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bxtchycaprisun · 6 months

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let it be me | a. anderson ONE-SHOT

summary: you’d been avoiding your best friend for weeks, and she was determined to figure out what was wrong. she never would have guessed your absence was due to your repressed romantic feelings, which she also happened to share.

notes: fem!reader, bsf!abby, softdom!abby, porn w/ a plot, mutual pining, friends to lovers, angst but in a fluffy way, SMUT, fingering (both receiving), pussy eating (r!receiving), thigh riding, dirty talk, lots of pet names, i think that’s it?

a/n: i know this isn’t obstinate, but it’s wlw season and i’m WOMANLESS, so i needed to write some smut.

MDNI!!! sexual content. comment if you want to be added to my tag list

(named after the ray lamontagne song)

you and abby never fought.

attached at the hip from the start of elementary school, the two of you were never seen without each other. and as new friend groups came and left, you and abby always stayed inseparable.

you were so close that she’d even followed you out of state to your dream university after you’d graduated high school.

despite the feelings that emerged in your early teen years when abby had grown taller, and the impact of her various high school sports was clear on her toned arms, you never dared to express your changing perspective of her.

other than some consistent cuddling most friends would consider crossing a boundary, the lines of your friendship never thought to cross between platonic and romantic. you figured that if she were to ever return your feelings, she would have by now.

and even though you two were only friends, in a way, she was yours, and you were hers.

or at least, that’s how you saw it.

that was until you saw her out with angela, her chem partner who you’d heard her complain about dozens of times, a girl you thought she hated. and they were drinking coffee and eating pastries at the east campus cafe, you and abby’s cafe.

and though you knew your perception of your relationship was nothing but a fantasy, it almost felt like a betrayal to see her like that with someone else. but of course, you couldn’t actually be mad at her for it, nor would you explain what was making you so upset.

so you did the one thing you thought was logical, you avoided her.

knowing that she would see right through you from the beginning, and demand that you tell her what was wrong, you tried to be strategic about it.

but you couldn’t a thing past your best friend, the girl who knew you like the back to your hand.

and you had no idea what you were in for if you continued your fit.

…

it had been two weeks since you sent abby the text, and now, as she laid belly down on her crammed dorm bed, she was rereading it.

y/n: oh my god abs, i’ve got the worst week coming up everrr. hannah scheduled me like double the hours i’ve asked for and i’ve got two exams! fmlllll

abby: damn, i’m sorry bun. still room for me in that schedule of yours?

y/n: you know it abby. text you later, off to work

the conversation didn’t worry abby much initially. but looking back on it, she saw it in a different light.

you didn’t make time for her. and she was determined to know why.

abby sat up in her bed, furrowing her brows as she remembered the date. it was a wednesday.

she opened back up her texts, quickly typing out her message.

abby: what time you coming over tonight? it’s october, so we can officially make our movie nights halloween dedicated :)

she pursed her lips worriedly as she awaited your response. she had been shot down daily over the last couple of weeks, always given the same excuse. work, exams, stomach flu, etc.

abby knew something was up, she just needed one final confirmation.

y/n: shit, i totally forgot! i promised i’d take my coworkers closing shift since she opened for me. next wednesday i promise!

abby felt her heart sink, the situation becoming all too real and unavoidable. you were angry at her, and she didn’t have a clue why.

she scrambled out a message, quickly pressing send and biting the inside of her cheek as she watched the unchanging screen.

abby: are you mad at me? please tell me what i did, and i’ll fix it

she watches with a tight chest as the bubble of your response appears and disappears. and as ten minutes pass with no text back, she throws her phone down on the bed, groaning into her hands.

if it had been anyone else, she’d assume you were just busy at work. but this was you.

abby sprung up from the bed, throwing on a jacket and slipping her feet swiftly into her beat up sneakers. the sneakers you’d bought her for her 16th birthday.

she swung open the door, grabbing her things and moving swiftly down the stairs and out her dorm hall. she tucked her hands under her arms, pulling her hoodie over her head as she walked through the breezy fall air.

she rounded the familiar block and pushed into the entrance of your dorms.

and before she could think twice, she brought her fist up to your door, banging loudly with her other hand stuffed in her pocket.

“open the door!” she says sternly, already hearing your movement in the dorm.

you pull the door open with a displeased grunt, but as you recognize the rosy cheeked girl in front of you, your eyes widen.

“a-abby?” you stutter, staring up at her with a guilty expression.

she stares at you, taking in your loose sweats and braless tank. you weren’t at work, and you certainly weren’t getting ready.

after a long pause, the reality of the situation setting in, abby speaks up.

“you lied.” she murmurs, her voice low.

you cast your gaze down, stepping back to let her in silently. you knew you weren’t gonna get out of this one.

she shoves her way into your room, shutting the door loudly and pulling her hood off to look down at you disapprovingly.

“so,” she huffs, throwing her arms up and crossing them against her chest. “are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you?”

you sigh, pinching your temples. “nothings… nothings going on i just-” you begin before being cut off abruptly.

“nothings going on?” she repeats desperately, “y/n, you’ve avoided me for weeks!”

“i- i haven’t avoided you,” you reply breathlessly, stepping forward. “i’ve been really busy.”

“oh right, busy,” she scoffs, “just like how you’re so busy right now?”

you bow your head silently, avoiding her burning gaze. “i- i can explain..” you say slowly, although you sure as hell didn’t want to.

“great!” she snaps, “good, let’s hear it.” she shifts her weight back and forth on her legs, her figure now trembling with anger and desperation.

you look up at her with pleading eyes, trying to find away to avoid this conversation if you had any hope of keeping your friendship the same.

you were so disappointed with yourself you felt like you could cry. for years you’d stuffed your feelings down, terrified not just of rejection but of your own selfishness.

abby was the perfect friend, she was everything you could ask for and more, and yet your inconsiderate mind desired more. and when she didn’t give that to you, you pushed her away.

abby watched your expressions alter, staring at you with her mouth agape. “well?” she asks in a final, breathless plea.

when she doesn’t get a response, her mind jumps to the only conclusion she could think of.

“you’re… you’re seeing someone?” she whispers, her face falling.

your expression twists in confusion and frustration at her accusation, shaking your head fervently. “what? what are you talking about?”

“you are, aren’t you?” she presses on, taking a step forward.

you roll your eyes at the irony of her words. “no okay, i’m not seeing anyone,” you huff, the attitude clear in your voice. “you’re the one that’s seeing someone,” you murmur, back turned to your best friend. your eyes widen at your own words, cursing yourself for letting that slip.

you hear abby’s breath falter behind you. “what?” she asks, voice somewhat amused which annoyed the hell out of you. “did you say i’m seeing someone?”

despite knowing how childish you were being, you narrow your eyes, continuing on with your antics.

“well you are, aren’t you?” you say with a pout, tilting you chin up at her.

at this, abby laughs at you. “y/n… are you talking about angela?” she says with a smirk. “i’ve been trying to tell you about that, so much happened!” she exclaims and you nearly feel like breaking down then and there.

your expression drops, lips curling into a proper frown as you turn away from her once again. she stutters as she sees your change in demeanor.

“yeah right, i’d just love to hear all about angela,” you mutter, unable to meet her piercing blue eyes.

“no no.. it was bad, okay, it was really bad,” she chuckles, rushing over to grab your arms and turn you to face her. but as she takes in your distressed expression, abby’s mouth hangs open, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place in her mind.

“hey, hey, what is it?” she cooes, her voice softened as she brings her hand to cup the side of your face, stroking your cheek.

when you don’t respond once again, her back straightens, and she drops her hands from your skin, staring down at you in contemplation.

“you’re… you’re jealous,” she says quietly, her words laced with certainty.

you shake your head, stepping back from her with worry as she figured it out. “no, why the hell would i be jealous?” you heave, but abby doesn’t let you get away.

“because you like me,” she asserts once again, hands going for your wrists as she reaches out to you.

“hey, look at me, hey..” she brings her face close to yours, lowering to your height. your arms go limp in defeat as she holds you still, grabbing your chin gently to make you look at her.

as she studies your face, the way your eyes crease with uncertainty, she knows.

“you do..” she whispers.

the only thing you can do is drop your head in shame, praying silently that she would agree to just forget this conversation completely and return to your blissful friendship.

your murmur is nearly inaudible as a small “i’m sorry,” passes through your lips.

abby inhales sharply, taking your cheeks into your hands and lifting your head to face hers in a quick motion.

“oh sweet girl… don’t be sorry..” she breathes, brushing her thumb over your bottom lip.

she stares at you for a moment, chest heaving with her uneven breathes, contemplating the same action she’d been dreaming of for years. the action she never thought she’d get the opportunity of doing.

and just as your eyes meet hers, they flutter shut to the feeling of her lips pressing against yours.

you sigh against her, the tension easing from your muscles as she guides you gently against the door, running her hands desperately, yet hesitantly over your arms and shoulders.

the touch, the way her lips gently parted yours, her tongue rolling into your mouth with a soft hum, it was foreign, yet so painfully familiar.

this was abby. your abby. the girl who had been attached to your hip for a decade. the girl you had convinced yourself never to kiss and never confess to out of fear of ruining your perfect friendship.

and you couldn’t be happier as she did it for you.

you bring your arms around her broad shoulders, pulling her against you as your noses clashed together in a desperate kiss, her hands getting rougher and more curious, and so do yours. you tug her hoodie up over her head, touching her chilled skin from the cool fall air outside.

you feel her calloused palm reach below your shirt, grazing the soft skin on your belly, inching upward to your unclothed breast. you feel her hand suddenly stop, her mouth pulling away from yours.

“abby-” you call out her name in a slight moan, digging your fingers into her hair and tugging on her braid. you knew what she was thinking. you knew she thought she was rushing things, but you didn’t care. you’d waited so long.

“i know.. i know..” she nods, eyes nearly shut as she peers down at you, leaning in again to kiss you, slowing her rhythm and taking her time with you.

you whine into her mouth, brows furrowing as you grabbed her hand, trying to pull it towards your chest once again, and she chuckles against your lips.

“so needy,” she smiles, but with how shaky her voice is, she sounds almost hypocritical.

“neglected you for so long, huh?” she grins, kissing the corner of your mouth gently.

even though abby hadn’t had many relationships or sexual partners, mostly thanks to her hopeless pining towards you, she was undeniably more experienced than you.

you could feel the hesitance in her fingertips, the uncertainty in her eyes. knowing she didn’t want to rush you, you grab her cheek, pulling her lips away to speak.

“then don’t make me wait any longer,” you whisper, eyes looking up at her pleadingly as your thighs squeezed together, desperately trying to relieve the ache between your legs.

abby smiles, not missing a beat to crash her lips to yours once again, and this time her hand travels up your chest without hesitation. you whine as you feel her thumb brush over your nipple, and arch your back against the wall.

she dips her head down to your neck, peppering kisses along your throat, and sucking soft marks onto your skin. she groans as she hears your quiet moans, feeling like she could cum on the spot. she’d envisioned how you would sound so many times, but to actually hear it was so much better.

“you’re so fucking pretty, you know that?” she hums, large palms needing your tits as she pushes your legs apart with her knee, and slots her thigh in between them. “sound so fucking pretty”

your face is red and hot as you let out a quiet whimper in response, grabbing on to her toned stomach to pull her closer. as you feel the friction of her muscular thigh against your clothed cunt, you absentmindedly grind yourself against her.

“there you go, sweetheart,” abby praises you, hands leaving your tits to hold onto your hips. she gently guides you against her propped leg, and leaves small love bites below your ear as she whispers to you. “tell me if we’re going too fast, okay? you tell me.”

you shake your head, hips picking up their rhythm as you try to chase that sensation that slowly builds in your cunt. “not too fast, abs. i want more, please?”

normally, you would care about sounding too desperate, but since this was abby, you couldn’t hold back. even in this unfamiliar situation, you were comfortable with her. and even more importantly, you needed her so bad.

“you want more, huh baby?” she cooes, smiling ear to ear as she helps you keep up your pace. suddenly, her hands push your hips back off of her, and you whine in disappointment. before you can protest the loss of contact, she brings her hands to the hem of your tank top, pulling it off your chest in a swift motion.

her palms return to your waist, guiding you quickly against your small bed, her lips instantly connected with yours once again. she pushes you gently down, situating herself between your legs, and hooking a finger at the hem of your sweatpants.

the fabric is tugged down to your ankles in seconds, and she tosses the pants across the room with a shit eating grin. you can’t help but look up and giggle at her as she crawls on the bed to meet you, kissing up your stomach and on the fat of your chest.

“whatcha laughing about, pretty girl?” abby smirks as she sucks hickeys onto your skin. she tried her best to sound stern, but she couldn’t help but melt as she heard your laugh.

“nothing, this is just weird,” you can’t help but admit with blushed cheeks. “i just… never imagined we would be doing this..”

“oh?” abby says with faux surprise, “so you’re telling me… you didn’t imagine me doing this?” she asks mischievously as she takes on of your nipples into her mouth, sucking gently.

you’re breathing falters and you let out a small gasp, handing falling the the back of her head as she runs her tongue over your hardening nipple. “n-no i mean… i imagined it… just didn’t think we actually ever would.”

abby smiles against your skin, kissing her way down your stomach and settling between your thighs. “what would you imagine, bun?” she asks teasingly as she kisses just above your underwear. “would you picture me doing this to you? dream about my mouth on your cunt?”

with that statement, abby drops in between your legs, pressing her face against your panties and inhaling dirtily. she shakes her nose against your clothed pussy, nudging your clit deliciously. you cry out into your hand, instantly squirming from her touch.

you felt her start to kitten lick your clint through the fabric, causing you to let out an deep whine. you lift your head with hazy eyes, listening to her soft growls against you, which only made your stomach whir.

“abby pl-ease,” you say brokenly, desperately bucking your hips upward to chase the friction you needed, “stop teasing me…”

“m’not teasing…” she mumbles, her voice low as she runs her tongue flat against your underwear, applying pressure to your folds.

“a-ah, please!” you moan, feeling your cunt gush with more arousal.

“you are teasing me, you are-” you begin your protest when she suddenly yanks your panties down from your hips, and before you can process it, her hot mouth is licking a stripe from your hole to your clit.

you release a borderline pornographic moan at the sensation, eyes rolling to the back of your head. she doesn’t waist any time to start sucking at your clit with vigor, and alternating to lap up your juices.

you’re nearly shaking at this point, your chest heaving with every breath and hips twitching from every touch she gives you.

“fuck- i love the way you taste bun…” abby moans into your pussy, her hands keeping a bruising grip on your waist. “knew you’d taste good.. so fucking good…”

she already sounds pussy drunk as she flattens her tongue against your clit, helping you grind your hips against her mouth however you wanted. you continuously tried to close your legs around her head, completely overwhelmed by how good she was fucking you, but each time her palm would catch your leg, only pulling you further apart.

“gotta stop squirming, baby,” abby would growl as your thighs continued to tremble and your arms would thrash around aimlessly. you respond with an apologetic whine, already too cloudy minded to form words.

when you continue to move in her grip, she finally pushes your knees against your chest, keeping you firmly pinned with your cunt fully exposed for her.

“look at that…” abby cooes as she gives your pussy a small slap before dipping her mouth back down to your hole, lapping you up quickly.

“how many fingers you want, sweet girl?” she breaks away from your cunt to ask you breathlessly, before returning to suck at your clit.

you whimper from the added pressure of the position, head falling weakly against the pillow as you tried to clear your thoughts.

“ngh.. don’t know… o-one..?” you manage to muster, but you can’t already feel yourself tipping over the edge. anything abby gave you, you would take.

“hmm…” abby smiles against your pussy, keeping your legs pushed up with one hand while bringing the other down to slide through your folds.

you groan as you feel the tips of her fingers prodding at your hole, unconsciously pushing yourself against them. “we can do two…” she whisper as she slowly inserts her middle and ring finger into your pussy, hissing through her teeth as she feels you clench around her.

“relax baby… it’s only me,” she comforts you as she curls her fingers experimentally inside of you. you let out a soft cry, back arching against your mattress as she explores your insides.

abby watches your expression carefully, her tongue giving your clit small, stimulating licks as she searched for the spot that made you scream.

when she felt the spongy area deep in your core, and watched as you jolted against her fingers, panting out a moan, she knew she found it. she gave you one last lick, collecting the juices that leaked around her fingers on her tongue, she crawled up to your face with her fingers still deep inside of you.

her strokes were slow and gentle at first, teasing that spot with an almost unbearable pace. her eyes met yours and she positioned herself above you, but her pupils were darkened.

“i want to go harder,” she whispers, her voice low and full of lust. “can i do that, bun, can i go harder?”

you nod and quickly, grabbing onto her neck and pulling her lips against yours, moaning at the taste of yourself on her tongue. “please… so close..”

she didn’t need to hear another word before her pace turned from gentle to hammering. the air is punched out of you as she drills her fingers into your pussy, curling upward and hitting that spot with every thrust.

you were crying and moaning out her name, grabbing onto anything you could as she continued her rough assault on your hole. obscene squelches from your pussy fill the room, and your face blooms from embarrassment.

abby kisses you sweetly, in sharp contrast to the brutal pace of her fingers. you wrap your arms around her, hoping for a bit of her comfort to ground you in this moment. she immediately recognizes your need, bringing her forehead against yours as she fingered you.

“that feel good baby? yeah?” she whispers, her voice sultry as her palm rubs perfectly against your clit.

“m’gonna cum.. abby.. oh my god,” you cry out, fingernails digging into her back without even realizing. she clenched her teeth, the stinging pain only enhancing her desperation.

“that’s it sweet girl..” she mumbles, her pace unbreaking. “cum on my fucking fingers- let it out.”

without missing a beat, you feel your hearing practically go out, white hot pleasure coursing through your body as your orgasm crashes down on you. you shake, mouth open in a silent moan as you ride out your high, abby’s fingers never ceasing. your final sound comes out in a shattered moan, your eyes rolled back as you grind your hips into her fingers, feeling the best high of your life.

“good girl…” abby praises, her fingers slowing down even so slightly as she watches your expression.

“good. fucking. girl.” she finishes, her pace coming to a stop as she feels you tense up from the overstimulation.

you fall against the mattress, your face completely red from your post-orgasm, and your chest heaving with every breath. abby takes her fingers out of you, shoving them into her mouth and licking them clean.

you watch her in amazement as she lowers down to your face, pressing her lips against yours gingerly. you smile against her, pulling her closer by your shoulders until she practically falling on top of you.

“y/n,” abby giggles, trying to remain propped up from her elbows. “i’m gonna crush you!”

“don’t care,” you shake your head with a wide grin.

she smiles, kissing you again, but this time with a little bit more desperation. her tongue slips past your lips, massaging the inside of your mouth.

you tug on the waist band of her sweats, looking up at her with a pout. “take ‘em off,” you whine.

abby smirks at your plea, shaking her head. “so bossy,” she mumbles, pulling down her pants and tossing them aside. you instantly spring up on your knees, smashing your lips against hers.

abby flinches a bit, startled by how quickly your fingers find their way to the waistband of her boxers. you yank them down her muscular thighs, diving your much smaller fingers between her folds as you kiss her sweetly.

“woah- baby,” abby breathes, her voice almost failing her as she grabs onto your wrist. “what’re you doing?”

“returning the favor, silly,” you grumble against her lips, smiling as you feel just how wet she is. “i think i got you a little excited,” you giggle.

“no.” abby shakes her head firmly, “you’re not the one that gets to tease me.” she tries to sound stern, but the shake in her voice didn’t go unnoticed.

it wasn’t often that abby was on the receiving side. but staring down at you, with your eyes blown wide staring at her dripping cunt, she couldn’t help but grow just as desperate. she needed this too.

you palm her aching pussy, watching in awe as she bucked her hips against you, bringing her hands up to clutch the headboard. you hold your breath to surpress your own moans at the sight, wanting to only hear her soft sighs and the dirty sounds of her wetness.

“fuck… yeah like that,” abby groans, head falling back, and her knees trembling as she stays upright for you, not even realizing how she’s furthering spreading her thighs, and grinding into your palm.

she felt herself getting red the moment she realized she was already about to cum. but the pleasure was too consuming, and she was too pent up to feel any embarrassment.

the second you slipped your middle finger into her folds, your thumb instantly finding her clit, she toppled over the edge. she released a strained moan, instantly falling against you. she props herself up on the headboard to keep up her weight, and lets her head fall into your neck. she brings one hand down to cover yours, keeping your palm in place as she practically humps your fingers. she rides out her orgasm in shuddering breathes.

you watch her in shock and awe, remaining silent as she started to come down. she pulls your hand away, burying her face further into your neck with a deep sigh.

“did you just..” you begin, and she could practically hear your smile.

“yes..” she groans, rolling her face towards yours and pressing her lips at the base of your throat.

your grin widens as you stare up at the ceiling, stroking her back carefully. abby lifts her head, and secures her arms around your waist.

in a quick movement, you are rolled on top of her, your legs intertwined. she holds you tight to her chest, kissing the top of your head affectionately. you blush as you feel the stickiness between both your legs.

“we’re a mess,” you say softly, smiling up at her.

“leave it for now,” she whispers, fingers tracing shapes on your bare back. “wanna stay like this for a minute.”

you lay there in silence, listening to each others slowing breaths. and in that moment, you knew this was what it was supposed to be all along.

abby’s words come out in a content hum, her fingers affectionately pinching at the soft fat below your ass.

“sorry for making you wait so long, sweet girl.”

“you’re forgiven.”

#abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby anderson fic #abby anderson one shot

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higanbanaki · 5 days

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Alastor x reader except it isn't actually that and it's actually their shadows that are in love instead of them because I don't see enough prompts with Alastor's shadow despite there being a big margin of possibilities.

Like his shadow is pretty much an entity of its own so imagine if it also has separate feelings and so catches feelings for your shadow and after a while, your shadow gives in and they both make you participate in these rendezvous doubles so they can see each other and you two r like 'Can we even be bothered with this' (unfortunately you can) so to entertain them you both agree to meet up occasionally when you genuinely have nothing else to do and the afterlife's been boring.

And on those dates, while the shadows are being lovey and all with each other you and Alastor are just either staring at them waiting for it to be over with the most irritated expressions ever, grabbing a coffee at a nearby cafe, or just not interacting with each other at all. Like, you two do not want to be there but do it for the sake of your shadows. It's like two people trying to get along because their friend is dating their friend and they're practically so clingy you're forced to see that person every other week because of it and it does in fact keep happening too commonly for both of your likings but your shadows don't gaf and keep seeing each other.

(Bonus if Alastor and reader actually cannot STAND each other but pretend they do)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastors shadow #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #The scene with Alastor getting his rear handed to him by Adam is the inspiration to this prompt

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scalingsvt8thusiast · 16 hours

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Wait for your love Pt 3

summary: you wait in silence, waiting for wonwoo to finally love you

inspired by Ariana Grande's We Can't be Friends (AKA Wait for your love)

a/n: as promised the final part of wait for your love :D literally just finished it. Enjoy 💞

Don’t wanna feed this monstrous fire

On a bright Saturday morning, you found yourself nestled in a booth opposite Chan. A week into your move, Chan was finally able to convince you to join him at a nearby cafe for lunch. He insisted that this cafe was “hidden” and such a “hole in the wall” that someone cool like you-know-who would never step within 5 feet of the place.

Chan sipped his ice americano silently, thinking of the best way of approaching the topic of you-know-who. He was becoming increasingly concerned about your maladaptive habits: barely eating meals, sleeping less than 4 hours each night and studying every waking moment. That wasn’t even the scariest part, the scariest was when he’d catch you staring into space, as if your soul had left your body.

You were too busy admiring at your iced latte to notice a familiar figure walking pass the window adjacent to your table.

Chan, however, immediately noticed his tall friend. He prayed to all the gods that his friend was too tall to see anybody. Sadly his prayer went unanswered

Kim Mingyu immediately doubled back when he noticed his two friends sitting by the window. His eyes met Chan’s. Chan tilted his head towards you and shook his head.

Now to any normal person, that would have meant do not come over.

Clearly, Mingyu was anything but normal.

“Y/n! Dino!”

Mingyu’s voice pulled you out of the staring contest you were having with your latte. You looked up to find the tall man sliding himself into the booth, shoulder to shoulder with Dino. The massive grin on his face almost blinding you.

Dino nudged Mingyu hard on the shoulder. “Bro, what are you doing here?”

Here being halfway across town from where Mingyu lived.

“Basketball!” Mingyu beamed at the younger man, “I’m meeting the others at a court nearby! Won- FUCK!”

