Pairings: (dark!)Hades!Bucky x dark!Persephone!Reader
Summary: Persephone agrees to marry Hades
Warnings: 18+, mentions of minor character deaths, fingering, manhandling, manipulation
Word Count: 1.4k
Prompt: Not My Ninth Challenge “Emotions”- M.Carey/ Wedding Reception
a/n: Congrats on your well-deserved milestone, sweet girl @cockslut-padalecki Thank you for sharing your clever words!❣️🧡
The thing about life and death- it’s one small breath separating one from the other.
“Call it... off,” the words shook in your mouth like your thighs did between Bucky’s legs. "Forget.. your idea."
Sitting on the edge of his bed with your back glued to his chest, the heavily polished metal disc resting against the wall reflected you and Bucky’s images.
Naked and wet, you were settled between Bucky’s hard thighs- withering and whimpering under his touch. The feel of his heavy tunic scratched your shoulder blades and his bulge kissed the curve of your ass
He smirked at your failed attempts to make demands. Half-words and crumbled noises fell out of you filling the room instead. For months, he had tried to pull an agreement of marriage from you but his frustrations were growing and his ideas were waning.
Your toes curled and skidded over the floor with every smooth flick of his wrist against your core. Seeking an anchor, you coiled your leg around his and latched your hands on him for support.
“If I call it off, halt the plan- we’ll need to marry soon,” Bucky’s words scorched your ears, his arm tightening around your waist.
This time your leg muscles did give out. It wasn’t from the melody he played against your clit but at the thought of tying yourself to another.
“Can’t let a body like this go to anyone else,” Bucky bit his thoughts into the soft skin of your neck.
Grabbing his wrist, you ignored his words and guided his fingers to dip deeper in your slit. The feel of him inside, working you towards the edge, helped you disregard his thoughts about marriage.
“I mean it, darling,” Bucky stilled your movements, his fingers stinging inside you with a twist before cupping your mound.
He grinned at your surprised gasp, savoring the feel of you rubbing and pushing yourself further back on his clothed erection.
Bucky’s hand tightened around the collar of your throat, his thumb ghosting over your pulse, “Give in. Say you’re mine.”
“I don’t need a husband,” you panted, rolling your hips around his fingers and rubbing your ass painfully against his dampened tunic. “Only a lover.”
“Get up. Get out,” Bucky ordered abruptly, slapping your sex and releasing his grip. “I’m tired of this.”
“What the hell, Bucky!” Tumbling forward, you steadied yourself on shaky legs and watched him wipe his fingers on the bed cover- something unrecognizable in his expression. “Stop acting like this. Things are fine the way they are.”
“If you address me in the future, you will use my formal title, Hades.”
“You can’t be serious-”
“Friends and lovers call me Bucky. You’re neither.”
Stifling the urge to argue, you pushed past him and gathered your discarded clothing. Keeping your eyes on the god of the dead, a small seed of fury planted itself within you.
___
Hermes delivered the announcement at 9 am; it was not an invitation, gods only send demands.
He hovered between a set of tall pillars outlining your garden, uneasily shuffling his feet back and forth.
“I need to watch you read it,” he explained, handing you a scroll adorned with black and gold cording.
“That’s not necessary. I already know,” You retorted crisply, remembering your recent encounter with your former lover and noting his colored cording. “I wanted him to call off the idea after he told me what he planned to do if I wouldn't commit.”
Turning your back on Hermes, you walked further down the garden’s path, dismissing him and the god of the underworld’s message. But he was quick to follow, staying close while you twisted and turned about in the flowered lanes.
“I really must insist,” Hermes easily cut in front of you, halting your escape, “that you read it.”
It was an awkward standoff of sorts, him waiting for you to open the scroll and you trying to dissect his actions for his unusual, intrusive behavior. The problem for poor Hermes was everyone wanted to shoot the messenger.
“And why must you, Hermes?”
“Because.. the plans are official, he set a date.”
Hermes looked away when you hissed at his answer and noticed the array of macabre plants and berries, “I never understood why you harvest these plants if they’re dangerous. Why nurture things that only cause death?”
“Children are nurtured into men, do they not also cause death?" you answered, stroking the leaves of the deadly plants. "We can't have sunshine all the time."
Hermes watched you slowly thumb the poisonous berries and gaze over at the lethal flowers. His eyes narrowed at your words and reluctantly admitted, “I insisted because he wishes to know your reaction when you read the announcement.”
----
The night was quiet, the moon branded its image across the undisturbed water. Artemis sat beside you, turning the scroll over in her hands. The announcement invited villagers to offer a gift worthy to gain the favor of the god of the underworld. And in turn, Hades would select a bride out of the guests.
“Do you think many will go to him and offer a bid?”
“Not the maidens dear to me,” Artemis’ eyes harden at the thought of betrayal. “The other villages- it’s always been their choice. People know there are risks when putting themselves on the path for a god’s attention. The question, my dear, is are you ready?”
“The field is set.”
“And which one are we speaking of?” Artemis smiled at your vagueness.
“Both, but yours will bloom- grounds thick and plentiful before next month’s hunt. Mine will wither tonight.”
Squeezing your hand, Artemis studied your features. “Moonlight highlights the darkness in you, my dear. It’s quite becoming, something I shall miss.”
____
You fixed a brooch for one maiden and reset another’s headband before moving to straighten a young man’s hat. Gently dabbing the wine stain off an elderly lady’s chin, you paid extra attention to her paper-thin skin. Lifting a robust man’s head from the table, you tugged off the dinner plate stuck to the side of his face. Frowning at the sight, you wiped the salted fish oils off his cheek and the bread crumbs from his forehead.
Bucky watched you clean and straighten each guest with wordless, tender movements. Something deceptively endearing for the mass homicide you just committed against his guests.
The edge of your tunic picked up broken ceramic pieces and dipped into the remaining puddles of the toxic wine you gifted the room; mopping and dropping red streaks and shiny shards with each step.
Earlier you stood in line with the other guests waiting to be announced. Some held treasures they could carry in one hand, others boasted of containers that were too large or heavy to bring into the hall.
Rare jewels, unique animals, expensive ingredients, rich materials- the gifts were vast. The attendants all hoped to gain the underworld’s god favor and have a family member win a seat next to him on the throne. Drenched in confidence, each person believed they possessed the singular offering that would make them worthy to marry a god by the end of the night.
Chaos broke out shortly after the main dish was served. Guests already drinking their fill and dunking bread into the lethal wine.
It started with a faint cough in the distance as you cut into another loaf. There was a cry for help across the room when you bit into an olive. Chairs turned over, tableclothes ripped to the ground, bodies slumped as you cut into the meat.
Needs more seasoning, you thought.
By the time you cleaned your plate and were ready for dessert, the room wheezed out its last breath of life. The servants had long since run away.
Leaning forward in his chair, Bucky unfolded his arms and pressed his lips into a thin, grim line while watching his guests’ lives disintegrate in the dark hall.
The once boisterous room was eerily still, neither of you willing to speak until he finally broke the silence, “I do not declare winners by default, Persephone. Explain yourself.”
“My gift to you, Hades, is simple. I bring you more loyal subjects for you to rule over in your kingdom, god of the dead.”
Bucky watched you coolly with masked pride, internally smirking at how well you delivered yourself to him. He had watched over the dead long enough to know all the murky and vile reasons why someone kills- and jealousy was one.
Well a scrub checkin' me, but his game is kinda weak
And I know that he cannot approach me
'Cause I'm looking like class and he's looking like trash
Can't get wit' a deadbeat ass
Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader
Words: 3.1k
Summary: You try to keep Steve from dying of boredom at an Avengers charity gala.
Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, squirting, public sex), little bit of a fight, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!!
A/N: My official entry for @cockslut-padalecki’s “Not My Ninth” challenge!! My prompt was No Scrubs by TLC and Charity Gala. I picked our boy Steve for this one, but like post Avengers pre Winter Soldier Steve. Also, is Thor the best wingman? I feel like I’ve been using him in this role a lot. Happy 9K babe!
Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!
Steve had never felt so uncomfortable in his life.
He hated talking about himself normally, and having to parade around in front of a bunch of rich people was a special kind of torture. But Tony was insistent that the whole team had to be there, and it was for a good cause so he couldn’t say no without being a complete asshole.
He downed the rest of his champagne as some other billionaire asked him the same damn question about how different things were for him now, how much he must miss the 40s, like the war was some golden age of Americana. He just smiled and gave the same polite answers he’d been giving all night, wishing he was able to get drunk. Maybe Thor had snuck in some mead, that could usually do the trick.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt, Captain Rogers, but Mr. Stark sent me to come find you. Something about the silent auction.”
Steve felt his face relax as he turned to look at you, his breath coming out in a deep sigh. You looked amazing in your silver gown, all shimmery and gauzy.
“Sorry folks, duty calls.” He said with a shrug as he followed you away from the stuffed suits. “What does Tony want? I don’t have anything to do with the auction.”
“Yeah, I know, but your jaw was clenched so hard I was worried you were gonna snap something, so I figured I’d come rescue you.” You said, grinning over your shoulder at him.
“God, you’re the best.” He sighed, following you to the bar and leaning against it as you ordered yourself a cocktail.
“I know, right? You want anything?”
“Not unless Thor snuck anything in. It’s only been an hour and I’m this close to ramming my head through a wall.”
“Sorry Cap, I hate these things too but it comes with the territory.” You said with a shrug, sipping on your Manhattan as you turned to face him. “Now, lets go find our Asgardian friend. As your handler, I can’t have you destroying property out of boredom, and I’m pretty sure I saw that giant sipping from a contraband flask a little earlier.”
He grinned as he moved to follow you, weaving through the crowd as you expertly turned away the whales that kept trying to approach him. You were his fifth handler since the battle of New York, and the only one that had lasted longer than a week. Mostly because you didn’t actually try to handle him, just let him be Steve and deal with any PR fallout that came with that. It helped that you had an easygoing nature that he found endearing, and you could always make him laugh. The fight you’d gotten into with Tony about changing his suit had really done it for him though, he hadn’t seen anyone make Stark back down so fast.
“Odinson!” You shouted, beaming once you found the massive blonde. He’d been cornered by a group of old blue hairs who were tittering and trying to touch his biceps. “Sorry ladies, the god of thunder is needed elsewhere, auction business.”
They all made sounds of disappointment as you extracted the relieved looking god from the group of old biddies, pulling him away towards one of the empty corners of the ballroom.
“What is this auction you speak of?” Thor asked once the three of you were separated from the crowd.
“A clever ruse, my good friend.” You said with a smirk. “You’re welcome by the way. The Captain here is on the verge of committing violent acts out of boredom, and expressed a desire to get drunk.”
“Yes, thank you Y/N.” He said with a grin. “I don’t think I can help the Captain with his problem though, maybe he should head to the bar.”
“Oh, you can’t help?” You said cocking your eyebrow at him before shoving your hand inside his tux jacket and pulling out a silver flask. “What’s this then?”
Steve chuckled as Thor tried to stammer out a reply as you just shook your head and tutted at him, handing Steve the flask.
“Listen, just be a good boy and share. Now, I need to go to the ladies room but if any of these rich assholes tries to come bother you again, just start talking about the horrors of war, and get graphic. They hate that shit.”
Steve handed Thor back the flask after taking a sip, already staring to feel a bit of a tingle in his fingers.
“That woman is not to be trifled with.” Thor said appreciatively as he took a swig, handing it back to Steve. “Have you slept with her yet?”
Steve choked on the mead, his eyes bugging out of his head as he tried to cough up a lung and Thor clapped him on the back, scolding him for wasting good liquor.
“Jesus, Thor! What are you talking about? I don’t want to sleep with Y/N!”
“Oh my god, you midgardians and your hang ups. Your hormones spike every time your around her, it’s very distracting.”
“What?!?! How do you know that?” Steve loosened his tie a bit as he felt himself starting to warm up, telling himself it was just from the booze.
“I’m not just the god of thunder, I’m a fertility god.” He said with a grin. “And every time you two are near each other, it’s like being around a couple of rabbits in the spring.”
“Oh god, please stop.” Steve said as he ran his hand over his face in embarrassment.
“No you stop. We’re in a hotel, just get a room and , what’s the phrase I’m looking for ‘fuck her brains out’.”
“Jesus Christ, who taught you that? Never mind, I know it was Tony.” He said, waving a dismissive hand at Thor as he gave him a wicked grin.
“Oh no.” Thor said suddenly, looking over Steve’s shoulder towards the ballroom.
“What now?” Steve said with a heavy sigh, turning to follow his line of sight to where you were standing, talking to an unsteady looking man in a sloppy tux. “Rumlow.”
“Yes, apparently your STRIKE team leader has been sniffing after your handler for months.” Thor narrated, leaning against one of the columns and taking another pull from the flask. “She’s always rebuffed him, though. I don’t think he’s ever tried when he’s drunk before. Wait, Rogers!”
Steve ignored him as he strode towards you, growling under his breath and loosening his tie even more as he watched Rumlow wrap his hand around your bicep and yank you towards him. Steve was close enough to see you roll your eyes, but couldn’t hear what you said to the man as he wrapped his other arm around your waist and smashed his mouth against yours.
“Hey!” Steve shouted, his brow furrowed as Brock pulled his face away from yours to see what the interruption was about.
You took your chance and head butted him, a curse leaving his mouth in a hiss as he released you. You gripped his left wrist around his thumb and drew it back hard, smirking when you felt a snap at the same time you drove you fist into his ribs.
Steve had to pull you off him as you started beating him with your clutch, opening it up at the same time to search for your brass knuckles.
“You don’t fucking touch me, you goddamn sloppy deadbeat motherfucker!” You screamed as Steve carried you away from the main floor, your limbs flailing as you tried to charge back at Rumlow. “Learn to tie a fucking tie you cocksucking son of a bitch.”
