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roosterbruiser · 10 months

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𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟔.𝟖𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

“Don’t wig out yet, baby. Let’s chat before I book it to the bus barn, huh? I can spare a few minutes for my best girl,” Bradley sighs, crouching down and squatting beside you. He knows you won’t be able to move Jake off of you by yourself now that he’s dead weight--you’re stuck. “Don’t think you’re gonna get anywhere anytime soon.”

Sweet Hell, it feels good to let the mask slip, Bradley thinks. To be honest. To openly enjoy the petrification instead of pretending that he cares about you and your feelings. There’s no hiding this divine pleasure in watching you squirm, in watching your helpless figure and your stricken expression.

You’re staring at him, more stunned and more horrified with every aching second that passes the two of you by, with blood matted on your eyelashes as Jake bleeds out over your body. And as soon as he says it, you realize it. It washes over you like the angry waves of the lake: yes, you’re stuck. Jake is on top of you, consciousness fading, mouth wide open with shock and agony still. His blood is pooling all over you, leaking into your hair and into your mouth.

That’s when the hysteria begins. It is sitting on the edge of your body, watching you as if it is a snake waiting to strike. And then it bubbles over--then you begin to wriggle from beneath Jake, fighting to get out from underneath him. But Jake moans--a distant, crumpled thing that is enough to tell you that he is hurting, you’re hurting him. You cease all movements, swallowing hard--all that bloody saliva slink down your throat and pool in your belly in a puddle of ice water.

Okay. I can’t move. You think hard. But he’s alive. For now, he’s alive.

“Bradley,” you whisper, voice quivering. “Please…please…it’s me. It’s--it’s me--Gale. Nightingale. It’s me, Bradley, it’s me! I’m not gonna--what are you? Don’t do this--!”

“Dolly can’t get her sentences straight,” Bradley says softly, laughing. He nods at you. “Try again.”

Sobbing, you shake your head.

“Why are you…why are you doing this, Bradley? I thought--!”

“--You really don’t understand?” Bradley asks. He smiles softly, petting your hair again. You’re too stunned to bat him away, to thrash your head in the opposite direction. “Good golly miss dolly, I gotta bash your ears now, huh?”

When you don’t answer, Bradley sits down on the ground, the ax just beside him. He keeps his palm on your face, smiling softly as he smooths the blood away from your chin and cheeks and into your hair. And there you are, your heart beating out of your chest and your mind fuzzier than the television at your grandmother’s house, staring up at him with big and sad eyes.

Craning your neck, you turn--the shotgun is up against the wall. You wouldn’t be able to reach it in time even if Jake wasn’t holding you down. And even if you could throw Jake off, the ax is just by Bradley. You couldn’t outrun him--not in your prime state, which you most certainly are not in now.

Prickles tickle the column of your spine when you look back at Bradley.

“I shot you,” you whisper to him. “I--I got you. Right outside the doors. I know I did--I heard you.”

Glancing at his arm, you double-check--yes, the sediment and gravel is still there. That wasn’t where you shot him. It couldn’t be. It would be red and oozing and more severe--especially at such a close range.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, he turns so you can see the top of his hip. He pulls his shirt up and yes--there it is. A red, oozing buckshot wound. Severe from the close-range shot of your shotgun.

“Thought it’d be a nifty idea--the whole tripping over Coyote story,” Bradley says. “‘Cause you did get me--but you’re just not as good of a shot as you think you are, dolly. Had to rough myself up in case I started bleeding through my shirt. Really play the part, right?”

And you don’t respond, fat tears streaming down your face. Bradley tuts, thumbing a few of them away. Without another word, he brings his thumbs to his lips and slowly pushes it down onto his tongue. Terror holds your lungs hostage as he suckles your tears.

As the salt melts on Bradley’s tongue, he grins. He can practically taste your fear--it’s as fulfilling to him as nectar is to you. But he’s always preferred salt over sugar.

“What’s happening?” You ask, choking on your sobs. “What happened to you, Bradley?”

“Dolly, Bradley’s long gone now. Been fading ever since I got that specks-wearing fella. Shit, I’ll tell you, though--that boy is a fighter. Kept making it back in.” Brows furrowed, you say nothing. You don’t know what the fuck is going on. “And here I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” Bradley taunts, pinching your nose. “Dolly, I’m not him. Well--I mean, I’m him,” Bradley says, gesturing to his body. Then he points to his temple. “But I’m not him.”

Vision blurring with pink-tinted tears, you sob again.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, weeping openly. “You must be out of your fucking mind!”

“I guess you could say Bradley is out of his mind,” he says, grinning. “Best to believe me, dolly.”

But you know. You know that this isn’t Bradley. It’s suddenly as clear as a glass windowpane on a cool, spring morning after the rain has passed. The man crouched beside you is Bradley by appearance, yes, with his broad shoulders and powerful legs and short shorts, but he’s not really here. No. Because he would never hurt you. How could he? He’s the boy who would ask you to dip your finger in his coffee to sweeten it. It would be blasphemous if you even thought for one moment that he would harm you.

The realization washes over your face, contorts your expression.

“There she goes. She gets it now. Good girl,” Bradley coos, his voice low and velvety. “Didn’t you feel it? Didn’t you feel it when he was gone?”

Sobbing, you shake your head.

“Who are you?” You ask, trembling.

Jake is growing heavier on your body--it’s difficult to breathe now.

“You know who I am,” he says, nodding gently. “You read all about me in the papers, didn’t you? The maniac. That’s what they called me--right? The guy who killed all the camp counselors and the camp nurse at Camp Arcadia. Some no good devil-worshiper.”

Mind spinning, lungs aching, you shake your head.

“But you’re dead,” you whisper. “They found your…they found your body there with the others. Thirty years ago.”

He takes a long, hard look at you. It is not one particularly seeped in malice, not one that sends a chill down your tailbone. It’s a long, hard look at your face as if he’s playing the part of upset father and you’re the unruly daughter who came in past her curfew.

“I know you felt me,” he whispers to you. “I came to you in the night.”

Eyebrows furrowed, you’re just about to refute this claim, just about to scream out for help! when the truth tickles your cheeks as it lands just before your eyes.

Oh. The nightmares. Every night that you were not in bed with Bradley, every time you finally fell asleep, he was there waiting. He stalked you. He found you. He terrified you.

“Your fear was so sweet,” Bradley coos. “Tangled up in your sheets, frozen, sweating bullets. You let me get so close to you. I would’ve devoured you if I’d had the time.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper meekly.

A tired sobs rips out of your lungs.

“See, now, Bradley did take care of that part all by himself,” he says, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t have to do much convincing. He was really far gone for you, dolly. Did you know that? I’d bet you’re the reason he kept fighting it--poor fool. Didn’t even know what he was fighting.”

Bile climbs your throat.

“You’re a fucking monster!”

He grins.

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m just a man who made a deal with the Devil.”

You shake your head at him, shivering, trembling.

“There’s no such thing,” you spit. “You’re trying to scare me.”

“All those bad things that happen in the world, happening here, and you don’t believe there’s something behind it?” He asks, brows perched. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Last time I came around, nurse’s were still religious. None of this agnostic nonsense.”

“There’s no Devil,” you whisper--thought you feel like you’re losing your conviction as the energy drains from your body. “You’re a--a conman.”

He sighs.

“How do you think I came back?” He whispers. “At random? God’s will?”

You don’t know. You don’t know. All you know is that the person before you is not Bradley.

“You’re lying,” you whisper.

“Let’s not yank each other’s chain. Total honesty, alright? Scout’s honor,” Bradley says, crossing his heart. “It was destiny. The storm. The tree. Our pal Jake here finding the axes--finding my ax.” Bradley thumps Jake on the back--he doesn’t moan. He doesn’t make any sound at all--and he doesn’t move. “Bradley cutting his hand--giving me his blood. And, God, so much of it.”

Bradley’s a bleeder. Oh, God. You remember it so vividly--the blood as it dripped down his arm, his sheepish smile, his quiet apologies.

“You…” You cough--blood spurts out of your mouth and sprays Bradley’s knee. You know, with your entire chest and everything inside of it, that it is not your blood. “Why Bradley?”

He stares down at you--all the flecks of gold in his sweet, big eyes are gone. And behind those eyes, just behind the crystal film, is nothing. Void of life. Void of kindness. Void of warmth. They’re just two black holes in his face, rimmed with pretty lashes.

“You know, I always like it when people were sad. Scared. The best was when people were sad and scared, you know? I didn’t know why I liked it--I just knew that I got a good and funny feeling whenever I could hear my baby sister crying in her crib. I used to pinch her in the night--just to make her wail. And then I’d listen and listen until her voice got hoarse. When she thought I was gone, or when she was all cried out--I’d jump out at her. Get right up in her face and scream.” He sighs. You’re shivering as he speaks, throat dry. He’s smiling fondly in remembrance, left eye twitching softly. “People like Bradley are always a little sad and a little scared.”

“People like him?” You whisper.

He nods.

“Orphans. Lovesick orphans,” he whispers. “He kept me full.”

Closing your eyes, you struggle to move. But you can’t--you’re perfectly, completely pinned down to the floor.

“What about me?” You whisper brokenly. Defeat begins its descent in your body--numbing your fingers and toes, lulling your head to the side, pressing against your eyelids. “Why didn’t you choose me?”

Now he furrows his brows.

“Well, you were hardly ever scared,” he says. “At least when you were awake you weren’t. I couldn’t get you to draw any blood when you were asleep. Hell, I couldn’t ever get you to hold the ax either.”

Sighing, almost completely still, you just stare at him. He stares at you, too.

“I’m scared all the time,” you whisper helplessly.

He shakes his head.

“You’re not,” he answers. “Or else I’d be inside of you.”

Recoiling, you shake your head.

“You’re sick,” you whisper.

“I mean, there were even some hard times, right? Had to slice that Mable girl when I was heading for Jake. Tear her bible up good so she would stop sniffing around. What good is a church girl without her scripture?”

Chills cover your arms and legs--finally overpowering the warm blood on your body as it dries on your skin.

“But why Jake?” You whisper brokenly. “Why him?”

“Because he’s the best shot. Because he was in the way of you,” Bradley answers, brows furrowed. “And you’re something special. Well--you were before you went all the way with Bradley. That’s why this is so perfect--the guy you didn’t pick is holding you down.”

You cough--your lungs are deflating.

“Why was I special?” It’s all you can manage to choke out.

“Virgin blood is strong--pure. Untainted. That’s what…that’s what happened last time, you see. Nurse Abbott was waiting until marriage. I picked ‘em off one-by-one until she was alone…” Bradley says, staring at your face, watching his own reflection in your tearful eyes. He sighs. “And then--!”

“--She killed you. She was the one who did it, wasn’t she?” You whisper, sneering. Your lip trembles. “She killed you.”

Bradley’s lip twitches--his smile doesn’t falter.

“No bullshitting, right? Yes. She…she did,” he answers. “I killed her, too, though. That’s an important part to the story, dolly. And I’ve really been feeling like the universe wanted me to come back and finish what I started. So…that’s what I’m gonna do.”

He picks up the ax, holds it so it reflects off the sunlight. And then he grins at you.

“No,” you whimper weakly. You’re trembling all over, lungs empty, ribs crushed, head aching, throat choked. But something sinks in your gut when he stands, holding the ax against himself. “Please…please--!”

“I love it when you beg for it,” he whispers to you. You stop speaking, just staring up at him, dazed with grief as the reality of right now blankets you. You’re going to die. He seems to see it in your face, smell it in the air. He smiles again. “I’m gonna go back to the bus now. Phoenix will let me in--I’ll get her first. She’ll go fast, I bet. Give in quick. Might have to work hard to get Coyote, though. He seemed pretty determined to keep those kids safe, didn’t he? I wonder if he’ll fight as hard as Fanboy did.”

“He’ll kill you,” you whisper, sobbing. “He’ll kill you!”

“He wouldn’t kill Bradley,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “Neither would you.”

Saying nothing, you just stare up at him.

“And when I’ve finished the kiddos off, I’ll come back for you,” he says, pointing the ax at you. It nearly touches your nose. “Saving the best for last.”

Before he leaves, he walks into the kitchen. Something changes--the music stops. He’s started the tape over. Running Up That Hill begins again.

When he reappears, he grins at you.

“See you in a jiff,” he promises.

With that, he’s off. Stepping over Jake’s body and yours, he galivants across the blood-soaked wooden floor and heads for the doors. And then he’s gone--a gust of hot, summer air caressing your face.

Now all you can hear is the sound of your own sobs--they echo in the mess hall, vibrate across the picnic tables, and land uneasily on Jake’s back.

Alone. You’re alone now. All your friends are dead--or they’re going to be dead soon.

Everything in your body--every ache, every muscle, every bone, every nerve--is telling you to close your eyes. Give in. Let go. Wait for it to come. Breathe until you cannot anymore. Think about what flowers you will want at your funeral and hope your father remembers that you hate carnations.

“Is he gone?”

Jolting, you look at Jake--your vision is tinted pink from the blood in your eyes, from the tears. And the heaviness of his body suddenly becomes a bit lighter--lighter like he is lifting himself just barely.

“Jake?” You whisper.

There’s not response for a minute. And for a fleeting few moments, as you gaze down at his eyes that are still closed and his lips that are still shut, you think you’re losing your mind. Making this up. Imagining him here so you won’t have to die all by yourself.

But then his lashes flutter--a tiny groan falls out of his mouth.

“He’s…he’s gone, right?”

And then, without warning, Jake suddenly rolls off your body. It is a quick movement--like he’s using the last of his strength, like he’s doing this final thing for you.

The pain that shoots through his body when he lands on his back is excruciating. It is so excruciating, so blinding, that he almost can’t stop himself from screaming. But he does--he does for you. He breathes through his nose roughly, sobbing softly.

“Jake…” you whisper, suddenly able to move. You scramble to sit up, covered in gore still, leaning over him. “Jake, I--Jake, I thought you were dead.”

And before you can even get over the sudden shock of Jake being alive, of Jake moving off your body, your hands are moving before you give them explicit permission to. You’re pulling on his shoulders, trying to get him to move onto his belly again so you can staunch his wound, but he cries out.

“Stop, Gale!” He begs, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m trying to help--!”

Suddenly, his eyes are open and pouring into yours. And God, there are those green eyes. Greener than grass. Greener than keylimes. Greener than moss. Greener than the earth. He’s looking right at you, the one who’s trying to save him, and you suddenly understand that he doesn’t want to be saved by you.

“Let me help…help you for once,” Jake whispers. “You go.”

Two stray tears stream down his face.

He’s thinking about everything that Bradley said, how he taunted you, how still he had to be so Bradley didn’t really finish him off. He’s thinking about that bus full of kids, thinking about Payback, Fanboy, Bob, Paul. He’s thinking about it all and how you’re going to have to do this by yourself. And he’s going to stay here. He has to stay here--he can’t run, he can’t hide, he can’t walk. He can’t even feel his toes. He has to stay here.

“Jake,” you mutter, beginning to weep. “I can’t--I can’t leave you here.”

It’s an impossible decision--one that is tearing your heart to bits as you hover over him.

He’s trembling--it feels like you’re rubbing noses with death again as saliva gathers underneath your tongue.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please…go. There’s no time, baby, there’s no…”

“Jake,” you weep. “I didn’t listen to you! It’s him--it’s…it’s…”

You won’t know who to say it is. It’s Bradley, but it’s not. But you can’t get yourself to say that it is Damien Gwyar--the original maniac, the one who slayed everyone all those years ago.

“I love you, baby,” Jake mutters. A few tears stream down his face. “I’d die if I…if I didn’t tell you that before I…before I…”

Die, Jake thinks. Before I die.

“I love you,” you sob. And you mean it--you really, truly do. Even if it is muddled, if it’s complicated, if it’s wrong, if it’s right, if you’re exhausted, if it’s true--you mean it. “I love you, Jake. You idiot.”

And you can’t say anything else, just collapsing against his chest to sob again. And against his blood-soaked shirt, on this blood-soaked floor, you let all the tears and snot run and run until you feel like you’re entirely empty.

With the final bit of his strength, he reaches up--ignoring the searing burning--and holds both of your cheeks. And your cheeks, so wet and sticky and familiar, nearly make his throat close. He wishes he had held you more. He hopes he gets to hold you again.

“Knew it,” he whispers, a sad smile tugging on his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you weep. “Jake, I’m so sorry--I didn’t know what-what to do. I didn’t know what to do and-and--!”

“--It’s okay,” he whispers. His bottom lip wobbles. “Get your gun, Nightingale.”

Like his word is Lord, you do get the gun. Your legs are wobbling and you can hardly walk, can hardly wrap your fingers around it, but you do. And then you return to his crumpled form, sinking to your knees and looking down at him.

“I don’t wanna leave you,” you repeat brokenly. “Jake, I’m so sorry. I’m so…I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been better. I should’ve--I could’ve--!”

But even when you say it--knowing it’s the truth--you also know that Bradley must be getting close to the bus barn. He might even be opening the doors now. He might even be halfway through Phoenix, her screams loud and the blood--

“Shhh,” he whispers. “No time.”

“I can save you,” you whisper. “God, please let me save you! Let me have this!”

You’re begging.

Jake shakes his head.

“Go,” Jake whispers back. He strokes your hair very softly, tries to remember the way it feels in his hands. And then he pushes you softly.

Hastily, and with great anguish, you kiss his lips. All you can taste is blood, but you keep kissing him. You kiss and cry and he kisses back as his blood pools around him on the floor. He’s dizzy and you’re exhausted to the point of near-delusion.

Then you stand up.

“I’m coming back for you,” you promise him.

You really mean it, too. Whether he is alive or dead, whether you’ll bandage him or cover him with a sheet, you’re coming back for him. You will not leave Jake alone here. Not in your lifetime.

“I’ll be here,” he whispers brokenly. He’s staring up at you, quivering. “You’ve gotta…you’ve gotta fight.”

“People keep telling me that,” you whisper.

His jaw is locked in place when he speaks again. You hope, with everything in your heart, that this is not the last time you’ll ever see him looking at you the way he is now.

“You give ‘im Hell.”

You give ‘im Hell.

You’re still sobbing when you walk outside again. The heat is abrasive, the sun is beating down, you’re sticky with blood, but your legs are working and you’re moving towards the bus barn. Right now, in this precise moment when your heart is pounding out of your chest, it’s all you can focus on. You have to get from here to here.

And there he is--Bradley. He’s standing just outside the bus, the bus barn door wide open and letting the sunlight pour in. But the bus doors are still closed.

You don’t understand why this is happening, but it is. It really, truly is. It’s here, right before your eyes. Gone is the man that you love, the one who came inside of you only a few days ago. And standing in his place is whatever the fuck is beckoning everyone off the bus.

“I had to…I had to hurt him,” Bradley sobs. He’s good at this--there’s real tears streaming down his face, snot dripping out from his nose and onto his mustache. He’s holding his palm against the bus, still gripping the ax. “God, I think I…I think I killed him! But he was coming for Gale…”

“What happened to Gale?” Coyote asks, reaching for the handle to open the bus doors. He’s panting already, panicked. Bradley has a lot of blood on him--splattered all over his face and clothes. And when he ripped the bus barn door open, he was sobbing. “Shit, is she…oh my, God…”

Everyone on the bus is looking at Bradley: a man who has seemingly lost everything in the span of only a little while. The tape to lure Jake into the mess hall has restarted, blood has been spilled, and Bradley is sobbing outside the bus from the loss of you.

“He got her,” Bradley sobs. “He…He got Gale. I wasn’t quick enough. He just--he threw her on the ground, cracked her head open. Oh, God…the crack. It was--it was--!”

Bradley cuts himself off with his own choked sobs.

Phoenix’s fingernails dig into the bus seat. She can hardly hear Bradley, can hardly hear anything, feel anything. But she hears him say it. You’re gone, she thinks. You’re dead now, too.

Just as Coyote is about to open the bus doors, just as he is about to let Bradley on and grieve and sob and ask for the full story and just as Phoenix is about to spring to the mess hall to find you, everyone hears a gun cock in utter and complete unison.

And suddenly, you’re here. You’re standing in the doorway, drenched in blood, hair matted against your head. You’re holding the shotgun, legs wobbling but feet planted firmly, and aiming it directly at Bradley. You’re alive--most gloriously alive.

“Don’t open those doors!” You announce. Your voice echoes. “Get the fuck away from the bus!”

“Gale…” Bradley says, feigning shock. His heart is pounding, but he decides to keep it going. Don’t let the curtains close. He turns towards you, stumbles a few steps--he’s still holding the ax. “Gale, I--I thought you were dead! I thought--I thought Jake killed you!”

“Don’t listen to him,” you scream. “You…you fuck!”

Coyote and Phoenix watch in horror, their eyebrows furrowed.

“What the fuck is going on?” Coyote asks.

Phoenix is staring at Bradley as he stumbles towards you. He’s gripping the ax with such conviction, tears still streaming down his face. And from where she’s standing, she can only see a quarter of his face. But she sees it exactly when you do: a wink. Barely there, hardly evident, but real.

And it suddenly clicks--washes over her like a wave of warm, salty water.

“Bradley is the killer,” she whispers. She grips Coyote’s arm, quivering. “Bradley is the…oh my, God.”

“I thought you were gone,” Bradley weeps. And with his back turned to the bus, he grins at you--entirely sure no one will see him. “I’m so--I’m so sorry I left you.”

“Don’t come any closer!” You scream. Your hands are shaking.

“I’m just trying to help you,” he sobs, smile growing wider and wider. “C’mere, doll, I’m so sorry I left you with that--with that monster!”

He grows nearer and nearer with every step.

From your peripherals, you see movement on the bus--Coyote reaching for the handle to open the bus doors.

“Don’t open the fucking doors!” You demand, voice echoing in the barn. “Just--no matter what, don’t do it! Okay?”

Coyote freezes. His stomach is turning itself inside out as all the children group at the back of the bus and watch you point a gun at Mister Rooster.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Bradley whispers to you. “I’m saving you for last.”

“I will fucking kill you!” You scream--voice hoarse. Tears are pouring down your cheeks. “I’ll kill you if you step closer to me! I’ve shot you before and I’ll sure as Hell do it again!”

He’s only a few feet in front of you now.

“You can’t,” he whispers to you. He’s standing with his chest--Bradley’s chest--pressed against the barrels of your shotgun. He grins at you. “You won’t.”

Arms nearly going limp, you open your mouth to retaliate--but nothing comes. Nothing at all. You’re choking on air, staring evil right in the face, and you cannot pull the trigger because it is wearing the skin of the man you adore so.

He knows it already.

Coyote and Phoenix watch in horror as your finger slips from the trigger. And the horror extends to the entire bus, making all the kids clutch the seats and each other, when Bradley suddenly swings the ax.

It comes so quickly that you hardly have time to duck--the blade catches the top of your shoulder, slicing your skin open. Hot blood oozes from the wound as you fall to your hands and knees, scrambling for the gun you dropped.

Bradley’s quicker than you--kicking it aside again before he grabs hold of your hair. He wraps it tightly in his fist and pulls up until you’re screaming in pain, almost delirious with it as you swing your arms to hit him.

“She needs help,” Phoenix says, panting. “Oh my--fuck, she needs help!”

