#my job does not pay me nearly enough for how much work i do

[lovelyghst]

is there a kink for saying “i love you” a lot during sex cause if so kyle garrick 100% has it. he’s so fucking soft and i’m obsessed.

i can just imagine him coming home to his cozy apartment after a longgg day, to his sweet girlfriend who’s never seemed to let him down. recruits defying orders, drills lasting hours longer than originally intended, mounds of unnecessary stress added to his job; it all become obsolete when he lays eyes on you. when you greet him with a huge bear hug and so many kisses at the door, he can practically feel his muscles melt. there’s barely enough time for him to set down his duffle bag and take off his boots before he’s walking you backwards into your shared bedroom, embracing your head in his hands and nearly suffocating you with the return of affection.

he can’t take his time undressing you like he normally does, not when you’re both so eager to feel each other for the first time in so fucking long (like three days). he can’t pay mind to the mess you’re making by peeling his jacket and shirt from his torso and throwing them haphazardly so you can shamelessly cop a feel of his muscles. and he can’t possibly remove his lips from yours as you lay back on your bed and shimmy out of your pants with his help, your sugary giggles reminding him he hasn’t even said a single word since he walked in.

“missed you, love,” he mumbles whilst moving to lean over you, a hand planted beside your shoulder as the other cups your cheek, and now it’s your chance to return the endearment. you repeat his words with a smile and pull him in for yet another kiss, miles different from the previous ones though still equally as desperate.

“missed waking up beside you, feeling your body pressed up against mine… can’t sleep for shit whenever i’m away from you.”

he makes quick but sensual work with kissing down your body, from your neck to the fat of your hip. wet lips leaving their marks along the way, until his impatient fingers slip beneath the band of your panties and pull them down your gorgeous, goosebump-clad thighs.

“missed these pretty tits… ‘nd this perfect, little cunt, fuck…” he breathes. “missed how good my sweetheart tastes, all f’me.”

his murmured words seem foggy, damn-near jumbled as he comes onto you strong. hot tongue lapping at your seam, licking your clit in upward motions like a dirty dog with impeccable manners. you gasp and claw at the nape of his neck, squeeze your thighs and allow your noises to fall freely. you’re so sensitive and he’s already overstimming you despite having just started. he’s been apart from you for long enough; he’s clearly not wasting any more time. “so fuckin’ sweet.”

and he can’t rip himself from that dazed headspace ‘til you’re a panting mess, arching your back into his space. until he gets to feel you finish on his tongue hard, and ride out your high with a selfish grip on his skull, begging for more you know you can’t take.

crawling up your body as you fight to ground yourself through starry vision and a heaving chest, capturing little, vulnerable you in a kiss.

he shushes you through the stretch of his cock, cooing your winces away with quick and chaste kisses plastered everywhere from the corner of your lips to your temple. pausing there for a moment to remind you of how well you’re doing, get you finely adjusted and calmed down a bit before he’s rolling over to his back and bringing you with him, a surprised yelp being pushed from your lungs.

you land on his chest, hands planting themselves on his shoulders to catch you mere inches from his stupidly handsome face. your visual scolding only turns him on more, cocky look never depleting as he wraps his meaty arms around your waist and pulls you oh, so close.

“love you, princess.” he can’t stop tugging you in for more kisses, so much so you’re unable to reciprocate the words. “go ahead ‘nd make up for lost time, yeah? show me how much you missed this, us.”

with that, you try your best to sit up straight as you begin rocking your hips against him. lifting them a bit the more you go on, getting used to the feeling of his thick cock stretching your soft walls out. knocking at the deepest parts of you your fingers could never reach while he’s away, ensuring you go slow to keep it from turning painful.

“that’s it, there ya go, baby. a beautiful sight you are, eh?”

you nod along with whatever he says, getting yourself drunk on him as his big hands paw at your waist. not missing a beat as he pulls you closer, tongue and lips pressing against the center of your chest before spanning out and praising your hard nipples individually.

“you’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. so fuckin’ proud’ve you… fuck, i love you so much,” he can’t help but pant.

“l-love you, too,” your voice trembles, thoughts overwhelmed by the amount of bodily contact and stimulation he gives you. he’d hate to admit how his heart flutters every time he hears you say those words. “love your cock… i love it, kyle— i want more—” you choke.

begging for more despite being fully sheathed on his cock, perched on his lap with full control? christ, he knows what you want instead.

“i know baby, i know what you want. just make me come like this first, ‘n then i’ll fuck you real nice after.” his promises do well enough to spur you on to keep going, turning your little pout into a grin.

you nearly fall to shambles when one of his hands slides down from your ribcage and falls to where the two of you meet. his thumb reaching your sensitive clit whilst the rest of his fingers and palm presses up against your lower tummy, applying pressure.

“love my pretty girl… this perfect pussy wrapped ‘round my cock.” his other hand rubs up and down your back until he’s forced to drag it back to your hip and aid your movements when you begin slowing, due to both the added pleasure as well as the stinging in your thighs.

he refuses to relent in chasing his high, and neither does his thumb on your clit to push you overboard. giving him all those telltale signs, every nerve in your body responding to finally being back with your beloved partner, and he brashly seeks it out. “y’gonna come, baby?”

you don’t have the lungs nor will to tell him before it’s happening, and you’re squeezing down on his cock with a loud moan as your brain and body goes numb atop him. he wraps both arms tightly around your waist to catch you when you fall into his neck and shoulder, lifting you on and off his cock like a pliant toy to guide you past your extensive orgasm as well as aid his own impending one.

“shit— princess, ‘m gonna come…” he warns you, and your body responds with constricting down on him impossibly tighter.

you feel so good around him, so fucking perfect, and he just…

“i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you—” he murmurs right up against your temple, holding your hips down as he finishes deep inside you. a low, broken moan contrasting your complacent hums at the feeling of his hot cum warming your tummy, pulling him in tight with your arms wrapped around his neck so securely.

taking a minute to breathe and recollect, revel in being back with the one you care so much for. peppering kisses all over his cheekbone as you repeat his lovely mantra.

you’re left exhausted as he cards his fingers through the roots of your hair and he holds your head close, rough and deadly hands gentle for once. he eventually mumbles, “did so good for me, love. you tired?”

you nod against his shoulder with a sleepy hum, and he chuckles faintly. maneuvering you to look him in the eyes, sharing a kiss once more before he’s slipping a hand up your spine and flipping you over to tenderly lay you on your back with spread legs.

sitting upright to fist his soaked cock that’s still just as hard, right in front of your drooling pussy leaking his pearly cum. his jaw would be at his sternum in admiration if it weren’t for his trained self-control.

he takes a moment to smile down at his pretty mess, admiring that confused look in your hazy eyes. “i made you a promise, didn’t i?”

#i love him #kyle garrick #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick smut #gaz smut #cod mw

[samgelina-jolie]

It all started a week ago. Steve had come along to The Hideout, decked in his darkest polo shirt. It was the first gig he'd come to since him and Eddie had officially- as Robin put it- 'got their shit together'.

Steve had met the band plenty of times already, and while they'd been pretty standoffish at first, he liked to think he got along with them pretty well. Jeff actually shared a similar taste in music (even admitting to liking ABBA because it reminded him of his mother) and he'd known enough about Star Wars and a mix of Dustin's interests to win over Seth. It was harder to read Gareth, but Steve had assumed they were at least acquaintances.

That was until Steve had walked up to the bar where Gareth was talking to some girl, and then Gareth had said the meanest thing imaginable.

"He's my buddy's boyfriend."

Eddie hadn't seen what the big deal was. But Steve understood the importance of befriending your partner's best friend.

Well, back in high school, Steve had never really bothered with his girlfriend's friends. He'd focused on putting in effort with the girls he found attractive, wooing them with flowers and gifts. The girls who he wanted to like him did, he didn't really care how much the other girls didn't. The only job the best friend really had in his mind was picking up the pieces after he left those girls in the dust.

That was all before Nancy, of course. She'd been so adamant about him making an impression on Barb, so he'd tried. He invited her to parties, kept Carol and Tommy off her back, even tried to back her up once or twice when Barb and Nancy were bickering.

And it worked out... kind of. Barb had still rolled her eyes whenever Steve opened his mouth, but she was also the one who pulled him aside and saved him a whole lot of embarrassment and heartache.

"I'm telling you this because I would want to know, and because I guess you're not the worst person in the world. Nancy has been hanging out with Jonathan a lot lately... I just think maybe you should pay a bit more attention to it."

But besides him and Nancy as a couple not working out, he'd realised how important being on good terms with the person you're dating's friends is to being a good boyfriend. Which is why it was integral that he became proper friends with Eddie's best friend.

--

"What are you wearing?"

Steve had just walked into the Munson trailer. He'd spent nearly an hour trying to perfect his hair, so he's mildly offended that his outfit is the first thing his boyfriend noticed. Steve glanced down at his shirt with the huge Green Day logo printed onto it. He wasn't sure why Eddie looked so appalled, it wasn't dirty or anything.

"Oh, Gareth let me borrow it. Cute right?" Eddie's nose scrunched up even further, full on glaring at the offensive item.

"I can't let you into my room with that shirt on."

"Well hopefully once we get to your room neither of us will have our shirts on" Steve chuckled, leaning in for a kiss but Eddie turned his head.

"I'm serious, big boy. The polos and tight jeans, you're whole hot preppy look actually, that all really does it for me and you know it. But this?" He pulled at the fabric of the shirt. "This is the one piece of clothing I never want to see you in."

Steve scoffed. Eddie pushed him gently away with a shake of his head.

"I'm turning off the benefits."

"What benefits?"

"The sex benefits, no more sex until you admit you're not a Green Day fan and we burn that shirt."

"Eddie this is my in with Gareth! He's finally starting to warm up to me." Steve whined. "Besides, you can't just, like, turn off us having sex!"

"Oh yes I can. All I have to do is think about you in this abominable outfit and my boner just-" He whistles, imitating his finger deflating. Steve pouted. He knew rationally he could just give Gareth back the shirt, but that would mean embarrassingly admitting he didn't like Green Day to Gareth and then trying to find another in with him.

So no, Eddie was just being unreasonable.

Anyway, he was totally bluffing about the sex. Steve hoped.

--

"It's been five days Robin! I mean, we haven't gone that long without having sex since.. since we started having sex!" Steve cried, following the woman around as she restocked the shelves. Even though he couldn't see her face he could tell she was rolling her eyes.

It was a serious situation though, at least in Steve's opinion. He and Eddie hung out all the time, and while he obviously enjoyed doing other things with his boyfriend, he wished the other man would at least have the decency to not be so sexy while performing daily tasks. Steve had been this close to jumping him in the frozen food section of the grocery store yesterday.

And he knew he wasn't the only desperate one, Eddie was suffering too. Obviously he'd assumed Steve would cave after a day, because he'd been all jumpy and grouchy for nearly a week. And he kept making that face that Steve recognised all too well whenever Steve did anything even slightly suggestive. Like when he'd bent down to put his laundry in the dryer, and when he turned back around Eddie was beet red and avoiding eye contact.

"Have you tried breaking out the old Harrington seduction techniques yet?" Robin shrugged, obviously not bothered by the fact her best friend was on the verge of death due to lack-of-sex-with-his-really-hot-boyfriend disease.

The thing was, he had tried his old methods. He tried wearing tighter shirts, that strained around his arms and showed off his midriff (but always making sure he was wearing some kind of Green Day memorabilia, because damn him if he wasn't going to be right about this). He'd invited Eddie along to his and Lucas' basketball game. He even tried straight up begging, knowing how much that usually gets Eddie worked up.

And nothing!

Although, there was still one move he hadn't tried yet...

--

"You want to what?" Eddie shot him an incredulous look.

"Help you study, of course. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't help you with your problems? Besides I have this really neat method to help you revise." Steve let himself into the trailer and Eddie's room. He wasn't wearing a Green Day shirt today, but he did have a wristband, something he knew Eddie had spotted already as he walked into the room with his arms crossed.

"Right. And what method would this be?"

"Every time you get an answer right, I take off a item of clothing, and vice versa." Steve plopped himself down on the unmade bed, which he'd missed dearly. Eddie hadn't even let them take naps together in his room, insisting 'spooning almost always leads to sex with you'.

Eddie considered his offer carefully, before nodding with a shit eating grin. Steve cheered internally.

"Great!" Steve smiled before adding "Your rings all count as one item by the way." He tried not to look too smug at the way Eddie's confident grin faltered.

The game reached its boiling point very quick. Eddie had known more about Geography then Steve had expected, which reflected in the fact he only had his boxers and one sock left on. Eddie, however, wasn't doing too much better, sat in only his jeans (and Steve suspected no underwear underneath).

He's not sure who kissed who first, but suddenly Steve was pressed against the mattress, Eddie's thigh between his legs. Excitement coursed through him, his body so receptive to Eddie's touch after so long he wasn't even embarrassed at the noises he was letting out. His hips bucked up, causing Eddie to groan into his mouth.

"So the Green Day thing?" Eddie mumbled between kisses down Steve's neck. The noise Steve made was loud and high pitched, almost drowning out the man's next words. "It's over then?"

Steve paused, the hand that had been trailing down his boyfriend's chest pushed firmly against him as he pulled away.

"Over because you've let it go, right?" He mumbled. Eddie pulled back, his lips red and glossy.

"No, over because you let it go?" Steve huffed, sitting up and pulling his clothes back on. He tugged his jeans on in annoyance, storming out of the bedroom.

"You know what, I'm turning off the benefits now! No sex until you admit Green Day are better than... than Dio!" Steve yelled. He was irritated and extremely worked up but he was also incredibly stubborn. He heard a squawk of protest from behind him as he made his way outside.

"That wasn't even the rule!" Eddie called out, but Steve ignored him. He was not loosing this fight.

--

Listen, Metal music was fine, Steve endured listening to it with Eddie like he endured watching sports games with Steve. He was content in the knowledge that not loving every single one of each other's interest didn't mean they didn't love each other.

Punk was fine too, it still wasn't Steve's thing really, but it was okay and while Steve couldn't tell the difference, according to Gareth there was one. A huge one, if the way he'd been ranting about it for the past hour was anything to go by.

But between fighting with his boyfriend (because it was a genuine fight at this point), not having any sex for nearly two weeks, and being stuck listening to someone talk about something you have no interest in for hours, Steve couldn't take it anymore.

"I don't like punk music! I listen to Queen and Cyndi Lauper and sometimes Madonna and happy music that I can dance to without thinking about America's political landscape!" He blurted out. Gareth stopped his rambling about how Rob Harper was a better drummer than Pete Something, flashing Steve a confused expression.

"Then why were you pretending to?" He asked.

"I... I just didn't want you to just see me as 'Eddie's boyfriend'. I wanted to be your friend and Jeff told me you like punk music so I brought it up and..."

"Look, you are Eddie's boyfriend. Yeah, you're an okay dude, but I can acknowledge that without us having to do the whole friendship thing too, you know?" Gareth shrugged. Steve deflated.

"Right." He said, quickly making an excuse and leaving. Gareth shrugged off the weird feeling the guy's sad puppy dog eyed had given him, grabbing Steve's fries.

He felt kind of embarrassed that he'd been talking for ages with someone who didn't even care. He supposed it was nice of Steve to make the effort, Gareth wasn't aware he'd been trying so hard honestly. Jeff and Seth had warmed up to him pretty quickly but he thought that was just because they were just softies that were no immune to the 'Harrington Charm'.

"Steve?!" A loud yell startled him out of his thoughts.

Eddie stormed into the bar, wearing- holy shit, Gareth felt like he must have hit his head and started hallucinating. This day had taken such a weird turn, because there Eddie Munson stood before him decked out in a 'I heart Green Day' shirt. He also looked like it was taking every ounce of self control not to rip it off his body like it burned.

