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ctrlhope · 9 months ago

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Bound By Blood (m)

synopsis: A servant to the state since birth, forced to work for the royal family until you die. These are the conditions that have granted you life, yet are they are the same ones that can take everything away. He can take everything away. But he would never, for you are his future, his eternity.

k.taehyung x f.reader

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 16.0k

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: genre: royalty au, soft yandere, fluff, smut, smidge of angst

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: content: soft yandere!prince!taehyung, maid!reader, power imbalance, talks about death/violence, blood, slight predator/prey dynamics, manipulation, misunderstandings, dom!tae, tae calls reader lamb, oral (f.receiving), marriage related dirty talk, virginity kink/loss of virginity, size kink, praise, reader is fucked dumb, implied kissing reader while she sleeps, implied offscreen somno, implied stalking, ownership, tae is rlly sweet and adorable

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: notes: hello!!! this was meant to be a drabble but as you can see it spiralled out of control lmao. i got a little hyper fixated (and grew a really bad crush on this taehyung) so it ended up being way longer than i initially thought! regardless, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it!!

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The Kim Empire.

Your home, your family, your livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

They practically brandish your mind, have been since you were no more than a babe. Stuck in the clutches of everything Kim since you were born. Your mother a maid, your father gone from the face of the earth. At least as far as you are concerned he is, anyway.

He is better off dead. The alternative of him living scott free in some far off land, meanwhile you have to serve the hand and foot of the king sets no more than the bitter taste of coffee beans against your gums.

Bedding your mother, no more than a fresh-faced maid at the time. Outcasting her the second after when he had to have known the rules of the palace. The demise it would cost both her and her future daughter. Perhaps every generation that followed as well– if there were to be any, that is.

Housestaff are not meant to have relationships. They are meant to serve the king and his bountiful family. How are you meant to do anything else with a child bouncing at your hip, a husband grabbing at your ass.

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times. The words ingrained in your skull just as the brand you received when you were far too young to remember the pain of it. Evidence that you are bound to the palace by blood until the very moment you take your last breath.

The punishment for becoming pregnant within the walls of the palace are simple: your child belongs to them. For anything within the Kim Estate is their rightful property, given to them by the grace of god.

You, a gift from god to serve the empire. You would snort at the notion if training from a young age prohibited it. You are just a result of your mothers kindness, her naivety.

You could never find it within your heart to blame her. She was just a girl who thought she was in love. Fired for her love. Had her daughter taken from her to serve for her love.

Love is something you will never be granted the property of.

You will be granted an allowance to send home to your mother to keep her afloat. You will be granted a room to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat. A secure job in which you can never be fired– well. That is a lie. Though, your termination would come at the end of an axe, rather than a piece of paper.

You used to muse at the thought– when you were a young girl, no more than 11 or 12. Going through your melancholy years, hating the rest of the world for simply existing. For putting you in a position where you could not change your fate, instead had to endure your present. Feeling like a girl trapped in a tower just like the bedtime stories had always prescribed.

One time you had caused such a ruckus in front of the oldest Kim son you really did think you were going to get the axe. Hell, you were even prepared for it. Locked away in a cell for two nights, brought before the executor.

Right before the swing was meant to be brought down against your neck the head maid ran into the room, gave some sort of letter to the man. She apologised profusely, gripping your ear and dragging you away from the scene.

You hadn’t acted ary since then. It taught you your place. Made you realise the need to survive buried deep within your bones. In the innate way some sort of wildcat would lash out until it was bloodied and on its last breath.

You would not die at the end of a knife. You’d live your life, acting a maid until you could die peacefully of old age. Even if it meant surrendering yourself to servitude for the most annoying brat you’ve ever laid eyes on.

A quiet sigh slips past your lips at the mere thought of him. The sound would get you punished if anyone were to hear, especially in respect to the coveted crown prince of the kingdom. Few share the same opinion as you of him– but then again most that work here aren’t forced.

It is only when the stars are strung high in the sky that you allow yourself to feel such things. When you stay awake past the beginning of rest hours, most of the staff (save for the night shift) falling to sleep hours prior. Only then when you’re out in the gardens do you allow indignation to satiate your brain.

For the few hours of freedom you may hold dear until the next morning begins and you are forced to live the same day once more. Over and over again until the end of time.

Your fingertips reach out as you walk, bruised from the scrubbing of floors, to find purchase against the walls of flowers rimming the maze. Rough fingertips dance against the gentle petals of roses, lulling in the feeling. Picking themselves against the thorns without much of a thought, not withdrawing. Only pausing feet to observe.

How can something so delicate and beautiful wish to cause harm? It does not. It simply desires a way to survive. You could never fault it for that.

“Pretty, are they not?” A dark, husky voice sends cold down your spine. Hairs become on edge, back straightens taught, ears perk just as if you are an obedient dog. Fear flashing through your entire being.

You do not wish to turn around. Do not have any want to face the man that has caught the air in your lungs. The one catching you in the garden without any proper attire in place. Though you must. You must bow, grovel at his feet for forgiveness for allowing him to see you in your nightgown. For not being in bed as you should.

Prince Kim has never been known for being kind.

Your body acts for you while your mind sets on pause– taking several steps forward, bending your body at the hips to give a proper 90 degree bow. Your hands clasp before you, hair coming down in front of your face.

“Prince Kim–” You rush, suddenly out of breath, “Please forgive my insolence. I-I am not of right attire or mind to be standing in front of his excellency right now. Nor should I be excused for touching the property of the palace. I have no proper excuse and any punishment you decide will be deserving. Please forgive me.” The words recite from your lips like a bible– instruction of them being heard time and time again.

Cold night air whips at your ankles, fluttering the gown around your ankles. The chill only adding to the cold sweat you’ve discovered has perspired. Making your hair dance around your shoulders.

You expect something, anything really. A slap, a single word. Though there is only silence in response. Silence that extends far too long and feels far too pungent for your taste. If he was going to do something, you rather he just get it over with.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear the baritone of his voice once more.

“Pretty, are they not?” He asks again, repeating the same sentiments as before. Confusion bristles through as a kite in the summer air. Why is he asking you this? Is he not annoyed he caught a maid in such a level of disrobement? What is he trying to gain? What does he want?

All the questions you do not have any hope to answer rush through you causing you to feel confused and incomposed. Every boring lesson you were forced to sit through never taught you how to deal with this exact situation. You aren’t sure what he wants, nor your place in the garden. The thought scares you.

Against your better judgement, you allow your chin to tilt up only slightly. Only enough to look at the man– to try and read the expression on his face so you can better analyse your next action.

The shock you feel when you find his face is only inches from your own, frame bent down to make his eyes level with yours is something you cannot explain in words alone.

You would prefer to scream and run, however that is not an option at this moment, or so it appears. Instead, your eyes only widen in shock, in trepidation. Your mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as you stare.

Never before have you made eye contact with a member of the family. Never before have you had the luxury to view one so close. In any other circumstance, you suppose, you would surely be punished for such a thing. Someone lower should never view a future king in such a way.

You wish you could say he was a heinous, ugly beast for hatred of the palace alone. Yet you can’t, for he isn’t. He is beautiful.

Sure, you knew that already. Paintings of him are plastered across the walls– his face is everywhere eyes are able to reach. Yet this close, at this angle, you can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat. Can’t help but admire every facet of his complexion before being thrown in front of the lion again.

A gorgeous, blinding smile wipes across his face the moment you face him. Lips forming into an adorable box after he finally has your attention fully drawn on him. You’re startled back once again, sending your brain into a further whirlwind than before.

He desires an answer.

“I um… Yes. I suppose they are.” You nod slowly in response, following in his footsteps as he returns to full height.

You must follow his lead– it is how you will survive.

You usher a stray lock of hair over your shoulder, trying to stop it from hitting your face. The air starts to become stale again, feeling empty in the lack of his reply. It is awkward, and the way he stares at you, eyes darting around your face– your figure, has you feeling in some sort of girlish, embarrassed way.

You think you dislike the feeling.

“Are you a fan of roses?” His arms are pulled behind him, wrapped together as he bounces on his toes in something that looks like… boyish delight? The muddle of your brain can't help to understand a single thing. He is making no sense, trying to make conversation with you. Trying to find a morsel of companionship in someone who is meant to bow to him like he is the true god of your mortal plain.

You will have to oblige until he allows you to depart.

“I suppose so.”

He frowns. Try again.

“I adore them, the palace always has the most gorgeous petals all year round.” You smile at him, hoping it masks any discomfort you feel.

The smile returns to his own lips as he begins to walk. Tilting his head to you as a cue to join him. You try to keep your paces a few behind his own, a maid should never walk beside a member of the family. Though he only slows in response, matching your gate even though it is obvious he hates having to slow down.

Why is he behaving in this manner? It makes no sense to you.

“The flower of devotion.” He nods, breaking the silence once more and keeping his eyes straight ahead.

You almost want to admire his profile– the gentle curve of his nose, yet you refrain. Training your eyes ahead, keeping your fingers laced in front of you. Trying to look as put together as possible at this moment.

“Is it?” You quiz, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind it. Unbothered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose, flowing sleep pants.

“Of many other things, as well.” He nods, sending a slight smile at you.

“I don’t know much about the language of flowers.” Though it feels wrong to be talking with Prince Kim so casually, you try your best. The more you give in, mayhaps the sooner he’ll bore and the faster you will be able to run from the cage.

“Tell me your favourite, maybe I can tell you its meaning.” He pauses and you find yourself at the foot of the gazebo. He reaches out his hand, offering to help you up the small stairs of it.

All over again you find yourself taken aback. The prince is requesting that you touch him, not for his service, but your own. He desires to help you. Is for some reason treating you like a lady.

You don’t understand it, yet with great hesitation you oblige. You place your hand on his much larger one, allowing it to encase it. Help you up the stairs.

“I don’t know many…” You hope he cannot hear the hesitation in your tone, “Though I’ve always been fond of lilies.” You tell him, attempting to pull your hand away from his own as you reach the top.

He doesn’t allow it, keeping your small palm tight in his own. Fear trickles in once more, circling around your heart, constricting it.

You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him in the slightest. It is here where you shall face punishment for all the previous misdemeanours committed. White stone shall be painted with red and you will be left to your own devices to clean up the mess.

Your lungs start to take in more air, though of course you try to disguise it. Turning around to face him, to discover why he has kept you held firm, air is leaving your lungs for another reason entirely.

He holds your hand close, examining your fingers. Tilting it back and forth, smoothing his thumb over the back of your skin. If he takes note of the little dots of red, he doesn’t make comment of it. He only curls his fingers upwards, hooking against your own. Bringing your hand up to his lips as if it was the most delicate thing on earth. Staring at them with a passion you doubt you’ve ever seen before.

“Rebirth.” His breath fans across your knuckles, slowly lowering to place a gentle kiss against the skin. His lips are soft, so gentle against your weary flesh. So full of safety, so full of song.

When he retracts, he pulls away no more than a millimeter, though his grip tightens.

“Purity.”

Your first meeting with the prince had left you with a flurry of emotions, none of which you could hope to syphon through. For hours he kept you in the gazebo, sitting with you. Talking until it appeared the sun was cresting over the horizon.

He refused to release your hand the entire time. His fingers playing with your own, perhaps obsessed with the feeling of your tiny hand laced with his own pristine skin. Did not pay any attention the several times you tried to excuse yourself, only changing the subject of conversation to try and keep you in place.

It was strange. Confusing. You did not understand the reasoning or cause behind any of his actions.

Well, at least until the next morning while you were scrubbing the floors. Your friend Annabell cleaning right by your side. Catching up, gossiping about the new recruits found in the manner. It is only times like these when you actually get the chance to talk, to giggle with someone meant to be your equal in both age and house status.

The only chance you’re truly able to forget about the fact she is able to leave once her contract expires. But it does not matter– any small amount of spite you hold is slashed away by her kind smile. The understanding in her eyes as she treats you like just another maid set to work for the king instead of a captive.

It is only after the 7th yawn of the morning she asks about the poorly covered bags under your eyes. You had gone to bed with the rest of the girls, there is no reason you should be so tired. You never appear to be, at least it is not shown around others.

You struggle with yourself for a moment, trying to decide whether the night before was meant to be kept as a closely guarded secret to your chest. Yet one look at your closest confidant had you spilling everything.

The entire night– the stars, the flowers, the way he prattled on. How tight he gripped your dirty, calloused hand against his pristine soft ones.

You feel strange speaking of it, remembering it in any way. It causes your cheeks to heat and a fury to settle below your ribs.

It is a strange feeling, yet not an entirely unwanted one.

Your eyes train to the floor as you spill your soul, unable to keep it in once it starts pouring out. You try to keep your tone as neutral as possible– to tell her about the night as if it was a simple news story you heard from a guard. Though, you’re unsure of your success in the matter.

A poised laugh leaves the lips of your counter, her eyes cresting into half-moons.

“You cannot be serious right? You tell stories.” She giggles, shaking her head before continuing her assault on the floor.

You simply shake your own.

“It happened, I was as shocked in the moment as you seem to be now.” She lets out a small bellow of giggles once again.

“No, no. I believe it happened entirely. I’m only talking about the fluster of your face.” She giggles, lifting her rag and shaking it for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile.

“There is no such thing.” You laugh knowing that there is.

“Oh my heavens. Y/n, you cannot tell me you’ve grown fond of the Prince, have you?” Her words are hushed now, much more so than before. As if someone may be listening to the conversation.

You tense in reply, unsure of the answer yourself. The closest you’ve ever felt to fondness of another man was a stable boy a few years back. Only 17 at the time, head wrapped in romance novels that you didn’t entirely understand. He was handsome and he was kind. However just as you were starting to become closer to him, he was sent away to work at another palace.

You had not been optimistic since then.

She takes your silence as an answer in itself. Moving towards you, gripping your shoulders and hauling you to sit on your haunches. Forcing you to look at her face as she speaks.

“You cannot be serious.” She repeats again, hoping for any sign of doubt. All she receives is bewilderment in reply, “Y/n. You can never trust Prince Kim.”

You sigh, “I know, Anne, I–” You’re cut off with her own voice again.

“No, not in the way you’re imagining.” She sighs, letting her hands drop from your shoulders to continue scrubbing at the floor. Making work of herself as she speaks, “The other maids don’t tell you of much, do they?”

You can’t deny it. Your seclusion within the castle walls is only partly of your own design.

Other maids do not feel as though they can trust you, seeing as you are full property of the crown. In their eyes, you hold not a crumb of loyalty to your own kind. Few maids speak to you like Annabell does for fear the second they say anything wrong you are going to tell the world.

You would never, though your word is worth its weight in feathers to them.

“They don’t care for me as you do… no…” You admit, continuing to clean as well. She already knew the answer, letting out an exhale before she speaks.

“Prince Kim has a pension for… debauchery… I shall say,” She flinches at her own words, yet doesn’t know a better way to put it, “The variety in which he uses pretty words to seduce young ladies to bed with him. Royalty from other lands, general’s daughters, maids. It matters not. He likes them for the night then pretends they shall never exist again.”

Each word she speaks sends another stab into your gut. A dull pain blooming from the same places which a swirling was forming before.

Ah. It all makes sense now.

“Oh.”

“He has a particular fondness for the other maids, you know. Bedding them without a second thought.” A grimace forms on your friend's lips, scrubbing harder into the already shining floors, “There is no reason to form any sort of affection for that man. It will only end with his seed inside your core and a knife in your heart.”

Yes, everything she is saying makes perfect sense. You feel almost stupid to not see it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it– want to think about it in any sort of fashion. But this makes much more sense than the crown prince wanting to speak to you for any other purpose. Explains why he was acting as a true gentleman to someone so much lower than him.

However, you find that it does not take away the cavernous pit that has formed in your gut.

“I see, I have no desire for either.” You nod your head in understanding, not sure of what else to say. “I don’t understand why he’s taken an interest in me, though.”

She gawks, “I don’t understand why it has taken him so long to in the first place.” She shakes her head.

“Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Y/n, you must promise me. You will not fall for him, nor give any part of yourself to him. He is not someone that will care for you like you deserve.” She states, blue eyes piercing icicles into your own. She is determined and will not relent until you agree.

“I do not wish to. Not after hearing all of…” You make some sort of motion with your hand, “that. Anyone would be a fool to like him.”

You nod your head while Annabell smiles in agreement.

“Good.”

Those are the last words you exchange with anyone for hours. The rest of the day passed by with lightning, an endless turnstile of things to take care of. A ball was to be held soon meaning the castle would be a wreck for the next few days. Too much planning, cleaning, sewing, coordination had to take place before anyone could rest.

Honestly, you were grateful for it. A break from thinking was much needed. As is a good night’s rest.

You sigh, already imagining how lovely it would feel to pull off your shoes for the day. Peel the cotton off your body and replace your dress with something more comfortable.

Oo! Hopefully enough warm water will be left for a quick bath. That would be just wonderful, your muscles would be able to unfurl. The perfect thing to lull you into a glorious sleep.

Your arms stretch over your head as you finish descending the staircase into the maid hallways. Bones in your back pop from the pressure, causing a sigh to make its way from your lungs. Your nimble fingers make their way to the ribbon holding your hair in place, untying it and allowing the tresses to fall.

Soon you would be in the maid resting quarters– your appearance would matter not there anyway.

You send small smiles to other staff members passing you, those that have either just woken for the night or those who still have work to do. Yet in return, each one of them just stares at you with an incredulous look. Turning and whispering to their friends as if you were not still in front of them.

You can’t help to understand why. Those around you may not have considered you a friend, but they were never rude. Always polite when need be. It has you feeling strange, some type of nervousness as you get closer and closer to the hallway extending to the maids personal rooms.

Rounding the corner, you discover exactly why.

His frame looks entirely out of place standing there. A perfect, pristine picture in a hallway of drab, illuminated only by the lanterns hanging on the wall. Royal blue tunic draped on his shoulders only emphasising his status.

He looks as though he was never meant to be here. Like a mistake was made along the cobblestone walls. No, he looks as though he is meant to be among the living. Not in your dreary, windowless life. Nothing could change that.

You stand there frozen, a deer caught in the lanturn of a hunting party. A pounding of your heart, as well as the dark swell of your gut coming back to life. Why is he here? Why the hell does he have a bouquet of flowers?!

You wish to scream, but you don’t. You have already been caught.

His eyes look up from where he created a small pile of dirt on the floor. His face coming alight in an instant, pushing himself to full stature from where he once leaned against the wall. Long legs making their way towards you while he suddenly has the decency to hide the bouquet behind his back.

Annabell certainly did not mention this method of Prince Kim’s seduction. You had never seen him down here before.

“Hi.” Is all he says once he is finally face to face with you. His face bright and youthful. Excited.

It seems all formalities have been dropped in his mind, though you refuse the notion.

“Prince Kim.” You simply reply, lowering yourself in a curtsy.

He pays no mind, almost pretending you never did it in the first place. Instead, he simply rocks back and forth on his heels, bouncing slightly in delight. Wanting something, unable to voice it.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, hoping to end the encounter swiftly to stop all of the prying eyes leering into your being.

“I brought you something.” His eyes do not break contact with yours once and you can see his hand twitch by his side as if it wants to reach out for something. You're glad he has the decency to hold back, so you shall do the same by pretending you never saw the flowers in the first place.

You choose not to ask yourself why he brought you a present. It must just be a trick of seduction.

“I am honoured to accept such a thing.” You send a small smile his way, something between real and fake. It seems to make him beam.

His arm comes out from behind, holding the flowers between both of your bodies. You look down at them, shock written across your features.

Sure, you had noted them as flowers before. But you think these may be the prettiest ones you’ve seen in your whole life. Petals of orange, white, and purple cloud in your eyes. Stomatas filled with the sweet pollen.

Lilies. All different kinds– ones you’ve never seen before.

They’re out of season, at least you think they are. How did he get these? Why is he giving them to you? Why is he trying to get the butterflies to return? Why is he trying to make your heart explode?

“Prince Kim…” You’re not sure what to say– instead gently reaching out to feel the velvet of a petal. Staring intently at their colours, unable to pull your eyes away.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His voice is a husk of a whisper, as if you’re the only two in the hallway. As if other maids are not passing, as if they are not staring at the two of you.

“Yes… I… I’m not sure what to say.” It is all so hypnotic.

“Thank you would be a good beginning, no?” His smile is soft, a light chuckle present in the tone.

You pause, tilting your head to look up at him fully– a large, real smile donning your lips.

“Yes. Thank you.”

You feel as if you are floating, just as you would when reading those romance books in your late teen years. Like the world has stopped moving save for the prince in front of you slowly passing the flowers into your arms.

Your hands brush against each other and you feel his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slight. Wishing to grab onto your hand just as he had done the night before. Wishing to insect every line that traces over your fresh once more.

However, he refrains. Allowing his ringed fingers to sink themselves into his pockets.

“I was just going to have them delivered. I’m not really meant to be down here, you know,” His smile is shy, “But I didn’t know your room. That, and I wanted to see you again.”

You look down, unable to keep the eye contact he presses you for. Prince Kim is too much for you. You don’t understand how he couldn’t be too much for anyone.

“Oh…” You’re a flush, “Thank you for saying that.”

“It is nothing to thank me for.” He chuckles, bangs dimming the hues of his eyes, “I’m sure I bored you with all of my ramblings.”

He did, partly, but that was more discombobulation for the situation and a sense of tiredness creeping into your bones. You shake your head quickly.

“Of course not. I had.. Fun.” Mayhaps fun isn’t the right term, yet there is no word that exactly describes your emotions of last night, nor the ones of today.

“As did I.” His lips are tight in a smile again, feet bouncing on their heels once more. He’s nervous, wants to say something again but isn’t sure how.

You’re not sure how to feel about learning what that habit means. Not sure how to feel about what any of this means. You have not had a moment alone to truly dissect what all of it is.

“I would love to spend the night talking to you again, if you would allow me.” You don’t think you would love anything more, yet you know you would not be able to function. Would probably make a fool of yourself, too.

“I-I think it would be best if I were to get some rest… I had not even an hour before I had to start working last night.”

He frowns, “That’s not good for your health…” He pauses, searching your face for any signs of distress, “Then let's talk in your room. I will only stay until you sleep.”

You pause, air drifting back into your lungs.

Ah. Right.

The words of your friend sink in once again, breaking you out of whatever trance he had put you under. Whatever spell he laced through both of your ears to have you singing songs of praises for him and the crown.

He wants you as a notch in a bedpost. Nothing more. It is clear as day and you are a fool to think anything other than that. This is all just a cleverly rehearsed show. You will not fall victim like your mother.

All royalty is the same. Use use use. Beat a dead horse until it stops coughing up any sort of reprise.

Your posture is suddenly tense, fist gripping the flowers so tight your knuckles appear white.

How dare he think so low of you. How dare he think he might be able to fuck you for nothing.

“Men are not allowed in the women's private quarters.” Your voice is staunch, though it is not as if he can tell nor cares.

If he does, he doesn’t show it.

“Ah,” The lilt is still evident in his tone, the cat playing with the mouse, “But I am not any man, am I?” His body leans a bit closer, pulling his face parallel to your own. Smirk playing on his lips.

Beauty is a deceptive thing, isn’t it? “When I am king I’ll make it so I can see you whenever we both desire.” Something heats in your gut at those words, yet anger quells it just as fast.

“It is a shame that you are not King yet, then.” You nod politely in his direction, trying to excuse yourself. Yet your words only seem to excite something in his eyes, lighting a fire behind them.

“My, I didn’t know you felt that way.” He smiles coy. A flustered sensation overcomes you as you realise the double meaning behind your words. You had made it sound like you wanted him in that way when that could not be farther from the truth.

“I do not.” You state, your voice ice. Though once again, it seems that it does not pierce him.

“There is no reason to be so cold, Y/n.” He sing songs, tapping one of his long fingers against the side of his head.

“I am not being cold! You are just not listening.” You sigh in exasperation. Exhaustion and annoyance make you forget yourself, causing your volume to rise just as his own does. This only seems to excite him more.

“I have heard enough.” He giggles, boyish and what others would describe as cute. Right before you’re able to argue back once again, he cuts in with his own voice once more.

“I will leave you for now. Find a pretty place for the flowers.”

He smiles generously at you, beginning to walk away, “Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.”

In your shamble of a disposition, you’re left stuck there. Staring at his back as he retreats down the hallway.

The shock of everything that had just transpired coming over you all at once. How poorly you had behaved. How you spoke to him. He could have you killed for any one of those things however instead he left you with a bouquet of flowers and a promise for another night.

You scramble to find yourself, to move yourself from out of the eyeline of every other maid. To make your way to your room, your one sanctuary as quickly as possible.

It is only when you’re in those walls, hard oak door shut firmly beside you that you have to remind yourself of your promise to your best friend. Remember that the prince fights his battles with words and emotions.

Your second meeting with the man had left you even more confused than the first. Thousands of questions and emotions real through your bones at a pace your brain can’t manage to understand. Leaves you fuming, trying to form a single coherent thought as you analyse the last two nights with a ferocity unimagined.

In your state, however, you neglect to think of the one question that should be dancing before you, held on a string just out of reach.

Why did he know your name?

It is apparent that since that night, Prince Kim has located which room you find habitance in.

This morning, another letter has found itself slipped under the base of your door. They have become commonplace now– letters detailing apologies for why he was unable to visit, what he had gone about on his day, his regrets that he has not heard back from you in what feels like ages.

He’s tried to speak to you a few times in the palace when you work. His eyes always trained on you with something you’re unable to describe when you clean nearby.

You wish you could say it was perverse in manner, but it was nothing of the sort.

Every once and awhile you would catch a lily pinned to his breast pocket. He would send you a secret smile whenever it caught your attention. As if it was a tale meant for only the two of you to know. As if he wanted to carry a portion of you with him.

You may be naive in saying so, nor do you have much experience in the matter, but these do not feel like the actions of a man who simply wishes to find home under your dress. These feel more personal. More extravagant than anything else.

Nevertheless, you ignore every single advance. Annabell made you promise, and it was a promise you were intent on keeping until your dying breath.

Put the letters away in a box, never to be responded to. Avoided looking at him whenever he was near. Rushed out of rooms when it appeared he was intent on making his war for you.

Icing out the prince is what is best. Whatever lilies he will wilt and die and you will be able to continue on with your hatred of the Kim family as well as your blood pact with the throne.

You only wish it was that easy.

“Y/n!! Miss Y/n!!” There is a scramble outside of the door, voices hailing for your presence. You don’t know why– you’re on wash duty. Anyone, unless they’re extraordinarily new, would know that.

The voice grows more erratic, more panicked. As if their life depends on finding you in that very moment. The other maids in the quarters send their glaces to you, urging you to go yet not one opens their mouths.

At least one bonus of endenturing your entire life to the palace is that you have grown in rank. More than 10 years has granted you a decent position.

A hushed sigh slips past your lips and your hands find themselves forcing the pile of sheets into the washing tub. Your hands quickly wipe away at your apron, ridding them of any moisture before pushing open the door.

Stepping into the hallway lined with stone you notice only a single girl. Her entire form shaking as she paces the hall– panicked. Blonde curls bouncing with every step, cheeks a fluster.

A new recruit, indeed. Celley is the name she wears.

She had just entered with the last batch of new maids, starting at the palace no more than 2 months ago. She was a recruit you were unsure of– not having a lick of grace or balance, nor any experience with serving. But you suppose there are many reasons maids are chosen.

You do not like to think of them.

Her feet are suddenly clamouring over to you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’ve stepped in the hallway. Her small, shaking hands grip your shoulders, holding you with all the will she seems to possess.

“Excuse me have you seen–” She stops herself, tiny pants pausing as her eyes go wide, “Oh my days! Miss Y/n! You must hurry!” She rushes, hand gripping your wrist as she tries to pull you away.

Though your face twists in confusion, your feet remain firm.

“What’s the matter?” You ask, both sympathy and concern entering your frame. You can admonish her later for her lack of manners, however now, the girl seems truly frightened. Her large steel eyes looking back at you, pleading.

“The crown prince! He’s!” She’s out of breath once again, continuing to try and urge you on.

This time, the second the word prince is muttered, you begin to follow her pace, “He’s lost his mind! He’s going on a firing spree! Locking up anyone who tries to calm him!”

“What? Why is that? Did something happen?” You ask hushed, urging the girl to keep her voice down. Though you both are similar in age, it is apparent who has experienced this type of thing before.

“He got into some kind of spat with his father. His instructor was fired when he tried to continue on with their lesson.” It seems she understood your message, continuing to hurry you down the halls.

“And what am I meant to do?”

“I-I don’t know!” She lets out a quiet yelp, pulling you closer as you exit the maid hallways and enter the palace ones, “His personal maid is away visiting family. She said to leave everything to you if something were to happen! I-I didn’t know what else to do!”

Damn Eleanor and everything she stands for. Why the hell did she have to bring your name into this?! Shouldn’t the head maid be called in times like this?! Not you, someone who wants nothing to do with any member of the royal family. Especially the crown prince himself. Sure, there must be rumours spreading around but you had managed nearly three weeks without speaking to him!

You let out a sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident, more put together. You will do this, and you will come out victorious. Every battle before has left you victor. What is one more?

“I understand. It will be dealt with.”

The least you can gain is the idyllic picture of the prince to be shattered forever. That would be the most ideal outcome, something to truly force him out of your heart for good. You will not fall prey to him and his earthly desires. He will not win your heart.

At least that is what you hope.

The throne room's doors stand before you, delicate lacings of gold worth more than your entire being etched into its surface. A glittering picture for what is sure to be a bloodbath behind its contents.

A deep inhale of warm air fills your lungs, hand pressing against the door as you force it open. Face someone you have not wanted to see nor extinguish the flames of in nearly a month.

He stands before you, 20 paces ahead. A broken bottle in his hand as he heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the passion of ten thousand suns. The look of murder in his eyes as he stares down at a maid, her form on the ground. Bowing with as much might as she can possess, looking for any exit possible. Few other maids stand around the room, keeping their heads low, avoiding any eye contact possible.

Though he looks like a mad man– mayhaps a god of war himself, not a single hair is out of place on his head. He is still the picture of sovereignty. And though your breath spikes, you find that you are not afraid.

What a strange feeling it is.

The creak of the door sends single to him, has him whipping his head to face you. Anger etched into his features, a new target befalling his sight.

You stand tall, moving towards him. You will rise to the position given to you, even if it shall mean your inevitable downfall. As long as the new staff are safe.

Only, when he looks to you, no wrath is found. No anger or deceit. The second his eyes meet your own, his expression drops along with the bottle in his hands. More glass littering the floor in its wake.

