#shout out to that anon that inspired me to finish this

[touchyluffy]

part one

In the days it takes you to heal from your injuries, Luffy comes to your bedroom to sleep next to you every night. He does try, the night after the first, to sleep in his own bedroom but he can't. Usually sleep comes easy to him, especially after a long day of adventure but not now. He closes his eyes, trying to think of your wounds healing, your soft breathing, your warm hand holding his, but he can't fall asleep. He huffs in irritation and rises from his bed, sulking across the ship to knock on your bedroom door and opening it slowly. You put down your book, you were also struggling to sleep, and open the covers for him. You smile at each other as he excitedly hops into your bed.

And so it becomes routine for you two. Even as your injuries heal completely, as the sunsets and the crew walks off to their separate bedrooms, Luffy follows you into yours and you let him. It becomes normal to roll over in the middle of the night and snuggle into his warm body, to wake up in the morning with his arm wrapped around you, to feel him pull you closer in his sleep, to giggle at his sleep-talking, to hear your name in his mumblings. You offer to let him keep his toothbrush and some clothes in your room, he accepts.

Sleeping together becomes so routine that you have trouble sleeping without him. There were times when you two would be separated by a foe that Luffy challenged and each night you would stay awake staring at his side of the bed, worry clouding your mind and making it impossible to sleep and eventually when Luffy defeated the foe, he would be covered in bandages and it was your turn to listen to his soft, even breathing as he slept. There were times when you be working late into the night and he would come find you, curling up on the floor next to you to sleep in your presence until you eventually finish and drag him back to your bed so you can both sleep comfortably. There were times when you would get angry at him for putting the crew in danger with his recklessness and you'd slammed your bedroom door in his face and toss and turn, your anger at him turning into desperation for him to just come to bed already, eventually you get up to find him and as you open your bedroom door, Luffy's sleeping frame falls on your legs. He'd been sleeping against your door. Smiling you pull his rubbery body into bed and cuddle up next to him, his heartbeat your lullaby. He smiles in his sleep and his arms come up around you. Whenever he's missing his hat or sandals, you find them by your bed.

This new routine of you and your captain sleeping together left your other crewmates with their mouths on the floor several times. They still hadn't gotten used to you two waving goodnight and walking into the same bedroom. When they would ask, you tried to explain but there really wasn't anything to explain. You and their captain couldn't sleep unless you slept together. That's all, why do they always stare at you in such surprise when you say that? Their shocked faces didn't discourage you both into cuddling up to each other at night, finding relaxation, warmth, safety, and comfort in each others arms. What was once your space becomes "our bedroom", "our closet", "our bathroom".

[mari-lair]

Searching for Ging

From the AU where Gon was raised on Greed Island instead of Whale Island

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

The Two (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Galadriel fights to withhold Nenya and the Nine, but in the end she fails to stop your husband placing yet another ring upon your finger

Warnings: evil!reader, killing (sorry Adar), allusions to smut, injuries suffered by reader (bad ones but not very graphically described), blood drinking for healing purposes

Note: another one in the evil!reader collection. Shout out to this lovely anon for the inspiration behind a certain bit of dialogue.

This is not exactly where you had imagined you would be on this day—shackles around your wrists and blood marring your brow, being escorted through the woods in a filthy and tattered dress by a band of Orcs. You admit it isn’t the best look on you, but circumstances change, and so you must adapt.

So far, you’d say you’re managing quite well.

Adar is not alone as you reach him in the clearing. Facing him is a blonde-haired Elf with whom you have been itching to meet again, now that she has found out the truth of your identity. Galadriel turns towards the approaching Orcs, her eyes widening slightly when she sees you. She may not have known you all that well, but neither could she have imagined that one of Celebrimbor’s unassuming aids was the one being held dearest of all by the very darkness Galadriel had sworn to destroy.

Adar, on the other hand, had never known you as anything else.

“What an unexpected honor,” he says when he sees you. “To what is it owed?”

You stare him down—the Uruk who had been your husband’s near destruction, leaving you to await his return for what had felt like an agonizing eternity. If looks could kill, he would be in bloody pieces.

It’s Glug, one of the Orcs at your side, that answers him. “We found Sauron. He tried to make us betray you, but we resisted. We lost many,” he shoves you into stumbling forward, “but we got our hands on this one. His Queen, he said,” Glug mocks, and the group of Orcs breaks into a cacophony of snorted laughter. Your face remains impassive as Adar approaches you.

“Indeed, Sauron’s bride herself.” Adar stands before you, meeting your gaze head on. “After all this time, you are still at his side.”

“I am at his side once again,” you correct him coldly, “after you took him from me. For centuries.”

“So long ago, yet your hatred of me has not waned,” Adar muses. “I always wondered how deeply this great love he claimed to feel for you truly ran. Whether you were another of his victims, or some unnatural exception. I can only hope he values you as much as you do him.” He turns to Galadriel. “With any luck, she will be enough to draw him out—”

His words are cut off abruptly, and Galadriel gasps—for the tip of a sword had emerged from Adar’s stomach, then withdrew as swiftly as it had cut through him. He falls to the ground, clutching at his wound, looking up only to see you as you truly are.

Without the illusion, there is not a speck of dirt on you, never mind blood or shackles. You stand clad in elegant battle armour, your bloodied sword held in your hand with the ease and practice of centuries.

Realization dawns on Adar’s face, as you had seen it on those of so many others before, a little too late. “My children!” he calls out, visibly astonished that he even has to. Yet not one of the Orcs move.

“For years, I’ve wondered,” you mock his musing tone from before, crouching to his level and slowly putting your blade to his neck, “would it please me more to kill you myself, or to watch my husband do it? But then, I realized—and he agreed—what end could be more terrible to you than to be killed by that which you love most?”

You stand back up to your full height. To Adar’s credit, he struggles to his feet as well. Even if what happens next is plain to see, before you even speak the words.

“Uruks,” you command, a sinister smile tugging at your lips. “Finish him.”

Your new servants surge from behind you, surrounding Adar and plunging their swords into their former master. It’s poetic, really—an inverted mirror of what your beloved suffered all those years ago, whilst your husband himself walks into the clearing, no longer hiding in the shadows, and recovers the crown that should have been his in the first place from the boulder on which it had been placed. Galadriel doesn’t see him, her eyes fixed on you in anger. It’s a delight to watch it be replaced with dread when she hears your husband’s voice call her name.

By now, Adar has fallen to the ground once more, yet the Orcs are slow to cease their blows. Galadriel is frozen in place as your husband joins you at your side, both of you looking down at the Uruk who has tasted your vengeance.

“My... children...” he croaks out, pitifully.

“They have found new parents,” your husband says, pitiless.

You exchange a look with Glug, and if there was any trace of hesitancy left in him, it vanishes under your demanding gaze. With a roar, he plunges his sword into Adar’s heart, putting an end to him and the killing frenzy of his brethren.

“What orders,” he asks then, his irritatingly pitched voice downright fanatical, “Lord Sauron? My Queen?”

“Raze Eregion,” your husband says evenly. “Leave no Elf alive. But bring me their leaders.”

“Be sure to destroy every single record of Celebrimbor’s works,” you add. “We would not want the secrets of the Rings’ craft revealed.”

The Orcs bow their heads, so wonderfully obedient as they begin to chant, “Hail Sauron, the Dark Lord! Hail our Dark Queen!” They repeat it as if in a craze, still muterring the words in their speech as they scurry away to carry out your orders. Glug, however, lingers by your side.

“Forgive me, my Queen!” He drops to his knees, all but touching his head to your boots. “For the offence I brought you. I only meant to convince Adar of our lie.”

You tilt your head, such an indulgent expression on your face, one might think it was genuine if they knew no better. You put a finger beneath Glug’s chin and lift his head, his bulbous eyes widening in awe as he meets your gaze.

“Earn my forgiveness,” you say sweetly, “by carrying out the task you have been given.”

“Yes, my Queen!” he exclaims, shooting to his feet the moment you release him. “My Lord!” he bows to your husband as well, then rushes after his companions as you watch, deeply satisfied. So this is what it feels like to be worshipped as a goddess. For now, by Orcs—later, by every being in Middle-Earth. The mere thought of it feels like a sip of the most exquisite and intoxicating wine, the elation second only to that sharing in this glory with your husband. You would love nothing more than to bask in the moment, mark it with a kiss, but there is still a pressing matter to attend to beforehand.

And, at once, she demands your attention.

“All this,” Galadriel says, voice thin with held-back terror, “was your design from the beginning!”

“Not all of it,” your husband tells her with eerie humility. “When my beloved came to find me,” he glances to you, letting his knuckles graze a gentle line down your shoulder, “having sensed my presence as I strived to regain my form, we believed we would never be parted again. It was hardly by our design that we were separated in that shipwreck. Once the sea brought you to me, however—”

“—an opportunity arose,” you continue seamlessly, smiling up at your husband, “too tantalizing to pass up.” You turn to Galadriel with a self-assured gaze. “You see, my love and I may be apart in body, but never in mind. And though not even we knew where our paths would lead, we trusted that we would be reunited at the end, and be all the better for it. So, I made my way back to Eregion, where my false life still awaited me—”

“—and I let you take Halbrand there yourself,” your husband finishes. “With a Númenórean army to fight against my enemy, and your trust to help me earn Celebrimbor’s. So, in the end...” A devious smirk tugs at his lips. “One could say it was your design.”

Galadriel purses her lips, keeping them firmly shut. She knows better than to take that bait of self-blame, you can tell. Instead, her eyes dart to her sword, discarded on the ground—betraying her intentions.

In an instant, you both bolt for her sword—and it’s only by a fraction of a second that you stomp your foot on the blade before she can lift it, leaving her to pull helplessly at the handle whilst you put your own sword to her throat. She glares up at you, her words spit out like venom, “You are a traitor to your people!”

A short, sweet laugh escapes you. “I am a traitor to all peoples.” You knit your brow, feigning bashfulness. “How kind of you to notice.”

Galadriel blinks at you, a trace of pity mingling with the disgust in her eyes. “Your mind has left you.”

You open your mouth, prepared to let her know you completely agree, and are rather pleased with yourself—when your attention lands on her hand, drawn there by a glimmer of light reflected off the gem on her finger. Nenya, the Ring of Water, shines before your eyes in all its devastating perfection.

You almost forget to keep your blade at Galadriel’s throat as you crouch down and grab her hand. She flinches, but your grip is relentless as you hold her hand still, admiring the Ring.

“Oh, this is simply...” you murmur, almost tearfully, “exquisite.”

In your long life, the only sight to grace your gaze which held similar beauty was your husband, in any form of his. And perhaps, only perhaps, from a purely aesthetic point of view, the Ring might just surpass him.

The thought, even just in passing, leaves you disoriented. And Galadriel takes full advantage of it.

She moves swiftly. Whilst you are distracted, she yanks her sword from underneath you and you lose your balance, finding yourself face up on the ground, barely parring the immediate blow she aims at your throat. Unsurprisingly, she is strong, making it a real challenge for you to keep her sword at bay with your own, but your mind is now fully present once more and you hold your own as fiercely as ever.

You don’t have to do it for long, however. Your husband’s sword intercedes between yours and Galadriel’s, breaking them apart and forcing her to fall backwards. She scrambles back to her feet, but now she is being attacked by a doubly armed foe, and it is her on the defence, struggling to match your husband’s skillful blows. You’ve stood back up, ready to fight again, but you can’t help taking a moment to behold the glorious sight of your husband fighting. It’s a rather short dance between them, brought to a halt as their blades clash and your husband swings Morgoth’s crown at the place where they meet, trapping both within its iron spikes.

Both of Galadriel’s hands hold the hilt of her sword in a white-knuckled grip, giving your husband a full view of the Ring as well. It tempts his gaze as quickly as it did yours.

“Even more beautiful than Celebrimbor led us to believe,” he says, bemused. “It would compliment your wedding band beautifully.” He glances at you. “Don’t you think, my love?”

As you meet his gaze, you are left breathless with how ardently you want to say yes. To have him place that wondrous Ring upon your finger, just as he did your wedding band all those years ago, and to admire the jewel on your hand as it touches every single inch of your husband’s skin whilst you make love for days and nights on end. You would begin right there, in the clearing, if not for the unwanted company.

Galadriel grunts, breaking away from your husband. Their withering stares remain locked as he circles her widely, coming to stand at your side. Can she not grasp that she is at a disadvantage?

“This is hardly fair. Two against one” you say, trying to sound reasonable. “It would be much wiser to simply give me that Ring, and him the Nine.”

“We do not wish to harm you,” your husband says, in that falsely reassuring tone that has worked wonders on so many others. Galadriel is having none of it.

“Do you wish to heal me?” she asks, defiantly. You would admire her determination, if it wasn’t so inconvenient to you personally.

Your husband proves more patient than you feel in his answer. “We would heal... all Middle-Earth.”

“As you have Eregion?” she growls, face twisting in rage as she readies her sword.

“Well, then,” you sigh shortly and do the same with yours, glancing at your husband, “ladies first, I suppose.”

And so you are the first to meet Galadriel in her attack. For a little while, you are evenly matched, but once your husband joins you shortly after, well—that is a different story.

You have to admit, Galadriel lives up to her reputation as Commander of the Northern Armies and then some. And yet, the fight would have been much shorter if it weren’t for a silent agreement between you and your husband, for the sadistic streak you share that makes you want to draw this out, let her believe she might prevail before you prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that she never stood a chance.

