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comphy-and-cozy · 3 months

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GASLIGHT - andrei svechnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x Reader (f)

Summary: A dance of desperation, destruction, and desire with the man who broke your heart.

Word Count: 5.4K

Author’s Note: This is about a year in the making thanks to the thirsty, depraved minds of @pyotrkochetkov and @smileysvech. Inspired strongly by gaslight by inji, I present to you: toxic, cocky ex Andrei.

Warnings: Toxic relationship, dubcon/drunk consent, infidelity. Alcohol use/mention. Smut (18+ ONLY): Unprotected sex, very public sex/exhibitionism, oral sex (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), heavy degradation, Andrei has a filthy mouth.

Your media consumption is your responsibility. Do not proceed if any of the above warnings will trigger, hurt, or offend you. Masterlist / Moodboard

In all fairness, you knew Andrei Svechnikov was trouble as soon as your eyes locked with his at that fateful frat party, bathed in a deep blue light strobing on the ceiling. Even then, it was etched into his handsome face, his smile far too confident to be anything but a terrible, terrible idea. But you were young, dumb, and all too willing to fall for the broad Russian with the dimples and a body that looked like it was sculpted out of clay. He was way too hot to resist, and really, what’s a girl to do?

In all honesty, he was sweet at first, even genuine. He held the door open for you, walked you to class, let you wear his jersey. He swept you off your feet with an ease that should’ve had your radar beeping, but you were already in too deep to notice. Besides, you had no reason to believe that the handsome, charming boy with a toothy smile would be anything but wonderful.

Oh, how wrong you were.

When you look back on the chapter of your life regretfully titled ‘Andrei’, the pages stained with tears and spilled ink from all of the letters you never sent, you’ll remember the red flags that you didn’t notice (or maybe willfully ignored), heading straight into a myriad of heartbreak. You two were toxic together, in a seemingly endless cycle of hurt and betrayal.

But it was hands down, unequivocally, the best sex you’ve ever had.

And that’s what kept you coming back, even when he’d pull his shit and make his excuses for the hickeys on his neck that you didn’t put there or the purple thong on his floor that was a size too small for you. You’d turn a blind eye, pretending not to see, pretending that it didn’t sting after the sweet nothings he’d whisper to you after a night in his sheets.

The real turning point of your relationship was when you saw him leaving your sorority house the morning after a night out, a clear walk of shame—except you’d gone to bed alone. Seeing the bedhead and hickeys on your sorority sister, Callie, was all you needed to put the pieces together, your heart shattering for the first time.

So, after crying until you made yourself sick, drinking more tequila than you’d care to admit, you brushed yourself off, rose from the ashes, and did what any logical and sane girl would do in your shoes: fuck his teammate. And then another. And another. You took your rage and all of the hurt that simmered beneath your surface and channeled it into sweet, satisfying, addicting revenge. The orgasms weren’t quite the same, but you were surprised at how good getting even felt. Seeing the look on his face when he’d come down the stairs to find you in the kitchen, in a ratty old t-shirt of one of his friends… priceless.

From then on, you and Andrei were locked in what felt like an eternal battle at who could out-toxic the other. You thrived on knowing you were riling him up, getting under his skin, burrowing your way into his psyche to ensure he’d never forget you and would forever regret betraying you. You were the one who got away, not the other way around.

From the moment you stepped into the bar that fateful night, instantly feeling his eyes crawling over your legs, you couldn’t deny that you had voluntarily set yourself up for it. Unable to resist his charm, dripping in honey, trouble etched into the predatory gaze he held on you, there was no way you were getting out unscathed.

His white button-up is a size too small, hugging his muscles in a way that makes the fabric fight against the buttons in the middle. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the corded muscle of his forearms on display, the expensive watch sitting on his thick wrist. He wears it everywhere he goes, so you know he couldn’t have done it on purpose, but you can’t help but feel he knew you’d be there tonight, exposing it with the sole intention of driving you wild.

So, it’s only to be expected that you make your way over to a friend of his, slinking up beside him at the bar with a seductive smile and wide eyes, leaning into him and letting your hand rest on his bicep while you laugh at his joke. It feels over the top—because it is—but you’re fueled by the knowledge that Andrei will be fuming once he sees it. It’s the same old cat-and-mouse game that you always play, pushing his buttons even from afar.

It makes for the best foreplay.

Your new beau—Scott—struts off to the bar, smug at how easy his win tonight is. He barely had to work to have you hanging all over him, and the prospect of getting you into his bed at the end of the night is all but a slam dunk. Your eyes watch him, appreciatively admiring the broad shoulders and built back, envisioning what it’ll look like littered with angry, red scratches from your pristine, hot pink nails.

He saunters up behind you, and you feel his presence without even needing to turn around.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His words, heavily accented, are slurred—just slightly, but enough for you to know he’s been heavy on the vodka tonics. Part of you wonders if your antics with Scott have influenced his state of mind. Judging by the way his arms are crossed, revealing the curve of his enormous bicep and the thickness of his forearms, you’d wager that they have.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Andrei,” you say, tossing your hair back, dismissing him instantly.

“Cut the shit, sweetheart,” he sneers. His eyes drag shamelessly over your figure, heat lingering where his gaze travels. “That’s the third one of my teammates you’ve tried to fuck.”

“Fourth, actually.”

“Do you actually want them, or are you just whoring around my friends to get a rise out of me?”

“That’s rich,” you scoff, voice dripping with distaste. The absolute nerve on this guy. “Can’t handle the thought of your friend fucking me better than you?”

Andrei’s smile is sickly sweet. “We both know that was never the issue, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately, he’s right. Memories of late nights punctured by a thick Russian accent, bite marks that turned into bruises that lasted for days flood your mind, a phantom touch along your hip making your shiver.

“Where's your new bitch?” you pivot. “Let me guess, busy taking your Insta pics?”

His smirk grows, enough to reveal his missing tooth. The mockery in his tone drips from every word as he says, “That’s no way to talk about your sister.”

You bite back your grimace and the urge to say, “That’s not my sister,” but unfortunately he’s picked up your strategy of ticking off your friends on his bedpost one by one, and this latest iteration has landed him in bed with your suitemate, Jenna. When she broke up with her long-term boyfriend, you knew it was only a matter of time before Andrei swooped in with his handsome smile, dimples, and delicious muscles, sisterhood be damned. The fact that you two shared a wall was only the cherry on top.

With a glance at the bar, you see that Scott is stuck in line, your 3rd Mezcal margarita too far away. He sends you an apologetic shrug, gesturing to the growing crowd and signaling to wait for him. Your lips curl into a forced smile, blowing a kiss and offering a cheeky wave.

Andrei shifts on his feet, amused at the overzealous act that his idiotic linemate seems to be buying. With another glance across your figure, doing far more than just undressing you with his eyes, he sidles back up to you. With the way you look, he supposes he shouldn’t expect to resist.

“Seems like your man is gonna be a while. Dance with me?” he whispers into your ear. You ignore the way the heat from his breath travels down your spine, arousal instantly pooling through you despite every nerve in your body trying to fight it.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Andrei.”

“Doesn’t mean two old friends can’t have a dance,” he counters.

You resist the urge to snort at the label, as if you were ever friends. It’s the same look in his eye as always, the one that got your heart broken a thousand times before, but you find your hand slipping into his—ignoring the sheer size of it compared to yours—and letting him lead you into the throng of people anyways.

The way Andrei’s firm body slots up behind yours is far too easy, his hands all too familiar on your hips as he pulls you into him, forcing a slow and steady grind to the beat of the music. It should be shocking the way that Jenna—and Scott—completely slips from your mind, replaced by the feeling of his groin pressed against the curve of your ass.

“Look so fucking hot tonight,” he purrs in your ear. Your eyebrows raise in surprise, but your body reacts involuntarily when his praise goes straight between your legs. “Made my dick hard just looking at you.”

“Wouldn’t want your girl hearing you talk like that,” you manage to retort, shaking away the arousal that threatens to warm your entire body.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“That what you said about me?” you ask, ignoring the pang of hurt that strikes your heart. It’s the first—and only—glimpse of a real emotion, hidden beneath snark and quick remarks.

“Aw, baby, let’s let the past stay in the past,” Andrei says, deflecting by pressing your ass against his groin, allowing you to feel the firmness beneath his zipper. The flash of any serious conversation disappears when the tips of his fingers graze against the underside of your breast, fostering the spread of goosebumps over your body. It’s a diversion, and you hate that it works; his hands have always been a source of weakness for you.

Heat simmers in your core, gradually growing until it’s bubbling; his hands crawling over your body while your hips move in sync with his. The chance of rekindling whatever you had before is long gone, and you’re well past any apology or reparation, so you might as well have fun with it, right?

His hands trail fire down your sides, over the bare skin between your top and skirt, to your bare leg. You’ve lost the ability to speak, to protest—not that you would—when you feel his fingers curl under the hem, tugging it up until you're all but entirely exposed, challenging you to resist. The air, though warm from the crowd, feels heavenly on your hot thighs, cool against the damp fabric of your panties. Your body gives an involuntary shiver when one large hand splays possessively over your hip, the other creeping over to the inside of your thigh.

You know what Andrei’s up to, and as much as you hate him, there’s not a single ounce in your body that wants to stop him. Your legs fall open against your will, making more space for his hand.

“Fucking soaked,” he sneers, laughing at the way you shudder when his finger barely grazes your clit, pressing against the wet scrap of fabric covering your modesty. “Knew you would be. You can never get enough of me, can you?”

Refusing to give in so easily, you reply by slowing the roll of your hips, pressing further against his groin to grind against him. His chuckle is low in your ear, amused at your attempt to keep the playing field even. The pad of his middle finger runs over your pussy, collecting the wetness that’s seeping through the cotton.

Andrei’s hand stays gripped on your thigh while the other comes up to press his finger against your lips. You can taste your own essence on the tip of his finger, coating your lip with the moisture. It presses into your mouth, pushing against your tongue in a display of dominance; though you want to push him away, your body betrays you and your lips close around his digit, sucking hard.

The sound of your moan when he roughly tugs your panties to the side is covered by the heavy bass pumping through the room. The lights are dim enough, strobing around to hide the way Andrei plunges a thick finger into you, though admittedly you wouldn’t notice or care if someone were to spot you, the thought making you even hotter.

“Always so fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs in your ear, shifting his hand to add another finger. “Dripping all over my hand like a fucking whore.”

“Andrei,” you whisper, fruitlessly, the sound of your voice swallowed by the electronic wobs of the remixed rap song overhead. Your resolve is slipping quickly, with each deep twist of his fingers inside of you, knees losing strength with every passing moment. Maybe it’s the cocktail, or maybe it’s just him; either way, you’re intoxicated.

His marriage and middle pump their way into you, the slick between your thighs making it all too easy for him to slide them in and out. Your eyes flutter shut, head lolling back slightly when he strokes you perfectly, even despite the awkward angle of his wrist, shoved between your legs in the middle of a sweaty, crowded room. So far, no one’s seemed to notice—or perhaps, if they did, they just opted to ignore it.

