#I'm gonna have so much fun and frustration (which counts as fun for me

[annwrites]

fine, yeah, I'm fuckin' jealous!

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: you & billy get lunch & he nearly commits assault. he then steals your icecream cone.

— tags: billy getting violently jealous, billy getting a boner, billy being possessive

— tw: eating, drinking, slut-shaming, sexual harassment

— word count: 2,840

— a/n: i'm not gonna lie, writing for billy is sm fun. he's such an asshole & it's hilarious to me

find my other posts concerning billy, here

When you wake in the morning, it's with a muscled arm slung heavily over your waist, and something hard pressed into your backside.

So, he'd decided to join you under the convers at some point during the night, you think.

You turn, wishing to get him off of you, but jerk in surprise when you feel a patch of rough hair brush against the side of your thigh. He was not...

You shoot up in bed, his arm falling into your lap, and he doesn't even wake.

You very slowly pull back the comforter, and when you glance down you fill with rage. "Get up!"

Billy's eyes slowly open and a lazy smile forms on his lips. "Mornin', sunshine. You sleep good? I know I did."

You get out of bed, throwing the covers back, then immediately regret that decision, seeing someone—or, rather, something—also clearly 'awake'.

Billy doesn't so much as react. He just folds his hands behind his head, not even bothering to re-cover himself, knowing what God blessed him with.

You stare up at the ceiling. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

His eyes trail along your body, your messy hair. "I don't like sleeping in clothes. Get over it."

Your hands ball into fists at your sides. "You are such a dick."

He raises a brow, glancing down to his waist, shrugging, lightly nodding. "In a way, I guess you're rig-"

You quickly walk around to his side of the bed, grabbing his briefs, and throwing them in his face. "Get dressed."

He catches them, sighing. "You're so mean to me."

You grab your backpack, heading into the bathroom, firmly shutting the door behind you as you get ready for the day.

When you come back into the room, Billy's now dressed—thankfully. A pair of jeans, his boots, and a plaid button-up...which is fairly unbuttoned at the top, showing off his chest, and leather jacket on.

He looks up to you, chewing on a piece of cold pizza. "Breakfast?" He asks, holding the half-eaten piece out toward you, mouth full.

You grab your other bag, settling the strap on your shoulder. "No, I lost my appetite," you say, making your way toward the door.

Just as you reach up on tiptoes to unlock the chain at the top, you feel him pinch your ass under your dress.

You swing around, backpack nearly slamming into him, which you then slip off of your shoulders, throwing it on the floor.

He raises his hands, laughing.

You raise an open palm toward him, his hand quickly grabbing your wrist, catching it before it even comes close to his face. You raise the other one—same thing. He pushes you back against the wall, holding you firmly in-place by your wrists, a smirk on his lips as you squirm to get free.

He places his lips directly beside your ear, his body now pressed-up against your own. "You want to take your frustrations out on me, baby? I can think of lots of funner ways to do it." He pulls back, looking into your eyes, face now utterly serious, eyes hard, his hands squeezing your wrists a bit more firmly.

"Don't ever do that again," he says, suddenly releasing you and grabbing his bag, throwing the door open, leaving you standing there seething.

Once the two of you are checked out and back on the road, Billy seems to be in good spirits, despite your little tiff that morning...which you felt incredibly guilty about.

How could you have even thought of hitting him? Especially when you knew how much it hurt. And you knew that he did as well.

You reach forward, turning down AC/DC on the radio and turn toward him.

He looks at you with a curious expression. "You need somethin', baby?"

Always with the pet names...

"I'm sorry...for...for trying to slap you. I shouldn't have done that. You're right: it won't happen again."

He's silent for a moment, staring at the road ahead. Then, "Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "Just trying to get you to lighten up a little, sugar. You know, you are allowed to have fun."

You shake your head. "Could you please stop with the pet names?'

He smirks. "Not likely, honey." Then, "So, about that having fun-"

You turn the radio back up, Highway to Hell blasting through the speakers.

A couple hours later, the two of you finally stop for lunch at a roadside stand that serves burgers, hotdogs, fries, and a few other items.

The two of you pay separately this time, you opting for cheese fries, and Billy a burger.

You sit at a picnic table with an umbrella overtop the both of you, and you watch as he opens his soda can, taking a sip.

You eat a couple fries, and feel a jean-clad leg brush against your own under the table.

You glance up to him from under your lashes, but he just continues eating.

And then you feel his boot knock against your ankle.

"Would you stop that?"

He looks up at you, swallowing. "Eating?"

You roll your eyes, lightly kicking him under the table.

"You want to play footsie, darlin'?"

You shake your head, ignoring his leg softly rubbing against your own. Every time you react, you're giving him exactly what he wants. He's just pissing you off to amuse himself.

A few moments later, his leg stills and you look up, seeing that his eyes are now trained elsewhere: on a pair of girls around your age perched atop a picnic table diagonal to where you sit, giggling and talking amongst themselves, glancing to him every few seconds. You turn back around to continue eating.

Billy shoots them a wink. "Hey, dolls," he calls flirtatiously.

You roll your eyes, but remain silent.

"Is that your car?" One asks, looking to his Camaro.

He grins—it always makes picking up chicks so much easier. "Sure is, sweetheart. You want me to take you for a spin?"

She goes quiet for a moment, you imagine she's debating it with her friend, then, "Can we both come?"

He stands. "Hell yeah you can, baby."

He doesn't bother looking down to you when he says quietly, "Be right back."

You watch as his car speeds out of the parking lot, hoping he comes back simply because all of your things are in his trunk.

Once you've finished eating, you stand to throw your trash away, until a soft breeze blows one of your napkins away. You groan.

You plop your paper bowl on top of the table and crouch down on hand and knees, reaching underneath the table to grab it. You go to stand, then hear someone catcall you from behind, and you slam the top of your head against the bottom of the table.

You reach up, placing your palm over the spot you were sure would have a bump forming on it soon enough.

You look behind you, and a group of three guys are watching you. Two of them standing, talking to each other, glancing to you every few seconds with smirks, the third seated on the hood of what you assume is his Mustang.

You turn around, throwing your trash away, then you seat yourself at the table again, leaning back against it, watching for Billy's car, now feeling uncomfortable.

The one on the hood slides off, making his way over to you.

You ignore him, glancing around, pretending not to notice, hoping it'll discourage him from trying to talk to you. You don't get so lucky, however.

He comes to stand in front of you, forcing you to look up at his towering form. He's older, but still handsome. Mid-twenties, maybe? Short, dark hair that's slicked back, a goatee, and dark eyes. He sports a plain blue t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. "Sorry about that. My friends...they, uh," he looks to them and smiles, then back to you. "Can be real assholes."

You smile nervously. "It's ok, no harm done."

He cocks his head to the side. "Your boyfriend do that?"

You reach up, hand hovering over the side of your face, then lower it back into your lap. "No. It's...a long story."

"I've got time," he replies with a kind smile.

You remain silent, not exactly interested in giving a stranger your life-story.

He nods. "I get it; you're shy. That's cute," he says with a chuckle.

He glances down to your bare legs, then back up to your eyes. "You're pretty."

You swallow nervously, blushing. "Thank you," you say quietly.

"Sweet too, apparently."

Your heart starts to pound from nerves. You then begin to worry about how long Billy is going to be gone. A few minutes? A couple hours?

Suddenly, he leans down, planting his palms atop the table behind you, boxing you in as he leans down, his face mere inches from your own. "You like fast cars, cutie?"

God, they really are all the same, aren't they?

You clasp your hands together to keep them from trembling from nerves. "Not really. They...they kind of scare me."

He smirks briefly. "What if I promise to take things slow, just for you?"

You know he is most certainly not talking about cars now.

Before you can reply, you hear the rumble of a familiar engine pulling back into the lot, and as you go to turn your head in the direction of the sound, he presses a kiss to your cheek, causing you to jerk your head back in his direction.

He laughs lightly. "Not exactly where I was aiming for." Then, "So, what's your name? Mine's Tyler."

You hear a door being loudly slammed.

"I-"

Suddenly, Tyler is being pulled away from you by the back of his shirt. Billy throws him on the pavement, the look on his face that of utter rage.

You glance to the Mustang, and see his two friends heading in your direction.

"Touch her again and I'll beat your fuckin' ass! You hear me, asshole?" He points down at him, his other hand in a tight fist.

Tyler goes to get up and Billy steps overtop of him, legs on either side of him. "Stay down, if you know what's fuckin' good for you."

"Hey!" You hear called from the parking lot and your eyes widen. His friends do not look happy.

You step over to Billy, gripping the leather of his jacket in your hands, pulling him toward you. "Billy, we have to go. Now."

He glares down at Tyler for just a moment longer, shoulders squared, rapidly rising and falling, jaw set, eyes hard, then steps away, grabbing your forearm, pulling you around to the passenger side. "Get in the fucking car," he orders, shoving you inside.

He quickly makes his way around the front of the car, turning the engine over and rapidly pulling away, leaving the three angry men in the rearview.

Billy swerves into traffic when he goes to merge, forcing the car in his lane to also swerve into the next one over, laying on their horn.

He just angrily switches gears, ignoring the now-angry driver, going faster.

You buckle yourself in, still shaking.

When you glance at him, he looks anything but pleased. Why was he so angry, anyway? Had the girls he'd given a quick ride to ticked him off? And thus made Tyler the target to take his anger out on?

"Did you not have fun, then?"

He looks at you with an irritated, but also confused look. "What?"

"With the girls from the food stand. Did they-"

He scoffs, shifting gears. "Are you fucking stupid, or something?"

Your hands ball into fists. "Excuse me?"

"Who even was that prick, huh? I leave you alone for five goddamn minutes and that's what I come back to? You letting him kiss you, and touch whatever-the-fuck-else while I wasn't there to-"

Angry tears sting your eyes. "I didn't let him touch anything! He came onto me! Maybe, if for once, you thought with the head on your shoulders, instead of the one in your pants, it wouldn't have happened in the first place!"

He picks up speed. "It's not my fuckin' job to babysit your ass. So, is that it, then? Huh? That you really are some easy slut who puts out for everyone except me?"

You're shaking you're so enraged now. "Fuck you! You-"

"Yeah, probably the only guy you haven't!" He throws at you with a mocking laugh.

He swerves into the next lane over as a poor excuse at merging.

"God, you are such an ass! What's your problem? I mean, how many girls have you slept with, anyway? I talk to one guy—one guy—and I'm a slut? Are you serious?"

He sneers. "None of your business how many I've had. Don't be such a fuckin' prude. Not like it meant anything, anyway. It's just sex. It doesn't mean shit."

"And that's exactly why I won't let you—any guy—so much as touch me: because that is what sex is to all of you. Thanks, but no thanks. I'll save myself for someone actually worthy of me."

He looks at you then, expression unreadable. "You're a fucking virgin?"

You clench your jaw.

He looks back to the road.

"Like you said: none of your business."

He leans back, dropping speeds, upshifting. "So you didn't let Harrington crawl up there after all, huh?"

You want to break something inside his car, but know for your own safety that you better not.

"Why? Are you jealous if I did?"

He looks at you. "Did he?" He asks, completely serious.

You shrug. "I don't know. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. Sound awful jealous to me."

He downshifts again, anger climbing, along with the speedometer. "Answer the fuckin' question."

You stare out your open window, hair whipping around you.

"Fine, yeah, I'm fuckin' jealous! That what you wanted to hear? Huh? So, did you-"

"No, we didn't even hold hands because it wasn't a date, Billy! I'm not even attracted to him in the first place. Halfway through Nancy showed up, and they talked for the rest of the evening, while I sat with a girlfriend of hers chatting."

He grows quiet for only a second before saying "fuck this" and turning the radio on, blaring Black Sabbath.

It's an hour later before either of you speak again, you breaking the silence. "I have to pee."

He rolls his eyes. "Why didn't you go back at the food stand? Oh, wait, nevermind. I know why. You were too busy-"

"Either you pull over soon or I'm going all over the seat."

He takes the next exit, and once he's parked outside of a McDonald's, you slam the door behind you.

"Fuckin' watch that shit!"

You ignore him as you go inside, in search of a restroom.

Once finished, you sit there a few extra minutes, trying to calm yourself down. You consider going back out and trying to calmly explain to him that there are other ways of expressing emotions than through violence and unabashed anger, but you know exactly how such a conversation will go—it won't. He'll put a stop to it before you can even start.

So, you instead wash your hands, then go and get yourself an ice-cream cone.

When you come back out to the car, Billy has a pair of sunglasses on, head leaned back against the seat, Led Zeppelin now playing.

You get inside, buckling yourself in with one hand, then take a lick of your ice-cream that's in the other.

He turns his head in your direction. "What, nothing for your chauffeur?"

You look at him, licking your lips. "You have two feet and a heartbeat, go get one."

He watches you lick a few more times, vanilla sliding down your tongue.

He doesn't even try to hide it when he reaches down, adjusting himself.

You ignore it, licking again.

"Let me have some."

You look at him, considering, then hold it toward him.

And he bites half the thing off, swallowing.

"You-"

He then tosses the rest out the window, splattering against the pavement, rainbow sprinkles going everywhere.

"What'd you do that for?!" You yell.

He puts the car in reverse, backing out of his parking spot. "Don't need you making a mess in here, or distracting me while I'm driving."

"You just wasted thirty cents of my money!"

His hand circles the wheel, turning toward the exit of the parking lot. "More like fifteen once I was done with it." He looks at you again. "If you need somethin' else to lick, I know where you can put your tongue at, sweetheart."

"You're so disgusting."

He glances to you. "I think you like getting those perfect feathers ruffled."

He then revs the engine loud enough as he drives away that he doesn't catch the vulgar statement you throw his way.

He'd like to think you agreed with him.

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader) #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x fem!oc #billy hargrove x female reader

[hms-tardimpala]

I GOT MY BOOKBINDING GEAR BACK

We're back in business, boys!

#I don't have the endpapers and boards and hammer for my current project yet but I can still do everything up to the sewing step #on that project and the next one #I'll get what I'm missing on tuesday or thursday at most #I'm gonna have so much fun and frustration (which counts as fun for me #that's why I like bookbinding) #bookbinding #my bookbinding

[doobea]

WAKE ME UP WHEN SEPTEMBER ENDS - RIN ITOSHI

synopsis: You realize that under his seven layers of unresolved teenage angst, Rin Itoshi is extremely sensitive, whether he wants to admit it or not.

contents: sfw, fluff, convos about growing up, gn!reader, proplayer!rin, play fighting!!, rin is kinda awk but its cute, first kiss and a lil bit suggestive but not really?, a birthday fic :) word count: 1.5K a/n: did i rush home to try and make a birthday fic for one of my favorite boys?? yea maybe. and goodbye i know his bday isn't today and im a day early but i wanna just drop this as an early celebration just so i can post sae on his actual birthday bc im secretly evil

Being Rin's one and only best friend comes with a lot of growing pains. Whether it be constantly receiving threats from his "super fans", always having to show up to his games just to drive him back home because he insists that he's too tired to walk back, or having to hear him vent about how absolutely shitty his older brother is.

And, much to no one's surprise, that dynamic hasn't changed even after becoming one of the nation's highest-praised athletes. And yes, he still insists you to drive him because he claims that his own private drivers "suck ass".

But there are some positive outlooks of being his one and only best friend. No, it's not the fact that you get free tickets to his games or the fact that you essentially eat for free whenever you're out with him. It's nothing materialistic of that sort. One of your favorite things is that he always picks up your packages, even when you order just a bit too much.

"You're going to break your bank account if you keep this up."

"It's your birthday. How can I not celebrate?"

There's a click from his tongue. "You know I hate celebrations."

You sit up from the sofa, flashing him the tiniest of smirks. "It's just gonna be between us. I'm not planning on inviting anyone over."

Rin rolls his eyes before setting down the mountain of delivery packages onto his apartment floor. It looks to be about eight... no twelve? You honestly lost track of how many items you ordered but not like that matters now. The packages vary in size and you can tell by the scowl forming on his face that he's confused by what you have in store this year.

"They're decorations, you dumb dumb." You finally answer after watching him struggle to think.

This only deepens his scowl. "It's my birthday and you want me to decorate?"

"Oh, so now you wanna play that card? Thought you didn't care about your birthday." The kick you receive to your legs is a clear indicator that you've successfully annoyed Rin Itoshi. Which really doesn't take that much effort, but it's still fun to tease him nonetheless. "Are you gonna help me now?"

Rin opens one of the smaller boxes, pulls out a roll of blue streamers, and puffs out his cheeks slightly in frustration. "Where do I put this?"

You blink. "Have you never decorated before?"

You watch his ears turn red and he quickly responds, "I have, idiot."

"You just—" Rin struggles with the streamers and you suppress a laugh when he accidentally tears a ribbon in half. "Actually, never mind, just leave it to me."

He takes a few defensive steps back when you stand up, clutching the streamer close and dear to his chest, shooting you one of his piercing glares. "Stop, I know what I'm doing."

"For someone who's so careful about his actions in football, you sure are clumsy when it comes to anything outside of that." The scrunch on his nose only solidifies your point.

You don't quite understand how someone like Rin can have such a meticulous lifestyle but then mess up when attempting to parallel park or even fry an egg. You're mostly teasing though. Mostly. It's not like any of his "clumsy" actions bother you.

"I made a birthday card for my mom once." He says as if that's enough proof to prove that he actually does know how to decorate. "It's on her fridge."

"Yeah? The one with the shitty drawing of you and Sae hugg—"

"You can stop now."

The blue streamer rolls to the ground as you lunge forward and smack it out of his hands. Rin is annoyed, very annoyed, and attempts to playfully aim at your shin again. You let him but this time around you push him back, aiming for his chest.

Rin is taller and stronger than you are but, during times like this, he holds back just enough for you to take the upper hand. Only for a brief moment that is.

You give up as soon as he pins you beneath him on the floor. "Ok," You manage out. "You win, you win."

Rin loosens his grip on your wrists and rolls over next to you. "That's what I thought."

After what feels like an eternity laying in silence on the floor, you speak up, letting your tongue run. "You know that I’m secretly jealous of you, right?"

His body shifts slightly from your peripheral but you keep your eyes glued to the ceiling. "Jealous how?"

"I don’t know how you do it but you always end up looking like some hotshot supermodel even with all that sweat. Too bad people don’t know that you’re actually so emo that it hurts." Despite saying it in a teasing tone, your lips curve into a small sincere smile. You didn't need to see his face to know that he was also smiling.

Another kick. "Shut up, you sound so dramatic right now."

You kick back but with less force. Too tired out from the struggle earlier. "Says the guy who wants to beat up his brother over football."

Silence hangs in the air again. And suddenly you become hyperaware of his proximity, the scent from the cologne he's wearing, and how melancholic he looks from your angle.

"Are you ever scared of growing up?" Rin's sudden question makes you sit up. "I think about that more often than I like."

You tense for a moment at his words and quickly collect your thoughts, shaking your head. "There's nothing scary about growing up. Think about all the cool things you got to experience. You accomplished a lot compared to when you were sixteen."

He hums. "That's true."

"And think about all the cooler things you haven't experienced yet. Like scuba diving and shit."

"What if I can't swim?"

"Then you take swimming lessons, dummy."

"Also true." He pauses and finally sits up with you. "You'll still be around, right?" Rin stares with his usual tight line on his lips but his eyes seem to be searching for something in yours. He looks very serious and also mildly stressed out.

You realize that under his seven layers of unresolved teenage angst, Rin Itoshi is extremely sensitive, whether he wants to admit it or not.

"Hey," You offer a hand on his shoulder and he flinches at the contact. "As long as you're around, I'm gonna be around too." You say softly.

He holds your hand in place and squeezes it. "Even when we're both old and wrinkly?"

You squeeze his shoulder in response. "Definitely gonna stick around to see that."

There’s silence again for a minute, as he thinks it over. It’s not quite as awkward of a silence, but it’s still not entirely right. You're mentally preparing for another round of existential questions from your best friend. After a moment, Rin's leaning forward, instinctively pressing closer, and there’s something happening between you two. Some weird shift taking place.

Skinship of any form isn't something that Rin is comfortable exploring with just anyone. The most that he's gotten physical with is maybe a hug but even that lasts for just a fleeting second. You find yourself reciprocating and leaning close, relishing the fact that he doesn't do this often. And soon, you feel the sudden urge to kiss your best friend.

"Hey—Rin, do you..." You stumble over your words, but the way that you say his name catches his attention.

"Yes." He cuts you off before you get a chance to finish.

Rin leans in and you meet him halfway. Your noses bump awkwardly against each other due to the height difference and it causes you to laugh. Rin looks like he wants to be embarrassed and annoyed but he ends up laughing too. You two try again, shuffling yourself closer and placing your hands on his thighs to steady yourself, and this time it's better.

There's a bit of mint aftertaste left in his mouth from the gum he was chewing earlier and you didn't know if you should feel self-cautious of your own breath because you're pretty sure it tastes like the cereal you had this morning. You quickly decide it's out of your worries when you feel his hands around your waist, pulling you closer into his lap and deepening the kiss further.

Rin calls out your name when he pulls back and you're positive that you could pass out right now if you're given the option. "Stop looking at me like that." He frowns, red sweeping his own cheeks.

You swallow hard and tilt your head. "Like what?"

"Like you're nervous to be around me. I don't want that."

You feel yourself growing small under his touch. "Then what do you want, Rin?"

He furrows his brows together and you feel his fingers toy with the fabric of your shirt. Rin does this for a while before answering, "I just want you to stay by my side for as long as you can. Is that possible?" He whispers.

"If it's impossible then I'll make it possible for you, Rin." You close the distance and rest your chin on his shoulder. "I'll give you all my seasons if you want them."

You don't hear anything from Rin but soon his grip tightens around your waist and you swear you can hear him sniffling. You pretend to not notice. God knows what he'll do if you catch him crying. Instead, you close your eyes and rub his back gently in circles.

"Happy birthday, Rin."

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #doobea writing #blue lock headcanons #rin itoshi #itoshi rin #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #happy birthday u dumbfuck #how long r we gonna wait till you show up again #bye idk what the title should be #i just know his bday is this month #and i know this song... #and that hes major virgo vibes

[lis-likes-fics]

All the Things I Hate About You

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader Word Count: 11.5k words Warnings: Swearing, torture, violence, kidnapping, enemies to lovers... A/N: This was actually really fun to write. I forgot I had this idea for months until I was looking through my wips and saw the planning completely finished. Anyway, here it is and I hope you enjoy!

The bar is quite busy tonight. It's full of patrons talking and laughing and carrying on in classic New Orleans style. Nights like these are always nice, especially when it's between you and Klaus, this time with the added company of Marcel, as you bring the lip of your bourbon to your own, smiling around the glass.

You chuckle into the cup at one of Klaus’ quips, raising a finger at him and wiping your bottom lip. You're about to speak when your attention diverts to the door at the sound of a ringing bell.

Your face falls.

“Goddamn it,” you mutter, putting your hand down and wrapping it around your glass again.

Looking toward the source of your new frustration, Klaus can't help his chuckle. “Now, now, dove,” he bids, swirling the contents of his glass. “Do not let his intrusion sour your mood. I'm sure he has a good reason for being here. Don't you, big brother?”

You all look at the man in question as Elijah places his hand on the back of his brother's chair. He disregards you altogether, and somehow that's more frustrating than him showing up in the first place.

“Niklaus, we need to talk,” he says, turning his head toward him with a clenched jaw.

You whine, leaning forward and letting your head fall to the table with a dull thump. “But the night was just getting good.” Marcel laughs at you.

Amused, Klaus raises a brow. “About?”

Elijah finally spares you a sliver of attention as his eyes dart toward you, narrowed to slits. “Privately,” he insists.

Klaus rolls his eyes, uninterested and ready to shift his attention back to you. “We can talk about the eternal crisis of my soul’s redemption another day, Elijah. For now,” he looks at you, smirking devilishly, “we were just headed to this cute little place around the corner for a bite.”

