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pettyprocrastination · 4 years

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Rip Out Our Seams and Stitch Us Together

Maxwell Lord x Valerie Lord x Black!Reader

Chapter Three

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Straight up smut first thing in the fic, we startin’ off with a bang folks. Profanity, they stare at ur booty ;). Ur patience is TESTED by these rich idiots.

Chapter Summary: The great Maxwell lord is having trouble focusing lately, You have your first consultation with the famed Lord couple and realize their clashing styles and all around personalities may cause an issue (or cause you to kill somebody).

Tag List: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @zeldasayer @readsalot73 @captainsamwlsn

Chapters: 1/2/3

(I will not stop using marilyn gifs for val she’s just so beautiful you guys hhhhh)

Max felt distracted. Muddled. He wasn’t sure what it was lately that had him in such a rut.

“Maxwell!” His secretary whimpered beneath him, his hand moved from gripping her hair to slapping over her mouth to try and silence her nails-on-a-chalkboard like voice. He wasn’t sure if anybody outside his office heard her, and if they did he couldn't care less. They knew by now to ignore any suspicious moans or groans and keep doing their job unless they wanted to lose it.

What she should have known by now is to never call him by his first name.

The company was doing good, it was doing great in fact. He and Valerie weren’t spending time together, which was usual, and Alastair was home for the summer. Nothing was out of place, so why did he feel off?

Maybe it was you.

That ridiculous seamstress with the even more ridiculous nickname and ridiculous outfits. I mean Stitches? What were you, a fucking dog?

Delilah, the secretary currently moaning beneath him like a cheap whore, tried to grip at his jacket with trembling hands as he pulled her closer and closer to her climax with each thrust. He slapped her hands away without even looking down at her, eyes squeezed shut as he chased his own release instead of attending to hers.

Valerie insisted he go to the “design consultation” with her today, which meant leaving his office in the middle of a goddamn work day to hear her prattle on about what color makes her feel the prettiest. Usually he’d stand his ground and refuse, but lately a break from work didn’t seem all that bad.

All because of his goddamn secretary.

The woman in question grabbed onto his wrist and cried against his hand, even muffled he could still hear her grating moans. Lately she’d been cuddly with him after each screw, trying to nuzzle his shoulder and ask for things like he was some pathetic sob paying for a sugar baby instead of her fucking boss.

He’d have to fire her soon, if her whiny voice didn’t do her in, the piss poor work ethic would.

But for a moment, when he looked down at her, with her back arched and eyes shut as she fluttered around his cock, he was reminded of that ridiculous seamstress, the little noise of surprise you made when he clamped a hand over your mouth, and just how soft your skin felt under his palm.

Maxwell would never admit this to anybody. But that image alone made him cum on the spot.

Maxwell Lord was a man who learned how to compartmentalize at a young age and never stopped doing so. He pulled out of the boneless woman beneath him, before cleaning himself up and tucking himself into his trousers while she laid against his desk, panting like a dog in the heat.

Not like she fucking did anything.

His ringed hand landed a stinging slap to her thigh that shocked her out of her blissful haze. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day, take my calls and let them know I won’t be back in until tomorrow.”

She blinked, watching owlishly as he grabbed his briefcase from his desk before walking out of his office. “Where are you going?” The way she sounded so disappointed and shaky as if he had broken a promise to her made him feel nauseous.

He didn’t bother giving her a response.

----

The moment his driver parked outside of the store, he saw a convertible drive up to the curb before stopping, he knew the cherry red color better than anyone, as it’s the same shade of the car he gifted Valerie for their five year anniversary.

She stepped out, avoiding the jump in the curb as she adjusted her hair and dress before her eyes landed on his car and flashed him a condescending smile.

Maxwell knew even though he was only two seconds later than she was, Valerie would still hold it over his head like a treat. He stepped out of the car, mindful of any gutter water around him this time and walked to his wife.

“I wish I could say you're fashionably late at least but-” Her blue eyes ran down his suit, brand name and costly before smirking. “-you didn’t even bring that to the table.”

He let out a short humorless laugh before taking the handle of the door.

“Oh? No witty remark about my outfit?” The woman feigned surprise as her husband raked his eyes down the baby blue dress that stopped just above her knees and fit her curves like a glove.

Valerie Lord held a doctorate and multiple books studying the human mind and the effects shaping childhood, she was an intelligent woman. Which meant she knew damn well just how good she looked.

She just wanted to hear him admit it.

“It looks good.” He said plainly, not hiding the way his eyes clung to the supple form of her thighs that she teased under a white sundress just last week.

The curve in her red lips was the closest he’d gotten to an honest smile from her in ages. “You should know. You bought it for me after all.”

“I’m a man of refined tastes.” Max answered simply before giving her an almost playful swat on the ass and opening the door for her.

The moment they entered the girl at the register from before, young and anxious, looked at them with wide eyes. A textbook laid open on the counter in front of her.

She gaped for a moment before Valerie smiled at her.

“Hello sweetheart.” His wife cooed, “We’re here for a consultation with the bosslady, mind letting her know for me?”

The girl pointed to an open door against the back wall. “She takes her consultations in that room.”

Valerie gave the young girl a quick pat on the cheek before walking into the room and calling out “Thank you dear!” over her shoulder.

“Did you have to talk to the kid?” Maxwell mumbled under his breath to his wife, who scoffed in reply.

“Well I wasn’t about to stand there in silence and scare the poor girl half to death like you were.”

Maxwell looked at her incredulously. “I was not scar-”

His denials were cut off upon entering the room, which was laid with multiple chairs surrounding a table, covered in books displaying different types of dress and suit styles, a few fabric swatches were spread out as well. But the main focus of the Lords was on you, currently bent over, digging through a large container in the corner of the room as you grumbled and huffed, hips swaying and ass raised high in the air as if presented to them like a gift.

One they admired greatly and for much too long to be deemed socially acceptable.

Valerie tilted her head to the side with a little hum, enjoying the view before her just as Maxwell did, before he eventually coughed into his fist to make themselves known.

You jumped up at an angle from surprise, accidentally thumping your head against the wall. A shouted curse left your lips as you rubbed your head.

“Hard at work or hardly working?” Maxwell droned.

“You're late.”

His wife smiled. “And you're exceptionally perky.”

“What?”

His elbow dug into her side. “What she meant to say was that we live busy lives. But we're here now so let’s get this over with.”

The three of you took seats at the table in the middle of the room, you handed each of them a design booklet before flipping open a blank notebook for yourself.

“Any initial idea’s the pair of you have?” You twirled the pencil between your fingers as you spoke. “Or at least any automatic no’s?”

“Nothing too loud.” Maxwell told you.

“Or too dull.” His wife added.

“No floral.”

“But don’t be afraid to use patterns.”

“No sparkles.”

“No tweed.”

“And absolutely no plaid.” They finished together. You stared at the list on your paper before blowing out a long breath.

“Alright. So you don’t want anything dull, but also not loud, but no patterns, but use patterns, nothing with sparkles, or tweed and-”

“No plaid.” They reminded you in unison.

“Uh, right. No plaid.” You didn’t enjoy them as separate people but somehow they were even worse together. “So is there anything the two of you can agree on wanting?”

“Color coordination.” Max told you. Your shoulders dropped with relief. Fucking finally.

“Okay. Okay that I can work with.” A steady stream of ideas began in your head. The accent colors of Maxwell’s suit would match the main color of Valerie’s dress.

“We’d have to match Alastair as well.”

Your pencil froze on the page. “Who?”

Maxwell’s brows cinched together. He seemed offended by the fact you didn’t know who was the poor bastard who got stuck with that ridiculous name.

“Our son.” He answered. “But don’t worry about making anything for him. He won’t be accompanying us anyways.”

