She/Her|| 20s || Call me Dibs || Desi || 18+ || MASTERLIST|| Join My Taglist || Marvel, Sherlock, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson || LGBTQ || Feminist to core || In love with fictional men
Say, Mob!Steve or just dark!Steve takes the reader and at first it's all brutal but then he falls for her. How do you think she would react when his love triggers her own feelings? Loving someone who hurt you 👀
Title: Condemned to Him
Pairing: soft!dark!Steve x Reader
Summary: It’s hard to love someone you were meant to hate. But Steve doesn’t care, and he will have your love no matter how much you deny it.
Words: 1.8k
Warnings: Hate sex, smut, past non-con mentioned, kidnapping implied, dubious consent, possessiveness, implied forced marriage, mentions of violence and guns, angst, reader in third person pov, 18+ ONLY
A/N: I have never written from a character’s first person pov before, and phew, it is was a little much. For all those waiting for my Halloween fics, I am afraid you’re gonna have to wait longer. I lost my muse there for a while.
My mother told me that death is the ultimate peace. Everyone dies, one day so will I, but until the time that never ending embrace came for me, I lived my life with little regrets. At lease I did, as of a couple months ago. Now I stare at her, watching the way she dipped her pinky into the ketchup only to lick it, sometimes tracing random swirls with it on her plate. She hasn’t looked at me, not once in nearly two weeks.
I think again that my mother was a wise woman, but she never thought I’d be stupid enough to die this way. Because that is what she does to me. She is killing me, every damn day, a tiny bit everyday the more she stays silent, the more she refuses to meet my eyes. It’s ironically fitting. There is no peace in my life without her, and she is the one who would bring me death. I won’t get peace in death; I will get death by peace.
“I can cook you something else if you don’t like this.” I said, trying once more to get her attention. She doesn’t even react. I know she hates what is on her plate, but she pointedly picked up her spoon and took in a mouthful. Right now, I feel as if she’d rather drink poison than look at me.
Sighing, I try to reach across the table to her, my hand an inch away from hers when she quickly got up and dumped her leftovers in the trash, walking away without a look behind her back. No one shows me their back, not unless they want a bullet in it. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t fear me anymore.
If there is one thing she knows, it is that I will not hurt her. Never again, not after I lost my heart to her so tragically that Shakespeare would pay me good money to have an opportunity to write about it.
Give her space, that is what they told me. But space from what? How? I cannot stop loving her, I cannot stop myself from crawling in the bed beside her, staring at her face bathed in moonlight. She can hate me, she can even kill me, but she cannot leave me. I wouldn’t let her.
My fingers slide slowly over the few inches that separate us, gently landing on her shoulder. She was awake, I knew she was, and her body became rigid. It had been more than a month since I fucked her, nearly two weeks since I last touched her. With the way her skin came alive with goose bumps, I know she missed my touch too. If I was a slave to my heart, she was a slave to her body. She couldn’t help craving my touch any more than I could stop craving her heart.
I pulled her close, rolling on top of her and groaning quietly at her eyes that lay stubbornly closed. My lips press softly against one, and then the other, feeling her eyelashes fluttering against my mouth. Her breath hitched, fingers twisting into the sheets, and I cursed her for keeping herself from me. She wants me, and I am here to give her everything.
Please God, just let her look at me.
I kiss down her face, tracing the curve of her shoulder and neck and the soft swell of her chest, reveling in the softest whines she let escape. Her body was clenched tight, like a snake coiled tight and ready to attack only she relaxed with every touch of my lips. I pushed away the flimsy robe from her body, the one she still wore to bed. Maybe it was habit, most probably it was torture. I could see her, but I couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t taste her.
But she didn’t stop me today. I bathed her in my tongue, relishing her taste and feel, fingers digging into her flesh to reclaim the body that I had stolen. I wasn’t gentle the first night I took her. She had cried under me, pleading to be let go as I satiated my appetite inside her. She didn’t want me then, and I didn’t love her then. But now, she wanted me, and I loved her. But there was only silence.
