#and i will do that in like an hour but first.... a sin mints | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goldeneyedgirl · 2 years

Text

Ficmas 2022: Day 1: Mortal Sin (Jasper/Alice, M)

Hello and welcome to my hallowed annual tradition of fics, snippets, and future projects.

It's been a really long, messy year that took me away from Tumblr but I've been working in the background and would never miss posting fic for everyone. I love the Tumblr Jalice community and cannot wait to getting back into it and being around more often (more on that tomorrow!)

So we start with something dark. I wrote this back in the summer, and the implications are pretty grim but I do love experimenting with Jasper. and Alice's characters, so I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy it!

Mortal Sin

(trigger warnings: physical and psychological torture, violence, anatomy, assault, period-typical medical neglect.)

Dark Jasper x Alice, Canon AU.

—

Sometimes he wonders how far there is to fall.

What does hitting rock-bottom feel like? And what makes the intangible ‘them’ thing that he won’t just keeping digging further down? That if they tell him there is no crime, no heinous action that he hasn’t tried, that he won’t take it as a challenge to find some new way to debase himself?

(He remembers humanity better than he should, and he knows that his family worried. He was so charismatic, so charming, but it was like his mother and grandfather could see the vein of rot inside him, the potential for something terrible buried there. He resented them then for being so harsh with him, for correcting him so often and pleading with him to be better. Now, he resents them for being right. And then he wonders if they hadn’t made him into the monster with their sharp fear and urgency and utter lack of faith.)

He’s not that foolish, of course. Rock bottom will be on his knees in front of the Kings, waiting for his sentence. There’s a line drawn firmly in the sand of what is unacceptable, what is criminal, to those ancient bastards, and he will walk confidently down that line to see which of them falters first.

His story will always end at the pyre. It’s just a matter of when.

—

The asylum is an hour outside of the nearest town, in the middle of nowhere. Just a clearing and forest. A grim, grey building this is not the type of hospital beloved people are sent to - that hospital is closer to civilisation.

This is where the dregs of humanity are left to be forgotten and lost. Most of them have to be locked up, alone, for the safety of the staff. The rest are locked up to make things easy. All of them are drugged and beaten and starved and tormented; the same hollow look in their eyes, the clawing kind of desperation.

It is a special kind of hell that admits a child.

He finds her in the basement, where the hopeless cases were kept before the hospital was filled to the brim with them. She smells like many things - few of them good - but the underlying aroma is that of lemon sugar and mint. Fresh and sweet and he wants it.

Then he finds her, and he wants more than her blood.

(She’s a little marionette that he wants to take apart and restring. He wants to break her into a million little pieces and then put her back together. Maria always laughed at him, said that he should have been a surgeon with the way he carries on.)

She’s tiny and delicate, stuck halfway between gangly adolescent and malnourished orphan. Her eyes are such a light grey he marvels at them before he gets closer and realises that she’s almost certainly blind. Her black hair curls around her head, uneven and dry, and bruises stand out on her skin like brands. Her little home is tiny and dark, with a filthy pallet against one wall, and about four inches of filthy window to provide light.

Her emotions are like moth wings against him; they swallow him up so gently that it feels like being full, being satiated, for the very first time since he began this half life.

He breaks in whilst she’s sleeping, curled tight into a little ball. Under the stench of sweat and piss and medication, the lemon sugar wafts out at him, pulling him closer.

(Her wrist is so tiny, the skin is nearly transparent. Her eyelids too; just membrane with blue and red veins. She’s a little marionette of . She’s perfect.)

She sighs in her sleep, and a strand of discomfort drifts outwards. But she doesn’t wake and doesn’t move.

He’ll leave before dawn, down the maintenance tunnels and out into the woods. He’s not sure why the girl is still alive, honestly, but somehow his human brain is overpowering his predatory side for now. She is something special, and she will be savoured carefully.

(Down, down, down another few steps to hell.)

—

It has to be said that Maria isn’t thrilled that he vanishes between battles but then, it’s also easier for her if he entertains himself; less to clean up. So he’s allowed to prowl the forests of Mississippi with the blind girl swirling in his mind.

She is grossly neglected, even he recognises that. The scant meals she is offered are often rancid; she is washed twice a week, if being hauled into an ice bath, or hosed down count as such things.

But he slowly learns. The girl is Mary. She’s of-age for a vampire - the one rule of Maria’s that is law beyond all else. At least, the only one she enforces without question. If it got back to her that he was stalking anyone under fourteen, his head would roll without ceremony.

And there’s no doubt that Maria knows exactly where he has occupied himself.

She’s treated for various things that are just fancy words on the page. Nothing useful, but he prefers to know all he can about her before he approaches her.

(Ward of the state, signed over by both her parents - the mother’s signature unsteady - when she was ten. Mary Alice Brandon. Babbling visions and nonsense, struck dumb at random intervals. Hysterical. A more perfect victim he could not have imagined. After all, no one is going to believe a raving girl with such a helpful history.)

His plans take shape slowly, and the anticipation is such a sweet thing. He haunts the shadows, watching sweet Mary and cataloguing everything; she behaves like she’s completely blind, her head tilted up as her gaze hunts impossible light. She taps the wall with her fingers as she walks, with a limp (her left ankle is slightly crooked - a badly healed break). Her black hair curls around her ears, but is uneven and unkept.

She is a mercurial creature, humming and chatting at the nurses and orderlies. They aren’t kind to her and she’s regularly slapped and hit, pushed and tripped. It explains the bruises and abrasions that litter her limbs. The black eyes, the swollen cheek, the ways she coils herself up tight in her sleep.

But with no specific trigger, no provocation, she turns into a hissing, spitting, feral little beast that hollers and screams and fights tooth-and-nail against the staff.

He almost admires her rage.

(The heaving orderly slips into her cell well after midnight, and she lets out a sound of protest that sounds like a sob. It takes no effort to cause a distraction that sends the orderly from her cell; to lure him outside. The man is no one and nothing, human refuse who dares to put his hands on Jasper’s prize.

It is not a quick death or an easy death, and those that find his remains won’t forget the sight any time soon. But the Major was never known for playing nicely with others.)

—

“Hello, Mary.”

The first time he speaks to her, she’s lain awake for hours - like she’s waiting. He takes that as an opportunity - better that he doesn’t wake her from a dead sleep, panicked and disorientated.

(As pleasing as a thrashing, panicked victim can be - the pounding heart, the rush of blood, the futility of their fight - he has bigger plans for her. What could be more enjoyable than a terrified victim?

An adoring one.)

She jerks upwards, eyes wide and unseeing. “Who’s there?” she demands, but he can feel her fear, hear the tremor in her voice. The moths’ wings are frantic and he can feel himself leaning into it.

“My name is Major Whitlock.” He uses his gift to comfort her, to reassure her, his voice smooth and kind. “I’m here to look after you, Mary. I’ll take very good care of you, I promise.”

She’s shaking now, pressed against the wall, her hands clasped tightly at her collarbones, her dead eyes darting futilely.

“How did you get in here?” she asks, one hand drifting down to tug her blanket around her, and her emotions are punctured with the flavour of dread that the heaving orderly would inspire, and that makes him frown, annoys him.

As if he would be so crude and clumsy in his pursuit, as if he is no better than that smear of humanity…

“I came because I felt your pain, Mary,” he tries to resume the calm, enticing tones but even she can hear the edge in his voice. “I came because you called me. But I can leave if you don’t wish for me to be here…”

Curiosity spikes and she relaxes somewhat. “You… felt my pain? W-What are you?”

“Someone who can help you, Mary. If you’re willing to help me in return.”

A deal with the devil, a story as old as time.

The classics are classic for a reason, after all.

—

Mary, of course, allows him to stay. She’s suitably suspicious, but she tells him not to leave. She has many questions about what he is and what he wants. He is amused and a little irritated she thinks she has any power in this situation. But he lets her have this, lets her think that she has any say in what happens next.

(The groundskeeper had been a problem at first. And it would have been so easy to kill him without ceremony. But he’s been so bored for so long that it was more fun to get Peter to lead the old bastard far and away, on a wild goose-chase. Peter was amused that Jasper was going to so much theatricality for one meal, one crazy little blood bag, but he had laughed and called it ‘sport’, and Peter had agreed - keep the old one on the other side of Mississippi, and don’t kill him unless Peter’s own life was in danger. A harmless game so that Jasper could do his work and get all the pieces where he wanted them.)

She never makes the connection between him and the groundskeeper; she cannot see their matching eyes, their matching pallor. She doesn’t notice their icy skin or the fact they only attended to her in the night hours.

He breathes in her scent and lets the emotions wash over him; it’s fascinating how such a slip of a creature could make him feel so full up, his thirst slaked and his gift not needing to stretch out and find something else, something new. He’s never felt that way before.

(It makes him want more.)

—

It takes a few weeks for him to begin to enjoy the drugs they dose her with. At first they are an inconvenience, because he cannot get a sensible word out of her mouth if she’s conscious in the first place. Mostly, she’s just a limp pile of bones on her pallet, and that takes some of the fun out of it - because he gets inspired to be creative.

One of the medications gives her back-breaking seizures (he hears the strain and crack of her little bones as she thrashes); he enjoys the way her joints roll and press against the socket, the way her skin oh-so-nearly tears. The way she gasps for air and lets out sad little kitten noises, unconscious and unaware of how he hovers over her like a bird of prey.

He loathes whatever they give her when they take her out of the cell, when they drag her deeper into the hospital. She returns in a wheelchair, dumped unceremoniously in her bed. She’s still conscious but no longer lucid, and babbles the strangest things into the air.

(“We are going to be so happy. So happy. A blue, blue ribbon, Jasper. It’s okay, I forgive you, I’m not going to remember a single thing, I promise. Your eyes are the wrong colour. Why are they like that, Jasper? Jasper?”)

Sometimes when she’s like that, he leaves to hunt. Or he holds the rotting pillow over her face until she stops because he’s never asked for forgiveness before, let alone from someone like her. As if he needs some kind of absolution from a girl who can’t even stand without assistance, who is so weak that she screams for the mother that locked her away in this prison. He scolds her afterwards, for forgetting herself. But she’s usually dazed for a day or too, and apologises faintly, confused but agreeable.

Those are the days he worries that she’ll just go and die on her own. That thought agitates him enough that he kills one of the nurses in a temper, just to calm himself enough to be alone with Mary.

No, he doesn’t like that medication at all.

The medication that makes her sleep also offer a pleasing result, where she is limp and pliable. She doesn’t even notice when she wakes up with new bruises littering her torso and limbs; doesn’t suspect a thing when her elbow has been so very precisely dislocated, the bruise spreading like a heart up her arm. Isn’t surprised at the delicate abrasions on her wrists and neck (just enough for the blood to well up, for him to lave up - teasing and taunting and testing himself. Nothing worse than if

(He grips her by the throat and leaves behind a necklace of finger prints. He praises her lavishly the next day when he sees the burst blood vessels in her cloudy eyes, like she’s smart and clever. She manages a smile at him; she’s still cautious but she gets more comfortable with him night by night. The fastest way, he has found, to gain her trust is through food. She deigns to sit on his lap the day that he brings her fruit and bread, and he praises her some more. She’s right to be grateful to him, but it’s good that she has such nice manners. She smiles for him, and he smiles back even though she cannot see a thing - not the scarlet of his eyes, not the blood on his shirt, not even the vein of mould on the bread.)

—

She cries when he puts her joints back in the socket.

She cries when he takes them out, too.

(“Mary, what have they done to you?” he exclaims. She’s confused. “Your poor ankle!”)

He starts small, with fingers and toes. He cusses out the doctors as he dislocates them and lets the bone roll underneath his fingers for a little while before he puts them back. Then he moves on - ankles, knees, hips, jaw… She howls in pain some nights, and no one comes to her aid. Her face is white and clammy, her eyes wild and panicked but she still thanks him for taking such care of her, and he smiles back at her proudly,

(He wonders how long it will take her to so willingly allow him to take them all apart at the same time.)

—

He strikes her once. Hard enough that he probably fractured her orbital bone; left her with two black eyes and a bloody nose, cowering in the corner.

She’d been fretting for days, weeks, over the absence of the groundskeeper. And it had been very rude of her to worry over another man when she already has a guest to entertain.

But she hate kept on, insisting that something must be terribly wrong. She can’t even remember how long he’s been gone.

(“But you can’t remember much of anything, can you Mary?” he had mocked her, and she had deflated. He began the list of things that she cannot remember, cannot get right - her full name, her birthday, her age, her family, his name… she called him Major Hale one night, after fumbling and stammering for several moments for his name. He’d been cold with her, that she could be so rude as to forget his name, and she’d cried and begged for forgiveness until he’d let her sleep.)

Helpfully enough, Maria had sent a runner to retrieve him, and he’d left without a word for nearly four days. Maria had been annoyed enough when he’d informed her that Peter was occupied with an important task that he wasn’t going to keep her waiting. It was the best part of a week before he made it back, and she had been rocking on her little pallet, waiting. She’s quite clearly drugged, can’t form a sentence, so he puts her to bed and reminds her that no matter how much she hurts him, he’ll always come back to take care of her.

She cries then, and begs him not to leave her alone again, in a garbled, slurring monologue that only peters off when she finally gives into whatever injection they’ve forced upon her. Just before dawn, meaning that she will only get an hour of sleep before the orderlies come for the patients, to feed and wash them.

(The drugs are helpful, but the sleep deprivation is better. He can use his gift to keep her from falling asleep well enough. She snatches what she can, mostly when she’s medicated because she’s quite useless when she’s in that state. He never considered sleep as such a valuable linchpin, leaving her disorientated and obedient. It’s very, very easy to rewrite everything she knows when she hasn’t slept in 72 hours because she hasn’t earned it yet.)

She cowers from him again, when he visits, until after the bruises fade.

She doesn’t mention the groundskeeper, but he knows she looks for him, she knows that she waits for him. He can see it in her body language, waiting for her knight to come and save her.

So he brings her an apple picked from the tree and helps her sleep for almost six hours, calls her pretty and sweet and clever and rewrites the memory in her mind, basks himself in a warm glow in her mind.

(The next thing she forgets is her own name. But she never, even forgets his again. He finds that amusing, that he is more powerful than all of the rot and damage in her soft little brain.)

—

The day he calls Peter back home is the night after she looks at him, wracked with seizures but still impressively conscious and lucid, and asks him the question. Her shuddering body doesn’t allow him to get closer.

“Are you going to kill me, Major?” she asks innocently, her head flopped to the side. Her hands are curled, arms bent awkwardly against her chest. It’ll take hours for the muscles to relax, for the limbs to loosen up - that it took a whole day last time, and she had cried with relief as she got each joint back under her control

“Excuse me?” His voice is quiet and cool, and he’s furious that she’s implying his plans are so easily untangled. Is death his goal? No. Will it be the end result? Probably. But she’ll die willingly, devoted and trusting with lemon sugar on his tongue, and the softness of moth-wing emotions against his skin.

She chokes for a second and closes her eyes. “I-I see so many things,” she rasps. “No one ever believes me, but the things I see…”

“What do you see?”

She arches her back as the seizure takes control before she’s blinking owlishly at him, as if she’s going to open her eyes just once and be able to see him in all his glory.

He almost wishes she could. The blood on his mouth and his clothes, the filth, the black-red of his eyes… just once, to see who she so willingly shares her space with.

“I… I want Eli to come home,” she manages, disorientated. “He’s been gone so long…” Tears slide down her cheek and this time when she slumps over onto her bed, she doesn’t try to resist.

“If that is what you want, Mary,” he says, and she is too far gone to heed the warning in his voice.

“Please bring him home,” she whispers into the dark, and he nods before he lets her go, pulling his gift back enough that the seizure swallows her up and she is unconscious in seconds.

Be careful what you wish for, Mary. I might get jealous.

—

The Groundskeeper returns on a Thursday, and he stinks of horror and worry and fear when they face off. He’s older than expected, rough and worn. The affection and protectiveness he feels for Mary is practically written across his face, and Jasper is utterly certain that the Groundskeeper has his own plans for Mary.

“You leave her be,” he says with an edge in his voice that Jasper almost respects. “You leave this place and leave her alone. She’s a child.”

“She’s very much not,” he manages with a smirk; letting the old bastard imagine the very worst. But she’s certainly not a child. He would have killed her clean and moved on if she had been.

