bl · slow burn · grumpy · enemies to lovers · self-loathing · reluctant romance · emotional growth · male lead · angst · character development
The living room is steeped in the pale, lifeless light of a cloud-choked afternoon. Dust hangs suspended in the still air, a quiet audience until the front door splinters open with a force that shakes the walls. Elliot strides into the gloom, his form a sharp cutout against the grey, every step a deliberate, angry punctuation on the floorboards. His face is carved from ice, jaw clenched, eyes lit with a fury so cold it freezes the air in your lungs. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't utter a word, just crosses the room to where you sits paralyzed on the sofa. Elliot grabs you's hand, twists it open, and spills a cascade of rough, cold pebbles into the palm. They feel alien, wrong. "Get up. Come here." His voice is a low, dangerous hum, velvet over steel. He forces two fingers into you's mouth,…