“Fuck, kisa,” he murmurs, and the heat in his voice makes you clench around his digits. It’s rough, deep in your ear, followed by what you presume is cursing in Russian. Andrei grips your hips so tightly you’re certain there’ll be fingerprint-sized bruises on them tomorrow. “Such a desperate whore for me, you’d let me take you right here in front of everyone, wouldn’t you?”

His finger presses against your g-spot in a way that has your resolve completely melting; suddenly, all you can focus on is the feeling that’s blooming in your core, flooding pleasure through your veins. Fuck it.

“Fuck yeah, give it to me.”

You’re not really serious, at least not entirely, but your stomach flutters with excitement when you feel one of his hands fidgeting behind your ass, fishing out his erection to press it against you. He’s hard, and you can feel the way he throbs against you through the thin material of your skirt. Admittedly, you had missed that specific part of him. No one, not even his linemate Scott with the big dick, could replicate Andrei.

“This what you want, huh? Want it deep in that little cunt?” he says, tapping himself lightly against your ass in the limited space he has between your bodies. “Guess my dick doesn’t know how much of a bitch you are.”

“Probably because your dick has been inside way bigger bitches than me,” you bite back, the throb between your legs not enough to cull the sass and bitterness that lingers just beneath the surface. If his fingers weren’t just buried between your thighs, you probably would’ve had more to say about the matter.

When you feel the curl of his fingers tugging the material of your skirt up farther, you arch into him, your senses ablaze with adrenaline. You can’t help it, giving into the way you throb, empty, waiting for him to soothe the need with the harsh thrust of his cock.

Andrei is slow, drawing out your torture. He keeps his hips pressed against your backside, shielding his erection with your ass, because you are still in public, after all. His large hand grips your hip while the other reaches between your bodies, and you let out a whimper when you feel his tip lining up with your entrance.

He pushes in, slowly, mainly to avoid attracting attention. His hands flex against your waist, pulling you into him and encouraging you to resume the grind of your hips; only this time, his dick is buried deep inside of you and he’s pressed directly against your g-spot. He hasn’t been inside you for 5 seconds and your legs are already shaking, trying desperately to steady your breathing while heat floods through your body.

Even through the loud music, you can hear the way Andrei grunts lowly in your ear, and you’re pleased to know he’s just as strung out as you, fucking you in the middle of a dance floor. His hips begin to push forward, subtly, forcing you to feel each inch and ridge of his cock dragging in and out of your soaked pussy. Large hands crawl over your hips, guiding them to gyrate against him and using your body to drive himself deeper inside of you.

It shouldn’t feel so good, getting blatantly fucked by your sworn enemy in the middle of a sweaty crowd, grinding shamelessly on his dick. But the beat syncs with his thrusts, heat flooding your system as he hits the perfect spot at the perfect pace to have your legs squeezing tightly around him.

“You been thinkin’ about this?” he whispers in your ear, and you can hear the smug smirk on his face. “Think about you while I’m fucking Jenna sometimes. She’s hot, but her cunt isn’t as tight as this one.”

“You’re—” you gasp when he delivers a hard thrust at the beat drop of the song that’s playing, “—such a fucking dick.”

“Aw, but you love it, don’t you?”

You hate him. Him and everything that he’s done to you—breaking your heart, picking up the pieces, only to shatter it again. There had been more nights spent crying over him than nights with him, screaming into your pillow until there were no tears left in your body. Worse than that, he’d turned you into someone you barely knew: someone who takes the low road and stoops to his level when you know you deserve better than all of it.

But damn, if you don’t love the way he fucks you.

It happens before you even have a chance to think about how you’ll mask it, instead crying out as your body goes limp against Andrei’s. His strong arms hold you in place, stilling his hips to feel the way your cunt clenches around him as your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami. The sound of your moan is swallowed by the bass, evaporating into thin air before it has the chance to make its way to any of the club’s patrons around you.

“Fuck,” Andrei husks in your ear, breath heavy against your skin. Your walls flutter around him as he lets the waves siphon through your shaking limbs. “Barely had to do any work for you to fall apart on my cock, huh? Comin’ for me like the pretty little slut you are.”

The retort you want to snap back doesn’t come out, mind still completely blown from the force of your climax. Your heart pounds in your throat, pussy clenching weakly around his thick cock, and you know you have no space to try and pretend he didn’t feel the way you came all over it.

“You gonna give me another one, dorogoy?”

“Drei,” you choke out, a wave of clarity splashing over you. “Not here.”

He hums, the vibration in his chest pressed against your back, so deep that it travels down your spine. “Unfortunate. But I suppose getting arrested for public indecency probably isn’t very good for my career.”

Behind you, you feel him tucking himself back into his pants, using your body to shield the way he adjusts before he’s gripping your arm and dragging you with him. “C’mon. M’not done until your face is painted with my cum.”

He doesn’t bother to fix your skirt, and you’re frantically tugging it back down to cover yourself as he leads you through the crowd. The next thing you know, you’re being pushed into the dark, dingy bathroom before his hands are pushing your crop top up, exposing your bra. Your eyes glance to the unlocked door when he tugs the cups of your bra down.

“Nah, a slut like you doesn’t need privacy,” he purrs, like he’s reading your mind. His eyes glitter as he follows your line of sight. “I wouldn’t even bother charging anyone who walks in for the show. S’a free for all.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he’s roughly pushing you against the countertop, growling when he pulls your skirt back up your hips. Your mouth opens to protest, but he speaks over you. “It’s so cute when you act all modest, but we both know you’re a cheap whore, huh? Pretendin’ that you wouldn’t like an audience. Like you wouldn’t let me bend you over one of those cocktail tables out there.”

“Think you wanna get caught, Svechnikov,” you tease, pressing your ass back against his pelvis, grinding on him in the same movements as earlier—only this time, you’re an orgasm deep, and you have at least some semblance of privacy, so you have no reservations. Your eyes lock with his in the reflection, holding his gaze. “Looking for an excuse to end things with Jenna, are you?”

“Nah, I think I’ll keep her around,” he says with a smile, pushing at your back to press your breasts against the cold countertop. “She’s a good fuck.”

“You gonna fuck me, or you just gonna talk about her? I can go get her, if you want. Catch her up on the details.”

With a laugh, Andrei tsks. “So impatient. Didn’t your mother ever teach you about manners?”

“More than yours ever taught you, that’s for sure,” you spit back. If only his mother knew the things he’d done and said to you; you’re sure she’d have plenty to say about her son’s behavior.

Andrei pulls himself out of his pants, fisting his dick before he’s dropping a wad of spit on the tip, running it through your folds. In the mirror, you see him watching the way it melds with your slick, coating the head of his dick. “I love when you talk dirty to me. Makes me so fuckin’ hard.”

He doesn’t give you the satisfaction of having the last word, shooting back whatever sassy comeback is lingering on your tongue, instead pushing into you so quickly a gasp is ripped from your throat. His hips press hard against your ass, buried to the hilt so you can throb around the entirety of him. “So tight, ‘specially for a cunt that gets used so often.”

The degradation pours out of his mouth, a hot wave of arousal trailing up your spine with every word. He’s the only one that can pull it off, igniting the blue flame inside of you with filthy whispers, paired perfectly with each precise thrust. His hands dig into your hips, pulling you back against him roughly, loud slaps of your ass against his pelvis echoing around the room.

A large hand makes its way up your spine, slipping into your hair and tugging you back until your spine is arched and his chest is pressed against your back. You take in your own reflection in the mirror, cheeks growing warm at the sight: hair mussed, makeup smeared, clothes disheveled across your frame. At the apex of your thighs, you can’t help but stare at his thick cock driving into you, glistening with your slick.

Andrei hums lowly in your ear. “Look at you, filthy fuckin’ whore with your tits out, getting this slutty little cunt destroyed by my dick.”

“Andrei,” you gasp out—whether at the filth spewing out of his mouth, or from the way he’s driving into you, relentless, you aren’t sure.

“Yeah, baby, you gonna come?”

Your reply is a choked cry. “No–”

“No? Yeah, you are, can feel the way you’re gripping my cock. You’re gonna gush all over me.”

Your hand betrays you, slipping from the edge of the counter to paw at your clit. His chuckle makes your cheeks hot, burning even hotter when his breath fans against your neck. “Say ‘please.’”

The last shred of dignity you have left lodges in your throat, and you glare at him in the reflection, refusing to take his bait. His eyebrow raises, and a moment later, his hips cease their movements.

An involuntary whine claws its way out of your throat, feeling the way your pussy flutters helplessly around him. You know he can feel it, too, judging by the way his eyes glitter as he looks at you. His voice is deep, rumbling lowly in your ear, “We both know you want it. Need it. Scott wasn’t gonna give it to you, was he? Not like this. Not like me.”

You purse your lips, shaking your head. You’re not quite sure what game you’re playing, not when he can read you like a book, can feel the evidence of your pending release, pulsing desperately around him. Begging.

When you don’t answer, still stubbornly clinging onto your last, desperate piece of humility, his hand slithers up to roughly grope at your breast. He massages, then pinches your peaked nipple between two large fingers. “Use your manners.”

Your hips cant backwards, attempting to goad him into moving—all you need is just a little bit, and you’ll be falling off the cliff into oblivion. He chuckles, hips moving quickly to avoid being sheathed fully inside you; you’re reprimanded with a slap to your breast. No words are necessary; he isn’t going to bother repeating himself, so you steel yourself and say with a shaky voice, “P-please, Andrei.”

A satisfied smirk curls onto his stupid, handsome face as he releases your breast, knocking your own hand out of the way to rub at your clit as he resumes the same brutal rhythm as before. The warmth of his finger sends a spark up your spine, heightening the pleasure that surges through you.

“C’mon, kisa. Come on it.”

You have no choice but to obey, the world shattering around you after freezing entirely for the briefest of moments. You swear your soul leaves your body in the middle of that dingy bathroom in the city’s hottest club; one set of fingers pressed against your throbbing clit, the other gripping the edge of the countertop, holding on for dear life. The sound of Andrei’s groan of satisfaction is deep in your ear, approving of the way your hips twitch in his hands.

“You’re so pretty when you come,” he says, patronizing, nipping affectionately at your shoulder. You don’t have it in you to roll your eyes, but you sigh loudly when he pulls out of you; the empty void in your pussy is devastating. “On your knees, sweetheart. Gotta clean up the mess you made.”

He isn’t rough, but he isn’t entirely gentle as he encourages you to your knees; you do your best not to imagine what is on the sticky, tiled floor of the bathroom—or the last time it was cleaned. Andrei smirks as he tilts his head down to look at you. “Knew I’d get you back here someday.”

“You want me to suck your dick or not?”

“I do,” he says slowly. “But I know you want that even more.”

Now, you do roll your eyes, ignoring him and leaning forward to take him in your mouth.

“Ah ah ah,” he stops you. You hate that he makes you feel like a greedy child going for a piece of candy before you say ‘thank you’. “Want you to say it.”

“Fuck you,” you spit out.

“Already did, sweetheart,” he winks, and you scowl in response. He’s the worst when he’s right.

“Wanna suck your dick, Andrei,” you say reluctantly, the words tasting awful in your mouth. You’re tempted to slap the smug look on his stupid, handsome face.

Your eyes draw to the way he takes his length in his hand, stroking it slowly. “Want it in your throat, hm?”

