#MODE ANYONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT
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Microsoft Word I fucking hate you and I hope you die
#JUST LET ME MAKE A FUCKING HEADER#GOD#i literally made one i just cant get it to show up on the page#im genuinely going to fucking cry over this in the lounge I JUST WANT TO DO MY ESSAYS#hope you fucking die#okay figured it out kind of but its so fucking stupid. what do you mean youre incapable of showing a header in editing mode. THATS THE ONLY#MODE ANYONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT#absolutely ridiculous
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hi. for people who saw gatsby: an american myth. do you remember mckee asking nick for lunch. and then gatsby in like the next scene inviting nick for lunch. because i remember.
#not pjo#chitter chatter#when gatsby was like 'we should do lunch' i was like. hello. fucking. hello. are we. hello.#gatsby really said we just met literally 5 minutes ago. come meet my father figure. normal normal thing to do jay.#to be clear gatsby also asks him to go to lunch in the book. but like. there's a time skip. and also#in the show after mckee asks they immediately start making out on the couch. none of this ... nonsense#so the vibes are a LITTLE different in my brain.#i saw a few people say they didnt think gatsby and nick flirted enough and like while i do think that think part of it is we're#in nick's pov but not his HEAD#he DOES start singing about gatsby's smile for no reason until jordon is like. alright buddy. lets talk about daisy.#like nick was just Doing That. pull it together carraway.#but i got the vibe (JUST my take) that gatsby was like. kinda into nick. zero reason to be leaning into his space like that sir.#however when he actually MET daisy again he became kinda singularly focused on her again#i mean he built his whole lifeup to this moment#he says it at the end. he murdered pieces of himself to bring himself here. for DAISY.#him snapping back to daisy mode makes sense to me but he still reaches out for nick as a comfort in the sense that hes like#nick do NOT leave please stay with us. daisy does the same. and ofc part is that theyre really. fucking awkward. but like.#LET ME HAVE MY OWN NONSENSE INTERPRETATIONS. HES TRAPPED BY WHITENESS AND CLASS AND HETEROSEXUALITY.#hes already so much of an outsider trying to fit in. (i also think he loves daisy or an ideal at least. and she's EASIER to love. safer.)#nick inherently has more freedom even as a gay man in the sense that hes richer and white and an ivy league dude i mean you understand righ#right????????#even if its in the book i do wanna point out the parallels between those moments. im choosing to see it as deeply intentional <3#this show had a lot of repetition and parallels (see daisy and myrtle in a lot of songs and scenes)#(one i LOVE is tom giving myrtle a necklace and daisy later giving TOM her necklace in case he sees anyone he knows. idk love that shit)#im...gonna queue this#im embarrassed to talk about this show so much. so. into the queue it goes!!!#all the worlds a stage#so like. anyway. thats where i think nick's mind immediately went when gastsby asked him for lunch. personal headcanon <3#gatsby after one convo: we're doing lunch // me and nick immediately: oh ok! guess that's a date then!
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gonna start subjecting u lot to my rambling abt classic viet authors
#bakuspeech#nhân văn+giai phẩm#thats gonna be the tag I guess#anyways. idk shit abt shakespeares. gonna give yall a taste of what that feels like#jk that's mean I just like rereading this stuff once in a while#it's fun! I'm recovering from viet public literature education on main now#like. idk sometimes I talk to foreign friends and we both realize how we each are privy to#hundreds to thousands of years of stories and records and writing#that the outside world knows basically nothing about.#it's insane to me every time. I'm entering vibe mode. I will never shut up again#I feel like in ~5yrs I will become the most wrong person about nguyễn trãi specifically#and I need to own it early. so this is actually not gonna be a learning moment for anyone#actually tho it's so funny I'm invested in nguyễn trãi as a historical figure I don't even like his writing#it's mid! sad to say this but it's aight at best. nguyễn khuyến is much more my speed#and YOU will learn what all of that just now means! one of these days! when I get to it!#for now. oh baby we are gonna talk so much shit.
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ok i am actually so very angry and there's literally nothing i can do to fix it. life keeps going on. she might even be happy. and fuck dude, i'll make sure im happy too, i was a fully developed person before she was in my life and i'll continue to be one without her. but God Damn, the fact that she can just do something so blatantly awful and unfair to me and then run off without any actual repercussions is just so fucking rankling to me.
like perhaps she feels guilty. she said she did when it was all going down. but it was just something she "needed to do". so obviously she didn't feel guilty enough or she wouldnt have done it like that lmaoooo
i really did deserve to have a good solid yell at her. but unfortunately, by the time i did see her in person i just wanted her out of my fucking life. so. no yelling was done, unfortunately.
#speculation nation#the duality of being a deeply resentful and angry person. and being a person that Tries to be mature and peaceful.#like im not gonna actually Do shit even tho i keep wanting to message her just to yell at her some more again#it's like there's a beast in me that keeps yelling for retribution. she wronged me in such a disrespectful and humiliating way#and yet she just gets to walk away like it was nothing? live her life like it was nothing?#be in 'love' with her new 'soulmate' after cutting me off like a rotten limb?#i feel so DEEPLY angry. i want to spit vitriol and fire. i want to dig my claws into her bones. make her really FEEL how i feel.#i want to wander into her dreams and make her experience what i felt. every miserable second of silence.#the humiliation of admitting you might be falling in love only to be told you were never loved at all.#and i want to knee her in the gut and spit in her face and really make her regret ever fucking wronging me#but unfortunately im a stupid fucking pacifist so all the aggression and anger and violence has no FUCKING outlet#ive been. trying to not think about it too much. ive been trying to just live my life. because i dont want her to run my life.#but the anger keeps catching up to me. filtering in when i dont expect it. endless constant fucking thoughts coming back to me#on and on and on and on i live and i eat and i read and i game and i hate and i hate and i hate and i hate and i hate and i HATE AND I HATE#the greatest injustice is that i cannot make her truly feel every single ounce of my resentment and anger#it's so overwhelming i think i could choke on it. and she gets to live her FUCKING happy little life with her stupid fucking 'soulmate'#i hope it collapses around her and she loses her too so she's single and alone and miserable and regretting all of her fucking impulsivenes#she deserves to have it fail after what she did to me. and all i can really do is hope that karma has its fucking kiss for her.#if only curses were real. what i wouldnt give to put some energy into that karmic payback lmfao.#ok . ok ok ok ok love and peace on planet earth. i am shifting out of vitriolic little shit mode.#just had to let some of the steam out. im still angry but i am going to go back to not thinking about it.#i think i should go on a nice long bike ride tomorrow. to decompress and work some of the steam out.#it's something that she can never take from me. something that is so wholly mine. fuck that stupid bitch and fuck her new girlfriend too#...............................ok NOW im shifting out of vitriolic mode. lol#negative/#WAHOOOOOO i am certainly not taking this breakup well. but i dont think anyone would be lmfao.#all things considered i think im doing a pretty great job at handling this breakup.#bc at least im only recounting unrealistic threats and fantasies on my tumblr dot com instead of messaging Any of this to her.#i may kinda want her to read it so that she knows anyways. but i wont message her directly. bc i am Trying to be at least a little mature.#complaining on my tumblr dot com so i dont message my ex with more vitriol. gotta cope Somehow.
