#SOFT DARK WALTER MARSHALL (AU) AND READER

[ylva-syverson]

This is really good. I loved that this series was starting with some serious shockers. I have a feeling this is gonna continue to get more and more interesting. Thank you for writing it.

STUPID GIRL

BLIND SPOT (3)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

THE LONG WALK (1)

JANE DOE (2)

18+ ONLY

SOFT DARK WALTER MARSHALL X READER

SUMMARY: YOU'RE JUST DOING YOUR JOB. TOO BAD SOMEONE DOESN'T AGREE.

(I moved the dates of this to the current year instead of 2018 so hopefully my dates match. I used what character information I could find for Walter and either filled it in with the actor's info or just winged it since no explanation was ever given for his accent. I did my best to research the neighborhoods and streets mentioned. If I made a mistake I apologize.)

SERIES WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON/GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/TORTURE/DEATH/DESCRIPTIONS OF DEAD BODIES/VAGINAL SEX/ORAL SEX/ANAL SEX/REFERENCES TO SEXUAL ASSAULT/REFERENCES TO MURDER/STALKING/CHOKING/SLAPPING

“Detective Marshall, Is this the 8th victim of the Hennepin Hatchet?” 

“No comment.”

The man bristled at the name, barely concealed disdain in his expression.

You didn’t like the name any better.

Giving murderers cutesy names took the focus off the victims.

But the Press, yourself included, had to call this psycho something.

“Get out of my fucking crime scene”

“I’m not in your fucking crime scene.”

You gestured to the yellow police tape, flapping in the bitter wind, which you were currently behind, barely. 

Detective Marshall grunted, clearly annoyed.

“I’m just trying to do my job. The public has a right to know if a serial killer is operating in Minneapolis.”

Crossing his arms, he fixed you with a bored stare. 

“What makes you think this is serial? Prostitutes get killed all the time. Hazards of the profession.”

“You’re joking right?”

You rolled your eyes.

“All the victims were last seen in the Hennepin area, all petite blondes, all sexually assaulted, stabbed and mutilated. There’s no way in hell this isn’t the same guy.”

“No comment.”

The dark haired Detective walked away, effectively dismissing you.

“Can you confirm Madison Harper was missing her left breast?”

Turning back he lumbered toward you.

Oh shit.

Detective Marshall was a veritable bear of a man, with a rumored temper to match.

And you?

You’d just poked him, big time. 

“Where did you get that information?”

“No comment,” you sassed.

 Apparently you had no sense of self-preservation.

“If you don’t get the fuck out of here,” he growled, “I’m gonna have your ass arrested for interfering with a police investigation.”

“C’mon. Give me something, anything.”

You tried your best to bat your eyes.

“Officer Barton,” he shouted to a uniform, “I need you to..”

“Ok, Ok,” you threw up your hands, “I’m going.”

You stomped to your ancient, beige Subaru. 

“Fucking prick.”

Driving away, you shivered, convinced the killer was just getting started.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I sincerely hope you're hitting submit as we speak.”

“I’m working on it.”

You glowered at your laptop, its blank Google Docs page taunting you.

“Uh, you know deadline’s in 3 hours?”

‘Yeah Brent, I know. I’m..I’m working on it.”

You hit the red dot, ending the call.

Brent was a great colleague, an even better friend.

SInce moving to Minneapolis a year and a half ago he was the only person you had gotten close to.

 Even so, the last thing you needed right now was more pressure.

FUCK FUCK FUCK 

Milton Turnbaldt, the editor of the Digital Division at the StarTribune, had finally moved you from Special Interest to the Crime Beat.

It was the next step in “THE PLAN” you’d mapped out since graduation. 

Imagining yourself a modern day Helen Thomas, visions of Pulitzers had danced in your mind. 

Reality had been a bit different.

Two years writing bar reviews for Bar Fly and one disastrous year at Chicago Suburban Family had been followed by a three year stint at the Chicago Sun Times, where the closest you got to reporting anything was letting Maintenance know a lightbulb was out in the Ladies room.

Getting hired at the  StarTribune had seemed like a dream come true, even if you’d had to move to Minnesota. 

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK 

It was obvious this woman was the 8th victim. 

Problem was every other reporter knew it, even if the cops refused to acknowledge the fact.

Your one advantage was your intuition. 

The women had to have been comfortable with the killer, therefore, he was most likely good looking, charming and came off as harmless. Every victim had voluntarily left their comfort zone, something sex workers usually refused to do. 

The pre- and post-mortem mutilation meant the killer felt confident enough in his surroundings to spend hours with the women, unconcerned about noise or the mess. His secondary location had to be isolated enough for his purpose but close enough to Hennepin Ave that the victims had been willing to take a chance.

Unofficial autopsy reports on each victim listed copious amounts of lube found in the vaginal and anal cavities. It wasn’t unusual for sex workers to use lube but this seemed excessive. The ME had attributed the internal micro-tears and bruising to the sexual assault. That, coupled with the lube, had you leaning in a different direction: The killer was having sex with the dying women. 

Too bad you couldn’t prove any of it.

Neither could you publish the information about the missing body part or lube without totally outing your source at the morgue, although that ship had kinda sailed when you showed your hand to the detective.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK 

Praying for Divine intervention, you started typing.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you think Claude?”

The overweight Tabby cat yawned.

“Thanks for the support. I’ll remember that next time you want a treat.”

Looking at your reflection in the full length bathroom mirror, you critically assessed your outfit: short, pleated black polyester tennis skirt, metallic silver cowl neck top, dingy, thigh high, white spiked boots, and a cropped, pink fake fur bomber jacket.

Heavy eye makeup, red lips and purposely mussed hair completed the disguise.

This classy ensemble, courtesy of the local thrift shop, had cost you a grand total of $53.98, an amount you really couldn’t afford.

But since the police, one surly detective in particular, weren’t talking you were just gonna have to find someone who would. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your feet were numb. 

Whether it was from the insanely high heels or the -2 degrees (F) windchill you didn’t know.

Or care.

After walking the Hennepin Ave circuit for 3 hours you had a whole lot of nothing. 

The sex workers definitely knew something.

Clustered in groups of 3 or 4, they murmured to themselves, cell phone cameras flashing, warning potential customers they were being watched, however, no one was willing to talk to a stranger. 

A midnight blue, extended cab pickup pulled up, idling at the curb. 

“Come here.”

“Uh, sorry, I’m..uh.. off the clock.”

He wasn’t the first guy who’d tried to engage you.

Maybe your refusal to leave with a client had given you away.

“Come here or I’ll bring you here.”

Tentatively you stepped closer.

“I said I’m not…Are you fucking kidding me Marshall?”

He sat hunched over the steering wheel, eyes blazing at you.

Beyond annoyed, you hissed, “Go away.”

“Get in the truck.”

“No.” 

“Get in the goddamn truck now.”

Mimicking his earlier behavior, you crossed your arms.

“You can’t tell me what to….”

The cab of the truck flooded with light as he opened the driver side door.

“Fine!”

In a huff, you climbed in, fastening your seatbelt before throwing him a scowl.

He ignored you, smoothly merging with the heavy Friday night traffic.

“Where’d you park that piece of shit car?”

You refused to answer, making a show of sulking.

“Answer me or..”

“Or what?” you interrupted, “You had no right harassing me, asshole.”

“Excuse me?” 

His harsh tone was  a clear indicator you’d pissed him off.

“Your car?”

“It’s at my apartment. I took an Uber.”

The Detective sighed.

“Exactly what the hell were you trying to accomplish out there?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“You’re no help so I…”

“You what? You decided to play fucking dress up? Do you have any idea how dangerous the streets are? Some freak is killing prostitutes and your stupid ass is running around pretending to be one.”

“Are you finished?”

He clenched his jaw, cheek ticking.

“Contrary to your belief I’m not stupid. I can take care of myself.”

You reached in your bag producing a sleek, highly illegal taser.

“Plus I have this. And yes, I know how to use it.”

Taking a sharp left turn he headed South.

“Um, where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“How do you….”

“Born and raised in the Gold Coast area of Chicago. Only child. Undergrad at University of Chicago, Masters in Communication from Loyola, which your ridiculously rich mother paid for. You worked at two small time local papers then the Chicago Sun where you, what? Got coffee for three years? You took a job at the StarTribune 18 months ago writing online fluff. You live in the East Phillips neighborhood,  don’t drink, smoke or do drugs and generally have no social life. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, more than a little angry he’d checked you out.

“Pretty good,” you retorted, “My turn.”

“Born in the Channel Islands. Strict Catholic upbringing, four siblings, three boys, one girl. Attended St Michael’s Prep before transferring to Stowe School your Sophomore year, sorry, you call it Year 11. Joined the London Metropolitan Police Force in 2008, the same year you married Angie Stultz. She was interning for Warrener Stewart right?”

You rambled on, not waiting for an answer.

“Your daughter Faye was born the next year. Four years later you were promoted to the Criminal Investigations Department. You started out in Street Crime, then Organized Crime, until landing in Major Crimes in 2015. January of 2017 you and the little family moved to Minneapolis, where your wife was from but you didn’t start with the police department here for another 5 months so I’m assuming you were a house husband until your emigration papers cleared. Apparently you weren’t a very good husband, house or otherwise, cause your wife filed for divorce under “Irreconcilable DIfferences” a little over a year ago. You live alone, don’t smoke or do drugs and are generally recognized as a bully. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

You flashed a Chesire grin.

Uh, oh.

If looks could kill, you’d be dead, buried 6 feet down, “Here lies a stupid idiot who wouldn’t keep her mouth shut” carved in the marker. 

“Um, this is me.”

You pointed to a two story brick building, an empty storefront on the first floor, your studio apartment on the second.

“Why do you live in this shithole? With mommy’s money you could be living in the Carlyle or Legacy.”

“I wanted to prove I can make it on my own. And this neighborhood? It’s not as bad as people think. The Pizzeria over there? The old, Italian couple that own it let anyone who needs to use the free wifi. On the weekends they stay open late and offer a free slice and drink so the kids have a safe place to go.”

You became animated, warming to the topic.

“Mrs Freemantle, in the brownstone next door, invites me over three or four times a month. Her oxtail soup and mac and cheese are freaking amazing. She doesn't get around too well so I run errands for her once or twice a week.”

You peered out the windshield.

“Those two guys on the steps, the ones you gave the stink eye to? Andre and Tony? They fixed my car for a six pack and a pizza the last time it crapped out.”

“Probably with stolen parts,” he mumbled.

“I bought the parts, you judgemental ass.” you spat.

