#she’s chewing him up like a rag doll as soon as he’s home and he’s giggling and kicking his feet the whole time

[bottomvalerius]

I gotta

I gotta write Neeja giving Sam the strap wait

[seijorhi]

Could u do something w the reader finally breaking away from dabi only to realize that she has absolutely nothing and needs him?? Idk maybeee?? Sorry if this is a trash req 🤡🤡🤡nanshsjanzbdsiminsecurejsbsjsn

Bby, no!! Not a trash request at all 💕

Dabi x female reader

TW implied abuse, implied non-con, Stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, reader has some issues

Warmth

It’s been raining for a while, the droplets falling like sleet in the howling wind, soaking you to your skin.

You haven’t moved.

Sitting on the cold pavement, arms wrapped loosely around your knees, you try again. You take a deep breath, open up your palm and bite your lip…

White petals bloom, a daisy unfurling in your trembling hand-

And wilts, just as quickly.

You don’t have the energy left to cry as you slowly let the rotting flower fall to the asphalt. It joins the countless others littering the ground around you, dead before they ever really grew.

They used to bloom in the cracks of the pavement as you walked by.

Is this what a year without using your Quirk does? Or is it just… is it just you that’s broken?

A siren wails somewhere in the distance, but you pay it no mind. The city’s a dangerous place - you know that better than most, but tonight it doesn’t bother you. In the midst of a storm, tucked away down an alley with a broken streetlight you’re all but invisible to those not looking.

And nobody’s looking. You’re nothing but a shadow here.

Another gust of wind blows past and you shiver, pulling the thick, black hoodie tighter around yourself - for all the good that it does. Even the rain hasn’t washed away its lingering scent of smoke, whiskey and menthol. It wraps around you like a vice squeezing you tight, but it’s familiar in its own way. He’d only been wearing it the night before, his arm slung over your shoulders as the two of you spent the night drinking at the bar. Well, he drank - you nursed yours all night long, only taking tiny sips whenever those cerulean eyes flickered pointedly over. He knows you don’t like to drink, especially around them, but he seems to find it mildly amusing to drag you with him when they go out regardless.

You’d grabbed it without a second thought as you’d sprinted out of the bedroom. You could hardly go running down the street in pretty lace panties and an oversized wife beater.

The warmth of the afternoon sun, the soft breeze that tickled at your skin as you ran, it’d felt like heaven. Freedom. Even as fear and paranoia chewed at your guts and pushed you forwards it was… exhilarating. You wanted to laugh almost as much as you wanted to cry - from happiness or grief or an overwhelming, indecipherable mix of both, you honestly couldn’t say.

How quickly that joy turned to ash.

“Oh no, honey. They moved out - when was it, dear… maybe six months back?” the elderly woman turned to her husband, who nodded sagely.

“Yep, ‘bout then. It’s such a shame, I hear somethin’ awful happened to their daughter. Killed in a Villain attack if I remember rightly?” he mused. “I think it must have been too painful to stay, but I suppose…”

The rest of his words had faded into white noise.

Dead.

He’d never said a word about your family, but you’d always thought… some part of you hoped that they were out there searching for you, waiting for you to come home. And even when he stuck that Quirk cancelling cuff around your ankle, when his lips burned against yours as he moved inside of you, you held onto that hope so tight.

But the home you’d dreamed of is gone.

Your life is… gone.

And what’s left of those pretty daydreams? You’re nothing but a ghost. No money, no possessions, no clothes but the ones and your back and even those aren’t really yours at all. You have nothing.

Even your Quirk, the pretty parlour trick that it was, has abandoned you.

So why bother moving? The rain is icy as it lashes at your skin and there’s a gnawing ache in your stomach - you haven’t eaten since last night.

You have nothing left.

More dead petals fall and you hug yourself tighter, sniffling under the downpour. Where were you supposed to go?

Did Dabi know that the rest of the world had moved on without you? He’d never brought up your family or your friends, not even to threaten them when you acted out. It was as if the moment he’d stolen you away, they ceased to exist. You were his now, and that was all that should have mattered to you. He wasn’t wrong, you suppose. Everyone likes to believe that they’re special, irreplaceable but… they’re not. You’re not.

Except, maybe, to him.

“Mine,” he growls, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other entwined with yours as he fucks you into the worn down mattress. “My girl, my fucking- hah - my fuckin’ babydoll.” He steals another kiss, always too rough, too much teeth and tongue, but the heating broke last week and Dabi is so, so warm.

He’s softer, later. One arm slung over your waist, your bare back flush to his chest. There’s a brand on your hip, and his fingers trace it idly. “We’re leavin’ this shithole soon,” he murmurs after a while. “Heroes sticking their noses where they don’t belong and all that crap, gotta lay low for a little while. Means I’m gonna be home a little more than usual, but… ” he breaks off, and you can feel his lips curl into a smirk as they brush along your neck, “you don’t mind that, do you, babe?”

We. Always we. From the moment he’d stolen you - saved you, in a twisted turn of events you preferred not to linger on - there was never a doubt in his mind that your future was his. Whether it was with the League or going at it alone, your place would always be with him.

He stole you. Kept you chained to his bed, fucked you until you were a babbling mess and burned his name into your skin. He hurt you when you acted up and sometimes just because he liked the way you looked, all scared and trembling in his arms. He teased you mercilessly and forced his love onto you at any and every opportunity, but-

“You know I’m never gonna let you go, right?”

He’s said it enough times that you don’t stiffen anymore, but you roll over regardless to meet those burning blue eyes. “Why?” you whisper.

Dabi’s silent for a little while, staring at you. You’ve been with him for months now, and not a day has gone past that you haven’t wondered, but never once have you asked him.

Afraid of the answer, maybe.

You still don’t know what possessed him to step in that day, whether that was truly the start of this obsessive mess, or merely the tipping point.

Eventually he shrugs, “‘cause you need me,” he says, like it’s a simple fact - an undeniable truth of the universe, “and I fuckin’ need you.”

You should hate him, and maybe a part of you does, but when the air around you crackles and blue flames flicker to life a few feet away, it’s not fear that races through your heart.

Dabi’s soaking wet, his normally wild black hair plastered to his skin, his ragged tee translucent and hugging the toned muscles of his abdomen - even his flames sizzle ominously under the deluge, but if the downpour bothers him, he doesn’t show it.

His cerulean eyes are fixed firmly on you - huddled in the corner, pale and trembling, illuminated only by the soft glow of his Quirk - and the grin on his face is almost manic.

“Time to come home now, doll, don’tcha think?”

It’s almost definitely a threat. You know him well enough by now to recognise the rage that blazes under that too wide smile.

You could try and run. See how far you make it before those pretty blue flames reach you. You might even be lucky - if you’re quick enough, maybe you could lose him in the dark warrens of the city’s underbelly.

But as you rise to your feet, soaked to your skin, teeth chattering and shaking like drowned rat, you don’t.

It’s a cold night, and Dabi is so, so warm.

[inlovewiththefictionalcharacters]

COERCION AND HAVEN

Chapter - 9 : Lockdown Mode

Pairing: (dark) Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning(s):  MCU spoilers; Slowburn;  Stalking; Obsession; Non - con; Dubious content; Kidnapping; Sexual themes; Strictly 18+; Somnophilia; Manipulation; Any more required warnings will be added in the upcoming chapters.

*****

Series Masterlist

*****

*****

Two weeks went by since that night and each and every day have left Y/N in uncomfortable state. Steve was usually sweet and attentive to her, doting on her like a caring partner does, to the point it sometimes suffocated her. She felt strange, having someone do things for her when all these years, she has struggled all by herself. 

Her ankle, for the most part has healed, but not completely. The swelling has went down, but she did feel some pain shoot through it whenever she kept pressure on her leg. She was feeling a lot better for the most part. 

She was in the living room downstairs, going through the channels when Steve walked in, just coming home from his daily run.

“Good morning, doll. How are you feeling today?” he asked, standing behind the couch she was seated in, making her jump in her seat.

She quickly turned her head and blinked at him.

“I’m feeling pretty good, thank you” she replied him.

That’s what he does everyday. Ask her how she’s feeling whenever he got back home from his morning run. Her reply will be followed by a “I’ll go have a shower and get the breakfast ready” after which comes a kiss to her head. The last part making her go still in uneasiness. 

*****

The both of them were sitting in the dining room, having breakfast when she brought the topic yet again. Every time she brought the topic of her going back to her place up, he’d dismissively say “You’re not healed yet, Y/N” and divert the topic from there.

“Umm... Steve?” she asked after swallowing a forkful of pancakes, looking at him, sitting adjacent to her.

“Yes doll?” he asked, looking at her.

She cleared her throat, hoping she could come across to him without being dismissed yet again.

“I’m feeling pretty good, today. I’m doing well since a couple of days” she told him.

Steve smiled, his gorgeous blue eyes shining.

“That’s pretty good doll” he nodded, taking another forkful of pancakes into his mouth and chewing on them.

“So umm...” she trailed off, looking at him.

He looked at her and tilted his head curiously, wondering what she wanted to say.

“So uh... I was wondering if I could return back to my place-” she was saying, but Steve cut her off, asking “Why?” with a frown on his face.

She frowned back, hearing him and said “Since I’m doing well now... I was hoping to go back to work as soon as possible.”

Steve stood up, having finished his breakfast.

“You’re not going anywhere doll” he said, actually meaning it and took his plate into the kitchen and placed it in the sink.

Her heart stopped hearing it. Surely, he wanted to say something more, she told herself.

“But-” Y/N started, but he cut her off, saying “No buts. You’re not going anywhere. End of the discussion” getting irked with the flow of the conversation.

“Steve, I’m grateful for everything you did and are doing for me. You took care of me, provided me everything that I could ever possibly need and I’m forever grateful for it, but I don’t wanna be an overstay. You have a life of your own and I don’t want to be an impose over you. I have already wasted too much of your time-” she was saying and he cut her off, yet again.

“No matter what you say, I’m not changing my mind, doll” he said with a scowl.

He stooped down so that he’s face-to-face with her and grabbed her arm, his grip firm, yet gentle.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re not leaving this house and I fucking mean it” he told her, making her eyes go wide in fear.

He then let go off her arm and walked out of there. He marched towards the front door, grabbed his jacket. 

He stopped in front of the front door and said “F.R.I.D.A.Y., please implement lockdown mode as soon as I leave the house, until I’m back. Y/N should not leave the house and the front doors should only be opened by me. I want time-to-time updates on what she’s doing when I’m away, sent to me” wearing the jacket.

“Okay Captain Rogers. Lockdown mode initiated” F.R.I.D.A.Y. stated and a second later, added “Lockdown mode ready to be implemented.”

Y/N walked out of the dining room and stood in the hallway, staring at him in fear when he stepped out of the house. He turned around to shut the door but paused looking at her.

“I’ll be back later, doll” he told her and before she could utter even a syllable, he closed the door shut.

“Implement lockdown mode” Steve said.

Inside, Y/N heard the sound of windows and possibly the backdoor being shut too and then, she heard the female robotic voice again, saying “Lockdown mode implemented.”

*****

A few minutes after Steve left, Y/N tried to open the windows to get some fresh air, that will hopefully ease her mind. But the windows didn’t even budge when she tried to push them open.

Whenever she did that, she heard a “You do not have access to it, right now” from the same female robotic voice that scared the daylights out of her, the first night she was there.

Sighing in displeasure, Y/N decided to just step out of the house for some time and walked towards the front door and tried turning the knob and that too didn’t budge, but instead, she heard “You do not have permission to access the door, Mrs. Rogers.”

Y/N immediately stilled hearing it and she was pretty sure that her heart stopped too. Surely, the AI didn’t say what she thought she heard. She must have misheard it. That should be it. Or she’s turning delusional and she’s not okay with that. 

After a gulp, Y/N asked “What did you... What did you just say, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“That you do not have permission to access the door, Mrs. Rogers” the AI replied.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck?! Mrs. Rogers? Why am I being addressed as Mrs. Rogers?! Y/N’s mind raced.

“W-why?” she asked, her voice wavering.

“Captain Rogers wanted to implement lockdown mode until he’s back, Mrs. Rogers. Nothing inside could go out and nothing outside can come in without his permission” the AI replied. 

She immediately fell down to her knees and slowly sat down on the floor, crossing her legs and her face in her hands. 

How did the day go so bad in such less time?

*****

By the Steve came back to the house, he was slightly pissed. F.R.I.D.A.Y. kept giving him time-to-time updates on what Y/N was doing and by the end, he was not pleased. 

After having that meltdown near the front door, Y/N tried to open the front door and the windows again. And when the windows didn’t budge even a bit, she threw a tantrum, wanting to get out of the place as soon as possible. She threw a vase at the window, hoping to break it, at least a small crack. The window looked spotless as always, but the floor was filled broken shards of the vase, water and roses and their petals.

She didn’t stop there. She even took a small wooden stool in the living room and tried to break the window again, but to no use. 

Steve saw the live feed of it on his phone and has been scowling since then. She even tried to talk to F.R.I.D.A.Y., trying to convince the AI by saying “Please let me out!” “I don’t wanna be here” and even went as far as saying “I’m being held here against my will.”

He scoffed when he saw her saying the last part. She was clutching the knob of the front door, knelt down in front of it and cried like a petulant toddler. He definitely need to have a long talk with her. 

When he made it to their home, he was quick to open the door and walked inside, calling her name. She didn’t respond though and that made him frown. He took a few more steps inside and called her name again.

Y/N was right beside the little drawer by the door, crouched down. Luckily for her, he didn’t close the door and as soon as he was a few steps inside, she jumped to her feet and ran out, barefoot. Steve, hearing the movement from behind him, looked back and saw her running out of the door.

He cursed and called her name, rushing behind her. She probably made a couple of steps away from the threshold before he collided against her back, wrapping his arms around her waist. She lost her footing and the force of him going against her knocked them down.

She wriggled under him, trying to get away with all her might, her fingers digging into the dirt and she kept chanting “Let me go. Let me go” in different intensities. With a sigh, he stood up and tried to make her stand, but she dug her fingers further into the ground.

“C’Mon doll” he told her but she shook her head, tears falling down her eyes.

Steve sighed in exasperation and grabbed her arm and pulled her up, making her yelp. He was quick to throw her over his shoulder like a rag doll and walked inside with her kicking and screaming for help.

[tracybirds]

I can officially switch the status of Being Known from “stuck” to “WIP” again :) It’s been over a year since the last update for various reasons but I’m very excited to go back to this one and provide a new chapter!

For those new to the story, this was prompted by @kenzie-running-free in March 2020 and slightly got out of hand 😅 I’ve never stopped thinking about it and I bit the bullet and deleted the entirety of Chapter Four a few days ago and let myself rewrite it from scratch.... and it WORKED!!! (use technique with caution... scariest thing I’ve ever done.....)

Anyway...

A ‘what-if’ story based on “The Man From TB5” where the Hood recognized John in the scene when he makes himself known (instead of John stuttering).... and then he gets kidnapped :)

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

-----------

Darkness bled into John’s line of vision and he scrubbed desperately at his aching eyes. Time collapsed around him as he worked, the abruptly extinguished bulb the only hint of night. And every new day seemed to bring new weariness as he jolted awake by the sudden onslaught of light which interrupted the deepest part of sleep.

Just another tactic to keep him from gathering his wits together.

This morning, if it was morning, the brightly burning bulb was coupled with the scraping sound of a breakfast tray being shoved through the small slot that had been crudely and hastily carved in the door after he’d lain in wait and brought the tray down over one of the guard’s head. He’d left the man stunned on the floor and made it all the way to the end of the corridor before another guard had grabbed him from behind and thrown him bodily back into the room.

He’d woken to security footage of a fire ravaging a building, his own family on screen.

“They’re not looking for you,” sneered the Hood as he swept from the room.

No guards came in anymore.

Two days later, he’d been savagely poked in the eye when he’d tried to look through the new slot that had been hastily added to his door.

He spent hours every day, searching for a way to send out a message, or even create another receiver. Any link to the outside world would do. But it soon became apparent that the Hood had done one thing right in giving him access to an isolated system, keeping the holomonitor he’d been provided with separate even from his own devices.

One thing right among many.

John peered at the screen with his good eye, wincing at the torn skin that pulled over bruised muscle. His head spun as he stared at the endless commands, trying to replicate the spark of life no-one had ever found before EOS.

Not even him.

And that was the rub of it all.

John didn’t know, not after all his time studying EOS and her abilities, just how she’d been born of code and logical absolutes. How she could grow and change and evaluate her own mind in a way that not only seemed human, but was unquestionably so.

He glanced at the clock he’d created from scratch, counting the oscillations in the electrical current and spitting back a digital time at him. This ‘morning’ truly did correspond with the morning, and that meant the Hood would be paying him a visit for an update.

He wasn’t sure how much more time he could stall for until things got truly desperate.

How much time he had until he had to conclude that he was truly on his own.

*                            *                            *

“Scott, the floor’s unstable there!”

“I know what I’m doing, Alan.”

“Yes, but I have the numbers,” Alan replied, his voice cracking as he spoke. He spun the holo in his hands, checking and double checking the analysis that was running under his fingertips.

“Then the numbers are wrong.”

“They can’t be!”

“Alan,” said Scott, patiently. “I need you to check the parameters over again. I’m seeing two trapped vehicles, with no sign of ground stress, both much larger than me and more importantly containing passengers. I need to get them out of there.”

“Yes, but hang on–”

“There’s no time!”

Alan watched in horror as his big brother barrelled forwards. He crouched low as he ran, grabbing at nearby pylons for support. The ground heaved beneath his feet, but still Scott moved forwards steady and sure. Always with his eyes on the scared little boy in the back seat and a gentle smile on his face.

An alert ticked over into the red.

“Jump, Scott!” he yelled, watching the model floor cave in a split second before a real sinkhole opened beneath Scott’s feet.

“Alan, what’s happening up there?” came Virgil’s urgent voice, bound for home with Gordon from their own rescue.

Alan flipped the channel, realising in his hurry he’d accidentally broadcast his message to everyone.

“He’s fine,” he said, eyes still wide as he watched Scott shakily stand on the other side of the chasm. “The floor went.”

“What?”

“He’s fine, he’s fine!”

“Didn’t you run the simulation?”

“I did,” said Alan, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “He wouldn’t listen.”

Silence fell over the space station.

“Hey Alan, can you pilot Thunderbird One over to us? Got my hands full here.”

Scott’s voice rang out loud and clear. Five clear thermal images were standing around him, including one in his arms.

Alan fumbled for the call button.

“F.A.B. Scott.”

“I’ll talk to him, Alan,” said Virgil. His eyes were focused beyond him, but Alan could read the quiet fury beneath the clear focus on his own piloting.

“I can’t do it, Virgil,” whispered Alan. “I must have done something wrong, there must have been something he could see that I couldn’t.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” interrupted Virgil.

“He never would have done this to…”

Alan’s voice failed him.

Twenty-two thousand miles below, Virgil choked back his own distress. Gordon was chewing at his lip, staring anxiously at Alan. He leaned forward so he was in view of the holo.

“Hey, Allie,” he said. “John’s gonna be okay. And he’ll be giving Scott hell for ignoring the modelling like that soon enough.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Absolutely, I do,” said Gordon, cracking a grin. “No way, John would let Scott get away with that crap. Not even if he had to haunt him for the rest of his life in ghostly fury to do it.”

“Is he wrapping up now?” asked Virgil, eyes still pinched.

Alan looked down at the display.

“Yeah, he’s on his way home.”

“Right. EOS?”

“Virgil?” Her quiet voice was sullen and more than a little distracted.

“Got room in your processors for another task?”

EOS’s lights flashed suddenly, and Alan’s blood ran cold at the sight. Three weeks he’d been stationed on board Thunderbird Five and he still found himself walking on eggshells around EOS. Her frustration at turning up nothing in the holonet that could lead them closer to John morphed quickly from long, silent sulks to short outbursts of flying bagels and spinning gravity rings. He’d never forgotten the sight of John floating limply like a rag doll that had been torn apart one too many times by a playful, thoughtless, destructive child.

An angry EOS felt too close to losing his brother for good.

“Will it help, John?”

“It’ll keep his brother alive, and that will make it more likely for us to find him.”

“What can I do?”

“Lock Scott out of his controls, Order TB2-5711FR. Make sure Alan gets to Tracy Island before him. Redirect all calls to local authorities in the first instance, follow Protocol 24.”

“I’m not leaving,” argued Alan. “Don’t pull me from duty, I can do better.”

“No arguments.”

Alan wilted, knowing he had no choice but to follow Virgil’s instructions.

“This is done, Virgil,” said EOS, blankly.

“Thank you, EOS,” said Virgil, his manner still stiff and terse. He shifted his gaze from the open ocean in front of him to Alan, his expression softening. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Alan. If Scott takes his life into his own hands, that’s not on you. But we can’t have him in the field like that, cutting corners to get back to finding John. So, we need you down here in his place.”

“You can’t pull Scott,” said Alan, his eyes wide. “What would… well, what would Scott say?”

“We’re doing him a favour,” remarked Gordon with a sarcastic twist of his lips that made a mockery of his usual grin. “He wants to find John, we all do, but if he’s willing to risk lives and rescues to do it then he should put his energy into searching and we shouldn’t stop him.”

