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xomakara · 1 day ago

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Fated to Meet

SUMMARY | When the power goes out of the cabin you're sharing with a stranger named Haechan, you wonder if it's luck or fate that brought you two together after a night of intimacy.

PAIRINGS | Haechan x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE | smut, strangers to lovers, non-idol au, snowstorm

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, kissing, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), slight dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (male giving/female receiving), vaginal penetration, creampie, multiple orgasms

LENGTH | 3,227 words

TAGLIST | –

NETWORKS | @k-vanity @ksmutsociety

AUTHOR’S NOTE | hi all~ This is written for kvanity’s winter event, “The Naughty or Nice List”, and the prompts/dialogue I used were:

Stuck sharing a cabin with a stranger that is double booked

“Ever been kissed under the mistletoe?”

“Maybe you can warm me up.”

Happy reading folks!

“There’s no way I’m giving up the bed,” you snap, arms crossed over your chest as you stare down Haechan. He’s taller than you by a few inches, his shoulders filling out the frame of the cabin doorway. His dark eyes narrow, and you can see the flicker of annoyance in them, but there’s something else too—a glint of amusement that makes your stomach tighten.

“You think because you got here first, it’s yours?” he shoots back, his voice low and smooth with just a hint of a challenge. “That’s not how this works.”

The cabin is small, cozy, and decidedly not big enough for two people who didn’t plan on sharing it. The fireplace crackles softly in the corner, casting warm light over the wooden walls and the single queen-sized bed that’s become the center of your argument. Outside, the snow falls heavily, blanketing the world in white and trapping you both here for the night.

“I booked this place weeks ago,” you say, stepping closer to him, refusing to back down. “You’re the one who showed up uninvited.”

Haechan raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the doorframe like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Funny,” he says, “because my confirmation email says otherwise.”

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through it before holding it up for you to see. Sure enough, there’s the booking confirmation for the same dates.

You groan, running a hand through your hair. Of course. Of course this would happen to you. You were supposed to have a peaceful weekend alone in the mountains, away from the chaos of the city. But instead, you’re stuck here arguing with a stranger over a bed.

“Fine,” you mutter, turning away from him and pacing the small space. “We’ll figure something out. Maybe… maybe we can take turns? Or—”

“Or,” Haechan interrupts, his voice cutting through your frustration. It’s softer now, almost teasing. “We could just share.”

You stop in your tracks, spinning around to face him. “What?”

He shrugs, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s a big bed. Plenty of room for two.”

Your cheeks flush, and you quickly look away, pretending to focus on the fire. “That’s… that’s not happening.”

“Why not?” he presses, taking a step closer. You can feel the heat radiating off him, even from a few feet away. He smells faintly of cedar and something spicy, like cinnamon or clove. It’s distracting, and you hate how much it affects you.

“Because I don’t know you,” you say, your voice firmer than you feel. “And I’m not sharing a bed with some random guy who just barged into my cabin.”

“Our cabin,” he corrects, grinning now. “And I’m not ‘some random guy.’ I’m Haechan.”

“And I’m Y/N,” you mutter sarcastically. “Now we’re practically best friends.”

He laughs, a rich sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “You’re feisty. I like that.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at his words. “Can we just figure this out? I’m tired, and I don’t want to spend all night arguing with you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you with that same amused expression. Then, his gaze shifts upward, and his smirk grows wider.

“Well, well,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, almost playful tone. “Look where we’re standing.”

You follow his gaze, and your stomach does a flip when you see it: a sprig of mistletoe hanging right above your heads. Your breath catches, and for a second, you forget how to speak. Haechan steps closer, closing the distance between you until you can feel the warmth of his body against yours. His eyes lock onto yours, and you can see the mischief dancing in them.

“Ever been kissed under the mistletoe?” he asks, his voice so soft it’s almost a whisper.

Your heart races, and you swallow hard, trying to find your voice.

“N-no,” you manage to stammer, though you’re not sure why you’re answering him. He hums, the sound sending a ripple of heat through you.

“Well,” he says, leaning in just a little closer, “there’s a first time for everything.”

Your mind screams at you to pull away, to put some distance between you and this dangerously charming man. But your body betrays you, rooted to the spot as his scent washes over you, his proximity making every nerve in your body tingle.

His hand reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and the gentle touch sends sparks racing down your spine.

“You’re blushing,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement.

“I’m not,” you protest weakly, even as you feel your cheeks burn hotter.

He chuckles, the sound low and intimate. “Liar.”

Before you can retort, his other hand settles on your waist, pulling you gently toward him. Your breath hitches, and your hands instinctively land on his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his sweater. He’s solid, real, and so close you can almost taste him.

“Relax,” he whispers, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “It’s just a kiss.”

You should say no. You should push him away and demand he keep his distance. But something about the way he’s looking at you, the way his fingers trace tiny circles on your hip, makes it impossible to resist.

And then, he closes the gap.

His lips meet yours in a soft, tentative kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. At first, it’s gentle, almost chaste, but as the seconds stretch on, the tension between you builds. His hand moves from your waist to cradle the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip, asking, pleading for more.

Your body responds before your brain can catch up, your hands sliding up to his shoulders as you lean into him, parting your lips to let him in.

The moment his tongue slips past your lips, a fire ignites in your core, spreading heat through your veins. You can taste him now—spearmint and something undeniably masculine—and it drives you wild. A small moan escapes you, muffled by his mouth, and he groans in response, his grip tightening on you.

You’re vaguely aware of the way he backs you up, guiding you until the edge of the bed hits the back of your thighs. He breaks the kiss just long enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling as he searches your face for any sign of hesitation.

When he finds none, he kisses you again, harder this time, more urgent. Your knees buckle, and you collapse onto the bed, dragging him down with you. He braces himself above you, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the most delicious way. One of his legs slots between yours, and you grind against him instinctively, craving the friction.

His lips leave yours to trail down your jaw, nipping lightly at your skin before moving to your neck. You arch into him, gasping as he sucks at the sensitive spot just below your ear. His hand slides under your shirt, his palm hot against your stomach as it travels upward, teasing the curve of your breast.

“H-Haechan,” you breathe, your voice shaky and barely recognizable.

He pauses, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes are dark, hungry, and completely focused on you.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice rough. “And I will.”

But you don’t. Instead, you slide your hands down his back, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you. He growls softly, capturing your lips once more as his fingers tug at the hem of your shirt, stripping it away. The cool air hits your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his mouth as he trails kisses down your collarbone...

“Wait—” you gasp, tugging slightly at his hair. He stops immediately, pulling back to look at you, his breathing heavy. “What about… the bed?”

He chuckles darkly, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his hand trailing down your side. “We’re gonna make good use of it.”

The room is a blur of heat and friction, his body pressing into yours. His hands are everywhere—skimming your waist, gripping your hips, tangling in your hair. You can’t think straight, not with the way he’s kissing you, not with the way his touch sends shivers racing down your spine.

But just as his fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the room plunges into darkness. The sudden absence of light startles you both, and Haechan pulls back slightly, his breath warm against your lips.

“What the—” His voice cuts off as you hear him fumble for something on the nightstand. A moment later, the soft glow of his phone screen illuminates the room, casting shadows across his face. “Power’s out,” he mutters, squinting at the screen. “Must be the storm.”

You hadn’t even noticed the storm outside. Now that it’s dark, though, the sound of heavy snow pounding against the windows fills the silence, rhythmic and relentless. The wind howls, rattling the panes, and you feel a chill creep into the air despite the warmth still lingering between you.

Haechan tosses his phone onto the bed, the dim light barely enough to see each other. He turns back to you, his expression unreadable in the shadows. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The tension is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. And then, slowly, he reaches out, his hand brushing against your arm.

“Cold?” he asks, his voice low.

“Maybe you can warm me up,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of anticipation. The darkness seemed to amplify every sound—the hitch in Haechan’s breath, the rustle of fabric as he shifted closer.

His hand stilled on your arm for a moment before sliding up to cup your cheek. His palm was warm against your skin, and you leaned into his touch instinctively.

“Is that an invitation?” he murmured, his tone teasing but laced with something deeper, something raw.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you reached for him, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you. His lips found yours again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if savoring the moment. The kiss deepened, and you felt the heat building between you, chasing away the chill that had crept into the room.

Haechan’s hands moved down to your waist, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His touch was electric, sending sparks skittering across your skin. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth returned to yours, hungry and insistent. His hands explored every inch of you, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You gasped as his lips trailed down your neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin.

“Haechan,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need.

He paused, lifting his head to meet your gaze. In the faint light from his phone, you could see the intensity in his eyes, the way they burned with desire. “Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice rough.

You didn’t hesitate. “You. I want you.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Then you’ve got me.”

Time stood still, a haze of pleasure washing over you. Nothing existed outside of the moment; your only focus was on the delicious sensation of him, pressed against you, his mouth hungrily seeking yours. The storm still raged outside, but there was no trace of cold—not when you were wrapped in Haechan's arms, every nerve in your body sparking with electricity.

Your back arched as he buried his head and fingers between your legs, teasing your entrance. A low moan slipped past your lips as he sucked, sending jolts of pleasure through your core. You gripped the sheets tightly, desperate for more.

The storm rumbled outside, but all you could hear was his voice—soft groans and husky whispers that were slowly driving you crazy. Your mind was foggy, and your senses overloaded. All you could focus on were the sensations—his lips, his touch, his body flush against yours.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue drove deeper, coaxing a shaky gasp from your mouth. Heat pooled low in your belly, a silent plea for more, and he was only too happy to comply. His pace quickened, drawing ragged moans from your lips. You were unraveling—body, mind, soul—lost in a haze of pure ecstasy.

There was no time to catch your breath; you could already feel the wave of pleasure building within you, threatening to break. But you held on, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

He watched you come undone, watched the way you unraveled under his touch, and knew there was no going back after this—after hearing the way his name sounded when it tumbled off your lips. It was music to his ears, the way this beautiful stranger moaned and writhed in his embrace, all because of him. Because he knew exactly which spot to hit, because he could feel how close you were, how you pulsed against his fingers as he pushed deeper, as his thumb rubbed your clit until you were left gasping for air.

He'd been with plenty of girls before, but he'd never been with one as beautiful as you, all flushed cheeks and swollen lips, your hair tousled and sticking to your sweaty skin, your body trembling in his arms.

No, there was something different about you, and he didn't care how cliche it sounded—it felt like fate when two strangers suddenly find themselves sharing a cramped vacation cabin in the snow-covered mountains.

And he was going to savor this, to make you a mess, a delicious, filthy mess, and then he'd go for more, because one kiss under the mistletoe wasn't nearly enough.

One touch wasn't nearly enough.

Once your orgasms had ebbed away and the last aftershocks faded into the quiet, Haechan gave you a sinful smirk, licking the taste of your sweetness from his fingers before covering your naked body with his. His lips brushed over yours, his teeth nibbling your lower lip in a sweet kiss.

"Round two?" he purred, grinding against you, letting you feel the weight of his cock as it twitched between your thighs. "Or is this over after the first round?"

You glanced at your surroundings, at the cramped, cozy cabin that somehow felt intimate instead of oppressive and small, despite its size.

"Fuck no," you mumbled, tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging slightly on the silken strands. "Mistletoe kisses are forever, mister."

He grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Round two was spent with your legs wrapped around Haechan's waist, his strong arms braced on either side of your head. Your fingers raked down his back as you panted, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Harder," you urged him, your voice shaky, pleading. "Fuck me harder, Haechan."

That was all the encouragement he needed. He drove deeper, losing himself in the sensation of your body pressed against his. There were no thoughts of past relationships, of the obligations that awaited you both back home; right now, the world was shrinking to the two of you and this perfect little bubble.

He leaned in and kissed you, hard and passionate, his lips demanding, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth. He wanted, no, needed, all of you. And if you were going to spend the night fucking your brains out, you sure as hell were going to go home with sore hips and an aching voice, knowing no one else will ever take his place.

With your skin slick with sweat and the room thick with the scent of sex, his mouth never leaving yours for a second, it felt as if the two of you were making up for the years you'd both spent lonely in the cold. Your heart felt heavy with emotion, as if you'd fallen in love overnight, all from sharing the same bed and letting yourself get fucked senseless by the most gorgeous man you'd laid your eyes on.