His eyes soften, his lips turning from a sneer into a gentle frown. His shoulders automatically lower, and suddenly it appears that there is no one else in the room. His legs move automatically, carrying themselves to you with such a hurried pace you would have thought he had seen a long lost friend.

Oddly, this scares you more than when he was angered.

You start into a bow, “Prince Kim, I’ve come in place of–”

His arms wrap themselves around you before you can speak another word. Pulling you in, wrapping you into his scent as you're pressed against his sturdy chest. Strong arms keep you in place as he tries to make his body become one with your own.

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, one hand raising to tie itself in your hair. It forces you to stay in place, stay attached to him just the way he wants you to be. Allows him to inhale, breathing in all of you. Finally delving into the scent that he has been craving.

Your eyes only widen, hands staying firm at your side in shock. Heart beginning to race, head becoming lost in the soaps that only a member of a family could possibly own.

You’re not sure what to do. How to behave. As far as you are concerned or aware, this is something that no other has had happen before. At least not so openly. Not so brazenly in front of a myriad of other people.

But, it seems to calm him. To placate him in a way you’re not sure anyone could explain.

You try to make a small twisting motion with your hand, try to urge everyone else to leave while they have the chance.

They seem to take it, exiting the room as fast as possible.

You’re sure word of this will spread throughout the castle quickly. You hope the consequences will not be dire.

“Prince Kim–” You begin to speak after everyone has cleared out, after he holds you for what feels like a lifetime. You can’t find it in you to want him to pull away, no matter how embarrassing this seems.

“Shh,” He quickly silences you with a gentle press of his lips to your pulse, “Let me stay like this for a moment.”

You are unable to move. Unable to breathe after he kisses you. War could begin in that very moment and you’re not sure you would have noticed in the slightest. You are stunned into obeying his whim as he simply inhales and exhales.

The umber in his voice only comes after a millennia, after his shoulders have completely sagged. After all the tension is removed from his body.

“You didn’t respond to my letters.” He still doesn’t pull away, his grip on your hair tightening a fraction.

You pause.

“I…I didn’t know where to send them.” You lie and his hand loosens. The correct answer.

“My study. Put them under the door to my study.” He instructs like a king would.

You’re not sure why the tone of his voice sends shocks to your gut. Pooling into something you only find in your dreams.

“But if someone were to see them–”

“Let them.” Mumbles in your ear to you and you alone, a growl practically spiking through his voice, “I want them to know.”

Oh. This is new. This is definitely new. This is not the same way you felt with the stable boy years ago. This has become something entirely alienating. A completely different beast. You know that now as his baritone voice sends waves straight through your gut.

You simply nod in reply, your mouth unwilling to say anything back. The arm around your lower back grows more firm.

“Tell me where you will put your replies.” He commands into your ear.

“Under the door to your study.” Your reply is automatic, years of answering to the kingdom evident in your tone.

He sighs, unfurling his fingers from your locks to gently pet the top of your head, “Good girl.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft as he touches you.

“Good lamb.”

You sigh, fingers deftly searching through your wardrobe for just a single pair of underwear. But once again, you turn up empty. It seems like every day that passes, another pair disappears without your knowledge.

Perhaps one of the new girls is causing a fuss, messing up the laundry for everyone else.

That is the only logical solution, at least.

But logic doesn’t seem to make much sense at all anymore. You couldn’t hope to understand why few of your other belongings have come up indignant as well.

Your favourite perfume, one of your stuffed animals, even your toothbrush! All have magically vanished from thin air over the course of the last week.

It is too bad that you haven’t had the time to think about it, either. Preparations for the ball have been raging throughout the palace. Everyone has been on their toes, unwilling to face the wrath of the planners as they try to make everything perfect.

You have had not one moment alone to think, either swept up in cleaning, decorating, or well… recently you and the prince have been going on walks through the garden at night. Though that doesn’t matter much. It doesn’t mean anything– just another thing he made you promise to. Claiming he wishes to spend as much time with you as he can.

His recent fixation is trying to get you to call him by his true name.

You would never dare, nothing is more inappropriate than such a title. It is something only his most beloved is meant to call him, and that person is certainly not you.

You try to force any thoughts of him out of your head, though it is clearly a fruitless endeavour. Especially with the dream you had the night prior.

His hands finding themselves between your legs, touching you in a way no other has.

You flush, quickly shaking all thoughts of the night away.

The tea! Your tea, yes. A prescription from the doctor for this very thing.

More often than not, you wake to find a mess between your thighs. Sticky arousal between them in a perverse fashion. The region sensitive and overstimulated combined with a mess of dreams. More sexual in nature than ever before.

Embarrassed, you had turned to the only person you could trust. The palace staff’s doctor.

She had told you it was normal– that you were simply having what she described as ‘wet-dreams’. The title alone made you feel embarrassed.

Nevertheless, she prescribed you a tea to help calm your nerves. It was meant to be passifying in nature, calming any lush desires you may have beginning to form.

You were not sure how it functioned, however you trusted her. Found that it quelled whatever fire burned inside of your heart for the time being.

Perhaps just a new oddity to add to your reality, you suppose.

Finally, you find a proper set of undergarments to pull over your legs. Letting out a breath in relief now that you finally have them.

Today is going to be busier than the last month combined– the ball is tonight. You know for a fact you will be rushed around the palace all day, fixing everything into an acute sense of perfection that only the Kim family is known for.

You reach to spray your second favourite perfume across your skin, only to find that the bottle has gone missing as well.

Your hairs stand on edge, a dark pit forming in your stomach.

It is all too strange for you to want to understand.

Okay, now you’re sure Annabell must be wrong. She has to be, right? There is no other conclusion possible.

The thoughts run through your head as you pace the small confines of your room. Thumb between your lips, biting the skin feverishly. Contemplating what it is exactly that you should do. A heavy box sitting on your bed, a letter laying next to it along with a single lily.

A month ago, you met Prince Kim in the gardens. A month ago you spoke to him all night long. A month ago he brought you flowers. He has been leaving you letters ever since. Three weeks ago he held you in his arms, made you promise to write him back. Made you promise to meet him in the gardens as many nights as you can.

But this, you could not accept. You could not possibly think this is real. Why has he gifted you something like this?

A dress lays on your bed. The most gorgeous dress you have ever seen, in fact. Lined with crystals and gems, many layers of tulle poof from the underskirt. It must’ve cost a fortune, but it was not meant for you. It is a dress meant for a princess, not a simple maid of the palace. Not… Not someone the prince simply wanted to bed.

So why did it lie here, along with a lace mask and a pair of shoes. Why did it come with a note from the Prince, telling you to put it on for tonight's events? Is this why the head maid dismissed you so early?

No. You could not. You will not make a fool of yourself. You do not belong up there, dressed as a princess when you are far from the thing. That is your decision. It will be the one you stick to.

Even as hours tick past on the clock, even as you can hear the night in full swing, you stay locked in your room. Feeling the same as you did when you were a girl locked in the dungeon all those years ago. Helpless, indignant, stubborn.

Lost in your thoughts as you try to piece together a puzzle that has several spaces missing. Feelings for the stable boy– life with him, it would have been easier than this. You’re sure of it.

You allow yourself to imagine what life could have been like if he stayed. It would have been a cosy, peaceful. A straightforward one that didn’t leave so many questions in your head. Jungkook was always like that, spoke his mind without leaving anything to be guessed. You adored it, wished you could revel in it now. Wish you could kiss him under the cherry tree once more.

A pounding wakes you from the dream you were just beginning to weave. Loud, angry knuckles against the firm oak of your door startling you to your feet in an instant. Chills running down your spine as if your body already knew who was behind it.

You wait too long to reply, another series of rapts following in quick succession. You’re in trouble. You’ve angered the prince in a way you’re not sure you’ll be able to find your way out of, but you have no choice. He knows your inside. You know you must face him. You must be brave.

Right before another series of knocks can echo against the walls, you finally pull the door open.

There stands the man you knew would be there all along, sculpted like the lord had made him himself. You wish you could behold him properly, to stare at his beauty in the suit specially prepared for this night. One he asked your opinion of several times during its construction.

But you are unable to, not when his shoulders heave like a bull planning its charge. Not when his eyes are narrowed into a glare that enters your soul without consequence. Never before had you felt his anger directed at you.

The future king would be a fearsome thing.

“It appears you are not dead.” He states, cold and detached in a way you have never heard before. It makes you feel small, feel weak. Though by now, you know he wants an answer. He will not accept the lack of one from you anymore.

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, “I suppose not…”

“Then what do you suppose.” You flinch. You’re not sure.

“I– Prince Kim…”

“Taehyung.” He interjects, though you ignore him. Only his future wife is meant to call him by that name.

“Prince Kim, I could not possibly accept this gift. You have to understand.” The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink. To appear as small as possible to placate the lion you’ve wondered into the den of.

“I do not. You are to accept any gift I am to give you.” He is stern as if lecturing the ground beneath him. He looks massive in your tiny room, taking up much more space than you wish to grant him.

You begin to grow frustrated, annoyed. Does he have no sanity? Does he really think it is okay to play with the hearts of women so carelessly? It is disgusting. Repulsive even! You do not deserve anything like this. You begin to grow tense, grow firm like a wolf cornered. Ready to lash out with no remorse.

That is what you are, anyway. A cornered animal with no hope to escape.

“I won’t.” You raise your shoulders, stand taller and stare him straight in the eyes. If this will have you sent to the axe then so be it.

He grows just as tense in reply, his lips forming a sneer as he takes a step closer towards you.

Never before has Prince Kim been opposed like this before, you’re sure of it. The way his irises become darker is proof.

“And why is that, lamb?” He mocks, and the fire inside of you only begins to glow brighter Of course, you’re just the lamb that's wandered into the lion's den. The lamb being prepared for meal.

Steam clouds around your head, jaw becoming tense as you try to hold back your rage. Rage for your mother, rage for the life she was taunted into the same way the prince is trying to do to you now.

“I will not become another woman you bed and then lay waste to!” You practically shout, unable to hold back your emotions anymore.

His nostrils flare, “Excuse me?”

“You heard my words.” You state back, indignant, “I will not be an idiot. I will not become another woman who you use for your own pleasures!”

You hear him scoff, head turning away from you for the first time as he looks around your room.

“You think that little of me?” His eyes make their way back to you, his face having the expression of somewhat… hurt?

Suddenly, you’re unsure. You feel stupid all over again though you’re not entirely conscious as to why. You hurt him? How could you possibly hurt the most powerful person in the country?

You falter in your stance, and it is obvious that he takes notice. Uses it to his advantage as he takes another step closer, makes his hand find your own. His thumb brushing soothingly over the knuckle. His hands are always so soft.

“What else am I meant to think? I’ve heard the stories, Prince Kim.” Where once was fire lays blistering coals. Hot to the touch yet unyielding in their passion. The air in the room has changed in much the same way.

“Tell me of them.” He asks you, his voice now gentle, soft.

It is strange, the complete change he’s had since first entering your room. Has your brain going a little haywire. Especially with the way he stares at your hands. Like they could be locked forever.

“I…” You feel flush, embarrassed to mutter the words in front of the prince, “I’ve heard you seduce women… princesses, noblemen’s daughters, maids… the lot. Then you abandon them the next morning with your seed in their core and a knife in their heart.”

You keep your eyes to your feet, face feeling hot by repeating the words of your friend. You refuse to look at him, you cannot take the embarrassment.

A light chuckle leaves his lips, a hand coming up to attempt to muffle them, “Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. You’re baring your soul to him! How dare he laugh!

He coughs to muffle the rest of the sound, returning to the moment, “I apologise. I just had the realisation. You’re jealous of them, aren’t you lamb?”

A mess of flutters takes up your stomach, your shoulders raising in alarm. Your lips open to try and form words, to try and deny the allegations made your way, yet you are entirely unable.

Especially with the way he moves closer, crowds your space with such ease. Leads close to you, whispers words in your ear, voice lower than before.

“You wish it to just be you I lay with, is that so?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as another, more erotic chill finds its way down your spine.

“Th-That isn’t–” You try to speak, but your voice sounds as light as air. He moves closer, arm carrying itself around your back, pulling you flush against him as he speaks sinful words. Words only for you.

“Ah…” He sighs in relief, lips practically touching your ear once you’re finally connected to him, “You don’t like it when I go fuck your friends then come to spend my nights talking to you… writing to you… touching myself to the thought of you.”

You cannot take it. You cannot take this, take him. Your head is spinning, clouding with the drug known as Prince Kim. Your knees feel weak, your limbs feel all too heavy. How can someone so pretty say such sinful words without a second thought. It’s too much. Far more than your poor little heart can take.

Your arms come up, press as firm as they can against his chest despite how weak they feel.

“Mmm…?” He asks in response, pulling back to look down on your face. Mock confusion spread across his features. He takes a step back, pretending to look you up and down. Like he is just playing a game of poker while all of your tells are as clear as day.

“Or is that not what you wish?” He asks, head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “You would like things to remain the same?” He smiles, drawing conclusions all on his own.

He pauses, waits for you to say something, anything before continuing. But you do not, so he will keep playing this game by himself.

“Then I shall go find someone to keep me company for the night. Mmm..” He taps his chin in contemplation, turning on his heels, meanwhile panic and dread fills every facet of your being, “What were those ones you’re friends with again? Celley? That pretty blonde? Oh, or maybe Annabell. I’m sure she would be prepared to go for a second round.”

What? What? No, No! What is he talking about? Why is he starting to walk away?! Wait, Annabell, second time?! She has before?!

Oh heavens, oh gods.

“Anyway, I'll be sure to write to you after. Have a good night, dream of me.” You begin to hyperventilate as he takes one step out the door. No, he can’t leave. You don’t want him to. You don’t want him to be with anybody else. You can’t let it happen. You can’t afford such a thing! Ever! That is not where he is meant to be!

Your body carries you before your mind does. Hand slipping out, gripping onto the back of his coat with all of the strength you can muster. Feet planted firm in your room, doing everything in your power to not let him leave.

It is really too bad you do not see the sick smile that forms on his lips. Maybe then the pieces of the puzzle would have finally clicked in place.

Instead he only tilts his head backwards, painting a complexion of boredom.

“N-No! I don’t want that!” You finally manage to stutter out, knuckles turning white with the strength you hold onto him. Afraid if you let go in the slightest he will pull away and disappear forever. “I don’t want you to be with other women!”

The silence that follows your confession feels a mile long.

“Then go put on the dress.” Out of any response there could be, that certainly was not the one you were anticipating.

“What…?”

His chin tilts in the direction of it, urging you on, “If that is the truth, then go put on the dress.”

“I…” You hesitate for only a moment, but scramble to motion once the prince turns to leave once again.

You make quick paces to your bed, keeping your back to him. You feel his eyes on your back, intent on giving you no privacy to ensure you follow through on his order.

In fact, all he does is close the door behind you. Making sure no one will be able to see in. No one will be able to watch you save for him.

You slowly peel off the cotton of your nightgown, trying to appear brave even though his eyes are trained on your form. Even if your slip still remains on, you have never been this uncovered in front of a man before. You feel entirely bare.

You do not look at him as you finally find your way through the tool, slipping the garment over your head with struggle, yet his face is practically predatory.

You don’t know his plans, or what he wishes to gain. You never do.

As the fabric settles over your hips, half of you wants to question how the size is perfect, but you refrain. Too embarrassed by everything else to even consider it an option. Your hands reach behind you to attempt to lace up the back on your own, yet another pair are already present in their place.

When did he get so close? How did he get so close without you hearing a thing? Your heartbeat must be the only sound in your ears, that must be it.

His fingers work down your spine, tightening the dress so it fits you perfectly. Tying it off with skill you did not know he had. You feel his breath on the back of your neck. A fire begins to grow in your core.

“I was going to present you to my father tonight.” He admits, placing a gentle kiss to the base of your neck, “The ball was meant to find my bride.”

“Oh.” Those are the only words you can say when he is so close, arms enclosing around your waist. Pulling your back flush with his chest.

Only words you can manage at the revelation.

“Imagine his disappointment, more so my own when the girl I had been speaking to him about did not show.” He grunts, almost as if it hurt him. Guiding your body to stand in front of the full mirror in your room. Asking– telling you to look at yourself.

The sight is strange, yet incredible. The crown prince of the entire nation standing in your bedroom, in the maids quarters. Surrounded by squalor and chaos. Arms wrapped around a maid dressed as if she could be a queen.

You look up at him to the best of your ability, regret plastered across your features, “Prince Kim–”

“Taehyung.”

“--I’m so sorry.” He does not look you in the eyes. They stay trained ahead, not straying once from the mirror. One hand rubbing small circles into the fabric covering your stomach, the other sliding to your waist.

He touches you without care, without reason. Feeling you against him for all that it is worth.

“Actions have consequences, that is all. They can come later.” He states plainly, “For now I just wish to indulge in you.”

He brings his face down, placing it right next to yours. His hand rises, making your chin face the mirror as well.

He forces you to make eye contact with him through it, forces you to understand each of his words clearly.

“You’ll let me do that, won’t you?”

You take a deep breath, gulping down all the air you can manage. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more.

With no more than a nod, his lips are on yours.

Spinning you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands cupping your cheeks with such intensity you fear they may become etched into your skin forever. Keeping your lips closed against his own.

His body cages you in, pressing entirely against you. Forming against you in perfect harmony, feeling two souls become one. Feeling each other fully for the first time– no pretence or public eye in the way to stop it.

His teeth nip at your lower lip, biting in a way that has you opening them in pain. He takes the opportunity to lick his way inside, somehow pushing even closer to your body.

Something hard presses against you and the discovery has your knees wishing to collapse.

The prince can’t possibly be this big. He simply can’t.

The kiss has you reeling, unsure of anything. Unsure of what to do at all. It is nothing like your first kiss under the cherry tree with Jungkook. That was soft and sweet, docile as two people discover something new.

This, this is nothing of the sort. It is hungry. It is a beast that has been starved, finally getting its first meal. It is intoxicating. It is needy and desperate in a way that has your fingers trying to press themselves even deeper into the glass. It has your breath being robbed. Your lifeforce wilts away to satisfy only the prince.

The groan he lets out as you finally give into him, finally allow him to take control of the kiss as arousal pools in your gut. It is one of the most deadly siren’s calls you think you’ve ever heard. One that would have any woman throwing themselves overboard for just a taste.

“Finally,” He grunts, pulling no more than a millilitre away from your lips, wetness still connecting them, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for you.” He mumbles, hungrily connecting his mouth back to your own.

Before you know it, you’re lost in the man once again. Allowing him to move you, to guide you to your bed without withdrawing from you once. Tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull away. Making you drunk off of his taste, off of him.

When he kisses you like this, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to live without him.

Your knees hit the frame of your bed and all of a sudden you're falling backwards onto its plush lining. Panting, trying to regain some of the air he stole from you.

For the first time you’re able to look up at him, to discover the mess that he has become. Cheeks red, lips swollen. Eyes dark and twisted with lust. Hair ruffled messily from where your fingers laid. Shoulders rising and falling with effort as he catches his breath as well.

He looks gorgeous and you can’t help yourself hoping this will be only a sight for you forever.

He leans down, pecking your lips once more, “I couldn’t stop myself from imagining this. Since the moment I placed an order for your dress.”

He huffs, dropping to his knees in front of you. You sit up on your elbows, face twisted into confusion as you look down at him.

God. It is too dangerous to look at him right now. You know that as another wave of heat runs straight to your core.

“Pushing up the future queen's skirt.” He groans, hands gaining purchase on your hips, pulling you down so your waist sits at the edge of the bed, “Letting myself have a taste of her while everyone else at the party danced.”

O-Oh. Oh. He sees you as, oh god.

His fingers bunch in the material of your skirt, drawing in a shaky inhale as he holds onto any drop of sanity left.

When he sees no hesitation from you, he slowly begins to push the material up your legs. Eyes trained on your own, looking to you for any sign of discomfort.

“Have her come undone on my tongue while no else was the wiser.” He groans as he finally comes face to face with your panty covered core.

Your brain moves at a snail's pace, trying to keep up with every tiny movement the prince makes. Trying to process his words while your head becomes fuzzy with your own arousal.

You feel like mush, so pliable in his grip.

His large hands slowly begin to part your thighs, to look at what he has been craving for so long when your brain catches up with you, embarrassment overcoming your being.

“Y-You can’t! I-it is dirty to do such a thing.” At least, that is what you had been taught. Though, the look in his eyes and the growl from his throat tells you the opposite.

“You could never be dirty. No part of you could ever be.” The sound he lets out is more akin to an animal than anything else, and suddenly you feel like a schoolgirl. Flustered and embarrassed beyond anything else.

The muscles of your thighs untense, the look on your face blushed and biting.

“You will let me?” He asks again, and despite your embarrassment, you nod. He is going to be king… his word is rule afterall. He wishes it, so it will happen. You could not be more pleased to oblige.

His grip on your thighs is more firm than before, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he pries your legs apart. He lets a groan resonate from the back of his throat at the sight. Panties sticking to your center, wetness pooling just behind causing the material to almost become transparent before him.

You did not know it was possible for a man to have such an effect on you.

Without a second thought, he pushes the material down your thighs. His tongue licking a long stripe up your cunt, savouring the flavour for every cent it is worth.

He moans at the taste, not wasting a second before he dives back in. Lapping against you like it is his last meal.

A mewl leaves your lips, too many feelings crossing you at once for any of them to be worth anything.

Embarrassment, shame, fear all vanish the moment his lips wrap around your clit, sucking against the small bundle of nerves in a manner that has your back arching against the bed. Fingertips digging into the sheets to find a second lease on life.

You try to look down at him, to find him between all of your small pants of pleasure, however he is gone. Disappearing until the layers of fabric while he brings you sensations you never thought were possible.

His tongue moves like it is made to pleasure only you. Taking turns flicking your clit to lowering into your center. Licking up any bit of arousal he can make out. Trailing up once again to press flat against the bundle of nerves.

All of it has your legs kicking, your breath melting.

He is not quiet either, letting you know exactly how much he adores this. Adores the feeling of your thighs wrapped tight around his head. Adores every little sound and reaction you have to give him. Adores the taste of you on his tongue. It was only meant for him.

It feels like he has been wishing to do this far longer than you would ever know. Consuming you whole from the inside out. Causing you to become addicted, to desire him just as much as he carnally craves you.

His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking out every ounce of pleasure that he is willing to give you. Your adorable mewls and whines grow louder, peaking every time he sucks on your clit.

A coil has begun to form in your gut, feeling as though it could snap at any second. You wish you could see him, to look at his face and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. Observe the exact look on his face as he licks your cunt.

You try to picture it. Try to imagine the way he would look up at you from between your legs. The dark umber his eyes would become, the gentle circles he would rub into your thigh as you finally make eye contact.

Your walls clench around his tongue, sending a new waves of whines out of your mouth. He somehow moves faster, more precisely with every movement. Like he is able to hone in on the exact things that have your thighs quivering.

His tongue moves up, takes your small, worn clit into his mouth. Alternating between sucking against it, flicking at it, and pressing against it firm with the flat of his tongue.

Without warning, nor any reprise, one of his thick fingers is thrust into your wet heat. Filling you in a way you have never been able to do to yourself. Stretching you. And all of a sudden, you’re flying off the edge of a precipice.

“Prince Kim!” Your back arches off of the bed, head thrown back against the mattress as you let out a moan. Your hips jolt, cunt squeezing around his fingers, heels digging into the floor as you come undone before him.

He works you through it with ease and grace, finger slowly thrusting in and out. Tongue firmly planted against your clit to ride you through your high.

It would not be your last of the night. He must be gentle.

Slowly, you relax against the bed, chest heaving from exertion. He pulls away from you, standing to full height before leaning over your shaking form.

Your arousal coats his face, a sheen from his lips and chin evident against the soft yellow glow of the room. He looks down at you, concern and adoration written across his features. Though in his eyes, it appears that the beast has yet to be quelled.

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You taste yourself against them.

“You are delicious. I wish to eat you every night until I die.” He mumbles against your lips, his knee sliding between your legs. Muscle pressing against your swollen cunt.

You try to flinch away, yet the hand on your hip keeps you in place.

He will not have you running away.

Not now.

Your cheeks flush at his words, wide eyes looking up at him like he is all that matters.

He is.

He presses his knee further against your pussy while his lips trail down the column of your neck. Urging you towards the headboard with no words spoken until your head is against the pillows.

Your arms wind their way around his neck, keeping him in place, “I-if we were married, I would let you.” You manage to speak, your voice shaky.

He only smiles in reply. Fingers digging deeper into your waist as if he is holding himself back.

“Then we shall call this practice for our wedding night.” He smiles, sitting back on his heels.

Marriage, wedding night. You allow the thought to ghost through your mind, willing it to be reality.

He smiles down at you, taking note in the way you seem to gleam at the idea. A small chuckle leaves his lips, you really are too cute for your own good.

His voice is no more than a whisper, forcing you to stay enrapt, “You will let me, right?” He asks, eyes glancing down to where his pants strain against his hips, “I wish to make love to my future wife.”

Your mouth practically waters at the sight, his hard cock pressed taught against the expensive material. You swear there may even be a wet spot where his cum has leaked through.

Your pussy clenches, wanting nothing more for him to find his way inside. For him to claim you for himself. Destroy you so no other man can have you in the same way.

You struggle against yourself for no more than a moment, but the way his hand reaches down, grips at his cock. Brushes his thumb over the surface has you moaning in want.

“Please.”

He smiles, the motion following swift. All at once his hands unbutton his pants, pushing the material down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. He groans at the feeling, thick length hitting his stomach. Pretty pre-cum dripping down the side.

Your eyes go wide. If you imagined him to be large before, seeing it now looked impossible. He is thick, long. Far too big to ever hope to fit inside of you.

But the desperate groan in his voice, the hungry look in his eyes only has you spreading your legs. Wishing nothing more than for him to destroy you.

One hand wraps around the base as he moves closer, the other forcing the skirt of your dress as high as it will allow. He makes space for himself in between your thighs, slotting himself in. Ready to do what he has been waiting years for.

Not yet.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry. So he leans down, planting a gentle, soothing kiss to your lips. One filled with years of time behind it.

He knows he must be careful with you. Knows all of his patience will have been worth it when he is finally able to take your virginity.

“Will it hurt?” You as quietly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. You find comfort in him. Find a sense of safety within his eyes.

He nods in response, “Only for a little while, I promise.” He mumbles against your lips, placing a soft kiss against them once more.

He slowly rubs the fat head between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your hips buck slightly in response, and he can’t help but smirk.

So sensitive. So ready for him.

As much as he wants to be rough, he can’t. He can’t scare you away just yet.

He looks into your eyes once more, “Ready?” He asks, giving you one final chance to back out. You only nod your head, pulling him close, hiding your face in his neck.

His head catches on your opening with the final drag of his length through your lips. His hands practically shake in excitement, as he guides himself inside. Letting go only once the tip is buried within your walls.

He feels your teeth sink into his coat, your body burning with the stretch of him. He only has the first inch inside, yet you think it is more than you could possibly take.

A choked cry leaves your lips as he continues to slowly thrust inside. Your arms cling to him as tight as possible. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as he fills you, forming your entire body just around him. Just around his cock.

He pauses only once half of his cock is buried in your needy cunt. You feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, to bring you back down to reality from the pain you feel digging at your core. Trying to bring you some sense of comfort.

You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes, expecting to see them soft. Filled with concern. Though there is nothing of the sort there.

Behind his bangs is only the look of pure insanity.

Though he tries to be compassionate, he really does.

“Are you doing okay?” His voice is strangled, coming out in only desperate cracks. He shakes, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself inside. Fuck himself deeper and deeper, until your cunt is shaped for his cock alone.

But he holds restraint. Just enough.

The way he looks at you, the way he speaks has a wave of pleasure rushing through your skin. Your walls clamp around him, tightening even more.

He is falling apart before you, because of you.

He has gone mad because of you.

The feeling only makes you want to urge him on. See just how far the prince can fall.

You nod your head, looking at him with all the affections in the world, “Don’t stop.”

He groans at your words, mind losing itself as he snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock inside until his hips are firm against your own. Teeth digging into the fragile skin of your neck.

You cry out in pain, your walls squeezing around him in shock. Pain coursing through your entire system as you are filled to the brim. Walls stretched as wide as humanly possible. The head of cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your lungs.

“Shit.” He groans, mouth falling open, “This pretty thing is wrapped around me so tight, lamb. So fucking tight I can’t think.”

He slowly tries to move his hips, though you only shout in response. Your legs wrap around his back, doing their utmost to keep him in place.

“Hurts!” You whine, shaking your head quickly.

Fucking hell. What is the point of a pussy as sweet as your own if he can’t use it properly?

His hand moves between your legs, growl of impatience slipping past his lips as his fingers find your clit. They work with urgency, with need. Rubbing tight circles into it, trying to get you to feel the same pleasure he does.

You whine, overstimulated. Shots fired in all directions leaving you messy and confused.

With every circle, a mewl sounds from your throat. Slowly your legs behind him loosen, the pain from before mixing with pleasure to become something wonderful. Something that has you whimpering for him to not stop.

“See?” He grunts, slowly slipping out of your heat until only the tip remains, “We were made for each other.”

He forces his cock back inside, fucking you open just for him. Only ever for him.

Your nails dig into his back, heels digging into the mattress as you moan for him. As your cunt becomes addicted to the feeling of him filling you so perfectly. Addicted to everything he has to offer.

He moves too fast, too hard for you to even hope to keep up with. Hips pistoning into you, forcing you to take everything he has to give and more. Forcing you to be the perfect little doll for him, give him all the pleasure he can want and more. White mixing with red around the base of his cock.

Your back arches off the mattress to try and get closer to him, to try and keep up with him in any hope of the sentiment. Hips trying their best to keep him as close and as deep as possible, knowing they crave one thing and one thing alone.

“Prince Kim!” You moan, yet he growls in response. A sharp slap to your thigh sounds throughout the room as his hips pause, fingers removing themselves from your clit.

“That isn’t my name to you anymore.” His voice is low, menacing in your ear. One more poke of the bear and you will be punished. “Tae–Hyung.”

He emphasises the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, one that brushes against the bundle inside of you. One that leaves you crying out for him. Clinging on to him.

“Say it.” He grunts, animalistic and desperate. Yet you’re too lost in yourself to realise how debauched he’s become. Looking less and less like a man, more like a demon come to lay waste to your soul.

That is close enough to the truth, anyway.

“Say it until it becomes the only word you know. Every question I ask, every time I fuck myself into this sweet little cunt. Your only reply should be my name.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at him.

Your fucked out little features as you bob your head in compliance.

“I-I” You swallow, trying to understand his words as he pounds away at your core, “I understand!”

He smiles, almost proud of the work he has done today.

