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ruh--roh-raggy · 2 months

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To Be Human (Monster! William Afton x Fem! Reader Beauty and The Beast AU) - Part I

Hello hello! First and foremost I would like to wish a huge belated Happy Birthday to my dear friend @yellowbunnydreams this whole AU is dedicated to her 💜💜💜 If you like princesses and castles and ball gowns and Will being a giant fucking monster definitely give this a read, I think this story is going to be very fun! If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!

WARNINGS: Mostly plot/set up, Will's kind of a dick, kidnapping I guess but not really, it's a Beauty and The Beast AU there's going to be some underlying themes of Stockholm syndrome if you squint. Not proofread, sorry for any grammar and spelling mistakes!

You can find my Masterlist here!

Word Count: 2,849

Part II (TBA)

You squeezed your legs harder against your horse’s sides, promoting him to run as fast as he possibly could. Tears sting your eyes as you race through the forest, sharp branches snapping at your face, your haste not allowing you time to care about watching out for them. The heavy gallop against the damp, muddy earth, quickly turned into loud, clattering hooves that fell against the cobbled path that formed at the opening of the tree line. The dark castle twisted up into the black sky, its gnarled, jagged appearance not much different than the branches that tangled the perimeter of the clearing. Your body instinctively jolted as a loud clap of thunder rang out across the courtyard, a crack of lightning illuminating the night. You found a small spot of shelter to tie up your horse, pulling the hood of your cloak as far forward as an attempt to stop the rain from pelting you in the face. You were already soaked to the bone, your dress clung to your body, your hair fell in long stringy tendrils across your face. You hurried up to the large castle doors, having to throw your full weight against it in order to get it to move. The creak that came from the ancient hinges was nearly deafening as it echoed through the grand foyer inside. “Father!” You call into the pitch black room, barely being able to make out the shape of the grand white marble staircase that took up a large portion of the space. You hurried inside, pushing the door shut behind you with a strangled groan. You knew what you were doing was dangerous, being so careless left you with a major possibility of losing your life. Your father had been taken captive by the tyrannical monarch who resided in this palace. “Please, answer me! Where are you!” You continued to call.

At this point you didn't care about what could happen to you, you were more concerned about what had happened to him. You raced up the stairs, nearly slipping in the water that streamed off your body, leaving small puddles in your wake. You continued to call out for him as you ran through the halls, your voice echoing off the grand arched ceilings. You hear someone shout your name from deeper inside, your head snapping in the direction of a door you hadn’t noticed. You ripped it open to reveal a winding stone spiral staircase that seemed to lead up impossibly higher into the castle. The heavy wrought iron handle slammed against the wooden barrier, the loud bang echoing through the halls. You could hear thunderous footsteps hurrying in your direction, someone was coming. You hurried in the direction of your father's voice, your hands wrapping around the thick metal bars as you saw a cell with a single candle inside. He calls your name again, this time in a soft harsh whisper. “What are you going here? Leave before he finds you.” His eyes darted down the stairs. “My darling girl, I love you too much to have you resolved to a fate like this. Leave me, take care of yourself.”

“I'm not leaving here without you.” Your voice trembles as you speak.

“You have to, if he catches you I'm not sure either of us will survive.” He explains quickly. “Go.”

“So, this is your insolent little brat.” A voice growls from the darkness.

“Your Highness she came-”

“I don't believe I ordered you to speak, farmer!” The voice snarls. “I thought I was being generous, allowing you to pay off your debt for stealing from my prized garden. Now you're responsible for another trespasser.”

“I'm here to take his place.” You step in front of your father, blocking him from the Monarch's view.

“Absolutely not-”

“This is your last warning farmer, step out of line again and it'll be your head.” He snaps. “Now, as for you.” You could feel him sizing you up despite the fact you couldn't see him. “You want to take his place, hm?” Your eyes widened as he stepped into the dim light. You scramble back, his monstrously tall form too close to you. A white linen shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders, thick, light brown fur streaked with grey flowed out of its deeply plunging neck. His fingers were tipped with sharp, black claws, fur matching his chest seeming to cover every exposed area of skin. Long ears swooped towards the back of his head, tied at the nape of his neck like a ponytail. The soft rounded muzzle of a rabbit was a stark contrast to the intimidating energy that rolled off of him in waves. Darkly lined silver eyes studied your much smaller form from his towering advantage. “Your father promised me servitude for the rest of his pitiful life just so I wouldn't take it away from him, is that something you're willing to give up?” His eyes narrowed, you swore you caught the faintest sight of sharp canines situated behind his squishy nose.

“If it means you'll let him go, then yes. I'd do anything.” You make your best attempt at sounding strong, you could see from the sneer that stretched across the creature's face that it wasn't working. He scans over your shaking form, your hands balled into tight fists at your side.

“You're free to go, farmer.” He quickly takes the heavy wrought iron keys from his very pocket and tossed them at you. You yelp at the sudden action, stepping to the side and letting them whizz past you and clatter to the floor. “It’ll be nice to have a new pet around for a change.” He spits before turning in his heels and disappearing into the darkness. The moment he was out of sight you scrambled for the keys, slotting them into the lock and ripping the door open. Your father crushes you in a hug, cradling your head against his chest as you break down into tears.

“I'm sorry, you got into this mess because of me and I am so sorry.” His voice cracks as he attempts to comfort you. “I'll bring others, we’ll get you out of here, you just need to buy yourself some time.”

“I'll be okay.” You sniff, wiping harshly at your eyes. “You just focus on getting out of here and back to town, but do not come back with the others.” You lower the volume of your voice, attempting to check around for the beast that lurked effortlessly amongst the shadows. “I will find a way to get myself out of here. It's too dangerous for anyone to come save me.”

“I'm not going to leave you here with that monster.”

“You don't have a choice.” Hearing you say this out loud, your father knew you were right. “If we disobey him, he would kill us both before we even had a chance to argue. Now come, I brought Etienne, he should have enough strength to get you to the next village from here.” You tried your best to remember the way you had come, winding up getting stuck at a few dead ends before finally stumbling into the massive foyer once more. You both looked around, the beast was nowhere in sight.

“Come, if we hurry we can get out before he-”

“Now, now.” Your blood ran ice cold at the sound of the voice. “You've both made it so far, I'd hate to have to take drastic measures.” Your breath caught in your throat as he dragged a long claw across your neck, pausing over your pulse. “Leave this place and never come back. If you do, I'll kill her and make sure you're not around long enough to tell about it.”

“Go.” You locked eyes with him, both of you understanding the severity of the situation in an instant. You stood deathly still as you watched your father slowly descend the stairs and slip out into the storm.

“Such a shame.” His claw leaves your throat, his hand harshly squishing your face. “You really are a pretty little thing. Now, you're going to be stuck here, withering away until you're nothing but an old crone.” He chuckles as he pushes your face away with his thumb. “Pathetic.”

“What are… what are you going to do to me?” You stutter.

“There's a lack of good company in this castle.” Your eyes trained straight ahead as you listened to him pad slowly behind you. “Your job is to sit there and to not get yourself into any more trouble.” He says sternly. “When I've determined whether or not you'll be of any use to me I’ll give you a more specific set of tasks.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I'll kill you.” Tears welled up in your eyes at the thought. You stared at the door, a million thoughts racing through your head. ‘Maybe if I ran I would be able to get enough of a head start to make it out.’ You jolted as a warm, soft hand wrapped around your wrist. “I wouldn't act on whatever idea is rattling around in that head of yours.” His lips pulled back into a snarl, now giving you a much clearer view of the sharp canines that filled his mouth. “The more you struggle and resist the harder this is going to be for you.”

“So you're just going to keep me as your prisoner until I die alone in that cell?” You spit at him.

“Oh, that all depends on you, my dear.” A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, sending a shiver down your spine. “If I hadn't caught your father stealing from my prized garden with his filthy hands neither of us would be in this mess, now would we?” He grabs you harshly by your shoulder, dragging you up the hallways behind him. “If you want to take the place of a thief you are to be treated like a thief. You can either behave and accept the consequences and make your time here much easier on yourself or you can scream and cry and carry on like I'm expecting you to do. But trust me sweetheart, I am not a very patient man, it would do you well to be in your best behavior if you want to continue to have any hope of ever getting out of here alive, do I make myself clear?” You're roughly shoved to a stop, your shivering form now standing in front of the same dimly lit prison cell that had previously held your father. You stumble slightly as he shoves you inside, the door slamming loudly behind you.

“I'll bring you a meal in the morning, until then I don't want to hear a sound out of you.” He gives you a warning look before slinking into the darkness. You stood in silence, the only sound came from your shaky breath bouncing off the walls. The slow squeak of the hinges closing on the door below signaled that you were left alone. You took a few steps backwards, your shoulders bumping into the wall before you slowly slid to a sitting position. A steady drip of water splattered against the floor overhead, the soft squeaking of the rats that poked around curiously just outside of your cell made your skin crawl. You were in a complete state of shock. Just this morning you were harvesting berries from the garden to make preserves for the market in town, now you weren't sure if you would ever see the light of day again. What felt like days had passed when in reality it had only been a couple of hours. You huddled into the back corner of your cell as you heard the door open once more. You perked up at the sound of two voices you didn't recognize bickering from the stairwell below.

“I cannot believe he would do something so… so… revolting! To lock anyone away up in this old tower, especially a lady-”

“Sunny, you're acting like His Royal Highness is some sort of lap dog. Just be happy she’s still alive. The last time someone stole from his garden it didn't end up nearly as pretty.” Two tall figures stepped into view, the hallway too bright for you to make out any defining features. “oh, look at her, the poor thing is terrified.” The female voice of the pair coos.

“Honestly,” her male counterpart snaps, “for a king he has absolutely no manners!” A heavy key is slotted into the lock, the door quickly opened as one of the figures steps inside. Long white sleeves billow down his stick thin arms, a red velvet vest embroidered in gold thread molded perfectly to his torso, a pair of striped pants in matching colors ballooned at his ankle. Golden points whirred around your saviors face, a permanent smile carved into the features of what you were assuming was a mask. “My dear girl, are you alright?” He cautiously offers his hand to you, not wanting to startle you by moving too quickly.

“Who-” your brow furrowed as the second figure stepped into the light. You're met with the sight of a long snout tipped with a shiny black nose, her long, multi-colored hair tied into a long braid down the middle of her back. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sundrop,” the jester smiles warmly at you. “And this is Roxanne.” He motions to the wolf behind him. “Before we get ahead of ourselves, what might your name be? Our lovely little captive.” He helps you to your feet, Roxanne keeping her distance from you as you mumble out your name in response to Sundrop’s question.

“You do know you're going to get in a lot of trouble if you take her out of here, His Majesty is not going to be pleased.” Roxanne shoots Sundrop a warning expression.

“And when did you become so uptight? You're really going to let her freeze up here just because he's having a bad night?” He argued with her.

She sighs, shaking her head in response. “No, no that wouldn't be right.” She picks up the candle, holding it out in front of her to light your path. “Let’s bring her to Moon, he’ll have a better chance of keeping her hidden until you can figure out a plan to explain yourself.” You found yourself tucked safely in between the two of them, both of them surveying every darkened hallway and slightly ajar door as they led you through the empty castle halls. You eventually came to a stop in front of a wooden door that looks no different than the other hundred you had already passed. Roxanne reaches out, softly tapping against the barrier with one of her claws. There was a loud crash, followed by some muffled cursing as whoever was inside made their way over.

“Roxanne, I thought I specifically told Sun-”

“I know you're busy, but this is urgent. Your brother,” she shoots an accusatory look towards Sundrop, “has decided to get himself directly involved in the King’s affairs.” There was a tense silence as Sundrop stared back at whoever was on the other side of the door, still blocked from your view.

“You can't be serious.” The voice sighs before letting out a small sound of distress. “What was it this time? Knocked over one of the busts in the hall? Trying to get back at him for calling you unfunny-”

“That has nothing to do with it and you know-”

“Gentlemen!” Roxanne cuts off the argument before it has much of a chance to get started. “You can fight later, it's only a matter of time before he figures out that she's left her cell.” The hidden figure clambered into the hall, paling when he saw you standing alongside the others.

“You took one of his prisoners?” He whispers harshly in Sundrop’s face.

“I am not just going to leave a poor young woman up there to freeze to death. I will do whatever the King asks of me but I will not let him torment an innocent bystander.” He instantly rebuttals. “He’ll come around, I just need to warm him up to the idea.”

“Or he'll dismantle you the moment he gets his paws on you.” His brother scoffs.

“Moon, you know as well as I do, what that man needs is a companion. He's spent so long locked up in this god forsaken castle for so long that all he has left is us.” Moondrop’s gaze drifts over to you, his expression softening as he studies your terrified features.

“You are to go smooth this over at once. I'll keep her here with me in the meantime.” Sundrop thanks his brother excitedly, Moon pressing a comforting hand in between your shoulders as he guides you through the door. “Make sure he understands that this was your doing and not hers.” Moon warns before hurrying you inside, leaving your fate entirely in the hands of these three strangers you had just met.

Tag List: @yellowbunnydreams @zoey5252 @loudchaosking @weirdoartist21 @residentevilbeast @lokanda @emmbny @yukkkiki @dij-ology @maria-moll (if I missed you or you would like to be added please let me know!)

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 3 months

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[dark! vampire x reader]

A/N: It's been some time since I last wrote a monster short fic, but let's write an imagine! For this one, I may write something a bit longer. but enjoy otherwise!

Warnings of: brief mentions of the death of a sibling, manipulation, psychological manipulation, gaslighting, blood drinking, Stockholm syndrome

The death of your brother comes as a surprise to those in the family and close relatives. He was relatively healthy for his age, active and not a drinker or smoker, so when he had fallen ill rather quickly with what the physician said was consumption, your heart was shattered, never to be the same it was before.

His funeral came and went, relatives you were familiar with and some you hadn't seen in years came and went, though one had caught your eye who you had not recognised as either friend or kin.

He almost blended himself at the back of people when the coffin was being lowered, and you had overserved him silently, thankful the dark veil that covered your face didn't show you were watching him.

His garbs were black as the rest of those around you, though some of the trim on his jacket had a crimson embellish, a pair of black glasses perched so you could not tell who he was looking at.

With long sandy blond locks tied back, pale skin and a lean tall build, he seemed ethereal, an angel who was there to take your brother's hand up to Heaven.

By the end, it had been him who came over to you, telling you how deeply sorry he was for the death of your brother, and how he was a good friend. He gave you his name, Sir Claude Spencer, a mentor and teacher to your brother during his studies.

It came to you as a surprise, seeing how young the man looked in front of you, and you could not guess him to be someone with years or even decades of academic knowledge stored in his mind.

Nothing otherwise told you this man was odd for being there, for if he was your brother's friend, he could be trusted. You felt rather sorry for how you poured your emotions and sorrows onto him, a man you had just met that otherwise consoled you for the rest of the day.

Claude was everything a gentleman should've been: thoughtful with his words, calm and collected. His voice was a soft timbre as he spoke to you as if treating a dying or sick animal. He was there for you when no one else was, and you could not believe how easy it was that you could put your trust in him so quickly.

Maybe it was the grief, and it had pushed you over the edge, but Claude had promised that if you needed refuge or a place to stay to clear your mind, his was always open. He lived in the Spencer estate, given to him after the death of his late father – he told you – so he did not have any next of kin he could pass it down to.

Though you were grateful for the offer, you could not imagine living with a confirmed bachelor, yourself young and ready to be wedded yet no man had thought you the one to catch their eye.

It didn't come as a surprise when you took him on his offer, writing to him a week later that you would come, and he was even more excited to have you there.

"I shall await day and night for when you come. Yours faithfully, Claude."

The Spencer manor was a drab sight, however, with few staff who worked only during the days and none staying at night. You greeted them all warmly when you climbed out of the stagecoach, with none but Spencer's butler, Arthur there to greet you coolly.

"The Master is resting at the moment, but he shall see you at dinner tonight."

It was odd, but he seemed to be a busy man, so you didn't think much of it. Instead, you were treated like glass, given a tour around the entirety of the manor, before being shown where you were staying.

It was shocking when you came to be told that the Master bedroom was only down the hall from you... Claude's room.

When dinner came, you dressed as best as you could despite still wearing black. When greeted with the sight of Claude, it seemed as if all your troubles and worries had melted away. He too, looked relieved and delighted to have you here.

Dinner came and went and your exhaustion had come with a heavy toll, but Claude was not disappointed that you needed to go to bed. For a man as young as he looked, he did not seem to tire as easily as you did, but it did concern you that he rested during the day.

Claude kissed your hand gently with a goodnight, leaving you giddy and looking forward to getting to know him more throughout your stay.

It didn't take long before you started seeing the signs that something was off not just about the manor, but of the staff and Claude. Arthur said that he was sensitive to the light, that he had sleep terrors and was always tired during the day, or that he was reading all night and could never get any sleep. His changed between staff that you did get a chance to ask, some with worrying, wary looks as they rushed off before you could ask anything else.

You also realised, Claude rarely ate. When you too did eat, his plate was always untouched, and it made you cautious that had he poisoned you? No, he wouldn't do such a thing. The only thing that he had was a cup that you assumed was wine, constantly refilled as if he needed it like a lifeline.

You heard the noises at night, some down the hallway just outside your room, lurking in the darkness like a beast that prowled, other times, you heard scratching at your window, keeping you up nearly all night. When you told him or Arthur, they told you it was the old pipes or a dog was loose in the yard, or the wind was bad that night, but... why was it the case for every night?

When your worries began to build, and you debated whether you should stay any longer, it was Claude who dispelled them quickly, giving reminders that you were still in mourning, that you were in no right state to travel or go back to your family. He told you to take each day slowly, and that he appreciated it if you took the chance to get used to the estate.

But something told you he was right, that you needed a break from the world and he would be there to help you through it.

You complied nonetheless, though, you believed you were doing it more for himself than you. Claude displayed affection that you thought only a husband would show to his wife: longing stares and touches that lingered for longer than expected.

He had any reason to touch you, brush something out your face that wasn't there, hold your hand, and guide you through the gardens once the sun had set.

His touches soon grew bolder, experimenting with your reactions, especially when one night, instead of kissing your knuckles, he kissed your cheek instead.

It left you in a daze, confused about your relationship: was he a friend or did you see him more than that? It couldn't have been like that, he was being kind, wasn't he?

It came to one night when the howling, the screaming, and the scratching haunted your waking dreams that you had to step out, regretting it immediately.

The sight of Claude seemed normal at first, apart from the gurgled noises that came from him and the figure he was clutching. At first, it seemed he was in the tight embrace of a lover, your heart tightening almost jealously before you noticed that his mouth was attached to the woman's neck, ravaging at her flesh like a starved beast.

You didn't know if you dared make a noise at the scene in front of you, watching in horror and dread at the way Claude did not resemble the man you called dearest friend. He resembled a creature of the night, a living nightmare in front of you.

You slammed the door shut to your bedroom before you could watch any further or be caught, and you knew the noise echoed down the hallway to alert Claude he had been caught, yet, there was no movement outside your door to tell you he was standing there.

You didn't open the door until morning, having stayed up all night, packing your bags and telling yourself you would leave the moment the first sign of sunlight peeked through your curtains.

It surprised you awfully when you opened the door, being greeted by the sight of Claude at your door.

It seemed that everything seemed normal, apart from his dishevelled hair, his eyes tired and his skin pallid. He didn't seem like the calm man he was when you first met him, instead, his mask had lifted, and he seemed almost fearful, frantic, desperate.

He asked if he could come in, spotting your bags beside you, blocking your path to leave past him. Your heart was racing, terrified of what he could do if you went against him, fought your way through him. Would he do what he did to that woman?

That was when he denied it all: that you were hallucinating, that you were still grieving and you needed—no, he needed you to stay with him. It was for your safety, that you had to stay with him or else he would truly lose it all.

You were convinced you saw him bleeding a woman dry from her neck, but Claude was adamant you were wrong, saying it was lack of sleep. That the noises had made you paranoid.

Had you truly imagined it all?

Claude smoothed your worries, whispering sweet nothings that he couldn't live without you, that he promised you the world, his love, your hand in marriage, anything to keep you with him.

It was so much, and his sweet words calmed your worries enough that when he pressed his lips to you, your mind was clouded with the love he showed you.

Maybe he was right, maybe he did need you: you both were grieving for your brother and friend. It only made sense that two souls were bound to be together, to help one another with their torment.

Perhaps, staying for a little longer to cradle his love didn't seem so bad after all.

#exophilia #monster exophilia #monster writing #monster lover #my writing #vampire boyfriend #vampire imagine #dark! vampire #yandere vampire #yandere monster #vampire x reader

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purriteen · 2 months

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Ad victor spolia, chapter five

content warnings: incest, manipulation, eventual Stockholm Syndrome, toxic & dark!Coriolanus Snow (as if that isn't his default), named!reader, ANGST, eventual smut, non-con, age gap (5-6 years), somnophilia

author’s note: it's been like a month but have this double release I'm feeling generous (crappy proofreading/editing, be warned)

word count: 3,476

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Your head is throbbing from the hangover. You only vaguely recognise the room you're in, with the large Palladian windows and exquisite furniture you're pretty sure it's the master bedroom, and the arm that drapes over your torso as you realise your back is pressed against a warm, distinctly male body.

You're startled at first, and when you turn around to find that it's Coriolanus, in a pair of pyjama pants and a loose sleeping shirt, you hardly feel any better about the situation. It takes you a minute to register that he's awake, blush spreading on your cheeks like wildfire when his eyes meet yours.

You feel so exposed like this, groggy and hungover, in the now wrinkled black slip dress that offers you little coverage. You can't even remember taking your ballgown off in the first place.

"Silia? You're finally awake. I was worried about you, after what happened last night," He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Without all that product in it, his curls have returned. He must've had time to shower sometime between your blackout and now.

Your brows furrow, anxiety building in your chest at his words. "What do you mean, after what happened last night..?" You inquire, although you're not sure you want to know. The whole scenario looks so incredibly wrong. But you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt - how likely is it really that anything would've happened?

Even if it weren't so immoral and disgusting, your brother being intimate with anyone is just unthinkable to you. At most, he'd probably have attended one of those decadent gentlemen's clubs, if he didn't have so much to lose, being the President and all.

The thought appalls you - but it's not just the idea of him partaking in exploiting the less fortunate women in the Capitol, there's something more to it that you can't quite put your finger on. You push it aside for now; you have bigger, more urgent problems to deal with.

He appears deep in thought for a second, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows thickly. "Coryo? What happened last night?" You repeat, this time with more urgency in your voice. You shift into a sitting position, your thoughts running wild with ideas of whatever awful thing could have landed you here, making it impossible for you to stay in that half-asleep state.

He finally looks up at you, stretching out one of his hands to stroke your cheekbone. There's something about the look on his face that makes him seem pained, wounded.

"You got.. very intoxicated. One of my men found you in the corridor just outside the ballroom, with a low-ranking gamemaker. They caught him red-handed, trying to.. to take advantage of you."

His words start to sink in, and a wave of nausea washes over you at the thought.

Someone had tried to force themselves onto you.

Someone who was likely a friend or at least a colleague of Remus. Who'd possibly even worked with your brother at one point, when he was a gamemaker intern.

"I'm so sorry, Hersilia, I shouldn't have let you get so drunk in the first place, I had your glass checked for any trace of drugs, of being laced with anything, but the lab couldn't find anything. I should've kept a closer eye on you, protected you from anyone who might even think of laying a hand on you.." His voice trembles, and you're surprised to see your brother so raw, so different from his usually so very controlled self. You hardly even recognise him, but you can't help but think that you should be used to it by now.

You find yourself in a tight embrace, feeling both unsettled by his strong arms wrapping around you like a vice, a snake, yet somehow safer. It takes you a minute to muster up the courage to speak.

"Did.. did he do anything?" You try not to let your fright show, but your voice comes out a hoarse whisper. He finally lets go, and shoots you a concerned, puzzled look. He takes a deep breath before talking again. "How much do you actually remember of what happened? You were barely conscious when they brought me to you."

You try and think it over. But the last thing you remember is sneaking off to the powder room to gossip with an old classmate of yours. Idesta Harrington. She'd been a childhood friend, although you hadn't stayed in touch since you seemed to run in different circles once you'd gone off to the Academy.

Although a lot had changed, she was one of the few whom Coriolanus did not deem 'beneath the Snow name' or otherwise not suitable to be around you. You knew he'd been in the same grade as her older brother, nicknamed Pup, too. You couldn't for the life of you remember anything distinct about him.

"Everything after I went to the ladies room with Dessie is just.. gone. Blank. Don't remember any of it," You try to speak, but this time a sob gets caught in your throat, the shame and shock you felt threatening to spill over.

Coriolanus takes note of this. He's relieved, but not particularly surprised that you believe him. It very well could have happened anyways - with how wasted and vulnerable you'd been. He'd have to figure out how to deal with the imaginary attacker later.