“And why not?” His wife countered. She had turned in her chair to face her husband with an angry look. With each passing minute this started to feel more like couples counseling than a consultation to make them some fucking clothes.

“Because the gala is in September, dear.” His voice was so sickly sweet you could practically feel the patronization dripping off of it. “He’ll be back at the boarding school by then.”

Of course this kid goes to boarding school. Eventually you just zoned out their argument and began to draw up ideas. It’s probably better the kid is away from these two though. God forbid you meet what type of monster they made.

“For how much money you pay that damn school it’s a miracle you don’t know their schedule. He has a two week break in September at the same time of the gala.” “For what?” Max damn near shouted. At this point you abandoned your notebook and pencil in favor of rubbing your temples.

“I don’t know. Some dead president, I'm not on the school board!”

“Well maybe you-”

“ALRIGHT!”

The pair stopped arguing and shot back to you, eyes wide at the sheer audacity you had to shout at them.

Nobody shouted at them.

“I’ll make a suit for the kid, okay?” You explained weakly. “Could we please, just, get to the actual goddamn design you two want?”

Valerie stared at you, before looking at her husband who had the same “Well I’ll be damned” look on his face as her. She tilted her head to the side and he shrugged in response.

The heavy use of non-verbal communication they had just made you feel like even more of an outsider.

“Well I don’t see why not.” Maxwell sighed, grabbing one of the books in front and flipped through the suits in it. “I blocked out the rest of my day for this anyways.”

The pair spent the next hour and a half flipping through design books and pointing out to you what they liked and what they hated.

They seemed to hate a lot.

But you still learned enough about them to cross out some ideas and begin finalizing others. While Maxwell could wear a solid colored dark suit, he didn’t box himself in that way. He enjoyed a notch lapel type with pinstripes, and seemed quite partial to robin egg blue given how often he pointed out the color on other designs.

Valerie enjoyed solid color dresses rather than those with patterns on them, and while she often wore clothes made to hug her figure, each gown she pointed out flared out at the waist, reminiscent of a princess at a ball.

Their son, well you had no idea what the kid liked. But given he was a child, he probably hated most suits, as certain brands were just as scratchy as they were expensive, so you made note to find something especially soft to make it out for their child, who’s suit would most likely mirror his father’s.

Eventually you pushed away from the table, four pages full of notes and concepts as you rubbed your eyes. “I think that will be enough for today.”

“Poor thing.” Maxwell simpered with pursed lips. “Are we tiring the baby?”

Valerie slapped her husband’s shoulder. “Maxwell don’t be rude. Of course the poor girl is exhausted. Just look at the bags beneath her eyes!”

You spared a glance up at them to place a hand over your heart. “It truly is a blessing to be working with you both. A gift if I’m being honest.”

Valerie stood up from the table and set a hand on your shoulder as you walked them out. When she walked close enough you were surrounded with the citrus perfume she wore the last time she came over. “Oh we’re just kidding. You show a lot of promise Stitches, don’t disappoint and we might just keep you around.” She bumped her hip against yours with a coy smile, you did your best to ignore the funny flips your stomach did at the suggestion of them liking you so much they return for your work again and again and again.

“Which wouldn't be that hard.” Maxwell smirked at you and waved a blase hand through the air while the other opened the door for his wife. “The standards aren’t set very high given the fact that your own sense of style has you dressing like a hippie liberal arts teacher.”

The door slowly closed behind them as they walked to their cars, but before it could shut completely you poked your head out to say. “Those are some mighty big words coming from the guy dressed like a car salesmen with a secret latex fetish.”

Even with the door shut you could hear his wife’s shrieking laughter.

Authors note: Slooooowwww burrrrrnnn babey.Now that they consultation is done we can move on to these assholes just bursting into your store to “see your progress” and then TENSION WHILE GETTING THEIR MEASUREMENTS. Also Maxwell lord is so starved of actual chemistry and love that the mere thought of a woman he may be actually attracted to he BUSTS that second lmao. Alastair will be included in the fic!! Wrote headcanons for him last night n i got all soft and emotional. But no joke writing this fic and doing headcanons for it is honestly so fun and relaxing for me so if you want to be tagges or talk hcs PLEASE send them my way I love this ot3 of power bisexuals.

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #Maxwell Lord x Valarie Lord x reader #maxwell lord x valerie lord x reader #valerie lord #valerie lord x reader #stitches #ww 1984 #ww1984 #pedro pascal x reader #x reader #imagine #Pedro Pascal #Maxwell Lord x You #Pedro Pascal x You #Pedro Character fic #WW84 #WW84 Fic

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ddaenqu · 5 years

Text

Slow Motion

pairings: yandere monster!hoseok x scientist!reader

themes: Angst, Mature, Mythical monsters AU, Fantasy AU

tags: possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, toxic behavior/relationships, unhealthy behavior/relationships, manipulation, threatening, cussing, dom/sub undertones, graphic depictions of violence, implied sexual content

based on the prompt: “I need you more than I need to breathe.”

a/n: hobi can take my girl n i would be honored and i gotta just say monster!bts is the hottest thing ever. am i right or am i right? obviously, i had too much fun with this au and as you can tell, a lot of this science stuff is based off of my own imagination. i tried to do some research but idk, i kinda like it when i just go off on my own

You’re frantically pulling the sterilized, white lab coat on with shaky fingers. The narrow room is flashing, with a blinding white. The sudden change of light making you disoriented, it was uncomfortable compared to the hallway: a vintage white, a gentle dim that wasn’t too dark nor too light, and pleasant to the eyes.

The keypad near the door with a small scanner resting above it waited for the form of accession. You quickly pulled the ID card with your name and a picture of you plastered on the front of it, you turned it around where the barcode sat and almost placed it on top of the scanner. Your hand hovering over the device.

What were you getting in to?

You knew now better than anyone, that beyond this door was a line—the unknown behind it.

I can leave, you think, I can leave and go home and go back in my warm bed. This wasn’t working hours for you. Why were you even here? You had every right to be at home resting and not scrambling into your car at four in the morning, pulling yourself away from your one comfort and safety. This wasn’t your problem.

You pressed the plastic card down, the weight in your arm was heavy and unbalanced, as if it hadn’t planned to move at all.

You heard two consecutive beeps shortly after placing the lithesome-like plastic onto the scanner, a high-pitched yet small beep, indicating that security had granted access and the door was unlocked.

Not your problem, you remind yourself as your hands reach for the silver, pristine door handle, it’s cool surface pressed against your feverish palm.

The idea of leaving was tempting, tempting to the point that your own hands loosened on the handle multiple times, but only returning a stronger grip from the one thought that had picked your mind apart by the time you parked in the parking lot of this nightmare.

Was it selfish? Was it selfish to want to go home and call it a day officially and to not set foot in this godforsaken lab? Was it selfish to leave millions of undocumented work, untitled organisms laying around in glass tubes and boxes?

Was it selfish to leave them—in there—with it?

Yes, you concluded solemnly, it was

Swiftly, you pulled the handle and the door opened revealing the inside of a madhouse; the wide hallway had employees of all running back and forth between crossing rooms, some stood in one place talking with urgent hand motions to others, and there your supervisor stood.

His face was nothing short of tired, almost exhausted to the point of death.

Bags under his eyes, his skin a sickly pale, although his skin has always been paler than average, the deep, blackened circles hanging around his raging orbs really defined how pallid he was. If anything, the white lab coat pulled onto him matched his complexion more than anything at the moment. The frown on his face only seeped more into his face upon seeing you, giving him more prominent lines.

“Sorry for calling so late,” he said with a genuine tone, you could tell he was disturbed and more disoriented with the predicament.

He motioned you to follow him, walking beside him wasn’t a likely option. His stance and expressions already were a warning sign to any passing employee, even you. You followed after him blindly, staying close to him in order to hear his words—he often talked in jargon with a small voice—talking to him was more than awful. It was stressful.

