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justagirlinafandomworld · 3 years

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Hello! I am so excited to share with you the stories I read in September. From fluff and romance to horror and dark and a helping of truly hot smut all around, there is a little something here for everyone!

Summaries and warnings are provided as posted by the author, so if you see something that doesn’t strike your fancy, don’t stress! Move on to the next story. If you find a story you like, please let the author know! And check out their masterlist, there may be more like it. 😊

Happy Reading Lovelies!

2021 reading list | fic rec masterlist

Beautiful dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

Steve Rogers

Tell Me I’m A Fool by @princessmisery666 Steve Rogers x OFC Thanos has been defeated but with that comes consequences. The stones offer Steve a chance to live the life he dreamt of with Peggy but is that truly where his heart belongs? Warnings: starts fluffy, ends angsty.

Prosperina by @boxofbonesfic dark!Steve Rogers x Reader Humans have a terrible habit of naming things. Even the old things, the hungry, wanting things that never should have had names to call upon. The things that want to ride on our souls, to see through our eyes and taste life with our mouths. Green is life—but for you, it is death. Warnings: Horror, Ghost/Demonic Possession, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Dubcon, Noncon, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Gaslighting

Bucky Barnes

Crush by @sapphirescrolls dark!Bucky Barnes x Black Female Reader Bucky might be a little too concerned with his best friends girl. Warnings: 18+ only! non consensual/ dubious consent.

Chain the Devil by @xbuchananbarnes mob boss!Bucky Barnes x hit woman Reader Mob boss, James Barnes, finally meets his most trusted hit(wo)man, and quickly learns that even the Devil himself believes in love at first sight. Their jobs and a few ghosts from their past might make it harder for them to get their happily ever after, but if they can’t move Heaven, they will raise Hell. Warnings: MOB AU. 18+ only. Swearing (because it’s me), teasing, Bucky Barnes is a total flirt and it makes reader roll her eyes a lot, mentions of violence, mob/gun talk inaccuracy.

Loki

Revelation by @gone-to-fight-the-fairies Loki x Midgardian Reader While on the train with Sylvie, Loki reveals how the archives of the TVA have altered his idea of love; a future love which now consumes him. Warnings: Loki series spoilers

Archived by @gone-to-fight-the-fairies Loki x Midgardian Reader The TVA archives tell of a future love story, one that neither you nor Loki can believe. Warnings: Loki series spoilers

Thor

To the victors... by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor orc!Thor x human Reader you witness the ruin of your village but the worst is yet to come. Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; violence; blood; fire; exophilia (monster fucking), a tiny hint of breeding at the end.

...Go the Spoils by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor orc!Thor x human Reader you continue your sentence with the orc!king as he travels to the mountains to wait out the coming winter. Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; violence; blood; fire; exophilia (monster fucking), fingering, oral creampie, some elements not warned for plot.

Sherlock Holmes (bbc sherlock)

Meet the Parents by @starks-hero Sherlock x Reader Whilst visiting 221B, you finally get the chance to meet Sherlock’s parents. Embarrassment ensues. Warnings: none

Sam Wichester

The Assistant by @hoboal87 Lawyer!Sam Winchester x Female!Reader You have a crush on your boss. Warnings: inappropriate thoughts about a superior, pre-smut, implied cock-warming

The Eleven Sentence Challenge: Soulless!Sam x Reader by @letsby Prompt #13 - “It’s my thigh or nothing, sweetheart” Warnings: none provided but 18+ & language

Where are we? by @thinkinghardhardlythinking Sam Winchester x Reader You and Sam play a cute fluffy game. Warnings: Very fluffy with occasional tame implied smut

The Eyes Have It by @thinkinghardhardlythinking Sam Winchester x Reader Sam and the Reader have been testing Dean’s last nerve with their endless ‘looks’ and obvious attraction. And then there’s a spell with unusual side effects. Warnings: Smut, Fluff

Dean Winchester

Dean as a Dog by @thinkinghardhardlythinking Dean Winchester x Reader Request: How would dog!Dean act around you when the two of you have been acting like you’re not in love with each other? Warnings: crack!

Who Ya Gonna Call by @deanwanddamons Jensen Ackles x Makeup Artist Reader Jared and Jensen are going to a Halloween party. Warnings: fluff

Date Night by @princessmisery666 Dean Winchester x Female Reader It’s date night and Dean has a perfect idea. Warnings: smut, fluff, talk of menstrual cycles (no blood).

Castiel

Castiel Imagine by @webcricket Castiel x Female Reader Imagine Castiel finally figuring out you have been trying to flirt with him. Warnings: none

Castiel Imagine Part One by @webcricket Castiel x Female Reader Imagine Castiel realizing you get jealous and worked up when a waitress flirts with him (ft. Sam and Dean Winchester). Warnings: none provided

Castiel Imagine Part Two by @webcricket Castiel x Female Reader Imagine Castiel using the fact that you get possessive and turned on when women flirt with him to his advantage (ft. Sam and Dean Winchester). Warnings: none provided

Castiel Imagine Part Three by @webcricket Castiel x Female Reader Your attempt to make Castiel jealous leads to a heart-to-heart about shared insecurities that brings you closer together (Sister!Winchester Reader also ft. Sam and Dean Winchester). Warnings: none provided

Crossover

Best of Both Worlds by @cockslut-padalecki Dean Winchester x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes Warnings: explicit sexual content, exhibitionism, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), vaginal sex, anal play, mentions of past anal sex, implications of anal sex/double penetration/spit roasting/, it’s gonna be a threesome basically,18+.

#just a girl reading fics in september 2021

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dylanobrienisbatman · 5 years

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Of Gardenias and White Dresses

Edoardo Incanti has never been known to fall for girls. They fall for him. But one beautiful girl, with lovely brown hair, intense green eyes, perfect red lipstick, and a smile that breaks his heart regularly, has already changed that.

[I guess Incantava fics to fill the void in my heart because SkamIt never fucking updates is who i am now.]

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Edoardo pulled back into his driveway, and sat in silence.

His car still smelled faintly of her shampoo.

He hadn't been able to wipe the dumb grin off his face the whole drive home.

Well, really since last night.

He shut the engine off and leaned his head back on the headrest, closing his eyes.

Ele.

He was sure he was dreaming, last night when he saw her walking down his hallway at his party. Was sure he had had a couple drinks too many, somehow, and that his was his drunken fantasy. She had been so insistent that she wasn't going to come, and he had taken her at her word.

She had asked him about Silvia, and his heart sank into his belly.

Of course she had come for Silvia. She was a good friend, it was one of the things he liked the most about her, but his heart still ached with want, want for her to be there for him, want for her to want to be around him.

The party had ended abruptly, and he was had been sure he was dreaming then, when she was standing in his garden.

But of course not, because his dreams of Ele would never have her be so distressed.

Watching her call her brother, he played out all the options in his head, of things he could say, things he could do, the right thing in that moment, to get her to like him.

She suggested that she go home, and sit on her stoop in the early hours all alone, and a scenario he never even imagined came into his mind, because in no world would he ever have thought she'd expect him to be okay with that. He offered to drive her home, in that moment completely putting the idea of meeting Fede and his friends at EUR out of his mind. He would stay with her until she was home safe.

She told him he could go if he wanted, and he just scoffed and put on the kettle. Didn't she know? Didn't she know that he would never go anywhere else if he had the option to be by her side? That he would never willingly leave her if he had any choice?

He thought maybe she looked pleased, when he asked her what kind of tea she wanted, but he pushed that away.