His hips only move impossibly faster, impossibly harder in a way that has that knot in your gut tightening once more.

“We’ll start simple then. What is my name?” He asks, angling his hips to press against your sweet spot with ever slight movement. Breathe panting, his mind falling deeper and deeper into the thralls of your body.

“P-Prin–” You stop yourself, a pinch coming down on your skin, “Taehyung!”

He groans, almost coming undone as he hears your name fall from your lips for the very first time. The pretty sound your voice makes with every letter.

It could be the only thing he hears for the rest of his life.

“Who are you going to marry?”

You whine, your head thrashing around slightly. He smiles. You must really enjoy the idea of that, huh?

“T-Taehyung!” You manage to stutter out again, feeling your release coming closer and closer as the seconds pass by.

“Who is the man you have fallen for?” The answer to the question is easy, especially when he is fucking into you like you’re the only woman that matters. Nothing matters except for him.

“Taehyung!” Your brain is too fuzzy to process anything else. Anything other than the way his cock fills you. Anything other than the one word he told you is your gospel.

“Who is the boy that kissed you under the cherry tree?” You don’t even know anymore.

Does any man exist beside Taehyung anyway? You doubt it.

“Taehyung!” He smiles into your neck.

“Who was the boy that was going to have you killed? That saved your life?” His words don’t process through your ears, yet you know what you are meant to say anyway.

“Taehyung!” He groans, his hips stuttering, losing their pace ever so slightly.

“Who do you belong to?”

“Taehyung!” You whine, your thighs shaking. The coil so tight you think you may just die if it doesn’t come undone in this very moment.

His breath is quiet, only a rough whisper in your ear, “Cum.”

Just as your king commands, you fall apart around him. White dots in the corner of your eyes as you clamp down around him, your legs pulling him close. A cry of his name leaving your lungs as if it is the very air you breathe.

You feel him paint the inside of your walls white, his hips stuttering– fucking himself as deep into you as he could possibly manage. If you had any sense left in your little head you would have told him to pull out, yet your brain is so high. Filled with pleasure that only Taehyung can provide.

Waves of arousal crash around you as he slows his hips, ensuring that you ride out your orgasm to its fullest before pulling away. You wish he could stay buried inside of you, just like that. Yet you doubt that would be very wise.

“Was that good for you, little lamb?” He asks, slowly helping you into a sit. You’re not sure how to properly answer– mouth feeling dry. Your head has not yet come crashing back down, though that is probably a good thing.

Facing reality is too scary right now. Especially when Taehyung is so warm. So caring as he removes your dress. Slips your nightgown back over your soiled body.

“Very…” You nod, unable to take your eyes off of him as he moves around the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, removing his shirt and dress-coat. Placing them over the back of a chair. Neatly hanging the dress on a hook, taking care that it is not damaged in any way.

Your arms find themselves reaching out to him, trying to pull him closer to you. He smiles once he takes notice.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” It is clear he was already planning on it, but hearing the words make you smile oh-so bright.

“Yes, please.” You nod quickly, eyes already feeling tired. You did not know how he had so much energy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Right now he is meant to be in your bed, arms around you. In fact, you become annoyed that he isn’t already.

“Alright.” He smiles, slipping next to your form. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

You feel so safe. So warm with him. So protected that you can’t stop yourself from falling asleep.

“Goodnight my lamb.”

The Kim Empire.

His home, his family, his livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

Yet, the only thoughts that seem to brandish his mind since the young age of 15 are about you.

When you first stumbled in front of him, carrying a tray of tea. Spilling it all over his shoes. That quick curse that left your lips before looking up at him. The wide, doelike vision you had once recognition had set in. One the realisation of error set into your bones.

He will never forget the way his heart began to race in that very moment. The way he felt a cloth of sickness overcome his whole body at the mere sight of you. Looking so serendipitous below him.

At first he thought it was hate, how silly he had been back then. Ah, the way he sent you to be killed was just funny to him now. He is grateful he talked to his mother before your execution date. Spilling his soul to her, detailing how he could not seem to remove you from his brain.

Ah, he was lucky he managed to get the letter to the executioner in time. What a pity that would be if he couldn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been able to lay next to you now. Wouldn’t be able to play with your hair, caress you like he pleases.

It is truly too bad that was not his only trial on the road towards you. It was really a pity he had to send Jungkook away. Taehyung quite liked the kid. He was fun to play with and wouldn’t shy away from his games.

But he just had to try and seduce you. Poor thing. You really were too innocent at the time. More than eager to kiss him for no reason. To give him even a peace of your heart that was meant for Taehyung alone.

He remembers as clear as day, the rage he felt as he watched your soft lips press against another mans. How terribly he wanted to go out and strike Jungkook with a sword. Of course he didn’t though, that would have scared you away. He would have hated that.

He thanks god every day he was really your first kiss, even if you didn’t know it.

Patiences was the hardest battle of all, and he will admit, he has faltered a few times over the years. Kisses stolen while you sleep, a few of your belongings robbed to keep him satiated. Mayhaps a few trips to your room in the night.

But who could blame him? He was a man in love. There was nothing that could stop him when he was so hungry for you.

Ah, and then of course his father. He wanted to separate your love as well. A maid could never possibly be suited to be queen, blah blah. He doesn’t care. And at least that fight allowed him to hug you for the first time.

God. You felt so perfect in his arms, then and now. You have always been meant for this. Meant for him.

If his father plans to keep standing in the way, he will simply have to remove him from the equation. His bonds to the man are as thick as water. He cares more for you than he possibly could anyone else.

You’ve belonged to him since you were born, anyway. If a maid becomes pregnant while working for the castle, her child becomes property of the state. Of the crown. Of him.

It only makes sense that you are meant to be with him until death. It is the path lined for you. Your fate since birth.

He knows it as his delicate fingers trace over the small patches of blood dirtying the sheets. Evidence of the hours before, of your virginity robbed. Of your promises to him.

You are bound to him by blood after all.

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poisonlove · 7 months ago

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Wednesday Addams x F!Reader

• Reader is about to leave for work. Wednesday asks her if she's forgotten anything, and Reader gives her a kiss. Wednesday turns red and opens her hand to reveal Reader's keys/wallet/etc., saying

'I meant this, but it's appreciated.' Or smt like that!

forgetting something ?

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X fem!reader

Words: 4k

Warning: fluffy

Author notes: I've received a lot of requests, I'll try to do them all!

Happy reading

"Love, what's the password for your phone?" I ask curiously as my eyes glance at the smartphone in my hand.

I found myself in Ophelia Hall in Wednesday's room with Enid, wanting to spend some time with my girlfriend. Enid was doing Things' manicure while sharing some gossip about some outcasts at school. Meanwhile, Wednesday Addams was making the most of her writing time.

Ignoring me.

The tapping of the keyboard abruptly ceases and Wednesday slowly turns towards me. Her brown eyes turn cold and dark as they meet Enid's, who visibly trembles in the face of that icy, penetrating intensity.

"Things, I'll finish later..." Enid whispers, her nervous smile betraying the fear inspired by Wednesday's gaze.

Without saying another word, Enid jumps up from her bed and hastily exits the room. The door slams behind her, resonating in the silent air as Wednesday watches her pass with an impassive expression, lips pressed in a subtle smile of satisfaction.

"How many times have I told you not to scare her?" I say with a small smile on my lips, and Wednesday looks at me without batting an eyelid.

"I didn't scare her," her voice is calm and controlled, without any hint of remorse or concern.

"You did," I sigh at her comment while absentmindedly playing with her phone.

"As you wish," Wednesday replies calmly, showing no particular emotion.

I smile shyly at her response.

"I told you not to use vulgar nicknames in front of others and you keep doing it," Wednesday justifies herself, looking at me curiously.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"Vulgar?" I ask, feeling puzzled.

Wednesday nods timidly, without a hint of a smile on her lips.

I sigh loudly.

"Anyway... Could you tell me the password?" I ask again, wanting to change the subject to avoid ruining the atmosphere.

Wednesday tilts her head to the side and scrutinizes me with her gaze.

We've been together for a month, but I don't know if I'll ever get used to her quirks.

"My favorite plant" Wednesday replies in a monotone voice.

"Of course" I reply sarcastically as I type in 'Belladonna.' The phone unlocks, and I smile as I see the background: me and Wednesday embracing during the Poe Cup. The brunette had a stoic look while she look at me smile at the camera.

"Nice background," I say teasingly and Wednesday rolls her eyes at my comment.

"I know," she replies monotone.

I could see a small smile threatening to emerge at any moment.

"But don't you have any games?" I ask disappointedly, and Wednesday stares intensely at me.

"I barely use it to write to you," she justifies herself, and I nod understandably.

Wednesday and technology were two completely different things and couldn't fit in the same sentence.

"So you only have WhatsApp?" I ask curiously, looking at Wednesday.

"You're distracting me unnecessarily," Wednesday mutters annoyed by my questions. She turns her back on me and starts writing her story again.

"Thanks, Wed" I say sarcastically, and Wednesday continues to press the keys of the typewriter ignoring me.

"Why am I with her, I don't know," I mutter to myself, turning my gaze to her phone. I scroll through some pages and look at the apps.

I choice YouTube.

"Because you love me," Wednesday replies loudly without looking at me "and anyway, I can hear you, be careful," she adds in a cold voice.

Was that a threat?

"Right" I reply aloud.

I start searching for what interests my girlfriend. Hundreds of horror stories and interviews of real murders, true photos, and thousands of hypotheses about monsters, unsolved murders, and much more.

Creepy but Wednesday's style.

"Y/n?" I raise my head from the phone and turn my attention to Wednesday who had once again interrupted her writing hour.

"Tell me, darling" I ask with a smile on my lips.

"Shouldn't you be going to work at the café?" Wednesday asks with curiosity.

My smile fades and I widen my eyes in realization: I had forgotten.

I quickly get up from the bed in a panic

"shit shit" I put on my shoes and look around the room in concern. "Where's the jacket?" I wonder, and I look around the room with worry. "You threw it on Enid's bed," Wednesday exclaims disapprovingly, and I smile hugely.

I internally thank Wednesday for her incredible memory.

I walk towards the door, but Wednesday's voice makes me stop.

"Forgetting something?" She asks seriously.

I sigh at the unfortunate moment of being romantic. "You're right" I walk towards her and lean down towards her face to unite our lips in a sweet kiss.

As we separate, I notice that Wednesday's cheeks were completely flushed.

"You were forgetting the car keys, idiot," says Wednesday embarrassed, showing me the keys.

I had left them on her desk an hour ago when I arrived.

"Oh, thanks," I say embarrassed, and Wednesday smiles widely making my heart race a mile a minute.

"But I appreciated it" she confesses quickly and I smile back getting lost in her deep brown eyes.

Yes, definitely, now I remember why I'm with her.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday smut #wednesday addams gifs #Fluffy #writing requests #wednesday fanfic #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday x y/n #Wed

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merverse · 1 year ago

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of course stede is getting high on the attention he's receiving he was an outcast all his life and his dream of becoming a pirate was always taken as a joke so him getting praised over blackbeard? his crew cheering him on before killing ned? getting fans among the very people who used to make fun of him? i fucking hate it here but ugh love it when characters are consistent and well written like fuck yes gimme flawed and stupid decisions that are made according to their backstories and personalities

#dont get me started on ed leaving and wanting to be a fisherman and how is also such an obvious thing for him to do #after talking to fang and having that connection #i hate it here #our flag means death #ofmd #ofms s2 #ofmd spoilers #our flag means gay #stede bonnet #edward teach #blackbeard #mer talks

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murdrdocs · 1 year ago

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INTERVIEW 014

with. mike schmidt

includes. visual filming + auditory recording, GN!reader (mentions of lingerie but no explicit anatomy), begging, facials, oral (f and m receiving)

→ kinktober masterlist

mike schmidt has a thing for filming.

he’s obsessed with you, sometimes spending time in silence admiring you because he can’t really believe that you’re his. he’s a bit of a loser (affectionate) and an outcast (self afflicted), so he thinks you’re out of his lead. which is why he likes to document your time together as much as he can.

he has a couple of old cameras, just a little under a decade older. they work perfectly fine though, and he always has to take a picture of you with his polaroid or film you for just a few seconds whenever you’re together.

most of the documented content is innocent. you dancing around the kitchen while you help prepare dinner for the three of you (abby is singing in the back of that one). you standing in front of the mirror fixing the final touches on your dallas cowboy cheerleader costume with an infectious grin on your face. you mumbling in your sleep while your head rests on mikes chest.

but a solid amount of the content is mature, hidden away on discs and polaroids and cassettes in a closed box tucked away in a messy corner of his closet.

this content is audio recordings of you begging for mike, your voice high and breathy. he remembers that night, your hands in his hair that was slightly too long at that point. he was between your legs, his mouth just inches away from where you were trying to get him. it felt good for him to have the upper hand in that moment, a cocky smile on his face as he started to bask in the newfound power. it was one of the first times he realized how much he affected you, and he instantly wanted to record it. what the two of you ended up producing was fifteen minutes of you pleading and moaning and borderline sobbing as mike got you off with his tongue.

there’s a few discs, labeled with the date in either of your handwriting (mikes borderline scrawl and your neater script), housing content of mike fucking you slow, thrusts long and deep. he’s usually the one holding the camera, lenses at you as you’re on your knees with pretty doe eyes or above him bouncing and grinding with your eyes pinched closed. there’s some times, though, when you take the camera from him, met with nearly no resistance because these are the hours where he’s limp to your delicious torture. when he’s so wound up that just the first few licks from you has his grip loosening around the object, allowing you turn the lens on him, capturing his rosy cheeks and curly hair sticking to his forehead and his brown eyes watching your every move.

then there’s the polaroids, the only evidence that frequently makes voyages outside of the old shoe box whenever you’re apart. he has pictures of you with your hands over your face, but a smile clear beneath your palms. these were the ones taken first, before you’d gotten into the videos and cassettes. you were shy then, only giving the camera glimpses of your new lingerie set, which was usually the incentive for mike pulling the camera out in the first place. there’s pictures from when you’d gotten more confident, there’s photos of you post-sex, a loopy lopsided smile on your face, arms thrown over the parts that mattered but you were bare otherwise.

then there’s the ones that are completely debauched. the ones he hesitates to take out in fear that he’ll leave them lying around somewhere. his favorite of the small bunch is of you sitting on his bed, legs spread and bent at the knee, palms pressed into the mattress behind you. your pose itself is almost innocent, a grin on your face as you stare at the camera. you’re clothed too, for the most part, wearing underwear that covers what needs to be covered. but it’s the white spurts that paint your skin that makes this particular picture so raunchy. along your chest, in the center of your underwear, and — his favorite spot — all over your pretty little face, breaching into the baby hairs around your face.

#🕸️ 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐑 #mschmidtsworld!#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt #mike schmidt smut #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #(thats where i wanna be)#celeste writes misc #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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eddiexmunsonlover · 4 months ago

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Heat Wave ~ E.M.

Neighbor!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: A heat wave coursing through Hawkins sends Eddie seeking out any form of relief. Even the cheap, little inflatable pool in your backyard will do, but he'll have to do something for you first. WC: 2.7k Warnings: MDNI 18+ SMUT. Unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), singular use of the phrase 'good boy', no use of Y/N, outdoor semi-public sex. Inspired from laying in the pool during the heat wave that just hit my area, wanted to get this out before summer's over!

Follow my new blog for future fics @cherryxhaze

In the dead of summer in Hawkins, Indiana, it’s another day in a seemingly endless heatwave cooking the midwest. In the Forest Hills Trailer Park, poor insulation does little to help keep the heat out of the metal sided homes, few in the neighborhood able to afford A/C costs, window units struggling to combat the high temperatures. Rather than sweltering in his room, Eddie finds relief walking under the trees in the park, leaves providing shade from the relentless sun.

He’s beginning to think it’s the only relief he’ll get from the rising temperatures this summer. Until he approaches a trailer, glimpsing through the passing trees into the backyard, yellow plastic catches his eye… and crystal clear water.

A pool.

A cheap, inflatable one only a couple feet wide, but a pool nonetheless. Filled with cool water. He can practically feel it engulfing his warm, sweaty body.

Next to it on a plastic lounge chair lays you, basking in the sun. Back home from college, he assumes.

“Well, well, well. Back to visit us peasants?” his voice booms, startling you out of your trance. He leans against your trailer, arms crossed with a grin plastered on his face.

“Jesus Christ, Munson. Can you be any less subtle?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you rather I have knocked?”

You roll your eyes, readjusting in the chair as you eye the metalhead.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, you know. Just perusing the neighborhood, decided to stop by and say hi to an old friend.” He meanders closer to your position, hiding an ulterior motive clear as day. An arched brow peeks over your sunglasses.

“Uh huh… friend…sure”

“Hey, you never spewed insults at me in the halls at school, I consider that a friend!”

You scoff out an amused chuckle as he throws a cheeky grin your way.

“Okay, sure. So, friend, what exactly is it that you wanted?”

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you’re keeping this sweet slice of heaven back here, all to yourself.”

“Yeah, I bought it all by myself.” You state matter-of-factly.

“Hmm. I guess maybe I just thought, being the generous person you are, you’d be willing to share with a friend. I mean, considering the conditions.” He gestures around him with open arms, putting on all the charm he can muster in those dimples.

Despite his stance on the existence of your friendship, you’d never been more than neighbors and classmates. Your circles at Hawkins High never ran or meshed together, your friends falling into the norm of calling him a ‘freak’. A nickname, insult rather, that you never partook in berating him with. An insult that remained when he failed his senior year, meant to graduate with your class. You’ve heard from friends in passing that he failed this year too. You never thought less of him for it though, unlike everyone else in town.

To be honest, you’ve always had a liking for him despite your minimal interactions. Eyes lingering over him when you’d see him in class or the halls, fighting a smirk from his theatrics at lunch. You’d become an outcast like him if your friends knew, but you’d been hiding a crush on Eddie Munson for years. As you look over him now, it becomes strikingly clear that your crush hasn’t faded in the year away at college.

“You think flattery will work on me, hmm?” you remark with a grin.

“Well I only speak the truth, cross my heart.” His actions follow his words, hand over heart.

“Hmm” Your propped up leg fidgets side to side as you consider him.

“Okay, I’ll let you take a dip. But only if there’s something in it for me.” You decide with a confident smile, reveling in the way it catches him off guard before his theatrics kick back in.

“Why, of course. It’s only fair. What would you have me do?”

You keep him a little on edge, taking your time in deciding as you look amongst the yard until a perfect idea pops into your mind at the bottle next to you.

“Well, it is time for me to reapply. Mind giving me a hand?” You throw your own charm his way, a bottle of sunscreen extended out to him.

He only falters for a split second before nodding like a bobble head.

“Uh y-yeah, sure. Of course.” He answers almost too eagerly. “Skin care is important.”

He worries the forced chuckle gives him away.

When you turn to lay on your stomach, he’s grateful you can’t see the way his entire expression fumbles.

To be fair, he’s always had the hots for you. Given your differing social groupings, he never thought he’d stand a chance. Now, he wonders if his mind is playing tricks on him with your demand. Eying the way your bottoms have bunched up between your cheeks, full figure on display for him, barely covered by the cloth.

A deep sigh rises from your chest at the sensation of his calloused hands spreading the cool lotion along your warm skin. Working from your shoulders and down your arms, you feel the anticipation rising as his hands move down your back.

Lower and lower until.. his hands meet your calves. His tongue peeks from between his lips, watching as his hands move higher, from your calves to your thighs. An irresistible tug pulling his eyes and hands to move to your ass.

“Do you uh- want me to..?” he questions, eyeing your cheeks only half covered by your bottoms.

“If you wouldn’t mind… not trying to deal with sunburn on my ass.” You answer sweetly, ending with a lighthearted laugh.

The sensation shoots right between your legs, only inches away from where his calloused fingers knead the plush flesh of your ass. You have to bite your lip to muffle the moan threatening to rise up your throat.

Eddie almost swears he feels the slightest push of your ass against his hands. He’s mesmerized by it, unable to stop himself from visualizing what’s underneath the slither of cloth. He never thought he’d ever be this close to you, let alone touching you like this. He wants to lose himself in it, in you but stops himself before his lingering touch becomes suspicious.

“A-alright, you’re all good.”

You flip over onto your back with a smile.

“Thanks, Eddie. You wouldn’t mind doing this side too, right?”

His eyebrows shoot up with a bob of his adam’s apple, gulping at the proposition before forcing a chuckle.

“Just trying to get a free massage out of me, aren’t ya?”

“Well you know, college is very stressful and I did say you’d have to make it worth my while”

He licks his lips before sinking his teeth into them, looking down at the sunscreen in his hands.

“Yeah, alright” he agrees with a smirk.

His movements mimic his work on your backside. Shoulders, down your arms, slowing as they glide across your chest, forcing himself not to linger before moving down to your stomach. Working up your calves, to your thighs. Admiring the way his fingers dig into the doughy flesh, your covered pussy right in his face.

You’re enjoying yourself far too much, watching how flustered you’re making him through the shade of your sunglasses. As his fingers glide up your legs, you spread them open ever so slowly. Biting your lip as his hands caress up to the inside of your thighs, eyeing the growing bulge in his shorts.

“Eddie…”

Wide eyes shoot up from your core to meet your eyes, now uncovered with your sunglasses moved atop your hair.

“Do you want a taste?”

He watches as your hand slides down your stomach, inching toward your pussy before they flash back up to meet yours.

“It’s a question, not an order.” You giggle at his silence, giving him an out.

“You’re serious?” He asks in disbelief, mouth agape.

You nod softly, biting your bottom lip as your fingers ghost over your clit.

“Wanted you for a long time” You mutter, breathing becoming heavier at the prospect of finally getting what you’ve wanted for so long.

“Shit…” His gaze falls back down to where your hand is, rubbing your pussy through your bathing suit. “You don’t have to ask me twice, sweetheart.”

His hand replaces yours, gently sliding your bottoms to the side and groaning at the sight of your pussy. You gasp softly as his tongue dives between your folds, licking a long stripe from your already wet hole and up to your clit. Hands sliding up your body, pulling both sides of your top to the side to free your breasts. Rough hands engulfing them, massaging them between his fingers as he shoves his face in your pussy like a starving man. Tongue exploring every crevice, lapping up your juices as his nose nudges against your clit.

“Oh fuck” You moan, head falling back as your fingers tug at his curls.

His fingers pinch and roll your nipple between them as his tongue circles your clit, bringing his other hand down to tease your entrance with his fingers. Slowly sliding two ringed digits in, tongue flicking against your clit before sucking it into his mouth, your eyes rolling back at the overwhelming pleasure, moans freely falling from your lips.

You force your eyes open to watch. The sight of Eddie Munson between your legs, mouth worshiping your pussy, tongue working you in a way no guy ever has before, it’s sending you closer to the edge faster than you ever have before.

You bite your lip at the sight, fingers running through his hair. The metal of his rings digging into the flesh of your ass with each thrust of his fingers into you.

“Mmm, good boy.”

A deep, rumbling moan rises from his chest, sending vibrations through your clit sucked between his lips as the pads of his finger rub against your g-spot.

“Fuck, Eddie. You’re gonna make me cum!”

Your admission only eggs him on more, sucking onto your clit harder, fingers moving faster in and out of your soaking walls that clench around them. His eyes flutter open to meet yours and that’s all it takes, every muscle in your body tightening, thighs trembling around his head as you grip it.

Coming down from your orgasm, he replaces his soaked fingers with his tongue. Licking up every bit of your juice he can.

“Taste s’good, baby” he mumbles, face still buried in your pussy.

You whine at the praise and sensation, grabbing onto his hand and bringing his fingers to your mouth, sucking your cum off them. He pulls his attention back to you with a guttural moan, the action making his cock throb even harder in his shorts. Your other hand reaches out to rub him through the fabric, never breaking eye contact.

“Need to feel you inside me” you beg, rubbing the pads of his fingers along your bottom lip.

“Christ…”

His other hand eagerly reaches for the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down under his balls, throbbing cock springing free. Yanking his shirt off to relieve him from the heat of the sun and your sweating bodies.

He lines his cock up with your entrance, slowly sliding himself into your warm, wet walls until he’s fully sheathed inside you with a moan. His mouth latches onto one of your breasts, sucking and nibbling your nipple as he begins slowly thrusting into you.

“Fuck, yes!” you gasp out in pleasure, one hand in his hair as the other grips onto the lounge chair beneath you.

His mouth moves from your breast to your mouth in a hot, wet kiss as he shoves his cock as deep as he can inside you.

“Feel so good. Always wanted to fuck you, sweetheart. Feel this tight pussy wrapped around me.” he mutters against your lips. Sweat makes his bangs stick to his forehead, lips moving to latch onto your neck.

More moans escape your lips from the power his words, mouth, cock, the power he has over you, giving you more pleasure than you’ve ever felt by any other guy in Hawkins or college.

One of his arms hooks under your knee, giving him deeper access as his hips collide with yours, your hands attempting to grip onto his sweaty back. The sensation, his cock stretching you out with every thrust is overwhelming, consuming every bit of your attention, the fact of being in your backyard long forgotten.

“Eddie!”

Your whines of pleasure are met with a stifled chuckle.

“Better quiet down, sweetheart. Don’t want the whole neighborhood to hear you, do you?” his husky voice and breath fan over your ear, sending chills down your spine amid the relentless heat surrounding you.

His reminder, the reality that anyone passing along the same path he did, looking through just the right break in the trees at just the right time, would see Eddie “the freak” Munson balls deep in your pussy on the lounge chair in your backyard.

It only turns you on more, making your walls clench around him, delighting in the broken moans it pulls from him against your ear before he chuckles again.

“Mmm you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Dirty girl”

His thrusts pick up in pace, your sweat aiding to the wet sounds of his skin slapping against yours.

“You were so cocky earlier, what’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” He teases, out of breath. Sporting a smirk as his face moves into your vision, hovering above you.

You groan in a mix of pleasure and annoyance.

“Just- oh…shut up and fuck me”

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he moves your legs to rest on his shoulders, allowing his cock to go even deeper inside you. His hands keep a harsh grip on your hips as he plows into you mercilessly. The new position and rough thrusts making the wet, slapping sounds of his skin on yours, his balls slapping your ass grow even louder along with your moans.

“Oh god oh god, yes!” your desperate whimpers fumble from your lips, a white knuckle grip on the plastic holding your bodies up. You’re sure it’ll buckle beneath you at any moment from the power of his thrusts.

“Mmm. What if your mother came home right now, fuck, to find her precious daughter getting fucked by the town freak, huh?”

Even in his pleasure, the smug teasing still breaks through. Taking even more pleasure in watching you unravel beneath him, because of him, a girl once thought to be completely unattainable, now cockdrunk for him.

“Mmm don’t care, feel too fucking good” you answer breathlessly, feeling yourself quickly barreling toward your climax again.

He can’t decide where to look, watching your face twist in pleasure or watch his cock disappear in and out between your pussy lips. Despite his teasing, he can feel he doesn’t have much longer, and if the way your walls are pulsing around his cock is any sign, he knows you don’t either.

“Gonna cum again for me, baby? Give it to me, wanna feel you soak my cock, pretty girl”

He keeps up his relentless pace as much as he can and you feel like his cock is about to split you in two, making your toes curl in their position next to his head. You can’t stop it even if you tried, waves of pleasure crashing through your whole body as you meet your end.

“Fuck, Eddie!” you squeal in overwhelming pleasure, hands moving to grip onto his arms. Your head thrown back, mouth falling open, back arching off the chair as everything in you clenches.

The tight grip you have on his cock and the scream of his name as you cum is all it takes to drive him into his own climax, removing his cock from the warm confines of your pussy to cum all over your bare stomach with a deep moan of your name.

Your grips loosen, his head falling to rest on your chest as your legs fall to his sides. Heavy breaths and chests heaving as you recoup from your highs.

“Shit. If this is what I have to do to use your pool… I’ll be here all summer.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #neighbor!eddie munson #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x plussize!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem reader

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lifeonmarz-blog · 9 months ago

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What I think of Lilith through the houses

Both polarities blended together, Enjoy!

Sb: pls take it with a grain of salt if it doesn’t apply let it fly.

1st: dogmatic views, do as I say not as I do, attracted to the bad boy/bad girl, relationships with promiscuous people, openly opinionated, body dysmorphia, magnetic aura, captivating presence, traditional views when it benefits them, competitive, strong work ethic, very attractive but it may be hard for them to see it, money is power and they know this, dark humor, gets people to open up easily, self imposed restrictions, victim mentality.

2nd: jealous co workers, insecure without money, focused on long term success, thinking outside the box, quirky, illusions around upbringing, favorite child, should embrace new perspectives //possibilities, attracted to the outcasted, can feel pressured to help others, victims of betrayal, takes shortcuts to get what they want, responsible with money, loves the idea of love but not the commitment, pressure to perform well.

3rd: secret teller, uses sex for power, uses communication for power, odd sex appeal, unique style, entrepreneurial mindset, self motivated, driven, spiritual blessings through others, easily adaptable, loved by women, team player, liar, familiar with the underworld from a young age, ambitious, fast thinker, prefers to be coupled up, questions others authenticity.

4th: self driven, “been there done that” vibe, quirky sense of humor, untrustworthy mother, misuse of sexual energy, confusion around self identity, jumping from relationship to relationship, doesn’t know when to let a relationship go, generous in relationships, charming with their words, idealistic about love, passionate, cold demeanor, manifest desires easily, persistent with what they want, right place right time, hard worker, likes/requires routine, attracts/likes conflict, dramatic relationships, impulsive, loves adventure, victim of betrayal, liar, self destructive, possessive, comes across as intimidating.

5th: charming, witty, self destructive, overly emotional, lashing out, makes friends with common interest easily, convincing, attracts money easily, make it and get it right back mentality, lacks patience, needs to do things in moderation, anxiety, worry, fear of the unknown, depression, needs to find peace within themselves, overly serious, scattered brain, life of the party, big personality, attracted to big personalities, lives outside the box, always standing out in the crowd.

6th: requires stability, shame around upbringing, lacks self esteem, thinks too much before acting, hasty careless movements, overworks the body, running from thoughts, overwhelms themselves, feels they have something to prove, intellectual, restricts sexual desire, attachments issues, addicted to ideas/belief systems, reliable, helpful, resourceful, natural leader, feels they have big burdens, should let go and be more carefree.

7th: feels misunderstood, values family dynamics, strength, disconnected from others, integrity questioned, do what they want not what their told, distorted view of family and relationships, strong intuition, divine feminine, nurturing spirit, frequent conflicts, lacking accountability, escaping justice, partners that bring out the worst, popularity, unique voice, charming, very opinionated, sexually explorative, calm before the storm.