Perhaps he'd have to choose from one of the actual gamemakers to banish to the districts, or he could take one of the few Capitol-born traitors currently awaiting punishment. He'd have to probe doctor Gaul for which member of the team she'd be least upset about losing.

Whatever he needed to do to show you that he would always be the one to keep you safe, to reinforce what he already knew but had yet to get through your disgracefully thick skull. Truthfully, Coriolanus didn't know why he was so protective over you sometimes.

"You were discovered before he could do anything to really hurt you. I would've never forgiven myself if.." He trails off, letting you believe he struggled to even say it aloud. It worked as intended, and you practically throw yourself into his arms, gripping his shoulder tight.

"It's not your fault, Coryo," You insist, sobs wracking through you as you hold onto him.

He didn't necessarily enjoy seeing you so frightened, so distressed, but he felt powerful like this. You had never once made him feel unsure or lesser than in the way Lucy Gray did. You were so much easier, safer to love. He relished the feeling.

"I know, dove. But I was so worried," He sighs, petting your hair as your head rests on his shoulder, burrowing into his pale neck. You allow the almost overwhelming, but familiar scent of roses that followed him around to comfort you somewhat.

"I didn't want you to sleep alone, I'm sorry, I just couldn't let you out of my sight. My conscience wouldn't let me," He kisses the top of your head, and you nod in understanding.

You don't question even for a second that what he's saying is the truth. You hadn't seen him so distressed ever. Even when he sat you down and explained that he had enlisted all those years ago, or the prospect of selling the penthouse, he had been more so embarrassed and shut-off than distressed, like he was now.

You find yourself thinking that maybe you'd misjudged him. Maybe, he was just as damaged and conflicted as you, rather than evil through and through. Torn between his protective, caring instincts and the ruthlessness his career of choice demanded. You try to scour your emotions, looking for anything that stood out or suggested otherwise, but you find nothing tangible.

Something about the situation still feels wrong, though. You just can't figure out what. You chalk it down to the shock of finding out about the danger you'd been rescued from last night. Everything he'd said made perfect sense in your head - he'd even respected you enough to leave your clothes on, instead of giving you the bath you truthfully needed by now. And why would he lie about such an awful thing? He wouldn’t go that far.

As he cradled your trembling form in his arms, you knew that this, this was the Coriolanus you cherished and loved. The one who made you feel so safe and doted on and adored, even in the darkest of times. For the first time in many years he felt like the Coryo you remembered from your childhood again.

A couple weeks had passed since then. The two of you had grown closer, largely thanks to Coriolanus' unwillingness to let you leave his side. You couldn't blame him for that, though - he seemed perhaps even more traumatised by what happened that night than yourself. You couldn't bear the thought of worrying him even more, and since you didn't have much to do anyways, you complied. You figured the paranoia would fade sooner or later.

But he'd taken it a step further by insisting on assigning you security detail for whenever he wasn't around as well, even inside the house. You'd grown quite fond of the first one he assigned, Salomon, though you just called him Sal for short. He was around your brother’s age, short but stocky, with buzzed chestnut brown hair that appeared reddish in the sunlight. You knew because he'd always follow you around on the sunny afternoons you spent tending to the part of the garden Coriolanus had allowed you to make your own. You'd enjoyed listening to his anecdotes from 'back home', which in his case was district four. It was so unlike your life in the Capitol.

But one day, Salomon was gone, just as you'd started to really warm up to him. In his place was a tall, broad-shouldered man who appeared to be in his thirties, but his face was rough, hardened and his storm grey eyes, devoid of any pop of colour, looked as if he himself might as well have witnessed the chain of disastrous events that had led to North America becoming Panem. A cold, cut-throat military man. He was a man of few words, watching over you like a hawk and bringing an uncomfortable, prickly tension with his presence into your everyday life.

You attempted to bring it up with your brother over dinner. He'd coolly explained that it was for your own safety - Salomon had only been a placeholder until he had found someone better suited to keep you safe, someone he could fully entrust with your safety. Still, you'd pleaded your case of how you missed the company Sal provided, and Coriolanus promised you that he would find more time for you outside of work to make up for it personally.

He didn't seem to grasp the concept of you desiring a social life outside of him, which was beyond concerning, but for now you figured that was the best you would achieve. After months of feeling so confused and nothing short of isolated, you were much too exhausted to risk going back to that by confronting him.

Although the both of you had warmed up to each other more as of late, he was still rigid in his decisions - Coriolanus always needed to have the last word. You tried to accept him as he was, and you even felt as though he might be letting up on his sometimes overly controlling tendencies on his own. Just a little bit, enough to give you a spark of hope.

However private Centho, as you'd come to find out he was called, even after a week, still brought malaise to your life every time you had to be alone with him. You couldn't bear it. Finally, you'd come to an agreement with your brother - inside the safety of the presidential palace, you would be allowed privacy. No more security detail. You figured the storm had blown over by now and that was that.

Yet, now that he could no longer station someone outside your bedroom door at night, the deal came with the condition that you would instead sleep in his every night. He had arranged for the staff to bring you a spare bed that was placed a couple feet away from his own. But somehow you always woke up to find yourself snuggled up to him every morning, without fail.

At first you told yourself it was just the winter chill. His bedroom was large and airy with massive windows, so you figured that made the most sense. But the snow had started to melt away bit by bit already, and regardless, you were provided with infinite warm pyjama sets and bedding. That was no excuse.

Perhaps it was the size and roughness of the mattress. It was of the highest quality you'd find in a folding bed, but it didn't compare to the comfort offered by the plush, extravagant bed you'd grown accustomed to. You wondered if you were starting to become spoiled.

The whole situation reminded you of a book you'd read when you were little, one of the many that you had been forced to burn in the fireplace to keep warm during the dark days. It was about a princess who'd been tested to see if she was noble enough to marry a lonely foreign prince, using a single pea that was placed under tens of mattresses stacked on top of each other. If she was worthy, she'd feel the pea when she laid down through all of those layers.

You'd imagined that one day, when your family was by some miracle no longer dirt poor, you might get to marry a 'prince' too. Of course, there was no such thing as royalty in Panem. That belonged in the old world. Here, you didn't need a title to be important - you needed money and influence.

Finally, you'd had to come to the conclusion that in truth, it was his warmth, his embrace that you were after. He was often too busy for you in the daytime, and although you enjoyed getting to spend more time with Eugenie again, you wanted him. It was his company you were after.

You'd missed out on so much when you were little - first, he was always studying, and then after he'd graduated the academy, he was all about both studying and building his career. You wanted to finally get a chance to bond with him, properly this time. The real him.

But once he brings you to the cell your supposed attacker is being held in, you begin to feel that perhaps, he's just as unpleasant if not more beneath the surface.

You vaguely recognise the man, although you can't quite put your finger on it.

Then it hits you like a bucket of ice falling over your head. Romulus. Romulus Dolittle, the youngest son of your former neighbours. He'd been your first friend, you first crush, your first and only kiss. Even if it had just been a quick peck.

Despite the glass wall separating you from the gaunt, bludgeoned prisoner you once called your friend, you can tell he knows exactly who you are, too.

"This, is Romulus Dolittle. You might remember him from the Corso, before his family moved away. Regardless," Coriolanus is clear-spoken and seems entirely unfazed at the sight of the bloody pulp right before your eyes, as if this was a daily occurrence for him.

You can feel bile rising in your throat at the thought that it very well could be - is your brother the one who did this to him? Had he personally made the poor man's life a living hell on the daily?

"You don't expect me to believe that he attacked me, do you?" You interrupt before you can even consider your words. Coriolanus' jaw ticks as he turns to look at you, and you feel as if you want to crawl out of your own skin.

He puts on a cold, thin-lipped smile. When he speaks again it's in an overly calm, smooth tone, as if explaining a complicated subject to a small, petulant child.

"If you had let me finish, you'd know that he is not here under suspicion of attacking you. He was involved in a rebel conspiracy." He explains, the disdain in his voice as he utters those last two words barely concealed.

Your fingernails dig into the skin of your palms as you resist the urge to claw your brother's eyes out. The hint of a self-satisfied smirk in his eyes tells you he knows just as well that the bloody pulp of a man was innocent.

"Why are you showing me this?" You manage to keep a steady tone, feigning nonchalance as best as possible. And although he plays along, you can tell Coriolanus is not buying it. He turns away from you again, facing the glass barrier separating you from the supposed traitor once more.

"Because, Hersilia. You must understand, that even those you trust the most, even your oldest friends, will betray you and everything that the Capitol stands for, if they believe it is in their best interest." He begins, and the urge to tear the flesh off of his smug face returns for a brief moment.

Then you watch as two peacekeepers enter the cell, dragging Romulus out in chains.

"Tomorrow, after he has been cleaned up, the very first public execution in the history of the Capitol will take place."

The whole encounter left you in a state of shock. Once you'd returned to the manor and finally calmed down a bit, your brother had played the recording of Romulus' confessing to the crime, although you could tell by how hoarse his voice that he'd been screaming before. It was likely brought on by torture at the hands of the peacekeepers guarding him.

You could tell Coriolanus was trying to twist the situation in his favour, as he always did. But this was all too much. You felt as if he was taking you on a sick rollercoaster that would only lead you into your impending death.

You knew you couldn't go on like this. You had to do something about it. But how?

Meanwhile, Coriolanus could feel you slipping away from him. He must've taken it too far, and above anything too soon, with showing you Romulus' fate. He thought he could take advantage of your inevitable breakdown to reinforce his status as being the one to comfort you and care for you no matter what, but it seemed that this time, he couldn't.

He did everything he could, against your will he held you as you cried until your eyes dried up, allowed you to wander about the house more freely, he had even given you permission to go into town without him again so long as you brought someone with you. And Centho was finally off your back no matter the unease he felt at being unable to watch over you through that man's observations.

He'd instead opted to give you a diary of sorts to write your thoughts down in, an elegant black leather book with a silver padlock and your name engraved in cursive. Hersilia Honoria Snow. He figured that if you were going to insist on shutting yourself off from him, you might instead turn to something else, and he would much rather see to it that he was in control of that variable rather than give you true freedom.

But, you refused to write anything, and the spare key he had neglected to tell you about only provided him with two hundred blank pages worth of insight.

You had stopped making small talk with him almost entirely. All you did was ask too many questions about Romulus, asking to see Tigris, trying to convince him to let you spend time with Persephone and Remus again. He had to remind you that Remus and his family was only spared from execution because of the scandal their deaths would otherwise cause, and that quickly shut you up. Coriolanus doubted the man would be keen on spending time with someone who falsely accused his little brother and got him killed regardless.

He on the other hand was pleased to have smashed two birds with one stone. No more cannibal friends, no more sleeping on your own and leaving him in the dark. But he needed you to trust him again. Everything had been going so well until now.

So he gave in. You would finally get to see your dear cousin again and get some well needed answers.

Well, you wouldn't get any of those, but you didn't need to know that. Yet.

taglist: @caffeine-addict-slug, @phoward89, @catesbaroquecasahouse, @priyajoyy, @euphemiaamillais @harvey-malfoy

#banner credit: @benkeibear #minors dni #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow x you #named reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas fanfiction #thg fanfiction #eventual smut

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wjhik · 10 months

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Like Before (Jude Bellingham) *Smut*

A/N: first smut

Y/N's POV:

I have some mixed emotions about tonight. Jude is taking me out for the first time since the birth of our baby, or I'm letting Jude take me out for the first time since I've given birth should I say. It's been 2 months since I've given birth to our beautiful baby boy. Jude has been trying to convince me to go out for the past two weeks. Postpartum depression has hit me like a truck. He's planned a fun night of clubbing and dancing and getting wasted with our friends. I haven't seen them since I gave birth. He's made me pump enough milk to feed the baby for the next two days, so I'm able to drink, even though I don't really want to. (anti fetal alcohol syndrome in tis house)

"Jude, do I really have to come? You go ahead. I'll stay home with the baby." I tell him, walking fresh out of the shower. "Jobe and mum are already on the way to watch him. Jobe told me he gave up a 'hot date' to watch the baby tonight. He would kill me if I canceled. Love, it'll be okay. You need to get out of the house." He tells me, looking up from his phone. He looks so good right now. His back is propped up on the headboard with his legs stretched out, crossed over each other. He finished his shower a little while before mine. He's only wearing his boxers and I can't help but look down. "Eyes are up here, love." He says, smirking at me. "Sorry." I say, embarrassed. I turn away from him, shielding my eyes. "Baby." He extends the end of his words. He gets up and puts a hand on my shoulder and turns me around. "You've seen everything." He says, bending his knees to get to eye level with me. My hormones have been all over the place, but I brush him off and start getting ready. Jude leaves the room to occupy the baby.

I sit down at my vanity and start getting ready. I start with my skincare. First, I apply my serums, moisturizer, then primer. I then put my foundation and blend it out. I put on some concealer to cover up my very sleep deprived eyes. I contour my face. My favorite part, blush. I apply a liquid blush to the high points of my cheeks. Now for powder. I use a translucent powder underneath my eyes and carve out my contour. Then I apply powder contour and powder blush, tracing over the places I put the liquid version of the product. I let it sit for a little, then I spray setting spray. I go in with my very sparkly highlighter. Now I do my eyes. I put on my mascara and falsies. I do a dark black smokey liner. That's what made me feel the sexiest before. Now I do my lips. I line them with a dark crimson liner, and then top it off with red lipstick. I look in the mirror and sadden. I used to feel like the prettiest girl in the world when I did this, now I feel more than horrid.

I decide to leave my hair natural, mainly because I don't think I physically have the energy to do my hair after doing my makeup for an hour and a half. I simply put my products in it and diffuse it, which in itself is a task, due to its length. I put on all of my jewelry and one of Jude's t-shirts. I know his mum and brother are coming home, so I choose one that's long enough to be decent. I hear the doorbell ring.

I walk outside to meet my mother and brother-in-law. I see Jude hugging them at the door and welcoming them in. "Hello, love!!" Denise says, excitedly. It's been a while since I've seen her. She knows what I was going through, so when she found out I was going out with Jude, she was thrilled. I pull her into a hug. I then move to hug Jobe. We make some small talk before I start running them through how to take care of the baby. I trust them, but I can't help but worry. I show Jobe and Denise where we keep everything, where the milk is, how to work our unnecessarily complicated changing table. As Jobe and Denise were talking and I was listening to their conversation, Jude whispers in my ear, "Why aren't you wearing that dress I got you?" He bought me a beautiful, long, black ysl dress. It has a square neckline and long sleeves. It hugs my figure, which is what I'm scared of. The last time I was seen in something like that was before my pregnancy. I worked hard for the body I had back then, and I let it go. I deserve to let it go. I did have a baby, but the media has no mercy. "It's a bit much for your family, no?" I tell him. It's quite conservative, but it was the first excuse that came to mind. Jude made it a point to not take me too far out of my comfort zone. "You lot should get going." Jobe points out.

I go into my bedroom and change my dress and shoes. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My belly is sticking out. I'm trying to remind myself that this is normal. I brought life into this world. This is a sign of my baby boy. It's hard to keep yourself confident when all you are is 'Jude Bellingham's Fat Pregnant Wife', according to headlines. "Hey, mama." Jude wraps his arms around my waist, kissing my neck. "You look so beautiful." He rubs his hands over my belly. He knows what I'm thinking about without saying it. I interrupt his sweet nothing in my ears and say, "Are you sure we have to go out tonight?" Jude simply grabs my arms and pulls me out of the room. He picks up my phone and purse on the way out. He pushes me out the door. As he's pushing me through the house I hear a series of praises coming from his mum. These two know how to make a girl feel good.

We finally get to the club. Jude ushers me through the dance floor, up to the vip section, where our friends were. We greet them and I sit down with my girls. "So, how are you and Jude?" "I'm sure your sex is amazing. It's been so long for you two." "I'm sure hes been giving it to you good lately." These girls have been drinking. It's hard being the first to have kids in your friend group. "We haven't had sex yet." I tell them. "What?!" "Why?!" They ask me. "How can you have sex with a guy you feel like you don't deserve? I've put on so much weight since getting pregnant, and he's only gotten fitter." I confess to them. "Babes, are you joking?! If anything, you've only gotten sexier. You had his baby!!" One of them says. "Jude hasn't been able to keep his hands off you since you got pregnant. He's so in love with you. Everything your body has been through is because of him and his child. Do you know how sexy that is?" Another one chimes in. "By the way, you look incredible tonight. And if anything, Jude doesn't deserve YOU." Someone says. I can't help but hide my face in my arms and turn red. I don't deserve these girls. I just pull them all in a bear hug.

"Here ya go, love." Jude places a margarita on the table in front of me. "What's this?" I ask him, looking up. "A drink." He smiles at me and walks away, avoiding me denying it. I can't help but drink. Anyone from our group who sees me with an empty drink, will automatically refill it for me. What is happening?

I'm now very drunk. Jude is barely tipsy. "Dance with me?" Jude asks me. He sticks his hand out for me to take. I take his hand, too drunk to be conscious about how I'll look. Him and I are sensually dancing to the music. He's dancing up behind me with his hands on my waist. My hips are swaying to the beat. I slowly start grinding against him. Jude starts kissing my neck. I can feel the existing heat between my legs get even hotter. I turn around to face Jude. He kisses me. At first, it's a simple drunk, sloppy kiss, but it gradually develops into a sexy makeup session in the middle of a nightclub. "Remember when we used to do this every weekend?" I say between kisses, slurring my very intoxicated words. Jude simply moans into my mouth and continues kissing me. "Let's go home, love." Jude has booked a hotel for us to stay in tonight. He wants me to truly enjoy myself. He grabs my hand and drags me into his very fancy car.

(Smut)

Jude pushes me into our hotel room and pins me against the door. He's kissing me as he slots his knee in between my legs. I'm slowly grinding on him, trying to relive myself. He puts his hands on my ass, and slowly grabs it. He bends his knees and picks me up. He's walking me to our bedroom. "You're so beautiful." He says as he lays me down on the bed. "I love you." I say as he towers over me. He takes off his dress shirt and continues kissing me. His kisses have slowed down. He knows it's been a while. His fingers ghost over the side of my dress, where the zipper is. "Take it off." I say to him. He unzips my dress and slips it off. He looks down at my body. I'm wearing some black lingerie.

"Fuck, you're perfect." He says, kissing me. He's kissing down my body. He kisses the top of my breasts. His hands reach behind me and I arch my back up, allowing him to unclasp my bra. He takes it off my body and lightly sucks on my nipples. "Hey, that's for Y/S/N" I say to him, reminding him how drunk I am. He giggles at my state. "Fuck, Jude." I moan. My breasts are so sensitive. He moves down from my breast to my stomach. He leaves hickeys on me. He's obsessed with 'marking' me.

He moves down from my stomach to my sweet spot. Jude is kneeling over me. He's working his way up my leg, towards it. I see him getting hard. I gasp, and my body tenses, then relaxes, my head resting back on the pillow. "Oh, yes... just like that, Jude." I moan, pushing up against Jude. "I'm going to cum," I cry. "Go on then, baby. Cum on my tongue." He encourages me. He sticks 2 fingers inside me, and pushes them in and out of me. "Oh, fuck. Baby, I'm cumming." I say. Ecstasy washes over me and I buck up into Jude face. "Well, fuck." Jude says, giggling. "Oh, my god." I say, my chest heaving. Him and I are slowly giggling away. He comes up to my face and kisses me passionately.

"I don't know how much longer I can wait, baby. I want to feel you inside me." His face is a few inches away from mine, and staring deeply into my eyes. "Good, baby, I want that too." He says. He lowers his head, and kisses my lips. I wrap my arms around Jude's neck, pressing my body against his. I moan into his mouth. I feel myself pulsing. Jude shifts, getting into a better position over me.

"Please, baby. Please, fuck me. I need you so bad." I plead with him. He takes off the remaining of his clothes. His hard dick springs out of his boxers. I forgot how big he is. I am so terrified. How in fucks name did I take all of him? He's about to stick it in when I stop him. "Wait. Wait. Please go slow." I tell him, putting my hands on his lower stomach. "I'll be gentle, baby." He says as he slowly stretches me out. "Oh my fucking god..." I say, throwing my head back in the pillow. He leans down and kisses me as he pushes in deeper. He very slowly moves deeper and deeper. "Fuck. I forgot how tight you were." Jude says in a groan as he pushes all the way inside me. "Fuckk!!" I yell. He kisses my neck as he stays still. He looks at me for approval. "Move, please." I tell him, getting used to his size, but not fully. I don't think I can even get fully used to him. He starts fucking me just like how he used to. He pulls all the way about me and thrusts all the way back in at a painfully slow pace. "Please fuck me faster." I beg him. "Anything for you, love." He says, fucking me at an ungodly pace. "Baby, I think I'm going to cum." I say to him. It's been a while. I forgot how good he was at this. "Cum on my dick, baby. I just want to make you feel good." He encourages me, moving faster. I pull him in by his face and kiss his lips as I cum around him.

"I love you so much." He says kissing my forehead. We're laying together, watching a movie. I look up at him and kiss him. He's cuddling me and I'm in his shirt, like before. "I genuinely think you are the most beautiful woman on this planet." Jude goes on and on about how beautiful I am and how much he loves me until I fall asleep in his arms. Jude makes me feel so beautiful.

Wattpad: funkyfishfeet

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#football x reader #footballer x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham imagine

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sodamnradd · 10 months

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Near midnight Draco yanks his front door open, wand in hand, suspicion etched all over his face.

Hermione stands on the top step, a rather sorry cupcake melting in her hand. “You didn’t come.”

She’s zipped into a little black dress with crisscross straps all along the sides and a swooping neckline he spends a breath too long gawking at.

“You never said it was mandatory.”

She wobbles on the edge of her heel, but when Draco reaches for her, she pulls back, scowling.

“Happy birthday.” She hands him the sorry cupcake.

He stares at the sticky mushy thing and notices a goopy swirl that might be a blazing comet on a bed of Slytherin green. “What’s that?”

“A Snitch. They ate the rest at the surprise party you didn’t show up to.”

His heart sinks. “I didn’t know.”

“Rather the point of a surprise party.”

“Who was there?”

He can’t imagine anyone showing up except for maybe Potter because she’s got some kind of magnetic pull over him. Draco suspects he’s suffering from a similar syndrome. Because, say, if Granger had insisted he show up tonight, Draco would have. He almost asks why she didn’t demand it of him.

“Everyone. My friends. Yours.”

“You spoke to my friends?” he asks, jarred.

“They were amused when we thought you were late. Then they all seemed sorry for me. Thought I was delusional for misinterpreting our relationship.”

“…our… relationship…” It’s not what she means. Of course, it isn’t.

‘Our’ pangs in his brain until it becomes rhythmic. A marching band beat of our, our, our.

His eyes wander. Her outfits are never so short, though they ought to be because Granger’s thighs are magnificent. He envisions dragging icing over them and running his tongue—

His face flames. “I’m sorry, Granger. I just wanted to spend my birthday alone.”

“Why? You love to be pampered.”

True. He grins. “Were you going to pamper me?”

A curl falls over her face as she lowers her chin, and he feels the burning need to tuck it behind her ear. But as the rest tumble forward, he realises she’s hiding. His chest tightens. He feels awful for making her feel small. She’s a mammoth in his mind. All five foot two of her. All the time.

“I don’t know why I came. See you on Monday.”

He feels like an arse. A tongue-tied, idiot arse who doesn’t know what to say to her and instead blurts out: “I didn’t want to spend my birthday watching every bloke at your party try to take you home. It’s bad enough at work. But when there’s liquor and strappy dresses and your thighs… I just needed a day off.”

“A day off from me.”

“From the side-effects of spending time with you.”

“Side-effects? Like I’m some sort of disease?”

“Probably!”

“Wow, Draco.” She glowers. “Just wow.”

“Nobody makes me feel this way. My palms are always sweaty. My stomach is in knots. I can’t speak properly around you half the time. It takes ages to focus because I’ll spot a lipstick stain on your stupid S.P.E.W mug and my mind launches into space. Like this fucking comet.”

“It’s a Snitch.” She steps forward, cat-like. Close enough to smell the perfume on her neck. His trousers are suddenly too tight. And that’s before she swirls her finger through the comet-Snitch icing and draws it to her mouth. “Butterscotch.”

He gulps. His favourite.

She drags her finger through it again, offering it to him. “Want some?”

His lips part and holy shit Hermione’s finger is in his mouth and he’s seconds away from coming in his fucking pants.

He tears back.

She steps forward.

“Granger,” he snipes like a spooked animal.

“Don’t be rude, Draco. I baked them just for you.”

Oh Gods.

She dunks her finger into the cupcake again. “Just a little more.”

“Stop.”

“Be that way.” She drags her finger between her lips and makes a moaning noise that joins ‘our’ in sounds he’ll never get out of his head.