You had almost forgotten the utter pleasure that it was to fight at your husband’s side. It’s no less harmonious or fierce than when you are making love, how fluidly you complement each other’s movements, acting as though you are simply an extension of the other. In that way, you suppose, the fight is fair—Galadriel’s opponent is as one alone, in all but flesh.

The Ring, however, and the Nine whose presence your husband must feel as keenly as you do, prove a distraction. Your blades draw Galadriel’s blood, but the wounds are relatively minor, and she manages to nick your skin as well in moments where your eyes stray to the Ring on her finger, your mind clouded with thoughts of it becoming yours.

You can’t explain how else she manages to gain the upper hand as she eventually does, catching your husband sufficiently off-guard to kick him down from a small height. Your battle had taken you to the ruins of an old stone structure at the edge of a cliff, your husband landing gracelessly in the midst of it. You’re more concerned for his pride rather than his body, however. Panting from exertion, you and Galadriel lock gazes.

“You say you let him use me,” she challenges, taking her chances at riling you up now that you are alone. “Do you know what he offered me?”

“What he pretended to offer you was mine already,” you say, unwavering. “Had been for a long, long time.”

“He seemed rather convincing,” Galadriel taunts, “when he called me his Queen.”

You huff out a chuckle. “How could you not be convinced,” you retort, “when you so badly wanted to believe him?”

You charge at her again. Perhaps she has managed to make your blood boil after all, but it only works against her, because your attacks are all the more vicious as you force her backwards, down a set of stone steps leading to where your husband had fallen.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” you taunt her between strikes, “for desiring him.”

“I did not desire—!”

“Liar,” you hiss, narrowly parrying a particularly rageful swing of her sword. “I quite liked that form myself. Had a certain roguish... charm to it.” The word becomes a grunt as you kick her back into the stone wall, your swords and gazes locked together in a battle of unrelenting wills. “That stubble of his... felt especially pleasant on my skin.” You smile wickedly, voice laden with sinful implications. “Did you never imagine it on yours?”

She must have—otherwise, her eyes would not betray the sliver of shame that they do as she cries out and pushes you off her with renewed strength. You stumble to the bottom of the stairs with a deranged chuckle, putting your fingers to the stinging spot on your cheek and finding it wet with blood. She had managed to cut you.

And she seemed intent on trying to do worse to you, if not for your husband distracting her with something yet more disorienting than your words.

She freezes in place when she sees him standing before her—not as Annatar, but as Halbrand.

“Fighting at your side,” he says, as if from a distant dream, “I felt if I could just hold on to that feeling...”

Words that had once tugged at her heart, no doubt. They are not enough to deter her from attacking him now, but the internal conflict painted on her face is a delight to watch as they cross blades. Your husband changes the guise of Halbrand into that of Galadriel herself, then that of Celebrimbor. Each of them taunting her with the words he knows would cut the deepest, driving her into one attack after the other.

Until the old structure on which they are fighting crumbles, and they fall along with the boulders back to the ground. Your husband is the first to rise, back to the form he had taken as Annatar, and as you meet his gaze, alight with wrath, you both know—it’s time to put an end to this.

Galadriel gathers her sword from where it has fallen, staggers back to her feet, stubborn and determined as ever as the fighting resumes. But there are two of you, and she is more tired. Before long, you have her backed into a corner—or rather, with the very edge of the cliff at her back, with nowhere to go but into a deadly fall to the ground below. She fights valiantly, but in the end the inevitable happens. Half-distracted by you, she is not quick enough to stop your husband from plunging one of the crown’s iron spikes deep into her shoulder. He backs her into a pillar of the stone arch at the cliff’s edge, and in that position it’s too easy for you to knock the sword from her hand, once and for all.

It’s almost sad, seeing such a mighty warrior reduced to cries of pain, sagging helplessly against the stone. When your husband pulls the crown from her, she falls limp to the ground, the satchel containing the Nine slipping from an inner pocket at her chest. Leaning down, your husband finally reclaims his creations, then slips the Ring of Water off Galadriel’s trembling finger. She is too weak to do anything but groan, her eyes fluttering shut in defeat.

“The Rings are ours,” he says proudly. With his opponent utterly defeated, he lays down his sword and the crown on a nearby boulder, then tucks the satchel away within his own robes. The Elven Ring, however, he keeps in the palm of his hand as he leaves Galadriel lying there and turns to you. His steps are slow and measured as he comes to stand before you, close enough to take your hand in his if he so wishes to. But he withholds, his eyes boring into yours.

“My love,” he says, and it feels like a vow. “My Queen.” He holds out his hand, reverently. “Allow me.”

Your chest swells as you place your hand in his. You hold each other’s gaze a moment longer before you both look down and watch as he, with utmost delicacy, slips Nenya onto your finger, right next to the one that wears your wedding band. Your sword clatters to the ground, unwittingly loosed from your grip, but you don’t even hear it. The sight before you is almost too beautiful to behold, making you weep with joy.

“With this, I vow my life to be yours,” your husband says then, voice strained with emotion. “In life and in death—”

“—and for all eternity,” you finish breathlessly, raising your tearful gaze to meet his. The vows you had spoken to each other on the night you had bound your souls together, repeated with equal devotion after all this time.

His brow furrows in awe, and he beholds your face as though he cannot believe you are real. Your Ring-bearing hand trembles in his as he raises his other one to your cheek, thumb gently brushing the skin beneath the cut left there by Galadriel. He leans in and kisses the wound, his warm tongue soothing the pain and relishing the taste of you. You feel it too, sweetly coppery, as he then seals his mouth to yours with soul-wrenching tenderness. And you already know, but it still sweeps the floor from underneath your feet each time you are reminded of the full might of your adoration for him. You would crumble to the ground with the force of it, if not for your husband holding you close.

“Wed again,” you murmur as your lips part, lightheaded with bliss. His smile is soft, his knuckles grazing your temple reverently.

“I never imagined you could be even more beautiful than you already were,” he all but whispers, glancing down at the Ring of Power upon your finger. “Yet as my Queen, your radiance is nearly too great to look upon, even for my eyes. All of Middle-Earth shall bow to worship at my beloved’s feet. All shall love you and despair.”

And you shall love to be adored, yet his adoration would forever be the one you cherish most. You are leaning in to taste his lips once more, when the voice of your all-but-forgotten-about foe rudely interrupts.

“The free peoples of Middle-Earth,” Galadriel declares, “will always resist you.”

With a small sigh, you turn to her. She has managed enough strength to sit up sideways, her glare as defiant as ever even as the poisoned wound left by Morgoth’s—by your husband’s crown slowly consumes her. She’s resilient, fearsome and beautiful. Like you.

Now that she is no longer a real threat, you allow yourself a spark of admiration. Sensing your wish, your husband leaves to break away from him and go to her, lowering yourself to one knee so you meet her at her level.

“I could yet help you heal,” you offer mercifully, knuckles grazing her jawline as she flinches away. “You could yet pledge your allegiance to your King and Queen.”

“Not while I still breathe,” she spits the words obstinately. Predictably.

It seems you’ll still have need of your sword after all.

“This is a waste, truly,” you say, and mean it. “You would have made a great ally.”

Galadriel frowns, as if contemplating your words. “Perhaps,” she admits. “You, on the other hand...” She leans close to you, and hisses in your face, “...would have made a dreadful Queen.”

‘Would have’? You’re about to tell her you already are Queen, and always will be. A taunting smirk is already tugging at your lips—

—quickly snuffed out by a sharp pain, deep in your chest. Jaw slack, eyes wide, you look down to find Galadriel’s hand there, gripping the hilt of the dagger she has plunged into your heart. Nothing but a small blade, most likely conjured from some hidden pocket in her garments whilst you and your husband had been absorbed in each other, and which she had concealed within her sleeve since—it hardly matters. It all happens too quickly for your husband to reach you, and it’s distraction enough that all you can do is gasp as Galadriel grabs you by the shoulders and, with the last of her strength, pulls you over the edge of the cliff along with herself.

Your name, roared out by your beloved, is the last thing you hear as you fall.

*****

You’re alive.

Barely.

You exist somewhere between wakefulness and oblivion, the sounds around you distant and pain threatening to greet you once you have returned to your full senses—if you ever will. But a touch of your husband’s godly nature has resided within you ever since you bound yourself to one another in marriage, and so your form endures, your mind alert enough to serve you even as you lie broken on the ground.

“She should be healed,” a voice says, and you recognize it—king Gil-galad, no doubt come to recover Galadriel from where she must be lying close to you. “And made to face judgement for her treachery.”

There is another presence, yet closer to you. As a hand touches your neck, fingers pressing to your pulse point, you grasp at every last sliver of your power to conjure one small, but vital illusion.

The hand leaves you.

“I agree,” you hear Elrond say. “But she is dead already.”

Relieved and utterly spent, before long you are lost to the world once more.

*****

Your name, whispered softly by your beloved, is the first thing you hear as you wake up.

The next is your own weak moan, pain spreading through your body as feeling returns to you. The room to which you open your eyes is, thankfully, low-lit—you doubt they could handle anything else. But all that truly matters is that you are met with your husband’s gaze, relieved and endlessly caring as he sits at your side, leaning over you.

“Shh,” he cooes, caressing the crown of your head as a tear slides down your temple. “This too shall pass, for I will look after you as you did me in my time of need. I’m here, my love,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’m here.”

The pain mercifully dulls once again, most likely your husband’s doing. This time, you are at peace as you drift away.

*****

It isn’t pain, but warmth and comfort that greets you when you next wake. Your limbs are still weak, your body made heavy with a dull ache all over, but the familiar feeling of being cradled in your husband’s arms overshadows the lingering discomfort. Your head is resting on his chest, and, in natural reflex, you nuzzle into him, lips searching for his skin and pressing to his neck.

“My love,” he greets softly, his pulse a pleasant thrum beneath your mouth. “You are awake at last.”

You lift your head, wincing at the stiffness in your neck, and look into your husband’s eyes. “Did I keep you waiting terribly long?” you ask, finding the strength to work a trace of playfulness into your tired voice. Something in his gaze breaks in the face of it.

“Unbearably so,” he replies in earnest.

There’s no response you find within you other than to press a light kiss to his lips, reassuring yourself that this is real. After, you allow him to carefully maneuver you so that you are both sitting up against the headboard, with you still tucked into his side.

“You are nearly recovered, my love,” he says as you grimace and shift, looking for a comfortable position for your aching joints, “but your strength will return with time. Until then...”

He offers you his hand, his black blood already spilled from a cut in the palm of it. It’s fresh, different from the one he had used to provide the false mithril for the Nine. This sacrifice he has made for you alone, to mend his beloved piece by piece. You don’t need him to explain all of this—you simply offer him a grateful smile as you cradle his hand in yours and bring it to your lips, kissing it almost as you would his mouth as you gather his blood with your tongue.

“There,” he says hoarsely, eyes fluttering shut with the great pleasure of feeling you consume him, any part of him. “Take my strength,” he urges, cradling your head as you drink from him. “Make it yours, my love.”

The effect may be temporary, but the relief is instant. You pull away, sighing pleasantly as you wipe your thumb over any lingering droplets of blood on your lips, and lick those off your finger as well. You feel almost as new, as if you had never even taken a blade to the heart and a shattering fall.

The memory sends a jolt through your chest. Instinctively, you bring your hand to it, looking down at the place where Galadriel had managed to stab you. The wound has been healed, but the spark of rage is kindled within you once more. And it grows into a wildfire when you notice your horribly bare finger.

“Where’s Nenya?” You scramble from your husband’s arms and off the bed, gripped by a sudden, blind panic. “Where’s my Ring?” you demand, nearly a growl. His gaze becomes grim.

“The Elves took it back,” he says darkly, standing to face you. You huff out a furious breath. So, Galadriel succeeded, then. She recovered the Ring, even if it meant taking all of you along with it. Even if she was risking her own death.

You sincerely hope she survived the fall and the wound inflicted by your husband’s crown. Otherwise, you would have no revenge to look forward to.

“And Eregion?” you ask, scrambling for some victory to which to cling in your rage. “Our army? What of it?”

“We are in Eregion,” your husband tells you, adding proudly, “what is left of it. As for our armies... nearly all Middle-Earth is ours for the taking.”

“Nearly?” you frown.

“The Elves have used the Three to create a sanctuary beyond my reach.” His voice drips bitterness. But as he steps to you, taking your hand in his, he seems more disturbed than vengeful. “Had I found that they had taken you there... where I could not follow...”

You soften, then, your anger tamed by the torment in his gaze as he trails off. You wonder if, within this sanctuary of the Elves protected by the light of the Three, you could still feel your husband’s dark soul caressing yours even from afar. The thought that you might not, that you had been at risk of suffering such an appalling emptiness, is sickening.

“It is well, then,” you say, chasing away the dread of what might have been, “that I led Elrond to believe I was dead. That is why they took only Galadriel.”

“My love.” Your husband smiles, pride swelling in his eyes as he cups your cheek. “Clever and fierce, even as you lay broken.”

“I knew you would find me,” you say simply, as if nothing more had been needed. But then you sigh, and take hold of his wrist, lowering his hand from your face. “But our victory is not yet complete,” you say sullenly. “The Three are free of your influence and beyond our reach.”

“Do not despair, my love,” he is quick to reassure. “The Seven have known my touch. We have the Nine. And very soon...” Something sparks in his eyes, cunning and mysterious. “...we shall have more.”

