#saga of mrs. browne

[bogglebabbles]

No matter how rough and tumble Terry can be, he's always Phyllis's baby brother.

[petratherrock]

Wanna know why grumpy x sunshine appeal sm to some people? Because they're the grumpy and they wish someone out there is a sunshine who will accept them no matter what and they wish to be the grumpy who can protect the sunshine

I'm a female person and I'm a grumpy it's not always the male person who's the grumpy lol, js

[mithriel-of-mithlond]

Sefi the (not so) Quiet (anymore)

[littlexdeaths]

the car troubles saga comes to a close?

older brother’s best friend eddie x fem reader

the last installment of the car troubles saga for now… but you’ll definitely be seeing more of these two 🥰

it’s a recipe for disaster masterlist.

the sounds of grinding metal and loud rock music fill your ears as you step into sinclair’s auto repair shop.

the chatter among the shop is incessant as you look over the multiple cars until you find your 1979 chevy caprice parked amongst the rest.

but your heart leaps into your throat when you see a familiar pair of legs sticking out from underneath it.

“yo, munson! got a customer!”

you can hear his curse and the banging of a head, and you can’t help but giggle softly when he rolls out from underneath your car. he’s rubbing his dinged forehead, and in the process he accidentally swipes more grease across his skin.

but when his eyes find yours they soften, and he grins widely. once he returns to his feet, he’s wiping the remaining grease onto the rag that he shoves in the back pocket of his coveralls. it’s then that he takes you in fully, dressed in a pretty little sundress and sandals.

you’re a sight for sore eyes, that’s for sure. the weather is somehow even more sweltering than the day before, and the beads of sweat sticking to your skin almost sparkle in the bright lights of the garage.

“so, what’s the damage?” you ask teasingly once you reach him.

eddie just chuckles, hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides back towards your car. but the barely there touch has your heart racing.

“well, you had a faulty radiator cap, and were in desperate need of an oil change…. when was the last time you got one?”

you bite your lip, a feeling of embarrassment rushing through you. “uh, last fall… i think?”

his answering groan has you giggling again despite yourself, and eddie leans his hip against the hood of your car.

“now let me tell you what’s gonna happen,” he chuckles. “you’re gonna march that pretty little ass of yours in here six months from now to get that changed, got it?”

you nod, feeling a little flustered at the mention of your ass and pretty in the same sentence. and by his subtle smirk, he knows the effect he has on you.

“alright well, i’m all finished here. we can step in the office and discuss payment options, yeah?”

but as soon as that door closes behind you he has you pressed against it, palms on either side of your head as kisses you deeply.

“been thinking about you all night, sweetheart.” he groans, lips trailing over your jaw as you tug him closer by the collar of his coveralls.

“was half tempted to sneak in through your bedroom window like some horny teenager.” he laughs softly, reveling in the soft mewls that leave your lips.

“who’s to say i would’ve let you in?” you tease, earning you a small nip on your collarbone.

“you wouldn’t, huh?” he taunts, rough hands sliding up your thigh to the hem of your dress.

your breath catches in your throat as he hooks one of your legs up on his hip, and then his lips are back on yours. he smells like sweat and grease but something so distinctly eddie that it makes your head swim.

but a sudden knock on the glass window to your left has you pulling apart, heart thumping as eddie all but groans in annoyance.

“munson, got another car waiting out front. wrap it up.”

you’re thankful then that the blinds— while bent from frequent use, are shut. no need to give his coworkers a free show.

“be right out mr. sinclair,” eddie calls back, though his words are slightly muffled as he presses them to your throat.

another giggle spills past you as you tip his chin up, his brown eyes smoldering as they meet your own.

“you do this to with all your paying customers?” you say with mock offense.

eddie just rolls his eyes as steps back from you, but not before pressing one last searing kiss to your pouted lips.

“you didn’t think i was actually gonna charge you for that, right?”

[crazymadpassionatelove]

Cool Fiancè

Notes: 18+ sex mentioned

Special shout-out to @ab4eva and her fabulous editing skills! This is the second installment in my cool girl saga. Read Part 1 here

---

Five Things to know about Austin Butler’s New Fiance ::

Although his reps couldn't be reached for comment, sources close to the Elvis actor confirm he has popped the question to his mysterious lady love!

Butler and the stunning brunette were recently spotted at the iconic Les Puces market in Paris last Friday, and she seemed to be sporting a new accessory. Austin was dressed in a black leather jacket, a white v neck tee, and black moto boots. She was clad in a classic trench coat and vintage Dior kitten heels as she kept her head down and let the winner lead the way. His face was mostly obscured by aviator sunglasses, but his smile was very apparent according to onlookers. “Austin was holding her hand and pointing out jewelry at different booths. They were very friendly with local vendors and Austin ended up buying her a gold charm bracelet. He told the dealer the bracelet was a momento to celebrate their recent engagement,” a fellow American tourist overheard. The twosome reportedly spent the prior week soaking in the city of lights and meeting with the YSL fashion house. Austin was recently tapped as the brand's newest ambassador.

Since returning stateside paparazzi pics have finally surfaced and revealed a closer look at that ring. Montana based indie jeweler Jada Kaye has been revealed as the designer of that serious sparkler. The 5 carat, flawless emerald-cut emerald is set in solid gold and flanked by two white diamonds on either side. Inside sources told Elle Magazine that Kaye and Butler worked closely together to craft the one of a kind creation. There's even rumored to be an inscription on the inside that's significant to the couple and the ring is estimated to cost a cool $100,000. Austin's fiancè was photographed heading into a ballet studio yesterday wearing pink tights, a pink leotard, Ugg boots, and of course that ring. Her curly dark brown hair was slicked back into a bun and she seemed to be sporting a pair of the actor's sunglasses.

Here's everything you need to know about the future Mrs. Austin Butler;

She's from New England —

A, as she's known, was born in Rhode Island. She grew up splitting her time between Rhode Island and Kennebunkport, Maine. Her teenage years were spent working the local Del’s lemonade truck, former neighbors say. She attended the Rhode Island School of Design after high school but never graduated.

She and Austin met via her former job –

Whilst working at the New York location of Vibrant Vintage, A, served as the fashion archives buyer. She also happened to be on hand when Butler visited the store. Supposedly she helped him find the perfect pair of leather boots, and the rest is history. Things clearly moved quickly between the two lovebirds, with A relocating to Los Angeles not long after. According to Vibrant Vintage, she is no longer employed there but “remains a close friend and consultant,” says their PR team.

She's a hit with his friends –

She organized a birthday party for her man’s co-star and close friend, Callum Turner. Turner posted an Instagram story showing off a fairly large garden party celebration and a “homemade blueberry glaze cake” according to the post. “Huge thanks to Austin's lovely lady xx” accompanied the video footage. She and Austin were also seen dining with his other Masters of the Air co-star, Nate Mann, while in Paris recently.

They've (supposedly ) got matching ink –

An unnamed employee at the iconic Bang Bang tattoo in NYC has said that Austin and A made a late night visit to the tattoo studio. Where exactly are the said-to-be matching minimalistic tattoos? Reportedly, Austin was inked on his left hip and A on her inner left thigh.

Old fashioned love letters are her thing -

Notably social media shy, Austin and A have taken up the lost art of handwritten love notes. Sources exclusively say that custom monogrammed stationery was crafted for the duo whilst Austin was filming in England. The hand pressed, vintage inspired paper bears a unique coat of arms style symbol with intertwining letter A’s and two sparrows (Fun fact! Sparrows mate for life and always find their way back, no matter how far they fly). While separated, the couple often writes letters to one another, even having the letters sent via jet instead of mail for privacy reasons!

_______

Suddenly one morning articles begin to pour in about your engagement. It catches you off guard, that ring akin to a skating rink has been sitting pretty on your hand for a bit now. The engagement had happened so naturally as everything with the two of you seems to. In the early morning hours while his swollen, rock hard member thrusts into you repeatedly you begin to awaken. On your side, his teeth clamp down on your shoulder as his finger twirls round the curls at the nape of your neck.

His gasps and needy groans tickle your ear. “Couldn't help myself..”, he shudders as you suddenly clamp down around him, barely able to register it all. You stretch and arch, allowing him the room and space to take what he needs. It is his after all. His teeth and pillowy soft lips mark your shoulder blades and when you reach down to where the two of you are joined, you feel his very full balls. Your newly manicured fingers tease and tug the best you can, scrunched up like some sort of acrobat. “Ugh, ugh…baby… you're gonna make me -”. Then he does. Hot, viscous, cream floods you and makes you sigh in a contented whimper. “Thanks darlin’,” he pets your head and you close your eyes dreamily. That is until you hear him rustling around in the bedside table next to him.

You cock open an eye, figuring he's looking for smokes or even the book he had been reading late last night. Your hands are stretched above your head, gripping a pillow. The perfect position for him to suddenly slip the most gorgeous piece of jewelry you've ever seen onto your finger. When your eyes shoot open and you jump up, he's lying there grinning that smile that makes you weak at the knees. “Will you be my wife?” As if your answer would be anything but yes, please Daddy. You smother him in kisses, straddling him and giggling. It's the perfect moment, the perfect proposal. You were never one to want a fireworks display or heaven forbid, those ridiculous and wasteful walls of flowers other celebrities seem to have for every occasion. This private, simple moment is everything you could ask for.

You feel the sudden urge to take him in your mouth despite him just finishing. With your head hanging off the side of the bed, you take him down your throat. Choking and gagging, you really give it your all. Fighting to keep your eyes open so you can see the way his lip curls and his eyes slam shut. Talking is always your thing. This time, though, he's sputtering and rasping words of utter devotion and love. Promises to worship your body until the day he dies. My perfect, perfect wife. Soon you can't be sure if the tears are from his cock down your throat, or his beautiful words. Maybe both. Those pretty boy fingers twist and tug on your nipples and then crawl lower and flick that special spot. The only fireworks you enjoy happen, twice for you actually. He's so dutiful and charming, when you're done pulling yourself back together and fixing your hair, he's handing you a surprise glass of champagne. What a way to mark the occasion.

You decline a proper press announcement. Phone and FaceTime calls follow to those who truly matter to you both - your families, both absolutely thrilled. Then Baz, Cal, The Presley's, everyone can't stop gushing about how perfect you are for each other. That ring, oh how sweet he designed it himself. You come up with a family-appropriate story to describe the proposal and the evening that followed, conveniently leaving out the mind-blowing sex the two of you have all over the house and in the hot tub. Why do things feel so different now that you're engaged? You can't get over the way the light hits the ring as you stroke him and something in that dirty girl heart of yours feels like it's really, truly, official when you have to clean his cum off the stone.

He's due back to set for some reshoots a few days later and of course you follow. Bringing throw pillows from your living room to spruce up his trailer and plotting out how to plan the most private, under the radar wedding possible while you lounge in his trailer in a cute little dress you sew yourself from vintage scarves bought in London. Your newest hobby, that and the ballet classes. He yammers on and on about wanting to sneak in and see you dance. You're sure it's just the tights and leotards spurring his interest though, let's be real. The paparazzi are as relentless as ever, but head down with big sunglasses helps keep the chaos at bay.

