#(a woman who is dark from working in the fields) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gigabyte-flare · 11 months

Text

Insatiable (Part 1)

Summary: You are a researcher for D.S.O. who is responsible for studying Leon Kennedy as Las Plagas overtakes him, maybe even finding a cure. He starts to take a liking to you, too much of a liking to you.

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: yandere plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Extreme violence and gore, biting, dubcon, forced breeding, gross las plagas-y things, death, mentions of un-aliving. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

A/N: Heavily inspired by this artwork by @chanif-art on Tumblr along with Project Scorpion by @tagzpite. Literally could not get this idea out of my head until I wrote it down. Definitely going to be another series. We're also going to pretend D.S.O. was founded way sooner than 2011 k byeeeeee

“I fought a war and I learned how to win, but how do you fight when the enemy’s within?”

You step out of an elevator led by two armed D.S.O. operatives in tactical gear deep underground at HQ, your white lab coat flowing gently as you walk forward. Grasped in your right hand is a voice recorder. You and the operatives go through a series of heavy steel doors leading you into the bowels of the underground facility.

Is all this really necessary? you think to yourself as you’re led deeper into the abyss.

Finally, you’re brought to a single cell enclosed with clear polycarbonate panels with steel reinforcements. In this cell was a man sitting in a chair that was bolted into the floor, his hands chained behind his back and his legs chained to the legs of the chair. This man is Agent Leon S. Kennedy. You approach one of the panels closest to the steel door keeping him in.

Switching the voice recorder on and bringing it to your mouth, you state your name before continuing, “The year is 2004. The subject is field agent Leon Scott Kennedy, currently 27 years old and exhibiting the late stages of Las Plagas infestation, his body is covered in dark, vein like marks. Subject is currently slumped over in the chair. He appears to be catatonic.”

Bringing the recorder away from your mouth, you motion to one of the operatives to guard the door. You input a passcode into a key panel next to the door. It lets out a hiss as it slowly swings open. As you step in, the door swings closed and locks.

You bring the recorder back to your mouth and continue, “Agent Kennedy?”

You watch as Leon slowly lifts his head, his face completely covered in the dark veins, his once blue eyes now have a slight red tinge to them, it makes your stomach twist in sorrow, he used to be such a handsome man.

“Subject appears to still have some cognitive ability left as he immediately recognized his name. We’re still trying to understand how he hasn’t broken down now that the alpha Plagas host, Osmund Saddler, has been destroyed--”

“I’m right here, you know,” Leon suddenly spoke, making you jump.

“Ag-Agent Kennedy!” you reply, eyes wide in shock that he’s able to speak.

“Please, just call me Leon, sweetheart.”

His dark gaze seemed to pierce straight into your very soul. You collect yourself, clearing your throat.

“How are you feeling, Leon?”

Leon looks down at himself, tugging gently at his restraints before looking back up at you, “all things considered, I actually feel pretty damn good.”

“That’s… good, I guess,” you reply, your nervousness clear in your voice.

You hadn’t prepared for this, every researcher that attempted to interact with him got absolutely nothing out of him, hence why they sent you down. You argued with them, not seeing the point but now you began to realize that the difference was they were all men, you were a woman.

“Awww… there’s no need to be so nervous, sweetheart, it’s just me, Leon Kennedy. I promise I don’t bite,” he says, a small smirk appearing on his lips, “hard.”

“Do you know where you are and why you’re here, Leon?”

He lets out a chuckle, “yeah, I’m in D.S.O.’s research facility because I’m turning into a monster.”

“That’s putting it rather bluntly, but yes, that’s correct.”

“About time they sent someone cute down here to visit me, the rest were much too dull. If I wasn’t chained up, I’d ask you out to dinner and a movie.”

You feel yourself blushing, “that’s… very kind of you Leon, however that won’t be happening anytime soon, I’m afraid.”

“That’s a shame, because I’d love to take you to bed and make you scream my name,” he growls, a sinister grin overtaking him.

Your heart is pounding out of your chest as your eyes widen at him. This wasn’t like Leon at all, the parasite was clearly twisting his thoughts. You panic, turning around to motion the operatives to open the door and let you out. As soon as you’re out of the cell, you briskly walk away from the cell as fast as you can, not once looking back. You could have swore you heard Leon’s laugh echo after you.

“I am not going back down there, are you insane?!”

“You’re the first person he has actually spoken to since he got back from Spain,” the lead researcher, Bryan said, setting your voice recorder down onto his desk.

“So? Your point? I’m not doing it and that’s final!”

“Look, this recording gives us valuable data on him, it’s clear that the Plagas inside him is mutating into a more dominant strain. It must know it’s the last one left,” Bryan said, pleading with you.

“So we’re just going to poke and prod him like he’s some guinea pig? Leon wouldn’t have wanted that! Are you sure there’s no way we can cure him?”

“If we attempt to remove the parasite now, it will kill him--”

“Then let’s put him out of his misery, this isn’t right!”

The silence between you was deafening. After a few minutes, Bryan finally spoke.

“Judging by this recording, the Plagas has one thing on its mind.”

“Which is…?”

Bryan looked up at you, letting out a heavy sigh, “reproduction.”

“All the more reason I shouldn’t be going back down there!”

“He’ll be restrained and you’ll have at least two operatives with you at all times, you’ll be safe,” Bryan leans forward on his desk, folding his hands together, “the data you collect from Agent Kennedy is invaluable in finding out how the parasite works, just… go down and talk to him. I know yesterday was unnerving but there is one thing he said that is true, he’s just Leon Kennedy. He’s in there somewhere, even if the Plagas is influencing him.”

You cross your arms, staring at the floor, letting out a frustrated sigh before looking back up at Bryan, “fine. But I want hazard pay.”

“Consider it done, here’s your recorder back,” Bryan says, sliding the recorder across the desk towards you.

You grab the recorder of the desk, turning on your heel to walk out of Bryan’s office.

“You are to report down there in an hour, you hear me?” Bryan calls after you just as you walk out the door.

You fight the urge to flip him off, thinking better of it. You walk down the hall into your office, getting your lab coat back on and sitting at your desk. You press play on the recorder, listening back on your interaction with Leon several times. There was one part where you repeated it several times, sending chills down your spine.

“That’s a shame, because I’d love to take you to bed and make you scream my name.”

How long had Leon been locked down here, chained to this chair? How many men in lab coats came and tried to talk to him? He knew he was a lost cause, why were they keeping him alive? How many times did he wish death would come and take him in his sleep?

But then you came, awakening something in him.

Your natural scent filled the cell completely, so many hours had gone by and he could still smell you and you smelled absolutely divine. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, the way your voice was so sweet yet filled with drive and intelligence. The way you blushed when he flirted with you. The way your heartbeat began to race at just the mere mention of taking you.

God you were so cute when you ran off, all flustered, he couldn’t help but laugh; he hadn’t felt alive like that in so long. His reminiscing was interrupted suddenly when he could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Lifting his head, he practically began to salivate when he saw you had returned.

You came back to me, baby, where you belong…

“The subject appears to be conscious and alert, he watched us as soon as we were in his line of sight,” you say as he watches you speak into the voice recorder.

With a hiss, the door opens and you step inside. Leon breathed in deep, taking in the smell of you, you smelled even better than you had yesterday. He feels his cock twitch in his pants in excitement. He watches as the door behind you closes and locks, just like it had yesterday, trapping you in here with him.

Curse these fucking chains…

“You’re more lively today, Leon, care to tell me why?” you ask, your voice flat and void of any emotion.

“How about you tell me why you smell so nice,” Leon replies, grinning at you, drool running from his mouth down his chin.

He watches you shift uncomfortably before you continue, “I’m not answering that.”

Leon scoffs, shaking his head, “then I’m not going to talk to you, sweetheart.”

You take a deep breath, “if I’m going to be honest, I don’t know why I smell so nice to you, Leon.”

His red eyes scan up and down your form, imagining it without all those needless clothes. Imagining himself pinning you to the floor and fucking you stupid. A strange, clicking sound came out of him from the back of his throat as he pulled aggressively on the chains holding him to the chair. He watches as the two men with guns outside become alert. Leon lets out a low growl as he glares at them.

You turn to face the men, signaling to them to stand down. He watches them both relax before you return your attention to him.

“The transformation appears to be progressing faster than expected,” you say into the recorder, “are you in any pain, Leon?”

Leon slowly shakes his head, “no, just unbelievably horny, doll.”

“We have reason to believe the subject is displaying an increased libido due to the fact that the parasite inside him knows it’s the last of its kind.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here, that’s awfully rude.”

“Fine,” you say, lowering the recorder away from your mouth, “what do you want to talk about, Leon?”

“You should ask those nice boys out there to take these chains off me,” Leon purrs, staring at you longingly.

“Absolutely not, Leon,” you reply, crossing your arms, “those chains are there for my safety as well as your own, at least until we can get the Plagas out of your body.” “I think I’m too far gone for that, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

You take a deep breath and exhale loudly, the sorrow clear in your eyes, “I am so sorry that this is what you have become, Leon.”

“I’m not,” Leon says as that sinister grin overtakes him again; he starts to chuckle.

“Leon,” you begin, stepping closer and kneeling down to be eye level with Leon, “I know the real you is in there, somewhere, you have to fight it.”

Your scent was almost enough to drive him crazy, you were delectable. He licks his lips, that clicking sound coming out from this throat again. His eyes are locked on you and he sees you glance down briefly before looking back into his eyes. He knew what you were looking at, you were looking at the noticeable bulge in his cargo pants.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” Leon says, his body visibly trembling.

You don’t respond, you simply stare at him with that same sad look in your eyes. How could you not want him as much as he wanted you. His lips curl into a snarl.

“Let me FUCK YOU!” he growls, lunging forward, the bolts in the chair letting out a loud screech as they’re bent slightly.

You stumble back, falling backwards onto the floor as Leon continues to struggle violently. The two men with guns come rushing in, one of them grabbing you off the floor while the other shoots a tranquilizer dart into Leon’s thigh. Leon feels the effects almost instantly, his body becomes limp as he becomes sluggish, his mouth hanging agape as he watches you get led out of the room by the two men, the door shutting and locking behind them as you’re led away.

“Mine,” he whispers in his last moments of consciousness, “all mine.”

Part 2

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader smut #yandere!leon kennedy #plagas!leon kennedy #gigabyte writes #insatiable

4K notes · View notes

randomshyperson · 6 months

Text

Heal - Scarlet!Wanda x Vampire!Reader - Kinktober #08

Summary: By freeing an imprisoned immortal from the Darkhold Castle, the Scarlet Witch did not expect to gain a friend who would help her heal the woman she tried to bury in the temple's wreckage. In return, Wanda might help you face the demons from your past that were locked away with you.

Warnings: (+18), service!top reader, praising, intimate smut, blood-feeding, vampire and witchcraft lore, and a lot of plot, implied depression and self-harming tendencies, really soft smut with explicit consent, mutual pining, friends to lovers | Words: 9.671k

A/N-> My only vampire reference is TVD, so expect many similarities to the show’s lore. And I repeat again that there is a sinful lack of stories that deal with the status of wizarding royalty of which Wanda is part. Please, she literally has the title of Queen of Chaos, her family has inherited the magic of chaos for generations, we need to talk about this. I hope you guys like this one, this story ended up having more depth than I expected and it was quite fun to write it.

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

After destroying a thousand-year-old castle and not getting out of the impact zone, Wanda definitely didn't expect comfort. In addition to the pain of recent events, from realizing that she had finally become a villain, and was closer to the people who had destroyed her life than to the friends she once lost, she also had to see the clear fear in the alternative versions of the children she missed. So she put an end to it all, more tired than anything, and waited for the pain to go away. The blackout from the impact put an end to it, of course, and just like years before when she turned to dust after losing the only person she still had left, she breathed a sigh of relief into the darkness.

But Wanda woke up. And to her complete surprise, comfort came in the softest sheets she had ever felt, perhaps even more comforting than the expensive cloth Tony Stark had once bought for the rooms in Avengers Tower. The bed she was lying on could easily have been mistaken for royalty, and Wanda barely had time to become alert before a slightly unfamiliar face entered her field of vision.

"You." She gasped in surprise, her voice a little hoarse. Now conscious, she was aware of the pain around her body, but she could also feel her magic doing the hard work and taking the sensation away. You smiled gently and, without leaving your sitting position on her bed, waited for her to adjust to the mattress. Wanda frowned. "But why?"

You sighed, shrugging slightly. Now sitting up, Wanda realized that your lap wasn't empty. A breakfast tray was waiting for her as if you were aware that she would wake up soon and had brought the food just in time. The item was leisurely placed next to her, but Wanda continued to look at you, waiting for an explanation as to why someone who had disappeared almost the second after the first meet, reappeared to save her from the wreckage of her mistakes.

"I know you're confused, but please eat. You've slept for days, miss." It's your comment, but the witch shakes her head.

"Don't worry about it. It's... nowhere near the longest I've gone without food." The quiet confession about the period of darkhold abuse makes you sigh sadly, and Wanda feels a curiosity rise in her chest. You don't know her, so why do you care?

Your hands move to the toast you've prepared for her, and Wanda bites the inside of her cheek as she finally notices the tray with your movements. Your breakfast choices are just right - delicious foods stare back at her. And you busy yourself with adding some jam to the toast that makes Wanda's mouth water.

"Forgive me for taking so long to find you, I was a bit overwhelmed upon returning after so long." You then declare, handing back the now-filled toast to one of the smaller plates. You push the item towards her as an invitation, but Wanda glares at you.

"Why did you bother coming back?"

Your eyes are kind in her direction. "I owe you my freedom."

Wanda chuckles short and incredulously. "Don't be ridiculous, I didn't even know what I was doing." She retorts immediately. "I saved you by accident, you don't owe me anything."

But you gesture to the food, and Wanda sighs in defeat, finally giving in. At the first bite, she feels the delicious jam on her tongue and sighs in satisfaction. It's amazing, she lets you know. You smile.

"It doesn't matter if our meeting was accidental, Wanda Maximoff." You state. "Your magic broke me out of my prison. If the idea of a debt doesn't please you, we can act as if upon rescuing you, I made us even."

Wanda hums with her mouth full, slightly distracted by the food. You look away, waiting for a moment, and she finishes chewing before speaking again.

"I didn't want to be rescued."

"I know."

She looks at you again, but you continue to stare straight ahead into the room. "Do you?"

You smile briefly. "Nobody who wants to live knocks down a castle on their head, miss."

The chuckle that escapes her is short, but it's the first sincere one in a long time. It's so dark, to joke about something so serious, yet she feels completely at ease doing it with you.

Wanda finishes another piece of toast before speaking again. "Do you remember the sorcerer who was with me before, when I freed you?" You meet her gaze, nodding in agreement. Wanda looks at you curiously. "He nearly shit his pants when he saw you running away from the temple. He tried to lecture me about it, and I dragged him out of there for it. But the point is... what did you do? He only told me your name. What was so terrible that your escape scared him so much?"

You sigh, getting up. Wanda imagines that she has offended you by asking and that you will leave without telling her the whole truth, and considers spying on your mind to find that out, but you just walk to the nearest drawers on the other side of the bedroom. When you return with an object in hand, Wanda wipes away the toast crumbs before accepting the item you hand her.

The old photograph makes her eyes widen. "Holy shit." She sighs impressed, getting a short laugh out of you. Your picture wasn't a surprise, but the date from over three hundred years ago faded by the bottom. Wanda flipped the item to see the back, but your name there didn’t really explain how you were standing in front of her, as if no time had passed.

"Humans call us Vampires, but I've always liked the sound of Immortal better. Of course, the term vampire beats being called a demon or a bloodsucker." Wanda doesn't laugh at the joke, as she raises wide eyes in surprise at you. She continues to hold up the photograph, and you swallow. "I promise I won't try to harm you." Finally, she chuckles softly. You sigh in reassurance, even though the witch has just mocked your strength.

"I can't believe vampires exist."

"Said the witch who traveled through the multiverse a few days ago." Wanda smiles, handing the photograph back to you.

"Fair point." She murmurs. Restless, you wonder what you can do to improve her mood. She seems so sad.

Perhaps your stories could distract her.

"I was imprisoned in Darkhold Castle a few centuries ago." You tell her, attracting her curiosity again. Your hands go into your pockets so that you can regain some ground over the full attention of such beautiful and mesmerizing irises. "There are other mystical authorities, apart from Kamar-Taj and its mages. In particular, a council of vampires. I disagreed with some traditions and was sentenced to imprisonment, but my capture was not quiet. Let's just say I earned that tomb you rescued me from, Miss." Wanda nodded in understanding, offering a small smile that ensured she wasn't judging you. It would be comical to do so, after everything that had led up to this moment. Adding to the count of her own crimes, she apparently unleashed an immortal mass murderer.

Wanda looks around, sighing softly. "I presume this place is yours."

You nod but look away from her. "Many of my properties were lost with my imprisonment. Taken back by the Council, or even stolen by other creatures. I'll deal with these usurpers later." The comment made Wanda bite the corner of her mouth. She'd never seen a vampire fight, and you seemed so sure of your own strength over anyone who stood up to you. It was attractive somehow. She pushed the thought away faster than it came. "Of course, you're welcome to stay as long as you need, even if I'm not around."