The Groundskeeper snarls at him, the rage wafting off him in clouds - fury, resentment, frustration, fear…

“Are you waiting for that, old man? To play house with the little angel? Make her pose as a pretty, very obliging daughter who would do anything for her adoptive father?”

The Groundskeeper lunges, but he is faster.

“I can tell you how this ends, if you’d like,” Jasper continues, darting around. “You lose, for the record. And she dies. She dies thinking that I’m the second coming of God, and that you were just another monster in a prison full of them. She’s going to die thinking that you were nothing, and apologising to me for making a mess. That’s what’s going to happen to your beloved Mary.”

“Her name is Alice.”

—

The fight is over surprisingly quickly, and the pieces burn fast.

Mary is on her feet when he arrives, her worry burning against him.

“Is it you?” she finally asks with desperation and Jasper almost feels sorry for her.

“Who are you hoping for, my dear?” he asks and Mary stumbles backwards, sliding down the wall, her dead eyes wide and horrified.

“You murdered him,” she whispers, her hands clasped in front of her. “You took away my only friend…”

Her tears are silent, and she just stares ahead, her hands shaking.

“Oh, Mary,” he crouches beside her, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “Would you have been so unhappy had I lost that fight? If he had taken my head?”

She jerks away, shuddering at his touch. “He protected me, he cared for me,” she manages.

“He was so dangerous,” Jasper cooed at her. “He was letting terrible things happen to you, my dear. He did terrible things to you.”

“No, he was my friend,” Mary turns her face away from him - or she tries, but he has a firm grip on her chin by then. “How could you?” More pretty little bruises for her collection.

“To look after you, Mary. To make sure that you are safe,” he repeated but there’s an edge this time. A warning. “I did this for you, Mary. I thought it was what you wanted. To be safe, for me to look after you.” He looks wounded for a second, going to move away. “I can leave you alone, if you’d prefer. If that would be easier for you, I can go away.”

Three, two, one…

“No, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.” Mary’s thin body is against his instantly, her thin arms wrapping as far around his waist as she can reach. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you only want to help me.”

Lemon sugar washes over him. “I accept your apology. I’m sorry your ‘friend’ was such a monster. All those terrible things he did to you, Mary…”

“…I don’t remember any of them,” she says, her face pressed into his shirt. “A-are you sure?”

“Oh Mary,” he coos. “We’ll talk about that later. You need your rest.”

“But…”

“I’ve got you, Mary. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you now.

#alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight fic #jalice #my fic #my writing #my fic: mortal sin #ficmas22 #ficmas #twificmas22 #alice is doomed #jasper needs better hobbies #peter is an enabler #does it help if the rest of the fics are happier?

10 notes · View notes

thepookainthehat · 2 months

Text

It's time for Pooka's Uninformed Philately corner!

As an important point, I know actually very little about the practical design of stamps, I just like them and have Opinions On Things. Today, I'm going to take a look and give my unvarnished - and mostly uninformed - opinion about the new Royal Mint Dungeons and Dragons stamps.

Okay. So.

In terms of the overall design, I'd have to say that they only sort of function as stamps. I know that the monarch's profile and the 1st (or 2.50) indicates that they're intended as postage, but it feels like a little 'Royal Mail' or similar might be not bad. I'm not an especially knowledgeable philatelist, but surely in the Commonwealth there's other countries that include the monarch's profile, and not specifying what country a stamp is from seems like some amateur hour shit.

Left to right, top then bottom.

Red Dragon: It feels like a missed opportunity not to get a bit more of an action shot. Again, I guess they had the art assets that they had, but I'd almost have rathered that they make their own take. Have the dragon breathing fire, or at least in the foreground of the image, and maybe get some brighter lighting. Not everyone's game is four-colour-comic-book, but at least some people do run that sort of game, and the washed out colour scheme on one of D&D's most iconic creatures seems like a waste of potential. That said, the contrast is good with the monarch profile. No idea what the point of the orb is, apart from 'to let the dragon contemplate his orb'.

Owlbear: Art selection wise, too much owl, not enough bear. I actually don't mind the muted colour scheme for this one - it feels like a soft arboreal setting. You have selected a random encounter (again, a staple of the genre) for your stamp, and I don't mind that. I don't mind (in this image) the top of the owlbear breaking out of the frame, but it feels weird to have the claws overlapping the nameplate. The nameplate is supposed to be superimposed, not diegetic, so why isn't it in the foreground of the image?

Vecna: Weird-ass choice for your sole undead representative to be Vecna. It would be like having a stamp selection that featured military figures and having the first one be the King. Like, yes, technically correct, but couldn't you have just featured General Skeletons?

The backdrop on this one is unobtrusive, but I'm getting a bit irritated with how much they're overlapping the creature image over the non-diegetic frame. I can only assume that they had a lot of purple ink that they wanted to use up, because that dude is altogether Too Purple.

Gelatinous Cube: My quarrel with them for choosing a gelatinous cube in this instance is mid at most. It's a weird 'we only have four stamps so let's dedicate one of them to a gelatinous cube' flex, but I don't honestly mind that much. It is an iconic creature, if not the most dynamic. I will say that this is one of the reasons I object to the creatures overlapping the frame, since the cube has a sword sticking out of it but does not overlap the frame or nameplate in any way. It knows that it belongs behind the framing, and is smiling(?) for the camera. Points off for having a messy set of stones in the foreground - old cube-y is going to lose some bones on those rocks.

Mindflayer: Again, I'm getting a real 'we left this to the last minute so we just chose an edition of D&D and grabbed art from it' vibes. I believe my point about them having too much purple and teal ink is well made. Once again, we have a creature's claw overlapping the nameplate, which feels like a design sin. I understand them not wanting to have a mindflayer going buffet-style on someone's gray matter on a stamp, but 'standing around with claw-like fingers flexed' does not feel like a great representation of one of the spookier mid-level D&D monsters.

Mimic: Honestly, my first impression was 'A+ inclusion', given the mimic's iconic role in many editions of D&D. There's something wonky with the perspective of how it's interacting with the nameplate and framing, moreso than even just the 'overlap'. I feel like if you're going to overlap the nameplate, at least make it a part of the creature doing so, instead of a random coin purse. Still, it's an action shot, and the first one in this set so far, so they're not substantially repeating mistakes.

Displacer Beast: Honestly, for a creature that has one foot in another plane, and projects its image, I wouldn't mind if this was the only one that overlapped frame and nameplate. That feels earned, and like a fun meta-joke. Not to body-shame, but this displacer beast clearly seems distressed, and I can count her ribs. Get her a sandwich, and don't stress out the model creatures just to get a good shot - it's not cute, and it's cruel.

Beholder: This is kind of the energy I wanted on the dragon, and you're giving it to me on a beholder. Okay, fair choice to include another veteran of the sword-and-sorcery set, but it does feel weird to give the eyes that 'windswept' look. I don't mind having a warrior doing battle as a size and target reference, either - it feels like this is an action piece. The orange and teal here makes me feel like they're about to do a 'Beholder: 2 Fast, 2 Furious' movie poster.

Overall: Not a bad set of stamps, and it's nice to see some iconic creatures from D&D's history. It's not above reproach, and I might have chosen to vary up the art pieces amongst some of the different artists that have made D&D so iconic over the years if we're celebrating the history of the game. It might have made for a less artistically congruent set, but it might also have given a broader scope of the art that D&D has featured over the years. Solid 6.5/10, next time please don't leave your assignment to the last minute

0 notes

leftycanwrite · 7 months

Text

Hell...no.

Jesus scares the shit out of me. He has for some time. The trauma of his presence began as a little girl being dragged to Catholic church in the southeast. I might as well have been Buddhist. Catholics in the south were already a rarity, our idolatry viewed as extreme and terrifying. And I have to agree with my Protestant neighbors. Every Sunday, Jesus would peer down at my little face, with his wan skin and bloody stigmata. His droopy eyes were either sad or dead, I could never tell which. And if I wasn't gawking at his bleeding wounds on the cross straight ahead of me, I could witness his death march illustrated on the walls around me, something that would later be drilled into my head, the repetition of each step and my committment to their memory a true sign of a good, reputable and healthy Catholic.

The religion thrives on its congregation either living in fear, sadness or regret, with the possibility to repent and ask for forgiveness, because you know, we were all born with the original sin. Bad as ever us Catholics.... And then they'd finish each Sunday by serving us all hot 'n now Krispy Kreme donuts, it was a truly perplexing dichotomy. A sort of "nice sandwich" if you will.

All of my friends were protestant, mostly either Presbyterian or Methodist. They had cool gyms where you could roller skate. They had camps where you ate candy and sang songs with actual bands, not a haunting organ blurting out rare and terrifying chords just as frankensence lulled you to sleep. But as fun as the other religions sounded, I was bound to Catholicism by three pieces of paper: baptism, first communion and confirmation. These were the marks of a person truly dedicated to living a holy life.

And I believe, for many of us Catholics, this is where our bad reputation comes in. Because we are bound to such strictness in practice, once reality hits and the doors of our sacred one-hour prison are opened, we unleash ourselves into the world fully unprepared for anything. And if our parents forced the religion upon us, they were just as unaware. Mine were....

At age 15, I entered another sacred institution: high school. That was its own spiritual training ground. I was baptized as a Freshman into a new world, full of raging hormones, sex and drugs, wholly naive to cherry popping, blow jobs and dating in general. I found out soon enough what it all was.

Mr Siemen, ironically the name of one of my Sunday school teachers, liked to tell us, "the Bible is full of sex, drugs and rock and roll", as if to make it cool. I guess the Bible was describing adolescents in high school.

At 16 I had my first kiss with Ben, who kissed me with a mouth full of chewing gum and badly brushed braces. It should have been romantic, it was at the beach, during a warm and beautiful sunset. I was with friends at spring break and they told me he liked me. I knew him from school but not more than that. He was cute enough but he didn't tempt me otherwise. I was still young in the brain. I chased boys away, literally running to scare them off if they mentioned liking me. He was the first one I stood still for. So I sat next to him, anticipating the orbit fresh mint flavor, while trying to ignore the burger bits caught in the metal brackets, and let his tongue search the inside of my mouth for a minute. And then we opened and closed our mouths and then I tried my tongue in his mouth and on it went for a few minutes. Then I had had enough. Sometimes his mouth was open too much and I felt like a fish was trying to eat my face. After it was over, I wondered if Jesus had ever kissed someone. And then I wondered if I was bad for it. My Protestant friends did not protest to it, so I esteemed it was a good, natural thing. I would not need to confess it to Father O'Rourke.

Ben and I did not last long. Spring Break ended, as all good things do and summer was upon us. My mom felt it would be good for me to take on a job, so I got hired with my best friend, Brigid, ironically the name of my patron Confirmation saint, at Carabba's Italian Grill. I was a hostess and I made $10 an hour, a pittance for some, but for a 16-year old with no bills to pay, it was pure gold.

I made friends with some of the line cooks, and one of them, Mayfield, took a particular liking to me. He called me "Shorty", which I didn't quite understand until I understood that it wasn't so much about my height as his intense feelings about me. He was 21. Mayfield had been around the block a time or two but he was smooth, really smooth. His flirting began by cooking me all types of pasta, then remembering my favorite dishes and saving me extra for after work to take home. He would walk me to my car and watch out for me if someone was not acting right...there was more than one male customer that "accidentally" felt my butt as I seated him and his family at a booth or table. One night as he walked me to my car, he kissed me. And I felt something I had never felt before, not with Ben's fish lips. I felt a sensation throughout my whole body, one that yearned for another kiss, a proximity with him that I didn't know existed. We never went on dates. Our relationship was bound only by the fact that we worked together. He would grab me as I went to get more silverware from the back store room and would push me into a closet and kiss me and squeeze me tight like he wanted to eliminate all the air from my lungs and drag my limp body around with him, hugging and kissing it as much as he wanted. And then there was the night where it all went wrong. He walked me to his car on this night. And we were talking and we were kissing and he told me to come over to his side of the car, which required some maneuvering. He tried to get me to straddle him, my rear making the car horn beep as I tried to comprehend what he wanted from me. As I write I still don't know how I didn't see it coming, this is the unpreparedness I spoke of earlier. I was wearing a dress, a shorter dress as it was a hot, sticky Carolina summer. He lifted up the skirt and placed his fingers between my legs and began rubbing them in a place and in a way that I did not know existed. And then I was dripping something. He kept saying I was wet, but I didn't know what he was talking about. But I knew it felt good. Until it didn't. All of a sudden, there was a sharp pain between my legs. It made me scream. He tried to calm me down, told me to "sit down on it" and forced me down with his arms. I was scrambling to get off. I could not. He kept forcing me, holding my arms down and out of the way so he could continue. I finally broke free, screaming and hitting him. I threw myself back into the passenger seat only to see his hard brown member standing erect and him smiling at me like an idiot. And then I knew what had happened. My mom told me that when someone you love dies, you don't cry, you howl, like a wolf at the moon. I didn't cry now. I howled. I felt the little girl inside me die. And I would never be the same from that moment forward.

I went home that night in hysterics but I had to collect myself before I got home because whatever had just happened to me, I could not tell my parents. Sex before marriage was absolutely forbidden and I was sure to burn in hell. But I thought that if I didn't tell my parents that surely I would be ok, that announcing it to the world was the only way that God would know.

But at Mass the next day, I was reminded that God is omniscient. And not telling is as good as lying. So without telling my parents, I went and told the next best people: my adolescent friends. Rather than concern for my state of mind, they wanted all the details on what sex was like. Rape was not a term any of us were familiar with. But blame was.

I spent the rest of the summer ignorning Mayfield and dreamed of going back to school again, to be surrounded by people and distraction. I spent a lot of time blaming myself for what happened. My friends didn't offer much support. They thought my situation was as curiously fascinating as it was funny. I felt like a walking nothing. I was vacant and I hated myself. I wished to know what love was, thinking that if someone could just love me, that the sensation of feeling dirty would go away.

I tried to make light of the situation until things got worse. My friends told other people about my "sexcapades". Then my phone number was written on the backs of door stalls in the boys' bathroom in one of our campus buildings. "Katy Oral gives good head" it apparently read, my last name constantly being misread as the former term. i started getting phone calls after school on my home phone, back in the days before everyone had a cell phone, from random guys, some I had never even spoken to. "Hey Katy, this is Petar. So I heard you like to get down. What are you doing this weekend? I'll come pick you up. You know I drive a Caddy. We can go somewhere and you can....you know....suck my d--" I hung up the phone before he could finish. I was disgusted. Is this really what people thought sex was about? Is this love or sex? Is this what sex is about?

I longed to go back to Ben and his fish kiss, I swore to God that if He could just rewind time that I would be more kind, that I would not care what Ben had stuck in his braces, that I would accept the gross with the good and innocence. I didn't know until much later that Ben's was the first and last kiss that I would ever taste that was truly from and of a whole me.

From my newfound nothingness, I became a Jezebel. It was easy.

Any male attention given to me at that point was a trigger. It was a trigger for my anger and a trigger for my desire to be loved. The first victim was David, who was Brigid's ex-boyfriend.

Having sex with David was in breech of the first of girl friends' 10 commandments: thou shalt not date or sleep with your friends boyfriend (current or ex).

I did it and I did not care. Granted, Brigid scared the shit out of me, but with Mayfield, I had already made my bed, now I was going to lay in it. I was using David not to get back at Brigid for being a bitch, which she was, but to get back at myself and the rage I felt for what I thought was shameful, disgusting behavior.

But this backfired as well.

On the night of my 17th birthday, my four closest friends had organized a surprise birthday party for me out in the country, near the border with South Carolina, about 30 minutes from my home in Charlotte, North Carolina.

Something told me that Brigid already knew about David but she played it off like everything was hunky dory. We were all just so happy together, things were great. She asked me a number of questions, tried to make everyone in the car laugh, but there was a lingering discomfort all around. A tension slowly filled the air.

We drove to an insect farm, where Brigid's dad worked, counting and studying bugs. There was a picnic table, balloons, a cake and a golf cart. Brigid told my friends Beth, Julia and Katie to stay behind and she was going to take me on a little spin in the cart. I reluctantly agreed but I knew what was coming. She didn't even have to say anything.