He sang to her, and halfway through the song he stopped, because his fingers were shaking and his heart was pounding. He met her eyes, and she just smiled, soft, and he ducked his head to hide his grin. He thought maybe she looked... happy.

Her brother called and he tried to prepare himself to take her home, to leave her and be separated from her, but she stayed. Some party, in Viterbo.

When he offered her his home, he thought she'd say no. Thought she'd ask to call Silvia, or Eva, or anyone else, to find somewhere else to stay.

Instead she just said... "Yes."

Instead she asked him to stay in her bed with her, instead of his couch.

Instead she almost let him kiss her, he could swear she almost let him kiss her.

He crawled into bed, a pillow wall between them, wondering how he could get her to never leave, when his phone buzzed and her brother Filo gave her away.

"I'm home, are you back soon? Should I be worried?" He asked, and Edoardo felt his chest fill with hope.

"Someone else for you to beat up?" She had asked, a little smug, and he bit his cheeks.

"Just your brother, wondering when you will be home." He had said, nonchalant, and he felt her tense, and he bit his lips to stifle a laugh.

He teased, and she rolled closer, so close, and then she just rolled back over and fell asleep.

She had wanted to stay. She had lied to him, to hide it, but she had wanted to.

He slept soundly at the thought, the thought of her wanting to be there, in his house. In his bed.

With him.

He rubbed his face, trying to massage the ache from his cheeks from all the smiling.

She was the only thing he could think of.

How pretty she looked in the morning, with mussed hair and sleepy soft eyes.

How shy she had gotten when he had asked her what she needed, what she wanted. He wanted to give her everything, wanted her to know that everything she ever needed was his bidding to provide, just by will of her wanting it.

He smiled all the way inside.

All the way through cleaning, even with his nose plugged as he ripped the vomit stained sheets from the spare room. The foul substance had soaked into the mattress in the night, and he smiled as he dragged it to the rubbish outside.

All the way through his shower, and as he got dressed.

He caught himself staring at her side of the bed, the pillow wall still intact, her pillow still smooshed a little, a tiny red lipstick stain visible on the cotton. He walked over and flipped the pillow upside down, hoping it would trap the smell of her in the fabric.

His phone buzzed, Fede, inviting him for lunch. He reluctantly agreed, even though the biggest part of him never wanted to leave the last place they had been together.

He walked into his kitchen, her mug still on the kitchen table. He couldn't bring himself to wash it yet, so he grabbed his keys from the counter, and headed to the door.

The leather jacket she had worn the night before was left on the hook, and he grabbed it, pulling it on.

It smelled a little like her shampoo.

The day passed mostly with Edoardo in a daze, and his bed felt empty that night without her in it.

He left the pillow wall up, as if leaving it there would block the empty, cold space she had occupied from reaching him.

He stared at his ceiling all night.

Eleonora.

She hadn't texted on Saturday, and Sunday passed the same. He missed her, somehow.

He had barely even had her. Barely spent an evening with her, but somehow she was like a flower pressed between the pages of a thick book, leaving an imprint of its petals on the pages of his mind, leaving behind a soft smell and a memory.

Sunday night came, and he caved. He shoved the pillow wall away, and curled into her side of the bed, flipping her pillow and burying his face into the cotton, breathing in.

Her smell was still laced into the fibres.

Gardenia.

Of course she smelled like flowers.

He fell asleep almost instantly.

Her eyes, bright and green, shining, danced into his vision. She was dancing. Spinning, twirling, in a long white dress, with flowers in her hair, spinning and spinning.

He wondered if there had ever been a more beautiful women. He wondered if the goddess of spring was jealous that someone had captured the essence of spring in her eyes, in her hair, in her aura. He wondered if Prosperina knew someone had taken the mantle of Goddess of flowers?

"Edo." She whispered, a warm smiled on her lips.

"My love." He whispered back. She spun in his arms, laughing, pressing her back into his chest and swaying to some unknown sound she was hearing.

He tucked his face into her neck, breathing her in as they danced.

He woke before his alarm, gently, his face still buried in her pillow. He could see the tiny lipstick stain.

He rolled onto his back, closing his eyes, trying to memorise the image of her in his dream, dancing in her white dress.

The longer he laid there, the more the dream came back to him.

They were on a beach, the waves crashing in the distance.

His own arms came into his view, a dark suit jacket on his forearms...

and a ring.

On his left ring finger.

He had dreamt of marrying her.

Eleonora Sava.

Where had she come from? It felt like she had just emerged, like Venus from the sea foam, and somehow she was all he could think about.

He had never dreamt of marrying a girl before. He had never felt like this at all.

He dressed for school, and met Fede for coffee, the flowers in her hair spinning circles in his vision every time he closed his eyes.

He couldn't focus on anything at all. All he could do was look for her.

Every head of brown hair made his heart thunder.

Every little flash of red made him look frantically through the crowd for her lips.

It was never her, and his heart ached.

He climbed into his car, and opened his whatsapp.

Eleonora Francesa Sava: Online.

He typed it before he could loose his nerve.

He hoped she wanted him to text her.

She had said they never happened, but then...

She had stayed. In his house. In his bed. With him.

He could swear she had almost let him kiss her.

He hoped she missed him too.

Edoardo Incanti: I dreamt of you last night.

She didn't answer.

He didn't know if he had expected her too.

But that night, when he fell asleep on her pillow again, wrapped in gardenia, his cheeks still sore from smiling, he dreamt of her white dress, and the flowers in her hair.

#incantava #edoardo x eleonora #edoardo incanti #eleonora sava #skam it #skam italia

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templarhalo · 7 years

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Roman Fempercy AU

I’ll probably write a fic for this. Oh who am I kidding, I wrote a fic for this and turned it into a 40k crossover fanfiction involving a Deathwatch Kill-team and now I’ll never get to that third Chapter of Endryd Haar: The Riven Hound for @sisterofsilence or Simple Souls.

Anyway here it goes.

Fempercy’s name is Persephone. Real original, I know, but Sally thought it sounded better than Prosperina. Persephone is also lesbian.

Speaking of Sally, she’s like a Roman Matron. Not even Juno can find something to criticize her about and Venus is jealous of her looks. If the Empire was still around she’d be Empress.

Her life and time at Yancy Academy follow Canon. But Chrion and Grover have an “Oh shit we’re screwed.” moment when they’re looking at Persephone’s grades. When it comes to translating Greek, she’s a D-. Latin translatians an A+. She always uses the Roman names when they discuss mythology in class. Plus she smiles even more when Chiron shows off his Roman legionare equipment.

Chiron actually starts cussing out Neptune. He says more cursewords that day then he has in centuries.

A child of Posidon would be bad enough, but a child of Neptune? In New York? At Camp Half-Blood’s doorstep? Does he want Chiron to retire early?

Anyway The Lightning thief happens as canon. With a few changes.

Persephone feels really isolated and unwelcome at Camp Half-Blood. She has nightmares about the campers killing her and even has a panic attack during archery practice.

Her only friends are Annabeth and Grocer. She’s uneasy around Annabeth because the idea of Minerva breaking her vow of maidenhood even if she’s technically not doing via actual sex is weird. She actually meets Hestia and she really listens to Persephone and accepts her.

Ares actually appears as Mars to Persephone after they fight and congratulates her on beating him as Ares.

After they return the Master Bolt, Persephone has to swear an oath on the Styx to never reveal the existence of Greek demigods.

Grover and Annabeth have to swear an oath to never reveal the existence of Roman demigods.