The statement makes Wanda chuckle in surprise, her cheeks slightly warm. "What? I can’t accept that. I will certainly not abuse hospitality-"

"Don't be ridiculous." You repeat her previous words with an easy smile, and the casual comment sounds different from your formal attitude so far that It's so charming that Wanda has to look away awkwardly, surprised by her own perceptions. "It's a pleasure to have you as a guest. And honestly, it's nice to have someone around after so long." The sincere confession makes her smile. Wanda understood loneliness well. You sigh. "There's enough room in this house. You can stay as long as you need."

Wanda nods. "How exactly did you get me here? And where is here exactly?"

"Northern Europe, but I'm not sure if the country's name remained the same as it was three centuries ago. And I didn't want to carry you so far from the castle, and I figured you didn't intend to return to Nepal and their Kamar Taj’s mages as well."

Wanda grimaces. "What do you mean with ‘carry me’?"

You chuckle slightly. "You were unconscious, Miss Maximoff. And buried under rubble when I found you. We don't have the same magical abilities, so I can’t use the power of the mind to move objects or people. I picked you up, and brought you with me."

She needs to see this, and the invasion in your mind caught you off guard. Flashes of memories turn clear in your head, your figure pushing rocks out of the way until you find Wanda unconscious. You actually picked her up in your arms and started moving. At some point, you found a car, but good kilometers on the ice at high speed were walked.

Wanda leaves your mind with a sigh, and for the first time, you look upset.

"Please ask next time."

She's still coming to terms with the fact that you ran through the snow with her in your arms to apologize. "You walked half a continent for me?"

You shrug. "I ran, to be fair. Don't worry about that, it wasn't any trouble. My kind has enough strength and speed for a journey like that."

But the ease didn't detract from the significance of the attitude. Wanda could hardly remember the last time anyone had done anything for her - not even Vision, who was her partner, seemed to share any guilt when signing accords that wanted her in jail; And now a stranger was rescuing her at the end of the world just to bring her to safety, without expecting anything in return.

Her silence makes you clear your throat. "I'll give you some privacy. There's more food if you want it, and this is a suite, so the toilet is through that door. I've also taken the liberty of ordering clothes in your size while you’ve been asleep, they're all in the closet. The whole property can be explored, please feel free to do so. There’s a library and art rooms. And please, if you decide to leave, say farewell first."

Wanda smiles tenderly at your request, and you turn away. She finally realizes that you look very tidy, and calls out to you before you can leave the room.

"Are you going out?"

"Just for a few hours." You answer, frowning at the way her expression falls. "Is something wrong?"

Wanda sighs. "I just… don’t wanna be alone."

Despite the sympathy in your eyes, you hesitate. A hand on the doorframe. "Forgive me, miss, I promise I won't be long and that we can spend the rest of the day together."

Wanda waves your concern away, starting to stand up. "Relax, I'll be fine, I wouldn't want to get in the way of your appointments. I'll explore the house while you're gone."

But despite her casual attitude, you call out to her with a certain seriousness that makes Wanda look at you again. There's something in your expression that makes it clear that you didn't buy Wanda's act at all, and that you can clearly see that she was being serious about her loneliness. Your eyes had a guilty aspect because you couldn't stay.

You sigh, looking away as you explain: "I must feed myself, Miss Maximoff. Please don't think I'm avoiding your company."

She is slightly surprised by the confession and doesn't know exactly what to say about it. She decides to just nod, without the courage to question you further on the subject even though she's dying to know exactly in which way you're going to feed yourself.

And when you leave her alone, and she wanders around the huge rooms of that mansion, she can't help wondering where you are, if it's like in vampire stories, and you're in some alley cornering an unwary human, or if hunting animals is enough. She becomes so absorbed in her own doubts that when you return, she hasn't even finished seeing the whole place.

"Having fun?" Your question startles her slightly. She smiles, turning her attention away from the art paintings in the room and meeting your gaze again.

"You move silently."

"A talent we share."

Wanda chuckles and waits for you to approach her completely. Side by side, she is the first to speak.

"Everything here is very beautiful." She says softly. "And I may not be centuries old, but I'm no fool. It sounds too good to be true. Be honest, Y/N. What do you hope to get from me?"

You frown, taking one hand out of your pocket to gesture a little. "You have a suspicious nature, Miss Maximoff."

She snorts softly." Y/N..."

But you smile, and Wanda gasps softly because your hand moves to her face, a gentle touch to move a strand of hair out of the way of her eyes. "Not everyone wants to take something from you, Miss. Some people just want to give." Wanda ignores the intensity of your gaze, the quickening of her heartbeat, and raises her hand to grab your wrist and interrupt your intention to stroke her cheek straight away. Her eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion in your direction, although your smile never falters. "I could just force you to talk."

"There's no need for that, we can talk over dinner."

She hesitates, aware of the heat on her cheeks. You seem to have a personal victory and Wanda lets go of your hand immediately.

"Wipe that smile off your face, it's not... that kind of dinner. We don't even know each other." She mutters embarrassedly. You return to your previous position, relaxed with your hands in the pockets of your dress pants and Wanda crosses her arms annoyed at the way her stupid brain keeps finding you more attractive every time she looks at you.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, miss." You retort humorously. "It's a strictly professional dinner."

She rolls her eyes, turning away to hide her smile from you.

"Just introduce me to the rest of the house."

"It's funny, all witches are always bossy." You comment, letting her gently pat your shoulder even though you could easily escape the gesture if you wanted to.

-&-

"I didn't know vampires cooked."

You chuckle, without taking your eyes off the knife cutting the vegetables. "Have you met many vampires?"

Wanda bites back a smile, rolling her eyes softly. "No, you're the first." She says, watching from the counter stool as you masterfully prepare dinner. "But I thought you guys didn't need to eat."

"We don't, not food at least." You retort gently, even though the implication makes Wanda's eyes sparkle with curiosity. You, despite being busy preparing the meal, notice the slight excitement and give a soft laugh. "If wished, my body can imitate all the biological functions it had before I died. This includes food." To illustrate, you take one of the cut pieces of carrot into your mouth, chewing and swallowing as you finish chopping the vegetables. Wanda bites the inside of her cheek, gathering the courage to ask you what she wishes to know.

When you pour the cut vegetables into a pot, she clears her throat. "Would it be insensitive if I asked how it happened?"

"Very." You smile back. Wanda sighs slightly, feeling like a little child trying to be liked.

Please, please, notice me and talk to me.

The fire is lit, you wash off the excess vegetable stock and wipe your hands on a tea towel. You speak again.

"It's 2024, which means that in the winter it will be 320 years since my transformation." You begin a little nostalgically, your hands resting on the counter behind you. "Twenty was the age at which I died."

Wanda frowns. "You were so young."

"Yes, I was." You agree with a sad smile. "I used to work here, right in this mansion." Wanda adjusts herself, curiosity taking over completely. "I was raised by this family all my life, and when I fell ill, they decided there was no longer any place for me here."

The witch swallows dryly but doesn't interrupt your story. You look down, bringing your hands in front of your stomach to turn the larger ring you're wearing between your fingers.

"Sick servants would be sent away, so as not to spread the disease to the rest of the house. I died on the road."

Wanda frowns slightly. "Who bit you?"

"Bit me?" You retort in confusion.

She chuckles awkwardly. "Yes, that's how it works, isn't it? Vampires bite humans and turn them."

It's your turn to laugh, a little impressed. "What? No, by the gods! Imagine how many of us there would be out there if every time a vampire fed, he turned someone? No, no, it's a bit more complicated." You comment casually. "You see, there's an immortality spell, created by the same author of the book that was with you when we met. Original vampires are made by ancient magic, and these can have bloodlines. Weaker vampires are transformed by their blood. And others can be created, even weaker by their descendants. The trick is to die with magical blood in your system so that your soul will be trapped by the magic and will not leave your body. It is then reanimated a few hours after we die. To complete the transformation, we must feed."

She absorbs your words for a moment. Until she finally asks: "Who transformed you?"

You lick your lips, shifting your eyes to the pot as if to confirm the cooking time, before turning away from the counter. "Come with me, I want to show you something."

She follows you around the mansion, way past the kitchen to another level. The entrance hall extends into a long corridor with many old paintings. Finally silver doors at the end.

"This is the main suite of the mansion." You clarify, fiddling with a bunch of keys kept in your pocket until now. Apparently, the only locked room was that one. "It's been adapted, moved from the upper floor to here on the lower level since, at the end of her life, the owner couldn't take the stairs."

Once unlocked, you push the doors open with both hands, exposing the immense royal suite inside. Wanda thinks it looks a lot like fantasy books and is busy admiring the decorations when she comes across a painting on the wall that knocks the air out of her lungs.

"What...?" She approached with uncertain steps until she was touching the painting with her fingers, groping for the drawing of a face that could easily be mistaken for her own. "How is that possible?" She demanded to know, turning to you.

You were still standing in the doorway, your hands in your pockets. "This is your ancestor."

"And why the hell does she have my face?"

"Heritage?" You retort good-humoredly, but Wanda snorts incredulously, advancing towards you angrily. You quickly raise your hands in surrender, a nervous laugh escaping as you see the fury in her eyes. “I’m joking, dear lord! I didn't mean to upset you. Let me tell you the whole story!."

"It better be a very good one." She retorts, watching you intently as if expecting a kidnap attempt.

You sigh, nodding before turning your face to the photo. "Her name was Elizabeth. She's gone if that's not obvious. This painting was done over four centuries years ago when your family was still known as the Maksymovs. They lived well, your ancestors, as you can see from the amount of gold in this manor. But sorcery and witchcraft were never very well-liked anywhere, and just like the rest of us, your family was hunted down." You say, stepping aside to open the curtains and light up the room. Still, on your back, you continued to talk. "I was just a little girl when Lady Maksymov took me in, Elizabeth’s mother. I cleaned and cooked, and I was lucky enough to be allowed inside the mansion. To share the room with the family. All due respect to their memories, but my Lady was not a decent person. She was cruel and harsh and preferred to die on the mountain of money than give a little to the children she watched depart for this place. I stayed here because I had no other choice in life, and when the neighbors began to question what she was doing in the basement, she was taken away just like her children. And unlike her mother or any of her siblings, Elizabeth was not a very talented witch. Her magic was dormant. That poor woman, always so sad under the cruelties shouted at her by her relatives. She could never master chaos but it got better when she gave in to the darkhold's allure. Unfortunately for the servants, her gentle personality was gone once her magic control was improved. I remember her dark fingers chastising me every time I failed to fold the sheets correctly."

Wanda swallowed at the anger hidden. Your posture was enough for her to believe your words.

“Why did she turn you?”

You smile sadly. "I was just a means to an end." You reply. "Elizabeth was what they called a Siphoner. Although descended from a powerful witch lineage, she couldn't generate her own magic. She could only steal it from elsewhere, either from a magic book or from a vampire."

Wanda sighs as she understands, and you chuckle in upset. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You weren't even close to existing back then."

She moves closer. "Still, on behalf of my family, I'm sorry." The witch says as gently as she can. "I can hardly imagine how painful that probably was."

You shrug, trying to be casual. "That was a long time ago, Miss Maximoff." You mumble before sighing. "And it didn't work out the way she wanted either. Elizabeth didn't intend to use me as her magical reservoir for so long. She wanted me to transform her. Make her a heretic, a vampire-witch hybrid so that she could steal magic from her own nature. And like a good servant, I did just that."

Wanda could feel the force of your painful memories with her telekinesis, flashes of vivid images in your mind begging to be relieved. A personal torture.

"Let me guess, that was the rule you broke that put you in that tomb."

You lower your head, looking very upset all of a sudden. "No, Miss Maximoff. I was loyal until I wasn't anymore." Wanda frowns in confusion, but you sigh and stare at your own reflection in the window. "The abuse of the Darkhold destroyed Lady Elizabeth. Not even the spell of immortality could heal her, remove the rot from her soul. We traveled the world, searching for potions and creatures and anything we could find to help her, but I knew that the slaughter she was doing in the name of her own health had to be stopped. When our last trip ended, I told her I wouldn't help her anymore."

Wanda can see clearly now; the wrathful recollections of a witchy lady with an almost demonic appearance. The hold of the Darkhold on Elizabeth's soul. How you're only trying to defend yourself when you strike back.

You sniffle, turning your face away, and Wanda blocks your memories from her mind immediately.

"No greater dishonor than ingratitude." You mutter. "I shouldn't have turned my back on Elizabeth. She died alone in this empty mansion, taken by her illness. I returned to a rotten land wracked by dark magic. I restored every stone and raised the mansion to its original state. I lived as a vampire for a decade before I was captured. Elizabeth, in her last vengeful act, left a letter denouncing all her family's crimes to the magical authorities of the time. A lineage who survived the witch-hunts, chased by their own kind like animals. I wore the same coat of arms and slept in the family mansion, so they didn't care that my surname wasn't the same. But I wasn't a witch to die, and the darkhold refused to show the executors exactly how to kill me. The solution was a prison."

You're surprised that Wanda reaches for your hand, but you don't pull away. She also gives you a small smile.

"Three hundred years is too long to punish someone who had no choice." She says, the gesture of her thumb caressing your palm making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Definitely too long without touching someone was messing with your head. Little did you know, Wanda was going through something quite similar. Starved for physical touch. "Is that why you're being so generous? Do you think you owe this family a debt?" You swallow, nodding, and Wanda sighs. " Sweetheart..."

"Please let me serve you." Your tone is almost desperate, Wanda shakes her head. "Please-"

"This isn't the 1700s, Y/N. I won't be your lady." She assures you, her grip tighter. "You're a person, not a property."

"I'd be dead if it weren't for Elizabeth-"

"She was cruel and selfish, and she used you to your last breath. And beyond!" Wanda interrupts, not losing her composure when you huff impatiently and pull your hand away. "You can grumble all you want. I'm not going to honor the memory of some slave owner, family or not. You're free to go."

"But I don't want to leave, Wanda." You snap, almost pleading. "This is my home. Serving your family has always been... my purpose. Turning my back on it made me lose everything. And then you saved me, and for a second, I thought I could see Elizabeth again. I ran to this place, and I realized how much time had actually gone by." You sniffle, your hands going to Wanda's shoulders. "Please. Caring is the only thing I know how to do right."

Wanda sighs, her hands finding your wrists. "This isn't caring, Y/N, this is servitude. I would never ask this of you." Your expression falls as if you're being rejected. Wanda stops your hands from moving away. "But I could use a friend."

Your face lights up, and Wanda smiles too because she thinks you look so beautiful now. "Oh, that... is really very sweet. I'd be honored."

The witch chuckles. "You're adorable. Come, our lunch should be ready soon." She doesn't mention that you two walk into the kitchen hand in hand, and you don't mind, so you don't say anything either.

-&-

"I can't believe you don't know what McDonald's is."

"And I can't believe you've never been to the Opera, but here we are."

Wanda chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief at your response. You're sitting on the living room floor, or rather on cushions on the carpet because you refused to sit so informally and she was still working on getting you to relax into the casual way of living life in that century.

Weeks into a roommate routine, your activities consisted of having meals together and talking about everything and nothing at the same time. You'd spent 300 years imprisoned, and Wanda had a multitude of things to introduce you to, while you'd been raised by the ancient witch family of the ancestors of a woman who knew little about her origins. You had as much to tell as she did.

Most days when you two would leave the Mansion, you would experience things that you had never experienced before. Restaurants, food trucks, and even the invention of cars or electricity. The Mansion needed to be restored too, but Wanda was happy to know that it hadn't been abandoned.

It was magically hidden, and she had distant cousins from very old marriages in her distant line. It was one of the best pieces of news she'd ever received - to know that she wasn't the only Maximoff left.

The Manor had been cared for over the centuries by escape witches, some of whom, like Elizabeth, had their powers dormant and lived normal lives under that roof. Until the place was finally inherited by her great-aunt, Tatiana, who was living in New Orleans, and Wanda would visit once the work on the mansion was finished.

She had no idea where you got the money for a whole restoration team, and you laughed when she asked, offering as an answer only the information that vampires can persuade people.

That's how you ended up on the living room floor, finishing gathering old belongings that needed to be protected from the paint restoration and set-up of that chamber.

"It's nice that some things have been preserved so well." She comments, stealing a quick glance at your figure distracted by sorting letters. You look good in this century's clothes that Wanda helped you pick out. The barely buttoned plaid shirt makes Wanda hold her breath every time she catches herself letting her gaze fall to your collarbone.

"Rich families often treasure stuff." You retort with an easy smile. You stack a few letters before opening the next box of items and gasp slightly when you find something very valuable inside. "Look, I think you'll want to keep this."

The small item is placed in her palm: A gold button with an "M" engraved on it. The family crest. Wanda doesn't know why, but it makes her eyes water, and she gives you a tearful smile as she thanks you.

But despite this balanced relationship and pleasant routine, there was still the elephant in the room.

Every evening, you went out to feed yourself. For almost two months, Wanda didn't ask any questions. Even though she was dying to know exactly how, or even who.

But she didn't want to be invasive or even sound like someone obsessed with your fangs.

She would wait for some casual moment to bring up the subject. Perhaps at the next dinner party, with a joke, and then she would ask if you could show her how it was done.

Luckily for her, another witch was even more interested in the story.

Tatiana was an expert enchantress. She lived in an apartment in the heart of New Orleans and had a very busy pub, and to no surprise, frequented mainly by mystical beings. It was Wanda's first time in a place of that kind.

She was so excited to meet another member of her family that she almost forgot her last worries. It was her aunt, in between many colorful drinks after an afternoon of introduction, who brought up the subject again.

