#its hard to get the work put in across with just stills...maybe i'll make a gif of the video?

[l0vergirls]

take the reins

you've dug too deep, but there doesn't seem to be a downside to that.

batfam x reader

wc: 1382

a/n: i started watching mr. robot (plz no spoilers im literally on the 3rd episode) and fell in love with it and .. started thinking !!!.. & this is lowkey set up like the start of a series, but i'll see how it goes considering i have nothing plannef at all. .. pls do send asks about this story and this reader since i would love love love to expand on it hehe

It was as if time had stopped for a moment.

You found out a lot of secrets. Secrets that can put people behind bars. What do you do with those? Send in an anonymous tip to the rare non corrupt cop, of course. You like to think of it as being a non-violent vigilante. Instead of running around Gotham in a costume and beating the bad guys within an inch of their life, you sit comfortably behind your computer screen and dig.

You dig for anything and everything you can find on everyone you encounter. Why? Maybe it's the unrelenting feeling of needing control, or the fear of simply not knowing.

By breaking something down to its source code, you're baring it all; the rights, the wrongs, everything that makes or breaks you. You won't get caught off guard if you just know how something— someone works.

Sometimes, you find nothing noteworthy. Your neighbor in 405, for example. The first time you had passed her, she sneered at you. That was good enough reason to hack her.

The woman at 405 is Emma Davis, aged 35, 5'7, date of birth: May 15th. Studied at NYU, worked a desk job at some company in Star City before getting relocated to Gotham. Yeah, I wouldn't be ecstatic either. Brings home a different person every week. Occasionally smokes weed. Also your occasional hook up. Don't make decisions while intoxicated.

Emma Davis is just a run of the mill office worker, with the same vices as most people. Nobody special.

But this? This could get you in serious shit, if you aren't in for it already.

Bruce Wayne, date of birth: February 19th, 6'2, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, adoptive father of multiple children, and... crime fighting vigilante at night.

Bruce Wayne is Batman.

It wasn't hard to connect the dots after uncovering the man behind the cowl; you figured all his children were Robins at one point. Even the dead one. Except the dead one isn't really dead, is he?

Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne— all crime fighting vigilantes. What a family. You wonder who else you can unmask.

Fuck, you need to go home. Doing this at a coffee shop was a mistake, but damn it, their connection was fast. Too many people, too great a chance of a breakdown.

Close all the tabs, all the windows, scrub yourself clean of all evidence of intrusion. Don't leave a trace.

Shut down the laptop. Leave.

The sun is still out, they wouldn't be around yet. Everyone knows they all work at the dead of night.

You drown out the meaningless conversations around you, and you're on autopilot, heading to the apartment that you call home.

<>

The Waynes pride themselves on their secrecy. Hiding their vigilante alter egos behind carefully crafted lies. They built walls as tall as the buildings with Bruce's name plastered across the front.

It was a little too late when Alfred Pennyworth received an alert from the Batcomputer. Alfred sent all the vigilantes a message, and they came running in. After all, a security breach is detrimental to all of them.

The butler found a location, The Last Drop. A café right in the middle of the city.

Bruce looked through all of the files, recordings, reports— everything. The hacker didn't take anything, and didn't make copies. He deduced that whoever it was simply read.

That's no good either. Someone out there is aware of who they are, who the man under the mask is.

"Alfred, pull up CCTV footage at The Last Drop at the time of the hack."

On the screen were the grainy videos of the café, with at least 6 different angles. It was fairly crowded, filled with busybodies coming and going through the door. With 7 people on their laptops, they could narrow down the search for the culprit. But not by much.

Until two figures left the café at the same time, approximately a few minutes after the breach, but neither of them were sitting next to each other.

It was one or the other.

Tyler Hess, banker. Went to school in the city, stayed in the city. Clean records, comes from an upper middle class family. Nothing of note.

[Y/N] [L/N], cybersecurity engineer at LabyrinthTech, and one of the more favored employees. Born and raised in Gotham, graduated college a year early, and by all accounts, highly intelligent. Clean records, but skilled enough to be the one behind the hack.

"Well, I think we found our suspect. What're you gonna do about it?" Jason bristled, apprehensive that this person knew all about him.

"'You'? What, you've got your own plan?" Dick retorted.

"Maybe. Not like I'm gonna hurt the little thing," he spat. It was invasive enough that you'd hacked into their records, he thinks a little scare is warranted.

Bruce interrupted, "No, I'll deal with this. They accessed our data for a reason."

<>

It was inevitable that one of them was gonna pay you a visit tonight.

After locking yourself in the apartment, you figured a quick nap would be a good distraction from it. And it was, for a couple hours. Upon waking, you walked into the living room and lo and behold, vengeance himself was standing in your apartment.

"Can't say I didn't expect this, really," you spoke carefully, avoiding his gaze.

He grunted, "Then you know why I'm here. Why'd you do it? What do you gain from figuring out our identities?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a shadow moving across your window.

"Nothing. I just got curious. All billionaires are shady, and they're all hiding something. You were, by far, the most suspicious," you let out a breath. "Don't worry, that's not what anyone else thinks, at least not anyone that can do what I do,"

You hear another voice joining the conversation.

"Do what? Invade people's privacy? You should really be careful where you stick your nose in, hacker."

If looks could kill, you'd be dead ten times over. God, this guy's intense even through that helmet.

Jason Todd, aka Red Hood, date of birth: August 16th, date of death: April 27th, 6'0, occasional smoker, former Robin. Likes pot roast.

Batman— no, Bruce Wayne interjected, "Suspicious?"

"Might just be me, but I found it hard to believe the richest man in the world would be throwing so much money into this dump of a city without an ulterior motive," you look at one of the ears on his cowl, it was almost cute, "Every other rich guy did. Whatever money they put out, it came back to them ten times bigger. Nobody really felt for this city."

That was your angle? The two men went still at your somber admittance. Sure, Gotham wasn't the best city, but that's why they did what they did, wasn't it? They had the slightest urge to show you that they really did care. And perhaps show off a bit.

Jason shifted, "You did it because of a gut feeling?"

You shrugged, "It was right, wasn't it? Something was up, just not... in the way I expected,"

It wasn't everyday you uncover a vigilante that turned out to be Gotham's beloved billionaire.

"Anyway, congratulations on not being an entirely bad guy. 'm not gonna tell anyone," you murmured, "not like anyone's gonna believe me,"

You see Red Hood look at Batman, a silent conversation was, no doubt, occurring.

The two vigilantes head for your window— do these guys ever use the front door?

Bruce turns to you, "Try not to do it again,"

"No promises," you huffed. "But your defenses could use some work. Comms, body cams, and other recorded footage— they were just there."

Red Hood's helmet glinted as he tilted his head at you. You shivered.

"Right, won't do it again," and that was that.

It was like they were never here.

What a night.

<>

You scrutinized the letter in your hands.

A job offer for a position you've never interviewed for. At Wayne Enterprises.

Batman works quick, that's for sure.

The pay was good, very good. You reckon there wasn't a single complaint about that.

Hm, they're making sure you're under their watch. If you were a threat, you'd be easier to keep an eye on. Easier to control.

You weren't one to give up control, but potentially having access to the city’s… well, everything, was something too tempting to give up.

Looks like LabyrinthTech was losing their best employee.

[syrenqin]

How much more? ~ Sylus

warnings: smut, f!MC

It was ceremonious for Sylus to initiate most of the sexual encounters you'd have with him on the daily. It would range anywhere from his rough hand groping the flesh of your thigh, a flick to your clothed pussy while you were lounging on the couch, to his hand accidentally snaking up your chest and encircling your neck. You almost always obliged and gave in to his irresistibly lusted and hungry form. Every once in a while, though, you'd be frustrated beyond belief. It could be a minor streak of bad luck that day. Or maybe your boss stole credit for your work that day. Or maybe you had an argument with an impossible family member. It would become too much after bottling these emotions for a while, and you'd just want someone to steal away all of your problems from you.

You unlock the door to your apartment and enter with a sigh, Sylus immediately noticing and approaching you from the kitchen.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" He strokes your warm cheek and tilts his head, trying to read your tired, agitated expression.

"I just- It's-" you groan and furrow your brows, unable to put your emotions into words.

So when he says "Don't worry baby. I'll deal with it." giving you his signature slight smirk, you feel the weight burdening your shoulders simply fall off. In its stead, something feral is born inside you, and you know it's going to be a long night on your terms this time.

Sylus lets his head fall back onto the plush pillow as your moans mix with his exhausted grunts. His muscular, sculpted chest rises and falls with each deep breath he takes, his hands barely able to hold on to the flesh of your hips any longer. You press your hands on to his defined abs eagerly, trying to angle yourself better so you roll your pelvis onto him, making his cock dance inside you.

"Feel good, baby?" you ask him, cupping his cheeks and relishing his fucked out look. With a hiss, he shoots his seed inside you, painting your walls with cream, adding to the miniature white pool that's already forming inside you.

It's his fifth time now.

"I, sweetie, I can't-"

"One more, please?" you pout, placing a sinister kiss on his drying lips and providing them with some moisture by tracing them with your tongue.

He looks at you as if he can't believe he's hearing things right.

"One more, just one more baby? For me?"

He doesn't say anything but knits his brows together, repositioning himself to lay flat on the bed, with you still on top of him. You attempt to get off to experiment with a new position, but you find your precious pool of his and your combined slick gushing out of you and splattering across his abs like lotion. The sight makes you scramble to pick it up.

"Noo!!" you frown, leaning down coyly to scoop it into your mouth with your tongue. You give Sylus a five-minute break to regain his vigor while you play with his cum on his tummy, dabbing it, blowing bubbles wth it. When you make eye contact with him, you grin a toothy smile, showing off the white goo covering your teeth. He looks like he's about to pass out.

"Don't sleep, Sy." You say suddenly, grabbing his semi-hard cock and making him jerk awake.

His cock was your most favorite pacifier in the world. You needed it in your mouth at all times, sucking on it like a lollipop, like a straw for his milky fluid.

"Mmmm..." you moan knowingly, sending pulsating vibrations down his length which only make him squirm with overstimulation.

You trace a fingernail along the large vein running down his inner thigh while you suckle and make out with the tip of his cock, adding pressure on the slit with your tongue and gauging his reaction. He still seems out of it. You then descend lower and take one of his balls into your mouth, and then add the other one too, looking up again to see his cock twitch and slam itself against his belly.

"That works" you think to yourself, suckling on his nuts while flicking the tip of his dick with your finger.

It takes him barely 30 seconds to let out a deranged sigh and shoot a small load onto your forehead.

He's at his limit, surely.

You swipe the liquid off your forehead and stick your finger in your mouth, tasting the saltiness yet again. You are already massaging his soft dick yet again.

"You have one more in you... just one more? last one, please?" you coo at him and this time his eyes fly wide open. "How much more?"

"Last one, pretty please, Sy." you plead.

"You said that the last two times."

"Just one more, you can do it." you beg him, gliding your slimy pussy lips along his hardening cock. "One more, c'mon big boy."

Sylus plops back down on the mattress and lets you rub out your own orgasm on him, his dick now slimed up well with your slick. He doesn't burst with liquid this time when the dick pulsates and comes to a stop, slowly shrinking in size. His balls have been sucked dry and there is no more seed of life for you to harvest.

"....one more?"

Sylus takes the blanket from underneath you and wraps himself tightly in it, closing off access to him.

"I was kidding~~!" you tease him, climbing off of him and joining him on the bed beside him, making him the little spoon for once.

Sylus, the nocturnal creature falls asleep and doesn't wake up until 2 PM the next day, while you cook him a nutritious breakfast for maybe.. one more round later in the night?

;)

[predestinatos]

you mean everything - MV1 ೀ⋆｡🌷

summary: max needed a wedding date and you were used to being his fake partner.

tags: max verstappen x fem!reader, fake dating, friends to lovers, max is so whipped, fluff, a bit angsty maybe?, mentions of alcohol

word count: 2k

notes: i've been writing (and thinking) so much about max... my period is coming please give me a break i'm sensitive. also would love to get some feedback if possible so i know if it's worth making a series out of this!!!!

"If you want to make it believable at least hold my hand" you half-whispered to Max, who was buttoning his blazer while getting out of the car, you behind him.

"Sorry, I'm not used to this with you" he said chuckling. His sweaty palm held yours tightly, and the feeling of it was odd. Knowing Max for so long meant that these romantic gestures felt almost cringeworthy to you both, and you both had to put up award winning performances every time you played this game.

The game in question being fake-dating. It started as a funny joke where you both thought it would be great to test out the Get A Champagne Bottle For Free At This Restaurant If You Propose theory (which worked, by the way). From then onwards, you used each other as dates whenever asked by annoying family members, creepy coworkers, or just because you felt like lying.

The talking wasn't hard - you both felt comfortable in that part, lying with words coming off almost dangerously natural - but when it came to acting the part, both of you felt awkward, like kids who found relationships absolutely repulsive.

This time, though, the performance would last longer than usual: it was a wedding. Max's friend's wedding. Max could've just gone along, or bring a friend (even you as a friend). Yet he had told his friend, after one too many shots on his Bachelor's Party, and after being chosen as The Guy Who'll Take the Longest to Settle, that he had, in fact, a girlfriend. His friends didn't believe him, so he showed a picture of you two together - a selfie really, nothing much. And they still said they didn't believe it. So here you are.

You couldn't blame him, even if you wanted to. You agreed to use each other as a fake partner for as long as you could in as many situations as required, although when it all started none of you ever thought it would lead to wedding attendances.

So now there you were, Max's hand on yours, entering the small church. His eyes locked with the groom, who waved and called for you to sit near the altar.

"So you ARE real" he said, nervousness laced in his voice even as he tried to lighten the mood himself. You giggled at the irony of it, nodding as you said your congratulations.

"Just wait until the guys see this" he continued gesturing towards the bench where 3 other men around his age sat. Men you had seen before in some Instagram pictures, men you spent the previous night trying to memorize basic information about so you didn't sound suspicious.

Max's hand now fell on your waist almost instinctively - it wasn't instinctively, he told himself once he noticed its positioning. And if it was, it was only because he took this so seriously, almost as a sort of method acting. Sitting down next to his friends, he noticed how all of them seemed surprised at your presence, and something like pride filled his chest. He loved winning, loved being right even if he was lying; but most especially, he loved how jealous other men seemed to be over the fact that he was (at least in their minds) dating you.

He couldn't deny - though he tried, really - that you two looked good together. His rougher features mixed with your softer ones gave you both an aura of near unreachability, which yes, was pretentious of him to think but he thought nevertheless.

The ceremony was quick and endearing, a smile spread across everyone's faces at the shared loved between the bride and the groom. As the crowd clapped, Max leaned into you, "don't tell me you're crying". "I am, just to think that I'll have to keep pretending to date YOU for the next 10 hours" you replied, his mocking smile recognizing the joke.

The reception hall was beautifully decorated with shades of soft green and violet orchids. Max tried not to think about how much it matched the shade of your dress, how you looked like you had come to life from a classical novel. He tried to feel like anyone but Mr. Darcy as you felt so much like Elisabeth Bennett to him.

Sitting down next to him, you found this part easier - mingling and socializing was something you enjoyed more than he did - especially with alcohol in the mix. It's a wedding, you thought; this is what weddings are for.

So you drank the wine with the main course and sipper champagne to celebrate and ordered a few cocktails when it was time to dance and talk - and you felt it on your body almost as much as you felt Max's hand occasionally sitting on your thigh, but not even close to how strongly you felt his thumb caress your skin as he did so. Truth was, he too was drunk; his eyes looked smaller and his cheeks were flushed, and the amount of times he ran a hair through his dirty blonde hair had caused it to look messier. As you looked at him, you felt he never looks as attractive as when he is like this - loose and carefree, his shirt sleeves rolled up and a smile on his face when he notices people laugh at his joke.

"I have to admit I didn't think it was true" his friend said when Max left to go to the bathroom. He looked drunker than the two of you combined, his words hard to decypher, like a riddle. "He's been talking about you for months now and we never saw you for real so we thought you didn't exist" he laughed, and you laughed back before it registered.

"Months?" you asked him, eyebrows furrowed yet attempting to remain composed. You shouldn't have asked it - a supposedly month old girlfriend wouldn't be surprised but you were his fake month old girlfriend and you weren't understanding it anymore.

"Yeah. He talks about you so much all the time I think even we started to date you" he laughed again, yet this time you didn't find the joke so funny. You were frozen in your seat, merely blinking as if trying to put the confusing puzzle together, the pieces not quite fitting the way you thought they would.

A touch on your shoulder unfroze you, almost like magic, like a disney film come to life. You turned around to find the groom, somewhat sober, smiling at you while also looking somewhat concerned. "He's calling for you... And he's also absolutely wasted" he said, pointing to the door of the hall.

"Shit" you cursed, getting up from your seat at a speed you couldn't believe, worry filling your heart, making you forget the conversation you were just having.

Opening the door to the garden outside, you found Max sitting down against the wall, shirt partly unbuttoned and disheveled hair. When he saw you, he grinned, such genuine happiness laced with tipsiness.

"Lightweight" you mocked as you crouched in front of him, trying to balance yourself on your heels, somehow managing it despite your own drunkness.

"You're laughing at my mis- Shit- my misery" his throat bobbed up and down, exaggerating his own agony with a hand on his chest and another on his forehead like a Shakespeare character.

"I have to admit it's quite fun sometimes" you bit your lip as you fixed his hair as best as you could, hands brushing through its soft, blonde mess.

"You're so– you're so sweet" he said, his words dragged and messy. He brought a beer bottle to his lips but you stopped him before any liquid touched them.

"I think that's enough of that for tonight" you grabbed it and placed it behind you, sitting in front of him.

"See now... Now you're being mean" his hand grabbed a strand of your hair and played with it softly as he pouted.

"Okay big boy I'm gonna get you some water" you say, getting up once again, yet his hand stops you, grabbing your wrist tightly.

You looked at him, startled. His drunken state is visible, and it felt frustrating that you had to be the one sobering up for him. The music vibrated through the wall he leaned against, somehow tickling him, making him giggle.

"Stay," he managed to say, eyes half closed, "I'm so glad we're- Fuck things are spinning so much" his hands rushed to his eyes and his head hung low, "Ah fuck. I'm so glad we're datin- Fuck, no, oops-" he continued laughing despite how sick he felt, the whole situation sounding hilarious when filtered through alcohol.

You giggled along with him, mostly because you wanted to see if you could convince him to move, scared he might feel worse or pass out on the cold floor if he doesn't do so. "Fake dating. Fake dating, I know. I knowww" he continued, his words dragged and his finger pointing at you before poking your nose with such innocent sweetness you were taken aback.

"Max" you tried to sound more assertive but found it hard to do so, your own intoxicated state making the situation lighter than what it actually was. Your heart racing was a symptom of it, one you wouldn't feel if sobriety was an option, you thought. Max's eyes wouldn't seem to stare at you differently were he sober as well, and the way he scanned your features, his gaze staying on your lips for longer than expected, wouldn't affect you in the slightest had you not drank some alcohol.

"I like it when you say my name" he looked up at you innocently, pleading, almost.

"Want me to say it again?" you asked, smiling. You complied with these demands because you knew they were childish whims of an intoxicated man, his happiness a priority in times like these. Upon his nod, you started saying his name, half teasingly, half reassuringly, the leaves rustling in the garden behind you.

"Max... Max!! Max Max-"

He shouldn't. It would complicate things, and he liked when they were simple, clean and organized. He knew he shouldn't even when his whole vision spun and his brain convinced him that he should do things he would never do otherwise. But every time he refrained from saying something he would stumble across all his words and trip and fall and his head would only hurt more, and it seemed as if he could only focus if he kept listening to you and talking to you and looking at you.

The lights shone behind you in a way that made it feel as though he was dreaming, like you were a mirage, too good to be true. Maybe his friends were right - you weren't actually real. He wanted to be sure, in that moment. That you were real and that he wanted you as much as he thought. And though he shouldn't, though it was a terrible idea, he couldn't help but lean over to kiss you.

He tasted like champagne - bubbly and slightly sweet, his movements sloppy given his state, yet you couldn't help but drink it all in. Part of you - a big part - reciprocated the kiss, felt his fingers on the side of your neck, pulling you messily towards him, and tried to steady him, guiding him gently with your own lips.

It was odd, how this felt so right yet the fake hand holding didn't. As Max kissed you, that thought entered his clouded mind - did it feel wrong because it was fake and this was real? Your skin felt so soft, so much softer now he could touch it freely and unapologetically.

"Fuck-" he started, pulling away, his head resting against the wall once again as he stared at you, noticing how it hasn't hit you yet; what you just did, how it affected everything. "I fucking love you" he shrugged as you fixed your hair, pausing with arms raised for a few seconds before smiling softly.

"You're drunk" you replied, looking at his own grin, the gleam in his eyes making him appear both innocent and guilty of so many things.

"I'm drunk and I fucking love you"

"Max..." you started, and he said your name back to you with such tenderness you couldn't believe his lips tasted of alcohol earlier and not something sweet.

"We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" you continued, waiting for the silence to swallow you both.

[suiana]

(yandere! bully victim x gn! bully reader) (cw: erm... yandere stuff, body horror or whatever its called idk bruh, he kinda carves his name into ur skin but its not mentioned in detail)

"how does it feel to be on the receiving end now, huh?"

you shiver, letting out a strained sound as you trash on the table.

"pluh- mn!"

"what was that? you've got to be clearer with your words, my dear. how do you expect me to understand muffles?"

the male hums, his cold hands dancing across your body. you could only shiver yet again, unable to do anything but remain binded to the table.

"oh, sorry, i forgot you couldn't speak. haha, how silly of me."

yeah, how silly of him to completely gag you so you couldn't speak. how completely silly of him to tie you to some cold table, restraining all your movements so that you couldn't fight back against him. how absolutely whimsical for him to be recording all your grunts, groans, and whines while you were completely restrained.

well, you suppose it's a bit ironic. considering that you were the one doing it to him when the both of you were younger. albeit not on this level.

you wonder if this was how he felt. vulnerable, naked, defenseless.

it happened so long ago, but the wounds you inflicted on him were still fresh. no matter how hard you try apologizing, his scars still bleed warm.

you shouldn't have been mean to him. you really shouldn't. especially when he was so much nicer back then.

"mn... you have no idea how much I've wanted to do this. it really makes me happy to see you so..."

he pauses, eyes raking over your form that was tied down to his table.

"so weak."

we've all watched the movies where the bully gets put in place and completely punished. you used to laugh at those films. i mean, how could the bully even be so stupid to get karma for their actions? couldn't they have hid better? tried making up for it? why did they have to go through the consequences of their actions? what idiots!

but now that it's happening to you, you wish you hadn't said those words.

the second you found out that your ex-victim was your boss, you couldn't even as much as utter a word. no, you felt like you were about to have a mental breakdown. especially because you were now his secretary, working for him.