"Finally come around on the punk scene, Munson?" Gareth chortled. Eddie threw a fry at his face.

"Shut your trap, I need to find Steve before one of the gremlins sees me in this, they're too impressionable." He muttered, taking a seat as he looked around the bar.

"If this is a Steve thing you can stop anyway man, he admitted he doesn't really like them that much. It's kind of weird I mean, who lies about being into something to get someone to like them?"

"Dude, I spent the whole summer eating ice cream as a lactose intolerant person because Steve worked at Scoops Ahoy. He was just trying to find something for you to be friends about." Eddie shot him an unimpressed look, which Gareth thought was a bit high-and-mighty considering he just admitted to basically poisoning himself on a weekly basis for a guy he'd thought was straight at the time.

"Why exactly?"

"I don't know, Steve likes being close to people? He's basically besties with his ex girlfriend, man. Why are you so adamant he can't be yours?" Gareth considered this.

He remembered when Eddie had first told the band he was dating Steve Harrington. They'd all thought he was kidding, but there he was at their next rehearsal, cheering them on and spending his breaks holding Eddie's hand.

Gareth thought maybe it was a joke to Steve. Messing with the guy who likes men by making him think he has a shot with the former prom king. He thought it would end with Eddie in tears, and that had probably made him a bit more defensive than he needed to be. Maybe there was a small part of him, no matter how great Steve seemed, that still believed the guy was setting his best friend up for heartbreak.

"Look, I get that you might have reservations about him. But all I'm saying is- and I've got about a dozen preschoolers and multiple full grown adults that would back me up- Steve Harrington is a pretty great friend to have. So if he offers you friendship, you should take it." Eddie snatched a handful of fries as he got up, leaving Gareth alone at the bar.

--

Steve was half way out the door, wearing nothing but Eddie's Dio vest and grey sweatpants when he saw Eddie. He was standing in front of him, eyeing Steve like a starved man presented with a stake. Steve guessed he probably had a similar look, smiling at the Green Day shirt the man was wearing.

"Oh my god take your pants off." Eddie basically growled, slamming the front door to Steve's house shut as he stalked towards him. He pulled Steve into a ferocious kiss, hands quickly travelling down to his ass.

"Leave the shirt on." Steve gasped out. Eddie let out a muffled groan into his neck. They ran to the bedroom, loosing the vest and both of their pants on the way.

--

"Steve? You home, man?" Gareth heard a loud noise inside, followed by hopping, then Steve opened the door slightly. He was sweaty and shirtless, and his hair was a mess. He'd probably just been working out or whatever jocks did in their spare time.

"Listen, I'm sorry about what I said at the bar. You're a cool guy, I'd like for us to be friends, really. I even thought of something we could bond over; haircare. I've actually been meaning to ask you for some tips anyway." He admitted. Steve beamed, Gareth was almost scared the incredibly sweaty man was about to pull him into a hug. He didn't, he just kept smiling.

"That's real nice for you two, maybe next he'll ask you to prom!" Eddie's voice rang out from somewhere behind the door. Steve flushed a little and hushed him. Gareth was kind of confused as to why Eddie voice sounded so coarse and breathless, he didn't think Eddie had ever voluntarily exercised in his life.

"I would really like that, Gareth. I'll tell you everything you need to know, come by anytime. Except right now." He smiled again before slamming the door. Gareth heard more noises inside, wondering what the fuck they were up to until he heard a loud moan. Oh God, Gareth started running.

Still, he couldn't help but smile. It was always nice to make more friends.

#happy very late valentines day! theres still and hour left for me so #its not really romantic i guess but idk #inspired by an episode of new girl #i dont know why i picked green day im not a big punk music person like at all it's probably blaringly obvious but #i couldn't think of a title #stranger things #au #ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things gareth #gareth #steddie #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #steve/eddie #stranger things fic #steddie fic #steddie au #show: stranger things #ch: steve harrington #ch: eddie munson #ship: steve/eddie #dynamic: eddie/steve #ship: steddie #my writing

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I move into my own apartment for an internship instead of with friends like I initially said I (more likely than not) would for a while?

CW: kinda long but I don’t think I can put a readmore on anon :(

I (20sNB) have an opportunity to do an internship in spring of 2024. My friend (20sF) and her husband (20sM, we’re all within ~3yrs of each other) have been working on renovating a single-wide trailer in a trailer park in the same town as the internship, and it will be done with them living in it for at least a good few months before my internship. I’ve helped them with renovations whenever I’m in town and they’ve promised/shown me the room they’re reserving to be my space because they’re so sure I’ll move in with them.

I’ll be honest, I was planning to at first. But that changed with a variety of factors contributing, including but not limited to:

The trailer was reportedly full of black mold. Abandoned dressers would be opened and a puff of mold dust would emerge from the doors. It was also previously a hoarder’s house possibly due to the amount of junk in and around the trailer. Nobody wore PPE during renovations as far as I’m aware, and seem to believe they’re “in the clear” as they’ve shown no side effects yet. They’ve literally kept up only exactly what’s required to legally say they’re ‘renovating’ instead of tearing everything down and reusing the foundation, but it’s still a concern for me due to the casual way it was brought up and addressed.

My friends admitted that the neighbors don’t like them much due to the loud noises day in and day out from the renovation, resulting in the cops being called on them several times as a noise complaint. I have a rough time as it is being close to strangers, and that anxiety/paranoia? isn’t alleviated by hearing that and seeing people come out of their own trailers to glare at us whenever we work on the property.

My cat (20F) would be moving in with me. She’s indoor-only, but cats are bound to run around at some point. There are numerous unvaccinated and unfixed strays in the park and I’m concerned for her health; she’s having a hard enough time just keeping down food, a virus or infection would make me put her down.

My friends own a Pomeranian that does not respect other animals and continuously harasses them by barking and chasing after them. My cat does NOT like dogs, and my repeated warnings that having them in the same room would result in the dog getting blinded and possibly even more severely injured have been waved away with “The dog will learn soon enough to leave her alone!”. I would also have two relatively small lizards with me, both of whom leave their terrariums regularly for general holding sessions and to run around while I clean their tanks. There is a nonzero chance of them being beyond the safety of the glass and the dog eating them as the dog has a high prey drive.

Being with them would save me and my parents MASSIVE amount of money as rent is nearly nonexistent with how low it is in the park; I would mostly help with other bills (such as water, electricity, groceries) and general housemate things like cleaning up after myself and helping cook or chip in for takeout every now and then. Both friends know how restricted my ability to really develop is in my house due to my family (such as not knowing how to make anything more complicated than air fryer food) and have expressed that they are eager to help me learn and watch me grow into who I am.

But for a while I’ve been very strongly leaning towards an apartment instead despite rent being crazy (my parents are willing to pay half but with 0 guarantee of a paid internship and uncertainty as to whether I can hold a part-time job at the same time it would still be a blow to my savings). It’s gotten to the point where my language is full of “My future apartment will have….” “When I move into an apartment do you think I should….” when discussing the matter with my parents with zero verbal room for considering living with my friends. Advantages to the apartment include having my own space, being much closer to my internship location (though my friends weren’t all that far out themselves), and no concerns about my pets being around strangers or other animals. My parents and grandma agree that an apartment sounds the safest for my pets’ physical health and my mental health.

However, I have yet to tell my friends. The F is a friend of a decade now, and the M and I aren’t exactly close but regard each other as siblings. While she might be hurt but understanding, I don’t know if I want to risk him or both of them blowing up on me for my decision after at least 6mo of helping here and there and encouraging them to finish renovating their own place. The closest I’ve gotten to saying anything is warning them that it isn’t guaranteed I’ll move in with them when they use language suggesting it is and that I’m trying to keep my mind open to all housing options, including renting a space in a family friend’s basement. Neither of them seem to have caught on to what I’m doing, though. So, WIBTA if I finally break it to them that I’ve decided on an apartment and move into a space without them? This might seem like a non-issue to outsiders but it very much is to me :(

(For slight additional context: my friend is typically very understanding and we do our best to communicate our feelings about joint activities especially. Her husband is the type of guy to get mad at the ‘politics’ of the new Barbie movie and the joke made out of the Kens.)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[ephemeral--dreams]

take it & put it inside of me (1/2)

Scaramouche/Reader

Rating: M

Word count: 1042

Warnings: He's so angy and he's taking that out on everyone around him, unhealthy relationships, minor violence. He's in his Fatui era you know what to expect

Notes: Back at it again with another multichapter

( part 2 )

☆ ☾ ☆ ──────────────────

Stupid recruits who don't know how to leave well enough alone or respect those in power - the most annoying kind of person to deal with. Were it up to him, he'd not have any of this. Scaramouche has enough people working under him already, and they're all trouble enough. But here he is having to waste his time punishing someone for their idiocy.

He raises his hand—

You catch his wrist before the blow lands.

The recruit goes running off the moment he gets the chance to, leaving you all alone to deal with the consequences of your intervention. Ungrateful. But Scaramouche doesn't care to pay attention to that right now, as he rips himself out of your grasp. You don't flinch as he turns the full force of his anger on you. If his glare frightens you the way it does everyone else faced with it, you don't show it. 

You're one of the Tsaritsa's attendants, that much he can tell by the uniform. Were you his own subordinate, you'd have been obliterated by now. It's only by his good graces that you're still standing and not begging on your knees like the man you'd just saved. 

"Just what do you think you're doing, getting in my way?"

"You go around attacking anyone who makes the mistake of earning your wrath, hm? I suppose that's why everyone avoids you."

Who do you think you are to speak to him that way? You were on your way to being the next one under attack. "What business is that of yours?"

"Well, for one, it disrupts productivity in the Fatui if people are injured, and also, shouldn't you find another coping method-"

His eyes narrow. In a split-second, lightning-quick, he has you against a wall with a hand around your throat.

"Get to the point. You think you're any safer from me than anyone else?"

Your gaze is steady as it meets his. Your pulse under his touch only increases pace slightly. You're not nearly as afraid as you should be, and it's throwing him off. And then you open your mouth and make it worse.

"All I'm saying is that you've got a lot of anger. Wouldn't it be nice to have someone to take it out on? One person, instead of everyone?"

"You can't possibly be serious. You're telling me you want me to hurt you?"

"Let's just say it'd be mutually beneficial. Yes or no?"

And so it goes. Whenever he feels particularly angry or violent, he seeks you out. You never seem to be far away, nor do you ever protest when he drags you off somewhere, even if you're occupied with something else. It's odd. Everything about this arrangement is odd. 

At first he goes along with it because he's interested in how much it'll take before you back out. He figures it'll be soon. Scaramouche is not known for holding back. He certainly doesn't do so with you. It would be counterproductive. 

But no matter how he beats you, bullies you, even uses his vision… You do not try to tell him to stop. He's not sure if he's fascinated or irritated. You're an enigma to him. He dislikes not being able to figure you out. Especially when you seem to have him all figured out.

Still, he can't say you were wrong. It's nice to have someone entirely under his control whenever he feels like it. It'd be more fun if you'd beg a little, but he'll take what he can get. It does the job. It's almost funny that you can take a beating better than any of his subordinates who were supposed to be trained to be stronger. 

Yes. It's fine, as long as Scaramouche ignores the sense of wrongness he feels when he looks at you. As long as he doesn't question why you let him do this.

☆

Sometimes it's as simple as that. Sometimes it goes further between you. Then again, he's rough no matter whether it's sex or violence, so does it matter on the end?

There's always this empty sort of look in your eyes when he hurts you, like you're not entirely there. It's frustrating - nothing he does ever seems to pull you back to reality. Sure, your body reacts to the pain, but it's not quite satisfying when he doesn't get to see the light leave your eyes in despair. You're a distant creature, too far above it all for anything to cut you too deep. It reminds him of the gods he despises. 

Either you're far too good at hiding your emotions, or you simply don't feel any at all. 

Scaramouche envies you in that regard. He has no heart yet can still feel more than he wants to. You have one yet don't seem to be more than a husk of a human being.

He watches you move to get up, the way your back is covered in bruises, the tired sigh that shifts your frame. "You said this was mutually beneficial. What are you getting out of it?"

You hum, sliding back into your clothes before bothering to answer. "Does it matter?"

"Are you in the habit of answering questions with questions? What, is it that you're a masochist or something? There has to be some reason you let me do this."

You choke on a laugh. He wishes he could see your face, but you haven't once turned back to face him. "Sure, we'll say it's something like that. Goodnight, Balladeer."

☆

It proceeds this way for a couple of years. The arrangement works for you both, even if he never comes to understand it, so there's no need to change anything. You easily shed any questions he tries to ask, keep your heart guarded from his hands, and remain as solitarily distant as ever no matter how much he tries to pull you down to him.

Annoying, horribly so, but useful. At least you're pretty to look at.

It doesn't last much longer. He goes to Inazuma, then it's all a rollercoaster of uphill-downhill from there. You do not go with him, of course. He's hardly going to drag his punching bag on the run with him. And as for when he gets to Sumeru… Well, you're not there either.

Yet as he is wired into his new godly form, he wonders what it would be like to have you as one of his followers.

Scaramouche does not have time to wonder soon after. 

#scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact x reader #Story unfolding

[modelbus]

Hii!

Could I request Wilbur Soot x reader with Coworkers to lovers + meeting for the first time?

Thank youuu! <3

Let’s just pretend you both work a random office job for the sake of this oneshot :D

Pairing: Cc!Wilbur x gn!Reader

Coworkers to Lovers - Meeting for the First Time

“Wait!”

On pure instinct you stick your hand out, holding the elevator. Within seconds a blur of a man nearly slams into the wall behind you, making you jump.

It’s 8 in the fucking morning, you didn’t really have the mental capacity to process things any faster than a slug. Apparently someone else was having a worse morning than you are though.

“Thank you.” He gasps out, giving you a sheepish smile.

With brown hair long enough to fall into his eyes and an actual sense of style, you’re certain you’ve never seen him here before. And considering you work here, that’s definitely saying something.

He couldn’t be a delivery man; he didn’t have any boxes. Just a casual work bag slung over his shoulder. Besides, what delivery man is ever in a rush?

“Of course. Are you new?”

“That obvious?” He laughs. “But yeah. I’m only running slightly late, which is a great start to a great new job.”

That makes a lot of sense. Although you were also actively late, you’d been working here a while. At this point, nobody cared if you showed up a few minutes late or not.

“I spilled coffee on my computer my first day, so it could be worse.” You offer. It was true, you definitely thought you were going to get fired on your first day. You would’ve single-handedly set a world record for the fastest to get fired.

“Don’t jinx me.” His look of despair makes you laugh, but he remains completely serious. “Please, I cannot get fired from another job.”

“Another job?”

He lowers his voice as if you two aren’t alone in the elevator, taking a step closer to you. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m banned from Disney world.”

You let out a startled laugh, “How do you get banned from a children’s theme park?!”

“Shh! I’m trusting you! You can’t tell anyone!”

There’s something charming in the way he talks, as if he’s putting his whole soul into selling this story to you. It’s working because you don’t doubt he’s banned for a second.

“I won’t tell a soul.” You promise, smiling at him.

Finally, someone in this office isn’t completely boring. You actually like this guy. Maybe it’s because he’s the first person to step through the office doors without a pound of cat hair, but you really hope he sticks around.

Before you can ask for his name, the doors of the elevator slide open on your floor. He steps out first but waits for you to join him before going anywhere.

“You work on this floor?” You ask, a bit surprised. The five cat ladies were going to be thrilled.

“I think so?”

“Wow, you sound very confident.”

“Oh! I see you two have already met!” Your spine automatically straightens at your boss’s voice. He doesn’t check in on the office that often, so you know not to fuck anything up when he does. “You can show Wilbur around, he’s the desk next to yours.”

There was a desk next to yours? Jesus, how much had you not been paying attention?