"So tell me, sweetie, all this work to restore the Maximoff household. It must be exhausting even for a vampire." Tatiana began with a smile. Her curly hair fell in waves down her back, and for the third time that night, Wanda noticed that green eyes were probably the only physical feature that most of the Maximoff women shared. Her aunt has a dangerous smirk on her lips as she looks in your direction, and Wanda swallows dryly as she realizes that it's the flirtatious kind. "We allow feeding in these parts."

You're taken aback. You chuckle awkwardly, aware of the two witches' attention in your direction. The crowded bar seems to get even smaller.

"I'm fine, Tatiana, don't worry." Wanda thinks you're lying. You can never maintain eye contact when you do, and she also often finds it charming how a vampire can be so bad at telling lies. "I had some blood before I got here-"

"By Morgana, that was several hours ago!" Tatiana cuts in, gesturing excitedly to the waiters. She was very happy to meet Wanda too and had been drinking since early morning in celebration. "You know, I used to date a vampire back in the last century. He had a restricted diet of animals and always looked pale and hungry. Are you one of those vegetarian vampires too?"

The question is rhetorical, she doesn't even hear your confused mutter "I don't think vegetarianism works like that". She's busy with the waitress, whose irises redden as soon as Tatiana speaks to her. The girl is younger than everyone else there and is clearly bewitched.

"There you go, dear, you can have a taste." Offers the woman, to which you choke in surprise.

"What? H-here? But..."

"Now, don't you act like a good Samaritan, Miss L/N." Tatiana retorts in a provocative tone, resting her chin on one hand. "I know what you got up to before you were imprisoned. Feeding off a waitress is nothing."

You're immediately crestfallen, your face flushing with shame. Wanda looks at her aunt with irritation.

"Don't talk to her like that." The younger witch says sternly. "'She's already received enough of a punishment.

Tatiana chuckles wickedly, tilting her head gently. A very familiar gesture indeed. "Let's get a few things clear, Wanda. The only reason I didn't rip that usurper vampire's head off the moment she set foot in my town was because she brought my niece back to me. The fighting separated our families, I never knew I had nephews. Do you think you would have joined that group of dressed-up Americans if I'd known you were a genuine Maximoff? No, dear, I would have raised you. Restored our coven, taught you magic, as it should have been. As it would have been if this ungrateful little blood-sucker had fulfilled the role she was given. Every spell has a price, and she didn't pay for this one she so boldly displayed for a decade of fortune-raising."

"I regret it very deeply, miss-"

"No, you don't apologize for any of this." Wanda interrupts you with a gentle squeeze on your wrist under the table. With a serious expression, she faces her aunt. "Let's actually get things straight, Auntie. You don't talk to her like that. Ever. You're not going to use something that happened three centuries ago against someone who has spent all this time imprisoned in a tomb, paying for crimes she didn't commit alone. It seems that witches, especially from this family, have a habit of evading accountability. I know that well." Tatiana gives a little smile, clearly aware of Westview, or what came after. Wanda doesn't hesitate. "She's my friend. And she's been through enough. All she's done since she came back is look after me, and I'm not going to accept this kind of treatment from anyone, not even my blood. And considering history, especially my blood."

Without contradicting, Tatiana nods in understanding, busying herself with lighting one of the cigarettes on the corner of the table. The colorful smoke wafted upwards as she finished a long drag.

"As you please, Scarlet Witch." The elder woman finally replies, and you swallow dryly, stealing a glance at Wanda to see if she might lose her temper at the slight challenge in her aunt's tone.

Damn, you'd forgotten how the Maximoffs had a rather dangerously weak ego to offend, especially if challenged.

But luckily for you, Wanda forced a smile, and the tension at the table eased. Tatiana dismissed the waiter with a nod and went back to talking about business in the city as if nothing had happened.

For the rest of the evening, Wanda drew patterns on the palm of your hand under the table.

-&-

Around midnight, when the desserts were finished but the bar seemed livelier than ever, you felt really hungry.

The witches were engaged in animated conversation about the times in Sokovia, how Tatiana missed the opportunity to find out about the Maximoffs after the surname grew more common around the country for a few years before disappearing again, and you used the opportunity to escape for a few moments.

A quick snack, just to satisfy your hunger. After all, you always kept yourself full around Wanda; you'd never forgive yourself if you lost control around her.

You make your way through the crowded bar, taking one last look at the back table before making your way to the exit. You're almost at the door when someone purposely bumps into you.

"Hey, better watch where you're going." Warned the corpulent fellow; he was at least ten centimeters taller and had a strong distinctive smell that caused you an instant anxiety.

Wolf scent.

"Sorry, I didn't see you." You mumble, ready to bypass him, but he steps in your way again.

"We don't like strangers around here." He informs you with a small smile, showing off his canine fangs. "You're lucky we have our orders, miss."

You sigh slightly. "Who are you again?"

"The name's Victor Creed, but everyone calls me Sabertooth. You know, because of these little beauties here." He points to his fangs with conviction. "They grow much bigger during the transformation. I once ripped the head of one of your kind with them." The story is clearly told to intimidate you, but your unimpressed expression makes the man clear his throat. "Don't go wandering around, Tatiana can't protect you on the outside."

You force a smile. "I can take care of myself, wolf, don't worry." You move around him to finally leave, but even with his back turned, Sabertooth laughs.

"Alright then, go for a walk while I introduce myself to your little witch. Do you know if the Scarlet Witch is looking for better watchdogs? If she's as stuck-up as the rest of the family, maybe I'll write to Kamar Taj about where she's been hiding."

The thing is, maybe you've spent too much time with the Maximoffs all your life. And your temper is just as bad as theirs.

Victor has barely finished his teasing, and you've already grabbed him by the arm, mashing him into the ground like a lump of flour. The commotion immediately attracts the attention of everyone around, but until the crowd fully identifies what's going on, Victor has already used his wolf-like speed to get to his feet and advance on you.

He's so confident about his own strength that it takes him a whole moment to realize that your fist has already gone through his chest.

"Give me one good reason not to spread your guts on this floor, Mr. Creed." You say with an unwavering expression, your hand clenched around his barely beating heart.

Victor chokes on his own blood, his muscular hands try to push your shoulders back, but you don't move an inch. He grunts in pain.

"I-I take it back." He gasps, but you squeeze a little harder.

"That's not a reason."

The man breaks down in a sob. "P-please. I'm begging you. I wasn't thinking-"

It would be so easy, just to kill him. Rip the heart out of that arrogant wolf and let him drop. You never forgot the feeling, the predatory hunger for blood and violence burning in your veins. Nor Elizabeth's disappointed look every time you ended up covered in blood and it didn't do any good.

Letting go of the heart, and pulling your hand out, you saw Victor's wound heal immediately. A full moon must have been just around the corner for a wolf to heal so quickly.

His release drew your attention to the rest of the pub. All those people, watching the scene with mixed expressions of horror and disbelief on their faces. Some clearly recognized you, others seemed surprised to witness a werewolf of that size being beaten so easily.

Vitor's blood stained the blouse Wanda gifted you, and you swallowed down the urge to vomit.

While you were trying to recover from the interaction, a duo cut through the crowd, and Tatiana's short giggle made you wince.

"Keep her in line, Wanda. We don't make a mess this close to humans in this neighborhood." The witch warns but Wanda is staring at you in complete mesmerization. You shake your wrist gently, letting the excess blood drip onto the floor before you start to move.

The adrenaline of the confrontation has starved you.

-&-

You barely enter the first alley before Wanda catches up with you.

"Where are you going?"

But you don't answer the question, you just keep walking and retort: "Go back inside, I won't be long."

For a moment, you think she'll obey, but how foolish of you. Wanda was probably the most stubborn Maximoff you've ever met.

She almost gives you a heart attack when she appears in your path, making you jump backward.

"What the hell...?"

"You're shutting me out." She declares, frustrated. You swallow dry, shaking your head.

"No, I'm just going for a walk to clear my head. See you at the apartment-"

"Taking a walk is what you're calling it now? I'm not an idiot, I know you're going to feed." Wanda interrupted annoyed, getting in your way and stopping you from fleeing. "Why do you keep trying to hide this part of yourself? I don't care that you're a vampire."

"Wanda, please, just move."

"No."

"Wanda."

She crosses her arms. "I wanna watch."

You choke, chuckling nervously. "Excuse me?"

But she doesn't lose her cool, nodding. "I want to watch you feed on someone."

Wanda imagined some reactions to the suggestion: anger, indignation, mockery. She didn't think you'd turn so clumsy, with rosy cheeks and unable to look her in the eye.

"You're a very odd individual." You mumble shyly, and she has to giggle confusedly, losing her serious pose to adjust the collar of your blouse.

"Pleaseee." She stretches out the word, liking the way a smile breaks across your lips or especially the way you stare at her mouth when she talks like that. "I'll behave. I'll just stay put and watch. I've never seen it happen before. Please, honey? Just once."

You sigh in defeat, and Wanda taps her hands before jumping on your neck, and hugging you excitedly. It's a very difficult struggle to keep your fangs away with her so close.

It doesn't even last half a minute, but it feels like an eternity because you want to feed and everything always moves slower if the vampire focuses on hunger.

"It's not going to be anything special, I don't want to cause a scene in your aunt's neighborhood." You let her know, thinking you need to talk a bit to push the dizziness away.

Wanda smiles excitedly. "Anything will be great, darling. Come on, I'll be right behind you."

It's easy to find prey in a place like New Orleans. You end up deciding on a restaurant waiter, isolated in one of the alleys. He's a young adult, distracted by chores, and you almost give up because of the smell of garbage so close by. But it's a very good isolated opportunity to waste like this.

Your fangs are already out when there's a noise behind you.

Wanda has bumped into something, loud enough to attract the boy's attention, who is startled by the two figures in the alley. One glimpse of your vampiric appearance and he's stumbling frightened away before starting to run.

You sigh incredulously, and Wanda appears in your field of vision.

"Sorry, it was..." She falls silent, surprised that you haven't gathered your usual looks and absorbing every detail of your face now. From the fangs to the completely darkened eye sclera. When she speaks, her voice is much huskier. "An accident."

"It's okay, it actually tastes better when they're scared." You shrug. "The adrenaline and fear accelerates the heart which pumps fresh blood throughout the body. That's why so many vampires prefer to hunt at night. People are more afraid of the dark than they think."

Wanda chuckles, looking at you in a way that makes you forget about the boy's footsteps becoming too distant to distinguish from the other sounds of the city.

"You're kind of a vampire nerd."

"I don't know what that word means." You give a confused laugh and Wanda moves closer.

"It means I think you're really cute." She retorts, making you gulp dryly. Her hands find your shoulders, and Wanda gets close enough for you to count her freckles. "And I'm dying to know how these little ones feel, darling. Do they hurt?”

She's too close for you to focus, but you make an effort. "Hm, just a little, when they come out. They usually only bother me when I'm really hungry."

Wanda's fists cross together behind your head, and she's definitely too close for you to think about anything other than her.

"And how hungry are you now?"

"Very, Miss Maximoff." You confess hoarsely. Wanda smiles mischievously, tilting her neck in your direction.

"Well, I think you should have a little taste."

"God, Wanda." Your eyes close on instinct, your face falling forward so that you sink into the gap in her collarbone. Wanda shudders, as affected as you are. Her hands-free themselves so that she can stroke your arm, as a reassurance that everything is all right, and also caress your hair because apparently everything so far hasn't been maddening enough for her.

Every cell of your spirit begs you to sink your fangs into the warm skin in front of you, to drink every drop until Wanda faints against you, but you fight nature itself with her help. Her soft sighs in your ear, assuring you that she trusts you.

"It'll only be a little bit, I promise." You assure her, licking the spot gently and drawing a deep sigh from the other girl. It's the sound you focus on before you take the first bite.

Wanda tenses at the slightest hint of pain, but another sensation takes over elsewhere. Her cheeks burn with the betrayal of her own body, and she finds herself unable to care about the mild pain while she's throbbing between her legs.

Her nails dig into your biceps, and she starts to squirm under you, surrendering to the sensation of your bodies so close together. You hum in satisfaction at the soothing of your hunger, and Wanda drops her hand to your waist.

"Enough, baby." She whispers the request, her nails scratching the hair on the back of your neck. "I'm starting to get dizzy."

You hold on a little tighter, and Wanda softens against your body. Her heart is pounding, and she is aware of her pathetic underwear situation. Your body heaved forward, and Wanda didn't have the strength to resist any pull. She feels her back hit the wall of the alley, and whimpers at the feel of your leg pressed between hers.

She doesn't think she has ever been so at someone's mercy as she is now. She just wants to tell you to help her relieve the pressure between her legs, but every time she tries to call you, what leaves her lips are needy moans.

And you kept feeding and the surroundings began to darken. Wanda only realized that she'd been grinding herself on your thigh all this time because her climax approached at high speed, and falling off the edge brought a momentary recovery of consciousness.

"Oh, God, detka!" She meows, spilling herself on your thigh. Her body spasms softly, and you tense up, stopping your feeding immediately. Wanda falls limp in your arms, trying to fuck herself stupidly even after the orgasm she's just achieved. Your arms are the only support keeping her upright. "Do that again."

You shake your head, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. "No, I took more than I should have." You retort softly, and Wanda has to blink a few times to realize that your appearance has returned to normal. "What a terrible idea that was, Wanda. So dangerous… I was starving."

She gives you a dreamy little smile. "How do I taste?"

"The best I've ever had." You assure her before adjusting her to hold her in your arms just in time for Wanda to lose consciousness.

She dreams of the same feeling of being carried but in a place much colder than New Orleans.

-&-

She wakes up just in time to see you putting her to bed, all the way to the borrowed room in her aunt's empty apartment.

Wanda grabs your wrist before you can pull away after putting the covers over her.

"Hey." Your voice and gaze are so sweet that she almost forgets everything that has happened so far. But Wanda actually remembers very well, and the lingering sensation of your body against hers makes her shiver.

"Hey... sorry for blacking out on you." She murmurs, her free hand coming up to your face. You bite your lip, still hovering over her body and uncertain what you should do next. Should you pull away? Lean in and kiss Wanda like you've been dreaming of doing for weeks? She seems to be able to see all the hesitation in your eyes, and offers a reassuring smile, her hand caressing your cheek. "What's wrong?"

Wanda is definitely teasing you, but you don't mind, smiling too as you steady your hands next to her body on the mattress, face to face, the two of you waiting for the other to make a move first until the tension is almost unbearable. But you also remember what brought you there, and let out a small sigh.

"You shouldn't have baited me like that, Wanda. It's dangerous, I could have... lost control."

Her expression becomes almost mischievous, a smile threatening to break out on her lips. "I've survived much worse, darling."

You sigh in frustration. "Wanda..."

"It's the truth." She chuckles even though you move away to sit down properly. Wanda also mimics the gesture, looking for your hand on the bed so that you stop grimacing and look at her. "Hey, come on, don't be upset."

"I'm not."

"Then why the pout?" She leans in, kissing your cheek and you snort away, unable to stay angry with this adorably charming witch. "You have to trust me, sweetheart." She whispers, kissing your jaw. You sigh, squeezing her hand gently.

"I trust you with my life, Wanda." You let her know in the same tone, intertwining your fingers in her lap. Wanda smiles against your skin, chaste kisses trailing from your jaw to your collarbone. "I'm just scared... that one day, I'll lose control and hurt you. I'd never forgive myself."

She pulls away a little to look you in the eye. "I meant it what I said before." Starts the witch. "I've been through much worse. You weren't there to see... what I did to reach that little girl. You don't have to worry about hurting me, because it doesn't matter, I'll always heal." With your hesitation, she pulls further away to push the collar of her shirt aside and let you see the place where you fed on her a few minutes ago. "Look, it's gone. You have to trust me, darling. I know that the idea of anyone being stronger than an original is hard for you to accept, but believe me, I'll be fine. I'll always be fine, even if you are starving and out of your mind."

You grimace, adjusting yourself so that you can hold her by the waist and place her on your lap. "Just because you're going to heal doesn't mean I can hurt you. You deserve kindness, Wanda. I can give you my best." Your mouth meets hers, it's not a hungry kiss but it's a hot one and it takes Wanda out of her orbit. It's been a while since the last time, and well, it's never really been like this. She struggles a little to find her rhythm, for a short moment just panting against your experienced tongue, until she finally responds in an equally passionate way that makes you sigh and press your body to hers.

Wanda likes the sound. Wanda likes you.

"Can I take off your shirt?" Your request comes between one kiss and another, she hardly answers because her mind is clouded with arousal, and if she could be honest, she would have been out of her clothes a long time ago.

"Yes, please." She gasps back, anxious hands tracing your back. Wanda is restless under your touch, shy about your gaze once the clothes come off. But you do everything with an unbearable slowness that leaves her squeezing her thighs together in search of relief.

She had sex before - For the first time in a war-torn adolescence, an experience that was forgettable and almost regretted. And then with a machine man who could pretend but never had the biological need to do so.

This moment right now was like no other, being with someone who worshipped her body, who was as breathless as she was, who reacted to her touch and was practically at her mercy when she touched the right spot.

And Wanda finds that she loves it. Having you touch her and touch you back, and feeling your fangs scratch her skin every time she thrusts her hips into yours.

Pinned against the bed, naked as you are, your legs entwined together like your bodies. Sighs of pleasure mingle with the dance of your hips, and Wanda digs her nails into your back as your fangs press into her collarbone.

You drink less than last time, but her legs still tingle. Or maybe it's the orgasm hitting her hard.

This is different from the first - the whole bed vibrates with the wave of magic that escapes the witch with her back arched. You hold Wanda, even though you're also shaking with the force of your own climax. She initiates the next kiss this time, moaning into your tongue as she spins your bodies around with ease. Your hands entwine together at the top of your head, but Wanda lets go, lowering herself and getting a confused sigh from you.