Steve did his best not to crack up at the shocked looks the blue bloods were giving you, a chorus of offended gasps following the two of you as you released a steady stream of profanity. He pushed open the doors to the balcony with one hand as he kept his other hand wrapped tightly around your waist as you were still trying to squirm free.
“Damn it, put me down Rogers! I’ll kick your ass too!” You hissed, turning to swat at his chest.
“Okay, okay, Jesus Christ!” He said as you started to kick him, catching him in the shins a couple of times. “Ow.”
“You’re fine.” You said with a shrug, taking a couple deep breaths to calm down.
“Yeah, well Rumlow definitely isn’t. Who gave you brass knuckles?” He said, pulling the weapon out of your clutch.
“Nat did. And it’s not like I even got to use them on that asshole.”
“Yeah but you would’ve.” He said, shaking his head as he handed them back to you. “He didn’t hurt you did he?”
You just snorted as you shoved the knuckles back into your clutch, leaning your back against the railing.
“Good.” He mumbled, suddenly not knowing what to say to you.
You somehow looked even better after your altercation. Your hair was a wild tangle now, loose strands blowing in the breeze. Your lips were swollen from the unwanted kiss, and Steve could feel the heat coming off you as your chest heaved with deep breaths. He hissed through his teeth when he noticed the torn skin on your knuckles.
“Shit, Y/N, you’re bleeding.” He growled, grabbing your hand to inspect the damage.
“Huh, guess so.” You said, watching him through your lashes as he brought your hand closer to his face.
You felt your breath hitch as he ran his thumb over the back of your hand softly, his brow still furrowed with worry. Maybe it was just the adrenaline from the fight, but all you could think about just then was sucking on his thick fingers.
“Y/N?”
“Hmm?” You must have zoned out for a second.
“You sure you’re ok?”
“I’m great.” You said, your voice a little squeakier than you would’ve liked.
He took a step closer to you and you gasped, suddenly feeling very light headed as you felt a rush of slick flood your panties. His hand left yours and moved to cup your cheek, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip where you had it pressed between your teeth.
“I think I’m gonna kiss you now.” He muttered, his eyes boring into yours, pupils blown wide with lust.
“Good.” You whispered.
His mouth devoured yours, his teeth pulling your lips open so he could slip his tongue inside, curling it against yours as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed you against him. You moaned as you felt his cock hardening against your abdomen, your pussy throbbing with need as he ground himself into you.
He started to sink to his knees and you followed him, your mouth still pressed to his desperately. His hand moved from your waist to dig under your skirt and he let out a growl when he brushed his fingers against your core, pressing them against the soaked silk of your panties.
“Fuck, I wanna taste you so bad.” He grumbled, his lips still pressed to yours. “Wanna see if you taste as good as you smell.”
“Oh god, Steve.” You moaned as he hooked his fingers through the side of your panties and ripped them off you, the elastic snapping against your skin and a shove going up your spine as the night air cooled the wetness between your thighs. “Do it.”
He grinned and gave you a quick peck on the lips before he started to move his mouth down your throat. His hand between your legs started rubbing you in big slow circles as he laid you down, putting just enough pressure on you that you were quickly turning into a wriggling mess.
“Hold still, honey.” He ordered, pulling the sleeves of your dress down just enough that your breasts could pop out, your nipples pebbling in the chilly air. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”
“Fuck.” You moaned as he dragged his tongue over your nipple in a heavy stripe before flicking it softly. Your hands dug in his hair as he sucked and licked at it, just barely brushing it with his teeth until it was raised to an overly sensitive peak before he moved to the other nipple and repeated the process, making you whine.
Once he was satisfied with his work, he pressed a soft kiss to each breast before moving his face between your legs. His hand was making soft wet sounds now as he kept rubbing your sex, and he groaned when he removed it to take a good look at you.
“Fuck if that ain’t the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmured as his lips brushed over your inner thigh.
Your cunt was pulsing with need under his gaze, your plump folds swollen and flushed with heat as he watched you clench around nothing. Everything between your legs was coated in a thick layer of your arousal, and he bit his lip as he watched even more leak out of you.
“I bet I could make you cum with almost nothing, sweetheart.” He teased as he nipped at the soft skin of your inner thighs, inching closer to your pussy before moving away again.
“Steve, please!” You whined, trying to arch your back into his face as you tugged on his hair.
He just grinned before pressing his tongue over your pussy and swirling it through your folds. He had to press his palms down on your hips to keep your body from curling back on itself as he ran his tongue over your sex, lapping at your pussy like his was the first meal he’d had in weeks.
“God you taste so good.” He murmured as he gazed at you through his lashes. “Like fucking peaches.”
You sobbed as he thrust his tongue inside you at the same time his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, making you come immediately. He curled his tongue inside you as your release flowed into his mouth, moaning into your pussy as you spasmed against his face.
Your breath was coming in ragged gasps as you came down, your muscles still twitching randomly as aftershocks shook through your abdomen. He grinned as he sat up over you, undoing his tie before moving to take off his belt as you writhed underneath his gaze. Your brain finally reset and you sat up between Steve’s legs, nuzzling yourself into his neck as you worked to unbutton his shirt.
“You back, honey?” He chuckled as you ran your teeth over his collarbone, dipping your hands under his shirt to press against his chest. “I was a little worried.”
“You’ll find I’m extremely resilient, Steve.” You murmured before sinking your teeth into his pec as you started to undo his fly.
“Shit, good to know.” He groaned as you drew his cock out of his pants and gave it a squeeze.
He gripped your chin and drew your face up to his, raising you up to your knees as he gave you a soft kiss. You moved his cock in your hand to line him up with your entrance, teasing his tip against your folds. Steve wrapped his hands around your waist and lifted you a bit higher before slowly drawing you down onto his length.
You let out a thin keen as he stretched you open, relishing the sting as your cunt fluttered around him, adjusting to his girth. He rested his forehead against yours as he started moving his hips at a languorous pace.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” He muttered against your lips before moving to bury his face in your shoulder. “So tight and warm and soft.”
You gripped the hair at the base of his neck tightly as his hips started moving faster, slapping against yours. You felt yourself clench around him as he ground against your clit, making you gasp.
“Shit, Steve! Right there!”
“Jesus, already?” He murmured, running his lips over your throat.
“Just... fuck, you’re so big, Steve. Oh my god, I’m cumming.”
He hooked a hand under your ass to keep you from collapsing as your entire body arched violently, almost bending backwards on itself as you swallowed a scream. Your cunt fluttered and spasmed around him as he lifted you to wrap around him, his breath hot against your neck.
“Holy shit honey.” He muttered as he pulled you down against him, making you whimper. “You ok?”
“I’m great. Don’t you fucking stop.” You said, tilting his head back so you could press your mouth to his.
He grinned against your lips as he fucked his hips up into you, keeping his eyes locked on yours as his cock dragged over every inch of you, nudging against your cervix and making your breath hitch.
“Right there?” He asked as you dug your nails into his scalp and bit at his lips.
“Fuck, oh goddamn it, Steve.”
You shrieked into his mouth as you came apart, your muscles seizing as your pussy strangled his cock. His hips stuttered and you were suddenly flooded with warmth, his spend sitting into you and coating your canal in thick white ropes. He sat back on his heels and pulled out of you, and you shuddered as your release squirted all over the front of his pants.
“Shit, did you just squirt honey?” He asked, giving you an appreciative glance as he started to tuck himself back in and button his shirt up.
“I think so. Fuck, that’s never happened before.” You said with a shrug.
“Well, damn baby.” He said as he stood up, offering you a hand to help you to your feet.
“Shit, we’ve gotta go back in there.” You said, running your hand over your face. “Oh my god, Stark is going to kill us. Hold on and give me a second to think.”
Steve just leaned back on the railing and gave a satisfied smile as he watched you pace back and forth, wringing your hands.
“Ok I think I’ve got it, just one second.”
You went to the door and opened it a crack, popping your head through, jumping when you found Thor leaning against the wall right there.
“Hey, Thor. What’s up buddy?”
“Just keeping the other guests from wandering out and seeing you and the Captain humping like rabbits.”
“Appreciate it. We need a distraction though, cuz we’re both a little messy, and I don’t really feel like explaining that to everyone.”
“Got it, what if I blow out the lights in that chandelier?”
“I think that’ll probably work.” You said, giving him a nod before turning back to Steve. “Alright Rogers, we’re making a run for the elevator. Thor, blow it.”
→ pairing: aristocrat!bucky barnes x aristocrat!black!reader
→ word count: 3000
→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, sex, biting kink
→ challenge: @cockslut-padalecki not my ninth
trope: aristocratic society
song prompt: crush by jennifer paige
→ square filled: @star-spangled-bingo 2021
g5: clothed sex
→ author note: i was finally able to reign myself in with these word counts, lol. i saw this gif of baby faced sebastian and couldn’t help myself. he looks like a little shit, but look at those pink lips… anyway, these are modern!aristocrats. lyrics to crush aren’t obvious (except for one line at the very end), but worked into the dialogue. i have no idea who made the gif, i got it from google. i also have no idea who made this divider, as i also got it from the google.
Blue eyes peer over at you from across the table, the gaze searing into the side of your face. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, but you don’t dare cut your eyes— this game is entirely too fun to give in now. Instead, you take a deep breath, pushing your chest out— your tits— shifting roughly in your seat just to make your flesh jiggle, before you release the air slowly.
Cabinet meetings are never fun. Rich, old white men going on and on about their views for the country— your family of course bringing the only sense of color into the society. Some old man yammers on at the front of the room behind the podium. Heads nod, claps ring out at random intervals, loud here here’s filling your ears as you roll your eyes. You don’t have the least bit of interest in any of it as it stands today, but your blue blood, and rank in the family— poised to take over for your dear old daddy in the coming years— requires your presence.
Bucky Barnes is quite the same. Young, bored, and too damn pretty for his own fucking good. You squeeze your legs together abruptly, the images of the last cabinet meeting playing back in your mind. Hot, sticky breath. Reddened, swollen lips— against your ear, sucking on your skin. The salt that exploded on your tongue as he shoved his thumb into your mouth.
You stand quick, clearing your throat— sending a silent message to the youngest Barnes at the long table. A hand grabs your wrist, stopping you as you start to move towards the back of the room, “Mother?”
“This is important, daughter,” she whispers harsh— a warning.
“And so is my bladder, mother.”
She sighs heavily, but releases the grip around your wrist, “Yours and the Barnes boy, apparently.”
Flicking your eyes quickly, you smirk as he pushes his chair underneath the table and starts towards the large doors at the back of the room, rubbing at his chin with his hand, the sunlight glinting off of the rings adorning his long fingers. You watch him as he moves— so easy, so confident— as he runs his hand through his dark, perfectly clipped hair, the Loubotins on his feet clicking softly.
You only drop your eyes when he slips through the door and out of view, “Ten minutes, mother.”
She knows. She knows that you know she knows, but she just sighs again and lets you saunter off without a second glance. Dress dragging behind you, bottom lip sucked between your teeth, heart and blood starting to race as each step draws you closer to your silver tongued foe, lying in wait for you in a random, deserted hallway.
He’s leaned against the wall, gazing out over the city beneath, hands drawn into his pockets. He’s a sight, but he always is, each little brown hair in place, chin and cheeks so clean shaven that a hair wouldn’t even dare sprout. Body lean in that black military jacket, gold medals and hand stitched ribbons hanging from the pockets.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” you smile soft, crossing your arms over your chest, leaning against the very same wall.
Bucky glances over his shoulder, that shit grin he’s such a proud owner of spreading on his face, “Then stop propositioning me.”
You laugh— it’s gentle and soft, the dissonance of your long relationship easily melting away. He finally turns and takes a few steps towards you, extending his hand, tenderly taking your fingers. Those deep, emotional eyes stay on yours as he lifts your hand, lips brushing— glancing ever so lightly over the backs of your delicate, manicured digits. Then he smiles, slow, sweet, teeth sinking into his blushed bottom lip as he blinks just as slow.
He’s a sight, this Bucky Barnes.
Keenly aware of his family’s teetering reputation, hanging on by a mere thread as of late due to his fathers extra curricular proclivities, you can’t help but take a swipe, “I’m surprised you’re family’s allowed back in the building. It got a little tense last time you all were here.”
“It did, didn’t it?” he answers quickly, placing your hand on his shoulder before he pulls you in close— a long arm wrapping your waist, pinning you to him, “I don’t remember much though, as my face was buried in your cunt for most of the meeting.”
Shivers race the length of your spine. He feels it— revels in it— savors it.
Lively brown eyes bounce back and forth between heavy, brewing blues, “You aren’t afraid that the rest of them will move to vote your family out, Lord Barnes?”
“Not in the slightest,” you’re met with a defiant shrug, “I hate this shit.”
“Oh, how original! An aristocrat that hates the god given privilege bestowed upon him.” You sigh, tilting your head towards the ceiling as he nuzzles into your neck, your hands sliding up and over his shoulders, “You’re predictable, Barnes.”
“You’re one to talk about privilege, My Lady.”
“Am I?” You retort quick, quirking an eyebrow.
A brilliant smile is cast upon you, blue irises like gems, sparkling under the light, “Your blood is the richest in the room— the bluest of blue— and you speak with such animosity of mine as if you haven’t prevailed your entire life because of it.”
“Bested by the color of our skin, which has precluded my lineage of its rightful place for years,” you scoff, leaning into him, “It was not privilege that got us here, Lord Barnes,” you whisper, “It was persistence.”
He chuckles against your skin, the vibrations rattling through your body, right to your bones. Hot velvet slips along the curve of the junction between your shoulder and neck before teeth scrape and then sink— tenderly— right into the meat, making you gasp. Hands grip, fingers dig into his opposite shoulder as he nips and nibbles.
“You’ll lose everything,” you breathe, heavy, languid as his mouth, his tongue, his lips move to your jaw, your chin, “Your family will be ruined.”