“What the actual fuck happened?” you said to him, making sure to keep your voice at minimum.

The whole hallway was tense, palpable that you could almost taste it, it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He let out a sigh, his whole body vibrating to that one guttural huff. “Don’t know. One moment it was fine, BPM and all,” he began and weaved himself through and around people as he passed doors. “Sent one of the crew to do a test, like usual—then—”

He had trouble finishing the sentence as if he hadn’t got his head around it either.

“It attacked him.”

The world stops.

No—it doesn’t stop, it slows down in accordance. Minutes ticked like hours, and seconds blinking away like minutes.

The people around you moved like giants. Slow and messy moves, blurs instead of outlines.

The hair on your body raised, goosebumps appearing like magic all over your body, and your eyes widening to the statement. Your breath hitched in your throat, and momentarily, you thought you were going to choke, nearly forgetting how to breathe.

While the world slowed, your brain formed jumbled words and sentences, words that weren’t words.

It attacked?

It couldn’t be possible, you denied.

You spluttered grossly, “HBi? That one—attacked? Are you sure?”

You continued to follow the man until you entered a room with people all around, looking at screens and papers, and the most surprising scene yet—a man’s whole shoulder being bandaged up as blood seeps through the fabric. His mouth agape as hoarse screams come out, his body flinching every time someone touched near his shoulder.

“I’m sure,” he replied curtly as he passed the doctors and nurses crowding around the injured young man.

He looked about in his 20s, still fresh. You won’t see him again, you knew that anyone new around here who gets too easily swayed loses it before they can understand everything. The deep wound on his shoulder, too deep for saving.

A mark that’s going to be ingrained in his skin and memories forever.

“It’s always been good, I don’t understand—a docile creature, that’s what it was,” he rambled on, and you’re sure by this point, you have had lost your focus on his words.

Anything he says fly pasts you, you don’t acknowledge a word, and you know you should be listening, but you can’t bring yourself to listen about it anymore. Your body feels numb yet sore, your stomach stirs uncomfortably, your own body begging for you to find a pillar to lean on.

To anyone, you looked impassive to the situation at hand, while everyone is running and yelling amidst the chaos, you’re standing there with an apathetic expression, body lax—almost sagging.

But inside, you’re terrified. Terrified.

Leave, your body tells you and it even goes as far to making your pace slow down, creating distance between your superior. You bite down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to stop yourself from crying.

You can’t help thinking this was all your fault.

God, you need to leave.

“Yoongi—I think—” You stop yourself once you see the room you’re in.

All too familiar. The sets of computers, screens, TV. Most were only security footage, real-time, of hallways and rooms, while the other few screens displayed the insides of white, enclosed cubicles. Immaculate rooms, with glossy tables and chairs, sinks and more. The beds were different, depending on who or what was accustomed to.

“What is it?” he says with an acrid tone, he was busy talking to one of the security guards working the screens, only then did you notice how irritable he really was.

You knew not to take it personally. He was always a harsh person, even after becoming buddy-buddy with someone such as him. But you can’t stop yourself from stiffening to his tone, your hand bunched into a fist and your nails digging into the soft flesh of your palm. Tears were threatening to fall from your eyes, blinking them away only worsened it.

You gulp, “I just—why—did you call me?”

He met your eyes, his eyebrow raised, expecting you to answer your own question. Then, after a few deprecating moments of silence, he clicks his tongue and decides something with a tilt of his head.

“I know it’s wrong for me to say this—It wasn’t my idea, please don’t—you know I would never put you in danger.”

Your heart squeezes, you think your palm is bleeding by now by how hard your nails are digging crescents into them.

“It’s just that, Namjoon was thinking that—after the incident—we needed to administer the test,” he lets out a deep sigh, one that seemed to be with forced calmness, “and it never reacted this way, not until we changed who was giving the test to it—to that thing.”

He refers to the subject with evident hatred, spitting it out as if it was a curse.

Horror is what courses through you, pure unadulterated horror. He can’t possibly be implying what you think he is.

No, no, no, your head screams, and suddenly the world comes to a slow again as the words from his mouth come out emphasized. Your hands shake and your mouth dries, a sore bump appearing whenever you swallow air.

“We need you to administer the test.”

He seems to notice your reaction, taking the gray and small briefcase from one of the passing employees with a hesitant grip. He holds it by his side, for now, knowing fully well that it had the items inside of it are the ones you have to use.

“Please, you have to,” he begs whilst keeping his tone at minimum, “otherwise it could die from the temperature change. It’s too weak, still not adapting to our—”

“I got it,” you interrupt timidly and unclench your hand, raising it outward and waiting for that god forbidden suitcase to come into view.

You’re terrified, close to throwing up, your heart hurts and your breathing feels labored, but you know you won’t get out of this.

It wasn’t his choice, you remind yourself—it was Namjoon’s and his words were never up to suggesting, it was a command. Defying him was the equivalent to getting fired—you and Yoongi.

Yoongi watches you on the monitor with a steady gaze as your body trudges towards a certain hallway, and stopping at a steel door.

You can read the glass plaque next to the door frame. You’ve read it every day for the past month. “HBi-1” it read, horrible memories come flooding in, and the possible scenario appearing in your head, one he has depicted so grotesquely that it doesn’t feel like reality. None of this feels real, it all feels like a dream.

Your body moves mechanically like a stressed wind-up toy, the gears in your body are slow and unresponsive for seconds as you’re still thinking about what you were about to do. Your hand is clammy against the silver-like handle, the door is already unlocked manually from security, no keypad or ID card needed.

In other words: you can’t leave when you want to.

You let out a shuddering breath, pushing the door open, a small click, and snapping shut with a screech that made your ear strain to hear anything after.

It was a dark room, it was uncomfortable in light and didn’t cooperate for the first few practices with it. The temperature was a significant drop from the outside, although, it felt quite dry. It was as simple as all the other inhabitant's rooms; white beds, white floors, white bathrooms—the basics of what you can make out from the silhouettes right now, your eyes trying to adjust in the darkness.

Your heart is beating to no avail, you can hear it vibrating off the walls like waves—you’re almost sure that it can hear it too. Shaky hands wrapping itself around the handles of the case with a vice-like grip.

Sounds of fabric shuffling and harsh feet hitting the marble floor tease your ears, and your breathing quickens within moments. You can hear it, but you can’t see it. And maybe on the monitor it shows, maybe it shows the monster right behind you waiting for you to turn around. Maybe.

Then, you feel it, a sensation so normal and familiar from all your previous visits. Like a greeting to him, torture for you. Sharp claws running across your skin through layers of fabric, gingerly, you note. Goosebumps rising on your skin.

It’s behind you.

Too afraid to look, your body eminently frozen, you stare at the camera in the corner of the wall, flashing a red color to signal its recording. That people were watching behind those tiny glass lens. The only thing giving you any sense of relief or protection.

Soft breaths hit your neck. “You’re back.”

The sharp nails dig scantly through the fabric of your clothes, you can feel the sharp edge pinching the soft flesh almost. You try to ignore it and watch the camera as it is watching you, counting the number of times it flashes red.

A silence overcomes the room once again. The soft breathing ceases, and a more sinister growl rapes at your ear causing your heart to drop.

It digs its nail further into your skin, prompting a reaction from you.

“Speak,” it demands. Your back is scorching, something hot pressed up against it with violent breaths hitting the nape of your neck.

“Test,” you manage to whimper out, “I’m only here to do the test.” Squeezing your eyes shut.

It goes quiet. The silence feels suffocating, the first time you’d ever think of quiet as too much.

You’ll be fine, though, right? If anything goes wrong, they will come, right?

You look towards the camera once more, waiting for it to flash red.

It doesn’t flash red.