Please God, just let her say my name.
The moment I entered her, her eyes snapped open and she raised them heavenwards to glare at the monster up there, probably telling him to fuck off for letting me get to her. I filled her perfectly, and her hands twitched until she lost the battle and wrapped them around me. Her neck was tilted to stop the temptation of facing me. And I let her have her dignity by burying my face in her breast and breathing hard as I thrust inside her.
It was so gentle, and I knew she hated it. Her entire body trembled as I touched her like a lover, coaxing her to open up. She once told me that she’d rather take my bullet than my heart, but I was a man rarely denied. I forced her to take my love, forced it into the marks of my teeth that littered her collar bone and the mouth hands that worshiped her and the lips that formed her name with every passing second.
She was close, I could tell. Her thighs shook and nails dug hard into my shoulders and the moment she came, I knew what would happen. Love was about letting go, about relaxing in its embrace. She snapped. Her eyes flew to mine and filled with rage, and she clawed like a tigress. I was prepared for her fight, prepared to see her eyes narrowed in hatred and I reveled in it.
I could take her bitterness; I could take every scar she ever gave me as long at those eyes were locked with mine in the battle of wills and hearts. She cried, fighting hard the way she knows I like, and my lips curled into a smile, hips hammering harder, causing her to wince and curse but retaliate with more vigor. The ring on her hand, the one I had forced there, cut across my cheek as she slapped me, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Let her cut me open and wring me dry of the last drop of blood as long as she was mine. As long as she stayed under me like this and called me words that no one dared say to me at my face. I held her strong, fucking her so hard that I know she hurt for real. But the tears that slipped past her eyes weren’t those of physically agony. When I had stolen her body, she used to cry with pain. Now that I am stealing her soul, she cries because of loss.
I am as battered as her abused hole, her fingers tangled in my hair that she tried best to uproot. But as angry as she was, the wetness that slicked between her legs gave her away. She didn’t stop me. She hurt me, but she didn’t stop me. One word from her and I would have. Between us, she has all the power, but she takes my lust and my need and my love and throws back her anger and disgust at me, poorly concealing the feelings that she reciprocated inside her very being.
I pitied her then, because I would hate it too if my captor turned out to be my pardoner, if the villain I was sworn to hate wore a shining armour and became my hero. I made her fall for me, and she could hate me for it, but she would still love me. I made sure of it.
The moment she begins to close her eyes I grab her face hard, grunting as I pushed into her struggling body with enough force to bruise both of us. Our hearts were already broken, so some bones wouldn’t hurt as much.
“Don’t look away. Not now.”
I am begging, pleading, ordering, praying, everything and nothing as she looks at me and falls apart. I push away as she arches her back and shakes in pleasure, my mouth finding her cunt and diving in until her shrieks are heard by God and Satan and angels and demons who all stop to watch us burn. My tongue sweeps inside and flicks until she cums again, trying to pull away from my mouth unsuccessfully that keeps up until she is sobbing and cuming once more.
She lays limp on her bed, the fight fucked out of her as I enter her once more and take her harder and faster and with more love than either of us knows what to do with. I release inside, marking her as mine and holding her close, ignoring the blood that leaks down the cuts that she inflicted on me. I would put a dagger in my own heart to see her smile.
Please God, let her smile again.
“Steve.” She says, and my heart freezes before burning again because I never thought she would say my name again. It tastes like poison to her, and she only spits it out. But now, she sobs. “Why cannot you let me hate you in peace?”
I want to. I want to give her everything she ever wants. I want to give her my gun and ask her to point it at me and end her suffering. Mine too. But I love her so much. And I love her so selfishly. She was mine, and her every breath was mine. We could spend the rest of our lives fighting, with her clawing at me and me chasing her when she tries to run, but we will spend it together.
