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alibasnur · 2 days

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Annie (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Anne Sallow x M!MC Rating: PG Content Warning: Mention of parents’ death, mention of attempted homicide Word Count: 2.9K Summary: It was the end of spring before the 5th year of Hogwarts started. Anne Sallow became close to a boy who delivered her potions every week. Jonah Wilkinson was an American muggle-born, adopted by a family who lived a few villages away. She took comfort in his presence, but things changed after the summer began and Sebastian came home. Author's Note: This is my first published HL fic. I love Anne and hate Solomon lol. English is my third language. Details about my MC Jonah here https://www.tumblr.com/alibasnur/747796751465988096/jonah-wilkinson-hl-mc?source=share

The pain was excruciating. No matter how often they had appeared, Anne could never get used to it. She dropped to the floor, and the uncooked vegetables for her supper were scattered.

She sat there for a minute, holding the side of her abdomen for relief. She was left alone in the house, and the pain turned her cold with sweat, even with the warmth coming from the fireplace.

She didn't notice a knock coming from her door at that moment. But that person behind the door surely heard her cry and excused himself into the house.

"Miss Sallow..?” A concerned voice approached, it was boyish, youthful sounding.

“My goodness! What happened?" She heard his footsteps rushing to her side with a hint of panic in his voice, and then she could see his face when she looked up.

She almost mistook him for Ominis Gaunt, but with freckles on his face that softened his features, deep brown eyes with a seemingly functioning sight, and red-brown hair that stuck out of his hat.

She took the hand that he offered, as she had no luxury to be wary about this seemingly kind stranger.

His arms lifted her with ease, which was a bit of a surprise since he didn't look the age to have that strength. She limped to her usual seat in her cottage house.

Swiftly, the boy picked up the vegetables she dropped on the floor. Anne almost felt bad for letting him do so, and for being in a poor state at their first meeting.

The pain ceased and it dawned on her who he might be. She was expecting a potion delivery from Mrs. Wilkinson, the healer from another village.

"Thank you." Anne was still seated when he put the basket of vegetables on the table.

"Don't worry, miss Sallow." The boy smiled. He grabbed the satchel he left on the floor, and took out a few bottles of potions for her.

"Just Anne, please.”

"Alright, Anne.” He was a bit hesitant to call a customer so familiarly at first. But it sounded more natural for them, given their similarity.

“Are you the Wilkinson boy?”

“Yes, I’m Jonah, Jonah Wilkinson." Jonah smiled.

"I hope it wasn't too much trouble finding our address.."

"No, it wasn't. And the journey was nicer than I had expected. From what I heard, I thought I might have to take another route. But it turned out it was alright.”

"I'm glad.. the loyalists have been a concern for people who visit the hamlet."

Anne felt relieved to know that she didn't unintentionally put Jonah in danger.

“Do sit down, I have heard about you. I heard that you came from America, I'd like to hear more about it." As soon as she felt at ease, her usual talkativeness came back.

“It’s true, my parents are muggles, I couldn't stay with them so the Wilkinsons took me in.”

He took a seat facing her and felt comfortable enough to tell his journey that he felt welcomed.

“It must be hard getting used to the Wizarding World.”

“It was, at first. But I can manage.”

The Wizarding World. If Mister Wilkinson had only met him on the street and told him about its existence, Jonah would think that he was unwell.

They met in an Asylum, when Jonah overheard the staff preparing for his euthanization, by the decision of Dr. Barebone, saying that children of magical ancestry like him shouldn't live long enough to pass their blood.

“Have you heard the name Barebone?”

“They are descended from Scourers, aren’t they? I’ve heard from Professor Binns in my History of Magic class.”

It was no wonder words had spread about them in Britain. They were considered a big problem to the American wizards.

“Yes. I met one of them, they are the reason why I can’t stay with the muggles.”

“They hated wizards, didn't they? Did.. did they do bad things to you?”

“Well, unfortunately. They said it was part of the treatment. I went to their Asylum, you see.. a mental hospital. I was seeing magical creatures and my family thought I was mentally ill.”

They put him through several treatments, not sure if they were even necessary. One day, they decided it was time to put him to sleep forever and send words back to his family that he died due to an accident.

Mister Wilkinson came to his rescue before it was too late, he went through an ordeal to be able to adopt him. He had been grateful for his current life, although his experience with the Barebones still gave him nightmares sometimes.

“I can’t imagine what you went through. And I’m sorry that you have to separate from your family, you must have missed them..”

Jonah didn’t deny her assumption, he did miss his family. Fortunately, Mister Wilkinson occasionally looked into their life when he visited America, just to let Jonah know that they were safe.

Mister Wilkison said that he would put himself and the rest of the wizarding world in danger had he stayed. The Ministry obliviated them for the sake of secrecy, and now they had no recollection of their son. Jonah had to accept that bitter reality.

“I do miss them sometimes. But if they are doing well, then I’m happy enough.”

“I’m glad that they are doing fine. I miss mine too sometimes, I lost my parents before I came to Hogwarts.”

Anne stared down, the look in her eyes was of nostalgia rather than grief. But to Jonah, losing one’s parents to death sounded more painful than his own experience. Now it explained why she lived with her uncle.

“Oh, I’m sorry..”

“It happened many years ago, I have come to accept it. But I still remember that they were both professors. If they were alive, I would be one of their students.”

He wished he could relate to talks about being in a Wizarding school. Years had gone by after his 11th birthday and his letter never came to their door.

Jonah's magical sign was too weak, and perhaps that was the reason. He felt bad about himself, as he had no potential to cast a single spell. He might as well go back to live among the muggles.

The Wilkinsons insisted that he stayed, that Jonah was as good as their own. It did put him at ease, and although their sentiments were true, they never admitted the fact that they needed him after all. He had been helpful with the farm, Mrs. Wilkinson’s potion-making, and taking care of Mr. Wilkinson’s aging mother.

Anne had been listening with interest. The skin around her eyes was reddened with months of illness and sleep deprivation, but even then Jonah could see the sense of adventure that she gave off.

She enjoyed living in the Highlands, but it could feel narrow sometimes. If she were to make it, she could see herself sailing across the ocean and to another continent, observing how the wizarding world ran in the new world.

But her uncle seemed to be convinced that almost nothing could be done about her curse, and it killed the remaining hope inside her.

Mrs. Wilkinson's potion was the last resort, and if nothing worked, they would stop trying.

Jonah realized that he had forgotten something when he looked at the uncooked vegetables on the table.

"Were you going to cook something?" His question indicated a bit of worry. He couldn’t help it when he knew an ill patient was still having to busy their hands with a tiresome task.

"Yes. I have spent my days at home since I got sick. Uncle Solomon isn't home yet and my brother is at school. Don't worry, that pain appears at random times. I can still do things normally."

It didn't soothe Jonah to know that her pain could appear any moment, and it could be more disastrous than it was when he just come.

"I can help you." Jonah offered. Perhaps he could stay for a while, at least until her uncle comes back or a meal is prepared for her to eat.

"Oh, no, no! I've troubled you enough! Besides, Uncle Solomon will be back soon, and it's getting dark..." Anne declined, although no one could tell which one would arrive first; her pain, her hunger, or her uncle.

Jonah was reminded that he was supposed to be back before supper. His family at home could start without him, and they would be fine. But he couldn't leave Anne alone, having to lift pots while holding a sharp pain and no one could guarantee her uncle would be there at that moment.

"Just a bit, miss Annie. Just until your uncle comes home." Jonah bargained.

He did not mean it to be rude or weird when that ‘Annie’ slipped out of his tongue. He only meant it to make her feel that he was a friend she could ask for help, that he was comfortable enough to stay, and that it wouldn't be an inconvenience.

Anne didn't seem to mind with that little name, Jonah could see it when she chuckled her resignation.

"Alright, then. Thank you, Jonah. Truly."

"A delivery for Miss Annie?"

Anne hadn't told him that the last time someone called her by that name was when her mother was still alive. But that name sounded natural coming from Jonah's lips, and she didn't find any offense from it, not even just one bit.

She certainly didn't mind being Annie to someone as kind and jovial as Jonah. He brought a new light into her life, and Anne often found herself looking forward to his visit.

At a certain time every Tuesday and Friday, her face would light up when she heard a knock and a playful voice pleasantly disturbing her, sending her loneliness at bay.

Sometimes her pain happened to come in his presence. Jonah could only hold her hand and surrender to the helplessness of that moment. Her pain became his, and the joyfulness in his face dimmed as he took in her cry to heart.

He wished he could do more, but had he asked, Anne would say that he did. By being with her, by making sure she wasn't alone, her pain became much more bearable.

Mrs. Wilkinson came to know how Jonah became fond of spending time with her at the Sallow's. She put some buns in his basket for his next delivery. They sat together in the front yard of her cottage house, and she would tell him stories about her day at Hogwarts.

He envied those who had known her before her illness, as they had seen her at the brightest days more than Jonah had.

Her laughter had a pleasant ring in his ear, her playful smiles and cheeky grins, and he would do anything to keep it that way, or much better as if she wasn’t ill.

"School holiday is coming." Her eyes observed the hamlet. "My brother will be home next week. She smiled, but Jonah could see a certain anticipation, as if something could happen and that she could sense it approaching.

"My situation made it tough for him too. He would argue with Uncle Solomon. He insisted on finding my cure, Uncle Solomon always tried to prevent him." He could see how she turned somber as if recalling a bad memory.

"Why would your uncle prevent him?" Jonah wondered.

"He's worried that Sebastian would make things worse..” Anne sighed.

"Well,” Jonah shrugged. "Maybe there is a cure out there." Jonah had never met Sebastian, yet he already agreed with him.

Anne broke her gloom with a chuckle.

"You are starting to sound like Sebastian!”

They both went silent for a while, Jonah's mind had been occupied with many possibilities.

She had been taking potions from Mrs. Wilkinson, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. The only difference was that she gained a new friend in Jonah, and they both enjoyed one another's company.

"It's getting dark," Anne mentioned. "Your mother would be worried." He suddenly remembered about the talk of the town, that the loyalists were building a new camp around his usual route.

"I should be going, then." Jonah stood up, grabbing his cloak and satchel.

"Do be careful, alright?" Anne looked up to him, still seated in her usual spot.

"I'll be back next week.” Jonah walked to the gate. "Take care, Annie.”

She waved as she watched him leave. They departed with a smile.

It wasn’t a goodbye after all. Because next week, they would laugh together again, Jonah would take her down a stroll, and they would enjoy Mrs. Wilkinson's pie while playing wizard's chess together.

The village got livelier again when the schoolchildren came home for the holiday, and Jonah expected the same atmosphere when he arrived at Feldcroft.

The cart stopped not so far from the wall, and Jonah began to see the boys and girls he had never seen before. Some of them helped on the farm, some of them jumped ropes and the others played on the Hopscotch waiting for their turn.

"Our sunflowers are starting to bloom, why don't you pick some? It’s a healing flower, i’m sure your Annie would appreciate them."

His mother's advice never crossed his mind before, he did remember how she smiled when wildflowers were blooming in her little garden.

And now Jonah stood in front of the door, with a bouquet of sunflowers in his right hand and his left one holding a bag of bottled potions.

He was going to knock on the door but hesitated the moment he heard shouts between Solomon and a boy. Anne mentioned her brother being home for the summer, it was easy to assume that he was the shouting boy that Jonah heard from inside the door.

Their argument heated and Jonah started to worry about Anne being in that situation. For the first time, Jonah didn't feel welcomed in this house. He almost got hit in the face when the Sallow boy stormed out of the house in a rage, paying no heed to Jonah's presence.

Jonah stood aside from the door when he heard Solomon's footsteps approaching with an aggressive quickness.

“That's right, out! Out with you! Before you ruin things like your father did!" Solomon berated.

Solomon still stood there to watch Sebastian walk further away from his sight, his eyes still fuming, he grunted with annoyance as he turned towards Jonah,

"I.." Jonah felt uncertain whether it was right to speak now. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sallow. I'm here to deliver this week's potion.” He continued, business was business after all, but he wouldn’t deny his wish to see Anne.

"Take the potions back with you! We’re no longer ordering Mrs. Wilkinson's potions!" He demanded.

"Alright, sir. But, may I ask why?"

"They are not working! You should know that already, considering how much time you spent with my niece!" Jonah could hear an accusation in his tone.

Solomon's statement brought an embarrassment to Jonah, he felt as if all the time he spent with her word was for the sake of it alone, rather than being helpful.

He cherished the moments he spent with her, and Anne enjoyed them too. However, Solomon saw it as wasteful, an inconvenience, and at times, inappropriate.

Jonah was a boy after all, and the fact that he was a Squib and unschooled at his current age made Solomon look down on him even more.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" Solomon looked down at the sunflowers in Jonah's hand as if they were a frivolous thing that would make a mess in his house. Solomon wanted this to be done with, and for Jonah to go already.

"Yes, sir, I.." He held the flower hanging in his left hand, his stare full of hope. "Can I see Annie? Is she alright?"

Please, Jonah didn’t say it out loud but he meant it with pleading eyes, let me see my Annie, even just for a while.

"She is not in the position to receive a guest! I expect you to look into the situation! I appreciate your intention, but she wouldn't need those flowers!" Solomon shot him a scornful look that sent Jonah a few steps back in intimidation.

"Now, good day to you!" Solomon bid him farewell. For a glance, Jonah saw Anne's hopeful look from the door. She could only watch when her uncle treated Jonah so unpleasantly. It made her heart sink to see her uncle decide on her behalf.

Her pain came just a moment before Jonah's arrival and it led to today's argument between Solomon and Sebastian. As much as she wanted to defend Jonah, she couldn't bring herself on her feet without the pain sending her back down to her seat.

“Wait, sir!"

Solomon slammed the door shut in front of Jonah. It sent Anne a startle, she could feel her sight blur with tears from the shock.

Jonah stared at the sunflowers in his hand, his bag was still full of bottles, but he walked back feeling empty.

His journey home left an unpleasant aftertaste, and Jonah wasn't sure that he would find the guts to visit again.

He sat cross-legged on the cart, plucking the sunflower petals and letting them fall on the road. He would see Annie again. He would not. He would see Annie again...

He would not.

He held the memories of Feldcroft with his Annie in it, dear to his heart. But perhaps Solomon was right, it wouldn't help her.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #wizarding world #hogwarts legacy mc #anne sallow #sebastian sallow #solomon sallow #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy fic #canon x oc #hl mc #fanfiction

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apotelesmaa · 1 year

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Norma is objectively one of the funniest psychonauts characters though. she immediately assumes this 10 year old is the mole taking down the psychonauts from the inside and decides the best way to gather information is to stalk his dad. Ruins ford and raz’s plan to defeat maligula by being a snitch. Helped save the day by fixing the problem she caused. Is now in hell because she was wrong and all the other kids make her fortnite dance and shout go snitch girl go. Her sister got all the cool genes and now she’s stuck being an insufferable nerd. Probably says “well actually” at least ten times a day. Beefing with a 10 year old. Let’s give it up for pathetic & annoying female characters (fond).

#psychonauts #i don’t even think her thinking raz was the mole was unreasonable tbh #like obviously the adults are like this 10 year old isn’t the snitch #but she’s close enough to his age to not see that as an excuse and also I feel like that just made her feel like she was #the only one who could do anything about it.#by virtue of being the main character raz was involved in a lot of shit that made him seem suspicious #like I do enjoy her a lot even if I don’t necessarily agree with a lot of the fanon interpretations of her character #& I would love to see her and raz be worsties one day #because yes raz is only ten but he absolutely contributes to their beef on purpose #it’s like one of those things where u can’t snitch on him for being an ass because he’s ten and you’re a teenager #& people are like ohh norma come on he’s just 10 stop beefing with a child that’s stupid #and behind their back raz is making faces at her #i think they have great potential for antagonistic sibling energy once they get to know each other #raz behaves normally around the rest of the jr agents specifically to gaslight norma into thinking she’s an idiot for beefing with a child.#lili & lizzie would also absolutely help with this #god esp because raz has endeared himself so much to all of the big name agents AND Truman zanotto #i need 2 play psychonauts 2 again I’m so normal about this game

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tearskillstardust · 5 months

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; WHAT GOT THESE GENSHIN MEN GETTING SO DESPERATE FOR YOU?

NSFW; 18+ content and themes ahead, minors DO NOT INTERACT.

all legally aged genshin men; interacting with the following content is a free choice for all readers. the author does not take any responsibility for the repercussions. fem! reader.

— GENSHIN MEN WHO DON'T THINK YOU LOOK AT THEM ENOUGH. who could identify you solely by touch should they ever be blinded someday because of the way they stare at you whenever they can— they study every dip, every dimple, mark and imperfection on your features and body alike and can't get over how beautiful you are. who think that you don't stare at them the same way and complain to you about it one day, looking akin to a little child complaining to his mother about why she wouldn't kiss him to sleep.

— men who cock a brow, hiding their shyness when you laugh at their words and shake your head, as though you simply can't believe they think that. who agree with a smirk when you challenge them— both of you try to put eyeliner on your eyes in the style of the others.

— men who apply your eyeliner perfectly on their eyes but mix up the colours a bit— the blue a bit dull and lighter. who simply are left awestruck when you mix the perfect shades and apply it just as smoothly on your eyelids, the colour suiting your soft skin and bright eyes. who can't help but stare with their jaw hanging at you when you smile at them knowingly.

— men who get so turned on they just can't help themselves from pressing kisses all over your shoulders and leave marks where they deem just perfectly visible, but stop themselves from seeing the act till the end— knowing that your tears would erase the perfect artwork and wait patiently till the night, filled with lust and desire; immediately pouncing on you behind closed doors while you can just laugh and tease them, ruffling their hair with an affectionate kiss.

al haitham, neuvillette, wanderer, zhongli, kazuha

— GENSHIN MEN WHO HAVEN'T TOUCHED YOU FOR WEEKS. who have been crazy busy with work and the endless paperwork that comes with their post. who suddenly find their success in their job more a hindrance in between the two of you rather than a star on their immaculate reputation. who get even more impatient when they are suddenly posted to another nation entirely for a few weeks.

— men who try to postpone the program by a day or two and spend some spare time with you but fail when it's revealed it's a work of great importance. who would like to cave someone's face in when it's revealed that a diplomat had messed up and unnecessary complications had risen and any delay would be fatal for their inter-nation ties.

— men who get disappointed when you deny them intimacy in the bed, telling them that they need rest to be able to leave in the early morning. who try to pull you back but simply can't deny your command when you push them back to bed, pulling the covers over them and sleeping in the guest room, realizing they will definitely try to start something if you sleep next to them. who send letters to you the entire time they are outside, unable to function properly without your touch and kisses.

— men who get all over you as soon as they return. who control themselves from looking at you too much lest another unholy thought invade their mind and they have to excuse themselves. who love the passion with which you kiss them back as soon as they have you all to themselves— who genuinely can't engage in foreplay out of desperation and make sure to cover your mouth this time, lest you put another restriction of morality or people on them.

aether, ayato, childe, xiao, capitano, gorou

— GENSHIN MEN WHO LOVE YOUR WITTY BANTERS. who are born assholes and love annoying you to no end— and are obsessed with the way you answer them right back in the same tone. who love the glint of annoyance in your eyes when they talk non-stop about the most idiotic things or mutter nonsense in your ear as you're trying to do something but manage to say nothing for at least half an hour, hoping they'll grow tired and leave.

— men who love that warning side-eye you pass after a while, visibly fuming with anger. who talk louder after that and reply quickly with an annoying comeback when you say something. who laugh at your tired look. who genuinely want to tuck your hair behind your ears but know you will snap their finger should they try.

— men who expect you to give another clever little comeback just so that they can say more nonsense and piss you off, just to rile you up a little more— but when you take none of their shit and pin them down on the ground, hands circling their neck and knee parting their legs, they are shaded a deeper shade of crimson, pretending as though this is not what they had been secretly fantasizing since the past five days. who lose it when you are about to do them undone but leave halfway, that devilish smirk on your features as you wink at them and leave, fully aware they can't bring themselves pleasure the way you do.

itto, heizou, kaveh, lyney, venti

— GENSHIN MEN WHO CAN'T HELP BUT TURN TO LOOK AT YOU. who think they are a genius for having picked out that particular piece for you, and then deciding that if it were in shades of green and pink it would look prettier. who then passed by a jewellery shop and spotted that diamond choker necklace and fantasized about you in it—twisting and turning with flittering mischief as you often do; the diamond's shine enhanced by your glittering smile. who then pick out that earring from a remote box in the corner and ask you to wear it.

— men who don't mean to make you that red and shy but who genuinely can't stop complimenting you. who stare at you from head to toe and then back from toe to head. who now feel jealousy over all the other people who get to stare at your beautiful self and thirst over you because that right is only theirs. who press you back down against the dressing table and make out with you before you can apply the lipstick and you have to push them back, laughing when their hands start reaching for your chest.

— men who glare at anyone who looks at your way for more than a minute. who lick their lips and try not to let their thoughts show on their body. who hold themselves back from letting any image of the wild night in store for you today solidify in their head. who smile knowingly when you make direct eye contact with them and you have to look away, covering your ears.

— men who tie you to the bed post as soon as the moment is perfect, their lips on your pulse, your nape, your shoulders—their lips everywhere as they slowly strip every clothing off of you all but your necklace and earrings, teasingly slow until you beg them to go quicker and they compensate for it in their thrusts, their desire overwhelming your senses until you're left crying their name out unintelligibly.

diluc, wriothesley, pantalone, dainsleif, baizhu

— GENSHIN MEN WHO THINK YOU'VE BEEN TEASING THEM the whole day. who ignore it when you kiss them right on the lips and accidentally brush your chest against their hand. who also ignore it when you bow down right in their face to pick up a pillow. who also ignore it when you sit on their lap, almost grinding against their thigh. but who really can't ignore it when you smile suggestively at them and they can't contemplate it anymore, simply smirk back in return.

— men who know how to hold themselves back and tease you. who kiss you at that one spot near your shoulder blade that has you squirming every time. who trap you when you're washing the utensils and brush against you, leaving you to contemplate their act. who have no problem giving you what you want— but where's the fun if you don't have to beg for it?

— men who watch your actions the whole day, laughing when you pout slightly at them. who kiss you and maintain eye contact expectantly and you get them right away, and with great shame, beg them to touch you. and then all of a sudden— a switch flips and they pin you down, one hand on your waist, and the other pinning your wrists down, ensuring you don't move. who hungrily devour you and you take it, equally desirous of the taste of lust.

— who go agonizingly slow initially, forcing you into silence as they remind you of all the occasions in the day you tried to seduce them— and make you admit it, that yes, i did and i'm sorry for it. who smirk then, and suddenly increase their pace, making you scream in pleasure as you hold on to their arms for support. men who are just as generous with their aftercare, teasingly dragging their fingertips across your sensitive skin, something that almost always leads to a second round. not that you can complain when they please you that well though.

albedo, kaeya, cyno, tighnari, dottore

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arthenaa · 4 months

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my love mine all mine— mizu x f! reader

synopsis: marriage is nigh for someone your age and with society's expectations of you, how long will you have to keep waiting for him?

content: 18+ nsfw, mdni, angst w comfort, fluff, she/her pronouns for reader, he/she pronouns for mizu, patriarchal views on women, arranged marriage, jealousy, use of sex toys, idiots in love

a/n: part 2 of nocturne (interlude)!! this is for that anon who was on their finals week (ur req got deleted i h8 tumblr) and to those who requested for a part 2 !!! a reward for your hard work

Your relationship with Mizu was ... interesting.

After what happened that day, your relationship progressed into a deeper sense of connection. He was attracted to you as much as you were attracted to him. A fact that made your fingers tingle with anticipation every time he came down to your village under the guise of getting more medicine.

Your father had no complaints as business is business and provided him with what he needed, although you could see the occassional side eyes that your father gives him every time he stays longer than he was supposed to be. It was a comical sight indeed.

Mizu helped you out as much as he could—whether it be mundane house chores or taxing ones that require hard labor or a change of locations, he was down to accompany you in any way.

While yes, his efforts of providing you aid sent a surge of butterflies down your stomach, what ultimately led you to hammering a nail in the coffin was the subtle touches that he gave you.

You knew he knew and he knew that he was being smug about it. While it didn't show on his face, his eyes told it all. Whether it be passing by and gently placing a hand on the small of your back to excuse himself out of your way as if there wasn't a 2-meter space to your right or the brushing of fingers when he lent you something or if he's being bold enough, especially when your father's not looking, outright pretending that there was a fabric stuck on your hairpin and so he leans in close to you only to place a kiss on your cheek—he always has to have some sort of skinship with you during the day. It often left you struggling for words or having a flushed face.

"Dear," Your father furrows his eyebrows as he eyes your flushed cheeks. You tense in his gaze as he glances at Mizu who appears calm as he takes a sip of his drink. The blue-eyed samurai had done it again—saw an opening and took it like he was meant for it. He fooled you into thinking that your hair was out of place and offered to fix it. Your father had stepped out to get the food and you had hoped that he stayed somehow so that you wouldn't have to deal with all this bullcrap. Mizu took the chance to grab your chin and place a kiss on your lips. Your father came back shortly and you haven't relaxed since. "You don't look alright. Do you want me to—?"

"I-It's fine, Dad!" You intercept, hands raised as you shake no. "The soup was just... hot."

You glance at Mizu who looks at you from the side of his eye. He smirks over his cup.

It was safe to say that Mizu was also mischievous by nature. Despite his usual calm and cool demeanor, you didn't expect the man before you to be quite playful when it came to just between the two of you.

You did all these things, said all those things, looked at each other with things unspoken of and you're quite sure that your relationship was susceptible to the one thing you're quite sure would lead to.

Marriage.

A want for some, a necessity for many. You'd think that in your years of living in this town that you'd find a partner suitable for marriage and you did! Just a little bit later than others.

You had expected that... Mizu would propose. After all, what comes after dating but marriage? Your father and mother did that, your aunts, uncles, cousins, hell, even your friends already got married albeit some of them out of their own will.

You dreamed of having a true love marriage. One that you could be yourself and never have to be ashamed of loving someone despite their stature in life. One that you could coexist with and that could never demean your existence as a woman. You knew those things were far fetched from reality but everyone wishes to dream right?

You had tried discreetly asking about it, curious as to why he barely mentions anything but he only casts you an unreadable look on his face then a soft smile.

He kissed the back of your hand with a gentle touch, softness mirroring that of a snowflake's descent.

"... I can't," He says. You're not sure as to why he sounded in pain, like something was troubling him but you knew better than to pry. "Not right now."

So you let it go.

It was times like this that you felt the other half of the relationship. Like there was still a barrier you couldn't decipher between you. Why he often looks secretive with your father at times or why he falls silent at the most random of moments. There was something you didn't know and it often aches you that you couldn't be able to understand him unless you knew the inner workings of his mind.

The first instance that brought up the onslaught of problems that would soon arise was the arrival of a proposal from the south. It came in the form of a letter, writings neatly imprinted on fine parchment—rolled with the delicacy that of a noble.

You could see your father's nervous glance as the messenger read what was sent to him. You could hear bits and pieces of the arrangement, hands wringing each other in anxiety as your eyes trained on your father's back. Mizu had not arrived that day and normally, you would fret over such things but your father casts a glance at you over his shoulder and suddenly everything seems to have changed its course.

"Father," You pant as you gather the ends of your kimono, trying to match the pace of your patriarch as he travels all over the house. He seems to not be at rest from the talk with the messenger—a perpetual stone-cold look plastered on his face. "Father!"

He enters the part of your house you haven't gone to in ages. Not because you despised it but because you were afraid that the spirit that once dwelled in its abode would arise and look at you with those same eyes that once held all the love and memories when you were but a wee girl. You hesitate at the entrance but decide to follow him through.

"Not right now, Y/N," He mumbles, agitated as he crouches over a chest and begins digging through the array of clothes. Your eyebrows furrow.

"What—What did he say?" You stammer as you stand to his left, eyes watching his every move as he frantically rummages through the fabrics. "Father, I have—I need to know."

Your father pauses, defeatedly slumping against the chest as his fingers tap against the wooden surface in thought. Silence ensues between the two of you and suddenly he turns to you with a sympathetic look on his face. Your blood runs cold.

"Lord Shimizu—" He pauses, catching himself stammering as he looked into those eyes that were fruition of shared dreams and a love he hasn't forgotten in ages. "He asked for your hand in marriage."

You stare at him with a shaky gaze, breath going in and out as you tried to process his response.

"Then-Then tell him no," Your eyebrows furrow. Your father falls silent at your words. "Tell him like you've always told the others."

"I can't, Y/N," He whispers, tone shifting into despair. Your shoulders are low as he lowers his head in shame.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I can't," He emphasizes his words once more, eyes darting up to meet yours. "I have always tried to protect you but I can't this time."

Your face falls in desperation as you kneel down with him. You grab his hands in an attempt to convince him once more.

"Father, please, I can't—I don't even know him!" You plead as your grip on his callous fingers tightens. He looks at you with sadness. "Please Father, I'll do anything, just don't—"

"Y/N," He cuts you off with a stern voice. You fall silent as you wait for his response. "This man is from Kyoto. While the men here fear my stature as a medic, this man has access to professionals far greater than me. He doesn't regard me as someone important and if I dare raise my voice, we might as well be dead."

Your figure tenses at his words. He grabs your arms in an attempt to comfort you. In a last attempt to get him to decline the offer, you say the thoughts that have been at the forefront of your mind.

"I'm in love with Mizu," Your voice comes out in a whisper, eyes wide and tears welling up. He tenses at your confession, eyebrows furrowing at the implications.

"You—"

"Father, I love him." Your voice comes out in a desperate attempt to get him to see you. Your hands raise to touch his arm but he suddenly raises to his feet, taking a few steps back. Your heart speeds up at his reaction.

"Is that why he—?" Your father whispers out in thought. You're not sure if he was angry or disappointed, but you're quite sure that this was a bad thing. His face contorts into a look of anger as he continues to look at you with a hardened gaze. "When was this?"

"You told me you wanted me to have a true love marriage, Father—This is it!" You look up at him with a defiance so strong that it almost gives your father a whiplash of how similar it looked. He falters in his stance but remains rooted to his cause.