“Of course.” You nod, accepting the responsibility. It wasn’t like there was much to show Wilbur anyways.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Your boss steps into the elevator you just left, pressing a button and leaving.

“Before you say anything, I know Wilbur is a dumb name.” Wilbur quickly says.

“It isn’t a dumb name.”

Wilbur actually seemed really fitting for him. Now that you know his name, you can’t imagine him as anything else.

“Come on, the desk you’ll die at is this way.”

“Wonderful, I can’t fucking wait.”

#wilbur x you #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot #wilbur mcyt #mcyt #mcyt imagine #wilbur dsmp #dsmp #dsmp imagine

[affixjoy]

Star Trek Into Darkness was the movie of today, and it continued the new trek tradition of being not nearly as good as the originals 💀💀

Look, it’s still fun to watch! In my post about arguing with my husband about Kirk Drift this is the movie that led to our infamous dispute over whether Star Trek or Star Wars is the better franchise. So clearly I liked it a lot then, and there’s still plenty to like about it now.

But!!! Now I’ve watched all of TOS and the six og cast movies, so I know how good this story and these characters can be. And it can be so much better than this.

Some thoughts and gifs

💫 I love Kirk and Uhura bitching about Spock. They’re definitely the two people closest to him on this ship, and they’re going to have big feelings about the way he acts.

💫 The Kirk Drift was still an issue here, wasn’t it? I’ve read plenty of fic where Jim sleeping around in this time period works well, but I didn’t like the way he tried to stop and flirt with the random women at Starfleet, or with Carol Marcus. If he’s going to be a slut he needs to be sweet about it, not creepy.

💫And speaking of Carol Marcus… she was fine. I get why they included her, but she doesn’t quite work here for me. It’s the same thing as the 2009 movie where they want to reference all the history and weight of the characters but because they’re so young it just isn’t the same. Carol worked so well for me in WoK because she and Kirk shared an emotional history and David. Here she’s just a random crew member he flirts with until the reveal that she’s an admiral’s daughter. She’s fine.

💫 Chris Pine tried to do the heart eyes at Spock a few times and I am 100% here for that.

💫 This look Spock gives Kirk reminds me a lot of the look Kirk gives Spock in Amok Time. I don’t know if they did that on purpose but I liked it 😅

💫 I wish we had gotten a little more of Bones with both Kirk and Spock. Not enough of all three of them together here for me!

💫 I’m glad we got a few good moments though, like this part of them arguing. Any time Bones and Spock agree Jim has to pay a little extra attention.

💫 Too much running, too many guns. Those are my biggest complaints.

💫 The reactor scene. Okay, I get what they’re trying to do! It’s very emotional. On some levels it works! But… I just watched Wrath of Khan a few weeks ago. There just can’t be the history or the tenderness between them that is in that movie. It isn’t possible with how young they are and where they are in their relationship. It’s still good, but not great.

💫 Overall I really liked Spock’s arc here. He’s struggling with a lot of stuff and coming to terms with his feelings for Jim. I wish they had actually had him break up with Uhura, but I love his growth here. Quinto does a great job selling it.

Fine movie, really suffers in comparison to the original, but it’s still worth a watch.

#spirk #star trek #star trek into darkness #star trek aos #movie review

[lovelyleclercs]

Alone for Christmas- Toto Wolff

Toto Wolff x Fem!Reader

-> Toto thinks that he will be spending his Christmas all alone like he usually does, however you have a change of plans.

word count: 1405

warnings: not proof read, ends quickly ish?

A/N: this is the first of many Toto Wolff fics on this account

As you stood on top of the welcome mat that was placed in front of his front door, you felt yourself growing incredibly anxious. 

As you stood on top of the welcome mat that was placed in front of his front door, you felt yourself growing incredibly anxious. 

Your relationship with Toto wasn’t really labeled or defined by any means, the two of you had only occasionally shared a dinner together or even a small kiss or two- but it was obvious that both of you wanted so badly to put a label on it, to become so much more than just general company from time to time. 

Towards the end of the final post season testing session of the year, you had run into Toto, asking him how his weekend had been, as well as what he had planned for christmas. 

When Toto had informed you that he would be alone for Christmas due to the fact that both Ben and Rosa would be with their mother for the holidays, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. 

Although you typically spent the holidays alone- something that you were used to since moving to the UK for work- you could see the sadness in Toto’s eyes when he mentioned his Christmas plans.

It was in that moment that you had decided to spend Christmas day with Toto, hence why you were currently standing on his front porch, a gift in hand as you anxiously tapped your foot, trying to build up enough courage to ring his doorbell. 

After standing on his porch for nearly five minutes, you brought your shaky hand up to the doorbell, pressing it gently as you heard the echo of the doorbell ring throughout his home. 

You watched through the small window on the door as Toto peaked from behind the curtain before unlocking the door and opening it up. “y/n? What are you doing here? It’s Christmas, shouldn’t you be spending time with your family?”

You laughed a little and shook your head. “I haven’t celebrated with my family in years, Toto. I came here to celebrate with you”

Toto smiled a little, the gesture almost melting his heart. “Really?” 

You nodded and smiled up at him. “Of course. Nobody should spend the holidays alone, Toto.”

Toto smiled softly, stepping out of the way so you could come inside. “Sorry, I know it isn’t too christmas-y in here, Ben and Rosa haven’t had much time to come over and decorate so our tree looks a little sad this year…” he said, his smile fading slightly as he looked over at the tree that was tucked in the corner, only a handful of ornaments hanging from the limbs of the tree. 

“It’s more than I have decorated, I usually don’t decorate”

Toto looked at you, his eyebrows raised “You don’t decorate for christmas?”

You shook your head and sat on the couch beside Toto, turning your body to face him a bit. “Nope, I do my best to spend as little time at home as humanly possible, so I don’t exactly have the time to decorate it”

Toto looked at you, almost as if he had gathered more from that statement than you had intended to share. “Why is it that you avoid home so much?”

You laughed a little, looking down at your fidgeting hands. “It’s quiet and lonely in my apartment, I hate the quiet, it reminds me of how little people I have in my life.. But that’s what I get for pursuing my dreams, you know? People didn’t support my wishes of becoming something as a female in motorsport so they just sort of… cut off all contact, I guess.”

Toto put his large hand on top of your two small, yet fidgeting hands. “That’s awful…”

You shrugged, looking up at him, his chocolate brown meeting yours. “I don’t let it get to me too much. At the end of the day, I have my dream job and I live in one of the prettiest cities I've ever laid my eyes on. The loneliness sucks but it’s just the price I pay” 

Toto rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb, trying to think of what to say next. “You don’t have to be alone all of the time, you know. You only live what, like five minutes from here? My door is always open for you if you want a little bit of company”

You smiled a little, squeezing Toto’s hand slightly. “Thank you, Toto. I appreciate it. The same goes for you, of course.”

Toto smiled and got up off of the couch, making his way towards the kitchen. “C’mon, I have some dinner in the oven, I hope you like lasagna, it’s what I make every christmas. If not, I can always make something else”

“No I love lasagna, lasagna is great” you said, getting off of the couch and following Toto to the kitchen. 

“Perfect, what type of wine do you want with dinner tonight then?” he asked, grabbing two wine glasses out of the cupboard and placing them onto the counter. “I have red, white, and rose. Your choice” 

You shrugged, leaning against the counter. “I don’t drink wine much so you get to pick this time”

Toto chuckled a little, his smile from when he greeted you at the door finally replacing the frown he had from looking at his christmas tree. “Red wine pairs nicely with lasagna in my opinion” he said as he grabbed the bottle of red wine off of his small wine rack he had sitting on the counter. He popped the cork out before pouring some of the red liquid into both glasses, placing them both onto the dinner table after he did so. “I’m sorry the table isn’t set, I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

You laughed a little and placed your hand on Toto’s arm. “Stop apologizing, Toto. Everything is perfect, seriously” you said with a smile before sitting down in the seat just across from him. 

Toto scooped himself some lasagna out of the pan before handing it over to you, allowing you to grab your own serving. 

The two of you sat in silence for the first couple of minutes of dinner, both enjoying the lovely homemade lasagna that Toto had prepared. Occasionally the two of you would share a quick glance or smile, indicating that you were thankful for the company.

“Do you remember the Austrian GP this year.. More specifically the after party?”

You smiled a little as you remembered the kiss you and Toto had shared that night, both of you a little bit tipsy, but both of you enjoying the kiss. “It would be impossible to forget, Toto.”

Toto nods, taking another bite of his Lasagna before speaking again. “I think about that night often, you know. You were the first woman I ever had the desire to kiss since my divorce five years ago. I’m not quite sure why I've caught these feelings for you, but I have, and it’s hard for me to deny it.”

You nodded a little, resting your hand on top of his. “I know, me too, but with our positions and roles at Mercedes… both of us could lose our jobs if we move forward with this…”

“Not necessarily” Toto stated, his eyes finding yours with a smug smile on his face. 

“What do you mean?”

“You are my co-CEO which means you are at the same level of the company as I am. The only reason why the two of us becoming a couple would be unacceptable is if you were a mechanic. So, there really is no issues with us becoming a couple.” he shrugged

“You don’t think the FIA would-”

“The FIA has no control over the relationships inside of Mercedes, nor do they have control over my relationship. Plus, they won’t find out about it until we are ready for them to find out about it”

You smiled a little “Is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend, Toto Wolff?”

Toto laughed a little “I don’t know, is it?”

“I think it is”

“Well then yes, yes it is. Do you accept?”

You laughed a little, shaking your head at how comedic this whole situation was. “I guess I do, mr. wolff.”

Toto smiled, pulling you into a gentle kiss. “It’s a Christmas miracle!”

You kissed him back and then laughed, pointing to the white table cloth that was now drenched in red wine. “Is it though?”

tag list- @majkaftorek @hammick @Lizziebitch33 @viktorie16 @Johannalindau @Southernprincess1997 @Myescapefromthislife

#toto wolff fluff #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff #f1 imagine #f1 pov #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff #lovelyleclercs christmas

[suspicious-whumping-egg]