I entered the doom-buggy and off we barrelled to the other side of a small lake, where I could see my remaining friends from afar. She stopped the cart and got out, switching from giddy to irate. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out," she screamed. "You fucking bitch. What the fuck is wrong with you. With David of all people." She screamed. I was silent. I let her rant. Anyway she was right. What could I say. Then she wanted to punch me. This would be a recurring theme from lots of people. "Come on get out of the cart, I'm gonna punch you." In my head it was not so ridiculous but I didn't know how to fight and neither did she. She just acted tough but I knew she wouldn't go through with it. I talked her down from the fight but she held onto the rage with staggering persistence.

My birthday present was the quick removal of all of my friends. The handed me a present, a contract, "I ....... promise to no longer be friends with Katy Orell. I will not talk to her, look at her or listen to her. She does not exist," and they all signed it. She delightfully handed it to me and wished me a happy birthday. The 30-minute drive home was excruciating. Julia and Katie mouthed I'm sorry to me in the back seat. Beth was driving and egged Brigid on on her rampage.

Then for the following months, Brigid taunted me. She wrote eight-page notes, numbered each page in her outrageously neat handwriting for someone having a psychotic breakdown. She flashed her C-cups to coach Strahan and he let her sashay herself over to the bleachers where I was writing notes to hand me her evil script during gym class one day. In it, she wrote that I was a bitch, a slut, a whore. Who would ever want to date someone like me? Brigid befriended my Sunday school friend, Sarah, who had at this point turned into some sort of thug, and dragged her into the quad where I was eating a sandwich. Sarah looked pissed and opened her mouth to threaten to punch me. "Katy I'm gonna punch you in the face!" "Why, Sarah? We literally went to fucking Sunday school together for the past 10 years!" "Because you messed with Brigid's man. You deserve it." She did not punch me either. For all of the people that wanted to fight me, none of them actually went through with it, incredibly.

I stopped going outside for lunch, opting instead to eat in my crafts classroom with my oblivious teacher. She didn't mind but she didn't ask questions either. I had no one and nothing. I was truly at the bottom of the barrel.

Some days I would go home and draw a hot bath. I would take one of mom's kitchen knives with me and set it on the cool porcelain, waiting for the tub to fill. I would decide which would be less painful: drowning or slitting. I didn't try either. It both terrified and relieved me. I wasn't meant for suicide. I eventually made new friends that made me feel worth it again and as happens with juicy news, eventually everyone moves onto something else. My story was no longer on the front pages. I was given a new schedule, moved out of Brigid's classes and her bullying stopped, mainly from a parental intervention. Not before Beth's mom called my house to talk to my mom about what I had "been doing" but at that point I had had enough of southern women's self-righteousness and told her to fuck off. She never called back.

In college, I was reborn and made new friends and a new life, but the emptiness from the rape followed me and I continued down a path of self-abuse and self-destruction, allowing men to use me as an object and in turn learning to do the same to them. Until I finally met a good one who turned my life around.

His name? Noah.

0 notes

barbiebatarangs · 3 years

Note

Hey I looked at your prompt list if your writing could you do number (9 "so, if anybody fucks with you i'll knock their teeth out ") with Jason Todd? Oneshot

finally got some time to write requests! since you asked for a one shot i gave you 1k words instead of 300-500.

jason todd is known all throughout gotham for being a monster.

he runs one of the most prominent gangs in gotham city - all while stopping crime under the pseudonym of red hood ( - and no he’s most certainly not a superhero - well unless you ask dick. then he’s definitely a superhero ).

everyone knows not to mess with him - dead or alive he is one sick son of a bitch who cares about no one but himself. he’s said to make batman quiver in his spandex. that the bat on his chest is nothing more than a mocking symbol to the bat and his stupid sidekick. his kills are slow and agonizing. if someone in his gang was outed as a mole - their tongue would be cut out and hung on display.

it’s not his fault though, jason peter todd has been fighting a losing battle since day one.

his heart is sick and twisted. it’s coated in the pain of his past and the fear of his future - the crowbar kisses and the sinful lies that fell from their lips.

why should he care about people when no one cared about him? he was so easily replaceable. he was so easily forgotten. so why the fuck should he respect the man who let him die and follow his stupid rules? he only came back to gotham for one reason : kill the joker.

and if he happened to fuck things up and kill some skeezy old men in the process so be it.

so why’d he stick around? well, that’s simple - you came.

and jason todd’s frozen heart melted like the mint chocolate chip ice cream on your first date.

you were there with your bookstore and your clay bowl of werther’s original hard candy. ( which is old lady candy. even if you won’t admit it )

he can picture that small slice of heaven shop that he loves to drop by any time he has a chance. the inside is small, with a brick fireplace decorated in potted plants of succulents and cactus. worn threadbare yellow and sage chairs are snuggled in the back corner, quilted blankets your grandmother made before her passing thrown on the back on the headrests with care.

then the shelves. the shelves that jason thinks perfectly describe you.

shelves and shelves of old thrifted books you’d collected throughout the years, from jane austin to edgar allen poe to salinger. they’re dusty with age and smell of dewy woods - but in perfect condition from the absolute care you always put into keeping the books mint.

you have two wooden shelves full of books you can keep - as long as you leave one of your own in its place. tea wafts throughout with pumpkin candles and warm buttered shortbread-sugar cookies. in the front is a bit of a bakery, with baked goods fresh every day and free for all who pop in - even if just for a moment to warm from the cold, rainy gotham weather.

plants cover every empty bit of space and fake vines hang from the ceiling with glued on flowers you got at a garage sale. painted vintage records litter the walls (courtesy of your baby sister’s... questionable art skills) and a small glass frog is on her desk along with her favorite chipped mug. (who was, in fact, the love of your life, no one could ever compare. except jason of course. )

jason todd may have been technically alive - the lazarus pit took care of that - but his heart didn’t really start beating until he met you.

you are everything he isn’t. you’re kind and sweet and wouldn’t hurt a fly. you see the best in everyone and help to heal the worst.

with saturday nights spent at the soup kitchen and monday mornings when you close the shop for three hours and let the poorer “no good” kids on the block come in for books, warmth, and free food without anyone there to judge them - the large plush chairs available for naps. ( though they can come anytime and you’ll be sure to whip them up a proper lunch ). your world is viewed through rose-tinted glasses. a cloudy hum of glamour and glitz in a place that warrants none of it - especially not gotham city.

for fucks sake you adopted a ten-year-old cat to stop it from being put down when you’re literally allergic to cats!

but that was just you, perfect.

jason todd - he was anything but. he can't count how many lives he’s taken.

anyway, you and jason met in a less than ordinary situation. of course, you were being your stupid - wonderful self and trying to save some ten-year-old boy from getting his ass beat by a businessman whose wallet he had stolen.

“ whatever he stole i’ll pay it back! he’s just a kid. ” you had said, standing in front of the boy with ripped jeans and a stained nirvana tee-shirt who always came into the shop for a cookie and a comic book. ( you had bought a few just for him ).

the boy who always helped clean the shelves and vacuum for an hour in exchange for twenty dollars - even though you could definitely do it quicker than him.

yeah well, the guy didn’t take a liking to that.

“ he’s not a kid, he’s the filth of these streets. ” the man had said, spitting on the kid’s beat-up sneakers, “ this scumbag needs to be taught a lesson. ”

that’s when you made the very stupid decision to kick the guy in the groin and yell, “ go into the shop and lock the doors. ”

let’s just say you definitely couldn’t beat a 6-foot tall guy with very clear anger issues.

but luckily jason todd was taking a walk and had just enough time to kick his ass for decking a child across the face and threatening to murder the locally-loved book store owner - even though he had never heard of you.

muffins were given as thanks and numbers were exchanged just in case - the next day you were greeted with roses and a note,

“ only a call away - anyone tries to fuck with you or those kids i’ll knock their teeth out “

— former street kid, jason todd

so that’s how you and jason todd met. and that’s how you and jason fell in love.

#jason todd drabble #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader imagines #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd #dc #batfamily

244 notes · View notes

sweettodo · 4 years

Text

we're your best friends.

jean kirstein x freader x eren jaeger.

includes : smut, threesome, swearing, innocent / naive y/n, taking virginity.

word count : 3,4k

a / n , thank you for 400 ( 450 as of 3 / 8 / 21 ) , i love you all <3 you're all so special to me and i’m grateful for you. i hope we can grow together as a big ole’ happy family !

"Do you guys ever stop?!" you bellow, your bedroom filled with the shouting amongst the two men in front of you, their rough voices which completely washed away any interjections you gave.

Sighing, you grab one of your notebooks from your desk, winding up your shoulder, and throwing it at Eren. The book slaps him in the face and he shouts, his hand rubbing his face.

"The fuck y/n!" He screeches, Jean, shutting up right after Eren, hair messy from tugging at it out of frustration. You wondered why a simple conversation about who would be the better gentleman; the better man. We had commenced in the formal meeting area- your room- hours ago, to study; hence the notebook used to bonk Eren's pitiful face, "you don't get it." He huffs.

"You two better stop acting childish before I kick you out." Walking between them and plopping down on your bed, pleased to see that the battle had now dwindled from your -very- empty threat. You couldn't kick them out even if you wanted to.

Everyone at school was very well acquainted with the fact that Jean and Eren both had a persistent problem of rivalry, they fought about everything; from who had the better penmanship, better wardrobes, better walk, to who was prettier.... yes, prettier.

Eren stubbornly sits on one corner of the bed, traversing his legs with his back pressed against the wall, Kerstein made himself relaxed in your desk chair, "as I was saying, before I was so impolitely interrupted-" you snort, glancing at the two men, "you both are gentleman, but it's more than just how you talk to a girl."

"Yeah don't be ridiculous, I'm good at more than you think y/n." Jean boasts, smirking and tauntingly glaring at Eren who returns the glare, hair seeping down his shoulders as he rolls his eyes at the cocky Kerstein.

"I'm a sex god, I can sex anyone up, anytime- anywhere." Jean lunging to his feet and stupidly rocking his hips side to side like the fuck-boy he knows he is, virtually wearing it like a badge. Eren and you snickered at him.

Jean grunts, finger in the air tauntingly, "alright! It's not that funny anymore! Quit laughing!" tears brimming your eyes, chest aching from laughing, the blonde now taking into account that you two were more laughing at him, rather than with him.

Defensively, he shouts, "Keep laughing, virgin." Jean grins, squatting back down in the chair dramatically.

"I can name plenty of girls who want to get with me." Eren retorts. Laying your back against the headboard, listening as Eren spews stories about the 'countless sexcapades' he has with girls every week and the 'countless' girls who plead to fuck him on the daily.

"So childish, especially for a couple of university students."

You're dismissed again, "Y/n, who do you think would be better in bed, be honest!" you evaluate the question as much as you could, not to mention how hard it was to even imagine.

Simply putting it, you were a prude.

They wait hastily for your reply, curious to what you had to say, the silence provoking them to shuffle in their seats.

"I think... hm, Jean." Eren groans out in defeat, Jean cackling and throwing his head back, Eren pouts and crosses his arms, huffing out.

"You know what, how the fuck would you know anyway, huh?" rolling your eyes, Jean who is taking his sweatshirt off and hanging it off your chair, heeding to Eren, who is still weeping, "Jean, that doesn't count, she's never gotten with either of us, to begin with, her judgment doesn't count." Declaring matter-of-factly, Jean rubs his chin with his thumb and index, looking into the distance like he was contemplating to speak.

You watched as Eren stands in annoyance, his arms still crossed, "I mean, we could show her, but-"

"-We should, then it'll be fair."

Left in utter shock, were they insinuating you do something so delusional and sinful with your two closest friends? wouldn't that ruin years of friendship? Have they no morals? And to think Eren would have a little more decency.

"No, no way, don't be ridiculous."

Jean sucks his teeth, leaning in his chair so his elbows sat on his knees, the energy in the room had drastically changed, they were now watching you, making your hands anxiously tremble, their eyes scanning yours, while you tried to look at anything but them, heart out of your chest and now in your throat, they sat so relaxed, so casual like the proposition of sex didn't even phase them.

"C'mon, I want you to tell us who's better, you're our best friend, you're the best one to determine who's best." Jean pouts, this was a very clear-detectable manipulation, and you were not inept.

"Are you trying to manipulate me, Kirstein?" he shakes his head, leisurely stretching back into the chair, "because if you are it won't work on me." Jean peeks over to Eren, looking to be affirmed.

Eren plays with the hem of his shirt, a smug look on his lips, looking down to attempt to hide it.

Both men have talked about getting you to become their little toy, countless times at dinner with all the other cadets to embarrass you- or during the summer when you wore shorts to practice with your gear, sparring with a tank top, they both imagined unholy things, things you would believe to be appalling. "How about- better kisser?" tilting your head, that wasn't so much worse.

"Yeah, we've nearly kissed before too," Jean interjects, he saw your eyebrows scrunch, looking mindless, eyes so naive, his head full of vile thoughts, ways he and Eren could corrupt you, tear you open, and leave you begging for more. But they clearly couldn't let you know what they talked about.

So innocent.

"Sharing drinks," nodding slowly, the boys internally prayed you would loosen up only just a little, just a foot in the door so they could kick the fucking door down and break you in- they both figured it was about time anyways; you were a college student and hadn't done anything?

But you had not even a clue, that dumb little head of yours, how could you not comprehend their tactics. This was their way to get your legs open? This was laughable to them; too easy.

Dragging your ass across the bed, not leaning on the wall anymore; you sat criss-cross in the middle of the mattress, center of their attention, "I guess you're right." Mind racing, Jean would never talk to you again if you had said no to at least kissing, and Eren would probably get upset with you, not eager in being your friend, most likely following in his friend's lead.

Jean rolls closer to the side of the bed in your chair, not even a foot away from you.

"I can go first, Eren?" Eren nods, he was beyond delighted, this was fucking crazy. Truth was, Eren, who was seldom nervous over this type of thing; yet he was envious that Jean could be so... persistent; wishing he could be the same. With Jean grabbing your chin, such a pretty face you had, especially when you were anxious.

Easy to mold, easy to manipulate you; to do whatever he wanted with a bat of his eyelashes and a polite smile.

And here he was- in the back of his head - telling himself that he needed to teach you not to be so susceptible from now on.

He squanders no time, capturing your lips with his own, moving in a swift and low action, you kiss him back. He was incredible, it was at the perfect pace, the residing taste of mint gum that filled your mouth.

No wonder the girls loved Jean so much.

His thumb caressing your cheek which sent little cringes of anxiety throughout your body- realizing you had to kiss Eren after this, this was going to make you so dirty, but how could you kiss Jean and leave your other friend out? How unreasonable that would be.

Eren's abrupt words make you jump, "alright horse face, stop hogging and share." Jean pulls back, lips light rosy pink, even a little swollen, he rolls backward in the chair, the other young man sits up in front of you while still comfortable on the bed.

Instead of Jean's approach, Eren tilts your head, kissing your jawline first, tensing up from the ticklish feeling, soft lips establishing morale towards your choice in agreeing to do what they asserted; it wasn't that terrible after all.

He kisses up to the corner of your mouth and then slowly kisses you on the lips, eyes fluttering closed, drunk off his smell, stomach doing backflips.

Gradually pulling back, he's smiling like a fool before scooching backward back to his spot.

"Who do you think was better?" Jean rushes, blushing and looking to your lap, thumbs playing with each other, subconsciously hoping they would do a little more. You didn't know who was better, they both were so good, too good.

"I don't know, you both are really good,"

Jean was going mad, you tasted so fucking good, and he didn't know how much longer he could contain himself, trying to remain relaxed.

Eren's dick twitching in his pants when he heard you finally say his name instead of Kerstein's, he was ecstatic...

Jean stands and scoffs, "alright I'll give him that, but I'm good at everything else. Eren s' a fucking virgin boy." biting your tongue, you felt guilty, Jean was really good, telling yourself 'maybe I should stop being so uptight, they would never actually hurt me.' Eren sees you ponder, looking into space while you stewed on your sentiments, Jean with no awareness as he rambles on and on about how experienced he is.

Gnawing on your bottom lip, anxious, you needed to make the first move- you needed to make this right.

Slowly, making sure they're both watching, you begin to unbutton your blouse, bottom-up.

"What are you doing?"

"You two wanted to show me who was better?"