"What are you up to, little witch?"

Then it occurs to her with your expression that you are four centuries old and have spent much of this time as a prisoner and that perhaps you haven't been so confident because Wanda is your first lover.

She looks back up, sitting on your hips, breathing out of rhythm but now with a new excitement shining in her eyes.

"Babe, be honest... have you ever been with a woman before?"

Your face gains a deep color, and you turn your gaze away. Wanda falls hard, even if it doesn't occur to her yet.

She giggles softly and you're even more embarrassed, but she doesn't let you move away, her firm legs holding you in place.

"Don't make fun of me." You mutter, and Wanda snorts softly.

"Never." She assures you, even though she already has a new dozen antics memorized. Her mouth kisses your jaw and goes down like her body. The color in your cheeks is for another reason soon. "I love being your first. I want to make you feel good."

You hesitate to hold her when she's stimulating you, worried about losing control of your own strength. The sheets are destroyed when Wanda flicks her tongue over your breasts, smiling with delight at the sight of you squirming.

She goes lower and you gasp for air. "What... are you doing?" You ask mortified. It's not the 1700s anymore, you have to remember. Female pleasure is, well, taken into account. Wanda bites the inside of your thighs, watching the muscles twitch for a moment.

"You'll love it, I promise." It's the only thing she says before diving in, her hot mouth pulling all the air from your lungs. It's the most wonderful thing you've ever felt. Wanda's tongue works on your most intimate part, teasing your entrance before she starts to eat you out hungrily. You grip the headboard, your eyes closed tightly. Wanda holds your legs open, and the knot in your stomach starts to become impossible to contain.

The witch seems to like it too. She moans for your taste on her tongue, and the new vibration pushes you over the edge. Wanda holds your spasming body without difficulty, you think she uses magic for that. And still calming down, it takes you a whole moment to stop seeing stars.

Wanda licks up every drop of your pleasure, moaning softly before meeting your gaze again. You can't hold it, and end up covering your reddened face with your arm while ignoring the smug giggle of the witch who begins to climb your body again.

"Don't be shy... you look so pretty when you moan my name." She praises you provocatively, and you can't help but smile, feeling completely relaxed. Wanda waits for you to look at her again, her arms resting on your shoulder so that she can look at you closely. "Hi."

Your hand finds her cheek. " Hi, yourself." She leans into your touch, her smile filling your chest with warm happiness. Wanda sighs.

"Can we stay like this? Just for a moment." She asks quietly, and something in her gaze tells her that the question isn't just for today. Wanda wants to know if you can be with her.

You would. Forever if she wished. "Of course, little witch. For as long as you want."

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #kinktober 2023 #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines #wanda maximoff oneshots

1K notes · View notes

rainydayathogwarts · 18 days

Text

Skin on Skin - Aaron Hotch

Summary: You forget about the hickeys on your neck and when your boss finds out, he's not happy about it. Warnings: Smut, jealous!Hotch, degrading (slightly), semi public sex (they're in an empty office). I think this is the single dirtiest fic I have ever written. Enjoy! wc: 3.2k

It was the hot days in July where you were forced to come into the office that took away your will to live. You'd rolled out of the mysterious man you'd slept with the night before's bed, driving home early so you'd have time to shower and change before coming into work. Deciding on opting out of wearing any makeup other than a little mascara, you changed into trousers and a cotton tank top, shoving a field-appropriate top into your bag just in case. You were already dreading the inevitable hair-sticking-to-your-neck type of heat so much that you forgot about the hickeys littering your neck, the hair tie on your wrist an enemy in disguise, waiting to launch its attack.

When you finally entered the bullpen nearly an hour later, you observed your teammates' attire. Emily had done something similar to you, her blouse hanging from the back of her chair, JJ wearing a thin but figure hugging t-shirt. Derek was sporting a loose, plain t-shirt, while Spencer decided to forego his usual sweater vest, his shirt rolled up to his elbows. Of course, you already assumed that Penny was wearing a sun dress without having to see her.

Placing your iced coffee onto your desk, you busied yourself with finding the paper work you had to finish in your desk drawers. "I should have worn a dress." You complain almost immediately, looking up to the sound of rolling wheels from someone's chair. "I agree. You'd send the big boss into a coma if you did, and we'd all be able to go home." Derek retorts almost immediately, to which you scoff. You never told anyone about your crush on Hotch, but you wouldn't deny it to a room of profilers, so they resorted to teasing. "Ignore Hotch, I'd go into a coma if you wore a dress." Emily adds. You grin, looking up at your best friend from your papers.

You huff, already feeling the sweat on your hairline. Your hands busy themselves with gathering your hair at the back of your head, fishing for the hair tie on your wrist when you see your coworkers' faces. "What?" You look behind you, fully expecting a scene in the kitchen based on their slacked jaws and wide eyes, but there's nothing there. Furrowing your eyebrows, you repeat "What?" Derek starts laughing, and Emily brings a hand up to her face, biting at her thumb nail to hide her smile. You let go of your hair as Spencer and JJ turn to observe the scene, which is you apparently, tilting your head quizzically as you tried to recall what you did this morning.

This morning. You rolled out of the unknown man's bed. The man who you'd slept with last night. You audibly gasped, a hand coming up to cover your mouth. You dove down to look through your bag, fetching your pocket-mirror. "Wow Y/N. Such a busy woman that you forgot you slept with someone." Two things happened as Emily spoke these words: Hotch opened the door to his office, hearing every single syllable that came out of her mouth, and you opened your compact mirror, eyes widening at the number and colour of the hickeys on your neck. A trail of three dark red hickeys painted your neck, and you hadn't even thought about covering them before you left your apartment.

Hotch frowned when he heard the words, almost flinching at the thought of you sleeping around. 'Such a busy woman that you forgot you slept with someone'. Did you sleep around? Is that what Emily meant or was she making a joke? Hotch saw you stand quickly, your hips hitting the wood of your desk and his pupils dilated at the sight, his tongue poking out to wet his lips slightly. "I'll be right back!" You yelped, turning to the direction of the bathroom, Emily immediately standing to follow you.

As you smudged concealer on your neck, you silently thanked whatever higher power was out there that you'd had a makeup pouch in your bag, or you'd be totally fucked. Like, way more than you were now. The door was thrown open by Emily, a massive grin on her face. "You got laid! Was it good? Who was it? Why didn't you tell me!" Your eyes fleeted towards her, and you chuckled quietly. "Yes I got laid, it was good - regular good, guy I met at the grocery store. Devon? David? Doesn't matter. I probably would have told you some time today but looks like you beat me to it."

"Oh. Well if it makes you feel better, I think Hotch looked pretty jealous." You spin towards her, your beauty blender in one hand. "What!? He heard!?" You groaned, throwing you head back. Scratch what you said earlier, Emily was the only person you'd confessed your crush to. You sighed. Well now you probably would never get the chance to be with him. You and Emily walked back to the bullpen, separating when you went into the kitchen, and she went back to her desk. You stopped abruptly at the sight of the one and only person you'd been speak of.

You only just noticed what he was wearing. He abandoned his usual blazer, probably left in his office, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. Hotch turned around, mug in hand whilst the water was boiling to find you wide eyed and mouth open in shock. The top two buttons on his shirt were undone, his collarbones just barely visible. He nodded his head shortly, but you immediately averted your gaze, unable to maintain eye contact with him. "I-" At the sound of you speaking, Hotch's gaze shot back at you from his mug, putting the kettle down. "I'm sorry about what you had to hear this morning, Sir." Hotch shook his head, returning his stare to his mug. "Don't worry about it L/N. We're all adults." He picked up the kettle again, offering it to you. "Oh no thank you. I just want some water. Normal, cold water."

You stared at his steaming mug in bewilderment and laughed quietly. "That's kind of manic of you, I'm not going to lie." Aaron raised an eyebrow and turned to face you completely. "Right but forgetting you slept with someone isn't." Your eyebrows shot up in surprise at his retort and you felt the blood rush to your face. Aaron let one of his rare smiles pass at his amusement, and took his mug, beginning to walk away. "I'll see you around Y/N".

Hotch's comment had left you absolutely speechless. For the rest of the day you had thought about the smile that graced his face, only for you to see in the office. He'd even joked about the inappropriate comment Emily had made. It was only when JJ had left, and both Emily and Derek were beginning to pack their things up that you glanced up to where Hotch's office was. The blinds were closed, but you imagined he sat at his desk, vigorously writing reports, whilst occasionally throwing his head back and shutting his eyes in exhaustion.

"Now's your time to make a move lover-girl." Emily's breath hit your neck at she whispered and you jumped, looking back to where she stood just over your shoulder. "You scared me!" She didn't say anything else, but winked at you before speeding up to catch up with Derek so she wouldn't have to wait for the elevator alone. Maybe you shouldn't have told her about the encounter in the kitchen, but you decided that she was right. Maybe you wouldn't make a move, but speaking to Hotch would already be a step forward.

You stood up, wiping your hands on your trousers, attempting to ignore Spencer's unforgiving stare. You weren't holding any papers or folders. That was a big tell for Spencer, who knew more than anyone the liking you had taken to your boss, having to endure several car rides with the two of you alone, sitting in the back seat while you spoke. Walking up to Hotch's office, you took a deep breath - last chance to turn back around. But Spencer was watching, and nothing would be more obvious than if you just turned around and sat back at your desk; the walk of shame.

You knocked twice, waiting for an answer. "Come in!" You peeked your head through the gap of the door before letting yourself in, smiling at Aaron, who sat at his desk with his fingers interlocked behind his head. You shut the door behind you quietly. When he realised it was you, he sat up straight, his hands coming down to rest on the desk. "Y/N. What do you need?" He scanned you for papers to sign, or a bag slung over your shoulder as a sign that you were leaving; you were empty handed. "Hi. I just wanted to say I'm sorry again about what Emily said. I'm really glad you weren't bothered about it. I'm sorry. Again."

Aaron stood up from his desk, and your eyes followed his figure as he stood. He stepped aside from the desk, walking towards you. "Actually Y/N," he starts, his body looming over you as the distance between you decreased. "I was quite bothered with what I heard from Prentiss." Your breath caught in your throat, a hand crossing over your body to clutch your other arm. "What?" He nodded solemnly. "Mhm. I was quite upset to hear that you were with another man."

"Oh."

Your jaw went slack, and you looked into his eyes for any sign of a lie. You watched as one of Aaron's hands came up to your cheek, softly holding your face. His hand trailed down until it held the side of your face and his thumb caressed almost the exact spot you had covered with concealer earlier that day. "I don't like the idea of other men being with you. Other men having sex with you." Your breathing quickened, and you were almost certain he could feel your pulse beneath his hand. "Then do something about it."

Aaron's second hand went around your waist, and this time much less gently pulled your body towards his. His second hand snaked around the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss. You moaned in shock, both hands resting on his chest. You returned his kiss immediately, going on your tippy toes to push yourself further into him. Aaron grunted into the kiss, walking forward to press you against the door. His hand came off your neck to lock the door behind you and he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as you caught your breath.

He watched you almost predatorily before moving to press kisses on your neck. Your sweaty neck covered in makeup. "Aaron. Aaron." You spoke, pushing his head away from you. He looked down at you worriedly, now taking a couple of steps back, and putting his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make-" "Aaron stop." He looked up at you from the floor, going silent. "I-my neck is covered in hickeys. From-" You watched his face dawn with realisation. He frowned, turning his back to you and your shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Aaron." He walked to his desk, pulling a couple of tissues, soaking them in water from a bottle he kept on his desk. "Aaron." He then turned to face you again. "Take it off. Whatever is covering them. Take it off."

Your gaze switched between the tissues in his hand to his face and you sighed. Men knew so little about makeup. Despite that, you still walked towards him, taking the wet tissues from his hands, rubbing it against your neck, exposing the hickeys that lay underneath the makeup. "Happy- oh!" Your arms wrapped around Aaron's shoulders as he picked you up, placing you on his desk. He returned his lips to yours in an instant, hands gripping your hips. His lips moved to your neck but this time he's sucking the skin on the other side, replicating the hickeys the other man gave you. "Do I remind you of him? Covering your skin in hickeys?" He grunts, his teeth scraping against your skin. You gasp and your leg twitched, wrapping around one of his legs.

Aaron pulled away from you, his lips swollen and hair out of place. "Answer me." He snapped, his eyes glaring into yours. You shook your head quickly. "No! No, I don't even remember him!" You whined, attempting to pull Aaron closer to you. "What a slut. Can't even remember someone you were with 24 hours ago." Your hips buck against Aaron's hands when they come to the front of your trousers, beginning to unbutton them. "Stand up." You blindly follow his orders, used to obeying him. He spins you around so you're facing the desk and gives you a nudge, hard enough for you to fall forward, but gentle enough for your hands to catch you before you hit the desk.

Before you know it, your trousers are being pushed down to the floor, and you hear a rip of fabric. You gasp, the air hitting your now bare pussy. Looking behind you, you spot Aaron pocketing your ripped panties. "Aaron!" You whimper, but that only gets you a slap to the ass. "Be quiet! Do you want everyone to hear just how much of a whore you are, begging your boss to fuck you?" His words only make you moan, but his hand makes contact with your ass again. "I'm sorry." You whimper. "Good girl." His hands trail up from your hips to the skin under your shirt. "Now take these off."

Both your tank top and bra come off and suddenly you're standing completely naked in Aaron Hotchner's office, while he stands completely dressed. There's a moment of silence, then the sound of metal clinking. Your eyes follow as he places his belt on the desk next to you and he mutters "Don't make me use this." before pressing kisses on your neck and shoulder. You see his trousers hit the floor, followed by his boxers and you so badly want to turn around and see what he's packing, but you do nothing.

Aaron's dick slides between your thighs and you gasp, bending over slightly and spreading your legs farther. You hear Aaron chuckle at your desperation and suck in a deep breath, but you're given no warning when he begins to enter you. He goes in inch by inch, giving you time to stop him if you feel discomfort, but you don't. "Are you okay?" He asks once he's fully inside, the hand at your hips caressing your skin softly. "Yes." He nods, and just like that his soft demeanour is gone and he's thrusting into you at an unforgiving pace, his pupils dilated as he stares fixedly at the spot where his dick enters your pussy.

His pace slows so he can grab both your hands from the desk, holding them in one of his hands as the other one pushes you down so your torso lays on the desk, the cold wood hardening your nipples. Aaron's hands let go of yours - a silent command for you to keep them behind your back - and he gathers your hair away from your face. He can see the sweat glinting on your skin, it must be uncomfortable, he thinks, but the truth is that you're so deep in pleasure you can't think of anything else but that and trying to stay quiet. You shut your eyes tightly, biting your lip to keep you from screaming Aaron's name uncontrollably for the whole building to hear.

Quiet moans still escape you, and you imagine the sound of skin on skin must be loud, but none of that bothers you, not when you're having sex with Aaron. You squeeze your legs together, a subconscious sign that you're close to your orgasm. Aaron clearly sees it because he's tapping one of your legs and muttering "Spread them for me baby." You feel like you're just laying there limply, but you manage to do as he says, and you moan his name louder than you should when you feel his hand snake between your legs in search for your clit. He finds your clit quickly and begins rubbing circles on it, and even with you so lost in pleasure, you realise that Aaron's thrusts are becoming sloppy.

He's close to finishing too. Aaron's grunts begin getting louder and the hand on your clit is getting quicker and more desperate. Your pussy clenches against his dick and you hear a "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck." In response. Aaron's cum is instantly filling you up, and the extra stimulation triggers your release too. You whimper as you come, legs shaking while Aaron begins to slow his movements, the hand on your clit coming to a stop. He stops his movements completely when your eyes open once more and you stop moaning. Instead, he averts his gaze to where his cum is leaking out of you and running down your thighs.

"Shit baby. Let me clean you up." He mimics his earlier movements, getting damp tissues to clean up your thighs before he pulls out of you. "Aaron." You whimper again at the emptiness, hands coming in front of you to push yourself off the desk. "Shh, baby, it's okay. Stay where you are. Let me take care of you." Once Aaron quickly cleans himself up and pulls his boxers up, his whole attention goes to you, crouching down to clean his orgasm off your skin. He even pulls your trousers back your legs, buttoning them up for you before wrapping his arms around your torso, his back against yours. You lay your head on his shoulder and exhale deeply, moving your neck to the side so Aaron can press kisses there.

"Are you okay?" He asks pulling away from you completely so he can observe your face. "I'm more than okay Aaron. Thank you for- for all that." He presses a kiss to your cheek before pulling away to get the rest of your clothes. "Let me take you to dinner." "Now?" He hums yes and you smile, watching as he puts his belt on. "I'd love that. But Spencer-" "Oh forget Spence," He insists "I'm pretty sure the entire building knows." You smile, fingers looping in his belt hoops to pull him closer to you. You kiss him softly and smile. "Right, well let me go to the bathroom and I'll meet you in the lobby?" Aaron nods, so you turn around, exiting his office with a smile on your face.

At your desk, you grab your bag and look up to meet Spencer's eyes. Your face falls at the look on his. He looks partly traumatised, partly smug. "Well how did it go then?" You feel the blood rushing to your face again and you nod "It went well. Yeah, pretty good." But you run off before he gets to reply, dialling a familiar number on your phone.

"Emily you'll never guess what just happened."

