Hans ,” Chimney said, dropping into the seat Tommy had vacated, “and we call this a win because screw that guy. I’m all for second chances but that dude’s practically on his fourth and he just keeps blowing it.”

“What am i supposed to do now?” Buck asked, turning to look up at his sister.

Maddie offered him a small, tight-lipped smile, “it’s like I said before: whatever you need to do, you’ll do it in your own time.”

“Right, but what if I screw it all up? He’s going through so much right now already and I don’t want to be one more thing he has to deal with.”

“I mean, maybe him going through things is the silver lining, you know? He’s figuring out his future and there’s room for you to work out where—not if— you fit in all of that. Because, for what it’s worth, I can’t picture a scenario where you two don’t figure it out. I can’t promise it’ll go the way you want it to, but I think you owe it to each other to talk.”

Chimney nodded, “As a daily witness to you guys being… well, you, I second that. And who knows? Maybe it all does work out. You communicate instead of fighting in a supermarket or shoving each other on a basketball court, and before you know it, you’re up close and personal with that glorious mustache of his.”

“Oh, Howie,” Maddie scoffed, “that mustache is definitely just a phase. One that maybe proves my point, but a phase nonetheless.”

“You bite your tongue. It’s beautiful and here to stay.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is there something you need to tell Eddie? Or, his facial hair?”

For the second time that evening, Buck let the conversation fade into the background of his thoughts; or rather, the one thought that all the rest had melded into.

He loved Eddie—was in love with Eddie— and as terrifying as it was, the truth of it loomed too large to be reburied or ignored. He didn’t know if time and talking were the remedies his family made them out to be, but if there was any chance at all in them, he was stubborn enough to find out. The way he saw it, he’d practically been holding his breath all this time without knowing anyway, so what was a little while longer if it meant Eddie at the finish line? Unlike a certain helicopter pilot, Buck had the stamina not to settle.

#buddie #buddie fanfic #short fanfic #anti bucktommy #anti tommy kinard #no shade if you ship it #this just isn't for you #and thats ok <3 #I hope it was ok that I spun the og post into a mini prompt #if not let me know #I will send this into the ether

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sigyn-foxyposts · 2 days

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New FNAF OC

After receiving yet another mobox87 design. I decided to give her not only a name but also a little upgrade to her looks and lore!

She was formerly nameless and just Vincent's ex girlfriend, who happens to be a police officer. (Kinda have to wonder why he contacted her for uhmm? XD)

I based her new lore on a old wattpad story I read when I was still fangirling over Mike.. For nostalgia's sake! I thought the concept was very interesting. Also don't ask about the robot baby.. She's a bit quirky!

Lore:

Denise lives in a small apartment within a quiet town located in Utah. She had graduated from collage years ago and was working towards becoming a police officer, something she has dreamt about ever since she was a child! But money was harsh to come by despite her cheap life style and while training to achieve her dream job she decided to work for Fazbear entertainment temporarily. There she met Mike Smith, who she was familiar with already since they lived in the same neighborhood.

The man was nothing but friendly, helpful and a bit of an introvert. Until they started chatting and eventually got to know each other! They even started a short lived relationship til Mike mysteriously perished. Worried for his well being, Denise would take on his position at Circus baby's pizza and rentals and went down to the bunker. Only to find out what happened to Mike in the worst way possible.

He attacks her, thinking she was yet another guard and his way out of there with the other souls! Turning off the power and picking her up by the neck, he scares the poor woman to tears. He slowly but surely reveals his disfigured appearance with cold metallic wires poking out of him, his skin purple and decomposing. After realizing who she was, Michael let's her go out of regret and soon enough Denise would be told what had happened to him.

Not only was poor Denise told that Mike Smith was just a cover name, It was difficult to believe the Michael she knew was stil alive after what he claimed to have happened.

"Listen, this is freaking me out..so be patient but no matter what I'll still support and be by your side Mike.."

"Good.. That means you'll stay. Help me recover and free the rest of us."

"The rest of you...?"

