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happysparklingshadows · 8 months

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𝙽𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚎 𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚘 + 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝 (’96)

Warnings: Gore, Drug use, Being high and having sex, Smut, Mentions of threats of suicides and self hard, Cannibalism, and mature themes.

Note: So sexy and so hard to write for lol! I hope you like this! @zhivaxo @g1rlsriot

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Natalie is such a simp. They will hug you randomly, hold your hand while walking, kiss you when you aren’t paying attention, and draw shapes into your arm while you go to bed. Natalie will do anything for you if it would make you happy and make you stay. Natalie is very intense when she wants to be. Nat doesn’t care if it’s too much, she knows you understand her as she understands you, and she doesn’t care if it scares you. Nat whispers sweet nothings in your ears while you cuddle or when she holds you while you want the hunt beside her. Natalie is a huntress and will fight for you and with you to understand that she is your protector and provider. I just want you not to get worried if Natalie comes to you with wide manic eyes and tells you how much she loves you, how pure you indeed are, and how good you are. You are her purpose.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get regarding their darling?

Natalie isn’t afraid to do anything to protect and keep her favorite person. But Natalie wouldn’t want you to see her like this, violent and ruthless, so she does any fights or killing behind your back. Nat is more willing to control the situation to keep you than to kill someone. Natalie is the one who comes up with the tiger pits and how they will hunt each other in the wilderness, she doesn’t mind if you are fed and full.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Fuck no. Natalie wouldn’t kidnap you but keep you in an invisible cage beside her. You can’t leave her. She doesn’t mock you because she doesn’t want you to leave her. She doesn’t want to give you a reason.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

She would pressure her into having drugs with her. I can see her making you take acid and have a wonderful time and telling you in a vulnerable state that you two were born for each other and were meant to be together now. And you would believe it wholeheartedly, and it would lead to having some awesome high sex.

“You’re so beautiful…” You sigh as you run a finger down her nose to her lips. An aura shines off of Natalie that is like a rainbow of love radiating off of her. Her baby blue eyes stare into your face with a soft fondness. “God, princess, you are so fucking gorgeous.”

She rolls on top of you on the bed, and you giggle as you wrap your arms around her neck to kiss her lips. It felt like heaven to touch her. It tingled your fingertips to feel her; it felt like you were in the best place in the world in her arms. Natalie kisses you and lays her body weight onto yours, her pelvis against yours.

She rolls her hips against yours and sighs; she looks into your blown-out eyes and says as she rubs against yours deliciously, “You were born for me, do you feel it? We were meant to be here.”

“Yes,” You moan and kiss her lips sloppily as your hand claws into her shirt to let you feel her skin against your lips.

“Fuck, yes.” Natalie whimpers as she rocks her hips and hitches when you roll back against her.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Teen Natalie would expose her whole heart to you, and she would just love you seriously as she does with Travis. Because Travis isn’t messing with her heart, Natalie feels safe with you and lets you express everything. Everything in the relationship is codependent, and every thought, feeling, and sense is shared.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

I feel like Natalie is not pretty in a fight. I feel like Teen Natalie has an extremely anxious attachment style and will do anything to keep you by her in a fight. If you leave for air, you are abandoning her. If you sigh, you don’t care anymore. If you look away, you don’t want her. She will say some evil shit in a fight to keep you in front of her fight because at least you are still engaging with her. I see Natalie have tears in her eyes, wrapping her arms around you to stop you from leaving and begging you to stop, begging the world to stop.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No, she is very deadass about everything with you. You are her world, and she doesn’t think you even moving an inch is a funny matter.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

She will export her mental illness and threaten to harm herself to various degrees to keep with her. She knows it's fuck up, but it doesn’t fucking matter if you are still with her.

Lies to you about where the meat came from. It came from your best friend, and she fed it to you in the eyes of it being deer meat, that it was nothing to worry about. You were losing too much weight. You would learn in the morning the truth, and it breaks something inside of you.

“Get the fuck away from me!”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! Please, listen to me!”

“NO! HOW DARE YOU!” You sobbed violently out in the winter air. The scraps of your best friend on top of a pile of burnt wood and a dead fire. She was cooked. The one who braided your hair, let you cry on her shoulder, talked to you about boys and gossiped about girls with, laughed with, grieved with, the girl you went to pre-school with, and survived a plane crash together. She is gone. You told her goodnight, and now she is dead and gone in the morning like she was nothing but a deer in the woods.

Gone into your stomach and is digested. You broke her down in your stomach and carried her life inside you.

“Please! You were starving, and you were going to die!”

“I WOULD HAVE RATHER DIED!” You cried hysterically as the other girls circled the porch, watching as you died inside.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Natalie doesn’t have a clean-cut plan because she doesn’t have one for herself, let alone her life with you. I see her getting with you in the wilderness, it allows her to be gay and let go of a lot of her comfort, so she just wants to live to see the next day. She doesn’t want to live without you, but it is too painful for Natalie to think about a life IF they get rescued, which is getting bleaker by the minute.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Natalie gets jealous, but she copes pretty well. I think Natalie would just try harder to get your attention because, of course, others want you. You are you. It doesn’t feel well, and she wants to fucking cut them open, but she just moves on from it quickly because it’s her that you sleep with at night.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Being with Natalie is like that puppy dog “us against the world” love; she treats you like this precious person. You are her favorite person and her only comfort. I believe Natalie has Bpd and would put her partner on a pedestal, always returning to them repeatedly.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

You and Natalie were always friends on the team, and you were friends with Shauna and Jackie more than her. And when the crash happened, and you two were the best shots in the team, you two naturally become closer when you are hunting together. You smoke some pot, and things just happen from there.

Sitting in the plane that almost killed you doesn’t seem to have the dreading and glooming aura it usually does, all because of the girl in front of you rolling a joint.

You giggle as you watch her lip the paper. You watch her twist the paper gently to close it up for you both to smoke it. She lifts and places the joint to your lips and smirks slightly.

“Okay, pretty princess, take it easy and suck in slowly.” She rasped to you as she lit the end with her lighter, her eyes flicked back up to your eyes.

As she said, you suck in the joint with your eyes looking down at hers. You wanted to kiss her and have her eyes on you constantly.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from how they act around everyone else?

No, Natalie is just Natalie. She doesn't like masking and acting “formal” or “professional” because it is just not her vibe. Natalie is straight up with her feelings, and Nat would never act out of line. She just does her own thing.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Natalie is into spanking her partners, and she wouldn’t be above tying you up if you were very rotten. But if it was something small, she just rolls her eyes and makes a snarky comment but gets over it.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

None, except your free will to leave the relationship. She will do anything and threaten anyone to keep you.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Natalie usually needs to be more patient, but she tries her hardest with you. She gives you time to figure out her instructions, or when you're lining up a shot, or you try to figure out how to grab the antler of a buck you have killed together. Inside Natalie, it feels like a little kid stomping their feet, begging you to hurry up with things in your relationship. She wants to say I love you in the first few days, she wants to have sex very soon, and she wants to have some proof of devotion to your relationship very early. But she understands, and it happens when you are ready to do anything like that with her.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

I believe you and Natalie made a pact to never kill yourselves no matter what happens because you two must live together and keep going on. If you die, she would have to move on because of the pact, but she would never find someone again because of all the trauma of losing you and probably eating you.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Natalie would feel bad for how she acts sometimes because she can’t control herself. She feels like a fucking weird imperfect freak that can only fuck things up. That said, Natalie will never let you go because of that. You are the only thing she hasn’t fucked up.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Childhood. I think that Natalie growing up in an abusive low-income home, with parents beating each other and being the worst versions of themselves, really affected Natalie’s idea of love. She always knew her parents were horrible to each other. She would watch princess movies with her parents' screams echoing in the kitchen. Nat always wanted to find an escape, someone to save her, some kind of Prince to come by and save her. As she grew up, she grew bitter at the idea and didn’t even like men if they were anything like her dad. Most are like her dad in her eyes. It became more significant; Nat needed something bigger and more consuming than just being together. Marriage meant nothing to her, but being stuck and interconnected with someone else was all she wanted—someone who couldn’t leave her and someone who would love her.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Horrible. Terrible. Natalie would start to cry and try desperately to fix the issue, explain herself, anything. If it were just out of a need to release a feeling, she would be beside you, letting you vent anything you need with a hand on your back. She loves you so much, and it hurts her to see you cry.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic Yandere?

I think that Natalie is not all that uncommon, and her tendencies seem more like a more extreme relationship with someone with Bpd (as someone with bpd), and it would be something that Natalie would try to suppress as much as possible.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit to escape?

Boozes, weed, and her fear of abandonment. She would fold to what you wanted her to do if you mentioned or implied any of them. You can leave her if you need to “escape” from her, but she will always find her way back to you and her together.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Emotionally, never physically. Natalie would though some things from her past, how you don’t love her enough, and she would just though things you would never want to hear from someone you love. She has terrible impulse control.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

The ends of the fucking earth. She would do anything for you and fucking hurt, burn, stab, and destroy whatever has to do for you. Nothing will stop her. No morals, laws, or ethics could make her slow down with her goal.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

It takes a couple of days to realize and then act on her urges.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Co-dependence and drug use. I feel like weed and alcohol, and more profound drugs to exploit your vulnerability and love. The events of the wilderness make it impossible for you two not to build a codependent relationship because it is us against the world.

Yandere Level

8/10 (You are very aware that you are in a codependent relationship that leads to the toxic side sometimes, but you don’t know how far Natalie will actually go for you)

Freedom Level

8/10 (You have your own life but Natalie would like to be not that far behind. She doesn’t overstay her welcome but is always at a arms length distance for you to have her)

Lottie ✿ Misty

#natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #dark!natalie scatorccio #dark!natalie scatorccio x reader #Yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #Dark! Yellowjackets #dark!au #lesbian

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flamewind · 5 months

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Me: I want to write! My brain: At 2 in the morning?! No way, I’ve been working all day, I’m numb and half dead. Go to bed! Me (whining): But I can’t sleep! I wanna play with the boys. My brain: Then go and find another way, I will not come up with words. Not even in our native language, no Ma’am, go away! *Pouting and going to look for motivational pictures*

#mood board #self motivation #fanfiction #nimona #dark!au #ballister x ambrosius #hurt no comfort #WIP #I hate insomnia

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slothspaghettiwrites · 2 years

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2 and 12 with dark bucky

“I promise, I’ll do whatever you want.”

"Give me your panties."

Personal Project

Warnings: implied future noncon, sexual harassment, workplace bullying, manipulation, abuse of power

You cowered against the lockers in the empty training room. It was all you could do if you wanted to remain in one piece. Sargent Barnes had made you his personal project. You weren't sure why, you were one of the most average agents in SHIELD history.

But Barnes didn't seem to care. He brought you to the front, to the lime light every training session he over saw.

"Get those fucking knees up, Agent."

"Ten extra laps for looking at me."

"Agent, in the ring. I'm going to demonstrate chokehold techniques and you're the dumby."

Now he stalked you into the changing rooms after keeping you hours later than everyone else. The muscles in his jaw ticked when you reached for your sweaty clothes.

"Gimme your panties."

You tried to protest, but his metal fist crushed the state of the art locker door. He didn't repeat himself, but he gripped your chin.

"Give me your panties, Agent. That's an order."

They slipped from your hand into his. Bucky rubbed the crotch of your undies between his flesh thumb and forefinger. He tucked them into one of the pockets on his tact pants. He wrapped his fist around your throat before you could speak again.

"Tell me why I shouldn't break you. Why shouldn't I show you all the ways I can ruin your pathetic body?"

"Please," you begged, as his grip tightened. "I promise, I'll do whatever you want, please just don't hurt me."

"You'd do anything, Agent?"

#sloth asks #nonnie #unknown prompt list #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark!au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

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Heated

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, age gap, violence, name calling, violence, blood, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: There’s always one student that stands out. (mature/plus sized reader)

Characters: Johnny Storm

A note on reader characters:

For clarity, each reader will have a defined nickname when appearing in any installment not their own. So far, we have:

Book Smart: Tweed

Below Average: Flora

Overdue: Cookie

Straightlaced: Brownie

Note: My first time writing Johnny and he turned out to be awfulllll.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

The first day of the semester always slogs by, yet each class stampedes out as if suffocating in the airy lecture hall. You watch the fresh batch of students as they flow down the stairs, voices buzzing as they chatter, bemoaning their next class or pondering what to have for lunch. Very few acknowledge you on the way out, but that will change. It always does, once they fall behind.

You sigh as you slip your laptop in your bag and wrap up the cord. The doors shut with a clatter only to open a moment later. You expect a forgetful student, instead disappointed by your persistent ex. Professor Andrew Barber, LLM, strides over to you, his navy collar peeking above a sleek black blazer.