But it would soon be over—too soon, far too soon, and in a few short hours, the morning sun would rise, and you would both be packing your things, the secret affair of two strangers put away under lock and key.

Your moans mixed with the sound of skin slapping against skin, his thrusts erratic, almost urgent as you came, and you came, and you came. Your toes curled, his cock rubbing that sweet spot, bringing you to the edge again, again, until you were completely spent, and your lips were cracked and swollen from biting them and from his tongue.

"H-Haechan," you managed to breathe, trying to remember how to speak. You were like jelly, barely able to form a sentence, the aftermath of one of the most intense orgasms you'd ever experienced turning your limbs to jelly. "Oh, fuck!"

You tried to catch your breath, your hands limp as his broad chest rose and fell with the force of his own breathing. Slowly, he pulled out, and a flood of his warmth spilled onto your thighs, your wetness still glistening on his cock.

"Fuck," his forehead touched yours, and his lips twitched into a smile. "Who knew a mistletoe kiss would get you this fucking good?"

You couldn't help but grin, even as the bittersweet ache of loneliness in your chest bloomed. You didn't know him well—hell, you didn't even know his last name. But the way his eyes twinkled as he looked down at you made you want to fall asleep in his arms and wake up to his charming grin and beautiful bed head every damn morning.

"Can I ask you something?" he murmured after a moment.

"Sure," you replied.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, and his smile was suddenly soft, a tiny smile so beautiful it made you hold your breath. "Do you believe in fate?"

"Fate?" you asked.

“Mmm,” Haechan hummed. “Like, when two people are destined to meet?”

"Maybe," you replied with a soft, breathless laugh.

Haechan cupped your cheek, pressing his lips to yours again. He kissed you long and slow, savoring the lingering taste of you, and whispered, "Then what if we make fate work in our favor?"

You pulled away just slightly, searching his face. There was a strange fluttering in your heart, as if all your dreams were within your reach. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and the gentle way he caressed you almost made you lose your damn mind. "Spend the New Year with me. Let's see if fate really brought us together or if we were just lucky. What do you say, stranger?"

You chuckled, cupping the back of his neck, fingers sliding into the silken strands of his hair. "I'd say, stranger... this was definitely not a one-night stand, and I'd very much like to see where fate leads us."

#kvanity #knaughtyornice #ksmutsociety #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct scenarios #nct stories #nct fanfics #nct imagines #nct smut #lee Haechan #haechan #nct haechan #haechan smut #haechan x reader #lee donghyuck

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avonnimimi · 1 day ago

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Jealous?

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an: @airienyx this one is for you pretty lady😉, you didn’t specify if you wanted a different story line or not but here you go lovely🤍 if any of you have any requests please don’t hesitate to send an ask or message me:) MEN AND MINORS DNI

content: sub!reader, jealousy, strap-on-sex, drooling, fingering, nonchalant!sevika, mean!sevika, dom!sevika, choking, cursing, forced orgasms, daddy kink. lmk if i missed anything ;)

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On nights like these, you loved going to the club with Sevika. There was something thrilling about dancing under pulsing lights, the bass thudding through your chest, knowing her eyes were glued to you from the bar. You’d twirl your hips, arms raised above your head, carefree and wild. You loved teasing her, knowing exactly where her mind wandered as she watched you move: probably imagining how she’d ruin you the moment you got home.

Key word: loved.

What you didn’t love was when random girls thought they had a chance with her, thought they could saunter up to Sevika and flirt, giggling and batting their lashes like she wasn’t already yours. Usually, Sevika didn’t even look twice at them. Her gaze would stay locked on you, her lips curling into that slow smirk that promised you everything.

But tonight was different.

Your heart clenched when you glanced over and caught Sevika smirking at some girl leaning far too close. You tried to brush it off, rolling your hips to the beat, pretending like you didn’t care. But you couldn’t stop stealing glances. The girl was laughing, touching Sevika’s arm, and Sevika—your Sevika—was smiling back. And then it happened: Sevika ordered a drink, tilted the glass, and poured it right down the girl’s throat.

Your stomach twisted. The bass pounding through your body no longer felt like music, it was just noise, vibrating in your chest, drowning out your thoughts. Sevika’s eyes flicked up then, catching yours from across the room. She didn’t look guilty. She didn’t look apologetic. No, her gaze was dark and heavy, raking over you in a way that made your thighs press together instinctively. She lingered a moment where your pussy would be before dragging her eyes down the length of your legs.

You didn’t know it then, but this wasn’t some betrayal. Sevika wasn’t interested in the girl. She was interested in you, and she wanted to see how far you’d go to prove that she was yours.

Your little legs moved before you could think, storming across the club. You shoved your way between Sevika and the girl, forcing her attention back on you. Without hesitation, you climbed onto her lap, wrapping your arms around her neck and nuzzling into her, your scent and warmth flooding her senses. “I don’t like her,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm against her ear. “Tell her to leave.”

One corner of Sevika’s mouth twitched upward. “As you wish,” she said smoothly, turning to the girl. “Leave.”

There was no fuss, no argument. The girl scurried off, her confidence deflating instantly. Sevika leaned back in her chair, her strong hands settling on your hips. “Let’s go home, trouble,” she murmured, her voice rich with amusement.

Your cheeks burned at the pet name, but you didn’t protest when she lifted you effortlessly, seating you on her bionic arm, as she always did. The ride home was a blur, your chest tight with frustration, your thighs pressed together to stave off the heat building between them. By the time Sevika carried you through the front door, you were fuming.

You hopped off her arm before she could say a word, spinning around to glare at her. She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, watching you with a flicker of amusement in her eyes. She knew you were upset. She wanted you upset. She was testing you, and you were falling for it.

Without thinking, you grabbed her by the belt, yanking her toward the bedroom. She followed easily, letting you drag her, her heavy boots thudding against the floor. When you motioned for her to sit on the bed, she did, her expression unreadable. This wasn’t like her, Sevika was always in charge. But the way she leaned back, arms spread wide, watching you with that lazy smirk, made you feel like you had the upper hand for once.

You knelt between her legs, unzipping her jeans and tugging them down just enough to reveal her strap. Your mouth went dry at the sight of it, thick, long, and glistening with the lube she’d slicked on earlier. Your stomach twisted. Was she planning to fuck that girl from the bar?

You looked up at her, frowning, your lips trembling with frustration. “You’re being mean,” you said, your voice small but firm. “And I’m going to make you pay for it.”

Sevika raised a brow, her smirk widening. “Oh, yeah?” she said, her tone dripping with amusement. “Go ahead, doll. Show me what you’ve got.”

Ignoring the heat rising in your cheeks, you stripped off your clothes, your body already aching for her. You climbed onto her lap, gripping the base of her strap as you lined it up with your entrance. You were already soaked, as you always were for her, but the stretch was still a challenge. You sank down slowly, your walls fluttering as you took her inch by inch.

You’d never done this by yourself before. Usually, Sevika would shove it in, stretching you so deep you could feel her in your stomach. But this time, she just watched, her hands resting lazily on your hips as you struggled to take her.

“Who was that girl?” you asked, trying to distract yourself from the overwhelming stretch.

“A friend,” Sevika said simply, her voice unreadable.

“Do you pour all your friends’ drinks down their throats?” you snapped, your frustration bubbling over. “What, is she some secret whore-”

Before you could finish, Sevika bucked her hips, forcing more of her cock inside you. You whined, your hand flying to your lower stomach as you felt the pressure building there, the length of her strap pressing so deep it almost hurt.

“What was that, doll?” Sevika drawled, her tone mocking. “Thought this was supposed to be my punishment. Yet here you are, crying on my cock.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You tried to keep going, rocking your hips, but it was too much. You couldn’t take all of her, couldn’t stretch yourself far enough. “I can’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“What was that, trouble?” Sevika said, her hands tightening on your hips. Before you could respond, she yanked you down, forcing the rest of her cock inside you with a loud, wet squelch. “Mhm, hear that?” she growled. “This little pussy’s talking to me.”

You damn near screamed, your back arching as your body clenched around her. Sevika grabbed your throat, pulling you close so her lips brushed against your ear. “Stuff your cunt up,” she ordered, her voice low and dangerous.

You tried. You really did. But the tears started to spill, your body trembling with the effort. Before you could plead, Sevika took over, gripping your hips and slamming you down onto her cock. The sound of your wetness filled the room, loud and obscene as she drilled into you from below.

“Fuck yourself,” she growled, her voice sharp and commanding.

You bounced on her cock, desperate to keep up, but Sevika wasn’t satisfied. “What do you say?” she barked, slapping your ass hard enough to make you yelp.

“Y-yes, daddy!” you whimpered, your voice cracking.

“That’s my girl,” she rasped, grabbing your hips and taking control. She pounded into you, her thrusts relentless, her tip slamming into your cervix with every stroke. Your juices dripped down her thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you.

“Daddy, I—I can’t—” you gasped, your hands clawing at her biceps.

“Thought you were teaching me a lesson?” Sevika sneered, her hand slipping between your legs to rub your clit. “What happened, doll? You already breaking?”

You didn’t even have time to answer before the pleasure overwhelmed you, your body locking up as you came hard, gushing around her cock. “Good girl,” Sevika murmured, her tone softening slightly.

But she wasn’t done. She lifted you off her cock, laying you down on the bed before spreading your legs wide. “Let me see my pretty pussy,” she said, almost to herself. Her fingers slid inside you easily, curling just right, hitting that spot you loved as she leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“I belong to you, trouble,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm. “Only you.”

She thrust her fingers harder, deeper, faster, until you were shaking again, your body giving out as you squirted all over her hand. “Yeah, baby,” Sevika said, her voice thick with satisfaction. “This little cunt knows who owns it.”

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this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2024

#lesbian #wlw mood #18+ mdni #gxg #wlw blog #wlw post #wlw #wlw yearning #wlw concepts #wlw nsft #arcane imagine #arcane #arcane smut #sevika #sevika smut #arcane sevika #sevikaaaaa #request #reqs open

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leftoverghosts · 2 days ago

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the covenant

Patrick's emotions simmered, a mixture of fascination and frustration swirling within him as he observed you. Your defiance after your rebirth was both infuriating and alluring. You were an enigma, the sun that was meant to give life but would surely burn his soul to damnation. No matter how hard he tried to possess you, you eluded his grasp, making him want you even more.

But tonight, there would be no resistance. The walls between you had been chipped away over weeks of tumultuous passion, arguments, and feedings. Now, in his dark bedroom, you sat quietly by the window, the moonlight casting a haunting glow upon your features. Finally, you had woken up, you were his in a way that he would not dare to make any one else.

He approached with caution, the intensity of his presence drawing your attention away from the book in your lap. His hand rested on your shoulder, as cold as the December night. "I trust you have been enjoying my family's collection," he said with a grin playing upon his features.

You looked upon him with a disdainful expression, holding forward the book. "Your family's library is full of deceit, just as you are Patrick. These supposed histories are nothing more than propaganda against humans. This segment is naught but lies about how we are no more than mere chattel."

Patrick chuckled, leaning down to glance at the title, Elegy of the Mortal Flock by Tashi Duncan. “Oh, darling, did you really expect unbiased truth in a room owned by creatures like us? The stories are written by the victors, and we’ve always made sure to come out of top.”

You scoffed and allowed him to take the book from your grasp, watching as he carelessly tossed the ancient heirloom onto his desk.

“Everything they have told you about me, about our kind," his voice was dripping the excitement of a scholar with a new pupil, “is only half the story. We are not the monsters they paint us to be."

“Your companions certainly are,” you retorted, standing as he reached for your hand. He guided you towards the bed with slow deliberation.

Patrick laughed softly, the sound rich with amusement. “Oh, I will not deny that. Tashi is insatiable and Art is a cunning bastard.” He drew you closer, his arms encircling your waist. His breath was cool against your ear as he whispered, “But I am not them.”

“No,” you murmured, turning your head. “You are just the cub pretending not to have claws or fangs.”