After they return to Camp Half-Blood and celebrate, Persephone leaves a few days later. Officially it’s because she’s returning home early to spend some time with her mother. Which is actually true. She and Annabeth promise to Iris message each other. Persephone and Sally spend some time in the cabin Montauk. Neptune actually briefly visits. Some family bonding time. Neptune has some Cyclops make her and Sally some very nice jewelry and a very nice Pugio for Persephone. Persephone gets a tour of Neptune’s palace. Triton told himself he was going to make a conscious effort to dislike her, but actually ends up liking her.

Lupa’s wolves show up at the Montauk cabin on their last day there. Hugs are exchanged and than it’s off to the Wolf House.

Lupa has a lot of fun training Persephone. Persephone has a lot of fun training with Lupa. Persephone’s panic attacks and nightmares stop. Persephone ends up terrorizing the wolves and some of them even beg Lupa to send her off to Camp Jupiter early because she’s adapted so well there.

Lupa actually keeps her for a day longer then she intended to. She doesn’t tell Persephone this, but she’s one of the best Roman demigods she’s trained since Jason Grace and Romulus and Remus.

During her trip to Camp Jupiter the other two gorgons show up. She kills them just like Percy did in the Son of Neptune.

Arriving at Camp Jupiter is like coming home for Persephone. She meets Jason and they hit it off. Persephone is a little upset that she can’t tell him Thalia’s fate because of her oath on the Styx. Persephone becomes Jason’s Optio in the Fifth Cohort. She pisses off Octavian, chats with the Lars and Terminus, spars with Jason and kicks his ass 55% percent of the time and becomes pretty well-respected in Camp Jupiter. Camp is a paradise for her. She feels a sense of belonging she’s never felt before. She and Jason are like siblings, and Jason confides in her some of his doubts and the pressure he’s under as a Son of Jupiter.

Meanwhile, Luke betrayed the camp and the events of the Sea of Monsters happens.

Percy actually meets Tyson during a visit to her father’s palace. Tyson makes her a cool collapsible Roman shield for her and reforges some damaged Imperial Gold weapons she and Jason recovered on a quest.

About a week after the Sea of Monsters, she begins having dreams about Heracles and what went down in the Garden of the Hesperides. About two days later the Hunters of Artemis show up at Camp Jupiter to rest and resupply. Persephone meets Zoe Nightshade and they talk. Persephone mentions her dreams and offers to return Riptide to her. Zoe refuses and tells her to keep it.

Before they leave, Zoe and Diana lay on the sales pitch thick to try and convince Persephone to join the Hunters.

At first, they think, she’s refusing because she and Jason are dating, but Persephone tells them that she and Jason are not dating because she’s lesbian and she and Jason are friends. Very close friends, but just friends. Persephone actually snaps at them and tells them they don’t know a damn thing about Jason. That’s he’s a better hero than Heracles and that apart from her and Juno, his patron, she’s his only real friend and she’s not going to abandon him. Zoe and Diana actually apologize and Zoe and Diana depart on good terms with Persephone.

After the Titan’s Curse, she get’s a tearful iris message from Annabeth about what happened. Persephone is crying herself and really wants to tell Jason his sister is alive and is now Diana’s Lieutenant.

It’s a good thing Persephone didn’t join the Hunters because soon after they leave, Reyna shows up at camp.

And damn Persephone is crushing hard. She’s nervously asking Jason what she should do and Jason is like “I don’t know I’ve never had a girlfriend before.”

Persephone does a lot of praying and offering to the Olympians, talks to Vesta when she visits and even considers asking Octavian to do his augur thing and see if Reyna is in her future.

Reyna is doing the same thing. She and Persephone have built up a solid friendship and she’s kind of realizing she’s Bi and wishing Hylla or her mother was around to give her advice.

Then the mission to retrieve those Imperial Gold Torpedo’s from the CSS Hunley in Charleston happens. The air between Reyna and Persephone is a little thick and Jason is hoping the two confess ftheir feelings for each other because sick of his two best friends tiptoeing around each other.

During the quest, Jason is separated from Reyna and Persephone.

The two actually are about to confess their feelings for one another when Venus shows up and lays on the whole “No demigod shall heal your heart.” speech.

And both of them flat out refuse and confess their feeling for each other. They tell Venus to piss off. Venus relents but warns Reyna that her fate will be passed onto another.

The two meet back up with Jason and tell Jason what happened. Jason is happy for them, but he’s praying to Jupiter for Venus to not screw things up for his friends.

After the quest preparations for the war against Saturn are made. Annabeth is informed of the events of The Battle of the Labyrinth via Iris message. Persephone, Jason and Reyna are jokingly referred to as the Triumvirate

When Jason and Reyna become Praetors, everyone expects Persephone to take Jason’s place as Centurion of the Fifth. Instead she hand Gwen the vine cane and is promoted to Tribune. As a Tribune, she serves as an official advisor to the Praetor’s, assists in the day to day running of the legion and should a cohort or two be deployed and a Praetor be unavailable, assume direct command. Octavian complains saying it was an abuse of power, but most legionaries didn’t give a damn.

There were a couple dates. A sharing of Jelly beans and kisses. Hands held when they thought no one was looking during senate meetings.

Meanwhile, the Olympian’s are debating on the Great Prophecy. Typhon has been awakened, Thalia’s joined the Hunters, and Persephone is at Camp Jupiter. Zeus suggests they bring her back to Camp Half-Blood .

Neptune, Vesta and Juno all put their foot down.

Neptune because he doesn’t want his daughter anywhere near Camp Half-Blood. Vesta told him what Persephone had to deal with at Camp Half- Blood, how isolated and uneasy she felt there.

Juno was not going to have her champion/adopted son’s best friend disappear right before they Legion’s assault on Mount Orthyrs. It would demoralize him. It’s not because she actually cares for the girl. Nope no Sirree. She still hates demigods and her husband’s bastard children.

Anyway the Legion attacks Mount Orthrys.

It goes pretty well.

Jason and Persephone make a huge hurricane and Reyna lends her strength ot the legion, they tear there way through the Titan army ranks, It’s a bitter battle, the Legion is relentless, there’s no turning back. Better to strike now than wait for the Titan Lord’s army to encircle Camp Jupiter.

Any way at the end , Jason kills Krios, Saturn’s throne crumbles to dust and the enemy is routed.

Than Saturn himself shows up.

He’s lost his host body, his scythe, his throne and taking a huge beating from the Olympians. His body is riddled with arrows from Artemis and Apollo, burned by Hestia and Hephestaeus and he took a Lightening Bolt.

But he’s still not dead, and he could kill most of the Legion before he is finally defeated.

Jason is exhausted and semiconscious after curb stomping Krios.

Reyna has given most of here strength to the legion.

Most of legion is bloodied, but unbowed. There’s no way they can kill Saturn, they can only prolong their own deaths and buy time for the Olympians show up.

So Persephone challenges him.

She summons the power of the sea and takes on Saturn herself.

With a little strength lended from Reyna, she sends Saturn screaming back to Tartarus.

When the Olympians show up, Persephone is on her knees, Riptide still clutched in her hand, bleeding from at least a half a dozen wounds.

After, the Greek demigods receive their awards, Persephone, Reyna and Jason are ushered into Olympus.

Persephone is offered immortality.

She refuses.

She makes,the gods swear on the Styx to claim their children by 13 and to pardon all the traitor demigods and titans and minor gods.

After that. There’s some peace and quiet, and things go back to normal at Camp Jupiter.