"come on, what happened to that big, scary, and mean ol' bully that i knew? the one that used to pour water over my head and have their friends restrain me?"

his words have a hunt of condescension- no, they were fully condescending. he was mocking you right now. mocking you for your stupidity, mocking you for your actions. and he was absolutely taking pleasure in seeing you in such a weak and reduced state. a shell of the person you once were.

you couldn't do anything but to take it like the loser you were.

"haha, look at you. all tied down and gagged like the dog you are. why don't you bark for me? maybe I'll be nicer if you act like a stupid bitch in heat."

he laughs, hands resting on your clothed abdomen. his hair falls over his eyes, the usual up kept man looking like a mess as he continues to taunt you.

"you know, when i confessed to liking you, i never expected you to bully me. seriously. i thought you'd be like, I don't know, nice about it. if you were nice I don't think I'd have stalked you and do all this. would've courted you normally until you accepted. I'm a patient guy after all."

the words that come out of his mouth have just the tiniest bit of sadness in them. however, it's completely squashed down by the sharp look in his eyes.

"had i known you'd be such an ass about it... I'd have just taken you for myself right there and then. who cares about having a normal relationship, right? as long as you're with me, it's all that matters."

right, like what he was doing right now. ever since you started working for him he's been constantly... acting like he was your boyfriend rather than your boss. constantly giving you gifts, telling you that it was okay that you bullied him because he knows you're just shy and that he'll make things right... the worst part was when he forbid you from interacting with others.

it was fucking creepy.

things were only worsened when he found you on a night out at a bar, flirting with some random stranger. you had wanted to let loose and relieve some stress but it looks like karma loved to see you suffer.

"what are you doing? are you cheating on me?"

what the fuck?! you stare at your boss in horror, freezing in place. quickly turning back to the stranger you were flirting with, you shake your head and apologize, explaining that your boss was just a little weird. why the hell is he even here?!

"look, I'm sorry but he's a bit of a creep and-"

"my darling, i think it's time we go back home. you've had one too many drinks."

that experience was only the start of an even worser time. one that led him to declare to the whole damn world that you were now his in a fit of anger and mania. i mean, he practically has you locked in his house now. and it wasn't even illegal since you agreed to come.

he had called you to sort out some paperwork or whatever and you being his secretary... you couldn't refuse even if you wanted to. so you made your way to his house, all naive and ignorant of what was to come the second he opened those doors to that luxurious mansion of his.

you passed out and the next thing you knew, you were restrained to the table, gagged and staring at him with a half lidded look in your eyes.

god damn it, you should've known better than to believe this crazy guy's words. why would you willingly go to his place where there'd be no one but you two? ugh, stupid, stupid, stupid.

and now you could only express how terrified you were with your eyes and shivering body.

"how cute. how seriously cute. I've always wanted to see you look at me with that expression."

he coos, lips stretched into a smirk as he leans down to your face. his breath hits your skin, cold hands trailing up your chest and to your jaw before he grips hard.

"you're mine. it wasn't clear when i was just a boy but you've always been mine. since the day i let you bullied me, and even right now, I've made it clear. you're mine, and always will be mine."

he's right, you've always been his. why else would this rich and obviously powerful guy just let you bully him? he could've had you gone the second you made a move on him but instead...

"i still remember the slaps and bruises you left on me. ah... you were so cute back then. hitting me like that. should've scarred me too, maybe then I'd see your horrified face whenever i flashed it."

a sadist. you're sure that he's some sort of sadistic masochist.

"oh well, it's no matter. I've done that job for you."

he pulls away, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his bare upper body to you. to say that you were completely terrified would be an understatement. because why the hell was your first name (and his last name btw) painfully carved into his other flawless skin? right above his heart, no less!

"isn't it beautiful? you're forever with me now."

his words send a chill down your body. what the hell, you don't want to be with him at all! and it looks like he sensed that but chose to ignore your feelings.

your boss smiles at you before pulling out a small blade from his pants.

oh hell nah.

"it's your turn, darling."

no no no, you don't like where this is going. your body trashes violently against the cold hard table he had you strapped in, pupils blown wide as adrenaline fills your veins.

"mgh! mf!"

"hey hey, quiet down. it's only fair that i get to do it to you, right? consider this my payback. you had your fun and now I'm having mine."

no! shit shit shit, what are you supposed to do?!

you try shaking your head, sweat forming on your skin as your breath grows laboured. your body continues to trash against the bindings, but it looks like the bindings were done just a little too well.

"hm... should i do it somewhere visible? or maybe... right where your heart would be?"

you shake violently, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

"nh! mh!"

"aw, is my little darling about to cry? that's so cute. go on, cry for me. cry for me just like i cried for you."

tears fall down your cheeks as he trails the vlade over your clothes. the sharpness of the item has you shivering, cold dread creeping up your spine at the very thought of that anywhere on your skin.

"hm... since you look so scared, I'll carve my initials instead of my full name. how about that? a good offer if i say so myself."

if you could speak, you'd be cursing and begging him to stop. unfortunately that wasn't the case and your boss took your lack of words as the green light.

"don't worry, I'll kiss your pain away afterwards. it'll be over before you know it."

oh god damn it, you really should've just politely rejected him when he confessed.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Hrn. All the vamp talk got me thinking about vamp Stan and hunter Ford. Just gonna throw this out there and run away.

Au where Bills some mega lord vampire, sealed away for millennia that tricks Ford in a very similar manner, except here Bill does get out and starts the vampire apocalypse. Ford, betrayed, works on becoming a vampire hunter and putting an end to Bills reign before it can begin. Becomes a super vampire hunter badass and tries to track Bill across the country, staking all the baby vamps he can on the way.

Bill wants to turn Ford into a vamp and make him his right hand vamp man, because he's obsessed and doesn't understand 'no' just thinks Fords playing hard to get while Bill's vamps start spreading further and further than can be controlled by only Ford. Ford unintentionally starts a vampire hunting party of some kind, and gets more and more allies against the rising undead. Bill puts a bounty on Fords head to bring him to Bill alive, so that he can do a whole 'seducing to the dark side' bit with him.

Then he gets Stan instead, who has no idea whats happening to him and Bill is not happy to see. Figures 'hey! I'll just drain spare parts dry and leave him as a present for Fordsy to find. He'll totally freak over his brother's husk, or he'll be grateful i took out his worthless brother who he hates. Either way, fun for me.'

Drains Stan, leaves him in a box in a warehouse or something for Ford to find. Except when Ford rolls up Stan's already long gone, and he has no idea what Bill was keeping there. Makes a whole conspiracy about it, while Bills wtf's about how Stan turned into a full vamp and busted out. He didn't do that, unless he did? Did he accidentally turn the lesser Stan before getting the one worth anything? Disgusting, he doesn't want this knock off Stan in his vampire army, and hey! What happened to all the other vampires he left in the warehouse to jump Ford!

Bill did not turn Stan. Stan's got a smorgasbord board of vamp blood in his system that turned him when Bill bit him. So i guess Bill sort of did it? on complete accident and not even trying.

Because when the vampocalypse started and Stan, a lone homeless man and therefore perfect target, got jumped immediately and bitten by some rando, his reaction, as a known crazy person, was to bite them back about it. Instant vampire reaction of pulling away and going 'wtf' at this guy who bit them? Thats not how this works? Gives Stan just enough time to clock them in the face and run for the hills while they compute whatever just happened to them.

Stan has no idea he's been jumped by dozens of vampires, he just thinks muggers are really into biting lately, and none of them like it when he bits back. His teeth hurt because of his partials acting up from all the biting he's been doing. He feels sick because he accidentally ingested just, so much blood lately from all the self defense biting. Who knows what kinds of diseases those weirdo's have in their blood. Food doesnt taste as good because, again, he's sick. Same with the sun piercing his eyes. Except eventually he freaks himself out by actually looking forward to the next time he gets jumped, because he's gotten a taste for vampire blood.

Oh god, its some kind of disease that makes people bite each other! Except Stan doesn't want to jump a random passerby, just the guys that jump him. Maybe's hes got some mutant biting strain, he doesnt know. Starts making himself even more of a target, just to bite more vampires that he thinks are messed up muggers.

Then he gets nabbed, dragged to Bill, eaten, and wakes up in a box, for extra truama. He's hungry, terrified, retraumatiazed, and needs out.

So he does, then uses his much better, none fake new chompers to drain all the vamps Bill had stuck around, since he's already got a taste for vampire blood. Unsure if Stan's a vampire eating vampire, or if he's just a cannibal here. Either way, he's undead and still has no idea whats going on, just that a creepy guys obsessed with his brother and was mad he wasn't him and also tried to kill him? Good thing Stan's got the luck of the devil and the survivability of a cockroach!

No idea Bill still wants to kill him for daring to not be Ford and now a vampire. No idea Ford thinks he was some sort of super vampire Bill sent to kill him or terrorize people and is now trying to kill him. Thinks he's suffering from some kind of biting disease, because vampire's arent real, and he doesnt really remember slaughtering all the vamps due to hunger and blood craze. Just woke up back at his car and covered in blood. Which is normal, because people keep biting him. If we go by vampire rules of 'not fully turned until they drink human blood' he can still sort of go in the sun and eat food without vomiting, he just feels awful. Obviously because he's ill from all the blood he's been drinking, because people keep biting him.

Really, the idea of vampires biting him but Stan getting away by biting back just amused me. Plus all the vampire Stan i've been seeing around

[wholoveseggs]

Reverence

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Request(s)~ #1 - "Could i request for elijah pls? maybe something like the fic you did a while back about klaus making her insecure. as a bigger girl its nice to see the comfort from my man LOL! so yeah just something about someone/something making reader upset about her body and she kinda shuts elijah out? he finds a way to reassure her/comfort her! (can definitely be smutty) thank you angel! have a great day 💜" #2 - "Could you possibly write something with Elijah about body worship? Maybe the readers a bit insecure and he reminds her of all the physical things he loves about her as well as the mental and like personality traits… like just soft fluffy smut?"

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader} Elijah protects you from a stranger’s insult, then shows you why it was never true...

♡♡ Thank you for the requests beautiful anons!!! I adore this idea, struggling with body issues is a subject close to my heart and I hope I did it justice, and that this feels like a comfort to anyone who needs it.~ ♡♡

4.3k words - Warnings: smutt, heavy body image insecurity, reader is plus-size and self-conscious, fatphobia (insult from a side character), crying, hurt/comfort, very soft Elijah, white knight Elijah, fingering, slow sex, body worship, praise kink && tiny bit of violence...

You didn’t want to leave the house. You barely had the energy to exist, let alone face the world. But your job at the bar didn’t care about bad days. It didn’t care that you wanted to curl up in bed and pretend the world didn’t exist. It didn’t care that your body felt too heavy. It just demanded you show up, slap on a customer-service smile, and tolerate people you had no patience for today.

Your uniform didn’t help. The black t-shirt was too tight, the logo stretched across your chest, and the skirt was even worse. No matter how much you tugged it down, it still felt like it was working against you. It was hard to feel comfortable in it, especially when you felt like every set of eyes lingered too long. Like every glance held something unspoken. You could sense their judgment, could feel it pressing down on you, and you felt shame bloom hot and heavy in your chest. It was as if the world was reminding you that you took up too much space. That you shouldn’t exist.

You sighed, laced up your sneakers, and threw on your leather jacket, tugging it tight around you like armor. Maybe it would offer at least some comfort.

The night was a mess. You were short-staffed, the customers were assholes, and the clock seemed determined to move at a glacial pace. Every minute felt stretched thin, dragging endlessly. When you finally got a breather, you slipped out back, leaning against the wall and dragging in lungfuls of cold air. The night bit at your skin, sharp and bracing, but at least it was real. At least it was something other than the weight in your chest.

Just one more hour. One more hour, and you could go home, take a long shower, and maybe scrub away the feeling of existing in your own skin tonight.

"Is there anyone working here?" A voice bellowed from inside, slurred and impatient. "I've been waiting for a refill for, like, fifteen minutes!"

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly through your nose. Fucking prick.

"I'll be there in a moment!" you called, shoving yourself off the wall and forcing your legs to move.

The man at the bar looked wasted, his hands flat on the counter as he scowled at you.

"Finally!" he spat.

You didn’t bother responding, just grabbed his empty cup and refilled it. "There you go." You slid the drink toward him.

He downed it in one go, then slammed the glass back down. "Put it on my tab," he slurred, "and get me another."

"No problem. What's your name?"

His bleary eyes narrowed. "What? Why should I tell you?"

You sighed, already regretting this conversation. "I can’t put anything on your tab if I don’t know who it belongs to."

He reached for the drink, but you pulled it just out of reach.

"Name?"

"Fuck you."

You arched a brow, unimpressed. "Right. Then you’re paying cash."

His lip curled. "Oh, fuck off, stupid fat bitch," he spat, his words sharp as broken glass. "You can't do shit."

The breath left your lungs.

For a second, you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The bar noise faded, drowned under the roaring in your ears. Heat crawled up your neck, but your body felt frozen. Locked in place, your hands gripping the counter as if letting go would send you crumbling to the floor.

He was still talking, still slurring insults, but you weren’t really hearing him. Not over the voice in your head that whispered, See? Everyone could see just how awful you looked. Even this drunk asshole. You should be ashamed of yourself, embarrassed.

Glass shattered.

It took you a second to realize what had happened. That he had smacked his empty cup off the counter, sending shards flying. He was standing now, a sneer twisting his face as he leaned toward you.

"Fucking cunt," he snarled. "Give me my damn dri-"

He never finished the sentence.

One moment, he was lurching forward, and the next… A blur of movement. A hand, firm and unyielding, slammed down on his shoulder.

The man gasped as he was shoved back into his seat, his body caving under the pressure. His face paled, and he let out a choked, strangled sound.

The hand didn’t move. It didn’t need to and a familiar voice, calm and cold as steel, cut through the air.

"That," Elijah said, "is quite enough."

Elijah stood behind the man, his fingers digging just enough to make the drunk squirm, but his expression was unreadable. controlled, collected. But you knew better. You knew the quiet, simmering rage that lurked beneath his civility.

The bar had gone silent.

The man tried to move, but Elijah’s grip didn’t falter. He only leaned in slightly, voice as smooth as ever.

"Apologize."

The drunk swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling under the weight of Elijah’s presence. "I…" His voice wobbled. "I didn’t mean…"

"Apologize."

The word was softer this time. Deadlier.

The man turned his panicked gaze to you. "I-I’m sorry," he stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

Elijah didn’t release him right away. He let the silence stretch, let the man feel his power pressing into him. Then, finally, with an almost dismissive flick of his fingers, he let go.

The drunk bolted from the stool, muttering some half-hearted excuse as he stumbled away.

The moment he was gone, the tension in the bar broke, conversations resuming in hushed tones. But you were still frozen. Still stuck in the moment before Elijah had intervened, in the moment where the words had hit you like a slap.

You turned away, suddenly desperate to escape. To hide, to try to breathe, to not let Elijah see the cracks forming in your expression.

You ran into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. The tears came then, spilling down your cheeks as you pressed your forehead to the cool wood of the door.

It was stupid. You were fine. You were a big girl. You were used to this, and it didn’t hurt. It wasn't like you hadn't called yourself worse. It wasn't like you hadn't spent nights wishing your body was different. You weren’t the kind of person to get upset over a few words.

So why did it feel like you couldn’t breathe?

A soft knock on the door.

"Y/N." Elijah's voice was gentle.

You didn’t answer.

"Y/N," he repeated, softer this time, "may I come in?"

You drew in a shaky breath, rubbing furiously at the tears on your face. You couldn’t hide from him, not forever, so you pushed yourself off the door, unlocked it, and stepped back.

Elijah eased the door open, slipping inside and closing it behind him. His expression was calm, but his eyes were bright with concern.

"Are you alright?"

You nodded quickly, turning away from him and trying to wipe the remaining tears away. "It's fine. Sorry. I'm fine."

You were mortified. Elijah had seen everything. The scene. The confrontation. And now, your tears. The two of you had just recently begun dating, and the last thing you wanted was to start the relationship off with your baggage.

You couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn't look up from the floor. You were a mess, and he was immortally chiseled and beautiful. How could he possibly find you attractive, especially after he saw how weak and pathetic you were acting.

Elijah took a slow step toward you.

"It is okay if you are not fine," he murmured, his words warm and soft. "It is okay if he upset you."

He brushed his knuckles along your arm, then he took your hand, lifting it to press a gentle kiss against your skin.

His sweet gesture broke the last remaining shreds of your composure, and the tears fell harder. You turned to face him and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. You buried your face in his shirt, breathing in the scent of his cologne as his hands stroked along your back.

He pulled off his heavy woolen coat and draped it over your shoulders. The weight was comforting, and the lingering heat of his body surrounded you, easing the trembling of your limbs.

He didn't say anything. He just took your hand and led you out the door, and then outside, the cool night air a relief on your flushed face. You followed him, letting him guide you to his car.

"Stay here," he said, opening the passenger door for you. "I'll return shortly."

You nodded, climbing in and shutting the door. Being inside his car muffled the noise from the bar, and you leaned back, closing your eyes and exhaling.

When the driver's side door opened, you looked over, watching as Elijah climbed in and started the car. For a moment you wondered what he had gone to do, but the question didn’t linger. The answer came when you saw the small specks of blood on the cuffs of his sleeves.

He handed you your leather jacket and purse, which he must have collected from the break room. You smiled to yourself, and the knot in your stomach loosened a bit.

"Thank you," you murmured.

"Of course."

He pulled out of the parking lot and into the night. The ride was quiet, the radio playing some low, soft classical music. After a while, he glanced over, and you felt his eyes on you. You still couldn't look at him, and you kept your eyes down, staring at your lap.

Your soft belly was sticking out slightly, the skin between your shirt and skirt exposed. You could see the way the flesh dimpled, and a rush of shame heated your face.

Elijah placed a strong, warm hand on your thigh, squeezing gently.

"May I ask," he began softly, "why did his words hurt you so deeply?"

You looked up at him, his expression calm and open.

You sighed. "I don't know."

It was a lie. A poor, pathetic attempt at a shield. Because you did know. You knew why the words bothered you.

He nodded, but didn't push. He just returned his hand to the steering wheel, his attention on the road ahead.

It wasn't a long drive, and when the car pulled up to your apartment, it was well past midnight and most of the lights were off. The large building felt so cold, empty, imposing, and you didn't want to go inside. Not alone.

Elijah got out, coming around and opening your door. He took your hand, helping you out, and you didn’t let go. Not as he led you to the elevator, not as he opened the door to your apartment, not as he guided you inside.

The apartment was dark, and Elijah moved to the lamp by the couch, switching it on and filling the room with a warm, gentle light.

You shrugged off his coat, handing it to him. He folded it carefully, setting it aside, and for a moment, you just stood there, arms curling around yourself, like you could shield your body from his eyes.

You swallowed hard, shifting uneasily, staring at your feet. You crossed your arms tighter, wrapping them over your stomach. Just a feeble attempt to shield yourself from Elijah’s gaze. You didn’t want him to see you like this: hurt, weak and ashamed.

Elijah watched you carefully, his expression unreadable, but you felt the weight of him, the way he saw everything even when you wished he wouldn’t. He didn’t move closer, didn’t press you to speak. He let the silence settle, warm and patient.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"For what?" His voice was gentle, but firm.

You hesitated, then exhaled. “For… tonight. For making a scene. For ruining the evening.” Your head shook, your throat tightening. "For being-"

"Stop," Elijah said softly.

"Why do you stay with me?" You said a little harsher than intended. The words spilled out before you could stop them, sharp and raw and ugly. Your voice wavered, and the shame burned hot and painful in your chest.

"Am I a pity case? Are you bored by beautiful women, so you chose to date me?" The words came faster now, tripping over themselves, tumbling from your lips before you could cage them.

"Stop," Elijah said again, stronger this time.

The quiet authority in his tone cut through the air like a blade, sharp and deliberate. It made you pause, made you glance up despite yourself.

He was watching you with something almost… pained in his eyes. As if the idea that you could blame yourself for any of this physically hurt him.

"I know how you feel about yourself, and I know that there is nothing I can say or do to change that." His voice was warm, heartbreakingly gentle, yet unyielding in its certainty.

"But allow me to ask you one thing. If someone said those words to another you care for, would you blame them? Would you think less of them for being hurt? Would you think them weak, or that they deserved it?"

"No." You muttered, the word slipped out before you could think. It was immediate, instinctive. Reflexive.

"Then why," Elijah asked softly, "do you think that of yourself?"

You let out a choked breath, your fingers curling into your sides like you could claw your way out of your own skin. "You don’t get it."

Elijah stepped closer, filling the space you tried to shrink away from. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to ground you, to remind you that he was here. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking your head. 

“Elijah, look at me.” The bitterness in your voice startled even you. You stepped back, pushing him away, your arms unfolding as you gestured to yourself. "Really look at me."

"I am."

"No, you’re not."

Your breath stuttered. The words were rising now, acid in your throat, too much to hold back.

"I'm fat." The word felt heavy, like a curse, like something filthy. "Not just soft, not just curvy in some romanticized way. I have rolls, Elijah. I have stretch marks, my thighs rub together when I walk. My stomach isn't flat, my arms jiggle, and if I sit the wrong way, I feel like I’m spilling out of my clothes."

Your voice was rising, cracking under the weight of your self-loathing. Your hands pointed to all of your unsavory parts, you grabbed at your stomach and arms, the tears falling in earnest now. 

"You could have anyone. Someone effortless. Someone who fits into the world the way they are supposed to-"

"Enough."

His voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t harsh.

But it stopped you like a wall of stone.

And before you could blink, his hands were on you. Not rough. Not unkind. But firm. Unyielding.

His fingers closed around your wrists, stopping your frantic gestures, silencing your spiraling words. His grip was steady, grounding. Holding you together before you could shatter.

Before you could protest, before you could even breathe, he moved.

Effortless. Controlled.

One moment, you were standing. The next, your back hit the wall, and his body was against yours, pressing you into it like he could mold you into him.

A sharp gasp broke from your lips, and instinct took over. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands clutching at his shirt, the heat of him overwhelming.

"I am looking," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble, "at exactly who I want and what I want,”

His hands stroked down your legs, hooking under your thighs, his fingers pressing into soft flesh like he wanted to commit the feel of you to memory.

His mouth traced slow, reverent kisses up your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"I have seen women starve themselves to fit into corsets, their ribs near breaking. I have seen them darken their skin, pale their skin, carve their features to fit a mold that would be reshaped within a decade. I have watched beauty be declared, discarded, rewritten over and over again."

His lips brushed over your jaw before ghosting over your own lips. "But none of it has ever been real. Not like this. Not like you,”

You let out a shaking breath. Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding onto him like an anchor.

"Elijah-"

He silenced you with a kiss.

Tender and insistent, cutting off every self-destructive thought before it could take root. His grip tightened, his body shifting, and suddenly, the wall was gone.

Your arms locked around his neck, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you with effortless strength, the motion smooth and deliberate. The bed met your back in the next breath, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he settled you there.

His lips never left yours, his hands never stopped touching. Trailing reverent paths down your arms, your waist, the softness of your belly.