You visit Disney World, a whole crew, the two of you, your families, friends with their little ones. Thankfully Disney security is familiar with celebrity guests and you can actually let your guard down for once. Which is good, because seeing Austin chase after your friend's newly toddling little ones makes your stomach flip flop with joy. You make a mental note to expedite the wedding plans, he makes it known that he's chomping at the bit to be a father. When you visit Main Street, you decide a pair of new Mickey ears are in order. Gold stitching with Mrs. Butler is what you finally decide on after Austin's encouragement, his hand on your lower back as you walk miles and miles around the park with hands full of churros and cotton candy. Sure, some overzealous fans snap cell phone pics of you with your ears and immediately post them to those ridiculous Austin fan blogs who've now decided you are the evil villain in his story. You won't allow them to burst your Disney bubble though. Your fairytale is just beginning after all.

__

[msrosatiworld]

Just seconds later, as the loud cracks kept coming, we could hear Arnold crying louder and louder. Every once in a while he would yell out things like, "MOMMY, pleeeease…IT HURTS SOOOO BAD! Please stop, Mommy!" I was amazed by his pitiful pleadings, and his calling his Mother ‘Mommy’, evidently the pain raised in his bare rear end by Mrs. Brown’s strap was so fierce that had made him forget any vestiges of male dignity. The fearing cracks continued for a couple of minutes. Finally, they stopped and all we could hear was Arnold’s loud crying. I looked at Britney in a silent question about whether it was all finished.

With a smirk on her lips, she said, "I doubt if it’s over yet. He’ll probably get more."

Just then the cracks started again and Arnold’s cries became even louder and his pleading more desperate. I could just imagine how much his bottom was hurting about now. My own rear end was tingling and twitching in sympathy with each loud lash I heard Arnold get. The second set of cracks went on for a few minutes too. Finally, they stopped again. We heard the door open and Mrs. Brown walked out of Arnold’s bedroom leaving him there crying.

Keep reading Mrs. Brown's Strap saga at, www.patreon.com/enricarosati

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Personal Time [2]

Steven Grant X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info

Personal Time Series Masterlist (You don't have to read it to read this)

Summary: Steven orders a strap-on.

A/N: @lonelyisamyw-0love this is especially for you 💚

This is unbetaed (like all of my fics) I have read it over a few times, but my head just isn't in the game at the moment and I feel like I'm just not chatching errors. I appologise that there are probably more here than normal. Also Downward dog is a yoga position.

Warnings: oral (both m and f receiving), fingering, pegging, anal sex, sucking on a strap, praise kink (I’m sorry), the term ‘good boy’ used, begging, ermmmm kind of an exhibition kink?, typos, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning.

Word Count: 4967

________________________________

Steven had spent the better part of 24 hours researching. Not all at once mind you. 

He hadn’t meant to fixate on this, it had just sort of… happened. 

One thing had led to another and another, and another. But he’d finally found a strap-on that he thought would tick all the boxes for both of you. 

He had ordered it online, after checking fifteen times that the delivery would be with discreet packaging. There was no need to give Mrs Thompson on the second floor anything to get all gossipy about. Especially when she managed to churn up enough ‘scandal’ about the block’s private lives anyway. (Quite early on in your and Steven’s relationship Mrs Thompson had engaged you in conversation in the lift. And when she had noticed what floor you were headed to, had promptly filled you in on all the ‘juicy titbits’ about the ‘odd gentleman’ that lived in flat 502 and his two ‘unusual brothers’. You had struggled to keep a straight face and had blurted the whole story out to Steven the second you saw him.)

The discreet (ordinary) packaging was the main reason why Steven had just dumped the parcel on the coffee table with a couple others when he got home from work. He’d had a shower and gone as far as slicing open the brown parcel tape when you’d knocked at the door. 

“Hi Steven.” You smiled as he held the door. “How was work?”

“Hi love,” he grinned and kissed your cheek before standing back to allow you to come in. “Good, good, shit actually, but good.” 

You snorted as you took off your shoes and hung up your jacket. 

“Do you want a drink?” 

“Aw, thank you, just water.” 

He grinned again and waited until your hands were unencumbered before he gave you a proper hug and a kiss. “Hello.” 

“Hello.” You echoed as he held you tightly. 

“Jake has been driving me fucking insane.” 

You laughed as he broke the hug. “Why?” 

“Why?” He pulled a face, mock exasperation that you knew was a put on just to amuse you. “His current obsession with Mrs Thomspon.” 

You giggled and Steven gestured for you to take a seat on the sofa as he went into the kitchen to get you a glass of water, and himself a cup of tea. 

“What’s the latest update in the saga?” You said as you sat down, noticing the three large parcels on the coffee table, one partially open. 

“He baked her cookies.” 

“Cookies?” 

Steven leaned back so that he could stare at you dramatically. “Cookies.” 

You laughed again. “How did she react?” 

Steven rolled his eyes and went back to making the drinks. “She loves him! You know that already from her most recent lift update to you about, ‘that strange Mr Grant, his odd brother, and that lovely Jake.’”

You couldn’t stop your giggles at his impression of Mrs Thompson. 

“I know Jake said he was going to kill her with kindness, but really.” He tutted. “He’s just doing it to annoy me. And to get all the gossip about everyone in the building.” 

You smiled. While you were sure that Jake did enjoy hearing about the little mini-dramas that were going on in the block of flats, you knew that he had originally spoken to Mrs Thompson after the first lift incident as a precaution. A safety check. Just to see what the woman had been saying about them to other people. 

He had ended up in the 77 year old's flat being fed tea and biscuits and had fixed her bathroom window, which hadn’t been closing right.

The kettle clicked off as it boiled.

“So what’s with all the boxes?” You called. 

“Oh!” Steven answered excitedly, “I think they are the books I was telling you about!”

You chuckle. “Did you buy a library?” 

“Pretty much!” 

Your smile widens. 

“I just had to get the full colour edition of the history of Iraq, because the photos looked amazing! Have a look!” 

You paused for a second, a little ball of impoliteness prodded at your mind even though Steven had just given you express permission to look in the box. But you shook the feeling aside and opened it. It was silly to be worried, it was just…

Ah. 

Steven came back into the room and paused at the look on your face. “Love?” 

You looked up at him quickly, trying to hide the smile that wanted to take over your entire being.

“You okay?” 

“It’s not your book in that parcel.” 

He frowned. “It’s not,” then he sighed. “Have they sent the wrong bloody thing?” 

You took the strap-on out of the packaging, all neatly sealed in its own very posh looking box, and held it up to him. 

“Oh, yeah.” Steven blushed but he was grinning. “That’s not a book.”

“I didn’t realise you could also order these from Waterstones.” 

He snorted. “No, that was definitely from a different place.” He gave you a sheepish smile as he put the drinks on the table and brushed his curls out of his eyes. 

“I didn’t realise you’d ordered one.” 

“Well,” he shrugged and sat down next to you, fiddling with his fingers ever so slightly. “I just, I wanted to make sure it was alright first.”

“You were gonna use it without me?” You teased.

“No,” his eyes shot up straight to yours, relaxing only when he saw your playful expression. “I just wanted to make sure it looked comfy for you.”

“For me?” The sentiment touches deep within your heart. “Steven, surely, I mean, it’s going in you. Your comfort is much more important.” 

He pulled a face like you’d just told him that the sky was orange. “Don’t be silly, love.” He shifts a little closer to you, his knee resting against your leg. “So,” he points to the box in your hands. “I did some research to find one that was good for beginners and each party.”

“You did some research?” You tease gently and he nods.

You can’t help yourself as you rub your legs together. Unable to stop the thought of Steven hunched over his laptop on his desk, his glasses on the tip of his nose as he read in depth reviews. Had he worked himself up? Gotten all hot and bothered thinking about you fucking him again? Had he desperately relieved himself at his desk? 

“Do you want to try it out today?” You ask tentatively. 

“Now?” He asks eagerly.

“Now’s good.”

.

He had happily let you lead him to bed, your lips fastened to his as if he was your only source of oxygen. His tea long forgotten and growing cold. 

You had drunk down his little moans, softly pushing him back onto the mattress and stripping him of his clothes. You bit his lip gently every time he tried to take off your own and he giggled. 

When he was naked, at last, you took a moment just to admire him. The flushed golden hue of his skin, his beautiful dark eyes, the way his mouth parted with every breath. 

Languidly you trailed your hands up his legs, placing gentle kisses on his inner thighs and smiling against his skin when he jumped and squirmed. His cock was already hard, twitching against his stomach and leaking. Desperate and waiting for you. For the smallest touch or caress, for anything you’d grace him with. 

It was dizzying sometimes, the thought alone making your head spin, how much faith and trust Steven gave you, putting every single part of himself in your hands as if it was as natural as breathing. 

You kissed his balls, nuzzling into them before licking them all over. 

Steven swore, his back arching ever so slightly as he pushed himself closer and spread his legs wider. 

You happily obliged him by licking a board, flat stripe up from the base to the very tip of his cock. Moaning slightly when the beaded precum at his head touched your tongue. 

He groaned, trying to bury the sound behind his hand, “Love… please.” 

You took your mouth away from him and he whimpered, a look of betrayal flashing across his features. 

His pout made you smile. 

You kissed the base of his length, running the tip of your nose against the thick vein that ran up the underside of his cock. Your smile widened when he shivered. 

“Can you grab the lube out of the drawer?” You asked quietly and broke into a laugh at how quickly Steven moved. As if he had been struck by lightning.

He partially rolled over, carefully not to whack you with his thighs, and fished around for a second before pulling out the bottle and placing it into your waiting hand. 

“Thank you.” You said in a singsong voice. 

Since finding his dildo and your recent escapades with it, you had made it your personal mission to learn how to work Steven open yourself. Savouring every moan and clench of muscle. He’d seemingly become quite addicted to it. 

You poured a generous helping of lube onto both of your hands. Then positioned your left hand around his cock, pumping him in lazy strokes, while you slide the fore and middle fingers of your right down his balls and pressed them lightly at his hole. 

Steven’s breathing hitched, his hips bucking ever so slightly into your touch as he fought with himself to stay still. 

You gently eased both of your fingers into him. Yours weren’t as thick as Steven’s own, and you knew from previous experience that he enjoyed that slow, tortuous stretch at the start. Happy to take two or three in the first breach, as long as they were well lubed. 

He moaned, shuddered, and swore, fisting his hands into the sheets beside him and pressing his head back, exposing the tendons in his neck. 

“Nice?” You asked as you moved your fingers, stroking them perfectly against his prostate. 

Steven gasped loudly, nodding, his eyes screwed up tight at the sensation. “Yeah, yeah, yes, good, nice, really good!” He rushed all his words together, the syllables becoming a blur. 

