Fuck This Is Such A Sad Ending 😭 I Was Hoping That Natasha Did Die In This 😭

Olly, Olly, Oxen Free {Hotch x daughter!reader}

Warnings: PLEASE, be advised of the SEVERE mentions of gun violence, murder, death, etc. This is a heavy piece, so please, please, please, do not put yourself at risk to read this, if you would like to know the plot without reading let me know and I will accommodate as best as I can!

This is set in “100″, so, daughter!reader is currently trapped with foyet in her childhood home. Alright, enjoy. 

“Y/N.”

You sprung from your place on the floor, watching your brother retreat past the living room, his feet happily climbing the old route he used to take in the childhood home he was raised in. You  doubted he forgot it so soon, even with his young age. This was the house they had made home. Over the last year, you would’ve done anything to be back in this house, surrounded by the memories of your past life. The life in which you weren’t forced into the witness protection program, abandoning all of your friends due to a serial killer hellbent on destroying your father’s life.

Your hand reached out, gently grabbing the cellphone extending from the hands of your mother’s.

“Dad.”

You forced herself to sound calm, composed. Sitting only ten feet from you was a man who had previously shoved a blade into your father’s abdomen just to prove a point. You figured seeming weak wasn’t particularly a good idea.

There was the hum of an engine, one that you knew well. When you was younger- much younger- you used to wait up for you father to come home from cases. Most nights you fell asleep before he came back, but on the rare occasion you actually made it past midnight, you could hear that very same hum of his government issued SUV pulling into the driveway, subsequently causing you to dart out of  bed to jump into his waiting arms. It never mattered to you that you would receive a scolding from your mother for not going to bed at a proper time, not when you would see the smile that grew on her father’s face when you accomplished your goal.

That smile, so rare and so blinding, hardly even captured in pictures. Your father was a tired man, a hardworking man, a dedicated father, but all of his good qualities had hardened into stone from the heat of his job and sometimes you feared that eventually, even you might not be able to crack that tough exterior. It seemed silly, sure, but your mother used to be able to find the chinks in his armor, used to make him laugh and smile and love and then one day she couldn’t and who was to say that it wouldn’t happen to you too?

“Y/N/N, I love you, you know that?” He used the nickname Jack had accidentally given you. When he was just learning to talk, the boy was unable to fully pronounce your name and you had been stuck with it ever since. You used to hate it- or, at least pretend to, but you could never yell at Jack. The boy was too good at absolutely melting you.

Your father’s voice, which was typically strong and gruff, came out a bit cracked. It filled you with a sinking feeling. If your father wasn’t composed then how the hell were you supposed to be?

The man who hoisted you on his shoulders every Fourth of July to see the fireworks better, or grabbed every spider that made you scream for your life. The man who taught you how to swing a baseball bat and then immediately yelled because you whacked him right in the knee. A fearless, strong, admittedly taciturn man that was making abundantly clear the ambiguity of your future.

You swallowed down that fear, you couldn’t afford to be afraid right now. Y/E/C  eyes looked up to your mother. She was still beside you, looking at her daughter as if trying to engrain every single facet of your face in her mind, burning the image of her daughter into her memory.

“I know, I love you too.” You didn’t know how you managed to keep your voice so even but to anyone listening it sounded like a normal conversation. She could almost imagine they were sitting at a dinner table (something they hadn’t done in a year because of the Witness Protection Program).

Pass the salt. She would’ve said.

“I need you to listen to me carefully, Bug.” If you hadn’t been so worried that you might die soon you might’ve found yourself scolding the man not to use that nickname anymore. After your friends had slept over in seventh grade and heard your father use it you were teased relentlessly, but now you didn’t mind it. You didn’t mind your father using a nickname you hated. You didn’t mind a lot of things now that you were facing death, serial killer breathing the same air as you and your mother, standing in your living room, staring at you with cold, calculating eyes.  

It’s funny how little things matter when death enters the picture.

“Remember when I taught you to drive?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you glanced to your mother, trying to keep your face void of emotion.

You hadn’t learned to drive. You had begged your father, of course, but he had said no. You remembered the fight that had ensued, his words loud just to overpower your teenaged protests. “There’s no use learning to drive when your mother’s here, sometimes me, and the metro, it’s useless. It would do you better to learn something more useful, like shooting a gun.”

Oh.

The sinking feeling returned in the pit of your stomach. Or maybe it just never left. Your eyes hardened with resolve over what you knew her father was asking you to do, and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

A tiny breath of air left your parted lips, and even with the confusion laced on her mother’s features and the amusement playing on Foyet’s, your mind cleared a bit.

Frontside. Trigger press. Follow through.

“I’m a terrible driver.” You murmured to her father. Your hand began to sweat at what he was asking of you. You recalled the shooting lessons. It had been a year or so ago, the man wanting you to be prepared for anything and then he had been shot and you hadn’t seen him since. Even with the little practice, you hadn’t been too bad, but this was nothing like the shooting range. This was pointing a gun at a killer and hoping to anything that was good and holy that you didn’t miss. Even so, who said you could get to the gun before Foyet got to you?

“You’re good enough.”