Alan swallowed, his eyes filling with tears that he angrily swiped away.

“Does he think we’re not looking just as hard?” he asked. “We haven’t forgotten him. Have we?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alan,” said Virgil, firmly. “John would have our heads before we put the possibility of finding him above the certainty of ignoring people who need our help.”

“So, we keep going out there,” agreed Gordon. “And when, when Allie, Kayo and Lady P and Parker find something, and they will, we’ll be right there without a moment to lose.”

“I just don’t want him to think we’ve forgotten him.”

“John’s too smart for that,” said Gordon. “Promise you, Allie.”

*                            *                            *

He’d worked it out. Every time he did something to anger the Hood, innocent people paid for it in blood. There was no point in harming him directly, not when what the Hood wanted was inside his mind, ripe for extraction. But his heart and spirit could be broken, as a video feed periodically forced itself over his work to make him watch. Earthquakes, landslides, tidal waves, anything that would get International Rescue on the scene and off his scent.

Senseless destruction and despair epidemic across the world because he couldn’t make an AI fast enough.

But senseless destruction that he could use.

There was no doubt in his mind that his family knew the natural disasters were anything but, he could see it in the determined fury in Scott’s face, in the tense draw of Virgil’s shoulders, in the sardonic mockery in Gordon’s smile as he quietly pocketed yet another piece of equipment.

He didn’t see Alan, and he thought of his baby brother up in space often. None of his brothers had any real idea of the full extent of his contribution, no matter how grateful they were for his guidance, and he hated to know Alan would be forced into that knowledge.

He also suspected that when Alan did spill the beans, he’d find his own rotations scrutinised with a lot more care.

Still, the limited glimpses of his brothers did nothing to discourage him, and he found himself contemplating a plan of escape well into the long, cold nights.

He needed more information.

He needed access to an external holonet connection. And the only way he’d get near one was with a working AI.

Or something that could pass for a few minutes as one.

[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

Virgil Angst Sh** (1)

Description: Alternative of the Strangers au where the necklaces are never uncovered and Virgil is stuck with Romulus

Warnings: Physical and Emotional Abuse, Toxic Relationship, Memory Wiping, Willingly Remaining in an Abusive Situation, Blood, Weaponry, Food Denial, Extreme Weight Loss, Starvation, Pregnancy (trans man)

-------------------------

Virgil hadnt the slightest clue how he'd managed to end up in this situation, only that he desperately wanted out.

His only shot had been destroyed in a carnival fire, the book that had revealed the truth was useless to him now.

But, at least Romulus seemed to be revelling in Virgil's discoveries.

And, of course, his true body.

Roman had long since fled, Virgil had managed to erase any and all memories of himself from the prince, and his own friends.

It was better this way, better if no one came looking for him.

Better if he remained trapped in the fortress he'd helped Romulus raise above the ground.

Better if he played a perfect little princess, faked his way out.

Embraced the destiny he'd once fought desperately to avoid.

He wondered, occasionally, if Viviana was watching him now.

He wondered how disappointed she was that he'd succumbed to the fate she worked so hard to avoid.

But something in his gut always told him, she hadnt ever really avoided it either.

"Princess, are you going to come in for dinner or not?" Virgil shuddered as Romulus' voice reached his ears.

"I'm not hungry," Virgil said, lying through his teeth.

He was, of course, starving.

But he wouldnt give Romulus the satisfaction of his company.

"Shame, well then go to your bed chambers and remain there until I have need of you again," Romulus continued.

Virgil complied, every step he took feeling like a drag.

He'd gone from one hundred and sixty two pounds to a mere eight seven in under a month.

He survived on sneaked snacks and water collected from a rain jar.

He knew it was no life to live, but he also knew that this wasnt life, this was hell. After all, what life didnt include Roman?

Roman

The name hung in his head on a daily basis.

The memory of those emerald eyes and that dashing smile and those soft curves and gentle touches that Virgil missed ever so dearly.

He always cried when he thought of Roman, which was to say, he never stopped crying.

"You never learn, do you?" Often, to Romulus' dismay and scorn.

"Your highness I-" but Virgil was to late, with a wince he felt his hair jerked back, his head along with it, exposing his neck.

A neck covered in bruises and bite marks and stains of blood.

Virgil had liked vampires, before he'd known that just about any undead regardless of its origins tended to have a taste for blood related sustenance.

"Did I ask you to talk?." Virgil whined, averting his eyes as he felt Romulus' breath down his neck.

"You'll look at me when I'm talking, princess." Romulus snarled, Virgil let out a yelp as yet another bite that well would have killed him at the size he was was brought down on his neck.

He fell to the floor like a rag doll when Romulus had released him, staring wide-eyed at his captor.

"Dont look at me like that." Virgil tried to calm his expression, but to no avail.

Romulus didnt like acting.

Weeks

No no no. . .

Years

Had gone by.

He'd had a daughter.

A daughter named Victoria, whom he would kill and die for.

Whom Romulus would not be permitted to touch, ever.

Life was better now, with the little one, her prescience gave Virgil meaning, gave him a routine of normalcy.

Who knew a simple knock on the door could shatter it in its entirety.

He knew the eyes almost as soon as he opened the door.

Emerald green, yes, but absolutely seething with a flame of fury and passion.

His knight had come for the captured princess.

But of course, Virgil had to play dumb, for all he knew, this was a trick.

"I assume you're here for Romulus yes?" Virgil asked, Victoria resting on his hip, chewing on a tiny clenched fist.

"Oh I'm here for Romulus alright. WHERE'S THE BASTARD THAT TORTURED AND DEFILED MY HUSBAND." It seemed, as Virgil quickly noted, that Roman had not realized there was a small child present.

"Princess could you quiet down? I'm trying to read and all your whining is frankly m-" Romulus froze as he reached the top of the stairs.

Roman had a sword drawn within seconds.

As, Virgil had suddenly realized, did each and every one of the people he believed he'd brainwashed.

He supposed they'd rediscovered a few things.

"How dare you call him royalty as he stands dressed in filth and blood. How dare you stand here and berate him as though he is a lowly gnat to brush away with little note. How dare you treat the father of the children that should have been mine as though he is barely worth your time." Virgil had never seen his husband speak with such anger in his voice, such protectiveness.

"A king doesnt concern himself with the matters of a consort,"

That had been the wrong move.

Virgil didnt see the rest, he was pulled back by Patton and Janus almost as soon as an opening was made available.

The necklaces were destroyed, and along with them any trace of Romulus, save, of course, for little Victoria.

"Virgil? Virgil oh my precious orchid what has he done to you? You look so frail my poor baby, if only I'd fought him off sooner I could have saved you," now Virgil was at home, buried under sheets with his head resting on Roman's chest, face tilted up towards his husband as he assessed Virgil's injuries. Victoria safely tucked between his arms.

"Ten years. . . Ten years I'd hoped you would remain forgetful, ignorant of my mere existence. . ." Virgil murmured, voice raspy and aching.

"I could never do such a thing my love, I'll never forget you, nor will I ever let you get away from me again, nor let harm come to you from now on," Roman whispered.

"You know that's impossible. . ." Virgil replied softly.

"Not if I have anything to say about it,"

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 20 - In Which Jack is the Life of the Party and Charles is a Wallflower

Councilor Featherstone comes through with planning permission, his personal interest allowing Max's petition to jump to the front of a very, very long and very, very slowly moving list. Glacial is a good description of that list. Full of icy aristocracy impeding any sort of forward progress. Because they all make money when the price of real estate goes up and up and up via the dearth of available properties.

Should someone sell off a property – or, God forbid, build a new one, particularly one meant for the lower class rabble to actually live in – well, they'd lose out on potential astronomic profits. And losing out on potential profit is as good as being robbed.

Not to mention the cut they make if someone has enough name and capital to approach them about buying a potential property, hoping to bolster their own enormous bank accounts with a “risk free” investment. But there's no such thing as a free lunch, particularly to the sharks that swim in the ocean of Britain's current property market. Everyone gets a cut of the pie.

Finders fees, they're called. As if anyone is finding anything in the morass of red tape and stark type on expensive paper. Not if someone doesn't want it to be found.

Jack has actually been granted a sizable finders fee by Max. All part of the massive, technically-legal tax dodge that allows the wealthy elite to remain the wealthy elite. Max makes an obscene amount of money selling her property off to a developer – while retaining a seat on the board of trustees, of course, and majority interest in the company they've formed to oversee the spa. And then she pays Jack a handsome consulting fee for all of his assistance with the planning permission. Which is a business expense – and therefore, a tax write off. And then Jack uses the money to wine and dine the councilor. Which is also a business expense and so another tax write off. On and on and on. Each just a small step in the endless dance of Legitimate Business.

Incidentally, Max is also paying Jack rather handsomely to consult on the design and interior decorating for the spa.

There are, of course, actual interior designers and professional decorators and florists and lighting and sound specialists in Max's company's employ. But it just wouldn't be nepotism if she hadn't found a job for Jack to make a lot of money at whilst doing absolutely nothing of value. And it just wouldn't be a London planning project without nepotism.

Plus, it gives Jack's not quite fake career as a fashion designer a little boost. Soon every rich socialite in London – and elsewhere, hopefully – will be relaxing in a Jack Rackham original spa robe, lounging on Jack Rackham original cushions on a Jack Rackham original divan reminiscent of a swan's elegantly unfolding wing, but in palest peach to complement the spring pink scrubs worn by spa staff – another Jack Rackham original – and soothing seafoam walls.

And if all that weren't enough to keep him and Christine (mostly Christine, if he's being honest) busy, Jack's also got fashion week to contend with. Oh, his projects are all finished, and he hasn't even worked himself into that much of a tizzy over the whole ordeal. Not with as well prepared as he feels – and as buoyed as he is by the positive attention his press releases and Instagram posts have received. No, he's as prepared as he can be and there's little point in wearing himself ragged worrying over the what ifs and wheretofors.

No, what's wearing on Jack in the small hours of the night is something else entirely.

More than Jack's actual fashion show – where half the designers are showing essentially nude models with various decorous scraps of latex and/or lace as opposed to actual outfits, not that Jack's petty or anything – more than the actual fashion show, Jack is required to make an impression on all the “benefactors” of the event. The rich, vapid men and women who decide whose fashions are to die for – and who's dead in the water.

Jack's not a real fashion designer. Just someone posing as one for the cover it gives a (hopefully) international crime empire. But that only makes this gladhanding and wheeling and dealing all the more imperative.

It's not much of a cover if everyone questions how, exactly, Jack's made it into the international fashion world. Hell, even here at home he's required to make the sort of connections that get him into the posh parties and stately homes of the rich and famous so he can case the joint and report his findings back to Max.

All of which necessitates Jack throwing his own party. A night of debauchery so blatant, so tasteless it wraps right around to tastefulness again. A night where he can show the fashion world, business moguls, and investors that he has the money and connections that make him worth their money and connections. And he's been granted the dubious honor of hosting the night of the newcomers fashion show. His debut on the international stage. Followed swiftly by his debut as an international man of quasi-leisure.

Max is, of course, the one actually throwing the party. The one determining the guest list from the half-dozen file cabinets worth of dirt and gossip and just creepily intimate details about London's upper crust.

Max is the one to hire the DJ – the same poor sap she'd blackmailed into playing Jack's first fashion show slash after party. And she's got Eme lording over the caterers with an iron fist.

And Max is the one to insist that Jack put up her ridiculous painting in pride of place, over the main sitting room fireplace where it can be reflected a hundredfold in the mirrors she'd brought in to line the room – and in the disco ball the DJ brought for the occasion. A thousand tiny paintings cover the floor, the walls, the goddamn ceiling. And sure, it's a nice enough painting – although it makes something spark hot and hungry in Jack's breast when he looks at it too long.

Or maybe that's just because a shirtless, glistening, complaining Charles – who just spent the majority of the morning hauling furniture and sound equipment around and hanging mirrors - is the one who's been roped into hanging it. Standing there, arms straining as Max directs him to position it just so.

Jack lets his gaze trail down Charles's biceps, chest, abs and away. He's got too much to do to be caught lollygagging like this. And Anne's amused and too-knowing look from over her clipboard is rather ruining the mood.

--

Anne watches Jack flounce away through the crowd, the heaving throng of party guests parting around him like water.

Jack's fashion show had gone over well. All the rich fucks without an original fucking thought between the all of them had been impressed with the flash fucking jewels and dripping gold. Entranced by the swirl of velvet skirts and silken shirts baring just slightly too much cleavage Which Anne knows cuz she's the one telling all the makeup artists to put fucking glitter on all their tits, like Max told her to.

And all them rich fucker's'd been entranced by Jack, too. Drawn like moths to the dancing flame of his showmanship. Lured by the siren song of wealth and elegance he'd spun on the catwalk.

And here at the party too.

Though it ain't elegance they're after here. Decadence, just like the fucking fashion show. But this ain't some rich old fuck's sitting room. This is a bacchanal. They're the cult of Dionysus tonight and they've got loyal followers high on poppers and coke and half a dozen other designer party drugs, courtesy of some of Jack's now-infamous street contacts, dolled up nearly as much as the party guests. And the drugs are all set out in little gold-rimmed dishes on antique walnut sideboards. K itchy as all fuck. Like candy someone's Nan might set out. All free for the taking.

Well, the first taste is, anyway. You gotta pay for the next dozen.

And they're willing to pay, the rich fuckers. Money's no object to them. And they've sold their souls long ago. What's a little more blood squeezed outta stone? Why give a fuck about tomorrow when you can constantly live in the happy glimmering now? Consequences can't touch them – these golden fucking chosen people.

And Jack walks among them like a prince. Like a god, and all this worship is simply his due.

Even from her secluded, shadowed corner Anne can see how he draws them in. Snares them with pretty words and pretty clothes and the promise that if they just flock to him, follow him, they too can be as effortlessly beautiful and catty and elegant and perfect.

And then, when they're thoroughly caught in his silken web, he directs them towards Max.

She's standing on the second floor balcony overlooking the party, queen of all she surveys. And even though Jack's throwing this party, she's the real mastermind behind everything. Every sweating, glittering, drug soaked body heaving against each other on the dance floor is there because that's exactly where she wants them. And when she turns her gaze to one or another in particular, it's far, far too late for them to run. Cuz even if they wanted to. Even if they weren't snared so tight they couldn't get out of the trap not even if they chewed their own fucking leg off. Even if they escaped, Anne'd chase them down for her. Hunt them down for her, across oceans and continents until they'd been found and bound and delivered back to her feet. Where they fucking belong, the fucking scum.

--

Charles tucks himself further into the corner he's found on the second floor. It's not quiet – nowhere in the house is quiet, not even the fucking bathroom. And his spot overlooks the dancefloor, bass thrumming up though the floor to rumble against the bottoms of his boots. But at least it's private.

Jack's holding court in the middle of the crowd, shining and happy and basking in being noticed, being revered.

He's always been like that. Flash and brash and attention grabbing. So you don't see the knife Anne's slipping between your ribs from the shadow Jack casts.

But even then. Even when it had been half misdirect and half distraction. Jack'd wanted this. Burned for it so bright and hungry you almost couldn't stand looking at him. But at the same time, you can't stand looking away.

Charles isn't like that.

Not that he lurks in the shadows, like Anne – or Max, even. He's a blunt instrument, and not ashamed of that fact. His strength lies in direct confrontation.

Oh, he can be crafty. Strategic. He can turn everyone's expectations of him against them. Jack's not the only one with a head on his shoulders, oh no. And Charles ran a crew just fine without his wiles.

But Charles doesn't want to live in the spotlight either. Hasn't chased renown, it had just kind of happened to him, whether he wanted it or not. More trouble than it was worth, half the time.

And now, something else – a new kind of notoriety – is happening to him. And it's all Jack's fault.

See, people aren't only fawning over Jack. No, there's those who saw the promotional material with Charles's face on it and decided he was some sort minor celebrity. Some kinda object for them to project all their filthiest desires onto.

He'd been poked and prodded and fondled. Offered modeling contracts. Offered sex. Offered money for sex. Like he'd welcome it – feel honored by it. Like he's some kinda doll, dressed up pretty just for them.

Not real.

Not a person.

Just a fucking pretty picture in a glossy program, there for them to get off to and then throw away.

He's been down that road before, though not with Johns as posh as these. The swells so used to getting what they want the moment they want it there's no real way to say no. Especially not when they – Anne and Max and Mary and Jack and him – have got so much riding on this.

Charles isn't going to be the one to ruin this. This bright shining con. This dream world Jack and Max have spun out of gossamer. So fragile – so easily ruined.

Charles isn't going to be the one to let the crew down.

So he'd flirted. Glib and meaningless and pretty. Dumb and flighty and careless. Caressed everyone who'd fondled him. Stood close and whispered low in their ears. Made them feel special, feel noticed. And then when they'd tired of him, cuz they always fucking do, so bored of life nothing can hold their interest for long, especially when he's not trying to keep it, Charles'd escaped to the second floor balcony overlooking the party and he'd put his back to the wall and watched Jack's glittering, fragile, beautiful dream unfold below him.

--

“Hiding up here all by yourself, Charles?”

Charles grunts in response, but not in a way that makes Jack feel like he's unwelcome. So Jack leans against the banister next to Charles and waits to see if he'll say anything more illuminating.

After a few minutes of silence – or silence from Charles, at least, the music's loud enough to be heard from a block away, never mind just upstairs – it becomes apparent that he won't be any more forthcoming. And if he's to speak, someone will need to coax it out of him.

Fortunately, Jack is nothing if not persistent.

“Got sick of the party, I'd imagine. It's a bit over the top, even for me.”

Charles snorts at that, so they're making progress.

“I know you'd be happier with something a little less glam pop.” Because that's never really been Chaz's scene. He's more of the rocker type, really. Not that Jack's complaining about his penchant for black leather on top of black silk. “But you have to admit, it's a good turnout. Especially for our first real industry bash. And Featherstone certainly seems to be having fun.”

Jack looks down at where the councilor and Idelle are grinding together on the dance floor (eughh) with the mirrored reflection of Max's painting shimmering on Featherstone's sweaty skin and reflecting in Idelle's eyes. Drawing him in almost as much as Idelle having exchanged her ornate velvet gown for a sexy little cocktail number - although she's wearing hardly any less jewelry than she had at the fashion show – and that too reflects a hundred thousand tiny sparkling versions of the painting. Of the taste and class and wealth the painting promises.

She's bathed in it.

She's a goddess. She's regal. Elegant. Glamorous. The kind of woman the kind of man the councilor is could have for more than a fun night in the sack. The kind of woman he could have for forever, if he'd wanted.

If he was lucky enough to catch and keep her attention.

Men and women in the crowd, only some of them planted by Max, ooh and ah over Idelle's elegance and poise. Remark, just loudly enough to be heard by the councilor about how much they wish she would deign to look at them like she looks at him. Ask to cut in, only to be cut down by Idelle, who has danced only with the councilor, attended only to the councilor, all evening.

Made him feel special. Feel desired. Feel like perhaps he could have this every night of his life, if he'd only put a ring on it. Something suitably flash, of course. Idelle deserves only the best.

But he's not thinking about any of that right now, not with the way he's got his gaze fixed firmly on her bosom, which is being shown off to great effect by an enormous diamond pendant that only she and Max know is actually cubic zirconium. Marriage is probably the furthest thought from his mind right now. But in the morning – in the morning, he'll remember this night. This wild bacchanal. The way the painting had whispered promises of finally belonging to the elegant, tasteful, obscenely rich world that Idelle navigates so effortlessly. How maybe she could guide him through troubled waters when he finds himself out of his depth. Idelle and only Idelle.

“Wish there weren't so many fucking people,” Charles grits out, shaking Jack out of his dreams of what ifs and might could bes. Back to the man standing beside him, one of the reason's they've had so much success in this venture. “All pawing at you. Like you owe them something.”

“Oh, darling. I've never minded a little manhandling, you know that.” Jack keeps deliberately glib, because Charles looks like he's liable to rip someone's throat out if Jack even hints at discomfort.

And it's true that he'd been somewhat leery of the attention at one point, after so long hiding in shadows out of necessity, even as he'd yearned to step into the spotlight.

It turns out that actually being in the spotlight isn't quite what Jack had imagined. That sometimes people shine it on you for reasons other than simple recognition.

That night at the strip club comes to mind.

That had felt like being used. Like being back in his childhood, father a subject of ridicule too drunk to understand that the whole village was laughing at him.

But Jack had understood. He'd understood the power of perception. The power other's had over you when they were the ones controlling the narrative. The ones making you an outsider.

But today, Jack's the one controlling how people see him. The one directing – and misdirecting – perceptions.

Because there's power there. Because people only see what they want to see. And you can get a hell of a lot done when people are too stupid to believe you capable of anything.

This being in the spotlight, being loved and adored by a fickle crowd, keeping the eyes of the world on him so that they stay off Max and Anne and Mary as they pick their marks. This is just another kind of power. Just another shield to hide behind while the dirty work gets done.

Jack elbows Charles in a way he hopes is reassuring. “And anyway, Anne's been keeping an eye out for trouble. You know she's been itching to stab someone for weeks now. I'm safe as houses.”