“I’ll be okay,” Bucky hums low, a smile on his face, dark eyelashes splashed over his pink tinged cheeks. His long fingers play with your lips, prodding gently as he rests his forehead to yours, “With a face like mine baby,” he whispers, that devilish smile painting his red tinted lips, “I was born to marry rich.”
He pushes his leg between yours, spreading them, pushing the meat of his thigh right against your sex— the thin silk of your panties sticking to the balmy, wet flesh. The tips of his fingers flirting with the inside of your calf before pushing up over your knee, skirting up your own ticklish thigh.
Bucky takes pleasure in the honeyed giggle that bubbles in your chest and slips out of your mouth, knowing not just anyone can coax such a genuine reaction from you. Metal fingers push higher— sweeping softly, back and forth, over the powder pink silk panties, discovering the warm wet spot, a white hot fire filling his eyes.
“Will you marry me?”
You grunt some, leaning in, putting full lips right against his ear, “Absolutely not,” the words whispered.
“You sure?” he squints, drawing your face back in front of his, thumbing at your bottom lip, pulling it open, “There’s something in those eyes.”
“Let’s not over analyze, Lord Barnes,” you tisk, slipping a hand between your bodies, cupping his cock— squeezing his heat— with care of course, “Don’t go too deep with it. It’s just—”
“What?” brisk, curt— the words cut off by a feverish, deep kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth, sweeping against the roof— heavy, hot, rushed, desperate for you as he groans, “What is it?”
You pull at his belt, at the button and zipper, hand and fingers sinking into his open pants, pushing through a rough, dark, tuft of wiry hair. He whirrs, strained and broken, body clenching up as your warm palm wraps around him. Long, slow strokes pull more tiny sounds from him— a skilled muscle memory, what he likes, what he doesn’t, what he needs— taking over.
A sweet kiss, soft and quick, is pressed against his cheek, your lips against his ear once more, “It’s just a little crush, Bucky. Just some little thing that raises my adrenaline when I need a shot.” His cock jumps in your hand, a quick hiss and stunted grunt filling your ears as you lick your lips, “Don’t make too much of it.”
Bucky grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks hard, puckering your lips before he kisses you feverishly again. The cool metal digits grab your neck, a soft pressure constricting the muscles as he pushes you back, back against the window— using his body to crush you to it.
The smack of his lips disconnecting from yours ricochets off the walls, filling the small hallway. He licks your lips, dragging his tongue from your chin right to the tip of your nose as he anchors your leg on his hip. Hot flesh fingers slip up your thigh, pulling your panties to the side, the cool air sending a shock to the wet, delicate flesh of you. He sucks that bottom lip back between his perfect teeth, tilting his head back slightly to peer at you through those long, dark eyelashes.
You mimic him. Tilt your head back on the glass, sink your teeth into your swollen lip, hand still stroking him slow, wetting the pads of your fingers with his silk. His hips rock soft into your palm as you sweep your fingers over his tip before dragging back down his length, gripping him firm. With a quick blink, you’re staring at him— angry, thick, throbbing in your hand. A bead bubbles out, spills right over, a long string hanging from his reddened tip before his cock twitches again— leaving you breathless. Knees almost buckling. Mouth going dry as your lungs struggle to fill.
“Come on, baby,” Bucky purrs, goading you as you push his cock through your folds, rolling your hips, teasing your waiting slit with his tip.
Surprise sweeps through you when frankly, it shouldn’t as you sink down on him. The muscle memory of your hands don’t translate to the muscles of your cunt— his size, how much you have to spread to accommodate him, like a revelation each and every time. Bucky almost never rushes it, and neither do you, like it’s something new every time.
But it isn’t, no no, it’s ancient for the two of you. Connecting like this in long, skinny hallways, cramped closets, old hotel rooms under the mask of darkness. The muffled sounds of your sex as you try and ultimately fail to keep quiet, filling the abandoned spaces— bringing life to them again.
Loneliness often fills your chest if you go too long without it.
Bucky is buried to the hilt in you now— rooted deep in the tightest, hottest space of your body. He takes a minute, pushing his hips, wiggling— adjusting— before he pulls out slow. All the way, cock bouncing as soon as it breaks the threshold. He doesn’t wait long though. Nope. He’s back inside of you within seconds with a slam of his hips, pushing you up the window. Pulling a squeak and a rush of air from you.
Those red lips of his part, his heavy tongue pushing out to slip along his bottom lip as his eyelids drop, covering the blue you’ve come to enjoy. You can’t help but reach out, place your warm palms and fingers on his blushed cheeks, tracing his nose before they prod at his bottom lip, the tips just sinking into that wet mouth. He draws long breaths, exhales them all over your face as he starts to move.
You let the rhythm carry you away. Up into the clouds as your head rolls to the side, hands fall to his chest and around his neck. Tits bounce with each shove, starting to spill over and fall out of the square shaped neckline of your intricate dress. Hair starts to fall out of place, heat rises in your cheeks, desperate little wet noises beseeching him.
Bucky’s a good fuck. Ever the playboy, never thinking twice of an encounter until— well, you, as he so softly put it one night in one of those dark, old hotel rooms while you both dressed. There’s a filth to it. The way he toys with you. Speeding up suddenly— skin slapping, echoing down the hall— and then, without warning or hesitation, slows down. Down to nothing almost. Soft pulses of his hips, just enough to drive you mad. To make you beg him for more.
To make you weak. To keep you coming back.
That’s how he is now. Barely moving, wanting you to squirm. Two big eyes, pupils blown stare up at you. Mouth agape, the smallest little curve on them. He wants you to beg. To tell him just how much— “Bucky,”
“Yes?” he shoves hard, pushing deep, “My Lady?”
“Please,” there it is, the beg— the want, “Please, Bucky.”
So, the filth is back. Yeah, it’s a little dirty how he grips your thigh, hard, nails digging and scratching into the meat of it. How he licks into your mouth and bites your lips before shoving that metal hand into your neckline, palming the delicate mound of flesh beneath. A brown nipple is soon exposed, tight and hard, after a quick tug of his hand yanks your dress down. It disappears again within a flash, right into his mouth, tongue circling.
An arch curves your spine when he sucks, a deep, low, stressed grunt sounding from somewhere deep in your chest. Your lips pucker, forming an o as you breathe heavy, then gasp quick before digging your teeth into your bottom lip and inhaling sharp. An already tight grip on his bicep and left shoulder constricts even more as he really picks up the pace, desperate and feverish his hips, tongue slipping into your cleavage.
There’s nothing but sounds and sensations— the squelch and squeak of his cock stuffing you, your stiletto slipping off the foot that’s hooked around his waist and thudding against the floor. The gold medals pinned to his military jacket bouncing soft against the thick material. His metal fingers tapping against the windows as he holds his weight.
Flashes of heat ripple through your body— muscles tensing and straining, cunt clenching, clamping. Fists balling. Stomach and head twirling as he gives you his best. And God, do you appreciate his effort.
The fuse proves to be short on this crisp winter day. A coil that had no chance of staying intact snaps earlier than you expect, body tightening hard, nearly freezing you in place the second before you start to come. Crying out— no shame, no sense of care if anyone hears— you just let it take over. Let him drive it home, hips snapping against yours, jutting, thrusting, pushing and pulling, sending you higher and higher.
Goosebumps on your skin. Heartbeat in your ears. A white hot flash, nearly blinding— it’s just that good. Metal fingers sink between your legs, playing with your clit, enticing it further as it spasms— wanting to feel every last bit of what your body has to offer.
Bucky hammers away, until he can’t. You’re just too sweet— too warm and wet and inviting. He’s painting your insides white within minutes, hot, quick shots of silk, filling you up, and then spilling back out. His head falls heavy to your chest as the last digs of his hips work themselves out, lips sticking to your damp, exposed skin.
You wrap him up, hands and fingers splaying out on his back, holding him tight and close as he empties and stills. Then, the two of you just breathe. Let the day, the room full of people, your families, your duties, just fade away. It’s just you and Bucky and that cool window against your overly warm skin.
It breaks— the moment. Just as it always does. Your body becomes empty as he tucks back into his pants. No longer pinned to the window, you bend to replace your shoe, pull at your dress. Bucky runs his thick fingers through his dark hair, you picking and smoothing at your own.
Stepping off after a few sobering moments without so much as a look or a smile, you're caught, a tight hand around your wrist, pulling you back. You crash into his chest, crash against his lips in one last, deep, sweeping kiss. One that once he pulls away, your eyes stay closed, lips stay puckered.
“You sure you won’t marry me?”
You know that if he asks one more time, your resolve will fizzle— and you will, “Very sure.”
A lopsided grin covers his mouth as he tilts his head, “Just a pesky little crush, huh?”
“There’s no vision of you and me quite yet, Lord Barnes,” you sigh, turning away and stepping down the hall, “You just pray that I don’t decide to join the rest of the party and vote you out.”
“Make sure you keep a copy of your vote for me. I’ll want to frame it.”
You throw him a quick glance, “And why would you do something like that?”
“So I can show our children just how mean mommy was to daddy before we got married,” he starts, buttoning up his jacket. He kisses the pads of his fingers and blows on them lightly, sending you a kiss, “I have white picket fences in my eyes.”
Without another word, he spins on his heel and takes off in the opposite direction. A hum vibrates in your throat. The sounds of your heels and his shoes slap against the walls as the two of you walk away from each other.
It doesn’t take a scientist to understand what’s going on, baby.
Pairing: au!dark!Dean x virgin!Reader x au!dark!Sam, Dean x Sam
Word Count: 2.8k
Summary: Y/N wakes up in an unfamiliar room with a stranger, little does she know that he has plans for her.
Warnings: *Rape/Non-Con, dark!Dean, dark!Sam, virgin!reader, angst (i think this goes with out saying), Wincest, forced orgasms, non-con bondage, eduardian era (but the boys are still american), implied arranged marriages, implied breeding kink, implied age gap, humiliation (not the fun kind), minor knife play
A/N 1: This is my entry for @cockslut-padalecki‘s #NotMyNinth Challenge. My prompt is “Masquerade” and “Don’t Speak”
A/N 2: I’ve never written non-con, or a dark!fic before, but this was the first thing that came into mind. This fic is for 18+ only!
*TW: Rape/Non-Con - Please, I beg you, do not read if this is something that will trigger and/or offend you.
No Beta all mistakes are mine. (I have tense issues, I know)
Spring, 1905
There’s a haze surrounding your vision as you come to, unsure of where you are or how you got there. Your head throbs, you must’ve had too much champagne, though you don’t remember having more than a second glass. Your mother and father will be furious, you’re a young lady eligible for marriage, and the night was meant for you to find a suitable prospect.
As your vision clears you try to become more aware of your surroundings. A chill runs through your body, and you realize that you’ve been stripped down to nothing more than your undergarments, and silk sheets lie underneath you. You try to sit up, and with a cursory glance, you can see attached to posts of the bed, are long leather straps, which, to your horror, are connected to your wrists.
You struggle, using the little give that the straps have to offer to try and get yourself free. You start to panic, breathing heavier as you flail your arms and legs in an attempt to free yourself from the unwanted bonds. A low chuckling comes from somewhere else in the room, wherever you are, it’s clear to you now that you’re not alone. Your heart races faster as you tug at the straps again, hoping in vain, something will give and you can leave this place.
You twist your arms as far as you can stopping as soon as the pain becomes too much to bear. You grunt and groan, maybe if you make enough noise, someone will find you and get you back to your parents, and you can leave with some of your virtue intact. In the midst of everything, you can hear a second, distinct voice. There’s something vaguely familiar about the two voices, but you can’t place either of them, you’d been introduced to well over fifty men since you presented in court just six months ago.
“Please,” you whimper, “I don’t know who you are. Please let me go.”
The two muffled voices stop for a moment, and the shuffling of feet make their way towards you. The mask that you begged your father for still rests on your face, you curse yourself for demanding such an opulent thing, these men must think your family is well off, and that they can ransom your parents. The truth is, your family is relying on you to make a good match to a wealthy family, so that their debts may be paid off.
A large, calloused hand grazes your calf, while another, even larger hand mimics the actions, caressing your legs all the way up to what little underclothes you still have on. You jerk against their touches, unable to do anything else. The man to the left brandishes a blade, and your breath hitches in horror at the realization that he’s most likely going to kill you. Your father had recently told you of multiple unsolved murders in London, all young women, their insides mutilated. If these are the same men, you have no chance of escaping, all you can do is hope that if that is their plan, they'll have mercy and give you a quick death.
Tears flood your eyes as the man with the knife drags the sharp edge against your wrist. Momentary relief fills you, as you naively believe that he will free you of your bonds, he tuts at you, before moving the blade up your arm. It scrapes your skin, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make your heart thump faster in your chest. It becomes painfully obvious that whatever the two men have in store for you, they don’t plan on giving you any sense of relief. Dread fills you, and you look up at the man, hoping that maybe if he sees the trepidation in your eyes he’ll show you some kind of compassion. A plain mask obscures most of his face, and all you can make out are fiercely green eyes.
“Please,” you choke out, “I just want to get back to my parents.”
Green-eyes smirks, and leans down to grab you by the chin, forcing you to look at him as he brings the blade only inches away from your face. The second man’s hand hovers over your still covered pussy, and he grunts at green-eyes, who hands over the blade. The second man is impossibly tall, with long chestnut locks framing his covered face. A wift of cool air breezes against your now exposed pussy, and he runs the blade against your stomach, before handing it back to the man on your left. He brings the blade close to your face, but you can’t see where it is thanks to the mask still resting against you. You close your eyes as you hear a rip, and when you open them, you find that your mask is gone, and both men have discarded theirs as well. Americans, you remember meeting them only a few weeks ago. The Queen had, for some reason, allowed them to come to court, which before was unheard of, but no one dared to question Her Royal Highness.
Winchester. That was their name. The other ladies of the court were fawning all the brothers, they could have anyone they wanted, so why were you tied up like some animal?