Good enough. You wanted to scream.

Foyet rose from his spot on the floor, and Haley stiffened in her place.

“I think that’s good enough, right, Y/N?” The way he moved, eyes trained onto you, alight with a kind of…mischief? Yes, mischief. Like an adolescent boy who just found his father’s stash of fireworks. His body moved like a predator. Refined, sophisticated, and calculated.

And, as he moved closer, you could smell him. He didn’t smell like you thought a killer would smell. Though, to be fair, you hadn’t ever given much thought to the scent of a killer. Maybe you thought that someone capable of such dirty, heinous crimes would smell as such. Like the rotten core would seep through their pores and become a putrid scent recognizable to those surrounding him. Instead, he smelt clean. Like laundry detergent and freshly washed hair. The hand that didn’t hold the gun reached up, taking a strand of your hair into his fingers and running it through them deftly.

“Don’t touch me.” You pushed him back on instinct and, not seeming to expect such force, the man was shoved back two steps. Rather than cocking the gun right then and there, Foyet looked at you with interest and then, he did something you didn’t expect. He smiled.

A laugh fell through his lips. It bubbled and boiled and hit your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“Wow, you’ve got a feisty one, Aaron. I think she gets that from you, the old ball and chain over here is a bit of a whiner.” He chuckled to himself like he said the world’s funniest joke, and you glared.

“Leave them alone.” Your father may as well have been on mute because the killer paid no mind to his orders.

He breathed in a deep sigh, looking at you with those same bright, calculated eyes. Then, as if coming to a consensus, tilted his head. “How about this, how about you go hide, I’ll give you a head start, and then I’ll come find you.”

You could feel her mother bristle from beside you, quiet whimpers coming from her mouth. The hum of the engine played in the background, and the wind chimes on the front porch sang a tune with the breeze. “No.” You said firmly.

Foyet pouted, going to stand closer to the two. With each step he took closer to the two of you, it felt like a nail going into her coffin. You could see the twitch in his hands, as if itching to plunge a blade into your mother’s flesh, yet, you couldn’t just leave your mother. You couldn’t leave her to die.

“Ah, come on. You’re a teenager- a teenage girl, no less, aren’t you guys supposed to be fun?” His tone was teasing and coupled with his non-imposing figure, he shouldn’t have been able to chill you with his words but the way his eyes bored into yours they did.

You felt a hand on your elbow, a nudge and you glanced back to your mother. Haley was smaller than you, it had been that way for about a year or so now. You had hit a growth spurt once you entered high school, inheriting your father’s height, and it caused you to be a couple inches taller than your mother. Her eyes were filled with tears that were streaming down her face without care. You had seen her mother cry more than most daughters should.

Haley liked to cry at night, after putting her children to bed. She didn’t think about how often you stayed up, listening to the sobbing on the other side of the wall.

A hand cupped your face, and you leaned into the warmth. How many fights had you two gotten in over the past year? You had always been a daddy’s girl. He was never home, and it left your mother to be the ‘bad guy’ in most situations. And then, you all had been forced to pack up your lives and vanish. That year had been filled with nights of yelling at each other. Fights about small things. Like, your music playing too loud, or drinking too much coffee. And big stuff too. Like, you confronting your mother about having an affair.

Your relationship had been rocky. But, she was still your mother. She still reminded you to wear a coat when it was cold out, or washed your sheets when you felt sick. She made your favorite meals when you were sad, and bought  nail polish that she thought you would like. She was your mother, and you didn’t think you would ever be able to ignore that.

“Y/N, go.” Her words were stern, and it reminded you of a scolding. But your mother’s lips were tugging at the corners, and she was caressing your cheek so softly that you thought you would collapse right there. Your heart clenched at the sight of your mother.

Would this be the last time you saw her? The thought made you want to scream, cry, and punch something all at once.

For the first time that afternoon, you let your mask slip. Your eyes welled with tears, lip trembling. “Mom, no.” it came out shaky, and you didn’t have to turn around to see Foyet smiling at the way he could make an entire family fear for their lives in a mere couple of minutes. You could simply feel it.

Haley nodded, both her hands cupping your face now, scanning it over and over again. Your eyes, a fierceness to them that mimicked her own. A button nose that sat above rosy pink lips. On your chin, a small scar. You were an adventurous child. You hadn’t been afraid to climb the monkey bars despite being far too small for them and when you had fallen off, you had busted the skin open. Haley remembered being panicked, seeing you covered in blood, rushing you to the hospital, to find that you were calmer than she was. That’s how you always were. You were never scared. You were brave and fearless and kind and even if you played awful, punk alternative music that made Haley’s ears want to bleed, you were such a sweet girl with a big heart. The mother stood on her tiptoes, kissing your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, trying to burn the memory of her mother’s lips on your forehead in your mind. And when you opened them again, you tried to burn the image of your mother as well. Even now, red eyed and sniffling, your mother was beautiful. Everyone always told you, you looked just like your mother. Haley used to have blonde hair. It had passed her shoulders and you used to beg her to play hair salon because of it. She had cut it after the divorce and you had a suspicion that it was because she craved change. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, just like yours. It made her skin pull taut when she smiled. Her nose was soft and dainty- something you had always been jealous of.

