#ofc he was choking her in a non-sexual way BUT

[mi6kan]

Saw the FNAF movie the other day and I just have ONE thing to say

William Afton can choke me to death.

he so pookie

#five nights at freddy's #william afton #matthew lillard #fnaf #fnaf movie #yeah at some point he was choking his daughter and #sir just choke ME instead PLEASEEEE #ofc he was choking her in a non-sexual way BUT #HE CAN CHOKE ME BOTH SEXUALLY AND NOT

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

sting, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader — mentions of husband!seokjin x reader

summary: “Please let me borrow your husband.” “You can if I can borrow Seokjin.” And so Min Yoongi was here, sitting on a ivory-colored leather sofa, surveying Kim Seokjin's wife with a critical eye. He hadn't expected to be in this position, but it was his wife's request and he never disappointed his lovely (devious) wife.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; the other side of the wife swap in honey, m (ksj) and Yoongi is about to fuck his hyung's wife, yup; D/s smut (fem reader, he is borderline mean, manhandling tbh, choking kink, hair pulling, nipple play, he spits on her tits, m-receiving oral / face fucking, ass + pussy slapping, m-masturbation, fingering, standing doggy, overstimulation / multiple orgasms); non-idol!BTS - dom!Yoongi x not-his-wife, sub!reader; Yoongi's POV

his outfit is inspired by the 'D-Day' Agust D ver PC photos, leather moto jacket and ripped jeans, and ofc his long black hair ;)

--

“It’s fun sometimes, to do the wrong thing and get away with no consequence.”

“Please stop giving me tangerines.”

“Ahahaha…”

If anyone was not afraid of falling in love with Kim Seokjin’s wife, it was definitely Min Yoongi. He set the fourth… actually, fifth tangerine onto the stack in front of him on the coffee table. This attempt at offering delicious fruits to lessen the obvious awkwardness was not working. It wasn’t that Yoongi did not like tangerines. He loved them. Refreshing snacks that came in their own compostable packaging? Truly nature’s finest work.

“If you want my fingers stuffed in your holes, it would be rude of me to cover them in tangerine juice,” he explained calmly, pushing back his long dark hair and raising an eyebrow at Kim Seokjin’s wife.

She turned pink and started sputtering.

He remained calm and expressionless, recalling the conversation that made it come to this.

“She’s interested in you,” his wife had said with a small smile.

“In me?”

“As she should be, because my husband is handsome, talented, and a sex god.”

Yoongi hadn’t married his wife because she was humble; she was simply honest.

Obviously.

He had been called to action and he intended to fulfill his promise. Interested in him, hm? Yoongi wasn’t one to boast about his sexual prowess himself and, anyway, he was infinitely better now than before his wife. Took a god to create another, right? He half-smiled, knowing his wife would enjoy such a comment. But he had to put those thoughts away at the moment and not be disingenuous to the lovely lady in front of him. His hyung had taste in women, all right. She was pretty in the way that was easily approachable. Kind eyes and a soft demeanor. He knew Seokjin’s wife well enough to know she was usually had a more casual, clean style, but today she wore a black slip dress with a matching black lace bolero. The seams of the dress framed those juicy tits perfectly. No bra either. Such easy access. The dress was within her realm but fancier and sexier. He suspected that the outfit was his wife’s encouragement to get him in the mood. Heh. She was really enjoying orchestrating all this, wasn’t she? She knew what made him tick and how to frame this moment to make him want it within his grasp.

A challenge.

Yoongi couldn’t refuse to back down from a challenge to himself.

In contrast, he had arrived in his worn, black leather moto jacket, faded white-and-grey t-shirt, and distressed acid-wash slate jeans. Again, his wife’s doing. He had asked her what to wear. She had suggested for him to dress comfortably – probably to create this juxtaposition on purpose. Most times, he tended to dress up when visiting Seokjin’s home. The, uh, neighborhood seemed to call for it. But not this time. He hadn’t even tied up his hair, just left it shaggy and unkempt, leaving him looking more roguish than usual.

He heard his wife’s growling whisper in his ear.

Stop fucking around.

He let out a slow breath and flicked his eyes up.

Raised an eyebrow.

Seokjin’s wife was attempting to say something to him, red-faced and wringing her hands adorably, but Yoongi raised his hand and placed a single finger on those soft, glimmering pink lips. No matter what, he had to remind himself of her position. Therefore, he was going to avoid using her name directly unless it was absolutely necessary. He also preferred less talking. He needed to be in his head to pull this off.

He stared into those wide, expectant eyes.

Spoke slowly, using the lower octave of his vocal range.

“The safe word is tangerine.”

These self-imposed boundaries were not because Yoongi didn’t like her as a person. He did, but Seokjin’s wife was not his wife, so the emotional turn-on was missing. And, unlike his wife, his domspace was in a deeper place. He had been spoiled by his love and her energy. She always coaxed out his darker desires with ease, but this time he had to bring out his primal side by himself to lead properly.

“You will not speak unless I ask you a direct question.”

He raised his chin, volume barely above a whisper.

“Do you understand?”

She nodded quickly.

A small spark raced down his spine and Yoongi licked his lips, removing his index finger from her lips.

In complete silence, he hooked two fingers around the hair elastic on his left wrist and pulled up, raising his arms in a creak of leather to tie back the top half of his hair. Partly to get it our of his eyes. He secured his ponytail and lowered his arms, trailing his gaze up the sheer thigh-high stockings to lush hips flush against the sofa cushions to small hands clasped tightly in front of her chest and then finally to shaking irises that were taking in his half-tied back hair.

Heh.

Her lips parted, simply staring at him.

The corner of his lips ticked upward.

Then he shot his arm out and grabbed her by the throat.

She yelped, hands flying up and gripping his wrist and edge of his palm, but Yoongi had done this many times. He immediately locked his hold but did not press inward. Instead, he pushed his shoulder forward, forcing her body to tip backwards slightly, suspending her upper body in the air.

 “Ah, Yoongi-oppa–”

He closed his other hand over her mouth, gripping her cheeks tightly.

“What did I just say?” he warned.

Stern, with an edge of danger. She nodded very quickly even though technically this was not a question to agree to. He let it slide. He tilted his head, still covering her lips.

“Scared?”

The terror in those eyes was not as honest as it could be.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

He removed his hand and traced a line from temple to chin, keeping his touch feather-light and gentle.

“I’m only going to push the line of pleasure and pain,” he murmured.

Yoongi only had a vague idea of what was expected of him. He knew she wanted to be truly dominated as this was not usually part of her sex life. He didn’t really want to know specifics anyway. He only wanted to know what he could do that was different. The issue was that apparently his hyung couldn’t be detached and impartial. In short, Seokjin worried too much because he was too sweet. Sometimes he sacrificed acting so it didn’t affect his performance. He had strength and he could be overbearing, but not exactly in a rough take-what-you-want way.

Yoongi tucked a spare strand of hair behind that delicate ear.

“It might sting though.”

He noted the small gold hoops covered in diamonds. Hm. Pretty. Maybe he would ask for the brand later.

Then he smiled.

Calmly.

And choked her.

The sensation of power seeped into him. Thick, heavy, coating his senses, dripping like hot honey, drawing all of his focus into her surprised eyes, those petting fingertips stroking the exposed veins and tendons along the back of his larger hand, soft mewl calling for him, and Yoongi felt his lips curve into a knowing smirk, honing his attention on the submissive wordless plea falling from those lips.

He raised his body with one knee on the sofa, half-standing, hovering over her, adding pressure to the sides of her neck, slowing down the blood flow. A beautiful flower trapped in his clutches. He leaned in, tracing the edge of his teeth with his tongue.

He could almost taste the nectar.

“Hah…”

Let his breath warm those open lips, running his fingers through her hair.

“I would say, let’s play nice, but.”

His wickedness unfurled.

“I have no intention of playing nice.”

Yoongi tangled his fingers into her hair and yanked hard, relishing in the pained whine before taking it away by the throat, choking her into silence. Closed the distance, lips hovering over shaking lips, but he denied that too, dragging his tongue over her cheek, tasting flesh and anticipation.

“Did you really think I would kiss you?” he purred, letting the words stir and curl in the depths of his chest. “Let’s see if you can earn that gift, hm?”

He didn’t bother to be gentle. That wasn’t the point and, besides, that consideration was reserved for his love. He let go, simply releasing all the pressure instantly, and settled back onto the sofa, not even giving the grace of a glance in her direction. He heard her reel from the sudden punch of oxygen and freedom, collapsing slightly in wheezing coughs, and Yoongi immediately placed his hand onto her shoulder and shoved her to the floor, hooking his leg around her body and dragging her in front of him, on her knees.

She gasped, gripping his thighs, looking up with pained eyes.

He dragged himself forward, on the edge, and looked down with a grin.

“Pretty in pain.”

He let go of her shoulder and hooked his fingers over the edges of the bolero and the straps of the slinky slip dress, lifting and sliding them down her arms in one smooth motion. She squeaked, suddenly self-conscious but he knocked her hands away, tucking the upper half of the dress under her breasts, chuckling darkly. Nipples already hard, plush tits pushed up by the dress. He cupped his hand under her chin again, gripping tight. Lifted her up to set her back straight so her tits were pushed out, her exposed body between his open knees.

He made his voice was cold and as deep as possible.

“Show me how you play with your tits for your husband.”

Not choking yet, but her breathing was already short, whimpering. Slowly moving her hands from his legs and flattening her palms against her breasts, kneading them lightly, unsure how to proceed. He let it be humiliating. Not reacting, ticking his head and lifting his eyebrow. Did not remove his hand though, tipping her head back more in warning. She gasped, moaning softly as she pinched her nipples, pulling them out and toying with them more.

“Harder,” Yoongi growled.

Shaking whines as he watched her obey, pinching harder, squeezing her breasts so they spilled out against her fingers, her eyelids fluttering as he subtly applied pressure. He lowered his face, staring into her glazed-over eyes.

“What is the safe word?” he asked directly.

“T… T-Tangerine.”

Yoongi nodded. “Hm. Good girl.”

Her face lit up from the praise until he spat on her tits.

She yelped and her whole body jerked, glossy saliva dripping down the curves and sticking to her skin, but he ignored it, choking her hard as he raised his hips and unbuttoned his jeans with his free hand, speaking calmly and slowly.

“You said I reminded you of tangerines,” he mused, recalling the earlier conversation. “Soft on the inside, tough peel on the outside. Mmmm, but I don’t know about that.”

He abruptly let go again, sending her into a spiral of sensations. Rushing blood, tension broken, air flooding into her lungs, and he took the moment to lower his jeans and his underwear. He thought about removing more but honestly he enjoyed this power play more. He reached behind her and wound the lace bolero down, trapping her squirming arms. She was utterly confused and then suddenly frozen, staring at his hand around his hard cock. He ran his thumb against the side, locking her head in place with his other hand, spreading his fingers over the crown of her skull, bringing his hips forward without a word.

He licked his teeth, open-mouthed smirk dripping sin.

“Now, I know hyung wouldn’t marry a woman with a subpar mouth, so let’s see what you’ve got.”

He pushed her head down and thrust roughly into her throat.

He settled his other hand behind him before fucking her face, not fast but deep, enjoying the little jolt of her shoulders as he did so. Tight and soft, just as he liked. Not nearly enough tongue, but he didn’t fault her for the lack of technique. Probably not every day she got face-fucked in such an uncomfortable position. Therefore, he didn’t put the pressure on her to get him off but rather used her like a toy, back and forth, smacking his balls into her chin, tucking his tongue into his cheek as he looked down and watched her breasts bounce with his force. Her whimpers added vibration to pleasure, and he curled his fingers into her hair, imprisoning the position of her head so her mouth could serve his cock, each snap of the hips anchored by his torso and thighs, letting him put real force behind his action.

He remained silent and amused.

Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her hands were pinned down to her thighs. He saw her fingers twist into the hem of her dress, lifting it up. He kept the pace consistent, building his orgasm, feeling it to his core, wet, hot, tight, muffled cries stuffed back into her throat over and over again. He tilted his hips down, running the head of his cock along her tongue for more stimulation. The hardware of his moto jacket clicked with his repeated thrusts, the leather hot and stuffy, the kind of discomfort that only added to the mood. The whole situation reminded him slightly of how he had been back in the day, barely an adult thinking he could do whatever and whoever he wanted.

Feeling good by doing the wrong thing and getting away with no consequence.

He exhaled hard.

Small tears gathered against her lashes, the strain and desperation of being good blatantly evident.

“I see what your husband enjoys so much now.”

Her eyes opened a little.

Glassy.

Used.

Delicious.

He came down her throat, raising his hips to stuff it down.

Her eyes rolled back, whimpering and almost sobbing, hurriedly swallowing to breathe. He bit back his wince, oversensitivity crawling up his back, and pressed deeper, groaning as he felt his cock jerk in her tight throat, squishing more cum into her tongue. He pinned her head there, sucking in a hissing inhale to get his bearings, her breath warming his lower belly.

Good job, my darling.

Yoongi snarled deep in his chest. He knew his wife too well. Could nearly imagine her here, watching carefully and with that small smile that meant she believed he could do more. Be more. Push the limit. Fuck. He let go, throwing off his jacket as the woman between his legs gasped and moaned, spent from being used. But it wasn’t those hazy, lust-drunk eyes that were in his head.

However, you’re better than that, aren’t you?

He knew he was being stared at. He was a spectacle right now. His falling jeans, the tangle of chain and leather bracelets clinking on his wrists, the way the large t-shirt clung off his torso, his half-tied up long black hair, the faint sheen of sweat along his flushed cheekbones, and, finally, his furrowed brow and sharpened gaze, looking down at the pretty thing between his open legs.

“Stand up,” he commanded.

He didn’t waste time going to the bedroom.

He pulled the condom from his jacket pocket and yanked her up by the arm, bending her over the side of the ivory leather sofa. An unceremonious position for Kim Seokjin’s beautiful wife, but Yoongi didn’t give a shit. He peeled the lace bolero from her arms and tossed it onto the floor, shoving his hand down on her upper back. She squeaked, falling forward onto the cushions and his leather jacket, grabbing it tightly as he caught her waist, steadying her body just before harsh contact.

“Spread your legs,” he said coolly, borderline bored.

“B-But–”

Smack!

The flat of his palm instantly stuck her ass. She yelped and squirmed, stifling her cry by burying her face in his jacket, and he made no move to comfort, pushing down on her lower back so her round, inviting ass popped up more.

“You do not speak unless I ask you a direct question,” he sternly reminded.

She made a choked noise of agreement.

“Good girl.”

He couldn’t help but smile when she mewled softly at his words. So easy. He fanned his fingers over her ass, tapping lightly. Watched her fingers curl into his jacket, covering herself with his scent. He ghosted his touch over his half-hard cock and hummed, gently drumming his fingertips down, closer, leisurely.

Then he slapped her pussy.

Already wet, creating a loud squelching sound. She cried out, back arching, throwing her head back, and he continued, hard slap after slap, using the full expanse of his hand to amplify the sting to skin. She tried to close her legs and he forced them apart with his knee, casually stroking himself as he did so, unexpectedly interspersing hits between her ass and soaked pussy. No rhyme or rhythm, just deadly calm and his own soft sighs of satisfaction completely contrasting the force behind his hand. It was all too easy to slide his fingers down her slick slit.

Yoongi bent down, rubbing her clit firmly as he whispered above shaking shoulders.

“You want this cock inside you, don’t you?”

He only now noticed that he had slipped into his satoori, forgetting to speak properly. It didn’t seem to matter through, because she was clawing at his jacket and whining, yes, please, y-yes, a fresh wave of shuddering moans when he shoved two fingers into that tightness, viciously pumping them in and out. He kept her waiting, just for seconds longer, jacking himself off as he felt her walls suck him in, clinging and pulsating around his fingers, hot skin radiating against his.

Enough is enough, Yoongi told himself.

He debated on removing his shirt but decided he didn’t care. Reached back to his falling pants' pocket and pulled out the condom, pulling his fingers out to rip it open. Sweet honey clung to his knuckles but it didn’t hinder him. Seokjin’s wife gasping into the sofa, ass flushed pink, trembling legs struggling to hold herself up.

He rolled the condom down.

“Go ahead and scream.”

It was necessarily a scream per se, but it was a very loud feral cry that suddenly echoed about the living room the moment he shoved his full hardness deep inside, adding a snap of his hips to bottom out. He exhaled hard, gripping her ass and lifting it roughly to adjust the angle. Easy when she was melting against him, clawing at the sofa for some kind of hold. No need, but he didn’t say so, enjoying her euphoric agony. He could feel her ass grind into his crotch, inner walls gripping him tightly, and he secured his hold on her hips, locking his fingers, and began to fuck her right against her own sofa.

He hoped she remembered picking out the furniture.

Hoped she remembered discussing it with her husband and laughing as their butts tested various contestants before selecting this very particular one, only to be bent over it and taken like an animal, face against the cushions, the metal zipper of his leather jacket cutting into her breasts as she bunched it up under her chest, gasping and moaning from his powerful, deliberate thrusts. Yoongi made it last, choosing power over speed. He tensed his pelvis and leaned forward to get that depth, panting, pressing his fingertips into her waist hard enough to leave bruises.

“You wanted me to choke you, wasn’t that it?” he breathed out, heavy and raspy. “Where did you get the audacity to ask for something like that?”

“A-Aah, p-please… she–!”

He smacked his palm against the side of her hip and she cried out, throwing her head back, hands slipping against the leather. The answer didn’t really matter.

“And what make you think that you wouldn’t face the consequences?”

Yoongi was just in the mood to taunt.

He was nearing the edge so he gripped one of her shoulders, bending over her smaller body and slamming his hips into her ass, violent pleasure snaking into his veins. He looked down to see her face turned, cheek pressed into his jacket and the sofa, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut, whining pathetically as he buried his cock deep inside and hissed, feeling her pussy pulsate and clench around his jerking length.

No time to breathe.

He spread his fingers over her upper thigh and held tightly onto her shoulder, lifting her upper body up. Reflexively, her hands planted onto the sofa to support her, quivering arms and all, and that was exactly what he wanted.

With some effort, Yoongi twisted his right wrist and choked her.

His left hand slid down and he rubbed fast, tight circles over her swollen clit.

“Your boldness needs to be punished.”

Moaning, crying, whining, her whole body becoming rigid and then ransacked by shivers. Strangled whimpers of his name but Yoongi didn’t stop, pushing for another orgasm that he could still feel even around his softening length. He was large enough that he hadn’t slipped out. She no longer had any control over her body, second orgasm incoming, the overwhelming pleasure eating up all common sense and the highs blending into one another, extending his own pleasure as her pussy convulsed, thick, honey-like cum sticking between their joined thighs. Her arms went limp, collapsing, and he had less than ten seconds to hold her up before gravity would knock them down.

He clenched his jaw and pulled back.

Standing was a loose term for what was happening. Yoongi had to grip the side of the couch so he didn’t stumble, keeping his grasp on her collarbones to press her hot body against his, still shaking from the intensity. The room reeked of sex. His cock was sliding out. He should have gotten rid of his jeans. They were a hinderance around his calves now.

Sigh.

Seokjin’s wife was fully leaning on his chest, gasping lungfuls of precious air.

His own wife was probably having her own way with Kim Seokjin right now, but she was a better planner and not this messy.

Right?

“Hey.”

He grabbed one of her tits and sank his fingers into it, kneading roughly to get her attention, but the eyes that greeted him were completely unfocused. Nice.

“Let’s take a break.”

She tried to rut into his crotch but his hand shot up, grabbing her chin and yanking it to his face, forcing her into an uncomfortable twist of her exhausted body.

“I will rephrase. Stop.”

She whimpered, unable to fight him. He softened. She was very pretty. Too innocent-looking and airheaded for him, but that didn’t matter. It was very clear that she enjoyed it, but now Yoongi could see there was hesitancy in asking if he did. Probably had something to do with the unapproachable air of his demeanor right now. He toned it down a little, closing in the distance. He wasn’t much of a talker, which didn’t suit everyone. He relied too much on his wife to infer from his actions but it wasn’t fair to apply that line of thinking to everybody. He had to do his best to be communicative even if he wasn’t saying something directly.

“Don’t give me those puppy eyes,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “You’ve earned one kiss.”

He tilted his head and kissed her deeply. Strands of his hair fell forward, loosened from his ponytail, drifting onto her temples. Gentle, delicate, sliding his tongue lightly against hers. He let it last. He could taste desperation. It made him smile into the kiss.

There was no rush.

He had a lot of time left.

His hand slid down, his long fingers decorating that neck.

“And more to do,” Yoongi whispered to trembling lips.

--

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

[gggoldfinch]

Hatchetknife

Richard B. Riddick x OFC (or reader)

(disclaimer: photo found on pinterest ^ )

A/N: I’ve been gripped by the most manic and inexplicable riddick brainrot ever and needed to get this out of my system or I’d deadass explode ‼️I usually don't write oneshots like this so it was a nice breath of fresh air actually. Hopefully now this sexy bald bitch will leave my poor brain alone so I can do something else other than binge watching vin diesel movies

warnings: original female character (descriptions vague enough to be reader insert), possibly a little ooc, very brief discussion of SA (in a non-threatening manner), minor violence & injury, explicit language, forced proximity, only one bed, explicit sexual content, smut, oral sex, praise kink, scent kink, size kink, light choking, biting, pet names. MINORS DNI

word count: 12,114

{AO3 Link}

summary: A low-profile merc masquerading as a man has her ship (and life) invaded by an unlikely guest. She gets found out, and things progress interestingly.

***

There's a ship that's been sitting idle in the upper-east Storage B-Port for weeks now; Riddick knows this. He also knows he hasn't been this incapacitated in a while. It's a hard thing to admit to himself, but he can feel the exhaustion creeping in. He hasn't slept in over 72 hours, and has been fighting and running for most of that time. He's out of his element— stuck in the heart of a congested city-planet rather than out in the wilderness of some uninhabited backwater planet. He's bleeding from somewhere— his side, maybe. His nose is broken, too, and there must be some sort of nerve damage too, because he can't scent who's coming after him anymore. He lost his goggles somewhere during this most recent scuffle, too, so all the neon signs are like miniature suns searing his retinas.

There's an idle ship gathering dust in Storage B-Port. He recalls it looking like a good model, some custom parts. It'll be easy to hijack. It'll be easy to leave this planet and his merc pursuers in the dust.

———————————————————————

Everyone has their own way of surviving in this nightmare of a universe. Some kill, some are killed. That's just something each and every person has to come to terms with while they draw breath. While not exactly thriving, this one particular individual has found their own way to survive. Some may call her a mercenary, and they wouldn't necessarily be wrong— but she prefers to call herself a mere gun for hire. It's easy to make a living when you have a thick head and nothing to lose, going from one job to another with little in the way of possessions and even less in the way of social relationships. She goes where the proverbial wind takes her, planet-hopping and working odd jobs. Sometimes the jobs entail hunting dangerous quarry, but more often than not she's hired for non-violent jobs running security for personnel protection or transport. Honestly, the only jobs she turns down outright are those having anything remotely to do with the Necromongers. Sure it isn't ideal, but it's better than living in the slums of the over-crowded metroplanet where she'd grown up.

It's a risky job, no doubt, made no less difficult by her deliberate choice to fly solo. Solo is safe. Solo, she don't have to worry about crewmates stealing or betraying her, or worse, taking advantage of her. Barely an adult when she'd begun her life hopping between merc crews, she'd learned early that being on her own is better, safer. No— she keeps to herself with nothing but the ship's computer system for company. And, when the occasion rises where she does have to venture out into civilization again—to find a job or stock up on supplies—she takes heavy precautions.

Strong from years of fighting and labor, her body can shoulder the burdensome weight of armor; broad shoulders and sturdy bones make her intimidating and capable. Years worth of mismatched armor plates make up her regular uniform, both metal alloys and plastic prints. Some pieces were taken off fallen quarry—or former crewmates—some purchased responsibly. Each plate has a little story she can recall, fondly or not. When worn all together, her form is virtually unrecognizable, and more importantly, masculine. The crown mantle is her helmet: sturdy, sleek, black, with a visor capable of internal screen display. The vocal distorter programmed into it deepens her voice to a disguised pitch. The suit of armor isn't entirely comfortable, but it's a requirement for her safety.

"Hatchet!"

She swivels her helmeted head, looking in the direction from which she hears her codename. She hadn't been calling herself anything when she'd assumed this masculine persona. Her various employers just began calling her a shortened version of her ship's name—the Hatchetknife—and it just ended up sticking within the merc circle she floats in. No one knows her true identity, as far as she's aware. If they do, no problems have arisen from it yet.

A man approaches her, stocky and shorter than her. He's been her employer for the past several weeks, paying her to be a glorified bodyguard for his uppity son, on probation for yatta yatta yatta. She'd tuned out the rest once she'd heard the price of the paycheck. 350 thousand units just to  babysit an alcoholic man-child for a month while he's on probation. She couldn't pass it up.

Her employer holds out a datapad, the blue screen alight with money transfer information. She's about to receive her payment and get the fuck off this stuffed metroplanet. Maybe she can finally replace some of the older parts on the Hatchetknife with this payment.

"Don't be a stranger, now," the man says amicably once the digital paperwork has been filled. She receives a notification ping on the screen of her visor, indicating the payment has gone through successfully.  

She inclines her concealed head, thanks him for the business, and turns tail to leg it back to the ship. The thing has been docked in storage for nearly a full month cycle now— long enough for the ticket expense to be a bit of a blow to her newly acquired units. It doesn't matter; this planet will be long behind her in only a matter of a few short hours. She's been idle, been on this polluted and overpopulated planet for too long.

And she'll be damned if a little blood on the exterior hatchpad of her ship is going to deter her from getting out of dodge in a timely manner. It's a handprint, maybe a couple, smeared all along the white panelling of the cargo bay door's control console. The cargo bay door is locked up tight though, so she's not particularly worried that any ne'er-do-wells have tried breaking into her sturdy old ship. It's a good model, she tells herself. It has a security system that would alert her of suspicious activity through the link between her helmet and the ship's mainframe. Sure, someone clearly tried to get in, but there's no sign the bay door had been opened recently.

She pays her exorbitantly priced docking ticket and opens the bay door herself. She remains completely oblivious to the other trail of blood, smeared up the side of the ship and leading to the secondary hatch. She doesn't notice the cut wires either, spraying pathetic little sparks instead of warning signals to her security system. To be fair, she doesn't notice much of anything—doesn't even remove her armor or helmet—in her haste to take off. She just charges through the cargo bay, vaults the ladder to the upper deck, and wedges herself behind the control console.

It feels like home, being behind the console. More of a home than she's ever really had, at least. She exhales against the interior of her helmet. Her reflection gleams in the bare windshield, the sleek black glass and metal of her high-tech helmet staring back. Gloved fingers press buttons and flip switches, igniting holoscreens and a rainbow of lights. Meters and regulators all seem to be in check despite the ship's extended idleness, and the hyperdrive kickstarts with a comforting purr. She has to take the ship up and out of the atmosphere before kicking it into warp speed, lest the planet's nasty police force pick a fight with her. Fog and flames lick the nose of the Hatchetknife as it accelerates upward, breaking through the upper atmosphere at a smooth 15 kilometers per second, and an even 75 degree angle. Only then does she crank the hyperdrive and watch as the countless stars warp around the nose of the ship.

She plots an aimless course, avoiding setting a firm destination until she can get her hands on another potential job lead. Upon throwing it into autopilot, the ship's automated computer system welcomes her back on board. Hatchet, it calls her. Not even her own ship uses her true name anymore.

Her boots are heavy as they tramp out of the cockpit. Reinforced steel and acid-resistant soles, these boots are. They're her favorites. They make a robust thump thump as she walks into the narrow hallway of the Hatchetknife. Here resides her bunk, and across from that is the kitchenette and table where she eats and works and sometimes sleeps. It's barely wide enough to fit two people standing shoulder-to-shoulder. She's used to close-quarters; it's almost comforting, like a womb. The hatch and ladder down to the cargo bay gapes at the end of the hall, and this is what she beelines for once acclimating herself with the interior of her ship again. Her bunk looks awfully inviting, but first on the agenda is to shuck off all the armor.

Boots bracketed on either side of the ladder and gloved hands holding tight to the side-rails, she slides down until landing on the grate panels of the cargo bay floor. This area is vastly larger than her living quarters— it has to be, in the event she has to transport sizable goods or heavy machinery. A armory case for her weapons and uniform sits bolted against the side wall, its grate doors barely revealing the contents. She opens the thing up, removing the machine gun strapped to her back to place it on its rightful hooks.

She hooks her thumbs under the seal of her helmet and disables the suctioned airlock. Just as she's preparing to lift the burdensome thing from her head, something collides with her right side, knocking her clean off her feet. It takes only a few frantic moments to realize it's a human being— a male attacker. Her deactivated helmet collides with the metal flooring at an odd angle, instantly disabling the visor's screen as a result of some internal damage. The force of the tackle and impact against the floor has the breath drawn from her lungs in a violent, rattling wheeze. The muscles over her ribs convulse and tighten, sending a shock of panic and pain and adrenaline through her system. With little time to think, no weapon handy, and no opportunity to scan the stranger, she starts thrashing. Amidst the scuffle and blow to her head, she can't quite see clearly, only able to make out a blur of squirting blood. The blood isn't her own— she's sure she would feel it if she'd been shanked in any of her armor's vulnerable spots.

She thrusts a gauntleted arm upwards in the direction she thinks the intruder's head is. Her metal-sheathed wrist collides with something and the oppressive weight above her slumps over to the side.

Hatchet scrambles up to her knees and tears the nearest gun from off the rack. She spins, points the weapon at the stranger's head, and... doesn't shoot.

Sprawled on the cold metal floor is a man. A large man. Bald-headed and covered in blood she knows she hadn't drawn from him herself. It's old blood, old wounds— maybe hours, maybe days. Despite the vaguely stunned look about him from being hit in the head, he wears a wry little smile upon his full mouth, lips and nose bloody from what looks like a previous beating. His eyes glint in a peculiar fashion, almost like feline eyeshine, silvery and shifting.

He holds his hands out by his head placatingly, palms facing upward. Then, he grins. "Okay, okay. You got me." His voice is deep and smooth like rolling thunder. It's almost startlingly in its intensity.

"Who the fuck are you? What are you doing on my ship!? What do you want?" she barks into the voice modulator, keeping the hardy submachine gun trained on him.

"Got a pretty nice ship here, don't you think?" he rumbles out.

