#dark fics with roo

[krirebr]

We Are Vain & We Are Blind

Pairing: Dark!Ransom Drysdale x f!Reader

Word Count: ~9.7k

Summary: When you move back in with your parents after a broken engagement, a drunken dare to visit the scary house on the edge of town changes everything for you. Forever.

Warnings: Please note, these warnings are broad to avoid spoilers. Proceed with caution. Horror, psychological horror (including but not limited to: general mind fuckery, memory loss, nightmares) noncon/dubcon, gore, death (see prompt), violence (mostly offscreen), explicit language, oral sex (f!receiving), me wildly picking and choosing from hundreds of years of {redacted} mythology, All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika

Masterlist

A/N: This is my entry for @the-slumberparty All Hallow’s Tropes challenge. My tropes were The house from all the scary stories; Caught trespassing on private property; and A string of unexplained deaths. I had so much fun writing this one. Thanks so much for hosting Navy and Roo!

I tried out a lot of new things here. Horror! Smut! A ridiculous length! I’d really appreciate hearing what you think, so please drop a comment or reblog if you read it. Or come screech at me about this or anything else in my asks! Thank you for reading lovelies!

Driving through your hometown, you were surrounded by fall colors. It was comforting, in its own way. Just as the seasons changed, so could you. You liked the sound of that, of this being a good change. You needed it. You were ready for it.

You pulled off of the main street and drove the few short blocks to your parents' house, parking on the side of the road. The house was something that hadn’t changed, everything exactly as it always had been. Your eyes drifted to the neighbor’s house, a piece of police tape hanging off the front door. Your brow furrowed in concern. You hoped everything was alright.

You grabbed your duffle from the backseat, deciding that you could wait to bring in everything else. Your entire life fit into your small sedan. You tried not to let that make you sad. This was good. Change was good.

You let yourself in with the key you'd had since you were a child. “Mom? Dad? I’m here,” you called into the house. 

Your mom met you in the entryway with a big hug. “We’re so happy you’re here, honey.” She took a step back to look at you, concern all over your face. “I could kill Andy for what he did to you.”

You sighed, “I’m fine, Mom, really.”

“You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

“I know, Mom,” you said, softly, both touched by her concern and a little annoyed that she was making you talk about it. You shrugged, “It’s over now.” Trying to change the subject, you asked, “What happened next door?”

Her face fell, “Oh, our poor neighbor died. They found him in the alley behind the American Legion. There was a whole investigation, but the coroner finally concluded that it was anemia.”

“I didn’t know you could die of that,” you said. Wasn’t it fairly controllable?

“I guess you can,” she shrugged, “if it’s bad enough and goes untreated.”

“Oh. Well, he must have been really sick then.”

She shrugged again, “Not that I ever saw, but how much can you ever know about someone you just say hello to at the mailbox? He was a nice young man, though.” She gave you another scrutinizing look, then gently patted your cheek. “Andy never deserved you,” she said and then made her way back down the hall towards the kitchen. “Your dad’s in his den,” she called over her shoulder.

You put your duffle down next to the stairs that led up to the bedrooms and moved through the house to find your dad. You found him in his den, sitting on the worn leather couch they’d had your entire life, baseball on the TV. You sat down next to him and he put his arm around you in a half hug. “It’s nice to have you home, sweetheart,” he said, not taking his eyes off the game.

“Thanks, Dad,” you said, appreciating the distance he was allowing you. The past month had been so hard. All the concern in everyone’s eyes, since it had all blown up with Andy, had become really difficult to take. You were happy to just sit here and watch baseball with your dad in silence.

At the next commercial break, he asked, “We have you for the whole night, or are you already making plans?”

You smiled. “I’m getting drinks with Tineka and David after dinner.”

“That’ll be nice,” he said. “Make sure you say hi for us.”

You got to the bar a little late. Your mom hadn’t wanted to give you up so easily, even though you’d be living with them and working from their house for the foreseeable future. You’d been to this bar a few times before, the nights before Thanksgiving when you were home from college, and drinking legally was still so novel. But not in ages, maybe a decade. You made your way through the Saturday night crowd, searching for Tineka before you found her set up in a booth in the back with her husband David, and someone you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

Tineka climbed over David to tackle you with a hug. “Oh my god! It’s been so long. I can’t believe you’re here!”

You returned the hug a little harder than she probably expected. Longer, too. She pulled back and examined you carefully, concern in her eyes. You just shook your head and smiled. “I’m really happy to see you,” you said.

She beamed back at you and then gestured to the last person at the table. “Look who we ran into!”

“Robbie, hey,” you said with a little wave. Gosh, you hadn’t seen him since graduation. You’d been decent friends your senior year and had even gone to Prom together when neither of you had been able to get another date. You’d lost touch when you’d gone away to school, and he’d stayed home to learn the family business.

“We mentioned that we were on our way to see you, and he wanted to tag along!” Tineka enthused, raising her eyebrows at you significantly. You struggled not to roll your eyes at her; it had been the tiniest crush, and that was so many years ago.

“Welcome home,” he said, sliding over to let you onto the bench seat.

You poured yourself a beer from the pitcher on the table, and you all quickly got into all the customary ‘nice to see you again’ questions. Was it weird to be back in town? Did you miss Boston? Did you know this teacher had retired? Or that that store had closed?

The pitchers multiplied, and when you’d lost track of whose turn it was to cover the next one, Tineka leaned forward excitedly, “Oh, here’s some good town gossip! Someone’s moved into the old Thrombey house!”

“What??” you yelled, louder than you meant to. “No way! I don’t believe it.”

“Wait, what’s the Thrombey House?” David asked. He didn’t grow up here with you, only moving here after he and Tineka got engaged, and she decided this was where she wanted to raise a family.

“It’s this old, abandoned house on the edge of town,” she told him. “There used to be this big, rich family that lived there. This was back in, like, the 70s. It was this old, super-rich guy and all his kids and in-laws and everybody. One night, one of his kids–”

“Grandkid,” you interrupted. 

“Yeah, one of his grandkids, he just loses it and sets fire to the house, with everyone inside. They all die, and Hugh Drysdale, the grandkid, just disappears. No one ever sees him again.”

You nod seriously across from her. “And weird shit starts happening on the property. Like animal carcasses thrown onto what’s left of the porch. Or that psychic that went there when we were kids. She said all she felt was pain, and whatever spirits were there had a desperate warning, but she couldn’t get anything beyond that. And then our senior year, that freshman that disappeared around there. And no one’s ever been able to do anything with it. It just stands there, a burnt-out husk. There’s absolutely no way someone’s moved into it.”

Tineka was nodding furiously, but Robbie leaned forward and butted in. “Here’s what actually happened,” he told David. “There was an electrical fire. Everyone died, probably including Hugh.” Tineka took a breath, and Robbie put up his finger to stop her. “They never found his remains because he was burned to a crisp, and there wasn’t enough to identify.” He raised another finger, “It was abandoned long enough that animals moved in and left their prey lying around.” A third finger went up, “All these stupid stories and rumors have made it a beacon for the unwell and scam artists.” Another finger, “That kid disappeared because it’s where all you dumbasses would go to party, and he was drunk and wandered into the woods and got lost or fell or something.” He raised the last finger on his hand, “And whoever’s owned the property over the years probably doesn’t want to be responsible for the cost of demolition, so they’ve just done the bare minimum to keep the city off their backs.”

You turned to look at him, mildly annoyed, “I don’t remember you being this boring in high school.” He just rolled his eyes at you. “Whatever,” you said and turned back toward Tineka. “I still can’t believe someone’s moved in there. They’d have to gut the whole building!”

“All I know,” she said, slurring a bit, “is that someone’s been coming and going, and sometimes there’s a car parked there.”

“What? Have you been staking it out? Says who?”

“People!” she shouted, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Then her face lit up dangerously. “I know! We should go out there right now so I can prove it to you!”

You shook your head. “I walked here from my parents’ house, and I,” you placed both hands on the table to steady yourself, “definitely can’t drive.”

“Robbie can!” You could tell, now that Tineka had the idea in her head, she wasn’t going to let it go. “Right? Please, Robbie!” she whined. 

Robbie, who’d switched to water after his second beer, who knows how long ago, looked to David, who shrugged, and then to you. All you could do was grin at him and nod. You hadn’t done something stupid like this in such a long time. The feeling was a little thrilling.

“This is such a bad idea,” Robbie said. “It’s so dark out. You won’t be able to see anything anyway.” He looked around the table again and then slumped in defeat. “Fine,” he gritted. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be out there too long.”

Robbie pulled up to the entrance of the lane leading up to the old Thrombey house and parked the car. Tineka leaned forward from her place in the back seat and lightly slapped your arm. “Alright!” she said, “this is where you get out! Good luck.”

“Wait,” you turned to face her, “I’m going on my own?”

“Yup! That’s how dares work.”

“When did this become a dare?” you asked, starting to get an uneasy feeling in your gut. “What if I get shot for trespassing?!”

“I thought no one could possibly live there,” she taunted. 

You tried to look to David for help, but he’d fallen asleep next to his wife. Robbie just gave you a shrug. “Fine,” you said, somewhat angrily. “But if I’m not back in 10 minutes, you better come find my body.” You got out of the car, slammed the door closed, and started your walk down the path.

The lane was surrounded by dense trees, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t see the car behind you. The wind had picked up, blowing leaves in front of you, and you wrapped your cardigan around you as tightly as you could. A few minutes later, the house appeared before you. 

The outside had remained mostly intact, but you knew that it was basically a husk now. Still, it was large and foreboding. Most of the glass in the windows was cracked, and ivy had overtaken much of the siding. As you got closer, you could see that there was, in fact, a vintage beamer tucked against the side of the house. Damn it, Tineka was right. You were about to admit your defeat and go back to your friends when the front door opened. You froze as a man carefully walked out onto the decaying porch.

You could have sworn that a moonbeam suddenly appeared where there wasn’t one before to light him directly. He was dressed in a sweater and slacks underneath a long camel overcoat with a colorful scarf. He looked right at you even though you were sure that the area you were in was too dark to be spotted. “This is private property. You’re trespassing,” he said. Something about his deep voice and insistent stare had you pinned to your spot.

“Um,” you said, trying to look away, but there was something about him that had you transfixed. “Uh, sorry, I just– um, I didn’t think anyone lived here. How– how do you live here?”

He didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow at you. Everything had gone completely quiet. In the moonlight, his skin glowed, looked so pale it was almost translucent, and you felt completely hypnotized. He might have been the most beautiful person you’d ever seen.

“Sorry,” you said again, or maybe just breathed it. “We were just– we were drunk and–” You didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Why were you here?

He looked you up and down. “Hmm,” he hummed. “Not tonight then.”

“What?” you asked, even though you were pretty sure he was talking to himself more than to you.

“Not tonight,” he repeated, grinning a little meanly. “I don’t have much of a taste for cheap booze.”

What a strange thing to say. It’s not like you were inviting him for a drink. What did he mean?

His focus shifted to somewhere behind you, and it was like you suddenly found yourself back on earth. The sounds of the forest filtered back in, and you didn’t feel held in place anymore. As you tried to adjust to the sudden onslaught of your senses, you slowly processed that you could hear Tineka calling for you, and the sounds of Robbie’s car quickly approaching.

“Better run, little rabbit,” the man said. “You don’t want to keep them waiting.”   

You turned around to see the car pull up, and Tineka hopped out without waiting for it to stop fully. “Holy shit, you scared the shit out of us! You didn’t come back! This was so dumb, I’m so sorry.”

You turned back to the house, to say what, you weren’t sure. But the man was gone. Maybe he’d never even been there? Maybe you were even drunker than you thought. “I’m not sure what happened,” you said, in a daze, as you let Tineka and Robbie herd you back into the car.

You were awoken the next morning by a knock on your bedroom door. Your mom let herself in without waiting for a response. She was carrying a large vase filled with roses so deep red, they were practically black. 

“What are those?” you mumbled, barely awake.

“How am I supposed to know?” she asked as she placed them on your dresser. “Someone left them for you.”

“Wha?” It was too early for this. You rolled over to look at the digital clock on the bedside table. Oh. It was 11 AM. Fuck. You didn’t think you’d had that much to drink the night before, but you felt incredibly hungover. This was drinking in your thirties, you guessed. “Is there a card?” You finally mustered the awareness to say. 

“Not that I saw.”

“Then how do you know they’re for me?”

She looked around theatrically. “Who else could they be for? Your father?”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for bringing them in, Mom. I’ll be down in a bit.”

She nodded and left. 

You got up and examined the bouquet. They were beautiful, but… dark. There was something about them that made you feel a little unsettled. The vase looked old. Vintage. Expensive. No card. No sign of where they came from. 

You opened your phone and pulled up the contact you’d made for Robbie the night before. You wrote out the text and hit send before you could think better of it.

Hey, weird question. And please know that I’m embarrassed to even ask it, especially if you say no, but. Did you send me flowers?

His response was immediate.

Nope, not me. Aren’t you popular

You cringed and tossed the phone on the bed to create some distance. You hadn’t even been back 24 hours yet. Who could they possibly be from?

Late that night, you were wandering through the grocery store aisles, making your way towards the freezer section. Your mom didn’t keep snacks in the house, and you’d had a sudden craving for ice cream. Just as you were coming up on your prey, someone stepped right in front of you and turned around to face you.

“Well, if it isn’t the little trespasser,” the man from the Thrombey house said. It was startling to see him in the middle of the grocery store. He seemed so out of place, wearing his same overcoat and scarf, which from this distance you could now see was silk. Everything about him seemed expensive, even his smirk, and here you were in yoga pants and a too-large sweatshirt. How did he even recognize you? It’d been so dark that night.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, somewhat bashfully, “sorry again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, with a cold smirk that you were starting to think was just the permanent state of his face. “I kind of liked the novelty of it. It’s not very often that your kind comes right to me, instead of the other way around.”

What the fuck did that mean? Did he mean not wealthy people? Well, you weren’t the one living in a house that was about to fall down. This man was so strange. “Well, anyway,” you said, “I’ll let you get back to your evening.” You tried to step around him to get to the ice cream case, but he followed you there. 

“What’s your poison?” he asked. You grabbed a carton of Moose Tracks and showed him, before trying to walk away again. 

He kept pace with you. “What’s your name?” he asked.  He stepped in front of you again and looked you right in the eye. “C’mon, tell me your name.”

It fell past your lips without you ever making the conscious decision to tell him. He smiled. All of his smiles were a little mean. “You can call me Ransom,” he said. 

You’d arrived at the self-checkout. You were so ready to get out of there. “Well, okay, Ransom. It was nice meeting you, but I’m gonna check out now. And let you get back to your shopping.” You noticed for the first time that he didn’t have a cart or basket with him. And he wasn’t holding any items in his hands. He could have just gotten there, not started shopping yet, but something in your gut told you it wasn’t right. 

He paused at the opening of the aisle opposite you. “Yeah, I think I’ve found what I was looking for,” he winked, and then turned around and finally walked away.

You tried to suppress the shiver that coursed through you. There was something not right about him. It didn’t matter. He was gone. You paid for your ice cream and walked out the automatic doors–

You were sitting in your car. Something niggled at your brain. You couldn’t remember the walk through the parking lot. That was strange, but you were probably just on autopilot. Plus, you were tired. Exhausted, really. You hadn’t realized just how exhausted you were. There was a twinge in your neck. You tried to stretch it out but the skin pulled a little painfully. You looked at the clock. It was later than you realized. You needed to get home, eat this ice cream, and go to bed.

That night, you dreamt of a river of blood and you were drowning in it. You woke up choking on nothing.

In the morning, you still felt tired, but you could hear your parents moving around downstairs, so you got up and got dressed. You put on a T-shirt and jeans, a cardigan, and then found an old scarf that you looped around your neck a few times. 

When you got downstairs, your mom was scrambling eggs at the stove, while your dad read the paper at the kitchen table. He smiled and wished you a good morning, then nodded at your chest. “Is that your passive-aggressive way of telling me to turn the heat up?” He laughed at himself.

“Huh?” you asked and looked down. Oh. The scarf. Was it odd? Now that you thought about it, you weren’t even sure why you’d put it on. It had just felt… important. You didn’t know why. But you also couldn’t take it off. You curled in on yourself, a bit defensively. “I just liked it with this outfit.” 

Your mom came over to the table. “Leave her alone, you,” she said to your dad as she set a plate of breakfast in front of each of you. “I think it looks nice, honey,” she said to you as she sat down with her own plate. “Although, maybe a little warm. It’s cooling down, but it’s not winter yet.”

You fingered the fringe of the scarf self-consciously. “I just like it,” you said, quietly. It was just a scarf. You didn’t know why everyone cared so much.

Your dad was the one to finally change the subject. He shook out his paper as he asked you, “Didn't you go to school with Shannon McCready?”

“Uh, yeah,” you said around a bite of eggs, “She was a real bitch. What? She get arrested or something?” 

Your mom grumbled unhappily next to you about your language, but you barely even noticed because the next thing your dad said was “No, she died a few days ago.”

You couldn’t say what or why, but something inside of you reacted to that. A frisson of fear crawled up your spine. "What?"

"Mhmm, the obituary doesn't say exactly, but it seems like it was sudden."

"Does it say how?"

He shrugs, "Just says natural causes."

"Natural causes? She was thirty-two!" 

He shrugged again and went back to his paper. Your mom blithely ate her breakfast beside you. You couldn't explain why you were so unnerved by this, but something deep inside of you was screaming that it wasn't right. You took a deep breath and tried to ignore it. You barely even knew her. You needed to get logged into work. Focus on something else.

The workday was long and hard. Your exhaustion only built as the day went on and your mind was all over the place. But you finally made it to the end and triumphantly logged off.

You met Tineka for dinner, just the two of you, at a little place right off Main Street. After you’d gotten settled and your drinks had arrived, she’d looked at you carefully. “I didn’t want to bring it up the other night with David and Robbie there, but how are you doing with everything? Really?”

You sighed. “Uh,” you said, “better than I thought I’d be? I mean, everything feels kind of strange, because I was living this whole life, and I just don’t really have any of it anymore? I mean, I was living in Boston with Andy. We had an apartment, a community. We were gonna get married. And now none of those things are true anymore. None of that is mine. That’s strange. But, maybe not bad. I’m realizing that I was kind of unhappy there. More than kind of. But I couldn’t see it until I was outside of it. And, like, moving back in with my parents, it isn’t ideal, but it doesn’t feel bad right now. If feels OK. If that makes sense.”

Tineka nodded. “I think that makes a lot of sense. And for what it’s worth, Andy was a piece of shit and I’m glad you’re rid of him.” She reached forward, cocktail in hand, to clink your glasses together. All you could do was smile. You really had missed her.

Your seat faced the window, and as you chatted, you watched the sun set over the colorful trees outside. It really was pretty here. This wasn’t a bad place to spend the season. 

As you were finishing your entrees, you frowned when you saw Ransom walk in. He noticed you too, and, waving the hostess away, made a beeline for your table. 

“We just keep running into each other,” he said, once he got to you, that perma-smirk firmly in place. 

"It's a small town," you said, nervously. You couldn't explain why this man triggered your fight-or-flight instincts so terribly. You were being ridiculous. He hadn’t done anything. “Oh, uh, sorry. Ransom, this is my friend Tineka. Tineka, Ransom.” 

Tineka looked between the two of you, open curiosity on her face. “How do you know each other?” she asked.

 “New friends,” Ransom supplied. “We just can’t help bumping into each other.”

He didn’t seem to want to talk about where you’d met. That was his business, so you just nodded along.

He stood there for a moment, in a way that was too confident to be awkward, but still had you feeling a little uncomfortable. Tineka, bless her, had the social skills you just couldn’t pull together at that moment. “It’s packed tonight,” she said. “You’re welcome to sit down with us, although we’re probably leaving soon,” she gestured to your nearly empty plates.  

“Thank you,” he said, “I think I’ll take you up on that.” He winked at you as he took the empty chair next to you. Something about it, about him, made you have to look away, focusing on your plate.

“So,” Tineka started, and oh no, that was her casual interrogation tone, “are you from around here? This town is small enough that I’m always surprised when I don’t already know someone.”

Ransom chuckled. “Sort of. I used to have family here, but I haven’t been back in ages. Just in town to collect some things and then I’ll probably be on my way again.”

You could feel him looking at you. His attention was always so much.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Tineka said, giving you a sideways glance you knew meant trouble. “We’re only just getting to know you.”

He laughed. “Well, I’ll admit, I’ve found more here than I expected.” He stretched his arm out and briefly rested it against your chair back. His fingers brushed you between your shoulder blades and you couldn’t help the way you shivered. He dropped his arm back into his lap. When you turned to him, he was looking at Tineka, but you could feel his attention still on you. 

“You said your family’s no longer in the area?” Tineka kept probing.

“No, they all passed a while ago.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. 

“Don’t be,” he said. “It was no great loss, trust me.” There was a darkness in his eyes when he said that that had you swallowing nervously.

“I guess it’s the season for homecomings,” Tineka said, then pointed at you, “she just moved back too.”

He grinned knowingly at you. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” she said, pointedly. “Recovering from a shitty ex.”

“Tineka!” you hissed, but all she did was laugh. 

“Well,” he said, working his jaw, and you would swear it almost came out as a growl, “I bet he’ll live to regret that.” You couldn’t explain it, but at that moment, it felt like a threat. Which didn’t make any sense. He didn’t know Andy. He barely knew you. But the most disturbing thing was the little thrill that rushed through you at the thought. 

While you were having your mini-crisis, he stood up abruptly. “You know,” he said, “it really is busy in here. I’m probably better off getting dinner somewhere else. And I’ve intruded on girls’ night enough.” He then looked right at you and said, “I’ll be seeing you.” That, too, felt like a threat.

As he left, Tineka looked at you excitedly. “He’s hot!” she said, too loudly considering he hadn’t actually exited the restaurant yet. You hissed at her, but she batted it away. “And he’s clearly into you. Seems like the perfect opportunity to fuck Andy out of your system.”