You ignore him and zip up your bag, lifting it by the short leather handles and marching around the podium. He quickly blocks your path.

"Just gonna run off on me again?"

You meet his eyes, deep like the ocean. Those eyes you fell for, those eyes that betrayed you.

A flash of the lunch, salad thrown across your front, an angry wife about to toss the wine too. Humiliation chasing you from the patio smelling of caesar dressing.

"I have nothing to say to you," you snarl, "I'm busy."

"She left," he moves with you, easily penning you in, "divorce is underway–"

"I don't care," you snap, "you lied to me, worse, you lied to your wife."

"Ex," he insists.

You scoff and shake your head. You head back around the podium, watching him from the corner of your eye as you try to outpace him towards the door.

"Leave me alone," you spin back to him, "got it."

"Please, we can finally be together–"

"No, we can't," you sneer, "I can't be with a cheater."

"It was over, even then, we just didn't want to admit it–"

"Shut up," you slice your hand in the air, "it's over, Andrew."

His brows draw together and you turn to haul open the doors. You stomp out into the hall, a bright red letterman jacket grabbing your attention. He's vaguely familiar, probably one of the students who just fled for safety.

"Oh, hi," your sole squeaks.

"Hey," he says coolly, "I wasn't sure if you were still around, prof, but I gotta talk with you about the schedule."

"It's set in stone," you reply as the door opens behind you.

Andy sidles out without a word. The student glances away to watch him and you catch a glimpse of their gazes meeting for just a moment before the older struts off with an exasperated huff.

"Did I interrupt?" The student asks.

"My office hours are listed," you face him, "I'd be more than happy to chat then."

"Yeah, no problem, but my coach," he reaches in his jacket pocket and unfolds a wrinkly page, "he gave me the schedule for the season, some of them are the same as class so–"

"I'll review," you hold out your hand expectantly, "but we'll discuss during office hours."

"Damn, you're a hard ass, huh?" He snickers as he hands over the paper.

"Excuse me?"

"Shoulda guessed by the boots," he winks before his eyes descend, lingering on your burgundy Doc Martens.

You frown, you've met his type before. You get a couple every year. Some jock just filling his timetable. You unclip the pen from your shirt pocket, "name?"

"Johnny," he smirks. You raise your brows "Oh, uh, Storm."

"Alright, Mr. Storm," you hunch to use your leg as a desk and scribble his name, "I expect you at office hours to discuss any possible exemptions."

"Possible? But coach–"

"Coach doesn't run my classroom," you slide the pen back in place, "see you then, Mr. Storm."

"Johnny," he corrects.

"Mr. Storm," you counter as you turn away, "don't you have practice or something?"

You walk off, eager for the respite of your office. The first day is never a smooth sail; there's always some bullshit to deal with.

📕

The first week of office hours is as dead as usual. The clock ticks on and the two hour window closes with a yawn. As you put away the paperback that filled your idleness, a shadow appears in your peripheral, filling the door frame. Andy.

"Look, not today–"

"Office hours still on?" He asks out of breath. It's Johnny.

"Mr. Storm. You're late."

"I'm sorry, prof, I got caught up at the gym and–"

He wears a muscle shirt, sweat glistening on his thick neck and arms, a hint of chest hair poking out. His shimmery gym shorts swish as he steps inside.

"Like I said, you're a minute past–"

"Come on, I ran all the way here," he pants as he grips his hips.

You consider him. His icy blue eyes flicker as he does the same to you. He's the exact type you despised as student and instructor alike. Still, he's there and what's ten more minutes. Less trouble than having him hold a grudge.

"My time is limited," you warn as you search your bag for the schedule he gave you days ago. You smooth it out and have a look over it. He falls into the chair heavily, scraping it back an inch loudly.

"I circled all the conflicts. Only four, including the final exam," you explain, "I can accommodate the weekly quizzes with a written assignment and the exam can be rescheduled…"

You look up, he's got his elbow on the arm as he cradles his chin, grinning at you.

"Does that work for you, Mr. Storm?" You ask tersely.

"You got it, prof," his cheek twitches, "look kinda young to be a professor, you know?"

"Flattery won't get you extra points," you take out a form from the basket on the edge of your desk and fill out the exam details, giving a sharp signature at the bottom.

You slide it over to him and cap the pen, dropping it into the square cup.

"Was there anything else?"

He stares for a moment and shrugs, "might just look a little longer."

You squint and stand, grabbing your bomber jacket from the rack.

"Mr. Storm, I'm certain you're as busy as I am," you pull the jacket over your star-speckled button-up, "I've entertained you long enough."

"You know, I always wondered if you profs ever had fun, doesn't seem like it," he stands, "the stick just stays rammed right up–"

"You can take that form and see the registrar," you interrupt him, "and the next time I see you, you won't continue this tone with me."

He chuckles and nears the desk, slowly taking the exam, "ah, don't worry, prof, for you, I can be sweet."

"It's quarter past," you jingle your keys impatiently.

"Got it," he puts a hand up defensively, "see ya Tuesday."

"Goodbye, Mr. Storm," you dismiss him bluntly.

He gives an amused smirk before he turns, a cocky strut out the door as he leaves you perturbed. He's hardly a disappointment, rather exactly what you dreaded.

📕

Once you're in the swing of the new semester, the months pass without peculiarity. The usual late assignments and contestations of grades docked for that reason, students pleading for extensions as they fail to surpass the honeymoon phase of college, and the same lectures you gave every year.

The habit is so innate, it's depressing. The routine so dull, it's demeaning.

Halloween nears and so the student spirit turns vibrant with the leaves. Chatter of costumes and parties as the masses collectively ignore their looming midterms. You're all but invisible in the last week of October as the excitement builds to a tantamount.

As you end your final lesson before letting the students out to work on their assignment coming due, the stampede has become a shuffle. Students drag their feet even as they speak enthusiastically to one another. A recognizable face stops beside your podium, the girl who brought in the tray of mostly untouched cupcakes.

"Oh," she nears and looks over the immaculately decorated desserts, "I suppose I'll just save them."

"Their loss," you smile at her. It's a nice gesture but college kids just aren't wholesome. "I'll steal one before you go though. I've been eyeing the skeleton. Vanilla?"

"White chocolate," she explains, "um, I'm just on my way to the library and I don't think I wrote down that accounting book you referenced right."

You take the cupcake out of the container before she boxes it up. She sets her bag down, seemingly her whole dorm room stored within, and flutters through the pages of her notebook. She points to her loopy handwriting to show you the jot.

"Nah, you got it," you assure her, "I'm sure a librarian can help you out if you get lost."

"Awesome, thanks," she shoves the notebook away and takes her bag, balancing the tupperware against her hip as she struggles to balance all her belongings.

"Sup, prof?" Johnny scares you as he hops down the last step and clamors to lean his arm on the podium, "about the assignment..."

"No extensions," you insist as you shut down your laptop.

"Not even for a bribe, cause looks like you're taking them," he grabs the cupcake and peels back the paper, taking a bite, "you know, I'd give extra marks for this too," he says through a full mouth.

"Do you usually take without asking?" you challenge as he licks the icing from his lips.

"I don't mind sharing," he reaches across and barely misses your cheek with the gooey filling.

"I'm good," you unhook the cords and tuck them away.

"Watching the figure? Must be hard as you get older, or so I've heard--"

"Like I said," you focus on loading up your leather bag, "no extensions, Mr. Storm. Now I'm sure you have somewhere to be."

"So, do you, like, get gym access as a prof? I figure, we got it, you guys must too. Actually, I've seen some of the other professors there, the doc? Cool dude."

"I'm not having this conversation with you, Mr. Storm. I expect your paper handed in with everyone else's."

"I'm gonna be working this off," he pats his stomach as he takes another bite, humming in delight.

You inhale but don't let it out. You lift your bag and shut down the projector before placing the remote away. You turn and march across the room. He follows as you try to ignore him.

"I need some help, alright?" he says as he sucks the remnants off his fingers, "just a little extracurricular tutoring."

"I will recommend what I recommend to all my students, Mr. Storm," you hold the door and point him out sharply, "find a very helpful classmate and ask them for help, you seem popular. As well, the library has a tutor program for students. All free of charge."

"I don't want anyone else," he smirks.

"You know when my office hours are," you swallow, "now out."

"Ugh, I love it when you get bossy."

He finally goes into the hall as you scowl at his back. He turns, raising a finger as he thinks of some other snappy remark. You slam the door and turn the lock. You hear his hand hit the other side, then silence, then a laugh.

"You're funny, teach," he raps with his knuckles rhythmically, "don't worry, I'll see ya next week."

You roll your eyes and look up the rows of seat, another set of doors at the top of the stairs. Hopefully, he doesn't think of it.

📕

"Look, I tried, prof," Johnny is once more yapping at you as you try to escape the classroom as quickly as you can, "I really did, but you gotta understand, I'm kind of a big deal. Star player and all that. Coach said--"

"I don't care what coach said," you say as you gather up the handed in papers, "you have until midnight to email your assignment or you can take your zero to the coach."

"Ah, goddamn, you're killing me here," he throws a hand up, students emptying out behind him.

"I'd consider it academic suicide, nothing to do with me," you look at him tritely, "this is a first year class, Mr. Storm, you should be able to handle that as a sophomore."

"You looking into me?" he asks coyly as he leans on the podium, "cause all you gotta do is ask."

"Mr. Storm," you warn dully and turn to take your thermos from behind the podium, a pang flashing through your hip as you bend.

"Little lower," Johnny taunts.

"I have a mind," you stand straight, "to bring you down to the dean's office. This level of harassment will not be tolerated--"

"Tell me, prof, I haven't done anything, what have I said that's so bad?"

"From what I can tell, a lot," a deep voice comes from your other shoulder as Andy approaches. Fuck.

"Yo, what's up, Uncle D?"

Andy gives him a growl, "get outta here before I call your mother."

"Mother?" you whisper to yourself, glancing between them in confusion.

"Now," Andy jabs his thumb towards the door.

"Don't tell me this is the one?" Johnny scoffs.

"Out," Andy's jaw ticks.

"Alright, gee, I'm just tryna pass this damn shit," Johnny scoops up his backpack and slinks away.

You zip up your bag and slide it off the table. Andy watches you, stepping closer as you head for the door.

"He been bugging you?" he asks.

"You know him?" you counter.

"Nephew," he shakes his head, "my family tree is full of rot."

"You said it, not me," you retort.

"Ah, don't start like this," a hand on his hip, the way he does, "I've come to apologise. Again. Just haven't found the magic number yet."

"Move on, Andy, I have," you snort, "Christ, I got enough to worry about without you chasing me around."

"Johnny?"

"That twerp? No."

"So, it's someone else."

"Unlike you, I don't need to be attached at the crotch to find meaning," you bluster, "now leave me be. I'm tired of telling you."

"We had fun," he says weakly.

"It was all lies. Go and find someone else. You're a free man now, Andrew, enjoy it. Just not with me."

His lashes flick and his nostrils flare. "There's no one else."

"You'll find someone," you elbow past him, "and I'm just fine by myself."

📕

Midterms throw campus into a storm of anxiety, your own coming as you ascend the mountain of grading before you. The weeks blur in a haze of half-asleep marking and caffeine-driven lectures to equally exhausted students. There isn't a moment to catch your breath as final assignments nip at the heels of the ultimate examination.

Between dodging phone calls from your ex and a singular pest in varsity colours, you hardly cling to your sanity.

A late night sees you at campus after dark, though that comes earlier with each day. The cleaners chase you from your nocturnal pursuit and you resign yourself to a morning of the same. The next name on the stack stares up at you as you shrug into your long coat, the straight cut charcoal wool hugging you close. Johnny Storm. Already you see he didn't follow the format.

You sigh and ignore the tugging irritation. You imagine another slick attempt at cajoling you. In fact, you'd bet on it. Those types always remain; the entitled jocks. You dealt with the same in your time on the other side of the podium. They never let you forget what you were, just like Johnny and his not too clover overtures.

It was a guy like him that welcomed you to campus at a pig party. Those cruel get-togethers held by frats to humiliate the unwanted. You blink away the memories. That's a very long time ago. You're an adult now and above the Johnnies of the world.

It's almost ten. Some students mill in pairs and trios on their way to the night's big attraction, some keggers or dorm room rave that will have them dozing in tomorrow's lectures. Most have already arrived and light up distant windows with their silhouette's and whoops that escape the over sills.

You cross the courtyard and enter the lot where you left your reliable Volvo. Yours is the only left at permit parking makes certain none overstay their welcome. You throw your bag in the backseat and yawn, the door shutting with a snap.