Chan dug his heel into Mingyu’s toe, keeping a smile on his face.

You jumped, startled by Mingyu’s sudden outburst. “Are you alright?”

“Dino just-,”

“He just hit is knee on the table,” Chan gave Mingyu a warning look as he pushed his foot down harder. “Long legs can be such a curse huh, bro?”

Mingyu pulled his foot away and glared at Chan.

You blinked at the odd behaviour from your friends.

Your eyes met Mingyu’s, you sent him a small smile before returning to stare at your latte.

Mingyu noticed the stark contrast from your usual bubbly self. From memory, you were the girl who offered him a cup of coffee when he dragged Wonwoo’s drunk ass home at 5AM in the morning. Mingyu remembered you pestering him to send you a text when he got home so that you would know he was safe. You, who was barely his shoulder height, were worried for a tall, muscular boy like him.

Mingyu looked at Chan and gestured towards the door. Chan nodded.

“Sorry y/n, I’m just gonna talk to Gyu about something.” Chan spoke gently.

“Male stuff.” Mingyu nodded as he slid out of the seat.

They were both pretty sure your soul wasn’t even in your body at the moment from how you blankly nodded.

Mingyu and Chan stood outside the cafe, making sure not to be in your line of sight.

Mingyu crossed his arms. “What happened?”

“You don’t know? Wonwoo didn’t tell you?”

“I’m seeing him for the first time today.” Mingyu explained. “He’s been refusing to leave the house.”

“He busy fucking other girls?” Chan sneered.

“I-,” Mingyu stopped, taken aback. “What?”

“Bro. Come on.”

“I genuinely have no idea what you are talking about.” Mingyu said as he held his hands up.

Chan stared at the taller man for a few seconds and sighed.

“Don’t tell anybody what I’m about to tell you.”

As you sat waiting for Chan, droplets of water began appearing on the table.

You furrowed your brows.

Was the ceiling leaking?

You looked up only to feel tears rolling down your cheeks.

You brought you hand up to your face.

Ah, you were crying.

The tears continued. Just like your memories of Wonwoo.

“God,” You muttered, reaching for a bunch of tissues. “I’m pathetic.”

“Why can’t it be me?” You whispered as sobs started leaving your mouth.

“Why am I so unlovable?”

You tried to be as silent as possible, covering your face with your hands.

That’s how Chan found you when he came back.

He quickly guided you home. Hoping to hell that Wonwoo would stub his toe against a particular hard piece of furniture.

Me and my truth (again)

Wonwoo watched Vernon argue with Soonyoung as they threw the ball back and forth, Jeonghan stood in between the two of them mediating the argument. He wasn’t sure what they were arguing about, for all he cared they could plotting a bank robbery.

He brought his eyes down to this palms. A small smile on his face as he remembered the first time you held his hand.

The two of you were rushing to catch the train. Back then he was still around your height and you were still much faster than him. He lagged behind you, huffing and puffing as you ran ahead. He stopped to catch his breath, bending over and placing his hands on his knees.

You had turned back to check on him. Once you were sure he was fine, you grabbed his hand and pulled him into another sprint. Flashing him a grin.

For the rest of the day his face was burning hot. When you asked him about it, he just blamed it on his poor stamina. He didn’t want to be that loser that got flustered when a girl touched him. He was. But at least he hoped he didn’t seem that way to you.

“JEON WONWOO!”

A red-faced Mingyu was storming towards him.

Mingyu grabbed Wonwoo by the collar and lifted him up from his sitting position.

Wonwoo blinked, “What-,”

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Mingyu snarled. “I thought you were in love with y/n?”

“I am! What on earth-,”

“Then why’d you sleep with another girl?” Mingyu bellowed, tightening his grip on Wonwoo’s collar.

Audible gasps could be heard from Soonyoung and Vernon as they abandoned their argument. Jeonghan’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

Not waiting for a reply, Mingyu pushed Wonwoo to the ground.

“It didn’t mean anything.” Wonwoo retorted, adjusting his glasses.

“Not to y/n it didn’t!” Mingyu fumed.

“I wanted to talk to her about it! She left before I could!” Wonwoo reasoned from his position on the ground.

“Did you ever try to reach her? Try to find her?” Mingyu fumed, “No! All you’ve been doing is rot at home while she’s crying everyday at Chan’s place!”

Wonwoo mouth fell open. You were crying?

“Mingyu that’s enough.” Jeonghan placed a hand on Mingyu’s shoulder, he had to stop this before it turned into a full blown fight.

“You better fix yourself,” Mingyu pointed a shaky finger at Wonwoo, “before you completely lose her.”

I’m still here hanging

After the event at the cafe, you decided you weren’t ready to leave the house. Or your room for that matter.

You gave Chan free reign over your door. He’d pop his head in and out of your room, sometimes leaving the door open even if all you were doing was lying on the floor. Chan would bring food into your room, trying to coax you into eating even if all you could manage was one or two spoonfuls.

Minghao came over more often, bringing with his snacks from China and various tea leaves.

“Let’s do some therapy!”

“What?”

“I read this thing online,” Minghao started, “it’s you burn all the stuff you have that reminds you of the person causing you pain.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“According to Reddit, it works.” Minghao crossed his arms and nodded. He would do anything to try to get you to leave your room.

“Firstly, I’m not into trusting strangers on Reddit.” You turned back to the ceiling. “Secondly, burning things and the environment are a no-no for me.”

“Well, good to know you love the environment.” Minghao muttered as he sipped his tea.

A loud knock came from the front door.

“Were you expecting someone?” Minghao asked.

“No, you?”

“No.”

It was a relatively safe neighbourhood, but you never knew who would want to rob poor Lee Chan and his collection of electric shavers in the bathroom. Minghao picked up a frying pan and headed to the door.

“Who is it?” Minghao sang.

Hearing no answer, Minghao held up the frying pan with one hand and swung the door open with the other. He came face to face with Jeon Wonwoo.

Wonwoo eyes were wide. “Hao?”

Minghao didn’t lower the pan, maybe he should whack the boy. Sure, Chan’s collections of razors were safe, but you weren’t.

“I come in peace I swear.” Wonwoo held up his hand.

“Debatable.” Minghao muttered, “Why are you here?”

“Is y/n here?” Wonwoo got straight to the point.

“What if she is?”

“I just need to talk to her.”

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Minghao crossed his arms.

“Please,” Wonwoo was not above begging when it came to you. “If you’d just let me explain to her-,”

“Hao?” Wonwoo’s ears immediately perked up at your voice. “Who is it?”

“Please.” Wonwoo whispered.

Minghao stared at Wonwoo for what seemed like ages before letting out a sigh.

“30 minutes.”

“Thank you!” Wonwoo’s lips stretched into a grin.

“But if I hear anything I don’t like, I’m coming straight back in with this pan.”

It’s something like a daydream

“Hao?”

You sat up when you didn’t hear a reply from your friend. Was he murdered by the robbers? You knew Chan’s collection of razors were well sought after but you didn’t expect people were willing to kill for it.

Wrapping yourself up in a blanket, you stepped out of your room.

“Hao?” You called out again, making your way towards the living room.

Instead of Minghao, there was a familiar boy in the living room.

You froze.

“Wonwoo.” You whispered.

“Y/n.” Wonwoo breathed.

You were both relieved and anxious. Relieved because it wasn’t some random stranger, anxious because it was Wonwoo.

You cleared your throat. “Where’s Hao?”

“In the hallway,” Wonwoo answered.

“Oh.”

“Can we talk?” Wonwoo said, sounding almost hopeful.

“Sure.”

You made no move to the couch or towards him. You remained standing in the hallway. Partially because you didn’t expect him to stay long, partially because you didn’t trust yourself not to burst into tears.

Wonwoo’s shoulders fell when he realised you were just going to stand there. Just a year ago he was able to anticipate your every want and need. It was shameful that now he couldn’t get a read on what you were thinking or feeling.

Wonwoo took a deep breath and began.

“I’m sorry for treating you the way I did. You shouldn’t have to come and pick me up when I’m drunk at a party.” He paused and waited for your reply.

When nothing came he continued. “I’m so sorry for not speaking to you at home or in school. It wasn’t my intention to hurt your feelings. I just didn’t know how to face you after-,” Wonwoo’s face turned red. “-after kissing you.”

“The night that I brought a girl home.”

You stiffened.

“I swear I wasn’t in my right mind. I was drunk and I don’t remember anything from the night before. I promise it didn’t mean anything, I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

Wonwoo eyes searched your face, “Please, y/n, you have to believe me.”

After a long period of silence, you finally spoke.

“It’s fine Wonwoo, you don’t have to apologise.”

Your voice was devoid of emotion.

It wasn’t Wonwoo’s fault you couldn’t control your feelings. You were just unlucky to have fallen for him.

Wonwoo blinked.

“If that’s all you came to say,” You forced a smile before turning back towards your room. “I’m really tired so if you could please leave.”

“No, wait!” Wonwoo closed the distance between the two of you.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him. You were so shocked you dropped your blanket to the ground. You were basically nose to nose with Wonwoo right now.

“Please.” He begged, “Please come back home.”

“Wonwoo,” You whispered, tears threatening to slip out of your eyes. “I don’t think I can live with you anymore.”

The way he was holding you, the way he was speaking to you. The false hope that grew in your heart every time Wonwoo gave you the time of day. This was the reason why you couldn’t live with him anymore.

It hurts to know he would never love you the way you loved him.

It hurts to know you would never be enough for him.

“Wonwoo-,” your voice broke, fresh tears started rolling down your cheeks.

“Y/n, please,” Wonwoo begged, “tell me what I can do to make you come home.”

“Wonwoo, I-,”

“Please, y/n.”

“I can’t go with you because I’m in love with you.”

“I-,” Wonwoo paused, “What?”

“I know you don’t see me that way and that’s completely fine.” You blubbered, “Just please don’t make me live with you. I can’t go through that again-,”

Wonwoo kissed you. Completely sober this time.

He pulled back to look at you.

Your eyes were wide, still sniffling from crying.

“I love you too.” He said, resting his forehead on yours as he stared into your eyes.

This was the best day of his life.

“What?” You whispered in disbelief, was this some sort of cruel joke?

“Been in love with you since the day you sat with me in school.” He confirmed.

“But Wonwoo, that was the first day you met me.” You said softly, as Wonwoo used his thumb to wipe away your tears.

“I guess it is.” He whispered. “I’ve loved you since day one.”

“Are you kidding me?” You said in mock annoyance. “If you had told me sooner, we wouldn’t have to go through all this.”

Wonwoo didn’t really care about all that, right now he was just happy to have you in his arms again, the fact that you loved him back made the moment all so much sweeter.

“I can tell you again.” Wonwoo suggested with a nod.

He began peppering kisses all over your face. With each kiss he’d stare into your eyes and very seriously say “I love you” before moving onto another site.

You giggled at Wonwoo’s silly antiques.

When he had finally decided you had enough of his love, he tried again.

“Please come home.”

You eyed him hesitantly.

“Y/n, I will personally pack all your stuff up here and bring it over. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You gave him a real genuine smile. “Of course I’ll move back with you.”

Wonwoo’s face lit up, he looked like a kid who’s Christmas came early.

“Ok guys, I’m coming back in!” Minghao’s voice came from the other side of the door. “I swear if you guys are doing any hanky panky in there you two better stop it!”

You and Wonwoo exchanged amused looks before bursting out into laughter.

Wonwoo vowed to spend the rest of his life making up for all that he had done and for all the time you two had lost. He thanked whoever or whatever made you sit next to him that fateful day in high school. Most of all he’d spend his days showering you with love and affection until you physically and mentally couldn’t stand it anymore.

a/n: hope it wasn't too bad, was rushing cause i want to sleep soon. always open to comments and criticism!! 💗

118 notes · View notes

essenteez · 2 years

Text

𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐍 || c h o i s a n 1 8 +

"Fucking her was an ambrosia for his sick ego, a feast for all his demons."

"Say I'm a god." The man demanded, threat hanging in his tone like his all existence depended on it. You looked at him, overwhelmed by the unbearable teasing he kept sending upon you with his two digits deep inside you. "Say it."

🔪 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : Known to the underworld as Reaper, San wouldn't let a change to play god to slide. If the money was good, he'd made sure the job was done. Elimination of a top level politician wasn't groundbreaking but the job #76 was different – really special, having San’s inner demons to thrive. Who would've known the woman he had been fucking for months was a wife of the man he was assigned to kill?

🔪 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : San x fem!reader

🔪 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : Smut, action, criminal, psychological

🔪 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : m*rder, blo*d, explicit language, gunplay, knife play, cutting, blo*d tasting, oral (both receiving), choking, double fingering (f!receiving), edging, overstimulation, tying down, mdom, pet names, slut/whore calling, face riding (m!receiving), rough sex, mentions of breeding, mind games, m i n o r s d o n o t i n t e r a c t !!

🔪 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 : 11k

The sun began setting in vivid colors, painting the heavy cirrocumulus clouds bright red in the early autumn sky. No wonder the panorama had the whole city in awe. The view was indeed breathtaking, almost overwhelming, causing almost every pedestrian to stop and admire, then eventually eternalizing the scenery with their phone cameras.

However, there was one person that seemed to be completely immune to the capturing sights.

Not one of the passersby were paying attention to the ordinary looking man that occupied a little fragment of pavement aside, next to a small but busy cafe in the east part of Manhattan. He stood there, dressed in black from head to toe, with his back against the building's brick wall. One hand submerged in his pocket, the other rolled a half smoked cigarette between his slim fingers.

The man looked like everyone else on the street, irrelevant.

And that was what he intended.

Blending into the crowd and becoming completely invisible weren't much of an effort to him; one of only two lessons that Choi San actually appreciated being taught during his time spent in the military. The other one was of course how to obliterate his own humanity. Both those valuable lessons now allowed him to wipe his ass with money.

A pair of sharp eyes flashed with threatening unpleasantness from under the black cap that was hiding San’s face. The urge to silence two loud love birds across the street was colossal.

His jaw clenched, teeth gritting with annoyance. His neck veins popped from raising irritation with their obnoxious behavior as they were taking hundreds of basic pictures of each other in the incredible lighting.

He couldn't help but stroke the gunmetal, hidden deep in his pocket as the killer's instincts were heavily tempted.

Again he was forced to focus on gathering all the thoughts he had to prioritize. No suspicious movements should be made. He glared at a nearby skyscraper, basking in the blinding sun.

The bloody star burned more with every minute. To some, that display of nature was just a sign of colder weather the next day. Those more superstitious individuals were lowering the draws while cursing the red ball on the horizon, considering it an omen of the innocent blood being spilled tonight.

San couldn't care less of any of that; weather foreshadowing or some stupid beliefs. For him, today's light of the sunset was nothing but pure luck, its help in hiding the red dot sight, which would make his job ten times easier.

"Fucking clowns." He spat out, when squeaky excited voices of the couple echoed again between tall buildings, almost disturbing his state of concentration.

However, it was not enough to make his hawk-like vision not register a sudden, weak movement on the roof of the building before him.

A pleased smirk appeared on his dangerously handsome face, giving its sharp features all the cocky colors.

"Hello there."

Only an indistinct glimpse of one black figure grazed San’s eyes, but that was exactly what he had been waiting for.

Immediately his calculative mind showed him the whole map of that part of Manhattan, with the whole military security unit scattered on every roof and filling every hole and blind spot that could potentially cause danger.

His sight turned from an annoyingly over enthusiastic couple to the big round building that was located a few blocks away from his position.

The Conference Building Center.

Today, that building was a main focus of many eyes, also those watching from dark, hidden spots. The round impressive center was completely covered with glass, reflecting all the surroundings. Windows, another luck.

No matter the circumstances, San had never failed to hunt the target. Everything that the police knew was what he let them find. There was no possibility that Reaper would ever get caught. That was why in missions like that one, where media and government were involved, he had to be extra attentive, appreciating those lucky conditions.

His fox eyes observed every movement of journalists gathered before the main entrance of CBC. He recognized the last preparation they were making as cameras were turned on one after another and the presenters started fixing their clothes and microphones.

The fun had begun.

First, the snipers arriving on the roofs to secure the territory, then the slight chaos, unfolding among the media teams and just now the representative welcoming team set on their positions to greet the big fish. It was all simple signals that San's target was about to arrive at the spot of his final moments.

He took two last puffs before the cigarette ended up beneath his shoe. It was time to move.

San had already chosen and prepared his hide site a few days ago, right before the conference was announced to the public and the military did their own scan of the place.

Despite the spot being pretty far from the CBC, it was surely occupied by one of the military pawns. San however considered it as the best thing in that difficult situation; they never paid attention to the less significant places, putting all the pressure on “the eyes” right around the main scene.

San didn’t need to be as close as he could to the target. Having them in a straight line wasn’t necessary either. Only thing required in Reaper’s death ritual was to have the duck in sight.

The spot he picked was just one of the medium sized condominium buildings, part of the older city's architecture. The stairway couldn’t be openly secured by the military since people living there had to have a free and non stressful access to their apartments. Nevertheless, it had to be watched from another, unobstructive position. San had to eliminate every obstacle that could disrupt his mission.

Arriving at the location, he kneeled down to quickly untie his shoe and take his time while tying it back. His attention was caught by two men, laughing at each other in the alley, right beside a big green dumpster situated four meters away from the stairway. For a sight of a normal human being, they looked like a couple of friends, maybe neighbors that got outside for an evening talk and smoke.

But not for San.

He noticed their well hidden attentiveness to every move and noise, their dominating hand never leaving the area of the big coats’ pockets. There was no mistake, that job would harvest more victims.

A distant sound of multiple sirens went off, catching the attention of San and definitely every “eye”.

The target number 76 was about to arrive in the CBC.

Watching how suddenly those two men began to move closer to the main street and leave their positions, San couldn’t help but snort in disbelief at their recklessness.

"Morons.”

Duty and mission over curiosity – distraction had no right to win. But there they were, giving death an invitation.

Either they were not expecting any bad events to happen or HQ failed to see they hired two idiots to guard a top politician. That was San's chance to clear the path like a child's play. He was indeed lucky today.

Leaving his shoelaces, he crossed the street with a normal paced, peaceful jog, along with many other people, trying to cross it before a column of cars would block the pass.

Ordinarily San disappeared behind a building next to his hide spot and his two prey. Walking the block around, his eyes quickly made sure that his method of escape was on the spot. After getting through the alley, he peeked from a corner to see a view that he already knew would welcome him.

Everyone’s back turned to him, every face watched as a row of black shiny cars, carrying a whole unit of bodyguards and the main star of the evening, the Governor.

Despite standing in the back of the crowd, the two curious guardians tried to catch a glimpse of a beloved politician, not sensing their own doom unraveling behind their backs as a black figure was closing the distance between them.

The sirens were getting louder, drowning out every other noise of the city, as well as San’s decisive and heavy steps in the dark alley.

The stairway was left unsupervised, which let him slide inside with no problem. All he had to do now was wait. He wished he could eliminate the couple right there but unfortunately, there was an important procedure that San couldn’t walk around. He needed these two idiots alive for a longer minute.

He decided to use this time to dress appropriately for the job. Using the chaos outside, San leisurely climbed up the stairs. The hiding place behind an old electrical box was untouched, exactly how he left it. Pulling a backpack from behind it, he quickly dressed in its content.

Black cargo jacket replaced the long puffer coat he wore previously. His cap disappeared, revealing his sharp features and short black hair he wore the same since he left the military. Plastic protectors embraced his knees and elbows.

Before putting on the black gloves, San reached out for his phone to check the hour but an unread message caught his attention.

$$lut>> Mandarin Oriental, apartment 5, hope you'll be there around 6pm. Y/n.

Unconsciously he inhaled sharply, feeling the cold air fill his lungs. For a second his straight face gave in to a combination of sinister excitement and roguish mania, decorating his exquisite features.

There was no way he would miss that meeting with you. Not when it was the biggest reason why that mission was the most satisfying job he had ever been paid to do. Just the thought of it was making him tremble in sick excitement.

His 76th job was more than just a "kill and disappear" mission. It was a perfect chance for San's crooked nature to show itself with all the dark sides to it. A great opportunity to unleash all his demons at once and let them thrive all they desired.

The moment he got the target file, he couldn't believe his own eyes. It wasn't the governor title or getting involved in political fights that was the reason for San's disbelief.

What were the odds that he was paid to kill a man whose wife was the best cumdumbster he had ever had put his cock inside?

Having this information on his mind while going through weeks of preparation and scheming, his wild and unlimited imagination only added more fuel to the fire.

That was why it was the only time he had texted you first, asking to prepare the place of the meeting and sabotaging you into daydreaming about how desperate he was for your body.

San knew you wouldn't waste your husband's nearest absence to let your dirtiest secret fuck you again. Not after all those times he made you turn into a brainless slut with his skills. He knew you wanted more and more with every meeting, making you basically addicted to the sin.

Exactly, you wouldn't waste any opportunity. Therefore what was a better chance for proving again your unfaithfulness to your husband than him being away, busy speaking to the citizens about his political successes and goals?

As the car with the governor lined up with the building San was in, the loudest resonation of the sirens filled the whole street. The sirens in San’s mind went off as well, while picturing all the obscene things he was going to do to you right after making you a widow.

"The Governor arrived at the CBC." A high volume voice blowing from the radios snapped San from his ominous state that your message brought upon him.

He carefully leaned over the barriers to look down and see that the two imbycles came back on their positions. Everything was going along with his plan.

"Outside sectors first, check in!”

The command was directed at all the buildings the furthest from the main building, including San's hide spot.

He had no more time to waste. Stuffing the backpack with his previous outfit and accessories, he pushed it back behind the electrical box. With fast but quiet steps and his back to the wall, he began walking down the stairs, while putting a silencer on the gun with rolling movements.

He halted on the lowest mezzanine, standing on the last step with his legs slightly astride. The gun hung in his grip, free hand wrapping around his wrist. With his head high, he was waiting for the rest of things to go his way.

"Guardian Apollo, Olymp 5 secured. I don't see any suspicious movements. Over."

The blurry voice on the radio got to San's sensitive ears. Remembering the map and the amount of the sectors there can be, the report must've come from the sniper on the roof above his head.

Olymp certainly meant the upper positions. Very poetic. What an effort. Now he was expecting two men downstairs to do their last stand.

"Eenie, meenie, miny-" San hummed playfully, mocking the dramatic situation the unit was heading to. He patiently stroked the trigger as he was warming it up for the action.

It took a second for him to hear what he expected the two corpses to be.

"Achilles, Hercules, Hades 5 secured. Over."

San couldn't help but smile wide, exposing the white, sharp teeth, the deadly glow lighting up his gaze.

"Moe."

The heroes' namesakes, now foolishly relaxed, still managed to notice a black figure stepping on the last set of stairs. They had a chance to look in their doom's eyes before two quick, muted bullets ended up in their skulls.

As expected, no one heard or saw anything as people kept shouting support while moving towards the center to create a crowd of love for their politician friend.

No eye caught the moment of two heavy bodies falling back on the wet concrete that was instantly stained with crimson colors.

San had less than a minute to hide the dead. Thankfully with the strength he possessed that was more than enough. He ran down the stairs and grabbing by the back of their collars, he seamlessly dragged two corpses towards the dumpster and one by one, threw them inside of it. Before the trash bags covered the crime, he took the radios off the guards and lowered the volume to the maximum on both devices. The radios continued to blow up with next sectors check in's, which would catch the unwanted attention.

The job on the ground was done. No need to rush when it came to Olymp cleansing. He climbed to the top floor in peace, causally passing by an older woman who was taking her dog for a walk. The black labrador seemed uneasy when San entered his space. Maybe because of the blood scent on his gloves or the bad intention he was carrying up the building. The man only mischievously smiled at the growling pup that immediately got yelled at by his owner.

He finally faced the door he was about to go through. Oiling the hinges and the knob during the spot preparation a few days ago now was a life saver, letting the Reaper slide out on the roof without the smallest obstacle.

San slowly closed the door behind him and waited a moment, before kneeling down and looking over a wall at the next problem he had to deal with. Somehow San had to manage to get rid of Apollo who was guarding the southern part of the rooftop behind the entrance, without being noticed.

Apollo was laying down in a full sniper position, inspecting the surrounding buildings and streets through the rifle's scope. His back was facing San.

The idea of letting him see the face of a man that was about to become his killer was tempting. But Apollo wasn't anything like San's previous targets. Maybe he wasn't the smartest but he was a soldier that might've gone through the same training. If he went through the same training, he could've actually become a troublesome obstacle.