He pulled away for a moment, his hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, his movements unhurried. You watched as he shed his clothing, his body beautiful and chiseled and perfect.

And for a moment, it was a reminder of how imperfect you were. How soft you were where he was hard. How different.

But then he was kissing you again, his lips insistent, claiming, and his touch chased away all your negative thoughts, at least for a moment.

He gently pulled off your top, revealing more soft curves, more places to touch, to hold. Your breasts spilled out awkwardly, your bra unable to contain them, but Elijah only smiled, undoing the front clasp, and kissed the swell of skin there.

He helped you peel away your bra, and you covered your chest instinctively. He brushed his hands over yours, guiding them away, and pressed his lips to the valley of your breasts, the tender flesh beneath, the sensitive spot where the swell of your stomach curved.

Your skirt was next. Elijah slipped it off, letting his palms drag along your legs.

His hands left fire in their wake, the heat of his touch sinking deep, setting every nerve alight. Every time you tensed, every time your body tried to curl in on itself, he was there, lingering longer, chasing every instinct to hide. His fingers traced each curve with purpose, as if learning you, mapping you, claiming you.

"’lijah," you whispered, voice unsteady, caught between need and uncertainty.

His only response was to press his lips to yours. The kiss was slow and deep and overwhelming, pulling you under, drowning you in him. And for a moment, everything faded. Everything gone but his hands and his mouth, the heat of his body against yours, the steady, deliberate way he took you apart.

His fingers skimmed between your thighs, teasing, testing, spreading the wetness he found there. His touch dragged along your slit, and you gasped against his lips, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

His tongue brushed over yours, stealing the sounds from your mouth, his thumb tracing teasing circles over your clit.

"So beautiful," he breathed. "And all mine."

The words made a rush of warmth pool low in your belly. You couldn't form a reply, not with the way his fingers were working you over, the way he was looking at you. You squirmed, arching your back, trying to grind yourself against his hand, but he only smirked, pulling away slightly.

"Not yet," he murmured.

His fingers moved down, slipping inside, and you let out a shaking gasp. Your hips rolled instinctively, needing him deeper.

Elijah watched with a satisfied expression, his lips brushing against your cheek, looking down to where you were connected.

"You grip me so tight, so warm, wet and lovely," He curled his fingers, watching as your eyelids fluttered shut. "I like the way your body moves, the way you give into pleasure."

He kept the perfect pace, the heel of his hand bumping your clit in slow, easy rhythm. Wet, filthy sounds filled the air, the slickness coating his fingers and your inner thighs.

He watched as his touch coaxed a wave of heat over your skin, as it left you panting, and a small, helpless sound caught in the back of your throat. Your body was tightening, every muscle winding into a knot, and when he sucked your nipple between his teeth, the tension snapped.

Pleasure burst through you, sharp and overwhelming, and his fingers didn't stop, dragging the climax out until your entire body was trembling.

He let out a low groan as your pussy clenched around his fingers, his lips found yours. You felt him undo his pants, the head of his cock dragging over your slit. You gasped and lifted your legs, wrapping them around his waist.

Elijah's eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide, and his hands slid beneath you, grabbing your ass and lifting your hips, easing himself inside.

"Y/N," he hissed, a low, feral sound, his lips pressing to yours as his cock sank deep.

"’lijah," you moaned, clinging to him, letting him take control.

His mouth sealed over yours, muffling the soft, desperate sounds spilling from your lips. Your hips rocked into his, the pressure building in slow, aching waves, each movement pulling you deeper into him.

Elijah pressed deeper, his thrusts turning sharper, his pace quickening, more desperate now. The room filled with the wet, sinful sounds of your bodies moving together, of your breathless moans and the quiet, strangled curses slipping from Elijah’s lips, the only sign that he was losing himself in you.

He adjusted, angling you just slightly and the shift sent pleasure sparking up your spine. A gasp broke from your throat, and he drank it in, his chest pressing flush against yours, pinning you to the bed.

He didn't care that the soft skin of your breasts spilled out, didn't care that the squish of your belly crushed his sculpted abs. No. He leaned into it, drank in the feel of you, how soft and lovely you were. His tongue slid up the curve of your neck, tasting the salt on your skin, drinking in the way you moaned his name.

Your fingers found his hair, tugging and pulling, your legs locked around his hips, every little detail in you wringing pleasure from him. Your sweat slicked skin, flushed and trembling, the greedy, needy way your body took him.

You felt his control begin to slip, a growl, low and visceral building in his throat. He leaned back, his dark eyes glittering as he looked down at your body.

He watched the way your body bounced with each deep thrust, the way your breasts and belly moved with him. One hand skimmed down, and his touch teased over your clit, the other tightening on your hip, holding you in place.

You wanted to cover yourself, feeling so utterly exposed underneath his intense stare. But his fingers were relentless, circling and stroking, your entire body tightening and trembling.

"That's it, darling girl," he growled. "Let go."

You broke.

You shattered with a helpless cry, pleasure rushing through every nerve, leaving you trembling beneath him. The moment your body clenched around him, his perfect rhythm faltered, grinding deep as he followed you over the edge. He had held on, resisting until he had unraveled you completely, until he could finally let go, spilling inside you, filling you with warmth.

It was hot, messy, primal…but neither of you cared.

You clung to him, holding onto every last wave of pleasure, every last tremor that wracked through your bodies.

Slowly, your breathing evened, the heat of the moment giving way to a softer, quieter intimacy.

Elijah shifted, carefully rolling to the side, but he didn’t let go. He pulled you with him, keeping you pressed against his chest, like letting you go was out of the question.

His fingers traced absent patterns along your stomach, a slow, idle reverence. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it, you realized. He simply couldn’t stop touching you.

You hesitated, watching as his hands traced over the softest parts of you. Without hesitation, without doubt. Normally, you would swat him away, retreat into yourself, discomfort creeping in before his touch could linger. But you couldn’t. Not now. Not when you could see it so clearly in his eyes. How much he loved you, every curve, every so-called flaw. He didn’t just accept them. He worshiped them. And who were you to deny this adoring man the very thing he cherished?

“Do you really mean it?” you whispered, your voice barely above the hush of the night.

Elijah’s eyes lifted to yours, dark and unwavering. “Mean what, darling?”

You swallowed. "That you…” The words caught in your throat. "That you think I’m beautiful."

His hand flattened against your stomach.

"Look at me."

Your eyes slowly met his as heat crawled up your neck to your cheeks. 

Elijah leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm, steady, unshaken.

"I do not think you are beautiful," he murmured, voice as certain as stone. "I know you are,”

A tear slipped down your cheek, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness. And Elijah kissed it away before it could fall.

"You will believe me one day," he promised, his voice threaded with something fierce, unshakable. "Until then, I’ll keep showing you."

He gathered you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin. For a moment, you stayed stiff, uncertain. But then, slowly, you let yourself melt into him, your body relaxing against his, your breathing syncing with his steady, unshaken rhythm.

Your hand drifted over his, where it still rested against your stomach. You hesitated, then laced your fingers together, holding him there. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe him.

Just for a little while.

And that was enough.

[namgyunation]

Hi, absolutely love your writing style and that you not oversimplify characters.

You wrote before, that Nam-gyu and y/n (I’m not sure if she is even y/n) are fighting fiery and a lot. Could you write about one of those scandals and the behavior of both after it.

It can be your headcanons or a full drabble, you choose. Though I’d love to see replicas of both during the argument and afterwards.

Once again, love your works 💋

addicted to the drama

— pairing: nam-gyu x f!reader — summary: a relationship with someone like nam-gyu isn't easy, or peaceful. far from it, but you're in this shit for the long haul. OR; three fights with nam-gyu and three ways it gets 'resolved.' — warnings: suggestive moments, a littleeeee gross, he's especially gross in the second fight i'm sorry :(, mentions of sex but no crazy explicit smut, 18+, the girls are fightinggg, there's a little fluff in here, nam-gyu is veryyy not nice in the third fight and uses rather mean language, drug use, not proof-read! — word count: 11.3k — a/n: hiiiiii thank you so so much for the request and the kind words omg (seriouslyyy thank you :*)) <333 this is my first time ever doing one, so i hope i didn't stray too far from what you wanted, haha. i think nam-gyu is definitely a petty little shit when it comes to arguments with his s/o and definitely more than a little emotionally constipated. i went ahead and included 3 different fights, all with varying levels of seriousness lolol. i'm sorry it took so long, i got a little carried away LMAO. there's a bunch of my headcanons sprinkled in here ofc, but maybe i'll make a separate headcanons only post in the future TToTT I hope you like it!!! <3

In a bad mood, baby, come work me out.

You don't ask for much. You don't think you do, at least.

A tidy space meant a tidy mind meant a tidy life. It doesn't seem that hard of a concept to grasp. To you.

Nam-gyu's shoes are strewn lazily across the floor in front of you, shoe prints outlined and punctuated by a wetness that traced their path from start to finish. Rain water pools beneath the soles, dripping like a damn crime scene. You let out a deep sigh, swallowing your anger as you hung your jacket on the rack.

Your eyes flick over the apartment, taking a mental note of every offense and sorting them in the framework of your mind as you built your case. A discarded glass of iced tea on the island, half sipped, then forgotten. A stray sock on the floor, far from its home in the laundry bin overflowing with Nam-gyu's unfolded clothes. A cup of ramen with the chopsticks still in it. You step forward, grabbing a box of snacks on the coffee table. It was too light, nothing but cardboard and air as you shook it. Empty. You slam it into the recycling bin with more effort than necessary.

Your anger simmers, about ready to spill over as you push past the door to your bedroom. He's exactly where you knew he'd be, splayed out lazily across the bed in shorts and a loose shirt, one hand pillowing his head while the other gripped his phone.

"Nam-gyu."

He hums in vague acknowledgment, eyes still trained on his phone. You swipe at it, knocking it out of his hand, watching his face bloom with a mix of confusion and anger as it tumbles onto his chest, narrowly missing his face.

He curls his lip. "The hell is your problem?"

"Your shoes."

"My shoes," he responds flatly.

You suck in a breath. "In the middle of the floor. Dripping."

He rolls his eyes at you and puncutates it with a scoff. "My god. You're so dramatic."

You throw your arms out. "Is it that hard to wipe them and put them on the rack?"

"Yeah, yeah," he says. Dismissal. "I'll do it later, relax."

"You will not do it later."

He exhales, a hand dragging down his face like you're the one exhausting him. "Shit, you're so uptight sometimes. It's just a little mess."

You scoff. "A little mess that you leave sitting there for days!"

He grunts, the only sign that he heard you, before turning over onto his side to unlock his phone again.

Your eye twitches.

Fine.

The next morning, you don't put your makeup away after getting ready for work. Your cups populate the apartment, gathering on every surface like a small village. Your jackets find homes on the couch, the floor, the backs of the few chairs you two had. A stray sock joins his on the ground. Then a shirt. A pair of underwear. Fuck it. You add another sock for good measure.

It only takes two days for Nam-gyu to break. He catches you on the way to the bathroom, his hand digging into your waist as he whips you around, interrupting your plans to continue building the ongoing crime scene of makeup in the sink.

"Cut it the fuck out."

You smile. "I don't know what you mean."

He narrows his eyes, jaw clenching. "Oh my god, you're insane. I get it, okay? Fuck." His hand goes up to rub at his temples for a moment before dragging slowly down his face in defeat.

He points past you at the bathroom sink surrounded in puffs of eyeshadow and smears of foundation. "Deal with... that. I'll get the rest of it."

You stand there, biting back a smile as he lets out an exasperated sigh, pushing up his sleeves and tucking his bangs behind his ears before leaning down to tackle the mess—half you and half him. You're about to tease him when his eyes zero in on something on the ground. He picks it up with a smirk, holding it up in the air in front of you. It's your underwear.

"Honestly?" He looks away from you for a moment, his eyes dragging over it for too long, as if inspecting every twist of the lace. "I don't really mind if you keep leaving these around." He raises his eyebrows at you as a grin stretches across his face. You roll your eyes with a disgusted scoff, but you don't care, not really.

He opens his mouth to say something more, but you're already shutting the bathroom door behind you with a click.

You lean against the sink, hands gripping the cool marble as you let out a sigh of relief. Victory.

---

The next time you fight, it's under the pretense of something fun. You'd complained about how little time the two of you had spent together in the past week. Every time you were home, he was at work. Every time he was home, you were at work— or too exhausted from said work to do anything.

So he proposed a compromise. A night out together at the nightclub, he'd said. A nice way to spend time with each other even when he was on the clock. Like 'take your kid to work' day, except the 'kid' was his annoyed girlfriend. And the 'work' was a shady nightclub filled with too many loud, intoxicated people. And the 'day' was actually a night choking on smoke and sweat and too much noise that stretched way too long, like a guest overstaying their welcome.

You lean against Nam-gyu, staring out into the crowd of people as he tangles in conversation with another one of the club's regular VIPs. You found your head spinning from the revolving door of people that he'd spoken to all night. You wonder how someone as naturally introverted and—rough as him could stand this job.

You listen in, attention flitting in and out as they spoke. He says something so out of character that it catches you off guard. You let out an amused puff of air. He's too animated, too bubbly, too eager to please people that barely know his name. For what it was worth, he was certainly one hell of an actor. Anything to get the guests—and the drugs—coming over and over again, you suppose.

It's not long before you feel his warmth inch away from your body. An alarm. You look up, and his hands are already on your shoulders, rubbing quickly up and down in a way that signals 'hey, I'm about to do something that you probably don't want me to do, but I'm gonna do it anyways'. Your mouth is already opening to complain, but he beats you to it.

"I'm gonna step out for a second, okay?" He's not looking at you. He leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "This guy is offering me some good shit. Gotta take it. He's real important."

He brushes the ghost of a kiss to the back of your head, no doubt an attempt to placate your already building annoyance, but it barely registers. His hands pick up speed on your shoulders, rubbing the last bit of warmth into you before he's pulling away, smiling with enthusiasm as he leaves to pump more chemicals into his body.

You let your head tip back as your eyes shut. Nam-gyu never ceases to amaze you with just how many bad decisions he can make in one night. The air around you hums with music, closing in on your little spot by the bar. You drum your fingers against the counter, trying and failing to convince yourself that you're having fun.

You're about to stand—go outside to get some air maybe—when someone slips into the seat behind you, filling Nam-gyu's spot.

"Hey."

You startle a bit, not expecting the sudden conversation.

It's a man dressed in all black, a silver chain glinting against his collarbone. He smells like smoke and beer. Based on his attire, it's not hard to deduce that this is one of Nam-gyu's coworkers, another promoter, you were sure.

You nod at him politely, not really sure what to expect but not wanting to be rude, either. It'd be best not to cause problems with anyone working alongside your boyfriend, you figure. "Hello."

He's nice enough, asking you about how your night was going, what other clubs you'd been to, what kind of drinks you like.

Your face softens into a smile as the conversation continues, your initial suspicion simmering down and settling into something resembling ease as you realize he's just another guy on the clock doing his job: promoting the club.

He leans over, taking his phone out to show you something, and that's when you notice just how close he'd gotten to you since he sat down. You inch away slightly but still listen politely as he pitches one of the club's themed parties.

You nod your head with a vague interest as he scrolls through his photo gallery. Although you were never much into clubbing, you could admit that some of the events looked kind of cool. As he continues going through the photos, one in particular—a Valentine's night—catches your eye. You lean in, and your shoulders brush at the movement.

"That one's cute," you say, pointing at it as you take in the background details. Pink strobe lights, heart balloons, and rose bouquets. A small smile tugs at your lips as you imagine Nam-gyu in his work outfit, his sleeves rolled up and hair tucked behind his ears, knee-deep in a pile of cutesy, pink decorations. The thought brought some color to your cheeks. You'd have to bring it up to him later. Maybe that would be a more fun night for you to attend with him.

Unbeknowst to you, the man beside you was in the middle of taking your statement the completely wrong way. He raises his eyebrows, studying the pink dusting your cheeks and the way your face focused in on his phone screen. He scoots even closer, testing. When you don't react, he reaches out an arm, slowly draping over you as his hand finds its way to your shoulder. His grip on you is light, not forceful, not trapping, but you still stiffen at the contact.

"You think so?" he says, a smirk on his face. He ducks down so he's eye level with you. Too close. "Hey, if you promise me you'll go to our next one, I'm sure I can get you a discount," he brings his phone up again, tapping quickly until he's at the 'contacts' screen, "here, let me get your number so you can—"

You shrink back sheepishly, realizing that you have to nip this interaction in the bud. He looks at you, confusion written across his face, but he lets his arm fall to his side.

"Uh, sorry—do you know Nam-gyu?" you ask, thinking it was as good a time as any to bring him up.

He raises his eyebrows at the sudden shift in topic. "Nam-gyu...? Yeah. I work with him." A flash of recognition. His eyes widen. "Oh. Shit—are you the girl he came in with?"

You nod, a polite smile returning to your face as the man immediately retracts from you, an apologetic look on his face.

You open your mouth to speak, "Yeah, he's my—" Boyfriend, you try to say, but you're cut off by a rush of hands looping at your waist, tugging you backwards into a tight hold.

The familiar rumble of Nam-gyu's voice fills your ears as he leans over you. You twist around, looking up to see his face, both startled and relieved at his sudden entrance. He's staring down at you lazily through half-lidded eyes, and you can see how blown out his pupils are, even in the dim light. You barely have time to react or make a snarky comment before he's pressing his lips to yours, earning a small noise of surprise.

The kiss is welcome until a hand drifts to your chin, tilting you upwards, deeper, drifting into something that felt a little too intimate to be doing in a public space.

Remembering your audience, you pull away, a gentle hand on his chest acting as a barrier between the two of you. His coworker is looking at the two of you, his expression both sheepish and embarrassed, like he was intruding on something he shouldn't be— and honestly, he kind of was, what with the way Nam-gyu was glowering at him.

He stands up, giving Nam-gyu an apologetic nod as he clears his throat, hands flying to his pockets as he prepares to leave.

Nam-gyu smiles, nodding curtly back at him, but you know him well enough to recognize the tension in his jaw, the ingenuity in his smile. "Hey, man."

"Hey." He looks off to the side and then back again. "My bad, man. I didn't know she—"

"I think I can handle this one from here," Nam-gyu says, cutting him off with a barely disguised edge in his voice. There's a squeeze at your waist, a hand on your shoulder. "You can go find some other chicks to bother, right?" He cocks his head to crowd of people gathered in the center of the club, a small, mocking laugh leaving his lips. "I'm sure one of them will fuck you."

You recoil at his tone—and his gross implication, hand going up to lightly smack at his chest. You wonder if the drugs were cutting off the circulation to his brain.

"Nam-gyu!" you hiss, but he doesn't look at you.

His coworker curls his lip, eyes narrowing. "Jesus, dude. I said my bad. I didn't realize she was with you, alright?" He shook his head, turning around and promptly removing himself from the situation. He shot one last look at the two of you over his shoulder, returning the glare that Nam-gyu was still giving him.

Once his back fully disappears into the crowd, you stand up, knocking Nam-gyu's hands off of you as you fix him with a stare.

"What the hell was that?" you deadpan, arms crossing. "He literally said he was sorry."

"'What the hell was that?'" he mocks, his voice climbing a few octaves to match yours. He snorts, ignoring the frustration coloring your face. "I could ask you the same damn thing." He leans down, a hand drifting to the nape of your neck as he crowds into your personal space. "So. What were you two talking about? You seemed real interested." His tone dips low into something icy, accusatory.

You scoff at him, explaining how the conversation was friendly, how he was unaware of your status as a couple, how he instantly backed off at the first sign that you were uncomfortable—

But Nam-gyu ignores you, his hands travelling over your body until they find a home at your shoulders. He spins you around, and you let him, exhaustion hitting you as you realize that your statements were going in one ear and out the other. He rubs at your arms yet again as he pushes you forward, making you walk with him as he leads you to one of the side rooms—a VIP room, you come to realize.

"C'mon," he says, voice thick with whatever drug he'd just taken, "got s'more guests to entertain in here, and you get to come with me."

You roll your eyes. "Yayyy." You continue to count down the minutes left in his shift, but something told you that he was in the mood to clock in some over time.

The lounge is nice, spacious. It's at least a bit quieter than it is out in the main area, a perk you're somewhat thankful for as you adjust yourself on the couch. The guy from earlier is there too. You'd nodded at him when the two of you entered, small and polite and slightly apologetic. He ignored you, presumably for his own sake. You don't blame him.

The night continues, and you're silent, not really wanting to get in the way or be dragged into the conversation. You lean closer to Nam-gyu, craving his contact despite how annoying he's been. It wasn't exactly easy for you to relax in a room full of supposedly 'very important people' that you didn't know, all smiles and raucous laughter as they smoked and drank and huffed whatever came their way.

You were never the biggest fan of the world your boyfriend operated in, surrounded by substances and fast people with fast money that seemed to move quicker than their minds could make decisions, but it's what you signed up for when you got into a relationship with him, after all.

He's chatting it up with a particularly loud, and—unique-looking guy to his left, two girls practically melted into him at both sides. Goes by 'Thanos', you come to find out. A famous rapper with a lot of status and—from how he was speaking—a whole lot of money. His purple hair draws your attention, making his presence impossible to ignore in the confined space, that and his peculiar way of speaking, puncutated by random bursts of english.

You carefully snake a hand around Nam-gyu's arm, wanting to be closer but not wanting to interrupt. He gives you a small glance before brushing you off, you shoot him a look but then his arm is looping around your waist, pulling you into his side. He adjusts your legs so they're draped over his lap, and you redden, feeling like it was the slightest bit too much.

The others at the table didn't seem to mind, though, too caught up in their own conversations to care about your inner turmoil.

You slowly relax as he returns to his conversation. His hands are warm against you, one resting gently at the small of your back, the other rubbing light circles into the exposed skin of your leg. Nam-gyu was a touchy guy, something that you'd gotten used to in your time together. Always a hand at your shoulder, fingers ghosting against your hip, an arm slung lazily across your lap. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

It was fine at first, a comfort amidst the torturously long shift. His touches were soft, subtle, light, a welcome feeling.

Then, it escalates. He laughs at a particularly stupid joke from Thanos, too loud, too eager. It sounds fake. Whether it was due to the drugs or his desire to get into Thanos' good graces, you weren't sure. Either way, you don't have time to dwell on it before he's pulling you again, closer, until you're on his lap, his arms locking against your middle.

This, you conclude, was most definitely too much. You're quiet for a few moments as Nam-gyu's laughter winds down and Thanos turns to accept a joint from one of his lady-friends, a momentary calm falling over the room with the distraction.

You take the gap in conversation as an opportunity, fidgeting in your spot as you try to inch off of his lap. "Nam-gyu, can I get down?" you whisper.

He looks at you, his eyes blank as a playful smile creeps onto his face, but there's a tinge of something else there.

"What?" He lets out a breathy laugh, raising his eyebrows. His fingers ghost over your waist, your ribs, the slope of your neck. Then, he's tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ears, smiling at you like a lovesick fool. You balk at the attention. He wets his lips before biting down on them. Eyeing you with a sudden razor-sharp focus. His voice comes out even, "You bored of me all of a sudden?"

