#considering what exactly i do regarding support | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hwaightme · 9 months ago

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THIS IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI FOR STAR’S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut)(masterlist) (taglist)

❤️‍🔥 pairing: husband!seonghwa x gn!afab!reader ❤️‍🔥 genre: smut, fluff, pwp, established long-term relationship ❤️‍🔥 summary: all work and no play makes seonghwa a needy boy; your husband wants you. now. and he will use any means necessary to get you where he wants you. being in the office is not a problem when you are one message away... ❤️‍🔥 wordcount: 8.6k total ❤️‍🔥 warnings/tags: semi-edited, hwa duality, businessperson!reader, mention of offices/presentations/corporate culture, nonidol!hwa, married but permanently in honeymoon phase, two people very in love, petnames, mutual respect, trust and adoration, seonghwa is smitten, reader wears heels, words crazy+drunk used ❤️‍🔥 taglist: at the bottom of the fic ❤️‍🔥 a/n: spiralled into ponderings with @byuntrash101 (ily), and my fingers slipped. oops. any notes, asks, reblogs appreciated <3 much love!

❤️‍🔥 taglist: sexting, praise, petnames (love, darling, my love, pretty, gorgeous...), consent is king, unprotected sex (consider before you deliver), mating press/missionary (vanilla but make it spicy), 69 (blowjob+eating out), creampie, cumeating, slight spit kink, sprinklings of body worship, possessive terms (my/mine), light overstimulation, implied aftercare

“How do I look?” you called out to your husband, who was sitting behind you on your shared bed, feline in the way he was leaning back on his arms, regarding you through half-shut, curious eyes.

Unlike you, he had the day free, but even so decided to go through the motions of a morning routine with you, though finalising it with a considerably less formal outfit. Dressed in a black sweater and matching black trousers, Seonghwa had stated that he was going to go out to get some fresh produce from the market while it was still early, and the rush of crowds did not plague the city just yet. Patiently, he was waiting for you to be ready to head out to work, and he, to comfortably support the home front for today.

“Hm, you look like me having to come to work with you and me having a blast telling waves of potential suitors that you are off limits.” He responded as a matter of factly. Nevertheless, you caught a cheeky grin in the mirror as he scanned you up and down with the intensity of a burning sun.

“Oh … Hwa, what if I want the attention? And what are you going to do about the stakeholders I’ll be speaking to, hm?” You asked him coyly, finally managing to get your second earring on and tapping it with your manicured finger for good measure.

“Something tells me that I’ll have to step in and act like security.”

You chuckled, taken aback, pleasantly lightheaded because of Seonghwa’s early morning flirtations. With one final once over, he smoothed the bed sheets on either side of him and rose up to step right behind you, placing both hands under your suit jacket and on your waist, leaning closer and closer until he could place a soft kiss on the side of your neck which, thanks to your hairstyle, was exposed to the attention.

The sleek, deep navy suit was an elegant number, peaked lapels on the single-breasted jacket perfectly pressed, the wide-legged trousers perfectly guiding towards the heels - pumps in a nude beige, and the white asymmetrical short-sleeved shirt underneath all combining to create perfect harmony. You had chosen elegance over daring energetic appeal today, picking pearl-based jewellery which, upon inspection, was exactly how you had imagined it would be with the outfit. A delicate balance was struck, and was reminiscent of how your husband was gingerly manoeuvring over and around you, until he appeared to have had enough with stalling.

Seonghwa’s arms lazily slid forwards, wrapping a little tighter around you, while his head moved to nudge you towards himself with his chin, until he could rest his head on your shoulder comfortably. Initially wishing to pry yourself away given how little time you had left if you were to make it to the office at a reasonable time, your hands rushed to his own, but as your husband began to sway side to side, blissfully taking in the image in the mirror, you left them there, admiring the priceless scene, and the way in which his hands fit perfectly over yours, the rings matching, another sign of your union completing the masterpiece in the reflection.

"Come on, Hwa, I’ll be late at this rate."

"What's it got to do with me, ma'am? I finished getting dressed fifteen minutes ago, was sitting here, all good and ready for you-" ignoring the word choice, you persisted:

"Because a certain someone was hogging the shower-"

"I told you, you could join." heat flushed to your cheeks as you caught Seonghwa’s less than innocent expression, making you remember exactly why you were not planning to get into any intimate shared space with this alluring schemer before work. Planting a feather-light kiss on your sensitive skin, he was threatening to make you lose track of time entirely. Attempting to wipe the action from immediate perception, you focused on the sensation of tugging on one of your earrings, anything to ground you and to return you into the headspace of the meetings you had scheduled and been booked into for the day, along with the details and key takeaways for each one.

You had always been a fighter in the professional world, and this was one of the many things that Seonghwa adored about you. Having met at a networking event, that was the side of you he had come to be acquainted with first, and had fallen head over heels for. A sublime intensity that came with the passion you had for your work, a fire that ignited when you planned ahead, led teams and managed international ventures were so beautifully contained within you and formulated the intricate maze of your psyche that Seonghwa could not help but want to drown in it, and spend eternity observing you in action. He himself had stepped away from the strict and rigorous structures of the corporate world, instead preferring to offer independent consultation services, but to see you flourish, and to be there for your journey and to have you unconditionally support his decisions and experiments too was nothing short of a blessing. Perhaps the one side effect, a tiny challenge that came with having you as his life partner, his love and his spouse is mornings like this, when you were in the process of escaping for work, driven and ready for battle, your armour being one of the stylish suits of impeccable quality that you took great pains to keep pristine. And the more you did so, the stronger was his desire to see if he could ruin just one, at least one, perhaps the one you were wearing right now. Despite the fact that he had seen you in such garments more times than either of you could possibly count or remember, it made him more drawn to you and involuntarily seduced than he would ever dare admit. Seonghwa’s grip on your hips inadvertently tightened as gaze flashed upwards, settling on the reflection of your perfectly plump, tinted lips in the mirror.

“Besides… As you know, I was making sure that the adjustments were all fine and the overall outfit would be fine for the quarterly review meeting,” you recalled your last-minute concerns over whether the selection was reasonable for meeting persons from the executive office, even though you were not sure if you even had outfits in your job-related arsenal that would not be appropriate, “You could have helped by the way.”

"I did! I gave the fit the Seonghwa seal of approval, but now... honestly am regretting it because you look illegal..."

He turned his attention back to the delicate skin around your neck, planting a couple more kisses with mischief glowing in his eyes. You giggled as his breath left a ticklish sensation and you nearly knocked your head with his in an attempt to shy away.

"And how do you think I feel, leaving you at home like this?”, you let your gaze settle on your husband, a ghost of a smirk revealing itself on your lips, “I need to brush up on my cat fighting techniques, mister handsome, and maybe learn how to teleport" Put him in a rag and he would still look spectacular. Like this, in a relaxed, casual outfit that ideally matched his dark locks, highlighted the broadness of his shoulders and the jawline models would be jealous of, he was heavenly - something which you never failed to remind him of no matter what he was wearing. It was almost a shame that you had to leave for work instead of admiring this beauty for the entire day and an eternity more. You bit the inside of your cheek, banishing less than safe for work ponderings from your mind.

"Woah, Y/N, fighting for me? That's kind of - I do not think I should say what I am thinking."

"You’re being awfully cheeky this morning!" You lightly slapped the back of his hand and spun around, coming closer until only a mere couple of centimetres separated you. "What else can a kitty do with her claws?"