Because she was here to stay. She was my heart. My true heart. The one inside my chest could shrivel up and die but she would live and beat and thrive, and as long as she did, so would I. I didn’t know how to leave her alone.
“I will let you strangle me right now.” I promise her, pulling her broken body close. “I would let you take out the last dregs of your hate and rage on me, right here, right now, if you promise to love and mourn me for the rest of your life. For your love, I would die.”
This night, she doesn’t sleep with her back to me. Her head is on my chest, and I wonder what she is thinking. Maybe counting my heartbeats. Or maybe contemplating how to stop them.
I don’t care. As long as she is mine, as long as I have her here with me, I will survive.
mary maclane, the story of mary maclane / pierre bonnard - jeune femme écrivant, 1908 / louise fitzhugh, harriet the spy / phil grey - two photos from will self’s writing room: a 360 degree view in 71 photos, 2007 / tom astor - susie boyt’s notebooks, 2018 / stephen king, on writing / jill krementz - stephen king at his home office with his corgi marlowe, 1995 / joan didion - “on keeping a notebook” / wayne miller - author and poet maya angelou, 1974 / photo of sylvia plath from the everett collection / anne carson in a 2016 interview with NPR / octavia butler’s motivational notes to self / jim carroll, the basketball diaries / benjamin garcia - writing painting, 2012 / wayne pascal - writer’s block, 2019 / louisa may alcott, little women / little women (2019) / mary shelley (2017) / dickinson (2019) / anne lamott, bird by bird
WARNINGS: NON-CON, loss of virginity, power imbalance, murder, infidelity, minor character death, forced marriage, violence, blood, gothic regency vibes
➥ banner by @maysdigitalarts | divider by @firefly-graphics
summary: Lord Parker makes sure that you are his in every conceivable way.
I logged into my account after a long time today and the first thing I did was come to your account and just indulge.
Cherie! You absolute goddess! This fic messed me up SO good. You spent so much time fleshing out the characters and giving them their personality. I literally cannot get over how perfect this is!
Peter, the spoilt royal with a cock itch and an inability to hear no. And the sweet maid 🥺 I think the fact that Peter was so emotionally invested in owning her made it worse. His occasional softness contrasted so starkly with who he truly is that I got goosebumps. This was such a deeply psychological look into how twisted he is, especially when he continued his assault after he married Gwen.
The sad solidarity that Gwen and reader shared was such a heartwrenching one. Women have it so rough with men in power.
But fuck. His utter possession took my breath away. Everytime I thought it was over, there was more until there was nothing left for the reader to give. This is absolutely brilliant 🔥
it is the most wonderfully made, historically inaccurate, giddily fun, perfectly paced, goofy horror movie romance novel bullshit bonanza that has ever blessed the silver screen.
i mean it is just so beautifully full of every genre without being overwhelming.we’ve got: comedy, action, suspense, horror, romance, adventure, ancient aesthetics, and it’s a period piece. all perfectly balanced and blended into one movie.
and the characters are so LIT
we got our main babe, evelyn “motherfucking” carnahan, a super-klutz librarian, total history nerd, and certified badass/damsel in distress. she raises the dead on accident, because she cannot resist books, and has the guts to put that motherfucker back where he came from and literally saves the world.evie’s greatest hits:
“what is a place like me, doing in a girl like this?!”
*after totally destroying the library* “i’ve just made a bit of a mess in the library.”
“no harm ever came from reading a book.”
evelyn: *upon opening the tomb* “i’ve dreamt about this since i was a little girl.”rick: “you dream about dead guys?”