“Ask me.” She’s looking up at him with her career confidence. Mouth wet.

He shakes his head, dazed. “What?”

“You said you didn’t want to see other blokes trying to take me home. Well, here I am at your doorstep and you haven’t even asked if I’d like to come inside.”

“Would you like to come inside?” he manages roughly, wondering if he’s hallucinating.

Hermione snatches the smeared cupcake from his hand and waves at the door. “It’s still your birthday for seven minutes. Think we can make them count?”

Oh, they make them count.

(768 words, prompt: you didn't come)

#sodamnrad #dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dhr #dramione drabble #sodamnraddrabbles

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Unsolicited 1

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, more dark elements to come.

Wouldn't mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

The glass cases and sparkling gems contrast your unbelonging as you step through the elaborately decorated entry. Your imposter syndrome nips at your neck as you twist the strap of your purse, the brown leather faded and cracked.

You swallow and look around. Unlike the rest of the mall, the shop is mellow and nearly empty.

You pick at your wooly cuff poking out from under your puffer coat. You go to the counter where a woman in a black turtleneck dress smiles flirtily at another customer. He looks like he belongs, though you're not a fan of the mustache. He chuckles as she helps clip a gold watch around his wrist.

"Does it bring out my eyes?" He kids as he puts his arm straight and pushes his shoulders back.

"They don't need help," the associate, her name, Kelsey, etched on her silver name tag, "it suits you."

"Mm, sure, you're not just saying that for the commission, are you?" He holds out his arm for her to unclasp the watch, his dark jacket is no doubt designer, if not tailored to his tapered torso.

You tune out their back and forth, the superficial exchange only adding to your displacement. You have a budget and a mission. You want to be in and out before you can dwell on everything you can't afford.

You peer through the glass at the Rolexes, casios, and Tom Ford pieces. Your eyes wander, looking for another employee to fetch your purchase. You don't want it to sell before you can get your hands on it. The silver watch with the sapphire face is exactly like the picture saved on your phone.

You lean forward trying to see behind the tall counter then pace to the corner and around the rear of the store. There is only the security guard at the door, watching shoppers mill by. You go back to the front where the customer continues his playful tet-a-tet.

You sigh and cross your arms, heat gathering in your thick coat. Your scalp speckles damply and you sway as your patience dwindles. The man browses the cufflinks as he asks advice on style.

"Ahem," you swallow your reticence at last, "sorry to interrupt–"

"And yet you did," the man retorts, "you can wait your turn." His sneer is derisive as he takes you in, head to toe, almost revolted by your dumpy attire. "That is if you can afford it."

"Excuse me, I…" your voice crackles and you shrug away the insult, "I'm sorry, just, when you have a moment."

You step away and drop your arms as you pretend to look at the earrings. The man scoffs and the associate gives a tinkly giggle.

"You know what would look good on you," the man says as you look out through the open wall into the mall, "pearls."

"Pearls?" Kelsey preens.

"Oh, yes, a nice little necklace around that pretty neck," he intones.

"I don't know, aren't pearls kind of… outdated?"

"Not the ones I have in mind."

You cringe at his entendre and roll your eyes. You should just leave. You really don't have the money. A year of scrimping and saving and for what? Colin doesn't care if you give him gold or a card, he's just happy with whatever.

Still, he deserves it. You just want him to feel special. For one day. To feel like he didn't settle, like maybe, he got the prize.

"You hold onto those for me, sweetheart," the man's voice carries in the vacant shop, "I'm gonna have a look at the tie pins."

You turn your head to watch his figure from the corner of your eye. He sidles around the other side of the store and you spin around. You go to the counter as Kelsey puts away a tray of cufflinks.

"Hi, yeah, if you don't mind I wanted this silver watch," you point over to where you found it.

"Sure, sorry about the wait. We're a bit short staffed at the moment," she smiles, "um, which one was it?"

"This one," you shift over and point over it, "with the blue."

She takes out the watch and brings it onto the counter. "Is it for someone special?"

"My husband," you smile, "he needs a new one. He got a new job so…"

"Oh, how exciting, is this the one then?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"And were you interested in the insurance plan? It includes free cleaning and battery replacement."

"Hm, how much would that be?"

"For this price range, an extra one-thirty."

"Oh," you can't hold back the impact of the number, "um, what's the total for just the watch?"

You hear a snicker and a shadow blurs in your peripheral. Kelsey goes to the till and you move along to stand across from her. The taxes are more than you expect.

"There's a Wal-Mart down the road," the man mocks as he leans on the glass, "think they might be more in your range."

You don't acknowledge him, merely biting down. What an asshole.

"I'll take the insurance, am I able to split the transaction?"

"Sure thing, how do we want to split it?"

"I'll pay for the watch in cash and the rest credit."

You put your purse on the counter and search through your clutter of receipts for your ziploc of bills. You peel open the top and start to count through the twenties, tens, fives, and hundreds, apologising for it as you do.

"You could have a good time down at the strip joint," the stranger comes closer and you turn slightly as you try to block him out. "Aw, baby, am I hurting your feelings? Maybe you could take that money and get a manicure instead? Or sort out that rat's nest."

"What do you want?" You slam down your hand as you lose count.

He smirks as you meet his eyes, bold and sparkling with amusement, "that."

"Leave me alone," you start over, frazzled as a few bills slip and flutter down to the floor. You bend to pick them up and grit your teeth as you resume your count.

"It's okay," Kelsey says, "I'll count."

You look at her and nod, pushing over the loose money and the ziplock. You take out your wallet and slide free your credit card, for emergencies only.

You wait as the man lingers closer. You wince as you feel him touch your hood and you pull away from him.

"Don't touch me. What are you doing?"

"Sir," Kelsey says as she puts the cash in her till, "please, I–"

"Mind your business," he snaps and keeps his eyes on you, "I'm just tryna figure who would marry… you?"

"Credit," you say to Kelsey as you motion with your card. She hits a button and you swipe.

"No wonder you're splurging, gotta keep him around somehow."

You key in your code and submit payment. You shakily place the card in your wallet and pack up your purse as Kelsey closes the watch box and slips it in an ivory paper bag. She tears off your receipt and staples it to the warranty.

"You gonna cry for me? Hm? Or maybe you can go home to the old man and tell him another guy actually noticed your fat ass–"

"Shut up." You snap as you swipe the bag off the counter, "I told you to leave me alone."

"Just one tear for me," he steps closer.

"Sir, please, I'll have to call security," Kelsey warns.

"You won't. I'm about to drop a month's worth of sales on you so you'll sit pretty and wait for me, dolly."

She flinches and curls her lip, fighting against her customer service smile.

"It's fine," you wave her off, "I'm leaving."

"Tell daddy you need a good fucking to get that stick out your ass," the stranger snorts after you, "if he can even find a hole."

You steam and puff your chest as you pass into the mall. Your lashes flick as your eyes sear. Just your fucking luck to run into the biggest douchebag in the place.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #unsolicited #dark drabble #dark!drabble #the grey man #the gray man #au #drabble series

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blurredcolour · 4 months

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I Wish You Love | Part One

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

Watching Miss Isobel encourage Lieutenant Nixon's affections only to ignore his letters as soon as he's deployed proves too much for you to bear.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Angst, Class Divide, Infidelity, Dishonesty, Discussion of War Wounds, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 4611

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You had met Lewis Nixon first. On a misty morning in early December 1943 when The Honourable Isobel St John’s dog, Dash III, was yet again carelessly let out of the house by the naïve kitchen maid Else. The poor girl, freshly arrived from Austria, meant well, truly. But she simply did not seem to comprehend the vastness of Lydiard Park, nor the fact that a great portion of it had become off limits, requestioned by the 101st Airborne to construct a field hospital in anticipation of the invasion of France.

Wrapping a shawl around the shoulders of your black service dress, lace collar at your throat, you had forced yourself out into the damp chill, shoes crunching on the pea gravel path as you had called out for the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Miss Isobel thought quite highly of herself, typical middle child syndrome if one were being quite honest, and had kept a series of Cavalier’s named after Queen Victoria’s own – though she preferred the Blenheim colouring to the original’s tri-coloured coat. Of all the staff, and humans, at Lydiard House, Dash III was most likely to respond to you and so this task was one with which you were quite familiar.

What you had not expected to find was the missing canine squirming in the arms of a handsome American Lieutenant, desperately trying to lick at his striking jawline.

“Dash!” You had cried out at the state of his filthy coat, the majority of the white streaked with mud.

“That’s your name, then, is it?” The Lieutenant had smirked, a label bearing the last name of ‘Nixon’ stitched onto his uniform above his left breast pocket.

“Dash the third, Leftenant.” You had gulped roughly at the broad grin that had unfurled across his features at your British pronunciation of his rank.

“Dash the third. I am Lewis Nixon the third, what destiny we should meet.” Nixon had addressed the filthy dog fondly, prompting him to squirm in delight, smearing all manner of muck onto his uniform.

“I am terribly sorry for the trouble, sir, please allow me.” You had moved to take Dash from Nixon, but the gentle shake of his head had halted your movements.

“Not at all, miss, I’m assuming this rogue Dash belongs up at the house?” He had raised an eyebrow and you had nodded quickly. “Allow me then, my clothes are meant to get dirty.” He had tucked the dog under his arm more securely and began walking back with you. “I take it this is not Dash’s first great escape?”

You had shaken your head quickly, biting back a laugh. “Unfortunately not, Leftenant. I truly appreciate your help returning him to us. Miss Isobel will be relieved.”

“And how about you?” Nixon had inquired with a grin.

You had looked to your feet quickly, the expression only making him transition from good looking to dangerously handsome. “Grateful, of course, sir.”

“And is that what I should call you? Grateful? Is that her name, Dash?” He had looked down to the dog beneath his arm, earning a warm tongue along his cheek in response.

A laugh had escaped your lips before you had introduced yourself properly as the pair of you neared the 18th century Palladian style home. “Please follow me to the kitchen door, Leftenant, I’ll need to give Dash a bath before he is unleashed upon the household.”

Nixon’s appearance in the servants’ hall had caused quite a stir, earning him an introduction to the family upstairs upon which Miss Isobel had immediately set her eyes on him. The Honourable Isobel St John was a complicated woman and while you were the same age, born in 1918, your experiences and perceptions of the world could not have been more different. Third child of Viscount Bolingbroke, what she lacked in social standing she more than made up for in entitlement.

While her parents, Bertrand and Elizabeth St John were disappointed in her unwed state at the age of twenty-five, four years into the war it was more common than not. And it was not for any lack of suitors on Miss Isobel’s part. A veritable parade of uniformed men had joined the family at the simpler dinner parties they now hosted, particularly with their eldest child and only son taken prisoner by the Japanese so early in the war. With eldest daughter Gwendoline busily running her own household with two children, and youngest Rosamund off with the Auxiliary Territorial Service, Lydiard House was held hostage by the whims and desires of Miss Isobel. And through the winter of 1943 into spring 1944 that had been Lieutenant Lewis Nixon.

From the glimpses you caught of him whilst serving cocktails and dinner, the lack of footmen pressing housemaids such as yourself into service in unusual roles, and the starry-eyed descriptions provided by Miss Isobel herself as you helped her dress and undress before said gatherings, it seemed Lieutenant Nixon fit in quite well at an upper-class table. Naturally his duties prevented him from visiting every weekend, but he was present more often than not, and as the weather grew warmer, he and Miss Isobel would take long walks on the grounds still available to the St John family, Dash happily accompanying them on a leash.

Lieutenant Nixon was polite and friendly, greeting you with a familiar nod when you would fetch Dash for his meal as they were lounging beside the lake, or throwing you a smile as you would hold out his preferred whiskey on a silver tray before dinner. But you by no means expected his generosity that rainy Sunday in mid-April. Having taken the majority of the day off for your father’s birthday, you had seen to it that Miss Isobel was dressed and on her way to breakfast, before changing into a once-colourful dress of your own, frowning as the skies opened up.

Pulling on your Macintosh, you tucked your small gift into the inside pocket before dashing out to the garage to fetch your bicycle, heading down the gravel drive toward the road into town when Lieutenant Nixon’s covered jeep pulled up beside you.

“Where are you going in this deluge?!” He peered out at you, and you swallowed.

“Good morning, Leftenant. Headed into Swindon to see my father. You’ll find Miss Isobel in the breakfast room, sir.”

Your eyes widened as he put the jeep in park, the door swinging open before he dashed around to open the tail gate. “Put your bike the back, I’ll drive you.”

“But sir, I…” You trailed off as the jacket of his uniform was growing darker with rain by the moment and found yourself unable to argue at the expense of his clothing.

You quickly dismounted and surrendered your bicycle, trying not to stare too intently as he easily hoisted it into the back before ushering you into the passenger’s seat on the right side of the vehicle – the positioning utterly foreign, but you quickly dashed inside, sliding off your hood as he jogged back to the driver’s side.

“This is truly unnecessary, Leftenant, it’s out of your way and will only delay you.” You pleaded with him once he was back under the canvas cover.

He gave you his lopsided grin, shaking his head, scattering some raindrops from his garrison cap. “Izzy’ll not even notice, let her enjoy her cold toast.”

You bit your lip savagely, well aware of the degree to which Miss Isobel loathed that nickname, yet she never seemed to correct him on it. Executing a smooth three-point turn, he aimed the jeep back toward the main road and began to drive to Swindon. “How long does it take you to cycle there?”

“About twenty minutes, sir. It’s a nice ride on a dry day.” You undid the buttons on your Macintosh, overheating in the garment, and slid it open to reveal your dress.

Lieutenant Nixon’s glance in your direction, and quick double-take, had you smoothing the hem of it against your knees self-consciously. “I’m sorry, you look lovely, I’m just so used to seeing you in black and white it’s like we’ve landed in Oz and you’re suddenly in Technicolor over there.”

The analogy was so striking that you were completely taken aback. Laughter bubbled up from your throat as you shook your head and belatedly covered your mouth as he grinned broadly, seeming quite pleased with himself.

“So, you grew up in Swindon?” Nixon asked over the sound of rain pelting the roof and windshield and you nodded quickly.

“Yes, sir.” You swallowed, hands planted in your lap as you tugged at your fingertips nervously.

“Izzy tells me you have a brother fighting in Italy, is that right?”

You looked to him, startled to learn that you had ever been a topic of conversation between him and Miss Isobel. “I do, sir.”

“Is he older or younger than you?” He took his eyes off the road to meet yours briefly, seeming genuinely interested in your answer.

“Johnny is twelve minutes older, sir.”

“Twins?!” His wide, brown eyes flashed back to yours and you nodded with a soft laugh.

“I don’t think I’ve met a twin before…” He murmured thoughtfully. “And what does your father do?”

Swallowing nervously, you glanced out the window a moment to carefully formulate your answer. “He picks up work at the Swindon Railway Works.” You replied, leaving out the part that he only did so when he was physically well enough. The loss of his leg on the Somme was a wound that had never fully healed and nagged him more and more as he got older.

“Do you get to see him often?” He asked, making the turn into town easily as you shook your head sadly.

“Not as often as I should – it’s his birthday today, though, so I asked to take most of the day a few months ago.”

“Well, wish him a happy birthday for me, will you?” He smiled and you nodded before guiding him through the streets to the simpler, working-class neighbourhood where the one-bedroom flat you’d grown up in was located.

Lieutenant Nixon parked the jeep in front of the building and the pair of you hurried out into the rain to retrieve your bicycle from the back. You had just finished thanking him profusely when you turned to see your father standing in the doorway on his crutches, not wearing prosthetic leg. It was no surprise, actually, in weather like this he found the thing extremely uncomfortable.

A look of understanding crossed Lieutenant Nixon’s face and he insisted on walking you to the door, offering his hand to shake your father’s.

“Happy Birthday, sir.”

Your baffled father had shaken it in return with his thanks, completely taken aback by the American Lieutenant on his doorstep.

“Thank you again, Leftenant.”

“It was my pleasure, enjoy your afternoon off.” He smiled and dashed back to the car as you ushered your father inside, explaining everything as you helped him to his chair.

Mercifully, when it came time for you to return to Lydiard House for the evening, the rain had eased up and you were able to cycle back without getting soaked to the skin. As you came up the drive, you spotted Lieutenant Nixon and Miss Isobel walking arm in arm, heads bent toward one another as Dash walked alongside. You dismounted quickly, trying to be discrete, but the dog turned as soon as he caught your scent, barking happily in greeting.

“Ah, you’re back.” Miss Isobel said flatly.

“Good Evening Miss Isobel, Leftenant Ni–“

“Oh, don’t be so British, it’s Lieutenant.” Miss Isobel cut you off, tone rather condescending as she slipped the leash from the Lieutenant’s grasp and held it out toward you expectantly. “Will you take Dash inside for his meal? Then I’ll see you to change for dinner.”

You hurried to close the distance, pushing your bike along with you as you took the leash from her, Dash happily wending his way between your ankles in greeting. “Certainly, Miss.” You replied patiently before excusing yourself with a curtsy, leading the dog inside, finding it rather awkward to manage the bicycle as well but after nearly ten years of serving the St John family you knew better than to test Miss Isobel.

“I think it’s charming how she says it.” You bit the inside of your cheek savagely, trying not to overhear Lieutenant Nixon’s defense of your pronunciation, particularly when Miss Isobel replied in a sultry voice.

“I’ll tell you what’s charming…” The rest of her statement was mercifully out of the range of your hearing as you tucked your bicycle away in the garage.

As the calendar flipped to May, Lieutenant Nixon’s presence became less and less frequent at Lydiard and the ever-impatient Miss Isobel’s eye began to wander. It most certainly was not your place to have an opinion, or loyalties to any of her suitors, but the presence of a RAF pilot named Shore left a sour taste in your mouth.

It was early on June 7 when the first of Lieutenant Nixon’s letters to Miss Isobel arrived. Placing it on a silver tray, you took it up first thing in the morning when you went up to dress her for the day. It sat on her vanity, unopened still, when you changed her for dinner with Captain Shore, remained there while she flirted with him brightly through the meal, and was brushed into the dust bin as you undressed her for bed. “Oh, Miss I think you…”

“That will be all, good night.” She waved her hand dismissively and you frowned, excusing yourself with a nod before stepping out of the room.

Sitting heavily on your twin bed in the attic, the metal frame creaking in protest, your brow remained furrowed as all you could picture was Lieutenant Nixon’s caring face as he had listened attentively to your answers whilst going out of his way to drive you into town. He was a kind and considerate man, not to mention excruciatingly handsome, but now that he was out of sight, he was quite simply out of Miss Isobel’s mind. For all anyone knew he could be lying dead in France somewhere by now, the news of the invasion fresh in everyone’s mind, particularly the steep toll and tenuous hold.

“You keep making that face and it’ll get stuck like that.” Helen, your roommate chided warmly, and you blinked rapidly, shaking your head to clear it with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Just overthinking things, sorry Helen. Shall I get the light?”

With her agreement, you flicked the switch off at the wall and shuffled back to bed, sliding under the covers, mulling over the conundrum of the unopened letter upstairs. You would be emptying that dustbin tomorrow morning while Miss Isobel was at breakfast. Perhaps you should rescue it in case she changed her mind. Plan formulated, you were able to get some rest and later secured the correspondence, storing it in the bottom of your suitcase.

One week later, the second letter arrived, and you took it up to Miss Isobel hopefully.

“Oh, you can stop bringing these to me, I shan’t be taking up correspondence with him.” She muttered dismissively, not even taking the letter from the tray on which you presented it to her.

Your entire body went rigid for a moment, and it took a great summoning of strength to reply, “Yes, Miss.”

“And take Dash for an extra long walk, would you, he’s been positively listless the past few weeks and the weight of his gaze is quite a bore.” She sank in the vanity chair expectantly as you glanced over at the dog, lying forgotten on his plush, velvet bed, no longer of use to her as Captain Shore was allergic.

“Yes, Miss.” Your reply was perhaps terser than it ought to be, but to your good fortune, Miss Isobel was already flipping through a magazine idly as she waited for you to begin styling her hair.

Drawing deeply from your well of restraint, you managed not to jab her scalp with any pins as you secured her hair into a set of fashionable victory rolls before you called to Dash to take him for a walk. As you descended the stairs, you took the abandoned letter from its tray and shoved it into your pocket, grabbing Dash’s leash from the backdoor in the servant’s hall and heading out for a lengthy walk of the grounds. It did both of you good to get out of that house, Dash immediately perking up, tailing wagging as he trotted to-and-fro to inspect the foliage while you worked out your frustration at the petulant child you worked for by setting a brisk pace.

You only slowed after about thirty minutes, when a sheen of sweat had gathered at your brow and your legs were beginning to ache, changing to a stroll as you circled the lake, laughing softly as Dash barked at the ducks far out in the water who paid him no mind. “I promise to bring you out here more often, you silly boy.” You muttered, sliding a hand into your pocket and blinking as you found the letter, guilt twisting like a knife in your belly. “Because there’s a lot to make up for when it comes to your mistress.”

Swallowing tightly, you slowly pulled out the envelope, looking over Lieutenant Nixon’s tidy cursive. Certainly, there were laws against reading another’s mail, but the immorality of entertaining a man’s affections for six months only to throw him over as soon as he went to war seemed to outweigh all that in your mind. He had taken the time to write to an ungrateful, spoiled woman, the least someone could do was grant him the courtesy of reading it. Johnny had always said what a joy it was to send and receive letters, how it took his mind off life at the front first in North Africa and now Italy, and as someone who got to enjoy the safety and comfort of home it was a duty in your mind to do whatever you could to help those fighting for the Allies.

Taking a shaky breath, you carefully slipped the letter from the pre-sliced envelope – Miss Isobel was not even expected to open her own mail, after all – and unfolded the sheets of paper.

Pressing your fingertips to your lips, you only realized your feet had stopped their progress across the lawn when Dash’s leash tugged at your wrist insistently before he bounded over to you, pressing his paws onto your calf impatient to continue on. “Sorry, Dash, yes.” You whispered, carefully folding the letter and sliding it back into its envelope before returning it to your pocket.

For all his jokes and smirks, there had always been an air of melancholy about Lieutenant Nixon, one that he seemed to hide beneath a good story and strong drink. The only crime, as far as you could see, would be for his letters, written with such care and affection and filled with a need for connection, to remain unanswered. You could write well-enough, had received excellent marks on your cursive before you left school at sixteen to begin working and supporting your father as his old wound had become more and more troublesome.

You would, of course, toe the line of impersonating your employer. There would be no soppy declarations, just descriptions of the home and the family. Stories to keep his spirits up – just as he requested. Begging out of the after-dinner socializing with the rest of the staff due to a headache, you slipped up to your room to retrieve the first letter from the bottom of your suitcase and sat on your bed to read it as well, intending to reply to both.

Settling against the headboard with some fresh paper and a pen, you nibbled on the end of it thoughtfully, trying to decide how to begin your response.

Lieutenant Nixon

My Dear Lewis

Dearest Lewis

“You’d think I was trying to reinvent the wheel…” You hissed under your breath before grabbing a new sheet of paper and starting anew.

You bit your lip as you signed off, taking more than a little pleasure in perpetuating a nickname you knew Miss Isobel loathed. There were moments in the letter where you may have let a bit more of your own personality shine through but on the whole, you were satisfied that it was a rather good impersonation of your mistress. And most important of all, provided Lieutenant Nixon with the fuel for his imagination that he so longed for.

Preparing an envelope with the mailing address and Miss Isobel’s return address, you carefully folded it all up once the ink had properly dried and placed it in the outgoing post that night after you’d helped Miss Isobel change for bed. In your thoughts as you fell asleep was not only the hope for your brother’s safe return, but also that of Lieutenant Nixon, too.

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Read Part Two

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24

#lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fic #band of brothers

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ramsayxme · 4 months

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Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / AO3 Link

TW - violence, murder, flaying, murder (of a child), physical abuse, emotional abuse, sex, smut, full blown stockholm syndrome, gaslighting yourself, ramsay bolton. I hope you enjoyed my 10 chapters! Thank you so much for reading x

Chapter Ten: And Full Of Terrors

You both awoke to a servant knocking on your door and your infant crying in his bed. You rolled out of bed to grab your squalling baby and Ramsay pulled on trousers to answer the knocking. Ramses quickly latched to your breast, ready for breakfast. You laid back in bed, pulling the blankets high to shield your body from the servant. Ramsay opened the door and a very nervous young man stood on the other side. "My Lord. I am sorry if I woke you, but there is something happening in the courtyard you need to attend to." His voice broke multiple times through the sentence.