Jerking the handle, you exited the vehicle.

Snow swirled in the open door.

“People here care more about each other than anyone ever did in the swanky condo’s I grew up in. Thanks for the ride.”

You flung the door closed with a thud.

Trekking up the sidewalk, you quickly unlocked the outside door, your mind already on a molten hot shower.

“Honey, I’m home,” you announced to the tiny studio, tossing your bag and coat on the fifth-hand orange and green couch. 

You stretched, exhausted, looking forward to…..

It happened so fast.

One second you were contemplating splurging an extra ten minutes in the shower, the next you were slammed against the kitchen wall, Detective Marshall’s forearm across your neck, other hand over your  mouth.

You flailed at him, hitting and kicking. 

It was like fighting a marble statue.

He leaned in, leg slotted between yours. 

“Taser ain’t much help now is it.”

You pushed at his arm.

“How fucking stupid are you? You didn’t even lock your fucking door. Anyone…”

You bit his fingers, drawing blood. 

He let go, surprised by your counterattack. 

“Get the hell out of…..”

His hand closed around your throat.

Your chest heaved from adrenaline, his booming heartbeat matching yours. 

Without warning, his lips crashed to yours.

The kiss was desperate, all consuming, his beard scratching your delicate skin.

His hand slipped under your top and cheap push-up bra, palming your breast, rough fingers pinching the already pebbled nipple.

The kiss deepened to something dark, Marshall taking control.

You rocked your hips against his muscled thigh, your core on fire.

Snaking down your belly, he slid his hand beneath the waistband of you skirt, callused digits gliding through your damp, plumped slit.

He circled your clit, applying light pressure with each pass, thumb randomly sweeping the bundle of nerves. 

Lost in a sea of sensation, you mewled, the sound swallowed by his warm, searching mouth.

“Tell me to stop.”

Afraid he wouldn’t stop, even more afraid he would, you remained silent as you unzipped his jeans, freeing his heavy cock.

Gathering the sticky wetness from the tip, you stroked his length.

“Fuck.”

The whispered obscenity went straight to your cunt, fresh slick coating his hand. 

He tore your black tights in one motion, leaving you bare.

Marshall lifted your leg, curling it around his waist, his cock poised at you sopping entrance.

“Last chance.”

You draped your arms around his shoulders, balancing yourself.

Taking that as a sign, he pressed into you, you channel stretching painfully.

You cried out, the burn almost too much.

His lips latched to yours, tongues sparing until his cock was fully ensheathed in your heat. 

He pulled out, briefly hesitated, before thrusting in again.

Breaking the kiss, you buried your face in his neck, fingers tangling in his dark curls.

He fucked you now, hips pistoning, his fingers digging into your flesh.

Marshall’s feral grunts mingled with your needy moans.

Tendrils of electricity surged along your nerves.

He lifted your leg higher, changing the angle of penetration, his cock hitting the soft, spongy spot repeatedly. 

“Please,..please..” you choked out.

“I’ve got you.”

You came with a sob, hips pumping in time with his, cunt clenching, the sheer intensity of your orgasm frightening, wave after wave threatening to drown you. 

He drove into you faster, chasing his own release. 

All you could do was hold on, tears staining his coarse, coal gray sweater.

You felt him swell, hips stuttering.

His muscles flexed as he came, pushing you against the wall, milky ropes of cum splashing your walls.

Fevered lust dissipating, he rested his cheek on your head.

Untangling limbs, Marshall fastened his jeans.

He didn’t stay, instead turning towards the door.

Hand on the brass knob, he paused.

“I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened.”

His words froze the question in your throat.

Door closed, you collapsed to the floor, head bowed, knees to chest.

“What the hell just happened.” 

@xoxabs88xox @imanuglywombat @fanfic-fangirl @caffiend-queen @alexakeyloveloki @americasass81 @lokislastlove @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @sweeterthanthis @ironlady1993 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jennmurawski13 @starynighty @sapphirescrolls @xsapphirescrollsx @sagechanoafterdark @momc95 @jtargaryen18 @demonsandpieohmy @dangertoozmanykids101 @lizzystuffsthings @nildespirandum @shikin83 @sinceimetyou @buckybarnesandmarvel @imdarkinme @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @titty-teetee @saiyanprincessswanie @littlefreya

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 16

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Walter helps you out of the truck, his hand firmly on your arm. As you stand on solid ground, his touch crawls around to your back, his longer fingers stretching between your shoulder blades. The residue of rain floods your nose as a coolness lingers in the air. 

He retracts his arm, shifting the folder in his other. You face the house and walk in-step with him to the porch. He squeezes your hand then waves you up the stairs ahead of him. You pull open the creaky screen door and he catches it behind you, following you through the larger interior door with a sniff. 

You put your shoes on the mat and he pauses to step out of his beaten work boots. You can smell coffee and hear the clink of porcelain. You sway in place as suddenly you’re in tunnel vision. The edges of your sight haze and you see only the doorway at the end of the entryway. 

You walk forward, overly aware of the gigantic shadow hovering over you. Walt stays close as you tiptoe into the door frame and stop to stare. You mother rubs her eyes as she holds her head and Timmy stirs a cup of coffee. 

“Mom,” you greet her and she sits up, “sorry I didn’t come back I...” 

“She got caught in the storm,” Walter nudges you and you break the threshold. 

“Oh, honey,” your mom preens, “thank you for getting her back safe.” 

“Of course. Really came down last night,” he lingers by the door as your mother watches him and Timothy barely seems to comprehend anything beyond his mug. 

You go to the counter and lean on it, making yourself smaller as you wait. Walter slides the folder from under his arm and waves it so it wobbles. He lets out an exhale. He grips it in both hands and rolls his tongue beneath his lower lip. 

“Bank approved the mortgage, we’ll have to get signatures to switch everything over,” he crosses the space and holds out the folder to your mother, “I’ll let you look it all over, of course.” 

Your mom swallows as she takes it and opens it slowly. She looks within. You barely remember everything they said at the bank. That daze remains, dulling your mind as you watch from behind a wall of fog. You put your signature all over those papers but you don’t really understand what you signed. 

“Hm,” your mom hums thoughtfully, “and?” 

She looks between the two of you. Timothy’s brow ripples as he does the same. 

“Sweetheart,” Walter prompts and Timothy’s eyes widen. 

You force out a breath, “yeah, uh, we’re... getting married.” 

“It’ll be good for collateral. You know, I know how much this place means to you all--” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Timothy gestures from his forehead, “what? Married?” 

Walter looks at her mom and she cringes, turning it into a smile, “sweetie, I... didn’t want to get ahead of myself,” she faces him, “but it’s a good thing. You always wanted a brother didn’t you and your sister, she’s old enough now--” 

“Married?” He echoes, “them?” His voice turns pitchy, “but he’s Walter. He’s...” his eyes search the room and settle on you, “old?” 

Walter clears his throat, “I’m not gonna pretend I haven’t let some years pass me by but I can take care of this place. I can keep it all in order--” 

“But I’m... It’s my dad’s farm. I’m next in charge,” Timothy puts his mug down heavy, sloshing the coffee over the edge, “mom, what is that?” He charges forward to grab the folder. He skims the contents and confusion lines his soft features, “mom? Walter?” 

“It’ll still have you attached. When we marry. It stays in the family,” Walter assures calmly.  

“No, it’s my farm--” 

“It’s your father’s,” your mother murmurs, “Tim, please, we can’t... we can’t get the approval. We’ve spent too much already on your dad’s care and we just don’t have the equity left.” 

“I could!” Timothy insists. 

“No, you can’t,” Walter insists, “your dad’s a smart man. He’d agree. It’s the best course of action. Otherwise, all this is gone.” 

“No, you’re wrong,” Timothy snaps. 

“He’s not,” your mom sniffles, “please, Timmy, we never would’ve got the sowing done if it wasn’t for Walter, you know that. He fixed the truck, the tractor, he built that ramp. We couldn’t have done it ourselves.” 

“She’s right,” you finally find your voice, “dad put in all those years to give us this place, we can’t just let it go.” 

“Whatever,” she spits and stomps up to you, “you’re only saying that ‘cause it’ll go in your name. What will I have?” He snarls and jabs his finger at you, looming over you, “huh?” 

Walter moves subtly but decisively. He comes up beside you, then steps forward and puts his hand on Timothy’s shoulder, moving him away from you as he stands between you. 

“Don’t talk to her like that. Ever,” Walt says evenly, “you will get exactly what you earn. I’m not kicking anyone out. Got it? If it’s better your dad stays and gets a full-time nurse, that’s what we do. If he needs a facility, well, I’ll make that work too. Thing is Timmy, you can’t figure any of this out alone, otherwise, you would’ve.” 

Timothy is quiet. There’s electricity in the air. A tension with teeth. You feel it gnawing down as your brother huffs like a brat. 

“Mom?” He whimpers. 

“Dear, please, you can stay, keep doing what you’re doing, nothing’s gonna change--” 

“What about me? What about when I get a wife? Have kids?” 

“Lots of land,” Walter insists, “we can make it work. We won’t be staying in the main house. I’ll clear that patch to the west, build us our own. If you read,” he taps the folder in your brother’s hands, “you’ll see we got a subsidy for the building materials too. I got buddies from the yard, they’ll help me get it up too. You’re welcome to put in, might do to learn how to build.” 

Timothy stammer and you hear the slap of the folder on Walter’s chest but he doesn’t flinch. He bends his arms and takes it as your brother stomps away. He scoops up his coffee and shakes his head, “well congratulations to the happy couple,” he barks, “hope you’re happy, sis, with the old fucking man.” 

Walter growls but says nothing. Your mother whines and covers her mouth. Timothy storms out the back door as you lean to see around the larger man. It’s just like him. As much as it’s all a mess, they’re all right. He can’t handle the farm on his own. 

“I’m sorry,” your mom says, “he’ll come around. He’s just... surprised.” 

“Mm,” Walter nears your mother again and offers the folder back to her, “he’s young. Got a lot of growing up to do. Pity it has to be this way.” 

Your mom nods and looks down at the paperwork. She slowly raises her head and peers over in your direction, “I’m so happy for you two,” she snivels as her eyes gleam, “it’ll be nice to have something to celebrate.” 

“It will,” Walter backs up to put his arm over your shoulders, “we’re gonna go into the city and find a ring. Afraid I didn’t do it right.” 

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” she flicks away her tears, “so lovely.” 

“Would you like to come?” He offers, “I’d love to take my future mother to lunch.” 