“Good.” You muttered. Heat swam in your lower belly, pooled at your core just from watching him. His pretty little sounds hypnotic. 

You scissored your fingers lightly, just enough to stretch his tight ring of muscle before going back to your tortuously slow, deep strokes.  

His thighs shook slightly, his muscles twitching as he fought with them to keep them still. 

You lean up, moving slightly so that you can swirl your tongue over the tip of his cock. 

Steven whines and you sink down, taking him deeper into your throat, and the action breaks him. 

“Fuck!” He hisses between his teeth, grabbing hold of your shoulder and bucking up into your warm, wet mouth and then grinding down onto your fingers. He can’t stop himself now, the last of his resolve breaking so easily under your touch. 

You let him writhe under you for a minute, let him buck and moan and sob as nonsense falls from his mouth. 

Incoherent pleas of, ‘love’ and ‘good’, and ‘more’. 

You keep one arm pressed against his hips, stopping him from thrashing too much. Slowly you start to avoid his prostate, just skim along the edges of it, until he whines. Almost delirious under your touch. “Looove!” 

You chuckle, pulling off his cock and chuckle before going back to stroking and stretching him wide. 

“Shit, ah, thank you, I-” He swallows, gasping for air and then quickly his hands are on your shoulders, pushing you back. “Wait, love, wait, too much, sorry.”

You removed your fingers instantly, sitting up as panic chills your veins. “You okay?” 

“Good,” he breathes in deeply, “really good. Too good.” He gives you a lopsided smile. “Didn’t want to cum.” 

You smile back as his words soothe you. “I thought I’d hurt you.” 

His eyebrows pinch together in concern. “Oh love, no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” You give him a kiss and he chases after your mouth as you pull away. 

You giggle. “I’ll be right back.” You quickly move away to the bathroom to wash your hands. 

When you come back Steven has moved a little, now sitting more fully on the bed. He grins at you. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” 

“Oh?” You mock surprise as you approach him. “Am I?” 

“Yes,” he grabs hold of you playfully and pulls you into an embrace as he kisses all over your face and neck. “Far too many.” 

His hands are so warm, and you giggle as he slips them under your clothes, removing them like he was unwrapping a gift. He kisses your chest, lavishing attention on each breast before pulling you back down on top of him. 

You let out a little squeak of surprise as he gently manhandles you into the position he wants - your thighs on either side of his head. 

“Steven-”

“Hmm?” He asks innocently, pushing down on your hips so that your knees slide wider and your pussy inches closer to his waiting mouth. 

“This is meant to be about you.” Your voice comes out weak and breathless. 

“Oh, it is.” He whispers, leaning up and running a board, flat lick across your centre, and moaning loudly. The vibrations run up and along your clit. 

You bite your lips together, trying to gain some kind of control over yourself as your toes curl and eyes roll back at the slow swipes of his tongue. 

“Good job this is what I want then, isn’t it?” Steven mutters, his eyes dark and hungry before diving back to your folds and pressing you down to his waiting mouth.

“Steven,” you bite your lips together to hold back a moan, your right hand flying to the headboard, your left hand to his soft curls. 

He wraps his arm around your waist, pushing down on your hips and rocking you back and forth against him, urging you to buck and grind on his tongue. 

You can't help yourself, your muscles moving on instinct as you obey his commands without thinking.

Pleasure sparks low in your belly as he swirls his tongue over your clit, lightly scraping at you with his teeth before he curls his tongue through your folds and slips inside. You gasp, following his hypnotising rhythm as the familiar heat begins to build. 

There’s a dull scratch of his stubble against your thighs as you ride him.

The bridge of his nose presses against your clit as he fucks his tongue deeper into you, groaning at every pull of his hair and every sound that falls from your lips. 

His fingers dig in and bruise your skin, trying to bring you closer, urge you nearer despite the fact that you are as physically close as possible. It’s never enough for Steven, always hungry and desperate for more. More of your sounds, your taste, your warm, soft skin against his.

If you let him, he’d never stop. Would be content to spend the rest of his days with his head between your thighs. 

Your toes start to curl, muscles clenching as the heady build of your orgasm begins to crest. So close, so close, so close. But you don���t want it yet. 

You push on his forehead with the palm of your hand, moving your hips back and away from him. “Steven,” you breathe as his mouth chases after you, your words sounding indistinct from sighs of pleasure. You push against his head harder. 

“Steven.” You try to inject some firmness into your voice, managing it barely. 

He stops, his grip on your waist and thighs still tight, but he flops his head back against the pillows as he stares up at you. His eyes dark and hooded with lust, your slick covering the bottom half of his face. He’s breathing deep, his eyes dark, and his dick throbbing against his stomach. Hot and needy. 

“You okay love?” He swallows as he asks, his chest heaving and you can feel the strain in his arms, the twitch of muscle as he fights with himself not to pull you back down onto his face. 

You give him a sickeningly sweet smile, “Good, really good. Too good.” You repeat his previous words back at him. “Didn’t want to cum.” 

“Love-”

“Wanna cum with you.” 

He groans, biting his lip as his eyes roll back. He swallows and nods rapidly, almost as if he is afraid to speak and voice his deep-down urges. 

You grin as you wiggle free of his grip, placing a quick kiss on his lips as you get off him and stand by the bed. 

Steven sits up to watch you put the strap on, his eyes fixated on every movement. “Is it comfortable?” He breathes when you’ve adjusted it. 

You nod.

He smiles, a little pinch of anxiety loosening. 

You go to reach for the lube, but Steven clears his throat. 

“Erm, love?” He waits until you look at him to continue. “Could I, erm, I mean, you can say no, if you don’t want to, I mean, could I maybe…?”

You stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt him. But you gently place your hand on his cheek, softly stroking his skin. 

He swallows. “Could I suck it?” 

A little smile pulls at your lips. “You wanna suck it?” 

Steven nods, fiddling with his fingers. 

“Get on your knees then.” You whisper, your voice low. 

He moves fast, quickly scrambling off the bed and to his knees on the floorboards. You chuckle, stepping back slightly to give him some room. But Steven’s hands go to your hips, reaching around to knead and squeeze your ass and pull you closer. 

He licks his lips, staring at the strap, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Slowly he places a kiss to the very tip before ducking down to the very base and licking back up to the head, something you realise he has learnt from how you please him. 

He takes the tip into his mouth, easing down slowly and bobbing back up. A low groan building in his chest. 

“Fuck.” You whisper under your breath, almost too quiet for Steven to hear. Something about him there, on his knees, just does it for you. 

With a little more force than you intend, you take hold of a handful of hair at the back of his head and push him deeper. 

Steven moans louder. His eyes immediately snap open so he can stare up at you, lustful and cock dumb as salvia drips down his chin to mingle with your wetness that is still covering his skin. 

He pushes against the strap ever so slightly, purposefully grinding the base of it against your clit and you gasp. 

His dick twitches at the sound. 

He swallows around the strap, easing further down, the silicon disappearing into his throat. 

You pull him off with a harsh tug on his hair, a string of salvia connecting his mouth to the tip as he gasps for breath. His eyebrows pinched together. 

“I get to fuck you now.” You growl and Steven nods his head swiftly. 

He leans back and grabs the lube off the bed and hands it to you as he stands. 

“How do you want to do it?” You ask as you pour a generous helping all over the length. 

“Well,” a slight blush graces his cheeks, touches the tips of his ears. “I was reading,” another flash of Steven furiously jerking off at his desk in front of the laptop as he was ‘researching’ plays behind your eyes, “and there’s, erm, this position that’s meant to be really good.” He shifts his weight back and forth for a second before moving. 

He places both hands on the edge of the bed, spreads his legs on the floor, and leans forward like he’s doing a slightly adapted version of a downward dog. “And, I was thinking-” His sharp intake of breath cuts off his words as you pour more lube against his entrance. 

“You want me to fuck you like this?” 

He nods, his lip back between his teeth. “Uh huh.” 

You lean forward a little and his shoulder blade. “I think we can do that.” 

He groans at your words, the sounds growing in pitch as you press the tip of the strap against his hole. 

“You okay? You need me to warm you up some more?” 

“No, please, I’m good, keep going, keep,” he pushes back against you, trying to work the dildo into himself on his own. 

You chuckle a little at his eagerness, sliding your hand down to his right hip to steady him as you painstakingly slowly thrust forward. It sinks into him. Steven lets out a satisfied moan as the bulbous head inches past his tight ring of muscle. His hands fist at the bedsheet. 

You can take your eyes off how it just disappears into him. The way he stretches around it, completely split open. You swear quietly under your breath and pull his cheeks apart ever so slightly so you can experience the full view as he greedily swallows the strap. 

“Fuck, Steven, you look so good like this.” 

He moans in response, his eyes screwing up in bliss, feeling so full. The thickness of the strap in him, your hands on him, the heat of your skin as the front of your thighs kiss against the backs of his. It’s almost too much. 

His cock throbs painfully hard, heavy, and pleading for relief. So persistent it’s almost maddening. 

Finally, you bottom out, your hips flush against him. You ease out again slowly, savouring the torturous pace as you pull back until the tip is barely inside before sinking in. 

“You look so good like this Steven,” you praise and delight in his little whimper. “So good taking all of this for me.” 

He nods rapidly, eyes screwed shut. He shifts a little as you slide back into him, dropping to his elbows against the bed. 

“Next time, shit,” you start to move a little faster. The press of the strap against your clit burning deliciously. “Next time, I’m gonna take photos of you split open like this.”

He moans wantonly. 

“Gonna take a video of how well you take me. Of what a good boy you are.” You slide deeper, brushing against his prostate and Steven keens, his back arching. “Gonna watch it every day, gonna touch myself and cum looking at you,” warmth spread along your veins, tightening in your core. 

“Oh fuck, please, please, please,” he grinds back into your every thrust, needing you deeper, harder, craving anything you would give. Words pile up in his mind, so many that it’s practically impossible for them all to fall out of his mouth. He wants you, needs you, everywhere. Everything you could possibly do to him. He’ll suffocate without it. 

Pleasure sparks up from the base of his spine, tightening his muscles and he’s so, so close to just falling into it. 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” he slurs, “take videos of me,” he whines, too cockdumb to have any verbal filter. “Split me open, fuck, post them online, I want everyone to seee- Ah!” He sobs as you thrust particularly deep, and you focus all your energy on hitting the same spot over and over. 

“You want everyone to see Steven?” You lean forward, hissing in his ear. “You want everyone to see how well you can take it?” Want them all to cum looking at you.” 

“Ohshit!” He can’t help it, the thought of it, it’s too much. He tenses, moaning loudly. Every muscle clenches as he cums, spilling thick ropes all over the side of the bed and floorboard. Splashes hitting his stomach. He had intended to warn you when he was close, but now he just can’t stop as he convulses through his orgasm, the pleasure twisting and building impossibly in his stomach. 

You kiss his shoulder blade and start to slow your hips. 