You stare at him, incredulous. "What is with you right now?" He's not normally like this—touchy, yes, but not this... animated.

Nam-gyu just chews on his cheek, thinking for a moment before ultimately choosing to ignore your question. He pulls you closer until you're flush against his chest, your face burning red with embarrassment as he continues to hold you, his touch skimming dangerously close to indecency. You turn to the side, not wanting to meet anyone's gaze. At least he was warm, a silver lining.

Across the table, Nam-gyu locks eyes with his coworker, a silent battle still simmering in the weight of their stares.

This—his performance—was for everyone to see.

For him to see.

It wasn't even about you anymore. Just Nam-gyu's pride, his desire to win, even when no one else was playing the game.

A small misunderstanding, of which an apology had already been issued, it's fairly easy to let go, but Nam-gyu was never a fan of 'easy'.

The night pushes on, as does he. He whispers things you'd deem not very appropriate for company, much closer than necessary as he breathes against your neck, lips skimming the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. You mumble back a response, his fingers toying with the strap of your dress.

His behavior finally comes to a head a few moments later. Everyone at the table is chilled out, seemingly in a haze, likely from the weed and whatever else was spread out on the table. You wonder if it was finally about time for you to shove Nam-gyu in the car and go home.

Then, his hand is on your chin, guiding you to look up at him and fixing you with a stare that lasts a few beats too long, and then he's leaning down, closer, too close, pressing a kiss to your lips that he tries to deepen. It's dizzying, overwhelming, and entirely unlike him. You quickly break the contact, not giving him the opportunity to up the intensity. Not in front of all these people.

Thanos whistles from his seat, long and drawn out. It makes you want to melt into the couch.

Your face is red as you stand, suddenly aware of all the eyes on you.

"I'm going to the bathroom," you say, voice coming out in a flurry as you turn away from him.

Behind you, he meets eyes with his coworker for the last time that night, a cocky, infuriating smirk on his face.

He picks up the jacket that you'd left on the couch, throwing it over his shoulder before tossing a lazy 'goodbye' over his shoulders as he follows you. The performance was over.

The silence on the car ride home is suffocating, the engine humming beneath the tension. The energy shift is palpable—one second he was all over you, whispering into your ear and raking his fingers over every expanse of exposed skin, and then, nothing.

Nam-gyu had sobered up enough to drive, thankfully, because you were in no mood to do so. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, his other arm leaning out the window. His posture is lazy, leaning back in his seat with his legs spread out in a way that appears casual, but the way his jaw is set, the tension in his knuckles where he grips the steering wheel, the effort he expends to not meet the stare you're boring into the side of his head—it all betrays him, how he really feels.

His lips are set into a thin, irritated line as he drives. His eyes flick to the radio, and his hand leaves the steering wheel for a moment as he turns it on, upbeat pop music filling the car but doing little to mask the fact that he was simmering, barely keeping his temper in check.

You ran out of patience from waiting for him to speak first. "So. You done being weird now?"

Nothing.

"Nam-gyu."

Still nothing.

You let out a small huff that trails off into a laugh. "Wow. So you can run your mouth all night, but now all of a sudden you're quiet?"

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel at that, his pointer finger twitching as he taps against it, the subtle clinking of his ring against the wheel queueing you in to how close you were to getting a reaction.

You roll your eyes. "You're such a fucking child, sometimes. You know that?"

"Shut up."

Your eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he hisses, eyes narrowing as his grip on the wheel tightens, "shut up." There's something in his voice that makes you listen. It's low, firm, clipped in a way that tells you he's barely keeping himself from snapping.

You study him, taking note of the way he bites at his lip, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows hard, and the way his hand flexes against its resting spot by the window.

You huff, turning to face the window and mirroring his posture.

Fine.

Soon, he's shifting the car into park, but he doesn't move. Doesn't turn off the engine.

Just sits there.

You don't turn around to face him. He doesn't ask you to, either.

The low rumble is the only sound between the two of you.

You didn't want to be the first one out of the car, and clearly, he didn't want to be either. It was like you two were in a standoff—a childish, petty standoff.

The silence is pointed, buzzing under the weight of all the things you weren't saying to each other. He lets out a sharp exhale, and you feel his stare on the back of his head. You refuse to turn around, refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You feel it, the way he's sitting there waiting for you to break the silence, as if this was somehow your fault and it was your responsibility to rectify it—waiting for you to sigh and grab his hand or say something snarky to give him an excuse to argue with you. It doesn't come.

He's the first to break, clearly tired from his shift, not to mention hungry for something to put in his body other than drugs ands cheap beer. He lets out a scoff before finally shifting the key in the ignition, shutting off the comforting thrum of the engine. He throws his door open, slamming it behind him as he fishes the apartment keys out of his pocket, not sparing you a glance as he walks towards the building.

You roll your eyes as you follow him, not like you had much choice.

The apartment is dim when you step inside, the only light coming from the fridge where Nam-gyu is standing, his body haloed in white as he pulls out a few snacks.

You flick on the light, ruining the dramatic environment he was building. You hang up your jacket and kick off your shoes, shutting the door behind you with a click as you fix him with a stare.

He turns, popping a few bites of something in his mouth before he leans against the counter, not meeting your eyes and instead staring at the wall across from him as if it had somehow become the most interesting thing in the world.

You suck in a breath, a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion swirling inside you. In all honesty, you just want to go the fuck to sleep.

"Nam-gyu."

Nothing.

Fuck, you hated this. Hated when he clammed up and backed himself into a corner, turning his nose up at you and forcing you to drag the issue out of him like you were pulling teeth, like he was a damn child. Because why would he ever just tell you what the problem was so you two could talk it out? That'd be way too easy for the both of you.

You drag a hand down your face, pushing past him and moving towards the bedroom, your patience running extremely, extremely thin.

"Jesus, you're exhausting."

His lip twitches at that. "What, running away again?" he says, voice indignant as he steps in front of you, cutting you off.

"Ohhh." You throw your hands up at him, a mocking smirk on your face. "Now you wanna talk."

He closes in on you, so close that you can smell the smoke and chemicals still clinging to his clothes. He looks like he's going to speak, but he doesn't, just presses his lips into a tight, thin line, his expression laced with irritation.

You roll your eyes at the silence. He has no room to talk, and you know it. He knows it too, clear in the way he won't open his mouth.

"If you're gonna throw a temper tantrum every time a guy speaks to me, go ahead. Just leave me out of it." You step back from him, finding your way to the couch. If he wants to act like a dick, fine. Let him.

"I threw a tantrum?" he says, voice laced with something icy as his jaw ticks.

"Yes, Nam-gyu," you say, voice going high as if you were speaking to a child, "a whole fucking scene, actually."

He watches you with silent anger as you fluff up the couch pillows.

You hear a snort behind you. "Oh, sleeping on the couch, huh? Cute."

"Better than sleeping next to you right now."

A beat of silence.

Then— "Fine. Whatever. Do whatever the fuck you want."

He stomps into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

You stare down at your lap, brows furrowed in anger as you gave yourself a moment to calm down. Then, it dawned on you that you were still in the dress you'd worn to the club with makeup still on your face, the only change of clothes being in the room now occupied by your angry boyfriend.

Dammit. You lay against the couch. It's too lumpy. Too cold, without your thick blanket and Nam-gyu's shared body heat. The dress is tight against your skin.

Still, you lay there for a good ten minutes, refusing to fold.

When your efforts to wait him out prove to be fruitless, you let your eyes flutter shut with a sigh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction but knowing that there was no way you were going to get a good night's sleep out here.

Reluctantly, you get to your feet and shuffle quietly to the bedroom door. You linger there for a moment, steeling yourself.

Behind the door, Nam-gyu is laying in bed, clad in only his boxers as he stares up at the ceiling in the dark, his arms crossed over his chest as he drums his fingers anxiously, angrily, against his skin. His work clothes sat in a crumpled heap by the laundry basket, taken off and dumped in a flurry as he waited for you, refusing to get ready for bed before you cut the act and gave in, like you always did. He knew you'd kill him if you found out he'd laid on the bed with outside clothes.

He reaches over to his phone on the night stand, quickly clicking it on before shutting it off again.

Ten minutes. Fuck. How long were you gonna keep this up for?

His body twitches in reluctant defeat, and he's about to get up, swallow his pride to scoop you up from the couch and drag you into bed so he could get some goddamn sleep—but the sound of the door creaking open saves him. He swallows, body going still against the bed as you step inside.

A wave of relief washes through him, and he exhales like he's been holding his breath since the two of you had stepped foot in the car. He quickly recovers, though, a smug expression replacing his initial relief, hiding the fact that he was waiting for you.

You slink across the floor, refusing to make eye contact with him as you push the closet open and search for your pajamas.

"Oh, look who it is," he laughs, propping himself up on his elbows. "Miss me already, huh?"

You don't respond, eyes narrowing as you stack your clothes in a pile next to you. After gathering everything, you stand up and make your way towards the door without shooting him a glance.

You pause, curling your lip as the smell of the nightclub reaches your nose.

"You stink. At least have the decency to shower after the club before you roll around in our bed."

His expression sours behind you as you make your way out.

You shower quickly, half convinced if you took too long that Nam-gyu was going to bust in and try to argue with you again. You dry your hair, pull on your pajamas, and brush your teeth. When you open the door, he's there, sitting on the couch in his boxers. He doesn't look at you as he gets up, nudging you with his shoulder as he makes his way inside.

"Took you long enough," he scoffs.

You roll your eyes.

His shower is quick, rushed. When the door to the bathroom opens, all the steam escapes. He stands in the doorway with his towel clinging loosely to his hips, hair dripping as he shuts the door behind him, his skin pink from the scorching water.

You quickly still on the couch, shutting your eyes as you pretend to be asleep, trying to play it off like you weren't listening intently, waiting for his shower to be over. Waiting for him to crack so you didn't have to actually spend your night on the damn couch.

He lingers in the doorway for a moment, squinting as he zeros in the outline of your body. Then, you hear the soft pad of his footsteps as he makes his way over, the sliver of light pouring in from the bathroom being his only guide as he towers over you.

"I know your ass isn't asleep," he says, eyes narrowing as he crouches down next to your face.

You don't react. He wets his lips, mind reeling, searching for his next move.

Then, his hands are gently resting on your side. You swallow, holding your breath in anticipation. The heat of his skin prickles against you, still steamy from his shower, the damp scent of his shampoo filling the space between you.

And then—his fingers press into your sides, and he's tickling you.

You yelp, eyes flying open and body jerking violently as his fingers dig into your ribs, mapping over every ticklish spot on your body that he'd come to know in the time you two had been together.

"N-Nam-gyu!" you try to yell at him, but it trails off into shaky laughter, his touch relentless.

You can't hold it in, after all, who could? And then you're a red, laughing mess beneath him, your hands coming out from where they were pillowing your head a few moments prior, trying-- and failing, to get him off of you.

You try to twist away from him, but he follows, grinning now.

"Oh?" he says, his voice mockingly sweet, "I thought you were asleep?"

He clambers on top of you, water dripping from his hair and onto your dry, warm pajamas. You want to yell at him for not drying off completely before he came out, but you can't get it out between your laughter.

He's laughing now, too, his grin growing wider, and this time, there's no venom there, no smug satisfaction, no anger. It's just him and you. Giggling in the almost-darkness on your lumpy couch in your small apartment, tucked away in your own little pocket of the world.

"You—asshole!" But you can't stop laughing, grinning so hard it hurts, despite how badly you wanted to be mad at him. "I hate you!"

He shakes his head, eyes not leaving you for a second. "No, you don't." He smirks, pressing one last ticklish squeeze in your side, before relenting and taking a seat at your legs.

You're breathless, gasping and heart racing, still half-trapped beneath him.

He stares at you for a moment. His grin softens. Yours does, too.

He knows he'd been an asshole this whole night. Knew it before and after the drugs had worn off.

And though he still doesn't say it—I'm sorry—as if his body won't allow him to say it—he leans forward, hair still dripping onto your face, and he nudges his forehead against yours. Just once.

You let out a shaky, exasperated breath, finally able to compose yourself.

Your hand goes up to rest on his bare shoulder, a beat passes, and then you're tugging him gently down, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"You," you say, shutting your eye as a droplet narrowly misses it, "are the biggest fucking baby alive."

He grunts.

You laugh, amused. In that moment, you know you'd won.

"Jealous little freak."

That earns you a huff.

The two of you sit there for a while, coming down from the moment. Once you can no longer stand the water dripping onto you, you shove him off.

"Hurry up and get ready for bed. I'm tired."

There's a ghost of a smile on his face as you push past him and collapse onto the bed.

Soon, he flops down next to you, the bed shifting under his added weight.

Silence.

He turns his head. A beat.

"So. You wanna fuck? Or..."

You exhale sharply through your nose in lieu of a response, rolling over to curl into his chest.

You press a kiss to his jaw as he drapes a hand across your waist, your voice sweet and laced with sleep as you lean into him, breath brushing against the shell of his ear as you whisper, "Go the hell to sleep."

He snorts, and soon, you're both drifting off into your own worlds.

---

The third time, it's not petty, not over a bout of jealousy.

It starts over money.

Of course it does. It always does.

You stand over him, trying to rub away the tension in your temples as he scrolls through his phone, ignoring you like he has all the time in the world.

"Seriously? You spent how much?" Your face is hot. "Are the drugs that good? They have to be, with how much money you throw away over them!"

Nam-gyu doesn't even look up at you. He's slouched, legs spread against the couch as he scoffs. "Why the fuck do you care?"

Your eyes widen. "Why do I— Nam-gyu, are you actually serious right now?"

He exhales sharply, shutting his eyes for a few seconds, as if this wasn't an extremely important and serious conversation. The sight makes your blood boil. He shuts off his phone and tosses it onto the coffee table with a clack.

"Look. I made the money—so I spent the money." He looks up at you then, his expression screaming that he'd rather be anywhere ot her than here. "I don't think it's that hard to understand."

"Yeah? With what fucking rent money, genius?" you spit back, your pulse quickening at his condescending tone.

He narrows his eyes at you, jaw flexing. Dangerous. "I said." He stands, looking down at you now. "I'll handle it." He presses two fingers to your chest, shoving you back lightly, a warning. "Now can you get the fuck off my back?"

You laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Really? When? Before or after the landlord's knocking on our door?" Your voice rises, the anger bubbling in your chest, getting ready to spill over. "Fuck, Nam-gyu! You always do this! Blow through your money—our money—like it's nothing and then act like I'm the problem for calling you out on it!"

"Oh yeah?" he says, stepping closer. His neck is tense. "And you do what? SIt there and bitch at me like you're my fucking mother?"

The words sting, but you don't back down. You open your mouth to fire back, but he's already speaking, practically yelling now.

"I was working. What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Working?" You bark out a laugh, mocking, incredulous. "That's what you call working? Getting fucked up and blowing your money on drugs for people that won't even remember your damn name?"

He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he bites his lip. You're sure he's about to explode. It doesn't scare you.

"It's my job!" he yells, lips curling into a sneer. "What, you think you're an expert on my job now?"

"Your job is to promote the club, not snort half the fucking inventory!"

His face darkens, and something ugly twists in his features. You can't deny the way your hands shake at your sides.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too," you spit back.

The air shifts, the silence hanging between you two heavy and suffocating.

He shakes his head, looking off to the side like you were being ridiculous as he runs a hand through his hair. "You love doing this shit, don't you? Acting like you're so much better than me, like you've got everything figured out." He juts his chin out at you. "I bet you were just waiting for a reason to fucking lecture me again, huh?"

"Oh my god, Nam-gyu, this isn't about me. This is about your reckless spending habits—"

"And there it is! It's always my fault, isn't it? I'm always the villain, the big, bad piece of shit ruining your life. A screw-up that you have to fix." He smirks. "Go ahead. Call me a screw-up. I know you fucking want to."

You groan. "Do you hear yourself right now? I've never called you a screw-up! That's all in your head."

"Oh, yeah, but you sure as hell think it," he sneers, taking a step towards you. You don't move, determined to stand your ground. "You're always talking down to me like I'm an idiot. Like i'm just some loser that you have to babysit, because you're such a saint for putting up with someone like me." His eyes flash with anger. "You just wanna control me."

"Oh?" you huff, eyes narrowing. "So that's what this is about? Your ego?" Nam-gyu's jaw flexes at that, daring you to continue. "I don't wanna control you, Nam-gyu! I want to build a life with you! But you just keep sabatoging yourself—blowing through our savings on useless shit and poisoning your body while I try to save you!"

He laughs, a bitter, hollow sound. "I knew it!" He turns around and walks away from you, hands going up to tug at his hair as he paces across the floor. "You're just like every other bitch I've ever met. Always running your fucking mouth—acting like you know better. Acting like I need to be saved."

Your anger comes to a head, simmering and simmering until it was at the edge, just about ready to boil over. You step forward, cutting him off. "Maybe because you fucking do!"

He pauses, his face going blank as he stares at you. For a second—just a second—he looks wounded. Like you'd slapped him.

Then— "Oh, fuck off." He spits the words out like it's poison, hands falling from their place in his hair and leaving it a tousled mess. "You wanna 'save' me? What are you, my fucking mother?" His fingers twitch at his side. Then he scoffs, shaking his head at you, and a bitter smile stretches across his face. "No. You're not like my mom. You're worse. At least she knew when to shut the fuck up."

That did it.

Your anger boils over finally, coursing through every vein and artery until your body moves faster than you can think.

You slap him.

The sound cracks through the apartment like a gunshot.

He stumbles back, eyes wide and lips parted in genuine shock. He says nothing as he brings a hand up to his cheek, fingers pressing against the red mark blooming against his cheek. He's quiet for a moment.

Then: a laugh. Sharp and cold, slashing through the silence.

"Oh. Hah. There she is." He grins, but his eyes are wild. "The real you. The one who pretends to be so mature and understanding, but the second I hit a nerve, you turn into a hysterical, emotional bitch."

Your heart is slamming against your ribs now, and there's something hot pushing behind your eyes.

"I hate you." Your voice was shaking.

He doesn't flinch, just stands there, staring at you, but his fingers twitch, something cold taking form in his chest like a stone.

"Good." His voice is low, cold. Fake. "Then why the fuck are you still here?"

Something inside you snaps. Because underneath all the anger, you can hear what he's really saying.

Why haven't you left me yet?

But you're too furious to give him the reassurance you know he desperately wants—the reassurance he's waiting for with bated breath and clenched fists.

You won't give him the satisfaction.

You push past him, throwing the door open to the bedroom, one hand grabbing frantically at your clothes, the other clumsily fishing in your pocket for your phone. He follows you, suddenly silent.

You hear his breathing from the doorway. Heavy. Unsteady. Panicked. You pretend not to notice.

You dial your best friend, quickly bringing it up to your ear to hide the screen from Nam-gyu, hands trembling with anger.

"Hey," you say as soon as your friend picks up, voice shaking, "can you come get me?"

Nam-gyu's blood runs cold, something icy snaking through him and squeezing his chest like a vice.

Despite it all, he still finds a way to be an ass, another sharp laugh clawing its way out of his throat. "You're serious? That's all it takes?" He steps forward, his indifference betrayed by his breathing, fast and raggedy. "What, been waiting for an opportunity to finally be rid of me, you whore?"

You turn to face him, your hands going still as you lock eyes with him, eyes burning.

"You don't mean that." Your voice comes out so, so small.

Nam-gyu's breath stutters, disarmed by the way you're looking at him.

You see his face rewind before you, and for a second, he's the boy you met back in university. Vulnerable, unsure, timid, scared—and you saw it. A flicker of panic and regret across his face, knowing he'd pushed it the slightest bit too far. Knowing you were at the edge. It was up to him to pull you back.

And for a second, you really believe it. That he will.

But then—

Ego.

His pride.

His biggest fucking downfall.

"Nah," he scoffs, looking away as he feigns indifference. "I meant every word."

Your stomach twists. You grab your bag and pull yourself to your feet. You won't cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

He turns around, leaning against the doorframe and forcing you to watch his back while his face goes slack, teeth grit behind his lips as he holds his breath. "So. Are you leaving, or not?"

You push past him, bag in hand as you make your way to the door. He follows you, watching as you pull on your coat. He doesn't reach for you, doesn't stop you. His expression doesn't change, but the way his throat bobs—the way his hands shake despite his best efforts to hide them in his pockets—it tells you everything.

And this time, you don't have it in you to read between the lines, to decipher the stupid act he's putting up. All because he can't be an adult and say what he really means.

You grab your bag from the floor, a ding popping up on your phone: a text from your friend saying that she was outside.

Your hand is resting on the door knob, twisting, when his voice comes out—low, cracking.

"You're really gonna do this?"

You don't look at him. Just push through and slam the door shut.

He doesn't follow.

And just like that, Nam-gyu was alone. He lets out a shaky breath that he forgot he was holding, gripping at his sides like it would keep him from falling apart.

Suddenly, despite your absence, everything is much too loud. Louder than before. The hum of the refrigerator. The buzz of the wiring in the walls. The padding of his footsteps against the hardwood as he threw himself onto the couch, his legs suddenly too shaky for him to stand.

"Whatever," he says to the oppressive silence. "She'll be back." His voice cracks, unsure. Like he doesn't even believe the words as he's saying them.

Tension crawls up his back, settling into his limbs like a concrete block. He sits there for longer than he should've, an invisible weight pushing down on his shoulders. He won't say it, but he's waiting for you.

You don't come back that night.

The next day passes by him in a blur, thick with alcohol and chemicals. He's in the bedroom, his phone on the floor next to him. He pushes his palms against his temples, quick gasps burning his lungs.

His fingers twitch, exhausted with the effort of keeping still, but he won't do it. He won't text you. Won't call you. He won't let himself. His heart pounds craters into his chest as he sucks in a deep, labored breath.

His own words from the day before echo in his head. He'd wanted to push you, break you down, make you feel as small as he did. And it worked.

And now?

Now you were gone.

It was fine. It was fine. He pulls himself to his feet, something icy creeping up his spine. Nothing some weed couldn't fix.

As he stumbles to his feet, he catches himself wishing that he'd been scheduled for work today. Something to distract him. The thought makes him laugh, hollow and flat.

His hands shake as he struggles with his lighter, trying and failing to get a flame. He curses, arms dropping to his sides as he leans against the couch. Fuck this.

He slides down the couch until he's spilling onto the floor in a heap. There's something hot and wet pushing behind his eyes now, betraying him as it finally falls. He swipes at his face, biting back the frail noises threatening to spill from his throat. He doesn't want to hear it. His hands make fists in the material of his shirt, and he hardens his jaw, forcing himself to breathe slowly as his mind short circuits.

It was fine.

You'd be back tonight. He was sure of it. He tries the lighter again, and this time, it catches.

You crash at your friend's place. She doesn't ask questions, and you don't offer answers. It wasn't like this was the first time you fled to her house after a fight with Nam-gyu had gone sour. Your friend's guest room was practically yours, at this point.