Collector’s Bounty: Part 1

Welcome to my newest WIP! @whumplr-reader gave me the prompt “ransom doesn’t arrive, whumper needs to do some quick black market organ work to make up the money they thought they were getting”, and I loved it so much that I’m making a whole series about it. This is part 1. Tw: referenced/threatened human trafficking. Enjoy!

~~~

It turned out Jackson Hawthorne’s family didn’t care about him nearly as much as Aris had been counting on.

The Hawthorne family does not stoop to ransoms or blackmail. The law is on your case and rest assured, you will be caught.

A paltry, two-sentence note typed on crisp stationery had been left in lieu of the tens of thousands Aris had demanded.

And he needed that money. A hit job for his newest client had gone south, and if he couldn’t come up with enough cash to clean up the mess, he’d be paying in blood— this time, his own. He snatched up the note, crumbling it into his pocket and stalking out of the dilapidated warehouse towards his car. 

How dare they? 

Going 90 on the deserted byways back to his place did nothing to vent his frustration, so he had his favorite balisong in hand by the time he’d yanked the car into park, mindlessly flipping it through his fingers as he fumbled with his keys and headed towards the basement. 

Cliche, he knew. But also windowless, dark, and nearly soundproof. He’d fortified the door to the staircase, added a few extra bolts, but the room was otherwise unmodified. And for now, the only bloodstains littering the cement floor were an old, rusty brown. 

But not for long. 

If he couldn’t get a show from the family, he could have fun toying with his captive.

“Looks like your family doesn’t give a shit about you, Hawthorne,” Aris snapped as he slammed the door shut behind him, taking the stairs two at a time. Jackson was exactly how Aris had left him, albeit with signs of struggle. The chair he’d been tied to had shifted, rope burns smudged angrily around his wrists and ankles, the gag stuffed in his mouth was tangled and spit-soaked. But none of Aris’s friends had been dumb enough to lay a hand on him. 

“So here’s the deal,” he continued, stalking around the chair and raking a hand through his captive’s soft curls, his grip tightening when the man jerked away from the touch. “Just because your family won’t pay up doesn’t mean I don’t need the money. And right now, you’re still my most valuable asset. You’ve gotta make yourself useful somehow.”

He twirled the blade one more time before ghosting its tip over the man’s throat, steel dipping into arteries and sinew but not yet drawing blood. And for a rare moment, his captive stilled, eyes widening in terror, a gasp frozen in his lungs. 

“Make no mistake, you have plenty of worth to me, even dead. A human heart can sell for nearly a million bucks. That’s tempting, isn’t it? But Sebastian Hawthorne wouldn’t take well to his eldest son succumbing to some mystery killer, now, would he? And having a revenge-seeking millionaire on your ass isn’t the greatest way to maintain anonymity.” 

He removed the knife without fanfare, drumming his fingers against the back of the chair. “But sex sells, that’s what they say, anyway. Pretty young Hawthorne boy, one night only, anything goes?” He grinned and slipped the blade under his captive’s belt, giving it a playful tug. 

Jackson thrashed against the restraints on instinct, his terrified gaze hardening with rage. A string of furious retorts were muffled by the gag, surfacing as nothing more than a pathetic collection of desperate sounds. 

Aris shrugged. 

“I mean, not my cup of tea, but cash is cash,” he continued indifferently. “Although I have to say, Sebastian’s precious heir getting ruined by mob brats would warrant a revenge campaign equally vigorous.” 

He withdrew the knife once more, gazing dramatically into the distance as if lost in thought. A few beats of tense silence passed, then he slid the knife under the gag, cleaving through tattered fabric without fanfare.

“Don’t like my ideas, huh? How about you come up with something better?” 

Jackson stammered wordlessly, the ferocity of moments before draining away like it had never existed.  

“I— I— I uh—“ 

“Can’t think of anything?” Aris murmured. “Then it looks like we’ll have to stick with plan A.” 

“No— I— fuck— uh— I can wire money from his account— if you let me go— I know his passwords—” Jackson sputtered. “I’ll get it to you, if you let me go—” 

Aris laughed. “Let you go? I’ll stop you right there, pretty boy. You get out, you owe me nothing. I shoulda known you’d be too boring to have any good ideas. Guess we’ll go with my original idea, then.” 

“No! Please—” 

His thrashing grew so furious that the chair tipped over, throwing him to the ground with it.  

“Not that one, you can stop freaking out,” Aris snorted, nudging his captive’s face with his boot. “Aww. I almost don’t wanna put you back upright, you’re finally where you belong.” 

“But alas. It’d be a lot harder to get you out that way.” 

Jackson’s face lit with hope like a kid’s on Christmas morning, and Aris’s twisted smirk only grew. 

“Don’t look too excited, champ,” he mocked. “You’re not getting out of here in one piece or anything.” 

“I mean, you’ll be mostly in one piece, but a kidney sells for at least a hundred thousand bucks, sometimes two. Seems like a fair trade, doesn’t it? I get my money, you keep your life and go back home to mommy and daddy like nothing ever happened.” 

The thrashing recurred with renewed vigor, and Aris rolled his eyes, whipping his gun from his hip and holding it in front of Jackson’s face.  “What are you gonna do when you get out of that chair? Take me down with your bare hands before I blow your brains out? Get your hands on my keys, slip past me, and make it through the locks and out to my car before you realize it won’t start without my fingerprint?” He slid the gun back into its holster. 

“Face it, Hawthorne, you’re lucky I’m considering letting you go at all. You’re cute when you’re terrified. Probably even cuter covered in blood. I could just keep you. Cut some pretty designs into you, sell a kidney, a lung, some bone marrow every once in a while— a gram can go for three thousand, and that regenerates. Hurts like hell and all. Weakness, nausea, muscle pain, risks of nerve damage, and some massive needles are involved. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” 

Aris knelt down next to Jackson’s trussed-up form, glaring at him until he made eye contact. 

“Listen to me. I like a fighter. If you kick out at me, try anything  stupid, whatever, that’s only gonna make me want to keep you for good. By all means, make this fun for me. But it’s not in your best interest. Understand?” 

Jackson nodded shakily, gaze shifting to the floor. 

“Alright then, here’s the plan. I’m gonna cut these ropes, get you outta the chair, and handcuff you. You’re going to follow me to the car like a civilized person, and depending on your behavior, you’ll either get into the backseat or I’ll shove you into the trunk. Either way though, I’m gonna sedate you, which is a protection for you as much as me. Because we both already know you’ll be tempted to do something stupid like jumping out of the moving car. We’re gonna make it to my friend’s place, prep you for the procedure, and the rest… well that’s not your problem. Except that you’re probably gonna need to stay put for a couple of days afterwards while we monitor your vitals and make sure you won’t die as soon as you’re shipped back to the mansion. Any questions?” 

Jackson listened with a distant, hopeless expression, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away, swallowing hard. Any real questions would go unanswered, he knew that much. 

“You really like hearing yourself talk, don’t you?” he muttered instead. 

Aris shrugged unapologetically. “Yep. You’ll get used to it.” 

With that, he sliced through the ropes on Jackson’s ankles, then freed his wrists. His captive slumped to the floor in a heap, not even bothering to catch himself. He just curled up and buried his face in his hands. 

“Come on, Hawthorne,” he said casually. “We don’t have all day.” 

“How bad does it hurt?” Jackson asked softly. “I— I know it’s gonna hurt. But… how bad is it?” 

Aris’s mocking smirk returned. 

“Poor thing. I’ll just let you know, it’s gonna be hell after you wake up. You’re gonna wake up and ask to be knocked right back out again, cause pain meds are an expense I’d rather not pay for. It’ll ease up after a week or so, I’m sure you can tough it out. If your family ends up being reasonable, you’ll make your way back to them soon enough and they can pump you with as much morphine as your spoiled little heart desires, how ‘bout that?” 

He heard the panicked hitch in Jackson’s breathing, watched as his eyes widened in terror, and plucked a syringe out of his jacket pocket. 

All this stress couldn’t be good for his body or anything inside it. 

“It’ll be over soon,” he said gently, holding the needle behind his back. With his other hand, he helped Jackson to his feet, then shifted to hold him by a shoulder before sinking the syringe into his neck, pushing the plunger in a smooth motion. 

“Wait— but—” Jackson stammered. “I— please— I— I’m—” 

“You’re too damn cute for your own good,” Aris murmured, cutting off his terrified babbling.  “I’ll spare a few bucks for the morphine, alright? Least I can do now that you know twenty thousand bucks is worth more than your life in your family’s eyes.” 

And in the midst of weak, half-slurred protests, Aris scooped up the Hawthorne heir in a bridal carry and hauled him off to his fate. 

Taglist: @burntcoffeewhump

#blue writes #whump #whump writing #collector’s bounty #jackson hawthorne #aris

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

WT #5: "It's Broken"

Summary: Spy AU. r/AITA post from a throwaway account asking if they're the asshole for accidentally torturing their best friend.

WC: 1363

Am I the asshole for torturing my best friend, despite him not knowing it was me? [UPDATED] + Poll

Throwaway account for obvious reasons. 

So I work for a… company with enemies. Lots of enemies. And my job is to make sure those who come prying, don’t get off easy when they get a little too nosey. Seven of these enemies come in the form of branded assassins, and they’ve been on our asses for a while. I won’t use their name as I don’t want any hate/harassment to go towards them, but If you didn’t know, they’re the UK’s legion of puppies - legal assassins and infiltrators who are conditioned to think they’re doing good, but truthfully they’re just nuisances. Like, really annoying. Why can’t we be chased by the French ones? They’d put up a much better fight…

Ugh. Anyway, the pups got in the way of several shipments that stopped the boys getting paid, they nearly got my brother arrested and they killed a dozen higher-ups - you wanna know how hard they are to replace? They do all this for clout and money; bigger enemies pay the small enemies to try and take us out, and for what? We’re a family business, for christ's sake! All we do is move shit around and own a few stores, what’s so threatening about that? Nothing I’ll say! I’m just trying to put food on the table and these assholes are trying to stop that. Not all of us belong to institutions who feed us cucumber sandwiches and lobster at the drop of a hat. 

He’s probably there right now, swaddled in a private hospital with a team of doctors putting him back together. 

I’m not looking for sympathy, but I guess I hate them so much because one of them killed my dad. I was a wreck! 

So yeah, I fucking hate them. They took everything and continue to take - my brother had to step in and take over dads role and it hasn’t been easy for him! For any of us! And those bastards got away with a pat on the back and a warm bed while we had to relocate a warehouse for the millionth time. My dad was just sitting in his office holding his gun as he usually does - so what if it happened to be pointing in the direction of the pup? Those  guys are so insecure they see anything as a threat. ‘Shoot on sight’. Hah. That mentality will get them killed if they weren’t so damn hard to catch. 

But imagine the satisfaction when we finally managed to get our hands on one - a live one. The small one with the blonde hair, is probably about 5 '5 and built like a stick insect. (I’m practically six foot, well-built and can bench about 200lbs) 

They’d gotten sloppy - too egotistical. Their mums had probably told them they’re the best in the world and they ran with it. We cornered the rat in one of our warehouses, and he relented when he realized he wasn’t enough to beat over a dozen armed men when all he had on him was knives. What, is he just old enough to graduate from safety scissors? No guns? Fucking amateur. 

He didn’t go down without a fight, and it was quite a show, too. Bastard managed to nick my arm, but my brother managed to crack the back of his head with a pipe and he was out cold… Well, we assumed so anyway because of those damn masks -  If you hadn’t been living under a rock, then you’d know the pups have these masks practically glued to their face. They all have their own ‘looks’, the blonde one’s is molded into a frown with those soulless, black eyes. The reason we didn’t take it off there and then is because… well, last time someone did, everyone in the room went missing, and I don’t know about you guys but I’m quite comfortable here. We play a very dangerous game - luckily I’m always one step ahead. 

I’ve had six years to think about this - to wonder what It would be like to get one of them. My brother called me crazy, but I could hardly wait as they took his headpiece and tracker from his uniform. Look, I know it wasn’t the short one that killed my dad but he was close enough, but who wouldn't want to enact revenge on the closest thing to their fathers killer? Granted it wasn’t the short one that killed my dad, but it was close enough to send a message and I only had forty minutes before the fanfare arrived. So that gave me about thirty minutes to do whatever I wanted… 

I wasted no time in getting my hands dirty. Just seeing his stupid mask made me feel all kinds of stuff, but mostly rage at what one of his teammates had done to my life. I saw red. 

So I cut every limb deep enough to see bone. I broke several fingers, his leg, and carved him a new six pack after I’d rearranged his ribs. I ripped his clothes enough to see the pale flesh they hide beneath layers of tactical gear. I took his gloves so I could at least have a trophy - a reminder of the time I beat up a ‘Sin. 

I almost feel guilty for loving it, but I hated how he made no noise. He was conscious, I knew this because of the heavy breathing but he didn’t say a single word. Not one. Not even a whimper.

So I hit harder. And I kept on hitting until my knuckles bled because the smug bastard didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to be silent, but I’m also not sure he deserved the beating. I know, what a plot twist. 

I guess I should explain the title now, because how do I know I just tortured my best friend? Well. I think I did. Because only one person I know has a very specific scar between his pointer and thumb - right in the fleshy part. It stretches across his palm as well as down the back of his hand towards the wrist. It’s barely visible now, but I’ve known him for years, so even beneath all the blood I can still trace the faint line. I’m so used to seeing his hands and the scar… and that mop of blond hair that I know it had to be him. He’s also the only person I know that bites his nails down to the cuticles. 

I saw the scar when I raised the bar I was using above his hand - he’d been strapped to a chair, with his arms tied to the armrests. His fingers were broken for sure, but at the time I wasn’t done… the irrational anger I had had blinded me, but the sight of the scar swung me back to my senses. I paused for a solid minute, the pipe I was using poised above his hand. 

“It’s broken.” He finally rasped. 

And I stopped. 

I stopped. Like, I physically recoiled because despite the fact that he was hiding behind that stupid mask he actually spoke. I could put a voice to a body and for some reason I felt so sick I nearly threw up because it was so unmistakably him. 

So I dragged his body back to the spot and left him. I had time to spare but I couldn’t face it. If it was him, then he must have known it was me. I mean, I was wearing a pretty good disguise - a hoodie, sunglasses and bandanna - but I’m worried y’know, I don’t want this to affect our friendship going forward. 

I’m sitting in my car typing this and wondering AITA for torturing him? Because it was just to teach him a lesson but on the other hand… he’s my best friend and I genuinely didn't know? Like, I stopped right away! On the other hand, he is part of something that actively ruins the family business so I don't know. 

UPDATE: He does know it was me. 

I think we’re still friends.

#whumptober2023 #whumptober #whump #surro writes: lethal combination #angst #ideas #torture #aita #am i the asshole #injury #polls

[the-cookie-of-doom]

for a while now, I've really been doubting my career choices with nursing. I know a lot of it is burn out and depression, and being so overwhelmed between work, school, and clinical, that I didn't have time to breathe. I was in the hospital/on campus for 60 hours a week last semester, and that's not counting the time I had to study outside of that. It was awful. I quit my job because of it, I was almost involuntarily committed because of it.

But the scariest part for me has been how much I've hated clinical. It makes me miserable. And that's terrifying, because once I graduate? That's what I'm going to be doing for the rest of my life. So if I already hate it now, what does that mean for my future?

Sometimes, though... Sometimes I'll have a clinical that is just so good, it reminds me of why I'm doing this. Why I'm putting myself through the pain and suffering of becoming a nurse, which is honestly one of the hardest careers a person can have. It's mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausting. It destroys your body and your mental health. Most of the time it's thankless. It doesn't pay nearly enough for what we go through.

Despite all of the reasons there are not to become a nurse, there are some patients that will remind you why it's all worth it anyway.

Last week, I had a crotchety old bitch of a patient. She had been in the hospital for 10 days, was refusing all of her treatments, screamed at anyone that came in her room, and demanded dilaudid around the clock, despite having no injuries to justify it. Everyone hated her. Her own nurses went in her room as little as possible; I think in the entire 12 hours I was there, her nurse spent maybe a total of 20 minutes in her room. I was in there for hours. A couple minutes at a time in the beginning just so she could warm up to me. Then I spent 2 straight hours at her bedside just talking to her. Letting her tell me her life story. Which was tragic, of course, and no wonder she was so run down and bitter and wanted to get high off narcotics. She was miserable, lonely, and in chronic pain from a body that was deteriorating around her.

So I spent as much time with her as possible. Sure enough, she didn't ask me for any pain medications a single time, once she realized she could trust I was going to look after her. I Explained her medications and her treatments, and the reasoning behind them. I offered to reach out to out chaplain when I noticed she was hyper focused on some televangical broadcast. I got her to call her son to come visit her. I got her to agree to take her medications and allow us to take blood sample for her labs, which were days overdue. I got her up and working with physical therapy so she could start walking again.

By the end of the day, that patient loved me. Not a single complaint all day, she wasn't screaming down the halls and cursing everyone's existence. She was still crotchety and mean in that way old hillbillies are, but she wasn't angry. She wasn't lashing out. She was finally being cooperative. All because I took the time to talk to her and offer her company.

Tonight, I had a shift in our mental health unit. There was a patient who I noticed was very withdrawn and avoiding everyone, mostly just standing in a corner at the end of the hall, by a window. I went down and talked to him. Kind of stilted at first, but slowly he opened up to me. I really only meant to talk for a few minutes, mostly for my own sake, to get used to interacting with mental health patients like this.