Without any second thoughts, a hitman pointed the gun at the back of the sniper's helmetless head, presaging a fatal shot. The bullet cut the air with a muted, sharp bull whip sound. Upper part of Apollo's body dropped on the ground, lifeless heavy arms pulling the rifle down with them.

The black figure responsible for shortening the life of the god of sun wannabe, soon crawled up to the body to not be seen by other "eyes". San had to make sure that the shot was final. There was no possibility it wasn't. Still, it made him feel more secure.

He rolled Apollo on the side and pulled the rifle from underneath him. Just as San reached for his jacket to start putting out his own weapon's pieces, he noticed another piece of luck today. There was no need for him to assemble his own rifle, since the dead guardian used the same model. The version was older but it still would get the job done.

"Thanks, man. You know, I always feel bad for killing my own kind."

While looking into his victim's opened but lifeless eyes, he reached for something in his pocket. Then playfully slapping Apollo's cold cheek, he left the mark of the Reaper on it.

"Pity."

San had no time to grieve over that man and his unlucky fate. Pushing the corpse further to the side, he took Apollo's spot before adjusting the rifle back on the stand. It had been a while since he had such comfortable conditions during the assassination. Last time probably during military missions.

"Best day ever." He laughed, both in excitement and sinister at today's fortune of his.

Despite dark blue clouds slowly covering the sky from the east, the sky beyond the horizon still burned, making the town bask in red. The bloody light poured inside the CBC through the glass walls, illuminating everything and everyone inside.

Small tides of adrenaline began to tease his senses. The path was finally clean for the main target's execution, ordered by his political opponents.

Watching the scene through the scope, San made sure that the conference was taking place at the main hall, due to the big crowd of his supporters, party members and media. As planned, the hitman had the governor at the golden plate as he stood on the pedestal while speaking to the people with admirable charisma.

Poor man.

Not only was he about to draw his last breath, his wife was going to scream his killer's name in ecstasy some time after.

With the sun behind San's back, it glared out the red dot sight completely from all the angles but not his. With his hawk eyes and calculative mind supported by experience, he was at the top of his field. He knew how to use his surroundings and conditions, even those not good looking to help him succeed.

Now that he was relaxed, San couldn't stop you from roaming around his head with all the positions he was going to have you in and the surprise he had prepared for his favorite doll. The pricking sensation between his legs at these sinful thoughts as well as the growing adrenaline made his whole body tense up.

"Calm down, San." He whispered, grinning at himself. "You'll get yours soon."

It was time to end the clownfest in that part of Manhattan, before he could move to another. With no obstacle, the red laser marked the politician's side of the head. Everyone else, unlucky blinded by the sun, continued to celebrate his words with shiny eyes and wide smiles on their faces.

San also couldn't help a smile, creeping on his lips. The feeling of unearthly satisfaction tingled his sick ego. He always felt incredibly powerful, holding the right to take or spare lives. He felt like god.

No, he was a god.

"Don't take it personal, Kim Hongjoong. The fact I hold full ownership of your wife's pretty holes has nothing to do with the job." At first his words seemed to be honest, only to turn into a plain mockery. "But damn, it did make it hella more exciting."

The shot was clear, the bullet shattered the widow in pieces to stop right in the target's brain. The governor's body dropped dead behind the rostrum. The blue carpet on the stage, absorbing the growing paddle of blood began turning purple.

Manhattan's eagle, as he was called by his supporters, fell.

San used every second of total shock among the crowd before the panic exploded and the federals would begin searching the sectors. The chaos as well as the lack of idea where the shot came from were the moments that allowed San to escape without a problem.

Leaving the stairway he gulped with big steps, San couldn't help but nonchalantly pat the green dumpster containing new additions to his long list of victims. He indeed left a trail of bodies today.

With a hurry, he walked up to his black Kawaki Ninja that was waiting for him a block away. The hitman went back to looking ordinary, blending into the crowd as a simple biker. San watched the police and ambulances rushing towards the CBC as he was putting the helmet on.

"I'm leaving the mess to you." he whispered, mockingly saluting towards the pacing cars.

Switching his phone online, a message from unknown as well as a bank notification arrived immediately, both related to one another.

Unknown》》 The whole payment has been sent onto your bank account. Good job, Reaper.

The amount of zeros put a smirk on his face underneath the helmet. The job there was done. Now it was time for the second part. He could entirely indulge in his own sweet mission of ruining you.

He closed the eye shield, hiding the devilish expression. His instincts growled along with the bike as he began reviving the engine.

"Aw, Y/n." He laughed quietly, the bike rolled onto the street, joining the traffic. "You're one unlucky bitch."

5.54 pm.

Choi was never late. He also hated when you were late. Many times you were met with an empty room when you did not get there on time. Following the schedule was apparently very important for your lover. That was why you knew his frame would be standing in the hotel room’s door in the next 6 minutes. You still had some time to make yourself look even more irresistible.

As instructed, you turned your phone off before leaving the house as well as you took a taxi to arrive at the hotel. Wig and dark glasses you wore while traveling there, now laid messy on the bed. Necessary measures when you’re a high politician’s wife. You would be totally fucked if the news of your lack of morality came to the light. Not that you personally had a problem, cheating on your husband. Marriage with Hongjoong was a pure business. Elite families union. Still, you wouldn’t only ruin your husband’s career, which you would definitely pay for, but you’d also close all the door to your own future political career.

However, the risk held so much thrill. This sick kind of frisson you were always drawn to. It was addictive. No, you were already addicted.

Trying to fix your hair, you could feel your nerves and excitement alternately raising your heart rate at the thought of what was happening. Your husband was somewhere out there, preaching about freedom and positive changes for the future, surrounded by hundreads and listened by thousands, while you stood here in a hotel room, looking at your refletion in the mirror and waiting for your lover, like a sex slave for her master.

A series of chills run down your spine. Both from your corrupted mind and the click of the opening door. Your eyes subconsciously landed on your phone screen.

6pm.

With no need to rush, as a professional you walked out the bedroom to the saloon. Immediately, your gaze went to a black figure filling the entire door frame with his insanely broad shoulders. The helmet hung in his left hand.

“Like clockwork.” You commented with a shaky voice, watching him up and down like a starving vampire.

Instead of saying something, Choi’s face lit up with an indescribable smile, however the look in his eyes was darker than ever. You stood far away from him but you still could see that indefinable glow in his expression.

“You look…different.” You noticed.

“I’m feeling different.” He replied with an amused but also deep tone.

“It’s positive, I hope.”

You couldn’t deny that Choi was still a mystery to you. And something told you he would always be. No, you didn’t mind. Both of you needed physicality from one another. Nothing more.

The twisted way you two knew nothing about each other, except for every inch of your bodies was the biggest thrill that in your case bordered with slight obsession. Seemingly, it could be his case too as he was the one who called you this time.

The helmet landed on the floor with a muted thud that made you somewhat flinch.

“You’re about to see for yourself.” He grinned, closing the doors behind him and taking a few heavy steps forward. “Personally, I think you’re gonna love every second of it, beautiful.”

“I also have something special for you.” You teased, feeling proud of your new lingerie set you bought just for him.

“I can’t wait.” He purred with a raspy voice.

You watched him as his teeth bite on the gloves finger tips, one by one and slid it off his hands. It was too dark for you to see the dried up blood on the black leather. Then his jacket came undone and shared the same fate as the gloves and the helmet.

“You’re not gonna help me undress?” He snickered at your stillness that clashed with your loud, fastening breathing.

You clapped to activate the illumination system. The saloon lighted up, showing his sharp details to your hungry eyes.

His black t-shirt was completely soaked. Pants of the same color enhanced his massive thighs. Tiny waist embraced by leather belt with an attached keychain to it, showing something similar to a skull and a snake embracing it. His naked arm muscles shone with sweat. Short front strings of hair were stuck to his high and glistening with sweat forehead.

The view took your breath away which failed to escape his attentive eyes.

“And?”

You gulped loudly, swallowing the urge to fall on your knees right there on the spot.

“Shower first.” You ventured, turning around and going back into the bedroom. “I’m not letting you touch me befo-”

Steal arms surrounded you from behind like vines, limiting your movements to the minimum. You couldn’t help but scream, which was muted with his hand over your mouth.

A growl rung in your ear, “Yes you are.”

Holding you deadlocked in his embrace, with his lips glued to your ear, Choi swayed you both slowly towards the bed.

“What’s the point of shower if I’m gonna drip in sweat in a few minutes again. And you along with me, beautiful.” He taunted, sending electrifying waves down your body that contributed to the heavy flooding of your new underwear. “Let’s be eco friendly.”

Your knees touched the edge of a king sized bed when Choi let you go to take care of your white, hotel robe. But even then, you didn’t mean to move. You let him slide the robe from your shoulder, indulging in the curses leaving his lips as your body in the skimpy, black lingerie was exposed to his eyes.

You were embarrassingly weak for that man. The harsher he was with you the better. Because of him calling you first, you become swollen-headed, which made you think you could dictate the rules tonight. What a dumb bitch you were.

Slow movements of hands followed your lines and curves as if you were some Michael Angelo’s masterpiece. Through the bra you still could feel how warm his big hands were. The intense massage of your breast made your head fall backward onto his shoulder. His loud breaths burn your exposed neck and soothe it with kisses and licks.

You desperately needed that mouth and tongue of his somewhere else. Immediately.

“C–Choi…” You called him among the whimpers.

“You’re usually more shameless than requests.” He chuckled.

You understood the digression. Instinctively, you rubbed your ass against his hard rock erection.

“I-I need your tongue all over….” You moaned seductively and when your hand found his, it guided him between your trembling legs. "...her.”

“Filthy slut.” He giggled but you picked up the gulp of his at the wetness his fingers sunk in.

Choi gave your craving pussy a few lazy strokes to gain loud whines from you, before grabbing your hips to make you face him.

You had no time to think as his hand locked on your throat and cold eyes pierced through you.

"You do deserve that wish to come true as a reward for being such a good cumslut for me after all these months. But it's not like you didn't profit from it either." He grinned.

It would have some cuteness to it if not for the ice in his gaze as well as his unforgivable hand around your neck.

"And I don't do things for free."

You flinched as he suddenly attacked your lips with his. However, he kissed you painfully slowly, teased you with the brushes of his tongue as his plan was to make you go insane with lust. Little did you know it was a silence before the storm.

You tried to initiate a more passionate kiss but in response to your attempt, Choi pushed you onto the bed that squeaked at you landing.

He got rid of the wet t-shirt, revealing his sculpture-like body. His muscles were even more defined now then they were when you met previously. You moaned quietly at the ravishing sight.

Choi was perfect, a walking irresistible sin.

With one knee he climbed onto the bed and placing his hands on the sides of your head, he hovered over you.

He smirked at your shameless glares at his lips. You surely imagined them all over you. Choi however wasn't done with kissing you.

This time he wasn't torturing you with a slow pace. He surprised you with his hunger and aggressiveness. The wetness of the kiss went hand in hand with the pool between your thighs. Moaning into his mouth, you tried to pull him onto you. You wanted his skin rubbing against yours.

His hand reached for a pillow above your head to prepare the stage for the act he had in mind but a black object caught his attention. The man broke the kiss and reached for it.

"Is that yours?"

It took a second for you to stop worshiping his muscles and for your senses to come back. The realization hit you suddenly and you froze. Now you knew what he saw and what he was asking about.

Oh no.

A gun hung around his finger. Your gun.

"Y-yes." You stuttered. "That's for precaution."

"You planned to kill me if I fucked you the wrong way?" He growled with widened eyes, making the gun rock back and forth above your face.

"No. I always have it. It's just a habit." You explained, telling him nothing but the truth.

He didn't know who you were and you couldn't tell him. Being married to a man with many enemies forced you to wear the weapon with you. Especially when you went somewhere without bodyguards.

Choi seemed to not be listening to you as he stood up and started wandering around the room. His quick eyes studied the gun from all its sides.

"Walther CCP M2 380." He said coldly. "Admirable."

You felt somewhat unsafe, seeing a man you basically didn't know with a gun while being upset. The fact he knew the model from one look was even more concerning.

"I sleep with it under my pillow everyday. That's just a habit." You continued to convince him.

"I understand."

He didn't sound like he did. Choi turned to you with a smile, heavily hued with danger. His free hand grabbed a chair and dragged it in front of you.

"You named it?" He asked as he was playing some game.

The man sat down on the chair with the gun now correctly placed in his hand. And what was worse, pointed at you.

"No." You replied with a worried voice. "It's just a gun."

"How about Apollo?" His rhetorical question was followed by a mischievous laughter. "It's Apollo from now on."

He didn't load it but it was unhelpful for you to feel better.

You sat down at the edge of the bed, your faces aligned. "What are you gonna do?"

"Get up." He commanded.

You had no choice but to do what he said.

"Come here." Another command.

Approaching him as close as you could, you now domed over him but you felt nowhere near empowered. You flinged at the coldness of the gunmetal on your womanhood.

"W-what are you doing?"

"It's more about what you are gonna do, beautiful."

The gun pressed even harder, now brushing your clit. A series of brutal chills possessed your body. Despite the situation, your treacherous cunt throbbed in excitement.

"Ride it."

Your eyes widened with surprise. So he wasn't mad, he simply chose to use the occasion for a foreplay. That indeed suited him.

"That seems pretty unsafe." As much as you wanted to do it, a peace of caution decided to come through your corrupted mind.

"It's not loaded." He chuckled at the sudden change in your voice. You didn't seem to be so scared anymore. "If you don't ride Apollo and make him sticky with your cum, you're not getting the real gun tonight. And I promise you…"

With this he solidly grabbed his clothes cock.

"This one is loaded.'

You allowed him to push the weapon between your legs completely. The feeling of thrill filled you up again. You looked down at Choi's dark eyes that watched you intensely.

As he wasn't saying anything, you slowly began moving your hips back and front. You felt how the slight rugged surface of the metal only added more friction.

"Ahh.." you inhaled sharply as the gun moved on its own since his holder decided to fasten the process.

You watched Choi sitting there, leaning backward on the chair like he was a master of anything. At the first sight he looked relaxed and amused. However, his jaw muscle tensing up with each of your moans gave him away. He barely controlled himself as you stood there between his legs with his hand mercilessly pushing the gun, spreading your swollen folds.

The feeling was overpowering. The flood of pleasure made you lean forward, supporting yourself on the chair's frame.

"Fuuuuck. It feels so good."

You looked at him with hazy eyes. He was smiling widely before stopping his movements.

"Fuck yourself on it." His eyes glowed while looking up at you.

You didn't have to be told twice. The need for release was enormous and you were so close. The wetness completely soaked your underwear and started leaking down your thighs.

You rode the gun as fast as you could to reach the highest pleasure. The thought alone that it was a dangerous weapon that fucked you was enough to double the excitement. The heat waves hit you one after another.

"Cum on it." He ordered, seeing you holding onto the last string of control.

The gun got caged between your cramping thighs. Your knees went weak from all the convulsing attacking your body. The release birthed some beautiful sounds from your throat. Apparently so sweet and satisfying, it broke him.

He abruptly got up, pulling you close by your waist to him as his other hand, tightening around the gun, was brutally working between your trembling legs.

The slick and uneven metal surface rubbed you in all the right places after he put more pressure on your dripping pussy.

"Fuuuuuck, Choi!"

You were coming hard, looking into his cold and maniacally needy eyes as he walked, or more like dragged you backward. He dropped you back on the bed as soon as your high disappointingly weakend.

"Damn." He clacked, watching the surface of the weapon, completely wet. "I'm surely gonna miss it."

His words didn't get to your ears. Your mind was anywhere but there with you.

It wasn't the end of dangerous weapons for you. Apollo fell somewhere on the floor to be replaced with its equally deadly friend. A sudden click of the opening knife brought you back from cloud nine. You tried to glance at Choi but next you knew you had the cold blade at your neck as well as a whole man hovering over you.

"You–"

"Maybe after I'm done with you, you'll regret not using that gun on me." He hissed while slowly drawing a trace from your trachea to the carotid.

You didn't dare to move, feeling the sharp object moving down your sternum. The tightness of the bra disappeared. He seamlessly released your breasts. The knife was very sharp, too sharp.

Only when the man let out a satisfying adlip at the view, you felt the stinging pain.

"Blood suits you, Y/n." He smiled at you, his lips getting close to your wound.

His long tongue felt hot against your skin. Even in a dimmed light you noticed your blood marking his muscle as it collected all the droplets from a small cut.

"Mhmm.." your lover hummed as if he was tasting the most delicious thing.

That action should've absolutely creeped you out. But the result was completely different. Familiar vibrations returned between your thighs, making you unconsciously move them, attempting to rub onto him. Your breath became loud, faster. You wanted more of that madness.

Nothing escaped his attention. Without a word, he licked the wound, occasionally sucking and grabbing your erect nipples between his teeth.

"More.." You whined quietly.

The muted laugh that left his throat woke the worst behavior in you.

"Yes, you're right. Let's cut some more, shall we?" He trailed off, his fast eyes wandering down, "How about…here?"

The blade cut through the lace of your underwear like butter, uncovering the wet truth.

"Bingo."

With the top part of the knife, Choi began painting abstractions on their sensitive womb. He watched you closely, feeding on your cute whimpers. Your eyes getting more drunk, your actions becoming more desperate and lewd. It was activating the devil in him and all the accompanying demons in.

San felt undefeated, controlling life and death, people and whole cities. No rules, no morals. He embodied freedom. Walking by the club, then buying it along with people working there. Murdering a politician, then senselessly fucking his wife. He could do everything he wanted, he got everything he desired and no one could stand on his way. He was…Yes, yes he was. And he was about to make you admit it.

A whip sound cut the air. The knife ended up in the wall. You had no chance to react or ask what happened as two fingers entered you immediately.

You grabbed his wrist at the sudden invasion.

"Aah fu-"

His free hand embraced your neck and pinned your head to the bed.

"Say I'm a god." The man demanded, thread hanging in his tone like his all existence depended on it.

You looked at him, overwhelmed by the unbearable teasing he kept sending upon you with his two digits deep inside you. He curled them up, uncontrollably had you jolting your hips upwards but his unforgiving hand pinned you back on the mattress.

"Say it."

The man's face darkened in its expression, eyes beamed with something unknown to you, something that made you gulp at the first glance but the lust and hunger for danger was stronger, quickly killing all the doubts in the bud.

"You're a god." You breathed out, "You're…my god."

The grasp on your neck tightened, making you squirm in need. Choi smiled as if you gave him fulfillment, cheeks adorned with dimples did not match his mad eyes.

You trembled at the fingers sliding out of you. All you could do was lay with bated breath and watch as he rested wet digits on his stuck out tongue and then sucking your juices off.

"You cunt already worshipping me." Choi laughed.

Next he sat down and with one, quick and effortless move he turned you over. Spreading your legs, he buried his handsome face between them. His tongue immediately went busy mercilessly lapping on your dripping folds.

"Fuck." You moaned, gripping tight onto the sheets.

With loud grunts, he was devouring you as if he intended to suck the soul out of your being. Slurping on your essence, abusing your sensitive clit with the tip of his organ of taste, he had you mumbling nonsense.

To have a better access to your soaking folds, he put his arms around your ass and made your back bend downward with his hands interlocked on your waist.

"Fuuuck!" You whined between heavy breaths when this position let him reach for your clit. You heard those crazy sinful sounds his mouth produced in contact with your flooded pussy.

Smoothly transitioning to a new tactic, San gave you a few long, full licks, tongue relaxed and flat, that traced from your pussy up to your ass. He kneeled before your exposed bottom.

"Did I ever tell you your slutty holes have been my favorite?" He hummed.

The man didn't wait for the answer. You weren't even able to give it to him. He aggressively spat on your spreaded cheeks, lubricating your holes with his thumb.

"Show me they still are fitted for that title."

Two fingers return to penetrating you but this time it was different.

You gasped loudly as Choi did not share his plans with you.

The walls of your cunt welcomed his middle finger, while your ass engulfed the index finger.

You screamed in pleasure of being fucked in both holes. The tempo was crazy, bringing you to the edge at a fast pace. His long tools on torture attacked your sweet spot from all the directions. Your sight began getting blurry. The drool oozed from your mouth. You were about to cum hard again.

If that wasn't enough, Choi let his other hand wander underneath you to take care of your lonely bud with merciless circle motions.

"Fuuck fuck fuck I'm cumming!"

As if you said something wrong, his hands suddenly left your trembling body.

"What-"

"I don't do things for free, remember?"

Choi ignored your disappointed surprise. Unmoved by your whines, he turned you on your back again.

Your senses were dulled but your whole body was working at full speed, every nerve awaked. You felt like erupting.

He didn't seem to care as he was busy unbuckling his belt and getting rid of his black cargo pants and heavy boots.

You gasped at the full view of his naked frame. The glistening cock proudly throbbed, teasing you with the pleasure you felt dizzy thinking of.

In complete silence he grabbed your ankles and pulled you close to him. Positioning you to kneel, he stood up on the bed, with you between his legs.

It was unknown to you why he went for this position. For him, his chase for power and ultimate control manifested itself in that. The higher he could get, no matter the situation, he would go for it.

His dick aligned with your face. You were confused at first but then you understood his needs. You licked your lips at what you would be tasting next.

"Take him as you want to be taken, beautiful. I only take fair deals." He said, shamelessly grabbing his pride and directing it towards your mouth.

And you did. You attacked him with all your power, forcing him to support himself on the upper wooden frame of the bed that was screwed to the ceiling.

"Yeah, just like that. Good girl." He praised you, trying his best to not betray his state.

With the help of your palm, you took him whole, sucking the life out of his tip that was turning more and more purple from the tension.

After a minute of blowing him off like there is no tomorrow, he firmly grasped your messy hair to your head to keep it in place. He fucked your mouth like a starving beast, throwing spirited curses in the air.

You felt yourself dripping on the sheets. Reaching back, you couldn't remember ever being this wet before you met Choi. The need for his dick, no matter how he was going give it to you turned you in a dumb, brained washed whore. And you loved it with every inch of your body and every corner of the darkest parts of your mind.

He laughed in an approaching ecstasy.

"That motherfucking throat of yours was made to take dicks- Ahh shit, yes!"

He put on speed, ruthlessly hitting the wall of your throat. You couldn't control your breathing anymore and began sweating. Tears fell down your heated cheeks. Thick drool from the corner of your lips. You began choking.

"Shit shit shit!"

The overpowering pleasure made his knees go weak. He held your head and fell down along with you, pulling his cock out of mouth at the landing.

"Fuck, you almost made me cum, you little slut." He laughed maniacally while looking at your fucked up face.

You had problems focusing. Trying to calm down your breathing made your throat hurt even more. However you still smiled at him, lying there between his thighs, with his quivering cock above you. Him cursing you out made you proud that you took him like a champ. It only whetted your appetite.

He tilted his head at the side with an act of worry on his face. That little asshole.

"Aww my poor baby." He pouted and began wiping the drool and teras of your chin and face. "Worked so hard to get my cock inside you, didn't you? Yes you did."

The sweet face faded as fast as it appeared and gave its place to the real lunatic.

"Imma quench my thirst first. I know you're drowning down there." With this, he slapped your thighs apart and dived right into the act of eating you out like a gluttonous addict.

San seemed to overly enjoy your taste and how wet you were from all the teasing and edging. Sounds that came out of his mouth were proof of that. His dramatic grunting, moaning, groaning added vibrations to the already rough pleasure your cunt was graced with.

With his tongue, hard and tensed he made circles around your clit like a hungry vulture.

"Please, don't sto-op. Just like that." You whined with a husky voice.

The man kindly, almost suspiciously decided to listen to your begging as he continued. He seemed to be leading you towards the needed release and you hoped he would finally allow you to take it.

Sudden invasion of his fingers made you grab his short black hair, as a silent plea to not stop.

Rubbing onto your sweet spot, he began sucking on your sensitive bud. Despite his mouth being busy, you still could hear his muted laugh. San had your body and soul under his total control, just like he liked it.

You sensed the warmth starting to spread from between your thighs up your belly and chest. You could feel the ecstasy would be crushing in a second now. Every nerve in your body was ready to pass the pleasure further.

"Ah I'm cumming hard." You announced it with a high pitched whine.

At your words, his lips and fingers left your shaking body. You screamed in anger. You really felt like crying like a child denied the things it wants.

It was all a game for him. You were just a toy, a doll ready to act the way he wanted. He didn't care about your pleading and state.