"I mean... my back has no complaints." He speedily responded, tightening his hold on your waist and attempting to capture your lips with his. But at this point, you had gotten good enough at reading Seonghwa to move away at the last second, resulting in a loud smooch right against your jawbone, followed by a purposefully childish whine, "Oh darling you are being a tease."

"Naugh- ty- Seonghwa, no kisses. I took too long to line my cupid's bow. I'm not about to let you ruin it."

You tried to wiggle away, wondering if your suit was actually creaseproof as the assistant at the boutique had advertised, but he was having none of it, now grabbing your hands and swinging them side to side. With his prior seductive aura having subsided after your decisive, playful rejection, Seonghwa’s glances were in many ways boyish, permission-seeking. The most miniscule hint of a pout made its way to his lips as he peered what had to be directly into your heart and intertwined your fingers together, stopping the motion.

“Y/N…”

“Keep this thought in mind, lovely, will you be able to?” you purred, amused at your husband’s slow blinking, reminiscent of an affectionate cat.

“Of course,” you dodged another attempt by him to nuzzle into your neck with a soft, melodic laugh, and pulled Seonghwa to follow you out of the bedroom, “Ah, careful,” he rushed to block the door frame, chuckling at your eagerness to get to the hustle and bustle of your day, even though just a little while ago you still were retaining that light nervousness, likely overthinking every interaction that was not even likely to happen. After all, this was a job only you could do, and it was something that you did better than anyone else. You owned what you did, and everyone knew it.

As you grabbed your keys, and were about to bid farewell to your husband before starting your commute, you sensed his energy shifting to that of scheming.

Seonghwa had a trial to face, and it presented itself with how stunning you looked in the glimmering golden light of the early morning, and how your every step almost sent a shiver up his spine. Wherever you were, he always managed to find you in one sweeping gaze, whether you were on the other side of a room or a few steps away. One of a kind, captivating, the world turned around you whether you would agree with Seonghwa or not. It was a simple fact. And here, in your apartment, where it was just you and him, it was impossible to ignore how his vision was occupied by you, and only you. He was consumed by the effortless charm you radiated, and when you caught him staring, how you lifted one shoulder and responded with a cheeky grin - a gesture of faux coyness. He clenched a hand hidden behind his back into a tight fist until his knuckles turned white, mutely regarding your final preparations before you would disappear behind the door. His thoughts were far away from what he had planned to do today, cursing how you had teased him and blaming routines - your husband would have preferred to take you and himself apart right here right now, unravel the tension that was so obvious he could almost taste it. He bit his lower lip as you leaned down to shift your footing in one of your heels, and barely suppressed a hiss as you glided back up, the pace of the motion highlighting how your curves were complemented by the suit. You were enticing, and watching your back Seonghwa could not help but remember the sensation of running his hand across it, caressing your body, guiding it as you turned into a goddess in the dimmed lights of your shared bedroom, connected with him in every way possible. You smiled at him as though you were not aware of the lustful darkness that began to consume his mind, lips tantalising, dangerous, his favourite heavenly nectar. This was unbearable.

It was impossible to ignore the searing gaze that seemed to have never left you since you had first returned it in the mirror, and was the last thing you experienced as you shut the front door. You kept the radio in your car silent, afraid that your thoughts would be louder than the music either way. Your husband was up to something, determined, and focused on you. And it was beyond exciting. This undercurrent of energy that was eternal, and ran through anything and everything he did was one of the multitude of reasons why you loved him. He was enigmatic, and yet so easy for you to explore. He had opened himself up to you so readily, revealing the edges of his vibrant soul that was so unparalleled and high octane that you swore that after meeting him, you ceased to breathe oxygen and could only ever inhale the adoration he provided. He was a dreamer, an ideator, a man devoted to the search for happiness, and that balanced you out so perfectly - it had only been a month when you had decided for yourself that Seonghwa was the one for you, and you would never let go. He was an eternal surprise, an enigma that was as soft and lovely as a cat, but wrapping itself around you like a serpent, slow and sensual. You wondered, as the day commenced and you were pulled into your first meeting, then another, just what your husband had crafted in his beautiful mind palace.

It did not take too long for the plan to reveal itself. Fortunately, because you did not enjoy facing unknowns. Unfortunately, it was in the middle of a meeting with some rather senior people. On the brighter side, you had proposed a five minute break before continuing the session so you had at least a couple of breaths to re-compose yourself, but other than that… it was only you, the phone that you were squeezing so hard in your hand that it could break, and the daring photograph blaring on the screen, setting you on fire. You had exchanged a couple of messages with Seonghwa prior to the meeting, his responses being cryptic and dizzyingly abstract, but nothing could have prepared you for the surprise.

Your other hand quickly found your thigh, gripping onto it so that you would not break your stoic disposition with a shaking leg, and you glanced side to side to make sure that the colleagues next to you had not returned to the room yet, and the others were preoccupied with their own devices or were deep in mundane conversation. So, this was what he was so enthusiastic about down following the morning antics. Clearly, you had not been passive enough for him to dismiss your glances in his direction - if you were to be honest, you had been eyeing him up and down from the moment he intentionally walked into you while changing, making you wonder how it was possible for you to want him more and more with each passing day, rather than feelings of attraction and enamourment subsiding with marriage and with sharing all the ups and downs. Instead, both of you were each other’s paradise, and that presented itself in all forms of desire. As you regarded Seonghwa’s form in the picture, lightly biting your lower lip as you tried to think of how you could respond to it, you could only be amused by how he knew exactly what buttons to press, and how to reignite what you had tried to pause earlier this morning - simply as an attempt to retain your sanity for handling paperwork and handshakes.

Resting on the chair that was in your bedroom, he made sure to accentuate his impeccable form, and how his long hair suited him so spectacularly. He had changed outfits - just for you, and that made you want to devour him all the more. Your precious husband who looked like sin. The vibrant beige jacket, which appeared almost brown in the sensually dimmed lamplight, hung freely over his upper body, revealing a tastefully bare abdomen, and consequently, the lovebites you had managed to leave above his heart and towards his collarbones after a particularly intense night a couple of days ago - they had only now begun to show signs of fading. Towards the very bottom of the picture you could spot the edge of a matching pair of trousers, black belt intentionally loosened to make your imagination run wild. A centrepiece, his black silver necklace and a perfectly paired earring, were the icing on top of the cake, their shimmer beckoning you. It was impossible to choose what to focus on; the head tilt, the elegant hand on which he was practically resting his head, how one leg had been thrown over the other - confident, in his element, so very Seonghwa that it made you hurt; and want him. Desperately. You shut your eyes and rolled them as you imagined the smirk on his face as he sent the image, knowing exactly what state he would pause you in, and hurl you into. When your husband was in the mood, it gave him an additional thrill to either catch you off-guard completely with bold advances and compliments, or fluster you until you were melting in his arms. And you did not mind one bit; that was your time to let go, to give up your stresses and iron grip and let all strains snap and become threads with which Seonghwa could pull at your very essence, praising you for how well you could follow his guidance, and just how perfect you were for him. You did not notice how your thumb was merely hovering over the keyboard until another message slid into view, and you barely suppressed a gasp, again looking up to make sure no one was watching you.

“Missing you, your taste, your everything, darling,”

This was the last straw, as you almost forgot what meeting you were in, where you were, how you were supposed to behave. You jolted upright, standing straight and excused yourself with a bow of the head, pointing at your phone - with the screen turned towards you. It was easy enough to get out, and storming down the corridor until you were out of everybody’s earshot, you pressed onto the call button, only to be met with a deep chuckle after a single ring. You could envision him still sitting on the chair, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling as he toyed with your passions, beckoning you to race home to him. He knew you couldn’t until the day was officially done, and that was part of the fun. It only meant that when you were to finally open that front door, you would be more than ready to give yourself up to his tender love and care.