8th: relationships that alter view on sex, emotionally manipulative, self critical, overworks themselves, always stressed about time, too much on their plate, overwhelm, self sufficient, luxury, abundance, doesn’t rely on others to make things happen, can see their plans through, should flow more with life, slow down and take your time, receives a lot of gifts, also gives a lot too, gift of gab, dark humor, sneaky vibe.

9th: comes off quiet but really a social butterfly, confident, independent, determined, chooses partners that talk disrespectful to them, lacks self discipline, easily unmotivated, changes paths often, loves podcast, sweet words, jack of all trades master at none, trust your intuition, many rebirths, it’s okay to be the student, don’t fear growth, insecure about how their perceived, feeling misvalued in relationships, hard time feeling ready enough”.

10th: home body but equally likes being outside, big family lots of kids, multiple baby daddy’s/baby mamas, impulsive decisions, gets a lot of attention from their outfits, defending your beliefs to the public, advocating social issues, underdog, very intelligent, people come to them for advice, secret relationships, weighs the risk vs reward, doesn’t value others opinions, brushes issues off, truth seeker/ truth teller, would rather work alone, loves love, attracts a lot of haters and secret fans, always partnered up or wants to be, gets lied to a lot, so much potential, generous, loves to be a provider, doing the same thing and expecting different results, strong emotional world.

11th: inflexible, likes to dominate others, would benefit from connecting to Mother Earth, jealousy, overwhelmed by responsibilities, loves to be in a relationship, creative, doesn’t invest time properly, wasteful with their energy, sharing wealth, attract fake friends, friends are very different from them, very confident demeanor, don’t get along with women, very convincing, two sides like a Gemini, a lot of love to give hopeful it’s not being misused.

12th: reserved, quite but a social butterfly, courageous, loves learning new things especially darker subjects, wants their voice heard on a public forum, should take time to be alone to hear your own voice and strength intuition, fear of change, escaping at the nick of time, learning to develop personal beliefs, people pleasing, strong will, persistent, misuse of power, direct, quiet power, reads the room.

#astrology #12th house #astrology101 #astrologyfacts #8th house #wellbeing #astro notes #pluto aspects #Lilith #chiron #astrologychart #pluto astrology #astrologyzone

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misojunnie · 1 year ago

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CHERRY ─ psh. ❀

a lollipop a day keeps park sunghoon away…

# genre: outcast!sunghoon x class prez!fem!reader, enemies to lover, slow burn, high school au, 90’s au

# warnings: insults, minor violence, substances/partying, cursing, lil makeout sesh, minor bullying, portrays some idols in a bad light; inaccurate and not how I view them!

# featuring: sunghoon & enha! + txt + aespa

# playlist: not for sale by enhypen, still into you by paramore, chaser by woodz, high school sweethearts by melanie martinez

# a/n: hi guys!!! it’s insane that the cherry teaser got so many likes omg. ty guys so much!! plz enjoy <3 (dont let this flop)

# word count: 13.1k

# taglist: @alicesolengg @ningngyu @ramenoil @simjakeissohot @skzenhalove @parkhonnie @denleave1088 @voidbeomgyu @ilymarkchan @everyoneluvscheol @haerinpham @fakeuwus @chesh1re-cat @advesperamz @papiibuprofen @loveliii @cutiejseong @luvyouchuu @hancafe @aeminju @chaerybae @b1ndignity @edilysoob @river-06 @fariylixie0915 @amortenha @hoonpalettes @asyleums @moonmoongi @jyndre @parksunghoonsgf @whippedforbeomgyu @dianzed @soobliss-blog @manooffline @iscocohere @saythenameseventeen178 @woniewonn @luv4cheol @tinylittlebuggi @h-hazwie @ddazed-lhs @enhacolor @hiqhkey @webqrl @ilovewonyo @aesunghoon @hanienie @jrjr289

it isn’t a well disguised fact that park sunghoon doesn’t like you–no, hate would be a better word. park sunghoon hates you, and he makes it clear to everyone who knows him. but when you leave him a different flavored lollipop every day, it gets a little harder to loathe you.

[more under the cut!]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 - chapter i.

Park Sunghoon finds solace in the fact that he annoys you.

He isn’t sure he truly does, as you’re quite adept at keeping your face blank when something pisses you off. But for a moment, that bright, customer-service smile slips, and the left corner of your lip twitches when he sneers at you from across the room. That’s how he likes it. He likes that he has an effect on you, negative or otherwise, although it was always the former.

“You need to let it go.” Jake sighed as he watched Sunghoon’s eyes follow you across the room when you stand to pass out the second semester chemistry syllabus. “I don’t even understand why you don’t like her."

“How could you not?” he phrased his question like a statement.

“Well, first of all, she’s my math tutor.” Jake says, smacking the top of his best friend’s head with a rolled up spiral notebook, crumpling his notes. “So I have to get along with her. And second of all, she makes it pretty easy considering she’s such a catch.” Sunghoon groaned in annoyance, a petulant frown on his pretty face.

“God, you’re so brainless.” Sunghoon whined. “You’re just another one of the idiots completely infatuated with her.”

Well, why wouldn’t he be? You’re the president of the school council, head of the party planning committee, photographer of the yearbook club, and the school newspaper’s best writer. It’s an intricate balancing act, and a wonder that you could keep it up on the daily.

“I’m not infatuated.” Jake said with an indignant hiss. “I just don’t hold stupid grudges– shit, she’s coming.” The Aussie cleared his throat and painted an enthusiastic and eager smile onto his face as you approached the boy’s shared table.

“Good morning.” you chirped, and Jake grinned in response. “Here’s the syllabus.” You passed a double sided sheet of paper to each of them, gently setting it down on the desk. It didn’t escape Sunghoon’s attention that his was wrapped up in a roll, a piece of tape closing the document into a cylinder. You sent him a soft smile, looking at him through your lashes, before backing away from the table and moving onto the next pair of students who were waiting to receive their assignment. Sunghoon rolled his eyes, hesitantly peeling off the strip of adhesive and unrolling the paper to reveal the object inside, Jake peering curiously over his shoulder in an attempt to see.

“God, she’s still at it.” Sunghoon groaned, reaching down to pick up a small lollipop, a vivid yellow and wrapped in a holographic piece of cellophane with a little red ribbon tying it closed. “I thought she might’ve stopped.”

“Dude, you’re so lucky.” Jake breathed enviously, and Sunghoon looked at him with distaste. “You know how many guys in this school would kill to get a lollipop from her?” Sunghoon ignored his best friend's implorations, unwrapping the treat and shoving it into his mouth.

Lemon. He hated lemon.

When he looked back to the front of the classroom, you were setting the remaining stack of papers on the teacher’s desk, peeking at Sunghoon’s reaction. You seemed somewhat pleased to see the boy sucking on the sweet you had left him, and you sent a bright smile in his direction. His eyes were drawn to your shirt, which was adorned with what he thought was a very tacky depiction of a dove and some hearts, and he inwardly grimaced. Apparently, it wasn’t too inward judging by the look on your face.

He smirked, lifting up his hand and subtly sending you a different kind of bird with his middle finger. Your smile dropped entirely, and you rubbed your lips together in annoyance, retreating to your desk with a mix of frustration and despondence. That made him very satisfied.

“Would it kill you to be nice for once?” Jake asked, a skeptical look on his face as he watched the entire encounter go down. Sunghoon shrugged, setting his hand down on his desk and strumming his slender fingers on the wooden surface.

“Probably.”

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

Today was yet another failed attempt at making Park Sunghoon like you.

You had to admit, you weren’t entirely pleased with your lollipop arrangement, and by that, you meant that you hated it. Treating Sunghoon like a human being with real emotions was so hard when he was such a piece of shit. You let out an exhausted sigh, hopping onto the counter of the candy shop. Your best friend laughed at your theatrics, wiping his hand with a white rag and tossing you a packet of red licorice.

“What’s the problem?” Jungwon asked inquisitively as though he didn’t already know the answer. “Sunghoon again?” His tone was filled with pity, and you hated it. You rolled onto your stomach, ripping open the packaging and tucking one of the red ropes into your mouth with a heavy sigh, blinking twice hard, before frowning.

“He’s not budging.”

“That’s a shame. I’m almost out of lollipop flavors.” Jungwon tutted with disappointment, reaching into his pocket and removing his hand with a treat, barely able to hold back the anticipating grin on his face. He tossed it to you. “Or am I?”

“You’re a lifesaver.” you sighed, pocketing it. “I’m not sure how you keep coming up with more.” Your best friend simply shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Chef’s secret,” he smiled.

Jungwon had adored candy since you met him, but the only thing he adored more than eating candy was making candy. This came in handy during basically every holiday or romance related occasion. A handmade bouquet of chocolate covered strawberries, a box filled to the brim with toffee, or a lollipop. He liked lollipops the most. “Maybe you should stop with the lollipops. I’m down to my last vial 0f strawberry flavoring and our restock isn’t until next Monday.” he scrunched his nose up at the thought.

“What if he gets pissed off once I stop giving him them, and then he gets even meaner?” you wondered aloud. “What would I do then?”

“Um, report him to the principal?” Jungwon suggested, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and you shot up into a sitting position.

“Absolutely not.” you hissed. “I have to beat him.” You raised your fist to the air, seething with vengeance. “I will make that pretty bastard like me, goddamn it.” This was it. Jungwon was convinced that you had finally gone ‘round the bend. A ringing sound resounded through the shop as someone pushed through the front door with a grin.

“Did someone say pretty bastard?” he said, arms held out playfully as he turned his nose up to the ceiling. You only pouted in response. “Awww, baby what’s wrong?” he asked, circling his hands around your waist and pressing a kiss to your forehead while Jungwon stuck out his tongue.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” you dismissed the topic with a wave of your hand and a sigh. You knew very well that if Heeseung got word of the way Sunghoon was treating you, you’d have a dead body on your hands. “How was practice?”

“Pretty good. Coach says I’m doing well. Could get a scholarship.” He cuddled up to you, until something hard and spherical hit him in the face, and he gripped his nose with a groan, bending down to pick up the fallen object.

“No cuddling in the store.” Jungwon said, a hand on the door as he came back to the counter, a thin white stick protruding from his mouth. “It’ll scare the customers.”

“Likely.” Heeseung scoffed, yet he pulled the wrapper off the lollipop and shoved it in his mouth, swirling the sphere on his tongue. “You wanna go see that new movie, Ten Things I Hate About You? It’s playin’ tonight and Beomgyu said it’s good.” You laughed, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth with a wet ‘pop’ sound, and tucking it between your own lips. Jungwon gagged on his lunch.

“I don’t trust any movie that Beomgyu says is good.”

“Ah, c’mon babe. It’ll be fun.” he said, returning his hands to your waist as you smiled. He had a way of making you smile even when you were at your lowest.

“Alright.” you caved, and he pumped his fist, planting a kiss on your cheek.

“Glad you said yes, because I already bought tickets.” You chastised him, but he only laughed and grabbed your waist, lifting you off the counter like a sack of potatoes while you shrieked. “Thanks for the sucker, Won!”

“Yeah, yeah. Have fun!” he yelled after the two of you until you were out of sight, hopping into his old Dodge Viper with lovesick, giddy smiles on your faces. Then the boy sighed, rolling his eyes. “Pricks.”

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

“Red Vines.”

“Gotta be Charleston Chews.”

“Ew, no fucking way. Charleston Chews are just s'mores without the best part.” you scoffed, finger wagging in your boyfriend’s face as the exasperated teenage cashier watched you argue about your candy choices for the movie you were about to watch.

“I’ll let that go, because I love you.” he warned. “But Charleston Chews are the best candy.” Despite his protest, he reached for the Red Vines on the shelf and dropped them next to the cash register as he removed his wallet from his pocket.

“Thanks, baby.” you kissed him on the cheek, and he sent you a grin for the reward. “But they definitely taste like shit.” you said cheekily, and he smacked you lightly on the top of the head, before grabbing your Red Vines and pulling you away.

“I’ll get you back for that.” He teased, and you stuck your tongue out. “Oh shit, I left my Coke at the register.” You laughed at his blatant forgetfulness as he smacked himself in the forehead. “Go, hurry. I’ll wait here.” He darted out the exit, excusing himself and apologizing as he ran past a pair entering the theater, almost knocking their popcorn out of their hands. “Where’s he off to in a rush?” one of them asked incredulously, the other mumbling incoherent responses as they seated themselves. Great, the teenage cynics who apparently had a grudge against your boyfriend were sitting right next to you.

“Heeseung’s really been busy lately.” one said, and your ears perked up at their use of his name. “With scholarships, and all that. Must be hella tired.” The voice sounded oddly familiar, but you couldn’t exactly place who it belonged to.

“Yeah, as if.” another scoffed. “He’s probably busy making out with his fuckface girlfriend.” Your eye twitched.

“C’mon, don’t be mean. What’s she ever done to you?’ another said.

“She’s awful. You’re so gullible.” the same disparaging voice said, and you huffed. You recognized that drawl, you had heard it somewhere but you weren’t sure where. “Heeseung’s an idiot. The both of them can go to hell.” Enough was enough. You stood, reaching over to the cynical boy sitting directly next to you and grabbed the front of his shirt, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel his shock.

“You got something to say about me and my boyfriend?” you hissed.

“Have you had your break today? We all need to get away, there’s one place that’s on your way,” the jolly actors sang as the screen suddenly lit up with an advertisement, the lights turning on and revealing the boy before you.

“Y/n?” Sunghoon asked incredulously, and you grit your teeth. He got a reaction out of you. You had completely played yourself.

Despite your instant regret, you continued to grip on his shirt. “Park Sunghoon.”

“What are you doing here?” he hissed under his breath, and your eyes darted to Jake, sitting beside him. He looked utterly stunned. He had never seen you react to Sunghoon’s tauntings before; even Sunghoon never had the pleasure of seeing you burst out in a properly angry reaction.

“Seeing a movie with my boyfriend.” you muttered. Sunghoon didn’t respond, and you thought this might be the first time you had seen him off guard.

You dropped his shirt, letting him plop back down onto the cushioned seat.

You had seriously messed up. Sunghoon was never supposed to see you angry, more than anyone. You were about to do some damage control when Heeseung strode straight through the swinging doors with a box of Charleston Chews and a plastic cup of Coke so large it looked like it could cause diabetes immediately upon consumption.

Heeseung always had incredibly bad timing.

“Hey baby.” he slid into the seat next to you, pecking a kiss onto your cheek. He coughed on his soda pop when he saw the pair staring at him, seated directly next to you, one boy looking at him like he had just ran over his cat. “Oh, hey guys. Jake,” he said, nodding to the older boy of the two. “How’s varsity tryouts?”

“Going good.” Jake said meekly. The two were acquainted from their time on the rugby team, yet Jake suddenly felt extremely intimidated by the older boy. You said nothing, leaning back in your seat with a perturbed look on your face.

Once you and Heeseung finally struck up a conversation, Jake leaned in and grabbed the front of Sunghoon’s shirt with an extremely stressed expression.

“Are you trying to get us killed?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Sunghoon snapped, not sounding sorry at all. “Christ, you really had to book the seats right next to Jack and Joan Sprat?”

“I didn’t know they’d be sitting there.” Jake said through gritted teeth, and it was easy to see that the poor boy was at his breaking point. “I would just like to get through this movie peacefully.” he rubbed his temples, expecting protest. But to Jake’s surprise, the boy didn’t complain. He was much too busy staring at you. “Sunghoon?”

“Yeah, I got it.” the boy rolled his eyes, turning away. Jake looked at him in a double take, shocked at the boy’s compliancy, but pleasantly surprised.

Maybe this would be a nice trip to the theater after all.

Of course, nothing could be peaceful when you and Sunghoon were in the same room together. The tension was undeniable, even to your oblivious boyfriend.

Safe to say you only registered about half of the movie.

Not to say that the film wasn’t engrossing. In fact, you were beginning to seriously enjoy it. Sunghoon, however, was enjoying the movie a bit less than you were.

“This is so fucking stupid.” he muttered to Jake as the main characters bickered on screen. “This would never happen in real life.”

“That’s why it’s a movie, dumbass. Now can you shut up? You’re seriously bumming me out.” Jake snapped back, slapping the back of Sunghoon’s head. Sunghoon reached over to retaliate, knocking his cup of Sprite over in the process, spilling the entire contents of the plastic container directly onto your skirt. You squealed, and Heeseung cursed, pulling you up as he dug in his pockets for napkins. You glared at Sunghoon and saw that he looked rather surprised at his own action, and for a moment you doubted if he did it on purpose. But then the look of shock shifted into one of satisfaction, and you chose to not give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Gosh, I’m sorry.” Sunghoon said in a way that told you he wasn’t sorry at all.

“That’s one hell of a mess.” Heeseung kissed his teeth, attempting to use the napkins to clean off your skirt, but the people behind you began to boo at your obstruction of their view. “Alright people, Jesus. We’re moving.” He took your hand and pulled you back down, still attempting to dry you off. While you greatly appreciated the effort, it was doing practically nothing to help.

“It’s okay, Hee.” you said, pushing his hands off with a tight smile. “It’ll dry.” You sighed, reaching for the box of Charleston Chews. You didn’t even like this stupid candy, but you needed something sweet to calm your temper or you were going to kill someone. Your hand exited the box covered in melted chocolate, and you threw your head back in displeasure. But suddenly, an idea struck you.

The sacrifice of your boyfriend's candy was worth it.

You sloppily upturned the box into Sunghoon’s lap, the half-melted chocolate slipping onto his light tan pants as he inhaled sharply, his lip pulled between his teeth.

“Whoops.” you said with a smile, turning back to the screen.

Sure, you were done being nice to Park Sunghoon. But you still tucked a sucker into his pocket, hoping he would find it on his way home and at least have some kind of consolation for his ruined trousers.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

Sunghoon collapsed onto his bed, reaching under his bed frame for something beneath. When his hand emerged, it held a dark green spiral notebook, with a pencil held by a strap of elastic. He swirled the lollipop around his mouth, thinking carefully for a few moments before flipping to the next open page on his notebook.

“June 15th, 1999… Strawberry… cheesecake…” He mused under his breath as he jotted it down on the lined paper, biting the inside of his left cheek with furrowed brows. “Maybe just strawberry cream?” he thought to himself, biting the end of his pencil before shaking his head. “Had to be cheesecake.” He surely sounded insane to anyone who was listening from the outside, yet this was a nightly routine for the teen, notebook and pencil in hand as he pondered the flavor of the day.

He had tasted birthday cake, banana split, bubblegum, gingerbread, black licorice, pina colada, pretty much any flavor that even Willy Wonka himself could come up with. He thought he might’ve had every lollipop flavor in the universe, and the pages of his notebook had become worn with your endless supply of sugary treats.

However, he did find it odd that you had never given him cherry before.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐄 - chapter ii.

There was something you had never told anyone. Not to Heeseung, not even to Jungwon, and you told him just about everything, maybe too much. No, this secret went untold, and you planned to take it with you to your grave.

Park Sunghoon was your first love.

It’s not like he ever loved you back. This was your freshman year of high school, the first time you met the young charmer, who at the time was wide eyed and raven haired, quiet and not very conversational. At the ripe age of 14, he wasn’t fully comfortable in his skin yet, not making many friends and focusing on building his figure skating career rather than on his grades. He was nerdy, he was awkward, and he was always alone in the cafeteria, picking absentmindedly at his food while he daydreamed.

He was beautiful. You found yourself unable to look away.

Even in your freshman year, rising up the school hierarchy wasn’t difficult. You joined the school council in your first week at Decelis High, easily acquiring the vice president position once election day came around, leading you to take the president position eventually. You started writing in the newspaper club in your second month of high school, your teachers recognizing your potential and promoting you to head editor as well as a journalist, and students immediately began to respect your brave commentary on the school’s weak ethics and poor handling of their students. School was improved when you joined, and the student body found that their day brightened up when you walked down the hall with your signature smile.

Which is why it was odd that you fell hopelessly head over heels for a quiet boy who interacted with no one and didn’t speak unless spoken to, head perpetually in the clouds. And despite your undeniable popularity, he never paid a lick of attention to you.

It took until your junior year for him to even speak to you. When his head wasn’t somewhere over the rainbow, he was focusing on skating, skipping classes to run to the rink for a quick session with his trainer. And when he wasn’t skating, he was playing soccer. Through the rose tinted lenses of love, you thought he was an excellent player, but supposedly his coach didn’t agree. He was benched for nearly all his games.

You never told him you had feelings for him, but the closest you came was when you showed up to the soccer game he was playing in with a button on your shirt that said “Go Sunghoon!”. You cheered for him the entire time, even if the only reason he was playing was because Kang Taehyun had sprained his ankle.

Sunghoon scored one goal, but the more experienced player had sucked up the pain and decided to jump into the game last-minute, scoring the winning goal and sending the audience into a frenzy like they had just won the olympics and not an amateur high school soccer game. The team picked up Taehyun on their backs and ran around the field toting him on their shoulders like a trophy, and poor Sunghoon was left on the bench with a frown, wishing that he could’ve been the one on their shoulders being celebrated. You felt so bad for him that you stood up, cupped your hands around your mouth and yelled for his attention, garnering weird stares from those next to you, but you didn’t care. When you yelled his name with a cheer, he looked up into the stands and sent you the most luminous smile you had ever seen, one that could’ve made the sun itself envious of his radiance.

Which is why it confused you when he hated your guts less than a year later.

You never really understood why Sunghoon disliked you. It was a mystery, not only to you, but to everyone who knew about it, even Jungwon, who had seen more ugly and intolerable sides of you than anyone. Nobody really knew why Park Sunghoon despised you, so they just stopped trying to figure out why.

But not you. You needed to know why he didn’t like you, why the boy who you loved so dearly ended up hating you so much he was spiteful at your mere existence.

Your first memory of Sunghoon was the first day of high school, when he came through the school gates with a big, red sucker in his mouth and an overwhelmed look on his face. So you decided lollipops were the best way to win him over.

But with every canned stick of orange creamsicle, every discarded cotton candy and crushed lemonade, your feelings slowly left you until the love you once felt for the boy disappeared as he left his tally on your heart, then faded into nothing.

Then you met Heeseung. On January 1st, just as the clock struck midnight at Choi Yeonjun’s New Years party, he asked you to be his girlfriend. And suddenly, you didn’t really care if Sunghoon loved you back or not.

But you never stopped wanting him to like you.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

You were entirely done with being nice to Park Sunghoon. After nearly a year of being treated like the scum on the bottom of his shoes, you weren’t afraid of him anymore, you weren’t afraid of showing him how truly done you were. But Jungwon still had buckets full of lollipops left for you, so you supposed the lollipop charade could go on for a bit longer.

You still didn’t like him though. That’s what you told yourself.

“She’s acting differently.” Sunghoon scrunched his eyes into scrutinizing crescents as he watched you stride down the hallway nonchalantly. Just a moment previously, you had met his eyes while you walked, textbook clutched to your chest, and rather than sending him a joyous smile or a wave, you ignored him as though he wasn’t even there, which shocked him thoroughly.

Plus, it was the fourth period and you hadn’t even given him a lollipop yet.

“You’re just salty that she poured her Charleston Chews on you. You’re imagining it.” Jake scoffed, eyes attached to his book, scanning over every word.

“No, you don’t get it.” Sunghoon huffed exasperatedly, arms crossed as he watched you saunter to Heeseung’s side and allow him to pull you into his embrace. “She’s never ignored me like this before. She doesn’t just… look away.”

“So she doesn’t like you anymore. Big deal.” Jake shrugged, but Sunghoon seemed rather upset by this sudden change of events. “You fumbled the bag, that’s all.” Sunghoon’s eyes shot to his shorter companion as they narrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“C’mon, dude. You had y/n y/l/n, the ultimate sweetheart of Decelis High, practically begging for your attention, and you were nothing but mean to her. I mean, anyone would want to be in your place. Of course she’s sick of you.”

“Yeah but-”

“But nothing.” Jake punched Sunghoon’s arm, putting a soft dent in the fabric of his puffy jacket, and the weaker of the two winced. “You were fucking bogus.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Sunghoon snapped, swatting Jake’s hand away with a scowl. “I was a loser.” When Jake nodded, affirming Sunghoon’s self-diss, he sent him a glare. “Well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

“Nothing, bro. Just move on and stop being such a dick.” Jake shrugged, walking away with his nose still buried in his book, leaving Sunghoon to think. Did he really care if you didn’t like him anymore? Would it be so bad for you to continue to ignore him?

The answer was yes. Undeniably so, because he despised you, and it only brought him more joy to see you struggle. Sunghoon liked being catered to, and you had just taken away his greatest pleasure.

The game was on.

“Jake, it’s simple.”

“No, it’s not.” Jake rubbed his forehead frustratedly as you attempted to explain the permutation formula to him for the fortieth time that day. He was supposed to be good at math, at least that’s what Jay said, and Jay was almost always right. However, you realized after a few tutoring sessions that Jake was a bit less attentive in math class as his friend made him out to be. “Why is there an exclamation point?”

“The exclamation point is to demonstrate how you’re supposed to multiply the number by each number following it, consecutively.” Jake looked like you had just told him to grow wings and fly, and you took the paper from his hand with a small giggle. “Jesus, Jake. You look like you got three hours of sleep last night and your dog shit in your cereal.” He let out a chuckle.

“You’ve got half of that statement spot on.”

“I’m going to assume it’s the former.” you said playfully.

“You got it.” he sighed a second time.

“Wanna talk about it?” He huffed, like the mere memory of his stressors were enough to upset him even when they weren’t present.

“It’s nothing…” You knew it wasn’t nothing. “It’s just Sunghoon.”

Bingo.

“He’s so oblivious sometimes.” Jake said exasperatedly. “Although, most times I’m pretty sure he’s being dense on purpose.” You stared at him blankly and he rested his chin on his palm. “He’s so stubborn. I always tell him to just let things go, to move on, but he never listens.” You didn’t need an explanation to understand what he was talking about. “I don’t know. He’s just felt so negative recently. Especially today.”

“What’s so different about today?” you asked, elated that he was frustrated at your indifference, which wasn’t indifference at all judging by how much you cared.

“Nothing, for most of us.” the Aussie shrugged. “I suppose he’s just feeling a bit abandoned.” You raised an eyebrow, and Jake seemed to notice his misstep. “T-that doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Sure.” you snorted, pulling the sheet of paper you were supposed to be attentively solving into your lap, flipping through your binder for the notes.

“Are you free on Saturday night?” Your eyebrows practically flew to your hairline.

“Depends on who’s asking, and why.”

“Yeonjun’s throwing a party.” You were very well aware of Choi Yeonjun, a freshman at Hybe University. Even after finally graduating a few months ago, his parties were a must for the top tier of Decelis’ elite students; namely the popular kids. You didn’t often frequent parties, but Heeseung and Yeonjun were quite close friends. You had never missed one of his parties, and you didn’t plan to break that record.

“I wasn’t aware.” you picked up a pencil and began scrawling, eyes on your lap.

“It’s a smaller thing than usual. Just some friends, and friends of friends. Maybe a few friends of friends of friends.” You allowed a smile to pass over your lips, and Jake smiled in success. “So you’ll come?”

“I’ve never missed a Choi party.” you shut your notebook and passed the completed homework back to its owner. “I’ll give you the answers, just for today.”

“You’re the best, y/n.” Jake grinned as you stood, holding your binder to your chest, smiling in response.

“I know. Oh, and Jake?” he tilted his head as you removed a green lollipop from the pocket of your pleated skirt, sliding it across the table until it came to a stop just before his hands. “Give this to Sunghoon.”

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

Park Sunghoon was absolutely fuming.

Typically, when school was over, he’d come home, collapse on his bed, write down the lollipop of the day, and then firmly put you out of his mind. But today, for the first time, he found himself unable to do any of those things. He sat on his bed, staring at his wall silently. He was in a haze. He needed a distraction, asap.

When the doorbell rang, he ran downstairs in record time.

“Hit the brakes.” his little sister snapped as he dashed to the door, pulling it open, excited even to see the mailman. He was surprised to see his best friend on the other side, who gave him a sideways look.

“Your scowl is freaking me out.” Jake said, hands in his pockets as he strolled inside. Sunghoon closed the door behind him.

“Get used to it.” Sunghoon replied petulantly, and the two boys walked back up the stairs to Sunghoon’s room. “What brings you to my part of town?”

“I’ve got news.” Jake said, flopping down onto Sunghoon’s bed with a smug expression on his pretty face. “Oh, but before I forget.” Jake reached into the pocket of his blue jeans, removing a spherical object and tossing it in Sunghoon’s direction. The younger boy caught it, his face brightening subconsciously.

“Finally,” he rolled his eyes, unwrapping the lollipop and tucking it into the side of his mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully.

“As I was saying I-” Sunghoon ignored Jake’s ramblings, ducking under his bed and reaching for the green notebook, rifling through the mess under his bed frame. Typically, he’d be too embarrassed to do this in front of company, but he couldn’t find it within him to care. “Did you hear about Yeonjun’s party this weekend?” Sunghoon ignored him, removing the lollipop from his mouth and shoving it towards Jake.

“Do you think this smells like apple?” he asked, and Jake swatted his hand away.

“Did you hear anything I just said? And I’m not putting my face anywhere near something that’s been in your mouth.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes again, turning his attention back to his notebook as Jake stared at him. “Are you even listening?”

“I’m listening.” Sunghoon waved him off, but Jake could swear he heard him muttering fruits under his breath.

“Yeonjun’s having a party this weekend.” he repeated, and Sunghoon looked at him blankly, finally putting his pen down.

“So what?” he scoffed. “You’ve never wanted to go to one of those parties before. They don’t want people like us there.” Jake narrowed his eyes.

“People like us? They’re fine with me, you’re the one they have a problem with.” Jake said, pressing his pointer finger into Sunghoon’s chest while the latter frowned. “In fact, I happen to have an invitation, considering me and Heeseung are friends.”

“I don’t want to go to any party that Heeseung is going to.” Sunghoon refused childishly, and Jake kissed his teeth.

“I don’t get what your issue with Heeseung is. Hating y/n was bad enough, but Heeseung is especially innocent.” Jake shook his head when his best friend opened his mouth to protest, slapping his hand over his mouth before he got the chance. “I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t wanna hear it.” Sunghoon remained silent.

The two boys sat quietly for a moment, just looking at each other, both as stubborn as the next. Jake broke the silence, sighing exhaustedly.

“Will you just do this one thing for me? Please?” Sunghoon pursed his lips. On one hand, he hated partying. He wanted nothing to do with it. But on the other hand, Jake Sim was his best friend, and he loved this boy more than he loved himself. And he had been a pretty shitty friend recently.