Ramsay huffed. "Alright. Let me get dressed... and this better be important." He shook his finger at the servant. "I'll be out in a minute." He shut the door, allow privacy once again. Ramsay looked at you and rolled his eyes regarding the servant. "Sorry, My Lady. I have to go handle this." He pulled a dusty grey waffle-knit over his head before donning his leathers. "Wait a moment and let me come with you. The Little Lord can start his lessons early." You smiled. Ramsay chuckled. "Fine, but bundle him up." Of course you would. Ramsay held his son as you got yourself ready to leave as well and swaddled baby Ramses in the finest furs. You tied him to your chest so the three of you could head down to the courtyard.

You closely followed your husband, his cloak draped over his powerful shoulders and swaying with his steps. With each swing of the cloak, you caught a glimpse of the handful of knives and daggers that he kept on his waistband. You loved how powerful he was. His curls coiled together on the back of his neck and his ears peered out from the dark waves. He walked with confidence, each step oozing of power and purpose. You felt like the most powerful woman to exist as you floated behind him, his heir cooing at your breast.

You exited the stone walls and were met with icy air hitting your face, your hands instinctively covering your baby with your cloak, wrapping it around his tiny body. Ramsay wasn't affected by the cold, his hair blowing softly as it began collecting snowflakes. There was a small group of men, their metal helmets reflecting the snow and making them gleam. "What is it?" Ramsay barked as you approached the men. Without speaking, they began leading Ramsay to the large entrance of the Dreadfort. The wooden doors were towering over you as they pushed them open. On the other side stood a shivering woman, frail and afraid. She held hands with a small boy who looked to be around 4 years old.

Ramsay stood still as a statue, staring at the woman. He turned his head towards the men, and put his hands up, his leather gloves squeaking as he pointed to the woman. "And how is this my concern?" The men nodded and looked at the woman. She had tattered clothes and long blonde hair that was matted in knots. The small boy had black hair and piercing blue eyes. His jaw was prominent and he wasn't shivering. You stared at your husband as he took in the sight.

"Ramsay..." the woman practically whispered. "You don't remember me?" You felt your heart jump, the jealousy and anger bubbling up in your chest. You tensed your body and wished you had brought your knives with you. "No." Your husband said, "Why would I?" She took a step closer, causing all of the men to tense up into attack mode. Ramsay chuckled. "I don't think she will be attacking me. Let her speak." The men relaxed, stepping back to their previous spots. "Ramsay... years ago we lay together. I woke up and you had fled, but..." her voice trailed off as she turned to the boy. Ramsay stared at the child. You were unable to read his expression.

"This is your son." She put her hand on the boys back and gently pushed him forward. He took a few small steps closer to Ramsay and stared up at him. Ramsay gazed at the boy intently. "No, no... if he is mine, he is a bastard, not my son. This is my son, my true heir." He turned to point to you and Ramses. Your eyes were locked on the woman, hatred boiling in your chest and heat pouring into your cheeks. She met your eyes and curtsied with her rags. "My Lady, I mean no disrespect, I mean no trouble-" You interrupted her. "If you meant no trouble, you should have stayed far away. Shut the gates." You demanded the men.

Ramsay held his hand up. "Bring them to the guest chambers. My wife and I will need to discuss a few things but until then, they can rest." Your jaw dropped, your fury now directed at your husband. Ramsay turned on his heels and grabbed your arm. You followed him to the kennels where it was quiet. "Ramsay! I will not-" He interrupted you with his hand on your throat, pushing you backwards into a stone wall. "Let me speak!" He hissed, spitting on your face. "I do not want a bastard son and I do not want this whore woman. I am simply allowing them to come inside until I decide what I want to do with them. Do not question my power again, do you understand?" You stared at your husband, teeth grinding together as you nodded.

"Wonderful. Now, for all we know, this woman is lying. I don't recognize her." You rolled your eyes. "The boy looks like you." You muttered, jealousy oozing from your lips. Ramsay's face twisted into a grin. "Why, you're jealous aren't you? Does it bother you to think about me fucking her before I even knew you?" You growl as you shove Ramsay. Your shove barely moves your sturdy husband. He chuckles. "You're angry. I like when you're angry. My wild wife." He coos, nuzzling into your neck. Ramses is asleep at your chest, so Ramsay can't press his body against you. He kisses your neck, sucking hard and leaving a mark.

While he kisses your neck, he whispers into your ear. "We can get rid of them. Shall we feed them to the dogs? Burn them? Flay them? I'll let you pick, my love... my gift to you." You purr when you hear him say this. You press your lips against his, moaning with passion as your tongue slithers into his mouth. You bite his lower lip hard and twist it between your teeth, making him gasp and pull away. "My feisty bitch!" He grins, blood dripping down his chin. You smile. "Let me take care of the woman. You do whatever you want with the bastard."

Ramsay agreed to this fairly quickly. You had a strong inkling that he found your possessiveness over him quite attractive. Nobody was going to interrupt your life, touch your husband, or push your child to the side. "I think I will tell the bastard that I accept him as mine and want to show him around his new home. When we come in here," Ramsay pointed around the kennels. "I will put him in my biggest girl's kennel and let her get a nice treat." He grinned wickedly at you. "And what will you do?" He kissed your cheek before kissing the black hair on your son's head.

"I want to flay her." You whispered. Ramsay's eyebrows raised. "You've never flayed anyone before, love." You nodded. "I know. I want to flay her, though. I want it to be slow and painful, so she will regret that she ever left her home. And just before she dies, I will tell her what happened to her bastard son!" You chuckled as you watched Ramsay's eyes grow wide with lust. He lets out a snarl as he leans into your neck and bites down, his hot mouth leaving another mark on you. "I'll fetch the boy. You head inside and I'll send the woman in." He whispered before he vanished behind the stone walls.

You ran to your chambers to grab your flaying knife, bow, and some arrows before heading to the torture room. You lay Ramses down for a nap, kissing him on his little forehead. Once you reached the room with the large wooden X, you snuck into a dark corner hidden from view. You remembered Reek in that moment, his frail body dangling from the large wooden cross. More importantly, you remembered the sex that you and Ramsay had on the floor, a wave of fluttering rose in your core as you remembered how it felt. Shortly after you arrived in the room, a few men of the Dreadfort brought the woman into the room, kicking and shrieking. You bit your lip in anticipation, excited to flay this whore that wanted to ruin your life.

She was left on the X, crying and wailing. "Please! My son and I will leave right away! I just thought Lord Bolton would want to meet his son!" She was flailing wildly, the chains clanging on her wrists and ankles. You felt furious at that statement and decided that now was the time to walk out from the shadows. "He does know his son." You said, rising from the darkness of the corner. She trembled as she looked at you. "I gave him his son, his true born heir. Not some bastard he had with a whore. He doesn't love you!" Your voice was gruff, anger settling in your throat.

"Please... We will leave right now. Forgive us." She begged, her eyes dark and wide with fear. You smirked as you got closer to her. "I think it's too late for that." You pulled your knife from behind your back and pointed it at her. "You walked in here like you would take my place. Did you really think that would work?" You pressed the point of your knife to her throat. "No, My Lady, I don't want to take your place. I wouldn't want to be with that monster!" She cried out as you pressed the metal against her skin.

"He is NOT a monster." You growled through your gritted teeth. "Take it back." She shook her head, tears falling from her eyes. "He is a monster, and so are you if you don't see it!" You laughed at her ignorance. "Stupid whore." You muttered as you pressed the knife even harder against her skin, nearly piercing it. You heard the faint sound of barking from the window. You gasped theatrically and leaned in to the woman. "Do you hear that? Shh, listen..."

She started blubbering when she heard a scream when the dogs began barking even louder. "Terrible. I am sorry you had to hear that... but, the dogs have to eat." You grinned, staring at her as she cried out for her bastard son. "Where should I start peeling first?" You asked the woman between her sobs. "Please!" She blubbered. You rolled your eyes as you leaned down, slicing the skin open across her kneecaps. She howled in pain as your knife slipped through her skin easily. You grabbed the flap of skin that hung over her fresh wound and began slowly but steadily pulling it up towards yourself. Her screams were deafening.

Suddenly, you felt hands on your hips. It startled you, since you couldn't hear anyone coming on account of the woman's whining. You spun around to see Ramsay smiling at you proudly. He had blood on his arms and hands, his leathers were off and he was only wearing the grey loose-fitting shirt. You pressed into his body with yours, leaning fully into his arms as you kissed him. You felt warmth immediately between your thighs as he gripped your waist. "Well done, well done!" He chuckled, admiring what you'd done to the woman so far. You felt a tingling sensation in your stomach when you knew Ramsay was impressed by you. "Shall we finish the job together, my love?" Ramsay asked, releasing his own flaying knife from its sheath.

The woman was completely flayed and the bastard was no longer existing. Ramsay was breathing heavy as he stepped back from the wooden X and draped his arm around your shoulders, you both had bloody hands and arms. You stared at your husband, watching him breathe through his grinding teeth. He peered over at you and flashed a smile. "I'm very proud of you." He raised his eyebrows and turned to you, placing a hand on your cheek. You felt your cheeks flush pink as you looked deeply into his pale eyes. You slammed your lips against his, moaning in his mouth.

You both dropped your knives with a loud clatter on the stone floor, desperately wrapping your arms around each other. He lifted you by your thighs and you wrapped your legs around his waist. You wanted him. You knew it would be wildly painful but you wanted him regardless. You wrapped your fingers in his hair and yanked, desire was taking over your body. He groaned into your mouth as he felt the dull pain at his skull. He walked with you over to a chair that was in the corner of the room, next to a small table which you promptly shoved over. He sat down with you on his lap.

You hiked up your skirt around your hips as he undid his trousers, just opening the front enough to release his hard cock that was begging to be touched by you. You wrapped your hands around his throat and squeezed mercilessly. His eyes bulged as you slowly slid down on his cock, the pain was intense but you wanted to please him no matter what it took. He groaned loudly when your cunt was around him, squeezing it tightly in your walls. You continued to choke him with one hand, the other hand grabbed a handful of hair at the nape of his neck and you yanked.

His neck was fully exposed to you and you leaned forward to suck and bite the soft skin. He moaned as you rode him with desperation. You moaned with a mixture of intense pain and pleasure as you bounced on his lap, his cock pounding in and out of you. He held onto your skirt, pulling and pushing with your body. You pulled the hand back that was in his hair and you slapped him hard, his skin immediately flushing red where your hand landed. He growled with pleasure as you choked him harder.

You reached behind his waist and pulled one of his knives from his waistband. You pointed it at his neck, barely pressing the tip against his skin. A low moan crept out of his lips as you nicked his collarbone, blood began trickling out. You sliced down his shirt, freeing his pale chest to the air. You began dragging the knife across his chest, leaving scratches and small gashes across his muscular body. He was staring at you with obsessive eyes, obviously loving what you were doing. You finished with a large and somewhat deep cut across his sternum, digging a little deeper than before.

You threw the knife to the ground as you leaned forward, licking up the blood that was trickling down his chest. Your mouth filled with the warm iron and you continued grinding your screaming body against his. He was panting hard, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips spread apart to let the moans escape effortlessly. You knew he was close to his orgasm and you didn't slow down as you slid your tongue into his largest wound before kissing him, your mouth leaking his own blood into his mouth.

His thighs tensed and his breathing caught in his throat as he pulled your skirt, desperate for you to slam down on him harder. You obliged, riding him hard as he came. Your poor body was bleeding too, your cunt sore and abused but you couldn't care. You only wanted to please Ramsay. You rode him through his wave until his cock softened inside you. You slowly lifted yourself, nearly collapsing on his lap once you pulled him out. The pain was excruciating. He held you on his lap as his cum dripped out of you onto his trousers.

You were out of breath as well, and tears finally began to fall down your cheeks. Ramsay smiled as he pulled you close, pressing your chest against his. You could feel his heart beating strongly as he held you. He caught his breath and whispered to you, "You're mine forever, My Lady."

You thought back to a time when those words would have terrified you. You used to be so weak and scared of Ramsay. You almost chuckled at your past self, she had no idea what was ahead of her. You remembered the first time you saw a flayed man from a distance and how it made your stomach churn, threatening your lunch to come back up your throat. You thought about now, the act of flaying someone caused you and Ramsay to bond so deeply and even arouse both of you. You remembered the first time you felt pain at the hands of Ramsay, lying on the pelts in the woods when he revealed his identity to you. You laughed at how foolish and simple you were. Now, pain was just another weapon that you were able to harness to turn into pleasure. You learned so much from your lover, you almost wanted to thank him.

You were confident that nobody else would understand your relationship with Ramsay, the relationship that you battled with in your head for so long. You knew that people would assume that you were evil just like him, and perhaps they were right. All you knew is that you loved Ramsay, and he loved you. It had to be love. It had to be. You were too horrified to think of what it was if it wasn’t love. You swallowed the thoughts and settled with the comfortable words you were able to tell yourself. This was love. It had to be...

The End.

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freshbakedbreadstick · 8 months

Text

No. 1 Party Anthem - Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader - Chapter Five

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Jerimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: The past seems to repeat itself and this awful memory seems to provide some much needed context to your actions.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers. Mentions of death, funerals, toxic relationships, grief, angst, strained relationships, minor injuries, arguments/yelling matches, details of anxiety/panic attacks, bad coping mechanisms, mental health issues, running away, addiction, interventions. This is literally just pure angst again im so sorry (not really (: ).

Word Count: 5k (sorry, she is a long one!)

A/N: I wrote this while procrastinating packing to move into my dorm LOLLL i move in a few days but im too anxious to even start packing <3 anyways this one is another heavy one and a long one too, so fun ! I hope you all enjoy because she was surprisngly difficult to write and edit bc my imposter syndrome and chronic perfectionism is out to get me ! ! Have a slay n gay day ily all !

Taglist: @marysucks-blog @shinebright2000 @jadeittic

MASTERLIST

It was a cold and cloudy day in March, fitting for a funeral. There was snow on each corner of the sidewalk, partially melted, but the cold air that made your lips burn when you stepped outside threatened more snowfall to come.

Today marked two weeks since you got the phone call that changed your entire life.

It was only two weeks after Mikey was found dead on the State Street Bridge and they already got him ready to be put into the ground.

You stared out the window, silent, and watched the life that occurred outside. A man helped his son get out of their car, both in matching hats and scarves, a teen with a backpack passed by with their friends, laughing and jumping, a tree swayed, leaves still gone.

“Hey, sweetheart, are you ready?”

You didn’t respond.

Your father placed his hand onto your shoulder, “Are you ready?”

You sighed, letting your breath fog up the cold window pane in front of you.

Most days, you sat on the only wooden dining chair that was saved from your and Mikey's apartment and looked outside the window. You noticed things you normally took for granted, like the view of snowfall during sunset and the way the trees swayed when a gust of wind blew.

Finally, you stood up, feeling your dad's hand slip off your shoulder. You didn't bother to smooth out your black dress, letting the wrinkles set in the fabric. Meanwhile, the stockings you wore under pinched you as you moved, but you didn’t care enough to adjust them either.

"Yea…” you responded at last, voice thick and scratchy.

Your parents mumbled quietly to each other as they locked the door, stealing not so subtle glances over to you as you stood in the middle of the path down the front door, looking at the now empty street.

Everyone around you just seemed to keep on asking you the same question: "Are you ready to…" but you didn't know. You didn't know if you were ready to face death. But you did know that you felt no panic, sadness, guilt, fear, anger, happiness, or… anything really.

‘I guess it’s better to feel nothing than something,’ you thought to yourself.

“Let’s get in the car now, okay?”

You looked over to your mom, who approached you and gently grabbed your forearm, starting to lead you to your parents’ car. But you dug your heels into the ground making your mom jump as she suddenly jerked back.

“I want… I want to drive myself.”

Your mother looked at you, eyes pleading. She then glanced at your dad, who softened and sighed.

“Sweetie, i don’t think that is a good idea-”

“Please… i just… I need some time alone before I go in…”

Your parents shared a glance before your mom slowly loosened her grip on your arm. You slowly began to walk away from her, pulling your arm out of her grip.

“We’ll follow you,” your dad said, voice steady but still anxious.

You nodded and headed towards your car. The thought of being alone terrified you in general since the news of Mikey broke, but having a small moment alone in the car sounded heavenly after not being left physically alone, at all, for the past two weeks. You didn’t sleep alone, eat alone, or even shower alone; someone was always there either right next to you or right outside the door. While it was nice to have people around you during this time, you started feeling suffocated and pitied rather than supported.

The drive was silent. You didn’t bother to turn on the radio or take off your thick coat or even play any of the cds Mikey had burned for you as teenagers like you normally did. Nothing was normal anymore anyways, so why bother?

But regardless, the silence was, in some way, comforting. It granted you the smallest bit of breathing space you knew you needed before you would face death itself.

After parking outside the funeral home, you sat in your seat. The car was off and it was silent as you sat there, not feeling particularly anything, just sort of numb. And for the first time in a while, you felt like you would be okay. It didn’t hurt anymore, just felt numb, and that seemed like progress to you.

A knock outside your window made you jump and turn around. You expected to see your mom or your dad waiting for you, but was surprised to see Richie instead.

You cleared your throat and rolled your shoulder back, holding your head up high like you normally did, before you got out.

As you started to step out, you smiled at him, “Well don’t you look fine as a peach.”

Richie smiled softly for a brief second before it fell back down into a frown that made the wrinkles around his mouth deepen. He looked unwell, with heavy bags and a gaunt face, making him appear sick.

While you analyzed him, he did the same for you. He scanned your face and body, seeing the way you continued to be the person he knew you as, even during a time in which nothing made sense anymore for anyone. Your shoulders were square and your head was high, making you look less like a grieving girlfriend and more like a CEO. This made him shiver.

But regardless, he held his hand out for you to take, helping you up and out of your car. As you locked your car, he began to talk.

“Drove here alone?” he said, voice gravelly.

“Yea… I needed to be alone.”

He nodded silently. He then took your hand, still in his own, and wrapped it around his arm. He led you to the sidewalk, toward the funeral home, steps slow and purposeful.

“Everyone is here but you… you don’t have to talk to anyone, okay? If anyone bothers you, come to me.”

You chuckled dryly, “Thanks, but don't worry about me. I know this is hard for you too.”

Before he could retaliate to your words, you cleared your throat and walked a little faster.

You watched as your parents, who were up ahead of you, greeted Natalie and Pete. You saw the way they moved inside after speaking to her, as if stuck in mud, around the sister of the man you loved.

They both briefly turned back to look at you, eyes watering and drooping, before anxiously disappearing into the awaiting crowd of family members.

You paused, making Richie also pause beside you, turning to look at you. He saw the way your eyes scanned up the bricks of the building and then back down to the wilted ferns in pots next to the front doors. Your eyes, for a brief second, filled with tears, making him open his mouth before shutting it upon seeing you blink them away.

You cleared your throat and began to move again, seemingly fine, until your heels began dragging on the pavement. So Richie silently moved his arm up to support you and looked away, staring off to the side. He didn't want you to see the way his eyes had started to tear up as he saw through your facade.

Natalie had focused her gaze on you just after your parents left, face in a permanent concerned frown that made her look more like a mother than anything else, before nodding softly to you, “Hi sweetie… are you ready?”

Were you ready?

“I just…” you began, mouth drying up the second you began to talk.

Natalie nodded at you anxiously, reaching over to take your hand in her own. The calluses she had from years of cleaning up after everyone rubbed soothingly into your own hand.

You shrugged, “...I just feel numb.”

Beside her, Pete winced. Natalie shot him a small glare before softening up as she turned back to you, “It’s okay, you're free to stay out here if you need some space, okay? Whatever it is that you need, let us know and we can help…”

Wordlessly, you rubbed your thumb into her hand and turned to look inside the hallway. A couple family members had already spotted you, their once staring gazes averting themselves from your frame as they noticed you caught them watching. Hushed voices that whispered to one another died down to either silence or near silent whispers as they stole glances at you and Richie walking inside.

You turned and gave Natalie a small smile, "Don't worry about me, are you doing ok-"

"Oh, there you are!!!!" A voice interrupted you, exclaiming loudly.

You reeled around to the noise and made eye contact with Donna, who was pushing through the crowd and rushing forward to you. Fast.

Your eyes widened.

Too fast.

Her body was a blur as she approached you.

Like a bullet.

In an instant, that moment of breathing space you had in the car disappeared and all that numbness flew out the window, being replaced by intense panic.

The room started to spin, making your eyes widen as she stood in front of you, speaking what seemed to be gibberish.

"Shit," Richie mumbled, but his voice was invisible to you.

All you saw was Donna, hair wild and clothes wrinkled. Her hands moved wildly as she talked, voice so loud in your ears that it felt like your eardrums would pop.

"Mom!" Natalie yelped beside you, finally taking you out of the trance you were in by pushing her body in between you and Donna.

Donna gasped, speaking hushed but angrily at Natalie, "Natalie, what are you doing? Don't you see I'm trying to talk to her- What do you mean I'm overwhelming her?! She's fine, if she had a problem, she would tell me, isn't that right?"

You saw her peek over Natalie's shoulder, eyes searing a hole into your face, "Right?"

Your throat tightened.

"Donna, how about we go ahead and sit so the services can start, okay?" Your mother had rushed over and behind Donna, putting her hands on the erratic woman’s shoulders before steering her away from you.

Your mom cast you a concerned glance as she redirected Donna away from you, letting her blabber on and on to her about the decor being different and the beautiful flowers they got set up for the service.

But all you did was stare back, breaths staggered and eyes focusing back only to see all eyes on you.

Natalie let out a shuddered wheeze, taking the initiative to redirect everyone watching into the room where the services would be taking place. Slowly, their eyes turned away.

"You ok?" Richie's voice seemed to finally register in your brain.

You whipped your head to him, "Uhm yea… are you?"

In front of him, he saw the way you rearranged your body language back to its "normal state". Your shoulders rolled back again and your head was held high. But this time, your face was blank and did nothing to show emotion.

Richie nods, "Let’s just, uh, wait until everyone goes in, ok?"

You took a shallow breath and blinked your eyes, adjusting to the dim, warm lighting of the building. The entire place felt warm from the artificial fireplace on the left wall, facade made of rich brown oak. The furniture matched in wood, feeling dated but comforting, like a grandmother's house. It made the panic in your body slowly melt away, being replaced by the numb feeling again.

You looked at the yellowish-orange patterned wallpaper and brown wood trimming on the walls and snickered to yourself, catching Richie's attention.

"This place looks like a small, hole in the wall restaurant that's maintained by a family. Mikey loves this kind of family style decor…"

Richie squeezed his eyes shut, "Yea… he does."

You watched as everyone filed into the next room, recognizing familiar faces like Fak, cousin Michelle, and Uncle Jimmy. You continued to scan the crowd, not seeing the way Natalie nodded towards Richie, signaling him to take you inside with everyone.

You let yourself be guided behind the crowd, watching everyone who knew Mikey sit down in the chairs that were set up. Donna was sitting in the front next to your parents, still talking. Beside her were empty seats. There was one, two, three, four, and five; one for you, Richie, Natalie, Pete, and Carmy.

Carmy.

You paused.

"Where's Carmy?"

Richie stopped moving and grimaced.

Next to you, Natalie linked your free arm into her own, "He uh… he might come by later."

"Did he ever respond to any of you? I sent him a photo of the service paper but he never responded to me."

"Uh…" Richie was seemingly at a loss for words.

Natalie sighed and looked at Richie before responding, "He didn't to me either. Didn't pick up any of my calls."

The panic started up again, slowly swirling deep in your belly, making you suddenly start to speak at the speed of light, "What? Why? Who wouldn't come to their brother's funeral?"

Natalie gulped, voice shaking as she tried redirecting you, "Hey sweetie, how about we go inside and then wait and see if he comes-"

"I mean, everyone tried to get in contact with him so it's not like none of us didn't try."

"Yea, your right, but maybe he is running late and was busy-"

"If he was running late he would've let us know, i know he would."

The panic made your breathing pick up, making you lightheaded as you took in gulps of stuffy, warm air. It was perfumed like flowers and mothballs, making you cough lightly.

Michelle, who was seated towards the entrance of the room, turned to you, as did a couple others, as your voice started to increase in volume. It was unbeknownst to you that you began to speak louder and louder, loud enough that people around you could overhear.

Richie said your name, stern but still worried, "Hey, take a breath and lower your volume."

"What do you mean? I'm fine?"

Natalie just shook her head, "This was a mistake, we shouldn't have forced her to come."

You jerked your head to her, "Natalie, it’s fine. Besides, I wanted to come."

Her shoulders sagged, "If this is too much for you, you are free to go-"

"Please, I'm fine!" You responded, speech getting faster and faster, "You don't have to worry about me like you're my mom."

"I know I know, but I worry about you regardless, you're my best friend!"

"Natalie, I'm okay I swear-"

Richie whisper-yelled at you two, "Let's take this back out, neither of you are okay right now."

"Richie I swear I'm fine, I just want to see my dead boyfriend in his casket!" You whisper-yelled back as you stomped a foot down.