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wasn't even trying to tell my brother anything huge or complicated tonight, it was literally just "oh yeah conspiracy theories can definitely be harmful" (because he was saying that) "another reason is bc they can quickly get into anti-semitic territory" AND THATS LIKE. A WELL KNOWN FACT ???? and he immediately started getting super defensive and saying that no they dont, it depends on the person's viewpoint blah blah blah, I WAS JUST AGREEING WITH HIM AND ADDING SMTH TRUE AND WELL KNOWN TO THE CONVO 😭😭😭
i hate this family so much lol the only good thing abt that is that only my mum was around for that part and she was busy and distracted and I quickly realized my brother was getting extremely defensive and aggressive abt it so i backed down as soon as i realized and moved on to just showing him stupid memes i had in my camera roll bc jfc that was WILD. i rly cannot talk abt anything even remotely to do with societal issues huh 💀💀
#and earlier in the night he said he doesn't like to know about politics BROOOO#IM KILLING HIM WITH MY MIND#i will admit i got rly pissed at that and said ''well i kind of like to have a say in my rights as a human hahaha''#i need to go blow up in a deep pit im so fucking angry and freaked tf out#he rly doesnt give a shit about other people 😀😀😀#he actually said ''idk how anyone is able to like care abt other ppl and look at other ppls things''#''im too busy focusing on myself and my own enjoyment of life blah blah blah''#KILLING HIM BLOWING HIM UP GO TO THE GOO LAGOON IM SICK AND TIRED OF THE APATHY FOR OTHERSSSS#he's talking abt wanting to be released from his ego and im just... brother in ur endeavour u have been caught up in ego in a different way#i hate this family so much#i cannot deal w these ppl jfc#there were other absolutely awful things ppl said too and im just rrrggrgrgh#cannot deal w these self absorbed bigoted shitheads anymore i stg#im going to go back to disengaging from convos entirely and just being a bobblehead again#doormat dolly mode. no opinions no self respect. only mindless agreement so i dont fuck myself over anymore#pippen needs 2nd breakfast
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i might have a problem considering i listen to this five minute sneak peek at the very least once a day
vega saying “i won’t leave you as others have” hits so hard
#redacted asmr#redacted audio#redacted vega#look this snippet of audio is impossibly comforting#and it hits right on my biggest insecurity#also if anyone gives me shit about having my patreon app in light mode i will cry
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At the crossroads between wondering if it's worth it to basically completely rewrite all my WIPs or just take a break from writing for the rest of the summer
#i noticed every summer i get progressively worse lol#like not in terms of writing but in terms of everything else goin on in my head#i mean if anyone is craving some dark and depressing shit i've got bits and pieces here#it's like i'm writing for an audience even in my own mind. can't finish anything because it's __ __ __ etc and my niche is too niche.#did my last fic really burn me out that much?? i mean it was basically 30 thousand words and there was a LOT packed into it#maybe i should finally respond to comments and i'll feel better.#something's been going on with me for the past couple months (maybe longer) and i'm just annoyed ALL the time#feel like i want to give up everything and stop talking to everyone. ((it could be my out of whack hormones mind))#so if i haven't been as active and haven't drawn or written much that's why. i'm pulling away and curling in like an atrophied limb.#my brain is just permanently in school mode. i can feel it gearing up for the oncoming year that's going to be super intense.#like would it even matter if i post any more work before september? idk why i can never seem to chill or take a break for even a minute.#i still have drawing projects i want to finish at least! taking me literally all summer because of surprise health problems.#partner was consoling me about how i feel for writing '''weird''' stuff with almost no focus on romance#saying that SOMEbody has to write what i write so that should keep me going. i just tell myself that it could be worse -#- i could be primarily a femslash writer. they are the real heroes and they get no respect.#idk why i'm getting so angsty#i think i might be romance/sex repulsed atm. not in real life at all but in fandom. i'm bored of it. and i'm bored of conversations about i#i'm sure i'll change my mind in what two weeks or so.#maybe i'll try to write something original#i have things in my ask box i should respond to. like asks about my writing. i just haven't been feeling well#so i haven't had the right brain to respond :( but i see the asks and i'm grateful <3#anyway peace and love
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#something happened irl that made me Not Have a Good Time rn#basically i didn’t get some stuff i need for school so now i have a short window in the morning on Monday so that’ll be stressful#i’ve had so much time but i procrastinated and lost track of time & i just feel like shit about it#& like it’s not the end of the world like worst comes to worst I’ll be a bit late for my first class which i’m sure plenty of students will#but i was already upset and my mom basically said ‘well you do this kinda thing all the time so i can’t say i’m disappointed’#i’ve really tried to be better though i just feel like my hardest is everyone else’s easy mode#and i know this is dark but i just feel like…i’m not worth the resources used to maintain myself you know?#like food and electricity and water and materials and my overwhelming tuition for college amongst everything#and what do i even give back in return? cross stitching? some mid fanfic smut that 13 year olds read on wattpad?#it’d be so much better if my resources could be used for like an aspiring doctor or someone who makes something worthwhile#i don’t feel this way about anyone else btw just me. obviously#i just don’t know where to go from here i’m sick of my brain#tw vent#to delete later
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imagine the alternate timelines where the obligatory adult male playable character in haruka's part of y5 wasn't akiyama
#rambles#yakuza liveblogging#haruka and date. haruka and saejima (but only in a timeline where that one scene in y4 doesnt exist). haruka and daigo!!#we couldve had date in dad mode but like. *really* trying not to be a shitty dad after fucking up with his own daughter#saejima hollering at the top of his lungs in the crowd at the princess league and scaring the shit out of everyone in the vicinity#haruka and daigo commiserating over kiryu being a pretty shitty dad like 70% of the time#like how have we gotten *zero* on-screen interactions between kiryu's two (main) kids??? rgg studios i just wanna talk.#also daigo wouldve had haruka's agency running like a well oiled machine. wouldve been a damn vacation given what hes used to#old boss died? no problem- found a new one. we need money? got it. wheres it from? dont worry about it.#need a new dance coach? hired one yesterday. rival agency using their connections to be shitty? not for long theyre not.#i realize the plot of y5 wouldve had to have been completely different for haruka to have been paired with anyone but akiyama & maybe date#but its fun to consider#hell even haruka and majima couldve been fun if theyd just dropped the whole thing about park being majimas ex#(which they shouldve imo. i get that they wanted to have *something* to tie haruka's part into the overarching plot but like.#there was no need to give majima this weird throwaway backstory of him having been abusive to the 18 yo he married in his mid 20s#like they drop that bomb in passing and then never bring it up again. incredibly bizarre. just axe it entirely it adds nothing)#also to be clear: this is not akiyama hate. love that guy. i think he was a good choice for that section and i like his rapport with haruka#purely a thought experiment
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Listening to stories of people who survived situations like being trapped in collapsed buildings and it kinda sounds like the human response to being trapped in a bad situation is to just keep going back to sleep until death comes. Thinking about depressive avoidant sleeping. Brain doesn't know you aren't trapped under rubble it can't see out of his bone prison brain just knows everything is bad and everything hurts and we can't handle this stress we need to divert all power to life support, night night.
#is that a horrible comparison to make? yeah probably in poor taste given the state of things#do I earnestly believe I am in as traumatic a situation as that? I think my brain is reacting the same way yeah. genuinely.#I think my brain has been in survial mode or death incoming mode for like. since middle school#I think I hit puberty and my brain decided we are dying slowly and painfully and has been reacting accordingly.#I think this year it got much worse tho I think this is when I hit the critical level because this is when I have been sleeping more#I hate that house and my roommates so much that I just sleep whenever I'm there. i don't eat much at home#I try not to drink much so that i don't have to use the bathroom as much and that also minimizes my kitchen trips.... I collect 2 litres of#water each morning. one for me one for my cat. his fountain stays full and I ration my water for myself and on the 4 nights a week I work#I will refill it at work. I am mostly trying to be unseen unheard in that house. Of course the dogs always hear me which is why I am so#careful. I only pass through that house twice a day: once in the morning and once in the evening. Coming and going.#on my days off that means only 2 bathroom trips per 24 hours but you know fucking what I still get bitten by a dog every time.#and wish I had just pissed in a bottle or something because they are jumping on me they are biting me there are tears in my eyes I am biting#my tongue because if I shout or tell them to stop their owner comes and yells at them. And they don't give a shit about being yelled at!!#but me??? Bleeding and anxious and trying not to piss myself?? I don't handle being yelled at well!! even if it isn't directed at me!!#I have RSD!! I used to cry in school when a teacher was chewing out SOMEONE ELSE !! and being SHOUTED genuinely at????#i am not coping well!! i do not feel safe in this house!!! between the actually getting bitten and the yelling!!!#and the yelling is nonstop because these women have issues with each other. bro I'm so fucking glad my dad moved out when he started having#Marital Issues bcos I think I'd have like 85% more childhood trauma if I had to listen to them fighting like this as a kid#shit I'm getting adulthood trauma from these women fighting. oh my god. angie dump your girlfriend for christ sake#and sTOP MOTHERING ME. I MOVED HERE TO GET AWAY FROM MY MOM AND THIS WOMAN IS WORSE THAN MY MOTHER ABOUT THE FUCKING MOTHERING.#Stop telling me what to wear!! Stop telling me what to eat!! Stop asking if I'm seeing anyone!!#this is my own fault I put myself in this situation and I am trying to claw my way back out but it isn't as easy as it was to get in ;-;#I hate myself I hate the decisions I made that got me here
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if my mum can be counted on for anything it’s her ability to absolutely ruin my day
#I went and bought her shit so she wouldn’t get pissy about not getting anything from us#and she’s being absolutely awful and triggering all my old traumas about her with shit that goes right back to 2003#and we are supposed to be going to see her tomorrow to hand over presents for her and for her to take to my gran#who is in a place to help her recover from her hip operation#and bc family dynamics and drama abound on that side I’m not allowed to go in to see her#bc my aunt is a controlling asshole who doesn’t want my gran or anyone else to be happy for even a second I guess#there’s no one I can give the gifts to other than my mum bc they won’t tell us where the other relatives live#and my aunt would probably keep them for herself or bin them#I don’t know if tomorrows plans are still on but I’m gonna be in panic mode if she’s still in this monster mood#Bc it doesn’t matter that I’m nearly 30 if I have to face that version of her again it will be like I’m a terrified 8 year old again#why does shit have to be complicated …
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Portrait spamming
Recent discovery. If you click on the portraits of the characters like crazy, they will react to it. And the developers had a lot of fun coding these reactions xD
Tav / Dark Urge
normal - I'm awake! Mostly. - I'm starting to get a headache. - Must be the tadpole. - Quit knocking around in there! - A thousand needlepricks in my rotten skull.
combat -Ahhhhhhhh! Okay, I feel better. - I have an itch in the worst place. - Is being a mind flayer so bad? - Just waiting to venture forth here. - I'm maiming as fast as I can!
stealth - What's that ticking? - Is it me? Am I ticking? - Bomb in my head about to go off. Great. - Ah, well. I had a good run.
Astarion
normal - Why do beautiful people taste better? It hardly seems fair on the ugly - they have such wonderful personalities. - Ugh. Strahd wouldn't put up with this shit. - More like Drizzt Don't'Urden - no. No that's not funny. - Villains! Dissemble no more, I admit the deed! Tear up the floor - here, here! It is the beating of his hideous hea- oh, no, that's his brain. Where did I leave that heart?
combat: - I'm trying to focus on murder. - *Humming.* - I shot a svirfneblin in Menzoberranzan just to watch him die. - I should've been a drow. They have such stylish armour.
stealth - Shhh. Just think sneaky thoughts. - Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP. - Be very, very quiet - I'm hunting idiots. - I've got a brand new torture chamber, so come and play with me.
Karlach
normal - NOTE TO ACTOR/DIRECTOR: Blow a raspberry at the player. - Don't. Poke. The Karlach. - Who am I? - My eye!
combat - Eyes on the prize - we need to win this! - Not every soldier should've made it out of training. - Eyes on victory, tummy on dinner. - I ought to just burn this whole thing down.
stealth - My back can't take much more of this. - Not now, I'm being a sneak! - I'm getting too old for this nonsense. - I'm not built to crouch.