Patrick's expression tightened with a sinister smirk as his hand trailed over the side of your neck, lingering over the faint scar from where he had marked you with his bite. "And yet, here you stand before me," he purred, a mixture of awe and lust in his voice. “Do you think a lion is defined only by its teeth and claws?"

“There is also its pride,” your tone was sharp. “And its hunger.”

“Ah, yes, my hunger.” He nodded in agreement, his hands moving to your hips, his touch turning rapacious. “And you, my love, are the only one who can satisfy it.” His lips replaced his fingertips, trailing the column of your neck, sending shivers down your spine despite yourself.

"How amusing," you muttered sarcastically, tilting your head to give him better access. "Considering all the women hidden away in your so-called pleasure wing that seem to keep you well-fed."

The keening sound Patrick let out was low and menacing, his eyes darkening with desire. "Pleasure, yes," he murmured, the tips of his fangs lightly grazing your throat. "But never true satisfaction. None of them compare to you."

You wanted to resist his words, to call him out for the lies they sounded like, but you could not. Not when his hands caressed the curve of your belly, lingering on the small bump that had irrevocably altered the relationship between you. His smile softened against your skin, the feral edge of his touch giving way to something achingly tender.

“This miracle has changed me,” he whispered, his hands splayed over your stomach, cradling your belly with reverence. “This life you carry… it was once thought impossible, but now it is our future.”

"Pretty words, Patrick," you said, but your voice caught with emotion as his mouth traveled lower, brushing against your collarbone.

"Do you truly doubt my sincerity?" he asked, dead blue eyes twinkling with mischievousness. "Perhaps you’re right. Words mean so little. But actions, my dear, actions speak louder than any words." He took hold of your chin, forcing you to meet his unwavering gaze. "You are bound to me now, body and soul, whether you like it or not. Your God forsook you the moment you woke as one of us." His voice held a possessive edge once again. "You carry my child, and you will stay by my side faithfully until the day you die."

“When will that day be?” you asked with frustration and anger. But before you could say anything else, he fell to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up your thighs.

The sight of him kneeling—Patrick Zweig, a monster so formidable and otherworldly, now entirely at your mercy—made your breath hitch.

"Patrick," you started uncertainly, torn between pulling him back up or succumbing to him completely.

"The day you die?" He whispered, his voice dripping with sorrow and hunger, gripping your nightdress in his hands, lifting it. "No, my pet, I will never willingly let you meet your end." His eyes glinted with adoration, as inch by inch, he slowly uncovered the apex between your legs. He pressed his face forward into the coarse hair, breathing deeply, before chancing a lick. "You are damned, we belong together," he warned, the promise of protection laced with a frightening undertone.

As his kisses explored your body, you realized that this oath was sealed in blood and would bind you to him for eternity. Quivering under his touch, the rational part of your mind could not help but ponder if this love was worth the cost of your very soul. You silenced it.

This redoubtable being had claimed you as his companion and the guardian of his legacy. A future filled with peril and sacrifice lay ahead, but right now, the only thing that mattered was the unbreakable connection between you and the nosferatu who held your destiny in his grasp.

#nosferatu!patrick #mostly sfw #does this even make sense!! the inspo hit me in the shower #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #josh o'connor #josh o'conner x reader #noriwroteit #challengers fanfic #challengers #challengers 2024

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tickletastic · 2 days ago

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Walls and How to Climb Them

Fandom: The Inheritance Games

Ship: N/A

Summary: Nash knows exactly how to calm Jameson down after an argument with Grayson. Big brothers always do.

Nash Hawthorne is not an enigma, he’s not a mystery or a big ball of trauma pretending to be a person– unlike his brothers. That means Nash has a healthy– as healthy as it can be given he grew up in Hawthorne House– relationship with his emotions, and an uncanny ability to see through the absolute bullshit his brothers put on when he checks in.

When Nash is dealing with something, he talks to Libby. Or he goes out to a bar. Or he gets into a bar fight. Totally normal ways for a well-adjusted 26-year-old to take out his frustrations. On the bright side, at least Nash can actually acknowledge when things are slipping, when he feels things bubbling just under the surface. His emotionally constipated brothers had never been so lucky, yet another thing he could blame on the mystique and allure of their late grandfather.

Still, somehow, Nash had his ways of getting his younger brothers out of their own heads. Pushing them past the ‘emotion is weakness,’ ‘boys don’t cry’ bullshit their grandfather drilled into them.

Xander was probably the easiest to crack. Afterall, their nearly ten year age difference was enough that Nash had always been closer to a father figure than an older brother. Nash could just saunter into Xander’s room, or the circular library, or his lab, and make things feel a little too serious for a little too long, and Xander would crack, spilling exactly what was bothering him or who Nash had to beat up. Nash would listen without judgment, even if the issue was as small as a screw not fitting into one of Xander’s new robots, and take him out for ice cream or cupcakes afterwards.

Jameson and Grayson were, obviously, much more difficult. The heir and the daredevil had far too much time collecting bad coping mechanisms.

Grayson, typically, wandered on the side of emotionlessness. Spit in his face? Grayson’s stone-cold exterior isn’t cracking. Threaten him? Steal from him? Trick him? Grayson would never show it, he’d greet every challenge with a tight-lipped look and a firm handshake.

Yet somehow, Nash, with his older brother instincts and extra year with Grayson before Jameson was born, could always tell when Grayson was trying just a little too hard to keep his face blank. He could see the small wrinkle next to his left eyebrow, or the way Grayson would dig the nail of his thumb into the tip of his index finger. Grayson usually took a while to come around, and it would never be completely, he would never, ever, open up entirely. Nash still had ways of making things easier on him, and he never took his Grayson-reading skills for granted.

Jameson, though, has always been a different story, His fearlessness, his borderline recklessness, was always rewarded, always nurtured. When he showed himself to be unwilling to back down from any challenge, their grandfather would reward him. His brothers might not have jumped from the top of the solarium to unlock a clue during one of their Saturday schemes, but Jameson would. His brothers wouldn’t wander into a drug den on the opposite end of the world to retrieve a singular coin, but Jameson would. The fear, the adrenaline of the chase, it took away from all the rest of it for Jameson.

Jameson never let himself get still enough to think about the bad, and there was a lot of bad. He just spent his life running and running from the inevitable break. When Em died, there was a glimpse, just a sliver, of what Jameson was feeling on the inside, but it was covered up by his constant fighting with Grayson, the calloused shell he adopted like a second skin.

But Nash knows. He always knows. When Jameson jumps a fraction too quick, when he rushes into things headfirst without giving things a moment to set in, when every challenge looks like a competition to him, that, that is when Nash knows Jameson is losing it.

When those risks, that danger, isn’t close enough for Jameson to touch, or to throw himself towards, he goes to the rock wall.

Nash had always thought the rock-climbing wall was a bit silly, and he hadn’t been kind enough to his eight-year-old brother when he decided to pick it up as his skill that year, insisting instead that he could learn rock climbing in ten minutes at a playground. It didn’t matter now, ‘cause Nash quickly adapted to the rock wall, the incredibly dangerous heights Jameson would reach, serving as his younger brother’s coping mechanism.

It was better than climbing a real cliff, sans rope, afterall.

Nash preferred the rock wall now, as opposed to all the other options, because Jameson’s been climbing the thirty-five foot wall without protection since he was eight, he could trust that Jameson knew all of the risks, all of the possible outcomes. He just couldn’t always trust that Jameson would do what’s safest for himself.

Given Nash’s amazing Big Brother Instincts, he also knows exactly when Jameson is using the wall to de-stress rather than channel anger, and tonight is one such night.

Things are going well. Well, as well as they can be going in the Hawthorne house, Avery’s keeping Jameson steady and everyone’s mostly getting along. Today, though, Grayson and Jameson got into an argument that even had Grayson losing his cool for a moment.

Grayson and Jameson somehow manage to fight even when everything’s going fine, in fact, especially when everything’s going fine, and it usually took both Xander and Nash to get them to relax. So while Xander forces Grayson to join him in a baking lesson with Libby, Nash goes to the rock wall to find Jameson.

Jameson is exactly where Nash believed he’d be, halfway up the wall, eyes closed as he seemingly just hangs there, taking everything in.

“Jamie,” Nash calls up, and he sees Jameson take out a wireless earbud and drop it in the pocket of his sweats.

Jameson rolls his eyes, his teenaged-era rebellion always flaring its head when he Nash has put on his big brother hat. “What? Not baking bubblegum cupcakes and ice cream frosting with Libby?”

"That sounds far too sweet, even for Libs," Nash says, his voice jokingly solemn, “besides, somethin’ tells me Xan’s got that handled.”

"What do you want, Nash?" Jameson asks, straightforward, annoyance seeping into his tone.

Nash grins, taking his cowboy hat off and setting it gently on the floor behind him, “You gonna come down yourself or am I gonna have to come up there and get ya?”

Jameson just rolls his eyes again, but begins to eye the height he's at on the wall. When Nash sees Jameson bracing himself to jump, he can’t help but yell back up at his younger brother “you won’t like to deal with the consequences if you jump down from that wall.”

“Like jumping from this height is even a big deal” Jameson responds incredulously, looking down, more than fifteen feet up the wall. “I’m not made of glass, Nash, and I’m not a child.”

“A child you are not,” Nash drawls, “but your knees will be sore like a motherfucker in two years time if you don’t stop jumping down from this damn thing.”

Jameson sighs, defeated, and makes his descent down the wall, much less practiced at climbing down than he is at climbing up. When he’s within Nash’s reach, Nash grabs him by the nape of his neck, and Jameson tumbles into his oldest brother’s arms with a sound he would definitely never refer to as a giggle.

Now, Nash is no stranger to dealing with a devastated Jameson, but frustration is a much easier demon to fight, and he must admit that today he is glad it’s just frustration. He knows exactly how to deal with that.

Nash doesn’t waste a minute, he gets Jameson on the floor and pinned in the blink of an eye, fingers fluttering over his stomach in the way Nash knows drives him crazy.

“Nash!” Jameson screeches, trying to grab his brother’s hand, even though he feels his strength leaving with every ticklish touch. He’s making aborted snorting noises, scrunching his nose with the force of the threatened laughter. Usually Jameson was the hardest to crack, able to hold out for a while without laughing when someone tickled him, but Nash took him off guard, knowing it was exactly what they both needed.

“What’s the matter, Jamie?” Nash asks, feigning innocence “something botherin’ ya?”

Nash forms his hands into claws and vibrates them on either side of Jameson’s belly button, and Jameson bursts into loud belly laughter, hands flying everywhere to protect from the attack. He’s arching his back in an attempt to dislodge Nash’s hands, but somehow, the longer Nash stays in the same spot, using the same technique, the more it tickles, and it’s driving Jameson mad already, when he knows his oldest brother has only just started.

“NAHASH!” Jamie screeches, digging his heels into the ground when one of Nash’s fingers worms its way into his belly button, pulling at the sensitive skin. When Nash moves his other hand to just above Jameson’s hip bone, his younger brother can’t hold back a stream of snorts, and Nash can’t help but laugh along with him. Jameson’s laugh has always been the most contagious, and it doesn’t hurt that seeing his face scrunched up as his older brother tickles him is just too damn cute.

Nash now vibrates both thumbs into Jameson’s hips and Jameson hiccups, throwing his head back while a blush climbs up his face.

“Are you alright, Jamie? You’re lookin’ a little red,” Nash teases, grinning down at his brother.

“Fuhuhuck ohohoff!” Jameson quips, and immediately regrets it when Nash reaches his hands back to squeeze underneath his knees. He lets out the loudest snort yet, shaking his head uncontrollably while he kicks out his legs in an attempt to dislodge Nash. Unable to even reach Nash’s hands to try to fight him off, Jameson winds his arms around his ribs, laughter catching in his throat “PLEHEASE!”

Nash snorts, but relents, moving his hands back up to Jameson’s torso, tickling his sides. “Begging already, Jame? I thought you could take more than that.”

“Ihihit-” Jameson squeaks when Nash’s hands hit his bottom ribs, “ihihit tihihickles soho bad!”

“God, you’re nearly as bad as Gray. Maybe it’s genetic? Where do ya think all this sensitivity came from?”