"Noo! Choi, no please don't stop! Please! I want to cum. I need to…" You begged, annoyed at him and desperate for him. Unconsciously you tried to bring his face back to your puffy folds but he was stronger, not only physically but also mentally. He could get you to do anything.

"But this is so much fun, beautiful? Look at you trying to fuck yourself on my face. Pathetic. " He grinned at your hips moving. His plumb lips and chin were glistening from all your wetness.

Winking at you, he sent his hand under your thighs and grabbed your waist. Like a bag of sand, he rolled you both over. You found yourself kneeling with his insanely handsome face underneath you.

"Ride my fucking mouth like I knew you dream of every night. You better flood my tongue with your cum, you hear me?" He growled at you with a threat. "I'm having this cunt drowning me."

You looked at him with gratitude.

"Yes, sir."

With a devilish smile, Choi stuck his tongue out and accepted your pink velvet like it was created to fit only the shape of his lips.

The pathetic desperation had you immediately go to work. Will slow movements your rode his face back and forth. You couldn't take your eyes off of him. You stared at two voids, full of the unknown, but not the unknown you want to explore, but the one you run away from. His eyes devoured you as if he was putting some curse on your mind to worship him in all his might. And you had no choice but to let him.

After a few trials to find a perfect spot and pace, you found yourself with his tongue deep inside you where he moved it vigorously in your pulsating walls and your clit hitting against his nose.

"It feels so good, aah."

He slapped and hashly squeezed your ass to command you to go faster. You were supposed to ride his mouth like a desperate slut you were.

Your hips fastened. The euphoria, due to being previously denied, was coming quickly. You were ready to welcome it with open arms and you were not going to let Choi stop it.

Caging him between your thighs, you fell forward, supporting yourself with your hands. You closed your eyes shut, all that mattered at that moment were your body needs.

His tongue penetrated your corners, never giving in. The man allowed you to do anything, he wanted to feel you crushing only with a minimal effort. Choi had your juices dripping down his chin and neck. He couldn't help himself, and when you came undone, screaming and trembling on your entire body, he grabbed your hips and pinned you deeper into his face – mouth now clinged to your convulsing pussy, sucking all the cum like a nourishing nectar.

"Choi, fuuuck!"

"More." He groaned, detaching from you, "More!"

You had no capacity to stop him and you let him throw you on your back again. With blurry eyes you saw him picking up something from the floor.

It looked like the bra and panties that he previously cut.

Using their stretchy fabric he quickly tied each of your knees to the bed frame behind you. Now you were laying there, extremely astride, which wasn't a problem with you being flexible. He had your womanhood on a shameless display. You were too distracted by the slow fade of the powerful orgasm to protest.

The man climbed onto you, looked in your eyes and smiled, biting his lips.

"Good girl." He cooed, caressing your cheek. You tried to catch a breath and Choi saw this as an opportunity to slide his thumb inside your opened mouth. Obeying, you sucked on it. "Fuck. I feel like my balls are about to explode. Congratulations."

He raised himself up and watched the scene he prepared. You waited there, sanity hanging on the thinnest of threats. Whole covered in sweat, drool and with exposed holes, all for him to demolish.

You woke up a little at your pussy being slapped by his hard rock cock.

"Choi..." you whispered.

But there was no time for conversation. He slid inside and it was the only time he did it slowly and carefully. After adjusting to your tightness with a few pushes, the pace dangerously increased.

"You're on a pill, aren't you?"

"Y–yes." you replied while gripping on the sheets from your walls being unmercifully stretched. He was thick, incredibly thick.

His face suddenly appeared before you, his body weight pinning you to the bed.

"Tsk, shame." Fingers wrapping around your neck, "It'd low-key be fun to see your belly round with my bastard and then struggling to hide the fact it's not a governor's kid."

It was your first mistake. Melting over his huge dick fucking you, instead of listening to the last words. San knew you wouldn't register it. He had you stupid, brainwashed.

"Wouldn't it?" He demanded to fuel his satisfaction.

You were not able to answer, not with him rubbing you in all the right spots. The heat crawled up your back and cheeks. You were on fire.

"I-"

He slid out to reposition but you had no chance to even whine in disappointment as he abruptly came back inside.

"WOULDN'T IT!?" He growled out.

Now he, supported on his hands and feet, pounded into you with the help of his entire weight. His pelvis raised and fell with even pace but ruthless intentions.

"Yes, it would. Yes, it would. YES, IT WOULD."

You held onto his forearms, accepting all the thrusts.

"You're gonna take every drop. All the load! Like the Real. Cum. Dump. Ster. You. Are." He spat aggressively and every sylab meant one powerful pound, making the hotel bed screech underneath his power.

"Yes, sir!" You cried out from potent pleasure.

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the voice stuck in your chords. The breathing became harder, almost impossible. Your face distorted from unimaginable bliss. You didn't feel the pain from your ties sunk into your skin, causing the nasty marks. All your senses accepted was the stone, veiny dick, making a point that San owned you entirely.

He stopped moving, realizing you were close. He buried himself as deep in you as he could, held it for a two second and then abruptly left your interior. Repeating this act a few times had you convulsing in madness.

You came, crying out his fake name which put a smile on his perfect, sinful face. He began riding your high with a contented expression until it suddenly gave its place to surprise.

He was coming.

"Fuck." He hissed.

His orgasm arrived faster than he planned. Your pussy cramped around him, drastically sucking him in. Grabbing you neck with both hands, he returned to fucking you like a maniac, chasing his high.

You were tired but you could feel yourself cumming again. You were too sensitive, the pace and his muscular hands on your neck was enough to stimulate you.

"I'm cumming again!" You whined, fully crying now. It was too much, but it felt so good.

"Milk my fucking dick out! Take it all." He managed to sound harsh before his voice broke along with his movements getting sloppier.

You both came, sending moans and grunts each other's way. Hot load exploded inside you, flooding your walls and all their corners.

San slid out of you only after making sure every last drop that left his balls ended in you.

You closed your eyes and let your drained, tensed body sink into the soft bed. Worrying about a big amount of sperm leaking out of you or how you would bring your senses back and more importantly walk, you left it all for later. You needed to rest, catch a breath.

You didn't notice how quickly San got up until you heard him laugh. Chills run down your spine and you look at him confused, terrified. The laugh wasn't normal for someone who just had the best sex in their life. It belonged to someone who just won a deadly deal, who just made a fool out of somebody else.

"What are you doing?" You asked, seeing him picking up his clothes and boots.

He didn't grace you with his eyes and attention until he wasn't fully dressed up.

"It may sadden you, beautiful. It surely saddens me but…" He chuckled and ripping the knife off the wall, he hid it in his pocket. "This is farewell."

Your heart sank. You opened and closed your mouth a few times before finally shouting, "What are you talking about?!"

"Simple. I got what I wanted. I don't enjoy you anymore." He smirked and you felt like ripping his face off.

You attempted to untie yourself but the knots were precisely tied, like the military style. And mercilessly cut into the skin around your knees.

"You must be joking-"

Choi silenced you by climbing the bed with his face suddenly being close to yours.

And the knife at your throat.

The man smiled, with his eyes wide open and you finally saw the truth. You saw the devil, but you were so convinced it was just an act. Trembling on your body intensified. It wasn't roleplay. All of that, from the first meeting up till now, it was not a play.

Choi used you. All this time when you thought you walked on firm ground, you were actually walking on the thinnest ice.

You never claimed you knew him well. But you did think you knew him enough to trust him with that little secret he was also part of.

He was a total stranger. The man might've been a serial killer. A fucking cannibal. You knew nothing. Did he really threaten you with those weapons? What if you did something wrong, would he kill you? He could've killed you. What did you get yourself into?

Seeing the unpleasant enlightenment in your eyes, he leaned even closer and pecked your shaking lips like the most gentle lover. You let him, as you were absolutely frozen.

"Once you release yourself from this, I advise you to check your phone, watch the news. I'm pretty sure the whole country is looking for you right now, ma'am." He limited his volume to the whisper, "I want you to know…it was me."

With this, he lowered himself on you, kept looking in your eyes, he pecked your abused, still exposed core.

"I wish you a good life, Mrs. Kim."

And he left, not turning back at your screaming and shouting.

You were cold as someone poured a bucket of icy water on you. Frost filled your veins. Every ounce of excitement, mood from just a few minutes ago vanished. You were now crying. Not from the overpowering euphoria like before but from pure fear. Crushing fear.

He knew. Choi, if that was even his name, he knew who you were. The question was – since when? For how long he had been playing with you?

Fighting a panic attack, you somehow managed to release yourself from the harmful ties. The tightness and rough edges made the skin under your knees bleed.

You climbed off the bed, almost falling on the floor due to how sore you were. Everything hurt; from your head to toes.

The room lit up when you got to the switch. You rustle your phone out of your purse and turn it on. You were gulping back sobs.

The unanswered calls flooded the screen. From your bodyguards, your parents and members of your husband's party as well as workers of his office.

"I'm pretty sure the whole country is looking for you right now, ma'am."

Your heart dropped to your feet.

The TV remote, resting at the coffee table caught your attention as if it was calling your name. Everything in your body was telling you to not watch the news. That it will crush you. You had all the worst scenarios running wild in your mind; sextapes released, scandals and rumors. This psychopath could do everything. Your true, but unacceptable to public nature could not be your little dirty secret anymore. You know that no matter what it was he had done, you were ruined.

There was no way out. You would have to face it sooner or later. At first the screen showed you a sitcom with the audience laughing at dialogues between two comedians. You felt like you were the object of their taunts. Pressing the button that led you to the next channel, you already felt your life ended with it. You wished it would've prepared you for the darkness you got thrown into.

THE GOVERNOR OF MANHATTAN SHOT AT THE CBC.

ASIDE FROM THE GOVERNOR, THERE WERE THREE MORE VICTIMS – AGENTS THAT PATROLLED THE AREA.

FBI CONFIRMS THE KILLER WAS A WELL TRAINED SNIPER. TERRORIST ATTACK?

Your legs failed to hold you up. Falling on your knees, every part of your body went limp. Head was about to explode from a sudden migraine as if too much information flooding your mind attempted to melt your skull. You felt like a nest of scorpions exploded inside you, stinging all the organs you needed to live.

"Shot?" You repeated the news, it was the only thing you could do right now – asking questions into the empty sphere, "Hongjoong's…dead?"

The tears had finally fallen from your hollow eyes. What was happening? Is it some sort of prank, a stupid joke? You could feel your sanity slipping away at an alarming speed.

FBI QUICKLY DISCOVERED THE BUILDING FROM WHICH THE HITMAN GAVE A SHOT. ON THE SPOT THEY FOUND A STICKER, GLUED TO THE VICTIM'S CHEEK. THE STICKER SHOWS A SKULL WITH A SNAKE. IT'S BEING INVESTIGATED AS A POSSIBLE MARK OF THE KILLER.

Skull and a snake? A scene flashed before your eyes. You had seen it somewhere. Yes, you definitely did. You saw it today.

"I want you to know…it was me."

You felt nauseous and even though you tried to control it, you vomited on the white carpet, already stained with blood. Trying to push away the truth was impossible. Choi told you to meet him up in secret, then he killed your husband. Next he came to fuck you, knowing exactly who you were and that you were unaware of what was happening outside the hotel. He played you like a fool, ruined your life. He stripped you of dignity, shame and life. He killed your husband. Took your future away from you and your family.

You began laughing. Just like Choi before leaving you in this hell. You were done. What was there left for you?

"Nothing." You answered yourself.

Subconsciously, your eyes wandered to the gun laying half a meter away from you. You crawled to it. Grabbing it unphased, you slowly loaded the weapon.

"Nothing." You repeated with an empty heart.

The gunmetal felt cold under your chin. You couldn't believe how easily you contributed to the destruction of your own life that you so carefully planned.

Your mind was filled with the faces of your friends and family, as well as Hongjoong's. Now the tears you shed were for both of you. Maybe if you gave him a chance when he asked for it, you wouldn't be here today.

You smiled, remembering his beautiful smile, his warmth and began putting pressure on the trigger.

THERE IS NO CONTACT WITH THE GOVERNOR'S WIFE, KIM Y/N. DID SHE ALSO BECAME A VICTIM OF THE KILLER? WAS HE WORKING ALONE?

You quickly put the gun down as your thoughts changed the flow.

You saw all the loopholes in his rash plan. Dots begged to be linked. The news header wasn't far from the truth. You were a victim of the killer. He may have left you alive for some reason but he did use your vulnerability. Choi hurt you and threatened you. He injured you. He also admitted to the murder. He wore the same keychain as the sticker that the FBI found. You looked down at your body. Additionally, you were covered and filled with his DNA.

The light appeared in the dark tunnel.

A sudden buzzing of your phone tamed the brainstorm unfolding in your mind.

The secretary of your husband's office kept trying to reach you. After all Krystal was also your friend. No wonder she still tried to reach you when all the hope was gone for others.

You slid the green button.

"Oh my God, Y/n! Where are you!?" Her voice blew up from the speaker. "Are you ok!?"

It was time to begin the act of the century. Everything was allowed to bring hell upon this psychopath.

"He said he had dirt on Hongjoong. That if I met with him alone and gave him money, he would leave us alone." You sobbed into the phone. "He took the money. He…hurt me, Krys."

"Jesus Christ, Y/n?! Where are you?" Her tone was even more panicked.

"Mandarin Oriental, apartment 5. Please, come quickly. He left but he can come back." You mumbled in fear because the possibility of your words happening wasn't that unbelievable.

"I'm on my way! Call the hotel service now and tell them everything. Tell them to call the police. Do you hear me? You can't be alone!"

You mumbled something in response and put the phone down.

After ending the call, you indeed got worried he might've come back after realizing his terrible mistake. You immediately darted toward one of the nightstands, as much as your strength and injured legs allowed you to and grabbed the phone. The service was soon to be there.

His words rang in your ears suddenly. Choi told you to call him a god. Idiot got too comfortable in his ego.

He was a product of seven deadly sins. Prideful in thinking he was invincible, untouchable. Led by wrath, lust and gluttony, he wanted all the power and control over life, death as well as all mysteries of your body and when he tasted it, he couldn't get enough. You witnessed how jealousy blinded him that he could never be what his sick mind desired. He could never be like a god. Gods don't make stupid mistakes, don't miscalculate. And at last; the cherry on top, he was too lazy to clean after himself.

"We will meet again." You taunted, putting on the robe to hide your bruised and cut body, an important piece of evidence.

You calmly sat back down on the messed up bed while wiping your cheeks from all the tears and smudged make up. You felt horrible but you didn't plan to be alone in misery. If you were meant to fall, you would take Choi down with you. He was about to meet his doom and the doom wore your name.

"Aw, Choi. You're one unlucky son of a bitch."

@nateezfics as you asked ❤️

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yandereunsolved · 22 days

Text

You're My Cult Leader - ,, yandere Kai Anderson

tw(s): yandere themes, Kai fuckery, graphic gore, suggestive themes, Kai threatening to cross your boundaries, descriptive depictions of anxiety and panic attacks, self harm, (Kai) glorification of self harm, talks of mental hospitals & mental illness, demonization of medication & mental health (influenced by Kai), baby trapping

ꨄ︎ He found you by pure accident. He was scrolling through Reddit on r/AITA when he found your account. You were asking if breaking up with your partner after they had a mental breakdown and pushed you down the stairs made you a bad person or not. Interest sparked in his mind. If you were this insecure that you had to get validation from others when your ex was clearly in the wrong, you must be easy to manipulate. He wanted to see more of who and what you were, so he hacked your accounts. He didn't do anything more than scroll through him and store your information and passwords marked 'Serpent' on a file put on a hard drive he keeps of all his cult members. He keeps it just in case they try to betray him. They wouldn't dare go against him if they knew he had all of their skeletons locked in his closet.

ꨄ︎ He marks all of his files with the names of mythical animals. All cult members go under one large file named 'Serpent'. In his inner circle, he has another file named 'Sphinx'. As he learns more about you, he compiles an entirely separate file just for you. He names it 'Phoenix'—an immortal bird that cyclically regenerates, obtaining new life by rising from the ashes of its predecessor. He even begins referring to himself as Phoenix when around his other members. Of course you don't know him; you two haven't even had a conversation yet, but you are already part of his cult. It was just a matter of putting a few more things in place to have the perfect meeting.

ꨄ︎ What he didn't expect was to actually begin to form an attraction to you when he had his little 'excursions' with you, stalking you wherever you went. He resents this. You aren't worth his time and attention. He is the divine ruler, a being of divinity. You are just another lamb to be slaughtered within the confines of his cult. Yet he notices how wide your hips are, how good your medical history is, and how motherly you are. He stores it away in his mind. You'd be a good possible womb to store his messiah baby in. He does need the best genetics. It doesn't matter if you are afab or amab; you are having his baby.

ꨄ︎ He introduces himself to you after you had a shitty day at work. He invites you out to your favorite cafe. Huh, how did he know? He knows everything about you. Including what you do in the privacy of your bedroom when you think no one is looking. He speaks to you like an old friend or a lover. You two really seem to have a genuine connection. He's a smart guy, 135 IQ; he toured in Iraq; and he graduated with a double degree. Not to mention, when he stood up and stretched, you could see his muscular physique underneath his gray sweatshirt and joggers. Now you want to know more about him, see him more, and get the validation you crave because you have been starved by others. Just as he planned.

ꨄ︎ It's so strange that after that, the people you hated most started disappearing. It was all over the news. People started seeing you as bad luck. Some people thought you were just a serial killer who hadn't been caught yet. Others thought it was because of some twisted secret admirer of yours. They would both have reasons to think that. The bodies came up in parts. Each on the bed in their bedroom. They were cut into chunks and placed to make little hearts. First, there was nothing else. Then the killer got bolder with the weird smiley face drawn in blood. Eventually, the killer or killers had another collective sign off: 'From F.I.T.— your divine ruler.'

Not even the police would touch you. No one would. Only Kai was there for you in those trying times. He drove you deeper into his grasp. Not suffocating at first just so you wouldn't see it until it's too late—like a boa constrictor constricting around its sleeping prey.

ꨄ︎ He offered you a place to stay and promised to protect you from the evils of the world. He makes you as scared of the outside as possible. Think of all the horrors out there. Can you not see the killings all over the news? Can you not realize that the country is being flooded with dangerous people? Are you so unaware that someone could slit your throat if you so much as stepped outside the door? Kai is there to stoke your fears, like feeding an ever-growing flame by placing more wood in the pile. He makes you so paranoid that you aren't even sure if being around him is safe. He assures you being around him is the only safe place. He subtly threatens to take his protection away if you disobey him.

ꨄ︎ You don't interact with Winter. You actually aren't allowed to. Kai expressly forbids it because he's afraid his sister might make you queer. Sure, you are allowed to look at her and maybe make small talk if she is around you and Kai, but she isn't allowed alone with you—ever. Kai just can't risk it. He knows how tempting women can be, and he can't let his precious little lamb be tempted by his sister.

ꨄ︎ He begins integrating you into F.I.T. even though you are unaware. You don't exactly know what it's called, but everyone seems to treat you kindly. Not too kindly, though; Kai doesn't want your affections to be given to one of his ungrateful, pathetic followers. This is really the first touch of human interaction you have had in months, other than Kai, of course. It's like a new breath of fresh air. You may refuse to leave the house and Kai's side, but at least you have more people to talk to. It's like torture when Kai leaves you all alone. No one else is allowed around you, not that you know that. You only know that they seem to distance themselves almost purposefully, even methodically. It's like Kai is ripping your very heart out of your chest and taking it with him when he leaves.

ꨄ︎ Sometimes it's even worse when his 'friends' are around. He acts all aloof and distant with you. He calls you slut, whore, little one, and worst of all—sweetheart. Whenever he calls you sweetheart, you know you have messed up around the others. During their meetings, you are forced to sit in his lap. Most of the time, he forces you to straddle his waist. If you speak or even squeak, he'll scold you in front of everyone. You always end up having hickeys on you the day after. You always have some sort of hickey or bruise on you. He'll occasionally kiss you on the neck during these meetings. At first, you were uncomfortable. You tried to confront him about it, and he brushed you off.

"You like it, don't lie. You like all of the attention on you. You are my little slut after all."

You wanted to argue, but he had a way of making you speechless, so flustered that you became light-headed. After that, you didn't argue much on the subject.

He doesn't actually allow you to listen, either. He makes you wear these stupid ear plugs that make you feel so idiotic. You only know he scolds you because that's when he takes the earplugs out. He calls these meetings his 'private business'. You don't press him on it because he's already done so much for you. Someone out there is stalking you. Kai is keeping you safe. It's the least you can do to stay out of business; he doesn't want you in.

ꨄ︎ If you are good during these meetings, he rewards you with an outing. You have to stay by him the entire time. That is one of the unspoken rules of being with him. However, that's not really a problem for either of you. That's pretty much the only time that you are outside. He doesn't outright say it's a 'date', but that's what it is to him. You may not know it, but you two are practically married in his eyes. He just has to train you some more. You need to be entirely dependent on him—submissive, feminine, and motherly. That's all he wants. He has given you so much. He just needs to take a little from you. It isn't that big of a deal.

ꨄ︎ You first witnessed Kai's true cruelty when he stapled that poor man to death. You pinkie promised him that you would stay by his side. You pinkie promised that you wouldn't run. So you stood there and watched, and everyone took turns stapling him in the head. The blood gently dribbled down his face, almost peaceful—in complete contrast with the monstrous act being committed.

He made you kneel before him. He swiped a strip of the oozing blood off of the man's face. He stuck his finger in your mouth and made you lick it off. He asked if you were truly devoted to him as he planted the last staple in the back of the guy's neck. He asked again, his voice more alluring than any song a siren could sing.

"Are you completely and utterly devoted to me?"

You said yes. Why wouldn't you?

"Prove it."

He stood above you with the staple gun discarded on the floor. That night was a lot different than all the other times you 'proved' yourself to Kai. It was much more passionate and tender. You were unable to even move from your spot. It was like nothing else existed except you and Kai. It was addicting. You needed more of him, even more than before.

It was like that night he had cast a spell on you that stripped away any personality or ideals you had from your previous life. He had broken every part of you. You were now repurposed clay. You were made into a brand new clump for him to mold with his skilled and nimble fingers. You will be his greatest creation yet, for you are completely and utterly his—forever.

ꨄ︎ However, while molding, he's careful not to be too harsh with you. In a way, it's the gentlest and most honest part of Kai you will ever see. You see the moments when he has flashbacks to those times. You get to see when his shoulders heave due to the overwhelming anxiety he feels. You see the few tears that slip from his face. Part of him feels that you have earned this part of him. Another part wants to push those feelings so deep down into the darkness of his soul that they never have a chance of getting out.

ꨄ︎ You'll only see it in subtle ways. At night, he won't force you to snuggle with him, but he'll urge you to. He'll wrap his arms around you and gently whisper about how he'll protect you from all the bad things in this world. It's true on some level. All of this is truly for you. He just can't show his love like a normal man. One thing is for sure—he promises to never be a man like his father. He shakes when he thinks about him, his muscles tightening and his breath shortening. It makes him want to hold you in his embrace forever. To kiss you like it's the last thing he'll ever know. That small and hidden part of him craves your loving touch. That part just wants to be coddled and told he's a good boy. Just telling him you're proud of him is enough for him to drag you off to the bedroom.

ꨄ︎ He makes you pinkie promise. Naturally, you have to tell him everything first—your fears, your fantasies, and how much you love him. He finally speaks a bit of his past. It's the first time you see him breakdown. The first time he has a genuine emotional response. The mask slips only for a moment, but you're hesitant. You know, sometimes he manipulates you—maybe. That's what one of the others told you before they were killed. Still, it seems real, and it feels real. You can't imagine him telling anyone else such private things. He pulls you into a hug and rocks you back and forth. He sticks his face in the crook of your neck greedily. He treats you like you'll disappear with one blink of his eyes.

"You aren't ever allowed to leave me, darling."

He's gritting his teeth, and suddenly the Kai you know all too well is back. From time to time, you can't help but wonder: How much of old Kai influenced new Kai to be so helplessly entranced by your very presence?

ꨄ︎ No part of you is hidden from him. No part of your body is left unseen or explored. There is no part of your personality that he hasn't memorized. There isn't any memory that he hasn't plucked from your head already. If you remember anything, even the most mundane, you are under strict orders to allow the words to fall from your lips—no matter what you were doing before. There are no 'boundaries', in most cases. Kai is an asshole, but he isn't that much of an asshole. If you've been a good little lamb, then there's no need to bring up painful memories. He wouldn't want his obedient servant to be plagued with fear of others in their heart. However, act bratty, and he has no qualms of making himself a new set of memories for you to gain PTSD from.