Than Jason disappears and contact with Olympus has been cut off.

#female percy jackson.#heroes of olympus #romanfempercy!au

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boxofbonesfic · 2 years

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💜

oof, this is hard because i hate myself lmao

here are some faves, in no particular order

Prosperina

Wormwood

Rattler

Here's Lookin' at you, kid

Covet

#ask the bones

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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

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Prosperina my beloved

love that fic 😮‍💨

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boxofbonesfic · 3 years

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Title: Prosperina

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Horror, Ghost/Demonic Possession, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Dubcon, Noncon, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Gaslighting

Summary: Humans have a terrible habit of naming things. Even the old things, the hungry, wanting things that never should have had names to call upon. The things that want to ride on our souls, to see through our eyes and taste life with our mouths. Green is life—but for you, it is death.

A/N: i’m so, so excited to share this fic with you all. i’ve been dying to write a horror story for the longest time, so i thought why not combine all of my loves into what is (hopefully) a spooky, dark, smutty tale. this is my first entry for the basement wives writing challenge, located here, and i hope it fits the description. feedback is always appreciated, please let me know what you think! this fic was beta’d by the wonderful @curbitkirby, who has been letting me yell at her about my ideas for an impressively long amount of time. 🥺

This is a work of FICTION, and it is Dark, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! MINORS, DNI!!! 😘

🌸

Part One: Tap

Tap.

SCRATCH.

It’s the tapping that wakes you, as it has all the mornings prior, as it has since you woke up here.

Mice, you think, it must be mice.

Tap.

The windows are fake, you learned that on the very first day—their perpetual backlighting never fading or changing as you stared at them, hoping for a concrete sign of the passage of time. But there is none—there is nothing, not for three days, except the fucking tapping.

Like nails on glass, scratching endlessly through the hours. You haven’t the faintest idea where it’s coming from, why it seems to follow you around the room, as though someone is following behind you, their fingernails trailing on the wall.

SCRATCH. SCRATCH. SCRATCH.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been alone in your room—your cell; the door all but impenetrable, and the windows cruel, teasing boxes of light that lead to nowhere but the cracked concrete behind them.

Days, you know it’s been days. Long enough for you to have mapped out every corner of the room in your desperation—the small table and chairs in the center, the bed in the corner, the small, crude bathroom through a curtain beside it. Days of counting everything—anything, of screaming yourself hoarse just for the noise of it. Alone, but for the tap, tap, tapping.

And then… suddenly you’re not, the door suddenly swinging open wide.

He has blond hair, his chin clean-shaven. He’s big, almost too big for the door-frame, but somehow he fits. He’s handsome, dressed neatly, and his clothes are clean. Cleaner than yours, which you’ve been wearing for days—the shower spits out only cold water, and though you’ve washed yourself with the plain white bar of soap left for you in the dish, you’re acutely aware of the state you’re in.

You blink at him slowly, You’re not sure if you’re really seeing another person, or if you’re imagining it, but then he moves, and the illusion is broken.

He puts down the box he’s carrying, kicking the door shut securely behind him. The metal makes a dull thud when his foot connects with it, and when it closes, the locking mechanism hisses into place. He unpacks the box silently, laying out it’s contents on the table. There are several tupperware containers, one of which he opens to reveal fruit, and your stomach tightens. He looks up at you and smiles warmly.

It does nothing to dispel the ice in your veins.

“You must be hungry.” he says, nodding encouragingly at you as he taps the rim of the bowl.

You don’t bother answering—he knows you are. It’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact. There’s nothing in the mini-fridge next to the sink, and the cabinets are equally as bare.

“I didn’t know what you liked…” he rubs his neck bashfully. “So I got a little of everything.”

He nudges the bowl toward you, and you hate that your mouth waters at the sight of food. The sight of quartered oranges, freshly washed grapes, segments of kiwis, bananas, half a pomegranate—they make you dizzy with want. You almost reach for it, but stop yourself.

“Who are you?” you croak. You screamed for hours on the first day when you’d woken up here, and the cold water that poured from the tap in the little kitchen in the corner hasn’t done much to soothe your raw throat.

He cocks his head at you, confusion and hurt flashing across his face.

“You don’t know yet?” he replies, sounding genuinely sorrowful. “He told me you would remember on your own.”

He’s fucking crazy.

New terror dawns on you, it’s taste burns bitter in your throat like bile.

He pushes the bowl of fruit closer. “Please eat.”

You shake your head, recoiling quickly. You scramble back towards the double bed in the corner, but his arm snakes around your waist and the weight of him crashes into you.

The concrete floor isn’t forgiving when he crushes you to it, crooning softly. “I don’t want this to be hard for you, please,”

His grip is unyielding as you scratch and hiss, struggling against him uselessly.

“I don’t know you,” you cry out, raking your already bruised fingers against the ground as you try to claw away. Your nails are already split and broken, and they don’t do much damage to him when you scrape them down his muscled arms. “Please, please, I won’t tell anyone, please—”

He wrestles you into his lap, before reaching for the fruit bowl. Your back pressed to his front, one heavy arm anchoring you to him about your waist.

“You have to eat,” he says, his voice deceptively gentle. “It’s been three days.”

Hedips his fingers into the bowl and pulls out a piece of kiwi. He holds it to your lips, tracing the seam of them with the cool, wet fruit.

“N-no,” you murmur, jerking your head away. “Stop!”

He doesn’t. His fingers follow your mouth easily, pressing until the fruit begins to turn to mush against your closed lips. You open your mouth to rebuke him again, but he shoves it inside, and you’re forced to make a choice—choke, or swallow.

You swallow.

“Good girl. I know this is new for you, but you have to stay healthy.” He brings a slice of orange to your lips, and you don’t want it, you don’t want to be force-fed like a child by a fucking stranger—but he’s so big and strong, and you’re so fucking hungry—your mouth opens, and your teeth sink into the fruit. Juice dribbles down your chin, and he catches it with his finger, swiping it back up into your mouth.

“Where am I?” You ask, and he heaves a deep sigh behind you, his muscular chest pressing tightly against your back.

“Somewhere safe.” He dabs at the sticky juice on your lip with his thumb, and you hear him pop it into his own mouth. “Somewhere we won’t be disturbed while you remember.”

He sounds so sure of himself, so certain that the senseless explanations he’s given you are right and true.

“Remember what?” You snap. “I don’t know you!”

He chuckles, shaking his head as though you’re nothing more than a petulant child having a tantrum.

“You do. And you’ll remember, blossom, I promise.”

His fingers stroke under your chin affectionately, and you squirm uncomfortably as he presses a kiss to your unkempt hair. You haven’t the tools to care for it properly here, and your beautiful curls are beginning to mat.

“I brought presents for you. Things he says you’ll like.” He’s stroking your head as he speaks.

“Who the hell are you talking about?” You say, your voice rising as hysteria sets in. “Who are you?!” you plead. You’re running through your mental roster of faces, trying to figure out where you’ve seen him, if you’ve seen him.

He stills abruptly behind you, and his breath hitches. He’s silent so long you’re certain he’s not going to answer you, until finally—

“Steve.”

“Why are you keeping me here?” you wail, thrashing in his grip. It’s useless, but you do it anyway, writhing and struggling until you’re panting. “Please! I just want to go home!”

“You’re home already, blossom.” His breath tickles the shell of your ear, and for an instant it sounds like there are two voices speaking, and not one, but when he speaks again, it’s the same gentle tone as before. “Let’s open your presents.”