Instead, we talked for hours. Nearly 3 hours straight at the start of the day alone, and then more throughout the day. My feet were killing me by the end of it, but it was completely worth it to see the way this poor guy came to life. We talked about everything from social topics like music and movies, to his medications and treatments, and how to manage his depression once he leaves. Something I was able to connect with him about on a personal level in a way his nurse hadn't, because I've been living with depression for a decade, I've been on antidepressants, and I understand. I think that was the point it clicked for him, when he really started reaching out to me, instead of answering when I prompted him. Because humans need connection and understanding.

By the end of the day he was talking freely and smiling nearly non-stop. We'd made plans for him to get back into an old hobby he hadn't touched in years, and he seemed genuinely excited to start it back up again. He was nearly bouncing in place when I went to say goodbye to him at the end of the night, and thanked me for talking to him all day. Even the staff nurses noticed the way his demeanor had completely changed.

Another patient (my actual patient for the night) started the day very combative. To the point she had to be redirected to her room (not locked up, just strongly encouraged to go and cool down). She was screaming at everyone, having some very serious and severe delusions. Same story; I talked to her throughout the day, little bits whenever she was feeling calm. I noticed she had a tattoo from an old semi-niche XBox game I used to play, and we bonded over that. By the end of the shift she loved me. Kept asking me if I'd gotten lunch/dinner, made sure all the other patients on the unit got their snacks, told us all to get some rest once it was curfew for the unit (we had to stay another 2 hours) and said we could use the spare bed in her room if we needed. Which sounds really weird but coming from her was incredibly sweet. Again, total attitude change.

I am very cognizant of the fact that the way I approach my patient care is largely a privilege of still being a student. It's easy for me to stand at a patient's bedside for 2 hours straight and listen to her life story when I have nothing better to do, let alone 3 other patients to take care of. But that nurse didn't talk to her at all. Even when she was in the room, she dismissed everything the patient said. The mental health nurses? Most of their time is spent in the nursing station gossiping and messing on their phones. There's no reason for them not to put in the extra effort of spending time with their patients. And especially there, it can have such an impact.

All of that is to say, I love the relationships I'm able to build with my patients. It's so important for me to be able to connect with people like this, to make them feel seen and cared for and important. No one wants to be treated like an inconvenience, especially not while they're in the hospital, sick and hurt and exhausted and in pain.

Nights like these are why I'm going into this field. I love medicine and I always knew I would end up in the hospital, I've always wanted to be able to save someone's life. But I think now that I've grown up and I'm actually working with these patients, I've come to see not only how rewarding it is to save someone's life, but to nurture that life, too.

#cookie speaks #dont mind me i'm just feeling really sappy #im really proud of what i was able to accomplish with that patient today #he's going home tomorrow and i really hope he's able to do the things we talked about #i truly love being able to help people this way #i want to be the kind of nurse that people remember #i want my patients to feel taken care of and cared for #i dont have a single maternal bone in my body and i never thought i was much of a caretaker #but this is genuinely such a rewarding experience #i dont care how hard nursing is when I get to have days like these #I know it won't be nearly as easy once I start nursing for real #ill have so much more responsibility #but for now I'm going to take advantage of my ability to sit and talk with my patients for hours at a time #i think even if they aren't psychiatric patients #everyone wants to be heard #having someone's undivided attention makes you feel good #especially in this day and age where people are constantly talking over each other and distracted by their phones and never really present #in a conversation #so I always try to give that to others #i love therapeutic communication lol #one of my favorite parts of nursing #anyway

[shuttershocky]

Does the passage of time ever depress you?

You know what depressed me? Being in college with half my department branding me as an undesirable graduate because of my poor grades and trying to boot me out. I was in and out of the admin office managing an appeal every time they kicked me. I was being told things like to be on my guard because I was being watched for the smallest mistake and professors that helped me would get in trouble. It was bad enough that someone raised ethical concerns about how they were treating me.

So one day I thought I'd rather just kill myself than explain to my parents that 5 years of tuition fees went down the drain because I took a course I was warned in high school that I couldn't do. I walked from my department to the road where I knew trucks drove fast and kept nearly hitting me wherever I crossed.

I waited for a truck, stepped out on to the road, then jumped back on to the sidewalk when this seething hatred for my department and academia surged through my thoughts and I realized if I died here then they'd finally get rid of me, but if I walked back and miraculously passed the hell semester they designed, then I'd be in their faces for one more year.

The truck flew past me, so close and so fast that the wind slapped my face. It didn't even bother to slow down when it saw a student on the road.

So I went back, and with the sheer power of venomous, unending spite (and some luck), I passed all my classes while doing both my thesis (I owe my adviser my life for her being so understanding, and my thesis was a truly cool project that sent me all over the place) and my part time job for a nearby indie game dev.

During my graduation, the Dean of Engineering (who I also owe my life to) asked the crowd to raise hands if they were graduating in 4 years. Then she asked for 5. Then 6. Then 7+, with the last batch laughing nervously while raising their hands. Then the Dean said to raise those hands with pride, because even if it took awhile and even if the grades weren't perfect, graduation is graduation. You did it. You're getting that degree.

And thats when it really hit me, you know? At the end of the day, I won. A bit unfortunate that none of my professors attended my graduation, because I really was hoping they'd see me get my degree. I wanted them to see that I wouldn't be there if I didn't learn to despise my department the way it despised me.

Does the passage of time depress me? Sometimes I feel nostalgic. My elementary school is gone now, and my high school is nearly unrecognizable after renovations. I've had difficulties keeping in touch with some friends who I still feel much fondness for, and I wish I had been there during some milestones of their lives. But the passage of time itself? No.

What depressed me was being told that I was undesirable. What depressed me was being told that I was being watched for the smallest mistakes. What depressed me was seeing the years of fluking my way through scholarships and other things meant for genuinely gifted kids and not good test-takers (I was good at memorization) finally catch up to me when my ambitions exceeded my abilities.

Now I'm a working adult with a completely different job using skills I got from the various part time jobs and internships I took over my college years rather than anything I actually learned from my classes. Having a daily grind sucks, and so does things like needing to buy food and pay taxes and all other necessities that shrink your salary, but it doesn't depress me.

Every time I feel down or tired, I recall the time I fucking won and this wide, hateful, bitter smile splits my face in two. I'm still here to enjoy the years go by, seething in my trauma, but still here.

Let me just add that I don't like recommending spite as a motivation. Hatred is exhausting and soul-sucking in a way that nothing else is like, and I'm the sort of person that prefers to find even a little joy in whatever I'm currently doing. I feel like if you push yourself forward through spite, you hollow yourself out and become unable to fully enjoy the good that you find.

I can't however, say that spite isn't real damn effective.

It sure worked for me.

#tw suicide mention

[maggotbxby]

Coup De Grâce - Deadite Ellie x OC/Reader - Chapter One

"and the devil who had deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur where the beast and the false prophet were, and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever" Revelation 20:10

Or...

Greta is a God-fearing, wannabe actress with a particularly strange family history, and an impressive talent of stumbling upon disgusting scenes. When tragedy strikes her home in an old LA high-rise, she quickly realizes her fate may be much more twisted than she was brought up to believe.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,349

TW: Religious Trauma; Gore; Suicidal Thoughts; Violence; Everything in Evil Dead Rise.

---------

This building is dead.

It died a month ago when the landlord dropped letters in our mail slots letting us all know we have to be out by next month. He didn't even give us the courtesy of calling, just a print and copied half-assed apology letter to the tenants who pay out their livelihoods every month in rent so he can buy a new Ferrari and not fix the lights.

It’s not that I want to be here, particularly. There is just no other apartment on this side of LA that I would be able to afford. No others would even consider me, if I could. No stable job and a 480 credit score doesn't bode well with most landlords.

A category 5 earthquake was just a death blow, and exactly what I needed to truly understand it was, in fact, God's will for me to return to Tennessee.

The apartment is nearly pitch dark, even with the couple of candles I lit. A blackout coming with the aftershocks while I was packing explains a lot about how my luck has been the past few weeks. It’s as quiet as the dead, aside from the typical moans and groans of the old building. If my neighbors weren't stomping around, I would consider it eerie. 

I sit on a rickety stool that came with the place as I sort through my papers. Every tiny shift in my body causes the stool to creak and groan, just like the rest of the wretched building, so I try to be perfectly still.

The candlelight picks up my papers just enough for me to sort through them and chuck them into boxes- or the trash. It's nearly 10:00 and on a normal night I wouldn't keep packing, especially during a post-earthquake blackout, but I want out of this place as quickly as possible, and if I have to suffer for a while to do that, I will. 

I pick up a folder on my desk, and even in the dark I recognize it as my portfolio- or my pathetic excuse of one. I open it up to see my year-old headshots and my resume. I’ve never been a bad actress, particularly, I’ve just been bad at landing roles. Sure, maybe I didn't work hard enough to find a manager, but even if I had, my off-screen charisma has always been lacking. I scored one decent role in a film, only for it to be scrapped halfway through production. But I have kept trying, I tried theater, I tried commercials, I even tried volunteering into the musical theater at my local church; I’ve tried lots of things.

Because my father left me on this earth alone, and try is all that I can do.

I need to keep living, for reasons undisclosed to even my own mind.

I tell myself that my father left because God wanted him to come home. He spent years of his life driving out evil spirits, freeing tormented souls from the clutches of the Devil, and maybe God thought his work was done? I like to believe that over the probable truth that his fear overcame him; that what he has been running from his entire life finally caught up to him. There is a devotion to God and, with it, a fear of the Devil that has been passed down for generations throughout my family. My father, and many men before him, suffered because of it. 

But if God called my father home, what does that tell me about our home? Does God not care about our family? Why wouldn't he take both of us? No matter what I have done to myself after he died, the agony I have both endured and inflicted upon myself, I am still here. So maybe I do have a purpose on this earth. Or maybe God doesn't want me in His Kingdom at all. 

I remain faithful that these thoughts are untrue. I pray to God every day and every night. I spread His word to those I meet, and I follow His guidance in everything I do, so maybe that’s why I'm still here. 

Packing my, and the rest of my fathers belongings a second time has my mind cruelly bogged with memories, scents, feelings; just pure sentimentality. I have never been host to it before, being estranged from the rest of my family young never granted me the privilege. I do not have the patience for it. My body aches as I look at my shattered dreams, and I feel something cold and awful prick at the throbbing muscle inside my chest, frigid claws that dig deep into my being and tear away so subtly.

My anger gets the better of me and I throw the folder into the trash, causing it to topple over and spill papers and garbage all over the floor. Tears of exhaustion and frustration well up in my eyes, and I grip the sides of my head in my hands and bite back a scream. I will not let myself cry over this. I created this problem, I have to dig -or well, clean- myself out of it. 

I admit, I am an exposed nerve, and have been for the last year, my father's death having ripped off my epineurium.

I hop up from the stool, making it creak wretchedly, scraping the wooden floor, and I grab a broom from the kitchen to clean up the mess.

It’s because it is so quiet that I hear footsteps outside my door.

In most apartments, this wouldn't come as a surprise but considering I live around a corner, at the end of the hall, on the top floor, it’s a bit odd to have foot traffic this late. I tend to be left alone down here, no one vying to get in aside from the rats and dust bunnies.

I keep cleaning, because if someone has come to rob me, they will surely be disappointed, and if they have come to kidnap or kill me, my weak body and dry-rotten broomstick surely aren't going to stop them.

The steps draw closer, and I can hear their breathing; sharp, heavy, fast. The pattering footsteps stop but the breathing doesn't, however it draws farther away.

My curiosity gets the best of me, and I slowly approach the peephole in the door. I take in a deep breath only to relax when I see it’s one of the neighbor kids, peering around my little back corner out into the long-stretched hallway with the other apartments. I can’t see that hallway from my room, however.

The moment of relaxation is cut short as I realize the kid is crying. His eyes are wide and red, and his breath is quick, like a rabbit being hunted by a fox.

Then I hear a scream coming from the hallway.

Then another.

Then another.

The child is still hiding around the corner and even though I can’t see what he’s hiding from, everything in my nature tells me it is something he needs to get away from, now. I go to open the door and before I can unlock the deadbolt, the kid takes a mad dash down the long hallway.

…

……

...……

Another scream.

A thud.

My eyes well up in tears of panic and fear as I stand frozen, staring out of the peephole. I see nothing, but I hear everything.

Screaming, crying, ripping, squelching, banging, a gunshot.

Laughing.

Across that sequence of events, which lasted all of 3 minutes, I decided to make peace with death. Because it is all that I can do.

Then it goes quiet again. This time the quiet is eerie. No loud neighbors, no footsteps, nothing.

The air at the top of the high rise is thin, always has been, but trying to breathe it in during a panic feels like there is no air left at all. My hands shake, my chest feels as if it is about to explode. I unlock my cell phone and dial 911 only to be met with a repetitive beep. The earthquake took out the cell towers, of course. Self-preservatory panic overstimulates my senses and I drop to my knees at the door in a terrified heap. I cannot stop the sobs that choke out of my throat, and I fear even my body knows that whoever- or whatever is out there is going to come for me soon.

I clasp my hands and bow my head as I sob out the only thing I can “The lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters; He restores my soul. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death; I fear no evil; for you are with me.”

I whisper prayers until my voice is hoarse. Because that is all that I can do. If anyone saw me at this moment I would be mortified. My neighbors are being attacked just outside my door and I have done nothing . But what can I do? Face a mass murderer by myself. Whoever is out there hasn't been stopped by the entire floor of people. They're a predator, and I am just as much a lamb to be slaughtered as anyone.

What I do need, is to get out of this place.

My mind is frequently unreliable, especially with time, however I have been hyperfocused on sounds tonight and I can confidently say the hallway has been pretty silent for at least 10 minutes now.

This can mean one of two things:

Everyone here except me got the hell out of this building, because they didn’t hide in their apartments like cowards, and the authorities are on their way.

Or everyone here except me has been killed, because they didn’t hide in their apartments, and ran out like idiots, and I am just waiting for my turn to face death as well.

Regardless of the right answer, staying in my apartment is going to get me nowhere. The only available exits are the elevator -which is a terrible option post-earthquake- or the stairs, both of which are at the end of the hall.

I get up from my heap on the floor and scour my apartment to grab the rest of my essentials to get out of here. I toss my phone, keys, wallet, and bible all into my purse, and I slowly and quietly unlock the deadbolt.

The moment I put my hand on the door handle to pull it open I feel my stomach sink and my body tense. The narrow hallway feels like a chute, and I feel as soon as I turn the corner my executioner will be waiting with a captive bolt ready to be driven into my skull. 

I take two quiet steps outside my door towards the other hallway and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my heart threatens to crash its way out of my chest, sending a painful wave of thunder to my wrists and my neck. The sheer force of my blood pressure reverberates into my ears. I keep my body to the wall and clutch my bag to satisfy my brain’s need to have leverage and I use every ounce of courage in my body to peer around the corner into the hallway and-

Corpses.

There are corpses.

Horrifying, mutilated corpses of my neighbors. The corpse of the child who, if I was a second faster, could have been brought into my apartment.

Skin sloughed from muscle, muscle from bone and I am sick sick sick sick si-

The putrid, infectious scent of bile, blood, and exposed flesh makes its way to me, and by some miracle I do not vomit but my body doubles over, and my eyes and mouth are pooling while a black haze creeps into the borders of my field of view.

When I glance up, the sensible part of my brain makes my obscured vision focus on the only thing still moving in the hallway.

I, as anyone who knew her would, recognize her from the tattoos on her exposed flesh and the distinct red hair on her head, Ellie Bixler.

But very much not Ellie Bixler.

Her skin is pale and gray with death, and she is caked in blood and bits of everything that are no longer inside my neighbors' bodies. The curve of her arm is made jagged, and My God limbs are not meant to bend that way.

I suddenly believe that every prayer I have ever spoken has come to protect me at this moment, as she somehow does not notice me while she is focused on what I think is the door to her own apartment. I do not let my luck go to waste as I rush back behind the wall, out of sight of anyone in that hallway.

The quiet I got too comfortable with finally comes to an end in what I assume is the sound of her breaking, or trying to break through her door.

I peer around the corner like an idiot in some sick daze of infatuation when I hear the scream of a child.

Ellie is pushed halfway into her apartment, holding onto what I can only imagine is her youngest daughter, Kassie. Someone else inside the room comes to help as the door is slammed onto Ellie’s arm and she recoils back into the hallway.