You aren't a vampire, but you've never had an issue with encouraging his less-than-innocent activities. In fact, through the course of your friendship, Klaus has found that you enjoy indulging in vampiric lifestyles. He found that you lack a certain morality most humans tend to hold when it comes to the supernatural. It's one of his favorite things about you—you're not obsessed with saving his immortal soul.

But Elijah does not sympathize.

“I'm sure you've had plenty of ‘bites’ today,” he says, shooting you a glare.

Preening under his attention—however negative it may be—you continue. “Yeah, well, bite me. You're ruining the fun.”

His gaze unwavering, Elijah continues to glare. “Oh, I just might.”

You scoff, turning your body more towards him. “I'm not afraid of you.”

He's so used to being feared, but you've never feared him for a moment—it's another one of those things he hates about you.

He takes a step closer to you, and you have to tilt your head back to look up at him. You don't falter, even as he speaks. “I don't need you to be afraid in order to be lethal, sweetling.”

It's very derogative, the way he says it. All of his pet names toward you are. You're sure he thinks you hate it, but—of all his insults—it's one of your favorites.

Marcel and Klaus watch on, enjoying the scene as much as you as the both of you stare the other down. Your gazes are unwavering, a game of dominance which you have a clear disadvantage in—though that's never stopped you before.

“Uh-oh,” Marcel grins, bringing his glass to his lips. He chuckles as he glances at Klaus, who does the same. “It's gonna be a cat fight.”

But when nothing happens, and you continue to stare, Klaus sighs as he lounges in his chair. “What is it that cannot wait, brother?”

It takes a moment for him to finally respond, to tear his eyes away from you and look back at his little brother. “Supernatural business,” he says plainly.

“You mean supernatural drama,” Marcel corrects. “Spill.”

Raising a brow, Elijah's eyes, one again, fall back to you—as though he couldn't resist looking away for more than a moment. “You could probably ‘spill’ yourself, couldn't you?”

You sigh. “To be honest,” you stretch and turn back to your drink, “I'm just trying to get drunk, and your presence is unnervingly sobering.” You take a sip, your eyes still watching him as you do.

Taking every opportunity to spite you, he hums. “Good.”

Marcel refocuses. “What kind of drama?”

Again, Elijah turns away. “The kind that includes a vampire dead in the Quarter.”

You lift your chin, remembering as your lips form an “oh” and you return to your drink.

Marcel, ever annoyed by Mikaelson and Co. mischief, turns to you and Klaus with an immense amount of exhaustion. “You killed one of my guys?”

You raise your hands. “To be completely fair, he was just a tourist.”

“To be completely fair,” Elijah echoes, “he was visiting family, a group of residents here. Now they are threatening to break the peace.”

“That is…quite unfortunate,” Klaus sighs. He stands then, patting Elijah back in a chummy way. “However, I don't know how much I care. This place was becoming rather tedious anyway.”

Elijah is exhausted by all of this. “And I'm sure the same can be said for your human companion.”

You raise your hands in defense. “Don't look at me! He catcalled me, all I did was punch him really hard in the face.”

Klaus nods. “Yes, and I was the one to gut him and string up his corpse in a tree like a Christmas ornament.”

“Before I suggested that we leave him someplace not so out in the open,” you nod, “because humans tend to panic.”

Elijah clenches his jaw. “Of course.”

There are many reasons Elijah doesn't like you.

For one, you seem to have no care or respect for other people's lives. You're just as bad as Niklaus, you may as well be slaughtering these people yourself.

Your encouragement in his brother's misdeeds, entirely contrary to Elijah's attempts at helping his brother, are so frustrating. It makes his job a lot harder when he's got this other voice in his head telling him that it's okay to snap his neck, as long as you put some nice beads and sunglasses on him so he looks cool.

Then there's your sass. You always have some sly comeback, another thing to add to conversation that doesn't need to be contributed.

If it didn't stop there, your eyes. You're always looking at him, always challenging him. You stare him down, your gaze unwavering. You watch his every move just to find something to pick apart.

And you're never scared of him. Never. You have no problem with talking back to this man. He could kill you in a moment, and you could do nothing to stop him. But you don't even consider that possibility, you're too busy being–

“Okay, I'm calling it a night,” Marcel stands, pulling Elijah from his obsessive thoughts. “I've got business to take care of. Thank you for that.” He says the last part to you and Klaus, dipping his head as a goodbye as he leaves. He pauses by Elijah, not meaning his words but—fuck, he's tired. “Couldn't have waited a few more hours?”

You groan, looking up at Klaus. “We don't have to go, do we?”

Klaus shrugs. “So long as you don't get hurt, I don't see why we should.”

You stand, taking one last sip from your drink as you smile. “Great.” You link arms with Klaus, patting Elijah's chest, even as he rolls his eyes. “Buh-bye now.”

Elijah turns as the two of you are leaving, his firm voice stopping the both of you as he continues to glare. “Niklaus,” he says. “We need to talk.”

Klaus lets go of your arm and walks back toward his brother. “You need a drink, my friend,” he suggests. He puts an arm on his shoulders and points toward a woman at the bar. She's sitting on her own, a finger tracing the lip of her glass. “I'm sure that lovely lady there would certainly be happy to help you.”

He pats his chest, smiling slyly. “Cheers.”

Klaus takes your arm again, and you wiggle your fingers in goodbye at Elijah. He huffs gently, shaking his head and deciding he may actually need a drink.

~

“Niklaus!”

You groan, laying your head on the table as Elijah's graining voice reverberates through the courtyard. You lay a hand over your head trying to ease the pain throbbing in the back of your skull.

“Could you be any louder?” you grumble, the pain too great to add the malice you intend.

Elijah comes to a stop, not bothering to look at you as his eyes scan the mezzanine. “It's your own fault,” he mutters.

“How charming,” you sigh. He's the brother meant to have manners. You lean your head up to look at him through the dark lenses of your glasses.

“Where is Niklaus?” he questions, finally looking down at you.

You shrug, massaging your temples to ease your migraine. “Probably eating some wayward college girls to spite you.”

He hums, fixing the collar of his sleeve. “Oh, are some of your friends in town?”

Despite the pain in your skull, you laugh, looking up at him. “I like this narrative in your head that the bad influence in this relationship is the helpless mortal rather than the immortal big bad wolf who is literally known for murder and mayhem.” You smile, giggling lightly. “It makes me sound like a mastermind.”

He looks toward you. “The only mastery you've achieved is in ruthless schemes against my sanity.”

“Oh,” you nod. “All good things then.”

Rather than answer you, he yells. “Niklaus!”

You're abusing your temples at this point as you try to ease the pain. “Fuck you,” you spit, resting your head down again.

He smirks. “I'm sure you would love to. Fortunately, I have more interesting things to take care of.”

You hum, your voice muffled by the table. “Dunno what your problem is.”

He's growing impatient at Klaus’ tardiness to his calls, but it seems eased at the prospect of taunting you. “I've got only a handful of issues, and your name  is plastered all over 98% of them. Ni-klaus!”

There are many reasons you don't like Elijah.

For one, he always seems to show up when you don't need him to. He's a buzz kill, a sour puss, and a pain in the ass.

And, for an Original, he seems to have a strange distaste for havoc. All you ever really wanted to do was have fun, and he never seemed to sympathize.

You grew up in this city, fully aware of the fact that it was crawling with the supernatural. You grew with it, and you grew into it, and now you hold ideals more aligned with that of the vampires of the Quarter, rather than the humans of the city, desensitized from death and pain and sorrow and indulging instead in the highs and adrenaline rushes of being freed from such moralities. You've never had an issue with that.

But for a woman who'd grown in the heart of the city he loved, Elijah seemed to hate your guts.

If that wasn't enough, his penchant for immaculacy drove you mad, there was no reason to find that much stress in being a little disorganized. Hell, your whole life was practically a disorganized mess, but he doesn't see you spiraling.

And his fucking face disgusted you. The way he watched you, so closely, tracking every movement. His eyes hardly left you, and when they did, it was simply to show you how little you were to him. But you just kept staring. He wanted you to be afraid of him, but you aren't. And you'll never be.

You want him to know that. You know it ticks him off.

Klaus comes to your rescue, but not without an infliction of his own as he arrives at the mezzanine. “Alright! Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm here.” He sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes as he looks down at the both of you in the courtyard. “Now what are you so insistent on telling me?”

Elijah squares his jaw. “Walk with me.”

Klaus groans. “Must we?”

True to his fashion, rather than answer, Elijah simply turns and begins walking. As he disappears, you lift your head, pushing your sunglasses further up your nose. “Good luck with that one,” you mumble, pointing in Elijah's direction. You look after him as Klaus descends the steps. “He's especially pissy.”

Klaus comes next to you, pushing some hair behind your ear. “Do you have something to do with that?”

You smile a bit. “Don't I always?”

Klaus laughs, tapping the tip of your nose with his finger and laughing some more when you wipe it. He fishes a little bottle of Tylenol from his pocket and sets it in front of you as he makes his way toward the front, leaving you to your misery as you rest your head back down on the table.

You snatch the bottle, clutching it like golden treasure.

~

Your migraine is gone by the time they return. You've still got your sunglasses on the bridge of your nose, but it's more for fashion than it is comfort now. Your music is practically blasting through the courtyard, and the brothers walk in to see you dancing to “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys.

Why? Why not?

“Oh,” Elijah sighs, raising a brow and glancing away. “It dances.”

You turn, taking off the sunglasses and pausing your music. You point at him with the pair, “Aren't you supposed to be a feminist or something?”

Klaus laughs at your antics and simply brushes past you. You wave tauntingly at Elijah and follow Klaus up the steps as you both leave him by his lonesome.

“So what did you talk about?” you ask once he's out of sight. You weave your hand through his arm and smile up at him. “Was it little ole me?” You shoot him a charming grin.

He chuckles, “As always.”

He shrugs, continuing down the hall with you happily on his arm. You and Klaus have been joined at the hip since you met just a little after he moved back to the city. He's your best friend, as you are his. You adore this man, though many try to warn you of his danger.

But you like the danger. You practically live and breathe the supernatural. Whether you should be afraid or not, you aren't. It's in your veins as though you were one of them already.

“What about?” you hum.

“You and your terrible influence.” He turns into Hope's room, pushing the door open and walking further inside as he looks around.

“I'm just cool like that,” you say. Glancing around, you furrow your brow. “What are you doing?”

“Hayley called,” he says simply. He turns over a blanket to look underneath it. “Apparently she forgot one of Hope's favorite toys when she was last here. She refuses to take her nap without it, needs me to retrieve it for her.”

You walk toward the bed, picking up a powder pink pillow and seeing the little pastel blue bunny underneath it, its floppy ears lazy at the sides of its head.

“Isn't this it?”

You show it off to him, wiggling it to make its arms flop around. Klaus nods, taking the offered creature. “That, it is.”

He leans forward, lowering his voice to a whisper to avoid Elijah's prying ears. “Why don't you come with me, and we can ditch the police downstairs.”

You smile wide, whispering back at him. “I thought you'd never ask.”

He offers his hand. You take it.

The both of you take one of the many “secret” exits of the building, ditching Elijah in the courtyard to go have some real fun. He takes you to one of the back entrances, where it’s a little darker and you’re surrounded by brick. Klaus opens the gate and steps onto the street, and as you go behind him to cross the threshold–

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

You furrow your brow at the resistance that meets the toe of your shoe. Raising a hand, you reach forward…

“Klaus, I can't get out,” you say as you press it against air, and you press hard. But to no avail…

“What do you mean?” he asks.

You make a face ‘What do you think I mean?’ You slap your hand against the force again, and nothing. “There's something keeping me from leaving.”

Hoping your teasing, he reaches for your hand and is immediately stopped from doing so. “What the hell?” he mutters.

“You think it's trouble?”

Klaus sighs, exhaustion slipping into his tone. “When isn't it?”

A gush of air whips behind you and suddenly Elijah is at your side, facing his brother. “We're sealed in.”

You roll your eyes, “We kind of figured that out already.”

He furrows his brows at Klaus, raising a hand to the barrier. “You're not trapped?” he questions.

Klaus raises his hands and lets them drop at his sides. “As it seems.”

“Shit,” you whisper. You shake your head, turning to face both of them as you sink into your “something-is-wrong-how-do-we-fix-it” mode, well-versed in the world of Mikaelson drama by this point. “What do we do?”

Klaus retrieves his phone from his back pocket. “I'll figure something out. You stay here.” He turns to leave. You roll your eyes at his back.

“Don't have much of a choice.”

“Try not to kill each other before I get back,” he says as he leaves.

You groan, leaning against the barrier dramatically. “Don't leave me here!” He ignores you.

You sigh, grumbling as you turn to face Elijah. “Wonderful.”

“I'm not exactly thrilled myself.”

You turn to leave him, walking away back toward the courtyard where the stairs are. Elijah follows you, walking behind.

And as you reach the stairs, still he walks behind.

“You're following me,” you point out, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“I'm not following you.”

You pick up the pace up the stairs. “Yes, you are.” It's almost fun, the senseless bickering. Like children. If only it were that simple…

“We are going in the same direction,” he states, rolling his eyes when you keep looking over your shoulder at the top of the stairs.

“Go away!” you exclaim, disappearing into Klaus’ room. He continues walking, grumbling to himself as he carries on to his own.

Closing the door behind you, you're almost disappointed. But you remember that you don't like him. You aren't friends. He isn't going to humor you, and you won't humor him either.

You plop down on the bed, laying back with your arms sprawled out like a bird. You stare at the ceiling, trying to decide what to do trapped in the compound with naught to do but stare at the ceiling.

And you're bored.

You pull your phone out and tap on it, humming to yourself as you do. But that can only sustain you for so long. And you're right. Because it has been exactly five minutes since you closed Klaus’ door, and now you're standing in Elijah's doorway with your arms crossed over your chest.

He doesn't acknowledge you. He's perfectly content to sit there reading, paying you absolutely no mind.

But you can't have that.

“I'm bored.”

He hums, his finger tapping the top corner of his book. “Go do something.”

“I can't, wise guy,” you roll your eyes. You take a step farther into his room. “We're trapped here.”

He doesn't seem to care. “I'm occupied.”

For a moment, you wonder why he's so calm. If you're trapped in the compound, that means there's a witch involved. And if there's a witch involved, that likely means there's another dangerous issue that needs to be solved before someone gets hurt.

But then you remember. He's an Original. If there's an issue, let it come. It won't hurt him.

You look along the shelves in his room, lined with books and belongings. “I'm not,” you hum.

He rolls his eyes and sets his book down. “Why are you here?”

You shrug. You're bored, and you like messing with him. And that's what you tell him: “Because I'm bored, and I like messing with you.”

“You can't stand not being within my presence, is it?”

“Ew, gross!” you exclaim, feeling slightly giddy before you remember that you aren't friends and you, in fact, hate him as he does, you.

To distract yourself from the fondness in your chest, you take a small book off the shelf and toss it at him. He catches it with ease and sets it on the table next to him. Wordlessly, he shoots you a glare to tell you to stop. But you've finally been entertained.

To be fair, this was childish and unnecessary and you really shouldn't have done it. But you're stupid around Elijah, and you're childish and unnecessary because he entertains you and makes you upset and drives you crazy.

So you keep throwing things at him. First, another book. Then one of the expensive and, likely, old knick-knacks on his shelf. Then whatever goes in your hand because he keeps catching them like it's nothing.

“Leave me alone,” he says, his voice firm and final. But you don't listen to him. You never listen to him.

“I'm bored,” you tell him, bracing another book in your hands. If you knew he wouldn't catch it, you wouldn't throw it. “Do something funny.”

You toss it, he catches it. Like clockwork. “I am not here to occupy you. I am here because I have no other choice, as we are trapped. You said to go away. I left. And now you are here tormenting me.”

He's fed up, and you know he is. And it only excites you more. That means he'll react, he'll pay attention to you. He'll look at you. And you can look at him. You love the way he looks when he's frustrated.

“I am here to torment you,” you shrug. “Did you want another book, by the way? I think you might enjoy this one.”

You toss it. Like clockwork. “Stop.”

You should stop. A figurine leaves your hand.

“Stop,” harsher this time. “I will not tell you again.”

You smirk. “Do something about it.” The challenge leaves your lips just as the last book does.

He catches it, and then suddenly you're being pushed up against the wall, your wrists pinned at either side of your head in a tight grip that makes your fingers tingle. You wince as your head hits the brick, not hard enough to really hurt you but hard enough to sting as you bare your teeth.

Your eyes go wide as your gaze locks with his. He's furious, face inches from yours and eyes full of frustration.

For the very first time, you're afraid of Elijah Mikaelson.

“You are behaving like a child.” His voice is low and dangerous, his eyes are dark as they bore into your own, unflinching. But you flinch. Each little syllabus he stresses has you squinting your eyes and wanting to shrink away from him.

You truly understand now how someone like him can inspire so much fear in others.

“If you continue this nonsense, I assure you…” he leans even closer, his words caressing your face in a terrifying way, “I will put an end to it as quickly as it started.” You close your eyes and turn your face slightly away from him as you feel each letter in his words spell out on your cheek. “Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

Silence. Silence fills the air.

The only exception to the quiet suspense lingering in the space between the both of you are his steady breaths and your quivering ones. As you open your eyes and look at him again, you feel like he's stolen the air in the room and the adrenaline pumping through your veins is not out of the excitement of action, but the fear of actually being hurt.

Because he may actually intend on hurting you.

You definitely feel it in the tips of your fingers, going numb with his tightened grip. You feel it in the sting of the back of your skull after it met the brick of his bedroom wall. You feel it in the scrape of your skin against said brick. And as he's met with silence from you, you feel it in the clutch of his hands around your wrist, his thumb pressing into your pulse and forcing your fingers to curl.

You whimper. You actually whimper—a soft and nearly silent little slip of sound from your lips as you force them to part and whisper meekly to him.

“You're hurting me.”

The fog of frustration lifts from his eyes and he immediately seems to come to his senses. In the next second, he's let you go and take several steps away from you. His eyes are a tad bit wider, and his lips are parted.

He hadn't realized he was actually hurting you.

You wince, holding your wrists as you massage them. Elijah notices the way you actually sink into yourself, trying to play it down but so easy to read in his eyes, eyes that watch you at every point he gets.

“Ow,” you whisper. “Jesus.”

Your wrists really hurt. They'll probably bruise. You reach a hand to the back of your head, wincing once again when your fingers brush the tiny bump that may form there, but feel relieved when there is no blood.

You sigh, glancing up at him and taking a couple small steps back. You think you may be standing too close, even still.

Elijah watches you, swallowing thickly. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you.

“I need a drink,” you mumble without the implied, ‘away from you’. Then you roll your eyes, “Oh, wait.”

You hate the feeling being pumped through your system right now. Fear. Fear or Elijah Mikaelson. A man you've never feared in your life. Even for a moment. Suddenly, you're terrified.

Because he may actually hurt you.

Elijah licks his bottom lip and looks down at his shoes. He takes a step back, and then makes a slow and straight path to a cupboard in his bedroom. He opens it, and pulls out a bottle of bourbon he kept hidden away there. In silence he pours two glasses and leaves yours on the edge of the table for you.

Tentatively, you take it.

It takes a moment for the word to form, afraid to vex him again, “...Thanks.”

He hums and says nothing else.

There's another long silence. You bring the glass to your lips and take a generous gulp, letting the alcohol burn down your throat and warm your chest. Elijah does the same.

He holds his glass in his hands, and for a moment you think he looks almost...shy.

He taps his glass, the sound filling the air between you. Without looking up at you, he takes in a gentle breath and speaks.

“Forgive me.”

You look at him. He meets your gaze slowly, making no attempt to step closer but offering all his sincerity. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

You scoff lightly. “Your threat said otherwise.”

It's your own fault. You were being unnecessary, you were being stupid…

His voice, though firmer, doesn't betray the softness he'd utilized in his apology before. This is the gentlest you've ever experienced Elijah.

“I would not have hurt you to make you stop.”

“Wouldn't you?” you challenge lightly. You're afraid to provoke him some more.

But his reply is still just as firm. “No.” There's a gravity in his words that you don't have the capacity to dissect right now. “I would not.”

More silence. Longer silence.

You stare at him, taking in the sight of his face, which grows softer and softer as time goes on. Your fear slowly dwindles but it's still there, seemingly ever-present. You should apologize.

“You just…” you look down at the floor, “You just don't seem the type to feel bad about hurting me. You don't seem to like me very much.”

You don't want to sound as pathetic as you feel. Especially at the “don't seem to like me”. It feels so…childish, small, insignificant. You don't like me.

He shrugs, speaks matter-of-factly. “I don't. But I do not hate you, either.”

You scoff again, shaking your head lightly. You don't understand him…

Elijah sighs, moving slowly to take a seat again. He sits at the edge of his chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and he cradles his glass in his hands. “As much as your penchant for wreaking havoc with my brother frustrates me… You do remain his friend.” And he doesn't have many of those.

You chuckle, shaking your head, feeling the conflicts of your emotions and turning it to disdain to make it easier on you.

“Is that why you keep me around?”

“What?”

“You want your baby brother to have a bestie?” You bring the cup to your lips but do not drink yet. “Otherwise I'd have already been dead in an alleyway or something?” You take a sip then, to hide the hurt you feel.

He shakes his head, staring at the contents of his cup. “You say that like I've always hated you.”

You raise a brow. “Haven't you?” You don't understand him.

He actually smiles, shaking his head. “You're so stubborn, aren't you?”

Without missing a beat, “It's my best quality.” You don't reciprocate his smile. As he watches you, his slowly fades anyway.

He looks down at your hands. They're shaking slightly. “You're hurt,” he frowns. “Let me help you.”

You take a step back, “I don't need your help.”

“Please.” He sounds small, non-confrontational. He doesn't sound like him, he sounds almost weak—almost like you.

You think about it, and then you take a breath of courage and relent. “No blood, though,” you mumble, trying to sound light-hearted and failing. You're still a bit shaken.

“God forbid you were healed,” he mumbles as he stands and makes your trade places with him as he sits you with the gentlest touches in his chair. He crouches in front of you and takes your hands in his own, frowning in an almost pained way at the cuts and scrapes that litter the lengths of your forearms. He did this.

Elijah stands, disappears, and reappears with a first-aid kit in his hands. He kneels in front of you once more, taking your hands and covering your skin in ointment and wrapping your wrists carefully with deft fingers.

Almost like he cares about you.

A warm feeling swells in your chest, but you stifle it before it can get too familiar, too comfortable. You take your hands back, holding your wrists gently as you rub your fingers over the bandages. You try not to be sentimental.

“Thanks,” you whisper, hating how weak you sound. You clear your throat and stand. He stands with you, moving slowly so as not to scare you. He doesn't want you to be afraid of him. You are never afraid of him.

“Sorry…” you clear your throat, “about the…throwing things. I overdid it.” You can't look him in the eyes. “It was childish—I'm childish, and I'm sorry.”

“Careful,” the slightest smirk teases his lips. “Someone may think we were actually friends.”

Friends.

“God forbid,” you joke weakly.

As has become natural…there is silence. You're not used to so much silence with him. It's usually filled with petty insults and shallow jabs at the others shortcomings.

You look up at him, into his eyes. It's easier to see him a little more clearly in the silence. You can take in more information, like the depths of his eyes, the gleam of them, the richness of his brown irises…

“I'm gonna…” you break the silence as gently as you can, “go keep myself busy.”

He doesn't stop you. He doesn't salvage the strange, silent truce with a sly remark, he doesn't scoff or roll his eyes or walk away. He takes a step to the side and allows you to pass, watching you leave with tentative steps as you stare at the floor to keep from looking back at him. You don't understand him. He doesn't understand you. But you think that maybe, in this silent moment, you understand each other more than you ever have since the moment you first met.