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed and looked to the front to make sure he’d left. “You don’t think there’s something kind of unsettling about him?” 

“What do you mean?”

You paused to figure out how to put it into words. “I don’t know, sometimes, just the way he looks at me, I get this chill down my spine.”

She laughed, delightedly. “Yeah, that’s called ‘he wants to fuck you!’ Seriously, this is good. Great, even!”

“I don’t know,” you said. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on that you just didn’t understand. 

She sobered and looked at you seriously. “Listen, you deserve this. After all that shit Andy put you through – the women. It’s time for you to get yours. I don’t care if it’s Ransom, or Robbie, or whoever, but you deserve this.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s definitely not going to be Robbie.” You couldn’t even imagine that.

“Ok, fine!” she said, throwing her hands up. “Then it should be Ransom!”

You laughed. “Ok, Tineka. Sure.”

A little while later, you left the restaurant together. On the sidewalk, Tineka asked, “Did you walk here?” You nodded. “Do you want a ride home?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s not far. I’m good.”

“Are you sure? It’s just so dark.”

“Unless this town really changed while I was gone, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. Thanks, but I want to walk.”

“Ok,” she said, but she seemed hesitant. 

You rolled your eyes and she backed down. “Hey,” you said, pulling her into a hug. “This was really fun. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she said and pulled away, starting to head back to her car. “Think about what I said about Ransom!” she threw over her shoulder.

You laughed and started walking in the opposite direction, back to your parents' house. 

A few blocks later, when you were off the main street, you stopped when you heard a noise behind you–

You were half a block further down now. You looked around, confused. What just happened? How– The pain in your neck was back. It was on the other side now, and worse. You were so tired. A little dizzy. You walked as quickly as you could the rest of the way home.

You dreamt again that night. In this one, you sat in the middle of a large field. The sun shone down on you but you were sobbing uncontrollably. Your tears were made of blood.

You slept through your alarm the next morning, only waking when your mom came in and shook you. You were exhausted still, even though you’d slept a solid nine hours. Maybe you were coming down with something. Even though you had no other symptoms.

You went through your dresser three times until you found your one turtleneck. It seemed important.

Work felt impossible. Your focus was non-existent. You just wanted to lie down. 

Late that afternoon, when Robbie texted to see if you wanted to grab a coffee, you logged out early. You weren’t going to get anything else done anyway. Caffeine sounded helpful.

When you met outside the coffee shop, he asked, “Is coffee still ok? I know it’s getting kind of late in the day. We could do beer instead.”

You shook your head. “No, coffee’s good. I’m trying to cut down on how much I drink.” You stopped. You were? When did you decide that? Why? You shoved down the not-right feeling that was crawling up your throat. It was fine. It was good. Healthy. It was fine.

Robbie raised his eyebrows when you ordered a triple espresso, but didn’t say anything. It helped some, but you still felt sluggish. And you struggled to focus on the conversation. 

“Are you doing okay?” he asked after about half an hour.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said, trying to shake your head clear. “I’ve just been a little off the past few days. Probably just everything that’s happened catching up with me.”

He nodded. “I heard about all that. I’m so sorry. I’m here to listen if you ever need it.”

You gave him a genuine smile. “I’m fine, really,” you said, “but I appreciate it.”

A few minutes later, as you were trying to decide if you’d been there long enough to politely make your excuses and go home, he said, “Oh, do you remember Alex Higgins?”

“Uh, I don’t think so?” The name didn’t ring a bell, but you weren’t sure if that was because you didn’t know them or whatever was going on with you.

“He was a few years ahead of us? Friends with my brother?” 

You shrugged and shook your head.

“Well, this won’t mean much to you, then,” he said, “but he died a few days ago.”

Not right not right not right, your gut said. “How… how did he die?” you asked, terrified of the answer without knowing why.

“They don’t know yet. They haven’t been able to find anything wrong with him. They just found him collapsed outside, I guess.”

You white-knuckled it through the rest of your coffee.

Afterward, you lost over half of your walk home. When you arrived, there was another bouquet of almost black roses on your front porch.

Things began to disintegrate quickly from there.

Over the next week, you kept losing time. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, sometimes even more. Once you started paying attention, you realized it was only after the sun went down. But knowing that didn’t seem to help.

There were more nightmares too. There was the one where you were being chased through the woods by something unseen, under a blood-red moon and the trees came alive to trap you. Or the one where you were back at the Thrombey house and it was on fire. The skies opened up, but instead of rain, the clouds poured down blood. The strangest one had Ransom in it. Blood flowed from his mouth as he choked you with his scarf. They all started to blend together after that. Blood. Pain. Terror. 

Even with the nightmares, you slept like the dead. But that didn’t stop you from waking up exhausted every morning. You called in sick to work multiple days. You stopped seeing Tineka or Robbie. What would have been the point? You couldn’t concentrate on anything. You could barely stay awake. And every time you went for a walk in the evening, to try to get some exercise and clear your head, you lost time. Something was very wrong and you didn’t know what to do.

The one person you did see was Ransom. He often seemed to be out and about at the same time you were. The fear you felt for him was still there, but you couldn’t deny that you were drawn to him, too. When he was near. you could feel the chaos that had taken you over the last week finally quiet down. You still lost time with him, but it didn't seem to matter as much. Nothing seemed to matter as much when you were with him. Even if you still felt the instinctual urge to turn around and run away whenever you saw him.

Compounding your troubles, the roses just kept coming. Every few days, another bouquet appeared on your porch. You still had no idea who was sending them. It had occurred to you that maybe it was Andy, trying to fuck with you. As much as you hated him now, that just didn’t seem like him. But you couldn’t think of anyone else who would do it either. You barely even knew anyone in town anymore.

For a reason you couldn’t articulate, you didn’t say anything about any of this to your parents. You couldn’t hide it from them though. They may not have known exactly what was going on, but they knew there was something. You overheard them one night as you came down the stairs to get a glass of water, their low tones coming from the living room.

“She is not okay,” your dad was saying, “and we need to stop acting like she is.”

“She’s been through a lot,” your mom said. “If she wants space–”

“Look at her!” your dad said, trying to keep his voice quiet, but the emotion still came through. “The time for space is over. I think we need to start talking about professional help.”

As quietly as you could, you ran back up the stairs. You weren’t that thirsty.

You spent the next two days in bed. When your mom came in to check on you, you told her you had the flu.

On the third day, you woke up feeling clear-headed for the first time in ages. You were rested. You hadn’t had any nightmares. The fog seemed to have cleared from your brain. When you bounced downstairs and greeted your parents, the relief on their faces made you want to cry. Your work day was the most productive you’d had since you’d arrived at your parents’ house. You finally felt like things were going to be ok.

That night after dinner, you decided to celebrate your good mood with snacks. You got in your car and started driving to the grocery store.

When you parked, you looked up. You weren’t at the grocery store. You were in front of the Thrombey house. You burst into tears. No no no. How had you gotten here? Why was this happening to you? As you were about to put the car in reverse and go back home, the front door opened and Ransom came out. So instead, you got out of the car.

“Trespassing again?” he asked, that smirk always on his lips. Like there was a joke that only he knew about.

   “I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know what’s happening!”

He came down off the porch and walked over to you. He gently brushed a tear off your cheek and looked you in the eye. “Poor little rabb–

You were sitting in your car, parked in front of your parents’ house. The sun was coming up. How? The last thing you remembered, it was evening. It’d been hours. So many hours. The entire night. You let out a frustrated, guttural cry. You checked your phone, certain there must be so many panicked calls and texts from your parents, but there was nothing. Looking further, you found a text from yourself to your mom, telling her that you were spending the night with Tineka. Had you? Was that where you’d been? You thought about calling Tineka to check but one of two things would happen. She’d be confused as to why you couldn’t remember that you’d just left her house. Or, she’d tell you that she hadn’t seen you in days. Both options seemed equally awful and impossible to deal with. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, and looked up at the front door. In front of it, was an ornate, vintage vase, filled with roses, so deep red they were practically black. No. Absolutely not. You started your car again and pulled back out onto the road in a flurry. This was one mystery you might actually be able to solve and you were going to do it.

The only dedicated floral shop in town didn’t open for another two hours. That was fine. You could wait. You sat in your car as long as you could stand it, and then when you grew too antsy to bear, you got out and paced in front of the storefront.

As soon as the door was unlocked, you were inside the shop, frantically looking through all of the roses.

“Can I help you?” an employee cautiously asked from behind you. 

You spun around. “I’m looking for black roses.”

“Oh, uh, so, roses don’t actually come in true black. The closest is a really dark red that looks almo–”

“Yes, I know that!” You interrupted. “That’s what I’m looking for!”

“Well,” they said, a professional curtness in their tone now, “we don’t carry them. You’d have to do a special order.”

That was actually good news. It’d narrow down possibilities considerably. “Can you tell me who’s been ordering them?”

They looked confused. “Like, ever?”

“No! Just in the past two weeks!”

They took a step back. “We haven’t had anyone order them recently.”

You shook your head wildly, desperation taking over. “No, that’s not true! You’ve been delivering them to my house! I just want to know who’s sending them.”

Another employee came out from the back and eyed you carefully.

“Please,” you said, sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “You have to tell me who it is. I have to know.”

“We haven’t had any orders like that,” the first employee said firmly.

“No!” you shouted. “Please just tell me. You have to tell me!”

“Ma’am,” the second employee finally spoke up. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

You stopped and looked around yourself. Another customer had come in. They stood by the door and stared at you. Everyone stared at you.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The first employee looked deeply uncomfortable, but the second just folded their arms and gave you a hard look.

“You’re sure?” you asked. “You really haven’t had any special orders?” You felt a few tears fall down your cheeks.

“Ma’am, if you don’t leave, we’ll have to call the cops.”

You took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You left as quickly as you could, trying not to look anyone in the eye.

Once outside and away from the floral shop, you found a bench and sunk down on it, trying to pull yourself together. What was happening? What was wrong with you? 

You heard someone across the street call your name and you looked up to see Robbie rushing toward you. He dodged a few cars and then stepped up onto the sidewalk. “What’s wrong? Are you ok?” You started sobbing at that, unable to hold anything in any longer. He sat down on the bench next to you and tentatively put his hand on your back. He said your name again, softly. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “I think I’m losing my mind,” you choked out. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He was rubbing gentle circles now. “Tell me what’s happening. Maybe I can help.”

So you did. You told him about losing time and saying things you didn’t understand, being so tired all the time you could barely get out of bed, the nightmares. He listened quietly to everything and when you were done he just nodded for a moment, then said, “First thing, I think, is that you need to see a doctor.”

You shook your head. “No, I can’t.”

“Listen, I know it’s scary, but I don’t think this is going to go away on its own. This could be a brain tumor or something. You really need to get it checked out.”

“You’re not listening to me,” you growled out, surprised by how upset you were, and how quickly your mood had changed. “I can’t.”

“Ok,” he said, putting his hands up in front of him. “I’m sorry. I’m listening. Why can’t you?”

“I just can’t!” you said, standing up. You were jittery. You needed to move.

Robbie reached out a hand, and quietly said your name again, clearly trying to calm you down.

You couldn’t stop shaking your head. “I just can’t, okay? I just can’t. I can’t. I’m not allowed!”

You both froze. “What–” Robbie stopped then tried again, shock clear on his face. “What do you mean you’re not allowed?”

You didn’t know, exactly. You just knew it was true. No doctors. Absolutely not. “I have to go,” you said and turned abruptly to race back to where you’d parked your car. Robbie called after you the whole way.

Your phone buzzed at you the whole drive home. Robbie. He wouldn’t stop. It continued all day. He was worried about you, his texts and voicemails told you. What you said had really freaked him out. Was someone hurting you? He just wanted to help. You hid in your bedroom and buried your phone in your laundry hamper. You could still hear it buzzing away, but it made it easier to pretend that you couldn’t. Finally, sometime after dark, it stopped.

It started ringing again in the morning, just as insistent as before. You dug it out of your dirty clothes, ready to tell Robbie to just forget what happened and leave you alone when you saw that it was Tineka, and she was calling for the third time.

When you answered, at first you just heard her crying. “Tineka?” you asked. “Are you there? What’s going on?”

“Robbie,” she sobbed, and for a moment you thought maybe he’d talked to her, told her who knows what, but then she continued. “Oh god, Robbie. Robbie’s dead.”

A chill whipped through your entire body. “What?” you breathed. Just yesterday– No. Your mind went to all the people you’d heard about since you’d gotten here. The vague reasons, the shrugs given as cause of death. A pattern you’d refused to see until this moment. You had to know if he was part of it. “Tineka, how did he die?”

“Oh god,” she sobbed, “It’s so awful. I can’t– His throat. It was ripped out.”

You felt time stop. Distantly, you could hear Tineka still talking. Going on about animal attacks, coyotes and bobcats, maybe something escaped from a sanctuary or private owner. You couldn’t explain it, you didn’t know why – you obviously didn’t know anything – but you knew deep down in your being that this was because of you. Something was happening.

Without saying anything, you ended the call and left your phone on your bed. You didn’t get dressed, still in the leggings and oversized t-shirt you always slept in. You moved through the house as quickly and quietly as you could, not bothering to stop to look for your parents. The only things you grabbed on your way out were your coat and your car keys. 

As you started driving away, you didn't really have a destination in mind, but once you were about halfway there, you realized that you did in fact know where you were going now. Of course, you did. There was only one place to go. One person to see.

As you pulled up in front of the Thrombey house, it struck you that you’d never seen it in daylight before. The way the sun shone down on it almost made it more eerie. It should not be here, in this daylight world. It was a relic of the night. You shook your head at yourself. Your thoughts had become so strange lately.

You waited in your car. He always heard you and came out, but this time, nothing. You looked to the little driveway at the side. The beamer was there. So where was Ransom? After several minutes of waiting, you got out. You went up to the house, ready to pound on the door until he came out, but stopped at the porch. You could clearly see now how the wood was rotting, the holes that were already there. You couldn’t risk taking a single step onto it. You didn’t know how he came in and out this way.

You looked around, there must be another way in, maybe on the side of the house. As you walked around the corner, you came up short. Lining this side of the house, hidden from the front, was a beautiful, neat row of rose bushes, in such a deep red they were practically black. No. No no no. It couldn’t be. But of course, it was. You were so stupid. So blind. You fell to your knees beside them. It had all started here, at this house. You could clearly see that now, finally. Whatever end came, that would be here too, so you laid down, and you waited. There was nothing else to do.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You were pretty sure you’d dozed in and out. But at some point, the sun had gone down. Once it was fully hidden beneath the horizon, you heard the front door open and footsteps come around the side of the house.

Ransom crouched down next to your head, his hand gently brushing the hair out of your face. “So you know now,” he said.

It wasn’t a question, but you still shook your head. “No,” you said. “I don’t know anything. I don’t understand.”

He nodded and stood up. You sat up, almost like there was a string in your chest, connected to his. “You know,” he said, looking up at the house. “Ransom is my middle name. I’ve always gone by it, but when they reported on everything that happened here, they used my first name, so that’s the one everyone remembers.”

Of course. “Hugh,” you breathed. “You’re Hugh Drysdale.” You were as sure of it as you’d ever been of anything. Nothing made sense. Everything made sense. He nodded, pleased. “How?” you asked. Hugh had been roughly your age when the fire had happened and he’d disappeared. Almost 50 years ago. The man standing in front of you didn’t look a day over 35.

He crouched down again, so that he was level with you, so that you could clearly see his face in the moonlight. So that you had a perfect view of the fangs that dropped down.

You gasped, wanting to scoot away on your hands, but you stayed pinned in your spot. “No, that’s not– You can’t–” You took a deep breath and gave yourself the courage to say the word. “Vampires aren’t real.”

He threw his head back and laughed. It was wild and loud and cruel. “Come on now,” he said, “I know you aren’t that stupid, sweetheart.”

As you tried to process this, you realized it didn’t actually matter how any of this could be real. There was only one question you actually needed an answer to. “Why did you do this to me?” 

He grinned at you, mean as ever. “Because you came right to me, little rabbit. How could I resist an offering like that?” Tears started to run down your face, and he cooed at you, collecting a few with his finger. “I’ll admit, at first, I’d just planned to drain you, leave your body beside the grocery store for some teenage employee to find the next day.” He smiled at the thought. “But that first taste. You have no idea how good you taste, baby. It couldn’t just be a one-and-done. It was as easy as anything to put you under a little thrall. Compel you to forget when I fed on you, make sure you didn’t let anyone else know. The plan was to snack on you while I was here, and once I had everything I needed, I’d bring you with me, keep you as a little pet blood bag until I was bored and done with you. And torturing you was so fun. It made having to be here so much more bearable. But as I broke you down, brought you to your weakest, it made me realize that I’m desperate to see you at your strongest. See you surging with power.”

There was something in his words, in his eyes, that filled you with panic. But also something else. Want, you were terrified to admit. “What does that mean?” you whispered.

“It means you’re mine, baby, and I’m going to keep you. Claim you. Forever.”

It was the last word you fixated on. That was the word that meant everything. That really said what he meant. You took a deep breath, trying to get the crying under control. “And if I let you do that, this will all stop? I’ll be ok again?”

He chuckled. “Sure, honey. If you ‘let’ me do it, it’ll all stop. You’ll get your mind back. The thrall will lift.”

“And if I don’t?”

He tilted his head to the side. “If you don’t, you’ll still be mine. I’ll just make it hurt. Your friend Tineka sure has a pretty neck. Maybe I’ll rip it out, just like I did to your other little friend. Or your parents. Blood is kind of like wine, you know, gets better with age.”

“No, no, please,” you begged.

“Then give yourself to me, right now.” He leaned forward into your space and you fought the dual urges to pull away and to close the distance completely.

You took a deep breath and blinked the tears away. Your torment would stop. Things would be better. Your family would be safe. “Okay,” you whispered, “please. Please, Ransom.”

Without further ado, he pulled you into a bruising kiss, both hands tightly gripping your face, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. He gave you no choice but to sink into it, his fangs still dropped, occasionally nipping into your lips. When he pulled away, you were left gasping for breath. 

You had no time to recover before he was pushing back on your shoulders and then slipping his hands under your knees to tip you onto your back. You held yourself up, as much as you could, on your forearms, unable to look away from him. Mesmerized by him, as always. He pulled on your leggings until they ripped in two and tossed them away. He crawled between your knees and then did the same to your panties. You cried out at the sting of the elastic breaking. He smoothed a hand over you, fingers moving through the thatch of soft curls, and growled “Just perfect.” Then he lowered his face to your cunt and slowly dragged his tongue along the length of it. You finally gave in and let your upper body fall back, tossing your head to the side, your hands grasping for purchase in the dry grass beneath you, as he worked you over with his mouth. Little mewls escaped you, beyond your control. You wanted to deny how good it felt; he was a literal monster. He had killed countless people. His own family, in this exact spot where he now defiled you. But you couldn’t think about that right now. You couldn’t think about anything other than his mouth on you, the rising heat in your core, the grass under your hands, the twigs poking into your back. The one thing outside of this exact moment that your brain briefly flashed to was Andy. How he had never felt like this. Never given you this. In his own way, he too, had wanted to drain you dry and then he’d left you with nothing to show for it. His promise of forever had turned out to be empty. With Ransom, you knew that word meant something different. Meant something more. Something real.

Your mewls had turned into soft little chants of “Please,” and “Ransom,” over and over. As you reached your peak and were just about to go over it, he removed his mouth from you. You cried out in frustration and lifted your head just in time to see him turn his and sink his teeth into your thigh. You screamed at the pain. The way it mingled with the intense pleasure you were already experiencing, along with the constant fear you’d been in for the past weeks had you hurtling over the edge. You came harder than you ever had before, your body spasming through it, tears rushing down your face, wetness pooling between your legs. Ransom drank from you all through your orgasm and the aftershocks. As you were finally coming down, he released your thigh, quickly licking up the blood that had dripped down your leg. He reached up to your face and grabbed your chin, forcing eye contact as he viciously bit into his own wrist. He brought his other hand to the back of your head, grasping it firmly, and then pushed his bloody wrist into your mouth. You flailed, instinctively trying to get away, but his hard grip wouldn’t let you move. You choked as his blood filled your mouth. Your eyes were wide, hands wildly trying to release his hold on you.

“Just drink,” his voice filled your consciousness. “Drink. Take it all, sweetheart.” At some point, your body gave in, no longer struggling, trying to dislodge him. You took what he gave you and swallowed. “Good girl,” he cooed as you continued to drink. “Good girl.” You grasped his wrist, latching on with your mouth, suddenly desperate for more. Blackness was gathering at the edges of your vision. It started gradually and then quickly overtook you. The last thing you heard before you slipped into the darkness was Ransom’s chuckle.

You gasped for breath as you rocketed up to a sitting position. You could hear everything. The birds on the roof of the house. The wind moving in the trees. The ants in the ground beneath you. You could feel everything. The hair on your arms, standing straight up. The grass growing in the ground. The electricity in the air. The one thing you couldn’t feel was your blood flowing through your veins. It was still. You knew it was. But something was pumping through you. Power. You gasped again to feel it. You could do anything now. You were sure of it. You’d been so weak before. But now. Now nothing could beat you. With that power was also the most intense hunger you’d ever felt. You needed something, right now. You needed everything. You needed to feed, you needed to fuck, you needed to drink.

A familiar chuckle interrupted your thoughts. You looked up to see Ransom standing above you. That mean smirk that was always on his face. “Oh little rabbit,” he said, “we are going to have so much fun.”

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, there's a follow-up! 💜

Don't Touch Me, I'm a Real Live Wire

#ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x female reader #dark fic #knives out #ransom drysdale #horror fiction #chris evans fanfiction #navy and roo's sleepover #kris wrote something #fanfic #we are vain & we are blind

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Through the Eye

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, violence, blood, death, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A new characters brings about echoes of the past.

Character: John Wick

Note: I wrote this for @the-slumberparty​ Mafia AU challenge for April 2023; prompt: “I speak, you listen. End of story.”

