MASTERLIST LINKED IN PINNED POST. rooâmultiracialâ33âfic daddyâshrek simpâroo boo bearâsalami mommyâsemen demonâhateful bitchâincredibly weird and sickâbitch of a robotâgoblin queen don't ask for updates. completed and in progress noted in series masterlists. still writing unless noted as hiatus. AT THIS TIME I CANNOT ACCEPT REQUESTS. NO TAG LISTS. MY FICS ARE NONCON. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE YOU GO FURTHER. 18+ if you can't guess đ also theimaginesyouneveraskedfor. (Find my other, lighter fics there). This is a place for all my dark!fics. Mostly MCU. Some Tolkien. my AO3 username is theimaginesyouneveraskedfor. Check out my masterlist at @darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor on tumblr
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The nature of women's rape fantasies: an analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents
Long haired Bucky reminds me of Handle with Care Bucky and how he just turned a 180 on reader and shoved her down a basement in their mission. At least he could've brought Alpine to keep us company
You writing Jon Snow would be everything!! I love dark!Jon fics, thereâs so much you can mine from too for even keeping things canon!! Targaryen Prince Jon, Werewolf Jon, Wildling JonâŠI could go on but I wonât lol. What about a Jon thatâs a bastard prince in one of your Medieval Aus??
Oh that's so interesting. Tired of being the one passed over again and again. He could taint the wife meant for golden child Robb
Warnings: this fic contains suggestions of dubcon and noncon, as well as adultery. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 10thâs fic!
Steve Rogers + âI feel so complete when Iâm inside you.â (Medieval AU)
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.đ
You brush the crumbs off your fingertips and bend your neck. Your veil shifts and you resist the urge to scratch through it. Sister Madeline recites the evening prayer as the others pick at their bread and sip the bitter ale. Thereâs a tension beneath the silence of the grazing order.
You heard it as you sat and sorted beans from the garden. They all did. The familiar horns and canter of horses. The visitors dismounting at the monastery that shares the same plot with the convent. You hear the monks have lamb and red wine.
The other sisters share looks across the table. You squirm and stare at your plate. You arenât hungry. Not since you heard his voice carrying from the yard.
Supper finishes and you clear the table with the other sisters. No longer bound to silence, they whisper. You hear the name that keeps you on edge.
You scrape off the crumbs and put the leftover crusts in a basket for the paupers. You wipe clean the wooden plates and stack them as Sister Eleanor giggles at Sister Dawn. Sister Brenna hushes them and chides them to take extra prayers at Compline.
You drift through the remaining prayers and evening chores. You know the walls and floors of the convent well enough to walk them with your eyes closed. Your hands are forged to each task without effort.
You retire to the hard bed of an oak plank. The night keeps you awake outside as the usual creak of branches and snaps of twigs by nocturnal creatures has you imagining more treacherous trespassers. Then the low jingle comes and you are entirely alert.
When the Duke arrives to visit in one of his pilgrimages with the monks, he never fails to send the signal. And you never fail to heed it. The one time you didâŠ
You listen to the sisters around you. Life in the convent doesnât allow for much rest so when it is had, itâs done deeply. You rise and pull on your robes and veil. You keep your head down as you raise your skirts above the slumbering bodies and cross the room.
The corridors are so dark you can take only small steps. You reach the kitchen door and let yourself out into the moonlight. You donât look back, only ahead. You go to the muleâs house behind the monastery and whistle in imitation of a sparrow. You wait for the return.
Nothing. Perhaps you imagined it. Or perhaps you are too quick. You shudder and push through the door. Your body readies for what is demanded of it.
The scent of straw and donkey fur meets your nose. You lean into the door to close it. You listen to the sleepy huff of the beast in his pen at the other end of the stall. You turn and search the slivers of moonlight for movement.
Your nerves tangle and your heart clutches. Something off. Something is out of place. You turn and suddenly youâre shoved back. You stumble into a stool as hands clasp onto your sides and keep you from tumbling over.
Lord Rogers chuckles and nuzzles your veil.
âSacred sister, youâve missed me,â He growls as he squeezes through your habit. âYouâve no idea how Iâve longed for our reunion.â
Your flick your lashes and gulp. If only he knew the same dread as you do. If only he feared so much for the mark upon his soul and yet, he has no such vow to keep. He is a noble, he is a man who can buy forgiveness. You will repent forever in this world and the next.
âMy lord.â You whisper.
âLamb, please, I long to hear my name upon thy sweet lips.â His mouth grazes yours and his breath clouds hotly.
âStevenâŠâ you murmur as his hands run down to your skirts.Â
He presses his lips to yours and growls. He yanks at your habit as you cling to him to keep from falling. He turns you and traps you against the planked wall. His beard tickles your skin as he sighs into you.
âI need you, lamb.â He snarls. âIâve needed you so badly. It is all I think of.â His hands crawl under your skirts and he kneads your thighs. âI feel so complete when Iâm inside you.â
You listen to the sleepy huff of the beast in his pen at the other end of the stall.
Ah now Roo, should you really be describing Lord Rogers as such? I don't think he'd be best pleased, however apt the comparison might be.đ€Łđ€Łđ€Łđ€Ł
Oh Jon Snow? That's so interesting. Hard to think of him in a dark setting so that would be very interesting, indeed.