Panic instills in your body, ready to turn around and bolt at the door. The original task for being here was long gone by now, it was now you almost near to crying as you wondered where Yoongi was, and why they weren’t here, why wasn’t anyone coming for you.

Did something happen? Did it do something to them?

Powerful hands clamp down on your wrist, cutting your circulation and pulling you back with immense force. The room grows with light, still murky in a sense, but enough for you to see everything if you focus hard enough.

“Did you like my present?” it asks. “My surprise, in better terms.”

You can feel it’s erratic heartbeat against your own, it’s chest pushing against yours as it keeps your hands bound with his own. You force yourself to not look at the monstrosity, which only angers the monster more.

“Look at me,” it emphasizes each word with a hushed voice, “when I speak.” its claws are digging into the skin of your hand.

You wince, instinctively pulling away, only to be pulled back into the uncomfortable position. Your head moves up, following its order, afraid of what he would do if you didn’t listen again.

The first thing you notice is dark brown eyes and the artificial skin that looks too real. Prominent cheekbones that were high and prominent, sculpting his face in a long oval-like shape. It’s pixie nose and Its lips, thin from the corners, leading into a defined cupid’s bow with a strong jawline, as well as a tiny mole on its upper lip.

The creatures beauty was astounding as much as it was tempting. It made you wonder if it had stolen the skin of another or if it was completely original, stemmed from its own imagination.

It looked human, but the two sleek black horns attached to the sides of his head told otherwise.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen your face, darling,” it mumbles with adoration present in those eyes, a content sigh that hit your face, that awful smile placed upon its lips. “Much better than that awful boy who came in here.”

It, again, smiles, but it didn’t quite reach its eyes, not folding into small crescent moons as it should be.

Minutes past and you’re wondering why nothing has happened, why the camera isn’t recording anymore. Why aren’t they unlocking that door? Why?

“The test,” you whimper, not knowing how to respond, and your eyes wander to the case fallen on the floor. You hadn’t even noticed you dropped it.

Its eyes darken into a void of black, a frown appearing as the eyebrows scrunch. “I know about the fucking test, love,” it scowls, for a split second, you can see the pointed canines, it’s skinny and long tongue gliding across them in a tantalizing manner.

You cower in his hold, however, you keep the gaze. A pathetic attempt to stay rooted, to have some power—defiance.

“You’re lucky I didn’t rip off his fucking arms,” It spits, “or maybe I should? Should I? Angel?”

You shake your head. “Please—don’t.”

It chuckles.

“And why shouldn’t I? It seems as though whatever I say you never listen,” it seethes, the amount of heat it is emitting is abnormal. “Tell me, angel, what should I do?”

Its head tilts from side to side with a delusional look in its eyes, his eyes brows still furrowing, but its lips hanged into a lopsided smirk.

What were you supposed to say? Opening your mouth and closing it multiple times. Any word you say could be taken literally, could be altered, could be used against you.

It clicks its tongue when you don’t reply immediately, getting impatient with the lack of answers.

“Should I rip them all apart? Everyone here?” it speaks up. “Make it so every breath they take will feel like all their limbs snapping in half? Breaking each of their fingers by pulling them back? Or peeling their skin off as they’re still alive? Is that it?”

It requests, lifting every scenario after another with almost too much excitement in its eyes, glittering as though its already made up its mind. It’s a matter of seconds before you’re begging for it to stop and holding onto your stomach for dear life, the sickening thoughts making you gag.

“I’ll make you watch as I do so, all pretty and obedient for me when I’m done. How beautiful it would be to have you wrapped around my arms begging.”

“No, no, no, please—” you cry helplessly, unrestrained tears are pouring down your cheeks. You can feel its claws coming away from your hands and up to your neck, drawing a line up to your chin. “Why are you doing this?”

It grins, it’s orbs flick into slits, much like cat eyes, a dark green surrounding them before it blinks, and the normal brown returns.

“Simple, I need you,” he whispers so softly, that it has your body responding with warmth and comfort, “I need you more than anything, more than I need to breathe. Do you understand, angel?”

No, you don’t understand. You only feel its nails digging into your skin and forcing you to look up at it, and it’s enough pain for you to understand it. You can feel his gaze burning into your head.

You nod numbly.

“Good,” he smiles, his pointed teeth appearing and his grip on your chin retracts, his hands falling to his sides.

From the corner of your eye, you see something flashing red in the corner of the room.

“Let’s start the test now, shall we, love?”

(feedback is greatly appreciated! 🧸❤️)

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emma-nation · 6 years

Text

In My Veins - KamilahxMC Fanfiction (Chapter 2)

Summary: Inspired by Lovestruck’s “Havenfall is For Lovers” (Antonio). Amy is a regular, small-town girl looking for her first job in New York City. When she gets kidnapped by the powerful CEO, Kamilah Sayeed, she’ll have to discover her true goals… before it’s too late.

Genre: Romance

Rating: T

Notes: - English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes - This fanfic is slightly inspired by Lovestruck’s story Havenfall Is For Lovers - Antonio, but I intend to make it more interesting and steamier too :P

- I’m sorry for taking so long to update this fic, I had been focused on For You but now it’s ending I’ll be updating it regulary. You can re-read Chapter 1 here.

- Minor changes: I’ve resized the cover and changed the rating to T. There was no reason to be classified as M.

- I hope you enjoy it, your likes and reviews are always appreciated.

Amy opened her eyes. Slowly. Hoping she'd wake up in her own bedroom. The image that started to form in her vision was another. It wasn't a nightmare, after all. She was still trapped in Kamilah Sayeed's house.

Kamilah Sayeed. The gorgeous and rich CEO who planned to kill her and drink her blood. Because she's a vampire.

Amy could do nothing but laugh. Even if she managed to find a way to contact the authorities, who would believe her?

Her stomach started to growl. Her kidnapper hadn't served any food yet since her arrival. She narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists. Two could play that game. She wouldn't just give up on her life. Not before making Kamilah's life a living hell.

"Hey," she yelled, right behind the door. "I'm starving here! Open this door!"

She threw punches and kicks at the door. She cried. She shouted insults. Nothing. From the other side, only silence.

She sat on the bed, sighing in frustration. A couple of minutes later, Kamilah furiously opened the door.

"What's your problem?" She asked. "I was in the middle of an important phonecall!"

"What is my problem?" Amy snarled. "My problem is that you locked me in this room to starve to death."

"The door was unlocked. You could've left anytime you wanted."

Amy felt her cheeks blushing. Indeed, she never actually attempted to open the door.

"But... I saw as you locked it last night."

"Of course, you were acting like an enraged animal."

Amy took a deep breath. She need to control herself. If Kamilah locked the door again, she wouldn't be able to explore the rest of the house. Where she could possibly find a phone.

"Let's go," Kamilah showed the way. "Breakfast is served."

Amy followed her to the dinning room. An enormous table with the most diverse food was served.

"I didn't know what you liked so, I ordered all the available options."

"This is so gentle of you," Amy ironized.

She took a sit around the table. Filling a plate with eggs, bacon, sausage and waffles.

“I cannot fathom how your kind survived this long.”

Kamilah was sitting in front of her, eating yogurt and some fruits. Then, she grabbed the newspaper and started reading in silence.

Amy stared in disbelief. How could she act so normally when she kidnapped a person she intended to kill?

"Funny," she provoked. "I thought your kind needed another kind of breakfast to thrive."

"Blood, you mean," Kamilah patiently closed the newspaper. "We only need a small amount daily, to keep our bloodlust under control."

"Then why have you been killing so many people lately, huh? Is it your concept of fun?"

"I haven't killed a single mortal in centuries."

Amy let out a sadistic laugh.

"Right..." She shook her head. "Then what's the deal with me?"

"You're special," Kamilah took a sip of her coffee.