“Park Seonghwa, what do you think you are doing?” you hissed, pressing the phone right against the side of your face as your foot tapped an abstract rhythm on the carpeted floor.

“What do I think? I think I am talking to you right now, what about you?” he replied, purposefully feigning obliviousness.

“Hwa, the photo… the damn message....”

“Oh! That… yeah, it’s nothing special, really, I just did not send you any in quite some time, so thought I could spark… something,” he paused, indulging in your shallow breathing before finishing the sentence.

“Well you sparked something alright. Seonghwa. Or should I say, my demon of a husband?” you raised an eyebrow as you were met with a silence on the end of the line, but not long after, a sweet, resonant hum of agreement.

“Mm, what a title. Is that how I am making you feel, precious? Are you missing a certain something too?”

Missing. What exactly did both of you imply the other was missing? The word was laden with ambiguity and promise, imagination running wild from the emphasis that Seonghwa had placed on it, lifting it onto a pedestal, above rationality and stability. Inhale, exhale - you counted your breaths, knowing that in a minute you had to be heading back to talk numbers, strategies, even though only your husband would be on your mind.

“I-... yes, damn it,” you mumbled, lashes fluttering as a shiver ran up your spine.

“Mhm, I see… Now, don’t be shy, tell me, what is it that you are missing, what do you feel?” if there had been any hope of you remaining focused on work for the rest of the day, it was most certainly wiped now. You were mesmerised, clinging onto Seonghwa’s voice as though it was your only salvation in the midst of a storm. Quickly, you were losing all sense of your surroundings, too focused on his breaths, his sigh when he was obviously displeased with having to wait for your answer, and finally, his subtle command:

“Don’t be shy, tell me what’s on your mind,” you could not bring yourself to even part your lips, eyes darting to what you could see through the blinds into the meeting room. Your senior colleagues were still lethargic, unfocused, scrolling away or engaging in idle chatter. Maybe it could be advantageous, but judging by the heat that began to rise over your body you would definitely struggle stringing words together with eloquent cohesiveness. Seonghwa. The devious man. Your favourite drug. Your worst and best addiction.

“Perhaps you might need a little… inspiration… yes?”

“I…”

“...wouldn’t mind having you right on my tongue, writhing, falling apart…”

“Park Seonghwa-”

“I want to taste you. Want to keep you close for a long…” he paused, indulging in your electric silence, “long time, warm my cock while keeping you in a tight embrace, kissing you until we cannot breathe… how does that sound?”

“G-good…” you struggled to mumble out, wondering why your knees were transforming into jelly. The coolness of the wall against which you decided to lean provided some illusion of support.

“Your turn,” his tone turned more commanding and that did not go unnoticed. You bit your lower lip, not caring if that was going to smudge your lipstick. Nothing mattered, “I didn’t spare any details,” he waited. You remained frozen in your own thoughts, thousands of desires darting around your mind, but none being brave enough to escape and reveal itself to your husband. Perhaps for the better:

“Please don’t make me beg,” he must have heard you stifle a sound that was far too inappropriate to ever be heard in the workplace - the airy laugh that you were met with over the line was downright sinful, and made you curse your job. You needed him. Needed the release he was so readily offering.

“Or do you want me to pry your dirty little secrets out of you until you are the one begging?”

A shaky inhale, an equally shaky exhale. You uttered his name, in a low voice only he had ever heard. Simultaneously hostile and tantalising. He now knew that he had you hooked.

“Mm… fine. Please, my darling. Please, tell me all those precious filthy musings swimming around in that delightful brain of yours,” you clenched the phone tighter in your hand and crossed your legs. You knew you had no time, despite easily imagining the position that Seonghwa was in, where he was and how lost he was in a lascivious dreamland. Eyes glossed over, lips wetted with his own spit, tension building in his core which he refused to unwind. Without you, at least. With a sharp intake of cold air, you steadied yourself. You were not about to reward demands with treasures.

“Now, what would be the fun in that?”

“Come on… Y/N, I-”

“Be good, and you might just find out.” you cut him off, offering a fake smile to a colleague who walked past you. You needed to come back. Immediately.

“So you will be heading back on time today, right?” he was daring you, but at the same time it was easy to notice the notes of desperation. Untouched, riled up, overwhelmed. Needy. Just how you loved him.

“Hm… I do have a couple of things I could do…” who were you kidding? You had already gone through the fastest route home in your mind.

“Is that refusal I am hearing?” you heard him shift in his seat, the image of him leaning forwards to put an elbow on his knee so vivid that it was as if he was before you.

“Not at all, love, not… at all…” giving up due to your growing distraction, you let your husband have at least a little bit of hope. Clearly, the words worked wonders as with newfound vigour, Seonghwa bid you farewell.

“Then see you soon, Y/N darling.”

Soon could not come soon enough. You were glad no one could see your leg shaking under the table, and that you were well-practised in discreetly checking the time. Teasing, tugging you along to follow his game, striking you out of the blue and opening the door to the world that only you two shared. You would be lying if you said that you were thinking about anyone else while debating with an executive, or when you were brave enough to point out a blatant assumption that was used to support a projection earning yourself a few pointed questions. But nothing compared to the blaze that caressed your skin, spurred you on and made you feel alive. Your favourite deviant, seductive god, king of your heart and keeper of your soul, he gave you control just as much as he could take it away. Wiping away anxiety, he left anticipation. Erasing doubt, he left a blooming confidence.

And with that feeling and darkened gaze, you were racing against the clock, accompanied by the sound of your soles clicking against concrete, accelerating away from the skyscrapers that housed your professional victories and into winding tunnels. You mutely cursed at every delay and every pause in your commute, but nonetheless made it home in record time, astonished by the vista of the setting sun which you normally could not catch in the winter months.

---

The jingling of the keys alerted Seonghwa of your presence, and he set his phone screen down onto the kitchen table, turning to perch himself on the doorframe. He crossed his arms, a ghostly smile on his lips. Aside from going through the regular domestic chores he had planned for himself - a feat in his far from concentrated state, he had decided to be a little more forward with his demands, much to your shared excitement. This, of course, began with his appearance, or rather, a casual exposure of himself in a way you had always encouraged him to do, loving his body so genuinely that it translated into an unparalleled self-appreciation for him. At the same time, that meant that in moments just like this one, he could use your infatuation with his mind and his physique against you. All for a little bit of harmless fun.

He was right, as always. The moment you lifted your head and were about to announce your arrival, a breath hitched in your throat and words died on the tip of your tongue. Hair loose, bangs neatly falling to frame his face, and that damn jacket with a leopard print inner lining, casually thrown over his bare upper body, befitting him so well that you needed to give yourself some time before choking out a quick, feeble ‘I’m home’ and kicking off your heels. He grinned, outwardly innocent, pretending to ‘just be happy to see you, when in fact his imagination was already beginning to forgo every article of clothing you had on. Scanning your form, Seonghwa could not help but bite back a groan. Since the moment you had left this morning, he wanted you back because he wanted you. On the bed, on the table, on the counter, he did not care about the mess. In fact, if there was to be a mess, he would be all the more satisfied. His skin was burning worse than if he were to have a fever, and every moment that passed while you were going through the regular after work motions was pure torture.

As you finished washing your hands, and were about to tiptoe past him, likely to set your bag aside in your home office, he stopped you with one, quiet utterance.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day…”

Your heart was pumping an unsteady, deafening rhythm, and your hands were on the verge of shaking. Nothing was stopping you from simply giving in… except maybe an inkling of rebellion that clung onto you. He already had you in his hold, mouldable to whatever form he wished for, but if he was to play the long game, so were you.