You raise a brow, intrigued. “More?”

He nods, brow knitting slightly as he begins to explain. “You told me it did not sit well with you that I had used only my blood in the making of the Nine. You were right, my love,” he admits. His gaze drops to your hands, his thumb brushing over the empty spot where Nenya had been. “And so,” he says, locking his gaze with yours, “it shall be with your blood and mine combined that we will forge the Two.”

The words linger in the air, ominous and captivating even before you fully grasp their meaning.

“Two Rings,” your husband continues, wrapping your hands in his and bringing them to his chest, where you feel his heart beat as furiously as yours as he speaks. “Born of our flesh and love, inextricably intertwined with one another. Whose power shall be as fierce and eternal as the devotion between you and I, greater than that of all the other Rings. Great enough to bind them in the darkness we share, and to rule them all. One for their King...”

“One for their Queen,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips as if they had always been there. Always locked behind your tongue, written in your fate, meant to be spoken in this very moment. This feeling, the things of which he speaks—it is all so intoxicating, a design too perfect in its terrible splendour to imagine it being brought into existence.

“Is that possible?” you ask, cautiously.

“If it is not... then we shall make it.”

And when he says it like that, gazing so deeply and so fiercely into your eyes, you believe him.

“Will you join me in this act of creation, my love?” your husband beseeches, so desperately hopeful. “Will you stand at my side?”

There is only one answer that could ever leave your lips. But first, you lean in and capture his in a deep, ravenous kiss, the taste of him both remedy and fuel to the delirium surging within you.

Creation. Not meant for Elves, or Dwarves, or Men. Not crafted through the deception of Celebrimbor, or even so much as with another’s aid. The very embodiment of your entwined souls, brought into being and meant to be worn by you and your beloved only.

The fruit of your union.

You break apart, opening your eyes to find the same all-consuming desire reflected in your husband’s. And once again, you speak the vow that shall very soon become inscribed upon the gold of the Two.

“For all eternity.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Defied

[sanguineterrain]

This is not on the prompt list(s), but I’ve been inspired by the phrase “This is for your own good.” and could we have a debut Red Hood Jason saying this to Vigilante!Reader, who was also his pre-death lover, as he’s keeping her prisoner in one of his bases so that she won’t be caught in the crossfire?

OOH. interesting prompt. I haven't really written a darker jason 😏 thanks anon! hope you like.

jason todd x gn!reader. DARK THEMES. drugging, toxic relationship, codependency, chain restraints, knife threats (not from jason). what would happen if jason's best traits (protecting the people he loves, prioritizing safety) manifested in the worst way?

****

"This is for your own good, baby."

You pull at your chains, making them clink against the floor. You snarl as he steps back.

"This is crazy, Jason! Let me go!"

Jason looks at you in sympathy. It pains him to see you like this; Jason never wants to do anything that'll frighten or upset you. Your comfort and happiness always precede his. He'd put a gun into his mouth without hesitation if it would save you.

But he means it: this really is for your own good.

"I thought you were better than this," you say savagely. "I thought you of all people would understand how wrong this is."

"I know it's wrong," Jason says quietly. "I know I'm a bastard and fucked in the head. I know I don't deserve ya. But this is the only way. You won't stop going out there. You're too sweet for this city. It'll tear you apart, and I won't let that happen."

"That isn't your decision to make, Jason!" you say, squirming in your restraints.

You take a deep breath. The Bats only respond to logic when they're this deep in paranoia. You have to appeal to that.

"Jason, listen to me. I know you're scared of me getting hurt, but I know what I'm doing. I've done this for a long time, just like you—"

"And that's exactly where the danger lies. Things go wrong all the time, no matter how long you've been out there. I'm expendable. You're not."

Jason tugs once, twice, three times on your ankles and wrists. Satisfied, he moves on to the chain around your waist that's connected to the wall. It gives you a walking range of about five feet before you're yanked back. Jason had fussed about bedsores, and what keeping you in a bed would do to your range of motion. This was his compromise.

I'm not a monster, he'd insisted. I don't want to hurt you.

"Jason, please," you say. He starts to walk away and you chase him. The wall chain pulls and you land on your knees. Jason stops, looking down at you. You start to cry.

"Jason, please, please! Please don't leave me like this," you say, reaching with bound hands to grab his pant leg. "Please. This isn't right. I'm not a doll for your keeping!"

"I don't think of you as a doll," Jason says, kneeling in front of you. He holds your cheek and wipes a tear with a gloved thumb. "Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. Please don't cry. Hate to see it. I won't keep you like this forever. 'S just until I finish up in Gotham. Then we can go away from all this. Live normal lives."

"This is the life I want to live!" you shout, pawing at his clothes. "Let me go, Jason, let me go!"

"Baby. Hey, hey. You're gonna work yourself into a frenzy. Y'want something to calm you down? Make y'feel nice and sleepy."

Your blood turns to ice. No. No drugs. If Jason drugs you now, there's no telling when or if he'll stop. This is a man who was trained by Batman. You're sure he knows about every drug there's to know about.

You shake your head, your crying becoming quiet blubbering. "No. N-no drugs. Please."

He pets your forehead. "'Kay. No drugs, baby. 'S okay, see? I'll be back in a few hours and then we can eat and I'll draw you a bubble bath. Those are your favorite, remember?"

Jason kisses your salty cheek and stands, putting on his helmet. Like this, looming over you, in full Hood gear, Jason is terrifying. The reminder strikes you again, how capable and deadly your lover is.

Jason leans in and pets your cheek. "So pretty. Love you so much. Won't let anything happen to you, baby."

You watch, defeated, as Jason leaves, locking the door behind him. You listen for the sound of the lock clicking.

Then you get to work on finding an escape.

****

You keep your breathing silent as you wait. Your limbs ache from how long you've been crouched in hiding, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except escaping.

The door opens and shuts. Jason quietly removes his boots and helmet, surveying the apartment like always. He sets a plastic bag on the coffee table. The smell of Thai food fills the apartment.

"Baby? Hey, I'm home. Brought your favorite takeout."

You wait until he walks by your spot behind the TV. Then you strike.

You take Jason down to the floor with a move that only works due to your element of surprise. Then you hold a dagger to his neck, the cold metal pressed flat.

Jason regards you calmly, hands at his sides. You pant furiously, pressing the blade warningly.

"Let me go," you order. "I won't be chained up like that."

"I see," he says, and the way he says it is scarily reminiscent of Batman. You keep that to yourself.

"I mean it, Jason. You can't do that. I'll—I'll call someone on you. Bruce, Clark, Dick. Somebody."

"Alright." Jason holds up his hands slowly. You watch the movement, nerves raw. "Alright. 'S okay. Just breathe. You're upset, I get that."

"I don't—I don't wanna hurt you," you say, squeezing the dagger harder. Your hand cramps in protest. "But if you make me..."

Jason nods. "Yeah, baby. I know. 'S okay. We can fix it. 'M not mad."

"Don't talk to me like that," you snap. "I'm not stupid, Jay. Not stupid."

"I know, sweetheart. I know you're not stupid. I don't think you are. Y'wanna cut me? Feel like hurtin'?" He leans into the blade, breathing steady as a river. "Go on, honey. I heal quick. You need to do it, take it out on me."

The thought of hurting Jason makes you sick. For all of his misguided protection, he hasn't hurt you. Hasn't laid a hand on you or shouted at you. Every form of restraint is as gentle as possible.

"No," you say, voice wobbly. "I-I don't wanna hurt you. Please don't make me."

Jason strokes your arm with his thumb. "No, I won't. You'll never have to hurt anybody. And I'll never let you get hurt either. 'S okay. You're safe with me. 'S me, just Jay."

Jason's hand wraps around the wrist with the knife. You stiffen, and the blade slips. A thin line of blood beads on his neck. He loosens his grip.

"Okay," he says. "Alright. You're safe."

"I don't wanna be chained," you say, tears in your eyes. "I can't be chained. I'll go fucking crazy, Jason."

"I know. I'm sorry. We don't have to do chains."

Your heart hammers in your chest. But Jason is nothing but calm. Blood sluggishly drips down his neck. Your eyes widen.

"I'm sorry," you say, reaching for his neck. "I'm sorry, Jaybird, I didn't mean—"

"I know." He catches your hand. "Shh, shh. That's okay. 'S just a scratch. It was an accident, baby, that's all."

Tears fall down your cheeks. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"I know." Jason slips the knife out of your hand. He slides it away. You collapse into his embrace.

"I can do it," you say, sobbing. "I can go out there, Jay. Please just believe me. Please trust me. You trusted me before."

Jason cradles the back of your head. He slots you between his legs and rocks back and forth. You put your arms around him. His heart is an even thump against your ear.

Finally, you've gotten through to him. Jason isn't completely gone after all.

"Don't worry," he says. "Don't worry, 's okay. It'll all be fine. I know my mistake. I'll be better. It'll be better for us."

Something pricks your neck.

Hope sinks like a rock in your stomach. You squirm, but Jason holds fast, legs trapping yours. You whale on his shoulders with your fists. He holds your biceps, expression sorrowful.

"Baby—"

"No, you promised. You promised!" you scream. "You promised me!"

"It's just to soothe your nerves, honey. Please don't—"

You lunge for the knife, ready to do some serious damage. Jason tackles you before you can. He traps you on the floor, holding you down in a full lock. He holds your arms to your sides, and your legs are pinned to the floor. It's perhaps the gentlest restraint you've ever experienced. You scream and thrash, but it's no use.

"You monster! You're no better than any of them!"

"Sorry, 'm sorry," Jason says. No matter how much you fight, his grip won't budge. You've never been a match for Jason's strength or ability.

"I hate you! You don't love me!"

"I do, I do love you." Jason rests his forehead against your spine. "Christ, your life means more than mine. I won't lose you. You're the only one who matters."

His words are muffled. Your world is going fuzzy. The drug is kicking in.

"You promised," you say weakly, wiggling in one last attempt.

Jason tucks his face into your neck as you fall unconscious.

"I'll keep you safe," he says, lips on your neck. "No matter what."

[saleeba]

payback ; jude bellingham

summary ♡ you're not happy with the little amount of attention your boyfriend is giving you so you decide to take matters into your own hands. jude shows you the consequences.

pairing ♡ jude bellingham x fem!reader 

content ♡ 18+, smut, bratty!reader, hard-dom!jude, blowjob, exhibitionism (???), some praise, light degradation (another rough bj sceneeeee i’m never beating the slag allegations 😓) 

a/n ♡ requested by this lovely anon ; i am SO glad i’ve finally got it out omg only took me 9 bloody months 😩😩 this is one of my lazier works only bc i needed to get smth out asapp before i start a new term at uni but i hope you all enjoy <33 (not proofread so pls forgive all the mistakes! 🫶🏽)

there’d been hubbub coming from jude’s office ever since you got home in haste with your work bag burdening your arms and a tingle between your legs, mind made up on getting jude into bed as quickly as you like and riding him beyond the sunrise. the noise had become increasingly common recently as you found him spending more and more of his free time in that same office, the calling of his name from your lips being replied to with rapid click-clacks of the game controller and bantering shouts down the headset instead of his signature yes, baby? nobody could blame you for being upset that he was essentially more interested in those damn games than he was in you, his girlfriend of multiple years. 

the throbbing between your legs is growing to be overbearing now, and you need your boyfriend badly — need his fingers to stop pressing those stupid buttons and press against the puffiness of your clit instead. desperation pulls you towards the office’s half-open door and then inside, where jude is sitting, his eyes laser-focused on the blaring screens before shouting a displeased fuck off! to no one in particular as the monitor displays a message of GAME OVER, headset thrown down to the desk in exasperated resignation.

“juuuude,” you step into the role of needy girlfriend as fast as he dons the headset again. “are you finished now?” you’re hoping he turns around to see your oscar-worthy performance of painting on a pout and bambi eyes but his eyes are still drawn into the graphics of guns and warzones in front of him and he doesn’t even spare a glance your way.

“juuuuude!”

“one minute, babe, just need to get this high score then i’m done.” he’s still not looking at you and you can tell you guys are barely in the same reality, his every sense preoccupied with this stupid game. there’s no way he’s going to be getting that done in one minute nor is he ending it there — you’d be lucky to see him exit the room after three hours, probably having played through 5 more rounds and hopped onto another game. he was being so annoying and unfortunately, it was doing nothing to douse the flames in your core. 

and so you decide to kick your plans up a notch. if he won’t listen to you, fine. but he would never ignore the feeling of your skin on his, would he?   

jude’s busy chatting about tactics and skins and what-not with the friends he’s playing with and you occupy yourself by letting your hands run over his ears from behind — removing those pesky headphones — then his shoulders then down to the toned expanse of his jumper-clad chest, keeping your touch tender and unassuming to start with, lips finding their way to the shell of his ear — right before they leave a teasing kiss that barely ghosts over his skin.

“i need you, jude,” you whine, an inspired streak of the ‘damsel in distress’ in your performance now. “please, baby.” your hands are running down more shamelessly, fiddling with the zip of his trousers whilst his fingers falter at the controls. 

“y/n…” he tentatively warns and the way he says your name tells you that messing with him right now will have dire consequences. whatever gets me cumming tonight, you think to yourself; the urgent necessity to have him between your legs is far more dire. jude dares to simply slip his headset back on and focus on the game in hand. 

stepping up your own game and feeling that little bit more daring, you push his gaming chair back, letting the wheels do their job as you tuck yourself in under the desk, a look of disapproval on jude’s face for you as the muffled sounds of voices come from under his ears give the glint of a cruel idea forming in your eyes.