"I know but not to—!" He catches himself at the end of his sentence. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. He runs a hand through his face before sighing. "Not like this. Not to him. Not Mizu, Y/N."

Your eyebrows furrow in anger at his words. "You can't dictate what I feel for him."

There's a moment of silence as your father casts you an unreadable look on his face. You thought that your father might approve of Mizu. They after all started at the same steps and eventually grew to the path they were destined for, albeit in different fields. You're not quite sure as to what led to this defiance against your choice for marriage but it already has you intruiged.

"The messenger talks of praises of Lord Shimizu," Your father diverts the conversation. "I also hear that he is a general and part of the Emperor's Kingsguard. He is of noble stature and earned his keep. He is a man fitting of your deserving."

You fall silent at his words before finally rising to your height and dusting off your kimono. You glance at the chest, eyeing the white fabric that pops out of an array of multicolored ones. You turn back to your father.

"You raised me to not be a hypocrite," Your voice is stone cold. Your father flinches at the tone. "I expected you to not be one as well."

With that you left.

The days were grueling.

Presents after presents were sent to your doorstep and while you wish that you could throw them all away, your father accepted them and kept them in the storage, still neatly wrapped for you to open.

Mizu had also arrived less and less over the past couple of days. He usually stays for more than an hour but now he leaves within the 30-minute mark. You felt like your time had been severed into bits and pieces after your fight with your father. You saw them talking, hushed in the receiving area. You expected your father to berate him for influencing his own daughter but their relationship remained civil. In fact, after his talk with your father was what prompted fewer visits and only coming for business.

He also became distant. Little to no skinship—sometimes even none at all. He talks to you in that cold tone of his and even grunts in annoyance when you try to bother him into coming with you to window shop in town.

You thought they were being unfair. That they could freely do things like this beyond your knowledge. Watch you crumble into a pit of despair at the concept of what you believed was the essence of true love. How naïve were you.

The final straw came when Mizu stayed a little bit longer than usual. He was swift with his purchase but remained seated at the tree located just outside your humble abode.

You approached him with soft steps, eyes trained on his head devoid of his kasa and the usual orange tinted glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome.

"Why are you like this?" Your voice cuts through the silence, direct and swift as a breeze passes through you. You see the familiar curl on his forehead, swishing back and forth before settling down.

Mizu does not reply for a few seconds before finally responding. "Like what?"

Your breath shakes at his nonchalance. "Like everything's back from the start."

Mizu pauses before turning his head to look at you standing behind him. There's a long duration of silence between you, eyes only locked with each other as the breeze fills in the void.

"Y/N," Your name escapes his lips like a prayer. You will yourself not to fold. "I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to what?"

He rises up from his seat on the ground, grabbing his Kasa in the process. He examines the item, eyeing the material woven intricately to form its shape. You could tell that there were a lot of things in his mind. You could only wait until he decided to break down the walls he built up so high.

"I didn't mean it to be this way." He finally looks at you in the eye, those beautiful shades of blue hidden by a tint of orange. He pauses himself before a change of expression is plastered on his face. "I think it's best if we stop here."

Your breath hitches. "What?"

"I said what I said," He mutters in that neutral tone of his, devoid of emotion. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "I... I am on a journey and I have wishes to accomplish. I operate on circumstances that prove to be unlawful. It's best that you don't associate yourself with me. I was too distracted to begin with."

Distracted? Is that what he thought all of this was about? Your hands shake in anger as your eyes darted any sort of giveaway that he might just be joking with you. The world was pinning its blame on your shoulders and now you have to receive the consequences of its actions.

You purse your lips, stopping yourself from bawling then and there. You can't give him the satisfaction of seeing yourself in a mess. You refuse.

You turn around without responding, making hasty steps towards your home before halting once more. You turn to see him putting on his Kasa, eyes in a daze. Upon feeling your stare at him, he turns back towards you. His gaze falters.

"I'm sorry." He says.

You could never will out the words you should've said.

Lord Shimizu came on the 3rd day of the week. He wasn't what you expected him to be.

Naturally, nobles of that standing would appear to be egocentric maniacs who dabbled and flaunted their wealth in various entertainment establishments. They act crass and speak crass as if their authority gives them the pass to be an asshole to everybody.

You thought to yourself, this man could have anybody that he wanted. He was a general, a skilled warrior, and a candidate for marriage to Japan's array of elegant and noble women. Why would he pick a humble medic's daughter all the way from Takayama?

Well, the answer finally came to you in flesh instead.

"L-Lord Shimizu!" Your father stammers over his words as a young man, your age enters the establishment. You take a step back towards the panel of the receiving area, slightly shielding yourself from the onslaught of 3-4 men entering the place. "I didn't expect you to be here."

The man does not respond yet, his eyes wander the interior of the establishment before finally settling on you. You flinch back at the intensity of his stare. Your father notices his attention on you before clearing his throat.

"Y/N?" He calls over, eyes meeting with yours as he beckons you over. You grumble under your breath before making hesitant steps to your father's side. "Ah yes, this is Y/N Gojo. My daughter. Y/N, this is Lord Shimizu Kaito."

Your eyes peer up at him underneath your lashes, trying to take a peek at his face. Shimizu flashes you a soft smile before bowing in greeting.

"Apologies for not having been able to meet before. The Emperor had requested me to attend to several cases in various cities. I hope that you and Y/N can forgive my tardy appearance." His voice is proper and elegant but you could only scoff at his words. Apparently, it was loud enough for him, your father, and the two other guards stationed behind him to hear. Your father elbows your waist.

"Apologies for my daughter," He sheepishly smiles. "She seems to have a... cold."

He eyes you with a strict look on his face which you turn to look away at. Just as you wished for all of this to be over, a wave of a hand catches your attention. You turn to look at Shimizu who softly smiles at you once more.

"I know this proposal is sudden but I hope you can give me a chance." He says, voice and tone genuine. You hesitantly purse your lips at his words. "I'll be staying around this time. I hope I can get to know you."

Lord Shimizu stayed true to his word. The past few days were nothing but him trying to get to know you as an individual. He was nice, accommodating, and even dare say, a proper friend you could talk to.

He helped you out in chores, got you gifts, had tea with you, learned your ways, and walked with you in town. If you were the person you were before, you could've deemed this man the perfect match for you.

While you appreciated his eagerness in wanting to get to know you, you also can't help but be reminded of a certain blue-eyed boy every time he did something remotely similar. He talks of his travels, his blade, his peers, his interests, and you're brought back to the time Mizu let you hold his blade in your palms, brought you trinkets from his previous adventure, talked to you about his annoying apprentice, or that he prefers his soba to have a little bit more soup in ratio to his noodles.

Everything remind you of him.

Mizu had not visited in a while. You tried asking about him to your father if he ever came to get medicine but your father denies every question.

Sometimes you catch glimpses of a familiar Kasa roaming the town streets but is only mistaken by a wandering traveler. You're not too sure how long it would take for you to lose your wits about everything.

Sensing the troubling thoughts that plagued your mind, Shimizu offered for you both to take a stroll in town at night and shop for trinkets that you might find interesting to place in your room. He tried his best to keep you entertained, asking about your interests, making you laugh, all that stuff.

The question that prompted you at the start of his arrival began to urge you to put forth a topic for conversation. You wait for Shimizu to finish his words before finally dropping the question.

"Why me?" You ask, eyes gazing into his as he halts at the question. He blinks a couple of times, not able to process the question.

"What?"

"Why me, my lord?" You repeat, hands clutching your satchel. "I am but a mere servant's daughter. You could have anyone."

He licks his lips eyebrows furrowing. "But you are someone."

You raise your eyebrows, urging for him to continue. The man takes a breath, looking around before finally settling his eyes on you.

"I..." He starts off, words trailing as he gazes into your eyes. He continues. "I came here before. As a child."

Your eyes widen at the revelation.

"People talk of a man named Gojo-sensei who was able to remedy almost all illnesses. I was sickly and my condition was worsening." He responds. The city lanterns glow beautifully behind his figure, laughter of children, men, and women alike provides solace in the void of silence between you. "I remember coming in there and seeing you. Seeing your father then..."

He trailed off like he was remembering something painful.

"I remember a lady," His face softens at the thought. Your eyebrows furrow. "While your father did the aiding, this woman had brought me comfort. I was never really coddled and treated with such gentleness back home. I was an only child—a firstborn son. Being soft and dependent was out of the vocabulary."

You fall silent at his words as he looks down at his hands.

"She... she stayed by my side. Fed me, clothed me, made sure I was okay." He looked up at you. "I saw you sometimes, clinging to the ends of her kimono."

A chilling realization surges through your veins. Your silence prompts him to continue.

"I heard the news that she passed away years ago. I wasn't able to come due to my duties but I am indebted to her." He says. "Then, when I visited a month ago. I saw you—a spitting image."

Your breath shakes at the words. "You proposed to me because I looked like my mother?"

Shimizu looks down in shame, hands wringing in nervousness. "I thought that if I married you, I'd be able to receive that same love again."

You let out a breath of disbelief. While the topic of your mother wasn't something you detested talking about, her memory still was something you were quite hesitant to approach. You remember her sickly figure, her weak smile, the day your father broke. It was as if you threaded lightly along the edges of her carved path, wanting to preserve what was left of her image.

You take a step back, eyes looking at him in disbelief. Shimizu falters in his stance.

"I'm sorry, this isn't going to work." You softly mutter, shaking your head. Just as you take another step back, Shimizu panics and tries to grab your hand.

"Y/N, let me explain I—"

A swift change of air alerts you of a new presence and suddenly you feel deja vu. You turn your head to meet the familiar stance of a man you didn't expect to see again.

"I believe she said no." Mizu's voice is authoritative and deep, hand encasing Shimizu's wrist. The man furrows his eyebrows at Mizu who squints back a glare.

"Who are you?! Your jurisdiction?" Shimizu demands. He tries to pull his wrist away only to be met by a steel force. Mizu scoffs.

"I won't let you go until you promise to stay 10 meters away from her." Mizu threatens. Shimizu sweat drops, eyes glancing down at the hand gripping his wrist to the eyes shielded by tinted glasses. Your eyes dart back and forth between the two, afraid that a fight might brawl out and you're not in the mood to see blood spilled.

Shimizu was also a general and if word comes out that one of the Emperor's trusted military aides got injured by someone lower of his stature, your father will definitely pay for the consequences. You rush towards them and grab Mizu's hand to break them apart.

"Let him go," You say. Mizu turns to you with furrowed eyebrows. Your eyes soften, and you nod softly in reassurance. "Let him go, its okay.

Mizu hesitantly lets the man go and Shimizu stumbles back, holding his wrist. Mizu turns to you in concern, hand grabbing your arm as he examines you. "Are you alright?"

You nod, flustered by his attention. "I'm fine."

Feeling Shimizu's stare on you, you look back at the man to see hurt and a realization spread across his face. Your gaze falters.

He clears his throat and fixes his stance. "Apologies, Y/N. It seems that I have miscalculated my approaches. Forgive me for my behavior."

"It's alright, my lord," You respond. Mizu stands menacingly beside you, eyes trained on his figure. Shimizu glances at him and then at you. He smiles.

"It was nice being your friend," He says. He bows as respect. You curtsy back, albeit shaky. "I'll leave as requested. I wish you luck."

He leaves without turning back. You watch as he gets lost in the crowd, the breeze gently swinging your clothes back and forth. The lanterns dazzle the streets—performing a pretense of joy. You take a breath before finally facing the last of your problems.

Mizu stands there, eyes already looking at you with an unreadable look on his face. Your eyes soften.

"What are you doing here?" You mumble, lacking the energy to even be angry. Mizu shifts in his stance.

"I came back." He answers vaguely.

"For what?"

There a pause of silence before he moves to remove his Kasa. You can see his face clearly now, albeit those beautiful eyes of his still covered by his glasses.

"For you." He says. He gulps as if nervous and your eyes widen at his confession.

"But I thought you said—"

"I was a coward," He says. He heaves a breath. "I have loved before and shown them everything and yet I have ruined them. I was afraid that I might—that I might ruin you with what I am."

You fall silent at his words. You were confused, you had already seen what others claim to be the worst of him—in fact, that was what you loved most about his features. Eyes that seem to hold the waters—a depiction of nature. Just as he is about to continue, cheers erupt from the central town, you flinch as the others begin to gather to watch the amusement happening. Mizu, sensing your uneasiness, pulls you towards a nearby alley—dark and hidden from the public eye. He places you against the wall, eyes watching for passersby that might lurk in while your eyes are trained on his face.

You watch with admiration as his eyebrows furrow in their usual curl, those eyes that squint into a glare, chapped lips, and the glasses that begin to slowly fall down the bridge of his nose. Unable to resist the urge, you give in.

"Coast is—"

Mizu's eyes widen at the feeling of your lips against his. You cup his cheeks, pulling him down as you encase your arms over his neck. Mizu wastes no time in reciprocating the kiss. He kisses back with the same fervor, hand dropping his Kasa in favor of encasing your waist as he pulls you towards his figure. You whine as you feel his tongue intertwine with yours.

After a few pecks and kisses, you both finally pull away. There's a hushed silence of panting as Mizu places his forehead against yours.

"I am not being truthful," Mizu whispers, breath hitting your lips. "But I want to try. With you."

You smile, hands cupping his cheeks as you rub your thumbs across the surface of his skin.

"I want you as you are," You reassure him. "No matter the flaw, no matter what you tell me. I'll be here with you."

Mizu lowers his head and drops it to burrow against your neck. He hugs you close as bells and instruments begin playing. He pulls back softly before facing you with vulnerability.

"I..." He starts off. "I am not what you think I am."

You tilt your head in confusion as you encase his hands in yours. Your thumbs run over the scar that you've bandaged from before.

"I'm not a... a man." Mizu finally reveals. You pause, eyes blinking as you watch his reaction for any sort of context. Mizu purses his lips before pulling his glasses away, tucking in the side of his clothing before reaching up to pull at his top knot. You watch as his hair—no, her hair flows to her shoulders and then suddenly everything makes sense.

Mizu's breath shakes at your silence. "I-I cannot give you what you want—"

She falls silent as you lean forward to take notice of her features. The flush that adorns her cheeks and the eyes that entranced you from the start. A smile bursts from your lips.

"You're just as I dreamed of," You whisper in awe. Your arms make their way to wrap around her neck as you press yourself close to her. Mizu's face flushes at your words.

Your eyes trace the edges of her features, face contorted in a soft expression. There's a moment of silence before you finally continue. "My father wanted me to have a true love marriage. All my life, the idea of falling in love has always been my dream as a child."

Mizu blinks softly at your words, listening to your every thought.

"And now that I have it, I can understand why my father wanted me to do so," You smile, leaning your forehead against hers. "Marry me, Mizu. I just want to be yours."

The blue-eyed girl erupts into a smile, leaning forward and capturing your lips in hers. You reciprocate with the same intensity, fingers burying in her raven locks. Mizu then pulls away.

"I'll always say yes to you."

"Do we really have to do this?"

Mizu eyes your figure seated on the tatami, eyes peering up at her as she stands in front of you. You giggle at her hesitance.

"Of course!" You grin. "Consummation between man and wife is a must tradition after marriage—well in our case, wife and wife."

Mizu rolls her eyes as she sits down in front of you. She props her knee up and places her arm on top of it. She grabs the cup of tea perched on the small table beside her and takes a sip. "Consummation is done with the idea of children, love. I'm sure you're well aware of that."

You pout before an idea arises in your mind. You lean forward, going on your knees as you crawl towards her. Mizu pauses mid-sip as she watches you with careful eyes. You grab her cup, placing it down on the table as she continues to watch your every move. You settle on her lap, the slit of your kimono revealing your thighs. Mizu's breath shakes.

You take her glasses off and place them on the table before finally focusing on her, arms propped on her shoulders. You feel her hands cup your hips as you stare down at her with a smile.

"What?" You taunt. "You don't wanna fuck me?"

Mizu pauses, eyes widening before she lets out a groan and lowers her head to your clavicle. You giggle as she takes a few moments to calm herself down. Finally, pulling away to face you, Mizu looks at you with her blue eyes clouded with lust.

"You are one dangerous lady, know that?" Mizu leans forward. You grin as you rub your nose against hers.

"Mhm," You say. "My wife told me so."

"Ah fuck! Fuck!" You whimper as you grab the sheets behind you, trying to find some sort of stability from the onslaught of ministrations Mizu's giving you. "W-Wait—Mizu-Wai—Ngh!"

You're afraid that the toy one of your close friends gave you as a congratulations gift to your marriage would be too crass for your night with Mizu. You only brought it to tease her after all. You just didn't expect how much she'd be turned on by it.

"Where are you going?" Mizu's voice is deep and taunting as she watches you claw at the sheets, trying to get away from the intense pleasure. She grabs your waist and pulls you back down towards her, folding your legs to your chest. "You wanted this, why are you backing out, hm? You wanted to consummate so here we are."

She watches as the thick girth and length of her strap pushes in and out—coated with your essence. The noises from it are slick and noisy, causing you to flush in embarrassment. God fucking damn.

"So fucking pretty, aren't ya?" Mizu chuckles as she pushes her hips. She lets out a moan, feeling the other end of the dildo pushing deep with her. You whimper as Mizu presses deep, the tip of her cock bumping against that spot of yours. "So so pretty for me, aren't you momma?"

You shiver at the nickname, hands coming down to grab Mizu's lean arms—its muscle flexing as she speeds up her thrusts, making sure that it's the right spot.

"You've been adamant about this all morning. Especially, after the wedding." Mizu growls, slamming her hips against yours. "You want my kids that bad?"

You're too lost in the pleasure, moans, and garbles of her name only coming out of your mouth. Mizu smiles, hair falling down her shoulders and framing her face as she props herself up on top of you.

"If you want it so bad, I'll give it to you," Mizu leans down to bury her face on your neck, sucking a few marks as she begins to speed up her thrusts.

"Oh! Oh!" You whine as the spot inside of you becomes more sensitive with each bump. Mizu pays no mind to your sounds, reveling in the way your nails rake through her back. She smirks against your skin, licking down until she encases your nipple within her mouth. You moan at the feeling, hands reach up to bury itself in her raven locks.

"I'm close! I-I—please!" You plead as her constant torture of your cunt begins to teeter at the edge. Mizu pants heavily as she places a soft kiss behind your ear.

"I am too." Her breath shakes as her hips falter. It doesn't take long before you climax, body arching and shivering from the intensity of the pleasure. Tears begin streaming down your face as you twitch with each thrust she gives you. She smiles placing a soft kiss on your lips. "Good girl."

Mizu follows shortly behind, coming in grunts and low moans before slumping down against you. There's a moment of reprieve before Mizu props herself up once more to take a look at your afterglow.

You smile up at her, hand coming up to brush her hair over her ear. Mizu leans against your touch.

"I love you." You mumble softly. Mizu gazes into your eyes with a love so true that it warms your very being.

"I love you too."

a/n: mwehheheheheeh hope yall enjoyed that <3 not proofread will do it later mwehe

#arthenaa #mizu #the blue eyed samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu smut #Spotify

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pastanest · 5 months

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Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: just a short lil blurb idea I had whilst procrastinating from finishing my other two WIP’s xoxo

warning: implied age gap of reader being a “young woman”, but no specific reference to Spencer’s age, I just envision this as a very post-prison thing for him to do

Listen

“Excuse me, lady, but you don’t get to waltz in here and start ordering my officers around. This your first day on the job or something, sweetheart?” The local chief of police smirks down at you, condescension dripping from his every word.

That, coupled with his casual misogyny, is enough to have you smirking right back at him.

Shocker, another old-fashioned cop assuming that a young woman like you doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s almost laughable. Almost.

“FBI Agent first, ‘lady’ second, and ‘sweetheart’? Not under any circumstances. I’m here with the rest of my team to assist you on a case that you’ve requested our help to solve. You don’t like the way we do things? Raise a formal complaint. If you want this case solved, you’ll do well to listen to the advice given. This is far from my first case, and you are far from the first police chief to invalidate that.” Your voice is the epitome of cool, calm and collected.

Naturally, that only aggravates the ignorant man in front of you. More predictable than a- well, actually, there are few things more predictable than the fragile masculinity found in a man like this.

“I’ll be happy to listen to your boss before I take any orders from a girl with a mouth bigger than it ought to be.” The local chief of police eyes you up and down, as if to intimidate you by comparing your stature to his.

Much to his surprise - and absolute dismay - his efforts are in vain. This is made clear when a quiet laugh passes your lips and you lean back against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest and looking to your left.

Moments later, as though emerging from the shadows, Doctor Spencer Reid takes the few large strides necessary to reach your side. A formidable force, exacerbated by the dark scowl that’s etched into his features and directed at the local chief of police. Having not long returned from visiting a crime scene, he had overheard the conversation between you and elected to wait before he stepped in, hypothesizing both how far the ignorance would go, and how long he would be able to hear it before seeing red.

“If you value the continued use of your jaw, I’d advise you close it and listen. Disrespect Agent (Y/N) again and this entire precinct will suffer the consequences of your ignorance.” Spencer’s threat is eerily quiet and, while unprofessional by nature, the intent is understood to the extent that even a local chief of police wouldn’t dare call it into question.

The man caught in Spencer’s glare visibly shrinks, clears his throat, and pretends to find something to very quickly busy himself elsewhere. The glare follows him until he’s out of sight.

“I could have Garcia file a report severe enough to end that man’s career.” Spencer murmurs, gaze fixed on the door that the ignorance left through.

Turning to face Spencer, you smile up at him sweetly and pat his chest, your palm against his tie when the contact snaps his eyes back down to look at you.

“I think making him ruin his briefs in the workplace is punishment enough.” You joke lightly, your words enough to cause a smile to curl at the corner of Spencer’s mouth, a silent understanding caught in your locked gazes.

Nobody disrespects you and gets away with it, not so long as Doctor Spencer Reid is around to commit verbal homicide.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #x reader #spencer reid headcannon #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons #spencer reid imagines

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wandasfifthwife · 10 days

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your jealousy is showing (on me)✩‧₊˚

—> hockey player/coach!wanda x afab!reader

tw || SMUT MDNI, top wanda x bottom reader, dom/sub dynamics, established relationship, jealous wanda, exhibition (janitor closet), marking/impact play (hickeys, bruises, thigh spanking), fingering (r receiving), r gets hit on but is oblivious, tyler mention!, reader is said to be wearing a dress, person who hits on r sees the two of them, not proofread!

a/n || in such a slut for this woman. so sorry if my writing is nastier than coconut, idk how I feel about it haha but I hope you enjoy bc this made me hot and bothered tbh

series m.list ✩ ══╡˚2.3k words˚╞══ ✩ wanda m.list

Practice has been going well, better even. There’s been an increase in number since people started to find out that wanda has experience on the ice as a player on a professional team. The stands have become packed, families and friends taking up every corner, a completely contrast from before. You remember the days when you first came with your nephew, sitting and having a seven feet distance from another person. Tyler’s since graduated from wanda’s class, now attending another with a different coach.

It was a sad day for him, hugging your girlfriend tight and exclaiming how he wishes to have her as a coach for every class. She had laughed, resting a hand on his back and reassured him that she’ll attend his other classes. She even went as far as to mention private classes, saying they can spend time together on the ice. A smile had come upon your face as you watched the two interact, thankful your nephew is able to have such a wonderful relation with his coach, your girlfriend.

Since then you’ve been attending his classes with Wanda. You can’t help yourself, curling a hand through her arm to hold her close. You complain that it’s the cold, but you both know it’s a shit excuse. Regardless, she’s never going to turn you down, if anything she’s pulling you tighter and pressing a kiss to your head.

“He’s improved a lot. Lately he’s been practicing outside his house with some friends on the street.”

“That’s probably the only reason why he’s able to skate in a straight row now. Do you think he’ll continue to play?”

“I think so. It’s all he talks about, but of course we can’t say definitive terms. He could fall out of love with it in a year and choose like baseball.”

“If he were to choose another sport it’d be football, not baseball. His favorite part of hockey is running into others, he forgets there’s an actual game going on.”

You stifle a laugh, “he’s trying.”

He proved Wanda’s words to be correct because the next second he’s slamming into one of the team members, pummeling the two into the wall. The coach had come to talk to you after, seeking you where you stood by the concession stand. You had a hand on Wanda’s arm, informing her of where you’ll be.

You were paying for the snack, thanking the person behind the counter. He had stood behind you just out of your line of sight, so just enough that you ran into him when turning around. His shirt smelled of sweat and his cologne, a lot of his cologne, so much so it overwhelmed you.

“Hey, you’re tyler’s mom, right?”

“No, just his aunt.”

“My bad. Sorry that was terribly rude of me, I was going to say you look good for your age.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Of course,” he flashes a smile, leaning onto one of the tables beside him, “I’ve notice how often you come, it’s great that you’re supporting him like this. Most kid’s don’t have such a supportive aunt.”

“I try. My brother and his wife are busy, so I take over. He’s means well but he’s still a young teen.”

“Yes. He’s nothing new. A lot of teens enjoy the physical aspect to the game, it’s normal for them to be competitive even with each other.”

A few minutes have gone by, enough time for concern to begin swirling through Wanda’s mind. She’s relieved to see you’ve not gone missing and that you’re all in one piece, standing only a few feet from her.

“That’s my coach,” Tyler starts, seeing how Wanda’s attention was directed at the tow of you.

“I know,” she deadpans, turning her attention back on your nephew, “finish untying your shoes.”

“I know,” he mimics, tone lowering to frustrate her further.

You’re walking back over with a grin plastered on your face. Tyler’s already grabbing at the drink you got, pulling it from your hands to open it already.

“Just talked with your new coach, Tyler. It seems you have a track record with finding amazing coaches.”

Already Wanda didn’t like him. She kept quiet about her disdain, knowing how important it was to you that Tyler doesn’t come to contact with a terrible one as you had.

It grew difficult. Each practice he always seemed to find you, drawing out a long conversation with you. Usually it’s fine, as a coach herself she understands the important of keeping up with the families, but this was excessive. The constant parade of compliments directed at you were unnecessary. He wouldn’t really care to talk to Tyler, and as far as she knew, Wanda didn’t exist around him. He’s either dumb, or he’s choosing to be ignorant towards the intimacy between you two.

What brought her to the edge was when he began to touch you, a hand on your shoulder or the back of your waist. It was in moments where it could’ve been excused; done to either move you out of the way or make sure you don’t trip.

You were sweet, engaging in a conversation he had started yet again down at the end of the bleachers. Wanda had her attention set on Tyler skating around before practice, eyes flickering to where the two of you stood every minute.

“I have a conference this weekend and we’re allowed to bring a plus one. Would you be interested in joining me?”

“Oh. I already have someone that I’m going with. So I won’t be going with you, but I will see you there.”

He looks disappointed, eyes shooting to meet Wanda’s, “I’ll see you there then.”

Wanda doesn’t like that man.

You walk up the stairs all sweet-like, sitting beside her and placing a kiss to her cheek, “when’s that coach award event again?”

“Saturday, 7PM.”

You hum, leaning your head on her shoulder, “you better win an award.”

“If not, I have you.”

An elbow shoves into her side, “you’re such a sap.”

“No, I just love you,” she murmurs, pressing her lips against yours, feeling like she’s won when she catches the coach looking. She had hoped the soft public display of affection would be enough of a sign to back off, but it wasn’t.

The weekend came soon enough. Wanda standing by the door with her keys in hand as she waits for you to join her.

“Beautiful,” she says when you step down, opening the door for you.

“I hope you win one award, that would be amazing.”

“It would look great for my public imagine,”she laughs at the look you give her, “you know I don’t care about that, love.”She gives your thigh a squeeze before backing the car out of her apartment complex.

She should’ve known he’d be stuck to you most of the night. Wanda tries to engage in the conversation, but he tunes her out, keeping his attention on you. Ever so sweet you try to include her, smiling back at her but this time it’s not enough to quell how she’s feeling.

“Hey Micheal, can you go grab her another drink?”

“Wanda, I can’t—“

She shuts you up by pinching at your waist, cutting your sentence off. He looks mildly annoyed, “sure.”Once he’s turned around, she’s guiding you out of the room.

“Wanda there’s only like sixteen minutes until the ceremony—“ your mouth goes numb when you realize where she’s walking you towards. There’s a closet at the end of the hall, tiny and small as its only purpose is to hold supplies for the janitors. Tonight it will be used for another matter.

“That’s enough time,” she says lowly, shutting the door behind her, enclosing the two of you in darkness.

She’s lifting you with her hands under your thighs, dropping you down onto the extra school desk stored away in the room. Her body’s leans into you, hands on either side of your body as she kisses you passionately. They turn messy, trailing from the corner of your lips to end up on the bottom side of your neck. You gasp when she bites down, a hand reaching to push at her chest.

“Wan—wait.”

She doesn’t listen, too focused on making your neck show an array of purple marks. You whine, squirming in her hold as she leaves one after the other, stopping only on areas that you’re sensitive to. She’s severely quiet, attentive to every heavy breath and sound coming from you. You’re weak, arms wrapped around her neck, head pressed into the wall behind you. You’ve completely given up control, neck tilted back to give her more room.

“Oh—” you shiver when she moves towards the spot behind your neck. Your reaction gave her another reason to press her lips against it, nipping at the skin there.

Her ministrations leave you wet, your hips grind down onto the desk below you to try to seek relief. Wanda coos, cold fingers sliding under your dress, finding the wetness between your thighs. You cry out when she thrusts two in, pushing through your tight walls. It’s intoxicating, the wet sounds filling the room, turning you on even more.

“Ah! Wands—you—“

She’s shushing you, lips on yours to keep you quiet. Her fingers are splitting you open, angling perfectly towards the spot that makes your back arch. Her thumb catches onto your clit with each thrust, brushing perfectly to make you see white. You weave your fingers into her hair, moaning into her mouth when she bites at your bottom lip.

You’ve completely forgotten about the event, and most importantly, Michael. You’re clenching onto her finger, arousal covering her hand and dripping onto the wood below you. You choke on a moan when she’s guiding you to lift your left foot onto the desk, the position spreading you open to allow her fingers to push deeper. The bottom of your dress slips up, clothing pooling around your waist. You feel your orgasm build, a series of whimpers spilling from you.

“Fucking say my name when you come,” she demands, holding back moan when she hears your strangled whine after she brought her hand down onto your thigh. The way your cunt squeezes around her fingers then makes her weak.