“Mmm… don’t know about that. Missed the memo,” you huffed, wasting a little too much strength on forcing the phrases. Rushing past your husband, you headed to your office and pretended to be taken by both your bag and the miscellaneous stationery left on the desk.

You heard Seonghwa stalking behind you loud and clear, hyperfocused on his catlike steps, but remained rooted to your spot. Taking every item out of your bag, painfully slow, you were rapidly succumbing to the vision of your husband taking you apart. Gorgeous tanned skin, which you knew he was purposefully flaunting to you, intoxicating plush lips which were so vivid in your mind you could almost taste them, and his skillful hands�� which just so happened to now be hovering over your waist. You clenched your jaw when they found purchase on your hips, and almost guided you to stand up and be pressed right against him.

Heat was rolling off your stunning lover in waves, and it was downright unbearable to have your back be connected to his toned chest. Seonghwa had no plans of letting you go. He pulled you closer, until you could practically trace his half-hard cock with your ass. He sighed at the contact, air softly passing over your skin, and let his lips trace a broken line upwards to your ear.

“That won’t do at all…” he flexed his arms as his hands roamed your body, “Fortunately, I know exactly how to show you,” you completely blanked, “what a good husband you have.”

As he was about to toy with the buttons at the top of your shirt, the one on your jacket having been long undone, you sprung into action and stopped him, barely suppressing a smirk as you turned your head and spotted a dash of confusion in his glossy eyes.

“I do have a wonderful husband, indeed. Too bad he does not know how to behave properly,” using the moment you slipped out of his embrace, and sauntered towards the door. Seonghwa was left in shock, starved and needy, having been thinking about you, you and only you all day. But his composition returned just as rapidly as it had faltered. You slowed down before reaching the door, as if being pulled back.

Seonghwa was, indeed, magnetic. Lithe, agile, he reminded you of a panther, slinking across the couple of metres that separated you. You were aching to rip off the beige two piece right where he stood, and involuntarily darted your tongue between your lips, much to your husband’s amusement. He was not quite as gentle this time, grabbing a hold of you until you were chest to chest and securing your position by pressing on your lower back. His breath tickled your face; your hands snaked under his jacket, running over exposed skin, worshipping every part you could both see and visualise.

“Really, Hwa. So eager,” you mumbled, brushing your lips over his, testing the waters and seeing a lustful, desperate storm clouding his dilated pupils.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered against your cheek, leaving a tentative peck. You dared to glance at him, poking his nose with your own.

“You’re acting out… disrupting me at work… sending such dirty things to me… calling me to tell me how you want me… is this to be rewarded, my love?” a shudder rolled over Seonghwa’s body, resulting in him planting more feverish kisses over your face, moving towards your jawline and finally across to your ear, nipping it.

“How could I ever behave when I need you, and you are looking like this…” his fingers caressed the collar of your shirt, scalding hot, “and are wearing my favourite perfume…” he inhaled, as though he was drunk off your scent - it was nothing more than what had come to be your signature, a bouquet of notes that defined you, but soon enough turned to being another way in which you occupied Seonghwa’s senses.

Both of you subconsciously moved towards the door, getting impatient. Fingertips mapped the hickeys with violently cautious touches, and Seonghwa swore that if he did not act now, he would go mad. It was ridiculous. You were his life partner, a person to whom he had committed with his entire being, and yet with every passing day his desire for you kept on growing and he was falling deeper and deeper in both love and lust. With you in his arms he was a man lost at sea, blanking out, spiralling and devoted to passion. A big difference between your time dating and your married life, however, was that he did not have to hold back on his own wishes anymore, being as explicit as he was comfortable with, knowing that you would do the same, and no matter what, pleasure would be mutual and adoring. And, he needed it. Seonghwa needed you now. His hand moved on its own accord to cup your face and guide it towards his own. Millimetres apart, he set you ablaze along with him.

“...please…” spilled out, a feeble plea. Seonghwa’s eyes were darting all around you, trying to get some kind of answer, permission, anything. You nodded. And the thread holding you two back snapped.

The kiss was messy, animalistic, far from the calm lover with whom you shared your daily life. Seonghwa did not give you a chance to breathe, instead pushing his lips against yours with the ferocity of a starved man. Unparalleled sweetness graced you as his tongue slipped inside, and he eagerly revisited the movements he found most entrancing, his occasional rough and low growls sending you into a frenzy. Your muted whine spurred him on, and he pushed your entangled forms out of the office, and into the bedroom, the door to which had been left open.

One nip, another, it was as if he wanted to mark you as his everywhere, teeth leaving a pleasant blend of satisfaction and a dull pain to spread from your lips and shoot straight to your core. You began to push off his jacket, a request which he readily accepted, leaving him constrained only by his bottoms. Seonghwa would not give you any false advantages, speedily tugging your jacket off you. His erection was pressing into your thigh, and you could not resist grinding against him, eliciting a delicious groan.

Soon enough, your shirt and bra hastily joined your jacket on the floor, while Seonghwa spared no time in kneading one of your breasts, while feeling the air with the other in an attempt to reach the switch on the floor lamp, growling into the kiss when he missed the first couple of times and hand to open his eyes. You broke away from your husband, resting your palms on his abdomen and admiring just how pretty he looked in the warm, dimmed light that washed over the room in a flash. So it was that kind of night.

“...Want to see you…” he mumbled as he pressed his forehead against yours and locked your lips together once more, guiding you backwards towards the bed. When your legs hit its edge, he hooked his strong arm around you, a quick “careful,” escaping him.

“Let’s get this off, shall we?” gliding a finger on the inner side of the trouser waistband, he waited for you to comply. It did not take much time for you to get rid of the remaining clothes, and be left only with the full awareness of just how wet you really were.

You pressed your legs together, only for Seonghwa to inch his knee and push it in between, forcing them back apart. It was times like this when you realised that he really could read you better than you could read yourself, and any gesture, thought or fantasy, was his as much as your own.

“You’re so beautiful, no need to hide from me,” he scanned over your body, and you felt like you were on fire, melting into him. While your husband’s eyes were glazed over with lust, within them they still held so much love that your heart could burst. “Ah, wait a minute,” you watched as he removed his bottoms, and with a hiss, let his hard and leaking cock spring free. His low chuckle was music to your ears, “now we’re good.”

“Mhm… oh Hwa… I really did make you wait…” you lowered your gaze to his cock, finger tracing a line down his stomach and stopping right before its base. He sucked in a shallow breath, nuzzling his face against yours to hide how close he was to being pushed completely over the edge. Patience was a virtue, and he barely had any left. “Let me take care of you, hm?” you suggested, trying to move to the side to gesture for Seonghwa to sit down on the bed. He remained still, and whispered against your cheek:

“No… I wanted to do that- ah-” your leg brushed against Seonghwa’s sensitive cockhead, pulling a gasp out of him.

“Then I have an idea, if you’re with me on this. Lie down for me?” pulling away, you switched where you were standing, and tilted your chin to gesture at the bed that was now in front of you. Seonghwa peered around his shoulder, and back at you, a soft, tiny smile, albeit a meek one, dancing on his lips.

“Baby you’re doing too-”

“Shush, we can make each other feel good,” promptly following Seonghwa, you were now hovering above him, playing with his necklace.

“I love you,” he said breathlessly, making the side of your mouth curl into a half smile.

“I love you too.”

“Now I’m craving something sweet,” you lightly slapped his chest and shook your head in an attempt to hide your amusement.