“Pat’s nurse isn’t here yet and I can’t go even if she is,” your mother gives a bittersweet next time, “no, you two, you have fun. Maybe next time.” 

“Next time,” Walter agrees and turns to you, “why don’t you go freshen up,” he tugs at your sleeve, “rain’s got you all crusty still.” 

[holylulusworld]

Between a rock and a hard place (3)

Summary: You are in big trouble and in need of money. Two wolves are more than willing to help you. For a price…

Pairing: Mobster!Walter Marshall x fem!Reader x Mobster!August Walker

Warnings: angst, language, power imbalance, debts, scared reader, groping, gaslighting, darkfic, both brothers are not nice guys, mafia au

Between a rock and a hard place (2)

Between a rock and a hard place masterlist

He’s looming over you like a dark shadow. The eternal darkness eating the light left in your life. You must watch him take over every single aspect of your life. Even the clothes you’re wearing.

Today he wants you to wear a floral print satin babydoll dress. The V-neck and back reveal a little too much skin for your liking, and it’s too short, but you don't have a say in what you wear any longer.

“If you are good today, I’ll talk August out of his plan,” Walter nuzzles his face in your neck. He nips at the tender skin, causing a shudder to run through your body. You press your legs together and try to ignore the tingling in your clit.

The bastard with angel eyes has this influence on you. Whenever his brother threatens you, Walter is there to protect you. He hasn’t touched you yet – not the way you expected him to do.

He’s a little more subtle. A little peck here, and gentle massage there. Walter is like a wolf toying with its prey. It’s hard to not fall for his protectiveness and soft words. He’s no better than his brother, but you are less scared of what he’s going to do to you.

“I’ll be good,” you don’t recognize your own voice any longer. It sounds so meek and broken when you dare to speak at all. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs and presses a soft kiss to your neck. “You’ve been so good for me, little lamb. I think you will be my perfect doll to play with soon enough. You shudder again when he moves his hand under your dress to cup your pussy. “No panties, just how I like it.”

“Yes, Sir,” you whisper. You don’t dare to call Walter by his name. He didn’t allow you to do so, and you don’t want to end up in August’s hands because of a stupid mistake. As long as Walter is interested in you, he’ll offer protection. - At least you hope so.

The brothers are both equally evil and vile. Deep down inside you know that Walter is not better than August. But right now, he has you in his clutches, and obedience is your only way to survival.

“Smile, and don’t make a fuss,” Walter tuts while ushering you inside the club. “Relax. I won’t let anyone but August touch you, little lamb.”

You’re not sure you can trust Walter. He smirks like the devil himself as the girls at the club gawk at you in his embrace. 

They don’t know that you are not with him on free terms. He owns you. Body, soul, and life. If not for Walter, you’d be sucking dick at the club like all the other girls.

“They don’t have what you have, lamb,” he muses when you stiffen in his embrace. All the angry looks thrown your way make you nervous. “Jealousy doesn’t suit a woman, you know. I get bored easily and move on to the next girl.”

His words send you spiraling. If he gets bored easily – how long will he protect you from his brother and his plans for you? Will he protect you from August at all? Or will he push you into his brother’s arms tonight and tell him this was all a big joke?

If so, you are the butt of the joke.

“Oh,” is all you get out.

“You are special, of course. A cute little innocent lamb for me to ruing. I have all these plans for you and your ripe body,” Walter doesn’t know that your knees buckle and that you are close to going for a sprint. “Did your husband ever fuck you on a breeding bench? Damn, I bet I can make your legs shake in no time. on that thing.”

“No,” you squeak when a hand suddenly gropes your ass. Walter is less subtle and more touchy tonight. “He didn’t want kids.”

“Baby,” Walter dips his head to whisper in your ear, “a breeding bench is for fun, not to get you pregnant. I’m not crazy enough to knock a toy up.”

That’s all you are to Walter. A fragile toy he can use to his liking and break beyond repair.

“OH!” You nod and feel like a fool. You’re so inexperienced when it comes to more than vanilla sex. “I see…”

Your recently deceased husband wasn’t adventurous in the bedroom. A blowjob and he was snoring next to you while you tried to get off, imagining one of those hunks from the awfully written erotic novels you’d love to read.

“Aw, you are so cute and innocent. A pity I didn’t get the chance to plug your flower before your husband came into the picture,” he cups your chin and runs his thumb over your lower lip. You open your mouth and allow him to push his digit into your mouth. “I’ll ruin you and make you my whore.”

You hold his gaze, and lick over his thumb, just like you remember from a juicy scene in one of your novels. He hums and runs his thumb over your tongue.

“Walter,” his brother exasperated says behind your back. “You’re fucking late!”

“I was on time,” Walter lowers himself to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. “You let us wait. Now I’m in the mood for something sweeter than business.”

August exhales sharply. He still doesn’t like that his brother called dips on you. August crosses his arms over his chest and glares at his brother.

 “Walter,” he grunts. “Can you at least pretend that you are interested in more than a wet cunt.”

“Watch your tongue around my little lamb,” Walter turns around to glare at his brother. “We are here, aren’t we? Let’s go to the VIP area and talk about business. Y/N can keep me company.”

“Fine. Follow me,” August says and jerks his head toward the less crowded area at the club. “If she’s making a scene, she’ll end up in the special room.”

“Such a good girl for me,” Walter praises while you try to remain silent and not squirm in his lap. 

He wanted you to straddle his lap, and to rest your head against his shoulder. Now he’s running his big hand over your back to lull you into safety once again.

“Walter, can you stop playing with your new toy? We came here for business!” August squares his jaw. He doesn’t like that you cling to his brother, nor the fact that his cock strains against his pants at your submissive behavior. 

“I told you,” he murmurs another praise before turning his attention toward his brother, “I won’t do business with that douche. Hansen can get fucked.”

“Hansen knows how to do business,” August bites back. “He’s reliable.”

“He’s a sociopath, brother,” Walter grunts. “You know that. He’s out of control, and last time he didn’t get the job done!”

August sighs deeply but nods. “Fine. The next point on the agenda is your little toy.”

“I won’t let her work at the club,” your self-declared protector growls. “She’s mine. I won’t share with the creeps at your club.”

“Hmm…what about me?” August rises from his seat to stand in front of his brother. He pats your head and smirks. “Is she ready to get spread by two cocks, brother?”

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[oh-for-fic-sake-library]

Oneshots Drabbles

Here are all my oneshots drabbles and headcannons. you can find my long ongoing chaptered fics here on my Chaptered Stories Masterlist. and you can find my shorter series list here Ficlet masterlist

Disclaimer and my stance on RPF

Geeking Out (Henry Cavill X Reader/Fluff)

Babies New Specs  (Henry Cavill X Little Reader-Fluff)

The Shoe Policy (Henry Cavill X Reader-Domestic)

Grand Theft Auto(Henry Cavill+Kal X Reader-Domestic)

Dress Codes, Nooky And Cock Blocks (Henry Cavill+ Kal X Reader- Domestic/Fluff/🥵)

Kal And Fatherhood (Henry Cavill+Kal X Reader-Fluff)

A Rainy day (Henry Cavill x Reader- Angst/Fluff/🥵)

Lemme See!! (Henry Cavill x Pierced/Tattooed Reader-Fluff)

Mummy’s Jealous Boy (Henry Cavill X Wife!Reader- Fluff, angst)

Pooh Bear (Henry Cavill+ Kal X Reader- Fluff)

Your Man In Action (Henry Cavill X Reader-Fluff)

Another Birthday Surprise (Henry Cavill+Kal X Reader-Fluff slight Angst)

A Clumsy Nugget (Henry Cavill X Little!Reader- Fluff)

Beanie Baby (Henry Cavill+Kal X Reader-Implied Smut,Fluff,Domestic)

Baby Snuggles… Drink and wet? (Henry Cavill X Reader/CHRISTMAS SPECIAL!/Fluff/Humour)

Forever Home (Henry Cavill X Reader- Fluff)

The Date (Henry Cavill X Reader-Fluff)

Deeper Then The Pink Tax (Henry Cavill X Reader- Angst/ Fluff/ Difficult subjects)

Their Alright… For A Boomer (Henry Cavill X BustyReader- Fluff, Suggestive)

Love Is Blind (Henry Cavill X Shelby!Reader- Peaky Blinders AU- Angslt,Fluff)

Your Perfect (Henry Cavill X Reader- ABO,Fluff, Angst)

The Mortals Claiming (Hades!Henry X Reader- god AU, Angst, Smut)

Fledgling (Vampire!Henry X Reader)

The Rubber Glove Experience (Henry X Nurse!Reader)

Panic In The Playroom (Daddy!Henry x Little!Reader)

The Assistants Assistance (Henry X Reader)

The Talc Slip Up (Henry X Reader/Humour/Fluff) 

Chubby Rodent (Henry X Reader/Fluff)

Bubbles (Daddy!Henry X Little!Reader/Fluff/Humour)

Everything Works (Henry X Reader/Fluff/Humour)

Bring It On Bitch (Clark Kent X Reader-Fluff)

Ace In The Hole (Diana Prince X Teen Reader-Fluff?)