ꨄ︎ The first time his hold on you loosened a bit is something you won't ever forget. You were looking for him when you heard moaning. Meadow had gone missing earlier, and you were worried. You found her partially tied up, and your heart broke in two. Kai looked back at you with no emotion in his eyes. He simply dismissed you with a 'get out'.

You were so horrified that you quickly packed up and ran from the house. You snatched a stack of emergency bills that Kai always kept under his mattress. You slept in some shitty motel for a few nights. You planned on escaping to another state and starting anew. If you could just get a phone, you could call someone. Yet your heart was torn in two. Those tendrils of fear were wrapped so tightly around your mind that you were paralyzed with indecision. You love him, but he was cheating on you. He was supposed to protect you from the world! You forgot the most important lesson—to protect yourself from him.

You had multiple panic attacks each day while hiding in that motel. You feared stepping out of the door. You just couldn't do it. The 'what if' was too much. You knew that, rationally, no one was going to jump out and kill you. Right? Right...? RIGHT? You couldn't even open the door. Your hand reached the knob, and yet you couldn't open it. You just sank to the floor and continuously sobbed. You couldn't stop the feeling of dread and weakness.

What was he going to do when he found you? That thought had your head spinning. Your legs just gave out then and there. It was the one question that ran through your mind like a never-ending track carrying the train of your anxious thoughts.

You had to get breakfast delivered to your room. You had to wear your clothes for multiple days. You didn't have any toiletries except the ones provided by the hotel. You were too paranoid to even take a shower. You needed Kai. You still needed him. You couldn't even breathe correctly without him!

ꨄ︎ You finally broke down. It was like he knew you would. You went to that campaign of his. You were barely able to step outside, but the promise of seeing him made you more than eager to leave. Once you spotted him, all your fears seemed to melt away. Then you saw Meadow shoot him. Your heart broke again—she fucks him, and then she shoots him? Who the hell does this woman think she is?

You saw her turning the gun on herself, but you beat her to it. Another woman was screaming at the both of you. She took the gun. You just kept hitting Meadow. You don't know what came over you. All the bitter jealousy and hatred from that night just came up. You let it all out on her. Eventually, you heard a snap. That same woman was screaming at you and pointing the gun at your head. You killed Meadow. You snapped her neck. You felt good, in control. A part of you even liked it.

You didn't get to mull over it because the cops arrested that woman and led you away. You rushed up to Kai, who was on a stretcher. The emergency medical responders tried to push you away. Kai grabbed your hand and pulled you down onto him. With his other arm, he dug his nails into the side of your head. He sloppily made out with you until you were pulled away.

"It was all for you, baby. Come and ride in the ambulance with me. You've been bad—and you'll atone for your sins once I get better."

Those are the words he whispered in your ear. Your mixed emotions led you to feel so much, but how could you refuse? A moth is always drawn to a flame, just like you are always drawn to Kai. Hopefully, you won't get burned again by his lies and deceit.

ꨄ︎ Once he is home from the hospital and recovering, he chastises you. He screams, pushes things, and threatens you. He can feel actual tears filling his eyes at the fact that you tried to leave him. How dare you.

"Can't you see you worthless slut!? This has all been for you. I had to get Meadow out of the way for you and for us. Yet you run off to some shitty motel and hide there? You are pathetic."

Wait, he knew about the motel? Of course he did. He just wanted to allow you to make your own choice. Sure, he was going to drag you back to him anyway, but you coming back somewhat willingly just proves the control he has over you. It feels so good to have you twisted around his finger.

ꨄ︎ He makes you cut yourself because of this. It's a punishment that he often uses. He wants you to feel what he feels when you disobey him. Sometimes he cuts you himself. He teases the burning wounds and touches them. He kisses each one of them and licks the oozing blood leaving your veins.

He sees it as just another way for him to claim you. He feels that possessive urge inside of him cool when he sees the scars you have given yourself because of him. He enjoys cutting extra deep into your skin to hear those pained whimpers escape your sweet lips. He gets even happier when you get self-conscious about them. 'No, baby, you are so beautiful with those scars.' It's just another way to control you. You have to live off that praise from him, affirming your self-harming behaviors.

ꨄ︎ It evolves into a ritual. When he gets really pent-up, he cuts you up and drinks your blood. He tells you that's the most divine thing he's ever tasted. He kisses you and makes you taste yourself. He'll swirl your own blood around in your mouth with his tongue. He'll barely allow you to breathe. It's like it restarts his mind. He's calm after. He feels like a blank slate.

He once did it in front of his cult. You were sitting in his lap. You could feel him growing more livid and tense. He pulled out a pocket knife and gently knicked the side of your neck. He licked and kissed the blood away. He promised to give some of your blood to his inner circle if they all proved themselves to him. No, they aren't going to be allowed to touch your skin. They may drink from a vial. You are dreading the day that it becomes a normal practice within the cult.

ꨄ︎ That isn't the only punishment you'll get if you severely misbehave. He isn't against locking you in the basement and chaining you up. He'll deprive you of food and water and will only give his body to you as sustenance. Later on, he builds a metal cage in the basement. He uses it both for torture and to shove you in there if you are disobeying him. The cage is much worse than being chained to a wall. If you get chained to the wall, at least he'll let you near him. If you get caged, then some random follower of his just comes down and throws whatever shitty rations in between the bars. Most of the time the food isn't even edible—mold and other infectious diseases are tainting it. The little bit of water you get is wasted when they throw it on you.

By the time you are let out, you are malnourished and touch starved. Kai always makes sure to give the most heavenly aftercare. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear and tells you that this didn't have to happen; all you had to do was behave. He gives you a bath with rose petals, and he gets out the fancy lotions, oils, and shit that he can't even pronounce. He makes sure that you have a fresh pair of clothes and the best meal one can dine on. He even took it slow with you that night. He is passionate and loving.

It's a side of him you rarely get to see...

ꨄ︎ Sometimes you want to act bratty just to see if you can get brown-haired Kai to come out and play again. It's a treacherous game. One wrong behavior, and you may end up kneeling before him, cutting yourself up for his entertainment once again. You can just do little things to manipulate him just a tiny bit. You are his well-trained bitch that occasionally loosens their collar and nips at their owner playfully. You have learned how to manipulate from the best, after all. Most of the time, Kai understands your angle, but rarely can he be tricked into misunderstanding your true intentions.

ꨄ︎ Accidentally getting hurt can be one way to possibly soften him up. Although you do have a half chance of just being called a clumsy bitch by him. If it is someone else, accidentally or not, hurting you, not even the deities from the highest of heavens can save that person. He'll either beat them to death in the moment or plan their slow torture and subsequent death in the cage downstairs. After taking care of the filth, you may see a little bit of brown-haired Kai. He'll take care of any cuts or bruises and kiss your temple. You may or may not have paid that asshole five bucks so they could push you on the pavement and threaten you. You were scared to death that Kai would realize what you were doing, but it was more than worth it.

That's just one way that you can manipulate him into letting brown-haired Kai come out and play.

ꨄ︎ Another one is if you cook for him. If you make him a good manwich, dressed up all pretty with an apron on, he is melting inside. He has this starstruck and dopey expression on his features. It's quickly replaced by indifference, but he is elated internally. If you bake, then all bets are off for cult leader Kai. He's oddly sweet when tasting your sweets because it allows him to regress back to a state of almost childlike innocence. It reminds him of when his mom would bake things with him and teach him to bond with him. His father always thought it was making Kai soft and a sissy, but he refrained from making those comments most of the time.

When you bake those sweets, it's like a positive trigger for him. He'll take a bite and wrap you up in his arms. He'll gently pepper kisses on your face and compliment your skills. A little bit more of brown-haired Kai comes out. He almost seems shy, nervous, and unconfident. Kai doesn't even realize he is acting like this. He just feels safe, like he is home.

ꨄ︎ He puts tracking chips in all of your things after your first attempt to leave him. Anything and everything has some sort of chip in it. He secretly enjoys hand-sowing the chips into all of your clothes and undergarments. It feels so oddly intimate to him. It's just another way to claim you as his. It makes him feel all giddy inside. All the chips are waterproof and extremely durable. He has access codes to all of them and can connect to them through any device he has. If you try to escape one too many times, he will chip you on your inner thigh. That way, he can casually rub his hand over your plush thigh and press his thumb right over where he implanted the tracking chip. It's his favorite way of reminding you that you have no way out—no possible escape from his binding grasp.

ꨄ︎ It doesn't stop there, no. He puts cameras everywhere. Some are in hidden places; others are not. He enjoys just flipping through the cameras on his phone while listening to some idiotic citizen complain about something miniscule for the thousandth time. You were wearing his clothing, just sitting in your shared bed and watching your comfort show. You were enjoying yourself with that innocently lewd expression adorning your now placid features. You just seemed like such a cute house spouse. He may have to excuse himself and go take care of a problem. What? You're just being so good for him. It makes him swell with pride.

ꨄ︎ If you are good enough, then he may allow you the privilege of having internet access. Of course, he is monitoring it. When he is in a good mood, he will act like he is your sugar daddy. Which he technically is, because he pays for everything and you are physically incapable of stopping him. Your wishlist is his. He keeps a list in your file about the types of gifts you like.

You may just occasionally be surprised with the same exact thing that you had favorited awhile ago. You know it's always Kai doing it because he always buys some lacy or risqué for you to wear. He gifts you; you gift him with your body. Lingerie is just human wrapping paper, after all. He enjoys the present under the wrapping the best.

He also scrolls through the media you watch. Any political content has a parental lock on it. It has to be approved by him before he allows you to watch it. If there is something intriguing that you decided to watch when you thought you had privacy, Kai may just barge in and ask if you'd like to recreate it.

ꨄ︎ If you get a period... Kai will track it. He will always make sure you have the right period products, foods, and medication. No, nuh uh—he swears he isn't doing it because he just genuinely cares and doesn't want to see you in pain he didn't cause. He's doing it because he can't have the future parent of his messiah baby harming their womb. It wouldn't be responsible if the divine ruler didn't treat your fertility with the respect it deserves.

You're probably a lot luckier if you are able to get a period. He's a lot more lenient with you. He'll allow you to have mood swings and crying fits. He'll let you eat all the chocolate and sweets you want, as long as you eat the balanced meals he provides. He'll treat you like a god(dess) during that time. When no one is around of course. He completely focuses on your happiness and pleasure during that time.

ꨄ︎ When he gets arrested, you have another panic attack. You had finally settled into a comfortable routine with him. You had succumbed to Stolkhome syndrome. You were just content with it. Your anxiety and fears were still higher than ever, but Kai protected you from all the bad things. Now, the bad men want to take him away from you? You get interviewed many times. You refuse to speak. They call you a victim of his manipulation. They see your scars, and after a doctor gives you a physical examination, they conclude that Kai is an absolute monster. They had to give you anesthesia for the physical examination. It was the only time you talked with any of the police or detectives. It was more like shouting than talking. You thrashed, twisted, and turned to escape them.

In this way, it just proved that Kai was right. They said you were brainwashed by him. No, you weren't. Kai saw the truth in the corrupt institutions. They violated your boundaries for no good reason. Kai violated your boundaries, but for good reasons. You deserved it when he crossed them.

ꨄ︎ They declared you mentally unwell and put you in a mental hospital. You went willingly only because you wanted to be away from the scary people. You only got newer and scarier people. They made you strip, and you had to be constantly watched. It made you yearn for Kai's safety and control.

You lied to get out of it. You said that you were scared to cooperate at first. You weren't brainwashed by him. You were only acting like it because you feared him. They believed you, and within a month, you were out of there. They put you on anxiety and anti-depressants. They urged you to also get a therapist to work through your trauma.

ꨄ︎ You disregarded them. You didn't need therapy! You didn't need some bullshit medication! That's what Kai always said. The medication and psychologists were just there to warp your mind. They aren't there to help you. They are there to make you conform into what society believes is 'mentally well'. You just have a little problem. It's all just fake. Kai would tell you if you had problems. He helps you out. He keeps you safe. He'll tell you what to do.

ꨄ︎ You helped him escape prison. Naturally, it was hard to get in to visit him because some of the guards had heard whispers of what Kai had done to you. With a little bribe, you managed to secure a monitored conversation with him. He threatened the guard, and suddenly your conversation wasn't monitored anymore. Kai was so unbelievably proud of you. He was so proud of how loyal you are. He rewarded you for such a good job. He remarked you with hickeys and bruises, so people know who you belong to once again. He possessively rubbed circles into your inner thigh over your tracking chip. You wouldn't let the bad men take it out, and because of a lot of red tape, they legally couldn't do it without your consent. It just made him ready for another round. How did he get so lucky to have a person like you who loves him so dearly? A lot of abuse, manipulation, and Stockholm syndrome.

ꨄ︎ As you sit on his lap in one of the visitation rooms, he formulates a plan with you. Soon enough, you are dressed in a guard's uniform and stressed out of your mind. You were barely able to help him escape. Your hands were shaking the entire time. You must have taken over half of the bottle of that stupid anxiety medication just to get through it. You were a little out of it and threw most of the pills up after.

Kai had to punish you for taking medication you weren't allowed to. He just worries about you, okay? They almost got his little lamb. He couldn't have your personality numbed by any 'medication'.

ꨄ︎ It all climaxes when he confronts Ally while she is running for senator. It was all such a blur. One moment they were arguing, and the next Beverly tried to kill Kai. You managed to tackle her and wrestle the gun out of her hands before she shot him. You got shot instead, in the gut. The next few months are extremely hazy for you. You kept going in and out of a coma. When you awoke, a lot had changed in Kai's world, but you remained ever-present.

ꨄ︎ You learned that Winter was gone. You didn't feel much. You didn't get to learn the details of it. It could have been way before you were even aware. Kai always kept you out of the loop about those things. He said it was to protect your pretty little head. You listened to him. You'd always listen to your divine ruler. Kai managed to slander Ally and turn everyone's opinion around. Suddenly, Ally was the one who had abused you and fed you all these lies about Kai. She was arrested and sentenced to death. Beverly met a worse fate. She was brutally mutilated in the same way that your, you forget, you had a stalker once—didn't you? You can't exactly remember.

You know Kai had a hand in it. He always has a hand in everything.

You learned that he truly was a cult leader. Your memories were so repressed and damaged that you were unable to connect the dots. You were overjoyed that Kai won the senatorial seat. He was heading towards the presidential seat next. With that, he had you married. A ring on your finger, forever. A divine ruler did need his spouse. It is crucial.

ꨄ︎ He made sure that you recovered and were right by his side while campaigning. He had a book ghost written for you about how evil Ally Mayfair-Richards was and how a vile feminist cult twisted your mind. Most of it was just sugar-coated lies. Kai's abuses were in there, but they were all said to just be minute things that Ally spun into a defaming web of lies.

He campaigned with you and made sure that all of your clothing was appropriate. He only let you show your scars when it would win him polling points. He still wanted the cutting to be just a you and him thing. He didn't need the press to see the fresher scars and cuts and run a slander campaign against him.

His possessiveness did occasionally overpower his need to dominate the world. He would always keep a hand on your waist, have at least one eye on you, and scare anyone off that tried to get too close to you.

ꨄ︎ It climaxed when he realized he needed to push family values. So he announced your pregnancy during an interview on some right-wing news platforms. You were understandably confused. You aren't pregnant. Kai plans on fixing that. All day and night, he is trying to fill your womb. He is so desperately making it so you will have his heir. Part of it is just publicity. Another wants his messiah baby really badly. He needs to baby trap you so you don't ever leave him. He needs to ultimately mark you as his. What better way than a child? The miniscule brown-haired part of him just wants to be a better father than his own. He just wants to be a better husband for you than his father ever was. He wants to make his mama proud, wherever she is in the afterlife. You wouldn't deny him this, would you? You've already given him so much. Just a little more, and he'll be satisfied. To think this all started with your silly little Reddit post.

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⟿ taglist: @coentinim @bluerthanvelvet444 @cxndiedvi0lets @doll3tt33 @lacucarachapisser @etheral-moon @fear-is-truth @slutforgarlogan @newwavesylviaplath @fuckedbykai @violet1737 @marchsfreakshow

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#american horror story #yandere #ahs #ahs cult #kai anderson #kai anderson x you #yandere kai anderson #kai anderson x reader #yandere kai anderson x reader #yandere american horror story #yandere american horror story x reader #ahs headcanons #yandere headcanons #ahs yandere headcanons #headcanon #my headcanons #ahs fanfiction

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blueywrites · 1 year

Text

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers.

chapter two: the lion's roar (11k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. songs for this chapter include #3-#5. all songs are mentioned by name except for Chrissy's song, which is Tinashe's 'No Drama.'

And I’m a goddamn fool, but then again, so are you

And the lion’s roar, the lion’s roar

Has me seeking out and searching for you

And I never really knew what to do

The Lion’s Roar — First Aid Kit

It's a typical Thursday evening in late February. Dusk light filters through the gauzy curtains covering the one wide window behind the big couch, the window that always casts a glare on the television when you and Steve try to watch Netflix together on lazy Sunday mornings. You have a candle burning on the coffee table, and vanilla and rose now envelop your apartment, filling each corner and cranny with cozy lushness. The couch awaits, ready for you to pour a glass of white wine before folding yourself into its plush comfort to enjoy the peace at the end of your work day.

It's a typical Thursday evening in late February, but it isn't, really. It isn't typical at all.

Steve had been nearly ecstatic when you told him the morning after your double date that you were willing to try swinging with Chrissy and Eddie, and the process had moved along quickly from there. Just as the initial discussion of the topic had felt almost like a dream, it was utterly surreal when you'd all sat down for coffee together, tucked into the corner of a coffee shop, talking over what the arrangement would look like as other cafe patrons ordered their lattes and worked their remote jobs while eating scones. The naughtiness of discussing the details of your plan to swing together in public had been strangely thrilling after the initial surreality wore off. Maybe that's part of the reason people do it, you'd realized, feeling a little like you were back in school, conspiring with your friends during study hall about how you would sneak out of your parents' house and drink in the woods together that night. Except, now, you weren't figuring out the logistics of stealing liquor from your dad's cabinet. You were laying out expectations for when and how you would fuck each other.

The rules were stipulated as follows. First, you'd only engage in sexual acts when you were all together since the arrangement wasn't for you to have open relationships— it was for mutual play that everyone could enjoy. Second, the guys would only finish inside their own girlfriends for the practical reason that, in the event of birth control failure, they wouldn't accidentally impregnate someone they weren't in a relationship with. You'd been on the pill for years, and Chrissy has an IUD, so the risk is minimal, but the group consensus was that the precaution was reasonable and sensible. You'd all also been willing to get tested for STIs simply for peace of mind.

So the rules were agreed to, and tests were taken; and when everyone had received a clean bill of sexual health, you'd all chosen a typical Thursday evening in late February to begin your first foray into this new world of sexual debauchery.

Now, Steve watches you from the bedroom's threshold, fists on hips as your hands flutter over the pillows on the loveseat, fluffing them back into shape before dropping them with hasty plops against the cushions. You spin, eyes darting over the interior of your apartment, searching restlessly for anything that may still be out of place. But you've already tidied up the kitchen island, migrated your haphazard stacks of books back onto their proper shelves, bought the grapes and the crackers and the artisan cheese, and buried your Nintendo Switch back into the decorative ottoman that conceals it from company. Steve had been in charge of drinks, and he'd set the hard liquor out on the Formica counter like a college kid's makeshift bar. You'd also let him choose the Spotify playlist because having to make yet another decision in your current state might actually put you over the edge. Plus, you doubt that your typical musical selection would set the proper mood for the evening.

Most people don't wanna listen to mournful folk when they're trying to get it on with their boyfriend's friend. In front of their boyfriend. While their boyfriend is getting it on with his friend's girlfriend.

Steve's hands are suddenly on your shoulders, and you realize that you've been squeezing the crap out of one of the pillows. "Honey, you've gotta relax," he coaxes, voice kind but tinged with exasperation. "Show the pillow some mercy."

You drop it back onto the big couch with a remorseful grimace, smoothing it out with little brushes of your fingertips before turning and facing your boyfriend. "Are you sure I look okay?" you ask, searching his face for any hint of judgment as his eyes do yet another cursory scan of your body.

You'd chosen the outfit carefully, tearing apart your closet and reassembling it before Steve had returned home from work, none the wiser to the way you'd agonized over the decision. You'd wanted something that looked nice but not too dressy; something comfortable but flattering; something that said, 'I am totally at ease with myself and this situation, and I'm ready to have some fun!' You'd settled on a pair of tight high-waisted jeans that are slimming and make your ass look good, and though you're feeling a little exposed at the way your stomach is on display, you'd paired the jeans with your favorite cropped baby tee that flatters your breasts. You'd decided to forego jewelry aside from some dainty earrings and finished off with light makeup: blush to give yourself a healthy glow, mascara, and some tinted lip balm. You'd decided against gloss since, well. Thinking about why gloss wouldn't be advisable fills you with a potent mixture of nerves and, you can't lie, a tiny flutter of anticipation.

When Steve finishes his brief assessment of your outfit, you don't find any judgment on his face, though he does look slightly pained as he reassures you again. "You look fine, babe. You look good." He sighs, scratching at his eyebrow. "You've really gotta relax, though. You're kinda stressing me out."

You pout, lower lip poking out as your eyes go soft. "Sorry," you say, and Steve pulls you in for a hug, solid arms cradling you close. You bury your nose in his crewneck, breathing salty citrus cologne as he rubs your back until you relax against him.

"It's okay," he says, muffled against your hair before he drops a kiss on the side of your head. He steps back so he can look at you but still holds your elbows, lips stretching in a reassuring smile. "It's gonna be fine. You don't have to be nervous."

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly through your nose. "Okay," you say, expressing agreement even though someone telling you that you don't have to be nervous has never actually served to make you less nervous in your entire life. Still, you flash a quick smile at Steve, pulling out of his light grip. "I'm just gonna go to the bathroom."

"'Kay," he says, sinking down onto the couch and disturbing the arrangement of pillows you've just fluffed as you shuffle off into the powder room.

You close the door behind you, the smooth R&B playing over your Bluetooth speakers more muted behind the wood. It's peaceful in this room, small and compact, and you take another bracing breath as you look at yourself in the mirror. You look good, you remind yourself, running fingers through your hair. This isn't like going to a party in college and wondering if the guy across the room thinks you're pretty. Eddie already said he finds you attractive. There's really nothing to be nervous about. And, truthfully, you don't know why you're so uneasy about this, aside from the fact that it just seems… illicit. Like something you aren't supposed to be doing.

But does that really matter when we’ve all agreed it's something we want to do? Who cares what anyone else would think?

You huff an impatient breath at yourself, a little fed up with your constant overthinking and worrying as you sit down to pee. As you do, your new panties, the lacy blue ones that match the bra you'd bought for the occasion, seem to stare at you from the cradle of your dark jeans. You're suddenly confronted with the fact that Chrissy and Eddie and Steve could all be seeing you in them soon, that Eddie might be peeling them down your thighs before the night is over. And the sight of them makes the situation so real that the haze of nervous unease in your chest expands, creeping farther until it freezes in your lungs.

You wash your hands quickly, avoiding your reflection in the mirror this time. And then, as you emerge from the bathroom, you hear a knock at the front door.

Your heart skips and thuds as Steve pushes up from the couch, and you only have a brief moment to decide whether you should join him or hang back. You choose to join him, and you both end up standing side-by-side in front of the door like a pair of reverse missionaries as he pulls it open, revealing Eddie and Chrissy.

There's a chorus of voices as you see the other couple: Steve's "Hey!", bright and casual; "What's up, man," Eddie's smoky timbre answer; and Chrissy's eager "Hi!", chirped as she reaches for you before you can even offer your own greeting.

You're enveloped by thin arms and soft, slouchy sweater as Chrissy embraces you tightly, stepping in front of Eddie, who waits in the doorway. "Your place is so cute, you guys!" She says over your shoulder, and you smile through your thank you as you gently pull back.

She hugs Steve next, and while she does, your eyes flick over Eddie— over the gray sweatshirt under his denim vest, over the tight black of his signature ripped jeans, over the thumb slung casually in his pocket, knuckles ruddy over chunky rings. His dark curls are pulled into a lazy bun at the nape of his neck, shorter pieces brushing his jaw. His whole visage tonight is more relaxed than when you'd seen him on stage and afterward— absent leather and chains but still edged with that characteristic intensity evident in his dark boots, pierced ears, and the tattoos peeking from his pushed-up sleeves.