You leave his room. He stands there, watching the open door, unblinking but thinking a million thoughts. He hears your gentle steps descend the stairs. Elijah sits back down, looking at your glasses, both still half-full and forgotten. He sighs. He's stupid.

He hears you downstairs. The soft steps of your shoes against the floor, the scoot of a chair.

He'd never meant to hurt you. As much as he threatens, as much as he remarks, he'd never lay a finger on you with the actual intent of hurting you.

He sighs, turning to take the books you'd thrown in his hands to set back on the shelf. He thinks as he arranges them into their original order. He thinks as he places his knick-knacks in their rightful positions.

He listens to your heart beat, a steady rhythm in the back of his mind. A few moments pass, and there is complete stillness in the compound.

But just as quickly as it settled, it was disrupted once more.

He hears your heart pick up, a fast and unsteady beat against your ribcage that all too suddenly disappears.

It only takes a moment to check every room in the compound. It takes only one other to check them all twice.

But you're gone.

His phone is in his hand and ringing in no time. He paces, unsettled as he bids his brother to answer quickly.

The dial tone ends. Klaus’ voice comes through, “I've just got the little witch. I'm sure being alone with her isn't as excruciating as you claim, broth–”

“Niklaus. She's gone.”

A pause. “What do you mean ‘she's gone’?” His voice is low, menacing. He's ready to draw blood.

“Her heartbeat raced, and then it disappeared.” He looks around again, in case he missed something the first two times. He hates to say that he feels like he may begin panicking. “She isn't in the compound, and I am still trapped.”

He knows. He checked. Three times.

“We're coming.”

He hangs up. Elijah lets his hand drop to his side, running the other through his hair and sighing. He closes his eyes, takes a breath.

It'll be fine.

~

There's a terrible pain at the base of your skull, and you wince when you become conscious enough to feel the pounding of it. Your neck is sore, but it's held back by something rather than left to hang freely. Duct tape, wrapped tightly around your throat.

Your fingers tingle with a numbing sensation spreading up to your wrist. Your hands are tied down to a chair, your ankles are restrained to the legs, and your back is sore from the very uncomfortable position you've been put in. The sticky adhesive hurts your skin.

You're not going anywhere.

You blink quickly as you open your eyes, a bright light flashing in your face and blinding. It's hot and humid, each breath you take is thick and sluggish. You look around, taking in your surroundings to try and see if you know where you are.

The walls are rundown with mold and cracks. The floorboards are weak and creaky. The light directed into your face is your only source of light. The sun has set, and it's a new moon tonight.

A groan slips through your lips before you can stop it.

“She's awake,” a voice announces. A woman.

The floorboards groan under the weight of someone's steps. You look up (as if you have much of a choice), your eyes still adjusting, especially with the pain becoming background noise in your mind.

“I heard.” A man, whose voice isn't particularly strong. After spending so much time with the Originals, you're sure to know the difference.

You'll be fine.

You watch him take his phone from his back pocket, holding up to your face. The flash goes off, and you wince as the tiny click of his phone sounds.

You groan, thinking quickly as you take in a breath. “Wait,” you say. “You didn't get my good side. You gotta do it again.”

Your voice is thick with exhaustion and dehydration, but it doesn't deter you. Just because you're the one in restraints doesn't mean you're the weak one here.

He bends down, moving his face into the light. He doesn't look very intimidating, though he tries to be. In fact, he looks terrible—tired and upset.

“So you're the little human Klaus keeps around?” he hums. His lip curls slightly into a scowl, and he shakes his head. “You don't look like much.”

You smile, shrugging as best you can. “I don't need to.” You tilt your head, “I have an endless supply of charm to work with.”

“That's funny,” he says humorlessly. He turns to the woman sitting in the corner. “She's funny.”

You assume she's a witch. After the incident at the compound and now the apparent kidnapping, that assumption isn't too far off.

You nod. “I'm hilarious.”

“All the time?” he wonders.

“24/7.”

He makes a face, one to say he disagrees. He stands straight up again, walking around your chair. His knuckles rap against the back of it, and you roll your eyes. His tactics are amateur. Even the witch is bored, because she stands up and leaves.

“I personally don't think so.”

You furrow your brows, mocking sorrow. “Really? Why not? Wait,” you think for a moment. “I don't care.”

His hands fall on your shoulder, and you scowl. He's actually touching you. That's disgusting. If you could bite his hand or something, you would. But that currently isn't an option.

“There was one joke that wasn't very funny,” he says, bending down once more so you can see him.

“I always love feedback on my work. How'd it go?”

He smiles, but it's a sour thing on his face. “It went up in a tree, gutted like a fish and hanged. Like he was nothing.” Realization hits you. “You got my brother killed.”

So that's why you're here.

“Is that what this is about?” You shake your head, raising an uninterested brow. “Look, bud, all I did was punch him. Klaus killed him.”

He shrugs, “You definitely didn't stop him.” His words drip with a pain you can no longer empathize with.

“I didn't, no,” you tell him plainly, “because I didn't care and your brother was a jerk—and also Klaus is freakishly strong and I don't stand a chance.”

He's losing his patience. Now he's just pissed, and he's losing his power—what little he had to begin with anyway.

“Being a jerk isn't a fair enough reason to be slaughtered like that,” he argues. “Otherwise you'd already be dead.”

“So you're not going to kill me?” you ask. “Oh, that's a relief. I have a massage tomorrow at two. My shoulders have been killing me.”

“I think tense shoulders are the least of your worries right now.”

“I'm getting mixed signals here. Am I in danger or–”

“Shut up!” His hand wraps around your throat, tighter than the tape he has secured there as he pushes you up against the chair.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, but it's well hidden as you watch him straight on. He's on the verge, you can tell. He might snap at any moment and it likely won't end well for you.

“You never stop talking, do you?” His voice is low and rough, his breath is thick with rage. “I don't know how anyone puts up with you and your constant blabbing, it's honestly pathetic.”

Your breath is thin but you won't let him have the last word. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you strain against his grip. “Nothing you say is really going to get under my skin. I've probably said it already.”

He leans in closer. You can feel his warm breath on your face, and you'd squirm if it wouldn't empower him. “You're a child.”

“I know. It keeps me young.”

He lets go of you, and before you can think of something else to say, the back of his hands smacks against your cheek. You grunt, your face whipping to the side as the tape cuts into your skin. It stings. He's very strong, and it shows in the dark stain arising in your cheek. You think his daylight ring clipped you because it really stings, and you think he may have drawn blood.

Your suspicions are validated when you see the veins in his eyes wriggling under his skin, his eyes darkening with the scent of your blood.

“Ah, shit!” you gasp, wanting to soothe the spot but being unable to. It really hurts. But you can't let him have the satisfaction. “I mean,” you catch your breath, “harder, Daddy.” You shake your head, wincing harshly. “God, that hurt, actually.”

He gets real close to your face again, but the pain of his smack makes it harder to show indifference. But it's not without trying. “You killed my brother,” he spits. “I'm going to hurt you really bad. And then…” he smiles, “I am going to kill you.”

Your breath is uneven, riled up with the anxiety of maybe not having the upper hand. If there's a witch, it means you're likely cloaked. The compound may still be sealed, so Elijah is still trapped—not that he would save you if he wasn't. Klaus, with all his power, may not be able to find you.

You might not get out of this alive.

Nevertheless. “You really shouldn't start with your big threat.” He turns away from you, annoyed. “There's no way to go from there.”

“I'm going to beat the shit out of you.

“See?” you ask, getting a little desperate now. Maybe you can distract him? “You already threatened my life. Anything else you say is significantly less impactful.”

“Shut up!” he shouts.

A gleam shines off a knife he pulls from his back pocket. Your eyes go wide with panic, and you try to react but there's nothing you can do. He raises it high, and in the next second, he's stabbed it into the meat of your thigh.

A scream tears from your throat. It's loud and rough and brings tears to your eyes as the pain rips through you like a fire. Your hands flex towards it, trying to soothe it in some way—any way—but to no avail.

He sneers, a dark chuckle leaving his throat. You watch his face change, his vampiric features creeping through again. “That's better.”

He pulls his phone out and snaps another picture. a wicked grin sneaks onto his face.

You're in full panic mode. You can't even attempt to be funny anymore, you've begin genuinely freaking out because there's a fucking knife in your leg.

“Okay, I'm sorry,” the words leave your mouth at the speed of light. “I'm sorry. I fucked up. I shouldn't have let Klaus do it. Granted, I can't really stop him when he's got murder on his mind, but I should have tried, and I didn't, and that's on me. I'm sorry. No, no, no, no, I'm sorr–!”

Another painful shout rips through you as he tears the knife from your leg. It bleeds, and it bleeds bad. Tears have begun pooling in your eyes, and dropping down your face and off your chin. Your screams stutter with sobs, and you gasp but there's too much air in your lungs to actually inhale each breath. The tape around your neck chokes you.

More flashes, more pictures

“You can scream as loud as you like, sweetheart. Your precious Mikaelsons are trapped in their house, and we're cloaked. No one's gonna find us until I'm done.”

Mikaelsons. Not Mikaelson. He thinks Klaus is trapped. If you can stall just long enough…

But your hope is running out and the blood is pooling. It's hard to think past the pain.

Klaus will save me. He always saves me.

This guy hates you and your jokes. He wants nothing more than to shut you up for good, but he isn't going to kill you unless he's broken you. He isn't going to take your life until your jokes have run dry and there's no more fun in stripping you of your depleted humor. If you want to live a little longer, you've got to keep them locked and loaded.

You just don't know how long you'll last.

“Well,” you stutter, whispering a confidence you don't have, “if I'm truly fucked, I guess I'm gonna have to use the rest of my good jokes on you.”

His hands wrap around your throat again. He squeezes, and your head feels hot and heavy. Every inch of your face tingles in a terrible way. Your lungs burn as the pressure builds. You flex your hands, you pull at the layers and layers of tape, you try to do something to get you out of here.

He watched you struggle, crude fingers digging into your pulse points. He watches the fight diminish to a dull scrape of your chair against the floor. When you begin to go limp and the life sinks from your eyes, he lets go.

You've never taken a deeper breath in your life.

Click.

A fit of coughs forces its way from your throat. It feels so good to breathe, a dull euphoria buzzing in the back of your brain against the horrible pain of your leg, but—fuck—you can't do it.

“Try speaking through that,” he huffs, satisfied with his method.

For a moment, you think, Maybe… Maybe I should just let him kill me and get it over with.

But Klaus would never forgive you, and if Elijah hadn't hated you before, he surely would then.

For the boys. Not for you. I'm doing this for the boys.

“C-Come clo–” You cough, the hoarseness of your throat too much to be coherent. “Closer.”

He relent, leaning down as his hands brace himself on your arms. It hurts as he transfers most of his weight on them, but you try not to wince.

“That was…” you take in a terrible breath, your voice is a squeak, “really hot.”

Apparently, he doesn't like your jokes.

Snatching up the tape, he presses it against your mouth in generous amounts to ensure not a single word comes out of you.

He picks up the knife, flipping it in his hands as he examines you. You pull weakly against your restraints—to no avail, of course—as he steps closer and closer. You mumble incoherently against your muffle. You try to say something, anything. You need to bargain, you need to joke, you need to do something.

“I'm going to enjoy this.”

The torture is too much. He slices and stabs and scrapes, his movements both swift and slow and ragged and clean. You scream, sob, choke, make all the noise you can. He cuts you in all the right ways, missing your major arteries to ensure you don't bleed out before he's finished with you.

You're lightheaded, and it's hard to see. The pain is so great, you're not even sure you're feeling all of it by this point. Your voice is so abused by your cries that they're hardly audible anymore.

Every time he lets up, taking your silence for defeat, you grant him a look with all the defiance you can muster and brace for the pain to come.

Klaus is going to owe you so much when he gets here.

If he gets here.

You don't know how much more you can take.

He takes a picture at every point. He's gotten so many photos on his phone by now. So many of you screaming and crying, so many of you hurting and so close to broken.

You don't want him to see them.

He grips the knife again. You feel another weak sob rising in your throat when suddenly–

He turns toward the door, his movements halting to listen. There was a rustle, leaves and twigs. Probably nothing…

“Witch!” he yells. No response. “Avaline!” Nothing. He grunts, shaking his head. His knuckles tighten around the knife. “She's gone.”

You mumble against the tape. He looks at you and relents. He rips the tape off, ensuring it hurts you. You cry a little.

“You gonna…” your mouth and your throat are dry, “go investigate that…suspicious noise?”

He smacks you. You make no sound. He looks over his shoulder. “It's just a possum,” he mumbles, not believing himself. “They're all over the place.”

There's another rustle, a possum. He turns to you, silent.

“What? No funny quip?”

You try to think of something, but you come up dry. You let your head lean forward, ignoring the way the tape strains on your throat. It takes so much strength to hold up your head, and you're tired. You're covered in blood and sweat and tears, and you just want to sleep.

When you remain silent, he smiles, triumphant. He checks the time, sighing almost regretfully.

Click. Click.

“Okay,” he says. “Time to wrap this up.”

He tightens his grip around the knife. You want to fight…but you've gotten nothing left. You think of Klaus, how pissed he'll be, the upset he'll feel when you're gone. You don't think of yourself as having a huge impact on others and their lives. You've always thought you were disposable, and you flitted through people's lives holding that ideal.

But Klaus. Klaus is the one person you know loves you, in his way. And when you're dead, he will raise hell. You want to smile at the idea, but it takes too much.

Elijah will be upset.

A choked sound catches in your throat when the knife slices through the flesh of your belly. It drives in, and you don't have the energy to scream. The satisfaction in his eyes beams.

I'm sorry.

He smiles, readjusting his hold on his knife. He goes to twist–

“Keep your filthy hands off of her.”

They move too fast for you to realize he's already pressed up against the wall, held by his neck by a curling hand intent on ripping out throats. A tiny blossom of hope swells in your chest.

You're too dizzy to pay attention to your hero, it's all so fuzzy.

“How did you get out?” he says, panicking as he claws at his attacker’s hand.

“You've got a poor witch.”

You know that voice. Don't you? Somewhere in your brain. He's familiar…

“Your brother killed mine,” he keeps trying. It's retribution. It's retribution. “I'm only repaying a debt.”

He gets close to his face, squeezing his throat even tighter as he begins to sputter and choke. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are black, his face is dangerous.

“So am I.”

A hand bursts through his chest, squeezing around his beating heart. And he holds it there, he ensures that this creature feels every last thing. His grip tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and he relishes in the feeling of his beating heart slowly failing.

He pulls it out, holding the useless organ in his palm with the same disgust he grants the man it belongs to. It falls to the ground with a splat, as does he.

Your savior steps into your line of sight, his dark eyes wide with intense emotion you can't quite place. And you would smile if you could find the will.

He came for you. Elijah.

His bloodied hand presses against the side of your face. You don't flinch, even as he takes hold of the tape and rips it apart like he's nothing. He takes care to remove it from your neck, and you slump forward with your newfound freedom. Your neck is so tight, it really hurts.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes falling on the knife in your belly.

“Do I look alright…” you struggle to gasp, adding on the end so he doesn't worry too much. You don't want him to worry. “...Genius?”

He tries to look calm. He doesn't want to worry you. “Well, you're still funny, so you can't be hurt that badly.” That's a lie. You look terrible. There's blood everywhere. It takes every ounce of control he's got not to vamp out. He's never seen you worse.

“Fuck you.”

“Another time,” he says. You like jokes. He'll joke for you. “Breathe for me.”

You can't breathe. If you breathe, the knife moves, and it hurts so much. The gears are building so much, you can't even see his face. It's too late. You feel it coming. You tried.

He places his hand on the knife’s handle and begins to move. Before he can do anything, a scream tears from your throat with an energy you weren't aware you still possessed.

You begin to sob, a weak thing that slips from your throat and breaks his heart. He's never seen you so…broken. You were as strong and relentless as his brother, and now you're sobbing in his hands.

“No, don't,” you cry. “Don't, please.” You babble incoherently, in too much pain to properly pronounce your agony.

“I know,” he bids as softly as he can, “but it must come out so I can heal you.”

But your sobs overpower his gentle pleas. “It hurts. Elijah, it hurts so bad.”

He's getting choked up. He can't stand seeing you like this but he refuses to look away. “I know.”

“Please make it stop. Please.”

“I will,” he says, rolling up his sleeve. Biting into his wrist, he forces it to your lips as the blood rolls down his skin. “But you must drink.”

You refuse, sealing your lips shut and turning away from him. He doesn't have time for this—you don't have time for this. “You are in no position to refuse.”

It's getting harder and harder to breathe, to think straight. You can't think straight.

You shake your head weakly, slumping forward still as you feel your body giving out. “I don't want…” You lick your dry lips. “I'm not ready…”

He hears what you can't say. You're not ready to turn…

“You have to drink,” he tries, sounding as desperate not as he feels. His hand braces around the back of your head, he holds your dearly. “You must drink.”

You can't breathe. You try to inhale, but your breath is shallow and quick, fast pulls of air that don't reach your lungs before they're being forced out again. He says your name, pleading.

It's coming. You have to say it before it's too late.

“Elijah…”

He shakes his head. “Save your strength.”

No. You can do this. You can spend the last of your strength on this. “I never hated you…” your voice is barely above a whisper. It's choppy and slow, and you try to say everything you need to. “Just thought…” you try to clear your throat, you can taste the blood in the back of your throat, “just thought…” just a few more words, “...you hated…” you take in a weak breath struggling, “...me…”

His eyes are so full, so full of unshed tears and words he wants to say but cannot. “I don't,” he tries, keeping you awake for as long as you can, though you're fading quick. “But I can't prove it to you unless you live. Now drink.”

With all the strength you have left, you smile. It's a tiny, weak, painful little thing, but you do it for him. You don't want the last thing he knows of you to be petty insults or weak confessions of truth. You want him to know that you died with a real smile on your face, one you've wanted to give to him for a long time.

He calls your name, you don't respond as your drooping eyes begin to close. Your heart still beats, your pulse is weak but it still beats.

And he refuses to let you die. You will not die.

“If you won't save yourself, I will.”

~

Elijah flicks through the photos he'd found of that bastard’s phone. He looks at them all, one by one. He sees your eyes, so full of fear and pain and anger and hopelessness. Through each picture, he watches the resilience in your eyes fade until there's nothing but the emptiness of acceptance. He hates it, and he punishes himself with every single photo, refusing to forget that he almost lost you.

He hasn't shown Niklaus. And he doesn't intend to.

Your steady breaths are the only thing keeping him sane. If not for those, he would be losing his mind, pacing around the room and wanting nothing more than to punish someone for his shortcomings.

You almost died.

You should have died.

The rhythm of your breath is disrupted by a long inhale. He looks at you, watching your eyelids flicker and your brows furrow. A tiny hum arises from your throat.

Elijah crushes the phone in his palm. It crumbles to the floor.

You open your eyes, immediately blinded by the daylight peaking through the curtains. He moves his chair a little closer, giving you a small smile.

“Hey,” he says. Not ‘hello’, not ‘good afternoon’, not some smart and quick-witted comment. Just ‘hey’.

You grumble your response. Your body is heavy but not nearly as painful as you should feel. The memories of the night before flood into you before you can even see properly, but you know something is off before you can even react to them. You shouldn't be able to move right now.

“How are you feeling?” he asks gently.

You sit up slowly, rising onto your elbows and staying there. “Like there's no longer a knife in my gut.”

“Technically, it missed your gut. The luck you have astounds me.”

You hum and look around. “Where's Klaus?”

He sits back again, but not in any comfortable way. “Trying to locate the witch who got away.”

You're not surprised, though you'd hoped he would be at your side when you awoke. “So the normal murder and mayhem thing?”

He hums. “The normal murder and mayhem thing.”

You got to sit up some more, stopping when you feel the ache in your body keeping you from doing so. You grunt. “Well,” you sigh, “that answered my question.”

A gentle hand presses against your completely bandaged arm. “Sit back,” he commands softly. “I've healed your deep wounds but everything else is still very much in recovery.”

You state the obvious as you sit back against the headboard, not looking at him. “You used your blood.”

“I did,” he says, unashamed. “I'm so sorry to have saved your life.”

You glance away from him. “Yeah…”

You look around the room, thinking silently. You're alive. You're in his room in the compound, tucked in his covers, secured in bandages that you're sure he did himself, and you're alive.

It's confusing.

He could have been rid of you, but he's here healing your wounds and watching over you while you rest. He could have let you die and say he came too late, said good riddance and left you be, but he's here making sure you recover. He could have just healed you and left. You would wake on your own and come to terms on your own with the fact that you are still breathing air.

He could have let you turn. He could have let you turn and left you to deal with the life of a vampire on your own, not ready and completely lost.

But he didn't.

It's confusing.

“Why are you still here, anyway?” you ask, turning to him with a furrowed brow. “I'm fine, you don't have to stay.”

He clenches his jaw, sitting back. “You were under my protection, and I let you get hurt.” His voice is soft, but it holds a gravity foreign to you on his lips. “It's my fault this happened. I'm making sure it doesn't happen again.”

So he feels guilty.

“Elijah, I know the only reason you saved me is because of me being Klaus’ friend or whatever,” you hide how much it hurts to say it out loud, “but you really don't have to stay behind and watch my every move anymore.” You swallow thickly, “You can get back to your life.”

He scoffs. “I did not only save you because of your relationship with my brother.” He seems almost offended. “Has it ever occurred to you that I actually care?”

You answer honestly.

“Not really. Once or twice on a maybe.” He nearly winces. It actually hurts him to hear you speak so truthfully about it. Had he really been so terrible to you?

You almost died, and you would have died thinking he despised you. The thought makes him cold.

“We aren't friends, I know,” you whisper.

There's a long silence. You don't look at him, but he can't look away from you.

“Do you remember what you told me?” His voice is gentle.

“When?”

“Before you passed out.”

You sigh, looking down at your hands as you brush your finger over the large band-aid going across the back of your palm. Yes, you remember. You remember how hard it was to say, you remember feeling your heart gushing in your chest, you remember the dizzying sight of his saddened face.

“I said…I didn't hate you.” You breathe in, looking at him. “And I don't.”

He shrugs, as if that answers all your questions. “Neither do I.”

That makes no sense. Now more than ever, you need something to make sense. You want him to give you a straight answer, you want your heart to stop pounding, you want your head to stop hurting, and you just want to tell him the truth, rather than the sarcasm-coated taunts you've had prepared for him for years.

“I don't get this,” you groan, resting your face in your hands and ignoring the pain blossoming from the bruises.

You look at him, dropping your hands in your lap. “From day one, you've been glaring daggers at me, threatening me, proving constantly that you want nothing to do with me and that my life to you is petty and needless.” His lips part, but he says nothing. “Now you're healing my wounds and saving my life and telling me you don't hate me.”

You're still so vulnerable from the night before, your emotions are still so raw from the fresh wounds you'd accumulated and the desperate confessions you'd revealed. Your eyes burn with tears, glowing easily with all that practice last night. And it only frustrates you, because you're tired of crying. You're tired of feeling so vulnerable, especially in front of him.

“Telling me,” you sniffle, wiping at your face roughly, groaning at the pain but doing nothing to stop it, “you actually care about me.” You're so tired.

He's hurt you again. He can't seem to stop hurting you.

He sits forward, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Do you want to know why I treated you as I did?”

“Yes,” you nod definitely. “Yes, I do. As much as I'd love to deny it I really wanna fucking know why you're playing with me like this.”

You want the truth. So he'll give it to you. It's the only thing he can really give to you.

“Because I'm a stupid man who is unable to articulate my feelings.” You go silent ad he stares at you, his gaze unyielding and yet so comforting in the way he watches you. You love his eyes, always watching, always on you, even when you both pretended they weren't.