Gale
normal - I hope Halaster takes good care of Tara while I'm away. - Sembian wine; Cormyrian boar; Waterdhavian conversation. It's the little things you miss while on the road. - Oh, what a tangled Weave we web! - All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it.
combat - Just go for the Magic Missile and fire away. Never fails. - Don't make me go all Edwin Odesseiron on you. - Get. Out. Of. My. Head. - I really wish I could cast a Hold spell on you.
stealth - You made me hide, don't make me come seek you. - Gods, it's like trying to sleep with a mosquito in the room. - A little privacy please. - Stop it - that tickles.
Wyll
normal - Could do for a brew. - Where there's a 'Wyll', there's a 'y'. - Ever get the sense that someone's watching? - So two halflings walk under a bar...
combat - Can't hear myself think! - Wear your scars proudly. - As my father once told me: 'Can we get on with it?' - I find moderation is key.
stealth - Bad time for an itch. - Could do for a brew. - So two halflings walk under a bar... - Shush. No, really. Shush.
Lae'zel
normal - Must everyone be so exhausting? - Weapons high. Standards higher. - Is perfection too much to ask? - Pride is a virtue.
combat - I will know my queen! - There is no right or wrong, only truth. - What is the point, if not victory? - You are right to fear me.
stealth - Hush already. - There is no wisdom in madness. - Is perfection too much to ask? - There is but one way. Vlaakith.
Shadowheart
all modes - I wonder how I'll feel when I remember everything. - Strange. I've had more freedom this past while than my whole life... - Have to keep focused. Can't afford to get attached - to anyone. - If I succeed, maybe I'll be allowed a pet... ugh, stop being silly.
Halsin / his voice is currently bugged :(
normal - What I would not give for a chunk of fresh honeycomb... - Such attention... I never realised I was so popular. - Are you feeling lonely, perhaps? - Unwise, perhaps, to poke a bear this much...
сombat - Battle is afoot - you can poke me once we are safe. - Perhaps try attacking the enemy? - Admirable stamina, yet terrible priorities. - You are insistent, are you not?
stealth - Most consider it unwise to poke a bear. - My, you are eager, are you not? - Please. I am trying to be stealthy. - Calm yourself. There is plenty of me to go around.
Jaheira
normal - Oh, calm down. I'm happy to see you too. - I would poke you back, but I fear that's what you want. - My, such strong wrists. - Well you certainly have the 'omnipresent' part down, don't you? - Please go poke the ranger instead.
combat - You have my attention - now do something with it. - What? What do you want!? - Do you know, I begin to wish they had never brought me back. - Yes, yes, have your fun. It isn't you they're trying to kill.
stealth - Dry those sweaty palms and let us try this again, shall we? - Argh, my knees! Oh. It was a twig. - Would that I could hide from you, too. - Careful, or I will take your toy away from you.
Minsc
normal - ARGH! My EYE, Boo! They went for my EYE! - Know that if you poke Boo, no higher dimension will keep you safe! - Heehee. Heeheeheehee. - Well, Boo? How do you want to do this?
сombat - Are you perchance a squeaky wheel in need of a kick? - I am armed! Armoured! And entirely sick of your foolishness. - I begin to grow annoyed. It is well for you that Boo does not let me learn the bad words! - Ignore them, Boo. Let them gaze deep into their own abyss, and wonder just what it is they are trying to achieve.
stealth - A little to the left? But not so hard you make me giggle. - Boo...? Are you dancing down there, or...? - Hush! I am surprising Boo for his birthday! He is... uh... eh... how old do hamsters get...? - I am the night. A pity, then, that it is so bright out.
Minthara
all modes - You had my attention, now you have my fury. - Phlar Lolth ssinssrickla. - Your suffering will be spectacular. - Stop, or die.
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#astarion#karlach#gale#wyll#lae'zel#shadowheart#halsin#jaheira#minsc#minthara#funny stuff#bg3 datamine
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let me see you stripped down to the bone…
- stripped by depeche mode
congratulations! you’ve been hired as homelander’s entire glam squad! what an opportunity! now let’s try real hard not to let the fumes get to you, okay?
pairing : homelander/afab reader
word count : 5.6k
warnings : homelander in and of himself, toxic workplace environment, something akin to stockholm syndrome, fingering, smut. 18+, mdni
special thanks to @blindmagdalena @sehtoast @homeb0ys and @clockworkzeppelin for letting me scream at you about this!
writing tag
gif credit
divider credit
Homelander is an asshole.
That doesn’t bother you much. You’ve dealt with plenty in this field, which means you’ve learned how to make life easier for all parties. That particular learning curve includes when to stand out and blend in, at times concurrently depending on what variety of asshole they happen to be.
As a whole, the makeup artists and hairstylists at Vought take care of The Seven and go where they’re needed. And as a cosmetologist, you were hired to provide both services for Homelander and Homelander only, which you consider to be one of the most prestigious stamps one could add to their professional passport.
Before you became official, you were colorfully threatened by a Ms. Ashley Barrett, who, after the fact, had no qualms throwing you into the lion’s den to figure your own shit out.
In no uncertain terms were you told that if you fucked any part of this up, your sparkling resume would look best as something to sit her smooth, bare ass on while getting fucked on top of her desk. No lube or protection. It would then be tossed exactly like her salad.
Not an image you could have ever predicted crossing your mind. Honestly, you should have stopped her right there and walked your happy little ass out of her office toward pastures that might have not been greener (you were being handsomely compensated), but certainly not as toxic. While the red flags were a color you couldn’t quite ignore, you were also curious about why they stood out so much more than they did regarding previous employers.
None of this is to say you live under a rock. Anyone who has access to the internet is ambushed daily by these Supes’ personal lives. Homelander’s track record as far as choice in partners went hadn’t been ideal, so you understand that made him less popular at the time. That of course has nothing to do with you or your capabilities.
You opt to wear gray-colored glasses, seeing everything with a neutral blend of black and white. As much as possible anyway.
Nevertheless, curiosity killed the cat. But hopefully not your career.
The first day was awkward to say the least. Immediately, you knew you weren’t going to like your coworkers.
Glints of sympathy changed how they perceived you. A target, whether they intended for this to happen or not, was nailed to your forehead, and it made them buzz around you like avid, greedy wasps keen on seeing how rapidly the honeybee will be brutalized. You didn’t much care for going cross-eyed while staring at that target whenever you crossed paths. They didn’t know you, yet because of who you were working under, deemed you helpless. They didn’t give you a chance to establish yourself before branding you a victim.
Why should you respect them?
Small talk wasn’t entertained either, as their judgment tarnished any future encounters. They ostracized you once you showed no interest in engaging with them. That didn’t disappoint you. You weren’t here to make friends.
You do wonder how those before you fared: if they were jaded when they arrived or if they couldn’t help but succumb to the pressures of being at the top rung of a very unstable albeit sought after ladder.
Ms. Barrett quickly introduced you to Homelander, her parting gift before leaving the two of you alone.
You weren’t completely nervous in his presence. He wasn’t any different to you than the other celebrities you’d worked on, except he could rip you in half like a piece of paper if he was so inclined. But he’s the hero of this country’s story, so really, you should have nothing to worry about.
His demeanor, you noted, suggested arrogance, annoyance, and boredom. All things you’re used to. So you offered your hand to shake, which he eyed with a slightly upturned nose before grabbing, told him it was a pleasure to meet him and got straight to business.
Looking back, he was clearly expecting more out of you. Maybe not a display as excessive as getting on your knees and professing your undying love, but close enough. Somewhere in the middle, perhaps.
Part of you believes he might have also counted on fear. To you, he’s not anything or anyone unknown. Another big name in a fancy suit with impossible demands.
You were given a routine to follow and products to use. You did as you were instructed and found the process to be simple and, as Homelander’s expression revealed, uninspiring.
While you were utilizing a face brush to apply powder, he must have decided he was done enduring your lack of enthusiasm, because he suddenly asked, “What are you wearing?”
You stopped for a split second, no longer than, and continued. “The name of my clothing designer, you mean?”
He scoffed, waving his gloved hand at you, almost knocking the applicator you held to the ground. “No, your perfume. What are the top notes?”
You laughed and that seemed to confuse him. “Why, you want a bottle?”
“I don’t like it.” He sniffed sharply and cleared his throat. “Smells like you should be on the corner selling your used body parts.”
Ding ding ding. Alarm bells and red flags galore. You enjoy a challenge, however, and are a bit of a masochist, so you persevere.
“Well, what doesn’t smell like a cheap hooker to you? I’ll start wearing that instead.”
He cocked a brow, studying you. Trying to figure out if you were being serious or mocking him.
“It’s your first day.” A warning. “Are you on your best behavior, or can you do better?” He leaned forward in his chair, forcing you backward. “You should be working harder to prove yourself. Prove your worth.” He sat back again and shrugged. “Or maybe you really are worth as much as that dumpster juice you doused yourself in.”
At this point, he more than likely envisioned your happy little ass getting offended and storming out of the room. Breaking down, sobbing. Questioning why he was being so rude. One of those or, better yet, a nifty combination.
You’ve heard worse, unfortunately for him. Not always directed at you, but that doesn’t matter. You can handle it.
“You’re absolutely right,” you stated calmly, folding your arms across your chest. He looked at you with pretentious, petulant intrigue. “It is my first day, and I want to make a good impression. Which is why I’m asking you what you would like me to wear so I can continue to keep that good impression intact and, as our professional relationship develops, stay on top of it.”
Homelander’s mouth twitched. He sighed deeply and slouched in his seat, staring at the wall to the left of him. Then he deigned to cast his gaze back at you, resting his cheek on his index and middle finger. He tapped the arm rest with his other hand.