And so, the boy with iron resolve, and an even stronger temper, nodded his head.

“Fine, but seriously, just this once.” he said, wagging his finger when Jake’s face broke out into an enormous smile as he leapt up from the bed. “Never again, okay?”

“Pinky promise!” Jake said, running out the door and down the stairs, slamming the front door behind him as Sunghoon shook his head.

What had he gotten himself into?

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 - chapter iii.

Park Sunghoon had a confession. It was one that he hadn’t told anybody. Not his family, not his friends, not even Jake, who he told nearly everything. No, this was a true secret. One that was bursting at the seams, that he desperately wanted to confess.

You were his first love.

Well, he assumed you were. He had no idea what love was; he was only fourteen at the time. But it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest when you didn’t meet his gaze, and it felt like he was on cloud nine when he spotted you staring.

Sunghoon wasn’t one to make many friends. He wasn’t a social creature. He couldn’t say that was how he liked it, because he wasn’t necessarily sure that was true. He didn’t know if he liked to be alone, or if that was just how it had always been. But that changed when he met you.

For once, he found himself wanting to be around someone. The minute he laid eyes on you, he fell head over heels. You were everything he wasn’t. He knew he was in love with you when a junior tried shoving Jake into a locker and you punched him in the face. Even Sunghoon didn’t have the courage to stand up for Jake like that.

Sunghoon admired everything about you, but he knew you could never care about him. You were president of the student council, head of the party planning committee, photographer of the yearbook club, and the school newspaper’s best journalist. You tutored, you played multiple instruments. You liked being around people. You were brave and righteous. You were everything he wished he was. Why would you like him? He was just a loser who skipped class to skate and wished he had a little more courage.

But sometimes, he saw a little glimmer of hope for the two of you. When you came to his soccer game and only cheered for him, when you lent him your favorite pencil, when you left a note on his desk saying you liked his diorama the best. Sometimes he even thought that he could be with you if he finally followed his heart.

The only issue? Lee Heeseung.

Captain of the varsity rugby team, runner up for valedictorian, king bee of the school. He was loved by everyone. He had more friends than he could count, and the same for his admirers. When he wanted something, he got it. Sunghoon supposed you counted for that as well. It was obvious that he had a crush on you. Everyone knew you and Heeseung would date eventually, even Sunghoon.

Sunghoon had never fought for anything in his life, but for once, he was willing to fight for you. Until something happened that changed his perspective of you completely, something that made him despise you so much, he could barely contain it. Nobody knew what changed, but one day, Sunghoon dedicated his life to hating you.

You had no idea why.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

Jungwon thought he could find out something about your past with Sunghoon if he sleuthed hard enough, but he was finding it more difficult than imagined.

He had checked the records in the principal's office —with the cover story that he was doing an investigative report— three times over, and he had yielded nothing. He asked nearly everyone he knew for any kind of background information. He even checked with the newspaper department, hoping they had some kind of trashy gossip if nothing else. Most of what he heard was entirely useless, consisting of people trash talking Sunghoon and hyping you up entirely too much. Jungwon thought they’d reconsider their words after witnessing you on a bad day.

He sighed frustratedly, collapsing into the principal’s chair, kicking his feet up onto the desk. Absolutely nothing.

He cocked his head when the door unlatched, slowly creaking open no more than an inch or two. A sneakered foot snuck its way inside, the rest of the intruder following, letting out a yelp when he saw Jungwon sitting skeptically in the center of the room.

“What are you doing here?” Jake said, a hand on his chest as he exhaled rapidly.

“What are you doing here?” Jungwon repeated his question back at him. Jake and Jungwon were mostly ambivalent towards each other, but there was always some distaste. After all, they were the best friends of mortal enemies.

“I…” Jake stared at him blankly. “I’m checking the records.”

“What a coincidence. So am I.” The two boys sized each other up, wondering if they might be there for the same reason.

There was no way.

“How’d you get in?” Jake said after a beat.

“Front door.” Jungwon replied, and the older boy frowned.

“Yeah, I gathered that. I mean, what did you tell administration to get in here?”

“I told them, ‘I want to check the school records.’” Jake shook his head, reaching for the desk containing the files of all the information on every student.

“Are you kidding me? Administration would rather die than let me in here.” Jake sorted through the files. He paused, frowned, then thumbed back and forth for a moment before straightening up and crossing his arms. His eyes widened when he saw the missing file he sought splayed out on the desk, just underneath Jungwon's shoes. “Why were you looking at Sunghoon’s personal file?” Jake said with an accusatory tone, and Jungwon paled, snatching it off the desk and tucking it away into his jacket.

“You’re imagining things.” he said quickly, and Jake rolled his eyes, turning back to the file cabinet. He removed your file, looking at Jungwon pointedly.

“Are you here for the same reason I am?” he asked. Neither of them wanted to admit it, but they were both certain they had the same goal.

Jungwon nodded slowly. “I think so, yeah.”

“You want to find out what happened with Sunghoon and y/n, don’t you?” Jake asked, and Jungwon averted his eyes sheepishly. There was a moment of silence before the two boys broke into laughter. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Jungwon smiled, crossing his arms. “Let’s work together.”

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

Sunghoon was having a horrible day.

Most of Sunghoon’s days were below average, simply because he didn’t often feel like having fun. But that day, he had woken up with a sinking feeling in his stomach and a furrow between his brows. That day was going to be a horrible day, and he knew it even at 6:45 am when the snooze button on his alarm stopped working.

He got to school with no bad occurrences, almost forgetting what was making him so upset. But when he saw you and Lee Heeseung, his lips on your neck, he suddenly remembered.

It gave him momentarily relief when he recalled the apple sucker from yesterday, but when he caught himself smiling, his mood only soured further.

“Morning, sunshine!” Jake chirped, attacking from behind and ruffling Sunghoon’s hair cheerily. Sunghoon glanced back to give him a glare, attempting to repair the damage Jake had done to his hairdo.

“You seem awfully jolly this morning,” he said gruffly.

“I don’t know. Something good is in the air this morning.” Jake hummed, hands in his pockets and a significant spring in his step.

He couldn’t very well admit that he was orchestrating an entire plan to get you and Sunghoon alone together so you’d finally resolve your issues. And he definitely couldn’t mention that he was plotting in cahoots with your best friend.

“Yeah, right.” Sunghoon scoffed.

“I’m assuming that —once again— you’ve chosen to have a bad attitude today?” Jake asked rhetorically. He already knew the answer. He knew his best friend well enough to decipher when he was upset, although it was easy enough that anyone could probably tell; Sunghoon was in an awful mood on most days.

“It’s not something I choose.” Sunghoon scoffed, still messing with his hair.

“Sure it isn’t.” Jake said sardonically, punching him in the shoulder as Sunghoon glared, rubbing the sore area. “Don’t be a- oh hey!” Sunghoon whirled around at his best friend’s sudden topic switch to see you dashing past. “Hey, did you do the chemistry homework last night?”

“Of course I did.” you scoffed. “I’m assuming you didn’t?”

“Clearly you know me well. No chance I could get the notes off of you?”

“No chance, sorry Jake.” you laughed like the tinkling of bells. “But who knows, I might pass you the answer sheet while the teacher isn’t looking.”

“You’re the best!” he grinned as you saluted playfully. Your joyous facade faded for a moment when your gaze locked with Sunghoon’s briefly. You searched his face for any sign that he had received your gift, but his stoic glare firmly remained. You held back the urge to roll your eyes, turning on your heel.

Your lack of a response only made Sunghoon more upset. He was scowling hotly, so much so, that it was certain you could fry an egg on his head.

“She’s such a pretender. Can you fucking believe that?” You heard him scoff just before you left, an accusatory hand pointing in your direction. Jake cocked his head, and Sunghoon’s scowl deepened. “She didn’t even acknowledge that I was here!”

“Why should she?” Jake laughed, tucking his hands into his pockets and walking away as Sunghoon froze on the spot, practically shaking with rage.

Oh, you were going to regret ignoring him.

It almost made Sunghoon sick to think about how much he used to like you.

He thought of all the times he had written your name in his notebook surrounded by hearts and little angel wings. All the times he wished he could bring you flowers, or tell you how he felt. All the times he watched Heeseung sweep you off your feet, and felt bitter resent in his throat. For the first time in his miserable 14 years, he was certain he was in love. It was a bit far-fetched, considering he had only spoken to you once or twice. He didn’t know if he had ever had a full conversation with you.

What was it all for? Why did the girl he loved have to hurt him so bad?

It made him think that life wasn’t very fair. That people were egocentric, they didn’t consider others feelings. He was pathetic, he knew that. He should let it go, forget about what happened between the two of you and move on. He had his own life, you had yours. His existence shouldn’t center around the hatred of another human being.

Maybe hating you was an escape. Maybe he hated you because he couldn’t handle the thought of loving you anymore.

The line between hate and love was very fine. Even he knew that.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

You really didn’t want to go to this party. The more you thought about it, the more you felt sick to your stomach.

After the week you had, drinking with a bunch of teenagers sounded like the last thing you wanted to do. Even being around your friends and boyfriend sounded deeply unappealing; for the first time you could remember, you just wanted to be alone. But you knew this was important to your clique, and so you sucked it up, brushing the dust off the front of your party dress and turning around to your friends.

Ningning and Karina sat on the bed, on their phones. Ningning was dressed in an orange tube top dress, Karina wearing an identical one in purple. Neither of them noticed you until you cleared your throat, and they fawned over your dress.

They were your friends, supposedly. You liked them well enough, and they seemed to like you the same. They were sweet girls, but you didn’t really connect. The only reason you were friends was because you were popular, and so were they. You were living in a dog-eat-dog world, where popular girls became friends with each other to avoid making enemies. You wished it wasn’t like that, and you had a feeling they did too.

Yeonjun walked into the room with a big, cheesy grin on his face, toting your boyfriend behind him. Further back were Beomgyu, Huening Kai, Taehyun, and Soobin, the rest of your boyfriend's older friends. See also: people you didn’t really connect with.

“Are you girls ready?” Yeonjun asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes as the group crowded in. Heeseung came from the back of the procession to take your hands, and it felt like a breath of fresh air. You sighed as the others engaged in conversation.

Heeseung frowned. “You okay? You usually love Yeonjun’s parties.” You brushed some stray hair out of your face and painted on a smile.

“I’m fine, Hee. Thanks for looking out for me.” you said. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, adjusting your necklace so the clasp was aligned with the nape of your neck.

“Anytime you wanna leave, just say the word. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” You held his hand with a smile.

“Don’t worry about me, baby. Just have fun.” you ushered him towards his friends, and he gave you a brief look before he went to join them. The crowd filed out of the bedroom and into the living room, ready to party.

You sighed, looking at yourself in the mirror for a moment and taking a deep breath to relax yourself. You had no idea why you were so nervous. You had done this a million times around. You knew the party scene like the back of your hand, it was the life you had been living for the past four years.

You stared at the pink dress you were wearing. It was your favorite dress, yet somehow it didn’t feel good anymore. The lamp from the ceiling shone on your necklace, the bright, diamond letter H catching the light.

Usually, you tried not to let Sunghoon get to you. He was just a jealous, rude, idiot who wanted to bring you down for no reason. But today, his words reverberated in your head, ringing painfully, no matter how hard you tried to get them out.

She’s such a pretender.

It made you wonder, was he right? Were you putting on a show for everyone but you? You had played your role so well, you had almost fooled yourself.

Sometimes you got tired of being perfect. You got tired of keeping up your facade all the time. You almost lost yourself in the process.

Maybe Sunghoon was right. Maybe you were a pretender. Maybe hating you meant that he was the only one who really understood you.

And maybe that was a good enough reason to hate him a little less.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 - chapter iv.

“For the record, I am not happy about this.” Sunghoon said for what must’ve been the millionth time that night. Jake had forced him into a button up and combed his hair, in comparison to his usual overgrown bangs and old band tee. He cleaned up nice, but the boy’s foul expression was enough to drive off any prospective attention.

“Tough luck.” Jake said, adjusting his chain as he smiled charmingly at himself in the mirror. “It’s one party. You’ll be fine.” Sunghoon continued to grumble.

He wasn’t used to seeing himself done up nicely. He felt too vulnerable without his long bangs hiding his eyes and a hoodie to cover himself up. It didn’t feel right to see himself fixed up like this, but he kept telling himself that it was only once, for Jake.

Jake looked down at the watch on his wrist, a string of curses leaving his lips.

“Shit, Sunghoon, we gotta go. We’re late.” he grabbed his jacket off the coat rack, dashing out the door while Sunghoon dragged his feet behind him.

“We’re fashionably late.” the younger boy corrected, Jake turning around to give him an impatient look, nodding his head towards his car.

“We’re gonna miss all the fun, c’mon.” Sunghoon frowned.

“What a shame.” he mumbled under his breath, following his best friend into the car and praying that this night would go well, and without conflict.

That was wishful thinking.

Sunghoon instantly knew he was right when they pulled up into Yeonjun’s driveway. He could hear the music pumping from inside the house, so loud it made his ears ache. He could see the crowds of people through the enormous glass windows, and grimaced at the idea of being among the masses of sweaty bodies. Jake however, seemed delighted, and so Sunghoon tried to put a smile on his face.

Jake turned off the ignition, leaning over to his best friend and studying the blank look on his face. “Ready?” he asked, and Sunghoon nodded with an exasperated sigh, unbuckling his seatbelt and slamming the car door behind him. Jake rolled his eyes.

“This is going to be a nightmare.” Sunghoon said, unable to hold back a quip. Jake patted him on the shoulder, ringing the doorbell with a grin.

“Let’s see if you can last the whole night.”

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

It had only been an hour and your head was already pounding.

All the lights felt too bright, the music was too loud, and too many people were trying to talk to you. After having your crisis of self merely 60 minutes previous, you were definitely not in the mood to make conversation with anyone. You downed your third vodka soda of the night and felt everything get a little hazier. You were satisfied when the sound got a little quieter and the lights became less harsh.

Toting your fourth drink in hand, you dropped down to the couch. Most people were busy dancing, thank God, and the only people on the couch was a girl vomiting in Yeonjun’s best porcelain vase and her friend coaxing it out of her. You didn’t mind it too much. At this point, you were craving some humanity.

You felt a little at ease when Jay sat beside you, smiling in greeting. Jay was pretty much the only one of Heeseung’s friends whom you actually liked.

“How’s the night going?” you asked, sipping on the red cup in your hand.

“It’s alright.” he said, his words slurred as he rubbed his nose. It was clear that he had more than a few drinks, probably a couple past his capacity. “Your friend- what’s her name? Tried talking to me earlier.” You didn’t bother to inquire. “Ning? Ningning?” he laughed to himself. He was obviously drunk, so you took another sip and ignored his ramblings. Even the most sensible of people were insufferable to you at the moment.

He sniffled briefly, and you studied his face. You could practically see the gears in his head turning as he poked his tongue into the flesh of his left cheek thoughtfully.

“Hey,” he suddenly said, looking at you very seriously. “I’m really sorry about that Sunghoon thing, y’know. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and it’s really been bothering me.” You furrowed your brows.

“What Sunghoon thing?” you said, and his jaw dropped open, laughing drunkenly as he covered his mouth. Clearly he had said something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Oops, did Heeseung never tell you?” he said, trying to backtrack. “Oh, we just fucked with Sunghoon a little in sophomore year. You know, back before you and Heeseung started dating.” An awful feeling crept into your insides as you stared at him relentlessly until he finally continued. “We, uh, we just wrote him a letter or something like that.”

“What did it say?” you demanded.

“Oh, you know.” he said for the thousandth time, and you were beginning to lose your patience. He took a swig of your drink to loosen his tongue. Jay knew he shouldn’t be the one to tell you about this, but his conscience was pressing him to continue, and so he did. “We just said some mean stuff, called him a freak. Told him to stay away from you. It was Heeseung’s idea, really.”

You felt a pit in your stomach. You felt so sick, you didn’t even have the capacity to register the anger bubbling up in your throat. Why would your boyfriend do this? What had Sunghoon ever done to him?

You didn’t even notice that you were defending Sunghoon over Heeseung.

“Why would you do that?” you asked blankly, and Jay stood up quickly, stumbling drunkenly as he almost lost his balance. He sensed that he said something he shouldn’t, and if he kept drunkenly blabbering, Heeseung would definitely kick his ass for it sooner or later.

“Uh, you should ask Heeseung about t-this.” he stuttered, evading before you got angry. He had never seen you upset before. Nobody had, with the exception of one.

You stood from the couch, downing the remainder of your drink, feeling the alcohol leave a burning trail down your throat before you tossed the cup to the side.

You had to find your boyfriend.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

Dear Sunghoon,

I know you have a crush on me. I’m sorry to say this, but I really don’t reciprocate your feelings. To be honest, I find it disgusting that you think you even have a chance with me.

Maybe you haven’t realized, but we come from completely different worlds. People actually like me. You might not know what that feels like, but it’s actually pretty nice to be liked. I get good grades, I make friends, I do the work. Something you wouldn’t know much about. You’re nothing compared to me. You have no idea what it’s like to be admired, or to have friends. Maybe that’s because you’re always alone, daydreaming like a fucking loser.

I could never love someone like you. You’re a freak.

Sincerely, y/n.

P.S. I’m in love with Lee Heeseung.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

Jake, that bastard, had absolutely disappeared. He had left Sunghoon stranded in a house full of strangers. And not just any house; the house of the man he disliked nearly the most. Well, after you, then Heeseung, then Jungwon… you get the point.

Sunghoon wasn’t a big drinker, but he downed any alcohol he could get his hands on. His fourth shot of vodka left a fierce burning in his throat, and he tried his best to ignore it. Alcohol was just about the only thing that could make him feel a little less alienated in a place full of people that despised him. With every sideways glance, even an admiring or curious one, he felt more and more like running away. But he promised to stick around for the night, and he was a man of his word. Most of the time, at least.

He felt his eyes almost roll into the back of his head when Lee Heeseung approached him, toting one of his goons behind him.

“Can I help you?” Sunghoon said from behind the rim of his cup, brows raised skeptically. Heeseung had a foul look on his face, one that Sunghoon hadn’t really seen before. He seemed to be a jolly guy most of the time.

“What are you doing here?” he said, voice low.

“Sorry, I wasn’t informed that you were Yeonjun’s security guard. I’ll be on my way out, if need be.” Sunghoon said sardonically, and Heeseung’s scowl only deepened.

“I’m warning you, watch what you say to me.” Heeseung said, pointing so closely, his index finger nearly brushed his chest. “I think we both know you don’t belong here.”

“Wow, it seems like you’ve got an attitude problem. Not as innocent as everyone thinks, huh?” Sunghoon didn’t shy away from the contact, attempting to close the inch difference between their heights. It was a lot harder than it seemed. “Just like you little girlfriend.” he provoked, and Heeseung grabbed the front of his shirt, jaw pulsing.

“You watch what you saw about her.” Heeseung said through grit teeth. “You’re just jealous, and we all know it. She could never love someone like you. You’re a freak.”

I could never love someone like you. You’re a freak.

Sunghoon furrowed his brow. He tried his hardest to keep his lower lip from trembling. He couldn’t show that he was hurt, no matter what.

“I’m not afraid of you.” he said.

Heeseung scoffed. “You’re pretending.”

“I’m not the only one.” The two boys stood in silence for a beat.

Heeseung dropped Sunghoon’s shirt, adjusting his jacket with a glare. “Fuck you, Sunghoon. We come from different worlds, you have no idea what it’s like to be me.”

We come from completely different worlds.

You have no idea what it’s like to be admired.

With that, Heeseung was gone, his lackeys disappearing as well. And it was all coming back to Sunghoon, biting his lip furiously to distract from the burning in his eyes. He downed the rest of what was in his cup, wandering back to the kitchen.

Maybe he wasn’t welcome here, but he was going to drink them dry before he left.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

“I have a surprise for you!” Jungwon waved his arms excitedly. You stared at him, completely unamused. Your best friend definitely had the worst timing ever.

“I’m a little busy.” you said, trying to push past him to no avail. You didn’t feel like explaining your situation, not until after you talked to your boyfriend.

“It’s really important,” Jungwon insisted, pressing his hands to the small of your back and steering you towards the staircase. You tried to squirm out of his grip but gave up about halfway through. You would humor Jungwon and see his stupid surprise, then you’d find Heeseung and have a serious conversation.

“Okay, right this way,” Jungwon mumbled, pushing you into a spare guest bedroom. “Wait here for just a moment, I need to get something ready.”

“How long is this going to take?” you said exasperatedly, flopping down onto the bed and crossing your arms.

“Just a minute!” he yelled before slamming the door, dashing away.

As he walked into the corridor, he high fived a certain blond haired boy, Jake rushing by to find his respective best friend.

“Some guy upstairs said he was looking for you.” Jake said, jabbing his thumb at the staircase. Sunghoon’s brows knitted, looking up skeptically before taking another swig of the drink in his hand.

“Me? Was it Heeseung?” Jake shrugged ambiguously.

“Don’t know. He was walking real fast, muttering your name. I think he went into one of the rooms upstairs.” Sunghoon put down his cup, rolling his eyes and heading quickly to the staircase. Jake grinned successfully, trailing behind the boy as he muttered strings of profanities and insults.

“What the fuck does he want…” Sunghoon grumbled, opening the first door he saw when he went upstairs, shutting it in exasperation when a couple screamed, their intimacy interrupted. Jake grimaced; Sunghoon seemed unaffected. He continued this with three more doors, until he finally reached one with a white frame and a silver handle, one with squeaky hinges, one that locked from the outside.

“Where is he-” Jake shoved the boy with all his might, slamming the door behind him as his best friend yelped, pounding on the door. Jungwon came running from around the corner, diving for the doorknob with a key in hand, turning it firmly in the lock. No matter how much Sunghoon protested, it was futile.

“Nice one.” Jake said, high fiving the younger boy as the two proudly celebrated their success. They stared at the door until Sunghoon’s protests went quiet, and the culprits were left with an awkward silence as they registered their actions.

“...We did a good thing, right?” Jungwon asked unsurely. “...Yeah. Definitely.”

“Oh, fucking excellent. God, this night couldn’t get any worse.” Sunghoon said immediately upon noticing your presence. He huffed, pacing around the room while you stared at him, eyes watery, biting down on your lip hard. Sunghoon was filled with so much rage, he was unable to speak, and the two of you sat in silence for a brief second before you got to your feet, walking straight up to him and slapping him in the face.

“I am so fucking mad at you!” you yelled, shocking both of you.

“Me? What could I have possibly done to make you mad at me?” Sunghoon shouted incredulously, pressing his hand to his hot cheek, red blooming under his skin.

“This whole rivalry!” you said, gesturing vaguely. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he asked irritatedly.

“About the letter!” Sunghoon paled. He had imagined this moment a hundred times over, and none of those hypotheticals went like this. He simply couldn’t have this conversation with you, it was too painful. It was in the past.

“Why should I? You’re the one that wrote it.” he said frustratedly.

“Jeez, you’re so fucking stupid. I never would have done that to you. I wouldn’t say any of that mean shit to you. I didn’t write that letter!”

He scoffed, “Oh yeah, then who did?”

“Heeseung did, Sunghoon.” He paused for a moment, not sure what to say.

You’re just jealous, and we all know it.

She could never love someone like you, you’re a freak.

We come from completely different worlds.

You have no idea what it’s like to be me.

Heeseungs hurtful words rang around his head, cutting into his skin like hot knives. It was impossible. You wrote the letter. Heeseung wouldn’t have done that.

“Why would he do that?” you stared at him, unbelieving at how oblivious he was.

“Because I was in love with you, obviously!”

It felt like Sunghoon’s heart was on fire. The two of you stared at each other in silence for what felt like centuries, Sunghoon’s head spinning. Suddenly, everything was much too real for him to take in. His rising body temperature, the sweet lilt of your voice, the way you looked at him through your lashes.

“What?” he questioned blankly, hardly even registering what you were saying. He felt dizzy. “You were in love with me?”

“Well, it was freshman year. I was 14. Can you just shut the fuck up? I’m still mad at you.” you said, your cheeks went aflame with the realization of what you had just said.

He grinned. “You’re so dumb.”

“You’re so fucking annoying-” Suddenly, his lips crashed into yours.

He tangled his hands in your hair, knotting his left hand in your hair. You kissed him in return as he held your waist in his right hand, his teeth biting your lower lip. You both fought for dominance, staggering through the room until your back hit the wall, and you wrapped a leg around his waist as he cursed under his breath. It was a kiss of hatred, but at the same time, relief. His lips felt as though they were made to fit yours, fitting like a puzzle piece. You parted for a breath, but he pulled you back in hungrily.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” The two of you pulled away immediately as Jake cursed loudly, Jungwon behind him with a look on his face like you had just shot him. “What is wrong with you two? We wanted you to make up, not make out!”

“Get the fuck out!” Sunghoon shouted, running after his best friend and shoving him away, slamming the door behind them with a heavy exhalation. When he turned back to you, you were trying to hold back a giggle and failing miserably.

The two of you began to laugh, and Sunghoon dropped to the floor with a sigh, you doing the same and sidling up to him.

“I can’t believe we just did that.” you said, feeling intensely embarrassed.

“ Yeah, I bet you’ll give me herpes.” Sunghoon mocked, and you turned to him with a glare, and he held his hands up. “Old habits die hard. But I really am sorry I was mean to you. I didn’t know Heeseung wrote the letter.” You scowled at the reminder.

“Heeseung…” you said, rubbing your eyes. “Jesus. What am I gonna do about him?” Sunghoon didn’t reply, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully.

“Did you ever think I was a freak?” he asked suddenly. You frowned.

“Why would I think that?”

“I don’t know. I was always alone, always daydreaming. I wasn’t popular or anything. Didn’t you ever consider that you shouldn’t like someone like me?”

“Someone like you?” you snorted. “C’mon, don’t be full of yourself. You’re just a person. I could care less if you like to be alone, or if you daydream. So does everyone else, they’re just not brave enough to say it aloud.” Sunghoon smiled in relief, and he wanted nothing more than to press another hungry kiss to your lips. But he knew he needed to hold back. I mean, you had just gotten over your rivalry a couple minutes ago. He should probably give it some time before he starts kissing his ex-nemesis.

“You should probably go,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “I bet people are looking for you. And I think you might need to talk to your boyfriend.”

“Ex boyfriend, when I’m done with him.” you said, rolling your eyes and getting to your feet, bruising the dust off of your dress. You held out a hand to assist Sunghoon in getting up, and he took it with a smile. You walked, turning back when he didn’t follow you. “C’mon. Let’s show Heeseung that we’re not enemies anymore.”

He couldn’t hold back his grin.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

You felt like the room quaked when you walked downstairs with Sunghoon.

The music didn’t stop, but it almost seemed like everything went silent, hundreds of pairs of eyes landing on the two of you immediately, narrowed, criticizing. Sunghoon was sweating at the judgment, but you strode confidently, not paying any attention to their stares. And like magic, everyone began to turn around and mind their own business. You sent Sunghoon a wink.

“Do anything with confidence, and people won’t give a shit.” you said. Sunghoon grinned. He knew he had a lot to learn from you. The two of you slid through the bodies, navigating your way through until you spotted him from across the room.

Lee Heeseung. The man you called the love of your life just a few hours ago. You wonder if you still loved him after what happened.

“I think I’m gonna head out.” Sunghoon said, tilting his head towards the door.

“See you later, Sunghoon. Don’t be a stranger.” you said, before turning on your heel and marching away. He shook his head at your retreating figure, smiling with a warm blush on his cheeks before he made his exit.

“Heeseung!” you yelled across the room, attempting to pass by the hordes of drunks to get to your boyfriend. Him and his friends were playing a rowdy game of beer pong, and he watched you inquisitively with a ball in hand. “We need to talk.”

“About what, baby?” he asked, tossing the ball and scoring with ease, Yeonjun and Beomgyu cheering behind him and chanting his name.

“Heeseung.” you said his name coldly, and he grew serious within an instant.

“Yeonjun, take my place.” he said, slapping his friend on the back as the boy raised his brow, the group watching you with curiosity as you walked away.

You led Heeseung to the backyard, crossing your arms the minute you turned around to face him. He could tell you were serious as ever.

“What is it baby?” he said with concern, reaching for your arm, but you pulled away from him quickly. He only grew more worried.

“Heeseung, do you have anything to tell me?” you asked vaguely, and every bad thing he had done in his entire life ran through his head in an instant.

“No?” he said pathetically. “Y/n, will you just tell me what you want?”

“Why did you write Sunghoon that letter?” Heeseung paled. He didn’t think you would find out. Not this soon. “You said such hurtful things to him, why? And addressed from me?” You said, voice wobbling.

“Baby, let me explain-”

“You’re the reason Sunghoon hated me so much. I put up with his belittling for years because I thought I deserved it somehow. Just to find out it was you all along? What kind of fucked up person would do that?”

“How else was I supposed to get him away from you?”

“That’s not your decision to make, Heeseung.” you said coldly.

“Look, baby, that was all in the past. I’m really sorry, can’t we just look past it?”

“No, Heeseung, because you hurt an innocent person really badly. And that is always unforgivable.” you sighed, pinching the space between your brows.

“He doesn’t matter, y/n. I’m your boyfriend, not him!”

“Well, not anymore.” Both of you froze. Through the glass walls, the entirety of the party stared at the two of you, Decelis’ golden couple. Now destroyed.

“You’re breaking up with me,” Heeseung said slowly, in disbelief. “Over Park Sunghoon?” You stared at him for a moment, before steeling yourself.

“Yes. Yes I am.” And then you walked off, pushing past the shocked crowds with tears in your eyes, gunning it for the door and disappearing into the night.

Something was telling you to run after him.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

epilogue.

“She’s still at it?” Jake asked in disbelief. Just a moment previous, you had strode straight up to Sunghoon from your spot at the blackboard with the utmost confidence and placed a lollipop onto his lap. You didn’t even look into his eyes, just turning on your heel and returning to your duties.

He was beginning to get envious looks from his fellow classmates, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“S’pose so.” Sunghoon said, unwrapping the cellophane and popping the treat into his mouth with a satisfying suction sound. “Mm. At least she’s giving me good flavors these days.”

“It’s been three years. You’d think she’d stop by now.” Jake shook his head, tossing his notebooks and laptop into his backpack as the bell rang, dismissing class.

“She’ll never stop. She loves me.” Sunghoon grinned proudly, the stick of his lollipop protruding from the corner of his upturned mouth.

“Why doesn’t she ever bring me lollipops?” Sunghoon frowned, slapping Jake in the back with his notebook before shoving it into his duffel. “Ow! What?”