"Fuck you!"

He chuckles at that, although the action looks like it pains him. The blood, she realizes, is oozing from a substantial stab wound on his left flank, just below the contour of his shapely pectoral muscle. She swallows thickly, choking down the apprehensive lump in her throat. Still a little off-kilter from the blow to her helmet, she shakily rises to her feet, steady finger not leaving the trigger once. The man clenches his silvery eyes shut, sucking in a substantial breath only to groan it all out again. One broad, tan hand shifts to press against the wound on his side, the other remaining innocently idle.  

Without prompting, Hatchet's line of sight raises to the secondary hatch within the cargo hold. There it is: a smear of blood and sparking wires. That's where he'd gotten in. Must be a determined fella—let alone smart—to have hacked the ship's security system to override the locking mechanism and find which wires would send out a warning signal before they even had the chance to. She looks back to him, curiously tilting her head to the side in observation of him.

"What the fuck do you think is supposed to happen now?" she grits out. The voice modulator gives it an extra bit of bite.

The man laughs, blood staining his straight teeth. "I dunno. Thought you might hand over your ship."

"Hand over my— Do you have a fucking head injury?"

He laughs again and she kicks his calf roughly.

"What about this is funny? Please, illuminate it for me. Because all I see some fucking stowaway who has a gun to his head and a nasty stab in his side. You're not getting my ship, pal. You'll be lucky if I let you see tomorrow."

"Bad timing," he murmurs, voice thick with strain and sardonic amusement. His expression slackens, the crease between his thin brows flattening out gradually.

"What?"

She kicks his leg again; he's unresponsive. Unconscious, actually, judging by the sudden lack of tension in his face and limbs. She drops the gun-wielding hand to her side and lets out a high-pitched wail of frustration.

She's not a cold blooded murderer. Sure, she's had to take a life or two throughout her days, but then again, who hasn't in this line of work. Those times were different— kill or be killed. This is... this is an injured, apparently unarmed guy on her cargo bay floor. Yes, he'd broken in, but maybe he has a valid excuse. She's had to break into places to survive before, it's really not that unusual. And despite all the shit she's been through, deep down Hatchet has a bleeding heart. She'd be pressed to admit it, of course. The sight of the stranger, wounded and unconscious, male as he may be, pulls at her tender and guarded heartstrings.

Fucking hell. She can only hope that someday in the future, if she's ever in time of need, that some stranger will treat her with kindness.

The man is heavy. Not deceptively so, as his height and build imply a great amount of mass, but hell if she's not winded by the time she drags him over to the cargo lift. The small elevator is usually for objects and not people, but it's the only way she can get his dead-weight ass to the upper level where the only cot and good light source are. She hasn't taken her armor off, and at this point she doesn't think she's going to. Certainly not with a strange man aboard, unconscious or not.

Upon both arriving at the upper level, it takes a great amount of effort to haul the man over to the bunk. The space is barely big enough to comfortably hold Hatchet, and she's nowhere near the size of this beast of a man. The cot creaks as she lowers him onto it, his boots scraping the wall as she crams him into the broom closet sized space. Flicking on the overhead light, it illuminates him with white fluorescence. It's only then does she realize he's not entirely unconscious; somewhere in there, he's aware enough to wince at the light coming on. She squints at him for a long moment, scrutinizing the situation. He doesn't show any other sign of cognizance besides for that averse reaction to the bright light beating down on his eyelids. When she decides it had only been some sort of odd reflex, she goes to retrieve the medical supplies from an aptly labeled storage cabinet.

Modesty be damned, she has to remove his shirt. It's barely holding itself together, anyway, and she has replacements to dress him in after she's patched him up. She feels hot under all her armor and layers, nervous as she stares down at the stranger's bare chest. Christ, he's build like a tank. It's intimidating, actually, once she chokes down the insidious feeling of attraction that prickles her skin and bubbles in her abdomen. Anyway—  upon closer inspection, the wound on his side is largely superficial. The extensive bruising along his ribs, however, indicates some unknown level of internal damage. It may only be deep-tissue bruising, or his ribs could be broken. She can't be too sure either way, and makes sure to properly bandage up his torso regardless, though only after disinfecting and stitching up the gash.

His nose is broken, that much is obvious. However, it looks as though it's already been set, so all she has to do is clean the blood, disinfect the small cut on the bridge, and properly bandage it. He has a nice face, apart from the bandaged nose. She can't really describe his features. Harsh, but soft at the same time. She huffs against the interior of the helmet at the thought, crossing her arms and leaning back.

She has stationed herself at the table across from the bunk, cautiously watching over the stranger through the deactivated visor of her mask. Hot and stuffy and heavy as the armor may be, she won't risk taking it off just yet. She doesn't quite have a plan yet as to how this is going to unfold. She'd chosen to spare his life, yes, but that isn't to say she won't protect herself to the nth degree if the need arises going forward. She doesn't want him out of her sight—especially considering her unprofessional lack of manacles—which means she can't program a route into the ship right now. The task would've been made simple if he hadn't gone and broken the screen display mechanism in her helmet. She can't even scan him in this state, to gather his identity or vitals status. She hadn't realized how dependent she'd grown on the visor display until now, having worn the damn thing for weeks straight at this point.

It takes a couple of hours by her count for the stranger to rouse again. He's disoriented at first, but soon grows aware of her shielded gaze burning into him from the other side of the narrow living area. He shifts in the cot, turning onto his wounded side to better assess the situation. He doesn't seem threatened—or particularly threatening—at the moment.

"Rise and shine," Hatchet speaks into the voice modulator.

She kicks a boot up onto the edge of the cot from where she sits barely three feet away. She tells herself it's a show of dominance, to plant her boot right beside the stranger's head, but in reality she probably just looks stupid. The man just looks at her with those silvery eyes, squinting under the bright overhead light. She doesn't shut it off.

"Now here's the deal—"

"How many people you got on this ship?" He cuts her off, tone both aloof and detached despite the situation. He breaks into an odd little grin, then twists his head to scent the pillow. "You hiding a lady somewhere? Fella like you sure wouldn't smell this sweet."

Hatchet's face crumples under the cover of secrecy. She has to school her perturbed reaction for the sake of her anonymity. What the hell kind of guy is she dealing with here, exactly? Not only must she refrain from showing any physical reaction, she shouldn't verbally address it, either.

"Now here's the deal," she repeats. "I spared you once— even did you the favor of patching you up. But, it's not gonna happen again if you try something funny."

The man tucks his chin to his chest to look down at the bandaged wounds, holding a curious hand to his side. She can't quite interpret his expression perfectly, but she thinks he seems vaguely impressed by her medical treatment of him.

"I'm going to take you to the nearest inhabited planet and dump your freeloading ass off at the first dock I come across. You aren't going to resist or complain. I'm doing you this favor— clearly you were on the run from someone dangerous, and I got you out of dodge. I don't expect payment, but I'd be mighty grateful if you didn't do anything violent or stupid." Hatchet kicks the bunk when his eyes slip shut again. "Hey! Are you listening to me?"

He does appear to fall unconscious again, but she can't be totally sure he isn't just fucking with her. Irritated, she sucks her teeth and curses him out, kicking off the bunk to stomp off into the cockpit. Forget keeping him in sight, he can suffocate for all she cares. There's a shotgun under the control console, anyway.

She seals the cockpit door shut behind her. Only then does she feel safe to remove her helmet. Once again she's greeted by her reflection in the windshield, though this time it's her own face that stares back. It's a tired and sweaty face, with hair matted flat to the scalp from the tight interior of the helmet. She needs a nice long shower—that much is obvious—but now isn't the time. Finally breathing fresh, unfiltered air again, she gulps it down greedily and deposits herself in the pilot's seat. The autopilot had taken itself out of hyperdrive some time ago, and now the Hatchetknife careens at a steady pace through open space. The stars are magnificent, as always. The endless, unfathomable sight almost makes her forget her burdensome stowaway.

Hatchet pulls coordinates for the nearest inhabited planet. She expands the view on the holoscreen projected across the console. The information, illuminated in a fluorescent blue, scrawls across the screen just fast enough for her to barely be able to read it in time. Her eagerness to be rid of the stowaway slowly melts into a nauseating apprehension. Apparently, according to the data, the nearest planet for several lightyears just happens to be crawling with Necromongers. Fucking Necromongers. If there's anything Hatchet hates, it's violent religious cults that double as armies. She avoids well-paying jobs on the off-chance that those psychos might catch a whiff of her— she's sure as hell not landing her ship in a hive of those wasps.

"Fucking shit!" She kicks the console.

There goes the plan to drop this motherfucker off. It'll take days at the very least to make it to the next viable planet. She tosses her head back and groans loud, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes until they come away leaving splotches in her vision. Venting her frustration, she kicks her heel against the console twice more.

———————————————————————

If Hatchet learns anything during her time in close proximity with the man, it's that, 1. he's a shockingly fast healer; 2. he doesn't like bright lights; and 3. he's quite sharp-witted despite the meathead look about him. In the few days that follow the unexpected detour, she avoids him as best she can in such cramped quarters. They only interact on the occasions when she checks up on his wounds or gives him MRE meals throughout the day—  always outfitted in her armor, of course. He only takes power-naps, never a full sleep, and reacts tensely to loud and sudden noises. He's smug and facetious when he speaks, and brooding when he doesn't. He's like a storm in every aspect of the description: thunderous voice, eyes like lightning, and a stormy personality to match. Despite Hatchet's aloofness, the man has found a way to wheedle himself under her skin. Once he was stable enough to stand on his own, nothing could stop him from getting up and wandering around the ship, hiding in the shadowed areas like a predator stalking its prey, much to Hatchet's chagrin. He makes little quips and witty comments in that deep voice when she's least prepared for them, and he stares at her with those glimmering eyes like he can see right through her disguise. Sometimes, she worries he does. He's like a fucking ghost the way he soundlessly moves around the small ship. That's more unnerving than his appearance, she thinks.

It's all getting rather frustrating. At first she'd been pissed that a man had the audacity to impose himself upon her time, energy, and ship. Now, she can't help but feel a strange tug of loneliness when they aren't in the same room. It's upsetting how the mind perceives human connection. She doesn't even know his name, yet the thought of being on her own again seems... well, lonely.

It does help that he's easy on the eyes, too. She finds herself locked away in the cockpit more and more frequently, brooding long and hard over the increasingly frequent thoughts of how fucking fine the man is. That soft yet masculine face, those thick arms and sturdy torso. The deep, intense tenor of his voice alone is enough to make her weak in the knees. And those eerie, glowing eyes, which watch her every movement like a hawk. Oh, for fucksake...

Hell, in all honesty she might as well be swimming in her armor with the way she sweats when he stands close and talks real smooth. She's afraid she's making it a little too obvious, actually. That carefully crafted persona is slipping through her fingers and all because she's a little hot under the collar about this stowaway she'd sworn to dump like a box of rocks come first chance. It came to a point approximately three simulated days into their time together when she couldn't stand the sight of him shirtless anymore; she ended up handing over one of her spare XL tanks, which still managed to look small on his burly frame. There's a sort of undeniable animal magnetism about him which is almost a little distressing in its intensity. What a fickle thing her trust in others is— and how tragically simple it was for her to get comfortable with the situation.

She doesn't insist on taking her bunk back from the healing man. While he rests his battered body on the cot, she kicks back at the well-worn table every night cycle, sprawled across the bench seat with a flimsy pillow beneath her helmeted head. This way she can keep the stowaway within her line of sight. Once his intimidating nature is overlooked, he is surprisingly amicable and seems rather appreciative of all her efforts. He hasn't tried to attack her, or otherwise threaten her person, which she takes as a sign he'd heard and accepted her deal before passing out on that very first day. In fact, he only ever deliberately menaces her when standing over her shoulder, or appearing out of nowhere. Or when he belligerently thumps his fist over wall panels to deactivate overhead lights he finds irksome.

Hatchet, though she herself is nameless to an extent, finds his lack of proffered identity a little frazzling. Though she's come to accept his presence as a whole, it would make her a lot more comfortable if she had a name and background to put to the face. Which brings her to the locked cockpit, wherein she works tediously to repair the screen and scanning mechanism in her helmet. With her tongue poked out from between her lips and one boot up on the console, she takes the helm apart and repairs it with a notable proficiency, then puts it all back together again. The screen automatically powers on when she activates the airlock seal, illuminating her field of view with digital notifications and vital statuses.

She catches him unaware, aiming her visor at him for long enough to scan his facial features and biometrics. Identification data scrawls across the screen before her eyes, her blood pressure spikes. Under the guise of piloting the ship, she locks herself in the cockpit again and feverishly scrolls through mugshots and bounty reward data.

Holy shit. She's been harboring the infamous convict Richard B. Riddick.

Her jaw clenches, muscle twitching against the interior padding of the helmet as she absorbs the newfound information. She should've known. She should have known. Those eyes— she'd heard the merc legends about those eyes.

But fuck... for a guy who'd spent half his life in the slam, he's certainly been affable within these restrictive quarters, mingling with a complete stranger, no less. It's hard to reconcile what she reads on the screen with the man she's been interacting with for the past few artificial cycles. She yanks the helmet from over her head, roughly scrubbing her palms over her face.

When she returns from the cockpit, nerves gathered to the extent they can be, she finds the man halfway through shaving his tan scalp. She stands at the mouth of the living area, the girth of her armor nearly taking up the entire doorframe. Richard B. Riddick, her reserved and shockingly mannered stowaway, sits at the metal table with a compact mirror and razor— a feeble weapon which she now knows could be used against her in all sorts of ways if she were to get on his bad side. Does he even have a good side to be on? She hopes he does, and hopes she's on it. Largely without thinking, one of her hands flutters up to her touch throat as images of it being brutally slit flicker through her mind.

She sits down across from him, folding her hands on the tabletop. He doesn't pause his grooming, doesn't even glance up. His eyeshine remains trained on the little mirror as he meticulously scrapes the stubble from his head with help from what looks like motor gel, no doubt nicked from the cargo bay below. Hatchet purses her mouth into a nervous line beneath the safety of her helm. She can't help but silently observe the flex of his muscles as he moves, every innocuous gesture striking a flustered chord within her. She swallows against the tightness constricting her throat.

"How are you feeling?" She hopes the modulator eliminates the shakiness she feels in her voice.

Logically, she has nothing to be afraid of. Unless this guy is prone to switching demeanor on a dime—which she has no reason to believe he does, based on what she's seen so far—why wouldn't this passive companionship continue? If anything, Hatchet is more afraid of how he will react to knowing she knows his identity now. Either he's been assuming she has known this entire time and just doesn't care, or knows she's been blissfully ignorant and has taken advantage of the anonymity.

He finally spares a glance at her across the table. His jaw visibly twitches, then one corner of his mouth quirks upward. He returns to shaving his head.

"Better. Thanks." He sniffs, sounding indifferent.

"You... uh. Want anything to eat?"

"Naw."

Hatchet exhales, both relieved and oddly disappointed. The storage compartment for the MREs is right beside him, meaning she would've had to stand right over him to retrieve anything.

"You got any goggles laying around?" His deep voice brings her out of her mind. "Been looking but..." he sucks his teeth.

Her brows raise confoundedly. "Goggles?"

"Yeah, you know. Goggles."

Fuck, he must think she's an idiot. She fumbles for words. "Uh. I'm not sure, probably not. I usually just wear the helmet when I need to shield my eyes. Why do you need them?"

He snaps the compact mirror shut and sets down the razor, using the bloody tank he's arrived in to wipe the remaining gel from his scalp. It looks like he'd shaved his beard recently, too, if the dark shadow on his jaw has anything to say about it. Setting the tank down, no more than a scrap rag at this point, he inhales deeply and briefly sinks his teeth into his plump lower lip. Hatchet bites her cheek hard enough for it to hurt, deliberately keeping her gaze from his mouth.

"I wouldn't need them if you didn't keep turning on all the lights," he replies. A hint of dry amusement hides within his flat tone.

"I wouldn't have to turn on the lights if you didn't hide in the shadows all the time," she retaliates. Riddick chuckles like deep, rolling thunder. Hatchet's pulse jumps; fear, arousal. "I'll keep it in mind not to turn them all on. I know your eyes are sensitive to light," she continues.

He suddenly pins her with a suspicious, scrupulous glare. She realizes her mistake and backtracks, sweating bullets beneath her armor.

"I mean, you squint a lot. And you make your way around in the dark better than in the light. I shouldn't have assumed." She's babbling. She can't keep a lid on it.

If he suspects what she knows, he doesn't let on. He cocks his head to the side, eyes glimmering as they trace the contours of her hefty armor. His gaze stops on her visor, right where her eyes should be. Somehow, she feels like they're making direct eye contact.

A questioning smile graces his handsome face. "Do you ever take that damn helmet off? Or do you live in the thing."

Hatchet's face falls beneath the shield of the visor. Her pulse thumps in her throat; a part of her thinks he can sense it. Her demeanor becomes prickly, unchecked. "Why do you care? You're a stowaway on my ship— what is it your business how I eat, sleep, shit—"

"Fuck?" He raises a thin brow, tickled by his own addendum. Meanwhile, Hatchet flushes a fiery shade of red beneath the helm in question. Then, he huffs a short little laugh— more a harsh exhale than anything. "I have to say, your little getup had me convinced at first. But, I know you ain't a man."

Hatchet's heart skips a beat. She disguises her anxiety with derision. "Disappointed?"

"Not in the slightest, sweetheart." A white canine glints when he flashes that oddly charming smile.

That combination—a quaint pet name and that devastating smile—has her feeling lightheaded and confined within her suit. Her hands slip from the tabletop to clench into fists in her lap. He appears upsettingly smug about his little revelation.

"How'd you figure it out?"

His nostrils flare; he takes a deep breath. "Thought I smelled a woman my first night in the bunk. My nose was all fucked up, but... eventually I figured out that sweet smell was coming from you and not some phantom scent hanging around. I give you credit, you had me going for a little while."

Her brow twinges. What a strange man.

She's faced with an internal conflict. She could deny the accusation, but something tells her that won't work in the slightest. She could keep the helmet  and armor on until they part ways, but really what's the point, seeing as he already knows she's a woman; he looks strong enough to pry the armor right off her body anyway. The most logical choice she can make is to take the discovery in stride and go back to living comfortably, with the addition of a slightly threatening guest who does one-armed push-ups in the hallway and lurks around dark corners. The jig is up. He's just that good. Her choice is practically made up for her.

Hatchet's hands raise, slow and tentative, and she maintains what feels a lot like eye contact with Riddick. Her gloved thumbs hook up under the seal, disabling the airlock and visor screen. Air hisses out from the seam at her throat, loosening the helmet's grip on her head. Somewhat dubiously, she lifts the burdensome metal and glass dome from over her head. It comes to rest in her lap as she shakes out her sweat-dampened hair and takes a deep breath of fresh air.

They look at each other's faces for the first time, unencumbered. The visor distorts perception a tiny bit, so it's almost like seeing him for the first time. A permeable scent of sweat and metal lingers between the both of them, despite both having showered recently in the ship's minuscule wash room. She can also smell the motor gel he'd used to shave his head (so strange— must be a leftover trick from the slam, she thinks). The woman is overcome with a bout of anxiety and shyness upon revealing her true face, and flushes under his heavy gaze. She resists the submissive urge to tuck her chin to her chest and avert real eye contact.

"Well... I guess you know who I am, now." She clears her throat; she hasn't heard her unfiltered voice in ages. Her jig may be up— but she still has something of a trump card on him, too. Sure, he might kill her for it, but this entire conversation is toeing the line of life-threatening risk to begin with. She musters courage to utter her next words; "Just like... how I know who you are now, Richard B. Riddick. Thought I wouldn't do a facial recognition scan?"

Hatchet squares her shoulders and raises her chin by a fraction, feigning confidence. He can probably smell her fear. The man inclines his head, brows raised as a chuckle rolls in like a storm. He almost looks impressed with her mediocre detective work.

He smiles that wolfish smile, showing teeth and smile lines. "So, you think you know who I am now, huh? You afraid of the big bad monster now?"

One corner of Hatchet's mouth quirks downward. "Should I be?"

"If you're smart you would be." He levels her stare with that inhuman eyeshine.

"I only fear true monsters. Men who kill for pleasure and nothing more. I read the files on you. You don't kill unarmed women— children. You don't rape them."

It isn't phrased as a question, but he replies regardless; "Naw."

It's actually kind of relieving that he looks a bit offended by the idea. "Then you aren't a true monster. You do what you have to to survive. We all do out here. I can't fault you for killing people trying to kill you. I won't fault you for anything you had to do in the slam."

There's more she would like to say—to tell him he'd been dealt a really shitty hand—but that feels too intrusive for the context of their relationship. She doesn't want to risk angering him by coming off as pitying.

Riddick narrows his naturally suspicious gaze at the woman. He doesn't touch her previous soapbox comment. "So... that mean you're gonna try to turn me in for a payday?"

"Fucking— Jesus, dude," she guffaws incredulously. "Why the fuck would I turn you in after I did so much to save your ass? You're worth more dead than alive, you know. If I wanted to, I could've."

The big man shrugs. "Who knows. Every other merc would."

"Well I'm not every other merc, am I?" She leans back, crossing her arms over her chestplate.

"Naw, definitely not."

If she'd been any less observant, she may have missed the glimmer of flirtation in his tone and demeanor— in his eyeshine. Stifling heat rises like a kettle boiling, tinting her face a noticeable hue. She can only hope she looks disheveled and sweaty enough for it to pass as an exacerbated flush. Abruptly, she stands from the table, wringing her hands in an uncontrollable combination of nerves and bashfulness. The helmet is dumped onto the tabletop, rolling towards the seated man.

"I'll uh—" Her voice cracks; she clears her throat. "I'll look for those goggles for you."

"Good talk," he calls after her as she hastily turns on her heel.

She pauses her stride, mind running a mile a minute to find a way to gain some sort of traction and authority amidst this interaction. She shifts halfway to turn back and face him.

"Hm. Yes, good talk... Richard."

His uproarious laughter follows her down into the cargo bay where she quickly disappears.

———————————————————————

Riddick is both a complicated human and a very simple man. On one hand, a selfish part of him wants nothing more than to take control of this cramped little vessel and fly it fuck-knows where. It's clear to him that this ship and its pilot are a package deal, which brings him to a sort of moral crossroads. On the other hand, this woman—this merc—has been undeservingly kind to him, more so than anyone he can remember. She has a point, too. He'd been dangerously incapacitated for a short while, in which time she could have easily gone and ghosted him or handed him over to some other scummy mercs. But she hadn't. This lone woman, mistrustful enough of others to go so far as to masquerade as a man, had saved his hide and given him shelter and transport, all out of the kindness of her heart. She isn't threatening or outwardly malicious; he doesn't know how the hell she's survived this long out here. Perhaps her assumed persona has gotten her this far after all, amongst the masses less perceptive than himself.

Fuck. Merc or not, he can't just ghost her now.

And besides— he's a man, and she's a woman. Simple as that.

Even suited up to the jaw in armor and reeking of sweat, her newly revealed face stirs something all-too familiar within him. Hell, her scent alone is enough to get him off. Riddick doesn't even have to know what the rest of her looks like to know he wants to fuck her. And she doesn't seem all too averse to the idea of him, either, based on the subtle changes observable in her posture and scent. His senses are too keen to miss the physical and vocal cues she tries so hard to hide with that modulator and beneath the suit of armor. He knows hot and bothered when he sees it; and it's a fucking ego-boost.

After their little conversation, she'd grown more comfortable— if that's the appropriate word for the scenario. He'd revealed her identity and she responded by completely forgoing the suit of armor. Not that he's curious or anything, but he finds himself asking more about her. She shares that she is called "Hatchet," which he thinks is a little entertaining given her rather docile nature. He also learns that she's been in the mercenary business since her early teenage years, which almost always spells trouble for young women— hence why she'd taken up the persona of a more masculine, faceless merc, rather than be perceived as lesser-than by her professional peers. She's funny too, he pleasantly discovers, when not restrained by that helmet.

He's surprised when she comes up to him a few cycles following their conversation. She's dressed in a tank like his (which he realizes is hers) and a mechanic's jumpsuit, the top of which rests tied around her supple hips. He eyes up her body with a brashness that usually intimidates even the most battle hardened of men. She doesn't even flinch— she grows shy, instead. He stands by his previous statement in which he'd wanted to fuck her without knowing what her body looked like, but he's certainly not complaining now in getting to see her without the bully armor to conceal her curves and soft shape. Even the light musculature of her arms and width of her shoulders is hot.

She holds something as she approaches from the cargo bay ladder, and he quickly deduces it is non-threatening. She sidles up to the table where he has been parking himself at more frequently lately. She wears a sweet expression halfway between anticipatory and nervous— not much different than usual.

"Hey, dollface," Riddick greets.

He cocks his head to the side as he looks up at her, observing her through the purplish hue of his shine-job eyes. He quickly discovered that playfully teasing the young woman almost always earns a flurry of entertaining responses; namely flustered yammering and a red flush which trails all the way down to her full breasts. The pet names come easily, oddly enough. She blushes as expected and leans a hip against the table edge. While toying with the object in her hands, she glances between it and him.

"I uh. I found a pair of goggles, since you'd been asking."

She holds her flat palm out towards him, displaying a set of simple black welding goggles. They're essentially like the pairs he usually sports: midsized circular lenses, held in place by a thick plastic compound. Riddick takes the proffered eyewear and tests the weight in his own palm. The strap is a fabric material rather than a continuation of the flexible plastic, but still appears sturdy. He pulls them over his head, lowering the lenses over his eyes. They block out the Iight sufficiently, subduing the vibrant hue of his altered vision.

He scans the woman through the shades, smiling appreciatively. "Thanks, sweetheart. You're a real peach."

Hatchet releases a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, sure. No problem... Richard."

She doesn't use fluffy little names on him like he's begun doing for her. When she does refer to him, she only calls him by his first name. Which, given the fact virtually no one else does, feels like a more powerful naming. It's humanization in its rawest form. She shifts to sit down across from him. Neither of them can ignore the way their ankles tangle together beneath the table, hefty boots knocking into one another. Riddick watches her throat bob as she swallows. He raises the goggles and leaves them perched on his knit brow.

"Okay, so, I've been thinking," she begins, somewhat hesitantly. "Here's the deal— I'll take you wherever you want to go, so long as you don't, you know, kill me in my sleep and steal my ride or something. I think that's only fair since I didn't do the same to you when you were incapacitated. Also, I guess it goes without saying that I'm not gonna tell anyone about this encounter or your whereabouts. If you don't trust my good will, just think how negatively it would affect my life if it got out among the wrong crowd that I've been in cahoots with an escaped convict."

Riddick barks out an abrupt laugh. "In cahoots, huh?"

Hatchet blanches, her jaw opening and shutting several times before she gathers her words. "W-Well, I'm willingly harboring a fugitive, aren't I? I haven't booted you out the airlock yet— so yes, we're in cahoots."

The man's laughter tapers into a light chuckle. He perches his chin on his fist in a way that makes Hatchet tense with bashfulness. A muscle in his thick forearm flexes, drawing her curious eye. Lately, she's been daydreaming about those strapping arms. She's been catching herself daydreaming about the rest of him, as well.

Her eyes dart back to his silvery ones, clearing her throat. "Well, what do you think of my deal?"

Riddick tilts his head, unable to resist smiling. "Sounds good."

The woman blinks at him, big doe eyes wide as she picks apart his reaction. "Ah... uh. Okay, cool." She drums the tabletop with both hands, fidgeting under his heavy stare.

She pushes to her feet suddenly, and Riddick launches up after her. Instantly he crowds her in the tight space, his large frame taking up a majority of her vision. She startles, automatically pressing her hands flat to his built chest. This draws a rumbling chuckle from him as he gazes down at the flustered woman.

Hatchet's heart rate quickens, the muscle thumping wildly in her chest. That pulse begins its mortifying throb between her thighs, too— a desperate, hot desire which boils up without her expressed permission. It's not an entirely unwelcome feeling, but it's certainly indicative of her poor self-control given the situation. She has no clue if this dangerous convict is about to crush her head like a clump of dirt, or if he's going to make a move on her. Those are the only two explanations for his startling proximity to her.

Nervously, her eyes raise to meet his. She finds his head bowed towards her.

"Uh."

"Why don't you ever sleep in your bunk?" he asks, derailing her frazzled train of thought. "Don't you need your beauty rest, sweetheart?"

"O-Oh? Where are you supposed to go if I take back my bunk?"

He hums and sways his shaven head. "We can share."

Brain unable to catch up with what he's offering, she defaults to thinking in a blunt, literal sense. "W-We can't both fit. It's too narrow."

He steps forward and she steps back, only to realize he's effectively backed her against a wall. One of his beefy arms rises, forearm and fist resting on the wall beside her head. He leans further into her space, smiling as he takes a deep breath of her scent. Fuzzy butterflies explode in her abdomen; she goes weak in the knees.

"Oh really? 'Cuz I got a few positions in mind that we can fit into," he purrs. Hatchet lets out a surprised little noise and he ducks closer. "Aw, don't get all shy on me now, babygirl."

"I'm— I—" she stammers.

Her eyes flick between his own and his lips. That now-familiar eyeshine glimmers with heated desire as he carefully observes her. He leans in real slow— torturously slow. The tip of his nose brushes against hers and she shudders. Riddick's breath is hot as is fans across her face. She finds herself panting heavy through parted lips, her chest rising and falling rapidly against his steady one. Her chin ducks low, shyly averting his advance to where he has to chase her lips.

His full lips are shockingly soft when they do finally graze hers— his mouth gentle and curious at first while he tentatively pecks her. The few kisses he lavishes upon her lips are short and teasing, serving only to rile her up further. The heartbeat at her core prompts her thighs to clench; the action doesn't go unnoticed. One of his broad hands clamps over her upper arm, effectively pinning her in place against the wall. The shared kiss grows more frenetic with each passing second. His other hand slides rather possessively up the length of her back, coming to tangle in the hair at the base of her skull. He uses it as leverage to tilt her head back— a move which earns a quiet gasp and unintentional whimper through her parted lips. With a small self-satisfied grin, Riddick takes the invitation to claim her open mouth, exploring teeth and tongue with his own.  