578 notes · View notes

undiscovered-horizon · 6 months

Text

"Everywhere is good but home is..." - Mihawk x Reader

@thetempleofthemasaigoddess wondered why Mihawk doesn't quite get along with his mother-in-law and who am I to keep such secrets to myself?

SUMMARY: Mihawk is not exactly fond of his in-laws. Nevertheless, he compliantly tags along whenever you pay your parents a visit. If it makes you happy, he's willing to bite his tongue. For a day, at least.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.6k

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

Imagine, if you will, an angry boar. A large, stout boar with birse as dark as the night sky. As boars do, it will gore with its tusks to let out the frustration and get rid of whatever it was that made the animal seethe. Now, if you take away its tusks, what can it do? Angrily dig for truffles?

Or maybe stand beside you, a scowl on his face and a begrudging “I am fine” every time you ask about the bitter expression?

Mihawk doesn’t like visiting your parents. It’s the sickeningly sweet familial atmosphere that suffocates him. Don’t misunderstand - he’s fond of the thought of having a family with you but the aura of your childhood home is a little too… overwhelming for him. A little too picture-perfect. But being the man he is, Mihawk has never outright talked about his dislike because he’s aware of how much that would hurt you. Still, you know your husband a little too well to disregard his sighs and frowns. This piece of secret knowledge always makes you love him more - he’s willing to suffer for a day or two just to make you happy. If it’s not love, what else could it be?

The farmhouse looks different than it did last year when you visited: the roof tiles have been changed, the outside of the building has been repainted and even some of the fence surrounding the land is new. Clearly, your parents have been busy with their retirement.

Despite the irate expression on his face, Mihawk silently overtakes you and opens the shabby wicket gate to let you enter first. He gives you a questioning look when you suddenly stop.

“It’s going to be fine, Mihawk,” you reassure him.

“So you’ve been saying, darling.”

Comforting warmth spreads inside his chest as you smile at him and kiss his cheek. He turns his head, hoping to catch your lips but you’re already on your way to the older man raking leaves in the distance. Mihawk clenches his jaw and lets out an exasperated sigh. With a loud bang, he closes the gate behind him. He follows you in slow steps, naively putting off the fateful moment of meeting your family.

Walking down the path leading to the farmhouse and the fields behind it, Mihawk looks around the desolate landscape. It’s quaint, he thinks to himself. Tall trees sway on the chilly, autumn wind. Right above their peaks, although far away, are mountains with their tops covered in snow. Uncut grass brushes against his clothes. A flock of cranes flies high in the sky, disappearing and reappearing as they fly through grey clouds. Their key is directed south, towards warmth that will shield them from winter snow. The area is a bit too colourful and bright for his liking but with a nice “please” from you, Mihawk could see himself settling down in a place like this.

Dracule just comes into earshot and has the displeasure of hearing your father yelling:

“Pumpkin!” The older man’s voice is filled with excitement. He lets go of the rake, letting it fall on the ground. Despite his age and clear exhaustion from the work, he wraps his arms around you and hugs you almost to death. “Honey, come out!” he shouts towards the farmhouse. “It’s Pumpkin!”

Mihawk almost can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. You’re a grown woman, married at that, and they still call you by a nickname they had come up with while you were still in diapers. ‘When I asked where children came from, they told me that they found me between pumpkins in their field,’ you once explained to him.

The door to the building flies open. Soon enough, your mother is running to you. Her greying hair is braided into a plait. She’s wearing an apron with traditional patterns hand-stitched into it. Half of the motif had been done by a skilled hand, stitched with precision and perfection. The other part, however, is a lot more crooked and amateurish, probably done by a child’s hand. Your hand.

Tears glisten in your mother's eyes. Despite her older age, there’s vigour and youth inside those irises - a certain love for life that you’ve taken after her. She quickly wipes her hands on the apron and hugs you.

“Oh, Pumpkin!” A stray tear leaves her eye. “I haven’t seen you in ages! You could have said you’re visiting.”

“You’ve always loved surprises, mum.”

She lets go of you and redirects her attention to Mihawk. Her face lights up as though he’s her own son, beaming with love and pride. To his absolute horror, your mother puts her hands on the sides of his face. He almost pulls away to avoid the unwanted affections.

“Sweetie, you look handsome as ever!” she exclaims. Her expression falls as she looks him up and down. “But you’re a bit thin, aren’t you? And that open shirt, tsk. Winter is coming, sweetheart, you’ll catch pneumonia if you don’t cover up.”

“Delighted to see you again, ma’am,” Mihawk lies through his teeth. To some degree, you’re impressed with how honest he sounds.

"Oh, sweetheart, I told you to just call me mum!” She laughs. “We're family now."

You can see the relief in Mihawk’s eyes as your mother lets go of him. Some part of you wants to burst with laughter as you recall countless moments when you’re the one cradling his face and Dracule is more than overjoyed with the tender touch. It feels like there’s something beyond special about you, that he welcomes such intimate things. Although, truth be told, when it’s your hands on his face, you usually lean in to kiss him and that’s definitely not something he wants to think about while standing in front of your mother.

“He’s a grown man, honey.” Your father nags at his wife. He waves his hand in a dismissing manner. “Leave him be.” Mihawk’s terror returns when a heavy hand reaches for his shoulder. “Come, son, you’ll chop some wood for the night. I’m too old for this. The last time I tried chopping firewood, I got sciatica.”

“Pleased to help,” Dracule drones his words. He gives you a glance like a silent plead ‘Look what I do for you’. Then, he follows your father further into the garden.

You feel your mother put her arm around your shoulder. “Boys are off to have fun and we have a dinner to make.”

Something inside you stirs with excitement - cooking and baking used to be your bonding activities with your mum. Since you’ve married Mihawk, you’re not allowed to do any housework. Everything is taken care of by servants. You find that you’ve grown to miss the rhythm of mundane life, although it would be a lie if you said that you dislike the life you have with Mihawk. It’s just… different.

The sound of pots, pans and knives hitting the cutting boards is like a symphony to your ears. An aria to your childhood. If you closed your eyes, you could almost see the world as it used to be, your eyes right below the level of the countertops, always standing on a stool to help your mother.

But the thoughts of your younger years dissipate as you stare out of the kitchen window. You have the perfect view of your husband chopping firewood with your father raking leaves in the back. Mihawk’s skin glistens in the afternoon, autumn sun. There’s not a bead of sweat on his torso. He appears completely relaxed as he swings the axe with one hand. Some logs are already cracked or particularly dry and those he rips apart with his bare hands. Those same hands that tear pieces of wood into matches have caressed your skin with almost fearful softness; the arms that bring destruction have tirelessly shielded you from the dangers of the world.

Your dad looks over his shoulder at the pile of firewood with a nod of awe. If Mihawk keeps up his tempo, he’ll prepare enough fuel for the next week.

“You remind me of your dad and me when we were younger.” Your mother’s face shakes you awake from your thoughts. Suddenly remembering that you were supposed to be helping her, you look down at the awfully chopped carrots. At least you didn’t cut off your finger. “Always stealing glances as though we weren’t already married.”

A sigh of yearning leaves your lips. What did you do in your past life to deserve a man like him?

“Dad still looks at you in an uncomfortably intense way,” you answer, a smile on your lips.

Your mother’s laughter brightens up the small, crowded kitchen. It’s not hard to correctly guess what your dad saw in her that made him want to spend his life with that woman. “He does the same when you’re not looking,” she says while vaguely pointing at Mihawk.

Her words make you blush. A deep shade of red covers your cheeks, making your whole face hot to the touch. “What do you mean?”

She looks at you with sympathy. “I saw it the day you introduced him to us. And each time you come over, he seems to be a little worse in his affliction, staring at you like you’re the one who hung stars in the sky. It made your grandma remind her of grandad so much, that she cried at your wedding.”

Listening to her, your longing gaze returns to Mihawk who appears oblivious to your undivided interest in him. “Mum, does it ever get boring?” you ask without looking away. “The sense of calm when you’re around him. Like everything could be ruined but it’s fine because he’s there.”

“It’s the only thing in the world that never gets tiring.” A flustered, juvenile smile decorates her face. Even with wrinkles and greying hair, she looks barely older than you at the moment, reliving the flame of love inside her that has never dwindled. “Now, let’s finish with the sentiments and stuff the duck, eh?”

Mihawk is reaching for another log when something makes him momentarily freeze. There, in front of the stump he’s been chopping wood on, sits a dog. It’s clearly a mutt, each feature taken from a different breed. The fur is an amalgamation of markings in different colours: orange, grey, white and black. As the dog notices Mihawk’s interest, it gets up, restlessly stomping in place or rather hopping as the pet is missing one of its hind legs.

“Gulliver,” Dracule recalls the name of the mutt you’ve told him so much about. Your first and only friend growing up in the countryside.

The name is taken as an invite and so the dog places a drool-covered, chewed-out ball next to the piece of firewood. The pet sits again, tail wagging as fast as it can.

For a moment, Mihawk is torn. He wants the dog to leave him be but that would mean he has to put his hand on the slimy toy. Then again, the pet is sure to continue disturbing him now that he has acknowledged its existence.

Cringing at the wet and warm sensation of the ball, Dracule picks it up, only furthering Gulliver’s excitement.

"This means nothing," he drones his words and throws the toy so far it almost disappears from sight. The dog, overjoyed, runs after the ball.

Considering that your dad’s throw has gotten weaker with age, Mihawk might have dug his own grave with the distance he made the ball fly. Gulliver will probably want another run. Or ten.

For a moment, Mihawk goes back to the fantasy of settling down with you in a mountainous wonderland. Maybe you could have a dog too? Not a mutt but a hunting hound? They look very noble.

But he shakes those thoughts away and continues chopping wood.

The dinner went well. Homemade food, family you haven’t seen in a year, the cosy and sentimental atmosphere of your childhood home… And Mihawk didn’t look as miserable as he probably felt. Although you’re enjoying this little family reunion, you seize the opportunity for solitude when it arises:

Your parents go to the kitchen to put away the dirty dishes, plate the dessert and brew some tea. Tugging on Mihawk’s arm, you pull him outside the house.

The old flooring of the porch creaks under your weight. A bright, melodic tune is carried by the wind as it brushes against the chimes hanging under the roof. The sun has recently set and the sky is still in a lovely, indigo shade. Birds croak in the distance, announcing nightfall.

His warm hand rests on your lower back. The touch makes you momentarily take a deep, relaxing breath. Your thoughts become both orderly and fuzzy as though Mihawk’s presence turned all of your wandering, useless ideas into static you can easily ignore. How can a person have so much control over you?

Mihawk is towering over you. He tilts his head downwards to look at you. Something about his looming aura makes you feel not only protected but also well-cared-for, as though you could give yourself up to him completely and you’d still live like a queen in a castle.

“If you keep frowning, your face will stay like that,” you say to him.

Mihawk’s expression relaxes at the mere mention of his visibly bitter mood. Or maybe it softens because he’s looking at you. “I was under the impression that you’re rather fond of my face.”

“And you’d be correct. But I do have to say that seeing you tear wood apart was much better.”

You lean closer to him as you put your arms around his neck. He welcomes the gesture, allowing his hands to travel an inch or two downwards, a little too low for when one is in the vicinity of others. Especially someone’s parents.

“So my wife likes to see me do manual labour,” he states, his warm breath brushing against your cold cheeks. There’s no surprise in his voice and there shouldn’t be. He’s noticed the way you look at him when he wields a sword and Mihawk would be an awful liar if he said he doesn’t enjoy those glances.

“I like seeing you, full stop. Chopping wood is just a nice variation to the scenario. Strong arms and all that.”

The said arms pull you by your hips into a kiss. Although he’s spent only a day in this part of the region, he already smells like fresh mountain air and pine needles. Mihawk groans, feeling the curves of your body against his. He will never get enough of this. Enough of you.

“Tea is served!”

Your mother’s exclamation makes you pull away from Mihawk. He instinctively chases after your lips before letting out an annoyed sigh. A chuckle rumbles in your chest. Dracule rolls his eyes but lets you thread your fingers with his and pull him back inside the farmhouse. There, you interrupt an interesting conversation:

“Darling, when’s the cake tasting again?” your father asks while flipping through the calendar, a pencil in his hand.

“On the 25th, honey,” she answers. The dining room is immediately filled with the aroma of bergamot as your mother pours the tea. “At 6 in the afternoon.”

“Cake tasting?” you repeat in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Our golden wedding, of course!” the older woman beams with joy. “We’ve yet to send out the invitations, though, so don’t tell anyone. Especially your aunt. Gods know she runs her mouth like it’s a marathon.”

As though you’re thinking the same thing, Mihawk and you glance at each other. The miserable, irate expression in his eyes elicits a burst of bright laughter from you. He just can’t catch a break, can he?

#mihawk fanfiction #mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk one piece #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #op mihawk #dracule mihawk fanfiction #dracule mihawk fanfic #dracule mihawk x reader #one piece #opla #one piece fanfiction #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece fanfic #one piece imagine #one piece live action #one piece netflix

1K notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 14 days

Text

Winter's King 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: this one came out of no where.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s uncharacteristically grim on the plains of Debray. Rains pelt the tall green grasses, flattening them in a slanted downpour that dims the horizon. Clouds blot out the daylight and lend to atmosphere of unease in the warring lands.

Behind the castle walls, one can forget about the bloodshed staining the counties red, though it is all the dukes and his audience can speak of. The lords that bluster through those gates, sometimes at the toll of morning, some in the black swathes of night. You can’t count them all, you can name even fewer, but they come anon and leave just as brusquely.

A peel of thunder shakes the land and a dark line limns the curve of the horizon. What appears first as a storm cloud advances quickly through the fields, appearing more clearly to the naked eye, distant nonetheless. Men. Another party fast on the approach.

The alarm goes up at a man’s holler. Ethred, man at the gate hollers to the other men in mail. Niam peers out from the vantage of the tower and calls back down. A hush falls and bodies scurry all around, metal clinking and boots crunching. There’s something amiss. Something you can’t quite place.

You turn away from the window, the steam rising from the basin in your hand swirling around your head. You carry on down the corridor, wool skirts around cautious steps as you balance the swaying water in the vessel. You approach the lady’s door and give it a rap with your knee. Merinda, another handmaid, opens it from within.

You enter without a word and place the basin on the vanity table. The duke’s daughter preens herself with a painted fan, fluttering her lashes at her reflection as her curls spill down her long back. She tilts her head this way and that. She snaps the fan shut and puts it down, touching her soft brown cheeks with a devilish grin.

“Do you know what father mentioned last eve?” Jazlene asks with a vain flutter of her lashes.

“What did he mention?” Her mother, Lady Rezlyn prompts lazily as she plucks another cherry from a dish heaped in fruit.

“A husband,” the daughter grins coyly at herself, “it is well due, isn’t it, mother? Who do you think it might be? Lord Gai, perhaps? He is young still.”

“Perhaps the Earl of Mesafin,” her mother taunts back to a disgusted gasp.

“Do not,” Jazlene pouts, “I could never... I am much too pretty for that haggard beast.”

“Well, then, who might you have, precious?” Rezlyn goads.

There is a clamour in the hall that keeps the younger of the woman from answering. She rolls her eyes and darkly glare at the door. You peer back behind your shoulder as a wail goes up carrying her father’s name; ‘Lord Dustan!’

“What is all that?” Jazlene whines, “as if it isn’t enough with the rain and the winds. It is summer!”

“It’s always summer in Debray, darling,” Rezlyn scoffs, “otherwise I’d have never married your father. Pray you don’t hook yourself a winter lord.”

You peek over your shoulder as you stand near the door, in your vigil, awaiting your next order. You face the ladies again as the elder continues to feast and the younger fusses over her thick brows. You scrunch your lips back and forth, a habit that often has your jaw aching.

Jazlene turns to narrow her eyes at you, “what is it then? What has you making faces?”

You bow your head, appeasing her ego, “my lady, there were men coming. A party approaching from the north.”

“There are always men,” she shakes her head, “who was it then? Anyone I should wear silk for?”

Her mother laughs, “I warn you, daughter, that trite tongue will not endear any husband.”

“I do not know, lady,” you answer.

“Ugh, useless, must I work as my own handmaid?” Jazlene tisks, “come, pin my hair. Merinda find me a gown. Mother... wipe the dribble from your chin.”

“Eh, watch yourself,” Lady Rezlyn rises and wipes her lips with her sleeve. She wears muslin in a dark shade of burgundy, embroidered with little copper finches. “Or hope you marry above me before you lash that tongue at me.”

Jazlene merely trills with laughter. You take the pins and work at twisting her fine curls into place. Merinda brings to her a dress of teal satin and is promptly shooed away, “something pink. It brings out my bosom.”

You ignore her bawdy jest as her mother harrumphs. You work in quiet tandem with the other handmaid. You add a touch of paint to the lady’s cheeks and kohl around her eyes. You tint her lips with pigment and she pushes out her lips at the mirror. You help Merinda dress her, pulling the noble daughter’s corset tight enough to leave her lightheaded.

The pair of ladies, elder and younger, leave the chamber with you at their skirt tails. They sweep through the corridors with chins up. They are queens in their own minds. Their fine dresses and sparkling gems are untouched by the disparity of war. The lives lost are squares on a game board, tawdry talk for men in their studies.

“Lord Dustan,” Lady Rezlyn mimics the earlier call for the lord of the castle, “my husband. Dear, dear husband!”

The women go to the banister and look down upon the great hall as the flurry continues below. You and Merinda loom behind, not daring to stand at a level with the pompous nobles. You have never volunteered yourself for their impetuous lashings.