A few months later, when Michael moves into Denise's apartment, afraid to return back to his old home and the other animatronics manages to escape out of his body. Michael remains the same in appearance, but now has a new goal in mind. It's uncertain what their relationship is at this point but things change when Denise finds out she's pregnant. At first they we're uncertain about what to do, was it even his?

"Mike- I haven't been sleeping with anyone else but you for the past months!"

"Well then, if you're certain. Thought are you willing to keep the kid in your current financial position?"

Denise through her pregnancy would work harder than ever to gather as much money as possible and archive her dream. Eventually successful and on the side would give birth to a healthy daughter, Cynthia. Since Denise was busy with her career and Michael uncertain where to start finding his father, would focus his time on the baby. Proving to be a great parent, which he had always been so afraid to fail at.

They'd go on to have another daughter they named Daisy, who resembled circus baby and a bidybab in appearance!

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf oc #fnaf original character #police woman #security guard #scene #mobox87 #michael afton #ship kids #ship child #sister location #fnaf sister location

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myfavouritelunatic · 3 days

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More Painful Sacrifices - Chapter Three

Chapter three is here!

This chapter puts us squarely in NSFW territory. Lil bit of smut, but nothing intense.

Well, unless you're Galadriel.

I do hope you enjoy! ❤️

When Galadriel was escorted back to her cell, he was already there waiting for her. Dressed in his Númenor garb, looking the same as he did when they were practically cell mates, down to the sweat that stained his brow and the way his hair…

She was lost to him already. Had given in so easily. Her desires were his to control now.

“Don’t tell me. Tavern brawl?” Halbrand uttered the second the orc guard was out of sight.

“Must you send me to insanity! You have taken much from me… let me keep my mind. Please.” Galadriel was exhausted. Sauron was refusing to stop haunting her. Perhaps it was because he knew the things she had said, of their plan to destroy him. Perhaps it was because he knew that when he was in her presence, she wanted to do anything but put an end to him.

She wanted her world to be an ocean of colour again.

“Your mind is your own, Galadriel. As it has always been.” “Has it? Your influence seems to have proven otherwise.” “Everything I ever said or did… it was borne from you. I only amplified that which you kept hidden. I played the role that you wanted me to play.” She couldn’t deny it any longer. A deceiver he was, but not about this. All he did had come from her. He wanted to remain in Númenor, he had made that plain. And yet he went with her to Middle-earth.

Because it was what she wanted.

Defeated, first by Adar’s betrayal, and now by herself it would seem, Galadriel took her place at Sauron’s side, sitting beside him in the dirt, leaning her head back against the wall. “I told you he would betray you, did I not? See what wanting to destroy me gets you?” Galadriel scoffed. “It seems all I have gained is a vexing ghost that refuses to let me suffer in peace.” “I would never betray you, Galadriel. Never.”

The she-elf rolled her head to look at him, his eyes were already upon her, boring a hole so deep. “Then release Eregion from your grasp. Come here and slay our enemy and I…” She had to stop herself from speaking the next words that almost so easily spilled from her.

Halbrand smiled.

And laughed.

A laugh that was almost identical to the one he had let her hear when last they were imprisoned together. What it made her feel in this moment now, it burned beautifully inside of her, and latched itself onto the words she wanted him to hear.

“Say it, Galadriel.” He commanded, with a chilling nonchalance. She watched his hazel eyes fall to her lips as she parted them to tell him that–

“I will be at your side.”

Halbrand’s smile widened.

“I told you it was inevitable.” His satisfaction was immense and uncontainable. “And that is why, elf… you will come to me. You could easily escape Adar. You are formidable. But if you need my help, I can hasten the matter along.” He smirked at her, his eyes darkening.

His… eyes…

Galadriel felt her arms go limp at her sides. She felt her chest begin to heave. She felt… something stirring inside the core of her.

“You must… leave… Eregion… Celebrimbor–” Her voice was changed, laden with something unfamiliar to her. “I cannot leave, Galadriel. I must ensure the safety of the city. Celebrimbor has asked me to see to all affairs whilst he is… indisposed. His work is of the utmost importance. It must be finished before Eregion falls.” “You are protecting him?” “Why it’s all I’ve ever done. I only wish for him to be remembered as the greatest of elven smiths. If he achieves that then… all of this won’t have been for nought.”