“She’s my girlfriend. She’s not allowed to give lollipops to anyone but me.” Sunghoon said, like it was obvious, walking to the front of the class with Jake in tow just behind him. “Besides, you don’t even like lollipops anyway.”

“It’s the thought that counts.”

Even after a year of dating, you and Sunghoon were still up to your classic shenanigans. It was a wonder that the two of you were still together, considering how often you bickered. You were lucky that you loved each other more than enough to make up for the arguments.

“Hey, baby.” he said, striding up to your place at the front of the class and pressing a sloppy kiss onto your cheek. You wiped your cheek off with a playful scowl, before plucking the lollipop from Sunghoon’s mouth and putting it between your lips.

“Hey, Hoonie. Hey, Jake.” You reached for your boyfriend’s hand as the three of you walked out of class together. “How was practice, you two?”

“Mm, I’m tired.” Sunghoon said, pecking you as Jake rolled his eyes at your overt pda. “Jake’s been keeping me busy with training.”

“If you weren’t so shit, I wouldn’t have to train you all the time.” Jake ruffled the younger boy’s hair as he looked up at him with a scowl. After your debacle with Heeseung, Jake quit the rugby team, deciding he favored soccer. It turned out to be a good decision, as he was quite good at it, and you decided it must have been pure fate that gave him a scholarship to the same college you and Sunghoon were attending.

“Hey, I joined soccer way before you did. Have some respect for your seniors.” Sunghoon said, evading Jake’s hands as he reached to slap the younger boy, the two tussling as you watched with a smile, sucking on your lollipop. “Jesus, don’t you ever get tired of those two?” a weary voice said, sidling up to you as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. You turned to face Jungwon, his bangs matted to his forehead and his button up shirt nearly halfway undone.

“You’ve been sleeping during class?” you asked, humor in your tone as your best friend turned to you with a raised brow.

“How could you tell?” You didn’t answer. Sunghoon ran to you, a big grin on his face as he dragged Jake behind him in a headlock.

“Hey, Jungwon.” he said, reaching for a handshake that Jungwon didn’t reciprocate. He then reached for the stick dangling from your lips, removing it, kissing you softly, and then putting the sucker back in his own mouth.

“You guys are disgusting.” Jake said, voice muffled from under Sunghoon’s bicep.

“Cherry, again?” Jungwon said, watching the bright red sphere as it protruded slightly from Sunghoon’s mouth. “I should’ve known you were up to something when you ordered them in bulk.”

“What can I say? A tradition’s a tradition.” you grinned, taking Sunghoon’s hand as the four of you walked in a line. “A lollipop a day keeps Park Sunghoon away.” He looked at you with a snort, unable to hold back a smile.

“Did you just come up with that?” he asked, amused.

“I did.” you hummed, and he pressed a kiss to your nose, Jungwon and Jake groaning loudly in unison.

“We get it, you’re in love.”

“Enough already, it’s gross.” they whined, and the two of you laughed together, swinging your hands back and forth like a little swing between your sides.

Who knew you and your enemy would fall in love? You certainly couldn’t have predicted it. Turns out that college life had a lot of unexpected surprises in store. But while everything kept changing, there was one thing that always stayed the same.

Sunghoon’s heart always skipped a beat when you gave him a lollipop.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

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storiesforallfandoms · 8 months ago

Text

jason doesn’t know ~ eddie munson;stranger things

word count: 3184

request?: no

description: jason doesn’t know that his girlfriend and eddie do it in his van every sunday

pairing: eddie munson x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (oral f receiving, orgasm denial, unprotected p in v), pet names (princess and sweetheart), cheating

based on this song

masterlist (one, two, three)

Dating the captain of the basketball team was great at first. Jason was a great boyfriend in the beginning. He would give you rides to and from school, he’d take you out every weekend, and in general he just seemed very sweet. Besides that, dating him also made you popular by association. You weren’t an outcast or anything before, but you weren’t popular either. So dating Jason definitely elevated your social status.

But, as time went on, things became less and less great. Your date weekends with Jason became less frequent until they stopped all together. The excuse was always that he was busy with basketball practice, but once practice ended he was still blowing you off. He’d still drive you to and from school, and you still ate lunch with him and the team, but you didn’t feel like his girlfriend anymore. You felt like an accessory.

You tried to talk to Jason, but he blew you off. He said a lot of stuff that you could barely remember, but you did remember running away from him in tears. You thought (or maybe hoped) that he would come after you and try to make everything right. But when you got outside the school without the sound of footsteps running behind you or Jason’s voice calling your name, you figured he wasn’t that concerned about the fact that he had hurt your feelings.

That’s when you met Eddie for the first time. Well, when you properly met Eddie. You had seen the metal head in school before, especially interacting with Jason. You had never spoken to Eddie, and you had no issue with him like Jason did. Not that you’d ever tell Jason or his friends that.

You were sat on the stairs crying into your hands when you heard him ask, “Are you okay?”

You jumped, unaware that anyone else was around. You turned to see Eddie leaning against the brick wall of the school. You noticed what he had in his hand. “You’ll get in trouble for having weed on school grounds.”

“Are you going to rat on me, princess?”

The name took you back. He said it sarcastically, but there was something about him calling you that that turned you on a little.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Eddie asked, coming closer to lean against the railing that separated you both.

“Fuck if I know,” you said. You waved towards the door behind you. “He might be in there, or he might’ve left. Don’t know, and right now I don’t care. I’m sure he doesn’t care where I am either.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”

You scoffed. “Some fucking paradise.”

He didn’t push the matter. Not like you were expecting him to. You didn’t even know each other. You also weren’t expecting him to ask, “Did you need a ride home? Since your douchebag boyfriend ditched you and all.”

You weren’t about to turn down that offer. You kind of couldn’t turn it down really. Your only other option would be to walk home, and you weren’t going to do that if you had someone offering you to give you a ride. So, you followed Eddie to his van. At some point you found yourself opening up to Eddie about your issues with Jason. He didn’t poke or prod for an explanation, but your emotions were bottled up for so long that you just needed to get them out. And Eddie just listened. He didn’t let his personal bias towards Jason get in the way.

And then you were kissing Eddie. You weren’t sure if it was because he was actually paying attention to you, or because you were so frustrated that you just needed to do something. Or maybe it was both of those things, plus the fact that Eddie was extremely attractive. Either way, you were kissing him.

And then you were in the back of his van, underneath him.

You were going to break up with Jason. You were still mad at him anyways, but you knew you had to break up with him after cheating on him. You didn’t expect anything else to happen with Eddie (although you wouldn’t be mad if anything did happen), but you knew it wouldn’t be right to continue your relationship after cheating.

That was the plan anyways. Until Jason showed up at your house the next day with flowers as an apology. He drove you to school, he showered you with all the love and affection that you had been missing the last month. You were so taken with everything Jason was doing that you were foolish enough to think things were actually changing. You had completely forgotten about your time with Eddie, until he came sauntering up to your locker between classes.

Your eyes widened as you looked around to make sure that Jason or his friends weren’t around. “Go away. I can’t be seen with you.”

“So I heard,” Eddie said. “You’re all lovey dovey with your prince charming again. Does he knew you were screaming my name yesterday?”

Your thighs clenched together at the memories from the day before. You shook your head and backed away from Eddie. “It was a mistake. I was angry, and it was unfair of me to use you to blow off steam. I’m sorry, but we can’t do it again Eddie.”

Eddie gave you a look, and then, to your surprise, he chuckled. “I’ll see you next time, sweetheart.”

As he was walking away, someone threw an arm over your shoulder. You jumped and looked up at Jason, who was scowling at Eddie’s back. “What did the freak want?”

“Nothing,” you lied. “Just asked about one of our classes.”

Eddie was right, though. There was a next time.

It didn’t take long for Jason’s affection to wither away again. And, once again, when you tried to talk to him about it, he brushed you off. You hoped that things would go as they had last time, with Jason apologizing and realizing his wrongs. But the next day, you were left waiting on your front steps for Jason to arrive. By the time you realized he wasn’t coming and you’d have to walk, you were already quite late for class. You were nearly in tears from embarrassment when a familiar van pulled up beside you.

“Get in, sweetheart.”

You didn’t make it to class that day. Instead, Eddie parked his van and you fucked until you knew no other feeling than his cock nestled inside of you.

There was no explanation for why you didn’t break up with Jason. You didn’t love him anymore, and he certainly had no feelings for you. At some point, you figured it was just for show. You’d hold hands in the hallway, you’d cheer for him at his games, you kissed in the lunchroom. But there was no love between the two of you. Instead, your heart belonged to the curly haired metal head that took you far away in his van and made you feel so good with every touch.

One Sunday afternoon, you were home alone when you heard a horn honk outside. You peered through the living room blinds to see the brown and cream van that had become your favorite place to be. Eddie was stood outside, leaning up against it with a cigarette hanging from his lips. You smiled and quickly rushed out the door.

“I’m home alone today,” you told him. “You can come in instead if you’d prefer.”

“I like going in my van,” he said. “It’s like our own little paradise.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

Eddie drove you both to your usual spot; a dirt path surrounded by trees tat no one besides stoners ever went down. The second the engine shut off, your face was in Eddie’s hands and he was kissing you so passionately that you became lightheaded. You undid your seatbelt and moved to straddle him without breaking the kiss. His hands moved to your waist, holding you. You ran your hands through his hair, gently tugging it like you knew would drive him crazy.

“Let’s get in the back,” he suggested.

You didn’t have to be asked twice. You quickly got off his lap and moved to the back of the van while Eddie was still unbuckling his seatbelt. You were already taking your shirt off when Eddie finally joined you. You were about to take your bra off, but Eddie grabbed your hands to stop you. “You know that’s my favorite part.”

He guided you to lay down on the pillows and blankets he had added to the van shortly after you two had started hooking up. He gave you a quick kiss on the lips before moving to attack your neck with kisses. He was careful not to leave marks that would be visible, but the moment he reached your breasts, he bit and sucked as he pleased. He reached under you to pop your bra clasp open. He pulled it off and tossed it into the front, then took your nipple in his mouth while he kneaded your other breast in his hand. You moaned at the feeling of his tongue running over the sensitive nub.

After leaving your chest marked, he continued to move down your body. As he kissed over your stomach, he pulled at the waistband of your pants. You lifted up so he could pull them and your panties off in one go. He started kissing you painfully slowly over your mound, then over both of your inner thighs. You were trembling with anticipation, and a whimper involuntarily slipped from your lips.

Eddie chuckled. “Is there an issue, sweetheart?”

“P-Please, Eddie,” you whimpered. “I-I need to feel you.”

“Well, how do I say no when you ask so nicely?”

You gasped as he licked a long stripe up your clit. Your fingers gripped his hair as he began to eat you out like he was a starving man and you were his first meal in days. His fingers dug into your thigs, leaving creasant shaped marks in the soft skin. You threw your head back and moaned in pleasure. Eddie knew how to make you feel so good in ways that no other guy had ever made you feel. Actually, he was the first guy to go down on you in general. You didn’t know how good it would feel until his mouth was on you the first time.

Your mind went completely blank. All you knew was the feeling of hot pleasure coursing through out body. Your head was thrown back on the pillow beneath you as you moan into the small space. It was one of many reasons you loved Eddie’s van: you didn’t have to worry about being quiet. You could tell him just how good he was making you feel in whatever volume you wanted. And right now, he was making you feel so good that you felt like you were going to float right to cloud nine at any second.

You could feel yourself nearing the edge when Eddie suddenly pulled away from you. You let out a noise that could only be classified as a whine as you looked up at him. He was grinning down at you with that stupid teasing grin that you loved so much.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he said. “I want to feel you on my cock when you cum.”

He leaned down to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he slipped it into your mouth. He was pressing himself against you, his still clothed hard on rubbing against your sensitive core.

“This seems unfair,” you told him, tugging at his shirt. “I’m all naked and you’re still fully clothed.”

“When have I ever been fair?” he asked. But he pulled away from you to pull his shirt off. You admired his tattoos as he started with the belt on his jeans. He noticed you looking and smirked. “Like what you see?”

“You say that every time,” you teased. “And the answer is always yes. I love your tattoos.”

He smiled and leaned down to kiss you again. He had managed to get out of his jeans without you noticing, and now you were both completely naked, flush against one another. You could feel his hard cock pressing against your thighs. You reached between the two of you and wrapped your hand around the base. Eddie moaned as you pumped his cock a few times. You were already so wet from him going down on you that when you pressed the tip against your entrance, he was able to push into you without problem. You both moaned as he slowly pushed into you, filling you completely.

“You feel so good,” he whispered against your lips. “Fuck, I could stay like this forever.”

“Please Eddie, m-move,” you begged.

“Ask me once more with those pretty words, sweetheart.”

“Please! Please, I need you so bad.” You’d be embarrassed with how desperate you sounded if you weren’t already on the edge of an orgasm again just from the feeling of him inside of you.

He kissed the tip of your nose and did as you asked. It was slow at first, pulling all the way out at a painfully slow pace until just the tip was inside of you, and then thrusting inwards just as slow until he was buried inside of you again. his pelvic bone brushed against your clit in a way that was driving you crazy. Eddie lowered his head to your neck and began to kiss every inch of skin that he could reach again. The warm pleasurable feeling returned, running through your entire body from your head to the tips of your toes. Your nails were digging into his back, but you knew he was going to wear those scratch marks with pride. The last time you had marked him, he went to school in a tank top the next day just so everyone could see.

A string of expletives fell from your mouth as you felt yourself nearing the edge. Eddie was whispering words of praise and encouragement in your ear, and it was enough to finally tip you over. You cried out his name as you tensed around him. He groaned into the crook of your neck at how good you felt. Your head was so foggy with lust that you almost didn’t register when his thrusts started to pick up speed, and then when they became a little sloppier.

“Can I cum inside?” he asked.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please, Eddie, please cum in me.”

He pressed a kiss hard against your lips as his hips stilled, spilling himself inside of you. Your chest heaved with every labored breath you took. Your bodies were stuck together with sweat that you hadn’t even noticed was collecting on you till that moment. When Eddie pulled away from the kiss, his lips were swollen. His hair was a mess, and he was also quite sweaty, but he still looked like the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

When he smiled, it made your heart flutter.

You almost wanted to mirror the words he said earlier about staying that way forever, but Eddie eventually pulled himself from you as he started to go soft. He reached into the front of the van where he kept towels for your rendezvouses. He placed one under your hips as you felt his load starting to slip out of you. Once he had himself wiped down, he reached into the front again to roll down both windows. Immediately, the feeling of cool fresh air filled the van.

Eddie laid down next to you so that your shoulders were touching. This was always the weird part. You never cuddled after having sex, but you really wanted to. But that wasn’t what you two were doing, right? This was just hooking up. He wasn’t your boyfriend. But you wished he was.

Eddie nudged you with his elbow and you looked over at him. “What are you thinking so hard about?”

“Nothing,” you said.

He gave you a look. “It’s not nothing. You get this look on your face when you’re deep in thought. What’s up?”

You were touched that he had noticed something so simple. In all the time you had been dating Jason, he had yet to pick up on any of your cues.

“What would you do if I broke up with Jason?” you asked.

Eddie shrugged. “That depends. What would you want me to do?”

“No, that’s not fair. I want to know what you would want. I’m already sneaking around with you behind my boyfriend’s back, it’s not fair if we’re doing all of this my way.”

He smiled. “Well, for the record, I’m not mad that we sneak around behind Jason’s back. It’s actually kind of nice to just have these moments to ourselves.”

He ran the knuckle of his index finger over your arm, causing you to shiver at the feeling.

“But, if you did break up with Jason, I would be first in line to ask you out on a real date.”

“There would be no line,” you told him. “Because you’d be the one I’d pick anyways.”

Eddie’s smile was the brightest thing you had ever seen. And it was contagious, because you couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“I feel stupid that I haven’t done it already,” you told him. “I don’t know, I think it’s just the image of being the captain’s girlfriend that stops me, but even that isn’t fun anymore. What’s the point of holding an image if you’re not happy?”

“There is no point. But, I wouldn’t push you to break up with him if you don’t want to. I get it if you’re not ready to plunge into loser territory by dating me.”

You rolled onto your stomach to look at him. “That’s not it at all. I don’t care what your social standing is. I just care about you. I want to be with you.”

“You just have to figure out how to not be with Jason anymore.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, I thought it was going to be that hard, but now I’m thinking I’d be doing him a favor if we broke up. He’s quite literally had his eyes on Chrissy Cunningham for weeks now. I don’t know what his problem is that he won’t end the relationship first and just get with her.”

“I can’t blame him there. Chrissy is hot.”

You swatted his arm. “Fuck you!”

“You already did, princess.”

He took you by surprise as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down to him. When he kissed you this time, it wasn’t just a kiss of lustful passion. It was gentle and sweet, and then he settled you against his chest with his arm around your shoulder.

And that’s when you knew that things with Jason would be over the next time you saw him. Because you could get used to being happy with Eddie.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #stranger things #imagine #smut #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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nataliescatorccioapologist · 3 months ago

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Nat’s coronation scene breaks my heart so much because she’s finally getting the love and acceptance she has always secretly wanted and needed. She’s been outcasted her whole life, in her childhood as the neglected and unwanted daughter, in society as the “slut” and the “burnout,” and in the Wilderness as the huntress isolated from the rest by the nature of her role and the skeptic against Lottie’s influence. She has always been alone. And now, she’s being crowned leader, everyone is bowing to her and believing in her, and despite the trauma she has just experienced and the grim circumstances, you can see such a deep craving in her for adoration and warmth finally being fulfilled. It’s so so sad that this is what it took for her to finally receive that. No wonder she spirals so much after they’re rescued; the Wilderness was her only means of receiving love and appreciation.

#Nat is so lonely and it makes me want to SCREAM AND SOB #SHE JUST NEEDS TO BE HUGGED #SHE NEEDS SOMEONE TO STROKE HER HAIR AND TELL HER EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY #SOMEONE LOVE AND APPRECIATE HER PLEAAAASE #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #sophie thatcher

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theorist-fox · 3 months ago

Text

Never had a thing

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

I never posted on Tumblr. Is this okay? Anyways, Simon Riley brain rot. That's it. That's the post. Also, you can find this on AO3.

Part 1 >> Part 2

Summary: Simon has to lie low and go dark for an undefined period of time. While trudging along the unbearably long, dark alley that's his life, he finds the light at the end of tunnel, and it's shaped like you. 18+

Word count: 10k CW: smutty!!! jealous Simon Riley BECAUSE I honestly crave that. Soft Simon Riley because I crave that as well.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon had groaned like a battered dog when Price gave him the news that he needed to lie low. “Someone in Konni’s got your name” he’d said. “We don’t wanna take any risks. Just for a few weeks.”

He was sure those few weeks would turn into a few bloody months if he didn’t get a move on. For that, he’d hastily packed his things from the poor excuse of a flat the army had granted him, and started looking for a place to stay that wasn’t in Manchester.

Initially, Simon almost fantasized about buying his own flat. Maybe a piece of land and fulfill the wishes of the outcast that he was – living away from people, giving them the same treatment they’ve always given him.

Too bad he was legally dead. He had nothing to his name if not a grave that didn’t even exist, all his possessions were cursed memories and metaphorical things – a rank he didn’t hold, a flat that wasn’t his. Even his name barely pertained to him anymore.

The SAS wasn’t offering any accommodation, the tightwads. He couldn't buy a house, or rent one. He couldn't lean on any of his teammates, or he'd put them in danger – he wouldn't do it, not to them. Taint their lives with his name and the death it inevitably brings.

Price had helped him settle in a glorified motorway hotel. But he wasn’t picky – after all, he only had to stay for a few weeks.

A few days into his exile, he’d entered a Tesco with his head bowed and his hood on, a surgical mask on his face. A pack of Marlboro was all he wanted since the dodgy motel he was staying at (hiding) didn’t care if he smoked within the room. Plus, he reckoned that the smell of nicotine and combustion was a much better alternative to the rancid stench of mold.

However, as he plucked ten quid from his wallet, his eyes absently fell on a bulletin board behind the store clerk. There were tons of leaflets there: missing cats or dogs, people looking for a job or offering one. And then, a bright yellow paper caught his eye. Whoever printed it lacked taste but sure as hell knew how to catch one’s attention. He’d stopped in his tracks, a tenner between two fingers.

DESPERATE!!! PhD STUDENT LOOKING FOR A FLATMATE. NO SPECIFIC GENDER OR AGE AS LONG AS YOU CAN PAY RENT ON TIME. Two-bedroom flat, third floor, no elevator. If interested, please contact this number.

At the end of the flyer, the paper was cut into tear-off strips, so that interested individuals could rip the section with the phone number.

He liked that first word: desperate. He wondered if this person was as desperate as he was. Would they accept a man who wore a balaclava and looked proper sketchy? How desperate were they, really, if he asked to rent on verbal agreement – no contracts, no signatures whatsoever?

He decided he wanted to test that before he died of mold poisoning.

Nevertheless, when he dialed the number on his burner phone a few hours later, he wasn’t expecting the voice coming through the line. A shriek. A goddamn banshee. Chirpy and cheery, sounding like those damn advertisements on the telly for children’s toys. Whoever was on the other side of the phone was trying to sell.

The obnoxiously happy voice he’d heard through the receiver surely did match the person he found at the door of the flat a few days later - and the apartment itself.

It was a splash of colors Simon wasn’t even sure matched, from oranges and greens in the living room to yellows and blues in the kitchen. Walls of the same room were painted differently, and a brown leather couch lay on a round and fluffy turquoise carpet. A glass coffee table stood in the middle of it, hosting a clay vase with orange tulips.

You were a splash of colors yourself. Bright clothes, vibrant smile, and matching eyes.

Notwithstanding the loud energy that came with your presence, he could see you were tense as you guided him through the apartment. Simon didn’t blame you – he wasn’t the most trustworthy-looking lad. While he’d ditched the balaclava and had decided to go for a surgical mask, even hewould walk on eggshells around himself.

“Only a few weeks.” He’d said, deciding that he could withstand the eyesore that was the decor of that flat. “I’ll cover the rent while you find someone more permanent.”

And to his utter surprise, you’d accepted. He thought it was much too naïve of you, to let him rent without a lease. Without a document, without anything to prove that he'd pay as he'd promised in that listless fashion of his. Maybe you were as desperate as your tasteless leaflet said, in that dive of a Tesco.

He moved in in the span of a few days. You helped him with the boxes, although it was clear he didn't need a hand – especially not from a tiny thing like you. Not that you were small, he was just built like a brick house and you – well, you were made of wood, like in those cautionary tales mums tell their children. Pigs and wolves and shite.

You didn’t question why he wore the balaclava, nor why he never left his room, but sometimes you’d knock on his door to ask if he wanted pizza too, since you were ordering. He’d eat it (and any of his other meals really) in the cramped space he'd managed to rent, hosting only a bed, a poor excuse of a closet, and a desk.

Until one day he heard booming noises coming from the telly in the living room, so he peeked from the door he’d left ajar only to be greeted by Tom Cruise’s mug – Top Gun.

Silently, he joined you on the sofa and he started correcting the way Maverick held the gun or grunting about how an aircraft couldn't make that maneuver. You never asked how he knew, but it had been a few weeks since he’d moved in and he’d already gathered how brilliant you were. You didn’t need to ask questions to connect the dots.

Simon wasn't keen on giving you his phone number, even the one on his burner phone. The paranoid that he was, and with a bit of experience to back it up, he didn't want to leave you with anything that could connect you to him.

So, you started leaving post-it notes on the fridge.

Dinner leftovers on the second rack. He’d tick off the sentence to let you know he’d read it, whether he ate them or not. Simon had this inborn ability to ghost people even without the use of phones.

Tried a new recipe. Tupperware with the blue lid. He’d write a score out of ten on the corner of the note.

I used your milk for breakfast!!! Sorry!!! He had huffed and grumbled when he’d headed out for groceries afterwards, but ever since that day, he started buying two cartons instead of one.

And he'd leave post-it notes for you, too.

Out for a few days. That’s how he would vaguely tell you he was being deployed. You would always draw a sad emoji next to it.

Watered your plants. Bloody things were more dead than alive. You’d mark down a very happy emoji, going as far as to add two poorly drawn thumbs up.

He barely noticed when his meals started happening on the kitchen table instead of his desk. Similarly, he couldn’t recall when he’d stopped taking pains to ensure your mealtimes wouldn’t coincide.

Friday night pizzas were always shared; it was a silent house rule you’d both agreed on. The both of you on the settee with the carton boxes on your thighs, two cold beers on the glass coffee table, and the telly playing a movie.

Your cheeky arse often chose a war film, and Simon had to refrain from rolling his eyes at how obvious you were being – trying to get to know him.

Zero Dark Thirty.

“Is it true you use callsigns?”

“Yes.”

“You have one?”

“Yes.”

“What is it, then?”

“Classified.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Negative.”

The hurt locker.

“You ever defused a bomb?”

“Yes.”

“No shit – oh my God. How was it?”

“Dangerous.”

“Why thank you for the chat.”

“No problem.”

“When did it happen? Like, what was the situa-”

“Classified.”

You made a face and mocked his accent. “Classified.”

Apocalypse now.

“You are a bit like Kurtz.”

He gave you a look. “Mental?”

You huffed. “No. I meant the things he says, not the whole insanity bit.”

Simon scoffed but otherwise stayed silent. The film rolled in the background.

He murmured, then. “The horror, the horror.”

And you laughed.

He found it inexplicably easy to strip down for you, until he stood metaphorically naked in front of your eyes. Until he told you his full name and gave you his personal phone number. Until he showed his face.

Until he noticed you'd stopped looking for a flatmate, and his weeks of rent turned into months like he’d initially foreseen, but for another reason entirely. Months turned into years, but he could’ve never predicted anything in his life to last this long.

Until two summers later, while sporting a mundane black surgical mask and casual clothing, he took a photo with you in your doctoral gown, in front of your Uni. The same picture that now hung next to the entryway of your flat.

Until two years became three, and then four.

Until he just kind of… stayed.

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon’s day has worn him to the bone. The only thing he wants now is to go home, down a beer in two gulps, and knock himself out on any flat surface available.

He’s risked his fair share of speeding fines on the motorway, parked the car in the building's garage, and trudged up the three flights of stairs that led to his apartment. When he unlocks the door, he finds a sight that melts his frustration into a puddle at his feet.

You’re lying on the sofa, absolutely unbothered, looking lovely and homely. A lousy romcom plays on the telly. One hand is hiding in the crinkling shell of a packet of Walkers, and your other one is curled around the neck of a Stella Artois. Simon gathers that your workday must've finished a little earlier than normal because you’re already in your loungewear: a pair of loose sleeping shorts and a t-shirt he knows all too well.

All too well, because it’s his.

And he could give you the benefit of the doubt; after all, you often wear oversized clothes. It could’ve been a laundry mishap; you could’ve absently taken it out of the dryer without a second glance, thinking it was yours. But the blatant British Army patch on the sleeve and his surname written in white block letters on the back give him very little to work with to excuse you. He doesn’t even remember he still owned that tee, probably because, factually, he doesn’t anymore.

It's clearly yours, now.

He drops the house keys in the tray lying on the floating shelf next to the doorway, before closing the door behind him. The sound must’ve alerted you, because your head drops backwards, rolling against the armrest of the sofa.

"Evenin'." You beam, looking at his downward image. Your head lolls and your mouth looks busy chewing on a handful of crisps.

Ever the vigilant bastard, he wants to flick your forehead and remind you that chewing upside down could lead to choking, but you aren’t a child. Although, with the crumbs of what smells like salt and vinegar crisps littering the corners of your lips and the baffling, chaotic way your hair is tied in a bun, you sort of look like one.

You curl your legs to leave a free spot for him, patting your foot on the sofa’s cushions. "Wanna join me?"

Simon hums quietly; his eyes flicker over to the TV for just a glance. He isn’t in the mood for a romcom, not at all. But he does want company. He sighs and shrugs off his jacket before toeing off his boots. His balaclava is snatched off by a tired hand, and dropped somewhere he doesn’t care to check. Only two wide steps with his annoyingly long legs and he’s already by the sofa, flopping onto it like a wet rag slapped on the leather cushions.

He eyes the bag of crisps in your hand and raises a questioning eyebrow.

You’ve learned how silent communication works with him because most of the time (especially after particularly hellish days or long deployments) he wanders around the flat like a haunting specter more than a living being.

You mockingly raise your own questioning brow, but alas, you hand him the pack of crisps he’d wordlessly asked for. And just because you can, and because he’s never said anything when you did it, you stretch your legs to rest over his thighs.

That earns you a grumpy side-eye that softens just as quickly when he spots the checkered pink and green socks he gifted you for your graduation.

Simon doesn’t know much about things like that. He isn’t daft, he knows how big it is to earn a PhD. But presents aren’t his thing, nor are the pleasantries built around big achievements.

At the time, he was just tired of seeing you walk barefoot around the flat and thought you needed those more than anything since, apparently, slippers weren’t all the rage in your book. Surely, before his life-changing present, Simon was used to you asking if he’d seen your other slipper while you stumbled about the flat only wearing one on your feet. He’d find them everywhere: under the sofa when vacuuming the carpet, hidden in a groove between the floor and the kitchen counter, forgotten on the washing machine or in the washing machine.

He’d figured that the only way to ensure you’d avoid knocking your pinky toe on the corner of some furniture was to make sure you couldn’t simply drop the footwear. Socks were it, apparently.

He remembers how your eyes had shone like the bleeding sun when he’d given them to you, how you’d clutched them to your chest as if he’d just gifted you a pot of gold. It had been a lovely sight, one he carefully keeps tucked in the almost empty corner of his mind, the one reserved for happy memories.

Nevertheless, Simon has rarely minded your habit of lounging with your calves across his thighs. The opposite, actually. Your friendly sentiments make him feel like, for once, he isn’t about to get stabbed in the back. Moreover, the fact that he is letting you invade his personal space like that, when he never allows anyone else to so much as touch him, truly is a testament to the monumental trust he’s placed in you.

You take a sip from your beer. "Alright?"

“Peachy.” He grumbles dryly.

Your lips purse to conceal a smirk, but hell is it hard. His dry humor never fails to rob a halfhearted smile from you. He has subconsciously started using it more often than socially acceptable just because of that.

You wiggle your toes against his abdomen, trying to steal a smile of his own from him – even if those tend to appear once in a blue moon.

What you are given, however, is only a slap on the ankle.

Catching on his mood, you down one last sip from your Stella and then you wiggle the bottle at him.

"There," you offer. "Seems like you need it more than I do."

He tosses the bag of crisps on the coffee table and accepts the beer from you, taking a rather large gulp from it. He isn’t a light drinker by any means. In his defense, it takes a whole lot of alcohol to knock him out. He has the metabolism of a properly trained soldier and his liver has processed much worse things than a bloody Stella Artois.