“She doesn’t want us to open the doors!” Coyote says, eyes wide as he watches Bradley drag you forward as you swing your arms fruitlessly. “What should we--fuck, what should we do?”

“You really couldn’t have just stayed put, huh?” Bradley sneers, throwing you against the dirt floor. You don’t have much fight left in you--he can tell. He straddles you, pins your arms against the ground. Even your squirming does nothing. “I wanted to save you for the end, dolly.”

And you’re panicking now, screaming and fighting to get out from under him. Your heart is in your throat and your stomach is falling and you keep bucking your hips up to no avail. Again--you’re stuck. Pinned.

But this time--this time something is different. This isn’t Jake and he isn’t hurt. This is Damien and he’s setting the ax down. He’s wrapping his hands around the column of your throat as you thrash viciously, kicking your heels into the dirt. And then, with the hands that caressed you so lovingly only a little while ago, he’s choking you.

“It’ll do,” he grunts, pushing down on the soft middle of your throat. His fingers are hot as the blood caking your skin begins to crumble off beneath his grip. “You got bloody enough.”

You’ve never been choked before--not in any capacity. You work with a few girls with stories about it; strange older cousins they were left alone with, angry older brothers who used to babysit them, violent ex-husbands who didn’t like them to talk back, strangers in the night hiding in bushes, lovers in the bedroom who kissed it better. Before this very moment, you’ve never known what it means to not be able to breathe.

Grabbing fistfulls of dirt as Bradley’s knees dig into your arms, your vision is already beginning to blacken. And every time you buck your hips, Bradley weighs down on you harder.

“I wanna watch all that light blink off,” Bradley mutters, teeth grit. He’s still smiling softly, pushing down harder and harder. “Dirty, dirty girl.”

It is precisely when he says this that you realize that this is it. You are going to die. He is not going to let up and you told everyone to stay on the bus. And his is the last face you’ll ever see. And even though he’s taking your life--you can feel it draining from your stunted lungs and your purple lips--you’re glad that it’s a familiar one. In a strange, strange way, you wish that he would hold your hand through it.

“Do something!” Phoenix sobs.

Coyote hustles to the front of the bus, searching desperately for a clue of what to do. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know what he can do.

“I don’t know what to do!”

Eyes lulling to the side, muscles going numb beneath your hot skin, you see something in the haze--something bizarre. It’s Bob. He’s lying on the dirt floor beside you, watching you. His face is pink and pale and he’s wearing his glasses that are no longer broken. He doesn’t say anything at all. He just lies beside you, looks into your eyes, and moves to lay his hand on your shoulder. His hand is warm.

Entire body growing warm, heart sinking in your gut, you know that this must be dying.

Yes, this is it. My brain is being deprived of oxygen. I’m hallucinating. There are no ghosts here. Bob is gone and it will stay that way.

And then, sudden as a firework popping in the near distance, there’s a loud noise. It’s loud enough to make Bradley jump, falter--his grip slips down your throat. You can breathe, only for a moment, as Coyote lays on the horn of the bus.

All the blood comes rushing back to your limbs, all that warmth and numbness begins to fade. You know you only have one moment--just one moment to get away and you have to use it.

Because you’re covered in slick blood, because Bradley got spooked, because Coyote laid on the horn, you’re able to slip your right hand out from underneath Bradley. And in one swift and precise movement, you jam your thumb into his eye. It isn’t enough to cause permanent damage--but it is enough to make him jerk off and away from you.

“Go! Go, Gale!” Phoenix screams, pounding on the windows. “Run!”

Scrambling, taking deep breaths and coughing, you get to your feet in an instant. And before you can even think about it, you’re grabbing the ax. And then you’re grabbing the shotgun while Bradley writhes, holding both hands over his eye as blood drips down his cheek.

“You stupid bitch!” He wails. “You fucking cunt! My fucking eye!”

You’re running as fast as your legs can carry you--outside, into the heat, away from camp, and through the oak trees. You’re running as far as you can, you decide, even if your lungs are screaming and you’re still sputtering.

But Jesus Christ--you’re alive. The sun is on your face and your hair is billowing in the wind and the frogs are crying on the water and you’re alive. You didn’t die. He didn’t do it. Bob is gone.

Bradley, still holding his injured eye, stumbles to his feet. And in his haze, blood wetting his hand, he looks around for you. You’re gone--so is his ax and so is your gun.

“Fucking bitch! I’m gonna fucking get you!”

He glances at the bus--Coyote is standing in the windshield with his arms crossed over his broad chest. And before Bradley can do anything, Coyote holds up the kitchen knife in his hand--it gleams in the sunlight.

“You’re all gonna fucking die tonight!” Bradley screams.

You’re running for a long time--at least that’s what it feels like. Your arms are heavy and you’re losing blood and you can hardly see because of the bright sun. Everything hurts and you’re fuzzy, but you know you have to keep going. Keep fighting.

Behind you, you don’t hear any signs of being chased. Not yet. No snapping twigs, no rustling leaves, no grunts, no groans. You’re certain it won’t last long.

“Nightingale!” Bradley bellows, entering the woods. “Let’s just cut to the good part, dolly!”

Whimpering, you run harder and faster. Your whole body is on fire, but you hold tight to the ax and the gun. But you’re tipping over an edge, close to collapsing. So you duck behind the thick trunk of a tree, pressing your back against it.

Your heart thumps in your ears as blood rushes across your temples. You’re panting, panicking. What are you going to do? How are you going to get away? But--no. You can’t get away. You can’t run. You have to fight.

Just as your heart begins to calm, just as your breathing starts to slow, you suddenly hear it.

Hounds of Love is playing now--the tape scratched and skipping, distorted on the loudspeaker. It’s echoing all across camp.

The hounds of love are hunting

I've always been a coward

“Gale!” Bradley screams, stumbling in the woods. He knows he’s hot on your trail--he can smell how afraid you are right now. “C’mon, dolly! Come on out and let’s finish this! I know you’re tired. You’re so close to giving up--I can feel it. So, just give up. Put your neck into my palms and rest. Close your eyes and let it happen! Don’t you want to see your boys again? Bradley and Bob? Mickey and Reuben?”

He’s close--his voice is loud and clear.

Your fingers are numb with panic.

“You were supposed to save all of ‘em! They were counting on you…everybody was. Bob most of all--he wasn’t afraid until he woke up and saw the infection was spreading, dolly. But he thought you had him…he thought you were gonna help him.”

It's coming for me through the trees

Oh, help me, someone

Help me, please

Closing your eyes, you try to go deaf to his words.

No. No. No.

And when you fidget, a twig snaps beneath your feet. So you quickly lean down and rip your shoes off--leaving you in your bloody socks. But then you take them off, too--just to feel the soil and the thorns beneath your feet.

Bradley looks around the woods--the sun breaks through the canopy of leaves from up above. No sign of you, but he knows he’s close. He has to be close. You can’t have made it far--not after what he did to you in the bus barn.

From nothing real

I just can't deal with this

I'm still afraid to be there

“We were all counting on you. Your name--it’s actually the last thing that Fanboy said before he bit it. Well, before I took off the top of his head. He must’ve been panicking--scrambling, I guess. Couldn’t think of any other name but yours, dolly.”

Clamping your hand over your mouth, you stifle your sobs.

He’s lying, you tell yourself. He has to be.

Bradley’s getting angry--it’s bubbling up inside of him in that ugly, ugly way. He sighs loudly, finally moving his hand from his eye. Blood drips off his chin and into the mud.

“You’re a sad, sad little girl who can’t save anyone! You’re a sorry fucking excuse for a nurse! And a fucking coward at that! You’re hiding from me, running away from all those people you’re supposed to protect!”

I've always been a coward

And never know what's good for me

“I’m gonna head back to camp now,” Bradley taunts. “I’ll pick ‘em off--make ‘em scream for you. You’ll hear it. Wherever you are…you’ll hear it, dolly. Believe me that.”

You have to move. You know it. Even if it’s a bluff--even if it’s a trap.

So, with what strength and ammo you have left, you cock the gun. Bradley hears it--zeroing in on your location. You’re only a few paces before him, hiding behind a thick-trunked oak tree.

“There you are,” he whispers as he begins to slowly walk towards you. “Good girl.”

Shivering, you round the corner. Bradley is only a few feet in front of you, glowing beneath the afternoon sunlight. His eye is bleeding--his lashes matted with blood.

“You’re not getting those kids,” you whisper to him. You’re pointing the gun at him, the ax on the ground beside you. Your feet are planted firmly. “You’re not getting back to that camp.”

Oh, help me, darling

Help me, please

Heart pounding, pulse thumping, you stare at Bradley.

“You don’t have much say in the matter, do you?” He asks. He comes closer, knowing full and well that you won’t pull the trigger. Again, his chest grazes the barrels. He looks into your eyes--registers all your exhaustion. He doesn’t know how you’re still standing. “Just let go, Nightingale. Just give in.”

He moves slowly--you watch him, eyes glossed over, as he wraps his hand around the barrels. You don’t move to stop him--not even when your heart jumps into your throat.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. You swallow hard. “I’m so tired.”

He looks at you long and hard as he pushes the barrels up towards the sky--you don’t stop him again. He steps closer to you.

“I know,” he whispers. “Don’t you miss him? You didn’t even know when he left, dolly.”

Pain ripples across your chest, your heart constricting.

It's in the trees

It's coming

“What happens if I let go?” You whisper.

Bradley blinks at you.

“You’ll sleep,” he tells you.

Sleep. It sounds so good. So enticing. Dangerously handsome.

“Is he…” you whisper, sniffing hard as tears prickle your eyes. “Is he sleeping?”

He knows you mean Bradley--the real, actual Bradley.

“Your side is so cold,” he whispers. “Come to bed.”

Come to bed. You want to. You want to so badly.

But then you think of Bob’s broken glasses. Jake’s bloody handprints on your face. Mable’s weight on your shoulders. Phoenix holding Bob’s body. Coyote telling you the children won’t be touched. Fanboy and Payback dying together.

“I’m tired,” you mutter. A few tears run down your face as your lip wobbles. “I’m too tired to keep going.”

Hold me down

It's coming for me through the trees

He comes closer to you, vibrating with excitement.

Before you can stop it, his hand is on your hip. You know it isn’t Bradley--but it looks like him. It feels like him. You don’t push his hand away.

“Wanna go out with a bang?” He asks, grinning. He presses himself against you, his hips rutting against yours.

Shakily, your finger falls on the trigger.

“Yes,” you mutter to him. His hand falls on your throat again. “I wanna go out with a bang.”

And then the gunshot rings out. It sends birds fleeing, punctures your eardrum, makes Bradley recoil. And before he can retaliate, before he can wrap his hands around your throat--the tree branch, the one the bullet severed, falls onto his head.

He crumples beneath it with a sharp intake of breath, pinning him onto the ground.

“Gale, you--!”

Quickly, you step over him, breathing hard.

“Fuck you,” you spit. “You’re not Bradley.”

And with that, you bring the butt of the shotgun down against his forehead until his eyes are closed and his body is still.

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: DAMN WTF.....I LOVE KATE BUSH

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄��

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lxinesux · 8 months

Text

i’m holding my breath for you

Characters: Tasm!Peter Parker

Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader

Summary: Reader regrets her time with Peter and attempts to push him away to get her friendship back. Peter does not take it well. Smut ensues.

Warnings: Blood, Fingering,Loss of Virginity, Floor + Counter Sex, Creampie, mildly dark!Peter, Possessive Sex

A/N: There’s a read more because this gets smuttyish pretty early. love creepy peter, hes just a liddle freak 😭. this is the unexpected second part of a story i posted in june-ish. read the first part here!

It had happened, it was real.

He got to touch the untouchable-make you cry out and cum and squirm. He did that. He had been the first to do that.

He’d wanted to fuck you-either with his fingers or his cock-but you were way too spent. He teased you relentlessly in the shower-chasing water droplets that ran over your body with his mouth, touching you all over, kissing you roughly against the shower wall.

You were irresistible, adorable, as you shied away from him, trying to keep his hands above your waist.

“I don’t think…I can’t…”

You could. You could come again. Over and over and over until you couldn’t stand. But he didn’t want to push you. That had been your first orgasm with another person. Stamina could be worked on later.

You were in your head, too. He could tell. You were never the most talkative but there was something going on between your ears he desperately wanted to know about.

Did you regret it? What happened?

Fuck. Did you not trust him anymore?

Was there a way for him to regain that trust?

He corners you in the kitchen, the smallest room in the entire apartment. It was very easy to do, given how small you were in comparison to him.

“We have to talk.”

“About what?” You turn away from him, trying to organize the groceries you bought on your measly paycheck. There wasn’t much, and he could tell you were avoiding him. You could only pick up and put down the same clementine before it became personal.

“About…that.”

“No, we don’t.”

His heart breaks a little.

He thought he’d made his case very clear and apparent.

He was in love with you. Had been for a very long time.

“I haven’t felt the way I do about you since…”

The silence lingers heavily in the kitchen. Your spine is ramrod straight, shoulders tensed. And you’re not looking at him.

Looking like a perfect soldier. Looking like you weren’t human, but a perfect robotic clone. The portrait of frigidity.

His stomach twists. Okay. Alright.

“Forget I said anything. We can just…we can go back to where we were before.”

“Can we?”

The knife between his ribs twists. Wonderful. Great.

“I don’t see why not. We can just..forget this happened.”

“Peter…”

He brushes past you, “Gotta head out.”

“Peter, wait-”

“‘Ts fine. There’s nothing left to say, fresh restart. Factory settings. Just…stop.”

And you do stop. You watch helplessly as he crawls out of the window and into the frigid night air.

Peter was avoiding you entirely.

You attempt to wait up for him, now that he’d made a habit of going on patrol without you. But more than once, you would fall asleep.

You found yourself missing him. The smell of his skin, his hair tickling your nose, the feeling of his arms around you while you slept.

The few times you saw each other in the apartment, he was curt if he made conversation at all. Not even a good morning or good night, just ‘hey’ and ‘bye.’

You’d rather be in the basement at Oscorp getting your brain scrambled than deal with this pain.

You had gone on your own patrol and had gotten back way past mid morning in an attempt not to run into Peter. You’d changed into your civies and walked through the front door-

There’s a stranger in your apartment.

She must have not seen you or if she’d seen you, she didn’t care. The entire apartment smells like breakfast-smoky and sweet alongside the bitter sting of coffee.

And she’s wearing Peter’s favorite t-shirt.

It’s fucking Lucy. Lucy from fucking accounting. She couldn’t figure out how to use the copy machine. The goddamn copy machine!

And she was in your shared apartment.

She had slept here, had slept in Peter’s bed, your bed.

She fucked your Peter.

The kitchen isn’t that large, the aisle blocking off the living room is short enough that the two of you make eye contact as soon as she turns her head.

“Lucy, I told you to-” Peter’s voice comes from behind you.

“Get the fuck out of our house.”

How dare he. How fucking dare he. Fucking sleep with some random girl beause you wanted space? You wanted his friendship back and he fucks LUCY?

Her lips are parting, like she wants to say something. Her hand is on her hips, like you’re just some girl in competition. Like you didn’t know how to break her neck in a millisecond, like you didn’t have the training to ruin that pretty face.

In an instant, she was an enemy and your programming slams into overdrive. You’re up and over the counter in a millisecond, the t-shirt bunched into your first.

Superhuman strength is a blessing and a curse. You only mean to maybe shove her lightly.

What you do instead is leave a Lucy sized hole in the cheap door to your apartment. She lands at the end of the hall. Every door on the floor is flung open, revealing shock and amused faces alike-all of them turned to you.

“You’re so lucky we weren’t evicted,” He sighed, “And that Lucy was only a little bruised.”

A little bruised was an understatement. Lucy has a contusion in her shoulder that’ll take weeks to heal.

You tried not to look too pleased at the news as you helped Peter install the new door.

“She’s lucky she was only bruised,” You breathe through your nose.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Why did you even bring her here? Couldn’t you guys shack up at her place or something?”

“I didn’t think you’d be back before morning.” He actually has the grace to look guilty, maybe a little sad.

“Whatever.”

More silence.

You chew diligently on your bottom lip until he speaks.

“I’m sorry. It’s been weird these past few weeks. I think…I think it’d be best if I moved out?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, you’re actually comfortable like this? We nearly fuck, we kiss. You mauled my one-night stand! You push me away, you try to reel me back in. Forgive me for getting mixed signals!” His hands move into his hair, running his fingers through it, “I can’t do this anymore, I really can’t! Seeing you, it’s like…it’s fucking torture. I can’t do it.”

“You don’t talk to me for weeks and this is what you have to say!? You think this is easy for me?! God, Peter! I don’t know how to feel about you! I’m a fucking lab experiment gone rogue! I’m barely a person! What part of that screams girlfriend material to you!”

“I’ll let the landlord know I’m getting off the lease. I’ll be out at the end of the month.”

“So that’s it?”

“I can call Stark back, so you aren’t by yourself. I know you hate that. I don’t want you to have to be alone. We just…can’t be alone together. Not like this. Not until I’m over this…”

“Fuck you, Peter Parker.”

The new door slams, the hinges cracking.

You’re awake for hours, waiting for him to come home. You smell him before you see him.

Blood. You smell blood, thick and salty, and wrong on Peter.

His suit has been shredded along his abdomen, the blood making the spandex cling to the open wounds.

He nearly falls through the window and you catch him before he hits the floor. Guilt is swift and immediate.

Wordlessly, you help him to the bathroom. He doesn’t fuss, doesn’t put up a fight.

You peel off his suit gently, careful of the-are those claw marks in his chest? Before you can grab the first aid, his fingers are loosely wrapped around your wrist. He pulls you towards him. Pressing you against him, his sweaty bloody body touching your skin. He lets out a tense breath.

“Peter-”

“Just let me hold you. Just for a little bit.”

You can’t say no to him. You let him run his fingers through your hair, rub your back. Gently, you lay your head on his shoulder, trying to be careful of his wounds but selfishly trying to soak up all the emotion and touch you haven’t felt in weeks.

“I’m sorry,” He breathes out after a long stretch of silence.

“I..I’m sorry, too.”

“I kept trying to push you.”

“I was trying to protect you from me.”

He takes your face in his hands. His blood feels tacky on your cheeks. He brings your foreheads together, his breath warm against your lips. You remember what it was like to kiss him. How he’d begged for it, begged for something so simple as that.

The thought makes your body pulse in ways you don’t want to think about. Not right now. His thumb rubs against your cheek, leaving your flesh tingling in its wake.

“I don’t need you to protect me. Let alone protect me from something I want.”

“I told you before, you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

He chuckles weakly before letting you go. You grab the first aid kit out of the medicine cabinet but still feel his eyes tracing along your back. When you turn, he doesn’t shy away from his staring, a goofy smile still plastered on his face.

“I wanna kiss you again.”

“Peter, can you focus?”

“So mean to me,” He pouts when you come near him, “I’m injured and you won’t kiss me better?”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood. Healing factor is making you loopy. Sit up straight, I’m going to disinfect your wounds.”

“Yes ma’am,” In the same scratchy voice that he had when he-

Ugh. You are not thinking about that right now. Even if he’s being too handsy, running his hands over your hips, up your sides. Trying to pull you into his lap.

“I can smell it, ya know? Super senses.”

You want to dose him with the rubbing alcohol bottle just to get him to stop talking. His blood was clotting nicely and you’ve since surmised that most if the blood on him wasn’t him as you feared.

“Smell what?” You dab him gently instead. A tight, clean gauze dressing and the deep marks should go away in a few days. You apply the clean cotton and begin to wrap him up, seconds away from applying skin safe tape.

“When your cunt’s wet, when I turn you on. Like now. Can smell it, always have. That’s how I know you want this too, you’re just scared.”

Your noses touch when you look at him earnestly, “I am scared.”

“I’m scared, too,” His fingers move through your hair, his eyes scan your face, “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t wanna lose your trust.”

It feels good. The silence surrounding you doesn’t feel as oppressive knowing that you’re both in it together. Your eyes close without your permission, lounging once again the comfort of just having Peter touch you again.

“I trust you, Peter.”

You feel his face move further toward you, his lips inches away from yours.

“Say that again,” he whispers breathlessly, “Please, say that again.”

“I trust you.”

It was the closest thing to confirmation he was ever going to get, but he’d take it.

His lips press against yours, a soft peck. Another and another until he can feel your body relax. He’s been so starved of you, greed fills him when your lips part. He lifts you up, possessive hands firm on your ass.

God, you were soft. So soft and warm. He wants to devour you, piece by piece.

He puts you on the bathroom counter, your legs hike up over his hips. Your pussy is pressed against the tent in his pants through your thin sleep shorts.

He won’t pull away. His lips leave yours only briefly to catch his breath. Your shaky hands move through his hair and he shutters.

“Missed you so bad,” He whispers, “Missed you so fucking bad.”

His hands move up your shirt, his warm hands traveling up to your bra and then running back down to your thighs.

You whimper, your flesh breaking out in goosebumps. His lips trail pecks from your mouth, across your cheek, and down your neck. The soft noises you make control him. You’ve never experienced pleasure like this and he wanted to be the only one to give it to you.

The only person you’ll ever have. The idea of anyone else seeing you melt like this makes him suck the sensitive skin of your neck between his teeth.

“Peter-“ Slightly desperate. Begging almost.

He pets your hair, “Shh, baby. I’m right here. Do you feel me?”

He pulls your hips tighter to him. Your fingers dig into his shoulders. When you hiss between your teeth, he can feel himself leak precum.

“Y…yeah…” You move minutely against him, “Yeah, feel you. Feels good…”

He kisses you again, just to taste the words. He pulls away just to get your shirt off. New skin for him to put his mouth on. He unhooks your bra easily, how starved he was for your flesh. He mouths along your collarbones, leaving bruises with his mouth that would linger on your skin.

He kisses down your chest. Your nipples are hard and pink and distracting.

“Peter, Peter, I-“

His tongue swirls around a nub, the other is tortured by his fingers. He pulls it away from your flesh. You try to move your chest further into his face. Christ, you’re so fucking adorable. You gasp and writhe.

Fuck, you’re getting so wet too. He can feel it against him, dampening the front of your panties and his Spidey suit.

His cock aches. He needed to be inside you, couldn’t take getting pushed away again. He was going insane. He was going to jump out of his skin if he had to wait any longer.

“Get down.”

“Wha?” Your voice is thick and heavy. Your eyes are glazed over. It’s making it so much worse.

“Get down, lean over the counter.”

For the first time in weeks, you do as you're told. Your panties are around your ankles before you realize it. He spreads your ankles apart.

Your pussy is pink and glistening. His mouth waters while he admires it. You whine.

“Nah baby, don’t be embarrassed. Most perfect thing I have ever seen…” He kisses along your shoulders, down your back.

His hand moves between your thighs, “You’ve never had anything inside this sweet pussy, have you?”

Your cheeks are flushed, “No…”

He smiles, reaching around your front and pressing against your clit.

“Oh my god-“

“Breathe, baby,” He presses the tip of one finger against your opening, “Gonna open you up so I don’t hurt you. It’ll feel good, I promise. Just breathe.”

One finger slides in instantly. In and out, hearing the sound of your soaked cunt. He can see your legs lock at first as you feel the awkward pressure. You relax again when you get accustomed to one finger. Another slides alongside and you keen as the press against that spot inside you.