Galadriel tried to move but couldn’t. A part of her did not want her to.

“The rings… he must not finish making the rings…” “But how will I heal Middle-earth, Galadriel? How will we save this land without them?” “No… that’s not—” “But it is, Galadriel. I did not lie to you. Remember? I want to save this world… I want to save you…”

She felt his hand on her thighs, just as he had done earlier this day. Only now it was… arousing.

“Why won’t you let me save you, Galadriel?” He whispered, shifting his lips to be near her ear. “I… oh…” The she-elf gasped as his hand wandered underneath the skirt of her armour, hovering with heat over a certain spot they both wanted him to touch. “What… what are you doing…?” Galadriel uttered between laboured breaths. “Giving you… what you desire…” Halbrand spoke, his voice coated with lust, and Galadriel felt his tongue lick her earlobe.

Even if she had the ability, the power to stop him, she wouldn’t. She simply sat there, paralysed by the sensations he was drawing out of her, and when he slid his hand under her breeches, and bit down on her ear, Galadriel used all the strength she had not to scream.

Halbrand snickered into her ear, pleased with her reaction. “You can scream if you want to, elf.” He told her as he swiped his fingers across the wetness between her legs. “Why not let them hear who is truly your captor…” “Hal–brand!” She felt the pressure of a finger slipping inside of her, the exquisite friction as it curled and moved so expertly. “Yes… call me Halbrand, elf. Your lost king of the Southlands. The hero you sought to help put an end to…” He chuckled, pausing his words to contemplate the irony of the situation. “And you really had no idea… that Sauron and I… were one in the same.” His words were punctuated by his teeth latching onto the flesh of her throat. Galadriel mewled against him as he plundered her, coaxed out her pleasure and took his fill. She could sense keenly what effect she was having on him, and strangely, she felt glad for it. That she could please him.

Her eyes widened as he added a second finger, as he sucked the blood to the surface of her skin. For a moment she wanted him to pierce her, to drink it, to have her completely. Galadriel was already his instrument. Why should he not play every single note?

So she sang for him in her pleasure, filling the air with her sighs of joy and rapture. “That’s it, elf… you’re so… pretty as I defile you like this… as I unmake you with every swipe of my tongue… with every movement inside of you…” “Oh!” “Imagine what it could be like, Galadriel? We could join our bodies as one, as we are destined to. Then we would be truly bound. Do you want that?” Without thinking, Galadriel answered “yes!”. “Our union… would be the greatest of all the ages. More legendary than that of Melian… and Thingol… our binding, Galadriel… the fate of Middle-earth rests on our success… I hope you do not mean to disappoint–” Galadriel cried out in her euphoria, cutting off his words, but he did not seem to care.

“Are you close, elf? Are your desires… almost… fulfilled…?” “Yes, Halbrand… yes.” “Then I want to hear you scream my name so that the wind might carry it to my ears. I am only across the river, Galadriel. I am also… close.” “Oh Halbrand!” “Shhh… not Halbrand. If you want me to release you… and release you from Adar’s chains… you must bellow that name you loathe. That I loathe. The name that you have pursued since before the first sunrise bloodied the sky.” He smiled at her, and she looked back at him in rapturous wonder. “I want to watch your tongue roll over the letters of that name… your favourite word…”

Galadriel wrestled with herself. She knew that she loved Halbrand, irrevocably. The pain of losing him spoke so truthfully to that fact. And she knew well that Halbrand was also the Enemy. The Shadow. The Dark Lord. But she had mistakenly thought in this tryst of the mind, that she might, just might, be able to separate the two. To lose herself, to give herself to him in the illusion, the falsehood he presented. That he was that Southlander king. Dressed in Númenórean clothes.

That perhaps they were still imprisoned on that isle.

She knew he was forcing her to confront the truth she had already deemed within herself to be undeniable. But to utter it aloud... that Sauron was the cause of her blissful happiness? To make it manifest, make it real…

“Come… Galadriel… come…”

Come to her senses… come to him… come…

In that moment she smelt her blood in the air and knew he had tasted it. Pain moved through her in a shockwave, meeting with the pleasure he was relentlessly bestowing her with his hand.