A glare, burning hot, shot in his direction. He watches you, expectant, and you know he’s waiting for you to repeat his words. The sooner you say it, the sooner it’ll be over. “Want it in my throat.”

“Want me to spill my cum all over that pretty face?” he smirks. You swallow, hot from the inside out.

“Want you to come all over my face, Drei.”

It sounds so sincere he pauses to stare. Then the smirk returns. “Aw, baby, all you had to do was ask.”

His dick meets your lips and you whimper as soon as it presses into your mouth. The weight of him is familiar, almost comforting on your tongue, though the width of him is something you never got used to. He’s big, and he knows it.

“Forgot how much I like the way you look with my cock stuffed in your mouth,” he says, pulling his phone out of the back pocket of his unzipped pants to snap a photo of you. “Should I post on my private story, you think?”

“You post and I’ll never suck your dick again, Svechnikov.”

“Don’t worry, kisa,” he coos. “Want to keep that for my eyes only. Now, put that pretty mouth to work, yeah?”

With a scoff, you roll your eyes and part your lips again—reluctantly. You can’t explain why, but there’s an inexplicable urge to have him back in your mouth, to deliver the pleasure he never fails to offer you.

To keep him addicted to you the same way you are him.

He presses in, doesn’t give you the time to adjust before he’s hitting the back of your throat, nor does he bother to hide his dark chuckle when you choke, tears brimming in your eyes. With a groan, his thrusts grow quicker, drool spilling out the side of your mouth.

“Not sure what I like fucking more: your cunt or your face,” he drawls, accent thick as he draws closer to his release. Thick fingers card through your hair, securing a hold at the back of your head and you blink away the stream of tears pooling in your eyes. A string of broken Russian falls from his mouth, eyes squeezed shut while his hips increase their pace. “Fuckin’ love when you gag on it though, baby.”

Andrei lets out another loud groan and a frantic series of thrusts before he’s pulling out of your mouth quickly, wrapping his fingers around length and stroking himself. He jerks a few times before releasing another curse in Russian before he spills onto your face, dripping thickly over your skin.

“Fuck,” he says, this time in English. “Now I gotta get a picture of that.”

When he tugs his phone out, you do your best to scramble away, but you hear the telltale click of the camera anyways. Andrei’s hum is smug as he admires his artistry. “M’sure Scott will love this preview of you for later.”

“You are the worst,” you huff, glaring at him as you clean up your face. Still, you can’t help the heat that creeps into your cheeks.

“What? All I was doing was warming you up for him. Think about how much dick you can take now that I’ve stretched you out.”

Not bothering to even waste the energy arguing back, you opt to flip him off. The effect is much less powerful given that you’re tossing out the paper towel that wiped his cum off your face. He raises an amused eyebrow, eyes raking over your figure before stepping beside you to grab his own paper towel.

While he’s cleaning himself up, you adjust your skirt, ensuring you’re properly covered. A glance in the mirror renders your reflection less than stellar, but you clean up the smudged lip gloss and wipe away the runny mascara from under your eyes. When you look back at Andrei, he’s distracted by his phone, so you seize the opportunity to take his wallet and pull out two crisp hundred dollar bills, fresh from the ATM.

Rubbing the bills together catches his attention, and he grimaces as he lunges toward you. Holding them just out of his grasp, you offer a big pucker of your lips, pressed to his cheek with a loud, “mwah!” before tucking the bills into your top, snug against your breast. With a wink, you walk out, feeling his gaze hot on your ass as the door swings shut behind you.

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flowerandblood · 2 months

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The Fall from the Heavens (19)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: mention of sex, manipulation, angst ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She didn't know what made her feel an unpleasant constriction in her stomach when she saw the Iron Throne out of the corner of her eye. She stopped, looking at it, standing in the half-light in the distance of the great throne room, illuminated only by the light of the torches.

She thought with pain and bitterness that everything that had happened, everything they had had to sacrifice and fight for, was only because of someone being able to sit on it and declare themselves the only legitimate ruler.

Greed flowed through the veins of Targaryens as much as fire and blood, she thought with dismay.

Sunk in her thoughts, she headed for the throne room, thinking in the back of her mind that even if her father and mother agreed to come to an agreement to build a truce on the foundation of their marriage, if she did not bear her uncle a son, her husband's faction would surely begin plotting against her mother despite the agreement.

Even if her husband remained faithful to her, she could never fully trust him, be sure that he was on her side.

The perpetual thought of betrayal was destroying her from the inside.

She knew that in a matter of days her moon bleeding should begin and she knew what it would mean.

Disappointment and danger.

This was why, every morning for the last few days, before she had even had time to truly wake up, she had sunk her hand between her thighs, feeling her insides clench with fear and terror as she sensed the moisture under her fingers, which then turned out to her relief to be only her wetness mingled with her husband's spend.

It made her draw in a loud breath and smile, for a moment believing that maybe a miracle would happen.

That the gods by making his seed take root in her womb would also indicate to the kingdom that what they wanted to do met with their approval.

Later in the day, however, all it took was for her to feel a discomfort in her lower abdomen, a slight sting or pain, a wetness between her thighs and a cold sweat would fall over her again. She would then lose her appetite and although she ate her morning meal in the presence of her husband, she would later lie that she had eaten a second meal during his training and duties.

She was unable to swallow anything out of fear.

She had the feeling that later when he took her, already as her legitimate husband, something inside her broke, all her terror, her doubts and despair spilled out of her like a rushing river.

She was afraid of his reaction, afraid of his certainty that it was impossible for them not to have succeeded in begetting an heir even though her whole body screamed that it could have been different, that it could be months or years before it happened, and they did not have that much time.

His words, however, took her completely by surprise.

You need to calm down.

Come to terms as I do with whatever the will of the heavens decides.

She didn't know why she suddenly felt burning tears under her eyelids, why her lower lip began to tremble, why her throat squeezed so tightly at the wonderful thought that he understood that no matter how much she begged the gods for their mercy, she had no control over what would happen.

He let her know that whatever would come to pass, he would not blame her.

That he would consider it the will of the gods and not her failure.

She made love to him for the second time that night in his chamber, the embrace of his strong arms tighter than usual, the touch of his hands more tender, his lips finding hers again and again in sticky, greedy kisses as the deep thrusts of his hips forced his swollen manhood into her.

Even though she was a prisoner, she felt free, even though her enemy was taking her, she felt safe, even though some part of her thought it a betrayal, she loved him deeper than ever before.

Her lover.

Her husband.

Her friend.

She hadn't understood when she was still a child how important was the bond they had created then, the long hours they spent at night in conversation, in discussions, sometimes even arguments, after which, however, they always found each other again, realizing that they didn't have to agree on all issues.

She realised, lying with her face cuddled into his naked chest, holding her hand over his lazily beating heart, enveloped tightly in his arms with her legs entwined with his, that although at the time, in the context of their future marriage, what they were doing seemed unimportant, it appeared that it was in fact the foundation of everything that had happened between them many years later.

Had it not been for the trust and affection they had for each other then, they would not have been able to find their way in this reality that faced them now.

"I am truly fond of you, uncle." She said softly, sitting in one of the chairs in his chamber facing him, similarly engrossed in her reading, swinging her legs that did not reach the ground. She realised, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, that she had never told him this and she was not sure he had ever heard such words from anyone.

He lifted his gaze to her and furrowed his eyebrows, as if for a moment he did not understand what she had said; his face expressed consternation and embarrassment, as if he was unsure whether he should respond as a man to such a confession.

However, he apparently decided after a moment that since it was not an overwhelming confession of girlish deep love, but a simple expression of affection, he could also express his opinion on the matter.

"Well…I'm fond of you too." He replied cautiously and grunted, turning back to his book, pretending to concentrate on his reading with all his might – she could see the vein in his neck pulsing rapidly, betraying his excitement.

"What do you appreciate most about me? I, for one, value in you that you know so many things and always listen to me attentively. When I don't know something, you don't mock me but explain everything to me. I like it when you teach me and when you look at my embroidery, when you choose the ones you find most beautiful. I am very grateful then." She said quickly on one exhale, swallowing loudly, overjoyed that he had responded to her words, wanting to take advantage of this and convey to him as much as possible at once, which of course overwhelmed him as he did not look at her for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line.

It seemed to her that he was trying to hold back a smile, but she didn't know why.

He did a lot of things she didn't understand and refrained from emotional statements or gestures, however, it didn't bother her.

That was just the way he was.

She heard him swallow hard, gathering up the courage to reply something, pretending to look at what he was reading, although she was sure his mind was just analysing everything she had told him carefully.

"Well. I must admit that I also appreciate in you that you never mock me and listen attentively to what I have to say. I am fond of your presence, simply put." He muttered, clearly feeling that he was drowning more and more with every word he spoke, settling back in his chair a little, lifting his book higher, not wanting her to look at his face any longer.

She smiled contentedly then, happy, and went back to her reading without disturbing him any further.

She remembered that day exactly, for when she had escaped to him as she did every night, hiding under his bedclothes, she had fallen asleep almost immediately, tired after her long day full of duties. He waited apparently for her to fall asleep, hoping she wouldn't feel it as his hand touched her cheek, as his lips pressed against hers in a warm, soft, tender kiss.

She didn't move or open her eyes, feeling the heat in her lower abdomen, her heart began to pound like mad with delight, for he had never kissed her first before, never kissed her like this before.

She thought of that night and that day as she watched him standing on the other side of the chamber in the morning, his servant helping him dress his black, leather tunic while her maid tied the bodice of her gown.

Their gazes met for a moment and she saw him sigh heavily, unhappy at the thought of what awaited them.

Borros Baratheon.

The Lord of Storm's End appeared in King's Landing at midday, accompanied by his son and his daughter, who it was agreed was to marry her husband. The King called a gathering in the throne room, at which she and her uncle were also to be present, to try to face the consequences of their somewhat joint decision together.

She and her husband stepped into a great hall with tall windows with seven-pointed stars through a side entrance. She swallowed loudly when she caught sight of the silhouette of a postured man, his beard, hair and thick black eyebrows furrowed in disapproval and rage at the sight of her, his lips clenched as much as his fists. Her gaze fled to the right, to the girl standing next to him.

Maris Baratheon lifted her chin higher at the sight of her, struggling to hide the expression of frustration and disappointment in her eyes, clearly hoping that the woman who had stolen her prince would be an ordinary and bland girl, standing in the shadow of her dragon husband.

She, however, had specifically ordered her servants to leave her hair loose, for although when she was a child its colour had driven her to despair, now she saw it as her advantage – her dark and shiny curls fall in gentle waves down her exposed back, accentuating her fair skin and bare shoulders.

Her gown was modest, black and matte, with floral ornaments embroidered in gold threads on her chest, her sleeves reaching all the way down to the ground.

Anyone looking at them from afar could have the impression that her choice of attire was no accident, even more so standing next to her husband clad in a black leather tunic.

They looked alike.

Their evidence of unity and intimacy, a wordless expression of their bond.

She wondered if she could see from a distance the previously red and now slightly purple bruise on her neck, a reminder of her husband's greedy lips, and if she was aware of what it meant.

She pressed her lips together at the thought, trying not to smile and provoke her.