FUCK OFF! (Bruce Wayne X Reader-Domestic/Fluff)

A Soft Bunny~ (Clark Kent X Reader -🥵/PetPlay)

Mounting Mistakes  (Clark Kent X Reader- 🥵/ABO)

The Ruined Cape (Clark Kent X Bratty Little Reader-Spanking)

L-Latex?!(Clark Kent X  Mistress/Domme Reader-Humour/Fluff/Domestic )  

We Didn’t Make It To My Birthday (Alpha!Clark Kent X Younger Omega Reader- A/B/O, 🥵)    

Clark The God Of Munch (Clark Kent X Reader-🥵)

Lacking (Clark Kent X Reader-🥵)

Numb (Clark Kent X Daughter Reader- Angst/ Mental Health Issues)

A Breeding Bunny (Dark!Clark X Reader-🥵Dark Fic)

I Cant Feel My Legs (Dark!Clark X Reader/ A/B/O 🥵)

Super-Hubby Proof (Clark X Reader/ BDSM/ Humor/🥵)

(Taming A Pa-Bear(Platonic!Geralt X Reader/Fluff/Angst?Homour)

The Witcher’s Missus (Geralt X Reader/Angst/🥵)

Nanma? (Geralt x Mage!reader/ Jaskier X Reader Platonic/fluff/crackfic/suggestive)

Hybrid Oil (Geralt X Reader/ suggestive/ Angry Geralt)

Mine (ALpha!Geralt X Omega!Reader/ angry Geralt/ABO)

A Family (platonic Geralt X Reader/ Angst/Spanking/Fluff)

Your Best Idea (Napoleon Solo x Wife Reader-Fluff/Domestic)

My Phone Died…Sorry?(Walter X Reader/Fluff/Angst/Immplied smut)

A Little Crime Spree (Papa!Sherlock X Little Reader- Spanking)

His Grace’s Protection (Charles Brandon X Reader- Fluff/Angst)

They Hung Up (August Walker X Little!Reader- Fluff)

She Calls Me Daddy 🥵(August Walker X Reader Daddy Kink-Smut Exhibitionism)

Use The Zipties (Walter Marshal x Drunk!Reader)

Manny (Sy x Drunk!Reader)

The Graves Case (Sherlock X Reader)

OCD Christmas (Walter X Reader/ Fluff)

Dick Christmas (August X Reader/ cavillmas challenge/ smut)🥵

Finish What You Stared (Walter X Reader/ Foot Kink/ Suggestive/Fluff)

My Little Trinket (Dark!Charles X Reader/dark fic)

Math?!(Daddy!August X Brat!Reader/DDLG)

A Lil’Lady (Mob Boss Sy X Reader/ fluff)

Hitman Daddy Dom (Daddy!August X Little!reader/DDLG/Fluff)

Adoption Day (Daddy!Henry X Little!Reader/ DDLG/Fluff/Angst)

Please Do Daddy (Daddy!Walter X Subby!Reader/ daddy kink/ sugestive)

A Kept Woman (August X Reader/ dark themes/kidnap)

Princess (Sy X Reader/ Fluff/Humour)

Soft!Bdsm Relationship Dom!Henry Sub!Nurse

Wearing Plugs on a date Dom!Henry 🥵

Being A Jealous Little At A Party Daddy!Henry

Scolded By Another Daddy In Front Of Daddy!Henry

Tangled In Knots DDLG

When Your Knee Is Injured DDLG

A Maintenance Spanking DDLG

Caught Pigging Out DDLG

An Inner Ear Infection DDLG

Helping With Hate DDLG

Pms and Headache remedies DDLG🥵

Insomnia /Trouble Waking In The Morning DDLG

Caught Listening To Bratty Songs DDLG

Getting Scared Watching MI6 DDLG

Cutting Your Hair DDLG

Henry Answers A Zoom Call With Pretty Hair DDLG

Story time Wisdom teeth DDLG

Tooth Fairy Haggle DDLG

The accident DDLG

Sherbert and baths DDLG

The Icecream Van DDLG

Slapping Daddies Hand DDLG

Superman’s Dishcloth

Couples Race

Sugar haul DDLG 

Yeah Daddy DDLG

Baby Hustle

A Headcannon Crack Series- Geralt see’s an opportunity to add to his family and finally have something both he and Yennefer have always wanted. A baby, now they just had to figure out how to look after it.

The Exchange / / Got Milk? / / Your Turn / /Hmm…Hm? / /Lil’Bleater

Misc

Vesemir and Geralt bath sharing M/F/M

Playing With August’s Knives DDLG

The Deal (Clark X Reader X August)🥵 / / Pt 2  / / Pt3🥵?

Malicious Compliance (Sherlock X Reader)

Coming Home Drunk (August X Drunk!Reader)

April Fools! (Sy X Reader) slight smut 🥵

Mocki (Sy X Reader)

Hair Pulling  101 Dom!Henry

A Latte (Henry Cavill X Reader- Fluff)

Swallow-Geralt Of Rivia

Ducky- Humphrey Mummy!Domme

The Making Of Sy’s Mini Me- Sy Smut

Walter Told You Not To Touch! Walter implied smut?

“Pull out” “No”-Sy Smut

Little Office Bunny- August implied smut

Jewel In The Crown August Walker

[navybrat817]

Navy's Port of Call

Your stop for all things fic and writing related.

Writer Info

⚓ My Masterlist

⚓ I write female reader insert fanfiction and do my best to make the reader as inclusive as possible. For that reason, I do not use "readers" in any of my moodboards or graphics.

⚓ I write primarily for Sebastian Stan and Chris Evans characters, but am open to other fandoms.

⚓ Writing Updates: I currently do not have a posting schedule as I write in my limited free time and post when I can. Please, be patient and I will share updates as they are available.

⚓ Taglists: I no longer do taglists. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog and turn on notifications for new fics and updates. 💙

⚓ Requests: Formal requests are currently closed, but never be ashamed to send me your shameless hoe thots, gifs, videos, headcanons, etc. They may inspire something!

⚓ I love discussing my fics and thots, so feel free to ask or comment if you're curious. I value that feedback.

⚓ I happily accept gifs, photos, videos, moodboards, etc., anything that reminds you of one of my fics, AUs, or characters.

⚓ I do NOT consent to have my work posted, translated or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here or archiveofourown under my same username, it has been reposted without my permission.

⚓ Minors: DNI

I Will Write

⚓ Smut, fluff, angst (within reason), light, soft!dark, dark, AUs (feel free to ask), age difference (of age), poly/threesome, reverse harem, dubcon, noncon, cnc, yandere, D/s, somnophilia, cockwarming, sex pollen, praise, praise and degradation, breeding, chase, power imbalance, choking, knife play, voyeurism, exhibitionism, bondage, edging, overstimulation, breath play, sensory deprivation, A/B/O, stepcest, and more. Feel free to ask if it isn't listed below.

I Will Not Write

⚓ RPF, pedophilia, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, race play, watersports, underage scenarios, scat play, cheating between "main" couple, miscarriage.

Who I'll Write For

⚓ Sebastian Stan Characters: Bucky Barnes, Scott Huffman, Nick Fowler, Hal Carter, Chris Beck, Jefferson, Destroyer!Chris, Steve Kemp, Charles Blackwood, Lee Bodecker, Mickey Henry, Chase Collins, Lance Tucker

⚓ Chris Evans Characters: Steve Rogers, Andy Barber, Ari Levinson, Jake Jensen, Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett, Frank Adler, Lloyd Hansen

⚓ Henry Cavill Characters: Clark Kent, August Walker, Walter Marshall, Captain Syverson

⚓ Misc. Characters: Dean Winchester, Soldier Boy, Jax Teller, William Miller, Raymond Smith, Sierra Six, Morpheus, The Corinthian, Harwin Strong

Happy reading, lovelies! 💙 And thank you to @rookthorne for the divider and @sgt-seabass for the header. 💙

[bolontiku]

"Cold Coffee"

Avengers AU - Chapter 2

Previous

Characters: Walter Marshall x reader

Posted: July 25th

A/N: technically a draft dump...

WARNINGS: smut, sexy times, implied mention of violence, implied physical violence, mention of death

Like, Comments, & Reblogs are always appreciated and loved.

His last grunt made it all the better, the way his teeth scraped the skin of your shoulder but didn't sink in made you claw at his shoulders just a bit more. You rolled your hips to get him in deeper, he took it, driving in further, your head falling back to the wall he pinned you to.

It drove you to the end of your wits.

You tugged at his curls, little pants escaping you in quick succession with every little roll of his hips, toes curling as he drove in once more, settling as deep inside of you as he could, filling you up with a muffled growl against your neck. Walter held you up, thank whatever Gods there were as your legs would not be able to hold you up. Thick strong fingers curled around the back of your thighs, you dropped your head to his shoulder, he had worn you out.

He always did.

Fucking Walter Marshall.

Everytime he showed up on your doorstep or surprised you at the coffee shop… you hummed softly as he whispered your name, already slipping into darkness.

**

You woke to find yourself alone in your shitty little apartment. It was what you could afford on a barista's salary.

He had cleaned you up and tucked the soft yellow quilt around you. Sitting up you spotted the water bottle and grabbed it, taking long drags of the clear liquid, your mind wandering to the detective that appeared at your doorstep without warning, as if he knew your schedule and offered you a silent crooked smirk, no words needed to explain why he was there.

Without fail you would step aside letting him in. Why wouldn't you?

You knew that much about him.

He was a detective.

You knew his order. Black. Sugar didn't matter. You had once loaded it with a fuck ton of the sweet and he had still downed it in a matter of seconds.

You tilted your head back, it was that which had him coming back to have you make his order. His smirk infectious while he glowered at everyone else.

And this? It had just happened.

You shifted on the couch, your one luxury item aside from your music and books. What was this between the two of you? You shook your head, you needed a shower and you stood shakily pausing when you spotted a familiar soft gray sweater.

**

"You look cheerful." Craig Brandon was new, Craig was the one they were trying to partner him with, but he didn't do partners. Nope. He sighed, he didn't need this.

Walter rolled his eyes. "Business." And he listened as they went on about the cases, he had already gone over them, this was a waste of his time, but it was protocol.

His mind wandered for a moment. To a little apartment.

He could ask you out to lunch.

**

"Y/N?"

You looked up and smiled, the old woman that stopped you was peeking out her door. Ever the busybody, but you invited her over for coffee and she would bring some cookies, the kind that grandma's always had on hand. Soft buttery, a cream color and just crumbly enough. "Mae!" You greeted cheerfully.

"I should come with you, I have trash as well," she held up her bag, "the neighborhood isn't safe."

You tilted your head and shuffled over in your worn out knockoff ugg boots. "Give me," and you held your hand out.

"Young lady!" She sputtered at you indignantly.

You laughed softly, "I will be quick!" You assured her.

"They say that man is headed this way," she muttered.

"Ahhh, but nothing happens in this neighborhood," you grinned at her as she handed you her bag. It weighed next to nothing, but you were quicker than her older bones.

She looked around and leaned in, "you can tell me all about that young man that comes over yes? I saw him leave earlier."

You felt your ears burn and nodded when she winked at you. "You call the police if I take too long, yeah?" You joked, but she nodded as you started down the hall, hopping down the steps, and you used the doorstop to prop open the door while you made for the dumpster.

**

A rock settled in his stomach.

"You alright?" Brandon asked, jumping into his truck before he could argue.

Marshall knew this neighborhood.

He followed the commissioner's vehicle, yet took the familiar spot in front of the building, his pulse picked up as he waited for the vehicle to come to a stop, fingers drumming on his jeans. It was your building.

A million thoughts flew through his head as he parked. And yet he kept thinking about your expression when he had downed the coffee overloaded with sugar.

Awe.

He had stared at you before he left. A little bit of awe in him.

He shook his head, you were still sleeping. It was almost three am. You worked at six. You wouldn't know what happened till you came out. You were fine.