He speaks softly but with a sincerity you feel pulling in your chest. “I haven't felt the way I have for anyone the way I feel for you in hundreds of years. Do you know what happened the last time I did?” You don't answer him, knowing the answer. Always knowing the answer to that question. The life of an immortal, a painful existence. His voice nearly broke with unshed tears. “She died. She was taken from me, and she died.”

He looks away from you, collecting himself once more with a steadying breath. Slowly, he makes himself look at you again. You stare at him, eyes wide and…fond. He was so afraid to find fear there, ever since he first saw it in your eyes yesterday, he's been terrified of finding your gaze to be a horrified stare.

But you gaze.

It gives him the courage to continue on. “I don't want to feel that way again. I don't want to lose like that again.” He almost lost you. “I did it to protect myself, and you. It's just my luck you stayed. My luck you let yourself fight me, too. Because with every petty insult, every little name, my love for you grew, and I hated it because I was trying so hard to hate you.”

Silence. Complete silence.

You stare at him, eyes wide, brows pinched. He watches you with all the emotion brimming in his chest, and you have to take a long moment to yourself to think clearly.

You look down at your hands, your bottom lip trembling. You take a slow breath in, suddenly remembering to breathe as you cast your eyes upon him once more.

“You love me?”

He sighs, nodding, reaching out slowly and taking your hand. His are large and warm, and you could sit there holding his hand forever.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I love you.” This can't be real, surely. “I love you, and I'm sorry.”

Your breath shakes. He's sorry.

“I'm sorry, too,” you whisper, your voice weak but just as determined to tell him the truth: the cold, naked, selfish truth. “Because if I ever had to live without you, Elijah, I think I'd die.” You swallow thickly. “I'd rather spend my whole life pretending to hate you than spend the rest of it without you.”

You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “I love you so much it hurts.” You hate that you're crying again, especially when he is not.

But then you watch a lonely tear slip down his cheek, and you start to feel a little better. He laughs, a startled thing that takes him by surprise as he looks down at your hands. A laugh of your own bubbles out of your chest, you're perfectly content to sit there, holding hands and laughing. God, you love him.

His thumb brushes the back of your palm. A watery chuckle escapes you as you shake your head and roll your eyes. You wipe your tears away, sick of crying and wanting to take the victory with a smile instead of tears.

“God forbid we handle our feelings like adults, though, right?”

He nods, flicking his own away. “God forbid.”

You lick your lip briefly. “Please come here and kiss me.”

He wastes no time in covering the distance between you, wrapping a hand carefully around the back of your neck as he cradles your head. He pulls you in to meet halfway, his lips pressing up against yours. It's a perfect kiss, a perfect fit. One you had certainly not imagined a million times between insults and remarks.

You love him, you love him, you love him. And he loves you.

It feels so nice to finally tell the truth.

Because there are many things to love about Elijah Mikaelson, and there are many things to love about you. And you do. You love them through and through, finally finding solace in all the wrongs and not-quite-rights you'd lived with all these years.

“If we do this,” he says, pulling away from your lips but keeping his forehead pressed against yours, unable to pull apart from you after finally building that bridge, “your life will always be in danger.”

You smile. “Klaus Mikaelson is my best friend. My life is already in danger.” Your lips softly peck his own. “Might as well keep it up.”

A smile of his own tugs at his mouth and he pulls you in yet again, already so addicted to the taste of him. You love the way he loves you.

“Well, I suppose you're stuck with me now,” he sighs between kisses.

You chuckle lightly. You have no problem with that.

“Back at you.”

Klaus will have a field day when he finds out.

Always and Forever taglist: @avala-moon​ @xxwritemeastoryxx @melodiclovesong @katsukis1wife @thebrotherssalvatore321 @strangerliaa @njeancastro316 @dumble-daddy @thelastpyle @lovelyy-moonlight @hb8301 @athena-royal @alexxavicry @dumb-fawkin-bitch @papichulo120627 @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @evansstan-akya @anotherblackreader Suit and Staglist:​​ @deviously-innocent @wanniiieeee @brandyovereager @starkleila @amythedoctor @slytherinlyn16 @anastacia1705 @sugakookieswithacupoftae16

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x you #elijah mikaelson fanfic #elijah mikaelson fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #female reader #reader insert #the originals #the originals fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #enemies to lovers

[bunnliix]

Love Shot

Inspired by this dialogue prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting "You’re so adorable. I want to pick you up and never let you down."

word count: 1 260 warnings: drinking, alcohol, (not) unrequited crushes, reader getting drunk, reader wanting to get blackout drunk

I was never the type of person to go out clubbing and drinking. Any of my friends could tell you that. I normally stayed far away from clubs, they were far too loud for my taste, and yet here I was on a Friday night, by myself trying to get blackout drunk. There's a bit of a backstory on how I got here, and it all started earlier while I was on campus.

For a bit of backstory, most of my friends I met while in college, except for Felix. Felix and I have been friends since high school. We were both the nerdy type of kids, except that he had the advantage that puberty was nice to him. While I've had a crush on him since I met him, however I valued my friendship with him too much to ever say something. I'd rather an unrequited love, than to lose him over something simple like a crush. It ended up happening by pure coincidence that we attended the same college, but it worked out really well for me. I'm more of an introvert, while Felix is the extrovert who makes all of our friends, and that's more or less what happened.

Most of that isn't really important though, to be honest, except that I still have the biggest crush on Felix, six years later. He and the rest of our friend group, affectionately called "Stray Kids" for some reason or another, are the campus hotties. Which means I get to see girls upon girls try and shoot their shot with all of them, and for most of the boys, I don't give a shit who they date. I however get way too envious sometimes of the girls I see hanging around my best friend. Chan, the eldest of the friends, was sitting with me while we watched the boys have fun. 

"Are you ever going to say something to him? About your crush on him?" He questioned me. I turned to him like he was crazy. We've had this conversation a million times, and it was never going to happen. 

"I've told you Chan, he'd never like me that way, and I'm never gonna jeopardize my friendship with him over a stupid crush." 

"You'll never find out if he likes you though, if you never say anything." He retorts.

"I don't wanna find out if he doesn't like me. Besides, there's a good chance I could mess things up between him and I, and I'm not taking that chance." I stood up, and moved to leave the table, grabbing my things as I said goodbye to Chan. I really didn't want to deal with the guys nagging me to finally ask him out, it just made it worse. I headed home, before having the stupid idea that I should go out and drink instead of staying home, but impulsive decisions are a thing I do a lot.

I know it's kind of a shitty reason to be out trying to get blackout drunk at a bar, but honestly I couldn't think of anything better to help me deal with the pain of not being able to tell Felix I like him. I was about four drinks in, and already on my way to being wasted when I felt a hand land on my shoulder. I look back, my vision already blurring to see Felix behind me. "Hiii Lixieeee!" I giggled, waving at him. He grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the bar, while I took my drink with me. 

"Lixie, where are you taking me? I was having a good time at the bar~" I pouted at him, my words slightly slurring. He stopped suddenly and turned to face me, leaning down to cup my face in his hands. 

"Why are you out drinking? This isn't like you." He asked me, looking concerned. 

"Why are you so concerned, Lixie? I'm just having some fun and letting loose a bit. Aren't I allowed to have fun?" I shoot back at him, some frustration coming out in the process. I chug down the rest of whatever was in my glass, feeling the burn as it made its way down my throat. Felix reached to take the glass and put it somewhere out of my eyesight.

"Chan told me where you were. He was out with a couple of the other boys and they saw you here by yourself. You never go out to bars, why are you even here? If you wanted to drink, I would have brought over stuff, and we could've had fun at your apartment. Why are you doing this? Tell me, please?" He questioned me, begging me to answer him. 

I assume it was my lack of self control, but I blurted out, almost angrily at him, "I'm in love with you, okay! I've been in love with your cute face for the last six years, and I can't bear seeing you with other people. I want your eyes on me and only me. And I was never going to tell you because I didn't want to ruin our friendship." I couldn't bear to look at him after that. Felix went silent, and I started getting tears in my eyes, which started falling when the man started chuckling.

"You’re so adorable. I want to pick you up and never let you down." That made me look up at him in surprise. "Did you never think I wanted you too? I've wanted you so badly, wanted to call you mine. I was too scared that you wouldn't feel the same way. Oh baby, I think we've both been idiots for a little too long." He pulled me into a hug, resting his head on top of mine, before saying, "How about we head home now, yeah? We can talk about this more in the morning, when you're sober." I don't have it in me to do anything more than nod.

He takes me back to his car, opening the passenger door and helping me in, before going around to the driver's seat. He started the car and drove us the short ride to his apartment he shared with a couple of our friends. I was still a bit too intoxicated to walk by myself, so Felix assisted me up into his apartment, and then into his bedroom, having me sit down on his bed while he found clothes for me to wear. He set them out on the bed, pushing me to change into them while he went and found a spare toothbrush for me to use. By the time he returned, I had changed into the shirt he left me, but decided not to put on the shorts. He handed me the toothbrush, and since I had been here before, I knew my way to the bathroom. I quickly washed up, feeling a bit less wasted by the time I returned to his room. Felix was already waiting on his bed for me to get back, and ushered me into his bed and under the covers, while he laid down on top of them. 

I looked up at him, and softly asked, "Can you hold me while I fall asleep?" He nodded, blushing and moved under the covers with me, as I rested my head on his arm as his other one came around my waist. 

He softly kissed my cheek as he whispered, "Good night." It didn't take me long to fall asleep in his arms, feeling the happiest I had been in a while.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #felix x reader #lee felix x reader #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #felix imagines #lee felix #skz fluff #skz angst #skz felix fluff #felix angst

[elllisaaa]

Can you do sub Beomgyu smut?

[cuz I'm a female dom, and I absolutely fucking love hove bratty he is and his whines make me- well, wet]

uk those fics where the reader, teases them in public and they punish xer/xim in the bathrooms/public???

can you do that with sub beomgyu, and rough and dom reader[any gender is fine, preferrably female]?

only if you're comfortable though...

ALL MINE - C. BEOMGYU

-> pairing : brat sub!beomgyu x fem dom!reader

-> words count : 1.6k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : dom/sub dynamic, teasing, dirty talk, praising, semi-public sex, face slapping, cock slapping, gagging, humiliation, bondage, choking, use of 'good boy', 'whore', 'slut' and 'miss', handjob, cum eating

+ the way i'm depicting beomgyu does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction.

-> 18+ content bellow, minors dni

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language

-> author's note : i fucking love to write subby men, and beomgyu and his bratty attitude gives me the perfect opportunity to do so. as you said, he gives out that vibe so much ! it was so fun to write this, thank you anonie, hope you'll enjoy this !

-> masterlist | txt masterlist

Going out with your friends had always been an activity that you liked, the feeling of joy when you reunited with them couldn’t be compared to anything else. But now that you were taking Beomgyu with you, it was even more fun. Why ? Because he wanted to impress your friends so badly, he wanted to make a good impression on them. That’s why he kept trying to present himself in a good light, and acting as if he was the one leading your relationship when you both knew that behind closed doors, you had him on his knees for you. 

Despite that being well established, and your rules being really strict, Beomgyu had been not so subtly touching you the whole night : putting his hand on your thigh, leaning in to whisper some dirty things in your ears, and even taking your own hand to bring it closer to his crotch under the restaurant table. Not that you particularly minded playing this type of game in public, but it wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You had made it clear to him before going out - that he will get his reward for having been good all week if he did one last thing for you, which simply consisted in behaving and not teasing you during this dinner out. 

After spending two years together, you thought that you would have finally succeeded in taming his bratty attitude. But no. It was coming out every now and then, and always when you were the most frustrated and had the least patience left. It was almost as if Beomgyu had a second sense that allowed him to know when to mess with you just so he could get punished harshly. Well, truth be told, maybe it was exactly why he was doing this - because he knew that the way you were going to torture him will be delicious. 

“- Haven’t I made it clear, baby ? Keep your hands off me tonight and you’ll get what you want, okay ?”

Beomgyu threw his best pleading eyes at you, still not listening to your orders as you felt his fingers creep up higher underneath your dress. You let out an exasperated sigh, pushing his hand away from you. Under the guise of getting closer to you, your boyfriend nuzzled his head in your neck, whining in your ears.

“- But I need you so bad, I’ve been good, just let me touch you, I’ll be quick.

- You know what, you wanna be a slut and a brat ? You’re gonna get punished instead. Go to the bathroom and wait for me.”

For once, Beomgyu listened, getting up from the table and excusing himself. You let some minutes go by, and when you felt like he had been marinating for long enough, you got to the bathroom too, saying that you were going to see if your boyfriend was doing good.  

“- You’re not even able to not touch yourself for ten minutes ? You’re a fucking whore Beomgyu.

- Y-Yes but only for you.”

His cocky smile despite his shake voice and his hands stroking his clothed boner made you want to break him, to wipe the smug look in his eyes. You entered fully in the small cabin of the bathroom, pushing him to sit down on the toilets. You locked the door behind you and detached the ribbon you put in your hair before going out. 

“- Give me your hands. 

- No.”

The loud sound your hand produced when you slapped him echoed in the bathroom along with the moan he let out. You grabbed his hair roughly, tugging on them to get him to look at you. His once confident look was now completely gone, his eyes glassy and he was almost ready to drop on his knees. But he loved to test your patience even more. So he still didn’t give you his hands, and moaned again when you slapped his other cheek. 

“- You’re getting on my fucking nerves Beomgyu, if you wanna cum you better give me your hands.”

Without saying a word, he did it and you tied them together with your little pink ribbon. It was quite funny how you were always dressed so cute, with cute little make-up and cute little hairpins, but once you were alone with him, you turned into the nastiest little demon. And Beomgyu loved this contrast, loved to know how people could never suspect the real dynamic of your couple. 

“- See ? You know how to be good so behave.

- But I don’t wanna.

- You will when I’ll make you cry. All it takes is for me to touch your small dick and you’re begging for me to let you cum, right ?”

Beomgyu wanted to protest, to say something, but you were already squeezing his hard cock through his clothes, stroking him at a quick pace, that had him squirming in place and whimpering out loud. Your other hand came up to his throat, getting a firm hold of it, enough to shut him up a little. 

“- Y/N… Baby, baby…

- What ? You’re complaining now ? You’ve got what you wanted though, or is it still not enough for you, fucking slut ?”

Your boyfriend nodded as he tried to free his hands from the ribbons, but you had grown too used to tying him up because he was constantly acting up. It felt good to be completely at your mercy, but he also wanted to touch you, wanted to feel and lick your skin, wanted to grip on the flesh of your ass while you bounced on his cock and milked him dry. 

“- You’re so greedy. You’re gonna take what I give if you wanna cum, understood ? 

- A-And if I don’t want t-to ?”

A sinister smile spread on your lips, your hand squeezing his throat harder, making him choke on his own words. 

“- Then you don’t cum at all.”

You let go of his cock, going as far as taking a step back and Beomgyu’s eyes opened wider. He tried to reach your hand and pull you back to him, but his tied wrists wouldn’t allow it and he let out a desperate whine. 

“- No, no, no, I need to cum !

- Beg for it.”

He shook his head and earned himself another slap, his cheeks starting to get red, and not only because of the unbearable heat of his body. But he loved how much it stinged everytime you hit him again. Beomgyu let out another loud moan when you slapped his cock over his clothes this time, and you shoved two fingers inside his mouth, smirking at the way he gagged around them, and at how quickly his eyes welled up with tears.

“- I said, beg for it. Are you ready to be good now ?”

You slapped his hard on once more, staring at his face when a tear rolled down his left cheek, saliva starting to drip down his chin and neck. When you pulled your fingers out, he was a mess, and you knew you had finally ruined him for the day.

“- Please, please miss I’ll be your good boy now, I’ll do everything you want, just let me cum please, please !

- There we go baby, was it so difficult, uh ?”

When you slipped your hand in his boxer to touch him for real after having been deprived from the skin to skin contact for such a long time made him cry out so loud you had to shut him up with your fingers again, fearing that someone would hear him.

“- You want everyone to hear you, is that it ? Screaming like the slut you are because you love the attention ?”

Beomgyu tried to protest, tried to say that he only wanted to be good for you, that he made all these noises because he knew you loved it when he was loud, but the pleasure was already overtaking his body and all his senses. The rush of adrenaline this situation was giving him made him feel so overwhelmed he felt like he could cum right now. He grabbed the only thing he could reach -  the fabric of your dress - to catch your attention, his muffled noises giving away how close he was to his release. 

“- What is it baby ? You’re close already ?”

You chuckled when he vigorously nodded his head, closing his eyes to focus on him and trying to delay his orgasm because you hadn’t given him permission to cum.

“- I’ll let you cum then, but on one condition baby. You’re gonna stain your pretty pants with your cum, and then we’re gonna leave. And if you follow my rules for once, I’ll reward you once we get home. Did you understand ?”

He nodded once again, his hips jerking into your hand as if they had a mind on their own. 

“- Then go on baby, cum all over yourself, be my good boy.”

The last praise that you whispered in his ear did it for him. He came all over your hand and himself, a wet patch quickly forming on his blue jeans as he whined around your fingers, his own hands tugging on the material of your dress to pull you closer to him. Before he could even register what you were doing, you showed him your hand covered in his cum, and Beomgyu didn’t need you to ask him before he started cleaning you off, eating his own release from your skin. Once you were satisfied, you finally detached his hands, letting him pull you into a hug and bury his head against your stomach while you threaded your fingers through his hair. 

“- You did so good for me baby, such a good boy.”

He hummed in agreement, his hands sliding from your lower back to your ass, giving them a squeeze. 

“- Does this mean I earned my reward ?

- Don’t get too confident now, you still have to make it up to me for ruining my night out with my friends.”

And Beomgyu agreed with you, because that meant he would spend the next two hours with his head buried between your thighs - his favorite way to apologize.

-> i don't allow any copies, translations or reposts of my works.

txt taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@bbgnyx @hann1bee @iraisswiftie @lichyuu @foxinnie8

#txt #txt fics #txt x reader #txt smut #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu smut #eli's anonie #eli answering your questions

[celestiababie]

Stay At Home Husband! Mingyu Part 3...

Pairings: Stay at home husband! Mingyu x fem! reader

Genre: Smut with plot, fluff, hint of angst (nothing too bad I promise)

Warnings: Cursing, talks of traditional gender roles :/, getting cockblocked multiple times (once by your daughter), fingering (m), pegging, cum eating, use of the word slut once, reader can't cook in this. Let me know if I need to add anything else

Word Count: 7.255k (this is the longest thing I've posted oof—)

Summary: You try and find ways to give back to your loving husband...with a few trial and error.

A/N: Here's part 3 of this wonderful saga. I had so much fun writing this and I'm actually proud of it which is a weird feeling. I hope it doesn't disappoint those who wanted a third part! Feedback is greatly appreciated! Credit to the anon who gave me an idea for part of this fic!

Series Masterlist

Y/DN = Your daughter's name...I didn't want to just make up a name everyone hated pfft

Ever since your previous rendezvous a few days ago with your husband, he noticed something different about you—or rather: how you were treating him.

You've always been a fantastic wife. He couldn't ask for a better woman to marry, but there were very distinct roles in the relationship that kept him comfortable and at peace. He found purpose in cooking breakfast every morning for you and your beautiful daughter, which is why it surprised him to wake up one morning with a noticeable absence on your side of the bed. The smell of pancakes and bacon confused his brain, making him question if he was dreaming.

But all his dreams included you, so that couldn't have been it.

He made his way to the kitchen, still groggy from waking up. He rubbed his eyes as his eyes suddenly came into focus on your figure, scrambling around the kitchen with a look of frustration on your face.

This wasn't right—cooking breakfast was his job.

Your head raises upon hearing the clearing of his throat, too focused on your terribly made pancakes to notice your half-naked husband standing by the archway. You bite your lip in embarrassment as your husband comes around the kitchen island to examine your creation.

"What are you doing?"

His question causes a pout on your face, his eyes flickering down to your lips, holding back from kissing you since he hadn't brushed his teeth yet.

"Well, since it's my day off...I thought I could make breakfast for you and Y/DN, but they stuck to the pan, and I tried to scrape it off...but! At least we have scrambled pancakes now!" You hope your smile distracts him from the abomination you plated, but to your disappointment, it hadn't.

A noticeable frown forms on Mingyu's face, his eyes drifting off with an unreadable expression.

Oh God, he's gonna divorce me over pancakes.

You curse at yourself as you let your head fall into your hands.

"I'm a terrible wife— I can't even cook one good thing for my husband." You huff into your hands, and another wave of embarrassment runs through your body.

Mingyu's attention quickly turns to you again, letting your words sink in. That wasn't remotely why he felt a little bit upset.

Mingyu loved cooking for you and Y/DN. He was perfectly content with the dynamic you two had. You went to work while he stayed home, taking care of the house and Y/DN. That's how it's always been. But ever since that night in the living room, Mingyu noticed you doing more things around the house. Things that were his job. He couldn't help but feel a little sad and empty, feeling like he was no longer pulling his weight in the relationship.

"You don't need to cook, Y/N. I cook for you, I've always cooked for you, and I love cooking for you," he firmly states with a soft voice, his hands moving to rub up and down your shoulders.

"I know, but I just want to do something nice for once. You always do so much for me, and I never get to do something back."

Your head rose from your hands. A pout still lingers on your lips.

"Is that why you've been doing the dishes lately? And taking out the trash? And cleaning? And doing the laundry?" He asked with a loving gaze, his hands reaching up to cup your face in his warm palms.

You slowly nod as you avoid his eyes, his stare making you feel shy even after years of marriage.

Mingyu briefly smiles at you before dipping his head to press his lips against your forehead. Mingyu lifts you onto the counter, standing between your legs, and he interlocks your hands with his.

" Although I appreciate you wanting to do things for me. I really appreciate the thought. You don't have to take care of the house to take care of me and show me how much you appreciate everything I do. Maybe for other people, those things would feel like tedious chores, but for me, it's nice? I like taking care of the house. And I like making sure you and Y/DN are comfortable. Please don't take that away from me, okay?"

"I'm sorry...I just wanted to be a good wife," you whisper. Before your head can fall to look at your lap, one of Mingyu's hands tilt your chin upwards, forcing you to look at him in his soft coffee-colored eyes.

"You don't have to do all those things to be a good wife or mom. You do plenty to provide for Y/DN and I. Do you think I'm a bad husband for staying home?"

Your eyes widen from his question, emotions flaring up despite knowing he didn't actually think you thought he was a shitty husband.

"Of course not! You're the best husband in the world." You softly hit his chest, feigning offense that he would even ask such a thing.

A proud smile creeps on Mingyu's face, his teeth pressing down in his bottom teeth in an attempt to hide his inflated ego.

"Good. Now let me remake breakfast before our little angel wakes up. And if you really wanna give back so bad, I'm sure we can find other ways that don't include you stealing my precious job," he chuckles out as he turns away from you, setting your abomination aside as he begins to make breakfast as usual.

You playfully glare at the back of his head before a smirk replaces your previous pout. As your eyes scan Mingyu's half-naked figure, they soon place their attention on Mingyu's ass in his boxers, reminding you of your husband's question from a few nights ago.

Admittedly, you had no clue what pegging was when he asked, causing your husband to say a simple 'oh—never mind then.' before dozing off to sleep. But you didn't forget and did some research to know exactly what your husband was into.

And, fuck—was the idea hot.

You slide off the counter and wrap your arms around Mingyu's waist as he cooks, your head resting against his toned back. You slide your hands down his waist, causing Mingyu to tense against you as he feels your hands suddenly cop a feel of his ass.

"Something like fucking you after all these years of fucking me so well? Would that be a good way of giving back, baby?"

Mingyu's breath hitches, a blush forming on his cheeks as he listens to you. He turns his head ever so slightly, giving you a surprised look.

"You said you didn't know what it was—"

Biting your lip, you squeeze his ass before pulling away completely, making your way out of the kitchen, but not before saying, "I didn't, but I do now. Finish up breakfast. I'll wake up Y/D."