She heard the sky rumble overhead.

Ominous. Foreboding.

Electric.

“Mmmm…” Halbrand moaned into her neck, and it was the last thing she needed to let go completely.

With a cry so unrestrained it matched perfectly the eruption inside of her, Galadriel sounded the name of the Deceiver.

“Sauron!”

But it was almost lost to the deafening thunder above her. Her vision went white and she did not know if it was because of the blinding ecstasy that rolled through her, or the powerful lightning that struck her cage. All she did know however, was that when visibility returned to her, Halbrand, Sauron, was gone.

The door to her prison was no longer closed.

And her world… was an ocean of colour.

#haladriel #saurondriel #galadriel #halbrand #sauron #the rings of power #trop fanfiction #trop spoilers #rop spoilers

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loganjameshowlett · 2 days

Text

SAME AS IT EVER WAS

01: AND YOU MAY ASK YOURSELF (WELL, HOW DID I GET HERE?)

pairing: peter parker/mutant!reader summary: you tutor peter parker. you dodge a robbery. you get run over and are somehow unhurt. all in a day's work, i guess. word count: 4.1k+

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You were beginning to regret promising your tutoring services to Professor Sorensen.

The early morning sky was pink outside the library’s picture windows, and you stared wistfully as you spread your things out across one of the empty tables, wishing that you were still in bed. But Sorensen was maybe your favorite professor ever, and when she stopped you after class last week and asked you to tutor for the general education English classes in exchange for a meager pay and some extra points on your final essay, you didn’t have the heart to tell her no.

You couldn’t imagine, though, what kind of linguistically-inept STEM major would be desperate enough for tutoring to schedule an appointment with you at eight o’clock on a Wednesday morning. You kind of wanted to beat them over the head with your laptop. Instead, you took a searing gulp of your coffee and opened your current required reading for Sorensen’s class. If you were going to be up this early, you might as well make some use of the time beyond tutoring.

“Excuse me,” a voice calling your name cut through the otherwise silent main reading room of the library a few minutes later, and you looked up to find a tall boy with messy brown hair standing at the other side of your table. He had a frayed backpack slung over one shoulder, and a look of exhaustion in his brown eyes that was very familiar to you. “Am I in the right place for Professor Sorensen’s English tutoring?”

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, shutting your book and briefly glancing down at the email from Sorensen open on your laptop to catch his name. “Peter Parker?”

“That’s me,” he nodded, offering a small smile as he slid into the chair to the right of you.

“So, you’re taking Beginnings of American Lit with Professor Liu, right?” you asked, checking the email once more.

“Yeah. She’s kind of a tough grader, and if I don’t score an A on my next essay it’ll fuck with my GPA,” Peter explained, glancing over at you sheepishly as he dug through his bag, eventually producing a thin stack of rumpled papers. “I was hoping we could edit this one together? Maybe you’ll be able to explain what she’s looking for, ‘cause I really don’t know.”

“Yeah, Liu is… particular, but not impossible,” you told him, reaching forward to slide the essay toward you. “Luckily, I’ve taken her twice, so I think I’ll be able to help.”

“Oh, thank god. I was starting to feel hopeless,” Peter said, and you couldn’t help but snort at the complete earnestness in his voice.

“So, I take it you’re not a humanities major,” you observe, and Peter laughs, shaking his head.

“Definitely not. I’m a chemistry major, actually. Science has always come easily to me, but writing not so much. S’why I put off taking my literature requirement until Junior year.”

“That’s what I did with my lab science requirement,” you said. “And now I’m struggling through a biology lab that might actually kill my GPA. Okay, so, your intro paragraph looks pretty good. Thesis is solid. I think your trouble is probably in the body– Liu is a real stickler for thorough analysis of quotes and citations. And by thorough, I mean extensive to the point of near-redundancy.”

“Alright, I already know I’m gonna have to beef up the middle, in that case,” Peter sighed, taking the first page of his essay to look over the few line edits you had penned in with red ink. “Hey, about your biology lab. I can help, if you want. As a thank you for helping me with Liu’s class.”