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like a love song, baby. Take care. 💖

Ps. Do you like my divider? I’ll make you one for your stories.

You feel the grass. The scent wafts in through the open pane as the long blades rustle softly in the breeze. The vibrant green stains your vision against the placid blue skies. The glisten of due still clings to the green expanse, giving the illusion of water flowing all around.

You feel the grass. Long days laying in the sun. The coolness of the ground met by the warmth of the sky. 

You feel the grass as you feel time.  As time never stops, nor does the grass stop growing. Always. Even when the snows fall, the blade remains. Resilient and unplucked.

Unlike any other day, the grasses do not go untrod. The figure is no less familiar than the field. The spec moving against the horizon, getting closer, and closer, crushing the tender strands between his soles. 

You keep your hands working, kneading the dough on the board dusted with flour. You watch your visitor, unsure at first if that’s what he is. More often he’s passing through than stopping by. You give the dough one last fold and drop it in the pan. You put it in the drawer to proof and wash your hands.

He’s carrying something. A basket in one hand. He’s not alone. The dog is there. The charcoal velvet of his coat shining in the sunlight. His bright spirit bounds in contrast to the sombre but steady pace of his owner.

You grab the dishcloth and dry your hands on the waffled fabric as you go to the door. You emerge and tuck it into the pocket of your apron. The screen door snaps shut as you give a wave. Bubba races forward but his owner maintains his patient stride.

You bend to greet the dog, petting his soft head as he wipes a smear of slobber on your thin chambray pants. You chuckle and give him one last pat as you stand to meet the man. Bubba investigates your apron, likely smelling the remnants of your baking.

“John,” you say, “out for a walk?”

“Yeah,” he answers. A single word, oft-repeated.

“Does he like back bacon?” You ask as you let Bubba nuzzle your hand, “I have some left over. You’re welcome to some too.”

He hums and nods at the dog. 

Stoic and silent as ever, he always confounds you. He’s not a social creature, you aren’t either, yet he comes around, now and again. Like you, he came here to be alone and like you, he must have bouts of loneliness. You suspect, you also share the same reluctance to admit it.

You smile and turn back to the house. You pull back the screen door and stroll through the kitchen. You pluck up a few strips of bacon cold on the pan and quickly retreat. As you come out, the basket is on the round glass table beside the wicker chair.

Bubba jumps up and startles you. You hold the bacon out of reach and John calls to him curtly, “down.” The dog obeys. 

“Thanks,” you say as you break off a piece, “must be hungry after coming all this way.”

“Eggs,” he says with a small gesture to the basket.

“Oh, thank you. That’s very kind of you,” you say as you glance over, feeding more of the greasy strip to the dog. He licks your fingers clean, searching for more, until he gives up and you wipe your hands on your apron, “would you like a coffee? I can put a pot on.”

“No. Thank you.” 

“Uh, okay, well,” you drift closer to the table and peer inside at the brown eggs, “thanks again for this.”

“Boy,” he says curtly and the dog returns to his side, “have a good day.”

“You sure you don’t want some water?” You face him again, shading your eyes with your hand, “it’s pretty hot.”

He shakes his head, “thank you.”

“Right,” you bite down on the tension and force a breath out, “well, if you’re nearby tomorrow, you could stop by and grab some sourdough. I have some loaves proofing now.”

He considers you. Dark and pensive. He thinks much more than he’ll ever say out loud.

“Maybe,” he answers and gently rubs Bubba’s ear between his thumb and index, “come.”

He turns and strides back into the field. His black hair flutters with the wind, the only part of him he can’t repress. You watch as the dog follows loyally at his side. You get it, it’s easier to deal with animals than people.

🥚

You wrap a loaf and place it in the basket John left with the eggs. You set it on the table as you wait for the kettle to boil. You don't know if he'll come though if he doesn't, you'll go out to see him. 

Maybe. The same declaration he gave you. 

The thought of going out after him makes you nervous. He doesn't seem like a man who would be bothered beyond his purview. Those times he stumbles on you are what he allows, beyond that, he is elusive. Almost deliberately so.

The kettle begins to whistle and you go to take it off the burner. Your mind wanders as your body moves out of habit, steeping a cup without a thought to which bag you choose. You stare into the dark liquid, startled by a scratching on the low deck.

You raise your head and rush out through the front room, dim in the shade of the drawn curtains. You grab the broom from beside the door before you swing through, ready to chase away the pestilent gopher. You're met instead by the wrinkled forehead of a wiggling Bubba, prancing across the wooden boards as you hear a subtle grunt on the other side of the picketed rail.

You go to peer down into the garden, resting the broom against the trim as you find John knelt in the patch of golden marigolds. He clutches a wad of green leaves, tossing his hair back as he stands. He looks up at you as he dusts the soil from his knees and opens his hand to present the weed.

"Oh?" You figure he saw the sprouting you'd missed. "Thanks for that."

He nods and lowers his arm as he closes his fist. He's silent as he stalks over to the compost barrel and dumbs the greenery inside. Bubba continues to sniff at the broken bench beneath the window.

"I have some bread for you, John," you announce, "and I just put the kettle on, would you like some tea before you go?"

He nears as he claps off his hands. Bubba circles your legs and nudges your palm. You pet him as John remains beyond the invisible barrier. He never comes closer than the grass.

"Thank you for the bread."

That's it. His answer. Just the bread, no tea. He would do well in another sort of life. His apathy could be dangerous were he to realise it.

"Sure," you scratch Bubba's head and turn to go inside.

The dog sits primly by the door, patient like his master. Inside, you sweep by the crumpled blanket on the couch. Hardly a comfortable place to sleep but a stubborn habit.

You enter the kitchen and give pause. Perhaps he won't stay for tea but you can still be polite. In the cupboard, you take out the shortbread cookies you baked only the day prior and pick out three to wrap in brown paper. You tie them with twine and take out a tin of untouched black tea; Assam, bitter at first, but carries a rich aftertaste.

You tuck it under the bread and take the basket. You grab a carrot from the bowl on the counter and return to the porch. You try to smile as you come out but John is already staring at the sky.

"You mind if Bubba has a carrot?" You ask as you hold the thick vegetable out of the dog's grasp.

He shifts, looking at you from the corner of his eye as he dips his chin. You give the carrot to the dog, his jowls leaving slobber across your hand as he accepts it greedily. You cross the groaning boards and hold out the basket.

"Sourdough," you say, "if you want rye, come back next week."

"Thanks," he steps forward but only close enough to take the basket. 

His gaze lingers and you wonder what he's thinking. Is it about you or is he already steps ahead on his daily journey across the plains?

"Bubba," he demands as the dog gulps down the last of the shredded carrots.

You move out of the way as the dog diligently obeys. His paw plod down the steps and he goes to sniff the basket in his owner's hand. Another nod and he's on his heel, venturing off into the green sea.

🥖

Often, you don't notice John's absence until he appears again. There is no rhyme or rhythm to his arrival but that day you note, it's been some time. Not entirely unusual but it tugs at your mind.

You don't linger on it. The solace of this place is safety. You cherish it even when it's lonely.

Still, restlessness consumes you. You cannot be idle. You cannot remain in this house. Even the garden cannot content your listless hands.

The air is dead, stolid with the high heat of July. Your cotton skirt lays limp down your legs, clinging to your sweaty skin as the sun beats down on your shoulders. A wide-brimmed hat shields your eyes but thickens the dampness along your scalp.

Beyond the lea, down the dip of the valley, there is a line of trees, green but still on the lull. The forest divides the grasslands in a sprawling patch. Beautiful but perilous. 

You make lazy progress across the field and follow the subtle basin of land that crests into the brush. You pause to examine the mossy bark and the jutting vines that coil and tangle, forming a sort of leafy fortress. You carefully trod past the tree line as your soles meet the soft peat in an eerie silence. 

There are wild berries, some dried out in a stream of unfiltered sun while others hang heavy and ripe. You taste a few and ponder coming back to gather more. Your haphazard stroll makes you uneasy. You rarely do anything without meticulous consideration. 

Even as your innate caution tells you to go back, you can't help but press on. There's something drawing you in, or away. An urgency you can't place.

You wince as you step on a twig. You exhale, long and heavy, as if you'd been waiting. For what, you don't know.

There's no path, only a gap here and there wide enough to pass between the foliage. You heat some scuffling and what could be a breath, not your own. You still and listen, your own heartbeat pounding, trying to scare you back to safety. There’s a rustle and you turn, only the subtle flutter of leaves to greet you.

Is someone there? You don’t dare to ask the question aloud. 

You take a step blindly back as you hear dull padding across the forest floor. You retreat until your back meets bark and you stare at the shaking bush across from you. You dig your nails into the grooves of the bark. It could never last so long.

The curious nose of the dog pokes through first, a heavy huff as his chops flap and foam. You sigh and deflate against the rough oak. It’s only Bubba.

“Jeez,” you utter and chuckle at yourself. Just the dog, but where’s his owner?

You say his name but as quickly as he’s appeared, he’s gone. You blink and hesitate, following only as you fear he’ll leave you alone. You brush through the bushes and long reaching vines, following the wag bony tail.

Ahead, you hear a trickle. The soft ripple of water. Before you can stop, you’re in a clearing, faced with a sight that has you speechless. A back, naked and long, marked with ink and scars. The dark hair drips wetly between his shoulders, shining black like oil.

“Oh, uh, I’m so sorry,” you spin and cover your face as Bubba woofs softly and hops around the shore, “I… I thought Bubba was… lost.”

More like I’m lost, you think to yourself.

There’s no answer. Only the shift of water and steps slowed by the depths. The river babbles gently in the din.

“I’ll go, again, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t,” he says. It’s not the word but his tone that stops you. You shudder as you stare into the shadows between the brambles and trees. “Stop. Don’t–”

You squeal as suddenly Bubba’s playful boofs turn to a raucous bark. You shield yourself and fall back as the dog bowls you over from behind, your feet flying over your head. There’s a whistle in the air and the hard thunk of something unseen as it collides with the tall jagged stone on the other side of the shore.

“Stay down,” John orders as the water splashes, another shot, silenced through some unseen barrel. “Fuck.”

His feet mulch in the dirt as you roll onto your stomach, Bubba circling you erratically, herding you to the covers of an overturned log. You drag yourself on your elbows, your dress smearing with filth and catching on errant pebbles and sticks.

“Bub,” John calls and the dog backs off, running towards his owner. 

You raise your head as John stands naked, unafraid, raising a dark glock to fire back. You don’t know why he has it but you’re happy he does. He dodges the counter and swipes up the denim folded at the bottom of the stack of clothes. He pulls the trigger again, aiming into the trees as he comes towards you.

“Don’t move,” he orders as he squints, keeping the gun aloft, “not ‘til I say.”

“John,” you gasp, “what’s going on?”

He’s quiet as he listens. Silence. You watch his throat bob, overly aware of the rest of him, exposed and glistening with water.

He lowers the barrel, quickly stepping into his jeans. He whistles and Bubba comes to him, head lower, eyes watchful. Master and beast match in that moment, waiting for the kill.

“Stay.” He says.

You don’t know if he means you or the dog. But you obey, as Bubba remains at your side. John walks along the other side of the log, gun raised before him. There’s a jostle across the river and he turns instinctively. Three short reactive shots.

The curtain of leaves part and a man staggers forward. His gun is pointed back at John but tumbles from the stranger’s grip. He gurgles and collapses into the water, face first. You get only a glimpse of the red splotches across his dark shirt.

You quiver as your vision speckles with tears. You cover your mouth as the scent of iron underlines the medley of the forest. You shake your head and shakily drag your hand down your cheek.

“John…”

“You know,” he says. Your eyes meet and his gaze says all he won’t. He knows, too.

🌳

You’ve never been to John’s house. You never venture that far from your own. You never even thought to go that far.

Walking up on the small house with its chipped white paints and splintered posts, you realise, it’s not truly his. It’s not a home. It’s a hideout. Like yours but not quite. You follow him onto the porch and stop at the top step. The wood whines with your weight.

“They sent you too,” you say. Your suspicions bubbling over to certainty.

He stops at the door. He’s rigid as he turns his head. His cheek draws and he swallows.

“Will you make it quick?” You ask.

Still, he doesn’t speak. He proceeds through the door as Bubba sits beside you, his eyes pointed outward towards the plain. Watching, guarding. You touch his wrinkled brow and trail after John.

He moves in the grim light of the cramped cottage. You can tell at a glance that the front room is the only occupied space. The house is a facade but every man must live. Somehow. 

He faces you and tosses a bag at your feet, a loose duffel. You look down as he carries on. He pulls out another bag, longer, the type you’ve seen before. He checks his glock then the contents of the rifle bag.

“Get changed.”

You don’t move. You run your hand down the filth on your dress as you watch him. He sighs and pushes the rifle bag aside. He crosses to you. You flinch and he bends down to unzip the duffle. 

He opens it and takes out a dark hoodie and matching pants. He stands and holds them out to you. You reluctantly take them as he claims another bunch of clothing from the bag. He barely acknowledges you as he turns to change himself.

“I’d rather you kill me here. I don’t want to die with those people.”

“If I was gonna kill you…” he lets the sentence dangle like a noose.

You nod and put the clothes down on a nearby crate. You unfold the hoodie and check the tag. Your size. You peer over at him as he switches out his tee shirt for a plain black button-up.

“They’ll send someone after you too. Looks like they already did,” you remark.

“They can try.”

You fish out the ribbed tank and feel the thin fabric. You don’t understand. You ran this far, what’s the point of going any further.

“I’m not in the habit of killing widows,” he mutters.

You close your eyes and inhale. You turn your head slowly and look over at him.

“You only make them, huh?”

He faces you sullenly, “hurry.”

🏡

“At the next station…” John begins but you know he’s just talking to blend in.

It’s what he does. Like a shadow, he moves through the world. Drifting by those around him with ease. A man without a body. 

“I know a place close by,” you see how he tilts his head. He sees something.

He leans back and slips his arm over your shoulders. You tense. The subway shakes on the rails as it powers ahead. It’s been so long since you’ve been in a city. It’s like going back in time.

He pushes you down as a bang pops in your ear. You yelp as he shoves you out of the seat, his own gun arcs through the air and deflects the next attempt. A man falls and another rises from his seat. Another bullet fells him as John stands in front of you.

“Up,” he pulls you up by your arm, another shot over his shoulder and grunt. “Don’t look back.”

It’s not the first time. It’s been weeks of this. Endlessly moving, eternally awake. You wish he’d just killed you back in that cabin.

He follows, urging you along. Shots ping around you and he forces you to duck as he nearly crushes you against the door. You yank the handle and slide it open, stumbling through to the next car. He’s right on your heels as he slams it behind him, barely deflecting the next bullets.

You feel a hot pain in your side, a searing graze across your ribs. Don’t think, just do. That’s what John does. He’s designed for this. It’s both admirable and alarming.

You get to the next door, to the end of the train. John hits the window beside your head impatiently. His back presses to yours as he turns to fire his gun again and again and again. You struggle to twist the lever and when it releases, you nearly fall out of the hurtling car.

“On three,” he says.

“We can’t-”

“I speak, you listen. End of story.”

"It's too dangerous–"

“One.”

“John.”

“Two.”

“Wait.”

“Three.”

He turns and wraps his arm around you. He grabs the outside of the car and swings around, barely clinging to it. He lets go, taking you with him, your feet bouncing off him as he lands on the tracks and falls back beneath you. He grunts and coughs as the train squeals down the tracks.

Out of breath, you roll off of him. He pants and closes his eyes. You can’t do this anymore. It’s not just the fear that haunts you, it’s him. Watching him do this day in and day out. For you? Why?

And Bubba. The poor dog. The heartbroken look in his eyes when you left him with that man. A man with no name.

“John,” you push yourself up to your knees and groan as you slip back onto your ass. A jarring pain tears through your side. “I can’t–”

You look down as you touch your side. He sits up as he stares at the blood seeping through your fingers. He presses his hand against your, holding it firmly to stem the flow. You dizzily shake your head.

“That’s it,” you say.

His eyes meet yours. The dark circles beneath, the wrinkles above, you see the mortal beneath. You frown. He can’t win. He can’t just tell death what to do.

“No,” he insists and pushes on your hand, “like that.”

You keep the pressure. You moan as he scoops you up in his arms, standing with a heave. He looks off down the dark tunnel and walks between the rails. Where others are blind, he sees all. Where others would give up, he goes on.

🚆

A fire crackles beside you. You don’t believe it’s real at first. The soft amber haze burns through your eyelids until you look to see if it is. The glass that separates the flame from the room is set into the plain white stucco of a wall.

You don’t know this place.

There’s a dull weight on your side. You reach to move it but there’s nothing there. You wear only a thin nightgown, white cotton that reflects the hue of the fire. You feel the stitches through the light fabric.

“John,” you know he’s there.

Not far. He’s beside you in a moment. A shadow above you. You flick your lashes up and look at the black figure flickering with the flame.

“Safe here,” he assuress in his way. You believe him.

"They won't stop. They never do," you croak.

As wordless as ever, he lowers himself to sit beside you. He breathes.

"I won't either."

You close your eyes. You will. You have. This isn't how you want to live. Not anymore.

"I do. I give up. John, you should've left me on the tracks."

"No."

His voice is as passionate as you've ever heard it. So much so that you barely recognise it as his. You wince.

"John, it's okay–"

"It's not."

"I knew when I went out there, it would end like that–"

"No," he says again.

"You can't just tell the world no."

"I am."

You huff in exasperation, "John, I'm telling you that it's over. I have nothing left."

He doesn't respond. He rests his arms on his bent legs and pushes back his shaggy locks. He lifts his chin and cluck.

"That's not your choice."

He gets up as you lay helpless. Weak and woozy still. You couldn't argue or refuse if you tried.

"It is," you say.

His face is hidden in the dark, shielded from the fire's light by the curtain of hair. You can't see his eyes but you feel him watching you. This man is not as gentle as you thought. He is not the protector that he seems.

He pivots on his heel and takes even steps away from you. You crane to see him but can't find him in the dim. Hinges squeak and wood hits the frame.

No, he is not your protector. He is your keeper.

🩸

All you do is sleep. It's all there is to do. Lingering, languishing, in that space. Little better than a cell. Or a coffin.

The fireplace glows anon, lending and earthy glow to the room. You lay on the couch, spacious as the large ottoman pushes up to form a cozy expanse. He came again. No words, just a standard peek at your stitches and the cold touch of stringent alcohol. 

You're healing. Surviving. Day by day, marked only by the meals he leaves, that appear when you doze and tempt you back to the world. You eat only to sate the ache, paying little note to the pleasant flavours or efforts of each dish.

You are as you have been. Head against the arm of the couch as you keep an arm over the top of the blanket. Your eyes laze beneath your lids as the fireplace flickers. There is no garden, no baking bread, no fraying curtains to distract you here. You must face your thoughts and the persistent past.

A bang brings you up. You wince and clutch your side as the stitches tug. You peer over the top of the couch as the door quakes and bursts open. A body flails through and hits the floor with a sickly thump.

Your heart thrums. You think for a moment it's John splayed across the carpet's edge. But he's there, puffing over the body at his feet. The man wheezes and a rattle fizzles to a gurgle.

John aims his gun at the heaving body. There's no need for it. You can see the man won't get up. He can't. He's bleeding from his shoulder and his foot is twisted around on his ankle. 

"Here."

You don't realise he's talking to you. Not until his dark eyes focus on you, the shadows angling along the sharp plains of his face. You blink and part your lips dumbly.

You shake as you grasp the cushion on the back of the couch. You don't know what he wants. He wiggles the gun and you shield yourself, bracing as if the barrel is aimed at you.

"I wouldn't…" he breathes, "come here."

You push yourself away from the back of the couch, nearly falling off entirely. You get a foot under you and sway as you search for your balance. Your skin tingles and your ears buzz.

He scoffs and kicks the body. The man rolls over and coughs again. As you come around, you recognise him. Dominic. The man who killed your husband. The same who put this man on your tail.

"How…"

You yelp as John moves towards you. He has your hand in his and forces it around the gun. You whimper as he drags you over to Dominic, holding your arm straight as he directs the muzzle down at the man.

"No more running," he declares, "he's the last one…"

"John," you gulp as you struggle with him, too weak to do much more than squirm.

"All of them."

"I can't–"

"You can. You want to," he turns and looks you in the face. You meet his gaze sheepishly, a sheen of tears blurring him, "I know you will. For us."

He squeezes your hand and you murmur. He lets you go and takes a step back. Dominic writhes and sputters, a crackly noise which could be a laugh.

"Feels… right," he gulps out as he trembles helplessly, his lips grey as his life slowly seeps away, "kill me like I killed–"

You don't let him finish. You pull the trigger. He will not say his name. Never again.

You quiver as you stand frozen above the bloody ruin. The hole in his chest leaks red and spills over, staining the carpet around him. Your chest rises and falls deeply, your ears ringing, hands hot around the gun.

John closes his fingers over yours. You let him take the gun. He nudges your hand down and turns you away from your victim. Your vengeance.

When you can think again, you're back on the couch. He's there too. You can't see him but you hear bristles scrubbing against the wood.

You close your eyes again. That's what you do. You hide.

⏳

He wakes you with a touch. So light, so gentle, almost afraid. A hint of iron remains in the air. You open your eyes to him as he drags his fingers along the thin fabric of your nightgown.

It's different. He's not there to dress your wound. You see it in the depths of his eyes, so dark you can hardly see the pupils.

A new current of adrenaline swells through you. His fingers graze across the hem and hesitate. He meets your bare thighs and you twitch. You can't remember the last time anyone touched you like this.

Or looked at you like he does.

It's not the same. It can never be what you had before. But you know this man. You know what he's capable of. With men like him, it's best to embrace the light side to keep out of the dark.

You look past him, to the ceiling, the orange glow pulsing around his silhouette. You shiver and part your legs. He's never been much for words, has he?