“Ihihif it’s genehtic, Li- Lihihbby would wahahant to knohohow!” Jameson attempts to fluster his brother back, but of course, in his current predicament, it doesn’t work so well.

“Or maybe I should tell Avery,” Nash responds, nonchalant. “If you can still muster the energy to be a smartass, I guess that means I’m not doin’ my job right, huh?”

Nash wiggles his fingers up Jameson’s ribs, already enough to make him scream, squeal, and thrash, before lodging his hands firmly under Jameson’s arms. His younger brother arches his back almost painfully, flattening his arms to his sides and effectively trapping Nash’s fingers in his armpits. None of those reactions, though, hold a candle to the ear-piercing squeal Jameson lets out when Nash’s fingers start to wiggle, worming around in his worst spot.

“Ihihi’m gohohonna kihihill you!” Jameson screams. His smile is so wide it nearly splits his face in two, his eyes closed and nose scrunched while he throws his head back in ticklish agony. Part of him wishes Nash had chose a different torture method, anything would have been more bearable.

“I’d hate to be the one to tell ya,” Nash says calmly, “but you’re not too intimidating like this, Jamie.”

When Nash starts to drill his fingers in, rather than wiggling around aimlessly under Jameson’s arms, Jameson’s laughter gets shrill and panicked, as his tired attempts at squirming become renewed.

“Nahahash! Mehercy! Uhuncle, PLEHEASE!” Jameson begs, bringing his hands up to cover his cherry red face while his elbows remain firmly pinned to his sides.

Nash wiggles one of his hands out to free it, rotating his body a bit so his other hand can continue under Jameson’s arm while the other can return to the soft skin under his knee. When Jameson’s laughter quickly goes silent, Nash pulls both hands away, rolling off of Jameson and sitting next to him on the floor.

Nash combs the dark, black hair out of his younger brother’s eyes while he tries to catch his breath, giggles and snorts peppered between laborious inhales.

When Jameson finally sits up, red with a goofy smile still on his face, he’s panting for breath, “you couldn’t have done that to Grayson?”

“He’s in the kitchen with Xander,” Nash stands up, brushing off his jeans, and reaching out to ruffle Jameson’s hair. Jameson ducks away with a playful glare, and Nash just snorts at his reaction. “Something tells me he’s probably gettin’ the same treatment.”

#the inheritance games #grayson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #xander hawthorne #nash hawthorne #ticklish!jameson #lee!jameson #ler!nash

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the-oblivious-writer · 2 days ago

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Shatterpoint

Debra Morgan x Reader

Part One: Debra’s Perspective

Summary: You die doing what you always do, putting other lives before your own. It's what Debra Morgan both loved and despised about you.

Warning(s): Swearing, (major) death, graphic depictions of violence (blood/gore), gun violence, phycological trauma, depression, grief/loss, and vomiting

Notes: Someone requested Debra Morgan angst so......... here it is! I ended up writing a part two from Dexter's perspective (platonically), so that'll be out tomorrow. I've been wanting to write platonic fictional dude characters x reader for some time now

Dexter’s Perspective

The first time Debra breaks down, it's in the middle of the Miami Metro parking lot. You're three days dead, and she's just found one of your forensics reports tucked into a case file – your neat handwriting mapping out blood spatter analysis, methodical and precise. She vomits behind her car, heaving until there's nothing left but bile and grief.

The second time is at your funeral. She watches them lower your body into the ground and something inside her splinters. The sound that tears from her throat isn't human. Dexter has to physically restrain her from jumping into the grave after you. Later, she'll have no memory of this – just the dirt under her fingernails and bruises on her arms where her brother held her back.

The third time destroys her completely.

It's been two weeks since that convenience store security camera caught your last moments. Two weeks since a frightened kid with a shaky trigger finger turned your chest into a crime scene. She's standing in your shared apartment, trying to pack up your things because that's what people do, right? They pack up the dead's belongings and pretend it helps.

Your forensics kit is still by the door where you left it that last morning. She opens it, and your scent hits her – latex gloves and that shampoo you loved and something uniquely you. The organized compartments blur through her tears. Each tool precisely placed, because that's who you were – someone who brought order to chaos, who could look at blood patterns and tell stories of violence with scientific detachment.

She starts throwing things. Your carefully labeled evidence containers shatter against walls. Your case files scatter like dead leaves. She's screaming, but she can't hear herself over the roaring in her head. Over the echo of your voice from that last argument:

"You can't keep running forever, Deb. I love you, but I can't chase you anymore."

The neighbors call the police. Fucking ironic, isn't it? Angel finds her surrounded by the wreckage of your professional life, clutching your laminate to her chest. She's laughing now, a horrible broken sound, because isn't this exactly what you were afraid of? Her inability to handle emotional intimacy, to face her feelings instead of drowning them in rage and whiskey.

They take her to the hospital. Put her on leave. Make her talk to department shrinks who use words like "complicated grief" and "post-traumatic stress" and "survivor's guilt." As if labeling her breakdown makes it more manageable.

She dreams of you. Not the you from the security footage, bleeding out under fluorescent lights. But the you who used to wake her from nightmares about the Ice Truck Killer, who knew exactly how she took her coffee, who could make her laugh even at crime scenes. The you who saw her walls and loved her anyway.

"I'm sorry," she tells your ghost. "I'm so fucking sorry."

But you're not there to forgive her.

Dexter finds her one night, sitting in your office at Miami Metro, organizing blood slides with obsessive precision. Trying to find patterns like you taught her, as if understanding the science of death will somehow make losing you hurt less.

"You're starting to worry me," he says, in that awkward way of his.

She laughs, sharp and bitter. "Starting to? Fuck, Dex, I'm starting to worry myself."

The security footage plays on repeat in her mind. She's memorized every detail – how you raised your hands, trying to de-escalate. How you stepped in front of the teenage clerk, protecting her. Your body jerking back, a crimson flower blooming across your chest. The way you looked surprised, almost confused, as you fell.

She keeps working cases, because what else is there? But every crime scene becomes yours. Every victim wears your face. She gets reckless, aggressive with suspects. Takes stupid risks because maybe, just maybe, if she's fast enough, smart enough, brave enough, she can save someone else's you.

Angel takes her gun after she nearly beats a convenience store robber to death.

"This isn't what they would have wanted," he tells her gently.

"Yeah? Well, they're not fucking here to want anything, are they?"

She finds one of your hair ties under the bed and falls apart all over again. Remembers how you used to gather your hair back before leaning over evidence, that little furrow of concentration between your brows. How she used to tease you about being so serious, so focused. How you'd smile and say, "Someone has to be, with you charging around like a hurricane."

The hurricane is all that's left now.

Some days she can almost pretend she's healing. She goes to work, follows leads, eats when Dexter reminds her to. But then she'll catch a glimpse of the forensics lab, or smell latex gloves, or hear someone mention blood spatter analysis, and she's right back in that convenience store, watching you die on an endless loop.

The department shrink asks her what she thinks you would say if you could see her now.

She doesn't tell him about the letter she found in your forensics manual. The one that begs her not to let grief make her harder, not to let loss change how fiercely she loves. She's already failed you there.

Instead, she says, "They'd probably say I'm proving them right. About running away. About not being able to handle my feelings."

But that's not entirely true, is it? Because this time she's not running. She's standing perfectly still, letting grief consume her, letting the absence of you hollow her out until there's nothing left but echoes and regret.

The security footage plays on. You raise your hands. The gun fires. You fall.

And somewhere in Miami, Debra Morgan keeps breaking, keeps shattering, keeps failing to put herself back together.

Some things just break, and stay broken, and all we can do is learn to breathe around the shards.

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A/N: Not me changing my format...

#debra morgan x gender neutral reader #debra morgan x reader #debra morgan x you #debra morgan #dexter morgan x reader #dexter fanfiction

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allisondraste · 23 hours ago

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I’m not convinced that Davrin would take issue with Lucanis over Spite. Sure, he would be wary and cautious, because a demon possessed person is always at risk of becoming a dangerous monster. However, he’d realize that in their current state, Lucanis (and Spite) are not monsters.

I do think they’d have conflict though, over two areas where they are diametrically opposed: principles and how they handle problems.

With regard to principles, we see a little bit of this occur post-Weisshaupt and in several banters, but I think the game could have capitalized more on this difference between them. Lucanis is an assassin, and regardless of how “good” the game frames the crows, assassins kill people for money and it is not always people who deserve to die. Davrin would take issue with this because he finds it dishonorable and callous. Lucanis would think Davrin is just self-righteous and full of himself.

This would be the bulk of their arguments pre-Weisshaupt and would fade as the grew respect for one another. They’d never agree on this, but it’s no longer personal.

When it comes to how they deal with problems , both of them are damn near allergic to talking about their emotions despite the fact that they clearly feel them very strongly. Lucanis responds by kind of giving in to a bad situation, shutting down, and refusing to have hope because hope means opening himself up to more pain. Davrin responds with anger and by refusing to accept the situation as it is, and stubbornly tries to do whatever he can to control and correct it.

This difference would only cause conflict during high-stress moments (e.g. while Rook and Neve/Bellara are missing). Lucanis would want to shut down and focus on finishing the job, not thinking about anyone or anything that is lost and may potentially be saved. He can’t cope with the distraction. Davrin on the other hand cannot move on with the next task while there are people he failed needing him to fix his mistake.

I imagine this would cause the most issues between them after Tearstone if Davrin and Rook are together and Lucanis and Neve are together and Neve was kidnapped.

Lucanis would cope by telling himself that Neve and Rook are either both dead or beyond saving, and that even if they were able to be saved, there is no TIME. They have to kill Elgar’nan and finish the job no matter what. It’s what Rook and Neve would want anyway.

Davrin would refuse to believe that either of them are dead and insist that they have to be rescued, because he is NOT losing anymore people. He is especially not giving up on Rook. Elgar’nan will be set back by Ghilan’nain’s death and will say they have time to both save people and give him what’s coming to him.

Even though I definitely enjoyed some of the Spite-related arguments, especially the one where Lucanis pretends Spite is taking over to get under Davrin’s skin., I would have loved to see more conflicts related to their actual fundamental differences.

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #veilguard spoilers #davrin #lucanis dellamorte #character analysis #meta #not really critical #just thinking thoughts

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nayedoll · 8 hours ago

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Hold me down

joost klein x fem!reader

rpf below, don’t read if you’re uncomfortable

description: following a christmas party at his house, joost and reader meet again after months of no contact, despite their failed attempts to overcome a complicated relationship.

warnings: 18+, nsfw, angst/smut, rpf

a/n: sort of based on the song ‘hold me down’ by daniel caesar, i #love this song so much ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

─────────── ୨ৎ ────────────

Your trembling hands rush to light the cigarette between your glossed lips, eager to feel the rush of the nicotine fill your lungs, to try and ease the gnawing anxiety in you. You inhale slowly, watching as the smoke drifts upward, becoming one with the snow that blankets the empty Amsterdam streets.

You hear laughter from inside the apartment, unmistakably your friends’ voices breaking the silence of the night; it’s a cheerful sound, but right now it only makes you feel like you want to leave, if you didn’t already.

You scold yourself for coming here, for thinking things would be different. Joost hadn’t reached out since your last argument, and you had moved on, or at least you thought you had. Realizing all these months of self-love, of pretending to heal, were nothing but a waste of time, a distraction before you once again found your way back to him; it makes you angry with yourself. Why is it so hard to get over someone you didn’t even date?

Things with Joost had been complicated since the beginning; neither of you ever quite knew what you wanted —or maybe you did and refused to see it— but you just couldn’t seem to let go, somehow always ending up in each other’s arms. Even after all the harsh words you’d exchanged, all the fights, all the jealous outbursts, all the blaming— it was hard to leave, for the both of you, because underneath everything, there was love; it had never been acknowledged, never been voiced, but you knew it was there, at least on your side.

But even with all the highs, you couldn’t ignore the lows. Sometime early in the year, after your last fight, you’d decided that you wouldn’t go back, that you needed time to yourself, seeing how toxic you were for each other. So you cut him off, avoiding him as much as possible, afraid that sooner or later, he’d pull you back to him, back to your old destructive ways.