“Yeah? That’d be a lifesaver, honestly,” you said, raising your brow at him. “I don’t really know anyone in the department to help me find a reliable tutor. Not that I know you’re a reliable tutor. You could be a really shitty chemist, for all I know.”

Peter let out a theatrical gasp, bringing a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “I’ll have you know that I’m a very good chemist. And, lucky for you, a perfectly average biologist. Good enough to get you to pass that lab with an A, I bet.”

“Well, then, I’m gonna hold you to that, Mr. Parker.”

“Just Peter’s fine. Mr. Parker makes me sound geriatric.”

“Okay, Peter,” you hum. “Look, this quote you have at the top of this paragraph? It’ll be really easy to beef up your analysis if you introduce how it speaks on gender roles in American culture at the time. In fact, you could probably get a whole extra paragraph out of it, if you provide enough context.”

“Would you mind writing that in the margin? I’ll forget otherwise,” Peter asked and you complied, writing the potential edit in small, neat letters next to the paragraph. “If you’re free Friday afternoon, we could go through some of your biology work.”

“I actually am free then,” you said, eyes roaming over the last paragraph of his essay. You scribbled a few notes and line edits in, before stacking the pages neatly and sliding them back towards Peter. “Tell you what, you make the edits we talked about today, and we can go over the next version of your essay then, too, yeah? Make sure it’s up to Professor Liu’s standard?”

“You’re an angel,” Peter said, glancing up from where he was absorbing your edits to shoot you a grin. “Hey, sorry to be so abrupt, but I gotta run. How does same spot, two o’clock on Friday sound?”

“Works for me. Thanks for volunteering to help, Parker.”

“ ‘Course. We should exchange numbers, in case anything comes up. I never check my email,” Peter said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He passed it along to you, the contacts page opened, and you entered your information, sending a text to yourself so you had his information in return.

“See you Friday,” you smiled, handing the phone back to him.

“Friday,” Peter confirmed, taking a few backward steps away from the table before turning around. He glanced over his shoulder once more, waving, before he disappeared into the hall.

***

“God, this shift couldn’t be any fuckin’ slower,” Mickey groaned, dropping her head against the bodega’s countertop. Her red curls fanned all around her head, dripping over the edge of the counter.

“Closing shift is always slow, Mick,” you reminded her, leaning against the wall with your arms folded over your chest. The thick of the after work rush had been over for about an hour, leaving the bodega deserted, aside from the two of you and Gary, the ancient orange bodega cat.

“Dontcha ever just wish somethin’ interesting would happen around here?” she asked, picking her head up in order to blow a big pink bubble from her lips.

“Interesting things happen in this city every day,” you countered. “Spider-Man fights some new fuckin’ loser every week, man, and that’s just him. Daredevil broke Mrs. Llewellyn’s kitchen window, like, four days ago.”

“That shit’s not interesting anymore; you said it yourself, it happens every day,” Mickey said, stepping around the counter to pretend to organize the shelves. “Tell you what’d be interesting: if we found out who Daredevil or Spider-Man or any of the others are beneath the mask. And if not that, I’d settle for Daredevil crashing through my bedroom window tonight. That man is fine.”

“How would you know? Nobody’s ever seen his face.”

“He’s built, baby. That’s how I know,” Mickey scoffed.

You shrugged. “I’d rather the cape types stay away from my bedroom window. Or my general vicinity. I’ve got enough going on between class and this job and tutoring without getting involved in one of their situations.”

“Oh come on, you’re telling me the thought of some sexy superhero literally crashing into your life isn’t appealing at all?”

“No, dude. I don’t want the drama. Or, I’m sorry, the adventure,” you doubled down. “You can have it.”

“Amen,” Mickey nodded. “I hope Daredevil heard you say that somehow.”

Before you could respond, the mostly quiet night was cut through with the sound of police sirens, loud and close and then fading slightly as they passed down the street.

“Wonder what’s going on,” you murmured, craning your neck to follow the red and blue lights down the block.

“Whatever it is, I hope a man in tights responds to it.”