You get in the driver's seat and as you close your door, the passenger side opens and a body falls in beside you. You flinch, gasping at the unexpected invasion, and fumble for the mace attached to your keychain. A pair of hands fight yours as you try to grasp the small canister.

"Hey, prof, it's just me--" Johnny wrestles with you as you squirm and squeal in fright, "would you stop? You set that thing off in here and we'll both be sorry."

"What the fuck are you doing?" you exclaim as you try to untangle your hands from his.

"I waved to you back there," he points noncommittally.

"This is wildly inappropriate," you tear away from him, "get out--"

"Look, I just wanna talk to you--"

"Johnny, no!" You wrangle out your phone shakily, adrenaline surging, "I'm calling campus police."

"Now don't be a bitch," he reaches over and crushes your hand with his. You squeak as your fingers release from the sheer pain of his grip and he snatches the phone away, "but I do love to hear you say my name, teach."

"Get off!" you swipe at him, then a second time for the phone. The back of his hand snaps your head back, his knuckles bouncing off your nose.

"I've tried being nice," he snarls as he tucks your phone in his jacket, his breath fogging before him in the cold car, "and to someone like you? Don't you know who I am? What I'm gonna be? Couple years, I'm gonna be making millions in the pros and you'll still be here, probably a few pounds heavier, playing queen over your little minions."

"Asshole!" You throw a fist at him, glancing off his jaw as he narrowly evades most of it, "get out off my car!"

You turn in your seat and bring your feet up, kicking his arm as hard as you can, "get-- out!"

You batter him with your boots and he grunts. He snags one ankle, as he yanks on the door handle with the other. He steps out, hunching through the frame as he grabs your other legs. You exclaim as he drags you from the seat and over the console, flailing before you plummet to the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of you as he keeps hold of you ankles.

You grunt as he drops your legs, your hands on your chest as you try to catch your breath. You sense his shadow and fling your foot out again, hitting his knee as you try to roll over. He hooks his foot under you and pushes you to your back once more. He stomps on your stomach with his thick sole and steps over you, falling onto his knees to straddle you.

"You bitch, stupid as shit. Tryna put me out for the season," he grabs you by the neck as he holds you down, your boots knocking off the tarmac, "you don't wanna listen? Cool. I'm done talking."

He reels back and a blow cracks over your jaw. Your head turns with the force as he hits you again, again, again. He leaves you garbling and dizzy as he stands, shaking out his hand as your vision blurs. You whimper as he kicks you in the side, several times until you're coughing.

"I dare you to call the fucking police," he takes your phone out and tosses it down beside you, "see if they'll fucking believe you. I got an alibi, bitch, right now, my bros will attest I'm living it up in Zeta."

You sniffle and wipe your bloody mouth, metallic and slimy.

"So, how about that B+? Not asking for much is it?" He rolls his shoulders and hisses as he cradles his hand, "you got a hard fucking head."

His heel crunches against the loose pebbles scattered over the tarmac. You shudder and reach for your phone, eyes welling and bleary as you struggle to sit up. You can barely unlock it as your vision doubles. After several attempts, you finally key in 9 1 1.

📕

"Did you get a good look at the perpetrator?" The cop's voice echoes in your ear with the ripple of agony in your ribs.

"I knew him," you answered, quivering as you gave Johnny's name and recounted the attack. The officer's listened indifferently, promised they'd look into him as a potential suspect.

"But it was him. I told you, he followed me to my car."

"We heard you, ma'am, but these things must be investigated thoroughly," the second officers puts in, "you have to understand."

"I don't. I'm telling you--"

"We have your report. We'll let you know."

That was it. They let you drive off in your car with dried blood across your face and a stabbing in your skull. The paramedics gave you Advil after declaring you thoroughly concussed, but their obligation ended the moment you left.

You laugh darkly as you sit in your condo, still filthy with blood, spit, and salt. It's almost morning. You email your classes for the day as you keep a bag of frozen peas on your jaw. Andy's calling again. You can't.

You lay down with the blare of the TV playing. After noon, you finally drag yourself to the shower and wash away the mess, awakening new pains as you do. You'll go to the dean, have him taken out of your class in the very least.

📕

"These are some serious accusations," Dean Drysdale leans back and toys incessantly with a letter opener. He's got to be younger than you but there he is, at the top of the mountain. "Not to mention private relations with students is a fireable offence and to make such an allegation because it blew up in your face…"

"Excuse me," you frown, your swollen lip throbbing, "look at me. He beat the– he attacked me. All for a grade."

"So you say but you don't think we get ahead of these things? Anything that happens on campus comes to me. I've spoken with the police already. They interviewed the student in question and he has an alibi. They also have several witnesses attesting of some after class conversations which got pretty intense."

"What are you talking about? He did this. He did this and what? Your lying because you don't want the scandal? Because it's not worth the legal fees? Look what he did!"

You point to your bruised face and wince. Your ribs thrum and your stomach muscles burn.

"You have no evidence and you're treading awfully close to suspension with this behaviour," he sets the long opener down, "I understand you work with numbers, you must be aware of statistics… how many assaults go to trial? How many are convicted? If you aren't aware, you might ask your associate, Professor Barber."

You feel sick. You knew the moment you got involved with Andy it wouldn't work out. That's what you get for indulging in a stupid whim.

"That… association is well past over," you reply in a tremor.

"Wouldn't look good before a jury, would it?"

You grip the arms of the chair. You feel sick.

"If… and I'm saying if I don't pursue legal action, will you transfer him out of my section?"

"Hm, it's rather late in the semester," he drawls thoughtfully.

"Please," you utter, "or… or I guess I'll have to withdraw from my post."

"You have a contractual obligation to remain until your position can be supplemented," he counters, "fine, I'll move him."

He leans back and props his feet on his desk. You grimace at the scuffed soles of his loafers.

"Is that it?"

"Well, you got more to say?" He grins.

You chomp down to keep screaming and stand. That alone has you trembling. You have a class to teach in one hour, you'll have to get yourself together by then.

📕

You stand in line at the cafe just a building over from your next class, waiting for your name to be called. You lean against the wall, watching the baristas behind the counter as you try to ignore the looks. Your busted lip is still pretty obvious and the bandage on your nose too. For once, your students will have lots of questions.

When your order comes up, you take it from the pick up window and turn to leave. As you do, you narrowly miss walking into two girls. You apologise under your breath, but you recognise one of them. A student. The one who likes to bake.

"Hi, professor," her smile doesn't quite break the surface as she takes in your appearance, "oh my god, what happened to you? Are you okay?"

Her friend watches on with wide eyes. You want to disappear in embarrassment. What can you say?

"Just an accident," you lie, "took a tumble down some stairs but I'm fine."

The baker girl looks at her friend and they seem to have a silent conversation before they glance back at you.

"Are you sure?"

You laugh, "your concern is sweet but I can take care of myself. Been doing that for a while. I'll see you in class, yes?"

You shoulder past her as nicely as you can, the girls parting to clear your path.

"It's scary," the girl calls after you, "when men lose control."

You stop but don't look back. You shake your head, "I told you, stairs."

You fall back into a march and shudder. If she could figure it out, you need to put on a better mask.

📕

Final exams come to an end as your bruises fade away, only a slight tenderness where he hit you hardest. The dreams don't stop though. You see Johnny every time you close your eyes, but you don't see him in your class. The dean could afford you at that mercy in the least.

You have a timer set, fifteen minutes before the forecast sunset. You leave before dark when you can, jittering every time you find yourself on campus alone in the dim. Yet, when you reach your car, unscathed, you can't help but hate yourself for being so afraid.

Johnny got his anger out, that seems to be enough for him. Don't let him do more than physical damage, he hasn't earned more than that.

Andy still calls and you still don't answer, but your phone rings less and less. You barely touch it. Since the police called and reiterated the same dismissals as Drysdale. The futility is frustrating, you don't have the energy to push back. You just want to forget it.

Five minutes left, still a pile of final exams to be graded. You sigh and grab your bag. You'll continue marking when your insomnia inevitably has you restless.

You cross to the door and pull it open, letting out a pathetic cry as you're met by an unexpected figure on the other side. Your keys are already in hand, mace gripped firmly. He has your wrist in a vice before you can aim it and push the lever. You wince as you struggle to redirect your arm.

He covers your mouth and forces you back. You turn your head and his hand slips. You bite the side of it and he grunts as staggers and wrenches it away. He shoves you and you exclaim as you stumble, your bag dropping with your keys to the edge of the worn rug.

He kicks the door shut as he follows, seizing you by your throat as he once more smothers you with his palm. He shakes you as he brings you closer, glaring you down.

"Long time, no see," he smirks, "you really think I was done with you?"

You garble into his hand as he squeezes the breath from you.

"You did me a favour, you know? New Prof felt bad and gave me a B just for showing. Easy at that, huh?"

You latch onto his jacket as you try to push him away. He's strong, very strong. He barely seems to notice as you tug on his collar.

"I didn't forget you though. Cops got the coach going, you know? And with scouts showing up… you coulda fucked everything up. What did that get you?"

You hit his chest and drag your nails down the cotton beneath his open jacket. He winces but keeps you trapped.

He forces you back, kicking aside the chair as he passes it, and urging you against the desk harshly. The wooden edge sends a pang through your hips.

"Too big for your britches, that's what they say, but I always thought it was a metaphor," he snickers as his chokes you with one hand, the other slipping from your mouth to grope your chest through the wool coat, "seasons out for the holidays, figured we might celebrate."

You growl as you cling to his arm, wriggling as he pushes you down until your shoulders hit the desk. He presses between your legs, strangling you with both hands as he snarls down at you.

"I can do this the hard way– well, I'm already hard," he taunts.

He peels a hand away as he grabs the end of your scarf. He shushes as you cough and sputter. He wads the scarf into your mouth until you gag, barely able to breathe past his grasp and the fabric.

You reach to pull it out and he catches your hands, finally letting the weight off your neck. He pins your arms and tuts.

"I am really trying not to fuck up that face again," he hisses as he bends over you, eyes burning as his nose nearly meets yours, "how is your head anyway, huh?"

You stare at him, inhaling deep as you glare back. He lets go of you and yanks open the front of your coat. You beat on his shoulders as you writhe, legs flailing around him. You hit him harder and harder as he tears up your sweater, undershirt bunching in the wool and scratching against your chest.

You bat his hands as he grips your bra, snapping the band at the front. You swing at him and he easily deflects it with his arm. He tilts his head until neck pops and his knuckles glance over your cheek, dizziness spinning your vision.

"Just can't give up," he sneers as he cruelly fondles your chest, tweeking and pinching, bowing down to nip the tender flesh.

You groan as his touch crawls down your stomach, biting you meanly as he curls his fingers into the waist of your dark jeans. He jolts you several times as he tears them down your thighs. You weakly push on his head and shoulders, choking as the scarf dries out your mouth and muffles your horror.

He lifts your legs as he stands, resting them up his torso as he rolls your jeans to them knee. Your head lolls as you shakily cup your forehead, your other arm outstretched in a measly attempt to stop him. He shifts as he mutters under his breath stepping closer as his jeans sag.

Your fingers meet his pelvis and he slaps your touch away as he bends his knees, latching onto your hip as he reaches down to guide his tip along your ass. You close your eyes as he prods around impatiently.

He rams into you. Hard. Your eyes well and the tears bead along your lashes as your walls sear from his unwelcomed intrusion. He thrusts deeper, as deep as he can go, and huffs as he plants his hand against your sternum, holding you down as he falls into a heedless pace.

You push your head back as you bite down on the scarf. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, his tendons taut as he ruts and kneads your thigh painfully. He puffs as he loses himself in his wrathful lust, fucking you further onto the desk only to pull you back to him.

Once more, his grip finds your neck and he leans heavily on the windpipe, hips snapping furiously as he chases down his orgasm. His body quakes as the rough trim of his jacket tickles your stomach, a chill coiling up your back and quivering in your thighs.

"What the fuck do you do to me?" he rasps, "huh? Think I wanna fuck something like you? I could get any girl I want but you-- look what you've fucking done."

You turn your face away and suck in air through your nostrils. Shame, anger, terror, course through your veins and scald your nerves.

"I didn't even make you beg for it," he slams into you, "nah, I just-- gave-- it to you." He grows breathless as his motion turns erratic.

His hands release and clutch your shoulders, pinning you as his jaw clenches and he purrs with a spasm. He cums, hanging his head forward as he rides it out to shaky rocking of his hips. He grunts as he buries himself in you completely with a final unloving thrust.

"Merry fucking Christmas," he slides out of you, his cum spilling out as he leaves your legs to dangle over the desk. You bring your thighs together as he retreats and you slowly reach for the scarf, "I dare you to tattle this time."