You flash him a wink as you sway your hips more than usual, leaving him as flustered as he usually made you.

The next couple of your days were spent with your eyes practically glued to your phone, researching all the best ways to peg your husband. You were woman enough to admit that you lacked expertise in this field, and the last thing you wanted was for Mingyu to have a bad experience because you didn't know what the fuck you were doing.

After spending a generous amount of time searching the Internet for information and ordering a few toys, you felt confident enough to finally put your newfound knowledge into full use, ready to give your husband the most mind-blowing orgasm he's ever had.

Operation: peg your husband was in full effect and running smoothly...

Mingyu's face lit up with pure excitement when you whispered into his ear at dinner all of the dirty things you wanted to do to him while your daughter struggled to use her spoon.

You ignore Mingyu's stare at the side of your face as you reach over to help your daughter eat her food, her adorable smile of gratitude taking your mind off of Mingyu, who was still staring at you with an expression that could only be described as pure desire.

Once your daughter finally got the hang of using her spoon, you lean back into your seat, turning to look at your husband, who hasn't touched his plate since.

"What's wrong? Does Daddy need Mommy's help too?" You smirk as your husband's eyes darken, his pupils blown out as he clenches his fist underneath the table.

The sound of Y/DN's laughter brings the both of you back to reality, reminding you that you shouldn't, in fact, be undressing each other with your eyes right in front of your unknowing daughter.

"Daddy, look! I can eat better than you," your daughter giggles out, reminiscent of Mingyu's laugh, as she raises a spoonful of food to her mouth to prove her point.

Operation: peg your husband was still running according to plan.

After Mingyu cleaned up all the dishes, you read your daughter to sleep alone this time, your husband too busy taking a longer-than-usual shower to get himself all prepped for you. You silently praise your daughter for being a fast sleeper, just like her father.

With your daughter peacefully tucked into bed, the stuffed bear in her arm keeping her company, and the night light shining bright to keep monsters away, you quietly sneak out of her room to make your way toward the master bedroom.

The sound of the shower running is the first thing you're greeted with as you open the door. Wanting to give Mingyu an additional surprise, you quickly change into his favorite pair of red lingerie that fit your body like a glove, hugging all the parts that made Mingyu drool.

You saunter towards one of the bedside tables, grabbing everything you planned on using for the night.

Upon hearing the shower suddenly stop, you scrambled onto the bed, adjusting your bra one last time as you waited for Mingyu to exit the bathroom.

He nearly jumps out of his skin as he spots your body on the bed, clutching his poor heart.

"Fuck sake— I didn't even hear you come in..." He decreases in volume with each word that leaves his lips, his brain trying to take in how fucking sexy you looked.

Red always was his favorite color.

You bite your lip as your eyes trail down his bare chest, all the way down to his v-line, the towel loosely wrapped around his hips leaving very little to the imagination. You'd always love your husband no matter what he looked like. But, you did appreciate how easy on the eyes he was. Long gone was the rowdy yet kind, naive boy you met in your second year of college. Mingyu was now a well-rounded adult who seemed to grow into his looks year after year, aging like the most decadent fine wine.

With a single finger, you beckon Mingyu to you, his towel dropping as he moves to climb on top of you. His lips instantly found yours, pressing them against yours in sync that was perfected over the years. A soft moan gets muffled as Mingyu's hardening cock presses against your stomach. As his lips left open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and over your collarbones, his hips grind his thick cock against you.

His desire for you was evident, but you couldn't allow yourself to get distracted away from what you wanted to do for Mingyu. As much as you loved how his hips and mouth movement felt so natural, it was time to try something new.

" Baby, this isn't a part of my plan. I'm the one on top tonight," you coo out, hands pushing your husband off of you and onto his back with little resistance. Mingyu was a big guy, much stronger than you, which is why the lack of pushback confused you. But with a single look at the desperate look on Mingyu's face, his lustful eyes staring deep into yours, you could tell Mingyu was too horny to have any control over his own body.

"You still want this, pretty boy?" You drag your nails down Mingyu's chest, causing his whole body to shudder at the feeling. He licked over his lip, nodding his head a few times without a hint of hesitation. He wanted it so bad. He's secretly fantasized about playing with his ass but was always too focused on your needs to bring it up and too nervous to try it on himself. But tonight, Mingyu had complete trust in you.

"Please, fuck me," he lets out with a heavy breath, his hips squirming against the bed as his anticipation starts to get the best of him.

A single chuckle from your lips causes his cock to twitch, something about the sound turning on even more. You found it somewhat amusing that Mingyu, your strong 6' foot 2" husband, was begging you to fuck his tight little ass.

"Come on, baby, you know I can't fuck you just yet...I gotta make sure you're all stretched out for me so you can take it like a good boy," you tease as your hand trails lower and lower, nails grazing down his shaft before rubbing underneath his balls. Instantly, your actions elicit a positive response, Mingyu's hips bucking against you as his head sinks into the pillows beneath him.

"Such a pretty boy— Spread your legs for me?" Your soft tone eases any nerves that start to build in the pit of Mingyu's stomach, his legs spreading slightly. You shake your head and guide him to spread his legs a bit more, pushing them until his feet are planted firmly on the bed.

"Just relax for me, Mingyu. I promise I'll take good care of you," you whisper as you lean forward to kiss up his stomach and chest, the man underneath you sighing in pleasure.

Reaching to the side, you grab the bottle of lube you grabbed earlier from the bedside table. You lean back as you playfully wave the bottle in front of Mingyu, a soft chuckle rumbling out of him.

"Let's go over a few things, okay?"

Mingyu nods, mumbling an 'okay' as he waits for you to continue.

"Tell me if you ever need to stop or take a break for whatever reason, tell me immediately. I want you to have a good time, and if you're not, I don't want you to force yourself to continue. I need you to tell me how you feel when I ask. And if you need me to change how I'm doing it, I'll go as slow, fast, hard, and deep as you want me to, but I can't read your mind, so you need to speak up. Got it?"

Mingyu canines sink into his plush bottom lip, biting back a smile from the authority in your voice.

"Understood, baby. And if you're uncomfortable with anything, you better tell me too. I know you're doing this for me, but I don't want you to feel weirded out by anything. We'll stop if either one of us isn't feeling it."

Mingyu briefly sits up to press a long kiss to your lips, not just out of lust but out of love. He lays back down, nuzzling his head deeper into the pillows as he watches you closely for your following movements.

With a deep breath, you pop off the cap of the bottle of lube, squeezing out a more than generous amount onto your finger. It was better to be safe than sorry. You rub the glob of lube between your thumb and two fingers, warming it up so it wouldn't startle Mingyu as your press your fingers against his tight hole, rubbing over it in slow circles.

Your eyes flicker to your husband's face, catching the way his eyes flutter close, his entire body sinking further into the bed. He had no idea how good he looked right now.

Your other hand rubs over one of his toned thighs before a question leaves your lips.

"Feels good?"

You knew it did, you could tell by the look on his face and the way his cock seemed to twitch with every rub of your fingers, but you wanted to hear the words come out of his mouth.

"Mhm— so good, baby. Can't wait for you to fuck me," he sighed, his hips starting to move against his finger, showing you how badly he wanted it.

"Yeah? You think you're ready for a finger?"

You let out a laugh as your husband nods his head against the pillows, the furrow of his brows showing that he was starting to get impatient.

You allow your eyes to focus on where your fingers meet his ass, your mind running through all the information you read online before mustering up the courage to press a single finger against the puckered hole, the lube aiding you as you the tip of your finger sinks into him slowly. Mingyu shifts a bit at the new and slightly uncomfortable feeling of your finger inserting into him. It didn't feel terrible, and he didn't want to stop yet, but it was definitely weird.

The face of discomfort on Mingyu causes you to stop your finger from going any deeper, a look of concern now written on your face.

"Need me to stop?"

Mingyu quickly shakes his head, smiling at how attentive you're being.

"No, I'm good. I promise. It's just weird. I'm fine. You can continue, baby."

You allow yourself to trust his words, your finger sliding into him almost all the way before halting again. Mingyu lets out a deep exhale as he tries to adjust to the feeling. After the initial wave of discomfort, Mingyu had to be honest with himself...it didn't really feel like much. He could tell your finger was inside of him, but there was no pleasure.

"Still good, Mingyu?"

Okay, you've got this. Just 2 inches deep, down to the first knuckle. Now all you gotta do is curl your finger up a bit.

"Yeah, I'm good. It does really feel like anything, to be honest with— holy shit, fuck, oh my god."

Mingyu's words abruptly cut off with a string of profanities, his back arching off the bed as you curl your finger just as you read online, nudging against his prostate. It was unlike anything he's ever felt before, his body losing control over itself as a sudden shock of pleasure moved throughout his entire body.

"Shit—are you okay? Should I stop?" You ask in a panic, not realizing your husband's strong reaction wasn't out of pain; it was out of pure pleasure.

Mingyu lets out a whimper as his eyes open to look at you, shaking his head as his hands move to grip the bed sheets.

"No, don't stop. Fuck—it felt so good, baby. Please, please, please do it again. Keep going, please," he begs, desperate for more.

You feel a heat run through your body when you realize how much Mingyu had enjoyed what you did, arousal soaking into your panties. You rub over his stomach as you curl your finger upwards again, causing another strong reaction from Mingyu.

Biting your lip, you began to move your finger in a come hither motion. Mingyu's mouth drops as whines and whimpers leave his lips before he can stop them. His eyes roll to the back of his head as his knuckles turn white from how hard he gripped the sheets. Precum leaks out of his cock, enough for Mingyu to nearly convince himself that he was cumming already.

"Look at you, baby, taking my finger so fucking well. You're so tight, Mingyu. How am I ever gonna fit another finger, let alone a cock, inside you?" You tease, watching your husband fall apart underneath you all from a single finger inside of him.

Mingyu pants, his chest rising and falling quickly as he tries to register what you're saying, too fucked out already to focus on anything other than what he felt.

" Finger—a-another one, p-please," Mingyu practically sobs out. It was safe to say this was the best thing Mingyu had ever experienced. Mingyu absolutely loved fucking you and the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock, but this was different. A different kind of pleasure. Something so intense it was almost unbearable.

You dip a second finger into Mingyu's hole as he wishes, stretching him out further than before. You continue your curling motions, the feeling somehow more intense than before. Mingyu's moans grew in volume, a familiar but different feeling forming in his stomach, getting stronger with each push of your fingers.

Mingyu felt lightheaded in the best way possible, his brain turning into mush as he allowed himself to fully immerse himself in the incredible feeling.

"M' gonna c-cum—fuck, s' close," he slurs, his eyes rolling again as he feels his biggest orgasm yet getting ready to burst out of him.

" Yeah, baby? I haven't even touched your cock yet." You were amazed at how much pleasure Mingyu was getting out of this and a bit proud of yourself for being the one giving it to him.

All he needed was a few more good pumps of your fingers.

A little bit more.

Just a bit more.

Knock knock knock—

"Mommy? Daddy?"

The sudden sound of a soft knocking and your daughter's soft voice behind the door takes you out of the moment. You curse under your breath as you pull your fingers out of Mingyu, a whimper leaving his lips from the sudden emptiness, the feeling of release getting ripped away from him. You felt bad, you really did, but you couldn't exactly ignore your daughter, who sounded upset from behind the door.

"I'm so sorry, Mingyu. Let me just check what she needs—"

"I-It's okay, just check on her," he pants out, slowly coming down from the feeling of his almost orgasm. Yes, he was frustrated from the sudden stop, but the guilt of feeling frustrated towards his daughter was instant karma, the feeling turning him off completely.

You quickly wash your hands in the bathroom, grabbing a robe to cover your lingerie-clad body. Mingyu covers his body with a blanket as you open the door, bending down to hug your sniffling daughter.

"What's wrong, princess?"

"H-had a n-nightmare," she hiccups, hugging your body as tight as her little arms would allow her. You turn your head to flash an apologetic smile at your husband as your daughter cries in your arms.

Operation: Peg your husband did not go as smoothly as you had hoped.

It was beginning to seem as if the world, some unknown force, had a vendetta against you fucking your husband in the ass. Nothing seemed to be going your way.

For starters, your work was very demanding, with additional hours to your schedule, which left you mentally and physically exhausted by the time you got home. The pay was generous, but it wasn't worth the time it stripped away from you. The time you could be spending with Y/DN and Mingyu. The time you could be spending fucking the brains out of Mingyu.

Then, you got sick. Maybe it was the exhaustion your body was being put through. Or maybe, it was just because cold and flu season was rolling around. Either way, you got fucking sick, which meant staying in bed all day, using up your precious sick days.

Then, just as you recovered, for the most part, Y/DN got sick as well, leaving you and Mingyu to take care of your little princess until she felt all better.

It was safe to say that Operation: peg your husband was put on the back burner.

Mingyu hadn't complained once. Not when he worked extra hard to prep your meals for your long days at work. Not when he'd run you a bath and give you a nice shoulder rub before you passed out. Not when he took care of you when you were sick. Not when he took care of your daughter.

It frustrated you that you couldn't take care of your husband. Either he ignored his wants, or there simply was no time to tend to them. But, you weren't gonna let this stop you. If anything, the past few weeks were only fueling your determination, ready to pounce on your husband at any given moment.

However, you were more sophisticated than that (not really) and devised a new plan to get into Mingyu's pants.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you feel Mingyu's loving hands rub your sore shoulders as he sits behind the bubble bath he prepared for you. Although Mingyu hated seeing how exhausted you've been, getting extra worried, especially after you were sick, he did enjoy the night routine you two had nowadays. You didn't eat dinner with Y/DN and him, but he did spend time with you, helping you unwind.

You raise a hand out of the bath to cover one of Mingyu's before interlocking your fingers, bringing his hand up to your mouth to press a few kisses to his skin.

"That tickles, Y/N," he giggles, trying to pull his hand out of your grasp, but you didn't let your husband escape. Not when you had to let him know what you planned out.

"I have the weekend off...so we get to spend time together tomorrow."

Mingyu smirks at the suggestive tone in your voice, leaning forward to rest his chin on the bathtub.

"Yeah? And Sunday?"

"Mhm, and Sunday. And I know how much your parents have been dying to see Y/DN recently, so I may have told them that she could stay at their place for the weekend. They seemed happy about it."

Mingyu's smirk only grew wider as you spoke. He lifts his head and slowly drags his hands along your shoulders and down to your breasts, submerged in the water.

"We get the whole place to ourselves?" You can hear the excitement dripping from his voice, biting your lips as he squeezes your tits.

"That's right, baby. We have unfinished business to tend to. I still haven't fucked your pretty ass yet. They'll be here to pick her up around 1 pm"

Mingyu lets out a sigh as his mind drifts off to the night you fingered him. Although he didn't cum, the feeling of your fingers was incredible, and it only made Mingyu want more.

It was safe to say that your little operation was back. This time, you were gonna make sure your husband came.

You smile brightly as your daughter waves goodbye to you and Mingyu.

"We love you! Be good to Grandma and Grandpa, okay?" Your husband calls out to her as she gets further away, her hand tightly grasping your mother-in-law's hand.

Y/DN turns her head to nod at Mingyu, letting go of her grandmother's hand to hold her arms over her head in a heart shape before she's placed in the car and off for the rest of the weekend.

Once the car is out of sight, you turn your heels to face Mingyu with a devious smirk.

"Bedroom?"

"Bedroom."

Mingyu scoops you up in his arms as he eagerly brings you into the house, kicking the front door behind him closed. He carries you up the stairs, nearly tripping as you kiss along the side of his neck, your hands roaming across his torso and tugging at the shirt he wore. Luckily, the two of you make it to the bedroom in one piece, your husband's clumsiness not interrupting what you both were craving.

Mingyu was buzzed with excitement since this morning, touchier than usual as he waited to have you all for himself. He planned ahead, taking time to prep himself when he took a shower this morning, so there was no time wasted today. There was nothing more that Mingyu wanted other than a glimpse of the feeling he had last time.

You two touch and grope at each other feverishly, and you strip each other of all of your clothes. You momentarily gawk at your husband's naked body. Sure, you saw him undress all the time, but you were too busy to appreciate your husband's body. You wanted him to know how sexy he truly was.

Mingyu let out a moan as you kiss his chest, bending down slightly to lick up his abs, his knees almost buckling at the feeling.

"Lay down for me, Mingyu," you breathe out, your voice low and seductive, so sexy that any man would listen to you. And he does.

Mingyu lays on the bed like last time, but this time having his feet planted on the bed without your guidance.

You feel a tingle shoot to your core as you hungrily gaze at your husband in full display before you. You crawl between his legs, grabbing a fistful of his hair as you hold yourself up with the other.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this, my pretty boy. How many times I've thought about bending you over the counter whenever you made breakfast and making your pretty ass mine," you breathe out before dipping your head to kiss along his neck and collarbones, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

Mingyu's cock twitches beneath you as he moans from the feeling of your lips marking his skin.

"My ass is already yours— always has been, baby," he laughs. His hands grip your waist as you continue to kiss his skin, making your way up to his ear to give it soft nibbles.

"Yeah? All mine, baby? You're gonna let me stretch you out like last time?" You whisper in his ear, your voice making his cock twitch again.

Mingyu nods, his hips bucking upwards to rub his cock against you.

"So hard, and I've barely done anything yet. I don't think you're gonna last very long, Gyu," you tease as you lean back, taking Mingyu's cock in your hand to toy with his tip, a single bead of precum leaking out of him.

"I-I've been saving myself for you. I haven't even touched myself since," Mingyu admits as he squirms from the attention to his sensitive tip. You raise an eyebrow at your husband, shocked at the fact that he hasn't had an orgasm in so long.

"Poor baby probably has so much backed-up cum. I bet you're gonna make a fucking mess tonight. Gonna cover yourself in all your cum when I fuck your ass," you pout at him, feigning sympathy, which only makes another bead of precum drip out of him.

You let go of Mingyu's aching cock to reach into the bedside table, pulling out the same bottle of lube as last time. You follow the same steps as last time, rubbing the lube between your fingers and rubbing it along his hole in slow circles.

The speed of your actions was agonizing for Mingyu, his head throwing back as he groaned in frustration.

"Fuck—just put it in already, please."

You giggle at your husband's lack of patience but decide to give him what he wants, sliding two fingers in, causing him to sigh in relief.

"I finger you once, and all of a sudden, you're acting like a slut who can handle more. Don't get too ahead of yourself, Mingyu."

Before Mingyu can respond, a loud moan rumbles out of him, his head pushing against the pillows as his back arches off the bed when you curl your fingers just like last time, hitting his prostate with damn near perfect precision.

"Shit— so fucking good," he moans out, his eyes shut as your fingers prod against his prostate over and over.

Like last time, his cock leaks precum, pooling on his stomach.

You coo praises as your other hand slowly rubs his shaft, your fingers still working inside of him. Mingyu lets out a string of moans mixed with a few curses that slip out of him, his brain foggy from all of the pleasure.

The tight feeling in his stomach causes him to snap his eyes open, his hands darting down to push yours away from him in a hurry.

"Shit—did I do something wrong? Is everything okay, Mingyu?" You panic as you immediately take your hand off his cock and slowly pull out your fingers. You watch as Mingyu pants, licking over his lips before responding.

"I'm g-great—more than great, baby. I didn't want to cum before you got to fuck me," he breathes out, a rosy hue covering his face and chest. Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, noticing it sticking to his forehead.

A deep sigh leaves your lips, relieved that nothing's wrong. You run your hands over Mingyu's thighs as you lean over to press a kiss to his lips, his head lifting from the bed to chase after your lips when you pull away too soon.

"Stay right here, baby," you whisper to him as you get off the bed. Mingyu stares at the ceiling. Sounds of you shuffling around in the bathroom are the only thing heard, along with his heavy breaths. Mingyu turns his head to look at the closed bathroom door, worried about how long you were taking.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?"

"I'll be out in a minute!" Your voice calls out from behind the door as you adjust the strap-on, ensuring it's perfectly secured. You had a few toys of your own that were compatible with most strap-ons but were probably too big of a jump for Mingyu, who only knew what two of your fingers felt like. You were used to having Mingyu's thick cock in you, but Mingyu wouldn't be able to handle one close to his size just yet.

So, you opted for this one. A solid black one that was soft to the touch, curved at the end, came with its own strap and was a decent length and thickness for a beginner.

You turn to look at yourself in the mirror, straightening your back with newfound confidence before you exit the bathroom.

Mingyu's eyes quickly find your figure walking towards him, his eyes catching the toy that was now strapped onto you. His cheeks flush as he bites his lip, trying to hide his excitement as you crawl onto the bed. You bite back a smile of your own as you spread your husband's legs apart further, settling your body in between them.

"Do you want it like this, baby? We can try a different position if you want," you coo out, your fingertips trailing along his inner thighs.

You watch the cogs of Mingyu's brain turn as he thinks about your question. He had done some research himself and knew exactly what he wanted to try first.

"Can I lay on my stomach? I always fuck you like that, so I'm curious what it feels like—and I heard it's a good way to start," your husband shyly asks.

You nod your head with a reassuring smile, helping Mingyu flip onto his stomach, giving you a good look at his ass that you were ready to fuck. You feel arousal drip down your legs as you position yourself over Mingyu. His arms find comfort folding underneath the pillows as he turns his head to the side, waiting for more.

Kisses up his back and your hand rubbing over his ass, occasionally squeezing at it, causing Mingyu to sigh, his hips squirming against the bed, and his cock rubbing against the mattress.

"Fuck—Y/N, don't tease me," he moans out, lifting his hips to push his ass against your loving caresses.

"I'm not teasing you, baby. I'm appreciating you, am I not allowed to appreciate what a nice ass my husband has?" You said it was all mine, right?"

A shaky breath leaves Mingyu's lips as your words manage to turn him on more, his hips lifting once more.

"All yours— but please fuck me already," he whines, his lack of patience evident."

You chuckle softly at your husband's begging but decide to play nice tonight, reaching over to grab the bottle of lube and coating the toy thoroughly. Your hand spreads Mingyu's ass apart, letting some of the lube drip down onto his hole. You set the bottle aside, still holding his ass open so you could line the toy up to his tight hole.

"Now you know how it feels when you tease me, Mingyu."

You slowly push the toy inside of him, the curved end slipping past the tight rim. The toy was undoubtedly thicker than your fingers causing Mingyu to hiss at the new stretch. You do a quick check-in to ensure he's okay, only pushing more of the toy in when your husband gives you the green light.

Mingyu moaned as the tip of the toy nudged against his prostate, the curved tip instantly pressing against it as it slipped inside him. You soothing rub his lower back as you push the toy deeper inside of him inch by inch, letting him adjust to the new size.

"You're doing so well, baby. I'm almost all the way in. Such a good boy taking my cock," you purr out, shifting your knees on the bed, the toy moving inside of him and drawing out another moan from your husband.

Once you fit all of the toy inside of him, you stop moving, letting Mingyu embrace the full feeling before telling you to start moving.

You slowly start pulling out, your husband moaning at the feeling and letting out an even louder moan when you push your hips forward, the toy nustling deep inside of him. You repeat the same slow thrusts, biting your lips as Mingyu falls apart underneath you.

Mingyu couldn't control the way his body was moving underneath you, squirming at the feeling of the toy repeatedly hitting that spot that made his brain turn to mush. He could tell he could cum from this alone. All the weeks' worth of build-up only made him more sensitive, his body craving a release. He thought it couldn't get any better until you spoke up.

"Should I turn it on now?"

In his fucked out state, his brows furrowed, confused as to what you were talking about.

"T-turn it on? Turn what—" he turns speechless, his mouth falling open as a high-pitched moan escapes him, his eyes rolling back to his skull as he feels a vibration inside of him and hit against his sweet spot.

Oh yeah, and the toy vibrated.