The bed is comfortable, warm, but it does nothing to calm the threads of anxiety twitching through your limbs. You grab your phone, checking for the fifth time to make sure that it wasn't on silent.

It wasn't, and as you thought, there was nothing new. No text, no call. You let out a puff of air and continue to pretend like you don't care.

A few moments later, you turn over, fumbling for another pillow in the darkness. You hold your breath, lip trembling as you squeeze it tight, biting back your tears. He didn't deserve it. To make you cry.

"Fucking asshole."

Unfortunately for you, he was right.

The next day, you do your best to stay away. Enjoy your friend's company. Calm the images of Nam-gyu's limp body flickering through your mind like a cruel recording on loop.

Then— "I'm sorry," you say, ducking your head at your friend. She pauses the movie the two of you are watching, and she doesn't startle, as if she already knows what you're going to say next. "Could you drive me home?" Your voice is sheepish, embarrassed, as you keep your eyes on the floor.

You can almost hear Nam-gyu's voice. 'How typical. Knew you'd come crawling back.'

Your friend just nods, keeping her thoughts on the matter to yourself. For that, you're thankful.

Soon, you're rounding the corner, fumbling with your keys before finally pushing past the door, betraying yourself yet again.

And he was there, right where you left him.

He’s half-slouched on the ground, his back against the couch as he stares up at the ceiling. He'd shoved the coffee table out of the way to make room for himself. His limbs are outstretched on the floor, loose and lazy. Like a cat, you think. It would've been cute, had it been under different circumstances.

A joint burns low between his pointer finger and thumb, dangling dangerously close to the rug at the foot of the couch. He brings it to his lips and takes a long drag. A stray piece of ash falls from the end and burns black into the plush fabric. A permanent stain. A reminder.

The room reeks of weed, a cloud of smoke floating lazily around the ceiling in a slow-motion circuit. The smell curls in your lungs like the argument still lingering between you. You don’t even care.

He didn't look at you when the door opened. Not when the door shut. Not when you cover your nose and mouth with your sleeve, quickly throwing the window open and ushering the hazy cloud outside as if it had the agency to listen.

He doesn’t blink when you come to a stop at his feet, your shadow falling over him like a blanket. He continues to stare up at the water stained ceiling, regarding it with a calm indifference, like a painting he couldn’t understand.

Your eyes rake over him, taking in every inch of his sorry state. He’s in the same clothes you last saw him in, shirt wrinkled and pants twisted low on his hips. His hair stuck out oddly like he’d just woken up from a nap. His eyes are red and swollen, but you know it’s not just from the weed. He barely acknowleges you, save for a lazy flick of his eyes.

You kneel next to him and and press a palm to the warmth of his chest. His face is blank, even, his mouth pressed into a thin line, but his heartbeat betrays him, hammering beneath your fingers like it was trying to get out. A bird making panicked circles on the floor of an open cage.

He lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s weak and tired, bordering on something desperate.

"You stink," you mutter.

Nam-gyu lets out a humorless snort. "Then leave." But he doesn't mean it, not really. His heart quickens beneath your fingers, no doubt scared that you actually might.

But you don't. Instead, you pluck the joint from his fingers and stub it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

He blows smoke into your face. You don’t blink.

Your fist closes around the fabric of his shirt just above his heart, the soft cotton spilling out between the gaps of your fingers as you clamber on top of him.

He doesn’t react. Doesn’t meet your eyes. You lean down, tilting your head forward so that your foreheads touch. Your hair falls from behind your shoulders, draping over the two of you in a gentle curtain.

The smell of weed is thick as you press a kiss to his cheek. Your free hand comes up to cup his face, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly before straying to the nape of his neck. His lips part weakly, as if he's going to say something snarky, something mean, to remind you of the other day.

Your breath is hot against the shell of his ear as you speak, voice barely above a whisper, “Just... Shut up, okay?” You press another kiss to the top of his forehead, pleading. Soon, your face finds its home in the crook of his neck. You breathe him in, the smell of his skin grounding you, still managing to reach you through the haze of smoke and chemicals. "Please."

And for the first time in a while, he listens.

Nam-gyu says nothing. Not when your fingers comb through his mess of hair. Not when you're tugging his limp body up, up, pushing him—stumbling and dazed—into the shower. Not when you're peeling off his clothes and yours, switching on the faucet and rubbing circles of soap onto the gentle slope of his back as the shower fills with steam.

He won't tell you how much he appreciates it. He won't tell you a lot of things.

He's quiet as he pulls on his pajamas and sinks into the bed like a stone. Relief washes through him as the bed shifts beneath your added weight. His shoulders ease up for the first time since you'd left, though he won't tell you that, either.

The next morning passes like any other. There is no sorry. No kisses pressed to your neck or hands looped around your waist. You weren't expecting it, anyways. You don't dwell on it. Not like you had the time, to. Instead, you roll out of bed, shake the sleep from your body, pull your work clothes on, and start your day.

Later that day, when your key clicks in the lock and your legs cross the threshold, the apartment smells different.

Not weed, not chemicals, not the lingering smell of smoke.

Your eyes trail across the apartment, taking note of everything. The counters are wiped down, the floors swept. Even the clutter that usually lingered around—his clothes, empty bottles, dirty dishes—gone.

You raise your eyebrows as you hang the jacket by the door.

You lean against the counter, unable to keep the look of pure surprise off of your face as you watch his back. Nam-gyu is cooking, a novelty from when you two first got together. Before he'd sunk deeper into his drug habit.

"What's this?"

He doesn't look at you. "Food."

"Wow," you press, testing. He looks at you over his shoulder before turning back to the pot on the stove. "You? Cooking?" You lean in closer, trying to catch his eyes. "Am I dreaming right now?"

He shrugs, stirring the pot. "You always bitch about me eating. So I'm eating."

You purse your lips, deciding not to comment on his wording.

You can't remember the last time he'd cooked. It was always you. Or takeout. Or you reminding him to eat, that drugs and alcohol weren't enough to make up a healthy diet.

He flicks the stove off and grabs a plate from the cabinet, wordlessly spooning a scoop of freshly cooked rice onto the plate, still steaming. He shoves it into your hands before grabbing another plate for himself. He moves out of the way, gesturing at the pot like it'd inconvenienced him.

"It's still hot," he says blankly. His voice is tight, clipped, but you know it's just his way of masking his nerves. Tiptoeing around you like one wrong word might send you flying out the door again. "Now shut up and eat."

The food was delicous.

It tasted like nostalgia, bringing you back to the early days where he'd always cook for you, butterflies blooming in your stomach as your legs bumped against each other under the table, flirting under the warm kitchen light.

Back when his job was just a job. A 'for now'. Before it tangled and spiraled with his being, melting into him until you weren't sure where it ended and he began, the fuel for his fire, stoking his addictions and anger and insecurities until it grew big and ugly and distorted.

The thought made your chest tighten a bit, so you push it out of your mind, hands readjusting in your lap as you refocus on the movie playing in front of you.

The two of you sit on the couch, the glow of the TV flickering dimly across the walls.

Nam-gyu is beside you, sprawled as usual, his legs spread wide and taking up an offensive amount of space. His fingers drum absentmindedly against his knee, his other hand fidgeting with his ring. He hasn't reached for you all night, but every now and then, you feel his eyes flick toward you.

Like he was waiting.

And then, without a word, he pushes something into your lap.

You startle a bit at the sudden movement. You look down, and your mouth falls open.

A plushie. It's a chubby, white bunny. Soft and cute.

You wonder when he went to the store. You picture him walking up and down the aisles, scanning the shelves and chewing his lip nervously as he decides what to get you. You imagine him checking out, slamming the plushie down on the counter before roughly tapping his card.

Then, you notice the small, black box sitting on its tummy. You almost didn't notice it, blinking down at it in shock.

You pick it up, face incredulous as you turn to him.

"You bought me something?" you say, breathless, as you turn it over in your hands.

He doesn't answer, just keeps his eyes trained on the screen. His leg bounces restlessly, both hands fidgeting with their respective rings.

You sigh, and it's soft, so soft, as something wells up in your chest. "Nam-gyuuu..." you start, leaning towards him.

"Just shut up and take it," he grumbles, still refusing to look at you. "Or don't. I don't care."

You stare at him for a long moment. His ears are pink, just barely hidden behind his long, black hair.

You decide to give him a break and open the box. Inside is a silver chain, dainty, shiny, and exactly your style. It's also real. You lift it out with a gasp.

Nam-gyu doesn't turn his head, but his eyes flick to you for a moment, taking in your reaction. Something in him unclenches.

The pendant hanging off of it is small, but it's beautiful, sturdy. You let it fall against your palm, the silver catching the dim light from the television as you inspect it. It's a star.

You pout, eyes going wide and glossy as you turn to look at him. He exhales sharply. Then, you notice something else in the box, a baggie tucked away in the corner of the velvet lining. You hold it up to the light, trying to see what it is.

It's another star, just as dainty as yours, except somehow smaller.

"Is this an extra one in case I lose mine?" you ask, genuinely curious.

The moment he sees what you're holding, his whole body tenses. His knee stops bouncing, and his fingers freeze. Then, without hesitation, he snatches the bag from your grasp.

"Nothing," he mutters, shoving it deep in his pocket.

You blink. "Did you—" your voice trails off, realization dawning on you. Your heartbeat picks up. "You bought a matching charm?"

Nam-gyu glares at the TV like it'd personally offended him. "Oh my god. I said it's nothing."

You stare at him stunned. He was never the type to do this—sweet, thoughtful things. No, that was too corny for him. And yet he had. He'd gotten two of the same pendant. One for you, and one for himself.

Maybe to add to his own chain. Maybe to turn into a charm for his keyring.

Either way, it meant something. And you knew it.

"Nam-gyuuu," you press, all discretion gone as you cuddled up to his side. You watch his jaw clench as you rub his side, all smiley and starry-eyed. "You wanted us to match?"

"Okay. Shut up." He's tensing up, leaning away from you as he leans into the armrest, but you know for sure that it's all an act now. The plushie at your side and the necklace gleaming on the coffee table was enough proof of that.

But you can't. You can't stop staring at him, at the way his fingers dig into his knee like he's resisting the urge to snatch the whole damn box back from you. He's sulking like a kid caught red-handed.

Your grin widens, head going loopy with love. "Ohhh my goodness," you say, voice dripping with amusement, "you're so cute, Nam-gyu."

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing as he finally makes eye contact with you, but there's a color to his face that wasn't there earlier. "Don't start."

But you do start. You lean in, resting your chin on his shoulder, batting your eyelashes at him. "You wanted us to have matching charms? So that even when we're apart, we'll always have a little piece of each other?"

Nam-gyu gorans, tipping his head back against the couch. "Shut the fuck up." But there's no venom in it, not even a drop. Something tells you he might even be enjoying this, in his own way.

"It's like a promise, isn't it?" You sigh dreamily, pushing through the excitement in your chest, but also because you can't help but relish the way he squirms under the attention. "A silent vow that no matter where we go, we'll always be connected. Like two stars floating through space, spinning in a galactic embrace of eternal love—"

"I'm gonna kill myself," he mutters, rubbing his temples. The movie drones on in the background, completely ignored.

You laugh, finally letting up as you nudge him with your shoulder. "You're so romantic," you coo. "Who knew you had such a soft heart under that shitty attitude of yours?"

"I will throw you out that fucking window," he threatens, but it's weak. His ears are red, so red, and he won't meet your gaze.

You let the moment linger, then tilt your head, lowering your voice to something softer. "Thank you," you say, genuine this time. "I love it."

Nam-gyu scoffs, but his knee starts bouncing again. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

But later that night, when you finally slip the necklace on, the bunny plushie sitting gingerly in your lap, you catch him staring.

When you lay down next to Nam-gyu, there's something between you two. Something charged, electric. You don't say anything, but you know it's coming.

When his hand drifts over to you, lingers on your waist, you let it.

Then he's on top of you. His weight presses you into the bed, and you stare back up at him. His touch is soft, gentle, as he brushes the hair away from your face, from your neck. The necklace he bought you is cool against your skin. He stares at it again, touching it gingerly and turning it over in his fingers.

Your breath catches, and then he's leaning down, pressing a kiss to your lips. It's gentle, soft.

It's not like him at all.

That night, it's like a race. Except there’s only one pedestal, and it's a spot reserved just for you. So he's grunting, biting down on his lip as he presses his fingers into the dip of your waist, pushing you closer and closer to the finish line. There’s a ghost of his breath on your neck, a graze of teeth at your collar bone, something sickeningly sweet in your ears— something you likely wouldn't be hearing tomorrow.

Then, you reach the edge, and he’s staring in your eyes, gripping your chin so you can’t look away. He dips low and smashes his lips onto yours. The ribbon snaps, and you tip over, breath being ripped from your lungs as you gasp, sighing his name like it's a prayer.

It's been a couple minutes since he'd rolled over, your skin still slick with sweat as you continue to catch your breath, heart drumming steadily beneath your skin.

His hand is heavy on your waist, his breathing steady. He was practically half-asleep already once he'd finished.

"Fine," you breathe into the silence, eyelids growing heavy as you swallow. You push your hair out of your face and roll over to cuddle into his side. Defeat. "I forgive you."

Nam-gyu, even in his exhausted state, smirks weakly in the dark. He slowly turns to press his face into you, rubbing slow, possessive circles into your skin.

He feigns ignorance as he smiles against your hair, because accepting your forgiveness would be an admission of guilt, and he couldn't— wouldn't do that.

"For what?"

© to @namgyunation on tumblr; do not repost

ao3 link, if you'd prefer to read it over there

a/n: omggg i had so much fun writing this! obviously, a lot of this is my interpretation / speculation of how he'd act 'normally', so when he's not crazy hopped up on drugs and locked up in a life or death situation, but hopefully it's somewhat believable. i'm like rushing to get all my writing out before season 3 potentially crushes all my hopes and dreams and imagination and/or my motivation leaaves me haha. although school's still been kicking my ass, as always please feel free to send me any thoughts / suggestions in my inbox <3 i'm in this shit for the long haul, y'all.

[mindless-existence1]

Hi! Could I request a reader!insert × Canon!katsuki where the reader keeps a cat in her dorm and Bakugo has to fight it for attention from her?

Summery: Literally just the request, a bit changed but still the same for the most part.

Authors note: This is the first request I am tackling from the list of things I need to write! Sorry for the long wait 😅😅 kinda short but hope you enjoy

You can feel your boyfriends glare from across the small comforter. It was currently a late night movie date at your dorm, Bakugo had let you chose your favorite movie while he got the snacks. At the beginning of the night you had snuggled up with your boyfriend but that quickly change when your cat had decided to lay on you.

He had chosen to lay himself squarely on your stomach, making it difficult to move at all. Not that you would in the first place,hoping to keep him there for as long as possible. Bakugo just rolled his eyes and grumbled something as he moved away from you to the other side of the bed. "Ah suki don't be like that." You whined when he layed down across from you.

"If you want to cuddle your cat instead of me than I don't see shy I'd be other there in the first place." You roll your eyes, but smile. "Didn't know you wanted to cuddle with me so bad." Bakugo groaned in annoance at your words.

"How could anyone hate this little guy. He's so perfect and amazing." Your hand softly pets the back of the soft feline, you coo at him as he purrs. "Oh my God I hate that thing." You gasp loudly in dramatic offense. "How dare you, you big bully! He's literally just a little guy. He's a baby and he's my baby."

Bakugo rolls his eyes but looks over at the cat laying on your chest. He watches the kitty's chest rise and fall as it purrs from your pets. "Besides maybe he'd like you more if you were nice to him." Bakugo grumbles a 'whatever' and fixes his eyes back on the movie.

"Suki why don't you come here and lay with us." Your boyfriend gives you a side eye that makes you laugh. "Hell no." You shake you head playfully. "Common babe just lay next to me and maybe he'll even lay with you."

Your words makes Bakugo think for a moment before he sighs and maneuvers himself back next to you, the spot still warm. You lay your head gently onto his broad shoulders. Ever so slightly, and without your boyfriend noticing, you softly nudge your cat towards Bakugks chest.

Before he can protest you cats is stepping onto the hard tank top covered chest. ,"What the hell?" Despite his protests bakugo doesn't push the cat off, instead looks over at you as he lays down. "See its not so bad." Your boyfriends hands are raised away you his chest, nor sure what to do with a cat.

You chuckle at his behavior, it grows when you see the look of suprise when the feline starts to purr. The blond just looks from the cat to you. "You can pet him babe, just be gentle. And promise not to blow him up." Your joking tone goes unnoticed as Bakugos hands slowly move towards your cat.

The purring intensifys when your boyfriends naturally warm hands reach the cats fluffy sides. You watch him for a moment before discreetly grabbing your phone. Ever so carefully you sneek a photo, it show cases your boyfriend gently petting a very happy cat.

Bakugo looks over at you making you quickly put your phone down. "Do not tell me you just took a picture." Feining innocence you shrug your shoulders, "I didn't take a picture." The blond scoffs. "Don't lie either." You chuckle, putting your phone out of his limited reach.

"I swear to God I'll blow up your phone if you don't delete that!" Although Bakugos angry he keeps his moments small and his voice quieter than normal as to not disturb the sleep cat on his lap. "But it's the cutest picture in the world, it's of my two favorite boys!"

Laughing as you keep your phone high in the air, normally this wouldn't work from how big Bakugo is compared to you, but now you get to go to your settings and do your work. "There now it's my wallpaper!"

Yiu show your phone screen to your boyfriend making the blind yell out. "Like hell it is, give me the phone!" You just laugh, "No way I this is the best wallpaper I could ever have!" Bakugo stops his antics and puts his hand down with a groan.

"Watch your back." He grumbles, you know it'd an empty threat though from the way he says it. The way he's still gently petting the cat on his lap doesn't go unnoticed either.

@phtmmsqrde

Masterlist

Mha Masterlist

[mariasont]

THE BIMBO RECEPTIONIST WAS SO CUTE

now id like to introduce, goth/metalhead!bimbo!reader x spence ( more of the opposites attract vibe )

super dark clothes and jewelry and looks like elvira a little bit, maybe a few piercings and tattoos for spencer to oogle at

Brooding - S.R

a/n: EEK i hope u love this as much as i loved writing it :)

bimbo reader has my heart <3

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x goth!bimbo!reader

warnings: mmm none! fluff! just two cuties being cute!

wc: 0.6k

Your pen was a flurry of motion, streaking bold lines upon the sketchpad. Technically, you should be sorting through the endless stack of files, keeping them pristine and accessible for the agents. You were always ahead of your tasks, and this job, while not earth-shattering, mattered to you. But when you had a muse as captivating as yours, it was hard to put the pen down. 

That muse being the man rifling through the files before you, his face a masterpiece of pretty lines and angles, unaware of the intensity of your focus. You contemplated expressing your admiration aloud, but the idea seemed a little too forward. So, you poured that impulse into a portrait, tracing the contours of his handsome face.

But it proved difficult to accomplish with his relentless pacing. Each step he took sparked another round of redos on the pad. Your tongue, tipped with a silver piercing, unconsciously found its way to your lip as you wrestled with the proportions of his nose, erasing furiously to get it just right.

You let out a sigh, louder than intended, and it was enough to pause his steps. "Sir, can you please stand still?"

He looked utterly baffled, lifting his brows toward his hairline. As your eyes met, he pointed to his chest, his question simple and unsure, "Huh? Me?"

A quick nod sent a ribbon of dyed hair fluttering before your eyes as you beamed at him. "Yes, you! Please, if you don't mind," you murmured, your fingers racing over the paper. "I just need, like, one more second."

He stood frozen, brows remaining quizzically raised. Why he complied, he couldn't say, but the sight of you, so engrossed in your art, your necklaces chiming in time with your movements, and how your bold makeup seemed to frame your face perfectly kept him rooted to the spot.

You peered up through your lashes, giving him a sheepish grin, cheeks lightly flushed as you set the pen down.

"All done! You're free to go. Thanks for being so patient," you chirped, gently waving the paper in the air as if to dry the ink faster.

"Can I at least see the result of my patience?" Spencer asked, his approach casual yet expectant. 

You hugged the sketchpad to your chest, a gentle laugh escaping you. "Well, I don't usually just let anyone see my work, especially strangers."

Spencer's smile was tinged with amusement.

"Considering I'm the subject, I think I have some claim to it," he joked. "And by the way, I'm Spencer Reid. There, we're practically acquaintances now."

You couldn't contain the goofy grin that spread across your face, and a giggle bubbled up from your throat.

"Well, since you put it that way, I suppose I can make an exception," you said, drawing out the last word with a wink.

The portrait made Spencer do a double-take--it was him, but as if seen through a gothic, moody lens. His usual composure cracked, and a deep, genuine laugh broke through. 

"I never knew I had such a brooding side," he commented with a smile. "I look like I stepped out of a Brontë novel. Perhaps Heathcliff on one of his better days?"

Your head cocked to the side, hair cascading over one shoulder, looking at him through lashes heavy with mascara as you shrugged.

"Heathcliff, huh? I'll take your word for it, but I get the brooding part," you said, with a bubbly laugh. "Come on, it's so you."

Spencer fiddled with his tie, raising a brow.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or concerned," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he felt a pleasant heat rise to his cheeks.

You squinted sightly, pretending to mull it over.

"Flattered, for sure," you said. "Broody types are just secretly plotting world domination, right?"

He grinned. "Well, maybe not world domination, but certainly plotting something."

Your voice was light, but your question was pointed. "So, what are you plotting, Spencer? Should I be worried?"

He tried to remember what Morgan had taught him.

"Absolutely. But some things are worth the wait--patience, you'll see, can be quite rewarding."

And with a promise like that, you found yourself more than willing to wait. 

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[iouinotes]

All for you | Carl Gallagher

pairing: Carl Gallagher x female!reader

show: Shameless

warnings: angst, fluff, smut (the reader and Carl are 18 years old in this ff)

summary: Carl is challenged that he can get your money, if he makes you fall in love with him. He loves the challenge until he loves something else more...

authors note: sorry for so many pov switched, I didnt notice it, when I first wrote this ff. Also I haven't had the chance to watch all the seasons yet, but I still hope that Carl's character is somewhat accurate :))

Carl's pov

"Frank, goddamit youre no help! Why are you even lying around here - oh forget it, I don't want to hear it." Fiona's voice echoes in the room, while the entire Gallagher household is present.

The everyday discussion has been going on for too many minutes in which I could have done something better. The damn question “How do we get enough money?”

Lip at college, Ian with his gangster boyfriend, my shitty sister with her kid and then Liam. This family is screwed. No wonder with a father like Frank.

As the argument continues to escalate, I have the misfortune of sitting right next to him.

"You care to share some money, son?" Of course, my attempts to ignore him are unsuccessful.

"The drug trade doesn't always work out so well, but the weapon thing was something. You could give one to your good old dad, you know what the neighborhood is like." I run my hands through my hair in frustration, shaking my head.

"Just get one or two girls pregnant at school, then all of our problems are solved. But she has to be rich. After all, you want to get your hard work paid." Why the hell am I still here?