“Sirs, please,” you sob, unable to hold your tears back any longer. “ I won’t say anything to anyone. My family– we have no money. There is nothing I can give you.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean slides the knife against your cheek. “We don’t want any money, your Queen has already paid us handsomely for our services.”
Your stomach drops as you realize what they want, and they’re going to take it whether you want them to or not. You flail against your bonds, trying and failing over and over again to free yourself. You only stop moving when Dean brings the blade against your cheek, pressing firmly enough that you can feel a trickle of blood roll down amongst your tears.
“I’d hate to scar up this pretty face,” Dean tsks, “but don’t think I won’t. You don’t need a perfect complexion for what we have in store for you, does she Sammy?”
Sam grunts in agreement, and you cry out for your mother and father.
“Hush, hush, darling,” Dean tuts, covering your mouth with his giant hand. There seems to be a sincerity in his voice, but it is gone before you can even process his words. “I know what you’re thinkin’,” Your eyes widen as you turn to face Sam, he’s already half-naked, and there’s a noticeable bulge in his trousers. “And sweetheart, you can’t imagine.”
“Please, don’t!”
“Maybe, if you’re a good girl, I’ll let Sammy warm you up before he sticks his cock in you,” Dean says as Sam palms himself, and you turn your attention back to the older brother. Dean fiddles with the knife, as if he feels the need to remind you that you are completely at his and Sam’s mercy.
“What’s going to be, Y/N?” Dean asks as he removes his shirt, and the bed dips as Sam climbs in the forced space between your legs. “Sammy has no problem going in there dry, do ya Sammy?”
“Wanna taste her,” Sam grumbles, but doesn’t move from his spot between your legs. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him speak, and it sends chills down your spine.
Sam’s eyes are filled with hunger as he stares down at your virgin pussy. He licks his lips, and slowly strokes his now-free cock.
“Have you ever let someone taste you, Y/N?” Dean rids himself of the rest of his clothes, and you gasp at the size of his cock. You’d never seen one this close before, you had, in fact, never seen one at all, outside of a textbook drawing.
Dean sets the blade down, and nuzzles against your neck, sucking marks onto you, before moving up and placing almost sweet kisses against your mouth and jaw. Warmth pools in your belly against your will, and you hate your body for betraying you, becoming more aroused as Sam and Dean continue touching you.
“She’s gushing, De,” Sam chortles and heat fills your cheeks. You don’t want this, you don’t want to lose your virginity to anyone other than your future husband. “Lemme taste her,” Sam runs a finger through your folds, slightly brushing over your clit.
“Is that what you want, baby?” Dean's mouth leaves your neck, and for a moment you think he’s talking to you, but then, he turns around to face his brother and presses his lips against Sam’s. Dean’s hand runs over Sam’s taught body, replacing Sam’s hand with his own around his cock. You’re shocked at the sight before you, you’d never seen two men kiss, let alone touch each other the way the brothers were. Sam moans against Dean’s lips, and Dean tugs him back by his long locks, if it wasn’t clear before, it was now obvious that Dean was the one in charge. You squirm as the brothers continue kissing over your naked body, tongues dancing together, and heat fills you from toes to fingers. Dean pulls away from his brother, and you’re sure you can hear a whimper leave Sam’s mouth.
“Are you upset that we’re not including you, Princess?” He snickers, eyes landing on your pussy, and you can feel the wetness pooling.
“Please, let me go,” you beg again. “I give you my word, sirs, I will speak of this to no one.”
“That’s not how this is gonna work, sweetheart. Our father is already telling your father that we’d like you to come with us. See, Sammy and me, we’re gonna need someone to help carry on the Winchester name, and it looks like you’re the perfect girl to do it.” Dean picks up the blade once again, “don’t you understand? You’re ours.”
Were your parents really just going to sell you off to the Winchesters without even informing you first? And Dean was making one point painfully clear; it didn’t matter who you married, you would now be the property of the Winchester family, and they can and will use you however you want.
Dean grips your jaw again, making you face him, as he climbs over you, his legs on either side of your chest, his thick cock jutting out from his body. He twirls the knife in his hands before slicing through your corset. You can’t see past him as he rips the bodice off of you, and his eyes stare down at your breasts. Dean massages them gently for a moment, and you feel the swipe of what has to be
Sam’s tongue against your pussy lips.
Sam fucks you with his tongue relentlessly, and you hate that you're getting pleasure from something you don’t want. An involuntary moan leaves your lips, and you can feel Sam hum in amusement as you can’t control your body. Dean plays with your tits, and leaves love bites all over them, before climbing even further up your body and taps the spongy tip of his cock against your lips.
You can see Dean’s patience growing thin as you refuse to open your mouth, and he turns his head to Sam, and you close your eyes, trying desperately to fight off what you can only assume is an orgasm. Suddenly, a finger is teasing your weeping hole, gathering your slick and then entering you. Sam’s mouth returns to your clit as he adds another finger, and you can no longer keep your mouth shut, forming a perfect ‘o’ as the coil inside you finally snaps.
Dean slides his cock into your mouth without hesitation, and begins fucking you with as much enthusaism as Sam. Neither brother stops, Sam, working you through your first orgasm, and to your shame and horror, another one following closely behind.
“She’s so tight, De,” you hear Sam over the sound of Dean fucking your mouth. “Definitely a virgin.”
Dean pulls away from you, and the brothers in well-coordinated dance switch
places, Sam moves to the side of the bed, slipping his cock into your mouth as Dean takes his place between your legs.
“Oh, Sammy, she’s dripping,” Dean says with a sly grin. “Did Sammy eat this cunt good?” Dean asks as he notches his tip at your entrance. It burns as he pushes into you, the only thing keeping you from screaming is Sam’s cock in your mouth.
Tears slide down your face as the brothers abuse your mouth and your pussy, unable to do anything but wait until they’re done with you.
“Dean asked you a question, Y/N.” Sam pulls himself out of your mouth, his cock covered in your saliva. He gathers you by the hair, yanking your head back, and you yelp out in pain. “Tell him how much you loved getting your cunt eaten. Tell him you want him to cum in your pussy.”
You repeat Sam’s words, and Dean’s pace quickens before his hips begin to stutter. With a final, deliberate thrust, Dean’s body stiffens, and you feel his cock twitch inside you as he coats your walls with his seed. As soon as he pulls out, Sam is back in his spot, entering you in a swift move. Dean watches from the side as you squirm under Sam, Dean may be thicker, but Sam is longer, and slam of hips make his cock hit your cervix.
At some point one of the brothers undid the bindings around your ankles, and you don’t realize it until Sam is throwing them around his shoulders, allowing him to hit new angles inside of you. He’s tightening the coil once again, and as his cock hits that sweet spot inside of you, his thumb swipes at your clit, and no matter how hard you try to fight it, and even more intense orgasm rips through you.
“Look at the mess she made, De,” Sam laughs as he briefly slows down. “Bet we could both get in here if we wanted.” Dean moves back towards you and Sam, chuckling as he looks down to see the now ruined sheets underneath you.
“Creamed up his cock so good, Y/N.”
Dean leans in, and once again presses his lips against Sam’s. Sam doesn’t slow, and the sound of his hips slapping against yours fills the room. Tears stream down your cheeks as Sam chases after his own release. But neither brother is focused on you anymore, and Sam wraps his hand around Dean’s half-hard cock, jerking it in time with every thrust he makes into you.
“I’m gonna cum,” Sam whispers as Dean pulls away.
“Me too, baby. Cum in that tight little pussy, then I’ll let you finish me off. Do it, Sammy,” he orders, “breed her.”
Sam picks up his pace once again, and with half a dozen more thrusts you can once again feel your walls being coated with Winchester seed. Sam’s mouth is on Dean’s cock, bobbing up and down until Dean stills, and when he pulls away, the brother’s share another passionate kiss.
“I see you boys started without me,” another voice enters the room. The brothers shoot each other a look before moving off the bed and stand on either side. The man comes into view; you don’t recognize him, he’s older, your father’s age at least.
“Sorry, Sir.”
The man notices the mess between your legs, and shakes his head at the brothers. A sly grin forms on his face, and he licks his lips, there's hunger, a lust, even more so than Sam or Dean, as he takes in your naked form.
You wish you could disappear, the brothers have already used you in more ways than you could imagine and now there is someone else. You want to cry, you wish you could, but all that comes out is a whimper, begging for them to let you go.
The older man lets out a breathy, low, chuckle as you squirm, his long digits leaving feather light touches as it travels back towards your abused hole. A groan leaves you as he tentatively pushes a finger in, and then another and pumps them a few times, before bringing them to your lips. He's coated in the remnants of Sam and Dean's cum, and orders you to open your mouth.
You're too scared to do anything but obey, letting the thick fingers that were just in your pussy sit on your tongue and he orders you to suck.
“Looks like my boys took good care of you, darlin’,” The man removes his shirt and trousers before climbing on to the bed, his body on top of yours. “Got that cunt of yours ready for Daddy?” You don’t respond, but Sam or Dean, you're not sure who, murmurs something. “Good, ‘cause you think my boys are big? Darlin' you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
Warnings: Lou wrote another Soulless Sam/lust curse fic! What a shock! I can hear the gasps now. Dirty (literally) romp in the woods (outdoor sex never ends well in real life), Sam in a tux (it’s warning-worthy), brief (sexy) choking, shameless use of the “uh oh gotta make out so we don’t get caught” trope (Sam tries it, at least), lust curse (essentially), and Soulless Sam being Soulless Sam (aka bossy, bitchy, and in control). Rough, thorough, explicit fucking. Very rough. Oddly enough, though, this is fairly... fun? Like they’re bickering the entire time, and they say they don’t like each other, but they also totally like each other.
A/N: For @cockslut-padalecki and her “Not My Ninth” challenge!
My prompts were “charity gala” and the song Closer, by Nine Inch Nails. You know the one: “I want to fuck you like an animal.” So. This is that. In formalwear! Title is from the song as well.
ETA - @werwulfy did this absolutely amazing drawing inspired by this story! Check it out!
“Can you pretend to like me for an hour, at least?” Sam asked casually. “This won’t take long.”
The maintenance trail emerged from the woods, concealed in a patch of shrubbery. I paused to toe my flats off and stash them under a bush.
“Can you act like a real boy for an hour? Instead of fuckin’... SamBot 2000?”
He chuckled at that, the low, cocky, distinctively soulless laugh that set my teeth on edge. I smacked him in the chest with my clutch to make him hold it as I got my heels on.
I’d almost been relieved to find out that Sam was missing his soul. Now that I didn’t have to worry about hurting his feelings, I wasn’t bothering to hide my distaste for the new Sam-droid. He’d been getting under my skin in a bad way. Dean was with Lisa for the weekend, though, and we had a black-tie charity gala to sneak into, so I had reluctantly agreed to be the Saminator’s date for the night.
We made our way toward the back patio of the historical mansion. The paths were more well-lit here, illuminated so that guests could roam the extravagant gardens. As we passed the hedge maze — of course there was a fucking hedge maze — Sam moved closer and put a hand on my back, fingers splayed across the span of bare skin where my fancy dress draped and plunged.
“Have I mentioned how good you look tonight?” he commented, his voice husky. I shivered and shook him off.
That was the flip side of everything being out in the open. Now that he wasn’t trying to be the normal gentlemanly Sam, he wasn’t bothering to hide the way he was checking me out. I hated the new Sam, or at least my rational side did. My body? Not so much. My traitorous body was very fond of this new Sam. Aggressive and confident was a good look on him.
So was that fucking tux.
“I need a drink,” I muttered. He laughed again.
“Sure you don’t want to dance?” Sam asked, as we looked around the ballroom at the glittering crowd.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I sighed.
“Hey, we made it through the door. The rest is a piece of cake.”
Through the ballroom, out into the entryway, down a wood-paneled corridor, duck several security guards and a couple velvet ropes… it actually was a piece of cake, to my surprise. We got to the library without incident and made our way over to a wall of shelves opposite the door.
“There,” I said, pointing to a tiny ivory statue of some half-animal pagan god. I’d just opened my clutch and taken out a handkerchief to protect my hand when we heard footsteps approaching.
“Always wanted to try this move,” Sam said, grinning as he pulled me close.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snapped.
Then Sam was kissing me, fingers curling around my jaw as he sucked on my lower lip, and the scrape of his teeth made my head spin. I took a dizzy step backward, colliding with the shelf, and threw an arm out to steady myself as I kissed him back. For a second I was lost in it, drowning in the feel of his body against mine.
“Hey, you can’t be in here!”
Sam pulled away, glancing down at me with huge dark eyes. Then he turned to the guard with a sheepish, “Oops.”
“Sorry,” I said, trying to make myself look innocently surprised.
I did not feel innocent.
“Let’s see your invitations,” the guard barked. “Names?”
“That always works so well in movies,” Sam muttered, and then he burst into action, springing forward, punching the guard just before he could grab his walkie-talkie. The guy fell heavily, and Sam knelt to check his pulse while I turned back to the shelf.
The statuette was lying on its side, and for a second I didn’t understand how that could’ve happened.
Fuck.
“I need your handkerchief to gag him, c’mon,” Sam ordered.
“Jesus, you’re fucking bossy.” I picked the thing up gingerly and dropped it in my clutch. When I turned around, Sam was knotting his cummerbund neatly around the guy’s ankles.
“Not bad, right?” he asked, admiring his work smugly.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed that guard’s wrists (bound in Sam’s tie) to help drag him behind a bookshelf, where he wouldn’t be visible from the door. Sam gagged him carelessly.
We peered around the door before stepping into the hall, walking quickly, and made a beeline through the entrance hall, Sam tugging me along by the wrist. When we hit the ballroom we slowed down, trying to look inconspicuous. His hand settled on my back again, and this time I didn’t try to move away.
“See? Piece of cake.”
“Well...”
“Seriously? Tell me you didn’t touch it.”
“I can’t say that with 100% certainty,” I said testily.