“Woman!” Dustan booms back up, “do not trouble me now.”

“Oh, has another lord come? Perhaps a suitor for our lovely daughter--”

“Cease!” The duke demands hotly, “now is not the time for womanly games.”

“Tell me it true, husband, she will be an old maid before you find a suiting son-in-law--”

“Go away to your chambers. Now. The men who come are not to be trifled with and you lot do trifle overly much!”

“Bah! Oh do not be so uncouth!” Rezlyn decries.

“Father, please, is it a husband?”

“Go before I send my guards up to put you away like thieves in a dungeon. Hear me when I warn you that this does not concern you. Not as yet,” Dustan snarls, “you would spoil this war with your puny concerns.”

“Ugh,” his wife puts her hand to her forehead, “he does tax me. All I ask of him is to take care of us, daughter. As any husband should.”

“I should have your lips sewn shut!” Dustan rebukes hotly, “be gone before I find a tailor.”

The women share an aghast look. The turn back to flutter away in their skirts. You and Merinda follow them to the drawing room, closing them in as they fall onto the velvet cushions. Jazlene reclines dramatically on the chaise as her mouth mopes on a sofa.

“Shall I be alone forever, mother?” Jazlene snivels, “why won’t he let me marry?”

“He only wants to find the right man, that is all, darling,” Rezlyn coaxes. “He is overprotective and that is good for it means he will find a husband for you with a similar bearing.”

“Such sweet words cannot convince me. He punishes me. When all my lady friends have wed and borne a whelp or two, I remain with the dust and stone.”

“Do not be theatrical,” Rezlyn girds, “you are silly.”

“I am not silly, mother. I am afraid. I am twenty and three and I have no suitor. I have only a war butchering any man who might have my hand. Why must this go on? Why must I suffer for the gripes of stubborn kings.”

“We cannot fear. This war will be won and you will have a knight for a husband. Isn’t that better? To have a warrior you can be proud of than some bookish lord in his tower?” Rezlyn stands and moves to sit with her daughter, petting her as she cooes, “oh my beautiful, no man can resist you. You will see.”

⚔️

Some hours pass with the restless women, pacing and chattering, about careless things beyond marriage and war. Like needlework and a banquet that should be had upon the truce. Would that the day would come sooner.

You and Merinda stifle yawns that pass between you. The act is contagious as you stand in the tedium of the wealthy and wait for a duty to be called upon you. The hours you spend watching the women preen and swoon make you envy the stable boys and the shit shovelers.

The noise beyond those walls continues. You heard the moat open and the clopping hooves of horses, even the clatter of carts. The voices had since hushed but footfalls carried back and forth. The wordless activity betrays an air of impatience, almost of nervousness. As the ladies within mirror the sentiment.

Finally, as the windows darken and the candles burn brighter, a knock shakes the door. The ladies snap their heads around. Merinda is asleep on her feet as you move first. You open to a man in grey and black waits on the other side. He is not Lord Dustan’s.

“The duchess and her daughter,” he garbles through a mouth that sounds full of salt.

You dip your head and look to the ladies in question. There is a tension, of unease, of unknowing, of excitement turned to dread. This is not as it has been. There is not call to the dinner table. There is no buoyant introduction of a lord Dustan met as a young scamp. There is silence and fear. Has someone died? Has a battle been lost?

The women emerge and greet the man with niceties and tight-lipped simpers. He does not pay them heed as you and Merinda exchange looks. You trail after the ladies but the man stops. He turns back, a hand on the pommel at his waist, and sneers, a furrow in his brow.

“One of ya,” he grits.

Jazlene says your name. She must’ve noticed Merinda swaying on her feet. If she even cares so much about a maid. You keep your head down and follow as they press on. Down the corridor and around the duke’s study, recently deemed his war room. You’ve never been within. It is not the domain of women.

The grey and black soldier thumps on the door. Mother and daughter clasp hands. Even they can sense the unusual frigidity. The door opens from within. It is Lord Dustan. He wears a serious look on his lined face. The ladies are beckoned in and the soldier nudges you after them as you hesitate.

Lanterns light the space from the desk at the rear of the chamber. The large table draped in maps, wooden horses, and little wooden pucks stands central on a thick rug. A figure stands behind it, head down as his burly and broad silhouette seems to sop up the shadows.

The ladies follow the duke to stand across from the man. His head is down as he slides a horse along a road on the map. He stops it and grips it tight. He looks up and the lantern light dances on his features. You suck in a breath, as the rest do, stunned by his appearance.

His hair is white, his eyes are a goldish yellow, pupils deep pools of black, and his square jaw is just as thick as the rest of him. You have never seen a man like him before, but you have heard of one. Of him. King Geralt of Rivia.

You stand in similar confusion to the ladies. Their silent confoundment is broken by Duke Dustan as he nears the table. He sniffs and presses his fingers to the table top.

“Your highness, my wife, Lady Rezlyn, and my daughter, Lady Jazlene,” he introduces.

The women glance at each other then curtsy to the white king. He watches them dully. You fold your hands, taking it in curiously. It is rather something to witness the scene. You are so unimportant as to not be a part of it.

“Your highness,” the recite, “it is...”

“An honour,” Dustan finishes for them, “of course it is. We fondly welcome you and your allyship. We hope that we will be essential in ending this war. In helping you attain the peace you have so valiantly fought for--”

The king raises his hand to silence the lord. You can’t help but quork your head. Allyship? But King Geralt, he is of Rivia, he is of the hinterland, he is the one who invaded the summer country and bid it his own. He is the foe. That is what they told you.

“Enough...” the king speaks in a silty tone that scrapes in his throat. His eyes wander over the women and narrow. You wince as your own meet his golden irises and you shy away, putting your chin to your chest. That’s a mistake. “...words.” He slaps his hand down, “you do not win wars with words.”

“Yes, your highness, you are correct. I know it well. It is why I invited you here. It is the very reason I made my entreaty. You have my men, they will win this war for you.”

The king is hardly impressed by the fact. He looks back to the table and moves the horse further before turning it back. He knocks it over and stands completely straight.

“And the daughter of Debray, your highness. To have a wife of summer’s blood, men will bend the knee. If you show them you do not mean to eradicate but to join with them,” Dustan moves to stand closer to his daughter, “isn’t she a fine queen for a fine kingdom?”

Jazlene swoons and falls against her father. She’s fainted. Rezlyn grabs onto her other shoulder and you peek up at the chaotic scene. You come forward to help, snatching a pillow from the single couch, and you place it under Jazlene’s head as they lay her down on the floor.

A shadow shifts as Dustan and Rezlyn fuss over their daughter, fanning and calling to her. You look up as darkness clusters over you. You see the king staring down at the scene. No, not them. He staring at you. Before he can reprimand you, you put your head down.

You must quit that lest you find yourself at the wrong end of a switch.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt of rivia #dark!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #winter's king #au #medieval au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

430 notes · View notes

chronically-ghosted · 3 months

Text

i wonder if you stopped his world like you did mine

rating: teen

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 5K

summary: watching the woman he loves be with someone else is killing him, but for your sake, he manages. But when Benny's birthday loosens him up, he can't help but bear his soul over a phone call. Too bad you don't pick up and he's forced to leave the evidence in a voicemail.

tags/warnings: pining, light angst, idiots in love, country music as a catalyst, romance, tw alcohol, tw drinking, hangovers, ultimately very fluffy

a/n: Happy Valentine's Day @toomanystoriessolittletime! I hope you receive and give all the love you need and want! I've had this idea for a while, but once I saw that Frankie was your fave, I knew I had to do it!

one day i’m gonna do the series of all of my favorite country songs with a Pedro boy. This is one of them: Singles You Up by Jordan Davis. Had thoughts of Me and My Kind by Cody Johnson for our ever-fantastic Jack Daniels and Hurricane by Luke Combs for Joel. One day, my loves, one day.

🤍Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist

Frankie Morales has a problem.

Given the life expectancy in his line of work – all things considered – it really wasn’t that bad of a problem. Sure, his knees were busted, his shoulder aches when it was cold out, and his ex keeps hounding him for money he doesn’t have. But on the flipside, his little family unit of friends and brothers united by combat are (mostly) all alive and healthy. He has a steady job and his little girl, whom he loves and adores, thinks the sun shines out of his ass. All things considered, there’s not much else he can ask for. He’s far better off than some of the men and women at Will’s talks, or in Santiago’s field teams.

So – really, truly, seriously – all things considered . . . he can’t classify this as a bad problem.

In fact, this is a problem he would willingly have. Gladly even. Not quite joyously, but if it’s a choice between this problem and not having the problem at all, he will choose having this consistent, thorny, kind-of-hurts-to-breathe-sometimes problem every single time.

And right now, it’s wearing a dress.

Uh, well, you’re wearing a dress. An off-white, hinging-on-cream, dress that sits above your knees, cuts flat and wide across your chest, and puffs out into cotton sleeves that remind him of those conchas his abuela used to make. Sweet, fluffy, and absolutely forbidden.

Until the time is right, at least. His abuela always made him wait to eat until the time was right.

He calls it – you – a problem, when in fact, it’s the opposite of a problem. There is nothing he would ever want to change about the warm, engulfing feeling that starts somewhere in his stomach and rises like conchas up his spine until it’s somewhere in his ribs, then under his breastbone, right by his –

He would kill anyone who tried to take that feeling away from him. It’s when he feels most alive, most present, most out of his head – like these things in the dark and sleeping corners of his mind that nip and bite at him can’t find him. He’s thrown them off his scent in his search for you and, even for a brief moment, he can step into the light.

There is no problem, in how you look tonight, how you look every night, with your bright shining smile, sweet-smelling hair, cowboy boots, glass of whiskey – you had such a fantastic taste in –

Wait.

That’s not whiskey. Not even a whiskey glass.

That’s –

“White wine?” Benny yelps as he leans forward and his chair legs clatter against the concrete floor. “If that’s Moscato, I’m calling the cops because you’ve been replaced by an equally hot body double.”

You roll your eyes as you sit down and take a long drink from your glass, as if to make a point. Frankie’s eyes are drawn to where your dress hangs over your crossed legs, exposing the curve of your thigh.

“It’s not fucking Moscato, Benjamin,” you say, eyes narrowed, completely side-stepping his compliment, like you always do. “It’s Chardonnay. Nick recognized the vineyard on the menu so he recommended it. Thought I’d give it a try, because I like trying something new, Benjamin.”

He rolls those beautiful blue eyes and leans forward towards you at the table, that grin that brings grown women to their knees plastered across his face. He knocks back his cowboy hat with a tap of his knuckle.

“Well, excuse the fuck outta me.”

“The fuck outta you is excused.”

You tug his hat back down over his face, smirking back at him, just as Nick saunters over – with what looks to be a wine glass of his own.

Okay, in hindsight, you’re not the problem.

His real fucking problem is Nick.

Your boyfriend.

Frankie, who has decided to only drink beer around you since The Almost Incident, takes three long pulls so he doesn’t have to watch Nick and his stupid hands slide across your exposed back and sit down in Santi’s empty chair.

“Happy Birthday, man, thanks for inviting me out.” Nick says briefly, raising his glass to Benny. “But I gotta say, I was a little worried when my girl here said your party was gonna be at a country dance hall. I’ve never been to one of these. I had to buy cowboy boots just for the occasion.”

He sticks his leg out, and rotates his gator-skin boot back and forth as if to illustrate how important to him this whole thing is.

But Benny doesn’t look down, doesn’t approve the boots, or Nick’s attempt at fitting in. Instead, he just smirks, his smile growing fat and lazy, a bit of the warmth fading from his blue eyes.

“Your first time at a cowboy hoe-down? I had no idea.”

Nick grins, because he doesn’t know Benny well enough to see the dig for what it is. But you do. You know him and you know he’s ragging on your boyfriend. You narrow your eyes and shame coats Frankie’s chest. Because he knows also Benny and he knows why he’s giving Nick such a hard time.

See, the problem isn’t you, or even your boyfriend – not really.

Nick is actually a decent guy. He treats you right, if a little delicately, but he buys you drinks, takes you places Frankie could never afford, in a car Frankie could never ever afford. Sometimes, you’ll say something, or tell a story and it’s obvious Nick doesn’t really understand you or your jokes, but he smiles along anyway. He makes good money and supposedly he keeps in touch with his mom. Nick is the kind of guy any brother would want his sister to date.

So the problem isn’t that Nick is a bad boyfriend, but that he’s your boyfriend.

The problem that Frankie Morales has is that he is painfully, achingly, in love with you.

And he’s your friend.

Maybe that would change, if he ever could work up the guts to say something. For fuck’s sake, he’s killed people – asking you out can’t be that much worse (as Santi often reminds him). But if the guys you’re into are like Nick, or even Nick-adjacent, then what fucking chance does he have? He never thought money was important to you, but apparently it is and that’s something he definitely can’t give you.

Or maybe you like the stability of a high-paying job with fucking miraculous health-care. And that’s two things more he can’t offer: stability and health-care.

So, maybe, maybe his problem isn’t with you or Nick or the fact that Nick is your boyfriend. It’s that he never could be. He, with one failed marriage already behind him and a coke rap sheet, has nothing to give you . . .

And you deserve the world.

You deserve more than he can offer you. You deserve better than him.

That’s his real fucking problem. And one he can't ever fix.

Will couldn’t get off work to come to this, so he owed Benny a beer and a nice steak dinner – according to Benny. Santi, despite absolutely swearing up and down for a week he wouldn’t be caught dead in cowboy boots and a hat, showed up tonight in full gear, belt-buckle included because he lost a bet with Benny over the Thursday night game. Santi, like everything else in his life, researched the hell out of the two teams, their past history, older statistics of both the players and the coach. He was confident, so confident, that he put his pride on the line.

Never a good idea with Benny Miller.

I don’t know, Benny said at the sports bar when his team was whooping Santi’s team’s ass, I just had a good feeling. Presumably, Santi did three shots before leaving and with another two in his system at the bar, all anger and frustration and embarrassment and inhibition had melted away and now Santi was doing what Santi did best, especially when drunk: dancing with beautiful women.

“The son of a bitch can dance, I’ll give him that. ” Benny muses as the three of you watch Santi, who despite having been taught the moves three minutes ago by two gorgeous blondes, complete a perfect line dance of Copperhead Road.

“Oh, shit, I could never do that.” Nick shakes his head. “Not even after a hundred classes.”

“Ah, I find that hard to believe, Nicky Boy. You seem like a natural,” Benny smirks over the lip of his beer bottle. He finds Frankie’s eyes and winks.

You are not amused. You glare at him over Nick’s shoulder for the second time tonight.

“It’s really not that hard,” you smile tightly and squeeze Nick’s shoulder. “I can teach you.”

“Oh, yeah, don’t you know your girl here?” Benny leans back in his chair, balancing against the rung of Nick’s chair by the ball of his foot. “She used to put all of us to shame. Dancing the night away, leading the crowd in line dancing. In fact, if I remember correctly, she and Frankie used to get into all sorts a-trouble on the dance floor. Isn’t that right, Frankie?”

Now he drew a glare from you and Frankie.

Don’t, man, just don’t.

Benny shrugs, swallowing his smirk with another sip of beer, hands raised. Just trying to help out.

Over the speakers, the song winds to a close and the crowd does their final spin. Across the dance floor, Santi bows, his hat sweeping the floor, to both of the girls who giggle like high schoolers.

“I’m gonna go get Boot Scootin’ Boogie over there some water before he up-chucks all over those nice ladies.” Benny stands and fixes his hat. “You guys want anything?”

Frankie shakes his head, his own hat that Benny insisted he wear, making the line of sweat across his forehead itch. You and Nick decline as well. You’ve barely even touched your drink, Frankie notes with a certain level of satisfaction.

As Benny walks towards the bar, the next song starts up and you let out a squeal. Bring on The Good Times has been one of your favorite songs since college. And Frankie should know – he introduced it to you.

“This one is the best! A classic!” You grab Nick’s forearm, but he almost immediately pulls it back.

“Ah, babe, my first line dance is not gonna be in front of strangers! I’ll embarrass you and me. Why don’t you ask Frankie?”

Fuck, why could Nick just be a raging, flaming asshole? This would be so much fucking easier.

Frankie swallows his beer empty, an excuse for a refill prepped. He hates cowboy hats, but he’d fucking set fire to the sky for Benny – he just hopes he immolates himself in the process. The giant brim makes him feel like he’s got a neon sign over his head that blinks, I Am A Giant Dork. Only further proven if he gets anywhere near that dance floor with his two left feet.

Your eyes are unreadable as he tries to coax your boyfriend into taking you dancing.

“Nah, man, you got this. Your girl’s a great teacher.” By some cowboy miracle, his voice is steady as he says those two words. On the table, your fingers curl in, your wine glass still untouched.

Nick makes a face, eyes flitting back and forth to the dancers as they start the dance.

“My feet are already killing me in these new boots. Besides, this isn’t really my song.”

Over his shoulder, you find Frankie’s eyes. He knows that look on you – he knows everything about you – and you’re trying to hide how hurt you are.

He’s on his feet before he knows what he’s doing.

You and Nick stare up at him, surprised by how he practically bounded to his feet.

The sweat at the ring of his hat runs down the back of his neck. Frankie does the only thing halfway-normal and extends his hand.

“Alright, princesa, I’ll fill out your dance card.”

He doesn’t care, or even really register, the darkly confused frown Nick sends him when you stand up, take his hand, and smile at him. He feels warm all the way up to his chest.

“Thanks, Frankie. Let’s boogie.”

That was a mistake.