"You used to be more enthusiastic about my ideas. If you don't want to do play daddy, then use your charm. When I was your age, my cock was enough and the girls were happy."

"Be fucking quiet, no one wants to hear about your pathetic youth." It's no use, he keeps talking.

"I'm only saying, If you make a rich girl fall in love with you, then you can get money to do something nice for your family."

As I get up and walk away from him I take a breath, the tension caused by this idiot sucks.

Still, his words got me thinking. Maybe there's a new girl who would be perfect for this job...

🔗🔗🔗🔗

Your pov

When I moved here, I wasn't sure what to expect. New school, maybe mean classmates and bad cafeteria food. That I might be able to join a group and make friends, people who laugh with me in class or go to the cinema together on weekends.

I was prepared to get lost in the hallways a few times, perhaps to be peppered with embarrassing questions by the teachers. I had even prepared myself for being called a nerd again and therefore spending my lunch breaks alone.

Then things turned out differently. I met two girls who, although they scared me at first with their need to gossip all the time, are good people at heart.

They studied with me (meaning they told me the newest gossip and braided my hair while I did our homework), showed me the city and its pitfalls. I felt comfortable, prepared and confident for what awaited me here.

Oh lord, was I wrong.

On a Thursday in the middle of the week I met a boy who messed everything up. Literally.

I met him when he was running through the halls twenty minutes late, but stupidly didn't pay attention to me, who was about to cross his path. Let's put it this way, it ended with my books on the floor, my jacket hanging off my shoulder, and his hair being a huge mess.

When he looked at me, I expected to hear something like "sorry" or "I'll help you."

You want to know what he said?

"Cute top. Let me know if you need help taking it off."

Then he got up casually and walked into the classroom across the hallway, a grin on his face as if he had won the Bachelor title.

After this encounter two things became very clear to me. 1. Look both ways when crossing the halls and 2. Stop daydreaming about this boy, even if he has beautiful blue eyes.

The first thing worked better than the second.

After a few descriptions, which actually only consisted of "incredibly impudent and incredibly good-looking", it was explained to me who I was dealing with.

Carl Gallagher. A boy who has lived here since he was born, someone who is rumoured to be more dangerous than the Italian Mafia.

Even though I thought that was exaggerated, I quickly realized that I should stay away from him and that he meant trouble.

Aside from the fact that I wasn't going to be in the situation of talking to him again anyway, my eyes couldn't stop themselves from looking at him.

There was something that defined him, something that made me want to watch a grin creep across his face when he made an inappropriate joke, how he would push his blonde hair back and his eyes would shine mischievously, as if he had already planned the next bank robbery.

I wasn't the only one who found his charisma attractive tho, of course not when he looked like one of God's angels, but he never really seemed interested in other girls. At least not with any serious intent, you might hear him flirting or making comments about his free bed, but you would never saw him in a relationship.

He never held hands or kissed anyone, had a real smile on his face or said sweet things, he was just Carl.

Suggestive, hot-tempered and like a flag that proclaimed: Stay away from me, because you will lose this fight.

I also felt that if I continued to watch him, I would lose the battle for platonic feelings towards him too.

"Please don't tell me you're looking at our school bad boy again. You better be careful, he might want to sell you a gun." Kenzie's voice makes me sigh.

"These are just rumors. Besides, it's not my fault, he's just -" Her hand on my shoulder interrupts me.

"We know, you have heart eyes every time you talk about him. There are so many great guys in this world, I'm not saying at this school, but you choose this one?" Her look says more than a thousand words as she looks over at Carl, who is pushing his way trough the crowd.

"I'm not in love, just curious. Those are two different things, okay?" Her eyebrows raise.

"You mean, curious how his lips would feel on yours?" Her laughter at my expression is lost in the sounds of the cafeteria.

"Very funny." I murmur to her, food forgotten on my plate. When the school bell rings, I stand up and pick up my backpack.

"My class is canceled now, but I'm going to the library. Will you meet me later?" As I walk backwards I see her thumbs up and the hearts she makes in Carl's direction. My reaction is two quick middle fingers.

As I walk out of the school building, I check my phone and tie my hair into a braid. The library is a few blocks away and the cool air makes me shiver.

When I get there and wave to the boy at the entrance, I turn to my favorite department. Call it cliche, but I love romance books. I mean, I don't know what it feels like to love someone with all my heart, but that doesn't mean I don't love reading about it.

The books I actually need are a few rows away. History, literature, everything I am assigned to get for school.

As I stroke over a few tapes and finally pull out a book to read the first few pages, I hear a noise next to me that makes me look up. After all, the library is usually a pretty quiet place.

As I look into the familiar blue eyes, I feel my cheeks turn red.

I have to stop myself from staring.

"Always a book in your hand, I see." Oh his voice hasn't changed. I try to shrug casually as I answer, but I'm not sure if it actually works.

"Aren't you going to be late for class again?" At my sarcasm he smiles, he takes a step in my direction which weakens my control over my voice.

"I thought I would learn something somewhere else too." These coded words make me swallow.

"So, you're here often?" I almost think he's not answering me, but maybe I'm just not concentrating, because I'm paying too much attention to every mole on his face.

"Actually, I didn't even know this shitty town had a library." His words make me laugh, but several requests to be quiet around us, make me whisper in response.

"Then why are you here?" I think my breathing stops as his hand brushes my fingers that are still holding the book.

"You're here." I feel my heart beating nervously faster, I probably look pretty confused and when I notice his grin, something flutters in my chest.

"No interest in books, huh?" Can my answer actually be any lamer?

"Dont worry, I have a newfound interest in you."

🔗🔗🔗🔗🔗

Your pov

If someone had told me a few weeks ago that I would become friends with Carl Gallagher, I would have found the idea absolutely crazy. To be honest, I still find the situation insane, but damn my cheeks still turn just as red when he's with me as they did the first time.

It turns out that he really has no interest in books, even though he visited me at the library almost every day since we met in the romance department.

I've never met anyone like him, funny and couragous without any reserve, always looking for trouble, acting self-confident. But also sweet.

He's like a current that pulls you along, like a wind that blows so hard that you fly with it. He feels like freedom and it is wonderful.

He makes me laugh, he carries my books, plays with my hair, walks home with me. In such a short time I feel like he didn't knock on the doors to my heart, instead he made a home there.

Maybe this is what it feels like to fall in love.

It's not a gentle announcement, more of a realization that makes you incredibly desperate and happy at the same time.

But with him I actually just feel happy.

"Ready, sunshine?" As soon as I come out of the classroom, he comes towards me and takes my bag from me. My heart jumps at his gesture, which feels like winning the Olympics.

"You're crazy, where do you even want to go?" He has something planned but won't tell me. When he puts his arm around my shoulder and I lean against him, I get a few sideways glances from our classmates.

Carl ignores everyone like always, it's crazy but the way he's so confident is pretty attractive to me.

"Does the guy in your cheesy books also tell you where they go on dates? I bet not, so just wait."

🔗🔗🔗🔗

"It feels like you're kidnapping me."

I feel his smile on my back and have to giggle quietly at his response.

"Mh, I plan to do that. But only for a few hours, otherwise my head will roll tomorrow. Your father takes your curfew pretty seriously."

I feel his hands on my hips, guiding me forward, hear the birds chirping around us, but can't figure out where we're going.

"Just a few more steps, baby. Then you'll see." As he promised, it is only a few meters away and when I see a small, calm lake, my mouth falls open in surprise.

"Carl, oh my God! It's wonderful here, thank you so much." I turn around in his grip and look at him, his smile reflects the love that I feel.

"Yeah? How much do you like it?" As his eyes focus on my lips, I feel a tingling feeling in my stomach. Slowly, my fingers stroke his chest and I see him swallow, even though he tries to hide it.

"I think it's incredibly beautiful here, I love it. And...I really like you." I shyly lower my gaze, my words are met with an unknown silence that makes me anxious after a few seconds. But when I look up at him again, he pushes a strand of my hair out of my face.

"To me, you are much more beautiful than this sight. I like you too and I thought that was pretty obvious." I smile broadly, butterflies fly around in my stomach and as the sun illuminates his face, I feel incredibly happy.

"You're so nice to me, I don't know how I deserve this." An expression crosses his face, but when I blink he smiles at me again.

"After all, you are the first person who explained the topics for the history exam to me, without giving up." My hand cups his cheek.

"I wouldn't give you up, you've become too important to me." As I stand on my tiptoes, our lips brush, his hand is on my back and pushes me closer to him.

"You are an angel." With his words we kiss and everything else around us blurs, only he remains. Everything is unimportant except him, standing in front of me, so handsome, that it is difficult not to look at him.

"Come on, let's go for a swim." As he pulls me towards the lake, you can hear our loud laughter in the air.

🔗🔗🔗🔗

Carl's pov

"When are you going to collect the money? You've been with her for the last three months and nothing has come of it." Frank's annoying voice frustrates me more than anything else.

"I am working on it. Besides, she's actually really caring." When I see the dismissive hand gesture in my direction, I roll my eyes.

"You are completely wrong, son. A person is there for a certain period of time, but money? Money accompanies you throughout your life, especially if you buy beautiful bottles of the best alcohol."

I sink into the sofa, but want to turn away when I feel his hand on my shoulder.

"If you put it off any longer, it will be harder to get out of the situation. Girls your age will start planning to get married, if you stay with them for months."

But when he leaves, I feel conflicted. Can I really do this to her?

🔗🔗🔗🔗

Carl's pov

"Happy birthday!" Her voice makes me jump and, confused, I turn around on the bench to look into her excited eyes.

"Why are you jumping around like that? Are you practicing for cheerleading?" I'm making fun of her, but the smile on her face doesn't fade.

"No, idiot. I'm just really curious to see how you react to your gift." My breath catches for a moment as I take in her words.

"You got me something?" When she leans forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek while pressing the bag into my lap, I start to smile too.

"Open!" Her encouragement breaks me out of my trance and I quickly tear up the paper, looking at the tickets with wide eyes.

"But...these tickets cost a fortune? Did you sell your liver or something?" When I look at her, she smiles back at me.

"I talked to my dad and he agreed that you deserve something special for your birthday. Are you happy?" As I look at the cards, I suddenly feel a pang in my heart. It must be showing on my face, because her happiness is also fading away.

"Do you not like it? I thought it was your favorite team? I can get you something else." When I look at her, I quickly pull her between my legs and kiss her.

"Shh, breathe angel. It's perfect, thank you. And well, your father. It's just a lot of money." Her hands play with the fabric of my shirt.

"You always say that. Do you have problems at home, with money, I mean? I've never been to your place, I don't even know where you live." What should I say to her now?

"It's okay." Her raised eyebrows look at me reproachfully, making me sigh.

"Each of us has to contribute a certain amount of money every month and if I don't sell fucking drugs, it will be tight." Her astonished look makes me pause and I gently stroke her arms.

Before I can say anything else, she kisses me. I look at her in surprise.

"What's that for?" She smiles shyly, looks at the floor for a moment before looking at me again.

"You're just so honest, I admire that. And that you've never asked me for anything, you know. That I lend you some money."

Fuck. Shit. What do I say?

"Yeah, I mean, I don't want to burden you with that-" but she interrupts me again, her concentrated expression makes me curious.

"What's going on in your pretty head?" My hands wander over her sides.

"It's the end of the month, how much are you missing?" I frown in confusion, but when she doesn't let it go, I tell her the amount.

"$240, the rest I earned by helping in the neighborhood." But despite the high sum, she just nods, looks at me again and gives me another kiss.

"Okay, maybe I'll be your sugar mommy." I have to laugh at the absurdity, but the longer she grins at me, the more I think she means it.

"What, are you serious? Thats fucking crazy, how am I supposed to pay you back?" Her eyes look around, but since the classroom is relatively empty during recess, she finds herself between my legs again. She slowly lets her hand wander down my stomach until she squeezes my cock through my clothes and I close my eyes in delight.

"Hmm, maybe you could help me relax between classes." Her eyes sparkle mischievously and I look at her with a grin.

"Anything you want, sugar."

Let's put it this way, the next few weeks the breaks were filled with kissing in the back corner of the classroom, dry humping on the toilet or Carl doing his best to pleasure me with his tongue in the caretaker's room, like now.

"Ahh-, Carl. I'll cum if you keep that up." His head has disappeared under my skirt, his fingers are stroking the bare skin of my thigh and the sinful movements of his tongue are making me see stars.

As he adds a finger and runs it over my folds, slowly until he inserts it, he looks at me again.

"You coming for me? Yeah, be a good girl or do you want to get caught by the old janitor grandpa spreading your legs for me?" As my eyes roll back, he pumps another finger into me, scissoring it thoroughly and hitting that sweet spot inside me.

When I moan loudly, he grins.

"You like that? Just wait until I bury my cock in you and you cant walk straight afterwards, so that everyone will notice." When his finger presses my clitoris, I see white and as I come I try to muffle the sounds with my hand over my mouth.

When I get off my high, I blindly search for my panties. But Carl beats me first.

"Hmm, no. I think I'll keep it as a little souvenir. Maybe you can get it back when you come to my house later." I don't know what surprises me more: that he wants me to run around exposed at school or that I'm invited to his house for the first time.

"Really? I'd like to come." But he interprets my words differently, his fingers stroke my entrance again and I moan and squeeze my eyes shut.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it. Very well and for a very long time." When the bell rings, he lets go of me and I whimper slightly.

"Carl-" but he interrupts me by pulling back and straightening my skirt.

"I'm sure our agreement was between recess, now it's class time. Come on, I'll make it up to you later."

🔗🔗🔗🔗

Your pov

As we ride the bus toward his home, I take his hand and intertwine our fingers.

"But don't expect a mansion or any of that shit." Ever since we left school, he has been bad-mouthing his hometown every free minute he has.

"Don't worry, I'll only have eyes for you anyway." The statement makes him laugh and he relaxes a little. As we get out and walk a little way along the street, we are watched by a few people.

"Why are so many people staring at us?" When he look at me, I'm obviously confused.

"Not everyone here wears designer clothes that cost several thousand dollars. If you come here more often, they'll call you a princess." Giggling, I slap him on the arm and as we climb the stairs to his house, I look around curiously.

"So this is where you grew up." His shoulders shrug casually, but I see him trying to gauge my reaction.

"Yeah, where in the world could it be nicer?" I laugh at his sarcastic comment and we both smile at each other as we enter the house.

I hear him calling into the house, then a girl with red hair appears, carrying a baby.

"You must be Debbie, the little one is so adorable." When I hold out my hand, she just looks at Carl with her eyebrows still raised.

"What did you do to end up with her? Also my daughter's name is Franny and yes, I know condoms exist." Surprised, I don't know exactly how to answer, so I leave it to Carl.

"My tongue is magic, Debs. Too bad you won't find out yourself anytime soon, Derek has moved away. By the way, Franny seems hungry." I'm unsure of the dynamic between the two of them, as she turns away and walks away, I resist the urge to say goodbye.

"That was...nice." His hand pulling me towards the stairs distracts me.

"She's a real ray of sunshine, come on. The others aren't back yet, so you can be as loud as you want this time."

When we get upstairs, he leads me into his room and I look at the magazines, posters and little things scattered everywhere.

"Cleaning and you are definitely not friends, huh?" I laugh at my joke, but Carl has other plans than letting me inspect his room.

He puts his hands on my hips and pushes me against the closed door, my breath catches as his eyes find mine.

"Do you want to keep playing housemaid? Then put on a damn maid costume, otherwise keep your eyes on me." At his stern voice, I press my thighs together and, grinning, I drag my fingers across his chest once again.

"Would you like that? Me on the floor, my ass in the air, and no underwear? Oh wait, what a coincidence that I'm not wearing any now either." His eyebrows raise, I see his eyes darken with lust.

"Let's save this little fantasy for another time, right now I just want to see you on my cock." Smiling, I lean towards him and start kissing him. I loosen the belt I bought him and pull him closer to me by his waistband.

"I think I did well today. After all, I didn't complain about getting through the school day without underwear. Do I get my reward now?" Grinning, he takes off my top and looks at my lace bra.

"Everything you want." He drops to his knees in front of me and kisses his way along my thighs, lifts my skirt and presses a kiss to my folds. Slowly he moves his tongue higher and kisses my stomach, I lean my head against the door.

"Does that feel good?" I just nod, burying my hand in his hair as he puts his mouth on me again.

"Ahh- Carl, I want you now." His fingers stretch me, the wetness running down my legs, making me tremble.

"You got me, sweetheart. What do you want me to do?" His head lifts to look at me and I place my fingers around his chin, seeing the moisture on his lips.

"I've been prepared enough, I want your dick now. Let's see if it's as magical as your tongue." Grinning, he stands up and lifts me up, lays me on my back on his bed and lies down between my legs.

He places a few kisses on my legs, then stretches up on his elbows so he's hovering over me. Then he kisses my cheek and my lips, lets his tongue slide over them and lets me taste myself.

I run my fingers through his blonde hair and pull his body closer to me. When he pulls a condom out of his pocket, I hold my breath.

"You still want to do this?" His look calms all the worries I had. I nod, stroking my fingers over his heated cheek.

"I trust you." His next kiss is passionate, his hands gliding over my body, caressing every bit of exposed skin. I lift my back off the mattress and let him take off my bra. His head lowers to run his tongue over my navel. As he sucks on them, I moan softly.

One of his hands starts kneading my breasts and when I try to take off my skirt, he stops me.

"Leave it on, okay?" I kiss him in response.

His hand strokes my sides and my own hands rest on his shoulders as he presses the tip of his cock against my entrance.

"Ready, baby?" When I agree, he presses himself into me and for a moment I have to squint my eyes because it hurts.

Then I feel several gentle kisses on my cheek, my forehead and my lips. His attempts to distract me work and as I become more and more relaxed, he slides further into me.

Slowly he presses his hips against me, the stretch so great that I can feel him all the way into my stomach. He waits for a moment, whispering sweet things in my ears until they get dirty and I beg him to move.

My hands wrap around his shoulders as he thrusts into me for the first time, the air around us thickening as he grunts and a moan escapes me.

"You're doing so well, God, you feel so good." His hips move faster and faster, the pleasure spreads through my body and the wetter I feel, the easier he slides in and out of me.

"You are perfect, my perfect girl. Do you feel good?" His hands stroke my skin, gently pinching my nipples, playing with them and making me squirm beneath him.

As he grips my hips and pushes himself harder into me, my head starts to spin. My noises get louder.

"Carl- god, please go harder" And so he does, the room is filled with the sounds of our bodies and sweat forms on us.

"Baby, do you want to ride me? You have such pretty thighs." I nod and when he pulls out of me I can't think clearly, I just want him to fill me up again.

He leans back and as I stabilize myself on his shoulders, I sink back onto him. The feeling is even better that my eyes roll back. His hands grasp my hips, helping me move.

"That's right, baby. You're doing so good, riding my cock like the good girl you are." At his words, I tighten my grip on him and he curses as I move harder on top of him.

The faster I go, the more exhausting it becomes, but as I feel a knot forming in my stomach, I ride him so fast just to chase my pleasure.

Then suddenly as he hits my spot inside me over and over again, I go boneless on him and melt in his arms. My come drips all over him and as he continues to fuck me, reaching his own climax, I tremble in his grip.

"Just a few more thrusts, baby. Ah, keep holding on to me." Even though I have lost my strength, I move on him a few more times until he comes and I lay my head on his shoulder.

We're both breathing heavily, but everything feels so good, so warm and comfortable, that I don't want to move a single muscle anymore.

He carefully pulls out of me, I moan slightly at the loss. He gently lays me back on his pillow and gives me a kiss before throwing the condom away.

He pulls the blanket over us and puts his arm around me to pull me closer. I snuggle up to him and feel so safe that I quickly press my lips to his skin.

"That was wonderful." He also presses a kiss on my hair.

"That was incredible, you are the best. I can't wait to do it again." Our embrace becomes tighter. For a moment the room is silent.

When I whisper his name, he hums in response.

"I know it's cliche to say something like that after the first time. But I just feel it so much that it hurts to keep it to myself. I love you." As I lie on his chest I hear his heart stop for a moment and then it starts beating much faster.

"I- no one has ever said that to me before." When I raise my head and look at him, he doesn't look at me. Instead, his eyes are fouced on the ceiling.

"I just want you to know. I don't want to put any pressure on you to say it. I just thought you should hear it. You know, now that things are serious between us." Again he is silent and I start to worry, but then he looks at me.

"You are truly the most incredible person I have ever met. I consider myself very lucky." He smiles at me, then leans down and we kiss for a moment. It feels like heaven.

We lay there for a few minutes, just cuddling and telling each other how our day was. We laugh and as the sun slowly sets, I start to get dressed.

"I wish I could stay here with you. But you know what my parents are like." He leans back on his elbow, watching me get dressed and contact my parents to pick me up.

"Hmm, I think we would do it again. If you stayed here tonight, I mean." I smile at him, sit down on his bed for a moment and ruffle his hair.

"I wouldn't mind, darling." The nickname makes him blush and when he leans forward to kiss me, I playfully push him away.

"I have to go, are you coming down with me?" He nods, feigning annoyance, and as we walk out of his room, he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me towards him.

He steals his kiss there, but more than that he steals my heart.

We smile at each other and for this moment everything is just perfect. We go downstairs and just as we are back in the living room we hear a door open loudly.

A visibly drunk man stumbles in. I see Carl tense up next to me, staring at the stranger angrily. I quietly lean towards him to whisper my question.

"Who is that?" When he rolls his eyes, I get a bad feeling.

"That's my father, great isn't it?" The man in front of me is dirty, has unkempt hair and an unpleasant smile on his face.

"Should I ask my parents if you can stay overnight?" My gaze is more focused on the man than on Carl.

But he just shakes his head, and just as he is about to answer, the man sees us too.

"Oh, my son! It's so good to see you, not really, but I'll take your bed. Fiona has mine. Is that your little girlfriend? She looks expensive, very good catch. How much money did you rip her off? I hope it's worth it to go through all this drama." I frown in confusion, but when Carl freezes next to me, I become uncertain.

"What does he mean by that?" This time my gaze is directed solely at Carl.

"Nothing, he's drunk-" but before he can finish, the man does.

"How rude of me, I am Frank. The proud father of this child, at least one of my descendants has made something of himself and used his talent. He has my good genes, the good looks and I teach him the tricks. Like exploiting an innocent, very very rich girl for money. It doesn't bother you, I hope? You seem to have enough, but I hope my son returns the favor to you."

The words catch me so off guard that I can't move. I don't believe anything this man says until I see the guilty look on Carl's face.

"W-what? That's a lie, right? Tell me he's lying, Carl." As he runs his hands through his hair and tries to answer me, Frank speaks again.

"Oh, you haven't confessed to her yet? My fault, I should have waited. I didn't think you would humiliate this girl for so long. I told you this wouldn't end well." But Carl ignores him completely when he notices me moving away from him.

"Wait, I'm sorry. It wasn't like that-" But I interrupt him, already feeling tears gathering in my eyes.

"So what happened? You act like you don't want any money from me and-" Carl's look becomes frustrated.