He forces you to sit still while he retrieves the box, and from the plastic convenience store bag within it, he pulls a bottle of shampoo, conditioner, and a detangling brush.

Anger and fear make your stomach twist, and bile rises in your gullet. His presents are…your own things. The bottles aren’t new, no—they’re the very same ones that sit on the edge of your bathtub. Even your brush has the crude letter you carved in it with a nail file during college, to make sure it didn’t get mixed up with anyone else’s.

“And I got this for you, too.” He pulls a bolt of fabric from the box as well, pale pink and soft. No, not fabric, a dress, which he holds out to you. “It suits you better than those jeans.” He looks proud of himself. “Do you like them?”

“No.” You curl in on yourself at the table, folding your knees to your chest as you stare at the wall.

Steve dumps the chiffon fabric into your lap anyway.

“You’ll feel better after you get cleaned up.” His eyes burn too bright as he looks at you. “Go on.”

Slowly, you reach for the brush and hair products, your hands shaking as you pick them up. You stand, and your eyes flick over him to the door. You swallow thickly, and he chuckles, that same, strange doubling makes you wince.

“I’m a betting man, blossom. Would you like to make a wager?” He licks his lips. “If you make it to the door, I’ll let you go.”

“W-what?” You almost drop everything as your body begins to quake uncontrollably.

“I’ll let you go," He repeats. “I’ll let you go back to those friends who couldn’t even be bothered to report you missing when you didn’t come home from the club. Back to the mother drinking herself to death, and the father that hides at work so he won’t see it. I’ll let you return to all of that…if you can make it to the door.”

It’s a tactic to shake you, to make you unsure—and it works. You can’t stop gaping at him, trying to figure out how he knows so much about you, how he knows any of this when you’ve never seen him before. Just because I don’t know him doesn’t mean he doesn’t know me. The thought terrifies you. He’s been watching you—this isn’t random. You’d almost have preferred it if it was, then you would only feel trapped, caged—but now you felt violated too.

You threw the containers at him, throwing down the chair behind you as you sprinted the ten paces to the door—and the world turns on itself as you’re knocked hard against the wall. Steve’s muscular bulk pressing hard against your back as he forces your face into the concrete.

“See, blossom?” he says, his breath too hot against your neck. “You’re much better off here with me.”

Your head is ringing from the impact, and when he pulls away, you stumble dizzily.

“Now. Go get cleaned up.”

The hours Steve spends with you are torturous. He brushes your hair free of all tangles after you shower in the icy water. He forces you to sit between his legs as he runs his fingers through your curls, marveling at their softness.

“I know you’re upset, blossom,” he says softly. “It’s just because you’re not used to anyone taking care of you.” You jerk your head away from his hands, and he chuckles.

“So stubborn. That’s why we like you.”

“We who?” you spit. “You’re the only other fucking person here.”

“Am I?” he says, and for an instant you hear it again—tap tap tap—and he laughs.

You scramble from between his legs, looking around wildly.

“You’re not being very grateful, blossom. I brought you all these nice things, set you up in your own space, and you haven’t even said thank you.” He cocks his head at you. “That could hurt a guy’s feelings, you know?”

Tap.

“Thank you,” you grit out, and he beams.

“You learn so fast, sweetheart. I think you’ll remember soon.” Steve stands from the bed, brushing the knees of his jeans off with careful hands. “I’m going to go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow, blossom. If you’re good.”

“What’s your game?” you snarl, clenching your fists as you watch him head for the door. “Leave me down here with the rats until you feel like playing twisted house?”

The lock hisses open, and Steve grins at you over his shoulder.

“Oh blossom. I don’t have rats.” the door closes heavily behind him.

Tap.

🌸

Part Two

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le taglist:

@basementwiveswritingchallenge @dorothea-hwldr @archy3001 @syntheticavenger @river-soul @millennial-teenybopper @doozywoozy @dreamlessinparis @melancia

@punemy-spotted

#steve rogers x reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve x you #steve rogers imagine #dark fic #dark mcu #Dark Marvel #horror themes #yandere!Steve #boxofbonesfic #fic challenge #prosperina fic #basementwife

634 notes · View notes

boxofbonesfic · 3 years

Photo

Title: Prosperina

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Horror, Ghost/Demonic Possession, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Dubcon, Noncon, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Gaslighting

Chapter specific: body horror, gaslighting, paranoia, sleep paralysis

A/N: here we are, part two of Prosperina! i cannot even describe how touched i am at all of the positive responses to this fic, and i sincerely hope it continues to terrify and intrigue you all. feedback is always appreciated, please let me know what you think! this fic was beta’d by the wonderful @curbitkirby, who has been letting me yell at her about my ideas for an impressively long amount of time. 🥺

🌸

Part two: Scratch

“You gonna sit?” Your mother is seated at the kitchen table, looking at you expectantly. Her poison of choice sits in front of her, and when she lifts the glass to her lips, the ice cubes clink noisily. “C’mon. Sit down.”

You sit across from her, and she sighs. You’re trying to recall the last time you saw your mother, trying to recall where this memory is swimming up from—and then you realize. It’s not a memory, it’s a dream.

“Y’know, I never wanted to be pregnant,” she says, cocking her head at you as she swirls the liquor in her glass. “And then when we had you… God, all I wanted was to run.”

She drains the glass, and refills it again. None of this is new to you, you’ve heard her drunkenly wax on about the glory days, the days before you slowed her down.

But you’ve never dreamed it before.

“But there’s just some shit you can’t run from.” You don’t know why you didn’t see it before, but her eyes are burning black pools of tar, leaking down her cheeks when she blinks. “Some shit that just is, you know what I mean, toadie?”

The nickname makes longing and fear twine together in your gut.

Her skin is death’s head gray, cheeks sunken. Her nails, sharp like needles, scrape against the the table, and in their wake, flowers bloom from the cracked wood.

Your mother—not your mother—blinks those tar black eyes at you, and tears leak down her cheeks like oil. Flowers burst from her flesh, pushing their way up through her skin, which tears like paper.

“You can’t run from her.” There are flowers on her tongue and in her eyes, and black tar tears track down her cheeks as she upends the bottle into her mouth. Amber liquid runs out of the holes in her cheeks, and she gurgles as green sprouts burst from her throat. “It just is.”

You scream, and she screams too, a rattling, dying sound.

“IT JUST IS. IT JUST IS. IT JUST IS—”

You can finally move again, and you throw yourself away from the table, hiccoughing sobs escaping your throat. The doorway into the living room is dark but you enter anyway, only to sink your feet into soft earth as your mother’s screams continue behind you.

You push forward, sinking your fingers into the earth as you dig through it desperately. It smells like rotten things, like death, and behind you, your mother is still screaming as you claw up through the grave dirt and—

SCRATCH.

You sit straight up in bed, your chest heaving. The bright, sickly white fluorescent lighting above you stings your eyes as you open them, searching blearily for the source of the sound. Your mouth is dry, and tastes like dirt, and as you wipe cool sweat from your forehead, your fingers come away dark. You frown, wiping again—dirt.

What the fuck?

You look down at yourself, and streaks of mud stain the bottom of the chiffon gown Steve gave you earlier. You’re not sure how much time has passed between then and now, there’s no clock, no way to mark the endless march of minutes in your concrete cell. Your feet are dirty too, clumps of earth stuck between your toes and trod under your toenails.

Tap.