He brushes down your pelvis. You hold your breath, goosebumps prickling along the path of his touch. It's like fire and ice. It hurts but feels so good. Numbing yet electrifying.

He glides along your lips. You suck in air sharply as he patiently explores, tickling, feeling, prodding, delving into your folds with a curious sort of eagerness.

He leans over you as you gasp. His fingertips send a thill through you, rolling over your tender bud in an easy but intoxicating motion. He bends closer until his lips meet your cheek. He growls and it flows through you.

He kisses along your cheek, his breath hot as it fans over you. His lips find yours and you let him kiss you. The more he touches you, the further he figures you out, the less you feel like yourself. Your body isn't yours, he's claiming that too.

He rubs you cloyingly. Teasing you until your muscles clench in need. His fingers glide back as his tongue pokes between your lips. You squeak as he urges into you, the heel of his large hand resting against your swollen bud. 

He rocks deliberately, building a tension, shifting just a little as he swallows down your mewls. His lips leave yours, trailing down your chin and along your throat. Another wave flows over you.

He guides the thin strap of the nightie down and pecks along your collarbone. Your chest pounds and your breath hitches. You're caught in his thrall.

He nuzzles the curve of your chest. He follows the line of your cleavage as his rough lips send tendrils across your skin. He puffs and nips at the soft flesh, toying with you between his teeth. 

His hand tilts as he slides deeper, curling his fingers as the pressure pools in your core. He continues his intent journey down your body, laying a path of kisses over your stomach. He urges your legs wider as he moves around your knee, positioning himself on the cushion beneath you.

He pulls back to watch himself play with you. His face blazes with the hue of the fireplace and his burning need. He bends over your pelvis, his hair draping down to tickle your stomach and hips.

Chills like a tide, endless and building, building, building. The coolness of his tongue sinks into you, burying in your warmth. He keeps his hand rocking, methodic as ever.

You push your hands against the couch. You're sinking, drowning. The finality of your surrender consumes you.

He laps at you, like a man in the desert. Your leg bends against him, his arm looping beneath as he dives in further. 

You close your eyes as they sear, tears beading in your lashes. What you want, who you want, you'll never have again. He is what you get. You were only ever a prize, you never got one yourself.

He wiggles his fingers tauntingly before slipping them free. Your eyelids part as he raises his head, his breath fluttering over your pelvis. He smears your arousal down your thigh and gives a gentle kiss to the soft patch of hair at the crux of your vee.

He grunts as he lifts himself, sitting on his knees. You bat your lashes as he peers down at you. You exhale and flick your eyes up to the ceiling. The blankness beckons to you.

You feel him shift, jostling you on the couch, then a whisper of fabric and the rough callous of his fingertips. His hands brush up your pelvis and stomach, before retreating to your thighs, kneading as he leans over you.

You whimper as you feel him against you. You return to the present as your eyes detach from the plaster and find his. He bends over you, planting his arm across the couch above you. You guides his tip along your cunt and you hold your breath.

You press your hands to his chest and bite your lip as he slowly invades. It is just like him. The subtle build up to the inevitable.

You let him in, curling your fingers against him. You focus on the dark bruise beside your index and push on it as he sinks in deeper. He growls as he does, a snarl laced with pain and delight.

As he reaches his limit, he rises to sit back on his knees, jerking his hips against you. You moan as he catches your hand and puts it back against the purplish blemish, urging you to press until he groans. He pulls you up into his lap, your head lolling as you hang limp in his embrace.

He keeps your fingers against the bruised flesh as he rocks you against him. You grip him with your other hand, nails digging into his shoulder. He grunts and grazes his teeth along your ear.

"Hurt me," he rasps as he gropes your ass desperately, "please… I want to feel you. I want to feel everything."

You squeeze harder, until you sense the skin about to break. You heave as you hook your arm around his neck, bucking in his lap as you chase the coiling climax. You want to feel too.

Something. Anything.

🛋️

A white dress. That’s what you’re wearing in the photograph. The other half of the picture is gone, a jagged tear down the middle. You’re smiling but the reason why is missing. Seeing that photo rent in two is harder even than facing that truth alone. Your husband is gone.

There’s another white dress. Spread out beneath the photo, with a veil and set of hair pins. You sit beside the swath of ivory and bend the worn corner of the picture with your thumb. You turn it over and read again the slanted cursive scrawl.

‘You look good in white’.

A message that wasn’t there the last time you held that picture. 

Your stomach churns as you place the photograph on the other side of you. You look around the room and feel the heat scalding your chest. This place is safe, just like he said, but only because he won’t let you out.

When he comes, he says as little as ever. He only checks your wounds and leaves something to eat or read or wear. Like a warden.

You miss the sunshine, you miss the fragrant fields, and the billowing clouds. You miss the smell of baking bread and the cool breeze stirring the curtains. You miss when life felt like living.

You stand and take the dress without looking at it. He thinks this is mercy. How can it be when it is worse than death?

John can be a good man. Decent, dependable, devoted. But he is just another bad man. The kind you vowed years ago that you were done with. Detached, deadly, destructive.

You never wanted someone to kill for you, you only wanted someone to live with you. What you've been doing is less than. Existing but not living. Healing but thriving. There but somewhere else.

He's still a stranger to you. All you know about him is that he's like any other man you've known. Deadly, stubbornly so.

You step into the white dress and pull the fabric up your body. You shiver as it brushes over the rigid skin of your scar. The ghost of his touch crawls over you, rough but careful. 

You hook the straps over your shoulders and strain to zip the back. The fabric closes around you snuggly, perfectly encasing your figure. The details are never missed and never wrong.

You step into the satin toed shoes. A wave of deja vu washes over you. Dressed in white and filled with dread.

You pick up the veil and examine the embroidered edge. Beautiful but ill-suited to you. You expected a funeral shroud by now. 

You go to the mirror and work at pinning the veil. Your blood turns cold as your vision pinpoints and you see yourself. The ramshackle bride.

'Til death…'

You cried at your first wedding, you have no tears for the second. Happy, sad, or otherwise.

The door opens behind you, drawing you from your grey reverie. There's nothing you have to miss yet you are wistful. You don't long for what you had, but what you could never have.

You look at him in the mirror. You see only his shoulder at the edge of the reflection. He watches you back. You flinch as coolness touches your knuckles.

You turn and look down at Bubba as he noses your hand. You notice the bowtie at his neck. Oddly endearing in the circumstance.

John waits. Silently. That's how it's been. No more talking. From either of you.

You spread your hand over Bubba's thick skull and rub his soft fur. He wiggles and lurches ahead. You follow him with a shuddery breath.

John's dark gaze roves over you, from head to foot. As you near, he reaches to straighten the veil before pulling it forward. The world obscures on the other side of the lace. He offers his arm and you take it. 

For better or worse.

#john wick #dark john wick #dark!john wick #john wick x reader #fic #one shot #dark fic #dark!fic #navy and roo's sleepover

[flordeamatista]

𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒀𝒐𝒖

pairing: soft dark!mafia bucky barnes x curvy!reader

concept: The sensation was like a flame being lit inside you, slowly warming and spreading through your body until you were burning with his desire.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: possessive Bucky, kidnapping, desire, lust, finger-ing, p -in- v, kisses, manipulation — soft d-ubcon to be safe, mature themes, small angst of body image, poetic fluff, curvy reader, nickname- (Dove, Princess)

a/n: A dusty old wip I had in the docs until Roo's and Navy's @the-slumberparty I Spy Challenge I spy the word bouquet of flowers, and I guess that's how Bucky fell in love with reader. 

Read more to find out why.

the cute gif and moodboard/line divider made by me

lovely betas: @targaryenvampireslayer and @lunarbuck

masterlist

What the eyes cannot see, the heart feels 

The sun turns to darkness. 

It was like watching a fire burn out, the last embers of light flickering away until nothing was left but the smoky darkness of night. Rain began to fall as the winds picked up, blowing leaves and debris across the field. It was as if the sky had turned to ink, slowly filling the air with a blanket of blackness that smothered any remaining hope of daylight. 

As the sky fills with darkness, so do you, a prisoner in this mansion.

The tears that run down your face.

Will they bloom into flowers or stay dried forever in his home?

Thunder roared in the distance, warning of impending danger. The intensity of the storm increased with each passing minute, and he shook as the winds carried the sound of thunder to you.

His gaze is intense, burning with a passion that can only be rivaled by the intensity of lightning in the night sky.

Your arms scramble to pull him off as the hand that is pinning your throat to the wall tightens. His heart races as he reaches out to touch your face, knowing that you are equally eager for his touch.

“Why am I here?” You whisper loudly for him to hear into his body.

As he rolls his sleeves, you can see the tattoos of wolves and your name on his arms. His eyes locked with yours as he made a gesture to the door; here was your chance to escape and never look back.

You dodge under his arm and make a run for the door, but he reacts more quickly than you expected. He is like a lion pouncing on its prey; he moves with a determination that you have never seen before. He grabs you before you can even pass him. You are thrown back into your position and slammed against the wall.

A calloused hand reaches up and grasps your throat, pining you to the wall. His grip tightens until you almost can't breathe. 

"You're mine now," he growls, eyes flashing with an unsettling desire. 

He moves closer. 

He clenches his jaw and furrows his brow into a scowl. You know that there is no escape, and you can see the determination in his eyes - he will not let you go until he has finished what he started.

You feel overwhelmed by his sheer bulk, his lips brushing against your neck. With each breath, you feel a thrill of anticipation run through your body. 

His craving was relentless, growing until it felt like an unstoppable force.

"I like beautiful things, Dove, so you are here." You feel his lips warming your skin.

You feel yourself melting into him, surrounded by the smell of cedar wood and leather.

He grabs your neck and forces you to sit down on the armchair with the thin nightgown, causing goosebumps to break out on your delicate skin. His rough hands then trail across your body, slowly removing your towel, exploring your curves, and sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

You were completely taken aback by the intensity of his gaze, unsure of what to do next. 

Why you? Why are you here? Marking your body with desire?

There has never been a powerful man who has looked at you with that kind of desire, and you are not even close to being a model of beauty in his world.

But he sees maybe the you.

You certainly had no hope of defeating someone as powerful and renowned as Bucky Barnes and knew that any slight you made against him would quickly be silenced. Trying to challenge Bucky Barnes was akin to trying to challenge a mountain— no matter how hard you push or how much you plan, it will remain unmoved and unyielding.

His expression softens as he sees your tears, and he moves closer, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace and holding you close. He knows his heart speaks a language that transcends words, and the message it conveys is clear. 

The moment he saw you at the flower shop smelling the bouquet of flowers in your hand, he had your future planned together.

Bucky's hand instinctively reached up, exploring the sensation with a slow, gentle touch as his mind raced with possibilities. Adorning it with a diamond necklace would be the most elegant way to accentuate the beauty of your body. 

He was captivated by your presence and knew right then that you were his. He watched you walk away, feeling like he had just been struck by lightning, and knew that he had to have you. 

He has been devoted to you ever since, investing all of his energy in nourishing your relationship. 

All you have to do is let go for him, and he will make you his queen. 

In an effort to soothe you, he leans forward and kisses the tears that are running down your cheeks. His lips are gentle and warm against your skin. He embraces you with a loving squeeze, letting you know that you are safe in his arms and that nothing can harm you. 

You feel him grip your jaw and press his lips against yours. 

You realized that the pain was that of a gentle kiss, something you had longed for and never experienced before.

You feel a surge of electricity course through your veins as the kiss deepens. Despite wanting more of that kiss, the situation you are in should not be concealed from everyone you are close to. It's like an addicting drug, with an intense high that begs you to keep wanting more, but with the knowledge that you shouldn't be indulging in it in the first place. 

Suddenly, his hands are everywhere, exploring your body with a hunger and determination that leaves you in awe. 

After a single sharp pull, your nightgown is gone, exposing you to the cold night and the dazzling light of lightning.

Your dark cyan eyes awaken my body and my soul 

Two fingers rest against your lips. Forcing his fingers into your mouth, he slowly slides them out of your mouth, leaving you in stunned silence, unsure of what to do with the experience.

You're trying to resist a temptation, with the desire building up until finally, the impulse is too strong to ignore.

He takes a moment to savor the moment before reality sets in; his hand slowly slides out from underneath your grown. Sliding his wet fingers on your pussy, he pins your hips against the wall. His touch is possessive and demanding, igniting a fire within you, and you can feel your arousal growing with each passing second.

Withdrawing his fingers, he spins you around and encircles the center of your waist with his hands. His lips crash down onto your spine, and you can feel his desire radiating through you, consuming you completely and leaving you breathless.

Immediately after a gentle kiss begins to trail across your exposed back, electricity shoots up your spine. It is nothing short of heavenly. You can't help but moan and arch into his touch, savoring the sensation. A man touching your body in this way has never made you feel seen before.

He growls as he marks you.

This realization snaps you into action, and you try to face him, but he stops you from turning, and he presses your hands against the wall, holds onto you, and grinds his hips against you. 

"Don't fight me, Dove. I'm just trying to make you feel better. I'm going to show you how nice it can be with a man" You feel your body tense up as he whispers in your ear, his voice as sweet as honey yet as hard as steel.

There is a click as his belt unbuckles, then a zip as you wait for it. Your heart is pounding, your palms are sweating, and your mind is racing with what comes next.

“Relax. It will be easier on you." He gently slides into you and guides you to enjoy the experience. His fingers slide around your pussy, and he caresses it roughly. "Princess, you're going to moan my name. Then you will ask for more of me."

You gasp in pleasure, eyes closed, as the sensation washes over you in waves.

 The sensation was like a flame being lit inside you, slowly warming and spreading through your body until you were burning with his desire.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #soft dark!mafia bucky barnes x curvy!reader #navy and roo's sleepover #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #sebastian stan characters #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #dark!fic #mafia!bucky #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes x woc!reader #reader insert #sebastian stan x reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky x woc!reader #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fluff #mob!bucky #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes imagine

[jobean12-blog]

The Farmer’s Fancy

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader 

Word Count: 478

Summary: Joel finally has his farm...now all he needs is you. 

Author’s Note: So I decided to really challenge myself with this one and write something for Lisa’s @cockslutpadalecki 15 sentence challenge and prompt #11 (”you look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat”) and Navy and Roo’s week 3 Slumber Party ‘Something New’ challenge @the-slumberparty I did something soft!dark here which is not something I do much and lightly used (k)idnapping- I’m giving the illusion here and as I continue to experiment I hope to get more into it all! Thank you to my sweet friend Navy💕 @navybrat817 for her extra encouragement and overall awesomeness and support! Love you! HUGS! Thank you so much to Lisa, Navy and Roo💕 for hosting these great writing challenges and celebrations, it’s so great and I really appreciate it! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Thank you bunches to lovely Daisy @firefly-graphics for the divider! 🥰

Warnings: binds, some language, (c)hoking, smexyines, soft!dark themes: (k)idnapping hints

GIF NOT MINE: Credit goes to @salome-c thank you lovely 🥰

Joel Miller Masterlist

You struggle against the binds at your wrists, your curses and cries lost in the vast openness of the farm while you watch him stride over to you, his hands on his hips as his eyes sweep down your body and flash with heat before he murmurs, “I’d untie you if you didn’t try to run every god damn time, think you’re ready to be good for me darlin’?”

You sag against the wooden pole of the small stable and hang your head with a nod, your body deflating even more when he releases you from the binds and you find yourself weak and falling into his arms.

“There now,” he whispers, taking your chin between his fingers and lifting your eyes to his, “I knew you could do it.”

Your menacing glare is met with a smirk as he backs you toward the wall, hay catching in your shoes and the smell of horse surrounding you, your body hitting the wood before he crowds you against it, the hardness between his legs pressing into your stomach.

With a gasp of his name you grab his broad shoulders, unable to hide the way your body succumbs to the simple fact that he’s touching you, and you swallow hard, licking your lips.

“Promise me, darlin’,” he drawls, “promise me you’ll do as I say and you won’t try and run anymore, you know I’ll keep you safe.”

His lips skim the shell of your ear, more of a whispered warning than anything else, and you cling to him, your breathing heavy as he places a kiss just underneath your ear before his mouth trails softly down the column of your neck.

“Lemme hear you say it,” he growls as his large and calloused fingers trace your collarbone, sliding higher until they close around the base of your throat and he pulls back to look into your eyes.

“I promise,” you choke out, your nails digging into his back.

“Repeat it,” he whispers against your lips, his fingers putting more pressure on your neck.

“I promise,” you say again, whimpering when he shoves one thick thigh between your legs and his fingers squeeze even harder, “I won’t run and I’ll do as you say.”

“There’s a good girl,” he croons then abruptly removes his thigh and replaces it with his free hand, making you clench around nothingness.

His fingers tease along the edge of your pants, his motions unhurried when he slides them lower and purrs, “you look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat.”

“Joel,” you find yourself pleading when his fingers brush over your panties, the material soaked and stuck to your skin.

He hums appreciatively, his words warm against your lips and his tone smug when he whispers, “fuck’ darlin,’ I knew you’d be easy to break but this is too good to be true.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #soft!dark joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #look ma i did it - fifteen sentences #navy and roo's sleepover

[shadeysprings]

Fabled Memories

—Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Summary: You wake up one evening, battered and bruised, but have no recollection of how it came to be.

Warnings: implied kidnapping, basement wife vibes, amnesia & character death. There may be more, but remember that this is a dark fic, so please tread carefully.

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's Week Three Challenge: Something New and the trope I chose was Amnesia and Basement Wife. I've always wanted to write something that had the basement wife element and the thoughts just kept brewing. Plus, I've been antsy to write Steve again.

p.s. I may turn this into a mini-series.

Your feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated. Support content creators! And of course, I hope you guys enjoy! ❤️

The silence that fills the cafe is a welcome respite after dealing with the onslaught of impatient customers during the morning rush hour. It’s already half past eleven when you glance down at your watch, taking it as a cue to wipe down on the counter and fill the machine with the coffee beans to prepare for the second wave of patrons for the lunch rush.

While stacking the display case with pastries and sandwiches alike, you hear the bell chime and recite on instinct your customer service spiel. 

“I hope I can trouble you for a cup.” The familiar voice echoes in your ears and you look up, surprised to see Steve Rogers on the other side, smiling at you when your eyes meet.

“You’re early today, Captain.” You tell him and immediately make quick work of his usual order; a brewed coffee with two sugars and one cream. “You don’t usually stop by til after noon.”

“Yeah—well, Tony called in for a meeting today.” He huffs his response, propping his hand on his waist while the other rests on the counter, fingers drumming against the marble surface. “Wanted to discuss something about proper etiquette for the gala this coming Friday.”

That makes you snort, Steve looking at you curiously when you snap the lid on the cup and place it down on the counter. He looks at you expectantly and you shake your head instead, standing by the register to ring up his order. 

“What is it?” He urges, though gently, amusement painting on his face as he keeps his eyes on you. “You’re laughing at what I said.”

“I’m not laughing.” You say in defense but the Avenger only raises an eyebrow in question. So you cave, “It’s just funny thinking Mr. Stark would be talking about proper etiquette when the videos scattering online suggests otherwise. No offense to him though.” 

He laughs and so do you. “No offense taken, doll. Even Sam thinks the same.” The pet name still puts you off but you’ve gotten used to it over the year of making him his coffee. He slides a hundred to you after giving him his total and you count up his change. “Oh, you keep the change. You should know by now that I don’t take it.”

“I—” You stare at the bills in your hand before looking back at him. “But this is a little too much, Captain. I couldn’t possibly—”

“Of course you can. It’s a tip and you deserve it.” He smiles and takes the paper cup from the countertop, raising it up to you. “You make my coffee better than any of Stark’s fancy cappuccino machines and besides, I want to help you get that car you wanted.”

“Oh—you remembered that?” 

“How can I not?” He leans closer. “You kept talking about it and the way your eyes sparkled when you did just told me that you wanted it so bad.”

You chuckle and give him a smile. “I already got it actually. My husband—he got it for me as an anniversary pr—Oh god!”

You gasp and take a sudden step back when his coffee bursts in his hand, immediately making your way to the back to grab the mop and walking to where he stands to clean up the mess. But your eyes widen and you feel an unexpected chill run up your spine when you see the discarded paper cup on the floor, crushed.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve apologizes in a rush, waving him off when he tries to take the mop from you. “I guess I didn’t know my own strength.” He blurts out and you try to keep your cool as you busy yourself with the task, picking up the cup from the ground and heading back to the counter to discard it in the bin. 

“It’s alright.” You breathe, trying to keep the growing nervousness at bay. “Accidents happen. Let me make you a new one. On the house.” You tell him and quickly turn to make a fresh cup before he could even say anything. 

The comfortable silence from earlier turns a new leaf, feeling an uncertain tension building around the both of you and making you move at a measured pace. You feel Steve’s eyes burning the back of your head and you fight to dismiss the unease, convincing yourself that it was indeed an accident. The serum couldn’t be that perfect, right?

“You never mentioned you were married.” His tone is calm yet somewhat accusatory, your fingers shaking as you add the sugar to the brew. “I never even saw you wearing a ring.”

“I—I’m not allowed to wear it during my shift.” You explain matter of factly, forcing a smile when you snap the lid and turn to face him. “Sanitation and all.”

“I see,” He nods and takes the cup when you hold it out to him, his fingers brushing against yours, lingering before he pulls away. “Well, your husband is one lucky bastard to have a pretty thing like you as his wife.” You can’t help the blush that creeps up your neck from the compliment. 

You look to the door when the bell suddenly chimes, several of the working class customers lining up behind Steve while they look up at the menu to decide on their order. 

“I guess I should let you go.” His serious tone is gone, replaced by a cheerful one yet you feel that his words mean so much more than just leaving the cafe. “I’ll see you around, doll.” He says with finality with another of his friendly smiles before turning to leave but not without the customers stopping to ogle him as he walks past the door. 