"-put up a hell of a fight…"

He stopped in the alley behind your apartment building, uniforms scattered throughout, the backdoor was propped open, his heart dropped.

You were fine.

"Lives on the second floor…"

You were fine.

It wasn't you.

There were three other apartments on that floor.

"What apartment number?" He heard himself ask.

The ringing in his ears had him shaking his head. He wondered if you were wearing his sweater?

"-too bad…"

Walter blinked as he stepped closer to the sheet covered body. "What apartment?"

"Uh, C? 2C," came the answer.

He had seen her when he snuck out. The little old lady you told him about when he laid in your bed after for a few moments. He paused as he caught sight of a familiar gray sweater. "Who does this belong to?" He demanded.

"The survivor"

"We have a survivor?!" Brandon asked, interrupting him.

He moved at the same time as the commissioner who had insisted on coming down. Long strides had him in the back door before the older man, you were supposed to be asleep. Instead you were sat at the bottom of the stairs, stairs painted an ugly orange with plain wallpaper.

Someone had wrapped an emergency blanket around your shoulders, it was the only thing covering you. He could see the blue strap of your bra peeking out of it, you must have woken up after he left. What were you doing outside?

He realized he had asked out loud as you looked up at him, there was a bruise on your jaw, your lip was cut, but there, around your neck was the red marks that had come with all the victims before. That's how they knew it was him.

Your eyes watered. "Walt-" your voice was hoarse.

Walt.

No one else called him that.

The commissioner and Brandon turned to look at him.

It bothered him, your voice was too soft, it only sounded like that after he had- he growled, "where are the EMT's?!" He moved quick, straightening the blanket around your shoulders before helping you to your feet. "Can you stand?" He asked gently.

He was different. This was him at work. You nodded. "Is Mae-?" Your voice broke.

"Let's get you checked out, then we can talk about what happened." He wrapped an arm around you tenderly, almost protectively, as he met the commissioner's questioning stare.

The sob that escaped you cut into his gut.

"Walt, please… check on Mae, she's older!"

That cold feeling ran down his spine, settling in the pit of his stomach, and he squared his shoulders. How many times had he had this talk? Why was it bothering him now?

"She's gone Y/N."

[littlefreya]

Bark at the Moon

Summary: Walter always comes to you when he needs a hard release. Tonight he seems to need it more than ever.

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Female Reader 

Word count: 2K (WTF it was supposed to be a drabble)

Warnings: 18+, sex, lycanthropy, supernatural themes, no strings attached, vaginal fingering, oral performed on female, primal play (slight biting and scratching), cockwarming, slight denial, angst, fluff and romance.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

A/N: Not me naming my AUs after Ozzy Osbourne songs/albums. Following my post from October I am trying to follow up. This one-shot is also inspired by A Company of Wolves and @fishcustardandclintbarton​ moodboard. Many thanks to my beta and muse and dear friend @agniavateira​ for all the help. 

Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed 🖤

Title: Bark at the Moon

Muddy Timberlands dragged across the worn doormat as the large detective sought to rid himself of the dirt caking his soles. Black and soft, the dark mane of curls hung loosely above his forehead, a pale blue sheen cascading over each ringlet that concealed his face while he kicked his feet like an unruly child.

An instinct within pressed you to reach a wandering hand and entwine your fingers between those healthy locks. But ironically, touching Walter screamed ‘taboo,’ as if he wasn't going to finish wet and messy inside you anyway. 

Otherwise, he wouldn't have been here. 

"Rough evening?" you murmured, taking a long whiff of air. Traces of coffee drifted from his breath, mingling with the brisk November chill that wafted over your face.  

It's not that you didn't enjoy his company; it's just that Walter left you with nothing but bitemarks, bruises, and dirty sheets. A foreigner to this country even after all these years, Walter was much like the salty rocks from the islands that bred him: hardened and crude, yet smooth at the edge where the water licked the stone. Some evenings he wouldn't even speak; the moment his boots made it past the doorway, all civilised manners flew out the window, luring the beast to wander. Shredding your outfit, he’d fuck you to tears, shaking you the way a canine carnivore stuns its prey and then unload himself into you until you ached and begged him to stop.

Once stripped off his uniform, the sullen cop was no different than the deviants he shoved behind iron bars. Little did it matter, you loved him enough for the two of you, and though you knew you were a toy to pass the time, he always crawled back to you with that deprived agonised sparkle staining his gaze. 

After what seemed like an endless battle between his shoes and the bristly rug, he finally paused and slowly lifted his chin. Marine-blue irises peered below thick brows, and a red rim of weariness perfected his customary scowl. 

"Yeah," he drawled with indifference, "got any beer?"  

Observing him for a moment, you studied the sharp ridges of his furrowed brow and nodded, turning to let him in. Despite his heavy frame, he followed with lithe stillness, stepping into your house without making a sound while you advanced to the kitchen. 

Whatever happened tonight must have left another dent in the coarse material that made this man. You often mused on the things he must have seen and found out it’s better not to ask. 

You reached for the fridge when his arm wrapped around your waist by surprise and snatched you back, hauling you flushed against his broad chest. Briefly, he nuzzled your nape, his parted lips huffing hot against your skin. His breath carried the pained melody of a sad longing animal, an ache so great it seeped through the pores of your skin and infected you with his grief. 

You weren’t afraid of the beast but felt sorry for it.

“I need to feel you,” Walter rasped, a timbre of plea in his baritone. Palm swiping greedily at your breast and his cock hard and hungry, he ground his hips at the cleft of your ass. Like the black, shaggy dog that he was, he sniffed the air and then rubbed himself further against your jeans, seducing the wanton animal within you to come out of its hiding. 

“You want me too, I can smell it, I can smell your cunt.” 

Where was the lie?

With a guttural growl, he turned you to face him, skilful hands already making tatters of your clothes and his fangs nipping your throat. Caged in his grasp, you hissed and shuddered out of fear and lust. A part of you was always frightened that one night Walter will pierce an artery by mistake at the heat of the moment whilst another, more archaic urge, called for the sweet passion that was your Thanatos.

Succumbing to both urges, you forced his cable-knit sweater off, exposing his muscular, beefy torso and splaying your hands down his flexing pecs to feel the soft, dark fur that covered his chest and belly. Everything about Walter was large and charged with virility, twisting your moral compass and making any argument weak in his presence. Staring at the bulge in his trousers, you gnawed your bottom lip, giving to the pang of hunger that shot through your clenching core while your wicked fingers began to fumble with the clasp of his belt. 

With a low roar rumbling in his chest, he scrutinised you as if this was a trial, his eyes flashing, anticipating you to reach and grab his large cock. 

“Fuck…” his sonorous voice caressed your ears. He quickly slid his hand down your trousers, grabbing a handful of your ass before gliding his fingers to feel between your engorged petals. 

A tempest of moans unfurled from your clenching throats once you squeezed his shaft in your palm, choking around the veins adorning the meaty girth.

“You are always so wet for me, always so ready,” he uttered and licked your cheek. 

“Walter, please!” 

At your plea, his fingers slipped deep inside your burning cavern. Back and forth, he probed your little slit, spreading thick wetness across your mound and further up your virginal ass to taunt you. 

Before you met Walter you vowed that you’ll never be into that kind of debauchery. But whenever the bulbous crown of his cock accidentally teased your puckered hole, the only thing you could muster to think of was how much you wanted him to fill every empty inch within you.  

Long, nimble fingers dug deep, parting your sealed walls asunder in an endeavour to find the small heap of pleasure that regressed you to savagery. You were nothing but an instrument of pleasure, gyrating to the melody he composed by the rhythm of his thrusts, following every note. He made you shudder, made the earth below split in half and all the while, he held back and watched. A sick mist of curiosity hovered over the frigid ocean that was his glance, mindful of how logic and reason drained from your face, leaving you utterly incoherent and primal. 

Just as he was.

He crooned at your whimpers and nodded at the desperation dripping from your gaze. Hips swaying, you wriggled against his hand in a frustrated attempt to reach for the tendrils of ecstasy that loomed inches from your grasp.

“You want to come, love?” he asked, almost patronising. His brow lifted, and his eyes flared with what you could only describe as pity.

“Yes! Please! Please make me come!” 

His fingers tore from your sleek with a sudden haul, leaving you a trembling, outraged mess. Yet you had no time to curse him for denying your pleasure. Moving faster than your thoughts, Walter stripped your trousers and slammed you rear onto the counter. Kneeling between your spread legs, his strong hands gripped your thighs and dragged your cunt into his bearded jaw.

“Fuck!” 

His mouth wrapped around you in a lover’s embrace, his silky tongue plunging between your lips to savour the honeyed nectar that dripped from your tightening core. Thoroughly devouring your cunt, Walter hummed. Raw, unfiltered, and unbound, he laved every inch within as if he was dining at Olympus and feasting on ambrosia for the first time. Arching back, you dared to entangle your fingers in his curls and ride his bristly face until you succumbed to the furious, quaking bliss that spasmed within your womb and consumed you into rapturous euphoria. 

Engulfed in a veil of blissful darkness, you continued wailing, heaving, and slumping on the counter. Puny jitters of aftershock trod upon your throbbing flesh while Walter finished his feast with languid laps of his tongue.

Once you blinked your eyes open, Walter stood straight between your legs, now fully naked, peering at you quietly. His eyes were aglow with all the conundrums he could never speak. Still hazy from your ecstasy, you stared back with awe, drinking each taut bulging muscle and worshipping the feral, beastlike entity that he was. Not even the scars on his body could steal away his unspoken pride. 

Reaching a hand for his imposing cock, he crept closer and glared straight into your soul as he pressed himself into your tight little entrance. A loud groan thundered through your kitchen as he pushed in, erupting into the most melodic war cry which never failed to astound you once he penetrated you. Still clenched from your orgasm, you gritted your teeth and whimpered in pain, not quite ready to have all of him at once. Yet Walter wasn’t keen on stopping and continued delving deeper and deeper, despite your nails tearing fresh new trails of blood down his shoulders.

“Wait!” you pleaded, yelping when he suddenly bottomed out inside you.

An arduous gasp tore from his lips, and his forehead dropped on your shoulder. Stilling inside you, he breathed in the mien of a wild creature, trying to regain his composure for a brief moment as he timed his assault. Fingers etched below your thighs, he pulled you up with ease and carried you through the apartment whilst still buried inside you.

Confused by his actions, you hung your arms around his thick neck and clung to his body, welcoming the soft brush of his hide against your naked breasts. 