You move quickly toward the sink, your stomach tight with fear. You rinse the dirt from your face and hands as best you can before you tentatively try the door again—still locked. You’d been asleep until just now, you were sure of it. At the thought of sleep, cold dread settles in your stomach.

I can’t sleep here. Terror clenches it’s fist tightly around you. You can’t remember what you dreamed, but you know that whatever it was, it makes you dread going back to sleep, like something is waiting for you in your dreams.

The dirt under your fingernails refuses to come out under the water, and hysterically you slap your hands against the sink. Your breath comes in short pants.

Steve said he would come tomorrow—but you don’t know when that is. Perhaps it’s already happened, perhaps it’s not going to. You look down at your hands and a sob wrenches. from your throat. You don’t want to be alone.

Tap.

SCRATCH.

The sound is so loud you turn around, whipping your head from side to side. Maybe Steve’s already here. The tapping sounds again, and this time a long, slow scrape accompanies it.

“S-Steve?”

Silence.

Tap.

A whining shriek tears from your throat and you run to the door, banging on it with all of your strength. You’re barely breathing between your desperate cries. “Steve! Steve please, please let me out, please, Steve I’m scared!” you don’t care that you’re calling for your captor, anything is better than being alone in this fucking room—

Tap.

It’s close, like it’s right behind you. You’re afraid to move to breathe, and you still, shuddering as you press your face to the door. Silent sobs shake your shoulders as the hair on the back of your neck stands up. You wish your earlier thought had been correct, but you’re not.

You’re not alone, and you never have been.

“It just is.” the voice sounds just next to your ear, so soft and so close that you feel breath brush against your skin. You scream hoarsely, and pound on the door again and again hysterical cries wrenching from your raw throat—and it opens.

You fall into Steve’s arms, sobbing and wailing, clutching him as you struggle to verbalize your terror. He emits a soft, oof, though he doesn’t budge as you craash into him. “Blossom? What’s wrong?”

“S-someone’s in here w-w-with me,” you spoke through hiccoughing sobs. He looks down at you pityingly, his brows creased with concern. No. No, don’t look at me like that! You fist your hands in his shirt. “N-no, s-she spoke to me,” you’re blubbering, and Steve takes a few steps forward, pushing you back into the room and away from the door. He kicks it shut with a practiced motion, before setting down the bags he’s carrying. You’re fighting the urge to grab for him, to press yourself against him in your fear.

“Blossom, there’s no one here but us.” he says softly, gesturing around the empty room. The tapping and scratching has stopped, but the dread remains. “Look, I’ll show you.” he walks around the perimeter of the room slowly, and you hate that his voice isn’t patronizing, but kind and understanding. As if he genuinely wants to help you.

And you hate most of all how your eyes track his every movement gratefully, how when he peers underneath the bed, you feel a childish relief. You feel safe with him there, and it disgusts you. He’s a stranger—more than that, he’s your captor. He walks around the room another time before he turns to you.

“See? Nothing to be afraid of.” You look down at your hands—clean. A dream? You don’t think you were dreaming. But… you’ve been in this room for days, and even then you’re not really sure. He grins widely at you, before he begins to unpack the cloth grocery bags. More containers, more food, and again, no utensils. Steve forces you to let him feed you, the weight of his hand hot and suffocating on your thigh.

Better this than alone.

“You look beautiful in your dress,” he replies, picking up a perfectly cut square of fluffy Belgian waffle. It’s drenched in syrup, but he doesn’t seem to mind it dripping down his fingers as he offers the bite to you. “Do you like it, blossom?” He presses it to your lips, and you open reluctantly. He pushes the morsel into your mouth, and syrup drips down your chin. Steve’s thumb swipes at it, and he grips your chin with his other hand. “Open.”

You swallow, slowly parting your lips as he shoves his thumb inside, resting it on your tongue. The command is written on his face, though he doesn’t speak it aloud. You curl your tongue around his thumb, the sweetness of it sour still on your tongue. “I asked you if you liked your dress.” He says gently, pulling away only to return with another bite of food. He looks at you expectantly, and the food in your mouth turns to glue.

You’re terrified of him. Of this place. His grip tightens on your thigh. “I-I like it. I’m not… I’ve never really… dressed up much.” You sputter, watching him visibly relax.

“We can get you whatever kind of things you like, blossom.” he strokes the curve of your cheek with the back of his hand. “When you remember.” That fucking phrase again. Remember. Remember. Remember what? “I know you’re not used to nice things,” he says, and he holds your face still while he leans in to drag his soft lips across your forehead. “But we’re going to take such good care of you.”

“Who’s…we?” you asked, and his shoulders sag as though genuine weight rests on them. “Why did you bring me here?” He seems just as forthcoming with answers today as he was yesterday—which is not at all.

“Because we want to give you everything,” he says passionately, grabbing for your hands. You try to pull away, but you’re not fast enough, and he holds them tightly as he strokes his thumbs over the backs of your hands. “How you were living before? Alone, no one to care for you, to love you. You don’t have to live like that anymore.” his bright smile seems almost plastic in the sickly fluorescent lighting. “You have us now.”

You’re trembling as his eyes bore into you. How long has he been watching me?

Tap.

“I wasn’t alone.” you reply, and he frowns, scoffing.

“No? When was the last time you heard from your parents? The last time they cared enough to call you? And your friends? Your phone hasn’t gone off once since I rescued you.”

“You kidnapped me!” You can’t bear to play along anymore, and you peer up at him angrily. His expression goes cold, and strangely, so does his grip. Ice cold.

“I saved you.” He lets go suddenly, as if you’ve burned him. “No one gave a damn about you, and I—” Steve stops speaking abruptly, cocking his head as though he’s listening. “Fine. You’re right. I… I kidnapped you. But it’s for the better, I promise you.”

“I want to go home.” How long has he been watching me? Your thoughts race, and you begin trying to figure out when you might have attracted his attention, where. It doesn’t matter, and yet it does. And the back and forth within yourself about whether it’s your fault or not, what you did to deserve it and the one outside you’re having with him—

You want to cry.

“This is your home now, blossom.” You can’t help but glance around the room, your chest tightening. He sees the look, and shakes his head. “Don’t be ungrateful, sweetheart.” Steve’s voice carries a hard edge that almost makes you wish he’d never come down, but your skin prickles at the alternative. You’re still not convinced you were dreaming, but… your hands are clean, and the delicate gown Steve had gifted you with the day before was in-tact.

You decide to try a different angle. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere beautiful. You’re going to love it so much, blossom.” His voice turns almost dreamy. “I’m going to show you so much when…when you’re ready.” He sighs, and then claps his hands. “Let’s finish breakfast. I have some things for you.”

Steve makes you finish the waffle, his attempts at soothing you only making you more agitated. Suddenly you weren’t sure what was worse, the overbearing sense that you weren’t alone where you were, or his presence. His hands move in eager circles on your back, and he leans over in his chair to speak gently about how happy he is to see you eating.

When you’ve managed to clear your plate, Steve takes it to the sink. “You know, this is my grandmother’s house,” he says, glancing over his shoulder.

“O-oh?” It’s in your best interest to sound intrigued, and you are—maybe you can figure out how to get away. He wants to trust you, he’s said as much himself. “Are we?”

“Yes, this is her land. It’s been in the family for generations, but I’m the only one to try and do anything with it.” He finishes washing the dish, and sets it on the rack to dry. “You’ll love it out here. I know how badly you hate the city. All the noise, keeping you up at night.” The cold lead that had previously settled in your stomach at the knowledge of his surveillance gets even heavier. and for a moment you think you might vomit up the waffle Steve forced down.