As Chrissy lets Steve go, the guys pull each other into a one-armed hug, hands clapping a bit too hard on each others' backs as men are wont to do. It allows you to gaze at Eddie's face— soft nose, deep brown eyes, long lashes, sharp jaw, and full pink lips, which are pulled into an amiable grin as he meets Steve's gaze and their arms drop.

It's nearly a revelation, the fact that you're allowed to admit it to yourself: Eddie looks really fucking good. And as you acknowledge it, you feel your cheeks heat with what you're sure is a visible blush. It only makes your previous nerves flutter harder, moth wings kicking wildly in your stomach even as squirmy nervousness roils in your chest.

And you haven't even acknowledged each other yet.

Oblivious or mercifully without comment regarding the sudden color in your cheeks, Chrissy slides by you, blue eyes bright as she takes in your decorating. Steve follows her further inside, and absently, you hear him offer her something to drink.

As Eddie steps through the doorway, he finally meets your gaze, dark eyes just as piercing as you remember them— too piercing to keep from glancing away almost by reflex, though you bring them back to him after only a brief departure. You realize then that you should probably say something.

"Hi." The greeting comes out soft and shy, but he doesn't seem to mind; a corner of his lips pulls into a crooked smile as he hears it, one that you find utterly charming.

"Hi." He echoes you, though he's not at all shy as he edges forward into your space. And it would be weird not to hug him when Chrissy hugged you and Steve, wouldn't it?

So you do— you lift on the balls of your feet, painted toes digging into the carpet as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. Your face ends up pressed against the hood of his sweatshirt, his hair tickling the edge of your cheekbone, and as your favorite cropped baby tee rides up with your reach, Eddie's warm forearms wrap around the small of your back. You feel the brush of his fingers against your bare sides; they're calloused, roughened, you suppose, by manual labor and dedicated nights pouring out on stage like the first time you'd seen him. And as the rasp of his touch drags against your skin, your breath catches on smoke and musk and apples, fluttering nerves intensifying so quickly that you have to withdraw, lest you become entirely overwhelmed.

In truth, the hug had lasted maybe three seconds. Still, you feel it linger even after Steve has completed his role as dutiful host: provided drinks for your company, passed a glass of wine into your hands, and sat next to you on the loveseat, arm around your waist but body angled towards your guests. You're perched on the edge of the cushion, legs crossed at the ankles, grateful for the wine and Steve's grounding presence beside you, but it isn't enough to entirely ease the freeze inside your chest, that haze of nervous pressure that's still tight behind your sternum.

"So—" Steve breaks the silence, tone relaxed and conversational but with a hint of a smile. "Have you heard from Henderson yet?"

You watch as Eddie shakes his head fondly, leaning elbows on knees, tumbler filled with amber liquor dangling loosely from his fingers. "Kid's gonna be the death of me, Steve. I swear."

Steve smirks without malice, leaning back as he eyes his friend knowingly. "I take it he tried roping you in, too, then?"

Chrissy's nose wrinkles as she looks back and forth between the two. "What's Dustin trying to rope you into?" she asks, and Steve motions loosely for Eddie to explain, taking a casual swig from his glass as Eddie starts to talk.

It's not a subject of conversation you can add much value to— of course, Steve has mentioned Dustin Henderson often, and you've met him a couple of times now, but you don't share the familiarity the rest of the group seems to have with him. Your eyes dart back and forth as the conversation bounces from person to person, but after a while, you settle into your silence, content for the moment just to observe, offering an occasional laugh or head nod at the appropriate moments as you drink your wine.

As the conversation shifts to new topics, dry sips of wine tart on your tongue, it strikes you suddenly: Eddie's foreignness, his strangeness to you. He looks so out of place among your fluffed pillows in a way that Chrissy does not, even though he's leaning back against your couch and spreading his legs like he's been here before, taking up space in your home. He's so conspicuous, dark jeans and hair sucking in all the light in the room until you can't look away. And as you watch him talk, his black and his white are clear to see. Eddie is rough and jagged as he speaks with his hands, sharp with barking laughter, quirked brows, and wide, manic grins. But the dimple of his cheek, the kiss of his bangs against his forehead, the brown of his eyes— they're nothing but soft, belying something gentle inside, something that can't be concealed beneath all his layers of leather and chains, of smoke and ink. You can see it, that gentleness, but you don't know it. It's not familiar. He's not familiar.

And when, in the midst of a theatrical recounting of some event from the past week, Eddie's gaze flits to yours— attention all focused on you like the light he's sucked from the room is shining in those dark eyes— you feel that tug again, deep in your belly, and it flutters the smoke.

It makes you nervous.

As your unease refuses to subside, the taste of the others' light laughter turns ashen in your mouth, and you're no longer able to sit still— you need to move, to do something to distract yourself from it. Remembering your snacks— your grapes, crackers, and cheese— you pull from Steve's light grip, rising from the loveseat and carrying your wine glass with you. The music grows louder as you approach the speaker on the island, covering the sound of their continued conversation in the living room and bringing some relief as you recede into the safety of the kitchen. You tip your head back and gulp the rest of the dry wine, ignoring how the tartness makes your lips pucker, focusing instead on the warmth as the alcohol settles in your stomach, thawing the edge off that nervousness on the way down.

Clinking your empty glass onto the counter, you bend to grab a platter from one of the lower cabinets near the fridge, nearly startling when a low voice speaks from above you.

"Need some help?"

You glance up to see Eddie towering a short distance away, narrow hip leaning against your kitchen island, hand shoved casually in the pocket of his dark jeans. You straighten up with the platter, sliding it onto the island between you, eyes darting from his face to the cabinets behind you. "I'm just getting snacks ready," you explain quickly, reaching high for the box of crackers on the second shelf of an overhead cabinet, fingertips just skimming the cardboard. Your cheeks heat as you wag your fingers faster, tension growing with the awareness that Eddie is watching you fumble, tiny desperate nudges just pushing the box further from your grasp.

"Well, let me help you," Eddie replies, a hint of a laugh in his voice as he moves closer. You sigh, a quick sharp exhale of resignation as you stop reaching, holding carefully still as you feel him move closer behind you, heart thumping with renewed nerves at his approach. But what you're half–afraid of— that this is some covert attempt to make a move on you, to press his body up against the length of yours— doesn't come to pass. Instead, Eddie keeps a respectful distance, ringed hand plucking the box easily from the crowd of its brethren in your cabinet, stepping back from you as soon as he does. You turn to see him placing the box next to the platter, throwing a quick glance at you as he asks, "Want these on here?"

You blink as the rise of your nerves settles back to its baseline, swallowing to wet your mouth. "Yeah," you reply, voice blessedly even. "I have cheese," you mention, implying that he should leave some room for it as you open the fridge, reaching into the crisper drawer. "And some grapes."

"Cool," you hear him say, and it strikes you as a somewhat odd response coming from someone who is, in your estimation, actually cool. The concept that this hot frontman of a rock band would actually find your adult-ish party snacks cool is nearly enough to make you giggle with bemusement, leaving you wondering until you hear a rush of crackers tinking against ceramic behind you.

Turning back around, you see that Eddie has upended the box of crackers and dumped it entirely onto the platter. Your bemusement turns to incredulity as you eye him, dropping the cheese and grapes a little too heavily onto the counter beside him. He takes in your expression, eyes darting from your face to the platter as you stare at him. "What?" He asks, seeming genuinely baffled as to why you're looking at him like that. "Did you not want them on there?"

"No, I did," you say carefully, slowly, fighting against the amused smile twitching on your lips as his wide eyes blink at you. "Just maybe not that many crackers." He looks back at the platter again, and you add, "and maybe not in a pile. More, like, in rows…"

"...Got it," Eddie says, and you can't help the light snort that escapes as he scoops the crackers up messily into his hands, funneling them back into the box as you take out a knife to slice the cheese into thin rectangles. When he notices you laughing, you think he might say something, but Eddie stays quiet, though a corner of his lips curls in a little self-deprecating grin as he reduces the load of crackers to a reasonable volume.

You both work quietly on your tasks, the sound of R&B flowing between you in place of exchanging words. You slice the cheese diligently, though you also sneak little glances as Eddie arranges the crackers into a semblance of order on the platter, brown eyes squinty, the tip of his tongue peeking just slightly between his lips as he tries to keep his touch delicate. A sudden bright laugh cuts through the music, and you look back into the living room to see that Steve has migrated from the loveseat to the big couch beside Chrissy, sipping his drink as she throws her head back, delighted at something he's said. Her beauty strikes you— strawberry-blonde waves cascading to her collarbone, sweater slouching casually to reveal one creamy shoulder, plush sweatpants like velvet as she tucks one leg beneath her. She leans comfortably against the back of the couch, covering her mouth daintily with one manicured hand as she continues to laugh. It seems effortless, the way Chrissy carries herself, the way she dresses— like she's never had to tear her closet apart, agonizing over what she's going to wear a moment in her life.

Chrissy's blue eyes seem to sparkle as she leans forward, talking enthusiastically with your boyfriend as she rests a hand lightly on his wrist. And you don't feel jealous because you'd known what this night was going to become; it's not surprising that she'd be touching Steve like that. But you do feel that icy haze of unease spread in your chest again as you watch them. Because that tiny, insistent voice in the back of your mind, the one that never entirely leaves you, starts to catalog all the ways you differ from her.

"Hey." Eddie's voice is quiet beside you, and you suck in a quick breath, eyes darting to see him looking at you, hands now motionless and hanging at his sides. And that gentleness you'd seen in him from across the living room— it's there in his dark eyes again, in the concerned tilt to his mouth, the little wrinkle in his brow. "You don't have to do this, you know. If you don't want to."

His words are like that rush of dry wine as it slid down your throat, making the ice start to drip and melt. There's no judgment in his expression, no sense of disappointment you can detect in the set of his features. And, in fact, Eddie looks so sincere and serious that your eyes don't dart away from his gaze.

It’s then that you become aware of how near your bodies are to each other. You find it strange to be standing so close to a man you don't already know, like each hair on your arms is standing on end with the awareness of his foreignness. But he doesn't try to touch you, and he doesn't move away, either. Eddie just lets you look at him. It feels like permission, his patient stare, so you take him up on his offer. You allow your eyes to run over his face.

This close, that uncanny feeling from before is even stronger— the sense that Eddie's features are unfamiliar. So you start to learn them: the shadow on his upper lip, the little lines in the corners of his brown eyes, a silvery scar on his chin like he'd split it open before. You wonder how that happened. Your eyes drift down from his face to the pale column of his throat, and there's some razor burn on the side of his adam's apple.

During your examination of him, Eddie has regarded you calmly, waiting for your response without pressing for it. That ice melts further, trickling down to stir the smoke in your belly, to drip into that buried place inside.

Eddie smells like musk, like tobacco, weed, and delicate apples, and this time, you let yourself breathe him in, using that breath to ground you. When you're ready, you don't speak to his chest or throat. You meet those dark eyes, letting them tug at you as you tell him the truth, voice soft but sure. "I'm nervous. But I do want to."

And then you smile at him, moth wings quivering in your belly as he smiles back.

Eddie offers to carry the loaded platter into the living room for you, but you kindly decline. Still, you use the opportunity to express your gratitude before you rejoin the others.

"Thank you," you say, eyes holding his without darting away. A faint blush rises as his cheek dimples with a kind smile.

"No problem," he replies, and you think— you hope— he knows it's not just for helping with the party snacks.

You place the platter on the coffee table, sitting on the couch next to Steve as he reaches immediately for a slice of cheese, popping it into his mouth. His hazel eyes are bright with the fizz of alcohol and enjoyment of company, and you grin at him, pinching his cheeks and pecking him on the lips before he's even swallowed. He smiles back at you closed-mouthed, fingers finding your knee and giving it a fond squeeze as you lean forward to catch Chrissy's eye.

"I never got to ask you how your test went the other week," you say, warming at the way she perks knowing you'd remembered. "Did you get your grade back yet?"

"Yeah!" she replies, lips stretching with a smile, all soft and powdery and pleased. "I was so nervous going in, but Steve really helped so much. I ended up with a B!"

You brighten with the news. "That's great!" You reach for a grape, cold skin smooth and round between your fingers as you ask, "Are you taking any other classes right now?"

Chrissy leans towards you as she starts to explain the classes she's taking, and you slant closer to Steve to hear her from across his lap, eyes trained on baby blues.

"Steve—" Eddie isn't trying to interject, voice low and quiet as he leans back behind Chrissy to catch your boyfriend's eye. Your gaze flits to him briefly before returning to her, long enough to see him jerk his chin to indicate Steve should come with him. The couch shifts as they get up, and you slide closer to Chrissy, crossing your legs as you lean back against the couch. She mirrors you, eager to continue your discussion. Her sweetness rivals the fruit bursting on your tongue as she asks you about your work; you explain a little about your job, where you've been working as a medical assistant at a small pediatric doctor's office for the last two years. Chrissy gets excited then, asking you if you have any cute— or crazy— patient stories, and you both swap little anecdotes about the Karens you've encountered in each of your health service roles (generally the parents and not the kids, in your case).

Soon though, the guys' absence becomes conspicuous; as you glance around for them, you joke, "What do you think the men are conspiring about?"

Chrissy huffs a cute little snort through her nose, slanting you with a look tinged with knowing wryness. "Probably planning out how to get us out of our clothes the fastest," she replies, lips curving in a little sardonic grin not directed at you but meant to be shared with you.

You smile back, trying to be casual and match her energy, but the reminder of where this night is supposed to head has those nerves freezing in your chest again. You resist a squirm as the guys finally emerge from the bedroom, and knowing where they'd gone doesn't help quell the uneasiness that's beginning to spread again. But Eddie diverts from the couch to head into the kitchen like he's on a mission, and when Steve sinks down on the other side of you, you see that, curiously, he's holding a deck of playing cards.

Steve leans forward, dropping the cards onto the coffee table and hefting up the platter, moving it to the side table instead. He blows out your candle, and as you see that his intention is to clear space, you assist, setting the potted plant and the round decorative tray with its contents underneath the coffee table and out of the way.

"Where're your plastic cups, Steve?" Eddie calls from the kitchen, hands reaching for cabinet doors that bounce back slightly ajar as he moves from one to the next.

"Over the sink!" Steve's voice is a little loud in your ear as he ducks closer to you prematurely, looking like he wants to tell you something. You turn your head towards him, chin tilting down as you look into his hazel eyes, close enough to see all the flecks of green, brown, and amber that make them up. "Eddie told me you're still nervous," he says, voice barely a murmur as he looks at you reassuringly. "It's okay; we're gonna take things slow."

Your eyes melt as you smile, gratefulness blossoming to replace the freeze, and you press a little thankful kiss to the corner of Steve's lips. He seems pleased at your reaction, arm draping over your shoulders and pulling you close against his side as he opens the pack of cards one-handed, reluctant to let you go and make his job easier. You take it from him, starting to tug out the cards, but your hands pause as you see Eddie coming from the kitchen, carrying five plastic cups bunched together in his broad hands. His tongue tip is peeking from his lips again as he walks slowly and carefully, dark eyes trained on the bundle in his hands as you watch him approach.

The knowledge of what he'd done— that Eddie had taken Steve aside to tell him that you were nervous, that he thought you needed things slow— settles inside you like the smoke his husky singing voice conjures, billowing full and rich and heady, now more substantial than before. You can feel it fill you as he reaches the couch; his dark pants, dark hair, and dark eyes are still sucking the light from the room into him, though now it doesn't blind you— it warms you instead.

Eddie looks a little unstable as he tries to set the cups down, and your hands dart out to catch them in case they fall. But he successfully maneuvers them to the coffee table, pulling one away towards the center as you each take the rest of them.

"What are we doing?" Chrissy asks, peering down into her cup, brows scrunched skeptically as she eyes the drink inside.

The wicked grin on Eddie's face doesn't seem to make Chrissy feel better whatsoever as he replies, "Playing King's Cup and getting really fuckin' drunk, Chris."

Despite Eddie's somewhat ominous introduction to the drinking game, you don't actually get really fucking drunk. Still, by the time you've finished your cup, you're feeling loose and warm and melty as you laugh, cheering Steve on with the others as he chugs back the concoction in the King's Cup to end the game. You're all squished onto the big couch, bodies snug, so it jostles you when he shakes his head with a grimace; he pulls the cup from his lips, shoulders shuddering as his brown waves tremble with the motion. "Eddie, that was absolutely vile," he says, shooting a sour look across you and Chrissy as you lean against her shoulder, arms threaded together comfortably in a display of alcohol-aided familiarity. "What did you put in it?"

"Ah," Eddie draws the sound out, hands motioning wishy-washy in the air, eyes a little hazy now. "Little of this, little of that, you know."

Steve merely humphs, lips smacking as if to try to dispel the aftertaste. "Alright, new game," he says, eyeing you all with a mischievous crook to his brow as he slumps back, widened legs nudging into yours and pushing you further into Chrissy. He waves his hands in front of him as if presenting a new idea in front of the boss. "I call it… 'Strip or Dare.'"

Chrissy snorts, giggling a little excessively as you humor him. "What's 'Strip or Dare,' Steve?"

Steve leans forward, feigning seriousness as he answers, "Simple, honey. It's like truth or dare, except instead of telling the truth, if you choose strip, you have to take off your clothes."

Your eyebrows raise as you nod slowly, eyes wide as you huff a tiny incredulous chuckle. "So, do a dare or get naked, Steve? Is that what you're saying?" You can't deny that now, pressed between two warm bodies and with your head swimming pleasantly from the alcohol, the idea does cause a slight flutter to burst in your belly. But it also seems like too much all at once— the idea of baring yourself entirely to everyone right now.

Maybe I'm just not drunk enough.

"No, no," Steve clarifies, head bobbing back and forth as he shakes it. "Just take off, like, one article of clothing. A major article," he clarifies, leaning forward in emphasis. "Not, like, your socks or something."

You nod again, glancing at Chrissy and Eddie to assess their reactions. Chrissy grins, eyes eager as she says, "Ooh, sounds fun!" Eddie nods, too, dark eyes flitting to yours for just a moment as he shifts against the couch, nestling in as his knees widen, getting comfortable and taking up more space at the same time.

"Okay," you say, looking back at Steve. "Who's going first?"

Steve's eyes dance around the group before landing on his friend. "Strip or dare?"

Eddie huffs, rubbing his palms along the tops of his thighs, lips twisting against a grin as he pretends to think. "Hm. I dunno, Steve," he says lightly, "think I'm gonna have to strip."

You grin widely as Chrissy cups her hands around her mouth, joining in her whoops and little playful 'ow ow ow's as Eddie pushes up from the couch, walking around the coffee table with an exaggerated swagger. He's really playing it up, biting his lower lip as he rubs his hands together, and his intentional goofiness makes mirth and delight entirely consume any last remnants of your nerves.

"Hold on," Steve says as Eddie grabs the edges of his vest, pulling them out; his shoulders sway impatiently as Steve pulls out his phone, holding out a hand as if trying to ward off the performance. "One second." He taps at the screen, and suddenly the smooth pop playing over your speakers cuts out, replaced by a heavily-processed vocal bass and the tik-tik-hiss of synthesized drums.

Steve's playing 'Pony' by Ginuwine.

"Oh my God—" You and Chrissy dissolve into giggles as Eddie barks a surprised but amused laugh, head thrown back and dark eyes glittering as his smirk goes manic. He pulls the elastic from his hair, shaking his curls like a dog as you let out a hybrid woo-laugh to voice your support, knees drawn to your chest as you and Chrissy curl into each other. He peels the vest slowly from his shoulders, tossing it onto the loveseat, hands dropping teasingly to the hem of his sweatshirt. Eddie flashes just a hint of pale skin and dark hair beneath his navel, smirk widening as his eyes meet yours. You can't help yourself— you hide behind your hand, face flushing bright pink at the playful wolfishness in his stare as your giggles intensify, edged with hysteria. You peek through your fingers to watch him as he reveals more skin little by little, hips swaying jerkily to the beat— attempting to, at least.

For a frontman in a band, Eddie doesn't seem to have much rhythm off the stage. Still, though his motions aren't smooth, you find yourself relishing the reveal of each pale inch of skin, each line and curve of dark ink as they emerge for you to run your eyes over in a silent caress. Of course, you'd seen the whole picture when he was on stage, but from your distance, the tattoos had run together into a continuous tapestry that wrapped his arms and torso, one indiscernible from the next. Your eyes devour them now, picking out pieces as they emerge— a skull, a pair of snakes, a cluster of bats, what looks like it may be a broadsword, a demon, scrawls of text and other little filler pieces that you can't make out, plus one tattoo that disappears beneath the waistline of his jeans. You can't quite tell what it is.

Unfortunately, your eager appraisal is interrupted when, as Eddie has decided to peel his sweatshirt and white t-shirt off together and tug from the center of his back once they are halfway up his chest, his head and arms get stuck.

You lower your hand, feeling a smidge of concern as he wiggles and writhes, hips halting their movements so he can focus all his attention on extricating himself from the tangle of his clothing. You hear Chrissy huff beside you as he finally manages to free his head, face emerging pink from effort as it squeezes through the neck-hole of his sweatshirt, his hair scraped back until he yanks the material from the length of his curls to let it plop to the ground. Unphased, Eddie grins, holding his hands out theatrically as if to display himself to his audience of three.

"Sexy, babe," Chrissy deadpans, voice wry with fond exasperation. Though you know she's just lightly ragging on him, you can't share in her exasperation. You're struck by the wild beauty of Eddie's hair as he shakes it back into place, body all black and white again like it was on stage— and now, the cut of his shoulders, the latent strength of his biceps, the tendons of his forearms, the dusting of hair on his chest, the lean curve of his waist, covered by a healthy layer of fat— the sight of it flutters in your belly, stirring up that smoke. You know your smile and your eyes betray your thoughts, but the alcohol is fuzzing in your limbs, the couch is comfortable behind your back, and Steve and Chrissy's bodies are warm beside you, lending silent support. And when Eddie's dark eyes meet yours, his grin widening as he sees you looking, the tension of the contact feels a little delicious.

"All right," Eddie says, and when his eyes release you, you aren't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. "Who's next?"

You look around at the others as Eddie flops back into his spot beside Chrissy, not quite willing to offer yourself up. "Chris?" Steve suggests, and Chrissy leans forward, shooting a teasing look at each of you. "Well, I think I'll follow Mr. Rockstar's lead," she says, voice pitched slightly lower than usual. "I choose strip, too."

Eddie grins up at her as she stands, sauntering over with a sensual sway of her hips to the same spot he'd occupied moments before. "Can I get a better track?" Chrissy requests, and Steve purses his lips, looking through his phone again.

"How about this 'Strip Club Anthems' playlist?" He suggests earnestly, and you can't help but giggle at the absurdity of his puppy-dogishness coupled with the nature of his suggestion.

"That's just perfect, Steve," Eddie says, voice tinged with warm amusement and just the slightest edge of sarcasm. "Go for it."

Steve doesn't seem to notice, eyes locked on Chrissy's form as the song begins. You watch her, too, realizing quickly that Chrissy has decided to take a different approach from Eddie, eyes bedroom-heavy as she twists her body, running one manicured hand sensually up the soft velvet of her sweatpants.

She really knows what she's doing.

It's clear that Chrissy feels entirely at ease with stripping in front of Steve and Eddie as she teases her audience with a glimpse of her bra strap before concealing it again, flashing little glimpses of her skin meant to tantalize before she gives them the main course, slowly removing her oversized sweater, folding it almost primly with a saccharine smile bordering on foxy as she drops it to the coffee table. The black lace bra she wears underneath is more aggressive than you were expecting, but you can't deny that she looks beautiful, strawberry-blonde hair curling over the thin, dark straps. Her abdomen is trim and athletic, her skin nearly flawless, and though the size of her breasts is modest, you can tell they're shapely in the cut of her lingerie.

"Enjoy the show?" she asks, voice still pitched a little huskier than usual, and you quickly show your support with 'woo's and 'yeah's, enthusiastic for her as the guys also make noises of appreciation. Because it's not Chrissy's fault that that little whispering voice won't silence itself in your head. She's only ever been friendly and sweet and supportive in the short time you've known her, and you aren't going to make her feel bad just because you can't help but compare yourself.

Chrissy sinks back into the cushions, looking at you with blue eyes shiny from her buzz and that megawatt smile she always hands out without restraint. "Your turn," she sing-songs, and you bite your lip, shyly stuffing your hands between your thighs.