“Like that?”

She’s cocky, hand coming down harder on that same spot.

“ah! wands please—“

Your body jerks after her fifth slap, mouth dropping open in a silent scream. She nuzzles against your head resting on her shoulder. You relaxed into her hole, breathing heavily as you come down from your high.

It was fine until wanda carried you into the bathrooms to clean off and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, easily spotting the splotches painting your neck.

You leaned over the sink to get a better view, eyes snapping between the marks; the one by your ear, another under the strap of your dress, one more at the base of your neck. You weren’t aware of the severity of her actions in the moment, your mind was too busy trying to deal with the fuzziness spreading throughout your body.

“Was that okay,” she asks from where she stands by the entrance.

“Very,” you mumble, looking back to her with a smile.

“Hey, I want to apologize. I knew something was wrong,” you say, grabbing a paper towel from the machine, “he was a jerk to you. Like just earlier he wasn’t letting you get a word in, but I really just thought he was being nice at first.”

“You’re fine, love.”

You wet the towel, rubbing warm water over the cloth to get it wet, “you say that but I still feel bad.”

She crosses the room to grab at your wrist after seeing what you were doing, “why’re you trying to rub the marks off?”

“Because?”

She raises an eyebrow, “because? What?”

“This is your event, I don’t want you to loose your job over me.”

“I won’t,” she tosses the towel away, “I knew what I was doing when I gave you those.”

“But the staff—“

“There’s enough of them screwing around.”

“Oh.”

She huffs, hooking a finger under the hem of your dress, drawing it up your thigh until the red, swollen marks on your thighs from where she was aiming her hand earlier begin to show. You hate how affected you get by the sight of them, thighs squeezing together.

You were only meant to be gone for ten minutes. That was the original goal, but she began to fold with how you were looking at her. Your eyes were dark, locking onto hers from within the mirror. She had you pinned to the counter in seconds, forcing you to watch how easily you melt under her touch.

Footsteps echoed throughout the hallway, getting closer to where the two of you stood. You had begun to push back, mumbles on how she needs to stop so they don’t get caught, but it’s like she knew. You caught on later, realizing it was Micheal by the sound of his voice calling out to you.

“Wanda, he—“

She’s slapping a hand over your mouth, pulling you back against her chest. You look over your shoulder, finding Micheal freeze after entering into the room. Wanda had you in a position only he could dream of. He was like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing as he processed what he was looking at. The marks on your body, eyes glossy and faraway even as you look in his direction. The muscles in Wanda’s arm flex as she presses her hand tighter against your mouth. You’re absolutely dripping, excitement pooling from the behavior this man was bringing out of her.

“I was worried… but I see you’re.. okay.”

“I see you’ve met my girlfriend, Micheal?”

series m.list ✩ ══╡˚2.3k words˚╞══ ✩ wanida m.list

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woso-dreamzzz · 24 days

Text

Hide-and-Seek

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You play hide and seek

Magda doesn't get yelled at a lot.

It's not really something that happens. She, very specifically, doesn't get yelled at by Pernille. Not at home at least, a few time on the pitch to leave the ball alone but that's never out of anger.

Right now, though, it's out of anger.

"Where the hell is our child?!" Pernille demands, arms crossed and furious look on her face that Magda has seen only a few times.

"She's right-" Magda reaches a hand out for you only for it to close around empty air. She looks down in shock at the empty space she assumed you were in.

You're not there and she looks up to see the furious look on Pernille's face turn to pure, unfiltered anger.

"You lost her?!"

"I didn't lose her!" Magda says quickly," I didn't! I..." She tries to run through excuses in her mind, tries to find something that will send Pernille away long enough to find you. "I left her with Sam."

"With Sam?!"

Perhaps, that wasn't the best choice because Pernille looks angrier than before, muttering under her breath before running off to find Sam.

As she goes, Magda grabs Niamh and Jessie from where they were relaxing on beanbag chairs together.

"Come on," She says," We need to find Princesse."

Niamh frowns. "I thought you said you left her with Sam."

"I lied."

Magda's stalking through the halls, head ducking and weaving as she looks around for whether you've run off too. You don't tend to wander a lot or very far when you do. You're usually close by and you never leave without telling one of your mums so Magda's at a loss for where you could have possibly gone and why.

"But why did you tell Pernille that you did?"

Magda gives Niamh the most pointed look she can manage whilst the guilt and fear bubble up inside her. "You saw Pernille! She was fuming! What would she say if I lost Princesse? Huh? I probably wouldn't have a home to go back to!"

It's clear Niamh thinks she's being dramatic because she rolls her eyes but Magda doesn't think this is very funny.

It's only a matter of time before Pernille tracks down Sam and finds out that you aren't with her. Magda's window of opportunity is getting smaller and smaller the longer she waits around explaining this to Niamh.

She grabs a hold of Jessie again, hauling her down the corridor as Niamh hurries to catch up.

The usually locked door to the storage room creaks open behind them and you slip out, making sure Morsa's back doesn't turn while you scamper off to your new hiding place.

Morsa counted for a very long time and you waited around for ages for her to start looking for you.

You don't get to play hide and seek a lot and you've never played it anywhere out of the house but you're determined to win. Not-Wolfsburg has lots more hiding places than at home and you duck into the canteen to hide under one of the tablecloths.

You don't want Morsa to find you too quickly. You know you're doing well at hiding from her because she's had to recruit Jessie and Niamh to help find you.

That makes you happy and you peek out from your hiding place. You don't want to stay in one place too long in case Morsa catches up so you hurry through the canteen to another room.

A few of the Not-Wolfsburg girls watch you go, shaking their heads fondly when you tell them that you're playing hide and seek.

You duck in and out of rooms as quickly as you can, not staying long enough for someone to find you.

When you play at home, Morsa always checks outside first so you know she's going to have to move inside soon which is when you'll sneak out.

You giggle to yourself, setting off for the pitch when something grabs you by the hood of your jumper and lifts you up. You squeal with laughter, legs kicking out as the ground disappears from under them.

You're turned until you're almost nose to nose with Millie.

"Hi!" You chirp.

"Your mother is looking for you."

"I know!" You puff out your cheeks," We're playing hide and seek."

"And does Pernille know that?"

You frown. "I'm playing with Morsa, silly!"

"Uh-huh." Millie rolls her eyes and adjusts her grip on you so you're sitting on her hip rather than just dangling. "Let's get you to Pernille."

"Millie!" You whine," Morsa's gonna find me! I'm gonna lose!"

Millie doesn't listen to you at all though as she goes to find Pernille.

Pernille has Sam backed up against the wall, yelling at her when Millie arrives. Sam is swearing up and down she has no idea where you are and Magda's lying because you definitely did not get left with her.

"Momma!" You whine and Pernille whips around to face you," Millie's ruining my game!"

Pernille hurries forward, taking you from Millie and tucking your face into her neck. "What game?" She asks, her previous anger melting away as she speaks to you," Huh? What are you talking about?"

"Playing hide and seek with Morsa!" You explain," I was winning!"

"You've won," Pernille declares," You've definitely won." She shakes her head. "When I get my hands on your Morsa-" She lets the statement hang for a moment before pulling you even closer, like she wants you to melt into her skin and live there forever.

"Magda!" Jessie says as she shoves the door open," We haven't checked in here...Oh..."

Magda comes running in.

She notices you immediately, running to grab you before she realises just who exactly is carrying you.

"Pernille," She says," I can explain."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #the big adventures universe

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lightvixxen · 2 years

Text

Innocent act

Older!neighbor!Eddie x innocent !whore! F!reader

MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY!! Read pt2 here , read pt 3!

Warnings: age gap Eddie is 30 reader is 18+, vouyerism? Eddie watched reader get off while she doesn’t know it, choking, degrading (whore/slut), pet names (baby, sweetheart, doll, pretty girl), small spanking, a dom!Eddie, sub!reader, Eddie has a sir kink bc i can, eddie also has a corruption kink unprotected PIV sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YA FUCKING TAP IT) creampies, Mechanic! And perv!Eddie sprinkled in. Lmk if I missed anything!!

I love Reblogs and likes absolutely make my day!! I do not consent to having my work being posted on a third part website

Kinda hate the way this turned out also excuse bad grammar tis was rushed

Word count: 3k, i got a bit carried away

Summary: after your car breaks down, Eddie offers to fix it, finding the perfect evidence to destroy that little good girl act you have going.

Tags: @thefreakofhawkins86, @and-claudia

It was a hot summer day in Hawkins, and your car had decided that that was the perfect time to break down. You huffed at your car as you closed the hood to your engine. Having no clue why you even bothered to look at it in the first place, you didn't know the first thing about cars! Sighing you leaned against your car's door, mentally preparing yourself to call a tow truck and then your father to pay for it. Looking slightly to the right, away from your house, you groaned at the missing van in the driveway.

If Eddie were here you could just ask him! But of course, he just had to be away when your car decided to give out on you.

You pushed yourself off of the car and opened the driver's side, planning to retrieve the pack of cigarettes you stole off of your father from the glove box. Hidden away so you wouldn't blow your cover of the resident “good girl”.

Maybe the universe had decided to be kind to you today, or just wanted to see you suffer as the familiar sound of loud music got closer. Soon enough a familiar van pulled into the neighboring driveway. You groaned internally and prayed to a higher power you had enough strength to act all innocent around a man who was pure fucking sin.

Eddie Munson hopped out of his van, chains and rings visible in the sunlight,

Hair pulled back, black jeans, and a simple band-tee is what he had decided on for the hot day. You looked over your shoulder briefly and then immediately let your head hang, cursing him for looking hot when you needed to concentrate. You climbed back out of your car seat and called over to him.

“Hey, Mr.Munson!”Eddie looked over at you from his doorway and smiled.

“Well if it isn't my favorite neighbor! What's going on sweetheart? Why ya out here in the heat?” He called back, beginning to make his way over to you.

“Oh, my car decided to break down today.” You chuckled as if it was no big deal, which it was.

“Want me to take a look at it? Save you some trouble?” The metalhead crossed over into your driveway in no time. You nodded, getting your car looked at, AND being able to see Eddie concentrated. Fuck yeah!

Eddie lifted your hood up and immediately cringed. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Eddie's cringing was not a good sign.

“Is it bad?” you asked him, a little anxiously.

“Yeah, I'll have to take it down to my shop.”

A small sound of disappointment escaped your throat, knowing you couldn't just seamlessly watch him work from the window of your front room.

“How much will it cost?” you looked up at him through your eyelashes, playing with the hem of your skirt lightly. You and your dad really couldn't afford anything past 1k. He patted your head lightly.

“Don’t worry your pretty little innocent head about that doll.” right you had to be innocent around him. luckily he’s missed the way your thighs clenched together every time he calls you ‘doll’ or ‘sweetheart’.

“You can pay me with a plate of the amazing cookies you made the other week.”

You smiled, grateful to be free of expenses. “Thank you, Eddie!! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!” you hugged him tightly. Eddie chuckled and hugged you back, hands resting on your waist for a brief second.

“Anything for my favorite neighbor,” he lent down slightly and whispered darkly into your ear, “and the sweetest girl in town.” you felt arousal pool in between your legs, and your knees went weak. Surprised by his tone.

Eddie laughed to himself, releasing you and walking inside his house, “so easy” he thought to himself.

It's been a week since Eddie to your car to his shop. Which normally wouldn't be an issue except, you weren't able to grab your cigarettes from the glove box. And you couldn't just go down to his shop and grab them, you had a reputation to uphold! So that meant a week without nicotine, though you found other methods to get your high.

The past week had you turning to weed to get that pleasant feeling of not needing to think. Along with humping one of the poor teddy bears you owned until you came. Specifically, the one Eddie had gotten you for your 18th birthday.

His words played on repeat “sweetest girl in town” the way his breath felt against your skin, the way he gripped your hips when he said it, and god the way said it.

As you ground your hips into the soft fabric of the stuffed animal you imagined him saying those words under very different circumstances.

“Fuck, Eddie!” you moaned grabbing a fist full of his hair, tugging on it slightly. Eddie groaned against you, slick coating his chin as he attacked your clit, pulling back slightly with a “fuck, sweetest girl in town” before diving back in.

You felt your climax slowly rising through your fantasy, you ground against the stuffed bear particularly hard thinking about Eddie fingering you until you came.

You adored Eddie's fingers, rough and calloused from years of playing the guitar.

The image of the time you saw him playing the guitar shirtless came to mind, his forearms flexing as he played the chords. That image combined with the way he stuck his tongue out while concentrating sent you over the edge.

You came loudly, you might as well have been in a porno at that point. A chorus of Eddies and fucks fell from your mouth.

“Oh fuck, Eddie! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you moaned, working yourself through your orgasm. It ended all too fast. You pulled your panties and pajama pants back on, got back into bed, put the very used teddy bear to the side to be used again later, and fell asleep.

----

You Hadn't realized that you had left your bedroom window open, letting Eddie hear everything you were doing. Maybe you had done it on purpose just to torture the poor man. His hand worked quickly over his cock “Fuuuck sweetheart, such sweet moans...” He barely had time to work himself up before pulling his cock out once he heard you. He could already feel his orgasm building, rapidly approaching the edge.

What sent him over the edge is when you came, moaning out his name. God, you were so cute...acting all innocent around him, like you didn't go up to your room and hump the toy he had gotten you. Eddie always wondered what you thought about him doing to you, what made you cum so loudly.

He groaned your name when he came, white ropes of cum shooting onto the wall in front of him.

“Such a fucking whore...” he watched as the light in your room flicked off.

Finally 2 weeks after Eddie had taken your car he finally! Gave it back to you. But of course, payment, before he handed you the keys.

“Sweetheart, I'm gonna need those cookies, before you get your precious car back.” He held your keys over his head, before pocketing them.

“I've had them done for the past week-” you started, before the bastard cut you off

“Oh no, I need fresh cookies as payment, I thought that was obvious.” he grinned “My door’ll be open, just come on in when you're done.”

With that he walked away, your keys still in his back pocket.

—-

A few hours later you were finally done with the new batch of cookies. Eddie was so picky about his cookies, But he did spend the week fixing your car so he did deserve a fresh batch.

You quickly transferred them onto a plate and covered the plate with ceramic wrap. Before you left the house you made sure what you were wearing was perfect, you had decided on a baby pink tank top and a white skirt, with a small pink choker and simple sneakers. You then made your way next door.

---

Like Eddie had said, the door was open.

“Mr.Munson?” you called into the house, you felt a little weird just waltzing into his house, even if you had known him for years.

Eddie appeared in the doorway, sweating slightly, hair a mess. Also very shirtless, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

You look down to see a very prominent bulge, then immediately advert your gaze onto the ink that covers his chest.

“Sweetheart, you know you don't need to call me Mr.Munson right? I've known you for years.” he moves out of the way, motioning for you to come inside.

“I know, but old habits die hard!” you pout looking at him, before walking inside, making your way to his kitchen to set the plate down. Before hopping up onto the counter and crossing your legs at the ankle, this was normal, for a bit you were over here most of the time after your father had to pick up long hours.

Eddie walked in after you, leaning against the counter beside you.

“Oh, sweetheart, believe me, I know.” He smiled before undoing the ceramic wrap on the plate and picking up a cookie.

“I also know smoking is bad for pretty girls such as yourself.” His eyes shifted, to you, something dark brewing in them, and you stuttered. How could he have known about that?!

“I-I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Munson” you decided to play dumb, playing dumb always worked out for you before!

“Oh? You don't?” Eddie pulled a pack of cigarettes- your cigarettes, out of his pocket, chuckling darkly as your eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Lying sweetheart? And to me of all people? I’m hurt!” He pushed off the counter, moving to stand in front of you instead. You shook your head, looking down

“I don't smoke! You know I don't...” you couldn't meet his stare, no matter how hard you tried to. Eddie scoffed lightly

“You're just digging a deeper grave for yourself, sweetheart. I found these in your glove box.” he leaned in ever so slightly “And I know damn well nobody else drives that car”

You shook your head again, deciding to keep playing dumb. Trying to claw your way out of this.

“You know I think smoking is gross! I would never touch a cigarette.” you lifted your gaze slightly, staring past him.

“You know,” Eddie grabbed your face with the hand that wasn’t holding the pack of cigarettes, forcing you to look him in the eye. “I'd believe you saying that if you could even look me in the eye right now.”

You knew you had been caught red-handed, Eddie caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. Lying was pointless. The man had known you for four years, and he could tell when you lied.

“So, I'll give you one more chance to tell me the truth. Are these yours?” you broke, even now you couldn't hold eye contact.

You nodded “yeah...they’re mine” a defeated sigh left you, knowing that your little innocent act has been discovered, Eddie sighed, nudging your legs open with his knees so he could slot himself between them.

“I really should tell your parents about you smokin’, you really shouldn't be doing it...” panic washes through you, did he already tell them? Was all this just an act to get you to plead guilty?

“But sweetheart, I knew you weren't all that innocent.” Eddie released your jaw, and you blinked up at him slowly. Huh? Confusion replaces panic.

“So you haven't told my parents? And that wasn't just an elaborate setup for me to admit to it?” you watch as he moves over to the fridge and places the cookies in it.

“I’m not that mean, besides I started smoking around your age” Eddie took his place in between your legs again.

“Another question doll.” you hum in response, absent-mindedly playing with the chain around his neck.

“Do you intentionally leave your window open for me when you hump that teddy or, are you just that dumb?”

your hand stops moving when the last word falls from his mouth, you had left it open? Sure you had purposefully left it open once, the off chance he'd hear you moaning his name. But you didn’t close it?

“...I left it open?” Eddie fucking laughs, “oh pretty girl, you never thought to check? Surprised the whole neighborhood never heard you!”

Both arousal and embarrassment fill you, sure you wanted him to hear, but you didn't think you were that loud!

“Gotta say though, I loved the little show you put on the past week...loved hearing my name from your lips as you came.”

“OHMYGOD” you hide your face in your hands, typically not one to get embarrassed, you had slept half the school's basketball team! The embarrassment that filled you was surprising.

“Aww, she's embarrassed!” he mocked, moving your hands away from your face.

“What do you think about when you fuck yourself dumb?” “huh?” “you know exactly what I'm talking about, use that brain of yours.” He told you, leaning to suck on your neck, leaving feather-light kisses there.

He was asking you to think? When he was in between your legs kissing your neck, asking what you thought about when you got off?? How could you possibly think right now?! Despite your thoughts going a hundred miles per hour, you managed a small,

“You, I think about you.”

Eddie tsked.

“Gotta be more specific, pretty girl, what do you fantasize me doing to you?”

You felt like your face was on fire, your head dropped, not able to fully look him in the eye.

“I think about your hands…and how they would feel inside of me” Eddie’s mouth quirked up into a shit-eating grin. He knew damn well that wasn’t the only thing

“You just think about me fingering you? C’mon doll, you don’t think I buy that do you”His kisses stopped, a hand replacing his lips, . “What makes you come so hard all by yourself?”

You felt your heart skip a beat, having Eddie so close to you was nothing new, but this, this was extremely new territory. You felt like a helpless bunny, being hunted down by the mean wolf.

Eddie's other hand was on your thigh, rubbing up and down, each time going a little higher. Just a little more and he would feel the small damp spot already forming in your panties.

“I uh- I thought about...you eating me out and fingering me.” you shyly admit, “when you said I was the sweetest girl, I imagined you saying it in between my legs.”

Eddies fingers had made their way to your panties, a small gasp escaping you as he put pressure on your clit.

“Good girl...letting me know what I need to make into reality,” he mumbled. He leaned in fully, capturing your lips in a rough kiss. Eddie nipped at your bottom lip, asking for permission. You gave it to him, opening your mouth enough for his tongue to slip in. His hand moved your panties to the side, groaning at how wet you were. You moaned into the kiss, hands finding their way to his shoulders, you needed to hold onto something.

“Your soaking sweetheart! I haven't even touched you yet!” Eddie laughed, “do I affect you that much?” you nodded.

“Fuck- yes, just the thought of you makes me wet.”

Eddie gave you a wicked smirk, plunging a finger into your pussy, you moaned at this, his finger was probably longer and thicker than most of the guys you had been with in the past. And so much better than your own. He slowly started fucking his finger into you, wanting to take his time. You had other plans, you bucked your hips ever so slightly, trying to get more friction. Eddies hand tightened around your throat.

“Don't be greedy baby, you'll get what you want. Just let me play with you for a bit, yeah?”

You whined at his words, you didn't want him to go slow. You wanted him to be fast, rough, wanted him to fucking use you. thoughts of what he was going to do to you raced in your head.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess your not a virgin?” Eddie added a second finger, causing you to whine again, his fingers were better than anything you had experienced from the boys in your school. It made you wonder what his tongue felt like, what his cock felt like.

“Yeah- m’ not a virgin- fuck Eddie, lost it a while ago.” you had to resist the urge to move your hips against his fingers, it was too little and too much. The edge was approaching rapidly, you had never been this pent up before. You don't even think you had gotten close this quickly before.

“Good, good, I don't have to hold back.” he chuckled darkly, he wasn't letting you go until the damn sun came up. You clenched around his fingers at the sound, God you loved whenever he was even slightly dominant. Him ordering you around was a common occurrence in your fantasies.

“Fuck Eddie! I'm close, I'm so fucking close!” you moaned out, tumbling towards the edge- just a little more and you'd cum. At the very last second, before you toppled over the edge, Eddie ripped his fingers from you. You whined, “fuck- Eddie, please!”

“Don't worry sweetheart, you'll get to come, we have all night after all.” He lifted his fingers to his mouth. Sucking off your wetness from them, he moaned around his fingers, looking at you, His eyes held nothing but lust and hunger. You watched in embarrassment as he practically fell to his knees. With a mumbled,

“I think I just found a new drug…” Eddie rolled your skirt up and pulled your panties down your legs, shoving them into his pocket. He wasted no time latching onto your clit, a high-pitched seal left your mouth. A hand quickly grabbed a fist full of hair.

“Oh fuck! Mmm, holy shit, Sir!” you didn't even register what you had said, too caught up in the pleasure Eddie was giving you. He pulled back ever so slightly, being met with you asking why he stopped and desperately trying to shove his face into your pussy.

Eddie had to laugh, poor thing, so worked up on just his tongue you hadn't registered you called him something other than Eddie or Mr. Munson. Which of course, just made him painfully hard. He was already struggling to take his time. Wondered what you'd feel like around his cock as he fucked you, fast and rough.

“Oh baby, you have no idea what you just said, do you?” he smiled at your head shake, too lost in the pleasure. “You called me sir, sweetheart” and with that, he was delving back into eating you out. He licked a long stripe from your vagina to your clit. With a ‘you taste so fucking, good sweetheart.’

You were loud, grinding against his face, chasing your high. Shame be damned, this was the best head you'd received ever.

“God- fuck sir, S’fucking good!” You were getting

Close again, Eddie could tell based on the pitch of your moans. He stuck his tongue into you, lapping at the wetness that had formed. Reveling in the way you clenched around his tongue. Eddie’s patience snapped, he needed to fuck you, and he needed to fuck you now.

“Fuck- sweetheart c’mere” He hoisted you off the counter, spinning you around so you were bent over it. Holding your skirt in place, he pulled down his sweats and boxers in one swift movement. Letting his cock free, he groaned as cold hair hit his red tip, Eddie gave himself a few quick strokes before lining himself up. Of course, forgetting a crucial thing, he couldn’t exactly get an eighteen-year-old girl pregnant when he was thirty!

“Wait fuck- let me go grab a condom.” he released your hips, he didn't get far before you spoke up.

“Eddie, I'm on the pill it's fine, just fuck me already! Wan’ you to cum inside me, please!” Eddie almost growled, hands finding your hips again, he sheathed himself in you in one thrust, causing you both to cry out. You had never felt so full in your life! Eddie, who can’t believe he bottomed out with no resistance, was trying so extremely hard not to cum already, like a fucking teenager.

You rocked back onto him, a noise of disappointment when he held your hips still.

“Just- fuck give me a moment, feel so good I'm trying so hard not to cum right now.” He bent down, sucking bruises onto your neck and back. Next time he’d take his time, but having you all whiny and begging, was just too much for the man's sanity and control.

Eddie rocked into you slowly, God you were so fucking wet and tight, he threaded a hand in your hair, pulling you back against him as his speed quickened.

“Fuck- feels so good sweetheart.” Eddie panted, “such a good whore for me” he released your hair, hand coming to grip your throat.

“Letting me fuck you, wonder what daddy would say about his sweet little girl being pounded by a man half her age.”

“Eddieee, mm fuck so close!” you braced one of your hands on the counter, the other on his arm. He was even better than you had imagined, he was definitely above average, and had a nice amount of girth to him “so fucking full…” you rocked back onto him. This action is met with a harsh slap to your ass.

“Nuh-uh sweetheart, I'm in control” you whined, needing more than what he was giving you, he released your neck. pushing you against the counter in front of you, Eddie setting a punishing pace. His hand snaking to your front. His thumb rubbed circles against your clit, being built up for the third time that night. Your orgasm came suddenly and hard, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Eddie continued thrusting into you, fingers creating indents in your hips as he chased his orgasm. Your whines and pleas of him to slow down, that it was too much only spurred him on more.

“Fuck- gonna cum!” he grunted “Sir! Shit, come inside me, please!” Eddies thrusts became sloppy as white cum covered your walls.

“Fuuuuck sweetheart, so good for me.” as the two of you caught your breath, you couldn't help but giggle.

“What's so funny?” Eddie asked, kissing down the side of your neck.

“Noth'...just if all it took was you finding my cigarettes to fuck me, I would've planted them somewhere obvious ages ago!”

You whined as Eddie slowly pulled out of your aching cunt, a small string attaching you two before breaking.

“Sweetheart, I've wanted to fuck you since you turned eighteen. to see that little good girl act fall for ages now…and find the slut hiding under it,” he whispered the last part in your ear.

“Better stop talking to me like that unless you want a round two, sir” your smirk was quickly wiped off your face as Eddie picked you up.

“Say no more, doll!” He was already getting hard again.

—-

This was so fucking rushed omg, I'm sorry if it turned out bad!! But pt2 anyone?

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie fucks #eddie munson x plus size reader #dom eddie supremacy #eddie deserved better #eddie x reader #Older!Eddiexreader #lightvixxens eddie

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sky-is-the-limit · 9 months

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(+18)

Okay but though Price is not an old old man (like he's supposed to be 38 and Barry is 42, i always imagine him to be 45) he's older than the rest of the task force members and that would always be an insecurity/irrational fear of his when you'd be around the boys even though you're literally so blindly in love with the man.

Not because he doesn't trust them or you but there's this little voice in his head, telling him that you deserve to be with someone younger, especially if you say a joke or talk about something that he doesn't get because of your age difference but he loves you so much and craves to be around you, to feel you, to touch you like this man can't get enough of being inside of you whenever possible.

So if you are about to go out together to the bar where the rest of the boys are, he'd definitely pull over somewhere before getting there just to fuck you hard in the car, whether it's you riding him and he's guiding your hips, sucking on your skin to make sure the marks are visible from your neck down to your chest, sucking on your nipples like he's touched starved or if it's a remote place, I definitely see him as the type to hold you up, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you against the side door. After you're done, he'd go again just to make sure that he fucked you dumb and everyone in the bar can tell.

Watching you interact with the guys knowing that everyone can see the hickeys, not walking properly, your cheeks all flustered even slurring your words or taking a while to reply to someone cause you were just wrecked in the car would be his favourite thing in the world. He'd have this stupid smirk on his face the entire time, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you close just to tease you like:

"What's the matter sweetheart?" "My sweet girl got fucked so good, she doesn't even know how to act properly, hm?"

I do think that he'd like some PDA but discretely like a hand on your thigh/waist, bringing your hand up to his lips for a quick kiss on your fingers. If your hair is long, he'd definitely have a hand behind your back, playing with it softly. The second he feels possesive, if someone was to flirt with you or you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and he notices men staring at you, he'd pull you to sit on his lap (especially after a couple of drinks) place kisses on your neck, making sure you know that when you get home, he's gonna make sure you know you're his.

#i need him SO BAD #captain john price #captain price smut #captain price #john price #john price smut #cod #cod smut #cod x reader #cod x you #ghost #ghost smut #john soap mactavish #könig smut #könig x reader

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explicit-tae · 7 months

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Moral Dilemma

Your morality is tested at a monthly family dinner that gets interrupted by two masked men. @seokjinkismet @bloodline1632 @babycandy111 @chimmy-licious

Word Count:7.317

Warning: yandere themes, dark themes, smut, coercion/dubcon/ violence, blood, multiple character deaths, stalking, slight gunplay, oral (f receiving), spitting, dirty talking, fingering, pussy slapping, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, creampie,

Halloween Masterlist

The drive to your parents home was a long one - about an hour from your apartment in the city. It was a drive you dreaded taking. Not because of how far it was, but because you knew who you’d be seeing upon entering.

Your mother was someone you loved dearly, but was someone you’d rather keep at a distance. She was the type to constantly ask about your love life, wondering when you’d be married and have children. A career didn’t matter to her if there was a man wealthy enough to marry and settle down with. The amount of times she stated that you’re wasting your youth on working in a useless field and should look into marrying could be counted on both hands.

Your father was the boastful type - he bragged about any and everything he could. His cars, houses, business - it all. You couldn’t fault him, however. He claimed that he had to start from the bottom and work his way up, but even he was someone who looked down upon your choice to work instead of using your privileged last name.

With two parents came four children, you being the second youngest. Your elder brother was the first to follow in your fathers footsteps and take over one business. He was married and had no children yet much to your mothers dismay.

Your older sister was who you bumped heads with constantly - a carbon copy of the mother you shared. She hadn’t worked ever and had taken your mothers advice and married a close friend of the family - the age difference is a bit alarming, but you didn’t dwell on it often.

Your younger brother and final child was a breath of fresh air. He had not yet been corrupted by your parents' views thus far and was only a freshman in college. He opted to stay on campus unless he had to come home - like today. Only he and you were the most distant to the rest while remaining close to one another.

Your call pulls into the large estate and you release a deep sigh. You were the last to arrive, familiar cars in your line of vision. You pull next to your eldest brother's silver ferrari - a gift from your father when he graduated college. You contemplated slamming your door against his to chip the paint, but decided against it. You and your brother had no real issue - but you still held a grudge when he laughed at a joke your sister had said one day, completely embarrassing you in the process.