Charles grunts and turns away, back to the shadows he'd been hiding in when Jack came up here to talk to Max briefly, introducing a new mark – one who's in international real estate and interested in investing in Max's little property endeavors. And the glint of Charles's eyes in the gloom, the occasional sparkle of the silver charms in his hair and the earrings in his ears, the rings on his hands and necklaces draped against his bared chest, it had felt like a predator looking at him. Some big jungle cat watching him from the tall grass.

But Jack hadn't felt frightened. Because he's stupid and hopelessly in love. And he knows Charles, better than he knows himself, sometimes.

So he'd gone over to where Charles was standing. And he had stepped out of the shadow and into the glaring light of the party to stand at the balcony railing with Jack. To listen to Jack prattle on about inconsequential things with only fond mock annoyance, the way he'd always done. Even when Jack had been considerably more annoying – and Charles considerably more inclined to gut people who annoyed him.

But if he's hiding again, returning to the shadows, clearly that wasn't the right tack.

Jack comes at it from another angle. “Would it make you feel better if you came and danced with me? Just to remind everyone my big tough boyfriend is looking out for me?”

Because Charles trusts Anne. They all do – and with their very lives. But sometimes Charles is a protective, possessive sonofabitch. And if he's in a mood, Jack wants to make sure they deal with it in a way that doesn't end in homicide.

Charles turns back, eyes gleaming. “Stake a claim, you mean. In front of everyone.”

Prove Jack's his. And fuck. Maybe that is a step too far for their pretend relationship.

He's about to apologize. Walk everything back, make a joke, disassemble.

But then Charles says, “Yeah, all right. You're too much trouble for only one person to keep an eye on.”

--

Charles has Jack in his arms. And Jack'd said it was about Charles staking a claim. Making sure all the rich fucks kept their greedy hands off Jack. Make sure he was being looked after.

But it goes the other way, too.

Charles is out here in the middle of the dancefloor, covered in shiny that Jack'd bought – or stolen – just for him. Jack's arms around him, just like he's got his arms around Jack. Like they're one person, bound together, with no beginning or end.

There for everyone to see. To see that he and Jack are one.

That Jack has a claim on Charles. That all their pawing and fawning and come-ons don't mean shit. Just like all the heaving, sweaty bodies surrounding them don't mean shit. Not when him and Jack are like this. Together.

Everything – everyone – inconsequential compared to the feeling of Jack pressing against Charles's front, grinding against his dick, Charles's hands on his ass. Jack's his, if just for this moment. And he ain't gonna waste it.

Charles cups the back of Jack's head, fingers tangling in that stupid mullet he still insists on wearing. “Mine,” he growls into the breath of space between the two of them.

And Jack must be a great lip-reader. Or he's on the same wavelength as Charles, feels the same way as Charles does about all this. Because he grips Charles at the nape of his neck. Pulls his hair until his head tilts back and Jack's teeth are at his jugular.

And Charles feels the threat and the promise pressed so tenderly against his skin when Jack says “Yours.”

[stanbillyhargrove]

Demons - The Rewrite

Chapter 24: Beauty In Death

TW: SUICIDE

Billy’s POV

Cat woke up sick the next morning. Her body just couldn't handle being out in the cold for as long as she had been. Steve, Max and I spent our time nursing her back to health. Bringing her tea and medicine. Tried to get her to eat some soup but everytime she did, she'd end up in the bathroom puking.

She got a fever on the third day. Woke up soaked in sweat and shivering. I skipped school for the morning to stay with her while she drifted in and out of sleep. Switched with Steve at lunch so we didn't fall too far behind on our classes.

We had to call Julie that night. Steve was helping Cat stand up and she had passed out. Just crumpled like a rag doll. Luckily, Steve caught her before she hit the floor or the table.

Julie brought some antibiotics home on her break and thanked us for taking care of Cat before leaving again.

She lasted a few more weeks with Steve and I trying our hardest to never leave her alone. She tried as best as she could to put on a happy front and pretend everything was okay. Max hung around her a lot, keeping that little spark of hope alive. We tried splitting up the nights with her so only one of us would be with Cat every night in hope that the other would be able to relax but both Steve and I had been restless on nights we were alone so we both ended up spending every night at Cat’s. The three of us would pass out sprawled against one another on the couch or Steve would take the couch while Cat and I slept in her room. There were a few times where Steve would drift off behind Cat, holding her so gently, and I would have to leave. I’d go outside to smoke and push down the spark of jealousy in my chest that set me on edge.

But I found myself thinking of Steve almost like a brother and I knew he loved Cat too. And I had to let them have that, let her have all the good in her life that she could.

We drove her to and from school and spent every possible second with her. But it had been exhausting, draining and we were starting to feel run down. Steve had been having a hard time staying awake during class, during basketball practice he had no energy and had been benched the past few days. I knew I was hitting that point of exhaustion too, my brain felt foggy and I was having a hard time focusing on anything.

And now there was a big game this week against a rival team. Coach had pulled Steve and I aside. Told us to get our shit together for the game or don't bother coming back to the team. Told us not to embarrass him.

Then the day of the game came and we were ready. We'd spent the last few nights trying to get as much sleep as we could. Cat seemed to be doing a little better so it made it easier to sleep.

"You're coming to the game, right?" Steve asked Cat.

We were in the parking lot after school. The game didn't start for a couple hours.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," she smiled, "I just need to get this assignment done. Mom will drive me back later."

Steve pulled her in for a hug, "see you later."

Cat gave Steve a quick smile, “love you, Stevie,” and squeezed his shoulder before getting in the front seat of the Camaro.

I pulled up to her house and noticed the driveway was empty except for Cat's broken down car, “your mom isn't home. Should I stay?"

Cat smiled, squeezed my hand lightly, “she'll be here soon, go get ready for your game," she leaned over to press her lips against mine, "love you, B."

I got home and scarfed down a sandwich that Susan made me before getting ready for the game. I was almost ready when Max appeared in my door.

"Is Cat coming to watch the game too?"

"Yeah, her mom's bringing her. You gunna save her a seat?"

She nodded, "I gotta tell her we finally beat the high score on that game at the arcade."

"Wow, good job, Max. She'll be proud," I said, grabbing my bag from the floor, "you ready?"

Jump.

Score.

The whistle blew.

Half time.

Our team crowded together to cheer for our last second point. Hands clapped my back. People in the stands cheered.

But when Steve and I looked out to the stands, we didn't see her.

I caught Max's eye and mouthed, "Cat?"

She shrugged and shook her head and disappointment settled heavy in my gut.

Steve and I were pulled into the locker room with the rest of the team.

He leaned in to whisper, "where is she?"

I shrugged, "don't know," I whispered back as our coach came in.

My mind was racing while our coach spoke. Is she okay? Is her mom with her? Why isn't she here? She was supposed to be here.

The rest of the game went by in a blur. The final whistle blew and we were swept up in the cheering of our celebrating team.

"We should check on her," Steve said quietly when our team started to disperse into the locker room.

"She did say her mom would be home tonight, maybe they're spending time together."

Steve didn't look convinced.

"I'll drop Max off, you pick up something to eat and we'll meet there. She's okay."

She has to be.

When I pulled up to the house, Steve had just pulled up and was getting out of his car.

Julie's car still wasn't there.

We hurried up to the door and let ourselves in.

"Cat?" I called.

We waited a second, slipping off our shoes. Steve walked in and set a box of pizza down on the kitchen counter.

"Cat?" He yelled, worry growing.

There was a note taped to the fridge, "Be back in a couple weeks. Be good, mom."

It dawned on me, "she wasn't coming home today.."

Steve took off running, grabbing Cat's bedroom doorframe to stop himself before ducking in.

"Cat?"

My heart was threatening to pound out of my chest.

“Cat?” I called, my voice ringing through the house, "Hello?"

Steve was panicking, shaking like a fucking leaf and cursing under his breath. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and pushed forward to the bathroom. Wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and twisted.

Click.

Locked.

Steve came forward to knock on the door, "Cat?

Silence.

I rattled the handle, "Cat? Can you answer me?"

We waited a second, holding our breath.

Nothing.

Steve stepped back a bit, shaking his head.

His voice hitched, "Cat, please?"

I pounced my fist against the door, "Cat, open the door!"

"Cat!" Steve yelled, losing his composure as he slammed his hand against the wood.

I pounded on the door harder, rattled the door know again, "Cat! Come on!"

Steve slammed his shoulder against the door and choked on tears.

"Back up," I said as I stepped away from the door.

I threw myself into the door as hard as I could. Wood cracked loudly under my shoulder, but not enough.

Steve had his hands in his hair, fingers clenched tight in his locks. His whole body tense.

I ran across the hall and threw my weight into the door again.

Wood splintered and gave way. The door flung open, swinging into the wall behind it.

I felt my knees give out when I saw what waited inside.

Cause while Steve had dealt with this before, had lived through this before, I wasn’t prepared for this.

Suddenly I was thrown into a memory of the first time Neil gave me a bloody nose when I was young and I couldn’t stop staring at the blood running down my face.

While I sunk to the ground, Steve leaped over me, a string of curses spilling from his lips.

“Fuck, fucking call someone! Jesus,” Steve ordered, hands shaking as he whipped around to grab towels.

I didn’t hear him, couldn’t hear him past the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. I felt like my lungs had filled with cement and I couldn’t gulp in enough air to fill them anymore.

Steve looked at me and scrambled over to grab at my arms, “jesus, Hargrove. Fucking, get over here,” he pulled me across the floor and wrapped my hands around Cat’s arms, “squeeze tight."

His hands left bloody prints up my arms. Her blood.

“But…you..last time..she's okay, right?"

“This is worse, we need help," he squeezed my hands around her arms, "tight. Don’t let go.”

My jaw worked with words that wouldn’t find their way past my tongue as Steve released me to run out of the room.

Worse? I couldn’t imagine how there could be a better or worse to this.

“Hello? I need an ambulance,” Steve’s watery voice echoed through the house, “my friend, she slit her wrists…”

I stopped listening, my only focus the metallic tang that hung thick in the air, coating the inside of my nose until I felt nauseous.

“Cat?” I croaked, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Baby. Please, please come back, just look at me, okay? Please? Just open your eyes, Baby,” I begged, trying to keep an iron grip on her arms but wanting so desperately to shake her until she woke up.

Steve came hurrying back into the bathroom, a red mark smeared across his cheek where he’d wiped at his face, “they’ll be here soon.”

He crowded beside me and grabbed at Cat’s face, leaving a matching smear, “hey, come on. Wake up, we’re here. We got you, okay? You gotta stay with us.”

She didn’t move when Steve shook her, and she was so pale. It crossed my mind that maybe we were too late.

My eyes burned as tears spilled down my cheeks, my arms shook and my knuckles were turning stark white against the red towels.

“Steve,” I choked, “I.. I don’t, what…why..?”

Steve chewed his lip, worried at it so much I thought he’d break skin, “fuck. I don’t know, I don’t know what to do. We just gotta try to keep her from bleeding out until the ambulance gets here,” he tried to shake her again and got no response, “mother fucker! Come on, asshole! Open your fucking eyes!”

My jaw ticked as anger spiked in my chest, “don’t swear at her!"

Steve whipped his head around to glare at me through dewy eyes, “really? You think me swearing is going to make this any worse?”

“I don’t know, Steve! Is it going to make it any fucking better?” I spat.

Steve opened his mouth to start yelling at me when he heard sirens coming closer and instead stood up with a huff, “stay here.”

“The fuck else do you think I’m gunna go?” I growled under my breath as he left.

“Please,” I pleaded, barely keeping myself from sobbing, “please, Cat. You can’t..you can’t fucking leave me like this. You just need to hold on, okay? Just stay with me, please. It'll be okay, everything will be okay. Just hold on."

I didn’t have to wait long before Steve hurried back with a couple paramedics holding a stretcher. They crowded into the bathroom, one man gently moving me out of the way to grab at Cat, fingers moving everywhere to test for a pulse and lift her eyelids.

Steve and I could only hear snippets of what they were saying to each other.

“Unconscious…non responsive….we’re gonna need an IV…I’ve got a heartbeat, barely."

They moved to lift her onto the stretcher and hurried back out to the ambulance with Steve and I following behind.

"Is she okay?" I asked, following behind.

They didn't answer, just hurried to load her into the ambulance. One of the men climbed into the back with her and went to close the door but was stopped by me grabbing the door.

"Sir, I need you to let go."

"I'm coming," I said, trying to climb into the ambulance.

He held up a hand, stopping me, “I’m sorry, immediate family only in the ambulance. You guys will have to follow us, call her parents.”

I looked at the man’s stupid freckled face, his stupid kind eyes and had to stop myself from tackling the man to the ground.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you see parents? We’re all she has! We have to go with her! I need to know she’s okay!” I shouted.

“Sir! You need to calm down,” the man replied sternly, “can’t let you in. Rules."

Steve grabbed my bicep and pulled gently, “Billy, let them go. They need to go,” he urged.

I tensed, my face going stony and backed away from the ambulance doors as Steve pulled at me with a shaking hand.

Steve was shaking violently as the ambulance drove away, sirens blaring. He never let go of my arm, he held tight like he thought I might bolt or he might collapse if he were to let go.

When the ambulance was out of sight, I turned and pulled my keys out of my pocket, “let’s go.”

Steve shook his head, “no, I need to, we gotta..we can’t leave that mess.”

I glared at him, I didn’t want to have to face that again, but followed Steve inside anyway. I followed Steve back to the bathroom where he dutifully handed me a couple towels and started filling the tub with hot water. We started wiping up the blood silently, neither of us ready to break the silence as we turned the bath water red from rinsing out the towels. It was eery, seeing the outline of where Cat had been slumped on the floor, clean and empty against the pool of dark red. I stuck my hand in the middle of the clean spot and felt my chin begin to waver. It was too much, seeing the blood pooled on the floor and sprayed up onto the cabinet, the smeared hand print on the edge of the tub next to shining metal.

“Steve,” I choked out.

He looked up at me with big, glassy eyes, there was a steady stream running down his cheeks that he hadn’t bothered to wipe away. With a huff I threw down the towel I had been cleaning with and stalked out of the house into the front yard. I fumbled to pull a cigarette out of my jacket and light it, my hands shaking and leaving red prints everywhere. Steve didn’t follow me, I was by myself with the weight of the world on my chest.

What am I gunna do if she…?

If she’s gone…forever?

I smoked through my last three cigarettes quickly, relishing in the acrid burn of my lungs until I went to grab another and found my pack empty. I screamed out a curse and threw the empty carton across the lawn and collapsed to the ground, holding my head in my hands and sobbing violently.

I should’ve fucking been here, she shouldn’t have been alone.

I knew, deep down, that she wasn't getting better. I had just been stupid enough to hope. To hope that she'd turn a corner, that her mom would be here to make sure she was okay.

But she wasn’t here, nobody was. And Cat was alone.

And that's my fault.

I sat there, wallowing in my anger and despair until my chest stopped heaving and my breath started to come normally again.

Briefly, I wondered if she left a note, something explaining why I wasn’t enough. Why we weren't enough to keep her alive.

I set my jaw, wiped at my cheeks and slowly got back to my feet to go back inside. I could hear Steve’s heart wrenching sobs as soon as I walked inside and followed them to find him curled up on the floor in Cat’s room, his head buried in his bloody knees. I gently knelt down next to him, twisting my fingers together in my lap.

“Don’t got any cigarettes to offer you,” I muttered, my voice scratchy and rough.

Steve sniffed and took a shuddering breath, “she didn’t call or anything...I tried s-so fucking hard.”

“I know,” I placed a hand on his back gently, “I know you did. We did all we could, Steve.”

“We should go..” he whispered.

“Yeah, okay,” I agreed, standing back up and extending a hand to him.

He puffed out another long breath before taking my hand to pull himself off the floor. Before I could think, Steve had collapsed into my shoulder, his arms gripping at my back in a crushing embrace as he choked out another sob.

“I should have been here, we shouldn’t have left her alone. This is my fucking fault,” he cried.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders firmly and grit my teeth before trying to talk past the knot in my throat, “Steve. Come on, it’s not your fault.”

@charmed-asylum​

[tomiokai]

Attempts || Spencer Reid

Masterlist

A/N: In this fic there are discussions on abuse, rape, and other explicit topics in toxic relationships. Please if you are in a relationship where you feel unsafe or you are getting abused, please, please, please ask for help/get some. Don’t stay in them, they will get worse! I’ve lost a friend because of a toxic relationship that she was in and that ended our friendship. 

Please don’t copy my works, but if you do want to use it as inspiration please give me credit, at least tag me. I do read a lot and when I see my ideas getting stolen and then turned into new stories it really hurts me.

Summary: After the kidnapping of Drew Luis the team sends Spencer to Y/n, the main suspect’s childhood home that has been abandoned for years to look for evidence to where she could be hiding, but instead of finding clues he finds y/n and  Y/n isn’t very happy about that. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Sick!Reader

Category: Angst. The tiniest bit of fluff towards the end. 

Warnings: ANGST.  Kidnapping. Blood. Abuse. Rape. Violence.  Cannibalism?? 

Word Count: 2.9k

_

“This is Drew Luis, male, 38, he went missing 8 days ago. Witnesses say they saw a woman around her mid 30’s drag a limp body into a grey car and drive off west of 874 Baker Valley. Virginia police have done their absolute best trying to find him but they have nothing.” JJ spoke loudly as she pulled up pictures of a man with blonde hair and brown eyes in his late 30s. 

“And get this, when police arrived at the house there showed no sign of struggle,” Garcia added as she scrolled through pictures taken of the house.

“Now we dug more into his personal life we discovered that he had a girlfriend that got hospitalized very regularly.” This time it was Hotchner that spoke. “Broken hand, fractured collar bone, you name it. 

“She was in an abusive relationship,” Spencer observed the injuries in the photo’s. 

Everyone in the room nodded simultaneously agreeing. 

“She’s our suspected unsub. She’s a female, 36, and her name is Y/n  Y/l/n, it makes sense because she lives at 874 Baker Valley and this probably means she’s finally taking action and getting her revenge.”  Derek spoke looking through her files. 

“To settle the score,” JJ spoke lowering her head. 

“Another thing you might want to know about her is that she was abused as a child when she was younger. So if you discover her parents missing too, you’d know why.” Rossi said a bit of humor hidden under the seriousness. 

Small chuckles could be heard on each end of the room, but with the clear of the throat from Hotch the team sealed their lips. 

“Okay Derek, Rossi, I want you to go to the house. JJ, Emily, and I will head to the police station. Reid, I want you to go to her childhood home to look for any clues that would lead us to where she is hiding and Garcia I want you to look through the street cameras and see if you can follow her or get a plate number. 

The team split up and all went their separate ways.  

-

“Is this how you like it Drew baby?” Y/n spoke in a whisper trailing her fingers down Drew’s dirty blood-covered chest then down his stomach that showed multiple cut wounds than to his crotch, cupping him through his bloodied pants. 

“Y/N YOU DON'T WANT TO DO THIS!” Drew pleaded his bruised hands struggling against the handcuffs that were restraining him. 

Yn’s hand stopped cupping him and balled up her hand into a fist and slammed down onto his crotch. “You bitch! Did I say you can talk back?” Y/n sneered spit flying out her mouth hitting Drew’s tear-stained face. 

Drew immediately shut up and turned his head away from y/n not wanting to look at her anymore. She was mental he had thought. Her hair was a nest, her clothes covered in his blood, and a wicked smirk on her cracked lips. 

“Look at me! Look at me! I want to see you in pain the way you saw me when you took my virginity when I didn’t consent!” 

“Is this what this whole ordeal is all about?” Drew asked, face clearly in pain. 

“No! This is about the last 8 years we have been together, you jackass! So many nights of you drunk and throwing me around like I’m a rag doll! Every time I try to leave you always threaten me! You took away my freedom! I can’t have friends and I can’t even see my FAMILY!” Y/n yelled tears running down her face. 

“I-I’m sorry!” Drew whimpered. 

“Sorry doesn’t make up for all the times you’ve hospitalized me!” She yelled, pulling out a knife from behind her.

“Then just hospitalize me too! I’ll let you and I’ll say it was just an accident. Please Y/n.” Drew begged panic surging through his body. 

y/n brought the knife up to his shoulder blades. “Oh no that won’t be needed. You see I was thinking by the end of today you’ll be buried.” Y/n peacefully chuckled. 

“You’re crazy Y/n! You’re mental I swear!” Drew shouted into Y/n’s face trying to move away as far away from her as possible.

The knife in y/n’s hands plunged into his shoulder and y/n laughed into the cold air of the basement coolness. “Oh I’m going to show you crazy.” Y/n whispered leaning down into his ear. y/n kissed his cheek softly before she twisted the blade in her hand. 

Screams erupted through the air as Y/n pulled out the knife painfully slow. She slowly brought the knife back up to her freshly made wound and plunged the knife back down into his arm, she dragged the knife down his arm cutting in a perfectly straight line down to the back of his hands. 

Tears were spilling out of Drew’s face yet again. “Y-Y/n listen to m-”.

“NO. I will not listen to you.” Y/n screamed shaking her head wildly. “I’m going to make you hurt so badly.” Y/n sneered her face in an angry form.  

Cry’s. 