This whole fucking night is a mistake. God help him, he loves Benny like a brother but he should have just said no and promised to take him out later like Will. He would have bought Benny any drink, any ridiculous chicken wing plate he wanted if Frankie didn’t have to be here, right now.

Because right now, right now, that wall of self-control that he uses to stem the reservoir, to stem the flow of whatever you cause to pour out of him, it’s leaking. It’s busted holes and now he’s drenched with it – with the scent of you, with the memory of hair down the length of your neck, the heat of your skin overworked and flushed, the sweet taste of your breath in his mouth when you leaned forward, into his space, his senses, and whispered,

“C’mon, Frankie, you’re a better dancer than this.”

But in his defense, he couldn’t feel his feet, much less make them move when he watched you with your skirt rucked up high in your fists, your cowboy boots kicking like fish in a stream, and that smile – that fucking smile – brighter and sweeter than all the whiskey in the world.

C’mon, Frankie, you’re a better dancer than this

C’mon, Frankie, you’re better than this.

C’mon, Frankie, tell me you love me.

Kiss me, Frankie. Kiss me now.

His restraint, his resolve that he will never, ever have you – he can feel it throb beneath his palms. Shudder and wobble under the thundering of his heart. It’s so close to breaking. Too close. This is why he doesn’t drink anything harder than beer around you. This is why he rarely drinks around you at all.

When Nick finally calls it a night because he’s already got a blister from the new boots, you don’t put up much of a fight. You’ve danced with Benny, you’ve danced with Santi and his gaggle of girls, Nick himself went up for a slow dance or two.

Frankie only ever asked for one.

He knows he disappointed you, has been disappointing you because you can feel him layering you away, brick by brick by brick. One of his oldest and longest friends, barely visible now, and he’s going over it with caulk to make sure you can’t touch this fragile, weak, emaciated thing he calls a heart.

The instant you walk out of the bar, Nick’s arm across your tense shoulders, he all but rushes for the bar.

“Six tequila shots, please.”

You wake up where you went to sleep: curled up on your couch, your giant Florida Gators blanket wrapped around you like a mentally-supportive straight-jacket, with Golden Girls reruns on the TV. The empty bottle of 19 Crimes explains the sticky, dry feeling in your mouth and the thundering headache accompanying swollen eyes and cheeks. You’d rather get hit by a train than have to move out of this position, but Nick has always been punctual.

Which, you assume, extends to picking up his stuff from your apartment first thing in the morning, his final threat that ended your conversation last night.

The sooner, the better, you mother fucker.

You blindly grab around for your phone, knowing that it’s most likely shoved into the deepest cracks of your couch, hoping against hope Panera delivers on a Saturday morning. There’s a distinct possibility you might start swinging if Nick shows up before you get a baguette and a coffee into your system.

The things he said about Benny and Santi last night on the drive home. This break up was a long time coming, but fuck, if this is what he’d been sitting on about your friends, what the fuck did he actually think of you?

And the things he implied about Frankie – how Frankie was in love with you and you were willingly not seeing it – ridiculous.

You fight the rancid taste of hope that anything Nick implied about Frankie might even remotely be true when you close your fingers around the shape of your phone at the far end of the couch.

22%

Just enough to order then yeet this fucking thing into another room because there is no way in hell you are answering Nick’s calls.

But, as you scroll through your notifications, maybe you should have answered Frankie’s.

He had called sporadically, starting about two hours after you and Nick had left the dance hall, all the way until four in the morning.

One text at 1AM: com e hang out wit us.i mis s you u

You smile, despite the obviously drunken text. Frankie rarely texted, only if it was dire need – and apparently, you continuing to party with the boys at 1AM was very, very dire. Judging by the eight missed calls.

Eight missed calls, but only one voicemail.

Like you’re about to settle down for some good TikTok scrolling, you lean back into the pillows, rubbing your eyes to clear the hazy fog, and press play.

First, there’s noise. Lots of it. Country music and people laughing and singing. Clearly still at the dance hall. You wish for a minute it is a video instead because you’d pay hand over fist to see those guys falling all over each other.

But then comes Santi. Over the years, you’d picked up some Spanish here and there, mostly enough not to embarrass yourself if you ever went to Miami.

But whatever Santi is saying, you’re not entirely sure it is Spanish, or any human language.

“Comotuamiga, teruegoqueselodigas porfavornopuedo hacerestopormucho mástiempo. Estaríasmásfeliz y ellaestaríamásfeliz. Nomemiresasí, sabesqueloúnico quequiereesqu labeses y la beses y luegohagasotrascosas – ¡Estúpido! ¿La llamaste?”

There’s a shuffling, hushed voices, the music still far too loud to make anything out.

“Déjame en paz, dude.” Frankie. Frankie, very very very drunk. “I’m gonna – I’m gonna say – voy a decirle. Ella lo sabrá. She’ll get it. I know–,”

“Then say something now because you’re leaving a voicemail!”

“Ah, mierda – um, baby?”

In two words and two filler words, Frankie’s whole demeanor changes. You can almost picture him curled around the phone, his hand cradling the phone to his ear as he rests his head against a wall.

“Baby, listen – fuck, sorry, I’m starting all wrong. I shouldn’t even call you that – I shouldn’t call you ‘baby’ because you’re not mine. You’re not my baby or anyone else’s because you’re so fucking independent and I love that about you but I wish you were. Mine, I mean. Not a baby.”

You don’t even remember sitting up, but your feet are on the ground. You’ve dropped the phone onto the table in front of you, staring at it as if it’s been dripping poison into your ear. Your heart is pounding.

There’s silence from Frankie for a second, the music still loud, but it’s dampened. You can hear Frankie breathing, swallow, and start again.

“You looked so fuckin’ good tonight. You look good every night but fuck, baby, that dress. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Even for a second . . . he doesn’t tell you that you look so fucking good enough, you know? You should hear it all the time. I wanna tell you – tell you all the time – he didn’t say it once. Not once and that’s a fucking crime. He makes you drink white wine when I know you fucking hate it – I know you, baby. I know you more than I know myself because you’re all I fucking think about. You’re in here, all the time, all up in my chest, my throat, my gut – and you can have it. You can have it. You can have all of me, if you just . . .”

His voice breaks and your fingers clench around the edge of the cushion.

“If you just . . . look, I know this is so fucking outta line and I wanna say it to your face and I’m gonna but . . . when that fuckin’ moron forgets how good he has it, I’m gonna be there. Gonna be right there. Because –,”

And then like someone shoved a speaker right up against Frankie’s phone, as clear as day, you hear Benny yell:

“IF HE AIN’T HOLDING YOU TIGHT, IF HE AIN’T TREATIN’ YOU RIGHT, I’MA BE THE FIRST ONE CALLIN’ HIM CRAAAZY–,”

“Benny, fuck off!”

And then the call drops, along with it your stomach. In fact, it slides out of your body, slouches off the couch and melts into the floor.

Oh, Frankie, do you even mean a word of it?

The hangover rubbing your nerves raw, tears spring into your eyes, the silence and fear and terrible hope tightening like a band around your head and infinitely increasing the pressure in your temples. You want to cry but your eyes already feel too puffy.

You’re stuck, frozen by every single possible outcome or single next step spinning out like chaotic webbing you can easily catch yourself on.

This was a mistake, it had to be. He didn’t mean to call your phone. He had accidentally called you when he meant to call another girl . . . also with a boyfriend named Nick. Frankie, sweet Frankie, who you’ve all but outright begged to take an interest in you – said it with your eyes hundreds of times – Frankie couldn’t actually have feelings for you.

Not like you had for him. Not like the ones you’ve slowly plucked out of your ribs over the years because god, even just looking at him seared a scar across your heart.

Fuck. Fuck!

You snatch up your phone, wiping your teary eyes and frantically hoping he might have said a name or anything – he couldn’t possibly have meant you – when three loud bangs on your front door sends your phone into the air and your heart into your throat.

The way he calls your name is frantic, verging on hysterical. In a daze, you glance at the clock. 9:04. Frankie’s had about four hours of sleep, if any at all.

“Please, open the door! We gotta talk – there’s something – there’s something on your phone you shouldn’t hear – please, baby, open up –,”

You stare at the phone on your floor.

Don’t they always say you can’t tell the moments that irrevocably change your life until after they’re gone?

Not this time.

You open the door and either way, everything changes.

“C’mon, please, let me explain.” His voice has quieted, no longer shaking, softer as though wounded. “Just five minutes and I’m gone. I swear. We can forget the whole thing –,”

You open the door to a hungover Frankie Morales, still in the same outfit you saw him last in, but his eyes are rimmed with black circles, his patchy beard even more patchy as if he had rubbed the bristle clean off. He reeks of beer, peanuts, and cigarette smoke. His shirt is loose, wrinkled, his belt isn’t even on all the way, and he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“What if I don’t want to forget it, Frankie?”

You see the realization strike him through the eyes, the throat, the chest, his gut, his brown eyes swimming with shame and horror. He leans over as if kicked and presses a hand against your doorway. His thumb rubs the corner and he swallows.

“So you listened to it already?”

“Yeah, I did.” He closes his eyes briefly, hanging his head, every apology in every language he knows sitting right behind his teeth. “But did you hear what I said?”

He frowns at you through those thick eyebrows. “What?”

“When I opened the door, did you hear what I said?”

“You said –,” that beautiful bottom lip parts from its sensual top and Frankie blinks at you. The oily blackness of shame has evaporated from his eyes, but that stormy fear rages on.

You inhale, breath getting caught on every knot in your spine, and step back.

“We need to talk.”

He glances once over his shoulder, as if taking in the hallway to your apartment for the last time, and he steps inside. Immediately his height and broadness fill out every empty space in your tiny living room and you’re launched back into the memory of when the boys came over for Christmas and there was hardly enough room for anyone, but somehow you all made it work and after four rounds of DDR, everyone was so tired and drunk, you passed out pillows and blankets and you spent your first adult Christmas at what could have been mistaken for a thirteen year old’s slumber party. It was one of the happiest times of your life.

His thick fingers clench and unclench when Frankie spies your phone on the floor, like a bomb waiting to go off.

Your brain struggles to default to hostess mode because you can’t think of anything to say.

Do you want coffee?

Do you want some cereal?

Do you want to–

“Tell me what happened last night.” You surprise yourself, Frankie, and your whirring brain by cutting right to it. As with the first question when you opened the door to him, there’s something inside of you that has taken on wings, spread them wide, and threatens to soar out of your body. Frankie’s here, he’s here, and he said he wants you –

He called you baby.

You breathe in, trying to scrape up some courage from the bottom of your lungs, wishing in the back of your mind under everything else that you’d chosen literally anything else to go to bed in than your Tweedie Bird shirt from Six Flags.

“I don’t understand, Frankie. Please help me understand.”

With a monumental sigh, he rubs his wide hand across his face and up into his hair, his other hand lifting his cap up off his head so his fingers can dig into his curls. It’s only then that you realize Benny’s cowboy hat he wore last night is gone and his tried and true Standard Oil ball cap is back. Meaning he must have gone home at some point. When did he realize (or remember) that he’d left you that voicemail?

“I’m gonna get my ass kicked,” he murmurs, eyes darting like a fox to your bedroom door. “Maybe that’s exactly what I deserve.”

“He’s not here.” This great thing arcs between you, the emptiness a presence and clarity all at the same time.

“What do you mean? Where is he?”

“We broke up.”

“When? Why?”

“Last night, after we left the bar. We got into an argument. He doesn’t like the way . . .”

Frankie – physically, mentally, emotionally, fundamentally – overwhelms you. He’s across the room in an instant, closer than you think he’s ever been before. But maybe this is the first and only time you’ve ever allowed yourself to enjoy it. Revel in his closeness and let this caged feeling in your chest break free. You touch his chest with the flat of your palm, the size of it, the breadth of him, staggering. You literally feel weak at the knees.

“He doesn’t like the way what?” His voice luxuriates in his throat – warm, deep. He sounds like what you imagine a hot spring feels like against your skin.

“He didn’t like the way I looked at you.” Your fingers make circles where they did into his shirt. His hands have found their way, after all this time, to your waist. “The way I always look at you, Frankie.”

His breath, subsequent to the ghost of his lips, across your forehead is so gentle it makes you close your eyes, to block out one sense to encourage another.

You feel him swallow even though he’s a foot away from you.

“Why –,” he stops, and starts again, just like on the phone call, “why do you look at me . . . when you have him?”

“Oh, Frankie.” His grip on your waist tightens as if you’re about to disappear forever. “I took him because I can’t have you.”

You blame the tears on the hangover, the headache, and the way he takes your chin between his thumb and knuckle.

Grateful.

He’s looking at you, eyes soft, mouth curved into a disbelieving smile, with gratitude.

“He’s the furthest thing from you because I tried to get you out of my system – I did – I promise. I can’t lose our friendship, Frankie, but it’s killing me . . . not having you. Nick said it was obvious the way I felt about you and that was a problem for our relationship, so he tried to make me choose between you and him and every time, without a doubt, I’ll always choose–,”

This is the right time, he supposes.

Hand over your cheek, he holds you still in silence to press his mouth to yours. The final word of your sentence dies on his tongue, muffled by a soft groan of surprise. Your breath is terrible, your skin is oily and damp, he knows he stinks like the bottom of a wet bar, but he can’t find himself to care. Your mouth opens to take him and the hand on your cheek sinks to your neck as you both move past the initial shock of I’m finally getting to do this and you’re not pulling away and into an actual, proper, deep kiss that sends sparks into his toes. Your tongue marks the bottom of his mouth, your arms going around his neck like you want more – you need more – and Frankie pulls back.

Not only because he’s slightly dizzy but because he a) won’t fuck you for the first time on your living room floor and b) absolutely will not do it hungover.

“Breakfast. Do you like . . . uhm, breakfast?” He can’t quite focus on a single spot on your face, eyes half-lidded and gaze blurred.

You giggle, letting his beard tickle your nose as you sneak your face into his neck. He sways a bit with you, his arms around your back, and you don’t think he’s even realizing what he’s doing.

“Yes, Frankie. I like breakfast. I eat it almost every day, in fact.”

He grunts, neck suddenly flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I mean –,”

“I know what you mean, baby.” You lean back and run your fingers through the thatch of curls at the back of his neck. Both of you are so grimy but you can’t care. “I’d love breakfast.”

Frankie smiles his Frankie smile and the thing in your chest is illuminated in gold.

“How do you feel about conchas?”

Translations:

Como tu amiga, te ruego que se lo digas. Por favor, no puedo hacer esto por mucho más tiempo. Estarías más feliz y ella estaría más feliz. No me mires así, sabes que lo único que quiere es que la beses y la beses y luego hagas otras cosas. = As your friend, I beg you to tell her. Please, I can't do this for much longer. You would be happier and she would be happier. Don't look at me like that, you know all she wants is for you to kiss her and kiss her and then do other things.

¡Estúpido! ¿La llamaste? = Idiot! Did you call her?

Déjame en paz. Voy a decirle. Ella lo sabrá. = Leave me alone. I am going to tell her. She will know.

#SpaceSistersSecretValentine #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales #pedro pascal characters

611 notes · View notes

incorrectbatfam · 10 months

Note

Bruce broke his foot (again) and now someone needs to fill in as Batman. Who's donning the cowl and who's making calls to get off the planet so they don't have to do it?

Bruce: Casting calls are now live.

Duke, nervously getting onstage: Hi.

*microphone squeaks*

Duke: M-my name is Duke Thomas and I'm auditioning for the role of Batman.

Bruce: Show me what you got.

Duke: *clears his throat*

Duke, reading from a script: "Stop right there, Joker! Your days of evildoing have come to a—"

Duke: Actually, I have some notes. From a writer's standpoint, this reads less like the Dark Knight and more like a 60s sitcom.

Bruce: Next!

Selina: What better person to be Batman than the woman who has him wrapped around her finger?

Bruce: You know that's not how it works.

Selina: I've been practicing my quick change so I can be both of us in one fight. Come on, Bat. Can't bend the rules for the love of your life?

Bruce: I love you, but next!

Tim: I'm auditioning for the non-dictator Batman.

Bruce: Not taking any chances. Next!

Cassandra: *flips onstage in a series of elaborate acrobatics*

Cassandra: *beats the training dummy*

Bruce: Impressive. Now, I'll give you a scenario and you act it out as if you're Batman, okay?

Cassandra: *nods*

Bruce: A lost child walks up to you. What's the first thing you say?

Cassandra: You will make an excellent Robin.

Bruce: Yes—I mean, no. No. Next person, please.

Dick: I don't get why I have to audition. I mean, I was Batman.

Bruce: Hm, you're right. Let's give someone else a turn. Next!

Jason, in an improvised costume: I am the darkness. I am the night. I am...

Jason: *whips out guns*

*BANG BANG BANG*

Bruce: Next!

Stephanie: Can I try out?

Bruce: Sure, why not. Let's say you're negotiating a hostage situation. What do you say?

Stephanie: I'll give you Bruce Wayne's credit card if you let these people go.

Bruce: Next!

Barbara: I have programmed an advanced speaker system that will project your grunt from every gargoyle in the city.

Bruce: Grunting doesn't send people to Arkham. Next!

Damian: *walks in*

Bruce: No.

Bruce: Last one left is Kate.

Kate: Don't look at me, I'm just trying to find my keys.

Bruce, groaning: Patrol's in an hour. How am I gonna find a replacement?

Alfred: Master Bruce, perhaps I can substitute for you on the field.

Bruce: Thanks for offering, but I can't let you put yourself in danger like that.