“Ugh, fine. Whatever.” A pause followed that lasted longer than necessary. Were you meant to guess? “Just wear something, I dunno, less. If you would have done your homework like a good little peon, you’d know I have super senses. Highly developed. Can you even imagine what that entails?”
Finally, he freed the canvas you were nearly finished with, and you flicked the soft bristles across the bridge of his nose. You smiled, more to yourself than him.
Felt rather on the nose, as the saying goes.
He didn’t comment on your grin. You didn’t give him time to. But he did huff like you were being obtuse on purpose.
“I can try. And my imagination is giving me some less-than-ideal scenarios,” you replied. Another pause. At least he was letting you do your job again.
You don’t know what compelled you to keep going, but something about his lack of a real answer made you carry on. “Do you have a favorite flower or baked good? Maybe a spice?”
Homelander almost glared up at you. You say almost because, for whatever reason, it didn’t seem like he was directing that harshness at you, though former words and actions proved otherwise. Something inside, perhaps. Or outside of this enclosed space.
“I already told you what to wear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
You took the hint and remained quiet the rest of your session. Soon, you were done.
As you were packing and tidying up your station, he took it upon himself to stand behind you. He lingered over your shoulder, watching the scene play out like he was director and star and you were barely an ant on the sidewalk he acknowledged before squashing.
The heat radiating off of him was impossible to dismiss, a wall of it barricading your backside. He clasped his fingers underneath his cape and inched closer. You thought he was as close to you as he could get without touching you. He was that warm.
When you glanced up, he was staring at you through the mirror. As absurd as it was, you managed to get chills. Goosebumps broke the surface of your skin.
“Fresh chocolate chip cookies. Straight out of the oven. Like mom used to make.” He flashed an unnerving smile before turning to exit.
From there on out, even after you bent to his will and found a gourmand scent that matched what he described, Homelander tested you. Your work ethic, clothing choice, eating habits, and most of all, patience.
Your parents would ask how you were liking your job, how it was working alongside the Supes- not to mention the most famous of all- and you’d lie through your teeth. You felt you had no choice, Ashley’s threat ringing in your ears.
Resume, bare ass, tossed salad...
Oh yeah, it’s going great! They’re all super flexible. I couldn’t be happier!
At least that pun made you feel a little better about hiding the shame of what you’ve allowed yourself to take on.
This was all in the first few weeks. It started to get a little easier after that, which is surprising considering more was added to your to-do list.
You should have moved on before starting. But, for whatever asinine reason, you didn’t.
Every time you go back to your apartment and assess your appearance in the bathroom mirror, you wonder who’s making who up here. He’s changing your looks more than you are his. You’re like his human doll.
You’ve put up with a lot over the years, but this takes the cake and shoves it in your face. As fucked as it is, the flavor is growing on you. Like a fungus. Growing, nonetheless.
You can’t stop thinking about him.
It’s innocent enough, you try convincing yourself. Making sure you have the right outfit laid out the night before, the right lunch (no onions or fish or anything “freaky”!), etc. He is your superior, after all. You shouldn’t be viewing him in any other light.
He’s the most frustrating aspect of your existence these days, but he’s also the one you’re around the most. His penchant for workplace gossip and how unintentionally funny he is tends to make him palatable, which has regrettably become an understatement.
Months go by. You’ve witnessed how alone he truly is. How he has nothing outside of performing his tricks on Vought’s all-encompassing stage. And when he begins asking for your input, starts doing things for you that are so blatant it’s perplexing, you find your stress and vexation melting into cumbersome fascination.
It’s embarrassing. You don’t have the courtesy of enough time to dwell on your feelings toward the situation either, from beginning to whatever end you might be met with. You suppose that could be beneficial in the long run.
It also hits you when you least expect it; when you really don’t want it to.
Your body doesn’t wait until you finally have a moment alone. It decides, while you’re helping Homelander with his skincare routine that he insisted upon because you know more than these vacuous corporate douche-bags, to heat up without warning and slither from your head to your heart until it grasps you unfairly between your legs.
You try not to step into momentary paralysis. You understand to what extent his powers reach. It’s not like he doesn’t go on and on about them. About himself.
Whatever he notices, it’s not right away. A palpable tension fills the air between the two of you eventually. But it takes a more significant amount of time than you would have anticipated to permeate the natural flow of things.
Fuck, you can’t even be safe inside here, where your thoughts, whatever they may be, are yours. You can’t even have yourself. He has every part of you, and you are willingly relinquishing that control.
Your evening, once you can have it, consists of combing over every decision you’ve made leading up to this strange, disorienting space you find yourself occupying. All it does is leave you exasperated in a much different way than before and with an unsettling observation (or hallucination):
Was that the tail end of the American flag outside your window?
You are unacceptably late.
Rushing around, you throw on the first top and bottoms you see from your closet and spritz some perfume on your neck and wrists. You don’t check your phone. You’re afraid of what will pop up on your screen. And, frankly, you don’t have the time.
Your only option for transportation is the subway, as you’re sure the special vehicle from Vought is long gone. Why would they wait for someone like you, even if you’re practically Homelander’s personal assistant? One of his only friends. You doubt he has more than Black Noir, and that isn’t as perfect as it appears to the casual viewer.
You dread what kind of explosion you’re without a doubt walking into once you show your miserable ass up. You’re going to smell like everyone on this train. He’s going to go ballistic.
The question remains: why are you continuing to put yourself through this? It’s not your circus, yet somehow, the monkeys have become your liability.
You know, deep down, what keeps you going back. It’s simply too ridiculous to admit aloud.
Making your way past security, hurriedly presenting your badge, you realize you forgot to brush your teeth, or at the very least, gargle some mouthwash. You thank your lucky stars when you open your purse to a pack of gum tucked away in one of the compartments.
It will have to do.
When you open the door to Homelander’s dressing room, you see a couple of employees standing near the counter where the bag of supplies has been opened and rifled through, looking like they might soil themselves, a frantic Ashley, and an extremely pissed off Homelander in the middle of it all.
Reflexively, you cringe. You attempt to wipe any trace from your features, but it’s too late. Ashley is glaring daggers at you and Homelander can hardly bring himself to look in your direction. The others don’t matter to you. They never did.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I know there’s no excuse-”
“You’re goddamned right, there’s no excuse! I don’t give a shit if god and his whole fucking choir of angels came down from heaven and divinely called you to give them a makeover! What were you thinking?!”
You’re about to answer, though you comprehend her query is more or less rhetorical. She interrupts your slightly open mouth while gesturing wildly, proving your point.
“Oh, that’s right! You weren’t thinking at all, were you?! But I do believe you’ve thought long and hard about what’s at stake here. And you know damn well we at Vought don’t tolerate this kind of sloppy behavior. Not to mention the way you’re dressed! It’s adding insult to injury!” Her hand swipes at the air, the length of your outfit, and you glance down, recognizing how comically mismatched you are. Her correct observation affects you more than it would have months prior, stinging your ego- one of the many things that’s been shelved in order to accommodate the person who won’t even grace you with a glance.
A dramatic groan cuts short any further commentary from the redhead, perpetually stretched thin between her absurd duties.
“Jesus Christ, Ashley, why are your big fucking horse gums still flapping?” Homelander’s booming voice slices through your mind like a jarring, dense migraine. He pinches his brow between middle finger and thumb, eyes closed. “I want you and Tweedledee and Tweedledum t’get the fuck out. Now.”
Ashley is plainly dumbfounded, struggling to see where she went wrong (a pattern when it comes to dealing with the volatile leader of The Seven), mouth agape. She shakes her head. “But sir, are you-?”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or doing. Clearly.”
Ms. Barrett turns a shade paler, staring at Homelander and blinking owlishly before snapping herself out of her stupor. She hurries her lackeys out of the room, shooing them along like a pair of misbehaving toddlers. She doesn’t give a final look, no further warning. She merely shuts the door behind her.
You also hear it lock.
What the hell does she think is going to happen?
You should have stopped this while you had the chance. You should have never taken this job. You should have stood up for yourself and walked out. You should have you should have you should-
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
His caustic tone sends shivers down your spine. It’s unlike anything you’ve heard come out of him. And you’ve heard enough.
Again, you open your mouth. It fills with blood, thick and metallic and more potent than the mint from your gum. You’re silenced by it.
He stalks toward you and grabs you hastily by the shoulders, swiveling you around so you’re face-to-face with the choices you’ve made. Your mirrored image is reflected back at you, exhausted and searching for any last shred of who you might be beneath his heavy palms.
“Look at yourself! Do you even recognize who’s staring back at you?” No.
“What kind of game are you playing, hmmm? Is this… humiliating spectacle you’re putting on for the money? Your pathetic career? Like it’s goddamned rocket science to pick up a can of hairspray and use it. Monkeys have hands.” He makes a noise that’s akin to a snorting horse, exhaling forcefully past his nostrils. “I mean, did you really think you could pull a fast one on me?” He clutches your jaw, squeezing it between middle and thumb. Every muscle in your body tenses, your heart picking up rhythm.
“Spit that fucking gum out. Don’t think I can’t hear you grinding it between your molars like a dumb animal. You aren’t a mama bird, are you? Y’don’t have cute little baby birds t’force-feed your regurgitated leftovers, do you? Eugh, gross.”
You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose. It presents you with a false sense of security. You do as you’re told, and it lands on the floor in front of your shoe, saliva dangling on a thread as withered as your sanity.
Suddenly fresh breath seems like the most insignificant issue, when Homelander himself once made it out to be something earth-shattering.
You’re such a fool.
He leans in and sniffs your throat. Your fingers lengthen and bend.