Soon, you found yourself on your bed with him seated beneath you while your legs enveloped his wide waist. Nestled between your cinching walls, his cock throbbed full of rage, desperate for the unbridled friction that Walter forbade as he refused to move. Milking every drop of his self-control, he vigorously fought to dominate his desire. 

With his shaft pulsating hot and buried completely within your womb, your previous orgasm felt like a distant dream and a fresh new need soon awoke, begging your body to writhe on top of him and take what you were promised by force. But Walter was in no rush to unmake any part of you just yet. Securing one arm around the small of your back while the other held your jaw, he made you stare directly into his eyes. 

Bare more than ever, he allowed you to glimpse through the cracks that creased his beautiful blue eyes, showing you the pure terror harbouring the heart of darkness that lived within him. 

Perhaps, a part of him desired you to break and cast him away from you, to say ‘nevermore.’

Mercy softened your face instead. 

Enamoured and embroiled with curiosity, you allowed yourself to roam freely, gliding both your eyes and fingertips to descend the delectable plains of his body. Tender and careful, you stroked a soothing touch over the elevated scar tissue the way one pets a wounded creature, your gentle caress painting over the large claw mark that marked him years ago and left him cursed.

Walter followed the movement of your hand. His chest sinking with a low roar, his cock twitched and swelled inside your protesting canal while he remained immobilised and kept himself sheltered in the warmth of your sanctuary.

“Last night,” he finally spoke, his voice soft yet drenched with hesitation while his eyes dropped to stare into nothing for a shy moment. “Last night, when I turned... I… killed someone…” 

Your heart clenched in anguish along with the seams of your cunt. All the hurt that flowed in Walter’s blood now mingled into yours, ascending your body from the spot where you were coupled. 

What you wanted most of all was not to run. No. You desired to suck the poison tainting his veins and swallow it instead, unable to bring yourself to do anything but love him more than you did earlier. 

Spreading your legs further to each side of his hips, you moved closer and wrapped your arms around him. Nails biting into his muscular back you clutched him tightly, making a firm statement of your unwillingness to spite him for his actions. 

Because, even a beast needs to be protected and cared for. 

* Disclaimer: I don’t own Night Hunter/Nomis or Walter Marshall * Dividers by @firefly-graphics​​

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 13

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You finish your tea in tenuous silence. With an agreement between you, there isn't much left to say. You really don't know what to say or do. All the implications pile on you as your mind races.

A wife? A good wife. What does a good wife do?

Support her husband. Love him. Show him affection...

That last thought tingles in your cheeks. You peek over at Walter as you hug your empty mug in your hands. What does he expect of you? Not just in your marriage but tonight? You haven't wed just yet.

He meets your eyes, brushing his hand over his curls. He slides forward on the cushion as your shoulders slope down. He still looks angry.

"Done?" He asks, not waiting for your answer before he stands.

"Yeah, I... I am, thank you."

He approaches and takes the mug from you. He goes into the kitchen without another word. You peer over at the windows, rain still battering the panes. You sniff and stand with a shiver as you search around, your clothes still showing damp patches.

"The truck..." you mutter.

"What about he truck?" Walt frightens you and you turn to face him, wrapping your arms around yourself. He stops to shut off the space heater.

"It's down the road. I couldn't get it all the way here..."

"We'll worry about that tomorrow," he grits.

"Right... tomorrow?"

He blinks, "you can stay. It's safer."

He nears and offers his hand. You stare at it, it seems so big. You slowly unfold your arms and put your hand in his. He squeezes, firm but not unkind.

"Are you tired?" His tone softens.

"A little," you feel a yawn trying to break free and put your chin down.

He leads you around the couch and back into the entryway. He ushers you towards the stairs as the cold air creeps up your legs. You climb up beside him, crowded on the staircase.

"Well, we'll get you tucked in then and we'll figure everything else out tomorrow," he affirms.

"Yeah, sounds good," you wilt out.

We. Not I, not you. We. Together.

He hums and says nothing else. He takes you down the hallway to a room at the end. He flips the light switch. There's a four-post bed on a brown rug with a green quilt is draped atop the layers of bedding. A desk stands in the corner, cluttered and full. Several sweaters hang from the back of the chair, much like the soft wool he wears no.

He leads you to the bed and throws back the blankets. He tugs you towards the edge and lets you go. You climb up and wiggle your cold toes. Before you can reach for the covers, he tosses them over you.

Wordless, he backs away. He rolls his broad shoulders as he turns his back to you and nears the long dresser against the wall, a basket on top of it heaped with clothes. He pulls his sweater over his head, further mussing his curls. As he reveals his thickly muscled back, you look away.

You guess you never thought much about how he looked. You always just saw him as strong and big, but you never delved that deep. Your eyes trail over as he undoes his jeans and steps out of those. He dumps them into the basket of laundry and leans on the dresser as he peels off his socks.

He turns to you, in a pair of boxers, and you shyly flick your eyes to the ceiling and lay back against the pillows. The image of the hair across his burly chest has your insides brewing. He's older than you but can't be that old.

He goes to shut off the light and you sense his shadow in the darkness, lurking closer and closer. You nearly gasp as his weigh shifts the bed and cool air seeps under the covers as he slides beneath them. You're nearly shaking with uncertainty.

You're going to sleep in the same bed. That's not unusual... technically, you're engaged so it's expected. He lowers himself down beside you and you squeak as he grabs you. He pulls you towards him, guiding an arm beneath you as he angles you onto your side.

You let him. Maybe you want this or maybe you're terrified. Either way, you can't deny him. You have a deal.

He curls his other arm around your middle as you lay flush to him, your short figure nestled against his large one. His chest rises and falls calmly against your back as your own heart hammers frantically. You close your eyes, folding your arm around his as you rest your small hand on his thick fingers.

He's as hot as a furnace. His body heat quickly chases away the lingering cold in your flesh. It soothes you in a way you don't expect. You feel safe despite your vibrating nerves.

"Good night, lamb," he kisses the crown of your head.

His deep voice rolls through you, a new sort of chill flowing down your body.

"Night, Walt," you murmur.

He lets out a noise, somewhere between a growl and a purr, and you feel the tension slake away from his body. It might not be so bad. He can be nice so long as you go along.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stand at the counter, waiting on the pharmacist to fill the script. Walter stands close, perusing the shelves beneath the pick-up window. You doubt he’s in the market for cough drops or nasal spray but there isn’t much to distract you.

You check the list as you slide your bag to the crook of your elbow. You chew your lip and think. While you’re here…

“Um, I’ll be right back, okay?” You say to him. He arches a brow curiously at you. You offer a soft smile, “just gotta grab something before I forget.”

He nods and paces back and forth, hands behind his back. You head down the center aisle and dip down the next. It’s close to the middle of the month and you’re running low. You search for the familiar package. Usually you get it at the grocer so you’re not familiar with the arrangement here.

You find your brand and stare up at it on the top shelf. Of course. You get on your toes and reach, grasping the shelf for balance as you teeter. Another hand snatches up the package you vie for and you turn in embarrassment as the tall blond man holds out the feminine pads.

“There you are, little one,” Thor proclaims.

You take the pads and lower your eyes to the floor, “thanks.”

“Not to worry,” he assures, “I used to fetch the very same for my sister. No need to be ashamed of your womanly needs.”

“Um, well, sure,” you giggle nervously, “I appreciate it.”

You wave the package then stop yourself and push it behind your back. You shrug and gnaw on your lip, “I… I’m just waiting for a prescription, so I should…”

“Heard about your dad,” he says, “sorry to hear it. You’ll give him my regards.”

“Yeah,” you eke out, “sure will, thanks again.”

You spin and trot away. How awkward was that. Thor’s always friendly but the last thing you need is him picking out your pads. Oh, you should’ve thought of that before you decided to add to the list.

As you look up, you find Walter waiting at the end of the aisle, watching you as you keep the package hidden behind you.

“Oh, hey,” you greet him, “got what I need.”

“Here,” he holds out the small paper bag with the pharmacy’s logo, “everything alright?”

“Sure,” you answer, trying to shake off the tingle in your cheeks.

“What did Odinson want?”

“Just asking about dad,” you shrug.

“Mm,” he grumbles.

You take the bag and move it to conceal the label on the pads. Walter’s eyes flick down at the movement but he doesn’t say anything. He raises his gaze to look over your head. You turn to watch Thor as he gives a half-wave with three fingers and struts away.

“Anyway, I’ll just pay for my stuff and meet you outside?” You face Walter again.

He’s quiet as he glares down the aisle. He’s like a statue. You’re not even sure he heard you.

“Walt?” You squeak.

He winces and looks down at you, “I didn’t know you were friends with him.”

“I’m… Everyone knows Thor,” you chime.

He shifts on his feet as his jaw ticks, “I’ll be outside.”

You sidle out of his way as he steps past you. You step back up to the counter as Bessie smiles at you. You hand over the package and dig in your purse. You pay without chattering as she offers the same condolences as everyone else you’ve run into. 

You ask for a bag and flip out, exhausted already. It’s supposed to be an escape but the stares and the soft tones just remind you of what you’re running away from. Walter stands by his truck as he waits for you. He stills himself as you approach.

“Everything okay?” He asks.

“Yep,” you reply meekly, “onto the grocery store.”

He bows his head in acquiescence. You could walk the block down to the store you suppose but you’re not thinking that far ahead. You just want to be gone.

He follows you around to the passenger’s side, again opening the door before you can. You toss the bag on the seat and reach for the interior of the door. Before you can haul yourself up, he has you around the waist, lifting you up onto the metal step. You let out a strained squeak and grasp onto the seat before sliding into it.

His hands graze off of you and he hovers, just for a moment, before he shuts the door. You look down as he lumbers around in your peripheral. You hug yourself, touching your sides where he gripped you. He touches you a lot.

You sit up as he climbs in the other side and shake off the thought. He’s just being helpful. After all he’s done, you owe him a million thanks.

He starts the engine and pulls away from the curb. He drives silently down the road and you sink down into the seat as familiar faces pace by, strolling down the pavement. Why did you think this was a good idea?”

He rolls into the dirt lot behind the grocery store and you’re quick to jump out before he can reach you. Your purse drops onto the ground as you stagger. He shuts the door before you can as he grunts.

“Careful,” he warns as he grabs your arm and pulls you straight.

“I’m good,” you snatch up your purse and lift your ankle to roll out the kink in your achilles. 

You cross the lot as he trails behind you, a towering shadow at your heels. You enter the front doors and wave to Alison, the cashier on first shift. She greets you with a grin and flips the page of the magazine opened before her till.