You don’t see Steve for a week and you don’t want to admit it but you find his absence a relief. Your last encounter with him was awkward, something unusual for he seems to always be cool and collected when he comes over and gets his usual order. You’d dare to even say that the both of you are more than acquaintances with how much you’ve shared with each other while he waits for his coffee. 

Even Caleb, your husband, is jealous that you get to meet the great Captain America—with him being a fan of the Avengers like they were movie stars. It did give you the idea of asking Steve if he could meet your husband, a small surprise you’re planning for his coming birthday. Though you’ll wait til he comes back and you just hope that by then, the tension between the both of you has completely subsided.

“Hey there, I’m looking for a pretty girl who works here. Answers to ‘my love’ and sometimes ‘Mrs. Stinky Butt.’” You turn your head as you lock the shop doors, laughing at Caleb's commentary before smiling when you see the bouquet of sunflowers nestled in his arms. 

“I think she prefers ‘my love’ more, Mr. Stinky Butt.” You retort and greet your husband with a hug, humming softly when he plants a soft kiss on your lips and wraps an arm snuggly around your waist. “What are the flowers for?” You ask before leaning over and taking a whiff of their scent.

“Well, it has been a while since you did a closing shift and I know how tough it can be,” He begins, “So—I thought of a night full of activities to pamper my gorgeous wife so you can start your day tomorrow fully relaxed.”

You hum in thought while walking with him to your car. “I’m listening.” 

“Okay, so the flowers were first and it has already succeeded.” He says proudly and you chuckle at the wide grin he gives you. “There is a delicious take out dinner waiting for you at home—”

“Number Nine?” You ask in anticipation.

“The very one,” He confirms and you bounce in excitement before urging him to continue. “I also got us some face masks we can indulge in and we can end the night with popcorn and a movie of your choosing.”

“Even the sappy romantic ones?” 

“Especially the sappy romantic ones.” Caleb says and you quickly wrap your arms around him tightly, feeling your heart grow full with love for the man you call your husband. “Whoa—hug attack!” He exclaims and you laugh when he wraps his arms around you just as tight and spins you around. 

“Thank you, Babe.” You breathe when he sets you down, basking in the warmth of his embrace as the night breeze surrounds the both of you. “You’re the best.”

“No. You are—” He retorts before nuzzling his nose against yours. “And the best only deserves the best.”

You watch the scenery of the night as you stare out the window, unconsciously lifting the flowers to your nose to take in their scent once again. A smile kisses your lips when you feel Caleb’s hand rest on your thigh but wonder why they feel tense. Slowly, you reach down and take his hand in yours, pressing a kiss to each of his knuckles before turning in your seat to face him. 

“You have your seatbelt on, baby?” He asks, his voice strained as he keeps his eyes on the road. “Tell me you’re strapped in. Please.” He urges.

“I am—” You answer, feeling nervous when he only gives you a quick glance before turning back to face the road. “Is something wrong?” The way his grip tights around the wheel has your heart beat spiking. “Caleb?”

“I’m going to tell you something but you have to promise me that you won’t freak out, okay?” His voice is calm yet you can tell he’s nervous all the same. “Promise me, babe. I need you to stay calm and listen carefully.”

“I promise.” You choke out, your hand tightening on his fingers. “I’ll be calm.”

“Okay—I need you to call 911 and tell them we’re at the freeway on 71.” He starts, “Tell them that you’re in the car with your husband and that the breaks are not working.”

“What?!” You gasp and drop the flowers to the floor. “Caleb—wh-what happened?! What—why?”

“Babe, calm down. You promised me.” He coos, turning your hand in his before pulling it to him and pressing the back of your palm against his cheek. “Now, breathe for me, baby. Breathe then get your phone and make the call. And you have to tell them we’re running 80 miles.”

“Okay.” You nod, swallowing thickly as you try to quell your fear. “Okay.” With your free hand, you grab your clutch on the center console and take out your phone. Your fingers begin fidgeting as you dial the number as fast as you can, your knee bouncing as you wait for the responder to answer.

But fear encapsulates you in a tight cocoon, suffocating you when no one picks up. You try again, and again, but you still end up with the same result.

“Why is no one answering?!” You say in a panic and look over at Caleb, his eyes focused and his face only illuminated by lights from the lamp posts. 

“Fuck!” He grunts and releases your hand, looking around after before facing the road. “Get out of your seat, babe, and I want you to go to the back and strap yourself in.” He instructs. 

“But Ca—”

“No questions, babe. Just do it. Please.” He almost begs and you nod, quickly unbuckling your seat belt before climbing to the back and strapping yourself in once again. “Tell me once you’re done.”

“I’m buckled in.” Your voice quivers as you look ahead, whispering a silent prayer to the heavens. “What are we going to do?”

You hear the car rev before it starts to lose control, Caleb gripping tight on the wheel as he tries to center it on the road. You let out a scream when the car goes off road, several vehicles honking and swerving to get out of the way. Darkness completely shrouds the car as you enter, what you hope is a grassy field, a shriek escaping your lips when you hit a wired fence. 

You try to focus on Caleb’s eyes on the rear view mirror, trying to look for a semblance of hope that you both will be okay. But when he meets yours, you see the fear looming in his blue irises. 

Desolation suddenly washes over you when he no longer looks ahead, keeping his eyes on your face. You see him reach for you and you do the same, grasping his hand tight like a lifeline. But your heart shatters when you see the tear that escapes him, one that you mirror as you feel him silently bidding you goodbye.

“I love you so much, babe.” He whispers. “I’m so darn lucky to have met you.”

“Caleb—” You croak as you try to wipe your own tears. “What are you saying? We’ll be okay, right?” You whimper before looking around to try and see if anything would save the both of you yet all you see is nothing. 

Before you can turn to face him again, wanting nothing but to look at him if this was indeed the end, a loud bang echoes through the open and you jolt forward, crying loudly and screaming when your head slams roughly against the ceiling of the car. You feel the vehicle turn over, rolling uncontrollably into the void until everything stops and goes dark.

The bright, white light glares harshly against your eyes when you open them, squinting as you groan and move against the bed you lay on, trying to decipher where you are. A soft beeping sound plays on your left, and an IV drip hangs on your right, to which you find connected to you, along with several other contraptions. 

You have no recollection of what happened before you woke up, not even an inkling of how you ended up in the hospital room. You don’t even know what time or day it is, the window in the far right side of the room being the only source to tell you  it’s night time. 

Pain then rushes through your body as you try to sit up, seeing your left leg elevated by a sling that hangs from the ceiling and feeling a bandage wrapped around your head when you lift your hand to try and ease the ache hammering in your temples. 

Panic quickly consumes you as you as questions fill your head. Why are you in bandages? Why are you here? Where the hell are you? The beeping at your side starts growing frantic, and you along with it, your heart beating faster and your hands clenching into fist against the white sheets of the bed, and all at once screaming for help, crying for anyone to come to your aid.

The door to the right suddenly opens and you stop when you see a blond man enter. Worry fills his face and you see his eyes brimming with tears as he walks over to you, only stopping mid way when you hold your arms out and try to push yourself against the pillow and away from him. But such actions don't deter the stranger, only having them push on and sit at the edge of the bed, his movements slow and gentle as he reaches over and caresses the side of your face. 

“Thank God, you’re awake.” He chokes out a sob before taking both of your hands in his and pressing them to his lips. “I was so worried. The doctor said it might be months before you ever woke up.” He opens your closed fist and carefully places them on his cheek, leaning against your touch.

You study his face, his golden hair looking messy and his face in obvious distraught as his forehead wrinkles when his sapphire eyes meet yours. The sleeves of his black sweater are rolled up to his elbows, showing off the strength he possesses. You feel like you’ve seen him before but you can’t place it, all sense of knowing seemingly lost as you don’t even recall anything about yourself. 

“Wh—who are you?” You ask, frowning when you see the shock form on his face.

“I—” He struggles to speak, his eyes closing as he squeezes your hand. “You don’t remember me?” 

“I—I’m sorry—” You mumble. “I—I don’t—should I?”

“The doctors said this would happen but I was skeptical.” You see the tears flow from his eyes and you feel a pang of pain deep in your chest upon seeing his sadness. “But don’t worry, hon. We’ll get through this.” He says with surety before opening his eyes and facing you once again. “We can start small—your name.”

He says a name and tells you that it’s yours. You feel unsure but you latch onto his words, desperate to know more. 

“I’m Steve Rogers.” He says next, lacing his fingers with yours. “And I’m your husband.”

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springdandelixn-archives and turn on notifications.

#steve rogers #navy and roo's sleepover #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #captain america #dark captain america #dark fic #fabled memories #au #mcu #shadeyspring fics

[georgiapeach30513]

When I Hear Your Name

Summary:  You should have never left.  Things were perfect.

Pairings:  Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit, dark, explicit language, explicit sexual content, depictions of PTSD, kidnapping, somnophilia, non con/dub con, degradation, bondage, fingering, squirting, creampie, pussy plug, breeding kink, holding people captive, cheating, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  2.7K

Steve Rogers Masterlist

A/N:  My entry for @the-slumberparty Week 1 Challenge.  My random generator theme was ‘Descent into Madness’ and the setting was ‘Military’.  

Steve Rogers was a lot of things; he was strong, charismatic, a natural leader, righteous, handsome, sweet, and stubborn.  He was different before he went off to war.  He was always about making you giggle.  Holding you tight when you got scared.  His sweet lips nipping at every inch of your skin.  His body had yours memorized.

Things were harder when he came back.  There was this odd quality about him.  He wasn’t mean, he was just…distant.  It was like he was living from afar.  Never completely present with you.  He didn’t talk to you.  Barely looked at you.  He was just there taking up space.

Once upon a time he showered you with gifts.  Even if you didn’t have much, Steve managed to get that diamond bracelet that you had eyed for years.  Surprised you with his own homemade bouquets of flowers.  It became a weekly thing to see these adorable, if not crudely put together, flowers.  He tried, and that’s all you cared about.  Even would hand deliver them.

His romance was gone, as was his will to enjoy life.  There was no passion behind his actions.  He was but a meat suit with little to no emotions.  No excitement, no love, no passion.  It was infuriating.  It was worse seeing Steve like that.  You couldn’t explain it.  Couldn’t make sense out of it.  And you felt yourself losing your joy everyday.  

You tried getting him the help he needed.  Tried to be there for him, but it wasn’t enough.  

“Moonbeam,” Bucky whispered in your ear as the two of you watched a blank Steve staring up at the ceiling, “you don’t deserve this.”

“But…I love him,” you look up at Bucky, and only then does Steve stir.  His eyes glaring straight at his best friend.  “He doesn’t deserve this either.  Bucky, what am I supposed to do?  He barely eats or sleeps.  Won’t go to therapy.  Won’t talk to me.  I want our life back.”

“Have you ever thought it wasn’t coming back?” Steve sits up in the bed, and you flinch, taking a step towards him.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, he sighs, leaning more into it.  This was proof he was still in there.  He always leaned into your touch.  You pet around his face, giving him a tearful smile when he looks up at you.  Opening his mouth, but no words came out.  It was heartbreaking to see this great man become a ghost of his former self.  No smiles were ever present on his beautiful face.  He was lost.

“Moonbeam,” Bucky says again when you turn to leave.  Steve’s feet bounced his legs around, but you couldn’t do it anymore.  It was eating away at your soul.  Your hope was nearly dwindled down to nothing.  

“Moonbeam?” Bucky races out to grab your arm, “Where are you going?”

“Back home, Buck.  I can’t,” you cry up at him, giving him a tight hug.  Blind to your boyfriend’s darkened eyes peering at the two of you.  “I tried.  He’s never coming back is he?”

“I don’t have an answer for that.”

“I hope he does.  I hope he finds himself.  But I can’t do this.  I can’t see him like this anymore,” giving him a kiss to his cheek, you leave everything behind.  You didn’t need a reminder of how happy your life was.  How many dreams you and Steve had made come true, and how many you were still waiting on.  You wiped your hands clean, and it was the hardest thing you had ever done.

“What did you do?” Steve screams as he races towards Bucky.  “She left me, and it’s all your fault!” He knocks Bucky onto the floor, crawling over him to slam his head into the floor over and over again.  “You did this!”

“You did this, Steve!  She wants you, and you won’t fix it!”

“I can’t.”

——

“You got another package,” the girl at the front desk snips, smacking her gum, feigning annoyance.  “You know the boss is mad about all these personal deliveries.”

“They’re not personal when I don’t know who’s sending them,” opening the box, you gasp at the forever roses that were supposed to keep for over a year, and one in the center was a pure gold rose.  

‘I’ll love you until the last rose dies,’ ugh, so cliche.  If this was for you, he didn’t know you at all.

“You have no idea who’s sending you these,” she smacks her gum right beside you, and you have to silently count to ten.

“Nope.  Not even dating.  Probably someone gave them the wrong place of work.  Throw it away,” you didn’t care about gifts anymore anyways.  You didn’t care about love or happily ever after.  You cared about peace, and yourself.  You vowed to never fall in love again.  And you wouldn’t

“Some man just spent hundreds of dollars and you think he doesn’t know who you are?”

“Nope.  Clearly a mistake.”

“Your name is on the address,” giving you an incredulous look.  She believed you were bullshitting her and everyone in this office.  “No man is going to go out of his way to do this, along with flowers every Friday, if he wasn’t sure it was you.”

“What?” You stop in your tracks, turning back to look at her.  “What did you say?”

“You get flowers sent to you every Friday,” she blows a giant bubble with her gum, and you march back to the box, grabbing it up.  “So you know who sent them?”

“Nope,” you lie.  It wouldn’t be Steve.  This was a cruel joke.  You hadn’t heard from Steve in a few years.  These weren’t hand delivered like Steve did it.  They had it all wrong.  

You go out the back door, and slam the box into the garbage.  Your chest heaves with frustration.  “God, I can’t get away from him.”

“Because you weren’t meant to,” before you can scream, someone’s thick hand has been placed around your mouth as he drags you into a van.  You try kicking and screaming.  Try for anyone to get your attention, but it was useless.  

“Any second now,” your assailant grunts as your vision goes blurry.  “There ya go,” he hums, watching your eyes flutter close.  “Sweet dreams, Moonbeam.”

——

Your eyes pop open quickly, as you blink your vision back into view.  Tugging at your arms above your head, and your feet, but you were not going anywhere.  Hands tied above your head, while your legs were spread eagle.  Taking a deep breath to keep from crying, you look around.  

“Welcome home, darling,” Steve says sweetly, walking into the bedroom with a glass of water.  “I worried that you weren’t going to wake up.  It had been too long.  Your pulse was still steady.  You must have needed that extra bit of sleep.”

“Steve, what are you doing?” Your voice was hoarse, like you had been screaming.  “Why am I naked?”

“Why are you asking questions?  You’re home, you should be happy.  Look, I’m talking to you again.  I tried sending you flowers, you didn’t thank me.  I had plans to hold you while we walked on the beach and talk for hours, but you didn’t call.  Had this big night planned for a romantic dinner, and then to take you dancing, but…yeah, you didn’t reach out to me.  So, I had to do what I had to do.  We’ve traded diamond bracelets for leather cuffs,” he gives the binds on your wrist a little tap.

“And they look so pretty on you.  Water?” You shake your head no, but he lowers a straw to you anyways.  “I suggest you drink some water.  You’re tired,” with his free hand he slaps at your core, chuckling when you yip.  

“What have you done?”

“You took too long to wake up.  I wanted what you promised was mine,” you cock up your eyebrow, needing him to go on, “You said that your pussy belonged to me.  So I took it.”

“You fucked me while I slept?” You growl up at him.  Disgusted that this was the man you had once loved.

“Yeah,” he answers easily.  “It’s my pussy.  It was just glistening with your juices.  If you weren’t turned on why were you so fucking wet?  Face it, Moonbeam, that cunt was made for me.  So I gave her what she wanted.  You needed a good hard fucking.  You were pitiful.  You still say my name in your sleep, too.  You know that?”

“Who was driving the van?”

“Hmm?” Steve smiles, looking down the expanse of your body.  Cupping your mound, moaning at the feeling of you, “Still wet.  You’re a slut for me, you know?” His hand slides up and down your split, and you try not to react, but damn if it didn’t feel good.  He knew your body.  Steve studied your body like he was being graded, this didn’t change.

“Who was driving the van?  There was someone else.  Was it Bucky?” You croak, letting a desperate mewl rise up out of your chest.  

“Why do you care so much about fucking Bucky?”

“I didn’t say anything about fucking Bucky.  I asked who was driving the fucking van,” Bucky was a sore subject for him.  His hand moves a bit faster.  A bit too hard on your sensitive nub.  “Steve,” you whine, anything had to be better than this.  “Steve, I wanna feel you.”

“No, you don’t.  You’re asking about Bucky.”

“No.  I…uh…I just wanted to know who was with you.  But…all I want right now is you.  I forgot what you felt like, and,” you bite at your lip as the pleasure starts to build up.  Getting a devilish smile from Steve.  He slows down his motions more, and you whimper out his name.  “Steve, I can’t remember.”

“I’ll make sure you remember.  I’ll make sure you feel me for a month.  You’ll take a step and be so sore that you’ll know my cock was buried so deep in your greedy little cunt.”

“Yes!  Yes, that’s…that’s exactly what I want.  Steve,” you breathlessly answer when he takes off his shirt.  Silver scars crisscross over his arm, and you can’t stop staring at the odd pattern of them.  

“Steve,” moaning out his name when he jerks his pants down.  His cock springing free, looking just as godlike as him.  Dripping of precum, and he crawls in between your legs.  Rubbing his tip through your arousal before slapping his cock over your clit.  “Steve!”

He continues playing with you, until strings of sticky arousal connect the two of you, and you jerk at your cuffs, needing to feel him.  “Yeah, you get forced to take whatever I give you,” he laughs as you try to bring your thighs together.  “Pathetic.  Trying to deny yourself an orgasm,” he tsks at you, changing to slapping you with his hand.

The sharpness was sending euphoria that you had never felt through every inch of your body.  Flowing through you like your blood.  Continuing until you were screaming out his name, and he crams two fingers into your tight channel.  Curling his fingers as he stabs into you.  There was no time to rest as he chases another high for you.

Your cunt was making the most vulgar squelching sounds that made his eyes roll into the back of his head.  The noise echoing through the rest of the house, and Steve hoped he heard.  “Just.  Let.  Go,” he demands, letting his calloused fingers hit over a sensitive spot in your core.  

“It’s…it’s….there she fucking is!” Steve screams as you squirt onto his chest.  Your juices being catapulted to your stomach, and still he didn’t stop.  “One more time.  Then I’ll give you what you need.  Go…on,” he pulls his hand out while you soak his thigh.

At lightning speed he had his cock driving into you.  Hips thrusting his fat cock in your warmth.  You were already speaking in tongues.  Head tilted back as you worshiped at the altar of Steven Grant Rogers.  My god, he was hitting every single spot that you had.  This wasn't sweet love making.  This was an urgent need to have you say his name like a prayer screaming off your lips.  A deep desire to destroy you, break you, so that you would never leave him again.

More arousal spews out from around his length as you clench down.  Your walls missed him.  And they were hugging him tightly.  So tight you start to see stars.  “Don’t you give out on me.  I missed your pretty eyes!  Missed the way you looked when you were taking my cock.  Look at you…right where you were made to be, taking my cock.  My little sexdoll.  It’s what you were designed for, huh?”

You give him a head nod, trying to catch your breath.  It was too much.  “I told you to drink your water.  Maybe next time you’ll listen.  Molded to my cock.  Gonna keep you in here so I can play with you whenever I want, Moonbeam.  I do miss the way you scratched down my back though. Just like you’re doing with your hands.”

It was true, you had your hands in a fist so tight, your nails had brought blood to your palms.  “Fuck,” Steve growls, railing into you harder.  “One day, when you don’t try to leave me, I’ll let you ride on top of me.  Okay?  Let that pretty little ass ride on my dick.”

“Steve!”

“Yeah, I know.  I know, you missed me just as much as your pussy.  I mean, my pussy.  She was always mine, wasn’t she?”

“Yes!  Yes!  Yes!” You scream out again as he drives into you hard.  Making your body jump up the bed.  You felt him in your throat, and you wanted more.  “Steve!”

“I know!  Right…there!” One more final thrust has you both coming hard.  Your creams mix together as Steve tries to catch his breath.  “Beautiful.  Now,” he groans, pulling out of you.  His hand shoves up against your ruined cunt and he reaches over to the bedside drawer, grabbing a plug that he shoves into your mouth.

“This is extra important,” he drags it down your body before removing his hand, and pushing it into your sex.  “There, that will keep that in there while I take care of something.  When you have my child, you’ll never want to leave.  We’ll become a family again.”

He kisses you hard on the lips before leaving you in a state of partially awake, and halfway asleep.  Walking down to the basement where he sees the chair, and two angry glowing eyes.  “See?  I told you she wanted me.  Now, I’m going to take your muzzle off and feed you.  When she stays freely, I’ll let you go.  Hey!” He shouts when Bucky snaps his teeth at him.

“Is that anyway to treat me?  I know you two had something going on.  This is to make sure you never think about fucking Moonbeam again.”

“It’s an expression.  I didn’t mean I wanted to fuck her.”

“Liar!” Steve shouts, clenching his fists together.  “She even said fucking Bucky.”

“I’ve never touched her!”

“Eh!” Steve holds up a glass of water with a straw, “Comply, soldier.  Quit fighting it.”

“You’ve gone fucking mad, Steve.  Let her help you.”

“I am,” Steve’s mouth turns up into a creepy smile as he puts the straw to Bucky’s mouth, “She’s going to give me babies.  I have my cum waiting in her snatch right now.  She’ll never leave.  And neither will you.  Not until you comply,” there was no use.  Bucky knew that Steve would keep him here until he gave him what he wanted.  It was over.

“Steve!” You scream from upstairs.  “Steve, please, don’t keep me here!  My parents have…they have…Steve!  I have somebody who needs me,” Steve slams the glass on the ground, knocking Bucky’s chair over.

“What was it that you didn’t do again?”