#johnny storm #johnny storm x reader #dark johnny storm #dark!johnny storm #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #dark au #dark!au #campus au #college au #fantastic four #marvel

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dont-blame-it-on-the-kids · 1 month

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//Pemeer... is that Pema and Zaheer?

yessss!!!!

its my new favorite toy honestlyyyyy

Tw assault mention

so the idea is that Zaheer (who is clearly obsessed with Air Nation history) plans on taking over Tenzin's role in rebuilding the current air nation.

Zahher clearly was keeping the new airbenders (and Pema) safe from his plan to kill Tenzin and Korra and Krew.

so in HC he planned to train and raise airbenders to build his version of the air nation! and to do that he will assume Tenzin's family after Tenzin is killed, so that way his lineage in the new airbending nation ties directly into the blood lineage of Aang, the last bloodline airbender.

SO he was going to keep Pema as his 'wife' and have her give him airbending babies and raise Tenzin's kids as his own.

so we can go full Dark!AU and he succeeds and forces pema to have a few more airbenders for his lineage.

or we can stay kinda canon compliant au/hc and pema had a Rather Bad Night but is fine and tenzin is alive. (me and @btheleaf might have a little girl planned as a result but i can neither confirm or deny right now)

#pemeer #hc #au #tw assault mention #dark!au

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provokedgoalie · 1 year

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a fic where people think reader is innocent, but they have a thing with a slasher & even partake in the killings:

“you wanted me to be a victim, but I was the one painting myself with their blood.”

#c #fic ideas #slashers #slasher #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o #slasher fucker #slasher community #slasher fanfiction #slasher fic #slasher fandom #dark!reader #dark!au #i feel like dialogue is the most easiest with me #when I'm writing dialogue comes naturally to me #everything else is fucking complicated lmao

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dearshelby · 2 months

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Hey! If you are still taking requests, could you please write what it would be like for Tommy (or darkTom) to date a university student? Do you think he would be against it? Thank you anyway just for reading this

🩷

XOXO

Hello! I'm sorry I left this on my askbox for ages, I was waiting for my brain to go back to dark!Tommy mode hehe

Tommy's feelings towards his sweetheart attending university depends on when you met. If his business isn't as big as he strives it to be, he can't provide protection and that messes with his mind.

Logically, he knows the probability of you being attacked is low, but there's always a bad weight on his chest, a little voice reminding him that if anything happens, it'll be his fault. Therefore, the less powerful, the less supportive he is.

At the same time, he can't push himself into demanding you quit, he's fucked up and twisted but he does love you, how can he be anything other than proud when you're the first woman in the family to attend university?

Please pour everything you learn into this man, depending on what your course is he won't understand half of what you're saying (nor be actually interested), but he's proud of how smart his doll is.

Even if you're struggling with a subject, he thinks you're a genius, the one at fault is obviously the teacher who can't teach shit.

At first, he'll hire private tutors for you and if it still doesn't work, you won't actually know because your grades will start to go up. Pray for the teacher with suspicious men outside his door.

Tommy will pop a champagne at the end of every semester you finished with excellence, massage your temples when your head hurts from thinking/reading/studying too much, constantly remind you if you want to quit he'll be there and applaud on his feet at your graduation.

Nonetheless, he does hope you know that you're not working in the area you're studying or working at all… Is it that bad he wants you all to himself after you graduate?

#dark!tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #dark!au

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aphroditelovesu · 9 months

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I'm so glad you write for shadow and bone now! can i request yandere the darkling/ Alexander Morozova with a reader who is not grisha? it can be platonic or romantic..your choice 🌷

''You are my salvation.'' - Darkling.

❝ ✟ — lady l: I just wanted to say that I am completely hungry for content from this man and I hope you guys like how I wrote this headcanon ❤️❤️.

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of death and torture, mildly suggestive, unhealthy romantic relationship.

❝✟pairing: yandere!darkling/aleksander morozova x otkazat’sya!reader.

Aleksander didn't like that at first. He didn't hate you, he hated the fact that you were mortal, an otkazat'sya, but not you, never you. Perhaps he resents the fact that you're human, but he didn't hate you. He could never hate you no matter what you did.

He met you by pure coincidence for you, but for him it was fate. Destiny, maybe the Saints, brought you to him. You were the newest cartographer in the Second Army and you were still getting used to it all, being in the army and with the grishas. You didn't hate them, but you couldn't say you loved them, you were neutral towards them.

There was nothing special about you. Just another mortal serving the military like most did. You didn't hate being a cartographer, but you couldn't say you loved it. It was your duty and that was it. Aleksander has paid attention to you since your first day, but you haven't noticed General Kirigan's curious and terrifying gazes on you.

He was content to just watch you from the shadows for a while. Learning everything he could about you that he could later use to get closer to you. You totally missed his looks, the way he seemed to devour you. He was the General and you were a simple cartographer, there would hardly be any interaction between the two of you. But there was, and he was hungry for more.

The first real interaction the two of you had was during a cold night at the military camp. You couldn't sleep and decided to take a walk, late at night and when most soldiers and grishas were asleep. Except you and him. You sat in a secluded spot and shivered in the cold. When a blanket was draped over your shoulders, you looked up to the one who gave it to you to thank them and found Aleksander's mesmerizing eyes watching you intently.

Aleksander never forgot your shy look and lowered head, as if you were too scared to speak to him. He never forgot your calm, low voice when you thanked him for the blanket, as if it was the only act of kindness you had ever received in your whole life. And he found himself wanting more, desperately wanting to hear your voice and the sweet sounds you could make. He didn't understand why he was so attracted to you, he hated the otkazat'sya, so why did he see himself wanting your attention and love?

He didn't understand his feelings for you, how desperately he wanted to protect and care for you. He's never felt this way before about anyone but himself. Aleksander just knew that he wanted you, that he needed you with him one way or another. He desperately needed you and he didn't know why, but that only you had to be his. And you would be his.

He's extremely overprotective of you, but how could he not be? You were so young, so helpless and so human. It was his duty to look after you to make sure you were well cared for and fed. Needless to say that you would get the best rooms, the best clothes and the best food. No one can even think of inflicting any harm on you, whether human or grisha, they all know you are off limits and must be protected or they will suffer the Darkling's wrath. And his wrath is not taken lightly, especially when you're involved.

Aleksander adores you, he loves you, or so he believes, but he hated your humanity. He hated that he was deeply involved with an otkazat'sya, but eventually he came to see the advantage in it. You weren't grisha, you couldn't defend yourself against him or run away if those were yours wishes, you were at his mercy and he grew to like that very much. You were in his hands as much as he was in yours, and he loved that. You belonged to him and he could do what he wanted with you, shape you any way he wanted and he wouldn't have to worry about you rebelling against him. At least that's how he thinks.

He'll manipulate you with no qualms, whispering sweet words in your ear as he worships your body and the next moment he's pouring venom into your ear, saying things like how perfect you are, how you should never leave his side. How he is the only one who loves you and who will take care of you for your whole life. How you were made for each other and no one deserves you more than him. You must always remain loyal to him and he will give you the world if you ask him to.

You became everything to him as you grew closer and closer. Aleksander will become more and more obsessive and possessive of you. He won't like it one bit if someone flirts with you, otkazat'sya or grisha, you're his and he won't let anyone steal you from him. He will show no mercy to anyone, destroying them in horrible ways, to set an example to anyone who has bad intentions towards you. You are his and he is his.

This isn't how you planned your love story with General Kirigan to go, but you're too wrapped up in his clutches, in his promises of love, to realize how wrong it is. You were so in love with him that you never noticed or cared about anything but him and the manipulations and horrors he will commit in the name of love. None of that will matter because you're together. An otkazat'sya and a grisha together forever. It would be you against the world and Aleksander will be your only company, the only one you will ever need.

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palettesofrenaissance · 17 days

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Here's another one! finally had time and the inspiration to begin on dragonmaiden79's next prompt:

with regards to permanent marker, I would love to see sapphire suffer quite a bit for the sake of protecting ruby from harm and wonka's tactics. I'd like to see him using ruby as a pawn that will give him power over sapphire-- give him easier access to her once he realizes who she is.

I hope to make this installment darker than the previous ones, per request. like always, I'm open to suggestions, further prompts, and sharing what you'd like to see even if the fanfic isn't completed yet ❣️

🙇🏾‍♀️ @kittenkattextras @katiethelmie @sarifinasnightmare @dragonmaiden79 @idontgettechnology

#this is the q.#of course you don't have to imagine the same but for me corey hawkins plays russell; bailey bass plays ruby; robyn rose-li plays sapphire #if you already got the ao3 notification email I'm sorry and my bad #palettewrites #dark au #dark!fic #dark!au #dark fic #wonka fanfic #wonka x oc

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happysparklingshadows · 10 months

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𝙻𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚠𝚜 + 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝 (’96)

Warnings: Gore, Smut, and mature themes.

Notes: She is so fucking pretty it makes my body feel tingly and my brain goes into a monkey place 👉👈🥺

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Lottie is very affectionate and attentive to you because she didn’t/wasn’t able to get any from her parents. She kisses you often, claiming that she can’t help herself from stopping herself; she holds your hand whenever wherever, and she is a sucker for putting her hands on your chest to feel your heartbeat. To Lottie, it feels like a more profound connection is built by the sensation of feeling your heartbeat for only her. Before the crash, she was into buying and stealing items for you. If you wanted something, you got it. After the crash, Lottie likes making little crafts for her hair or protection charms.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

She is not scared once the Wilderness takes over. To Lottie, her killing isn’t really her but this primal need to protect and keep her beloved fed. However, Lottie isn’t pushed to kill out of jealousy or fear of their beloved leaving them. Lottie knows that they will always return to her, and she will ensure it happens.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

No. Lottie is charming when it comes to her beloved, so abducting is a little bit past her willingness as a yandere. Lottie will pressure and manipulate you to keep you with her, there is no question, but she would never have you against your will because she can’t stand the sight of you in distress or panic; to her, that is her job to protect you from feeling that.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Lottie forces you to do things without you realizing it. She is slightly overbearing and critical as a person; she looks at things she doesn’t like with a turned nose without shame. Sometimes when you wear something not to her liking, or if you talk to another person too emotionally, or say something she doesn’t like, she will look at you sharply. Over time you simply would adapt with her as your partner and slowly try to please her in fear of her judgment. You wear clothes you don’t really like, you will eat food that makes you sick, you will listen to music that bores you, etc.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

All of it. Lottie’s beloved before and especially after the crash is the only person Lottie talks to about her feelings because that was how she was raised with her emotionally distant parents. Lottie is open about her feelings outside of her mental illness or the dark episodes; she will never go into detail about them before the crash. Lottie can’t mask anything anymore without her medication in the wilderness, and she will become more intense with how she talks to you.

“Where were you?”

“I went out to go pee, Lottie. What-”

“You can’t just walk away at night. I don’t know what I would do if you died. I would die too.”

“Lottie, don’t talk that way!”

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Lottie would be an emotional wreck and wouldn’t be able to speak. She is very passionate and puts you on a pedestal of what it is to be loved by a person; because of her emotionally distanced family, and that you are the only one that has ever made her feel so cared for, she would be a mix of emotions with intense plans spinning in her mind. She would find a way to get you, spread a rumor about you, put you to the whole school if it meant you would stay, and stalk you if you genuinely left her. She’s not afraid of using her Social capital and wealth to get you back to where you belong, right beside her.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

This isn’t a game. Lottie is deadly serious. She doesn’t like to think her affections or yours are a joke, and she takes the path of empathy every time there is an issue. She is a Dark Empath and will find a way to get you to feel the feelings she wants you to have.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Lottie is very aware of herself and her actions. Although she is under the influence of her mental illnesses, she always tries to be a good girlfriend. She thinks about it every waking moment about how she can be good or better for you. However, The worst thing that Lottie does is when she is stuck inside a delusion of some kind. As things get more tense and brutal, Lottie is convinced the others want to steal you away from her and that you are willing to leave her one of them, and she gets hysterical.

“I’ll fucking rip their throats out! I will feed the wilderness every drop of their blood-”

“Lottie,” You frantically cup her cheek and try to get her to look into your eyes, her eyes wide with madness looking around the empty room.