“Let’s focus on getting out of here. Stay calm.”
“Easy for you to say!”
“You’re not in any immediate danger.”
“Oh, well, as long as it’s not immediate,” I grouched.
We were quiet as we made our way down the steps and into the garden. The full moon had come out from behind the clouds, and it was almost too bright as we ducked off the main path; we had to be extra careful as we stuck to the shadows. I kicked my heels off, leaving them there under the bush, and as soon as I had my normal shoes on we started down the maintenance trail.
“So?” Sam asked. I struggled to keep pace as he led the way on his stupid long giant legs. “Did you just forget about how you’re not supposed to touch the magic statue?”
“It’s not like I grabbed it on purpose. I think I brushed against it when you fuckin’ shoved me up against the wall, asshole. This is your fault. Just tell me what’s gonna happen.”
Sam snorted. “It makes you act on animal instinct. Brings out whatever nasty thing you’ve been repressing because of social expectations. Which I guess could be problematic, considering that you repress just about every-fucking-thing, but…”
“Fuck you. I do not.”
“As long as you give in, you’ll be fine. It’s just a problem when people try to ignore it. Hell, maybe this’ll be good for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” A weird prickle of heat ran down my spine.
“Exactly what it sounded like,” Sam retorted, completely unrepentant. “You’d be a hell of a lot happier if you just let go sometimes. Unless your repressed instinct is homicide, I guess. That’s where the body count on that thing comes in. Are you feeling homicidal?”
“Keep talking and I just might.”
Out of nowhere, there was this jolt of heat through my gut, sharp and sudden, and I stumbled.
“What was that?” Sam asked. He sounded more intrigued than concerned.
“I’m fine. I miss the real you, but I’m fine.”
As soon as I said it, another flash of arousal went through me. I let out a low, breathless moan and stopped short.
“That’s not what you sound like when you’re fine.”
“Fuck off.”
It wasn’t a normal sort of lust. It hurt as it cramped through me, like pinpricks, too urgent to be natural.
“Oh,” Sam said. He smirked, head tilted, evaluating me with laser-sharp focus. The intensity of that stare sent a whole new wave of need through me.
“I’m fine,” I repeated. My skin was tingling all over, and I wanted to jump him almost as much as I wanted to punch him.
Then he was coming in close, prowling, predatory… my first instinct was to back away, but my feet were carrying me forward without my permission. We collided, his hands firm on my waist, mine sliding up the front of his suit jacket to grip the lapels and cling.
“You’re not fine,” he said smugly.
“Help me,” I gritted out.
He looked around, assessing our surroundings, before pushing over to the nearest big tree and crowding me up against the wide trunk. One hand curled under my chin and tilted my head back to meet his gaze.
His face was beautiful but strange in the moonlight, an abstract collection of silvery lines and pooling shadows, but I could see the way his eyes were glittering. I swallowed hard.
“How do you want it, then?” Sam asked, casual like we were talking about the weather.
Fuck.
“Just… your fingers,” I said tersely, trying to control my breathing and my imagination.
“You think that’ll be enough?” he asked, as he rucked up my dress.
“God, I hope so,” I sighed. I closed my eyes, trying to block everything out, trying not to breathe in the clean, spicy masculine scent of him.
“Seriously? Am I that hideous to you?” He tugged my panties down and I stepped out of them shakily, distracted by the way his knuckles brushed slowly up my inner thigh. “Tell me you haven’t thought about this before. Or are you hung up on the whole soul thing?”
“Don’t.”
Sam shrugged. He hooked a hand under one of my knees, hefting my leg up and to one side, steadying me as I clung to the front of his jacket. Then he was sinking two fingers into me, and my eyes rolled back in my head at the feel of it, this immediate overwhelming rush of bone-deep relief.
“Tell me what you like.” His fingers twisted deeper with an obscene slick ease, curling and crooking.
“This — this is good,” I croaked, biting my lip.
Sam shifted, leaning down to whisper in my ear: “I can feel how close you are already, but that’s not enough. It’s about animal instinct. Things you’ve been repressing. What do you fantasize about? What do you really want?”
“I don’t want anything else from you.”
“Do you wish it was Dean, instead of me?” I let my head fall back, whining, rolling my hips. He laughed quietly. “You can pretend, if you want. I don’t care. Think about how he’d feel —”
“Fuck you,” I hissed. “Shut up.”
His thumb circled my clit, and my thighs started to shake.
“What are you so ashamed of?” he asked, low and silky. “Believe me, however filthy you think you are, I’ve done worse. C’mon, let go, I’ve got you.” I whimpered, shuddering as I came, while Sam held me steady, pinning me against the tree, teasing me: “Good girl. There you go… now can you just admit you were wrong? Let me help.”
It was already starting to hurt again, even as I shivered through the aftershocks. There were bright spots dancing in my vision.
“I want to be on top,” I snapped.
He smirked. “Suit yourself.”
Sam picked me up by the waist without warning, moving me bodily out of the way, and I almost stumbled. He shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and spread it on the ground, covering the moss and crunchy leaves that blanketed the base of the tree, so that he could sit up with his back against the trunk. My cheeks burned at the sound of his zipper.
I straddled him, clumsy and overeager, trying to hike my dress up. Sam fumbled between us, trying to help, but for a moment we were all tangled up, getting in each other's way. I heard the seam of my skirt give with a rip as I pulled it out of the way carelessly. Then the hot thick head of his cock was sliding up against my entrance, and the way it pressed in, blunt and velvety-smooth and big, made every rational thought fly out the window.
Sam’s fingers were bruisingly tight on my hips. In the moonlight I could see the way he was clenching his jaw as he let his head fall back against the tree trunk. It bared the tendons and muscles of his neck over his open collar, and I leaned in before I could think twice, nipping sharply at the soft skin under his jaw.
“Harder,” Sam breathed. “Let go. I know you want to.”
“You don’t know me,” I protested, but the last word caught and hitched and turned into a moan.
“Always figured you’d fuck the same way you fight… like a wild animal. You like it rough, don’t you? You want me to mark you up and make it hurt.”
“I don’t —”
He ran one hand up my bare back and then scratched, fingernails catching like lines of fire as they dragged down. I shouted, muscles spasming as my cunt clenched around him, and he laughed, ragged and breathy.
“Animal instinct, remember? Don’t try to pretend you didn’t like that. No point lying when I can feel it from the inside.”
I slid my fingers into his hair and kissed him, teeth sinking into his lower lip until I tasted blood. Sam fisted a hand in my hair in return, yanking, tugging my head back to expose my neck. He sucked a bruise into my collarbone — dragged his mouth down — nibbled at the swell of my breast, finding my nipple through the silk of my dress, sucking, teeth scraping —
He flipped us without warning, slamming me down onto my back so hard it knocked the breath from my lungs. All I could do was gasp for air, dizzyingly close. He was completely in control as he sat back on his heels, holding my hips up so that he could rock into me with shallow little thrusts, rubbing perfectly against my g-spot. He looked down, eyes fixed to the place where his cock was splitting me open.
“You gonna do something about it, or just stare all night?” I whimpered, my voice strained.
Sam grinned, dangerously sharp, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake.
He reached down and wrapped his long fingers around my throat, fingers nudging expertly into position so that he could cut off blood flow without crushing my windpipe. My vision started to go sparkly black at the edges. Then his other hand palmed my belly, his thumb circling roughly around my clit, and my spine bowed up like he’d zapped me to life with a defibrillator.
He released my neck, and at the first head-spinning gulp of oxygen I came hard and fast, writhing under him, trying to stifle my wild sobs by biting down on my own forearm.
I was still shaking when he pulled out and grabbed my legs, flipping me onto my stomach roughly, hauling my hips up until I was on my knees with my elbows in the dirt and my ass up in the air. My eyes were stinging with tears. I made an ugly noise of relief as I felt the slick burn of his cock again.
It felt so good that it took me a second to realize that the unnatural prickly heat in my belly was gone. It wasn’t the curse making my cunt throb and clench around him. This was a different sort of desperation.
“Should see yourself,” he whispered, his voice shredded. “Any idea how filthy you look? With your legs spread and your dress up around your waist and your face down in the dirt, begging to get fucked?”
“Not begging yet,” I snarled. “Is that all you got?”
He scratched my back again, one hand raking down between my shoulderblades in a glorious lash of fiery pain, and then he grabbed me by the hair again, twisting as he held me down. He pulled out slow and shoved in all at once.
“Anybody ever tell you how good you look on your knees? Being so good for me. Been thinking about this for so long, since the first time I saw you fight.”
My head spun. That was years ago, long before Sam lost his soul, and —
— oh.
He fucked me harder, hips snapping forward with a sharp smack of skin on skin, swiveling in deep to wrench too-intense pleasure from me with every thrust.
“You’re gonna come for me, one more time. Let me feel you.”
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” I growled.
“That’s my girl.”
“Not,” I slurred, defiant even though it felt like he was breaking me. “Not yours.”
“Maybe not, but you’re going to do what I tell you. Let go.”
I let out a raw, helpless sob. My head didn’t want to listen, but my body was already gone.
Everything froze and dissolved into white. The rest of the world faded away, brilliant and beautiful, for a long transcendent moment; it felt like ecstasy, like a religious experience, like peace.
And then I snapped back into reality, to the ugly human chaos of the moment, the smell of dirt and sweat, sensations jumbling together: broken sounds spilling from my lips, slowly receding waves of my orgasm clenching in my core, Sam grinding into me one last time. He came with a shout and I gasped, shaking, feeling the way he pulsed inside me.
It took a second before either of us could move, but then Sam pulled me upright, pulling me back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me.
For a second, I forgot this wasn’t the real Sam, the soft kind sweet one, the Sam I loved.
I tilted my head back against his shoulder, wondering when we could do that again, and let out a soft, “God.”
“Pretty much the opposite, actually,” he said, with that unmistakable cold smirk in his voice. He pressed the heel of his hand between my legs, blunt and rough, making me moan. “Should probably shower before the next round. Guess we could do both at once, if we want to be efficient about it.”
I bristled. “What, you’re just going to assume —”
“You were thinking the same thing, don’t lie to me.”
“Fine,” I snapped. “But I’m still not going to pretend to like you.”
Summary: You organized the event of the year, however, the others had something different planned.
Warnings: None.
A/N: This is my entry to @cockslut-padalecki ’s Not my ninth challenge with the song:
“Creep- Radiohead & Charity gala.”
Thanks to my beta reader @saiyanprincessswanie
My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake, please let me know and I will correct it.
I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.
My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.
If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.
You were about to lose your temper as things weren't going as you had planned.
"At what damn moment did it occur to Stark that I should organize this? I'm just an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” you sputtered while trying to fix the table vase.
"Y/N, I was looking for you...” Steve chimed in but was cut off by you.
"Not now, Cap. I have to fix this mess," you replied while still accommodating the things.
Steve grimaced as his plan wasn't turning out the way he was expecting it.
"Take advantage and invite her out," Bucky whispered.
"That's what I'm trying to do, but...”
"No ifs, you're going to ask her out on a date," Bucky encouraged Steve by giving him a little push to walk towards her.
"The decoration and organization are stunning," Stark said.
“It would have looked better if you had hired a professional,” you answered. You still had no idea what to do if the caterer didn't arrive or if another situation happened that was completely out of your hands.
"No, you’re the best for this and the only one who would make everything perfect tonight,” replied Tony with a smile.
You smiled slightly at his compliment. As soon as you could you would talk to Fury to prevent something like this from happening again.
"Y/N," Steve called to you again.
"Steve, what happened?” Internally you begged that there wouldn't be any problems or you would collapse. “Are you having fun?”
"Yes, everything’s very nice. What about you are you having fun?”
"I... not really.” What you wanted was to run away from this place and go home to sleep.
"Why? Is there something going on?”
“I want to leave. I'm very tired. I had to organize and fix all this...”
“Everything looks great from where I’m standing. Trust me, if I had done this it would surely be a disaster.” Steve tried to reassure her but he could tell she was still unsure about the compliment.
"But you save the world,” you responded grumpily.
“You do too, you're an agent. Let me propose something to you. We'll go wherever you want, just you and me. Will that help?” Steve asked.
You nodded as Steve took your hand, leading you out of the room. Wherever he's going to take you it would be a lot more relaxing than this place.
Natasha approached Bucky and Tony smiling. “Did it work? “The redhead questioned.
Hello friends!! This is my entry for @cockslut-padalecki ‘s Not My Ninth Challenge, congratulations my friend! That’s amazing!!
My prompts were: Masquerade ball and “Everything I do (I do it for you) by Bryan Adams.
Summary: You and your family are the victim of a demon. You are saved by the local blacksmiths, a pair of brothers who happen to also hunt monsters. You embark on the case with the younger brother, attending a masquerade ball with him in order to end the demon once and for all.
The ball is heavily based off “Masquerade of the Red Death” by Edgar Allen Poe.
Also, I am madly in love with Blacksmith!Sam. I didn’t know I needed this until I started writing it and now....I NEED IT.
Word Count: 9013
Pairings: Blacksmith!Sam x Reader
--------------------------
The rain patted softly against the windowpane of your bedroom. Its hollow sound echoing off the quiet walls keeping you safe and warm. You stretched your arms above your head, flexing your back and the tired muscles in your legs. The blankets felt warm and comforting wrapped around your limbs, and you didn't want to move, but preparations must be made. You forced your tired limbs to act and swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet touching the cold wooden floor. Making your way across the room to look out the window, you grabbed your robe on your way—the fabric wrapping your skin in its soft embrace. The street was still bustling with carriages and horses making their way across London. The sound of the hooves and wheels melting into the wash of rain.
“Lady Y/N.” A familiar voice spoke behind you, a warm smile spreading across your face as you turned around.
“Good morning, Elizabeth.” You tilted your head to the side as you walked over to her.
“How was your sleep, miss?” She asked, her fingers playing with the hem of her apron.