“Too much…” You whimper.

“Pretty girl, I know you can take more,” His fingers speed up slightly as you leak against him, “Fuck, you’re so tight. Been dreaming about you cumming around my cock…”

Your eyes flutter closed, your mouth opens just slightly. Your hips move back against his fingers. You might be trying to say something, but the only thing Peter can hear is-

“Ah, ah, fuck, please…”

Your face in the mirror is gonna make him lose it. He gently tilts your head back.

“Look at yourself,” He whispers in your ear, eyes locking with yours in the reflection, “Look at what I’m doing to you…”

Another finger, his free hand returns home to your clit. You don’t avert your eyes, even though you really want to. Watching your own skin flush, your pupils unfocuses, your jaw slack.

“‘m so close…so close…”

Embarrassing for you, arousing for him.

He pulls his hands away from you. You whine, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “No!”

You feel the tip of him press against your hole. Protests die in your throat. He’s big. So big, you don’t know if he’ll fit. He might tear you apart. You feel so empty though, open and ready. If he doesn’t do something, your heart is gonna explode in your chest.

You trust him.

He’s trying so hard to be patient. You’re a fucking velvet vice around the head of his cock and he wants to feel you all around him. He pushes in farther, letting out a strained moan.

Your breathing picks up, your eyes squeeze shut. He knows before you say. He can feel your walls pulse, your thighs quivering-

“Cumming, Peter, fuck I’m gonna-“

He nearly finishes right there and then. Your cunt tightens impossibly around him, trying to milk him for all his worth. Your body crumples, nearly hitting the floor. He holds you while you shutter through it, kissing along your temple.

He guides you gently to the floor, laying you on your back before boxing you in with his own. He guides your thighs over his hips.

He slides in much easier after your first orgasm. By the time he’s fully seated inside you, you already accept your fate. He takes a minute to look where you're conjoined, your puffy pussy taking all of him.

He pulls out just enough before slamming back in, watching your face. Your groan, your head lulling back. He does it again, and again. Shallow, slow thrusts to get you used to the weight of him. He’s seeing stars behind his eyes, watching your face contort while he overstimulates you on purpose.

“You’ve got more in you,” He pants out, “I know you’ve got more in you.”

Those swallow thrusts change into deeper, faster ones. Hitting that spot inside you over and over. Your skin glistens with a light sheen of sweat, his blood is drying on your body. The sight of it is making him insane. Peter leans over and starts sucking bruises into the soft flesh of your neck. His teeth trace your jugular.

“One more,” He breathes in your ear, “Gimme one more…”

Your abs are twitching underneath him, whimpering and whining and clinging to him. You say his name over and over, like it’s the only word that exists in your brain.

His thrusts get more sloppy, feeling your own second impending orgasm build pushes him toward the edge.

“Gonna cum inside you…” Not a question, a statement.

No going back.

You only cry out, seeking out his mouth to drown out the embarrassing noises you’re making. He licks into your mouth just as you tighten and gush around him again.

With one final thrust, he cums deep inside you. He bites down hard on your lower lip.

Now, he’s got your blood on him. No matter how small the amount.

“I love you,” He whispers against your skin, “I love you…”

You nod, struggling to catch your breath. You lean your head against him.

“If you love me, really, you’ll help me clean up.”

He laughs. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve heard in weeks.

“Fine,” He presses a noisey kiss to the crown of your head, “Shower?”

“A shower shower,” You say, “No funny business.”

“I promise nothing.”

“Christ, Peter, at least wait until I can stand…”

It’s a start.

#tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #spider man x you #spider man x reader #spider man x y/n #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm peter smut #tasm imagine #andrew peter parker #peter 3 x y/n #peter 3 x reader

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from-memphis-with-love · 26 days

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Songbird - Ch. 3 - Dinner and a Show

Summary: Valerie and Elvis grow closer. Note: Okay, so there is controversy over whether Elvis actually ate peanut butter and bacon on sandwiches. Some people say he ate peanut butter, bacon, and banana sandwiches all the time. Others say it was just peanut butter and banana. And some (Ginger Alden) said he didn't eat them at all. You decide. Nevertheless, I wanted to include him eating peanut butter and bacon on sesame rolls here just as a fun little Elvis tidbit for the story. Suspend your disbelief, everyone! Word count: 7,800 Warnings: Infidelity; subtle references to sex

My eyes snapped open, heart pounding like a jackhammer. Remnants of last night's fever dream clung to my skin—searing touches, smoky whispers, the ghost of a kiss that almost met my lips. Holy mother of God, did that really happen?

I fumbled for my nightstand, nearly knocking over the glass of water I never got around to drinking. There it was. The ticket to his midnight show. Glossy and real and indisputable proof that I, Valerie Pedretti, professional nobody, had somehow captured the attention of the most famous man on the planet.

Equal parts giddy thrill and sheer pants-shitting terror. Good lord, what was I thinking, playing pattycake with Elvis freaking Presley? A very much married Elvis freaking Presley. I groaned into my pillow. I needed to call Deena pronto before having a complete meltdown.

The phone only rang twice before she picked up, voice fuzzy with sleep. "Val, hon, it's ass o'clock in the morning. This better be good—"

"Trust me, Dee, it is.” I took a deep breath, suddenly unsure of where to start. “I’m not coming home just yet. I’ve decided to extend my stay here for a little while.”

That woke her up. I could practically hear her sitting bolt upright in bed, her curiosity piqued. "Oh? You get a callback for that Sinatra gig?"

I hesitated, biting my lip. Fuck it, no use lying now.

“I maybe kind of sort of accidentally seduced a celebrity last night."

Dead. Silence. Then an earth-shattering shriek. "ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

I winced, holding the receiver at arm's length. "Yep. I'm in deep doo-doo, Dee."

"Deep doo-doo?! More like the motherlode! Valerie, you little minx! How'd you manage a thing like that? I want every lurid detail. Emphasis on lurid."

I laughed, flopping back against the pillows. Leave it to Deena to skip straight to the good stuff. "I can't give you all the details yet. But let's just say he's someone we've both heard of. I'll give you three clues. Very famous, very talented, and very, very handsome."

And very married. I of course neglected that little tidbit. If Deena knew, she’d blow her top. Understandably so.

She made a sound like a teakettle boiling over. "You're killing me! You can't just drop a bombshell like that and not give me a name! Landing a whale like that..." She paused, thinking. "Wait... is it Sinatra? Dean Martin? Joey Bishop? Oh honey, please don’t tell me it’s Liberace. You know he doesn't go for—"

"Sorry, Dee, my lips are sealed," I said, trying for coy and mysterious but probably missing the mark by a country mile. "Loose lips sink ships and all that jazz. And I don’t wanna jinx this. I can’t be too... eager."

Deena huffed out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine, keep your secrets, you incorrigible tease. But I'm telling you, Val, when an opportunity like this falls into your lap, you gotta strike while the iron's hot, if you know what I mean."

I couldn't help it, I burst out laughing. "Why Deena Jane Lovelace, are you trying to corrupt me? I feel like I should be clutching my pearls."

"I’m serious Val, you deserve to let loose and have some fun for once in your life. Live a little! Sow some wild oats! Ride that stallion till you break the saddle!"

"Deena!" I mock-gasped, giggling like a loon. "You're terrible!"

"You mean I'm right," she shot back, a smile in her voice. "I know you. You've got a bad habit of getting in your own way when it comes to men. Always overthinking, always holding back. Always tying yourself down to some jerk who isn’t good enough for you..."

I stopped laughing and chewed my lip.

Deena's voice gentled. "Oh honey. Are you worried about that chump again? Because I will fly to Vegas and smack you upside the head myself. That boy is staler than last week's bread and you know it."

Oof. Andy.

In the midst of all the Elvis-induced giddiness, I'd almost forgotten about my on-again-off-again boyfriend. Luckily, right now we happened to be more off-again, which meant I was technically free to do whatever this was that I was doing.

Unbidden, an image of him popped into my head. Sweet, goofy, going-nowhere-fast Andy. If I squinted, his Arby's visor almost looked like a crown. Almost. Andy was... well, he was Andy. A burger-flipping, belch-ripping goofball who could always make me laugh, even when I wanted to strangle him. He was comfortable, familiar, uncomplicated. As exciting as a lukewarm bath.

She wasn't wrong. Ugh.

But Elvis… Elvis was pure electricity. He made me feel reckless, alive, like I could conquer the world in heels and a push-up bra. When a man like that looks at you like you're the only woman in the room, it does things to a girl. Things that don't involve overthinking or holding back.

Sensing my hesitation, Deena gentled her voice. "Look, I'm not saying you gotta marry the guy. But would it kill you to have a little fling? To let yourself get swept off your feet, even if it's just for a little while?"

I bit my lip, considering. Maybe Deena was right. Maybe it was time to stop being so buttoned-up and boring. To take a chance on something wild and wonderful, consequences be damned. I mean, when a choice between an Andy and an Elvis falls into your lap, you'd be six kinds of stupid not to go for the Elvis, right?

"Okay, okay, you've twisted my arm," I said at last, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. "Operation Ride That Stallion is a go. But if I end up with saddle sores, I'm blaming you."

Deena's cackle was loud and wicked. "Atta girl! You just remember every gory detail so you can replay the highlight reel for me later. And Val?"

"Yeah, Dee?"

"Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."

“But you’d do everything…”

“That’s my point!”

After promising to give her a full debriefing later, I hung up and started tearing through my suitcase. I needed to put together an outfit that wouldn't get me laughed out of the VIP section. What does Elvis like? I wondered as I pulled out everything I owned, frowning at my decidedly lacking duds. I'd have to go full Cinderella somehow—find some fairy godmother to zap me a gown, pronto.

But before I could do that, I had to at least shower. I spent the next few hours getting dolled up like my life depended on it. Which, considering who my "date" was with, it kinda did. I took my sweet time shaving, lotioning, spritzing myself with my best perfume. Just as I was about to return to the matter of what to wear, the doorbell rung.

I opened the door—only to pratfall over a fancy box from Suzy Creamcheese, the hottest boutique in town. What in the...

I snatched it up. There was a card taped to the top, my name scrawled across it in scratchy, masculine handwriting. My eyes widened as I scanned the short, devastating message.

"Songbird, let's make beautiful music together. Wear this tonight. I'll be the one in black. Yours, Jon Burrows"

Jon Burrows. The alias he'd used last night. Hoo boy. Hands shaking, I lifted the lid off the box and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Inside was a dress that probably cost more than my entire life savings. Glimmering, body-skimming, hotter than a fresh sin. Draped in hand beading and fashioned of the finest silk imaginable. The kind of outfit that would've given Deena an aneurysm if she knew who sent it. In all honesty, Elvis had probably bought a million dresses just like it for a million and one little chippies. Suddenly, my stomach hurt.

But I couldn’t help but notice, nestled right next to the dress, a pair of matching stilettos, the slim spike heels flashing like a dare.

Eh, maybe I could take a Tums.

The dress slid over my curves like liquid sin, the slinky fabric doing favors for my figure I didn't even know were possible.

I twirled in front of the mirror, admiring the way the hem flirted with my thighs. With my chestnut curls artfully tousled and my eyes rimmed in black, I hardly recognized the minx staring back at me. If Elvis's jaw didn't hit the floor when he saw me in this getup, I'd eat my hat.

Still, a niggle of guilt squirmed in my gut as I dabbed on a pat of lip gloss. I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I was pulling a fast one on Deena. She'd blow her top if she knew who I was really running off to see. Not because of the fame, of course, but because of the ring on his finger.

But then again, maybe it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Especially when permission involved a certain married megastar. What Deena didn't know wouldn't hurt her, right?

Right. Confidence bolstered, I sashayed out the door.

With a little more than an hour to kill before the show, I tottered down to the casino floor, the click-clack of my stilettos drawing more than a few appraising glances.

Suddenly feeling lucky, I made a pit stop at the blackjack table. Nothing like a good old fashioned game of chance to settle the nerves. I was just doubling down when I noticed a guy giving me the hairy eyeball.

He looked to be in his fifties, paunchy and balding, with a pinky ring the size of a doorknob. A real high-roller type. And he was staring straight at me, a lewd grin stretching his thin lips.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing all by her lonesome?"

I shifted uncomfortably, wishing I'd worn a tent instead of a curve-hugging sheath. "Just playing a little cards before the big show," I muttered, looking everywhere but his face.

"Ah, you must be one of those Elvis girls," he said, nodding knowingly. "Fresh meat. Figures."

My stomach lurched. I was just opening my mouth to tell him where he could stick his fresh meat when a firm hand clamped down on my shoulder.

"Darlin', there you are! Been lookin' all over for you."

I whipped around to find a tall, gangly older man in a ten-gallon hat grinning down at me. He had a kind, pleasantly weathered face, the type of face you instantly trusted.

"Play along, sugar," he whispered, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Looked like you could use a white knight."

I almost collapsed with relief. "Oh! Yes, of course. So sorry, I got a little turned around..." I let him steer me away from the blackjack table, offering a silent prayer of thanks for chivalrous cowboys.

"Chick, at your service," he said once we were out of earshot, doffing an imaginary cap. "I’m with the International. And unless I miss my guess, you must be Miss Valerie?"

My eyes widened. "How did you...?"

Chick chuckled, shaking his head. "Let's just say, ah, Mr. Burrows ain't exactly subtle when he's sweet on a girl. I was instructed to find you and bring you to his dressing room before the show. Reckon that dress is gonna give him the vapors but good."

A pleased flush crept up my neck. Elvis had specifically summoned for me? Maybe this was more than a passing fancy to him. Maybe I wasn't just the flavor of the week...

No. Stop that. Don't go getting attached, you ninny. He's married, remember?

Chick must've noticed my wilting expression, because he gave my elbow a fatherly pat.

"Chin up, darlin'. I know this whole thing has you tied up in knots, but trust me—that boy thinks the sun rises and sets on your pretty little head. I ain't never seen him so gaga."

I managed a wobbly smile, even as my heart squeezed. Chick was sweet to say so, but he didn't know the half of it. Falling for Elvis was a one-way ticket to heartache city.

We snaked through a labyrinth of hallways and then reached the dressing room door. Chick gave a jaunty salute. "This is where I leave you. You take a deep breath and remember—if he’s foolish enough to let you slip through his fingers, I'll be waitin' in the wings to snatch you up my own self."

I giggled in spite of myself, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the rescue, Chick."

"Anytime, darlin'." With a last wink, he disappeared into the bowels of the theater, leaving me to find my seat on shaky legs.

I took a deep breath, smoothed my dress, and knocked on the door, my heart hammering in my throat. This was it. The moment of truth.

The door swung open, and there he was. Elvis, looking surprisingly human in a plain white collared shirt and black slacks. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at me, a genuine, almost shy thing that made my insides flutter. He looked oddly nervous, a far cry from the swaggering sex god I'd expected. It was strangely endearing.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite good luck charm!" he said, ushering me inside with a flourish. "Get in here, darlin', before someone sees you and starts a scandal. I can see the headlines now: 'Elvis Presley Corrupts Young Songstress, Film at Eleven.'"

I laughed, feeling some of my nervousness melt away in the face of his playful warmth. "I think you're overestimating my ability to cause a scandal," I said, plopping down on the couch. "The most exciting thing that's ever happened to me was winning a pie-eating contest when I was twelve."

Elvis clutched his heart, staggering back in mock-amazement. "Be still my beating heart! A pie-eating champion in my very dressing room? I'm not worthy!"

He dropped to his knees in front of me, clasping my hands in his. "Tell me, o great and powerful pie queen, what's your secret? Inquiring minds want to know!"

His antics were so unexpected, so at odds with his slick public persona, that I found myself relaxing in spite of the surreality of the situation. This was just Elvis. Just a man. A ridiculously handsome, heart-stoppingly talented man, but a man nonetheless.

We plopped down on the couch, close but not quite touching. Elvis ran a hand through his hair, tousling it even further. I giggled, swatting at him. "Stop it, you goof! You're going to make me ruin my mascara from laughing too hard."

Elvis grinned, unrepentant. "Can't have that, can we? I need you looking your absolute best out there tonight. Gotta show all those other fellas what they're missing." His appraising gaze was warm an appreciative as it swept over me. “And you do look beautiful, by the way. That dress is a knockout on you.”

I ducked my head, feeling a pleased flush creep up my neck. "You shouldn’t have, Elvis. I’m not used to such nice things.” I looked down, tapping my feet in the maroon stilettos he gifted me. Suddenly, I found myself saying things out loud I didn’t want to admit. “When I put it on, I was hoping you’d like me in it."

"Well, mission accomplished." Elvis's smile turned rueful. "Can I let you in on a little secret, Valerie?" he said, glancing at me sidelong. At my nod, he blew out a breath. "I'm nervous as all get-out about this show tonight. Like, shakin' in my boots nervous."

“You get stage fright?”

"That isn’t even the half of it," Elvis barked out a laugh, but there was an undercurrent of tension in it. "Honey, I'm about ready to shake out of my skin. I haven't played a venue this big in years, and I keep thinking I'm going to get out there and just... forget everything. Forget how to sing, forget how to move, forget my own damn name."

My heart squeezed at the very real fear in his voice. I scooted closer. "You? Nervous? But you've played hundreds of shows for thousands of people. You're a pro!"

He chuckled, but it sounded a little forced. "Yeah, well, that was before. Haven't exactly been doing a lotta live performing lately. Feels like I'm starting from scratch."

His knee started bouncing, fingers drumming a restless beat on his thigh. "Truth is, I keep thinkin' I'm gonna get out there and just... blank. Disappoint everyone. Forget all the words, miss all my cues. Make a damn fool of myself in front of everyone." His gaze cut to me, suddenly vulnerable. "In front of you."

Oh. Oh, Elvis.

"Hey," I said softly, daring to lay my hand over his. "You are not going to make a fool of yourself. You know how I know?"

His fingers curled around mine, warm and strong. "How?"

“Because I’ve seen you dance. Even if you forget the words, just do that little hips-swivel thing and no one will care what's coming out of your mouth."

Elvis stared at me for a beat, his brow furrowed, mouth hanging open. Then, like a dam bursting, he threw his head back and guffawed, the sound rich and unrestrained.

"Lordy, woman!" he managed between wheezing breaths, clutching his stomach. "You really are somethin' else, you know that?"

I grinned, inordinately pleased with myself for cracking him up. "I’m serious! Those things are lethal weapons."

He snorted, shaking his head. "You're a mess, girl. An absolute mess." But his eyes were soft, affectionate.

“No, for real. You’ll do great,” I said, giving his knee a squeeze. "The second you step out there and see all those adoring faces, all those people who love you... it's gonna click. You're gonna remember exactly who you are and why you do this."

Elvis stared at me for a long moment, something raw and vulnerable flickering in his eyes. "You really believe that, don't you?" he said quietly. "You really think I've still got it."

"I know you've still got it," I said firmly. "You're going to go out there and give the performance of a lifetime, and I'm going to be right there in the front row, cheering you on."

Elvis's throat worked as he swallowed hard, his eyes suspiciously bright. "What did I ever do to deserve a gal like you in my corner?" he wondered, shaking his head. "I must've been a saint in a past life."

"Well, I don't know about sainthood, but you definitely rocked a mean pair of blue suede shoes," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

It worked. Elvis threw his head back and laughed, the rich, honeyed sound wrapping around me like an embrace.

"Aw, baby, you're just too much!" He grinned at me, wide and boyish and utterly charming. "Stick with me, kid, and I'll show you a thing or two about rocking more than just shoes."

I felt my cheeks heat at the implicit promise in his words. "I'm going to hold you to that, Mr. Presley."

"You better, Miss Pedretti."

Elvis glanced at the clock and sighed, some of the laughter fading from his eyes. "Guess I better start getting into my glad rags. Show's about to start, and I've got a whole lot of hearts to break."

I elbowed him playfully. He stood, hauling me up with him. "Walk me to the stage door?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability creeping back into his voice. "It'd mean a lot to have you there, sending me off."

I wanted to. With every fiber of my being, naturally. But good sense won out. “I don’t think it’s the best idea, Elvis. I’m sure there’ll be photographers and—”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Elvis sighed. “Good looking out.” There was a genuine sadness in his voice.

I squeezed his hand, holding his gaze. "I'll be with you every step of the way," I promised. "In spirit, if not in body."

Elvis lifted my hand to his mouth, grazing my knuckles with a kiss that sent sparks shooting up my arm. "Knowing that's going to make all the difference, honey. You'll be my guiding light out there."

I felt like I could happily drown in those bottomless blue eyes, spend the rest of my days mapping the planes and angles of that impossibly handsome face. Emboldened, I reached up to straighten his collar, letting my fingers linger on the warm, taut skin of his neck. Elvis growled, a low, throaty sound that reverberated through my bones. He tugged me closer, until I could feel the heat of him, smell the spicy, expensive scent of his cologne. "Y’know, I've half a mind to cancel this show and..."

My pulse kicked into overdrive, desire threading through me in hot, urgent pulses. It would be so easy to let him do just that, to surrender myself to the dark promise in his eyes, propriety and common sense be damned...

A sharp knock at the door shattered the charged silence, making me jump like a scared cat. Elvis muttered a curse, his fingers flexing on my hips.

"Thirty minutes to curtain, boss," a voice called through the door.

Elvis blew out a harsh breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "Guess that's my cue," he said ruefully. He leaned in, his lips grazing my ear. "To be continued. You can bet on that."

Then, with one last scorching look, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving me weak-kneed and panting in his wake.

The house lights dimmed and the band struck up a familiar chord, and the audience went nuts. Shrieks and whistles drowned out the opening bars as a lone spotlight pierced the dark.

And there he was.

Elvis swaggered onstage in a black gi-style jumpsuit, his raven hair gleaming under the lights, guitar slung low around his chest. The crowd surged to its feet, but Elvis only had eyes for me. He caught my gaze and grinned, a private, knee-weakening thing that set every nerve ending aflame.

Sweet mercy. Maybe Chick hadn't been exaggerating after all.

The show was a dizzying carousel of hip-swiveling, high energy dancing, and electrifying eye contact. Elvis shimmied and crooned and thrust like his life depended on it, but every so often, he'd throw a smoldering glance my way, those bedroom eyes promising wicked, unspeakable things. The same eyes that looked over every inch of my body in his dressing room.

During "Love Me Tender," he changed one of the lyrics ever so slightly, singing "for my songbird" instead of "for my darling." It was so subtle, I almost thought I'd imagined it. But then he caught my eye and winked, and I nearly combusted on the spot.

I spent the whole show riding a knife's edge of exhilaration and anxiety, every cell in my body attuned to Elvis's sly overtures. He was flirting with me, signaling me, making it clear I was his girl of the moment. And Lord help me, I ate it up like a starving dog.

In the back of my mind, a niggling voice of reason piped up, sounding suspiciously like Deena. "He does this with all the girls, dummy. You aren’t special. He's MARRIED, remember?"

I told the voice to can it. For one night, I just wanted to pretend this was real, that Elvis's heated promises were mine and mine alone. That maybe he really did in fact like my company. Was that so wrong?

By the time Elvis launched into “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” I was thoroughly hot and bothered, my skin humming with anticipation. Elvis took his bows, blowing kisses and reaching out to the sea of grasping hands. My own hands were stinging from clapping so hard, my face aching from grinning like a fool. He'd done it. He'd absolutely slayed. This was it. If he asked me to, I was going to go all the way. I was so keyed up, I barely noticed Joe until he materialized at my elbow, grinning like a fox in the henhouse.