“Y-yes.” You’d always dreamed of moving out of the city, but not like this. And his description hadn’t helped at all—you could be anywhere. He shakes his hands to dry them, and grins at you.

“I brought you some things.” He reaches into the grocery bag, and pulls out a worn copy of Frankenstein, and puts it on the table. A deck of cards, a puzzle. You know he wants you to be grateful, but you can’t muster more than a weak smile and a nod. “I know it’s not everything you’re used to, but…you’ll earn those back.”

Earn them back.

“Are you going to kill me?” the question slips out of you before you can stop it, and Steve looks positively stricken at your question. He rushes over to you, grabbing your shoulders.

“I would never hurt you.” He stares hard into your eyes. “I promised you I was going to take care of you, you’re going to be so happy here with me, blossom.”

“Happy.” You repeat the word in a hollow voice.

Happy.

🌸

Part three

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Le taglist:

@basementwiveswritingchallenge

@dorothea-hwldr @archy3001 @syntheticavenger @river-soul @millennial-teenybopper @doozywoozy @dreamlessinparis @melancia @ladyacrasia @sweeterthanthis @stupendouslovegardener @violetmoon74 @holl2712 @nymariel @punemy-spotted

#dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #dark fic #dark fanfiction #dark!mcu #dark mcu #MCU AU #boxofbonesfic #prosperina fic #yandere!steve #basementwife

445 notes · View notes

boxofbonesfic · 3 years

Photo

Title: Prosperina

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Horror, Ghost/Demonic Possession, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Dubcon, Noncon, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Gaslighting

Chapter specific: gaslighting, horror, dubcon/noncon

A/N: here we are, part four of Prosperina, my entry for the @basementwiveswritingchallenge, located here! It’s been brought to my attention that i’ve been mispelling “Proserpina” this whole damn time 😅 but we’re rollin’ with it! Thanks for reading anyway, lmao. Love you guys ❤️🤣this fic was beta’d by the wonderful @curbitkirby, who has been letting me yell at her about my ideas for an impressively long amount of time. 🥺

🌸

Part four: rip

Steve insists on carrying you down the long dark hallway, and he navigates it easily, even without light. Your legs are still shaky, and since he hasn’t given you shoes, he says it’s to avoid you stepping on glass. It’s almost laughable—glass in your feet is the least of your worries.

As you approach the door, apprehension fills you, and you find yourself turning your face into Steve’s chest, your fingers clawing at his henley. What if she’s there? Waiting for you with her outstretched arms and her fingers like bones? You can still smell the dirt, like the scent’s tattooed itself in your nostrils.

You whimper, and Steve presses a kiss to your hair. “It’s alright, blossom. We promise you’ll be alright.” You don’t bother asking who “we” is anymore, you have too good of an idea. He pulls on the ring, tugging the door open—and blinding light sears your eyes. You blink away the black spots floating across your vision, staring dumbly.

The sun.

It takes you a moment to realize that’s indeed what you’re seeing, after uncountable days. You look back at the door, and your stomach tightens. A small stone building, covered in moss and ivy, the door barely visible beneath the creeping green. A cold sweat gathers on your exposed skin as you realize what you’re looking at. It’s a mausoleum—

A tomb.

You force yourself to turn around in his arms, and you’re greeted by the sight of a lush garden, a welcome distraction. A low, wooden fence separates it from the rolling hills beyond, and far away, through the tall, waving grass, a line of dark trees marks the end of the green fields. There are meticulously tended rows of herbs and small crops; tomatoes, peas, greens—interspersed with beautiful flowers and ornamental grasses.

It’s… beautiful. It’s like a scene from a movie, as you watch dandelion spores dance in the sunlight before drifting away on the wind. It was winter when last you’d been outside, everything dead and gray, devoid of life. It seemed you’d been in your little room longer than you’d thought.

“Where…is this?”

“Do you like it, sweet pea? It’s yours, you know. Your garden.”

It’s like the earth itself is singing to you, and you shift in his arms, suddenly eager to have both feet on the ground.

“This is home.” The warmth that spreads through you at his declaration is unfamiliar, and the feeling of phantom arms around your shoulders makes you shudder.

“Can you walk, blossom?” Steve asks, and you nod.

The grass is cool beneath your feet, soft and pillowy. You’re seized by the urge to dig your toes into the dirt, but you don’t. The wind brushes warmly against your skin, and you reach a tentative hand out to touch the thin trunk of a small apple tree, and you can feel how alive it is.

Something like a heartbeat thrums ever-so-faintly against your fingers, and you snatch your hand away.

“Who…who’s buried here, Steve?” you ask, turning to him.

The bright look on his face fades a little.

“No one, blossom.” A strange look crosses his features, and his voice suddenly sounds… older. More powerful. “You don’t bury what isn’t dead.”

You know you should be afraid of him, and you think somewhere inside you are—but instead of fear you feel…affinity? And it scares you so much more. You’re grateful to him for letting you out, for letting you feel the warm sun on your skin.

I should run. You glance from his face to the fence behind him, and for a moment you consider your odds. You take a tentative step to the side, and Steve’s face tenses.

“Blossom…” A warning. You take another step. “Don’t be ungrateful, sweetheart. I can always take you back.”

Your stomach clenches at the thought of your room, of pacing the walls until your feet ached from the rough concrete, of tapping on the walls and windows and listening to her tap back.

And how far would you get, anyway?

He’s faster than you, stronger than you—even now you feel like a newborn deer, moving on wobbly, unsteady legs through the grass.

I could still try. You’re arguing with yourself, thoughts firing back and forth, almost like a conversation.

You’ll be caught as soon as you try.

Images swim to the forefront of your mind, unbidden and forced; Steve holding you under the icy shower spray, forcing you to bathe, Steve pinning you to the rough concrete, the unending hours you waited in front of the door for him to return, only to be met with cruel silence. And when he finally did come, he told you simply that he had been gone only a day. Just a day.

You don’t want to go back to the hole, do you, toadie?

Hysteria grips you, and you whimper, looking from Steve’s frowning face to the mausoleum behind him. You can feel eyes on you, more than just his, and a phantom weight settles over you. You don’t want to go back, and the thought of walking back down that long hallway to the concrete box at the end makes you want to scream.

I don’t want to go back there.

Then be a good girl for him.

“You don’t have to go back in if I can trust you, blossom,” Steve says softly, approaching you with his palms out placatingly, like you’re a frightened animal. A little sob wrenches out of your throat and he tugs you to his chest, sighing with relief. “You’re overwhelmed, I know.” He strokes your hair gently. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you inside.”

He turns you toward a little stone cottage, covered in creeping ivy and blooming flowers. Smoke curls from the chimney, and the hills beyond frame the idyllic little house with green. You hate that it’s beautiful. You hate that it’s for you, just like the garden.

Steve helps you up the stairs and opens the glass paned front door for you. You’re immediately assailed with the smell of cooking food, and it makes your mouth water. Steve is always in charge of your portions, and you’re acutely aware that the most you’ve had today is half of a Belgian waffle.

“Hungry?” He asks, his hands rubbing at your shoulders. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

You hear him toeing off his boots behind you.

“I want to show you the place,” he says excitedly, his thumbs grazing across your knuckles as he grasps your hand.

The rug under your feet is soft and warm, and the old wood paneling of the wall is smooth under your hand as you trail it along.