“No, no, no, no,” he reaches around to grab hold of your hips, moving back against you. “Please, please, keep going, I think I can, ah!” He rocks on the balls on his feet as you start thrusting again. “I think I can cum again, please.” 

You groan at how he leans back into you, his breathy, needy, desperate whines, all of it combines to make you lightheaded. 

Steven grabs at your right hand, his eyes half closed, mouth hanging open. For a moment you think he just wants to link fingers but he quickly moves it to his head. 

“Pull, pull my hair, please, pull me back, just- fuck!”

You do as he asks, taking a large fistful of hair and yanking him towards your chest. He moans loudly as you pull, his spine arching, his throat bobbing as it bends under your grip. He barely manages to keep hold of the bed with both hands, his thighs shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright. 

It’s like there’s a snap in his abdomen releasing bliss and pleasure overwhelms every thought.

He sobs out your name as he cums again. Every nerve shaking. And while not much more than a dribble shoots out of his aching cock, he cums harder than he thought possible. It’s like liquid gold explodes along every cell, coating and purifying every single part of him. 

He doesn’t remember blacking out for a second, but he must have because the next thing he knows is that he’s in your arms. Your muscles hold him steady and stop him from falling back and smacking his head against the corner of the bedside table. 

“Steven?” There’s a tiny pinch of panic in your voice that makes his chest hurt. The idea that you’re worried about him, that he caused your worry is almost too much in that moment. 

“I’m fine love, sorry,” he moves to stand fully, taking his weight off of you. “That was so amazing, I just…” He breathes deeply. 

You keep your arms around him, keep up that steadying hold. “Are you sure you're-” You yelp, the rest of your sentence lost as Steven turns quickly, pulling the strap on out of himself with a wet pop. 

He kisses you deeply, his hands on your cheeks as he slides his tongue into your mouth and groans. 

It’s so sudden that you barely register his movements before he’s turning you around and pressing you back against the bed. (Purposefully avoiding the wet patch he left, with mumbles of how he’d change the bedding later.) 

He unbuckles the strap hastily, his short nails leaving shallow scratches before he throws it to the side. 

“Steve-”

He kneels, dragging your hips to the mattress's edge and spreading your thighs wide. 

Without any pause he quickly slides two thick fingers into your aching heat, groaning low in his chest at your wetness. You gasp as he curls them, finding that perfect spot instantly as he strokes your walls. 

“Steven, you don’t have to-” Your moan cuts off the rest of your words as he leans forward and presses a board, flat lick across your clit. Timing the movement with the caress of his fingers. 

You squirm against his touch, already so worked up, and fight the urge to clamp your legs around his face. 

Steven looked up at you, large puppy dog eyes dark and hungry. 

Heat builds rapidly in your core, the sound of your wetness echoing around the flat. 

He dips his tongue down, slipping in through your folds and into your core just above his fingers. He moans as your muscles tense, never taking his eyes off you. 

His name falls from your lips like a prayer as your rock against him, trying to chase that tantalising pressure. Needing more. 

The movement of his tongue and fingers overtakes and outshines any other possible thought as all you can do is mindlessly buck against his face as you near your high. 

Steven presses deeper, slipping in a third finger and nudging the bridge of his nose against your clit. And fuuccccck.

You cum against him with a wail you’d be embarrassed about if you could formulate thoughts. Every possible thought is overtaken by the sudden wave of pleasure he pulls out of you, drowns you in. Stars dance behind your eyes as your muscles shake. 

Steven laps at you steadily, prolonging your orgasm for as long as possible until you are gasping, tears in your eyes from the overstimulation. 

You place a hand on his shoulder and he slowly withdrawals his fingers, groaning at the white, creamy mess you left on his digits. 

He presses a kiss against your knee as you breathe hard. 

“I think the strap was a success.” He says, quite matter of factly, as if you had just managed to find a slightly quicker route to work. 

You giggle as he glances up at you and pulls a silly face. “Definitely.” 

He pauses for one moment, nuzzling against your thigh. “I, erm, maybe we don’t upload videos of me online though.” He blushes a little and you lean down, kissing him deeply. 

“I know that was just sex talk, those are all for me anyway.” 

He chuckles and kisses you again. “Didn’t�� weird you out or anything?” 

You shake your head. “I loved it.” 

“Good.” He leans into your embrace as you wrap your arms around him. 

“Though, if we did upload videos of you,” you tease, “I’m sure we’d make so much money, you could buy all the books you wan-”

You yelp and giggle as Steven tackles you back onto the bed and kisses you roughly. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @solobagginses @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love

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[beefrobeefcal]

Dark!Frankie Saga: VIII

Chapter Eight: Linger

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. Since the original ring leader, Tom, was allegedly taken out by a rival gang, it's now run by Big Fish, with Pope second in command. Ironhead runs the numbers and Benny is the muscle. Your family member put you down as collateral when they needed credit to score more smack. Problem is, they can't pay it back, and Big Fish & the Frontiersmen always get their payment...

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Chapter Word Count: 4,438

Content Warning: smutty smutty smut smut, angst, threats of violence, crime, snark, violence, betrayal, kissing, abduction, brutal beating, blood, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in the v (unwrapped), cream pie, Big Fish is a bad man

Author's Notes: I know the wait is finally over! Please send any and all complaints to the THOT TANK for further discussion I hope you'll forgive what a deceitful beef I have been. But I'm just getting started...

The biggest, juiciest, wettest thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for being the Beta Fish for Big Fish (get it? Beta'ing the story about Big Fi-... okay, you got it). Thank you, Nevy! 💜🥩💜

thank you to the following for being supportive good eggs & sounding boards: @theywhowriteandknowthings @toxicanonymity @xdaddysprincessxx @thehalflifeofloveisforever @umnitsa @softpascalito @noxturnalpascal

And this is not the Chubby!Frankie we know and love in the Catfish & the Mouse universe; he's dark, mean, and hungry. I'll be updating this each week (Monday/Tuesday) until you lose interest or I finish it - let's see what happens first! when i feel like it👌

On the Waterfront Masterlist | Previous Chapter

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Your back hit Frankie’s mattress, leaving your legs dangling off the end, his thighs between them and pushing yours open. Leaning down, he slid his hands down your legs and under your sweatshirt, gripping your leggings and pulling them off, along with your underwear. His eyes didn’t leave yours until your core was open and exposed for him. 

“Mr. Morales...”, you breathed, needy and desperate. 

“Babygirl... “, he crooned, crawling up you and pulling your core roughly against his denim-clad hard on. “Can't call me that when I - ” 

You let out a whining moan as he rutted against you, feeling the fabric get hot and damp from your arousal smearing across his crotch.  

“You call me Frankie when I’m fuckin’ you.” 

***** 

Benny knew you were done with him now. His outburst had solidified that. As he sat and let the horrible incident replay over and over in his head, he became sullen and devastated. He couldn’t let it go. After Will stuck him in Frankie’s office to cool down and left him to find Pope, Benny's temper had finally died down, leaving him alone with the image of your heartbroken face in his mind. And then Frankie... 

Fuck Fish. Fuck him and his fuckin’ fucked up, cruel prerogative. 

He knew what would happen next. Frankie would get to walk in and pick up your pieces and make you believe you were loved. He knew Frankie could be gentle, he’d seen it before, and even he was fooled into thinking the Big Fish had a heart. But he knew the price that was paid each time he let that side out, and it made Benny sick to think how carefully he would handle each one of your shards as he put you back together with the promise of him being a good man. A fucking lie. All of it. Frankie was no better than any of them, and in some ways, he was worse. He, just like Will and Pope, could pass in the real world as normal, adjusted, and good people, and that made all three of them dangerous, but Frankie was worse.  Will could come off as cold, and Pope would always have something off about him, and Benny was okay until his temper took over, but Frankie... he knew how to gain people’s trust better. With his big brown eyes and his quiet nature, he could charm anyone with little effort, and you’d be in the throes of being consumed by him before you realized just how fucked up he really was.  

Benny realized he had unintentionally laid the perfect path for you to fall right into Frankie's arms and drown in him. Like so many girls before you. 

***** 

You keened and arched your back as Frankie opened you up with his fingers, and his mouth tongued and sucked on your over sensitive bud. One hand firmly gripping his hair and the other, having pushed up your shirt, twisting your nipple, you cried out and came hard. He growled, pulling more from you, and not letting up, and your cries became high-pitched whines. When he finally released you, giving you a reprieve, your body let go of all its tension and went limp, leaving you panting. He stood up, smiling, and removed his clothing.  

“Shirt off. Wanna feel all of you, gorgeous.”, he said quietly. Despite the soft tone and gentle look in his eyes in the dimly lit room, you knew it was a demand - an order - and you obeyed. 

His eyes wandered over your body as his hulking frame approached the bed, and his thick, heavy hard cock bobbed and wept with every movement.  

“So fuckin’ pretty...”, he huffed as he crawled between your legs, his stomach pushing you into the mattress as you felt the full weight of his body precariously brushing against yours. 

“So big...”, you mewled in a whisper in response.  

“Big, huh, baby? You like me big?”, he grunted in response and his plump tip pushed against your aching, worked-over hole. 

“Please... plea - ugh!” 

Your pleas were cut short as he pushed into you. He gave you no time to adjust to his thick intrusion, and he hushed you as you gasped and dug your nails into his shoulders. 

“Good girl... you can take it... relax... good girl... oh, fuck, take it... take it... jesus... fuck!” 

He stopped about halfway, pulling back, before he thrusted all the way in with his hands on either side of your head, propping him up. He kept eye contact, watching your face and every twitch and twist it made as he seated himself deeply in you, 

“Fuck... got me out of breath... so fuckin’ pretty...”, he panted.  

He was struggling to regain his composure as you fluttered and spasmed around him; it felt like the air was being forced out of your lungs. 

“I-I need, you... need you to move... please, move!” 

“Tell me, baby girl...” He licked his lips and looked down at you heavy lidded with his mouth pulled up on one side in a smile. “Tell me your mine.” 

A choked whine came out as you nodded your head to him. 

“Say it... say you’re mine, baby... say... say I’m yours...” 

“You’re m-mine...” 

“My name, Honey...” 

“Frankie...Frankie... my Big Fish...” 

You felt your toes curl as one knee hitched up on his hip when he began to rock into you. He slowly brought himself down to his elbows and you were fully pinned down by his bodyweight. He dug his face into your neck and breathed you in and your hands held onto his shoulder and hair. Frankie kept his pace, hitting a sweet spot over and over. 

“First time – the first time I saw you... fuckin’ knew... gotta relax, Honey...fuck... fuck... make those sweet noises for me, baby... fuckin’ knew I was yours... god, so pretty... then you fuckin’ made that shephard’s-jesus, yeah... oh fuck, yes... that’s it... so good, baby girl...” 

He brought his face up and nudged his nose to yours. “You’re too fuckin’ good, Honey.”, he whispered against your mouth as he kissed you. 