She then throws herself into the door, furiously banging on it.

  “OPEN THE DOOR LIKE YOU OPEN YOUR LEGS YOU STINKING GROUPIE SLUT!”

 The voice sounds like a twisted, savage, faux version of my neighbor’s and I feel the overwhelming urge to vomit again as I dart back into hiding, and I take the opportunity of the noise to rush back to my apartment.

The contents of my stomach do end up on my floor after I close and lock the apartment behind myself.

I despise vomiting. Tragically, I was cursed with a weak stomach and an impressive ability to stumble upon revolting sights. A deadly combination only I could be so lucky to have. 

I do not think to clean up the vomit on the floor that will soon be covered in my own blood when I am inevitably found.

I quickly realize as my body autopilots into my bedroom, that spilling my guts combined with a severe spike in adrenaline has given me three things; sharp chest pain, energy renewal, and a massive degree of mania.

I now know what I need to do.

I haven't touched these books since I moved out of Tennessee, not that I should have. Every time they have been opened they consume the one who opens them. My father was constantly buried in these writings, wasting his life trying to make something of them. Something that would allow our family to repent from the sins of our ancestors. I have never been so unlucky to read them, until now.

I know exactly where I hid them. I drop to the floor in front of the old, dusty armoire that came with the apartment, that definitely should have been thrown out years before I moved in here.

I flatten myself on the splintery floor and snake an arm under it, finding what I was looking for. I pull out the wooden box and rise to my knees as I pop open the latch. There is a stack of 3 handwritten journals. Journals scrawled by my great-great Grandfather, Marcus Littleton.

My body quivers, and adrenaline and fear flow through my veins as I pull one of the journals out of the box, illuminated by the moonlight.

I take the box and journal to my desk. I re-light the candle upon my desk and I open the treacherous tome up. My heart is frightened; however, my mind is set.

I have heard my father describe demons for the entirety of my life. ‘Twisted, rotting corpses intent on causing chaos, destruction, and pain everywhere they are found.’

I never fully believed his tales. Of course I didn’t, there was never any public recordings of such events. His stories were from the 1920’s, it could have been nothing but hearsay. Hearsay that he lived and died for. Hearsay that, if I do nothing, I will also die for. 

He never let me touch these books when he was alive, he kept them hidden for himself. When I inherited them, I never opened the box. Partially because I respected my fathers wishes, partially because I didn't want to become consumed in them as he was. My father and I always were alike.

The handwriting of my great-great grandfather is sloppy, and every word is abbreviated, shortened, or misspelled. These books were scrawled in a panic. I knew this. I was, however, never told the extent. I skim through the most legible parts of the pages, many words and phrases unreadable.

“The words I uttered have unleashed a demonic entity beyond my darkest nightmares”

“The book, it cannot be destroyed.”

“Their bodies twisted, decaying.”

“Rotted from the inside out.”

“It does not stop.”

“The possession will spread.”

“They will tear you apart, and bathe in your guts.”

“Run.”

“It cannot be stopped until innocence is destroyed.”

“I cannot escape this.”

“It's going to get me soon.”

I slam the book shut. My body trembles so wildly I begin to spasm. My heart is beating as fast as a racehorse’s and my breathing refuses to slow. The fear of being discovered from the thing just outside my apartment is the only thing keeping me from screaming.

The chicken scratch writing described a book. I have heard about this book for years. A book that was hidden away for the good of humanity. My father wanted to keep us as far away from Los Angeles for a reason. He never knew where the book was hidden away, but he knew it had to be here.

And of course, it would make total, logical sense, that by some absolute joke from God, out of all the old buildings in this city, I manage to land an apartment in the one the book was being held at.

Or perhaps I really am cursed, and some sick string of fate brought me here to die and end my family's bloodline.

The only way this could be happening is if someone found the book. My father always said, ‘They have no power without the book, so long as the words aren't spoken.’ I’m hoping he is right. If he is, maybe there is something in the book that can be used to save whoever is left in the building. Something my great-great grandfather missed.

There is only one problem.

I have absolutely no idea where the book is.

This building has 14 floors, and hundreds of tenants. It would be nearly impossible for me to find it without a mass murderer trying to kill everything in its sight. 

The chaos does seem to be contained to this floor, and by the looks of it, Ellie is the only one causing it. That could potentially narrow it down to someone on this floor having it, unless of course Ellie was just the unlucky one, in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been anyone. 

Ellie Bixler didn't deserve this. The journal said the souls of those taken were corrupted by the demon, damning them to burn in hell while their body and partial consciousness remains to wreak havoc among men. Ellie Bixler does not deserve hell.

------------

Ellie Bixler was one of the first faces I saw when I moved to this treacherous place. Moving alone was a nightmare, especially moving alone into the top floor of a high-rise, into the apartment farthest from the elevator. 

I thought the nightmare was ending when I got to the last boxes in the truck. However, when I picked them up, and almost toppled over with the weight of them, I realized my bad luck streak continued. I glanced at the label on the top box and sighed—of course it would be my dishes. I hear the ding of the elevator and feel a sudden whoosh of thankfulness.

“Hold the elevator!” I called, hoping that whoever was inside of it heard me. But seeing as I didn’t run into the doors, they must have. “Thank you," I said breathlessly, in passing, and then slumped against the wall of the elevator, balancing the bottom box on my thighs.

“Do you need some help?”

I peered around my stack of boxes to see the woman who had been kind enough to hold the elevator door for me; she was still standing there, dressed in a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, dark blue ripped jeans, and leather boots. She wasn't dressed like the women I grew up around in the Bible Belt, that's for sure. And judging by her dyed red hair and tattoos, I would guess she didn't act like them either. She was staring at me hesitantly with blue eyes that looked as exhausted as I felt.

“Oh, no, I’ve got it,” I said quickly, disappearing back behind the boxes once I realized I had been staring a few moments too long at the gorgeous, courteous stranger while looking like I had been hit by a bus. “Thank you, though.”

There was a soft hum of contemplation, and then, a few moments later, a swish of the elevator doors sliding closed. I slumped against the elevator wall, thankful that I wouldn't have to converse with my new neighbor while coated with dirt and sweat.

“I think I have to insist, then.”

I jolted up so quickly that the box on the top wobbled precariously, only for it to be slipped off the stack and into the arms of the tall stranger. I stared at her, eyes wide, as the woman slouched under the weight of the box and flushed, before straightening up and smiling at me. 

“Um.” I cringed at myself. What a way to be eloquent. “Thank you, but you really didn’t—”

“I know,” the woman smiled back. “What’s your number?”

I blinked in surprise.

“Excuse me?” There was no way this lady just asked for my number. Who did she think she was?

The woman’s mouth fell open and she was immediately blushing. Her brow furrowed and she chuckled awkwardly, shaking her head. “Your floor… Number. Is what I meant. For the elevator?”

Oh . I looked over at the rows of glowing white buttons; I hadn’t pressed the floor number when I rushed in.

“Oh, yeah! Right!” I replied awkwardly, still not looking at the woman. I shouldn’t have felt bad—after all, this stranger is the one who said it—but I couldn’t help feeling like I was the one who made everything uncomfortable.

“Fourteen,” I finally replied, sighing, after clearing my throat. The woman grinned, a big beautiful smile, and pressed the button.

“Well hello neighbor! I’m on 14 as well, apartment 85.” I looked back over at her sheepishly. “Expect to climb a lot of stairs. This elevator is out of order more often than it’s working.”

“Of course it is,” I commented dryly. Well, at least it appeared to be working on the day I needed it to be. Hopefully that luck holds true for grocery days, too. I thought. “Stairs aren’t a problem. Besides, it gives me an excuse to drink a third cup of coffee in the mornings.”

The woman laughed. “Sometimes I need at least five. Don’t have kids.” the stranger joked.

“You have kids?” I asked.

“Three.” She started, “Two sweet girls, Bridget and Kassie. And my boy, Danny, who is always the culprit if you hear loud music coming from my place.”

“Wow you've got a handful then.” I replied. “I’ve always wanted kids… but it doesn’t seem in my cards anymore.” I winced, and wanted to kick myself so bad for accidentally sounding super melancholic. 

The woman nodded kindly, smart enough not to pry. Or maybe she just didn't want to entertain depressing, deep conversation with someone she met less than 3 minutes ago. 

“I’d shake your hand…” the woman said, her voice hesitant as if she could sense the awkward tension in the elevator, “but…” she glanced pointedly at the box, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“I appreciate the concern for my dishes.”

“Dishes,” she said, staring at the box. “Well, that explains things.”

Like the fact that it’s a lot heavier than you thought it would be , I thought, and couldn't hold in my chuckle.

“My name’s Ellie.” The stranger—or Ellie, apparently—looked over at me. “By the way. Since we’re… Going to be neighbors.” This time, Ellie was the one who cringed.

“Well then, neighbor.” I stressed the word around my smile. “I’m Greta.”

“Greta.” Ellie said. My name sounded so pleasant coming from her lips compared to my own. I quickly eliminated that thought from my mind. 

“Ellie.” I intoned in the same manner, and Ellie laughed. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open; Ellie inclined her head, as if to say you first , and I nod as I step through the doors. 

“I probably should have warned you that I live all the way at the end of the hall.” I shifted the box in my arms and glanced over at Ellie. “Before you decided to be a good samaritan.”

“I’m always a good samaritan,” Ellie responded, her tone of voice slightly defensive.

“Careful. You told me where you live. I might abuse that.” That sounded a lot creepier than I meant it, but Ellie just laughed, which slightly lifted my embarrassment.

I stepped through the doors of my apartment. I didn’t expect Ellie to be impressed—chances are we had the same exact apartment, hers just… properly decorated—so rather than trying to play the role of host, I simply led Ellie straight to where I put the box containing my disassembled Ikea kitchen table.

Ellie did, however, let out a low whistle as she looked around.

“Wow, you’ve been at this all day, haven't you?” She slipped the box on top of the Ikea box while I laid mine on the floor. 

“Yes, tragically. I slept on the floor and left the truck full of my non-essential stuff last night. Looking back, I definitely should have gotten robbed.”

“Long drive then?”

“You could say that.. Knoxville.” I sighed.

“You're telling me you drove here… from Tennessee?” She looked at me, eyes wide in shock. “With seemingly no help?”

“Just me and god.” Ellie laughed at that, but then caught herself when she noticed my expression, and the cross on my necklace, and realized I was serious.

“Well, then… I’d be happy to help, if you’d like?”

“That’s really nice of you, Ellie, but I’m afraid you're just too late. Those were my last boxes.”

“I have impeccable timing, huh?”

“Seems like it.” We both laughed, a bit awkwardly.

“What brought you all the way to the City of Angels?” Ellie interjected, cutting the awkward tension once again.

I breathed a heavy sigh, “It’s a long story…”

“Well, you could tell it, if you come have dinner with me.”

I recoiled, “I couldn’t- No. No thank you, I really should start putting all this stuff away.”

Ellie put her hand on my arm, “I insist. My husband, Jay, is making steak tonight and when he cooks, he cooks for a village.” Not that 3 children isn't a village.

I flinched, then relaxed slightly under the hand on my arm, I looked up at Ellie, contemplating, but there was little I would do to argue. I was exhausted, and I shouldn’t decline free food, even from a stranger. “I suppose I can't say no.”

  ------------

That night was the first, and the only time in a long time I felt safe. 

I didn’t spend a lot of time with Ellie outside of that night. She was a very busy woman, and I was constantly trying to find work, or locking myself in my apartment stressing about trying to find work. I often passed her in the hallway, or stopped to chat while doing laundry, but that was the extent. For the most part.

We were also very different, spiritually and morally. She wasn’t religious and I was not going to try and convert an entire family of 5. Our lives were just very different, as much as I felt drawn to her. I often, for some reason, constantly had the gnawing ache to go back to her apartment and spend time with her, and just be in her presence more than I should. It’s a feeling I have felt before, when I was young, and something deep rooted in my consciousness told me I shouldn’t give into that ache.

‘For god cannot be tempted by desire, nor does he tempt anyone; but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed.’

I found out about her divorce when we crossed paths in the hall. It came as a shock, to an extent. Externally they seemed like the perfect couple, but being their neighbor, I had heard a fair number of screaming matches between the two of them. Divorce is something my family has always been against, especially when there are children involved; however, I believe that God would forgive Ellie if her husband abandoned her.

Ellie was a kind person; Ellie does not deserve Hell.

Ellie’s family –by the looks of it– is still alive in her apartment. As long as no one in the apartment has been possessed, it is possible they can be saved.

I just have to, you know, get there, without the demon in the hall ripping me to shreds before I take a step.

I sit at my desk, chewing on my cheek as I think out the most insane, ludicrous plan to save my neighbors, and to free my family from this book that has haunted us for generations. 

There is an estimated 10 percent chance of getting out of this alive, but there are little alternative options.

There was a shotgun in the hallway. 

If I can get ahold of it, and subdue Ellie long enough for her family to let me in, I can get ahold of the book, and with it, and my great-great grandfather's journals, I could find a way to get us all out alive.

That is, if they will even let me in, and if the book is even with Ellie’s family. This is where my odds drop further.

This plan is flawed. It is dangerous. It is stupid.

But I am all of those things, yet God has kept me alive, so perhaps there is hope to be found somewhere.

As I pack the journals into my bag, and I pull my largest and sharpest knife from the kitchen, I feel the full weight of my mortality sit upon my chest. 

I am mad for this.

But what is my life going to be otherwise? What did God keep me alive through so much for? I have to have faith.

I bear the knife in my hand, and wrap a rosary around my arm and wrist. My bible is held in my bag and I stand before the door to my death once again, praying for my father’s forgiveness if I mess this up.

As I carefully unlock the piece of wood separating me and the Devil, I go white-knuckled on my knife, and I feel bile begin to creep up. I am already out of breath due to panic, dissociating out of my mind, and trembling so forcefully that my teeth chatter. I bite my tongue until I taste blood, and I push open the door.

I am not sure how I want to do this, but planning now would only exhaust me further, and I need to think on my feet. 

Grab the gun, shoot the demon, get inside. 

I take a few, quiet, petrified steps into the hallway and look around the corner when I see-

Kassie?

Ellie’s youngest daughter is standing in the hallway, moving to help a young, dark-haired woman off the ground. From what I have heard, this is Ellie’s sister, Beth, whom I have heard referred to as ‘The Groupie’ from various neighbors.

Their attention turns to me, Beth looks shocked, eyes wide, as she moves to grab the shotgun from what I now sickeningly realize is the corpse of Mr. Fonda. 

The smell, Christ. I have sworn off vomiting again, but my body desperately wants to overrun my mind at this moment. I fight bile and slowly approach them. Kassie puts a finger over her lips, assuring I know to stay quiet.

Where are Bridget and Danny? I already know, at least, I should already know. My twisted mind does not choose to process that in the moment, only focusing on the two people merely 20 feet from me.

It is my fear that allows me a keenness to sound -even over my heartbeat in my ears- and I hear the cracking of glass and bone behind me as I begin to pass Ellie’s apartment.

No.

Please, God, don’t let this happen to me now. Not when I’m this close.

I freeze, because I am a prey animal, no matter what anyone says, in this building, right now, I am prey, and as a prey animal, I have developed the intuition of knowing when I am being watched. 

Its gaze is fixed on me, and I am all taut muscle and dilated pupils underneath it. I know it is behind me, and I know with every fiber of my being that I am going to die if I do not move.

But my body will not allow my muscles to relax enough to bend my limbs.

I am gripping the knife in my hand for dear life and my eyes are locked with Beth’s, who is, currently, my only hope in surviving this. The groupie raises the shotgun, and points it behind me. It is then that I decide to turn and look at-

There is a hand on my neck.

There is a hand on my neck. There is a hand on my neck. There is a hand on my neck. 

It is cold and wet and awful and I set my jaw and every muscle in my throat tenses more than they already were. My teeth threaten to break each other under the force caused by my fear. 

I attempt to drive the knife into the flesh behind me, when my arm is caught in the grasp of another hand. The grip is tighter than the sickeningly gentle hold on my neck, and its claws dig deep into the tendons of my wrist, making me scream out in pain, my eyes screwing shut as my hand involuntarily releases the knife.

There is a wet, breathy, crackling chuckle behind me, and the grip on my neck releases, and I open my tear-filled eyes, only to be thrown into the door across from Ellie's apartment. 

It is on me swiftly after that. It grabs my wrist again and pins it against the door, like it’s body alone wasn’t doing that enough. 

Its stare is predatory and piercing, nothing like Ellie’s once was. It is feral, and it's burning into me. Wide, consuming and unblinking as it stares down at me, I am drowning in it. Pupils like a pinpoint amongst a pale blue, scleras dark and bloodshot. 

It leans down for an awful moment, a pit forms in my stomach and I want to vomit as it licks the blood dripping down my forearm from its claws.

I look over its shoulder at Beth, who Kassie is hiding behind and gripping for dear life.

“Please.” It is my voice that pleads, but I have never heard myself so breathless nor shrill.

“Pl…ease.” The demon's voice mocks me, eyes still burning into mine. It's voice hoarse and deep and repulsive, but the thing that makes me want to upchuck more than anything, is that I can still hear Ellie's voice underneath it. Sweet, funny, no-bullshit Ellie Bixler, consumed by the Devil. 

Beth is looking at me now, fear in her wide eyes, as she aims the gun down sight for a moment, aiming directly at the demon. 

Pull the trigger.

PULL THE GODDAMN TRIGGER.

This is my apex of disaster. This is all that my mind has been made to handle. I have hit the limit of my unluckiness and hit it so damn hard I might as well have heard a comedically timed ‘bang’ and seen stars dancing around my head. 