Hatchet can barely catch her breath— especially not when Riddick slips his tongue past her lips. The pulse between her thighs grows increasingly unbearable and she squirms desperately in his tight hold. That hand holding her arm in a vise grip shifts instead to press against her shoulder blade, pinning her to his broad chest. Her own hands find the courage to come up, fingers taking liberty to slip beneath the hem of his borrowed shirt. His tanned skin is warm and pulled taut over an ample amount of muscle. Her hands are cold—they always are while in space—which results in a string of tangible shivers as she drags her fingers up his sides. The thin fabric of the grey tank bunches up around her wrists as her hands continue their exploration upward. Her right hand is careful to avoid irritating the stitched wound over his left-side ribs. Instead it glides to his smooth chest, squeezing a generous handful of his pec.

He chuckles into her mouth and she swallows the deep noise with fervor. Without warning, he crouches and drops his large hands to her ass, hoisting her up with ease. Her legs clamp around his waist on instinct, canting her hips to shamelessly grind her throbbing core against his hard stomach. Her hands continue to grope his muscled chest and arms, appreciative of his powerful physique. All the while, mouths slot together in feverish kisses.

Riddick pivots on his heel and effortlessly pitches forward at the waist, dropping the woman clinging to him down onto the cot. There's little give to the canvas fabric bunk, but it's certainly more comfortable than a metal tabletop. Not that Riddick particularly cares; he's already swimming in visions of bending her over the table, anyway. Only when he deposits her on the bunk and crouches over her does Hatchet release him from her clinging grasp. Her hands barely leave his chest long enough to yank the tank up over his head, relying on his aptitude to fully rid himself of the thing while she continues her impromptu anatomy lesson. While she latches her mouth onto the pulse point of his throat, he plucks the goggles from his brow and flings them aside. They clatter down somewhere unimportant.

Wordlessly, there lingers between them a mutual agreement that this is consensual. This is needed. This has been building up for a while now.

Riddick's broad hands engulf Hatchet's soft waist, squeezing her affectionately. His fingers push upward, skirting along the hem of her own shirt. She parts her mouth from his neck only long enough to allow him to tug the garment up over her head, hastily followed by the discarding of her sports bra, too. His palms are rough with calluses against her sensitive flesh, and unrelenting when they come up to squeeze her bared breasts. The topless woman licks up the column of his throat to just below his right ear, tasting sweat and skin as she suckles the sweet spot. Her fingers dig into his biceps, keeping him in place as she straddles him. She smiles against his hot skin when he groans. His weathered hands explore her torso, sliding from her chest to her back, then down to grasp her waist tightly.

"Fuck, come on," Riddick grunts into her hair. His hands slip lower to her ass, yanking impatiently at the fabric of her jumpsuit bottoms. "Pants."

It takes no effort for him to lift and flip her onto her back again, taking pride in the surprised expression she wears. Her limbs and eyelids feel heavy as she undoes the tied sleeves around her hips, helping him shuffle off her slate grey jumpsuit. She doesn't even realize he's also slipped off her underwear until she feels the cool air of the ship against her bare core. Fuck, all her constant worrying over her appearance, and in the moment she isn't even concerned. She just needs to feel good with him.

Despite this minor revelation, Hatchet briefly feels a tad in over her head as the burly man holds her down by the hips and leans over her. He eclipses the dim overhead light, his eyes shining magnificently. Those nocturnal eyes are growing on her at a frightening rate.

"Richard," she whispers. One hand reaches up to touch his face, petting his cheek before skating over the stubbly crown of his head. "Fuck, Rich."

He drops his head and growls against her hot, bare skin. The sound rumbles beneath her palm where it presses over his heart. That's a new one— Rich. He's never been called that before. He doesn’t dislike it, mainly because it comes from her.

Riddick leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses down her neck and across her chest. His fingers press into her supple flesh of her hips hard enough for it to dimple under the force. He continues downward, laving his hot tongue over her pebbled nipples, teasing his teeth against her delicate skin. With her head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, she remains ignorant to the garland of lovebites he leaves across her skin, decorating her chest with the constellations of the open universe. His lips follow the line of fine hair down the middle of her stomach, until finally stopping just above the curly thatch at her mons. He shifts his attention, choosing to nip at the skin of her inner thighs. He kneels on the floor and roughly yanks her to the end of the cot for better leverage, earning a surprised yelp from the woman. In the same moment, he tucks his thumbs around the underside of her knees and hoists her legs over his broad shoulders. Her ankles automatically lock overtop his shoulder blades.

Hatchet shudders with delicious anticipation. Her big eyes shoot open and head cranes, meeting his silver gaze from where he has positioned himself between her thick thighs. Without much civility or warning, the man stuffs his shaven head into the tight crevice of her thighs. She is suddenly relieved that he'd taken the bandage off his nose almost immediately after gathering his bearings all those days ago, because now he puts the prominent feature to good use against her swollen clit.

A wanton moan claws out from Hatchet's throat as she throws her head back against the rigid cot. Riddick's breath is hot against her cunt, tongue skilled as he works it into her most sensitive area. Two fingers pry her labia apart to get at a more effective angle. Her hands dart to clamp down on either side of his head, her nails digging crescents into his nude scalp. Panting and squirming, she uses her iron grip on his head to grind up against his big nose. He groans low against her core, the vibrations on his tongue adding to her pleasure. Her thighs squeeze against his flushed ears, and for a moment the thought she may suffocate him flashes through her mind. That worry is ejected out into space when his tanned hands come around to grip her where her thighs meet her hips, dragging her even more securely against him.

Her eyes roll back, body wracked with uncontrollable spasms as Riddick brings her increasingly closer to her peak. His nose is replaced by a skillful thumb, rubbing firm circles around her clit. He continues lapping at her cunt, groaning and taking intermittent gasps for air. Just as she feels that hot coil tightening in her lower abdomen, sees white light flickering beneath her lids, he does the unthinkable. He pulls away. Hatchet whines at the sudden neglect and desperately claws at his head in an attempt for him to continue, leaving red stripes on his stubbly scalp.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?" he asks lowly, smugness dripping from his tongue. That isn't the only thing dripping from his tongue; his nose, mouth, and chin are coated in her arousal.

Hatchet laughs breathlessly. "Fuck off."

She welcomes him with open arms when he crawls up over her again, accepting his lips as he presses down to kiss her. She can taste her own wetness on his mouth, but is largely distracted by his hips slotting between hers and grinding down.

He pulls back for a moment, leveling her with an entertained but mildly miffed eyebrow raise. "You got protection?"

Hatchet has to take a moment to catch her breath in order to answer. "Don't worry, I got that fancy implant. Unless you're riddled with some horrible penitentiary disease?" She smiles brightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with playfulness.

Her hands cup his face when he returns a dazzling smile. "Me? Who do you take me for? A convict?"

She curls against him when he ducks his face to the crook of her neck, warm and blushing as they both laugh. Unabashed, laughing together. It feels bizarrely intimate, and so completely foreign to the both of them. When the brief chuckles taper off and the weight of the scenario sinks back in, Hatchet wriggles her hips against his, attempting to stimulate some friction. The rough fabric of his cargo pants sparks a little something, but nothing spectacular. Catching on to her renewed desperation, Riddick presses weight against her hips, teasing her with his clothed erection. She mewls softly, grinding up against him.

A calloused hand slides up the length of her body to her neck, first two fingers and thumb pressing lightly against either pulse-point. He squeezes just hard enough for her to squirm with an intoxicating faintness, but light enough for it not to harm her. She swallows hard, feeling the pressure of his palm against her larynx. It would be child's play for him to fully wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze the life out of her. This flirtation with death is not only exhilarating, but it's something she'd never considered as enjoyable before now.

She's too busy with panting against the hand around her throat to realize he'd slipped his other one down towards the apex of her thighs. That is, not until there comes a delicious and unexpected pressure against her swollen clit. She jolts from the sudden stimulation. The moan that slips unbidden from her lips is loud and breathy, and she arches up into his devilish touch. His thumb rubs concentrated circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, the middle finger sliding lower to tease her slit. Meanwhile, he drops his head to press against her temple, lips leaving sloppy kisses on her cheek.

Riddick groans, rutting against her soft thigh. He drags his lips against her cheek, bottom teeth scraping her skin. A tingly shudder ripples through her body.

"You want it, babygirl?" he growls in her ear. "Tell me you want it."

Hatchet whines when his thick finger breaches her entrance, sliding in easily with the wetness of her arousal. Her toes curl and back arches when that searching finger strokes that hidden sweet spot, her entire body overcome with a delicious shudder.

"Fuck," she pants, "Please. I want it."

The hand at her throat inches upward to clasp her jaw, angling her head for him to effectively whisper in her ear. "Want what, sweetheart? Use your words."

Another finger is stuffed into her pussy; she pants and squeezes around them. An embarrassed flush heats her chest and face at being made to speak her desire aloud. In some little act of defiance, she merely continues huffing and rutting against his hand. Punishment for her disobedience comes swift however, arriving in the form of the ceased stimulation. Riddick sucks his teeth and shakes his head in mock disappointment.

"So stubborn," he tsks.

Fuck— that rich, buttery voice sends a desperate throb straight to her neglected clit. She sobs out a pathetic whine, making a futile attempt to force his hand to continue its work.

"Please. Okay, okay. Please, please. I want you, I need you. Fuck me, please, Richard," she begs, voice coming out ragged.

He brings his lips to the corner of her mouth and smiles into the kiss he places there. "Good girl," he purrs.

Hatchet squirms under him, clit pulsing with an immediate flush of blood at the praise. "Say that again," she pants, sliding her hand over the back of his thick neck. "Please, please, Rich. Say that again. I'm— Hah."

She can feel the fond chuckle under her palm as it rumbles in his chest. He wrestles with the button and zipper of his cargo pants while keeping himself aloft with one arm. "My girl. Good girl."

Each kiss steals her breath away, dizzying her with butterflies and anticipation. It takes a hurried moment of effort, but Riddick manages to shuck his trousers and boxers, leaving them in a pile on the floor with the rest of their discarded clothes. Perched on his knees between the woman's spread thighs, he greedily admires the sight of her laid out before him. There's something particularly special about this woman. She's managed to weasel her way into his frigid heart, and he can't find it in himself to complain. She's sweet, and kind, and sure fucking hot. She too watches him greedily as muscles flex in his arms. He plants his hands on her bent knees, dragging them down the length of her soft thighs. Fingers sink into the fat of her hips, dragging her closer.

One glance at his proud erection is enough to draw a flustered whimper from Hatchet's lips; his dick is thick, befitting of the rest of him. She thrusts an arm up over her face, if only to hide the embarrassed blush which splotches her skin. The big man lowers himself over her once more and gently pushes her arm away, murmuring about her shyness. The weight of his cock resting on her belly makes her squirm, which he seems to enjoy greatly, much to her impatient desperation. He slots his plush lips with hers while his left hand slips around her right thigh, encouraging it up. Her knee brushes the bruised wound over his ribs, but he doesn't seem to care all that much as he pins the long limb tightly against him.

In the space between them, he fists his dick and pumps once, twice. He holds Hatchet's lidded gaze with those intense eyes of his, drinking in the dazed sight of her. He drags the cockhead through the wetness of her arousal, teasing her swollen clit before aligning himself properly. His throaty groan mingles with her gasped noises as he slowly presses into her, sheathing himself within her hot cunt. It's a snug fit, lax as she may be. He bottoms out painfully slow, taking his sweet time in stuffing her full of himself. That hand returns to her throat and gently squeezes while he holds himself aloft with the other arm.

Hatchet sucks her teeth against the slight sting of his size. The discomfort quickly fades into a satisfyingly tense pressure once Riddick gets a steady rhythm going. With her leg hiked up over his side, he continually pulls out almost all the way before plunging back into her, driving her down into the stiff cot with each powerful thrust. She shudders with each drag of his thick cock against her inner walls— with every gentle squeeze of his broad hand around her throat.

"Fuck, babygirl. You feel good," he grunts out. "Such a good girl for me. Real pretty." Riddick groans through clenched teeth when her cunt spasms particularly hard around him. His words are like a match to her gasoline.

The hand at her throat shifts away in an attempt to touch as much of her skin as possible— caressing her breast, tangling in her hair, touching her lips, squeezing her waist and hip. It's almost like a compulsion to feel every part of her warm body, to get lost in her skin and pretty noises. Hatchet's hands perform their own exploration; she can't get enough of wrapping her fingers around his biceps and broad shoulders, her breath panting hard against his collarbones as she clings to him. The middle two fingers of his wandering hand come down on her clit again, sparking electric spasms throughout her writhing body. Those fingers rub circles against her sensitive bud, and every so often slip lower to stroke around the spot where they join together.

An especially rough drag and thrust has the tip of cock kissing that sweet spot within her. She cries out and he repeats the motion with an exact precision. He continues hammering into her at that perfect angle, grunting and shuddering with each of her clenches and moans. Light blooms beneath Hatchet's eyelids, that hot pressure coiling up in her belly once more. The combination of internal and external stimulation is enough for her to see stars and arch into the man like her life depends on it.

Nearly animalistic in his frenzy, Riddick can't control himself when his teeth sink into the woman's shoulder. It feels right.

Hatchet cries out at the sharp feeling of his bite, shock mixing with odd delight. He doesn't use enough force to break the skin, but his teeth leave a sting nonetheless. In retaliation, her nails sink into his muscular back and drag downward to his sides, leaving crisscrossing stripes across his tan skin. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognizes that she may have torn one of his stitches, but he doesn't make any indication of it bothering him. That delicious tension deep in her belly increases almost unbearably; she bucks up into his fingers on her clit, grinding against the hilt of his cock stuffed in her. His mouth latches onto the slope of her neck and bites again, licking the minimal damage each time he retracts his pearly teeth.

Her orgasm comes suddenly, like fireworks. She spasms around him as she comes, back arching up against his hard front as she cries out. Riddick continues pounding into her— continues rubbing her clit through her shuddering orgasm. The sounds of their sex seem awfully loud in the quiet confines of her small ship.

"There we go. Good girl," he murmurs into her throat.

He pushes up on his supporting arm, putting a bit of space between himself and the spent woman. She twitches and pants beneath him, cunt contracting around his continued thrusts. Her nails haven't yet retracted from his sides, clinging as though grasping for purchase. Riddick sits upright with her legs slung around his hips. One hand wipes over his head to clear away beads of sweat, before both come down to clutch her hips.

"Fuck... Where do you want it, sweetheart?" He punctuates with a harsh snap of his hips, plunging deep into her.

Hatchet's wrists demurely cross above her head. Her breaths come in short, exhausted puffs as she wriggles against him. Overstimulation is beginning to fray at her edges, but the feeling of being so full of him overrides the discomfort. She can barely think straight enough to give him a proper response— fucked thoroughly out of her mind.

"Richard—" She groans low in her throat. He's practically rearranging her guts. Tears prick at her eyes. "Fuck. Inside. Please, just— ugh, inside."

He makes a noise halfway between a grunt and a chuckle. "Sounds good to me, baby." She doesn't have to open her eyes to know the smug, cocky, sexy bastard is grinning. "Nngh, fuck."

Riddick's head tilts back, shuddering violently. He groans loud and holds her steady with his fingers dug into her hips. She feels his hot release spill into her, coating her insides as he ceases his relentless pounding. She's overly sensitive from the intensity of her own orgasm, so his sudden stillness comes as a relief for her tender parts. His chest heaves, fingers twitching.

After an extended moment of basking in the bliss of his finish, Riddick slumps forward. While he's careful not to crush the woman, he does rest a bit of his weight atop her. Sweat-slicked skin meets sweat-slicked skin as they recover together, lounging in the afterglow. He remains partially sheathed within her, allowing a minimal amount of his seed to trickle out around his length.

Amidst tenderly petting Riddick's back, Hatchet nearly gets lost to the grips of sleep. That is, at least until his rumbling voice stirs her again.

"I think you needed that." He noses her throat, inhaling deeply. She cants her hips without thinking, then grunts softly at the feeling of him still buried within her.

"Oh?" she chuckles quietly, "Is that right?"

She smoothes her palm over the back of his head, then traces her fingertips up and down his neck and shoulders. He hums against her clammy, flushed skin. Sentimentally isn't even remotely his forte, but this intimacy feels surprisingly good. Odd and unfamiliar, but pleasant. He feels safe to relax in her hold, resting a little bit more of his weight against her capable form.

"Yep. You're a little uptight."

Briefly pressing his lips to the bite-shaped bruises on her shoulder, he lifts his head. She cracks an eye open to peer at him, then sighs wistfully. He really does have a beautiful face. She caresses his cheek.

"And hey, would you look at that. We fit." He grins wide and smug and raises a brow, referring back to the conversation which started this whole affair.

Hatchet drops her head to the cot and closes her eyes again, laughing heartily. "Fuck you, Richard."

#second time ever writing smut and I think it melted my brain #this is way too long to read on tumblr just go to ao3 lmao #pitch black 2000 #chronicles of riddick #richard b riddick #richard b riddick x oc #richard b riddick x reader #goldfinch writes

[littlefreya]

April in Writing

Yes, yes, I know it’s almost June, but I have been under a lot of anxiety, work and other shenanigans. Anyway my sweets, here is a list of all my April writings! Enjoy :) 

🎃 Henry Cavill

Haunted Houses  - Henry Cavill x Unamed OFC ( fluff, romantic goo, friends to lovers or rather idiots to lovers) Henry’s friend invites him over to watch a horror film on Halloween, problem is he is madly in love with her.

Greasy Like a Sexy Pig - Henry x Reader (+18, RPF, dry humping, bulge riding, very light choking, dirty talk, bodily fluids). You are tasked to give Henry a massage in order to help him with his injury, but Henry is far too naughty to stay put.

Midnight Glow - Henry x Reader ( 18+, RPF, smut, somnophilia, fingering, female orgasm, male erection, hinted sexual intercourse, savouring on bodily fluids, body worship, male POV, Freya’s use of poetic sex metaphors.) Ever so in love with you, he can’t hold back and decides to please you even in your sleep.

The Mechanic - AU!Car Mechanic Henry  18+, RPF, hinted sex stuff (sex as payment), a little bit of cocky Henry, kind of a bad porn movie situation, really. ) Your car broke down and you can’t afford the fee... seems like you will need to find a different arrangement to pay up the debt

Spellbound - Henry x Reader ( RPF, smut, graphic sexual descriptions, gentle rough sex, doggystyle, bodily fluids, hyperspermia, multiple creampies, overstimulation, a little grey (hinted obsession), fingering and slightly oral (swallowing). Continue with caution. ) Henry and you used to be friends but the line was crossed and now that he has you he can’t quit you.

Drabbles

Henry’s role play as Sherlock

Brats on their worst behavior

Electric Love

Sweeter than chocolate

Just like Heaven

🎃 Captain Syverson

Tough Luck - Syverson x Reader (18+, smut, angry rough sex, hyperspermia, manhandling, semi-outdoor sex, breeding, DomMale vibes, dirty talks, primal sex.) The Captain is having a bad day and everything is going to hell, but he vows to at least make one thing right while finding an outlet for his rage  

Cosy - Captain Syverxon x Reader ( Fluff, light mentions of post-coitus, camping, mention of frogs, reader is mentioned to be shy, a sweet banter between a couple. ) In a camping, under the stars, the Captain finds a way to get you to sleep 

🎃 August Walker

Autumn Blood - August x OFC ( Dark, Non-Consensual sex, dubious consent, chasing, outdoors, primal sex, fingering, orgasm, doogystyle, creampie, light breeding, kidnapping, my overuse of forest metaphor and cottagecore. Please proceed with caution.) The rumours warn to stir far from the cottage down the clearing. Who knows who hides between these pitted walls? But curiosity trumps logic, and now that the wolf caught the scent of his prey, this little red ridin’ hood wandered into a trap..

🎃 Walter Marshall

Being on a Vacation with Walter - Walter x Reader ( fluffy, slightly suggestive, public display of affection, kinda jealous Walter, playful biting.) What would it be like to be on a vacation with Walter Bear

🎃 Headcanons 

When they come home to find you asleep on the couch

Panty sniffers

🎃 Freya’s fic recommendations

Daddy Kink 

Friends to lovers

Arranged marriage

Car Sex

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker #captain syverson #LittleFreya's monthly masterlist

[wendimydarling]

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112​ gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj​ and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira​ for betaing! 

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death. 

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.” 

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already. 

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet. 

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me. 

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls. 

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker fan fiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fan fic #august walker smut #vampire!august #non-con tw

[holylulusworld]

Little Bird

Summary: You ran – Dean chases you.

Pairing: Mobster!Dean x Reader, OFC’s

Warnings: angst, language, mobster business, pregnant reader (sue me), unhealthy relationship, choking (light; non-sexual), mentions of blowjob (no description), violence, blood, characters death, threats, scared reader, infidelity, protective Dean (overprotective bordering on possessiveness)

A/N: This is fanfiction! Please be aware if anyone treats you like Dean in this story, get help! It’s an unhealthy dynamic in this one. Dean is not aware he treats his wife badly. She does not forgive him but has no other choice as her life would be in danger. 

You saw the end of the line, so you ran. It wasn’t a hasty decision, rather a slow built up until you just couldn’t go on like before.

That’s how you ended here, in the middle of nowhere working at a random diner to make the money to pay your bills.

You must admit, it was way easier when your husband still provided everything you needed or wished for, but his generosity came with a price.

In the beginning, you believed your bond, your marriage could work out. In the end, you gave up understanding Dean or his life.

All you remember of the day you ran was that he had you pressed against the wall, one hand around your throat as he whispered a silent threat with his eyes.

If it only had been you, you would’ve stayed and waited for the inevitable to happen – but there’s another life in your belly.

The life Dean doesn’t know about let you wake up and fight back – or rather run for your life.

Six months ago, …

It’s another morning you wake up in a cold and empty bed. You got used to the life Dean offers. Since your father insisted on a bond, you are forced to live with the cold mobster.

Not that you never had a thing for Dean, you know him since childhood and always dreamily imagined marrying him. You knew about the business and you knew Dean is a rough and hard man, but you didn’t know he’s a tyrant too.

Most of the time he yells at you for not doing anything right or rather he wants other people to do the things you love.

You want to cook – Dean forces you to stop and let the cook take over.

You want to go shopping – Dean calls someone to bring you the things you have on your list.

You barely can do anything by yourself without Dean insisting someone else can do it better.

You feel like a bird in a golden cage. A humiliated and scared one. Mostly you hide in the library to read one of the books of the huge collection Dean gathered. 

There’s this tiny voice telling you he did it for you as a part of him at least likes to have you around but slowly this voice becomes silent.

Days ago, you heard him talking to Sam, telling his brother that he’s not sure if you are the right choice to be his wife. It hurt, carved a deep wound into your heart.

So far you bore every harsh word, even his cold glares or that he rammed his fist into the wall right next to your face when you wanted to go out with some old friends who came to town for your high-school reunion.

Sitting onto the bed, looking around the room you sigh heavily. Dean bought everything from the bed to the mirror you liked as you saw it in a magazine.

Living with Dean is like walking on a tight rope. One day he buys you everything you want – the next day he tells you can do anything right.

His anger gets the best of him and sometimes you don’t know if he wants to make love to you or kill you.

Patting toward the kitchen you rub your tired eyes. You wish you could make yourself breakfast but this would end up in a heated argument with Dean once again, so you sit onto a chair to eat the tasteless porridge his cook prepared.

You hate porridge, told the cook a hundred times you want pancakes, but she places a bowl in front of you again.

Today your stomach protests and you shove the bowl away, glaring at the smirking bitch you hate so much. It’s like she holds more power over your life than you and your eyes harden.

“I will talk to my husband about your behavior..” Snarling the words, you throw the bowl against the wall before you run out of the kitchen.

Hormones…how you love those little bitches. “Don’t worry little bean. I’ll tell daddy we want pancakes and he’ll agree. I hope he’s happy to hear about you…”

Not caring you are still in your nightgown you knock at Dean’s office, but he doesn’t answer so you just step in and your breath hitches in your throat.

He sits on his chair, pants down to his ankles while one of his girls from the club blows him off.

“What do you want?” Asking you casually, Dean searches your face. Your hands drop from your stomach and you can’t find the words to answer his question.

“I…I want to divorce!” Floats out of your mouth. 

That thought crossed your mind before but your love for Dean never let you speak out the truth lingering in the back of your mind.

Today he showed you that there’s no compassion or love for you in him or he would’ve been ashamed you caught him red-handed. 

“This crosses the last line. Letting a random whore from your club blow you off. I offered last night, and you told me you don’t want to…” Choking the words out you shake your head.

“I guess that I am not good enough at that either…” Then you run, dashing toward your bedroom to slam the door shut behind you.

You can hear the stomp of his shoes and then the door flings open. Dean’s eyes are clouded with anger and you can see his hands twitch before he lunges forward to press you into the wall.

Stillness surrounds you for a moment before he wraps his hand around your throat. He’s staring at you, clenching his jaw and you can see the threat in those darkened green orbs.

“You’re mine. There’s no way my little bird leaves her nest. I won’t let you go. Now be a good little bird and get dressed.” Dean pecks your lips before he let go of you, leaving you alone with your trembling hands and your racing heart.

This must end. The little bird must fly away…

Now…

“Hey, Sweetie. Will you fill an old man’s cup?” Earl chuckles as you give him a wink. “How far are you?” Glancing at your swollen belly Earl gives you a warm toothless smile. “You look like my Betsy back then…”

“Earl.” Patting the old man’s hand, you sit on the empty chair at his table. “I am so sorry you lost her. I wish I had someone like that in my life.”

“Your man wasn’t good for you?” Furrowing his brows in question Earl glances at your sad face. “I am sorry to hear, Sweetie. A nice girl as you deserve the world.”

“I had the world, just no love. He was…” Sniffling you give the elder man a cracked smile. “I was a nice thing to look at but not worth to be loved. I’ll bring you more coffee.”

“Don’t let that idiot get to you, Y/N. One day you’ll find a nice man loving you and the little boy in your belly.” Pecking Earl’s cheek, you feel someone watching you.

An unease feeling spreads through your body and you turn around to look over your shoulder, but the diner is empty, and you shake the thought away. “I’ll get you your coffee and a slice of apple pie, made with love.”

“You bake the best pies.” Earl chuckles and you give him a wink. “I bet that bastard misses your pies.”

“Nah, he had a cook. Always said I shall not bake or cook.” Shrugging you remember the day you tried to make a pie for Dean and he angrily stormed into the kitchen telling you to not bake again. “I guess he hated everything about me.”

While you cut a slice of pie for Earl and chat with your colleague a pair of emerald eyes watches your every step. 

Dean’s throat tightened watching you kiss the old geezer’s cheek. No one can touch you and you can’t touch anyone but him…

Walking toward your apartment, the home you created for you and your baby you tighten the hold on your purse.

The neighborhood is not the safest and it wouldn’t be the first time you run toward your door to hastily unlock it.

Tonight, you feel someone watching you and your feet carry you faster toward your door. Footsteps follow you and your hands start to shake as you get your keys out.

“Hello, Sweetcheeks. Do you remember me?” One of your neighbor’s slurs. He’s harmless but sometimes he doesn’t get the message to leave a woman alone. “Do you want a drink?”

“Stuart, hey…no thank you. I am tired and need some sleep. I just came from my shift. Maybe another time…night.” You hope he will leave you alone but tonight luck is not on your side.

“I asked you if you want a drink!” Stuart is angry and you take a step backward. “Drink with me.”

“Stuart. I am pregnant, okay. I will not drink alcohol right now. Just let me pass.” Pointing toward the door you keep an eye on Stuart. You can see he becomes impatient before he tries to grab your arm.

You don’t know how it happened but suddenly a tall man rams Stuart into the wall. You can hear Stuart grown as the man doesn’t stop.

Ramming your neighbors head into the wall until it lulls back, and his lifeless eyes stare back at you the man grunts. 

“Why…?” Stepping backward you recognize the shoes…the shoulders…his scent. You are not surprised Dean looks at you with darkened eyes when he turns his attention toward you. “How’d you find me here?”

Panic rises in your chest and you protectively move your arms around your belly.

“Go away!”

Tears run down your face as Dean removes his bloody leather gloves.

“Sweetheart.” The pet name lets your blood freeze. Dean never called you anything but Y/N or little bird. “I was so worried. Why did you run away from me?”

“Why? Where shall I start? You treated me like I am not capable of doing anything right. You letting that whore suck you off…” Sniffling you step back again when Dean tries to touch your cheek. “I bore everything but…but you choked me. I couldn’t let you hurt my baby…”

“Baby…” Just now Dean’s eyes land on your baby bump and for the first time his features soften. “I would never hurt you. I never hurt you.”

“You did with words and your behavior, followed by you choking me.” Scared you feel his hand touch your cheek. “All you did was scaring me.”

“I wanted you to feel comfortable. I didn’t want you to cook or stuff as I think you are too precious to do things like that.” Dean murmurs stepping close to cup the back of your neck. 

“You’re vulnerable and unique to me. I wanted you to feel like a queen.”

“By letting that cook treat me like a stupid child. I told her I hate porridge but she only smirked and gave me that disgusting stuff.” Confused Dean brushes his lips over your forehead. “You let that woman blow you off after I wanted to go down on you not hours ago…”

“I didn’t want you to lower yourself. I wanted you to feel special. I…I heard you talking to Ruby once. I knew that you do not like it…” Dean mumbles as he ghosts his lips over your cheek.

“I told her I do not like oral when the man doesn’t look at me while I make him feel good – just like you did with that girl. I…I wanted to make you feel good…always…” Sniffling you feel his other hand creep to your lower back to press you close to his chest.

“Hmmm…” His lips press against yours and you start to tremble as he gently holds you in his arms. “So soft and precious…”

“You…you choked me…” Looking guilty Dean nods, pressing your closer to his body to shield you from the cold. 

“I…I was mad. Baby Girl…you said you want to divorce. I gave you everything, treated you like a queen and you wanted to leave. I couldn’t tame my anger. ‘m sorry, Sweetheart.” Shaking you let Dean wrapped you in his coat. “I’ll bring you home.”

“What about my things?” Trying anything to find a way to get away from Dean you look fearful at the tall mobster. There’s a soft smile on his lips before he picks you up. “Dean?”

“Benny got your stuff hours ago. I just wanted to come here alone to not scare my wife. No one will ever part us, my little bird. I love you.” Dean believes you give in as you rest your head against his shoulder.

There is still love for him in your heart, but you can’t wait for the next chance to break out of your cage.

This time, no one will find his little bird…

Part 2 - My Little Bird

Tags will be added in the reblog.