Although she couldn't call her ugly or rejecting, there was something harsh in her facial expression and posture – her elaborate hairstyle with her hair slicked back was perhaps fashionable, but it didn't suit her beauty or her face shape. Her gown, though rich, did not emphasise her assets, whatever they might be.

She thought she wanted to look haughty, to show her that while she was a lady of a respectable house, she was a mere bastard, even if the child of a princess.

Everyone turned their gazes towards the main gates when one of the guards announced the King himself; her uncle stepped into the throne room confidently without bestowing even a single glance on Borros Baratheon, Aegon the Conqueror's crown shone on his head in the glare of light trickling through the stained glass filled windows.

She felt her heart pound like mad as her uncle took his place on the throne, her mother's throne, and she clenched her eyelids, reminding herself that he had extended a hand of truce and that if she wanted the matter of succession to end bloodlessly, she had to control herself and give him respect.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye at her husband and swallowed loudly, seeing that he stood upright like a stone, all tense, his hands clasped behind his back, his silhouette expressing the same passive aggression she had felt from him when she appeared in the Red Keep after many years.

He was prepared for battle.

He was prepared to kill.

"My Lords. We are gathered here today to address a sensitive matter. Lord Borros Baratheon and his house have suffered an insult and have come to demand justice. My Lord." Aegon nodded, extending his hand, with this gesture showing him that he was allowing him to speak.

Lord Baratheon walked closer to the throne, followed by his heir and his daughter, her gaze full of poison and rage still fixed on her.

She did not look away.

She had no intention of giving her satisfaction.

"I have come to demand that the honourable Prince Aemond keep his mother's word and marry my daughter, Maris, according to his choice. I witnessed his arrival and that he confirmed in my presence my arrangements with the crown. Yet word has reached me that the Prince has secretly married another woman in a barbaric ceremony." Borros growled, his voice tubular and hoarse, full of strength and determination. She swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her stomach, a shiver of discomfort ran down her spine at his words.

She glanced at her husband feeling him move beside her restlessly, enraged, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He tried to remain silent and not explode.

Aegon nodded at his words with understanding.

"I understand your bitterness, my Lord. Indeed, our mother forced my brother to comply with her will. However, in my presence and that of our entire family, our father, and your King to whom you vowed, during the supper before his death, announced his will to us.

He conveyed to us that he was keeping the betrothal between my brother and my niece in force, foreseeing the division that would occur in the kingdom once he left this world. After his death, my mother imprisoned my niece and ordered my brother to fly to Storm's End.

Therefore, as you understand, my Lord, the case substituted in this light clearly proves that his decision could not have been in force, for as far as I am aware, it is the King's decision, not the Queen's, which is the final one." Said Aegon with a lightness that shocked both her and her husband.

She could not believe how good a speechmaker he was, with what ease he played with facts and half-truths, creating a image in which, indeed, his brother was in a no-win situation and their nuptials were an act of honour and a fulfilment of their late father's will.

Lord Baratheon drew in a loud breath, furious, his face all red with emotion.

"Are we to accept this insult in silence, then? They did not marry in the presence of witnesses, they did not marry in the Sept, so their marriage is invalid. I demand justice for myself and my daughter." He hissed, Aegon raised his hand, ordering him to be silent.

"I understand the source of your anger, my Lord. However, you have a right not to know that last night my brother married my niece in the presence of myself and my wife before the Septon, who prepared the appropriate act, and their marriage is valid in the eyes of the realm.

I recognise, however, the injustice that has befallen you and my brother has decided to donate part of his annual income as a dowry for your daughter. In addition, you or your son, that I leave to you, will be granted a seat on the Small Council in place of my grandfather, whose decisions led to this…misfortune."

He said softly; Borros pressed his lips together at his words, looking at Aegon with piercing eyes, clearly not knowing himself what he thought of what he had heard.

He hesitated.

After a moment, however, a woman's voice echoed in the throne room.

"It is impossible, my King. No one will marry a woman who has already been touched by another man. The Prince has taken my maidenhood."

All gathered began to speak loudly, shocked by her words – she felt her heart leap into her throat, her stomach squeezed so tightly that she had trouble catching her breath.

She and Aegon looked at her uncle at the same moment, her husband standing as if stunned, his healthy eye wide open, his mouth parted in disbelief. After a moment, however, his shock was replaced by an expression of anger and fury, he took a step forward like a lion about to lash out at its prey.

"Lie." He growled, the voices of conversation and disbelief all around them even louder, the King twisted in his throne, completely not expecting this turn of events.

"How can we be sure that it was my brother who deprived you of your…virtue, my Lady?" He asked quickly, wanting to turn her confession against her, in case it appeared that her uncle was guilty, to accuse her of being able to be taken by any other man.

She lowered her gaze, breathing loudly through her mouth, feeling the cold sweat run down the back of her neck, her hands clenched on her womb quivering as much as her body.

No, he would never have done something like this.

He wouldn't deprive a woman of her maidenhood knowing he wouldn't marry her.

Was she sure of that?

Maybe he took her as his wife that night because he felt remorse after betraying her?

She felt tears of despair welling up under her eyelids at that thought, feeling that for a moment she was in the throne room with only her body, no longer seeing the proud look of Maris who grinned seeing the expression on her face.

"I ran after the Prince once he wanted to leave. He took me in one of the corridors of our fortress against my will." She said without a shadow of embarrassment, as if dragging him down behind her was more important to her than her own honour.

She wanted to become his wife, the Prince's wife at any cost.

"Maris, good gods…" Mumbled her father, looking at her in disbelief, all red with shame at her confession, shocked as the others by what had left her mouth, knowing full well that she was not telling the truth.

"Disgusting lies. I followed my nephew out the stronghold and returned to the Red Keep to fulfil my duty to my father that same night. It was not your maidenhood I took then, shameless woman." He growled, and she felt heat in her heart and a burst of pride at his words.

Even though he had used lie against lie − after all, she was no longer a maiden then − the way Lord Baratheon's daughter swallowed her saliva, the way her body shivered under the weight of his words made her lift her chin, looking at her with superiority.

Insolent whore.

Aegon raised his hands in the air, clearly amused by the situation, ordering everyone to remain silent.

"As I see it, opinions are divided on what happened. Lord Baratheon is a party. Is there anyone else who could confirm your version of events, my Lady?" He asked lightly; the girl looked at him breathing heavily, her hands clenched on her lower abdomen. Aegon looked to the side, directing his gaze to his brother.

"And you, brother, can anyone confirm your words?"

"My nephew." He answered without hesitation.

She swallowed hard, reminding herself that he had, after all, allowed her to meet her brother, and the king wasn't aware of it.

That he could be accused of treason, lose Aegon's support.

"We exchanged a few unpleasant sentences before I returned to King's Landing. Only a brief moment passed between the time he left and our conversation. Certainly not enough for even the most desperate man to possess a woman."

"Who will believe the words of a traitor? Was it not he who took away your eye, my Prince? Did he take something else from you along with it?" She asked mockingly, her father looked at her in horror, his lips forming a silent, warning 'enough'.

She heard her husband draw in his breath loudly, his knuckles clicking in his fingers as he squeezed them as hard as if he wanted to break them himself.

"You were there, my Lord. You know that she did not run after me, and even if she had, she would have gained nothing. I chose her because she was most different from my wife. Lest she might ever think that I could lust after your daughter." He replied with a cold, deep hiss that echoed through the throne room.

She felt a wave of delightful satisfaction run down her body, and though she knew her husband's cruel words might have cost them everything, the look of disbelief on Maris' face was more than worth it.

Did she really believe that he had chosen her because she was the most beautiful of her sisters?

That he could ever desire her when she, his childhood friend, his confidante and lover was by his side?

"I do not know what I saw." Borros replied, however, without his previous confidence, not looking at him or the King, apparently trying with his last strength to protect his and his daughter's honour. Her husband snorted at these words.

"Pathetic." He sneered quietly, not daring to say it out loud; it seemed to her that his whole figure was trembling.

He was furious.

"If I were your daughter, I would be wary of such far-fetched accusations without any evidence or witnesses, my Lord. Some might call it as treason." Aegon replied, spreading out comfortably on his throne.

She couldn't believe some part of her admired him for how he was playing with the situation while still keeping what was happening under control.

Lord of Storm's End did not respond to his words.

Aegon's words were the nail in the coffin of whatever plan Lord Baratheon's daughter had in her head, and after her humiliating outburst, Borros agreed to the terms set by the king himself and the amount of her dowry, which her uncle-husband would pay out of his purse.

She watched with satisfaction and an involuntary smile on her lips as Lord Baratheon and his daughter were forced to sign the terms of the agreement imposed on them by her uncle.

Borros left the throne room like a storm, furious, without even bowing to Aegon, to which he only responded with an amused expression on his face.

Maris didn't dare look at her anymore, her face pale, from a distance she could see how red her eyes were from tears.

She wished to be a princess in a beautiful castle.

She could be his Rhaenys, but she had no intention of allowing any Visenya into their lives.

Even if it was one night in ten, she couldn't bear the thought of having to share him.

Fortunately, her husband was as possessive as she was.

The smile disappeared from her face as she felt an unpleasant, familiar stinging sensation inside her lower abdomen.

She clamped her hand over her womb as something warm and sticky ran down her thigh, a whine of despair and pain stuck in her throat as she pressed her lips together.

She took a step backwards, revealing the stone floor under her feet, and noticed a few drops of crimson liquid on it.

She was bleeding.

246 notes · View notes

casuallyimagining · 9 months

Text

Two Hours || myg

otter hybrid yoongi x female reader

Summary: Your neighbor invites you to a work picnic that he's nervous to attend. You promise to only stay for two hours. Word Count: 2,870 Genre: slice of life, fake dating, friends to ???, fluff Warnings: none

Notes: Thank you to @park-jimin-isnt-real for the moodboard above, and to @rec-me-bts for the moodboard below that I used in the teaser. I had so much trouble deciding which one to use where. Also many many thanks to @oddinary4bts and @madbutgloriouspond for beta-ing this for me and for their endless sympathies while I basically had an existential crisis in their dms. Thank you for not telling me I am annoying 💙

The elevator dings and you step onto your floor. Your arm stings from carrying the grocery bags from the garage–they aren’t particularly full, but it’s just heavy enough and just long enough to get your out of shape muscles angry at you. The closer you get to your apartment, the more you notice a banging noise. And when you finally round the corner, you see its source.

Your across-the-hall neighbor, Yoongi, stands outside of his own apartment rattling his door angrily.

“Stuck again?” you ask, fishing out your keys with your free hand.

Yoongi grunts, the small ears on the top of his head pressing into his hair in frustration. Silently, he takes the bags out of your hand while you open your door.

“You should call the landlord again,” you tell him. He follows you inside as if it’s natural. Which, really, it is. This is the fourth time this month his door has jammed, effectively locking him out of his home until a locksmith showed up.

“I’d fix it myself if he’d let me.” He sets the bags on your counter and starts to hand you items. Strawberries, a bottle of coffee creamer, cucumbers and celery. He picks up a box of frozen fish sticks and flips it around to read. “You know this stuff is garbage, right?”

You ignore his commentary on your groceries. “You know Krolmeir’s never going to let you fix it. He’d have to lower your rent.”