And in the beginning, you were hopeful, that finally you’d manage to erase Joost from your life, forget about him and move on. But, of course, such strong feelings don’t go away that easily. And so, when your friends had told you about this gathering Joost was hosting, insisting that you should come along for once, you really couldn’t say no.

So here you were, having drunk too much for your own comfort, hiding away in the balcony, feeling a mixture of emotions.

You take another long drag of your cigarette, focusing your drunken gaze to the snowflakes falling down the sky. Your fingers, numb from the cold, press on your phone screen that lights up immediately. The time reads 2:03 A.M, and you almost gasp, realizing how badly you’ve lost track of time.

You throw your cigarette to the floor, pressing your shoe on it, before rushing inside.

Just as you’re at the door, someone else opens it first— Joost, of course. You slightly take a step back, half-lidded eyes shifting to look up at him.

“Oh,” Joost says, obviously not expecting to see you here, “Hey,”

“Hi,” You say back, your voice small.

“I thought you’d already left,”

“No- no, I was just smoking,” You explain as Joost takes a step closer, shutting the door behind him.

“Since when do you smoke so often?” He smiles, crossing his arms.

You let out a dry chuckle, “Since today, I guess,” Thinking about how many smoke breaks you’d taken, just to avoid being in the same room with Joost.

You stare at him wordlessly, not really knowing what to say. The way he eyes you, makes you become increasingly aware of yourself and the amount of alcohol in your system, your head spinning uncontrollably.

“Uh- Anyways, I should probably go.” You try to walk past him, but he stops you, getting in the way of the door.

“Wait,” He says softly, “How are you getting home?”

You glance up at him, confused. “I have a car,”

“You’re kidding right? Y/n, you reek of vodka,” Joost says firmly, taking a stern expression.

“I’ll be fine,” You sigh, hardly convincing yourself.

“No you won’t,”

“Yes, I will,” Once again, you attempt to leave but Joost puts his hand on your shoulder, making you look back at him.

“Y/n c’mon, don’t be like that,” He sounds more concerned than angry, like he truly cares for you and it catches you off guard. “I’m not letting you drive in the snow, while you’re drunk,”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” You ask in frustration.

He stays quiet for a moment, and it looks like he’s thinking about something. “Stay the night,”

You shake your head, hearing exactly what you feared he’d say. “Joost, I don’t think that’s a good id-,

“Please,” Joost cuts you off, his brows softening, “It just wouldn’t be right for me to leave you like this,”

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips, seeing him be so caring, for what feels like the first time in forever. You look behind you, towards the snow-covered streets, realizing that driving in this state is a no-go.

“Fine,” You reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

You follow him inside to the living room; your friends are long gone by this hour, only having left behind a pile of empty beer cans.

“I can just sleep here,” You tell Joost, not wanting to burden him any further.

“No, it’s fine. You can sleep in my room,” Joost says, already making his way inside.

You stay still thinking about it for a second; not like you haven’t been in there before, you tell yourself.

The floor creaks as you walk inside the room, and you immediately get hit with all the memories in here— all the late nights, the kissing, the laughing, as well as the fighting, the yelling, the crying. It’s bittersweet, looking back on it now.

You sit down on the bed, lazily made as always, as Joost hands you a blanket.

“Thanks,” You smile at him, “And sorry for burdening you,”

Joost’s brows knit together, as if he can’t understand what you’re saying. “Don’t say that. You’re never a burden,” He sits down on the bed beside you, lightly placing his hand on your thigh; it’s more of a reassuring gesture than it is sexual, but you still feel something jolt in you.

You purse your lips, a weird feeling coming through you; you wish he’d said that more during your relationship—if you can even call it that— when you needed to hear it, when you felt insecure, unable to fully trust him.

You look away, suddenly not sure what to do with the space between you. “I didn’t ask you earlier,” You start speaking, not really sure if you should, just longing for him to stay a little longer. “How have you been?”

“Good, I guess,” His voice is charged with uncertainty, like there’s more he wishes he could say— because really, Joost loves you, maybe even more than you love him. And yet, he’s never told you, he’s never dared to acknowledge it.

And maybe that was the problem. He didn’t mean to hurt you; he just didn’t know how to be better. He wishes he could be the kind of guy to offer you the things you deserve—stability, trust, a healthy fucking relationship—but then doubts creep in; his past, his fears, the pieces of himself he’s never quite put together, always seem to get in the way.

“And you?” He asks.

“Good,” You look away, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your shirt. “Just… different,”

Joost’s lips form into a tight line, as he nods understandingly. “Yeah,”

“By the way,” He adds, causing you to glance at him again. “I’m sorry for how we ended things and all… I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,”

You almost wince at the remembrance of that night, your last fight. “It’s fine. I’m sure I’ve said worse,”

You both laugh, trying to make light of the situation; it helps to soothe the tension, as you stare him, his smile with the dimples you love so much. The silence lingers, heavy with unspoken feelings.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re leaning in. Your lips meet his in a soft touch, kissing him slowly at first, as if to test the waters.

You pull away briefly, looking at him wordlessly, searching for a reaction.

Instead of speaking, Joost pulls you in again, this time kissing you harder, as his hand gently holds your cheek. It’s desperate and tender all at once, a mixture of regret, longing, and something deeper, something that never quite left, even in the worst moments.

Your body moves forward, overtaken by desire, as Joost’s hands on your waist guide you to sit on him. Right as you do that, you feel the rough denim of his jeans brush against your clit, the small wave of pleasure enough for you to moan into his mouth.

“Do that again,” Joost says softly in your ear, his kisses spreading to your jaw and neck; you do as you’re told, your body grinding against his thigh in small circles as Joost attempts to undo your bra, his big hands reaching over to your back, under your top.

“Let me do it,” You laugh, noticing the way he struggles, “So I guess you haven’t seen anyone else if you’re struggling this much,” You tease him, as you take off your bra and shirt altogether.

Joost grins, his eyes momentarily sweeping across your half-naked body. He firmly holds your waist, “No one’s as good as you,”

You smile at the praise, before Joost pulls you closer, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. You start to move against his leg again, this time only more upwards, until you’re full on sitting on top of him. You breathe sharply, trying to get whatever bit of pleasure you can from his clothed cock.

“Want me to take my pants off?” He asks, and you nod, desperate to feel more of him.

He gets up— visibly stimulated, considering how deep his breaths are— hands rushing to his belt. You bite your lip, impatient eyes shifting between his face and the metal clasp of his belt.

Finally, Joost unclasps the belt, his pants falling to the floor with a metal sound. He looks back at you, his gaze soft as he steps forward.

Again, he lowers his head, his lips catching yours in a hungry kiss; with his knee on the bed, stabilizing himself, he slowly pushes you backwards onto the cold covers, one of his hands wrapping itself around your tits in the meantime. You sigh in pleasure, allowing Joost to lean more forward as you instinctively open your legs. His lips move to your jaw, before he sparsely places open-mouthed kisses across your upper body.

You catch a glimpse of him as he presses a soft kiss on your stomach, his hands sliding down to your hips, over the satin fabric of your skirt.

“Please,” Is pretty much the only word you can muster, your voice laced with need.

Joost briefly looks up at you, pouting playfully— “Aw my baby’s desperate,”

“Shut up,” You lightly push your leg to hit him, quietly giggling to yourself.

Joost feigns pain, smiling widely “It’s okay. How can I ever say no to you anyways?” Reaching up to kiss you sloppily in the cheek.

As his lips once again wander off to your neck, you allow yourself to relax, stretching your neck to give him the access he needs.

You feel his hand go lower, his fingers toying with the waistband of your lace panties, before he lowers them down to your calves; if you weren’t so out of it, you’d be embarrassed at how quickly you’d grown wet, given all Joost has managed to do so far is just kiss you— But as his fingers start to rub your sensitive clit, that’s the last thing on your mind; you moan softly at each gentle use of his fingers, small waves of pleasure washing over you.

His teeth bite gently at your pulse point, as he picks up the pace of his fingers on your clit. Your breaths become shallow, pure bliss spreading throughout your body, signaling that your climax is near.

But Joost abruptly stops, now rubbing your clit in excruciatingly slow circles— once again, he’s playing with you, teasing you like he always fucking does in bed. He smirks against your neck, hearing you sigh in frustration.

“All good?” He asks, still maintaining the same slow speed.

“Are you serious?” You breathe out, attempting to, at the very least, sound a bit mad but you can’t take him seriously with the stupid grin he’s got on his face.

“What?” He knits his brows, feigning confusion.

You scoff, “Seriously Joost, you’re so mea-” Your words are cut off by a sharp moan as Joost picks up speed again, even going as far as to slide one finger in. “Mean.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about lief,” Again, he slows down.

“Joost!” You say in frustration, though you still giggle at his unserious tactics.

Joost’s free hand cups your face, caressing it with his thumb. “Alright, alright— het spijt me,”

This time he doesn’t tease you, instead now fully focusing on making you feel good; he pops two digits inside of you, the wet sound of your pussy and small moans being the only sounds in the quiet room. Your climax is unmistakably close, having you full-on whimpering now. As your legs start to tremble, you’re overcome with pleasure, Joost’s fingers insisting until the very last second before he stops.

“That’s it,” Joost affirms, getting your hair out of the way for you as you try to catch your breath.

He sits beside you, looking down at your face before he squishes it.

You chuckle, “What was that for,”

“You look pretty like that. Did you change your hair?” He asks softly, and you find his genuine curiosity cute.

“No, I don’t think so,”

He nods, “You good to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” You’re quick to reply, eager to give back to him, make him feel as good as he did you.

You reach out your hand to touch his face, as Joost leans down to kiss you. You hand slides down his chest, until you palm his cock him over his boxers, getting an idea of just how hard he is.

“Can you-” You say, cutting the kiss, “Can you sit on the bed,”

Joost nods, leaning backwards, against the headboard; you crawl over to his side before positioning yourself on top of him, his hands immediately coming to rest on your hips.

“There we go,” He smiles up at you as you trace your fingers along his face, just admiring how pretty he looks from this angle. “You drive me fucking crazy,”

“Do you say this to every girl?” You joke, narrowing your eyes— or at least, you think you’re joking, using humor as a shield to hide your buried insecurities. Constantly doubting the possibility that he could have actual feelings towards you, that you’re not just another girl to him,

“What?” He looks at you in genuine confusion, not following the joke. He’s always hinted the insecurity in your words, and really, it frustrates him. Countless times has Joost tried to convince you otherwise, to make you trust him but in the end, it always ends in a fight. “Y/n, there’s not another girl,”

Yeah right. “Yeah I know. Anyways”

You raise yourself up slightly, moving forward until you’re directly over his cock; you take the base in your hands, aligning it with your entrance— and just like that, Joost drops the topic, like he’s done a million times before, not wanting to kill the mood.

You glance at him, making sure he’s ready, before sliding onto his cock; you gasp, the pads of Joost’s fingers pressing harder into your skin, the feeling of shared pleasure overtaking the hurt and guilt in both of you.

You move slowly at first, trying to feel every inch of him, get used to his size after so long. Joost pulls you closer by your waist, placing pecks all over your collarbones, where the necklace he once got you, jingles the more you pick up the pace.

“Fu-ck,” You whisper, “It feels sso good,”

His hand glides over your hair, comforting you. “I know,” He says quietly, breathing hot against your neck.

You let soft moans fall from your lips, grabbing his shoulder for support, your nails biting into his skin. He sucks in a breath, groping your tits as you feel his wet kisses litter your neck. You try to bounce faster on him, desperate to relieve the pressure between your hips, while still holding onto him, not wanting the moment to end. You gently pull him away from where he is, buried in your neck, just craving to see his face. His blue eyes gaze back at you, soft and brimming with vulnerability, something you’ve never seen before in him, not at a moment like this, at least.

You don’t speak, overwhelmed by all the emotions you’re experiencing. You wish you could scream at him for how he treated you, blaming him for the situation you’re in, even though you’re just as bad; but then again, looking at him now, staring into his eyes, you can’t shake the inescapable feeling that you’ll always love him, that one way or another, he’ll always hold a special place in your heart.

Instead, you lean forward, wrapping him in some sort of a hug, maybe because you’re growing tired, maybe because hugging him is all you need right now, hot tears brimming in the corners of your eyes.