Walter lurks behind you as you take out the list again. You don’t need too much. You go to the stack of basket and he snakes around you to claim one first.

“Got it,” he says.

“Thanks,” you murmur and smooth out the creases in the list.

“Honeydew,” he says, “right?”

You glance up at him then over at the rows of produce. You nod and turn away, heading for the mountain of melons. Again, he’s close behind you. Like a big, grumpy dog. The thought makes you laugh and you peek over at him. You could definitely see him growling like one.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 8

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You finally manage to quell your sobs. A slight trickle stains your cheeks and falls onto Walter’s shirt. You sniffle and reach to wipe your nose with the back of your hand. As you do, your fingers brush against his chest. 

You hear his heartbeat, steady as you’re anything but. He’s warm and soft and sturdy. You feel a sudden rush of guilt for spilling all this out on him. You slowly sit up, pulling away as Walter gently, almost reluctantly, slackens his embrace. 

“I’m sorry, I–” you raise your head but find your words smothered.

You don’t realise what’s going on at first. Walter’s hand cradles your face as his lips press to yours, tilting your chin up as his thumb slides under it. You hum in surprise, eyes round as the scent of his sweat invades your nose.

You put your hand flat to his chest and push. You bring your other up and shove until he lets you go. His arm falls away and you turn, shifting and sliding off the step. You stand, dizzy and confused, clutching your splitting head.

“I… I’m sorry,” he stammers as he rises too.

You run past him up the steps, legs wobbling, skull pulsing from the hangover of your grief. You push the door inwards and clamour inside. You don’t stop. You barrel upstairs and down to your door, swinging inside with a careless snap of wood on wood.

You lean on the door and slowly slide down, knees bent to your chest as you hang your head forward and shield it with your arms. You hear shuffling and a set of hinges groan. Footsteps pad quietly outside your door.

“Honey, are you okay?” Your mom calls through.

“Yes,” you force out evenly, the effort further thumping in your temples.

“Oh, uh, I’ll be downstairs,” she says, her voice silty with sleep, “you in the mood for coffee?”

“No thank you,” you eke out.

You wait until she’s gone before you can breathe again. It can’t be real. That can’t have happened. You really didn’t believe it when your mother said it. Walter? Why would he ever think of you like that? And now? Of all times?

Your father is sick, your mother is in shambles, and life is already so complicated. It isn’t that he’s a bad guy, he’s nice and helpful and all of that. It’s just that you’re already scared and lost. It would only make things so much more complicated.

🌾

You stay in your room for the rest of the night. When your mother comes to check on you, you tell her you have cramps. Your period isn’t due anytime soon but PMS can be a bitch. Just as much as life can.

She leaves a plate on your nightstand regardless and you thank her. You’re not very hungry and only pick at it before giving up on the meal. You wallow in your restless discomfort. Your head pounds until you’re nearly delirious.

You fall into a sleep less than refreshing. Your headache follows you into the void and its shadow greets you with the daylight. You wake and roll over, unready for the day but knowing you must face it. You wash and dress and head down to pretend everything is okay. Again.

You start on breakfast as your mom has yet to appear. You don’t mind, it keeps you busy. You count out the eggs and strips of bacon, a few sausages too. You stack a plate with bread ready to toast and yawn over the percolator as you put it on to boil.

You hear tires and an engine. You go rigid, frozen as you stand at the counter. What do you do? Go get your mother? Help her with dad? Or Timothy? He can keep Walter distracted.

Too late. There’s footsteps on the porch then a tap on the frame of the screen door. You panic and clear your throat. Nothing happened. Nothing’s changed.

“Come on in,” you call and pull out a skillet to heat up.

The front door opens and your ears tweak as you listen to his movement. Deliberate and drawn out, as if he’s also avoiding you. You keep your back to the door as you work at the stove, adding a touch of oil to the pan.

He enters, his shadow flickering over the wall, and you sense him. Is he watching you? You refuse to look back and check in fear of being caught. You grab the sausage and the bacon and lay them out on an oven sheet.

“Good morning,” Walter says.

“Good morning,” you return in a small squeak.

He’s silent. Neither of you know what to say. Each time you try to think of something, the friction of your lips remind you of the feel of his. You hadn’t been thinking in the moment but you remember how soft but determined he was.

Why would he do that? After you were just bawling on his shoulder? Seeing you like that, a mess, vulnerable, half-broken? Your stomach knots as you keep your hands moving and eyes averted.

“How are you?” He asks in a strained timbre.

“Fine,” you answer sharply, taking a breath to ease your tone, “you?”

“Tired,” he says, “you need any help?”

He steps forward and you shy away. You stop yourself from going any further and shake your head, “I got it.”

“Right, I…” he begins.

“Alright, Patty,” your mom’s voice wafts from upstairs, “that’s it. You’re doing so well.”

“Oh, I gotta–”

You turn with the spatula and nearly run into Walter as he also moves towards the door. You stop as you face each other, wavering as you stare. His jaw squares and his cheek twitches, his eyes sparkling.

“You’re cooking. I’ll help.”

“Really, you do too much–”

“I know,” he agrees staunchly and turns away, “too damn much.”

He strides out and you stand there. What does he mean? Too much of what? Well, you can’t ask from him. He has helped more than he should, but is that what he means? Or does he mean… that? 

He wouldn’t just walk away because of that, would he?

[mdemontespan1667]

MASTERLIST

UPDATED 11/13/2022 18+ ONLY

CURTIS EVERETT

-WHERE YOU BELONG (DARK)

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

-NOT SO SILENT NIGHT (DARK)

STEVE ROGERS / BUCKY BARNES

-ANYTHING (DARK)

PART ONE

PART TWO

-RULES

BUCKY BARNES

-THE TIES THAT BIND

-WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN (AU)

-THESE BOOTS WERE MADE FOR WALKING

STEVE ROGERS

-CAPTIVE (DARK)(WIP)

PART ONE

PART TWO

-HELP ME

-THE GIFT

-THE ARGUMENT

-THE BET

-IN THE FLESH (DARK READER)

-ONE NIGHT (DARK)

-SOME OTHER NIGHT (DARK)

-STRONG ENOUGH (DARK)

-TWAS THE NIGHT (DARK)

-THE LESSON (DARK)

-MINE (DARK READER)

-THE TROUBLE WITH COYOTES (DARK)

GERALT

-HIS WICKED WAYS (DARK) (WIP)

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

LOKI

-DESTINY (DARK)

ROBERT PRONGE

-THE FLIP SIDE (DARK)

ANDY BARBER (COMING SOON)

-THE MISADVENTURES OF MRS ANDY BARBER (DARK)

WALTER MARSHALL

-HUNGER (DARK VAMPIRE AU)

PART ONE

PART TWO

LLOYD HANSEN

-A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

SHANE WALSH

-AND I FEEL FINE (MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE/TRUCKS AU)

CROSSOVERS

-BLIND SPOT (NIGHT HUNTER AU FEATURING WALTER MARSHALL, STEVE ROGERS, BUCKY BARNES AND READER)

THE LONG WALK (PART ONE-DARK) (1)

JANE DOE (2)

STUPID GIRL (SOFT DARK) (3) (COMING SOON)

[mdemontespan1667]

STUPID GIRL

BLIND SPOT (3)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

THE LONG WALK (1)

JANE DOE (2)

18+ ONLY

SOFT DARK WALTER MARSHALL X READER

SUMMARY: YOU'RE JUST DOING YOUR JOB. TOO BAD SOMEONE DOESN'T AGREE.

(I moved the dates of this to the current year instead of 2018 so hopefully my dates match. I used what character information I could find for Walter and either filled it in with the actor's info or just winged it since no explanation was ever given for his accent. I did my best to research the neighborhoods and streets mentioned. If I made a mistake I apologize.)

SERIES WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON/GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/TORTURE/DEATH/DESCRIPTIONS OF DEAD BODIES/VAGINAL SEX/ORAL SEX/ANAL SEX/REFERENCES TO SEXUAL ASSAULT/REFERENCES TO MURDER/STALKING/CHOKING/SLAPPING

“Detective Marshall, Is this the 8th victim of the Hennepin Hatchet?” 

“No comment.”

The man bristled at the name, barely concealed disdain in his expression.

You didn’t like the name any better.

Giving murderers cutesy names took the focus off the victims.

But the Press, yourself included, had to call this psycho something.

“Get out of my fucking crime scene”

“I’m not in your fucking crime scene.”

You gestured to the yellow police tape, flapping in the bitter wind, which you were currently behind, barely. 

Detective Marshall grunted, clearly annoyed.

“I’m just trying to do my job. The public has a right to know if a serial killer is operating in Minneapolis.”

Crossing his arms, he fixed you with a bored stare. 

“What makes you think this is serial? Prostitutes get killed all the time. Hazards of the profession.”

“You’re joking right?”

You rolled your eyes.

“All the victims were last seen in the Hennepin area, all petite blondes, all sexually assaulted, stabbed and mutilated. There’s no way in hell this isn’t the same guy.”

“No comment.”

The dark haired Detective walked away, effectively dismissing you.

“Can you confirm Madison Harper was missing her left breast?”

Turning back he lumbered toward you.

Oh shit.

Detective Marshall was a veritable bear of a man, with a rumored temper to match.

And you?

You’d just poked him, big time. 

“Where did you get that information?”

“No comment,” you sassed.

 Apparently you had no sense of self-preservation.

“If you don’t get the fuck out of here,” he growled, “I’m gonna have your ass arrested for interfering with a police investigation.”

“C’mon. Give me something, anything.”

You tried your best to bat your eyes.

“Officer Barton,” he shouted to a uniform, “I need you to..”

“Ok, Ok,” you threw up your hands, “I’m going.”

You stomped to your ancient, beige Subaru. 

“Fucking prick.”

Driving away, you shivered, convinced the killer was just getting started.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I sincerely hope you're hitting submit as we speak.”

“I’m working on it.”

You glowered at your laptop, its blank Google Docs page taunting you.

“Uh, you know deadline’s in 3 hours?”

‘Yeah Brent, I know. I’m..I’m working on it.”

You hit the red dot, ending the call.

Brent was a great colleague, an even better friend.

SInce moving to Minneapolis a year and a half ago he was the only person you had gotten close to.

 Even so, the last thing you needed right now was more pressure.

FUCK FUCK FUCK 

Milton Turnbaldt, the editor of the Digital Division at the StarTribune, had finally moved you from Special Interest to the Crime Beat.

It was the next step in “THE PLAN” you’d mapped out since graduation. 