“Oh stop it…”

“I think I’ll go crazy if I don't have you sitting on my face in the next few seconds.”

“Can’t have that happening.”

You adjusted positions, and once you had your back facing Seonghwa, he pulled your hips towards him to lower your pussy over his face. Carefully, you leaned forward, relishing in the sight of your husband’s impossibly stunning body, every muscle a work of art. After finding a comfortable balance, and waiting for the initial shock of Seonghwa tasting you to turn into a continuous thrum of pleasure, you spat into your palm, and wrapped the hand around his cock. His thighs tensed in response and his grasp became tighter as he rolled his tongue over your clit.

Mirroring him, you teased his cockhead, and only then proceeded to take his length into your mouth, relaxing your jaw and moving slowly to ensure that he would not reflexively buck into you. You flattened your tongue, dragging it along the shaft and spreading spit and precum. You took him deeper until he hit the back of your throat. With hollowed cheeks you began to bob your head at a leisurely pace and not caring for the mess you were making at the base of his cock, clear liquid running down past the corners of your swollen lips.

Seonghwa produced a muffled noise, unable to stay completely focused while you were driving him towards his high, but not breaking contact. He sucked on your clit, making you whine while deepthroating him. Your eyes were starting to water as you wanted more, always more, and you reached to fondle his balls, pausing to get some air. Strings of saliva and precum momentarily connected you still, and the lewdness of the scene was downright pornographic. You were relentless, addicted to this man whom you had the exclusive ability to call your husband. You were the one who knew how to take him apart and put him back together.

The wanton sounds of Seonghwa devouring your pussy stimulated you further, and the coil which had been growing tighter with every pass of his skillful tongue was ready to snap and release. A hint of a trembling sensation passed through your legs, and you sped up your own motions, your hand jerking off the base while you swirled over his tip in preparation to take him fully again.

Seonghwa dipping his tongue between, in and out, and through your wet folds had you seeing stars, and you grinded against him. He gripped you tighter so that you would not be able to instinctively squirm and lift yourself upwards, and circled around your aroused clit, sucking it in between his lips and returning to fucking you with his tongue. His vision was clouded, he was in a daze, unable to process anything anymore, except the static fuzziness in his brain and how delicious you were.

He used up what little attention he had left on your clit, and repeated ministrations had you tipping over the edge and shuddering in his hold. Seonghwa remained buried between your legs as your climax hit you, and held you to prevent your hips from leaving him, and continued to lap at your sopping heat, catching your release. You moaned against his cock, freezing in place and letting your husband chase his high by bucking his hips upwards and using you. In no time, he was painting your mouth and your throat with thick strings of white, falling back onto the bed while you followed to try and swallow as much of his release as you could. Cum and spit was dribbling down your chin and his shaft when you were finished, and once you, with Seonghwa’s help, were laying on your side and face to face with him the unmistakable glistening fluid on his face made you love him all the more. One kiss, another, you tasted yourselves on each other’s lips, choosing to make your lungs scream rather than let go.

He was so beautiful. His loving, electric gaze - a permanent feature of his expression when it came to you. Everything about him was a reason to adore him. You brushed away a strand of hair, one which had stubbornly stuck to his forehead, only for Seonghwa to take your hand in his and plant a soft kiss on its back. You giggled, enjoying the contrast of this intimate, but lighthearted moment as opposed to the passionate exchange earlier. This was how he was, and you would not want him any different.

You took your time regarding him, and he did the same to you. Blissful, overflowing with a want for more. His lips were on yours again, and you deepened the kiss by bunching his long inky hair in your hand. Every reaction, every gasp was your favourite music. Seonghwa rolled over and positioned himself between your legs, arms on either side. Hair perfectly framed his elegant features, and the shadows cast shapes akin to a painting you would see at a gallery. He was a masterpiece.

“Lift your hips for me,” you followed his request, wriggling into position while he lifted himself up to take your legs and bend them towards your torso, “thank you, my love… such a pretty pussy, all mine,” the dirty talk came naturally to him, and it was not your first time hearing it, but nonetheless had you biting the inside of your cheek.

Still sensitive, you whispered his name when he glided his hardened cock between your wet folds. Coated in slick and cream, Seonghwa met no resistance and bottomed out in one stroke. Your loud moan prompted words of praise and adoration, and he was certain that nothing could ever be better than this.

“Ah- just perfect-” you watched his face contort , eyes threatening to roll back as he started to thrust into you.

You could barely form words, sinking into the pillows and peeking at Seonghwa through half-lidded eyes - the most you could muster. All your senses were filled with him, and you swore you were going to fall apart at any moment. Grateful for his arms supporting your legs, you physically couldn’t resist the drowning pleasure, instead trying your best to keep up with his cock drilling into you, failing whenever it brushed over your sweet spot.

“H-hwa-”

“Mm?”

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, making him push your legs further apart and crawl a little ways over you until his orbs, near black in the dimly lit room, were boring into you.

You intertwined, overlapped, transposed into something greater than yourselves. Sharing the same air, you panted in time with your lover and captured his lips with yours over, and over again. His body was so close to yours, that you could feel his necklace brushing over your chest, occasionally touching your neck. Seonghwa filled you to the hilt, the slight stretch turning your moans into barely audible mewls.

“Please- h-harder- I l-love your cock so mu-uch-”

Seonghwa cursed under his breath, drunk from your choice of words, and with one final kiss curled over you and quickened the rocking of his hips to a brutal euphoria. You were on the verge of melting, bodies turning agonisingly hot with each passing second. Your hands searched for his wrists, weakly wrapping around them for some form of support. Carnal; you were infinitely turned on by how instinctive his reactions were. You could not care for anything in the world, words turning to a garbled mess and moans loudly echoing in your husband’s ears.

“F-fuck, you feel so good I’m-” he was fisting the bedsheets, ruthlessly pounding into you, the slapping of skin against skin and your sounds making him fall apart.

His pace faltered as he came, legs shuddering, voice breaking as he unleashed an airy and high-pitched moan, but he still continued to thrust while he filled you with his warm load. He pushed his release deeper inside you, breathing heavily and pressing you more and more into the bedsheets. The squelching was downright filthy, but you wanted to capture every drop and threw your arms around Seonghwa as much as you could given your position, simply so he could be flush against you. He hissed through gritted teeth as your walls began to clench around his aching length, prompting aftershocks from his orgasm.

“Hwa-a, I’m coming, I- don’t stop please-”

“Come for me, love,” his gentleness, even in such a feverish moment, was your undoing. The thread you had been clinging onto snapped.

Your head fell back against the pillows, and if it wasn’t for Seonghwa’s form securing you from above, you knew you would be arching off the bed, uncontrollable. You called out his name like a mantra, and in your ecstatic haze could sense him slowing down, helping both of you ride out your intense climaxes. Vision spinning, you did not dare move, instead transforming into a pliable doll for Seonghwa to rearrange. Shakily, he let go of the bed sheets and sat upright, tapping your legs to relax. Lazily, you stretched out, heart still racing, and barely registered the dip of the mattress next to you.

When you turned, your husband was there, head resting on his hand, propped up by his elbow. He was studying you with a small smile, and when he noticed you were more present, leaned in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Hello,” it was almost unbelievable, just how honey sweet he could be in a matter of seconds, making you more shy than during sex. This made you all too aware and critical of your current state, and you turned your head to search for something to cover yourself with, until you heard a sigh escape your husband, “It’s like I’m dreaming. You’re so enchanting.”