"And what's make me special? Really, I'm only a small-town girl. I don't even have a job yet."

"Your blood makes you special."

“Okay, then my blood is like one of those rare expensive wines you have there in your rack,” Amy pointed to another corner of the room.

For a second, she could swear Kamilah’s lips would turn into a smile, but she hid it. Very well.

When they finished eating, Kamilah announced she was going back to her office. She had some papers to sign.

"I suppose you'll lock me in the bedroom again," Amy said.

"No, darling," Kamilah shrugged. "You're free to do whatever you want. As long as you don't leave the house, of course."

Amy's face lightened in hope. She spent the rest of the morning mapping the mansion. Inspecting every corner in search of alternatives to escape, or at least a phone. Her expectations were frustrated when she realized the only avaliable phone was in Kamilah's office.

Lying on the couch, she watched the news. Another animal attack. At least she knew Kamilah was telling the truth this time. She spent the night busy... Kidnapping her.

"Amy?" Kamilah called. "Would you come to my office, please?"

Amy gulped, was she ready to drink her blood? Nervously, she sat on the chair in front of her desk.

"So, will you finally do it?"

"No," Kamilah approached her, with a syringe in hands. "First, I need to draw a blood sample to confirm you have what I need."

"No," Amy protested. "I refused to sign your contract. You won't touch a single drip of my blood."

Kamilah sighed, as if she already expected that reaction. She grabbed something inside her drawer. Amy recognized her cellphone.

"Lily has been calling you the whole morning," Kamilah told.

"Of course, she's worried about me."

"One phonecall," Kamilah extended the phone in Amy's direction. When she was about to touch it, she retreated. "In trade for a blood sample."

Reluctantly, Amy agreed. It was her only chance. Of course Kamilah was going to monitor the call, but she could give Lily the smallest sign. She knew her best friend would be able to notice the weirdness in her voice.

Kamilah inserted the needle in her arm's vein. Her touch was soft, careful... There was no pain. Instead, a good electric sensation ran from Amy's arm, spreading to her entire body. Almost causing her pleasure.

"What the fuck, Amy?" She thought. "What the actual fuck... She's cold-blooded monster. How can you even feel like this? Of course, she compelled you. She’s trying to put you under her sadistic spell!"

"Are you alright?" Kamilah's voice brought her back to reality.

"Uhhh yes," Amy felt her cheeks burning a little bit. "Now give me my phone as you promised."

Before Kamilah handed her the cellphone, her face acquired a threatening expression.

"Don't you even dare to try anything, do you understand? You wouldn't want to put Lily's life in danger... Right?"

Amy nodded, grabbing the phone violently from her hand. Kamilah positioned herself in front of her, hearing every part of the conversation.

"Lil?" Amy felt a notch in her throat, controlling herself to not cry. "That's me."

"Jeez, Amy. I was starting to get worried."

"I'm sorry I didn't go home last night... something happened."

"What? Are you in trouble?"

Lily's words alarmed Kamilah, who made the motion of taking the phone from Amy's hand.

"No... Actually, it's something good," she lied. "I got the job."

"Really? And where are you?"

"A-At Kamilah's house. It's uhhh... A special training to... prepare me for the position."

Lily paused for a few seconds.

"Amy, there is something else going on! You're acting strange."

"Fix it," Kamilah muttered, showing the tips of her fangs.

"Me, Lil? Of course not! I'm just tired, I worked a lot last night."

Suddenly, Amy heard Lily gasping at the other side of the line.

"Oh my god," she shouted. "I can totally see what's happening! Tell me, she's some kind of Christian Grey, isn't? It explains that mysterious attitude."

"Lily, no..."

"You only act this weird when you're into someone."

Kamilah was impatient, pacing around her office with a disturbed look on her face.

"Okay, Lily. There's something between us! But it's not as you think. Anyways, I need to go now. Kamilah needs me."

"Calling her by the first name already. You go, girl! Enjoy your time with her, but don't forget to fill me in on details when you have time."

"Oh... Of course. Bye."

When she hung up, Kamilah gave her a furious gaze. She grabbed her phone and smashed it with one hand.

"Hey! That was my phone," Amy yelled. "Why did you do that? I followed your orders."

"No, you didn't," Kamilah rebuked. "You demonstrated tension in your voice, you insinuated we could be having an affair... and who the hell is Christian? Is it some kind of code?"

"Oh, you're not into modern literature."

"Not really, rare are the books from this generation that I..."

Amy handed her a piece of paper.

"Read it, it may help you to relieve your tensions."

Kamilah looked at her intrigued.

Amy spent the rest of the day lying on Kamilah's office couch, asking the most diverse questions about vampirism.

"This heavy curtains," she pointed. "Does it mean you can't walk in the sunlight?'

"Correct," Kamilah replied, eyes still focused on a pile of papers.

"If I open the curtains, will you sparkle or will you turn into ashes?"

Kamilah rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Why don't you test?"

Amy opened the curtains. As the sunlight penetrated the room, Kamilah didn't show any reaction. After a couple of minutes though, she showed signs of pain and discomfort.

"Close it," she demanded.

Amy obeyed. At least now she knew one of Kamilah's weaknesses. She could use it as advantage in the future.

"How long can you take it?" Amy wanted to know.

"One hour and half."

"Any other aversions? Like garlic, crucifixes..."

"No, it's a myth. And before you ask, I don't sleep in a coffin."

Amy insisted on her plan. So far, Kamilah answered all her questions patiently.

"I'm going to take a shower," she announced. "I’ll need some clothes, you know."

"We can provide it," Kamilah said. "Tonight you can wear some of my clothes.”

Amy nodded, coming back to her bedroom. She wasn't successful on her mission. As long as Kamilah had control over the situation, she wouldn't get affected. Amy needed an opportunity where she'd be vulnerable, an occasion where Kamilah could not control... And it seemed like luck was on her side. Before dinner, Kamilah was on a heated argument over the phone.

"Amy, we need to talk," she spoke when they sat down to eat. "On Friday, I’ll need to attend this event and I have no other choice... I'm taking you with me."

Next Chapter: What kind of trouble Amy can cause when Kamilah takes her to a public event? Coming Soon!

#playchoices #choices stories you play #bloodbound #kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #bloodbound fanfiction #choices fanfiction

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marshaeb · 3 years

Text

"P.S: I'm Mated With The Cursed Alpha!"

Chapter Two

Hey guy! Don’t forget to Like, Comment, Review, and Follow for more updates! My apologies in advance for all the grammatical errors. Book will be professionally edited when completed.

It all happened in October of last year. Five days after spending the most magical night of pleasure and ecstasy with Jackson.

I could still remember the bright sunlight piercing through the morning’s autumn sky. Hitting my sleepy face as my eyes fluttered open.

The fresh smell of pines, fuming the air from the forest was strong that day. I’ve even gotten up before the pack’s guards rippled their howls throughout the territory, which was something a non-morning person like me was never famous for.

I would either be awakened by Talloc flapping her wings loudly against the window post after returning from her late-night hunt. Or, from Mom bursting through my room door. Irritating me as she tore open my blinds and scolding me about the little mess and feathers laid around. Then ranting in my head about being late for work again.

Yeah, It was definitely a particular day. Talloc wasn’t back as yet from her late-night hunting and mom was probably still out on her morning run she does every day. Being the perfectionist that she is.

I rolled within the thick comforter of my bed, shivering slightly as the drafty air whisked over my body.

The time clock, stationed above my wall, was only three minutes away until the hand struck twelve, making it precisely six o’clock. I stripped away my covers and placed my bare feet onto the cold wooden floor. My mind had instantly drifted to Jackson. I hadn’t seen him since that night we spent together.

Ever since graduation, and being enrolled in our elected work fields, we were too busy to spend time with each other. He was a trained warrior wolf and I worked in the hospital as a nurse, under the head nurse, Mrs. Osborne.