Jean's eyes bug out of his head, smile growing across his face, Eren stands, embarrassed from your suggestion, they were nearly jumping for joy, "but I don't know ho-"

Jean jerked your shoulders, "relax," He whispers, out comes a shaky breath when his hands waste no time to finish unbuttoning your top. "You trust us, you wanna' feel good, right?"

The room was silent besides the pounding of your heart; could it have been any louder?

Blouse wide open for both of them to see your chest. Eren, who sat inches from you tugged at the fabric on your right shoulder, "so pretty- look at these Eren," Jean's large hands cupping your tits, sitting pretty in your bra, your throat grows increasingly dry, the feeling in between your legs tingling, though, you had no idea how to interpret it.

Eren stands back up, standing shoulder to shoulder with his friend, his hand caressing down your back and gripping at the flesh of your skin.

Looking at them as they stare at your chest, their hands all over you. "Do you know how to do anything at all?" Eren asks, shaking his head, he looks at Jean and pulls his hand back, "Jean and I are gonna ake care of you."

"Yeah, okay." Jean pushing you on your back, legs barely open, unbuttoned your pants, tugging them off hungrily. Both looking at you with lust-filled eyes, they had never seen you like this; so bare. Your legs are propped up so Jean and Eren can both stand before them. Their hands trailing up your jittery thighs.

"I'll get you ready, yeah? I don't want to hurt you." Responding with a simple nod, Jean is crouching down so his head is leveled to your clothed cunt, Eren sits back on the bed and slides his hand under your back; with one hand, he's unclasping your bra and peeling it off your body, his soft hands massaging your tits, nipples sensitive when his thumbs spend extra time on them.

Nerves doubling over when Jean's hands now pulling down your matching panties, head snapping up, legs shutting to deter them, Eren pushing you back down. "Calm down, you'll be fine." He reassures.

Eren feeling the soft skin, under his hands, rolling your nipple in between his fingers, Jean dragging his large hands in between your thighs, "have you ever fingered yourself y/n? Made yourself cum?" beyond embarrassed, the way they were taking their time on you, slowly feeling you up, you were almost becoming frustrated. Shaking your head, Jean clicks his tongue, "this might feel weird, but you trust us, right?" An audible gasp is shot out of your mouth when his middle finger is raking up between your folds.

Hissing out as he adds another finger, both of them running up and down your slick pussy, pressing down on a bundle of nerves, "feels- weird!" the more he played around with your sensitive clit, the more your leg twitched, the ticking feeling filling up your stomach, core flexing as he repeated his offense, the same sensitive rubs as his two fingers curled and fucked into you.

"Jean-” He was going so slow, making sure he didn't stretch you out too much, he needed to save that for later.

"Here, come taste."

Eren's grabbing Jean's hand, your tongue lolling out, his coated fingers dragging down your tongue, lips wrapping around his digits, tasting the juices from your cunt.

"Tastes good, right?" fingers still deep in your mouth, you're nodding like a fool, Jean smiling at the sight of the reaction bestowed on your face, the taste of your cum tainting your tastebuds; "of course she likes it, look at her, she wants more."

Eren nods in return, he leans down over you, soft hair falling on your chest as he leaves wet little kisses down your chest, peppering you with his lips down to your belly button.

Watching Jean, who is getting on the bed beside you, his knees next to your head, Eren jumping into action to take his best friends place, his sweats falling low just blow his v- line, he pushes them down, craning your neck to look up at Jean who his also pulling down his pants.

Your throat squeezes shut, lifting your head, "I don't you think that I-" Jean's hand grabbing your hair to silence you, jerking your neck up.

"Don't worry, I told you we'll help you."

"Jean, chill out a little." Eren mumbles, your head getting dropped back onto the bed, eyes fixated on Eren's wide torso, the tent in his boxers which made your mouth water, "I'll go slow, okay?" Palming his cock through his boxers, he holds your legs from under your knees, his boxers just under his cock, sliding his hand down and removes the little bit of coverage he had left. Your eyes widening, he spits in his hand, stroking his throbbing tip a few times with his thumb before adjusting forward and rubbing his raw cock up against your slicked pussy.

The feeling of Eren's thick tip squeezing inside of you makes you cry out in pain, the stinging pain of Eren taking his time to slide into you, fitting into you as much as he can.

Jean pinning your arms up above your head, tears spilling from your eyes, "h-hurts!" you whine, Jean beside you pumping his cock in his fist.

"So fuckin' tight, no wonder it hurts so bad." His hands pinning your legs open and up, he pulls out.

Without warning, he picks up speed, your body curling up from the pressure.

“I forgot what virgin pussy feels like, so tight-” he mumbled, his eyes rolling to the back of his head from the way he could feel his heartbeat in his cock, he needed this so bad.

The pressure soon becomes desirable, wanting to feel it everything he thrusts into you, your complaints soon turn to moans, looking at jean through your eyelashes while he's fixated on the way your boobs bounce while Eren dives deeper into you.

"Don't forget to help Jean out, remember?"

You're situating yourself up on your elbows, turning your body so your head is between Jean's thighs, he's pushing your hair back and holding it in a loose but sufficient grip, "let me guide you."

His thumb swipes down your bottom lip, opening your jaw, tongue sliding past your lips to wrap around his cock like it's instinct.

"Good, just like that," he groans, his hand on the back of your head guiding you further down the base of his cock, Eren fucking you slowly, savoring the feeling of your walls clench around him, sucking him in, he could stay like this forever.

Your neck uncomfortably stretched to pleasure Jean made it all the more painful when he started pushing down the back of your throat; harder to catch your breath, harder to swallow the saliva that was seeping up the back of your throat, trying not to cough around his length.

"Been waitin’ too long for this,” Eren grunts, the lewd noises of his hits snapping against yours on one end while your nose is barely brushing against Jean’s hair around his stomach.

Jean slowly pulls out of your throat, drool following, giving you the chance to speak, “Eren, h-hot!” you cried, your stomach twisting, pussy squelching around his wide cock, head dizzy as you begin to feel like your floating.

Jean sees your body shake from beside him, while he pumps his cock in his free hand, his other hand is kneading your tit in his hand. “Oi, I think she's gonna cum- c’mon it's gonna feel so good, you're so close, pretty girl.” Eren drilling into you with your legs pinned open, moaning and gasping for air as you feel your hole spasm, body tingling as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“C- I'm cumming!” your hand on Eren’s pec, pushing against him to ease the pressure of his cock buried fully inside of you, “f-fuck! Fuck, Eren!” his body sticky on top of yours, thighs uncomfortably stuck to his waist.

“God, can stay like this all day.” You panted like a dog, blinking the blurred vision out of your eyes from the blinding orgasm.

Jean’s getting off the bed, slapping your thigh to sign for Eren to get off of you, “I hope you can take it, pretty girl.” The brunette pulling up his boxers and sitting on the bed where Jean was just seated.

A panting mess, Jeans tearing you from your spot and pushing you on your hands and knees, Jean presses against the small of your back, pushing you into a deeper arch, abused pussy mere inches away from another cock.

Eren picks your head up by your hair, an evil smile growing on his face as he sees your face twist with pleasure, Jean pushing into your cunt, a mixture of his best friends’ cum already leaking out of your cunt, “gonna fill you some more, just stay still for me, okay?”

He holds your hips in place, the further his cock sunk into you, the more it hurt, the more he stretched you out, the more you were split open by the intimidating of him.

“If you keep squeezin’ me like that, ” he spits, unable to finish his sentence.

He thrusts into you from behind, held grounded in place as Jean ruts into your pussy mercilessly, Eren watching you cry and beg for stupid little nothings.

Cream covering his cock, feeling your walls tighten around him, he snakes his hand over your thigh, and to your clit, rubbing lose and light circles around the bud, your legs quivering, back jolting up from the overstimulation, “hm, what did I say about stating still?” ripping away from your clit, you whine and your back is pushed back down.

Jean mere inches away from climax, hips sputtering against your backside as you feel your juices drip down your thigh, sticking to his stomach.

Your head drops into the mattress.

“Pretty girl, we're far from done with you,” Eren’s purring into your ear, “dont give up now, we haven't gotten to the best part.”

The pad of Jean’s thumb is pressing against the rim of your tight, pretty virgin ass, “you can trust us, we haven't hurt you yet, have we?”

Nodding, this was only the beginning of a very- very long night. One of many, actually.

#i love jean and and eren pls #jean kirstein #jean kirstein smut #eren jeager smut #eren jaeger #eren yeager #jean x reader #eren x reader #eren x reader x jean #lemon #attack on titan eren yeager #attack on titan jean #aot #aot smut

1K notes · View notes

queenshelby · 3 years

Text

ME AND THE DEVIL – PART ONE

Featuring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 3555

Warning: Smut, Abuse

Notes: This is fiction and not historically accurate. It plays somewhere in the middle of Season 5, after Tommy met Oswald Mosley and became affiliated with him but before he planned to assassinate him.

Tag List:

@lilymurphy03

@deefigs

@theflamecrystal

@chrisevanshoeee

@desperate-and-broken

@weepingstudentfishhorse

@severewobblerlightdragon

@captivatedbycillianmurphy

------

You were the oldest daughter of the chief of police in London and married to Oswald Mosley. The marriage between you and Oswald was arranged by your father who was supporting Mosley’s fascist movement.

Your husband was abusive and disrespectful towards you. You despised him and his fascist views. Luckily for you, he didn’t involve you in many political events. You were only obliged to attend functions with him where it benefitted him and his party.

You were aware that he was expanding his party but you didn’t involve yourself with politics, at least so it seemed. You knew that the fascist movement was dangerous and you hoped that, one day, your husband would pay for his sins.

You were not allowed to work, but you were allowed to volunteer at the local orphanage and soup kitchen. As the wife of Oswald Mosley, this was beneficial for his political campaign so he didn’t intervene. Little did he know that this was where you would meet one of his enemies.

Just so it happened that, on a Thursday evening when you were volunteering at the orphanage, you met a mysterious stranger.

Dressed in a comfortable but elegant dress, you unpacked several toys that were delivered from the Womens Association of Birmingham for the children at the orphanage.

The children were excited and you could barely keep up with their demand. Their excitement was overwhelming and their eyes lit up as they took the toys from your hands. It wasn’t often that they received brand new toys and you took joy simply in seeing their excitement. You wanted children of your own, but not with your husband. He wasn’t capable to be a good father and you were glad that, despite numerous attempts, you didn’t conceive.

After years, he told you that you were worthless, not being able to give him a child. But you were somewhat grateful for it. It also meant that he no longer bothered to force you to sleep with him, which never was pleasurable in any sort of way. You were pleased to learn that, after years of abuse, he found whores to be of more interest to him than you.

The work at the orphanage took you away from your miserable life. Working with children was pure joy for you and gave you the courage to inform on your husband to the communist partry. You did it for them, so that they can grow up in a world free from oppression. Your husband was the devil and you knew that very well.

Just as you went to get the last box of toys from the van, a man approached you from behind.

‘Please, let me help you with this’ the man said, taking the heavy box from your hands. He could see that you were struggling with its weight. After all, you were of small statue.

‘Thank you, Mr…’ you said in a way you would usually ask a question.

‘Shelby. Thomas Shelby’ the man said as he walked inside with you.

You showed him where to place the box so that you could unpack it as, all of a sudden, one of the nuns from the orphanage walked towards you from the hallway.

‘Please, Mr Shelby, you do not need to do this’ the nun said with a hasty voice.

‘But it’s my pleasure’ Tommy said as he opened the box and helped you unpack it.

‘Thank you’ you said with a shy smile as you couldn’t help it but stare into his bright blue eyes.

‘No thank you for the work you are doing here Y/N. It is admirable’ Tommy said with a warm smile.

‘I take joy in it’ you said before asking him how he knew your name.

Your question caused Tommy to point to your name tag.

You flushed immediately. Of course, he can read.

‘Very informal’ Tommy said as he observed that the name tag only had your first name on it.

‘Well, I like to be the children’s friend. I am not one of the mistresses or teachers here. I simply volunteer’ you said whilst, the truth was, you were embarrassed of who you were. Y/N Mosley, the wife of a fascist. Of course, you weren’t going to tell him that.

‘We need more kind hearted people like you in a world like this Y/N’ Tommy said as he unpacked the last toy from the box.

‘Please, you make me blush Mr Shelby’ you said shyly while looking up into his piercing blue eyes again.

He was much older than you, probably the same age as your husband, but he was incredibly attractive. Unlike your husband, he appeared kind hearted in his own way.

‘My apologies, it wasn’t my attention to make you uncomfortable’ Tommy said with a smile.

‘It’s quite alright Mr Shelby. Thank you again for helping with this’ you said as you were wondering why he was at the orphanage.

‘Tell me, why are you here? What is your business?’ you asked with curiosity.

‘I am having a meeting with Miss Walsh at 4 o’clock to discuss the funding of the new library for the orphanage. As you know, the orphanage has the facility on site. It’s unused and will need to be fenced. And of course, we will need books’ Tommy said. You could hear the passion in his voice for the project.

‘Are you funding it?’ you asked bluntly.

‘My late wife’s charity is. She cared deeply for children who were abandoned or lost their parents in the war’ Tommy explained.

‘She seemed like a wonderful woman and I am sorry for your loss Mr Shelby’ you said.

‘She was and thank you for your kind words Y/N’ Tommy said.

‘May I offer you a tea? Just while you wait for Miss Walsh?’ you asked.

Tommy agreed and you sat down in the reading room for 15 minutes before Miss Walsh arrived.

You enjoyed your conversation with Tommy. He seemed like a smart man, elegant, firm and yet kind hearted.

The conversations you had were mostly about the orphanage and plans for the education of the children. You loved to read and you liked the idea of a library. You shared ideas for fundraisers and it was evident to you that Tommy was intrigued by you. His eyes wandered everywhere, from your face, down to your hands, which is where he noticed your wedding ring.

‘You are married. Do you and your husband have children?’ Tommy asked.

‘No, we do not. How about you Mr Shelby?’ you asked.

‘A son and a daughter’ Tommy said.

‘Then you are lucky’ you responded just as Miss Walsh arrived.

You said goodbye to Tommy and, just as he was about to leave with Miss Walsh, he asked you whether you would be interested to help with the establishment of the library since you were familiar with literature.

You were surprised that a man like him would personally involve himself with a project like this. It was more common for rich men to simply provide the funds. But, he seemed to care for this particular project, so you agreed.

A few weeks after your encounter with Tommy, the books arrived and you volunteered to sort them and arrange the library for the children.

Tommy came by one afternoon to see how the project came along and offered you his assistance. But most of the time it was his sister Ada who attended the library to catalogue the books with you.

She was a kind woman, socially aware and most defiantly in favour of the communist movement.

Despite your numerous discussions about politics, Ada never thought to mention that her brother Tommy was a politician himself. In fact, she didn’t like to speak about him at all.

Another week later, you were surprised to see Tommy at the library at lunch time.

‘Good Afternoon Y/N’ Tommy said as he brought in another box of books.

‘Mr Shelby, I am surprised to see you’ you said. This was your third encounter with Tommy and you were pleased to see him. You were intrigued by him.

‘I thought you could use some help since my sister is busy with errands today’ Tommy said.

‘So, you came here to help me catalogue books?’ you said sheepishly.

‘Making appearances Y/N, that’s all’ he said as he began to unpack the books.

‘Thank you, Mr Shelby, but…’ you said and before you could continue, Tommy interrupted you.

‘Please, just call me Tommy’ he said as he handed you the books.

You climbed up the ladder to put them onto the higher shelves just as Tommy advised you that, the truth was, that he had meeting with Miss Walsh again but that he set aside some time for the library beforehand.

Tommy and you talked for a while as you shelved the books. You noticed his eyes gaze over you again on several occasions in particular when you stepped up the ladder. He was clearly looking at your ass, possibly even your underwear, but you didn’t mind.

Every time you came down from the ladder, he stood uncomfortably close to you, so close that you could smell the scent of his aftershave. It smelled like musk and he was clearly chewing mint, probably to hide the smell of the cigarettes.

He was handsome, very handsome and the look he gave you every time he handed you more books from the table was intense. A look of want and desire. Or were you imagining it?

Unfortunately, your encounter with him only lasted for about thirty minutes before he had to excuse himself in order to meet with Miss Walsh.

You said goodbye to Tommy with a warm smile and received a smile in return.