What if you never saw your mother smile again?

Haley was nodding, nodding and patting the girl’s cheek and it took you a moment to realize she was speaking once more. “Go, baby. I’ll be okay.”

No, you won’t. You wanted to say. You wanted to let your body fall into your mother’s arms and have the woman hold you like she did when you were a child. You wanted to feel your mother’s hands run through your hair and hear the woman sing you to sleep. You didn’t care how childish it seemed, you just wanted your mother.

Your shoulders shook and you fought to keep your emotions from consuming you.

“I- I love you.” It was a desperate attempt at closure but it did nothing to make you feel better. It only made your mother smile.

“I love you too.” Haley gave one final pat before a light shove and you felt numb. You couldn’t feel yourself hand the phone to your mother, nor could you feel your feet move in the desired direction. Everything in you felt like it was simultaneously being doused in cold water and burned in hot flames. Your mind kept screaming at you to go back. Turn around, grab your mother and hope for the best but you could hear Foyet talking with your mother now and she knew that your father had told you what to do next.

It was weird.

All the nights you had spent in that stupid witness protection program, closing your eyes imagining you were back in your childhood home. You would pretend you were back in your room, waiting for your father to come home. You would pretend your mother was putting Jack to sleep and you would pretend that everything was normal. Now you were back and everything was wrong.

Focus.

After teaching you how to properly use a gun, Aaron had told you where one could be found in cases of dire emergencies. Your feet stepped lightly, moving as swiftly as you could. The laces on your converse slapped against the sides of the shoes and you silently pulled open your father’s nightstand. It hadn’t been touched since you all had moved out.  It was normal upon first glance. A couple of papers, reading glasses, sleeping pills. You knew better.

You pulled at the string on the bottom, the false top giving in immediately and revealing the silver .38. You grabbed for it, cocking it as quietly as you could. The weapon was heavy, yet, familiar in your hand. You thought that in a time like this you would be more shaky, but all you could focus on was your mother’s quiet sobs from the living room a whole story down.

The sound gave you hope. If she could cry, then she was alive. You pushed on with that thought in mind, rounding the corner. Just before you could head back downstairs and possibly take down Foyet, you heard it.

Gunshots.

Your mother cried out the first time, but it was completely silent after the second two. Just the light thud of a body hitting the floor.

You bit down on your cheek to keep herself from screaming. The taste of blood followed soon after. Your hand rose to your mouth, attempting to muffle the cries that attempted to escape.

“Y/N!” A sing song-y voice called out. There was a thumping sound on the stairs and after a sickening moment, you realized it was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the wood. He was dragging her up the stairs, wanting to display her just how he liked. Your eyes burned and you let the tears fall down your cheeks without care. They dripped off your chin, falling onto your shirt. It was a band t-shirt. Your mother hated it, said that the swords were too violent, but she allowed you to wear it anyways.

You darted into the closest door- Jack’s old room- eye’s scanning your surroundings for a plan. Whatever Foyet was doing, you knew you didn’t have much time until he was coming after you.

“I just wanna play, Y/N. Come out, come out wherever you are.” He sang out. He must’ve taken your mother- your mother’s body, you corrected yourself bitterly- to your parents bedroom. With a chilling realization, you remembered you had been there only moments before. He was close to you.

Your eyes landed on the closet, overflowing with toys, even months after not being in use. Jack tended to get whatever he asked for- not that he was spoiled, he was just hard to say no to. It wasn’t difficult to squeeze into it, leaving the door open a crack. The gun sat in your hands ready and waiting.

You steadied the sound of your breathing.

How was you going to tell Jack about mom? Well that was a bit optimistic, now, wasn’t it? Presumptuous of you to think you would live through the next five minutes to be able to tell your little brother that our mother was dead, You thought bitterly.

“I think I’ll lay your body right next to your Mom. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So you can be together?” He was in the hallway, and even with the barrier of Jack’s door and the closet door, the sound of his voice made you shiver. It was smooth, charming, even. If you hadn’t known he was a complete psychopath you wouldn’t have given the man much thought. You wouldn’t have thought him capable of doing the heinous acts he had done.

There was a creak, the door opening to the room and your arms rose slightly. Your eyes were peaking through the crack, your heart racing. You could see the man moving into the room, searching for his next prey- and that’s what he thought you were. Prey. He thought you were an easy target. Everyone did.

Everyone thought you were just some stupid kid. Some people said it outright and others just assumed. You could tell when you first met your father’s team, some of them had stereotyped you as well. They had asked her about school and about boys and gossip, because they assumed that was all you were capable of speaking about and then you had surprised them by mentioning books and Neo-noir films. You were accustomed to being underestimated. And you were betting your life that George Foyet was doing the same.

As soon as you saw the man move into the middle of the room, you sprung. The door flew open and before you could hesitate, you pulled the trigger. Pure shock could’ve been the reason, you were able to get out of the room. Or perhaps you had managed to shoot him in the head and end your family’s suffering once and for all. You weren’t sure because you were moving purely on instinct. Your feet carried you through the house, jumping over toys and broken chairs and bloodstains that weren’t there before.