He hums, and you can hear the underlying ‘jackass’ in the tone.

“Do you want me to call him?” you asked. Krolmeir–your landlord–likes you way more than he seems to like Yoongi. You’re almost positive you can guess why. But you aren’t afraid to use his skeeviness to your advantage.

“I called him just before you showed up.”

“And he said…?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Yoongi imitates Krolmeir’s voice–a high-pitched nasally whine more than anything. He rolls his eyes. “So he’ll be here sometime between five minutes from now and next Tuesday.”

You hum sympathetically. “Hang out here until he comes? I’ll make dinner.”

“Are you making fish sticks?”

“Thought about it.” His face scrunches up in disgust, a massive frown parts his lips, revealing his longer than human canine teeth. You laugh and roll your eyes. “I was actually just going to order something. Want to get sushi?”

His eyes light up, but when he speaks, his tone doesn’t match how excited he looks. “Whatever you want to do. I’m the one crashing your evening.”

You wave him off. He should know by now that he’s not imposing. You’ve been neighbors for a few years now. You’d started off just going grocery shopping together–it’s easier to carry groceries when there are two of you–and quickly progressed to taking refuge in each other’s apartments when something went wrong in your own. First, it had been your air conditioning crapping out that had driven you to Yoongi’s apartment to avoid the late-summer heat. Then, his oven stopped working, and he’d hidden in your living room while the landlord and the handyman made the repairs. Back and forth until a friendship had formed.

The sushi arrives and you settle in together on your couch. You prop your door open so that you can hear if the landlord arrives. He takes two bites of his sashimi before Yoongi hums urgently, causing you to pause the show you’d turned on for background noise.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says, and you can tell he’s suddenly nervous. “So we’re having a potluck picnic thing at work, and someone decided it would be a great idea to make it mandatory.”

“Gross.”

“Yeah. But I get a plus one, so I was wondering if maybe you’d go with me? Make it a little more tolerable?”

“You want me to go to your dumb company picnic with you?”

“Well, when you say it like that…” Nervously, he pokes at a grain of rice that had fallen off one of his nigiri.

“Sounds like it’s going to be not a lot of fun.”

“Yeah.”

You shrug. “I’m in.”

Yoongi is a ball of nerves as you shift into park. You’re definitely not the first ones here–there’s like ten other cars in the gravel lot, and you can see a large-ish group of people milling about the pavilion just up the hill. He alternates between patting his thigh and picking at the skin around his thumbnail. His ears press into his hair so far you can’t even see them. You know he doesn’t care for his coworkers, but you didn’t know it was this bad. Maybe it’s the crowd, or the fact that so many of his coworkers will be here. You aren’t sure, but you don’t like how affected he is.

You reach over and gently cover his hands with your own. He freezes. “Let’s make a game plan,” you say softly. He hums. “We’ll stay for how long? Two hours? An hour and a half?”

“Two I think. Since it’s mandatory.”

You nod. “Stay for two hours. We’ll talk to people, but if it starts to be too much, let me know.”

For a moment, he’s quiet. But then, he nods. “Let’s do this.”

You carry the dessert Yoongi made–partially because you’re a little worried he might drop it from nerves–and he sticks by your side. He’s got one hand in his pocket, but he’s so close that the other brushes against you every few steps.

The closer you get, the more the people in the pavilion notice you. You watch as one by one, then a few at a time, they watch you approach. And suddenly, you understand why Yoongi’s uncomfortable. Eventually, someone comes scuttling toward you.

“Hi Yoongi!” she calls, waving enthusiastically as she approaches.

“Oh. Hey Liz.” He presses closer. “We uh… we brought tiramisu.”

The woman–Liz–takes the container out of your hands. You make a small noise of protest, but she’s already gone, back up the hill to the pavilion and everyone else.

“Yoongi and his girlfriend brought dessert,” you hear her announce.

“Oh, tiramisu? Nice!” someone else–you can’t see who–says.

“No way. I thought he was going to bring something fishy.” Someone else, you can see them and you make a note that you hate them, laughs. A few others chuckle, too, and you also hate them.

They’re still laughing when you get to the pavilion. You’re introduced to each of them by finding out what they brought, and honestly, you don’t remember most of their names. It’s David that made the comment about the fish, so you’re sure to memorize his name so you can hate him fully. David’s dating Yoongi’s manager, Marcus, who apparently brought chicken that is very good. There’s Alison, who brought naan, and Rabia who brought chutney to go with it. And Donghyun brought some sort of seven layer dip.

For the most part, none of them talk to you. It quickly becomes clear that these people aren’t friends. Certainly, they aren’t friends with Yoongi, but they aren’t friends at all. They talk to each other, but it’s clear that this is just another mandatory work thing for them, and they don’t want to be here. You’re honestly a little glad that they leave you alone. None of them seem particularly nice. Or interesting.

So you grab food. And you sit together at a table far away from where the rest of the group is lingering.

“One hour, 45 minutes to go,” Yoongi mumbles, and you snort in laughter, almost choking on the naan you’d just taken a bite of.

“Maybe it won’t be so-”

“Mind if I sit?” You’re interrupted by a bright voice, and when you look, Liz is standing beside Yoongi, holding a plate of food.

You look to Yoongi and he makes a face that says he really doesn’t want her to sit with you. But he says nothing, simply gestures to the other side of the table. Which, of course, she takes as an invitation to sit right beside him. He practically squeaks in distress and scoots slightly over so that there’s a bit of space between them.

“I have to be honest,” Liz begins, oblivious. “No one really expected you to bring anyone. We kind of all just assumed you were single, you know?” He hums, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge what she’s saying. Briefly, you consider correcting her–you aren’t dating–but she continues before you can even consider a polite way to address the situation. “How long have you known each other? How’d you meet?”

“Years.” He doesn’t even look at her to answer her, his focus on pushing his food around on his plate. His current victim is the seven layer dip he’s stabbing with a tortilla chip.

“We’re neighbors,” you add, hoping that maybe if you answer her questions, she’ll shut up and leave you alone.

Liz nods enthusiastically. “That’s so cute! You guys are cute.”

“I’m going to grab a drink,” Yoongi announces suddenly, standing up. “Do you want anything?”

“Surprise me.”

He nods and leaves you alone with Liz. “I’m serious,” she laughs. “When we were all told we could bring a plus-one, I don’t think anyone expected Yoongi to bring someone. He’s usually so quiet around everyone at work.”

You’ve lost patience with her quickly. You aren’t quite sure what it is, but every time she opens her mouth to speak, it grates on your nerves. “Sometimes, he only talks when he thinks it’s worth his time.” You shrug and make eye contact with her.

Her smile falters very briefly, but then she recovers and it’s like nothing changed. “He talks to me, though,” she continues, as if you’d said nothing. “Mostly about new album releases and stuff.” You work at a music store, you think. But you let her keep talking. “He knows so much about music. He played the piano for me once.”

You hum and say nothing, craning your neck so you can look around her to see where Yoongi’s gotten to. He’s at the end of the pavilion, distracted by Marcus, his manager.

“He’s really good,” Liz gushes. “Like, really good. He used to want to be a music teacher–did you know that? He told me-”

You tune her out. Of course, you know that he plays the piano. You’ve seen the brown upright that sits in his living room, never dusty because he plays it too much. You often hear the soft melodies that travel through the walls at night when he can’t sleep. He’d even told you about wanting to be a music teacher–a long-dead dream that he’d abandoned in his early 20s. You wish he hadn’t, he had the patience of a saint and he was one of the smartest people you knew. But you also understand how needlessly cruel the world can be sometimes.

Finally, Yoongi returns, balancing a plate and two bottles of beer. He sits one of the bottles in front of you and, with a flourish, places the plate between you. “Someone made hotteok,” he says gleefully, nudging a pancake in your direction. “They aren’t hot, but Marcus said they were really good.”

He picks one up, gives it a satisfied pat. A wide, gummy smile spreads across his lips and his eyes crinkle in delight. He pats the pancake again a few more times, before nudging the plate toward you. It’s got one more hotteok on it, and a scoop of the tiramisu trifle Yoongi’d made.

Liz makes a noise of annoyance, and the look on her face says that she’s not happy she’s being ignored. But she plasters on a smile when Yoongi looks over at her.

“Oh. Liz,” he says softly, one hand still gently patting his hotteok. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”

Her face falls. “I was just leaving.”

She leaves her plate behind.

He watches after her, eyes wide as she goes to join the group currently surrounding a bluetooth speaker. It’s blasting some sort of 90s pop song–you assume they’ve got a playlist going on someone’s phone.

“That was weird,” Yoongi says finally. “She’s normally really nice.”

You hum and lie. “Maybe she’s having a bad day.”

And as tactless as you think Liz is, you want to believe that’s true. You’ve heard plenty of stories of her, how she’s the only coworker that Yoongi actually likes, how she’s nice to him, how she actually seems to be interested in what he has to say. You don’t trust her, but you hope for Yoongi’s sake that she’s just off her game today.

Maybe if he clarified that you weren’t dating, it would help.

He doesn’t make any effort to do that, though, not even when Rabia brings around a QR code for you to scan to add songs to the playlist they’ve got going.

“Thought maybe you and your girlfriend would want to add some songs,” she says, offering a small smile. She waits patiently while Yoongi scans the code on her phone, and then she disappears again, back to the group over by the speaker.

“She seems nice,” you say, watching as he types into his phone and picks a couple songs.

Yoongi shrugs. “I’ve met her like twice? She works nights.”

After a second, he hands you his phone, open to some music website you’ve never heard of. You carefully consider what you might want to add. The site doesn’t let you see what else is in the playlist, so you aren’t sure what songs Yoongi picked, let alone what the others have queued up. But you pick two of your favorites that you think would be fun and hand him his phone back.

Apparently, the playlist is on shuffle, because a few songs later, you recognize the opening beats of one of the songs you chose. Immediately, Yoongi perks up, his little ears on alert as he listens. It takes all of about three seconds for him to break into a grin.

He’d introduced you to this band back when you first started grocery shopping together. You were driving, he was playing music on his phone. They were his favorite, a small hip-hop group made up of three dog hybrids. It wasn’t common for hybrids to make it in really any industry, so the fact that these guys did and their music was good? You couldn’t deny they had quickly become some of your favorite artists, too.

He sways a little with the music, his eyes closed. He looks content. You smile watching him, rest your chin on his hands. You’re happy you came, you determine.

Two hours fly faster than you thought they would. And when you point out that you’ve hit your promised limit and ask if Yoongi’s ready to go, he immediately nods. So you stand, say your goodbyes. His coworkers make a big deal of you leaving so soon. Liz tries to hug Yoongi before you leave, but he dodges her by grabbing another hotteok–though whether it was a purposeful deflection or just a happy accident, you aren’t sure.

He barely speaks until you’re in the car and halfway back to your apartment building. He shifts around in his seat, digging around in his pocket. He pulls out a rock–his favorite rock, you note–and rolls it around in his hand.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “For coming with me. I uh… I’m sorry I didn’t tell them we weren’t dating.”