You bite your lips as your eyes scan your husband's frame, more of your arousal dripping down your thighs as he thrashes underneath you from the intense feeling. Precum soaks into the bed as he feels his orgasm building and building with every thrust of your hips. You paid no attention to the tired feeling creeping up on you, your mind too focused on making your husband lose his mind.

"That's it, baby. I bet you can't wait to cum, hm? Gonna make a big mess for me? Maybe we should flip you over so I can watch you cum all over yourself."

Mingyu nods his head to your words, letting out a broken sob when you pull out to help him flip back onto his front. You smile at the glazed look in his eyes and his flushed face, resembling how he looked when he was drunk. But there was no alcohol in his system, the dazed expression on his face a product of the pleasure you were giving him.

You hold Mingyu's legs open with one hand as you line up the vibrating toy up to his hole, pushing into him with ease this time around. Although this wasn't for you necessarily, you enjoyed this position more, loving the way you could watch your husband's eyes roll back, his mouth unable to close as whines and moan of ecstasy left his pretty lips.

You could tell Mingyu was getting close as you thrust the toy into him a bit faster. His breath sped up the closer he got, hands gripping the pillow underneath his head as his entire body shook with the need to cum.

"S' close— fuck! Don't stop, baby. So, so close," he sobs out, his eyes tightly shut as he tries to prepare himself for the orgasm that would come any second now.

Your hand cups his balls, gently fondling them, and that's all Mingyu needs to send him over the edge. You watch in awe as your husband's back arches off the bed, a deep and long moan echoing out of him as thick cum oozes out of his cock, seeming to never end as it pools and drips from his stomach. His whole body shakes uncomfortably, his eyes rolling back as the only thing Mingyu can feel is a warmth shooting throughout his entire body. This was much different than his usual orgasms. The feeling wasn't even remotely the same. You helped him ride out his everlasting orgasm, his body continuing to shake even when he had no more cum left to shoot out.

You turn off the vibrator and slowly bring your movements to a halt when your husband whines about the feeling.

"Too much— too much." His back finally makes contact with the bed again, trying to come down from his high. You stay inside of Mingyu for a few more seconds before slowly guiding the toy out of him, him wincing when the tip grazes his sweet spot.

"You came so much, baby. Made such a pretty mess for me," you coo out, leaning over to swirl your finger in the pool of cum on his stomach.

Mingyu remains silent, still trying to catch his breath, his body convulsing every few seconds from the aftershocks of his orgasm. You lap up some of his cum with your tongue as your husband has just enough energy to grab your face, pulling you up to him so he can taste himself off your lips.

"Have fun?" You ask rhetorically, a dazed chuckle leaving his lips as he opens his eyes to finally look at you, the look of lust in his eye now replaced with love and affection (and tiredness).

"Mhm, thank you, Y/N. I love you," his words come out in a whisper, his voice huskier than usual from all the moaning.

You smile and cup your husband's face, kissing his lips again.

"I love you too. Let's get cleaned up, yeah? I'll make us something to eat."

Mingyu raises an eyebrow at you, not wanting to address the issue with what you just said. You bite your lip as you roll your eyes at him, letting go of his face to run them down his shoulders.

"Fine, I won't cook. But I'll order something for us to eat and just pretend I'm an amazing chef in my head. Is that better?"

Mingyu smiles at you and nods his head, rolling the two of you over to lay face to face on your sides, not paying mind to the cum dripping onto the bed.

"Much better. I wouldn't want to find a way to explain to Y/DN why we have to move out after you set the kitchen on fire."

Your husband shushes your annoyed response with his lips, distracting you from the rude (but believable) words that left his lips.

Damn him and his kissable lips.

#mingyu #kim mingyu #seventeen mingyu #svt mingyu #svt #seventeen #mingyu imagines #mingyu fic #minguu x reader #mingyu fluff #mingyu smut #mingyu angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen angst #svt x reader #svt smut #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt angst #i love this so much #sub!svt #sub!mingyu #stay at home! mingyu

[suugarbabe]

Forget Me Not (3)

[Chapter 3]

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Word count: 2150

Warning: angst, fluff

an: the loooong awaited part 3! Sorry it took me so long, life got in the way and I was a little lost in my writers brain but i'm baaaack and it's gonna get juicier and better :)))))

Your body jolted, seemingly flinching at the action of Fred slamming his fist down on the table. You know he didn’t mean it on purpose, you knew this whole ordeal was harder on him than it was on any of you, but you couldn’t help feeling a little selfish at the fact that he still couldn’t remember anything significant about you. 

After the intimate moment you had with him on the couch, holding him on your chest like you used to, tracing your fingers in his hair to help soothe him and calm him down that day, you thought that maybe he would start remembering. Maybe having a moment so similar to one you’ve had time and time again would trigger something in his brain. 

However it seemed like the more time he spent with you the more frustrated he got. He got a headache everytime you were near him, every time you tried talking with him or tried to reminisce with George about the fun you guys had while at school. Fred could remember the exact scenario, remember everything he did and even George’s responses, but he couldn’t see you in any memory. 

He said it was like there was a blurry figure when he tried to picture it, and then his chest started to feel tight and his head started to pound. You could tell when it started to happen. He would close his eyes, pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh deeply. Then he would slam his hand or fist down on the table, push his seat back harshly and leave the room. 

It always left you feeling terrible. Terrible because you didn’t know how to help him. Terrible because you were the one causing him pain. Not on purpose, but it was clearly memories of you that were making him have these physical reactions. You wanted to comfort him, wanted to take him out into the garden like you’ve done hundreds of times and sit on the bench together, talking about everything frustrating and letting each other vent, it was your special spot. But you couldn’t. It would only cause things to get worse. 

So when you heard Fred and George talking and your name get slipped into the conversation, you sat on the stairs, mouth covered by the sleeve of your jumper to help conceal your presence. 

“I just don’t understand it, Georgie,” you heard the strain in Fred’s voice and you could feel your heart breaking. “Why can’t I remember her? Everyone keeps telling me how important she was to me. Merlin, she was apparently my bloody girlfriend! And if that’s true why hasn’t she told me that?” 

You could hear George let out a sigh, “She is your girlfriend, Freddie, and you love her. So much, or at least you did. And she doesn’t want to make you feel like you have to be with her if you don’t remember.” 

Tears brimmed your eyes, what George said holding truth. You were so desperately in love with Fred, but you were not going to force his hand if he couldn’t remember the love he had for you or all the times and intimate moments you shared together. 

“It’s just, fucking bloody hell,” Fred slammed his fist against the table again, “Why does it physically fucking hurt when I think about her? Were we bad together Georgie? Was I terrible to her? Please tell me I wasn’t awful to her…she’s been so kind to me, even though I can’t remember a thing about her.

“She’s made me lunches, gotten me tea in the mornings, she even knows which jumpers are my favorite. What if I can’t remember anything about her because I was so terrible to her and I’m like, protecting myself from myself or something like that?” You could hear the wobble in Fred’s voice and you couldn’t stop the tears from silently falling down your cheeks.

“No, Freddie. No, no, you were amazing to her, so bloody good to her, and her you. Merlin you two had everything anyone would want, could almost finish each other’s sentences as well and me and you can. Honestly, Fred, you were talking about marrying her after the war was over…” 

You bit the thick of your sleeve, trying to conceal the gasping sob that was threatening to escape as you listened to the plans you had no idea were being made. Fred was planning to ask you to marry him…and now he could barely remember anything about you, let alone the relationship you had built together. 

You decided you’d heard enough, had hurt yourself enough eavesdropping, and tip-toed quietly to bed. You opened the door to Fred and George’s room as quietly as you could, hoping the sound of their own voices and the height you were at in the burrow was enough to conceal any creak the hinges might make. 

When you closed the door, you finally allowed yourself to cry, collapsing onto Fred’s bed. He had been sleeping on the couch lately and you had taken home in his room in his place. You pulled back the quilt, sliding underneath before pulling it back up to your chin. You buried your face into his pillow, it still smelled like him; vanilla and cinnamon. 

You must have fallen asleep while crying because the next thing you knew, the sun was peeking out from the curtains on the window. You stretched your arms out in front of you when you noticed something heavy slung around your waist. Your eyes shot open, seeing George completely zonked out in the bed across from you, meaning, “Freddie.” 

His name came out in almost a silent whisper. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling your back impossibly closer to his chest. One of his long legs was slotted between yours, entangling your lower limbs as he subconsciously buried his face in the crook of your neck. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss waking up like this, but it had been a while since you had done so and you were not about to move yet. You closed your eyes again, relishing in the feeling of Fred against you in a way that felt so much like home. His broad shoulders and larger figure meant that he essentially engulfed you in a heated cocoon of his body and you loved every second of it. 

When you heard George stirring across from you, you allowed yourself to open your eyes again. He was sitting up on the edge of his bed, hands resting on the bed beside his legs while the largest smirk was plastered on his freckled face, “Well, well, ducky. Don’t you two look cozy.” 

You held up your middle finger, whisper shouting at the twin across from you, “Sod off, will ya? I just don’t want to wake him yet, he seems to actually be sleeping peacefully for once.” George held up his hands in defense, “You’re gonna have to wake him soon, I can smell mum making breakfast and she’s probably wondering where he is anyway.” 

You sighed, slowly turning around in Fred’s hold as George left the room. When you finally managed to face him, Fred buried his head into your chest and pulled you closer, grabbing hold of the back of your knee and pulling it over his hip. You gasped slightly at the action, but didn’t make a move to pull away.

Light scratches to his scalp and the sound of your voice are what eventually pull Fred from his slumber. “Freddie, you’ve got to get up. Your mum’s making breakfast.” He groans, too comfortable in his current position to want to move, but he eventually pulls away from you, albeit very slowly. 

You expected him to shoot away from you once he noticed his position but instead he just leaned back slightly so he could properly look you in the eyes. His hand was at the curve of your lower back, your leg still hooked over his hip, “Good morning.” He greeted you with a voice thick of sleep and you swore you could melt on the spot. 

Realizing he was fully awake and speaking you went to move your leg off of him, but his hand shoots to your thigh, stopping your actions, “P-please don’t move yet, I haven’t been this comfortable since I’ve gotten home.” 

He looked at you with shy eyes as you cupped his face with your hand, thumb tracing the apple of cheek, “Okay, Freddie.” He closed his eyes at your touch and you couldn’t help but trace the scar that was now prominent above his brow. The scar that represented the spell that took your Fred away from you, that erased you from his memory and left you and Fred in an emotional purgatory. 

You let yourself get lost in comfortability, lost in your emotions as you placed a gentle kiss to his forehead, right next to his scar. When you pulled back, his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. There was a silence between you, not uncomfortable but you could feel it getting thick. Fred’s eyes fell to your lips, then slowly trailed back up to meet your eyes. 

You stared at each other, not sure if he was going to make the move you were so desperate for. Your faces were so close, his lips right there. He cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing your lower lip, dragging downwards slightly. Your breath hitches in your throat as you notice him leaning towards you. Your impatience got the best of you and you finished closing the gap between you, slotting your lips with a passion you had missed for months. 

You weren’t sure if it was muscle memory, or if even in his forgetful state Fred was just as physically attracted to you but as soon as your lips met, it was like he couldn’t get your bodies close enough, his hand squeezing at the flesh of your thigh pulling you to straddle his lap as he turned to his back. 

His other had found the back of your neck, holding your body flush to his as your hands found ground on the mattress on either side of his head. It had been so long since you kissed your boyfriend that it felt like a first kiss, your stomach in swirling butterflies, heart pounding against your chest. 

Your lungs were burning but you didn’t want to pull away, the softness of his lips seemingly curing any emotional ailment you had been feeling the night before. When you finally pull away a slight whimper leaves Fred’s mouth, his hands settling on your hips as you sit on his lap.

“We’ve done that before, haven’t we?” Fred asks cheekily. You rake your teeth along your bottom lip, trying to suppress your smile, “Yes, Freddie. We’ve done that many times before.” 

His hands ran idly up and down your thighs, “Well I think we should do it again, might jog my memory, yannow?” 

You perked up a little, “Do you remember something, Freddie?” He shrugged his shoulders, “I remember that I really like kissing you, like love kissing you.” He laughed lightly, blocking your hand as you went to slap his chest, “C’mon, your mum’s making breakfast and we need to get down there. Any longer and she might think we’re doing dirty things.”

Fred wiggled his eyebrows, “Well we have done dirty things before, too, haven’t we?” This time you were successful in slapping his chest as you climbed off his lap. You smoothed out your pajamas and jumper as you answered him, “Yes, Freddie…we have done other things before. We’ve been…erm…were together for a long time.” 

Fred frowned slightly at your correction, “We’re still together, as far as I know I never broke up with you.” 

You shifted your weight on your feet, “Yeah, but you don’t exactly remember asking me out either.” Fred stood then, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you close, “Well maybe you can tell me all about it after breakfast, yeah?” 

You opened your mouth to respond before jumping slightly at the sound of a ‘pop’ and George appearing in the room. “Seems like every time I see you two you get cozier and cozier.” 

This time it was Fred who gave his brother the finger, “Don’t be jealous that you’re alone Georgie.” You had to cover your mouth to conceal your laughter, your heart soaring at your old Fred showing his joking nature. 

George waved him off, opening the bedroom door and walking downstairs. Fred grabbed your hand as he followed his twin, “C’mon, love. After breakfast we’ll go sit by the garden and you can tell me all about us, yeah? Garden seems like a beautiful and peaceful place to talk, it can be like our special spot.” 

Your heart was soaring, “Yeah, Freddie, our special spot.”

taglist: @words-are-cheap ; @l0ulistens ; @reallysparklychaos ; @df841 ; @rhahghbs ; @delfonicstheme-blog ; @marvelsbitch ; @slytherclaws ; @football1921

*if your name is bolded it would not let me tag you

#forget me not series #forget me not part 3 #fred weasley series #fred weasley fic #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley x y/n #weasley twins #george weasley #golden era #harry potter

[originalartblog]

Answering some asks about the dad Murase lives AU under the cut because you are forcing me to think about what I've created (❤)

@inkingkitsune

Murase had to know about N's less-than-savoury work. He was hired as a security guard (thanks to his brother) for a military facility for which he was told to kill any trespassers on sight. And his brother had been legally dead for a decade! But the main difference between the two brothers is that while N will still do horrors in the name of his job, Murase has spent his life after the war trying to help people to atone for what he had to do to survive. I think having to face concrete proof of what his brother did/does, especially without the immediate pressure of war and survival to "justify" his actions, to a kid he's grown somewhat attached to? That would be really hard on him.

-

Frankly I had never heard of that theory before, and after considering it, I can't agree with it. The government has expressed barely any interest in Chuuya, N seems to have acted on his own. The PM has so many ability users, and abilities are so unknown to the general public, with or without Chuuya, it was an important move to make, and there was no normal legal way of getting it.

As for Oda... I fear he's going to suffer the same fate. In another post I did wonder if Mori would try to be more careful with Dazai, since we know he was very careful to nurture Chuuya's loyalty and bond to the mafia. But after thinking about it, while Mori felt bitter after Dark Era (please read the light novel), he says he would still do it because the permit was so important to get. Chuuya going away here wasn't his fault, so I see no reason he wouldn't do things especially differently. Maybe he'd feel even more bitter though.

-

If Oda dies the same way... it's a fun question. Dazai would leave, Dazai would still refuse to work for the government, so his options are limited. I can't imagine Chuuya leaving at 16, join the ADA, and the mafia not knowing a thing about it? So what would Dazai do? Chuuya left and joined a group and now that group is his only option in Yokohama. If he wants to join them, he'll still have to wait two years for his records to be erased and hidden. And he knows Chuuya is gonna be there, and he knows him!! How frustrating and stressful is that wait going to be?

I'd like Chuuya to be gone when Dazai first joins, so Entrance Exam can still take place in a similar way. Maybe he accompanied Ranpo on his contract out of town? I do wonder if he'd confront Dazai publicly or in private... I'm still not sure how much he told the ADA about his own origins.

-

I've decided that Chuuya leaves after the Dragon Head Conflict (after loosing a second set of friends in the same year), because this time, he has someone waiting for him to offer him an out. And this is interesting from a skk point of view. At that point, Dazai has already met both Oda and Ango, and technically, Double Black has made a name of themselves. Chuuya would be leaving at the creation/peak of Double Black, barely giving it enough time to get their name. But all that we know (so far) of what they were up to as teenagers has happened already! And Dazai has met Oda and Ango, he has a support system now! They'll be fine. Well, as fine as their canon counterparts anyway.

This is also funny because their "history" is less than two years of absolute hell, then a 5/6-year gap, and suddenly they're coworkers again.

-

Honestly I don't know if Murase would have an opportunity to see it or its repercussions? I doubt he saw Chuuya directly after Verlaine (you know, mafia and all that), and I think Chuuya would be the one to seek him out after the DHC. I truly think you could count the amount of times Corruption was maybe used by Double Black in canon back then on one hand, and in this AU, it's literally only twice. Unless Asagiri planned for another big event and hasn't told us yet, I don't think Chuuya has had to use Corruption again in this AU until Lovecraft.

MAYBE someone would notify Chuuya's dad guardian that his son charge was badly injured, but with Yosano in the room, I doubt it would make it back to him. Same thing with Dead Apple. Murase lives in a blessed world where he knows Chuuya's powerful, but doesn't know the extent of it.

Have a lil' doodle for making it all the way down here! (it's Chuuya's first week or something)

#shout out to @carrotkicks who added some stubble to my murase design you brain is so so big i'm stealing it back #these asks are ordered in the same order I received them btw #they just sort of naturally progressed from one to the other it's so funny #i know i said dad but what is he really? a dad? an uncle? a duncle? #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd storm bringer #bsd stormbringer #stormbringer #the murase au #ada!chuuya #bsd chuuya #bsd murase #bsd nakahara chuuya #bsd detective murase #skk #soukoku #bsd fanart #nawy's doodles

[wanderingelvis]

Heyy so i have a request since u want some ideas mabye like an elvis x Innocent reader 🤷🏽‍♀️ I mean I don't have that much imagination so whatever u do with it will be brilliant 💕

Oh wow! My first request and I've barely started but this is such a dream request, so thank you!! Here goes nothing, I hope you like it! 🧚 🧚🏻 Masterlist 🧚🏻 word count: 1,503 pairing: elvis presley x f!reader

Ever since you'd been signed to the same label as Elvis, you'd struggled adjusting to the Hollywood lifestyle. You'd found a friend in Elvis though, something you'd never thought you'd say. As soon as he'd met you, he'd been kind, protective and patient with you, when not many people had been. He'd let you spend time in his trailer between takes and rehearsals which you were grateful for, especially since you were having a tough time in media training classes with other new talent that had been signed.  The boys and girls in those classes weren't as kind to you as Elvis was, they all came from the Hollywood area, with rich relatives who were higher up in the label, whereas you'd auditioned and came from a pokey little town out in California. You tried your best to fit in but your upbringing just hadn't been the same. 

That's where Elvis felt awful protective of you, he'd faced a similar difficulty, growing up in Tupelo all those years ago. He could see the talent and potential in you, not to mention how hard you worked. He didn't want you to face the same hardships he'd had to. 

You'd had enough today, you'd been made fun of, yet again by the other guys that were all training to be dancers and stunt guys, and it had all gotten too much. You missed home and everything that came with it. You made a beeline for Elvis' dressing room, keeping your head down because you knew if someone even dared to ask if you were okay, you'd burst into tears.  You gently knocked on the door, praying that Elvis was there and hopefully not with his entourage. The door swung open and you were met with Elvis' grin.  "Are you busy? I don't wanna bother you." You asked quietly, looking past him to see if he had company. 

Elvis moved away from the entrance, making room for you to walk in, "No honey, want to come in?" You nodded, walking into the room that smelt of cigar smoke as he closed the door behind you. "Don't you have your press conference training now little one?" Elvis asked as he went to pour himself a drink.  "M'not going." You said grumpily, collapsing down onto the plush couch.  "I know it's a drag baby, but you gotta go, I made your Momma a promise that you wouldn't slack on your work." Elvis chuckled, not clocking onto your upset mood yet.  "I said I'm not going!" You snapped, your voice cracking a little. You were just so upset at always being left out and feeling like an idiot.  Elvis stalled, he hadn't heard you speak like that before, especially not to him. You were an innocent little thing, everyone on set knew it and you would never openly challenge or disobey anyone, whether it was a label executive or one of the catering staff.  "Baby, I don't know where you found that goddamn attitude but you best get rid of it right now. I ain't gonna let no little girl talk to me like that." Elvis warned, walking over to you. 

The harsh words tipped you over the edge, the last thing you'd wanted was to upset your one friend on set. You were just frustrated and Elvis snapping at you caused you to burst into soft sobs. You covered your face with your hands as you blubbed and Elvis immediately softened, taken aback with concern as he watched you hiccup and cry. "M'sorry," You choked. "I had a b-bad day." You stuttered, tripping on your words as you let out soft cries. "Oh little un', what's happened hm?" He cooed, sitting next to you, placing his hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles as he grabbed some tissues with his other hand to give to you. "I miss home, Elvis," You said quietly, "Everyone at the rehearsals and classes is so mean and they say stuff and I don't know what they mean and um," You paused to sniffle and wipe your pink nose, "They all laugh at me and it's n-not funny." You said as you sat cross legged on the couch, your whole body now facing Elvis. "What are they saying baby?" Elvis asked gently. He wasn't exactly surprised at what you said, you were an easy target, you were sweet, kind and gentle and it was a tough industry, one you weren't exactly made for. "I don't know, I don't understand it." You said quietly, feeling dumb and ashamed. "Can you tell me what they said to you, little?" Elvis encouraged.  You paused, taking a wobbly breath, glancing at Elvis who only smiled at you. He never made you feel dumb or stupid, even if you could be at times, a bit naive. "They a-asked me if I 'give a head' or if I ever have done and I said I don't know w-what that means, because I don't!" You said, tearily. "A-and they all laughed at me and they wouldn't tell me and I don't know what they mean and it's really confusing." You said, quietly trailing off.  Elvis felt his blood boil. He knew he was protective of you, the baby in front of him, everyone knew he was and maybe he was overprotective at times but how could he not be when this would happen to you? In front of him was the sweetest little girl and whilst Elvis would never call you dumb, even if other people might, he knew you were just innocent and inexperienced and definitely someone that somebody with bad intentions could take advantage of easily. It made Elvis, rightly or wrongly, want to protect you and take care of you in the way that he saw fit and that way was to preserve your innocence.  If Elvis could have his way, he'd take you away from all of this sin and misdemeanour, all the way to his home, Graceland, where he would let you stay and do everything you loved without the stress and pressure of working this gruelling schedule. "Who said this to you?" Elvis said sternly. "It's all of them Elvis, i-it's just confusing." You hiccuped. "I want a name, Y/N." Elvis said as you glanced up at him through wet lashes. "Paulie Matthews." You mumbled softly. "Are you gonna make me go back to rehearsal?" You asked meekly. "No honey, you're gonna stay right here, with me." As soon as Elvis said that, it was as if a visible weight had lifted from your shoulders. Elvis knew the press team would be angry at the lack of your attendance but he had enough power that no-one would question it. 

"Elvis?" "Yes, little one?" Elvis said, gently pushing back some hair that had fallen in front of your face. "What does 'give a head' mean?" Your brows furrowed together and cocked your head to the side with confusion and curiousity. Elvis breathed a heavy sigh at your question and the innocence in the way that you said it, before the door burst open with laughter and chatter, making you jump slightly. Elvis rubbed your back soothingly straight away to try and calm you. It was Jerry, Red, and the rest of the Mafia, chatting after their outing to the local steakhouse. "What have I told you about goddamn knockin'?" Elvis barked furiously. The guys all apologised, insisting that Elvis just needed to hear this story about how Red had pulled a waitress and got a free steak out of it, none of them paying any attention to you, the sweet thing, sat near Elvis. As the bustling continued, Elvis noticed you shuffled a little closer to him. 