“Why are you being particularly friendly today?” He asks with thinly veiled sarcasm.

He isn’t complaining, per se. But he is a pessimist, one who can’t seem to grasp the notion that people can act accommodating without asking anything in return. Even if that has been your only behavior for the past four years.

Therefore, Simon understands why you narrow your eyes at his question, all offended and a tiny bit sour, as if he’s just asked something outrageous. However, he also knows you’ll brush off his comment because it is true, what he said.

You are particularly cheery.

"I'm back in the game." You state, sounding as if you've achieved some great thing. "I have a date next Friday."

That.

That is what Simon needs to hear in order to give you a genuine reaction.

He raises a single blond eyebrow and glances away from the TV to look at you with that signature hooded gaze of his – the kind that could cut through steel.

“A date?” He grumbles. “Who’s the bloke?”

In response, you squirm a little on the couch to lazily reach for your phone on the coffee table. One of your legs swings to keep your balance, and if Simon didn’t have the reflexes of a sniper, you’d have heeled his face. He automatically grabs your ankle to both prevent your fall and save the integrity of his nose, releasing a sigh – bloody used to it.

You're absolutely unaffected by whatever's happening at the other end of you, awfully concentrated on your task at hand. Fingertips graze the phone enough to slide it closer until you finally manage to have it in your grasp. It’s painfully clear how you can’t be bothered to stand.

You lie back down on the sofa with a sigh, as if that has been an exhausting endeavor.

Simon scoffs.

Your legs return to his lap with apt nonchalance. Then, you swipe through your screen. Simon can only see the phone covering your face from that angle, how the screen light illuminates your features – brows furrowed and the tip of your tongue peeking between your teeth, all focused on finding something on it.

After painstakingly long seconds, you turn your phone to him. Simon squints at the screen and then focuses on the picture you’re showing.

The man is… somewhat handsome, he has to admit. Brown hair, blue eyes, charming smile with possibly fake teeth. Definitely older. Probably a boring, pretentious tosser. Probably wouldn’t appreciate your carefree nature. He wouldn’t return your lost slippers at your door. He wouldn’t buy you socks so you’d stop whining about being on the verge of breaking your toes. He definitely wouldn’t let you paint only one wall of the living room orange, because, in your opinion, having all four would be “too flashy” - as if one on its own isn’t obnoxious enough.

He has to admit, however, that you look beyond excited, and maybe a little enamored. It’s an adorable view, really, and he hates himself for being unable to rejoice about it with you.

"Adam." You tell him his name, even if he never asked. "Thirty-nine. Associate professor of Linguistics at the Uni where I graduated. Found him on Bumble.”

Simon has to physically stop himself from giving a scoff in response to that.

“Looks like a knob.” He takes yet another large gulp of beer, finishing the last drop. You frown, and before you can interject, he adds. “Looks old. Tory, probably.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his thigh with the tips of your toes.

"He ain't a Tory." You scoff. That little frown still lingers on your features, carving a small line between your brows, as if he'd personally offended you.

His comment prompts you to turn your phone to yourself and look at the picture of this Adam lad you found on Bumble of all places.

You look back at Simon and his deadpan stare. Then back at Adam and his million-dollar smile.

Your eyes swivel back to Simon again, and you tentatively ask, "You think he's a Tory?"

Simon places the empty beer bottle on the glass coffee table. The sound somehow makes you take a metaphorical step back. "Nah. He can't be."

You purse your lips, concentrated and slightly, just slightly amused.

Eyes back to Adam. Then to Simon. "Right?"

Simon looks that ounce of smug enough to be considered annoying once he notices how you’re about to go cross-eyed in changing your focus, all hesitant and that bit concerned. He already knows how you have zero faith in your own judgment of character even if you refuse to make peace with it.

A little too naïve for this world. A tad too innocent. When the topic would come up, you’d get all riled up and primitive in your frustration, muttering indiscernible words and expletives that sound like grunts. Brows all furrowed and pretty lips scowling. He'd remind you how you let him in your flat without a single proof that he wasn't a serial killing sociopath, and your mouth would lock in place.

His hand lands on the curve of your foot, smoothing down towards your ankle; the warmth of his palm bleeds through the fuzzy fabric of your socks. He sighs, a little overdramatic as if he were about to tell you some sad, sad news. "Definitely a Tory.”

You want to reprimand his lack of faith in your choice of men. But his hand on your ankle feels so nice and you’re a sucker for physical contact. Begrudgingly, you settle that your bruised ego and your wounded pride are worth the gentle giant’s warmth.

However, the lingering touch does nothing to discourage your fire, so you glower. The least believable thing he's ever seen.

It takes much more to upset a special forces operator with a series of achievements as long as Simon Riley’s. A doctor with a mop of hair lazily tied in a bun, checkered socks in his lap, and residues of crisps around her lips surely isn’t it.

"Well." You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'll ask him on Friday when we’ll have dinner."

He scoffs.

“You’re gonna bring up politics at dinner on a first date, yeah?” A condescending pat on your ankle. “Sounds really romantic.”

His dry humor again. It wins in its intent to steal a chuckle from you.

The fight leaves as quickly as it entered your bloodstream, and you flop on the couch with a sigh, your phone falling somewhere on the turquoise carpet.

"Gotta make sure I ain't dating a conservative." You quip.

Simon watches you clasp your hands over your belly as it ripples with the first waves of a breathy laugh. You crane your neck forwards, eyes squinting in mirth clocking his own.

"He looks like he’d vote Tory." You concede with a laugh and pinch the air in front of your face. "A tiny bit - just a tiny bit."

“A tiny bit?” He snorts. “Lad probably has a framed photo of Margaret Thatcher in his bedroom.”

You laugh again, rubbing an idle hand over your eyes as you shake your head, utterly defeated. He can see in the way your shoulders sag that he’s shattered the careful castle of hopes and dreams you'd built brick by brick around the man.

"God no." Equally as exasperated as entertained, you sigh. "Can't imagine shagging him with the ol' Iron Lady staring at my tits."

He scoffs again at the mental image you have just provided him with. He doubts he’ll ever forget the picture, to his dismay. “Christ. Didn’t need that in my mind.”

In the afterglow of that belly laugh, you don’t notice how he’s somewhat tightened his grip around your ankle. Simon knows you aren’t one to pay attention to those subtleties. Too focused on other people's well-being to realize when yours is being put first. He can already imagine how your heart is unraveling with the knowledge that you’ve managed to make him quirk a smile, however small, even if his day had been a proper shitshow.

The selfless angel that you are.

You turn your eyes to the ceiling, looking for something that clearly isn’t written on the colorful paint of the walls.

"All jokes aside," you murmur. "I hope it goes well."

Your eyes touch his. There’s a melancholy in yours you only allowed him to see. Thinly veiled vulnerability, heart bare just for his eyes.

"Really need a confidence boost," you say with a wistful smile. "And some love on the side."

He mutters under his breath. “Right.”

Simon tries not to wince at your words and what they imply. He thinks you’re too good to rely on other people (men, above anything) to boost your confidence. As if what he thinks are mouthwatering looks, a striking sense of humor and a brilliant mind aren’t enough to make you feel a peg above everyone else.

He hates that you don’t seem to understand it. Hates that you require other people’s approval even when you have a brain that could put most to shame and a series of achievements to boot.

He hates that despite how sharp you are, you’re slow when it comes to emotional intelligence. And it’s Simon fucking Riley who’s saying it, the most emotionally unavailable man he himself knows. It isn’t that you can’t discern signs and tells, you aren’t stupid by any means, but it’s painfully obvious how you just can’t fathom why people would be attracted to you that way. Thus, you’d always dismiss compliments and advances with annoying levity.

In four years, Simon has witnessed all your relationships wither because your lack of self-confidence made you question everything.

Seemingly aware of the tense air your comment has caused, your cheeky grin makes a comeback just to lift his spirits. You wriggle your foot under his grip to get his attention. "You think he'll like my socks?"

Simon has to admit (finally, at least true to himself) that your tireless search for reassurance about your date isn’t exactly doing wonders for his heart or his sanity.

“He’ll love them, you muppet.” He deadpans.

You chuckle at the comment, and then you relax, thinking the conversation over. Comfortable with your eyes on the telly and your hands clasped over your stomach, that gentle feeling of home and familiarity lulls you into a soft rest.

Simon on the other hand, is anything but relaxed. His jaw clenches involuntarily as if he despises even the mere idea of another man getting to see you like this: lying down, all soft and sweet and sleepy in the fuzzy socks he’s bought you. With his surname plastered on your back, of all things.

His eyes flick to the hand on your ankle. He wants to keep holding on tighter and stop you from leaving altogether. Keep you tethered to that couch without ever needing to stand up.

He could tell you to drop it. He could.

But you’re a grown woman, in her prime, with her doctorate and her big girl job that gives her enough money to start a war of her own but for some reason has never decided to pick up her things and leave that shabby flat she shares with him.

And he is poor with words. Communication is a skill he’s never learned, unless it involves extracting precious intel from skin-trading bastards or bloodthirsty pricks. He surely isn’t going to communicate with you that way, even if it's the only one he knows. The realization makes his lips dip into a scowl of self-hatred for being seemingly unable to keep you.

Simon’s eyes rake over your body – your silhouette concealed by his shirt, softly draped over you like finely carved marble. With natural flow, his hand follows the path traced by his pupils, and very deliberately slides up your leg, towards your knee.

Initially, the movement only prompts you to steal a glance from him. But when your eyes land on that frown, as if he were deep in thought, it feels natural, instinctive, to give him your undivided attention again.

Softly, you ask for the second time that day, "Alright?"

He nearly lets out a huff of laughter. Such a simple question yet so goddamn loaded he’s on the verge of blowing a gasket – his patience wearing thin.

He locks his eyes with yours, only to snark once more. “Peachy.”

His humor this time isn’t successful in the effort of stealing a smile. In Simon’s defense, he hasn’t used it to make you crack one at all.

You frown, a tiny fracture between your brows. A little confused, mostly concerned. He can see it in your doe eyes, how you’re already miles away – overthinking every minute detail you might have missed during the conversation. You always thought so much Simon had joked, once or twice, that your skull was too small to host all that.

Your eyes shift from his face to his hand. Simon dares to be bolder and slides his palm a little higher. His fingers curl around the plush of your thigh.

"Peachy, eh?" You inquire, clearly suspicious of his antics. "You look far from peachy.”

A low scoff slips past his lips.

He is anything but peachy, he’d give you that. He is anything but sweet, far from it. Bitter, would fit better. Jealous, would fit best. He is downright pissed, but not at you. Never at you. He wishes he were a gifted conversationalist, so he could put into words what the idea of you shoving your tits in the face of some twat is making his hackles rise. He barely entertains the thought of you talking and laughing with him, never mind brushing with the concept of you riding the life out of that bastard. God forbid you brought him over and did all that in your flat – his flat.

He swallows in a piss poor attempt at juggling his feelings. His eyes shift to the TV to further conceal them.

“Just thinkin’ about work is all.” He mutters. Simon can almost hear Soap’s Scottish lilt calling him a “pining sod.”

Oh, but you’re an insistent little thing, aren’t you? Simon can hear the sheer doubt in your tone when you hum in response. The slight changes in the vibration against your frowning lips, the curves in the intonation of that simple, but so very telling sound. He catches each and every one of those details like the guard dog that he is.

In his peripherals, he sees the shifting of your eyes, from his hand to his profile. He sees you take in the crook of his nose, broken a few times (a tough job and a harsh childhood did that to him). His furrowing brows, light honey, like his hair – all ruffled and staticky from removing his balaclava when he got home.

"Work." You deadpan, but it comes out softer than intended.

His fingers aren’t as sneaky as before when they slide further up your thigh. Simon knows you feel that same electric spark because your quadriceps stiffen under his palm.

“Work,” he affirms, his jaw tight as his hand journeys farther to reach the hem of your shorts. His thumb rubs from side to side over the skin at the edge of the fabric, and Christ, he’s fighting the growing itch to just pull them down.

While the two of you have watched plenty of films on this same sofa, in this same position, Simon has never touched you.

As in, touched you, touched you.

He’s averse to that, to anything that isn’t a noncommittal gesture. This one, however, obviously isn’t.

His hand is so big against your thigh, that plush skin underneath his callouses almost makes him feel guilty. The hardened palm used to disperse death shouldn’t touch such soft things. He feels the peachy fuzz brush against the pads of his fingers, he sees how they leave divots in the meat.

It makes his heart beat a little faster, blood pumping in all the wrong places but his head.

His expression is blank, dull eyes staring straight at the television. However, his mind is not as quelled as he portrays. It’s leading him to a very unholy place, where he wonders if your skin is as soft on your belly as it is on your thigh. Whether you’d whimper or groan if he were to flick his tongue over your breasts. If your eyes would roll back, were he to plunge his fingers deep into your core.

So many ifs he wants to put to the test.

He gently skims where your thigh meets your hip, and Simon swears he hears you gulp. He can tell you’re absolutely blindsided. You've been living with him as your flatmate for four years. Four fucking years, and if he ever tried to give you anything more than his usual snark, he might have been a little too subtle about it.

Simon glances at you, before returning his focus to the telly. One look is all he needs to hear your thoughts as if they were his own – the self-deprecation, the anxiety, that tormenting feeling of not being enough.

How torn you look. Stiff fingers curl around air only to release it right afterwards, fighting an invisible enemy. Let him do what he wants, let his hand slide up your shorts, and find the cotton lace of your panties. Or, pull away and retreat into your safe bubble, where no one can hurt you.

As if he’d ever lay an ill hand on you. All you have to say is “Stop” and he’ll take back his arm – cut it off for good measure.

Your eyes are hooded as they turn to look back at the malleable flesh of your thigh in his hold. His fingers disappear under your shorts until the first knuckle. He brushes along the hem of nice lace undies, feeling the rough fabric under the pads of his fingers.

Your voice is deliciously breathy. "Wha' about work, then?"

Avoidance. Normally, he'd let you. If it were any other situation, he'd brush it off with you. He'd keep up with the chat, coddling you in that safe place you seem too keen on spending time in.

Not now.

His head turns back to you; hungry eyes fixed on the way your mouth parts to yield that soft whisper. It makes his eye twitch, a splinter in his veneer.

“Reckon work can wait,” he rasps.

Simon is hyper-aware of how close he is to your core – a knuckle away from the throbbing heat between your legs. He sees your bowed head, eyes lidded with that primal desire he is instilling in you.

You look as if your brain has turned into soup; the ingredients a mix of shared memories and touches – even the most indifferent, neutral ones. To his utter joy, for the first time in your life, it almost looks like you’ve finally turned off your thoughts.

Your jaw clenches in a desperate attempt to get a grip on yourself. He knows you’re confused; he is too. Because it’s wrong to indulge in intimacy when more than just a friendship is at stake. Money's involved, a roof over your heads, a bed to kip, and food in your bellies – four years of shared everything is involved.

But you agree. You nod your head a little dumbly, and suddenly work can wait. To Simon, the fucking world can.

Your voice is a mumble. "Yeah, guess it can."

“Mhm.”

His gaze flicks up to your eyes, depriving your lips of the attention they were given, and he is delighted to see that you’re just as affected as he is.

Simon's fingers get squished between your thighs when you clench them together. He squeezes, feeling how the flesh rolls between his fingers, how it folds where the stretch marks crinkle.

“Lift your leg up for me,” he rasps.

Breath is stuck in your throat in utter anticipation. Simon knows it's been a long time since you've been touched in any way, shape, or form. You could've gone out and found a man willing to have a shag, it wouldn't have been hard to find someone who needed it too – someone as desperate as you look right now.

After all, that single word is the one that led him to you in the first place.

Yet you never did it. Simon has never seen you bring a man, or a woman, back to the flat. Sometimes you’d disappear with a text, saying you’d be sleeping out, but you never brought anyone home. And he never asked why – mostly, because he thought it wasn’t his business. Another part of him, however, was afraid that if he did, you’d take it as an invitation to do so. Obviously, he wasn’t too keen on the idea.

After giving it little thought, you part your thighs for him. One still rests in his lap while the other dangles off the sofa.

There's very little resolve left in you, Simon can tell by the way your eyes are so focused on his disappearing hand, and by the way you shatter when he experimentally glides one finger over the damp line on your panties.

“Fuck.” You hiss, tilting your head back.

You must want him dead, he thinks, as he gawks at the way your throat curves.

“Christ.” He mutters under his breath. He pushes the pad of his thumb down the cotton, feeling how it sticks to your slit. “Barely touched you.”

He wants to take his sweet time. He does. Wants to take it slow, reduce you to a mess of please and more before he finally gives you what you want. But he’s just as desperate as you are, isn’t he? He’s craving, clawing at the walls, to feel you clamp around him. Feel you drip down his hand until his callouses are coated, slick flowing down the crevices of his palm.

He’s no better than you are, currently.

So, his fingers slip under your panties just enough to touch your folds.

You can't help but tilt your head forwards again, only to look down at the bulge under your shorts created by his hand.

But when your eyes flit back to his, he stops.

Maybe he’s gone too far, he thinks. Maybe you’re realizing this is one hell of a mistake that can only end with you going your separate ways, something he will never forgive himself for.

However, it’s then, that you nod. That worry line between your brows, ever-present, seems gone. Smooth skin between your beautiful, beautiful eyes. And Simon feels whole again, feels wanted. The battered hound dog that he is, only useful for one thing and one thing only – sowing the seeds of death, and reaping them afterwards – is wanted.

Not tolerated. Not required, or needed. Wanted.

He knows your brain is turning its cogs, fighting against the fog of a kind of hunger that can’t be extinguished, one that only wants to be sated – by him, and him only.

Why is he doing this.

What does it mean.

Is it because of the date you should have the next Friday.

Is it because he's frustrated at work and you’re simply there, lying on a silver platter.

So many fucking questions it irritates him that, somehow, while his middle finger is tracing lazy patterns to part your folds, you’re still thinking.

He doesn’t allow a single one to leave your lips, because he plunges one finger inside your cunt.

His first if is answered, then. Your eyes don’t roll back like he’d expected.

Your brows flutter to your forehead, and your mouth parts to form a pretty oval. Your chest swells as if you've just taken the first breath in your entire life. Your eyes, hazy and blurred, hold his own. And somehow, that is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Your leg on his lap is taut and stiff, toes curling under those loud socks you’re wearing.

Simon takes in the sight of you – all flushed and panting. The only sound in the air is the quiet drone of the telly in the background and your sharp inhales.

He can only describe himself in that moment as wrecked. Maybe even more so than you are right now, all rigid in anticipation of his first movements.

“Keep your eyes on me," he growls out, and when you nod, he curls his pad inside of you.

Your fingers seem to mimic his own, but they grip the edge of the sofa’s cushions instead. Your nails scratch at the leather with such voracity they leave beige lines against the dark brown.

He struggles against the double layer of fabric entrapping his hand to your cunt – the lace scratches the knuckle on his thumb, the cotton of your shorts is a manacle on his wrist. But fuck if he cares about all that when your hips twitch to encourage his movements.

You look ruined. And he loves that – the effect he has on you, the fact that he’s the one to have you like this.

He moves his finger in slow, long strokes. He doesn’t do it to torture you, no. He observes, because for once his constant vigilance is not only useful to quell his paranoia, but also to feed your desires. He tests movements, tries different spots, looking for that one within your walls that will make you scream.

And he finds it, then – to his utmost delight. Here you are: your breathy moans, soft and honeyed, turn into a stuttering and almost pained "Oh." And he knows he has you under his thumb, all perfect and yearning, unraveling with just one of his fingers. He’s looking straight at your face, not wanting to miss a single twitch of an eyebrow. Your pretty lips are all slick with your spit and they part to release the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard.

His strokes intensify, drawing back as much as he can with the limited movements he has, only to push in and hit ever so slightly that rougher patch of nerves he’s located. He doesn’t want to make you squirm, but he has something tickling his brain – questions. Or better, one question.

He places his thumb over your pearl, unsheathing it from the fleshy hood with a glide. He drinks the way it makes your breath hitch and stutter in sudden hypersensitivity. He rolls his pad tentatively, only to see you grit your teeth and groan – muscles and sinews all tensed up in your neck. It's like molten lava in your belly. It's syrupy hot and gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his finger, down to the knuckle.

“D’you think you’ll need to go on that date on Friday?” he rasps and rolls his thumb again.

His question doesn't seem to make you falter; your hips are unrelenting in their chase for release, as you push against his hand, grinding like your life depends on it. However, he can tell that it irked you. That blissed-out look pinches in frustration.

You're breathless, on a feverish hunt for that taste of heaven his finger’s promising, and Simon has the gall to bring up another man? One he's been mocking for the past half hour? He's surprised by himself as well.

You whine. "Does this look like the bloody time?"

“No,” he concedes, sounding a little patronizing.

He has the upper hand, quite literally, and to give you a friendly reminder of the power he holds, he slides another finger in.

You're absolute putty in his hands now. Your fingers grip at the sofa, your cheeks all flushed and warm. Your back arches, and he knows he just gave you that fullness you've been chasing. The sensation that causes the right amount of pleasure and pain of the stretch. He’s knuckle deep inside of you, his fingers trapped by your velvety walls as he strokes harder, lingering a little longer where you like it, but not faster. He keeps that steady pace that takes your breath away, not forgetting to lavish your clit with attention, and leaves you with just enough air for you to free those clipped and breathless moans.

He’s shameless as his other hand clamps your shin on his lap and pushes it down onto the painful tent on his jeans. He shifts his hip upwards to grind against your calf and hisses when it causes the zipper to graze his cock.

“Gonna cancel it, then?”

It’s bliss. You look like an angel.

"Yeah," you breathe out, a little incoherent. "Cancel it, 'course."

Your voice is more of an unintelligible mumble than anything else – two fingers in and his thumb on your nub drawing idle circles. Perfect pressure. Perfect fit.

He’s never seen you look this beautiful, all abandoned and relaxed, with your big brain he loves so much shut off completely. Synapses only working to generate a wish for release, so sweet and simple, and nothing else. And who is he to deny such a plain request, you sweet thing.

Simon would give you the moon if you asked.

He’s powerless in your presence, undecided if to focus on your face, or to stare at your hardened nipples. They brush against the black training t-shirt he once owned – right below the two crossing swords painted under the royal crown. It should be blasphemous. Should be bloody illegal to sully the name of the monarchy that way.

That is, if he gave a fuck about it. And even if he did, he’d see no wrong in it – because what can you taint when you’re the purest thing he’s ever touched.

Your hips move in tandem with his fingers, your face scrunched in that desperate look of someone who has a piece of heaven just out of reach. He watches you as you fall apart under his fingers and keeps your leg down so he can grind against it. If the situation were different, he’d feel like a wild animal in that regard, but there isn’t a spot on you he doesn’t wish to worship.

Especially now, when you look like this. With your hair sticking to your forehead and loose locks escaping your low bun.

He can’t take his eyes away from you – you have him absolutely entranced.

“s too much.” He hears you whine amongst the mist in his brain

“It ain’t.” He manages to grunt as if it's an order.

And you’re a little insubordinate, because you try and squirm away. But your shorts are his shackles as much as they’re yours – they fasten his hand to your cunt, while locking you against his unwavering fingers.

“Simon,” your voice is so wrecked when you beg. “Please - fuck.”

And how he finds the strength to snark is beyond him. His voice is thick and heavy. “’m tryin’.”

He drags his fingers deep down where yours can’t reach, where he’s found that patch of nerves that reduces you into a puddle of yourself. His thumb on your clit is steadfast, rubbing just above the hood where you’re not as sensitive, only to drag down again and make you see stars.

And the way that string of “Yes” leaves your lips, in that euphoric wheeze that tugs at the corners of your lips, makes his cock ache to be anywhere but in the confines of his jeans.

Your eyes are all glossy when you prop yourself on your elbows to fuel his resolve. Petal lips red and shiny, catching your teeth in an attempt to muffle your moans – bone-deep ingrained insecurity you can’t seem to get rid of. He doesn’t force you, though – he wants to hear you, sure, but most of all he wants to see you crumble to shreds. And if hiding your voice is what you need, then feel free to be his bloody guest.

Your hips stutter and your belly ripples under his large tee draped over it, and he’d recognize those signs anywhere.

“Cum f’ me,” he orders. “C’mon, love. Give it to me.”

It takes a few more pumps of his fingers, and Simon feels it before he sees it. You clench around his fingers in rippling waves, thrumming rhythmically. Your cunt deliciously threatens to cut them off just above the knuckle.

And fuck, aren’t you a goddamn sight.

Simon thinks it's almost cathartic to simply watch you. How your head tilts back to hit the armrest of the sofa, the way your toes curl in his lap and your foot on the floor rigidly lifts. The sway of your hips as they undulate to meet his thrusts and the liberating groan that leaves your lips, touching the sky with your fingers.

He unconsciously guides you through it, but truthfully, he has absolutely no idea what to do with himself – not with you looking straight out of one of his most unhinged dreams. His fingers slow down but keep moving relentlessly.

However, it would be a lie for him to say he knows what he’s doing.

You come down from it and your eyes are blinky and unfocused, staring at the ceiling. Your body deflates on the couch, limp and sated. Syrupy and warm. With your chest free to move now that the heavy weight on it has finally been lifted. He allows you this moment of privacy as you recollect yourself, although he truly wants you to look back at him again. He doesn’t want to miss a beat of this, yet he sort of understands.

Your breath comes out in puffs. He’s not faring any better on that note.

"Simon," you breathe, his name exquisite from your lips. "Christ."

He’s gawking. Watching your face for a moment more, he meets your eyes as they flick back to him down the slope of your nose.

Thumb still on your clit, the movements are gentler and featherlight. His voice is hoarse and rough as he speaks. “Alrigh’?”

You chuckle, breathless and a little nervous now that the appetite has been sated – much more self-aware than before.

His fingers are still inside of you and you’re already overthinking this. He knows it. He just hopes, deep down, that you’re not regretting it – because he sure as hell isn’t.

"Peachy.” Is your reply.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Joke’s on him, he’s fed you enough sarcasm for you to start throwing it back at him. Simon feels too weak to even smirk. However, his eyes do narrow, in a similar manner to how yours would at his snarky comebacks.

He gently slides his fingers out of you, mindful of your current sensitivity. He brings the hand up, seeing the gleam of your slick shamelessly coating their lengths down to the knuckles.

“Fuckin’ look at that.” He murmurs, unable to discern whether he’s talking to you or to himself, “Messy girl.”

He thumbs his middle finger and rolls the juice between the pads, thinking; tongue out to lick his lips like the voracious beast he is.

Simon reaches over and brings his hand towards your mouth. A jerky nod of his jaw, “Open.”

He knows he’s already crossed a line the two of you never even dared to toe before. And if he’s going to lose you after this, if you’re going to turn your back on him and leave the flat (leave his life) then he’s going to make the most of it.

Your brows are pinched in sudden uncertainty. A contradicting spectacle, if mixed with the way your chest is still heaving and how your cunt is still wet.

But tonight, you seem eager to catch him off guard, because you oblige. Your lips part and you offer your tongue, never breaking eye contact.

Each time he thinks you can’t look more beautiful you prove him fucking wrong.

He hums lowly in approval, and there’s something dark in that sound. He gently runs his fingers across your tongue, coating it with your taste. Fingertips slide and follow its curve. He stares at you with such an intensity, like he could consume you if he had a mind to. You devour him first, wrapping your lips around his knuckles.

When your tongue delves around his fore and middle fingers, he has to close his eyes. He has to roll his head, releasing the tension in his jaw. He has to, or he’ll cum in his goddamn jeans. The sharp inhale he takes almost burns his nostrils; his sigh heavy and anguished when his lips surrender to it.

“How d’you taste, dove?” he asks, blinking his eyes open.

The way his voice rasps out that pet name, rough like sandpaper, makes a shiver run down your neck. He sees it, the tremor of your shoulders, the goosebumps on your arms.

Simon reluctantly pulls his fingers away only so you can answer. His wasn’t a rhetorical question, and by that blush on your cheeks and the embarrassed hint of a smile on your face, you’ve guessed it already.

"Not as sweet as I thought."

His lips twitch.

“No?” he asks, his voice much too broken for his liking. He brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks, tasting your spit and your cum. A low rumble of a chuckle escapes him – must be a blue moon tonight. “I think you taste pretty sweet.”

This can go two ways: a fairy tale ending, like those romcoms you like to watch, or an absolutely dreadful one – in which you leave. And truly, Simon doesn’t believe in a higher power; God has abandoned him more times than he cares to count. However, he hopes that whoever’s up there realizes that he's owed big time for all the crap he’s been put through.

And he asks for nothing, but you.

His face is hot, and he gathers his cheeks might be a little pink. The rare sight must give you some comfort, the fact that he’s just as overwhelmed as you are, because he feels your leg relax in his lap.

You purse your lips to hide a bashful smile - as if you have any right to be coy right now. "Flatterer."

He hums, seemingly wanting to bite back at you but unable to find the spirit for it. His eyes rake over your body, from your flushed face to your chest covered by his tee, until they land on your quivering thighs, still splayed open for him.

For him.

His hand travels up your leg, following the same route that has led to this. When his palm finally cups your hip, his fingers curl at the waistband of your shorts and tug.

“C’mere.”

You do.

He sees you bend your knees and shift on the sofa so you can crawl to him on shaky legs. As the gentleman he never thought he’d be, he helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap with your knees on either side of his hips.

Afraid you might say something hinting at regret, he selfishly grabs your jaw and pulls you down, finally tasting you the way he’s always wanted. His lips mold with yours, and they’re so soft he has no business claiming them as his own. His fingers tilt your head so he can deepen the kiss, and only when he sees your eyes flutter closed through the slit of his eyelids, he allows himself to surrender to you.

Your lips peck the thin scar on his cupid’s bow, but before you can run away from him (as you should), he captures you once more. He never wants to let you go, so his tongue slides across the seam of your mouth, and you, so pliantly, oblige him.

Your hands are resting on his shoulders when the kiss starts tentatively, while his slender fingers follow the curve of your waist.

But then your nails dig at the fabric of his t-shirt, as if eager to rip it, and his palms journey to your rear. He grips at the flesh through your shorts, before shoving out of the way their distressed hem and directly groping the plump meat of your ass.

The two of you never part. If anything, everything gets more heated.

He doesn’t recall when it is exactly that you start grinding your hips, nor does he remember when his shirt was removed – whether you did it, or if he’s taken the matter into his own hands.

However, he does snap out of it when he feels your palms leave his shoulders to grasp at the hem of your tee. While he wants to feel his skin on yours as much as you do, what’s separating your chest from his is not a mere layer of cotton.