“No! You can’t leave me, (Y/n)!” Lottie sobbed violently; her hands curled at a bruising force on your sides as she forced you to press against her. She whispers to you, pathetically, “I’ll fucking everyone if I can’t have you. I will kill myself-”

You kiss her to get her to stop talking and stop her thoughts. You take ash on your finger and take her hand, “This isn’t real. You know that. I love you so much, Lottie, listen to me and the wilderness. Feel me.” You whisper to her to calm her down.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Honestly, Lottie doesn’t think much about her future or yours. She is someone who lives in the moment and wants to be together. Lottie just wants to be together forever, and if you wanted to have a life together, then you guys would. She literally would do anything for you and would live any life if it was with you. She snuck around behind your back to find out which college you were going into, and she paid to get into it and to live in the same dorm as you, because she doesn’t want to be apart.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Oh, yeah, Lottie Matthews gets jealous. She is a quiet sulking type of jealous most of the time, but she can be confrontational when someone gets too close to you. She doesn’t want to scare you with how much she wants to do to them stabbing their chest until their heart is caved in and made into a bowl of blood to offer to the great mother Because you are her baby, and she is your protector and savior. No one can or will get in the way of that.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

They are very loving and attentive. She genuinely cares about her partner's feelings and wants. However, their lover will never truly see how Lottie twists and makes their feelings something more or less than they are. Dismissive and directing is how Lottie shows her darkness, but other than that, she guides and acts out the role of the loving spiritual lover.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Lottie is feminine and still a girl in the 1990s, so she will approach you subtly and through friendly teasing. This drew out the dating process for a while because you two became friends and flirted together. It would take you to make the first move for this girl to finally act out the way she wants with you. I see you kissing her for the first time, and Lottie would make it into a hardcore make out session.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from how they act around everyone else?

Honestly, she only has to mask as much as she usually does with her mental illness, and she believes she has these tendencies because of her condition. Lottie is lovely and caring, but she can be snarky and ruthless with her words at times. She hides the obsession and the need to have you by holding her tongue, but you will learn how much she wants to tell you over the years of being together.

“Lottie, you’re sick!” You cry and hold a hand to your mouth, trying to keep in the sob as you look on with horror. Lottie stands over a girl with a knife, and her blood spills onto the witch’s cave in the tree stump she has grown fond of in the wilderness.

“(Y/n)... You have no idea how far I will go to serve you. You are precious to me.” Lottie says slowly and calmly, the antler hairdresser resting proudly on her brown curls. She moves towards you and crouches in your cowardly form. She grabs your cheeks in her hand. “I love you; I need to feed you. Let me prey for food for you… She needed to die as a sacrifice, she understood.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Lottie punishes for withdrawing her affection, attention, and money. She will stop spoiling you; you like getting gas money to drive her to school, lol, no more. You like getting little gifts or kisses throughout the day. No way, dude, she will walk right by you. She will ensure that you depend on her somehow to ensure you feel her lack in your life. You will do and say whatever you have to for her to come back.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

When Lottie isn’t punishing you or making a point to you, she doesn’t give you many rules. You are allowed to have your friends, have your own opinions, disagree with her, and don’t have to follow any restrictions outside of a normal relationship. Lottie doesn’t see herself as someone who can boss you around. She sees you as something bigger than herself and that you are this ethereal light in her life. Almost like you were an angel guiding her unworthy moral self through the dark world that is out for both of you, she will have to be the one that would get dirty for you, and you were her religion.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

She is extremely patient and kind to any emotion or reaction you have. She has this natural talent for being a listener and a healer; she doesn’t mind outbursts or violence if it comes to it. She is subtle and slow with how she gets her claws into you, so there isn’t much need to be patient in the ordinary Yandere sense.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

I don’t think you could leave Lottie because she would manipulate and condition you into believing you can’t live without her. Not in a terrifying way, as I told you before, but she will always find a way to get you to her. The only way to actually leave Lottie would be to die.

Lottie would be a mess and unable to move after you die. I see her going nonverbal and slowly starving herself to death because the light has been sucked out of the world. Lottie won’t be able to move on or even live on past your death. She would be a ghost of her former self and go down a dark path with herself for a long time after your death.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about what they are doing to their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No, I don’t think Lottie has any regrets with you. She views her actions and plotting as something to keep the natural order in place as some kind of guardian of the wilderness. She doesn’t think what she does is wrong. She will never feel bad for how they act with their lover.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Childhood. When she was a little girl, Lottie had visions and premonitions; she had one that had never left her mind. She has an image of herself as an adult at a small farm with a bee colony around her, and she would have a wife that would come to her all pretty, like an angel. She remembers the rush of butterflies in her body as a little girl and how much hope and happiness filled her heart. She thought it was nice to know that someone would love her, and when she seen you, it was set in motion.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

It feels like someone is ripping her heart apart and making her want to cry herself. She doesn’t know what to do when you isolate yourself, but she will try her best to be loving and understanding. She will keep her eyes on you like a hawk as your space. But crying or screaming and showing fear makes Lottie have this primal sorrow come out of her like she failed to protect you and have you safe from the world.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic Yandere?

There is something profoundly spiritual or religious in the way Lottie and you love each other. Lottie creates an environment where you two can worship and pray to each other for salvation in the darkness of your new realities. Lottie sees you as an archangel of what life is, and you symbolize something deeper that Lottie can’t even explain. She just knows she needs to have you and protect you from death.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit to escape?

Lottie’s kindness. You can make her melt like butter if you just reflect her affection back on her.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

No, I don’t think Lottie would intentionally hurt her lover outside of emotional distress. Lottie will scare you and make you scared for her, but she would never physically hurt you outside of bites in the heat of passion.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Lottie fucking WORSHIPS you. She would pray to you like an altar if she could, and she could probably make a move to do that to you once starvation starts to loosen your moral compass.

You look down to see Lottie on her knees, her face pressed into your stomach as she nuzzled into the warm center of your body. She kisses the skin of your abdomen and looks up at you.

“Are you full, baby?”

“Yes, I’m full. Thank you so much, Lottie.” You say to her and kiss her; the acceptance of the dark and disturbing truth of the meat in your belly is inside was once a friend.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Lottie snapping is slow and happens simultaneously as her mind does in the wilderness. She has loved you for a long time, and you were being so kind to her mental illness and made her love for you grow like the hunger within her. She can’t get enough of your divine light or gentle love on her that she has been longing for all her life.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

I don’t think that Lottie would need to break her darling. Still, she just slowly degrades your self-reliance, and your dependence on her will grow over time that you wouldn’t even notice, honestly.

Yandere Level

5/10 (Very possessive but cute girlfriend, who could never do anything wrong, right?)

Freedom Level

8/10 (You are very accessible; however, Lottie is very close behind you bc y’all are codependent.)

Shauna ✿ Natalie

#lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #yellowjackets x reader #Yellowjackets #Dark! Yellowjackets #wlw #yandere #dark!au

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boxofbonesfic · 2 years

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Title: Return to Sender [2 of 7] Sequel to Unwrapped

Pairing: Dark!Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: Andy Barber promised he would never let you go, and come hell or high water, he’s going to keep that promise.

Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon, Kidnapping, Minor Violence, Gaslighting, Basement Wife Trope, Manipulation

A/N: whew!! this chapter brings with it some plot, a little insight into our reader’s time with Andy, and… a surprise guest! well, not so much a guest as another layer to the plot who will be fairly important, but still. i also want to do a little something different with this fic. i don’t normally write happy endings, but… i wanted to give you all the chance to have a little input. at the end of this chapter, there will be a link that you can use to vote anonymously and tell me what you’d like to see! want me to go full dark? want to see something a little more upbeat? let me know!

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

The hotel room is small, two narrow beds shoved into the cramped space, and a matchbox bathroom for the two of you to share. Well, three if you count Dove. She slept fitfully the night before, wailing long into the night until finally she exhausted herself, slumping against you only a few minutes ago. And even now, after Dove’s cries have finally ceased, you find yourself sleepless, staring at the pitted ceiling.

This isn’t her normal bedtime routine, sleeping in a strange place with woman she’d never met, hearing the sounds of strangers lives leaking through the walls. You don’t blame her for not going down easy, not in these circumstances. Alone with your thoughts, anxiety gnaws the tail end of each one, biting off their edges and leaving them jagged, fragmented.

What if she misses Andy?

The thought brings burning tears to your eyes, and you swallow against the thickness in your throat. You suppose that’s the most fucked up part—

She probably does.

You can’t block out the tide of images that comes sweeping into your conscious thoughts. Andy cradling Dove against his bare chest, humming to her until she fell asleep—Andy answering Dove’s late night cries, telling you to go back to sleep with a soft kiss on the tip of your nose—Andy making airplane noises as he fed her mashed pears—Andy in a thousand different ways. You can practically hear his voice in the dark.

And you’re depriving her of all of it, honey. How is that fair? No wonder you’re having trouble sleeping at night. You should come home. Come home to me and Jacob—

You cover your ears against the thoughts in your own head, forcing it back onto the pillow as you will yourself to sleep. You’re trying hard not to think of Jacob, of whether he misses you or not, because God that would make everything so much worse than it already is. Irene, snoring softly on the other bed, is blissfully unaware of your turmoil as you toss and turn. You give up with a sigh, sitting up and making your way to the “living room” area of the motel room, which consisted of a dubiously stained armchair and an old television.

Briefly you wrestle with the bent antennae before you sit gingerly on the oversoft cushion. The picture is a little warped, but the t.v. works when you turn it on, and you flip aimlessly through the channels with the volume low. The local news offers little that is interesting, most of it re-runs from earlier in the day. You watch mindlessly, taking comfort in the banality of it all. There’s a story on about kittens, some local family finding a whole heap of motherless kittens, and as you’re watching it, the screen suddenly shifts, a live broadcast interrupting the replays.

“Good morning, Albany, this is Evan Rodriguez—”

“And I’m Tiffany Johnson, and we’re here with an important update.” Both of the anchors look harried, like they’d been rushed through hair and makeup. Tiffany smiles too wide at the camera, showing all of her perfectly straight veneers. “Police are beginning to mobilize as the manhunt for 6 month old Dove Barber and her mother continues, now spilling across state lines.”

“No!” You didn’t even realize you’d spoken until the anguished sound of your own voice reached your ears. “No, no, no—”

“That’s right, Tiff, authorities are searching for the young mother, now believed to have been abducted from the family home.” The camera abruptly shifts, now showing footage of a bedroom destroyed, clothes littering the hardwood floor. You recognize the room instantly—how could you not?

It’s where you’d slept for for almost fifteen months, excluding the time you’d spent down in the room at the foot of the stairs.

“I know that doing my job and doing it to the best of my ability hasn’t made me many friends.” Andy’s voice leaks out of the television to wrap around you like thick smoke. You stare, fish-eyed at the television as the father of your child addresses the press outside of the Newton police station. Bile burns in your throat as your stomach churns.

“But to attack my family—“ His voice cracks with emotion, and you hate yourself for wondering if it’s real or not. “My daughter…” He scrubs a hand down his face. “I don’t think there’s a husband or father alive who wouldn’t do anything to get his girls back.” The watery, pained smile that Andy fixes the camera with is so convincing it makes your chest ache with cold dread.

“Honeybee, if you’re watching this, if you can hear me,” Andy looks straight into the camera, and you swear he can really see you—“I’m going to bring you home.” To anyone else, his words would be hopeful, heartwarming. But you know it’s a threat. “I promise.”

A man in uniform ushers Andy away from the cameras, before fixing them with a stern look himself.

“We have reason to believe that the perpetrator is moving north, eyewitnesses state they saw her getting into a gray or silver hatchback with an older woman, blonde, muscular build. We are exploring all possible options at this time, but we do urge the public to act. If you see anyone matching these descriptions, do not hesitate to call into the tipline. No information is bad information.”

The anchors are still staring at the camera with blank, dead-eyed smiles when the footage ends.

“Heartbreaking, isn’t it, Evan?”

“Incredibly, Tiff. Remember, if you see something, say something!” The tipline number flashes again at the bottom of screen, the neon numbers searing themselves into your retinas.

“And now the weather, Annie?”

“Well that’s not good.” Irene’s tired voice makes you yelp, turning around in your seat. You hadn’t noticed her rising from her cocoon of blankets on the other side of the room to stand behind you, rubbing bloodshot eyes. “That your husband? The one with the hair?” She asks, motioning above her head to indicate Andy’s soft, wavy locks. You nod stiffly. Irene crosses her arms, leaning against the peeling wallpaper.

“He knows what he’s doing,” she sighs, scrubbing a hand down her face. “You’ll never get across the border now, not with your face on every milk carton from here to Vermont.”

A tremor passes through you at her words. “N-no, no, that’s not—I have to go,” you stammer. There’s no going back now. You know what’s waiting for you at home—the thin veneer of Andy’s kindness would shatter the moment he got you alone, and you don’t know if forgiveness is in his vocabulary. “I, I have to, we have to!”

Irene holds out her hands placatingly. “Easy, easy. I know,” she speaks slowly, soothingly, like she’s talking to a nervous animal. “But you can’t cross now. Not here.”

You want to argue, even though you know she’s right. Every minute you waste is time Andy has to amass his resources, to control the narrative. He has friends in high places—the highest of places.

“What do we do?” You ask finally, defeat coloring your voice.