Maybe you would've chosen strip if you'd gone after Eddie, but trying to follow Chrissy? Discomfort races through your belly as you picture trying to measure up to her performance and you discard the idea almost instantly. "Dare," you say, letting a smile curve at your lips as you say it like you're making a bold choice instead of making the only choice you feel you have.

Steve speaks almost instantly, and you turn to him to see his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Babe, I dare you to let Eddie take a body shot off you."

You blink, face pinking immediately, but you try to keep your voice even as you retort, "Doesn't that mean I'd have to take my shirt off?"

"Yup." Your boyfriend looks entirely unrepentant in the face of your wry expression.

"So isn't that, like, basically the same as choosing strip?"

"You're the one who chose dare, honey," Steve reminds you, smirking as you shoot him a look. But you're not going to back down now, not after both Eddie and Chrissy completed their challenges without complaint. Plus, you'd known you would likely be removing some of your clothes before this night had begun, which was why you'd purchased your new lingerie in the first place.

"Okay," you say, getting up from the couch to face Steve. "Where?"

He jerks his chin toward the rectangular table that serves as both your kitchen and dining table. "Lay out on that. Eddie, what do you want for your shot?"

You look at Eddie then, face pinking further as you see him already staring up at you, dark eyes intense as Chrissy answers for him. "He likes tequila."

Eddie slants a glance at his girlfriend, dark brow crooking. "Are you trying to get me fucked up?"

She smiles sweetly, drawling, "Maybe…"

You hear Eddie huff good-naturedly as you shuffle past the coffee table, making room for everyone to get up from the couch and migrate into the dining area. You hop up onto your dining table, swinging your feet with little half-nervous, half-excited kicks as Steve pulls a shot glass from the cabinet, filling it to the top with amber tequila.

You feel a little awkward that Chrissy and Eddie are standing nearby, overtly aware of their gazes as they wait for you to remove your shirt. But as Steve approaches with the shot, you know it's now or never. So you peel your cropped tee off, dropping it beside you as you lay down quickly, hands resting lightly beneath the band of your lacy light blue bra. As almost an afterthought, you unbutton your high-waisted jeans, keeping your eyes on your fingers as you tug the zipper down halfway, parting the fabric to reveal your belly button and provide more space to work with.

"Cute bra!" Chrissy says perkily, and you twitch your lips into a smile as you thank her, voice only a little breathless.

"No salt, Steve? No lime? What is this?" You hear Eddie's warm, teasing voice over the R&B beat as he moves closer to the table, stopping near your left elbow. Steve stops at your other side, and you look up at him first, eyes darting from the shot glass in his hands to his face, registering the quirked brow as he grins at his friend.

"I can get you salt, but I don't have any limes. You're gonna need to suck it up, man." Steve passes the shot into your fingers as you try not to blush again at his choice of words. You keep your hand as steady as possible as you lower the shot to your abdomen, resting the cold, smooth glass on the skin above your belly button. You keep your fingers lightly wrapped around the glass, the liquid inside wavering but not breaking surface tension as you look up at Eddie expectantly, legs hanging near Chrissy's knees, sides flanked by both men.

Eddie's eyes are bright and wide, a corner of his lips tugged into a little crooked smile as he looks down at your body, and you feel that flutter again at the way his eyes drag over the expanse of your skin on display. "You don't need to hold it, sweetheart," he says cockily, smile tightening to a smirk. "I've got it."

Your eyes widen, but you obey, fingers withdrawing, hovering nearby as Eddie bends at the waist, beginning to lean over you. You hold your breath in anticipation of his nearness, eyes locked on dark obsidian as he watches you while his face draws closer to your skin.

What you hadn't anticipated, however, is how his loose hair would brush against your skin, the light touch of his curls dragging along your side as he leans all the way down to reach the shot glass.

Two things happen at once.

Though the brush of Eddie's hair is sensual, it is incredibly ticklish against the soft skin of your belly and side, and you feel your abdomen contract as you jerk with the sensation. At the same time, Eddie's lips make contact with the shot glass sooner than he'd expected because of your movement. So you both fumble the glass, tequila trickling into your belly button as you start to laugh; you feel Eddie's hot breath huffing against your skin as he chuckles at the same time that he tries to take the shot, hand grasping for the edge of the table as he half-sputters on the burn of the alcohol. The sound he makes just makes you laugh harder, knees pulling up as he drops his head, shot glass tipping sideways beside his nose as it presses lightly into your stomach.

It's so fucking awkward that it's actually really fucking funny, and you can feel him laughing as your gasps turn more hysterical. "I'm sorry," you wheeze through your laughter, and he pulls his head up then, grinning at you through his own shaking laughter. "I-I ruined your shot," you say, still chuckling as he shakes his head, chin dragging warm against your skin.

"I gotta— hold on—" Eddie chuckles, dark eyes twinkling, full lips pink and pulled into a charming grin that dimples his cheek as he grabs the shot glass, placing it to the side out of his way. "I gotta finish it."

You don't have any time to react before Eddie's mouth is on your skin, lips closing around your belly button as he noisily tries to suck up the alcohol collected there. Your whole body contracts with the force of your laugh, spine raised off the table and legs bent, head thrown back as you peal with unrestrained laughter, nearly embarrassing in its vehemence.

But Eddie is also laughing hard, shoulders shaking as he husks goofy chuckles against your skin. Your hand lands on the back of his head, lightly holding on to his curls as you laugh against each other, only calming as Steve says, voice warm with fond amusement, "You guys are a total mess."

"Yup," you say, still giggling, hand leaving the back of Eddie's head to swipe the moisture from beneath your eye. The skin where he'd been resting feels cold once Eddie lifts his head, backing up a step so he can throw his arms wide and bow theatrically. You clap for him, Chrissy and Steve joining in after a moment as Eddie straightens up, stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

"And that's how you take a shot," he says, grin wide and manic while you all shake your heads at him fondly.

You rezip and button your pants before sitting up, head swimming slightly with the sudden motion. Still, it can't detract from the buoyant lightness you feel as you hop down from the table, leading the group back to the couch. You realize as you reach it that you'd left your shirt back at the dining table, but you find you don't really care; in fact, you like the way Steve and Eddie watch you as you fall back into the cushions, breasts bouncing slightly in the confines of your bra. Chrissy settles back beside you, wavy hair brushing your bare shoulder as she looks up at Eddie and Steve, who promptly pulls his sweater over his head, brown waves tousled more than normal as he tosses it onto the couch to join Eddie's discarded vest.

As they stand beside each other, now both shirtless, it's obvious that Eddie is smaller than Steve— less broad-shouldered, a little leaner compared to Steve's firm mass. Steve's chest hair is considerably thicker, too, though somehow, that doesn't make him look more masculine. You think they're both distinctly masculine, though in different ways: whereas Steve is all sturdy solidity, Eddie is lithe, all predatory sharpness. And you realize, also, that you're incredibly attracted to both of them.

As everyone stares at him, Steve looks around at the group, saying blandly, "I didn't wanna be the only one wearing a shirt."

You huff a chuckle through your nose, pointing out, "Well, you could've just chosen strip, then."

Steve grins, running his fingers through his hair, bangs falling over one eye in that perfectly messy way you love so much. "I was gonna choose dare."

Beside you, you feel Chrissy straighten up, and you glance over to see her blue eyes locked on your boyfriend. "Well then," she says, pink lips curved like a shiny bow on top of a present. "I dare you to kiss me, Steve."

With the statement, the energy in the room shifts— the playful atmosphere melts into something more loaded, sticker and thicker as Steve's eyes flick to you. And you know what he's silently asking; you know that this is when everything will officially tilt past that invisible line of demarcation. The line that marks the point of no return— the point where, though it doesn't mean that you are obligated to do this again, you know you can never go back to having left that line uncrossed.

You meet your boyfriend's eyes, and slightly, almost imperceptibly, you nod your permission.

Steve shifts forward then, movements slow and measured, and that dream-like quality from your first conversation returns as you shift over on the couch, making room for him next to Chrissy. He settles down between you, sinking back into the cushions, and your body tilts toward him with the shifting of his weight as he leans towards Chrissy, her blue eyes soft and just a little hazy from the alcohol, like you know yours and Steve's and Eddie's are. You tuck your hands between your thighs, eyes wide as you watch Steve cup her cheek with a gentle hand that you can almost feel on your own face, the gesture so familiar; your heart starts to beat faster in anticipation of what is coming. Steve continues in, and in, and in, closing the gap as Chrissy's hand lightly touches his chest.

And then you watch as their lips meet.

You blink as if the sight would clear from your vision with the press of your eyelids, but it doesn't. This is your boyfriend of three years, sitting beside you, kissing another girl on the big couch in the living room of the apartment you share, and your stomach does a strange little flip as you watch Chrissy's mouth open, lips pink and wet and pressing closer to Steve's mouth. Beneath the loose warmth of the alcohol in your system, your emotions are tangled, an amorphous, shifting mass beneath your skin. You're left just observing them blankly, entirely unsure how to react.

A shift of black and white beyond Chrissy draws your attention, and you find your gaze darting from that point of connection between her and Steve to Eddie's brown eyes. A little helplessly, you scan his expression, needing something to inform your reaction— to tell you what you should think, what you should do or say in the face of what's currently happening. And as Eddie looks back at you, face entirely calm as he looks from you to Chrissy and Steve and back again, you can feel the shifting mass begin to soothe, that instinctual rise settling like a wave breaking over the sand, receding back into the ocean.

As Eddie's calm pacifies you, you find yourself fixating on his dark eyes, long-lashed and depthless, as he looks back at you. You can feel the subtle movement of Steve's body beside you as he kisses Chrissy, the warmth of his bare side nudging against yours as he shifts his head. And then, just as abruptly as it began, the kiss ends. You look away from Eddie as Steve's skin drags against yours once more; he turns, cupping your jaw and pulling you into a passionate kiss.

You sigh into Steve's embrace as his lips meet yours, mouth warm and wet and tasting of alcohol, the familiar flavor of Steve, and the faintest hint of something sweet that you realize probably comes from Chrissy's mouth. Any insecurity you may have felt at seeing Steve kiss Chrissy— any doubt that he may not have wanted you after he'd kissed her— entirely flies from you as he pulls you closer, soft hands firm against the skin of your waist as he leans in, deepening your kiss with insistent lips. You kiss Steve back with equal enthusiasm, a low flutter beginning in your belly that he stokes with the drag of his palm up your back, the press of his thumb underneath your chin to angle your face up for him, and the breathy groan he sighs into your mouth.

Steve kisses you for a long moment, and when his lips draw away, you blink open into comforting hazel eyes, half-lidded and lust-drunk, pupils blown wide as a smile curls on his slick lips. He looks so happy and content that you feel that same contentment bloom within your own body, matching his as you smile sweetly at him, pressing one last kiss to his lips, lingering before pulling away.

You lean your cheek against the back of the couch, resting a gentle hand on Steve's arm. You know that the pretense of the game is over now, and you nod towards Chrissy with your chin— another silent offer of permission that makes Steve's eyes soften before he ducks back to you, kissing you decisively one last time as you smile again.

Steve turns from you then, warm skin shifting once more against yours. You sink back into the couch, letting the repetitive beat of the music wash over you as your limbs relax. You are languid and warm and utterly loose, and a vague smile plays at your lips as you curl your knees up comfortably, perfectly content to rest against the warmth of Steve's body until you feel the couch dip on the other side of you.

When you turn your head, your eyes find Eddie's so easily that it almost feels like instinct. He slings his arm along the back of the couch behind your head, pale skin radiating warmth against your hair, dark tattoos stark and so up close now it's almost dizzying. He's left a sliver of space between your bodies, a tiny polite distance that you promptly close when you roll towards him, lowering your legs, your thighs pressing together through both of your jeans. You rest your head against his arm, and your breath hitches as, for the first time, the skin of your side presses up against his.

Eddie's scent, the warmth of his body, and his sudden nearness are disorienting, and your head buzzes with the stimuli; but when you look up at him, his loose curls brushing your shoulder as he slants his face towards you, all that matters are the gentleness in his eyes and the smoke in his voice as he asks you, voice a hushed murmur, "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," you breathe, and then he does.

It's odd enough that you're suddenly kissing someone who isn't Steve, but it's so incredibly, acutely bizarre that you can feel Steve's back against yours while another man's mouth descends on your lips. Your heart skips and thuds in your chest, beating a rapid tattoo as warmth surrounds you, the heat of two masculine bodies pressing up against you on either side. Yet when you feel Eddie's thumb drag featherlight over your cheek, the touch so light and delicate, your divided attention becomes no longer divided at all.

Eddie shifts the position of his face as you lean into him, nose brushing yours as he slots his mouth better over your lips. Suddenly, you notice everything: the stubble on his upper lip; the tickle of his hair against your neck; the firm but gentle way his lips move against yours, not pressing too deep, not insisting he take too much; and finally his scent, that smoke incarnate, musky and heady and mixing with delicate apples.

The intensity of the tingling flutters that erupt in your belly makes your spine straighten, pushing your body closer to Eddie's. Moth wings beat a frenzy as he moans into your mouth, a little aborted noise that he chokes back as soon as it occurs, though as you hear it, all you want is to hear it again, to make him do it again. But Eddie pulls back, and the seal of your lips breaks as he sucks in a quick breath through his mouth. You can feel his face hovering nearby, and for one fleeting moment, you're almost afraid to open your eyes, to see his expression or, the addled thought hits you, to discover that you'd imagined this entire thing.

Despite yourself, your eyelashes flutter open into a face framed by wild curls, a soft nose, full, plush lips blushed pink from kissing, and the most beautiful pair of wide brown eyes you've ever seen in your life. Those eyes dart between yours as if to assess your reaction, to check for any return of the nerves you'd been so consumed by earlier that night.

But Eddie finds none because there are none. And this time, when you're the one to brush your fingers against Eddie's cheek, you can feel him smile into your eager kiss.

Later that night, you lie on the bed you share with Steve, bleary eyes staring at the darkened ceiling and a sleepy smile pulling at your lips as you listen to the shower run in the en-suite bathroom. You and he are alone now; the night's encounter is over.

As the clock had ticked closer to midnight, things had never escalated— you'd all been content to kiss and cuddle up on the big couch until eyelids grew heavy and yawns became abundant. Eddie informed you all that he was okay to drive, and Steve had permitted it after clasping his shoulders, holding him still to look intently into his eyes, face almost absurdly sober with his insistence that he'd better not dare to get behind the wheel if he's drunk. As goodbyes were exchanged, Chrissy had hugged you just as tightly as she had when she'd arrived, if not more so, dispelling any notion that there may be awkwardness between you after having made out with each other's boyfriends. And maybe it will be different in the morning when you're sober, but right now, at the end of this night, all you feel is genuine happiness.

It seems, for all intents and purposes, that your arrangement is a success.

As you wait for Steve to join you in bed, the screen of his phone illuminates with a notification in the relative darkness of the bedroom. As you glance at it, a sudden notion occurs to you, one that, as you consider it, becomes increasingly more attractive as you think about it. So you roll over to Steve's side of the bed, tapping in his passcode— you both know each others' passcodes, having nothing to hide— and you bypass Steve's notifications, texts, emails, and so forth, intent only on pulling up his contacts list.

You press and drag your finger, letting go when you find the 'E's, eyes scanning until you locate what you're looking for: the contact card for Eddie Munson. You click it, mouthing the numbers to yourself as you roll back to your side of the bed, pulling your phone from its mirrored position on your side table and opening up your text messages.

The message you type to Eddie is simple. You don't include your name or any greeting at all. Instead, you just write, "Lacuna Coil equals," followed by three vanilla ice cream cone emojis out of five. You tap send, then follow it up with a second text: the Spotify link for the song 'The Lion's Roar' by First Aid Kit.

Intention fulfilled, you plug your phone back in, and, hearing the water shut off in the bathroom next door, you snuggle down underneath your covers. You anticipate the imminent press of Steve's freshly-showered body, which you know will lull you to sleep with its familiar comfort.

You're half-dozing when your phone vibrates once, startling you awake with a little jolt. You watch to see if it will vibrate more, but it just sits there silently until you snake your fingers out, retracting it into the warmth of your bedsheet-cocoon.

You squint against your phone's brightness, blinking to focus on the notification on your lock screen. It's from an unknown contact, just a string of numbers, but you know who it is without reading them.

Eddie's message says, 'Good lyrics. Too twangy.' He's followed it with two chocolate bars out of five.

You frown, bottom lip stuck out as your thumbs immediately tap-tap-tap against the screen, the vibrations of each keystroke under your fingers making the phone feel almost alive. You send your follow-up argument and then wait for Eddie's response. A tiny wing-flutter accompanies the sight of the three blue dots that indicate he's typing now. His reply pops up soon after, and despite its brevity, a small smile blooms on your lips.

You'd said, 'The vocals are so raw, though. You can feel her pain. I think that makes it worthy of more than two chocolate bars.'

He'd replied, 'I just really don't like country.' And then Eddie had added one more chocolate bar emoji, saying, 'Final offer for you, sweetheart.'

That dark place, buried deep inside you… you don't know it yet, but its peat is fertile, longing to grow roots. It's yearning for those roots to emerge, to leaf, to blossom up through the center of you and bear fruit.

All it needs is a little light.

#TKYM #blueywrites #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #chrissy cunningham

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marblemoovt · 1 year

Text

Christmas Present - Simon Riley/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: Fluff with a smidge of hurt/comfort because of misunderstandings.

Summary:

After dating for three years, you get to finally spend a Christmas together with Simon. Things go sideways when he misunderstands your decision to grow your family.

------

You bounce on the balls of your feet. “I have a present for you.” Leaning close to Simon’s ear, you whisper, “you’re a father, now.” The poor man bluescreens on you. His eyes are wide and vacant. You run into the bedroom, your head peeking out the doorway with a grin before disappearing again. You present a wriggling Doberman puppy with a shiny red bow wrapped around its midsection. “Meet our baby!”

Simon is gone. Fuck.

Note:

Hello!! I am so happy I am finally done with this. I really wanted to get this finished in time for Christmas, but I failed to do that. Between work and procrastination, it's hard to get any writing done.

I hope this fluff heals all your souls as it did mine, consider it a belated holiday present :D

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

Was it an impulsive decision? Completely. Was it more of a Christmas gift to yourself than to Simon? Definitely—but how could you resist those eyes?!?

Let’s backtrack a bit. It’s a few days before Christmas. You’re among the general population who do their shopping last minute. Simon isn’t due home until tomorrow, and you want to cook him something nice for dinner. The holiday season never fails to awaken your craving for cinnamon and sugar. You plan on making mince pies and gingerbread cookies for dessert. The cookies also double as a gift for a party that’s happening on Christmas.

It’s a small party with his coworkers and their families. You practically pestered poor Simon until he gave into your whims, which didn’t take much effort. He grumbled about wanting to stay home to cuddle with you in front of the fireplace, but you pointed out that he could do that at the party.

Simon will complain and exhibit his apparent allergy to large social settings, but you think he secretly enjoys it. He isn’t keen on interacting with people he’s unfamiliar with. But to exist in a room full of people he likes, who are having a good time… you always notice how his eyes soften.

That’s your take on it, anyway. Simon is difficult to read sometimes, especially when he’s spacing out. But you like staring into his eyes, deciphering the hidden meaning in their depths. You find the rich coffee colour gorgeous, and he always looks away when you remind him about it. It’s funny watching this giant man try to make himself appear small; he takes up too much space.

Your lips spread into a fond smile, and you adjust your clothes, the oversized hoodie swallowing your figure. The faint scent of bourbon and cedar still clings to the fabric, and you inhale deeply. Tomorrow. Twenty-four hours. Then you’ll be reunited with the man you love. Oddly enough, this will be your first Christmas together despite dating for three years. Simon was away on a mission for the other two, and a bouquet was always delivered to your doorstep on Christmas morning. The first one consisted of blue salvias, lavender, and forget-me-nots. The second bouquet had red salvias and white carnations. You pressed a few to keep in a scrapbook and dried the rest. The preserved bouquets are in a box you keep in the closet to protect them from the sunlight.

You grab the last item on your shopping list and head to the checkout. Once everything is packed in your car, you decide to warm up with a cup of hot chocolate. There’s a cafe nearby within walking distance. There also happens to be an animal shelter on the way. Sometimes you just can’t resist looking at all the animals, and you often have to force yourself to leave empty-handed.

But today feels different. Maybe it’s the holiday magic in the air, but when you reach the dog section, all the air is knocked from your lungs. In the first kennel is a small Doberman puppy. And her rich coffee eyes lock your limbs in place.

A worker notices your interest and walks up to you. “That’s Phantom. All her brothers and sisters have already left for new homes. She’s the smallest of the litter, and that seems to be the main reason no one has adopted her yet.” The puppy wags her little tail at the mention of her name. Your heart melts under the gaze of her eyes, which appear too large for her head.

“Because she’s smaller than her siblings?” you ask. It sounds silly to not adopt a dog based on appearance. Health concerns you could understand, but colour and size? Heck, you would be ecstatic to just have a dog. Although size could be significant depending on your living situation. But still, to not adopt this sweet pup because she’s too little is ridiculous.

The worker’s lips twist into a sad smile. “There are many reasons why people will overlook an animal, and they don’t always make sense.”

Your attention remains fixed on Phantom. Her brown eyes never leave your figure, observing you silently. “How long has she been here?” you ask. She still looks relatively young. You don’t think she’s even half a year old yet.

The worker shuffles through a clipboard hanging next to Phantom’s kennel. “We rescued her mother while she was still pregnant. Her whole life, it seems. The entire litter wasn’t available for adoption until two months ago.” They pause and glance at Phantom with furrowed brows. “Puppies normally get adopted quickly, but she hasn’t been lucky” The sentence sends a hollow pang in your heart that settles heavily in your gut.

“Could I meet her?” you whisper, the words constricting in your throat. You wet your chapped lips and haul yourself out of the deep chocolate ocean.

“Sure.” The door to the kennel is unlatched, and the metal hinges swing with a creak. Phantom sits there and watches you. Afraid to make sudden movements, your remain still and quiet your breathing. She stands up and pads slowly towards you. You crouch down and leave one hand, palm facing up, in front of you. As Phantom draws near, her nose twitches. She eyes you and nudges your hand with her snout. You grin at the wet, ticklish sensation and bite back a laugh. Slowly, you scratch the underside of her chin before moving down to her chest and back.

There’s a gentle woosh of wind, and this time you can’t hold in your delight any longer. A chuckle rumbles through your chest, and the sound of wind grows louder. Phantom licks your fingers and barks. It’s more like a tiny yip, and you are screaming on the inside.

“I think you’re coming home with me,” you mumble and pause. “How am I going to explain this to Simon?” You can picture the disapproving look on his face.

You fill out the adoption papers and exit the shelter with a very excited puppy. Forgetting about hot chocolate, you go to the pet store and buy the basic necessities for Phantom. When you get home, you manage to carry everything into the house while holding onto the leash. Fortunately, Phantom isn’t a puller. She walks beside you nicely and even moves out of the way to avoid the bags of groceries and presents. With great difficulty, you unlock the door and push the handle down with your elbow. You set the bags down and slip off your shoes, shutting the door with your foot.

Phantom immediately begins sniffing around, circling and tangling you with the leash. You laugh at her enthusiasm and reach down to unclip the leash from her harness. With the sudden removal of weight, Phantom bounds across the floor, bumping into furniture and smelling anything she can reach. It’s funny because she’s sniffing so intently that it’s audibly heard—loud too. Her nose twitches, and she buries her snout into a heap of fabric on the ground. One of his shirts you keep on the sofa as a little Simon blanket for when you binge-watch. It must have fallen when you dozed off last night. You accidentally skipped two seasons because the autoplay didn’t stop.

“Let’s find a spot to put your bed.” You grab the circular, foam dog bed and head towards the bedroom. Phantom trails behind you with the shirt sleeve between her jaws. You chuckle and hold the rest so it doesn’t drag across the floor. She doesn’t let go, and it turns into a leash of sorts. The master bedroom has a King size bed. A big bed for your big man. Phantom could definitely fit on it, but you don’t want her to develop a habit of sleeping there until you check that Simon is ok with it. He doesn’t like to share, especially when he has to share you. You place the dog bed next to the bedside drawer. Close enough that Phantom won’t feel left out, but far away enough that she won’t get stepped on in the morning in case you or Simon forget.