“You bitch!”

Okay, so he was alive. He was chasing after you but you didn’t look back. You jumped into the linen closet, out of breath but not allowing yourself to pant as you wanted to. You could hear the slight groans of the man as he made his way through the house, though it was farther, as if he was walking in the wrong direction. You had slowed him down, that’s for sure. The gun in your hand felt warm, like a pat on the back, but the thought of your mother’s dead body lying somewhere in the house sat in the back of your mind.

Where was Jack? You thought briefly. You had to trust that he was safe. Trust and pray that whatever their dad had said to him had made sense. You hoped he couldn’t hear anything that was going on. That he didn’t hear the sound of your mother being murdered and you shooting the killer.

You  felt the towel shelf press into your back, but you didn’t dare move anymore. You were sure Foyet hadn’t died now. If anything, you might’ve made him more angry.

It smelled like fresh laundry in the small space and it reminded you of Sunday nights. Your father was usually home, cases typically being taken during the week and coming home Saturday nights. That’s why you liked Sundays so much. You liked waking up to the smell of pancakes while your father played a Beatles album. He would sing into a spatula and twirl your mother around the kitchen. And Haley would laugh and tell him to stop, but she never actually meant it. And, when he noticed you coming down the stairs, he would take you in his arms- no matter how big and tall you had gotten, he never stopped doing it. He would spin you around as well and when you was little you would dance on his feet, but when you were older, your bare feet would touch the cold hardwood floor.

Your mother would do crossword and pretend not to notice that your father was giving not-so-subtle hints every so often. Your father would have you catch him up on what you had been up to that week, and you would have to help Jack read through the comics because he didn’t really understand the jokes. Sundays were your favorite days because instead of being a separate family like they were every other day, they were all together and it felt normal.

You closed her eyes, trying to imagine it was Sunday.

A large clatter rang out, effectively snapping you from your thoughts. You could hear footsteps, fighting, yelling. It was hard to tell how long you waited in the closet, gun pressed to your chest. You could hear someone outside the door, light footsteps against hardwood.

The light on the bottom was obscured from a large shadow and you tried to prepare yourself. What would death feel like? Maybe you was selfish, or maybe you were a coward, but you didn’t want to know. You wanted to stomp your foot and say that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that your mother was dead. It wasn’t fair that you were about to die. The door was ripped open and you extended your arms, about to shoot blindly, when you saw who was before you.

“Woah, hey, Y/N. Y/N, look at me.”

You had stopped crying long ago, but your entire body was shaking. There was so much tension in your shoulders, it felt like somebody had tied you up entirely, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. You hadn’t realized it before, much too focused in getting as far away from the serial killer in your house as possible, but when you had shot Foyet, some of his blood had splattered onto you. You could see it now that the light was on it. It sat on your hands, partially dried and partially wet. And you could feel some of it on your cheeks.

You wondered what you looked like.

Derek stared at you. Your eyes were wild, darting between the gun in your hands and the gun in Derek’s. Your cheeks, flushed as they were, were painted lightly with splattered blood. The only evidence of previous tears were puffy eyes, but you hardly seemed weak right now. You seemed…feral.

“Y'N, it’s me. You’re safe. it’s me, it’s Derek. Put that gun down.” It was strange. It was like you could see his lips moving, you could see that he was speaking but you couldn’t hear the words. All you could hear was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the stairs one at a time.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“He’s dead. Y/N, he’s dead.” The sound came back all at once. Everything came back all at once.

You could see people behind Derek. There were cops and medical examiners, flooding in and out of your childhood home. They all seemed to be moving toward the same place, all in the direction where you had fled. They were heading toward the body, you realized. The body of your dead mother. There was the faint sound of sirens, and there was chatter. You wanted to yell at them, scream for them to be quiet. And then you saw someone else.

Your father was coming toward you. He was covered in blood. Who’s blood was that? Was that your mother’s? Was that Foyet’s? Movement caught your eye.

JJ was holding someone in her arms, he looked confused, pointing at his sister, eyes alarmed at the weapon in her hands and the Jaraeu woman seemed to be trying to turn him away. He was asking for you.

'Y/N/N?’ He said.

Your shoulders dropped, the weapon falling into the Morgan man’s waiting hands. You stepped forward. Despite your sudden awareness, everything felt like it was in slow motion. The world was moving with resistance, and you opened her arms, almost crumpling in relief when Jack squirmed away from the blonde agent and ran into your waiting arms. You scooped him into your arms, sitting him on your hip.

“Y/N!” Despite all the chaos around you two, you let yourself focus on your brother. He seemed fine. Confused, surely. He had looped his arms around your neck but his eyes squinted at the blood on your cheeks that hadn’t been there before. His little eyebrows furrowed, and he reached one hand to poke your cheek. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

Jack loved you. Before you two were put into witness protection program, he didn’t see you all too much. You were so busy with school and hanging out with your friends, that you hadn’t even been home very often. Then, you didn’t have much of a choice.