He fell fully by your side, draping an arm over your upper body and gingerly massaging your hip. It was rare for him to not rush to clean both of you off, but you were not complaining about this kind of moment of closeness. It felt raw. It felt real. You got to fall in love for the nth time. Seonghwa’s face was rosy, blushed, and he was just barely steadying himself, but even then, was not letting go of you, choosing to retain all physical proximity in favour of going about routines. HIs cum is smeared over your folds, was dripping onto the covers and had smeared across your inner thighs, you had remnants of spit and release on your face, and yet he was still looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. His one and only.

“Not too sore? Shall I run a bath?” He poked your nose with his own, grinning when you ran a hand over the side of his face.

“Mm… I’m fine. But a bath would be nice. Can we…”

“Want me to join?”

“Mhm. Want you to give me a head massage.”

“Ah, of course, at your service-”

“Come on…” you chuckled at his joke and trailed off, pausing to stare deep into his eyes, musing everything and nothing all at once.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

“Just thinking how you should send me pictures more often,” a hint of darkness flashed in his eyes; mischief, future schemes formulating themselves. You traced past love bites, ran a finger over his plump lips which were equally as red and swollen as yours, you bet.

“Mm, you changed your mind I see. None of that ‘I am at work’ anymore, then?”

“Maybe you should be the one who is worried now,” you shot back with a smirk.

Seonghwa sat up, swinging his legs over to the edge of the bed, but turning back to give you one last adoring look before launching into a routine long-familiar to you. In no time, you would be taking careful sips of water while waiting for the bath to fill, and your husband would be telling you to stay put, having returned from the clouds and back to finding it unbearable to have clothes on the floor and creasing. Your heart swelled. He was everything at once, flipping switches, changing from one second to the next while still being his gorgeous self. Before, it had made you confused, flustered. Now, you just loved him. There was no other way to put it. You got to see every curve and edge, and always discovered something new.

“I’ll be impatiently waiting.”

❤️‍🔥 taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @starrysvn @shakalakaboomboo @uwuheeseungie @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

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givehimthemedicine · 1 month ago

Text

time for my big lumax rantpost. I used to be way more of a shipper but upon reexamining some of my GA-era assumptions, I'm here to tell you why it sucks, and why I don't look forward to lumax endgame if it's the same lumax we've been getting.

lumax has fantastic potential, but needs lots of work to actually become the ship most of the fandom thinks it is.

I get the sense most on here consider lumax ST's darling perfect ship which is sullied by weak and/or racist writing. while I wouldn't argue at all that the writing does right by Lucas, I do think it's important to recognize lumax as an intentionally-written badly flawed relationship, NOT a poorly-written perfect relationship. (the writing for 5 has a lot to prove so we'll see)

lumax is obviously happening. no ending to Lucas's story makes sense other than him getting the girl. however, I don't like that from either character's standpoint.

from hers - Max is not a prize. and from his - Max is no prize.

Max is a pretty shitty girlfriend.

we've never seen her show Lucas any interest in learning anything about him. I can't remember a time she's complimented him, said anything nice about him, or done anything purely for his benefit. virtually all of their serious conversations have been about her, and the scant few that are sort of about him are inevitably just a lead-in to him offering support to her.

Lucas and Max's relationship - pre, during, and post dating - is 100% about what he can do for her. he's the one making 100% of the effort.

it seems like most of their interactions are him walking on eggshells trying to placate, reassure, or convince her, all for the reward of.... what. being allowed to continue existing near her? like yeah, she's a cool girl, but. that can't be it.

what good is getting the girl if the girl doesn't really offer anything?

. . .

through the seasons, semiquickly:

season 2

Lucas and Dustin both like Max, so they invite her trick or treating, offering to protect her from bullies and show her where the good candy is. in other words, the first Max / Lucas interaction is him offering something to benefit her. Max returns no appreciation or even response to the invite, yet still shows up to reap the benefits.

that pretty much sets the tone.

Max wants to be included, but that's a sensitive subject, so she puts on aloof airs to protect herself. it's an act, but nonetheless it's all Lucas receives.

the facade slips on multiple occasions though; Lucas is permitted to see her vulnerability, and we can see she's actually more desperate to make the connection than he is.

Dustin seeks Steve's manipulation tactics to use on Max, but Lucas wins her over by treating her like an equal and offering her genuine friendship.

he risks both his place in the party and his safety/life to include her, gives his undivided attention when she talks to him, asks questions that show his interest and concern, he reassures, uplifts and compliments her, and physically protects her.

in return, Max. uhh. well she does apologize for being a jerk, although she doesn't exactly stop, lmao. this is one of only two moments I can think of when Max reveals any regard for what Lucas thinks of her.

lumax is off-balance before it even starts, although s2 is when I think that dynamic is most permissible. since Max is a newcomer, Lucas has the advantage in many respects, and it makes sense for him to be the one extending a hand to her.

when Billy attacks Lucas for hanging out with Max, he could be gravely hurt if not for Steve taking the beating instead. Max joins in the momentary group hug but never says a word about this. (I suspect the writers mean for Max's bus apology to have proactively served as a veiled "sorry my stepbro is racist" but more felt needed in that moment.)

then they go to the dance and she kisses him and it's cute and everything is happy for ten whole seconds.

between 2 and 3

even though the summer of '85 is "the good days," this relationship is already careening downhill.

we learn that Max has dumped Lucas five times - such a regular occurrence that he takes it in stride and is well practiced at winning her back as a result.

unfortunately it's Lucas taking to heart the "happy wife happy life" policy from his dad that's set up lumax as something that seems to serve only Max. her awareness of the policy means she holds all the cards.

season 3

Max has secured her place in the party and the relationship, and now it's time for her to bring something to the table, but I honestly can't name one thing. it's still Lucas bending over backwards and Max sometimes being a bit of a jerk. (another act. we'll come back to this)

from the start of 3 we see an excessively secure Max and an obsequious Lucas. she doesn't show him any of the vulnerability that made her endearing in 2. they share fun moments, but we can infer that she doesn't treat him very well in ways that matter.

at one point she even plays mad just to watch him panic. you get the feeling this boy can never feel secure in his relationship. yeah she's just teasing, but do you think Lucas is allowed to tease too?

when El comes to Max for advice, she tells her that "boyfriends lie all the time" and this is before we see Lucas lie to her.

when Mike comes to Lucas for advice, he confidently schools him on how to get back in El's good graces by buying her a present - making clear he's been following his dad's advice all summer long and it's been working:

L: Dad? When Mom's mad at you, how do you make her not mad? C: First, I apologize. Then, I get your mother whatever she wants. L: Even when she's wrong? C: She's never wrong, son.

the mall confrontation is the first time we see Lucas really lie to Max, but even then, the girls don't actually have proof Nana isn't sick.

it's telling, actually, that Lucas's loyalty goes to Mike instead of Max in this moment. in s2 it was the other way around (Lucas pissed off the whole party by including her in the group and telling her the truth - a technically banishable offense). but now he's back to his s1 bros before hoes policy, and not only backs up but expands on Mike's lie. after dating almost a year, his loyalty to Max should be even stronger, but here we see the opposite. if Max had been at least as good a friend to him as Mike, I'm inclined to think he would at least have tried to be noncommittal here.