You’re so many things at once. Confused, angry, nervous, scared. And, to your dismay, warm. God you’re so fucking warm. He’s heating you up from the inside out. You clench your jaw, still held in place by a firm bind.
“Get rid of those ugly clothes. I don’t care what you have to do. I can’t stand the sight or smell of them.”
You shut your eyes. When you open them, all you see is red. The other emotions are smothered in favor of that brand of heat. What happens next is a blur. You temporarily leave yourself.
“Fine. Have it your way, Homelander. You always do.”
Breaking free of his fluctuating hold, you start tearing at what you’re wearing, tossing everything- including your bra and underwear- to the ground. Your shirt winds up with the gum sticking to its loose fabric. You even take your shoes and socks off, not paying any heed to where your belongings go. Just that they’re gone.
You don’t process the glaring fact that you made yourself naked in front of your boss. In front of the most powerful man this country, and possibly world, has known. You don’t care that things have escalated this far. That they shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t have. But guess what? They did. And these are the consequences you both have to deal with.
“You wanna know what game I’m playing?” You turn around, forcing him backward. “It’s funny, I thought you’d be able to answer that for me, considering all the hoops I’ve had to jump through to not only save my ass, but make sure you had someone to talk to at the end of the day! Who on your team can you say goes above and beyond like that for you?!” He blinks at you now, eyes wide. Features fall to the floor where your clothes reside. You have his full and undivided attention.
An impressively dangerous thing to have.
“What more do you want from me, Homelander? I practically live with you without any of the benefits that usually includes! You’re really going to stand here and berate me like I haven’t given you fucking everything you’ve ever asked me for? Because I made one mistake? I gave up my entire world, which I know doesn’t mean shit to you. But it does to me.”
You fold your arms over your chest. Nothing covers it. You have to know before you lose all dignity. So you ask once more, hoping it won’t get lost in this bizarre mess.
“What do you want from me?”
Nothing. He can’t stop staring at you. You aren’t aware enough to be ashamed, but you are aware enough to be upset.
His infuriating silence compels you to bend down and gather what was a barrier between the two of you. You are no longer needed if he can’t do what he does best, which is spout off, leaking bottled words everywhere like a broken faucet. It’s a pretty simple question, you think.
That’s when the glass behind you shatters.
You flinch, pause what you’re doing and slowly stand. Cautious in whatever your next approach will be.
Surveying the aftermath, you’re relieved to find that you’re far enough away from the mirror so no injuries were inflicted.
When you finally lock eyes with the source, you see red. The atmosphere surrounding you heaves like the distended belly of a rotting corpse; hisses like an overflowing tea kettle; pierces you like lightning.
Homelander’s expression is rigid. His jaw quivers. Irises are a bright, shining scarlet. If you try anything rash, you might be next. But, having been around him for so long, you’re more inclined to believe he’s having trouble processing his own emotions. And that might have been one of the only ways to release them.
You drop the top and pants you managed to reclaim. Your brain hasn’t fully recovered from the constant devastating hit it’s taken, so you don’t want to put a name to what’s pushing you forward. You don’t stop until you’re directly in his line of vision.
Swallowing, you carefully extend your hand. The ruby color begins to crumble and give way to the vast ocean you might have drowned in one too many times. You lost track, blocking what you could out. Too real and intimate to accept for a realm that thrives off of inauthenticity and misfortune.
Homelander inhales harshly and you retreat, pupils hooking themselves to his. Searching for any sign you shouldn’t be right where you are.
Of course there are several; unfortunately, you are currently blind to them. Blind to everything but him.
That’s how it’s been for awhile, hasn’t it?
He has a habit of not granting you the luxury of time.
Quickly, he snatches your wrist and brings your palm flat against his cheek. He exhales, eyelids fluttering, nuzzling into you.
It’s so simple, yet it disarms you in ways you aren’t accustomed to.
Homelander basks in this chaste display of affection, and so do you, in awe of how enraptured he appears. Soaking you inside of his pores.
In turn, your cognizance reappears. You nearly topple over, realization infiltrating every part of you.
You’re not wearing a stitch.
A knock at the door startles you both. You glance over in that general direction and hear from the other side, “You’re on in fifteen, Homelander, sir!”
Gazing back up at him, you witness that same fire expand at a rapid rate. You use your other hand to bring him back down to reality, to ground him. It rests against his chest, delving into and cracking his ribs, flaying him open.
What strikes you is how vigorously his heart is beating. How you can feel it through his uniform.
This is how much you affect him. (Can you fathom that you’re only privy to a fraction?) Having evidence of the tiniest reciprocation drains you of any unwanted discomfort.
His fury subsides. You breathe out. He does, too.
“Go sit in your chair. I came here to do my job, after all.” The tenderness with which you speak seems to ease him further, his shoulders deflating with each word.
That aside, you’re playing with a lit match. You’re unsure who’s going to set who ablaze, but you’re willing to go down with this entire building to find out.
He does as he’s told, watching you the whole way like a mutilated mixture of a snarling cornered animal and a man fervently in love. He almost trips into his seat, not an ounce of grace in his gait.
Sacrificing his entire image just to get a glimpse of you.
Whipping his cape to the side, he sinks into the cushion. You get things ready as you typically do, your movements a bit jittery from the adrenaline sending haphazard jolts to your limbs. Despite this, you’re focused. You are more focused than you remember ever being.
You work efficiently, keeping in mind the limit that’s been put on your time.
Homelander bores holes through you. He doesn’t need lasers for that. You’re exposed and vulnerable and he pries what he fostered apart until it’s distinguishable by no one else but him.
You relearn his perfectly manufactured features. Different lights shape shadows you either haven’t seen before or feigned ignorance of. You commit to memory how he looks, smells, feels, the side of your hand grazing his cheek and hanging on.
He’s invigorating, your excitement building to a crescendo you can’t neglect. The heat in your core disperses, most of it congregating low in your belly and behind your expanding rib cage. His pupils drink you in, urgently and violently.
Your arousal is heady. He licks his lips. A hint of a whine caresses your ears and it makes you dizzy.
How could you have ever denied yourself?
You decide to take further control, testing the waters to a greater extent.
It’s your turn to watch him the whole way down. You straddle him, easing yourself atop his taut thighs.
After a few moments of humoring yourself, of pretending to concentrate on your work, dusting his nose with powder, you straighten. Eye contact has not been severed.
You motion toward his hands, balled into tense, repressed fists at his sides.
“Take off your gloves.”
Initially, it feels like maybe you said the wrong thing, or said it the wrong way. He doesn’t budge. You’re patient, however, so you wait like you’ve always done, the warmth from your cunt mingling with the hardness beneath you. Your mouth waters.
At last, Homelander nods and removes his gloves, tugging on the index of each. He places them on the armrests and transfixes himself to you once more.
“Do you want to touch me?” you ask, voice and body staying impossibly still in spite of your nerves.
Immediately, he shakes his head, “Yes,” the first time he’s spoken since your outburst, and without hesitation, reaches for your chest. You close your eyes, falling into his snooping lifts and tugs and squeezes, giving yourself permission to become possessed by the inhibited imaginations of how selfish, how rapacious his touches might be. How smooth his bare hands are, how ardent each digit is.
Leaning into you, he sucks one nipple into his mouth and palms the other, moaning and vibrating against your flesh. He digs his fingers into the pliant softness of your hip, steadying you with disciplined pressure. You squirm, attuned to every minuscule shift.
The lit match is tilted toward you now, swift and stunning. Your fingers release the brush you’ve been holding. It aligns with the slit of the cushion, forgotten and purposeless.
You wrap your digits around the hand on your curves and guide him toward your throbbing center. He doesn’t fight you. Doesn’t stop your movements. Doesn’t scold or challenge you. Instead, he curls his fingers in a way that makes you unabashedly moan, cupping your folds and pinning his thumb to your clit, adapting to your anatomy.
Your wants.
It seems like breaking away from you is a daunting task, but he does for a moment, brow furrowed, more engrossed and invested than you’ve ever witnessed.
“Fuck.” The curse sounds downright edible, your new favorite flavor. Your name tumbles from his lips like he’s been practicing, a sweet, rich icing on top. You gasp, his tongue adhering to you again, swirling around your peak before lightly biting it.
Rocking your hips back and forth, side-to-side, you grind hard into his palm. He strokes you like he’s studied what pace you prefer, how much friction you crave. You’re so wet, even you’re thrown off by it.
Once he’s finished with your chest, he’s back against the seat, unable to peel his gaze from you. Your full, swollen, glistening breasts.
His mouth hangs open, obscene, desperate whimpers slipping from it. Pupils are like whirlpools that drive you under. Drive you mad.
Homelander adeptly slips two, three digits inside your sopping cunt, unrelenting in his intentions to make up for lost time. The voracity of his actions propels you forward, balancing against his chest. He grasps and pulls at your other hip, groaning loudly in your ear, confirming his approval of how close you are to him.
It’s still not enough.
Pulling you even tighter to his blinding sun of a body, he encloses his free arm around you and desperately bucks his waist. “I want… I want… I want…” he chants. Your nails drag up his neck and along his scalp, overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent, him. Your lips ghost the sliver of skin above his collar, making him growl.
You anticipate and dread and yearn for what’s been building for so long. You clench and release, clench and release, clench and release, body chanting with him.
You’re intuitively thankful for the chair’s sturdiness; however, if it would have collapsed, you’re honestly not sure you would have noticed. Or cared.
You hear him come first. Feel the temperature rise temporarily. It’s so sudden and all-consuming that you naturally follow, his name an instinct you can’t help but divulge. You haven’t come down from the turbulent emotions rushing through you earlier, and that combination catapults you over the edge.
Your orgasm draws more deliberate, vehement grunts and sighs of satisfaction from him, as if your pleasure is inexplicably the same or worth more than his.