#Little Bird #angst #unhealthy #dean winchester #mobster au #MOBSTER!AU #mobsterdean #mobster!dean x reader #scared reader #pregnant reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester one shot #dean x reader #dean x you #infedelity #mobster!dean x you

[snarkwrites]

13 | gangsta ; sweetpea

NOTES:

It's been a while. I've had these two chapters written for a while now but I haven't had time to sit down, edit them a little better and post them. Since I have time now, I thought I'd go ahead and do that, whether you guys asked for these next two chapters or not.

Sorry this took forever! Sorry I'm so slow, I've been settling into a new house and taking care of some IRL stuff / taking a little break. I swear, I'm going to update everything sooner or later. >.>

I love you guys.

WARNINGS:

NON/ LOOSE CANON COMPLIANCE - this is the biggest warning, so if you’re into things that follow exact canon plot you are… definitely not going to like this. ANGST & SLOW BURN, HEAVY SEXUAL TENSIONSTARTING NOW, ACTUALLY - this is just so everyone who started reading this thinking the smut would transpire in a hurry knows that apparently, it is not. VIOLENCE / SWEARING & FIGHTING, POSSIBLE UNDERAGE DRINKING AND OTHER SHENANIGANS- look.. it’s high school. shit happens. also apparently, my ofc Alyssa uses the word fuck like all the time?…EVENTUAL SEXUAL CONTENT / A VIRGIN ORIGINAL CHARACTER- this one is self explanatory. yes, i plan to write a smutty chapter in this at some point. when? i don’t rightly know. it’s got a while before we get there. STALKER TW - this chapter marks the true appearance of Alyssa's ex, Dave Novak. It's hinted heavily that he's a gross asshole who likes to play mind games. ATTEMPTED KIDNAPPING TW - This chapter contains an attempted kidnapping. If this is gonna bother you you're best off not reading it.

If you're under 18+, probably not a good or wise idea to continue reading this series. Because there are going to be a few dark and adult themes within. I'll warn here, of course, but you need to understand that I don't control you. If you continue to read after having read the warnings and you're upset or don't like something... Totally on you, friend.

PAIRING:

Andrews!Sibling OFC x Sweet Pea.

TAGGING:

@brithedemonspawn is the only person on my Riverdale tag list. If you want to be added, the link to do so is below.

OTHER PARTS:

ONE - TWO - THREE - FOUR - FIVE - SIX - SEVEN - EIGHT - NINE - TEN- ELEVEN - TWELVE - soundtrack

OTHER STUFF:

[ about my writing - tag list doc ]

THIRTEEN.

[773 - 589 - 7956] Quiet sleepy little town you’ve got here. I can see the appeal, scarlet.

[773 - 589 - 7956] I saw you last night. If I didn’t know what a treacherous bitch you were, I’d say you look more beautiful than ever.

[773 - 589 - 7956] Have you shown that new boytoy of yours all the dirty little photos you were sending me? I bet he’d fucking love to see that… Or did you actually let him see the real thing?

[773 - 589 - 7956] You can say what you want to the cops, scarlet. You and I both know you enjoyed sending me those dirty little pictures. Do your parents know what a teasing whore their daughter really is? I know mommy wasn’t too thrilled when you went running to her to snitch just because things got a little too real for you…

[773 - 589 - 7956] I’ll see you soon. It’s like I said, scarlet. You owe me. I intend to collect. You think this is a game? You can just promise things and then betray me like that? That’s not how this works, scarlet.

The second my phone was powered on again after school, it immediately started to go insane. The texts came in a flood. They were so disgusting and scary that I dropped my phone because my hands were shaking so hard I couldn’t hold it. I quickly picked up the phone and took a few deep breaths, attempting to pull myself together.

,, I can’t keep this to myself. I have to tell someone what’s going on.” the thought nagged at me for the thousandth time in two weeks and I decided that as soon as I finished my tutoring session for the day, I was going to go to the construction site and show my father the texts. Tell him that somehow, Dave was out of prison and apparently, he was here in Riverdale.

My stomach was churning and a bitter taste filled my mouth at the thought. I felt like a dead girl walking. How could I have been so fucking stupid? I should’ve told my father the first time Dave texted me. I should’ve done something.

I felt anger at the situation too. I came here to get away from everything, to put it behind me. I just wanted to forget any of it happened. How dare he show up and ruin everything? He was supposed to be in jail right now, not walking free!

It wasn’t fair.

I knew I’d never be brave enough, but I found myself thinking that if I did see him again, I wanted to strangle him. To give him a reason to be afraid of me for once instead of the other way around. To get even for the hell he put me through in Chicago.

I stepped out into the parking lot, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. Leaning against the brick wall beside the doors that lead into the building. Waiting. Trying to pull myself together. Half hoping that my brother was still here, still in wrestling practice.

Then I remembered that he didn’t have it tonight and that he’d left earlier with Veronica, Betty and Jughead.

Cheryl and Toni were already gone too. I’d stayed over because I was tutoring some kids in the grade below me. I didn’t think it’d take as long as it did. When I realized just how late it had gotten and that I’d be walking home alone in the dark, I’d panicked.

I could always call my dad.

That’s what I wound up doing. About halfway across the parking lot and just as my father’s phone went to voicemail , Dave stepped out and grabbed me, clamping his hand over my mouth before I could do anything other than scream.

My phone fell out of my hands and hit the pavement . I fought him off, managed to get out of his grasp and took off at a run. He caught up to me and grabbed me, trying to drag me towards his Chevelle that was parked nearby, idling. I fought tooth and nail, making as much noise as I could. Grabbing hold of anything I could to try and wrench myself free from his grasp.

I spotted Sweet Pea walking towards the school and I screamed louder. Fought harder.

“Sweet Pea!” I screamed his name, biting at any exposed skin I could get my mouth on Dave’s body. Clawing and scratching. Determined not to go quietly or without a fight. Sweet Pea disappeared from sight for a few seconds in the scuffle between Dave and I, and I was fighting so hard that Dave was struggling to keep a good firm grip on me…

XXX

He’d come back to school because normally, Alyssa was done and at Pop’s within thirty minutes, an hour tops. It had almost been two. Something felt off. Sweet Pea tried to tell himself the entire walk across town to Riverdale High that he was just being paranoid or overprotective. By the time the school was in view, he almost had himself convinced that he was just being a paranoid idiot.

Until he heard her screaming.

Sweet Pea took off at a run in the direction her scream came from, watching as a guy grabbed Alyssa and started trying to pull her towards an idling Chevelle nearby. He locked eyes with Alyssa before slipping out of sight. Getting himself into a position where he could slip up on the guy from behind and hopefully, distract him enough that Alyssa could get away.

The second she managed to smash her head into the guy’s nose hard enough that he dropped her, Sweet Pea spoke up. Firmly. “Run, Cherry. Don’t stop running.”

“No.” I stubbornly refused to leave. I wasn’t going to leave him to fight Dave off on his own. Not when this was my mess to begin with, my own stupidity coming back to bite me in my ass.

“Damn it, woman. Fucking go!” Sweet Pea practically growled as he lunged for the guy in front of him, spearing him against the side of his own car. The fight took to the ground, the two rolling around. For a second or two, Dave had the upper hand because he managed to get his hand on Sweet Pea’s throat. Sweet Pea used his legs, flipping them so that he was on top, swinging his fists with no real thought other than the sheer rage he felt about the guy trying to grab Alyssa. Dave managed to get the upper hand again, holding Sweet Pea against the concrete, Sweet Pea’s hand wrapped around his throat as he tried to squeeze harder.

Sweet Pea swore in frustration when he saw Alyssa slipping over to the open rear door. She emerged with a baseball bat, making her way over to the fight.

“What the fuck do you think you were gonna do, man?” Sweet Pea snarled in anger as he got in a few hard and fast punches.

“I was gonna get my hands on that little bitch you call a girlfriend and teach her a lesson.” Dave grunted out the words as Sweet Pea’s hand closed around his throat tighter and he managed to get Dave on his back again.

“The only one who’s going to learn a lesson tonight is you, asshole. Don’t fucking touch her.” Sweet Pea got the upper hand again, holding Dave against the concrete, smashing his head against Dave’s head as he sneered, “I’m gonna fuckin kill you, putting your hands on my girl.” and really tightened his grip.

Dave managed to shove him off and stood, the two of them fighting. Alyssa swung the bat at Dave’s lower back, almost connecting with it but Dave stepped out of the way at the last minute, making a grab for her.

“Cherry, I told you to run, damn it!” Sweet Pea growled as he lunged at Dave, sending Alyssa stumbling back, barely managing to keep herself from falling on her butt on the pavement. The two were rolling around on the ground again, punching and choking wildly and Alyssa spotted her cell phone and she dove for it, dialing 911.

Just as she was about to hit call, Sweet Pea choked Dave out and grabbed for the rope that had fallen out of Dave’s jacket pocket, tying his arms together while he was down. Then he rushed over to her, checking her over in concern, wincing at the pavement burn on her cheeks and the few scrapes.

“What the fuck happened to run, huh?” Sweet Pea asked, trying to catch his breath.

“I wasn’t leaving you here with him.” Alyssa panted. Sweet Pea took her cell phone and hit call, keeping his foot on Dave’s head to keep him down as he made the call.

Two minutes later, a cop car came racing around the corner and pulled to a stop behind the idling Chevelle.

The cop got out and wandered over. Glancing from Sweet Pea to Dave.

Alyssa spoke up.

“Sweet Pea was trying to save me, officer.”

“I’m going to need you two to come to the station and make statements.” the cop informed them after getting Dave into the back of the cop car. Alyssa nodded, hugging herself against Sweet Pea’s side. Sweet Pea slipped out of his leather jacket,draping it around her, because at some point during her fight with Dave, her shirt had gotten torn down the front.

The cop left, leaving the two of them alone.

Sweet Pea took a few deep breaths, pulling her against him. Squeezing her tight. Holding her in place. “Thank God I decided to come by here. If something would’ve happened…” he muttered against her hair quietly.

She pulled away to look up at him and he locked eyes with her, leaning in closer…

XXX

My heart was still hammering away at my chest. The adrenaline was starting to wear off and I was starting to panic a little as I began to realize what almost happened to me. How close I came to disappearing, having God knows what would be done to me by Dave.

I wasn’t thinking about how awkward me kissing him would be. I wasn’t thinking about anything if you want the truth. I rose up on my toes, grabbing hold of the front of Sweet Pea’s t-shirt, pulling myself up. My mouth brushed against the corner of his gingerly, trying to avoid the portion of his lower lip that was busted and bloody because it had to hurt like hell. His hands dug into my hips and he growled quietly, his mouth latching onto mine just as I went to pull away, stop myself before I went for it and kissed him in the heat of the moment.

The kiss deepened and I raised my arms, wrapping them around his neck. Dragging my fingers through his hair. My back met the side of the Chevelle with a soft smack and he pressed himself into me more firmly. His mouth continuing to hungrily devour mine.

The kiss broke a few seconds later, we pulled apart breathlessly and stared at one another in a daze. Sweet Pea wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and cleared his throat. Going quiet again.

All I could do was melt into him and try to wrap my head around what almost happened and what had just actually happened. He curled his fingers under my chin, tilting my face so that I had to look up at him.

“Who was that? Wait.. was that your ex?”

My jaw dropped. I blinked at him and then I nodded quietly. He swore under his breath and held on a little tighter. Pulling away again, his hands on my upper arms as he stared down at me. “I should’ve fucking killed him.”

“H-how’d you know about Dave? Did my brother tell you?”

“And Jughead. I don’t know everything. I just know that I told myself if I ever actually saw the asshole, I was going to kill him.” Sweet Pea answered quietly. Taking a few deep breaths and then adding a few seconds later, “We need to get to the station.”

I nodded in agreement. Sweet Pea scooped me up when he saw me take a step and wince, then try it again with the same outcome.

“I can walk.” I protested weakly.

“You fell. You probably twisted your ankle. Just… let me carry you, Cherry.” he muttered quietly, his voice a soft and concerned whisper as he gazed down at me.

All I could do was nod. Lean my head against the space between his neck and shoulder.

As we worked our way towards the police station, it poured out of me. Every single thing I’d gone through with Dave in Chicago. I grimaced as I told Sweet Pea exactly what had gone down and why I thought Dave had come to town and tried to grab me tonight and Sweet Pea’s jaw set firm.

I could tell that hearing it bothered him. And at one point, he muttered quietly, “If you don’t want to talk about it you don’t have to…”

“No, I need to get it out. I shouldn’t have kept the fact that the asshole was texting me to myself. Blocking his number obviously didn’t work because he reached out with a new one. I thought if I just ignored him, he’d lose interest. I thought it was just him, trying to scare me. I didn’t think he’d be stupid or brave enough to show up here.” I muttered, shaking my head at how stupid that sounded now that I was really stopping to think about it.

“He’s not gonna bother you again, okay? I’m going to make sure he doesn’t.” Sweet Pea muttered after a few seconds, just as we stepped into the station and made our way over to a sitting area to wait.

“You need to call your dad.” Sweet Pea spoke up after a few seconds that felt like hours.

I nodded. Taking my phone back from Sweet Pea, I dialed my dad’s number and I could hear the relief in his voice when he answered.

Static crackled and popped on his end of the line so I strained to hear.

“I’ve been riding around town looking for you for over an hour, tiny. What the hell happened?” my dad asked in a rush.

“Dave was waiting outside of the school tonight when I came out… If Sweet Pea hadn’t gotten there when he did I… he tried to grab me tonight, Dad.” I grimaced as I said it, bracing myself for all the questions and the lecture I knew I’d be getting because I hadn’t told anyone the second all this started.

,, to be fair, I definitely deserve it.” the thought came and I let myself have it. Leaning back in the chair, resting against Sweet Pea’s side slightly. Taking a few deep breaths.

My dad swore and I heard him punching at something, probably the dashboard of his truck. After a second or two, he spoke up. “Where are you two? I’m on my way, tiny. Right now.”

“We’re at the station giving a statement.” I explained.

“Thank god. So Novak got arrested? That’s good. I’m going to be sure to find out what I can do to make sure that little prick stays in a cell this time.” my dad responded as I heard him rev the engine on his truck.

The call ended and I leaned my head against Sweet Pea’s shoulder. He slipped an arm around me and took a few more breaths as if he were trying to calm himself down again because he was still angry and tense.

The cop who made the arrest found us and ushered us back to his workspace and we sat down. Telling the cop every single detail of what happened tonight. The cop let me finish and then spoke up.

“We’re holding him for Chicago. He apparently escaped. Attacked another girl… A Claire Watson… Then he came here. But everything you’ve told me will help keep him behind bars, Alyssa. Do you have a parent you can call?”

I nodded.

“She already called him.” Sweet Pea answered calmly as he folded his arms over his chest and glared at the cop suspiciously.

The cop eyed him, nodding. Managing a cordial smile. “That was quick thinking on your part tonight kid. Also stupid as hell. If he’d had a weapon, that could’ve gone wrong. Next time, call the station.”

“And do what? Let an asshole make off with my girl? Yeah, no thanks. I’m good. I’ve seen how fast you assholes respond to any call you get from the South side.”

“Not all of us are bad, kid.” the cop pointed out in a calm and even tone.

“Yeah, well… I wasn’t going to stand there and let him take my girl either. I did what I had to do.” Sweet Pea took a deep breath, rubbing his forehead. Calming himself back down.

I spotted my father and Archie coming into the station, heading right for us and I let out a ragged breath. Squeezing my dad so tight he almost couldn’t breathe when they got over to where we were sitting in the back.

My father spoke up, addressing the cop. “We will be pressing charges. So, whatever I need in order to do that, just tell me and you’ve got it.”

Sweet Pea cleared his throat.

“If it helps, here’s her phone.” Sweet Pea held my phone out to the policeman and he took it, nodding. “If there’s anything on here, that’ll help. If you’ll come with me, Mr. Andrews, we’ll get that paperwork drawn up to start the proceedings.”

My dad gave me another hug and stopped in front of Sweet Pea. “If you hadn’t been there tonight, kid… Thank you.”

“I wasn’t gonna let anything happen to her, sir.” Sweet Pea muttered, awkwardly letting my dad hug him too.

My dad made his way to an office with the policeman who’d taken our statements and I glanced up at Sweet Pea, grimacing at the bruises and scraped starting to form on his face and neck. The black eye and the busted lip.

“Archie, can you go get some ice or a soda can? His lips really swelling up..” I muttered. My brother nodded, taking some change from me to go do it. And this left Sweet Pea and I alone again.

“About that kiss.. I’m sorry, I.. the last thing I wanted to do was make anything awkward. I just got caught up in the moment and I can’t keep fighting the way I feel and I… Sorry.” I spoke up quietly. Prepared to give him an out. Afraid that I’d gone way over the line.

“Yeah, about that… I’ve been wanting to do it for a while.” Sweet Pea admitted quietly. Making me look up at him as he chuckled quietly. “You wanna repeat any of what you just said?”

I felt my cheeks burning. I pouted up at him and gave him a dirty look.

He smirked in response and spoke up. “I’m being serious. You were doing that mumble and babbling thing again.”

“You heard me.” I answered, biting my lip as I looked up at him.

“A little, yeah… But maybe I wanna hear it again, cherry.” he pulled me close and gazed down at me for a few seconds.

“Wait.. you wanted to kiss me?” I realized what he’d admitted. Gazing up at him, a little shocked.

“You’re trying to change the subject now?” he questioned, slipping his arms around me. I gave a soft laugh and muttered quietly, “Maybe a little.”

“When you say you can’t ignore the way you feel.. What’s that mean?” he questioned again, making me look up at him. I took a deep breath and toyed with the front of his shirt, trying to figure out the best way to put it to words.

The truth. Simple and direct.

“I care about you a lot. I lo--” I started to say that I loved him, but Archie cleared his throat behind us, holding out the soda can to me. Then promptly excusing himself again to go find our dad. I gently guided Sweet Pea down into a chair and sank down to sit on his knees. Gingerly pressing the cold soda can against his lip. And after a second or two, I finally got myself to say it again. “I love you, okay?”

He chuckled quietly. Locking eyes with me. Lowering the soda can to ask quietly, “Like a best friend or something.. Right?”

I shook my head. “More than, actually. Since that day at the car wash when I drenched you with the hose, I’ve… It’s been hard to make myself not look for you in a crowd. Yes, yes.. I know this is mushy and you don’t do mushy, I..” his mouth crashing against mine cut off the flow of my words and he muttered in a daze, “Say it again. Tell me you love me, Cherry.”

“I love you.” I managed to get the words out breathlessly. His mouth was latching onto mine all over again. The kiss deepening. His arms enveloping me tighter. Squeezing til I thought I’d get lightheaded between the deep and heavy onslaught of kisses and the way he was holding me.

“I love you too.” he mumbled quietly. Gazing down at me. Panting for his next breath as the kiss broke yet again.

“Okay, are you two done with whatever yet? Because dad told me to get Al back home. You can come with us if you want.” Archie surprised me by inviting Sweet Pea. Sweet Pea eyed him and nodded, standing after I’d finally managed to pry myself away from him.

As we walked out of the station, he slipped his hand down between us, lacing his fingers between mine. Giving my hand a squeeze as he glanced down at me.

#sweetpea fanfiction #sweetpea imagine #sweetpea fanfic #sweetpea imagines #sweetpea fic #my writing; sweetpea #my fanfiction; sweetpea #my fics; sweetpea #// stalker tw #// attempted kidnapping tw #// violence tw

[tellywoodtrash]

immj2 12.11.20 lb

well………….. let’s get this the fuck over with. isske baad pls god let this show go back to their random tuchchi saazishein. mere se itna action jhela nahi jaata.

ok back to dead inside vansh who is analyzing every single interaction with riddhima and musing about DHOKAAAAAAA DHOKAAAAAAAA DHOKAAAAAAAA

lmaoooooooooooooooooooooooo kabir is like “itne saalon se tum mere liye itneeee bade sardard the, but finally ab khel khatam.” dude i love this caviler fucker.

but tell me these caps don’t look like kabir expressing a whole other sentiment:

damnnnnn, dat chemistry. seriously, 10x what riddhima has with vansh. i am so mad that we’re not getting these two as endgame.

aaaaaand the handcuffs are out. mmmhmmmm. kinky!

mummy be like ARRE AISE KAISE TUM DONO HI SAARE OSCARS LOOTOGE KYA, MERE KO BHI CHAHIYE I AM ALSO PERFORMERR and throwing herself in front of vansh and giving passionate defense.

this one also like chalo my turn nowwwwww.

human angry bird is like NOT ON MY WATCH YOU FUCK.

DUDE WHAT ARE THESE LOOKS THEY’RE GIVING EACH OTHER THERE’S SO MUCH SEXUAL TENSION HERE I CAN’T TAKE IT

asljdaslkjdlaskjdlaskjdlaskjldkj kabirrrrrrrrrrrr’s internal monologue: “haath mein hathkadi lag gayi, phir bhi tashan nahi gaya tumhara” hahahahahahahahahahahahaha

RIDDHIMA IS STILL FUCKING RUNNING. FROM FUCKING BANDRA, WHERE THE FACTORY OR WHATEVER WAS, TO BLOODY ANDHERI, WHERE THE VR MANSION IS. DUDE, MUMBAI MARATHON CHAL RAHA HAI KYA IDHAR????????

unf the way kabir pushed vansh towards the van. big Top energy.

THIS SCENE HAS JUST SOOOOOOO MUCH FUCKING SEXUAL TENSION I’M LITERALLY HERE LIKE

LIKE I’M REALLY FEELING SOME KINDA FUNNY WAY, THAT I’VE NEVER FELT IN THE VANSH/RIDDHIMA SCENES.

oh yeah in between that mummy was doing some more mother india acting, ki iski sazaa mujhe de dijiye and all, but HONESTLY WHO CAN PAY ATTN TO THAT MESS WHEN THERE’S BHAAARI SEX EYES GOING ON HERE???????

ok now that they’ve driven away, i’ll focus on her. yes, very cool acting. iss saal ka manikchand gutka jio fiama di wills colors golden petal stardust whatever the fuck award aapke hi liye.

riddhima also managed to medal in the marathon, and reach justttttttt as they pull outta the gates.

back to the Sexy Van™

ohhhhhhhhhhh boyyyyyyy, kabir instructing mishra to go off the path.

“vansh raisinghania, apne life ke sabse bade adventure ke liye taiyaar ho jao.”

DUDE THESE TWO ARE KINKY AS FUCK.

lmao vansh is like don’t write checks you can’t cash, don’t be promising orgasms you won’t be giving, “dhamki toh dhang ki dete.”

“vansh tumhe andaaza nahi ki kitni shiddat ke saath maine aaj ke din ka intezaar kiya hai. aaj meri zindagi ka sabse bada din hai!”

well damn, me too. i didn’t know that this was the pairing i was gonna end up shipping SO HARD but here we are!

ok mummy has seen riddhima and she tries to shoot her but riddhima drove the fuck away. good for her.

they have reached that random maidaan where every outdoor sequence on tellywood happens.

mishra can you gtfooooooooo from in between the hot boy sandwich??????

this dude is hottest when his eyes squinty.

OUFFFFFFFFFFFF THE SMILESSSSSSSSSS

TBH I’M NOT EVEN PAYING ATTN TO THE TRASH TALK THEY’RE DOING I’M JUST HERE LIKE KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS

kabir freeing him, which nooooooooooooo, i wanted to see some hot handcuff actionnnnnn. vansh is as disappointed as i am.

anyway some searing indictments of our country’s legal system by kabir, about no matter how much proof he collects, rich ppl anyway get away with whatever. and so will vansh. sooooooo, he’s like i just needed to arrest you and break your ego, blah blah. which, yeah right. like anyone with one working brain cell doesn’t know you’re gonna shoot him down in an encounter for trying to flee police custody.

some more flirty banter. and then……..

yup.

damn, those some cat-like reflexes.

vansh like, i knew your bitch ass would pull some shit like this.

fuck fuck fuck fuck so much sexy him walking up to the gun like that.

ofc there have to be some BE A MAN type dumbass dhamkis. you know what real men do??? KISS THEIR RIVALS WHOM THEY HAVE THIS MUCH HOMOEROTIC TENSION WITHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

DANG KABIR HESITATEDDDDDDDD. HE COULDN’T DO IT. IT’S RIGHT OUTTA THE FIGHT SCENE BEFORE THE SEX SCENE IN MR. AND MRS. SMITHHHHHH.

aaaaaand that pause was enough for vansh to start beating the fuck outta him. yeah i don’t care. the only thing i wanna see you two wrestle is TONGUES.

mmmmmmhmmmmm just a lil closer, come onnnnn you stupid fucks.

ok they’re back to pounding on each other IN THE NON FUN WAY so fwding.

aaaaaaaaand riddhima is following her special Vansh Tracker App. I REALLY DON’T CARE.

told y’all K had Big Top Energy. oh yeahhhhhhhhhh, choke him, daddy!

ok they back to hitting each other.

ooooh nice callback to that firstttt fight they had where kabir threw sand in vansh’s eyes and then vansh fought blindfolded.

back to sexy banter.

“dil, dimaag, aur taaqat. teeno hi tumse kayiiii zyaada hai mujh mein.” LIFE MEIN CONFIDENCE CHAHIYE, TOH OF AN RICH, UPPER CASTE, MALE PSYCHOPATH ON TELLYWOOD.

he’s walking backwards to the edge of the cliff as he keeps talking. sigh.

“dushman mein woh dum kahan ke mera kuch bigaad sake. woh toh apne the jo dagaa de gaye, sazza de gaye.” waaaaaah waaaaaah!!!! THE PSYCHOPATH WAS A POET AND WE DIDN’T KNOW IT!

walking back some more.

“main aaj bhi vansh raisinghania hi hoon. meri maut bhi mujhse pooch ke mere paas aati hai.” this fucker nicolas flamel or what, with the philosopher’s stone????

“kissi tuchche insaan ki gun se chali goli ko ijaazat nahi ke meri jaan le sake. maine apni zindagi khud banaayi hai, kabir; aur iske aage kya hoga naa tum decide karoge, na tumhare haath mein yeh pistol. the choice is mine.”

pehli baar this dude’s tashan has been effective for me. IT’S COZ THE DIALOGUE DELIVERY IS MEASURED AND HE’S SAYING IT FULL OF MIRTH, INSTEAD OF GRINDING HIS TEETH AND YELLING. SEEE WHAT A FUCKING DIFFERENCE IT MAKES????????

anyway kabir is like, cool, your funeral. as vansh continues to walk backwards. it’s hilarious kabir thinks he has anyyyy control in this scene anymore.

le. aa gayi. dhaaansu scene kharaab karne.

vansh having ALL TEH FLASHBACKS. poor sad eyed puppy.

“tum log kya kar rahe ho?!!?!?” BITCH THEY WERE ABOUT TO GET IT ON, BUT NOW NO THANKS TO YOU……………….

blah blah usual ishq nahi aasaan aag ka dariya hai doob ke jaana hai blah blah from piya psychopath

“aaj apne dhoke ke aag ki dariya mein dubo hi diya na tumne mujhe, riddhima?”

i’m sure this is some kasautiii kinda metaphor, ki they’re working together, or like….. he actually does trust her… or some such shit, but i can’t be arsed to analyse anything with this dumbass show. it doesn’t deserve it.

kabir watching this whole angst ridden scene with such horny eyes, i can’t even…………………

obligatory placement of show naam. tashan mein usko lete lete, JAI MATA DIIIIIIIIIIIII, LET’S ROCK.

if this isn’t the Biggest Mood for 2020, idk what is. vansh finally being relatable to the rest of us normals.

yeah whatever. i really don’t care about you. i’m more devastated ki when will i get such a KaValicious sexual tension filled episode next??!?!?!?!!? probably next fucking year now. ugh. bloody waste show, forcing us to watch this het bullshit.

let’s end this with a nice pic of this face. i think we’ve all earned it.

#ishq mein marjawan 2 #immj2 #immj2 lbs #episode liveblogs

[masonscig]

otp tag

mason x detective sofía olmos

i was tagged by both @masonsfreckles and @havennly ! thank you so much !

not tagging anyone but if you wanna do this, take this as a sign!

[putting it under the cut bc it’s long and there’s some nsfw content lmao. also some of this is subject to change bc i’m still fleshing them out !]

––––

DISAGREEMENTS.

who is more likely to raise their voice?

oh definitely mason bc he gets annoyed at everything, including if sofía is being too sympathetic (i mean look at the end of book 2 lmao he literally rolls his eyes at her if she says him being in the hospital bed is her fault)

who threatens to leave but never actually does?

sofía definitely lmao because she thinks it might get him to commit and it does not !

who actually keeps their word and leaves?

neither. they need each other too much

who trashes the house?

mason. sofía is a bit of a neat freak with her apartment (not her work space)

do either of them get physical?

oh no - he’d take a bullet for her (tho he won’t admit it). he’d never do that

how often do they argue/disagree?

usually petty disagreements at the beginning bc they’re learning more about each other - over time they share looks of knowing and instantly understand each other.

who is the first to apologize?

sofía to a fault

SEX.

who is on top? who is on bottom?

mason but it starts switching as sofía gains more sexual confidence

any kinks?

i love how this early on in the ask game it just jumps into the horny shit LMAO with that being said, yes :) KSDFJKSDKJF nothing like too crazy but stuff like hair pulling, choking, dirty talk, edging, blindfolds, basic bondage, spanking, praising.. that type of stuff lmao

who has the strangest desires?

honestly sofía. mason’s tried essentially everything he’s ever wanted to try, so he knows what he likes. and sofía hasn’t had the most ~daring~ partners lmao so she asks things she thinks is very crazy and strange (for her) and mason is like “....ok sure” SDJKFKJSDJFK

who’s dominant in bed?

mason. tho he does enjoy being dominated as well 

is head ever in the equation?