"You offered me your money! You said if I matched it, everything would be fine for you." I'm almost speechless, is this all a nightmare?

"Are you serious? I offered it to you because you weren't asking for it. And now I find out it was your plan from the beginning? You just talked to me, just spent time with me to get my money? Who does that?" Frank's voice intervenes.

"I invented the strategy, my dear. It's turning out to be quite useful." But I don't pay attention to him, I just look at Carl.

"Please, I'm sorry. Yes, it was meant that way in the beginning, but it's different now. I-" My tears flow when he admits it and any feeling of happiness disappears. All that remains is betrayal and sadness.

"You what? What am I saying, you were probably happy that I only wanted you in return. I'm such an idiot. You didn't just take my money, you took my first time too!" As he comes towards me, I step back.

"Listen to me, I didnt force you to do all this for me. You wanted it." The more he talks the more desperate I feel and the greater my anger becomes.

"You idiot! I thought you liked me! I thought you finally noticed me too." My sobs get louder and my vision blurs. When he tries to grab my face, I slap him.

"My cue to go. I can see that you're sorting it out between yourselves just fine." Frank's footsteps fading away are nothing compared to the sound of my heart breaking.

"I like you, I really like you. At first it wasn't my intention to start a relationship with you, but then I got to know you and-" Every word that escapes him is only worse.

"Stop talking! You know what the worst thing is that I liked you for so long before you even talked to me. And I thought it was a miracle when you first spoke to me in the libary. I should have listened to the others, you only care about yourself!" I wipe the tears from my cheeks, wishing I could be anywhere but here.

Then before he can say anything, I turn around and run out of the house. But I hear him following me.

"Wait! Don't just walk away, I have to get this straight. Hey!" He catches me, turns me around and holds my tear-stained face in his hands.

"I'm an idiot, I know that. I'm sorry for hurting you. I- God, I love you. You hear me? I love you too. Please stay." But I just shake my head and try to free myself from his grip.

"How do I know if that isn't a lie too? You've betrayed me, I can't talk to you now." When my car pulls up, I get in without turning around. I don't look back, even though his loud curse can be heard throughout the whole neighborhood.

🔗🔗🔗🔗🔗

Your pov

I spend the next few days without saying much, but I cried almost the whole time.

I miss him incredibly, not a day has gone by in the last few months when I haven't seen him and now I've been alone for three days.

I wish he was here, but on the other hand I am so hurt and feel terrible. He is the reason for this.

I wish I had never found out. I wish he had never done it, never lied to me. Didn't use me for money, but worst of all, I don't know if he even likes me.

Today is the first day that I go back to school. Even though I put on make-up, choose a nice outfit and listen to my favorite songs to distract myself, I can only think of him.

His blonde hair, his beautiful eyes, the way his lips felt. How he felt inside me. Then I remember that he loves me and how he finally said it, something I have wanted to hear for so long.

But then I think about what he did and everything feels empty again.

As I enter the school, my friends come to meet me. They already know what happened, they all hug me and I feel a little better.

Until I see him.

And he sees me too. It takes all my effort to avert my gaze. To get my books out of my cupboard, but then I have to stop because he is not standing next to me offering to carry them.

I take it myself, close my door, but before I can go any further, he is standing in front of me. My heart stops. Oh, how his eyes shine.

"Do you need help?" His eyes focus on the books and I have to swallow several times before I can answer.

"No, I have to go to class now." But as I try to walk past him, he stops me.

"You don't answer my texts, you don't call me back. I'm not allowed into your house and you avoid me at school. What can I do? Please tell me what I need to do, so you forgive me." I laugh, but it is without humor.

"What can you do? Move."

I can see his shock, but he still doesn't step aside.

"Can't you hear me? I said-" but he walks toward me until I'm forced to lean my back against the lockers.

His eyes find mine.

"I can't sleep. And when I do, I dream of you. There's a - a hole in my heart that only you can fill. It hurts and I hate not being with you. It's even worse to be here, when you don't look at me the way you usually do. You don't smile at me, God, you don't look like you're in love with me anymore. It's hell."

Tears gather in my eyes, his words are so desperate, it hurts to see him like this.

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you took advantage of me. Before you slept with me." A tear runs down my cheek and I know my mascara is smudging.

"I know, I know. And I feel so bad, I'll do anything to make it right. Just tell me."

When I look into his eyes, my heart also hurts.

"Move, Carl. I can't see you now." This time he lets go of me and I go to class with tears in my eyes.

🔗🔗🔗🔗

Your pov

It's been four weeks since we last spoke, but it doesn't hurt any less to see him. Even if I don't let him talk to me, he doesn't give up.

He puts flowers in my locker, chocolate, and notes full of apologies and sweet promises.

Everything warms my heart, but it still feels like this money thing is unresolved between us. I know now that he likes me, very much in fact, as he makes it clear, but that doesn't change the real problem.

That he used me for my money.

As I leave school that day, I feel exhausted and, as I often do, I wish I had his arms around me.

Holding me tight, his lips kissing me, loving me.

As I wait for my father's car, I suddenly hear his familiar throat clearing. With my heart pounding, I turn around and see him smiling uncertainly at me.

"I know what I had to do and now I've done it. Here." He gives me an envelope and I take it uncertainly.

"Carl, your letters are flattering, but-" He quickly interrupts me.

"No, it's something else. Open it." The deja vu hits me unexpectedly and I slowly open the envelope, the content leaves me speechless.

"What is that supposed to be?" It's rhetorical, but I ask anyway.

"All the money I owe you. What you've kindly given me, I pay it back. Every cent. You can count." He looks so proud, I almost have to laugh.

"How- did you rob a bank?" He grins contentedly at my reaction.

"An old grandma." This time I laugh and he comes closer to me, slowly taking my hands.

"No, seriously. How did you do that?" He looks at me lovingly.

"Working in the kitchen every day after school, I found a part-time job with Fiona. The payment is bad, but it was worth it. I understand that money was the problem and well, that I wasn't honest to you." As I lower the envelope, we look at each other.

"Promise, no more secrets?"

He smiles and suddenly the world is a brighter place.

"Promise, but we continue one of our agreements." I raise my eyebrows questioningly, seeing him grin as he leans toward me, his breath brushing against my lips and he whispers:

"I'll still spend my breaks with you in the janitor's room."

The laughter that escapes me gets interrupted, when his lips meet mine.

[skywalkershootme]

hot wax : anakin skywalker.

afab!reader x anakinskywalker smut. MDNI

BASED ON A DREAM I HAD LAST NIGHT. word count: 1218 (not proofread) warnings: hot wax play, slight burning, dacryphilia, cock stuffing, cock warming, p in v sex, vibrator usage, squirting, waxing, nipple play, slight sexual torture if you squint, mention of porn, pet names, reader calls anakin a bitch, pain kink, s&m if you squint.

“Cmon, it's not going to be that bad. Get over here” “No. I don't want to either.” “Do I have to make you?” Anakin asked, stirring the pot of melting wax. This wasn't your idea, at all… you couldn't even figure out how he thought of this. Anakin wanted to wax you, and not with candle wax, no, hard, hair ripping, wax. This could be something his strange mind came up with, or he saw it on the internet, maybe even porn. He was a freak anyway. “No Anakin, I just shaved too, it's not even going to work. I don't see the point in this" You stayed in your spot, sitting in the corner of the room as he continued to melt down the wax, letting the pot simmer on the nightstand. “Why don't you want to? It’ll be fun, plus.. It won't be painful” “What? It obviously will.” “But I'll make it not, just please?” And before you knew it, you were naked on the bed, stuffed up with Anakin's throbbing cock, filling you to the brim as he started to spread the wax against any hair or skin he could find. He spread it across the hairs on your belly and happy trail, the warmth exciting you. Worries filled your mind, he had never ever done this before. “Anakin.. Be careful- Its hot”

“Baby, just relax, you’re gonna love this…” his tone was so condescending, you almost believed him for a minute, until he ripped the wax off harshly. A pang of anger struck you, leading you to flinch and let out a loud yelp. “Warn me first! You bitch!” you cried out, trying to squirm away, but Anakin was in heaven. You would clench around him whenever he ripped off the wax, giving his dick a warm and wet massage. And it was true, and it felt fucking amazing. Trying to hard not to blow his load on the spot, he pulls you back down, and grinds his hips against yours, trying to get you to relax “Hey.. hey… shh… it's okay. Doesn't that feel good? Yeah? You like that? It’s okay….” his tone was so condescending as he rubbed and poked his dick around the spots he knew you loved, causing your slick to seep all across your conjoined parts. “You think you can put yourself through a few more, for me? Pleaseee….” Nodding yes, you relaxed yourself onto the bed the best you could as he smeared the hot wax over your body. One. Two. Three.

Four.

Five. “Anakin!!! Give me a break!!” You scream, tears welling in your eyes. You were soaking wet all over him, and your skin burned and stinged. He was biting his lip as he looked at you, skin red, all splayed out for him, hair a mess, and cheeks tear stained and red with anger. Maybe he pushed you too far.

The little bitch was in heaven, He had never felt your pussy so tight, so slick. You saw him click the pot off, but dip his fingers in

“You’re so sensitive, last one, I swear.” He ran his fingers covered with hot wax over your nipples, giving it a burning, but pleasurable sensation. You watched it harden over your own nipples with big eyes, almost admiring yourself. He noticed you were still so upset with him, A little pinch of guilt watched over him.

“You okay? What's wrong baby. You did so well.. My good girl.”

You unwrapped your legs from around his waist, spreading them, revealing your leaking, soaked, stuffed up pussy. Your clit was all puffy and swollen, and your folds were a little red. He had got too carried away and forgot to pleasure you whatsoever, only focusing on himself and how your pussy contracted around him.

His face went into shock. He wasn't aware how much your body liked his treatment. A small smirk landed on his face as he stared holes into your pussy. “Aw… was this my mistake? I'm sorry baby… don't worry. I’ll do whatever I can.” Without warning, he spits a huge drop of saliva onto your clit, and starts prodding at it with his thumb, slowly rocking his cock back in fourth inside of you, hitting all your sensitive spots.

You jerk a little bit against the bed, making Anakin chuckle. Being this wet always made you the most sensitive little thing in the world, bringing immense pleasure to you, but Anakin too. He loved the way you flinched and moaned, rocking your hips back to take him to the absolute base. It almost makes him wish his cock was giant, so he could watch you take all you wanted.

Suddenly you're flipped over onto your face, ass up in the air, showing your pussy off to him. Something is placed in your hand by Anakin, and you look up to see a vibrator, and then his face, staring into you.

“Put it on your clit. Keep it on until I say so.” You obey what he says, and turn it on, rubbing it between your folds, and then onto your clit. The contact makes you shiver and squirm for a minute until you get used to it. You’re allowed to rest for a minute, Until you feel Anakin cock poking at your entrance behind you, slowly sinking in, inch by inch. Once fully inside, you let out a high pitched moan. He had built you up so high all day, and now he's going to give you what you need. A proper fuck.

“Ah… taking me so, so well. Good baby, yeah…”

It almost feels like he's not talking to you, because you don't feel here. You're on another cloud of pleasure and the toy buzzes against your clit, and Anakin fills you up from behind. You're still so overly wet. He slowly palms and grabs the globes of your ass as you start to moan and get close, pleasure building up from the toy on your little bud.

And just then, Anakin slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth, going slow but firm and deep, making sure his cock prods at every inch, indenting himself inside of not just your soul, but the body he admires so much.

It's so overwhelming, the toy buzzing, your skin still stinging and burning, and the fat cock inside of you, slowly rocking in and out, in and out, in and out. The pillows are covered in drool and tears, the only thing you can make out is small sobs and moans. It was so much… it had all been so much, now you're standing on the edge of bliss after all the pain and torture, returning back to mush in the pillows.

“You're so close baby.. Let go.. I feel it. You want to cum, yeah?” His slow reassurance was all you needed, rocking your hips back on him meeting his thrusts, your clit throbbed and you squirted all over him. Anakin slowly pulled his cock out, looking at your juices slowly dripping down his abdomen, cock, and onto the sheets. He ran his hands slowly across your ass to calm you, the orgasm practically rocking you.

“Mmm.. you want more babe..? I won't stop until you tell me too.”

[butchcarmy]

Idk if you've written this but can you write about carmy and the reader arguing and he makes her cry? Idk I just feel like thatd be good angst fluff lol

AHH I got carried away as per usual. anyway this is good stuff. wrote a bunch. enjoy!!

word count: 1.3k

tags: traumatized carmy, mentally ill carmy and reader, arguing, language, HURT/COMFORT, ANGST/FLUFF, carmy being a sweetie

Hm…i'm spending a lot of time thinking about the set-up for this. Carmy is a very careful person when it comes to those he’s romantically involved in, but at the same time, he has a hard time controlling his temper when he's in the darkness, as i'll put it. 

here's something awful i think about that i wanna write about. carmy's stressed about work, because of course he is. he's carmy. his head is whirring, spinning with anxiety and self-hatred. i think you're just like him. mentally ill for mentally ill if you will. you're also in a bad mood, and he comes home from The Bear exhausted and keyed up.

“I hate when you push me away like this,” you admit. You've been trying to get him to talk to you since he's been home. Maybe he just needs space, but separation makes you anxious. Especially when he shuts down. 

“I'm sorry that it's so hard for you,” he spits, finally snapping and turning to face you. You've followed him into the dark bedroom, lit only by the harsh moonlight through the window. You flinch. You never quite get used to seeing him like this. 

“I—I just—“ you feel pressure beginning in the back of your eyes. You will it away. “How can I help you if you don’t talk to me?”

“Why do you care so much? Does it make you feel better to take care of someone more fucked up than you?” He snaps, voice raised. His words go down bitter, leaving an awful taste in your mouth. Something in you shatters.

“How could you ask me that?” Your vision’s gone hot and blurry. “I’m your partner. I love you, that’s why I care, you asshole!” You’re stifling sobs. You hate crying in fights like this, but it hurts. You can’t help it.

“Fuck,” Carmy mutters under his breath. He’s gone still in your blurred vision. “Baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that—“

“That was so fucked up, Carmy.” You move to sit on the bed, trying to wipe your tears away, but they keep coming. “What’s your problem?”

“You know what my problem is.” His remorse has swept away the anger, leaving him quiet before you. He leans down at your knees, hands on your thighs. “I shouldn’t have said that. Any of that.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Carmy nods quickly, and he raises a hand to your wet cheeks. “Fuckin’ asshole.”

“I know.” He takes your pain, your anger in its entirety. His other hand brings your knuckles to his lips. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.“

“Sure sounded like you meant it.” Anger flares up in your chest, hurt and betrayed, but you tamp it down, leaning into his hand cradling his face. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. “Damnit, Carmy.”

“I know. I know.” He’s still kissing your hand. “You’re too good for me. I don’t deserve you.” You hate it when he talks like this, because you can tell he really believes it.

“Don’t say that. Please.” 

“But it’s true.” You look down at him in the moonlight, at his sad blue eyes. “I always find ways to hurt you. I…”

“That’s what being in a relationship is, Carm.” You pat the space next to you. “Sit with me?”

“I keep having to remind myself of that.” He sinks into the bed next to you. “I’m so sorry for talking about you like that. Like you’re only doing this out of…I don’t know. Obligation.” He drags a hand across his tired face. “You don’t deserve that. I’m sorry. I just, I just think that—that I’m—fuck—“

“Slow down, Carm,” you say quietly. “It’s okay. You don’t need to force it. I’m listening.” He smiles bitterly at you, and you recognize the love in it easily. He takes in a deep breath before continuing. 

“I still have a hard time believing that anyone cares about me. I can’t even believe that you—love me.” You can practically see the shame rolling off of him in waves. “And it makes me scared.”

“Love is scary, isn’t it?” You say softly. He just nods. “It scares me, too. That’s why I kept pestering you when you got home. I…” You blink quickly. You don’t wanna cry again. “It scares me when I don’t know what you’re thinking. Because…I dunno. It just does.”

“Yeah?” You nod. He has this thoughtful expression that he holds for a moment as he stews on your words. “I didn’t think about it like that. I’m sorry. I think…I think when you kept asking me if I was okay, it…” he sighs, scratches at his temples. “I felt like I was…getting back into a corner. I think.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” You take his hand in yours. “I can see how that must’ve felt really bad.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault that I’m like this. I think—I think it just reminded me of my mom. We would always ask her if she was okay, because she’s fucking crazy, yknow? We didn’t wanna step on her toes. But it turns out we did anyway. And the way I acted just now, I was just like…” He can’t even get the words out. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, voice choked with emotion. “I love you. So much. You know that, right?”

“You tell me everyday. How could I not?” You pull him into a hug, tight and warm, and he instantly wraps his arms around you. “You’re not your mom, Carm. You're nothing like her. Okay?” 

“I don’t wanna be like her,” he whispers. “I don’t wanna be like her.”

“You’re not,” you remind him softly. “And you won’t be.”

Carmy leans back to look at you, but he remains close. His expression is knotted with pain. You run your thumb over his furrowed brow, and it makes his mouth curve upwards in a smile. It’s fleeting, but it was there. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’ll try to open up more. Let you know what I’m thinking.”

Suddenly, you think about when you first started dating Carmy. He was so scared to open up to you emotionally, but with gentle prodding, he fell apart instantly. There was a hunger in him to be known by others, to be seen by you, and it scared him to death. You see that same fear in him now, but you also see how much he’s grown since then. You doubt you would’ve been able to have this conversation at all in the first couple months. 

That makes you happy in a way you’re not quite able to word properly.

“Thank you. But I hope you also know I don’t want to force you. I just wanna help. And…” You measure your words carefully. “I’ll try not to let it freak me out so much. Because if you’re not in the mood to talk, I want you to know that’s okay. Okay?”

“Okay. I’d like that. If I don’t want to talk, I’ll just tell you. Instead of…blowing a fuse.” He laughs dryly. 

“I’d like that too.” You let out an exhale of relief you didn’t realize you were holding. “Wow, Carm. Look at us. Communicating!”

“I know.” That makes him laugh for real this time, and you’re laughing too. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

“I think you could. But I certainly like doing it with you.” His smiles grows wider at that, brimming with affection. 

“Let me make this up to you, baby.” He pulls you in for a kiss, slow and deep. You let out a little noise when his lips meet yours. 

“Make it up to me?” Carmy’s tongue is on your neck now. Oh. “Aren’t you tired? You—you have work tomorrow—?”

“Don’t care.” You fall back onto the bed, and the blankets deflate under you. You stare up at Carmy, his curls hanging by his face. “You’re more important.”

“Well, if you insist…” You giggle, and your giggles get louder when Carmy pulls up your shirt to blow raspberries against your stomach. “Carmy, quit it—oh—!”

He makes it up to you in full and more by keeping his head between your legs for the rest of the night. By the end of it you can't remember what you were mad about in the first place.

[cor-lapis-candy]

I will die on the hill I am camping on currently and tell you all that Fontaine would 100% have basic sex toys and fucking machines.

Anyway, I want to put Neuvillette on all fours and watch him get railed by an inanimate object or well a fucking machine, so enjoy!

It was a gift from the warden, a little wink and a nudge written in the note that came with the delivery as the heavy box was passed towards you, instructions folded and bound neatly atop it in an unsuspecting booklet.

Wriothesley was nothing if not smug when you blushed as you read the title printed in neat black writing.

Wiring, spare cogs, bolts and everything else making a mess of the floor as you messed up a few times and had to redo the lines of wires that would make this strange gift work, now all you needed was your dear Iudex to come home for the fun to truly begin.

Offering to play new games of pleasure with Neuvillette was something new, something you had only just barely managed to get him to agree to. Sighing as you can already see the arch of his back, the sight of his cocks hanging hard between his legs as he rocks backwards into the feeling of your hands spreading him wide, while only partly divine it is still easy to fall into this daydream almost like an act of worship.

It is a dance and a half as he comes home, tired smile and soft hands cupping your cheeks as you coax him through a long and through bath, teasing away the idea of a calm night and managing to ease him into the very position you had daydreamed about.

On his hands and knees, a pillow cushioning his form and making this more comfortable as you begin.

The trust he has in you as you ease him open, fingers slowly working in and out of him, streaching and easing the way for something much bigger, much more filling and surely more rough than you could ever be with him. The slick shine of lube and sweat makes already glittering skin seem ethereal in the low light of the room, and the deep groans that follow as you pull your fingers free, sliding your hands up and down his back shushing the slight whine that follows you pulling away.

"Shh, shhh, honey I'll be right back, this surprise was a gift and I spent all afternoon setting it up just for you! Now sit still and be good for me, I'll be right back..." pulling his hair away from his back and out of the way as you teasingly run your hands down his horns, the messy kiss you steal as you finish up is worth it as Neuvillette is nothing if not a sight with cheeks flushed a deep red and mouth open as he pants, chasing more of your kisses.

"Now comes the fun part, you know what to say if you want it to all stop, but for now behave this is more for you than me."

The blunt press of the toy attached to the machine makes him jolt, rattling his frame and causing him to gasp, the mess of lube across his hole and the toy means you have to guide the head in, pressing down on the lukewarm silicon, completely entranced as the head slips in, shallow as shallow can be before the small switch in your hand lets you ease the machine to life.

The piston arm slowly worked the toy deeper and deeper into him, sinking to the base in a matter of moments, so slowly working him into the feeling of the mechanical fucking that he was about to experience, "Look at you honey, so pretty like this, such a big powerful dragon on his hands and knees getting fucked by a lowly mortal machine..." its easy to coo at him like this, sighing as you wrap a hand around one of his cocks, stroking in time with the arm fucking into him.

"Shall we go a little faster? Harder? Or maybe you want me to stop? What will it be precious?"

The machine is still slow enough that you can clearly make out the way he pants a shameful 'harder' and 'faster', letting you flick your wrist once more, smearing the dripping pre-cum along his shaft before turning the dial on the remote up, filling the air with hisses of air compressing as the toy that was fucking him speeds up, making him throb in your hand.

The tense muscles of his back shifting as he bucks back into the machine hips chasing the full feeling as you give the cock in your hand one more long stroke before moving back towards his face. Snagging a pillow for your own knees makes it easier to get comfortable, long since having stripped down and joined Neuvillette in nakedness, tilting his head up so you can see how his eyes are barely focused, hazy and lost as they look up at you.

"look at you big boy, barely started and you already look wrecked, Maybe I should find some more little attachments for this thing, keep you fucked dumb and pretty like this whenever I want..."

From the amount of panting he had done, Neuvillette's chin was slick with spit and perfectly positioned for you to press against his face, using the excess spit to slick yourself up more before pressing against his lips. Fingers drag through his hair as he presses forward, taking you with his mouth and laving against the skin, his hips twitching as he pulls forwards to pleasure you and making the machine press further into him.

The power for the machine would last at least another hour and a half, and there were two more speeds and one more angle that you could set the arm into, the night was still young and the look of your dear hydro dragon panting lips slick with spit and your own mess was nothing if not encouraging you to push him further into this new pleasure.