"It was fine; how was yours?" You asked.
"Fine, thank you for asking, miss. Would you like some tea?" She asked you even though she knew she didn't have to. Your morning routine was the same every day.
"Yes, please, and would you ask Arnold to get a fire ready? I would very much like to warm my feet on this cold and damp day." You said, making your way over to your vanity and waiting for her.
"Of course, miss." She gave you a slight bow before making her way downstairs to collect your tea and relay the message to Arnold. You ran your fingers through your hair, looking at your reflection in the mirror and almost wincing at the sight. Everything that reminded you of them in your features stung. Your nose, your eyes, your cheeks. All carved from two people who no longer walked this earth. You licked your lips and turned away from your reflection, fingering your necklace as you waited for Elizabeth to return.
She set the tray down in front of you, a teapot, a teacup, sugar cubes, and milk all waiting to be used. She poured tea into the cup and stepped behind you, taking a hairbrush off the vanity. Her hands moved through your hair, brushing it out so she could style it in the latest fashion. You stirred in what you liked and lifted the cub between your fingers, your movements halting instantly. This was your mother's cup. You could tell by how the paint was worn in the places where her delicate fingers would rest. You swallowed around the building lump in your throat, your chin quivering. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip to try and stop the flood that was about to erupt from you, the iron taste of blood filling your mouth as you bit too hard.
A loud thud pulled you abruptly from your slumber. The moon was still high in the sky, darkness filling your bedroom. Your body shot up, a gasping breath pulling into your lungs. You heard a scream. Your mothers scream. Her voice was scared and frantic. Footsteps echoed throughout the downstairs. Laughing. Someone was laughing. Your father's voice could be heard begging. Your strong and masculine father was whimpering—his broken sobs filling the quiet house. Your heart was racing in your chest so fast it was almost painful. You could hear your own breath loud in your ears. You closed your eyes and begged it to only be a dream. When you opened your eyes, you realized that your feet had swung over the side of the bed on their own accord. A sweat covered your skin, and your stomach rolled in your abdomen. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
You forced yourself to drink the tea, swallowing the liquid in almost one gulp just to get your hands off the cup. Your fingers twitched as you placed it back on the saucer, and you nervously lowered your hands to your lap, wringing them together against the fabric of your robe. You chanced a glance at yourself in the mirror and practiced your smile, pulling your lips up into an attractive smirk. Even you saw the hollowness in your eyes, the empty spaces behind them.
“How is this, miss?” Elizabeth’s calming voice asked behind you.
“Beautiful, thank you, Elizabeth." You said, looking up at her in the mirror with a genuine smile and a slight nod. She beamed with pride and placed her hands on your shoulders, looking you over.
“Shall we get you dressed for the day?” She asked, her fingers squeezing into your skin lovingly.
“Yes. I shall go for a walk today. I much wish to be outdoors, at least for a little.” You said, standing and facing your closet. Elizabeth pulled out a sensible dress for the outdoors, one without a train on a rainy day like today. You nodded and pulled your robe and nightdress off, stepping into undergarments and preparing yourself for your corset. Elizabeth was good to leave the laces somewhat loose, allowing for proper breathing and eating.
The fire was warm as you ate breakfast quietly and alone. The rain was lessening, the sounds of the city becoming loud. Your eyes wandered the room where you sat, the faint stains on the walls a constant reminder.
Your feet took you down the stairs and through the house quietly. Your tiptoes the only thing making contact with the cold wood floor. You rounded the corner, and your breath caught in your throat harshly. The walls were painted in fresh blood, its crimson color dripping down to the floor. Your stomach rolled, and you placed one hand over it while the other came to cover your mouth, lurching forward in violent nausea. Fingers caught your eye, and you shook your head at the thought. You stepped towards the hand, walking over puddles of blood on your way. The floor creaked, and your movements stopped as if time stood still. You could feel him, the evil seeping out of every pore in his body. You turned and saw him standing there, a bloody knife in his curled fist. A chill ran up your spine, and you felt all the moisture leave your mouth, anxiety spreading through your veins quickly. You felt paralyzed under his gaze. He smiled at you, pointing the knife at you and raising his eyebrows. You took off, feet flying faster than you thought possible. Your blood was pumping so fast it was making you dizzy. You didn't know where to go, where to hide. His footsteps were heavy behind yours, getting closer with every step. You rounded another corner and made your way towards the front door. He almost had you in his grasp. You could smell the blood on his clothes as he reached his hand up to grab your arm. The door suddenly swung open, and you ran face-first into his chest.
Pushing your plate away, you stood and grabbed an umbrella before heading outside. Shaking off the memory and forcing your lips into a polite smile for the sake of your reputation. The cobblestone street was wet, small rivers of water racing through the cracks between the stones. You raised your umbrella and made your way through the crowd of people, horses, and carriages. You walked until you saw the sign in front of you, your face glancing up at the beaten wooden sign "Winchester Blacksmiths." You dipped into the ally next to you, staying out of sight and through the back door. Your heels clicked against the floor as you stepped inside. The sound of tools slamming together was loud in the small room, and knew he was working. You turned a corner and leaned against the door frame, watching him work. The room was an open space built with dark wood and metal. Tools lined the walls and shelves, all surrounding a raging fire and a water pit. The air in the room was thick with heat, humidity, and the smell of hot iron. Directly in the middle of the room stood Samuel. He was shirtless, his pants hanging around his hips. Soot, ash, and dirt-covered his skin and sat in the crevices of his muscles. The veins on his arms bulged as he raised the hammer over his head, bringing it down heavily to ram against the farm tool he was working on. Sweat dripped off his pointed nose and onto the floor. His hair hung in his eyes, and you bit back a giggle as he shook his head in an attempt to move it around in place. His chest heaved, heavy and oversized breaths filling his lungs. You let yourself stare at the massive man longer than necessary; in fact, it was downright improper. You couldn't look away. He was utterly captivating. His tongue poked out to lick his lips, leaving a wet sheen across them as he wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. He turned and placed the tool into the water basin; steam rose and surrounded him in its hazy embrace, leaving you bewitched by him. You knew you had to tell him you were here, knew how it would look if he found you gawking. A lady such as yourself should never be seen acting indecently in public. You raised your hand and gave three knocks on the wood next to you, causing those beautiful eyes to finally fall on you and widen at your sudden appearance. He stood a little taller when he looked at you, his back straightening and shoulders squaring. A mixture of sweat and soot sat in the notch below his throat, and you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together at the sight. Now that he was looking at you, you could see how the streaks of black ash highlighted his blueish green eyes, making them look even more entrancing. His pants were unlaced, leaving them loose and almost falling down his hips. It was almost as if he suddenly realized he needed to say something, his muscles clenching and his mouth falling open.
“M’lady." He greeted you with a slight bow of his head. His voice was deep and husky, breathy from working all morning.
“Samuel.” You replied, taking a step into the shop. He turned and picked up a metal cup, taking large gulps from it, water splashing over his chin. You watched the water run down his jaw and over his neck, jumping his collar bone and finally landing in his chest hair. The feeling of water on his skin must have reminded him that he was without a shirt, as he looked down and then quickly back up at you, his eyes growing wide.
“Please excuse my appearance, m’lady. Allow me to put more proper attire on.” He looked at you sheepishly.
“You saved me from a demon, Samuel. We have seen each other in more vulnerable situations than our skin.” You answered, secretly loving this small exchange you were having. You watched his throat work as he swallowed, eyes staying on you for a beat too long. The corners of his lips pulled into a small smile, and he glanced away from you, eyes nervously falling to the floor. “Please, call me Y/N.” You added, letting yourself relax and hoping he would follow your instruction this time.
“What can I do for you, m’lady?" He asked, grabbing his shirt from the bench it rested on and putting it over his head. You watched the fabric fall over his muscles, and your fingers twitched at the desire to reach out and touch him.
"I was hoping to inquire about any news in the search for the demon." You said, keeping your voice low, so no one heard you on the street.
“It was my intention to tell you tonight.” He started, “Dean and I have tracked the demon to Lord Whitherton.” He said, leaning against the water basin. Your eyebrows shot up dramatically.
“Lord Whitherton?” You said, disbelief lacing your words.
“Do you know him?” He asked.
"I do, and the man believes water to be spicy." You said, your hand coming up to touch your chest in shock. He laughed then, a wholehearted laugh that came from deep within his belly. You smiled too, watching his dimples deepen in his cheeks. His laughter subsided, his eyes landing on you once again, making your heart flutter in your chest within his stare. He licked his bottom lip, teeth sinking down lightly onto his tongue. You couldn’t stop the slight hitch in your breath.
“There is a problem.” He said, his voice becoming serious.
“What is it?” You asked.
“He is to host the ball at Bryar Manor in half a fortnight. We need to get to him then before he hurts anyone.” He explained. You nodded in understanding. You cast your eyes down and narrowed them in thought.
“Samuel. Does anyone at Bryar Manor know you or know that you are a blacksmith?” You asked him, your finger coming up to touch your chin as a plan formed in your mind. His brows knitted together on his forehead in confusion.
“No.” He answered after thinking for a beat.
“I can acquire an invitation to this ball.” You said, letting your eyes connect with his while he put the pieces together in his mind. His face fell, eyes widening at what you were suggesting.
“We would attend this ball together.” He said, letting his words hang in the air between you for a moment.
“Yes.” You answered, pushing down your growing nerves. You could see the pink rise to his cheeks as he raised a hand to nervously rub the back of his neck. He swallowed and opened his mouth only to close it again, letting out a shaky breath.
“I do not have proper clothing.” He said finally.
“I have a tailor.” You said, not letting him back out of this.
“I do not have money.” He said quickly.
“They owe me a favor.” You said quicker. He nodded his head and drew his lips into a thin line.
"When shall we go?" He asked, giving in to the idea. The left side of your mouth pulled into a small smile, feeling your body stiffen with excitement. To say that a growing need to be with Sam was taking hold of you was an understatement. You wanted him more than you wished to anyone in your life, and if the only way you could have him was through fake courtship, so be it.
"I will make arrangements for tonight; the cloak of night should keep our secret." You said, grabbing your umbrella.
“Very well, m’lady.” He said, bowing his head once again.
“Oh, and Samuel.” You said, turning and looking at him over your shoulder.
“Yes?” He said.
“Bathe before then.” You gave him a small laugh and left before he could answer.
-------------------
He watched you walk away from him, letting his eyes linger on your form. He ached for you, desperately needing you for his own. His days were left swimming with thoughts of you, dragging on as he waited to see you again only to find you invading his dreams in the night. Your y/e/c eyes looking into his for all eternity. Holding him captive in their gaze. He listened to the back door close, and he thought of the first time he saw you.
Sam kicked the door down, charging into the house with Dean on his heels. You suddenly ran directly into Sam’s chest, knocking him off his balance as he tried to catch you. You were screaming, tears running down your cheeks, and arms wildly flailing against him.
“I am here." That was the only thing he could think to say at the moment. You began to shake, the tragedy you experienced beginning to come to a realization. Dean chased after the demon with holy water, spraying the man so he couldn't get away. The demon smoked out of the man, swarming out the door and off into the black night.
“Sam?” Dean’s voice rang out from the house.
"I am unhurt, Dean," Sam assured his brother quietly. You finally looked up at him, your eyes staring into his, a mixture of confusion, terror, and heartache profound within them. Sam touched your shoulder lightly, feeling at a loss for words. You surprised yourself and him when you threw your arms around him, burying her face into the crook of his neck. Sam’s brow furrowed, but he held you, listening to your sobs of agony. He took you inside the house, still keeping you close to him tightly. He saw Dean standing in an archway, his face solemn. Sam could see the walls dripping with blood from the limited view he had, knew something horrible had happened here.
“Dean?” Sam asked.
"Don't bring her in here," Dean said quickly, pointing away from the room and into the rest of the house. Sam nodded and took her upstairs, letting you take the lead to your bedroom. It was highly improper for the two of you to be alone together in your bedchambers, you in your nightdress and him of a lower status. He swallowed and sat you down on the bed; he lit a few candles before kneeling in front of you.
“My name is Samuel, lady Y/L/N.” He said, trying to keep his voice as calm as he could.
“What happened tonight, Samuel?” You said, your voice small and shaky. Your hands still shaking in your lap as you desperately searched his face for answers.
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Night had just fallen when you both approached the tailor’s shop.
“M’lady.” Samuel greeted you with a bow of his head.
“Samuel, how many times must I ask you to call me Y/N?” You asked him, tilting your head to the side and smiling at him.
“I fear once more, m’lady.” He said with a smile of his own. He walked up the steps and opened the door for you, nodding at your thanks.
“Lady Y/L/N, how good it is to see you again.” The tailor greeted you, his eyes looking over Samuel with curiosity.
“Hello, Mr. Artin. I have a request to ask of you; I do apologize in advance as it is short notice." You said in your most ladylike voice, folding your hands over one another and giving him your most charming smile.
“I am sure I would be happy to fill any request from such a lovely lady.” He said with a soft voice.
"We require a dinner suit and a long frock coat for Mr. Winchester. He shall be courting me to the ball at Bryar Manor." You explained, keeping your voice light. You didn't miss the way Sam stiffened next to you or the sharp inhale you heard pulled into his lungs. The tailor looked between the two of you for a moment. The confusion evident on his face while he tried to understand the situation. It must look strange, you in a dress fit for a lady and Sam in his tunic and pants. Your hands untouched by a day's work where Sam's calloused skin was still blackened by a long day of labor.