*see book 2* LMAO but fr i wouldn’t say it’s like worshipping but yea it happens often <3

if so, who is better at performing it?

mason at first, since he’s way more experienced and sofía is a bit more timid, but over time she wins !

ever had sex in public?

yes even though pre-ub meeting she would’ve literally never dreamed of doing it out of embarrassment, but he brings her out of her shell sexually. again, *see book 2* LMAO

who moans the most?

i’d honestly hc mason as being more vocal at first bc he’s a heavy talker in bed, but since like i said, he brings her out of her shell, she quickly matches him. so ig equal later on in the relationship !

who leaves the most marks?

long lasting marks? definitely mason. seeing marks on her after they hook up and she’s desperately trying to hide it with her hair, a scarf, makeup, etc, excites the hell out of him. but in terms of short term? definitely sofía. but they heal quick

who is the more experienced of the two?

mason ofc KJSDFKJSDFKJ

do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?

they definitely fuck, but poor sofía is secretly hoping it’ll turn into a more intimate session. bc as of book 2 she’s taking any of his even remotely gentle actions as a sign LMAO poor baby

how long do they usually last?

depends on how long they’ve been away from each other. either it’s frantic and rough and quick or it’s longer and passionate and prolonged.

rough or soft?

rough - she doesn’t mind that though because she’s never really had it that way. i can’t imagine bobby was skilled at sex if he was that bad at kissing LMAO. and before that it was clumsy teenage sex so she’s just glad to be doing something that she gets actual pleasure from LMAO

is protection used?

even though sofía is strict asf about wearing protection she kind of threw that out the window when she started hooking up w a vampire LMAO [me saying lmao like 6 times under the sex portion of this bc i feel like i’m being too horny on main and am weird ab it KJSDFJKSDFJK]

does it ever get boring?

maybe for mason if he thinks its too vanilla but he’d be very vocal ab being bored if it ever happened

where is the strangest place they’d have sex?

not necessarily a place together, but i have absolutely no doubt that mason’s called her in the middle of something important and tried having phone sex with her and she’s flustered as fuck trying to keep it together and he’s just... talking to her like he does and getting her all worked up. since he absolutely livesssss to fluster her !

i have no doubt that they fucked while she was supposed to be patrolling LMFAO. probably more than once to be honest. more than twice. idk let’s just say that she def looks forward to patrolling with ub more than she used to

FAMILY.

do they plan on having children/or have children?

hell no

if so, how many children do they want/have?

none

AFFECTION.

who likes to cuddle?

sofía does and it takes him a longggg time to warm up to it

who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?

mason of course LMAO dirty talk in the ear here, an ass grab there. ya know. that kind of stuff KJSFKKJFD

who struggles to keep their hands to themselves?

mason again ! sofía is definitely curvaceous in the ass area [yes she has a fat ass and she deserves it] and he Does Not want to keep his hands off of her.

how long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?

sofía is hot natured and it bugs the shit out of mason so he would grumble and move away... if he stayed :/

what is their favourite non-sexual activity?

stargazing! tbh i hc mason as lowkey really enjoying astronomy bc space is so quiet and calm and dark LMAO his ideal place <3 SDKJFKSJD

where is their favourite place to cuddle?

he doesn’t really prefer cuddling but if so, definitely after sex before the afterglow wears off

SLEEPING.

who snores?

sofía snores VERY softly and it annoys the shit out of mason but then after a while he can’t sleep without it bc she’s like his own personal noise box

if both do, who snores the loudest?

just sofía snores !

do they share a bed or sleep separately?

share a bed (reluctantly at first)

if they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?

so they always cozy up with each other at first, but since mason doesn’t need that much sleep in the first place he moves away when he’s uncomfortable/wakes up

what do they wear to bed?

sofía usually wears a tank top, free boobs it, and wears patterned pajama shorts that she’s had for years (mason always hates the pattern of the shorts bc he thinks they’re hideous, but he loves the way they hug her hips and ass). he’s usually shirtless, which is definitely weird since his senses get really overwhelmed. but the feeling of being pressed up against her and hearing her heartbeat blocks out any of his discomfort.

are either of them insomniacs?

sofía is a horrible insomniac. she’s usually up early and goes to bed late. she’s convinced she can run on a couple hours of sleep and coffee, but usually crashes on her days off and sleeps for like 12+ hours.

can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?

not to be h*rny but i mean usually if she can’t sleep he wears her out LMAO

do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?

usually she wraps her arms around him and he drapes his arms around her.

who wakes up with bed hair?

both of them LMAO

who wakes up first?

mason. he’s usually gone first, too.

who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?

mason would never, but sofía definitely does it for him depending on if he’s injured or angry at her

what is their favourite sleeping position?

she loves being the big spoon sometimes but mason much prefers being pressed up against her back, so she’s usually the little spoon. normally after he leaves, she sleeps on her stomach.

do they set an alarm each night?

she sets an alarm for herself but it’s purely a vibrating alarm because she’s scared she’s gonna hurt mason’s ears.

who has nightmares?

sofía. definitely. she hid it at first but started opening up to him about it and now without a word, he can tell what she’s seen, so he wordlessly comforts her.

can a television be found in their bedroom?

nope ! sofía is weird about always feeling productive and having her tv in her room makes her feel like she’s wasting the day away (even if she rots on the couch all weekend)

who has ridiculous dreams?

also sofía. mason doesn’t dream much in general, but she has the most wild dreams that are always completely out of left field. sometimes he’s in them and he can tell with the way she looks at him the following morning what type of dream it was KSDJFKJDFK

who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?

hmm, i’d have to say sofía again. she’s not a wild sleeper, but she does tend to lift her leg and tuck her arm under her head when she’s not cuddling him.

who makes the bed?

mason never makes the bed LMAO and she’s a neat freak

what time is bed time?

they’re both night owls, but just whenever she passes out from exhaustion mainly

any routines/rituals before bed?

sofía has a whole skincare routine since she wears makeup daily. 

who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?

mason’s always grumpy, but sofía never wakes up angry unless she was woken up when she thought she’d have more time to sleep 

WORK.

who is the busiest?

both are pretty busy all the time, a fact that annoys the hell out of both

who rakes in the highest income?

um well mason doesn’t ever want for anything bc the agency provides them with everything. i mean cigs are expensive as hell so idk ??? i’m assuming he makes more than her.

are any of them unemployed?

nope !

who takes the most sick days?

mason. usually only if he knows he can get away with it bc he wouldnt wanna deal with griping

what are their jobs?

human liaison / detective and an agent

who sucks up to their boss?

sofía KSDFJSJKDF she sucks up to the captain

who is more likely to turn up late to work?

sofía may be a hard worker but she’s usually a few minutes late since she has to look good

who stresses the most?

sofía ofc lmao she can get pretty high strung over certain situations!

do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?

mason (confirmed by mishka) doesn’t have aspirations past being on ub, so i think he’s fine where he is and he’s putting his talents to use. i think sofía didn’t care much for her job at all, but she was hoping being a detective was going to be a change. she was pretty aimless until unit bravo showed up, so i think she’s happy with her job now.

are they financially stable?

definitely! sofía paid off her student loans pretty diligently since wayhaven is a cheap place to live (i’m assuming) 

HOME.

who does the washing?

sofía bc like i said she’s a neat freak

who takes out the trash?

mason bc he ‘hates hearing her whine’ but he’s being nice

who does the ironing?

sofía bc she’s always looking nice and fresh and mason is wearing casual clothes that are prob wrinkled as hell

who does the cooking?

sofía ! she’s an enthusiastic cook but she’s still learning. she messes up a lot but she loves trying new recipes

who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?

mason would purposefully burn down the house. arsonist vibes

who is messier?

mason. a lot less possessions but somehow cares less about where they are in the house.

who leaves the toilet roll empty?

neither? ig?

who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?

mason bc he just strips and throws his shit everywhere

who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?

probably both.

who answers the telephone?

sofía ! she’s way more professional

who mows the lawn?

god could mason even handle the sound of a lawn mower? i’m assuming they’d live somewhere remote and not that grassy to avoid that LMAO

who does the vacuuming?

sofía ! neat freak 

who does the groceries?

sofía again ! she’s very much an adult who does shit on her own and doesn’t really need mason’s help SDJKDFJ plus she likes feeling productive and running errands !

who takes the longest to shower?

sofía again – mason showers but i mean.... it’s painful when it happens so. sofía is one of those people that shaves her entire body methodically, exfoliates, all of that shit

MISCELLANEOUS.

is money a problem?

no because mason isn’t a huge spender but sofía does like to splurge sometimes. but it’s never enough to like wear their pockets thin. they live comfortably !

how many cars do they own?

probably 2! mason really just needs his for the cover since.... he can ya know.... just run everywhere LMAO

what’s their song?

well mason hates music LMAO but

do they live in the city or in the country?

country. mason couldn’t handle it! close though that sofía could still visit the city and get her fill, but far away enough that mason is content.

do they own their home or do they rent?

hmm in wayhaven definitely an apartment at first ! idk if mason’s huge on homeowning. i mean does he rly care? if its dark and quiet he’s happy

do they enjoy their surroundings?

sofía felt stuck and purposeless till mason showed up. she likes it a lot more now, but mason is still reluctant. they both tolerate it for each other, though.

what do they do when they’re away from each other?

mason is protective as hell so he’s worrying ab her even if he doesn’t wanna admit it. and sofía is just worrying if he’s actually thinking about her or not. and she’s missing him of course. but also i think that overall mason could kind of go about his life but sofía couldn’t if they were away you know? she’d be reminded of him constantly but he could hold himself together.

where did they first meet?

at her office !

who spends the most money when out shopping?

def sofía.

who’s more likely to flash their assets?

hmm if this is an innuendo, mason. if this is just being flashy, def sofía. she’s got a couple expensive items she wears on the regular.

any mental issues?

sofía is generally pretty anxious and a huge empath so she can fall into depressive episodes quite easily. and she’s definitely traumatized from murphy

who finds it amusing when the other trips over?

mason definitely laughs at sofía when she falls KSJDFKSDJKF

who’s terrified of bugs?

sofía’s scared, not terrified ! she would rather save a bigger bug like a spider instead of killing them

who kills the spiders around the house?

mason. he begrudgingly stomps on them if sofía chickens out of saving it. BUT after the first couple times, he just sighs and gathers it in his hands before letting it go outside.

do they have any fears for their future?

sofía is afraid of mason finding a replacement for her since she’s terirified he doesn’t care about her the same way she does as him. she’s scared she’ll get stuck in a rut again. she’s scared she’ll come face to face with murphy again. she’s scared of coming across another supernatural like murphy. she’s scared of a LOT of things. mason, however, is more nervous about protecting her.

their favourite place?

rooftops, cliffsides, anywhere they can stargaze away from the sounds of the town. and mason’s bedroom bc he has a lot more ~things~ to offer there LMAO

who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?

sofía would, but she’d never actually do it bc she knows mason wouldn’t like it

who pays the bills?

hmm both of them? not sure

who’s the tallest?

mason ! sofía is ab 5′2 / 5′3 give or take

who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?

mason definitely. and he’s done it before and he’ll do it over and over LMAO

who wanders around in their underwear?

definitely sofía. she doesn’t have to try hard to get his attn but she reserves a few lace thongs JUST for that occasion

who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?

sofía and mason hates it LMAO he prefers when she just hums along. it’s wayyyy more soothing

what do they tease each other about?

mason teases sofía about blushing so much and she teases him about his smoking habit

who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?

sofía at mason, definitely KSDFKJSDKJF she sees his henley with the neckline stretched out, wrinkled, with some cigarette burns and she just. gets so mad KJSDFJKSDJKF she’s so stylish compared to him

who crushed first?

sofía definitely had a crush first, but mason was physically attracted to her first

any alcohol or substance related problems?

nope ! sofía enjoys alcohol but nothing extreme.

who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?

sofía, definitely LMAO she has a little bit of a party girl in her that doesn’t come out that often but when it does....

who swears the most?

mason, usually. but when sofía’s upset, she has the mouth of a sailorrrrr

––––

#tag games #n*fw #twc mason #detective sofía olmos #twc headcanons #long post #otp tag #might change some of this later not sure !!! but for now these r my babies <3

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT: punch drunk princess; jay white [m]

Notes:

okay so.. this one was another sent to my main’s ask. but it was sent so long ago that I honestly forget who exactly sent it, oops? Anyway, this belongs to the whole vamp x human universe that I created for Jay White and my oc, Esme. Maybe one day I’ll make something out of it.

Summary:

Jay put a glamour so strong on Esme years ago that she’s totally forgotten him. But when they’re reunited because he sought her out and chose her to do his interview Jay decides that maybe he wants to remind her exactly who he is and what they were to each other. Fingering and hand jobs, body fluids. Mature.

Pairing:

Jay White x OFC, Esme

Warnings:

hand jobs and fingering, body fluids, risky sexual situation, use of mental manipulation / a glamour and some pretty intense bickering and banter back and forth.

Esme took a deep breath and smoothed her hands down the black leather strapless dress. One quick glimpse at herself in the mirror and she was ready.. Well, as ready as one gets to go out and give a tempermental self proclaimed vampire an interview.

… just get out there,  let him do his promo and  don’t ask any of the questions on the no ask list. It’s not that hard, Esme… she reminded herself as she reached for the door handle and took two long and deep breaths to center herself  a little bit.

Having never met a man who claimed to be a decades old vampire before,  Esme was torn between believing the stories she’d heard and thinking the man was all show and no go; secretly leaning more towards the latter if it really mattered.

Given the men  she /had/ encountered -and been let down by, it wasn’t a real stretch for her imagination.

“You’re on in ten, Essie.”

“Mark, we’ve discussed this. It’s Esme.  E-S-M-E. Surely you can remember a four letter name and stop trying to make it cute?” Esme’s tone was sharp and Mark, the stage hand winced, but Esme just fluffed his hair and  straightened his tie. “Is my coffee ready too?”

“Already out front.” Mark assured her.

Esme stared at the black velvet curtain separating her from the professional wrestler she was about to interview.

“Four seconds.” someone called out and Esme started to make her way to the curtain. When she stepped through, she took her seat quickly.

The man sitting next to her was decked out in a designer leather  trench coat, leather skinny jeans and a pair of pretty pricey biker boots that she was almost certain she’d seen in a top end boutique that she shopped right next to. She didn’t realize  she was staring, - or that he was staring right back, until he cleared his throat and chuckled, leaning in ever so slightly.

Esme got the distinct sense that it was more to throw her off or unsettle her than anything, but there was this underlying note of seduction there that she’d have to have been the most oblivious person in the entire world to miss.

She smirked calmly as he whispered,  “Y’ look tense, princess.”

“Not  tense at all, sir. Let’s just do this interview  with no cute stuff and no outtakes, yeah?” Esme whispered back, careful not to let on just how much the man was truly getting to her.

She’d been warned about him before she’d been told that he specifically chose her to give the interview and asked if she  would,  so she was not about to let him play whatever game he was going to try and play to make her lose her level of professionalism. She took a sip of coffee and almost the second the cup was level with her lips, her mind was absolutely flooded with all this mental imagery..

The man sitting next to her, standing behind her, cock standing tall and straight, one hand tangled in a fist full of her hair and the other hand wrapped around his shaft, guiding it over her dripping cunt, teasing her with a shallow thrust here and there. She nearly choked and he chuckled from beside her, reaching out to pat her upper back as he muttered calmly, “Thought y’ were like steel. Nothin  could rattle ya.”

Esme gave a non amused glare, he gave a playful wink and clearing her throat firmly, Esme asked the first question on her spoon fed list from his personal manager. “Are you happy with the block you’ll be wrestling in for G1 Climax this year?”

“Very satisfied, yes.” Jay answered, studying her intently. Seeing her on a screen and being face to face  with her again after all this time were… two totally different things  and if he said he wasn’t beyond affected by being around her same as he had been that last night with her, he’d be lying. The thought had him shifting in his seat and he raked his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, trying like hell to keep the mental images flooding his mind from doing so right now.

After all, he didn’t need Esme knowing the deepest inner fantasies he may or may not have had about her before the interview even took place.. The way he wanted to sweep all the shit off  the  top of the table they currently sat at, tearing down that dress, letting his mouth roam over those perky tits.. Grab a handful of her ass… No, he wanted to reach between her legs and rub her cunt til  she was arching her back and whimpering; begging him for more, telling him not to stop.

She tensed next to him  and he gave a satisfied smirk the second she did,  glad that she couldn’t see it. If he had to suffer the mental imagery, it was only fitting she suffer it too.

The program went to commercial and Esme leaned in, a smug look of determination in her eyes as she whispered calmly, “I don’t know what your game is, Jay White.. But it stops now.”

He met her gaze with the most innocent of looks and a haphazard shrug as he chuckled. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. It’s Esme, right? Pity.. you know  my full name. I don’t know yours. Maybe we should change that?” for the moment, Jay was pretending not to know her beyond having seen her show. In reality, he knew her… Oh,  he knew her quite well..  And it stung a little that the glamour he’d used on her years ago after a very intense and passionate night together worked so well that she didn’t even feel some tiny spark or  shred of recognition.

… well  I’ll just ‘ave t’ change that, given that I’m back and I aim t’  make her all mine…

“That’ll be a hard pass from me, Jay. Pretty sure you’re like the rest of the men I’ve had on to interview from that profession.” even as Esme said it, she had this feeling somewhere deep down..  There was something tugging at her mind she couldn’t quite make sense of..  This sense of familiarity where Jay White was concerned.

“You mean like yer last boyfriend, yeah? No, nothin like him. For starters I’m more ‘f a man in one of my fingers as he is overall.. To do th’ things I heard he did behind yer back…Only a coward sleeps around on the woman he supposedly loves.” Jay met her shocked expression with a smug look and Esme’s mouth opened and  closed because for  the first time in probably her entire life,  she had absolutely no quick comeback. She muttered the word jackass under her breath and Jay leaned in, mused against her ear quietly, “Tell  me somethin,  princess?” - he knew he shouldn’t ask the question, because he didn’t want to have it confirmed that yes, he  had done such a good job with the glamour  he put her under while she slept  the morning after  their night together that she’d completely forgotten, but he… had to know.  So, he asked.

“I have a name.” Esme started to correct, but then her eyes met his and she felt this… Sudden lucidity washing over her.  She couldn’t even really remember what she’d been so irritated by  in regards to him by the time the fog wore off. She shook her head and stared at him a few seconds, curious. “Well?”

“Do y’ even remember me at all?”

Esme raised a brow  and bit her lip, wondering why he’d ask her such a strange question when she’d never met him before in her entire life.

“ I’d have to have met you first to remember you.” Esme answered calmly. The show picked back up and Esme started her interview again. Jay watched her intently, mulling over just how good he’d glamoured her all those years ago after their night together.

The problem was, even recalling the night with her… Bought it all rushing right back to the surface.

Esme nearly choked on her coffee again when her mind was flooded with another round of erotic mental imagery.

Her hands tied to a metal bedpost that looked vaguely similar to an old frame she once owned.. Legs spread wide.. The feeling of facial hair and a warm, wet and oh so thick tongue as it trailed slowly up the inside of her right thigh. His eyes as he stared up at her. The white of his fangs  as his mouth turned upward in that devil’s smirk. The feel of his hands  against her bare skin.

The way he fucked her with his tongue - and on two separate occasions that same night,  his cock. The way he pulled her hair and the way he lie there holding her in the semi darkness of the room for a few hours after that night.

Esme tried to keep her face blank and the tension out of her body, but the mumbled swear  was definitely heard by Jay and all he could do was smirk to himself a little, calmly answer the question she’d asked and flash her his best flirtatious grin.

Her side brushed against his and it was like a jolt. She tried not to react in any way, but she tensed before she could stop it. When she felt his hand squeezing her thigh,she bit down on her lower lip just to keep from purring at the contact. Sad to say, yeah.. It had been a while.

By the time the interview was over, she found herself thinking, she was definitely going to need a long and cold shower. When Jay leaned in and whispered against her ear quietly, “You’ll remember exactly who I am soon enough,  princess. After all, I am the one who erased the memory t’ start with..Only I can fully restore it. Maybe I will, princess..” in a slightly smug tone,Esme boldly met his gaze and raised a brow..“You really believe you erased my memory? Well okay then..  whatever helps you get by, Jay. And I do believe, sir, you have me mistaken with someone else. Because I’m telling you, I have never met you until your publicist reached out, saying you requested me  to do this interview.”

“Oh no.. I’d never forget the way those legs feel around my waist.. Or the way it feels to wrap my hand in your hair and tug on it as I take you from behind.. Tell me somethin, princess… Do y’still have that little birthmark on yer bum? The slightly heart shaped one.”

Esme’s cheeks flushed bright red and despite her best efforts, warmth pooled to her cheeks and between her thighs. Her panties were soaked. She clenched her thighs tighter, trapping Jay’s hand just as it slid between them. Jay shifted in his seat as he felt the sticky warmth coating her inner thigh. His hand crept higher and Esme jumped a little in her seat, thankful for the front of the table being made to look like a desk and thus, being totally hidden from view. Her heart started to beat wildly against her chest and she took a labored breath.

Jay stopped, meeting her gaze with the calmest look on her face.

Irked by it, she decided to get a little payback. She lowered one of her hands covertly, slipping it right into his lap. The second he felt her hand rubbing at the bulge strained against his leather jeans, he gave an audible grunt and smirked to himself.

Esme bit down on her lip just to keep from whimpering into her mic as she felt Jay’s thick digits brushing the soaked cotton covering her cunt to the side. As his fingers trailed lazily over her folds, she fought desperately for composure.

Jay wasn’t going to allow it, apparently because nearly the instant she got herself reasonably composed, she felt two of those thick fingertips working her open. Just to see if he’d stop if she called his bluff, she shifted in her seat, bucking against his fingers as she did so. As all this transpired, the two of them were masks of composure, carrying on the interview as if absolutely nothing else was taking place.

Esme started to rub at the bulge strained against his jeans a little harder and faster as soon as she felt Jay’s own pace changing and heard him swear under his breath.  She worked the zip down  and her hands slipped into his silk boxers, circling his cock, pumping up and down slowly and lazily, lingering long enough at the tip to trail a fingertip over it. Jay’s legs opened wider to give her more room and his fingers continued to fuck in  and out of her cunt, his thumb pressing against her clit, rubbing a  circular motion. He bucked as carefully as possible against her hand, biting his lip. Esme smirked and slowed  down her strokes drastically under a warning look from him during a third break.

Jay  slowed down the movements of his own fingers as he felt her starting to tighten and tense at his touch. He leaned in and muttered so that no one could hear, “Goin t’ give me somethin’ t’ taste?” as he sped back up. Esme did the same, groaning as she felt his cock throbbing in her hand, felt the warm and stickiness of his seed as it lazily drizzled down his length. Her own orgasm shattered through, leaving her no choice but to dig her  toes into her shoes and grip at the edge of the table they sat hidden behind  as it  took over. Jay felt her cunt tighten around his fingers and he felt  the spasms, the warmth of her release as it flooded her panties and covered his fingers. Slipping his fingers out, he smirked as he cleaned himself up as covertly as possible -careful to make it seem as if his hands were merely resting in his lap out of sight.

The interview was ending and on shaky legs, Esme stood. She felt like she’d explode if  she didn’t get somewhere with a locking door  and collect herself.

Jay stood too and as soon as he went in for  the handshake, he pulled her against him; suddenly not giving a fuck how it looked on screen. His tongue dragged along the outer edge of her ear covertly and he whispered; “Was good to see you again, princess. You’ve no idea how much I missed you.. We’ll be together again soon enough.”

Esme stood there, floored by his  words.  About five seconds into it, she was hit by all  these crystal clear memories.. Of a night that until just now, she’d long forgotten about. Given  the nature of her memories of Jay White from back then, she was hard pressed to figure out why in the hell she’d managed to forget all about him, but somehow she had.

… seeing him must have stirred it all up again, that’s all…  she shrugged off remembering as a mere coincidence and from where Jay lurked out of sight around the corner, he  smiled to himself while rubbing his chin.

Oh yes.. He would most certainly be seeing her again very,  very soon. Because just like last time, he thought  to himself with a smirk, she would invite him in… After all, she had to be curious what a repeat of  the last night, which he’d just restored the memory of, would feel like….

#jay white fanfiction #jay white fanfic #jay white fic #jay white oneshot #jay white imagine #// public s*xual situation #// body fluids tw #// use of a glamour;mental manipulation #// vampire x human au

[thoughtslikeaminefield]

I remember you by the day I was searching for dark fics and came across a bunch of Demon!Dean fics. Immediately fell in love with the darkness in ur fics

I so enjoy writing Demon Dean. He’s as meaty and complicated as human Dean with that flare of darkness we all crave.

MY DEMON DEAN FIC

Discord and Rhyme - Demon Dean x unnamed female character

Summary: Dean is on the prowl.

Warnings: this is not your mother’s Dean Winchester, rough anal sex, crying during sex, blood during sex, there’s a lot of purple prose and excessive descriptions of taste and smell here, dub-con/sexual coercion, dirty talk,

Words: 1753

Leaving Heaven - Demon Dean/Dean Winchester x original female character

Summary: Tazi is a bounty hunter of mostly human things. She isn’t firmly seated in the supernatural world, but she’s familiar enough that she’s recruited by an old friend of John Winchester’s to capture and deliver a brief acquaintance of her own.

Warnings: this is not your mother’s Dean Winchester, show level violence, adult language, alcohol consumption, sexual intimidation, brief dub-con, flashbacks, mentions of the foster system, mentions of petty crime, mentions of Dean’s arrest record, mentions of blood and gore, rough foreplay, choking, making out with a Knight of Hell culminating in coming fully-clothed against a brick wall, mentions of past rape (nothing descriptive), commiserating over childhood trauma, minor character death, non-sexual choking, verbal threats of violence and sexual assault, attempted sexual assault, choking, verbal terror, psychological horror, guilt, regret, redemption, falling in love, cunnilingus, het sex, rough sex, hair pulling, more tags to come as story progresses

Shattered Like A Stone - Demon Dean x OFC

Summary: The Mark is demanding and the demon in Dean won’t deny it.

Warnings: this is not your mother’s Dean Winchester, Dark Demon!Dean, Top Demon!Dean, Dom Demon!Dean, rough sex, object insertion (multiple), The First Blade, The Mark of Cain, Rope Bondage, Knife Play, no condoms, Bloodplay, Biting, Bisexual OFC, Reference to attempted suicide, no safe word, references to mental illness, risky sexual behavior, Marking, cum marking, slight Pain Play, masochism, subspace, topspace, rough anal sex, spit and Jameson as lube, OFC has a death wish, face fucking, slight Daddy kink, consensual snuff, assisted suicide, choking, strangulation

Words: 6998

AND SPEAKING OF DARK FICS, CHECK OUT @laphirablack‘ FIC ILLUSION

Illusion - After Sam and Dean part ways, Dean is kidnapped and finds himself in a living hell. Can he escape?

#demon dean fic dark spn fic #laphirablack

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 88

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: It ain’t over til it’s over. 

Summary:  Genevieve finds her place back in London’s society and makes it clear she’s back. She and Alfie have a much needed conversation about the past months. NSFW  Song is by Lenny Kravitz.

Warnings/Tags: Language. References to assault and violence. Sexual content. Fluff. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

The maids were all feeling uncertain that next morning. Not all of them having seen or heard what happened the day before, but all having felt Genevieve’s seriousness when addressing them afterward.

The tension from the staff was cut with a new, lighter feeling between the higher ups of the home. Aggie and Claire exchanging glances as Alfie and Genevieve entered the dining room together for the first time since their biggest argument to date, it’d been weeks. Not a couple of young ones in wild abandon like love with each other any longer. They take the reconciliation slowly, they do not touch while eating their breakfast, but do speak of the current events in the paper. Genevieve rises and Alfie’s face follows her with question.

“Is the car ready Joseph?” She asks while smoothing down her skirt.

“Yes Miss.”

“Ya leavin’?”

“I’m going to the children’s home this morning.” She informs while pushing in her chair and giving a nod to the girl taking up her plates. “Then collecting my money personally all afternoon.”

“Ah. Do ya fink at’s-“ He begins, a natural instinct that he stops as he sees her brows lift and shoot him a look that told him to consider his next words carefully. “Do ya fink ya might need my help with anythin’?” He switches to instead something helpful instead of corrective.

“No.” She says with a shake of her head and a subtle smile that thanks him for adjusting his tone and direction. “I only need you to go to work and make money.” She gives a brief touch to his arm with the same coy sort of smile on her face.

“Then I’ll ask the same of you.” He gives her a tilt of his head and a charming lift of his brow with the slightest bit of teasing to it.

Alfie leaves with a chivalrous kiss to the back of his loves hand and an affectionate tone of dismissal as he left for work. It even made Gen feel something as their eyes met a blue that no longer felt cold and didn’t inspire shame in her own. Everyone observes silently, tea in the afternoons together again, graduating to cheek kisses upon greeting and exiting rooms. The ease between them spread slowly to Aggie and Claire and then onto the rest of the house. Neither were no longer miserable, making everyone’s job easier.

Genevieve without the distraction of Alfie, who was only being supportive and polite since their meeting halfway on acknowledging there were issues separating them, was now focused more than ever. She sits at her desk, frown out and lacquered nails drumming on the dark wooden surface, surrounded by piles of papers and ledgers.

“I need something.” Gen mutters, eyes looking over the organized mess like it will give her any answers.

“Things are on the up. The visits have assured the contracts and I’ve heard no complaints from clients. The staff are all up to the raised standards, yield is higher… You’re in a perfectly good spot, Gen.”

“Clients May have stopped taking but the rest of London hasn’t.” Gen quickly snaps back and Claire has no retort as it’s only the truth. “I need something to reestablish myself. I don’t want to be good, I want to be the best. I should be who everyone wants to work with. I need the clout, I need the power and the bragging rights to shut down this talk of me being weak and passé.” Gens eyes bore into a section of grain on the top of the polished desk. “I have to do something drastic.”

—————

“This certainly is drastic.” Claire says with pursed lips as she sits next to a very professional and expensive looking Gen in her new town car. She had come to play with the people who had been speaking ill of her in cowardly whispers. She was here to make a move to change their minds.

“I have to be bold, Claire. Nothing less than high risk is acceptable.”

“And you’re certain this is what you want to do?”

“I am.”

“Then...I wish you luck. I’ll be here.” Claire hesitantly agrees.

“Thank you for not questioning me on this.”

“I believe this is something you would’ve done before you were hurt. It is high risk but not out of your… non traditional business practices.”

“Be back.” Gen says with a confident nod as she exits the car. She stands in front of Fortnum and Mason, the most posh and expensive shop she knew could use her products. She knew all the women who would’ve been talking behind her back shopped there and if she could get the sole seller role from them she would have her feet firmly back into their world. So that’s what she set off to do.

The owner and buyer aren’t sold, Gen is still in the shadow of herself no matter the figures and facts she gives them. She’s still a woman and one seen as on her way down. Her polite attempts and by the book do not work, but she hadn’t planned for them to.