“and what do you think you’re doing?!” jude hisses out as your fingers find a route back to that zip on his trousers, pulling it down and taking his cock out of his boxers faster than he can say anything else. 

“stop me if you want.” you smile cheekily, eyes still doe-ish and feigning concern, before tapping the dark tip of his dick on the slickness of your tongue, savouring the almost-instant way he hardens in your hands. the grip he has on the controller seems harder, veins nearly ready to burst when you dip his head into the gaping of your mouth. 

you take the absence of him arguing against this as an incentive to carry on, to wrap your lips further down his length and really drive the message home with a tightening of your cheeks once the tip reaches the access to your throat. 

“fuck, baby…” jude tries his hardest to let only whispers escape his lips but he forgets the fortune he spent on getting this high-quality, high-sensitivity headset as he’s met with worried questions from his mates, all asking if he’s okay and about what’s going on. his spluttering reply of “u-uh, oh, nothing, i’m fine” has you catching on to the fact if you were really feeling brave, his friends would be able to hear every sound that the both of you make. 

you distract him with the tiniest of kitten licks on his tip, small enough to keep him focused on his game but rapid and desperate enough for you to not hand over victory before your gameplan is finalised with its last stage…

you’d normally struggle to take him in all at once, his girth being almost always too much to handle, but there’s a fire lit inside you tonight and you feel like you could take on anything to cool yourself down, including having a go at deepthroating jude in one go — all of the sake of fucking with him in the presence of his friends. 

it’s difficult, you’re not surprised because you don’t think you’ll ever get used to his size, but you do make it in one sweep of your mouth, the muscles of your throat immediately constricting around the intrusion of his thickness, and jude nearly jumps out of his seat. the loudest groan you’ve ever heard him make escapes his lungs and he lets his fingers slip off the controller before that menacing GAME OVER lettering covers the screen. you can hear the jeering and taunting from his mates as he hastily takes off his headphones, the microphone attachment laying just centimetres above where you’re smirking up at your boyfriend, chest heaving and mouth gracelessly wet from the amount of spit it had to create to be able to form its attack on jude.

inquiries are coming from the headphones over jude and his whereabouts, the occasional “jude, you alright, bro?” filling the stand-off-ish atmosphere you’ve found yourself in as the man in question looms over you, now stood up before his hands clasp onto your head.

oh, you’re in for it now. 

“open. now.” he orders, not waiting for an answer as his tip slides past your lips the millisecond they part and you feel yourself instantly choking around his shaft when he pushes it all the damn way to the column of your throat. “this is what you wanted, right?” you hawk and splutter over the concrete-harshness of his cock as he begins his counterattack on you.

the twisted part is that you want to say yes, you have been wanting this. you’ve been thinking about the heftiness of his dick inside you — any which way, in any hole — since the morning, on your way to work, throughout work, on the way back. this is secretly your self-gifted reward for being so patient. 

“had to act up like a needy slut, didn’t ya? couldn’t even wait, could ya? always so fucking greedy, baby.” you’re whining your fake protests around the spearing movement of his cock, nails scratching at his thighs in an attempt to find some grounding, some sense of reality around you, trying so hard to not cum from the pussy-drenching harshness of jude’s words. 

“you wanted my mates to hear everything, didn’t you, sweetheart?” you weren’t exactly being quiet then so neither is he now; you wouldn't be shocked if his friends couldn’t look you both in the eyes next time you meet. “wanted them to hear how good you suck me off, how good you take me — wanna get them all jealous, huh?” 

you’re teary-eyed now, nose doing all the work in keeping oxygen flowing around your body, for you would’ve passed out from the constant ramming of thick, heavy cock inside your mouth and that combined with the white-hot words from jude’s lips? you fear it’s too much, legs spreading in their kneeled form, fingers reaching to soothe the pulsing of your clit. 

“don’t you fucking dare.” jude shuts that idea down quicker than it can come to life. “you don’t get to be a greedy girl and still have it your way, angel.” 

you don’t want to deal with the fact that you may be out of your depth right now, having unlocked a little bit of a darker side to jude. is it bad that you want it to invite it in and have it show itself to you in its full glory? 

jude slips himself out of the warmth of your spent mouth, your jaw doing its best to relax itself before he pats your cheek quite heavy-handedly. 

“c’mon, baby, remind me again of how you can be a good girl and maybe you can have it your way.”

[asterias-record-shop]

♫ 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡… TASM!Peter Parker with the bingo prompt ‘himbo’?

alright, so the thing is I feel like peter is really book smart but he is so oblivious otherwise, like if someone flirts with him it goes completely over his head. so reader has been his best friend for years and recently has been trying to drop hints that she likes him, and eventually she gets fed up of him being so oblivious that she just kisses him and he gets all whiney and then they do the devils tango (i am so sorry i’m really awkward when requesting 😭) but could there also be a size and praise kink, as well as an oral fixation? (if you don’t feel comfy pls delete this!!)

i hope u have a good day/night 💕

—𓆩[my beautiful idiot]𓆪—

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[updated bingo card!]𓆪 𓆩[bingo masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[join the bingo taglist!]𓆪

nvm anon honey i couldn't sleep without posting this, i hope you enjoy it!!!

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - TASM! Peter Parker x Best Friend! Fem! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 4.7K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - You and Peter have been best friends for what seemed like eternity, and has been in love with you for what seemed like forever, but he’s not going to give up — no matter how much it seems like you don’t like him back. The kid you babysit though that is way too old to be babysat disagrees though, and tries to show him how much you were in love with him too.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - crossover time|| heavily inspired by this interview/edit with Will Poulter (love him so much) || cursing & foul language || mentions of violence || Peter gets hurt || whiny Peter is best Peter || smut warnings include oral, fingering, multiple orgasms, riding, praise, size kink, breeding kink, oral fixation, possessiveness, marking kink, biting, hickies, possibly more?

Miles was a helpless bystander between the two of you. It never worked out, not whenever Peter was too stupidly in love with you he never saw the hints that you dropped.

“Peter, I’m telling you, she’s in love with you!” Miles wanted to strangle the other Spider-Man, very very violently.

“I don’t… I don’t think she is,” Peter mumbles, a pout on his lips as he swirled pasta around his fork, one that you often made because it was his favorite. Was that not hint enough? You knew his favorite fucking pasta! “I don’t think I’m her type.”

“Who’s type?” You walked into the living room, plate in hand full of the cream based pasta you made on the side.

“Yours! Your type!” Miles grins. “Your type.”

“My type?” You hummed, thinking as you tap your chin. “My type… would be smart. Handsome, funny. Nerdy,” you look over at Peter who was still pouting. “Loves pasta.”

Miles slurps up some of the noodles, nodding. “I wonder who that could be!”

“Yeah, I wonder,” Peter mumbles, face falling as he scooped pasta into his mouth. “I wonder.”

“Really? In this room?!” Miles yells, moving his hands to gesture around the apartment. “I wonder?!”

Peter looked around, eyes narrowing. “You like Miles?”

How the fuck could he be so stupid?

“That’s it! I’m done!” Miles stood, looking at you. “He’s hopeless! Completely and utterly hopeless!”

You sigh, standing up too. “I could’ve told you that.”

You go around the couch, taking Peter’s finished plate of food as his face scrunches. “Who’s hopeless?”

“Oh baby,” you leaned down, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek. He didn’t think much of it, you did kiss him on the cheek often. “You are. You’re such a himbo.”

“A what? What’s a himbo?”

“It’s like… a beautiful idiot,” you press another kiss to his cheek, pulling back his chestnut hair from his face. “You’re my beautiful idiot.”

He pours as you walk away, Miles shouting out a goodbye as you finish your food and start cleaning up the dishes.

He didn’t want to be your ‘beautiful idiot’ — he wanted to be yours, overall and absolutely, he wanted to tick every box you ever wanted, he wanted to be yours. If he could, he’d want you to mark him as yours for forever and eternity, he just wanted you. He wanted a mark on him that said you owned him, just like you owned his heart for what seemed like forever.

“Peter? Don’t you have to go on patrol?” You yell out, snapping Peter out of his thoughts.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m going!” He goes into your room because he basically lived with you at this point, grabbing his suit and getting dressed with the door open.

“Peter?” You’re standing at the doorway, arms crossed as he stumbled into his suit, trying his best not to fall on his face. “Miles’ parents invited us over for dinner. I told them yes, you promise not to be late?”

“Yeah, I promise,” he grunted breathlessly as he quickly finished putting on his suit, looking around. “Where’s my mask?”

“Peter,” you say again, more stern this time as you walk over, bending down to pick up something from the ground. He froze when you stood in front of him, fixing his suit before handing him the mask. “Promise me you won’t be late.”

He smiled down at you, wide and his honey brown eyes shining. “I promise. Do I dress nice or casual?”

“Nicer than casual,” you say with a sigh, your hands rubbing against his chest to flatten out the suit, thinking about the fact he wore nothing underneath it. “I’m going to go over there early to help Rio cook, but I need you there by seven. Did you hear that? By seven. Dinner starts at seven-thirty, but I need you there by seven.”

He smiled, leaning down teasingly. “Yes ma’am. Whatever you say, I’ll be there by seven.”

You sigh, a smile on your face as you pat his chest. “Be safe, and take care of Miles if he tags along, okay?”

“I will.”

You both stay there for a few seconds, his eyes staring at your lips as you worriedly push your hands through his hair. You did it often, so much so that it became something you didn’t have to think about doing, or it was something you did when you were nervous.

What you both did were couple things, why weren’t you together? It was because Peter was too much of a beautiful idiot to know otherwise.

“Promise me you’ll be safe, and protect Miles if he goes. Don’t eat on your patrol, Rio is making the best food ever. And you have to be there by seven.”

“I promise,” he pushed your hair back behind your ear, leaning down to press a firm kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you at seven.”

“By seven!” You yell as he jumps out the window, sighing with a smile. “I swear, if you weren’t hot I would’ve stopped trying by now.”

It was seven-ten. Seven-fucking-ten. You helped Rio make arroz con gandules while she took care of the main course - chicken con sofrito - and she had also tasked you in making a grilled salsa. You were smashing it inside of the molcajete, the grinding and the scratching making Miles and his father wince.

“Y/N, honey do you want me to uhm… take over… that?” Jefferson asks as he comes closer to you.

“Nope,” you say as Rio dipped her fingers into the salsa and coughing. “Oh no, is it bad?”

“N-No,” she cleared her throat, coughing. “Just spicy, very spicy. Are you mad, honey?”

“You have no fucking clue,” you basically growled as Miles and Jefferson slowly stepped back.

“You have any clue where this kid is?” Jefferson whispers to Miles, looking over. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to eat that salsa.”

“I-I’ll find him,” Miles says, nodding. “Just… distract them.”

First, he checked your apartment. He looked around, searching for anything that would show Peter was home, and when he found nothing — it was to the streets he went. He changed quickly, already swinging out the window to find the beautiful idiot. It didn’t take him long, quickly going to their favorite spot and finding him lounging, snoring extremely loudly.

“Peter! Peter, what the hell are you doing?!” Miles slapped Peter through the mask, gasping when he saw the gashes and lacerations all over his body. “Holy shit, Peter!”

He snapped up, gasping as he looked around. “What time is it?”

“Like seven-thirty already dude!” He quickly looks around. “What happened?!”

“I was helping a bank robbery, got dammit, Y/N is going to kill me!” He tries to stand, groaning loudly as he holds his side.

“Stop moving! Stop! Y/N taught me how to stitch people up, just lay down!” Miles ordered the older Spider-Man, forcing him to lay back as he grabbed the medical supplies.

“There’s no point, they’ll heal soon enough, I need to get home. Y/N is going to kill me!” He quickly stood, the gashes already getting smaller and less deep. “Let’s go!”

Miles groans. “Am I the babysitter or you?!”

He swung after him, Peter quickly swinging into your room and looking through the dresser that held his clothes. “Oh, come on! Y/N moved my clothes around.”

“Y/N does your laundry?” Miles asks, groaning. “Do you not how in love with you she is?!”

“We switch on laundry duty! It was her weekend so I cooked,” he grabbed a button down, groaning. “Thank fuck she washed my favorite.”

He grabs some new underwear from the drawer, smiles face palming as he rushes to the restroom to get changed. “You're going to bleed through that!”

“No I’m not!” He yelled back, walking out in his new clothes. “I covered the stuff with gauzes.”

“Okay, go upstairs, I’m going to swing up to my room and change, alright?”

He nodded. “Right.”

They both went to Miles’ apartment in different ways, Peter knocking on the door and when it swung open, he smiled at you. You gasped when you saw his gashed face, quickly reaching up. “What happened?!”

“Bank robbery, I passed out on top of a building. So sorry I’m late.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, his hands settling on your waist. “Dinner going well?”

“I-I made a salsa, are you okay?” Your hands quickly cup his face, twisting and turning as you sigh. “Rio’s going to freak! God fuck, Peter!”

He laughed. “You have no reason to worry, honey. I’ll just say I… ran into a tree.”

“A tree?!”

“Look at that! Peter’s here!” Miles yelled, running forward. “Let’s eat!”

When everyone sat down at the dinner table, it was obvious something was a little off. “I uhm… how is work, Y/N?”