Max is so confident Lucas will have nothing on his mind but winning her back, as always - meanwhile who we actually see Lucas apologizing to is Will.

she may have had Lucas wrapped around her little finger all summer, but we're seeing that start to uncoil. if Lucas apologizes, it's offscreen.

when Billy tries to break out of the sauna to kill Max, Lucas slingshots him and body shields Max during the fight. next thing you know, Max is back to being cliquey with El in the bathroom (making fun of Mike even though he was the only one who did anything to save El's life?? girl you're being shitty to boyfriends that aren't even yours)

they seem to be a couple again by the end of 3, but the relationship is weakened...

between 3 and 4

..which sets the scene for how the two apparently drift when Max ends it once again. she's not playing this time - she uses the term "break up" instead of "dump" and Lucas has accepted that it's over.

depression makes it hard for Max to connect with him, but the way she treated him in 3 has likely also eaten away at his insistence on prioritizing her. if you push someone away over and over you can't be too surprised if they stay further away each time.

so Max withdraws socially and Lucas apparently doesn't go to his usual lengths to pursue her.

he's still making effort though! the "stalking" comment makes it clear he's been trying to approach her. we know he's been inviting her to his basketball games. him already knowing her favorite song as of 4x4 is more evidence of him taking an interest in her between seasons.

he clearly still cares a lot about Max, but good for him for pursuing his own hobbies and friendships as well.

season 4

Lucas finally asks Max to do something to support him for once (come to his game), but she shuts it down hard.

we know Max still cares about him, but that's just it - WE know. he doesn't. to his face, it's bristling rejection even while he literally begs for the chance to support her.

saving Max's life is a group effort, but Lucas knowing her favorite song is the key that saves her life, and it's only after that that she's friendly towards him again.

the only time I can recall Max expressing any concern for Lucas's wellbeing is when she asks if he's okay in 4x6 - and he only gets a few sentences to process Patrick's death before it's time for him to turn it into an apology to her. sigh.

Lucas is the only one of Max's friends to voice any objection to her suicide mission of a Vecna plan, and pitches for them to gamble a stranger's life instead. he once again risks his life to hang out in the Creel house with Max, personally taking on the huge responsibility of making sure she doesn't die.

Vol 2 Max finally shows Lucas some long-awaited appreciation ("you might have been there" and "I'm glad you're here") which is very nice to see.

I'm conflicted about the movie invite scene, but we'll talk about that later. textually: he asks her out, she accepts, it's totes adorbs.

unfortunately, Max being tranced out by the time Jason walks in means it's time for Lucas once again to get attacked by an older, stronger guy who's wrongly convinced he's a danger to her. (again not her fault, but kinda because of her)

everything goes sideways, Max gets Vecna'd, and Lucas holds her while she dies. we end on a bruised Lucas sitting loyally at Max's bedside, reading to her just in case she can hear it inside her coma.

Lucas hasn't been perfect but he has spent yet another season physically protecting and emotionally supporting Max at great personal expense, and with little appreciation and no support in return.

. . .

the movie doodle didn't fix lumax

Max has had an epiphany, but a change of behavior has scarcely begun. being nice isn't the same as making amends. they've resolved zero of the old issues, plus 4 (even if the plan had worked) has heaped a ton of new shit on both of them.

she's still a grieving, neglected, depressed and passively suicidal child of a triply-broken home. dating doesn't fix that. they already broke up once under the same conditions.

plus Max has new catastrophic emotional traumas, some of which which explicitly exacerbate those very issues. she has catastrophic injuries and disability to cope with (and this is a girl who withdraws under stress normally). with a shred of realism, she's waking up in less a mood for dating than ever.

Lucas has also taken on new traumas, between the basketball team stuff, getting beaten up and almost shot/strangled, and watching Max get Vecna'd and die. he already has a history of guilt about not being there for her enough, so he's going to have a lot more about failing her in that moment (definitely not his fault but he'll still feel bad) and will likely be even more focused on her.

to me, this all sounds like a recipe for the same old dynamic except worse than ever. if they get sleeping beauty'd directly back into lumax, it'll be a disservice to both characters.

. . .

now let's talk about why Max treats Lucas the way she does 🔬

she's not a conniving bitch, she's just a scared kid from a toxic home. that doesn't excuse her behavior but it does make it understandable.

Max CAN be a great friend. she's just not to Lucas.

Max absolutely showers El with the good qualities she'll barely show Lucas. in fact I could loosely say Max is to El what Lucas is to Max.

Max is suspicious and disparaging towards Lucas, even while trusting that he can be counted upon to grovel. meanwhile El never apologizes for intentionally hurting Max both physically and emotionally, yet the moment El acknowledges her (only because she wants help), Max is instantly forgiving, kind, gentle, caring, generous and supportive towards her.

she throws her loyalty behind a friend of 1 afternoon over her boyfriend of a year who's been the only person in Hawkins to show her any true kindness and emotional connection.

if Max was half the friend to Lucas that she is to El, she'd be a decent girlfriend. why isn't she?

we can name a few reasons why Max IS so nice to El, but why she ISN'T to Lucas is a separate question. kindness isn't zero-sum.

she told us why. boyfriends lie.

and it's ANY boyfriend, not just hers. Nana's sick? more like Mike's a lying piece of shit! Suzie from camp? fake! Dustin's obviously lying! the only one of the boys Max has never accused of lying is Will - the only one who's been single the whole time.

just. the state of being a boyfriend (or even just liking a girl is close enough), makes any boy automatically a liar.

Max believes "friend" and "boyfriend" are mutually exclusive

"Friends don't lie!" "Yeah, well, boyfriends lie all the time." <- it's all right there.

back in 2 when Lucas was her friend, she was more open and trusting. she gave him the benefit of the doubt that monsters were real and he knew a girl with magic powers. starting to date flipped the switch, and now she doesn't trust him about mundane stuff.

now they're not friends, they're boyfriend/girlfriend, and she expects to be treated in a whole different way, including all the baggage that comes with romantic relationships in her mind.

what baggage?

Max's childhood is full of examples of awful, manipulative men and abusive, broken relationships.

her dad: I'd only be speculating about why her parents' marriage failed, but in 2 Max misses California because her dad is still there, then by 4 acts like it's doubtful he can even be tracked down for delivery of what's basically her suicide letter. it's clear she desired a relationship with her dad but was abandoned. Neil: abusive asshole who rules the household with an iron fist. I'd be shocked if he hasn't abused Susan, and see little reason he wouldn't do it in front of Max (after all, we see him verbally and physically abuse his first wife in front of his son, in a bad fight over suspected lies/infidelity). in his grief over Billy, Neil and Susan have "bad fights" and he leaves the family. he's not missed, but it's still a second abandonment by a father figure. Billy: Max's peer example of guys in relationships: a sleazy, two-faced asshole who treats girls like trash and completely changes his persona to manipulate them for sex or whatever else he wants (Max appears to be all too aware of his sex life and is disgusted). abandonment issues with him too: a good relationship with a big brother would've meant the world to her, but he rejected and probably abused her for years; her letter at his grave reads "ever since you left" - same word she used for Neil.

Max desperately hopes Lucas is an exception to the rule, but these are the behaviors she would naturally fear from any guy she dates.

Max is especially terrified of being abandoned (and that she deserves it)

to be abandoned over and over can naturally leave a kid wondering if it's their fault, if this is the treatment they deserve.

Lucas is overall quite honest, and there's not an abusive bone in his body. the most realistic one of Max's fears to apply to him is that someday he'll leave her, too.

and that's the worst fear Vecna chooses to voice in Lucas's form: realizing he's been wrong about her, that she's fundamentally bad and he's glad she's going to be killed. a gutting abandonment from the guy she most wants to trust.