***** 

He’d been alone in the office for longer than he realized, mulling over everything, when Benny looked up to the dated clock on the wall. He had no idea why Will was taking so long to find that little smug shit, Pope. Fucking Pope. 

Benny was lost in his thoughts again when he heard frantic footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards him. The door burst open, and Pope had a panicked look on his face. He ran towards Benny and grabbed his arms. 

“Benny! Ben? Will... Will- where is he??” 

“He went to find you-why? What happened?” 

“No... I didn’t see him... but outside... outside... in the alley... I... no... Will!” 

Benny’s eyes went wide, and he pushed Pope off him. “What’s in the alley?!?” 

“I went to... to find him and there’s blood... there’s blood and his phone...” 

Benny’s whole body was pumbled by a wave of cold dread. His mouth went dry, and he had to fight to speak.  

“Wh-what...Pope... Santi... no... no... show me.” 

***** 

“Give me another... come on, babygirl... gimme another... lemme feel it...I’m close... fuck... come on... come on...” 

You threw your head back as he pounded into you, digging your nails into his sweaty back and shoulders. Every time his hips ground flush with yours, you felt like you were being split apart in deliciously harsh ecstasy, and you could feel another orgasm slipping along your spine to your core. You felt your body start to shake and tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Fish... Frankie... I need... please...” 

Frankie’s mind reeled. He’d opened himself up and, instead of just claiming you like he had planned, he’d allowed you to call him yours. His fractured self-worth wouldn't let him surrender that easily, and the cold, hard walls that he’d let you slip past refortified, forcing you back out. He knew he could only let you in long enough to get you where he wanted you and what he needed from you – your surrender. 

His hand moved and wiped an errant tear from your temple and your hand went to his face. Your soft eyes bore into his and Frankie knew in that very moment he was going to hurt you; it was inevitable. You’d gotten under his skin, and he had to get you out because you were too good.  

Before your fingers could commit each prickle of his stubble to memory, he grabbed your hand roughly and pinned it above your head, then grabbed the other. He shifted the angle of his hips, and his eyes went dark – cold and hard – like a switch had been flipped, like he saw you as nothing but a hole to fuck and take as his. He snapped his hips sharply, knocking the wind out of you. It was harsh and felt less like the lovemaking he had been giving you and more like he was getting what he wanted out of this.  

It was almost too much, but the feeling of his cock bruising you inside, his heavy sweating body smashing into you on the outside, and his intimately intense stare made that hot coil spring free, and you came crying out his name.  

“Give it to me... good... fuckin’... girl... that’s it... yeah... give it to me... jesus... so fuckin’ wet... oh fuck... baby girl... fuck... gonna come in you... you’re mine... mine... fuckin’ mine... mine... mine, mine, mine!” 

You felt his pace falter then slow as he pushed deep into you. He groaned loudly and you felt him throb as he unloaded into you. He stilled, breathing hard, and, despite your best efforts, avoided eye contact.  

“Frankie?”, you murmured, unsure of what had happened or if you had done something wrong. Your stomach twisted as dread began to fill your senses. Your hand shakily found his cheek, and, thankfully, he leaned into your touch. 

He turned his head and kissed the palm of your hand, then finally looked you in the eye. His own were back to his brown softness again, and relief washed over you as you felt your heart beat in your throat. You smiled softly at him, and he returned one in kind, but it felt hollow.  

You pushed those feelings aside while you tried to bask in the afterglow. 

***** 

Benny screamed out, dropping to his knees in the parking lot outside the Frontiersmen’s building. They’d searched everywhere and all they found was Will’s smashed cell phone, tire treads, and bloody drag marks that started in the alley with a deep scarlet pool of blood. The security cameras only showed an unmarked van pull into the lot then out of it. Beyond this, they had nothing else. 

“Ben... dude... we’ll find him.” 

Pope squatted beside him and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He felt the younger man’s shoulders shake as small, quiet sobs wracked his body. 

“Where is he?? Who did this???”, Benny screamed out, agony tearing at his throat.  

“We gotta... we gott tell Fish... get Fish.” 

***** 

You opened your eyes and saw that Frankie had his back to you, facing the wall, and you felt cold. Despite him being right beside you, and not having a wall between you, he felt farther away than ever, and that hollowness, that dread that you’d managed to suppress was washing over you in waves. Just as you reached out to touch his wide, freckled back, you heard an anguished scream from outside.  

Frankie shot up right, and in his haste to get out of bed, shoved you out of his way harshly and quickly started putting his pants on. 

“Get dressed.”, he snapped, not looking at you. 

You sat frozen on the bed, the blanket pulled up to your chin, not sure what to make of his dismissive and cold attitude in combination with the activity outside. When he noticed your lack of movement, he snapped his fingers at you. 

“Hey! I told you to get dressed! Fuckin’ listen!” 

You jumped at his aggressive tone and made quick work getting your clothing back on. As you pulled your sweatshirt over your head, he motioned to the door.  

“Go to your room. If I need you, I’ll get you.” 

Cold. His voice, his glare, his words, his stance... he was cold to you. And it stung. You nodded and left his room, keeping your head low so that he wouldn’t see the tears welling up in your eyes. 

You closed your door, noting that the latch for the knob was no longer working. Sliding down the back of the door, you sobbed into your knees. 

Frankie left his room and as he lingered outside of yours, he heard you; your quiet hitched breaths and soft whimpers punctured him, and it hurt more than he thought he could. But he couldn’t let his guard down again; he couldn’t be gentle or soft or anything else you would need. He couldn’t give you what he refused to acknowledge but he knew was true – himself to you completely. He couldn’t love you. But his warped thinking and broken psyche told him he didn’t need to offer any explanation. He was Frankie ‘Big Fish’ Morales, head of the Frontiersmen, and he didn’t have to answer to anyone, including you. Frankie made up his mind and convinced himself you knew this was what it had to be, and you were going to be fine with it. He pulled himself away from your door, wiping his eyes quickly as he exited the hallway into the common room. 

***** 

Loud noises and yelling interrupted your crying, and you pressed your ear to the door while wiping your eyes. You could hear Benny, shrieking and panicking, as well as muffled yelling from both Frankie and Pope. You could only make out the odd word like ‘Will’ and ‘Gone’ from Benny. 

Challenging your own fears of Frankie’s retribution, you left your room and pushed open the door, and saw Pope holding Benny back as he screamed at Fish. 

“YOU FUCKER! YOU FUCKIN’ TRAITOR! YOU GO OUT AND YOU FIND HIM!” 

“Ben - if he’s gone, he’s gone. Make your fuckin’ peace!” 

“YOU STUPID FAT FUCK! I FUCKIN’ HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!!” 

Pope saw you first, turning his head causing Frankie to look and he scowled at you. 

“I fuckin’ told you to stay in your fuckin’ room!”, he boomed, pointing towards the doorway you’d come through.  

You clenched your fists and stood your ground, but Benny ripping himself from Pope’s grip shifting his focus once again. 

“Honey, tell him! Tell Fish he has to find Will! Please! Make him!”, Benny pleaded, grabbing your arms.  

His blue irises seemed to shine brighter in contrast with the bloodshot whites of his eyes, and his cheeks were red and tearstained. You were so confused but your heart broke for him none the less. 

Before you could answer, Frankie grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt and ripped him away from you.  

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch her! She’s not yours to fuckin’ even look at!”, Frankie bellowed as Benny fell back onto the floor. Benny watched in horror as Frankie snapped his fingers at you and aggressively motioned for you to stand next to him. But what really twisted the knife was watching you obediently take your place at his side and look up at him. He could never know the terror and heartache you felt, knowingly being used to show everyone that you were nothing more than a thing Frankie owned and controlled. You felt shame as Frankie’s big hand gripped your shoulder, ferociously pulling you against him.  

“You fuckin’ slut! You’re nothin’ but another one of his fuckin’ whores!” 

“Benny... Benny, stop! You don’t underst - “ 

You looked at Benny, shaking your head. You felt Frankie’s grip on you tighten painfully and looking up at him, you saw his jaw clenched tight. Benny stood up, baring his teeth at you like a rabid dog. Turning your gaze back to him, his eyes burned into yours as he stepped closer to you.  

“You think you’re he’s special ‘baby girl’? You think you're the first? You’re just the latest in a fuckin’ convoy of stupid bitches who fell for his bullshit! Do you know what he did to the last one? She fucked Pope!” 

Frankie’s grip on your shoulder loosened up, but you could feel his breathing pick up. 

“Pope is still here! Do you know where she is? Do you know what he does to people?” 

“Benny...”, Frankie warned in a low growl. 

Benny’s face contorted in grief and rage, yelling, “No! No, Fish! You can’t do this to her! Did you tell her about her brother?! Or were you gonna wait until after you fucked her??” 

You looked at Frankie, but his eyes were trained on Benny. You looked back at Benny, but Pope’s disconcerting grin as he watched the two men caught your attention. You watched as he brought his phone up, sent a text, then winked at you. 

“Does she know what happens to people you don’t need anymore?” 

“BENNY! SHUT YOUR FUCKIN’ MOUTH!”, Frankie snarled, pointing at Benny. 

It was like watching two bull dogs circle each other, waiting for the other to make a move. 

A four or five other men came into the room, seemingly at Pope’s message, all of whom you recognized from your time in the compound; they stood with Pope, observing the scene before them, not daring to get involved. You looked back at Benny and Frankie, and let out a sob. 

“What... what happened to Steven?” 

Your small, timid, tear-cracked voice paused the tension, and while Benny looked at you, Frankie continued to stare down at Benny. 

“He’s dead.”, Benny spat out at you. “And it won’t be long before you join him because - “, Benny pointed at Frankie, “he’s a fuckin’ monster!” 

It hit you like a kick in the chest. Yes, he was a drug addict. Yes, he made your family go broke. Yes, he was a selfish asshole. Yes, he pawned you for his next fix. But he was your brother, and he was dead. The weight of Benny’s words hung heavy around your neck, feeling like you were being pulled to the floor. Sorrow, despair, grief and fear pulled at you, tearing into your chest, and you felt like you couldn’t take a breath deep enough to stay afloat. 

You were so lost in your own pain you didn’t realize Frankie was lunging at Benny, knocking him to the ground again. What brought you back were the sickening sounds of flesh being pulverized by fists and Benny screaming. 

Frankie’s large body was straddling Benny’s, and he landed blow after blow, yelling and berating him.  

"THINK YOU’RE SO FUCKIN’ TOUGH? YOU’RE A FUCKIN’ DOG. S’ONLY REASON I KEEP YOU AROUND!” 

Benny screamed out in pain as Frankie’s fist made contact with his cheek and a sickening crack sounded out. 

“BREAK THAT PRETTY LITTLE FACE!” 

Pope nodded and the men standing around him moved towards Frankie, attempting to pull him off Benny. 

“GET YOUR FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF ME!” 