You clear your throat, nodding at Rio’s question. “It’s going really well! I’m really happy there.”

“Peter, you moved in with Y/N already?” Jefferson asked, scooping food into his mouth. “It’s about time.”

“What do you mean?” Peter paused his actions of stuffing his face, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

“Well… you both are dating, right?” Rio asked, looking over at Miles. “Mijo always told us you were…”

“No, we’re not,” you say, a sad smile on your face. “But Peter does basically live with me! He does my laundry, cooks, you know, normal stuff.”

“Normal… couple stuff,” Rio filled in. “You pay rent too?”

“I-I tried, but Y/N didn’t let me,” Peter says softly, shrugging. “She said that she didn’t need my help with it.”

It goes quiet for a minute before Miles laughs awkwardly. “Hey, guys! I passed my biology test!”

You smiled when Miles saved you both from the awkward moment, cheering as everyone continued to talk about how they knew Miles was going to pass. Peter wasn’t that into the conversation, he was extremely preoccupied.

You both did do a lot of couple stuff.

For fucks sake, you both even slept with each other. Why weren’t you both dating, why?

When dinner was done and a few drinks were put in after Rio forced Miles to go to bed, you both went back up to your shared apartment. You giggled as you opened the door, smiling back at him. “Do you want to watch a movie or go straight to sleep, what do you want to do?”

“Can I talk to you, Y/N?” He slowly takes your hand, pulling you toward your room.

You giggled, shrugging. “Well, straight to sleep it is then.”

He sat on the bed, parting his legs and pulling you between them making you giggle. “Everything okay?” You whisper, pushing his hair back as you leaned down to press your forehead to his. “I know something’s not. What’s up?”

“Why did you say we’re not dating?” He pouts up at you, a giggle falling from your lips. “Hey, it’s not funny! We… we do things that couples do, why aren’t we a couple? I know… I know you might not-”

“For fucks sake Peter, shut up.”

He gasped as you pulled his face up, your lips pressing to his as your nails softly press into his skin, soft but firm all at once. He groaned loudly, his hands pulling you closer before you pulled away, a whine falling from his lips. “What’re you doing?”

His words were almost slurred together even though the alcohol he drank had little to no effect on him. It makes you laugh as he leaned up, pressing more kisses to your lips before he pulled your body solidly against his own, fixing your position so that you sat on his lap and your hands were around his neck. “What baby, you don’t want me to stop kissing you?”

He hummed, shaking his head. “No, you can’t… ‘s unfair.”

You started to laugh even harder as he basically whined, trying to pull you down for more kisses. You hummed as he started to lay back, hands pushing through his hair. “I need you… I need you, Y/N.”

You rose a brow, rolling your hips into his. “Need? Need’s a big word, baby,” you respond, smiling down at him as he groaned into your neck. He shifts you both so that you were laying on your back, leaning down to keep kissing your lips.

He was addicted, now that he had one taste, he never wanted to stop. His tongue pushed into your mouth, desperately swirling his own around yours as you groaned into his mouth, the minute he pulled away was when you swallowed the mixed saliva gathered at the back of your throat. You hummed as he leaned down, his lips pressing to your for a quick kiss, going over and over again with small breaks in between.

“Peter,” you giggled, his mere hum the only proof he was listening. “Are you just going to kiss me or are you going to get a little adventurous?”

He pauses, tilting his head. “Adventurous?”

You laughed. “Fuck, my beautiful idiot,” you pulled him down for another kiss, your teeth grazing his deliciously making him groan before you pulled away. “You can put that mouth to better use somewhere else.”

He paused, his mind taking a minute to process. “Oh. Oh, yeah!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he quickly pressed one last kiss to your lips before letting his lips slowly, slowly trail down your body while slipping off your clothes, his nimble fingers leaving a trail of fire on your now bare body. He paused as he stared down at you, his eyes dark and pupils blown as he inhaled.

“So fucking beautiful.”

His words make you groan, hands pushing your thighs apart as his head slowly pushes between them, his mouth already hot on your cunt. Your eyes rolled back, his tongue already exploring your wetness and his fingers pushing into your slit, smearing all of it up and down before settling it on your clit.

He wasted no time, groaning as your hands thread through his hair, holding onto his brown curls like the were handles and your thighs settling on his shoulders. He paused though, pulling away making you whine softly, head tilted again. “This is okay, right? I should’ve asked.”

Fuck, why was he so fucking adorable? “Yes honey, this is okay. More than okay.”

He smiled widely, biting his lip. “Good, because your cunt tastes even better than your mouth.”

You gasped as he pushed his face between your legs again, his lips latching on your clit as he pushed a finger inside of you. Your back arches, eyes widening before they roll back into your head, his finger pushing and pumping trying to find the right rhythm, teasing you. He gasps as you tug on his hair, pushing your hips up into his mouth as he groans against your clit, the vibrations making you shiver.

“F-Fuck, Peter.”

He hummed, enjoying the feeling of your cunt clamping down on his finger, curling it inside of you to feel your body writhe underneath his touch. His eyes roll back as a shiver runs down his back, groaning into your clit that he never let his mouth off of for too long, only shifting his head to get into a new angle. You tasted so fucking good, your swollen clit evidence of his torment, but there was something else. Something he couldn’t describe, he could feel you, all of you.

He could feel every clench of your walls, every shiver that ran up your back. He could hear every stutter of your breath, the skip of your heartbeat, every soft whimper you tried to hide as that one finger continues to find every pleasure spot that not even you knew existed. He could taste you with every lick, every suck of his mouth, his teeth even grazing your sensitive skin if he got too focused.

He finally pulls away from your clit, a thick string of saliva attaching your swollen bud of muscles to his lips, your hips bucking as he stares at your greedy cunt trying to suck his fingers back in every time he pulls out. He groans loudly as the shiver running down his back gets stronger, and the twisting of your stomach turns tight, your thighs shaking as your hips rut into his fingers until his mouth joins the actions of sucking on your entrance as another finger attempts to push into your pussy.

You gasped as your hips bucked without warning, your spongy walls enveloping both of his digits, and your mind blurring from how hard the orgasm hits you. Peter doesn’t even stop though, groans falling from his lips as he pulls out his fingers making you whine, your attempts to ride your hips into them failing. His tongue pushes into you though, a gasp leaving your lips as you automatically tighten your thighs around his head, not that he was complaining.

He could be like this for hours, his tongue pushing into you as his thumb rubbed circles into your overly-sensitive and swollen clit, hard but focused and his fingers pushed back into you. His tongue never stopped moving though, flicking and lapping, his mouth sucking and popping sensually against your pussy, groans that sent vibrations from your pussy straight to the growing knot in your stomach making you whine.

You had just cum, but it wasn’t like he had probably even cared about what it would do to your body, how sensitive it would make your body to every movement he made. His mouth sucked on the opening of your cunt, opening his mouth wide to push his tongue into you as your hips buck into his mouth. Your fingers tug on his hair, whimpering as he rolled your clit between his thumb and pointer with his other hand, his tongue thrusting into you as far as he could, an ache forming in his jaw as he tried to get his mouth anywhere and everywhere on your body.

He could feel the sparking along his spine again, your stomach clenching all over again as his fingers rubbed against that sensitive spot inside of you. His fingers twist, curling inside of you as he tries to push another finger into you, the stretch making you scream out as a shiver runs down his spine, a shaky groan leaving his lips as he swallows everything leaking out of your cunt.

He wanted more. He wanted to taste everything coming from your cunt, everything you had, just everything. He didn’t want to stop, his third digit pushing into you and the squelching filled his ears, his breathing heavy and panting into your cunt. His thumb continues its torment on your clit, rubbing and the shocks running through your body as your thighs shake and fingers shakily scratch against his scalp.

Your body was coated in sweat, stomach tight as his fingers edged you onto the climax of another orgasm, they always came quick after the first. Your body was sensitive all from him, your nipples hard and pebbled from the cold air of your room, bottom lip bitten raw from trying to hold back your moans before he squeezed at your clit - the only thing he needed to do to get you to start moaning out for him.

He loved the sounds you made, getting drunk off of your moans and whines combined with the taste of your arousal and your cunt making his dick hard and his senses overflow. He pushed his three fingers into you as deep as he could, all the way to his knuckles to watch your cunt convulse and feel those same sparks on his spine.

“Peter! Peter wait, Peter- fuck!”

Your third orgasm brought you to tears, vision going black as you squeezed your thighs together, hands gripping his chestnut curls as you tried to steady your breathing. He hummed into your cunt, softly patting your clit making you yelp in surprise, parting your legs to watch as he slowly pulled away. “Are you alright?”

You stared at him, almost dumbfounded. “Y-You… you just ate me out and made me cum three times and you’re asking if I’m alright?”

His brows furrowed as he leaned up, wiping his mouth before licking the back of his hand where all your juices went and kissing under your eyes. He was careful not to get too close to your actual eyes, just in case, only kissing where tears fell. “You’re crying. I don’t like it when you cry.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck after he slowly pulled off his shirt and tugged his pants down to his ankles before kicking them off. “I’m crying out of pleasure. You make me feel so good, Peter.”

He smiled widely down at you, leaning lower to press another kiss to your lips. “Well, I want to make you feel better. Especially with how good you’re making me feel, princess, you make me feel so good. Make me so happy.”

“W-Wait!” Your voice was loud, surprising him as he stared up at you in confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-I… I want to ride you. Please?”

He pauses, but nods with a smile. “Alright. But you can’t be gentle. Don’t be gentle. I want it all.”

You nodded, laughing loudly as he twisted you both over, helping you steady yourself over his aching cock. It was long, thick and veiny, tip red and leaking precum in desperation as he whined, bucking his hips. You giggled, slowly wrapping your hand around his before he nodded and watched as you slowly sunk down.

You gasped, nodding as he slowly pushed into you, his head tilting back and his mouth falling open. Your eyes rolled back into your head, vision blurring as his girth stretched you out even more, every time you thought he bottomed out the more he kept pushing. You whined loudly, hands pushing against his chest as he groaned loudly, eyes wide as he tried to catch his breath.

His body was sheening with sweat, a smile blooming on his face as you dug your nails into his chest, scratching against his skin as you tried to compose himself. This is what he wanted when he wanted you to claim him, he wanted your nails to scratch on his body, your mouth to leave hickies and bite marks, he wanted to be yours.

He watched as you slowly started to bounce on his cock, his eyes staring at your bouncing tits before letting them wander down your body, staring at the bulge on your lower stomach. He hissed loudly as you got harder, fixing your position as your clit rubbed against his pelvis, eyes rolling back.

Your cunt felt just as good wrapped around his cock as it did wrapped around his tongue and fingers, every movement had it squelching and convulsing around his shaft, loud groans falling from his lips as his large hands settled on your hips, thumbs settling on that giant bulge on your stomach.

He watched your mouth fall open as you screamed out, fixing both of your positions to buck his hips up into you and watch your boys fall forward. He kept your body against his, flipping you both over to wrap his arm around your body and press his face into your neck, groaning loudly into your skin as your nails dragged against his back.

He thrusted as hard as he could, desperate to find his climax as your body bounced with this thrusts, loud moans leaving your lips with each thrust and his name falling from your lips over and over. “Yes baby, you’re doing so good. Your cunt is so fucking good baby, I love the way you feel around my dick,” he groans, gasping as your mouth pressed to his skin. “Fuck, fuck yes princess, I want to be covered in you. Want your hickies and your kisses, your scratches and your bites, I don’t care, I want to be covered in you.”

You obviously didn’t expect him to be so into marking, but of course, you weren’t going to say no. You sucked bright purple marks on his skin, digging your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your screams as the bed slammed into the wall, the squelching of your cunt and the slaps of skin against skin echoing against the wall was enough chorus of your sex.

You could feel his dick driving into the deepest parts of you, stretching your cunt so that if you looked down you could see the bulge that just seemed to be getting bigger and bigger. Your eyes rolled back as his fingers rubbed against your clit, whispers of praise falling from his tongue as those same sparks ran up his spine, his stupid little mind finally connecting the dots. “Are you about to cum? Are you about to cum baby?”

You nodded your head into his marked up neck, your tongue slowly licking against the bite mark on his neck as you whined into his neck. “Fuck, fuck Peter! Fuck, I can’t, I can’t!”

“Yes you can baby, you can,” he whispers, pulling away to hold your chin. “Look at me fucking you baby, don’t you want me to keep fucking you? I’ll make you feel better than you make me feel, I’ll fuck you so good. I’ll pump all my cum inside of you and you’ll be such a perfect girl for me and take all of it, right?”

Your eyes rolled back, mouth lulling open as you nodded mindlessly. “Yes! Yes, I will, I’ll take all of it!”

“Fuck, fuck Y/N, you don’t know how much I’ve wanted to cum inside of you, fill you up and watch all of my cum make your stomach bulge,” his voice gets huskier, almost like a growl as his thrusts get rougher, messier. “Fucking hell!”

You screamed this time, watching as he completely pulled out of you just to slam back in, your mind blurring as he continued to pull out and slam back in. You could feel your thighs shaking, that knot in your stomach threatening to break. “Peter, Peter! I’m going to cum, I need to cum!”

“No!” He whined, shaking his head as he started to get faster, his hips rough as his hands held your sides, eyes rolling back. “I’m gonna cum, cum with me. Please honey, I want to feel you, I need it.”