At this point, others had begun turning to look at you. Natalie flushed, noticing the stares while Richie groaned softly, taking your arm and dragging you away from the entrance and to the front door.

"Your obviously not okay, just stand here and take some fucking breaths." Richie whispered, voice stern.

You blinked, letting yourself get pulled like a ragdoll. You stumbled as you leaned into the doorway, feeling shame set in your body.

That was a new feeling.

"I'm… i'm…" you began, blinking wildly as your face flushed and your chest tightened.

"Listen, I know this is hard but don't force yourself to do this for any one of us, okay? You can sit out here and none of us will blame you or be upset. We all have our own ways of grieving and if staying away is yours, then do it. You don't need our acceptance in order to grieve in your own way."

The tangent Richie went on felt so out of character for him that it made you go silent as you watched him enunciate every word. Natalie trailed behind him, holding onto her body with wide eyes as she too listened to his speech, both moved and confused.

With a choked breath, you responded, "Okay, I'm sorry."

Richie's tensed shoulders and furrowed brows softened. He saw the way you looked down and away from him, body drooping. For a split second, he saw through the demeanor you had been putting on since you got out of the car and saw who you really were: the grieving love of Mikey's life, terrified of what life was going to be like moving forward without him.

Natalie reached over and rubbed your arm, before turning to Richie, "It's starting, you can go in if you would like…"

Richie nodded grimly, looking at the floor for a brief second before reaching forward, taking your cheeks into his hand and giving your hairline a small peck.

"You're not alone with this… we are here."

You looked at him, a cross of confusion and relief written all over your face, making him hold back a laugh when he noticed it. Upon hearing his laugh mixed with a cough, you chuckled softly to yourself. Natalie was the only one not laughing, but still had a small smile on her face as she watched you two.

“God this is so weird, are you a wise old man now or something?” You joked, gently pushing Richie’s shoulder.

Richie snorted and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, “Ah it’s nothing, just something i learned… don’t think it’s gonna be this way all the time!”

The three of you smiled at one another, right up until Fak interrupted the sweet moment.

“Hey guys… uh, the service is starting…”

Richie rocked his jaw, the smile he had disappearing from his face. He turned to Fak, annoyed already by him interrupting, “Listen man-”

Natalie loudly cleared her throat, narrowing her eyes at Richie for a second as a warning, making him trip up on his words.

Richie coughed again and looked away, mumbling to himself about how annoying Fak was. Natalie just rolled her eyes and turned to Fak, smiling sweetly at him.

“Thank you, we’ll join you in a sec.”

You watched them all interact with one another, some of the closest people in Mikey’s life that ended up becoming some of the closest people in your own life, but in this moment they felt so far away, emotionally and physically. The random moment of peace between you, Natalie, and Richie was fleeting and reality brought you back down to the present moment, reminding you where you were and why you were here.

Just seconds ago it felt like a regular everyday moment where the three of you talked, waiting for Mikey to turn around the corner or come in from another room and join you, smirking like he always did. He would wrap his muscular arm around you, pulling you into his side and start to joke around with Richie. He would tap Natalie on her shoulder, acknowledging her, and bring Fak over with a laugh, joining all of you together with ease. Any annoyance and discomfort would just disappear around Mikey; he just knew what to say and what to do to bring everyone, even those with differences, together.

But that would never happen again.

Mikey was dead and that would never happen again.

He would never hold you, pressing his body warmth against you, he would never kiss you, gently guiding your face with his large hand, and he would never love you, ever again.

Your body seemed to finally catch up with the cocktail of emotions you have been feeling for the past weeks and settled on one to focus on: panic.

It crawled up your throat, squeezing it in a way that made you feel as if any second now, you would be on the floor, clawing at the rug as you struggled to breathe. But you knew that as long as you didn’t let it overwhelm you, convince it that everything was ok, you would be fine.

So you were going to do anything you needed to do to not let it overwhelm you again.

“Uh, you two head in, okay? I need a second alone.” you said, making them turn to you.

With a clearing of your throat, you perked up, smiling, as if nothing that had just occurred even happened. Natalie looked at you, taken somewhat aback and concerned, but didn’t push further. Richie was the same, confused but didn’t want to say or do anything that would make you break down.

“You sure you don’t want any of us here, we are more than happy to-” Natalie began, but you interrupted her by gently moving a strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

“I’m okay, I'll join you in a second. Thank you both for being here with me.” you then brought them both into a gentle embrace, speaking clearly.

Natalie and Richie exchanged a worried glance behind your back, both struggling to put on a smile to face you when they pulled back.

Richie began to move to the room where the service had started, “Let us know if you need anything. Text us or call us or just say our name and we will be there.”

You nodded and shooed them playfully off, leaving yourself standing against the doorway. The doors of the room where service had started closed behind them with a dull thud, leaving you truly alone in the entryway of the funeral home.

Your shoulders and smile dropped, eyes glazing over as you did so. With your heart continuing to race in your chest, you had no choice but to start pacing back and forth. The panic was starting to become too much to control so you tried your hardest to count your breathing, desperate to get it back into control.

“Fuck…” you whimpered to yourself, feeling tears start to well in your eyes.

You furrowed your brows and bit your lip, hard. You didn’t want anyone to see you cry, you didn’t want to be pitied.

Suddenly, the doors opened wide, making you gasp and jump back, cold hands reaching to wipe any tears before you turned to see who was exiting.

Donna came stumbling out, shushing someone inside, before closing the doors behind her. She sniffed loudly, pushing away her hair from her face right as she locked eyes with you.

She frowned, continuing to stare at you as she walked forward to where you stood with red rimmed eyes and untouched makeup. She then moved to rifle through her purse, digging for something.

You watched her silently, feeling your bottom lip quiver as she swayed back and forth.

You continued to watch as she pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, placing the cigarette between her red painted lips and lighting it aflame. With a deep drag and smoke sigh, she finally turned away from you.

She looked outside, staring at the gray clouds and half melted snow. It was getting colder and colder as the evening progressed, making her breaths of smoke even smokier as she breathed out.

You turned, deciding that it was better to go inside than stand awkwardly around the mother of your boyfriend, whom you didn’t have the greatest relationship with. But right as you took a step, Donna called your name.

You glanced back at her, seeing her stumbling away from you but holding an unlit cigarette out. You were frozen to the spot, unsure whether or not to grab it and join her or go inside. But she seemed to answer that for you when she spoke up.

“Come on, I know you smoke. I’ve seen you and Carmy sneak out to smoke together sometimes during family dinners.”

You winced, feeling your cheeks heat up at having your behavior noticed by the one person you didn’t want to know, but moved forward to accept it regardless.

As you placed the cigarette on your lips, she reached forward and lit it for you. The deep drag you took filled your lungs, making the chilly air from outside feel much more bearable.

The two of you just stood there, side by side and silent, together, smoking.

You burned about halfway through your cigarette before Donna spoke up, making your heart stop at her words.

“You know… my son died, so I don't know why you are acting like you're the only one who is hurting.”

She threw the stub of her cigarette on the ground and stomped it with her shiny patent leather heel. With arms crossed, she looked at you and, with a low voice, she continued, “Everyone is just flocking to you and when no one gives you attention, you just make a scene and get them all back to you.”

Your entire body went cold.

“My poor Natalie is dealing with the death of her brother and all you do is make her wait hand and foot for you.”

Upon hearing this, all the fear in your body melted away and was replaced with burning hot anger. You knew her words were bullshit, but hearing her talk about Natalie like that, knowing how she treats her, made you clench your jaw.

In a surge of bravery, you retaliated, “Donna, how can you say that?”

She scoffed, “Please, stop acting like you are an angel who has done nothing wrong. You don’t have Mikey or anyone else here to protect you.”

Your mouth drops silently open letting the cig fall from your lips and to the ground, snuffing itself. You scanned her face with your fists balling against your side, seeing nothing but a smug look on her face as she ridiculed you.

With a sharp breath, you began, “You have never treated Natalie like a daughter. You're the one who made her the maid of your family. She practically raised Carmy and does everything for everyone. You made her act like an adult ever since she was a kid and, like everyone else, I had kept quiet about it for so many years just so we wouldn’t upset you. But I'm tired of it, this is the last straw.”

Donna rolled her eyes, “Oh puh-lease-”

But you interrupted her and continued, “So don’t act like you are suddenly concerned with how she is being treated, you never cared when you yelled at her over every little thing, so don’t start now.”

Donna looked at you, dropping her arms and glaring, “I bust my ass constantly for my children, I don't need someone like YOU pretending like you know everything-.”

“Donna, I've been around you since I was in elementary school. I grew up with your kids and around you. I know EXACTLY how you are.”

She clenched her jaw, eyes narrowing.

But you didn’t stand down, not anymore, “None of your children are saints, but they try so fucking hard to be the best they can be given they had you as a mother. But it’s not like you would ever see that, huh?”

“All Mikey ever did was stress out, because of you! He tried to self medicate with pills and drugs and got addicted, because of you!” Donna suddenly screeched, quickly trying to divert the blame onto you.

You laughed out loud, “I’ve seen him do a couple things once or twice but Mikey was not an addict!”

Donna cackled, shaking her head furiously, “He was!! Ask Richie! Ask anyone! He was an addict, all because of you!!!”

You stepped back, eyebrows furrowing, taken aback at her words. Sure, Mikey was a bit erratic and loud, but that was his personality. He was just that type of person. And yes, he had tried a couple things before and even told you about his experience with them, but he never once did them around you or even mentioned doing them multiple times. He had vices, like smoking and having some drinks, but he wasn’t an addict.

Before you can further question, the doors were pushed open and Richie came rushing out, “What is going on?!”

You opened your mouth to respond but stopped when you heard Donna sob.

You flipped your head around to look at her but were greeted by a sight that made all that panic come barreling toward you again, replacing the anger. Donna was curled into herself, clutching onto her arms, with fat tears rolling down her face. Her sobs shook her body so violently that Richie rushed over and wrapped his arms around her to steady her.

"What happened!?" Richie repeated, voice softer this time but just as worried as before.

He looked at you with wide eyes as Donna sobbed, barely speaking through her gasps, "I tried to be the best mother for my children. I don't need you blaming me for my mistakes on the day of my son's funeral."

As you watched her speak, your veins filled with ice. Only one phrase repeated in your head over and over as Richie looked between the two of you with wide eyes, ‘You fucked up, you need to leave. You fucked up, you need to leave. You fucked up, you need to leave. You fucked up, you need to leave.You fucked up, you need to leave…’

Richie called your name, making you look at him, "What happened?"

Nothing came from your mouth but a strangled wheeze. You were frozen to the spot, pinned there by Donna's crying and Richie's stare.

You fucked up, you needed to leave.

Behind you, the door swung open again and your parents came rushing out with Natalie in tow. A couple peering eyes tried to look out from their seats inside, but the door closed on them before they could put together what was happening.

"Mom!?" Natalie gasped out, rushing forward to Donna.

Richie repeated what he said before, but you didn't hear his words. The only thing you could focus on was the way his eyes looked while staring at you, like you were a stranger.

Donna continued to speak, saying something that was drowned out from your ears, replaced by silence and the deep throb of your heart beat.

Right before your Mom could reach out to grab your arm, you spoke, "I need to leave, I need some time."

You pulled the car keys from your jacket pocket and ran.

#the bear #carmen berzatto #reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto imagine #michael berzatto x reader #carmy the bear #mikey berzatto #mikey berzatto imagine #mikey the bear #richie berzatto imagine #richie the bear #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #sugar berzatto #natalie berzatto

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kiwisbell · 8 months

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The Hitman's Guide to Getting the Girl: Chapter 7 [dave york x f!reader]

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

series masterlist

status: complete

chapter 7 summary: Flapping his wings toward the sun with you.

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: kidnapping, murder, violence, the world being horrible to women, reader having a very terrible sense of self-preservation, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york finding his second calling as a pussy-eating god, pining, possessive sex, jealousy, daddy issues, (stockholm syndrome?), dirty talk, actually filthy talk, hitmen and politicians, revenge, scary man with a soft spot for his woman, philosophical foreplay, tramp stamp worship (you'll see), a little sprinkle of breeding kink if you look hard enough, obsessive behaviour, anal fingering, anal sex, implied age gap, light dom/sub vibes, light bondage

tags and warnings for this chapter: remarkably expeditiously possessive behaviour, face-fucking, very rough sex, slight degradation (term slut is used), very light choking, protective dave, dirty nasty filthy talk, very little soft dave, unprotected piv (you know the drill besties), creampie, biting, sex in a bathroom, daddy issues, hair-pulling in a violent context, dom/sub dynamic, sloppy blowjob, mirror sex

word count: ~ 5.6k

whew... i am very sorry for the late-itude of this chapter, but hopefully the filthiness of it makes up for my transgression! lots of plot getting tied up in this one and lots of jealous, possessive dave. just how we like it.

chapter 7: the icarus to your certainty

You choose the red dress. It’s wine-rich, deep and soft and tempting. The back plunges so low that a trace of one black wing can be seen when you shift a certain way. There is a long slit up the left leg and a pair of black heels on your feet. Your toenails are red as fresh blood, your lips very much the same colour. You’re sin and elegance. You’re all the spotlights see.

Dave wears a black suit and a black tie and swallows the acid that is knowing he cannot put his hand on your back or kiss you while cameras flash. Not yet.

He's played security guard for starlets before. He's been to sparkly galas and choked down finger foods that couldn't feed a chipmunk. He’s guarded his fair share of famous assholes. He’s never had so much stake in a job before.

Tonight, the Field Museum is hosting a charity event to raise money for the local children’s hospital. Since you're putting a good deal of your pocket money into the initiative, and you're a long-time donor for the non-profit running the event, you have a place in the speaker lineup. So does Senator Brock, who intends to announce his reelection campaign. Dave will remain in the shadows, watching his girl make the rounds, smiling and laughing and being so much more charming than he ever could, while he ensures the night goes smoothly. Not one thing will ruin this for you.

By nine o’clock, champagne is lifting spirits and two speakers have already finished their bits. You’re slated next-to-last, just before Brock, and Dave scoffs a little at the fact that you have to precede a fucking politician. You should be closing out the night. You have more important things to say than anyone here.

He does his job like a good little guard dog for the first couple hours. But he itches. Turning the watch around his wrist over and over, or fiddling with the cuff links you bought him for his birthday, Dave is forced to watch while people get too damn close.

Being your security detail gives you plenty of opportunities to check in with him incrementally throughout the night, and he gets to sit at your table. As he suspected, there's no sign of Vincent Gallo or any of his family; Kovac and Ari, who stand at the northwest and southeast corners of the room, have confirmed that the Gallos rarely attend public events. It’s somewhat refreshing to know that not every cop in the city is in the mafia’s pocket.

Just because you're safe from any crime lords does not mean you're immune to invasions of your personal space. Men flock to you, the notoriously single socialite with a heart of gold and a sinful red dress, licking your feet for attention. Part of Dave laughs at it: the somewhat pitiful attempts of hopeless cases to win your affections in return for a drink. Most of him bristles: they don't know you. They don't deserve to breathe in your space. They don't want you for all that you are.

Dave licks his teeth as some piece of shit offers you a drink and kisses your knuckles. When the man isn't looking, you find Dave across the room and share a discrete look. You bite down on your smile when he makes a brief jacking-off motion. Watching your chest shake with suppressed laughter makes him swell with pride. He's not going to last the night.

Dave tenses when your father arrives. He's dressed in an expensive suit and he brought a date: some woman you've never met before, judging by the way you introduce yourself and shake her hand. You maintain a polite smile while your father speaks to you, but Dave can see your eyes glazing over. He wonders what you're thinking about. His mouth on your body mere hours ago, plundering your taste until you were marked with his cologne? His cock inside you, keeping you pleased and warm? The way he crawled back down your body and kissed your wet, puffy clit when he was done?

Dave is a watcher by trade. He's cramped himself into a car for nights on end to watch targets, spied on illicit activities, caught people in the act of the kill. It's all so tedious. No joy to be found in watching the person you’re going to kill. But… he likes this.

He likes seeing you dance your way around the room in your beautiful dress. He likes lingering in the darkness, watching you schmooze better than anyone he's ever known. He likes knowing the body underneath the dress, the way you feel when you're wrapped around him, the deep and unyielding pressure of being loved by you.

When Senator Brock arrives, Dave’s instincts prickle at the back of his neck. Brock strides up to you and kisses your cheek, winding his arm around your waist. You smile tightly, letting your mouth do the work. But Dave sees it in your eyes. And he’s getting sick of seeing other men touch you like you're a gold little trophy.

You listen idly to your father’s conversation with Victor, who keeps his hand on your lower back. Dave’s favourite spot. This will not be your life. Enduring lingering touches, smiling through the discomfort.

“I see you have extra security tonight,” says your father. You’re certain he noticed Dave the instant he walked into the building.

“Is there something we should be worried about?” asks Victor, perfectly politely concerned for your well-being.

You wave a dismissive hand. “Oh, no. They just take my safety very seriously.”

“Have you prepared your speech?” asks your father’s date, June. She's a lovely woman who does not deserve to suffer a night with him.

“Of course she has,” interjects your father. You don’t like the way he holds June around her waist. “You always know what to say, honey. Don't you?”

Code for, Do not fuck this night up for me. You're familiar by now. “I’d like to think so,” you chirp. “It’s a very important cause.”

Victor’s playing his part well, to his credit. He smiles down at you and squeezes your hip, kissing your temple. “We’re thrilled to hear it.”

“Excuse me, ma'am.”

Dave’s voice sends a famished shiver down your spine. You're so hungry to be near him that you almost slip, stopping yourself from inching closer to him. He doesn't look happy.

He looks barely restrained.

For a moment, you’re afraid of the animal you see waiting behind those eyes.

“I need a word in private. It's a matter of security.”

You hope you don't sound breathless as you agree, offering to lead him to seclusion. There's an unoccupied office on the second floor, and Dave doesn't bother closing the door as he shoves you against the wall and puts his mouth on yours.

It's nothing close to gentle. There's hunger in his posture, a stoop to his shoulders as he bends over your body to get as close as possible, the gruff noises he makes as he dips his tongue into your mouth and tastes the sweetness of the champagne on your lips. You're going to leave lipstick stains all over his face, but Christ, he doesn't care.

He’s starved. Dying for a taste, unrelenting in his journey to acquire it. He presses his tongue to yours, sliding your mouths together, nibbling your lip whenever you try to pull away. It’s punishing, aggressive, teeth and tongues and the tantalising smell of cologne. You rub your thighs together, relieving the growing ache in your panties, until Dave notices and presses his leg between yours. “Do not,” he growls, fisting your hair at the back of your head, “get greedy.”

“Dave,” you gasp, winding your arms around his neck and letting your body curve to the shape of him, “someone will see.”

“Good.” Dave’s hard cock prods your thigh as he feverishly bunches the fabric of your dress at your hips. “You see, there's a man out there, and he's putting his hands all over my wife,” he says darkly, letting the anger simmer. It feels good to burn like this, your body finally back where it belongs: wrapped up in his arms, flourishing under his guiding hand. “I thought I could handle it. But I can't.”

You shake your head, tugging at his hair and guiding his face back down to you. “I don’t want his hands on me.”

Dave grunts, huffing like a wild animal in your ear. You feel his teeth graze your jaw before he speaks.

“Turn around.”

Excitement builds in your core as you place your hands on the wall, your tits pressed up against the cool tile. “Dave, please, honey,” you say weakly, turning your head to see him in your peripheral. All you feel is cold metal as the zipper at the back of your dress begins to slide down.

“Thinks he can touch you,” murmurs Dave, slipping the sleeves down your shoulders and putting his lips to the space between your collarbones. “Thinks he can put his filthy fucking hands on my wife and get away with it.”

“He doesn’t want me,” you whisper, trying futilely to console him. Nothing beyond your body can console him. “He’s playing a part. Acting.”

This is your mistake.

A hand grasps your throat, wrenching your head backward. His voice is dangerous in your ear, his mouth ghosting hot breath over your neck. “Did I tell you to speak, pretty girl?” You can only faintly gurgle, your airway constricted by his hand. “Did I tell you to defend him?”

You gasp for air, your eyes fluttering as Dave’s other hand slips under the slit in your dress and cups your warm pussy. “Did I”—his fingers tug the crotch of your panties aside and dip teasingly into your folds, making you writhe—“tell you”—he parts your lips with two fingers and presses them hard against your clit—“to speak?”

Dizzy with pain and pleasure, you shake your head as best you can. “No, I didn’t.” Dave nips the juncture of your throat and shoulder. “You’re going to be good for me. If I tell you to speak, you speak. You won’t be greedy; you’ll take what I give you, and you’ll want it. You’ll beg for it, if I let you. You’re my wife. Do you understand me?”

You nod vigorously, blinking tears from your eyes as his fingers lazily circle your clit. You try to grind your hips into his hand, but Dave tuts. “Already getting greedy, sweet girl. If you want me so badly, you can have me on your knees.”

He uses his leverage to turn you around, peering down at you through black, fathomless eyes. You’re in the arms of a killer—and your heart kicks up, so eager to satiate the ruthless monster. You sink to your knees on the bathroom floor, in your expensive dress, with the door still wide open.

Dave reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out your engagement ring. “Give me your hand.” You do, watching him slide the ring back onto your finger. He briefly brushes his thumb over the diamond, one last glimpse of the lover, before he puts your hand to the bulge in his pants. “Take it out.”

You shiver with the thrill of being ordered around, unbuttoning his pants and shucking them down his thighs. His hard cock springs up and you nearly go cross-eyed with how close he is. The tip is red and angry and all you want is to give him relief, take him into your mouth, make him happy. Looking up at him through your lashes, you await further instructions. Like a good girl.

“Open your mouth.”

Your tongue lolls out, and Dave grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Do you want me?” he asks. You nod your head. “Use your words, pretty girl.”

“I want you so badly,” you plead, shuffling closer despite his warning. “Please use my mouth. Please.”

He grips the base of his dick and guides the weight of it onto your tongue. You begin to drool, ready to lubricate his intrusion past your lips. Dave's nostrils flare, and he slides the underside of his length into your open mouth. You don't move an inch, though your tastebuds prickle, your nipples stiff and your pussy slick.

He teases himself more than you, rubbing his cock on your tongue, relishing your obedience. “Mmm. So pretty like this. Suck my cock, baby, and maybe I’ll be nice to you.”

You mewl. Nice isn't what either of you need right now. You need it rough and dirty and raw. You need him jealous so you can show him why he doesn't need to be. You back away and grab the base of him, letting a long string of saliva pool on his slit. He grunts faintly above you as your hand begins to stroke him, just slowly enough to make him feel good but not enough to make him come. That's your mouth’s job.

You lick up the spit that you dribbled on the tip, flicking your tongue over his slit before you flatten your tongue on the underside of his shaft. Dave’s hand flies to the crown of your head, fingers curling slightly in your hair. You hum, licking your way back to the head of his cock and suckling the tip between your lips.

“Ah, fuck.” Dave’s head falls back for a moment, his eyes squeezing shut until he remembers that it's you he wants to look at. His beautiful wife on her knees, taking his cock into her mouth like a slut. “Fuck, that's it. This is the only cock you're ever gonna fuckin’ get. Better get used to it.”

Your throaty groan around his length as you suck more of him into your mouth tells Dave that you are very much used to it. You open your throat wide, sucking in your teeth and taking him deeper, spluttering around his dick and blinking black tears out of your eyes. He hisses, the pleasure igniting some familiar burn inside his body. His fingers dig into your scalp, keeping you fixed to him, your pretty face fucking ruined.

The squelching noises of sucking his cock mingle with his groans of exertion as he begins to fuck your mouth. You keep swallowing around him, holding eye contact, being so good for him. You barely have space to breathe and you're still swallowing him like he's water in the desert. Dave, meanwhile, is beginning to see stars.

It's a faint chorus of growling uh, uh, uhs above you as you take him sloppily, saliva and precum pooling in your mouth and warming his thrusts even more. He's getting close, rambling about how good you are, how fucking pretty you look on your knees, look at you, ruining your dress. You pull your head back far enough to release him from your mouth and grasp his glistening length, jerking him while your tongue darts out to lick his tightening balls.

Dave’s groans pitch up in his throat. “Jesus Christ. Jesus—baby, you’re gonna kill me. Fuck, stop before I come.”

You whine, giving his length one last lick before you pull away and look expectantly at him. “Stand up,” he rasps.

You rise to your feet, a little wobbly in your state of arousal, and Dave shuts the door. His thumb traces your lower lip and keeps it pried open for him as he leans down and kisses you hard.

You let slip a needy whimper, but he's made no rules about making noise—only speaking. You reach between your bodies to continue jerking him off, swiping your thumb into the precum that pools at the tip. He growls, pulling away and bringing you to the vanity. In the mirror, you watch him press your hips up against the cool marble, watch his hand slither under your dress, watch his lips attach to your throat as he gathers your pitiful wetness on his fingers.