Joost holds you tight, taking it upon himself to continue as he senses how increasingly tired you’re getting. His first thrust into you, coaxes you to outright gasp, placing both hands on the headboard now. You can hear Joost mutter a few incoherent words under his breath, pushing his cock into you at a speed that makes your brain go numb.

Your whimpers are like music to his ears, urging him to keep going as he wants nothing more than to make you feel good. It’s moments like this when he feels like you’re meant to be with each other, like this could really work, like he can finally tell you he loves you. But later in the night, the guilt always settles back in, reminding him of who he is, of who he can never be for you.

Joost groans, holding you so firmly that his hands are sure to leave marks on your skin.

“Are you close, baby,” He says through gritted teeth, briefly glancing at you, nestled into his neck.

“Yeah,” You say sharply, at the edge of crying with the amount of pleasure you’re feeling.

Joost nods, thrusting into you sloppily yet relentlessly. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the pleasure consume you as you feel his cock repeatedly on your sweet spot, the sensation mixed with everything else you’ve been feeling, causing tears to flow down your cheeks.

Almost simultaneously, Joost comes undone inside of you, his muttered curses and loud grunts sounding muffled against your ears.

He gives you one last kiss, just under your ear, as his movements come to a halt, his grasp on you loosening.

Exhausted, you barely even move with him still inside of you, as Joost fixes the hair that sticks to your skin. You close your eyes, breathing heavily, trying to cherish as little time as you have left before another argument begins—because the truth is, you both know what’s coming; the unresolved anger, the denial, the hurt, the disappointment; it won’t stay buried for long.

“Can I ask you something,” You ask, head rested on his chest, facing away from him.

You hear him hum, taking it as an answer to keep going,

“Did you… did you miss me at all?” Is all you can ask him, in need of some closure, to at least try and see if he feels any other emotion towards you except for lust.

Joost feels his chest hurt, hearing the pure vulnerability and doubt in your voice; “Of course I did,”

I love you, that’s what he wants to say; but he just can’t get the words out.

Your lips curve into a faint smile. You allow yourself to trust him for just a moment, believe that his words are true for once and feel the comfort that comes with that thought. His fingers gently run through your hair, and you let the silence between you linger.

For now, you can almost convince yourself that nothing is wrong, that everything is as it should be.

─────────── ୨ৎ ────────────

a/n: if this ain’t me 😂😂😂

anyways THANK YOU if you read this far!!!!!! this is honestly one of my fav things i’ve written and i hope u enjoyed it as much as i did <3 happy new years xx

#joost klein #joost klein x reader #joost #joost x reader #joost klein rpf #rpf #nayedoll 💌

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mofongomuncher · 9 hours ago

Note

Hru, how have your days been going, hopefully they've been going well if your reqs are open can you do a fic between ekko x black reader it's kinda like a pt 2 to bicep if they weren't dating in that one or you can make it separate where they were crushing on each other for a while (for YEARS) and they argued about something stupid and that caused them to distance themselves and they started to feel bad about how they treated each other and what they said and so they go to reconcile and they pull a " I'm sorry" at the same time and they have a fluffy reconcile that lead to reader pulling him into a kiss cause he was adorable and that lead to him asking her to be his gf and she said yes and like they spend the rest of the night like together(cuddling) and giving kisses 😘 thank you

𝘼𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚

(Ekko X Reader)

❥ cast : ! Ekko and black reader ¡

❥ Words: 5,000+

Zaun was alive in its usual way—chaotic, grimy, and buzzing with an energy that never seemed to rest. The streets below your window hummed with the clatter of the occasional yelling and chatting by the Zaunties that passed by and shouting of traders selling scraps. You have been used to it by now. You grew up in this mess. But tonight, none of it reached you. The noise outside was drowned out by the storm in your chest.

You laid down on your worn couch, your long, dark curls falling messily over your shoulders. The dim glow of the lamp beside you casted shadows across your face, highlighting the sharpness of your cheekbones and the quiet determination in your eyes.

There was a soft tension in the air, the kind that made the whole room feel too small—like you were trapped, but not by the walls. It was the weight of the silence that had followed the argument with Ekko. The silence that felt like a cold void between you two, and no matter how much you tried to distract yourself, your mind always returned to him.

His face. His words. How they had hurt more than they should have.

For years, Ekko had been your constant. Your partner-in-crime, the one person who never judged you or treated you like you were just another face in the crowded, filthy streets of Zaun. You remembered the two of you as kids, sneaking through alleys, racing down narrow walkways, laughing at the most ridiculous things. He'd always been the dreamer—the one with big plans and bigger ambitions. You? You'd always been the realist, the grounded one, quick to remind him of the risks and dangers lurking around every corner.

But as you both grew older, the divide between the dreamer and the realist started to feel more... complicated. Ekko had become a leader of sorts, a symbol of hope for the Firelights, building something bigger than either of you had ever imagined as kids. And you? You were stuck in the same spot, wondering if you had missed your chance.

Somewhere in those years of shared glances, quiet conversations, and stolen moments, your feelings for him had shifted. It wasn't just friendship anymore. You caught yourself lingering a little too long when he touched your arm, your heart stuttered when he laughed, and you found it harder to look him in the eye without feeling something more. The weight of that realization was something you could never share—at least, not without risking everything.

And now, after everything, you weren't even sure if that was still an option.

You ran a hand through your curls, letting out a slow breath as you glanced at the worn photo of the two of you sitting on your nightstand next to your couch. It was from the first Firelights mission you'd worked together. His arm around your shoulders, his eyes bright with excitement, your head tilted slightly, smiling like the world was something you could actually fix together. The photo felt like a lifetime ago.

Your eyes stung. Maybe the fight didn't just hurt because of the words exchanged. Maybe it was because you weren't sure how much longer you could keep pretending nothing had changed.

It all started in Ekkos room. You were bent over a half-finished project, trying to fix a stupid radio one of the little firelights dropped while they were running around with it. But your mind wasn't focused on the radio, it was elsewhere. The dinner you planned to have with Ekko, you guys had been talking about it for almost weeks now.

You were almost starting to feel like you were just another problem on his list, something that always came second to whatever battle he was fighting next.

You glanced over at him. The boy was hunched over his table, his fingers moving quickly as he adjusted the mechanics of something—probably one of his random inventions. The table was cluttered with metal parts and blueprints.

He always had something going on, always had something bigger to fix, to build, to protect.

You stood up from your workbench and cleared your throat, trying to sound casual, though you felt a bit of irritation creeping up for some reason. "Ekko..." you began, "Are we still on for tonight?"

Ekko didn't even look up, absorbed in the small adjustments he was making to whatever he was making. His focus was so intense, it was almost like you weren't even there. "Hmm?" he mumbled, distracted.

"Uhhh, we made plans. Dinner...remember?" You repeated, your voice slightly sharper now. You'd been looking forward to it for so long, to just spend time with him outside of all this—his endless work and the weight of everything on his shoulders.

"You promised.."

His hands stilled for a moment, and he finally looked up at you. His expression was distant. "Oh yeah...I remember." he said, but there was a lack of enthusiasm in his tone. Clearly, it seemed like he didn't seem to care or understand the importance of it to you. "I've got too much to do tonight. This thing won't finish itself."

There it was again.

You felt a sharp pang in your chest. The response was so casual now, so dismissive. Every single time you made plans, every time you wanted to spend some quality time together, his work—or something else—always took priority. It was like you were constantly waiting for him to be done with whatever big thing he had on his plate, and it was so exhausting.

"Ekko are you deadass?" you started again, trying to keep your cool, but your frustration was seeping through. "This isn't just about dinner...We literally talked about this Ekko. You said you'd make time. It's not just about fixing things or missions. It's about US. It's about you showing up for once, and not just dropping everything for some stupid project or some emergency."

Ekko stood up, his movements quick and sharp. "You don't get it Y/N." His voice had hardened, that familiar edge to it that meant he was getting defensive. "I don't have the luxury to just 'show up..' I'm not some regular person who can afford to go out whenever they want...I've got responsibilities. People that actually depend on me, on what I'm building here."

His words hit harder than you expected. The way he said it, the weight behind it. You knew he carried a heavy burden—the whole city was depending on him, on his inventions, on his ability to make things right after everything that had happened with the Undercity and the fallout with the Shimmer. But sometimes it felt like he used that as an excuse for every single thing.

"Oh please don't tell me you really going to pull the 'people depend on me' card again?" you shot back, your voice rising despite yourself. "I get that you're the hero now...You've got this whole responsibility to protect everyone, to keep things together. But you can't keep pretending like that means you can't show up once in a while for the people closest to you."

Ekko's jaw clenched, and he looked away for a moment, clearly annoyed. "This isn't just some excuse Y/N—I am protecting our people. People like you.." His tone was harsh. "I'm doing this because I have to....because there's no one else who can."

You could feel the anger bubbling up inside you now. "Okay but what about me Ekko? What about us?" You took a step closer, eyes narrowing as you stared at him. "You keep fucking pushing me aside, making me feel like I'm not worth your time anymore...like I don't even matter."

Ekko's eyes darkened, and his voice was sharper than ever. "I've never said you don't matter Y/N.. But this—" he gestured vaguely at the work around him, the piles of blueprints, the unfinished projects. "this is my life. You knew that when you decided to stick around. I'm not going to sit here and apologize for doing what needs to be done."

"You don't even see it, do you?" You felt a lump rise in your throat, and your chest tightened with the weight of everything you were holding back now. "You're so caught up in saving the world that you've forgotten about the people who are standing right in front of you Ekko. You act like I'm supposed to understand, but it's been years, Ekko. And I'm so tired of this."

Ekko's fists clenched at his sides. You could see him struggling to contain his anger, the frustration of juggling everything in his life bubbling to the surface. He took a step closer, his voice lower than before. "I never asked you to wait. I never told you to stay. If you're tired of it, then leave Y/N, simple as that. I can't keep apologizing for not being the person you want me to be."

His words stung like hell. The suggestion that you should just leave—that you weren't even important enough to make an effort for—was such a punch in the gut.

You blinked, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. "I'm not asking you to be someone else Ekko. I just want you to be here for once. Not just when it's convenient for you."

Ekko stood there, a tense silence between you both. His gaze softened just a fraction after seeing the tears build up in your eyes, but the walls he'd built around himself were still there, towering and sealed.

Finally, he spoke, but his words were as cold as the air between you. "Maybe I can't be what you want me to be then. I don't know how to fix that. I can't change everything for you...Not when I'm trying to keep this city from falling apart."

You shook your head slowly, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. "Huh, I'm starting to wonder if this city matters more to you than I do."

Ekko flinched, his expression hardening once more. "Don't twist it like that Y/N. I'm doing this for everyone."

"Yeah, well, clearly you're not doing it for me right?" The words came out in a whisper, but they felt like a weight on your chest. "What about the person who's been here with you through thick and thin?"

Ekko said nothing. His lips pressed together in a tight line, his eyes avoiding yours, the unspoken truth lingering in the air between you.

You turned away, your heart pounding. "I can't keep doing this Ekko...I'm just done at this point."

Without another word, you left the workshop, the door slamming shut behind you.

Ekko didn't stop you. He didn't try to call you back, nothing.

As you walked away, you couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever realize just how much you had given him—or if he even cared.

Ekko sat alone in his room, nothing felt right tonight. The usual comfort of his workshop, felt hollow, his mind kept drifting back to the argument he had just had with Y/N.

"What about me Ekko? What about us?"

Her voice replayed in his mind like a constant loop, each word harder to ignore with every passing second. He ran his fingers over the worn edges of his table, his mind drifting back to a time when things were so much simpler, when life was just about working on our little gadgets, sharing secrets, running through the dusty streets of the Undercity.

Back when things were just him and Y/N.

Growing up together in the depths of Zaun had forged a bond between them that was almost unbreakable. Ekko remembered the first time he had met her. He was about 10 years old, he had bumped into Y/N on his way into Benoz's shop.

Y/N was different from the other kids—they both had a knack for inventions and painting, something that set them apart from the rest of the kids around. She was never afraid to get her hands dirty, wasn't afraid to dive headfirst into a problem. And, like Ekko, she had a fire in her—a need to just build, to fix, and to make things better.