“I’m sorry Miss Durand we’re just not one to break tradition and with our history with our fruits supplier we aren’t going to be parting from them”

With a ledger shut in front of her and their postures ready to rise, Gen keeps put and wears a still self assured face. “What will it take?” She asks plainly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. What will it take? To get this contract. To break this lie of tradition and loyalty you’ve fabricated to give more reasons to turn me down. I know you’ve had three sellers in the past seven years and you are about profit. Not tradition. So what price are they giving you and I will beat it for exclusivity.” No one ever expects a woman to do her research. It’s always a surprise when she rolled up her sleeves and got in the dirt with the bloated rich white men.

The two men in suits look to each other and blink, surprise and confusion clear on their faces. “I’m sorry Miss Durand but we don’t want to do business with you.”

“Why not?” She demands.

“We’ve heard...things of you as of late and know the…” He pauses for a less harsh way to word his thoughts. “...company you keep and would like to refrain from moving in those circles.”

“Company?” She scoffs. “Because I’m Jewish or because of Mr. Solomons? Surely you aren’t against the Parliament Member Thomas Shelby.”

“Solomons.” The second in the chain of hierarchy answers and the top suit gives him a warning glance.

“My business is perfectly legal and established and was successful before I even met Mr. Solomons. My personal does not affect my professional. He has nothing to do with this.”

“Yes but we would rather keep our distance. We’re sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.” She shakes her head at them.

“Miss Durand If you’re going to be difficult then we can-“

“I’m not leaving here until I have this contract. Simple as that.” She says now standing and pushing the paper towards the man sitting on the other side of the desk. “I have been polite and offered all the ways I am a better match, up to and including better prices than those you’re receiving for high quality product. Since It is clear you are a fool who believes others words over those that are speaking personably to your face, I no longer have the option to be polite. Sign this for the price listed or I will be forced to act in a distasteful way as per the “company” I keep.” She speaks fast but sharply, her painted nail tapping the contract.

“We’ll hand you over to the police Miss Durand if you don’t calm down and stop with this-“

“I own the police you bloated twat.” She hisses and leans with both hands on the desk. “I pay them and they work for me. All the way up to my connections in Parliament. I have blackmail on the heads just as I have blackmail on you. So I would highly advise not going through with that plan of yours. Lest someone find out your naughty habit of frequenting the bugger houses on the east end. Where the company I keep lives. So believe me. I know what a dirty boy you are and what I do is no match for what filth you get yourself into.” The man to his sides eyes go wide and the round frog of a man gulps audibly.

“Miss Durand-“

“I have photographs if you’d like to see?” She offers cheerfully as she reaches for her bag.

“No!” He says too quickly and loudly at first. “No that’s-shit-that won’t be necessary. For your work ethic I will sign this and NO other reasons.” He insists and the man next to him looked him up and down, seeing the sweat on his brow.

“Lovely!” Shechirps, falling back into a pleasant tone with her hands clasped in front of her. “You won’t regret it. I have the best product in London.”

“Mmph.” He grunts and nods. Signing a second copy of the agreement.

“Thank you SO much for your business.” She tales the paper into her leather portfolio. “I’m only a phone call away and deliveries will be sorted within the week.”

“Yes. Good.” He mutters, defeated.

Gen trots like a show pony out of the store with a tin of biscuits and a bottle of red wine. There was cause to celebrate.

————

She lounges in the warm glow of her fireplace late that same night. Full Maribou trimmed dressing gown and matching burgundy slip gown with her wine of the same color in her hand, swirling.

“What’s this now? Drinking?” Alfie huffs as he tosses his coat onto the back of an armchair.

“Only a celebratory glass, Cheri. Look at the rest of the bottle, there.” She motions to the bucket on the vanity across the room.

“What are you celebratin’?” He asks as he leans on the back of the couch behind her. She turns and puts her legs up on the cushions and speaks to him.

“I negotiated a contract for exclusive Abielle run of Fortnum and Masons today.” She smiles Proudly, but it’s a subdued gloat, not all toothy and blushed like he would’ve expected.

“How the fuck ya manage that?” He asks with an air of disbelief.

“Blackmail.” She gives a sly grin his way and takes a sip of wine.

“A classic approach. Ya think that’s wise?”

“Alfie, darling I pay the coppers, I have blackmail on them as well! Of course it’s WISE.” She snarls and rolls her eyes. “Now those posh cunts have no choice but to recognize my hold in the city. I got them where they shop. That’s the equivalent of bollocks for those kinds.” She lets out an amused snort into the crystal goblet.

He stands straight and studies her for a moment. A proud woman in recline, a smile on her face that told you she knew something you didn’t. With her hair down and untamed, fresh from a bath he guesses, the glow of oil on her legs showing through the sheer fabric was enough to make a warmth flood his chest. He stares a little too long, caught up in a wave of adoration and pride for her.

“What?” She asks with demand to her voice. Not looking for approval but commanding his thoughts from him.

He sighs and gives her a charming closed mouth smile that makes her tilt her head at him in question. He leans over, and she doesn’t back down as he bends and gives her a kiss to her wine stained lips she did not expect. “It’s bloody good to have ya back, love.” He says softly, their eyes locked for a brief few seconds before he pulls away. With a flutter of lashes, a softness he didn’t expect on her face she gives a silent nod. “Now I’m gonna have me a bath ‘cause I had to crawl ‘round in the shit all day with the fuckin machines.” He changes back to a being lacking the sensuality he’d just displayed. “So excuse me Miss.” He gives a polite nod she reciprocates as his finger begins working on the buttons on his shirt. He walks to the bathroom with his suspenders hanging at his sides as Gen watched his powerful saunter disappear behind the wall. Now he wasn’t the only one who was having warm thoughts creep up their spine and into their mind.

———————

Genevieve chirps happily of her Hebrew lessons over tea with Claire. Claire listens and nods out of her habit to support Gens interests and passions since the incident.

“My pronunciation is back and no longer hurts as well. He was very impressed with me, he said. Told me he was happy to have me among his own for my strength and resilience. Holding my studies still despite the difficulty and now pursuing my bat mitzvah so attentively so soon after.”

“The only man you like praise from.” Claire jokes as she gives the bright eyed Gen a side glance.

Gen huffs our an amused sound and slows herself, feeling a bit excitable. “That’s not entirely true.” She adds quietly while her fingers give her away as they pick at the hem of her gown.

“Oh well save Altar then?” Sore ads with a sip.

“No.” Gen adds with a dragging voice. “I do care about Alfies opinion.”

“Oh?” Claire tilts her head but her face is full of mischief to balance the faux surprise her expression holds. “Are we back to caring about Alfie now?” She teases.

“We never stopped.” She rolls her eyes and takes a long drink. “We just merely… sat it aside for a moment to focus on other things.”

“And are these other things in focus now? Some clarity been achieved?”Claire smirks.

“Yes It has you twat.” Gen lets out a small laugh. “I feel… good again. Solid, yes? Focused and independent. All things I needed for myself to be able to get past all...that.”

“So he’s back in your good graces?”

“I believe so. I feel ready for a partner again. I feel ready to discuss the recent events and our future together. I would like his input on where to hold the ceremony.” Her eyes wander around the room as she speaks as she holds her other train of thought silent and spills the rest.

“I am truly pleased you find yourself mentally fit again. You have been a different woman as of late and dare I say I might prefer this level headed business woman. Well… level headed despite the murder and that.” She gives Gen a playful grin.

“That was a mix of work and play really.”

“I can approve of that.” Claire nods and keeps the smile on her face. “How is the rest of you? If you don’t mind my prying?”

“The rest of me?”

“Physically? The spirit and mind are thriving but how is the vessel?” Her voice turns more motherly than taunting sister.

“Oh! It all seems to be in working order. Not as strong as I was before yet but, in time.” She nods approvingly at herself. “The odd ache and pain and stiffness of course. To be expected. Whether from age or injury.” She says with a pout of lips showing her disapproval for the former.

“Right then. Good. So… have you and Alfie...physically reconciled yet?” With an upward swing of her voice and a brow Gen lets out a sputter.

“No we have not.” She sounded almost disheartened by the fact. “But the past weeks It’s been on my mind again. I’ve had to consider many things...new factors to deal with and all.” Her face frowns slightly and she chews her lip. “I believe that I could.” She states after a pregnant pause. “I haven’t even touched myself though truth be told.” She offers with a shrug. “It’s not been as important to me as it was before. But I think with patience… and if he could awaken the romance in me that I would be perfectly fine. We only dabbled in the more...extreme you might say that could possibly make me uncomfortable now. Or should I say still? I don’t want any roughness in bed to always be something I’m wary of. I won’t have that incident define me forever. I refuse.”

“All perfectly understandable.” Claire says with a much sweeter lilt to her words. “You are very self aware and that will carry you to exactly where you want to be.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind.” She says almost bashfully.

“Just truthful.” She shakes off the compliment. “I believe sex would be a good next step. You’ve both come far in your treatment of each other and it could act as a real bond creator. Establish the new norm, reconnect after all that...hog wash.”

Gen gives her a smile and nods as she stares into her tea cup. “I believe you’re right. I’ll start a discussion this evening. Some things need to be said beforehand. But he’s never turned down a negotiation.” She laughs.

———-

Gen brings in a tray of tea cakes she’d made earlier in the day to her bedroom. Setting the silver serving platter with its tiered platforms of various sweets by the bed where Alfie had settled in his pajamas. He was wearing his glasses and looking entirely harmless as Gen served him the baked goods.

“Ya made these?” He asks, setting the book we had been reading while he waited for her to return.

“I did.” The pride is on her face and it wasn’t just the glow of the fire that made her glimmer in the low light of the room.

“They’re rather adorable little fings. Tryna come for me job?” He teases as she slides in next to him with a small plate and offers him a piece.

“‘Course not darling.” She practically coos.

He could feel her good mood even now after she’d almost sang the praises Rabbi Gold had given her earlier in the day. Chattering of venues and caterers for her bat mitzvah.

“My business is going so swimmingly I have no need to come after yours. Did I mention the juniper I’m growing? To address the Gin boom?”

“Ya did.” He nods and takes a bite sized bit of berry jam slathered bread with tiny flowers from the garden sat upon it for looks.

“My apologies, I’ve been twittering on like a bird all night, I forget everything I’ve said.”

“No apologies needed, love. I’ve rather enjoyed it.” He gives her a supportive nod.

She finished a tiny sandwich she was nibbling at and prompts him to take another as she follows suit before sitting the plate on her nightstand. “I’m glad to hear it, because there were some things I thought it was time to discuss with you.” She settles in by his side with wide attentive eyes and hands meekly clasped on her bent legs.

“What’s this eh?” He says as he grunts and moves to better face her. “Everyfing alright?”

“Yes. Everything’s fine, darling.” She quickly dismisses his concerns. “I wanted to talk about us.” She says with eyes that don’t hold the same coldness he’d seen so often as of late when she worked. She was initiating a next step, opening herself up to mend their relationship as they’d addressed weeks ago. He was already proud of her and she’d barely said a word.

“A favorite subject of mine.” He muses and he sees a subtle smile grace her beautiful face. Lashes casting shadows over the healthy and round apples of her cheeks. “What’s on your mind love?”

“I thought it best if we discussed what’s happened these past months, and furthermore about our future.”

“Perfectly acceptable terms.” He says with an easy going face. He felt no animosity between them and was willing to give as much as she was. There was plenty to be said.

“I would like to start with...our rather nasty interactions during my...lapses in judgement.” Her face frowns and she speaks slowly but she gets them out and that was half the battle.

“May I start?” He asks with a bow of his head, not wanting to throw off any plans she might have of speaking because if he knew Gen, and he likes to think he did, she had a bulleted list in mind already.

“Yes, please.” She continues the pleasantries and finds his personable behavior to be most endearing.

“I want to start by sayin I’m sorry for the harshness of the words and actions I had during your low points. I was insensitive and under a lot of pressure. I know it’s not a man’s excuse to speak so poorly to his wi- his partner but it is what it is and that’s the truth of it. And I am regretful for lettin me work get the best of me.”

He sees the smile slowly grow as he speaks and he finds himself distracted by it as she follows up. “Thank you.” She says softly. “You were...harsh. And I won’t, or rather couldn’t pretend like your words didn’t hurt more than knives in those moments but I do understand them now.” She swallows and exhales through her nose, meeting his eyes and reaching out to take His hand into hers. “I can see that you did have my best interests at heart despite the delivery. And I accept your apology. I did have a problem and I was being too hard on myself, pushing too hard and that. Despite the lack of softness I had become accustomed to, I have been better for it in the long run.”

“Oh pet,” He says softly squeezing her hand. “I should say this more often, especially now, but I am proud of you. Yeah? That statement right, that shows true maturity and self reflection. Fuckin brilliant, love.” He leans in to give her a kiss to the forehead to punctuate his point.

“Thank you.” She whispers and feels her stomach flutter from the soft affection. “I am Feeling that I am embodying those qualities on a different level now. I’m glad it’s showing through my actions as well. I want to put those bad moments behind us, not forgetting but forgiving and use them to move forward.”

“Lovely sentiment that and I agree completely.” He enthuses.

“With that said I did want to thank you for...everything really.” Her face turns more reflective and less shy. She gave away all the feelings that she had beneath the surface of those lovely big brown eyes. “For staying with me through all those… growing pains.” A lighthearted twist of her words and a hesitant smile make his lips turn into one of his own.

“Of Course love don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going nowhere. A real man doesn’t leave a woman he loves when things get hard. And I do love you, Genevieve.” He speaks softly and raises hers hand to kiss her knuckles to seal his intent.

“And I love you, Alfie.” She almost sighs out. “I don’t think I’m the same woman I was the last time I said it. Feels… different now somehow.” Her eyes leave his and his desire to take away that sadness sweeps over him.

“Wouldn’t expect you to be love.” He states obviously. “I do like this new evolution of you as well. Strong and fierce and realistic. Striking hard and fast and bending the world to her will. What’s not for a man like me to love about that?” His words make her smile and look over at him through the flare of her lashes.

“I no longer feel...soft.” Her nose twitches in thought. “ The worlds whimsy is gone for me it feels. I don’t believe I’m the same woman now.” Her face less sad and more of that factual approach he’s just mentioned.

“I never needed soft, Genny.” He says as of its obvious. With a squeeze of her hand and one raised to her cheek he speaks sweetly and intently. “I’ve only ever needed you.”

She feels it. That spark inside her, he’d lit the romance again and she was relieved to find it still functioned. “Alfie…” she softly exhales and looks down in a moment of feeling overwhelmed by her emotions. Her eyes swing back and she finds him still watching her, seeing a flash of young girl still within her that was almost stomped out.

“Would it be too much to ask for our nightly routine to change slightly?” He inquires.

“How So?” He catches her attention with curious eyes.

“I must admit, I do miss having a cuddle before we fell asleep...havin ya close.” He speaks with no sarcasm but only charm oozing from his pores that she willingly falls victim to. “Of all the things I believe I miss it most. Gettin fuckin sentimental in me old age eh?”

She simply smiles and lifts the covers to scoot closer. “I’ve missed it...well, you as well.” Her sweet and soft voice praises his confession as he lays to his back and she falls right back into her place under his arm.

“Missed this.” He nods and watches the fire crackle in the fireplace across the room. His arm wraps protectively around her soft body, her fingers light on his chest and curious to feel if he was the same man as he was before all this added trauma. She was different, would he be different as well?

“I’ve missed you Alfie.” Her voice sounded small and undemanding.

“Been right here waitin’ for ya love.” He whispers and kisses her head, causing her to shift and gaze up into his peaceful face. The most it’d looked in so long. It felt like a lifetime since they’d felt so at ease.

“Thank you.” A heartfelt exhale as she moves to give his subtly smiling lips a kiss. “For your patience.” She adds with only a breath between them.

“If it’s for you, there is no patience required in waiting. I’d do it forever.”

“I missed your charming words.” She smiles before pressing her lips to his again.

“I’ve been saving up.” He mutters against her lips and she laughs and he lets a full smile bloom across his face. They share a breath, noses together and mirrored smiles with their eye corners crinkled, Soaking up each other after a long drought.

“I love you, My Ari. Truly.” She coos and nuzzles her nose against his.

“My brave little Chanah, when I think I could not love you more you keep proving me wrong.”

She only answers with a kiss. With a small sound of amorous contentment from her he feels his instincts kick in after they lay dormant for so long. A single press catches her breath in her chest, hitting her hard. He was tender, gentle and undemanding of her as she openly gave him more. Chaste presses turn to lengthy exchanges of breath with lightly teasing tongue. Her hand runs up his chest to feel the soft fur of him up to his beard to hold his face so she could keep him near. .

With a shaky breath and an almost innocent flutter of lashes she looks to him with eyes that shone with something close to fear. She parts from him and watches those plush lips of his she missed wait patiently for her. “I think I want to try again.” She barely whispers, voice only subtle in the quiet hush resting within the walls of the velvety bedroom. A crackle of the fireplace and a breathy, almost anxious confession we’re all there was to hear. “I miss you.” Her eyes swing up to meet his. He sees the reflection of dim yellow glow highlight the yellow in her dark brown eyes as they pleaded with him.

“Are you sure?” He asks with an affectionate graze of his nose to hers. “There’s no rush for such things.”

“Do you not want to?” A flinch of rejection in her eyes as he looks down at her patronizingly but still with fondness.

“That’s not my point.” He gives her a small smile and reaches to gently rub her back as she rests slightly on his upper half. “I don’t want you hurting. In any capacity. And I certainly don’t want to be the cause. I only want you to be certain.”

“I’ve thought about it. And I will admit I’m nervous. I’ve not even done it myself in so long now.”

“My poor little pet. You a bit starved for it, yeah?”’ He says softly with a more rhetorical inflection. “We can go slow, love. Don’t have to get caught up in it all at once.” He pets her cheek gently and speaks to her like a praised kitten. She feels the warmth from him and wants to purr and be stroked just the same. She had missed the attention, the physical affection, not only the intercourse but the little things that came with it.

She wouldn’t allow her experience to cling to her mind in the form of fear. Alfie would never hurt her, she knew this. But the aversion to being touched in more intimate areas was something she had to get past. Part of her wanted him, and another smaller part was telling her the touch meant something bad was coming. She had to get past that inner voice and silence it. With the patience Alfie was showing her, the tenderness he was bringing to her cause she knew silence was possible.

“I do I just… be patient with me.” her voice is small and lacks confidence, her eyes averted from his own again. He gave her another gentle rise of her chin with his hand to make her look at him.

“Don’t even question it.” he emphasizes. “This is ‘bout you, right? You tell me yes and no, tell me or show me, any way you gotta we need to communicate through this.” he hadn’t expected to try to break down her walls bit by bit on this night but he knew, or rather hoped the day would come eventually. He’d read and thought deeply on the subject and had a plan of action in place to ease her concerns. This was all about patience and admiration and he had both in spades for her.

She nods with a weak disposition before he brings their mouths together for rounds of soft affection before she takes a deep breath and moves her arms around his neck. With the simple action their love burns and grows until it’s a heat between them that can’t be ignored. His hands are slow but certain as they inch farther and farther towards her hips and bum. She was so much softer than he recalled. He’d grown so used to her being colder and distant that the juxtaposition of her being warm and soft in his hands reminded him that she was indeed a beautiful woman and not only a hardened business owner despite how she was projecting herself.

“Is it too much to ask to see you, love?” he whispers against her cheek, a single kiss placed to the bend of her neck.

“See me?” a breathy innocent voice answers.

“This gorgeous body of yours, Genevieve. I must confess I’ve missed your skin against mine.” he keeps his voice soft and gentle, a kiss to her forehead as her eyes show consideration behind them. He knew he needed to woo her, to make her feel as lovely as she was. He tried to treat her as if this was her first time, and the slow pace was working for him in his age.

“May I see you as well?” she asks, and such a silly questions he thinks.

“Of Course. Would you like to disrobe or do you want me to do it for you pet?” a series of kisses down her neck as he pulls back her dressing gown from her rounded shoulders.

“You can.” she answers quickly to his approval. He makes no scene of removing his sleeping clothes, her watching with half lidded eyes and a slight heightened rise and fall of her chest. But he made a celebration of removing them from her.

Laying her back he kisses every part before he slips her limbs from the gown. From her ears to her fingertips he pressed adoring kisses to show her wordlessly that she was still just as desired as she had been. She allowed herself to get caught up in it, focusing on knowing the hands on her were only there out of love and duty and for no other reason. Sliding up her thighs she helps as her small gown is raised above her head.

He bites his lips as he watches her heavy breasts fall onto a pillowy middle of stomach, free from their satin confines of the dark nightie. Her hair falls as a curtain, and her using it as so to cover herself before he intervenes. He kisses every bit she tries to cover, every mark or scar left behind in it’s pale pinked form. He softens her reserve and works small sounds of pleasure as his mouth laps and suckles away at her breasts, moving to and from, hands grasping them and kneading as her thighs started to subconsciously rub together.

She felt so warm. Warmer than she recalled his affections making her. Her body was covered in a thin veil of sheen from her emotions he was coaxing from her. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling, not on what either of them were looking at. She did feel adored, his worship of her body soft and slow and silent as his plush mouth gifted every piece she wasn’t sure of with a stamp of approval. Even though she felt as if this body was new, different than the last he’d loved, the only difference in his approach was that he was more adoring than she’d recalled. He handled her like a virgin, taking time to make sure her body was seduced as well as her mind. After a sprinkling of kisses across her thick thighs she’s surprised when the next lands on her mouth.

He settles against her, kissing her jaw and speaking quietly. “Can you tell me what you want of me, Chanah?” his voice cooed into her ear before a kiss was placed under it. One hand up and pushing her hair from her face as he rests on his side, the other giving a long, slow stoke between her breasts and down to the guarded thatch of hair that was squoze between her thighs. “My hands, my mouth, my cock?” he asks and makes the words not feel dirty when they reach her ears.

She considers, seeing his face as handsome as she recalled, a soft brow in the low dying light of the fire as she grazes her nose against his. “Hands.” is all she responds with, and he takes her into another slow, deep kiss, capturing her full attention. He walks his hands between the clenched thighs slowly, opening them, reassuring her with wanting noises as he held them in esteem, kneading them gently. His large hand cupped over her mound, a slow and steady rub back and forth of the protective dark hair and soft full lips that separated him from the now wet and warm inner lips he was working his way towards.

He feels her stiffened as his fingertips begin to slip between her folds, he pauses, removing them and pulling away from her enchanting panting mouth. “This okay?” he inquires.

“Mmm Hmm.” she nods enthusiastically. “Only just a bit… out of practice. I’m fine, I promise.” she admits bashfully with a shutting of her long lashed eyes. “Keep going.” she whispers and holds his face, “More kisses please, darling.” she smiles and he feels his heart skip for a moment. “I missed them so.” a tiny voice with a nuzzle of her nose to match before she melts at the contact of both sets of lips she has. As he ventures further, expert fingers reminding her of how well they knew her body, he strokes and rubs her swollen clit steadily, same as their tongues peeked out of their mouths to taste the other. Her body remembers this, the muscles tense and her hips sway and buck mildly as he builds her up, her breathy moans growing just the same as they stayed connected.

“I missed these heavenly sounds of yours, love. Of all the things I missed, anything involving these petal lips and anything emitted from them were what I missed the most. And I’ll never take a single gasp of your breath for granted again.” he seduces her fully with his words. Even though she knew what an expert linguist he was, it never failed to make her swoon when he’d purposely try to charm her.

“Alfie.” she manages to sigh out, eyes shut as he feels her chest deflate and relax.

“”N that.” he groans and his mouth travels from her own to her neck. “Fuck I missed my name in your sweet voice, Chanah. It cannot sound sweeter coming from anyone else.” his voice drags, feeling her body against his as wanting to sink into her and forget everything else, but he withheld. For her, he sustained and kept drinking in everything about the experience.

She calls his name again, an arch of her back he knew all too well.

“Do you want to let go, love?” he asks as his mouth works to her breast.

“Oui.” she whines, a quick series of tiny nods against her pillows as he takes her hard nipple into his mouth.

He continues at this pace that before would’ve prompted her to growl and correct, but she was indulgent and slow and needful in his arms in their shared moment of bliss. He feels her hands shake, her thighs starting to tremble as he locks on and she lets out the first cry for him. He moans into her soft skin, smelling of lavender and tasting of salt. She for him without a word, only those innocent gasps that broke through to let her know this touch, this pleasure was okay again. Her hands clasped tightly to him, one in his hair as she squeezes, mouth open and eyes clenched shut as she lets out every noise that wants to be heard, her body twitching against his own as he held her to the bed and kept her in place.

His mouth slows and stops, his licks sending little thrills over her skin showing through the wave of bumps breaking out across it. She holds him close to her, his lips now peppering kisses over her sternum as it rises and falls, her eyes rolling and finding their place again inside their sockets. She stirs after a slight rest, gathering herself to kiss him back when her grip loosens and allows him to whisper sweet things against her throat. “You were perfect, love.” he reassures her as he gets a smile from her dazed face, the back of her hand to her forehead. “Would you like more or you want me to scoop you up under the duvet for a cuddle?” he lets a deep chuckle across her skin as she hums and sighs against him.

“I’m rather dizzy.” she admits with a slight laugh and he can’t help but smile back at her, kissing her cheek.

“Duvet it is.” he grunts and yanks it up over them, resting on his elbow and watching over her. He pushes her hair away from her body and dotes on her, rubbing her arms and taking the chill from her skin.

“Thank you.” she whispers, batting her eyes and trying to focus them. “That was rather intense for me.” she admits, her face turning to look up to his.

“It felt as such.” he gives her flushed cheek another peck. “Best not excite you too much tonight. There will be other nights.” he coos affectionately, and settles in, pulling her against him with her smaller form against his chest.

She nods and feels the sleepiness start to wash over her. “You’ve made me so sleepy, Alfie.” she chuckles against him and puts an arm around his waist.

“Wear ya out?” he chuckles to himself, leaning in to kiss her head. “You go to sleep then and I’ll be close behind, love.”

Another small nod and a yawn as his little kitten begins to purr against his chest. He had missed this. These moments where she was asleep against him, the heat of skin to skin and the comfort of it. A man that lived such a hard life outside of his love needed that softness to balance him out. With her wrapped protectively in his arms, he felt like a king. Like he had his queen back to rule with again. He almost felt compelled to tell her how much he had missed her, this. Tell her how much he loved her and was sorry he was the way he was, sorry for having to be such an arse to get through to her. But she looked so content, so helpless and relaxed he couldn’t bring himself to say anything further. With a simple kiss to her head he shuts his eyes, lean arms wrapped around his lovely little wife, in his eyes. There would be other nights, other moments to tell her such things. Perhaps when he proposed. Yes, perhaps he should be worrying about that instead.

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[meowmeow-motherfucker]

New York, New York Chapter 2

Summary: After a chance meeting at an interview, Tom becomes involved with a woman while in New York filming the Avengers. 

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Read it on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504970/chapters/3178469

        A quick cab ride later, Tom and Anna entered the famous eatery. After getting their food, they sat in a corner booth hoping to stay under the radar. As they sat, the sun came out from behind the clouds and graced their table with warmth.

      “So how are you enjoying the city?” Anna asked, trying to seem casual as she took a bite of her sub. Yes, because I always invite handsome men to lunch.

      “-been here for over a year. I haven’t had much time to reacquaint myself.” Tom said before taking a bite himself. Anna nodded politely, pretending she hadn’t been off in her own little world.

      “That’s no fun. There are so many amazing things here. I’d be happy to show you around a bit if you like.” She offered kindly.

      “That would be lovely, thank you,” Tom said from behind his napkin, smiling widely as he looked back up at her. “I don’t imagine there would be a better guide than a native.”

      “Well there’s always Dora the explorer, but somehow I think she’d be rather useless in this case.” Anna joked, giggling with Tom.

      “No, she wouldn’t be very helpful. I don’t much fancy singing ‘backpack, backpack’ whilst walking around Manhattan.” Tom laughed.

      “Oh but you’d fit in so well!” Anna giggled. “Downright normal compared to some. Us New Yorkers are…odd, to put it politely.”

      “Not to mention your famous tempers.” Tom grinned. “Yeah…I’m probably the nicest tour guide you’re gonna find in this city.”

      “And for that I am grateful,” Tom inclined his head before taking a drink. “So tell me about you. I have to say I’m immensely curious about what it is you actually do.”

      “Oh,” Anna grinned. “Mostly I work with couples that are dealing with intimacy issues, but I do liaison with the prison facilities on time to time.”

      “The prisons?” Tom asked incredulously. “What exactly do you do there?”

      “Nothing too terrifying. I interview the inmates when they arrive, throughout their sentences and before they’re released.”

      “I’m assuming the ones guilty of sex crimes.” Tom said grimly.

      “Correct. I’m only called in as a specialist when there are certain…behaviors exhibited by the perp.”

      “Doesn’t that frighten you?” Tom asked. “I know I would be uncomfortable at the very least.”

      “Not really no,” Anna shook her head. “There are two guards outside the room at all times, and the inmates are always handcuffed. It’s all in how you present yourself. If you show fear they will try to intimidate you.” She explained. Tom nodded wordlessly, lost in thought.

      “What exactly do you mean by intimacy issues? I’m sorry to ask so many questions but it’s a profession I know very little about.”

      “It’s alright, people are always curious. My main focus is on people involved in the BDSM lifestyle but I have clients with issues ranging from erectile dysfunction to sex addiction. Some of them are recovering from sexual assault,” Anna replied casually. She paused when Tom didn’t say anything. “I’m not making you uncomfortable am I? I’m so used to talking about these things with my colleagues that it doesn’t occur to me sometimes that others might be extremely shy in this area.”

      “No, no, it’s fine,” Tom gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m not sure I could do that. Not just the prison part but all of it. Does it ever get under your skin? I mean-actually, don’t answer that. That was very rude of me. It’s none of my business.”

      “It’s fine; people ask me that more than you’d think,” Anna smiled. “No, it doesn’t ‘get under my skin’, but I will say that things get…interesting when a surrogate is brought in.”

      “A surrogate?” Tom asked hesitantly. “Do I want to know?” he asked dubiously.

      “It’s not as bad as everyone thinks!” Anna laughed. “Surrogates typically only work with couples that are having intimacy issues like non-consummation. They act as a third party with me and a client to help them achieve a number of intimacy goals.”

      “How so?” Tom asked.

      “It varies,” Anna shrugged. “A surrogate’s interaction with a client is typically only talking them through a certain act, but it can include intimate contact or even sex.” Tom stared at her blankly, eyes wide and disbelieving, and she had to fight back a chuckle.

      “And you…watch?” he asked quietly, hesitation dripping from every syllable.

      “Yes.” Tom groaned, running a hand over his face.