“I didn’t know, Steve!  I didn’t know!” Setting him back up right, Steve stomps up the stairs.  “Steve, let her go!  Steve!” Was the last thing Steve listened to before slamming the door closed, leaving Bucky to wonder, and Steve to brood, while you prayed you could get out of this.  Maybe.  At least this time you had a reason to fight, and a bigger reason to leave.  He could never break you.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @softsatnin @missusbarnes-rogers @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87 @harrysthiccthighss​ @navybrat817​ @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​

#navy and roo sleepover #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x fem!reader #dark!steve rogers x y/n #dark!steve rogers x you #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #dark!fic #dub con #non con #bucky barnes #marvel #chris evans #sebastian stan #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fics #steve rogers fic #steve rogers smut

[our-marvel-universe]

Playing The Long Game

Pairing: Soft!Dark Cole Turner x Reader \

WC: 408

Summary: You and Cole are roommates…but could you be more?

A/N: orginally this was going to be fluff but then I watched Ghosted and I realized I had to make it a little dark cause Cole is a creep.

Written for @the-slumberparty Bingo challenge This checks off Night out and roommates!

You stumble through the door, your roommate Cole right on your heels.

“Whoa be careful” Cole says as he catches you by the arm. You tripped in your drunken attempt to take off your shoes. Leaning against him you pout your lip and give him your saddest eyes 

“Help please” you beg.

With a laugh Cole walks you over to your couch and sits you down. Placing your legs in his lap he starts to gently take off your shoes, once he’s got them off he begins to give you a nice foot rub while you turn on the TV and queue up your show. 

He tries to focus on the task at hand and not on the fact that your already short dress is riding up allowing him to see even more of you. He averts his eyes and turns instead to look at the TV trying to focus on the show rather than… No. Nope. He’s not going to think about it.

You fall asleep before the episode even ends so Cole decides it’s time for bed. He helps you clean your makeup off and then gives you some pajamas. He waits while you change and use the bathroom. You're still pretty drunk so he sets up a bucket by your bed, just in case, even though he’s sure you won’t need it. You stumble in and throw everything off your bed, but before you can climb in you grab Cole’s hand and pull him towards you. Then you give him what is easily the best kiss of his life. It’s over before he knows it and you're climbing into bed waving at him like it’s just any other night. 

“Night handsome see you tomorrow” you sing before turning out the light and going to sleep. 

Cole stands there stunned, unsure what to do. In a daze he walks out your room closing the door behind him.

Cole’s dad always says ‘drunk words are sober thoughts’… and if that’s true it means his plan is working. He goes into his room and pulls out the ring he got for you. He had it custom made for you about a month or two after you moved in. After things went off the rails with Sadie he decided to take his sisters advice, he’s playing the long game with you. After all he doesn’t care how long he has to wait since you're going to be his forever.

Thanks for reading 💛 Don't forget to reblog and even leave a comment if you're feeling frisky!

#navy and roo's sleepover #kes writes #cole turner fic #soft!dark cole turner #ghosted fan fic

[sgt-seabass]

moodboard for my fic Dark Side of the Moon. created for @the-slumberparty's test your pallette challenge. i got the colour scheme above.

#navy and roo's sleepover #bucky barnes #werewolf bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #dark fic #moodboard #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #bucky barnes x you #werewolf

[springdandelixn]

A mood board for my upcoming fic, Anything for You, featuring two of my favorite MCU boys, Loki and Vision.

Summary: Your Valentine's Day date with your boyfriend is interrupted by his childhood best friend.

Created for @the-slumberparty's Week One Creator Event: Test your Palette.

#loki #vision #loki x reader #vision x reader #dark loki #dark vision #dark fic #mood board #creative challenge #navy and roo's sleepover

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Brains & Barbie!

PAIRING: Michael Gavey x fem!BIMBO!Reader

WORDS: 1,515.

SUMMARY: Polar opposites attract right? It’s science. Who knew you would fall so helplessly in love with the math geek of the century…

WARNINGS: female receiving (fingering), swearing, degradation kink, some praise kink, edging, cum play, p in v sexual intercourse, swearing.

A/N - it has been a hot minute since I wrote for an Ewan character, so forgive me I’m a little rusty.

this fic is dedicated to my soul sister @sahvlren as it was her bday recently, and she requested this specifically. I love you so very much, and am so thankful to have you as my dearest friend, boo. one day we shall meet, but for now we get freaky online! enjoy xoxox

+++ in light of the recent drama unfolding in this hellsite, I thought some good ole' smut would do no harm, right?

forgive me I shall edit this properly, but I must sleep for my night shift lol

You weren't exactly the perfect pair to exist, nor would any like minded person think it best to put you two together in a roo, let alone become intimate. And yet, so effortlessly you both meshed rather well...Michael, your "Norman No Mates" boyfriend [as he enjoyed putting it], was quite a mathematical genius. His family were somewhat stable and well off, however, he rejoiced in the idea that he worked his way into the academy, where as your situation was quite the opposite. Your father had attended Oxford and graduated, as did your grandfather, who also sponsored and funded many of its restorations and renovations. The ancient establishment owed many of its complexes to your family name, and hence, granted you a position in their literature field, warranted you did try to maintain your grades above a credit average, trimming it with a pass even...

You had tipsily stumbled upon Michael at some college party: he stood by some dark corner, a drink in hand and the other in his pocket, before you had ignorantly walked into him, mindless to your surroundings from intoxication. You had either gone to refill your drink or was seeking the bathroom [you struggle to remember the fine details of the night you had met], laughing obnoxiously at some joke your friend had uttered, before walking into the man that would ultimately make you weak in your knees.

"S-Sorry-" You softly slurred, spilling your drink on the floor, a droplet landing on your heel.

At first it sounded as though an apparent swear seemingly seethed between his curved lips, halting himself before cursing you further, as he adjusted his thin framed spectacles, marvelling at you.

"Y-You alright, love?"

The next thing you knew, you found yourself hot and heavy, heated bodies, grinding against one another, as Michael teased and etched his impressively long cock, at your silky folds. His mouth latched to your unmissable cleavage, as he suckled on your breasts like a new born babe to its mother's teat.

No man had ever made you feel more desired, and yet a fool at his beck and call. He uttered despicable taunts and jabs at you, whilst simultaneously, worshipping the ground you strut on.

"The sluttiest girl on campus just couldn't resist the cock of a geek, huh? Making her even more stupid than she is, look at you... Pathetic baby."

His words stung a compelling sensation, and yet you craved for more of his undivided attention. And seemingly, Michael granted you every fathomable bit he could muster. You were the girl beyond his dreams, needless to say, he never thought he even stood a chance with any girl, of that matter. And he as a man, beyond your tastes. However, the tension was palpable between you two, the chemistry undeniable.

You often found yourself unwittingly seeking his company, even risking your privilege in the confines of his dorm...

"How long left, Mikey. I'm s'bored!" You whinge, as you fidget and reposition yourself sprawled on your boyfriend's single-sized bed. Flinging your flip phone to the side, without a care for consequences [your parents would simply purchase a new one for you]. Despite being in somewhat sheerly covered attire, your ass cheeks just peaking through beneath your skirt, Michael barely felt the temptation to see [if he was even aware of your current outfit].

"Wait. Need to finish this equation."

His stern, unwavering voice and unfazed focus ontp the paper and textbooks before him, made your eyes roll with such annoyance, defeatedly sighing. The repetitive sound of his pencil thudding at his head, and your rhythmical humming, filled the silent void.

"Ugh- Michael, you should have just told me to not come- There was a party, I could have been at—"

"Do you not have an essay due by the end of the week?"

You contemplate for a few, solid seconds, before realising there was truth to his words. You did have an assignment due in the imminent days to come, and you had yet to begin.

"W-Well, yes... But I was hoping you would help me, handsome."

"Is that so?"

His attention still remained down, fixated on the text before him, yet his tone elevated, intrigue plaguing his words.

"I-I mean I'll still write it out, y-you just need to guide me—”

Swiftly he swivelled his entire body in the desk-top chair to turn unto you, a cheeky grin plastered across his chiselled face.

"Baby, you can barely do your times-tables, you think you can write an whole essay? Adorable..."

"But I sure know how to fuck you good. What man of your calibre can have a girl like me, say that to a man like you, huh?"

A darkness tinged in his piercing blue orbs, intently watching your every move and gesture, as he notices your hand hovering between your thighs, before disappearing beneath the short, skimpy skirt.

"Mhmm—"

Your thoughtless moans began to echo between the confined blank walls of the dorm, squirming against the neatly folded fabrics of the bed.

"And what do you think you're doing, exactly?"

Two digits continued to delve deeper between your folds, drawing slow, circular motions as your thumb remained rubbing at your clit. You had been biting your lips, only to release a moan, as you intended to respond obediently.

"M-My boyfriend's a bore, s-so I'm t-taking matters into m-my own h-hands—"

"Is that so?"

Without so much as a warning, a force pried your hands out from beneath your walls, your wetness coating your fingers and knuckles, glistening in the dim light. Within a few seconds, the emptiness between your legs vanished, as a rougher, more sizeable host embedded itself between your velvet folds.

With roughness, and vastly more pace, Michael's lengthy, slim digits began to etch deeper and deeper inside of you, pumping his fist in and out of you, as his other hand laid to rest against the mattress, propping him upright. Your hands immediately laid at your sides, firmly clenching the quilt between for some steadiness.

"Does my little slut have no patience? Brain to numb to think, she just wants to be fucked all the time, huh?"

"Y-Yes—"

Just as your ecstatic cries and moans grew more frequent, Michael's breathing sounded heavier, feeling your warm wetness making a mess all along his hands and the crevices of your entrance.

"This slut could've bent over to anyone. No-No, but she did for me, yeah? So needy for cock, she didn't even learn her times tables, huh?"

"I-I need you, M-Mikey—"

A third long digit shoved itself deeper into your tight hole, panting beneath your grip as you felt yourself fervently clench around him.

"That's right, princess. You need me. No man is worthy of this pretty cunt of yours, I earned it."

As you felt yourself progressively lose all your senses. gaining traction to the heat stirring below, Michael's sudden release felt cathartic. Watching him lick and lap every inch of your wetness lingering over his hand, made you feel delectable. Your lustful eyes searched below, for a fleeting second, you caught the growing commotion in his pants, as the bulge was evident, its shadow against the restricted fabric. As he tasted the last drop, a snarky smirk expanded across his handsome face, before beginning to unbelt and unbutton his beige trousers.

"C'mon princess, spread those legs like you always do, like you were born to do. Such a fucking whore, that's all you were meant for. Meant for me."

Aligning himself so effortlessly perfect against your, his reddened tip blushed against your sight, teasing your silky folds. His veins throbbed with excitement, almost palpable between your sensitive entrance, its length girth suddenly plunging itself ever so slowly inside of you.

With a first, rough shove, delving himself completely inside of you, his balls hitting at your rear, an escape of a low grunt vibrated against his lips, that remained hovering over your soft skin. Michael kept himself steadily propped atop of you: with each thrust, equally time and paced, his weight began to drop over you, applying the pressure down from above with his cock inside of you.

"The most perfect cunt, for the most perfect girl. And it's mine."

"M-Michael—"

"S-Stastically we a-are an anomaly, b-but my princess f-found me, like a good girl—”

“A-Anomaly?"

A deep, growling chuckle escaped his lips, his pace growing sloppier as he attempted to articulate: despite Michael having you weak in the knees in bed, he was still somewhat new at the act of sex. Struggling to juggle with the need to fuck and the need to explain, his lean, tall figure cowering over you, his eyes shut with ecstasy momentarily, before opening to glare and marvel at you breathlessly. Your lips latched onto his neck and collarbones in between your moans, intently sucking at his tender flesh, desperate to taste him, to leave remnants of your physical love, strewed across his body. Desperate to savour every inch of him.

"An odd couple, baby. B-But you take me so fucking well—"

"Mhmm—"

"There's no going back now, Princess..."

credit for divider - @/prettypixels-love

#michael gavey #ewan mitchell #michael gavey smut #michael gavey imagine #michael gavey imagines #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey fanfiction #saltburn #michael gavey x fem!reader #Michael Gavey x bimbo!reader #michael gavey x y/n

[krirebr]

I Don't Want a Lot for Christmas

Pairing: dark!Andy Barber x f!reader

Word Count: ~1k

Summary: Andy gives you an early Christmas present. Why aren't you happier about it?

Warnings: Dark elements, threats of punishment, implied punishment, it's dark fic but mostly by implication. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

A/N: This is for @the-slumberparty Naughty or Nice Challenge. The prompts I used, from the Naughty list, were 23. “I want everyone to know who you belong to.” 12. “Smile pretty for me.” and 19. “No one else is gonna take care of you like I do.” Thank you for the fun challenge, Navy and Roo!

This was my first time writing for Andy, aside from his brief appearance in Don't Touch Me, I'm a Real Live Wire, the winner of this poll. Big thanks to @paperweight91 for helping me figure out my take on him. This is basically just a long drabble, but I hope you all enjoy it!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You sat stiffly on the loveseat as Andy rummaged around under the tree. You pulled at the hem of your black, sparkly cocktail dress. It was much shorter than you were comfortable with, but you were used to that now—your comfort not mattering. 

He made a noise of triumph and stood up tall, coming back to sit next to you on the couch. He handed you a beautifully wrapped package. “I know it’s a bit early, but I wanted you to open this one before we go to the party. Merry Christmas!”

You’d been dreading his office’s holiday party all week. All those people judging you, all those opportunities to mess up. You took the package and quietly said, “Thank you.” 

He chuckled, lightly. “You haven’t even opened it yet. Go on.”

As you carefully unwrapped the gift, your fingers trembled, uncovering a medium-sized square jewelry box. You took a deep breath, girding yourself before you opened it. Inside was a delicate silver chain with a pendant that spelled AB in elegant script. It took a moment for your brain to catch up, looking up at him as your confusion gave way to dawning horror. 

“I want everyone to know who you belong to,” he said, so softly, so sweetly. It was almost like he hadn’t just given you his brand. “Now is when you say thank you, sweetheart.” His tone was still gentle, but his eyes had started to take on that hard glint you were so terrified of.

“Thank you, Andy,” you whispered. 

He smiled, his eyes softening again. “You’re so welcome, honey. Now, turn around so I can put it on you,” he said as he took the box from you. You did as you were told and turned to face the other way. He draped the necklace across your chest and fastened it behind you. His hands ghosted over the back of your neck and you suppressed a shiver. “There. Turn back around now.” You did and he gave you an appraising look. “Smile pretty for me, baby.”

You gave what you were sure was a strained, brittle smile, but he still hummed in satisfaction. 

“Absolutely gorgeous.” His hand moved up to brush your cheek and you couldn’t help but flinch away from him. You regretted it immediately, but no matter what you told yourself, how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop your body from being afraid of his touch. 

He sighed, exasperated, and turned away from you. “I don’t understand why you insist on treating me like the bad guy,” he said, dejected.

Because you are the bad guy, you thought to yourself, but you were smart enough this time to not say it. You’d finally learned that lesson. “I’m sorry,” you said, reaching for his hand, but he pulled away.

“If you were sorry, you’d stop being so ungrateful! No one else is gonna take care of you like I do.”

 You nodded quickly. You needed to placate him and do it now. “I know! You take such good care of me. I know that.”

He stood up and turned on you with his hands on his hips. “Do you know that? Because you don’t show it. It’s not how you act. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

The way he loomed over you made you want to cower, but you did your best to control your body. That would only make things worse. You had no idea how to respond. Another apology would only make him more angry.

He looked at you expectantly, but at your silence, he just sighed again, running a hand over his beard. “Maybe we need to continue this conversation downstairs.”

You sprang up at that and threw yourself at his feet. Not that. Anything but that. “Please, no, I’m sorry, I’ll be better. Please, no. We don’t need to go downstairs.”

He bent over to grab your arms and lift you off your knees. “That’s good,” he said softly, back to being gentle with you. “I don’t want to go down there, either. You know I don’t. I just want you to be good for me. Don’t you want this Christmas to be better than Thanksgiving?” It took everything in you not to grimace. You still felt the marks from what he’d done to you after Thanksgiving dinner. At the memory, you couldn’t help but go weak in his arms, letting him hold you, taking any comfort you could get. “I just want to have a perfect Christmas with you, sweetheart, show you how much I love you. I need you to stop resisting it.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, the words falling out of you, too scared to think of anything else. You blinked back your tears, not wanting to ruin your mascara or get his dress shirt wet. He wouldn’t take kindly to being late to the party after all this.

He rubbed a gentle hand down your back. “Shhh,” he cooed. “You’re ok, you’re fine.” After another moment, he pulled away from you, looking you up and down. “Now,” he said, “take a deep breath and get yourself together. We’re going to go to the party and have a nice time, aren’t we?” You nodded, hurriedly. “Then when we get home, you can show me exactly how sorry you are, how grateful you are. Good?”

“Yes, Andy,” you said, quietly. You couldn’t make your voice get any louder. 

He stepped back into your space and wrapped a hand around the back of your neck. He kissed you slowly, languidly. You let him. You had to. You matched his movements with your lips as much as you could, but he never cared too much how passionate the kiss was on your end as long as you didn’t resist him. As long as he was in control. He pulled back and stroked his thumb down your cheek. This time you didn’t flinch away. “That’s right. There’s my good girl. Come on, go touch up your lipstick. We don’t want to be late.”  

Tag lists are open

@stargazingfangirl18 @drabblewithfrannybarnes @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling

#dark fic #dark andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x female reader #navy and roo's sleepover #defending jacob #fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #andy barber #kris wrote something

[vixenobrian]

Seeing Ghosts

This is the first fic I've written here, so I hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x reader

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

"Bradley honey, I'm home!"

No answer.

I sighed, setting down the groceries on the island countertop. I knew he was home, the Bronco sitting in the driveway was a clear indication of that, but I also knew why I had received radio silence.

"How was Mav?" I asked, almost scared of the answer myself.

"Mav's fine hun." Bradley retorted. He must have been upstairs in the bedroom, hiding away from me. I understood how hard this must have been on him, but not seeing my husband run down the stairs and greet me with a kiss when I walked through the door still kind of hurt my feelings. Still, I knew how important his space was after his visits.

"How are you bubs?" I called back. Nothing.

Mav had been in and out of the hospital for months now, more and more parts of his body slowly giving way. For a man who wasn't supposed to live past his 30s, everyone was certainly surprised to see it was in fact old age that did him in. Recently though, it was his brain that was going, and this seemed to be the hardest on everyone.

Bradley had been struggling, badly. Between his parents and Ice, Mav was the only one he had left, and to see him slowly slipping away, losing both his body and mind at the same time? Bradley had barely been able to stand it. Each night he would come home after visiting, crawl into bed, and simply lay his head on my chest and cry. I really wasn't sure what else to do at this point, other than be there for him.

I sighed, grabbing the fancy bottle of wine I picked up from the grocery store, before heading upstairs. We both needed a pick me up, and what better way than a good wine, and a home-cooked meal.

"Roos, darling," I called, slightly pushing open the door to our bedroom. I vaguely caught a glimpse of his figure, but I pushed right past it, wanting to grab the things I knew he needed and was probably avoiding. When he got like this, he tended to neglect his medicine, and I knew if I took a glance at him, I would have too. I grabbed the bottle off of the bathroom counter, seeing it right next to his spread-out shaving kit. I pushed back into the bedroom, finally looking him in the eyes.

"Roos, I have a- oh God!"

Rooster sat on the edge of the bed, his big broad shoulders slumped over in defeat. I could tell he had been crying by the dark red circles around his eyes, but none of this is what concerned me. Above Rooster's top lip laid no mustache, something he had worn with pride for years. He always considered it his best feature and took meticulous care in grooming it. I had never even seen him without it. I knew something had to have been terribly wrong.

I sat down the wine on the dresser, my excitement fleeting with the bottle, before reaching for his face. I brought my legs over him, straddling his lap, before taking his face into both of my heads. Immediately, I began to wipe his tears, while simultaneously peppering kisses to his cheeks.

"Roos, honey, what happened?"

"He called me Nick again."

My heart sank, pulling him fully into my embrace. I felt tears start to fall from my own eyes and the boy beneath me began to sob, shaking in my embrace. His hands clenched the back of my shirt, as I attempted to comfort him in his sorrows.

"Bradley, I am so sorry," I said. I felt guilty. I felt anger toward Maverick, even though I knew none of it was his fault. Still, he had hurt Bradley, my Bradley, and the anger that came with that radiated through me. I took a deep breath, trying to push these emotions down.

"I just want him to see me" He whimpered into my shoulder. My hand found the nape of his neck, slowly playing with his hair there. It was his comfort spot, and I felt him slowly relax into me, letting all of his body weight fall freely as if we were being combined into one. I let him lay here for a few minutes, switching between playing with his hair and rubbing his back, before slowly backing away, and once again taking his face into my hands.

"Bradley, honey, I am so sorry that happened to you, but I need you to know, no matter what happens, Maverick loves you so much sweet boy," I comforted, "and on top of that, I love you so much. So no matter what, you are loved, Bradley."

He pulled me in the back of my neck, planting a sweet kiss right on my lips. The lack of hair felt foreign to me and caught me off guard. I pulled away, still holding his face in my hands, when I noticed his cheeks turning a color red.

"So, how bad is it?" He asked genuinely, causing me to chuckle.

"You are still the most handsome man in the world Bradshaw," I told him genuinely, "but how long before it grows back?"