“We wait. I’m going to make some calls. Order room service if you need anything, but don’t go out, okay?”

It’s still dark outside the windows, the edges of the sky just beginning to turn pink and orange with the rising of the sun. Irene walks briskly out of the door, her blonde hair hidden under a baseball cap.

“Stay here.” She instructs you again before closing the door behind her, the lock clicking securely into place. You do as you’re told, settling back onto the bed with Dove. You can’t sleep, though, new anxieties turning themselves over and over in your thoughts without end. You busy yourself cleaning out Dove’s bottles in the bathroom sink, rinsing and drying them out before you re-pack her meager things into the baby bag.

She wakes when the sun pools dim orange on the bedspread through the patchy curtains, reaching meaty fists up into the air as she cries.

“Oh, oh, shh, it’s alright,” you coo, bouncing her in your arms as you cradle her to your chest. You’d wondered if it was even possible for you to love her while you’d been pregnant, Andy’s face looming over you even in your nightmares. But when she’d come, she’d just been so unbelievably perfect, how could you not?

It’s not that you don’t see the pieces of Andy in her already—you see them every time you look at her. It doesn’t hurt the way you thought it would, though. Instead, all you feel is love. The deepest you’d known, bubbling up through the cracks in your soul to fill you up to bursting.

You loved her enough to leave.

Dove latches easily, and you wince just a little. She eats greedily, milk leaking from the corners of her little mouth. You can’t help but chuckle a little.

“Slow down, you. You’re going to give yourself—” She unlatches, a milky burp erupting from her lips. “Hiccups.” You couldn’t bring all of the fancy, expensive baby toys Andy had bought for Dove, and it had pained you to have to leave them. You’d managed to smuggle out a few of her favorite stuffed animals, though, along with her mobile. You arrange the softest blanket you have on the bed, and place her down on her back after burping her, and place the mobile above her.

Dove laughs and gurgles with delight, reaching her hands up to bat at the gently swaying pieces. You watch her for a while, humming to her softly as you watch the gears begin turning in her brain. You can’t turn off your own, though, and eventually, as they always seem to do, your thoughts circle back around to the one person you’d been trying to avoid thinking about.

Andy Barber.

You know he’s not going to give up—maybe not ever. The dark, determined look in his eye had told you everything you’d needed to know. The man calling himself your husband won’t stop, not until you’re under heel and fully immersed in the fantasy—

Until it’s real.

You’re getting up before you realize it, making sure to close Dove off with pillows so she doesn’t roll off of the bed in the few minutes you’re gone. You play nervously with the quarter in your hand as you walk down to the payphone on the first floor. It’s right at the bottom of the steps, and while you’re dubious about its functionality, you hear a dial tone when you pick it up and press the receiver to your ear. You punch in the numbers with a trembling finger, your blood roaring in your ears.

“Hello?” Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of your mother’s voice. “Hello?” She says again, an exasperated note in her voice. “Hello? If you’re not going to say anything why even bother calling?” You hear her fumbling to hang up, and a pained whimper worms its way out of your throat.

“Mom?”

“Oh God is this—? Larry, Larry it’s her!” Your mother’s shout rings in your ears. “Baby, baby where are you? Are you alright? What happened? Where are you? Can you tell us where you are? Go get—” There’s a cacophony of voices in the background, and you can hear your father’s panicked voice. There’s rumbling static as the phone changes hands, and you fully expect to hear your father’s voice next, but you don’t.

“Oh, honey.” Ice pools in the pit of your stomach as the pet name practically oozes out of the receiver. “We’ve all been so worried.” There’s a hard edge to his voice that you don’t miss, and you swallow loudly. You hate the way you can feel his eyes on you, even from hundreds of miles away.

“I—I—” You know you need to hang up the phone, to go back upstairs to Dove and wait for Irene and her next instructions, but your mind goes blank at the sound of his voice. The bravery that had seen you out the door feels fleeting now as you’re reminded of all the ways Andy can punish you—without even having to lift a finger in anger to do it.

“I left,” you murmur quietly, flinching as he hums. “I-I’m not coming back!” You say it forcefully.

“Oh honey. We’re going to get you back. There’s no question of it.” His voice is smooth and dark like bourbon.

“A-Andy—”

“Tell me where you are.” His words land forcefully against your eardrums, and you flinch again as he repeats it, louder. “Tell me.” He’s barely maintaining the illusion of calm now, you know it—you can hear it in his voice. “Honey, tell me where you are, or things could get very, very bad—”

“D-don’t threaten me!” You hiss. “W-we’re leaving. We’re going far away, and you will never see us again.” It feels good to say it, even though you know each acid word that leaves your tongue is probably costing you. “Never. You won’t control her, or me, any more.”

“You say that like you mean it, honey.” You hate that even though he’s angry—so angry—he’s still managing to dig at you, to pull at the loose thread of insecurity he’d installed himself. “Dove needs me. You need me, honey, tell me where you fucking are, or so help me—”

You hang up, your chest heaving.

You flee back up the stairs, tears leaking from your bleary eyes as you fumble with your hotel key. Dove is right were you left her on the bed and she looks up at you curiously as you pace beside it, running panicked hands through your hair and chewing at your already well-bitten nails. That’s how Irene finds you when she returns, your eyes red-rimmed and puffy from tears, still pacing nervously.

“What happened?”

“I-I-I—I know you said I shouldn’t call my parents—” Her face morphs into a bitter scowl as you speak, and you feel like curling in on yourself.

“Fuck. He was there, wasn’t he?”

“Y-yes.”

Irene presses the palms of her hands into her closed eyes as she blows out a breath.

“Okay. Okay. You shouldn’t have done that, but I think you know that already,” she sighs, digging her duffel bag out from under the bed. “But it’s a pay phone, so even if they trace it, all it’ll tell them is that the call came from here.”

“O-okay. Should we leave?” You ask, and Irene nods.

“I just got done talking to a friend of mine. We need to get out of the tri-state area, better chance of finding a small crossing where no one’s really paying much attention.” As she speaks, Irene begins shoving the few articles of clothing she’d managed to unpack back into the bag. “We’ll lay low for a few days, then try, okay?”

“O-okay.” For the second time in two days, you pack up, put Dove into the infant carrier, and follow Irene out the door.

—

“Is she okay? Andy?”

He’s still glaring at the phone in his hand, fighting the urge not to crush it. You’re so goddamn stubborn, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he schools his expression down from rage to concern.

“I-I don’t know,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair as he hands your mother back the phone. “She didn’t sound like herself, Kathy, she was scared.” It’s not an untrue statement, you are scared.

Scared of him.

Andy is angry, yes, but he would never hurt you. Not if he didn’t absolutely need to. He knows your time in the basement hurt you, though. Changed you. And now you’re behaving in ways that Andy can’t explain or predict, and he hates it. He knows you can be good for him, sweet and perfect—he just needs the right conditions. And he can create the right conditions—

You just need to trust him, need to come home.

“The caller I.D. says Albany!” Your mother exclaims, shoving the phone back into his face. She’s worried, and he doesn’t fault her for it, even if it’s for all the wrong reasons. “Do you think that’s where she is? Do you think that’s where they’re holding her?” She wrings her hands, distraught. Andy nods. He had had a hunch you might call home, considering it was one of the things he had been able to hold over you in order to ensure your continued good behavior. He suspected that the temptation to speak to them freely would be too good to pass up—and he was right.

Andy places a comforting hand on your mother’s shoulder. “I’m going to take your phone to the police, Kathy. They’ll be able to do more than we can right now.” The commissioner only does as much as Andy allows him to, and this is information he doesn’t want leaking to the press. He bids your distraught parents a fond farewell, and begins the hour long drive back to Newton. He’s already dialing Loki by the time he hits the interstate, the Audi cutting smoothly into traffic.

“She’s in Albany. Some trash motel off the interstate.” Andy’s nose wrinkles with distaste. He’s still angry, but this time with himself. He’d trusted you too easily, believed you when you had sobbed into his arms that you’d never leave, never, you promised, if only he would let you out of the basement. He can see now, in hindsight, how you’d worked within his confines to free yourself.

It will not happen again.

“Oh goody. I do love the other side of the tracks,” Loki’s sarcastic drawl further draws Andy’s ire.

“The blonde helping her—I have a name. Irene DeSantos, used to run a women’s shelter in Baltimore.”

“Hard not to admire her tenacity, going from business owner to a… what would you call a good human trafficker? An angel?”

“She took my wife.” Andy snarls into the phone, his face contorting with rage. Loki doesn’t know you, not like Andy knows you. He doesn’t know how much you need Andy, how you’d been adrift, rudderless without him. “Honeybee is… confused. Postpartum. She doesn’t know what she needs—”

“And you do?”

“Yes!” He snaps. “You have all the information you need. Don’t forget you have sand running out of the hourglass too. What an odd time for you to suddenly decide to develop a conscience,” he sneers. “Especially considering all of the people you’ve buried.” Silence meets his ear, and Andy knows he’s won. “Bring me back my wife. I won’t ask a second time.”

He hangs up without waiting for a response, the steering wheel creaking in his white-knuckled grip. Just be patient, he tells himself, willing the muscles in his hands to release. She’ll be home soon.

Where she belongs.

—

Irene’s “friend” owns a bar on the other side of town, and as she leads you down the grimy, sticky steps to the basement entrance, you hurriedly pull up the hood on your sweatshirt, and yank down the sun-shield on Dove’s carrier. You don’t want anyone seeing you, putting two and two together. A bar really isn’t the place for a baby, and you’re still debating just waiting in the car as Irene swings open the heavy metal door.

It’s mid afternoon, so it’s practically empty, only the hardiest of drinkers taking up residence in the far corners. No one even looks up as you enter, squinting in the low light as your eyes adjust from the brightness outside.

“Come on,” Irene looks over her shoulder at you, gesturing for you to follow. Carefully, you set Dove’s carrier on the bar top, peeking inside to make sure she’s still sleeping. There’s no one behind the bar, and Irene leans over it, making a frustrated face. “Where is he?” She taps loudly on the wood with the palm of her hand.

“Levinson! Get out here!”

The swinging doors behind the bar slam open, and a broad-shouldered man lumbers out. He’s carrying three boxes, all stacked precariously on top of one another, and he grunts as he sets them onto the counter.

“Stop yelling in my bar, Irene.” He grumbles from behind them. His voice is deep, but low and soft at the same time—like he doesn’t need to yell. “And why is there a baby here?” The man that steps out from behind the towering pile is just as huge, and folds his arms across his broad chest and looks down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s her daughter,” Irene replies, jerking a thumb in your direction. “I told you there would be two, Ari.” You’re trying hard not to stare at him, but you can’t help it. He looks like Andy—it’s not exact, Ari is taller, broader; with a wider set jaw and darker eyes, but the resemblance is still uncanny. It makes your throat tight with the desire to flee, to run right back to the car and force Irene to take you across the border right now.

“You didn’t say one was an infant.” He looks at you, then, cool grey-blue eyes coming to rest on your face as you look away. “Not that that’s a problem.” He doesn’t talk like Andy, doesn’t sound like Andy, and the hand he offers you is hairy and calloused. “Nice to meet you.”

You try to take his hand, you really do, but your arm won’t move. Instead, you find yourself folding inward, grabbing Dove as you look down at the floor. You’re not good with strangers—

Not anymore.

“She’s shy.” Irene says, batting his hand away from you. Ari nods, and doesn’t force it, dropping his hand back down to his side.

“Nice to meet you, shy-girl.” He looks at Irene. “Let me stock the shelves, and I’ll close up, take you two upstairs.”

You watch him out of the corner of your eye like a rabbit zeroing in on a prowling fox. It’s irrational, you know it is, but you can’t help but be aware, be afraid.

Andy made you afraid.

Ari works quickly and diligently, flipping the bottles up to hold them by their necks with an experienced hand, sliding them into place in the honeycomb shelf behind him. Dove is still sleeping soundly, and she doesn’t stir when you peek under the screen. Ari flips the sign to closed, and goes to rouse the few barflies still lingering, and your chest clenches as they shuffle past you and out the door.

“All closed up.” He replies, dusting his hands off. “Let’s go.” He leads you up a narrow set of stairs that he himself seems to barely fit in. The top of the stairs opens up into a hallway, and you realize that this is his apartment. You remove Dove from the carrier, cradling the sleeping baby as you look around.

“I’m going to pee,” Irene announces, squeezing past Ari and into the apartment proper. “I’m assuming the old room situation stands?”

Ari sighs in a way you know instantly means he’s irritated, but not going to say anything about it.

“Yep. Sure.” Irene disappears around a corner, and Ari turns back to you. His eyes fall to Dove, and you fight the instinct to turn, to shield her from his gaze. “I can give you the tour, if you feel up to it. Not much to see, really.” He laughs a little, and you manage a small, watery smile.