“I’m going to cut your dirty, dirty fingers one by one and you’re going to eat them, one by one.” Y/n’s lips curled up in a small devilish smirk. 

“Think about this y/n. If you do this it’s a long, long jail sentence.” Drew breathed out, fear enveloped. 

“Do you think I don't know that?” Y/n asked. With that Y/n stood up and grabbed his right hand in the cuffs and with her other hand brought the knife up to his pinky and cut it off with one quick swipe. 

Thump. 

His pinky hit the concrete floor and blood splattered everywhere, Drew let out a blood-curdling scream and yanked his wrists away from y/n. 

Y/n bent down to pick up his right pinky and raised it to her face, turning it around in her fingers inspecting it. A small smile grin crept up to her lips as she lowered the pinky to Drew’s lips. 

“Ah. Drew. Open up that dirty mouth of yours.” Y/n sang. 

Drew turned away from her and shut his mouth tight. 

Y/n grabbed his chin with her free hand and yanked it so that they were face to face. “I said, AH!”

Drew just stayed put shaking his head. 

Y/n let go of his chin and raised her hand. In one swift move y/n brought her hand back onto his cheek with a loud slap. “Open up you ass!” Y/n yelled.

Very slowly Drew opened his mouth not wanting any of his own fingers in his mouth.

As soon as his mouth was all the way open y/n shoved his own pinky into his mouth. “Chew.” Y/n instructed. 

Drew hesitantly chewed on his own pinky, flesh, meat, bones. Blood overflowed his own mouth as the crunches of his own bones could be heard. The taste of metallic metal numbing his tongue. 

“Now swallow.” Y/n breathed. 

-

Spencer walked around the abandoned house, looking through childhood photos sitting on the mantelpiece for any clues that would lead to where she is hiding. Without any luck Spencer continued onto the kitchen. 

The first thing he noticed was dirty dishes. The wheels in his head turned immediately.  He walked over to the dishes and knew for sure that those dishes were fresh. Spencer looked over at the fridge and walked over and threw the door open. His eyes scanned around the fridge looking for a sign of freshness. Milk. That was it his suspicions were confirmed. They were somewhere in the house. 

Spencer drew out his gun and held it in position. He went out of the kitchen and into the long hallway. He kicked open each and every door. The master bedroom, bathroom, coat closets, leaving only the last door at the end of the hallway. With one kick the bedroom door bursts open. Inside is what looked like a little girl's room. Pink walls, dolls, stuffies, and drawings of fairies. Spencer neared the bed and scanned it. In his mind he knew that the bed had been recently slept in. 

“Hotch?” Spencer whispered into his earpiece. 

“Yeah Reid what do you have?” Hotch's voice came.

“She’s here. Send back up.” Reid spoke walking out the bedroom. 

Basement. 

That’s where he was heading next.  Spencer walked down the steps to the basement and stopped at the door, listening. 

Cry’s and muffled voices can be heard from the other side. Spencer couldn’t believe the police didn’t check the basement of her childhood home. Idiots.

Spencer grabbed the doorknob and turned it very slowly and opened it a smidge. He peered through the crack and what he saw was a disaster. Drew was sitting against the back wall while his hands were above him handcuffed to water pipes, blood trailing down his shoulders and a long cut running up his arm to his hand. His right hand was missing all its fingers and just looked as if it was just a bloody nub attached to his hand. Spencer turned his head away needing a break from the sight. 

He turned back around to stare at the girls back. From behind she looked like a complete totaled mess. Her hair was everywhere and her clothes drenched in bright red blood presumably Drew’s. 

Spencer quietly pushed the door the rest of the way with his gun drawn. He was now closing in on y/n. His plan: to grab her hands before she could do anything. 

“Oh my god, thank god please save me from this psychotic woman!” Drew screamed at Spencer. 

‘Fuck his cover had been blown.’ Spencer had thought with a groan. 

Y/n’s head snapped to Spencer with a rage in her eyes. In eye blinking speed y/n dropped her knife and switched it for a revolver that hung from her belt. 

Two guns pointed at each other. It was going to end only one way and they both knew that. 

“Y/n listen to me drop the gun.” Spencer calmly said. 

“Why would I do that!” Y/n shouted backing away into the wall. 

“Y/n I know what you have been through. I’ll help you, I’ll make sure they don’t hurt you. Okay? But that’s only if you listen and slide me your gun.” Spencer responded. 

“What’s the point!” Y/n cried tears spilling out of her eyes. “You're lying, I’m going to jail anyway!”

“No you won’t as long as Drew is still alive and you have a good lawyer you won’t go to jail. You’re sick Y/n.” Spencer spoke. 

“It doesn’t matter! All I ever get is being pushed around and abused. My dad, my mom, DREW, and everyone. I have no friends or anything!” Y/n cried her whole body trembling. y/n cried her hands swiping away her hot tears.

“I’m here okay? I understand how you feel. I’ll be with you every step of the way if you just listen to me. “ Spencer explained.

Y/n’s eyes drifted to Spencer’s face and back to the gun. She lowered the gun to her side and dropped the gun by her feet and pulled out a key and showed it to Spencer. “Let me uncuff him.” Y/n spoke. 

Spencer nodded as y/n turned around to uncuff Drew, Spencer slowly walked forward and kicked the revolver behind him and backed up again. 

Y/n uncuffed Drew and Drew immediately ran to hide behind Spencer. 

Y/n pulled her hands above her head and turned around slowly to face Spencer. “Shoot me.” she whispered. 

Spencer looked at her in shock, taken aback. “No, I’m not going to do that.” Spencer's voice came. 

“P-please. I have nothing to lose.” Y/n’s voice cracked. 

“Y/n please, deep breat-.”

A bullet flew past Spencer’s ear and hit Y/n in the shoulder. Y/n looked down to her shoulder and back up to Drew. He had the gun pointed at her with rage in his eyes, he pulled the trigger with what was left of his left hand. y/n’s legs gave out from under her and she dropped to the floor all the energy leaving her body.

Spencer whipped around and grabbed the gun out of Drew’s hands and flipped Drew back around with his hands behind his back and cuffed them again. 

“Hotch I need two ambulances NOW!” Spencer yelled into his microphone.

“Okay got it, we’re almost there.” Hotch responded.  

“Make sure you withdraw all guns. Y/n has been shot and Drew is handcuffed with all his right fingers missing.”  Spencer spoke. 

“Why did you do that?” Spencer yelled at Drew.

“The crazy bitch wanted to be  shot and if you weren’t going to do it I was.” Drew breathed out. 

Spencer shook his head at Drew and went over to y/n to check her pulse. Still there. He lifted her into his arms bridal style and started walking back up the stairs. 

Spencer looked back at Drew and said “Follow and don’t try anything.” and turned back around. 

Outside was bright and sunny, warm air surrounded the street as ambulances and police cars could be heard. When the heads of Spencer and Drew were seen Hotch and the team immediately jumped out of their SUV’s. 

“Take Drew, he shot Y/n when she already surrendered.” Spencer spoke with disgust in his voice. 

Derek took no time to waste and grabbed Drew and hauled him to the first ambulance while Spencer explained to the team what had happened and brought y/n to the second ambulance. 

“Hotch could you please try your best to clear Y/n’s name. She didn’t actually kill the boyfriend and actually let him go. She was abused and she’s sick. I promised her that I won’t let her go to prison.” Spencer whispered to Hotch. 

“I’ll see what I can do. With her side of the story she has a strong chance of avoiding prison, but we’ll have to see. We might have to pull some strings, but for your sake I’ll try my best.” Hotch responded as Spencer hopped into the ambulance with Y/n.

-

Bright lights. Those were the first things Y/n had seen as she opened her eyes.  

“You’re awake!” Someone to her right said with a joy-filled voice. 

Y/n turned her head to see that it was Spencer, the one who had refused to shoot her. 

“Why didn’t you kill me.” Y/n asked in a hushed whisper. 

“You deserved to live Y/n. Your whole life you were abused, you didn’t know anything else. I wanted to help you.” Spencer answered, taking her hand into his. 

“But I’m still in trouble.” She spoke. 

“Your hearing is in a week but Hotch, my boss I guess, says that you have a pretty good chance of avoiding prison time, but you’ll need to attend counseling,” Spencer reassured her, gripping her hand tighter. 

“What about Drew?” Y/n asked fear laced in her voice. 

“Drew has a long record of assaults, rape, and domestic abuse. If I’m not wrong he’ll be the one going to prison.” Spencer answered calmly. 

Y/n instantly relaxed and signed in relief. Then she spoke again, “why do you care about me?”

Spencer looked shocked for a moment then answered, “I know how you feel, and I want to make sure you get your justice and help, then I want to be able to show you all the things you can live up to.” He lowered his head to her hand and kissed the back of it. 

“Thank you.” Y/n whispered.

-

3 years later. 

Y/n moved on from the events that had happened in her childhood home, never forgotten but never mentioned. She was free of charge of anything that had happened and is living a happy life with Spencer now. 

8 months after she had been released from under house arrest, Spencer had taken y/n out and from then their relationship with each other bloomed. They got engaged with each other after 9 months of dating, got married on Halloween, and moved on to have a beautiful set of twins. Lily and Zach Reid. They may only be 19 months old but they have already developed the brains of their father. 

Y/n was happy at last, she felt safe with her family, and she had made a whole bunch of new friends, her life had finally turned around.

[entropydemons]

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs by Anne Sexton

No matter what life you lead

the virgin is a lovely number: cheeks as fragile as cigarette paper, arms and legs made of Limoges, lips like Vin Du Rhône, rolling her china-blue doll eyes open and shut. Open to say, Good Day Mama, and shut for the thrust of the unicorn. She is unsoiled. She is as white as a bonefish.

Once there was a lovely virgin called Snow White. Say she was thirteen. Her stepmother, a beauty in her own right, though eaten, of course, by age, would hear of no beauty surpassing her own. Beauty is a simple passion, but, oh my friends, in the end you will dance the fire dance in iron shoes. The stepmother had a mirror to which she referred-- something like the weather forecast-- a mirror that proclaimed the one beauty of the land. She would ask, Looking glass upon the wall, who is fairest of us all? And the mirror would reply, You are the fairest of us all. Pride pumped in her like poison.

Suddenly one day the mirror replied, Queen, you are full fair, 'tis true, but Snow White is fairer than you. Until that moment Snow White had been no more important than a dust mouse under the bed. But now the queen saw brown spots on her hand and four whiskers over her lip so she condemned Snow White to be hacked to death. Bring me her heart, she said to the hunter, and I will salt it and eat it. The hunter, however, let his prisoner go and brought a boar's heart back to the castle. The queen chewed it up like a cube steak. Now I am fairest, she said, lapping her slim white fingers.

Snow White walked in the wildwood for weeks and weeks. At each turn there were twenty doorways and at each stood a hungry wolf, his tongue lolling out like a worm. The birds called out lewdly, talking like pink parrots, and the snakes hung down in loops, each a noose for her sweet white neck. On the seventh week she came to the seventh mountain and there she found the dwarf house. It was as droll as a honeymoon cottage and completely equipped with seven beds, seven chairs, seven forks and seven chamber pots. Snow White ate seven chicken livers and lay down, at last, to sleep.

The dwarfs, those little hot dogs, walked three times around Snow White, the sleeping virgin.  They were wise and wattled like small czars. Yes.  It's agood omen, they said, and will bring us luck. They stood on tiptoes to watch Snow White wake up.  She told them about the mirror and the killer-queen and they asked her to stay and keep house. Beware of your stepmother, they said. Soon she will know you are here. While we are away in the mines during the day, you must not open the door.

Looking glass upon the wall . . . The mirror told and so the queen dressed herself in rags and went out like a peddler to trap Snow White. She went across seven mountains. She came to the dwarf house and Snow White opened the door and bought a bit of lacing. The queen fastened it tightly around her bodice, as tight as an Ace bandage, so tight that Snow White swooned. She lay on the floor, a plucked daisy. When the dwarfs came home they undid the lace and she revived miraculously. She was as full of life as soda pop. Beware of your stepmother, they said. She will try once more.

Looking glass upon the wall. . . Once more the mirror told and once more the queen dressed in rags and once more Snow White opened the door. This time she bought a poison comb, a curved eight-inch scorpion, and put it in her hair and swooned again. The dwarfs returned and took out the comb and she revived miraculously. She opened her eyes as wide as Orphan Annie. Beware, beware, they said, but the mirror told, the queen came, Snow White, the dumb bunny, opened the door and she bit into a poison apple and fell down for the final time. When the dwarfs returned they undid her bodice, they looked for a comb, but it did no good. Though they washed her with wine and rubbed her with butter it was to no avail. She lay as still as a gold piece.

The seven dwarfs could not bring themselves to bury her in the black ground so they made a glass coffin and set it upon the seventh mountain so that all who passed by could peek in upon her beauty. A prince came one June day and would not budge. He stayed so long his hair turned green and still he would not leave. The dwarfs took pity upon him and gave him the glass Snow White-- its doll's eyes shut forever-- to keep in his far-off castle. As the prince's men carried the coffin they stumbled and dropped it and the chunk of apple flew out of her throat and she woke up miraculously.

And thus Snow White became the prince's bride. The wicked queen was invited to the wedding feast and when she arrived there were red-hot iron shoes, in the manner of red-hot roller skates, clamped upon her feet. First your toes will smoke and then your heels will turn black and you will fry upward like a frog, she was told. And so she danced until she was dead, a subterranean figure, her tongue flicking in and out like a gas jet. Meanwhile Snow White held court, rolling her china-blue doll eyes open and shut and sometimes referring to her mirror as women do

[winchester-fantasies]

90 Days - Part One: Unveil

90 Days Masterlist

Mini-Series Summary: You’ve been hit by a curse. Now you only have 90 days to live. Sam and Dean race to find a cure while secrets are revealed and feelings are discovered in the process.

Word Count: 2940

Warnings: injury, slight angst, tiniest bit of fluff, some swearing

Pairing: Sam x Female!Reader

A/N: Welcome to my new Sam mini-series: “90 Days!” I’m so excited for this series, and I really hope you enjoy it as much as I have in writing the first part! As usual, feedback is always welcome. ❤❤

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

     Your back was pressed to the cold cement floor beneath you. Your entire body ached. The back of your head hurt the worst, and you could feel warmth settling underneath it and coating your hair. Your chest burned as you gasped for air, your breath having been knocked out of you.

     You were aware of your name being called, the shuffling of feet in the distance, and a scuffle to your right. Then the loud boom of a gun going off, but your muffled hearing drowned out the ring. With a gigantic heave of your lungs, you finally got the breath you so desperately craved. Your body arched off the ground as you inhaled deep lungfuls of air. 

     You raised yourself to your knees. You glanced around you. There was a pool of blood behind you. You put your hand to the back of your head gingerly. Your palm came away coated in blood. “Fucking witch,” you thought.

      Your breathing was still labored, and you fought to maintain a steady pattern as you gingerly stood on shaky legs. The room spun, and you nearly fell forward before a strong arm came around your waist. You gripped the forearm holding you steady and closed your eyes. “Just breathe,” Sam murmured. He pulled you back against him. “Deep breaths,” he said, breathing in and out steadily, guiding your ragged ones with his own.

     You breathing eventually started to even out, and your legs didn't feel so weak. “Thanks, Sam,” you said with a weak smile. You tried to step out of his grip, but he was reluctant to let you go. 

     “Your head looks pretty bad, (Y/N),” Sam said with concern. He brushed some of your hair aside to get a better look at your wound, the blood already drying in the strands. You hissed in pain as his fingers made contact with the wound.

     “Yep, that's going to need stitches,” Sam stated. “Can you walk?”

     “Yeah, I think I'm good now,” you said. Sam loosened his grip as you cautiously stepped forward. But his arms immediately came around you again as you nearly stumbled to the ground, the room spinning again when you moved. 

     In one swift movement, Sam had swept you up in his arms, and he was carrying you bridal style. “Thanks again, Sammy,” you said sheepishly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

     “No problem,” he said with a grin, his dimples coming into view. You passed Dean, crouched over the body of the now dead witch. 

     He glanced up as Sam approached. “She okay?” he asked, motioning to you. 

     Sam gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Yeah, but she's pretty banged up. Going to get her comfortable in the Impala,” he said.

     Dean gave a curt nod. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I'll take care of this hag and meet you outside.”

     “You going to be okay if I let you down for a sec?” Sam asked when you reached the Impala. You nodded, and Sam cautiously lowered you to the ground. You leaned against the cool metal of the vehicle, using it for support. 

     Sam went to the trunk, taking out a navy wool blanket and his FBI suit jacket. He laid the blanket out in the back seat and folded up the jacket, placing it at the other end. 

     “Ready?” he asked once he was done arranging things. You nodded, and he helped you to the back seat. You gingerly slid in, shifting sideways so your body was parallel with the seat. You scooted back as far as you could go before laying back, your head resting on his suit jacket. 

     “You good?” Sam asked, bringing another, lighter blanket from the trunk and laying it across your legs. 

     “Yeah,” you said. He smiled and stepped away as Dean came from the abandoned factory. “Sam?” you asked, stopping him from shutting the door. 

     “Yeah?”

     “Can you stay with me?”

     Sam grinned. “Sure,” he said. He shut the door before walking around the vehicle and coming to the other side. You sat up as he opened the door. He climbed in, pulling the door closed behind him and tossing the jacket onto the floorboard.

     “Here,” he said, patting his leg once he was comfortable. You leaned back until your head was cradled in his lap. You looked up at him and smiled. He returned it with a grin of his own. He gently threaded his fingers through your hair, his ministrations comforting and soft. You closed your eyes and relaxed, barely registering when you drifted off to sleep.

**********

     You awoke to the sound of your name and the feel of your shoulder being shaken. “(Y/N),” Sam called again, his voice louder this time. 

     You jumped up, your hand instinctively reaching for the demon blade at your hip and your eyes widening in panic as you searched for the enemy. A sharp pain shot through your head, and you doubled over with a gasp, holding your head in your hands, willing the pain to end.

     Sam quickly reached for you, his large hands coming around your shoulders. “Easy, easy,” he soothed. “We’re home.”

     You dared a glance at him, but you instantly regretted it as the pain returned and with it vertigo. You felt nausea well up, and you pulled your legs to your chest, crossing your arms over the tops of your knees and resting your head on top of them. 

     “Hey,” Sam said, his deep voice laced with worry. “Are you okay?”

     You swallowed to keep the bile down. “I...I don’t think I can make it to the bunker by myself,” you simply said, your voice strained as you tried to get past the pain and the roiling of your stomach.

     “Okay,” Sam said, looking you over and trying to assess what to do next. “Okay, um, do you think you can scoot over to me? I can carry you the rest of the way.”

     “Um,” you said, trying to gather your thoughts. “Uh, yeah. I...I think so.” You gingerly raised your head, your surroundings immediately spinning. 

     You scooted forward cautiously. You grit your teeth as the nausea grew more intense, each movement sending jolts of searing pain through your skull. You stared straight ahead, focusing on Sam’s ever changing eyes.

     “That’s it,” Sam said with an encouraging smile. “Just a little farther.” 

     Sam reached for you again, pulling you the last few inches when your legs finally hung out the door. Before your feet even reached solid ground you were hunched over, expelling the contents of your stomach onto the frigid earth. Sam rubbed comforting circles over your back as you heaved. You stayed hunched over, leaning heavily on your thighs even after you were through and the nausea was gone. You were too terrified of the pain when you finally righted. 

     “Hey,” Sam said, continuing to rub your back. “We need to get you inside.”

     You nodded ever so slightly before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You slowly straightened up, careful not to move too quickly. Once you were fully righted again, you looked up at Sam, his eyes filled with worry. 

     “I’m going to pick you up, okay?” he asked, coming up behind you. You nodded again, keeping your eyes trained on him as he wrapped one strong arm around your waist and moved the other to the backs of your thighs. In one swift but careful motion you were in his arms, your own wrapped around his neck. 

     His eyes shot to your face, searching for any sign of distress. “You good?” he asked softly. He was so close you could smell his cologne and the faintest hint of the mint gum he had chewed earlier. You swallowed as sudden butterflies filled your stomach.

     “Mhm,” you said, the sound the only thing you could muster.

     Sam grinned. “Okay, good. We’re going to go slow,” he reassured.

     Sam quickly but carefully carried you to the bunker, making quick work of getting you to your room. He set you down gently on the bed. “You okay?” he asked.

     You nodded slightly. “Yeah, the dizziness isn’t as bad. Although, I can’t say the same for the pain,” you chuckled sardonically, your hand coming to the back of your head.

     Sam smiled softly and nodded. “Why don’t you go shower and get yourself cleaned up? Then I’ll patch you up.”

     You nodded again before Sam left your room, closing the door softly behind him. You glanced around the room, trying to gather your thoughts and still the slight pounding of your heart. You were still on high alert and tense from the fight earlier, and you couldn’t wait to shower. It would be just the thing to help you relax.

     You gathered up a tank top and pair of pajama shorts before making your way to the bathroom. Once there, you turned on the water to heat up and took a washcloth and towel from the cupboard by the sink. 

     After you deemed it warm enough, you stepped gingerly into the shower. You sighed as the warm water cascaded over your bruised and battered body. You didn’t immediately wash, instead standing under the water and letting it warm your body and loosen up your aching muscles.