Giddy and practically vibrating out of my skin, I let myself be ushered to Elvis’ suite by a cadre of burly security guards. It was already packed to the gills, a whirlwind of chatter and clinking glasses and backslapping laughter.

I recognized some of the faces from my earlier introduction to Elvis's inner circle—Red and Sonny and all the others from the Memphis Mafia, Colonel Parker looking like the cat who ate the canary, a gaggle of International execs in expensive suits. But there were plenty of new players too—starlets and hangers-on and a surprising number of little old ladies in their Sunday best, clutching Elvis albums to their heaving bosoms.

I felt a moment of panic, a minnow swimming with sharks, but then Jerry caught my eye across the room and waved me over with a wink.

"There she is!" he crowed, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "Didn't our boy knock 'em dead tonight?"

I grinned up at him, letting his easy camaraderie settle my nerves. "He sure did. I've never seen anything like it. I thought that one gal in the front row was gonna faint when he smiled at her."

"Aw, that ain't nothing!" Red chimed in, swiping a flute of champagne off a passing tray. "Back in '56, we had girls dropping like flies every time he so much as moved a finger. Quite a time to be alive, let me tell you!"

We laughed and joked and traded Elvis stories, the boys folding me into their ranks like I'd always been there. It was a heady feeling, being on the inside of something so exclusive, so legendary. Even if it was just for one night.

Speaking of the man himself, Elvis was holding court on the other side of the room, surrounded by a gaggle of suits and coiffed heads. He caught my eye over their shoulders and shot me a wink, his grin electric even from a distance.

I felt that zip of connection like a physical touch, and had to duck my head to hide my flush. Good grief, the man could spark a fire in my belly from clear across a crowded room. I was in trouble.

As if drawn by some invisible thread, I drifted towards him, skirting the edges of his adoring throng. I didn't want to interrupt, but I couldn't quite keep away either.

I was just debating the merits of "accidentally" bumping into him when I felt a gnarled hand clamp onto my wrist. I turned to find myself nose to nose with a diminutive old woman in a pink pillbox hat, her rheumy eyes squinting up at me.

"Priscilla, dear, is that you?" she cooed, her voice warbling with age. "Oh, honey, I just have to tell you how much I admire you! The way you've stood by your man all these years, through thick and thin... it's an inspiration to us all!"

My stomach plummeted. She thought I was Elvis's wife. His very real, very married wife.

"Oh, no, I'm not—" I stammered, my face heating. But she was already barreling on, clutching my hand in her paper-dry grip.

"You know, my Albert and I have been married for 53 years, and I like to think we've weathered our share of storms. But you and Elvis, bless your hearts, you've been through the wringer and back! The army, those awful Hollywood starlets, all those months on the road... it's a wonder you've made it work as well as you have!"

I opened my mouth, desperate to correct her, to distance myself from the comparison. But something in her earnest, careworn face stopped me. Who was I to shatter her illusions? What harm was there in letting her believe, just for a moment, that I was his dutiful wife?

So I simply smiled and patted her hand, murmuring something about the power of commitment. She beamed at me, misty-eyed, and tottered off to accost someone else with her marital wisdom.

I sagged against the wall, feeling vaguely guilty. Borrowing Priscilla's halo, even for a few minutes, left a sour taste in my mouth. What kind of person was I, playacting at being Elvis's devoted wife when the real deal was at home, probably wondering where her husband was and who he was with? And why wasn’t she here on opening night, anyway?

Suddenly, the dressing room felt too hot, too close. I needed air. I needed space. I needed...

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you, Valley cat."

I turned to find Elvis striding towards me, his face alight with post-show elation. His jacket was gone, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his hair damp with sweat. He looked utterly edible.

I pasted on a smile, trying to shake off my guilt like a dog shedding water. This was supposed to be a magical night, remember? My one chance to live like a star, to be Elvis's girl, if only in the shadows.

"Hey," I said, hoping my voice didn't betray my inner turmoil. "If it isn't the man of the hour himself. I'd ask how it feels to kill it, but something tells me you already know."

He laughed, low and throaty, and caught my hand in his. My pulse leapt at the casual intimacy of the gesture. "Careful with the compliments, hon, or my head won't fit through the door. Then where would we be?"

"Oh, I'm not worried," I shot back, finding my footing again. "If your head gets too big, I'll just deflate it with a few choice pinpricks. I'm handy like that."

"A real Jill of all trades, aren't ya?" he drawled, tugging me closer. I stumbled a bit, thrown by his nearness, the play of muscle beneath his shirt as he steadied me with hands on my hips.

His eyes danced with mischief and something hotter, headier. "Stick around long enough and maybe you'll get to show me just how handy you can be."

Oh. Oh my. Was he implying...

Before I could parse his words, he leaned in close, his lips a hairsbreadth from my ear. "The fellas are gonna clear out the stragglers. Why don't you hang back a while, keep me company?"

My pulse thudded heavy in my throat. "O-okay," I murmured, cursing my stammer. "If you're sure I won't be imposing..."

He pulled back just far enough to meet my eyes, something softening in his gaze. "Valerie, trust me. There is nowhere else I'd rather be than right here with you. Okay?"

I nodded shakily, thunderstruck by his sincerity.

The next hour passed in a whirlwind of farewells and a few more furtive winks from Elvis as he played gracious host. The stragglers trickled out in twos and threes, some of the drunker ones being gently but firmly escorted by bulky security guards. Soon, it was just Elvis, the core crew, and me.

I perched on the arm of a velvet sofa, trying to blend into the scenery as the guys swapped tour stories and ribbed each other mercilessly. Elvis, sprawled in an adjacent chair with a tumbler of something amber and expensive, kept sneaking me these scorching sidelong glances that made me feel like I was the only girl in the room. Maybe the only girl in the world.

Eventually, Red gave a jaw-cracking yawn and hoisted himself up off the couch. "Welp, I'm about ready to hit the hay. These old bones ain't what they used to be." He shot Elvis a significant look. "Reckon y'all got things handled in here?"

Elvis's lips twitched, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yeah, man. I think we're good. Y'all head on to bed now. Me and Valerie here will just... clean up a bit."

There was a loaded pause, a crackle of unspoken communication between them. Then, with a chorus of goodnights and a few winks sent my way, the guys filed out.

And then there were two.

Elvis drained his glass and set it aside, unfolding from his chair like a jungle cat waking from a nap. All coiled grace and barely restrained power. I tracked his approach with my heart in my throat, my skin prickling with anticipation.

He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne, the warm musk of his skin beneath the sharper tang of sweat. Close enough to touch.

He held out a hand, eyes molten in the low light. "C'mon, darlin'. Let's go somewhere a little more private, hmm?"

I slid my hand into his, letting him tug me to my feet and into the circle of his arms. I had to tip my head back to meet his gaze, my hands braced on the solid wall of his chest.

"Private sounds perfect," I breathed. "Lead the way."

His grin flashed, sharp and white in the dimness. He laced his fingers through mine and led me through a side door I hadn't even noticed, into a wood-paneled hallway lined with identical doors.

We stopped in front of one. Elvis produced a key from his pocket and unlocked it, gesturing for me to precede him. I stepped inside and stopped short, blinking in the sudden brightness. It was a suite, as lushly appointed as any I'd seen—all plush carpets and gleaming dark wood and what looked suspiciously like a gilded ceiling.

In the center of the room, a table had been set with a crisp white cloth, gleaming silver, a bottle of champagne sweating gently in a gilded ice bucket. Two place settings. Candles.

My heart did a funny little flip. He'd planned this. Planned a private, romantic dinner for two. For us.

I turned to him, stunned. "Elvis, this is... I mean, you didn't have to go to all this trouble..."

He shrugged, looking almost bashful. "It wasn't any trouble. I just thought it'd be nice to have some time, just you and me. No screaming crowds, no prying eyes." His mouth quirked. "Plus, I figured you'd probably be starving after all that excitement. I know I am."

As if on cue, my stomach rumbled loudly. We both looked down at it, then at each other, and promptly burst out laughing.

"Well, I reckon that's my answer!" Elvis wheezed, clutching his side. "C'mon, let's feed that beast before it stages a revolt."

Still snickering, he pulled out my chair with a flourish. I sank into it, expecting him to ring for room service, or maybe a harried-looking assistant to come scurrying out with silver platters.

But no. To my shocked delight, Elvis ducked into the adjoining kitchenette and returned with... a greasy paper sack?

At my raised eyebrow, he grinned. "What, did you think it'd be all caviar and champagne? Nah, that ain't my style."

He upended the sack, sending a cascade of foil-wrapped burgers and fries skittering across the fine china. The commingled scents of grease and salt and ketchup wafted up to me, and my mouth instantly watered.

"I sent Sonny out for these," Elvis said, sliding into the seat across from me. "Knew I'd be craving some post-show grease. And I figured, what's better than sharing a little taste of home with my songbird?"

Songbird. Oh. There were those damned butterflies again.

"You figured right," I managed, plucking up a fry. "There's nothing better than burgers after midnight. Although..." I squinted at the foil peeking out from beneath a sesame bun. "Is that... peanut butter?"

He flashed me a guilty grin. "Ah, you caught me. Peanut butter and bacon. A little trick I picked up in the army. It sounds crazy, but trust me, it's a revelation."

We dug into our burgers, the silence broken only by appreciative moans and the rustling of wrappers. I had to admit, the combination of peanut butter and bacon was strangely appealing. Not that I'd ever tell Elvis that. His ego was healthy enough as it was.

"So," I said, dabbing a bit of ketchup from my chin. "You were in the army?"

Elvis paused mid-bite, his eyes widening slightly. He swallowed, setting his burger down. "You really didn’t know?"

“Well,” I said, chewing carefully. “I, uh. How do I say this? I never really followed you that closely. I mean, of course, I know your music and all. But the details of your life? I didn't want to pry.”

He stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.

"Hey, what’s so funny?”

“You mean to tell me I found the only girl around who doesn’t already know everything about me?”

I felt my cheeks heat. "What do you mean?"

He leaned back in his chair, studying me with a newfound intensity. "I mean, you're the first girl I've met in a long time who hasn't tried to impress me with how much she knows about me. Who hasn't been hanging on my every word, ready to agree with whatever I say just to get in my good graces."

I blinked, taken aback. "Really? That's... that's kind of sad, actually."

"Sad?" He cocked his head, curious. "How so?"

I waved a hand, trying to find the right words. "I just mean... you're a person. A real, flesh and blood man with thoughts and feelings and experiences that go beyond what the magazines print. It's sad that so few people seem to want to get to know that side of you. The real you." I paused, considering whether or not to continue. “It must be really weird meeting new people and feeling like they already know everything about you.”

“Well, what they think they know at least.” His expression softened, something warm and vulnerable stealing into his gaze. "You really mean that, don't you? You actually want to know me. Not Elvis the star, but just... Elvis."

"‘Course I do," I said softly. "You think I’d be eating burgers at 4 am with just anybody I meet? I promise you I am not that kind of girl,” I winked.

As our appetites gave way to pleasant, sleepy fullness, our conversation turned to lighter things—favorite movies (his: The Way of All Flesh, mine: anything historical), craziest fan encounters (had to give it to Elvis on that one, though my tale of a particularly persistent flasher in Boise nearly made him snort soda out of his nose), best practical jokes played on unsuspecting bandmates (we were both particularly proud of our skills with a whoopee cushion).

We grinned at each other, the air between us crackling with something warm and bright. I felt like I could happily drown in those bottomless blue eyes, spend the rest of my days mapping the planes and angles of that impossibly handsome face.

But as the laughter died down and the food dwindled to crumbs, a tension crept into the air between us. An unspoken question, hovering like a ghost at the table.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "Elvis, I... I have to ask. And feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but... what about your wife?"

He stiffened, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought he might shut down, might retreat behind the impenetrable wall of his public persona.

But then he sighed, his shoulders slumping as if under a great weight. "Priscilla and I... it's complicated."

I bit my lip, my stomach knotting. "You still love her?"

A long, heavy beat of silence. Then, softly: "I'll always care for Priscilla. She's been a part of my life for a long time. But love?" He shook his head, his eyes distant. "No. I don't think I do. Not anymore."

My breath caught, hope and trepidation warring in my chest. "What happened?"

He scrubbed a hand over his face, looking suddenly exhausted. "We grew apart. Wanted different things. For a while now, we've been living separate lives, barely even speaking except when necessary. I think we both know it's over. That it has been for a long time."

I reached out, covering his hand with my own. "Elvis, I'm so sorry. That must be incredibly painful."

He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through mine. "It was, at first. But now? Now it just feels... inevitable. Like we were always meant to end up here, no matter how hard we tried to make it work."

As the night wore on and the conversation lulled, I felt my eyelids growing heavy. A glance at the clock told me it was just before six in the morning. Stifling a yawn, I turned to Elvis. "I hate to say it, but I think I should be heading back to my room. It's been an amazing night."

Elvis reached over and took my hand, his eyes searching mine. "Will you come back tomorrow? I feel like we've barely scratched the surface. There's so much more I want to talk to you about."

I smiled, my heart fluttering at the thought of spending more time with him. "I'd love to."

"Great. How about—"

I held up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. "Why don't you call me and invite me? Properly, I mean."

His lip curled in amusement, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Etiquette, huh? Alright, I'll play by your rules. I'll call you tomorrow night, say, around five-thirty? Room 2806, right?"

I nodded, unable to suppress my grin. "I'll be waiting."

"Lamar," Elvis called out. "Would you be so kind as to walk Valerie back to her room?"

With a final squeeze of my hand and a promise to call, Elvis bid me goodnight.

The next day seemed to drag on forever. I couldn't bring myself to leave my room, afraid I might miss his call if I stepped out even for a moment. As five-thirty approached, my nerves were wound tighter than a coiled spring. When the phone finally rang, I took a deep breath before picking up the receiver.

"Hello?" I answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Could I please speak with Valerie?" The unmistakable drawl sent my pulse racing.

I couldn't resist playing coy. "Who is this?"

"Elvis."

"Elvis who?"

There was a beat of silence, followed by a low chuckle. "You're a bonehead."

The playful exchange was just what I needed to ease my nerves. Elvis proceeded to explain the arrangements he'd made—a ticket for the late show and another dinner together afterward. I hung up the phone, my heart soaring with anticipation.

Maybe staying in Vegas a little while longer wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fans #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis x oc #elvis fic #songbird

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jiniret-writings · 9 months

Text

3:33 A.M

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint

Pairing: Leeknow x Reader

Warnings: slight description of horror movie stuff and talk of demons

You knew the horror movie was a bad idea but how could you say no when he looked so excited!

When Minho came home that day, he instantly bounded to you on the couch and flopped on you with no mercy. After a bit of struggle and an offer to make cookies, he rolled off of you and showed you his phone screen. Earlier that day, he posted to the bubble community asking stays to recommend horror movies, and there on his screen was the poster for one of the more recommended movies.

When he asked the question, you thought he'd watch it with Han or one of the other members. You didn't think he'd want to watch with you!

You were about to decline, but the little smile he had made you melt. Due to both of your busy schedules, you barely had any time to yourselves. You couldn't even remember the last time the two of you went on a date! So seeing him home earlier than you thought he would be and so excited about this, you gave in.

While Minho rented the movie, you brought your blankets from the closet and a bunch of pillows to set up a little fort. Cuddling into Minho, you thought it wouldn't be so bad. His warm arms around you made you feel safe. Every jolt was cushioned by his chest, followed by a silent laugh. Together, the movie didn't feel so bad.

Now, however, was a different story. You woke up needing to use the bathroom, but looking at the clock beside your bed made you pause. It was 3:30: right in the middle of the devils hour. Usually you didn't think too deeply about this stuff, but images of being dragged into the dark or pulled under the bed by some dark entity flashed in your mind. Even looking at the bathroom door filled you with fear, afraid that once you opened the door a monster would drag you down the drain.

In all your ruminating, you didn't realize Minho had woken up until he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer. This is nice, you thought until the urge to go came back. Thoughts of holding it until the morning left your mind, unfortunately the monsters stayed.

Turning around, you looked at Minho's tired face, taking in his slow breathes and the way his eyes cracked open slightly.

"Hi," he whispered with a small smile. "Can't sleep?"

"Gotta go to the bathroom" you answered, taking the straight forward approach. He lifted an eyebrow, eyeing the door behind you.

"Then you should probably go," he said, bringing his face closer, kissing your nose lightly before letting you go. When you didn't get up, however, he lifted his head a bit and tilted it to the side.

"Can you come with me?" you asked, looking him in the eye. Cats like eye contact, you thought, holding in the urge to laugh.

Afraid you'll fall in?"

"Afraid I'll be pulled in" you expressed. "Please come with me?"

He waited a bit, looking between you and the door. Finally, he chuckled before sitting up. "Alright baby, I'll protect you from the octopus monster hiding in our pipes."

"Minho!" you whined, but got up as well, thankful for your boyfriend. He might tease you relentlessly when he's more awake, but he'll always be there for any of your requests.

He walked ahead of you, opening the door and turning on the light before doing a full inspection of the bathroom. When he turned to you, he stood straight and saluted. "All clear".

You chuckled, grabbing his arms and pulling him to you to give him a little kiss to his cheek. "My hero," you whispered before going in. You turned to close the door and saw Minho was still inside, looking at you. "I'm okay now," you said reassuringly.

"But what if a monster tries to drag you in? I have to be here to pull you away," he said smirking, sitting on the floor.

"Lee Minho!"

"It's not like it's something I haven't--"

"Nope, you can sit outside the door but not inside you big cat," you said, trying to pull him up. He fought against you before finally relenting and getting up.

"Fiiiine," he whined. When you closed the door (and locked it for good measure) you heard a thump on the other side. Knowing your boyfriend, he slumped his whole weight to the floor.

Shaking your head, you did your business and freshened up--while avoiding looking at the mirror--before opening the door. Immediately, your boyfriend slumped to the ground and looked up at you.

"You didn't get eaten".

"Thankfully," you said, leaning down. Suddenly, he jumped up and picked you up, walking towards the bed. You let out a scream, surprised by the sudden action. "WHY--"

"Sleep time," he said simply, dropping you on the bed and climbing in after you. He gave you no room to say anything or complain because in the next second, your face was against his chest and the lights were all off. Laughing a bit, you leaned up and kissed his jaw, nuzzling into his chest. The sound of his heartbeat was steady under your ear and lulled you to sleep. That night, you didn't dream of monsters, and instead dreamed of giant cats.

I watched a horror movie last night and this popped into my head! As always, I hope you enjoyed reading! I have a masterlist in my drafts and will probably publish it at some point tomorrow! I hope you have a good day, afternoon, and night <3

-Jini

#jiniret writings #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagine #lee know #leeknow x reader #leeknow imagine #leeknow oneshot #leeknow x y/n #leeknow fluff #lee minho imagine #lee minho fluff #lee minho x you #minho fluff #fluff

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hyperfixated-maybe · 5 days

Text

Not what I usually post, but I need people to see this insanely intimate moment I had with two complete strangers at the airport the other day. This was typed out in my notes app on the bus ride from the airport so I’d get every fresh little detail from my memory.

“Sitting on a Lufthansa flight, eight hours from Frankfurt to Boston. We’re a half hour ahead of time, sitting on the runway awaiting an open gate. I hear a clang, and under my seat rolls a metal water bottle. I reach under and pass it back to the kid who dropped it. They wear a soft jean jacket with a shirt underneath reading something along the lines of “I’m really a moth and this is my human costume”.

“Here you go, bud.” I say.

They thank me.

Five, ten minutes later and everybody is getting up to be deplaned. I hear behind me the same kid talking to their mom. “There’s a type of jellyfish that can live forever. If something doesn’t eat it. They go back to an earlier stage of their life…”

I turn back and pull lobsters into the conversation. They tell me they went to an away science camp where they learned about marine biology.

“I’m Moth” they draw out the “th” sound.

I repeat it back: “Moth?? That’s such a cool name dude!”

The mom jumps in. “They named themself that!”

“What’s your name?” Moth asks me.

“Sam. My pronouns are he/him, what are yours?”

“They/them!”

“That’s so cool! I’m trans too!”

The mom again: “They have older siblings, so they’ve had a lot more time to think about these things than most other nine year olds.”

There’s a pause in the conversation here, and I can feel my emotions bending. “You know you’re the luckiest kid ever, right?”

“I am?”

“Mhm..” I’ve started to get shakey now. I look away and bring my arm to my face, trying to control my emotions. The mom looks at me, and waits a moment before saying, “y’know, I give out mom hugs to anyone who needs it.” She opens her arms and I lean into the embrace.

When it’s over I find myself saying “You’re the coolest person I know. I hope you have a great life!” to Moth as I leave. I wave behind me as I get off the plane.

“Me too!”

I wait on the edge of the group as the rest of the cadets trickle off of the plane and condense beside me. I see Moth and their mom walk by, and I catch the mom’s eye. We smile at each other. Moth doesn’t see me.

They came back. To find me. And Moth asks for a hug. (Or, more accurately, if they can hug 𝘮𝘦.)

“Of course!” I bend down. We’re at an awkward height, and I shift to see if I should kneel or remain. By the end I’m kneeling.

We hug more times than I remember. Eight, nine, ten times? I don’t rightfully know. Each hug they get more emotional, and I see tears well up in their brown eyes.

The mother says “sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know they’d start crying like this.” I tell her it’s fine, it’s okay.

Their straight, brown, a bit longer than shoulder length hair is messed up, and the mom is behind them, smoothing it behind their ear. So am I.

“It’s gonna be okay.” The mom says to them.

I tell them that they’re the coolest person I know. We hug, and each time we pull away, we hold each other’s arms, or grasp each others hands.

“Sorry about this. With the jet lag and stuff they start acting like a drunk person!”

Moth laughs through their tears, and I laugh with them.

“Sam’s gotta go with his group now,” the mother says. So I do.

The last time I saw Moth was about a half hour after our first interaction on the plane. I’m walking with my group to get my passport stamped. Moth is alone now, waiting for their mom outside a bathroom. I hug them one last time as I walk by, and file down through the seatbelt barrier maze.

I wave, and Moth smiles back.

And that’s it. That’s my whole story. As much as they’ll ever know of it, at least.”

#how do i even tag this #transgender #trans #nonbinary #transmasc #idk man #i cried writing this #and reading it through before posting #I’ve told about three people up till now #writing #(?) i guess #I’m a mess dude

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prettilyly · 6 months

Text

Little story I wrote.

If you're a minor, not into d/s or cnc this isn't for you. You've been warned.

After a really long day at work I come back home and you're there, waiting for me. You're wearing a light indoors gown with no bra -and no panties either-. When I walk through the door I don't have to say anything, you take my coat and my purse, and remove my shoes for me. I'm still not saying anything when I go sit on the couch, and you can feel that I'm frustrated by my day so you pour me a glass of wine and start massaging my shoulders to help me relax.

I take a large sip of the beverage, almost finishing it all at once, and put my glass down. You're standing behind me massaging me and your hands start moving further down, trying to make their way to my breasts but I just push them away and let out a frustrated sigh. So you change your approach. You get in front of me, down on your knees and massage my feet.