"I see." The tailor finally said, rearranging his face back into its polite features. "That is short notice, but I believe it can be done." He agreed, taking a step towards Sam and judging his massive size. They walked into a fitting room together, Sam clearly uncomfortable and nervous, his eyes flicking back to you with every step. You perched yourself in a chair, hands folded in your lap and face in a passive smile as you waited. You were bred for this, groomed for courtship and marriage to a wealthy lord. You hated it, hated that all you were was for the pleasure of men and their needs. You saw nothing wrong with love, marriage, or men, but you hated that you couldn't live your life for you and your wants. The days were long when there were only needlework, tea, and books to pass the time with. The nights even longer when the loneliness would seep into your bones, filling you with restless energy. You were expected to be pure in every sense of the word, and ending your loneliness would ruin any chance you had at upholding your family's good name. Letting out a small sigh, you wished your parents had a son. Had another child who would follow all the rules with no questions asked, but it was just you.
The door opened, interrupting your thoughts, and Sam stepped out holding two fabrics. One was a deep maroon with a golden floral pattern interlaced into it; the other was a rich emerald. Both were satin and easily the most expensive fabrics to ever grace a blacksmith's hands. His face was pinched as if he was trying to look like this was a choice he frequently made. You pulled your lips into your mouth to stop the laugh threatening to erupt from your chest.
“I like the maroon.” You said, crossing your legs and leaning forward slightly. He gave you a relieved smile and held up the maroon higher, nodding at the tailor.
“Very well.” The tailor agreed and wrote something down in his book.
You finished at the tailor and quickly left the shop, stepping out onto the street and breathing in a sigh of relaxation. Sam lowered his head and let out a small laugh.
“Thank you for this, m’lady," Sam said, looking down at you.
“I certainly owe you for my life.” You said with a sad smile.
“It is but only my job.” He said kindly, a stray piece of hair falling into his eyes, and it took everything in you not to reach up and push it back in place.
“Walk me home, Samuel.” You instructed, turning towards the direction of your house.
“At once, m’lady.” He agreed with a crooked grin. He began to walk, and you stopped him, placing your hand on his shoulder.
"We may need to have some lessons on etiquette." You giggled. "Here, hold out your right elbow to me, and place your hand on your chest with an open palm. Good." You praised him. "Always offer me your right elbow, so I am never on the left of the road." You hooked your hand through his elbow and placed your other hand over your fingers. You began to walk together, looking like a genuine courting couple.
“So when we do find this demon…” You let your voice trail off.
“I must send it back to where it came.” He said firmly.
“And how exactly does one do that?” You asked.
"We must trap it first; it is something called a devils trap; it renders them powerless while inside. Then, we exorcise it and send it back to hell." He explained. You nodded and looked away, feeling the emotions bubble up inside you again. “M’lady, there is something I wish to discuss with you.” He said softly, keeping his voice steady.
“What is it?” You asked, leaning your body away from his slightly to look into his profile. He stopped walking and turned to face you, looking down at you under the glow of the moon.
“When we find this demon…we must not let our emotions take over us. We must keep ourselves impassive to his atrocities and remain focused.” He said, his tone gentle but firm. You let your face relax and bit your bottom lip, nodding in agreement.
“I am used to it, Samuel. Women cover up their emotions often in both private and public.” You said with a bitter laugh.
“What do you mean?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.
"Rage is a man's luxury." You began, stepping back from the warmth of his body. "When a man expresses his anger, it is understood and almost expected. Excused as biology and dismissed as an impulse. However, no matter how justified her actions, she is considered mad when a woman shows anger. An unhinged lunatic who requires a man to put her in her proper place. Control her." You said, keeping your voice light and airy to further prove your point.
“I am sorry that you struggle in such a way.” He said kindly, his eyes softening as he looked you over.
"There are worse fates." You said with genuine care, feeling your jaw unclench and your muscles relax. He held out his elbow to you again, and the two of you began to walk.
“Do you not fear people will recognize me as the blacksmith?” He asked.
“No. I do not.” You said confidently. “We shall wear masks. It is a masquerade ball.” You said, falling back into step with him quickly. He nodded and twitched his mouth nervously.
“What you mentioned about being controlled. Is that a fear of yours, m’lady?" He asked cautiously. You looked back up at him, surprised by the forward question.
“Yes.” You answered honestly. “However, I can assure you, Samuel. I have no intention of being controlled.” Your voice was slightly louder than before, saying it to yourself as much as you were to him.
“And I can assure you, I have no intention of controlling you, m’lady." He said, shocking the both of you with his flirtation. "Heaven help the man who tries." He laughed then, his breath showing in the cool night.
“Indeed.” You agreed, trying to conceal your pounding heart.
He stopped in front of your house and stepped around you, smiling down at you with those gorgeous dimples, the shadows making them look even deeper.
“Come by the shop tomorrow? I wish to give you a few reading materials on demons.” He said. You nodded, smiling up at him with nervous energy.
"I will come in the night after all others have retired for the evening." You agreed.
“I shall await your visit." He said, his face coming closer to yours, and for a moment, you almost allowed yourself to give in to the temptation.
"Sweet dreams, Samuel." You almost whispered your breath mingling with his in the space between you.
“Sweetest of dreams, m’lady." He whispered back, tipping his head in an almost bow and stepping away from you and onto the road. You gathered yourself and walked into your house. The door closed behind you, and you pressed your back against it, resting your head on the cool wood.
"A demon, m’lady. My brother and I have been following it for some time; that is how we knew it was here." Samuel explained, his eyes catching the moonlight.
"A what?" You asked, shocked. There was too much happening. Too many emotions coursed through you at the moment. Fear. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. They raced through your brain and blood, causing you to feel alarmed and overwhelmed.
“This isn’t the proper time to have this conversation, m’lady.” He said quietly. Your world snapped back into focus around you at his words, and you felt your heart drop in your chest.
“They are dead, aren’t they?” You said, both wanting him and not wanting him to answer.
“Yes, m’lady. I am so sorry we couldn’t get here in time.” His voice was apologetic and kind. You broke then, the flood taking you with it in its frantic and hurried wave. You slid off your bed and onto the floor with him, wrapping yourself around this stranger. Needing contact. Needing to hear a heartbeat, feel flesh against yours in order to keep from crumbling apart. His strong arms held you together, his fingers stroking your hair softly as you cried into his chest.
The following week was full of energy and excitement. Days spent reading books about demons, curled up next to the fire. Nights spent at the blacksmith shop, discussions of the supernatural had between you and Sam for hours. You brought silverware, plates, napkins, and cups. Laying them out properly onto the table, teaching him what utensil to use during what course. There were laughter and shedding of outer clothing; coats and gloves slipped off to reveal appropriate amounts of skin in the night. You began to teach him to dance, twirling and spinning around the water basin in the shop. Feet kicking up dirt and debris as he moved you around the room, the fire warming you both.
You dreamt of him almost every night. His green and gold eyes, dancing with the glow of the fire, looking into yours kindly. The way his fingers splayed over your back when dancing, the pads of them pressing against your spine. You dreamt of his mouth, those pink lips moving over yours with passion. Gentle at first, but then growing with need and hunger. You would wake in the middle of the night, sweat dripping off your body and your heart pounding from the feelings he ignited within you, new emotions you had never experienced before. A heat that spread from your stomach into your core, leaving you bothered and restless. You craved him with a ferocity you had only read about. The way his firm and robust body felt against yours, holding you so close you could hear the pull of breaths into his lungs. You were falling deeper into the pits of your own desires, the lines of fantasy and reality becoming blurry and unreliable.
The days passed slower and slower as your anticipation grew until finally, the sun rose on the morning of the ball. You leaped out of bed, your heart racing and skin flush. You could barely drink your tea, excitement turning over in your stomach. You and Elizabeth walked to the dress shop together, a nervous yet eager current pulsing through your body. The day moved in a haze, sitting in a chair while Elizabeth pinned your hair up with ribbons and flowers. Her hands fluttering over your cheeks and lips, adding a pop of rouge to your skin. Smiling while she pulled on and tightened your corset, a task you usually hated and winced through, now seemed painless and expected.
The sun was beginning to set when you stepped into your dress, the fabric fitting you perfectly. You slipped your feet into your shoes and glided your gloves over your hands, pulling them up over your elbow while Elizabeth clasped your necklace behind you.
"You look beautiful, miss." She said, stepping back to thoroughly look at you. "Truly, you are the most beautiful woman." She smiled then, a full and happy smile that made you feel warm and light. She stepped over to you and fashioned your mask onto your face, making sure not to ruin your hair with the attachment. You swallowed and made your way down the stairs, getting yourself into the carriage as fast as you could. Elizabeth leaned on the door, making sure your dress was entirely in the carriage before closing the door.
“Thank you, Elizabeth. I love you.” You said, touching her cheek gently. She stopped in her tracks, looking up at you and blinking. Tears filling her eyes.
"I love you too, miss. Have a wonderful time." She said through a quivering lip. She closed the door, and you heard the crack of the whip, the carriage beginning to move.
--------------------------
Sam stood in the middle of the ballroom, his hands fidgeting with his dinner jacket. This was the most impressive and expansive room he had ever stepped foot into. Purple, burgundy and emerald fabric hung from the walls. Gold ropes twisted into them, giving a royal and regal look to the room that Sam had only read about in books. A massive staircase descended from the second floor, its double doors occasionally opening to allow for entrances. The crowd gathered on the dance floor, dresses and suits swaying in a flash of fabric as people passed around him, not giving him a second glance. He searched for you everywhere, his eyes desperately looking for you among the throng of people. He glanced to the top of the staircase again, and his world stopped spinning. You stood at the top of the stairs, a crème colored dress was fitted tightly around your beautiful frame. Gold and maroon flowers were sewn into the fabric from the bottom, climbing their way up until stopping at your waist. A mask decorated with fabric flowers and braids covered the top half of your face, blocking it from Sam’s view. He still knew it was you, however. Knew in the way his heart skipped a beat. Knew in the way his fingers twitched with the need to touch your skin. Knew it in the way his stomach jumped into his throat, making it hard to breathe. He felt it in his muscles, how all of them contracted under his jacket. Knew it in the way a chill ran over his spine, halting all his movements. He knew it in the way his lungs burned in his chest at the sight of your hands lifting your dress so you could descend the staircase. You held yourself with such grace and poise that Sam almost forgot to move so he could be waiting for you at the bottom. Your foot hit the floor, and he held out his hand for yours, taking it gently within his fingers. He bowed in front of you and kissed the back of your hand, greeting you like you had taught him.
“You look beautiful, m’lady.” He said, hearing the breathiness in his voice.
"Please, Samuel, call me Y/N." You said with a soft smile, and Sam licked his lips, nervous to say your real name out loud.
"You look beautiful…Y/N." He said, hesitating from apprehension before finally saying your name, loving the way it felt on his lips.
----------------------
Your foot hit the floor, and you placed your hand into Sam's waiting grasp. His fingers curled around yours, and time seemed to stand still around you as his lips kissed the back of your hand gently. Every inch of you wanted to rip the glove off your hand, to finally feel those lips against your skin. He looked ravishing. His hair combed back, framing his face perfectly. The tailor had made the suit just right, covering his broad shoulders and cutting at his slim waist. The fabric of his vest matched perfectly with the flowers on your dress. A black mask sat on his face, only showing those everchanging eyes that were fixated on you. You stared at him, a part of you missing the dirt and ash that usually covered his face and hands.
“You look beautiful, m’lady.” He said, his voice breathy and low.
“Please, Samuel, call me Y/N.” You said, smiling to hide the heat flowing throughout your veins.
“You look beautiful…Y/N.” He said, leaving a tiny hesitation before his mouth finally said your name for the first time, taking you by surprise. You loved the way it fell out of his mouth, how his lips, tongue, and teeth moved. The sound of his voice ringing in your mind, echoing throughout your heart as you two moved together through the crowd. Men in coats came around with trays of champagne. You watched your handshake slightly as you took a glass. Sam took one too, taking an inappropriately large gulp that you suppressed a smile at.
The party was exciting and loud—the sounds of music, talking, and laugher bouncing off the walls. Sam looked nervous at the beginning of the night, his shoulders tense and fists balled. A few glasses of champagne, and he loosened slightly, smiling warmly at you.
“What shall we do?” He asked you, leaning down to whisper the question in your ear.
"Most people dance." You said with a slight giggle. He stood taller, clearing his throat; he held out his right hand and tucked his left arm behind his back, shoulders squaring. A small smile played at the corners of his lips, his dimples showing from under the mask. His eyes bore into you while he waited for your response to his question. You slipped your hand into his and bit into your lower lip, feeling excitement fill you at the thought of his body against yours once more. His callous covered hand lead you onto the dance floor, where he wrapped you tightly into his embrace. His eyes never left yours as you began to move together, the party falling away until it was only you two. The demon no longer existed. Your worries were no longer overtaking in their bitter and dark embrace. You laughed in Sam’s arms, letting go of the past for just a moment.
The music suddenly stopped, coming to a sudden halt, all conversation and movement ceased. The loud and echoing sound of a clock's chime sounded throughout the great room, its sound reverberating off the walls, and your chest ached at the strangeness of it all. People looked sad as they listened to the clock. Their smiles dropping from their faces, paleness overtaking even the most rouged cheeks. You and Sam glanced at each other, dread coursing through your veins quickly. The realities of life hit you like a brick wall. You weren’t here to have fun. You weren’t here to look deeply into Sam’s eyes as he spun you around the dance floor. You were here to send a demon back to hell.
A scream filled the air, and you two broke apart, looking around frantically. A woman stood next to a table, her hand covering her mouth as heavy sobs fell out of her. Another woman was on the floor; blood came out of her mouth and sputtered onto her face and dress. The longer you looked at her, you realized her eyes were also bleeding—the red dripping over her cheeks and jaw. You touched your stomach, your lips curling in shock and disgust.
The chiming entirely ceased, the echoes following quickly after, and the music swelled again, laughter filling the room with noise. You and Sam moved toward the woman and looked her over, bloody and lifeless. Her hand still clutching her handkerchief as her eyes stared off, unseeing into the distance.
“What is happening, Samuel?” You asked, looking around at the party guests. Their bodies once again swaying to the beat. Their lips curled around glasses of wine and champagne. As if nothing ever happened. As if there was not a dead woman lying in their wake.