     You hissed in pain once you turned and leaned your head into the rivulets, the water hitting the wound on your head. Once your hair was soaked, you squeezed a bit of your rose scented shampoo into your palm before gently massaging it into your scalp, being careful to skirt around the wound. You conditioned your hair as well before moving on to the rest of your body.

     Your mind began to wander as you absentmindedly washed yourself, your thoughts soon turning back to the witch hunt and subsequent fight. You’d hunted and taken down many a witch in your ten years as a hunter, but this one…. This one was formidable. Ruthless. She had backed you into a corner, cut you off from the boys and for the first time in your entire hunting experience, you were scared. 

     She had thrown your body around like it was nothing more than a rag doll, dashing it against the brick walls and throwing you into crates and machinery alike. When she’d finally pummeled you into the floor, you thought for sure it would be your last breath. 

     Even now, you could see that evil glint in her dark and haunting eyes and the sadistic smirk as blood pooled under your head. You were brought out of your reverie by your heart once again pounding. Your breathing had picked up slightly, and you closed your eyes to take in deep breaths. You just needed to calm down.

     You tried to get your mind on other things, but the witch kept coming to your mind, the imagine of her marring your every thought. You winced as your heartbeat picked up even more. Your throat was constricting as you fought to maintain even breathing.

     Without warning, sharp pain shot across your chest and shoulder, and you cried out, dropping to the floor beneath you, your knees hitting the wet tile with a sickening thud. You held yourself up with one hand while the other clutched at your chest. Something wasn’t right. Your heart kept racing, pounding incessantly against your rib cage, and you were certain it would burst through your chest at any moment.

     Darkness began forming at the outer edges of your vision as your breathing picked up and became more labored. You started to panic, and you opened your mouth to scream the one word you knew would save you: “Sam!”

     The door burst open, banging into the wall with a heavy thud. Sam rushed in, his eyes wide and body alert. He glanced around quickly before zeroing in on you.

     “Please,” you gasped, your hand still grasping at your chest.

     Sam immediately ran over, hauling you up off the floor and into his strong arms. “What’s wrong?” he asked breathlessly, his baritone voice filled with alarm.

     “C...can’t breathe,” you panted.

     “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he soothed. He held you against his chest, his breathing once again guiding your own as he sought to help you stop hyperventilating. You heard heavy footfalls as Dean ran into the bathroom, stopping short when he saw you in his brother’s grasp. You met his concerned gaze, a frown wrinkling his forehead. 

     You clung to Sam, your hands fisting his flannel. You didn’t care that you were completely naked in front of the brothers. All you cared about and were aware of was Sam’s soothing breath and his steady heartbeat under your ear. 

     He continued to hold you tight until your muscles started to relax and your breathing became more even. Eventually he loosened his grip completely to take the towel Dean had taken from the rack by the shower. He wrapped it around you before helping you back to your bedroom, Dean carrying your change of clothes. The boys stepped out to give you privacy while you dressed, but as soon as you were decent, Sam reentered. 

     “What happened in there?” Sam asked.

     You shook your head and looked to the ground as you sought to unfurl your jumbled up thoughts. “I...I’m not really sure,” you said, looking up at Sam in confusion. “One minute I was showering and then the next...I was on the ground with my heart beating so hard I thought for sure it’d burst through my chest, and I couldn’t breathe.”

     Sam bit the inside of his cheek as he silently went over everything you had just told him. He turned to the door as Dean entered your room, first aid kit in hand. Sam took it from him. “Turn around,” he instructed, making his way over to you.

     You turned, your back now facing him. “Lean your head down,” he said, laying the kit on the mattress beside you. You did as you were told. Dean leaned back against the desk in the corner of your room, crossing his arms and silently watching while his brother gently parted your damp locks to get a better look at your wound.

     You gasped and jerked away from his touch as his fingers made contact with the wound. “Hmm…. Yeah, that’s a pretty nasty gash all right,” Sam said. “Thankfully the bleeding has slowed so it should be okay if I just stitch it.”

     You nodded as Sam took a needle and thread from the first aid kit. “This is probably going to hurt like a son of a bitch,” he warned you, placing his strong hand on your shoulder. You nodded again, shutting your eyes tight as Sam parted your hair once more. You grit your teeth as the first prick of the needle went through your skin. 

     “Has that ever happened before?” Sam asked, trying to get your mind off what he was doing. 

     “What?” you asked, his endeavor successful as you forgot the pain for a moment.

     “What happened in the shower,” Sam said. “Has that ever happened before?”

     “No, never,” you said.

     Sam was silent for a few moments as he skillfully maneuvered the needle, continuing to suture the gash. “Did the witch say anything to you during the fight?” he asked nonchalantly. 

     “Um…” you said, thinking hard, trying to recall everything that had transpired. “Yeah, she did actually. But I don’t remember exactly what. I can only remember a couple of words.” You told him what you thought it sounded like she said. You yelped and grimaced in pain as Sam shoved the needle through a little harder than before. 

     “Sorry,” Sam said absentmindedly, silently shooting a look at Dean. The older Winchester nodded in acknowledgement and pushed back from the desk, exiting the room without a sound. 

     “Why did you ask me that?” you asked, worry lacing your words.

     “Hm?” Sam questioned distractedly.

     “The witch. Why did you ask me if she said anything?” you asked again.

     “No reason,” Sam said. “You hungry?”

     You were caught off guard at his sudden change of topic, but you shrugged it off. “Uh, yeah, I guess,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders.

     “Okay,” Sam said. “I’ll make you something once you’re stitched up.”

     You got up from the bed, going to the mirror over your dresser and braiding your hair while Sam went to the bathroom to wash his hands and sanitize the needle. You turned to the door just as Dean ran into your room, his chest heaving and his eyes wide with panic.

     “Dean?” you asked in concern.

     “Where’s Sam?” he asked breathlessly, quickly scanning your room.

     “In the bathroom,” you said. “What’s wrong?” you asked with a frown.

     “Hey, what’s going on?” Sam asked, coming back into your room. 

     “I...I,” Dean stuttered, his anxious gaze shooting between you and his brother, words escaping him.

     “Dean!” you raised your voice. “What the fuck is going on?”

     He seemed to snap out of his frightened state as he turned towards you, a mixture of pity and dread in his usually calm and resolute green eyes. “(Y/N),” he breathed out, the fear in his voice causing a shiver to run down your spine. “I’m so sorry.”

     “Dean...” you said, your voice quivering. “You’re scaring me.”

     He paused for a moment and searched your face as if debating whether he should say anything else. “You’re cursed,” he finally said bluntly. Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes fluttered in disbelief. He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving yours. 

     “And you’ve only got ninety days to live.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[cigtray]

Pull over

Billy Hargrove x reader

Warnings: Cursing, smutty stuff towards the end, abuse, typos prolly (sorry)

Hopper has caught Billy Hargrove parked in his Camaro so many times that at this point it’s just a common occurrence.

A few taps at the window of Billy’s Camaro woke him up, looking up at the light with half open eyes Billy stumbles to get out of the car to meet the Chief. “Yes sir?” Billy mumbled, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the car. Tonight had been a particularly rough tumble with his dad, or more, his dad had been pissed about something when Billy got home and Billy got the short side of deal.

“You can’t be here, Hargrove. Go home.” Hopper told him, looking at Billy’s black eye. “No fuckin way.” Billy’s eyes shot open to meet Hoppers. “Excuse me?” Hopper met Billy’s eyes, meeting a hard cold reflection of what Hopper only imagines his eyes looked like. “I’m not going home.” Billy told Hopper. Hopper was getting frustrated with these meetings, every time Hopper told Billy to go home it was like watching a little kid wrap themselves around their parents leg so that their parent couldn’t go anywhere. And it was exhausting.

“You are, and I’ll be escorting you home.” Hopper told him. The first few times Hopper caught Billy out he had assumed the asshole kid, as he had heard from his little gang, either had a girl, was drunk or had gotten into a fight. Low and behold that first time Hopper found him Billy had a really shiner. But there were times when Billy didn’t seem like he had gotten in fights. And he wasn’t drunk. And he didn’t have a girl. Hopper never really cared too much why exactly the kid slept in his car. It just made Hopper’s job a little harder.

Hopper sat in his car behind the Camaro, listening to roar as Billy started to go home, the chief on his tail as he had been promised.

Pulling up to his house Billy felt a little sick, and pretty sure that a beating was in order. He could already hear Neil when he stood at the front door, Billy felt sure he could already smell the alcohol on Neil’s breath, and maybe Billy was positively sure he could already feel more bruises forming on his back. This week might’ve been the worse one yet, as soon as his bruises had gone from that purple blue color to that yellow green, more bruises were put there. His sides were pretty fucked up too, and Billy was pretty sure after seeing a cop in the driveway his face wouldn’t be any prettier after tonight.

Before Billy realized what was happening Hopper was next to him, knocking on the door. Billy sharply inhaled as the door was flung open. “Where the hell have you been.” Neil seethed “Well sir he was parked on the side of the road, it’s happened numerous times, so if you could tell him to not let it happen again it may save you a ticket.” Billy could see the anger and the beating brewing in Neil’s eyes. He didn’t understand how Hopper couldn’t see it. “It won’t happen again” and Billy was pulled in the house.

When Hopper next saw Billy it was the next day, Billy was waiting to for Max. He had leaned himself against the Camaro, sunglasses on and a jacket that seemed unnecessary for the weather they were having, but maybe it had something to do with him being from California.

“What happened.” Max asked, looking at the road. “None of your fuckin business.” He hissed. Usually Max would have badgered him a little more, but she heard the beating, Billy knew she had heard it. Sometimes he felt bad that she had to hear it, sometimes he thought maybe he’d get her a record player and some headphones so she wouldn’t have to hear. But they were all really expensive and Billy was trying to keep himself out of the house as much as he could.

When they got home Neil wasn’t home, so Billy sped off. He drove, and he drove fast. Until flashing lights shined through his back window, and much to his dismay he pulled over. Three taps at his window as usual, “yes officer?” Billy asked in the most sickly sweet voice he could muster. Billy let his hands tap on the outer part of the car. “Take your glasses off when talking to me.” Hoppers stern voice told him. Billy gritted his teeth and pulled the glasses from his face. “What the fuck do you get up to? I left you at your house and you already have another damn black eye?!” Hopper was angry, what would it take to keep this boy out of trouble?!

“None of your goddamn business, pig.” Billy spat, a flurry of anger and fear coursing through Billy. “Your knuckles,” Hopper said, “what?” Billy asked, why the hell was Hopper inquiring about his knuckles. “You haven’t been fighting. Your knuckles are fine, and I’ve seen your knuckles after a fight. Don’t lie to me.” Hopper said sternly. “I said, none of your goddamn business.” Billy was terrified that Hopper had got him, he felt trapped, maybe. “Get out of the car.” Hopper softly yelled. He watched as Billy stiffly got out of his car, turning to Hopper with a hard face and a devilish glare. “You’re coming to the station.”

Billy sat in Hopper’s office was he going to call Neil? Was Neil going to be thrown in jail? God he hoped they didn’t tell Max more then she already knew. Would they drag Susan in to question if she knew? If she did know would they take her away? If they took her away what would happen to Max? Billy’s head was swarmed with thoughts. He was scared that Hopper knew what was going on at his home. He was scared that he had just screwed up Max’s childhood. He felt dumb for letting anyone see enough to put any of the puzzle together.

“We’re going to need you to take off your shirt.” Hopper had watched Billy’s demeanor change as soon as Hopper took him to the station. Billy had stopped responding all together, his face blank and his hands were wrapped around himself. “Hargrove.” Billy only stared, he could hear them. He knew what they wanted. They were too close, oh god, they knew, oh fuck.

“Hold him.” Before Billy could try to defend himself two cops had his arms, tugging his jacket off, and then his shirt. Billy wrestled to keep them from getting his shirt off, but with three grown men encircling him, exposing his deepest secret he felt helpless. And so off the shirt came, after the Billy was like a rag doll as they saw the damage his father had done.

Hopper gawked, Billy’s entire back was covered in color, not only did Billy have black eyes but Hopper had missed the bruise around his neck that Hopper could only guess was from being choked. “Who did this to you.” Hopper already knew, but it had to be said. Hopper watched as Billy’s back began to shake, as he began to shake and sink to the floor. Fuck had he broken the Hargrove kid?

Billy sobbed on the floor of Hoppers office, his arms wrapped around himself again. “Billy?” He heard a soft voice looking up to see the Byers mother. He let her get closer then he’d let the men get in the last hour. Her hands soft against his face as she held him in a motherly embrace, and maybe that’s why he let her near, she had an air of motherlyness about her.

“You’ll stay with me.” Hopper told Billy who sat in Hopper’s passenger seat. Billy only looked out the window. Hopper didn’t push any further as he knew the boy had been through too much today, and maybe he should’ve been gentler with the whole shirt thing.

They pulled up to the hut and Billy silently walked behind Hopper, following into the house. What surprised Billy was that two girls popped up from behind a door. “These are my daughters, El and (y/n).” Hopper told Billy. “Hi.” El said and (y/n) gave him a wave.

“You’ll sleep here” Hopper awkwardly told the boy, almost positive that El was spying on them. “Thank you.” Billy said in a stiff tone. “I’m sorry for today, and for the blowup mattress, it was the best I could get from Joyce’s store.” Hopper told Billy in maybe just as stiffly a tone as Billy felt. “It’s okay, sir, thank you.” Billy repeated, standing so straight Hopper could’ve mistaken him for a soldier if not for the mullet. “No problem, goodnight.” Hopper said swiftly walking to his room, leaving Billy in the living room.

Billy cried that night, for the first time in a long time. It seemed like everything he had held back for years flooded in as the fresh tears rolled down his face. The beatings, the move, loosing everything he had known and had, it all came with the tears rolling down his face.

“Are you alright?” The older girl of the two asked, light peaking from behind a door in the hallway. Billy turned to see her, to really focus on her through his teary eyes. She almost looked like an angel with the streak of light pouring out from behind her. Her hair was messy from sleeping, and she wore a large shirt and some shorts as she padded toward him in bright yellow socks.

“I’m fine.” He grumbled, wiping the tears from his face as quickly as he could. “You’ve been crying. I don’t think your fine.” She said stubbornly. “I said I’m fine, little girl.” He hissed through a fresh wave of tears. “I’m not a little girl, I’m your age, dumbass.” She muttered to him as she made her way to the kitchen, reaching for the water glasses that her father had placed on a frustratingly high shelf. As she turned to get a chair she was met with a bare chest as Billy reached over her to get her the glass. “Here you go.” He laughed a little at the wide eyed look and blush slowly spreading over her face. Flirtatious, she thought as she met his shining eyes, tears still welled up in them.

This was one way Billy got his emotions out since Hopper had him on house arrest until the police department sorted things out with his ‘situation’. As Billy was made aware they were currently working on getting Max out of the household, because as often it was for Billy to be missing from the house it wasn’t so common for Max besides the day. They didn’t want to alert Neil. This was one thing that chewed away at Billy, that Neil would be alerted that the police knew and he’d take his little ‘family’ and end up using Max as his new punching bag just in another state.

So, he put all his emotions into flirting with (y/n), chess games with El and chopping wood with fury that Hopper hadn’t seen in someone in years.

“(Y/n), did you know that your ass looks splendid on those shorts?” Billy asked as you walked past him. “Billy did you ever know you ass looks so very smackable in those denim?” (Y/n) returned the gesture, turning to look at him through her lashes. “Goddamn, (y/n).” He practically moaned at the way she always fired back at him, and the tone she used with him whenever she gave her remark to him. “Don’t cream your pants, Hargrove.” She purred to him while she waltzed back to her and El’s room.

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT.” Hopper howled as the remarks going back and forth between (y/n) and Billy made his ears bleed. Hopper had come into the house to hear the two teens yelling comments to eachother from different rooms. The first Hopper had heard was from (y/n) saying that she would rip that denim off his body if she had to and Billy’s response being not to get him so hot and bothered unless she was going to handle it. To say Hopper was a bit irked was an understatement. Alas he couldn’t much stop them seeing as he was gone most days.

Billy felt her arms snake around his waist as he stood in the kitchen at 11 PM making waffles (seeing as they were overly stocked on them). “Dad is going on a date and El is staying with a friend.” She mumbled into his back. Billy twirled around, looking at (y/n) “you trying to say you want some of this, (y/n)?” Billy mocked as he gestured to himself. She pulled away much to Billy’s dismay. “Saying you don’t want some of this, Hargrove?” She gestured to herself, in those little shorts Billy had come to love. (Y/n) pulled her shirt over her head, letting it fall to the floor, her pretty little black bra on show for Billy. “How bout now, Hargrove?” She purred, taking a few steps back from him. “Oh I want some.” Billy growled, his eyes darkening and tone dropping an octave as he slowly stepped closer to you.

(Y/n) gave him a little smile, eyes piercing as she took a few more steps back, and dropped her shorts. Billy took three large strides eager to press her to him. She let herself turn and pad farther from him to take off her socks and let a bra strap fall from a shoulder. With this action Billy was quick to press her against her and El’s door. “What’re you doing to me, little one?” He lowly groaned in her ear. Pressing his denim clad erection against her thigh. She took her lip between her teeth as she let her thigh grind against him. Billy gave a soft moan in return, his hands digging into her soft hips to still her.

Pulling her up to wrap her thighs around his waist he smashed his lips against hers, biting and sucking at her bottom lip. Her hips grinder into his hands holding her up by the ass. She could feel him flex under her as his hand ran up her back and unsnapped her bra. His mouth trailed down before taking her pretty pink nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and softly nipping at the bud. Her head against the door as she mewled, her own hands running through his hair and over his shoulders, letting her nails scrap against the top of shoulders.

“Oh baby girl,” He hummed letting the nipple go with a ‘pop’ “such pretty noises for daddy.” He hummed into her neck as he opened the door and laid her on her bed. “Let’s see if I can get more out of you hm?” He asked as he closed the door and pulled his shirt over his head. Looking at his tan body towering over her, relishing in the sight of her splayed over the bed waiting for his next move.

He watched as she let one of her hands dip under her panties while looking at him, his chest, his jaw, his eyes. Looking at her like prey. She moaned, her eyes slipping closed “Billy” she moaned her other hand digging into the mattress. Billy grunted as he watched her hand dip into her wet core, grabbing her by the waist her set her on his thigh. “Ride.” He said curtly. She looked at him, her hips rolling on the denim. Bringing her hand up and showing him her wetness still on her hand, he smirked as he licked it away. She moaned, throwing her head back as she bounced on his thigh, rolled her hips, grinded down. “Oh little one, you are so good for me aren’t you?” Billy hummed to you.

You threw your other other leg over her lap, sitting directly on his erection. Pushing him down while you ground down on him, looking at him with false innocence. He threw a hand over his eyes “fuck, baby girl, don’t give me that look.” “Don’t cum in your pants Hargrove, I need more fun then that.” She panted letting herself angle her legs up so he could see just how wet she was through her panties. Wasting no time he grabbed her by the ankles pulling her to sit on his face. Ripping her panties off her body.

(Y/n) gasped as she felt his tongue lick up her slit. Groaning into her as she bucked her hips into his face. “Billy” she whimpered as his tongue entered her, lapping her up. She grinded down on his face before letting her hip thrusts match that of his tongues handy work. “Billy, I, I’m so close.” She moaned, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. Moaning into her pussy was all it took to send her over edge, cumming in his mouth.

Flipping them over Billy growled “so, so, good for daddy, baby girl. You ride my face so pretty princess.” He threw his pants and boxers off, making himself comfortable between her legs. “You want this?” He asked looking at her, her thighs were trembling and her dripping pussy was so very tempting, but Billy had to make sure. “Yes, Billy, please.” She drawled, her nails lightly slipping over almost healed bruises.

To say Hopper was not happy to find a trail of his daughters clothes leading to the abused boy hunched over his daughter would have been the biggest fucking understatement of the year. In fact Billy was almost sure he was going to have a new addition to his collection of healing bruises (he didn’t end up with one, luckily.). However he wasn’t allowed near (y/n) and was to be removed from the house as soon as possible, and he was.

“Hey doll.” Billy whispered, as he slipped through her window. It was only three days later but Hopper had managed to work fast in getting Billy situated with a foster parent along with Max. This being Joyce Byers, Hopper was helping with payments for things.

“Can I see?” He hummed, El was with Max today so it was just the two of them. (Y/n) nodded, letting her towel drop to put all her marks on show. She had some bruises on her hips from Billy’s hands, she seemed to adore them. Hickies littered her body, and Billy was rather proud. “Wanna add more to the collection?”

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 17

Ansgar thrust home, hard - elbows locked and back arched like a bow, his head thrown back. He held himself there for a beat as the pleasure flowed through him, up his spine and through his lungs and out his wide open mouth upon a long, keening moan. The flame of his release licked and teased at the base of his abdomen, making itself known, giving Ansgar’s flesh fair warning that it was about to burst forth, to explode.

Too soon. Too soon. Much too soon. Much much too soon.

“Not fucking yet,” he growled, annoyed at the childish impatience of his own cock. His words were barely understandable pushed as they were through grit teeth. With an angry roar, he pulled himself from her and whirled, nearly throwing his feet to the floor and shoving himself to stand.