After being in heels all day a foot massage feels good, so I let you do it. You can feel me relaxing a bit and you try to move your hands up this time, first massaging my calves, but still trying to make your way further up.

Your eyes meet mine and you freeze, I'm staring straight at you.

"Stop" I say. "Trust me, you don't wanna do this now".

"Why ?" You inquire, fully knowing what my response is gonna be.

"Because someone messed with me today and my blood is still boiling. After such a day I'm not gonna care to control my anger. I'll take it out on you".

"It's okay, I trust you" you reply with an innocent voice.

"Princess I'm serious " I insist between my clenched teeth. "Don't mess with me right now"

"But that'll help you relax" you protest.

I stare into your seemingly innocent eyes again, my gaze more and more intense, and in spite of the slight stress that's gaining you, you don't back down and keep making eye contact.

God I can't control myself when you're on the ground like that, looking up at me with those eyes.

"Alright", I mutter, my voice rougher and lower than before, "don't say I didn't warn you"

You start getting goosebumps but don't have much time to think about them as I grab your head, make you get back up and harshly flip you, forcing you down on the couch. I smell the perfume on your neck, my favorite, the one I bought you months ago, that you always wear when you want to please me. The sweet sent pushes me further over the edge and I think to myself : "this bitch is gonna drive me crazy"

I grab your hair strongly and pull your head back, enjoying seeing the slight fear in your eyes. Good. I like this look better. Maybe you'll learn not to defy me then.

I sit on top of you and, with your head still firmly held back, start kissing your neck. I'm rough and strong. You can't move away when I hold you like that and are unable to escape the red marks I leave on your neck. This is usually one of my favorite places of your body. The way you do your hair and how much of your neck is exposed can have a big effect on me, so for me to be so careless around it and hurt it is unexpected.

Your apprehension is hightened. Maybe I was right. Maybe today was not the day to mess with me and you should have stopped when I told you to. But you don't have time to stress about that as I'm already pulling back.

My thumb forces your mouth open and you instinctively start sucking on it. A mocking grin appears on my face. "Open it".

You look at me confused and slightly open your mouth. I force it open more. "Tongue". You push your tongue out and look at me. I wait a bit. God I love seeing you like that, helpless under me, fully listening to me. Available for me to use.

"Damn, she was right.", I think to myself, "Using her tonight is exactly what I needed. I gotta be careful not to hurt her too much though, don't wanna damage my pretty toy"

You're still looking at me, your tongue fully out and your mouth open, confused as to what you should do now, when all of a sudden I spit in your mouth. You're confused and a bit shocked as I have never done something so degrading to you. "I told you didn't I? I'm not in the mood to be gentle"

Again, I enjoy seeing the confused look on your face before adding : "swallow".

You reluctantly -but promptly- do it, not eager to find out what I'd do if you opposed any kind of resistance.

I move my hand down your body, firmly grabbing your tits as I reach them, pinching your nipples at the same time. I can feel them so hard for me. I don't stop there and continue moving down your body, reaching under your light gown.

My rough movement and the dark look in my eyes scare you, I can see it on your face. Yet when I reach under you, my fingers meeting your uncovered cunt, it's dripping wet.

"Well well, guess you're not that scared after all". My voice is still rough from the pent up frustration of the day and the feral desires I have towards you, but you can feel a hint of amusement in it.

You're still sitting but I want better access to you, so I move away from you and push you down so you lay on the couch. Your body tenses but I force your legs open and, with no warning, brutally insert three fingers. You gasp and your eyes widen in surprise. I don't give you any time to adjust, instead I finger you so fast you're already letting out loud moans and sighs. You're breathing heavily and you'd come right there and then if I didn't stop, as brutally and unexpectedly as I had started.

You whimper in frustration, still heavily breathing. Your hips move on their own, trying to find pleasure on my fingers but I remove them. You protest but one look from me and you stop.

Your hips are still moving, humping the air as the biggest orgasm you could've had just got taken away from you.

"Strip".

You difficultly get up to remove the tiny bit of clothing still covering your body, and before it even hits the ground I force you on your knees. You know what I want.

You obey diligently and your hands reach under my dress to remove my panties but I stop you. "use your mouth".

You comply and slowly remove my panties with your teeth. As soon as it's done I force your head down on me, and like the good little slut your are you start licking it with envy. You love how I taste.

You start by taking a big lick before focusing on my clit for a while. After that I press your head further down, and you bury your tongue inside of me, moving it to please me, drooling on yourself from your hair being strongly pulled back as I force your head closer, still on your knees.

I ride that edge for a while but stop. I'm in full control and I'm not done with you. You look at me surprised that I didn't just cum in your mouth when one slap hits you. "I told you not to mess with me today didn't I? You just couldn't help it huh? You wanted to be used so bad? You slut need to learn to control yourself." I slap you again, harder.

I throw you back on the couch, knowing you'll bruise from hitting it this hard, but I immediately finger you so hard you forget all about the pain. "Close your eyes. Don't open them before I say so".

Suddenly you're empty. You grunt in frustration and hump the air again, but keep your eyes closed. You hear my footsteps as I walk away, scared I'm gonna leave you here unsatisfied, aimlessly humping what cannot ever appease you.

But to your relief I come back. This relief is short lived cause you feel the tip of something being inserted in you, something so big it stretches you out and makes you whine from the pain "it's..." you try, "it's too big. P-please, it won't fit".

I let out a sadistic laugh, "of course it will, you're gonna take it well for me, won't you". My tone doesn't have the slightest bit of interrogation. This is not a question.

You shiver from the fear and the pain but I don't give you any time to think as I push it fully in. You scream from the overwhelming feeling inside your cunt. This is definitely the biggest toy you've ever had to take.

I'm gracious enough to let you adjust to it for a few seconds - I wouldn't wanna break my toy before I'm done using it -. After a very short amount of time, I start moving it, thrusting it in and out of you. I make it go so deep a tear rolls down your face. I notice it and go faster.

Your scream of pain quickly gets mixed with screams of pleasure and in no time you're right back on that edge, but the words I pronounce hit you harder than any slap ever could - "don't cum".

Before you can protest, I add a vibrator on your clit and sense your fear as the overstimulation brings you even closer.

"I- I can't.... I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." you let out a deep moan.

"God look at you, such a mess for me. You can't even finish a sentence".

I keep going as hard, not giving you any time to breathe or pull yourself together. You're still screaming and trying to move away but I hold you firmly. "keep going, be a good whore and keep taking it". This is too much for you.

"P-please... Oh fuck, please !"

"Please what? Tell me what you want baby"

"Please let me cum for you !"

"Sure, you can cum-" you don't even wait for the end and with a scream, you let the biggest orgasm you've ever had take over your body. Your eyes roll back and your hips keep moving on their on as your cunt clenches on the toy inside you, the vibrator still stimulating your clit. Several waves of this never ending orgasm wash over you, and when you're done you're laying on the couch shaking, still trying to catch your breath.

I wait for you to calm down, removing the vibrator but not the toy.

"Oh that's a shame" I say, "you messed up".

You open your eyes and try to look at me, your sight kind of blurred from what you just went through. "H-how?"

"Well for starters you opened your eyes before I allowed you to".

Fuck, you forgot about that. When that orgasm hit you couldn't help but let your eyes open wide, and right then you had just done it again.

"I- I'm sorry" you articulate, still panting from the orgasm.

"Oh you have more to be sorry for. You didn't let me finish. I was about to say you could cum in a minute but you came right away".

You stop breathing for a second. I set you up. I knew you couldn't hold it and I phrased my reply for you to hear you were allowed to cum before anything else. Of course you didn't wait. But you know what happens when you cum unallowed, even when I purposely set you up for failure.

"Guess we have a long night ahead of us" I say amused, while staring at your terrified eyes.

I couldn't possibly make you go through anything more after that, you think. Yet I don't wait and put you across my lap to spank you hard. You count each spank and thank me for it. I start from the top everytime you mess up and take too long to count or to thank me, until your ass is bright red and tears flood your cheeks.

"I'm doing this for you baby, you know that right? I have to train you"

I keep overstimulating you all night, using all kinds of toys, putting some up your ass when you've cum so much you need more stimulation to come again. I keep this up until you pass out from the exhaustion.

"Mmmm that's too bad", I say to myself, "I didn't cum yet." Everything I put you through, your moans, your screams and your tears have left me so soaked and turned on that I just have to cum tonight, even if you're not awake for it.

"Such a shame, you should see what your pretty body does to me" I whisper. Your eyes flutter and you vaguely see me on top of you. You feel my clit grinding on yours, my warmth against your worn out cunt and although you stopped cumming hours ago, only able to whimper and shake due to the overstimulation, you cum one last time, right before me. You're half conscious but you feel me gently kissing you and hold you close "I'm proud of you baby". You fall asleep like that, knowing that tomorrow your whole body will ache, and you'll need strength to get through the day.

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fanfictilltheend · 1 year

Text

You should see me in a crown - Chapter 4 (Y/N Grimes/Negan Smith)

AO3 LINK

Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

Masterlist

A/n: Hi, this is my second story ever and I wrote it like 5 years ago but was too scared to post it lol so if you could give any feedback that would be much appreciated! I have more chapters to this so if you want ‘em ya gotta let me know! Y/N is like 20 in this and Negan is whatever age he is in season 7 so if that’s too much of an age gap please turn back!

Warnings: 18+ smut dn interact if not 18+ afab!you, daddy kink, kissing, age difference, abusive!Rick Grimes, protective Negan, sexual touching, domestic violence mention (not caused by Negan), fat shaming of Fat Joey

Summary: Y/N and Negan settle into Negan's bed. Confessions are made and they end the night together.

When we arrive at the sanctuary, Negan takes me straight to the doctor. He asks for something while I wait outside the closed door of the makeshift clinic. I’m still kind of dazed that this is actually happening —that I’m willingly back at the Sanctuary when only a few days ago I would have been lucky to make it out with my life.

He emerges and flashes me a grin, holding a bottle that looks like maybe it’s a type of lotion and then he leads me to his bedroom. I trail behind him curiously.

“We missed dinner,” he grumbles when we enter, dropping Lucille on his bed. He steps back and looks me over, taking off his leather jacket to reveal his tight white t-shirt. God, he looks good. I feel my neck go hot. I want to feel him so badly. “Aren’t you just a time-consuming endeavor?” he smirks. “Hey, you hungry, Y/N?” He asks as he looks me over from head to toe. “Shit, I mean, when was the last time you even ate, kid?”

“Gee, I dunno, Mr.Give-me-half-I-mean-all-of-your-fucking-food-and-shit.” I tease, thinking it over, trying not to stare at him too much. “This morning maybe...Yeah, I had a piece of toast for breakfast, I think. I’m okay though.”

I force a smile.

He surprises me by reaching out and lifting up one of my arms by the wrist so he can really get a good look at me.

“Okay?” He snaps, cocking his head.“Y/N, you’re way too fucking skinny! Don’t lie to me. You gotta eat.” He insists like I’m a naive kid or something. “You must be starving. You’re practically a motherfucking beanpole for Christ's sake.”

“Am not!” I insist back, trying to pull my arm away from how he’s still holding it up in the air. I can take care of myself, thank you very much. “Maybe you should lay off of Alexandria then if you’re so worried about my health.” I challenge, raising an eyebrow. “We’re practically starving, asshole.”

I figure it’s his turn to roll his eyes, but instead, he tightens his grip around my wrist and pushes me back against the wall roughly with very little effort. I stumble backward.

“Oh, is that what you fucking call me?” He growls down at me cockily and licks his bottom lip, taking a step closer.

And shit, I like that.

“Hmmm,” he teases. “That’s just too fucking bad...Thought you had a different name for me…”

He grins wide like a shark at the look on my face like he fucking knows it, and just for the hell of it, takes my other smaller hand in his own and crosses my wrists above my head, pinning them and holding me down with the weight of his body. He stares at me in a way that makes my legs weak and I gasp softly. I’m vaguely aware that he’s literally so much stronger than me he could snap my neck in half like a twig if he wanted to. He leans a little closer to me, as I struggle half-heartedly, and puts his lips to my ear.

“Nah, you’ll take what I goddamn give you, you little fucking tease,” he breathes, his voice deadly and low. I shiver, my pussy throbbing. He groans softly at the sound I make. “Your skinny little ass doesn’t get to tell me what to do.”

“ Shit ,” I whimper frantically at how he’s touching me, trying to squirm away, exposing my neck to him. The way he sounds makes me so hot. I feel warm and damp between my legs.

He gives me an even cockier amused look and lets me wriggle out of his grasp for about a half a second. And then, just when I think I’m free, he slams my hands back down, this time with only one of his own. He grins. I whimper softly in pain and fear and frustration. I can’t help it. He looks like he’s gonna fucking eat me.

My heart pounds.

“In case you haven’t fucking noticed, I’m the boss around here, babydoll,” he tells me against my throat. I can feel the ghost of his lips smiling against me, sounding very satisfied, his hard-on pressing against me.

I whine in eager surprise as he trails his free hand down the length of my stomach. It tickles and I try not to squirm into the traces of his touch needily as we wrestle.

“Admit it,” he insists, his voice smooth as silk, knowing he owns me right now. He rubs lower, making me buck up against him ever so slightly and let out another desperate whimpering sound. “You fucking love this, don’t you? Or call uncle. Or Daddy.” He smirks. “Your choice, princess...God, you make such pretty noises for me. I goddamn love getting you worked up like this. Gets me so fucking hard, baby girl...”

His voice is straight baritone as his fingers trail even lower, making my stomach flutter. His lips are pressing against my neck, his teeth threatening to bite down, his breath hot. I can feel something big and half-hard poking into my waist. I’m so wet and he hasn’t even really touched me yet! But I can’t let him win this easily — even though every part of my body is telling me to surrender. He’s been holding out on me all day so I figure he should get a taste of his own medicine. I don’t have any free hands, but I do have my feet. So I kick off one of my boots and push my foot up to his cock teasingly. He lets out a soft, surprised, vulnerable moan against me that makes my pussy clench and my heart pound. Jesus.

“How about you call uncle,” I propose, my breath heavy. “Or I’ll kick you in the fucking baby-maker.”

Negan looks down at how I have him stuck and bursts out laughing which starts from a deep rumble in his chest.

“Shit! Well, they can’t say you’re not resourceful,” he smirks, impressed. “You got me by the motherfucking balls, honey. Literally. But you know fucking what? I think I can arrange a compromise.”

And suddenly, he’s smiling like the devil and lifting me up by the underarms in a blur of his muscular limbs and body and throwing me backward onto the bed. I cry out in pleasant surprise as I’m hurled through the air and land on the soft mattress. Shit, he’s strong...

“Asshole!” I grin, looking up at him, not having expected that, propping myself up with my elbows.

"That’s not what you’re going to be calling me when I have my way with you, little lady.” He smiles, pulling off his black leather belt, which makes me very wet and I kick off my other boot in anticipation, as he moves Lucille out of the way and parts my legs.

Negan leans over on the bed and straddles me, a knee trapping each of my sides, and he’s so much bigger and stronger than I am it would be almost scary if I wasn’t so fucking worked up. The bed dips with his added weight. He wastes no time and bends down, going right for my neck and he starts sucking and biting kisses onto my sensitive skin like he’s hungry for me, holding on lightly to the bottom of my throat like a threat. I can’t help but start whimpering a little. My neck is like my weak spot or something and his mouth and teeth and fingers feel so good against my throat I shiver. Instinctively, I reach up and latch my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he growls softly as I feel his hardening cock brushing up against my belly. His warm body moves against mine in a rhythm that has me quaking and moaning.

He reaches to pull off my shirt so I’m just in my bra and I try to help him pull off his white undershirt, but Negan won’t let me and slaps my hand away.

“How do you ask me?” he snarls, pinning me down just below my shoulders as I try to help him, but he doesn’t accept my assistance and forces me down flat onto the mattress.

“Please, Daddy,” I try breathlessly, struggling against him, so wet, grinding my front against his knee that’s holding me down, my eyes big. His dick feels rock solid and twitches. Fuck, that’s hot. The friction feels so good.

“ Fuck,” he whispers hungrily, licking his lips, but he regains his composure. “Nice try, but wrong .” He growls, pushing me down harder, throwing his shirt to the side, his eyes smiling and hungry. “Not when you fucking threaten me, you little goddamn harlot. You earn ‘Daddy.’ For now, you call me ‘sir.’ Is that understood?”

I whimper and nod as his hand slips beneath my pants, way too eager to submit to him.

“Is that understood, Y/N ?”

“Yes, sir.” I whine.

“Good,” he sneers in his deep voice. “Shit, you really fucking like that, don’t you?” He grins, my wetness coating his fingers as he strokes me.

I breathe in deeply and I’m about to reply that ‘yes sir I fucking do’ when suddenly, there’s a knock at the door.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Negan snaps in annoyance, breaking away from me and I whine softly in disappointment. I want him to fuck me so bad. I wanna kiss him again too. “No fucking way. Now what!? Who the fuck is there!?” He shouts toward the hall, making a move for the door, reaching down to adjust himself, and sucking his fingers that are still wet from me. He sighs in a very satisfied manner, and I’m sure I’m even wetter than before. He smiles at my big-eyed expression, my own mouth open in awe, and pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a small pop. That turns me on so much I can only just stare at him. He smirks proudly, winks, and turns to the door. “This had better be good!” he shouts to whoever is outside.

I pull up the covers to my chest, suddenly remembering my nakedness.

“Sorry, boss,” says a nervous, muffled voice from behind the door, redirecting my thoughts. “I just h-have dinner for you and the girl. Dwight said—“

Negan heaves open the door and Fat Joey is standing in the doorway looking pretty terrified, holding a tray of food. Joey is a big guy, yeah, but Negan is pretty tall too and can be terrifying as all hell when he wants to be even if he’s not wearing a shirt. Maybe especially because he’s not wearing a shirt...He’s panting a little and his muscles are flexing as he breathes. Goddamn.

“Ah! Thank you, Fat Joseph,” Negan grins turning to wink at me, his voice a little raspy, his hair sort of pushed floppily to the side. My eyes get stuck on the dusting of dark hair across the planes of his chest and his badass tattoos. Fuck, he looks good. He grabs the tray from Joey’s large hands. “Don’t mind if I fucking do. You know, you sure as hell do have a gift with fucking timing, don’t you, buddy?” he begins intimidatingly, giving him a look up and down and Fat Joey nods a little stupidly, clearly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Negan leans in toward Joey like he’s gonna tell him a secret. “I mean, I got my girl here, lying down right where I want her and then you come along and spoil all the fun. Now, I know it’s not easy for you to get laid with all this, ” Negan says motioning to Joey’s body. “But Christ, man, that doesn’t mean you have to keep other people from getting laid too. I mean, shit, at this rate I’m gonna have to set you up with fuckin’ Lucille!” He smirks sinisterly like a threat.

Joey is pale as a sheet, but Negan just cracks up, and punches Joey in the shoulder making him flinch.

“Relax, man. Lighten up!” Negan snorts, turning in a lean to give me an exasperated look. “Jesus. I’m just fucking with ya.” Fat Joey forces a weak smile. “Now scram,” Negan says more forcefully.

And with a stammered,

“Y-yes, sir,” Joey high-tails it out as quickly as possible without needing to be told twice.

Negan chuckles pleasantly as he shuts the door, rolling his eyes.

“Dumbass.” He mumbles, shaking his head fondly. “But a loyal dumbass. Oh, shit! Pork chops and mashed potatoes.” He grins, as he looks down to examine the tray. “You like that stuff, baby?”

“Who cares?” I whine a little needily although my stomach growls. “That was mean to scare him anyways. You shoulda just told him to go away. Now, how about you come back over here and fucking finish what you started...”

Negan smiles, his eyebrows going up.

"Needy little thing,” he smirks in approval, licking his lips. “Mean? Trust me when I fucking tell you you ain’t seen nothing yet. And I’m flattered, kid, truly I am that you want me so fucking bad, and you know I get all hot and bothered when you get all assertive like that, it’s goddamn adorable, but you gotta fucking eat first.”

“C-can’t we eat later?” I try a little desperately, still wet between my thighs. “I just want you is all.” But Negan smiles down at me and shakes his head like a pissed-off dad (believe me I know the look), and sets the tray down on the coffee table. “I’m not cute.” I grumble defeatedly. “I’m a badass.”

“It’ll get cold ,” he insists, his eyes narrowing. But then he chuckles. “And you are so fucking cute and a badass. The cutest fucking badass. With a great ass! But don’t make me fucking count. I don’t waste food around here no matter how fucking delicious you end up tasting. And plus, who the fuck am I gonna mess around with if you go wasting away on me? I can count your ribs, baby. Get your fucking priorities straight, will ya?”

He looks down at my bare chest, actually sounding a little concerned.

“I can count your ribs too,” I insist a little petulantly myself, crossing my arms over my chest. “Everyone has twelve on each side. Duh.” But I do like knowing he cares and that he thinks I’m cute so I smile a little.

“Oh really, you little brat?” He smirks a little distractedly, his eyes hovering over my tits. He wets and bites his bottom lip. “And who taught you that?”

I think back.

“A guy named Herschel,” I shrug, getting a little sad. Negan looks up at me curiously and comes to sit next to me. “He was this old dude. The...the widow’s Dad,” I say to clarify.

Negan nods fixedly, not exactly looking me in the eyes. He bites his bottom lip.

“He was a doctor and all,” I continue quietly, letting myself get lost in the memory. “He...he saved Carl when he got shot by accident when Carl was barely twelve. We all thought he was a goner. My dad picked him up off the forest floor and ran damn near a mile to find someone to help. Probably saved his life... ” I trail off. “And that’s how we met the Widow and her family.”

“ Shit . That how Carl lost his eye?” Negan asks quietly, intrigued.

“Nope,” I answer. “If you can believe it. He got away with just a scar from that one. Everyone thought he was dead, but Herschel saved him. Stitched him up real good. That’s when my dad gave him that hat though and he’s worn that every day since,” I try to say as casually as possible like it doesn’t bother me.

“Kid’s a certified badass,” Negan nods, grinning a little, squeezing my arm. “I’ve always said so.”

“I got shot once too, you know,” I tell him quickly, suddenly feeling kind of jealous and a little inadequate. I puff out my chest a little. “On my forearm. See?”

“No shit?” Negan asks in amusement, sounding impressed as I move to show him, his eyebrows going up on his forehead as I show him the circular scar on my left arm.

“That’s fucking gnarly!” Negan says enthusiastically. “That’s cool as shit! Knew I couldn’t be the only one to leave a permanent mark on you.” He says like he’s almost proud of me or something. “Can I touch it?” he asks excitedly, his eyes getting wide.

“Knock yourself out,” I snort as he reaches out to poke the uneven skin interestedly. He looks like an excited little kid. “I used to be ashamed of it, but now I think it’s cool. I’m lucky though. Rick almost made me amputate my whole goddamn arm. Glad I fought with him on that one…” I trail off.

I’m pretty good at killing the mood, I know. I’d almost forgotten about that fight with Rick though...Negan looks concerned now.

“Your dad wanted to chop off your arm?” he asks, sounding genuinely shocked. “Damn. Was it infected or some shit?”