He ripped his arms away from the men and tried to land another blow on Benny, but he was held back again by three men, while the other two got Benny up and carried him out of the room. You saw Benny’s bloody face, almost unrecognizable and you saw Frankie’s hands stained and dripping crimson. 

Pope smirked at your horrified expression as he walked in front of Frankie, facing him. Frankie struggled against the men’s hold as much as they did holding him back. He was stil breathing hard in his blind rage. 

“You still got a mean temper, buddy. Even worse now that you’re Big  Fish, huh? I almost forgot how brutal you can be. But Fish… you scared your girl.”, he said quietly with a small grin, but loud enough for you to hear. “Calm down and I’m sure she’ll still suck your dick.” 

Frankie turned and looked at you, and you trembled. His whole face softened as he watched you step back and run back through the door to the bedrooms.  

“No! No Honey!”, he yelled out, throwing the men off him and running after you. 

You ran into your room and propped the chair under the doorknob. Frankie banged on the door.  

“No, baby, please! I’m sorry!” 

He pushed the door open, making the shitty carpet crease under the chair’s legs, and you saw his whole front was speckled in Benny’s blood. You couldn’t breathe; your whole body tensed hard enough that you felt like you were suffocating. 

He reached out, gently trying to coax you to him. Your eyes trained on his blood-stained hands, your mind racing with the violence they were proven to be capable of. You jumped back from him, hitting the wall behind you. 

“No! NO!”, you shrieked, panicking with your back against the wall while he cautiously moved towards you.  

Frankie felt his heart sink. “No… no no no no no! No, It’s me, baby girl… it’s your Frankie… I’m yours! I’m not going to hurt you… please baby!” 

Letting out a shaky whine as he approached you, Frankie tried to offer you a reassuring smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes; they were anything but happy. The lingering threads of fury mixed with grief and panic painted them deep mahogany, and there wasn’t an ounce of that colour you could trust. But you had to know the truth. 

“Did you know? D-did you know Steven was… was d-dead??” 

He paused and silently pleaded with you to skip this whole thing and let him take you to bed, to comfort and hold you, and to make you forget – if even for a minute – what a horrible person he was. And let him forget, too. 

“Honey… I… baby, lemme make you feel good… you know I can…” 

But your face didn’t change. It didn’t crack or twinge or show any signs that he was winning, Frankie sighed. “I knew… but you were so upset… I didn’t want to hurt you more…I thought I-” 

He stopped himself when he saw your body tense and your eyes narrow. You saw red. Yes, you were scared, but your anger took over. 

“You piece of shit!”, you screamed as you shoved him back. “You don’t give a shit about hurting me! You fucked me and then made me feel like I was nothing to you! You’re a monster! I don’t want you!” 

“You don’t mean that, baby… I know you don’t… I know you’re scared!”, he pleaded, trying to pull you to him. “I’m sorry! Please… lemma make it better, baby!” 

You slapped your hands on his body, crying, trying anything to get him away from you. He grabbed your wrists, and the smell of blood was overwhelming. You let out a scream, and Frankie grabbed you, forcing you into his hold. 

“Come on… it’s me… don’t fight me, baby girl… please… it’s me, your Frankie…” 

You thrashed against him, struggling to escape his grasp. Frankie was desperate to calm you, but his patience was running out. You kicked out one of your legs, and your heel came into contact with his kneecap. He let you go, and you gasped into your hands. 

“Mother fucker!”, he yelled, letting you go and bending over to hold his knee. 

“Frankie! I-I’m sorry! I didn’t- “ 

“You fuckin’ little BITCH!”, he spat at you, eyes snapping up to your face.  

Your blood ran cold as Frankie stood to his full height and towered over you. You were convinced his next action would be the last you would ever witness. 

“I gave you a fuckin’ chance! You wanna play stupid fuckin’ games? Huh?” Frankie got his face uncomfortably close to yours and once again, you could smell the sick metallic scent of blood on him as his hand gripped your neck. “Listen to me carefully. I own you. I own your life. And do you know what that makes you? A fuckin’ dead junkie’s whore sister.” 

“Frankie… I’m sorry – “ 

“Shut you fuckin’ mouth when I’m talking.” 

The low register of his tone reverberated in your body, and he stood back, releasing your neck. He needed to hurt you like you hurt him, but he couldn’t bring himself to hit you, not now. Not with that look on your face and your chin quivering. But he needed to hurt you like your rejection hurt him. His eyes caught the Kindle sitting on your bedside table, and he felt like he was winning again. He looked back at you.  

“Whores don’t read.”, he snarled, then snatched up the Kindle. 

“Frankie, no! No!”, you shrieked again, reaching up for your only escape. 

He held the Kindle out of your reach and gripped it in both hands, bending it until you heard plastic and metal snap and break. Frankie watched as you screamed out with your eyes fixed on the destruction of your only respite, your only comfort.  

What he didn’t anticipate was the immense guilt that crashed over him as you looked him in the eye with absolute horror on your face. He also wasn’t expecting you to turn and run out of the room, bolting as fast as you could to get away from him. 

You had no idea where you were going, but you let your feet take you through the common room, through the hallway… You were coming up to Frankie’s office when Pope walked out from around the corner and grabbed you, holding your back flush to his front. 

You went to scream, but Pope covered your mouth with a chemical smelling cloth as he cooed softly in your ear, and everything began to fade around you. 

“Don’t worry, baby girl…  I got you.” 

***** 

The sounds that surrounded him fogged his brain. When he opened his heavy eyelids, he saw nothing but dark and light faded shapes, his eyes wouldn’t focus and the ache that throbbed behind them in his skull was only exceeded by the sharp pain in his abdomen with each breath he took.  

Where the hell was he? He tried thinking back to what he could remember, to try and get his bearings, but the last thing he could see was Santi walking away after...  

No...  

No Santi... he didn’t... 

“Well, Mr. Miller...”, a deep, unfamiliar voice boomed, breaking him from his waking nightmare. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” 

--------<3---------

TAGLIST: @theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @toxicanonymity @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @nerdieforpedro  @southernbe @starkeydaviss @noxturnalpascal@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @vabeachazn @clawdee @iamasaddie @tightjeansjavi @rubyfruitjungle

[marimayscarlett]

Dive into a world of gothic allure as an elderly vampire lord sweeps you off your feet to his New York penthouse. 🧛🦇🥀

Explore the captivating fantasy of being his object of obsession. 😩 The vampire lord, with his smoldering gaze and commanding presence, becomes fixated on you.

With his silver hair and timeless elegance, he will mesmerise you with his refined manners and poetic words. 📜

🌃 As the nights grow longer and the passion intensifies 🔥 , you delve deeper into the secrets of his world, discovering the dark history that binds you together. Will you succumb to the seductive power of the vampire lord, or will you find the strength to resist his alluring embrace? 👀

Ja ok doch wem wollen wir etwas vormachen? Was für ein Widerstand, bitte?! Richard kann mit uns machen, was er will.

(Warning: shamelessly catering to my romantic vampire needs here, self insert scribblings)

Thank you dearest Näd for this and your unwavering and equally obsessed support in our little fantasy crossover here (grüß mir deinen Werwolf-Mann) 🤍🤍🤍

The saga of the charming older vampire lord continues... for more context, here is his potential backstory, an attempt for the lore behind his vampire existence as a part one so to speak.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

How would we meet?

A large exhibition hall in a historic museum, shortly before the museum's closing. The sun has already set on this winter day, and the moonlight illuminates the dust dancing through the air. A young woman, her reddish-brown hair tightly pulled back into a bun, with bangs falling across her face, leans over a desk, the sleeves of her loose shirt rolled up.

She is completely engrossed in her work, transcribing the text from an old book into her notebook, consulting various entries in her dictionary, and carefully turning the centuries-old pages. She barely hears the slow footsteps approaching and only looks up from her work when the person stands before her desk.

Her gaze is caught by gray eyes under striking eyebrows. The man before her is impeccably dressed, his long gray hair gathered in an elegant braid. Her breath catches briefly—why, she's not exactly sure.

"Good evening. You must be Maria, the one in charge of the exhibition on medieval manuscripts.."

"Yes, that's me. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr..."

"Kruspe. But please, just call me Richard. I must say, the way you handle these artifacts with such care and reverence is truly admirable."

"Ah, this name rings a bell. So I guess you're the one who lent this beautiful manuscript to the museum? I just believe each piece has a story to tell, and it's our duty to ensure they're heard."

"Quite poetic, Maria. I couldn't agree more. Your passion for art is evident."

"Well, it's hard not to be passionate when surrounded by such beauty and history."

"Your enthusiasm for this topic seems to be quite strong. It's quite... captivating to see."

"Oh, thank you...That's very kind of you to say."

"It's merely an observation. Anyway, I won't take up any more of your time. I'll leave you to your work."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Richard. If you have any questions about the exhibition, feel free to ask."

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

How the obsession evolves:

Richard finds himself lingering around the museum more often, drawn to Maria's presence. He battles with his desires, knowing the consequences of succumbing to his vampiric instincts - as it already demanded a loved one of his as a victim over a century ago.

Maria notices Richard's frequent visits and begins to feel a mixture of curiosity and unease. Despite his polite demeanor, there's something unsettling about his gaze.

One restless night, Richard's longing for her reaches a tipping point. He stands outside her home, conflicted yet unable to resist the pull any longer. With a heavy heart and trembling hands, he makes a decision that will change both their lives forever, and takes her while she sleeps with him to his New York penthouse, determined to not let her go.

Maria is faced with the task of coming to terms with her new life situation - her new home, a modern golden cage, with a man who anticipates her every wish, who tries to make her life as comfortable as possible, yet... remains silent. He barely speaks to her, and inside him, the conflict between obsession and guilt simmers. It's as if he's denying himself access to his greatest longing. At night, she hears him restlessly pacing on the rooftop, and even though she tries to initiate a conversation, gently understanding his melancholy, she only meets with a few polite words and sad eyes - as if he's punishing her for his decision.

Richard's wrestles with the fear of repeating past tragedies, haunted by memories of the girl he loved and lost to his own monstrous nature. But one night, he gathers his courage: he reveals his dark nature to her, shares with her his past - and contrary to the expected rejection, he encounters understanding and deep emotions.

[graceandfamily]

Autograph Letter Signed, 'Grace de Monaco', Paris, 13 October 1977

This letter may have something to do with the documentary, Once Upon a Time… is Now Grace Kelly, a BBC production which premiered on 11 December 1977. to Mr Brown [Barry Brown, BBC TV], 'I was distressed to hear of the terrible saga of your tv tape that you very kindly wanted to send me - if you would put it on film - no one would believe it! I can't tell you how sorry I am that this misunderstanding could have been dragged on so long and only regret that it was not brought to my attention earlier', concluding that she was pleased that the series was well received, 2 pages, some ink smudging on both pages not affecting signature or legibility, staple holes and slight creasing to top left corner, 8vo, together with the original post-marked envelope addressed in Grace's hand.