You  liked showing Jack your music- the clean versions, of course. He would scrunch his nose at certain metal heavy bands, but you assumed he liked most of them just because you did. He liked to play cards with you, and have your draw him funny sketches. And when he would have bad dreams, you never hesitated to let him sleep with you.

You felt multiple sets of eyes on you, your father pulling you into a hug. They all pretended not to notice you flinch. You kept your eyes on Jack.

“I’m fine.” You took a hand, running it through the boy’s ruffled hair from hiding god knows where. He giggled at the action, and you let your hand rest on his cheek for a moment. Your mother was dead somewhere in this house, her body laid across the floor, slaughtered. You swallowed down the rising bile in your throat.

“Let’s get you checked out, yeah?”

Did I already tell you that I FUCKING LOVE YOU ! This is so good maaaan

Hands That Heal - Ch. 1

Bucky Barnes x mechanic!fem!reader

A few background details before we start as they will come into the story throughout: You are a mechanic, you were blipped, your ex is a biker in a 1% gang, your father served as a marine with Chip and Dale - fraternal twins who are like weird uncles to you.

Summary: Bucky is looking for someone to repair his motorcycle but ends up finding something better.  Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical violence, swearing, fluff, misogyny/degrading comments from some men. Word count: 3266

Chapters: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 coming soon

The garage was busier than usual and you had barely stopped to take a break all day and it had left you cranky. The banter between the guys had been getting on your nerves, you were working hard and they were just milling about, smoking and cat calling any woman who walked past the open roller doors. Rolling out from under the chassis of a mint green ‘66 Shelby Cobra, you got up off the creeper and grabbed a wing nut that was lying around before tossing it at Chip’s head

“She’s younger than your daughter, you creep.” You chastised as he whistled to a girl in the local high school uniform.

“Old enough to bleed, old enough to butcher.” Dale laughed before holding his fist up to Chip to bump.

A disgusted growl erupted from your throat as you grabbed a torque wrench off the top of your tool box and watched their hands drop. They murmured apologies as they dispersed back to the cars and motorcycles they were meant to be working on. Metal clattered as you tossed the wrench back in your box and grabbed a bottle of water from the small bar fridge that was about 20 years past its prime and probably a fire risk.

You didn’t have time to even run across the street and get a pie from the bakery with the amount of cars that were piling up. Your reputation as the go-to person for high end cars and high spec motorbikes had spread far and wide, with people even flying their cars to your shop in the Bronx for repairs. Ignoring your grumbling tummy you laid back down on the creeper with the parts you had just collected and disappeared beneath the grimey undercarriage.

Keep reading

I’ve Done It Myself// Shelby Sister

Summary: They offer to cut his eyes but there’s no need

‘Fucking Bastard’, I muttered as I stormed into the kitchen. ‘What’s up with you?’, John hollered. I completely blanked out his words. I was steaming. Steamed could physically be coming out of my ears and I wouldn’t be surprised. My Brothers knew not to bother me when I was in this mood.

I stormed passed them into the betting shop. I walked over to the side cabinet and grabbed a peaky hat with the blades sewn in. ‘What are you doing with that?’, Tommy shouted to me as I walked out the door. I didn’t reply.

I’d been with Oliver for about 6 months now. Both of us being 19 we were still young but in love. Well at least I’d been in love. I’d been out at the book shop when I heard two girls muttering in the corner. They were pointing and staring at me as they spoke. I didn’t keep my mouth shut.

‘What you gorping at?’ I said as I approached them. They trembled abit as I walked over. ‘Please don’t take offence’, one of the girl said. ‘Offence to what?’ I questioned. ‘Your boyfriend been spouting tales about you down at the Garrison’, the other informed me. ‘Tales of what?’ I questioned again. ‘About what you do for him. In an intimate setting’, she stuttered. My mouth dropped. ‘He also said you weren’t the only girl he was with’. I thanked them for telling me and stormed off.

That led to me taking a Peaky cap from my brothers’ betting den and storming to the Garrison. Meanwhile, at the house, Finn had ran into the kitchen. ‘Where’s y/n?’ He asked his brothers, out of breath. ‘She’s just stormed in and out again. Didn’t say a word’, Arthur replied. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ Tommy questioned. ‘Oliver’s been spouting tales about her in the Garrison. Really bad ones. Says everything she’s done with him. And that she’s not the only Lass he’s with’, Finn rambled out. They all stood up and started walking to the Garrison. They all had the same thought on their minds, ‘I’m gonna cut him’.

Without knowing my brothers were hot on my tail I burst through the Pub’s doors. I saw him sat there laughing with his friends. ‘Do you fucking know who I am?’ I questioned him. He looked at me smugly, ‘what are you on about?’ He let out a breath as I dragged him out the booth and pushed him to the wall. Little did I know my brothers had walked in and the pub had gone silent.

‘Fucking cheating on me’, I spat in his face, ‘fucking boasting to everyone about what I do to you’. I laugh in his face. ‘At least I could get you off’ I shouted. I grabbed the Peaky Cap from my pocket, brought the razor to his eye and cut his eye. I forced my knee into his groin then dropped him to the floor. ‘You’ll get much worse if you carry on. Don’t fucking mess with the Peaky Blinders’, I spat on him then walked away.