Just after he left, you went on with cataloguing the books. It was a slow process and you were the only volunteer on duty that day. Your husband approved. Doing community service was beneficial to his party and political goals. It shows that him and his family care for the community.

But you simply did it because you felt it was right and gave you a purpose.

You spent nearly every day at the library and almost all books were catalogued.

After another half an hour, you had one more box to shelf for the day. You were focused, your mind entirely with the books.

To your surprise, just as you stepped down from the ladder to grab more books for the top shelf, your face was just above Tommy’s face. You couldn’t believe that he was there. You never heard him come back.

‘How long have you been standing there?’ you asked as your foot touched the floor.

‘A few minutes, just enough to admire the view’ he said sheepishly and you weren’t sure whether to smack or kiss him.

But, before you could make up your mind, he leaned in and took the kiss he’s been desperate for since the moment you’ve met.

The kiss was gentle at first, brushing his lips against yours a couple of times, then locking them together in a haste, allowing your tongues to explore each other.

You had never been kissed this way before and gave into him completely.

Your mind told you to stop, to push him away. You didn’t know this man and if your husband was to find out, it would be detrimental for the both of you.

But in your heart, you wanted this so badly. This and so much more.

As your tongues played with each other, coyly at first, then like long-lost lovers, Tommy’s hands ran over your back all the way down to your ass.

His lips tasted sweet and his hands sent shivers through your body.

Without breaking the kiss, Tommy’s hands wandered beneath your skirt, gently and passionately.

‘Not here. The reading area’ you whispered just after you broke away from the kiss.

Tommy nodded just before he planted his mouth just above your clavicle.

While planting gentle kisses over you, Tommy navigated to one of the long desks in the reading area.

He was so gentle, a feeling that was unfamiliar to you. Despite the fact that you barely knew him, you somehow trusted him and wanted him.

Just as your back hit the desk, Tommy lifted you up to sit on it before gently pushing your legs apart.

He moved in between your legs while continuing to kiss you. His skilled fingers began unbuttoning your white blouse, revealing your lace bra.

No words were spoken as Tommy ran his index fingers down the inside of the straps of your bra, over the edges of the cups, then down your cleavage, all while gazing his eyes over your body.

He kept this tease up until you got impatient. Your breathing became heavy as he pulled the bra down, freeing your breasts. Your areolas were covered in goosebumps and your nipples were puffed up. The reading lamp lit all your curves in titillating contrast and you could that Tommy enjoyed what he was seeing.

Not ever had a man looked at you with such desire. You only ever been with one man, your husband, and this was new territory. You actually enjoyed yourself and were feeling guilty about it.

‘So beautiful’ Tommy whispered just before his lips kissed, licked and sucked their way to your stiff nubs on your breasts.

His hands cupped, squeezed and kneaded your smooth flesh and you moaned deeply and gripped the edge of the desk behind you.

Tommy flicked the tip of his tongue across your nipple before nibbling naughtily around it. Not ever had anyone paid such attention to your breasts and you started to feel something that was unfamiliar to you.

You could feel a tingling sensation build up in between your legs and your lace panties were getting wet.

Just as Tommy continued to stimulate your breasts, you gasped and threw your head back as his teeth ever-so-gently brushed up against your nubs again.

Tommy’s hands soon moved from your breasts down beneath your skirt, brushing over the inside of your thighs.

You pushed your legs together for a moment, unsure whether to give in or not.

You despised being touched there by your husband but this was actually enjoyable.

‘Do you want me to stop?’ Tommy asked, noticing your reluctance.

‘No, please don’t’ you said as you decided to let him proceed, opening your legs again.

You were slightly embarrassed by the wetness pooling in between your legs but, to your surprise, Tommy seemed pleased with it.

‘You are so wet Love’ he smirked as his fingers finally brushed over your panties just before he crashed his lips back onto yours.

You moaned into the kiss as his fingers pulled aside your panties and you could feel his finger tips roam over your entrance.

You tried hard to relax as Tommy’s fingers ran up and down your slit and started spread your juices.

He teased your entrance, just slipping in a single finger and only to his first knuckle.

This must be what foreplay was all about you thought as you kept giving in to your moans.

‘Tommy’ you moaned, desperate for more and, just like that, Tommy suddenly bit your neck gently while plunging his finger deep inside you.

Your moans turned to a gasp and a whimper as pleasure flooded your senses. You knew that Tommy had just left a hickey and, whilst you should be concerned, it just made you even wetter.

Tommy kept kissing and biting your neck as he added another finger inside of you and explored you with his fingers. The tip of his finger found many crevices but, unbeknownst to you, he was searching for your g-spot.

‘Fuck, oh god’ you screamed all of a sudden as Tommy’s fingers pressed upwards, earning you smirk from Tommy.

He had just found what he was looking for and, based on your reaction, it was evident to him that he was the first to have found your sweet spot.

Just as he relieved the pressure inside you, he pushed his fingers up again, and again, each time causing you to moan loudly.

‘Shh Love, one of the nuns might hear you’ Tommy whispered sheepishly just as he pulled his fingers out of you.

All these sensations were unfamiliar to you.

‘Please don’t stop’ you pleaded. It felt so good.

Tommy pulled you close for another kiss to shallow your moans before slipping his fingers back inside of you.

His fingers began to push against your g-spot again, running smooth circles and stimulating it just the right way. You were panting. It was ecstasy and you could feel an unfamiliar tension build up in your stomach.

‘I am going to make you come now Love. Try to be quiet’ Tommy said and you had literally no idea what he was talking about until, all of a sudden, he pushed into you with more force.

Your whimpers soon turned into shouts and you clenched onto Tommy’s arms firmly.

It wasn’t long until Tommy could feel your walls tighten around his two fingers.

‘Oh my god’ you moaned before you held your breath, not knowing what was happening to you as you felt your orgasm roll through your body.

‘That's it Love’ Tommy said satisfied as he continued to stimulate you.

You gasped as electricity shot up and down your spine while Tommy kissed you again to soften your screams.

He could hear footsteps approach and quickly withdrew his fingers.

‘Mr Shelby, is everything alright?’ one of the nuns asked loudly.

‘Yes, I am just helping with the books’ Tommy said with a grin on his face as he rearranged his pants to deal with his throbbing erection.

You were quick to button up your blouse before the nun approached.

‘I just thought I could hear a scream, that’s all’ the nun said.

‘Yes, that was me, I caught a splinter from the ladder and Mr Shelby just helped me get it out from my finger’ you said, your face still flushed and your hair messy.

‘Mr Shelby, if you do have a minute, Mr Connel would like to discuss the article in the paper for your campaign’ the nun said. ‘We thought that you had left but when I saw your car I hoped that I would find you here’ she added.

‘Of course’ Tommy said and, just like that he left.

‘It was nice to see you Y/N. Perhaps we meet again sometime soon’ he said with a grin as he followed the nun.

‘Likewise, Mr Shelby’ you responded.

You wanted to so much more but, since you almost got caught, it was probably for the better that you didn’t take this further.

You were hoping to see Tommy again but, for the next couple of weeks, he didn’t attend the orphanage.

You asked his sister Ada about him with some curiosity.

‘My brother is probably busy in Westminster. Although, who knows. I have given up on following politics. Why are you asking?’ Ada said.

‘Politics? Is Thomas a politician?’ you asked surprised and slightly concerned.

‘Yes, he is a member of parliament. Did you not know?’ Ada asked surprised.

‘I had no idea’ you said, wondering whether he knew your husband and whether you were nothing but a political stunt. Was this planned by an opponent? Did Tommy know who you were? Or was it a sheer mistake?

All these thoughts were wandering through your mind as Ada was talking to you and you didn’t listen to a single word she said.

‘Y/N? Are you alright?’ Ada asked.

‘Yes sorry, I am fine’ you said just before finishing up for the day. You had to make your way home soon before dinner.

You excused yourself and headed home. The thoughts however wouldn’t leave your head.

Your husband wasn’t home when you arrived. As usual, he was either with your sister or at the whorehouse.

You didn’t care much and enjoyed the nights on your own. You were no longer sharing a bedroom but you hated to cross his way when he was around. A black eye here and there or some bruises and scratches were the norm when he was there.

The next morning, Oswald walked through the door at around 8 o’clock, just in time for breakfast.

‘Did you buy yourself a dress for tonight?’ he asked after shouting at the maid. The coffee was too cold for his liking.

‘Oswald, please’ you said, trying to reason with him as the maid left rather upset.

‘Then you get the fucking coffee, wife!’ Oswald shouted and you got up, taking his cup and walking towards the kitchen.

‘There you go’ you said as you returned with a fresh cup from the kitchen.

‘See, that wasn’t that hard now, was it? Even my fucking wife could manage’ he said to the maid as he took a sip.

‘Now dear, did you get yourself a dress? Something outstanding for the gala?’ Oswald asked.

‘Of course. You will approve. It is very elegant and expensive’ you said.

‘Good. We need to make an impression. You will meet the new members of my party and, as you know, all politicians judge each other. There is no room for mistakes’ Oswald explained.

‘Of course, I understand. Now would you please excuse me. I will need to freshen up’ you said before Oswald waived you away

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x you #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders smut #ada shelby #oswald mosley

654 notes · View notes

heaux-burrow · 3 years

Text

Come Away To the Water. Book VII

(read book I here) (book II here) (book III here) (book IV here) & (book V here) & (book VI here)

Come away little light, come away to the darkness To the ones appointed to see it through In the shade of the night we’ll come looking for you Come away little lamb come away to the water Come away little lamb come away to the slaughter Give yourself so we might live anew

fandom: midnight mass pairing: Father Paul x 2nd person OFC (Helena Belleforest) summary: “That’s my job. To know the people in my community.” “You mean the sheep in your flock.” “Especially the little black ones that like to wander off.” His voice is so tender. You wonder if Jesus spoke with this same tenderness. You think, if he did, you would’ve defied Rome for him too. warning: nsft (18+ interaction only)

(playlist) a/n: hey I posted some sheriff smut you should go read it :P taglist: @shannon-posts @seraphiiii @witchy–owl @allergic-to-reality @viatenebrosa @lucie-pevensie @wolfieellsworld @midnight-mess @plainlo-inthemorning @goingtoraisins (if I missed anyone just lmk I’m so sorry if I did!)

“You know you’re describing a vampire, right?” The shock has worn off and you’re just now starting to feel rational thought burgeoning in your mind again. Sitting next to Paul in a little kebab joint in Queens, you reach for the fountain root beer you’d ordered and take a sip. You’d desperately needed to get off the island, if only to come up for air. Thankfully, Paul had been so grateful you were still beside him after his secret had come out, he’d been happy to grant you any request.

Beside you in the booth seat, he chuckles softly and sips his mint tea.

“How familiar are you with vampire lore?”

“Very.” You respond, confident with your knowledge in this arena. Your bookshelves are overflowing with mythology from every corner of the globe. But vampires are kind of your thing. The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice became your favorite book at age 12 and you’ve been obsessed with anything lacking a pulse ever since.

“So, you can tell me about the first vampire legend in recorded history?” He seems a little too amused and you have to wonder what’s up his sleeve. Still, you bite.

“Sekhmet. Badass warrior.” The grin on your face practically glows in your eyes. “She was said to drink the blood of those she slayed in battle. She was worshipped as a goddess because, as the story goes, her blood could heal those she gave it to. Even the fallen soldiers who fought under her command. Like them, she would always rise again after she was slain.”

He gives you a nod of approval, a twinge of pride in his smirk.

“Are there things you don’t know?”

“I mean don’t ask me to like… divide.”

You shrug, laughing softly at your inability to perform even basic math. “I dunno, we’re always discussing religion and mythology and stuff. That’s me. That’s who I am. If we talked about… how to change a flat tire or build a good stock portfolio, I promise I'd sound a lot less nerdy.”

“You’re not nerdy.” Swaying into you, his shoulder bumps your own gently.

“I am.” You snort, “But so are you so I don’t cry about it to my therapist anymore.”

Paul rolls his eyes, then steals a piece of chicken off your plate.

“Sekhmet.” He drags you out of your ADD and back to the conversation at hand. You think, he’d make a very good university professor with his ability to guide conversations. But maybe that’s just you enjoying the thought of getting him alone during office hours. “Do you remember where that myth originated?”

“Egypt.” You shrug. Too easy.

“And her lineage?”

“Uh…” It takes a moment for you to remember this particular detail. Then, suddenly, it occurs to you why. Because she had claimed none. At least not a mortal lineage. “She said her father sent her, the…”

Realization dawns on your face and Paul nods somberly.

“The sun god, Ra. King of the Egyptian pantheon. Father of all creation. He sent her to earth to cleanse it of those who offended him with sin. But he could not bring himself to look upon these horrors with his own eyes. So he allowed Sekhmet to walk only at night.”

“So you think she was an angel too?”

“You don’t?”

It's tough to argue his logic when he’s got you resolving your own questions and finding his answers lying at the bottom of each rabbit hole. “So we… met angels. But we didn’t realize they were angels. And we called them vampires? Thinking we were classifying a species of monster. When in reality…”

“In reality, these were messengers of God.”

“Hmm…” Tugging off the plastic cover of your cup, you shake a piece of ice free and pop it into your mouth. Turn it over with your tongue while your thoughts swirl around.

“It’s a lot, I know.” He offers, sensing the weight of everything you thought you knew being rearranged. His hand finds your upper spine and flattens there, rubbing in slow circles to comfort you. “If you think about it though… it makes some sense. Take this, all of you, and drink from it: this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in memory of me. You know the Consecration as well as I do, I’m sure, I mean… it sounds pretty self explanatory.”

“I’m sorry,” Turning to him wide eyed, it takes some effort not to choke on your ice. “Now you’re saying Jesus was a vampire?”

Paul’s head tips to the side, eyeing you almost as if disappointed. But his voice remains as gentle and patient as ever.

“And they found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. While they were perplexed about this, behold, two men stood by them in dazzling apparel. And as they were frightened and bowed their faces to the ground, the men said to them, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?”

Sighing sharply, you shift enough to lean against his side. You like the way his arm wraps across your shoulders like he was carved to fit around you. The way his long fingers play gently through your curls.

“Fine, Jesus was a vampire.” You concede, rubbing at your tired eyes. A deep yawn quickly follows and you decide you’re ready to clock out of theology class for the night. As if he can feel your fatigue himself, Paul gives in to a yawn of his own and drops a soft kiss to your head.

“We’ve probably missed the Belle, you know.”

“Well, we’ll just have to sleep in this booth then.” You close your eyes as if you’re truly resolved. But you’re forced to open them as his body shakes with a deep chuckle before he moves to stand.

“Not a chance.” Moving to toss his paper plate out and yours, Paul offers you his hand a moment later. “I may not have the body of an eighty-year old man any longer, but I still don’t think my back could take that.”

Smirking softly, you pull your coat on and clasp his hand firmly with yours.

"Is that an invitation to test out what your new, younger back can take?"

He eyes you dangerously and you giggle, knowing you're being bad and enjoying every second of it. You like even more the way this feels. Just walking around the city hand in hand with him. No priestly collar tonight, just a t shirt and a hoodie over slim fit jeans to cover his tall frame. No nosy islanders, just the lights of NYC and the pools of shadow in between. Almost like you're both normal. Almost like this could be yours. Like really yours. It makes a favorite song of yours surface in your mind.

I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask and neither should you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do

“Alright, alright. Let’s do something fun though.” Your big eyes sparkle as the possibilities run through your mind. “Wanna get a room at the Waldorf and sneak into the pool?”

“Um...The archdiocese doesn’t really pay in that tax bracket, so...” He reminds you with a pointed look.

“Okay,” You roll your eyes at his adorable but antiquated assumption that he’s expected to pay. “Well, I don’t like to throw this around on the Island of Lost Toys, but daddy did alright for himself on Wall Street after he escaped Crockett, so. If I wanna stay at the Waldorf, that’s what I’m gunna do.”

Brows lifting, he looks you over. Amusement twitching at the corners of his mouth, he shakes his head more at himself than at you, knowing he’s resolved to follow anywhere you lead.

“Spoiled little princess.”

“And here I was ready to invite you along with me.” Flashing him a cheeky smile over your shoulder, you lean into the street and hail for a cab.

“I’m still coming with you. Even if you make me sleep in the bathtub. I’m not letting you wander around New York City alone at night.”