You were visibly overwhelmed at all the men and the commotion. "You okay baby?" Elvis whispered to you softly. You chewed your lip feverishly. "Want to stay by my side and keep me company?" He offered, in a sweet and gentle tone. You nodded almost instantly, making Elvis smile down at you. "C'mere sweetheart." He nodded. You nestled into his side as he led his arm across the back of the couch, allowing you to perfectly slot in next to him. Elvis pet your hair and placed a tender kiss atop your head, as your wobbly breathing evened out.  "Elvis?" You whispered. Elvis hummed in response, lowering his head so you could whisper in his ear cutely. You leaned up a little, putting your hand by your mouth so no one could see or hear what you were whispering. "Do ya think the guys might know what 'give a head' means? Should I ask them?" You asked before moving back a little so you could study his face. Elvis laughed a little at you, he couldn't help but adore how sweet and innocent you were. "No baby, I'll show you later, you just relax now pretty girl." Elvis smiled. You smiled back, feeling relieved that you could always be yourself around the most famous man in the world.

#elvis x y/n #elvis smut #elvis imagine #elvis #elvis presley #elvis x reader #yandere elvis #elvis movie #elvis aaron presley #elvis x oc #elvis x you #austin butler #austin!elvis x y/n #elvis fic

[teachugger69]

a helping hand

summary: when reader is expressing her frustration with her skin, spencer is there to help her feel better (basically)

content/warnings: negative opinions on acne, mentions of food

category: fluff! (I think lol)

word count: 1k!

a/n: i've been wanting to write fic's for awhile, but like actually writing them is HELL compared to just thinking of cute little scenarios in my head for fun 😭 soooo im just gonna post this one because i could care less for it (if i post one that i actually love and people don't like it, I WILL BE CRUSHED AND NEVER WRITE AGAIN.) but anyway! please give me tips/advice if you have any :)

For the first time in years, your skin was breaking out- and heavily, too. Sighing, you sat up on the cold bathroom counter, intensely observing your newly conceived blemishes. (for an extensive amount of time.) Growing up, your skin was never in that oh so desirable clear state that all the other girls had. Not that acne was horrific, but you just felt like the odd one out when everyone else looked like modes for Goop.

In the living room, Spencer pauses his reading to glance across the apartment to the bathroom, a bubbling feeling of concern growing in him. Placing his book down, he walked over to check in on you, leaning against the open doorway. "Is something wrong?" Your sweet boyfriend asked in a caring tone. Turning on the counter so that you were facing him, you shook your head. "No- I- I'm breaking out." You groaned, breaking the number one rule of dermatology as you touched your face. "Y/N... it's okay, that happens-" "No! Spencer, I can't be breaking out like... this. I look so... ugly. I've been sticking to a strict skincare routine for this reason, and-" before you could even take a breath, Spencer quickly placed a chaste kiss to your lips. "You're not ugly, nothing can make you ugly- even this breakout." He said softly as he finally pulled away.

Why did Spencer have to be such a sweetheart? He always found a way to make you feel better, and you hated him for it. The sweet boy kissed all the spots on your face that had been affected (which probably wasn't helping, but who were you to complain?) Blushing, you lightly push him away, making a false face of disgust. "I hate you." You giggled and rolled your eyes, making Spencer let out a sarcastic gasp. "I'll live." He leaned in to whisper into the crook of your neck, leaving featherlight kisses on your pulse point. His slender fingers sliding down to caress the silky purple PJ set he bought you so excitedly. "I think you're beautiful, Y/n, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes." The boy mumbled against your skin as he delicately tried to pull the waistband of your shorts down.

"Wait-" "What's wrong?" He asked softly and pulled away. "I just- sorry- I'm just trying to figure out why I'm breaking out." You sighed and scooted down the counter to look in the mirror again. Spencer watched sadly as he saw you looking at yourself in such a negative light. Your brows furrowed as you leaned in closer, observing all of the new ugly bumps on your face. It was only when you started you squish your skin together, attempting to pop a pimple, when Spencer quickly grabbed your wrists, pulling them away from your face. "Spencer!" You frustratedly groaned, looking up at him in offense.

"Sweetheart, as much as I don't want to support this ideology... if you want to clear your skin, touching the blemishes won't help- let alone popping them." Spencer says in an incredibly quiet voice, almost as if he was scared to say anything to hurt you any more than you already were. "I can't wait for it to clear up. I've been avoiding everything wrong for years- these need to go away." You complained but listened to the genius, knowing he was right.

"How about this- how about we retrace your steps- maybe we can narrow down why you're breaking out...?" Spencer suggested thoughtfully as his hand gently brushed through your hair. You thought it out- and it was such a good idea! You nodded enthusiastically and Spencer couldn't help but smile as he saw your mood instantly heighten. "Okay, well... my skin has only been like this for a few days." Spencer nodded, taking into consideration why your skin might be acting up- and then it clicked.

"Oh! What about that new foundation you bought?! The... Maurice one? I dunno... It was clear- and expensive." Your smile faded as you bit your cheek, wondering if it really was the cause. "Makeup by Mario, baby. But... I don't think it would be because of that- that foundation is really expensive- and it has so many good reviews." You defended- mostly because you didn't want to believe that the new $42 foundation he bought you was behind your skin nightmare.

Your boyfriend thought to himself once more before he spoke again. "I uh- I think I might know why, now." He said, timidly looking down at his hands as he fiddled with them. "Well... What is it?" "Baby, it's- I-" "Just tell me, Spence." "I think it could be your diet- uh- because recently you've been- well- treating yourself. I love that you're letting yourself indulge in those foods- but they're good in moderation, my love." You just looked at him for a few seconds before giggling to yourself. "That's what you were scared to say?!" You snort and look at the boy who seems absolutely relieved that you didn't take it the wrong way. "Well... yeah." He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm glad you told me- you're like... the only one who can get away with bringing up my eating habits." Spencer let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. "O-Okay, good."

You hopped off the counter, leading the two of you out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. "Guess we're going to have to say goodbye to these..." You sighed as you grabbed a box of doughnuts- stocked with the chocolate frosted ones with sprinkles that your boyfriend loved so much. As the box hovered above the trash, Spencer yelped a childish "No!", before he quickly grabbed the box away from you. You giggled and looked up at your immature boyfriend with a judging face.

"Well... what if I said you look sexier this way That you look better and that you don't have to change?" He stammered- hands finding their way to your waist. "You're gonna seduce me- just so we can keep these doughnuts?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I just always think you look sexy- and the doughnuts are just a coincidence..." Spencer grinned slyly and let out a stupid little chuckle.

"You're really stupid for a genius, you know?"

#spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic

[writing-whump]

The reveal

The long awaited reveal of the truth. Hector and Arnie find out about Isaiah from their father. Hector stress sick as hell.

"Are you entirely sure you don't want to come?"

Arnie shook his head for what felt like the billionth time. "I'm sure. I told you, I'm sick."

Hector gave him a sceptical look. "Sure you are not just pretending to get out of the meeting with dad?"

Arnie sighed dramatically. "No. I have a fever, my nose feels all clogged up. I'm gonna take an easy day. You have fun."

Technically speaking, Arnie didn't feel any desire to meet their father. It was an annual internal Wolfson pack meeting, but this was the first time in 6 years their father would be attending.

Hector was admittedly excited. Arnie didn't know what about, a guy who didn't think of them for 6 years and ignored Arnie specially for another 6 years before didn't seem much worthy of attention.

There were two people to choose from to blame for the whole of their family falling apart. Arnie would choose their father where Hector would Isaiah.

It was 50:50. One of them was certainly right. Maybe both.

Hector glared at him, which would look a lot scarier if Arnie didn't know it was out out frustration. "You know 37.5 is barely a fever."

Arnie shrugged. "Excuse me, for not waiting for my brain to be half-fried before taking a break, like some people."

They both knew that wasn't what they were arguing about.

Hector sighed, then gave up. "Fine. Whatever. See you."

Arnie smirked, leaning against the wall. "You will tell me all about it anyway."

Hector rolled his eyes. "Don't count on it." But his tone was lighter, which Arnie counted as a win.

Once the door closed behind him, Arnie relaxed. He wasn't lying, he really wanted a day off. Taking some vitamins, he got into PJs and a comfy bathrobe so he wasn't cold and promptly passed out on the sofa with Friends rerun in the backround.

Arnie woke up when twilight was falling through the windows, which meant he had a good sleep, all the way from noon.

Was there a coughing sound or did he imagine it?

Arnie lifted himself up, rubbing the back of his head. His hair got all tangled, he would have to recomb it all over. He wasn't feeling worse, but neither quite okay per se, limbs heavy and his shirt all sweaty.

He blinked around, wondering what woke him up. When he couldn't find any source of the noise or light, he fell back onto the cushion. When was Hector coming back? Likely not before midnight if he didn't decide to spend the night.

The image of Hector bonding with their father after his long absence left a bitter taste in Arnie's mouth. In theory, Isaiah left them too, at about the same time.

But Isaiah always cared for him, cooked and sat with him when he was sick and taught him to play chess. He never made Arnie feel less special for not being a wolf.

Maybe Arnie was just petty. Just because father didn't care for him, didn't mean he wouldn't be nice to Hector, right?

In a way, Hector couldn't help being exicted. Role models were very important to wolves. Fathers, uncles or older brothers, it didn't matter as long as it was an older wolf who could show the proper behavior and control to pups.

Especially in puberty, when most pups struggled the most with their shadows. Wolves lived longer than humans and were nearly indestructible, if they survived their teen years.

There was that weird coughing noise again, bordering on a gag that had Arnie shooting up again. He felt a bit dizzy as he stumbled upright and out of the living room.

Did Hector come back and he didn't notice?

He found their second bathroom alight, although the door was shut. Without thinking, Arnie barged in.

Hector was on his knees in front of the toilet, both elbows planted on the toilet seat. His breathing was ragged, choked at the end.

He lifted his spikey blond head up at Arnie, turning his palm up. "Hi."

"What the hell happened to you?" The sleepiness left Arnie in a rush as he skidded to his knees next to Hector. "When did you come back? What's going on?"

Hector waved him off, but turned back against the toilet, burping loudly against the water. It was still clear though, so he haven't vomited yet. "I'm fine, I'm fine..."

"Hex, for real. Did you catch some kind of flu? Do you have a fever?" If so, he had it worse than Arnie? Or was Hector sick before but pushed himself?

Arnie slapped a hand to his older brother's sweaty forhead, but his skin was cool and clammy. "What's wrong with you?"

Hector gave a whole-bodied shudder that was so out of character it had Arnie scrambling up to shake off his thick woolen bathrobe and throw it over his shoulders. "Are you cold? Hey. Talk to me."

Hector spat into the toilet, squeezing his eyes shut as he rode out a wave of nausea, but nothing else happened. He swiped a hand over his mouth and leaned back against the wall, panting.

Arnie went with him as if glued, wrapping his hands around Hector's arm, trying to coax him into talking with the contact.

"I met father today," Hector said into the silence.

"That's the most important thing right now? I was asking-"

"Just shut up for a second." Hector put the side of his fist to his mouth, muffling a weak gag, before leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Arnie frowned, unsease pooling into his stomach.

"Rolled my shadow down."

An icy cold feeling crawled up Arnie's spine. That would explain why Hector was so distraught and shivering. Rolling down someone's shadow was always unpleasant and painful, but it was worse with big shadows. And it was worse for Hector, who had nobody roll it for him for years. He was too powerful, too invincible and too controlled to let the happen.

"Why?" Arnie stammered.

"Said that he was testing me. That I was too weak, because nobody trained me the right way. Not like Isaiah." Hector shivered again, huddling deeper into the bathrobe.

Arnie stayed silent, feeling like there was more coming.

After a beat of hesitation, Hector continued. "He said this is why he trained Isaiah with silver. In fighting. Beat him bloody. Rolled his shadow. That that was the best kind of training that would have made me powerful." Hector swallowed heavily.

"But he didn't?" Arnie wanted to make it sound like a statement, but it swang into a question at the end. He wanted to make sure nothing like that happened, cause surely he would have noticed if Hector went through something like that.

"He couldn't. Isaiah wouldn't allow it."

Arnie's eyes widened and he crooked his neck to look at Hector properly. Hector's eyes were open to slits, amber brown, almost yellow in the bathroom light.

"Can you imagine that? Rolling his shadow, not every day, but several times a day?" A distressed choked edge came into Hector's voice as he met Arnie's eyes. "To teach him how to call it back faster? Taught him how to stand silver injuries by cutting him with silver knives, to get him used to pain? So he would be unbeatable by simply ignoring-" Hector's voice broke, his breathing speaing up like he couldn't get enough air.

Arnie went deadly still at his side, realizing with some kind of horrified detachment father might just have confessed to them the pack's biggest secret.

The reason behind Isaiah's behavior during his executioner training and work. Why he would lock himself up in his room. Why he would disappear for days. Why his expression closed up, why he stopped talking.

Why Isaiah left.

"I didn't know. I swear I didn't," Hector said in the most broken voice Arnie ever heard from him, his own lungs constricting. "Why didn't he say anything? We could have- I could have-"

Arnie held his arm tighter, wrapped around Hector like a monkey. "You wouldn't have been able to do anything."

"No!" Hector's hands shot up into his hair, pulling at them desperately. "Probably not, I guess not, but I should have known! I could have- I could have helped him! He didn't have to be alone, he didn't have to keep it secret, he didn't have to take the blame-" This time Hector gagged, body heaving violently.

Arnie tugged at his arm to direct him over the toilet, Hector barely making it over it as he heaved and heaved, until a splash of sick hit the rim and then the water.

Arnie patted his back, feeling it arch with the heaves. "Breathe, Hex. Just breathe," he managed to whisper, throat all closed up, tears pressing into his eyes.

Hector retched, then made a horrible choking sound and coughed.

Arnie thumbed the middle of his back harder. Hector's breathing hitched, dislocating a loud burp that brought another wave of chunky brown vomit into the bowl.

Hector kept heaving over it for what felt like an eternity, groaning and burping. Arnie wasn't sure if he was crying or if his eyes watered from the strain.

He could understand what Hector was feeling very well, his own stomach in knots. But he had no time to panic himself with Hector struggling to breathe and expelling everything he had eaten that week violently into the toilet.

Arnie pressed his face between Hector's shoulder blades, out of comforting things to say. It felt like he could feel the earth turning, spinning with them, how it sped up and them raced into the opposite direction with the revelation.

Hector moaned loudly, shoulders slumping as he cushioned his head on his arms. He was folded over the toilet seat, still panting and sweaty.

Arnie reached behind him to flush the toilet, the air sticky and smelling of stomach acid. Then he resumed his position, face pressed against Hector's back. A steady diligent presence, joined with him in suffering.

Hector's throat bobbed and he shuddered again. Arnie wrapped his hands around his waist, slow to let Hector react if he wanted to shake him off.

Now that he knew what was wrong he understood why Hector seemed so subdued, so lost and cold and small without the presence of his shadow, the faithful intimidating force always radiating from him.

Hector didn't feel complete without it and Arnie hated it. He hated this is what one rolling did to Hector.

He hated the idea what so many did to Isaiah.

Hector groaned again, the sound somewhere between an angry growl and a pained sob.

Arnie rested his hands gently on Hector's stomach, feeling it suck inside and then blow up again with his harsh breathing. He could feel when it spasmmed under his palms, shooting pressure up his brother's ribcage that has Hector burying his head between his arms into the bowl with a loud productive heave.

Arnie gently stroked the upset heaving organ, feeling the gurgling and clenching under Hector's sweaty shirt.

Hector winced at the movement of Arnie's hands, then relaxed, slumping forward against his arms. His breathing was still fast, but it was slowing, becoming more regular.

Arnie turned his face to the side, so he could breathe better, but not letting go for a second.

"You know what's going to be really important right now?" Arnie whispered into the silence.

Hector turned his head too, looking up at the ceiling with one eye. "What?"

"Don't shut him out right now. You guys...we have to talk about this with him. If this is the reason...maybe we should call Isaiah right now-"

"Fuck, no," Hector protested, straightening up. It would have looked more intimidating if he didn't have bile hanging from the corner of his lips. "I'm not-...I can't-"

"Yes you can," Arnie interrupted sternly. "You have to. Or this is never going to get solved. He needs to know we know and that we are on his side."

Hector looked down, eyes shiny and watery. "I don't know how I'm supposed to look him in the eye." His voice trailed off to whisper. "I told him so many horrible things. I blamed him so many years...I was so wrong..." he blubbered, confirming Arnie's suspicions.

"Yes, it was a mistake. Doesn't mean you should keep making it," Arnie protested, untangling himself to get a good look at Hector.

"Okay," Hector quaked. "Okay. Just...not right now."

"Hex-"

"Please." Hector turned to rest his forehead against the meat of his wrist.

Arnie sighed, a sinking sensation in his chest at the sight. He couldn't make Hector do anything in this state.

But he was afraid this would only be more painful, if it dragged on.

#emeto #sickfic #angst #emetophilia #hurt/comfort #whump #werewolf wip #my writing #and there it is #Hector

[aisclosed]

Missed the Mark ➶- y. jungwon x reader (TEASER)

SYNOPSIS: Everyone has a mark, of which the color and design is unique to only you and your soulmate. In the age of global connection where everyone employs every method possible to show off their mark in hopes of finding their soulmate, no one can understand why you keep yours under wraps. Jungwon doesn't need to see your mark to be convinced that you're meant to be his, but you're certain he's missed the mark.

GENRE: Soulmate! AU, ANGST plsplspls don't be fooled by the banner + some fluff bc it's me, how can I resist

PAIRING: non idol! Yang Jungwon x college student! reader

WARNINGS: mentions of death, mild cursing and suggestive language, guys i'm so serious this is angst pls don't be blindsided by the banner and expect only fluff

TEASER WORD COUNT: 1.3k EST. WORD COUNT: 10k? maybe shorter...

RELEASE DATE: to be announced!

TAGLIST: open! form here or send an ask to be added <3

a/n: surprise! I know everyone was expecting Slice of You but this has not been able to leave my mind so we shifted the schedule around a bit hehe hope no one's too disappointed <3.

Jungwon’s not sure if the pounding in his head is from the echo of the bass that reverberates in the crowded room or from the strain of his eyes as he scans the sea of students through the dusky haze. Each glimpse of what he thinks is your smile or the familiar movement of your hair sparks a flicker of anticipation which is snuffed as quickly as it’s lit. It’s easier to hide his frustration behind the rim of his plastic cup, the bitter aroma of beer flooding his senses.

This time Jungwon tips back his cup to find it emptied, a teasing two drops landing on his tongue, doing little to wash down the disappointment that lingers in his throat. “Gonna get another drink,” Jungwon mumbles to no one in particular, receiving a few murmurs of assent and curious glances thrown his way.

It’s unusual for him to even drink, much less at his own discretion without any pressure from his friends, but today Jungwon had nursed several drinks in his quest to locate you amongst the hordes of people. It shows in the way that he stumbles slightly, a warm buzzing under his skin that is definitely from more than just his headache.

The relentless booming of the music and the masses of bodies that press and brush against him is beginning to feel like too much. Jungwon decides to put a momentary pause in his search for you, weaving through the crowd until the backyard is in view.

Pushing through the patio door, the night greets him with a cool wind that nips at his cheeks, soothing Jungwon’s frayed nerves. The sounds of music and laughter fade into a muffled hum and he finally feels as if there’s enough air to fill his lungs.

Jungwon takes a precursory scan of the backyard, surveying the quiet groups and couples scattered across the lawn. His eyes are drawn to a solitary figure, widening as he realizes the very person he had been searching for had simply been sitting atop the grass the whole time.

Feeling the weight of someone’s gaze, you look up from your phone, locking eyes with Jungwon. You take in his stiff demeanor, stifling a laugh at his blown out expression, and Jungwon waves, meekly offering up an awkward smile.

You wave back teasingly, tilting your head in silent invitation and Jungwon finds himself already crossing the distance to sit down gingerly by your side. “Hey,” you greet him warmly, “how’s the party, you having fun? Certainly looks like it.”

For once, Jungwon’s grateful for the drinks that Jake presses into his hands at the start of every party. The alcohol can take the blame for his flushed cheeks, the way his tongue feels entirely too thick in his mouth and the way he stumbles slightly as he takes his seat. After all, he can’t exactly admit the reason for his flustered state is you.

“Party’s nice, just needed a little breather. It was getting to be a bit stuffy. What about you? What are you doing out here all alone?” Jungwon peers at you, trying his best not to come off as too invested.

“Wasn’t really feeling the whole dancing and socializing today, I really only came to appease Yizhou,” you chuckle, drawing your legs up to your chest and resting your chin on your knees. “I’m not exactly doing anything particularly interesting so don’t feel like you have to stay, but I definitely wouldn’t mind the company.”

You turn to look at Jungwon, the moonlight casting a soft halo on your head and his breath catches in his throat. “No, yeah I’ll stay. I like the company out here much better than inside anyways,” he replies breathily and you chuckle in response, shooting him a grateful smile.

A comfortable silence descends between the two of you, you watch your surroundings quietly and Jungwon watches you. He watches the way your eyes crinkle and dilate at the antics of your friends, the way your hair is blown gently by the wind, free strands dancing with the breeze to caress the contours of your face. Jungwon watches you in a daze, wondering if you also feel the same magnetic pull that tugs at his core whenever he’s in your vicinity.

The thought has his gaze automatically flickering down to your arm, the same familiar tan bandage affixed to your wrist. It’s almost torturous to know that a thin layer of fabric is all that prevents the confirmation that Jungwon wasn’t insane for the way his heart jumped at the thought of you, that you were his other half.

“You can ask, you know. I don’t bite.”

Jungwon jolts, looking up from where he was transfixed onto your skin and meeting your amused glance. “Oh- I wasn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to stare.” Jungwon babbles, his cheeks heating at being caught in the act.

You merely laugh, bumping shoulders with him, “Seriously Jungwon it’s okay. We’ve been friends for a bit and you’ve never been nosy or pushy. If anything I’m surprised you haven’t asked sooner.”

“I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Jungwon rubs at his neck sheepishly but you roll your eyes, nodding at him encouragingly to ask. “Why do you cover your soulmate mark?”

You hum in satisfaction, “When you first meet someone, especially someone around your age, what do you do?”

Jungwon pauses, tilting his head in contemplation,” I usually check for their soulmate mark,” he responds slowly.

“Exactly, before anyone even thinks to ask for my name, what they check for first is my mark. That’s enough for them to make their judgment on whether or not I’m worth their time. And trust me I don’t fault them, I get it, everyone wants to find their soulmate, but I just want people to look at me and see me, not my mark.” You give a sharp laugh, hands raking through your hair, “I guess it’s kind of back firing, because everyone cares too much about me covering it, but at least it's a talking point.”

“No, that makes a lot of sense, but I get why people are curious too, people are usually dying to get their mark out there, it’s odd to have someone be doing the opposite. Just last week I had someone in my econ class pay hundreds of dollars to promote his instagram post to find his soulmate.”

“People are ridiculous,” you snort with a shake of your head. Jungwon nods in agreement but internally he thinks he would gladly empty his bank account if it meant he could guarantee he found his soulmate.

“Y/N?” Jungwon starts hesitantly and you look at him expectantly, urging him to continue. “Are you not worried about missing your soulmate? What if you meet them one day and they don't realize it's you because your mark’s covered?”

The bright grin on your face falters for a split second and Jungwon curses his big fat mouth; maybe he had crossed the line, he should’ve stopped while he was ahead.

It's like you can detect the regret rolling off of Jungwon in waves, so your expression forcibly lightens, but your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes the way they did before.

“Well if that ever were to happen, I’d hope that my soulmate would still get a feeling about me,” you say softly, before shifting to a playful tone. “After all, if they’re truly meant to be my other half, they wouldn't be one hundred percent reliant on a mark, yeah? Surely there's a little bit more to like.”