“Sucking my dick got you wet, baby.” Dave, the asshole he is, pouts mockingly against your skin. “Didn’t it?”

You nod so hard you get dizzy, your lips parting as he inserts his middle finger inside you.

“Who are you?” he asks, low and slow, curling his finger inside you.

You gasp, “I'm yours.”

Apparently, that isn't good enough. Dave adds another finger and begins to pump them wetly, making you flex your fingers for a grasp on him.

“Who. Are. You?”

“I’m your wife, Dave.” You’re panting, your chest heaving while you try to maintain eye contact in the mirror. His pupils are so wide he looks like a rapid animal. “I’m your wife.”

His fingers slow their pace inside you, torturous. “Are you Mrs. Brock?”

“No! No! Please…” You're a pathetic, writhing mess, black tears merging on your throat.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Mrs. York,” you tell him, your eyes unfocused but looking at him nonetheless. “I’m Mrs. York.”

“That's right,” he says gruffly, the pace of his fingers buckling your knees as he finally begins working them deep inside you. “And where do you want me to put my cum, Mrs. York?”

“Inside me,” you cry out. “God, inside me, please! Please…”

“That's my girl. Knows how to play the game.” Dave nibbles your earlobe, his palm rubbing your clit with every swipe. “Open up.”

He does not mean your mouth this time. Swiftly, he kicks your legs apart and bends you over the vanity. Your ass is exposed to the air as he unceremoniously shucks the skirt of your dress up around your hips. He snaps the waistband of your panties against your ass and you squeak, clenching around the two fingers buried in your cunt.

“You can speak whenever you’d like, baby,” says Dave, removing his fingers and sucking them clean. “Let everyone upstairs to hear how good your security makes you feel.”

You hold his gaze in the mirror. “Good girls are loud,” you tell him, your throat scratched raw.

You're going to drown in him. You may as well fill up your lungs all the way.

Dave grins crookedly, satisfied, and you feel the head of his cock wrenching open your cunt. “Oh,” you groan, shivering, your head dropping forward.

“Nice try.” His hand wraps around your throat again and guides your gaze back up to the mirror. His cock splits you in half, your wetness sucking him in until he's buried deep inside you, his hips grinding against your ass. “You’ll watch me fuck you. Gonna watch me fuck my pussy.”

You think you're drooling onto his hand by the time he begins to take you from behind, your hip bones pummelling the edge of the vanity and his belt buckle slapping your thigh.

The hand not around your throat spreads open your pussy lips and two fingers find your puffy clit. You choke, the pleasure blinding, hands flailing for a purchase on the marble. The only thing holding you up is him.

Dave’s eyes are pitch. He stares at you through the mirror, his nostrils flaring, his teeth bared, his hips bucking into your ass. He looks mad with lust, and you aren't much better. You gasp and mewl on his dick, shockwaves coursing through your body as he rubs your clit.

“Dave…”

He grunts, punching hard inside you. “Use your words, baby. Show me that smart mouth.”

“I… ngh, I feel…” You're gasping for breath, nearing your high as your entire body begins to hum. “I feel so full. Fuck, I’m so full. Please come inside me, please.”

Dave’s close, his balls pulling up again and his rhythm going sloppy. Your pitchy little whines are going to fucking kill him. You’re so wet and soft and your cunt pulls him inside so nicely, and he never wants to leave you.

He rubs your clit until you seize, your eyes rolling back, your chest heaving. You come hard, clenching so hard around his length that he's stuck for a moment, dropping his face into your neck and biting.

“Fuck, Dave!” you cry out, soaking his cock, trembling in your too-high shoes and grasping his forearm, your nails making claw marks in his tanned skin.

It feels so good. He's not gentle or sweet. He’s fucking you, hard and fast, unrelenting. He's imprinting the shape of him inside you so you will never forget who owns you.

“Oh, shit,” he groans, leaving love bites all over your throat. “So fucking tight, baby. Gonna—”

His nose is buried in you, his cock pressing as deep as possible, the pressure building to white-hot in your eyes. He can't be any more wrapped up in your body as he fills you with his cum, keeping himself snug inside you because you know he doesn't want a drop to spill. You don't mind; your cunt pulls at him greedily, enjoying the heady and warm weight of his body pressed against you.

Dave groans intermittently with every pulse of his cock, his orgasm pinching his back, loosening the tension in his shoulders. As his head gradually clears, his lips softly trace your bite marks, giving you gentle bumps with his nose. “My good girl,” he murmurs. “Made a mess of your pretty cunt, and you took it so well.”

The praise melts you, makes you gooey, your eyes slipping closed and your head resting on his shoulder while he lifts you upright and readjusts your dress. A soft whine leaves your lips when you feel his cum dribble out of you, but he shushes you with a kiss to your jaw. “I know, sweet girl. I’ll give you more when we get home.”

You comb your fingers through his hair and smile sleepily, thoroughly fucked. “Mmm. Feel better?”

Dave strokes your jaw with his thumb and searches your eyes. “Like a million bucks. You feel okay?”

“I feel like your own personal Twinkie,” you reply, giving your ass a little shake. More cum slips out of your used hole. “Cleaning me up is your job, Mr. York. I can't go out looking like this.”

Dave pouts, swiping a black tear from your cheek. “Cleaning you up will always be my job, baby.” He taps his earpiece. “I need one of you up here with my wife’s makeup bag.”

“On it,” says Ari.

“Turn off your commlink next time, dickhead,” says Kovac. “Nobody wants to hear that shit.”

Dave spends a good chunk of time helping you clean yourself up, regretfully wiping the cum off your thighs, handing you lipstick and mascara like he's a surgeon’s assistant. He also wipes the lipstick off his own face, tucking the used wipe into his breast pocket alongside your engagement ring. You've been gossiping with him in the meantime, and he's surprised to learn he's a bit of a glutton for it. Maybe it's only because it comes from your mouth.

“And Mary Bergman’s husband is cheating on her with her secretary,” you tell Dave as you reapply mascara to your lashes. He keeps one hand on your hip to keep you steady as your post-orgasmic tremors approach a manageable level. “Apparently, she knows, but only because the secretary has a guilty conscience. You may have a job offer coming your way.”

Dave huffs. “Do you know how many jilted lovers I’ve worked for?”

You ponder it. “Over or under fifty?”

“A man never kills and tells.” He gives a melodramatic wag of his brows.

“Tease.”

Dave’s hand comes down on your ass in a playful smack. “Trying to keep up with you.”

“You can never outdo me, Mr. York. Don't start trying.” You give him a wicked smile and finish applying your lipstick. “How do I look?”

Dave turns you in his arms and assesses your appearance. You don't look the same as before: hair a little less perfect, makeup obviously retouched, chest a little splotchy. You've rarely looked more stunning, more radiant. He splays his hand over your belly and grins. “I like you this way.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “Why do I even ask? Now, go on, handsome—you should head out before me.”

Dave frowns, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Find me,” he whispers.

“I always find you.” You cup his face. “I’m yours. If you ever forget that again, you know what to do.”

He toys with the strap of your dress before he exits the bathroom, adjusting his cufflinks and heading back up the stairs, considerably less tense than an hour ago.

Amazing, the things an orgasm can do.

You count about two minutes before you leave the bathroom, too, but a barking voice stops you halfway down the stairs. It's your father, hurrying up the grand staircase. Alone.

“Don't think I don't know what you're doing.”

You tuck your makeup bag under your arm. “I have to hand it to you. I didn't think you noticed anything about me.”

He looks stony calm, albeit unamused. “How little self-esteem you must have to let Dave York use you like that.”

You lift your brows. “Am I grounded?”

“Don't be cute.” Your father takes another step closer, and you ride to the one behind you. A dance begins. “You're going to marry the senator, and you're going to announce your engagement up on stage in front of the whole damn building and all the presses.” Another step forward, and another backward. His face is hard lines and receding grey hair and veins protruding from his neck. “You’ll say you got your loving father's blessing, and we will smile and wave.”

“Or what?” you say, chancing a step toward him. You’re five apart.

He smiles as if he’s won some dark prize. “Or I’ll kill your little toy. And I’ll make it painful. Do we understand each other?”

But the victory is yours. It has been yours from the moment you met Dave York. Or, maybe has always been yours.

“Crystal clear, Daddy,” you say sweetly, letting the nectar drip from your tongue. “Excuse me.”

You pass him on the stairs, not once looking back. Dave is holding a vigil at the bottom of the bannister, his hands folded neatly in front of him. When you look closely, you can see how tightly he's clenching his fists. “I’m all right,” you whisper, risking a gentle brush of your hand against the arm of his jacket.

His gaze sweeps over you, clinical but not, and he nods. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You give him a cynical smile. “If lightning strikes me down, put out the fire, will you?”

He watches you go and thinks, I will step into the flame by your side. We will burn together.

When eleven o’clock strikes, you take the stage and accept the microphone from the emcee.

“Thank you, Mary,” you begin, “for giving me the chance to speak tonight. And to Senator Brock, thank you for inevitably making me look bad when you follow up my speech.” A polite scattering of laughter accompanied your beaming smile. Dave knows that even if you weren't funny, they would all laugh, anyway. Good.

“I’ll keep this short. Thank you to the Field Museum for letting us use your space, and to the catering tea for keeping our bellies full. And, of course, my biggest thanks goes to everyone who has donated tonight—bought a piece of artwork, had a drink at the bar, sifted through pocket lint to find some cash. You're all contributing to a fantastic cause, and I cannot thank you enough for simply being here.”

For a moment, you let the applause linger, and you find Dave in the back of the room. He puts his hand to his chest briefly, and your smile grows.

“I have another announcement. I would be remiss if I didn't thank our security tonight; they have been dedicated to keeping you all safe tonight. Not that we've needed saving; everyone seems a bit too tipsy to try anything stupid.” More laughter, more applause, and this is the moment.

This is your victory podium.

“On that note—I’m thrilled to announce my engagement,” you tell the room. A gentle hush rises, the gossip-fodder ripening, heads turning, bodies leaning in. Cameras shuttering.

“My loving father has given Mr. Dave York his blessing to marry me, and I couldn't be happier.” You take a flute of champagne from a tray nearby and toast it in the air, staring your father right in his face. “Thanks, Dad, for noticing my love, and ushering in my happiness.”

It's time for heads to turn toward your father. Dave York himself has slipped quietly away.

Your father schools his face into something like humble acknowledgement, stiffly lifting his glass in your direction. It's a threat more than it is a congratulations.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you say into the microphone, though you're still looking at your father, “and please tip your bartenders.”

Somewhere on the way to your real fiancé, your would-be stops you in the crowd. Victor takes your left hand and squeezes gently. “Congratulations,” he says, giving you a smile that is almost grateful. “You’re good for each other.”

Maybe. Probably not. But you smile back and tell him, “I’m sorry. I could never go through with it.”

“Neither could I,” says Victor, dropping your hand. “Politics shouldn't need leverage. I’m sorry for treating you like a pawn.”

You shake your head. There's nothing to forgive. “How's your mom going to take it?”

“My mother has a restaurant to run,” Victor says mirthlessly. “I doubt she’ll hear the news for another week. I have plenty of time to prepare my speech.”

“We have something in common, then. Good-bye, Victor.”

His eyes glitter with amusement. “You aren't staying for my speech?”

“I think my vote may be a conflict of interest.” You touch him on the arm. “I should go find my fiancé.”

You and Dave agreed to meet by the side entrance, where the valet is bringing his car around. You politely pass a few paparazzi who snap your picture and ask you about your new beau, but when you round the corner and head down the long hallway to the exit, it isn't Dave who awaits you.

Your smile fades and your gait falters.

And then your father does something he's never cared enough to do.

He fists your hair and tugs your head back so hard that your scalp prickles and your eyes begin to water. “You little bitch. You thought that was funny?”

“A little,” you choke out, your hand flying back to grasp his wrist. It does not avail you: he's a strong, tall man, and his grip is ironclad.

“You embarrassed me. You made me a fool. You lost your inheritance. And you think you're funny.” You feel spittle splash on your cheek. “I’m going up there to make a statement. And you're going to be up there with me, smiling, apologetic for your little joke.”

“No,” you spit, writhing to escape his grasp. “You've already lost. You were a fool before I got up on that stage. You thought I could marry someone I don't love. And now, you get to smile and wave.”

He scowls. “What are you—”

Your eyes flicker back down the hall, where camera shutters click and whir.

“I said smile, Dad. You have an audience.”

The bath is scalding—the way you like it best.

You slowly submerge yourself until most of your head is underwater, closing your eyes and letting the events of the night slough gently off. At the sink nearby, Dave rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and splashes some cold water on his face. Your eyes flutter shut.

“He put his hands on me,” you say to the quiet. “He’s never done that before.”

Dave approaches the tub and kneels beside you, his heart kicking up when he sees the discomfort in your posture: your lolling head, your pinched brow, your taut shoulders. He doesn't like this. He needs to help you. He fixes things. He takes away problems. “Baby…” Your eyes crack open, and you meet his gaze, giving him a soft smile.

“Hi.”

“Does it still hurt?” he asks.

Silently, you shake your head. Dave gently places his palm at the crown of your head and smooths it down until he reaches the nape of your neck. He kisses your forehead and lingers there for a moment, closing his eyes and relishing your closeness. Your victory.

“You did everything right today,” he says, brushing his thumb over your chin. “You did beautifully, sweetheart.”

“It did feel good to see his face.” Your engagement ring now comfortably back on your finger, you hold onto Dave’s hand. “And it was nice having you in my corner.”

Guilt is something Dave York doesn't make room for in his day-to-day. Killing entails a certain degree of forgetfulness and a good amount of whiskey can help things along. He unlearned guilt and he learned payment. Guilt is superfluous. A teardrop composed of water and salt cannot change the formula of a blood pool.

Guilt shreds his ribs into strips of paper at the thought of you dealing with this fallout alone.

“I wasn't there,” he says. “The day you were attacked in the street, I wasn't there. And I wasn't there when your own father put his fucking hands on you.”

He operates on the aftershocks: mending damage others have done to you after it has already wounded. He wants to be there long before the damage gets done.

“It's funny,” you say, pulling him back to you. “I can see you thinking sometimes. Losing yourself inside what's past is how Sisyphus keeps himself from finding happiness, you know.”

Dave chuckles, his lips barely brushing your knuckles. There is no happiness to be found in this world if you can get hurt.

#dave york #kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #dave york smut #dave york fanfiction #dave york x female reader #dave york x reader #dave york x f!reader #dave york x you #equalizer 2

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dreamersparacosm · 2 years

Note

SENSUAL WITH AUSTIN!ELVIS!!

nsfw!

note ; sorry this literally took longer than expected i may have fell off the face of the earth also please ignore that i started writing in capitals again i’m having imposter syndrome

warnings ; stripping? lmao idk? homegirl is getting naked

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“I just don’t feel pretty in this.”

He looks at you as if you’ve sprouted an extra head. Cheeky grin he usually wears slides right off his face. Eyes linger dangerously from your legs back to your lips.

“You’re not bein’ serious, darling,” he almost lets out a chuckle before your expression shuts him up. You are being completely serious. It’s not that he’s oblivious, Elvis is not one to discard your feelings. But the circumstances have changed. You had a baby, one that stretched your skin out and made you feel used, made you feel like you should be tossed to the side. He just did not notice because he is completely, utterly, irrevocably enamored with you, the glow that his seed had given you radiating off your skin like a pearl fresh from clearwater.

“Look at me,” you turn back to your mirror, tugging at the baby pink dress that adorns your curves. If it wasn’t for the baby you had pushed out two months ago, you’re almost certain you wouldn’t feel this way. Baby hormones and all that, you thought it was a sick joke when told by your midwife. “I don’t look the same, baby.”

“Are ya kiddin’ me?” His eyes nearly fall out of his sockets. He’s also not heedless; your current anxiety was brought on after another successful performance at the International Hotel, where women lined up to get a glimpse of your husband, praying to touch him, kiss him for just a pocket of time, a moment where they could pretend to be his.

He inches towards you, meets you halfway, holds your hands in his, “You’re beautiful, darlin.’ Always have been, always will be.”

“Hasn’t felt like that ever since I had the baby.”

His heart pinches at the seams a little, hearing you detach from reality for a moment, tucking your child’s name into the back of your brain, refusing to acknowledge it. “What do I gotta do to show my girl she’s perfect?”

You roll your eyes, “Elvis—“

“No, no, c’mon,” his palms cup your cheeks, warmth radiating from his skin, sending vibrations down your spine to your toes. “Would you believe me if I did things like this…”

He trails off, a hand roaming down to the hem of your dress, fiddling with the lace and feeling the bare skin of your thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes meeting his for a moment, his orbs darkening from the usual hue of bright blue. “…Or maybe like this,” his lips disappear into the crook of your neck, tongue slipping out to suck on your sweet spot. A moan escapes you, hands reaching out to wrap around him, playing with his jet-black hair at the nape of his neck.

“Or this, perhaps,” He takes the flimsy strap of your dress in between his fingers, carefully dragging it down, lips connected to your skin where the strap once was. He kisses alongside your collarbones, migrating to the other shoulder, other strap following suit and floating off your skin. It's the most pleasant form of torture. Insecurities fly out of your head, and all you can think of is the way his lips feel on your scorching-hot skin.

You’re so lost in your head, lost in the feeling of him, that you don’t realize that your husband gets on his knees.

He doesn’t get on his knees. For anyone.

In fact, there was never a time where you were not submissive for him. Never a time where he lets himself fall too deep in his admiration for you. Always keeps that ledge, that distance, scared to run off it in fear you’ll never catch him. Your eyes look down at him, peer into his. You gulp thickly, playing with the hair that falls onto his forehead.

His hand reaches out, touches the skin of your thigh, going up, up, up, near your lace panties that are soaked through and ruined. “You’re so, so gorgeous, my love,” he whispers against your skin, drunk on a feeling he’s been chasing his whole life. Kisses up your legs, vanishes under your dress, head lost somewhere near your cunt.

You feel him pull your underwear down with his teeth, hands grasping your hips for stability. A gasp breaks from your mouth, legs shaking in anticipation. Lifts your feet up, looks back up at you, bearing underwear and all in between his shiny, white teeth.

“You believe me now, darlin’?”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

thank you for joining my 3.5k celly! requests are now closed.

#kinda feral for Austin!elvis #akdjdsjsj #answered #austinbutlersworld #angelina’s 3.5k celly #austin butler #austin butler elvis #austin butler blurb #austin butler angst #austin butler fluff #austin butler fanfic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley imagine #elvis presley #austin butler smut

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dreamcatcher92 · 9 months

Text

Stockholm Syndrome

Chapter 11

*WARNINGS* Use of alcohol, smut, sex, violence.

Everything is spinning and your head is pounding. As you try to wake up, you grab at your head because of the pain. Moments later, you glance around the room. You don’t recognize this place at all. It was much different from the soundproofed room that Billy had you in before.

The room was completely empty. It was just you, four concrete walls, and a cold tile floor. There wasn’t even a single window. The only light source was coming from the LED strips that were embedded in the concrete ceiling. Where the hell am I?

Suddenly, the door to the room began to open. You quickly crawled over into a corner and hugged your legs. You were shaking uncontrollably and still so confused. Why would he do this again?! I don’t understand!

Billy entered the room and closed the door behind him. He stood and stared at you with his hands now tucked in his sweatpant pockets. He took a step, and you gasped and grabbed tighter at your legs.

Billy stopped and let out a long sigh, “Are you really that afraid of me?”

You looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, “I don’t know what to think anymore Billy. I’m scared.”

“I just want to talk.” he said, taking his hands out of his pockets and a few more steps toward you.

“Where are we Billy?” you whimpered.

“You’ll find out soon enough. Let’s just talk about things.” he said, sounding slightly annoyed that you aren’t listening to him.

“Not until you tell me where we are!” you yell as you rise to your feet.

Billy lunges at you and grabs you by the throat, pinning you up against the ice cold stone wall, “Don’t you fucking raise your voice at me!”

You grab ahold of his wrists and try to mutter some words, but nothing will come out because of the grip that he has on your neck. You begin to feel lightheaded and your sight starts to blur. Then, all of a sudden, he lets go. You fall to your knees, coughing harshly and trying to catch your breath.

Billy leans down. He grabs your chin and pulls your head up to look him in the face, “I’ll be back in a few.” He stands and walks to the door. As he opens the door he pauses and says to you, “You’re going to learn not to disobey me.”

The door slams shut. You lie down in the fetal position and begin to sob. You thought he loved you, but how could someone treat someone they love like this? I should have just left. What the fuck was I thinking? Falling in love with the man who kidnapped me!? Pathetic.

You let out a loud scream of frustration, then you yell as loud as you can, “I FUCKING HATE YOU!”

You roll over to face the wall and continue to cry. You’re so cold because the only thing you have to keep you warm in this frigid room is the knee length black lace dress that you wore to the party. Moments later, the door flies back open and slams against the wall.

Your entire body jolts and you can hear footsteps coming at you quickly. Within seconds, Billy is lifting you off the floor by the back of your dress. He tosses you against the wall causing the back of your head to bounce off the concrete.

Grabbing you by your shoulders and pinning you to the wall, he yells in your face, “What the fuck did you just say?!”

“I-I-” you manage to say, but you’re so frightened that you can’t seem to form any words and you can feel the warmth of your blood running down the back of your neck.

“I asked you a question!” Billy growled as he tightened his grip on your shoulders.

Tears are streaming down your face and sheepishly you say, “I-I said that I h-hate you.”

“You hate me?” he grits his teeth, then shouts, “YOU HATE ME?!” he lets go of you and turns around.

You are shaking like a leaf because you can see how angry he is, “Please, I’m s-sorry! I said it without thinking! Billy, I’m so sorry!”

Billy spins around and with the back of his hand, he smacks you hard in the face. Your nose begins to bleed again. The room is spinning because you are dizzy. You take a few staggering steps side to side and finally fall to the ground to your hands and knees.

Billy leaves the room without saying a word. As he leaves, he slams the door so hard that it makes your ears ring. Still on your hands and knees, you try your best to stand up and walk over to the door.

Once you make it there, you fall into the door and talk into the crack of the door so that he could possibly hear you better, “Billy, please don’t do this. We can work through this. Please Billy, I need you.”

You knew you needed to gain his trust again, but this time was going to be different. You had a plan, but it was going to take time to play out. You know everything that Billy wants to hear and wants to feel, so you’re going to give it all to him to gain his trust. Then, and only then, will your idea surface. I just pray this works.

The door slowly opens and Billy pulls you into his chest, “Come on sweetheart, let's get you cleaned up.”

“Please don’t leave me Billy.” you look up to him and say in a weak voice.

Billy kisses you gently on the forehead, looks down at you, and says, “Never.”

You lay your head against his chest and a menacing grin comes across your face. Billy rested his chin atop of your head and held you close. Step one is done. Now the real work begins.

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo smut #the punisher #ben barnes fanfiction #ben barnes smut #billy russo fanfic #fanfic #smut #smut fanfiction #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction

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canvasbaby · 7 months

Text

trafalgar law x reader part three :3

ereerrrrrrm sorry its been so long ive been going to therapy teehee but i miss creepy gross evil law so heres more but this might be the last part of this specific storyline, but i will for sure do more stalker one piece fics WOOHOO this is two different scenarios of your time with kidnapper law.

WARNINGS suffocation, descriptions of organs being cut, hardcore sex, bodily harm, rape roleplay but its kinda actual rape but you have stockholm, stockholm syndrome, jewelry made of bone, woman in unsafe scenarios, victim blaming/ not understanding victims point of view, lemme know what i missed.

PLEASE DO NOT TAKE THIS AS DIRECTIONS OF HOW TO ACT IN REAL LIFE. THIS IS A FICTIONAL SCENARIO FOR PEOPLE WITH FANTASIES. I REPEAT FANTASIES. IF YOU HAVE TROUBLE DISCERNING FACT FROM FICTION, DO NOT READ.