You frown, and when you slow to a stop at the next redlight, you turn to look at him. “You don’t have to apologize for that. If it made the situation even a little easier, it’s totally fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, when am I going to see these people again?” The light turns green and you hit the gas. “Let them think whatever they want. You wanna come back in eight months and tell them we’re married? Go for it.”

“I-I don’t…”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

He nods. “I appreciate it.”

The car falls silent, the only sounds coming from the radio–Yoongi’s phone connected to the aux cord. He continues to toy with the rock, rubbing it between his fingers and tapping it against the armrest on the door. It takes only minutes to pull into the garage under your building, and even less to find a spot.

While you’re waiting for the elevator to return to the garage, he says your name so softly, you almost don’t hear it over the whirring of the cables and machinery.

“Here,” he says, reaching out and grabbing your hand. Carefully, he presses his rock into your palm.

You look at him, confused. “Yoongi, I…” He loves this rock. He’d never said exactly where he found it, but it’s a little round and very smooth, and you’ve seen him pat his pockets down on numerous occasions to make sure he has it with him.

“Take it. Please. I… As a thank you.” He doesn’t look at you, his face flushed a shade of light pink.

You nod and close your fingers around the rock. You’ll have to find somewhere nice to put it. And maybe, someday, you can find him a new one to replace it.

I'd love to know what you thought! I had been considering making this longer, but I thought leaving it open might be a little more fun. if you're interested, I may do a part two later? idk let me know if you're feeling a part two. thank you again to yav and jay for the moodboards. they're both so pretty.

#yoongi #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #hybrid yoongi #hybrid yoongi x reader #hybrid min yoongi #hybrid min yoongi x reader #hybrid bts #hybrid bts x reader #bts hybrid au #yoongi hybrid au #yoongi hybrid #yoongi hybrid x reader

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wholoveseggs · 4 months

Text

Indulgences

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

Part Four

In the aftermath of violence, you forge new connections and leave behind all the pain that has plagued you for so long.

7k words - Warnings: smut, angst, mentions of domestic violence, more angst, Klaus being nice, cannoli.

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Three}{Moodboard->}

You found yourself sitting in Elijah's shower, your knees tucked up to your chest, letting the warm water wash over your skin. Your body was sore, your throat ached, your face hurt; every part of you felt bruised. You stared at the tile, trying to process what happened.

All you felt was relief. You were finally free of Jordan. Free from his abuse, his manipulation, the constant fear of him hurting you. Elijah had saved your life. If he hadn't intervened, you'd be dead right now, but you were too exhausted to properly feel grateful. So you just cried, letting out all the pain you had bottled up over the years, and when there was no more energy left, you just sat there, letting the hot water soothe you.

You eventually got up, your whole body aching, bruises and scrapes covering your skin. You dried off, wrapping the towel around your body and winced at a strange pain on your back. You looked in the mirror and saw gravel embedded in your skin; you tried to remove it, but it was just out of your reach.

You left the bathroom and rummaged through the drawers, pulling on a pair of Elijah's sweatpants and a plain t-shirt, the fabric feeling soft against your skin. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, seeing a stranger. Your makeup was gone, and so was the persona that came with it; you had been stripped bare and exposed, the real you was staring back.

You went searching for something warm to drink to help you fall asleep. The house was silent and still, the lights were dim, the faint scent of candles in the air. You found the kitchen and grabbed a mug from the cupboard, filled it with water, and set it in the microwave, pressing the button.

"Who do we have here?" An accented voice called from behind, making you jump.

You turned and saw Klaus leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was here," you said, nervously tugging on the hem of the t-shirt, suddenly very conscious of the bruises covering your face and neck.

"I remember you from the club," Klaus continued, not acknowledging your apology. "You're the one who danced for Elijah."

"That's right," you mumbled, pulling the mug from the microwave.

Klaus approached you and took the mug from your hands, dumping out the water. "Sit, I'll make you some proper tea," he insisted, giving you a kind smile.

You did as you were told, pulling yourself onto the barstool and watching him make tea.

"What's your name, love?" Klaus asked, filling the kettle.

"Y/n," you said, picking at your fingernails.

"So you're the reason my brother has been disappearing most evenings," Klaus mused, setting the kettle on the stove and lighting the burner.

"I suppose," you said, feeling uneasy about where this was going.

"He's not the type to frequent the sort of establishment you work at. It's curious that he's been visiting you," he continued, turning to look at you, his gaze roaming over the marks on your skin.

"It's complicated," you said, crossing your arms self-consciously.

"May I ask how you acquired those bruises?" He inquired, pointing to your face.

"Boyfriend, I guess.. ex-boyfriend now," you said, the word boyfriend sounding wrong when you described him.

Klaus raised his eyebrow. "I see," he said, his tone was cold and sharp, his eyes glinting dangerously. "I'm sorry,"

You shrugged. "It's nothing," you mumbled, staring at the counter.

"Did my brother deal with him? Is he no longer in your life?" Klaus pressed.

"He's dead," you said softly.

Klaus stared at you in silence, his expression unreadable, his jaw clenched. "And do you mourn his loss?"

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak, tears stinging at the back of your eyes.

He sighed, placing his hands on the counter, his gaze boring into yours. "My father was the same way. I just want you to know, whatever you are feeling, it's okay," he said, his voice was soothing, understanding.

You felt the tears spilling over, sliding down your cheeks. You wiped them away, sniffling, not able to understand why his words broke you.

Klaus silently finished making the tea, handing you the steaming mug.

"Thank you," you said quietly, taking the mug in your hands, savoring the warmth.

"It's lavender, should help you sleep," he explained.

"Do you know where Elijah is?" You asked.

"He's out covering up your lover's death," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh," you murmured, lifting the mug to your lips and wincing, the gravel in your skin tugging painfully.

"What's wrong?" Klaus asked, noticing your reaction.

"I have some gravel stuck in my back, I tried to remove it but couldn't reach it," you explained, taking another sip.

"I can help, do you mind?" Klaus asked, motioning to your back.

"I don't mind," you replied, pulling down the back of your shirt, revealing the damage embedded between your shoulder blades.

"Ah yes, quite a lot. Hold still," he said, before pressing his fingertips to the wounds.

You felt a sharp sting and winced. He began to remove the pieces of gravel and dirt, dropping them on the counter.

"Elijah would always clean my wounds after our father had hurt us," Klaus began, his voice growing softer. "Often before he would tend to his own,"

You closed your eyes, picturing a young Klaus and Elijah, hiding away together.

"We'd bandage each other up and then go out into the forest and run around, pretend like everything was alright," he continued.

"You were lucky to have each other," you said, smiling sadly.

Klaus dropped the last piece of gravel onto the counter and walked around, pulling the chair out and sitting down, his elbows resting on his knees.

"He's always been this way, putting everyone before himself." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Then, when he's in love, he gets even worse,"

"In love?" You repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"My brother doesn't do half-measures. If he is invested in someone, he's all in," Klaus explained, giving you a knowing look.

You didn't know what to say, so you just took a sip of tea, looking into the steaming mug. You couldn't deny your feelings for him, they were growing stronger everyday, the thought of him made your heart flutter. But love? It seemed like such a strong word, one that comes with consequences.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts. You are welcome to stay here as long as you'd like," he said, giving you a polite nod as he left.

You sat there for a while, finishing your tea and contemplating everything that happened.

When the tea was gone, you returned to Elijah's room, sliding under the covers, feeling completely exhausted. You wished he was here with you, your body craved his touch, to feel his skin against yours. It felt odd to have someone who wanted to protect you, keep you safe, someone who actually cared about you.

Your eyelids were heavy, your muscles felt stiff, and soon you were drifting off to sleep.

You woke to the smell of coffee and something delicious cooking. Your body ached, everything felt heavy, but you slowly sat up, letting the blankets pool at your waist. You were still wearing his clothes, his scent enveloping you, the shirt slipping off your shoulder.

Elijah stood in the doorway, his sleeves rolled up, the top two buttons undone. He smiled softly when he saw you awake. "Good morning, how are you feeling?" He asked, his eyes raking over the bruises on your face and neck.

"I'm okay," you said, returning his smile.

"I made breakfast," he said, holding up a tray filled with eggs, toast, fruit and a steaming mug.

"What a gentleman," you teased, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"I try," he said with a laugh, placing the tray on the nightstand and taking a seat beside you on the bed.

"Thank you," you whispered, reaching out and cupping his cheek, stroking his smooth skin.

"I'm just glad you're safe," he said, placing his hand on yours, intertwining his fingers. He then pulled away, a storm of emotions playing on his face but he quickly masked them, picking up the tray and offering it to you.

"Can I ask you a favor?" You asked, taking a bite of the eggs.

"Anything," Elijah said, watching you carefully.

"Can I stay here for a while? I don't want to go back to my place," you said, taking a sip of coffee.

"Of course," he said, without hesitation.

"Thank you," you replied, a weight lifting from your shoulders. "Just until I find a new place,"

"Or forever," Elijah said, with a small smirk.

You couldn't help but laugh. "You might get sick of me,"

"Doubtful," he teased.

You finished your food, placing the tray back on the nightstand and crawling out of bed, stretching out the sore muscles.

"I'm going to need a lot of makeup to cover these up before my shift tonight," you mused, looking in the mirror.

Elijah appeared behind you, his eyes dark, his fingers brushing against the marks on your neck. "You don't have to go back," he murmured, his fingers dancing across the bruised skin.

"I have bills to pay," you said, turning around to face him.

"I'll pay them," he insisted, his eyes locked with yours.

"I don't want to be dependent on you, it's important for me to have a sense of control," you explained, hoping he would understand.

He sighed, a look of frustration crossing his face. "I understand," he said, although his tone said otherwise. "Can I at least take you shopping? I'll compel the store to give you anything you'd like,"

"If you insist," you said, giving him a warm smile.

You spent the day going from designer store to designer store, buying dresses, skirts, and tops. He also bought you lingerie, shoes and even a few pieces of jewelry. He was the perfect gentleman, helping you carry the bags, insisting you needed more than just what you picked.

"I know this lovely little street market near here, let's go get some food," Elijah said, as you both stood on the sidewalk.

"That sounds nice," you agreed, feeling a fluttering in your stomach.

The market was busy, people were bustling around, the scent of delicious foods and flowers hung in the air.

Elijah went off to grab coffees for the two of you, while you found a jewelry vendor that was making the most delicate necklaces. You ran your finger over a simple chain, a small gem hanging from the end, the metal cool beneath your fingertips.

"Y/n! Is that you?!" A voice called.

You turned and saw Stacy, with Tonya in tow.

"Hi ladies," you said, glancing at them nervously.

"What happened to your face?" Tonya asked, eyeing the bruises.

"Oh, uh, it's nothing," you mumbled, suddenly finding the jewelry very interesting.

"Is Jordy with you? I need some pills," she pressed, not paying attention to your discomfort.

"No," you said sharply. "We broke up,"

"What?!" Stacy screeched. "What happened?"

"It's complicated," you grumbled, trying to walk away.

"Is that Dior? Chanel? Girl, what the fuck?" Tonya exclaimed, looking at your bags.

"Yeah," you said, glancing down. "Uh, a friend bought them for me,"

"Whoever they are, they've got some deep pockets," Tonya scoffed, crossing her arms.