“No,” I shrug. “We were gonna be attacked again any day and I think he thought it would save time to just cut it all off instead of operating haphazardly on my arm back at this prison we were hauled up in at the time. All the other grown-ups were fighting with him about it, saying it was a bad call, and Herschel, who was a doctor, told him that was a stupid idea. But he was pretty out of it. My mom had just died and Judith was just born and he was pissed off as all hell. Especially at me. Luckily, people backed me up and I got operated on and not amputated. I was awake when they did it too and all, but I guess I’d take that over being minus one arm.”

“Shiiit. That’s fucked up, baby girl,” Negan says quietly, his brow furrowed. I think I see anger flash across his features and he looks concerned as he strokes some fingers over my arm distractedly in reassurance. “No wonder you fuckin’ freaked when I threatened to cut off Carl’s…” he mumbles, thinking back.

I lean against him and realize he’s probably right.

“You’re a good big sister,” he tells me, looking me straight in the eye. “Standing up for him like that.”

“Thanks…” I say hesitantly because I’m not sure I agree.

For a minute, it’s quiet between us.

“You really fucking hate him, huh?” Negan asks into the silence. “Rick, I mean?”

“Yeah.” I nod because it’s true.

I don’t even have to think about the answer. Somehow, I feel safer with Negan —fucking Negan — than I do in my own home. And if that’s not fucked up, I don’t know what is. But I still love Rick in some weird, detached, scraping-against-the-inside-of-the-bottom-of-your-stomach kind of way. He is family after all and we’ve been through so much together.

"I understand. I hated my old man too, the prick,” Negan admits, frowning. “That may or may not be why I have a soft spot for badass kids with shitty fathers.” He nudges me with his elbow. “I’ll kill Rick for ya some day if you want,” he nods thoughtfully, elbowing me gently in the ribs. I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Just say the fucking word and I’m on it. That would be the punishment for Rick’s dick behavior if he lived here.”

“He’s my dad,” I snort, turning to stare at Negan incredulously. “Who says I want him dead? And he doesn’t live here.”

“Fine, fine. In a cell, then,” he proposes, waving his hand dismissively like that’s just a minor setback.

“Whatever,” I shrug. “As long as he’s away from me. And for the record,” I tell him, looking up into his light brown eyes, holding onto his hairy forearm so he knows I mean business. “He’s my dad.”

“Yeah, so?” Negan asks curiously, snorting a little in amusement.

“ So,” I continue. “ I would be the one to kill him. Not you. Duh.”

Negan cracks a toothy grin and throws back his head and laughs.

“Of course. I shoulda fucking known. Obviously, ” he snickers. “You are too fucking funny, kid. You little goddamn serial killer.”

I smile.

“What...what did your dad do?” I ask gently, suddenly fascinated.

“Oh, he was a no good, bastard drunk,” Negan grumbles, his jaw clenching, getting quieter. He takes back his hand and his body gets more still. “Knocked around my mom and I. Talk about a fucking low-life son of a bitch with no balls — beating up a lady and a kid. I fucking wish I killed him. Dumbass fucking coward drank himself to death so I never got the fucking chance...” he trails off.

“I’m sorry.” I tell him, snuggling closer to him, breathing in his scent. “I’d kill him with you if he were still around.”

“Sorry, kid,” Negan smirks a little bitterly. “But that is a job reserved for me and my lady Lucille. But hey, let’s eat.” He finally says as my stomach growls, cracking a small grin. “Here. No one's gonna fucking try to cut off any appendages while you're here with me.” He smirks. “Not tonight. I fucking promise.”

***

About an hour later, we’ve both finished eating and the empty plates are stacked on the nightstand. I’m enjoying the movie, but what I’m enjoying more is how fucking safe I feel here with Negan...and a proper meal in my belly.

At home in Alexandria, I never really feel safe. Of course there’s always the looming threat of walkers, but it’s more than that when I’m there. It’s more about my dad being around that always occupies my mind. I’m always waiting for the next landmine to blow and for him to snap on me. Or worrying about Judith and Carl. It feels nice to just chill here, lying against Negan’s broad chest, feeling the rising and falling of his steady breathing. And just doing something as simple as watching a movie. I don’t feel scared at all. How fucking nice and completely absurd.

Suddenly, Negan shifts his position ever so slightly to wrap his big arm around me and hold me closer, but in doing so, he shifts some weight against my stomach where a purple bruise has formed. It catches me off guard so I hiss softly in pain.

“What’s the matter?” Negan stammers softly in alarm, rubbing one of his eyes. “Did I hurt you, angel?”

Angel . What a fucking sap. He’ll kill me if he keeps talking to me like that. My heart can hardly take it.

“No, no, you didn’t do anything. I’m just sore is all. I just have a bruise. It’s fine.” I grimace and shift my weight to a more comfortable position, trying to reassure him and snuggle myself against him a little more, hoping he doesn’t move away.

“I got you this if you want it,” he says, grabbing the mysterious bottle from the doctor off the nightstand. “It’s for bruises and shit. To make ‘em hurt less and heal quicker…” He trails off, opening the bottle. He squirts some of the cream into his big hand and begins rubbing it and applying it to my arm where Rick grabbed me. “Figured you might need it…”

“Oh,” I say quietly, genuinely surprised, looking up at him. “Oh, shit. Thanks, Negan.”

“Don’t fucking mention it, kid. I don’t like seeing you all...raw and sore like that,” he says quietly, shrugging, not quite making eye contact with me, anger flashing across his features, his jaw clenching, but he calms it away. “Tell me to fuck off if I’m going too hard, alright?”

I nod. But he’s not at all. He’s being so fucking gentle. His hands feel so good moving against my skin. It’s like the exact opposite of how the bruise got there in the first place and how I’ve seen Negan bash people’s brains in...Something about that makes my skin tingle. He moves to my stomach.

“If I’m ever going too hard,” he tells me quietly, massaging my tummy. “In anything we’re doing, you’d fucking tell me wouldn’t you, sweetheart? You know I’d never fucking try to hurt you in a way you didn’t want...”

“Yeah, of fucking course,” I tell him in a lazy kind of awe at how good he feels touching me. “I believe you. Negan,” I say after a moment, sitting up a little. “But you know I’m not a pussy, right?”

Negan snorts and bursts out laughing, eyeing me like I am too funny.

“Do you really think I think that about you?” he snickers, looking genuinely surprised and curious. “Why? Cause you’re letting me put lotion on you? ‘Cause I asked you if you were okay? Cause we had a little goddamn heart-to-heart?”

I shrug. I guess I’m just used to constantly having to prove myself to get taken seriously and, to be fair, Negan does seem like the kinda guy who would make fun of doing lovey-dovey things like we’re doing now.

“Shit, if it makes anyone seem like a pussy it’s probably me,” he chuckles, shaking his head a little. “Don’t you know that? I put this shit on too sometimes, you know...Here, help me.” He says, his eyes lighting up like he’s gotten a good idea. “Put some on my back. I got hit with a two-by-four the other day, the fucking prick. There. That make you feel any better?”

I shrug again and nod a little and he smiles. I take the lotion from him and squirt some on my hands. It smells like vanilla. He’s being so nice and gentle with me I don’t wanna ruin it, so I start rubbing it into a brown bruise on the left side of his back. He leans against me and breathes out deep and slow.

“Ahhh. That’s it, baby,” He tells me, relaxing. “Shit, right there! How did ya get so good at this? You could have been a goddamn massage therapist!”

“Shut up,” I snort.

***

Another hour goes by and I feel myself nodding off in the crook of Negan’s arm against his warm body as the glare from the TV bathes us in flickering light. I don’t mean to fall asleep, it just happens. It feels so nice to be comfortable and cozy and full...I think I feel someone kiss the top of my head and stroke my hair gingerly, but I can’t be sure...if it’s really happening though, it feels so goddamn nice...

***

The next thing I know I hear the T.V. click off and Negan come and sit back against me and shift us both into a lying down position. I can feel his dick getting hard against the curve of my ass so instinctively I roll over and reach down to stroke it over the fabric of his boxers enthusiastically, yawning sleepily. He groans against my ear, but then he shifts his body into my palm and realizes what I’m doing and he moves my hand away.

“Nah, go to sleep, kid,” he says softly, fondly in his deep, gravelly voice, rough from sleepiness. I can hear the smile in his words that makes butterflies flutter in my stomach. “‘M tired as hell. Go back to bed. Go on…”

“But I wanna make you feel good,” I mumble sleepily, rubbing my eyes. “Wanna see your cock, Daddy,” I whisper.

" Shit ,” He breathes, sounding more awake. I can feel him get harder against me. “Somebody’s eager. And that’s sweet. I appreciate it, darlin’, I do, but tomorrow,” he decides. He shakes his head and chuckles. “God aren’t you a freak? Trust me when I tell you you’ll wanna see what I’m packing in the light of day.”

“Please, Daddy?” I ask softly, barely able to keep my eyes open, moving my body against him ever so slightly, folding myself further into his grasp. I don’t doubt him, but his cock feels good pressed up against me. He feels so big and warm. “Want you.”

“ Fuck ,” he curses softly, his fat dick prodding my ass now fully and I can tell it’s taking some self-control to keep on resisting. “N-No. Not tonight, baby. Don’t be a fucking brat. We gotta get some shut-eye. You’re practically dead.” I can hear him trying to reason with himself, yawning. “I got a goddamn empire to run in the morning. You’re not that special” he smirks.

“O-Oh, okay. It’s just… I want you is all,” I repeat pathetically, basically back asleep, turning to bury my face in his chest. For a little while it’s quiet as he strokes my hair. “You’re so hot…” I mumble.

He snorts.

“You make me feel safe…”

Just as I start to lose consciousness I hear him say in a sleepy voice:

“Want you too, Y/N...” he says so quietly I almost miss it. He chuckles softly. “But we have all the time in the world, kiddo. Want you to be awake ‘n all…” He pauses and shakes his head. He yawns again. “You need some fucking rest. Want me ? You already have me. Wrapped. Don’t you get it, you little shit?” He murmurs fondly into my hair.

“A’right,” I give in, exhaustedly, fading, reaching for his muscular arm that’s already cradled around me with how he’s holding me —even though I’m not sure I do get it. He grins; I feel it against my forehead. So I snuggle in closer, tighter, feeling so fucking safe and protected I hardly care. “O-okay, asshole. Good night, Negan.”

A/n: Feedback please or just leave a kudos if you enjoyed!!!!!! Chapter 5 will be coming soon but I have to finish writing it and know that people actually want me to post it.

Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

Masterlist

#negan x you #negan #my fic #negan smith #negan smut #negan x reader #negan x oc #negan smith x you #negan/you #negan/reader #negan fanfiction #negan fanfic #the walking dead #twd #rick grimes #domestic violence mention #fat joey #fanfiction #ao3

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mysteryshoptls · 1 year

Text

SSR Ruggie Bucchi Bloom Birthday Personal Story: Part 1

"Happy Birthday"

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

[Savanaclaw Dorm – Birthday Party Venue]

Ruggie: Today's my birthday～♪ Gotta finish this interview up fast so I can get started on that feast.

Ruggie: I wonder who got picked to be my Presenter. It'd be great if it's someone who'll really let me be the center of attention.

???: Well, of course, allow me to give you my most sincere congratulations. Happy Birthday, Monsieur Dandelion.

Rook: I promise that I will do my utmost to make sure this is the most spectacular day for you, Ruggie-kun.

Ruggie: ACK!!!

Ruggie: S-So, Rook-san is… my presenter… No, no, no, no, it's fine, you don't hafta go all out!!!

Rook: No need to hold back on my account. I am also wanting this to be a thorough and perfect interview.

Ruggie: …I feel like this is gonna suck if I let it drag on. Okay, then please get on with the interview!

Rook: Oui! I shall begin with this question.

Rook: “Are you good or bad at flying?”

Ruggie: Flight, hm… With my meager magical sills, I can't really keep goin' for too long, but I do like flyin'.

Ruggie: If we're talking 'bout my grades, though, guess I'm somewhere in the middle.

Rook: You've got a good sense of balance. You also have the physical ability to hang upside down from a broom.

Rook: And yet you claim that your flight class grades are only middling…? Does that mean you seem to lack some sort of basic knowledge?

Ruggie: That's it in one. There's a huge difference in my scores between the stuff I can do and the stuff I can't do…

Ruggie: I'm pretty good at dodgin' while flyin'. Whenever we play tag on brooms in class, I'm usually one of the last ones left, too.

Ruggie: Prolly all that runnin' from all those scaaaary adults back in the narrow alleyways back home really helped.

Ruggie: But like, if it's a task where I gotta fly on a straight white line, or maintain the same speed all the way to a goal, or somethin' like that…

Ruggie: I have a hard time when I'm told to do all the proper flyin' like all the pampered little boys can do.

Rook: If I recall correctly, you've earned the nickname "Disc Thief," have you not?

Rook: I heard it came to be after a live commentator called you so during a television broadcast of a magical shift tournament.

Ruggie: Rook-san, you sure know a lot… Don't know if I like that…

Rook: I've heard much about your efforts from Epel-kun.

Ruggie: Oh, I see, from Epel. 'S kinda weird to think y'all talk about me in Pomefiore, though.

Ruggie: I mean, praise won't fill my belly, but… I guess it's not a bad feeling.

Rook: So, then, perhaps one could say the whole reason you are able to be such a useful player on prominent Night Raven College Magical Shift team...

Rook: Is all thanks to your ability to fly down lanes that no one would expect to see someone dash down, and your sharp eyesight that can search for any opening?

Ruggie: Wait, you tryin' to analyze me now? Maan, that's not cool, not durin' my birthday interview.

Rook: Please don't misunderstand me, Ruggie-kun. I simply wish to unravel the mystery of your strength.

Rook: However, I cannot say that I am not tantalized by your abilities. What say you, would you like to play tag with me sometime?

Ruggie: Uhhhhh… Hey, you got a ton more questions, right? C'mon, get to the next one already!!

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

Requested by @shockzahato.

#twisted wonderland #twst #ruggie bucchi #rook hunt #twst ruggie #twst rook #twst translation #twst birtday #mention: epel

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alfredosauce50 · 2 years

Note

Dropping by here just to say that I really adore your writing!! I especially loved Who's The Bad Guy and your general headcanons for 1P America. Speaking of which, if requests are open, can we get NSFW HCs for Alfred? Thank you so so much in advance!!! 💖💖

Thank you! That story is definitely a fan favorite, even if it’s my oldest work. It feels like it’s in the past for me (affectionately and nostalgically) but not for the people reading it <3 Requests aren’t open, and probably won’t be for a while. I’ve piled up on my own stories that I really want to finish, so they gotta be put on the back burner. But, as we all know, Alfred, Allen, and Mathias are getting their own series because they’re the golden boys of this blog. And I usually make exceptions for them, especially for essentials 😼

Content warning: Heavy sexual themes. R18+ only.

NSFW America headcanons

With Alfred, everything comes down to the mood. He’s not always thinking about getting it on, but given the right time and place, his mind will wander. When that happens, anything can turn him on. Was it something you said? Or something you did? Whatever it was, he’ll be dying to blow off some steam, and he won’t hesitate to let you know.

His libido is more balanced than his 2p counterpart. But Alfred is, by far, the bigger pervert out of the pair. If you’re relaxed around him or walk around without being decent, he will sneak a peek. If you aren’t looking, he will stare. He can keep a straight face even when he’s stripping you in his mind and thinking about putting something between your legs. If you ask him what he’s doing, he will walk over and say, “waiting for you. What are you doing?”

Yes, he wears glasses. No, his eyesight isn’t as bad as you think it is. That makes it easier to hide where he’s looking, but by the slim chance you do catch him, he won’t lie about it. Not that he’d admit it either. If you call him out, he’ll just go,“maybe.”

Alfred is unpredictable. He can go from an excitable puppy to serious in seconds. After spending a day together, humoring his whims and doing what he asks, he won’t want you to leave. If you do so little as smile at him, or better yet, tug his arm for him to walk you to the door, you aren’t going anywhere. He will grab your wrist and ask, “do you really wanna go home?”

He’s a force to be reckoned with when he’s turned on. You might try kissing him goodbye, but he’s insatiable. Alfred will put his lips on yours, again and again, until you’re lightheaded. If you cover his mouth with a hand, he’s not above licking and biting it until you pull away. He’ll dive back in and pick you up by your legs. The second he feels your thighs squeeze his hips, he’s popping a fast, hard boner. While he darts his restless eyes over your flushed face, he pants this over you. “Let’s fuck.”

Alfred is rough at first. He’s impatient and horny, so all he can think about is pounding you until sweet release. And he does, sticking it in after a hasty prep. Penetration can hurt, but it’s only the beginning. He’ll pick you up and bounce you on his cock as hard as he can. You’re moaning and gasping, begging him to slow down, and it turns him on past the brink of sanity. In his lust-fueled mania, he will hold you against the bedroom door to hear it bang to his hard thrusts.

The location feels ‘in-between’ to him, so it’s a glaringly erotic reminder of how bad he needs it. Coupled with the sound of wet skin-slapping, he’s tempted to go faster and harder until he cums. After shooting his hot loads in you, his gunk will be dripping down your legs. He won’t pull out and use his semen as lube to keep fucking you. He just has to get hard again, which is easy while he’s kissing you.

He’s a natural dirty-talker. When he whispers at you, every word gets you aching for him. He will say things like “don’t look away from me, okay?” and “you like that?” If you’re squeezing too hard on his dick, he will tell you to relax a little. On the other hand, hearing you speak for a change will get him to lose all sense of control. Especially when you tell him to put his hands on you.

He enjoys slow sex. It’s perfect for when he needs a break, but doesn’t want to pull out. Alfred will loom over you and show a floaty smile while he rolls his hips. He can focus on the feeling of your warm insides, every squeeze and pull of it, which he finds endlessly intimate. But it’s the thought of being connected to you that sends strong twitches down his cock.

He’s obsessed with your thighs. Alfred will squeeze and fondle them with every chance he gets; if not, he’ll put his mouth all over them. When he eats you out on the edge of the bed, crush his head between them. The harder, the better. He won’t help rubbing himself out while you squeeze him, and won’t stop until he cums.

He has a habit of slapping his dick on you. He does it over where he plans to penetrate, and will rub himself on it too. Alfred does it for fun, but if you ask him about it, he says he’s “ringing a bell.”

Alfred loves doing it doggy-style. The position takes ‘fucking like animals’ to another level. He’s mounting you from behind, pulling your arms back, and pounding you hard. It’s carnal, brutish, and unapologetically raw, and he can’t get enough. Missionary, cow-girl, and any other front-facing position are also a favorite.

So long as he can get a good view of your body, he’s a happy camper. Alfred is a pervert, and will get off to seeing things like his dick plunging into you, or the sweat running down your chest. While your back arches like a cat, he will lean in and lap your skin to catch the warm, salty beads. It has the lewd taste of sex, and isn’t the only part of you he’ll be dragging his tongue all over.

He has a smell kink. Or is it the pheromones? Either way, he has a thing for your scent, and won’t shy away from it when you’re drenched in sweat. He will breathe you in, lick you, and smother his face wherever he pleases.

Alfred loves having you ride him—especially when you try being rough as payback. Unfortunately, he loves it. Not only does it feel amazing, seeing you slow down out of pleasure is insanely hot. Feeling his cock prod against that special spot pushes you to a hard climax, and watching it happen gets him cumming fast.

He has a thing for foot jobs. It’s supposed to be degrading, but that’s why he likes it so much. Once again, it’s frustrating how nothing you do fazes him. Not even if you call him names (asshole, idiot, pervert), kick him, or step on him. No, sir. He’s having the time of his life. Alfred finds your temper sexy, especially when you try taking it out on him. Keyword, try.

Sex with socks on is a big yes. And yet, he still won’t admit that he has a foot fetish.

Sex with clothes on is an even bigger yes. The urgency of it is super hot—if you’re wearing underwear, he’ll sneak a hand under it and move it to the side. He already has his dick out, ready to plunge into your walls. His boxers are down to his thighs, and you’re sitting on his lap, hanging off his neck. While he bounces you on his cock, he’ll be grabbing your ass and thighs.

He has a weakness for sundresses and flimsy underwear. If you show up wearing said dress, he won’t stop staring at you or flirting. What’s underneath is just a bonus. If he has his car with him, he will drive to a secluded spot — an empty parking lot, drive-in cinema, or even the beach — and fuck you in the driver’s seat.

Alfred gets jealous at the drop of a hat. If it’s something minor, he’ll feel better after a kiss or two. Otherwise, he needs more assurance to soothe his jealous heart, even if it’s through angry sex. Angry sex eventually turns into makeup sex, and he’ll feel terrible by the end of it. Cue the endless apologies and sulking.

He’s meticulous with aftercare. He knows he can be rough in bed, so he makes sure you feel cared for when things die down. He’ll cuddle and kiss you, help you wash up, cook for you, and put something on the TV. Post-sex Alfred is the most affectionate he can be. He feels loved after going at it for hours, and won’t hesitate to show it.

#MOONLIGHT BABY #His birthday month is coming soon so happy birthday lol #somebody come get his nasty ass...#thanks for the ask anon #ask answered #aph america #hetalia headcanons #headcanons #America headcanons #hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #america x reader #hetalia x reader #reader insert #request #alfredosauce50 #hetalia fanfic

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delyth88 · 6 months

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Loki S2 Episode 3

Okay, my Loki loving self was a little disappointed that there was more focus on other characters this episode, but this was still a solid episode. It feels like things are moving forward, and all the key characters from last season are back in play, so I'm interested to see where this goes. Hopefully somewhere interesting.

Spoilers ahead……

Gotta give an honourable mention to the opening Marvel fanfare being played on a honky tonk piano (and the small internet wormhole that sent me down about honky tonk pianos lol).

And here we are in Chicago 1868 of the sacred timeline. Purposely about to create a branched timeline? I thought it was kinda different to jump straight to the changing the past to create the future you want thing, rather than it being an unintended consequence. Clearly I’ve read and watched a lot of time travel stories! I kinda spent the whole episode waiting for the other shoe to drop. Are they accidentally creating a monster? (I mean a different monster from the intended He Who Remains variety.) And this was another episode that felt too short. So perhaps we’ll find out next week. *shrugs*

I quite like the Victor Timely character so far – he seems to have enough promise (or should that be threat?), even though we only saw a little bit of his personality and motivation in this episode. I assume more will be revealed and he’ll become significantly more scary by the end of the season. And, like what’s up with his ‘partnership’ thing? Is that something important? Or just a random character flaw that allowed us to see Ravonna and Miss Minutes’ relationship and Miss Minutes’ creepy Pinocchio fantasy? I find it hard to tell. I did think his adoration of Ouroboros was a neat juxtaposition since we know what OB is like and can imagine the serious Timely and him meeting and how jarring a contrast that would be. 😊

And damn Sylvie shows up again at the most inconvenient moments lol! I liked towards the end just how tired and worn out with all of this she has become. I keep having to remember for her it’s been a fair while. I quite enjoyed the fight scene in the Ferris wheel carriage and how they drew our attention to the parallels to Season 1. And importantly it was good to see Loki holding his own and using magic.