You cant breath. his hand pushing hard on the back of your head, gripping the fuck out of your hair. you would have noticed the pain in your skull, but the lack of air is taking over your thoughts.

you cant even feel his dick anymore. your body responding without your permission. your heart and organs all under his control, only with your brain and asophogous preoccuppied. as he pounds you from behind , his other hand rubbing out another orgasm from your mutilated pussy. you should feel how exaughsted you are. how your uterus burns and squelches from the blood and cuts. his and your cum are mixing inside you, his favorite way to take you. you should focus on how he talks to you. how hes whispering dirty degrations in your ear. calling you little sex doll, his sweet desperate girl. you should be focused on him.

but all you can do is try to get a breath of air. struggling against him as you try to shake his hand off. law wont budge. he watches you squirm against him, adding to his friction and horniness.

barely able to breath. your lungs burn as you black out. not for long, however, as you keep coming back from your sweet unconsciousness. the sting of you chest was killing you. literally. its been like this for hours. its like he cant get enough.

he was looking…. good? apparently his crewmates said he wasnt treating you very well (they didnt know the half of it) so they told him he should try and 'woo' you. he took this advice very seriously. he loved you very much, in his own way. treating you bad? oh god, really? he couldnt believe it. you never complained about being mistreated!! if anything, you had been rude to him! pushing him off of you, screaming at him, crying and whining. but that was all at the begining of your relationship. he thought you were happy. but taking this advice to heart, he decided to take you on a date.

now, you were at an incredibly fancy restaurant at a popular pirate-friendly island. you dressed in a black bodycon dress with some cute jewelry he had made out of your old bones. they actually turned out good. he thought you looked incredible, and told you as such, but it was him you were focused on.

he wore a red button-up, it was half open, showing off his tattoos. his rings (also made of your bones) and his dress pants, they fit him perfectly. he had ditched his usual hat, deciding to style and brush his har, and shaping up his beard. he looked the best he ever had.

the date was really nice. it felt like an actual date. for a few blissful moments, youd forgotten the past half year. it felt perfect. for those few moments.

but, of course, all good things must come to an end. so, you followed the orders he gave you before this date. standing up and leaving the restaurant without him. he had to take a few moments to pay, so you had a headstart.

winding down the confusing streets, getting lost in the alleys. you felt your heart beating faster. youd felt this feeling before. nearly everyday since he took you. the butterflies turning into cockroaches as the feeling of anxiety rising up your throat. you were scared. but this time, it was ever so slightly different. you werent scared of law tonight. you were all alone in an unfamiliar alley. you were scared of another person finding you. the island WAS pirate- friendly. what if a strong pirate like law showed up and tried to take you? someone worse than law? you had seen some wanted posters. some of a red-haired man with a metal arm. one of a green-haired swordsman with a mean scowl. and one of a blonde womanizer with heart eyes. they seemed like people you wouldnt get used too. though, youd thought that about law…

"whats a pretty girl like you doing out here all alone?" there he was. the bugs crawling around your insides calm themselves. you turn around excitedly to see his handsome face. but you quickly rember your role. one youre quite familiar with.

"im lost, la- uhm, sir" you give him your best innocent look. he swoons. he had want to roleplay some more, but he couldnt help but kiss you right away, pushing you against the wall. lifting up your dress.

errrrrm uereshsjrkdkkkk i dummo man i hope you like it woohoo yippee wowza gahhhh

#trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece smut #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #dead dove do not eat #one piece #trafalgar law smut #trafalgar law

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navree · 3 hours

Note

me @ you calling Lucerys boring! 😆 come on, he's just a kid! cutting out aemond's eye was bad, i agree, but i don't think he was as bland as everyone says. his imposter syndrome in 8 and 10 was interesting to watch at least. he was a brave little boy.

I mean I don't really see anything brave about bringing a knife to a fight he not only had fuck all to do with but where he was clearly at fault (Aemond did nothing wrong, he tamed a free dragon, Baela and Rhaena get a pass because they're grieving but Jace and Luke had no business being involved and certainly no business escalating into 4 v 1 violence against the clear cut victim), trying to literally murder someone because I don't know what the fuck you're trying to do when you stab a knife at someone's face but it's certainly not a warning shot, showing zero remorse for it at all, and at worse acting like a little snot when in the same room with your victim. The fact that Luke got away with this scot free (didn't he literally say "I didn't do anything" you boring little asshole you stabbed out someone's eye that is the opposite of not doing anything!) is an absolute travesty of justice that stains everyone involved (mostly Viserys and Luke but I'm not letting Rhaenyra "pls torture the ten year old stabbing victim until he tells me how he figured out that these white dark haired children aren't the sons of my black platinum blond husband" Targaryen off the hook either). Aemond could have died, not only from the initial wound, but from the myriad of infections or other issues that could have plagued him during the healing process. For God's sake, Viserys nicks himself on the Iron Throne and they have to lop off his arm, his infected injuries and their treatment have already made him pretty firmly decrepit by Driftmark, the fact that Aemond healed without any serious and lifelong and further damaging complication is a goddamn miracle. And even kids know that murder is bad, I'm pretty sure that if I were Lucerys's age and I tried to commit homicide I'd have to deal with some consequences.

And I'm sorry, but I call him boring because he is! They wrote a boring character! That's not on me for picking up on it, that's on the writers and the myriad choices they made that led to them severely underdeveloping several characters, most prominently Lucerys (Jace and Baela and Rhaena at least get another season of life to develop further, Luke gets four episodes and they knew that going in). This is a song I've been singing literally since the show was airing and it's not gonna change, cuz he's dead and therefore stuck with his boring character and complete lack of characterization.

Him being a kid is not a character trait, and it certainly doesn't make him more interesting anymore than, say, his eye color would. The impostor syndrome thing they kinda tried didn't really work because 1) it's not impostor syndrome if it's true, he's not a Velaryon and Vaemond was 99% in the right in that entire thing (I don't like him throwing out misogynistic slurs, you can point out that these aren't Velaryons but Strong bastards without stooping to calling Rhaenyra a whore, I hate men sometimes) 2) in episode 8 it exists for one single line and is not a driving force for him at all for the remainder of the episode to the point that it could be cut out and mean nothing, especially since that scene was only there to introduce adult Aemond and 3) it doesn't even make sense because the person who was set up as having issues with his lack of Velaryon heritage and Harwin being his father was Jace. Jace is the one who hears the rumors and clocks it early on in childhood, Jace is the one who is deeply affected by it to the point of bitterness towards his own mother, Jace is the one who grieves Harwin but also feels angry that he can't express it. All of that was set up as part of Jace's arc, not at all Luke's, who is literally set dressing up until he decides to commit criminal offenses in the middle of the night. And then time skip, and suddenly Jace is A-OK and Luke, who has shown no issue before now (or any personality at all) is slightly concerned about it for one line in episode 8 before going back to being a piece of cardboard until episode 10.

And I'll be honest, the second that scene came out in episode 10, I immediately saw it for what it was, which was a very obvious patch job. The writers were clearly aware that they had not given the viewers any reason at all to care about Luke one way or another, so we weren't going to feel a lot when Vhagar (deservedly, imo) munches on him. So they hastily added in this really heavy-handed scene of poor uwu soft boy Lukey who is so concerned with doing right and needs to blink up tearfully at Mommy and be her sweet boy and get little kisses to assuage his worries, so that we'd feel some emotion and then be said when he becomes the Jonah to Vhagar's whale. It just doesn't work because there was nothing for him before then and therefore I don't care, I just feel bad Rhaenyra.

Luke is a bland and boring character. That's not an attack, that's just what the writers did. They tried to cram too much into a ten episode season, literally twenty years of history, and it caused a lot of characterization problems for a lot of characters, particularly for the Team Black ones. And a consequence of that is that the character with the least amount of time for development got not development and no personality. He's a plank of wood, he's a platonic version of the sexy lamp trope; there's nothing there and he exists only for us to feel bad when the lamp is smashed. Seriously, name me five individual character traits that Lucerys has. He's a momma's boy, even though I'm not really sure that's a character trait but I'll give it to him, and I guess he's devoid of empathy, considering that he doesn't appear to feel literally any remorse for mutilating Aemond (seriously, is it like the Dothraki and "thank you"? does the word "sorry" not exist in Valyrian languages? you can't even send an apology gift basket or a note?). But he's not brave, as there is no scene that shows any bravery or courage, and he's not noble or kind or thoughtful because there's nothing that shows any of that, or anything that shows him being the opposite, cruel or cowardly or weak, because he's a basically a character who could be played by sticking a wig on a mop and waving it around. And any characterization of insecurity exists as something hamfistedly crowbarred in at the last minute in his final episode to try to manipulate the audience's emotions with less sensitivity than D&D trying to tug at our heartstrings by having Drogon try to nudge Dany awake after she's killed.

But there is a character that I do consider to be a brave little boy, though I regret to inform y'all that it is Not a fourteen year old with no depth or personality or written characterization whose main claim to fame is maiming a person without apology and then dying. Nah, the brave little boy title goes to post-Driftmark Aemond. Aemond, at ten, is delivered a life altering injury whose recovery was likely very slow and very painful, involved a lot of worry about whether he'd have to deal with infection or further risk of death, and had to relearn how to do literally everything now that he was half blind, and he did all of it. He survived, and he thrived. He relearned how to walk, how to balance, his spatial awareness. He learned how to fought and even became incredibly good at it, and maintained his bond with Vhagar, as well as trying to keep himself mentally sharp as well. He did all of that, despite the huge setback he was dealt with at age ten. That's brave, go Aemond.

#personal #answered #anonymous #anti lucerys velaryon #the only thing about luke that even gets me remotely passionate is what he did to aemond #but that's because i like aemond and i feel things about aemond #who is a fully realized character #lucery is Not that #and yeah it's a writing issue and a massive writing issue #do baela and rhaena even have ANY character traits at all?#do their adult versions even have more then a dozen lines?#like at least they live through the dance so we can see more characterization develop in upcoming seasons #but honestly the only character more atrociously handled in terms of being made boring than luke are baela and rhaena #who could honestly be completely cut from the story of season 1 entirely and not have it make a lick of difference #like me calling luke boring isn't an attack on the character of luke (because it basically doesn't exist)#it's me taking the WRITERS to task #since it's impossible to set luke's lack of characterization apart from the out of universe creative decisions that led to it #and i've always thought he's boring and that's really not gonna change #there's four episodes of the boy and i've seen all four of them and they're the only four we're ever gonna get #they knew that they knew luke was gonna be set in unchanging stone once he died and they elected to do nothing with him anyway #so he's boring and bland #sucks but it's true

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workingforthewidow · 7 months

Text

“The only bad you've ever done was to see the good in me”

—

It’s birthday weekend for the Boys! So we are doing a chapter today, a chapter tomorrow, and the big birthday chapter Monday aka their birthday! So welcome to Part 4 of Sun to Me!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Half proof read there will be mistakes

This story is NSFW and not for minors- if you are under 18 go ask your legal guardian if you can watch the movie.

Warnings: kidnapping, forced marriage, dub-con, attempted non-con, abuse, Stockholm syndrome, age gap (15 years- K&C are 19 Sinclairs are 33 soon to be 34 yes we will have a birthday party for them). Don’t like it don’t read it!

THIS CHAPTER HAS VERY DARK SCENES! This chapter contains abuse and twisted emotions. This is a work of fiction.

“Let me go! Fuck! Let me go!” Katie screamed as she was forced back into the first room she had woken in after her kidnapping. She landed hard on the concrete floor and looked up continuing to scream until a sharp sting spread across her face. Her hand flew to cup her cheek as she realized he had hit her. “Fuck you.” She gritted through her teeth, even her jaw was sore from the strength of his slap. He grabbed her by the throat lifting her off the floor like she was a sack of potatoes. Her hands gripped at his scratching at him to try and get him to release her. He slammed her against the wall and his grip tightened on her neck.

Her head started to hurt from lack of blood flow and oxygen. Being slammed against the wall probably didn’t help either.

“You can’t… keep us… here… for..ever.” She gasps out as black spots started to fill her vision.

Vincent leaned close to her and pressed the wax lips of his mask to her ear, “I can and I will.” He rasped out before tightening his grip once more until she was limp in his hold. He let her limp body fall to the mattress in a crumbled pile. He was blinded by rage. He took the metal collar from the ground and attached it to her neck. He then ripped her dress down the middle with his bare hands and complete tore it off her body. Then he left her there. She had a lesson to learn. His angel was not leaving him. She was his now. He owned her. He went to his studio and gather his sketch pads and pencils. He sat down in a chair near her and started to draw, draw her in all the ways he could dream of.

—

Caroline swore Bo’s eyes were red with anger and steam was coming from his ears.

“You stupid fucking bitch. You know better than that. Thought you were smart girl!” His voice was so dark like the devil himself. He threw her to the floor and ripped his belt from his pants. Before she could even react he had the belt around her neck. “On your knees slut. Time you really learned your fucking place here.” He pulled the belt and she was forced to her knees in front of him. He wrapped the long end of the belt in his fist and his other hand went to her hair wrapping it in a fist yanking her back. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up at him.

“Oh no baby. You don’t get to cry yet. You did this to yourself. Now show me you can be a good little girl again and show me how sorry I know you are.” He forced her hand to the button of his jeans.

Her hands shock as undid the button and pulled the zipper down. She seemed to be going to slow for his likely because he yanked her hair again and growled. Quickly she slid his jeans and boxers down his legs let his hard cock spring free into her face. She looked to him again with more tears hoping some shred of humanity was still in this mans soul, if he had a soul.

‘You’re doing this to survive Caroline. Mama will forgive you. The high powers will forgive you. This is a test from the devil.’

“You have 2 seconds before I snap your fucking neck.” With the threat looming over her she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue licking up and down his length. She wanted to vomit, the foreign taste bitter on her tongue. Bo moaned and threw his head back. He soon grew tired of this thought wanting to feel himself in her hot mouth. He forced himself inside her, causing her to gag when he hit the back of her throat. How she managed to not throw up was a miracle.

“Fucking take it slut. This is your punishment for being bad. Make Daddy feel good.” He felt her try to relax her throat to accommodate his size but she still struggled and chocked. Finally having enough he dropped the belt and took her head in both hands. He held her head still as he fucked her face without mercy. She was sobbing, struggling to breathe, and saliva was dripping down her chin. Fuck she was a sight for sore eyes.

“Good girl. Take Daddy’s cock in that pretty little mouth.” He praised her quickly, gotta remind her what good she gets when she behaves. Bo moaned and felt his release coming on. “You better fucking swallow slut.” He groaned out as hot ropes of his cum hit the back of her throat. The bitter taste made her want to gag again. He slid out of her mouth and watched as she swallowed his seed. What a waste, should have been in her pussy.

Just as he was about to praise her again she looked to him with fierce eyes.

“I hate you, Fuck you asshole.” She sneered and to top it off spit towards his face. Because of her position on the floor it hit his stomach but he where it was meant to hit.

“You’re in for it now babygirl.” He grabbed the belt again and pulled her to the bed. “Hands and knees now.” He ordered and she debated on defying him but there was something about his face that told her to listen. Or he might actually kill her this time. She crawled up the bed on her hands and knees and cried as he pushed her head to the mattress making her ass go higher. “You are lucky bitch. Normally I’ll make you count and say thank you Daddy. But today I’ll let it slide.” He flipped her dress up and was reminded he had hidden all her panties from her. Oh he was a smart man, he praised himself. His hands kneaded the skin of her ass and she could feel his nails digging in leaving marks.

Without warning his hand came down on her right ass cheek. The pain was unlike anything she ever felt. He continued blow after blow alternating between her left and right cheek. She lost count at 24. The pain blinding her to the point her vision blurred and started to fade. She mentally counted 24 before she went numb and her body limp giving over to the pain.

Bo looked over her, that should teach her to disobey. He really didn’t want to have to punish her so harshly this early on but how else was she to learn. He moved her body so she laid properly on her stomach on the bed. He let her take a cold shower later to soothe her skin. She’d be bruised and blistered for a week. Sure as hell couldn’t sit down maybe couldn’t even walk right. He kissed his hair softly and took a set of handcuffs out of the nightstand drawer locking her to the bed frame. He’d come back at lunch to check on her.

—

Pain. All Katie could feel was pain. Pain in her back, pain in her neck, and she had the worst migraine ever. No hangover could compare to this hell. Her eyes opened slowly and she realized she was back in the underground studio, the metal collar back on her neck. She looked around for Vincent but couldn’t see him or even hear him. She was about to shout for him when she noticed a tray on the floor with a bottle of water, bottle of pain killers, and another letter. Her name spelled correctly in his script like handwriting, Her father wrote like and so did she, it must be an artist thing.

~My angel, drink the water and take the medicine. I will come back for you in a few hours.~

Hours? How was she suppose to know when that was? There were no clock or windows here to tell the time. She did do as instructed and chugged the water bottle throwing back 4 of the pain killers. Probably more than what was prescribed but in her condition she wanted to take the whole bottle. She couldn’t do that to Caroline. It wasn’t fair to leave her here. Katie threw the pill bottle across the room so she couldn’t reach it. She laid back down and took note that he had torn her dress off. She saw it laying in a torn crumpled mess near her. She couldn’t control the tears that poured down her face. She became a sobbing screaming mess. No true words came out just screams of pure agony. This must be what hell feels like. Oh how she hoped hell was worse and thats where these brothers spent the rest of forever. Burning and rotting in the deepest pits of sulfur. She continued to scream until she wore herself out and the medicine took over. The combination pulling her into a dreamless sleep.

Vincent could hear her screams from where he was in the museum. He was standing directly over her making repairs to one of Mama’s older pieces. The small vent in the floor allowed her voice to echo up to him. He wanted to return to her. Tell his angel she was okay and he wasn’t mad at her anymore. She could apologize and they could go back to their bedroom and lay together, as they did before. He had hoped he would be able to let her sleep without the restraints but that would not happen for a while.

“Give ‘em an inch they take a damn mile.” Bo’s voice rang through the empty museum. “I could hear her screaming all the way in the shop. Didn’t think you had it in ya, Vinny.” He crossed his arms and smirked looking to his twin.

Vincent only shrugged in response, still thinking of his angel, all alone underground. She hated him more now than she did before. But she would learn, she would come to listen and love him.

“They’ll come around. Things are gonna be okay now. Have to watch those hands though, make sure they aren’t scheming on us. Mama’s dreams are coming true. Town will be done soon and we’ll have families. She’d be proud of us. ‘Bout dinner time. Gonna wake her up make her cook for me. I’ll have her make something for you and I’ll bring it down. Can’t let them near each other for a whiles. If you keep her upstairs at night, make sure she cant sneak out. ” Bo instructed and clapped over the shoulder before walking away.

—

Caroline didn’t want to open her eyes even though a quiet voice was telling her to wake up. A warm hand was making feather like touches on her ass. Even with the softness it burned.

“Dinner time, baby. Gotta get up and cook for your family. Then you can take a shower and I’ll take care of you. Were a good girl taking your spanks. I know you’ll be able to learn.” Bo’s voice was soft as he pulled her up and sat her on his lap. She shrieked in pain and tears escaped her eyes. “I know baby. I know it hurts but ya gotta learn your place.” He kissed her tears from her cheeks and moved her to stand in front of him.

He was surprised when she immediately fell to her knees and placed her hands on his jean clad thighs looking up at him through her tear filled lashes. He put his hand on her cheek and brushed away more tears.

“I’m sorry I disobeyed you, Bo. You’re the head of the family and I need to follow your rules. You decide what is best for me and our family.” The words tasted rotten on her tongue like spoiled milk but she said them knowing he would like that.

“Good girl. You’re forgiven baby. Come on now, dinner ain’t gonna cook itself.” He stood and pulled her up to stand next to him. He bent down and to press a kiss to her forehead but she turned her head up capturing his lips on hers. He pulled away and ran a hand through her hair another mutter of ‘good girl’ under his breath.

They walked together to the kitchen and Caroline was surprised she could walk at all. Every step was painful and tears sat in the corners of her eyes waiting to fall. Once in the kitchen Bo sat at the table and watched her.

“Whatever you make, make sure its easy to transport. I gotta take it downstairs to Vincent and your sister.” At the mention of Katie, Caroline took a sharp inhale. Of course they would be separated right now. She nodded and looked through the kitchen to see what Lester had brought her. She would have to make the grocery list tomorrow. There wasn’t a lot. Mostly things that could be thrown together quickly. But he did bring tomatoes she could make a quick tomato soup and grilled ham and cheese.

“Umm, there’s not a lot since Lester hasn’t be able to shop off a list from me. I think I can make tomato soup and grilled ham and cheese. If thats okay? Or I can find something else, maybe.” Her voice trailed off and Bo took her hand.

“You make whatever you want baby. This is the one place in the house you can call the shots.” He kissed her hand and let his lips linger a bit too long.

“Okay.” Her voice was soft afraid a wrong move would upset him again. He watched as she moved around the kitchen, figuring out where all the pots and pans were kept. Her hands went to the knife block but froze when she realized they were gone. He was one step ahead of her. Taking the sharps so she couldn’t cut him. “Bo?”

“Yes baby?”

“Can’t prep the food without a knife. I mean I can try but…” Her voice tapered off when he stood going to a high cabinet she hadn’t even noticed before. There was a lock on it and he had the key. Opening it he took down a knife but held it close to his thigh. He took a step towards her and used his free hand to whirl her so her back hit his chest. Without warning the knife was against her throat, “You try anything stupid with this and you’re in for it baby. You thought that last punishment was harsh, it will be nothing compared to the beating you get if you try anything with this knife. Understand?”

Her whole body trembled, “Yes, sir. I understand. I’ll be good.” He took the knife from her throat and gently placed it in her hand. He kissed the top of her head and went back to sitting at the table watching her.

It wasn’t long before she was done and had food plated in front of him. He looked at and narrowed his eyes.

“You need to eat. I’ve told you that.”

She signed and made herself a plate much smaller than his but he accepted that. She sat it down at the seat next to him but he pulled it next his and moved her onto his lap. She hissed at the pain.

“It‘ll get better baby.” He cooed to her trying to calm her. “Eat. Then a cold shower will be good for you.” He took a bite of his food and nearly moaned. “Damn baby. How the hell do you make everything taste so good?”

The rest of the email was eaten in silence. Once he was done he let her up. “Now, I’m going to take food to Vincent and Katie. You will stay here and do your housework.” His words were simple and could have been borderline sweet then he stood. Once he was full height his hand went back and smacked her across the face. “Anything, fucking anything, is out of place when I get back…”

“I’ll get punished I know. I’ll be good.” His slapped her again.

“Don’t fucking interrupt me bitch. Get to work.” He made sure to get the knife and clean it before putting it away. He took the leftover food and made his way downstairs to drop it off with Vincent and go over plans for the next day.

When he came back 30 minutes later to the kitchen it was spotless. Even the knobs on the oven were shiny. How she did it that fast he will never know. Caroline was leaning against the counter holding a tissue to her nose. He could see bits of red on it.

“Baby, what happened?” His face looked full of concern.

“I don’t know. I was cleaning the floor and noticed it had started bleeding. Maybe the bleach was too strong.” That was a lie. She felt her nose start to bleed moments after he hit her, but she’d never admit that. She moved her tissue from her nose and let him check.

He looked her over, “Looks like it stopped. Good job cleaning baby. Looks almost as pretty as you in here. Let’s go up and shower.”

She nodded and followed him up the stairs to the bathroom. He let her in ahead of him and then closed the door. He turned on the water and turned to her.

“Shower together, save water.” He took his clothes off and pulled off her dress and bra. Her eyes widen, realizing she was completely naked in front of her kidnapper. She tried to cover herself but he held her arms. “Don’t hide from your husband baby. You’re beautiful.” He stepped into the shower and took her with him.

She tried to keep her eyes focused on the wall over his shoulder.

‘Mama will forgive this Caroline. You’ll still go to better place in the end.’ This became a chanted mantra in her head.

He took her hips and spun them around so she was under the water. When the water hit her ass she screamed and beat her fist on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to his chest letting the cool water flow down her back.

“Hurts, hurts. Please stop.” She whimpered into his chest. Bo shook his head and moved them under the water even more letting her hair get wet. Water fell from her hair and down her face. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the pain.

“Gotta clean you baby.” She heard the sound of a bottle opening and felt his hands rub soap up and down her back and arms. “Won’t worry about your hair tonight. You can shower again in the morning and wash it and dry it. Taken tomorrow off to spend the day at home with you.” He continued to rub her back and noticed she tenses the lower down her back he got.

“Okay, that’ll be nice.” She whispered out through the pain she was still feeling. She was thankful he wasn’t make this shower sexual. She was still scared and uncomfortable but it was like he actually cared for her. Soon he had cleaned himself and cut off the water. Getting out he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her before wrapping one around his waist.

She followed him back to the bedroom and waited for his instructions. He went to his dresser and took out of his shirts and his boxers. He threw the shirt at her.

“Let’s go to bed, baby.” He laid down and watched as she carefully pulled his shirt on. He was right, it did hit her mid-thigh. She crawled up the bed and carefully laid down on her side with her head on his chest. She hated that her hair was wet but he had promised her a shower again in the morning.

Bo’s hand went to her hair and brushed through the wet tangles.

“We’ll have a nice day tomorrow baby. Spend all day together. You can show me what a good girl you can be for me. But I can’t trust you right now. Give me your hand, baby.” He kissed her forehead and she gave him her hand without a fight. He took the handcuffs and locked her wrist to his “Once you can be trusted again we won’t have to do this.” Caroline nodded and got back on him, gently rubbing her face against his chest.

Her mind was swirling, thoughts racing. They had to get out of here. This place was a living hell. No matter what they had to do, her and Katie we’re getting out of here.