A final scream falls from your lips as he bottoms out, eyes rolling back and body shaking as your fourth orgasm absolutely blurred your mind, endless babbles leaving your lips as he panted above you. He stared down at your stomach, the bulge that shouldn’t have been able to get bigger successfully larger. “Fuck honey, look at what I did to your pretty tummy.”

You did, your mind still slightly hazy, but your mouth fell open when you saw the bulge and a whine fell from your lips. “Y-You’re still hard.”

He smiled. “It’s from the spider bite.”

omg, I love fulfilling requests ♡ keep them coming for Bingo!!

Bingo tag 𓆩[@ennycutie]𓆪   𓆩[@yoongiwife23]𓆪 𓆩[@urlocalbum12-blog]𓆪

Regular taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪   𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪   𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪   𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪   𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪  𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪   𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪   𓆩[@c78r]𓆪   𓆩[@dizscreams]𓆪   𓆩[@asrt5]𓆪

© asterias-record-shop

[obsidianpen]

Ahhhh the high i receive seeing those ao3 emails for BG updates, u have no idea

Not even reading them yet, I stopped reading 10 chapters ago, collecting them to binge once done like a crack addict.

Your writing is beautiful! Any idea how many chapters till the end and if it will be by this year? If u dont know thats ok! Im just so happy this fic is so active after so long :’)

no idea yet, sorry anon!

and I just gotta take a minute here to say - totally get why you would wait to binge a story until it’s done or close to, but I have to give a massive shout out to all the people who read and comment on the chapters as I post them. Y’all keep me going and if everyone waited until fics were complete to read and leave their thoughts I doubt I would EVER be inspired to write and finish long crazy fics like this. So thank you all so much 💖

[giggly-moon]

First of many prompts to come your way! Could I have a mix of 17 & 20 with Elpenor, Polites & Eurylochus? & if you’re feeling up to it, you can toss Odysseus into the ring as well

17: being chased or trying to hide

20: double teaming on someone

A/N: FIRST PIECE OF WRITING IVE FINISHED IN YEARS LETS GOOO! this was a very fun one to start out with, elpenor anon if you ever see this i got most of my inspiration for how to write elpenor from you and i hope i make you proud. also! i’ll still be accepting requests even after your birthday ends cause i’m having a lot of fun <3 (the prompts list is in my pinned post!) anyway enjoy

“Coming through!”

The small group of soldiers going about their normal everyday tasks quickly dispersed to make way for the youngest of their group, just barely managing to move out of the way in time to avoid Elpenor barreling into them. They watched him go with slight confusion that quickly vanished upon hearing a shout of “Hey! Get back here!” shortly after.

Of course, Elpenor ignored it, only letting out a slightly nervous giggle in response. His attempt to flee may end up being pointless in the end, but he would much rather attempt to delay the inevitable as much as he can than just stand there and accept his fate. He’s not a quitter.

Unfortunately for him, Polites doesn’t seem like much of a quitter either. Each time he turns a corner or jumps down a set of steps, anything to try and shake him off, he keeps catching up with him eventually. Elpenor blames those damn long legs of his.

He jumps another set of stairs and races down to where the cabins are, hoping that maybe he’ll have enough time to find a place to hide, but nearly crashes into a very startled Eurylochus.

“Elpenor?” Eurylochus grabs a hold of Elpenor’s arms to catch him, looking confused and slightly alarmed. “Is there something wrong?”

“Eurylochus! Perfect timing! Quick, you have to hide me!”

Eurylochus blinks down at him, opening his mouth to say something like “what did you do this time?” before the sound of running footsteps interrupts him. He looks up to see Polites coming up to them, looking rather out of breath.

“You… have way too much energy for your own good.” Polites pants out, and Elpenor flinches and whips around to face him, Eurylochus can see him hiding something behind his back.

“Can one of you please explain what’s going on?”

Polites narrows his eyes playfully and points an accusatory finger at Elpenor. “This little rascal stole my headband!”

“What?! No, no no no, i would never-“

“Oh, is that what this is?” Eurylochus casually tugs Elpenor’s arm up and out from behind his back, ignoring his squeaked out protests as he plucks the headband from his grip. He tosses it back over to Polites as if they were playing keep away, using one arm to hold Elpenor back when he tries to make a swipe for it.

“Thank you very much!” Polites chirps as he quickly ties the headband back around his head, before returning to glaring at Elpenor with his hands on his hips like an exasperated mother. “As for you, what do you have to say for yourself, mister?”

Elpenor can see that there’s a clear way out of this. Accept defeat and apologize for his act of theft, and Polites will probably let him off with only a stern look and a ruffle to the hair. He instead chooses to not do that. “You look silly with your hair all in your face.”

Polites gives him a very dry look for a moment, and he can hear Eurylochus stifle a chuckle behind him. “Wow. Eurylochus, hold him still for me please.”

“Will do.”

Elpenor didn’t even get a chance to process what he heard before two strong arms quickly wrapped around his torso, lifting him up off the floor and holding him against Eurylochus’ chest, who keeps him there near effortlessly even with all of his kicking and squirming. “Wait, wait, wait! Dohon’t you dare!”

“Was that a giggle i heard? Already?” Polites tilts his head with a look of pure mischief, Elpenor gave a shake of his head and pressed his lips together tightly to hold back even more giggles trying to spill out. “I think it was! And i haven’t even done anything yet.”

Elpenor has always been terrible at handling any sort of teasing, his face already burning red at his words. He tries kicking in Polites’ direction more purposefully this time, trying to keep him at a distance, but Polites dodges them and grabs hold of one of his legs instead. “But you’re going tohohoho!” His words trail off into bubbly laughter as Polites uses one hand to squeeze rapidly at his captured knee.

Polites raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe we wouldn’t, if you hadn’t decided to provoke us even more with that comment.” He shares a look with Eurylochus, who takes it as his cue to adjust his hold on Elpenor and use one hand to dig into his ribs, sending him into a fit of cackles and snorts. “We’re just giving you what you apparently wanted.”

“What?!” Elpenor shrieks, making Polites snicker at the way his voice cracks. There’s really no point in denying it, he knew exactly what kind of grave he was digging for himself and he knows they can see right through him. That doesn’t stop him from denying it anyway. “Thahat is nohohot true!”

“What’s going on here?”

God fucking damnit.

Eurylochus halts his attack upon hearing the amused voice of their captain, but Polites is sure to keep Elpenor giggling even as he turns his head to address his friend. “Oh nothing. Just a well overdue attitude adjustment, that’s all.” He says with an almost innocent smile.

Elpenor fruitlessly tries to will Odysseus into leaving with his mind, because it’s one thing to be so rudely called out like that, but in front of their captain? Now that’s just plain cruel. But to his dismay, Odysseus just steps closer with a warm chuckle.

“I see. In that case, then,” Odysseus grabs hold of Elpenor’s other leg and moved a hand to lightly scratch at the underside of his knee, drawing out a loud squeal and even more cackling. “The backs of his knees are even worse.”

“TRAHAHAITOR!”

[running-with-kn1ves]

Hi! This might be the weirdest prompt you'll ever recieve considering I was inspired by a nightmare I had. The nightmare was about a male stalker who posed as a delivery person that managed to trick me into letting him walk into my home with an ak-47 and for some reason I was attracted to him just because he had the nicest most comforting smile i had ever seen.

So yeah, idk if you would ever be comfortable with writing something inspired by this especially because this is supposed to be an nsfw prompt.

Sorry for potentially traumatizing you.

This was really incheresting anon so I took my own spin on it, wish I could have such entertaining dreams!

TW: Guns/gunplay, breaking and entering, threatening, nonconsensual touching,

"You can come in!"

You shout from the kitchen, seeing a dark figure outside your front door window, their body blurred and mildly shaped from what you can tell past the sweat and flour in your eyes. You had been slaving away in the kitchen for hours and finally, your masterpiece was nearly finished. You were too entranced in checking the top layer of crust on the baked good to dare leave your spot. The sound of your front door opening was just as you expected, its slam shut being a bit harder than you hoped for though.

"Just put it on the dining table, I'll be over with the money in a sec," You yelled, checking behind you to try and see the figure in the dining room. You could only see the back of a black coat and old ball cap, turning back to the pie in your hands as you opened the oven. Its grilling temperature made you wince, pot holds covering your hands as you lowered the beast back into its den.

You got out as quick as you could once the pan was down, shutting the oven door and stepping back. Phew, you sighed out of relief.

Nonchalantly walking to the dining room, you rolled up your sleeves and peered at the ground, trying to think of what else you'd need to be prepared tomorrow. But that was thrusted out of your head once you looked back up upon entering the room, seeing your cold pizza sitting on the dining table alone-- no pizza man to be seen.

"Hey?" You called out, looking down your bedroom hall in search for the man. He wasn't there. You looked in the bathroom; empty. Your room was left exactly how it should've been. Walking back to the kitchen, you remain naively unaware until a hand grips your shoulder from behind.

The hand yanks you back up against someone, something cold now resting below your chin. The arm that pulled you now holds you flush up against the person, whom you can tell is a man. The smell of his aromatic body wash, the flat and strong chest against your back-- and most notably, his voice.

"You're quite simple to fool."

You catch a glimpse of his beaming smile from behind, the cold and metallic piece digging deeper into your throat.

"H-hey now,"

You begin to panic, feeling the hand on your body beginning to feel your shirt in a different kind of way.

"Listen there's no... no need for violence, we can settle this can't we?" you plead.

The man looks toward you.

"I don't know, can we? Because I can't imagine a better way to see you than this. Tsk tsk, you should've known better."

You notice that his cap is still hanging low on his head, shielding his eyes from you, leaving you only to witness his piercing grin.

"C'mon just let me go, man. I don't have anything to give--"

"I'm afraid that's a no can do, sweetheart. See, you left yourself quite an open target here, just letting a complete stranger in your home, assuming you'll be safe because of your poor preconceived notions..."

He drew the gun to caress your jaw, putting a leg between yours. His warm breath ghosted over your neck, and you could practically feel the smile he held as he embraced you slowly.

"What... do you want, then?" You ask, feeling the gun dig into your stomach now.

"Hmmm..." You were dealing with an actual sociopath at this point, hearing his nonchalant hums with disdain and fury. He was just standing there, running his fingertips up your stomach and against your hip as he imagines what ever sick thing he had in store.

"I want you to stay still..." He mumbles in your ear, taking his free hand to the middle of your shirt as the other kept the gun pointing at you. You could feel his lips hit your ear as the first button was undone, fingers moving to the next.

You watched silently as each button was pried open, your heart racing faster at each unclip, and the urge to run growing stronger. Soon, your bare skin was seen through the shirt, a jagged breath escaping the man behind you. It sent shivers up your spine to hear his pants of curiosity and hunger.

"Please..." You whisper, turning to try and face him, but he was too close. His head was buried in your shoulder, eyes watching as his free hand ran up to the dip of your chest. His hand slowly made its way up to your neck, smoothing over your skin like a snake in water. You couldn't see his expression below his ball cap, but you knew it must've been one of sick intrigue. The softness of his touch was off-putting as he gently stroked your skin like it was foreign and unique.

"Can't say you look too bad like this, either." He comments, taking annoying wet nibbles at your ear just to tease.

You shakily try to cover yourself, only for the gun to be brought to your gut, stabbing you in the abdomen as he presses it deeper against you. You yelp in pain as he grabs your hip, forcing you back against the cold black steel. It was a silent warning, and the man had kept quiet as he watched you wince.

"I can be truly giving, and incredibly delightful." The man smiled, this time close-lipped as he looked to you. "But fuck with me, and I won't hesitate to put this gun where it belongs."

You shut your eyes as he whispers to you, creating a clicking noise with the gun to frighten you.

"Now, strip. you need to be taught the importance of not letting anyone just dilly-dally inside your home."

He pushes you forward, jutting the gun out to point it at you as your arms raised defensively.

"Who knows what could happen if I wasn't here to teach you."

[acacia-may]

Can I ask what are your favourite Black Clover OC x CC ships from your mutuals? Ignore this ask if it's too much romance for you 😅

Hi there, Anon-friend! Thank you for the ask! There are a lot of really nice and well thought out OC x CC pairings in the Black Clover fandom, and I certainly have a lot of respect for everyone who takes the time, passion, and inspiration to make these OCs and their ships. Even though I'm not usually that into shipping (despite what the past few days of ship specific content on this blog might seem to imply), I have definitely enjoyed many Black Clover OC x CC pairings in the fandom, but from my Tumblr mutuals specifically, I think I've actually talked about most of my favorites as part of this ask game already. 😊

The only one of my all-time favorites that come to mind that's missing is @delicious-donna/@delirious-donna's Alina x Magna from Chasing the Sparks (AO3 Link) which is another that's probably just permanently part of my personal canon now. I personally find it very compelling because I think they're very well suited for each other. Alina is kind of this gentle and steady constant in the chaos of Magna’s life and Magna’s enthusiasm and loyalty really encourages her to build confidence and believe in herself and her abilities. They really bring out the best in each other, and it's very, very sweet. I also just adore Alina as a character (and not just because she's Finral and Langris's cousin though that is just a major bonus and I loved getting to write about their platonic cousin relationship in the story Donna requested, "Melting Snowman," and in a really fun collaboration project that unfortunately never got finished). But yes, they are wonderful and definitely an all-time favorite of mine. 💖

In terms of my other personal favorites from my Tumblr moots that I've already talked about, I'll just list them and link to the posts where I rambled about them already:

@loosesodamarble's Nacht x Josele (discussed here)

@lyranova's William x Zera (discussed here)

@thoughtfullyrainynightmare's Fuegoleon x Solara (discussed here)

@kalolasfantasyworld's Nozel x Helena (and I also really enjoy Gabriel x Vanessa, both of which are discussed in this post)

And a shout out to a new (and unexpected) favorite, @vilandel's Solid x Rosette which I just discovered during this ask game but definitely really enjoyed and rambled about here.