I could see if he stayed king of Westeros, him becoming pretty jaded of the politics. He has a very Ned outlook and doesn't like that sort of business. He'd jump on the first thing that didn't make him entirely miserable.
Prompt:Â June 10th - Pink Pony Club - Chappell Roan / âEvery night's another reason why I left it allâ
Character:Â Walter Marshall
I know itâs short but please let me know your thoughts and reblog. Also, would love to discuss any ideas these little snippets inspire!
Love you! đ
âI thought you looked familiar.â The growl comes from the other side of the book cover.
You look above the pages as Walter glares at you, arms crossed, brows low over his blue eyes. They might be nice if he wasnât always scowling. You go to lift the book higher and he catches it. You let him push it down.
âCan I help you?â
âSure can, Kitty.â He sneers.
You sigh. âIâm not that anymore.â
âDoesnât matter. When were you going to tell me?â
âI pay my rent. Thatâs all that mattersââ
âItâs my liability to decide what matters.â He retorts.
You tilt your head and rip the book away from his grasp. He smacks the back of it, nearly knocking it out of your hands. You put it on your lap.
âWell, you know now.â
âKittyââ
âDonât call me that.â You snap. âYouâre my landlord, not my goddamn parole officer.â You hurl the book at him and stand. âBy the way, it ended six months ago. Iâm a free woman to do what I want. Detective.â
âI know how it goes.â He scoffs.
You roll your eyes and spin away. You dodge away from his reach without looking. You do too. Doesnât matter if a man wears a badge or a ball cap, theyâre all the same.
Every night's another reason why I left it all,â you mutter. âKnowing I donât have to deal with pricks I donât want.â
Warnings: this fic contains suggestions of dubcon and noncon, as well as adultery. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 10thâs fic!
Steve Rogers + âI feel so complete when Iâm inside you.â (Medieval AU)
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.đ
You brush the crumbs off your fingertips and bend your neck. Your veil shifts and you resist the urge to scratch through it. Sister Madeline recites the evening prayer as the others pick at their bread and sip the bitter ale. Thereâs a tension beneath the silence of the grazing order.
You heard it as you sat and sorted beans from the garden. They all did. The familiar horns and canter of horses. The visitors dismounting at the monastery that shares the same plot with the convent. You hear the monks have lamb and red wine.
The other sisters share looks across the table. You squirm and stare at your plate. You arenât hungry. Not since you heard his voice carrying from the yard.
Supper finishes and you clear the table with the other sisters. No longer bound to silence, they whisper. You hear the name that keeps you on edge.
You scrape off the crumbs and put the leftover crusts in a basket for the paupers. You wipe clean the wooden plates and stack them as Sister Eleanor giggles at Sister Dawn. Sister Brenna hushes them and chides them to take extra prayers at Compline.
You drift through the remaining prayers and evening chores. You know the walls and floors of the convent well enough to walk them with your eyes closed. Your hands are forged to each task without effort.
You retire to the hard bed of an oak plank. The night keeps you awake outside as the usual creak of branches and snaps of twigs by nocturnal creatures has you imagining more treacherous trespassers. Then the low jingle comes and you are entirely alert.
When the Duke arrives to visit in one of his pilgrimages with the monks, he never fails to send the signal. And you never fail to heed it. The one time you didâŠ
You listen to the sisters around you. Life in the convent doesnât allow for much rest so when it is had, itâs done deeply. You rise and pull on your robes and veil. You keep your head down as you raise your skirts above the slumbering bodies and cross the room.
The corridors are so dark you can take only small steps. You reach the kitchen door and let yourself out into the moonlight. You donât look back, only ahead. You go to the muleâs house behind the monastery and whistle in imitation of a sparrow. You wait for the return.
Nothing. Perhaps you imagined it. Or perhaps you are too quick. You shudder and push through the door. Your body readies for what is demanded of it.
The scent of straw and donkey fur meets your nose. You lean into the door to close it. You listen to the sleepy huff of the beast in his pen at the other end of the stall. You turn and search the slivers of moonlight for movement.
Your nerves tangle and your heart clutches. Something off. Something is out of place. You turn and suddenly youâre shoved back. You stumble into a stool as hands clasp onto your sides and keep you from tumbling over.
Lord Rogers chuckles and nuzzles your veil.
âSacred sister, youâve missed me,â He growls as he squeezes through your habit. âYouâve no idea how Iâve longed for our reunion.â
Your flick your lashes and gulp. If only he knew the same dread as you do. If only he feared so much for the mark upon his soul and yet, he has no such vow to keep. He is a noble, he is a man who can buy forgiveness. You will repent forever in this world and the next.
âMy lord.â You whisper.
âLamb, please, I long to hear my name upon thy sweet lips.â His mouth grazes yours and his breath clouds hotly.
âStevenâŠâ you murmur as his hands run down to your skirts.Â
He presses his lips to yours and growls. He yanks at your habit as you cling to him to keep from falling. He turns you and traps you against the planked wall. His beard tickles your skin as he sighs into you.
âI need you, lamb.â He snarls. âIâve needed you so badly. It is all I think of.â His hands crawl under your skirts and he kneads your thighs. âI feel so complete when Iâm inside you.â
A nun, Steven????????? This poor reader not only has to deal with not just the regular nightmare of having a powerful Steve after you, but the looming threat of eternal damnation too??? đŹ