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you made your way up the stone stairs. You were greeted with a wide smile of one of many workers that night - the oldest worker your parents hired decades ago.

“Sofia.” you bow to the older woman who does the same. “WIll you be joining us for dinner tonight?”

Sofia shakes her head, her eyes shining with amusement. “I never do. I will be making my leave shortly.”

You giggle. “I could only hope you’d stay.” was your response.

Every monthly dinner your parents hosted always ended in a mess. Your sister and you bickering with one another, your mother having one too many glasses of wine while your father became enraged in a conversation about politics with your older brother.

The estate is quiet upon entering. You made sure to come around this time. Dinner would soon be done and all you had to do was have dinner, mingle a bit for your younger brother, and then leave.

You wished your boyfriend was here with you. It would make things easier for you. You could make an excuse to even leave earlier because he was with you - next time hopefully.

You remove your heels at the door and make your way down the hall to the dining area. Your nostrils are filled with the scent of dinner and your stomach churns. Your father was an amazing cook, much to outsiders' surprise. You recalled many times he would cook and give your mother the credit - she was the type to burn water.

You enter the large dining room. You noticed the table has changed - the dark brown wooden table changed to a glass one, surrounded by off white chairs. It makes the room brighter as the chandelier above it illuminates throughout the room.

“Well, it’s about time.”

Your mood soured at the voice of your sister.

“How long were you planning on making us wait for you?”

Your eyes glance her way. She wore an annoyed look on her face. Your older brother had been munching on a piece of bread, not sparing you a second glance.

“You’re the only one waiting for me to eat.” you say, noticing even your younger brother chewing. You took the seat besides him, patting his shoulder as you did so.

Your sister sucks her teeth, but she doesn’t respond.

The food is displayed in the center of the table and you waste no time in making your own plate. The last time you ate was this morning with your boyfriend and decided to skip lunch so you had room for dinner.

Conversation erupts throughout the table, you and your younger brother deciding to speak amongst one another. He spoke about his college classes and the parties he attends - everything you know due to social media. He speaks fondly of a person, making sure not to be too loud for listening ears to hear. He breezes past the word he before flushing and changing the subject - all you could do was smile.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

And of course, that voice speaks once more.

“Where’s your husband?” you retort.

“Not tonight.” your mother says warningly after your older brother snorts. She takes a sip of her wine and you want to repeat her words but bite your tongue.

“I wasn’t the one who said I would be bringing someone.” your sister takes a sip of water and raises her brows. “Now, where’s this boyfriend of yours?”

Her tone doesn’t go unnoticed. She thinks you’re lying about your boyfriend- you’re aware. You don’t feel the need to post him on social media and vice versa - the most you did was introduce him once during a facetime call with your younger brother, but that was all. Your older brother never pried into your life and you didn’t want to hear your mothers constant questions of marriage.

“He has to work.” you shrug.

“Sure.” your sister takes a bite of her steak.

You blink your eyes away to your mother who’s already staring at you.

“Hopefully we’ll meet him next time.”

You remain silent. You weren’t going to engage in yet another argument with her like she desired. You decided on picking up your fork and sinking your teeth into the steak.

“If he exists.”

You drop your fork harshly. It slams against the glass plate.

“Not again.” your older brother murmurs.

“What the fuck is that suppose to mean?” you hiss at her.

“You supposedly have been dating someone for almost a year.” she shrugs her shoulders. “But we never see him.”

“Why would I bring him here?” you retort. “So you can continue to be a bitch?”

“Oh, I struck a nerve.” she giggles. “I’m not the one lying-”

“Lying?!” you snicker.

“Y/N has nothing to prove to any of us.” your younger brother defends with a roll of his eyes. “He does exist. I met him.”

“Oh, really?” your sister leans forward interested. “So did the both of you share details on your boyfriends?”

Your hands clench while your younger brother stiffens.

“That’s enough.” your older brother hisses, raising his hand in front of your sister. “You’re going too far.”

“What does she mean boyfriends?” your mother slurs and now you’re ready to pounce on your sister for her slick mouth.

“Nothing.” you, your younger and older brother say in unison. “I think we should just eat in silence.” your older brother grumbles.

“As do I.” your father quips.

“Your daughter,” your sister points to you. “is a liar. And your son,” she points to your younger brother besides you. “is gay.”

Your father stops eating while your older brother sighs.

“You can’t have anyone else be happy, can you?” you stand to your feet with a shake of your head. “What the fuck-”

“Y/N it’s okay.” your younger brother murmurs, but the soft tone indicates that it wasn’t okay in the slightest. Even if there was speculation on his sexuality, your mother was in denial and constantly asked him of girlfriends or flings that he was just end up lying about going on dates with the girls she’d set him up with. Luckily, said girls were kind enough to hold up the lie.

“Yes, Y/N. It’s okay.” your sister shrugs. “You can admit that you don’t have a boyfriend and we can all accept our baby brother for who he is.”

“Are you that miserable with life?” you ask. “Does that husband of yours not please you enough that you want to come here and fuck with everyone else lives? Or is it because he’s going broke?”

The table grows silent at the new revelancing. Your sister reddens with embarrassment, her hand clenching the glass of water in her hand.

“Is that true?” your mother slurs.

“Yes, it is.” you giggle, taking your seat. “Tell us how your dear old husband has filed for bankruptcy.”

Your older brother widens his eyes at you with a head shake. He was the one to tell you after he had heard mumblings from his own group of friends - the both of you laughed at the irony. Your sister had gloated that she married rich while already being rich - and now look where that got her.

“You sit around and try to make our lives hell because yours is.” you spit at your sister. “You fucked an old man for money just for him to end up broke.” you shake your head with another laugh. “I’m sure father would let you move back in. Just ask.”

Your sister stands, slamming her manicured hands against the table and before she can scream at you, she falls back.

The glass window directly behind you shatters. Particles of glass dance off your skin. The room erupts in screams and cries. Your eyes blink open and widen at the sight before you.

Your sister is bleeding, clutching her shoulder. Blood pools out from, coating her hands and staining her shirt.

Your older brother is the first to respond. He grabs a cloth and places it against the wound, a loud cry erupting from her throat.

“W-What the fuck?” your younger brother is in shock, unable to move from his seat. Your mother is crying and your father is patting his pockets for his phone. “We have to call the police-”

Another shot rings out, this time louder. You grasp your younger brother and fall to the ground, watching in horror as your father falls to his knees. He clenches his stomach, blood oozing out of him, as well.

Your eyes swell with tears, mind racing with confusion. You’re unsure what to do to help, completely frozen with fear. You hold your brother against you tightly, afraid that he would be the next one shot.

From beneath the table, your eyes catch dark leather boots. You're paralyzed with fear at the sight of two pairs of feet rushing forward. You hear another shot ring out, your older brother wincing. His body drops to the ground while he begins to bleed. The bleeding wound is on his shoulder similar to your sisters, but the next one is right between his eyes.

“Please! D-Do you want money?!” your mother cries, her arms wrapping around your deceased brother.

You are the next to scream. The glass table is flipped, shattering against the marble floor. Your brother holds onto you tighter, but only for a second. He’s being ripped away from you and now it’s your turn to plead.

“N-No! Take me! Just leave-”

A black gun is placed against your brother's head. His eyes are closed while soft tears are spilling out of his eyes. You’re afraid to move or speak for his sake.

The masked man is tall. He sports a completely black attire with an all white chilling mask that hides his eyes.

The masked man’s partner sends a shot to your mother and her crying stops, but you’re unable to look her way. The eyeless holes of the masked man before you paralyze you in fear.

“P-Please…” you begin to cry. Your father whimpers behind you while your sister is crying behind the masked man. Your older brother and mother are dead and you don’t want your younger brother to follow suit. “W-We have money…just don’t hurt him. W-What is it that you w-want?”

You gasp when the masked man slams the handle of his gun against your brother's head. He falls to the ground limp. “He isn’t dead.” the second masked man says from across the room, voice muffled. “Yet.”

“P-Please don’t kill us.” you begged, bowing lower to show your mercy. Your hands rest above your head and you feel the broken glass of the window pinching your skin.

You scream once you feel your hair being tugged. The masked man in front of you forces you to your feet. You don’t want to look the man in the face - the white emotionless mask frightened you. You’re unsure who these men are and what they truly wanted with you. You assumed money - your father being well known as wealthy and your family name was just as out there. But did they have to kill you all one by one to get money? You would have given them anything in the home - fine jewelry, expensive art pieces and furniture and more - if they allowed your family to be unharmed.

You stiffen when you feel the cold gun against your lips. The masked man taps it a few times. Your heart jumps out of your chest when you realize what he’s expecting of you. You open your mouth slowly, shuddering when you feel the gun slide between your lips.

The masked man turns to face your sister who’s watching with wide eyes. Her clothing is stained with her own blood and you’re unsure how long she’d last until she passed out due to her injuries.

The gun slides deeper inside your mouth. Your eyes close, breathing hitching. You’re unsure if he’s doing this to scare you - because it’s obviously working - or a way to defile you even further.

The gun is removed from your mouth. You hear footsteps begin to kick up. Your eyes blink open to find the second masked man grabbing your sister and hoisting her up. “W-What are you doing?!”

Your sister hisses at the harsh treatment as she’s being rushed out of the dining room. You want to follow her - to reach out and help her, but you can’t. The masked man is in front of you, dark eye sockets on you.

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name being heard by the masked man causes you to shudder. You’re shocked - goosebumps roaming your body. Did the man behind the mask know you? Your family? You do not recognize the voice even if it is muffled behind the mask nor do you recognize the stature of his body.

“You know my name.” you murmur. You begin to think that maybe this is someone that was wronged by your family - a long list that would possibly take all night to go over in your mind. “D-Do I know your name?”

The masked man is silent for a moment, so much that you’re unsure if he heard you.

“Do-”

“I heard you.” the masked man interrupts. “No, you do not.”

You hands begin to tremble. That doesn’t tell you who he is, what he wants or any motives. You not knowing who is was didn’t mean that you didn’t know you and your family - or if he was ever wronged by them.

“I can tell you’re thinking so hard.” you stiffen when he brings up a gloved hand to touch your cheek. “You’re wondering why we’re doing this. Why am I here before you?”

The man is touching you so softly, his gloved thumb rubbing along your cheek. You want to sob at his actions..

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”

Your breathing hitchens when his hand slides down to your neck and he takes a single step closer to you. Your mind is screaming at you, alarm bells are ringing.

“You’re afraid. Understandable.”

The gloved hand drops back to its side and he tilts his head.

“Who are you?” you whisper. As much as your heart beats for an answer, you’re sure that you’re afraid to find out. What if you saw his face and knew exactly who he was - then what? What would he do to you then upon knowing his face and name? “There must be something you want from me?”

The masked man moves slowly. He removes his gloves and drops them upon the floor effortlessly. He’s young - you can always tell the age of a person by looking at their hands. They appeared soft and young. Fingernails trimmed and cleaned - you snap your eyes away and into the eyeless sockets.

“I do want something from you.”

“Money?” you ask hopefully, even if in your heart you’re sure that if that's what he wanted, there would be a robbery instead of blatant murder.

“I have more than enough money. Especially in my profession.” you hear a tint of amusement in his muffled tone. “Down the hall to the right, there’s a bathroom, correct?”

Just who the hell was this man and how long had he been following you - and your family?

“Yes.”

“Lead the way.”

It’s a command. Your eyes lower to your younger brother’s unmoving body, surrounded by broken glass and splattered blood.

“He'll remain alive.” the masked man says. “You have my word.”

Somehow, his word didn’t mean much - but you decided that if you did as you were told that you, your sister and brother would remain alive. Just as long as you sacrifice yourself.

You sauntered down the quiet hallway to the nearest bathroom - a large room with high ceilings and a whole wall dedicated to a large mirror. You can feel the man close behind you. As you open the door for the both of you, he’s quick to close it behind him.

“Turn around.”

Another command. You do as you’re told, unsure what the masked man wants from you. Your beating heart has a clue.

As you turn, your eyes meet his - not the socketless ones of the mask. Dark brown eyes laying upon a smooth, young face. You feel hot with embarrassment when your eyes don’t blink - they continue to stare. His hair is dark and shiny, a single strain hanging on his forehead while the rest didn’t appear out of place in the slightest. His lips are pink and full, moisturized just as his skin.

You didn’t know who this man was but the sight of his catches you by surprise.

“My name’s Hoseok.”

Hoseok.

You didn’t know a Hoseok.

“Hoseok…”

Hoseok is a bit easier to read when his mask is off. His eyes widen only for a slight moment at you repeating his name.

“Please, Hoseok.” you’re frightened to the core. This man is a killer along with his partner. Your mind can only wonder what in the world he’s doing with your sister. “W-Whatever you want. I can give it. Just please don’t hurt my brother and sister.”

You hear Hoseok sigh. He shakes his head with a low tsk. “You are so naive, Y/N.” he places a hand upon your cheek once more. “So caring. But that’s what I love about you.”

Your eyebrows knit together.

“I’ve known you for over a year now.” Hoseok begins. “I watched as you went to work each day even if you’re worth millions. You lived in a condo in the city - smaller than what you’re accustomed to.”

Hoseok’s thumb outlines your lips.

“Every now and then you would visit your brother and spend the day with him. You would also hang out with your boyfriend when he wasn’t cheating.”

Your eyes blink a few times at his words. Cheating?

“Of course you didn’t know.” Hoseok hums. “But I do. He’s been cheating on you for months now, baby. Dye red hair with split ends. Name’s-”

“Bella.” you murmur, the short description as all you needed. “His-”

“Best friend.” Hoseok finishes.

You look away from Hoseok.

You want to feel sad about your boyfriend's cheating, but you are beginning to feel numb. In normal circumstances, you’d possibly cry at how naive you were - clueless. You should have seen this coming long ago by just how close Bella and he were, but you didn’t want to appear insecure bringing it up to him.

But again, you aren’t as sad as you want to be. You had lost three members of your family thus far and your sister was hurt while your brother knocked unconscious.

“You’re not like them.” Hoseok’s voice drags you back to reality. “You aren’t as horrible as them.”

“They didn’t deserve to die.” you quip.

“Your father has done some fucked up things in the past. Your brother following in his footsteps.” Hoseok twirls a strand of your hair between both his index and thumb. “Your mother was just a nuisance. I know how much she put you down for not being like her.”

Just how much did Hoseok know about you and your family?

“You and your brother are the only hope left.” Hoseok murmurs. “The only two that aren’t far gone.”

You shake your head slightly.

“Even your sister is far gone.”

“Please-”

“Ssshh.”

Hoseok’s finger lifts to your lips to hush you.

“Turn around.”

You feel Hoseok’s hands upon your shoulders as you face the mirror. His eyes watch yours through the reflection.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.”

“So are you.” you murmur, the hot feeling coming back. You’re unsure what Hoseok’s true intentions were, but his admission told you that he knows more than enough. And you had already seen what he is capable of.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N.” Hoseok says. “You don’t have to say anything to flatter me.”

“I’m not.” you swallow. You happen to think Hoseok was an attractive person - if you would have met him under other circumstances, you would be swooning. It’s difficult to ignore the elephant in the room even if the man is attractive.

Hoseok offers a smile. You ponder just how someone who appears so innocent and nice could be a killer - you wonder what he and his partner truly was. Hitmen? Assassins?

Hoseok’s eyes never leave yours, not even as his hands lower to touch along your neck then to your collarbone.

“How did you…find me?” you’re unsure of the word to use.

“A client.”

You inhale.

“I’m sure you know what I am by now, baby. Hitman?”

You exhale. Your conscience was right. Someone had hired him to do this to your family.

“I was paid to kill your family.”

Hoseok’s words replay in your mind. All you can think about is how he managed to do so - your mother, father and brother were already gone. By Hoseok’s words, your sister will be next.

“Taehyung and I are not monsters. We killed those we saw fit.” You feel Hoseok’s body press against yours, radiating warmth. “We take on these jobs as hitmen, but we make sure those who are paid to kill are worth killing. Your brother and you…are not.”

You blink. It feels sick to feel satisfied that he had no intentions on harming you and your brother - as the rest of your family lay dead.

“We take money upfront to do the job. We kill the client if we feel as if the target does not deserve death.”

You swallow when Hoseok’s hands begin to lower. His hands halt upon your chest and right above your heart. He feels it thump.

“Are you scared of me, Y/N?” Hoseok questions.

“You said you weren’t going to hurt me.” you respond to him. Your head leans back against his chest, eyes never leaving him in the mirror.

“You have my word. You and your brother are safe.”

You gulp.

Your father was dead, as was your mother and brother. Your sister - if she was still alive - was going to be soon. You had nothing left to lose besides your own life and that of your brother. Hoseok has been following you for a year now and knew everything - there was no escaping him.

Maybe if you gave him what he wanted, you could keep your sister alive.

“Is she still alive?”

“Your sister? For now, yes.”

You nod your head.

“What do you want from me, Hoseok?” you had a clue. “What happens after all of this?”

You watch his expression change. He hasn’t thought about it that far as of yet, you note.

“I don’t want you to fear me.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t want you to leave me, either.”

You feel Hoseok press himself even tighter against you.

He inhaled deeply. There was no escaping Hoseok.

“I won’t leave you.” you murmur. “There isn’t anywhere for me to go. You’ve had eyes on me for a long time.”

Hoseok again smiles. He places a kiss against the back of your head and inhales the fresh scent of your hair. “I knew keeping you alive was a good choice, baby. You’re smart and kind. You actually care about people.” His words are sinister and they replay in your mind. You ponder when Hoseok actually thought about keeping you alive and what you’ve done that had his decision forming. You feel uneasy thinking about how he has been watching you this entire time and you never felt his presence. There was never a time in the last year that you felt eyes upon you - or if anyone was following you in the slightest.

In the end, there was no escaping Hoseok - so you wouldn’t even try.

“Do you want me, Hoseok?”

Hoseok is a dangerous man - him and his partner. Taehyung was his name; a name you didn’t recognize, either. He was hired to kill your family by an unknown person or organization - he followed you for over a year now and knows your routine. He became infatuated within that time. The reason you were truly unsure of, but you could use this to your advantage. Though you do not truly understand what Hoseok wants in the end of all of this - a romantic relationship or just sexual encounter - you were determined to do it. To stay alive through it all - maybe you could convince him that your sister was even worth saving.

You turn to face Hoseok, placing your hands against his chest. “Do you want me, Hoseok?” you repeat, your voice lowering to a murmur. Your hands rub up his chest to his shoulders. He’s solid, stiff shoulders jolting as if you sent a bolt of electricity through them.

“Y/N…?” Hoseok murmurs, his hand touching yours as it reaches his cheek. “...do you want me to kill your boyfriend?”

You try not to react to his question. Slowly, you shake your head.

“Do you still love him?”

You don’t want to anger Hoseok. In a way you did love him - you assumed the love was reciprocated. In hindsight, you should have known the love he had for someone he considered a friend would be stronger.

“It would gather suspicion if my brother, sister and I survived this and then he died, don’t you think?”

Hoseok hums. Your words don’t go unnoticed by him - you were trying to keep your sister alive with everything you had in you to offer.

“I suppose you are.”

It’s insane to think Hoseok is a hitman. You would consider such a beauty of a man to be literally anything else - a model or an actor of sorts. You wondered what his partner looked like and if he was just as beautiful.

“I’ve watched you for a long time, Y/N.”

Your hands were becoming sweaty, nervous on where this was going to go with Hoseok.

“You said you aren’t afraid of me, right?”

You nod your head, but even Hoseok knew this was a lie. You stand before him and it would appear that you were fearless, but your eyes were glossy, having cried all the tears you could. You were shuddering with each breath you took - but you were a determined woman and this is one of the reasons he adored you. You were so selfless in a family full of selfish individuals.

“Okay.” Hoseok grasps the hand from his cheek and presses a firm kiss upon it. “Then there shouldn't be any secrets.”

You’re positive Hoseok can hear your heart quickening.

“I’ve watched you for so long. I’ve been in your home as you slept. While you showered.”

Hoseok’s eyes watch the shock go through your expression, even if you didn’t want to look it.

“I stayed and viewed the way you’d touch yourself at night. Your moans were so lovely, pure. A raw reaction from someone who thinks they’re alone. But you were almost never alone, Y/N. I always followed you.”

Hoseok’s free hand grabs your waist. He pulls you closer to him and it’s painfully obvious that he’s excited about recanting the times he’s watched you touch yourself.

“But as I watch, Y/N, I think how deep down you knew someone was there. You would always display yourself willingly for me, widen your legs in my direction and put on a show just for me.”

It’s then that you feel Hoseok’s hand glide down and it’s now gripping your ass.

His words cause you to feel hot - humiliated. The thought of you not being alone while you touched yourself is horrifying enough.

And even more horrifying that his admission causes you to clench your legs.

“I often speculate just how wet you’d be wrapped around my fingers. How you’d taste. Feel.”

Hoseok becomes more touchy, allowing your hand to fall from his cheek so he can bring you even closer to him - how was it possible? You had no idea.

The room begins to feel ever hotter, Hoseok radiating such warmth. His lips bury between your neck and he leaves open mouth kisses upon it.

“Would you give me a taste, Y/N?”

You were positive that you’d end up in Hell right alongside Hoseok. Your body shouldn’t be reacting this way to a man that has been hired to kill your family - especially when said man has admitted to stalking you for a good amount of time now. The bodies of your family lay dead and unconscious in the next room - who even knows what Taehyung is doing to your sister now.

“Y-Yes.”

Hoseok chuckles, a dark look in his eyes. He’s quick to push you deeper inside the bathroom and hoist your body so you’re sitting upon the sink. He’s quick to remove your pants, not being gentle in the slightest.

“Red’s a scandalous color.” Hoseok murmurs, a hand coming out to touch the wet patch right in the center of your panties. “You’re so wet, dripping all over the place. I’m sure I could slide right in now if I wanted to.”

Hoseok slides your panties to the side, his eyes fixed on your clit. You want to cover yourself at how intense his stare was, the hot feeling of embarrassment running rampant through you.

You gasp when Hoseok dives right, his tongue laying flat against your clit. It catches you by surprise even if it shouldn’t have. His tongue flicks your clit hungrily - he’s been waiting for this moment. The countless times he had watched you so closely as you touched yourself, he could only lick his lips and take in the moment.

Now, Hoseok could revel in the fact that he had you right where he wanted you.

Hoseok lifts his lips from your lips to spit upon your clit before diving back in. He suckles upon your clit, his hands pushing down onto your thighs.

You bite your lips to dead the moan threatening to release. Your thighs shake with the forbidden pleasure, your mind going blink. You cannot recall the last time you’ve been eaten out by a man - your (now ex) boyfriend didn’t exactly enjoy doing it.

Hoseok lifts once more, pushing your panties to the side further. His eyes dip up to meet your hooded ones, licking his lips from your sweet taste.

“How does it feel, Y/N?” Hoseok murmurs his question, hand slapping your clit. You jolt, gasping at the sudden action. “You’re dripping all over the place for me.”

Hoseok slaps your pussy a second time, then a third, then fourth. He doesn’t stop until you’re shuddering beneath him and even wetter than before. It’s sinister to be here beneath him - your sister in the next room bleeding out, brother unconscious and selfish family members deceased.

“You like what I do to you, don’t you, baby?” Hoseok chuckles, dimples showing and eyes sparkling with lust. He inches his index and middle finger inside of you, thumb pressed against your clit. “You’re not as innocent as I thought, huh?”

Hoseok begins to thrust inside of you. It’s evident now that he was a dominant person - the kind that’s always in charge. He doesn’t give you any mercy, fiercely pumping.

Hoseok hovers upon you, his eyes bouncing between your dripping pussy to your face. He groans, the idea of ruining you shoots deep within him and down to his core.

“H-Hoseok, please-”

“Shut up.” Hoseok hisses, voice deepening. He removes his fingers from inside your shortly just to slap your clit once more. You scream out at the loss of pleasure and the sudden sting. Without much warning, he enters his fingers inside of you once more, continuing his hellish pace. “I don’t want to hear you make a sound, Y/N.” Hoseok hisses, leaning down to come face to face with you. “Understood?”

The dominant type was what Hoseok definitely was. At first glance, you would assume he was a nice person. His smile was bright and it reached his eyes, appearing an innocent everyday man. But he was hired to kill your family and now - after doing so - you allowed him between your legs.

You were destined to go to Hell, especially when you nod your head at Hoseok’s command.

You bite your lip and allow whatever moan to subside. Your eyes are fluttering shut, hips jutting. Your head leans back, pussy clenching around Hoseok’s fingers.

“I thought you were going to be a difficult catch.” Hoseok’s breath is hot against your face. “Thought I was going to have to force you to obey me.”

A moan releases from your throat unwillingly and you whimper at the act, knowing that you had gone against Hoseok once more.

Hoseok hisses, shaking his head. He removes his fingers and a slap rings across the bathroom. You open your eyes to look at him and Hoseok could only chuckle - such eyes filled with lust. You were truly a vixen, the perfect match made for him.

“Since a whore like you cannot listen.” your eyes watch Hoseok mess with the belt of his pants. You swallow, stomach churning in anticipation. “I’ll have to fuck the submission into you.”

Hoseok’s big, but you don’t have the chance nor time to marvel at the sight of him. He’s already forcing his way inside of you - but you’re so wet that it isn’t an issue entering.

Hoseok’s hands slap against your lips, roughly pushing you back and against the wall. His eyes, dark and filled with lust, bore into your own. He begins to thrust, pace fast and brutal.

“I though…fuck - that I’d have to force you to obey me.” Hoseok continues his speech. You can hear his clear as day, even with his grunts and the sound of wet skin slapping together.

“But you were a good little whore for me, Y/N. You did obey me.”

You could only swallow, breathing intensified.

“Just how,” Hoseok groans deeply, eyes blinking. You were so tight and wet - clenching around him lovingly. “J-Just how I knew you would.”

Hoseok releases his hand from your lips to clench both of your hips roughly. He continues his pace, eyes fixed on your pussy coating his cock.

You were going to cum, angered that you couldn’t scream out like you desired. Deep down, however disturbing it was, you enjoyed the control and dominance this man had over you. His hand that once fell over your mouth still feels warm, as if it was still there.

“You’re finally mine, Y/N. All mine.” Hoseok growls, thrusts sloppy. His mind flashes with the many ways he could claim you; control you. “Mine to fuck, mine to pleasure, mine to control.” Hoseok’s fingernails dig into your skin. “You’d like that, huh?”

Your head is nodding, breathing hitching. Your eyes squeeze close and it’s only when your cheeks feel wet do you realize you’re crying. Now you’re sure you’d be humiliated once the deed was done.

“You’re crying.” Hoseom chuckles. He leans down, tongue licking at your tear stained cheeks. “So pretty when you cry. So…so submissive for me.” Hoseok lips trail from your cheeks to your lips. He presses a firm kiss to your lips, hips slowing their pace, but they’re still deep and rough.

You’re cumming, creaming Hoseok’s cock like the submissive girl you were for him - tightening so much so that he can’t help but do the same. His mind flashes - he can’t wait until he has you in all the ways he wants. Tied up, begging for him. Maybe even he’d allow you to take control some days - he wanted it all.

“What is he doing to her?” your sister asks Taehyung, bullet wound wrapped. She leans against the wall of the kitchen. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

Taehyung doesn’t respond, only glancing the girl's way and snickering. The mask lays on the ground and he’s checking his watch upon his wrist.

Taehyung himself was growing impatient, having accompanied Hoseok to this job. It was about three months prior that Hoseok had come to him about the job. He had stated that he followed a girl - you - for nearly a year at that point. He spoke of you fondly, called you pretty and stated that you were different from your sister and the rest of the family.

“Can you not hear me talking to you?” your sister hisses, clenching her fists. “I’m paying good fucking money-”

“You haven’t paid us fully yet.” Taehyung interrupts, voice deep and laced with annoyances. “Don’t think we haven’t done our own research.”

Your sister gulps.

Every hitmen had their own desired price, Hoseok splitting the large amount with him. Half was due up front and the other would be due after the deed is done - Taehyung knows well enough that your sister was broke. Her husband had gone bankrupt and seemingly all she had left was a wealthy last name with no money to show for it.

However, killing your entire family and you being the sole survivor would garner her a large sum of inheritance and fame. She once bragged that she could even write a book about the situation - being the sole survivor of a hit put out on her family. She even instructed them to make sure she was hurt in the process.

“I just want to make sure everything happens smoothly.” your sister murmurs, eyes glancing away.

“Putting a hit on your entire family isn’t exactly something that can go smoothly.”

Your sister whips her head around to Taehyung, but her eyes meet yours. You appeared disheveled, hair a mess and eyes puffy. “Y/N-”

“You did this?” you murmured to her, Hoseok behind you. Taehyung, another beautiful man just as Hoseok, but you had no time to dwell, stood against the nearest wall.

“Why isn’t she dead?” your sister avoids your eyes and screams directly to Hoseok. Her voice cracks. “I-I..we had an agreement.”

“I may be a hitman, but I still have morals.” Hoseok responds. “If the people you want dead do not deserve death, then who am I to give it?”

Your sister shakes her head. She inhales deeply. “That’s not what we agreed on.”

You swallow, throat tight. It begins to ache and your vision turns blurry. Your heart aches just as your throat. The hit that was put out against your family was not one from a wronged employee, or someone that you barely knew. It came from inside the home.

You and your sister had your own differences, but you would have never thought life would become like this.

“I thought you were dying.” you blinked away, voice dangerously low. “I was willing…” you scoff. It didn’t matter what you were willing to do to help your sister because in the end, you were never intended to get this far. If it was any other hitman besides Hoseok, you would have surely been dead. “...I gave myself to the hitman you hired in hopes he’d keep you alive.”

Your sister doesn’t meet your eyes - she refuses to.

The thought of your younger brother being dead crosses your mind and fist clenches.

“I want you to have the final decision if she lives or dies.”

Hoseok’s voice booms behind you. For a second, it was as if time stood still. Your eyes bore into your sister, and only now did she meet your eyes.

“W-What?” your sister's voice drops and she attempts to step closer, but it’s Taehyung that raises his gun does she stop.