You can’t crumple into a boneless heap like you want to. You just can’t. You have to look at him. Look at his bliss; the glazed, barren-yet-so-full-of-you expression, of what these months of working in close quarters have done to him.
What you uncover is not what you were picturing. There’s a mixture of that haze with something almost apologetic below the teeming surface. Clouds of red to skies of blue. Destructive in and of themselves.
Sliding his fingers from your wetness, he wraps his lips around each one that was inside of you and spreads them apart. Your slick sticks to his glossy skin and stretches between digits, a generous amount. You whimper at the loss- the emptying, hollow feeling- and watch, mesmerized and delirious as he savors you.
Swallowing you whole, Homelander sweeps his knuckles across the apple of your cheek and presses his lips hard against yours. He wastes no time inhaling your gasps and moans, licking your mouth and the faint taste of mint, stealing it from you. You ingest what you can of him as well, exploring what was open to you longer than you realized.
He then seizes your wrists. It’s a rough gesture that evaporates into gentle circles along your pulse points. Still, you know you’re going to bruise where he turned the key and locked you into place: wherever he is.
A visible sheen coats his lips.
“I want you to tell me I’m good. Great. The best.”
His breathing is labored. So is yours.
He kisses the inside of the wrist smeared with perfume, your fluids, his saliva; ends with your hand and rests his cheek against the slope of it.
“I want you to be mine. All mine. Mine alone.”
You’re shaking. He moves forward and pets your hair, twirls it; grabs your nape and holds his thumb to the front of your throat. Securing you. Keeping you there.
“You have to stay. Be mine and stay.”
You thrum with an ache he forced upon you. He’ll claim you were starving and he was the only one who could satiate.
You nod. You were never going to leave to begin with.
Homelander made you his. And you thanked him for it.
#homelander#homelander x reader#the boys#antony starr#my writing#let me see you stripped down to the bone#oneshot#god it feels so good getting this out#i’ve been going through a painful writer’s block so 🥹#thank you everyone who helped and anyone who reads#this is my first full-fledged homelander fic so i’m a bit nervous but! very excited 🖤#love you all 🥰
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blood pact
pairing: vampire! wooyoung x human! reader (fem)
genre: vampire society au, a lil bit of angst, smut
summary: living in a city overrun by bloodsuckers is already hard enough on its own, but you’re really put to the test when one of them ends up being your only hope in the face of danger.
w.c: 4.3k
warnings: blood/injury, depictions of violence, death(s)? of a few vampires, hard-ish dom (slight tamer)! wooyoung, subby (tiny bit bratty)! reader, these mfs are nasty alr, some light brat taming, one or two little slaps, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, blood kink obv <3 (includes blood drinking/sharing), kissing, oral (giving), throat fucking, brief breath play, pain kink, mutual masturbation, lotus position but it’s rough !!, creampie
a/n: oh mannn i’m a bit late again 😣 but im excited to share this one with you all !! i wanted to thank my dear lily for beta reading this one for me and giving me lovely feedback that helps me grow as a writer, it truly means the world to me my dear 🩷 once again i do apologize if this fic seems disjointed in any way ,, things have been a bit weird but i won’t let life stop me from sharing nasty smut >:((( lol i hope you enjoy and please lemme know what you thought <33
song rec: dirt - depeche mode (we’re taking it wayyy back with this one <3)
fictober 2024
You were never able to pinpoint exactly when humanity went to shit, as it had always been in a state of constant conflict and disarray, but somewhere along the way, it turned into a raging dumpster fire — one that was close to impossible to put out once it was lit. Unbeknownst to humans, there was a society of vampires that lived in the shadows for centuries, waiting patiently until it was the perfect time to make their existence known and feared. What better time to take over the world than when the humans were too busy being at each other’s throats to even realize they had a common enemy, one that would drain them of their life source within a blink of an eye?
Anyone with a pulse had no choice but to fall in line and succumb to their undead overlords, having to make up their mind about whether they would like to join forces with the enemy by desecrating their DNA and joining those that single-handedly brought upon humanity’s destruction, or grovel at their feet and become a slave, a house pet of sorts whose soul purpose was to feed and entertain their blood-sucking masters.
It was not an easy choice for most, and especially for you, so you simply found another solution — blend in. If you embodied everything a vampire was, even down to their immeasurable sense of pride and entitlement, how could they tell you apart from the others? And when they saw through your ruse, you would drive a stake through their still heart. You would never join their empire, let alone be one of their toys, especially not for some pompous undead prick that would treat you like a glorified juice box.
Yet, here you were, drunk off your ass at a gothic nightclub that welcomed vampiric guests and shunned anyone with a beating heart, unless they were owned and branded.
“Gimme another whiskey, neat,” you slurred, holding your empty shot glass to the poor excuse of a human bartender standing on the other side of the bar. You scoffed at the jeweled collar he wore around his neck, knowing he was owned by whatever undead asshole that ran the nightclub. You had your own collar, of course, but you had taken it from someone that was…no longer in need of it. You did what you had to, to make it through another night in the corrupted world you regretfully called your home.
“I should cut you off, y’know, especially after being such a dick to me all night,” the man mumbled, despite reaching underneath the bar to grab an almost empty bottle of whiskey and filling your glass back up, not wanting to risk angering his superiors.
“But, you won’t. Your vampiric asshole of a boss wouldn’t like that you’re denying a paying customer.” You stuck your tongue out at the man, much to his dismay. You sipped on the whiskey, liking the way it burned as it went down your throat, grateful that you could still feel something, even if it was a drunkenness that would most likely do irreversible damage to your liver. It’s not like your life really mattered, not in this timeline, at least.
You lazily held your glass up in his direction, blowing a few strands of loose hair out of your eyes. The man simply held up the empty bottle and gave you a tight smile. “All out. Now, would you pay your tab?”
“Fineeee, oh my god,” you groaned dramatically, standing up from the barstool and wobbling a bit, fishing for your wallet somewhere inside your worn trench coat. When you opened it up, you came upon the discovery that it was completely empty, looking up to find fear inside the bartender’s eyes. “L-listen, I can replace that bottle, okay? I-I’ll…just need to stop by the local temp agency first.”
“I think you should leave, before they catch wind of this…” the bartender warned you under his breath, unconsciously tugging at his collar.
Swallowing harshly, you glanced around the crowded, dingy club past the collar of your coat, before stumbling your way past many vampire patrons that were drunk off the blood of their human pets who stayed close to them, wishing your blurry surroundings weren’t moving in slow motion. Paranoid that somebody was following you, you looked past your shoulder, only seeing the same crowd of drunken patrons. Temporarily relieved, you swiftly faced forward again, only to accidentally bump into someone face-first, your teeth clinking into the metal of their lip ring, your hands almost getting caught in the many necklaces they were wearing. “I’m so sorry, oh my god, please don’t kill me,” you automatically apologized, already knowing they weren’t human based on the lack of a collar and color in their cheeks.
“If I wanted to, I would,” Wooyoung teased in his own special way, quite aware of the way your heart rate spiked as soon as his light, airy words reached your ears. He enjoyed playing around with his food as much as the next vampire, but lately, it’s grown quite dull, like everything else in his never-ending life.
“O-oh!” you squeaked, letting out a nervous laugh, sticking one hand into your coat pocket to wrap your fingers around the sharp stake you carried with you everywhere.
He brought one manicured finger up to tap against the jewel sitting snugly against your collared neck, leaning in to press his lips against the slope of your ear. “I’d take you right here in front of everyone, drink you dry. Let them all enjoy the pretty sounds you’d make. Does that sound fun?”
“Oh, you can try it, if you want,” you goaded him, looking up at him with your big doe eyes once he pulled back, wondering if he knew just how unhinged you were, just how on the edge you really were. “But, what happens if I’m poisonous? I might not be worth the stomachache.”
Wooyoung chuckled to himself, not used to any human acting so boldly towards him. “Fair point, human.”
“Y/N,” you corrected him, letting go of you weapon in favor of wrapping your finger around one of his silver necklaces, teasing him back in your own way. “You should at least know my name if you’re going to drink from me.”
Wooyoung mused at your actions, studying you with his sly fox eyes, licking at the mole on his lip. He would’ve pursed you if you hadn’t suddenly gotten spooked by something, turning his head to watch you continue making your way out of the club, noticing that the owner quickly followed after you. Things were certainly getting interesting.
By the time you inhaled the cold night air into your lungs, you had already broke out into a sweat. You let your heavy coat hang off past your shoulders and leaned back against a nearby wall, regretting all the alcohol you had subjected your poor body into taking. “Fuck me…” you groaned, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back into the cool concrete behind you, hoping that would make the world stop spinning.
“Is that an invitation…?” asked the very vampire you had been talking shit about to the bartender just a few minutes earlier. “It’s the least you could offer me in exchange for all the whiskey you drank in my club, filthy human.”
Your blood ran cold. “D-don’t you even think about touching me…You aren’t my owner.”
“Oh, because of this little collar you have on? You really don’t have a clue about our kind, do you? There’s no pheromones on you, just your own filthy human scent,” the vampire chided, running his finger along the worn band of your lace collar. It made your skin crawl. You struggled to keep down all the alcohol you had drowned yourself in. Just then, he ripped it from your neck and replaced it with his slender fingers, squeezing around it until your vision grew just that more blurry. “But, don’t worry, I’ll make up for all the lost time that you haven’t been used like a proper toy.”
Blinding rage joined the revulsion you felt for the individual that continued to toy with you as though you were a defenseless child, the culmination of it churning around inside your body like molten hot lava ready to pour out of you. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” you barked, shoving your hands into his shoulders as hard as you could, your feverish anger growing that much more when he hardly moved.