After I had stuffed my bag with my scrapes of notes and my anatomy textbook, Talloc had suddenly appeared at the window, frightening me half to death.

“Talloc!” I gasped, holding my heaving chest. “You scared me there!”

I paused and took a quick glance at the clock once more then back at my sassy snowy owl, who was rolling her neck at me with a little too much attitude.

“You’re three minutes late, Miss sassy pants,” I said walking over to her when I found a drop of blood, stain on her white features. “Gosh, were you at war with your food last night, Tal’?”

She screeched aloud and rotated her neck once more to agree.

“I figured.” I chuckled, trying to quickly get dressed. “I’m working the early shift today so... you know where to find me.”

After I had finished getting dressed in my baby blue scrubs, a loud shrieking sound, like nails raking against a chalkboard, came through my window. Instantly I recognized that sound. It was my best friend Sarah’s male owl, Gideon. He was a feisty one himself. Always snapping at someone’s finger whenever he got the chance to.

I looked over and noticed the beige envelope, caught in the crook of his beak with my name on it.

“Sarah wrote to me?” I was baffled, taking the thin envelope from his sharp beak before he snapped at me. I’d already gotten too many peeks and bruises from talloc whenever I attempt to groom her, I don’t need anymore.

I tore open the envelope and unraveled the folded note.

Read:

Hey there you! I’ve given Gileon half an hour to deliver this to you. You and I know he can get a little sidetracked and probably arrived an hour later instead.

But my intentions were for him to reach you before you leave for work to read this. So if he did made it before you left, bravo Gileon! If not...let’s not acted surprised.

Anyway, I just wanted to remind you of the graduate’s after-party at the St Pete’s Tavern this afternoon. Everyone’s going to be there and you better be too! I don’t want to go alone, Joe-y!

You know the routine if your mom happens to gets in the way. Be ready at seven o’clock. I’ll be there to pick you up after I’m done marking my fourth-graders test papers.

~~~

A heavy sigh had left my lips thinking heavily on everything I had just read. A graduation after-party with the same people I scarcely liked during high school was the main reason I felt so hesitant. Then, I had to sneak out again and risk the chance of getting in trouble for it. Though I was done with school... I wasn’t eighteen as yet. So, therefore, mom was still responsible for me and the places I go and it was definitely not partying.

Unless she was there or it’s something to do with the pack. A werewolf graduation party where there’ll be heavy drinking and smoking, skinny dipping, gambling, and many promiscuous, immature activities was one thing she or any strict mother would not approve of.

At the last graduation party, a girl was so intoxicated, she fractured her head which left her in a coma diving headfirst into the shallow end of the pool. Obviously, Mom was furious about the incident seeing that she’s the leader of the pack, and took great pride in her reputation. Having by St Pete’s was risking being that it’s out of the territory, but Sarah was my best friend and I would hate to let her down. Plus, I might get the chance to see Jackson again.

He’d been on my ever since the other night. The kissing, the cuddling, and those sweet-talk alone had me craving him like a crazy ex-girlfriend...I wouldn’t mention the mind-blowing sex. I wanted more... I wanted him.

My thoughts were instantly intervened by the sudden ruckus coming from my window. Talloc and Gileon had caught themselves in a nasty encounter like they always do when they see each other. They were picking and clawing at each other like vicious monsters with their beaks and talons.

“No! Stop that, now! I said launching at them to break them apart. In return, one of their talons had accidentally slashed me deeply on my wrist up to the inside of my forearm.

“O-ouch!” I yelped through clenched teeth, gasping my bleeding wound. Before I could stain my clothes with blood, I held my bleeding arm a few inches away from me, apply as much pressure as I could.

I shooed them both outside and glanced up at the clock once more. It was thirty-five minutes after six. Any more time wasted, I would have been late for work for the third time this week.

I rushed into the bath and ran some warm water over my aching wound. It burned like hell, but I suck up the pain and rushed downstairs to the first kit.

Surprisingly, mom was still not back from her morning run. I wondered where she could have been so late. I thought maybe she was at the office or had dropped the twins, Sammy and Samantha a.k.a, Dwight and Angela at school. Which I highly doubted since everyone knew mom the alpha. They hated the attention she always caused.

I didn’t blame them either. Mom could be such a pain sometimes...well most of the time.

After wrapping up my wounded, sore arm, I rush out and took the quickest shortcut to work before Mrs. Osborne report to mom again about being late to work.

~~~~

By the skin of my teeth, I made it on time three minutes before Mrs. Osborne began marking the register, then assigned us to work.

“What happened to your arm, Ms. Hunnings?” She asked as the other trainee nurses looked our way.

I quickly hid my arm behind me, trying to throw it off like it was nothing, though it ached so badly.

“I can obviously see that you’re hiding it from me.” She said, raising a sharp brow at me.

I held my breath, praying she would just let me be from drawing more attention than she already has.

“I-its nothing, seriously...” I choked slightly on my words. I said, trying to convince her.

“Probably got that, trying to sneak out her window again.” I overheard two girls whispering about me to my left. “I bet she still gets tucked into bed at night too...poor baby.”

I recognize their voice immediately and wasn’t surprised by who it was. Chelsea and her little sidekick, Eugenia always had something to say. It was one thing dealing with them, causing trouble and telling rumors about me in grade school, now I had to deal with their crap here at work too.

I immediately took a deep breath, trying my best to control my wolf growling within me.

“Ms. Lincole and Ms. Robinson, we will not have that kind of behavior in this environment!” Mrs. Osborne said. “This is a hospital, not high school.”

A small smile had formed on my face seeing their faces as they got set in their place. Our homeroom teacher, Ms. Potters never set them straight like this. Finally, someone was calling them out on their bullshit!

“You all can get to work now,” she dismissed the trainees. I too was about to leave when she stopped me from taking another step.

“Not you... Ms. Hunnings.” She seethed through her teeth. “I wasn’t through talking with you, was I?”

I paused and looked her in those large hazel eyes, piercing through her thick glasses at me.

“No ma’am,” I cleared my throat nervously. “I-I’m--my apologies... Ma’am.”

After a few seconds of awkward silence, she sighed deeply and said, “Show me your hand, Ms. Hunnings.”

Having no other choice, I showed her my injured arm. The untidy bandaging I had done was covered in blood.

“Goodness!” she exclaimed. “This is nothing? You’re losing too much blood.”

My eyes widened at the sight of it. I hadn’t realized how bad it was. I was in a rush when it all happened. She sat me down and rest my arm across the table, collecting a few gauze pads and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

Undressing the bandaging, she gasped at the long, deep gash in my arm.

“Goddess! What happened?” She asked applying the solution onto the pad, patting it gently onto my cut.

Instantly, I bit back the pain as the peroxide began to foam in my open wound.

“My friend Sarah’s owl... and my owl had a little scuffle. I tried to intervene...but...” I said, holding back the pain. “I was clawed.”

“This isn’t a thin gash...you might need a few stitches,” she explained. “It’s really deep and needs a thorough cleaning. An owl’s talon is very infectious. Especially since they use them to catch and eat disease-carrying prey.

I panted and swallowed deeply. “How many do you think I need?” I asked.

She observed it carefully and said, “I’m not quite sure. Probably nine...the most.”

I blew out a deep breath and hung my head. “That’s a lot.” I sighed.