“God, Mickey, you are incorrigible,” you groaned, turning away from the window and grasping the handle of the broom, looking for something to do.

“Don’t use your fancy English major words on me, woman.”

“Incorrigible is not a fancy–” you started, but were cut off by your phone ringing in your pocket, the specific song you assigned to Mr. Browne, your boss.

“Hey, bossman, what’s up?” you asked, answering. Concern laced your voice; it wasn’t like Mr. Browne to call during closing shift. He trusted you and Mickey not to burn the place down, and his watching reruns of Jeopardy! time was basically sacred.

“Honey, listen,” his gruff voice filtered through the speaker. “I want you and Mickey to close up and go on home now.”

“What? Why? There’s still an hour until closing,” you asked, furrowing your brow.

“I just saw on the news that there’s a robbery going down in the neighborhood, and I don’t need you girls getting caught up in any danger, okay?”

“Oh, guess that explains the police cars,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

“You see? Lock up and get out of there,” he said, his voice firmer. “And no dilly-dallying, you hear? I got a bad feeling.”

“Okay, Mr. Browne, you got it. We’ll close up now and go straight home,” you promised.

“Good. Just feed Gary before you go.”

“Will do. G’night, bossman,” you said, before hanging up the phone.

“What’s that all about?” Mickey asked, brushing a piece of her wild hair away from her face.

“Apparently those police cars that went by are responding to a robbery in the neighborhood,” you informed her. “Mr. Browne wants us to lock up and go home now before we get caught up in any of the trouble.”

“Must be my lucky day,” Mickey grinned. “You get the keys, I’ll feed Gar.” You did as she said, retrieving the keys, your jacket, and your bag from behind the counter. Already, you were lost in thoughts of going home and crashing immediately in bed. You had been out and about for over twelve hours that day already, and you were practically asleep on your feet. You had half a mind to walk down the block and thank the robbers for cutting your shift short.

A minute later, the two of you were standing out on the sidewalk. You could hear shouts and the sirens as more police responded to the scene, even the drone of a news copter overhead. The robbery must be closer than you expected, and maybe a bigger problem than you were assuming, too. There was a bank two blocks down and one over; you wondered if it was all going down over there.

“Alright, text me the minute you get home,” Mickey said sternly.

“You, too,” you responded. The two of you lived in opposite directions, so you wouldn’t have the comfort of each other’s company on the walk home.

“We’ll be fine,” Mickey responded with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I bet the neighborhood is safer than usual– bet nobody else will try shit with the place crawling with so many cops. But still text me when you get home, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She pulled you into a quick, tight hug before waving and heading down the block towards home. You turned in the opposite direction, back towards your apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. The night was cool for the beginning of October, and you pulled your flimsy zip-up tighter around your middle, hiding your hands deep in the pockets. Your head swam with all the things you needed to do for the week, wondering if you should get a jump on some of it with your newfound hour of free time, or actually give yourself a rest for once. You were leaning toward the former; if you hurried, you could probably finish the reading you started at the library before Peter showed up, and the corresponding question set.

With that thought in mind, you cut through a nearby alley, shaving off a block from your walk. You wouldn’t normally, but you had a feeling that Mickey was right, the high concentration of cops in the area would deter any other criminals. Probably you’d be fine. You stuffed your earbuds in your ears and pressed play on whatever had last been going, lost in thought as you tried to plan the rest of your week around class and work shifts and your new tutoring session with Peter.

As you cut through a second alley, bringing you just half a block from home, chin tucked in and head down against the wind, you didn’t hear the squeal of tires as they turned around a corner and sped down the street you were just on. You didn’t hear as they abruptly turned into the alley, doors scraping against a dumpster. The hair-raising screech of metal on metal finally cut through your music, and you turned around just in time to find a large, black SUV barrelling straight towards you.

There was nowhere to go. The alley was hardly wider than the car itself, and fear or shock or some horrible mix of both at the sight of it coming toward you had rooted you to one spot on the wet asphalt.

Fuck. I am about to die, you thought as you stared down the headlights, so bright you couldn’t see whoever was driving the thing.