      “How do you consider that ‘not that bad’? Good God woman, how does it not get to you?”

      “It’s my job!” Anna laughed. “I can’t very well help someone get over their problems if I’m not observing them. Besides, it wouldn’t be very ethical to fantasize about my patients.”

      “Well no, of course not, but…do you not have a sex drive at all?” Tom laughed, taking another drink of his water.

      “Of course I do. That’s what vibrators are for.” Anna said calmly, glancing at Tom in alarm when he spat out his water. “Shit I’m so sorry! I told you, I literally have no filter. I always forget most people aren’t as open as I am.”

      “It’s fine,” Tom croaked, coughing awkwardly to clear his throat. “Maybe we should talk about something else.” He coughed hoarsely.

      “Right. Sorry again, I have no tact. How on earth did we get on this topic anyway?” Anna chortled. “Jeez, we only met a few hours ago and here we are talking about sex.”

      “I’m not sure,” Tom shook his head, grinning lightly. “I have one more question, and then we’re changing the subject.”

      “Deal.” Anna laughed. “I’ll let you pick the next one.”

      “Actually, I’m the cause of all this,” Tom smiled apologetically. “For the sake of sanity I think you should pick next.”Anna laughed.

      “Fine. Question?” She asked, waiting patiently as Tom debated asking his question.

      “I hope you don’t think me too forward, but I am extremely curious…did you truly enjoy me pulling your hair?” Tom asked and Anna chuckled nervously, glancing away for a moment before turning her eyes on him.

      “You have no idea.” she admitted, a blush creeping along her cheek bones, much to his enjoyment.

      “Enlighten me.” he requested with a sassy smirk and Anna blanched, curling her lips inward before giving a small laugh. “It’s just one of those things…let me put it this way: if I was guy…instant boner,” she said and Tom couldn’t help but laugh at her boldness. To think he’d put this lovely woman in such a state…he was enthralled. “And since we’re being honest I’m just gonna lay it out there…I think you’re incredibly sexy.” It was Tom’s turn to choke on his drink (again); he’d not been expecting that in the least.

      “Thank you for that,” he chuckled nervously. “You’re quite lovely.” he replied safely.

      “Are you trying to tell me I’m sexy?” Anna teased.

      “Only if you want me to.” Tom smiled cheekily and Anna laughed at his charm.

      “Yes please.” she asked sweetly with a smile of her own.

      “Well since you asked so nicely…you are very sexy Anna.” Tom said, and Anna thought she could die happily at that very instant.

                                                                                                                                  ~~~~

      “This is me.” Anna said as the cabbie pulled over to let her out.

      “I’ll walk you up.” Tom offered, climbing out of the cab first to open the door for her.

      “Thank you,” Anna smiled as she stepped out onto the street. “Oh!” she pulled her purse off her shoulder, rooting around for her wallet. She fished out several bills and offered them to Tom. “For my part of the cab.” Tom shook his head with a grin.

      “No thank you.”

      “But you already paid for lunch,” Anna objected. “And the cab ride there.”

      “And?” Tom laughed. “Put your money away Anna.”

      “Will I offend you if I don’t?” Anna asked teasingly.

      “Yes.” Tom replied, grinning when Anna huffed and replaced the wallet in her purse. She unzipped a compartment and pulled out her house key, leading him up the stairs to her door. She put the key in the lock and paused. She didn’t want her time with Tom to end.

      “Would you like to come in?” she offered. “You’ll give me an excuse to open the wine I’ve had sitting in my fridge.” Great, now he’ll think I’m a lush. It’s not even one o’clock yet. Tom smiled, and Anna was sure he was going to refuse.

      “One moment.” he said, making his way back down the steps to pay the cab driver. He’s staying! Holy shit! Thank God I cleaned my house… Tom bounded back up the steps as she unlocked the door, following her inside as the cab took off.

      “I’m gonna run these upstairs really quick, I’ll be right back,” Anna said after he’d shut the door, pulling her boots off. “Just make yourself at home.” she offered a small smile and disappeared around the corner, walking through the living room to the staircase at the back of the space. The living room was open and airy, spilling into the kitchen around a floor to ceiling divider with a pass-through window and bar. In the middle of the room sat a large dark blue couch, pops of orange and pink splashing off the decorative pillows. A cherry wood coffee table sat in front of it, dotted by a stack of starry coasters and a ceramic basin filled with rocks and candles. Tom let his eyes drift from the bay window on the far wall, immediately noticing her book shelves. An entire wall had been devoted to shelving, her TV in the center with a media cabinet below, the lights from the devices glowing at him through the glass panes. The rest of the shelves, floor to ceiling on either side of the TV, were filled with books. He gave a toothy grin as he moved to look at her collection, feeling akin to a child on Christmas morning.

      Anna put her boots back in their cubby, trying to calm her racing heart. Tom Hiddleston is in my house! Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD! She bit her knuckles, hard, and choked back the scream lodged in her throat. She needed to calm down before she went back downstairs. Flirting with the man was one thing, but now he was in her house! She’d offered him wine for fuck’s sake! And everybody knew what that really meant. I think I’m having a heart attack. Jesus Christ on a cracker, if he touches me I’ll keel over. Ok Anna, just breathe. Don’t leave the man standing in your house forever while you coach yourself in the closet like a loony. Go. Go. GO! Anna steeled herself and left the closet, walking back downstairs to find Tom eyeing her library. Anna smiled fondly, wondering if he’d gotten to the Shakespeare yet.

      “Find something you like?” she asked as she walked up behind him. He turned to look at her, smiling affectionately as she joined him in front of the shelves.

      “This is fantastic Anna,” he praised, his eyes straying over the many shelves in front of them. “And yes, I did find something I like.” he said, glancing down at her. Anna grinned, looking away shyly. She couldn’t tell if he meant her or the books.

      “Thank you,” she replied coolly. “Not exactly the setup I’ve always dreamed of, but I love it nonetheless.” she reached out to run her fingertips along a lacquered shelf appreciatively.

      “What’s your favorite?” Tom asked, smiling when Anna’s eyes lit up.

      “My favorite?” she gaped at him, biting her lip. “Oh geez, that’s a terrible question; you’ll be stuck listening to me for hours.” she joked, scanning the shelves.

      “Top five then,” Tom chuckled, enjoying her enthusiasm. “Does that help?” he asked teasingly when she turned her liquid gold orbs on him.

      “A little,” Anna smiled as she turned to peruse the shelves. “Top five…top five…” Why does he have to be distracting? Tom had removed his jacket, leaving him in his vest and dress shirt. He’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms and it was torture being so close to him. She could smell his cologne, and he smelled amazing. It wasn’t fair. “Fuck me.” she muttered sharply when she banged her elbow on the corner of a shelf.

      “Beg your pardon?” Tom asked doubtfully, pinning her with an almost scandalized stare. Way to go Anna, now he’s gonna think you’re a pervert!

      “I whacked my elbow. Sorry, I swear like a sailor.” Anna explained as she rubbed her elbow.

      “It’s alright,” Tom laughed. “I’ve heard far worse, I promise. Are you alright?” he asked, reaching out to grasp her elbow, his fingers soothing the flared nerves almost instantly.

      “Yeah,” Anna said, nerves making her voice higher than usual. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked steadily, getting control of her nerves. Tom seemed to sense her need for distraction and let go of her arm. Anna immediately felt guilty; he probably thought he’d crossed a line. “I’d hate to be rude.” she said in explanation and Tom smiled kindly.

      “You’re not,” he assured her, following her to the kitchen. “So the setup you’ve always dreamed of…for your books,” he said, glancing back into the living room when she looked at him over her shoulder. “Tell me about it.” he requested as Anna opened the fridge.

      “Shiraz or Riesling?” she asked.

      “Either one is fine with me.” Tom watched as she plucked the bottle of Shiraz from its place in the back of the fridge, his eyes fixed on her backside as she straightened and closed the fridge before crossing to the opposite counter and pulling a wine opener from a drawer.

      “I’ve always wanted a library like the one in Beauty and the Beast,” Anna said as she uncorked the bottle. “Not quite as big of course, but with floor to ceiling bookshelves full to bursting and rolling ladders. Maybe a spiral staircase in there somewhere.” she smiled fondly, opening a cabinet and reaching for glasses, her shirt riding up to reveal her taut stomach and lean hips.

      “That sounds lovely,” Tom agreed, smirking when Anna cursed. “Need something?” he asked as she strained to grab glasses from the top shelf. She huffed good-naturedly before turning to look at him.

      “I can’t reach the top shelf,” she giggled. Tom smiled cheekily and walked over to her, making a show of reaching up for two glasses as she glared at him affably. He set them on the counter in front of her with a soft plink, grinning when he met her eyes. Anna rolled her eyes and smiled, shaking her head as she shut the cabinet. “Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome.” he replied, tucking his hands in his pockets.

      “Oh crap, I forgot this needs to breathe.” Anna said with a frown.

      “You never did tell me your top five.” Tom reminded her, grinning when she laughed.

      “Really?” she giggled. Tom shrugged.

      “I’m curious what a sex therapist reads for fun.” he said. Anna smiled, abandoning the wine and making her way back to the bookshelves.

      “Harry Potter, hands down,” she tapped a shelf as he joined her, watching with mild amusement as she scanned the shelves eagerly. “I love Voldemort, he’s so deliciously evil,” she cackled, bouncing with excitement and making Tom laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.” she apologized with an embarrassed laugh.

      “It’s alright.” Tom chuckled. He liked this woman; she was funny and vivacious. And an avid reader; there wasn’t a single shelf along the wall with an empty space. She even had Shakespeare!

      “Ooh, here’s a good one: The China Garden,” Anna announced. “Ender’s Game is really good too. The Notebook is one of my top five, but I haven’t read it in ages.”

      “Why not?” Tom asked.

      “It’s so beautiful, it always makes me cry…not that I need a book for that,” Anna said offhandedly, and Tom saw a deep well of pain in her eyes as she turned away. What could be so painful for someone like her? She seemed so carefree and open. “Anyway!” Anna’s voice snapped him to attention as she turned back to look at him eagerly. “Did you make it to the Shakespeare?” she asked giddily, all trace of sadness gone from her face.

      “Yes I did,” he replied with a grin. “I’m very impressed; you have all of his work.”

      “I adore him,” Anna sighed. “It’s impossible for me to pick a favorite; but lately I’ve been partial to A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

      “It’s excellent,” Tom agreed. “I would have to say Othello is my personal favorite.”

      “Othello? Oh, but it’s so depressing!” Anna laughed.

      “You’re right, it is,” Tom smiled sheepishly. “I love it though. Cymbeline is another favorite.”

      “What about the Tempest?” Anna asked. “I loved seeing it on stage; it was fantastic!” she gushed, sparking a lively conversation about theatre that lasted well over twenty minutes before either of them remembered the wine. Anna poured them each a glass, bringing the bottle into the living room as they sat on the couch, still talking spiritedly. The discussion turned to movies well into their first glass, both too busy either talking or laughing to remember to drink. Tom finished his first, lazily spinning the glass between his fingertips and laughing at Anna’s description of a foreign film he hadn’t seen. They were seated face to face, mirror opposites, reclined against the back of the couch; Tom with his head propped up on one arm. His face was warm, but whether from the wine or his proximity to Anna he couldn’t tell. He watched as she drained the dregs from her glass, his eyes rapt on her lips. He desperately wanted a taste of her. “Would you like another?” she offered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as he placed his glass on the coffee table.

      “No thank you,” he shook his head, his eyes following her as she leaned forward to set her glass down as well. “Anna.” he said as she sat back, her face inches from his. She turned her amber eyes on him and he was lost; reaching for her before he could stop himself. He pressed his lips to hers softly, reaching behind her neck to cradle her head after a moment. He felt her hands, light and hesitant, on his shoulders. One drifted to his neck as the kiss deepened, her fingers twining in his hair as her other hand splayed over his collarbone, gripping his shirt collar and her thumb and forefinger ghosting over his skin. Anna went limp, letting Tom press her against the back of the couch as his kisses grew more insistent. He abandoned her lips and dipped his head down to her neck, inhaling her scent as he enjoyed the way she clutched at him.

      “You smell amazing.” Anna sighed into his hair, biting her lip softly as he pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat.

      “So do you,” Tom murmured against her skin, pulling her chest against his. He ghosted a hand up her side, the heel of his hands just grazing her breasts, and pulled away when Anna chortled, squirming against him slightly. “Everything okay?” he asked.

      “Yeah, I’m just ticklish,” Anna giggled. “Sorry.” Tom smiled, relieved he hadn’t done something wrong.

      “It’s alright.” he said, gazing at her fondly. She looked simply delectable; eyes sparkling, hair tousled, her lips full and reddened. He could easily get used to seeing her like this. She gave a chipper smile, reaching up to run her fingers over his short stubble affectionately.

      “I like your beard.” she said shyly, giggling when he grinned.

      “It’ll be gone soon.” he answered, almost apologetically.

      “So I should enjoy it while I can?” Anna teased with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

      “Definitely.” Tom nodded and they both laughed as Anna pulled him down to kiss him again.

      “I like the way you think.” she murmured against his lips and he chuckled, threading his fingers through her hair again as he took her lower lip between his teeth, breathing her in when she exhaled. This woman was so alluring; she enticed him with the smallest of touches. He could easily become addicted if he wasn’t careful. He moved his hand, intent on wrapping his arm around her waist, when Anna hissed sharply. “Ow-ow-ow-hair-in-watch!” she winced as she pulled back.

      “I’m so sorry!” Tom apologized urgently. “I should have thought to take my watch off. Here, let me get it, just hold still…” He reached up with his other hand, grabbing the strand of hair caught in his watch band, grimacing when Anna hissed again as he untangled it from his watch. “There. You’re free. I’m so sorry.” he said again, slipping the watch off immediately, reaching over to deposit it on the coffee table.

      “It’s fine.” Anna soothed him as she rubbed her tender scalp.

      “You’re sure?” Tom asked nervously, ready to retreat even as he reached for her again. Anna surprised him by grabbing his tie and pulling him in for a kiss, giggling when he grabbed her. His hands once again grazed her breasts through her shirt, and something inside him snapped. With a growl, Tom pulled her onto his lap and attacked her neck, peppering her skin with kisses and small nips as his hands worked the buttons on her blouse, opening her shirt just enough to let him see the sides of her breasts. Anna whined above him, grazing his hardened cock as she moved and making him gasp. Taking the initiative, Anna pulled him up for a kiss as she shifted on his lap again. Tom growled into her mouth, holding her hips in place as he bucked up into her. Anna gasped, clutching his shoulders tightly as he buried his face in her chest, holding her upright with his large hands as he explored her skin with his tongue. Anna twitched slightly when he gave her breast a quick nip, both of them groaning in frustration when he came across the sleek material of her bra. Tom paused, unsure how to go from here. He wanted to keep going of course; wanted to throw that damn bra out the window. But he also didn’t want Anna to think he was using her for her body, even if hers was amazing. He didn’t want her to think he’d come here for this purpose only; he’d come because he genuinely enjoyed being around her and wanted to know her better. Well I certainly know her better now… He glanced up at Anna looking for some kind of direction, knowing full well he’d do anything she asked. Anna seemed to sense his hesitation and swooped down to capture his lips with hers, running a hand under his collar to grasp the side of his neck. Tom returned the kiss fervently, reaching up to cup her face in his hands.

      *beep beep* *beep beep* Tom groaned as his watch went off, screeching at them from the coffee table. Damn.

      “I’m afraid I have to go.” He whispered against Anna’s lips.

      “Duty calls, huh? It’s okay, I understand.” She replied begrudgingly, placing her hands atop his on her face and grinning when he laced their fingers together. He pulled away from her slowly, reluctantly, and sat up straight so Anna could fix her shirt. His eyes flickered to the swells of her breasts quickly disappearing behind the blue fabric as Anna’s fingers deftly redid the buttons. Her eyes were fixed on the coffee table as she worked mechanically, and Tom briefly wondered if he had crossed a line, but the thought was banished when Anna turned her gaze toward him and smiled brightly.

      “I’ve had an amazing time with you Anna; I wish I could stay.” he said, bringing her hands to his lips to kiss them both. Anna couldn’t help but blush; he made the gesture seem so intimate.

      “I have too,” she smiled. “I think your fans would be a little disappointed if you stayed too long though.” she joked with a small laugh. Tom chortled, releasing her hands gently.

      “You’re probably right. I won’t be back until next week but…I’d like to take you to a proper dinner when I get back, if you’re available.” Tom said hopefully.

      “I’d love to,” Anna smiled. “Can I ask where you’re going?” she asked he slipped his watch back onto his wrist.

      “London,” Tom said as he got to his feet. “I’m visiting my family for the week before shooting starts.” he explained.

      “That sounds like fun,” Anna replied. “I haven’t been to London in ages.” she mused, and Tom grinned. Maybe someday you’ll come with me. Whoa, Tom, don’t go jumping the gun; you just met this woman a few hours ago!

      “It’s not much different from New York, truth be told.” he said as he slipped on his shoes.

      “Still,” Anna shrugged. “I didn’t get to see much. I imagine it would be fascinating.” she said as she handed him his tie.

      “Parts of it; thank you,” Tom conceded, quickly slipping the tie into place and tying it deftly. “Could I call you while I’m gone?” he asked hopefully, fixing her with a puppy dog look.

      “Sure.” Anna smiled, typing her number into his phone when he handed it to her. She put a smiley face next to her name, feeling the need to pinch herself. Who would have thought I’d meet my favorite actor, have him dominate me (on TV!), make out with him and trade numbers, all in the same day! I made out with Tom fucking Hiddleston!!!! And he asked me out!! Tom’s watch beeped, impatiently reminding him he had other things to do.

      “I’m so sorry, I really need to get going…thank you for lunch and…everything else.” Tom smiled shyly and Anna felt like a balloon about to burst.

      “Why are you thanking me?” she laughed. “If you hadn’t offered to…you know,” she smiled nervously. “We wouldn’t have ended up here.”

      “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Tom admonished playfully, and Anna gave a mocking scoff.

      “Tis a far, far cry from a bad thing.” she replied and Tom smiled, giving a quiet sigh when his watch beeped again.

      “I should go.” he said, pinning her with an amused look. Anna opened the front door for him, wrapping her arms around him for a farewell hug.

      “Be safe.” she said.

      “You too.” he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth and left, walking down the street toward the subway station. Anna watched him go for a few seconds before heaving a swooning sigh and going back inside to polish off the wine. If this is a dream, for god’s sake don’t let me wake up.

      Five minutes later, she’d downed her second solitary glass when a knock came on her door. Anna set her glass down on the coffee table, her eyes lingering on Tom’s glass for a moment before she crossed to the foyer and opened the door.

      “Tom, what are you doing here?” she asked incredulously.

      “I don’t know, actually,” he laughed. “But I think I forgot something.”

      “What’s that?” Anna asked, jumping in surprise when he leaned in and kissed her.

      “That.” Tom answered boldly as he pulled back, letting his hands fall to her hips.

      “You came all the way back here to give me a kiss?” Anna teased as she wound her arms around his shoulders.

      “I didn’t make it very far, I’m afraid. I spent a good three minutes debating whether or not to knock,” Tom admitted with a shy smile. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this.” he apologized.

      “I don’t mind,” Anna teased with a small smile as she cupped the back of his neck, her fingertips grazing his hair. “But you’ll miss your flight if you don’t go.”

      “One more.” Tom didn’t wait for an answer before swooping down to kiss her again, his hands holding her body to his as she gripped him tightly.

      “You’ll be late.” she smiled against his lips. Tom groaned, shifting his weight impatiently.

      “One more.” he said again, making Anna laugh as he kissed her again.

      “That’s two!” she cried indignantly. She reached between them to flick his nipple, causing Tom to cry out in surprise.

      “Did you just flick my nipple?” he asked dramatically.

      “Yes I did,” Anna quipped, sticking her tongue out at him. “What are you going to do about it? Oh no!” she chided as he made to flick her back, covering her breasts with her hands.

      “Why not?” Tom asked pitifully. “It’s only fair.”

      “Because if you do I’ll never let you leave.” Anna argued.

      “Let me? Remind me who the dominant here is?” Tom joked, laughing when Anna paled slightly.

      “Don’t be a tease. Last one.” she raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him firmly, smiling when he wrapped his arms around her waist to crush her against him. “Now go!” she laughed, placing a kiss on his cheek before letting her hands fall away from him.

      “As you wish,” Tom smiled, releasing her from his grip. “I’ll be in touch.” he promised, kissing her cheek before leaving a second time.

#new york new york #tom hiddleston #meowmeow writes

[avidfanficwriter]

The Other Sister (Chapter 2)

Characters: Steve Rogers(AU!) x OFC.

Summary: After five years of marriage, Steve Rogers finds himself questioning everything that his wife, Annabel has ever told him thanks to the impromptu visit by her troubled younger sister: Addison; whose existence he’s just learned about fives years prior. His only question now is: who verison is the truth? His loving wife? Or the troubled sister? 

Ratings: M.

Warnings: Mentions/indications of depression, mentions of sexual abuse, indication of mental abuse, drug abuse, alcohol abuse. (Warnings will be updated as chapters come)

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. 

Tags:  rangotangomango  lilulo-12  wolflhards 

The day of their wedding, Steve felt sick, even arriving at the venue was a difficult task, every turn that brought them closer only quickened his heart rate. "She's off drugs?" he double checked with his wife-to-be.  He'd gone over the worse case scenarios in his head and even as he tried to calm himself down, convince himself that he was overreacting, He couldn't stop the thoughts that continued to pile up.

"I told her to be clean." Annabel said quietly, "I'm sure she'll listen." He didn't believe it and was half convinced neither did she.

Their wedding was different than the usual, not at all what her parents had envisioned or the guests. They were going to have a short party before the wedding, a few drinks would be served and then the wedding would begin and the dinner afterwards. Instead of going straight into their hotel rooms and get ready, they mingled with their guests. Annabel spots Addison after a short while, Steve feels her hand squeeze his arm and she gasps. "Oh, she came and she looks drug free!" His eyes fall to the mystery sister and he's taken back. She looks normal... to normal. She's in a light blue dress that comes down to her knees and her hair is pulled into a bun, it's almost more shocking that she doesn't look a thing like Annabel or her parents. It's no wonder they were able to just forget her, she was the odd child.

"Addy, you're here!" Annabel squealed as she rushes towards her sister, she towers over her full of glee.

"You sent me a plane ticket," She responds in a monotone voice as Annabel engulfs her in a large hug. Addison has a internal struggle as to how to respond, hugging felt to impersonal and not hugging felt rude, in the end she stayed still, her mind overthinking too much to remember to actually do one of the options.

"Shit, I didn't tell mom and dad you were here." Annabel suddenly confesses.

Addison chokes on her breath, it's like her body forgot how to function, she can't move. She is scared to death, stuck between wanting her sister to never let her go and tossing herself in front of a moving vehicle. All she can hope is her sister changes her mind, by some miracle maybe the stars will align and every god that exists or a genie will appear and give her this one wish that she's forced to leave. Annabel will shout, scream and force her to leave this place and never return.

If only fate was that nice.

Annabel taps gently on her sisters back before she's suddenly pulled away and her worst nightmare comes true. Clear as day, there she is. "Addison." She hears and now she's positive she'll never start breathing properly. That she'll die, her heart is going to stop and she'll be tossed in a garbage bin. There's a silent plea for help that is conveyed through her eyes as she comes face to face with the woman that gave her life. Annabel stands aside the two women, her eyes going back and forth between the two women watching silently.

"Mo-Courtney... Uh.. Mrs. Shaw." She struggles at first, her voice is almost non-existent and her eyes drop immediately. She's been forced to see the disappointment that laid dormant in her mother's green eyes that she didn't think she could handle it today. Her mother looks exactly the same, dressed far better than everyone, the same color hair dye, her body covered in jewelry. Her mother was lavish but classy.

"What makes you think you have any right to be here?" She remarks turning up her nose. "And wearing that ill-fated color? Blue is not a flattering color on you, you would know that if you weren't to busy shoving illegal substances into your body."

Addison stands still, her eyes tracing lines in the ground as she faces her mother's berating. "You have some nerve showing up. What is your plan? To ruin this event? Are we not welcome to one decent memory in this family that will not be ruined by you?" She feels herself growing smaller, like a doormat being trampled on which only worsens when her father joins the 'kick Addison party.' He's not one to spare feelings, his insults come quicker and harsher, he doesn't hold back. "You ruined this family with your refusal to grow up and you think you have the right to be here? That you can pick and choose when to be part of this family! You're not welcome here." He spits.

Addison wants to try to make the situation better, say her sister invited her and that she only came out of remorse but it won't come out. Nothing is coming out. Not a single word. She has tears in her eyes and her breath is shaky as she tries to contain herself. "You came here to screw up this day? Like you did every other day of your lives? Ruin your sisters day because what? You need drug money?" Her father shouts, reaching into his black slacks and pulling out his wallet, he grabs the loose dollars her has and tosses them at her. "There now be gone."

Steve isn't far from the abuse when he notices Addison, she's small compared to the three and her eyes never leave the ground. The green paper slowly falls to the ground at her feet but she still refuses to move. All he wants to do is run over and console her, shout at them and force them to act their ages but their is in-laws. His family and as much as he hates to admit it, maybe she deserved this. It could be her wake up call. The one thing she needs to get her act together. He watches helplessly, waiting for the moment he'd heard all to much, Addison's explosion. Every story Annabel had confessed to him, all ended the same way, she would threaten them or worse lash out at them and storm off. Only the moment never comes.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Shaw." Addison simply says in response to their brutal words and walks away. Steve's eyes follow her as she leaves them, trying to disappear from their eyesight and he notices she wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath. It's out of character and even her parents are left speechless, glaring in the direction she had disappeared to. Steve chalks it down to her trying to be good for her sister's wedding.

Shockingly, their wedding went off without a hitch, Mr. and Mrs. Shaw sat in the front row, sobbing as they watched their only daughter walk down the aisle to get married, Addison was seated in the last row, emotionless as the ceremony began. it was how she remained throughout the night, withdrawn. Steve, on the other hand was full of emotions, a stabbing pain in his gut began when his wives, father Gregory began his speech at the dinner.

"My beautiful daughter. The light of my life. My reason for living. The day you were born and I held you in my arms for the first time, I knew you were destined for greatness. I could see it in those tiny little eyes and standing here before you I know it came true. I am so proud of the woman you've turned into, how strong you are. You're the best daughter a father could have. While it breaks my heart to have to give my only daughter away, I know that you'll be taken care of. That is all I want for you. I love you and I'm so excited to see this new chapter of your life begin." His speech seemed to be crafted to hurt Addison, each word meticulously thought out to tell the world, how proud he was of his only child. Steve looked for Addison while Gregory spoke, she was in the back of the room where most of the people they invited for seat fillers were placed. Her eyes were the first thing he noticed, they were empty, it looked like she was staring off into space. She had no reaction to Gregory's words as if she was ignoring them. The speech continued building Annabel up as God's gift and more but Steve remains focused on Addison, watching her for anything. It was almost beginning to annoy him that she wasn't doing anything or even smiling, she seemed to be there in person but mentally elsewhere.

When the time for pictures came there was a part of Steve that cringed when he noticed Addison wasn't invited in them, not even by her sister who wanted her here. Addison stands idly by, almost blending in with everyone else as she smiles.

"Alright, the groom and the bride's family, please." The photographer says ushering the bridesmaids away. Steve flattens his tie against his chest and watches Addison slowly begin to disappear into the crowd as if she's running away.

"Uh... Give me a second." Steve gets out in a rushed tone. "I just need to..." his brain is drawing a blank and facing his now parent-in-laws seemed harder than ever.

"No, no, dear. You have no explaining to us, go find your wife." his mother in law says, gently tapping his shoulder.

Steve smiles, nodding. It's not entirely lying and quickly rushes off in the direction that Addison begin disappearing in. He finds her inside the venue, ordering a soda at the open bar. He had no plan after he went after her, nothing even as to what he is going to say. Addison turns around, nearly crashing into him and lets out a startled gasp.

"I'm sorry." She says in a apologetic tone, immediately cowering down.

"It's my fault." They really were different, he notes. "You're Annabel's sister?" He questions as if he didnt know that already.

The statement gets her attention, she scans the area to see if anyone heard that and finally looks up to meet Steve's eyes. "No... The Shaw's only have one daughter, you must have me confused." There's a small smile at the end of her sentence that doesn't sit well with him. "Congratulations on your wedding."

Steve is left speechless as he watches Addison return to her seat, there a million moves he can make followed by a million things he could say, 'I know you're Addison's sister. Listen everything that has happened is a mistake, a complete misunderstanding." Before he even has a opportunity to do any of that, he's stopped by the actions of his parent-in-laws shouting for the remaining guests inside of the venue to leave. Gregory storms in, face bright red and his body language even more threatening than his voice. "Everyone out! If you're not family, get the hell out! That includes you behind the bar!" Everyone scurries from the room like rats. Steve's attention turns back to Addison whose now standing, her eyes wide and body slowly beginning to tremble.

"What the hell is your problem?" he shouts, pointing his finger accusingly at Addison.

Annabel quickly rushes to her mother's aide, wrapping her arms around her and sobbing.

"You weasel your way into this wedding and what decided to see who you could get to buy some drugs from you?"

Steve takes a step forward, "Whoa-whoa, hold on. Do we even know that she brought drugs here?" He tries to play devil's advocate to no avail.

"Did you or my daughter invite any other known drug users to the wedding?" Gregory questions.

Steve bites his tongue, glancing at his wife whose sobbing hysterically. "I don't have anything, old man." Addison sneers.

"Let me see your purse." He demands, walking towards her, holding out his hand.

"Screw you." Addison shouts, clutching her purse closer to her chest.

"Wait, alright." Steve interrupts. "If you didn't have any drugs on you then we shouldn't have any problems going through your purse, right?" He asks, moving in between the two.

"I have nothing on me."

"Then we'll look into your purse and all will be good, right?" He's praying to God, he's right, it's a misunderstanding. Charlie from his office always seemed a bit sketchy, it could easily be him.

Unreluctantly, Addison hands her purse over to Steve with a shaky breath. He's begging for a tell, something in her eyes that lets him see the truth but there is nothing there. Not even fear or anger, they're just empty. He looks inside the purse, moving a few items around before his eyes grow wide. underneath her wallet was a clear bag of pills, all different shapes and sizes.

"There's nothing in here." He says, gently putting the wallet over the contents again.