“Y-yes.” You swallow. “Thank you.”

“Well. You know. Bar’s downstairs. Living room is off through here,” he takes off, and you hurry to keep up with his long legged stride. “Kitchen. Wash up after yourself, yeah? And bathroom, which our mutual friend is currently occupying. My room is here,” he gestures to the room directly across from the kitchen. “And here’s you.”

The room he opens the door to is threadbare, but clean. The full-sized mattress has only two pillows, and what looks to be a thick, quilted blanket folded at the bottom.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of, um, baby stuff. But I can get you anything you need.” He sounds earnest, and when you’re brave enough to force your eyes to meet his there isn’t any dishonesty in his gaze that you can tell.

“T-thank you.” Your voice sounds small, even to your own ears.

“You’re welcome, Mouse.” He winks at you, and you look away instantly. “Let me know if you, um. Need anything.” He exits the room and closes the door behind him. You feel yourself unknot instantly, your shoulders sagging with relief.

“Maybe it’s safe, here,” you murmur to Dove, and she mumbles back at you in her sleep. “For a little while.”

—

Across town at the Seaside Inn, Loki pokes through the office. The manager is indisposed—perhaps indefinitely, depending on whether or not he answers his questions. It’s funny—there are three Seaside Inns in Albany, despite there being no sea at all. Loki ponders that as he tilts up the manager’s head with the barrel of his gun.

“And they left here at what time?” He asks, cocking his head at the old man. “Come now, I really don’t have time for games.” The old man’s eye is already black from when he’d not-so-politely informed Loki that he didn’t give out private information on his clients, that that wasn’t any way to run a business.

He wonders if he’s reconsidered in the last five minutes.

“Round two this afternoon. Driving a beat up old Subaru. Real old model.”

Loki doesn’t much fancy acting as Andy Barber’s errand boy, but he hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he could put him away for good. And if there’s one thing Loki Odinson doesn’t do, it’s jail. He’s seen pictures of you in Andy’s office, pictures of you before, he assumes. Ones where there’s still a defiant gleam in your eye, before Andy had tried to break you—and almost succeeded, he assumes.

“Lovely. Thank you for your cooperation. My apologies for the roughness.” Loki straightens his tie, smoothing his fingers over the silk. “Cooperation does have its merits. Do trust you’ll be duly compensated for you assistance.” He looks over his shoulder and nods to the men behind him. “You may untie him now.”

The room where you’d stayed hasn’t been cleaned yet, and Loki takes his time going through it, lifting the blankets, and checking under the bed for items you might have forgotten. You’re good—there’s nothing, not even a baby sock had found its way out of your possession. He sighs frustratedly, and heads for the door. Something crinkles under his shoe, and Loki looks down with disgust.

Of course this motel was littered with trash—Wait. He reaches down to pick up the slip of paper from the ratty rug, and squints at the smeared ink on the receipt.

One of his men pokes his head into the room, a worried expression on his face.

“We good, boss? Folks are starting to, um. Congregate.”

Loki looks up from the receipt, and slips it into his pocket with a smile.

“Yes, Gendry. We’re good.”

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VOTE HERE

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fanfic-collection · 1 year

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Loki x Reader: Prisoner - 1

Some weird AU that I had in a dream and am attempting to write, I dunno, wish me luck

Dark themes, very au. I don't know. Let me know if this is worth sharing. I imagine it's got a slow start

Shackles kept your wrists together. You walked with your head held high. Internally you cursed the skimpy gown you had been forced to wear, forced into your new life.

Once a proud leader of your people, a leader of freedom and independence from the Asgardian onslaught…

A rod swatted against your shoulder and you stumbled, catching yourself. The shackles bound your magic and you could not fight back. Instead you shot a glare at the accusatory, the one who had hit you.

An Asgardian guard, faceless and impassive, stared down at you.

You opened your mouth to speak but another crack of the rod and you fell silent.

Looking away, you faced back in the direction you were walking.

Guards stood around, passively keeping guard as other prisoners of war were marched along.

You were the last in line.

Soon you were from the dungeons, your people before you all washed and stripped, redressed in Asgardian attire. Humiliated, you and your people were next forced to walk among the jeering crowds of Asgard.

It was not just the humiliation of a battle defeat, but this, to see the men, women, and children of Asgard, gathered to see your shame.

You walked with your head held high, refusing to be cowed.

Still, the crack of the rod hitting any who looked too haughty, too proud, echoed through the roaring crowds. You refused to stumble, but eventually you were forced, by number of strikes, to keep your head bowed.

After the long, grueling walk, you were lined up at the end on a large raised stage.

A general walked forward, stepping before each person and declaring their new duty in this new kingdom.

“Maid!” The general sneered, striking the rod when the prisoner dared to look up.

“Death.” Two guards broke free of the crowd and dragged the prisoner away.

Your people raised their voices, screaming and complaining, trying to keep the one sentenced from death safe. But in quick succession, the cries of anger and complaint were replaced with pain and followed swiftly by silence.

On down the line the general, perhaps head of the guard walked. “Death, servant, maid, worker, worker, death…” Each time he said death, you flinched. Still you held your head high.

When the general finally reached you, he looked down with murderous eyes. “You.” He placed the sharp end of his sword to your throat and forced you to look at him. “You will know the pleasure of knowing your captive’s name. I am High General Yorin, High General of the Asgardian guard.”

You narrowed your eyes down the long blade but remained silent.

“When a general greets you, you respond.”

“You expect me to bow with a sword to my throat?” You replied calmly.

The sword pulled back, striking down with the flat of it and knocking you to your knees. Any magic you had was hindered by these damned cuffs.

“Bow, wretch.”

You were on your knees, hands on the ground catching your fall. Irritably, you bowed your head. “Of course.”

“You will address me with respect.” Yorin spat.

“My liege?” You tried the title, hating how it burned in your mouth.

You knew instinctively Yorin was smiling.

He grabbed your hair and pulled you upright. Tears pricked at your eyes despite yourself, the pain of your hair proving too much for your smarting eyes.

“Would you like to know where your job will be?”

You fought the urge to say that he was probably going to tell you. “Where, my liege?”

“Leaders of your rebellion, and their families, are given preferential treatment.”

You didn’t like where this was going, but remained silent, eyes cast downward.

“You are called to service our generals. Who knows, maybe you’ll be lucky enough to service me.” Yorin let out a booming laugh, patting his lower abdomen.

You swallowed hard and kept your mouth shut.

Two guards surrounded you and guided you down one of the halls. Slowly the crowd would disperse and quiet would fall.

You walked with your head bowed, taking in the grandeur of Asgard. It was immaculately preserved, and as you walked along, you could see it was your people who kept it so. Maids and servants skittered from room to room, not daring to look at you as you were marched down the hall. Great golden pillars, gilded floors, opulent tapestries, all of it added to the blood that had been spilled creating this kingdom.

At long last, you reached a pair of large double doors.

King Thor had long since abdicated the throne, leaving your people to suffer. From his absence, a council had sprung up. The attempt of false kindness that had been left in Odin’s stead, no longer existed.

The doors creaked open, heavy on the ground and revealed a large circular table. Twelve chairs, with ten people.

Yorin strut in behind you and took one of the chairs. Other men of varying ages sat around the table, leering at you as you entered.

The guards pushed you forward, another stumble, before allowing you to catch yourself. They held their spears to your throat, ensuring no escape.

Yorin spoke up, he sat in the fanciest chair, larger than the others, like a throne. “Generals.” He began, voice booming. “It seems we are in arrival of a particularly, interesting specimen.” He paused searching for words. “She is the High Queen of a forgotten land.”

Your eyes widened.

Yorin sneered. “Your villages are decimated, your people enslaved, you are queen no more.”

You set your jaw and refused to move. Refused to show the pain of the blow that had been.

“So. Which of you would lay claim to a new servant?”

One of the older men scratched at his beard, frowning thoughtfully. “I could use a new one. My last one is growing… old.”

The man to his right laughed. “Surely you would like old by now, you are not so spry yourself.”

The one who had spoken first scowled at his companion, muttering under his breath.

A side door opened, almost unnoticed by anyone. Anyone save you.

A tall man with long black hair entered the chamber, almost invisibly, and silently sinking into the twelfth unoccupied chair. The man’s chair was simple carved wood with a green velvet cushion.

Something about him struck you as odd.

The twelfth man looked bored, annoyed that such a farce was being made.

Something in you stirred, knowing this man was far more interesting than any of the others. Perhaps there would be a chance for rebellion with him. Something about him was othered, not a man of the other eleven, he was… different.

“Do I get a say?” You asked, interrupting the bickering generals.

The twelfth man rested his elbow on the table and fist against his cheek. He smirked at your interruption, watching you closely with vivid green eyes.

You looked around at the gathered men. Many were struck by silence, unsure of what to say. Others seemed angry at your obstinance.

“You should send her to death.” One of them muttered.

“No, no, I want to hear who she picks.” The man with long black hair spoke. He had a deep, velvety voice. His voice did little to hide his boredom, and yet… He seemed intrigued by you. A sparkle of mischief in his eyes as he tilted his head curiously at what you were going to say.

The guards lowered their spears and pulled them back only just.

You fought back your rising fear, your uncertainty and looked the green eyed man directly on. “You.” You said simply, curious at his reaction.

There was a roar of upset, the other eleven protesting vehemently. Bickering rose through the air. All save, from the twelfth man.

The corner of your mouth quirked up. He was smirking. You almost could have smiled should the circumstances be different.

Yorin finally stood up, slamming his fist on the table. “She will have no such say.”

The twelfth man stood up. “Certainly. I’ll take her then. That is my say.”

All eyes in the room fell on twelve.

Yorin sputtered a protest, growling complaints and generally failing at words.

“High General. We do not let the prisoners have their choice to who they serve.”

Twelve rolled his eyes. “Certainly. I am making my choice.” He looked back at you. “My choice is only perchance helped by her opinion.” His eyes roved over your figure and you remembered how scantily clad you were to be humiliated.

You bit back a flush, wondering why this cruel man was having such an effect on you.

Clearly he was unpopular with the others. Yet he was still one of them. This dynamic fascinated you. But to what end?

“She will be in my ward by nightfall. Yes?” Twelve looked around the room, silently daring anyone to challenge him. When no one spoke, save for a grunt from Yorin, the man nodded. “Very good. Then we are adjourned from your humiliation farce.”

“This is an important ceremony!” One of the generals cried out. “Surely you should know. It is utmost important that we keep our enemies cowed, to know what would face them should they rebel.”

“Yes. Quite.” The man turned and disappeared through a side door without a trace.

You watched him go, keeping your head slightly bowed. You would comply, for now.

There was surprised silence around the circle, followed by begrudging acceptance. The generals all stood, bowing to one another, before exiting the room in their own ways.

It was late day already, the sun nearing its set. The guards gripped your arms, dragging you from the room and sending you to your new life. Whatever that might be.

#Loki #Loki x reader #dark fic #fanfic #ficbit #multi chapter #reader insert #dark!au #Loki x you

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fandomwritings-cm13 · 1 year

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Wife of a Future Mob Boss (Dark!Bucky Barnes, Dark!Steve Rogers) - Chapter 2

Summary: Bucky must find a wife for himself and have children with her in order to take his father’s position as head of the mob. When Bucky makes no move on his own, his father takes things into his own hands. Lilly Slater and her roommate Demi are taken before Mr. Barnes, and what happens next shocks them both.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x OC, Steve Rogers x OC

Word Count: 2949

Warnings: dark themes, cursing, mentions of violence (future), noncon and rape, cursing, toxic relationships, Stockholm syndrome (if you squint, more to come later), SMUT

This chapter contains smut. DO NOT READ if you are uncomfortable with reading smut OR are under the age of 18!!! By clicking “Keep Reading,” you agree to these statements.

“Why are there two? Didn’t I send you for one?” the older man questions.

“It was difficult to tell which you wanted, sir,” one of the men sheepishly answers.

The older man turns to the brunette. “What do you think, James?”

The brunette looks at both me and Demi, his expression revealing absolutely nothing.

Fuck.

I shift uncomfortably, praying this is all some strange dream I’ll jolt awake from soon. A second later, I feel Demi’s hand take mine, and it draws my gaze down to my lap. I then look at her, biting the inside of my lip as tears well up in my eyes. She squeezes my hand for a second as she smiles gently at me.

“Take her away,” the older man orders.

Two men grab Demi, and she grips me a little tighter.

“Let go of me, you bastards!” She shouts, kicking at them. “I’m not leaving without her!”

“You’re more than welcome to die here then,” the older man states coldly, causing Demi to freeze and look at him. “There’s nothing you can do for your friend, except perhaps leaving peacefully.”