“oops.”
then we’ve got rick “brendan fraser” o’connell, your not-so-typical battle hardened gun slinger with a heart of gold. he seems filthy, rude, and a complete scoundrel at first, but then he turns into a literal puppy, with massive heart eyes, that worships the ground evie walks on.rick’s greatest hits:
*screams at mummy*
*screams at sand*
*screams at things that are illogical to scream at*
*screams*
next is our Comedic Relief Character™, jonathan carnahan, who also rises above his trope. he’s there for the laugh sure, but is never useless. he actively helps to move the plot along and isn’t just there. he also is the farthest thing from brainless and annoying.jonathan’s greatest hits:
evelyn: “have you no respect for the dead?”jonathan: “of course i do, but sometimes i’d rather like to join them.” same.
oh and that time he was like “IMHOTEP” and saved his own ass like that was so smooth, y’all know what i’m talking about right??
then there is ardeth BAE. he is the audience rolling his eyes because *sighs* white people. he’s tired of these motherfucking mummies in this motherfucking desert. literally prettier than everyone.(he has a much bigger role in the mummy returns, but is still so fab here)
and of course THE MUMMY. imhotep. actual emo. literally carved some poetry into the back of his sarcophagus when he was buried alive with flesh eating bugs, because he is that Extra™. just wants to bring his girlfriend back to life so he can make out with her without it being treason.
and all the side characters are also gr8.
now i wanna take a moment to talk about the romance. because it is so BEAUTIFUL. like usually in action movies it’s macho man undermines girl and they bone. not here. no time for that shit.
rick and evie have such a great relationship based on mutual respect and affection. they both cater to each other’s strengths and cover each other’s weaknesses. they are the literally definition of: “those two. in a fight, they’re lethal. around each other, they melt”
what else, i could literally talk about this movie all day.
the special effects have held up pretty well.the music score is GORGEOUS.the costumes are amazing.the makeup, especially for anck su namun, OH WOW.the george of the jungle era brendan fraser sign me the fuck up.rachel weisz.
so many good things.
it’s just great.
#i secretly rate every action movie from 0 to the mummy
it’s a beautiful mess of a movie that can be enjoyed by people of all ages and transcends time and posterity as the alpha mummy movie, and to those who disagree i beseech you:
There is hardly a thing I can say in its favor, except that I was cheered by nearly every minute of it. I cannot argue for the script, the direction, the acting or even the mummy, but I can say that I was not bored and sometimes I was unreasonably pleased. - Roger Ebert
Say, Mob!Steve or just dark!Steve takes the reader and at first it's all brutal but then he falls for her. How do you think she would react when his love triggers her own feelings? Loving someone who hurt you 👀
Title: Condemned to Him
Pairing: soft!dark!Steve x Reader
Summary: It’s hard to love someone you were meant to hate. But Steve doesn’t care, and he will have your love no matter how much you deny it.
Words: 1.8k
Warnings: Hate sex, smut, past non-con mentioned, kidnapping implied, dubious consent, possessiveness, implied forced marriage, mentions of violence and guns, angst, reader in third person pov, 18+ ONLY
A/N: I have never written from a character’s first person pov before, and phew, it is was a little much. For all those waiting for my Halloween fics, I am afraid you’re gonna have to wait longer. I lost my muse there for a while.
My mother told me that death is the ultimate peace. Everyone dies, one day so will I, but until the time that never ending embrace came for me, I lived my life with little regrets. At lease I did, as of a couple months ago. Now I stare at her, watching the way she dipped her pinky into the ketchup only to lick it, sometimes tracing random swirls with it on her plate. She hasn’t looked at me, not once in nearly two weeks.
I think again that my mother was a wise woman, but she never thought I’d be stupid enough to die this way. Because that is what she does to me. She is killing me, every damn day, a tiny bit everyday the more she stays silent, the more she refuses to meet my eyes. It’s ironically fitting. There is no peace in my life without her, and she is the one who would bring me death. I won’t get peace in death; I will get death by peace.
“I can cook you something else if you don’t like this.” I said, trying once more to get her attention. She doesn’t even react. I know she hates what is on her plate, but she pointedly picked up her spoon and took in a mouthful. Right now, I feel as if she’d rather drink poison than look at me.
Sighing, I try to reach across the table to her, my hand an inch away from hers when she quickly got up and dumped her leftovers in the trash, walking away without a look behind her back. No one shows me their back, not unless they want a bullet in it. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t fear me anymore.