We get to the Chicago Worlds Fair in 1893 and I note is says ‘branched timeline’. So not one of the ones that was pruned by the rogue TVA faction? (And what happened to them again, anyway? Did any of them get away? I can’t remember). Anyway I assume this means that He Who Remains was very confident that the TVA would not carry on pruning timelines. So what would have happened if this had been one of the branched ones they did manage to prune? Would Ravonna just have had to come back and drop the book off a second time? (Questioning time travel logic. That way lies madness.)

Anywho! Yay period costumes!!!! Although this isn’t a period I’m particularly familiar with.

The little scene with the statues of Odin, Thor, and Balder was a nice reminder of who Loki is. He’s strayed so far from that beginning in this series that sadly I think we need to be reminded every so often. Though I wonder if anything will ever come of it. I read a comment in an interview with the episode’s director Kasra Farahani about how this scene has a couple of goals, and one of them was to “remind Loki and the audience that Loki's not just somebody who works with the TVA, but that he's a God. That he comes from that stock and that he has that power within him”. And I thought that was particularly interesting, because he says “Loki AND the audience”. That feels like something that might have a payoff down the line.

I also liked that they used the same musical theme they used when Loki read about the destruction of Asgard in season 1. At least they’re acknowledging that Loki still feels the loss of his old life and family.

I liked the scene where we meet Timely and we see the context of the Quantumania mid credits scene. I still love how terrified Loki looks here (sorry!).

I did find it interesting later in the episode when Loki finds himself defending Timely. That must have felt weird! And I wonder how much of a threat Loki thinks he is – no-one went out of their way to hide anything from him, and I kinda feel like not giving him the idea of becoming a super powerful madman might have been a better plan. *shrugs* I guess that was Ravonna’s goal anywsy, and Sylvie didn’t care because she intended he not live past that conversation. But I can’t shake the feeling that this is a tragedy in the making.

There was a little moment that reminded me of OG Loki more than usual – when he was facing off with the huge man in the bar. If I could make a gif of it I would have, but there was that little head shake and the fake smile that reminded me of the moment in Thor when he’s bargaining with Laufey on Jotunheim, or with Thanos in Infinity War for example. Yay! ❤️

I thought sending Renslayer to the end of time was a good punishment – if only she didn’t have Miss Minutes and a tempad. :/ And super creepy to see it was a decent amount of time after Sylvie and Loki had been there.

So from this are we to assume that Renslayer has had her memories wiped too – she doesn’t have any particular reaction to seeing the remains of He who… er… Remains. But then she did keep talking about how she kept the TVA running for eons..? So I’m assuming this is the big secret that Miss Minutes is promising to tell her? Or were her memories erased less often?

Overall, I enjoyed the episode, but Episode 1 was still the most gripping, and the most Loki, episode for me so far. I hope they can bring more of that to the remaining episodes.

@sparklegemstone @iamanartichoke @pinkpondofasgard @scintillatingshortgirl19 @projectprotectloki @ladyofthestayingpower @woodelf68

#loki #loki review #loki series #loki season 2 #loki s2 #loki spoilers

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b--b-3 · 11 months

Text

Sooo I've decided to finally cross-post my Obey Me crack-fic from ao3, I hope you enjoy!✨️

°•°•°•°•°

Cheek Clappin' Behavior

Ch.1

summary: Mc gets bamboozled by the game we all know and love 😭. They also happen to get yeeted right into it at full throttle, oops. How, you ask?? Who knows-

warnings: swearin/strong language, a quick innuendo, Mc just bein straight up wild tbh

misc: this fic doesn't accurately follow the story, literally just random shits 'n giggles for now lmao [pls it's so unserious ajfjshsjs] + the memes you see edited were done by me in my absolute mess of a gallery 💀

word count: almost 1k

It was just an ordinary day for Mc… Well, that is if you could call simping for fictional characters from a story-based gacha game ordinary. Okay, maybe they're a liiiiiiittle bonkers in the head, but we still love 'em 😋.

[Mc's POV]

'You've gotta be clappin' my cheeks unequivocally rn.'

"How tf am I gonna pull up AND get bumblefucked by this yee yee ass game 🤨🤨🤨??" Okay, so maaaaybe I got raw-dogged by a fictional world, but I can fix this for sure‼️

Oh.

I didn't fix this. Far from it, in fact. Yet another 10 pull, wasted… 😟

Welp, whatever‼️‼️ Back to the story then hehEHEHEHE— HOLY FUCKIN' MOTHER OF GO— MAMMON YOU ABSOLUTE BABYGWORL TF YOU DOIN' LOOKIN' LIKE THAT?? 🤭🤭🤭

Even tho he plays hard to get, he ain't a match for MY sluttish behavior 🤪—

THIS? FUCKING?? $ Ł Ü ✝️? ? ? "The absolute fuckin' audacity I swear— AND this mf blushin' too? Consider tears runnin' down my leg fr fr for real fr‼️" YOU SEE THAT TUB OVER THERE MAMS?? YEAH HOP IN THAT BITCH CUZ I'M BOUTTA 😩😩—

Ahem.

Caught myself lackin' for a sec there sorry bout that y'all 💀—

I then end up playing this damn game for a psychologically questionable amount of time. Such a long time, in fact, my raggedy ass fell asleep with the game open. O p e n. I didn't even get to charge my shit— hot damn 😬.

Next thing I know, I'm exposing my eye sockets to a ridiculous amount of light.

✨️OWIE✨️—

Oh.

'Now why in the ass-eatin' fuck does this place look familiar?? This ain't my house OR my room🗿. Tf is goin' on in here on this ass-chappin' day 🤨🤨??'

Like, the more I look around, the more shit's appearance becomes clear to me [no d U h Mc?? C'mon get it together 😭].

'Tho it does look a bit [a fuck ton tf you mean?? 💀] like my room in Obey Me…🤔'

"Did my bitch-ass get isekai'd into the world of Big Boobie Bitches— I mean Obey Me??????⁉️🗣📢🔥"

' …You've gotta be tuggin' my schlong rn this shit is a different breed. No, literally. Does that mean I'm a whole ass sheep now⁉️ This ain't gonna work. I swear on my left kneeca—'

All of a sudden, someone's headass bursts into the room. I was about to chew them tf out like a baddie, but then I SEE 🕕🫦🕕—

'CERTIFIED BABYGWORL??? AJDJSJEEJ OMGOMGOMG IT'S HIIIIIIIM IT'S MAAAAAMMMMS OH MY—🥺🎊✨️🫧💖‼️🥰💛'

"Yo, human! Ya were s'pposed to hang out with me today! What's goin' on?"

I—

'Ugh. What a cutie 🥰. Look at him, lookin' at me like that 'n shit 😭💖.'

I stare right back at the white-haired babygworl— I mean demon, trying a lil TOO hard to fight the inner voices that are telling me to jump him unprovoked.

"Well, tbh tbh honestly tbh, I haven't the slightest fuckin' clue Monie.. Buuuuuuut you can still take me out if you want tho 👀." I give him a lil look. Yano, a look. A little lookie look. A look that looks like a lil look because it looks—

"Whatever, let's just go. You've been makin' The Great Mammon wait long enough." He then drags me outta the room as if I'm his bitch.

'OW MY PUSS- now hold on for just a diddly ding dang darn second ☝️🤓— here I thought it was supposed to be the other way around 🤨🤔❓️ ❓️ ❓️'

Welp I'll just have to worry about it another time ig 🤷.

Anyways, now we were makin' our way [downtown] through the Big Ass House of Lamentation, BAHoL for short, trying to get to wherever tf Mammon has plans for. Well, that is until we run into a certain someone.

'GAAASSSPP IT'S HIIIIIM‼️ LEVIATHAN THE SWEET BOOOOOOYYYYY OHFUCKOHFUUUCK 🥰💖🫧🧡✨️‼️'

"Yooo, Levi! Funny seein' ya outside ya room for once." Both Mammon and I then proceed to start gigglin' like two lil bitches lmao.

Until this mf turns around 🗿.

…My face just about shriveled up inside itself.

'DID BABYGWORL #3 GET EVEN QUIRKIER 😳😳😳⁉️'

"Levi.. you good?? You're looking a bit differently different there bud 😭😭."

'I swear to shit there are literal SPARKLES just shootin' me in the eyes rn.'

"Idk what you're talking abt lol." He blinks and just shrugs at me like absolutely NOTHING is wrong like wtf my g—

"Tbh tbh honestly tbh Levi you're looking MAD ✨️bbg✨️ rn and idk how to cope with that so I think it's best you induce an anime withdrawal for just a singular sliver of a second the sake of my sanity 🗣🗣."

It takes him a couple seconds for the matter inside his cranium to process whatever tf just came out my mouth.

"B-Bbg!? WOOOAAAHHHH❗️🗣🗣🗣📢💥.. I-I can't believe you're calling a no-good otaku shut-in like me that!" He takes a moment to cover his now blushing face sextillion times more than his hair already does with his hand.

'Omg what a lil cutie I swear— got me swooning 'n shit <3.'

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever! We've gotta get goin' now. See ya later, Levi!" Mammon cuts off the ENTIRE interaction quicker than it even started before dragging me away like a fucking rag doll.

'L?? M?? A?? O?? Tf is all this motion for 🫨🥴?'

What the plans are?? I still haven't the slightest of darn clues, buT I GUESS WE'LL FIND OUT 🗣.

I kid you tf not we literally only managed to reach the main entrance before getting jumpscared by none other than Lucifer himself—

'EYE- SWEET MOTHER OF DIAVOLO'S (. )( .)‼️—'

[✨️To Be Continued✨️]

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me memes #obey me crack #obey me shitpost #obey me fanfiction #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #i also did this on mobile so if it looks vile on pc i am SO sorry 😭#lemme know if i need to add any additional warnings and/or tags‼️

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crimsun-n-clover · 1 month

Text

dalia chronicles

i need her so bad dude

like. i don’t. i’m just being weird because i’m bored and she’s my type.

BUT—

i’ve hit rock fucking bottom. i took all the screenshots of her stuff and all the songs off of them and put them in a playlist. because if i was posting “me <3” to thee most obscure song ever?? i’d want people to go check that shit out. and like. understand me or whatever. but that’s what i would want. i’m being fucking weird about this. i think she’d like the attention but i’d actually rather die than give it to her in this dumbass unstable institutionalized way

i just need her to dm me first ONE TIME. not replying to me posting her stuff on my story. like. replying to literally anything else. to justify my behavior.

BECAUSE

HERES THE FUCKING T H I N G MAN

i took mickey to a concert a few days back. twas rad. we saw idkhow. i posted about it a little. when i get home and check my instagram?? i see that i posted us at the concert waiting for it to start 5 hours ago. and dalia posted a question submission box to an idkhow song. 5 hours ago.

WHAT ARE THE ODDS. she’s fucking with me. she’s SO fucking with me. just dm me for the love of GOD and stop baiting me with things. even though it’s kinda why im into you in the first place. fuckin whatever man.

this is literal torture but i’m kinda having a good time ngl

today she posted two stories to the song casual by chappell roan and holy. fuck. dude. that song is SO real.

i’ve felt used so much for my looks and reputation and i was fucking fine with it at the time because if that was all i was gonna get then i should just shut up and be grateful. i was so stupid but i was almost happy. it made everything hurt so much more when it was over because honestly? i was fucking bitter. i wanted nothing more than revenge and numbness. i wanted to hurt her back and keep her down before she can try that shit again. teach her a thing or two about what loss means. it’s horrible to be like that, i know. but it was horrible of her to be showing me apartment listings for us while talking to a guy who was actively homophobic toward me. i’m not proud of what i did or who i am, but fuck being the bigger person. i’m three fuckin inches tall and gonna get in your stupid double standard holding brain until you pry me out yourself and admit what you did.

anyway

dalia posted herself to that song twice in a thirst trappy way. i want to pick her brain so bad. what happened? are you okay?? you deserve better. you’re interesting and talented and deserve every ounce of attention you crave. i’d be happy to give you some if you’d give me permission. i don’t want to be the problem here. the bits of your personality that i’ve seen have been so intriguing to me. i’m enraptured and i want to know more. it’s not purely physical, but it could be if you want it to.

also. why are you so hot it’s not FAIR and how have the last two girls i’ve been dangerously into posted themselves with a star drawn on their collarbone and made my poor gay brain short circuit?? i’m actually in shock about that one ngl. while the lyric “knee deep in the passenger seat and you’re eating me out, is it casual now?” plays in the background. i hope i die

moving on. ish.

i want to save it but they’re videos and i can’t just paste videos into a notes file like i would with a photo i didn’t want laying around. i didn’t even like the more thirst trappy one because i’m RESPECTFUL. she’s so pretty and i want to drool over her a little. i’m obviously fucking ashamed but if a straight guy did it it would be normal so. whatever. i feel like saving it would be hitting some kind of barrier. dunno what it is but there’s gotta be a limit around here somewhere. or maybe it’s admitting something to myself. that this is a genuine interest but it’s not if i don’t save the video. GOD i hate it here

i feel like i’m objectifying her? like. i’d love for her to objectify me honestly. lick my fucking tongue and get it over with so i can think about it for the rest of my life. she seems to be looking for attention in any way she can get it and that makes me think she would be cool with it. but i don’t want to be that you know? i know how that feels. but i also wouldn’t mind something unserious with her. but i would want more if she wanted more. that’s a fucking LIE i’d want more regardless but i’d take more if i got permission.

i’m kinda sorta maybe the type of person with an avoidant attachment style. something good happens? cool! sounds like bullshit. cash out while i’m high and tuck tail n fucking bolt. i’ll feel like shit about it but if i stick around something bad always happens.

i’m getting. a vibe. that maybe she’s similar. i’m probably just projecting. i don’t know how to describe it, but it feels like everything she does is a wild fucking shot in the dark and then she runs off for a bit until she builds up the courage to do it again. she’ll drop a hint or say something important and then post art and her outfit for a week and do it all over again.

it feels like we’re both testing the water at different times. just “wouldn’t it be cool if. girlfriend? GOODBYE GUYS NICE KNOWING YOU” eventually there’s gonna be an intersection and shit is gonna go DOWN bro. like. added to my lore kind of down. but i think i’m gonna be the one to have to actually make the first move that isn’t liking her stories and i’m gonna blow my fucking brains out. and like five other people will die because of all the suicide pacts i’m a part of.

and then immediately after i get even a DROP of reciprocation i’ll go “damn that’s crazy. fuckin ditto or whatever. i’m leaving the country don’t wait up” OR immediately propose. no in between. i hate it here

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justanotherfanfolks · 6 months

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Twisted Wonderland Main Story Scattered Thoughts (Prologue Chapter 9-12)

Time for something new, baby! Hello villain statues! Someone ready to get scorched at some point? Grim doesn’t know them, my poor Disney heart. ACE! ACE! ACE! BUDDY I’VE BEEN WAITING TO SEE YOU! You know, Queenie looks kind of chill in the statue. Okay, funny story, when I first saw Riddle he was always talking about having peoples’ heads if they broke the rules. I hadn’t seen what his unique magic was, so I thought he was genuinely threatening to decapitate people. Grim: She’d decaptiate people? That’s messed up! Ace: Cool, right? I’m a big fan of hers! Oh my gosh, ACE! Pick better idols. Wait they think she was kind all the time? Uhhhhhh… Ah, Grim’s already calling Yuu his hench-human. Ace called Yuu’s name weird. RIP. Ace is the lorekeepr! He’s just explaining everyone, cool! “Earn it through hard work and elaborate scheme” sure Acey, let’s call it that. Hyena equality! This is why Ruggie vibes with the dude. The twisted views of these villains is so interesting! Except they were genuinely bad. History must have been massively rewritten in their favor. Yet the heroes are still considered heroes. Weird. I take it everyone just heard Ursula’s song and went “Oh yeah, she loved helping people!” Yeah, helping them help herself. Grim wants to follow in her footsteps. Grim is hungry for lore. Me too, this is so interesting! Heh, staff. First TWST joke I ever saw was someone saying how you’ll see a TWST character and you’d find out they were twisted from Jafar’s staff. I mean Epel is the poison apple, so they were not wrong. Hang on, hang on, hang on. Scalding Sands event discussed the beautiful relationship between a princess and a street rat (Jasmine and Aladdin). But Jafar is praised for exposing a guy pretending to be a prince to get closer to the princess. It’s like people split the stories in half and made sure no one made the connections! He used the lamp to become sultan, no one questioning how? Or mentioning how he went crazy with power, became a genie, got stuck in the lamp, and rocketed into the cave of wonders? Ace, we’re calling doing whatever it takes to stay the most beautiful dedication? Dedication. Do you know what she did? Homegirl’s statue is literally holding the apple she tried to murder her stepdaughter with! And she’s good at making poison you say, put the pieces together child! “I gotta respect the hustle” He’s a fan boy through and through for these 7! Okay, I will say Ace is spitting straight facts for Hades. I mean, the guy really got the short end of the stick. MALEFICENT! Yes, she’s cool, please continue Ace! The whiplash! Ace no! He really started up a conversation only to turn around and use it as an insult. Oh, that’s it? Next chapter now, I'm invested!

Wait, is that a battle? A BATTLE? THE BOYS ARE FIGHTING! The music died. Chaos music! He’s laughing so much! Wait, how does he know they are janitors? Ah- hey I know who they are! For some reason Yuu doesn’t, come on Yuu! Ace: I just wanted to have some audacity, so byeee! Grim no! Grim! It’s not worth! Explodey head? Oh, he’s insulting his hair! But I like his hair. Wind boy! Oh, hello NPCs. Such boys. Yuu, of couse wind magic is a thing! I’m embarrassed to be shadowing you right now. Ooo, battle time. OH BATTLE EXPLANATION! I really should have played the main story earlier, I’ve been winging this for months! Ah, Duo Magic my beloved! 5000 too? Ace, buddy. I will end you with my cards. AHHHH, THE STATUE! THAT’S HOW THEY DID IT! ACE IS MORTIFIED! Grim: You should have let me burn you to a crisp! Ah, another Crowley jumpscare! So they burn a statue, and then when Deuce joins they party they break a chandelier. The Chaos Quartet is going to be crazy. Actually, how does Crowley catch people? Yuu’s getting blamed to, RIP. 100 WINDOWS, OH MY GOSH! Ooo, more gems!

Oh, those were timeskips! Ace is flaking. Talking Painting! I didn’t know we got to meet those! I remember Rosalia from Cater’s vignette. The painting is using Wonderland logic. Hm, I didn’t have that much to say.

Yay! New Twistune! I have all the event ones so far, but a new one for the main story excites me! Hall of Mirrors! I love how the gates look different! Grim jumpscare! I don’t know who ro root for. Fair is fair, but I think Grim is out for blood. DEUCE! DEUCEY! MY BOY! Deuce, that’s a lot of ideas you got there… can you even execute that? Maybe tackle him? Wait! WAIT! Is it caldron time? AHHHHH YES I LOVE HIS CAULDRONS! Ace, you alive buddy? Oh, they about to get exposed to Deuce. I wonder when Riddle found out they burned the Queen of Hearts statue. I mean, it’s his counterpart. Oh Deuce, stick with them long enough and you’ll get in trouble, too. Who is he, Ace. He’s Juice. “Don’t you remember your own classmate?” Deuce, there’s like 26 people per class and it’s the first day, how would he? And he doesn’t remember either! Ah, the start of the most iconic TWST Duo. Move over Ramshackle Duo, Adeuce has been united. Good point, where did Grim go? Grim wanted to shirk responsibility too! Y’all are so fake! JUICE! I love that joke so much! Deuce didn’t sign up for this. “Useless janitor friend” yikes, sorry Yuu. Oh yeah, the Twistune! I forgot already! …Two rows of green notes. I’ve done blue and red notes, but two green notes? MMMM, let’s see how this goes. Oh, this music is also a bop! Juice! Oh I love it already! Oh, that did seem as bad as I thought it would be. Adeuce really be sharing that braincell! How can they be so in sync and yet not in sync at all? Gems! Oh love this game, this is a really good Prologue!

#twisted wonderland #twst #Fan finally plays the main story

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shepardsherd · 8 months

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Part 26: To The Final Battle...Ish?

INT. TIANA’s CAR – SOMEWHERE ON THE MOTORWAY – AFTERNOON

ERIK and CHARLIE are fighting over the radio as ERIK is driving, TIANA and ZARIAH are in the back seats of TIANA’s car. TIANA is leaning against ZARIAH, who is watching the world pass by the window, they all look scared and frightened – not because of ERIK and CHARLIE, but because TIANA’s phone has been getting texts from JOSEPH, who has secretly told TIANA everything that has been going on and how he’s being held hostage, but they haven’t checked his phone so they don’t know he’s been blabbing.

TIANA is angry, confused and hurt and also anxious to finally get to meet her mother. She doesn’t really truly know how to process all this information, but it is implied that JOSEPH has been radio silent for about an hour or so, meanwhile TIANA and the others are stuck in traffic.

TIANA is too… numb to cry. Too numb to react properly other than anger. ZARIAH is holding her hand, keeping her grounded.

CHARLIE, in the front passenger seat, leans to look at TIANA and ZARIAH and turns back to ERIK, voice hushed

CHARLIE

This is it, huh? We’re almost...almost there. Almost at the final battle.

ERIK:

Yeah… there’s a lot riding on this and we gotta help Tiana. We’re all in this together… the odds are stacked against us, but we have to try. Its the only chance we got.

CHARLIE:

Zariah is a God now and Tiana has yet to discover her powers… we’re not exactly at an advantage just yet, right? Tiana’s meant to be all powerful… what do we do?

ERIK doesn’t know. He’s terrified, he’s clueless. He’s stunned into silence for once.

CHARLIE then looks confused.

CHARLIE:

[turning to Zariah]

Wait, Zariah. Can’t you teleport with your godly powers now? Why are you still here?

ZARIAH:

If I teleport to them and reveal my new powers, we lose the upper hand. Besides, I’m not leaving Tiana. I’m not leaving you guys behind.

CHARLIE:

That’s a solid point, actually.

CHARLIE again turns back to look out the windscreen across the traffic which is slowly disappearing, opening up an opportunity for ERIK to hit the pedal and speed up, which is what ERIK does.

ERIK:

Do you have his exact GPS location, Tiana?

TIANA snaps out of her thoughts at this, knowing he means about JOSEPH.

TIANA nods, giving off the co-ordinates and the nearest street name according to what JOSEPH told them to follow.

TIANA:

We need to be prepared for anything.

ZARIAH:

We will be, don’t worry.

TIANA:

[shakily]

This is it.

ZARIAH turns her head, reassuring TIANA that everything will be okay, pulling her closer. TIANA is shaking now.

ERIK:

When this is over, we can all go on a nice holiday or something. We’ll fucking deserve it.

CHARLIE:

Yeah and we can do whatever we want, fuck the government.

TIANA:

[murmuring, a small smile on their face]

Fuck everybody else

ZARIAH laughs a little, telling TIANA off and looking out the window again, watching as traffic begins to disappear completely to a more acceptable rate as they enter MANCHESTER.

TIANA sits up again, grabbing ZARIAH’s hand, squeezing it like they’re walking straight into hell. She’s never been this nervous and it becomes apparent that ZARIAH is worried, because she hasn’t told TIANA what was said in the conversation with SEPHANIA about TIANA’s powers.

TIANA:

Erik?

ERIK:

Yeah, Tiana? What’s up.

TIANA:

If something happens to me, make sure my parents get out alive, no matter what happens.