Demi sneers at him. “I’ll get her out of here. She doesn’t deserve this.”

The man chuckles. “You won’t be alive long enough to enjoy having her back if you do anything, even breathe a word of this to anyone.”

My heart sinks in my chest at my fate, and now Demi’s, too. She looks at me, reaching out. Before I can grab her hand, she’s yanked away and practically dragged out of the room.

“James, take her up to your room for the night,” the man orders.

James comes around the desk and grabs my arm, lifting me from my seat and dragging me out of the room. His pace is quick, so I struggle to keep up.

“Couldn’t you slow down a little?” I snap.

He chuckles, the sound falling from his lips without any genuine amusement. “You’re in no position to be having an attitude, doll.”

“I don’t know who you guys are or what you want, but if you let me go, I won’t tell anyone a thi-”

“As lovely as that sounds, my father has made a decision, and he won’t back down on it unless you give him a reason to.” He stops at a door and finally looks me in the eye. “I would advise you not to though. It’d only serve to complicate my life further.”

He drags me into the room and shuts the door behind him. Once the door is closed, he turns to me and pulls out a knife.

“If you don’t want me, then why am I here?” I ask sharply, doing my best to appear strong despite how uncomfortably my heart is racing.

He cuts the binding around my wrists then looks me in the eye once again. “In order to take over for my father, he has certain requirements for me. The primary one is having a wife and at least one child. That’s where you come into things. I, however, want nothing to do with marriage. I’m quite happy with how I’ve lived my life thus far, and having you around won’t change that.” He studies my eyes for a couple seconds. “I sleep with who I want, when I want, and there’s nothing you can say or do to change my mind.”

The door opens, but James doesn’t turn to see who it is. I look over his shoulder to see the dirty blonde who stood beside him earlier. He, however, lingers by the door.

“Is my father satisfied, Steve?” James inquires, his gaze still trained on me.

“For now, at least,” the other man replies, crossing his arms over his chest.

James smirks. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

He grabs my wrists and pulls me into him, his lips going to my ear. I can clearly see Steve across the room, and it makes me blush how he’s watching us.

“You and I will be fucking every day, whenever I feel like it, until you fall pregnant,” James whispers. “After that, you’re no longer my problem. I go back to fucking around with whoever I want.” He pulls away and smirks at me, his voice normal when he continues speaking. “Steve will be taking care of you then. Is that clear?”

I glare up at him. “You must be stupid to think I want anything to do with you!”

I try to pull my wrists out of his grip, but he only tightens his hold and pulls me back close to him.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just cooperate,” he chides, an eyebrow raised.

“I-... I don’t want this,” I whisper. “Please, just let me go.”

I jump and turn a little when I feel two warm hands on my hips. It’s Steve standing right behind me. A different hand, calloused like the one grasping my wrists, under my chin brings my gaze back to James.

“I don’t know what I want to do to you first,” he declares, his hand ghosting from my chin down my neck and between my breasts.

My breaths shake as I exhale. As his hands continue wandering down my body, I again try to pull my wrists free of his grip.

“Just relax,” Steve whispers in my ear, gently squeezing my hips.

I shake my head and try to squirm out of his grip as well.

“Like he said, this’ll all be easier if you just go along with it.”

“Please… I-, I can’t do this.”

“Doll, stop fighting this,” James commands, grabbing the waistband of my pajama shorts. “I’ll have to put that mouth to better use if you don’t stop trying to convince me to let you go.”

He pulls me closer using his grip on my shorts, and Steve follows just behind. I’m sandwiched between the two, their body heat making me squirm. I whimper and shut my eyes tightly as James’ fingers ghost over my panty line.

“What do you say, Steve?” James questions arrogantly. He brings his hand back up to my face, gripping my chin. “Shall we see what she’s capable of?”

“I think that’d be wise,” Steve breathes, the warm air going down my neck.

I shudder as Steve places a small kiss at the nape of my neck.

“On your knees, doll,” James commands, smirking at me.

My eyes widen and my jaw goes slack in shock.

When I don’t move, his hand goes to my shoulder and forces me down. Steve’s hands leave my hips as I sink to the floor. My heart races as I stare up at James, my knees digging into the rather soft carpet. I don’t have much time to consider it before he’s unzipping his slacks. I shake my head and try to back away only to run into Steve’s shins.

“Come on, doll,” James scolds. “Don’t play coy with me now.”

“I don’t-” I begin.

I freeze when I feel lips on my neck again. Warm hands slip under the hem of my thin pajama shirt, settling into place on my hips again. One hand begins drifting up my side and ends up kneading my breast. I sink back into the warm body behind me, closing my eyes as his lips continue wandering the skin of my neck.

I gasp as his tongue licks a stripe up my neck. I barely register the hands weaving into my hair until I feel an intrusion. I look up at James, but his features are cold as he forces his dick past my lips. He lets out a soft moan once he’s fully sheathed. As I swallow, he moans louder. It’s at that point, he seems to lose his control as he begins thrusting into my mouth.

As he continues his thrusts, it becomes difficult for me to breathe properly. I’m again distracted by what’s going on with one of the two men, so I don’t notice what the other is doing until there’s another intrusion. I moan against James’ thrusts when Steve’s fingers find my clit.

“Oh fuck,” James hisses, pulling out of my mouth.

Despite James stopping, Steve continues and takes it another step further, slipping a finger into me. I whine and squirm, which causes him to wrap his other arm around my waist. This effectively holds me against him as he continues finger fucking me.

“That feel good, doll?” Steve murmurs in my ear.

I nod a little too quickly.

I feel him smirk against my neck as he plants another kiss against my neck. He adds a second finger and begins thrusting faster. My breaths are ragged as I throw my head back onto his shoulder, and I grasp at his arm. He chuckles softly, and his teeth scrape along my neck as his lips continue moving along my neck. He sucks and bites his way down my neck, likely leaving marks all along the way.

“Shit, that’s hot as fuck,” James groans.

Steve chuckles before nibbling on my ear. I moan quietly, arching my back as his thumb rubs circles on my clit.

“You think she’s ready?” James questions huskily.

Steve nods as he rests his head against mine. Hardly a second passes until he pulls his fingers out of me. I whine at the loss, watching as he sucks his fingers clean. My head is fuzzy, and my mouth is slightly open as I watch him clean his fingers of my arousal.

My gaze doesn’t move from him until there are hands grasping my arms which pull me to my feet. I waver slightly but am quickly steadied by another pair of hands again low on my hips.

“It must have been some time since you’ve even been touched, doll,” James mocks. “Or are we just that good?”

“It’s none of your business,” I reply, trying to sound tough but my voice is weak as it sounds more like a sigh.

“Are you ready for more?” Steve whispers, kissing just behind my ear.

I whine and push on his hands. “No, I-, I don’t want this.”

James chuckles, his eyes staring into mine. They’re cold and hold no emotion.

I squirm as his fingers toy with the hem of my shirt then brush along my waist.

A warm, gentle hand on my back guides me away from James and to the bed. I turn and see Steve at my side, and he smiles gently at me, tucking some hair behind my ear. His touch lingers for another second before I’m shoved down onto the bed. A second later, my pajama pants are pulled down, my panties along with them.

Before I have the chance to process the action, James has thrusted into me. He moves slowly, stopping once he’s again fully sheathed.

“Holy shit, doll,” he groans. “So wet and warm. I’m not going to last very long.”

He pulls back a little then thrusts back in. I bite my lip to keep the noises in that threaten to escape. However, I can’t stop the whine that passes my lips when he hits a soft spot in me.

“That feel good? Hm?” he questions, mocking almost, and drives into that spot repeatedly.

I arch my back, pushing back against his thrusts, as his fingers find my clit and egg me closer to the impending pleasure.

“Shit,” he gasps, his trusts stilling deep within as a warmth fills me.

My body goes limp into the bed, my heart racing and my breaths fast.

As James pulls out, another set of warm hands steadies me. One remains at my waist as the other moves my leg onto the bed. I groan at the movement.

“I know, darling,” Steve murmurs. “Let me take care of you. Just relax.”

His hand ghosts up my thigh and towards my core. A strangled gasp leaves my lips when his fingers reach my clit.

He kisses the inside of my thigh as his fingers move faster, to which I whimper and try to move away.

“Do you want me to stop?” Steve asks, moving his fingers away. I reach back and grab his wrist before he moves too far away.

“No, no please,” I beg. “It’s just too much...”

“Just relax.” His hand soothes the back of my leg. “I’ve got you.”

I nod quickly.

“Lilly?”

“Please...”

The pleasure ignites in my veins again as he continues his previous movements. My hands grip the sheets tightly, and the moan gets caught in my throat as the pleasure comes to a head.

When my mind clears after a few moments, I recognize Steve’s hand on my back.

“You with me, Lilly?” he asks.

I nod slowly and try to lift myself.

“Here, allow me.”

I take the hand he offers. His other goes to my waist as he carefully guides me into standing. He leads the way into the en-suite bathroom, where the tub is already filled with water and several candles are lit.

“Use the toilet,” he commands though his voice is soft. “I’ll finish getting your bath ready.”

He kneels at the sink and opens the cabinet underneath. I linger for a second longer before taking a seat on the toilet, blushing slightly.

“What would you like?” Steve inquires, keeping his gaze away from me.

“For what?” I reply, shifting my feet on the rug below them.

“I figured a bubble bath may be relaxing for you before bed, with the night you’ve had.”

“What are my options?”

“There’s lavender, eucalyptus and mint, orange, lilac and vanilla...”

“Um,” I pause, my gaze shifting to my feet, “Lavender is fine.”

“Is there something else you’d prefer?”

I shake my head.

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble to get something else.”

“It’s fine. I don’t need anything else.”

“Well, let me know if you change your mind.” He rises to his feet and sets the bottle on the sink counter. “I’ll be just outside if you need me.”

I watch as he exits the room and shuts the door behind him. The tension leaves me once I finally have a private moment to breathe.

Once I’ve finished using the toilet, I flush and wash my hands, my gaze wandering to the steaming tub across the room. It’s certainly appealing, given the events of tonight.

I pull my pajama shirt over my head and drop it on the floor at my feet before approaching the tub, sinking into the hot water carefully. As I settle in, my gaze goes around the room but stops on the bottle of bubble bath still on the sink.

“Stupid,” I mutter understand my breath, putting my face in my hands. “Whatever.”

I finish settling into place and allow the warm water to ease my muscles until the water starts getting cold. I push the drain stopper then rise to my feet.

A knock coming from the door scares the shit out of me, but it’s cracked open a second later.

“You getting out?” Steve’s voice comes through the crack.

“Yes,” I answer simply.

“There’s a towel for you on the rack to your right and clean clothes out here for you.”

I blink quickly, unsure of what to say. Frankly, I’m shocked. He’s obviously nicer than James, to some degree.

“Thanks,” I breathe as I step out of the tub and reach for the towel.

The door is closed as I begin drying off. I wrap the towel around me before I approach the door. Before fully stepping out, I poke my head out, finding Steve seated at the vanity not far from the door. He looks over as I close the door behind me.

“They’re on the bed,” he states.

I make my way over to the bed, keeping my back to him. “Why did you stick around?”

“Buck can get pretty rough. Just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t feel it as bad in the morning.”

I pull on the panties without taking off the towel. But when I glance over my shoulder at him, Steve’s eyes are on the floor. I quickly pull on the nightgown and start for the bathroom again.

“I got it,” Steve interjects, quick to take the towel from me.

Unsure of what else to do, I simply stand where he left me as he returns my towel to the bathroom. I eye him carefully once he shuts the bathroom door again, though he keeps some distance between us.

“Do you normally stick around when James-”

“I didn’t,” he interrupts. “I couldn’t.” He looks down at his feet. “I figured you’d like some privacy and then some time to yourself. You must be feeling overwhelmed.”

“You have no idea...”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be back in the morning with some breakfast. You’ll want to get plenty of sleep. He’s taking you to the courthouse tomorrow.”

My brows furrow in both confusion and anger. “What for?”

“To see a judge so the two of you are legally considered married.”

“That’s it? Nothing special, not a choice for me?”

“I’m sorry, Lilly.”

“If you were, you wouldn’t make me stay here.”

He frowns. “You have no idea what you’re asking.”

Tears well in my eyes. “I just want to go home...”

He steps closer, cupping my face in one hand and the other resting on my waist. “We’ll make it feel like home as best we can, you and I. I promise I’ll do my best to help you acclimate to all of this.”

I shake my head, tears quickly slipping down my cheeks.

He pulls me closer and plants a gentle kiss to my forehead. “It’ll get easier. Just trust me.”

#chloewritesfandoms #dark!bucky barnes #dark!steve rogers #dark!au #bucky x oc #steve rogers x oc

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