In response, the vampire tugged your coat down and ripped open your top, causing the buttons to fly off. His abhorrent words became nothing more than radio static inside your ringing ears, once you saw red, clutching the wooden stake inside your pocket so tightly that it pierced your fragile skin. You reeled your arm back and drove it straight into the owner’s side, so violently that the wood split into shards, not letting go of it until you knew that it was lodged deeply inside him, wishing, hoping he felt even a fragment of the pain his kind had caused you. “Die,” you muttered, searching his eyes for some sign of shock, regret, grief, anything.
Confusion overtook your flushed features when the man simply laughed directly in your face, as though he were savoring a joke that you weren’t in on, suddenly feeling a white hot burning pain inside your abdomen. Something was wrong, deeply wrong. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t, not while you were gurgling on your own blood. You looked down to see the hilt of a dagger sticking out of your stomach, reality hitting you like a ton of bricks, rendering it impossible to draw in air.
“It never ceases to amuse me when a blood bag thinks they can stop someone like me with something as silly as a wooden stake,” he began, letting out a small hum, as he drove his ritual dagger in as far as it could go. He leaned in close to you, twisting the knife around inside you just to hear the delightful sounds of agony that escaped your red tinted lips. “I’ve been alive longer than your entire bloodline, pathetic human, and I’ll be outliving you tonight.” And with that, the club owner ripped the dagger back out and strolled back into the building, licking the crimson that still ran down the sides of his blade.
You should’ve known this would happen eventually in a world like this. You had no power from the very start. Why had you been blind to the truth until this very moment, when all you could see was your precious blood leaving your body? Regardless, it was far too late to ruminate over trivial things. Death’s gentle whispers were lulling you to sleep, its sweet promises of rest numbing out most of the visceral emotions that coursed through your veins. Slumping against the wall, you held your middle with trembling hands, gazing up at the full moon that loomed over you, wanting to enjoy her beauty one last time — at least, until someone blocked your view.
“For fuck’s sake, can’t you see I’m dying here? Let me look at the moon in peace…” you murmured, weakly glaring up at the stranger you had met inside that godforsaken club only a couple minutes ago.
“You still got some fire in you, doncha, sweetheart?” Wooyoung mused, crouching down so you were at eye level, reaching out to gently ruffle your hair. “But, you’ll die of blood loss soon…pity.”
“You’re very observant,” you replied snarkily, leaning your head back into the wall, your vision growing darker by the second. You let out a long, defeated sigh, choking a bit on the blood left inside your raw throat. “Are you just here to watch me die? If that’s the case, can you do me a favor and make it quick?”
“You didn’t seem like the type to give up so easily.” He leaned in close to you, his crimson eyes shining that much brighter when he asked, “Don’t you want revenge?”
His question echoed inside your mind, once as a whisper, and eventually as a desperate plea. “And what if I do…? It’s not like I can do much now…”
“Let me turn you.” He bared his fangs. “You’ll live, and you’ll be so much stronger than ever before.” He watched as your eyes widened, then returned to normal, figuring you were weighing your options, though they were vastly limited. “You’ll be free to take his life away, do with it as you please, just like he was going to do to you. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”
A few drops of blood dribbled down the side of your mouth. The sand in your hourglass was about to run out. “What do you get in return?”
Wooyoung’s lips curled up into a sadistic smile, his eyes resembling glowing crescent moons. “I’ll be your Master, of course. It’s only fair, being your savior, and all.”
Though that was the very last thing you wanted, you were far too stubborn to die out in such a pathetic fashion. Not only that, but you were being offered the deal of a lifetime, at the end of your lifetime, to be exact, and in exchange for your mortal soul, you could enact sweet, sweet revenge and have a new tale to tell, one that no man or monster could ever take from you.
“Speak now, or forever hold your peace,” Wooyoung joked slyly, tapping the invisible watch on his wrist.
“Alright, deal, but make it quick–” you were barely able to enunciate, before Wooyoung was all over you, one hand holding the side of your head, while the other felt where your artery was, immediately sinking his fangs deep into your neck to start the transformation process.
When you came to, you looked up at your savior, your eyes as red as the blood he had sucked out of you, all of the immense pain that plagued your body gone as quickly as it came, instead replaced by an indescribable thirst.
“How do you feel, pet?” Wooyoung asked, licking remnants of your life source from his manicured fingers.
You bared your new, needle sharp fangs to your Master. “Hungry.”
He smiled at you like a proud father would. “I think I know how we can fix that.”
-
The last thing the vampiric club owner expected to see when he was sitting inside the comfort of his secluded office was the human woman he had just murdered out of cold blood stomping up to his desk and tossing it out of the way like it wasn’t made of marble.
“H-hey, we can talk about this, right?” he asked nervously, holding his hands up, along with the stacks of cash that were in between his grubby fingers. “You want money? You can have it!”
You grabbed him by the collar, yanking him towards you so violently, he just about broke his neck. “I don’t want money. I want your life.”
When Wooyoung casually strolled into the cush office and pressed his back against the opaque door, the other vampire pleaded at him with his wide eyes. “Wooyoung, baby, this is your favorite club, isn’t it? Haven’t I treated you good here?”
“Y/N will treat you good too, don’t worry,” he reassures sweetly, dragging his tongue across his pointed teeth. He brought his finger up to his chin like he just remembered something, nodding to himself. “Ahh, she does bite, though.”
Just as Wooyoung’s cackles rang out inside the vast room, the club owner shifted his frightened gaze to you just in time to see your jaw open wide, gulping at the sheer size of your fangs. And just like that, you bit down onto the vampire’s neck, getting a good grip on his skin, before swiftly turning your head and causing a fountain of blood to rain over you.
Once you were done feeding, there was hardly anything left of the club owner. Most of him was inside you, and the rest was left splattered across the pedestrian paintings he had up on the walls. Still sitting on the floor near scattered, bloodied hundred dollar bills, you licked up the rest of him from your fingers, your entire body vibrating with pleasure now that your killer was no longer with you, and for other reasons you couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps it had something to do with your new body and your newfound love for excess.
Wooyoung clapped his hands together with giddy delight, giving the top of your head a few pats as a reward. “What a good girl. Do you feel full?”
Shaking your head, you reached up to Wooyoung’s waistband, undoing the belt buckle and easing his pants down, licking at your red stained lips all the while. The burning, mind-melting desire to consume didn’t leave you, it only multiplied. It clouded your mind, made you feel like you might lose your mind if you didn’t make it stop. “Not enough…my throat…need it filled…”
“Ahh, I see,” Wooyoung sighed knowingly. This always happened with the humans he turned; they turned into insatiable monsters, always driven by their need for more. He could never get tired of it. Leaning his back against the dripping wall, he reached down to slide his fingers into your soft hair, angling your head upwards, cooing softly at you as he pushed his way into your mouth. “Be careful with your fangs, sweetheart.”
Relaxing your throat upon the sudden intrusion, you opened your mouth wider, as to not pierce Wooyoung’s cock with your new fangs, feeling content once the entirety of his twitching length fit snugly inside. It was when the vampire thrusted further into your throat that you made a wet gagging sound, tears forming inside your crimson eyes, closing them.
“Ah, ah,” Wooyoung tutted, giving your cheek a light smack, smiling sweetly down at you when your eyes opened back up. “That’s right, you better look at me with those pretty eyes of yours if you’re going to take me down your throat like this. That’s what a good pet does.”
Once Wooyoung started to fuck your throat, eager to fill it with his cum, his pale fingers pulling tightly at your hair, you did your best not to choke around him, welcoming him in again, over and over, until saliva and pre-cum dripped down your chin and along your bare chest.
“Mmnh….nnnhmm…” you moaned in approval, reaching up to hold onto his bucking hips, digging your nails into his protruding hip bones. You blinked more tears away, wanting to see Wooyoung’s sadistic face without the constant blurriness that plagued your vision. Whether you had a penchant for punishment or you were simply bloodthirsty, it caused you to prod at the vampire’s cock with your fangs, the tangy flavor of iron joining the abundance of precum that lubed up your throat.
“Fuck, you’re a naughty girl, biting me like that,” Wooyoung hissed in between violent thrusts, suddenly holding your head still when the entirety of his cock was inside your throat, your nose brushing against his pubic bone, satisfied with the filthy gurgling noises you couldn’t help but make for him, feeling more of your spit drip down his heavy balls. He smacked his hand against your cheek again, watching it grow rosy, before pinching your nose tightly. “But, you can’t help it, huh? You just want to be put in your place. I can’t blame you for that.”
The sensation was suffocating, the feeling of being used added onto the constant buzz of pleasure that was running through your veins; it was nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. It almost made you wish that you had let yourself be turned a long time ago. No one could stop you now, not even him. Maybe your humanity was slipping away from you, much like your sanity with each passing moment.
It wasn’t until you could breathe again and something warm, heavy, was pressing down on the tip of your tongue that you faded back into reality, just in time for Wooyoung to shoot a seemingly never-ending cumshot down the back of your aching throat.
“You’ll swallow, won’t you?” he asked sweetly, giving the bottom of your chin a light tickle with his clawed fingers.
When you stuck out your tongue to show him that nothing was left, Wooyoung grabbed you by the chin and yanked you towards him, biting the tip of your tongue to draw blood. You watched him suck it off with half-lidded eyes, having to close your thighs together to keep a fresh wave of slick from dripping out of you.
Before you knew it, he was on the floor with you, not even needing to pull you into his lap, groaning into your mouth as you climbed into it yourself, the heated kiss you shared consisting mostly of tongue, pointed teeth, and blood. You swapped red-tinted saliva back and forth, your hands working in tandem to tear off each other’s clothes and grope one another wherever you could, trying to create as much friction between your lower halves as you could, Wooyoung’s stiff cock rubbing deliciously into your clothed cunt.