Beth is unmoving, and my breath catches in my throat as I choke out a strangled sob when I see the woman mouth ‘I’m sorry’ before the shotgun it aimed at the door to apartment 82, and it is blasted open.

The demon before me jolts upright, but doesn't take its smothering gaze off of me, even when Beth grabs Kassie and runs through the door. 

My fate is sealed as the door slams behind her, and all that is heard is the clanking of the security chain lock, as Beth well and truly escapes.

Then there is a deafening silence…

…A pattering of footsteps…

…Heavy, excited, wheezy, panting.

An excited panting that is coming from the creature before me.

This is where my faith in God has led me. Like my father, and his father, and the father before him. All of my life, and all of their lives, have led to this very moment. My death will be the fated coup de grâce of our cursed bloodline.

I am crucified to my place, paralyzed from the neck down as it looks upon me. I am fated to be consumed by this monster. This is my destiny.

#ellie bixler #ellie x reader #evil dead rise ellie #ellie evil dead #expect this to be gross in future chapters #this is my corruption kink fic and will be VERY graphic #do not expect ellie to be nice #i love deadites sm #and i want her to be as nasty as possible #evil dead rise #evil dead oc #yes greta is related to the priest who made the records #and her family is tormented bc of it

[enhaheeseung]

At your service l. Heeseung

Pairing : live in maid heeseung x rich fem reader

Warnings : age gap, eventual smut, vulgar language, angst, heartbreak, dirty talk, an attempt at comedy, more to be added in later chapters.

Note : this was originally going to be an smau so there will be a lot of texting but it’s mainly written. I tried something different with the texting and writing style so bear with me.

Masterlist

WC 2,325

Chapter 2

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You were born into a rich family. You went to private schools with other rich kids. You got to spend as much money as you wanted. You were absolutely, utterly spoiled, but in the best way possible.

You always remained humble and never overstepped your boundaries when it came to the less fortunate.

A lot would say you're too giving, and that's why your generosity led you to a lot of heartbreak and fake friends.

Even being in your mid 30s, you still couldn't find the right one. And having friends just didn't seem like an option anymore.

The idea of falling in love with someone just to find out they only wanted you for your money was your biggest fear.

You lived alone thanks to your parents. They paid for all your expenses and even gave you an allowance. Whenever you tried to refuse, they'd insisted on giving you money, always reminding you that this was their goal in the first place to make enough money, so their kids never had to work.

Though you were grateful for them, you still wanted to be a bit more independent, but you decided to give in to their wishes and be an obedient daughter. after all, you weren't the brightest bulb in the room.

You got up extra early to get some cleaning done. But there was only so much you could do after cleaning. You tried to cook breakfast but failed miserably for the hundredth time, nearly burning down the whole mansion.

Luckily for you, there's a fire extinguisher and sprinklers in the kitchen.

You quickly put out the small fire sighing in defeat. Then it came to you.

A maid!

A live in maid!

Then you wouldn't have to cook or clean anymore, not to say you didn't want to but at least not the whole mansion every single day all by yourself, and you'd pay them a good amount.

You phoned your parents, and they instantly agreed upon hearing your story about breakfast, and they thought the company would be nice for you, seeing how they didn't get to visit you often.

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"What am I gonna do?" Heeseung sighed, thinking about his student loans,

"Get a job," his friend jay piped up.

"Please do enlighten me on what job pays 100k. In less than a year, I promised my parents I'd have it paid by now, and I haven't even made a dent," he rubbed at his temples.

"I told you not to do it."

"Some friend you are, maybe, you're right. I'll just get a job and pay back as much as I can. This is going to suck."

He opened his laptop, typing away at the keys, searching for a job.

"What are you searching for?" Jay inquired, looking at his elder friend's screen.

"A job? What do you think?" He said as if it was the stupidest question a person could ask.

"Well, excuse me" jay went back to eating his lunch.

"Ooh, what about a convenience store?"

"Too much labor for little pay, next"

"Okay, how about, let's see, a server?"

"Still no pay, and the tips you make will just average to minimum wage."

"Okay, know it all. I feel like giving up already" he leaned back in his chair.

"Come on, the heeseung I know never quits. Keep looking"

Right before he closed his laptop, his eyes scanned a listing that paid a hundred and fifty dollars an hour. He blinked, not believing his eyes.

"No way"

"What did you find?"

"A live in maid? It says it pays one hundred and fifty an hour."

"What?!" Jay nearly choked on his food, "what are you waiting for? apply before someone else does!"

"But what if it's a scam?"

"Just try it and see the worst that can happen is you get killed when you show up for an interview," jay said, completely unphased.

"Wow, thanks, I needed that"

He made an account and uploaded a picture, then typed in a few details about his situation and basic information like his date of birth and phone number. Once he finished, he pressed enter.

"I hope this is legitimate." A sigh left his lips.

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You got a notification a few minutes after putting up your listing. To your surprise, someone had already applied you unlock your phone reading through the application.

You were happy to see that they stated a bit about themselves and when you read that they really needed the job to pay off student loans, you really felt an obligation to help. You had more money than you knew what to do with, so why not help someone out.

You scrolled a bit further, and you were shocked to see his profile picture. He was in his early 20s, with brown hair and brown eyes, and extremely handsome.

Wait, he's like a lot of years younger than me. Get a grip.

You shook your head and accepted his application. Now you just had to contact him to meet him face to face.

You texted the number he entered in.

You : "Hi, this is y/n, I got your application, and I wanted to meet you in person to see if you meet the criteria. You can come anywhere in the afternoon. I'm free all week, so whatever works best for you.

You set your phone down, a small smile on your face anticipating your meeting.

You heard a ding and looked at your phone to see a notification from the same number.

Heeseung : "Actually, I just got out of school, so can I come over today?"

You : "Sure! I'll send the address now. What time are you thinking?"

Heeseung : "I'm about ten minutes out. Is that okay?"

You : "Yep, see you then!"

You shut off your phone, going to the bathroom to freshen up a bit. You tied your hair and sprayed a bit of perfume before going into the living room to wait.

Why am I so nervous? You held your chest, trying to calm down your racing heart.

You heard the doorbell ring, and it was exactly ten minutes later.

So he makes being on time a priority.

Noted.

You took one long breath and opened the door.

Wow, he's even more handsome in person. Oh, and how I wish I could shut off my stupid. Brain, for thinking of such things, he probably has a girlfriend anyway.

"Hi, you must be heeseung?" You offered your hand for him to shake.

"That's me, and you must be y/n?" He shook your much smaller hand.

"Yes," you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks from the slight contact of his warm hand on yours.

Have I always been down this bad?

"It's nice to meet you, y/n."

"You as well. Sorry I won't keep you standing out here any longer. Please make yourself at home."

He stepped in and took a quick look around before taking off his shoes at the door. Even though it was a mansion and he's never seen inside one before, somehow it still looked very homely, or maybe that was just normal.

"You like it?" You asked, noticing how intrigued he was by the mansion.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, are all mansions this, umm, modern?" He noted how everything looked very similar to his living space.

"Not all. But I try to keep it as simplistic as possible I'm not into all the fancy stuff."

"Well, I like it. It makes me feel like I'm at home."

"It could be your home soon. So, the listing I put up was pretty vague, so feel free to take a seat anywhere you'd like, and I'll get started with a few questions. I would have put the questions along with the posting, but I feel like face to face is more…

"Personal," he looked you in the eyes.

"Yeah, personal" your eyes immediately darted away from his.

You both sat down at your kitchen table.

"That makes sense, so y/n, what are your questions?"

"Right, so you'll just need to do a few very simple tasks. Seeing how I live alone, there's not that much. First on the list is laundry. The second is dishes, you looked at him, and he nodded his head for you to continue. "third is cooking, and fourth is yard maintenance like trimming the hedges and watering the lawn."

And then it hit you, how could I be so forgetful?

"I'm sorry, would you like something to drink?"

"It's okay. I'll just have water, please."

"One water coming up." You excused yourself from the table.

He watched you walk away and made sure to take a good look at your behind.

He pulled out his phone to text jay.

Real life Bambi🦌 : You're not going to believe this.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : Tell me, and I will.

Real life Bambi🦌 : Okay, so the job is super simple. It's just like everyday housework like cooking and cleaning.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : Okay, but you don't know how to cook.

Real life bambi🦌 : It can't be that hard. I'll practice when I get home.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : Don't call me when you set the house on fire.

Real life bambi🦌 : I'll have you on speed dial, anyway. This is the part you're really not going to believe.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : I believed everything else, so I doubt it. But try me.

Real life bambi🦌 : My employer is female.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : You're fucking lying!

Real life bambi🦌 : told you! and guess what? She's literally so fucking hot, oh my god, like step all over me. Please, she could use me, throw me away, and I'd thank her.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : Well, you know what that means? I have to pay you a little visit sometime😉

Real life bambi🦌 : No! Stay far away from here. I found her first.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have even gotten the job.

Real life bambi🦌 : Oh wait, that's true. I haven't even got the job yet :(

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : Don't sweat it. I'm sure you'll get it.

Real life bambi🦌 : Fingers crossed, oh, she's coming back gotta run😍

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : Simp

"Here's your water." You sat back down at the table.

"Thank you" you watched his adam's apple Bob up and down while he drank the water. You shook your head to focus back on the questions.

"Okay, those are basically the things you'll be doing on a daily basis, maybe shopping on the weekends, but it's all pretty straightforward. Any questions for me?"

"Why are you paying so much? I don't mean to be rude, but it just seems too good to be true."

"I have a lot of money to give, so a hundred for me is like a dollar, and when I saw that you're paying off student loans, I thought you'd be perfect for the job. I know just how pricey those loans can be, and I assumed it would be a less stressful job for a student."

"Are you an angel in disguise?" He chuckled.

"I'm whatever you want me to be" You wanted to cut your tongue out before you could say anything else stupid.

"I'll think on it" he took one last sip of his water, handing you the empty glass.

"I'll go and wash this and give you some time to think on it."

He gave you a smile.

Real life bambi🦌 : Okay, so I got the job.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : Really?

Real life bambi🦌 : Well, she's given me a few minutes to think. she’s kinda doing the interview backwards, cause she’s giving me the final decision, but she’s honestly so nice.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : Don't forget about me when you make it to the top.

Real life bambi🦌 : Yeah, yeah, She's like crazy hot and super beautiful, but I think she's a bit older than me :(

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : Yeah, she's probably married too.

Real life bambi🦌 : I don't think so. She doesn't have a ring.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : Well, then I'd say go for it, but wouldn't it be kinda weird living together?

Real life bambi🦌 : Yeah, that's true, but it's not like I'll need to work with her for long, so maybe I'll bone her on my last week😉

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : You're disgusting.

Real life bambi🦌 : What? I'm just looking at the bright side. Just think about it. I get to live in a mansion I'll make over a hundred a day, and I get to see her I'm living the life.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : You're still disgusting.

Real life bambi🦌 : Stay mad. You're just salty that it's not you.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : I'll stick to working a 9 to 5 and bang chicks that are actually my age.

Real life bambi🦌 : Boring. Not many people can say they got that ripe pussy at my age.

Jay park my car in your garage🐦 : Ooh, What a title to have

Real life bambi🦌 : gotta go. My sugar mama is coming 🥰

"So, have you made a decision yet?" you sat across from him at the table.

"You got yourself an employee." he gave you a wide smile.

"Great! When would you like to start?" I get a bit lonely around here, so the sooner, the better, but no pressure."

"Tomorrow is great for me."

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

Hi, I’m back with another series I’ll be updating by chapters Im not sure when the next update will be cause I haven’t finished all chapter’s yet, but if you have any ideas on when I should post the next chapter feel free to let me know.

Also tell me how you like it so far should I make any changes To the texting or writing style or is it fine the way it is?

I’m so nervous after posting this cause I feel like it’s so bad I haven’t wrote anything new since “taxi” and now I forgot how to write😭

🏷permanent taglist @hee-in @jayroseyy @axartia @bunhoons @hello-stranger24 @ashxsmoon @lhsggg @scarlet127 @kpopscruggles @badidealy @heeseungleeworld @duolingofanaccount @oceanyocean @heesgirl @yjwnoot if you want to be added or removed, just leave an ask or comment.

Thanks for reading likes and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors and enjoy your day/night🤎

#enhypen heeseung #enhypen #lee heeseung #heeseung #enha heeseung #engene #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #heeseung smut

[iwasneverth3re]

Opinion on Tattoo artist Gun?

*deep inhale* I didn't think I could get more annoying with my love for Gun but hERE WE ARE.

You don't understand how much I LOVE the idea of tattoo artist!Gun and how much it means to me - especially since I want to become a tattoo artist as well.Don't mind me rambling under the cut so if you don't wanna hear any nonsense, then no need for u to click on 'keep reading'!

TATTOOIST! GUN:

Imagine tattoo artist Gun. This job doesn't pay him nearly as much as racketeering does but he's still getting paid a pretty good amount of money. Gun is fairly famous for his tattoos. He specializes in Irezumi, Wabori or Harimono but he's also good at doing floral designs, fine lineart - you name it. That man can do pretty much any tattoo/art style a client wants (he spent a great deal of researching and traveling to different places to learn how to do a bunch of 'em, both out of interest and out of him thinking it would come in handy).This man is always booked and busy. You're lucky enough to get booked in for an appointment with at least 8 months in advance. He's quite popular too. Whether it's because of his talent or because of his good looks, no one knows. Either way, he still gets some pretty generous tips and he's glad that his handsome face helps contribute to that. Although he is used to having clients blush and gawk at him (especially whenever you catch a glimpse of his milky irises when he glances at theirs, making sure if they're doing okay) whenever he's at work, it rarely annoys him. No matter what, Gun always maintains an image of professionalism at work. The only time he's not is when customers try and size him up or complain about their tattoo not turning out the way they wanted it to for some of the most stupidest reasons. Gun distinctly remembers a customer getting mad at him for not tattooing the entire design even though Gun explained beforehand that the customer would need to come back for multiple sessions before their tattoo would be complete. Gun never becomes angry, he just simply tells them to either 'fuck off' or 'get out of my store' which the customer does and swears that they'll never come back to his shop ever again...

...before of course, they come crawling back to him because there weren't any artists that are as good as him.

How is Gun when's he's tattooing a client? He's quiet. He of course greets them when they walk through the door and sits down on the chair or when he asks them how they're doing from time to time. Its not like he's adverse to talking, just don't expect him to be the one to strike up a conversation or talking your ear off like Goo would. Other than that though, Gun's quiet the entire time. He'll play music softly in the background which of course helps him and his client get through the long hours of sitting/laying down. He also gets up from time to time to take smoke breaks of course. Gun wouldn't be Gun if he wasn't smoking like it's his religion. Gun has a gentle yet, firm touch whenever he tattoos someone. He doesn't want to hurt them but he also wants to get his job done and make sure that his line art is clean, stable and smooth. He also takes his time whenever he tattoos. The raven-haired male can of course rush when he wants to and it still wouldn't affect how well the tattoo turns out to be because Gun's talented. But Gun likes taking his time. Not just because he wants to make sure his tattoos turn out the way he wants to but also because he geniunely enjoys his job and what he does.

Most of his clients are scared of him and it's not hard to understand why. The man stands above at least 6'3, has a scar that stretches across his eyes and did I mention that he's got black and white eyes? They always come back to him though as his talent outweighs his intimidating demeanor. And probably the fact that he's hot in a scary way.

TL;DR: I am 100000% on board and love the idea of tattooist! Gun.

#Thank you for blessing my eyes and brain with tattooist! Gun #I've been brainrotting about it ever since I read your ask and now I can't get it out of my head #I MUST DRAW IT #thanks for stopping by!! #Marvelous Mica❤💛 #li li speaks💬 #li li's asks💬 #lookism #lookism gun

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Interpersonal Chapter 2

Cherry chapstick, subtle flirting, and Onceler's just a bit of an asshole who gets put in his place.

As you approach the building the next morning, you can't help but feel an enormous sense of trepidation. You have no idea what kind of mood he'll be in, or if he'll even want to see you after the craziness of yesterday. But you suppose there's no point in not facing the music. You need the job and for some unfathomable reason you still can't figure out, you made a promise to yourself; you want to help him as much as you're able to.

You quickly make your way to Mr. Onceler's office, and your only saving grace is that you're not hearing any screaming yet. You hesitate, then give a gentle knock. Better to be polite than to barge in, even though you're well aware he wouldn't extend you the same courtesy.

An impatient "Come in," answers you. It's hardly a promising opening, but you'll take what you can get. You pull the door open and slip inside the room.

He's frowning and tapping his fingers on his desk, but when he sees you his face noticeably brightens. "Oh, it's you!" he trills.