Imagining yourself a modern day Helen Thomas, visions of Pulitzers had danced in your mind. 

Reality had been a bit different.

Two years writing bar reviews for Bar Fly and one disastrous year at Chicago Suburban Family had been followed by a three year stint at the Chicago Sun Times, where the closest you got to reporting anything was letting Maintenance know a lightbulb was out in the Ladies room.

Getting hired at the  StarTribune had seemed like a dream come true, even if you’d had to move to Minnesota. 

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK 

It was obvious this woman was the 8th victim. 

Problem was every other reporter knew it, even if the cops refused to acknowledge the fact.

Your one advantage was your intuition. 

The women had to have been comfortable with the killer, therefore, he was most likely good looking, charming and came off as harmless. Every victim had voluntarily left their comfort zone, something sex workers usually refused to do. 

The pre- and post-mortem mutilation meant the killer felt confident enough in his surroundings to spend hours with the women, unconcerned about noise or the mess. His secondary location had to be isolated enough for his purpose but close enough to Hennepin Ave that the victims had been willing to take a chance.

Unofficial autopsy reports on each victim listed copious amounts of lube found in the vaginal and anal cavities. It wasn’t unusual for sex workers to use lube but this seemed excessive. The ME had attributed the internal micro-tears and bruising to the sexual assault. That, coupled with the lube, had you leaning in a different direction: The killer was having sex with the dying women. 

Too bad you couldn’t prove any of it.

Neither could you publish the information about the missing body part or lube without totally outing your source at the morgue, although that ship had kinda sailed when you showed your hand to the detective.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK 

Praying for Divine intervention, you started typing.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you think Claude?”

The overweight Tabby cat yawned.

“Thanks for the support. I’ll remember that next time you want a treat.”

Looking at your reflection in the full length bathroom mirror, you critically assessed your outfit: short, pleated black polyester tennis skirt, metallic silver cowl neck top, dingy, thigh high, white spiked boots, and a cropped, pink fake fur bomber jacket.

Heavy eye makeup, red lips and purposely mussed hair completed the disguise.

This classy ensemble, courtesy of the local thrift shop, had cost you a grand total of $53.98, an amount you really couldn’t afford.

But since the police, one surly detective in particular, weren’t talking you were just gonna have to find someone who would. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your feet were numb. 

Whether it was from the insanely high heels or the -2 degrees (F) windchill you didn’t know.

Or care.

After walking the Hennepin Ave circuit for 3 hours you had a whole lot of nothing. 

The sex workers definitely knew something.

Clustered in groups of 3 or 4, they murmured to themselves, cell phone cameras flashing, warning potential customers they were being watched, however, no one was willing to talk to a stranger. 

A midnight blue, extended cab pickup pulled up, idling at the curb. 

“Come here.”

“Uh, sorry, I’m..uh.. off the clock.”

He wasn’t the first guy who’d tried to engage you.

Maybe your refusal to leave with a client had given you away.

“Come here or I’ll bring you here.”

Tentatively you stepped closer.

“I said I’m not…Are you fucking kidding me Marshall?”

He sat hunched over the steering wheel, eyes blazing at you.

Beyond annoyed, you hissed, “Go away.”

“Get in the truck.”

“No.” 

“Get in the goddamn truck now.”

Mimicking his earlier behavior, you crossed your arms.

“You can’t tell me what to….”

The cab of the truck flooded with light as he opened the driver side door.

“Fine!”

In a huff, you climbed in, fastening your seatbelt before throwing him a scowl.

He ignored you, smoothly merging with the heavy Friday night traffic.

“Where’d you park that piece of shit car?”

You refused to answer, making a show of sulking.

“Answer me or..”

“Or what?” you interrupted, “You had no right harassing me, asshole.”

“Excuse me?” 

His harsh tone was  a clear indicator you’d pissed him off.

“Your car?”

“It’s at my apartment. I took an Uber.”

The Detective sighed.

“Exactly what the hell were you trying to accomplish out there?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“You’re no help so I…”

“You what? You decided to play fucking dress up? Do you have any idea how dangerous the streets are? Some freak is killing prostitutes and your stupid ass is running around pretending to be one.”

“Are you finished?”

He clenched his jaw, cheek ticking.

“Contrary to your belief I’m not stupid. I can take care of myself.”

You reached in your bag producing a sleek, highly illegal taser.

“Plus I have this. And yes, I know how to use it.”

Taking a sharp left turn he headed South.

“Um, where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“How do you….”

“Born and raised in the Gold Coast area of Chicago. Only child. Undergrad at University of Chicago, Masters in Communication from Loyola, which your ridiculously rich mother paid for. You worked at two small time local papers then the Chicago Sun where you, what? Got coffee for three years? You took a job at the StarTribune 18 months ago writing online fluff. You live in the East Phillips neighborhood,  don’t drink, smoke or do drugs and generally have no social life. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, more than a little angry he’d checked you out.

“Pretty good,” you retorted, “My turn.”

“Born in the Channel Islands. Strict Catholic upbringing, four siblings, three boys, one girl. Attended St Michael’s Prep before transferring to Stowe School your Sophomore year, sorry, you call it Year 11. Joined the London Metropolitan Police Force in 2008, the same year you married Angie Stultz. She was interning for Warrener Stewart right?”

You rambled on, not waiting for an answer.

“Your daughter Faye was born the next year. Four years later you were promoted to the Criminal Investigations Department. You started out in Street Crime, then Organized Crime, until landing in Major Crimes in 2015. January of 2017 you and the little family moved to Minneapolis, where your wife was from but you didn’t start with the police department here for another 5 months so I’m assuming you were a house husband until your emigration papers cleared. Apparently you weren’t a very good husband, house or otherwise, cause your wife filed for divorce under “Irreconcilable DIfferences” a little over a year ago. You live alone, don’t smoke or do drugs and are generally recognized as a bully. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

You flashed a Chesire grin.

Uh, oh.

If looks could kill, you’d be dead, buried 6 feet down, “Here lies a stupid idiot who wouldn’t keep her mouth shut” carved in the marker. 

“Um, this is me.”

You pointed to a two story brick building, an empty storefront on the first floor, your studio apartment on the second.

“Why do you live in this shithole? With mommy’s money you could be living in the Carlyle or Legacy.”

“I wanted to prove I can make it on my own. And this neighborhood? It’s not as bad as people think. The Pizzeria over there? The old, Italian couple that own it let anyone who needs to use the free wifi. On the weekends they stay open late and offer a free slice and drink so the kids have a safe place to go.”

You became animated, warming to the topic.

“Mrs Freemantle, in the brownstone next door, invites me over three or four times a month. Her oxtail soup and mac and cheese are freaking amazing. She doesn't get around too well so I run errands for her once or twice a week.”

You peered out the windshield.

“Those two guys on the steps, the ones you gave the stink eye to? Andre and Tony? They fixed my car for a six pack and a pizza the last time it crapped out.”

“Probably with stolen parts,” he mumbled.

“I bought the parts, you judgemental ass.” you spat.

Jerking the handle, you exited the vehicle.

Snow swirled in the open door.

“People here care more about each other than anyone ever did in the swanky condo’s I grew up in. Thanks for the ride.”

You flung the door closed with a thud.

Trekking up the sidewalk, you quickly unlocked the outside door, your mind already on a molten hot shower.

“Honey, I’m home,” you announced to the tiny studio, tossing your bag and coat on the fifth-hand orange and green couch. 

You stretched, exhausted, looking forward to…..

It happened so fast.

One second you were contemplating splurging an extra ten minutes in the shower, the next you were slammed against the kitchen wall, Detective Marshall’s forearm across your neck, other hand over your  mouth.

You flailed at him, hitting and kicking. 

It was like fighting a marble statue.

He leaned in, leg slotted between yours. 

“Taser ain’t much help now is it.”

You pushed at his arm.

“How fucking stupid are you? You didn’t even lock your fucking door. Anyone…”

You bit his fingers, drawing blood. 

He let go, surprised by your counterattack. 

“Get the hell out of…..”

His hand closed around your throat.

Your chest heaved from adrenaline, his booming heartbeat matching yours. 

Without warning, his lips crashed to yours.

The kiss was desperate, all consuming, his beard scratching your delicate skin.

His hand slipped under your top and cheap push-up bra, palming your breast, rough fingers pinching the already pebbled nipple.

The kiss deepened to something dark, Marshall taking control.

You rocked your hips against his muscled thigh, your core on fire.

Snaking down your belly, he slid his hand beneath the waistband of you skirt, callused digits gliding through your damp, plumped slit.

He circled your clit, applying light pressure with each pass, thumb randomly sweeping the bundle of nerves. 

Lost in a sea of sensation, you mewled, the sound swallowed by his warm, searching mouth.

“Tell me to stop.”

Afraid he wouldn’t stop, even more afraid he would, you remained silent as you unzipped his jeans, freeing his heavy cock.

Gathering the sticky wetness from the tip, you stroked his length.

“Fuck.”

The whispered obscenity went straight to your cunt, fresh slick coating his hand. 

He tore your black tights in one motion, leaving you bare.

Marshall lifted your leg, curling it around his waist, his cock poised at you sopping entrance.

“Last chance.”

You draped your arms around his shoulders, balancing yourself.

Taking that as a sign, he pressed into you, you channel stretching painfully.

You cried out, the burn almost too much.

His lips latched to yours, tongues sparing until his cock was fully ensheathed in your heat. 

He pulled out, briefly hesitated, before thrusting in again.

Breaking the kiss, you buried your face in his neck, fingers tangling in his dark curls.

He fucked you now, hips pistoning, his fingers digging into your flesh.

Marshall’s feral grunts mingled with your needy moans.

Tendrils of electricity surged along your nerves.

He lifted your leg higher, changing the angle of penetration, his cock hitting the soft, spongy spot repeatedly. 

“Please,..please..” you choked out.

“I’ve got you.”

You came with a sob, hips pumping in time with his, cunt clenching, the sheer intensity of your orgasm frightening, wave after wave threatening to drown you. 

He drove into you faster, chasing his own release. 

All you could do was hold on, tears staining his coarse, coal gray sweater.

You felt him swell, hips stuttering.

His muscles flexed as he came, pushing you against the wall, milky ropes of cum splashing your walls.

Fevered lust dissipating, he rested his cheek on your head.

Untangling limbs, Marshall fastened his jeans.

He didn’t stay, instead turning towards the door.

Hand on the brass knob, he paused.

“I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened.”

His words froze the question in your throat.

Door closed, you collapsed to the floor, head bowed, knees to chest.

“What the hell just happened.” 

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