What really stuck with Ekko was how they had always been able to talk to each other without words. They didn't need to explain everything. Whether it was a glance or a nod, they understood each other in ways no one else did. They had each other's backs through everything—the struggles, the losses, the pain of living in the shadows of Piltover's gleaming towers. It had always been the two of them.

Even after everything that had happened—his rise to leading the Firelights, the battles they had fought, and the weight of keeping the city from collapsing under its own greed—Y/N was always by his side. No matter what it was.

But the weight of his responsibilities, the constant struggle to keep his city safe from those who strived to exploit it, had begun to take a toll on their relationship.

Ekko's gaze drifted to the window. He could still picture Y/N's face, even from memory. Her skin was rich and smooth—her long dark hair, those beautiful lush curls, had always framed her face just right. The way her eyes big brown eyes sparkled every-time she spoke. She had such an elegance to her, despite the chaos of their world—she had a grounded beauty that was so hard to describe.

She never tried to hide her imperfections, never pretended to be something she wasn't. She didn't have to. To Ekko, she was perfect, even with all the scars life had left on them both.

Her smile, the way she would smile when they finished a project together, the way she would light up when they discovered something new—it was these things that made Ekko's heart ache now. Because he had taken them for granted. He had been so focused on his work, so consumed by the mission, that he had stopped seeing her the way he should have.

As a child, he had never really understood the feelings he had for her. She was just Y/N—his partner, his closest friend. But as they grew older, as they became more than just kids playing around in the wreckage, something had shifted. There had always been an undeniable pull between them, a connection that Ekko had tried so hard to ignore. It was safer that way—keeping things unspoken.

After all, what if he couldn't protect her the way she deserved? What if she became a target for his enemies? He couldn't let her get caught in the middle of his war with the city's power players.

Now as he sat in his room, the weight of his own words ringed in his ears, he realized he had made a mistake. He hadn't just failed her as a friend—he had failed her as someone who cared.

"I'm doing this for everyone." he had said when she tried to get him to see reason.

And maybe part of him truly believed it. But the real truth was, Ekko had never been good at balancing it all. The more he built these new inventions, the more he fought, the more he realized just how much he was sacrificing in the process.

He hadn't been there for her—not in the way she deserved. She had been right...he had been so consumed with saving the world, with fixing the city, that he had forgotten to show up for the one person who had always stood by his side.

Ekko clenched his fists, his pulse quickening. It wasn't just about fixing things anymore. It was about understanding that she had always been there, right in front of him, waiting for him to see what was important.

And deep down, he knew he had feelings for her. He couldn't deny it. Not anymore.

The thought of losing her—of her walking away and never coming back was terrifying. He couldn't bear the idea of never seeing that spark in her eyes again, of never hearing that laugh that always made everything feel so much lighter, or feeling the warmth of her presence by his side. He had kept her at arm's length, telling himself that his mission was all that mattered, that his work was what would save them all. But in the end, it wasn't just the work that mattered. It was her.

As the silence of his workshop pressed in around him, Ekko finally let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth across the room. He needed to fix this quick, to make things right. But how? How could he apologize for everything he had ignored? For all the times he had chosen everything else over her?

The idea of telling her how he felt—scared him. But it was clear that if he didn't, he might lose her for good.

And that thought, more than anything, made his decision for him.

He wasn't going to let her slip away. Not without a fight.

After the argument, everything felt so... off. Like the world had tilted just slightly. You had walked away from him, angry and hurt, but as the hours dragged on now, the anger had slowly faded, replaced by a gnawing sense of longing. Your heart had ached, not just from the words exchanged, but from the thought that Ekko hadn't truly seen you—really seen you—despite everything.

You had always been there for him. For years, through the chaos of the Undercity, the constant fights, the work that never seemed to end. You had been his rock, his best friend, the one who knew him best, even before everything with the Firelights, before the world seemed to make him bigger than the boy you grew up with.

But somehow, over time, it felt like you were just another thing on his to-do list.

In the silence of your apartment, you couldn't help but think about the way he had dismissed you earlier. The words stung still. It wasn't just that he had chosen his work over you again—it was the way he'd made you feel like you were asking for too much....That you were the inconvenience.

Beneath the frustration, you couldn't deny the feelings that had always been there, deep down. Feelings that you'd tried to bury for so many years, telling yourself that you two were just friends. And only that. That it was easier to keep things simple.

But with every glance, every small touch, the feelings grew.

You liked him. You had liked him for a such a long time. You could never quite put your finger on when it had shifted from a deep, comfortable friendship to something more. Maybe it had always been there, hiding beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment.

Maybe it was the way his eyes softened when he laughed, or the way his hands would brush against yours when you worked together. It was the little things that made your heart flutter—things you never had the courage to say out loud. Because you were afraid. Afraid of losing the friendship you had. Afraid of him not feeling the same.

Now, as you sat in your room, all you could think about was how he must have felt. Had he felt the same way all these years? Or was it just you, hanging on to something he'd never noticed?

You let out a sigh, rubbing your forehead. It didn't matter now. What mattered was that you had pushed him away. Your frustration had taken over, and in the heat of the moment, you had said things you didn't mean.

Now, all you could think about was how much you missed him. How much you needed him—his presence, his smile, the way he always knew how to make everything seem a little bit less heavy.

There was a soft click of your door that interrupted your thoughts, and you froze. Was it him? Did this man really just open your door without knocking?

You laid up from the couch—looking up at the door. There he was, standing in the doorway, Ekko—his figure framed by the dim light of the hallway.

You got up from the couch, not saying a single thing at first, just staring at him in surprise. There was something different about him now. His usual confidence was completely gone, it was replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

He shifted his weight a little, you could tell he was struggling to find the right words, but nothing came immediately. He wasn't going to apologize yet—not yet, but the hesitation was enough to let you know he was trying to understand where you were coming from. And that small shift in him gave you a bit of hope.

Instead of speaking immediately, Ekko walked closer to you, looking uncertain as he placed himself in front of you. He didn't say anything for a long while, and the silence felt heavy, like the weight of everything that had been left unsaid was hanging in the air between you both.

"Y/N..." he began quietly, his voice unusually soft, "I—I didn't mean to hurt you. You... you know that, right?" There was a vulnerability in his words that you hadn't expected, and it made your chest tighten.

You glanced at him, a part of you wanting to hold on to your anger, but another part of you could see how much it cost him to say that.

You let out a slow breath, fighting the urge to pull away. "I just... I need to feel like I'm not invisible to you Ekko. That I matter just as much as everything else in your life." Your voice wavered, and you bit your lip to keep yourself together.

Ekko didn't respond immediately. He simply stood there, his eyes watching you carefully as if searching for the right thing to say.

For the first time, you saw how conflicted he was. The anger he'd shown earlier was gone, replaced by something so much deeper.

"I've always been here Ekko...I Always stood by you. But sometimes—sometimes it feels like... you don't even see me at all.." you murmured, your heart aching with every word you spoke.

You could tell that what you said had hit him harder than he expected. He looked down at the ground, struggling to find the right words.

"I don't know how to do everything Y/N. I really don't....and I'm so sorry." Ekko admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just trying to fix this world, and....and I don't always know how to balance it all. But I didn't mean to make you feel small in the process. You matter... you matter more than I've been showing lately."

The sincerity in his words made something inside you shift. It wasn't the grand apology you'd imagined, but it was real. It was more than just a recognition of what had happened—it was an acknowledgment that you were important, that your feelings did matter.

At that moment, you both spoke in unison.

"I'm sorry."

There was a brief pause. Then, almost as if on cue, you both let out a small, nervous laugh at the same time. The tension in the room seemed to lift, you both exchanged an awkward look.

Ekko's face turned slightly pink, and for the first time, you noticed how shy he looked in that moment.

He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. "I guess we're both really bad at this apologizing thing, huh?"

“Looks like we are,” you teased, a soft giggle escaping as you watched him fumble.

Your heart fluttered at his little reaction. There was something about how awkward he was being right now that made you smile even more. His nervous energy, his uncertainty—it was so... adorable. The way he was standing there, so vulnerable yet trying to make light of the situation, made him seem so much more real, more human.

You couldn't help yourself. You didn't want to hide these feeling anymore. It felt was like there was a magnetic that was pulling you to him. You couldn't stop staring at him, the way his eyes softened, the little pink flush on his cheeks, the way he was trying so hard to be brave but couldn't quite hide how much he cared. It was all just too adorable for you.

Without thinking, you took a step closer to him, then another, until you were right in front of him. His big brown puppy eyes locked onto yours, his expression shifting to something more uncertain as you reached up, your fingers grazed his cheek gently.

His breath suddenly hitched, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

"You're so cute when you're nervous.." you whispered softly, the words slipping between you like a secret you could only share with him. The intensity of the moment had Ekko blushing even harder than before, his usual confidence was replaced with something softer.

“I wouldn’t say cute…” he chuckled nervously, his fingers still nervously rubbing the back of his neck, as if trying to shake off the sudden awkwardness. You couldn’t help but smile. “Oh you’re so cute.” you teased, your voice dripping with amusement. “I never thought I’d ever see you all flustered Ekko. I thought you were always the confident one.”

He opened his mouth, probably to snap back at your comment, but no words came out. It was like he was frozen, caught in the quiet tension of the air between you two.

You didn't wait for him to speak, feeling the heat rising in your chest. With a sudden, quiet urgency, you moved closer, tilting your head—as your lips brushed his. It was a soft, testing kiss, as though both of you were taking a breath before diving into water.

But that first, hesitant brush of lips was only the beginning.

You closed the distance between you, your hands instinctively finding his face, cupping it as if you wanted to memorize every detail of the way his skin felt against your touch. Everything inside you seemed to melt. His lips were so soft against yours, the way his body seemed to lean into you, as though he'd been waiting for this moment his whole life too.

Ekko's hands were hesitant at first, unsure, as if still processing what was happening, but soon they found their place at your waist, he gently pulled you closer.

The world around you seemed to fade as everything in that moment focused solely on the feel of his arms around you, the way your chest pressed against his, each breath mingling between the two of you. It was everything you'd been too scared to say out loud, expressed in the kiss—it was raw, tender but desperate all at once.

You felt your heart race in your chest, the realization that this—this was your first kiss, and it felt almost unreal.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you couldn't help but smile softly at the way he looked at you, his face flushed, his big brown eyes wide.

Ekko chuckled, his voice low and warm. "I—uh... wow..." he murmured, his words a little shaky. He looked at you for a moment, still trying to catch his breath. His hands, still on your waist, gave you a gentle squeeze, grounding himself as if to make sure this wasn't a dream.

His gaze softened, and for a second, it seemed like he was trying to collect himself. But when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more serious. "Y/N... I've been such an idiot. You've always been right in front of me, and I've... I've let my head get in the way for so fucking long." He stepped back just slightly, as if to get a better look at you, but the intensity in his eyes didn't waver. "You've been here, through everything—when no one else was. And—And I guess I never realized until now how much I've been waiting for something like this, waiting for you."

"I've always... cared about you, you know? More than just as a friend. But I never knew how to say it, or if I was even allowed to say it. I kept thinking I had time, that things would just... fall into place. But after everything....I just don't think I can't keep pretending like I don't feel...this anymore." He took another step closer, his voice shaking slightly as he finally let himself admit the truth. "Y/N...I want to be with you. I've wanted this for so long. Will you... will you be my girlfriend?"

Your heart was racing at this point, but not just from the kiss. The words he had just spoken had left you completely stunned, each word sinked in with a weight you had never expected. For the first time in a long while, you didn't feel like you were just a bystander in your own life. You were here, with him, and everything—the tension, the uncertainty, the frustration—seemed to just melt away in that one moment.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the warmth spreading through you made it almost impossible. You had been waiting for this moment for years, hoping he'd one day—finally see what had been right in front of him.

But now the truth was out there, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

"You really are a mess, you know that?" you teased, a small smile playing on your lips as you stepped closer to him. The light teasing was a way to mask the vulnerability you were feeling, but it felt so right.

This was Ekko. Your Ekko.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and free, a bit of the tension breaking between you both. "It took you this long?"