[impending-day]

arknights ids i'd give the lcb sinners

im gonna break this post into sections to explain my reasoning. therefore im warning u now this post will be Long. if u like arknights and limbus ur in luck.

table of contents:

how the ids are obtained

what the ids are

extra notes

how the ids are obtained

so we know the hallways right. in the back of mephistopheles. i like to imagine that dante sees a little floaty thing and follows it until it leads to... the doctors office! like the arknights doctor. and the two can just Understand each other with the power of gacha game protagonists who are nonbinary and amnesiacs.

so naturally they trade gacha currency [1300 orundum to dante, 1600 lunacy to the doctor].

which leads to dantes orundum pull from mephis engine giving them black id bars instead of the usual brown, red, or gold. because originium is black wahoo. and also they have the star rarity rating instead of the 0s. because i said so.

so now theres arknights ids in limbus. wahoo

what the ids are

the moment youve all been waiting for. what the hell are these ids gonna be anyways?

yi sang: phantom. it works in my brain alright

faust: skadi. has a double-side that registers as skadi the corrupting heart, so like 2 ids in one. idk how itd work in game but idrc

don quixote: wild mane. you cannot tell me otherwise

ryoshu: flamebringer. it WORKS alright. it works.

meursault: executor. i know its not the right weapon type but i just gotta okay. its true and canon. also has the alter

hong lu: saga. tbh idk much abt hong lu and idrc abt him so im mostly going by weapon type

heathcliff: broca. mr mafia man. rargh

ishmael: irene. give her a gun

rodion: blaze. most of the operators i have written that r similar to her are 4stars but i dont wanna be mean

emil sinclair: specter. get that boy a pizza cutter. also has the two sides

outis: ch'en. was this one obvious. itd be funny if she didnt get the alter but for consistencys sake she can have it

gregor: młynar. tired newspaper uncle is now roach man. have fun

extra notes

this is all for fun. and also my own idea. so if u have an issue with it talk 2 the hand [/j feel free to comment if u have any ideas u wanna share but just know ive been bonkers crazy abt arknights for over 3 years dawg u aint talkin me out of some of these very easily]

also we do know that arknights ids are possible given that vergilius = amiya thanks to the april fools event. so do with that what you will.

[bogglebabbles]

Chilly morning so I had the heating pad beneath the blanket, and our dear Mrs. Browne was very pleased with the development.

[ao3feed-johnnylawrence]

King For a Day Fool For a Lifetime

by Hideousvampire Great things happen to Daniel and everything is awesome!!!!!!! trust me no one gets hit by a car — reminder that you dont have to read anything else in the series to read this Words: 1773, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English Series: Part 4 of The Dutch saga Fandoms: Karate Kid (Movies), Cobra Kai (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Daniel LaRusso, Bobby Brown (Karate Kid), Tommy (Karate Kid), Original Cobra Kai Students, Mr. Miyagi (Karate Kid) Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence, Dutch/Jimmy (Karate Kid), Bobby Brown & Dutch & Jimmy & Daniel LaRusso & Johnny Lawrence & Tommy Additional Tags: Crack, most unserious thing ever beware, live laugh love dutch my favorite dude, the car., dumb shit happens no joke, nothing makes sense, mr miyagi appears sometime dont worry just a lil later, FAITH NO MORE REFERENCE!!!!!!!!!!!, its the title, Other Additional Tags to Be Added via https://ift.tt/5j2kdAF

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whump Prompts VG Edition 👀

Victoria and Sonic the Hedgehog please

(I have an unhealthy obsession with Victoria)

(in reference to this prompt game)

It's ok love I have it too

Sonic the Hedgehog: Chased

Forsaken: The Doomed City Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 2,500

CW: guns, gunshot wounds, blood, captivity, running, chased, lying, deception, death, swearing, guilt