“What?” she gasped. “What’s wr– “

“Get up,” he commanded. “Get. Up.” He bent down and clamped his hand around the back of her neck, lifting her as if she were a rag doll, limp and pliant as she was. With small shoves and pulls, and with his other hand clutching her cheeks, controlling her head, he maneuvered her bodily toward the massive wall of windows.

She whimpered, her eyes wide, her mouth an open “o” of shock, and what was that… Ansgar saw… fear? Fear, yes. Fear – and it was delicious. He licked his lips, tasting it on the air. “Don’t act so surprised,” he cooed. “I told you I wouldn’t be gentle.”

Before she could reply he pushed her against the glass, her arse and head hitting the slightly wobbly surface with a soft ‘thunk’. She gasped, her body tensed, jolted by the smooth, hard, cold pane against her bare back. She spread her hands, fingers splayed beside her.  She pursed her lips tightly shut, her respiration hissing in and out through her flared nostrils. Her eyes shifted back and forth between Ansgar’s, gauging him, reading him, at the same time, in the back of her mind, sussing out a possible escape.

“I won’t hurt you. Trust me,” Ansgar said, at last. He kept hold of her face, his hand shifted lower, the bow between thumb and forefinger now strung beneath her hyoid bone at the fold of her chin and throat. He dug his fingers in, keeping her head still. “Don’t be afraid, and don’t you dare fight me,” he sneered. “Do you want to hear what depraved things I’m going to do to you, Joline?”

Her nod was so imperceptible that Ansgar felt it rather than saw it.

“Good,” he said, eyes flaring. He opened his hand, a slight release of pressure around her vulnerable flesh, and he stepped closer to her, deepening his invasion of her space. His hands were everywhere – ghosting, just barely touching her, coasting over the small hairs on her arms, her hips, her breasts. “I am going to turn you around,” he said. “I am going to hold your.. ah! Oh, fuck! Bitch!”

He’d brushed his lips over her cheek. She’d turned and bit, snarling as she pulled back, a mouthful of his bottom lip between her teeth. He bellowed out an oath, a curse, and she’d released him almost as quickly as she’d grabbed him.

“You like that?” she gnarled. “Yeah, I’ll bet you do.”

“Don’t interrupt me,” he warned, his hand clamping anew around her throat. He held tighter, sneering. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes.” He chewed his bottom lip, soothing the pain from her bite, his head tilted to the side - the cat contemplating its prey. “I am going to fuck you from behind, my darling,” he said, drawing his fingers from her throat down her chest to pinch hard at her taut nipple. “Are you ready?”

“Ah! Ansgar! You –”

“Ssh! I’m not finished!” He squeezed her breasts with both hands, kneading them sensually, his eyes fixated on hers as he spoke. “I am going to smash these lovely tits of yours against my windows. The whole of Stockholm will see me, watch me fucking you, isn’t that exciting? Yes, I know,” he crooned. “I know it is. Very exciting.”

She whimpered.

“And don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. This is my building, my design, my work after all.”

Her eyes darted downward and to the side, gauging the distance from the window to the bustling street below. Ten floors at least. Ten long floors. She shivered.

“What’s more,” he continued, grinning. “I am going to stop your breath. I’ll cover your nose and mouth with one hand, and with the other, I am going to touch you, just here.” He curled his fingers between her legs, making her gasp, making her eyes flutter and her jaw drop as he pressed deep into her sex-sensitized spot. “Yes, just like that. Oh, that’s beautiful. Just like that, I am going to make you come yet again. You will come with me. You will come when I tell you, and only when I tell you, and there’s nothing you can do about any of it.”

“I can say no,” she challenged. “You won’t do anything to me that I won’t let you do.”

He smirked, and gave a sardonic chuckle. “But you won’t say no, will you?” His tone was a mockery, an imitation of a petulant child under threat of a toy being taken away. “Please don’t say no. I couldn’t possibly cope if you said no.”

Her lips, in turn, curled into a broad leer, sly and knowing and wily enough to match his. “Do it,” she said, lifting her chin. “Do everything you said. Do it and more.”

And so, he did.

He did and he was true to his word. Every single violent, brutal, sensual, passionate word.

“Come,” he demanded, at last. “I’m going to… mmmm.  Oh, Christ!  You… you come, come now. Now, ffffff-fuck… now! Do it!” His words carried upon a breathy whisper, barely audible in her ear, his lips bobbing up and down along the curve of it in time with his rapid fire thrusts below, in time with the push of his chest against her back, the desperate swirls of his finger on her swollen, sensitive flesh, in time with the stars that shone behind her eyes from the lack of oxygen, in time with the stars that shone outside, in time with the city lights, in time with the universe… in time with everything.

“Come!”

And she did.

And, with a long, violent roar of release, of passion, of ecstasy, he did.

His hands flew from her body to slap hard and percussive, a massive double “thwap” upon the glass. “Fuck!” That fire, that flame, that coil of quick match that she’d ignited in his belly burst forth and flashed over, instantaneously consuming every inch of him, locking him in place. He shoved his tumescence deep within her, grunting, snorting like a ravenous animal, his whole body stiff, as if he, with brute force, could push through her, into her, within her.

And as soon as it began, it was over. It was over, and it was perfect. So perfect. So incredibly perfect. He sighed, deep and heavy, letting his long held breath out in a massive rush of air. His body went limp, and he stumbled backwards as his muscles morphed from granite to goo. “Jesus fuck,” he swore, catching his feet under him, his hand on Joline’s slick shoulder. “Are you… are you okay?”

He stepped back up to her, and gently turned her to face him, resting his palm on her flushed and red-fingerprinted cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“God, Joline. You… that was… oh, fuck,” he gasped, the breath still coming hard and fast in his lungs. He wrapped his arms around her and gathered her to him, holding her tightly against his body. He pressed a long, warm kiss to the top of her head, bent and burrowed his face against hers, bringing her lips to his. He hummed delightedly as he kissed her, long and desperate and deep.

And she, thank Christ, kissed him back.

Ansgar pet and soothed his hands down her hair, then smoothed and stroked her arms, ironing out the passionately violent (or violently passionate) acts he’d inflicted on her. He was a strange cat, this lion of a man in her arms. Staunchly proud, fiercely loyal, viciously violent and yet strongly protective. He confused her and puzzled her, and she couldn’t quite decide if she liked him or tolerated him. One thing she knew, for sure, no question, he knew how to use his dick and all his other parts… well. And she felt very much inclined to stick around for that.

He bowed into her, seeking to deepen their kiss, memorize the taste of her, sweet, flowery and airy. Like summer in Greece. He picked her up in his solidifying arms, his tongue fully engaged with hers. As if he ordered it, as if on automatic pilot if he led her, Joline jumped into his arms, circling his waist with her toned legs.

He carried her back to the lake-sized mattress. Tearing back the hotel quality folding of coverlets, he dropped both of them with a heavy whoosh and hiss of sheets, Joline beneath him. He crawled over her situating the pillows beneath her head. He brought a sheet up to envelope them.

Her hands eventually grasped his head to end their sensual kisses. She peered up at him, the lights of Stockholm playing over his proud forehead, long nose, stark cheekbones and the hollows underneath. “I know what you’re doing, Sgar.” Mischief lifted her eyebrows, her bruised lips pursed below.

“What… what am I doing then?”

Joline relaxed her legs, the strain of locking them around his waist after turning her to jelly knocked her stamina too much. She kept them laced with his all the same… she wasn’t entirely daft. And she quite fancied him on top of her. “I’m a big girl and I don’t need it.”

“What am I doing?” he repeated a bit more forcefully. His fingers toyed in her fanned out hair as he lowered himself to his elbows upon the mattress, imprisoning her beneath him, below him, jailed by his weight upon her.

But she made a break for freedom, bounced on good behavior and flipped them over, so he bore her weight. Damn him, if he didn’t look as sexy underneath her as he did above her. No matter, his hips were between her legs, precisely where she intended to keep him… at least for the evening. “Aftercare, you big oaf. I appreciate the thought… maybe even the inclination, but I don’t need it.” Her fingers splayed over his chest muscles, the lion tickling her palm when he flexed. “I asked for it, and you…” She danced her sex very deliberately over his.

Ansgar angled his waist upwards, but he was slow to rise so soon after she drained him dry.

“You fucked me sore.” She tweaked his nipples roughly as a small repayment for some of the marks he’d left upon her skin. Her cheeks, her lips, her neck, her breasts and her thigh showed evidence that he’d been there.

He grunted, but discovered her linked the pinch, the hint of abuse. “Are you sore?”

She covered his mouth with the pads of her fingers. “Deliciously sore. Fucked by a man who utterly knows how.” She descended upon one of his nipples and bit down roughly.

He groaned, cursing his traitorous dick for limping to life again. He just needed time. Something Joline didn’t seem bent on giving him.

“I’ll feel the pounding in my body for days to come…” She dragged her lips from one nipple to the other, and licked the lion before nipping at him with teeth. She heard his frustration in the low groan that emanated from somewhere just above his well-defined chest. “When we meet with the insurance people next week, I’ll feel you.” She brushed her breasts along his stomach as she slithered down. “When I have to pick out upholstery or carpeting, I’ll feel you.” She pressed a kiss to a point along the path of hair on his lower abdomen, her hair feathering the trail. “When I meet with my board of repressed men…” she blew a breath across his still sleeping flesh at the v between his legs.

Ansgar sat up suddenly reeling her back into him, her legs behind him, her bum cushioned by his thighs. His arms cocooned her, his back rounded to hold her. He locked her in his gaze and wouldn’t let go. “You’re going to drive me mad, woman.”

Her grin grew, the corners of her mouth curling upwards. “You know the drill, Mister CEO. All’s fair in business and pleasure. I think this time, I hold the advantage.”

“I call foul.”

She giggled at the recall, his repeat from before. “You can call it all you like.” She lowered her voice and leaned into his lips until she hovered there, hers ghosting his. “I won’t stop. I’ll be in here too.” She threaded her fingers into his hair, gently pulling at the strands. “You could have me bent over your desk, or splayed out on that piano in your office. Against those windows overlooking the car park…”

“Joline,” he warned through grit teeth. She was right that she held the advantage this time.

“I can hide my arousal, and you, big boy, cannot. How’s that for a partnership, huh, partner?”

[ussgallifrey]

Date Night (18+)

✦ Summary: It had been seven long and tiring months since you became parents - you were finally ready for a night off. ✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader ✦ Warnings: Explicit 18+ sexual content, minors do not interact ✦ Word Count: 2.7k ✦ Playlist: Here

[Masterlist]

You can hear Rebecca squealing in the other room as you finish applying your makeup. Bucky probably has her jumping in the air or is tickling the backs of her thighs and round little tummy. You wanted this so badly, just one night away with him. After nearly seven months of motherhood, where you only left the house for pediatrician appointments and shopping trips - all with the baby in tow, you deserved a night off.

Her breathy little laughs move closer, soon her head is peeking around the door into the bathroom. Bucky carefully holding her in his arms as her little hands smack the wall in excitement.

“Ma! Ma! Bubba bub maba ma!”

You smile in the mirror at her before turning to swoop her up into your arms, “Hello, little Becca Bear! Look at you! Yes, look at you!”

Her legs kick happily in your embrace, grabby hands reaching for your hair, as she blows drooly bubbles with her mouth.

Bucky moves around the door, looking like a fucking dream in his leather jacket. He leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Your mom just pulled in.”

Shifting Becca onto your hip, batting her hands away from your hair, “Okay. Think we have everything ready. I have her schedule written down.”

He grins as his little girl reaches out for him. Dropping a kiss to the top of her head, letting her wrap a wet hand around his vibranium finger. Desperately trying to bring it up to her mouth to slobber on.

The bags were packed, milk was in the fridge in carefully measured out bottles, an overly detailed play-by-play schedule was clearly written out on the fridge. And you still felt like you were forgetting something. You could tell that he was feeling it too. 

“There’s my granddaughter!” Becca was swooped into a tight hug.

And as Bucky put your bags in the car and you gave the rundown to your mom, you still felt that growing sense of anxiety in your stomach. 

Her hand was gentle on your arm as you finished explaining the meal plan for the night, “I was the same way the first time you stayed with your grandmother. Just try and enjoy it together, she’s in good hands.”

Becca squealed as she was tickled under the armpits. 

She was with the best person for the job. Not to mention the three constant SHIELD agents on standby outside the perimeter of the house. You had made the move three months ago. Leaving the comfy apartment in the Heights for a spacious farmhouse upstate. It was so damn hard to leave that little slice of paradise, feeling like you were leaving part of yourself behind - so many memories were there. But Becca was starting to move around, rolling mostly, and it quickly became apparent that a tiny studio wasn’t going to fit your needs anymore.

To the small town, you were simply known as the Smith family. You were a freelance graphic designer that worked from home and your husband worked in the city an hour north. It was safer this way, for you and Rebecca. SHIELD was constantly monitoring the area, agents were stationed in safe houses nearby, and of course, you were an agent and your husband was the Winter Soldier. You could tell it still wasn’t enough to ease the worry in his eyes some days.

“Now, she can take Tylenol if they’re really bugging her. I have the dosage circled there, four hours between doses. Teething rings are in the freezer, she really likes the blue one.”

“Sweetheart, we’ll be fine.”

“I know, I just - ” you gripped the straps of your purse, trying to remember if you had everything in order. Eyes sweeping the room, double checking the setup. Gaze falling to the happy girl in your mother’s arms, chewing on her necklace with content little slobber sounds.

Bucky’s hand is a warm anchor on your shoulder. Standing behind you, feeling every bit of fear you’re experiencing. 

“If we don’t go now, we never will.” He presses a firm kiss to the side of your head, staring at Rebecca.

She is hugged and kissed and kissed once more by both of you before you force yourselves out the door. 

Giving a bright laugh as Bucky opens the car door for you, such an unusual happening these days. His arms were usually too full with the car seat and bags. Gazing into the side mirror as he drives down the dirt driveway, blue house and porch lights fading into the distance. Grandma and Becca waving from the doorway.

Bucky’s hand finds a resting spot on your upper thigh, warm fingers giving a gentle squeeze. You glance into the backseat, staring at the gray car seat base.

“This feels so weird,” you murmur.

He nods, lips drawn tight, “I know.”

Your hand settles over his as you move through the dusk-lit streets. Golden street lights blur by as you merge onto the freeway. The breeze through the cracked windows is gentle and warm. Fearing the thoughts bubbling up in your head with each passing moment, you reach for the radio. An upbeat funk song plays through the speakers.

Driving through the city, past the college, and late-night dinner-goers. You settle down in an upscale restaurant. Enjoying a glass of wine and a shared plate of kettle chips. Conversation is easy and warm. Giving out the smallest bits of information about his last recon mission, casually glossing over your intel work. Planning a shopping trip at the end of the week.

“We should do a roast.”

“Think I have a bag of potatoes in the pantry. Can have it in the slow cooker for the day, no problem. Mmm,” you pause around a bite of chicken, “We need more wipes too.”

And then you were back to Rebecca. She did this the other day, do you remember when she did this, can you believe we have a seven-month-old already, I can’t believe how big she’s getting, I wonder if she’s already sleeping?

Savoring the sweet taste of cheesecake, he grabbed your hand. Fingers rubbing across your knuckles. “You look beautiful.”

You finish the last of your wine, “That jacket needs to be worn more often.”

His smile is smooth and bashful as he looks down, the faintest blush falling on his stubbled cheeks. You let your fingers entwine on the tabletop, a flirtatious foot running up and down his calf under the white linen tablecloth. Dipping a finger into the strawberry topping, lazily sucking it off as you stare up at him. He smirks as he waves down your waiter.

Gripping your side tightly as he guides you out to the car. Sneaking a hand down to your backside before you get in. You give him a little look of fake surprise, batting his arm playfully as you duck into your seat. He moves around to the driver’s side with a throaty laugh.

He carries your bags down the hotel hallways. Broad chest looming behind you as you unlock the door, breath hot on your neck. As you turn on the table light, he drops the bags by the door and puts the deadbolt in place. Letting his jacket fall on top of the bags, kicking his boots off into the open closet as you slide your own shoes off. Turning back to look at him, all rough and ragged and God damn gorgeous.

Moving towards you with a slow stride, blue eyes dark and piercing, he pulls off the gray cotton t-shirt and flings it behind him. Large hands find a place on your hips as he leans down for a firm kiss. His lips are soft as you tilt your head to the side to deepen the embrace, tasting the steak and beer - that wouldn’t actually get him drunk - lingering there. He steps closer, pushing a leg between you. His knee presses in against your dress, rubs up along your aching center.

You smile into the kiss when you feel his hands reaching low, tugging the hemline of your blue dress up. You part as he pulls it up and over your head. Looping your fingers through his belt, you tug him closer, baring your teeth at him.

Bucky moves his warm hand up to cup your face, walking you backwards until the back of your legs hit the white comforter on the bed. The vibranium hand is cool on your bare hip. Moving your own hands back around to his butt, grabbing a handful as you push up into him. His teeth scrape along your bottom lip as you try to push your tongue into his mouth. 

Dipping your hand into his pocket, you pull out the leather wallet and toss it on the bed behind you. Pushing the knee between your legs further up, bending it to rest on the bed, he guides you down onto the soft sheets. Hair pooling around your head, you gaze up at him as he unbuckles his belt. He pulls the dark-wash jeans down and kicks them off against the wall. Right hand moving down to readjust the growing bulge in his red briefs. His gaze never leaving you. 

Squeezing your legs together as he moves back over you. Resting on his elbows on either side of your body, making the bed dip as he settles down. Your hands move into his hair as he kisses you with a deep longing, moving down your neck to suck and bruise the sensitive skin.

Warm fingertips dance along the top of the black nursing bra - the only one that fit you anymore, unfortunately - moving carefully and gently to avoid any sudden pressure. You rock up against his knee, growing impatience.

Dropping a kiss to the top of your breast, he picks his head up with an amused smile, “There’s usually a crying baby right about now.”

You stop grinding, hands moving to rub up and down his biceps, “I know. I’m still waiting for it, to be honest.”

Bucky gives a warm laugh as he presses a kiss to your cheek, “Come here, doll.”

Moving up to the headboard, he pulls you into his lap. Lazy hands moving to your hips as you grind against him with a languid kiss. Hands run down his chest, fingers skating over the scars and bruises as you move. Fingers splayed over your ass teasingly tug at your panties. You pull your hands away to unclip your bra, tossing it somewhere over the bed. You feel a twitch of fabric against your core as Bucky gives a small groan.

He flips you over, laughing when your head hits the pile of pillows. Moaning when he drags his tongue down your chest. Licking along the fading stretch marks on your stomach and hips. Hooking his fingers into your panties, he pulls them down your legs and tosses them away. Staring down at you with darkened eyes, he lazily rubs his bulge.

“So fucking beautiful, baby.”

Your smile is warm and relaxed as you take him in. His cock straining against the confines of his briefs. Holding out a hand, he lets you pull him down. You move together just like you used to - all slow and leisurely. The sense of need and want and desire was there, burning under the surface of each touch and caress. But there was no need to hurry.

This wasn’t the time for hidden kisses and frantic quickies wherever you could manage. A baby isn’t crying, a cat wasn’t jumping on the bed, chores didn’t need to be finished, work wasn’t in a few hours. It was just the two of you. In the little world of your own creation, just like you had lived when you were in the apartment; the place where time and responsibilities and outside commitments didn’t exist.

Bucky ruts up against you with deliberate thrusts, sucking a mark onto the junction of your neck. Gentle fingertips grazing down your body, skirting your thigh, and finding your wet center. Fingers brushing up against you, coated in your wet slick. A thumb languidly rubbing your clit, a hot mouth on your clavicle.

Hands tighten in his hair, pulling him close for more, right there, god yes. Brushing a chaste kiss to your lips before gliding down the bed. Bucky pulls your thighs further apart, trails his tongue up to your core, moaning a prayer into your cunt. Licking the words of unsaid poetry into the burning wetness between your legs.

Pulling his hair as you groan loud and unabashed - there’s no reason to muffle yourself here, and he knows it. He gazes at you over the valleys and hills of your body as your back arches in ecstasy. Breathy moans growing higher and higher as you pulse with the waves of your orgasm. He takes everything you give him, face shining with cum and saliva as he sits up on his arms, a wicked smile in place as he looks down at you.

Relaxing into the comforter, running a hand through tousled hair, you stare at the head of his leaking cock peeking out from the top of his briefs.

“Want you,” reaching out to him with a murmur.

He surges down, crushing his lips against yours before leaning back. As you grab his wallet, pulling the condom out, he’s tearing his briefs off. His proud pink member juts out, wrapping a hand around the glistening head as he strokes himself. He takes the wrapper from you and tears it with his teeth, rolls it on with ease. And then he’s crawling up your body, bending your left leg with his hand as he lines himself up.

“Oh, fuck, doll,” he groans as he slides in, head dropping down with a laugh.