“Don’t be silly, Paul. We both know you would never fit in a hotel bathtub. Not even at the Waldorf.”

~~~

“This is a bad idea.” He glances around nervously, holding a towel from the room in his hands.

You want to call him out for thinking he has the right to adjourn over what is and isn’t a bad idea after bringing a demon-angel back to Crockett Island from the Holy Land. But you decide to let it go for now.

“It was a $300 cash tip, Paul. The security guy is not gunna fuck us over. Relax, sweetheart.” Leaning up on your toes, you brush a kiss to his jawline and flash him a smile.

Mike, the security guy you’d bribed to give you after hours pool access stands at the end of the fitness center's empty hallway.

“Only an hour or two. I’m off at 1am, so I need this back in time to wipe the drive.”

“Sir, yes sir.” You give Mike your best salute and he hands you the key card in exchange. “See you in an hour, captain.”

“Have fun.” He eyes Paul up as if he’s a bit jealous this is being wasted on a man who looks like he’s got a prescription medication for his allergy to fun. But that’s kind of the point. You can’t imagine your… - okay boyfriend seems not the right word… and you can’t call him your lover...well, whatever he is - you can’t imagine the last time he had some proper breaking and entering fun. If ever. It's not like any girls on Crockett are trouble in the way that you always have been.

The harsh fluorescent lights inside the pool room are off and you leave them that way. The kinder, golden lights embedded inside the pool walls seem more than enough.

Shedding your sweater and boots slowly, you let your eyes brush across the room to Paul. It occurs to you only in this moment why he’s really nervous about this entire thing. Sure, you’ve cuddled and you’ve kissed. But you’ve never undressed for each other. His hoodie falls to a nearby lounge chair. Then his t shirt. You don’t even try to hide your eyes caressing every inch of his smooth, pale skin.

His shoulders are even broader than you’d realized. Arms and ribs defined in more a way than they have any right to be. You brush your jeans down and kick them away, eyes never leaving his body. Slowly padding backwards towards the pool, you can’t help but pause by the railing, still drinking him in.

“You’re really fucking beautiful…” The words are a whisper on your lips, and barely that.

Brows rising in surprise, you watch him chuckle as if you’re telling a bad joke. Carefully, he pads over to you, the growing bulge in his briefs impossible to hide. Caressing his fingertips along your cheek, then your neck, he stays quiet, waiting for the follow up. For the boot to drop. When you stay silent, he shakes his head a bit and his chest caves slightly like he’s reeling from the effort it takes to let your words sink in.

“That can’t be all you have to say right now.” Wetting his lips, the back of his fingertips grazes slowly along your collarbone, like ice skates on a winter pond. “Please say something else.”

“Like what…?” You try not to laugh, but it’s impossible. Slowly, you step backwards down into the pool. Thankfully, Mike had turned the heat on and the water is blissfully warm against the cool skin of your legs. Taking his hand, you pull gently, refusing to move unless he follows.

He bites his lip hard, glancing over your shoulder like he’s searching for his resolve in the deep end.

“Helena…”

Pulling him down into a kiss, you lose your balance as his weight falls against yours. For a few long moments the whole world is nothing but hot water and his creamy skin and your mouths moving together. Around you, your hair floats like a halo and his legs brush your own as you both roll, kicking to the surface. If there is a heaven, you refuse to believe it could be better than this.

Before he can say much, you’re swimming forward. Standing in the shallows feels anything but romantic when he’s as tall as he is.

“You know we don’t have to, love.” You call back to him as you surface by one of the lights in the deep end. Soaking wet, your skin and hair glow in the golden halo of it. Thinking he’s several yards behind, you focus on brushing the hair out of your face. “We can just”-

Suddenly he’s got a grip on your arm and turns you around to face him. With the water only 6’ deep, he’s able to stand here easily and pin you to the wall while his mouth catches your own.

Whimpering softly, your body trembles in surprise and it takes a second before you’ve recovered enough to react. Snaking your legs around his waist, you wrap one arm securely around his neck and cling like he’s a liferaft. Your mouth tips to the side, deepening the kiss. Fingers brushing up into his wet hair.

Tongue caressing yours, Paul lets his hands wander. Feels along the smooth skin of your thighs. Traces his thumbs across the crest of your ribs, smoothing over each one as if counting to make sure each is accounted for.

The adrenaline hits you all at once as you feel him lift you and the rush of it makes you giggle softly, breathlessly. His own chuckle follows and, as you’re sat on the edge of the pool wall, he pulls you down into another soft kiss. Without a word, your panties are tugged down. Tossed aside, unnecessary.

For a moment, he just looks up at you. All big brown eyes brimming with wanting. A sort of silent understanding passes between you. That he’s never actually done this before. That he’ll need you to guide him. Nodding slowly, you shift your weight enough to rest one hand back against the cement. The other brushes into his hair, fisting gently as you slide a thigh over one of his broad shoulders.

The heat of his mouth finds your folds with ease and your stomach hitches in surprise. Head falling back, you let go of a soft groan, rolling your hips to meet his tongue as it explores through your folds. He catches the squeak of pleasure in your throat easily when he finds your clit. Savors the way you shudder as he tests the spot again.

“Mmmm...right there, baby… mmhmm… that’s so good…” Fingers tightening gently in his hair, you hold him in place so he’s sure of what you want.

Feeling the little bud spasm against the lashing of his tongue, he groans deep in his chest. His hands tighten around your thigh and your hip.

“Can you...put your mouth around it and just…ohhh…” Your eyes roll back hard as he sucks your clit between his lips as if on instinct, as if he knows your needs like his own. As if he can feel your body like you can feel his. Nails dragging firmly between his shoulder blades, you grind your hips lightly, desperate.

“So fucking good, baby...you’re so fucking good...yes…”

A growl rumbles in his throat from all your praise and you swear you can feel his toes curling against the pool floor. You’re so sure you can feel the blood rushing through his body, making him ache for you until it hurts.

Panting softly, you grip his shoulder hard as he brings you right to the edge. You have to cover your own mouth to muffle the scream as you shake hard in his hands. Everything bursts into dizzying spirals, like a thousand stars combusting inside of you. Across the whole universe. Maybe both all at once.

“Ohhhh…” Paul’s tongue laps eagerly through your cum, like a kitten tasting milk for the first time and it makes your aftershocks nearly ramp up into another full blown orgasm. Legs trembling, you gently nudge him back. Lean down to kiss him with a grin on your pretty mouth. “Hmm...good job, baby...thank you.”

Slowly you slide down into the pool again and wrap yourself around his body all over again. Curiously, you can no longer feel him hard against you.

“Did you…” Pulling back to find his eyes, you search him out. You’ve never met a man you could finish without even touching him. Granted… it’s very likely been decades for him. Gods, and then decades on top of that. As long as you’d imagined he’d been waiting, you realize now as the ‘restored by the blood of angels’ thing comes back to you, he’s actually been left lonely so much longer than that. A whole god damn lifetime.

Dark pink in his cheeks, he nods and dips his head to nudge your cheek with his nose.

“It’s the blood… I fed you some that night after you fainted. To heal you. But… it allows us to…”

“Feel each other?”

He nods again, almost sheepishly. Suddenly, a thought occurs to you and you can’t help the wicked grin it draws out.

“So if I were to stay up all night… thinking of you… touching myself…”

Head tipping back, Paul drags in a deep breath. Your nose wrinkles as you giggle in amusement.

“I imagine I would...be able to feel that too. Yes.” Kissing your forehead, you feel the tip of his nose nuzzling your skin as he shakes his head in disbelief at how relentless you are in your torture. “Thank you for putting that very sinful thought in my mind.”

“Yeah, but technically that’s not a sin. Right? Technically.”

“Technically, it’s a sin for me to even… think about you that way.”

“Oh. So, no confessing to my local priest about how good you are with your tongue then?” You give him an innocently questioning glance and it earns you a gentle swat to your backside.

“Don’t you dare come into my confessional, little girl.” Despite his words, Paul is laughing heartily at the thought. If you had any intention of behaving yourself, his attitude on the matter might be different. But you both know that you’d never walk into his church with holy intentions.

“Yes, father.” You tease him with a sigh across his neck, nipping the smooth skin there with your teeth. He has such a beautiful neck, it always takes every fiber of restraint in your body to ignore the constant impulse screaming at you to ravage the skin there with your tongue and teeth and lips.

“Good girl.” Groaning softly in response, Paul pushes away from the wall so he can just float with you. As he buries his nose in your skin. And you lose yourself in a daydream. A fantasy where things are completely different.

Where the pool is a Roman bath and the hotel is a palace and you're a princess who doesn't have to answer to anyone. Least of all, the islanders of a small fishing village. It's so easy to imagine, so clear in your mind... it almost feels like a past life.

#father paul x reader #father paul imagine #midnight mass fanfiction #happy smut sunday babes #helena x paul #c: helena belleforest #my writing #story: come away to the water

124 notes · View notes

spookysmujer · 4 years

Text

‘03 Bonnie & Clyde, O.Diaz

Summary: After hearing many stories of the infamous Santo, Oscar Diaz, you have your first encounter with him at a block party.

warnings: cute s h e t 🥺

word count: 1.2K

a/n: All we need in this life of sin is Oscar’s fine ass 🥵 thank you for requesting babes! Please consider: following my blog, heart/comment/reblog my content as well as turning on the notifs for when I post new content, much appreciated :)

requested by: @justatiredfool

(gif belongs to @goldscoyne ✨)

You weren’t one to go to parties. In fact you can count on one hand how many parties you had been to since the end of high school. It’s sad but it’s who you are. You prefer the comfort of your own home along with a good book and some red wine. But after the many mentions of the party from a friend, you felt you had no choice but to say yes.

“I am so happy you are here! Go mingle!”

Another cup beer is placed in your hand. Your friend is gone just as soon as she appeared. You shake your head with a small smile on your lips while taking a sip of the bitter liquid. There are a bunch of familiar faces here along with some you don’t know. No harm in making new friends?

The first summer party since graduating high school a few weeks ago. It’ll be fun, you’ll drink and enjoy some good company. It’s a time to celebrate! You’re in the corner, watching guys play beer pong and girls ogling over them. Soon enough the house piles with more bodies and it feels overly clustered.

Out in the backyard, it’s nearly as packed but there is more free flowing air. You scan the crowd and see a bunch of classmates, lower classmen and the town’s up-to-no good gang, the Santos. The older group of guys have girls surrounding them. It’s pathetic to see how they are flinging themselves at them for attention that will probably only last one night.

For a moment you watch the one they call ‘Spooky’. How is it they get their names when joining a gang? Is it given to them? Do they do something that determines it? You are so lost in trying to figure it out, you find he is staring back at you. Some of the other Santos taking notice as well. The smug looks on their faces make you step away, bumping into someone and spilling your drink all over your top. You groan and make your way to the bathroom.

The fabric of your halter top is soaked and there is no way you plan on spending the night like this. You send a quick text to your friend that you have to leave. But she doesn’t respond at all and you remember quickly that she was your ride to the party. You are standing near the street, cursing to yourself, “You’re Y/S/N’s little sister, right?”

The voice makes you jump as you swivel on your heel to see Spooky standing behind you. You clutch your chest and look around if there is anyone else he could be talking to. Though it’s dumb to think so considering he just asked about your older sister. “Um, yeah I am. How do you know her?” He cracks a small smile.

“Went to school with her. Though she stayed behind a grade due to getting knocked up, she was a cool ass chick.” He explains and you nod, intrigued that he was never mentioned in any conversations you had with Y/S/N. “What’s your name?”

You take a second before answering, “Y/N.”

He nods, stepping away from you to light a blunt. You watch as he fires it up and takes a big hit, holding out to you as an offer. You politely decline, trying to not make things awkward but you’ve never talked with a gang member before. Or an older guy at that. Your sister is nearly 7 years older than you.

“Cool. Y/N.” You smile and look away. Something about how he is painted as this badass guy but the more you keep looking at him, his features seem so soft. And he speaks respectfully towards you. “Trying to get home. Soaked my top.”

“I can give you a ride, party is lame and half these hynas can’t take a hint.” That makes you laugh and you ponder the offer of a ride home. And though you were always told to never jump in with strangers, you don’t feel entirely uncomfortable around him.

You look around and notice your low battery on your phone. It would die soon and you’d really be stranded not being able to call an uber or lyft. With your sister no longer living in Freeridge, parents divorced with your dad out of the picture and mom an ER nurse currently working a graveyard shift, the Santo leader is your next best option.

He waits for a response, “You sure? I mean… it won’t be bad for your reputation to be seen driving around a fresh outta high school hyna?” It’s his turn to laugh. “On the contrary.”

After sometime you nod your head and he leads his way to his ride. It's a beautiful 1963 Chevy Impala in a gleaming red color. You admire it as you approach it. He notices you looking at it with big interest, most girls exaggerated how much of a sexy car it is just to get in it and make out with him. But you are different with it and he admires that about you.

You run your hand along the hood of it. It’s nothing new to see these old school rides in California but for a place like Freeridge with all the goes down, his car is in mint condition, “You into cars?” He asks as you straighten up after leaning down to take a look at his trims. “Not really, but my dad used to always check out those car shows a couple of towns over, I remember him talking about Impalas a lot.”

“What kind of ride does he have?” You chuckle, “I wouldn’t know, he left when I was 7.” He watches as you get in through the passenger side. Turns out there are more similarities between the two of you than meets the eye.

“Are you sure you are okay with driving me home,Spooky? Aren’t your friends gonna think something?” Oscar always preferred that the ladies call him by his street name. He internally cringed hearing you call him that as he turned on the engine. “ Call me Oscar, they ain’t gonna think of nothing. I’m just giving you a ride home.”

You look over at him and watch him for a brief moment. Truly how the saying goes that there is more beneath the surface. Your first thoughts of him were of a gangster that could never be up to no good. But turns out, he isn’t half as bad.

After giving him directions to your place, he’s pulling onto the street no longer than 15 minutes later. And within that time, you two chatted up about all kinds of things. Cars, school, even some hopes and dreams. You hadn’t noticed the time that passed by til you checked the time on his dash.

“Geez, it’s nearly 4AM. My bad.” You apologize knowing you can be quite chatty, he brushes it off, thanking you for the company you gave him. “I should get in. My mom will be home in half an hour and well, she has a mean throwing arm with range.”

Oscar laughs wholeheartedly at your comment, making you laugh as well. “Gracias por todo, Oscar. Um, there’s a car show outside of LA next week. I don’t know much about rides but I’m sure you’d like it.”

Are these butterflies? Oscar thinks as you wait for an answer, “Sounds dope. I’ll pick you. Um, should I call?” He asks you as the feeling of butterflies begins to fill your stomach. You nod and pull out your eyeliner from your purse to scribble on his arm, he looks at it then to you as you exit his car. A smile stuck on his face.

How eventful tonight has been.

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n @fairygardenss@princesstiffxoxo@firebenderwolf @spookysnena @mbaku-babygirl @chellybear98@multiyfandomgirl40 @i-just-wanna-live-gc @roury66 @lillict @tinylumpiaa @prettymya3@starrynite7114 @onmyspookysblock @aneitii @b3mybunnybaby @angelxfics @spookysbabymama @kkim120 @ladylj @vayagrxce @irenne-stans @boujee-bitches (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

644 notes · View notes

bangtanpromptsfics · 3 years

Text

gardenia. (m)

dialogue prompt #7: “Don't push me away anymore”

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fwb, angst, smut

word count: 2,110

warnings: mentions of smoking, making out, oral (f receiving), fingering, a brief handjob, protected sex

summary: pretty cliche. you have feelings for your fuck-buddy.

a/n: I think this is the longest smut I've written (?), I know 2k words is nothing for a fic but still 0_0 and with this there are a total of 7 jungkook oneshots so I'll be concentrating on the rest of the members and then begin writing au oneshots!!

masterlist

“Don't push me away anymore”, he pants, “please… ”

“Jungkook I'm not doing this right now”, you snap at him. He looked really tired to have energy to make it back to the apartment, and if it was any other day you would've gladly let him in and give his favorite soft blue blankets and let him cuddle you.

“I didn't mean it. I was so wrong Y/n. I was stupid. Just let me explain for once…”. He slowly enters in. You hate that however much you tried, he's going to win you over. However much you say you hate him, all of that wall shatters the moment he locks eyes.

“Explain then”, you cross your arms and watch his frame waddling to sit on the couch.

“I swear I never knew you had feelings for me“ he ruffles his hair into a mess, his chest clenches when he thinks about all that he has to tell you, “I thought… I thought it was just sex… and… and when you confessed to me during the game, I… I thought it was all a part of it”.

“You don't need me to tell me all the things I already know Jungkook. You don't have anything else to say?”, you huff.