There's a surprised reaction inside the room, Annabel gasping and her father, staring at him confused. "You're sure?" he questions.

"Yes." He nods.

"Check the side pockets."

Steve inhales deeply, unzipping the pockets on the side. "Nothing here either."

Gregory doesn't take that as an answer, "No, give me it. There has to be something here." Steve uses his size as an advantage, puffing his chest out and shoving an hand out.

"There's nothing here." He repeats. "Would I lie to you?" Gregory chews on his lower lip, exhaling sharply. With a quick look to Addison, he fears the truth will soon fall out of his mouth. "Addison, I think it's time you leave." Steve shoves the bag into her hands.

Without another word, Addison grips the bag and quickly leaves the room without a look behind her. Gregory who is still filled with anger, moves behind the bar pouring a shot of whiskey and quickly drinking it. Annabel and her mother escape to the bathroom to adjust their makeup, both reeling emotionally from the events. He lets out a deep breath before heading in the same direction Addison went down earlier.  The sour taste in his mouth is only getting worse as he spots her on the sidewalk, a cigarette between her lips as she anxiously waits for her car. "What the hell is wrong with you? Your sister invites you here to extend an olive branch and you bring a bag of pills? Are you capable of only making bad decisions?" He shouts at her long before he even gets near her.

"An olive branch? Is that what you think that was?"

"Why do you think you're here?" Steve asks, tossing his hands up in the air.

"Yeah, you're right. The one time my sister allows me to be apart of this family, I screw it up by bringing a shit ton of pills."

"I just lied for you. I lied to my father-in-law for you!" He's lost all ability to control himself now.

"I didn't put those pills in there!" She closes the space between them, rising to the tips of her toes.

"Who did, huh?"

"I don't know but I didn't."

He chuckles, "Oh my god. You're pathetic." It takes a minute for what she's saying to actually hit him and he can't help but let out another chuckle, rubbing his clean shaven face. "Wow! You really think that they... that Gregory and Courtney put those in your purse?"

"I wouldn't put it past them."

"You don't even know them!" Steve shouts.

"Neither do you." She scoffs, shaking her head. "You think you're marrying into the brady bunch, huh? Sweet wholesome family with their little dog Tiger out in the backyard? Let me tell you something, it takes two awfully screwed up people to make one fucked up kid don't you think?"

"You're blaming them for your decisions?"

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, now does it?" She tosses her cigarette onto the ground and shakes her head. "Like I said congratulations on marrying into the Brady Bunch. Just make sure your dog doesn't get hit by a car." Addison smirks, walking into the parking lot, refusing to take the blame for anything or even share a thank you.

That was almost six years ago, he could barely handle their fight outside of the wedding, how was he supposed to handle a few weeks with her living inside of his house?

Annabel could lie, claim something came up, they had an emergency and she could no longer stay. Only his brain wouldn't let him, technically his mother wouldn't. "We forgive people for their past mistakes, some day, you'll be the one who makes a mistake and wishing someone would forgive you." She had beat that phrase into him when he was just a young boy.

Damn his mother, damn her inspiring speeches and damn him for being a good son and listening.

If his mother was privy to any of the thoughts running rampant in his head, she'd flip over in her grave. Even worse, she'd probably rise up from the grave and whack him on the back of the head with a rolled up newspaper.

Rather face the possibility that his mother would be ashamed of him, he took action. Hiding anything of value they had. Art, trinkets, jewelry; anything that she could make even the tiniest bit of money off of to support her habit. It was wrong and his mother would be annoyed that he was not seeing the best in people but she wasn't someone who had the best inside of them. If he could, he'd replace the furniture just to prevent her from infecting it.

Two days before she gets there, the contractor has another problem. "Listen, the kitchen it's done..."

"Why does it sound like there is a 'but' at the end of that?"

He chews on his bottom lip, "Whoever you got to do that wiring on short notice, he did a shit job."

'What does that mean?"

"It means you got a faulty kitchen. You flip the switch for the light and the breaker blows, turn on the disposal and the breaker blows, plug the fridge in--"

"The breaker blows." Steve finishes his sentence for him. "I get it, what can you do to fix that?"

"Redo it."

"So do that."

"It's gonna take at least a week."

"I don't have a week. I have two days." Steve panics, rubbing his palms together to calm the nerves. "What if I tripled your money?"

"Still can't be done in a week."

He begged, promised and bribed the contractor to find anyone who could do a good job in short notice but there wasn't anyone willing to take on the job who could guarantee the job would be done in a two days. He was screwed and the hours were closing in. Miss Addison "Trouble" Shaw was on her way and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Not even if he tried.

"When is the last time you talked to Addison?" Steve asks just before they go to bed.

"I don't know... probably the wedding." She looks over and notices her husband is laying down wide eyed. "Baby, it's going to be fine."

"How can you say that? With the shit that happened at the wedding? She was invited there and screwed that up. What's to say we don't wake up one morning and find half of our stuff gone? Or worse some guys standing over the bed with guns at our heads?"

"Babe, she's not the mafia." The statement doesn't comfort him as much as it should, instead it only makes him feel worse. At least if she was the mafia, there was a chance he could bargain their way out of death. Launder money for them, sell illegal stuff, hide people, whatever it took he would do it. Addison wasn't as simple, she was a no good drug addict.

#Chris Evans Fanfiction #Chris Evans Fanfic #Chris evans Fic #Chris Evans #Steve Rogers fanfic #Steve Rogers Fanfiction #Steve Rogers Fic #Steve Rogers Imagine #chris evans imagine #Avengers #Captain America #Captain America: The First Avenger #captain america: civil war

[holylulusworld]

Sorry is not enough

Summary: It’s an eye for an eye and a life for a life tonight.

Pairing: Mobster!Dean x Reader, former OFC!Frank x Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of forced marriage, mentions of domestic violence/physical & emotional abuse, protective Dean, hurt & comfort, violence, torture, blood, knife play (non-sexual), burning with cigarettes

Characters: Sam Winchester, Benny Lafitte, Ruby, Jimmy Novak, Arthur Ketch, Charlie Bradbury, Alex Jones and Impala the dog

A/N: Please head the trigger warnings for domestic violence which gets mentioned. Please also head the warnings for torture, blood, and violence.

A/N2: Part 3/3 to  Too late to be sorry… & Never too late to be sorry

“Where is he?” Dean looks at the monitors, following Benny, Jimmy, and Ketch while they sneak around a house. “Is that bastard in there?”

“Take a deep breath, boss. Sit over there and just watch. The boys got this, okay. I hacked into the security system and made sure the phones won’t work.

He’s in there, along with his boss and partner who watched him hurt Y/N.” Charlie explains while she sips at her coke.

“You enjoy this a bit too much, Charlie. I guess working with me, and Sammy made you hard as steel.” Dean smirks as Charlie gives him a curt nod.

“Not hard as steel, boss. I know what we normally do isn’t exactly legal but, this is fun. Punishing an abusive asshole, his boss and partner - a good day for Charlie Bradbury and Team Winchester.” Snickering Ruby looks over Charlie’s shoulder.

“Sam insisted on going with them. He’s out for blood, you know, he never forgot about Y/N. Sam often told me she was like a sister when he was younger.” Ruby gets her knife out to clean her nails, a smirk on her lips. “Do I get the chance to cut one of those bastards? Please?”

“You can have the boss and partner. Treat the leftovers however you want to, Ruby. That bastard is mine.” Dean’s eyes narrow watching Benny break through the front door. “I reserved a special place in hell for him.”

“I guess that messing with Dean Winchester or his girl is a death sentence. Good thing I fuck your brother.” A smirk on his lips Dean crosses his arms over his chest.

“Won’t save you if you fuck us over. Now one messes with the Winchesters, not even a pretty little thing wrapping my brother's dick around her fingers. Be good, and we treat you well.

Be bad, you end up six feet under with my brand on your ass.” Ruby swallows thickly watching Dean’s arms bulge. “Not that Sammy does not like you, though.”

“Never thought about fucking you over. I prefer fucking your brother…” Charlie sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Can you two stop talking about fucking or fucking someone over? I have to provide back-up for the boys. I need to be their eyes and ears. Now silence. Benny is about to go in…” Dean falls silent, just like Ruby when the minute's tick by.

“Benny, can you hear me? Can you give me a status update?” Concerned Charlie tries to reach her friend. “Got it. Can you repeat it? Good. Pack everything and bring him here.”

Watching Benny drag Frank’s partner out of the house via the dashcam in his car Charlie squeals. “That’s number one. Good job, Benny. Secure him and wait for my orders.”

“Awesome…” Dean gives Ruby a high-five chuckling lightly. “Don’t tell Sammy or he believes I start liking you.”

“Wouldn’t dream about it…” Ruby retorts.

“Sam, can you…oh-great. Hit him with your best shot big boy.” Squealing Charlie jumps up to do a little victory dance. “Sam got Frank, broke his hand, and drags him out now.”

“Damn, if he brings me that monster, you can marry, Ruby.” Blinking a few times Charlie giggles at Ruby’s pained expression. “What? You want my baby brother, make him an honest man…”

“Slow down, Winchester.”

“Guys, silence. I am trying to reach Jimmy, but he doesn’t answer. Give me a minute here.” Charlie ends the awkward situation. “Jimmy, can you…oh-yes. Confirming Sam and Benny got their targets. Perfect. Bring him out.”

“He got the boss?” Dean watches Jimmy drag Frank’s boss out of the house. “Say goodbye to your cozy home, bastard. Does he have family or the partner?”

“Had a wife, got divorced according to the information I gathered last night. Uh-huh-juicy. She accused him of having an affair with one of his colleagues. I bet my favorite pair of panties it was Frank.” Hands balled into fists Dean paces around the room.

“He let Frank hurt my girl as he was banging him? Are you fucking kidding me!”

“I guess you want to know why we brought you here?” Looking at the men, chained to chairs Dean smirks as Frank’s partner looks like a scared little mouse. “It’s because all of you were part of my girl’s misery.”

Frank’s head snaps upward and just now he recognizes Dean’s face. Sam can see the fear in your husband’s eyes as he tries to fight the gag in his mouth.

“What did you try to say?” Mocking Frank, Dean moves one hand behind his ear. “Didn’t get that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t you worry, Frankie boy. You’ll get your chance to scream your lungs out later. For now, we want you to sign the divorce papers and for you to give everything you own to Y/N, your beloved wife. Later you will write a farewell note.”

Ruby circles the man, her favorite knife in her hands she slides it over Frank’s partner’s cheek, cutting deep enough to make him whine.

“Shush, little pig. Don’t be a girl about it, take it like a man.” Ketch leans against a wall, enjoying Ruby’s way to play with the men. “Wasn’t that exactly what he said to Y/N?”

“It was Arthur. My girl told me everything about that night. She finally gathered all her strength and called you, Michael Waters, her husband’s partner to ask you for help. She also called you, Victor Murdock, his boss.” Sam looks at your diary, the one you handed Dean days ago.

“Do you know what my girl wrote? You pigs came to her house and watched her husband hit her, hard enough to make her bleed, and lose a tooth.

When he was done hitting her, he got a belt and spanked her back, thighs and ass while you just watched him.” Dean’s eyes turn cold when Sam slams the diary shut.

“Ready or not…” Ketch snickers when Dean gets up to light a cigarette. “Here we come…”

Screams echo through the house and you wrap your arms tightly around ‘Impala’. You know Dean came back hours ago, Frank, his boss and his partner in tow.

“Everything is going to be alright, Impala. He’ll never hurt us again, baby. Promised. Dean will hurt him.” Sniffling you look at Alex who tries to ignore the men’s pleading. “If you want to go, Alex, I will understand.”

“My dad liked to push my mom around, Y/N. He always acted as if it was an accident, but I saw the bruises and the blue eyes he gave her.

I know what an abusive asshole looks like and Frank is one of the worst I ever met.” Alex sits next to you to squeeze your hand. “We will listen and remind ourselves, they deserve the worst…”

“Look at you with my girl's name written on your chest.” Dean muses while Ruby cuts the last letter of your name into Frank’s boss ' chest. He’s impressed by Ruby’s handiwork, even though, he would never tell her so.

“A masterpiece. Now…give me the salt.” Victor shakes his head furiously but Ketch hands Ruby the salt, a grin on his face. “I think you will look good covered in blood and salt, just like the pig you are…”

When he starts screaming again Ruby slaps his face. “Take it like a man, pig. Don’t you dare to lose consciousness, or I will carve my name into your dick.”

“She will do so, asshole. Believe me, my girl likes to carve her name into things and people.” Sam snickers at Victor’s pained expression. He grits his teeth, tries to breathe through the pain but Michael isn’t better.

While Ruby plays with Frank’s boss, Benny does the same to his partner. “Mine looks way better. Look, I carved a flower next to her name.” Ruby huffs, not caring about the rose Benny carved into Michael’s flesh.

“I think, we are done playing.” Dean claps his hands, still only staring at Frank who looks like he’s about to scream like a schoolgirl when the tall mobster walks toward him, a cigarette between his lips.

“Boss, can we bring the leftovers out and finish them?” Ketch rubs his hands, already imagining where he will plant the bullet ending Michael and Victor’s life. “Fast, or painful?”

“Painful.” Frank flinches at Dean’s words but dares not to look at his partner or boss. He knows, he’ll die tonight. He reached the end of the rope and he can’t escape Dean’s wrath.

“Leave Frank to Dean, I’ll stay here to help him out if he needs me to.” While Benny, Jimmy, and Sam drag the other men out of the room Ruby and Dean stay behind. “Shall I carve her name into his chest too?”

“No, Ruby. This is my job.” Dipping his head Dean blows the smoke of the cigarette into Frank’s face, enjoying the tears run down his face and the fact Frank peed his pants.

“A little and scared man, that’s all I can see. Nothing special. Only someone hurting vulnerable people, women, children…even your granny.”

“Piece of shit.” Ruby spats, sitting onto the table behind Dean’s back. “I’ll be waiting for my turn, Frankie. We will have so much fun.”

“Nah, he’s all mine.” Dean fists Frank’s hair before he removes the gag. Frank pants, sniffles before he chokes the word ‘sorry’ out.

“Oh, poor little Frankie. Sorry is not enough for what you did to my girl. It will never be enough.”

“An eye for an eye, Frank. Or rather your life for the life you almost took. Now, be a man about it and take it…” Ruby laughs when Dean presses the burning cigarette to Frank’s forehead.

Frank screams, even whimpers as all the memories of his father’s abuse flash back up. “You had a chance, Frank. You could’ve treated people better than your piece of shit of a father did. We decide who we become, not our parents.”

“That’s right! My mom was a bookkeeper and look, I am a goddamn sexy killer. She was a nice woman, always treated me right but I became a bitch.” Snickering Ruby watches Dean rip Frank’s shirt open. “Knife, boss?”

“Yeah…I think he deserves Y/N’s name on his chest but first. Maybe we will end you fast, you were smart enough to sign the papers after all.” Dean plays with Frank, always giving him hope just like he did with you. “No, I think…”

Dean’s fists meet Frank’s jaw and his head lulls back at the sheer force. For a heartbeat, Frank believes Dean is done but the fist comes back…again, and again, and again until nothing of Frank’s face is left than a bloody mess.

“Shall I or do you want to do it?” Itching to carve your name into Frank’s chest Ruby stand behind Dean. “Please…”

“Do it. This is my wedding gift for you and Sammy, crazy bitch.” Dean smirks when Ruby starts carving your name into Frank’s flesh. “I’ll get more salt and acid. I want him to scream for me…”

“Dean?” Watching Dean emerge from the showers you grasp for his fist. “Does it hurt?” Smiling Dean kisses your temple, not saying a thing just to savor the moment. “Dean?”

“He’s gone, and I can tell, he paid for what he did. Frank was kind enough to sign divorce papers and to give you the house, car, and everything he owned.” Dean carefully helps you lie onto his bed.

For a few days, you live with him in his room, the one he wants to share with you for the rest of his life . “I…thank you. I hate to admit it, but I am glad he’s dead…”

“Sweetheart, I promised to reserve a special place in hell for him, and I did,” Dean smirks when you curl into his side. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dean.”

He’s wrapping his arms around you, not mentioning he sold Frank and his friends to not very friendly people. People who like to torture and hurt people like Frank.

Dean fulfilled his promise. He made the rest of Frank’s life living hell…

More tags in reblog.

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags   

@spnfamily-j2

@supernatural-bellawinchester

@negans-lucille-tblr​

@deans-baby-momma​

@thefaithfulwriter​

@squirrelnotsam​

@roonyxx​

@neerness​

@deansgirl-1968​

@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​

@butifulsoul125​

@lyinginthegingerlocks​

@neen-illustrates​

@janicho88​

@woodworthti666​

@thevelvetseries​

@dreaminemz​

@akshi8278​

@midnightsilver16830​

@mrspeacem1nusone​

@ria132love​

@caligraphee​

@the-witch-in-silence​

@justanotherwinchester​

@multisuperfandom​

@jason-todd-squad​

@jadesupernatural​

@psychicforest​

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@team-free-will-you-idjiot​

@myopiamystical​

@rintheemolion​

@isthatabutterfly

@bluecornflowers​

@rosalynshields​

A/N: If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you.

#sequel to too late to be sorry #sorry is not enough #angst #torture #mentions of domestic violence #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #mobster au #MOBSTER!AU #mobsterdean #mobster!dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester miniseries #mobster!dean x you

[snarkwrites]

12 | gangsta; sweetpea

NOTES:

It's been a while. I've had these two chapters written for a while now but I haven't had time to sit down, edit them a little better and post them. Since I have time now, I thought I'd go ahead and do that, whether you guys asked for these next two chapters or not.

Sorry this took forever! Sorry I'm so slow, I've been settling into a new house and taking care of some IRL stuff / taking a little break. I swear, I'm going to update everything sooner or later. >.>

I love you guys.

WARNINGS:

NON/ LOOSE CANON COMPLIANCE - this is the biggest warning, so if you’re into things that follow exact canon plot you are… definitely not going to like this. ANGST & SLOW BURN, HEAVY SEXUAL TENSIONSTARTING NOW, ACTUALLY - this is just so everyone who started reading this thinking the smut would transpire in a hurry knows that apparently, it is not. VIOLENCE / SWEARING & FIGHTING, POSSIBLE UNDERAGE DRINKING AND OTHER SHENANIGANS- look.. it’s high school. shit happens. also apparently, my ofc Alyssa uses the word fuck like all the time?…EVENTUAL SEXUAL CONTENT / A VIRGIN ORIGINAL CHARACTER- this one is self explanatory. yes, i plan to write a smutty chapter in this at some point. when? i don’t rightly know. it’s got a while before we get there. STALKER TW - this chapter marks the true appearance of Alyssa's ex, Dave Novak. It's hinted heavily that he's a gross asshole who likes to play mind games.

If you're under 18+, probably not a good or wise idea to continue reading this series. Because there are going to be a few dark and adult themes within. I'll warn here, of course, but you need to understand that I don't control you. If you continue to read after having read the warnings and you're upset or don't like something... Totally on you, friend.

PAIRING:

Andrews!Sibling OFC x Sweet Pea.

TAGGING:

@brithedemonspawn is the only person on my Riverdale tag list. If you want to be added, the link to do so is below.

OTHER PARTS:

ONE - TWO - THREE - FOUR - FIVE - SIX - SEVEN - EIGHT - NINE - TEN- ELEVEN - soundtrack

OTHER STUFF:

[ about my writing - tag list doc ]

T W E L V E.

[773 - 589 - 7956] attachment

[773 - 589 - 7956] I think I decided how you can repay me, scarlet…

[773 - 589 - 7956] Better enjoy your quiet and happy little life while you still have it, scarlet. Because soon it’s all going to be ripped right out of your pretty little hands.

[773 - 589 - 7956] That boyfriend of yours isn’t even gonna be able to save you this time, scarlet. You’re mine.

[773 - 589 - 7956] See you soon, scarlet.

Each new text that came in had me tensing up. Careful to keep my phone out of sight of anyone who was nearby. My heart was about to beat right out of my chest and my stomach felt like it sank to the floor. I was barely listening to anything being said around me and I guess it was more obvious than I thought because Toni cleared her throat, nodding to the phone in my hand.

Gazing at me in concern.

“Everything okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“Yeah,yeah. Everything is fine.” I lied. I think at that particular point in time, I was just trying to convince myself that this was all some kind of bad dream. Or worst case scenario, Dave was making empty threats.

Toni eyed me suspiciously. I tried to give her a convincing smile, but I’d have had to be an idiot to even think for a second that she believed me. She eyed my phone and reached for it. I managed to shove it in my pocket.

“Trust me.” I pleaded. She gave me a wary look and sighed, grumbling “Fine, okay. Alright.” under her breath.

And I did my best to push the texts out of my head. Jumping in the conversation she had going on with Cheryl and Veronica. Laughing and talking as if nothing were wrong.

Lying through the skin of my teeth.

XXX

“What’s got you so jumpy?”

The question caught me off guard. I wanted to tell someone what was going on, I really did, but… I didn’t want to worry anyone, either. I was at least 99.9 percent sure that there was absolutely no way that Dave would show up in Riverdale, at least that’s what I was hoping.

I did my best to play it off. Shoveling french fries into my mouth just so I didn’t have to answer right away. My cell phone lit up and I flinched before I could stop myself.

Toni reached for it and I quickly grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket. She gave me a concerned look and I muttered quietly, “Probably just Reggie...again.”

“Reggie’s with that new girl though?” Cheryl spoke up. Gazing at me thoughtfully. My breath caught in my throat because if anyone would catch on to there being something truly wrong with me or something off in the way I was acting, it’d be her or Polly.

So far, I’d managed to fool everyone else into thinking I was alright, even my dad and my brother.

,, Dave won’t come here, it’s not worth the hassle. He’s just playing mind games. That’s all this is. Pull yourself together.” the thought came and I managed a smile, shrugging.

“You’ve been acting weird all week, now that I’m thinking about it.” Cheryl was the one who said it and she gave me an expectant look. Waiting.

“I have not.”

,, I do have one secret I can spill. Maybe if I tell them about my crush on Sweetpea…” and so that’s what I did. Sighing as I reached for the shared plate of fries between the three of us. Raking my fries through my vanilla milkshake and taking a few deep breaths to kind of collect myself, both from Dave’s harassing texts and what I was finally about to get off my chest about having feelings for Sweetpea.

“You have. Start talking.” Toni spoke up, watching me. Sizing me up. If I had to guess, I’d pin money on her sitting across the booth, trying to figure out what was up with my jumpy attitude all week.

“Okay, alright. Fine. But what I’m about to tell you two does not leave this table, okay? It.. It can’t. If Sweetpea ever found out, pretty sure he’d start avoiding me and things would get weird.”

Toni and Cheryl exchanged a look and then Toni nodded. Chewing a mouthful of fries as she muttered calmly, “Go on.”

“ I may or may not have a crush on Sweetpea.”

“Oh, you definitely have a crush on him. It’s kind of obvious.” Cheryl gave a soft teasing grin and I sighed. Dragging my hand through my hair and taking a few seconds to let her words sink in. I almost dreaded asking, but I felt like I had to given that she said it was obvious. “Oh god.. He doesn’t suspect anything.. Right?”

“Oh, he’s the only one whose oblivious. But the rest of us, we’ve known a while.” Toni teased me. Then asked calmly, “Is that all? Why’s that have you so jumpy?”

“Because I know how bad I am at hiding things, okay? I was kind of… I dunno, freaking out I guess.” I eyed her, waiting. Searching her face in the hopes that she accepted what I said and didn’t keep pushing. A few seconds passed and she laughed softly. Took a sip of her strawberry milkshake and asked with a smirk, “Are you gonna do anything about it?”

“Probably not. Every time I even think about it, I manage to talk myself right out of it. He’d laugh his ass off, okay? Besides, remember all the flirting he was doing with Josie when they had to work together during the play?” I pouted as I pointed it out.

Cheryl and Toni exchanged looks and Toni laughed. “He was doing that to make you jealous. Or that’s what I think he was doing. Either way… I think you should do something. He’s not going to and trust me… I’ve known the guy my whole life. I know him well enough to say that I know he has a thing for you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so cranky when you two first met?”

“I thought he was just naturally grumpy?”

“Oh, he is, but the way he was towards you was totally different. He’s only that grumpy when he’s trying to keep his defenses up.” Toni informed me before finishing off her shake.

The door to the diner opened and Sweetpea walked in, Fangs in tow. The two of them were laughing about something. I gave both Cheryl and Toni a pleading look and Cheryl seemed to pick up on my unspoken plea to change the subject thankfully, because she asked, “Are you going to F.P’s retirement party at the Wyrm?”

“Yeah.” I answered, finishing off my milkshake. Sweetpea flopped into the booth beside me, carelessly slinging an arm over the back of the seat. His hand brushed against my shoulder and I swear just the small brush against me felt like someone had taken a livewire and dragged it over my body real slow.

Toni smirked at me, nodding at Sweetpea while he was too busy wolfing down french fries to notice and I shook my head.

“I dare you. No… I triple dare you.. Flirt with him.” Toni gave a teasing grin as she mouthed the words to me and I swallowed hard.

She’s not playing fair. She knows I can’t turn down a dare.

I happened to glance out the window of the diner and when I thought I saw Dave standing there, leaning against a streetlamp, one hand in his pocket and a cigarette dangling between his lips, I nearly choked. This prompted Sweetpea to start hitting me on the back lightly as he laughed and looked at me in concern. “Damn cherry, are you trying to kill yourself?”

Toni’s brow raised and Sweetpea explained what happened earlier in the day, how I’d nicked myself with the scalpel in our first period class while doing a dissection. What Sweetpea didn’t know was that when it happened, it was because I thought I’d seen Dave standing outside in the parking lot, only to blink and the parking lot be empty.

I have got to stop letting his stupid mind games get to me. It’s just because he’s texting me again. It’s just because he knows how to work me up and get me all scared, he used to be good at it when we dated.

He’d never come to Riverdale. He’s just doing this to me for his own sick amusement and every single time I let him get to me, especially when I’m to a point where I’m so paranoid I’m imagining that I see him everywhere lately, it’s letting him win and that pisses me off more than anything.

I’m supposed to be stronger than that, damn it.

Toni eyed me suspiciously and I braced myself. When she didn’t bring up my skittish behavior, I relaxed a little.

I wanted to tell someone what was going on, but at the same time, why? I’m pretty sure this is just Dave, being an absolute bag of dicks.

It has to be that. It has to be.

XXX

He stood outside some podunk little diner right in the heart of town. The hazy red neon gave off a comforting and inviting warmth and he lit his cigarette, fuming in anger as he watched her sitting inside.

“I know you’re not ignoring me, scarlet. I know you’re not.” he muttered, mostly to himself as he turned the collar of his leather jacket up against the wind and started to walk towards the South Side.

Maybe it was time he paid his old buddy Eric a visit. Eric was out of prison. Eric was the one who’d told him where Alyssa was to begin with, though he didn’t realize it.

Dave chuckled and shook his head as he walked towards the shitty apartments on the opposite end of town where Eric lived. Eric owed him a few favors. He was coming to collect.

“Did you really think I was jokin when I told ya I have friends all over? That you weren’t ever gonna get away from me?” he mused to himself as he knocked on the door of a first floor slum apartment.

Eric opened the door, leaning in it lazily. Blinking at him in a daze and smirking. High fiving him as he asked him why he was in town.

Dave whipped out his phone, showing Eric a picture of Alyssa. At first he gave him some story about her running off while he was in the pen. Eric wasn’t buying it, he could see it written in the expression on his face. And that only made him angry. Eric owed him. He was here to collect the favor owed. All he wanted was for Eric to help him out on this one little thing.

Eric shook his head, chuckling in disgust. Gazing at him with a brow raised. “I think you need to leave, man. Now. You don’t want the heat this is gonna bring down on you. And I’m not about to get on a Serpent’s bad side, even if the Serpent in question is just a damn kid.”

“See, I’d like to just put this all behind me, man... but she’s the whole reason I even went to prison to begin with. Then I get out and find out not only is my girl not loyal, she’s also the one who snitched on me?” Dave eyed Eric. Getting irritated because this was not how he saw the conversation going.

“I’m telling you, you need to leave. Forget about Alyssa. I see her around all the time with some kid… Sweet Pea or Green Bean, some shit. The Serpents are not people you fuck with, man. Not around these parts.”

“You know the Serpents aren’t shit to me… Right?” Dave quipped, smirking. “I’ve got this under control. I just need you to help me out a little… C’mon, man. You owe me.”

“I don’t fucking care. I’m not helping you do whatever it is you’re here to do. What I oughta do is put a bullet in your fucking head for even thinking I’d be down for this shit. She’s a kid, man. A fucking kid... Favor or not, man… I’m on the Serpents side with this. Not yours. You need to leave.” Eric warned, giving Dave a firm glare as he folded heavily tattooed arms over his chest.

“Oh, so that’s how you’re playin, huh? Okay. Alright. All I wanna do is see her again. I’m not going to do anything. I just want to straighten things out. Get a little closure on the situation...”

Eric scoffed. “This coming from the king of overreaction. I don’t trust you.I’m breakin code of my gang by even talking to your ass. Nope. The answer is no. I’m not helping. Do whatever you have to do to me, but I’m not about to help you scare some kid. I’ve got better things to do with my time, buddy...”

Dave’s arm shot out and he pinned Eric against the door of his apartment. Smirking at him calmly. “I know you haven’t forgotten just how much your sorry ass owes me. Because that’s what this sounds like.”

“I guess that’s what it is then. Because I’ve seen what the Serpents can do. I’m not about to bring all that down on my head.” Eric stepped back inside his apartment, slamming the door in Dave’s face, leaving him to glare at the closed door and take a swing.

“Guess I’m doing this all by myself.” Dave mused as he turned and wandered down to a shitty dive bar nearby. He needed to have a few rounds. Come up with a plan.

And a little after midnight, after finding himself a few new talkative friends in some local Ghoulies, things were starting to look up for him. And he was slowly forming a plan.

Now he just had to wait. Pick his moment. Toy with her a little more.

“I’m so close I can almost touch you, scarlet. Soon… Soon you’re going to pay for running your mouth to mommy about me...” he smirked to himself as he unlocked his hotel room and stepped inside.

#sweetpea fanfiction #sweetpea fanfic #sweetpea fic #sweetpea imagine #sweetpea imagines #my writing ; sweetpea #my fanfiction; sweetpea #my fics; sweetpea #// stalker tw #// seriously. these next two parts are gonna get a little... scary. #// you have been warned