Your sister catches the way Hoseok’s hands land upon your shoulders, gently rubbing. She shakes her head.

You don’t speak at first, eyes looking straight at your sister. It was her turn to cry, whimpering softly. This wasn’t part of her plan - she never intended on any survivors but her. You’re unsure how she planned for everything to come together - would she grieve you and your family? If so, would it be a genuine sadness or a fabricated one?

“My brother,” you say, head only turning slightly towards Hoseok. “would not be harmed?”

“You have my word.” Hoseok repeats the same sentence as he did in the bathroom. “You and him would always be safe.”

You inhale.

You never would have thought you’d be in a situation such as this - but how could you forgive her? Can you just let her go and come together a month from now at another family dinner? The thought alone was comical - what would stop her from just trying to kill you herself?

“How would my brother and I not be caught in this mess?”

Your sister clasps her hand over her mouth, holding in a whimper.

“Leave it to me, baby.” Hoseok squeezes your shoulders. “I’ll take care of everything.”

You take your eyes off of your sister and turn fully to Hoseok. He offers you a smile - a kind and genuine one. His eyes were warm and for a moment, you actually felt safe. As insane as it was, you believed his words.

“Kill her.” you say to him. “I have to go check on my brother.”

You already told yourself you were going to Hell for what you’ve allowed Hoseok to do to you in the bathroom, but you solidified it as you strolled out of the kitchen, ignoring the cries of your sister followed by a loud gunshot.

#test your morality #bts smut #bangtanwritershq #btsmasterlist2022 #bangtan smut #btswritersclub #hoseok yandere #hitman hoseok #hoseok x reader #explicit-tae #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #moral dilemma #bts yandere #hoseok smut #halloween masterlist #trivia-yandere halloween masterlist

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miioouu · 7 months

Text

Mean Dad's Best Friend! Ghost

In which he asks you to hook him up with your bestie as you're riding him. Tw: smut, age gap (ghost is in his late 30s, reader in her early 20s), f!reader, mean mean ghost, a bit of dumbification if you squint like really hard. Wc: 2.1k

"You're a big girl now!" is the first thing Ghost said when you opened the door to greet your dad's military friends. You only smiled at him, with a slight blush as you took the small bag from him, which you assumed is your birthday gift.

"It's not everyday that you turn 21 my dear, so let's celebrate big time. Invite your friends, I'll invite mine, we'll have a nice barbecue, the weather is nice this weekend." and although you didn't need such fancy celebrations, how could you deny your old dad? How could you reject the chance of seeing one of his dearest friends, the one you've been fantasising about for years now? So you nodded, eager to invite your friends over.

It might've been your first mistake that night. How dare she? Come to your house, your birthday party, in such a short dress (albeit, it wasn't too short, but it got your blood boiling anyway). How dare she smile so brightly, her shoulders shaking with every laugh, her eyelashes batting anytime someone would say a word to her? And more importantly, how dare she steal his attention? His chocolate eyes following her every move, twinkling and shining when the wind would lift her dress up just a tiny bit, revealing more of her thighs, darting over to hers whenever he made a joke, seeing if she's laughing. How dare she walk past him? Making him sit up straight, his nose flaring up, obviously under his mask, to breathe in her perfume. And what made it worse? when she sat next to him at the table, your place, your seat. When he started to serve her, put food on her plate, pouring her a drink as if she couldn’t do it herself, as if she’s the birthday girl getting spoiled on her special day. When your eyes would stray to him, seeing his thumb rubbing circles on her knee, pushing the hem of her dress up to feel more of her plush skin. How dare she steal Ghost away from you? And how dare he entertain her too?

Just because you're older doesn't mean you're more mature, and doesn't mean that you have to be the bigger person. Your eyes start to line up with tears as you saw the big man lean in to whisper something in her ear that made her blush and giggle, making you storm up, excusing yourself for a second as you stomped to your bedroom to deal with your feelings in peace, away from everyone and precisely her.

Your face was buried in your pillows, silencing your screams of frustration, you haven't even seen the light peaking through the opening door, you haven't even heard it close and lock. You only felt a hand, big, warm, and calloused, slipping under your shirt, rubbing circles on the small of your back. "Can't have the princess be sad on her special day, hmm?" His hum sounded more like a growl, rumbling in his chest, trembling your whole soul. You didn't want to look at him, giving him the same treatment that he gave you all night, but he knew you couldn't resist him; not when his hand slid further up your back, experienced fingers undoing your bra with ease, and it's only when you felt the mattress sink under his weight that you looked at him with puffy red eyes.

He's cruel, it's not new information. Of course he is, years in the military broke his moral compass. Years of violence and brutality enabled him to differentiate between right and wrong, why else would he be chuckling over your tears? Why else would his lips be pressing sentimental kisses to the back of the neck of someone half his age? "What's the matter darling? who's gotten you so upset tonight?" you didn't have to answer, your glare was enough for him to understand, and yet again, he laughed. He laughed at your misery, your pain, your jealousy.

He's cruel, it's not new information, but he's manipulative too. Ages of studying the human's body language, he knows exactly how to read between the lines and into their minds. Twisted smiles or gruesome threats, either way, if he wants something, he'll find a way to get it. So is it really a surprise when he flops beside you, the bed squeaking under his enormous figure? His swift hands found your waist quickly, pulling you on top of him with ease, as if you weighed nothing. "Come on, don't be like that princess." He said in his low voice, erupting goosebumps across your skin. He removed your shirt, discarded your bra, throwing them somewhere on your bedroom floor to be lost. And he leaned in. His eyes fluttering as he looked up at you, his lips parting as he locked them around one of your nipples. His hot tongue is flicking your bud, his teeth dragging against your soft flesh here and there, all that while he kept his eyes on yours. He can't help it, such a cute young girl's resolve crumbling because of him.

Oh he's cruel, so cruel; he didn't miss the way your eyes widened in surprise when you felt his wet muscle on your skin, or the way your fingers curled in a fist, shaking as you tried to fight your desire off with reasoning. But he also didn't miss the way your head fell back, a sigh of delight escaping your lips as your digits uncurled and rested on his well defined chest instead. He didn't miss your shivers and the biting of your lips when his hands found purchase on your hips, grinding you against him, softly yet pressing you so tight against him. "Tell me…what have I done that has gotten you in that state?" he asks mischievously, a smirk on his lips because he knows, he knows exactly what he's done. When you don't answer him and only let out a frustrated huff as your grip tightens around his shirt, he rolls his eyes "Come on, don't be like that, darling… Was just entertaining her. You know I only have eyes for you." You scoff again at his obvious lie, and you wanted to speak up your mind, let him know you're not one to fool around with, but as soon as you gathered the courage to open your mouth, he lifted you hips up slightly, keeping one hand on you, the other quickly unbuttoning his jeans and in a swift motion pulling them down alongside his boxers; you barely registered the dark spot on them. But yours weren't better. He thanked whatever God is above that you wore a skirt. His fingers easily touch that soft spot between your thighs, chuckling at the wetness covering your flimsy cotton panties.

He's disgusting, really. The way he's teasing himself, eager to see what exactly you are wearing under that red skirt. Is it some cute, girly panties with strawberries on them? or maybe some flowers? Maybe they're stripped, baby blue and white. Or spotted, black and pink. What if they're a solid colour? What's your favourite colour again? Purple, yeah? Yeah, what if you're wearing a soft mauve pair of underwear, with a bow on the front, small lace details on the hem? And he groans at the thought, having enough of restraining himself, he's quick to flip your skirt up, laughing, laughing, when he sees that his assumptions were right, that you were so pretty in purple. You gasped, you whined as you tried to push his hand off "Simon…I…what are you doing?" you wanted to sound angry, livid and grossed out by the older man, but Ghost only looked at you, eyes sparkling brightly in your dimmed bedroom "Showing you that you're my favourite girl, of course!" His voice is laced with malice, and the upturn of his lips didn't make you feel any more reassured.

His fingers pushed your undies aside, too eager to take them off properly, and in all honesty, if they weren't this cute, he would've ripped them off. Your folds are glistening under the light, he can't help but lick his lips at the sight. "Look at you, darling. Look at you…Thought you were mad at me. If that's what I get anytime I make you angry, I might as well do it more often then." He chuckles, mean, as his hands find your hips again, guiding you closer to him, hovering you over his dripping tip. His eyes dart up at you for a second, he expected fear, or disgust, ready to stop if he saw tears rolling down your cheeks, but to his surprise, you were biting your lower lip, your cheeks were a glowy pink, and your eyes were half lidded, it didn't take a genius to see how badly you wanted him.

He's the cruellest man alive, there's no way someone is more evil than him. He didn't give you time, as soon as he heard your small whine when the leaking head of his dick brushed against your clit, he slammed you down onto him. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, your nails digging, tearing little holes in his thin black shirt, as you took all of him in one movement. "Big girl aren't you, dear? Doing such a good job, taking all of me like that…" He groans out after a few thrusts up into you. "But come on now, big girl, you can do it yourself, yeah?" He sounds a little frustrated, irritated and tired that his heels are digging into the mattress and he's the one moving his hips, doing the job.

Your second mistake is that you're too much of a people pleaser, and you had a soft spot for the huge military man. So you nodded at his command, pushing at his shoulders so he's laying flat against your bed as you begin to move. Up and down with every breath you took, your knees already hurting, but you pushed through, picking up the pace each time his fingers dug further in the soft skin of your thighs, a warning of some sort.

He's sweating, beads of perspiration collecting on his forehead as his eyes rolled so far back his skull. "Such a good girl for me." He'd moan out, calloused digits leaving the plushness of your thighs to grab at those of your breasts instead. You whimper, back arching at the feeling, your hands dig further more into his chest to keep yourself steady. "And you know how you could be even a better darling for me?" His voice is with malice, but your mind is already hazy and dizzy, melted as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with every movement you made. You only hummed in acknowledgement; whether you had the brain to think or not, you would've still agreed to whatever he had to say, after all, you wanted to be his good girl, his only girl.

Third mistake, you're a dumb, stupid and hopeful young girl. What were you thinking, really? You thought he'd be kissing you and whispering how much he loves you? That his hands would comb through your hair as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear once you reached your high together and collapsed on his chest?

Your chest is heaving as you approach your climax, your mouth opening to let out a yell of his name as your walls tightened around his length, but he was quick to stop you, pull you into him and pressing his lips to yours to silence you. And yes you hoped for that, you prayed every night into your pillow to feel his lips against yours, wondering what he'd taste like, how they'd feel. But you were disappointed when you felt nothing, just an animalistic kiss, driven by pure instincts and predisposed desires… Where's the love you were dreaming of?

Keep dreaming of it. Keep dreaming of him, because that's the only place you'll ever have him. He's hasty to push you off of him, placing you on the mattress beside him, and looking at you with a hint of disgust after you finally orgasmed, unsatisfied as you didn't feel him fill you up to the brim as you imagined he would. "If you want to be my good girl, hook me up with that pretty friend of yours downstairs. Convince her to give me her number, tell her how stupid my cock makes you. And who knows? Maybe next time, I'll give you what you want." But he didn't mean it, obvious by his tone and the way he rolled his back, cracking his spine as he closed the door behind him as he left, not even glancing your direction as you tried not to cry your heart out…

#ghost x reader #ghost smut #cod smut #simon riley smut #cod x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #female reader #smut

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cillivnz · 10 months

Note

Hi 👋 I see you write for Lord Dimitrescu (miss a spot, hit the spot was brilliant and I would devour more) and I saw that you are taking requests, what do you think about monster hunter!reader x Lord Dimitrescu? You can take this in whichever direction you like best, but I do have a prompt idea!

Lord Dimitrescu and his sons find a trespasser on their land and Dimitrescu takes her in as his guest/prisoner thinking that she is a clueless lost traveler, not knowing that she's a hunter willing to get close to him by any means necessary, even if it means seducing a monster. Gaining access to his infamous library full of books on how to kill every monster known to man is just the first step, what she really wants is to find out the family's weaknesses and get lord Dimitrescu to let his guard down enough for her to kill him and every last member of his twisted family. Or at least that was the plan...

I just love villain gets the girl/ corruption stories and the idea of someone rolling up into that castle with every intention of wiping out the evil that lives there, but getting seduced instead... 😍😍😍

Love your work!!!

façade of seduction [lord dimitrescu]

PAIRING — LORD DIMITRESCU x MONSTER HUNTER!READER

WORD COUNT — 12.6k+ (i’m so sorry, it’s for the plot!)

WARNINGS — SMUT. eighteen+. AFAB!reader, dark arts, necromancy, the supernatural, mentions of murders, beheadings, cannibalism, vampirism, extremely dubious consent, cursing, extreme gore (blood, cuts, stabbing, mass murder, executions, etc.), reader uses seduction as a tactic, death of family, size kink, age-gap, degradation, pet-names, mentions as well as performed oral sex (talk of male!receiving, performed cunnilingus), fingering, female masturbation, mentions of male masturbation, unprotected penetrative sex, weird & unspecific AU, creampie, cum-eating, breast/nipple play, clit stimulation, extreme descriptions (?), kinda sorta brat-taming.

A/N — whoa, baby! she’s done! firstly, let me just shower this anon with kisses for trusting me such an amazing prompt! thank you, you beautiful soul. i had a blast writing this, and i’m sorry i couldn’t finish it sooner :’( you’re a literal genius, i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this, and thank you for the kind words! secondly,

i tried incorporating as much lore from the game as i could, majority of the plot is my own fictional work, and the rest [credited to the game] may have been tampered with to suit the plot of this fiction.

Lady Elvira Natalia Stoica is an original character — INCLUSIVE OF ETHNICITY, RACE, COLOUR, BODY TYPE, etc. the only definite characteristic she has is that she is reader’s doppelgänger with an identical appearance, and that her family is of the same origin as The Dimitrescus (Romanian).

Alcina Dimitrescu’s gender-bent version is named Alcides Dimitrescu in my fiction. the credit of his sons’ names goes to @angel-hawthorne ’s comment under this post.

there’s some deliberate references to my other Lord Dimitrescu fiction. read it HERE!

NOTES [excuse inaccurate translations]

"Idiotilor! Așa ne tratezi oaspetele?" : You idiots! Is this how you treat our guest?

"Oaspete? Dar ea—" : Guest? But she—

"Scuzați-vă." : Excuse yourselves.

căprița mea mică : my little doe

cameristă : maid

Pentru dumnezeu! : good god/for god’s sake!

𝓗unters.

Your father before you, and his before him. Monsters, demons, deities; anything of supernatural order, possessing paranormal traits needed to be laid down, and your family was bestowed with the responsibility to do so. They told you, you were god-gifted; possessing an astounding memory. It was as if you soaked in every word you read in journals rich in paranormal history, and carved every word into your brain with your own hand.

Those ungodly creatures fumed at the audacity of a mortal family killing the abysmal aristocracies in the name of slaughtering abominations.

How proudly you awarded yourselves the title of Vânători de urâciuni — Hunters of Abominations. Soon enough, though, the leaders of the Four Houses knew a lesson needed be taught, example be set; actions have consequences, and after all, you were mere mortals. Audacious, dangerous mortals.

The last of the Four Houses needed to be hunted down. Your father, your uncle, your brother managed to wipe out the other key members, before it was about time the reaper caught up to them. Weeks, months went by in weeping for them, never letting their caskets dry, but it was about time you stopped mourning. This isn't what you were raised to do — whom you were raised to be. There was no way in hell you'd let the last Family standing think that the danger was over, not when you found out that it was on their cue, their command, that the guillotine that slashed through your family's head held high, became the inevitable demise of the men of Vânători de urâciuni.

'Fuckers even had the audacity to send the heads back, all nice and packaged, and signed. It was then, you realised, the weight of your name's responsibility lies on your shoulders, now. Mother was too deep in the waters of depression, perhaps, vengeance would serve as her lifeguard, and you sought to get it. For her sake, and yours.

Packing the the remnant of your belongings, primarily, lore on whatever mutation resembled that of what you've heard the family to be; barbaric, and vampiric, you set voyage to Castle Dimitrescu, the Lord's stronghold within the vicinity of a titular Eastern European village; Romania, in other geographical terms.

After weeks on foot, travelling from place to place and squeezing in some good o'l slash-and-dash of monsters into your quest, you reached the abysmal castle. The oppressive aura surrounding The Dimitrescus' colossal abode could be felt miles away from its actual foundations, the monotonous venus blue atmosphere, the trees that have been decayed for decades, peering into your periphery, mortifying the sight of Castle Dimitrescu, even more. You shake off a shiver, determined strides leading you forward. An ominous forest welcomed you, seemingly, the flora responded to every step you took on the onyx soil; you were not too far from the gigantic gates of the castle, deciding to take a breather and assess just what you were dragging yourself into, the massive mountainous foliage providing a safe haven, temporarily.

Rummaging through the contents, page after page, you landed on Wendigo. You knew your ancestors categorised mutations in the same category as a Wendigo, it being the severest form of inhumanity; the mutated man would resort to cannibalism, still humanoid — tall and pale with elongated limbs and pale yellow eyes. If the Dimitrescus were anything like a typical mutated Wendigo, you hadn't thought this through. Then, you remembered your brother's journal.

He was vague with words, often scribbling up a précise at the end of a hunt. Too consumed by your tears, you initially forgot about it, until you realised halfway through your voyage that your mother packed his journal for you, and some documentations recorded by your father and your uncle in their youth, though, you highly doubted you'd be coming across an extinct creature.

There it was — the last page of his journal — the twenty-seventh page to be precise, with triple the pages still empty; clean slates like a reminder of his unlived life, the life that was taken away from him.

You smiled fondly at his handwriting, letting your fingertips trace the scribbles, how deeply the quill was engraved into the paper. You remember laughing at his handwriting, growing up, how your mother would ask him to get a doctorate to match his stereotypical physician's handwriting, but this is all he knew — all you knew. Hunting was your profession, your life and lifestyle, and now, inevitably, your demise, too. You began reading, as I said, your older brother, a master at scribbling précise.

You were unsure, however, when he'd got the time to write down about The Dimitrescus, having never come face-to-face with the tyrants. It seemed your brother's first guess, too, was 'Wendigo', which he scratched down, only to pen it down again, bigger and emphasised, once he enlisted 'Cannibalisme'.

Your heart sank at the etchings.

Even for someone like him, these were too cynical, like he were losing his mind at the mere thought of them: 'one LORD — THREE SONS', it read. 'Blood disease??', 'PARASITE??', 'VAMPIRISM'? That would mean— "Oh." You stood corrected when just below the analysis was a remark, "NO WEAKNESS TO SUN OR WEATHER". Sometimes you swore you and him had the same braincells, always jumping to the same conclusions, which only made the desire to avenge him overpowering.

Your eyes traveled to the end of the page, the last of ink spilled on the worn out pages of your brother's journal, 'NEOPAGAN CULT', 'BLACK GOD'. With widened eyes, and a sinister feeling you couldn't yet shake away, your eyes dart to the next, last page.

There was a symbol maniacally delineated, labelled as the same reports on the previous page. 'NEOPAGAN CULT SYMBOL', and at the bottom of the page, the last thing your brother ever did write was, 'THE CULT OF THE BLACK GOD'. You subconsciously traced the diagram, only to see the graphite taint your fingertips. Your mind was racing two hundred miles per hour, trying to put the pieces of a fatally intricate puzzle together. Your brother's journal, the last of the contents were mere observations, unlike the rest of the pages that are filled with methods of executing generations of monsters.

But for The Dimitrescus, the fact that 'most powerful family' was written with emphasis only made you scowl. You searched frantically in your bag for the journals of your father, your uncle; anything that spoke more about this parasite and the said Black God.

Glancing back at the foot of the palace, you had to do a double take when you saw the guards leave the premises, bread and wine in hand. Their chuckles could be sound from the heart of the forest, even though they repeatedly 'shushed' one another, saying "the Lord" would put their "heads on a stick".

You take their departure as your cue and pace quietly towards the castle. You stood face to face with the colossal gates, doing your level best to push them open, just enough to sneak in, but the big dumb fuckers wouldn't budge. Scoffing, as fate would have it in your luck, you began scanning the perimeter for any safe way in, otherwise, you sure as hell knew how to make an entry.

"Ain't no fucking way," you'd pretty much lost all hope, not realising when your brother wrote down, "tall", it included the infrastructure, too. It was then your eyes noticed one particular stone brick placed slightly outward, and the one above it, and then the one above it, outward enough for you to step on, up, and grip the grotesque grill, securing the premises from people exactly like you.

The first step up was easy, the stone steady enough to carry you, or so you thought for when the second you stepped onto the next one, the one below fell to the ground, shattering to bits. You eyed the stone your foot was on currently, leaping when realisation hit you. By the time you rock-climbed your ass up to the top, the whole way up had crumbled down. You gripped the gothic grill, not taking the maker of it to be a sadist, for it sliced the flesh of your palm even through the slightest contact. You winced, looking back at the broken rocks, perhaps, a good omen; no one would suspect you climbed up the wall, now.

Crossing the grill, you jumped down as silently as a human could, looking back at your newfound enemy, the grill, only for it to be leaking with crimson. You groaned at the sight of your blood, thinking you were better than this, letting some metal get the best of you, but the immense pain from the cut made your head a little dizzy. Shaking the odd feel off, you proceeded leftward, walking further in to be greeted by what seemed to be a courtyard.

No servants, chamberlain nor staff was seen out and about, quite contrary to what one would expect from the functioning of a castle this mighty. Though the odds were in your favour, it didn't seem so; it's quiet, too quiet. Nothing other than a raven's screech and the flap of the wings of a murder of crows was heard for miles. Your steps had quickened at the sight of a door, finally leading you inside. As you inspected it, you sensed a magical aura around it; you could use a spell to crack it open, but that would cause bring attention you did not need at the moment. So, you pull a pin from your hair and apply the cheapskate thief method, and lo and behold, you were in.

Fuck yeah.

Closing the bulky door as silently behind you as you could, you were slammed right back into it, while what felt to be a talon instead of a hand wrapped around the back of your throat. "Well, well, what do we have here?" Said an anonymous voice, cuing laughter from two more.

Fuck, no.

The last thing you remember was a pair of hands squeezing your waist, one choking you, while one hand ghosted over your face, causing a wave of unconsciousness to pass over you.

Chained; you groaned, a pounding ache ringing in your head like an alarm, your eyes blinked, close to a hundred times to get accustomed to your dark, unfamiliar surroundings, while your nose burned with the stench of— burning bodies?

You lifted your head to see three tall figures illuminated by the feeble attempts of a torch. "Alas, sleeping beauty wakes." You heard one taunt, a raspy baritone to his voice, "No fun — I prefer them unconscious," said another with a similar tone. "Well, you're no fun if you don't like to watch the fear in their eyes when they beg you for their life," said the third. The conversation flowed more amongst themselves, quite rude to not have included the meat of the matter — you, but what more could you expect from The Dimitrescu Boys? Oh, you were sure it was them. 'One lord — three sons', you remembered, and no odds suggested they were servants or guards. Not with the way expensive jewels embellished their stallion necks not-so-subtly, like an all-time reminder of their aristocratic status. 'Pathetic,' you thought, it seems no matter the day or age, the breed of "daddy's money" remains as obnoxious as ever.

While they bickered amongst themselves, you took the time to take in their appearances: Handsome, irrelevant. Tall, but no more than an average case of gigantism in most villages. Yellow eyes, but not humanoid — no, fully, thoroughly (so it seems) human. Could this be another variety? Hybrids, perhaps, since Vampirism was in the books of possibility. That could explain their immunity to weather conditions. Their facial features became vivid all of a sudden, and you noticed the blood smeared all over their faces. Paying heed to your iniquity, perhaps even irked expression, the boys smirked devilishly; not charming, dangerously, Lucifer-ishly, but satanically. You weren't into the lighter side of magic like your mother, only using it grotesquely, but you knew aura-reading, even envisioning, like the back of your hand, and theirs was sinister: an abysmal shade of black surrounding them, with occultism dancing between their physical forms in the fiery colour of hellish hues.

"Tell us, what's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?" One questioned, "Hm, never seen one so beautiful." "Is she even real — ethereal." "Makes me almost not want to eat her." Your eyes widened at the last remark, "Eat her in a different way, I'd definitely." Their shark-like smiles grew wider, subconsciously causing you to back away from them while they inched closer, ready to pounce on you and relish your beauty. "What do you have there, boys?" Asked the deepest voice you'd ever heard, from the other side of what you now realised was the dungeon. You were taken aback at the intrusion, silently thanking your saviour, even if it were the man himself — Lord Alcides Dimitrescu, head of Familia Dimitrescu.

His sons scattered immediately, letting their father rest his eyes upon you. "Food, father," one spoke eagerly, as if trying to impress his old man. "We saw her trespassing in the courtyard, and then she came inside." Spoke the other. "You could have her," said another, "If you save us a taste." Your face lost its colour when a ice-cold hand wrapped itself around your throat, yanking you up with one lift, and throwing you towards the bars between you and the mammoth Lord. His devilish expression— softened? "Elvira!" He exclaimed softly, reaching for your face, but the second his hand tried to snake past the bar, he winced in contact, the metal bar hissing with effervescence. Weakness?

"Idiotilor! Așa ne tratezi oaspetele?" The man was fuming: a flabbergasted expression on the said idiots' faces. "Oaspete? Dar ea—" "She can do as she pleases in my home." The man spat venom like thunder, his hateful expression turned to apologetic and caring in the blink of an eye when he turned to you. "Let her out this very instant." He glared at his sons one last time before turning away and saying, "The longer you wait, the more severe will be the outcomes."

So you were rushed out the dungeon and sent to the guesthouse.

The chamberlain had been waiting for you there at the direct orders of her master. "Lady Stoica, We're truly very sorry for the inconveniences caused to you. The Lord gifts you these gowns as his sincerest apology. He'd love for you to join him for supper once you have freshened up. Step out of your chambers, when you're done, and I'll be happy to take you there." You didn't acknowledge her, only awaited her leave so you could examine the gowns she had motioned towards while babbling courtesies you didn't give a fuck about. It'll definitely take more than four gowns to earn forgiveness for the treatment meted out to you down in the dungeons, but you wanted to give the tyrant lord a little bit of credit, for the gowns were stunning.

As you took in the details of each cloth, you came upon a note, which read: Sweetest Elvira,

Forgive my imbecile progeny, if you think they are worth it, but let us celebrate your presence, still, in my abode. Would you be so kind to accept my invitation for dinner? I have long yearned your company since the last time Lord and Lady Stoica visited.

Hoping to have you with me,

Alcides Dimitrescu.

Your blood boiled at his handwriting. It was the same intricate, royally cursive writing that signed the parcel of your family's heads.

You headed into the bath with murder on your mind; no matter how many times you'd sink into the warm waters, the heat only aggravated your fuming self. It was rosewater, the scent made your mind trail back to days of yore: when your mother would set up baths like this for you, the sweet scent of herbs and nature's warmth filled your hateful mind with nostalgia, then worry. Your mother had the most fight in her, no doubt about that, but that didn't mean she resorted to it easily; always seeing the best in people, giving them countless chances to repent. A generous, godly trait, but fatal in a world dominated by people like the man you were to meet with for dinner— supper, or whatever. You were just glad you weren't being served as the main course.

For now.

As you dried yourself up, your mind replayed the conversations, the characteristics and behaviours of the family. How he called you, 'Elvira'. Yes, Lady Elvira Natalia of Familia Stoica, another noble household your family put an end to. The irony lay in her appearance: the two of you looked alike — no, identical. Perhaps minor attributes set the difference between you two, or the fact that you put a bullet between her eyes — eyes just like yours; it was the reason why the Vânători de urâciuni men hesitated to kill her — sister, daughter, and niece. Not you, never had you hesitated. It's what set you apart in a man's world. If a woman's emotions got the best of her, than lucky for you and unfortunate for the whole world, the only feelings coursing through your mind like the blood in your veins were bloodlust. Blood and Lust, as your mind trailed back to Lord Dimitrescu—

Alcides fuckin' Dimitrescu.

He was tall, so tall, he had to crouch to an uncomfortable extent just to get a proper look at your frame through the dungeon bars. His raven locs and beard: neat as a lord, rugged like a pirate; his sharp nose, his thick, furrowed brows, his luscious lips and those eyes. Those fucking amber eyes, captivating, devouring you like a fox after literal meat. Their hue was as fluorescent as a Wendigo's, then how was he not like one? How is he so devilishly handsome?

Stuck in a limbo, half- hypnotised with hazy memories of the Lord, memories you were yet to make with him, you were left enchanted; like he had cast a spell on yo— "Holy fuck." That's it. It's the only logical reason behind such profound emotions. He had cast a spell on you. It could've easily been the waters, you had bathed in them, let the rose waters soak every inch of your skin. Or worse, his eyes? You had definitely not been that out of it to imagine them glowing in the dark, but if he truly practised necromancy at such a profound level that a mere look in your direction left you enamoured, then you had to come up with a plan, and come up with a plan fucking fast.

Despite your certainty that the only way you'd feel something so unlikely for a man who was responsible for the death of family, was via nécromancies, you still had to be sure. So, you performed an indication ritual. In a vessel, you stored the possible method of enchantment — the bath water — along with the blood of the enchanted. You prick your finger deep enough to get ample beads of crimson out, letting them drop into the vessel. Now, if by dawn, the contents of the vessel turn potently black, your suspicions are true, and the tyrant Alcides, indeed, cast a spell on you, but if it were to remain colourless, than the worst of your concerns has arisen, for you'd have willingly let lust overpower the balance of bloodlust in the weigh of your emotions.

Placing the vessel underneath your bed, you begin dressing. The odds were too ironic not to choose the rose coloured gown for the evening, so you wore it, feeling condemned to. Fixing whatever you deemed necessary, you stepped out of your room to find the chamberlain stationed exactly where she said she'd be.

Her breath hitched a little, eyes widening as she saw you turn towards her, "You look beautiful, Miss Stoica," was her way of seeing 'you clean up pretty nice for a dirty mess in the dungeons', but you paid no heed, letting the woman escort you.

The walk to the Lord's dining area was awkward, and fearful for the servant. There was no denying you resembled the heiress of one of the Seven Royal Families, but you hadn't thought your own victim's identity would play as your decoy in your most fatal mission.