If there is one thing she knows, it is that I will not hurt her. Never again, not after I lost my heart to her so tragically that Shakespeare would pay me good money to have an opportunity to write about it.
Give her space, that is what they told me. But space from what? How? I cannot stop loving her, I cannot stop myself from crawling in the bed beside her, staring at her face bathed in moonlight. She can hate me, she can even kill me, but she cannot leave me. I wouldn’t let her.
My fingers slide slowly over the few inches that separate us, gently landing on her shoulder. She was awake, I knew she was, and her body became rigid. It had been more than a month since I fucked her, nearly two weeks since I last touched her. With the way her skin came alive with goose bumps, I know she missed my touch too. If I was a slave to my heart, she was a slave to her body. She couldn’t help craving my touch any more than I could stop craving her heart.
I pulled her close, rolling on top of her and groaning quietly at her eyes that lay stubbornly closed. My lips press softly against one, and then the other, feeling her eyelashes fluttering against my mouth. Her breath hitched, fingers twisting into the sheets, and I cursed her for keeping herself from me. She wants me, and I am here to give her everything.
Please God, just let her look at me.
I kiss down her face, tracing the curve of her shoulder and neck and the soft swell of her chest, reveling in the softest whines she let escape. Her body was clenched tight, like a snake coiled tight and ready to attack only she relaxed with every touch of my lips. I pushed away the flimsy robe from her body, the one she still wore to bed. Maybe it was habit, most probably it was torture. I could see her, but I couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t taste her.
But she didn’t stop me today. I bathed her in my tongue, relishing her taste and feel, fingers digging into her flesh to reclaim the body that I had stolen. I wasn’t gentle the first night I took her. She had cried under me, pleading to be let go as I satiated my appetite inside her. She didn’t want me then, and I didn’t love her then. But now, she wanted me, and I loved her. But there was only silence.
Please God, just let her say my name.
The moment I entered her, her eyes snapped open and she raised them heavenwards to glare at the monster up there, probably telling him to fuck off for letting me get to her. I filled her perfectly, and her hands twitched until she lost the battle and wrapped them around me. Her neck was tilted to stop the temptation of facing me. And I let her have her dignity by burying my face in her breast and breathing hard as I thrust inside her.
It was so gentle, and I knew she hated it. Her entire body trembled as I touched her like a lover, coaxing her to open up. She once told me that she’d rather take my bullet than my heart, but I was a man rarely denied. I forced her to take my love, forced it into the marks of my teeth that littered her collar bone and the mouth hands that worshiped her and the lips that formed her name with every passing second.
She was close, I could tell. Her thighs shook and nails dug hard into my shoulders and the moment she came, I knew what would happen. Love was about letting go, about relaxing in its embrace. She snapped. Her eyes flew to mine and filled with rage, and she clawed like a tigress. I was prepared for her fight, prepared to see her eyes narrowed in hatred and I reveled in it.
I could take her bitterness; I could take every scar she ever gave me as long at those eyes were locked with mine in the battle of wills and hearts. She cried, fighting hard the way she knows I like, and my lips curled into a smile, hips hammering harder, causing her to wince and curse but retaliate with more vigor. The ring on her hand, the one I had forced there, cut across my cheek as she slapped me, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Let her cut me open and wring me dry of the last drop of blood as long as she was mine. As long as she stayed under me like this and called me words that no one dared say to me at my face. I held her strong, fucking her so hard that I know she hurt for real. But the tears that slipped past her eyes weren’t those of physically agony. When I had stolen her body, she used to cry with pain. Now that I am stealing her soul, she cries because of loss.
I am as battered as her abused hole, her fingers tangled in my hair that she tried best to uproot. But as angry as she was, the wetness that slicked between her legs gave her away. She didn’t stop me. She hurt me, but she didn’t stop me. One word from her and I would have. Between us, she has all the power, but she takes my lust and my need and my love and throws back her anger and disgust at me, poorly concealing the feelings that she reciprocated inside her very being.