“Don’t worry.” She winked at me. “I’ll have you patched up in no time. Then I’ll prescribe you some pain killers for the soreness.”

~~~~

After Mrs. Osborne was done stitching and coating a dime-size amount of antibiotics cream over my wound, she began to dressed my arm and gave me two tablets to take for the pain.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

“Loved,” I said playfully, but deep down I did. She took my response personally, judging by how serious her countenance had turned. “Sorry, I meant...thank you. I feel much better.”

She leaned away and disposed of the bloody clothes. “I don’t think you can work in your condition, but you could assist me and take notes for today.”

Though Mrs. Osborne is always busy and takes her work seriously, I was thrilled to work under her for the day. It was a perfect opportunity to see and learn more whiles the others carried out their basic assignments.

That day at work continued on much differently compared to the first day I started. I had the chance to work with Nurse Osborne one-on-one. I had learned and seen so much. That day couldn’t get any more stranger than it already was.

That’s what I thought...

After a few hours had passed since knocking off from work and explaining over a thousand times to mom and dad how I got my wound, I was well-rested and got myself ready for the party. I wore a long sleeve midi dress with a pair of sneakers. I braided my puff into a long ponytail, then apply a light blush of makeup on my face.

There, I heard Sarah calling out for me through our mind link. When sensed that the coast was clear, I creep quietly out my window with one arm and hopped inside the passenger seat of her car.

My conscience started to bother me as we made our way to the venue. I was so uneased. My heart was accelerating faster than it normally should. Something just didn’t feel right about this and like always, I took it lightly.

Unaware of the danger that awaited me that would change my life forever.

Read Chapter Three (Click like below)

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bbatcats-blog · 7 years

Text

let me be your coffee pot

“There’s only one plug in this entire coffee shop and you’re sitting right in front of it and you’re not even using it, and my laptop is about to die in the middle of this online exam I’m taking, so whatever I don’t care how intimidatingly attractive you are I’m sitting down at your table to plug my shit in.” AU

Title from ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ by Arctic Monkeys.

ff.net. - ao3.

Day one: AU/AH of KlarolineInfinity Week!

Caroline was beyond frustrated.

Sleep-deprived, coffee did nothing to calm her, full bent on getting a good grade. Apparently, Mr. Salvatore, her annoying and inappropriate Communication teacher, had taken a sudden like to technology —that wasn’t related at all to the fact that he showed up hungover at the last classes of the year, refusing to teach them anything, sending power points of the contents to them instead— and decided to take the exam through an online platform.

A message appeared on her laptop screen when she was reading a question about engaging people in the media, startling her.

You’re now running low on reserve battery power. You need to plug the power adapter into your computer and into a power outlet. If you don’t, your computer will go to sleep in a few minutes to preserve its memory contents.

Groaning, she looked around, noticing not even one plug in sight. It didn’t surprise her, considering the old vibe of the store, it was a miracle that it had wireless connection to begin with. Hell, she had actually contemplated turning around upon first looking inside “Original Coffee”. Ancient shelves containing jar of coffee grains instead of a machine, and a counter guy dressed in a Viking costume? Weird.

The shining screen reminded her that she had fifteen minutes and forty seconds left to finish the exam.

She cursed her bad luck. Had she walked under a ladder that day? She really hoped not.

Although it wasn’t completely her fault, on second thought, it was Katherine’s.

Though, while Enzo had been her only roommate everything seemed fine, she had gathered that living with people wasn’t easy from previous experiences.

They had become roommates in her first year of college. She was studying journalism and he public relations; however, they met in a Communication class, where he had been assigned as her partner for a project. Bonding over mutual hatred towards the new teacher, a creepy grinch-looking guy, and their love for both Nolan and Tarantino’s films, a friendship was slowly built on trust and support.

She had complained about how exhausting living with girls in the college campus was during one class and how she had been looking fruitlessly for a suitable apartment. He had offered her that, if she wanted, she could be his roommate. It was a tempting offer but she had to think it through. Could their relationship survive cohabitating?

When one of her then roommates started psychoanalyzing her, again, about her tendencies for order and referring to her single status as seeds of ’'the deep insecurities carved on her by her parents’ split“, while the other roommate looked at them disdainfully, perpetual pout on her lips, Caroline snapped and screamed at the girl that she was single because she wanted to, thank you very much, and it wasn’t her fault she was a lazy person who left her ugly clothes everywhere. Packing her possessions and leaving the room, she had called Enzo immediately to accept his offer.

Enzo was accommodating towards her and when she had told him order was needed, he complied, changing his ways and soon everything was organized in their apartment —well, expect his room but she couldn’t do miracles— and stayed that way through time. Friday nights watching movie marathons and eating junk food made them bond even more. To her surprise, she found herself caring for him as a brother and delighted upon seeing they managed to live together without major troubles.

She was happy with her single status. In the other hand, Enzo St. John wasn’t the serious relationship type, having new flings each week, he had enough class to not bring them to their apartment; it was either on their place or no activity at all. Their comfortable, beautiful and calm was destroyed when he became Rebekah Mikaelson’s boyfriend, a beautiful british girl who hated her guts.

With two occupied bedrooms and one to spare, they had always been looking for a new roommate. More than ever, Enzo had prompted her to do so, since she had been a bit lonely now that he spent a lot of time on Rebekah’s place (’'I know you’re an independant woman, gorgeous, but it would really put my mind at ease if you were with someone in here more. I’m feeling quite guilty for leaving you alone this much. What if I give you dog?”).

He suggested Kol, one of the the bajillion of Rebekah’s siblings, but she was no way in hell living with him after he spent the whole day they met —and every time they saw each other— throwing lame pick-up lines at her. No one seemed trustworthy enough, until she received a text message from Katerina Petrova, childhood best friend from Mystic Falls, the only one she had never lost contact with. Apparently, one of Kat’s parties had gotten out of control and the police came, for the tenth time in two months, and having been warned already, her parents kicked her out. With a too self-righteous sister and nobody else to rely on but Caroline, she was the only one she counted on. She needed a place to live in for a while and, after a talk with Enzo, she acquiesced. Using the money she still had from her trust fund on changing her name to Katherine Pierce, she had finally taken on the scholarship given to her a few months ago and went to live with them. Enzo and Katherine became friends quickly, which Rebekah hadn’t liked one bit.

Looking back at it, she damned the day she decided to help her friend.

Elijah, other of Rebekah’s brothers, had come to deliver some books to her on a normal Tuesday when Katherine had opened the door. She flirted with him, not an ounce of shame in her body, in front of a disgusted Rebekah, an amused Enzo and a frowning Caroline. He had coughed rather uncomfortably at the moment but Katherine was enchanted by him. Taking her coat, she threw Rebekah’s book in a table and dragged him out of there, God-knows-where. They had engaged in a relationship afterwards. Caroline shuddered every time she thought of it.

Present day, in the evening, she had been studying with her laptop, when Katherine entered the place, Elijah MIkaelson trailing behind. She slammed both hands on Caroline’s desk, mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Okay, Carebear, listen. This is our fifth month anniversary and after a delicious lunch, I would really like to fuck my boyfriend on every surface of this apartment.” Caroline’s nose scrunched up. “So, it’s better if you go to another place to finish your things.”

The girl scoffed and stood up. “No way! This is my apartment, I refuse to be kicked out again! Go do your stuff on this suit-wearing-monster’s house instead. No offense, by the way, Elijah.”

He nodded. “None taken, Miss Forbes.”’

Katherine smirked. “Then we’ll just have to get to business in front of you, don’t we, Elijah?”

Face red, he visibly cringed at his girlfriend’s manners, but Katherine threw herself on him, kissing him eagerly, and he forgot it.