#miles teller #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw fic #top gun rooster #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw #top gun: maverick #rooster top gun #top gun #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw angst

[trinittyy]

fic recs

just a little assortment of my favorite works to keep track of them and also show love to the respective writers.

note - a majority, if not all, of the following works contain dark content that some could find triggering. tread carefully.

divider by @firefly-graphics

toxic affection - @love-toxin

warnings: harassment, bullying, some violence, forced relationship

pairing: yandere!bakugou x reader

literally unashamed to say that BNHA fanfiction is what brought me to Tumblr

but this was one of the first I found and it's epic

what's your escape - @gotnofucks

warnings: obsession, possessive behavior, non-con

pairing: dark!sherlock holmes x reader

the man is disastrously down bad for the poor reader

she was so witty and clever but in the end, he got what he wanted in the most satisfying way

infatuation - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor - masterlist

warnings: mentions of stalking, obsession, non-con

pairing: dark!clark kent x reader

poor girl didn't have a clue or a chance in the world to escape this man

sidenote: I can't add Roo to the recs without mentioning just how talented she is. She was the first proper introduction to dark fics in the Marvel fandom and I've been hooked ever since. The amount of detail and dedication that goes into her work is noticeable and she's a talent that deserves recognition. It's one thing to make me like a fic or two of my favorite Marvel men but another to have me thirst over shit I didn't think I'd like.

naughty ransom holiday tales - @jtargaryen18

warnings: kidnapping, non-con, dub-con

pairing: dark!ransom drysdale x reader

guilty pleasure series

hate to love ransom but I can't help it

what the king has - @sincerelythedarkside

warnings: dub-con, character death

pairing: soft!dark steve rogers x reader

royal au

love me a good jealous steve

plot twist shocked the shit outta me

smut was out of this fucking world

love bites - @cherienymphe - masterlist

warnings: character death, jealousy, non-con

pairing: dark!steve rogers x reader, peter parker x reader

modern vampire au (what's not to love there)

this actually made me cry like a bitch

ongoing series

sidenote: Seeing as Cherie will be on this list many times, I have to say it's difficult not to add every piece of work on this list because while some writers have a magnum opus, everything she writes is a work of art. Her range and the backstory she puts in her characters make each story feel like a movie I just can't get enough of. Will forever love her writing.

kryptonite - @cherienymphe

warnings: non-con, obsession

pairing: dark!bruce wayne x reader

the build-up and tension gave me actual chills

trailer park babydoll - @mypoisonedvine

warnings: dub-con, infidelity, age gap

pairing: wayne munson x reader

guilty pleasure fic

absolute filthy smut

wrath of the dragon - @straywords

warnings: non-con, chasing

pairing: dark!daemon targaryen x reader

yet another down bad man

overdue - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

warnings: creepy curtis, non-con, obsessive behavior

pairing: dark!curtis everett x reader

there's little to nothing i love more than a good ole broody man with attachment issues

anxious - @syntheticavenger

warnings: stalking, kidnapping

pairing: dark!peter parker x reader

tasm peter

cutest in a way lol little fic

the dream that got away - @dotieeee

there's not nearly enough dark fics ft my fave peter so I love this one

warnings: dub-con, non-con, manipulation, controlling behavior, obsession

pairing: dark!morpheus x oc!mera

probably the first dark fic about morpheus

each chapter was a masterpiece

and i still haven't seen the show lol

thanks for the invite - @syntheticavenger

warnings: non-con, bitchy friend behavior, implied drugging (i think), oral (f receiving), slight bondage

pairing: dark!lloyd hansen x reader

a funny little unhinged lloyd fic

rsvp - @syntheticavenger

warnings: dub-con, hide and seek, exasperated bodyguard, exhibitionism (a bit)

sequel to the fic listed above

lloyd is still unhinged and reader is still suffering

#fic rec #dark fic #dark!clark kent #dark!peter parker #dark!steve rogers #dark!lloyd hansen #dark!morpheus #dark!curtis everett #dark!sherlock holmes #dark!daemon targaryen #dark!bruce wayne #dark!bakugou #dark!ransom drysdale #x reader

[shadeysprings]

𝑻𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝑳𝒐𝒚𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔

—𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐅!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 '𝐀 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰'? 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 to you 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐬. There may be more so please 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐀/𝐍 — 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @the-slumberparty's 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 @mochie85'𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐂𝐮𝐭𝐞.

𝐒𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐅𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥 | 𝐈𝐭𝐞𝐦: 𝐏𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲'𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲! ❤️

The summer festival is in full swing with laughter from both the young and the old bouncing in the air, mixing along with the screams of excitement coming from the patrons aboard the rollercoaster—the newest addition to the summer affair. Even several of the local small businesses join in on the rabble, a refreshing sight to see other than the food stalls and game posts that are a staple in the event.

It’s your third time this year in participating. Selling your baked goods amongst the other veterans and to your surprise, the line is much longer than the last, a craving instilled into your customers for your signature ube and coconut cupcakes. Such a treat has been in your family for years; passed on from your great-grandmother and down the line to you. And it fills your heart with joy to see the faces of your clients when they take that first bite.

You’re even lucky to have your stall set at the end of the row. Not as crowded as the ones found at the center and with enough space to accommodate the queue that’s slowly growing.

You grab another container from your cooler and set them neatly into rows in the display case atop your table. It’s not yet noon and you’re already down to your last two batches, ready to set the next ones. But Wanda is running late and you look at your watch to check the time, grunting in frustration yet keeping up the positive facade.

The little girl standing next in line calls your attention and you give her the brightest smile when you notice her face paint and the blue princess dress she dons. She orders a box of six cupcakes along with a bag of ube crinkles. The cuteness she displays when she counts her change on your table tugs at your heartstrings that you couldn’t help but give her a freebie; one of your heart-shaped cookies.

“Should you really be giving out free samples?” 

“Should you really be running late?” You quip after waving goodbye to the little girl, turning around and crossing your arms over your chest when you face Wanda who stands with the cooler in her hands.

She gives you an awkward yet apologetic smile and you huff out a breath before pointing at the spot where she should place the plastic container.

“What took you so long?” You ask, showing her your obvious annoyance. “You were just supposed to pick up the cupcakes.”

“Why don’t you try loading that heavy thing in the car by yourself? It wasn’t easy.” She gives you a pout before focusing her attention on the next customer.

“I have. Countless times.”

“Well, it’s my first time.” She says while waving goodbye to the woman. “At least be gentle with me.”

You give her a pat on the back before tugging playfully at the end of her hair. “I am being gentle.” You say with a laugh. 

Another customer comes by, ordering two boxes this time, and you busy in packing up their purchase while Wanda takes their payment. For the remainder of the morning, that’s all you both do—entertaining your clientele, packing up orders, and seeing them off with a bright smile on your face. But it soon fades as noon arrives, beads of sweat forming on the nape of your neck and dripping down your shirt as the temperature rises along with the sun. 

Wanda asks to leave for lunch, asking you if you wanted anything from the neighboring stalls. You think twice about the decision, your appetite being non-existent as exhaustion completely takes over your body. But the aroma is not one you can ignore, the savory and fried wafting heavenly in the stolid heat. 

Eventually, you cave; asking Wanda to grab you anything to eat but specifically request for a blue lemonade slushie from Rico’s stand. 

Once the last of your goods are sold, you put out your ‘Be Right Back’ sign and drop down onto the folding chair with a heavy sigh. You grab your water bottle from inside one of the coolers and take a large sip, tempted to drench yourself in the cool liquid instead to stave away the heat. The work is tiring, you have to admit, but it definitely pays off. 

“Oh, what time are you opening again?” A woman asks as she steps in front of your stand, eyes perusing the menu written on the small chalkboard. You immediately sit up and look down at your watch to give her the time. 

“You can come back at around 1 PM. We’re just taking a quick lunch break.” You tell her to which she acknowledges with a nod and grabbing one of your shop flyers before walking off. 

You slouch once again, pressing the cool bottle against your face while you rest. But your respite is once more interrupted when you notice in your periphery another figure standing by your stall. 

“We’re just taking a quick break,” you begin to explain. “But we’ll be back at around—” but your words die on your lips when you see who your visitor is. “What are you doing here?!” You snarl and quickly stand from your seat, hissing when you accidentally hit your knee against the table.

It’s him! Your stalker! 

You take a cautious step back, your fight or flight response coming to life.

“Be careful, cupcake.” A grin forms on his lips as he tucks a hand into his pocket. You see your face reflecting from the aviators perched on his eyes, covering them for anyone to see. But you know full well that he’s watching you intently like he shamelessly always does. “You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.”

“How many times have I told you to leave me alone, you creep?!” Your voice raises an octave, feeling your heart race from anger and fear.

“I just stopped by to say hi. Is that so bad?” He says while tilting his head to the side, chuckling in amusement. “Besides, I wanted to see how you’re stall is doing.” He runs a finger against the surface of the empty display case then stops at the center, tapping on it with a fingernail, the sound taunting you. 

“Can’t you see we’re sold out?” You openly express your displeasure of his presence, too riled up to even care if anyone is watching your exchange.

“That’s too bad—I would have bought a box for myself.” He hums then a chill runs up your spine when he sends you a smirk. “But then again, there’s only one kind of cupcake I’ve been wanting to taste and I believe that one is available.”

Your vision goes red at the vulgar comment he made and you don’t think twice about getting close and lifting your hand to finally give him a piece of your mind. But he catches on to you quickly and grabs your wrist, taking the other one when you raise it all the same. He pulls you closer, your face only inches from his,  and you groan in as you struggle to pull away from his grasp. 

“Do you really want to cause a scene here, cupcake?” He slithers. “Where so many can see how violent you are?”

“Let me go, you fucker!”

“Such a dirty mouth.” He tuts and moves to pull you further over the table, trapping your arms to your sides when he wraps an arm tightly around you. You move your face away when he reaches up and caresses your face, your eyes widening as he keeps you in place, his thumb rubbing circles on the apple of your cheek. “We’ll have to fix that soon or you can show me just how filthy that mouth of yours can really be.”

The edge of the table digs into your hips when he pulls you closer, inhaling sharply when he presses his nose against your temple and takes a sniff of your hair. The hand on your face moves once more, his thumb pressing against your lips. Quickly, you part your lips wide and try to catch it between your teeth. But he’s fast, pushing you away effortlessly and you stagger back, losing your balance and toppling over the metal chair that hits the back of your thighs.

“Tsk tsk. You’re so clumsy, cupcake.” he laughs.

“I’ve got our food!!” Wanda’s excited voice suddenly comes and you turn to face her, immediately running to her side as panic settles in your nerves once again.

“Wanda! Quick! Call the cops!” You say in a rush, clutching onto her tight. “Hurry!”

“Hey! Be careful!” She scolds and pries her arm away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You almost had me drop an amazing burrito!” 

“He’s—” You point to where the man once stood and take a step back in shock when you see him gone.

You look around frantically, scanning through the sea of people, and try to spot the light blue button-up shirt you noticed him wearing, even being cautious of any man that had their hair tied up in a bun.

But you don’t see him. Like he somehow vanished into thin air. Yet even with his sudden absence, you can still feel his palpable presence. You may not see him but you definitely know he’s watching you, like a predator would its prey, waiting for the right opportunity to attack.

“Who’s what?” Wanda asks as she sets the containers of food and drinks atop the lid of the cooler. “Why do you want me to call the cops?”

You look into her eyes, your own wide with fear. “He’s here, Wanda! He— He’s—” Your chest begins to constrict, feeling the air around you grow thin that you grab onto the neck of your shirt and yank on it hard in order for you to breathe.

He got closer this time. Touched you even. He’s never done that before in the years of him following you around, only stayed in his lane, and left as soon as you told him off. But now, it’s different—he looked more bold and more confident, your apprehension growing bigger and stronger that he would finally do something that would end up with you getting hurt. 

“Whoa, babe.” Wanda coos as she places both of her hands on your shoulders. “Breathe with me, okay? Slowly.” She instructs and you obey, following her lead as she slowly breathes in and out, keeping your eyes locked in her green ones.

Your anxiety eventually dies down and your chest feels somewhat looser from the exercise. Yet the memory remains at the forefront of your mind, his touch lingering on your skin. She guides you to sit, Wanda kneeling in front of you and you flinch when she places a cold plastic cup between your hands, making you look down at the yellow slush that’s already starting to melt.

“Now. Tell me what happened.” She prompts. “What got you all worked up?”

You swallow thickly, unsure if you should say anything to her at all. As terrifying as the situation is, you’ve kept it all to yourself, especially after the local police department turned you away, telling you that they can only do something if threats of physical harm have been made. But you couldn’t produce anything, not even a photo nor a name for them to search—ultimately deeming your situation a nuisance.

But the sincerity you see in Wanda’s eyes as you rethinking your decision of bottling it all up again. You may have only known her for a short period but you feel the bond you have forged with her to be strong. If there’s anyone you can trust, it would be her.

With shaky hands, you set down the now melted slushie on top of the cooler and hold onto her hands tight, Wanda doing just the same with her attention solely on you. Her grip is strong, firm, and you feel the tension coiled around you slowly seep away. 

Taking a deep breath, you begin. “I have a stalker.”

The information seems to take her off guard, shock evident on her face. But she immediately schools her features and you take the gentle squeeze she gives your hands as a sign to continue. 

“He’s been following me for years now but he hasn’t done anything drastic.” A lump forms at the base of your throat as you’re transported back to the event earlier—how he grabbed and touched you, coming closer than you ever expected. “Until now.”

“What do you mean?” She asks. “Have you told the cops?”

“I did, but they refused to look into it further. I provide them any of what they were asking.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t have a picture of this man?” 

You shake your head.

“How come? If what you say is true and he’s been stalking you for a while now, shouldn’t you have already grabbed some evidence at this point?”

Her question comes off as accusing, making you think that maybe telling her wasn’t such a good idea. Still, you push on and refuse to be blamed for the stranger's inexcusable actions.

“You don’t understand, Wanda. When I see him, or when I know he’s watching me, I panic—I don’t think about taking my phone and snapping pictures.” You explain, hoping she would understand your reason. “All I could think of at that moment is to run away and hide.” Tears begin welling in your eyes and you release her hands, gripping down on your own to try and stop your emotions from boiling over.

“Okay—okay,” Her voice is soft as if she’s talking to a wounded animal while her hand caresses your arm. “Uhh, if you don’t mind telling me, what else has he done? Just watching and following?”

“Just?” You ask in disbelief.

“No, no—” She sighs and shuts her eyes tight as if trying to grasp the right words to say. “What I meant was, has he ever tried following you to your place? Like to your door or something? Any break-ins that happened?”

You shake your head. 

Wanda hums in thought and you startle when a wide smile forms on her lips, her hands taking yours once again. 

“I think I can help you.” She says with much enthusiasm.

“Huh? How?”

You watch as the blond man—Steve, if you remember his name correctly—installs the security camera by your bedroom window and a couple more in the living room, your kitchen, and by your bedroom door. When Wanda first proposed the idea, you found it a little too intense but after another incident the same night you came home from the festival, you immediately called her up and agreed to her proposal.

He showed up once again, this time, standing in wait at your parking spot. He was still wearing the same outfit as the one you saw him in earlier that day—a light blue button-up and white tank top hidden underneath. His brown hair was worn in a bun and the facial hair was partially trimmed, another characteristic you took note of as well as the gold chain hanging around his neck.

He looks very much well off, like a respectable business owner of some sort and it joggles your mind, thinking, that if he is what you suspect him to be, as to why he’s posing such a creepy disposition. But then again, one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover and for all you know, this could simply be a facade, a character he’s made of himself to throw you off.

He never said or did anything to further add to the tension that was once more building in your veins. He only stood there for a whole minute and while you sat frozen in your driver’s seat. You could never forget the smirk he had on his face then, as if he was taunting you, challenging you to get out of your car. But he soon waved his hand, amusement heavy on his face before walking away. 

You waited a little bit more before getting out of your car, even leaving the empty coolers in your trunk as you ran in haste towards the elevator, afraid that he would show up once more. But it’s only when you got into your apartment and latched all the locks in place that you realized you forgot to take his picture to give to the authorities. Another missed opportunity, another loss on your part, and victory on his. 

That’s when you called Wanda and told her of what happened, agreeing in an instant to her proposal for security. 

The sound of the electric drill fills the silence of your apartment. As the last screw is set in its place, with Steve admiring his handiwork and then tucking away his tools, you slowly feel the sense of relief drape over you. 

You turn to face Wanda, wanting to thank her for the effort she’s putting into keeping you safe. But the look on her face has you reeling back, noticing how her eyes are focused intently on the main camera that faces your bedroom.

“Wanda?” She blinks and looks at you when you call her name. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah—why?”

“Nothing.” You shrug and walk towards her, giving her arm a gentle poke. “You looked pretty serious for a while. Is something on your mind?”

“Indeed. Is something wrong, Wanda?” Steve echoes your sentiment and you’re slightly taken aback by the questioning, somewhat castigating, look on his face.

She seems to remember herself and the seriousness that once took over her fades almost in an instant, a wide smile pushing the corners of her lips upward. “Oh, it’s nothing.” She laughs and laces her arms around one of yours. “Just hoping that this would help ease your situation, babe.”

“It definitely will,” Steve interjects, his voice strong and certain. “These are high-quality equipment that will be able to track and capture every moment inside the apartment and outside your window. And it was created by my very good friend, Vision. So, I am certain there would be no flaws.” The grin on Steve’s face is wide when he says the name, and you look at Wanda when she gasps, her hold on you tightening. 

“Vision?” You repeat in question. “You know him?” You ask your friend.

“Uhh, yeah—just some guy Steve introduced before.” Her voice quivers and she releases you, taking a step forward towards the tall blond. “How is he? Is he doing okay?”

“He also said to not forget about installing the app on her phone so she can check in on the cameras from time to time,” Steve adds, ignoring Wanda’s query altogether, and walks towards your front door. “If there is nothing else, I’ll be on my way.”

“Thank you—uhh, Steve, for all your help.” You trail after him and see him out the door. “Is there any way I can repay you?”

“Just install the app.” He demands as he looks at you with a raised eyebrow, before looking in Wanda’s direction who straightens at his attention. “We’re counting on you, Wanda.” He adds before walking out of your apartment. 

You make a face as you shut the door, heading over to the couch where Wanda sits and taking the space beside her. 

“What’s up with that dude?” You groan, shaking your head to ease off the weird encounter. “Is he always that bossy? Where did you even meet him? And who’s we? Who’s counting on you?”

“Oh, Steve’s just really a no-bullshit kind of guy.” She explains then rummages through her bag when a ping sounds from within. “He’s always been like that—where’s your phone?” 

The sudden switch in the conversation has you frowning, looking down at Wanda’s hand when she holds it out to you. You notice how her cheerful demeanor was almost nonexistent as soon as Steve walked into the apartment. She was quiet and pensive and you wouldn’t have noticed the strain in her if she didn’t squeeze your arm when he mentioned that stranger’s name.

“Babe, phone?” She asks again, quite eager this time and you relent, taking the device from your back pocket and handing it to her. 

She quickly takes it and then hands it back, shaking the phone as she silently asks you to unlock it. Once you enter the code, she grabs it back and stalks away from you, holding her own device in her hands and typing on yours vigorously. As soon as she finishes, she lets out a relieved sigh, the smile back on her face, and stalks back to where you sit. 

“There. Now be sure to keep your phone on at all times or the cameras won’t work.” She instructs, taking the seat beside yours and leaning back against it. “From what Steve told me, the power of the security system relies solely on the app. So, if you want to catch your stalker, you gotta keep that baby on and with you at all times.”

It’s the first time you’ve heard of such technology. Aren’t security cameras powered by electricity? Why would they stop working if your phone died? You should have asked for more details from Steve before he left but that brusque front he was showing already made you feel like you were intruding—even if he was the one who entered your home. 

So you ask Wanda. 

“Why would my phone power the cameras?”

She simply shrugs and grabs the remote of the television, turning it on and flicking to select your streaming service. “I don’t know. It's just what they told me—what do you want to watch?”

There it is again. We. They. Who are these people that Wanda refuses to tell you of?

“Who’s they?” You ask.

“Bucky and—” She pauses and sits up, as if aware of what she said. “I mean, the guys selling it. This is still a prototype, you see, and I offered them your place as a testing ground.”

“Eh? Testing?” You frown and look up at the cameras. “But what if it doesn’t work?”

“Trust me, it will. We’re friends, right?” She says confidently, flicking through the options once more on the television. “Would I ever lie to you?”

Weeks have passed since your last encounter with your stalker—which, as weird as it sounds, you find very unusual. After being so used to his intruding presence, you’d expect him to show up in the places you expect him to be; outside your apartment building or even across the street from your bakeshop, waiting for you to close up. 

But so far, he’s been missing and you can’t help but feel a slight sense of relief. Still, you continue to keep your guard up. Still looking over your shoulder and cautiously scanning your surroundings when you drive or walk back home. He could simply be toying with you, making it seem like he’s vanished then surprise you one day in the most horrific way. 

Even so, you’re thankful for the peace and cling to the hope that he’s finally given up. You even check the camera feed religiously, just to be certain of his absence. And what you see, or rather, what you don’t see has you smiling and encourages you to go on with your daily activities with ease. 

The bell of the bakeshop chimes and you smile from behind the counter when you see Wanda strutting in, a popsicle in her hand. You’re about to greet her when she tosses one towards you, grabbing it with clumsy hands and frowning at her unexpected yet tasty surprise. 

“Couldn’t you have just given it to me properly?” You chide. “Like a normal human being?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She laughs and leans her hip against the counter from the other side, looking around lazily. “Dead time?”

“Pretty much.” You unwrap the popsicle from the foil and give it a tentative lick, a smile gracing your lips at the taste. Mango. “Lunchtime just finished. Besides, I think the heat is making people stay in their homes.”

“Why don’t you close up early today then? My friend is throwing a party at their place and you should come! We can drink to celebrate!”

“Party? Celebrate?” You ask while giving her a confused look. “What will we be celebrating?”

“Your freedom, of course! Your stalker hasn’t shown up in a while, right? Isn’t that worth celebrating?”

“I guess—but what if he shows up while we’re outside?” Worry slowly starts trickling in. It’s different when you’re doing mundane things, you’re more vigilant, more aware. But with the presence of alcohol? You’re sure to be in a more vulnerable state. “I don’t think it’s a good ide—”

“Relax. It’s perfectly safe.” The smile on her face is wide, her lips tainted pink from the popsicle she licks. 