You didn't blame them, you were dumbfounded at the striking resemblance, yourself.

The hair, the skin, the features; it was without a doubt you killed your doppelgänger that day, and though you were never one to follow rituals of lore, it says, 'the slaughtering of one's self' — a doppelgänger — 'is the greatest sign of one's power and control', so it was no wonder since then you had long been feared in every corner of Eastern Europe, but you never earned notoriety, nor make a fuss over the death of The Stoicas, which is why everyone in Castle Dimitrescu believes you to be her, for they think she is what you are; alive.

"We've arrived, madam. If you need me, please don't hesitate to call." She gave you a knowing look, one of empathy? Weird. Interestingly weird. You only nodded, before pushing the glass doors open, and letting yourself in.

Alcides sat with the three of his sons, you'd heard him call them Boian, Cătălin, and Dorin, not knowing which one is which, but you doubt names matter when their death's are destined by your hands. As if sensing you, something you'd mentally categorise among his vampiric characteristics, his head shot up from his sons and immediately those amber eyes were on you, ripping through your dress, eating you alive. His lifeless skin flushed at the sight of you, wet hair clinging to your frame so perfectly, he could smell the shampoo from here. How tightly the dress hugged your curves, how accentuated the rose colour of the gown made your ethereal body. Your plump, pouty lips were rosy like the gown, an even prettier colour, the sudden blush that dared to creep on your face, your determined brows raised a little at the shameless attention you were receiving, your big, radiant doe eyes widening, pupils dilating, and your long lashes batting at his direction.

"Elvira." He rose from his seats, as did his sons, heads snapping right at you to shamelessly ogle at you. On seeing that the look of disgust on your face was directed towards his sons, he shot them a fuming glare, causing them to nod an apology and immediately be seated again.

"Thank you for joining me." He said, softly, awaiting you. You moved closer, deciding to be seated beside the lord, across from his sons. "How have you been, my dear?" His hand found yours, yours minuscule in his clasp. "I had been fine, until certain miscreants accused me of trespassing."

You shot the three culprits a glare, and rightly so. Alcides eyed his sons, clearing his throat obviously when his sons remained oblivious to his cryptic signs.

"We're, uh," began one, "We're sorry, Madam Stoica," continued the other, "We didn't mean for any of that to happen, we just wanted to scare what appeared to be an uninvited guest at the time." "Had we known it was you... well, let's just say your welcome would've been different. Mostly." Finished the last, and your mind immediately caught on to the insinuation:

"Eat her in a different way, I'd definitely."

You could see the man's blood boil beside you, "Scuzați-vă." He growled, and you caught a glimpse of just how much fear he's instilled into his children, for they immediately excused themselves from the table and left with hurried steps.

"Pardon them, I don't know where I went wrong in raising them." He sighed once they were out of sight, rubbing the bridge of his nose. You've never been one to sympathise with an enemy, but maybe sympathy isn't what'll lead to his slaughter; seduction is.

You wordlessly place a hand atop his, earning a soft gasp from him. His eyes searched your face, and when you couldn't help but give him a small smile, he grinned; from ear to ear, letting his pearly fangs rise from their pillowy coverings, his lips, which he soon had to bite to control his giddiness. "Oh, Elvira," his voice was soft, a mere yearn lingering in the warmth of the room. Had it been this hot since you stepped in, or had the flush of your cheeks been indicating otherwise? "You're so beautiful." His other hand tucked the stray strand of hair falling onto your face, behind your ear. You felt a tinge of bitterness brewing in you, whatever relationship was established between Alcides and Elvira, it sure was on the better side of the spectrum.

Were you really feeling jealous of your dead doppelgänger? Well, from the way he looked at you— her — right now, you'd say he wouldn't take to her murder too kindly.

"I swear, you're even more beautiful than the last time I saw you." You blushed, so he enjoyed the new-and-improved Elvira more. "Yet you stay ever handsome." NO. You didn't mean for it to slip, you didn't mean it, you didn't think it — yet, you said it, and he fucking relished in it.

To save you from your embarrassment, your newfound guardian angels, the chef and other servants, brought in food of all sorts. Albeit the sheer hatred you felt towards them, you couldn't help but ask Alcides about his sons. "Aren't you sweet?" He looked at you with fondness, before answering, "The servants will bring them food to their quarters."

Fair enough.

You proceeded eating without another word or glance in his direction. Upon finishing the scrumptious meal, you waited for Alcides to take the lead.

Men like him relished in power, authority, and since he was born into it with a silver spoon hanging from his mouth, it was the only thing he knew.

He looked at you for several moments, an unreadable expression on his face making you more conscious than repelled, as if you craved the validation of his eyes.

He rose from his seat, one hand lingering in the air, an invitation for you to clasp it, while the other grabbed a hefty cluster of grapes by the stem. "Walk with me, darling."

He had to look painfully low to even see your head, once you rose to your height, it helped, but little aid was provided to the giant standing at 9'6.

You held his hand, the sheer size difference had you squirming in your steps.

Just imagine how beautiful sex would be with him, you wouldn't even be able to fit him— "Fuck," you whined under your breath, making damn sure your voice wasn't audible to Mount Everest beside you.

This was the spell talking — thinking; it's got to be. You withdrew your hand, pretending to fix the blouse of the dress, earning a glance from the Lord in your direction, which only stayed for a moment before the calming silence between the two of you was the only thing you could see, until he halted, pulling your attention back to him. "Fruit, my dear?" He waved the cluster, so you knew which ones he was talking about. Come to think of it, you did feel thirsty, and those grapes looked lusciously juicy.

"I don't see why not," you shrugged, not anticipated him to raise the cluster to his mouth and bite a grape off. You watched, mouth slightly agape as a perfectly fine grape rested between his fangs. Even the slightest subconscious movement could rip through the fruit, yet it stayed perfectly safe in his mouth.

He then crouched, now eye-to-eye with you. His eyebrows raised in your direction, challenging you. Challenging you to pull the fruit out of his mouth, and there was only one way to do it.

You bit your lip, you could have your fun, just until you find a reversal cure to his spell.

So, you grab onto both his wide, muscular shoulders, letting your arms cross around his neck. You smirk at him, bringing one hand forward to trace his features. He was so, so strong, to the point you were more aroused than intimated. Your hand reached his torso, you could see how your teasing placed him in agony. Slowly, you let your hand ghost over his pants, and lo and behold, he was aroused; painfully so, and you felt it immoral to torment a man so much (the fucking irony), so you palmed him through his pants, causing his mouth to hang open and out fell grape— right into your palm.

You bring the fruit up to your mouth, Alcides left mesmerised with the way your plump, perfect lips wrapped around it before ripping through it. A moan escaped your lips as the juice dripped down your tongue. "So good," you left out a sigh, and something in him snapped. Alcides flipped you around, you were now pressed against some wall that practically emerged in support of his... expeditions. He plucked two grapes, placing them in his large palm, before bringing it closer to your face. When your eyes widened in confusion, his other hand wrapped itself around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks to open your mouth, before you realised what he demanded and gave it to him; you licked about the fruit, before accepting them into your mouth. Your tongue still teased his flesh, when he pulled away. Amber eyes mere slits with obvious lust, "Now," he began, "You can say you've eaten out of the Lord's palm." He winked at you before walking away.

You steadied your haggard breathing, before deciding to follow him when a certain room caught your eye. It were as if your name was being chanted like a careful whisper, that only sounded when you were left alone. Following your gut, as a hunter as skilled as you would, you push open the heavy doors and let yourself in.

The first thing catching your eye was an obnoxious leather chair that you couldn't help but run a hand over, "Gator skin," you scowled. Though a hunter, you were against hunting — animals, that is, although you'd be hypocritical to say so when the creatures you send to hell are no less barbaric than a creature tormenting in wilderness. Still, you believed in fighting an equivalent, or even better, an apparent immortal.

On the left of it was an fireplace, charcoaled in exhaustion like it recently gave up it's flame and purpose, and in front, was a library, the source of your calling; not colossal, yet extreme in number. The whispering chant grew to a shout, a yearn for each leather-clad covering of ink spilled on paper to be touched by your feather-light fingertips, and only a fool would turn down a beseech like such.

Books of alchemy, instructional journals of God summonings, documentations on every supernatural creature that roamed the planet and how to kill them; even the Satanic Bible was on display, and you explored every single one of them. Fighting the temptation to steal every book with valour, despite how useful each would've proved to be to you in the future, you declined every book until you reached what you sought, rather, what sought you tonight. "The Book of The Four Houses", the spine read. You pulled the book out, not anticipating it to be so heavy. "The Book of The Four Houses", you read again, searching for an author, but not met by any name.

You flip through the pages frantically, in hopes to find any continuance of relevance to your brother's observations, and there it was: Familia Dimitrescu, the excerpt was titled.

"Alcides Dimitrescu was born into the noble Dimitrescu family sometime before the Great War, and through this ancestry inherited a hereditary blood disease, possibly porphyria cutanea tarda. Although his family traced their origins to Cesare, one of the four founders of an isolated mountain village in Europe, Alcides himself lived elsewhere, perhaps through a cadet branch. In the aftermath of the Second World War and the abolition of the nobility, Dimitrescu returned to his family's former lands, which had fallen under the control of a neopagan cult worshipping the Black God.

Prior to 1958, at the age of 44, Dimitrescu was lured by the cult leader, Mother Miranda, to a crypt beneath the village cemetery, where he was surgically implanted with a Cadou parasite. The purpose of this experiment was to determine his viability as a candidate who could become host to a parasitic intelligence at a later date. This experiment mutated Alcides' body considerably, granting him regenerative capabilities, retractable claw-like nails, and the ability to transform into a dragon-like monster and back again. Moreover, the parasite halted his aging process, maintaining his appearance perpetually. In spite of these impressive biological changes, the resulting mutation did not nullify his blood disease. As a result, Dimitrescu needed a ready supply of fresh human blood to maintain his health, and was therefore judged by Miranda to be a failure."

"Although Dimitrescu was of no use as a host, his claim to Castle Dimitrescu was recognized by Miranda and he was allowed to take residence in the village as one of the Four Lords, who would maintain order over the native peasantry while aiding Miranda in Cadou research. Upon inhabiting the estate, Dimitrescu took over his family's vineyard and wine-distribution business as a means of supporting himself."

"Relishing in his reclaimed noble status, Dimitrescu developed extreme caste-based views of society, seeing himself as second only to Miranda herself. He openly loathed the other three house Lords, particularly Karl Heisenberg, whom he frequently argued with. He privately bemoaned that he was not Miranda's favorite, instead being treated the same as all the others. Despite this, Dimitrescu's alliance with the other houses allowed him to rule his castle with barbarous cruelty, regularly taking in new staff to replace those who had been taken to his dungeon to be killed and drained of blood for sustenance."

"Dimitrescu's own experiments with Cadou appear to have been limited, as the only confirmed instance was an experiment begun by Miranda and monitored by Dimitrescu. In this experiment, the corpses of three men were implanted with Cadou parasites. Over the course of about a week, the Cadou produced fly-like organisms which then consumed the flesh of all three bodies. Having assimilated the DNA of these men, the flies merged to mimic their human shapes and slowly adapted their likenesses. Dimitrescu immediately formed a bond with these three men, whom he named Boian, Cătălin, and Dorin, and came to regard himself as their father. They obeyed Dimitrescu without question, and were similar to him in that they were ageless and reliant on vampirism for sustenance. However, they were incapable of withstanding cold temperatures, thus remaining trapped within the confines of Castle Dimitrescu."

That explains the overwhelming warmth of the Castle that had began to annoy you.

"Over the next seventy years, Dimitrescu and his sons systematically consumed the flesh and blood of local peasants and servants alike. The blood of maids was extracted and combined with grapes to create Sanguis Virginis (Latin for "Maiden's Blood"), a traditional Dimitrescu family wine. The female victims, now infected with Mold, lived on as Moroaicǎ and Samcă, while male victims were consumed and then hollowed out to be turned into scarecrows for the castle vineyard."

"Dimitrescu's reign of terror was not without resistance, however, as one villager is known to have stolen a family heirloom — the Dagger of Death's Flowers — in an attempt to assassinate him with its poisoned blade. The attempt failed and he was buried with the dagger in the Tower of Worship to keep it hidden from any others who might seek to harm him."

You snapped the book shut, mind whirling in an epileptic shock, replaying every single word over and over in your head, then images of Alcides, his "sons", Cadou Parasites, Mother Miranda? By the time you realised it, you were hyperventilating, eyes scattering from corner-to-corner, in search of anything less cryptic, anything less 'Once-upon-a-time-there-was-a-beautiful-boy-named-Alcides', and more 'Weakness-to-duhduhduh-kill-by-gunshot-to-the-duhduhduh'.

You threw your head back in unfamiliar pain that originated from your chest, you can't believe plain ink on paper knocked the air out of you, but then again, so did the signed caskets of your family; by the same man you now found out to be ancient and seemingly indestructible, but talk of this "Dagger of Death's Flowers" gave you hope.

Your thoughts of retrieving it were cut short when the doors burst open. "What are you doing?" roared the thunderous voice of the man of the hour, "Elvira." His voice was laced with an emotion you were too out of your head to begin deciphering. His eyes dropped to the book in your hands while awaiting your answer. "Oh, why didn't you say so?" His expression softened, causing you to raise a brow in perplexity. He walked over, the fondness in his eyes returned, causing your tense posture to relax a bit. He took the book from you, and seemingly landed on a page mentioning Alcides' life before lordship. "You really love this book, don't you? I guess it is fun to read a fan's work." He chuckled, flipping through the pages as if he hadn't seen the book in a long, long time.

Huh.

If 'Elvira', too, had been scavenging through the book of Dimitrescus, possibly for the same reason as you, maybe you're more similar than you thought.

When you looked up to his height, his eyes were already on you. "You look tired, my dear. I would be happy to take you to your quarters." He smiled, and your heartbeat was quick to quicken at that. "I'd like that, my Lord."

My Lord.

The walk to your chambers was a haze, all you could feel was the growing wetness in your panties from the way his eyes bore into you; penetrating every inch of you, consuming your conscience with the darkest desires.

Taking out your brother's journal from your bag, you flipped to a fresh page and began filling in your own conclusions. As you wrote, you began to think— not just as a hunter, but as a long deprived woman who had just encountered the most handsome man ever, who just also happened to have murdered her family.

The way he walks, the way he holds your innocent gaze challengingly, the way he looks at you like you're the most exquisite meal, and he's a man starving. You had long abandoned the trepidation and abhorrence you felt towards his cannibalistic lifestyle, instead, feeling a shameful surge of lust shoot into you. You rubbed your thighs together, laying on the bed, but dutifully still, writing every bit of knowledge you gained today; from the parasite, to relations with the leaders of the other Houses and Seven Royal Families that Vânători de urâciuni had already slaughtered, to Mother Miranda, and even what little you read about the Black God.

By the time you covered every intricate detail of a disaster waiting to happen, the heat between your legs was nuclear; the throb, unbearable, leaving you no choice but to act on your animalistic urges. You straighten up, slowly discarding the beautiful cloth that once accentuated your body, now felt like constricted bondages on it.

Once bare, you sink into the pillowy cushions of your given quarters. Something about the whole room smelled like him, but the strongest scent came from your dress, when you were pressed against him. Even both your arousals could be scented from the innocent rose dress, so you tugged it closer to you, breathing in his smoky musk scent, along with your innocent floral one. "Fuck," you groaned, fingers finally ghosting over the mess dying to be made between your legs.

You decided now was not the time to tease, so you coat your fingers in your wetness and smear circles on your swollen clit. "Fuck."

Your bud throbbed in your grasp, desperate to have a little somebody's fanged mouth on it, your nipples hardened the same, aching to have that mouth graze over them, suckle on them, taint the soft, ample flesh with sinister marks. Hell, if it meant one night of succumbing to carnal pleasures, you'd even let the fucker carve that neo-pagan cult symbol on you.

"Fuck!" You weren't thinking straight — no, you weren't thinking at all. How could you? You were under a spell, 'Yes, that was it,' you thought, more so struggling in convincing yourself than anything. Just the sheer thought of a man possessing vile notoriety, relishing in every crime you've fought against; his size, the abnormality of it all. You fantasised about how inhumanely long his tongue might be, teasing around your clit before plunging into your slit.

Oh, that's it.

You shoved your fingers inside of you, whining at how unfulfilling they were, when compared to the hands of him. You were pretty sure his middle finger was bigger than your face.

The only sound to be heard was the squelching of your pussy and your whimpering. You could only pray you weren't audible, not that you minded, because it was Elvira Stoica who'd get mocked, not Y/N Y/L.

Your pace quickened at the thought of him fucking you as Y/N. Would the thought of fucking the enemy be as tantalisingly erotic to him, too? Or would he just hate fuck you, and then feast on your flesh?

"Fuck me..—" You lost your voice when your breath hitched in your throat. "Ju-just like that, mhhm." You were so close, just a bit more... "Fuck me."

That's it, honey, just let go—

"Oh," you moaned too loud to be safe, "Alcides!"

Your legs were shaking, cunt spasming around your fingers while your chest heaved up and down, in a breathless state.

As you rubbed your high out, realisation dawned in on you.

What have you done?

You woke up disgruntled.

Still unimaginably wet, yet thankful for the release, but you hadn't forgiven yourself. Last night was unacceptable, even for someone enchanted. To make matters worse, this isn't even the first time someone put an infatuation spell on you; at least three men before this, but not to pacify an enemy, but to woo a stoic woman with only murder on her mind.

The victim of such a spell for the fourth time, yet Alcides is different. This was incredible necromancy, not like any you've encountered before. It was then you remembered the vessel underneath your bed. Almost too eagerly you jumped off the bed, still somewhat entangled in the sheets, which you threw off swiftly.

You ducked under the bed, the vessel promisingly in the same spot as you had left it. Reaching for it with closed eyes and crossed fingers, you pull it from underneath and lift it to your height.

As you peeped one eye open, then the other in disbelief, you threw the vessel with one swing of your arm. It banged against the wall, before falling to the ground with a typical, screeching metal noise.

This can't be happening. There was no way you felt what you did for Alcides, willingly. The clear contents of the vessel indicated otherwise, though. There was no mistake in your ritual, either; you added what was needed and waited long enough.

"No, no, no, no, NO!"

This can't be fucking happening. You were ready to bawl your eyes out, when one sophisticated knock erupted you. "Elvira." It was him, you knew, your body and heart knew.

When no response followed, Alcides began, "My sons and I are travelling out of estate," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for telling you on such short notice, but we won't be back until tomorrow." His voiced trailed off, as if waiting for you to reveal yourself, your reaction, anything, but you're too shaken up to give him any satisfaction. "That's quite alright, my lord." You swallow the lump in your throat, not being able to control yourself and adding, "I'll be right here, waiting." You swore you heard a groan, but were stuck in a limbo by the time Alcides left your door.

You decided all things could be said and done after bathing, so you run a bath and let the scented waters soak into you, replacing the stench of your sins with the perfumed power of blaming Alcides; but you couldn't do that anymore, could you? Not when he was never provocative.

Once you finished freshening up, you grabbed another one of the gowns Dimitrescu gave you. It was black, and beautiful; you were left speechless when you put it on. God, did he really have to make you feel beautiful when you were sent to kill his entire bloodline? "Ah, such unfortunate circumstances." You 'tsked' before doing your hair.

By the time you were done with your makeup, you were certain of today's plan: You were going for breakfast, accessing the courtyard, navigating the Tower Of Worship, exhuming the villager with whom the "Dagger of Death's Flowers" is buried; dig it out, lace the blade with gunpowder, stab all fuckers, one by one, get the fuck out, walk miles back home, and hibernate.

Sweet.

You step out of your quarters to find the chamberlain posted there, just like the day before. "If I say so, my lady?" She looked up at you, the tiny thing was adorable for the fear she felt, yet still wanted you to know that, "You look ravishing." She briefly looked you in the eye before the rouge on her cheeks became embarrassingly obvious, to her. You, on the other hand found her just as she was, adorable.

Upon entering the dining area, she silently took her leave, when you grabbed her wrist. "First Alcides, now you, too?" You asked, flirtatiously referring to both of them excusing themselves from you. "The least you could do is give me company." And how could anyone resist the sultry tone of a stunning woman?

So the chamberlain finds herself dining with you.

You insisted she sat besides you, and despite putting the maximum distance between your chairs, she complied. "So...?" You inquired after finishing your meal, referring to her name. "Oh— uh— Pasha, mi lady." You smiled, "Beautiful name for a beautiful girl." You saw her rub her thighs together from the corner of your eye. "Well, Pasha," you decided to break the awkward silence that hadn't formed yet, "You think you can take me to the Tower Of Worship?" You sipped on your tea, eyeing her while you swallowed, only to see her with widened eyes and haphazard breathing. "Me-my l-lady—..." she stammered, hesitation painted all over her soft features as if you asked her to murder The Dimitrescus herself, or eat you out, you couldn't decide which was more mortifying for the poor girl. "What is it, Pasha?" You sighed.

"Th-the area is strictly off limits— only the... family can go there." She gulped at your growingly irritable expression. "I am part of the family — the Stoica household, in case you've forgotten, cameristă."

"I- yes, mi lady. I'm so sor—" "I don't want to hear it." You interrupted, raising a hand in the air. "Will you, or will you not take me to the Tower Of Worship?" You stared at her, the impatience visible on your face, before you decided to put on the façade you knew best; the façade of seduction. "Please, Pasha," you placed a hand on her bare thigh, her little skirt leaving little to imagination.

"For me?" Were the magical words that got the job done.

So you walk with the head of the staff of Castle Dimitrescu, into the family's place of worship, to exhume the corpse of the only man with the balls to try and assassinate him.

Pasha dropped you off at the foot of the Tower, more than happy to bolt away once you told her it was okay to leave you alone.

You walk up the stairs, and into the end of Castle Dimitrescu.

For a place of "worship", the place had the most oppressive aura, reeking of the occult and unimaginable. You fought your way inside, barely getting in while the air was knocked out of you; perhaps, a barrier of necromancy, despite it, you were able to get through.

You ran from corner to corner, searched every square centimetre of the place, but no place near-resembled the tomb of an assailant. "Fuck, where is it?" Your hands dipped inside your bag to look for something, before pulling it out and beginning your rummaging.

Indeed, you had stopped by Alcides' study before breakfast, telling the maid you 'forgot something' in there during your "time" last night, before winking at her shamelessly and forcing your entry. Sneaking out 'The Book of The Four Houses' was something you could do with your eyes closed.

Your eyes read past every word until you landed where you were made to stop, when the wave of overwhelm hit you last night. "Hall of the Four", the title read.

"The Hall of the Four, known in Japanese as Between the Four Angels (四天使の間, shi tenshi no aida?), is an area of Castle Dimitrescu." The Hall of the Four leads to the Tower of Worship, but this door cannot be opened until the four masks are placed on the Angel statues."

You groaned a string of profanities.

It's like you were set up for failure, and the worst part is, you could hear him laughing in the back of your mind— Alcides. His new abode has become the back of your mind, for he never leaves there.

Tired, disappointed and on the verge of giving up, you leave the Tower. You were a goner without the masks, and despite being in a rush to at least try and acquire them, you walked in a defeated slumber.

The chamberlain met you somewhere near the courtyard, surprised to see you walking out alive. "Lady Stoica—" "Just take me to my quarters, Pasha." You sighed, earning a swift nod from the confused chamberlain.

You walked lost, still, until you reached your room and opened that damned book again. While you scrolled through the contents, a mere note fell off, barely in your grasp.

The handwriting.

It was your brother's, but— it couldn't be. They never got close enough, which is why you're here now, right? They never got close enough. Three of the most feared, skilled men in the world of hunting never got close to one man and his three experiments for sons.

How in the hell did— Wait.

'Mask of Pleasure: Second Floor of Castle Dimitrescu',

that's where you are right now.

Everything could wait, hell, God could wait on the other line of heaven. You needed answers, yes, but something in your gut tells you it's better unknown. All that matters right now is killing him and every last member of his twisted family.

Or at least that was the plan...

You find yourself walking towards any room, with any possibility of possessing a mask. Hell, you had no idea what it looked like, but if it looks anything like the pleasure you'd be rewarding yourself with once you get the fuck out of this place, the mask won't be too difficult to find.

Soon enough you had pulled the place apart — the whole floor — except one room you hadn't set foot in. Alcides Dimitrescu's chambers.

A colossal door; you couldn't look away from the necromantic symbols etched into the woodwork. Had you not possessed the ability to see through such dark arts, you would've stepped right in and be left to deal with a fatality. You pull two vessels from your bag; the Blood of Christ and Vurxelheim, two of the purest substances on the planet, known to melt away all magic, no matter how ancient or dark, and as your expected, it did just that.

Alright, now all that was needed was to open the door, and even an amateur could do that with a pin.

Upon entering, you took in the details of his abode, almost forgetting to close the door behind you. Everything was brown; that's something you've noticed about the whole castle. Monotonously warm shades of brown, dimly lit with heat radiating over every surface. You only quirked a brow at the abnormalities. It soon came to your knowledge that the foundation of this floor is regarded as the "Hall of Pleasures". Kinky.

You looked around every corner, in every possible direction and space, but to no avail. Sighing, your head fell back, eyes closed it absolute demotivation, but when you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was porcelain intricately carved, and hanging from the ceiling; a place where no mortal, but only a 9'6 indestructible titan of a tyrant could reach. It was obnoxious, if anything; placing it in a place so obvious, yet so out of reach — a direct message to show he's better than the rest, quite literally above them.

With no possible way of reaching it, you were still accessing your options when one strong arm wrapped itself around your waist and raised you up, right to where the mask hanged. "If you wanted to swing by my chambers,"

"You could've just asked, mic vânător."

Little Hunter— "Let go of me!" You writhed in his grasp, hand slowly reaching for the mask, still. "If you say so," he shrugged before letting go of you completely, letting you hang from the ceiling like a dreamcatcher. "Son of a bitch! You put me down this instant or I swear to God I'll rip through you and your experiments with my bare hands." "Ah, there's no need to get feisty, Elvira." He said, grabbing you by the waist, and putting you down, despite your kicking and struggling. "I'm only trying to help." He grunted, one hand disappearing behind his trench coat; you were ready to pounce at him, when he pulled, seemingly, the other three masks from behind.

"There you go, sweetheart. Masks of Joy, Sorrow, and Rage." He waved the remaining three keys to The Hall of the Four. You eyed him, and he swore the frowning pout was the cutest sight he's ever seen. "C'mon, they're yours for the taking, darling." He smiled at you.

"What's the catch, Alcides?" You sighed.

It's never that fucking easy, is it?

"One night with me." He simply spoke, taking your deepening scowl as a notion to carry on, "One night to decide what is it that you want, Elvira," "Or should I call you, Y/N Y/L of the Vânători de urâciuni?" Your eyes widened with horror; you hadn't processed him calling you 'little hunter', yet, and now this? This could only mean— "How did you—" "Please. 'You think I wouldn't find out about the mass murder of my fiancé? And imagine the gossip about town that it was a doppelgänger who did it." No, you were careful, he's lying — he's got to be. "Lucky for me, I get the sexier one, now." He chuckled, impressed with his wit.

When you didn't give him the satisfaction of freaking out on him, moreover agreeing to his terms, he rolled his eyes, "Pentru dumnezeu! The first mistake was the rocks you climbed on. They've deliberately been arranged like so, for trespassers like you to easily enter, walk through the courtyard, and into the quarters of my sons for them to feast upon. Then, leaving your blood on the grill? The scent agonised me. It was so difficult to put those three dogs on a leash, having never smelled something so sweet." He 'tsked', "The second mistake was trusting Pasha. It was her hand that twirled in your bath water, mixing the infatuation spell, and it was her, too, that switched the vessel underneath your bed. Very clever, by the way, very thoroughly performed indication ritual."

"But your third— baby, this mistake might as well be a blessing because it's the only fucking thing keeping me away from ripping into you slowly, and feast on your flesh for two whole days; pleasuring yourself, in my fucking castle, fantasising about fucking me."

"Oh, and the guillotine was Heisenberg, I only added the dramatic touch of sending the heads back."

You couldn't bear it.

Bottles full of emotions you've locked away for ages finally hit the concrete of reality; shattering to a million pieces while the man you still find irresistible, had an unimpressed look on his face. "Y/N. I know you want to kill me—" "Oh, honey, you have no idea." You laughed dryly, choking on sobs, but something tells you the impact of your threat didn't go in the direction you wanted because he visibly tensed when you called him, "honey".

"But," he raised both hands in defence, "I wouldn't have gotten you these," he said, waving the masks again, "If I didn't think this deserved a chance— we — deserved a chance." "You think I'll let you anywhere near me after you toyed with me like a plaything? Sent me my father, my uncle, my brother's heads to add a 'dramatic touch'?" "I should've put a more potent spell on you," he cursed under his breath, earning a scoff from you.

You pulled out a dagger from your thigh holster, and lunged at him. Caught off guard, Dimitrescu's eyes widen while you slashed through his alabaster shirt, eager to bleed some crimson into his lifelessly pale skin. "I've had it with you, brat!" He growled, the whack of his palm on your cheek took you back, and you didn't mean to moan.

The cry, it was wanton, and it had Alcides latching on to every ounce of self control he still preserved. "Alright, here's what we're gonna do," he grabbed the dagger from your grasp within a second. "You're gonna take off your clothes, lay down, looking pretty for me like you always do," he walked closer, raising his large hands again in defence. "You following me— okay," he inched closer to you, while you backed away, further into the wall. "I'm gonna feast on this pussy, then I'm gonna finger your tight hole open, and because I'm feeling generous," he grabbed ahold of your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, "I'm not gonna force my cock into your pretty little throat, you're gonna beg for it." He caressed your face, the way your doe eyes watered while staring at him, like glass he could see his reflection in, your agape lips and soft expression made his pants constrict his cock agonisingly. "And the last thing I'll be doing, even if it's my last ever," his hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you to his king-sized bed. Laying you down, and climbing on top like a wolf on a lamb, he says, "Is fucking this pussy till you finally accept that you're made for me."

His mouth latched onto your neck, easily manhandling you at the same time while you writhed in his grasp. "I would rather be dead." You spat out venomously, which only made Alcides smile. "Well, alright. I'd still pound you till you're a mere cum-dump, but I'd surely miss those pretty sounds you made when you fingered yourself thinking about me." He panted against your pulse point, baritone voice hoarse with lust.