There are plants everywhere, hanging from hooks on the ceiling, in ornate pots and vases. Bright and green and blooming. Out of the corner of your eye, a large fern shifts, and you think you see the crooked bend of a gnarled finger beneath it, the flash of an eye, watching you—

“The bathroom is here,” he opens a thick wooden door to reveal a beautifully restored claw-foot tub. Behind it is an open shower stall, and double sinks that you see have already been set up with an extra toothbrush and a cup—for you.

The hallway is decorated with various pictures, and you squint at one of them—it looks like Steve, but no, that can’t be right. The boy in that picture is too short, too skinny to be Steve. There are more, an old woman with a picnic basket, smiling into the camera, and still more that you can’t focus on as Steve leads you through the narrow hallways from room to room. It’s more lived in than you expected, evidence that perhaps once it was more than just your newest prison.

“And the living room is down here.” He leads you to the large, open living area. Your feet sink deeply into the plush, white rug, and it feels strange after the harshness of the concrete on your bare feet for…now you’re not even sure how long.

Your chest aches at the familiarity of the every-day items you haven’t seen in weeks—you never thought Netflix would be a privilege you would miss so much. You pass a shaky hand over the back of the couch as Steve walks you by it—it’s certainly more comfortable than the hard, rickety wooden chairs in your old room.

The kitchen is brightly lit and homey, a large, round wooden table sits at the center, with comfortable padded chairs all around it. “Shepherd’s pie in the oven,” Steve says, grinning at you. “Almost done with the tour, blossom.”

The bedroom he leads you into is such a stark contrast to the room you’ve been living in that it makes your head spin. The large, four poster bed looks antique, and upon closer inspection, has ornate pictures carved into the wood.

One poster has images of cornucopias, fat grapes falling from vines, and a woman, holding all of them above her head. The next, the same woman, a man, holding a pomegranate, and thick, thorny vines wrapped around her ankles.

“The story of Hades and Persephone,” Steve intones from behind you. Your gut twists uncomfortably. “My grandmother loved that story. Do you know it?”

You’re frozen with him pressed against your back, his breath ghosting across your neck.

“T-the broad strokes,” you choke out, and he chuckles.

“Just as well. They always tell it wrong.” He brushes a strand of hair from the back of your neck, and goosebumps break across your flesh as he follows it up with a heated press of his lips to your skin. “Would you like me to tell you the true story, blossom?” his hands stroke slowly, gently down your arms and back up again.

“St-Steve, I—”

“Shh, it’s just a story, sweet.” His lips trail kisses over your shoulder. “Once upon a time—that’s how they start these, isn’t it?” he asks softly, though he isn’t really asking. “There was darkness. Only darkness. And we’re taught that it was empty, the dark, only it wasn’t.”

His fingers find their way under the straps of your dress, stroking at your skin.

“The King of the darkness, of the void, of the nothing, had never seen the light before.” Steve pushes the straps down, and your heart hammers in your chest as tears gather in your eyes. “His subjects spoke of it, of course, how it seared their flesh and burnt their eyes—they cursed it. But the King, he was curious.”

You gripped the top of your dress with shaking fingers, which Steve uncurled one by one, lifting your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

“For he had never beheld something as great and terrible as that. And thus he sought it out.”

A swift tug has you naked before him, and you can feel the weight of his eyes traveling slowly down your exposed flesh as your dress pools at your feet.

“You can imagine his surprise when he emerged from the dark, from a crack in the soul of the Earth that opened wide and hungry.” He looses your hair from the messy bun at the top of your head, groaning as he presses his face into it.

“And it burned him. It burned him like his subjects said it would, and he cursed it. The King made to return to the soft, cool embrace of the dark—but that was when he saw her. Bright and burning and beautiful.” His hands smooth down your sides before rising to cup the weight of your breasts. “She was so beautiful he could hardly stand to look at her, and everywhere she walked, flowers sprang beneath her heel.”

“Steve, please, don’t—”

“Hush, blossom, you’ll ruin the story.” His thumbs flick across your nipples, and you hate the wet pulse that makes you clench your thighs tighter together. You haven’t felt it in ages, not since Steve took you.

Rescued.

Yes… since he rescued you.

Good girl.

I am a good girl.

“And he knew once he’d seen her,” Steve continues. “That she was meant to be his and his alone. It hurt to behold her, but he watched, and waited. Biding his time. And when he could stand the licking of the light on his skin, the softness of the grass, the touch of the wind, he emerged again. Open.”

His hand wormed between your legs, fingers tickling at your inner thighs. A sharp pinch makes you squeal, and you inch your thighs apart, enough for him to run his fingers down your damp slit.

You whine, and he hushes you. “Almost done, almost done. And so the King takes her. She comes willingly, though no one believes it—after all, how could light submit so willingly to dark? Life to Death? But it’s the dance, you see.” He circles your clit slow and soft, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks. Your blood roars in your ears, and your hands fist in the silky duvet for stability.

“They’ve been doing it since time began, and they want to do it now, blossom.” He continues drawing slow shapes around your clit that make you squeeze your eyes shut and sink your teeth into your lip to keep silent. “All you have to do, sweetheart, is let her In.” Your eyes fly open as your chest clenches in fear, while Steve sheathes one of his fingers into the warm, clenching heat of your cunt.

“Mmm, you’re so soft inside, sweet pea,” he murmurs, sucking a bruise into the flesh of your throat. “Soft and wet, just for us.” His thumb brushes over your clit and you hiss. “You understand, don’t you?” His voice is terribly hypnotic, and as he curls his finger inside you, you keen, rising up onto your toes as you pant.

You do understand, and the knowledge is as freeing as it is terrible. “You’re our light. Our good thing in the darkness.” He wants you to let her become part of you, to let her live in your soul and alter the fabric of your life—your being.

Just like he had.

Steve adds a second finger to the first and your fists clench tighter in the sheets. “Give in, blossom, show me how tight you’ll be around my cock.” It’s so much—too much—the slow, sensual burn echoing out from your core, making you pant and whine.

You can feel the build, deep inside, the rise of pleasure in response to the slick slick slick of his fingers in your pussy. You don’t want this, but you do, the sweet release of oblivion hanging tantalizingly before you as Steve edges you closer without concern.

“W-wait, no—”

“Shhh. Let me give you what you need.” He’s rolling your nipples between his fingers, pumping two thick fingers in and out of your cunt as he sucks at your throat and it’s too much. You’re shaking in his arms, and he’s the only thing holding you up as you cum helplessly. He’s moaning softly in your ear, telling you what a good girl you are, how he loves you so much, sweet pea, wasn’t that nice?

You can’t speak as he lays you gently on the bed, turning you over onto your back. He smooths his hands up your thighs, smiling sweetly up at you from between your legs. “I know I owe you a nice, hot bath, sweetheart, I promised. I didn’t forget.” He lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean as he groans. “But I think I deserve a taste, don’t you?”

The first pass of his tongue is too good against your overstimulated folds, and you whine—but it doesn’t take long before he’s sending you careening over the edge again, pleasure rippling out in powerful waves as your pussy clenches around nothing.

You don’t know what time it is when he finally leads you back to the bathroom, filling the magnificent tub with hot water, before topping it with rose petals and oils from bottles in the mirror cabinet. He helps you in, promising to check on you soon. Tears form in your wide eyes as you lay there, staring at the ceiling, your arms hanging limply over the sides of the tub.

The feel of a phantom hand closes around yours tightly, icy fingers intertwining with your own. Alone, and not alone.

And for the first time, you take comfort in it.

🌸

Part five

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le taglist

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