Perhaps Wriothesley would like a new tea set or two for gifting this too you...

[jadebat7]

"it feels so scary getting old"

childhood friend!kuroo x reader

summary: a late night talk with tetsurou <3

The cold, fall air blew across your face making you shiver. Leaves below rustled, making a small leaf-nado. You watched as the dead leaves danced around together in syncopated rhythm, wild and unruly.

You were sat on the roof, one ear bud in your ear, listening to a playlist you made. Your knees brought to your chest as you leaned against the outer wall.

Soon enough, the leaves fell and it was silent, except for the quiet music in your left ear.

Tetsurou was in his bedroom, working on some random homework. He often stayed up late. Too late. Balancing volleyball and school was hard.

He opened the window, hoping some fresh air would help him think better. As he opened the curtains, he saw you. He wasn't shocked. The roof was where you went when the confinement of your house was too much. The roof was your freedom.

Glancing at his homework, then at you, then at the homework again, he sighed. He opened the window, crawling out like so many times before.

"Tetsurou, are you sure? What if we get hurt! Or what if my mom finds out I was out here past my bedtime!" You looked at him, your ladybug raincoat on. It wasn't raining, you just liked the coat.

He smiled his usual toothy smile, his eyes gleaming. "It'll be okay! C'mon, just sit on the back"

Climbing onto his crappy bike he built with his dad, 8 year old Testurou coaxed you to sit on the back. He was always so convincing.

Looking back, he smiled at the memory. He opened the gate connecting your yard to his, and climbing onto your roof. It wasn't that high up, so it wasn't too hard.

You heard the familiar climbing, smiling as you looked over and saw his eyes peaking over the edge. You took out your lone ear bud and put it back in its case.

He sat next to you, "Late night?"

You nodded, "Mom and dad keep talking to me about college, trying to pressure me to do something good, reliable, like a doctor or whatever"

A small smile formed on his face, "Which you won't do because...?"

"It's just not who I want to be. I dunno, college isn't for me right now. Maybe I'll go eventually," You looked over at him before resting your head on his shoulder.

"But for now? I like it here."

He draped his arm across your shoulders, gently resting his head on yours.

"You're so cheesy," he teased

You scoffed, "I'm cheesy? I've heard the speeches you give your team"

He laughed, "That's true."

The stars were bright tonight, the moon was full, casting a cool glow on the twos face. You sighed, indulging in the sweet, gentle moment.

"I'm gonna miss you, y'know? When you go and move and become someone great"

"Someone great? Am I not already amazing?"

You pushed his chest softly, playfully, teasing. Smiling, you looked at him. Your head now rested on your knees, your arms wrapped around your legs.

"You're ruining the moment, asshole"

"Sorry, sorry-" He smiled, but it quickly faded. He was growing up. You were growing up.

When he looked at you, he still saw the little kid he met when he moved in next door. You were so shy, hiding behind your mom's leg,

"This is y/n" Your mom looked down at you, a hand resting in your hair. You were hidden behind her leg, barely peaking out as you gripped her pant leg.

Tetsurou's dad smiled, "This is Tetsu-" Before he could finish, Tetsurou walked up to you, a smile on his face. He was missing a tooth, and he had some dirt on his cheek. How'd that get there?

"I'm Tetsurou! I'm 7!"

He held out a hand, waiting for you to shake it.

"I'm, y/n-" You spoke softly, hesitantly shaking his hand.

That was where it began.

He knew there would never be mudpies at the park again, or pretend rocket on the school playground, or midnight bike rides with no helmets or adults.

There would never be awkward slow dancing at the first middle school dance again, or walking to the convenience store together after school, or reading shitty poetry you both wrote in your shared emo phase.

There would never be these roof top conversations again, or you comforting him after yet another girl rejected him, or searching for you in the stands at volleyball games.

He looked at you, running a gentle hand through you hair. You looked so beautiful with the moonlight casting a soft glow on your face. He always thought you were beautiful.

"Kuroo and y/n sitting in a tree!" The kids yelled.

Tetsuro ignored them, holding your hand under the play ground.

Your tears fell onto your strawberry shortcake shirt, a frown clear on your face.

"You can go play with them, Tetsu- I'm fine"

He frowned, "But they were mean to you, and called you ugly. I don't want to play with them! They're mean,"

He sat next to you, smiling. "And you're not ugly, y/n. You're the prettiest girl in the world!"

You looked at him, sniffling. "Really?"

He nodded, "Really! And the best best friend anyone could have!"

He sighed, "I don't want to be an adult,"

As he brushed a strand of hair out of your face, he moved closer to you. A microscopic, tiny, barely noticeable change.

"How am I supposed to get my y/n fix everyday?"

You laughed, "I am pretty great"

"Did you know that the longer I go without you, 10 years are taken off my life?"

"Oh really? I guess I can't be gone too long," You teased, gently pushing him with your shoulder.

Silence, again. It was comfortable, of course. A woosh of wind broke the silence, messing up the leaves again.

"I'm not playing volleyball in college," He spoke, breaking the silence.

You sat up, looking at him. "Tetsurou- You can't! You're so good, and it's, like, your life! I mean, when I think of-"

He cut you off, "I'm still going to be working around volleyball, I just won't be playing."

There was his stupid smile again. Stupid. Of course, you grew to love that shit eating grin. But you could still see a slight sadness behind his eyes.

"This is what I want. I want to make volleyball more accessible, and fun. That's were my real passion lays anyway."

You nodded, "I'm happy for you. Really."

"Thank you."

The roof creaked, it always did when it was so windy like this. Your eyes traced over his face once again.

"Remember middle school? When we used to sit up here all night and listen to music?"

He smiled, "Of course. Then your mom would find us and think we were making out"

You laughed at the memory, although there was a smidgen of truth.

"I love this song" He put down his phone, turning up the volume a bit.

It was warm, the sun had just set and there was still a barely noticeable rim of yellow at the bottom of the sky. It was summer break, and so far you had gone swimming, and biked around the neighborhood, and made crappy ice cream. All with Tetsurou.

"Y/n?"

When did he get so close? And when did the song change?

You looked at him, the moon illuminating his face. Was he kind of... good looking? You never though about him like that but maybe...

Your eyes flicker to his lips, then back at his eyes. He noticed, of course. You weren't exactly sneaky. That stupid grin formed on his face once again and he slowly leaned in to-

"Y/n! Tetsurou! Get down, you'll get hurt!"

You laughed to yourself, before shaking your head.

"Y/n?"

"Hm?"

"If we're not married to anyone by the time we're 25, will you marry me?"

You rolled your eyes at the question, before nodding. "Of course I'll marry you, Tetsurou."

He smiled, "Guess I'm a single man til then"

"Whatever you say, Tetsu"

headers found here

Reblogs appreciated!

requests open!!

[thenamesseven]

A/N: I'm late, I'm late, I do have to apologize for that but Valentine's day kept me a little busy and I was unable to finish writing the first chapter! Here it is though! No more to say, enjoy it! By the way, I'll be fixing my masterlist pretty soon, it is a mess but I promise I'll manage to do it somehow!

Next Sunday will be when the second part comes out so I have an entire week to plan and rewrite since I want to make a few changes on the story!

Little prologue!

Warnings: Mentions of blood, magic, murdering and some babies being abandoned...Sorry :)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The job wasn’t particularly difficult, but it had its challenges. Cleaning and organizing an entire building – three floors, all by yourself – was no small task. But despite the magnitude of the job, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement. After all, just the fact that you had work again was enough to bring you joy.

Honestly, they could have asked you to do the most mundane, exhausting task, and you still would have been grateful. As an adult, not worrying about money was a luxury you didn’t take lightly. And although it meant putting in hard work to leave the offices and bathrooms spotless, the effort seemed worth it.

“Be sure to pay extra attention to the bathrooms, the entrance, and the areas where clients might pass through during meetings,” James, the man who had interviewed you the day before, had said. “You can still clean the offices, of course, but those common areas are more important.”

“Got it!” you replied with a smile.

“We understand that it might be tough to clean everything in one day, so don’t rush. If you need help with anything, don’t hesitate to reach out to me or someone else if I’m unavailable,” he added reassuringly.

That relieved the anxiety you had about finishing everything. “Understood!”

“Also, if you come across a room with a closed door, it either means someone’s working inside or the person prefers privacy. Just avoid disturbing them.”

“Of course,” you agreed, still smiling.

“Any questions?” he asked.

“Well, I was just wondering where I can find the cleaning supplies. The document I received mentioned they’d be provided, but I didn’t bring any of my own.”

“Oh, no problem.” James gestured down the hall. “That small brown door next to the elevator leads to the changing room. Your uniform and cleaning supplies are there, so you can leave your personal things in the locker and get what you need.”

“Great, thank you!” you smiled again, adjusting the strap of your backpack.

“Of course! And if you want to take a break, there’s coffee in the meeting room on the first floor. Help yourself whenever you need,” James added as he made his way to the elevator.

“Thanks!” you called after him.

The building was eerily quiet as you walked to the changing room. Maybe most of the staff hadn’t arrived yet, or maybe the rooms were soundproof, but the only sound was the ticking of a clock at the end of the hall and the echo of your own footsteps.

Once you changed into your uniform, you felt a surge of motivation. You were determined to give your best to the people who had helped pull you out of a tough spot. With your cleaning cart in tow, you decided to start with the second floor, then move to the first, saving the third floor for last since it had no common spaces.

The music in your headphones made the work feel almost effortless, like a lazy Sunday spent cleaning at home. The rhythm of your favorite tunes turned each task into a kind of dance.

But when you reached the third floor, things started to feel… off.

Maybe it was the fading light outside, or the sterile, windowless hallway, but an unsettling chill crept over you. The walls were white, clinical even, making the space feel more like a science lab than an office. There were only a few offices, and at the far end, a door stood slightly ajar, casting a beam of light into the hallway.

The silence here felt unnervingly thick, and the lack of any decoration made the space feel empty, almost abandoned. A shiver ran down your spine.

For reasons you couldn’t explain, you felt compelled to remove one of your earphones. Something about the atmosphere made you uneasy.

You tried to brush it off. It’s just another hallway, just like the one upstairs, you told yourself. But something still felt wrong.

With your senses on high alert, you moved down the hall slowly, as though you were trying not to disturb anything. All the doors were closed, a relief after the chaos of cleaning fourteen offices and a meeting room on the floors above.

At the end of the hall, you reached the door that was slightly open, the one that seemed to invite you in. Just as you reached for the handle, you saw a large sign on the door: DO NOT ENTER. SCIENTISTS ONLY.

That gave you pause.

The rule was simple: don’t clean rooms with closed doors. But this door wasn’t entirely closed, just slightly ajar. Technically, it wasn’t off-limits, right?

A more cautious person might have asked a colleague for guidance, but you made the decision to enter anyway.

“Hello?” Your voice came out more hesitant than you expected. But there was no turning back now. You had to clean this room—no one had told you not to.

Inside, the sight before you was utterly unexpected:

Thirteen coffins.

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. The sight was so surreal that for a moment, you thought your mind was playing tricks. The coffins were neatly arranged in a circle, their dark wood gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. Though they were all sealed, an unsettling sense of dread crept over you.

Was this some sort of prank? But there were no cameras, no signs of it being a joke. This was real.

The rest of the room was bare, except for the coffins, a table cluttered with papers, and a trash bin full of crumpled sheets and empty glass tubes. Everything seemed disorganized, as though the people who worked here had left in a rush.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath and try to remain calm. Slowly, you began clearing the papers from the table, though your mind raced with questions. What was this place? What was going on here?

As you tidied up, you noticed a thick, old book hidden under a pile of papers. The cover was worn and faded, and as you flipped it open, the pages revealed a strange, handwritten tale.

Reading wouldn't do any harm right? Maybe this gave you a clue of what was going on here.

Once upon a time, there was a village thrown into chaos by the discovery of witches. The people's beliefs were shaken by the sudden appearance of magic, and their safety seemed threatened when mysterious rituals began to take place in the darkness of night. As expected, the hunt to rid the village of this new danger began.

The stakes were set ablaze, and the nights grew less dark, now illuminated by the fires of extermination.

Innocent souls were sometimes sent to Hell, and sometimes, real witches were sacrificed. Trust among people evaporated. No one knew when it would all end. No one was safe. Your daughter, mother, or wife could be the next one burning at the stake.

Once upon a time, there was a witch who had foreseen the night when she might be hunted—the fateful night when a man would drag her from her small cabin.

Once upon a time, there was a witch who managed to escape. She would remember that night until her last breath—the haunting screams of women echoing through the streets, how men dragged them from the safety of their homes by their hair and feet as though they were mere animals, as though they were not even human.

She would never forget the cries of the little girls, desperately begging for mercy, trying to convince the crowd that they didn’t even know what magic was, until their final breath. The witch could still hear their anguished cries, as they were ripped from their mothers' arms, having been robbed of the only safety they had ever known in this cruel world.

She could still vividly recall gathering the few belongings she could carry before escaping through the back door. The foul stench of burning flesh filled her nostrils as soon as she stepped outside. The images of smoke, torches, blood, and fire haunted her mind every time she tried to sleep.

That night, she ran breathlessly into the forest, pushing herself to go as fast as she could, not caring how the branches scraped at her skin. She ran deep into the woods, searching for a place where no human would dare follow, a place where they would never think to look.

In the solitude between the trees and shadows, she built her home. The beginning was tough, but magic made it easier, and surviving was all that mattered.

Outside the forest, the village had fallen into such a state of ruin after the merciless hunt that its inhabitants had been forced to take drastic measures. Some didn’t want to have another child or simply couldn’t afford to feed another mouth. Others focused on rebuilding the village, on forgetting the murders committed in plain view, while some swore never to raise a child in such a cruel place.

Some mothers had died giving birth, others burned at the stake under the accusation of practicing black magic. Some fathers didn’t feel strong enough to raise another child after losing their beloved wives, and others were too afraid, thinking their newborn might also be a product of witchcraft. In the end, all of these unwanted children were abandoned, one by one, deep in the forest. Their cries reached the witch’s ears, but they were close enough for their families to hear too, haunting them as they walked away, embedding that sound in their memories forever.

The number thirteen is often seen as an omen of bad luck, but for the witch—the isolated woman who had escaped the hunt—it was a blessing. Not because of her magic, but because thirteen was the number of children she saved. Thirteen children who became her new, unconventional family.

It was sheer coincidence each time she found an abandoned baby in the woods. Guided by their cries, the witch would track down every one of them, expanding her home until it was large enough for all fourteen of them to live in.

Despite the strange circumstances of their formation, the children grew up with the love they’d been denied. The witch, taking on the role of mother, gave them the warmth and affection they would never have known if not for her. And the children, once orphans, thrived in the love of the woman who saved them.

But everything has an end. What had once been a peaceful, loving home eventually fell into the chaos that had destroyed the village long ago. The children—now young men—grew curious, as teenagers often do. The witch, though, wasn’t accustomed to such behavior. They wondered why they lived in the woods and why they couldn’t leave, but the witch always deflected their questions, keeping their impatience at bay.

Unfortunately, this could only go on for so long. As they entered their twenties, the fear of breaking the rules began to fade, and one afternoon, they stole the witch’s grimoire and cast a spell to put her into a deep sleep. During those hours, they sneaked out of the house and ventured into the village nearby.

That night would be the best night of their lives.

They explored the entire town, learning its history, the story of the witches who had once been hunted and burned. They began to understand why their mother had chosen to live in the woods, though they couldn’t quite grasp why they weren’t allowed to leave the forest, especially since they weren’t like her. The night took a turn for the adventurous when they discovered bars, filled with alcohol and girls. That night, all thirteen brothers experienced things that had been hidden from them for so long.

What was supposed to be a one-time thing soon became a routine. They all felt guilty for lying to the woman who had raised them, but the girls they met in the village had stolen their hearts. Love, passion, and lust overpowered their fear of the gentle witch who had cared for them all these years.

But mistakes are meant to be made, and one night, one of the brothers left the grimoire open on the table after they’d returned from their latest adventure. That night, after indulging in too much fun, they fell into a deep sleep, unaware that the witch had woken up before them.

It took a while for her to discover what they had done. At first, she couldn’t believe that the children she had saved from death would betray her so easily. Rage consumed her, and all she could see was red. How could they do this to her? How could they choose girls over the one person who had raised them, who had saved them from certain death? Blinded by fury, she opened her grimoire and began chanting dark rituals, curses that would destroy their loved ones and punish the girls who had stolen her children. But more than that, she sought to teach them a lesson—one that would seal their fate and turn them into living nightmares.

Though she knew she would regret it, deep down, she still loved them. But they needed to learn that betraying the one who saved them would never go unpunished.

Consumed by rage, the witch used her magic to hypnotize the girls and bring them to her home. She sat them down next to her sleeping sons, who had yet to wake. Once everyone was inside, she stepped outside, chanting a spell that would change the lives of her children forever.

“You, who betrayed the woman who loved you most, will now betray the ones who led you to the worst. Fate will twist, your lives will never end, and you’ll relive the nightmare of killing your love over and over again. Don’t take comfort in controlling it, the beast inside you will never be tamed, no matter how much you want it. The monster within will emerge the moment you encounter a woman who resembles the ones whose memories haunt you.”

Once upon a time, there were thirteen children who should have died—but never did.

Once upon a time, there were thirteen teenagers whose curiosity would lead them to their doom.

Once upon a time, there were thirteen men whose lives turned into eternal nightmares.

Once upon a time, there were thirteen monsters who would terrorize towns, cities, and entire nations.

Once upon a time, there were The Originals.

Once upon a time, there was Death.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Carpe Noctem 15

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Your alarm wakes you at the usual time. You're still achy but functioning. At first, you're disoriented, still unused to your new, albeit, temporary home. You rub your hips and stand, groaning as you find the muscles in your back looser than usual.

You sift through the bag of clothes Lloyd got for you and pull on the thin blue robe with white lilies. The hallway is silent as you listen through the door, unsure what to do next. You need to start your day, you can't miss any more work.

You emerge quietly and tiptoe downstairs. You make your way to the kitchen, its high ceiling making it feel even larger. You near the silver coffee machine on the sleek white counter and examine the many buttons

You find a bag of coffee in the cupboards and measure out the overpriced grinds. You'll have to do some shopping on your way home, you'd hate to take what isn't yours. It won't hurt to keep a list of what you owe.

You set the machine to grind and leave it. The coffee will be enough to get you out the door. You go back upstairs and find an outfit to wear to work; a pair of burgundy capris and a fluttery sleeved tee shirt with a watermelon print.

You take your time in the bathroom cleaning up. The odds and ends Lloyd gathered for you don't really help much, you at least have a tooth brush and your comb. You finish up and wonder if you might not be able to barter a few more things from Johnny. Just the thought of seeing him makes you nervous. Maybe not, probably best to just start over.

You still can't believe it's over. There's a gnawing in your chest that says it doesn't have to be. That sore spot in your cheek quickly chases it away. No, he hit you. You always said you wouldn't stay with any man who would do that.

You return to the kitchen, the aroma of coffee luring you back. Lloyd surprises you as he stands at the counter, pouring a cup as a satin robe hangs from his shoulders. He turns and you gasp at the open front. He's shamelessly half-hard as he faces you and takes a deep gulp.

"Uh, morning," you keep your eyes on his face.

"Mmm, good coffee," he grits through his dry throat.

"Good to hear," you chime and cross to the counter, taking down a mug of your own and filling it. "I'll buy you more to make up for what I used--"

"Don't bother," he grumbles as he rubs his eye socket, "we have our arrangement."

You hesitate and wet your mouth with a taste of the coffee. You look across the kitchen rather than at him. You swallow, "is that... I don't know if--"

"Look around, hot stuff, I don't need money or an extra bag off coffee," he scoffs, "and what I want, you can give me."

"Mm," you clamp your lips together, "well, I'm just going to finish this and go to work," you lift your mug, "I'll have to figure out how long the commute is so I can get back into it."

"Right. So responsible," he sneers, "I somehow respect it and despise it."

You look at him as he turns to you. His robe ripples as you see him bobbing at the bottom of your vision. You put your mug down and grab his robe, closing it and tying the belt snugly.

"Chilly in here," you say.

"Really?" He arches a brow.

"Like I said, work."

"What time?"

"Should be there for eight--"

"No, what time are you getting back?"

"I... probably five or--"

"Right, you walk in and I want you naked before you get to your room."

"Hmm?" You blanch.

"I'm gonna be carrying around these blue balls all day waiting so don't fuck around," he points at you, "now say 'thank you.'"

"Thank you? For?"

"For not bending you over right now," he says as if it's obvious, "I'm not a patient man, but damn if the pussy isn't worth the wait."

You squint and step back, picking your cup up again, "do you always have to be so... crass?"

"Well, honey cunt, that's who I am. The double L is for Long and loud. I'm sure you can confirm the veracity of that," he winks.

You have to keep from letting out a disgusted noise, instead draining half your cup. You are entirely unprepared for any of this, most of all him. Somehow, you know the day isn't going to go any faster knowing he's waiting on you to get back.

🍑

The normalcy of work welcomes you back. The little problems of the kids and the demands of finicky parents at drop-off keeps you on your toes. It's almost enough to make you forget all the turmoil of your after hours existence.

You sit with the kids for pick up and see them off one by one. Carol helps tidy up the play area as you go through the closing list. Naptime and the end of the day are the only quiet moments you get in this place.

You say goodbye to your coworkers and break off from Nina as you go to your own car. You throw your bagbin the passenger's seat and start the engine, reversing out and slowly pulling onto the street. You steer out onto the adjoining avenue but have to keep from taking your usual route.

You grab your phone and look at your trip to work and hit reverse. You still need the extra help finding your way. You ignore the notifications from the unknown number in your inbox. Not hard to guess who.

You turn onto the next street and hear a woop as a siren flashes red in your rearview. Shit.

You pull over and stare in the side mirror. You know it's him before he even steps out. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What do you do? You see a few parents walking with wagons and kids on foot… witnesses.

You hit your messages and cringe at the sight that pop up with the first chat. Lloyd's recognizable even with his head out of frame. Alright, that's the last thing you're thinking of.

You hit the little phone icon in the corner and let it dial as you lock the screen. You drop it on the seat and roll down your window as Johnny approaches. You reach over to find your insurance and license.

"You know why I pulled you over?" He bends to sneer above the window.

"N-no, officer," you murmur and hold out your license.

He wraps his hand around yours and squeezes until you whimper. You try to pull away but he clings to you, "this isn't fucking over."

You gulp, fighting to wriggle free. He's too strong. You whine, "please, Johnny–"

"That's Officer Storm," he snarls as he lets you go, "saw you on your phone. That's a fine." He checks out your license and insurance, "let me run this."

"You know you don't have to do that–"

"Shut the fuck up," he barks and puts his hand on the handle of his nightstick, "don't start resisting. That's obstruction."

You snap your mouth shut and sit back, "okay, sir."

You lower your head as he struts away with a laugh. You cautiously tilt your phone a light up the screen, you see the call time ticking. You hope Lloyd is listening, and if he is, you pray he'll do something.