She tugs the shirt with her toward her new bed. You let go, and it falls in a heap and buries the puppy. “Simon blankets are comfortable, aren’t they?” you ask. She lets out a small ‘woof’ and wiggles her head out from underneath. Your smile stretches wide. “Let’s get the rest of your things sorted.” And so you spend the rest of the evening storing toys, placing bowls, everything you could think of when one adopts a puppy. Phantom keeps you company and entertains you with her silly antics. She’s already picked a favourite out of all the toys you bought her, and you silently squeal that night when she curls up in bed with it. You snap a picture, fingers itching to send it to Simon. But you’re not quite ready for his wrath yet.

In the morning, you awake to scratching and whimpering. You bolt upwards, eyes darting around the room before landing on Phantom at the door. Stumbling out of bed, you rub your eyes and shuffle to the backyard door. Phantom trots outside and sniffs around before settling in a corner to pee. You lean against the doorway and watch as she continues to explore, wrapping your arms around yourself. The familiar cacophony of twitters and chirps starts up. Phantom pauses and tilts her head at the bird feeders set up in the old oak tree. She doesn’t bark but observes silently.

“You’re a lot quieter than I was expecting,” you mumble. At your whistle, Phantom glances one more time at the birds before heading back inside. “Did you have fun?” Her tail thumps against your calves. You turn into the kitchen and measure out some puppy kibble for Phantom.

Once she starts eating, you make breakfast for yourself. A simple toast with butter and a fried egg. As the egg is cooking, your phone buzzes against the counter. You jump a little, and even the crunching of kibble pauses for a few seconds before resuming. Glancing at the screen, you see the notification is a text message. The skull emoji sends you grappling for your phone.

Simon💀: ETA 3 hours from now. Have you eaten yet, poppet?

You bite your lip and grin. Can’t he just say what he means? Your thumbs fly across the screen as you type your reply.

Poppet🧸: I’m cooking breakfast now. Do you want me to pick you up from the airport?

You hit send and attach a picture of the stovetop. The egg is nearly done, so you turn off the heat, and the toaster clicks a beat later. Your phone tickles your hand, and you eagerly read Simon’s response.

Simon💀: You got the appetite of a mouse. And negative. I can take a taxi.

You chuckle and make a mental note to look for the car keys later.

Poppet🧸: Ok, I’ll pick you up in 3 hours.

Then you put your phone in silent mode and place it on the counter screen-down. You grab a plate from the cupboards and transfer the finished egg. Rummaging through the fridge, you locate the butter and decide to treat yourself to some marmalade today.

After eating, you still have 2 and a half hours until Simon’s plane lands. Which leaves you roughly an hour until you need to drive to the airport. With the spare time, you prepare the gingerbread dough since it needs time to chill in the fridge. You combine all the ingredients together and cover the dough in plastic wrap. When you shut the fridge door, Phantom is there beside you, staring at you with her big brown eyes.

You end up googling a recipe for dog-friendly gingerbread cookies.

You now have an hour left to get to the airport. Phantom is gnawing on a cookie when you leave her in the bedroom. You bought a kennel last night and didn’t set it up until earlier. Shutting the bedroom door, you grab the car keys off the counter and head outside.

The weather is dreary as usual. It hardly snows in the winter, but the overcast skies look ready to cry any minute now. You drum on the steering wheel along to the song on the radio. The car hasn’t quite warmed up, and you tug your jacket sleeves down. Your phone goes off again, and you pull over to read the message.

Simon💀: Landing in half an hour.

You switch to the navigation app, and there’s no way you’ll get there on time with the current traffic conditions. Shifting gears, you apply more pressure to the gas pedal than is legally acceptable. Each time you glance at the digital clock in the car, your anxiety spikes. You still clutch onto the belief that you’ll make it on time. The second the next hour passes, the pool of dread in your stomach overflows into the rest of your body. Suddenly it’s too cold and too hot at the same time. You fiddle with the thermostat and turn up the radio, hoping Mariah Carey will drown your irrational thoughts.

The road sign for the airport comes into view, and you lean back into your seat. Your knuckles regain colour as you loosen your grip on the steering wheel. Changing lanes, you head in the direction of the parking lot. After parking, your shoes thwap against the wet pavement. Walking through automated doors, the buzz of the airport fills your ears. Squeaky wheels from dragged luggage. Thousands of footsteps are accompanied by the indistinct chatter of an entire building of people. But all that noise fades to the background when you spot him. You’re well-trained in the art of Simon spotting, a skill his enemies would be envious of.

It’s hard to describe. When you know someone well—and utterly adore them—you can recognize them with just a glance. That’s how it is with Simon. He always blends into whatever environment he’s in, but that unmistakable warmth that blooms in your chest and pools comfortably in your stomach. It’s like your body has been trained to recognize him.

So when your heart flutters at the brooding, hooded figure in the corner of the cafe, obscured by a potted plant, you know you’ve found him. Rich chocolate eyes meet yours, and they soften ever so slightly. You head to him, your feet stumbling over one another as they bicker over which pace to take. He opens an arm out, and you start running, flying across the ground until you crash into him. Simon steadies you with an arm around your waist. His hands rest on your hips, and he pulls you closer. Bourbon and cedar fill your senses, and you melt into his chest.

“Been a while,” he murmurs into your hair, inhaling the comforting scent of your shampoo.

You do your best to hug him back and squeeze with all your strength. “I missed you too.”

He pulls back and cradles your face in his hands, drinking in every line and curve. His thumb brushes against the slant of your smile, and his eyes crinkle at the edges. You lean in and peck where his mouth would be. His fingers tighten their hold, and he narrows his eyes at you. Someone drops their bags, and the loud thumps send his eyes snapping in the direction of the noise. He looks back at you, then around the airport, and releases your face. His hand drops and pinches your waist, and you know he’s smirking underneath the baklava.

“Ordered a drink for you,” and he nods at the table beside him. “Got thirsty waiting and thought you could use one.” You pick up the cup and sniff the lid. The scent of chocolate and whipped cream fills your senses, and you catch the faintest whiff of cinnamon. Taking a sip, the hot chocolate coats your tastebuds with sugar and spices. A small groan escapes your lips, and your fingers curl around the warm paper cup.

“Traffic was terrible,” you say, thinking back to all the vehicles on the roads. It didn’t help that an accident occurred and slowed everybody down.

Simon glances at the watch on his wrist and taps its face. “Half an hour late. You would be terrible at evac,” he muses. There’s a lilt in his tone, so you roll your eyes and take another sip of hot chocolate. Another wave of sweetness rolls down your throat, and your stomach buzzes pleasantly with warmth.

You shrug your shoulders. “Lucky I’m not in the military then.”

Simon stares at you and says, “What a blessing.”

Hot chocolate dribbles from the corner of your mouth, and you wipe it away with your sleeve. “Oh, shut up, Riley. I bet I would make a damn good soldier.” You straighten your spine and give him a mock salute.

His eyes never leave you, and the silence stretches for a minute or two. “I like the way things are. It’s dangerous out there; don’t need to be lookin’ out for you too.”

The curve of your smile flips. “What? You think I’d be dead weight?”

“Not what I meant,” and he reaches out a hand to you, but you shrug it off.

“Whatever. Let’s go. I’m not paying for another hour of parking. The airport prices are ridiculous.” You take a sip of your hot chocolate. There’s a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

The drive back home is silent. Neither of you bring up what happened earlier at the airport. The radio is on low volume. Instrumentals of classic Christmas carols play. There’s that feeling of being watched, but your eyes remain on the road. You focus on the nice saxophone solo and not on Simon. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers begins to irk you a little. Still, no words are spoken.

His gaze continues to sear into your flesh, and just when you’re about to implode, Simon speaks first. “I’m sorry,” he says. You don’t respond, only turning off the radio. “What I meant was I don’t want to fear for your safety.” He pauses, and you hear him take a deep breath. “I like knowin’ you’re safe—at least safer here than if you were out on the field.” You pull over the car and shut off the engine. You face him, mouth glued shut. His eyes are glassy, and his brows are drawn close together. “Poppet, I can’t lose you,” and a tear falls. You scramble to unbuckle your seatbelt, clambering over to the passenger seat. Straddling his lap, you pull him into a fierce hug.

The most powerful man you know is clinging to you like he’ll fall apart with a single blow. Like a boat in a storm, desperately trying to survive the waves battering against its hull. You pry your lips apart and force the words to claw out of your throat. “I’m sorry that I lashed out. I haven’t seen you in 3 months and 10 days, but who’s counting?” A watery chuckle gurgles in your throat. “The point is, I’ve been pining like a fool, and when I heard those words, it made me feel like you didn’t miss me at all.”

Simon shakes his head and pulls you closer to his chest. “I’ve seen you flay men alive with a single glare, never mind what you could be capable of with some proper training. But to think about you dyin’ on a mission? ‘specially when I could have saved you? It would ruin me.” He strokes your hair, and you stare into his deep, brown eyes. “And didn’t miss you? That’s a load of bollocks. Poppet, you are constantly with me here,” he points to his head, “and here.” He places your hand over his beating heart. The pulse beneath your palm is erratic. “You’re mine, and I can’t lose you; I refuse to. You’re not dyin’ before me, you understand?”

You exhale and stretch to kiss his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, Simon. There will be no death for either of us for a long time if I can help it.” His shoulders slacken, and you wipe away a stray tear from his eyes before it has a chance to fall. “I know it deep down in my bones, but it’s just nice to hear you say it sometimes. That you love me or miss me.”

“I missed you, poppet,” he murmurs into your hair.

You mute your chuckle with his shoulder, and he shudders from the vibrations. “It sounds disingenuous when you say it after I tell you to,” you say,

Simon huffs, “Bloody hell. I was tryin’ to be romantic.” Your fingers trail the edge of his baklava, and when he remains still, you roll the fabric up to expose his lips. He watches you with dark eyes. You cup his face with both hands and kiss him. It’s short and bittersweet. As much as you want to continue, you don’t want to stay on the side of the road any longer. If you’re unlucky, a concerned passerby might knock and ask if you need assistance. You would then proceed to die of embarrassment.

So instead, you pull away and whisper, “Are we ok?”

His eyes scan your face before lingering on your lips. “We are if you give me another kiss,” he replies. You lean in to kiss him again, and his hand cradles the back of your skull, keeping you in place. Every time you draw in air, he finds a way to steal it from your lungs. Your head spins from the lack of oxygen, and you don’t even notice the little moans and whimpers you let out. His beard rubs against your skin, and his lips are addicting. Thick fingers dig into your waist. The hand on your head is removed, and you pull away, panting. He gazes at you through hooded lids, pupils swallowed by black.

“I can’t drive the car if you keep me in your lap,” and you wrap your fingers around his hands, prying their grip on you. He relents, and you climb over to the driver's seat. You turn the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Simon reaching a hand out to you. There’s gentle pressure on top of your head, and you realize that he’s smoothing out your hair. He doesn’t say anything but does one last pet that trails his hand down to cup your cheek, stroking your skin with his thumb before pulling away. Your face already feels cold with the absence of his touch.

Clearing your throat, you turn on the signal light and continue the drive home. As you get closer to your destination, you grow more nervous for multiple reasons. 1) You have no idea if Phantom destroyed anything while you were gone. 2) You don’t know how Simon will react to Phantom. 3) You don’t know how upset Simon will be if reason 1 turns out to be true.

When you arrive, Simon holds the door open for you. You thank him and head inside. He follows after you, and the wheels of his suitcase clack when they catch on the bottom of the doorframe. The house still has traces of cloves and nutmeg in the air, a reminder of the gingerbread dough chilling in the fridge. Simon shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the couch. Unable to hide it any longer, you decide to show him Phantom right away.

Simon is gone. Fuck.

You sigh and place your child down, watching her sniff the jacket her father left behind on the couch. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you grab your phone. This is not how you wanted tonight to go. You send a few messages, but Simon doesn’t respond to a single one. Although you can see that he’s read them, which pisses you off. He couldn’t have gone far, and you still have the car keys. The closest place nearby that isn’t a house is the small market square, which contains a grocery store and several self-owned businesses. Your boots pound against the pavement, and you dash through the streets. You reach the square and scan your surroundings. You spot him exiting a store and run up to him.

“Simon!” Your lungs burn, and your heart is rattling in your ribcage. Simon stares at you with wide eyes. His arms reach out to steady you.

“I’m sorry for leaving, poppet. When I heard, I knew I had to,” Simon says. He looks at the ground, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

You pant, catching your breath as the winter air stings your throat. You lick your chapped lips and begin to speak. “Simon, I—”

He cuts you off. “But no matter what, I will always—”

You interrupt him because you need to clear up the misunderstanding now. “Simon, I—”

“It’s alright, poppet. I would never—”

Your frustration reaches a boiling point. “I ADOPTED A PUPPY!” Flames engulf your entire face, and you’re positive there’s steam rising off your head. A few passersby stop walking at your outburst, and you shrink beneath their stares. Simon shields your body with his large frame and smooths your wind-ruffled hair. “Simon, I adopted a puppy,” you repeat.

“A puppy?” he rumbles, low and soothing.

You nod and smile. “Yes, a puppy. The cutest one I’ve ever seen.”

He raises a brow. “Walks on four legs, barks, and has a little tail that wags?”

You chuckle. “Last time I checked, yes.”

Simon sighs and leans into you. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot. We left the poor pup all alone,” and he holds your hand and leads you home.

You struggle to keep up with his long strides. Simon slows down when he notices you falling behind. “She. She’s all alone,” you say.

“Did she come with a name?” he asks.

You answer with, “Phantom.” Simon gives you a deadpan stare. “Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not messing with you. That’s her name,” you insist.

“So I suppose it’s all a coincidence?” he snorts.

You tilt your head. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Squeezing his hand, you chirp, “Then it was a miracle. A Christmas miracle.”

“Poppet, the only miracle I’ll accept is when you walked into my life. Anything else is the harsh reality we live in.” You falter in your steps, stumbling forward when Simon doesn’t notice. He looks back at you, and time freezes. Deep brown eyes gaze upon you fondly, and a chill washes over your body. Behind the indifference is a tenderness reserved only for you. He brushes his thumb across your hand and tugs you into his side. His arm rests around your waist for the rest of the walk home.

You pause in front of the house and tug on his shirt. “I know you said you don’t like pets because they’re a big commitment, but I promise you’re going to love her,” you say.

His chuckle is hollow. “I think you overestimate my ability with animals. Not a bloody chance will she like me,” and you can hear the grimace in his tone.

You unlock the door, and Phantom greets you inside. She circles you and Simon, sniffing your pants. You grin and crouch down, accepting the sloppy kisses she gives you. Phantom races off to the living room, and you find her burrowed in a heap of Simon’s jacket. She must have pulled it off the couch after you left. Simon says nothing but watches the puppy with amusement.

“Go play with the puppy while I bake the gingerbread cookies,” you say, disappearing around the corner.

Simon trails after you. “Barrin’ me from the kitchen already? I’m a great helper.”

You scoff and block him from entering further. “No. What you mean is you’re great at eating all my cookies before I get a chance to decorate them.” You wave your hands and push him out of the kitchen. His hulking frame budges with remarkable ease. “Now, shoo. I need enough for the party tomorrow.”

Simon raises his hands in surrender and plants a kiss on your head before heading to the living room. You take out the dough from the refrigerator and flour the counter. You roll the dough out until it’s about an inch thick before using cookie cutters in various holiday shapes. Lining a baking sheet with parchment paper, you transfer the cut cookies. You collect the scraps of dough and reroll it.

Simon’s head pops into the doorway. “Poppet, what’s this?” he asks. The plushie of a cartoon ghost with a skull mask looks microscopic in his large hands.

You gasp, “That’s Phantom’s favourite toy! The store was having a clearance sale on all their Halloween stock, and it reminded me of you. I have a picture of her cuddling with it in bed.” You move to grab your phone from your pocket, but your hands are covered in flour and dough. “I’ll send it to you after I clean up.”

Simon says nothing, cradling the ghost plushie to his chest with a newfound tenderness as he returns to the living room. Phantom’s excited yip greets his footfalls, and your smile nearly splits your face into two. You continue cutting out more cookies, ending up with multiple trays worth.

As you place a few trays into the oven, Simon passes by. His footsteps are silent when he typically stomps around to alert you of his presence. He stops when you catch him leaving.

“And where are you off to?” you ask, setting the timer on the oven, careful not to accidentally turn the heat off instead.

Simon shrugs and says, “On a walk,” with an air of indifference.

“Will you carry Phantom in your arms the entire time?” you ask. Phantom’s tail thumps against Simon’s lower abdomen. He’s carrying her like a baby, and she looks at you with her tongue lolling out. “She has a leash, Simon. Use it.” You point to the hooks on the wall where the jackets go, Phantom’s leash being the newest addition.

He looks at the leash, Phantom, then back at you. “Her little paws might get tired,” and he waves one of her paws.

You shake your head, holding back a grin. “She’s a lot tougher than she looks.” You haven’t told Simon, but anyone with eyes can see that Phantom is small for her breed.

There’s a glint in Simon’s eyes. “Yeah? Must take after you, then,” he comments. Phantom barks in agreement. You stick your tongue out when he turns his back to you. “I saw that.”

“Saw what?” You feign ignorance.

Simon grabs the leash and clips it onto Phantom’s harness. He looks at you and shakes his head at the Cheshire grin on your face. “Saw you bein’ a cheeky little thing.”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re on about,” you say with a shrug. “Could you pick up some icing sugar on your walk? I’m running low.”

Simon nods and walks out the door, Phantom trotting dutifully by his side. You bite your lip and lean against the counter. God, you love watching him walk away.

While the cookies bake, you pass the time by window shopping online. Specifically dog products. You’re in the middle of reading the product description for dog thongs—who invented these anyway??—when the front door unlocks. Your finger zeroes in on the little ‘x’ to delete the page from your phone. You check on the cookies. One batch is currently on the cooling rack, while another is in the oven.

Phantom zooms into the kitchen, snout turned upwards and twitching madly. Cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg fill the air. You can almost taste the spices on your tongue. Crouching down, you give Phantom little scritches behind her ear, and she tilts her head to give you easier access. Her hind leg twitches, and you chuckle. Heavy thumps and the creak of wood travel through the kitchen, and a shadow is cast over you. Glancing up, you see Simon holding a bouquet.

You stand up and accept the bundle of delicate red and white flowers. Bringing your face closer, you breathe in their sweet scent. The soft petals tickle your nose, and you resist the urge to sneeze.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and shuffles his feet. “Did you think I would forget?”

You rub the petals between your fingertips; they feel like satin. “I wasn’t expecting any since you’re home this year,” you confess. You assumed the bouquets were an apology for missing Christmas. The edelweiss and peonies will make a lovely addition to your collection.

Simon rubs the back of his neck. “Don’t like ‘em?” And the low baritone of his voice pitches.

A soft smile spreads across your face. You embrace Simon and rest your head against his chest. His heart races, rattling loud like a machine gun. “You silly man. I love everything you give me,” you reassure him, and the gunfire ceases.

Your head rises and falls with each breath he draws. “Just makin’ sure,” he rasps, combing his fingers through your hair. His hands trail down to your waist and leave your body. You notice him inching towards the cooling rack on the counter.

You smack his hand away and scold him. “Uh uh. Keep your hands away from my cookies. And don’t use your sneaky ninja skills to steal one. I will know if one of them goes missing.” Simon is not above using his military experience to snatch baked goods. He got away with it once, and you’ve made it a personal mission to never let it happen again.

“But there’s so many of ‘em. Nobody will complain if you show up with one less,” he grumbles.

You sigh, “Fine, but only because you won’t leave me alone until I give you a cookie.” He adjusts his baklava. There’s zero hesitation when he reaches over and amputates the arm of a gingerbread man. “Hey! You’re getting crumbs in my hair.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles with a full mouth, brushing your hair gently.

You remain in his arms, breathing in the sweet scent of bourbon mixed with his musk. Crunching fills the void of silence in the room. You look around and notice it’s only the two of you. “How’s Phantom?” you ask.

Simon glances in the direction of the living room. He hums, and the vibrations tickle you. “Out like a light. Walk must've tired her out,” he answers.

You plant a kiss on his chin, and his eyes soften. His fingers squeeze your hips. “I’m almost done. I’ll join you two in the living room soon,” you say.

He nuzzles the side of your head. “Don’t be too long,” he says, pulling away and caressing your cheek. You lean into his touch and nod, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand. The crinkles around his eyes mirror yours. Simon nabs another cookie and darts out of the kitchen before you can stop him. You sigh and shake your head, looking for a vase to keep the flowers in.

Another twenty minutes pass before you’re done. You slide the last tray of cookies out of the oven and set it on the stovetop to cool. Remembering Simon, you pull off your oven mitts and check up on him and Phantom. You pause in the doorway, smiling to yourself at what you see. Simon is watching the tv, his eyelids drooping shut and snapping open every few seconds. He’s lying on the couch with Phantom curled up on his chest.

“I knew you would love her,” you whisper. Wide brown eyes lock onto your figure, and Simon sinks into the couch after seeing it’s you.

“A little help here?” he grunts. You stifle a chuckle at his current predicament.

“Can’t move a puppy, Lieutenant?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes at you. “Haven’t you heard of the saying: let sleeping dogs lie?”

You scoop up Phantom, who barely stirs from her sleep. Simon scoots further in and turns onto his side, patting the empty space beside him. You lie next to him with Phantom sandwiched between the two of you. His strong arms lock around your waist and prevent you from rolling off the edge.

The next few minutes are spent in silence, exchanging looks and gentle touches. Simon’s words catch you off guard. “Life without you is like the night sky without stars; empty and fuckin’ miserable to look at.” You drown in endless pools of black, seeing your reflection stare back with wide eyes. The silence amplifies the pounding in your ears. He speaks with such sincerity and conviction that you feel it with every fibre of your being.

Your lips twist into a smile, and you say, “I love you too.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “Merry Christmas, poppet.” His fingers draw random shapes on your back, eliciting a shudder from you.

“Merry Christmas, Simon,” you whisper, lips grazing against the fabric of his mask. He makes a content hum and watches you with an affectionate gaze. The fireplace crackles and tiny snores come from Phantom. The scent of gingerbread wafts from the kitchen and infiltrates the living room. Cozy. You feel cozy.

Simon stretches and groans, “I’ll be back. Need to make a quick trip to the loo.” He crawls over you, careful not to wake Phantom. The puppy twitches but otherwise gives no other indicators of consciousness. You reach for the tv remote and browse for a show to watch, already missing the heat of his body.

Simon goes to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. He tugs the baklava off and rubs a hand over his face. From his pocket, he fishes out a small, velvet-lined box. He rushed to pick up his order when he heard the news.

His phone chimes, and he opens a message from you. There are two pictures. The first is Phantom curled up in her dog bed with the ghost plushie. His lips quirk, and he swipes to view the second photo. His heart stutters, fingers clutching the phone tight. It’s a miracle the screen protector doesn’t shatter. The second photo is a selfie of you and Phantom cuddling where he left you. There’s a goofy smile on your face despite your worried eyes drifting toward the sleeping dog. He can see the slight furrow in your brows—fuck do you make him soft. Now there’s a new addition to your family, and the pup proved him wrong when he thought he couldn’t grow softer. A tightness overcomes his chest, and his vision swims.

And suddenly, he’s scared. Because somehow, in this fucked up world, he found you. A random variable in his life that he has no control over. He’s terrified you’ll be ripped away from him like everyone else. That’s why he needs to do this. Needs to tie you to him forever so that there’s always a piece of you with him. Definitive proof that you are his. The night sky was a cheesy line, but he meant every word. He doesn’t want to come home to an empty apartment anymore. To count down the days until the next deployment. To worry about what terrible thing comes next. To function in life on autopilot.

Simon Riley is entirely aware of how much he loves you. And he’s terrified of how to prove it.

He exits the bathroom, one hand fidgeting with the box in his pocket.

“Bloody fucking hell.”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

This thing honestly grew a lot bigger than I was expecting. The party mentioned above is definitely a party with the 141 and vaqueros, and I headcanon it to be the first official introduction between the reader and everyone. In that universe anyway.

Also, I totally did not plan on ending it with a possible proposal, it just kinda happened lol. Have fun imagining because I don't think I'll write it.

I do have an idea for a single-dad Price fic because we all know that would make such cute fluff. It was originally going to be for the holidays too, but I'll probably modify the story to work without it.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #fluff #domestic fluff #mild hurt/comfort #Christmas fluff #banter #baking shenanigans #gender neutral reader #no y/n

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