His reaction is nothing like you were expecting, though it lifts your spirits exponentially. You can't say why, but seeing him genuinely smile makes you feel fuzzy and warm inside. But instead of focusing on feelings that were entirely too confusing and out of place, you simply laugh. "Who else did you think I'd be?"

"My lawyers," he pouts, and you can't help but notice that he's kind of cute when he does so, before you force yourself to squash the thought down and refuse to acknowledge it further. "I sent them the NDA yesterday, and every time I send them a legal document they bombard me with things they want to change, even if it's already exactly how I want it."

"Well then, let's not talk about them if they're going to put you in a bad mood," you suggest. "Do you have anything for me before I head into my office for the morning?"

"I actually do. I meant to bring it up last night, but we got distracted." Really? That's what he was going to call his outburst? You nearly comment but just manage to bite back the snarky remark you had ready on the tip of your tongue and instead focus on what he's saying. "You need a thneed for your job. It's policy."

"It's actually not in the company policy, sir." This time you can't stop the comment from flying out of your mouth. "I triple-checked before I applied, because I knew I wouldn't be able to afford one for a while."

He sighed. "If there was one person I'd believe when they say they actually read the company policy, it would be you." You can't decide if he sounds amused or exasperated. Maybe somewhere in the middle? "But no, it's not required for every employee to have a thneed. However, your position will. You'll be accompanying me to company events, and need to represent us while there."

"I can get one, but it might have to wait a paycheck or two," you state bluntly. "I have to make paying rent my priority."

"Work isn't a priority?" he asks innocently enough, but you do see a flash of a challenge behind his eyes. Praying to whatever God might be listening that the challenge is a playful one, you press on.

"It is, but I need a place to live and food to eat in order to do my job. Wouldn't you agree sir?"

Let's see how he responds to that. Giving the challenge back to him was sure to shake things up a bit.

Unfortunately, he figures out exactly what you were doing. "You know I can't say it's not good to have food or shelter," he says with a wry smile before folding his hands together and resting his chin on them, elbows on the table. His deep blue eyes scan you for a moment. "You know, if I asked something of any of my other employees, they would bend over backwards to make it happen."

"I don't think I'm like most of your other employees, sir," you say with a shrug. 

"Believe me, I've noticed," he says with a short, bark-like laugh. "And I haven't figured out whether or not I like that about you."

"Maybe you can learn to like it," you suggest. That's not flirting, right? Definitely not. At least, you convince yourself it's not because you're enjoying the back-and-forth banter.

He pauses for a moment before responding and-wait, did his eyes just flicker up and down your body? There was absolutely no chance that had just happened, was there? Your own eyes had to have been playing a trick on you. He wouldn't do that. Nothing was ever going to go beyond friendly professionalism between the two of you.

So why in the ever-loving hell are you feeling disappointed? Something was clearly wrong with you today and you had to get it under control, pronto. 

"We'll see," he says softly, finally responding to the comment you'd nearly forgotten about. There's something tense in the air now, something that hadn't existed before. You could kick yourself. You had just been trying to develop a friendship with the man, not pretend like you were interested in him, because you most certainly weren't.

There's a pounding on the door, causing you to jump and Mr. Onceler to swear under his breath. "That'll be the lawyers," he mutters. He straightens in his chair before calling out "Yes?"

Sure enough, two men dressed immaculately in crisp business suits (which clashed dramatically with Mr. Onceler's flamboyant green suit) enter the room. They make a beeline for the desk but stop short when they notice you. "Oh, Mr. Onceler. We didn't realize you were busy," one of them says in an oily voice. "We can come back at a more convenient time…"

"It's fine," Mr. Onceler snaps. "I was just finishing up my morning meeting with my PA." He then spares you a glance. "I'm sure you have plenty to do. I'll let you know if I need you later."

That was as clear a dismissal as you've ever heard. You give him a quick nod before slipping into your office to, you know, actually do your job instead of inventing awkward scenarios in your head. Very soon, you'd have to find a happy medium of keeping things friendly with your boss and making sure you weren't crossing any lines.

But for now, work.

You didn't see Mr. Onceler again until early afternoon when he burst into your office, once again without knocking. Immediately, you see a difference in his attitude from this morning; his face is marred by a fierce scowl and he's practically stomping over to your desk instead of walking. You'd just pulled out your favorite chapstick and his eyes instantly zero in on it.

"I'm not paying you to put on makeup," he snarls, so hyper-aggressive that you're genuinely caught off guard. It takes you a moment to formulate a reply.

"It's not makeup. It's chapstick," you try and explain. "I'm just trying to put a little on while I finish up this email…" you trail off as you realize that his anger hasn't abated in the slightest.

"Whatever," he scoffs. "Why don't I have my sales reports for the week on my desk yet?"

That question throws you even more off guard. When the hell had he mentioned needing sales reports? You quickly and surreptitiously scan the emails you'd gotten that day to see if you'd somehow missed one from him, but no. You're so bewildered, the only thing you can think to do is look up at him and say, "Excuse me?"

"My. Sales. Reports," he growls, beginning to lean over you just as he had the night before. But if this was an intimidation tactic, it wasn't going to work; you were starting to find both your voice and your bravery.

"Hold on," you say, putting your hands in the classic "time-out" position. "First, the week isn't over. Do you want the report from last week or what we have from this week so far? Second, you never asked me for them. I can't do something for you if I don't know you want it done."

Thus far, you've been able to calm him when he's been in his fouler moods. Not so today. His scowl deepens as he pushes his face right into yours. "I do not give a single, solitary fuck if I asked before or not," he hisses. "I'm telling you right now that you don't get to leave until I see those reports on my desk." Without waiting for a response (or clarifying which reports he was talking about), he pushes himself back and marches out of your office, slamming the door as per usual.

You pause for a second to collect yourself. The hell was that? He was being completely irrational and, quite frankly, nasty.

You'll comply, but you decide you'll be a little mouthy when giving him his oh-so-precious sales reports. If he expected you to put up with his attitude quietly, he was about to be corrected real damn quick.

You get the reports back from the finance department right before your shift is scheduled to end, so at least you don't have to spend any extra time on his ridiculous requests. He never actually said which week he wanted, so you'd gotten both, and he could sort out what he needed his own damn self.

You print out the reports, staple the two different weeks together, then gather your things. You exit your office into his, finding him at his desk and still looking slightly bad-tempered. Before you can lose your nerve, you slam the papers down. 

"There's your reports," you bite out. "Now, if you don't have any other demands of me, I'm going home. Good night, sir."

You can tell you've stunned him, judging by his wide eyes and slightly agape mouth. But just like he'd done with you earlier, you don't give him a chance to respond before you toss your head back and saunter out of the room.

That day, as it turned out, was a perfect indicator of the several weeks to come. When Mr. Onceler was in a good mood, the days went well and you were able to enjoy pleasant conversations with each other. When he wasn't, he was irrational, impossible to please, and the two of you fought like cats and dogs because you refused to give in to his bad temper.

At least the bad days usually weren't several in a row. He seemed to recognize when he had majorly pissed you off, and while he never outright apologized, the mornings after his most volatile moods usually found him a bit meek and more cooperative than usual. You found that as long as you had those calm mornings afterwards, you could tolerate most of the nasty evenings.

At least until one day, almost three months into your employment. He had been riding out a horrible mood for four days now, and it didn't show signs of stopping any time soon. And you were getting completely fed up with him.

It was almost time for you to go home for an overdue weekend when he storms in. You're glad you had just put your chapstick away since he tends to make a big fuss over it for reasons unknown. But even though he can't even see it, the chapstick is still his first target. 

"It smells like cherries in here," he accuses, and it takes all of your self-control not to roll your eyes. Yes, your chapstick smells like cherries, and he was like a damn bloodhound when it came to the scent of your chapstick. He could smell the stuff even if it had been over an hour since you last applied it. And you were in no mood to try and placate him at the moment.

"What is your obsession with my chapstick?" you demand. "Like, do you want some? Because I can run down to the drugstore and pick some up for you come Monday. It's not a problem, I swear."

"Will you stop talking about the chapstick?" he finally interrupts. "I didn't come in here to talk to you about your chapstick, dammit."

"Then why do you bring it up every time you come into my office?" you fire back, not missing a beat. He had walked right into that one, and a spark of vindictive joy shoots through you when his eyes narrow as he realizes his mistake.

"Because it's distracting," he mutters, clearly conceding defeat for this round. "But again, not the point. Why haven't you gotten the thneed yet?"

Good Lord, not this again. Was he so desperate for a fight that he was willing to dredge up arguments from months ago? Apparently. You don't even try to stop yourself from rolling your eyes now. "As I've told you, I have to pay rent and feed myself first. I'd also like to have a bit of a savings fund. And I can see your schedule, remember? I'm in CHARGE of your schedule. If you have an event coming up that I'll need to be at and need one, I'll know about it in advance and make it happen."

"That's not–"

"That is what you're saying!" you explode, standing up from your desk to march towards him and get in his face like he so often loved to do to you. "Either you're saying I need something before I actually need it, or more likely, you want to pick a fight for some godforsaken reason. But I promise you, you want a fight, I'm more than happy to give you one."

"Do you forget who you're talking to?" he thunders back. "I don't like your attitude with me, got it? Do you know what your job is? If I ask you to jump, you say 'how high?' If I ask you for a flower on top of a mountain, you strap on your hiking boots. And if I ask you to buy a thneed, you buy a fucking thneed without giving me shit about it for once!"

"And would it kill you to ask nicely, for once?" At this point, the whole building can probably hear your raised voices, but you don't have the capacity to care. "You might find you'll get things you want done quicker if you sprinkle in a couple 'pleases' and maybe even a 'thank you' from time to time. I know the rest of your staff will cater to your every whim, but I am not someone you get to walk all over, no matter what my job description is. I WILL fight back and you WILL respect me, or I will walk out." Without giving him a chance to respond, you grab your bag and start to head out the door. "Good night sir," you add out of habit before you leave, thankful for the weekend that awaits you.

It's not until you're on the bus and halfway back home that you begin to think you may have gone just a little too far. You don't have any desire to take back any of your words, but you are beginning to regret sinking to his level and reducing to shouting.

But it can't be helped now. If he decides to fire you for acting just like him, then fine. He would be a hypocrite if he did, but you wouldn't be surprised. At least you won't have to worry about anything until Monday.

The next day, when you finally make your way downstairs after blissfully sleeping in for most of the morning, you find yourself mostly at peace with the situation. You're in a good mood and you don't want to let it spoil your day. You're mulling over a few different options, stuck between going to the gym or library first when your roommate calls you from the kitchen.

"There's a package that came for you," he says lightly, most of his attention on the lunch he's making himself. "It's over on the table."

A package? You have no idea who that could be from. Your sister, possibly, but you can't imagine why she wouldn't have mentioned she was sending something in your frequent phone calls with her.

The box is medium sized, and there's no return address on it. However, there's something familiar about the handwriting used for your own name and address.

You pick up the surprisingly light package and carry it up to your room. You pull out your keys to help you cut the tape when the address catches your eye again. The handwriting is much too familiar to be coincidental…

You let out an involuntary gasp as the realization finally hits you, and you wonder how it took you this long. "There's no way," you whisper to yourself.

You rip into the package as fast as you're able, and seconds later when it opens, your suspicions are confirmed. Sitting inside are several neatly folded thneeds. And not just the regular pink thneeds. Most of them were dyed different colors: orange, periwinkle, purple. You knew for a fact these colored ones were infinitely more expensive than the regular thneeds.

But why on earth would Mr. Onceler be sending you thneeds? You were positive it was him; no one else had the money to do this for you, and of course his handwriting had gotten your attention–you see it nearly every day.

Your first thought is that he believes you're just too poor to ever afford a thneed for yourself, and that sending you these is both some great act of charity in his mind and him being passive aggressive. But just as you begin to swell with anger, you spot a piece of paper in the box. You recognize this too, it's from his personalized memo pad. Curiously, you unfold the paper, only to see one word.

Sorry.

Oh. Shit.

Here he was, apologizing to you and giving you something you never would have been able to obtain otherwise, and you went and assumed the worst of him. Instead of firing you, which he was well within his rights to do, he extended an olive branch, and hadn't even waited until the work week started to do so. Meanwhile, you'd stewed in your anger and had managed to convince yourself it had been a good thing. This was a slap in the face in the worst of ways.

How were you ever going to face him on Monday?

#onceler x reader #fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #the onceler #the lorax #also on ao3 #cherry chapstick

[mysticmellowlove]

a/n; i'm starting to figure more things out now. it's still like im a boomer trying to work a phone though. wild. also take a split scenario, on the house. also i am late once again but it's only because i finished off like three modules yesterday.

warnings; sub male, blowjob, eating out, face sitting, dom reader, male reader, fem reader, mean reader/slightly mean reader

word count; 886

Male Reader

Your lips pursed as you scrolled through your phone, swiping past various pictures of some sort of model. A small hum left your mouth as you began to think deeper into things, the world really was vain...

A pop echoed throughout the room as cold air hit your cock. You lowered your phone and looked down towards the floor. Your boyfriend sat there, a pretty little pout on his face as he looked up at you through his eyelashes.

"Why aren't you paying attention to me." He childishly whined, his bottom lip poking out. He mustn't of noticed it but the slight sheen of precum only made him look more whorish.

"I am, I am..." You droned on, knowing that the more disinterested you looked the more enthusiastically he would suck you off. It wasn't that he did a bad job in the first place, in fact he always seemed to know exactly what you wanted. Sometimes you just like to be.... an asshole. Usually it for your own entertainment as well. Others had called you a bastard over it but you saw no difference in anything you did.

Besides he was still with you, still at your feet looking up at you like some sort of depraved dog.

"You're not, you meanie." In fact you would even go as far as to say that he too had a plot. No one took as much pride in being a brat compared to him after all. A deep sigh left your mouth as you threw your phone over to your shared bed.

"Sorry baby." You crooned, hands going to cup his cheeks. They warmed under your hands as a smirk crossed your features. Slowly your finger swiped at his lips, picking up some of the leftover precum there. He watched with rapture as you lifted it to your own mouth and licked it off. A nearly indetectable shiver ran through his body.

"Promise I'll give you all my attention now though, so why don't you go back to sucking my cock?" He seemed to wait no longer, going to lick wide stripes down the side of your cock. A satisfied groan left your mouth as you tangled your fingers in his already messed up locks, directing his head to where you wanted it.

A sound of surprise left him as you forced his head onto you, sliding into the warmth of his mouth. Your fingers tightened as a round of laughter left you.

"Fuck! Feels good... Is this enough for you huh? Want me to use your mouth baby?" A sharp chuckle left you as you went to move his head back and forth. His hands curled around your legs, fingernails digging into your skin.

"Hah~ I might just keep you down there forever, force you to make me cum over and over. How does that sound baby?" As you expected he didn't have an answer for you.

Female Reader

You batted your eyelashes as you fixed up your hair, making sure it stayed in place as best as it could in this situation. In front of you was the mirror you had hung opposite your bed for moments just like this.

If you glossed over your painted eyelids and tinted lips then you'd be able to see the image of your boyfriend underneath you in the mirror's reflection. His hands were grasping your thighs as he worked his tongue over your folds.

Cheekily you laughed to yourself.

"You look so pathetic right now~" A hum left your mouth as you trailed your fingers through his hair, stopping every so often to tug sharply at it. The groans coming from him worked on your pussy similar to a vibrator, sending shocks right to your core.

"It's almost as if you belong under me. Isn't that sooo strange." He wasn't able to see the nasty grin you had plastered onto your face. Other would call you annoying, too enthusiastic and overzealous but your boyfriend was different. Your ever so lazy boyfriend would let you do whatever you wanted to him.

If he barely had the energy to make daily decisions then why should he be anywhere but underneath you?

"You've stopped. Need air baby?" Your head tilted to the side as your hands left his hair, going to make sure the necklace he brought you for your anniversary wasn't getting tangled. His response to your question was a squeeze of your thighs. Your eyes rolled as a snarl replaced your bored look.

"But I haven't even cum yet~. You really are lazy aren't you." Reluctantly you shifted to the side, getting off of him for a moment. He seemed to blink in the sudden brightness, his eyes bleary and his mouth open as he took in little breaths of air.

"Have anything to say for yourself?" A drawn out hum left you as you looked down at him.

"Sorry..." You rolled your eyes again, he may be lazy but at least he looked remorseful. You had no worries in your mind though, he never broke a promise after all.

And he had promised to make you cum this morning. Now you were just wondering what he had up his sleeve.

#sub male #dom reader #male reader #female reader #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #drabble