All of that said, shipping is very subjective and really based on very personal feelings, opinions, and preferences, as well as headcanons and perceptions of the characters. These are just the pairings that are my cup of tea and personally really compelling to me. I also only included pairings from my Tumblr moots. There are ships from friends from other places and a few from some relative strangers that I've seen floating around that I enjoy, but these are definitely my favorites from my Tumblr friends and pairings that I really think of as part of my personal canon for Black Clover and the characters' futures. Thanks for asking! 💕

[flowerveil02]

So, what IS Pokemon Reborn: Rainbow?

I'm glad you asked, anon! I'll put the answer simple above the cut and explain it in better detail below. Me and @nommyzommy will have a deep dive about Reborn: Rainbow in a later post.

WARNING: THIS IS A VERY LONG POST! You can just stick to the summary if you're not in the mood to read an excerpt as long as the bible!!

Put simply:

Reborn: Rainbow (from here forth called RR in this post) is an AU that combines elements of the white and black routes. It also contains original characters and events, including PULSEs, storyline, and even two entire cities with their own geography!

In detail:

RR mixes our favorite elements from both routes and changes some of them a little more to our preferences. It also allows us more screentime for our favorite characters that were kinda overshadowed or just straight-up put on a bus during the game :P Like Florinia, Serra, and more.

It also has new PULSEs and lore for Eve and the subsect of Team Meteor that creates them. And new lore for Team Meteor in general. Lots of the Alcantaras' history and influence is central to the fanfic.

Now, to begin on the characters: We made new characters (that we'll begin posting soon) and new arcs and designs for our favs! (Those are the RRr designs you've been seeing across our posts.) A lot more characters get to know each other, and the theme of the fanfic is a little bit more,, positive? More friendly? I just like games that are more optimistic! :)

And we've made new plot points and storyline! Like great news for Heather, the deforestation of a lot of the region's routes, and the recurrence of characters that were supposedly gone forever... *cough cough, the Belrose parents and Zina Vanhanen*

We've even made brand new cities and geography for them, too!! (Again, we'll touch up on these in a later post with finished maps and fixed details. Like the Jade Jungle is supposed to be bigger, etc.) First is Aquamarine City on Turquoise Island!

The Turquoise Islands have a tropical climate and are located in the Azurine Lake just under Reborn City. The island and city, Aquamarine City, are largely based on Florida and California. It and Coral Ward are conneceted by a large bridge that crosses the Azurine Lake. The surrounding geography includes jungles, beaches, coves, and mountains! It also has a string of small uninhabited islands called the Scallop Isands and a world-renowned tourist attraction called Draconite Isle, which features a dangerous temple that reportedly withholds treasures!

Second is Flinthearth Town!

The climate in the Flint Forest is humid temperate with hot summers and cold winters. Being located just south of Spinel Town, the area and town draw inspiration mostly from Tennessee, Kentucky, Alabama, and Texas. Many trains connect it to other territories of the region, including Spinel. The geography of the area is comprised of forests, mountains, lakes, and terraces. Their greatest attractions are the annual Flinthearth Fair (mirroring the Lincoln County Fair among other county fairs) and the abandoned (and reportedly haunted!) Alabaster Castle!

Shout out to @nommyzommy for her wonderful artwork on the maps! Expect to see refined future references for the areas on her page!

Thank you so so so much for asking!!! We'll begin posting about RR more in future updates! It makes me so happy to answer questions like this! And sorry for the longass post :P

Thanks for the ask, and stay groovy! <3

[wild-lavender-rose]

Sorry, first time requesting anything im not sure if im doing this right haha. But can you do a gender neutral reader with hank lawson. Where reader gets shot, dr mike does surgery, and we wake to up hank there. Fluff please!!:)

I've been waiting for inspiration to write this, anon, and it finally arrived! I hope this is fluffy enough for you :) Please feel free to send me another Hank request, I'm pretty sure we're the only two on here who love him and I'd love to grow my Dr. Quinn master list!

My Fault - Hank Lawson x reader

Warning- Cannon-typical language

It had been your own fault. One second you were between Hank and the black-clad stranger, trying to keep the two from killing each other over a misunderstanding about a horse. You had focused on the stranger, knowing Hank would listen to you and stand down the moment you intervened. You thought that the matter was settled and had turned around, walking back to where Hank waited, broody and silent.

The gunshot had sounded practically in your ear. You had fallen forward, pushed by the bullet. More gunshots. People were screaming. You tried to get up and fight. Hank was shouting but you couldn't understand him. You felt numb and cold all at once. The dirt was wet under your hands. Blood. But whose?

"Get Michaela, now!" Hank was on his knees next to you, keeping you from getting up. You had looked at him, vision blurred. You called to him, your voice sounding hollow and distant. His blue eyes were the last thing you remembered, frantic and helpless. He picked you up and the world went black.

The next time you woke you were in Dr. Quinn's office lying on her examination table. The pain was white hot, coming from your right shoulder. You cried out, trying to move, to escape. You were calling for someone over and over again. Hank. Hank, please. It's my fault, I'm sorry. Please.

Dr. Mike appeared over top you, pressing a white gauze to your nose, calming you with a soft voice and worried eyes. You sank back into darkness.

The next time you woke you were in one of her recovery rooms, the sunlight highlighting the cream colored quilt you were laying under. You were naked from the waist up but were covered by the quilt. A thick bandage was wrapped around your right shoulder. You felt stiff and hazy, but the pain was gone.

"Hey," a familiar, husky voice sounded by your head.

You looked to find Hank sitting by the bed, his oversized form hunched over in a chair too small for him. He smiled, his eyes even more bleary and red-rimmed than usual. It looked like he had been crying.

"Hank," you tried to talk but your tongue felt thick and fuzzy.

"Here," Hank hurried to pour you a glass of water from a basin sitting by the bed. He raised your head, helping you to drink.

Finishing the glass, you cleared your throat, trying once more. "Did he, am I," you glanced at your shoulder.

"Shot you in the back," Hank shook his head. "Bastard."

"You get him?"

"Jake did. Right in the head."

"Shoulda had a trial." You muttered, pretending that you weren't glad that your attacker.

Harry gave you a half smile. "Talkin' like Michaela now."

You smiled back, the gesture lessening as the memory of earlier washed over you. "M'sorry, Hank. I should have kept out of it. I just, I didn't want you hurt."

"Hey, shh. Don't worry about it," Hank leaned forward, brushing at your cheek with a soft and uncertain touch. "You just focus on resting up, all right?"

"Hank,"

"You'll be back to bothering me in no time." Carding his hand through your hair, Hank blinked a few times, smile wavering.

"Hank," you reached up, fingers tangling in one of the locks of hair falling in his eyes. You caressed his grizzled jaw with the back of your hand, your touch causing his eyes to close.

Hank leaned into your touch as if starved, like he was trying to memorize the moment. You felt yourself drifting off once more but fought to hold on, touching his face, conveying the thoughts you were unable to explain. I love you, you thought. I couldn't live without you.

Your hand grew weak, falling back rest on the quilt as your eyes fluttered shut. Hank pressed his hand, warm and steady, over yours. He whispered something you probably weren't supposed to hear. Something you would never forget.

"I love you, sweetheart. Don't leave me."

Fanfic Masterlist

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

As one (Sauron x fem!Elf! reader)

-> in which you sense that your husband is being tormented at Adar’s camp, and you join him through your bond to share in his burden from afar

Warnings: evil!reader, mentions of torture, basically reader takes some of his pain upon herself

Note: The evil!reader collection strikes again. Shout to this anon (again) for inspiring the Force-skype in this fic

It feels like a sickness, deep in your stomach. A piercing sense of dread made into bodily sensation, gnawing at your insides. Yet you know it is a mere echo of your husband’s pain, dulled a thousand times over before it reaches you from miles away through the bond you share.

Your beloved, you grimly realize, is suffering once more at the hands of Adar.

You are in Celebrimbor’s forge, carrying on with your duties as you would any other day when you feel it. It was one thing, pretending like you were not the wife of the Dark Lord himself, like you were nothing more than another smith working under Celebrimbor for the interminable years you had awaited your husband’s return to his physical form. But now that he had returned, and you had finally been able to touch and hold him again, it was nigh impossible to keep up the charade. Every inch of you longed to remain at his side every moment of every day, but you both knew your business in Eregion was not finished and the time had not yet come for you to reveal your true selves.

So, when Galadriel uncovered his treachery, you remained behind as he left for Mordor to plant the seeds which would result in Adar attacking Celebrimbor’s city, and his army becoming yours and Sauron’s. But at the moment, Adar still thinks your husband is Halbrand, King of the Southlands—and you can tell, from that sensation in your gut, that as expected, he has not received a warm welcome.

You are supposed to be giving shape to a piece of metal, but your movements become mechanical and your eyes unfocused as you reach out to your husband through your bond. The deeper your spirit delves towards his, the more his surroundings begin to take shape in your inner vision. You strive to carry on with your work as images flash before your eyes—dirty ground, shackles, Uruks laughing cruelly, an old man bringing down a bludgeon again and again, grinning in sinister enjoyment as he inflicts pain upon your husband, searing and merciless—

You are pushed away with a fury—directed not at you, but rather aimed at protecting you. The moment he senses your presence from afar, your husband strives to cut you off, refusing to let you experience any more than the fraction of his torment that you already have. Tears gather in your eyes, surely suspicious to any other smith in the forge who might happen to look your way, but you no longer care.

No, you think, focused only on resisting your husband’s attempts at keeping you at bay. No, let me be with you. Let us bear this burden together.

A wave of anguish rolls off him, pain of the flesh and frustration with you laced together, and it fuels a thrust of his power so mighty that it hurls you right back into yourself, staggering on your feet and dropping the hammer you were holding.

Celebrimbor calls your name from another worktable. You rush to wipe away the stray tears and compose yourself, picking the tool back up.

“Are you alright? What has happened?” Celebrimbor asks, frowning in concern as he comes to your side.

“Nothing,” you reassure him, managing the pleasant smile you’ve grown accustomed to plastering on your face over the years. “A slip of the fingers, that is all.”

Celebrimbor eyes you a bit suspiciously, but in the end gives a small shrug.

“Well then,” he says, laying a hand on your shoulder, “be careful you do not suffer an injury of the fingers.” He smiles amicably. “It would be a pity to be deprived of your talents, even for a short while.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you say gracefully, even as the words boil on your tongue. ‘My lord.’ You have only one Lord. And you should be standing at his side whilst Celebrimbor and all others address you as ‘my Queen’.

But all in due time. For now, you gather every ounce of patience within you until your work is finished for the day, and you are finally free to retire. Once in the privacy of your own chamber, you go straight to your bed and lie down, breathing deeply as you gather your concentration. This time, you intend to seek out your husband with every sliver of your conscience, not just a part of it, and you refuse to be forced away once more.

Eyes staring somewhere far beyond the ceiling, you caress the wedding band on your finger, murmuring an incantation in Black Speech to aid in this fuller transition. The bed feels as though it is falling away from you as you gracefully follow the thread connecting you to your husband. Where you expected resistance, however, only a sense of tired quiet greets you from his end. The door between you is shut, but not longer locked. You nudge at it, gently—and with the ghost of a sigh, it opens, allowing you in. You let yourself fall through, eyes fluttering shut as your body remains behind you, sound asleep in your bed to anyone who might see it.

But you are now sitting beside your husband, taking in his surroundings with as much clarity as if they were your own. They are dark and filthy, lit only by a few torches whose light reflects upon the stone walls. A warg lies chained close by, teeth bared and growling at your husband like it finds him as appetizing as you always do.

“Delightful company,” you remark flatly.

“It is now,” your husband says, his voice like nectar as he drinks in the sight of you. He is not fully pleased, however. “I did not wish for you to see this.”

“And yet you have been persuaded,” you tease.

“You were quite insistent in your request.” A smile tugs at his lips. “And I am quite unable to deny you.”

“This time, at least,” you say wryly, thinking of how callously he had banished your presence before. But any ire that might have caused you cannot help but melt at the sight of your husband in such a state. His face dirty, his beautiful lip cut and bleeding, his form chained to the wall with an iron collar around his throat as he is left to sit on the cold ground. It’s a tragedy, an outrage. It makes your heart quiver.

“Must you put yourself through this?” you ask softly, reaching out to hold one of his hands as they rest in his lap. You have some sensation of the touch, but it’s nowhere near as vivid and fulfilling as when you are together in body as well as spirit. No doubt as dismayed by this as you, your husband frowns as he looks down at your hands, intertwining your fingers tightly to wring every last drop of that phantom feeling.

“You know very well we need the Uruks to march upon Eregion,” he tells you. “For that, I need Adar’s ear. This is how I gain it.”

“Adar,” you all but growl, anger surging through you. Were your touch solid and real, your nails might have drawn blood from your husband’s skin with how furiously they dig into it. “One day, we shall watch him suffer the same fate he once forced upon you. Worse,” you add, your vicious gaze meeting his, “for it will be the very Uruks he holds so dear who shall slay him at our command.”