I pitied her then, because I would hate it too if my captor turned out to be my pardoner, if the villain I was sworn to hate wore a shining armour and became my hero. I made her fall for me, and she could hate me for it, but she would still love me. I made sure of it.
The moment she begins to close her eyes I grab her face hard, grunting as I pushed into her struggling body with enough force to bruise both of us. Our hearts were already broken, so some bones wouldn’t hurt as much.
“Don’t look away. Not now.”
I am begging, pleading, ordering, praying, everything and nothing as she looks at me and falls apart. I push away as she arches her back and shakes in pleasure, my mouth finding her cunt and diving in until her shrieks are heard by God and Satan and angels and demons who all stop to watch us burn. My tongue sweeps inside and flicks until she cums again, trying to pull away from my mouth unsuccessfully that keeps up until she is sobbing and cuming once more.
She lays limp on her bed, the fight fucked out of her as I enter her once more and take her harder and faster and with more love than either of us knows what to do with. I release inside, marking her as mine and holding her close, ignoring the blood that leaks down the cuts that she inflicted on me. I would put a dagger in my own heart to see her smile.
Please God, let her smile again.
“Steve.” She says, and my heart freezes before burning again because I never thought she would say my name again. It tastes like poison to her, and she only spits it out. But now, she sobs. “Why cannot you let me hate you in peace?”
I want to. I want to give her everything she ever wants. I want to give her my gun and ask her to point it at me and end her suffering. Mine too. But I love her so much. And I love her so selfishly. She was mine, and her every breath was mine. We could spend the rest of our lives fighting, with her clawing at me and me chasing her when she tries to run, but we will spend it together.
Because she was here to stay. She was my heart. My true heart. The one inside my chest could shrivel up and die but she would live and beat and thrive, and as long as she did, so would I. I didn’t know how to leave her alone.
“I will let you strangle me right now.” I promise her, pulling her broken body close. “I would let you take out the last dregs of your hate and rage on me, right here, right now, if you promise to love and mourn me for the rest of your life. For your love, I would die.”
This night, she doesn’t sleep with her back to me. Her head is on my chest, and I wonder what she is thinking. Maybe counting my heartbeats. Or maybe contemplating how to stop them.
I don’t care. As long as she is mine, as long as I have her here with me, I will survive.
➥ banner by @maysdigitalarts | divider by @firefly-graphics
➥ based off of this headcanon
summary: Bruce Wayne never hired anyone, but he doesn’t regret the decision when he hires you. At least not until you become a problem for him, and despite what he initially thought, he doesn’t want this problem to go away.
I swear to you the scream I let out once I saw this must have woken up the dead !! Omg! I've literally been waiting for this to drop since you wrote the HC and this did not disappoint in the least!!
Honestly, Bruce's initial restraint surprised me. It was obvious he wanted her and yet he tried to keep himself out of her way. He kept her close but distant. But damn oh damn, the way it all went down. I love how his descent into insanity took aback even him, as if he trusted himself to not snap this way.
Your buildups are my favourite part of your writing. The way you enter into a character's psyche makes the whole story so investing for me and I absolutely love every minute of reading it. This was a bombshell 🥵
A bunny has recently made it inside of the Pentagon’s inner courtyard- arguably one of the most secure locations on the planet, surrounded on all sides by over 100 yards of highly-guarded office building and sitting on top of at least two stories of concrete basements.
This comes several weeks after a lone chicken was found wondering one of the Pentagon’s security areas, though it certainly never made it as far in as this bunny
I wrote a drabble for @gotnofucks 🤭🤭 We often just tell each other fantasies and fic ideas and sometimes a short hc turns into a fic Or a drabble. This is a good idea if someone has a writers block! Go hoe with your friends.
Idk if I will post it but it's nice to know I haven't lost the art yet.
So yes! I will hopefully get back into it one day!