Taglist: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

A/N: The saga of the superhero squad continues! Victoria, having just cut ties with feared telepath Whisper, delivers a message to atmokinetic Blizzard, the woman who currently holds Sam in custody. When we last saw Sam, she was recovering from hypothermia, and ominously told to "save her strength for the arena." Will Victoria rescue Sam from Blizzard's clutches, or will she become a prisoner herself?

~~~~~~~~~~

“I wish to speak with Blizzard. I have a message from Whisper.” Victoria waved the note at the woman who’d opened the door to the building taken over by Blizzard.

“I’ll see to it that she receives it,” the woman said, reaching for the paper.

Victoria snatched it out of reach and shook her head. “The message must go from my hands to hers. Whisper’s orders. Or are you suggesting I disobey him?”

The woman paled. “N-no… of course not.” She stepped aside, and Victoria slipped past her into the building. “Julian will escort you.”

Victoria thanked her as Julian, a man in his late twenties or early thirties with dark brown hair, approached as the woman waved him over. He appeared unassuming, but Victoria knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving. Something about the way he carried himself, however….

She’d seen him before.

Very briefly, and in passing, but he was unmistakably one of the people guarding the old vault when she and her friends had broken in seeking a specific part for the device. He’d had a hand in capturing Sam. What is he doing here?

If Julian recognized Victoria, he didn’t show it, nodding wordlessly to the stairs before setting off. He didn’t check to see if she followed him. Perhaps he has enhanced senses like Ollie? Or maybe he assumes I won’t wander off….

Her mind was a whirlwind of possibilities as she followed him into the stairwell—in surprisingly good condition given the derelict state of the building’s exterior—and she almost ignored when he started to descend the stairs, instead of ascending as she’d expected. The vault had been halfway across the city. The only reason Victoria knew it belonged to Blizzard at all was because of Ollie’s detective skills pre-raid. 

They descended deeper into the lower levels of Blizzard’s building. It went further than Victoria had first assumed, yet the lower floors were still in use. The number of people passing them on their way up from below was enough of an indicator.

The location and contents of the vault had been difficult to dig up. Which meant Julian was in a particularly trusted circle. Which in turn meant his powers—and Victoria was certain he had powers, her particular situation was just a fluke—were not something to be underestimated. She wracked her brain, trying to recall if she’d seen him do anything that would count as such powers.

No use. She’d only gotten a glimpse of him. Not enough information to form a proper threat analysis.

Julian led her down ever deeper until they reached the bottom of the stairwell. Before them was a door marked LL4. Four below-ground levels? What kind of building had this used to be? And what did Blizzard use it for now? For that matter, how did Blizzard afford the sheer amount of electricity required to power the lights on these floors? The only available electricity since the city got cut off came from those with the power to generate lightning. It wasn’t a rare ability, but it wasn’t exactly common either, and the cost to keep the lights on in her team’s apartment alone was as high as the dome around the city.

“Why does Blizzard have her office so deep underground?” Victoria asked as Julian pushed open the door. It swung open to reveal a foreboding hallway, several doors branching off into unknown rooms or further hallways. The hallway ended in what appeared to be… a metal blast door?

“She doesn’t,” he said, motioning for her to enter first, “this is just where she is right now.”

Victoria slowly nodded as she moved past him, half-expecting him to slam the door behind her, locking her in.

He didn’t, but that didn’t lessen the uneasiness coiling in her stomach as he softly closed the door and moved to take the lead again. Victoria half-expected him to head for the blast door, but he instead gravitated towards one of the side doors. As Julian reached for the handle, however, the muffled sound of a crash came from inside.

Victoria jumped at the sudden noise, and Julian froze, expression caught between shock, fear, and concern. The moment passed with another crash, and he sprang into action, opening the door and charging in.

The interior room was chaos. It was once a neat hospital room, but now it was a swirling mess of wind and snow, any furniture knocked over and in pieces. Two people struggled in the center of the room: a woman with long, white hair who had to have been Blizzard and a younger woman with short blonde hair matted with blood and dirt.

Victoria couldn’t make out the younger woman’s face from her angle, but with the amount of cuts and bruises and blood covering her, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Wind whipped around the pair, howling in Victoria's ears as the younger woman gained the upper hand, throwing Blizzard to the floor and punching her in the face.

Victoria reached for her guns, but Julian reacted faster, raising both hands, not in a fighting stance, but as if he was trying to lift—

The younger woman was suddenly lifted from the ground and thrown across the room by an unseen force, slamming into the far wall.

Telekinetic!

“Are you alright, ma’am?” Julian asked, his voice almost lost in the noise of the wind as he focused on keeping the younger woman pinned to the wall. She thrashed against the force of his powers and screamed incoherent words to no avail. Victoria frowned. Why does her voice sound so—

The wind immediately vanished, the snow falling to the floor, covering everything in white. Blizzard slowly picked herself up off the floor, staring daggers at the younger woman. She sported two black eyes, one partially healed, and several bruises marred the skin of her cheeks and forehead. She angrily wiped away the blood trailing from a split lip as she faced Victoria.

“Who is this?”

“Messenger from Whisper,” Julian said softly. At the mention of Whisper’s name, the younger woman went silent, eyes on Victoria. Her stomach churned as she stepped inside the room, broken glass crunching under her feet, as she held out the folded piece of paper, as she slowly realized why the blonde woman was so familiar. She was covered in blood, bruises, and cuts, the skin of her knuckles had split and her hands were stained red, but the resemblance was unmistakable.

Sam.

Blizzard snatched the paper from Victoria’s hand and unfolded it, sour expression growing darker as she scanned its contents. “The hell’s this? A threat?”

Victoria shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “I don’t know. I’m just a messenger.”

“‘Just a messenger’, hmm?” Blizzard cocked her head, piercing eyes scrutinizing, searching. “I can see the look in your eyes, the way your fingers are twitching, itching to grab those guns of yours. You have another mission, don’t you?”

It took all of Victoria’s willpower not to look at Sam. She swallowed, mouth dry. “Yes.”

Blizzard clicked her fingers. Julian raised his eyebrows, but obeyed, lowering his hands. Without warning, the force holding Sam vanished, sending her to the floor. She groaned in pain and curled up in the fetal position. What did they do to her?

Victoria didn’t have time to dwell on the state of her friend, because not one but both of her guns rose out of their holsters and floated inches from her head, safeties clicking off as one. Two scalpels and several shards of glass added themselves to the arsenal of weapons, darting to the doorway behind her, cutting off any chance of escape.

Judging from the look of intense focus on Julian’s face, this was the extent of his telekinesis. Not that the information would be helpful at the moment.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and looked Blizzard in the eye. “Yes, the message is a threat. Yes, I have my own mission. Why else would Whisper send me, instead of his preferred messengers?”

“What you have is a death wish.”

Victoria watched from her peripherals as Sam slowly pushed herself to her knees, breathing heavily but otherwise silent. “No. I was planning to bargain with you, exchange information, or work, for something I want that you have.”

Blizzard chuckled. “And what is that?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Victoria replied, heartbeat hammering in her ears as Sam rose to her feet, her eyes brimming with uncontrolled rage. “Because you cannot be reasoned with.”

“‘Cannot be reasoned with’? Ha!” Blizzard laughed, a harsh sound lacking in true mirth. The paper in her hand crumpled as she dug her fingers into it. “That’s rich coming from someone who broke into my vault.”

Victoria’s heart skipped a beat. She frowned. “A vault? What vault?”

Blizzard smirked. “Don’t play coy with me, Victoria. Your friend insisted you’d do anything to get her back. Guess she was right. Although…” She made a show of checking behind Victoria. “I don’t see either of your other friends here. Are they skulking around upstairs while you play at messenger? Whisper wouldn’t take too kindly to impersonating one of his own.” Behind Blizzard, Sam stiffened and glanced at Victoria with a quizzical look.

Victoria almost wished she’d kept the mark just to wave it in Blizzard’s face. No. No more ties with Whisper. “They’re currently taking care of… business… upstairs.” For the first time since she’d handed the message over to Blizzard, Victoria made eye contact with Sam. “And it’s high time we join them.”

Understanding dawned on Sam’s face, followed by an uncharacteristically twisted glee as she turned and charged, catching Julian by surprise and tackling him to the ground. The weapons, no longer suspended by his focus, plummeted to the ground.

Victoria snatched her guns from the air and turned them on Blizzard, firing as soon her fingers touched the triggers. The first bullet tore through her throat in a sickening spray of blood, the second embedded itself in her stomach. The combined force of both bullets flung her back, and she crumpled to the floor, scarlet blood bubbling from her lips and pooling from the wound in her neck. It hissed as it made contact with the snow on the ground.

Julian screamed, a raw, guttural sound, and Victoria looked up just as Sam collided with the far wall again with an audible thud. The telekinetic’s expression was contorted in rage, and every sharp object in the room rose from the floor, every last one pointed at Sam.

Victoria didn’t hesitate, re-cocking, aiming, and firing in almost a single motion. She'd aimed at his heart, but Julian noticed it at the last minute and tried in vain to deflect it. The bullet hit his shoulder instead. He cried out and stumbled back, the broken glass shattering on the ground once more.

She considered shooting him again, but logic forced her to notice the shouting from nearby and how far they were from the nearest exit. And given the way the telekinetic was trying and failing to raise a nearby glass shard for more than a moment, he was no longer a threat. 

Victoria slipped one of her guns into its holster before crossing the room and pulling Sam to her feet. “You okay?”

Sam hissed through her teeth. “I feel like shit, but it’ll heal. The others are upstairs?”

“No.”

“Then where—?”

Victoria glanced over her shoulder. “Not here. I need you to trust me, and not ask questions. We need to get out of here. Is there any way out beside the stairwell?”

“The hell would I know—?” Sam began before cutting herself off. “That’s a lie, I think I do know.”

“Another way out?” Victoria nervously bounced on her toes as the shouting grew louder.

Sam moved past her, ignoring Blizzard’s corpse as she stepped out into the hallway. Victoria followed and blinked in surprise as Sam headed for the blast door. Muffled shouts and screams echoed from behind it. Victoria expected to see a keypad or something similar on the door, but there was only a switch with two buttons.

“What’s behind the door?”

Sam ignored the question, placing a finger over one of the buttons. “I’ll explain later. But when I push this button, an alarm’s gonna go off, and then we’re gonna run. Got it?”

Victoria holstered her other gun. “Got it.” At the back of her mind, she remembered Whisper’s warning. As someone who’s been to see her recently and seen her thoughts… her mental condition is deteriorating. Sam certainly didn’t look like someone whose ‘mental condition was deteriorating’. Then again, that kind of thing wouldn’t necessarily be visible on the surface. Perhaps Whisper was lying.

She held onto the slim hope as Sam pressed the button. As the alarm began to blare, loud and shrill. As the blast door began to rise. As Sam sprinted down the hallway, seizing Victoria’s arm and dragging her along. 

She only got a small glimpse of the people on the other side before she was forced to turn and run.

But it was enough.

Victoria’s heartbeat pounded in her ears as she tried to keep up with Sam, who had an iron grip on her arm. Sam had always been the strongest, the fastest, but this was different. Victoria remembered that Sam had always held back, afraid that if she pushed too hard, someone would get hurt. 

Not so anymore.

The stairs were the worst part. Victoria’s thighs and calves burned with each flight, her chest heaved with each agonizing breath, and the coppery taste of blood was heavy in her mouth.

“The gladiators are escaping!” Sam shouted at the first group of people they came across, heavily armed with weapons and powers. She pointed down the stairwell. “We gotta block the door before they get up here!”

The one in the lead paused, confusion and suspicion on his face. “What? Where’s Blizzard?”

Sam looked him in the eye, grim expression made stark by the blood dripping down her face. “Blizzard’s dead.”

The leader stumbled back, tripping over the previous stair in his surprise, but Sam didn’t give him or any other member of the group time to process. “The rest of us will be too if we don’t get that damned door barricaded! You hear me?!”

Victoria stared, wide-eyed, as the group straightened instinctively and retreated up the stairs. “...the hell was that?”

Sam hurried after them, still tightly gripping Victoria’s shoulder. “I’ll explain that when we’re out. After you explain why the hell you came here alone.”

As soon as they exited the stairwell, the group’s leader commandeered every article of furniture in the lobby and sent messengers to the upper floors to block them too. Victoria and Sam didn’t stick around to see if the barricades worked, instead slipping out the front door while everyone was distracted.

The moment they left the building, Victoria took off running again despite her aching legs. She knew a place they could lie low and recuperate… but she also dreaded the moment they arrived, dreaded the questions that Sam would ask. Questions where she would be forced to make a choice: lie to one of her closest friends, or drive Sam away with the truth.

It would have to be the truth. Victoria was done lying.

Even if it meant she would be alone again.

[palmtreesx3]

King of Wishful Thinking - Pt 1

1974

Steve Harrington x Reader

The ongoing saga of Steve Harrington's declarations of love for you being discouragingly, hilariously and ironically stolen from him.

|| Series Masterlist || Next (1978)

Summary: Steve Harrington meets you on the playground in 1974 and the first of many opportunities slip right through his fingers.

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It was on the playground, hot summer sun still hanging on for dear life, where Steve Harrington first saw you. The kind of afternoon where your skin burned on the way down the metal slide and the teachers, all huddled around the picnic benches comparing new students and reminiscing about sweet summer escapades, are too distracted after a long first week of the school year to notice your tears. 

But he noticed. Watched as you tried to hold back the water in your glassy eyes. Watched as you twirled the end of your pigtail between your thumb and forefinger to soothe and distract yourself. Watched as you wandered over to the shade of the tree to curl up and sit by yourself. 

Steve wasn't really sure what it was about you, but he felt the overwhelming urge to go and check and be sure that the girl with the bows in her hair and the rosey, sun-kissed cheeks was okay. Little Steve Harrington, dressed in shorts, his little league Tshirt and tube socks falling more loose than they should around his lanky legs came up along the tree and stood, unnoticed for some time. He was there, toeing stones around in the dirt gathered at the tree roots, about to turn back around when he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

Little hand now wrapped around his leftover fruit snacks from lunch, shoved deep in his pocket for later, he knew just what to do. He tugged at his socks, tickling where they bunched up around his ankles and when he felt presentable, he moved around the tree trunk - arm outstretched with the pack of snacks on display.

You peered up through your eyelashes at this disheveled looking boy, everything he's wearing not fitting him quite right and his slightly unruly hair sticking out haphazardly from behind his ears. He was grinning, looking back and forth between your eyes and his offering held out to you. He noticed that your eyes are not as glassy anymore, but they're red from rubbing. Your cheeks are still flushed from the heat and you are sitting there, hugging your knees while the edges of your pleated skirt drags through the dirt, leaving an orange-brown tinge in it's wake. 

You shuffled up to your feet, wiping under your nose with the back of your hand. The quick motion startles Steve a bit and he's so stinking embarrassed as he drops the pack of snacks into the grass. But then you giggle and it's the first time he's actually seen you smile. All teeth and dimples dug in deep on both cheeks. He can't help but grin back. He crouched down to snatch up the package from between blades of sun-scorched grass, stepped towards you and put the package in your empty hand. 

Just as Steve opened his mouth to ask you what your name is, tell you his, ask if you're doing okay…  Miss Johanson called for him. He notices she sounds exasperated. She's been looking for him all around the playground for the past 5 minutes and at this point, she's losing patience that he's not yet in line like the rest of her class. His mouth still gaping open from the unsaid babbling of a child, he looked over to her standing on the blacktop, hands on her hips. 

As he turns back to the space in the shade, expecting to see you still standing there so he can finally spit it all out before he gets reprimanded any more for making his class late, you're already gone. Dirtied skirt skimming the angry red burn on the back of your thighs, pigtails sailing through the air as you run towards your group, lined up at the door on the opposite side. It's then that he hears Mrs Mitchell shout your name. 

Steve Harrington still remembers that day. He remembers how absolutely stupid he felt after his teacher interrupted the most perfect meeting. One you could tell your kids about as they grow bigger. The kind of story you tell over and over again when people throughout your life ask "How did you two meet?" He laughs when he thinks back on it now, because of course It played out the way it did. Of course there's no story to tell.

He should have taken Miss Johanson's interruption as a sign. He should have expected that every moment he tried to tell this angelic, wild, strong, perfect girl something important - something he felt with all his soul - would just get ripped away from him. Like the fruit snacks in the grass, Steve Harrington seems to be spending a lifetime with you slipping right through his fingers.

[moonextinguisher]

S10 E10: The Serpent Within

This was really an all-time low. What were they thinking while writing this? Are we really supposed to believe that to investigate the accusations against Sullivan they will sent in the officer Sullivan is due to testify against? Really?

And Sullivan saying “There’s no way she would have exposed herself to such a risk if I wasn’t cooped up in here”. Seriously? Mrs Devine has done nothing but meddle in every investigation regardless of who was the suspect/in jail. Every opportunity needs to be taken in order to demonstrate her fabulous (#cough#cough#) acting capacities (merely consisting of exaggerated facial expressions). This time it was not different with reviving her Adelaide from Guys and Dolls (whilst there was no reason to dress up, she still insisted) claiming to pass on as early 30s (early 50s is more like it). And even when Father Brown warns them and insists they’d be careful all Mrs Devine can say is “This is going to be so much fun”. She is a delusional, self-centred airhead.

If Sullivan is to be with a woman, she should be a classy, sophisticated, educated beautiful lady who will intrigue him and keep him guessing for a while whether he has her interest or not and make him chase after her. So the complete opposite of Mrs Devine. Her chasing after/hitting on Sullivan because she is in dire need of a ‘knight in shining armour’ is cringe worthy. With forcing Mrs Devine on Sullivan writers have completely ruined his return. If this is the hill the BBC-Father Brown-writers wish to die on, than they can do so without me. As far as I’m concerned the Father Brown saga ended with episode 10 of season 9 because I cannot watch a murder mystery if I have to be on guard all the time to mute/fast forward horrible romance scenes.