The next ten seconds– because, really, it couldn’t have been any longer than that– occurred in a blur. The impact, your body on the wet ground. Front right tire crushing over your torso, the back tire following half a second later. Vaguely, with the small part of your brain where synapses still seemed to be firing, you knew there must be immeasurable pain, but all you felt was cold and static. There were too many things happening at once, too many pains and thoughts all garbled together that you couldn’t feel or register any of it.

You laid there, staring up at the dark, gusty sky, expecting death to collect you at any moment. When, after several minutes of slow blinking and shallow breathing, you were still alive, you figured you might have experienced a miracle. Maybe the tires had passed over you in just the right way to preserve your life? Not that you thought such a thing was possible. Getting crushed by a speeding SUV felt like a very final kind of thing.

Slowly, your senses started coming back to you. Hearing first, as you registered sirens rushing past at the mouth of the alley. You grimaced, tensing as you waited for them to also cut down the alley and actually kill you this time, but they passed by without incident. The pain started next: a horrible, dull ache across your ribs and a sharper, prickling kind of hurt along your shoulder blades, but nothing like you thought you should have been experiencing. You were worried that it was still all a trick of the mind, that you’d muster up the courage to lift your head and look down to take stock of the damage and find your torso resembling roadkill more than anything human. But you couldn’t lay there forever, you reasoned, and so went to work testing appendages to see if they were in order.

You wiggled your fingers and toes first, surprised, frankly, that you were able to do so. If you could wiggle your toes, everything below your ribs must still be connected to everything above your ribs. Good sign. You bent your arms at the elbow next, which reignited the flame of pain in your shoulder blades, but they moved fine otherwise. Bent your knees, turned your head from side to side. You were… okay, you concluded. Physically not dying in a dirty alley, at least.

A jolt of effort, and you sat up all the way, despite the protest of pain across your ribs and shoulder blades. Looking down, you took stock of the dark tire track running across the front of your sweater, but more importantly, the very uncrushed nature of your ribs and internal organs.

“How the fuck,” you muttered to yourself, brushing your hands tentatively down your front. The contact of your palms against your middle was like irritating a nasty bruise, but that was it. That was… impossible, you were pretty sure. Maybe you could gaslight yourself into believing it was if it had been some tiny, dinghy little car that had run you over, but it was a fucking monstrous SUV.

Blinking, you reached back toward the wall behind you and used it to hoist yourself up onto your feet. A terrible panic was creeping up on you now, and you preferred to deal with that in the privacy of your bedroom, not on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. As you turned to stumble your way out of the alley, you noticed something else: the pavement beneath where you had fallen was crushed in a peculiar shape, almost like wings and six feet across.

“What the fuck,” you said, louder this time. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. This situation was getting stranger by the second, and you were pretty sure you were about to experience a mental break, if you weren’t already.

Maybe I actually am dead, and none of this is happening right now, you mused as the alley spat you back out on the street. Your feet headed in the direction of your apartment on their own accord, your mind caught up in bright headlights and wing shapes stamped into asphalt. A horrible headache was building behind your eyes, and all you wanted was to get to the safety of your own home, dead or not.

The walk seemed to take an eternity in your dazed state, but eventually the familiar redbrick corner building that had been your home for the last two years loomed in front of you. You fumbled in your jacket pocket for your key, gripping it in your shaky fist as you punched in the key code to the front door. Up four flights of stairs, a fight with the apartment door as the lock rejected your key like always. You went through the motions in a dream state, so many thoughts tumbling through your head, but none of them sticking. Before opening the door, you shucked off your sweater and balled it up in your arms, in case either of your roommates were up and about. You really had no idea how you’d be able to explain the tire tracks across the front.

Inside, the lights were dim and a Bob’s Burgers rerun was playing at low-volume on the little television. An electric blue pixie cut shot up over the back of the couch at the sound of the opening door.

“You’re home early,” your cousin, Winona, called to you. “What’s the deal?”

“Uh…robbery. Down the block. Mr. Browne wanted us to leave early to be, um, safe,” you stammered out, toeing your shoes off at the door. Each subtle movement sent more pain lancing through your ribs, and you struggled to keep a straight, unbothered face.