I saw the looks on my brothers faces, ‘don’t worry boys. I’ve already done your job’.

This is the cutest thing ever I’m melting

I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve become obsessed with your blog the last few days!!! Are you able to do a bridgerton!daugter where she is inconsolable and just really upset and nothing/nobody can settle her so they have to get Anthony out of a dinner or a ball maybe and she calms because all she wanted was her papa xx

The maids, Humboldt, and youngest four Bridgerton siblings are all tired as they stay in the room with the crying baby, out of ideas on how to soothe the crying two year old.

"What are we to do?" One of the maids question.

"I vote we go and find Anthony." Eloise states.

"He's at Lady Danbury's ball." Hyacinth states.

"So somebody go get him." Eloise groans. "If it will get his baby to quiet, go retrieve him."

"Are you certain, Miss Bridgerton?" Humboldt asks.

"Positive." Eloise says, but looks around and sees all of their uncertain looks. "Very well. I shall do it. If it gets me away from this dreadful noise."

"May I go with?" Hyacinth asks.

"No, go to bed." Eloise tells her.

Eloise quickly changes out of her nightgown and into one of her dresses. She and her maid exit their house, hurrying over to Lady Danbury's residence. They manage to get in without anybody questioning them.

"Just stay here. I will go find Anthony and get him." Eloise tells her maid who nods.

Eloise takes a deep breath, praying that she doesn't get dragged into conversation. She enters the ballroom, searching around for her eldest brother.

"Eloise!" She hears and groans, turning to the direction the voice came from, only to find her elder sister. "Eloise, what on earth are you doing here? In that simple dress?"

"I am trying to find Anthony. Do you know where he might be?" Eloise asks.

"Why do you need Anthony? Is something wrong?" Daphne asks.

"Yes, his child won't shut up." Eloise growls.

"What?" Daphne asks.

"She won't stop crying. We've tried everything. Do you know where her father is?" Eloise asks again.

"Last I know of he was over by the refreshment table." Daphne says.

"Thank you." Eloise says, making her way through the ballroom. She doesn't find her brother at the refreshment table, having to continue to look around.

"Eloise?" She hears. She turns to find Anthony leaning against a wall, but he stands up when he realizes it is indeed his second younger sister. "What are you doing here? Should you not be at home?"

"Perfect. We need you. You must leave this dreadful place." Eloise says, grabbing his hand and starting to drag him away, but he resists.

"Wait, wait. What's wrong? What is so urgent? Can it not wait until tomorrow?" Anthony asks.

"Your child is causing us all migraines so no, it cannot wait until tomorrow." Eloise says through gritted teeth.

"Y/N?" Anthony feels the protectiveness fill him. "What's wrong? Is she all right? Is she sick?"

"None of us know. She simply won't stop crying." Eloise grumbles, dragging Anthony off.

"Did you try feeding her?"

"Yes."

"Did you try to give her milk?"

"Yes."

"Warm or cold?"

"Both."

"Water?"

"Yep."

"Did she--"

"We have tried everything, Anthony. Nothing is calming the girl down. Now let's make haste."

Eloise dragged Anthony all the way home and Anthony rushed to his daughter's room, able to hear her cries halfway down the stairs.

Anthony walks into her room, finding some of the maids still in there, Hyacinth sitting on the bed and plugging her ears.

"Y/N?" Anthony calls, walking over to the bed. "What's the matter, darling?" He softly asks, picking her up. Anthony holds her, pushing some of her hair back, the strands now wet from her tears.

Once Y/N is able to realize she's in her father's arms, her cries almost immediately go quiet. Y/N feels safety and comfort and lays her head on Anthony's shoulder, lightly wrapping her arms around his neck. Anthony rests his head against hers, softly rubbing her back.

"That is all she needed? Is you?" Eloise questions. "You're never going to a ball again." She states, leaving.

"I've got it from here. You can all go now." Anthony instructs the maids. They all curtsy before filing out. "Hyacinth, go to bed." He tells his youngest sister who listens.

"Am I all you wanted, dear?" Anthony asks his daughter who nods, tightening her hold on him.

"Stay wit' papa." Y/N sleepily mumbles.

"Very well then." Anthony whispers, rocking her to sleep.

God knows how every time I read this fic im full of excitement and when a finish a part I’m so sad 😭

Enamored [37] - Engagement Ball

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback my loves, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please let me know what you think, thank you! ❤ And as always, thank you @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter and the story❤

Summary: Gifts come with special moments.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, mentions of sex, kissing, mentions of death.

Word Count: 6700

Series Masterlist

You had always been good at planning events.

It was one of your favorite things in the world after all. You had only been in a position to help the actual hostess back at home and in here so far, but now that it was your engagement ball and your wedding, you were to be the hostess and you were having the time of your life so far.

Well—

With the exception of a small, very insignificant issue.

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Safe Place

Summary: You are Bucky’s safe place. Well your boobs are. 

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, mention of boobs

Word count: 317 short but sweet

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

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It all started on a sunny Tuesday. You and Bucky were currently laying on the sofa in the common room of the tower, Bucky was laying between your legs, his hips were on yours pining you down so you couldn’t move, not that you want too anyway. 