Alfred: Then might I suggest, as Ms. Kyle said, bending one of your rules?

Bruce: Hm...

[later]

Joker: With a push of a button, I'm going to send this entire street sky high!

Clark dressed as Batman: Not if I can help it.

Joker: What is this, some sort of flying device?

Clark: Some changes were made.

Joker: Like what?

Diana, dressed as Batman: Like this.

Diana: *lassoes the Joker*

Joker: There's two of you?!?

Ollie, dressed as Batman, perched on a gargoyle: A little more than that.

Dinah, dressed as Batman: And we have some new tricks up our sleeve. Like this.

Dinah: *screams*

Arthur, dressed as Batman, bursting from the sewer: And this.

Arthur: *catches Joker in a whirlpool*

Hal, dressed as Batman, pointing his ring: And this.

Hal: *traps Joker in a ball*

J'onn, dressed as Batman: May I?

Zatanna, dressed as Batman: I want in too.

Hal: Okay, all of us on the count of three.

Everyone: *bounces Joker back to Arkham*

Barry, dressed as Batman: *runs in late*

Barry: Aw man, I missed it!

2K notes · View notes

noirscript · 3 months

Text

silent servitude

WARNING/S! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. YANDERE. noncon; breeding; powerplay; biting; slightly descriptive sex scenes; f!reader

One must abide by His Majesty's every rule.

It was a phrase you often hear from other servants in the castle from the moment you joined them as your mother's apprentice. A phrase that helped them survive the dog-eat-dog world inside the palace walls.

“You're not expected to excel in your work, but do not even think about failing the task given to you.” Your mother grabbed your shoulders with a squeeze. “Do you understand, my child?”

You nodded your head as you tightened your grip on your skirt. “Yes, mother.”

She lightly tap your cheek before placing a lasting kiss on your forehead. “Go on, dear. I will see you before sunset.”

You looked around your surroundings before hesitantly nodding. For some reason, you can't seem to ignore what you've been feeling from the moment you entered the servant's gate. As if someone's watching your every move.

The path inside the dark tunnel was short, but for you, the time seemed to slow down. Your feet felt heavy to take one step forward after another. Like it was keeping you from going any further.

“You've arrived,” a middle-aged woman spoke while standing in the midst of the desolate area, few steps from where you came from. “Follow me.”

You scanned your surroundings, a poor attempt in remembering the path where you came from. However, the more you walk further and further away from the path that leads to your mother, the more you could sense something ominous was about to occur.

“Are you listening?”

You bowed your head and apologized.

“Stand tall and look at me,” she ordered. “In this castle, you must keep your eyes and ears open at all times. Do not even try to let your mind wander elsewhere. If you don’t want to suffer any consequences.”

Your body shook. You tried to speak, but your voice broke. However, when you nodded your head in desperation, the woman simply turn around and started to list down the rules within that castle.

“Do you even know why you're here?”

“T-To train to become my m-mother's replacement...”

The woman sneered. “If that'll help you sleep at night.”

After giving you a tour around an area that only a handful of servants can access, she led you towards a gated path that lead towards a small chateau in the middle of a small open field inside the castle walls.

The chateau, albeit small compared to the colossal main palace, was still bigger than your home. You also noticed the crawling vines on its walls, and as well as its tinted windows that kept its interior hidden from prying eyes.

“You will keep this place in order. You may not ask for anyone's help. You will only work here alone. Your food will be provided by one of the servants, but do not let anyone else inside the chateau.”

“But my lady...”

“That is all you need to know.” She looked down at your stature before clicking her tongue. “Stupid commoners.”

With that, she left you on your own.

THINKING BACK, you should've realized the message behind her poisonous words. Nobody would think that it is normal for a servant to clean an entire chateau within the day all by themselves.

That doing such chore might result to an inevitable mishaps that forces one to change their attire. Something that might force them to take every piece of clothing from themselves.

“Y-Your Majesty, please forgive this commoner from—” you felt one of his large, calloused hand caressing your face while the other hand pulled you closer to his bare body.

“Kept that mouth shut before I do it myself,” he whispered against your cheek before slightly biting it. “Who would've thought that this would be an easy chase?”

Callix, the reigning monarch, is known for his compassion towards the commoners. Some people would even see him interact with the lowest of the poor during their darkest moment, providing them hope and warmth.

But as you writhe beneath him, allowing him to touch every inch of your body as he please, made you doubt everything you heard about him.

After savoring your heat, he aligned his thick member against your quim. Callix grabbed you by your cheeks and forced you to meet his gaze.

“Please...” you pleaded, but he only swallowed all your pleas and cries as he penetrated your tight walls.

When your first intercourse with him ended almost immediately, you believed that he would let you go. That he would order you leave and never show yourself in front of him.

But after resting his head against the crook of your neck, he suddenly grabbed your ankles and pushing it apart.

You could feel his cum gush out of your quim, but Callix was far from satisfied.

That night alone, he ravished your body until the morning sun has risen.

When you woke up, you felt the coldness of the heavy iron wrapped around your ankles.

“You're awake,” you heard his voice from somewhere in the room. “I have some news for you. So, open your eyes.”

You tried to open your eyes, but for some reason, your eyelids felt heavy.

“Are you disobeying my orders?” he asked while gritting his teeth.

“Open your eyes!” he demanded as he grab your cheeks tightly.

You tried your best to open at least one of your eyes and look at him.

“There's my queen's beautiful eyes.” You could feel his hands all over your body as he leave kissing against your face. “Can you hear me, my queen?”

“M’not... queen...”

He chuckled before yanking your hair back, exposing your neck to him.

“You dare oppose me, hm?” he asked as he harshly nip your neck. “Are you forgetting who I am, my queen?”

How you wish you could simply forget who he is.

Quick note: This might be the start of some series. Let me know your thoughts :)

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere fic #yandere blog #yancore #yandere king #yandere royalty #dead dove do not eat #tw.noncon #tw.dark content #tw.breeding #tw.yandere #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #smut #yandere male

1K notes · View notes

queenshelby · 9 months

Text

Chemical Reactions (P. 1)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Smut in later parts, Age-Gap, Infidelity

Words: 1,867

Note: The fic is spoiler free and fantasy.

It was just before Christmas when you took up a scholarship at Berkley and, since you were young woman at the tender age of twenty-two, you still could not believe your luck.

You got in to one of the most sought-after courses in the US when it came to quantum physics, which was a field so new and progressive that, to many, its attributes appeared to be rather absurd whereas, to you, it was a way of understanding the world.

The class you had applied for was that of J Robert Oppenheimer who was a well-known physicist and whilst you had only ever read about his works in the academic papers at Harvard, you were eager to finally meet the man whose work impressed you so much.

Being female in the field of physics, however, came with a price. Your skills had often been disregarded because of your gender and being excluded from experiments was not unusual either. As such, you were cautious and kept your obvious excitement at bay as, no doubt, criticism was a concept that your fellow students knew just too well and, in your mind, it was always easy for others to criticise those who they did not yet know, i.e., the new and possibly only female student in their class.

***

On your first day, when you arrived to the impressive building, you realised that you were over twenty minutes early and this, too, was not surprising.

You were punctual most of the time and when you weaved your way through the building, you were surprised by how little time it took for you to find the lecture room, which, thankfully, was unlocked and had a few other students already inside.

You selected a seat one row from the front, in a spot that, to most professors, said "I am eager to learn” which you hoped was beneficial seeing that, at least for now, you were the only woman in the room.

“Would you be accepted by your peers?” you pondered, but your thoughts were quickly interrupted when, who you assumed to be your professor, entered the room.

He was a frail but attractive looking man, wearing a grey suit that was matched by a white shirt and a dark coloured tie. He was smoking cigarette and put his dark brown leather satchel on the table in front of him, rifling haphazardly through the mess of papers inside.

Against your will, you felt a displeased look settle onto your face. Is the professor's class going to be as disorganised as his abyss of a bag, you wondered? Were those other students' assignments in there, begging to be lost?

You smirked for a minute at the intrusion of your very own thoughts about Dr Oppenheimer before you instinctively pulled your cheek in between your teeth which just when more students began to fly in to the room.

“Oh look, someone must have gotten lost” one of them was quick to say with a grin as he had spotted you and your neatly laid out stationary.

“The biology classes are conducted down the hall, in the third room to the left” was what another one said, causing you to rise from your seat in order to speak up against this nonsense just before the professor himself did it for you.

“And what makes you presume that she is in the wrong room, Mr Handley?” Dr Oppenheimer asked almost sternly and his reaction most certainly surprised you as, until now, you did not think that he had even noticed you.

“She is a woman, sir” the man stammered somewhat reluctantly, causing the professor to furrow his eyebrows.

“And you presume that this prestigious establishment seeks to exclude women from studying in the field of physics?” Dr Oppenheimer then asked, causing you to grin silently. “That seems rather absurd, wouldn’t you agree?” he then went on to add, causing the young man to nod.

“Of course... I mean, of course not” the student stammered just before Dr Oppenheimer began to call roll which is something you did not even notice as you were too transfixed on his demure and the way he presented himself until, eventually, your hand shot up at the sound of your full name.

“Present” you said, feeling a blush coming to your cheeks as the class and Dr Oppenheimer looked at you, the latter's blue eyes lingering on you a bit longer than the others.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, not sure of the intention behind it and then, suddenly, he spoke:

"Miss Y/LN, now tell us, what have they been up to at Harvard these days? This is where you have transferred from, correct?” the professor then asked just as his look towards you intensified even more. His deep blue eyes were seeing right through you and yet you managed to answer him confidently.

“Not much in so far as the physics department is concerned, Dr Oppenheimer. In the last year we experimented with nuclear fission, but I assume that, considering the current political climate, so has everyone else. We then looked at metaphysics, stars, the universe…” you explained before sharing some of your findings and conclusions which impressed not only Dr Oppenheimer but also some of the other students.

When listening to you talk, it became obvious to him that you were rather intelligent even at such a young age and your interest in science was one of great significance.

“None of this is new” one of the students then said nonetheless after you finished your explanations and outlined your conclusions, to which you responded rather sharply yourself.

“I didn’t claim that it was. I simply answered Dr Oppenheimer’s question” you pointed out and the professor was quick to take your side again.

“And I appreciate your thorough explanation Miss Y/LN. It helped me understand where you are at when it comes to the presumed knowledge for my class” Dr Oppenheimer went on to say and you knew that, whatever the true reasons were behind his questions, his intent was not as innocent as he made it out to be. He wanted to know whether the physics department in Harvard knew more than the physics department at Berkley which, luckily for him, was not the case.

The entire profession was well aware of the ‘program’ about to implemented by the US government and several physicists and educational departments began to protect their research with more earnest for a chance to cash in on the war.

But, Dr Oppenheimer did not appear to be one of those reserved physicists who were just in it for themselves. To the contrary, he really cared about making a difference and his research to date was well known within in the industry. He did not mind sharing his findings even if they were inconclusive and you have heard many stories about how he enjoyed working in the faculty as part of a group rather than on his own.

He was a leader but also a team player and, as such, when he wrapped up his questions for the day and announced the research project for the coming days, every student around him broke out into appreciative chatter as you remained in your seat, slightly dumbfounded, as the students were broken up into four groups.

---

“You worked in experimental before, have you not?” Dr Oppenheimer asked as, after a little while, he approached you and the group to which he had assigned you.

“I am pleased to know that you have read my file Dr Oppenheimer” you smiled after giving him a nod, which too is when you realised just how handsome he truly was. He must have been in his late thirties and seeing a wedding ring on this man’s finger came as a disappointment to you.

“I have read all of my students’ files” Dr Oppenheimer assured you just as you stood awkwardly at your table for a moment, debating whether or not to take the courage to ask him the millions of questions you had for him already until, suddenly, he prompted you to do exactly that.

"Did you have a question for me?" Dr Oppenheimer asked innocently as if he could have read your mind.

“Uhm…” you paused while cursing yourself already for having started your sentence with that godforsaken 'uhm' which, in your opinion, made you sound like an idiot.

"Yes, actually. I was wondering if, with this formula, you have considered the possibility…” you began to question, seeing how he had arrived at the calculations already presented to you and, just as you spoke with such great determination, you trailed off a bit as his gaze intensified.

“Quite frankly, you lost me there, at the end of your calculations but that is not to say that you are wrong” Dr Oppenheimer said almost politely as you looked at him somewhat flustered, causing your fellow students to chuckle and whisper behind your back.

“I must have lost my own train of thought just then. I am sorry sir” you said with blushing red cheeks as all of your confidence flew out of the window and you suddenly became aware of the way he was standing, with his hands against his hips, and the way he looked all together.

“Don’t be sorry Miss Y/LN. In fact, I am interested in exploring that idea of yours further, perhaps even after today’s lessons if you have time” Dr Oppenheimer then said as he adjusted the way he stood and smiled.

“That would be my pleasure, sir” you responded as you watched him spread his arms out on the table in front of you, far past shoulder width. He was leaning on his hands, causing the veins on his forearms to bulge slightly, which were exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his white button-down shirt. He had his head tilted down a bit to look at you with those deep blue eyes until, eventually, he snapped out of his very own and somewhat intrusive thoughts which were thoughts you knew had nothing to do with quantum mechanics whatsoever.

Dr Oppenheimer then licked his lips lightly before speaking again, distracting you from the first few syllables of his sentence.

"Good, then please come and see when you finish for the day, Miss Y/LN. I will be right here, trying to figure out what you were on about” Dr Oppenheimer then said just as the bell began to ring and the students started to pack up their bags, seeing that most of them had experimental workshops to attend to in the afternoon which, of course, included you. You too had a workshop, which was one you did not look forward to.

“Yes doctor. I will see you this afternoon” you told him with a reluctant smile as you pulled your lab coat closer to your chest and forced your face to remain neutral, even as you felt the heat burning up your neck. You then gave him a curt "thank you" before lifting your chin and turning to leave.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

Tag List

@fastfan

@elenavampire21

@dolllol2405

@allie131313

@cilliansangel

@coldbastille

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@cdej6

@kathrinemelissa

@landlockedmermaid77

@crazymar15

@damedomino

@lauren-raines-x

@miss-bunny19

@skinny-bitch-juice

@odorinana

@cloudofdisney

@weepingstudentfishhorse

@allexiiisss

@geminiwolves

@letsstarsfalling

@ysmmsy

@chlorrox

@tommyshelbypb

@chocolatehalo

@music-lover911

@desperate-and-broken

@mysticaldeanvoidhorse

@peaky-cillian

@lelestrangerandunusualdeetz

@december16-1991

@captivatedbycillianmurphy

@romanogersendgame

@randomfangirl2718

@missymurphy1985

@peakyscillian

@lilymurphy03

@deefigs

@theflamecrystal

@livinginfantaxy

@rosey1981

@hanster1998

@fairypitou

@zozeebo

@kasaikawa

@littleweirdoalien

@sad-huffle-nerd

@theflamecrystal

@0ghostwriter0

@stylescanbeatmyback

@1-800-peakyblinders

@datewithgianni

@momoneymolife

@mcntsee

@janelongxox

@basiclassy

@being-worthy

@chaotic-bean-of-smolness

@margoo0

@vhscillian

@crazymar15

@im-constantly-fangirling

@namelesslosers

@littlewhiterose

@ttzamara

@cilleveryone

@peaky-cillian

@severewobblerlightdragon

@dolllol2405

@pkab

@babaohhhriley

@littleweirdoalien

@alreadybroken-ts

@masteroperator

@stevie75

@shabzy96

@rainbow12346

@obsessedwithfandomsx

@geeksareunique

@laysalespoir

@paigem00

@lkarls

@vamp-army

@luckystarme

@myjumper

@gxorg

@eline-1806

@goldenharrysworld

@cristinagronk16

@stylesofloki

@faatxma

@slut-for-matt-murdock

@tpwkstiles

@myjumper

@cloudofdisney

@look-at-the-soul

@smellyzcat

@kittycatcait219

@theliterarybeldam

@being-worthy

@layazul

@lyn07

@kagilmore

@50svibes

@mainstreetlilly

@ourthatgirlabby

@bitchwhytho

@takethee

@registerednursejackie

@sofi128

@mrkdvidal1989

@minxsblog

@heidimoreton

@laylasbunbunny

@queenshelby

@camilleholland89

@forgottenpeakywriter

@vintagecherryt

@indierockgirrl

@mrkdvidal1989

@bluesongbird

@dudde-44

@gasolinesavages

@kissforvoid

@bluebird592

@1eugenia1isabella1

@esposadomdp

@lulunalua23

@lovelace42

@bookklover23

@iwantmyredvelvetcupcake

@moonmaiden1996

@marlenamallowan

@cyphah (cannot tag)

@majesticcmey

@cleverzonkwombatsludge

@throughgoeshamilton

@alessioayla

@elenavampire21

@justforfiction

@cilliansangel

@alannielaraye

@satellitelh

@pandoramyst

@duckybird101

@snixx2088

@kylianswag

@alessioayla

@pono-pura-vida

@iraisbored69

@howling-wolf97

@aesthetic0cherryblossom

@weirdo-rules

@lovemissyhoneybee

@dazaiscum

@esposadomd

@etherealkistar

@ur--mommy

@throughgoeshamilton

@celverzonkwombatsludge

@cyphah

@atomicsouldcollecto

@heidimoreton

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #Oppenheimer #oppenheimer x reader #j robert oppenheimer #j robert oppenheimer x reader #robert oppenheimer

2K notes · View notes

explicit-tae · 7 months

Text

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

796 notes · View notes