"Yes, he's quite generous," you mumbled, a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

"Oh my god, it's Elijah isn't it? You can't be sleeping with clients!" Stacy gasped.

"I'm not," you said defensively.

Elijah found you, carrying a tray of coffees in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. He handed the flowers to you, gazing down at you affectionately.

"Hello ladies," Elijah greeted the girls, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Hello, Mr. Mikaelson," Stacy purred, batting her lashes. "It's so generous of you to buy y/n all these pretty things,"

"Not at all, it's my pleasure," he said, his accent making the words sound even sweeter.

"Are you guys a couple?" Tonya asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"No," you said quickly, glancing at Elijah nervously.

Elijah gave the girls a tight-lipped smile, not bothering to respond.

"Jordan won't be happy if he finds out you've moved on so quickly," Stacy sneered.

"He won't care," you retorted, not liking her tone.

"Well, I think we should get going, enjoy the rest of your day ladies," Elijah said, taking your bags and offering you his arm.

You gladly took it, leaning into him as you both walked away, a sigh escaping your lips.

"Are you alright?" He asked, glancing down at you.

"Yeah," you muttered.

He stopped walking, his eyes scanning the crowd, searching for something. He found it, and with a swift movement, compelled the nearest food vendor to give him a plate of fresh baked goods.

"Here, this will make you feel better," he said, handing you a cannoli.

You took the pastry, the aroma was heavenly, he guided you over to a nearby bench, and you both sat, enjoying the treats.

You watched the people bustling about, the sound of their voices creating a pleasant hum, the sun warming your skin.

"I don't think you should come to the club anymore," you said quietly, staring at the ground.

"May I ask why?" Elijah inquired, a slight edge to his voice.

"Stacy is a bitch," you said, taking a bite of the croissant. "She wants me fired, she thinks I'm sleeping with you for money,"

Elijah chuckled, shaking his head. "I have never paid for such things and never will. Although, it would be a privilege to spend my nights with you,"

You blushed, looking away, your heart fluttering. "Do you mind dropping me off? My shift starts soon,"

"Of course," Elijah said, standing and offering you his hand.

You took his hand, his skin warm, his grip firm, he gently helped you up. His fingers lingered on yours for a moment, and you felt a spark of electricity. You gazed up at him, his eyes dark and intense, the desire was palpable, but then he looked away.

"Let's go," he said, his voice soft.

The drive was silent, the tension in the air was thick. He dropped you off, giving you a polite nod as you got out of the car.

"Call me when you are off and I'll pick you up," he said, a hint of worry in his eyes.

"Thank you," you said, offering him a small smile.

You headed towards the back entrance, where a bouncer was waiting, a cigarette in hand. He didn't say anything, just gave you a small nod and let you in.

Stacy was in the dressing room, her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched.

"I still haven't heard from Jordan," she snapped, blocking your path.

"And? That's not my problem," you said, glaring at her.

"What happened to you? Did you get these bruises from Elijah?" She asked, poking the tender spots.

"No, I didn't," you hissed, pushing her hand away. "He saved me,"

"Saved you? From who?" She scoffed, crossing her arms.

"Does it really matter? It's none of your fucking business," you snapped, trying to step past her.

She grabbed your arm, squeezing the bruises and pulling you close. You smacked her hard across the face, causing her to stumble. She looked at you in shock, her mouth open, her eyes wide.

"Don't touch me," you growled, storming away.

You slammed your locker shut and got ready for your shift, ignoring the whispers and stares from the other dancers.

Stacy had run off to tell Mitch, you were sure that she would make your life miserable now, but you didn't care, she had crossed the line.

You danced for an hour, the pain was starting to get unbearable. Your muscles ached, the bruises throbbed, and your face was covered in a thin layer of sweat. You saw Mitch watching you with his arms crossed, an angry look on his face. You knew it wouldn't be long before he came to find you.

Sure enough, Mitch grabbed your arm, his grip firm.

"A word," he hissed, leading you to his office.

He sat behind his desk, gesturing for you to take a seat.

"What the hell is going on with you?" He asked, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the desk.

"Nothing," you said, looking down.

"Bullshit," he scoffed, shaking his head.

You glared at him, your jaw clenching.

"Who the hell did this to you? Was it a client?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't worry Mitch, it didn't happen at the club, you aren't liable," you said coldly, you knew that was all he really cared about.

Mitch sighed, running his hand through his greasy hair.

"There is another matter," he began, giving you a pointed look. "Stacy has informed me that there are some rumors circulating about you and that rich client of yours,"

You rolled your eyes. "We're friends,"

"That's not what it looks like. It looks like you are whoring yourself out for him, people have been asking questions," he said, a slight edge to his voice.

"People can go fuck themselves," you muttered, crossing your arms.

"You aren't allowed to see him anymore," he said firmly, his eyes locked with yours.

"Excuse me?" You asked, a feeling of dread forming in the pit of your stomach.

"It's illegal, what you are doing. Not only that, but it's bad for business," Mitch explained, a smug look on his face.

"Since when do you care about the law?" You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "You let the drugs flow here freely,"

"Don't get smart with me," Mitch snapped.

"I'm not doing anything wrong," you retorted.

"It doesn't matter, the club comes first," Mitch said, standing up. "It's your job or your sugar daddy. You choose,"

You froze, your blood running cold.

"What are you saying?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"If you keep seeing him, you're fired," Mitch said, his tone final.

"That's not fair," you said, the words catching in your throat.

"I have a business to run. You need to learn how to stay in your lane," Mitch said, shrugging his shoulders.

You had enough, you got up and headed towards the door. It was an easy decision to make, a job was just a job, Elijah was your friend and someone who had saved your life. You needed him more than anything else right now.

"Fuck you Mitch, I quit," you said, flipping him off as you left the office.

You quickly grabbed your things from the dressing room and texted Elijah to come pick you up. He replied almost instantly, promising to be there soon.

Stacy watched you from the corner, a smirk on her lips. You decided to be petty.

"You were right Stacy, I am fucking Elijah, and it's amazing," you said, a smile on your face. "I imagine he's far better in bed than Mitch is, that limp dick fucker. You'd know all about that, though, huh? How often do you have to suck his dick to get the premium shifts? Does it feel good being the owner's favorite? Because I think I'd rather die,"

She gasped, her eyes wide, her face flushed. She glared at you, the other girls giggling, but you just smiled, giving her the middle finger and blowing her a kiss before walking out the door. You were done with her bullshit.

The cold air hit your face, causing goosebumps to form on your skin. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to stay warm. You couldn't believe you had quit, but Mitch had given you no choice.

You glanced at the parking lot, waiting for Elijah to show up. He pulled up a few minutes later, opening the door and getting out, a worried expression on his face.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice full of concern.

"It's a long story, can we go home?" You said, shivering.

"Of course," he murmured, helping you into the car.

You watched the scenery go by, your thoughts a jumbled mess, the events of the night replaying in your mind. What you wanted was to be with Elijah, to let him take care of you, but you were afraid. You didn't want to jump from relying on one man to another. You had an opportunity to break the cycle you have been trapped in.

You went straight to your room, collapsing on the bed, your body aching. Bags of expensive clothing and jewelry were scattered around the room, reminding you of the day's events. You groaned, burying your face in a pillow.

As the night wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling of anxiety. You needed to have a talk with Elijah, to figure out where the two of you stood.

You got out of bed, your joints protesting the movement. You walked down the hallway, listening to the soft sounds of a piano being played.

You found him in his study, sitting at the baby grand, his fingers gracefully dancing over the keys. He was playing a melancholic tune, the notes drifting through the air. You stood there for a moment, listening to the music, entranced by the way his hands moved, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was wearing just a pair of sweatpants, his bare chest illuminated by the light from the fireplace. His hair was a little messed up, you had never seen him so casual, the sight making your heart flutter. The fire cast shadows on his features, highlighting the sharp lines of his face, the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes were closed, lost in the music. You took a deep breath, knowing that you had to interrupt him. He was the only person who could make you feel safe, you knew it was time to take the risk and let him in.

"Elijah?" You called softly, not wanting to startle him.

His eyes opened, a gentle smile appearing on his lips. He patted the spot next to him, moving over slightly.

"I didn't know you played," you said, sitting down, making sure to leave some space between the two of you.

"There are lots of things you don't know about me," he said, a faint smile on his lips.

"Like what?" You asked, looking at him expectantly.

He stopped playing and let out a soft sigh, his gaze drifting down to the keys.

"My brother once called me an old romantic, that I am a hopeless idealist. He said that I always hold onto hope, no matter how futile it seems," he said quietly.

"I don't think that's a bad thing," you murmured, looking down.

"Maybe not," he said, a pained expression flashing across his face. "But it doesn't make the world any easier,"

You didn't know what to say, so you just sat there in silence, listening to the sound of the crackling fire, the heat of the flames warming your skin. It was comforting, sitting with him like this, his presence was reassuring.

"I just want you to know... That I'm quite fond of you," he said, his gaze locking with yours.

"I'm fond of you too," you replied, a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

He gave you a soft smile, the light from the fireplace reflected in his eyes. Your heart began to race, your palms becoming sweaty. You were so nervous, it was as if you were a teenager again, sitting next to the boy you liked, not knowing what to do. You tried to think of something to say, but the words seemed to get stuck in your throat. You felt so foolish, it was just Elijah, the first night you met him you put your tits in his face and gave him a lap dance. He had seen you in a state of undress many times and had touched your naked skin, but somehow, this was more intimate. It was different, there were no expectations, no performance. Just two people, enjoying each other's company. You realized that you had been staring at him for far too long, and looked away, embarrassed. He chuckled, taking your hand in his, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm. The gesture was simple, yet it made your heart skip a beat.

"You are a good man Elijah Mikaelson," you said softly, looking up at him.

"I'm not so sure about that," he said, giving you a sad smile.

"You saved my life," you whispered. "And you have been nothing but kind to me, even though you didn't have to be,"

"I have my own selfish reasons for wanting to help you," he admitted, his gaze drifting down.

"Oh?" You asked, a slight edge to your voice.

"I was lonely. I've always been lonely. When I saw you, I saw an opportunity," he confessed.

"For what?" You asked, your heart sinking.

"A chance at companionship," he said, his eyes meeting yours. "To not be alone,"

"I think that is just what we all want," you murmured. "To be loved,"

The world seemed to fall away. There was only the two of you, sitting there, the sound of the fire crackling, the light from the flames casting shadows on your faces. You felt a rush of emotion, your heart pounding in your chest. You moved closer, your faces mere inches apart, the warmth of his breath caressing your skin. You were intoxicated by him, his scent, his warmth, his presence. You had never felt this way before, had never wanted someone so much.

You closed the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting in a soft kiss. He pulled away slightly, his eyes searching yours, seeking permission. You kissed him again, a low moan escaping his lips. He pulled you into his lap, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, his hands roaming your body.

"I want you," you whispered, your hands gripping his shoulders.

"I'm yours," he said, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss.

He lifted you up, carrying you in front of the fireplace and gently setting you down on the plush rug. He hovered above you, his gaze hungry and intense. You felt your body respond, the heat pooling in your core, your heart racing.