Winona wasn’t convinced. After living together for two years and knowing you since birth, she was familiar with all of your little idiosyncrasies. She could tell when you were just a little irritated, so of course she could tell when you… well, when whatever the fuck just happened, happened to you. Her thick, dark brows drew in until they met at the center, brown eyes narrowing as she scrutinized you.

“What’s going on with you?” Your cousin was not one to beat around the bush.

“What do you mean?” you asked, skirting around the question.

“Somethin’s wrong with our girl?” a sleepy voice called from the other end of the couch. A second later, Odie’s head of wild brown waves popped up over the back of the couch. Winona’s best friend since grade school and your other roommate, she was extremely protective over you. Always had been, since she met you when you started freshman year at Midtown High and she and Winona were seniors.

“There’s nothing wrong,” you huffed. Even that extra expansion of your lungs caused the pain to flare. “I’m just tired. It was a long day.”

Winona frowned at you, clearly disbelieving. “I made lasagna earlier. You hungry?”

“Ate a bunch of junk at work with Mick. But I’ll bring some with me for lunch tomorrow,” you promised, and wrenched open your bedroom door and disappeared behind it before either of them could question you further. You pressed yourself against the door once it was closed, then jumped away quickly as the action sent an explosion of pain through your shoulder blades. You’d forgotten about it that fast.

“Fuck,” you whispered, closing your eyes against the burning of tears suddenly threatening to come. “Oh, god. What the fuck. What the fuck.”

What was even the next move? You couldn’t very well go out there and tell Winona you’d been crushed by an SUV earlier in the night. Nothing about your current state would corroborate the claim, why would she, or anyone else, believe you? And honestly, that was the least of your worries. More pressing issues: why weren’t you crushed by the SUV? Why weren’t you fucking dead? What was up with the weird, wing-shaped damage in the street below you? What had actually happened in that alley?

Something was deeply, deeply not right. You could feel the wrongness of it all buzzing through every inch of your body. You knew that the feeling would overwhelm you if you let it, and you were dangerously close to just sinking to the floor and letting it take you.

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket. Opening your eyes, you fished it out and brought the too-bright screen to your eyes.

Make it home okay? The text from Mickey read.

No, you wanted to say. Got hit by a fucking car but somehow I think that might be the least of my problems. I think something’s really wrong.

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, but of course you didn’t type it. You shot off a text confirming that you did– because really, you supposed, you did get home okay in some sense of the word– and asked if she did, too.

After Mickey texted back that she did get home safe, you set about the task of peeling off your uniform. Every movement hurt like a bitch, and you reminded yourself every five seconds that you should be grateful for the pain. You didn’t even have a single broken bone. You weren’t dead. You could handle some aches and bruising.

You worked your jeans off first, then your shirt and bra, heaping them in the corner of your room and plucking a random t-shirt and pajama shorts out of your drawer. Before pulling on the t-shirt, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror tucked in the corner. As you suspected, a thick line of bruises was already purpling along your ribs, the width of a car tire. You sighed, turning to see how far they stretched on either side and paused when your back came into view.

Two thick lines of what looked like red, irritated scar tissue traced along the lines of your shoulder blades. It looked as though someone had surgically cut them open, and recently. You brought a hand to your mouth, suppressing the gasp threatening to worm its way out. You felt like all the crap you ate at work was about to make a reappearance.

Those certainly hadn’t been there this morning. You would know: you stood naked in front of this very mirror after your shower, sleepily trying to pick out your outfit. The skin of your back had been smooth, unscarred. Obviously. You would have remembered if you had gone through something that would have resulted in scars like this.

“Okay, no,” you muttered, throwing the t-shirt over your head as quickly as possible in your bruised, hurting state. This was all too much to deal with in one night, you decided suddenly. You were tired and hurting and you had a busy fucking day tomorrow, damn it.

You pulled your blankets back and turned off the light, climbing gingerly into bed. Maybe if you were lucky, you would wake up in the morning to all of this having been some wild fucking nightmare. Not that you were ever that lucky.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #spider-man x reader #spider-man #marvel x reader #marvel #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield #marvel comics

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