You smile up at him, run your hands up and down his arms reassuringly as you squeeze around his cock. He drops an open-mouthed kiss to your chest, thrusting in slowly, savoring the stretch and feel of your warmth. You let him set the pace, relaxed and easy; as though he plans to spend the whole night doing just this, no other cares or worries - just this.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you draw him closer. He folds himself over you, head hovering over your shoulder, wet kisses dropped to your hot and sweaty skin. You bite down on his neck, hard, when he hits that spot ooh, just right there, fuck, baby, yes!

Pulling your leg from his waist, he hikes it up and over his shoulder, thrusting deeper, pace increasing as sweat beads on his forehead. Sore and aching for more, you grab a rough handful of his hair and force a kiss to his plump lips. He growls into it, biting your bottom lip as he rocks into you.

The vibranium hand next to your head mechanically whirs as he forces all of his weight on to it, sinking down into the fluffy comforter. Grunting rough little yeah, yeah, yeahs as he sinks into your aching core at a blistering pace. Cumming with a guttural groan, his teeth scraping your ear as you squeeze around him. 

Ragged exhales as he regains his footing. Soft kisses are given to sensitive skin and red bruises. His eyes shine as he sweeps the hair from your face, a look of complete wonder as he leans down to kiss you with a gentle passion.

Cuddled down into the sheets, your back leaning against his chest, a warm hand tracing designs on your arm. The soft sounds from the TV play as background noise as you pass the bag of vending machine candy back and forth. Snaking a hand up to his face, pulling him down with a grin to kiss him again and again.

Flicking through the three photos of Rebecca that were sent your way: drooling over her teddy bear, covered in mashed carrots, sleeping on your Mom’s lap. You both missed her. Even just one night away, as heavenly as it was, was too long.

Bucky wraps you into a tight embrace, your fingers dance over the plates of his metal arm. Kissing the side of your head, he hums, “Happy Anniversary, doll.”

For tonight, he’s all yours and you are all his. Tonight, you can celebrate a year of marriage, just being Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. In the morning, you’ll revert back to Ma and Ba, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You turn your head, craning your neck to look up at him, savoring the moment. “Happy Anniversary, baby. Now let’s sleep like we haven’t had it in seven months.”

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[tamorasky]

Mistress Anna Chapter 8

Rating: M

Summary: It wasn’t uncommon for the women to be eventually cast aside, Anna was just naive enough to believe it would never happen to her.

Relationships: Anna/Kristoff, Anna/Hans (ew)

Words: 3788

Canadian Frontier Au.

AO3

Masterlist

Within the first month of her daughter’s life, Anna learns that babies sleep a lot. She spends the majority of her days watching Eliza, waiting for the infant to do something, but more often than not, she sleeps. Even still, Anna could watch her daughter sleep all day, watching her every movement and her facial expressions.

She loves the moments of the day where Eliza opens her eyes and takes in the world around her, eyes wide and sparkling. Moments when Anna holds her baby close to her breast, feeding her and how she kicks her chubby legs as she is changed.

Anna sits in the chair beside Eliza’s bassinet, holding her daughter close to her breast. She closes her eyes, humming a Michif song as she supports Eliza’s small body. With some struggle, Anna readjusts the tea towel on her shoulder that had slipped down the front of her nightgown.

She shifts Eliza’s body upright to rest her head on Anna’s shoulder, gently patting her daughter’s back to force a burp from the baby. Eliza spits up all over the white towel Anna looks at her shoulder to ensure none of it had gotten on her nightgown. Knowing that if the baby had Anna would be scolded by Hilde for being so careless.

Anna rubs her daughter’s back as she keeps her propped against her chest, never getting enough of Eliza’s weight resting on her chest.

Looking up, Anna sees Hans standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Are you coming to bed?”

“In a bit, I want to get her settled,” Anna responds. Hans nods before withdrawing from the door, walking to their bedroom that they now shared again. She sighs, peering back down at her daughter, who was drifting off to sleep.

She hadn’t wanted this day to end. She and Eliza had gone foraging for pigeon berries that afternoon, Hans had met them back at the fort with a smile and a new doll for the baby. Anna knew he was trying to make up for the fact that he would be away to England for the next several months, but it didn’t make it any less unique.

Slowly Anna stands from the chair to rest Eliza in her bassinet. She brushes her forefinger against Eliza's round cheek before withdrawing from the room, taking the candle with her as she stalks down the hall to her own.

Hans is already lying in bed when she enters, the only candlelight being the one in her hand. She rests the candlestick on the bedside table, throwing the blankets back as she crawls between the sheets; already warming from Hans’ body heat.

He extends out his arm, inviting her to bring herself closer to him, something which Anna accepts readily. Cuddling into him, the young woman rests her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Do you have to go so soon?” Anna asks, her fingers tracing against the hair on his chest. Hans sighs, resting his hand over her red hair.

“I do, my father has some business for me to attend and I have some matters to deal with in London.” He replies as Anna rests her chin against his chest to look at him.

“Can’t you leave in October? Once Eliza is a little older.” She pleads, not wanting the father of her child to be gone so soon in her life.

“It takes nearly six weeks to cross the Atlantic. It’ll be too cold to cross in October; the ship would freeze and so would everyone on board.”

“I still don’t see why Eliza and I can’t come with you. I’ve always wanted to go to London.” She chews her bottom lip, causing her lover to pull her lip away from her teeth. Hans presses a kiss to her forehead tenderly.

“I would, but I’m afraid Eliza is too little to survive a voyage as that and I fear for you to my pet. If you stay here, then I know you and Eliza are safe. Mr. Klassan will be here to look after you two in my absence.” Hans states. Anna nods, resting her head against his chest to hear his heartbeat again. The knowledge that Fredric Klassen would be looking after her and Eliza brings no consolation to the young woman.

“You’ll be coming home with the priest?” Anna inquires, still unsure why the need for Hans’ sudden departure to England.  

“I am,” Hans confirms. “And when I return home, you and Eliza will be baptized.”

“I've been baptized, Hans.” Anna reminds him. She had been since she was a baby, she and Elsa had been both baptized in the Catholic church in Ahtohallan.

“But not with the Church of England. It’s imperative to me that both you and Eliza are baptized in my religion. Besides, once you have been baptized, then it allows for my plans with you to move forward.” Hans answers, his hand slipping from her hair to her waist.

“What plans?” Anna asks, pulling away from to lay on her back as he sits up; leaning over her small body. Hans smiles at her, pressing his lips to hers.

“You’ll see when I get back.” His hand trails down her neck to the buttons of her nightgown, undoing the garment to the middle of her sternum when Anna stops him.

“I-I’m still breastfeeding Eliza.” She whispers, her hand circling his wrist to the best of her ability.

“So?” He asks, cocking his brow at her as he undoes another button. Anna stares at him; it wasn’t that she didn’t want him, he was going to leave for nearly the whole year. He just hadn’t seen her body since the baby was born, her stretch marks still visible and her belly not as flat as it had once been.

“Anna, I’ll miss you so much.” He says lowly, slipping her nightgown off of her shoulders. She leans forward, crushing her lips to his as Hans’ hands graze over shoulders down her arms. He guides her back onto the pillows as he positions himself over her, not paying attention to the scares and changes in her body as he takes her.

He’s gentle with her that night, his head buried at the crook of her neck as he rocks into her. Whispering how beautiful she was, calling her his wild girl. Anna stares at the ceiling quietly, moaning as he moves in her; holding onto his biceps as he finishes in her, collapsing on her.  

Hans rolls beside her, resting a hand on his forehead as his ragged panting echoes throughout their room. Anna cuddles closer to her lover, not caring about the cold sweat that sticks to his skin.

“Anna, could you get back to your side of the bed? You’re too warm.” Hans requests. The young woman nods, kissing him on the cheek before withdrawing from his body. Anna knows by now Hans didn’t like to hold her after lovemaking but had hoped it would be different since it would be their last night together.

“How long will you be gone?” She asks, already knowing the answer but wanted him to repeat it just in case the duration of his travel changed without her knowledge.

“You’ve asked me this several times already.” Hans sighs, frustrated. “I’ll be gone until June of next year.”

“Will you be back for my birthday?”

“I’m not sure. It depends on the sailing conditions.” He shrugs. “Goodnight, Anna.” Anna watches as Hans turns his back to her.

“Goodnight…I love you.” She responds, still facing his back and wanting nothing more than to nuzzle into his back.

……..

Hans wakes her in the morning, kissing her neck to ease her out of her sleep. Anna turns to cuddle into him but finds his side of the bed already empty. Slowly she opens her eyes, squinting to see her lover already dressing for his journey.

Anna sighs, laying on her stomach as she watches Hans button up his white collared shirt, tucking the garment into his black slacks.

“When does your ferry leave?” she asks. Hans turns to look at his country wife, who was stretching out on their bed.

“It leaves in an hour and a half; we should get to York Factory by tomorrow morning,” Hans states, grabbing a navy waistcoat from his armoire.

Anna swings her feet off of the bed, standing behind her lover. Wrapping her arms around his waist Anna presses her cheek to his clothed back. “I’ll miss you.”

Hans turns in her arms, cupping her cheeks as he gazes down at the auburn-haired woman. He leans down, pressing his lips to hers while his free arm wraps around her waist. Anna closes her eyes at the contact, savouring every moment of physical interaction with him.

Much to her disappointment, Hans pulls away from her, a smile coming to his face as he peers deep into her eyes. “I’ll write to you whenever you can.”

“You will?” Anna grins, knowing her lover would be thinking about her.

“Of course. I can’t have you running off while I am, away, can I?” He questions before withdrawing from her, turning away to put on cufflinks. Hans huffs and shakes his head when cries carry down the hall to their room, indicating to the couple that their daughter was awake.

Anna quickly responds, withdrawing from their room to the blue room where Eliza lay her face scrunched up and tears forming in her bright blue eyes. She picks up her daughter, unwrapping her from her swaddle to change her out of the linen diaper.

When Eliza was newborn, Anna had used moss for the first week of her daughter’s life as diapers, but once Hans and Hilde found out what the new mother was doing, they had put a stop to it. Hilde went out and bought a yard of linen to make diapers for the new baby.

Anna hates changing the linen, but it seems important to everyone around her that she decides not to fight it; just like so many of the beliefs she’s held.

A smile comes to Anna’s face when she removes the diaper from Eliza, who begins to kick her feet as she’s freed from the fabric. “Is that better my darling?”

Eliza smiles up to her mother as Anna places the clean linen on her daughter’s bottom, securing it comfortably around her hips with a safety pin. “I thought so.”

Anna picks the baby up carrying her over to the chair. Sitting down she unbuttons her nightgown, brining Eliza to her breast to feed her. She watches her daughter suckle at her chest, enjoying the softness of Eliza’s skin against her.

Hans comes to stand in the doorway, similar as he had the night before. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

Looking up at him Anna feels disappointment wash over her as she switches Eliza to her other breast. “Let me finish here with Eliza and I’ll see you off.”

“It’s not needed, Anna. Most country wives don’t see their husbands off.”

“I want to!” She exclaims a little louder than she had expected to. Bashfully Anna looks down at Eliza, embarrassed at her outburst. “I mean…I’d like to see you off before you go. We both would.”

Hans’ eyes flicker to the baby at her breast, running his hand through his hair with a sign. “Fine, if you’re going to be difficult about this. I’ll wait.” He walks away from the room making his way down to his study.

Tapping her foot Anna looks down at Eliza, hoping that she would finish eating soon as the young woman still had to dress for the day and bind the baby into her mossbag. Anna brings Eliza to her shoulder once she finishes, patting her back to encourage a burp to emerge from the infant; cursing herself when she realizes she forgot to grab a covering. She would have to deal with Hilde’s wrath when she returns this afternoon.

Anna stands from the chair; Eliza still propped against her shoulder as her mother lays her on the bed where the mossbag lay. Despite the small growth of Eliza Anna still needs to nestle her into the papoose with an extra blanket to make her fit.

The young woman tightly laces her baby into the bag, making sure she is secure. Picking Eliza up Anna meanders to her bedroom, placing Eliza back down on the bed as she gets dressed. She decides on the striped purple and white dress Anna wore the day she found out about her pregnancy; it was always her favourite she has always loved the flounces in the skirt and the sleeves.

She was just able to fit into the garment to her delight, still tight around her abdomen but Anna decides not too much to warrant a change. Anna forgoes the stockings for the day, uncaring if Hilde would scold her as Hans wouldn’t be around for the old bitter woman to tell. She places on a pair of simple white shoes to match her dress, knowing the soil outside was dry enough for them not to be dirtied.

Hans calls for her from the bottom of the stairs, telling her to hurry or he would leave without her. Hastily Anna braids her auburn hair into plaits and ties them off with small purple ribbons.

She leaves the room, picking up her skirts as she dashes down the halls; stopping as she gets halfway down the corridor before she realizes she had forgotten Eliza in their bedroom. Turning on her heel Anna races back to her room, where her baby lay in her moss bag unable to move.

“I’m sorry my darling. How could I leave you like that?” Anna coos as she picks her daughter up off of the bed, leaving the room; this time with her daughter in her arms.

Hans is waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs as she descends them, his arms crossed as he watches her intently. “What took you so long?”

“I’m sorry I still had to dress.” Anna apologizes as she reaches the spot beside her lover.

“Come along then,” Hans says, placing a hand at the small of Anna’s back to urge her forward. His hand remains in the same place as they walk towards the river, she savours the feeling of it pressed against her body.

Dread overtakes her as they come to view the small docks along the river; just big enough to dock fishing boats and ferries. Hans’s hands come to circle her waist, effectively stopping the young woman from continuing further.

They stand in the prairie grass, just under the blue spruce trees which provided them shade from the hot August sun.

“You don’t have to come to the docks.” Han states. Anna’s brows knit together at his remark, unsure why he would offer such a thing.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she inquires, shifting Eliza in her arms. Hans sighs, brushing a stray hair behind her ear.

Anna knew many company men didn’t like to show that they had country wives; there was still a discouragement from those in London regarding British company men taking Indians and half-breeds as wives. But Hans had never been like that.

He stares at her before nodding. “You’re right it’s foolish. Come along darling.” Placing his hand where it previously sat Hans continues to guide Anna closer to the docks.

They stop short of the wooden planks, standing on the riverbank while the wind blows brushes past them. Supporting Eliza with her arm Anna wraps her other around Hans’ shoulders, mindful not to squish the baby between their bodies.

Hans wraps both of his arms around Anna’s waist, as he takes in the scent of her hair. Smiling as he hears her muffle “I’ll miss you.” Into his collarbone.

The couple withdraws from one another; Anna ignoring the glares cast at her from the white wives bidding their husbands’ goodbye.

Hans runs a hand over Eliza’s head before pressing a chaste kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “I’ll write to you when we get to York then again when we land in London.”

“Okay.” Anna nods as Mr. Lewis yells from the ferry to urge Hans to get on board. Hans cups his lovers’ cheeks crushing his lips to hers in a frenzy before pulling away from her.

As if on cue Eliza begins to whimper as her father walks onto the docks, Anna looking down at her daughter to see what the matter could be. She adjusts the blankets and the mossbag away from the baby’s face, blinking away her tears.

Rocking Eliza slowly Anna looks up to see Hans already standing on the ferry; half expecting him to be watching them as the vessel pulls away, but he isn’t.

Anna’s dress clings to her legs as the wind whips past her, watching the river intently as they sail away from her. Nine months. Nine months for him to return to her.

She watches until she can no longer make out Hans’ figure, tearing herself away from the river. Looking up she sees the young white women, all of them new to Rupert’s Land, glaring at her; not that any of them intimidated her.

Holding her head held high and squaring her shoulders Anna walks towards them, her eyes cast forwards as she shoves past them. Eliza cries still resound through the street as Anna hurries home, knowing she needed to be put down to sleep.

The young woman races up the veranda steps into the house, calling for Hilde to put on the kettle as she ascends to the second level.

Upon reaching the blue room Anna unbinds Eliza from her moss bag, leaving her swaddled only in the linen blanket. She shushes her daughter as the baby continues to cry, singing to her softly to try to coax her asleep.

Walking around the room as she continues to bounce Eliza, trying desperately to get the fussing baby to sleep. Anna lets out a frustrated sigh, knowing that if she didn’t get Eliza to sleep soon the baby would be up nearly all night and as a consequence so would Anna.

She sighs in relief holding Eliza close to her chest as the baby’s cries diminish into whimpers, indicating that she may be falling asleep. Anna walks over to the bassinet, gently placing her down.

Anna watches as her daughter cries slowly die down, her eyes fluttering shut. With a sigh, Anna slowly and quietly backs out of the room to ensure not to wake the baby.

She closes the door silently behind her leaning against it in relief. Anna makes her way back downstairs to the sitting room. A smile comes to her face when she sees a tea tray sitting on the side table, Anna touches the side of the pot to ensure the water was hot; which it was.

The young woman pours the black tea into the porcelain teacup decorated with English Roses. She strolls over the bookcase perusing all the various titles, unsure what she wants to read until Eliza wakes in a couple of hours.

Glancing over her shoulder Anna notices the state of Hans’ desk, letter and documents lay askew all over the oak desk. She giggles tearing herself away from the bookshelf to sit in his mahogany desk chair.

As she scans over the documents and letters, attempting to organize them in some way on his desk. She neatly stacks the papers, not rearranging them in case she was to misplace something important. Anna smiles as she sees her lover’s name scrawled on the various documents, not bothering to read most of the documents as they do not pertain to her.

Her smile drops as she sees another familiar name to her scrawled-on documents. Slipping the letter that caught her eye out of the pile Anna sits back in the chair, delicately holding the paper.

Mr. Westergaard.

We here in Fort Albany have received your letter regarding the criminal in question. If caught we shall release one, Kristoff Bjorgman to your custody to await trial for illicitly trading furs to Indians in the area and the for the murder of one Mr. Caron; a Hudson’s Bay Company Trader. If provoked, we will use drastic measures as you have instructed to end the criminal’s activities in the region.

Anna stops reading there, her heart dropping as she reads the words. Her Kristoff…a criminal…a murderer. Standing from the desk, her hands shake; she shouldn’t have read Hans’ documents he’d be so angry with her if he knew.

She staggers out of Hans’ study into the foyer, leaving her cooling tea abandoned in the sitting room. The auburn-haired woman makes her way up the stairs, past Eliza’s room to her room, where Hilde had the fireplace lit.

Closing the door behind her Anna closes lulls her head against the wood, taking a few deep breaths to collect herself. She hastily wipes her tears falling down her cheeks as she moves away from the door.

Anna sits at the writing desk tucked away on Hans’ side of the room, grabbing a piece of paper and dipping the pen into the black ink before her. Without thinking it through Anna begins to write.

My Dearest Kristoff I know it has been nearly a year since we’ve spoken since that night you left Ahtohallan. Still, that day remains on my mind almost every day, watching you disappear out of my life. I think if things had been different, maybe we should have married as everyone in Ahtohallan suggested. We could’ve had a little house along the river, have children of our own. I would love to watch you chasing around a naked babe around the lot while I hang laundry on the line. We could sit out under the stars every night, teach our children about our customs and folktales.  

Anna stops, the ink blotting on the paper as the pen hovers over the letter. Placing the pen down she stands to grab the letter in haste, reading it over carefully. She crumples the paper as she strides over to the fireplace, throwing it into the fire.

Anna watches the paper writhe as the flame engulfs it. It didn’t matter to reflect on what could have been, she had made her choice, and Kristoff had made his. She has a child with the man she loves. Kristoff is somewhere in Quebec, galivanting around the east.

She is happy in Arendelle, the unexpected small cries coming from the other room confirming her resolve.

[get-your-fics]

Special

Summary: You’re an aerial silk performer who is approached by the Valeska twins after a show to spend a night with them. Little do you know they have very peculiar preferences in the bedroom...

Pairings: Jerome Valeska x reader x Jeremiah Valeska (no incest)

Warnings: Smut, voyeurism, sexual instruction, masturbation, language, really just porn with plot, kinda threesome but not really

You descended from the silk and landed gracefully in the center of the ring. You stepped away and raised your arms triumphantly, beaming at the crowd. They erupted with applause as you took your final bow. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), everyone!” the ringmaster shouted your name into the megaphone.

You sprinted out of the tent, the smile slipping from your face the second you stepped outside. It was cold out, but you barely noticed the chill with the thin sheen of sweat over your flushed skin. You bent down and grabbed the water bottle and rag you had set down outside of the tent before you had performed. You draped the towel around your neck and cracked open the bottle, taking a much needed swig as you watched another performer run through the curtains into the tent after you.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

You swiveled your head and nearly spit out your drink of water when you saw who had spoken to you. A boy with pale skin and red hair leaned against a support beam with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. You instantly recognized the infamous redhead as Jerome Valeska, the son of the snake dancer Lila.

“I saw your performance.” He nodded approvingly. “You’re very good.”

You nervously fidgeted with the rag around your neck. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“That was your last performance of the night, right?” He pushed off of the beam and stalked closer towards you. “You’re not busy, are you?”

“Um...” you stuttered, taking a few steps back.

“Stop it, Jerome. You’re scaring her.” Another boy stepped out of the shadows, identical to the first. He was Jerome’s twin, Jeremiah Valeska. He had the same pale skin and red hair, but a pair of glasses framed his blue eyes. He kept his head down and wouldn’t make eye contact with you.