It was a bad day today. You knew it was because he was like a lost puppy dog following you around all day begging for his safe place.

And that’s how you ended up pinned under a super soldier, with his face gently nestled in between your boobs while you were reading your book. A comforting silence washed over you both, making Bucky sigh with calmness. His hands trying to go around you so he could be closer, so you arched your back slightly to help him and relaxed when he connected his arms.

You heard a muffled “thank you” causing you to giggle slightly at the vibrations in your chest.

“You’re most welcome bubba.” You whispered, kissing the top of his head as to not disturb the peaceful silence between you both.

It was a little over an hour when your silence was interrupted by the ding of the elevator, causing you to look up from your book to see Sam walking out with his head in his phone.

“Hey.” He greeted, doing a double take. “What is he doing?”

“Hi, Sam.” You greeted back, smiling at him, and then going back to your book. “It’s not a good day today.”

Sam nodded understandingly, hearing a muffled “piss off pigeon” causing him to shake his head as you giggled again from the vibrations.

“Feel better soon, Tin Man.” Sam called before walking away, making Bucky growl into your chest.

“Hey. Less of that.” You scolded playful as he whined, snuggling into your boobs more and sighing happily.

He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You are Bucky’s safe place.

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So I’m officially à Montréal girly now …

this blog is pro-choice!

if you have a problem with that, please unfollow me, block me, and go fuck yourselves.

Sleepy Baby Part 5

a/n: I am super flattered by how many people have liked this little story.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin / Reader

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 1700 ish

Summary: Jake has thoughts about you.

Masterlist     Part 4

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Hii sweets!♥️ May i request… the thought of rough fucking w bucky 🤭🫠 its for sure gonna be a longg night, like maybe he’s angry abt something (not at u ofc) so he just uses you as a hole to take out his anger 😵‍💫 Oh! And i keep thinking of aftercare w him, the amount of praises, care and love he’ll shower you with!! Hes so gentle and will sit in the bathtub w u while he washes your hair and if youre not too fucked out, you'll wash his hair for him too hehe, etc. Sharing giggles w him and he’ll help you dry your hair dhfdjfdjfsj i love him 🥹🥹🥹

Oomph this Bucky could break my back and I would thank him for it 🥵 thank you for request 💜💜

Control & Comfort || Bucky

Warnings: 18+ only, bj, unprotected sex, smut-no plot at all, rough sex, pussy slap, degradation, aftercare WC: 1.8k

main masterlist || bucky masterlist

You knew exactly how your night was going to be spent the second Bucky walked in the door. His cheeks were flushed and the muscle beneath was hard as he clenched them in anger. The bang of the door slamming shut echoed through the house and his feet carried him straight towards you. Something, or someone, had seriously pissed him off and you were happy to be his outlet.

“Knees. Now.” He snapped as he roughly pulled his jacket off and tossed it over the back of the couch, his fingers instantly moving to unbuckle his belt.

You slipped from the couch and onto your knees without question, your obedience instilled from being at his beck and call for so long. Your hands pulled at his jeans to free his cock and he moaned as you teased your tongue along his length before he gripped the back of your head and thrust his hips forward. There was no warm up, no niceties, just a desperate need to be in control of something in his life.

“Fuck, that’s it, take it like a good girl.” He purred as your throat constricted around him and your eyes watered.

You could feel your pussy throb as he praised you and your hand drifted down your stomach to the waistband of your pants. His hand caught your arm before you could touch yourself and he pulled it away as you tipped your head back to look in his eyes. You were begging him for permission but he just licked his lips and shook his head.

“Not until I say you can.” He warned before he released his hold on your head and pulled out. Your lungs gasped for breath and saliva ran down your chin while he watched with dark eyes. He loved seeing you like this, he thought it was absolutely beautiful. It was you trusting him and giving him complete control. “Stand up and turn around.”

Your legs trembled from kneeling on the hard floor and you felt his hands on your hips as you turned, pulling your pants down before pushing forward over the couch. Cold fingers pressed to your core as he nudged your legs apart and your breath hitched as he smeared your moisture along your slit. You knew he wanted it hard and rough when he didn’t even attempt to prep you with his fingers first, he just needed to feel you wrapped about his cock.

You cried out at the sudden fullness and the burn of him stretching your cunt, the pain quickly turning to pleasure as he pulled back out before slamming into you again. Your breaths were more like gasps as every thrust pushed the air from your lungs and it felt like he was trying to breach your cervix with how hard he fucking you.

“Christ, you're my perfect little slut aren’t you?” He growled as he pushed down on your back until you were almost bent in two, your reply lost in a moan as your core clenched tighter around him. “Taking this big cock whenever I tell you.”

Your fingers were searching for something to grab onto as the warmth in your belly began to grow and the best thing you could reach was a cushion. You squeezed it tight and bit your teeth into it as you fought against release, Bucky reminding you that he hadn’t given you permission with a spank to your ass. You jolted forward at the sharp slap before he pressed his vibranium hand to it and cooled the reddening mark with his touch.