“I don’t know.” You frown, feeling uneasy with the invitation. “Can’t we just celebrate at my place? Just the two of us? I’m not really comfortable going somewhere until I’m sure that man is gone.”

She sighs, disappointment evident on her face though you see her think as if considering your counteroffer. So you try to latch onto that hope and add another enticing detail that you know she wouldn’t be able to resist. 

“If you say yes, I’ll give you a box of my cupcakes every time you ask for some.” You say with much conviction. “Free of charge.”

Her eyes sparkle then and you believe she’s caught your bait. When she rolls her eyes and gives you a nod, you give her a wide smile, licking on the popsicle that’s already started to melt in your hand. 

“Alright, fine.” She agrees. “But I’m choosing the drinks for tonight and you can’t say no to that.”

You laugh. “Deal.”

You laugh as Wanda dances along to the music playing in the background, walking over to the kitchen to pour both of you a glass of the vintage she brought. The pop of the cork surprises you even as you expect it and a smile forms on your lips when the bouquet of the wine kisses your nose. Fancy stuff.

Wanda was right about relaxing for it has been a while since you’ve had the time to really let loose. With the stress of running your business along with the fear that your stalker brought, your life has been in such a knot that truly, you’ve forgotten how to live. 

You hand Wanda her glass and she grins widely when she accepts it. You lift your own glass to your lips and take a tentative sip, your eyes widening in surprise when Wanda tips the glass upward, almost choking as you drink the entire glass. 

You gasp for air when she pulls away, giggling when you glare at her and she looks back at you, feigning innocence. 

“What was that for?” You whine. “I almost choked!”

“But you didn’t.” She grins and sets her glass down by the pizza boxes. “I’m just helping you let loose.”

“Why aren’t you drinking yours?” 

“I’ll have mine after I have food. And besides, you need it more than I do.” She laughs and takes a seat on the couch, sitting down beside her with a pout when she pats the space next to her.

You lean forward to grab a slice from the box then stop when your head begins to spin, feeling it grow heavy that you clutch on it, confused as to what is happening. You groan at the discomfort that slowly envelopes you and you feel a sense of panic when your vision blurs, making you blink hard twice to try and push it away; but it’s no use.

You groan when you hear Wanda say your name, looking over to face her but not seeing her. You try to speak, to call out for help, but no words come from your throat. Helplessness and confusion plague you as you feel your body slump over the chaise.

What did Wanda do? 

“Sorry..” You face the direction from where you heard the voice but your eyesight has already failed, only seeing a jumbled blend of colors. 

A hand on your arm has you flinching and you moan when you feel another caress your cheek. You squint to attempt once more to see what Wanda is doing but what comes into your view has you freezing in terror. For it’s not Wanda holding you in their arms but the man you’ve been fearing for years. 

He’s finally got you and you have no way of escaping.

A rocking sensation stirs you awake and a moan trickles from your lips. Your head still feels heavy and your body aches as you slowly resurface from the void that has taken over you. Confusion runs wild, and rightly so, for you don’t recognize where you are; the concrete walls are completely alien, darkness shrouding the rest of the unknown space except for the muted lamp that shines at your side. 

The rocking continues, back and forth you move against a soft surface. You’re still disoriented but that soon all fades when his face comes into view, the last face you saw before going unconscious, with a wide grin on his face and his blue eyes blown wide with lust and desire.

It was no dream! It truly is him! 

A garbled moan escapes you once more when he jerks his hips, having you realize the state that you’re in—naked and bound on a bed that isn’t yours, in a place you don’t know—and what this man is doing. He doesn’t stop, his movements only going faster and harder, your pussy walls pulsing around his cock that continues to slide in and out, again and again, taking more and more of what you refuse to give.

“S…stop—” you try to protest, you try to scream, but your throat is dry and tight, and no words form despite your efforts. 

You try to kick your legs to fend him off and pull yourself away but you can’t feel them. You’re limp and at his mercy, tears spilling from your eyes as he pushes on with his sinful deed and you begging continuously for him to stop, to release you. But they only fall on deaf ears.

“It’s okay, cupcake.” He groans low, leaning down to have his face closer to yours as he rests his elbows on either side of your head. “You don’t have to be afraid.” He says before thrusting deep inside of you, making you groan as your pelvis aches from his strength. “It’s just me.”

You pull your face away when he bows his head, his lips pressing against your temple when he locks himself in place. He cradles you with his body and you bite your tongue to stop the string of moans from leaving your lips but only fail miserably when he quickens his pace. Once, twice, thrice, and more, he takes you further. The tingling sensation stirring in the pit of your stomach has you hating yourself.

“P—please, let me go.” You beg, crying when he moves a hand to grab on your tit. Squeezing, kneading, rolling his thumb against the nipple that stiffens at his attention and you gasp upon feeling the unwanted pleasure cocoon you in spite of your reluctance. 

“I can’t do that, cupcake.” He says in a strained voice, the sound of skin slapping against each other filling your ears and you grab tight unto your restraints when he pounds roughly into you. Your walls clench, aching at his continued intrusion. And you grit your teeth when you reach that high, ecstasy completely taking over you that you suddenly come hard around him. 

He follows soon after, spilling deep into your core with his moans of pleasure bouncing through the walls. You think he’s done, that he’ll finally let you go as he already took what he wanted. But he doesn’t pull away, instead nestling himself completely between your thighs and you mewl when he gives another thrust, his hips moving as he fucks his come into you. 

“Now that I have you,” he’s breathless as he speaks, hands moving to caress your face before pinching your chin and forcing you to face him; your monster. He places a soft kiss against your lips, eyes wandering over your face, like a man obsessing over his prize. “Why would I let you go?”

That was days ago, probably weeks when he finally captured you. 

The man, Bucky or James—you don’t care, as you found out his name is, keeping you prisoner, caged like an animal in the room underneath his home. Naked and afraid, with the darkness and the cold surrounding you and only being blessed with the light when he would visit once in the morning and another at night. 

The torment was too much to bare at times but you kept fighting, clinging to the sliver of hope that you would one day escape his clutches and run away from everything and begin a new life. But as the days went by, your resolve started to dwindle. You realized that there was no use trying to fight him for each time you would, he would only fight back stronger, harder, and leave you battered, bruised, and used only for him to do it all over again.

Until one day, he came with a trade-off.

“Peace.” He said and you watched him intently, weakly, as he sat on the stool in front of you, setting down a paper bag he brought with him.

You listened to him. “Freedom,” he whispered and your eyes grew wide as the seven-letter word bore deep into your soul. Freedom from the hell he’s kept you in. Freedom from the agony that slowly peeled away your sanity. A life—one you knew before, to be able to do the things you once loved.

But in exchange, your hand. To spend eternity with the man that stalked you and forced you to live in fear. To vow to love him and serve him, to be the wife he always wanted you to be. 

Is it truly freedom he offered? Or simply another cell to keep you in? You already knew the answer to that and you knew very well that your life was in the palm of his hand. He made sure of that, planned everything to the tee for he’s done everything to keep you alive, with only him as the judge of when you’d meet your demise. 

You wince when your hands throb as you mix the cupcake batter in the bowl. The marks on your wrists are still visible, though slightly healed. You focus on the task at hand to drown away the demons of the past, burying them deep down where no one, not even you, could see it and keep yourself afloat in the present.

It’s not the life you wanted, but one you expected. Bucky did uphold his end of the bargain—a roof over your head and food in your belly, a mansion for you to go as you pleased, and the gold band sitting snugly on your finger; a constant reminder of his power and what you’ve now become. 

You hear the front door open, chatter filling the silence of the big house. You know it’s Bucky—he’s home after several days of being away for work. Though it’s not his voice that has you on edge, but Wanda’s. 

And her presence is confirmed when you look up and see her standing by the doorway to the kitchen. A tall, blond man stands beside her, one you haven’t seen before, almost leaning against her as she looks at you with shock painted on her face. 

She did this. She betrayed you. A monster in sheep’s clothing that didn’t think twice about throwing you to the wolves. She was your safety net. Your confidant through trying times. But you were stupid and nothing more than a bargaining chip—a deal brokered by the two; you in exchange for her lover’s life.

“Why don’t you and Vision wait in my study? Steve’s already in there.” You hear Bucky tell her and you resume finishing the cupcakes you were preparing for your husband’s return. “I will just greet my wife.”

The sound of footsteps clack against the marble floors and you sense Bucky coming closer while pouring the batter into their molds and turning to the over to stow them inside. You begin clearing up your mess, putting away the equipment you’ve used when you suddenly gasp upon feeling two strong arms wrap around your waist.

You force a smile and put on the facade of a happy wife, placing your hand over Bucky’s and giving his knuckles a gentle caress, feeling the hard surface of his ring against your fingertips.

“I missed you, Mrs. Barnes,” He breathes, moving to press his face on the crook of your neck, your skin rippling in disgust when he plants a kiss on it. “I hope you missed me too.”

“Of course, I did, Mr. Barnes.” You respond automatically. “I even baked you your favorite for your return.”

“My wife is so sweet.” He chuckles, your breath hitching when his hands begin roaming across your middle. “You’re always so good to me, cupcake. You were made to be mine.” He sways you both from side to side, dancing despite the absence of music but the feel of his erection digging against the curve of your behind as you move forward, to which he stops by pulling you back against him. 

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” You begin initiating conversation, hoping for it to be a distraction. “But you arrived a little too early. I hope I didn’t disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me? Never.” He coos. “I’m the one who should be apologizing for ruining your surprise.” He presses another kiss on your neck. “But I have something better in mind that could be my welcome home treat.” Your heart beats hard against your chest when his hand snakes down your yellow sundress, only for him to pull on the skirt and bunch them over your waist. 

He growls when you stop his hand, moving once more to turn and face him instead. But he traps you against the edge of the counter, with his hand cupping your clothed cunt and his fingers exploring, rubbing against your clit.

You try to suppress the moans that force their way out of your lips but fail, his persistence crowding over you and you grip the marble surface when he pulls your panties to the side and press his thumb against your swollen bud. 

“Don’t you have a meeting with Steve and the others?” You ask, hoping he would stop and give you a reprieve. Even when he was gone for days, you’re not yet ready to have him back. 

“They can wait.” He snarls and you gasp, your back arching against his chest when he slips a finger past your folds, his touch sending ripples of dread through your skin. “But I can’t.”

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springlibrary and turn on notifications.

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #navy and roo's sleepover #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x female reader #mcu au #tangled loyalties #shadeysprings fics

[scribblesofagoonerr]

masterlist | © scribblesofagoonerr

Most of my writing seems to be angst right now, I just write what I think about in my head.

— MASTERLISTS

⟫ Family, not by blood but by choice instead

an awfc x teen reader one shot.

⟫ The Alphabet Of Inner Demons

a young teen reader's journey to self-recovery with the helping hand's of a team that is her family.

⟫ Our Wonder Kid

A young teen reader gets seriously injured in a game & faces a downward spiral during her recovery.

⟫ Acting out

Teen reader is a child of divorce and in a serious time of need she needs both her team mums but that's difficult when they're at log-aheads with one another.

⟫ Finding Light In The Darkness

Reader struggles to cope with hate and develops bad coping mechanisms.

⟫ Like Mother, Like Daughter

Child reader is a tiny menance to society.

⟫ Clouds, Cookies & 'Roos

Child readers' first Australia and there is very mixed feelings about it.

⟫ Small Bump

leah and reader's journey as they start a family.

⟫ Burntout

reader feels the overwhelming pressure of being a professional footballer and turns to her two team mates for support.

I plan to update this as off when I update but this is my up-to-date fic masterlist so far.

my requests are open to ask anything!

#arsenal x reader #woso x reader #arsenal women x reader #woso #woso imagine #woso fanfics #leah williamson x reader #scribblesofagoonerr #katie mccabe x reader #steph catley x reader #caitlin foord x reader #lia wälti x reader #beth mead x reader #vivianne miedema x reader #lottewubbenmoy x reader #alessiarusso x reader

[sunflowersteves]

i’ve missed your sweetness || b.b.

pairing || bradley “rooster” bradshaw x reader

author's note || after watching top gun, this man has been on my mind nonstop so I decided to make a little fic :)

warnings || fluff, fem!reader, smut, cunnilingus, oral sex, porn with no plot, praise kink, fingering, a little degradation, [18+ only]

Sometimes, you could have sworn that Bradley got off more than you when it came to eating you out.

Now, don’t get yourself wrong.

You definitely loved when he looked at you with a wicked smirk and slowly bent down on his knees. His thick fingers would pull your thighs apart while you mewled his name and pawed at his shoulders. 

It’s always pure paradise. 

But, really. You were sure that he could eat you out and die a happy man, even if he could no longer breathe.

“Y’taste like heaven, sweet girl.” He would always say. His words would slur together as if he was drunk and high off of the sweet nectar that came from your core. In a way, he was.

He was always so determined to make you cum while his tongue spread across your folds and the hood of your clit. His dark eyes would be dilated to the brim, and you could sometimes see them roll in the back of his head from the mere taste of you. He was absolutely insatiable. 

You didn’t mind one bit that he loved to pleasure you for hours and praise you relentlessly. In fact, you loved it. You just weren’t sure how you were able to snatch up someone as amazing and wonderful as your Rooster, but you did. 

He always seemed to think the same about you too. 

After picking him up from the tarmac from a three-month-long deployment, you could barely keep your composure as you started to practically undress him in the Bronco.

You knew he felt the same when his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, and he drove as fast as he could. You two couldn’t even wait to get yourselves on the bed and yanked each other down onto the living room floor.

Now, after a couple of hours with him home, you started to cook his favorite meal while he went to clean up from the grime of travel and being a Naval Aviator. 

“Baby? Have you seen my blue shirt?”

Your thoughts were interrupted by his call from the other room. You could picture him, now, shoveling his hands through the laundry basket to find his Dad’s old Hawaiian shirt. You chopped up the rest of the vegetables and spices, gathering all the other ingredients into a pan.

“I think it’s on your side of the bed!” You yell over your shoulder. You couldn’t help but grin as you heard a triumphant noise when he found the shirt. “Thanks, sweetheart!”

You continued to hear some rustling and the pad of his feet saunter across the floor. You smiled to yourself from the elation that sprouted into your chest that your Rooster was finally home. You missed the sounds he would make from just being around the house; the lack of silence was definitely welcome.

“Damn, I've missed this.” 

You turn your head to see Bradley leaning on the doorway to the kitchen, eyes glistening beneath the fluorescent lights. “I’ve missed you.”

His eyes aren’t subtle as they zone in on your nipples that perk against your cami top. They trail down to your lack of pants. The red-laced lingerie you had on made him lick his lips. 

He walks over to you and presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “I’ve missed you too, Roo.” You could feel his hands slowly itch their way down until they rested on top of your hips. 

“Yeah?” He breathes and presses slow, deep kisses onto your exposed neck.

His lips felt feather light on the top of your collarbone, and the tickle of his mustache left goosebumps on your skin. You could feel your heart jump as a content sound left your lips. His fingers pressed deeper into your skin as he bit into your shoulder. You could feel your eyes flutter close, and your hand gripped the spatula so tight that it might snap. 

“Yeah.” You breathe.  

In one fluid motion, Bradley turned off the gas stove and flipped you around. His lips found yours immediately—knocking the wind out of you. Your chest heaved with impatience, and you could feel his own just barely pressed against yours.

His lips were so soft—completely swallowing yours, and the prickle of his mustache against your nose burns. His tongue passed your lips and swirled into your own, letting your heart surge. He was breathtaking. His hands squeezing your hips almost felt euphoric.

You know you have made a sound when he let out a small chuckle. You felt his warm breath against your cheeks—his own becoming more pink by the second.

He moved his head back, only for a moment, just to stare at your face. Your eyebrows were creased, and your lips were swollen and parted—just how he liked you.

“I can definitely see that you missed me.” He sounded so smug, a smirk curling on his lips. 

This time, though, he pressed a sweet kiss onto your lips, one that was gentle and soft. His lips then moved down to your jaw and slowly made their way to your supple neck. It was sweet—he was sweet. 

You couldn’t help but moan when he found that spot beneath your ear and nipped at the sensitive skin. Your hands gripped his shoulders so tight that you thought he might yelp in pain. Your hands move in desperation to his boxers in an attempt to grip his hardening cock. 

He just lets out a hiss and a disapproving shake of his head. “Don’t rush, pretty girl. I’m gonna take my sweet time with you.”

“Bradley—” You whine, but before you could complain much more, he lifts you by your hips and places you on the marble countertop. Your head leans back into overhead cabinets, but you don’t even care when his thick fingers pry your thighs open.

His lips graze your own, and you moan softly—he was teasing. You knew he was teasing you when his lips barely touched your plump ones. His hand dips into your underwear and spreads your folds apart to feel the slick between them. His knees almost buckled beneath him from the sensation of you because fuck, he missed you so much.

“Roo, please.” You weren’t below begging, not when you knew what was coming. And god, did your soft begging go straight to his cock. You sounded so gentle—so pretty—and it was all for him.

His hands make their way to your hips once more. “Lift, baby, lift—there you go.” He grabs your underwear and pulls them down your legs. He proudly smiles at you, and you give him the same smile back, one full of love. 

He sets you back down on the hard countertop before pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. You then watch him with wide eyes as he ever so slowly bent down onto his knees. 

His hands rested on top of your thighs, and he gave them a squeeze. His eyes lowered just a bit, smirking at how you looked. 

“Missed this pretty pussy.” He watched your cunt glisten for him, and he could feel his cock jump in his boxers. You looked so sweet—so unbelievably pretty while your hands gripped the surface of the countertop. 

He moves his thumb to hold your cunt open for him and watches you clench around nothing. He let out a low groan—almost turning into a growl. 

“So sweet, pretty girl.”

You let out a puff of air, almost frustrated at the tantalizingly slow pace of rubbing your clit with his thumb. You want him now. You want him to devour you whole and leave nothing in his trace. You have waited about 91 days to see his scarred, beautiful, and absolutely handsome face. You would be damned if you waited any longer.

As if he read your thoughts—the ones he knew so well—he leans to press a kiss onto your clit that causes your hips to jolt. You know he has missed you too. You can see it as his eyes become darker, and he bites his lips in anticipation. 

His hand moves to grip your thighs and spread them even farther apart for him. He dips his head back onto your wet folds and glides his tongue along your clit. “Oh fuck, Bradley—”

His tongue moves down to the seam of your cunt, and he lavishes in the all-too-familiar taste of your juices. He is groaning into your mouth, and you could only sound dumb—so fucking dumb.

“Bradley, please, please—” 

You mewl for him—yelling out his name from the pure bliss of him and his mouth. He sucks and nips with his teeth, causing your hips to roll against him. The action gives him more access, but your thighs retaliate back to gripping his head tight. 

“Fuck, you taste like heaven.” He’s gruffing into your pussy—it almost vibrates against your folds. “Wanna taste you on my tongue forever.”

“Want you—” You let out a shaky breath, “Want you to be between my legs forever.”

He pulls away to let out a laugh, even though you and he both know that you are serious. His eyes trail back down to your swollen pussy.

You were glimmering wet from his own saliva and your own slick. It was something that he swore was the hottest, sexiest, and most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“Look at you, pretty girl. Such a slut for me, hmm?” He lets out a groan before turning his head down to suck on your pussy again. Bradley could not get enough of your sour taste—you almost taste ethereal to him. 

You could only dumbly nod, your brain was absolute mush, and the only thing that chanted, over and over again, in your thoughts was “Bradley, Bradley, Bradley.” 

You had succumbed to every ounce of pleasure he gave you, all while his hands gripped your thighs to stay open. If you had half a mind, you would have looked down to see him devouring your pussy with his nose hitting your clit. 

“Oh, fuck! Bradley—baby—Roo—” You called him by all the names in the book, and he could tell you were getting close to the edge. He pulled away to lick his lips, which prompted a very harsh whine from your lips. 

“No, No, Bradley—Roo, please don’t stop.” He inserted his index finger and groaned at the sweet squish sounds of your pussy. You yelp at the stretch—the sweet, sweet stretch—of his long finger. He just looked at you, though. There was pure bliss in his eyes, especially when he hooked his finger to find the spot that made you scream.

“Fucking look at me.” Even though his tone was soft, there was an edge to it. He needed you to look at him. He needed to see your pretty eyes when you succumbed to every ounce of pleasure he gave you. 

Your eyes locked with his own in almost a millisecond. You looked at him full of love and lust, which he knew was a similar feeling between his eyes. 

“Good girl.”

He leaned down once more to have his tongue swirl and nip at your clit. You were already close from his finger pulling in and out of you, especially when he added another. You pull at his dark hair, and your moans echo against the kitchen walls. 

“Bradley, oh my god, yes!” He sucked at your clit—slopping and wet sounds coming from his fingers and tongue. He looked straight into your eyes. His own cock jumped from the bliss of your furrowed eyebrows and open mouth.

You could almost see stars while you screamed his name as if it’s all you’ve ever known. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your body shook against his head, and your cries for him teetered until your screams were silent. 

He could feel you gush against his fingers and his eyes almost rolled back into his head if it weren’t for the magnetic stare he couldn’t shake. He looked at your euphoric face, and he swore there was pre-cum leaking into his boxers.

You were rapidly panting, chest dragging with each breath. He slowly took his fingers and shoved them in his mouth.

He hummed at your taste and swirled his tongue around his own digits. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet, pretty girl.” 

His words slurred together like he was drunk and unstable. He could watch you fold on his tongue until you couldn’t function any longer. 

“The food is cold now, you know.” Your voice was kind of gruff, though. The screams and moans made your vocal cords snap.

He gets up off the floor, wincing from his knees on the hard tile. He pressed a kiss to your temple and then let his nose sit on the crown of your forehead. 

“That’s why they invented microwaves, baby, so I could eat from your sweet pussy and still have a warm dinner.”

You rolled your eyes but nonetheless smiled. You're glad he was finally home. “You fucking smartass.”

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x y/n #top gun fanfiction #top gun smut #smut