—

It was dark when Katie woke up again. The candles around her had gone out, leaving the room cold. Without her clothes Katie was freezing.

Where was Vincent? She couldn’t tell if he was in the room with her not. She could barely see her hand in front of her face.

“Vincent? Are you here?” When she didn’t hear any footsteps she started to panic. Had he left her here to die? Was this the end for her? Panic and fear fully setting in she started screaming his name and begging for him.

Finally the door opened and he stepped into the room, the candles from the studio providing little light. He knelt in front of her and took her face in hand. Using his thumps to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. She pressed her cheek into his palm and basked at the feeling of his warm hand on her cold skin.

She reach up and covered his hand with her own. “I’m sorry Vincent. I’m sorry i was stupid. Please, please can we go back to bed? It’s so cold here. Please, I’ll be good. I’ll be good for you. I promise.” She stated repeating over and over until he put his finger to her lips. He wiped her tears again and stood up walking to the door. “No! Please don’t leave me again. Please please take me with you.” Sobs wrecked through her body at the thought of being alone again. He still left the room but quickly returned with food.

Caroline had made it. She could tell because it was one of their favorite meals. Their dad would make it for them when their mom was busy with her society meetings.

The food was a little cold but she ate anyway, basically inhaled it. She didn’t know how long she had been in the studio. She had woke up a few times but only for a few moments before sleep took over. When her food was gone she sat the plate on the mattress next to her and looked up to Vincent. She wondered when he ate. Obviously never in front of her but would he take his mask off for his brothers? It seemed a touchy subject and she was in no way in a position to ask touchy questions.

A shiver ran down her spine, the cold air biting her skin again. She tried to move closer to Vincent to try and get warmth from his body heat but the chain around her pulled her back. He was just out of reach. She whimpered and held out her arms to him.

“Please? I’m sorry. Please just make it warmer. Make me warmer. I’m freezing. I learned my lesson. I’ll stay, I’ll be good.” She pulled her arms back and rubbed her hands up and down them. She looked to him to see if his body language had changed at all. It was then she noticed the strip of cloth in his hand. He moved closer to her and went behind her. She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything. ‘Just go along with it. Just play along. You knew this would happen at some point. Just think of Caroline. Survive for Caroline,’ she started to mentally prepare for what she thought was about to happened.

The fabric was placed over her eyes and tied around the back of her head. She sat and waited his hands to touch her body. But the feeling never came. She was beginning to worry he had slipped out of the room again but suddenly she felt his hands on her face. Tilting her head up he brushed the remaining tears from her cheeks. Then she felt his lips on hers. She could feel something on his face and it wasn’t his mask. She tried to touch him but he bit her lip in warning. She put her hands on his shoulders and he seemed to approve of that. Damn why did the psycho have to be a good kisser?

After another moment he pulled away. His hands falling from her face. She stay still as one of his wax figures waiting for his cue to do anything. The blindfold was removed as well as the collar on her neck. She looked to him still waiting but she started shivering. He opened his arms for her and she dove in to him. Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as the tears returned along with another string of apologizes.

He picked her up and she wrapped her legs on his waists. She thought they would go to the bedroom upstairs but he stopped in his studio. He sat them both in his work chair letting her turn so her back touched his chest. He took a piece of paper and handed it to her. Her name written in his script on the fold page.

~My angel. I hate nothing more than not being able to calm you screams. But you must learn angel. You must be good. The plans won’t work if you’d listen. How can we expect our children to listen if their mother can’t.~ Katie gasps at the children part. ~Tomorrow we will spend the day together here in the studio. I can show you how to make sculptures. Or you can draw. Whatever you want tell me and I will get it for you, my sweet little angel.~

Katie found it funny how he called her his ‘angel’ when in her mind he was a demon.

“Or I could tattoo you.” She laughed softly making his hear soar. “I’m kidding. Unless you want me to do it. All my supplies are in the car.” She felt his chest move in what felt like as laugh. He took his pen and wrote the short reply on the bottom of the original note.

~Maybe next time. Bed?~

Katie nodded and stood waiting for him. He stood and picked her up again.

“I have legs I can walk.” But he shook his head. “Fine.” She groaned and rested her head on his shoulder. She glanced up and noticed what looked like scars peaking out from the edge of his mask. Was he burned somehow? Or maybe in an accident. She would save that talk for another time.

They made it to the upstairs and he gave her a few minutes into he bathroom to freshen up. She almost threw up when she saw herself in the mirror, dark bruises in the shapes of hands circled her throat from where he had chocked her. A faint hand could be seen on her face from the slap.

Vincent of course stood guard at the door to make sure she didn’t run off to find Caroline. When she was done they went back to the bedroom. She went for her suitcase to see if any of her pajamas were still inside but he took her hand showing her to the dresser. Opening the top drawer it was full of her things now. Undergarments and pajamas arrange in a neat order. She took out an oversized shirt and a pair of athletic shorts. Slowly she took off her bra and slipped the clothes on. Thankfully he let her do it with her back to him. When she turned she saw that he too had changed in the short time, now wear a tank top and boxers.

He took her hand and guided her to the bed letting her crawl in first. Once they were both on the mattress he got the cuffs. Wordlessly she held up her arm letting him lock them together. He brushed hair out of her face and pressed his wax lips to her cheek.

“Vincent?” To hell with all of her talk about waiting to ask about his face. He was holding her against her will at least he could be honest with her about something. He gave her his attention looking at her with his one blue eye. Her hand carefully touched his wax cheek. He tried to turn away from her but her voice made him freeze.

“If you want me to trust you, to listen to you, I need to know you. I don’t think its fair to not be able to fully know my husband.” Oh that word burned as it left her lips but she knew he would like it. “I understand if it takes time but I… I won’t judge you. Doubt I can be more scared of you than I already am.” The last sentence came a whisper and Vincent’s heart shattered. She shouldn’t be scared of him. He loved her. He was going to take care of her.

A million scenarios ran through his head once his heart started beating again. How could she not judge him. He was hideous. But she was right, it wasn’t fair to her when he got to see all of her. His took her hand off his cheek and slowly removed the mask from his face. His long hair feel to cover him almost like it had a mind of its own to protect him.

Katie’s hands shook as she moved his hair from his face and saw him truly for the first time. She could tell him and Bo were identical. But he only had one side of his face. The other side was completely scared over. Like someone had sliced the other side of his face off. She went to touch him but froze only continuing when he nodded. The only people to ever see his face were his family. But she was his family now he reasoned with himself. Her fingers traced lines on his face. Both the good and ugly side.

“What…? Never mind.” She whispered and continued to touch him. But he knew her question before the first word fell from her lips. He took a notepad from the bedside table, he must have them stashed everywhere around the house, and wrote.

~Bo and I were conjoined at birth. Our father was a doctor and separated us.~ He drew a quick crude sketch of them as infants. ~Mama made me mask so I could go to school~

He waited for her to say something. To call him a monster and that he was unloveable. But that never came. Instead she pressed her lips to his softly. Her hands going to his hair to pull him closer. Their joined hands crossing allowing him to hold her cheek. They kissed for what felt like ages before she broke it off for air.

“Thank you for trusting me.” She kissed him quickly one more time before laying down pulling him down with her. Like the night before she curled into his chest and let her hand fall on his heart. But this time she was awake when she did it. So it was her choice. A choice he was happy she made.

—

Bo did as promised and let her take a shower to wash her hair properly. He complained the whole time about how much time she was taking but never stopped her. Today would be a fresh start for them. Spend the whole day together just the two of them. He’d tell her about Mama and all the plans for the town. They’d cuddle on the couch and watch whatever signal the tv could pick up. He’d tell her how much he loved her and how perfect she was to him. He was still trapped in the paradise in his mind, not even hearing the hairdryer. It wasn’t until the door opened and she took his hand that he he snapped out of his daydream. Only to fall into another one seeing her all done up. Her hair was curled like he told her he liked it but the sides had been twisted back in small braids. She had on the outfit he picked for her, a yellow skirt and white top and had dolled up her face. Long eyelashes and pink shimmering lips.

“Beautiful, baby. A sight for sore eyes.” He brushed his hand down her cheek and titled her head up to kiss her.

Pulling away she laughed and wiped her thumb across his bottom lip, “Got my lip gloss on ya now.” Her fingers lingered on the corner of his mouth and she waited for his reaction. He smiled at her and softly bit her thumb in a playful way.

“Babygirl what have I told ya, your playing with fire when you do things like that.” His eyes shined with lust. “Gonna be hard to keep my hands off you today.” He put is hands on her hip and lifted her into his arms carrying her down to the kitchen.

He pulled a book down from one of the high cabinets, “Found Mama’s book. You can start practicing. Maybe can actually make the food taste good.” He handed her the book and pulled out a chair at the table. “Sit down, baby and start making a list a Les. I’ll make ya breakfast today.” He put a pen and paper next to her.

Oh, he was trying to butter her up. Play sweet today to hook her in deep. She just nodded and carefully sat down wincing at the pain. This mornings shower had been better than the night before. But she was still bruised. And now her face sported a purple mark where he had slapped her.

She flipped through the book and marked the pages she liked. Noting down what food she would need for each one. Hopefully Katie could come back soon and help her. They always did everything together.

“How often does Lester go for supplies? I don’t want to put too little and we run out of food. Or too much and it spoils.” She looked to him as he sat a plate of toast with jam and eggs next to her along with a glass of what she assumed was orange juice.

“Every two weeks or so. Maybe someday I can let you go with him.” He sat down next to her and took the cookbook from her flipping through the pages she had mark. He stopped at one and tapped the page she had marked, it was recipe for pot roast, “That’s mine and Vinny’s favorite. One of the only things that tasted really good. Mama made it for our birthday every year.”

Hearing birthday made Carolines eye light up. She and Katie loved birthdays. “When’s your birthday? So I can make it for you. Katie and I love celebrating birthdays.”

She didn’t notice his jaw clench when she said Katie’s name. “September 18th, 1970.”

“Oh that’s soon. It’s August… wait, 1970?” Caroline did the math in her head, that couldn’t be right. 1970? It was 2004 that would be make him… 33 about to be 34.

“I’ll admit I don’t know everything in the world, baby but I think I know my birthday.”

“I just wasn’t… didn’t think…” How could she word it without making him mad. She bit her lip thinking.

Bo put his hand on her thigh and pulled her chair closer, “Spit it out babygirl.”

“I just didn’t think you were that much older than me.” She looked up at him and saw his face twist in confusion and she assumed it mirrored her own look.

He shook his head, “How old are you?”

“We turned 19 in March.” A smirk grew on Bo’s face. She really was a sweet young little thing. He figured she was younger then him but he thought maybe by 7 or 8 years, not 15.

He took her face in hand and kissed her forehead, “Really are my sweet babygirl ain’t ya?” Oh course this news made him excited. Caroline just nodded and tried to smile at him, continuing to eat the food he made her. She made notes in the cookbook, including putting their birthday next to the recipe he had pointed out with the note ‘Bo and Vincent’s favorite’.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Until footsteps were heard above them, and Bo shifted. It was like watching a dog go from happy and jumping at the sight of its owner to growling and baring its teeth at the cat behind them.

He stood up and cleared the table putting the dishes in the sink. He left the recipe book and her note on the table, pulling her up into his arms. He pressed her face in his chest and whispered harshly in her ear, “You say so much as one word to her and I’ll have you over my knee. You just stand here and be quiet. Understand baby?”

She shuddered in his hold and nodded, “Yes, sir.” His hands wrapped her resting on her lower back. She moved her hands to wrap around his neck. She heard their footsteps enter the kitchen and the sound of cabinets and the fridge being opened and closed. The entire time Bo whispered sweet nothings in her ear, a blend of “good girl” “sweet baby listening so well” “proud of you”. Something about being told he was proud of her made her preen. She thrived off praise. Finally she heard a lock open followed the a door opening and closing before the locked clicked back into place. Bo finally released her and let her step back.

“Come on baby. Imma show you around the house.” He took her hand and led her around the bottom floor which didn’t have many rooms. The kitchen, living room (which was large), and the master bedroom but that door was closed. “No going into Mama and Dad’s room” he informed her. They made their way up the stairs to more doors. She knew his or well their room and the bathroom. He pointed out one of the doors as Lester’s, telling her that the next time he was home she needed to ask if he wanted his room clean.

“Does he not stay here all the time?”

Bo shook his head, “Nah, little brother likes to play independent. Has a little trailer on the edge of town. But sometimes he comes home.”

Caroline just nodded in response as Bo moved on. He pointed out Vincent’s room, she assumed it was now Katie’s room too. There was one more door at the end of the hall with a name plaque that read “Dr. Victor Sinclair.”

“I don’t care if every other room in this house if full of venomous snakes and spiders- if you open this door I will not hesitate to snap your neck.” His tone was serious and she knew better than to ask him about this room.

She just nodded and he took her back downstairs. There weren’t many pictures on the walls but the few she saw showed Vincent in a mask. Had he worn it always?

“Bo?” She asked as he sat them down on the couch after flicking the tv on and wiggling the rabbit ears until it played a station. She didn’t know what show was on because it was currently displaying a toothpaste commercial.

“Yeah baby?” He pulled her close to him and had her rest her head on his shoulder.

She swallowed hoping she wouldn’t get in trouble for the question. “Um, Vincent, has he, has he always had the mask? I just saw the pictures and he looks so young in them.”

Bo just nodded and she could tell he was chewing on his cheek like he wasn’t sure what to tell her. Should probably be honest with her, if she was to trust him.

“Stay here I’ll be right back.” He stood up and she heard him digging in a drawer in the kitchen. He returned moments later with a photo in his hand. He sat back down and turned the photo to her. It was him and Vincent as new borns. “Dad was able to separate us but Vinny was messed up. Doesn’t have the other eye all that shit. I was luckily I guess. Can’t see the scar under my hair unless it’s cut short.”

Her hand went to the back of his head without thinking and he grabbed it taking her fingers to his scar. His breathing hitched in his throat. Never had he been so honest.

“Mama made a mold of my face to make him the mask. He hated them at first but Mama made him wear them. Didn’t want the world to see his face. Use to piss me off. He’d be all upset and bed her not to put it on him but she would anyway.”

“So he can talk?”

“A little. It’s not easy. The cut runs from here to here on him.” He took his finger and traced a line done her face for forehead to chin going over a portion of her lips. “So part of his mouth scarred over. Plus with the mask on it gets muffled. It’s just easier for him to write things down or gesture.”

Caroline hummed and nodded, an idea popping in her head. “Oh I can take you some sign language now. We can start easy with the ABCs.” Bo smiled and twisted her so she straddled his lap. “Okay baby. Teach me.” He held his hands to her and she smiled at him, what seemed like a true smile. The rest of the morning was spent with her showing him the letters and moving his fingers to help him understand. She’d giggle when he messed up and she’d careful move his fingers the right way. Maybe today would be okay.

—

Katie woke up and noticed Vincent wasn’t in their room. She sat up and saw a stack of her clothes on the edge of the bed. The outfit he had chosen for her. She picked up the pile and saw it was jean shorts and a plain olive green shirt. Nothing special, she figured since he planned on showing her how to work with wax he didn’t want to dirty any of her dresses. She also noticed her hands weren’t cuffed to the bed. She got dressed and sat on the edge of the bed brushing her hair. She braided it in a simple French braid. But hers was no where near as perfect as Vincent made for her before. Once done she sat and waited for him to return. After a few minutes he returned with a tray in hand. She saw toast and eggs, a cup of coffee, and what she figured was orange juice.

He sat the tray on the small desk in the corner sat in the one of the two chairs, she wondered if one had been Bo’s chair at one point. He looked to her and motioned for her to come to him. She followed his command and sat in the chair next to him. He took a plate and the orange juice and sat them in front of her before taking a plate and the the coffee cup for himself. He took a breath and removed his mask again letting his hair fall in front of his face. She didn’t make a move to move it this time, letting him go at his own pace.

“Thank you. I wondered where you went. I was starting to miss you.” She tacked the last sentence on to hopefully keep to his good side. He looked to her and offered a half smile from the unscarred part of his face. They ate in silence and when done he stood but put his hand on her to keep her down.

“Stay.” The word came out rough as usual. She nodded and stayed still folding her hands on her lap. He put his mask back on and went back to the kitchen putting the dishes in the sink. He returned to her and was happy to see she had followed orders. She was still sitting in the chair he left her, her eyes wandering over the art on the walls.

“I like that one.” She pointed to one of the frames above the desk. It was oil pastel of pink and white water lilies. “I love floral art especially water lilies. If you can’t tell.” She ran her hand over her arm that in fact had a pink water lily on her inner arm above her wrist. “This was one of the first ones I did completely by myself when I was 17. Dad got me my first machine for my 15th birthday. Caroline got a new curling iron set. If that can tell you how different we are in some aspects. Him and his best friend were tattoo artists and they taught me on the side. Wasn’t exactly legal since I was underage but we didn’t tell anyone. And no one questioned when I turned 18 and just stated working in his shop.”

Vincent listened to her story and was reminded of him and his mother. Her teaching him how to work with wax and making his own figures. His first figure was featured in the museum. A small dog. Looking at it now he would cringe. It was really awful but 9 year old Vincent had been so proud. And Mama had been so proud she talked about it like it reviled the statue of David.

He didn’t notice Katie had started crying until he heard her sniffle. He looked at her and he saw quiet tears falling as she traced the tattoo. “Dad was so proud when I showed him this. Said it was the best he had ever seen. Fuck. Sorry, I’m crying. I just miss him. Him and Mama died a few months ago. They were on a train trip across Alaska and the train crashed. Only half the travelers were survivors.” As she told the story she cried more. She realized it was the first time she had cried over this without Caroline there with her. Her face fell to her hands as the tears turned to sobs. She kept apologizing trying to choke down the sobs but he just shushed her. He picked her up and sat down with her on the bed. He rubbed her back and took his mask off so he could kiss her hair. They stayed that way for a few minutes before her sobs died down and she was able to breath again.

“Thank you Vincent.” Her voice was a little horse from crying but he still loved the way his name left her lips. He kissed her forehead one more time and set her feet on the floor. He stood up, putting his mask back on, and took her hand. In his other hand he had a note for her. She took it in her free hand and read it.

~We have to pass Bo and Caroline to get to the studio. Do not talk to her. Don’t even look to her. Stay quiet.~

She looked up him and nodded obediently. He held her hand as they traveled down the stairs. He stopped in the kitchen and she got a quick glance of Caroline in Bo’s arms, keeping her face against him so she couldn’t see Katie. This was obviously part of their punishment. Vincent took a few things from the cabinets and fridge handing them to her, some water bottles and premade deli sandwiches.

He took her down to the studio and had her sit the food on a desk to the side. He showed her to a closet that was filled with art supplies. Pencils, paints, oils, charcoal, papers of all kinds, anything an artist could need. Once she had looked around it a bit he took her to another area where his molds for figures were held. He picked up a few looking at the bottoms. Finally he found the one he was looking for and handed it to her.

He brought her to his work bench and started the fire that would melt the wax. He showed her all the steps to prep everything and once the wax was ready he let her place her hands over as he poured it into the mold.

~Something this size will take about 5 hours to harden enough to take it out of the mold. We can draw if you would like, my angel.~

She nodded and slid off his lap allowing him to stand. She followed him back to the first closet he had showed her and let her pick what she wanted. She took one of the sketching books and pencils. He took the same and went back to the work bench.

“Can I sit on the floor? I work better on the floor. I don’t know why.” She asked not sitting down with him.

He titled his head to the side but nodded and stood again going into the closet like room with the mattress. Oh how she hoped she was never locked there again. He came back with one of the larger blankets and spread it on the floor. Katie sat down and crossed her legs after thanking him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him sit on the floor with her and she looked to him and smiled. The next 2 hours were spent in completely silence, but a comfortable silence. Occasionally she would glance up and notice him watching her. Whenever this happened blood would rush to her cheeks and she’d smile. This she could get use to doing. Having someone to do art with again was nice. Caroline tried but it wasn’t her thing. Like doing fancy hair styles wasn’t Katie’s.

Eventually they heard the door at the top of the stairs open. Vincent stood and went to the door of the studio where Bo was standing with Caroline behind him. She was able to lock eyes with her sister and tried to smile but seeing the purple on her sisters face made her stomach tighten. Caroline must be feeling the same way as her seeing Katie’s bruises. She had honestly forgotten about them until she saw Caroline.

Without a word Bo handed a book to Vincent before turning away and taking Caroline back upstairs. Vincent returned to her and gave her the book. There was a note from Caroline on it.

-This is their Mama’s cookbook. I marked the pages I liked and wrote down what food we need for it. I made notes in the book too. I love you twin.-

Katie put her sketch pad to the side. Her hand was started to cramp from the holding the pencils anyway. She flipped through the book. Everything Caroline had marked would be what she would like too. Food was a common love of theirs. She got to a recipe for pot roast and noticed a note -Bo and Vincent’s Favorite. Make it on their birthday, 9/18/70- was written in Caroline’s curly handwriting. 1970? No she must have written it down wrong, it should probably be 1980.

“Vincent?” She asks softly moving closer to him with the book in her hands. He out his sketch book face down and looked to her. “Is this right? Is that really your birthday?” She pointed to the note Caroline had left. He looked at it and nodded. “Even the year?” She asks starting to mentally do the math. Again he nodded. So if she born in 1985 and he was born in 1970, that would make him 15 years older than her. He would be turning 34 soon and she was 19. “Oh, okay.” She said softly before going back to flipping pages.

While she was reading he slid one of his notes to her.

~When is your birthday?~

“It’s already passed. March 5, 1985. We turned 19 this year. But September is our half birthday, six months after our birthday. Mama and Daddy always thought was fun to celebrate that too. Since there’s two of us we got two celebrations to make sure we felt all the love. We’d even get half a cake. That’s on September 5. Oh yours and Bo’s is March 18! We have opposite birthday months thats fun. Caroline and I love birthdays. We like say they are our second favorite holiday after Halloween.”

Watching her eyes light up made Vincent’s heart beat faster. His sweet angel, excited to celebrate him. But she was so young. If he had realized how young she was he may not have gone along with Bo’s plans. Maybe even would have let the girls leave town unharmed. He knew what it was like to be stuck in this town forever. Catherine had never even truly experienced the world and he had damned her to his hell. He clipped his angel’s wings. But they were in too deep now. He cared too much or her to let her leave him now. And he liked to think she was coming around to caring for him too.

He watched her go back to reading through the cookbook making notes and writing down what she wanted. She would look up at him at times and smile at him. After letting his mind wander and his eyes linger on her he went back to his sketch.

When she was done with the cookbook she sat it aside and returned to her own sketch. She didn’t know how many hours had gone by but she was able to finish her piece. She signed the bottom and smiled. She looked up and caught Vincent staring at her again.

“I finished mine.” She told him turning the book to him showing him her art. He took it from her and examined it closely. It was a landscape of Ambrose she had done from memory, each of the brothers were featured some where. She had Bo at his shop working on his truck, Lester leaning against his truck with a cigarette, and himself in front of the museum. She even had Jonesy sitting in front of the pet shop. He took his notepad and quickly wrote

~You did this from memory? You only saw the town f or a few hours.~

She made his favorite sound in the world, she laughed. “I have a good memory and the town isn't that big. Could maybe soon, you show me it again? It’d be nice to be outside again.” Her voice trailed off wishfully.

He had been keeping her inside too much. An angel like her needs to be outside in the fresh air. He looked to her and nodded. He’d have work with Bo to find time to do that.

She smiled again and looked down to try and get a peak at his art. Out of instinct he pulled it close to chest but when she leaned away from with a slight frown he turned it to her. She looked it over and gasps. He had drawn her in an angelic light. She had never seen herself look so beautiful. He let her take the drawing from him and she traced the lines gently. Tears started to form in her eyes.

“This is beautiful. Is… is this really how you see me? I’m not this pretty.” She shook her head and handed the art back to him. He sat it down and took his note pad and wrote for what felt like forever. Once finished he gave it to her.

~My Catherine, my angel, you are the most beautiful being in all of the earths creation. No one could hold a light to your beauty. Not only do you have outer beauty but your soul itself is a work of art. You are so kind and loving. So pure. I am grateful to be able to call you mine. My sweet beautiful angel.~

For a brief second Katie forgot their past and how they got here. She forgot how he had taken her and was holding her against her will. She forgot how his brother was doing the same to her twin. For a moment it was like she and Vincent were a normal couple who drew for each other and wrote love letters. Never had anyone, not even her sister, said anything like this about her. The way he described her was like she was an angel. For a second she was able to see a future with him but then it all came flooding back. Everything that happened. But how could someone who could say the perfect things really be so bad? Maybe she did need to start listening to him.

#house of wax #house of wax 2005 #slasher fanfic #slasher fic #slashers #bo sinclair #brian van holt #house of wax fic #vincent sinclair

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