ZARIAH’s eyes widen in fear but she says nothing, she’s trying to restrain herself and ZARIAH’s eyes crackle with lightning – like her powers will release any second. All she wants to do is protect TIANA.

ERIK knows not to argue. He’s stunned, but looks in horror at CHARLIE and then focuses on the road again as they begin to head towards their true destination.

ERIK:

[softly]

Okay, Tiana. But you’re our friend. We’ll fight to protect you.

Everyone rides in silence as MANCHESTER passes them by and minutes turn to a half hour, as ERIK follows the GPS. TIANA is sweating, nobody has ever seen her this nervous. Usually TIANA is so composed, so ready to throw down and put her life on the line. Things are getting so real now.

The car slowly comes to a stop as ERIK spots JOSEPH and his friends, standing at a corner of a road, fear in their eyes.

TIANA sits forward in her chair; tears stinging her eyes. This is too much now.

TIANA:

Daddy!

TIANA clambers out of the car, followed by ZARIAH.

EXT. STREET IN MANCHESTER – AFTERNOON.

JOSEPH raises his weapon.

JOSEPH:

[weakly]

Baby, stay back.

ZARIAH:

[yelling]

ITS A TRAP, EVERYONE GET READY

Everybody else stumbles out of their cars, weapons raised as the street around them is surrounded by a veil of darkness and JOSEPH and the others disappear, being replaced by SAMANTHA, RAQAEL and HALCYON.

GLENDA rushes over to ERIK, CHARLIE rushes over to CASSIAN and ANTON who are at the front of this small band of warriors. ANGELO and BEZALIEL are in the back, absolutely stone-faced, unsure what to do. Unsure how they can help.

TIANA, with a machete being placed into her hands by ERIK, is dumbfounded, watching herself – no, her mother, stare right back at her. They both look so similar. Like mother like daughter they used to say.

TIANA:

M-Mum?

SAMANTHA:

[sadly]

Hi, beautiful.

ZARIAH hisses, pushing forwards to aim a weapon nobody has ever seen before, at RAQAEL and HALCYON.

RAQAEL snorts.

RAQAEL:

Sister, you really are pathetic. We told you to kill Tiana, or you’re gonna lose everything. You leave us no choice.

HALCYON:

Its just us, now. You’re no longer needed, wanted or loved. People want you gone and we’re happy to oblige.

ZARIAH:

You’re being used, sisters. Can’t you see?

RAQAEL:

Its time. Its you, or us. You will die, by our hand!

They get ready to fight. TIANA is forced to watch as RAQAEL and HALCYON force SAMANTHA to make the first move – she summons her scythe and begins to swing for TIANA.

#heavens fallen #ash shepard wips

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sirowsky · 2 years

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The Lost Island

Chapter 16 - Parted Ways

Summary: You're back on the island, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, whilst suddenly standing face to face with people you've lost and grieved. Meanwhile, Marcus lands in a heap of problems of his own.

Author’s Note: My head genuinely does hurt after having spent all day wrestling with this one. I do know how to complicate things for myself, but I love this story all the same, so I hope you'll follow me through the magical mystery tour :)

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Cursing, angst, time-travel-headaches. Word Count: 4761 Masterlist (this story) Author’s Masterlist

Marcus stepped out of the gateway straight into his own kitchen, and immediately called out for Missy.

“Whoa, dad. What are you shouting for? I’m still right here.”

She came from the living room, holding her index finger in between the pages of a book she was reading, and when she spotted him, her face turned puzzled.

“Hey, how’d you get changed so fast?”

He registered her questions while he stepped closer and pulled her into a hug, but he didn’t really clock the significance of them.

“What? I was wearing this when I left.”

“Uh… right. Are you feeling okay, dad?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad you’re alright. How long was I gone this time?”

She pulled back to look at him, and he turned his head down to meet her eyes but kept his arms around her.

“What are you talking about? You haven’t been anywhere for like three weeks. Not since that thing with the beetles in Australia.”

He huffed a laugh, certain that she was joking. But her eyes told a different story. At that point, he noticed that her clothes were wrong too, and that Anita should’ve been there. He let go of her and staggered backwards, further into the kitchen, feeling panic gradually build internally as he struggled to absorb the implications of that, if it was true. Because the unnatural beetle-infestation had happened over two months before the plane crash, which would mean that the crash wouldn’t happen until another six or seven weeks.

“No… no, no, no… that can’t be.”

He rambled to himself while he tried to find today’s paper, only to discover that it was indeed full of headlines that he already knew, and that the date was almost five months in the past. Desperate to believe that it was some trick or mistake, he turned on the tv in the kitchen, which was usually set to a news-channel, but it was the same thing. He even recognized the phrases and the way they were delivered by the news-anchor in the studio.

“No… I was thinking of the same moment! It should’ve brought me back to the same moment…”

“Dad, you’re kinda freaking me out.”

He abandoned the tv and went to kneel in front of her.

“Sweetheart, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but was I in a plane-crash recently?”

“No! I think I’d remember that. What’s going on?”

Unable to keep his frustration in, he got up and started pacing, trying to think it through while mumbling to himself.

“Shit… This is bad. It brought me back to before it all happened… but why? What am I supposed to do here? Nothing important happe-…”

He stopped pacing abruptly, when something even more frightening hit him.

“Oh, god, where the hell did it drop Pita?”

“Wait, you’re working with Ace? On what? And why? You hate working with her.”

He turned and just stared at Missy for a few beats. Because she was right. In this point in time, the two of you were still bitter enemies, and if he went to HQ, he’d likely find you there, doing your normal job. Unless the portal had sent you back here too.

“Miss, I’m sorry, I gotta go to work, and you’re coming with me.”

“Fine by me. Someone needs to make sure they scan your brain while you’re there.”

Once at the Headquarters, he went straight for your office, to Missy’s unending disbelief, but you weren’t there. He took a quick peek at your itinerary and saw that you were scheduled at a meeting with Ricky, so he headed straight for R&D and Ricky’s office, stomping in without even knocking. And sure enough, there you were, but it took less than a second for him to see that it wasn’t his version of you. The harshness in your frame, the tight set of your jaw, the glacier of ice that met his gaze when he sought your eyes, all of it so familiar, and yet it now seemed to be hollowing him out, emptying him of everything that was warm and safe. Both you and Ricky froze when he invaded your meeting, but it only took you a moment to regain your focus.

“You’re interrupting a security briefing, Moreno. So, unless it concerns a serious threat; get out.”

He couldn’t move. Seeing you like this, so cold and hateful towards him once again, after everything you’d shared, tore his heart to pieces, stinging and flooding his eyes with tears. He knew that it might just be temporary, that the portal might’ve just dumped him here for a while so that he could accomplish something, and that his Pita was still out there somewhere. But his love for you had become as integral to his being as Missy was, which made the pain that he felt in that moment, as real as anything had ever been. Because right then, in that time, you didn’t love him back, and nothing he said would make you believe that you ever could. So, what if it wasn’t temporary? What if the crash and the island would never happen now? What if that timeline, that specific chain of events, was the only way that you could ever learn to love him…

“I know you’re not deaf, so unless you step outside right now, I’m gonna make you.”

“S-sorry… I’m… I’m so sorry.”

He should’ve backed away, but he just couldn’t. Unfortunately, though, this version of you had never seen him heartbroken, and assumed that he was playing some angle, because of course, he couldn’t actually be this emotional from just seeing you.

“Whatever game you’re playing, I’m not in the mood.”

You got up and came towards him, clearly intending to shove him out of the office, but as you got closer, he suddenly didn’t care that you weren’t his Pita. He needed to hold you, just one more time in case this was his last chance, as it was beginning to dawn on him that he had no idea what the portal was doing, or what it might have planned for him. He’d always known that he was utterly powerless against it. But it had seemed to be on your side all this time, so he’d trusted it. But now that trust was breaking, and with it, so was his hope. Desperate to cling to whatever piece of you still existed, in any timeline, he met you as you came at him and ensnared you in an almost bone-breaking hug.

“Oof… Marcus, what the hell?! Let go of me!”

“I should’ve stayed. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have run through like that, we should’ve crossed together…”

It wasn’t you; he still knew that. He knew that this Pita would have no idea what he was talking about, but he needed to say it, in case your souls were linked somehow. In case some part of you could hear him, across space and time.

“Crossed what? What’s wrong with you?!”

“Dad, you’re being really creepy… just let her go.”

Missy’s words made him feel terrible as he realized how invasive and unwanted his closeness was. He let go of you, instantly backing away, out of the office and as far as the corridor would let him without losing sight of you, breathing heavily against the sensation of his chest crashing in on itself.

“I wish I could explain… I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

“Dad, wait, maybe Ricky can help you.”

Hearing her, the man got up from his desk and came out to the corridor, making Marcus realize that he’d completely forgotten about him.

“What’s going on, Moreno?”

He laughed, but a little hysterically, as he stared at the expert scientist, and he felt like he was being defeated somehow.

“I’m being thrown around space and time by a sentient black rock… I think it wants my help to prevent the complete annihilation of Earth, but I have no fucking idea how or why it brought me here… only that you guys are living five months in the past, from my perspective.”

All three of them just stared at him at first, but Ricky was quick to recover.

“Why don’t you come with me to my lab, I’d like to take a look at you.”

Marcus laughed again, this time with absolute hopelessness.

“There’s no point. I already know what your scan is gonna say, which is that there’s a spatial anomaly around me that you can’t explain. I wish I could stay and indulge you, but I need to try and figure out what the portal wants me to do before it’s too late… so that I can get back to my time.”

He glanced at you, before adding:

“My people.”

None of them said anything more, although Ricky looked like he was thinking hard, while you still looked about ready to punch him, so he turned to Missy.

“Sweetheart, I need you to stay with Ace, okay?”

“But, dad…”

“I’m not the version of your dad that you know. I need to get back to my time. As soon as I do, your Marcus will come back. I think.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure that I do either… but it’s gonna be okay.”

He tried to make himself believe it, so that she would too, before he picked her up and hugged her for a long moment, and when he set her back down, he looked at you.

“I hope you won’t remember any of this, once it’s over. But if you do… just know that I’m not your enemy.”

“In your time… we’re friends?”

You sounded just as incredulous as he’d expect you to.

“In my time… we’re a lot more than that.”

He didn’t wait to see if your face would contort with disgust, he just turned away and left without another glance back.

<><><><><>

The wind was so loud that you couldn’t hear anything else, as you plummeted towards the ocean, having no clue how you’d survived this the last time and therefor no chance to replicate it. But there was some comfort to the knowledge that you had survived this before, and should be able to again, even though it was hard to feel anything but panic as you watched the deceptively soft-looking surface close in on you. You noticed the pod of orcas just before you made contact with the sea, suddenly terrified that you might hit one or more of them, which would surely kill both them and you. But just before you hit the water, something seemed to flow over your skin, almost like the softest silk, barely even noticeable when it just brushed against you. Whatever it was, it was beyond your control, but it had to be what ultimately saved you, because as you were pummelled against the surface over and over again, before you eventually dropped under it, no bones broke. No limbs were torn or thrown out of their sockets. You knew that you’d been knocked out for a few seconds at least, the last time, but this time you managed to stay awake, which also meant that you felt the multiple impacts, and it wasn’t pleasant. Thankfully, you hadn’t hit any of the whales, and just like last time, Whelma soon came to your aid, which was good because every muscle was screaming in pain. Had it really hurt this much last time?

“Hey, girl. I missed you… but I wish I hadn’t been forced to come back. No offense.”

She came right up to you, nudging your hand as you reached out to her, as though you were old friends, making you wonder if she could somehow remember your last visit. Perhaps cetacean brains had some natural resistance to space-time trickery.

“I need to get to the creepy-ass island this time too. Can you help me?”

She turned to position her side next to you, so you could clumsily get your sore body up on her back, and then signalled the other four orcas to join her. You assumed it was the same four that had been with her the last time, and it all felt like déjà vu. You hoped that since you hadn’t wasted time on first travelling for hours in the wrong direction this time, you’d get to the island much faster, and tried to think back to what you knew had happened that day. It was the day that Marcus had nearly destroyed the village, before his failure prompted the Ozsha to send the tsunami, and he’d stopped them by discovering his new abilities, killing ten of them in the process. God, this was infuriating! You’d already done all this, already made so much progress since this day, and now it was all undone and you had to start over. What the fuck was the portal trying to accomplish with this? You hoped with everything you had that the damned thing had at least sent Marcus to the correct time, and not back here where everything was just terrible. You’d already forgotten how hard it was to ride a swimming whale, through currents and waves, but at least this time you managed to stay on for the whole ride. Getting to the island did take much less time now, so the sun was still halfway up from the horizon when you disembarked and prepared to swim the final few yards to the beach.

“You’re a gem, Whelma. I hope you won’t have to fight this time.”

You pushed away from her and headed for the warm sand, stepping up on dry land to find the beach intact, meaning that the wave hadn’t happened yet. So, you took off running towards the village, to warn them. But you’d forgotten how traumatic this day had already been for them. The roots and the acid having destroyed many of the houses, leaving most of them wandering around, assessing damage or dressing wounds and checking each other over. You ran into the area to find a horrid-looking Marcus talking to Akela, and your heart jumped. Partly because you were relieved that this was old Moreno, meaning yours was likely back safe with Missy, but also because you hadn’t thought about the fact that you’d see the Chief alive again. It hit you like a gut-punch to suddenly see his bright and insightful eyes turn to meet yours, after noticing how all colour drained from Marcus’ face as he caught sight of you first.

“Mana… Praise Kãne and Kanaloa, they brought you back to us.”

Oh, how you’d missed that voice. How you wished that you could’ve just talked to him for a bit. Tears filled your eyes as you stared at him, struggling to believe that this was real for the first time since the portal had dropped you back here. You closed your eyes against the tears and shook your head for a second, trying to keep yourself sharp and alert.

“Chief, listen to me, you have to run. The Kaiaka are sending a giant wave that’s gonna level everything in its path and I don’t know how long we have.”

You had no idea how to convince the one super available that he had the power to stop it, since he wouldn’t have discovered his new abilities yet, but as it turned out, that was far from your biggest challenge. Because in that moment, the only thing that Marcus was capable of focusing on, was the fact that you were alive. That he hadn’t killed you. You remembered all too clearly how this regret and shame had weighed on him.

“Pita… I-… I’m s-so sorry…”

In your timeline, you hadn’t seen him until after he’d had a chance to begin healing himself from the Ozsha’s manipulation, so to meet him now, to see him still so raw and hurting so much more than he’d ever allowed you to see, was breaking your heart. He might not yet know how important he was to you, or you to him, but you had to try and take that pain away from him, it was too devastating to witness. You closed the small distance between you and trapped his chest against your own, ignoring the persistent ache from your bruised body, holding him as tightly as your arms would allow without constricting his breathing. He seemed understandably confused at first, and reluctant to touch you, whether because of the state you were in, or his surprise at you apparently wanting him to. But he soon surrendered to the sincerity of your warmth, wrapping his arms around your back and holding you as gently as a delicate butterfly. Grief rippled through him, tearing unwanted sobs up through his throat, and he buried his face against your neck, trying to muffle them, all while his hands kept moving, from your waist to the backs of your shoulders and down again. As if he needed to make sure that you were real and not some apparition. You wanted to explain that it wasn’t his fault and that you knew why all of this had happened and what it would lead to, but how could he ever believe it without experiencing it for himself? And if he didn’t experience those things, would the future you knew even come to pass? This was so fucking complicated! Why did it have to be time-travel?!

“Mana, where have you been? Where did you find these new clothes?”

Oh… crap. How to explain that little nugget. You pulled away from Marcus, who surprised you by not letting go of you, instead trailing his hand along your arm, down to your hand and holding on to it as you turned back towards Akela to try and answer his questions.

“That’s hard to explain right now, Chief, and time is not on our side.”

He slowly came closer, keeping his eyes firmly locked with yours, and you sensed that he was seeing more than anyone else ever could.

“I think you mean that time is not on your side. Am I correct?”

How he was able to somehow see that just by looking at you, was incredible, but you still had no idea exactly how much he understood, so you tried to tread carefully.

“Yes, but I don’t know why.”

You flinched when your peripheral vision alerted you to a movement next to you, and turned your head to find his mother, Koa, suddenly standing there. You’d forgotten how utterly unnerving she could be. But you’d also forgotten how powerful she was, in her own way.

“You are Mana. That is why you are here.”

Just like the only other time you’d heard her voice, it stunned you with how clear it was, but also with the uncanny sense that something was being passed into you, through her words. It hit you like a car doing a hundred miles an hour. How had you not figured it out earlier? Mana. Spiritual power. This… all of this, being brought back here, at that precise moment before you hit the water, it was to help you understand how powerful your own soul really was. It wasn’t some unknown power or ability that had saved you from being torn apart, it was your uniquely strong soul, reaching out and borrowing a little extra strength from Whelma and her family. Managing to boost itself just enough to cocoon your body in a tougher shell than your usual aura. Just enough to save you from breaking any bones or cracking your skull open. And that momentary connection probably explained why the orca seemed to understand what you wanted as well. But what the heck did your soul have to do with stopping the spores? Right on cue, now that you’d apparently done what it wanted, the portal appeared before you, and everyone else literally jumped away from it, except for you and Koa. You sighed heavily and let your head fall into your free hand for a moment, before looking up at the fucking thing again.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

As usual, it just stood there, always in motion but also somehow so permanent. So inescapable.

“Why do I need to know more about myself in order to stop what’s coming? How will that help anything? I don’t understand what you’re trying to do…”

Marcus hadn’t let go of your hand even though he’d jumped back as the portal appeared, and now that he saw how familiar you were of it, he came closer again, tightening his grip on your hand as if he was afraid that you’d vanish. A sharp pinch bothered your chest at the thought that his fear was about to come true.

“Pita, what is that? What’s going on?”

There was no use in telling him. Either this timeline would revert to normal after you disappeared, which would mean he’d soon learn all about it, or this timeline was forever corrupted, in which case you couldn’t know anything that might happen.

“I’m not where I’m supposed to be. I have to go.”

“No, you can’t. I-…”

He tugged on your hand as he spoke, urging you around to look at him, but then cut himself off when he realized that he didn’t actually know what he was trying to say. It was almost as though your connection to your Marcus was bleeding into this one the longer you were around him, because the Marcus you knew would never have been this affectionate towards you at this point in time. That was possibly why he struggled to put words to his feelings. Because to some extent, they weren’t really his.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. This is all just a weird dream. I’m gonna step into that black thing, and you’re gonna wake up and not even remember any of this.”

You wished that what you were saying was the truth, but you also feared everything about what was happening right now. Regardless of timelines. You feared that you’d become lost to time, no longer belonging anywhere, and that your Marcus might not even exist anymore, or perhaps that you’d just never find him again.

“But I want to remember… because even if this is a dream, you like me here.”

No, no, no, this was not what you needed to hear right now. Leaving him was hard enough, no matter how or why it happened. Your eyes stung when they met his. At the very least, you had to leave him with some hope.

“I like you everywhere, Mo. …I love you.”

Taking advantage of his shock, you slipped your hand out of his and quickly backed away, towards the portal, only turning to face it once you were about to step through. But you paused, staring into it through the tears that would no longer be held back, for the first time feeling unwilling to trust it.

“Take me to him. Please.”

The liquid just kept softly billowing, perhaps moved by the winds and currents of the universe itself. You closed your eyes, hoping with all the might of your soul that this was the last lesson it had needed to teach you, and then you stepped through.

<><><><><>

Marcus stood under a tree in his own garden, staring at his house, seeing his mother and daughter through the living room window, sitting in the sofa and talking, probably about him. Their version of him. The person he’d need to become for the foreseeable future. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, but it had gone dark. He was trying to think back, to remember everything that had been going on five months ago, but he kept losing track of his own thoughts, finding them drifting back to what the portal had showed him earlier that day, after he’d left HQ. He’d been wandering around for a while, trying to figure out what to do next, what had been significant enough about this point in time for the portal to need him to come back here, when one of the smaller pieces of it had suddenly appeared. On its own, the little black creature couldn’t take him anywhere, but as it turned out, it could still show him things. It had climbed up onto his head, and somehow projected images into his mind. Images that would surely rob him of all sleep for a long time to come. Or possibly even drive him mad. There wasn’t really any point in putting it off any longer, it wouldn’t get any easier to explain no matter how long he stood out there. Stepping into the house, he was met by Missy’s voice calling for her dad, before she came running to meet him, a hopeful smile on her face that faded when she realized that it wasn’t the right Marcus that had walked in. Anita followed behind her, but upon seeing her reaction, told her to go to her room.

“No, you both need to hear this. Please.”

His voice was weak and hoarse from all the crying, but he had to explain, as best he could, because there was nowhere else he could go, and no other version of him would be coming back any time soon. Meaning he was the only father that this Missy had for now. They exchanged a look, and after Anita nodded to her grandchild, they all went into the kitchen and sat down around the table. The two of them close together, and him on the opposite side.

“Sweetheart, did you tell Abuela what happened at HQ?”

“Yeah. As best I could.”

He nodded slowly a few times, once more attempting to gather his thoughts.

“I had hoped that I was brought here in order to learn or understand something that would have importance in the future, but as it turns out, that’s not what this is about for me.”

He paused to take a breath, trying to keep his emotions in check for as long as he could, while they both patiently waited, looking more apprehensive than confused, thus far.

“In my timeline… something horrible is about to happen. And Pita and I are the only ones who know about it. This portal thing, it’s trying to help us stop it, and I thought that it brought me here to find a clue, something that would…”

Pain overtook him, stealing his voice for a moment, because as he said it out loud, he suddenly felt like the portal had betrayed him. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“This is all about Pita. I’m here because the portal knows everything. Every possible version of the future, and in order to prevent what’s coming, I have to stay alive. I have to be safe, because Pita is the only one that can stop the annihilation of all life on this planet, and if anything happens to me… she won’t be able to do that.”

Anita tilted her head to the side, but her eyes kept studying him closely.

“So, you’re hiding.”

“Not by choice… but yes, I suppose that’s true. I’d give anything to go back there, to help her.”

He was able to keep the tears from falling, but the pain refused to lessen. Knowing that you’d be forced to face this enormous threat all alone was enough to make him wanna beat his hands bloody against the fucking goo. He wanted to trust that it was doing what needed to be done, but how could he when the odds of your success seemed so insurmountable? Missy could see his pain as clearly as he could feel it, and it didn’t seem to matter to her that he wasn’t technically her dad, because she came to sit next to him and hugged him.

“I know how she feels, if she loves you so much that she’ll break without you. But I don’t understand how she can fight something that dangerous alone?”

“Neither do I, really. I just know that it has something to do with her soul. It’s very special, and it needs to be whole when she faces her enemy, or she’ll fail.”

“Is your Ace a super?”

“No. Her power is something else.”

She paused, and then pulled back so she could properly look at him.

“Do you believe she’s strong enough to win?”

He met her worried eyes, knowing that she’d see the truth whether he voiced it or not.

“I want to. But I’ve seen what’s coming… and… I just can’t.”

—————

Link to Chapter 17

I'm so sorry for being so crap at updating this lately, but sadly, I haven't been feeling well. Thank you for reading, and I’d love to know what you thought :) Have a wonderful day/night!

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