“I do not know, m’lady. It is as if they have been bewitched." He said, his eyes narrowing as he looked around the room.
"I wish to see more of this manor. I do not believe anyone shall miss us." You said, standing and making your way through the people, Sam walking behind you into the unoccupied area of the manor. The halls were an uncertain and winding labyrinth. A quick and sharp turn at every angle made you second guess yourself with each step. Every new room you entered had an entirely new color: purple, green, blue, orange, and white, each one with high gothic windows decorated in the best quality stained glass, illuminated by candles with flickering flames, and decorated with elegant furniture. The final room was black. Its walls seeming to hold secrets of the darkest order. There were no candles in this room, no source of light. All it held were windows that had scarlet glass within them. The moon's light casting an eerie and deathly look to the room, its silence listening to whomever brave enough to walk within its walls, in the very back of the room, on the blackest and darkest wall, sat a clock. You and Sam hesitantly walked into the room, your heels loud against the floors as you stepped over to the clock.
Its heavy pendulum swinging back and forth, ticking away at the time on someone's life with its hollow sound. As you and Sam inspected the manor, one more hour ticked by, only to have the same result. The music and people stopping at the exact same time, as if on cue. Their faces filled with sudden understanding and realization. Then a scream and premature death. No one could guess who would be next. No one could understand the reason behind these senseless killings. You and Sam raced back to the grand room, eyes scanning every corner and crevice. You stilled as you suddenly felt the way you did that night. A chill ran up your spine, and your breath left your lungs. Your body stiffened, and you almost fell against Sam, grabbing his jacket sleeve for balance.
“It is him.” You heard him say next to you harshly. You looked over at him and saw that his gaze was fixated on the balcony. You followed, and there he stood. Lord Whitherton stood with his hand on the railing, his dead eyes looking over the crowd. He was dressed entirely in red, his long coat wrapped around his skinny frame leading to his pants that ended just below his knees. White socks covered his calves, and a large red hat was perched on his head, red feathers coming out of the top. He smiled a wicked and disturbing grin, his lips pulling awkwardly over his teeth. Sam took off up the stairs, his long legs taking him three steps at a time, leaving you sprinting. As soon as you got to the top of the stairs, the clock sounded again, its chime the only sound in the room, until another scream erupted. Another woman falling to the floor. Blood seeping from her mouth and eyes, her body falling to the floor lifeless and still. Sam charged toward the man, anger and hate spilling out of every pore. Sam went flying through one of the double doors with a swift flick of the demon's hand. His body crumpling to the ground from the force.
“Samuel!” You shouted, running into the room after him and falling to your knees by his side, taking his head into your hands. It was strange. You knew it was. You should be charging at your enemy with everything you had. He killed your parents. He took everything from you, leaving you broken and shattered. However, when you looked over at Sam, all of that was shoved down for a moment. You held his head and said his name, gripping your fingers into the fabric of his jacket.
"Lady Y/L/N, how wonderful to see you again." He spoke behind you, his voice like a snake. Your eyes closed, and feelings of anger and sadness swam through your veins, overtaking you in their fiery heat. Sam stirred under you, his hands pushing himself into a sitting position as the doors closed behind Lord Whitherton. At the sound of your title, your vision went red with rage. Anger spread throughout you; the tiny spark that always sat in your chest ignited with your repressed emotions. You sat a little taller, facing him head-on.
"Y/N," Samuel said next to you, his arm pushing you behind him and putting his body in between you and the demon. You huffed and fought against his strong arms, trying to get to Lord Whitherton. The demon walked towards you, a wicked grin crossing his face.
"Winchester." He said, his voice laced with disgust, his lip twitching from hatred. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, disappearing in thin air. You gave one final push against Sam and ran towards where he was, running your fingers through your hair in frustration. You spun and went to grab the handle.
“No!” Sam said, his hand coming to cover yours. “Please. No. I will do this alone.” He said, closing his eyes as he spoke.
“What do you speak of? We have been in this together from the inception of this plan.” You said, anger making your words come out rapidly and rushed.
“I know it was.” He replied, still holding his hand over yours so you could not go anywhere.
“I must do this, Samuel! He killed my parents!” Your voice was rising now.
“I know, but-“ He started.
"No! I do not care what your concerns are. This was always my fight." You said, ripping your hand away from his.
“Do you not see it?!” He shouted, grabbing you by your biceps and forcing you to look at him.
“Samuel, I-“ You started, but he interjected. Now it was his turn to cut you off.
“Do you not see that everything I do, I do for you?” He said, his voice lowering in volume. You stopped fighting him at his words, confusion setting in.
“What?” You asked, looking into his eyes, desperate for an answer. He let one of your arms go so he could rip his mask off his face.
“Look into my eyes.” He started, grabbing your arm again. “You will see what you mean to me." He stared at you, his voice breathy and shaky. You didn't know how to respond. This was possibly the worst time for this, but you couldn't deny how your body reacted. Your heart rate spiked, and heat spread through your skin, warming you from the inside. You were suddenly very aware of his skin on yours, that feeling once again making itself known in your core. You did what he asked and looked deeply into his eyes, letting yourself get lost in the green, blue, orange, and gold within them, like a sun setting over a lake. You saw the love there, the hope, the adoration he held for you.
"Samuel, please-" You began, not knowing what you were asking for but overcome with too many emotions to form a coherent thought. He reached up and touched your cheek, letting his thumb move over your skin.
“Do not tell me it's not worth trying for. You cannot tell me it's not worth dying for. You know it's true. Everything I do, I do it for you, my beautiful Y/N, everything I have ever done since the day I laid eyes on you has been for you and only you.” His words struck you with their sincerity. They were raw, honest, and exactly what you wanted to hear.
“We will do this together.” You said, licking your lips and shrugging out of his embrace. He reluctantly let you go, lowering his eyes in shame at his outburst.
“I am sorry, m’lady. I should not have put you in this situation." He said, reverting back to your title. You reached up and touched his face gently.
"I would give it all for you, Samuel. Everything, my title, my servants, my house. I would sacrifice it all for you…but right now, I need your help to send this evil entity back from which it came." You said, bouncing nervously at your confession. His lips parted, a small breath left his lips, a smile tugging at the corners.
“I can do that." He said after a beat. "I can do that." He nodded his head. All the bliss drained from both your faces when the clock chimed again, its harsh sound making both of you jump. All joy left the manor, a chill swimming through the air making your bones ache. Another scream filled the air. Another person lost a life, bloody and painful. You made your way back down the stairs, your eyes wide and frantic as they searched for the demon. You saw the tail of his coat from the hallway. You nudged Sam, and the two of you made your way after him, following him back down the labyrinth until he turned into the black room with the clock. Sam smiled at you, knowing your secret. You walked in behind the demon, cautious and frightful. Lord Whitherton turned and flicked his wrist, closing the door.
“Back for more, are we?” He asked with a smug and arrogant smirk.
“I am here to end you, to send you back to that black pit you crawled out of.” You said, raising your chin in defiance.
“Dear girl, you have nothing over me.” He said with a small chuckle.
"Are you for certain?" You asked, cocking an eyebrow. He raised his hand again, snapping his fingers. Nothing happened. His face fell slightly, eyes narrowing in confusion. He snapped again, and again, nothing happened. You looked up, his eyes following yours to the devil's trap you and Sam had painted onto the ceiling. "It is astonishing what one can conceal under a dress." You smiled, lifting your skirt to show him the metal canisters Sam made and you tied to your legs. He tried to charge you, anger showing in his reddening face, but the trap stopped him from going beyond its borders.
“I will kill you.” He hissed, spit coming out of his mouth as he spoke. You took a step towards him, looking into those dead and empty eyes, pushing down all your fear.
"Sometimes there is use in being consistently underestimated." You whispered before stepping back and letting Sam perform the exorcism. His body shook angrily. Face twitching as Sam got further into the spell. The demon screamed and fought until the black smoke was forced from Lord Whitherton and down into the ground. Your body suddenly felt lighter; a weight you forgot the heaviness of was lifted off your chest finally. You touched your neck and stumbled a bit, air racing in and out of your lungs. Sam caught you into his hands, pulling you into him and holding you as you breathed.
"I am here." He told you, like he had said that very first night. He smoothed his hands over your skin, his breath tickling your neck and shoulder.
“Thank you, Samuel. I do not believe there is enough I could say to express my gratitude.” You said, through your gasping breaths.
“There is nothing you need to thank me for, my Y/N. I am so sorry about the unfortunate circumstances that brought us together, but I will be forever grateful that you are in my life now. As I said before, everything I do. Everything I have done. It is all for you, my sweet.” He whispered into your hair, his breath warm. Your shaking body calmed slightly at his words, your breathing steadying into a normal rhythm.
You do not remember how long he held you or when you stopped crying. You do not remember his arms carrying you out and placing you in the carriage or the way he draped his coat across you when you shivered. All you remember was the way he made you feel. How your heart began to heal when he touched you, wounds beginning to mend themselves.
The following day you woke in your bed, the sunlight brightening your room as the birds chirped on your windowsill. You smiled for the first time in months, feeling it touch your eyes and heart. The day passed in slow anticipation as you waited for the cloak of night. Until you could see him again, feel him against you in the humid shop. Your body bounced as you walked onto the street, walking quickly to your destination. You turned down the ally and through the back door, letting it sound as it closed. Sam was there in an instant, his hands bringing you into him.
“My Y/N, I missed you.” He said, his voice husky. You could smell his sweet sweat mixed with ash and hot metal.
“It has only been but a day, Samuel.” You said, nuzzling your face into his tunic.
“I still counted every moment, waiting until your smile could brighten my day once again.” You let out a shaky breath at his words, holding him even closer. He pulled away from you, holding your face in his hands.
“I waited for you as well, wasting the day with thoughts of you.” You said, smiling at him.
“May I kiss you?” He asked you, placing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
“That is highly improper, Samuel.” You joked.
"I cannot find it in myself to care." He said before lowering his mouth to yours, tilting your head back with his thumbs. His lips were soft at first, gently moving over yours with caution and need. His mouth opened, and his hands slid down your body, gripping your dress in his fingers. Your hands slid up his chest and twisted into his hair, pulling lightly on the strands. Your lips opened with his, a small moan escaping your mouth as his tongue entered you experimentally. He tasted like home. His knees bent, and he lifted you against him, turning so he could place you on the water basin. You spread your legs apart so he could stand between them, grabbing at your thighs and pulling you into him with force. His kiss became rougher and needier. His tongue becoming more aggressive, tasting every inch of you.
“Samuel…” You breathed when he gave you a moment to catch your breath.
“I have dreamt of that since the moment we met.” He said, resting his forehead against yours.
The following days and weeks were full of midnight kisses and strolls under the moon. The darkness held your secrets. It kept your desires to themselves in the harsh light of day. You explored each other in the late hours of the night. New skin being touched every day. New feelings emerging from within. Your heart was awakening to him, mending the pieces of your shattered and broken existence. He made you feel things you had never known you could feel. Ache for him in a way you thought impossible and foolish. You never needed anyone but him; he was yours and you his forevermore. You were forever taken care of in his hands. His strong and sturdy hands. The hands of a blacksmith. The hands of a hunter. The hands of your love.
As most of you are aware I hit 9K recently, but I have been trying for some time to come up with a relatively unique challenge to celebrate it. I have tried to incorporate the number 9 wherever I can (and still have it make sense), so here goes!
I love 90s music. Personally, it was the best decade for music (maybe with the exception of the 80s...) so I have decided that, instead of using generic prompts, you’ll have a mixture of songs from each year of the 90s to choose from to base your fic on. There are three songs per year (‘91-‘99) so there’s plenty to choose from. I also tried to be strategic in my selection— not in any way to make things harder, but I feel that the songs themselves (or at the very least a handful of lyrics) can be interpreted into something angsty/smutty/fluffy and you are more than welcome to focus on a particular lyric than the entire song if it comes easier to you.
Also, as a bit of a twist, there is a list of nine tropes to pick from to go with your chosen prompt. These nine are based around the term “dressed up to the nines.” ("To the nines" is an English idiom meaning "to perfection" or "to the highest degree" or to dress "buoyantly and high class".)
RULES
Fandoms: Supernatural (Sam/Dean) or Marvel (Steve/Bucky). I know it’s a narrow selection, but these are mostly the characters I am indulging in at the moment.
I was going to set a word limit of 999, but I thought that was a bit excessive... however you want to aim for it, knock yourself out. The ‘official’ word limit is 3K. And please remember to include your W/C in your author’s notes.
Anything over 500 words needs to be under a read more tab.
Any POV is fine.
All genres and their subcategories are welcome.
While I encourage non-con and everything dark, please note I don’t indulge in paedophilia, toilet stuff and lactation/mommy kink.
Appropriate tags are a must. Not just for me, but for everyone else too.
Please send me an ask with your choices, they’re easier to keep tabs on.
One prompt/trope combination per person. Multiple people can have the same trope and different songs, or different tropes but the same song.
Please tag me in your work and use the hashtag #notmyninth when posting.
If I haven’t reblogged your entry within 48 hours of you posting, please send me an ask or DM with a link so I can.
Genuine entries only please. Please don’t take a spot if you have no intention of writing anything. I know life gets in the way sometimes, but if you really can’t fulfil your prompt, please let me know so I can give it to someone else.
Closing date is my birthday: 22nd February 2021.
I can’t wait to see what you come up with!
PROMPT LIST UPDATE: 27/01/2021
TROPES
Royal Court
Masquerade Ball
Wedding Reception
Prom
Charity Gala
Aristocratic Society
New Years Celebration
Award Ceremony
Opera
SONG PROMPTS
1990/1991
Show Me Heaven - Maria McKee
Emotions - Mariah Carey
(Everything I Do) I Do It For You - Bryan Adams
@redredwine92 / @sams-sass (Masquerade Ball)
@traceyaudette (Royal Court)