“Please, please, please, Bucky, I can’t hold it.” You begged as your legs quaked and your tears slipped over your lashes.

“Just. A. Little. Longer.” He strained as his hips rolled you, his balls slapping your clit with every thrust.

You were dancing on a knife's edge and it was painful, the promise of release within your reach. “I can’t, I can’t, I-”

“Go on doll, cum all over my cock.”

He hadn’t even finished his sentence before your release crashed over you and your scream was dampened by the cushion as you buried your face into it. There was no relief as he kept pounding into you, wave after wave rocking through your body as you failed to come down from your high. If it wasn’t for his hands gripping your hips tightly you would have crawled away but he was not about to let that happen. A deeper pressure began to build within you and when he reached down to toy with your clit, it exploded, warmth running down your legs as you trembled around him on the brink of collapse.

“That’s it baby, that’s my good girl.” He grinned proudly as he slowed his pace and let your oversensitized cunt have a moment to recover, his hands massaging your lower back until your muscles relaxed. “Do you think you can handle another? I think you can.”

It would be tough but you would try for him, so you nodded your head and pushed your hips back to meet his. He chuckled as your body greedily took all of him and knew his first release wouldn’t be too far away. He worked his hips like you were dancing and you moaned at the change in angles, aftershocks pulsing within you as he slowly gained momentum with his controlled pace.

“C'mere.” He murmured as his hands rose up your sides, pulling you up so your back was to his chest and his hands came to rest on your breasts, your quick breaths pushing them against him as he began to massage them. “You were made just for me.”

You couldn’t even formulate words as the sharp angle of his hips thrust him over you g-spot and left your body numb, your head floating in the clouds. Sounds strangled in your throat as you rose to your tiptoes but he pulled you back down his cock before you could get away.

“Uh-uh, we had a deal.” He warned low in your ear. “You’re staying right there until you cum again.”

Without warning he lifted his leg, bracing it on the couch seat before ramming into you. You would have screamed at the sudden spike of pleasure but he had snaked a hand to your mouth and clamped down before the sound could escape.

“This is what happens when you are a naughty girl, naughty girls don’t get to cum.” He reminded you before he let you have your breath back and slapped your pussy as he slammed into you. “Are you going to be naughty again?”

You shook your head violently as you cried, another orgasm threatening to tear you apart but he had taken away your permission. “Please, I’ll be good, I promise, oh god, please, I’m gonna cum.”

His smile teased your neck as he kissed your racing heart, he loved nothing more than hearing you beg for him. “I’m gonna fill you up real good when you cum, dollface. Let go.”

Your head tipped back to his shoulder and it was only his hands that kept you upright as whitehot pleasure flooded from you, your body jerking as he fucked into you a few more times before he kept his promise. His grunts filled your ears as he spilled himself in you but instead of stopping he just slowed down, easing himself in and out, enjoying the feel of your walls fluttering around him and the mixture of your cum leaking out all over his cock.

“You did so beautifully.” He praised as he turned your head so he could kiss you sweetly. “You wouldn’t believe the day I had, I needed you so bad.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” You smiled as your eyes fluttered shut and you relaxed in his hold.

“I tired you out didn’t I?” He chuckled as he felt your breath even out and your muscles relax. “Let me clean you up, then you can have a rest.”

“You don’t plan on letting me sleep tonight do you?” You murmured as he slipped out from between your legs and picked you up, cradling you in his arms as he carried you to the bathroom.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and looked up from where you rested your head on his shoulder, catching the smirk playing at his lips as he pondered his answer. “Eventually.”

Your mind seemed almost as empty as the large bubbles that drifted on the water’s surface and your fingers lazily popped them as they floated by. Bucky whispered softly in your ear, spelling out the sweet words as he wrote across your stomach with his index finger. The moment was perfectly peaceful but you knew from the stirring of his cock against your back that there was the promise of more pleasure to come.

“Lay down, doll.” He said softly as he reached for the shampoo.

You slid down his body until the water reached your ears and silenced the world around you. His fingers massaged your head as he lathered the shampoo into your hair and you closed your eyes before he cupped the water and washed it out. You loved these moments, when he gently brought you down from the rush of endorphins so you didn’t crash completely.

You waited until he had finished conditioning your hair before you sat up, rolling onto your stomach in the deepest bath and resting your chin on his chest. His blue eyes shone as he gazed down at you, love on the surface and need swimming below. You climbed his body and straddled his thighs as you reached for the shampoo bottle.

“My turn.”

He slid down the curve of the bath and water splashed over the lip until he settled neck deep. His eyes fluttered shut as you ran your fingers through his long strands and his lips parted with a sigh as you washed his hair. His cock was growing harder beneath you and his hands pulled you higher up so he teased your entrance.

“You’re going to get soap in your eyes.” You moaned as he pushed past your swollen lips and you eased down his shaft. “Close them.”

“And miss out on a second of watching you?” He chuckled. “I can take a little sting.”

You laughed at his stubbornness before biting your lip just the way he liked and rolled your hips. “You take such good care of me, I want to take care of you. Please, close them for me?”

“Enjoy the control while you can.” He smirked as he closed his eyes. “After we get out of here it’s all mine.”

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