You broke the kiss when your thirst once again grew too strong to ignore, reaching up to run your index finger over the mole on Wooyoung’s glistening bottom lip, hissing softly when he pierced it with one of his fangs. You both watched the blood slowly trickle down along your skin, sharing a similar look with one another, before you leaned in to lap it up, your tongues meeting in the middle.
As though telepathically connected, you reached to slip your panties off from underneath your skirt the same time Wooyoung undid the buttons of his pants, immediately rubbing at yourselves in order to get off as quickly as possible.
“Look at me when you cum,” Wooyoung demanded between huffs of air, staring you down past his wispy lashes, the speed at which he was stroking his cock producing lewd squelching sounds, his slender fingers slicked up with his abundant pre-cum.
Trembling, you opened up your teary eyes to look at Wooyoung, the indescribable pleasure etched into his face causing you to throb nonstop, curling your fingers up in just the right way to launch you into a world of ecstasy. “C-cumming…”
Wooyoung groaned at the sight and feeling of your release spilling into his lap, squeezing his hand tightly around the base of his cock, hot spurts of cum landing on your abdomen and dripping down your bare cunt, not even caring that you both dirted his designer jeans with your shared arousal. “I’m gonna make you do that again, on my cock this time, you hear me?” he growled at you, lifting you up like you weighed nothing and dropping you down onto his growing erection.
“Fuck,” you gasped sharply, holding onto his shoulders to keep your composure, your thighs still shaking from your residual pleasure, a low, burning pain present within your core as your hole stretched to accommodate the vampire’s size. “T-too much…”
Wooyoung’s ego just about doubled in that moment, his ringed fingers closing in on your soft waist, suddenly bucking his hips up into you like it was his sole mission to do so in the afterlife. Smiling smugly at the small, broken noises he was punching out of you with his vicious thrusts, he couldn’t help but let out a few crazed giggles. “Can’t take it now that I’m rearranging these pretty guts of yours, huh?” He mirrored your pout, his lower lip jutting out. “But, I thought you were my cum slut, my good little blood whore.”
“I am…! I–fuck, I am, Master…!” you found yourself crying out, tears inside your hazy eyes, tasting dried blood when you wet your dry lips, knowing you wouldn’t even recognize your reflection if you saw it now. You were a new model, remolded, changed for the better.
His hypnotic eyes began to glow. “Be a good sleeve and take it for your Master, yeah?”
You did as he said, taking everything he gave you like a pliant doll, letting him lick, bite, drink from you, and fuck you dumb for as long as his still heart desired, wondering if he was even aware of how much your blood boiled inside you.
Wooyoung was just like the others. They were all the same, treating you like a helpless toy, using you for their enjoyment and tossing you aside when they were bored, viewing your humanity as your downfall, and perhaps they were right. Like two magnets, you couldn’t live without the other, and now, you were a monster like him, one in the same.
Just as you both reached your climax together, holding desperately onto one another, Wooyoung’s bewitching gaze no longer holding captive, you felt a supreme power rise within yourself. You didn’t need him, not when you were now your own Master. The only thing you served now was your endless hunger.
Wooyoung couldn’t get you off once you latched onto his neck, gasping and sputtering, his constant struggles only forcing your fangs just that much deeper into his skin and the artery you had targeted, digging his claws into your back as a last ditch effort. “But, we…we made a pact,” he coughed out, his gravelly voice reflecting the immense pain he felt. He couldn’t fight back any longer, simply slumping back against the wall to accept his fate, holding his hand up to his torn neck, despite it not doing anything to prevent the crimson from flowing through his fingers. “I don’t understand…”
“I recall warning you that I was poisonous,” you replied softly, licking remnants of his precious life source from your stained lips.
He couldn’t help but smile, his eyes resembling half-moons. “Fair point, human…”
Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡
© kitten4sannie, 2024.
#ateez#ateez smut#ateez wooyoung#jung wooyoung#wooyoung smut#ateez x reader#wooyoung x reader#ateez fanfic#kpop smut
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tumblr approved me for javascript on my blog yippee so i updated the ol' about if ya wanna take a gander :) gonna work on my tags page next which is gonna be a doozy but i shall power through
#it's funny editing my about now because like. when i was younger on here i feel like i had a lot of really nosy anons all the time#and so my old about pages were all sort of targeted at fending them off#('nosy' meaning constantly asking why i didn't share my name or pictures of myself etc. not appropriate to be asking a teenager lmao)#even now i'm an adult and it's like. hard to get out of that mindset. of writing stuff sort of on the defensive#and obviously it's presumptuous of me anyway to think anyone wants to talk to me at all or even reads that shit but#i really did spend a lot of time as a teenager being asked to justify a lot of my choices--whether it was my anonymity or something else#it's crazy. it's crazy! it's like the 'are you making up a guy to be mad at' post except 'are you making up a guy who gives a shit'#anyway i had to actively remind myself no you DONT need to add that you're visually impaired in case someone has shit to say about#the size of the font on your blog or the color scheme (which is deliberately dark mode for my own eyes)#sorry the tags are longer than this actual post. blah blah blah
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FELLOW FRANCO LOVERS RISE!!
Ok I’m not good at making requests but I think it would be cute if one of the interviewers wears an Argentina jersey and Franco is blushing and yapping in the media pen (and then he posts about it a million times like his handshake w Lewis)
good journalism ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ - franco colapinto
a/n: YES FRANCO LOVERS JOIN MEE i honestly love writing fics for this flirty little shit pls send more requests like this one eee it was so cute w/c: 922
It's all for the sake of good journalism.
At least, that's what you kept telling yourself - and all the other interviewers who were questioning why you were sporting an Argentina kit to a race that was being held in Singapore. Watching, buried in a hoard of other photographers and journalists, the race drew to a close and suddenly the crowd around you sprung into action. As drivers started trickling in, with tired expressions - some happy, others not, you resigned yourself to waiting. It was pretty clear you were only here for one.
He spots you as soon as he enters the media area, even though you're concealed by about a dozen other people. You watch as his eyes light up at the sight of the familiar blue and white fabric and he beelines towards you, ignoring the sound of others calling his name.
"Hello," he says, breathlessly with a beaming smile - you chalk the flush in his cheeks up to having just finished a race.
"Hi!" you spring immediately into interview mode, listing off question after question about the race. He answers them all as earnestly as he can, and the entire time you're watching him with an awe-struck look. The clamour and sound of camera flashes around you are drowned out as the two of you talk, and before you realise it you've forgotten you're conducting an interview and not just having a conversation.
"Well that's all the questions I had prepared, good job out there today, you did amazing!" you say, fully aware that you're gushing at this point but you're relieved when he offers you an earnest smile.
"Nice shirt," he points out, and you realise suddenly how keen he is to keep talking. You laugh, a little shy at being so openly acknowledged.
"I knew you'd like it!"
"Who's on the back?" he asks curiously and you turn around to show him, "Ah, Lionel of course, a woman after my own heart." You chuckle softly as he places a hand over his chest. There's a beat of silence when you honestly think he's about to leave but then he leans in a little closer.
"Blue looks good on you, maybe a Williams shirt next time?" He says it so casually it takes you a while to take in what he's saying - and to realise how boldly he's flirting with you.
"Ah," you let out, though it's more of a gasp than words, "I'll have to talk to your merch department about that."
"I'll be waiting," he beams, giving you a sly little nod before disappearing back into his garage. It's only once he's gone do you realise how sore your cheeks are from smiling non-stop. Letting out a shaky breath, slightly overwhelmed by how well that interaction went, you turn around to snake your way back through the crowd. You try to avoid eye contact with anyone but the other camerapeople only smile at you knowingly, and you can only hope some of them got good enough photos for you to remember this moment by.
It's only once you get back to your hotel room and open up your phone do you realise just how many pictures had been taken of the two of you - and how many of them were far better than 'good enough'. In one the two of you are deep in conversation, your brows furrowed in a frankly un-flattering way, him as perfect as ever. In another, you're both laughing, about what you're not entirely sure, but just looking at the photo makes your heart flutter. Your favourite by far though, is one where you're looking down at your notebook trying desperately to remember the questions you had wanted to ask him. There's a childish pout at your lips that you cringe at - but what makes it your favourite is the look on Franco's face as he watches you, cheeks flushed as his lips curl subtly at the corners.
You don't seem to be alone in this opinion either - at least, that's what you've deduced from the half a dozen times Franco has posted it. Clicking through his stories, you're taken aback by the fact that he posted more about your interaction than him scoring points - the photo of the two of you even becomes the cover of his post dedicated to the weekend. Looking at the post you're not even bothered by the hundreds and hundreds of comments speculating what's going on between you two. Instead, your attention is captured by the caption he's added to it - "A race weekend to remember, for more reasons than one."
It's a little corny, and you let out a soft chuckle as you scroll through the rest of his page shamelessly, though you're sure not to like any of his posts for fear of letting on too much. The two of you spoke once, and if you're being completely honest you're a little embarrassed to still be thinking about him at this moment.
Just as you're about to set your phone down though, it chimes with. a notification that makes your eyes widen - a follow request from none other than the man of the hour. The rational part of you begins questioning how he managed to find your profile or the professional concerns of a journalist and driver following each other. These concerns however do little to slow you down as you race to hit accept because at that moment the only thing you can think about is one thing - that he's thinking of you too.
#franco colapinto#franco colapinto x reader#franco colapinto x you#franco colapinto imagine#franco colapinto fanfic#franco colapinto fluff#franco colapinto oneshot#williams racing#williams f1#formula one fanfic#formula one x reader#formula one fluff#formula one#jet writes ★#purinfelix#jet answers ✧
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