He spread your legs, lifting both your hands up by the wrists to his face. "Tiny little things," he kissed the knuckles of each finger, "Unsatisfying, aren't they?" He showered your hands with kisses, "Don't worry, darling, I'm here now." He raised both hands so their size was visible in your periphery, before grabbing your dress and pulling it over your head. "No!" You resisted, causing him to huff, annoyed. "Don't make me tear it off, honey, you look breathtaking in it." He cooed, and your movements haltered enough for him to successfully get it off you. "Good girl— such a good girl f'me."

Immediately his eyes were on your curves, your hips — perfect for bearing the child he was about to fuck into you, your breasts, so ample, all available for his groping and fondling, your pussy almost peering out of the silk panties. "Fuck, Y/N." He groaned, about to rip your underwear off when your pleads interrupted him. "Alci-Alcides please don't." "Hm," his sharp eyes seemed to be calculating his next move. "You say no, but your body," he groaned, pressing the knuckles of two of his fingers against your clothed cunt, "Your body sings otherwise, my love."

Every second passing by was petrifying.

The mortal battle between blood and lust, two things you were the epitome of, qualities comprising your very backbone, now, asked you to break it; bend over backwards and break your back for this man.

The string of pleads you cried fell on deaf ears, which, a part of you was glad for. Maybe if you continued to put the blame on Alcides and his necromancy, you'll actually let yourself live with the fact that your desires to have him ravage in your guts is overpowering, and the carnality lay in the fact that you didn't even care about what happened after. You were serving him your body in a platter, which you had not an ounce of doubt would eventually serve that purpose, quite literally.

"Tell me you want me." He hovered over your breasts. If he wanted to play games, then games you'll play. "I want you..." you whispered, "to go fuck yourself." He would've smacked you again, but again, you would've enjoyed it. What did stop him, however, was the shit-eating grin plastered on your face that showed him you were still on planet Earth, among the living and the abominable.

"Now, why would I do that, when I've got such a pretty girl with her pussy all wet for me?" He mimicked your expression, staring into your soul until you were forced to look away, and your eyes landed right on his clothed erection. "This?" He followed your gaze, "You're going to take care of this in just a minute, but for now," he paused, his large hands turning into talons and ultimately perilous claws. Cutting through the hems of both your garments, he retracted his claws immediately. You flinched when his hands came closer to your hips, "Don't be afraid, mic vânător." His baritone voice gave you absurd comfort, the tone, reassuring. "They can't hurt you, unless I want them to." His pearly whites were like the fangs of a serpent, peering out, bloodthirsty for you.

With that, he lowered himself and dove right in.

You slithered about while his anomaly of a tongue kitten-licked your inner thighs. "I'll tie you to the fucking bed, if you don't quit squirming." He spat.

At your pussy.

You moaned in response, hips momentarily halting from the continuous resisting. "Yeah? You like that don't you, slut?" His fingers spread your slit, before spitting right into your tight hole that fluttered about nothing. "There you go, my love." He cooed in response to your whining, smoothly inserting his index finger into the same hole. A tremor ran down your spine at the sudden intrusion; the stone-cold, thick and long thing digit was a cruel thing, reaching that sweet spot the minute it bottomed out till, knuckle-deep in your velvety walls, and even calling the others to join in on the assault on your cunt.

Accommodating, now, three of his fingers, pummelling your cunt, scissoring you open, was more overwhelming than any dick you've ever taken. Maybe the fact that no one else could amount to the size of an ancient 9'6 vampiric cannibal Lord who's put his and the life of his sons in your palm.

Either you take them away, or let him take you to carnality never fathomed before, and the way he sucked on your swollen clit while fucking you with his fingers was a clear indication of your preference.

"Alcides," you moaned, nearing your high. "Yes, my love?" He replied almost instantaneously, as if finally you complied with a poor man's request. "What is it that you need, darling? I'll give it all to you." He lifted up from your pussy, leaving your clit with a wet 'pop' sound, making his way over to your breasts, while his movements inside you never faltered once. His sharp eyes searched yours, fixated on them while his hot tongue snaked out of his mouth to twirl around your hardened bud. Flesh on fire, you leaned into the feel of his mouth on you. "Fuck me, Alcides." You cried in defeat. How the mighty have fallen prey to the vultures of lust, mere carcasses of seduction.

Alas, the façade of seduction had backfired, and you had fucked up royally.

Upon hearing the trumpets of his victory through your pretty mouth, Alcides would've been a fool to refuse you. Eagerly he undoes his pants, letting his throbbing cock spring free. Your eyes damn-near saw your brain at the sight of the thing. "Alci— I can't." Seeing you panic, he began getting off on it. "You can, and you will." He hissed when his calloused thumb rubbed against the slit of his cock.

"Oh, I wanna feel that throat squeezing around me." He pumped faster, fucking his fist to the thought of you like many a night before. "But this pussy will do," "For now." He said, rubbing his length fervently against your slit, lathering your wetness on his leaking tip, enthusing a sweet mix of your cum, much more of which was to come.

"Won't be... able... to..." You spoke in between moans gaps the tip was in. The stretch was abnormal, ungodly, unnatural — exactly what you're deemed to kill. "You'll take it, mic vânător." He began to push more in, knocking the air out of your body. "Stop clenching," he groaned deeply, the sound resonating in your core. Nothing could've prepared you for this intrusion, so agonisingly painful, yet deliciously filling.

"You've... got to s.—stop... clenching." He pushed in the whole length, deadening your movements. You'd think he'd fear breaking you, but no. Alcides fuckin' Dimitrescu was thrilled to see you finally submitting, even if your body paralysed in the fear of being ripped open, your back arched, breasts stopped wavering in the air, and your breath caught in your throat.

Only when the loudest, most pornographic moan left your lips did Alcides begin to thrust into you, already drunk off of your pussy, ecstatic in ecstasy.

Despite the slow speed, his thrusts were deep enough for legs to start shaking. To your shock, he lifted your legs and since they couldn't reach his shoulder's that stood almost as stall as the fucking ceiling, they were swinging across his forearms, and at this angle he slammed his hips into you.

You screamed, damage was made to your vocal chords as well as your walls when the penetration quickly turned into pummelling, giving you zero time to adjust to the mammoth size of it. On seeing your closed eyes, Alcides smacked your face, gentler than before, yet enough for your eyes to shoot open, face contorting in pleasure at his gesture that was now among your favourites. "Don't let those pretty eyes waver away." His grip on your hips was threateningly tight. "Look into my eyes, or there," his eyes motioned downwards, and it was then you saw the immense bump in your belly. Your eyes widened in profound horror. He had most certainly torn your insides apart, you were sure.

"See how big it is— how well you still take it?" He babbled while vigourously pushing into your poor cunt. "Pl-lease, go... easy on—me." You managed to plead out, but nothing counts stop the possessed Lord. Finally, he got the chance to feel your insides, and there was no way in hell, he thought, he'd let you off easy. Not when you're the biggest threat to his existence, let you wrap so tightly around his monster cock.

Dumbfounded, cock-drunk, utterly paralysed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless attack your pussy had to endure.

Just when you thought your demise would be the sole pleasure you were forced to undergo, two of his fingers rubbed fervent figure-eights on your bundle of nerves that ached with bloodrush.

You babbled incoherences, whimpering, shaking your head repeatedly when he lifted your lifeless body, just the tip of his cock inside, and switched positions with you. Now, he laid, somewhat upright, hands crossed behind his head. Leisurely eyeing you, while you struggled to breath with his entire length upright inside your walls, his tip pressing against your cervix like an enemy threatening to break down your barriers; your walls.

"M-move... please..." you mewled, causing him to 'tsk' with disdain. "Help yourself, căprița mea mică." He raised a brow, mouth curling viciously into a smirk, "Use me as you please." Your shaky hands reached for his broad shoulders, raising then steadying your hovering self over his cock. His eyebrows wiggled in amusement, awaiting your move comically, until the feel of your walls struggling to take in his tip pulled him back into a trance of pleasure.

He let out an animalistic groan that lingered to be what you swore was a whimper, so you did your best to lift your tiring legs and plop down on his cock, upright and pulsating inside you. "I could fuck this pussy every moment for the remnant of my days." He smiled at you, large palms resting on your hot ass, slowly caressing your curves. The gesture, so contradicting to the impaling you were enduring, nearly knocked the air out of you, for when your perplexed eyes met his expectedly ravenous ones, you were shocked to see them replaced by fondness.

"If I'm lucky enough to live," he paused, hands squeezing your ass before sitting upright, pulling you with him. You moaned wantonly when you felt his cock deeper. "Let this be how we wake, how we sleep — in each other's embrace." His eyes widened, as did yours, like deer caught in front of headlights. The feigning look of innocence on his face sent your core spiralling with erotic ache, when his face, not once breaking eye contact, inched forward to stop just in front of your nipple.

You shrieked when he took complete control, earning a whine from you as you just got the hang of dominance, but when you noticed the hellbent gleam of carnality in his eyes, you knew you were in for a ride.

He suckled on your bud while fucking through you. "You're close, aren't you?" He pulled away from your nipple with a pop sound, resting his bearded face on your breast, "I know you are. 'Can feel her tightening around my cock." He chuckled, mouth back on the hardened bud in his presence. You sneaked a hand down and rubbed your bundle of nerves, fervently.

His large fingers, jealous of your own, were quick to replace them in driving you to your high. You were practically spoon-fed the orgasm, that took a toll on your fragile body.

No emotion overwhelmed every hemisphere, every neurone of your brain like ever before. Your mind went spiralling away, like an eternal shore hugging the lunar tide for the first time a night, your shore's dry spell was over, and your body did it's best to fight the feeling and drive a stake through his lustful heart, but your body was worn out; used as any lucky ragdoll would be.

The overstimulation sent you back to Earth at godspeed. His movements were sloppy, but not faltering, and soon enough, he let his seed bathe your walls a pearly shade. "Take it all— carry my seed." He moaned, absentmindedly.

When you plopped onto his shoulders, he lifted you up single-handedly and laid between your legs. You instinctively closed them; despite being too fucked out of it, you still cringed at how both your cum leaked out of you, ruining the sheets and everything between.

"Alcides, no—"

You were a second too late in pleading, for he grabbed you by the legs, placed them on his shoulders, and stood up.

You hung upside down, your pussy a stone's throw away from the man's smirked lips. By now, you knew what was about to unfold, yet the first lick to your cum-coated lips sent shockwaves down your spine (rather up?).

He moaned against your clit, the vibrations causing you to writhe in his grasp. His tongue licked your pussy clean, the circular motions on your clit, to the long licks from your clit to slit.

It's crazy how an anomaly like him became your exception — the hunter's favourite prey. With a tongue so skilled, you weren't to be blamed for succumbing to your current situation; not like you could do much in the grasp of a monster like him.

You're lucky his cock didn't fuck a new hole into you.

When his large palms let go of your hips, you wrapped your legs around his neck instinctively. You could've used his vulnerability to your advantage, had your mind not clouded in the ecstasy of overstimulation. It seemed like Alcides thought the same, for he smirked devilishly to himself, letting his talons ghost about your flesh, before slightly retracting to pinch and squeeze your nipples. He placed open mouthed kisses on your clit that not once stopped throbbing.

You shook in agony, his mouth worked tantalisingly slow on your burning hot cunt. Deciding to show mercy, an unlikely thing for the tyrant Lord, he smiled at your frame hanging tightly from his; your breasts heaving under his touch, obstructing his view of your pleasure-stricken face.

Lord Dimitrescu plunged his tongue inside you, placing one hand on your hip to push and grind you against his tongue, and you swore every atom in your body was swollen with pleasure.

"No... n-no more..." Your beseech was deemed adorable by the man tongue-fucking you. He pulled out, slithery wet tongue, coated in your juices, leaving you breathless. He lapped at your wetness, growing per minute as he so desperately coaxed more out of you.

Dumbfounded, pussy-drunk, utterly engrossed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless devouring of your pussy at the hands of your sworn enemy.

One of his hands snaked to your clit, the ever fervent pace of his movements drove you to madness. Your body stilled, eyes rolled back, breath hitched, and it was when his tongue flicked inside of you that you realised that you were doomed.

After drinking your juices clean, Alcides placed you gently on his bed, and by the time he laid next to you, you had already wandered off in dreams.

Your mother awaited your letters.

Perhaps, she'll be rejoiced to hear you alive and well, or maybe she'll be mortified that you're alive and well, and The Dimitrescus live and breath, still. Either way, she and the rest of the world better get used to you signing every final letter as 'Lady Dimitrescu'.

2K notes · View notes

notafunkiller · 8 months

Text

how you get the girl

Summary: After Bucky rejects you in front of his friends and breaks your heart without realizing, you two finally confess your feelings for each other.

Pairing: neighbor!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: 18+, age gap (she is 25, he is 33), teasing, dirty talk, pet names, oral sex, nipples play, no condom (but they are both clean and the reader is on birth control), implied aftercare, no mention of y/n.

Word Count: 4.2K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

You don’t know how you manage not to choke when you hear Sam.

“You need to start dating, man!”

Natasha snorts, amused all of a sudden, leaning into you.

“Watch him get red.”

But you don’t answer her, a little nervous about how this will go. What if he agrees? Even worse, what if he’s already dating someone?

“You’re getting old.”

“I think you mean older,” Bucky tries to say, but Sam doesn’t seem to even pay attention.

“You are practically forty, man.”

Bucky immediately rolls his eyes. “I have a few years left until forty, Wilson. And even if I was forty, is that old now?”

You notice everyone, including Sam’s sister, listening to their conversation, and you feel like an outsider. You know all of them, you even came to their occasional gatherings, but you aren’t close to anyone but Bucky.

“No, but you’re not getting any younger.”

“You sound like a grandpa.” You watch Bucky a sip from his glass of water. “Plus, I have my girl.”

He has a girl?

Natasha turns her face to you and you make a great effort not to look back. She would see right through you.

“Oh come onnn, your cat doesn’t count!”

“Cat?” Natasha asks. “I thought he meant,” she points at you, finishing her sentence, and you gasp. You can barely hear what she’s telling you. “I thought you were his girl.”

You blush, you know you do based on how hot your cheeks feel, and you notice how everyone but Bucky stares at you. But before you can say anything, Sam snorts amused.

“Barnes could neverrr. Too young and sweet for his ass.”

“God, why are you so noisy? My love life is none of your business!” Bucky snaps and turns from Sam to Natasha as he speaks. “And of course she is not my girl. Does it seem to you she is my girl?” The sharp cold tone makes you freeze for a couple of seconds, and so do the others, completely shocked. It almost sounded as if he… maybe he is disgusted by the idea of you being his girlfriend. Ashamed of this moment and your own feelings, you look away.

“Alright, alright. Calm your tits down!”

You don’t hear the rest of the conversation, you block everything out as you stare at your hands. You’re on the verge of crying and you have to bite your cheek really hard not to. It’s embarrassing. But the fact that he actually rejected you without rejecting you makes everything harder to handle.

For a little while, you even pretend everything’s alright as you drink some water, but in reality, you can barely breathe. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, excuse me.”

You leave as quickly as you can before having a breakdown right there.

You take a few minutes, trying to calm down and control your emotions as you wash your face. Your eyes are slightly red, but not red enough for people to notice. When you close the door, you jump seeing Bucky in the hallway. “Hey. Are you okay?”

He analyzes you for a few seconds, trying to make sure you’re fine. He knows you hate this type of interaction and attention, but he didn’t realize how bad it is. He should have punched Sam instead of talking.

“Hey. Uhm, do you mind if I leave? I don’t feel very well.”

He wants to say something, you can see by the way he opens his mouth and hesitates, and he decides against it, nodding.

“Sorry for going so suddenly.”

He shakes his head.

“Don’t apologize for this, let me grab our bags.”

“No, no. You should stay, they’re your friends after all. They missed you. No one would even notice I am gone.” It’s the truth, and the last thing that you want is to make him feel obligated to drop you off. You don’t want to be his burden.

“I would.” He immediately replies and sighs. “They would too, they like you even thought… I am sorry for ear-”

“It’s okay, Bucky.” You give him the fakest smile after interrupting him. It really is okay. He should have fun and not worry about you. They’re his group after all. “You should stay, you don’t have to drive me home, I promise I am a big girl, I can handle it.”

Bucky frowns. Once because you think he feels it’s an obligation and once for name choice. “What about James?”

“I… Everyone calls you Bucky so it just slipped.”

“I want to come with you, doll. Don’t worry about this, okay? And I really miss our babies.”

You try to hold back a wave of tears as you turn around. You can’t continue to fight him on this. “Gonna get my bag then.”

Bucky follows immediately and gives everyone a clear fuck you look. “It’s getting late, we’re gonna go now, thanks for the game.” He takes his phone from the table before leaning in a little more so he can curse Sam in his ear. “Fuck you!”

“Fuck you back, grandpa, “ Sam whispers as you awkwardly say goodbye and wave toward everyone. They are not to blame at all for your sensitivity.

Bucky fights the instinct to place his hand on your back as you walk in front of him, wanting to show you some comfort and at the same time be close to you. He loves to touch you whenever he can.

“Take care of her, Barnes,” Natasha says before you close the entrance door.

You keep your eyes closed a lot, just listening to his humming and the radio, for the whole ride.

He opens the passenger door and helps you out of the car as soon as you arrive, but there is clear tension between you. He can sense it right away. When you reach your floor, you hesitate.

You would usually spend a little more time together, especially since it’s still early, but you have no energy to pretend you’re fine and totally not about to cry because your feelings are not mutual. “I think I’ll take a shower and go to bed… so rain check?”

Bucky tries not to show he’s disappointed and scared when he looks up and nods. “Of course, I totally understand, and I am sorry again. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable. They were dicks.” He sighs, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Give Miss Bubbles some snuggles for me, please. And thank you for coming tonight!”

And he’s gone before you can reply, making you start crying as soon as you close your door.

Miss Bubbles comes to you, smelling your shoes and your pants. “Hey, baby.”

“Meow.”

“Just us tonight.”

Her wet nose immediately makes you smile when she presses it into your hand. “Missed you, too.”

Bucky can’t relax despite Alpine’s tries to make him give her attention. He took a shower, changed, but he can’t focus on anything. Evenings feel lonely without you and Miss Bubbles, as cliche as it seems. He hates how uncomfortable his friends made you feel today. It’s the last thing he wanted, yet it still happened. Sam is a good guy, but he should have known better.

Sighing, Bucky finishes making the hot chocolate and looks down at Alpine. “Gonna visit our friends tonight. Not sure if they’ll forgive us, but it’s worth a try.”

You know it’s him when he knocks on the door, but you have no time to actually make yourself look presentable. It’s clear you’ve been crying.

You open the door with a sigh. “Did anything happen?”

“Made some chocolate, may I come in?”

Alpine doesn’t wait for your answer as she finds her way inside the apartment.

“I’m tired, Bucky.”

He blinks a couple of times, noticing your red cheeks and eyes. “Bucky again?”

You open the door defeated. “You can come in, James.”

Grateful, he gives you a smile as you close the door.

“This is for you.” He hands you a red cup before he starts off his slippers. “But it’s really hot.”

“Thanks. It was not needed, I just felt a little tired.”

You’re not a bad liar at all, truth be told. You even sounded honest. But you know he didn’t buy it anyway.

“I am sorry for today.”

“You said that three times now.” You complain before sitting down on the couch, waiting for him to join you like he usually does.

“Well, I really am. I know you hate this…”

“Hate what, James?” You take a sip and you groan. He makes the best hot chocolate ever!

“The way everyone was talking… It was not polite or nice. They tried to tease me through you, and I am sorry on their behalf.”

“Tease you through me about what? I am very obviously not your girl, right?”

His ears get red instantly, and Alpine comes to sit on his lap. “I am sorry, Natasha is…” Your humorless laugh interrupts him. “Did you come here to reject me again, Bucky? Two times were enough, trust me!”

“Reject you?’ He places his cup on the table. “What?”

“James, seriously, stop! I got the message, you don’t want more, it’s fine. Just stop apologizing for this.”

“I did not reject you!”

“And of course she is not my girl.” You quote him, placing your cup down, too. “Of course! Because it’d be such a terrible thing. What did Sam say? Oh yes, too innocent and sweet aka too naive, young and dumb for you!”

“God, doll, please, slow down! And this is not… this is not what I think. It’s the opposite, but they had no right to put you in a place like that. If you were my girl, it would be obvious.” He’s talking quickly, trying to explain as well as he can.

“Get out, but Alpine stays!” You don’t know where this comes from, but you won’t take it back.

“What?”

“I said get out, I don’t want liars in my apartment.” Alpine jumps from his lap to yours as if he understood what you said and agrees. You’d rather be rejected than let him pity-talk to you.

“God, baby, I swear I-” He stands up. “It’s a misunderstanding. I didn’t say that cause I didn’t want you… I do, I think it’s obvious, but like… I didn’t want them to corner you any-”

“It’s obvious?” You snort, totally unamused. “Yeah, that you rejected me.”

“I did not!”

“You did.”

Bucky pauses and closes his eyes for a couple of seconds before turning more to you when it hits him. “I cannot believe we confessed we like each other like this.”

You pause, too, and Alpine meows annoyed. “You like me?”

“Obviously…” he groans. “Everyone knows it at this point.”

“Except for me! When were you gonna say something?” You ask, trying to keep your breathing under control. Is this really happening?

“I wasn’t… I’m not the best option.”

“Best option for what? I’m not looking for a new phone.”

“You are younger, and fun, smarter, sweeter… You are worth so much!”

So he thinks he’s not good enough for you just the way you think you aren’t good enough for him.

“And I like an old man.” You smile teasingly. “With long hair. Who gives the best hugs and is an idiot.”

You’ve been crushing on him for months now. You can’t believe how he didn’t see right through you, but you didn’t realize he likes you, either, so you can’t judge him much.

“Do you mean it mean it? As in serious relationship?”

“God, James, do I have to spell it out for you?” You grab his face.

“No.” He smirks, looking down. “And I am sorry, baby Alpine, but you’ll have to move.” He gently puts Alpine on the floor as she meows annoyed and grabs you, dragging you onto his lap. “I can’t believe you think I’d reject you.”

“I can’t believe you’d think about options…” She touches his face. “I liked you since I saw you in those pink shorts.”

Bucky laughs, remembering the moment. “You did not!”

“Oh, I did. Those arms helped a lot.”

He groans. “God, I felt like a creep that day… actually the whole week, I kept staring at your boobs.”

“Did you ever stop?” You tease amused. “You don’t like my boobs anymore?”

“Doll…”

“What?” You suddenly grab your boobs over your T-shirt and bring them closer to his face.

“Stop-” He closes his eyes, groaning. He cannot think straight at all, and his pants show immediately how he feels. You smile as you notice his erection.

“You’re already getting hard, so why stop?”

“I don’t want to do something too…”

“Too what?” You lean in a bit to finally kiss him. You’ve been waiting for ages to finally taste him, and he immediately answers, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck as you open your mouth.

“You taste so sweet,” you say.

“You taste sweeter, fuck me… I wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Who stopped you?” You don’t let him kiss you again, focusing on his neck this time. You wanted to leave hickeys there ever since you met him.

“My moral code.”

You snort. “You are not eighty, silly. Do I look like I don’t want it?” You push your hips toward his erection to make sure there’s no doubt in his mind. You’re so excited about this. It feels surreal.

“You seem like you want me.” He smiles. “Close to how I want you I guess.”

“I think more.” You place your hand on his chest in a heartbeat. “Wanna eat you whole.”

“Meow.”

“Not now, Miss Bubbles.” You groan. You love her a lot, but you’re about to finally get her daddy all to yourself.

“Meow.” It’s Alpine this time.

“I am gonna give them some wet food,” you sigh, getting off him. “You can… make yourself more comfortable.”

It doesn’t take more than a minute before you’re back with a smile. “So where were we?”

“We were kissing.” His hair is now free; his hairband on his wrist. You love his hair so much that you can’t wait to feel it properly under your touch.

“You look so hot.”

He snorts. “Thanks! So do you. God, can’t believe those pricks were right!”

You get back on top of him without thinking twice and kiss his cheek. “Stop thinking about them. Your dick doesn’t…”

“God, look at that mouth, you were tired of waiting for me, huh?”

“Yes, I was. Did Natasha tell you that?” You tease.

“They might have suggested I should make a move.” Your hum, your fingers finding their way under his shirt before touching his tummy. “Doll-”

“What? I really wanted to do this for a long time.”

“I did… do, too, but I don’t want to rush.”

That’s thoughtful. Very thoughtful.

“You’ve been my friend for months now, James. And I wanted to be more than your friend for months.”

“Same, but there is no rush, just so you know.”

“Well, you’ve already said that, and there is no rush. Unless you don’t want-”

He kisses you, interrupting you immediately. His hands go straight under your pants and panties to grab your ass.

“James!” You cry in the middle of the kiss. His touch feels so good.

“Hmm?”

“Thought you didn’t want to.”

“I want to, trust me.” He smiles. “But that doesn’t mean we have to.” Then he kisses you again. “We stop when you want.”

“Oh, come on, old man. Who told you I want to stop?”

Bucky squeezes your hips.

“Old man?”

“Yeah. Old and annoying,” you say before starting to take off his T-shirt, and he immediately lifts his hands.

“And horny for you “

“Not horny in general?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been on my mind for months.”

He’s been on your mind for months, too. Daily, you thought about him in any possible way.

“Dirty old man wanting to fuck a young, naive woman.”

“You’re into roleplaying?” He winks, blushing because of the way you phrased it.

“I am into fucking an old man on my couch.”

“What if I want to fuck you?”

You roll your eyes. “Your cock will be inside me either way.”

He laughs and takes ahold of your T-shirt, and just like that, before you can even react, it’s ripped and lying on the floor.

“James Buchanan Barnes!”

“Buchanan!” He repeats amused, but his focus is on your breasts, your hard nipples making it impossible for him to focus on anything else. “Oh God, these are so pretty and all mine.” He reaches out to grab them.

“Yours?”

He brings them together and lowers his head until his mouth touches them.

“James!”

His tongue is immediately on the skin, licking up and down until he finally has mercy enough to wrap his lips around one of your nipples.

You moan. “Good boy.”

“I’m your good boy, baby.”

That makes you groan again because this is too much!

“God, Bucky, you are so hot right now.”

“Just now?”

You smile. “Always, but especially in moments like this.”

“Oh fuck, do you have a condom?”

“I do, yeah. But do we need it?”

He lets go of your breasts and wraps his hand around your chin before he licks a spot right above your collarbone. “I won’t ask again, so are you sure?”

“I won’t change my mind, James. Now take your pants off, I want you in my mouth.”

“God, keep going and I will come in that-”

“Good, I want you to come in my mouth. And on these,” you grab your breasts again to drive him crazy. “Since you like them so much. And inside me.”

“All tonight?” He asked all shook.

“Why? You can’t get it up again, grandpa? One and done?” You know teasing him might not be the brightest idea since he can use it against you, but it doesn’t matter.

“I guess we’ll see.” He shrugs, not even trying to deny it. He gets extra points for not being offended. “Now take off your pants.”

“Just pants?”

He rolls his eyes. “I thought you wanted my come all over you.”

“I do, but I’m too lazy to-”

“Just tell me you want me to rip them.”

You gasp, getting off him. “Fuck you.”

“You will if you get naked.”

You take off your pants and panties, struggling with your socks a little, and when you turn your focus on him you see him sitting naked on the couch, waiting for you.

His hand is wrapped around his hard cock, but he’s not stroking it, his eyes focusing on you.

“You’re so fucking hard.”

Bucky laughs, shaking his head amused. “I thought you knew that.”

“Fuck you for holding back!” You complain and drop on your knees in front of him, taking him by surprise.

“You held back, too.”

“You seemed uninterested,” she says all defensive.

“See how uninterested I am?” He grabs his erection to emphasize his point, and you moan, touching the head with the tips of your fingers.

“Fuck.”

“Baby… let’s just-”

“Can you take off your hands?” You ask with a pout.

“What?”

“I really want to suck you off.”

It’s not a want at this point, it’s a freaking need. You have to do it, it’s an urge.

“And I really want to get inside you.”

You whimper annoyed. “Just a taste.”

“Just a taste.” He nods and takes off his hand, and just like that, your mouth immediately takes over as you wrap your hand around the rest of his cock while you try to take more in.

“Oh God, warn me, woman…”

You ignore him, fully focusing on licking his dick and not biting him. Breathing is hard as you gag a few times, but you try your best. You’re not used to it, especially since he’s thicker than you expected, and you’re nervous. You have no idea how he likes it and you can’t say you did it many times before. You just really want him to like it.

“Breathe, baby.” He moves the hair from your face, holding it in his right hand so he can look at you properly. “No rush.”

You start bobbing your head at some point, your fingers digging into his thigh.

“Fuck, do you want me to come in your mouth? Would you swallow for me or should I come all over your pretty tits?”

You scratch the skin of his legs as you bob your head faster, and he doesn’t need too much to come as he pulls your hair as nicely as he can.

“Good girl, my pretty baby.” He moans.

You don’t swallow completely as you finally let his still semi-hard cock out of your mouth, showing him your tongue.

“Baby, God…” He moans as you wait for a couple of seconds. “Want to swallow for me, pretty girl?’

You give him a wink before doing that, and Bucky feels he’s on another planet.

“You’re still hard.”

“And I am getting harder.”

“Good.” You smile innocently before you hug him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. He’s so soft and warm, and he’s all yours.

“You are so sweet.” You feel his mouth on your shoulder. “I’m so fucking lucky.”

“I am lucky, too. You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met.”

“What a sweet couple we are.” He teases.

“Yeah, dirty sweet.”

“I don’t think…” He hesitates, making you curious about what he’s about to say. There’s no way he’s rejecting you, so what is on his mind? “I don’t know how we’ll be apart from now on.”

“James!” You look at him emotionally.

“It probably sounds psychotic or weird, but…”

“Shut up!” Your fingers cover his bottom lip instantly, stopping him. “You are mine from now on, just so you know.”

He nods happily before kissing the tip of your thumb. “All yours.”

“Won’t you ask if I am all yours?”