Of course, you knew who the Valeska twins were. You’ve heard plenty about them - mostly bad, in fact your own parents had warned you against them several times. Your family had only recently joined Haly’s Circus, but you caught on quick. Everyone knew that Lila beat them viciously and that they constantly got into trouble. Jerome was rowdy and meddlesome, but had a charming flair that could make anyone overlook everything about him that screamed something was wrong. You could tell he had brains even though many underestimated him due to his wild nature, but he seemed to use that to his advantage. Jeremiah, on the other hand, was the completely opposite. He was shy and timid and extremely intelligent, but even he had something about him that seemed not quite right, like there was something off. They were both wicked handsome, and without a part in the circus to put their energy into, they were just ticking time bombs walking around, ready to blow at any moment and unleash their misplaced anger on the world.

“I’m sorry about my brother,” Jeremiah apologized in a monotone. “He can be a little too... forward, sometimes.”

“It’s okay.” You shrugged.

“He was trying to ask you if you wanted to come back to our trailer with us,” he continued. “Our mother won’t be there. She has other... engagements.”

You rubbed your bare arm. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, sweets.” Jerome was so close to you that he was towering over you now, staring down at you with that grin of his. “My brother and I will make it worth your while.”

You took your bottom lip between your teeth and shifted your gaze back and forth between them. Your parents would crucify you if they even saw you talking to these two, let alone go back to their trailer with them. But there was something irresistible about them, and it stirred the fire in your loins the longer you stared at them. “Sure,” you finally answered.

Jerome’s grin grew wider and he slung his arm around your shoulders. “Attagirl!” He started directing you towards the maze of trailers behind the big top. “Come on. Our trailer’s this way.”

Jeremiah fell into step beside you, and you reached for him, the knuckles of your hand gently grazing against his. He looked down at your hands before looking up at you. You shot him a warm smile. He hesitated before intertwining your fingers with a blank face, and you swung your arms as Jerome skipped with his still around you, humming a random tune.

You don’t know how they found their trailer amongst all of the other identical ones, but when they did, Jerome threw the door open. “Home sweet home!” He walked into the middle of the room and outstretched his arms. You and Jeremiah followed him inside. Jerome cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Hello? Mother?” When there was no reply, he spun around and faced you. “Nope, she’s not here. We’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”

Jeremiah’s hand slipped from yours as he grabbed a whiskey bottle off of the counter. “Would you like something to drink, princess?” he asked, already grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

“No, thank you.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek nervously.

“Yeah, Jeremiah. Enough with the pretense.” Jerome walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “She wants to get right to the main event.”

He pulled you flush against his chest as his lips crashed against yours. He kissed you greedily and hungrily, like he was starving. You felt a little awkward having Jeremiah standing there and watching you make out with his brother, but you kissed Jerome back anyway. His hands slid from your sides to grip the back of your thighs, and you jumped up, folding your legs around his waist. He carried you down the hall as his tongue slid into your mouth, and you knew from the sound of an extra pair of footsteps that Jeremiah was following you.

Jerome set you down in a bedroom with a rather large bed in the middle of the room. You didn't know whose it was from looking around, but you guessed it was their mother’s. You twisted around in Jerome’s arms to see Jeremiah standing behind you. “I want you too,” you whispered with a smile before cupping his face in your hands and connecting your lips.

Jeremiah’s kiss was much softer, and he was more subtle in the way he took the lead. After a little bit, he pulled away from the kiss, leaving you hot and bothered. “Oh, darling, you don’t know how happy that makes me to hear that.” He stepped away from you. “But you won’t be getting me tonight.”

You quirked a brow. “What do you mean?”

Jerome was back on you in a second, draping his arms over your hips and nipping at your ear. “Tell me, (Y/N), have you ever been watched?” Jeremiah walked over to a camcorder in the corner of the room. “Have you ever been recorded?”

You leaned back into Jerome’s touch. “N-no...” Your breath hitched when his lips moved down to the spot right under your ear.

“Would you like to be?” Jeremiah turned on the camcorder and aimed it at you and Jerome. “Don’t worry, this won’t be shared with anyone. It will only ever be seen by me and my brother.”

Your body went stiff as you stared into the lens. “I don’t know.” You felt a heat creep up to your cheeks.

“Come on, don’t you wanna be a good girl for us, doll face?” Jerome’s hands wandered lower. One slipped beneath your leotard and rubbed your clit over your tights. “Promise we’ll make it worth your while.”

You let out a low moan as he continued to rub your clit. You were intrigued by his words and knew there was much more pleasure in store for you if you went along with what they wanted. You didn’t want him to stop or take his hands off of you, and you found yourself not caring whether or not you were being recorded.

“Okay,” you breathed out, grinding your hips back against Jerome. Your ass rubbed against his growing erection, and he let out a predatory growl.

“Good girl.” Jeremiah watched both of you through the viewfinder. “Why don’t you start out by stripping for me?”

Jerome stepped away from you, and you silently mourned the loss of contact. You suddenly became very self-conscious and lowered your gaze to the stained carpet under your feet. You hooked your thumbs under the straps of your leotard and pulled them down your shoulders, exposing your breasts. You pushed the leotard over your hips, and it pooled around your feet. You stepped out of it and kicked it away.

“Look into the camera, babygirl,” Jeremiah reminded you. You felt your face turn red as you lifted your gaze. You tried to look sultry as you peeled your tights off of your legs, leaving you completely bare. You stood up straight and stared directly into the lens.

“Come on, gorgeous. Give us a whirl,” Jerome encouraged you, and you looked over to see him leering at you. “We wanna see all of what you have to offer.” You spun around, and Jeremiah moved the camera to rake over your form, making sure to document all of what you were showing him. “You have a body made for the camera, princess,” he remarked, his eyes dark with lust. “Perfect. Let’s move to the bed.”

“On it.” Jerome got his hands on you as soon as possible and moved both of you back towards the bed. He pushed you so you fell back on the mattress, your body bouncing slightly. He climbed on top of you and grinned down at you before feasting on your lips.

Jeremiah walked over to stand at the side of the bed, the camera trained on both of your forms. “Work your way down, Jerome.”

Jerome’s lips left yours as he pressed them to your jaw, then your neck. He pecked your collarbone and trailed his lips down the valley between your breasts. You subconsciously spread your legs as he kissed over your stomach. He settled between your legs as he pressed his lips one last time to your navel. The dim light of the room danced in his blue eyes as he looked up at you, his mouth hovering over your cunt.

“Tease her a little bit,” Jeremiah told him. Jerome drew back and kissed your inner thigh. He softly nipped at your skin, soothing the bite with his tongue. He continued this agonizing torture, coming close to the aching region between your legs, but never close enough.

You let out a frustrated whine and bucked your hips up against empty air. “Please, Jerry.” You twisted the sheets in your fists and furrowed your brow.

“Jerry?” He chuckled. “I have to say, you look pretty when you beg, sweetheart.”

“Go ahead, Jerome,” Jeremiah said. “Give her what she wants.”

At his instruction, Jerome dove in and ran his tongue up your slit. A shudder ran through you, and your back arched. He swirled his tongue around your clit before closing his lips over it and sucking viciously. The air filled with the sounds of your wanton moans, and you felt two fingers press against your entrance. He pushed them into you, and you were so wet that the delicious burn as he stretched you only heightened your arousal.

“Look at me, princess.” You tore your gaze away from Jerome to see the camera pointed directly at your face. “Tell me how good my brother makes you feel.”

“So... good...” you managed to whimper between moans. You dug the back of your head into the pillow as Jerome’s attentions drew you closer to your orgasm.

“I want you to look into the camera when you cum.” Jeremiah towered over you. “Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, your lips parting to let out a stream of needy mewls. Jerome curled his fingers inside of you as he sucked on your clit, hitting that spot inside of you, and the coil twisting in your gut snapped. You made sure to stare into the lens as you came all over his fingers and mouth, your toes curling and your chest heaving up and down. Jerome took his fingers out of you and lapped up all of your juices as you came down from your high. You reveled in the feeling of ecstasy pulsing through you, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Princess, aren’t you going to return the favor?” Jeremiah asked, and your eyes shot open. You looked up to see Jerome sitting back on his heels, sucking your remaining juices off of his fingers.

You got onto your hands and knees and reached for the button on his jeans. You undid it before pulling down the zipper, and he helped you push down his pants and boxers. His cock sprung free, already hard and throbbing. You tentatively reached out and wrapped your fingers around him, slowly pumping up and down. He was definitely bigger than anyone else you had ever had, and you couldn't wait to feel him inside of you.

“Give him a lick,” Jeremiah instructed you.

You stared up at Jerome as you ran your tongue up the length of his cock, and he let out a low groan. You wrapped your lips around the head and sucked. His volume increased as you started to bob up and down his length. You tried to fit as much of him in your mouth as you could, using your hand to stimulate the rest of what you couldn’t reach.

“Tell the camera how it feels, Jerome.” Jeremiah focused the lens on Jerome’s face.

“Fuck, so good.” Pleasure was etched into his features. “She really knows how to use her mouth.” You moaned around him and moved down on his length until your nose touched his pelvic bone. His cock was practically down your throat now, and you sucked in short bursts of air through your nose. "Mmm, you love sucking my dick don’t you, you little slut,” Jerome purred as he threaded his fingers through your hair. “I bet this is really gets you going.”

You wiggled your hips in response. The fire in your loins was already reignited, and you could feel the slick of your previous orgasm dripping down the insides of your thighs. He took control as he started to thrust in and out of your mouth, chasing his own release. Even though your throat stung and tears streamed down your cheeks, you were unbelievably turned on by this boy using you as a toy for his own pleasure.

“Not yet, Jerome,” his brother interrupted. “I want you to cum inside her.”

Jerome opened his shut eyes and glared at his brother. He pulled you off of him with a groan and pushed you so you were on your back again. “Then, let’s get to it, doll face.” He quickly shed the rest of his clothes before climbing onto you. He lifted your leg so your foot dangled over your shoulder and entered you swiftly.

You let out a high-pitched squeal as he started fucking you at a quick pace. He didn’t allow you any time to adjust to his size, though being as wet and aroused as you were, it didn’t take you long. His hands were rough as they gripped your hips hard, and he gritted his teeth as he pumped in and out of you.

“Slow down, Jerome,” Jeremiah chastised him. “Give her time to enjoy it.” “No way,” Jerome managed between grunts, shaking his head. “She feels so good, so tight.” His hand moved down to rub at your clit as he pounded into you. “Besides, you like it, don’t you, sweets? Do you want me to slow down?”

“N-no!” you whined. His fingers on your clit only added to your impending orgasm. “Please, don’t stop!” You grabbed at him desperately, your nails digging into the smooth, pale skin of his back. Jeremiah tore his gaze away from the screen on the camera to glower disapprovingly down at both of you. Your gaze lowered to the bulge in his pants, and you licked your lips. “Are you sure you don’t want to touch me, ‘Miah?” You took your hands off of Jerome to rub your hardening nipples. The thought of having both of these boys take you at the same time only turned you on that much more.

His gaze locked on you. “When I want to touch you, princess, I will.” One hand moved down to undo the button on his pants. “And I want to watch.”

He took his cock out of his pants while holding the camera steady in his other hand. You focused on his cock as he pumped his hand up and down his length, a bead of precum dripping from the tip. He was just as big as his brother, if not bigger, and you wished he would move just a little closer so you could taste it, take him in your mouth while Jerome fucked you viciously.

Jerome’s hand grabbed your chin to jerk your head to stare up at him. “Focus on me, doll.” He leaned over so your chests were pressed against each other as his hips snapped against yours. “I want to feel you cum on my cock.”

You wrapped your legs around his hips as you ran your fingers through his red hair. “Fuck, Jerome! You’re gonna make me cum!” Your body started to tense.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he whispered before pressing an open-mouth kiss to your neck.

Your pussy clenched down on his cock as your orgasm rippled through you. A loud scream erupted from your throat as pleasure washed over you for a second time that night. Jerome continued to fuck you through your high, bracing himself on his elbows on either side of your head. He started thrusting into you at an inhuman pace, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air.

“I’m gonna fill you with my cum,” he growled, his face inches from yours so he was all you could see. “Do you want that? Do you want my cum inside of you?”

You moaned in reply and draped your arms lazily over his shoulders. His hips stalled as he shot his load inside of you. His eyes fell closed in ecstasy, and a low groan escaped his parted lips. His pace slowed until he pulled out of you completely, and you looked down to see his cum dripping out of your cunt, staining the bed sheets.

A hand wrapped around your arm, and you looked up to see Jeremiah still there with the camera aimed at you. You had been so enraptured in Jerome that you had completely forgotten that he was still recording you. He pulled you to the edge of the bed so your head was hanging off. “Open your mouth, princess,” he commanded, and his free hand returned to raging erection.

You did as he said and parted your lips. He moved forward and placed the head of his cock on your tongue. He pointed the camera down at you as he furiously fucked his fist, his breathing picking up speed. He moaned as he came, the salty taste of his release hitting your tongue. He kept pumping himself until he got every last drop of his cum out, and you swallowed it all gratefully, licking your lips.

Jerome’s chest rumbled with a deep chuckle. “I like this one, ‘Miah.” He pulled you into his side, a wide grin spread across his face. “She’s a freak. Can we keep her?”

Jeremiah stared down at the screen on the camera, and you figured he was watching back the footage to make sure it all recorded. “Well, I do want to fuck her pussy eventually,” he said without looking away.

The realization of all the acts you had just done hit you, and you reverted back into your shy self. “Do you usually do stuff like this with girls in the circus?” you asked both of them.

“No, sweet cheeks. Just you.” Jerome wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your shoulder. “My brother here thought you were special, and I must say that I have to agree.”

You looked up to see that Jeremiah was now looking down at you, and you shivered under his intense gaze. “Yes, you are quite special, princess,” his lips curled into the smallest smile, “and we have so much more in store for you.”

[crazyfreckledginger]

Donald Pierce x Reader - “Memories Of Our Own”

During your third year anniversary with your boyfriend, you both start remembering the beautiful memories you made together.

Requested by anon: “ can I please ask for a Donnie Pierce story where he and Yn go out to celebrate their anniversary and they start to remember all the cute stuff they made for one another 😍”

A/N: Hope you like it! ^^

Warning: implied smut, floof, reader and Donnie acting like an hold married couple.

The sweet smell of cinnamon and bacon was the first thing (Y/N) smelled when her mind woke up from unconsciousness. Her eyebrows knit together, releasing a small groan as she stretched. The warm presence that was beside her previously was completely gone. Her (E/C) eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the light protruding through the curtains. She sat up, using her palms to push her body off the mattress. Sliding her legs over the side of the bed, she winced slightly, holding her lower stomach.

What a night.

(Y/N) stood up, nearly losing her balance because of the pain in between her legs.

What a night indeed.

She wobbled to the wardrobe, taking one of his shirts and sliding it over her shoulders as he dropped down above her knees, covering her pyjamaless legs.

Her feet trudged out of the room, wincing from every step she took.

“Good morning baby,” The honey-dipped voice greeted. He was facing the counter, his bare muscular back facing her.

“Morning,” She grumbled, her figure totted towards him, her legs nearly giving in as she stumbled into his back.

“Woah baby,” He braced against her, turning around as fast as he can to catch her in his arms, “you okay?” A frown appeared on his face as she swept her in his arms.

“Y-yeah,” she blushed, “just a little roughed up from yesterday night,” the girl chewed on her lip shyly, knowing exactly the reaction he would have. Donald smirks, chuckling softly, offering her a proud toothy grin.

“Oh don’t be so smug!” She slapped his arm, hiding in his chest. He howled in laughter, carrying her to the stool on the other side of the counter and sat her down carefully.

“Ow,” She pouted, wincing slightly. Pierce licked his lips, a soft smile on his face as he placed a hand around her neck, pulling her attention up towards his beautiful blue eyes.

“I’m sorry I did that to you doll, well, only partly” He laughed, kissing along her cheek as he tilted her neck to the side.

“Mmh,” She hummed, holding onto his arm and tilting her head back to give him more access to her skin. His lips trailed small kisses down her neck before moving back up to her chin.

“Can I still get a morning kiss?” He mumbled.

“Yes, you can”, She smiled softly as he dipped down and kissed her lips sweetly. Donald cupped both her cheeks, lips rough against hers as she enguled herself in the pleasure he was giving her.

“Mmh,” He pulled away, hugging her tightly. Her arms found their way around his neck as his hands secured around her waist.

“I have something to tell you,” She murmured, kissing his chest.

“I do too,” He pecked her forehead. (Y/N) smiled, guessing what he was about to say.

“Let’s say it together,” She placed a finger against his lips, biting her lip shyly.

“”Happy Anniversary,” They both said.

“Aah,” (Y/N) squealed, hugging him tightly.

“I love you sweetheart,” He nuzzled her cheek, kissing her skin.

“Let me go get your present,” The girl grinned widely, pecking his lips and trying to stand up, “Ahh, ow,” a small whine escaped her lips, soon followed by a pout.

“I’ll go get it,” He chuckled.

“But it will ruin the surprise,” Her cute frown remained on her face as he shook her head, smirking.

“Baby, you can’t stand, I’ll close my eyes, I promise,” Donald reassured.

“Okay, it’s under the sink in the bathroom, behind my toiletries,” She bit her lip nervously. He nodded, strolling toward the bathroom and following her instructions. Pierce came back, keeping his eyes on her and making sure his eyes wouldn’t peak at the present.

“Put it on the couch,” she instructed, watching him do as he was told, “now come carry me and cuddle with me on the couch,” a huge grin appeared on her face.

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckled, scooping her gently in his embrace and sitting on the couch, getting comfortable and snuggling with his girl as she cuddled in his chest.

“Go, go, open it!” She encouraged, watching him as he peeled the wrapping off. He opened the cylindrical case, blue eyes widening as they inspected the present.

“Oh baby, you shouldn’t have!” He grinned, delicately grasping the sunglasses from the case and examining each intricate details.

“You like it?” (Y/N)’s heart pounded in her chest as she held her breath.

“Baby, I love it,”

“Look, it even has your signature on it, I figured I would buy you a new one since I broke it,” She stated shyly.

“We both did sweetheart, remember?” He asked, pulling her waist against his chest.

“Come oooon, Donnie, let’s go to the outside jacuzzi!” The girl pulled his arm.

“I’m coming baby, I’m coming,” He laughed, pulling his towel from the hanger.

“Hurry, we have so many things to do!” She scurried to the empty jacuzzi, her boyfriend right on her tail.

“It’s only 10 am baby, I purchased the whole weekend together,” He smiled lovingly, getting into the jacuzzi after her. Sitting down, Donald held (Y/N)’s hips as she straddled his lap, kissing along his cheek.

“Mmh,” He bit his lip, letting himself relax in the warm water. The girl pealed the sunglasses off his nose, placing it on hers.

“How do I look?” She grinned.

“Somehow five fucking times hotter,” He bit his lip. She giggled, taking them off and kissing him deeply. It was her turn to moan in the kiss as the sunglasses lazily hung from her fingertips, too absorbed in the kiss to realise they were slowly slipping out of her grasp.

(Y/N) gasped, feeling the cold metal leg fall out of her reach and into the water behind her boyfriend.

“No, the sunglasses!” she pulled away, searching the thick water.

“It’s okay, let me just finish, we’ll look for it after,” he muttered, pulling her jaw down and kissing her roughly.

“Mmh,” he hummed in content again, sitting down further away from where they were previously to have more space. He felt a small crack under him, frowning in discomfort and drawing back, placing his hand under his butt and feeling around. His fingers laced around the object, pulling it back up to inspect it.

“Oh no!”

“Fuck,” He grumbled, scanning over his broken glasses.

“I’m sorry,”

“It’s not your fault doll.”

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is, baby, I’m happy they broke because now I have these better ones!” He cupped her cheek, pecking her lips and placing the sun glasses on. “Now, I would have given you your surprise but since you can’t even walk, I’ll delay it until tomorrow,” Donald placed another peck on her cheek, hugging her tightly.

“What’s my present?”

“It’s a surprise,” He chuckled.

“Please tell me,” She pouted.

“No,”

“Pweaaaaaase!”

“No!” He snorted.

“Please tell me it’s not like last year’s anniversary!”

“As much as I appreciate the effort baby, I’m not enjoying this as much anymore,” Her breathing was ragged as she leaned over to catch her breath.

“Why not? The view is beautiful!” He gazed upon the vast dry land that extended upon the horizon.

“Yeah, but the walking and the sun and the heat and everything, I’m over it now,” She huffed, leaning against him.

“Hiking is nice,” He admitted, “and romantic-”

“There are mosquitoes everywhere,” she interrupted, “can we go home and cuddle, I’m going to die!” She groaned.

“I’m sorry baby, I planned this to be exactly when the temperature would be ideal. Didn’t expect it to change so suddenly.” He chuckled at her discomfort. “Look at us arguing like an old married couple,” Donald smirked teasingly.

Her frown slowly turned upside down, despite her internal argument.

Pierce grinned victoriously, hugging her side.

“Eww, get off, you’re so sweaty!”

“What was wrong with last year’s anniversary?” The cyborg inquired. She gave him an unimpressed look, knowing he was acting innocent. “Yeah, okay, it was pretty bad.”

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