“Yeah of course, there’s tons to like,” Jungwon says quietly, looking away with flushed cheeks when you look at him in amusement. You were right, if your soulmate really was the one person in the world who was meant to be perfect for you, there would undoubtedly be more of a sign than just the mark on their wrist.

With your knees knocking gently into his own, and the subtle heat of your body radiating into his side, Jungwon can’t help but think that maybe the feeling swirling in the pit of his stomach is evidence enough.

a/n: this teaser is from the middle of the story which is a bit odd but hopefully not too confusing dsjahdj . lmk what u think!!

taglist: open! form here or send an ask to be added <3

perm tl: @lacimolela @ttalgi @cieluna @ahnneyong @luvlee1313 @meowmeowhoon @llama-lyna @dmoki

#Missed the Mark ➶ #enhanet #kflixnet #k-labels #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #jungwon x reader #jungwon oneshots #jungwon angst #jungwon fluff #yang jungwon #yang jungwon x reader #jungwon imagines #enha x reader #aiya's teasers ✧˖° #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst

[dangerpronebuddie]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @tizniz thank you darling 🥰🩵

How many works do you have on ao3?

17! Soon to be 18 (hopefully).

What's your total ao3 word count?

78,569 words

What fandoms do you write for?

Currently 9-1-1 and previously one or two chapters on a Sherlock fic my sibling started YEARS ago.

Top 5 fics by kudos:

1. Lost Control And Rang Your Bell

2. To The Core (I Love You)

3. What Breathing Feels Like

4. Baby, I'm Never Gonna Leave You

5. Our Shoulders Touch, There's A Moment

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I try to get every single one 🥰

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Yet to be published 😉. Published though, probably Baby, I'm Never Gonna Leave You. It's not angsty per se, it's more ominous.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I try for happy endings always (it's the Jane Austen in me), but I'd say the fic with the happiest ending would be The Pain Is UnBEARable. Friends to fiances 😁!

Do you get hate on fics?

Once? I really don't know if it was hate or just frustration? I mean, it was an open ending so just... ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ sorry?

Do you write smut?

I'm trying! I posted my first one last week 😁: And Every New Boy That You Meet (He Doesn't Know The Real Surprise) (part 2 is in progress)

Craziest crossover?

Haven't written any.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

God, I hope not.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don't think so?

Have you co-written a fic before?

Once. The Sherlock one my sibling wrote. They put me as co-author but the majority is theirs.

All time favorite ship?

Buddie! They have altered my brain chemistry.

What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

There's a wip I keep going back to that I have a love/hate relationship with. The scenes and the lines and the descriptions are some of the best I think I've ever written. But the premise is iffy at best. We'll see. If I can get a solid enough plot and if Buck gives me an explanation for what the hell he does in that fic, I might finish it.

What are your writing strengths?

Hmmm... I've been told a lot of my fics feel like episodes and the characters' voices are pretty good. So I guess the pacing of my fics? (Which shocks me because I really suck at pacing my original works).

What are your writing weaknesses?

Description. I just don't do the long and beautiful descriptions or the super detailed whump scenes very well. It takes practice, but it seems to be a talent I just don't have.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I like it, but I don't do it very much. I don't want people to tell me I'm an idiot for getting something wrong.

First fandom you wrote in?

Sherlock.

Favorite fic you've written?

My beloved Hildy fic. I treasure it. It freaking flopped but it is my baby. I love the entire Danger Prone Diaz series so far, but They Say She's Gone To Far (This Time) was so much fun.

Tags: @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @loveyouanyway @steadfastsaturnsrings @ronordmann @daffi-990 @wikiangela @thekristen999 @bidisasterevankinard @kitteneddiediaz @actuallyitsellie @hippolotamus @diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @spagheddiediaz @theotherbuckley @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie and anyone else who wants to! 🥰🩷 (if I missed you I'm sorry)

#writing game tag #fanfic #my writing

[tickly-trashcan]

Dishing Out {Kai and Lloyd}

A/N: GAAH they look so stupid in the image I'm laughing so hard I LOVE THEM anyways these two... are so silly. i love the dynamic and i think that Kai is the BEST big bro ever and i just think they are so so fun I'm gonna shut up now but. enjoy the legos.

Summary: Kai is working with Lloyd on his training, but things quickly get out of hand.

Word Count: 1.2k (under the cut)

“Come on, Lloyd, I know you can do better than that!” Kai urged, dodging Lloyd’s kicks with ease.

“We’ve been training for hours! I’m tired!” Lloyd whined, throwing in a quick punch to try and catch Kai off guard. Kai simply held up a hand and caught Lloyd’s fist, pushing him away. Lloyd groaned in impatience.

“Again,” Kai said, a small grin crawling up his face. 

He knew how Lloyd fought, and how he used up most of his energy at the beginning of the battle. It caused him to get exhausted later on, so they were working on improving his stamina. He was learning fast and training hard, but there was always more to learn.

Kai had told him at the beginning not to tire himself out, but Lloyd had gotten frustrated early on with Kai’s deflections, causing him to grow rash and exert more energy. Kai would work with him a bit more on it later, but he wanted to see how much more he could push Lloyd today.

Lloyd pummeled Kai with kicks, huffing in frustration every time Kai either dodged or deflected his blows. Kai had been operating almost entirely on defenses during their training, and it was frustrating Lloyd.

“Too scared to throw a punch, Kai?” Lloyd taunted, grinning.

As well as Kai knew Lloyd, Lloyd knew Kai. He knew how to egg him on and how to take advantage of his weaknesses. He had trained with Kai almost every day, and as he continued to make steady progress, he also learned more and more about other methods in defeating an enemy.

“Hah! I can throw a punch, but can you take it?” Kai jeered back, taking the bait that Lloyd had thrown out. Lloyd smirked, shrugging his shoulders before throwing a quick kick at Kai, which was deflected again.

“I can take whatever you dish out, Kai,” Lloyd said, gesturing for Kai to try. “Come on!”

Kai was sufficiently egged on, charging at Lloyd. He knew he didn’t have to hold back with him. He knew Lloyd was strong and smart and capable, so Kai would go all out if he needed to.

Lloyd brought his arms up to deflect Kai’s punch, but he ended up getting blown back by the sheer force of it. He yelped as he hit the ground, curling up. Kai gasped and cursed, quickly running over to Lloyd, trying to help him up. “Lloyd! Hey, come on, kiddo, are you okay?!”

Kai felt his heart sink as Lloyd groaned, hoping he hadn’t truly hurt him. “Lloyd, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Haha!” Lloyd suddenly cried out, jumping up and tackling Kai. Kai yelped in surprise and fell back, trying to wrestle back at Lloyd, which was difficult as he was caught completely off guard. “Told you I could take it, Kai!”

“You little–! Get off!” Kai hollered, reaching behind him to try and shove Lloyd off of his back, where he had decided to take a seat. Lloyd yawned, stretching his arms.

“The best way to defeat an enemy is to know their weakness. You’re a big softie, so I took advantage of that,” Lloyd chuckled, patting Kai’s head as Kai huffed in annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Now can you get off?”

“Nah. I think I’ll stay here just a bit longer.”

Kai craned his neck to shoot Lloyd a short glare. “Sore winner, huh?”

“Oh, I won?” Lloyd smirked, making Kai grumble.

“It’s hardly winning if you cheat.”

Lloyd laughed. “Sore loser sounds more accurate.”

“Whatever, just get off! Don’t make me–”

Lloyd turned around on Kai, humming. “You’re threatening the Green Ninja? Big mistake, Kai.”

Kai groaned and tried to turn again, hoping to kick Lloyd off somehow. “Big mistake, huh? Sounds like that title has gone to your he– HEhehead! Llohohoyd, don’t you dahahare!”

Lloyd held down one of Kai’s legs and scribbled behind his knee, chuckling over Kai’s screeching laughter. “What were you saying, Kai?”

“YOhohou brahat! Stahahap right nohohow!”

“Stop what?”

“Dohohon’t plahay dumb! I’m gonnahahAHA–! Nohohoho!” Kai wailed and hollered as he tried to kick his leg free, which was nearly impossible as Lloyd held down his calf. Lloyd dragged his fingers down the underside of Kai’s knees, making him shriek and squeal.

Kai pounded his fists into the wood deck of the Bounty, squirming and bucking in hopes of shaking Lloyd off, but he didn’t seem to budge. “Llohohoyd! Stahahap right nohohow! I’ll– I’ll–”

Kai screeched when Lloyd let go of his calf to use both hands on Kai’s knees. Kai tried to roll away, kicking his legs frantically. Kai craned his head around again, his hysterics making it difficult just to do that. He noticed that the way Lloyd was sitting, his feet were close. Kai made a last-ditch effort and reached behind him, grabbing for Lloyd’s feet. He quickly wiggled his fingers across them, making Lloyd yelp. “Hey!!”

Kai took advantage of Lloyd’s surprise, managing to kick him off as Lloyd fell with a gasp. Kai gave Lloyd no time to escape as he advanced on him, grabbing him by his hips and pulling him back as Lloyd already began to giggle.

“Kahai! Kai, please! I was just plahaying around, I swear!”

“Just playing around, huh?” Kai smirked, watching as Lloyd was already kicking his legs and holding Kai’s wrists. “Well, let’s see if you can take what you dish out!”

“Nooo!” Lloyd gasped, breaking into frantic giggles as soon as Kai began to squeeze his hips. He squirmed and tried to curl up, swatting at Kai’s hands as he tried to wiggle away. “Kahahai! Plehehease, I’m sohohorry! I didn’t mehehean it–!”

“You’re only sorry because you’re getting tickled!” Kai pointed out, laughing when Lloyd squealed. He threw his head back when Kai began to claw at his sides, bubbly laughter spilling from his lips.

“It’s nohohot my fahahault you’re so– so gullible!” Lloyd hollered. This was quickly followed by a shriek when Kai shoved his hands under Lloyd’s arms and scribbled his fingers under them.

“Gullible?! I’m gullible for trying to look out for the legendary Green Ninja? You should be nicer to me, especially considering how ticklish you are.”

“Nohohohot as much as yohohou! Ehehespecially behehehind your– NAHaha!!” Lloyd couldn’t even finish his sentence when Kai finally went after his tummy, scribbling his fingers all over as Lloyd squirmed and kicked.

“Not as much as me? Even here?” Kai snickered, pinching his lower tummy. Lloyd couldn’t formulate a response as Kai tickled him, making Kai smirk. “Did you say something? I can’t understand you, kiddo.”

Kai finally decided to cut Lloyd some slack, ceasing his tickles. He ruffled Lloyd’s hair, which Lloyd didn’t even protest aside from a grumble. As soon as he caught his breath, he sat up, giving Kai a light shove. “That was so rude.”

“You started it,” Kai shoved him back lightly. Lloyd huffed.

“Did not.”

“You totally did!!”

Lloyd shrugged and Kai didn’t argue with him anymore, knowing Lloyd was just teasing. “How about we stop for today, then? I heard Cole’s making his famous chili.”

Lloyd grimaced and Kai laughed, patting him on the back. They went inside and were immediately greeted with the smell of the famous chili. Lloyd gulped. “Is it too late to back out?”

#kai #lloyd #ninjago #lego ninjago #tickle fic #nobody look at me

[muertawrites]

Following a Siren (Eddie Munson x Reader) [18+]

Summary: Corroded Coffin desperately needs a singer to help balance out their first ever album. Lucky for them, Eddie shares a hall with a certified siren. 

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: 18+ only because i went a little crazy with perv!eddie (i just love him ok). i might write a second part where he gets to live his little fantasy... 👀 sappy romcom shit that i hate watching / reading but have no problem writing 

Author’s Note: aged everyone up to their mid-late 20s when everybody is out of hawkins and happy. posting this unedited because it’s 4am and i have to at least try to get some sleep. inspired by my own experience singing this song in my high school choir (it’s so much fun the chorus parts are better than the solos) and amber riley’s performance which is the only redeeming quality of the glee version. 

"I'm telling you, man, it's not gonna work. We need a chick."

Eddie glances between Gareth and Jeff, arms braced against the back of a chair, lips pursed together in frustration.

It's been hours and they still can't get any of the harmonies right. They're so close, but the song is just... unmemorable. A song easily and readily skipped, when it has the potential to be a totally amazing, stop-what-you're-doing, turn-the-volume-up, cream-in-your-pants showstopper. And Corroded Coffin needs it to be a showstopper; this is their first album - recorded in an actual studio with professional equipment and a genuine producer -and they can't blow their one chance at glory by having it flop.

But Gareth is right - it isn't going to work. They need vocals in a much higher range to balance out their lower tones. Unfortunately, they know about as many women between them as they did in high school.

"We can't afford to pay anyone," Jeff states. "Why don't we just scrap it?"

"We can't scrap it," Eddie quips. "It's too damn good. It just needs a little push."

"Could we do the harmony with instrumentals?" Gareth suggests. "You could just sing with the guitar."

"Nah, that wouldn't have the right umph," Eddie disagrees. "A vocal harmony would smash way harder."

"So we're stuck."

Eddie sighs, raking a hand through his hair.

"... I'll figure something out," he decides. "Just gimme some time. We're gonna do this if it fucking kills me."

Eddie huffs as he throws himself down onto his couch, snapping the tab on a beer can as he takes a long drag from a freshly rolled joint.

He's totally fucked. There's no way in hell he can find someone on short notice, with no budget, to carry the missing harmony. Nothing he has scrawled in the various notebooks stashed around his studio apartment is anywhere near finished, and even if it were, it wouldn't live up to what they already have.

Nobody will ever hear the song the way it's supposed to be heard. The thought crushes him.

The chime of keys and tread of boots echoes from the hallway, distracting Eddie from his visions of doom; you've returned home for the day. He closes his eyes, letting his mind wander to you - how you smiled sleepily at him this morning when you left for work, how pretty you looked in the dress you wore, how your lips were chapped and split, darkened with dry blood towards the center, how sweet your groggy laughter sounded when he said something stupid in passing. You've lived across the hall from him for the better part of a year - sharing the space above a convenience store, where you run into each other constantly - and his thoughts have been consumed by you since the day you moved in.

His cock twitches in his jeans, perking up at the images of you flitting around in his skull. Shame starts to rise in his stomach, but that doesn't stop him from going completely hard. He sighs.

C'mon man, don't be gross.

But it's too late. He's already relapsed into his favorite fantasy about you; inviting you backstage after one of his gigs and fucking you so hard you can't speak, skirt hiked up, panties pushed aside, makeup smeared and running as he drives you toward a messy, mewling orgasm. Holding you against his chest and kissing your lips, your face, your neck as you ride out the high.

His hand is in his pants before he can think better of it.

He's barely two strokes in when a gorgeous sound breaks him from his sexed-out haze. It starts as a simple chime, floating on the air as effortlessly as dust, before slowly growing louder, more joyous, every note driven with the force of a hurricane.

It's you.

You're singing.

And you're incredible.

Eddie springs to his feet, jeans still completely undone. He rushes across the hall, tapping frantically at the door to your apartment; your singing stops, and he almost regrets interrupting you for the loss.

The door swings open and you give him a once over, smirking amusedly when you clock his open fly, boxers tugged down to reveal the tiniest patch of his pubic hair.

"Eddie, I'm flattered," you tease, "but a date first would be nice."

"Shit, fuck, sorry."

He stuffs himself back into his pants, grinning bashfully before clearing his throat, leaning an arm against the doorframe as casually as he can. You can't help but giggle, having spent enough time with him that you'd developed an ever-growing crush on the eccentric, well-meaning man.

"What's up?" you ask.

"My band," he tells you. "We desperately need a singer and I think you're perfect."

He pauses for a moment, thinking over what he's said.

"As a singer!" he quickly clarifies. "As a singer."

You smile, biting your lip and entirely unable to stop the warmth that creeps across your cheeks. The way you gaze up through your lashes at Eddie makes him weak in the knees.

"I haven't done any serious singing since high school," you admit. "And never anything like you guys do. Plus... aren't you the vocalist?"

Eddie scoffs, waving away your statement with a slender, ring-adorned hand.

" 'Vocalist' is a stretch," he chuckles. "All I do is carry a tune. And it wouldn't be just you, anyway, we'd sing together. We can cover up each other's mistakes."

You sigh, still not entirely convinced.

"... I don't know. Like I said, I've never performed in a band before and I just... I would feel bad if I brought you guys down. I'm really not that good."

Eddie furrows his brow in confusion, craning his neck toward you as if you just told him Ozzy was a mediocre musician. He raises a hand to your forehead.

"Are you feeling okay?" he questions. "Your voice is fucking amazing! Why would I run over here with my pants down if it wasn't?"

He dramatically falls onto his knees, taking one of your hands in both of his as he fixes you with a pleading gaze. His thumbs softly stroke at your knuckles, causing an involuntary chill to run down your spine.

"Fair maiden from across the hall," he laments, "gentle lady with the voice of a siren, do us the honor of gracing us with your divine beauty. For my gratitude, I shall henceforth keep the volume on my stereo at a reasonable level, and shower you with the finest tributes of pizza and iced coffee."

You laugh, far too endeared by his antics for your own good.

"Get up, you goon," you playfully scold. "I'll come to your practice tomorrow for an audition. How about that?"

"Yes!"

Eddie springs to his feet, wrapping you in his arms and spinning you with joy.

"Thank you," he says as he sets you down. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you, you're a fucking life saver. You won't regret it, I promise."

He plants a kiss on your cheek, leaving you brimming with butterflies as he darts back into his apartment. He pops his head back out a moment later, phone in hand.

"What do you want on your pizza?"

At promptly six o’clock the next evening, you climb the steps to the little apartment in downtown Indianapolis that serves as Corroded Coffin’s makeshift studio. It’s an attic space, with slanted ceilings and wood floors padded with dirty, worn-out flea market rugs; posters featuring the likes of Sabbath and Megadeath line the walls, and most of the light is provided by a little circular window and a string of white Christmas bulbs strung along the edge of the room. The air is heavy with the scent of cannabis and incense. You’re reminded of Eddie’s apartment as you step inside, a fact you hate to admit calms your nerves a little bit. 

“Alright.” 

Eddie claps his hands together, grinning at you with his guitar slung over his shoulder. 

“What beautiful sounds will you be blessing us with today, gorgeous?” 

You purse your lips, taking a deep breath as you try to remind yourself that you’re good at this - there’s no reason to be so anxious. 

“You guys know any Queen?” you ask, sounding meeker than you intend. 

“Of course we do!” Gareth chirps from behind the drum set. 

“How about you just start singing, yeah?” Jeff chimes in. “We’ll join in. We do better by ear, anyway.” 

You nod, stepping up to the microphone as Eddie presses the start button on the tape recorder in the corner of the room. You clear your throat, inhaling slowly, holding the breath for a moment in your stomach before letting it go in a light, tentative note. 

“Can... an-y-bo-dy... find me-e-e-e... somebody to-o...” 

Eddie strums the last note on his guitar, making you smile. 

As you start up the first verse, Jeff and Gareth follow your lead, backing up your low, contemplative words with matching instrumentals. To your surprise, Eddie takes over the choral accompaniment, hitting each note as if he’s listened to the song a million times over; his voice compliments yours so well you sound make a symphony together, the vibration of your harmonies causing chills to rush through your body like an electric shock. 

“I get down on my knees and I start to pray ‘til the tears run down from my eyes!” 

Your confidence builds with the song, each note you sing becoming a little more soulful, a little more impassioned as the verse presses on. You lose yourself in the music, having always loved this song and how weightless it makes you feel. Your eyes are locked on Eddie, swaying in time with each strum of his pick across the guitar strings, consumed by the starstruck look in his eye and the expert movement of his ringed fingers. It’s like magic, how enchantingly beautiful you sound together. 

“I try and I try and I try-y-y! But e-e-e-ev’rybody wants to put me down; they say I’m goin’ crazy! They say I gotta lotta water in my brain; I got no common sense; I got nobody left to believe!” 

“YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! YE-EAH!” 

The final throes of the verse are shouted, Jeff and Gareth playing off your enthusiasm with as much excitement as if they were playing to a packed stadium. You bang your head with each beat, thrashing with their heavy rendition of the song, thoroughly enjoying every second. Your voices fade into the shredding wail of Eddie’s guitar, hammered out into an exquisite solo that leads into the final verse. 

You reach your favorite part of the song; when all goes silent, the slow climb up to the huge finale. Jeff starts you off, his powerful bass rumbling over the speakers. 

“Find, me, somebody to lo-ove...”

Then comes Gareth’s baritone, picking up the harmony in just the right spot. Eddie follows soon after in his achingly handsome tenor, and you fall in line behind him, uttering out the quiet pieces of the harmony that many miss in the chorus. 

“Me somebody, to, lo-ove...” 

Eddie’s voice breaks out of the din.

“Somebody!” 

You fire back, hitting the high note without flinching. 

“Somebody!” 

“Somebody!”

“Somebody!”

You shoot back and forth at each other, your higher voice countering Eddie’s lower one in playful symmetry, until you reach the end of the short duel. 

“Somebody find me somebody to love! Can anybody find me-e-e-e...?” 

The men stop playing, pausing with rapt attention on you, anticipating how you’ll drive through the song’s climax. You take a deep breath, entirely unafraid of what you’re about to do. 

“Somebody to-o-o... lo-o-o-o-o-o-o-ove!” 

The notes soar from your chest, deafening everything else in the room - hell, in the world, probably. Eddie is the first to cheer, bounding up and down in uncontained joy at just how powerful you are; the other men follow suit, picking up where they left off a few beats too late from being so swept up in your tidal wave of sound. 

Eddie finishes out the song gazing at you with dreamy, sparkling eyes, his chest fluttering as you look back at him and match his voice in perfect harmony. You really are a siren, and he’ll follow you to the depths of the sea if it means you’re the last sound ringing in his ears. 

All is calm as you follow Eddie out onto the street a few hours later, stepping into the late night cold of the bustling city. 

He turns to you, staring at you for a moment in giddy silence. Then, he lets out a celebratory shout as he wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the pavement and twirling you around. You laugh, your own arms falling around his neck, blushing furiously as he paints your face with kisses. 

“You. Are. Amazing!” Eddie cheers as he sets you back onto solid ground. “Oh my fucking god, that was incredible! You saved us! You beautiful, divine, ethereal goddess! My fucking heroine!” 

He captures you in another crushing hug, lips planting themselves firmly on your cheek once more. 

“I think I’m in love with you.” 

At first, you think he’s joking. But the breathless way he says it, the starry look in his wide, childlike eyes, the tender grip of his hand at your waist, all convey the truth. And you can’t lie to yourself - watching him play, hearing his voice entwined with yours, sharing the intimacy of song... you’re pretty certain you’re in love with him, too. 

“... Kiss me,” you whisper. 

“... What?” 

You giggle, his dumbstruck expression the most adorable thing you think you’ve ever seen. 

“Kiss me,” you repeat. “Baby, pull the string...” 

A smile curls across Eddie’s face, his grip on you tightening. 

“Did you... just quote Van Halen at me?” 

You nod. 

“Oh yeah,” he decides. “Comin’ in hot.” 

You giggle, smiling into the kiss as he presses his lips to yours, leaning his whole body into the movement until you’re flush against him. God, his lips are plush, and he tastes deliciously like his last cigarette, and his chest is hard and broad, and he looms above you like some sort of ivory tower, captivating and unmovable. You clutch at the lapels of his leather jacket, never wanting this kiss to end. 

Eddie hums softly as you pull apart, his eyes remaining closed for a moment as if he’s still savoring your lips. When he opens them, they’re lidded, lost within yours as he holds you in a lovers’ embrace on the corner of a busy street. 

“Let’s get you home,” he murmurs. “Then we can make some more music together.” 

🌹💀 get your eddie fix 💀🌹

#muerta's works #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #perv!eddie #perv!eddie x reader #minors dni