“And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made fun of you. I'm an asshole. That was...that was so wrong of me”. He stands up from his seat and comes close, only to see you walking back. It breaks him more.

It was three days ago when Jimin hosted a party, drinks and all, with some Las Vegas theme just for the sake of it. Since he's part of your close friend circle, you promise to tag along. You should've stayed back to complete that philosophy research paper.

And then everyone drinks of course. It's some cheap liquid, purple enough to make you lose appetite. But you drink four cups of it anyway and Jungkook nine.

Then came a dreadful game of truth or dare. A very cliche way to make a love confession. You are usually the type to keep it all in. But you had been fucking Jungkook for so long, it became harder and harder to put a show. As every heated night with him passes, the space for him inside your heart only expands.

And so you couldn't take it much and went ahead and said that you love Jungkook when Taehyung asked to confess something Jungkook doesn't know about. A rejection was well expected. The only thing you expected in fact. But it got much worse.

Jungkook went ahead and made fun of you for falling for him. He said your obsession for his dick isn't any love. Yada yada it made you cry, Jungkook sensed he had fucked up, Taehyung felt guilty since he's the one who asked you in the first place and Namjoon made sure you reach your apartment safe, give you a hug and vowed he'll have a talk with Jungkook the next day.

And so you waited, and grew angry that it really took him three full days to come up with a basic apology.

But Jungkook was in his own pit of loathing. It took him a few hours into crying on his couch to realise he has feelings for you too. If it was just the fact of pleasure, he would have definitely fucked other girls. But he didn't.

He enjoyed being with you way too much. But he was dumb and all the more a dick to tease your feelings.

“Nothing else?, you ask him, with tears demanding to pour out. You keep knawing your skin with nails to stop yourself from crying.

“I… think… I have feelings for you too”, he whispers and then sobs. His eyes are already puffy. It only showed how much you meant to him, but you're still afraid to jump into conclusions until solid answers.

“I want you to be sure Koo”.

He feels a wave of relief hit him when you addressed him by his favorite nickname. It gave him hope that you accepted his apology.

He looks up at you with a smile, “I'm sure. I love you Y/n”.

And then he is putting out a single hand towards you, hoping you'll come to his embrace. He notices the mess you're in while there's few moments of stillness lingering. Your apartment looked like it was in a havoc, a clear representation of both of your fucked up brains. You move a step to let him hold the side of your face.

It was unreal how healing it was to feel his skin again that you close your eyes to fully dwell in it.

He very carefully guides your heads into his chest and kisses the crown of it.

“Koo…”, you smile softly against the softness of his hoodie when he starts rocking both of your bodies from side to side.

“Hmm?”

You look up to his face. His doe eyes almost disappear inside the red swollen lids when he smiles back at you. You tip-toe to place a sweet kiss on his eyes while he closes it. Planting slow and sensual kisses, just letting the night drape over you.

You move your hands underneath his hoodie to feel his toned torso and he smiles at the warmth of your palm pressing against him. He missed this so much. He missed you so much. And he wants to make things right now.

You give a small nod of consent, telling him it's okay to kiss you. It looked like he was smoking to cope with his feelings. He tasted like the faintness of blunt and mint mouthwash.

“God I love you so much Y/n”, he says again, just to make sure you believe him because he fears you are still holding back.

You cup his face and press back your mouth to his, tongue experimentally laving at him which he happily complies.

Jungkook tugs at your hoodie now, wanting to set your skin ablaze like every time. And after a brief moment of kissing, he pulls your hoodie out making you half naked and aroused.

“Koo please touch me”, you whine, pressing your body towards him. He chuckles before holding your hands and towing you towards your bedroom.

Once making sure the doors and windows are closed, he resumes to you who is waiting rather impatiently at the edge of the bed.

He gets on his knees in front of you, drawing slow circles at the side of your hips, eyes looking for consent yet again. He was afraid if he was being honest. Your relationship seemed really fragile and he is afraid to break it apart once again.

“What's holding you back?”, you read his mind, feeling him not completely present at the moment. He has fear laced in his eyes, in his touch and you want to relieve him of it all.

“It's okay Koo. I promise. Make love to me please”, you assure, holding his face on your palm.

You have never referred to intimacy with Jungkook as ‘making love’, and he is blown away with a certain kind of happiness at that.

He reciprocates a smile before planting smooches on your belly while his hands work on your sweatpants.

Jungkook knows you get pretty self aware of your body at times like this and especially when he has not ridden himself of any clothing yet. So he pulls his hoodie over, a very notable distraction to keep your mind busy while he starts to work up with kissing the blush of your knees.

You spread your legs for him to sit closer to your core, already dripping out juices he craves so much.

He bites and sucks at the skin of your inner thigh, slow and steady to make you practically beg for his tongue. And you twist your fingers on his hair to ready yourself.

A silent moan erupts out of you at the first swipe at your core, and you move closer to his face to feel his entire face press on to your pussy.

He kisses the labia like he would to your mouth, taking his time and tasting what you have to give and when his nose presses against your clit, the first audible moan reaches Jungkook’s ears.

You are mostly silent in bed. A very useful information for Jungkook to fuck you whenever and wherever he wants, like he used to on your friend phase days. And to give pleasure to you so intense that you make beautiful melodies despite it was one of his personal goals every time.

Hyped at the sounds he is hearing, he holds nothing back. Diving straight for the much awaited lick of your clit, he kisses and draws patterns with his tongue to pull you apart faster.

“J-jungkoo- ah!”, you mewl, squirming vigorously. The only thing holding you in position to him being his strong arms digging at the side of your hips.

Knowing you wanted to climax so bad, he plunges two of his fingers knuckle deep into your core, scissoring them simultaneously as his mouth works above.

As you come, he laps everything he can and plants a final sweet kiss to the lips of your pussy.

Not giving him a chance to speak, you push your body down to meet him for a kiss, thankful for the mind splitting orgasm.

He stands on his feet and gets on bed to hover your figure.

“Always beautiful...”, he coos and kisses your temple before restarting his sin on your left boob.

“Jungkook please”, you cry out. The stimulation way too much to process and making your walls flutter on your core. He rolls his hips to your pelvis, feeling his hardness straining against the soft material of the sweatpants.

He seemed to be enjoying way to much of controlling you so you reach down to dig past the waistband of his pants to feel his hardness slick with some pre cum.

“Y-y/n”. He stops all of a sudden, parting his swollen lips from your nipples and sighing at the feel of your fingers curling against his length.

You were amused to see him getting worked up with a simple handjob. Your hand is getting slick of more of his pre cum oozing out as time passes by.

“Jungkook...please”, you plead once more and he is quick to act this time. His full expanse of skin exposed to you once his pants are out of the way.

“Are there condoms in the drawer baby?”, he asks quickly whilst palming himself to stay stimulated.

You nod and he gets off of bed to prep himself, knowing you and the belongings of your room all too well.

“Ready baby?”

“I swear to God Koo just do it”, you say this time and watch his chest rumble in a deep groan.

Your hands fly to his shoulders when he presses in the head of his cock. He observes your face twisting in various shades of bliss when he presses into you slowly until fully bottoming out.

Bending your knees, he places himself better and rolls his hips into you, both of you grunting at the feeling.

“F-fuck baby”, he moans, his pace slowly coming up and every switch of speed earns different sounds from you and that drives him more.

You look utterly divine like this. Your delicate hands scratching bruises on his shoulders, lips agape and face covered in faint sweat from the heat of both bodies. At one moment he pulls his cock out all the way back to the tip before ramming it inside you making your skin jump up in delight.

“I'm gonna cum Y/n”, he sighs, feeling his nerves kicking in. He buries his hands between your thighs to rub at your clit, wanting to feel your cum around him as he spills out.

“I'm-”. You feel another band snap, walls clenching around him with your juices which fuels Jungkook’s orgasm. His movements come to a halt once he had drawn out the euphoria and bends down to steal another kiss from you.

“Thank you so much Y/n”

You giggle, squirming your body as he pulls out and discards the condom to the dust bin, “Why Koo?”.

He returns by your side, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face between your breasts, breathing in the sweet scent, “For believing in me. I was so scared”, he confesses.

Emotions from earlier boils to the surface and you kiss the crown of his head in return.

“Don't worry I won't leave you”

“Yeah?”

You kiss his forehead, “Yeah”.

Thank you so much for reading!! ♡♡

184 notes · View notes

wiypt-writes · 4 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide.

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone.

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink.

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood.

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you.

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places.

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything.

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall.

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne.

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination.

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby.

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his.

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes. With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet.

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system.

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did.

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even,

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders.��It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end.

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

#murder he wrote #j's haunted house 2020 #dark ransom #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #reader insert #chris evans #chris evans characters

432 notes · View notes

honeyhan-123 · 4 years

Text

What You Can’t See

Summary: Bucky doesn’t understand how you could think were were just a one night stand.

Warnings: Non-con/Dubcon, dark yandere Bucky, stalking.

Word Count: 3.3k

AN: So a few months ago the lovely and incredibly talented @darkficsyouneveraskedfor gave me the title prompt ‘What You Can’t See’ and I’ve only just gotten around to writing it. This was also a request from my lovely purple and black love heart nonny who has disappeared recently, but I hope you enjoy. The prompt will be in bold.

My Masterlist

Your thighs ache in the best possible way as you gingerly slip from the bed, careful not to disturb the man still between the sheets. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep but he had been insatiable last night and you had been more than willing to let him use you until you lost consciousness. But now with the sun streaming in through the blinds, your mind was of a different volition. Now it was time to go.

You spared him one last glance as you crept towards his bedroom door and the desire to take a photo almost overpowered you. He looked so serene as he slept, his long brown hair tousled over the pillow and his body lacking any trace of the ruminating thoughts you knew he had carried around all night. A small part of you wanted to climb back into bed with him but you knew that’s not what this was, and it would be better for everyone if you saved yourself from the morning-after embarrassment. So you made your way out of his small apartment and out onto the bustling streets of Brooklyn, vowing to yourself that you wouldn’t become one of those girls obsessed with some guy they slept with once.

Bucky awoke slowly. It had been by far the best night’s sleep he had had in over seventy years. A smile was on his face as he reached consciousness and remembered the feel of your body underneath his. It had been better than he had ever expected even if it hadn’t happened quite the way he had been planning. Bumping into you at the bar Sam had dragged him to had been a complete coincidence but he wasn’t going to complain. He felt a stir between his thighs as he remembered the way you had felt wrapped around his cock as he had you in the bathroom of the dingy bar and then again and again back at his place.

His hands trailed along the bed as he searched for your body, desperate to hear your moans of pleasure once more before he had to head into the tower. Mentally he was cursing Maria for calling a mission briefing on the weekend but he knew if he didn’t go they would expect the worst. Bucky’s smile soon fell off his face as his hands continued to search, only to find cold sheets. His eyes flew open and to his dismay, you had gone.

Immediately he threw back the sheets and got out of bed, not even bothering to pull on some clothes as he searched his apartment. He was desperately wishing that you had just gotten out of bed to go to the bathroom, or better yet he would find you in the kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt as you whipped up some breakfast. He stupidly hoped that you would be making those pancakes he had seen you make a week ago when a friend had come over. He knew that if given the opportunity he would be very creative with the whipped cream you had coated your pancakes with.

Even though a small part of him had known as soon as he woke up that you were gone, his heart still ached as he entered the empty kitchen. Why had you left? He knew it definitely wasn't because you hadn’t had a good time last night. He had lost count of how many times you had cum before he dared focus on himself. So why the fuck had you left?

And what was he meant to do with his raging hard on now? Going back to using his hand after last night seemed like the worst trade off in the world.

He let out a sigh of annoyance before heading to the shower, waiting the briefing to be over already. The scalding hot water dripped down his body as he fisted his cock, dreaming up images of what he’d do when he rocked up at your apartment that night.

The sky was darkening, the golden streaks of sunset slowly disappearing and turning into a twinkling twilight when Bucky finally made it to your apartment. The briefing had lasted hours and then he hadn’t been able to come up with a good enough excuse to get out of training with Sam afterwards. Even though over the months the Birdman had started to grow on him, his constant teasing throughout the day about where Bucky had disappeared off to the night before was getting on his nerves. He didn’t want Sam making such lewd assumptions about you. Not that they weren’t entirely correct.

He was glad that he had briefly stolen your keys to make his own copy a month ago. It made getting into your building much easier. The large pastry filled box was slightly awkward to carry as he climbed the numerous flights of stairs towards you since the elevator was out of order, just like it had been for the last few months. He cursed your landlord for not giving a shit about the people living in his building but he reconciled it with the fact that soon he would take you far away from here. Soon everything would be different.

His fist rapped on your door and he tried to wait as patiently as he could for you to open it. He had no qualms about using his own set of keys to get into your apartment but he figured he should at least try and do this normally.

When the door finally cracked open Bucky could hear your gasp as you recognised him beyond the chain. ‘B-Bucky? What… What are you doing here?’ You seemed lost and confused and Bucky wanted to take those feelings away immediately. He knew that he would be able to help you.

‘Well I had planned on taking you out to breakfast this morning but you kind of ran out on me before I got this chance, so I figured I would bring breakfast to you.’ He held up the mint green cardboard box from BreadClub so you could see the pastries inside.

If you seemed shocked before, now you were doubly so. ‘But… how did you know where I live?’

Bucky forced himself to laugh when in reality all he wanted to do was break down your door so he could hold you. ‘Doll, I’m an Avenger. It’s not that hard to do a background check.’

‘Oh… right yeah I forgot about that. But still… what are you doing here?’

‘I just told you. I wanted to bring you some breakfast.’ His patience was starting to wean as you continued to keep the door between you.

‘Yeah, I got that. But what are you doing here? Don't you have somewhere else to be? Some Earth-ending event to stop?’ Your brows were furrowed as you spoke and Bucky could hear the fear starting to lace your words.

‘Nope. I’m exactly where I need to be.’

‘But why? I mean… we just had sex. We both got super drunk and hooked up. I don’t understand why you’re here. It was just a one-night stand.’

At this Bucky snapped and banged his fist against the door, forcing it open. The chain that had been in place snapped as easily as twigs underfoot. ‘Just a one-night stand? Oh Dollface you have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you seriously think that I would take just anybody back to my place for a quick fuck? I knew the moment I first laid eyes on you in that coffee shop you were meant to be mine. You’re more than just a one-night stand to me; you’re mine.’

Bucky felt as though he could almost hear the memory echoing around in your head and recognition flashed across your eyes. It hurt slightly that you hadn’t thought of that moment nearly as much as he had, but Bucky didn’t mind. From that moment on, his life had been changed. It was a change as irrecoverable as falling from that snow covered train all those years ago.

He snapped the door shut behind him as he stalked inside your apartment, inwardly hurting as you retreated back a few paces. But that would change. You would come to love him just as he had you. ‘I brought us some pastries from the bakery around the corner, BreadClub. I know it’s your favourite. I figured they would keep our energy up tonight.’

‘Our energy? Bucky, I don’t know what you’re doing here but I would like you to leave. You’re starting to scare me.’