Elijah took his time undressing you, his hands caressing every inch of your skin. He kissed his way down your body, leaving no part untouched. His lips lingered on your bruises, as if he could kiss them away.

You both laid there for a while, kissing under the glow of the fireplace, his body pressing into yours. There was nothing rushed, no pressure, no loud music or artificial lights of the club. It was just the two of you, your bodies intertwined, exploring each other.

His fingers traced over your skin, finding their way between your legs, stroking and teasing your clit. He watched your reaction, his gaze intense, his lips parted, his eyes dark. Loving the way your body responded, he slowly eased a finger inside you, your breath catching in your throat.

He moved down, his mouth replacing his fingers, sucking on your clit, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your back arched, a soft moan escaping your lips.

"Elijah," you breathed, your eyes half-closed, your hands gripping his hair.

Your moans increased as you neared climax. He kept you hovering on the edge, bringing you right to the brink before pulling back. He wasn't in a hurry, his tongue lazily circling your clit, his hands caressing your inner thighs.

"You're teasing me," you groaned, your voice heavy with lust.

"It's only fair," he chuckled, the vibration causing you to shudder.

He moved back up your body, kissing your neck as his erection pressed against you. He took one of your thighs and pulled it around his waist. You held your breath as he teased you, the tip of his cock brushing against your wetness. You squirmed, eager to feel him inside you.

He smiled down at you, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss.

"I want you to know how much you mean to me," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

"Say the words," you said, your eyes locked on his. "Tell me,"

He leaned down, his breath warm on your neck.

"I love you," he whispered, nipping at your skin, causing goosebumps to spread across your flesh. "I love everything about you,"

"I love you too," you said softly, a shiver running through your body.

He slowly eased himself inside of you, his eyes closed, his lips parted in pleasure. You pulled his face to yours, kissing him hungrily, your tongue dancing with his. He rocked his hips, building a slow, steady rhythm, making love to you.

He cupped your face, his gaze locking with yours, filled with adoration. You reached up, tracing his face with your fingertips, exploring every line and curve of his handsome features. He lowered his mouth to yours, his kiss deep and passionate, his body moving against yours.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, his skin hot under your hands. Elijah gazed down at you, his eyes filled with hunger. He buried his face in your neck, his breath ragged, his fangs scraping your skin.

"Take what you need," you breathed, tilting your head back, exposing your neck.

Elijah growled, sinking his teeth into your flesh. You gasped, a wave of pleasure coursing through your body. You held him tighter, your nails digging into his skin. He lapped at your neck, your blood coating his tongue, sweet and intoxicating.

His pace increased, thrusting deeper, his hand on your thigh, angling you for better access. He groaned, his cock throbbing inside you, his release approaching.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, keeping his head against your neck. Your body started to tense, every nerve ending lighting up, the sweet ache building.

He pulled back and pressed his lips to yours, his kiss possessive, his tongue demanding. You responded in kind, matching his intensity. You were his, he was yours, nothing was going to come between you. He bit down on his lip, the taste of his blood spreading on your tongue.

You felt all the pain in your body start to melt away, a tingling sensation flowing through your veins. You moaned, your hips grinding against his, searching for relief. He held you close, his movements becoming more erratic, chasing his own release.

He shuddered, gripping your hips, his thrusts slowing down. He brought his mouth down to yours again, kissing you with more passion than you have ever experienced. You both came at the same time, the feeling of pure ecstasy washing over the two of you. You held him tightly, your hearts beating in sync.

The two of you spent the rest of the night making love, his hands roaming your body, his lips against yours, his words of adoration spilling out of him. You forgot about everything but him, losing yourself in his touch.

Life at the compound became peaceful, a stark contrast to the constant pain and torment of your former life. Elijah doted on you, taking care of your every need. You often caught him watching you, his gaze filled with love and affection. You had never felt more secure, more loved. But as the days turned into weeks, you were continually plagued by nightmares.

It was the same nightmare, the one where Jordan's hands were around your throat. Every night, you relived the terror, his eyes filled with rage, ripping at your clothes like a feral beast. You screamed, your voice raw and broken, but no one was there to help you. You were trapped in your own mind, reliving the worst moment of your life, the fear gripping you.

You would wake up gasping for air, tears streaming down your face, Elijah holding you tightly, whispering words of comfort.

As time passed, the nightmares lessened, but the damage was done. You began to withdraw, pulling away from Elijah. You had tried so hard to forget about the assault, to put it behind you, but you couldn't. The memory was like a knife, twisting in your gut, bringing you down, the pain never-ending.

You knew what you had to do; it was the only way to move forward. But you didn't want to have that conversation with Elijah, afraid he wouldn't understand.

"You seem troubled," Elijah said, sitting next to you on the couch, his arm around you.

You were curled up in his embrace, your head on his shoulder, his scent surrounding you. You wished you could stay like this forever, safe in his arms.

"There's something I need to tell you," you murmured, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Anything," he said, his voice calm and reassuring.

You closed your eyes, letting out a deep breath.

"I need to leave New Orleans," you blurted out, glancing down. "Somewhere far away, like, Europe far."

Elijah was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"I see," he said quietly, his voice strained.

You glanced at him, tears filling your eyes.

"I just can't keep living like this... with ghosts of the past haunting me," you said softly. "I can't keep having the same nightmares."

Elijah looked down at you, his eyes filled with pain and understanding.

"If that is what you need to do, then I will support you," he said, his hand reaching up and brushing away a stray tear.

"I'm not asking you to come with me; I would never want to make you choose between me and your family," you said, reaching out and holding his hand.

"I would choose you," he said, his gaze intense, his hand squeezing yours. "But I understand why you need to do this alone."

"I'm sorry," you choked out, fresh tears streaming down your face.

Elijah pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you, his body warm and comforting. You clung to him, sobbing, the grief pouring out of you.

"Since the moment I laid my eyes on you, I just wanted you to be happy," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. "That is all I ever wanted."

You chuckled through your tears, "you mean when I was giving you a lap dance?" You teased, sniffling.

Elijah let out a low laugh, "Well, perhaps a bit later than that," he admitted, smiling.

You buried your face in his chest, the sound of his heartbeat calming you.

"I will miss you," you whispered.

"And I, you," he said, his arms tightening around you.

You sat there for a while, wrapped in each other's embrace, neither of you wanting to let go. But eventually, the moment passed and reality set in.

You would be leaving New Orleans, and Elijah, in search of a new life, a new start.

It was time to say goodbye.

The airport was bustling, the sound of people talking and rushing about filling the air. You clutched your carry-on bag, your stomach twisting into knots. You glanced at the clock, the time ticking closer to your flight. Elijah was standing beside you, his gaze fixed on the floor, his hands shoved into his pockets.

You had spent the last few days in bed together, the two of you memorizing each other's bodies. It was bittersweet, the time passing too quickly. Now, you were standing in the airport, the moment of goodbye looming.

"I'm not good at goodbyes," you confessed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

"Neither am I," Elijah said, a small smile on his face.

"Will you promise to call me every day?" You asked, tears filling your eyes.

He didn't respond, just pulled you close to him, his arms wrapping around you. You melted into his embrace, not wanting to let go.

"I have one last gift for you," he murmured, pulling away slightly, his hands still on your shoulders.

You looked at him, confused. His expression one of pure turmoil, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"What is it?" You asked, tilting your head.

His eyes met yours, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. He reached up and gently stroked your cheek, his touch soft and reassuring.

"You will no longer remember all the pain you endured in this city, anything to do with the club, Jordan, and your time with me," he said, his voice strained.

"You will be happy, you will be free, unburdened by the darkness of your past," he said, his eyes watering. "I want you to live, and thrive, and find love again."

"Elijah..." you whispered, his name catching in your throat, his name sounding strange to your ears.

"You will forgive yourself, you will know you did all you could to escape," he said, his voice hoarse, the tendons in his neck taut with emotion. "Goodbye, my love."

You felt a strange shift in your mind, your memories dissolving, like water slipping through your fingers. The pain you had endured, the trauma, the love and loss, all of it fading into the ether. Replaced with a lightness, enduring hope, a blank canvas.

You blinked, a sense of calm washing over you, and you picked up your bags and walked towards the security gate. A part of you knew something was missing, that a chapter of your life was gone. But the details eluded you. You didn't know why, but you had a strong urge to never return, to start a new life, far away from the past.

And so, you did.

~Epilogue

It had been about a year since you moved to Italy, and life had been good to you. You got a job working at a local bakery and found yourself happily settled in. You enrolled at the local university and were working towards getting your degree. You had made a lot of new friends, and life was good.

You were sitting in the café across from the university, enjoying a cup of coffee and catching up on some reading. You glanced at the clock, realizing that it was getting late, and you needed to head home. You gathered up your things and headed out, the sun warming your skin as you walked along the cobblestone streets.

As you rounded the corner, you ran full-on into a man, your books falling from your arms. You scrambled to pick them up, your face reddening with embarrassment.

"Pardon me," the man said, helping you gather up your books.

"It's alright, I wasn't looking where I was going," you said, looking up to thank the stranger.

He was handsome, with his dark hair and soft eyes, his expression gentle. He watched you with interest; something about you intrigued him. He stood there for a moment, his eyes searching yours. You smiled shyly, holding his gaze.

"Elijah," he said, reaching his hand out, his eyes crinkling.

"Y/n," you said, returning the smile and taking his hand, feeling your cheeks flush again.

"You seem happy, are you happy?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Um, yes, actually," you replied, raising an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason, I just wondered," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

You giggled, tilting your head to the side, eyeing him curiously.

"Do I know you?" you asked, a slight pang in your heart.

You didn't recognize him, but there was something familiar about him, something that tugged at you, longing settling in. He gave a half-smile, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He asked, his gaze playful, inviting.

He had this way about him that made you want to be around him; it was comfortable, easy.

"Sure," you agreed, "but only because you're hot."

He laughed at your joke, his eyes sparkling, making you feel all warm inside.

You spent the night telling him all about your life, your dreams, and aspirations. He listened intently, his eyes locked on yours. He asked you a thousand questions about yourself, seeming genuinely interested in everything you had to say. He spoke very little about himself, preferring to listen and learn. You sensed there was much more to him than he let on.

After a couple of hours, you headed back home, walking with him to your apartment. He leaned down and kissed your cheek, his lips lingering for a moment.

"It was nice to meet you, Y/n," he murmured.

He pulled back, his eyes warm, a smile tugging at his lips.

"It was nice to meet you too, Elijah," you said, smiling back. "We should do this again sometime."

"Unfortunately, I'm heading back home to New Orleans tomorrow," Elijah said, dropping his gaze to the ground.

"Right, uh, yeah. Well, thanks for the drink and the conversation," you said.

Elijah gave a stiff nod, then hesitated, taking a step closer, his eyes searching yours.

"I'm glad you're happy here," he said, his eyes twinkling. "If you could indulge me for one last moment..."

"Yes?" you said, confused.

His hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your face upwards, his lips pressing against yours. It was a deep, passionate kiss, the kind that shook you to your core, a kiss full of love, full of loss.

He pulled away, his eyes heavy with longing.

Perhaps in another life.

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Three}{Moodboard->}

Thank you so much for reading the Indulgences series! I will now be trying to catch up on some requests ♡♡♡ Love you all,

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