He pulls away and – to his pleasure – he sees you lean in to have more. His hand lands on yours, stopping you.

“No.”

He sees you blink, dazed. A myriad of emotions travel through that pinched expression you wear, thinking like usual that you’ve done something wrong.

He quells your fears in seconds, when his other palm skims over your arm. It journeys unhurriedly, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, until it lands at the base of your throat. His thumb brushes over its column, forcing your neck to tilt backwards and your back to arch, presenting your chest.

Simon models you like clay under his warm fingers, and he takes his time to drink you in and sculpt you as he wishes. Because you seem so docile now that his intents are less covert, clearer.

He brings his mouth to your throat, and his nose scrunches when he presses it against your neck, keeping you still with one thick arm around your waist. With sluggish movements, he tastes the salt of your skin and the tang left by your perfume.

Simon pulls back only to run his tongue from the hollow between your collarbones up to your jaw, feeling right under the muscle how your throat bobs when your breath lodges in between. He curves his head and digs his teeth into the plumper flesh on the side of your neck, enough to get a taste but not enough (never enough) to cause pain.

“Keep the shirt on.” He breathes against your skin, “I wanna fuck my name into you.”

And he does just that.

It’s effortless how he lifts you in his arms, guiding your ankles to lock at his tailbone. Clothes, both yours and his, freckle the floors in a trail that leads to his bedroom. He’s famished; there isn’t a single surface along the path he follows where he hasn’t placed you – if only to savor every piece of you for a little longer.

Until he has you on that bed, the one he should’ve gotten only for a few weeks and instead became his own alcove.

You look wonderful on it.

But you’re even more gorgeous when he sits at the edge of the mattress, facing the full-length mirror in his room, and places you on his thighs to straddle his lap – your back facing the reflection.

He runs his hands over your chest, riding up the t-shirt to your neck only so he can feast on your tits. Grabbing greedy handfuls of fat and muttering unintelligible praises when his mouth all but devours every inch – sucking on your puffy nipples and grazing his teeth around each peak.

Another if is answered by the whimper that escapes your kiss-bitten lips.

You look like an angel, when your soft hand goes to grab the base of his cock and, without much ceremony, you guide it inside of you – sinking on it easy and slow.

You feel like heaven, too, impaled on him. Perfect fit, always made for him, and him only.

Simon’s not sure what he did to deserve you, now riding his cock like you’d been deprived of it your whole life. Unbridled, free. You moan and groan without a care in the world, the hesitation he saw before vanished into thin air – and oh, he couldn’t be more grateful for it.

His hands curl at the hem of your (his, his, his) shirt, lifting it up slightly at your waist, only so he can see in the reflection how your ass slaps against his thighs each time you drop. Or, how your glutes clench when instead of trying to pleasure him, you please yourself – rolling your hips to grind your clit against his happy trail.

Simon’s hands leave the shirt only to grab more of you, kneading at your hips to guide your cunt down his cock until he has you filled to the brim. Your eyes roll back, breath stuck in that pretty throat of yours. He bites at it - laps at the skin like a starved dog.

Simon shattered his chains the moment you came undone on his fingers, and now he knows no restraint – not when he has you like this.

“Look at you,” he growls, slapping your ass only to watch how the fat ripples in recoil in your mirror image.

He grabs the back of your neck and tilts your head downwards. Your foreheads touch as he guides your eyes to look at where your bodies join. The foamy ring at the base of his cock, how the folds of your vulva hug around his shaft and tip at your unhooded clit, all puffy and red.

He tugs at your mound with his thumb, stretching the flesh to expose more. With a deliberate roll of his hips, he makes a show of how effortlessly his cock slides into you, how your cunt greedily stretches to welcome him whole.

“Look at that.” His voice is equally as raspy as it’s enraptured. “Perfect.”

Using his hand on your nape, he angles your face to kiss you again. He thrusts into you only to have you part your lips in a stuttering moan, and he drinks it dry.

When you resume grinding your hips, he whispers in your open mouth, “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Simon sees how your thighs quiver under the strain of the effort, hamstrings taut and probably burning in the attempt to wrap around his hips. He won’t keep you like that for long, don’t worry. He’ll take good care of you, like he always has.

But now, he indulges in a selfish moment.

Spare seconds in which he watches your reflection bounce on him, and you’re too lost in the feeling to notice how his hooded eyes take in the view.

The profile of your face in the mirror (his little cherub), with your mouth parted and brushing against his temple as he nuzzles your shoulder through the fabric of the shirt. One hand ecloses his nape and your other palm is on his cheek, keeping his head close to your breathless lips. Your eyes are closed in bliss – lashes shy against your flushed cheekbones.

In the scantly lit room, the reflection in the mirror of you two is as dark as everything else, but the stark white writing on the back of your tee has never looked brighter. Your hair sways with your movements, and that RILEY that peeks through your locks has him impossibly enamored of you.

And you’re so smart, he thinks. So clever, because you know, even when your senses are clouded by euphoria and your eyes are closed. You know he’s never had a thing. You know that whatever he’s held, no matter for how long, has always slipped through his fingers before he could even get a taste of it.

“I’m yours,” you whisper in his ear.

And so, Simon surrenders. He’s at your mercy, you have his trust and whatever’s left of his heart – and he knows you won’t break either.

He helps you out of his t-shirt only to hold you bare against his chest. He brings you down with him, lavishes your skin with his palms and his lips. Nose buried in your hair, Simon breathes you in. The smell of sex and the smell of you and how it has him drunk when it whirlpools with his own – a new fragrance, one that burns itself into his brain with the threat (sweet promise) of never letting go.

Because he’s never had a thing, his name barely pertains to him anymore. But the moment he saw it on you, he finally realized where Simon Riley belongs.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #jealous simon riley #ghost x reader

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toournextadventure · 3 months ago

Text

when you love it pt.2

Summary: Learning to accept yourself again is a hard task. Thankfully, you've got two lovely Outcasts to help you

Word Count: 5.4k Warnings: swearing, talk of blood, typical vampire violence Pairing: Wenclair x Reader (part 1) A/N: Surprise, this is not the last part, there will be one more. So sorry but... it gets better

“Have you ever eaten somebody?”

Ah, there they were. The Little Bane of your existence, as you had come to endearingly call them over the last few months. A menace at best, the little wolf had, for some unknown reason, made it a point to attach themself to your hip. Even on the full moon, the pup would sniff you out and remain with you until they turned back into the headache they truly were.

Admirable.

“Why do you ask?” You asked without looking down to meet their eyes. The eyes of an Addams, you thought.

“Mother said people go insane after eating human flesh,” the child said. “I’m trying to collect evidence to prove her wrong.”

The question was pure Addams.

“I believe it’s only if they eat the brain matter of a human,” you said, finally looking down.

“So you have then?” They asked. “Eaten someone?”

“What do you think?” You asked.

Their head tilted just like Enid's as they thought of an answer. After all this time, you were still finding more and more similarities between them and their mothers. It was almost comical. The toothy grin, the troublesome look in their eyes. A perfect mix of two perfect women.

“No,” they finally said. “I don’t think you have.”

You smiled, showing your fangs. “Correct.”

You both looked back out toward the scenery in front of the cabin. Winter was always the most beautiful time, if anyone asked your opinion. The snow coated the trees in the finest powder, creating an almost constant appearance of fresh snowfall. To the back of the cabin was a lake that froze over so thoroughly, you could skate for hours and never fall through.

Though falling through was always an adventure of its own, you would admit.

Perhaps you could get Enid to skate with you again. Oh, wouldn’t that be grand? It had been ages since you had last danced together upon the shimmering ice. The amount of trust that came with such an act… would you be able to skate as before? Could she put her life in your hands once again?

You deflated; you wouldn’t blame her if she couldn’t.

“Have you ever had blood from someone you know?”

Each cell in your dead body froze.

Teeth ripping through flesh. You could hear the blood pumping from the wounds, pouring out over your hands as you tried desperately to stop the flow. Your own blood cascaded down your throat, erasing any satisfaction you had previously received.

You could still smell the blood. It made your mouth water.

You still wanted more.

“What do you think?” You asked, looking back down at them.

They didn’t look away in contemplation. No, they kept their eyes locked with yours. It was uncomfortable. They had Wednesday’s stunning brown eyes. Eyes you had stared into night after night before watching the light slowly fade from one mistake. Just one.

“Yes,” they said.

“Aunt Yoko’s here!” One of the other children yelled from the house.

You looked back out to the scenery before your Little Bane ran off to join the others.

“Correct,” you mumbled with a sigh.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t forget the feel of her blood falling down your throat. The heat that pooled in your chest and had your dead heart wishing to beat. Each inch of scar tissue embedded in your skin ached at the memory. She’s just inside, your Instincts whispered. Just a sip.

Your lip caught on your fang as you snarled at the thought. An animalistic sound; pathetic. But the sound made you feel as if you could quiet the Instincts. You would not drink from her again. Had it learned nothing from the last time? There was blood in the fridge, you would survive just fine.

Heavy footsteps came up behind you.

“Aunt Yoko wants to speak with you,” your Little Bane said.

You exhaled slowly and nodded to yourself. Of course she would. She had never truly been your biggest fan. Vampires don’t trust other vampires, she had said, if you remembered correctly. Which you did. Her Instincts may have dulled over the generations, but her intelligence remained as sharp as ever.

“Lead the way,” you said.

Your Little Bane’s lip caught on their canine, so reminiscent of Enid you wanted to laugh. At times, the child was pure Addams. Every cell of their being practically screamed it. Yet, at moments like this, you were reminded that Enid was also an Addams in her own right. And that child, though outwardly appearing as Wednesday, was Enid’s little copy.

In the past, Yoko Tanaka had never intimidated you. After all, why would she? Her family had gone soft, adamantly refusing to drink from a source regardless of its humanity; or lack thereof. There had been a few instances during your college years where she had debated your own family beliefs, questioning the primality of it all. And it was, you wouldn’t deny it. Drinking from the source was what your ancestors had done, and the Instinct continued to flow through your veins whether you liked it or not.

You had silently agreed with her, though you would never let her know.

Now, however? After what Enid had jokingly titled The Beatdown - which neither you nor Wednesday found very humorous, but if that was how she coped then who were you to deny her such a trivial thing - Yoko terrified you. And given how she was looking at you as you walked closer…

She was aware of it.

“Tanaka,” you said with a polite nod and smile.

Her arms crossed tighter over her chest.

“In the car, pup,” she said in a tone that contradicted her body language.

“Aunt Div is in my spot,” they said without hesitation.

The immediate change in Yoko’s body was comical. She turned to look into the car where Divina - with whom you shared no ill will, though you knew it was no mutual feeling - was sitting in the front passenger seat. Her head was facing the back of the car where she was, supposedly, talking with the other Addams children.

Yoko rapped her knuckles against the window. “You’re being displaced, babe,” she called out.

Divina’s shoulders slumped, but she promptly unbuckled her sit and got out of the car. The look she gave you was anything but polite as she slid into the middle seat, pushing one of the children into the back. They were all laughing and smiling; truly Enid’s children.

“Good luck,” your Little Bane said to you.

“Thank you,” you mumbled back as they climbed into the car and shut the door, leaving you alone with Yoko.

How enjoyably torturous.

“Hello, Tanaka-”

“-Cut the bullshit,” she interrupted. Straight to the point as always. “No one wants you around them.” Her finger jabbed into your chest. “No one trusts you around them.”

“I understand,” you said.

“No, I don’t think you do.”

A wet gasp-

-snarling-

-relief-

-pain-

“I very much do,” you mumbled.

“I should rip your heart out now and eliminate any chance of the past repeating itself,” she said. Silence hung thick between you before she pulled her arms back to her body. “But I won’t, because Enid would cry and Wednesday would bury me six feet under.”

“This is my house, Tanaka,” you said. “I am more than prepared.”

“You’d better be,” she said as she started moving at a glacial pace toward the driver’s side of the car. “Because I’ll kill you and curse your entire line if you touch a hair on either of their heads.”

The threat was enough to have you shiver. Oh, if you failed and your family was cursed? They would never forgive you. They would start hunting you for sport, and it would be no less than you deserved.

Yoko stopped before opening her door.

“Not that I’ll need to,” she said. “You’re proof Enid can do it herself.”

Her words bounced around your skull as the car finally pulled away, taking all the Addams children with it. A part of you was almost… disappointed. You had grown to tolerate them over the past few months. They were rather enjoyable at times even, constantly inviting you for games. Or movies, once games had quickly become outlawed due to the… unruliness.

“I wish I had gotten another goodbye hug,” Enid said, appearing beside you seemingly out of nowhere.

You should have been able to smell her approach. Wolves were… not the most pleasant. Not horrific, simply not as appealing as humans. She had asked you to describe it once, what the difference was between her and Wednesday. Like a Christmas candle during the heat of summer, you had explained. So not like in Twilight? She had teased.

She’s my Christmas candle, you thought with a smile.

“It’s only for a weekend,” you told her. Her eyes sparkled. “Then you can have hello hugs instead.”

Her smile could have illuminated the world. “I do like hello hugs.”

“Come inside,” you said with a gesture toward the cabin, “I believe it’s going to snow.”

Enid’s joyful disposition had never waned over time. If anything, she almost seemed more joyous and carefree. Something lightened its load on your chest at the observation. You hadn’t ruined her outlook on life. She was, for all intents and purposes, outwardly okay.

A werewolf was across the room, hovering over Wednesday even as it transformed back into a person. Back into Enid. Her bare skin was shredded.

Wednesday was precisely where you had left her earlier; sitting in your small library, a book in hand and a cup of tea on the table. It was one of your more obscure books, having come from your long line of ancestors. In other words, from some murderous Frenchman’s basement. The pages were probably stained with blood.

“I had almost forgotten the joy of silence,” she said as Enid practically fell into her lap. With practised ease, she made way for her wolf without taking her eyes away from the book.

“It’s too quiet,” Enid said with a sigh.

You walked over to the record player you kept in the corner of the room as your married women talked silently amongst themselves. It was endearing to hear them talk of their young. To talk as if they truly loved them. What was that like, you wondered? To care for your young in such a deep, conditionless way?

Cold fingers ran against the thin spines of records in their cases, unsure of where to stop. Would they have ever had children if you had stayed with them? Younglings had never been in your future; you wouldn’t dare bring a child into your bloodline. But they seemed so very happy and content with their choices in life. Perhaps it was going to happen for them regardless.

Without looking, you picked a record out of its case and gently placed it on the player. Could you be trusted around their whelps? The children themselves seemed unconcerned, but what about Enid and Wednesday? Would they trust you? You weren’t even sure if you wanted them to trust you. Children were creatures you had yet to conquer.

You had attacked them. Both of them. The women you loved. They were bleeding out. Because of you.

The beautiful sounds of jazz fell from the record playing, encasing the room in a warmth that had previously been absent. Deep down you knew it wasn’t the music that made the house feel correct. But things were still new - again. You weren’t ready to make that admittance just yet.

“What are the plans for this weekend?” Enid asked when you sat in the second chair in the room. Only a small round end table was situated between you and your girls. Could… you still call them that?

“We should enjoy the silence while we can,” Wednesday said.

Enid huffed. “You know they aren’t that bad, Willa.”

They continued to bicker - lovingly, of course - while you just sat and watched. Unlike the soiree those few months ago, they were far more relaxed. Casual even, if you had to put a word on it. Enid was bundled in warm clothes - funny, considering she ran hot - and Wednesday was in a simple black sweater and leggings.

Everything about them in that moment reminded you of college. When you would all relax in the evenings. You were usually stuck with your nose in a book, terrified you wouldn’t manage to pass your classes, let alone the bar exam. But you could never properly focus because Enid and Wednesday were always around, bickering like an old married couple even from the very beginning.

Would you ever have that relationship with them again? Simply existing with them without fear of injury or betrayal. Whether it was just you or all of you, there was tension so thick in the air it was suffocating. You didn’t want to keep a tense, cordial relationship with them. Though, it did no good to dwell on the fact. You would respect their wishes until your dying breath.

Something warm grabbed your hand. Something with claws that pressed deep into the palm of your hand. There would be indentations left behind. If she didn’t ease up, perhaps a spot or two of blood. With you, she had never learned to manage her strength; there was no real need.

You never minded.

“What do you normally do?” Enid asked.

You exhaled slowly. “I sit here, listen to jazz, and work.”

“Both of you are so boring,” Enid groaned. “It’s our one full weekend without the kids,” she continued. “We can’t waste it by working.”

“I’m not working,” Wednesday said as she placed the book down on the table and looked at her wife with the softest of smiles. “I’m reading.”

The way they looked at each other was mesmerising. It was pure, unadulterated love. You hadn’t known either of them back when Wednesday was - as Enid so endearingly described - emotionally stunted. You two hadn’t been as outwardly romantic as Enid - she set the bar rather high - but you would’ve never considered her stunted. Especially now, watching the way she looked at her wife.

“We should do something,” Enid said. Her hand squeezed yours; her nails pricked your skin. “All of us.”

“All of us, you say?” You inquired. She glared at you.

“What a scandal,” Wednesday chimed in.

“I forgot how annoying you both are,” Enid mumbled to herself with no attempt to hide her little smile.

Her smile. The thing you had looked forward to seeing every morning before everything had crashed down around you. Even on the worst of days, you knew her smile would be enough to fix everything. Just the same as you hoped you could have fixed everything for her.

Until you couldn’t.

Outside, you could hear the snow starting to fall.

“What is there to do around the cabin?” Wednesday asked; her eyes never left Enid’s. “So our winter wolf doesn’t get too antsy?”

Another squeeze of your hand, digging the sharp, colourful nails deeper.

“Well,” you drew out the word as you thought. “There’s a frozen lake down the path.” Enid’s ears perked up slightly. “Or the town over usually has a winter market around this time.”

That was what did it. At the mention of a market, Enid practically jumped up from Wednesday’s lap. You kept your eyes on her even as you saw Wednesday smile out of your periphery. Her hands clasped together and she looked between the both of you with an excitement you hadn’t seen from her since before that night.

“Grab your winter coats, we’re going to the market!” She proclaimed excitedly.

You looked over at Wednesday with a raised brow but didn’t bother stopping your smile. She smiled back; anything for your wolf.

—---

It had only been a year or two since you had last attended the market and, as such, everyone still remembered you. As such, it was a little more complicated to get through everything than you had initially thought. With everyone stopping you to talk and catch up, you felt like you were holding Enid and Wednesday back as opposed to letting them have their fun.

The sweet older lady who ran the flower shop was still talking to you when you saw Enid walking off, leaving Wednesday to sidle up beside you. Had she done that on purpose? Clearly, she hadn’t just abandoned Wednesday, right? Not in your care, at least. None of you had trusted you two alone just yet.

Even though it hurt, it was a necessary precaution.

Finally, after what had probably been an hour of conversation with the sweet flower lady, you managed to separate with a polite goodbye and a promise to stop by next time you were in town. Whether she knew of your… infliction or not, you had no clue. It didn’t matter. At least she was kind.

“Where did our pup run off to?” You asked as Wednesday all but led you through the market.

“She saw some hot cider,” Wednesday said softly, stopping at one of the little booths. “She can never turn down a sweet treat.”

“Oh, I remember. We spent far too much money on her sweet treats,” you grumbled.

If you had kept track, you would have been horrified at how much both you and Wednesday spent on Enid. It hadn’t been with the intent to brag, or show off, you just wanted her to have everything she wished. Most of the time, that included drinks and sweet treats. And you were nothing if not eager to please.

“At least it’s not chocolate,” Wednesday said in a voice so soft, you wouldn’t have imagined it had actually come from her.

She was looking down at some of the trinkets at the table. They were brilliantly made, and you smiled politely at the woman in charge before standing behind Wednesday. Over her shoulder, you could see it wasn’t particularly anything interesting. Not to her.

Her body tensed up when you brushed against her. This close, you could hear the blood coursing through her veins. It was enticing. More than enticing. Your fingers twitched with the very thought of tasting something so delectable once again. Pain pricked at the inside of your lips as you re-positioned your fangs. It would be a simple thing.

The scars on her neck looked angry; they held shame not even thousands of years of instinct could fight. You had done that to her. You had nearly killed her. She was deathly still as you lifted a shaking hand to lift the collar of her coat, hiding the guilt you could never erase.

“You look cold,” you said softly, pulling your hands back to clasp them behind your back.

You both knew you were lying.

“I’m quite warm, actually,” she said. “I figured you could tell.”

You swallowed loudly. It didn’t ease the ache that was growing in the back of your throat. If anything, it made it worse. Each time she breathed, you could see the pulse in her veins. Enid wasn’t around. Surely you could handle it this time, you were far more mature this go around.

“I still believe I was correct,” she said.

Your head tilted to the side. Correct about what?

“Your fears of being a monster are unwarranted,” she said as she gripped the blade tighter. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Right.

“We must remember that night very differently,” you said as you looked up; there was a mirror in front of you. She couldn’t see you, but you could very well see her. “I remember proving you wrong.”

You weren’t prepared for her to lean back into you. To be touching you after so long. She was cold; not from the snow starting to fall. And as ridiculous as it sounded, she felt like she trusted you. Did she? After you had very nearly killed her, could she trust you?

“You didn’t hurt me,” she said softly as she pulled your arms to wrap around her waist.

“My dear,” you whispered into her ear, “I very much did hurt you.”

“Yet I’m still here.”

You barely held back a laugh. “All that means is Enid kicked my ass.”

“And I would do it again.”

Part of you urged you to pull apart from Wednesday, like you had just been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. There was nothing wrong with holding her again; hell, your girls had practically encouraged it. But the last time Enid had seen you both together was… not pretty.

Wednesday was bleeding out from more than one bite mark.

“What are we talking about?” Enid asked after she practically squeezed herself directly in between you and Wednesday.

“Your sweet treats,” Wednesday said effortlessly. “Is it worth it?”

She wrapped her hands around the paper cup and shrugged her shoulders high. “Always.”

“I think there’s some chocolate covered strawberries a few booths away,” you said while Enid continued to shimmy her way into more warmth. “White and dark chocolate.” Both women’s eyes lit up. “My treat.”

Wednesday looked at you with soft eyes. A look she hadn’t given you since… it was nice. Without uttering a single word, you were left with a warmth in your chest that your dead heart could never replicate.

“Lead the way,” she said softly.

—---

For reasons unknown to you or Wednesday, Enid was still freezing hours after getting back to the cabin. Hot tea had been made. And remade. And remade again. Then you had finally given in and lit the fireplace, as well as setting up a pallet on the floor in front of it so she could curl up and try to warm her fur.

And she was still shivering.

“Cara mia, please.” Wednesday’s voice carried from the living room to the kitchen. “Will nothing ease your cold?”

Enid hummed. “I know something that could warm me up.”

Her quiet giggle was all you needed to hear to know what she was implying. Your darling pup was the most insatiable creature you had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Perhaps that was why she seemed to fit so well with two other partners; it would take at least two to keep her satisfied.

Outside, the front porch creaked. If you hadn’t already been accustomed to the sound, you would have brushed it off as wind. After all, it was still snowing steadily outside. But it wasn’t the sound of snow falling onto the porch. No, it was something else. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

In the living room, you could still hear the soft sounds of Enid and Wednesday enjoying their time together. As you passed, you could vaguely see them on the pallet in front of the fireplace. Every aspect of it reminded you of your times in university, each living your own lives, yet doing it together. Perhaps you could get back to that again. Surely their children wouldn’t mind another… parent? Hmm, that wasn’t quite right, you could figure it out-

“-Hello, bon ami.”

If you hadn’t been frozen in place, you would have slammed the door in his face. What the hell was he doing? In your home? No, he wasn’t supposed to be there. He was supposed to be back home, hunting humans for sport like everyone else. He knew better.

“You gonna let me in?” He asked in his thick accent that charmed some and repulsed others.

“Go home, Bas,” you said quietly.

“Why? You got company?” He inhaled deeply. “Oh, I’m a’comin’ in.”

He pushed his way past you into the cabin. If your mind hadn’t felt like mush, you would have had the good sense to stop him. Or at least to have warned Enid and Wednesday. But no, you were simply stuck wondering how he had even found you in the first place.

“I smell a rougarou.” His smile was sadistic and his fangs were sharp. Lethal. “What if Daddy found out, huh?”

“How about some tea?” You asked, gesturing to the kitchen.

He tilted his head to the side and looked at you. Just looked. Was that what Wednesday had seen in you that night? No, surely you had been more vicious. Nothing curious about you, that was for sure.

“Got some of that boudin left?” He asked.

You nodded once.

“Lead the way.”

He continued to look around as you did your best to lead him as far away from your girls as possible. If he wanted to make a pop-in visit, fine. But you weren’t going to let him torment everyone else in the cabin. He could have a cup of tea, some boudin, and be on his way back home.

“Make it the good way?” He asked as he practically fell into one of the chairs at the table. “I’d hate to have to help myself in this house of yours.”

Without waiting for him to finish, you tossed a bag of blood onto the table. It slid across the smooth wood until stopping directly in front of him. He didn’t even look down, just kept his cold eyes glued to yours.

“Keep your teeth to yourself,” you said.

He laughed while you turned back to the stove. The sooner you got the tea going and could get him fed, the sooner he would leave. That was all you really wanted. Things were going well, and Enid and Wednesday were in good moods. You didn’t need him to ruin it.

The stove lit with a single spark, and you gently placed the kettle on top. It would still take a minute to boil, and you had it all planned out. You would grab the blood and boudin from the fridge. Put the food in the oven, make the tea, and get him fed and out of your house.

But you should have known better.

“I smell meat,” Enid said as she practically skipped into the kitchen.

And stopped short when she saw someone at the table.

“Oh, couyon,” he said with a smile toward you once Wednesday walked in. “You naughty thing, you.”

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. Wednesday was looking at you with her “explain Or Else” look. Something you hadn’t minded before, but now? Now it made your skin crawl. Like spiderwebs caught on every inch of your body, and you couldn’t get them off.

The pan slid smoothly into the oven, and you started the timer.

“This is Bastien,” you said with a lazy gesture toward the parasite at the end of the table. “My brother.”

“Baby brother,” he corrected quickly. “And you two must be the delectable little snacks.”

“Told you to keep your teeth to yourself,” you said with a raised brow. You quickly looked at Enid with far softer eyes. “Food will just be a few more minutes.” Then to Wednesday. “I’m making tea.”

Carefully, slowly, both Enid and Wednesday sat down at the table. Across from each other, but not near Bastien. The whole time, he watched them like a predator. Biding his time, the way he had been taught. You met his eyes.

His gaze towards your girls turned softer.

“So,” Bastien said as you turned back to the stove and grabbed the kettle. “Which one of you gave my sweet sibling all those scars?”

You poured some blood into the bottom of two mugs.

“I did,” Enid said. “So don’t try anything or you’ll have some to match.”

Bastien howled; a deep, obnoxious belly laugh. It… was nice to hear. As much as you didn’t want him there, he was your brother. Baby brother, as he constantly reminded you. There was comfort in the sound of his laugh; there always had been.

“That’s good, I like that,” he said, still failing to keep his laughter in check. “So that means your witch was the blood bag.”

You practically slammed the mug onto the table in front of Bastien. He looked up at you again, tilting his head to the side. It reminded you of Enid. He reminded you too much of Enid. No, you weren’t going to be phased. You knew the vampire charm; you wouldn’t fall for it.

“Serve yourself,” you demanded.

“Come on, cher,” he said as you proceeded to pour tea into Wednesday’s and Enid’s mugs. “I’m just askin’ if that’s what you almost died for.” You set the teapot on the table and walked back to the oven. “Simple curiosity.”

“Almost died?” Enid asked.

You didn’t turn around.

“The scars didn’t give it away?” Bastien asked.

You grabbed the kitchen counter.

“How did you know?” Wednesday asked.

He started talking, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t have to. The entire night was engraved into every fold of your brain, etched into the walls of your skull. No amount of alcohol, or nicotine, or blood, or the occasional line would erase. It stayed there, taunting you. Teasing you.

Blood pumped in your ears. It was loud, but not loud enough to ease the growls and screams that were bouncing off your skull. The trees soared past you. Each step of your foot was jarring as it practically bounced off the hard ground.

Wednesday’s blood still coated your lips.

The pain in your throat was harsh; it wouldn’t heal fast enough to ease the ache. Miles and miles flew by without you ever noticing. The sun rose, then set, then rose, and finally set again. Each new day was a blur. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

You hoped Enid was okay.

And Wednesday was alive.

Oh. The thought of Wednesday, lying there with your teeth marks in her flesh. Blood pooling around her; her life pooling around her. All because of you. Because of you. You killed her. You killed one of the loves of your life.

Panting breaths came faster. You killed her. Everything slowly came to a stop. The bark was rough under your fingers as you leaned against a tree to stay upright. Around you, the bugs from the bayou were loud in your ears. Still not louder than the fight.

You killed her.

Possibly killed Enid as well.

You killed them both.

Something scratched against the soft tissue inside your throat. It grew and grew until you couldn’t tell where your exterior wounds ended and the interior ones began. Only when you inhaled deeply did you discover the cause.

“What you screamin’ for, cher?” Daddy said, appearing out of thin air. Or directly in front of you. You didn’t know. “Thought you were up at that fancy university of yours.”

“Looks like you brawled with a hunter, little monster,” Bastien said. “Did you at least get a snack out of it?”

A snack.

Wednesday.

You leaned over and expelled every bit of blood you had gotten into your body. It didn’t make you feel any better. If anything, it only exacerbated the sharp pain in your chest to see just how much you had taken from her. From your girl. Your Wednesday.

A chunk of the countertop broke off in your hand. The kitchen went silent. You blinked slowly before looking down. It wouldn’t be an easy fix. But you could do it, it would just take a weekend or two. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to replace the entire counter.

“Boudin’s burnin’, cher,” Bastien said softly from beside you. When had he gotten there? “Go sit down, I got it.”

Niceties would get him nowhere. And yet, you still went and sat at the table between Enid and Wednesday. They were looking at you, you could feel it. But you couldn’t take your eyes away from the scar on Wednesday’s hand.

The scars you had caused.

You killed her.

“I know I asked for dinner,” Bastien said, “but I think I should head out for the night.” His hand rested on your shoulder; it was cold and soft. “It was nice meeting you both.”

He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek. His lips - much like you believed of your own - were cold. It wasn’t long before he pulled away. His footsteps were loud against the wooden floor, slowly getting softer and softer until the door opened and clicked shut.

Leaving you alone with your two girls.

Your two girls you nearly killed.

A monster.

#wenclair x reader #wednesday x reader #enid x reader #wednesday addams x reader #enid sinclair x reader

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