Ekko blinked at you, his brows furrowed as he took a step closer. "Hey, don't start with me now." he said with a grin, the usual spark of mischief returning to his eyes. "I've had a lot on my plate." He paused, a more serious look falling over him. "But, seriously... I mean it all Y/N. I've wanted to ask for a long time, but I kept putting it off. I—I just didn't know how to say it, and I definitely didn't want to screw things up with you." His hand reached out, brushing a loose curl from your face, the touch soft and intimate.

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest, his words filling in the cracks that had formed between you just days ago.

You reached up, placing your hand gently over his, guiding it to your cheek as you leaned into his touch.

"I've wanted this too Ekko.." you admitted, your voice softer now. "I've wanted you for so long." You gave a playful smile, your fingers tracing over his hand. "You're kind of an idiot for making me wait this long though."

Ekko chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. "Yeah, well... that's me. Always running around fixing things for everyone else and never fixing the stuff that matters most." He took a deep breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw him let his guard down completely, his expression was so soft, so fragile.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stood there, looking at one another. The world outside—the noise of Zaun, the chaotic hum of the city—seemed so far away, like if it even mattered. In this moment, it was only the two of you.

You breathed out softly, letting the quiet of the moment sink in. "So, no more putting all of your little invention and missions before me?"

"That's no more, I promise.." Ekko said, his eyes softening, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, the tension between you two began to ease.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Good. You still owe me dinner, don't think I forgot."

Ekko chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. "I haven't forgotten doll." he said, his voice warm but teasing. "But dinner's for tomorrow, not tonight. I promise."

You rolled your eyes playfully, giving him a soft nudge with your shoulder. "You always say that Ekko. We all know what happens the next day."

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before pulling back. "I mean it this time. Tomorrow. No distractions, nothing. "

You looked at him with a soft, teasing smile. "I'll hold you to that."

Ekko smiled as he planted a quick kiss on your nose before he lifted you up gently. His biceps flexing as he supported your weight. The way he held you so effortlessly, made your face heat up. The warmth of his body against yours made you feel so safe, and the gentle yet confident way he eased you down onto the couch made your little heart flutter.

He made sure you were comfortable before he settled in beside you. His muscles seemed to mold around you as he curled his body to yours, his chest strong and steady beneath your cheek, making it feel like you could stay in this embrace forever.

"Comfy?" he asked as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Yeah..." you whispered, your fingers grazing the firm muscles of his arm. The soft, warm skin of his biceps felt so smooth under your touch.

As you both lay there, you could feel the steady warmth of his body, the way his chest rose and fell against you with each breath. Ekko just couldn't help himself—he planted little kisses along your shoulder, your cheek, he was soft and gentle—he couldn't resist showing you just how much he cared.

"You better not forget Ekko, tomorrow…do you hear me?" you murmured, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

"Yes ma'am." he replied, a playful glint in his eyes as he kissed the tip of your nose. "You can have my full attention tomorrow. I promise.”

You giggled softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling his heart beat steady and strong beneath your fingers. "I love you little man."

He kissed you again, a quick but deep kiss, before pulling back just enough to smile at you. "I love you too doll. "

The world seemed to disappear as you both lay there, curled up together on the couch, stealing kisses in between soft conversations. The rest of the world seemed so far away, and all that mattered was this moment, this comfort of knowing that you were together.

Chattt I really hope this was alright, this is my first time doing a request fic :,)

Oh also, can you guys tell I have a bicep obsession?

I tried to not to make it obvious in the story

Check out my Ekko one shots on Wattpad for more stories!! :3

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dreamerimpossible · 21 hours ago

Text

His reaction when you say someone else's name during sex.

Warnings: 18+ content, unhealthy relationships, mentions of death, typical canon violence, threats, toxic behavior, manipulation.

Characters: Michael Myers, Chucky, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Patrick Bateman, Jason Voorhees, Leatherface, Art The Clown, Jason Dean, Alex DeLarge, Kurt Kunkle, Brahms.

Michael Myers

He stops abruptly and looks at you through his mask while tilting his head to the side. At this point, you were extremely scared. I mean, he's still a dangerous killer and all. You apologize profusely in a shaky voice, feeling the lump of despair forming in your throat. He, in a mood of indulgence, takes pity on you and spares your life. He pins you down, though while his thrusts are brutal enough to make you feel like you're going to break, he doesn't care; he's using all his strength on you. It's your punishment for your recklessness. His hand circles your neck, choking you so violently that you genuinely think for a second that he wants to hurt you. He lets go, though. By the time he finishes, you have a sharp pain in your private parts and your body in general and semen running down your thighs. Frankly, it could have been worse.

Chucky

He would stop. There would probably be an argument where he would say other kinds of things to hurt you. He just can't handle it; he has to be the one to please you. He asks you who the person is that you named; if you resist saying it, the argument will get worse, and he will accuse you of cheating on him. So you tell him so that your relationship doesn't get any worse. It's obvious that the person dies, because Chucky is proud and wouldn't like anyone else in your head. If you apologize, stroke his ego, and are constantly pushing each other's buttons to make the sex rougher and more violent. and behave for a while, he will forget, but sometimes he will moan names of other girls to annoy you, which turns the situation into a vicious cycle. You are constantly pushing each other's buttons to make the sex rougher and more violent. He drives you crazy because he moans names of people you detest. In his mind, you brought it on yourself.

Billy Loomis

He stops everything, makes a big fuss, and leaves. He asks you who that guy is and comes out in his ghostface suit that same day to take care of him. After that has calmed his mood a bit, he comes back to your place and menacingly approaches you and says something like, “I’m not forgiving you next time, honey.” As he runs his knife across your cheek, making it clear that he’s fighting with himself not to sink it. He’s in a bad mood for the rest of the night; the only way to ease it a bit is to climb on top of him and kiss his neck, all the while whispering lots of affirming words in his ear and apologizing for being so dumb and careless. Only then, if he believes your words, will he grab you by the waist tightly and push you roughly onto the bed. He uses you to take out his frustrations.

Stu Macher

Pretty offended. Hides his disappointment with a calm, joking facade. It's scary because he doesn't say anything about it, just laughs, and pretends to be offended, imitating childish behavior. He continues to have sex with you while telling you to scream his name and that he wants to hear you say that you're only thinking about him. However, even if you do it and tell him it was an accident, it's there, and it just doesn't go away from his mind until the person dies. He thinks about whether he should kill you too for making him insecure. His decision depends on your subsequent behaviors. If you're not interested in him or he sees strange behavior with other guys, his decision is made; he's not tolerating disloyalty directed towards him (quite hypocritical). But if he realizes it was just an accident, he'll always bug you about it to hear you validate him.

Patrick Bateman

This is a brutal mistake. Seriously, don't do it. Whether it's an accident or not, avoid it at all costs. He'll stop, pull your hair, and ask you who that person is. He gets violent in no time and will definitely end sex by looking at himself in the mirror and not taking you into account, regardless of your condition. He will then leave you there and get dressed, ignore your comments, and leave without saying anything to you. He will come back the next day and still not say anything to you. He gives you the silent treatment and is very hard to convince. I can see him ending it over something like this, as he wants genuine affection and interest bordering on obsession, and if you moan someone else's name, it means you are not seeing him as the only person in your life and your top priority. If he sees you aching for him for a considerable amount of time, he will come back to you. But I would take it with a grain of salt if I were you.

Jason Voorhees

Bad technique too. It's hard to motivate him to have sex, and if he sees you moaning someone else's name, he might not be able to continue. He'll just pull away and leave you alone. He takes it out on quite a few people along the way. He won't do anything to you, but it's pretty sad because he doesn't treat you the same way anymore. He sees sex in a negative light again, and he'll probably never do it again. The only way he'd want to do it is to just get him to give in to his impulses, but that would be hate sex, and he'd be taking it out on you for being weak and not controlling himself. If you get him down on you a high number of times and moan his name convincingly enough, he'll hate himself less and blame you a little less. He'll probably never forget it, but he finds it hard to resist you. Plus it turns him on too much to have the blood he splattered on his clothes on your skin. You'd be a guilty pleasure that he'd slowly come to terms with.

Leatherface

You better come up with your best excuses in record time, because he is not letting you go that easily. He does not know how to deal with anger, and he could do something he would regret against you. So, you try to explain to him what happened, trying not to stumble over his words and without getting nervous (it is a difficult challenge). He will cling to everything that is even remotely convincing that you say; even if it is incongruous, it does not matter; he will believe it. However, you are limiting interactions with everyone until he feels safe, and you will have to deal with his way of expressing his emotions, even if it is sometimes against you. He will forget over time if you make him feel good and behave properly. You make sure you never make a mistake like that.

Art the Clown

Uh… really? Do you have a death wish or something? Frankly, being with him is entirely a game between life and death. You never know when he will get bored and end whatever you have. Saying that person's name will mean that he will seek that person out and make them watch while Art has sex with you and subjects you to many violent practices that will only give you pleasure if he has already corrupted and trained you well enough. If not, it won't even be pleasurable for you. Your screams will be a constant mix of pain and pleasure. Your body will be visibly battered. The person at the end of the situation is very traumatized, especially by your positive reactions to everything they did to you. In the end, Art will obviously make you watch him kill him, and depending on your level of sanity, you will either enjoy it or feel distressed. I don't know; he doesn't care. He doesn't do anything to you beyond that because you are such a good pet…

Jason Dean

He would like to be one of those guys who makes fun of you and just goes on with his thing, but he quickly finds out that he isn't. Someone else's name hurts him deeply; you can see in his features his disappointed and hurt look. However, he quickly becomes manipulative and controlling. He makes you kill that guy by carefully following his plans, and if you don't, it means that you don't love him and that you just took advantage of him and that if you were a good girlfriend, you would do anything to make him feel safe. You probably do want to fall for his manipulations, because the relationship is clearly toxic. You go along with all his plans, and he is happy; he sees it as a sign of love and all that shit. When all that is done, he will fuck you good and fulfill all your whims so that in his mind there is only him and only him. In reality, he fulfills his mission.

Alex DeLarge

He changes his expression immediately; he looks at you with that dangerous look that his victims give them. He tells you to back off immediately if you want to get out of the situation unscathed. His dominant voice would have you under control, so your mouth automatically obeys, and you apologize several times while you try to explain to him that it was just an accident. He will play with you and tell you fatal scenarios that could happen to you if he decides to leave you and take away his protection. In reality, he is just playing with you; it is not that your little mishap hurt him that much; it is just that he needs you to understand that he is in charge and he will not tolerate you straying or betraying him. After that he will make you fulfill a fantasy, like having sex in a stranger's car while others drive by or something like that; he will also make you yell "Alex" many times to make it more embarrassing. He enjoys your nerves quite a bit, and he feels paid. However, that very night, he and his droogs are visiting the person you named. That's non-negotiable.

Kurt Kunkle

It cracks me up because I don't even know if anyone still loves this character, but anyway, he's added to my list of slashers. Well, he can tolerate recording you having sex; he can even feel comfortable seeing his followers grow thanks to seeing you naked, and he can act all feigned kindness to anyone who hits on you. But he won't tolerate you thinking about anyone else, much less blurting out someone else's name while you're with him. He's pretty crazy, so they'll have sex in public or something while he humiliates you in front of everyone for being an inconsiderate bitch. He laughs like a maniac, creating chaos and chaos. You literally couldn't even remember that day because of all the unusual things that happened. He doesn't apologize; at the end of the day, he doesn't even talk about it; he literally took out his frustrations by causing massive chaos. Well, that's what you get.

Brahms

He throws a tantrum and forces you to calm him down. He manipulates you and makes himself the victim. He will use this to have more freedoms with you and let you do whatever he wants, basically. No matter what you say to him, he won't want to understand. He just shamelessly enjoys the way you ride him afterwards and tries to get him to forgive you that way. In reality, he will never forgive you because he prefers to make you feel guilty all the time so he can keep getting things out of you. The only way out of this is for him to do something worse (which isn't hard) and you get mad at him and the roles change. But it's always like that. It's a vicious circle too. He silently wonders who that person is. Just give him attention and do everything he tells you for a while. He will think he won. However, you have to control his tantrum well; otherwise, he might get too out of control with his own strength.

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