The same thirst for vengeance burns within his eyes. “On that day, it shall be my pleasure to hear that order from your lips, my love. For now, however...” His voice loses its fire, rueful but resigned. “I must simply endure.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. Not you alone.” You can tell before he opens his mouth that he is doing so to protest, and you refuse to allow it. “Were those not the vows we swore?” you remind him in earnest. “No hurdle shall ever be too high, for we shall overcome it together?”

“Not like this,” he says grimly.

“Exactly like this,” you counter stubbornly.

For a moment, your eyes remain locked in a battle of wills. He knows what you are offering, and you know why he is refusing. It would be possible, through your bond, for you to share in his pain—and as any burden carried by two instead of one, only half of its weight shall be felt by each. But such a thing must be allowed to happen by the both of you, and while you are willing, your beloved still resists.

His gaze softens, seemingly in surrender.

“It is comfort enough,” he reassures in earnest, “that I may look upon your face now.”

“Not for me, it isn’t,” you’re quick to refute. However his softly-spoken words may tug at your heartstrings, you are not so easily assuaged. You lean in closer and cup his cheek, mourning how the sweet roughness of his stubble is dulled beneath your fingertips by the physical distance between you. “You know I can handle a little pain, my love,” you murmur, voice sweet and oh-so-alluring. “Allow me this gift, will you? Let us be one in torment as we so often are in pleasure.”

A low groan leaves your husband’s throat as he leans, fruitlessly, into the palm of your hand. “It is you who torments me now, my love,” he rasps out, eyes burning into yours, “for how greatly it pains me to sense your touch upon my skin, yet feel only the ghost of it.”

“Ghost?” a gruff voice shatters your moment. You pull away quickly, looking behind your husband. The wretched man who you had briefly glimpsed beating your beloved before has returned. “You talkin’ to ghosts now, your majesty?”

The scourge is mocking him, snorting out a hideous laugh. You regret that you are invisible to his eyes, for if he could see your glare, any trace of his mirth would wither and die. And shortly, so would he, if you were there in body to break his neck.

“Those are pretty words you’re tellin’ ‘em,” he goes on shamelessly. “Some poetry for a special lady, perhaps?”

Your husband clenches his jaw, refusing to turn his head and acknowledge the man’s presence. He narrows his eyes, frustrated by Halbrand’s silence.

“If you wanna get back to her, it’s simple enough. All you gotta do,” he crouches behind your husband, speaking lowly near his ear, “is tell ol’ Waldreg everything you know about Sauron.”

Oh, the irony.

Out of nowhere, your husband whips his head towards him, and Waldreg falls back with a startled yelp. You’d laugh if you weren’t so disgusted.

“Imbecile,” you mutter.

Waldreg scrambles to his feet, glaring daggers at your husband.

“Pain must be something you enjoy,” he taunts. As if summoned, a pair of Uruks join him from outside. One hands Waldreg a bludgeon whilst the other pulls at your husband’s chain. He groans as his head is yanked back, neck straining against the collar. His gaze meets yours briefly, and you are filled with such anguish and wrath, you cannot breathe. But you cannot do a thing, either, other than to keep your grip on his hand, diluted in feeling as it is, like a lifeline.

“After Lord Father releases me,” your husband growls, “I am going to kill you.”

Even as he speaks the threat, you feel his inner plea caress your mind—urging you to retreat back into yourself before you must witness what is soon to follow.

Waldreg snorts out a cruel chuckle. “Adar doesn’t even remember you are here!”

Heart pounding, you reach for your husband’s face, fingers sinking into his dirty hair as you lean over him so that your eyes are locked and you are all he sees.

“As one,” you beseech, baring your soul to him through your bond so he might feel the full might of your willingness, your craving to receive any sensation he might share with you, fair or foul.

He shuts his eyes, a tear escaping at the corner. And at last, overwhelmed by your endless devotion, he relents. He welcomes you into him wholly and pours himself into you in return, leaving the door wide open for the suffering that is to come to flow in between, each of you shouldering half of it.

The bludgeon begins to fall once more—and the pain is almost sweet when it tastes of your beloved’s soul bleeding into yours.

Previous fic with same reader -> Reunion

Next fic with same reader -> As we are now

[cbk1000]

Hey, what are you into right now (movies, books, series)? Or even not right now, but in the past, outside of Merlin? I feel you have wicked taste, and I’m desperate for a new hyperfixation. Please, some recs if you have them!

Hey, anon! Sorry; I spaced on answering this.

I don't generally watch a lot of movies or TV shows, because I prefer reading. TV is generally for when I want to shut my brain off and just be entertained, so I wouldn't call a lot of what I do watch good. But if you haven't seen them yet, Our Flag Means Death and Sense8 are both really good shows. Both were pretty popular on tumblr at one point or another, so you may have already seen them, but if not, I really recommend giving them a go. Also, this is dated now, but it still holds up as a sitcom: I've spent most of my recovery rewatching Frasier, which I saw as a kid when it was first airing in the 90s. Ditto Third Rock from the Sun, which still makes me laugh, no matter how many times I've seen it.

This is a video game, but I've been playing an RPG set in medieval Bohemia that's really scratching my nerd itch; it's called Kingdom Come. It's very immersive and has been keeping me company the last couple of weeks while I get to the point in my recovery where I feel well enough to do more than lay in bed staring at my tablet, but am not quite yet a fully functioning human.

As for books, I'm finishing up a historical mystery series, 'Brother Cadfael' by Ellis Peters, set in medieval England during The Anarchy. I've thoroughly enjoyed it and am sad to have only one book left.

I just started rereading 'The Wolf Hall' trilogy by Hilary Mantel, which follows the rise and fall of Thomas Cromwell during Henry VIII's reign. I found the trilogy very gripping and difficult to put down my first time through, and though I've only just started the first book again, it's having the same effect, even though I just read it a couple of years ago. Definitely check out a preview of this first, though; I love Mantel's unique style, but I know a lot of readers find it difficult.

I read 'Shadowplay' by Joseph O'Connor a couple of years ago and really enjoyed it. This follows Bram Stoker during his time as a manager at a London theatre, his struggles with his writing (he didn't really find commercial success until after his death), and the experiences that led to 'Dracula.'

For the last couple of years I've been making my way through most of Guy Gavriel Kay's work, which I recommend if you like poetic, historically-inspired fantasy. I started with 'A Brightness Long Ago', but I recommend picking whatever time period that interests you personally (the Sarantine duology, for instance, is set in an analogue of the Byzantine Empire; 'A Brightness Long Ago' evokes Renaissance Italy, and then 'Under Heaven' and its companion 'River of Stars' imperial China).

Ditto with Terry Pratchett and his Discworld, a hilarious satirical fantasy series. I started with 'Guards Guards' and read the City Watch books and then moved on to the books featuring the witches. Special shout-out to his 'Nation', which is not a Discworld book, but is one of the best novels I've read in years.

I've also been immersed in Arthurian literature and heaps of non-fiction about the Plantagenet reign for the last few years. My favourite work of Arthuriana is probably 'Idylls of the King' by Tennyson. It's gorgeous and haunting. 'The Plantagenets' by Dan Jones is a good, accessible introduction to that period of history if you're at all inclined to non-fiction. He's a historian, but it's not a stodgy, academic text.

I hope there's something here for you!

[hannahssimblr]

For Simblr Gratitude Day!

This year, 2023 has been a really really amazing year for me creatively. I wrote over 270K words, I started and finished both parts 2 and 3 of Lucky Girl and I started Lucky Boy! When I began writing last year I really didn't see myself at this point, having written so much, having improved so much, and most importantly, having falling completely head over heels for this amazing community

Without the support and amazing feedback from so many people I would have quit a long time ago, but coming here and talking to you guys and being so incredibly inspired by other work is what really pushed me past the finish line. I want to express my gratitude for every single person who engaged with me this year, for those who liked and commented and shared and left me questions and anon asks, and even those who didn't, and just read along in silence - I see you there! You can't hide! Thank you so much.

This graph only shows my top 10, but I reached over 50 countries this year! that's pure mad.

You can see that it's the Americans and the British who really came through for me, and I'm sorry for poking gentle fun at you in my story - I know you are more than semi-automatic machine guns, UFOs & undesirable tourists, you know how it is, we're like the ignored middle child between you two and I'd be going against my cultural heritage if I didn't act up a little bit.

Most importantly I want to thank specific people today! Starting with @armoricaroyalty for making this day happen, and @daniigh0ul for coming up with the idea. I'm really excited to get to know you both much better in the new year & finally find the time to start reading your stuff - I've heard only good things.

to @sirianasims for poking me to join the writers group that has now absolutely swallowed up my free time (in a good way lmao) and for being hilarious and fun and just generally a gorgeous, open and supportive person. I've been reading Siri's story lately and I INSIST you check it out - I'm on gen 3 and completely obsessed by the thought that goes into this, the complexity of the relationships and really sensitive exploration of difficult material.

to @lynzishell for always being so positive and engaged, always taking the time to leave thoughtful comments and get genuinely excited over everyone's work! I'm DUG INTO her legacy, which is still on gen 1 and it makes my day better every single time I see an update from her - and I'm not even just saying that to be nice. It's an honest to god thrill for me to get to read about her characters. I'm beyond excited for what she's going to do in the new year

@mannylikessims deserves a shout out too for writing some of the best and funniest simlit I've had the pleasure of reading in a long time. Those Villarreal kids (and Jacques, obviously) have me on the edge of my seat. I feel insatiable for this story, like, give me more, all of the time. Just shovel it into my mouth. Manny has also brought me to literal tears with her comments. It's rare enough that you meet a reader that seems to truly understand what you're trying to say in your work - like, right to the heart of it, and Manny is one of those people.

I've just recently started reading @rebouks Somnium and Forever In Between (Don't do what I did if you haven't read yet - start with Somnium) and when I say I am HOOKED I mean it. The visuals alone are enough to make me want to burst into tears with the knowledge that I will never wrangle something so beautiful from the game, but you know what, that's okay, because I can come here and sob over Becca's work instead. I'm not even halfway through and I'm already bowled over by the character development, the dialogue, the humour, everything. The only thing I wish is that I had unlimited free time and 0 commitments so I could absolutely consume this work in one sitting, but I guess savoring it is good too.. Thank you Becca for pure inspiration <3

@pixelnrd for The Langston Legacy, a decades challenge which was actually the first sims 4 legacy I ever read - I stumbled across it on my very first day on simblr and I've loved loved loved it every since. The visuals are gorgeous, the story lines are always engaging, and just about every topic under the sun has been covered now. The dedication to accuracy is really admirable, and now that we've reached the 80s I'm genuinely beginning to feel nostalgic. I always find myself wanting more. I'm so much looking forward to the 90s! (And I can't believe you've made it this far, that's an achievement and a half)

Other storytellers and creators I want to shout out are @simstrashkingdom, @bakersimmer @simmysunset @igglemouse @simsstuph - You guys have created some really great stories this year, and I so long forward to reading more!

To @nexility-sims for creating our wonderful writing group (and for pairing with me) I'm dying to start reading your work properly, because even the small bits I've read have been so beautiful.

And to everyone else in the writing group! I know I have so many stories to catch up on, and I'm very intimidated by that fact, but I know that it means that 2024 holds a lot of exciting times! I want to learn from you all and be inspired and support you, so this is the year I'm going to do it <3

[divinekangaroo]

Just A Prompt!

Characters: Tommy Shelby, Alfie Solomons. Also I love Polly so any inclusion/mention of her would be a bonus.

Phrase: The blind leading the blind

No limits, sex is fine, gen is fine

Happy holidays!! Love your writing.

Dear Anon - I gave in -- because after well over a week I keep micro editing this part and not getting on with the rest of the words, so am hoping to move on to completion by anchoring this bit with a post. Hope you enjoy (progressively!)

death is a tree you plant in my chest (Ch 1/3) - pettiot - Peaky Blinders (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Primarily set in the evening of S4-E4, Tommy invites Alfie to dinner after they finish establishing terms regarding Bonnie's debut fight. Flashbacks between S3 and S4, Alfie's youth, and Alfie's war experience.

Might be the last time they don't fuck, Alfie thinks. Why not.

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Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons, Tommy Shelby & Alfie Solomons, Alfie Solomons/George Sage, Polly Gray, Charles Solomons, Many Other Contemporaneous Gangster Mentions, Solomons Family, Various Italians, Sabini | Unrequited Something-Something, Violence Fetish, Masochism, Chronic Pain, The Intersection of Kink Masochism and Chronic Pain, Longing, Fear of Death and Incapability, Cancer Diagnosis, Diagnosis Repercussions, Shock, Flashbacks, Not Coping Despite Appearances, Theatrical References, Backstory, Hand Jobs, Fantasising, Fisting, Fucking, Frottage, Dinner Date, Terrible Humour, Humiliation, Gangs, Jewish Rituals and Traditions, Unreliable Narrator, Internal Monologue, Mass Animal Death, Death Fetish, War Trauma, Class Issues, Ethnic Slurs, Slaughterer Trauma, Attempted Gangrape, Rape, Crossdressing, The Book of Leviticus, A Surprising Amount of Procreation Imagery, Deep Friendship, Deep Hurt, Prostitution, Complicated Relationship with Religion, Piercing, Tattoos, Dehumanisation

Shout out to @dandelionfool's tommy x alfie artwork which has a mood and vibe which has greatly inspired me!

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