He snorts. “Are you all mine?”

“Your cooking skills are amazing.” You let out a laugh as soon as you finish your phrase. “And a great hair. And I’m all yours.”

“All mine?” He lifts your ass a bit, and you gasp. “Would you fuck me then, ma’am?”

You giggle, moving your hand between your bodies to be able to grab his cock and position it at your entrance. “This is gonna feel so good,” you say before eagerly sliding down, making you both moan.

“S-so wet.” He groans trying to get further inside you. “You don’t even need lube.”

“Fuck me, James, you feel so good inside me.” You can barely whisper, as you start to move, testing for a little, trying to see what feels the most pleasant. His cock is not small, not huge, not too thick, not too thin, and it feels perfect.

“You held back for what?” You complain, using his shoulder for support, his hands on your hips to help you move better, too. “If I knew you liked me…” You moan, surprised when you feel his tongue on your breast.

“You know now. We trust each other… it’s perfect.”

“James…”

“Hmm?”

“It feels so… s-so good like this.”

“Yeah?” He smiles against your skin and thrusts again. “You like when I’m fucking you back?”

“Ihm.”

“You’re so wet around me, feeling like a glove. My perfect baby.”

His words make you feel dizzy. You match so well you can’t believe it “I’m so close.”

“Good girl.” He moans your name before licking your chest, leaving small bites everywhere he can. “I want to live inside you forever.”

“J-James…”

“So pretty, so lovely.”

He takes properly over movement as you stay still on top of him, clenching from time to time because you’re so close you feel him everywhere. The way he whispers how good you are, how great you feel, and how you should come, plus his teeth on your neck make you come after a while, and Bucky follows soon after that because of your loud moans. You’re both trembling as you come, your head falling on his shoulder.

“I feel so full,” you whisper.

“You are full, lovely.”

“Ihm.”

Your body feels heavy all of a sudden, sleepiness taking over you.

“Let’s get you cleaned.”

“But I don’t want to let go.” You complain, gripping him harder. You just want to stay there in his arms.

“Gonna carry you to the bathroom, how about this?” You open your eyes and you nod, so tired.

“Sounds good.”

The cats are waiting in front of the door when Bucky opens it with a hand while still carrying you. He walks past them, careful not to step on their tails, and goes straight to the bathroom, cleaning you with a semi-wet towel, then himself before getting both of you ready for sleep.

Good thing he locked up his apartment because he’s not going anywhere tonight. You fall asleep with Alpine on your pillow and Miss Bubbles on the chair while Bucky’s holding you.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes au #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #dilf!bucky barnes #dilf!bucky #neighbor!bucky barnes #neighbor!bucky #my stories #my fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic

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maelialuv · 1 year

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Call It What You Want, Steve Harrington

Summary: Going to a party at your bully's house had to be your worst nightmare come true. But you know what they say; don't get over someone, get under them.

Warnings: SMUT! slow burn filth. I need a hot shower level. breeding kink if you squint. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!) fem!reader :)

NOTE: some characters have been aged up, like chrissy, so that everyone is in senior year at the same time :)

Word Count: 5.9K

You loved a party. Couldn't get enough of the heat of a group of people, the roar of laughter overlapping with the excited chatter of friends reuniting. The inevitable crash of dropped glass making the whole crowd hush before resuming their nestled talk. You were, in every sense of the word, a party girl. But that wasn't always the case.

Before this year - your senior year at Hawkins High- you'd been riding the coat tails of your childhood best friend, Nancy Wheeler, all throughout your school life. You were the sad little puppy that followed her around, but Nance never minded. She was always happy to have you by her side, or just behind her. Everywhere she went, you were there a few seconds later. That was until she started hanging out with, and later dating your sworn enemy.

Steve Harrington.

The guy had tormented you since middle school, along with his minions Tommy and Carol. The two of you used to make fun of people like them, stuck up and out of touch, and then she became one of them. Just like that. You could tell she felt guilty, by the way she would send you a furrowed glance at lunch as if to say 'I'm sorry, I have to!', like she had no control over who she surrounded herself with. As if she had no choice but to curl up beside the guy that broke your elbow in seventh grade.

Like she couldn't help but fall into the arms of the guy that had made your life a living hell for more than six years.

You still occasionally spoke to Nancy. After all, you lived across from one another, and thus had to see each other at some points. She would sometimes invite you to study, but you had started to make excuses after you had seen Harrington climb the garage roof and into her window, not liking the thought of his impulsive tendency for a romantic rendezvous interrupting a study session whilst you were there. You didn't want to put Nacy through the grief.

Your 'Lost Lamb' persona left you the moment you started hanging out with someone you never thought you'd consider a friend in your wildest dreams, or nightmares, Chrissy Cunningham. Expecting her to be a total Queen Bee, she was nothing of the sort. She was warm and kind and sisterly, all the things you missed from your friendship with Nancy. She sat with you at lunch, went to the movies with you, and eventually secured you a seat at the table with the rest of the cheerleaders, their boyfriends and the rest of their gang. They welcomed you with unexpected sincerity, and that was that.

You started going to house parties on Saturdays, diners on Wednesday nights with the girls, study sessions with some of the basketball team that couldn't quite pass a class or two. People waved at you in the halls, remembering your name for once. You and Chrissy would have sleep overs, and you felt the hole in your heart that Nancy left slowly start to heal. More or less.

But then you got that stupid invite.

"Gotcha!" Chrissy closed your locker door, scaring you senseless.

"Jesus, Chris!" you stacked your books in your arms. She was smiling wide, as always, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "What?" you said, a raised brow and half a smirk making its way across your lips.

"Before you say anything, just let me talk," she made tiny praying hands to her chest, puppy dog eyes gleaming. "Promise?"

"Okay," you sighed.

"There's a party this weekend, and we're all going, and we all really want you to come." You looked at her with raised brows, as if to say 'go on?'. "It's Steve Harrington's party."

You'd managed to avoid almost every one of Harrington's parties with some believable, and some not so believable, excuses in the past year since your surge in popularity. "I don't know, Chris, I'm so busy with college applications this weekend-"

"Who needs them!" she cried, "We all know you're gonna get into Yale or Hardvard or Brown or whichever super crazy smart college you want to go to." She grabbed your hand, swaying it back and forth, like a child begging their mother for a candy bar at the grocery store. "Pretty please?" she did the puppy eyes again, knowing it would sway you to agree.

"Fine."

"Yay! I'll come to your house at nine tomorrow to get you!"

And that's how you found yourself in your old bullies house, red solo cup in hand, full of whatever lethal punch one of the football players had concocted. Already tipsy, lingering by the kitchen so that the constant stream of drinks wouldn't slow. Bodies moved ungracefully around you, shimmying and shoving through to the living room or to the ruckus of the back yard where people were throwing each other into Steve Harrington's large pool. You sipped on your drink thoughtfully, feeling the confidence built over the last year slip away from you as you returned to your old wallflower state.

"Why are you hiding in here, silly?" Chrissy came to your side, the shimmery pink eyeshadow on her lids making her green eyes luminous in the low light of the kitchen. "The gang's all next door, come on!" She grabbed your hand with surprising strength, dragging you into the large living room. Deep sofas lined the walls, each with a basketball player and their girlfriends curled up on one. On the one furthest from you, was Nancy and Steve. Next to them, Tommy and Carol. It made your stomach turn to see her with him. You avoided her persistent gaze. But Harrington's gaze, raking you in and eyes darting up and down, was harder to lose. He stared at you adamantly.

When the buzz of chatter died down, a few of the basketball players and their girlfriends left to find more entertaining activities, it was just a handful of people left in the living room. Including you, Nance and Steve. Tommy had the glint of wicked amusement in his eyes, and it made you uncomfortable. "I know what we should do," he said, eyes falling to you. "Let's play a little game." Carol perked up beside him, as if their minds were connected in some twisted way. "Yeah, let's do something fun."

"Games, come on guys," Jason, Chrissy's boyfriend, spoke up. "We're not in middle school anymore." Carol got her own wicked smile.

"Oh, certainly not." her eyes fell on you , analysing how your style had changed. You were wearing dark make up, smoking out your eyes and giving them an alluring pull. You showed off skin, knew how to present yourself. Her eyes narrowed, her smile a venomous sneer. "No, if this were middle school, I wouldn't be caught dead at a party with her."

You simply cocked your head to the side, giving carol a tight lipped sarcastic smile. Inside, you felt thirteen again. Instinctively, you grabbed your elbow, as if you could feel the pain of the break there now. Tommy barked out a laugh at Carol's comment. "Yeah, who knew the black sheep would turn into a black swan, huh?"

You felt gross as he raked his eyes over you, unashamed as he stared at the place where the hem of your dress ended.

"Fuck off, Tommy." you retorted, voice calm but heart racing a million miles a minute behind your ribcage. You felt like you were a lamb on a platter for the lions, ready for the slaughter.

"She speaks!" Carol squawked. Next to them on the couch, Nancy squirmed. Never one for confrontation, she excused herself to grab a drink. You caught her eye as she left. She looked guilty. You wanted to follow her, grab her by the shoulders and tell her to wake up. Tell her that her friends, and her boyfriend, were assholes. But she never listened before. She just couldn't admit it to herself.

"Been a while since we've seen you, babe. Where've you been hiding those legs, huh?" Carol smacked her gum as she spoke, obnoxious and loud.

"I found some better people to hang out with." Beside you, Chrissy stuck her arm over your shoulder. Her face was hard. It made her look older, the serious glare that she was sending Carol. Carol sneered at her, and the expression aged her terribly.

Steve caught your eye, shifted hard away from Tommy. He was gripping his beer with a tight knuckled grip. His eyes slithered down your neck, over your chest, and landed similarly to Tommy's. You grabbed the hem of your dress and yanked downward.

"One of the cool kids now, are you? Not following Wheeler around like a dog anymore?" Tommy took a long sip of his beer.

"We drifted apart." you said simply.

"Oh yeah? Since when?" Carol chimed in again and you felt your blood boil beneath your skin. Steve continued his obvious oggling.

"Since she traded her spine for a shiny new basketball player"

Nancy stood by the door, drink in hand. Her eyes were wide, like a deer in headlights. The whole group erupted into astonished laughter, Chrissy struggling to hold back as she clutched her stomach. Steve glared at the floor, as if willing it to say a comeback that would sting you back. Nancy sat down beside him, silent.

"Woah, you gonna take that Wheeler?" Carol guffawed.

She remained silent as a mouse at Steve's side.

"Nance was never one for speaking up anyway. "

You grabbed your cup and flittered out of the living room, the atmosphere suffocating you. You needed another drink, a cigarette, and some alone time. Drink secured, and obscenely strong, you crept up the stairs to the second floor. Once you found a room that didn't stink of puke or had two people sucking face in, an ensuite bathroom, you locked the door and sat in the tub.

Shutting the shower curtain, doc martens resting on the taps, you lit your cigarette. You still couldn't believe you were in Steve Harrington's house - let alone one of his bathtubs - after everything that went down all those years. Yet there you were. Nancy lost to the dark side, you in with the cool kids. Your middle school self wouldn't believe it. You rested your eyes for a moment, breathing in the smoke and taking gentle sips of your drink.

Your thoughts were interrupted by muffled yelling in the next room. You stubbed out your cigarette, trying to get out of the tub as quietly as possible, when you heard your name. It was Steve and Nancy, and they were fighting. About you.

"Why are you bringing this up now?" Steve said, exasperated.

"You guys were awful to her, Steve!"

"Yeah, like you did anything about it, huh Nance?"

You recoiled back into the tub, feeling invasive but caring more about what Nancy had to say for herself than your moral compass. It was a years' worth of pain cementing your form in the tub, ear preened toward the doorway.

"You tormented her!"

"And you watched! If anything, that's worse!"

"How is that worse than what you, YOU, did to her Steve?!

There was a pause. You could imagine Nancy's face; pouted lips, furrowed brow, cheeks blotchy from an ill-fated attempt to hold back her angry tears. Steve laughed humourlessly. It was a cutting sound, and you could hear Nancy take deep breaths.

"What we did, sure, it was stupid. Do I regret it? Of course, we never meant to get her hurt back then."

"You're still awful to her!"

"And there's the kicker," Steve chuckled darkly. "She always stuck up for herself. That's why we did it, we knew she'd give us some fun." There was a long moment where no one spoke. "You never stood up for her once, Nancy."

His words hung in the air like smoke, seeping into your clothes and clogging your throat.

"You never defended her, then or now."

Nancy was flustered, stuttering over her words.

"You never stood up for your best friend? Thats...awful, Nance."

You could hear as Nancy struggled to find a defence, as she used to with you. She would blubber to you, relaying how guilty she felt with enough tears that you eventually ended up comforting her, forgetting that you'd even come to her for help.

"Fuck you, Steve." You could hear as she grabbed her things, storming out of the room with vibrant language. The loud declaration that "it was fucking over" made a laugh - vindictive and partly delighted - rise in your chest.

You smacked a hand over your mouth in realisation. Your movements froze, fear jolting through your bones as you heard Steve pattering about the next room. His movements stopped abruptly as your foot knocked a bottle of shampoo off the edge of the tub.

In a split second - idiotic- decision, you decide to make a run for it. You rip back the curtain, jumping to the floor and striding for the door, the door you had so stupidly locked. A warm hand grabbed your wrist in a vice like grip.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

His voice was low, deep. It echoed in your chest. It made your heart thump. It made your blood boil.

"Get your hand off me." you seethed. His grip remained, making the skin of your wrist tingle. His touch was firm yet feather light. Unwilling to let you go, but not trying to hurt you. When his hand remained unmoving, you struggled against his grasp. "Get off, Steve."

He was leaning over you, shoulder blocking the door. He hovered above you, taunting, as he looked you over again. His gaze was relentless, inescapable. Confusing.

"Let go, Steve." You sighed out, defeated and embarrassed as he held you in place. You felt unnervingly calm. Strangely glued to the floor under his honey brown eyes as they bored into your own. You wanted nothing more than to move your feet - maybe stomp on his own so he would release the grip on your hand- and get out of the claustrophobic bathroom. You risked a glance up at the boy.

Christ.

Steve was never unattractive. Never had an awkward phase. He was always tall, athletic and tanned. Your hatred for the boy hadn't blinded you to the painfully obvious. But in the dim green light of the bathroom, shadows accentuating sharp cheekbones and jawline, you saw it. Saw it as the other girls did. Steve Harrington was gorgeous. He was painfully attractive, in every sense of the word. From the symmetrical lines of his cupids bow to the dark lashes framing honey eyes, he was hypnotic. And he had you completely under his spell.

"How much of that did you hear?"

His voice was aggravatingly quiet, gentle. Intoxicating. There was a gap between the two of you, small enough that you could feel the warmth of Steve's breath on your cheek as he spoke. You felt like a child being scolded by a parent, guilt driving you to complete honesty. It was the same tone that would make you confess to a teacher, had the same soft lilt.

"Enough." You replied, and your voice was hoarse. Rough, like you needed water desperately. You did, you felt as though your throat was bone dry. "Enough to hear you chew out Nancy."

Steve's eyes were inexplicably soft as he looked at you, and at the mention of Nancy they hardened almost imperceptibly. "Yeah, well," he sighed, languid and frustrated, "that was gonna happen, no matter if it was about you or not." When you raised as brow - both in shock at his willingness to detail the state of his relationship, and as a sign to continue- he went on. "All we do is fight."

"Hmm."

""What?"

"Karma came and bit you both in the ass."

The look Steve gave you made you feel bad for saying it, but it was overruled by the vindictive joy you felt at hurting his feelings. The way he backed up slightly, as if he'd not expected you to say something, made your heart jolt a bit. He'd been so awful to you for so long that the knowledge of his relationship being far from perfect made a smile creep its way across your lips.

Steve huffed, frustrated again.

"You are incredibly hard to understand." He said, the same sickeningly sweet voice at play. "You're very different...to how you used to be."

"You mean I'm not a loser anymore?" You quirked a brow.

"You were never a loser," he stepped closer to you, hand still on yours. "You were just...," he trailed off. His gaze was unashamed, staring straight down at your lips as he spoke. "Different."

'What a crock of shit,' you thought. This coming from the guy that bullied you all throughout middle school, even through high school. it was the biggest load of bullshit you'd ever heard. But your ears rang with the rush of blood behind your ears as your heart hammered inside your chest. Steve Harrington was a flirt, and a good one. You were experiencing his best lines. And they were working.

"Different?" there was hardly any space between the two of you now, Steve's lips brushing over yours as he shifted. You didn't stop him when his hand brushed your sides.

"Yeah," the hand that had been holding your wrist against the doorknob came up to cup your cheek. Steve's top lip was on yours as he spoke, "different."

The two of you crashed together with teeth and lips, a brawl of desperate hands and angry grudges. Fingers tangled in hair immediately, tugging and scratching. Steve tasted of smoke, beer and something innately Boyish. His hands settled at your waist, grasping the fabric of your dress there. His lips were pillowy and soft, addictive. You suddenly understood why Nancy put up with it; kissing Steve Harrington was like having your own personal drug. The kiss deepened as you shifted heads, turning for better angles and access.

Steve groaned as his tongue slid across yours, and the way he so clearly enjoyed the kiss made you feel powerful. He backed you up against the bathroom counter. "Jump," he whispered, your bottom lip between his teeth as he nipped the skin there. You did as he said, his voice husky and hypnotic, and he lifted you to rest on the sink. Legs parted, Steve rested between your open knees. One hand resting there, one working on shrugging you out of the jacket that clung to your shoulders. He pulled away from you, an amused smirk on his face as you whined, to rip the jacket away. Shoulders and neck exposed, Steve got to work on the skin there.

You were suddenly way more aware of what you were doing.

"You better not leave a mark, Harrington." you panted out, as Steve nipped a particularly sweet spot just below your ear. He chuckled, and the sound sent a shiver down your spine.

"Why?" he asked, smug lilt to his words. "Afraid of people knowing?"

"More ashamed than afraid," you said, choking on your words as Steve nipped at the skin of your throat. "Can't have people thinking just anyone can have me."

Steve pulled back, and god you melted right there. Hair a mess, eyes blown wide, and lips swollen. It was a glorious sight. "And I'm just anyone?" He was smug, overconfident. Irritatingly attractive.

"Yeah," you gripped the belt loops of his jeans, yanking forward. The bewildered look on his face made you grin. "so this stays between us."

"Aye aye, Captain."

And off you went again, lips colliding in heated snarls. There was a primal anger behind it, driving you into his strong arms as he encased you. Was this self sabotage? Maybe so, but it was the hottest thing you'd ever experienced. Steve's nimble fingers caressed their way up your back, finding the straps of your bra with ease. He snapped one against your shoulder, making you yelp and using the sound to slip his tongue back into your mouth. If it didn't make your bones feel like jelly, you would have chastised him for the cheap move. Carnal desire taking over your mind, you let your cold hands scrape up his chest, lifting the hem of his shirt to graze his stomach.

He tensed up at the touch, a stuttered breath fanning your face as he sighed. His two hands landed firm on your knees, creeping up your legs and stopping as he stroked your inner thigh with his forefingers.

"Permission to come aboard?"

You nodded, arousal coursing through you like a stake to the heart.

"Words, please...Captain."

"You find yourself funny, don't you?"

"Very." His fingers were so close yet so far from where you wanted them. "Do you want to?"

"Yes, I do."

"There we go."

He kissed you again, this time slow. It was harder than before, and as he swiped his tongue over your bottom lip, Steve slipped your underwear down your legs. He groaned into the kiss as he felt you, excitement clear by the wet patch on your panties. "God, you're wet."

You should have been embarrassed. You should have pulled your panties off the floor and run out of the house and all the way home without looking back. But you were putty in his hands as Steve slipped a finger inside of you, hooking upwards and finding that special spot almost immediately. A high pitched whine - one that shocked even you- made its way out of your mouth, muffled as you buried your head in Steve's neck as he set a slow pace. "What a pretty sound," he groaned, catching your face in his hand as you threw it back against the mirror. "You gonna keep making 'em like that?"

You nodded, breathless, and then he was out of your sight.

Steve kissed down your chest, shoving your dress over your stomach and kissing the skin as he went down. His fingers intwined with yours as they gripped the marble counter. You sat up to catch his eye, and what a pretty sight it was. Steve Harrington, pupils dilated with lust, with his head between your thighs. He kissed your thighs, and you mewled; so close yet so far.

"Please," you moaned. Embarrassment crept up on you, and you could feel the blood rush to your cheeks. "God, please Steve."

Steve dug his fingers into the skin of your thighs, toying with them. He kissed his way to your knees, enjoying the sight before him as you writhed about. "Please what?" he said, and had you not been desperate for him to bury his head between your legs you would have kicked him. He grinned as you fought the urge to beg. "What do you want?" He left surprisingly tender pecks to your knee.

"I want you."

"Where do you want me?" he was taking his time with you, partly for himself - savouring the moment, rejoicing in the way you fell apart before him- and partly to tease you into insanity.

"Jesus Christ," you groaned as he nipped the supple skin of your thighs.

"Steve is just fine." He laughed, putting you out of your misery as he licked one broad stripe up your centre. It was the stupidest, most reckless thing you could be doing, which made it even hotter as Steve hooked his hands under your hips, holding you on top of the counter as your legs wrapped round his head and your hands wove themselves into his hair. Almost immediately you understood Steve's reputation, and you felt a pang of possessiveness as his lips encased your clit, humming as he went. Your back arched off the tiles, mouth agape in a silent 'O' shape. Harrington knew what he was doing, that much was clear as your first orgasm crept up on you.

You could hardly muster words, the only sound in the jade coloured bathroom being the obscene wet sounds and your whimpers as Steve continued to ruin you on the counter. "I'm gonna - oh shit, Steve." The way you moaned his name - like it was the only one you knew, the only one that mattered- made Steve's jeans feel impossibly tight, palming himself for something, anything to relieve himself. He was just as desperate, just as wanting, as you were - if not more. The thought of what was to come made you clench around Steve's fingers, exploding in a white hot scream on his tongue. You fell back against the mirror, hairs sticking to the sides of your face, cheeks flushed with both heat and bashfulness. Steve crept up your stomach again, stealing a kiss when he made it to your lips.

You could taste yourself as he kissed you, slow and deep. His hands swiped the hair from your face, in a gesture entirely too sweet for a boy that had just ravaged you in his bathroom. It bothered you. That wasn't part of the interaction - there was no sweetness involved. It almost took you out of the moment, but as your hips bucked into Steve's, and he let out a strangled groan, the moment was saved. As his lips found purchase on your collarbones, your hands made work of unbuttoning his shirt - purposefully slow, you enjoyed watching his stomach tense as you grazed it. The sharp intake of breath as you began unbuckling his belt made you feel powerful, made your stomach do flips. "Here?" you asked, kissing down his neck to the space where it met his shoulders, "or somewhere else?"

Steve's eyes lit up like a christmas tree at the prospect that this - whatever this was- wasn't over just yet. He gripped your hands on his belt buckle. "Not here." With little effort, he hoisted you over his shoulder - much to your shock and dismay. You swatted his back but couldn't help the swell of arousal as his arm tightened round your waist. He set you down on the edge of the bed, standing in front of you with one hand on your cheek. In the dim light of his bedroom, Steve Harrington was devastatingly handsome. The soft glow of peaches and oranges made his eyes a molten chocolate, skin peppered with a red hue from...exertion.

"It's rude to stare." he said, voice void of the smugness from before. It made your ribcage rattle, heart thudding with the weight of his stare. It felt like he was looking at your soul, and it made you shiver. The boy who'd tormented you for years, was seeing you. Staring right back at him, your hands made their way to his belt loops. It was your turn to make him writhe a bit.

"Can't help it," you said, voice all airy and entirely foreign to your ears. It dripped with a lust, husky and soft. "You're somewhat of a looker."

You ripped his jeans open, nimble hands ridding him of the garment in seconds. As you grabbed the waistband of his boxers, the outline of his cock straining against the fabric, his hand stopping you. "As amazing as that would be," he said regrettably, "if I don't get you on that bed, I think I may lose my mind." He said it so breathlessly that it made your thighs clench together. He wanted you so badly. You cocked your head to the side, half playful and half serious as you said, "Do something about it then."

Steve didn't need to be told twice. He dove into you, hand steadying your head as your lips locked together - an irritatingly perfect puzzle piece finding another. You were a tangle of legs, arms, and lips as the two of you buried yourselves in Steve Harrington's bed, ridding each other of the clothes that stopped your from touching one another completely. His knee found its home between you, shifting your legs apart to make room for hips. You were encased in Steve; his scent, the feel of his lips on your skin, his legs locking yours in place. His hips rocking into yours as he kissed your neck with sinful skill.

Your hands grew restless, tugging at the hairs at the nape of his neck as if he would understand the morse code in the pulling. "Steve," you groaned as he knocked his hips into yours, "please."

You were begging, and you were embarrassed. You couldn't bring yourself to say the words- couldn't stand the thought of asking your middle school bully to fuck you in his bed at his own party. But the boy had other ideas.

"Say it." he toyed with your clit, thumbing it as you whined. When you stayed silent, he pinched one of your nipples between his fingers. he smirked at how quickly they puckered underneath him. "Say you want me."

Your cheeks burned with shame. You couldn't - wouldn't- beg him.

He hovered over you, hands either side of your head, nose brushing yours. You could feel the ghost of his lips over your own. His hand came to rest on your chin, thumb sliding over your lip, tugging it down and letting it slide back. "Open."

You did as he said, opening your mouth wide enough for Steve to slide his thumb into your mouth, a teasing smile on his face as you swirled your tongue around it. "Say you want me to fuck you." He pulled his thumb out of your mouth slowly, grinning as it made a satisfying pop. He leaned down to the shell of your ear. "Tell me you want me to ruin you," he whispered.

The burn in the pit of your stomach raged as Steve kissed the hollow of your throat, waiting for you to speak. Your breath was shallow, eyes closed as you whispered into the air, hoping the buzz of the party below would swallow your words.

"I want you to ruin me."

Steve grinned, wolfish and smug, as he lined himself up with you, locking eyes with you as he pushed himself in. You knew you were gone when he moaned your name like a prayer, said it like it was the cure to his troubles. Like you were something to treasure. One strong arm gripped the headboard as he panted. "God," he grunted out, "you feel incredible."

There was something electric about hearing praise from the boy that tormented you for years, something wickedly delightful about watching his mouth hang open with pleasure as he bottomed out inside you. You clenched around him, desperate for any friction to satisfy the burning between your legs. "Can I move?" he groaned.

"Yes, please."

In public, Steve was an athlete. Behind closed doors, under the sheets, he was an Olympian. He set a fast pace, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, deeper inside of you every time. The sounds of the party- the drunken teens stumbling, the music blaring- were drowned out by the slapping of skin on skin, of your whines and Steve Harrington's moans as you fell apart beneath him.

"Shitshitshit- man, you're amazing." he moaned as he rutted into you. You were frozen in pleasure, mouth open from silent screams of pleasure. You bit your lip, so hard you would have tasted blood had Steve not being everything you felt in that moment. "Oh, fuck," you groaned at a particularly deep thrust, "I'm s-so close."

"Me too," Steve whimpered, and you were sure it was the hottest thing you'd ever heard. "Where should I-"

"I'm on the pill." you sputtered out.

Steve's eyes darkened, delighted at the permission, determined to get you to your peak before he fell apart himself. "Yeah? You gonna let me come inside?" His hand reached between your conjoined bodies, rubbing tight circles on your clit. "Gonna come for me?"

Your back arched off the mattress, the coil in your stomach snapping at the same time Steve collapsed on top of you, his stuttering as he came. You both panted, recovering from the exertion. Rolling over onto his back, you and Steve stared at the ceiling, the weight of what you had done sinking in.

It was wrong, so wrong. He'd just broken up with Nancy, seconds before you let him crawl between your legs. You would have felt terrible, like you'd betrayed her, had it not been so good.

You would have felt guilty, had you not felt the shake of your legs still reeling from the intensity of your orgasm.

Steve turned his head to face you. You turned to look at him.

"I'm sorry about how I treated you, before."

You snorted.

"You don't have to apologise just because we had sex, Steve." The ridiculousness of it made you laugh. "Thanks, though." You were both silent for a while, just laying there. You tried spying your clothes across the room. "Where's my underwear?"

"Oh," Steve mumbled, getting up from the bed and into the bathroom. You couldn't help but stare at his retreating form, back muscles flexing as he stretched. You did the same, a soreness washing over you. Steam filled the bathroom, the sound of the shower running loud against the dying party below. Steve returned in his jeans, smirking as pulled your lavender lace panties from the back pocket, tossing them at you. You caught them with one hand.

"Perv," you said, sliding them back up your legs. Steve smiled from the bathroom doorway. He was looking at you that way again. It made your stomach uneasy. "What?" you said.

"You can, uh, clean up here. If you want." He scratched the back of his neck. He gestured to the shower. You stomach flipped again. You rose from the bed, using the sheet to cover your chest. You stopped in front of Steve, who was struggling not to look down at your loosely covered front.

"This is not a thing, okay?" you said slowly, as if saying the words aloud would make them true. As if hearing them from your own lips would stop the way your lips yearned for Steve's the second they left your own. "This goes nowhere else."

Steve nodded, mockingly serious.

"Aye aye, Captain."

He grabbed your hand, making you drop the sheet, and led you into the steam filled bathroom. You let him wash your skin, all soap and too much affection given who he was to you. You didn't stop him when he kissed below your eye, on your nose, or when he placed an all too tender kiss on your lips for just a second. But it was long enough. You let him wrap you in a towel, drying you with gentle hands. You didn't object when he dressed you in his old basketball shorts and a tattered sweatshirt. You let him tuck you under his sheets, didn't flinch away when he tucked your hair behind your ear.

You let him wrap his arm over your waist when he returned, having kicked the last stragglers out of the house. You let yourself fall asleep in his bed, warm and soft and all too inviting, much like its inhabitant.

What you wouldn't do was let yourself fall for this, you thought. You wouldn't fall for Steve Harrington. Wouldn't fall for his moves, his overused lines. Wouldn't get wrapped up with the wrong guy.

But as morning came, and you turned to see Steve already looking at you, that look on his face, you thought that maybe it was too late. And by the looks of Steve Harrington, it was too late for him as well.

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