Caroline angrily took her charger and laptop, putting it on a bag, leaving the room with loud steps.

Before closing the door, Elijah let out, “I’m sorry, Ms. Forbes,” trying his best to be polite through his heavy breathing.

She contemplated with disbelief the brown closed door. Hearing moans coming from inside, she yelled “I hope you both choke!”

In her current predicament, trying to come up with ways to make Katherine pay, a sigh elicited behind her caught her attention, making her turn around.

A guy sat at the table, looking down, frown marring his face, drawing something, very focused, on a paper. Another sigh escaped his lips and he looked up, scratching his neck with one hand, pencil previously used in the other. Stubble decorated his face along with full red lips, blue-ocean-deep eyes and a strong but tensed jaw. When his eyes connected with hers, he seemed to draw a breath and she forgot of the fifteen minutes and counting she had to finish. Their connection broke when, lost in the moment, without thinking, he opened his hand and the pencil dropped. He leaned down to pick it up, attracting Caroline’s eyes to his charcoal stained hands. Past them, she noticed a plug-in tampered to the wall… her salvation.

She contemplated going there and sitting quietly, finish her test and run away but dismissed the idea as too weird. However, when her eyes looked at the computer again and a red light indicated it was about to die, she damned Katherine again and, standing up quickly, charger and computer in hands, she moved to his table.

The guy looked at her, astounded at her sudden approach, but gave her a wicked smile. Damn, he had dimples too! “Anything I can help you with, sweetheart?”

“Is this seat taken?” He shook his head, confused. “Okay, so my computer’s about to turn off and I’m taking this big test and need to use this plug,” she explained while putting her computer and plugging the charger, “if you’re a loner who doesn’t like company I’m sorry dude, you’ll have to get over it for 13 minutes or go, i’m really sorry but blame whoever thought building this place as an ancient coffee shop was a good idea and put only one plug in the entire place. Like, what kind of person could even—?”

He chuckled, interrupting her speech, but her angry gaze made his laughter cease. He coughed. “I did, actually. This is my shop, love.” Showing his teeth, he was very amused at her widening eyes.

She damned Katherine again. Her cheeks couldn’t get redder at the moment.

“I probably should apologize for talking about you like this but i’m on the clock here, dude. Literally. I’ve got exactly,” she looked at the laptop screen, “twelve minutes and fifty-eight seconds so…”

Eyebrow raised, the guy smiled. “Then, I guess I’ll have to wait for it, love.”

A smile formed on her lips.

Twelve minutes and fifty seconds later, she let out a relieved sigh.

Her screen shined with a new message.

Time’s finished. Your test will be on the platform and the grade will be uploaded next Sunday.

After the rather chaotic day she had endured, excitement took over. The scholar year was over. No more essays, exams or projects for Caroline Forbes that year.

She forgot everything until Dimples talked again, pencil scratching paper, “Finished, I guess, sweetheart?”

Unimpressed, she bit out, “Too distracted to notice the pet names before but quit it already, okay?.”

He put the pencil down and smiled. “Yes, ma'am. How should I call you?”

“Caroline,” she answered, dryly.

“Caroline,” he repeated, slowly. Caroline felt herself blush. Living with Enzo, enduring Kol’s incessant talking and Rebekah’s biting words, she had thought herself immune to british accents but he had proved her wrong, it seemed. “Sweet Caroline,” he said, singing tone, drawing the 'e’ at the end.

“Please, don’t. I get called that enough in british accent to have you doing it too,” she frowned, thinking of Kol.

Nodding, he looked at her, eyebrow raised. “A lot of british friends, I presume?”

She snorted. “You have no idea.”

He seemed curious but decided not to question her further. Instead, he smiled at her. “If you don’t mind me intruding, what was the test about?”

“What?”

“You said something about an exam…”

“Oh, it’s my final one of the communication classes. I’m a journalism major,” she seemed thoughtful, looking around the place, “You run this shop? It’s beautiful, even if the old vibe bothers my technology needs,” she joked.

“Oh yes, I run this but it was my little brother’s, Henrik, idea to decorate like this. I would have make it more modern but I can’t bring myself to deny him things. I’m an art major too, but have to work here because my father removed my trusting funds the day I told him I wanted nothing to do with law.”

She frowned. “That’s awful of him. But I really admire your passion for art.”

“Oh, I really enjoy it. Plus, it pissed father off.” He looked down at his draw and she could notice, to her surprise, her face on it. Her breath quickened. It was… very detailed and she looked pretty on it, a light coming from the sketch that made her gasp. He noticed it and she could see him fighting down a blush. “You’re beautiful, Caroline. And I like your personality. No one has ever insulted my coffee shop in such a magnificent way,” he said, seriousness matching his features.

His eyes looked at hers again. When they moved down and focused on her lips, fidgeting, she decided to change the subject, raising her eyebrow to emphasize it. “Why would you want to bother your dad?”

His playful smiled told her he was about to confide her a secret and she leaned too, smiling gently. He leaned over, elbows placed on the table and softly whispered, “Because I’m not his real son and he’s an arsehole.”

Playful attitude or not, the sadness underneath was evident. Suddenly, a memory flashed through her mind. Kol smiling playfully at her, much like Dimples was doing now, telling her stories about his brothers, Henrik and Nik, a bored Rebekah next to him.

British, brother named Henrik, changed law major for an art major, coffee shop owner, not his father’s real son, dimples.

Shifting on her chair, she wondered, “Wait a minute, Dimples. What’s your name?”

He smirked. “Well, certainly it’s not Dimples. I’m Niklaus Mikaelson, though, everyone calls me Klaus except my siblings,” he said, rolling his eyes.

She gasped and started picking her things up. She had her fill of Mikaelsons, she didn’t need more. While doing so, she dropped her latte and it got all over the floor. She bit her lip, there goes her coffee.

He looked worried. “Did I do something wrong, sweetheart?”

She shook her head and tried to smile at him. “Not really. I should probably get going.”

He winced and stood up too. “Is my name too hideous? You can call me Dimples if you would like,” he told her, hopefully.

She let out a laugh but then she turned serious upon seeing his expression.“It’s not you. Just… I don’t want more Mikaelsons in my life.” He seemed taken by surprise. “No offense, but three’s good enough, since one of them is basically the reason my roommate kicked me out today and I almost failed my test. The girl’s the reason why I actually had to get a roommate in the first place and the other’s just a pest.”

His eyes widened, realization struck him. “You’re the Caroline Forbes? That’s why you told me not to call you Sweet Caroline.”

“What?”

He smiled. “My brothers are enchanted by you. One of them refers to you as a pretty little thing that can’t refuse a challenge and the other says you’re a very educated admirable person, I suppose you can figure out which is one,” his statement made her roll her eyes, “and my sister says she hates you but actually likes you a lot.”

Well, she didn’t know that. Her gaze softened considerably.

“I would like to know you as they do. I wasn’t lying when I told you how magnificent you are. You have a light on you that actually warms my heart.” Quirked brow, she still looked rather reluctant, not believing his words. “Come on. Take a chance, Caroline, I dare you.”

Kol had said one true thing: Caroline couldn’t reject a challenge. And his eyes were slowly tearing down her walls.

“I don’t know…”

“I will even buy you another coffee.”

She chuckled. “Okay, but know this, I’m just staying on the promise of more coffee. I haven’t actually slept a lot the last couple of days.”

Caroline got revenge on Katherine eventually in her fifth month anniversary with Klaus. She entered the apartment, Kat’s eyes looking at them from the couch where she was studying, question on the tip of her tongue, but Caroline only smirked at her and proceeded to pin Klaus to the wall, his lips colliding against hers forcefully, tongues intertwining immediately. He nibbled her bottom lip and she felt something electrifying coursing through her veins. Placing her hands around his neck to pull him closer, she couldn’t get enough of him.

The loud slam of the door closing, indicating Katherine was out, got her to finally break the kiss. She felt satisfied at both her revenge and Klaus’ heavy breathing against her shoulder.

“I know what you intended to do, sweetheart.”

No longer scolding him for the pet names, she brought her lips to his again. Unbuttoning his coat quickly, she really hoped none of her roommates would come back soon. Soon as in a day or a week —maybe a month.

#sorry for any mistakes #klarolineinfinity #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fic #klaroline drabble #day one: au/ah #my writing #mine;

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