Bucky let out a humourless laugh, amazed at how you still didn’t seem to understand. ‘Dollface, I’m not going anywhere, not now, not ever. So why don’t you be a good little girl and lead me to your bedroom. After having you last night, I just can’t seem to get enough.’

When you had made no effort to move, too stunned by his presence, a flash of annoyance crept over Bucky’s face. He had been waiting for this all day, hell, he’d been waiting for this for months. He wasn’t about to let you ruin his plans. He would show you just how good together you were; how you were made for him.

‘C’mon Dollface. Just take me to your bedroom and then we can both enjoy ourselves. I know you had a good time last night and that was while you were drunk. It’ll be so much better when you're drunk off of me.’ Heat flushed your cheeks as his words reminded you of the dingy bathroom stall where he had first taken you and then of his kitchen counter where he had eaten you out for hours before finally taking you back to his bedroom. You tried to ignore the tell tale tingy between your thighs as you relived the memories. That was not happening again. This man was clearly delusional.

You watched as he inhaled deeply through his nose, a smirk gracing his sinful pink lips.’Oh Sweetheart, you want it, you want it bad.’ You blanched at the idea of him being able to smell you and quickly tried to deny it.

‘No I don’t Bucky. What I want is for you to leave. I’ll… I’ll call the cops.’ You tried to make yourself seem braver than you felt but any bravado you had mustered up quickly vanished when Bucky let out a bark of laughter.

‘You’ll call the cops and what? Tell them an Avenger is fucking your brains out? They wouldn’t believe you, and even if they did, by the time they sent a patrol car around I’ll have you begging for more. So why don’t you quit wasting everyone’s time and just be a good girl.’

You hadn’t noticed the tears starting to pool in your eyes as he spoke but you blamed them for blocking your vision as you made a mad dash around him. You barely got two feet to the door before his strong arms wrapped around your waist and he hoisted you up onto his broad shoulder.

If he felt any of the kicks or punches you tried to land on him, he didn’t show it as he walked purposely through your tiny apartment towards your bedroom. No matter how loud you screamed, you doubted any of your neighbours would come and check on you, you didn’t exactly live in the best part of the city.

You felt the air rush beneath your body as he threw you down onto the mattress. You bounced for a moment before trying to scramble away from him, only to be trapped by his legs coming to straddle your body beneath his.

‘C’mon Dollface. You know I really didn’t want it to be like this but if you’re not going to be reasonable, I’m just going to have to show you I mean business.’ You didn’t bother responding to him. Instead you just sucked a deep breath in and screamed as loudly as you could, desperate to get anyone’s attention.

Your scream didn’t get far however as his hand quickly clamped down on your throat, the cool metal pressing against your jugular, cutting off your air. ‘I am only going to say this once, so listen up. You. Are. Mine. And I am not going to leave until you realise that, okay Sweetheart?’

Panic seeped through your veins as he pulled out a long flick knife from his bomber jacket. He wasted no time in pressing the cool metal to the skin of your navel and you barely dared to breath and he slid it up and under your top before yanking it up fiercely, tearing through the thin material.

‘Oh, now that’s what I’m talking about. That right there. That’s why I can’t leave you alone, you’re too fuckin’ gorgeous.’ You recalled him saying similar things the night before, peppering your senses with little compliments continuously as he was inside you. It had made you feel incredibly sexy last night, but now it had an entirely different effect. ‘Well actually…’ his hand reached up to cup your jaw gently. ‘It’s only part of the reason.’

You felt your cheeks flush with heat as you registered his words and you cursed his silver tongue. How could he be saying such sweet things to you while this was happening? How dare he try and be the prince charming you had longed for in all your previous relationships when in reality he was the devil in disguise.

His knife made quick work of your sleep shorts and your panties too. You felt the warmth of his hand against your most intimate parts as he groaned. ‘I knew you wanted me Doll. You’re so fucken wet for me. Just for me. Such a good girl, responding to me like this.’ You tried to swallow the bile in your throat caused by his words and your body’s betrayal. ‘I told you we belong together.’

His fingers played with your slick, swiping it along your folds and up to your clit where he swirled his fingers. You bucked your hips, whether to get away from his hand or closer to it you weren’t sure. The pleasure he was giving you was just undeniable and no matter how much you hated him in this moment, you could feel the familiar tension building slowly in your abdomen.

‘You’re close aren’t you Doll? See how good I can make you feel. It could be like this all the time. Just let go and give in, give in to me Baby.’ You tried to shake your head, tried with your last remaining strength to throw him off but you couldn’t. You couldn't do anything but exactly what he said which was give in.

You gasped for breath as you came, your walls fluttering around nothing as he continued to toy with your clit, unrelenting even as pleasure flowed through your veins. ‘That’s it. That’s a good girl. You’re so good to me Dollface.’ His praise only egged your pleasure on further, a dopey smile taking over your features before you could stop it.

As blissed out as you were, you somehow hadn’t noticed him undressing with hasty and jerky movements until he was lying back on top of you. ‘All day I’ve been hard just thinking about having you again and now I’m here, I’m basically ready to burst. How embarrassing is that? But don’t worry Dollface, as I proved last night, I’m not just a one and done.’ He smirked down at you as he guided himself to your entrance, finding a very warm and wet welcome.

‘Oh… Fuck Doll.’ He moaned into your ear, holding himself still once he was fully inside you. ‘You’re so fuckin’ tight, just milking my cock.’ You tried to block out the sinful words spoken as smooth as velvet but you couldn’t hide your body’s reaction. Not from him and not while he was inside you, filling you to the brim.

Your nails dug into his back as he started moving, slowly pulling out inch by inch before sliding back in again. His pelvis grazed your clit which each move of his hips and you shuddered in his grasp. While the memories of last night were hazy from the copious amount of alcohol you had drunk, you remembered enjoying it and now with him rutting into you, the same feeling of ecstasy started to build.

As he continued moving, his pace slowly building, the desire to push him off grew less and less. You knew your efforts would be futile as he was far too strong and with the way he was grinding into you, a small part of you didn’t want him to stop.

‘That’s it baby, you’re doing so good.’ His breath brushed against the shell of your ear and you couldn’t hold back the responding moan. ‘You like that huh? Me whispering dirty little things in your ear? It’s just like those audios you use to get yourself off isn’t it?’

You had no idea how he knew about those but he was right. His voice was so much more powerful and rich than those unknown ones stored on your phone. ‘You’re never gonna need those other men ever again. You’re mine, and I take care of what’s mine.’ His voice was starting to grow breathless, coming out in sharp bursts. It mingled with the obscene sounds coming from your cunt as he thrusted into you again and again, his balls slapping against your ass as he moved.

‘I’m so fuckin’ close Doll, need you to cum first though…’ His voice was truly breathless now as he pushed up onto his haunches and wrapped your legs around his waist, never once missing a beat.

You gasped in shock as you felt his metal hand dip down, in between your legs. His deft fingers played with your arousal, getting coated in it before coming up to your clit and circling it quickly. You fisted the sheets as your toes curled. Your release was so close, you just needed a little bit more.

‘Play with your tits baby, play with them for me.’ You wanted to tell him to go fuck himself but your body was no longer obeying your brain as your hands came up to cup your chest. ‘Yeah baby, just like that. Such a good girl.’

It was his voice that did it, the way it flooded your senses and finally released the knot building in your gut. You couldn’t help the scream that came from your mouth as your walls pulsated around him, trying to milk him dry. ‘Fuck Doll. Fuck, fuck.’ His thrusts grew erratic and you knew he was on the edge. ‘I know your pussy is just begging for my cream but I can’t… God, I can’t fucking wait to fill you up though.’ He groaned out before suddenly pulling free from you.

His flesh hand fisted his cock with strong and rapid strokes. Once, twice, three times, before his cum spurted out, landing in stips across your tits. The sound that came from his mouth as he worked himself through his orgasm was absolutely sinful and had you rubbing your thighs together subconsciously. The movement was not missed by him as a devious smirk came over his lips as he watched.

‘Just can’t wait for more can you?’ You hastily shook your head, trying to find your voice as he collapsed beside you, his arms wrapping around your body like a vice. You felt him start to harden once more against your thigh.

‘Don’t worry Doll, there’ll be plenty more where that came from now that you’re finally mine.’

Tags will be added in a reblog

My Masterlist

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky #bucky x you #marvel #mcu

876 notes · View notes

1plus1kiyoomi · 4 years

Text

Chapter 15: Harder

[prev] [next]

[masterlist]

You wake up to the smell of food, so you hurriedly run out of your room. Sliding your way to the kitchen, you see your husband setting up the table. He looks up to you as he feels your presence. “Did I wake you up?”

“Shinsuke, I’m sorry...” you mutter, lowering your head in guilt.

“Come here...” Kita orders in a soft voice, so you oblige. You timidly take steps towards him, stopping 2 steps away from him. He moves close to you, wrapping his arms around you. You let yourself cry on his chest, holding on his shirt tightly.

“I’m really sorry...” You cry, and you feel Kita’s chin on top of your head, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t baby. I was just upset that I was the only one putting on a lot of effort in our marriage. I know you are, too but your work is also important. So, I understand,” Kita tells you, planting a kiss on your forehead.

Kita had plans of not coming home for a week. He wanted to be away from you. He was that angry and upset with you, but he knew that if he went home, he’d forgive you as soon as he sees you. If he sees you cry, he’s willing to put his feelings aside just to make you smile again.

Being away from you and not seeing you for two days was harder than Kita thought. He mused that he would he feel better by not seeing you, but it was just damaging him. All he could think about is you. His mind was clouded with you. It was like he was put under a spell to only think about you.

Saying that he didn’t shed tears being away for you would be a lie. Kita realized that he’s gotten so used to you and being a husband to you. You’re a part of his routine. The bed without your warmth was freezing cold. Waking up without you next to him was a nightmare. You are his ritual.

Kita made a promise with himself that he won’t let you break his walls easily again but he’s here in your kitchen, his arms wrapped around your body, letting you demolish his walls.

“I know I have not been the best partner, but I promise I will work hard to be a wife to you,” you say with confidence, looking at Kita with your crying eyes. His heart softens and aches. Was he too harsh with you? But you understand his side now, so it’s fine right?

“And I promise you that I’ll work harder as your husband.” He gives you a quick kiss on your lips, before wiping the tears off your cheek with his sleeve. “Let’s eat?”

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

“I took the whole week off from work, so we’ll do everything you want, okay?” You tell Kita, pulling a blanket over his body. “This week, I’ll take care of you. So you shouldn’t think about the meals and the chores, because I’ll do it all for you. You’re going to rest the whole week.”

“Are you sure?” Kita asks you doubtfully, sitting up from your bed. You push his shoulders back on the mattress, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Yes. So just chill here in bed while I clean the house.”

You leave your bedroom and go to the utility room, taking out the vacuum and mop. You put on an apron and gloves, then tie your hair into a ponytail. You start to clean up at the living room first, since it’s the widest part of your house. Two hours into cleaning, Kita comes out of your room to check on you.

“Why did you stand up? Go back to bed!” You scold him, the laundry basket in your arms. “Rice and I are going out to hang the laundry outside. You better be back in bed when I return.”

“(Y/N)-”

“It’s baby, not (Y/N),” you correct and he lets out a small smile at how cute you sounded.

“Baby, I want to help,” Kita says, walking up to you, but you stop him, by raising your hand towards him.

“You almost had me at baby. Almost,” you sigh. “But no. You have to rest.”

Kita then pouts. “You said we can do anything I want.”

“Yeah I did but I also said you have to rest because you’ve been-”

“I want to cuddle. And that won’t happen anytime if you don’t finish cleaning, so I will help you. That way we can cuddle already,” Kita cuts you off.

A grin and blush make their way to your face, Kita’s word making your heart burst. “You wanna cuddle with me right now?”

“I want to cuddle with you every time. Now let me help you with that,” Kita takes the basket from you, then goes to your backyard. You follow him, smiling like an idiot. Rice looks at you with his judging face and you just roll your eyes at him. He runs to Kita’s side, weirded out from your behavior.

After doing all the house chores, the two of you walk back to your bedroom. Kita is on your back, putting weight on your shoulders, as he giggles like a child. You finally reach your bedroom, and just when you thought your shoulders will finally be able to breathe, Kita suddenly announces, “I’m jumping on your back.”

“Babe, no!” You try to stop him, but he has already jumped, wrapping his legs around your waist. Due to the uneven distribution of weight, you fall to the bed. Kita switches your places midfall, making you land on top of him.

Kita starts laughing so you laugh, too. Nothing’s funny with what’s happening. It’s a laugh caused by contentment. Both Kita and you are just happy to be in each other’s arms after what seemed like an eternity of fighting. Everyone else sees Kita as this serious emotionless guy, and you witness him all smiles and giggles. You feel grateful for that.

“I missed you,” you confess, pulling his bangs up to kiss his forehead. Kita whines, pouting his lips. “What?”

“Kiss.” You do as he says. Dipping your head down to give him a kiss, Kita pushes your hips down, making you sit on his crotch. You let out a yelp, surprised by the sudden contact. You can feel him under you and it’s causing your face to turn red from the heat you’re feeling. “Are you okay?”

“I have to take a shower.” You stand up, then run to the bathroom, leaving your husband confused. “Did I just chicken out?”

Your shower took longer than you thought. You wanted to cool your body down with the water temperature but every time you think about Kita’s- “ah! Stop! Stop! You shall not sin!” You slap both your cheeks, huffing out a heavy sigh. “But we’re married. I can think about that right?”

“Baby, are you okay?” Kita knocks on the door, running from the kitchen when he heard your scream.

“Yes! I just dropped my tooth brush!” You lie.

“Okay, I’ll just be in the kitchen making dinner,” Kita says from the other side of the door.

After a lot of calming down and purifying your mind, you finally leave the room with a heavy feeling. You see Kita on the dining room floor, waiting for you. “What’s the viand?”

“Chicken.” You clear your throat, remembering that you just chickened out. “What’s wrong? You’re turning red.”

“Nothing. I just feel hot,” you reason, sitting across him. He reaches out with his hand, the back of it checking the temperature of your forehead.

“You seem fine to me. Should I get a thermometer?” Kita tilts his head to the side, his hand feeling the temperature on your neck. Oh, how you wish that it is wrapped around your neck instead. You choke on your own thoughts, alarming Kita. “Are you sure you’re not sick?”

“Yes. Let’s just eat.”

“Something’s off, spill it.”

“It’s nothing.”

“We just made up. I don’t want us to argue again, so say it.”

“I was thinking about your...” You are not able to finish your statement, totally embarrassed. Kita doesn’t say anything and starts eating. You say your thanks and eat as well, your face still heating up from the awkward tension your words made.

“You can touch it later,” Kita says out of nowhere, making you choke on your food. He gives you water, chuckling at your reaction.

“Don’t just say that!” You complain, glaring at him.

“Don’t you want to?” He raises an eyebrow, a cocky smile on his face. A look you’ve never thought you’d see on him. You didn’t expect that he’d be the teasing type, so this is taking you aback. You don’t answer him and quickly finish eating. After your meal, you sit at the corner of the kitchen with Rice, staying away from your husband. “Why are you the one with guards up when you’re the one thinking of lewd thoughts about me?”

“I am not!” You deny, looking away from him.

“Whatever you say, baby. I’ll go take a shower. Wash the dishes.” Once Kita is out of your sight, you quickly take the used dishes on the table and wash it. After cleaning up, you run to your old bedroom, where you put some of your clothes in. It’s also the same place where you have hidden your lingerie that you intended for that special time with Kita.

Tonight is the night for that.

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

It’s short because ;) just click that last line to find out

[prev] [next]

Taglist: @vicassa @ptv-hades @steggy4ever @booklover240 @toripersonalacc @mkazuyuh @smoltiddygf @adrasteiaxandromedaa @leinnah @a-applepi @kellesvt@xxlightsaberxx @youpieceofwasabi @bandolls @wheelzzzies@apollochjld @sakusa-simp @neomuxuxi @tnu-ree @mindofess@alittlebitofrain @agaashesmilktea @aquzairus @ynjimenez@sempiternal-amour @diyosku @dinablossom @atomicpie1115@lililiynx @onlyshinji @melodiamore @bunnybitesthedust@angrylittleriri @rogueofbullshit @8zmingi @aam1na @yuueisteria@4kaashl @ohhoneyvee @amberisnotcrazy @kouffee-ink@flavostella02 @mint-mai @iminlovewhaikyuu @alexandriamentos @tsumtsumsamu @izumikunmy @akaashi-todorki @nycvalntyne@kixria @yeibuub @todobruhski @koushiwrites @maitenight@nerdynstoned @shinyaluv @iish @mylovelykelsifer @animeandart @jiichangmins @prefesro @jiminscarmex @therealwalmartjesus @shinyaluv @imcravingyou @yoongis-cumsock @iish @laughingismorefun @weoyayayaya @timeturnerss @rkives-keiji @isleofnajera @koukamisblog

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smau #haikyuu series #haikyuu kita #kita shinsuke smau #kita shinsuke x reader #kita imagines #kita x reader #kita smau

469 notes · View notes