Vecna-Susan also tells Max that she deserves what's going to happen to her, that she's "broken everything" and that her letters can't make things right. because he's in full Vecna mode when he says it, I just took those as very general condemnations at first. but they hurt even worse when I remember they're still coming from "Susan" - revealing that Max feels she has broken her family.

she wanted Billy to die, and she figures Neil left because Billy died, so that's two of the abandonments being "her fault". if that's true, Max would also feel responsible for destroying her mom's life - having cost her her marriage, home, and financial security.

in her addictions Susans has, in an emotional sense, abandoned Max just like all her other family members - and Max fears she deserves it. how desperate she was for this hug... :(

anyway, back to lumax: let's reexamine those s3 dumpings

what exactly did Lucas even do? we never find out.

on first watch, I took "boyfriends lie" at face value and assumed Lucas got caught fibbing. but that doesn't fit so well.

he's maybe the party member most invested in "friends don't lie". honesty to his friends is a pillar of his character. again, he caused friction in 2 because he so strongly prioritized honesty to Max. to assume based on one line from an unreliable narrator that he randomly became a huge liar over the summer is unfair.

via their counseling of Mike and El, Lucas and Max tell us what's been going on with lumax

Max tells El:

He'll come crawling back to you in no time, begging for forgiveness. I guarantee him and Lucas are totally wallowing in self-pity and misery right now like "ohh, I hope they take us back!"

I think we all clocked that one: Max thinks that because El followed her technique, Mike will come crawling back - because Lucas has come crawling back to her several times now.

but I haven't seen much discussion about how the spying scene (which "he'll come crawling back" is paired with) shows Lucas assuring Mike that he's been dumped for an unfair and illogical reason because that's what Max has done to him several times now.

M: I just don't understand what I did to deserve this. L: Nothing. Nothing. That's my whole point. You are the victim here. Stop asking rational questions. M: I know, I know, you're right. Because women act on emotion and not logic. L: Precisely. It's a totally different species.

Max is pissed. but has she been irrational, acting on emotion and not logic, and dumping him for no apparent reason all summer? signs point to yes.

and I understand Lucas saying this. it's not pure misogyny out of nowhere; he's been told that his mother expects gifts and apologies even when wrong, Max acts that way too, and now so apparently does El. all of his examples concur that this is just how women in relationships are. (Charles Sinclair how many relationships will your advice destroy lmao)

both Max and Lucas are bringing preconceptions from home.

Max acts this way on purpose

I don't think she's dumped him over truly nothing (although that's how it looks to him). I'm thinking she blows real, minor missteps out of proportion.

any time Lucas does something slightly insensitive, it looks like the first red flag to her, and instead of communicating in a constructive way, she just throws up this "boys aint shit" force field and dumps him. of course she doesn't truly want to be rid of him, she's just sorta snapping the leash.

I think Max knows what she's doing. I think she wants to keep Lucas always on his back foot, because the relationship isn't as scary if she feels like she holds all the power.

she's always trying to cover up fear/sorrow with anger, because anger gives an illusion of control. and she's been conscious of that anger, and the fact that it's unfair to Lucas, since the beginning - that's what she apologized for on the bus. "I guess I'm angry too, and I'm sorry."

she was mature enough at 13 to see the error in her behavior, but still not mature enough by 15 to fix it. every season has just been a slightly different flavor of "leave before you get left".

so, that's my take on Max's relationship behavior. but again, explanations aren't excuses. Lucas deserves to be treated well, and that's not happening.

what needs to happen?

simply maturing more will help them both a lot. being 15 is a terrible condition in of itself.

I don't see Lucas dumping Max's ass, but she should take her own advice before the relationship continues: explain herself and fix the garbage parts of her behavior.

before Max can be the girlfriend Lucas deserves, she needs a substantial period of physical and emotional healing.

she needs renewed connections with her friends and family, and a lot of general growth in the area of communication and processing her feelings.

in regards to Lucas, she needs to work on her trust issues, and learn to extend him the treatment warranted by his behavior, not the behavior she fears from others. she needs to learn that "friend" and "girlfriend" aren't mutually exclusive, that real friendship is the key to their relationship, and is a two-way street.

any Billy racism/assault acknowledgement would be better years late than never, especially if grieving Billy continues to be a focus in front of Lucas.

Lucas could also use a little work

the relentless positivity doesn't serve Max well. often it turns out to be empty reassurances which make her feel let down (so, a soft version of the lies she fears). she let him know in 4x4 that this hurts her, but he kept doing it for the rest of the season.

but the big one is that "happy wife happy life" doesn't serve him well, and rewarding unfair treatment perpetuates the problem. yes, the ability to compromise, swallow pride, and be the bigger person are healthy parts of a relationship, as well as the willingness to extend grace to your partner/friend when they're struggling. but it always being on one designated person is a recipe for dissatisfaction and resentment.

Lucas should voice to Max that he, too, has struggles and needs support. I'd like to see him pursue outside interests unapologetically.

no, this isn't an exhaustive list, and I don't expect to see everything fixed at once, or explicitly processed onscreen. but I sure hope we get some evidence of change, and that this has all been part of an arc.

for instance, I'd love for the final lumax reconciliation to be Max asking Lucas to take her back.

I kind of hope not to see them officially together until the very end. in fact I'd so much rather see ST end on a good Max / Lucas friendship with an implied romantic future than jump back to the status quo.

l don't want to see lumax until it's a new lumax, based on real, reciprocal friendship.

#even with the length I rambled this is still oversimplified and left out stuff re: both. but. just to get the conversation started.#you don't want elm*x because lucas. I don't want lumax because lucas. we are not the same #I think people fawn over lumax because they're kind of a milkvan foil and therefore must be perfect?#lowkey seeing lucas date someone else for a bit would straighten 4 max out. girlie careful acting like you're the only fish in the sea <3 #the more I think about it the more I'd like lumax to completely break up and live in different towns and then try again as adults #if the max waking up scene has a kiss in it I'm turning off the tv #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #lumax #givehimthemedicine analysis

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maidenvault · 7 months ago

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Okay so, Crosshair’s hand.

Has anyone pointed this out? When Crosshair kills Nolan, he doesn't use his shooting hand.

He uses his left. Just as he very significantly has to in the series finale.

I don't know if the writers knew as far back as "The Outpost" that Crosshair was going to lose the use of his shooting hand and by extension everything he believed made him strong, a "superior" clone, and safe from being discarded when he was kind of fascism-pilled. But it feels extra significant in retrospect that his first action taken against the Empire is not done with the hand associated with the terrible things he did as an Imperial sniper. And it's after he just got a difficult lesson about how his own personal strength and skills aren't enough to protect him - he was saved twice by Mayday, then possibly only survived through the night because he wouldn't leave him behind and could share his body heat. He may be using his left hand when he shoots Nolan because his other arm is tired from supporting Mayday all the way back, which only adds to the symbolic touch I love that Mayday is using his rifle as a crutch to help him walk as well (and of course, he's at close range so quite meaningfully Crosshair doesn't use the rifle to shoot here either). It all supports the idea of this as the first huge moment of transformation for Crosshair when he's finally turning his fire on the real enemy out of a desire to protect others, however futile and too late it is in this particular situation.

Going back and noticing this really reinforced for me that Crosshair's hand injury probably isn't just meant as a manifestation of his trauma related to Tantiss. It would make sense considering it's his shooting hand that it also has something to do with his inner conflict regarding his changed relationship with violence and killing.

The Batch were introduced as these stereotypically macho soldier characters, an impression that's softened a little as early as the pilot of TBB but still distinguishes them a little from other clones. In a kind of funny way you can look at the whole series as being about these guys who were only brought up to fight gradually discovering and finding peace with their more traditionally feminine sides - literally because of Omega, a female version of themselves who shows them the possibilities of being a family and living for others instead of for violence.

For Crosshair this journey is much more difficult and like a painful rebirth than it is for anyone else because being a soldier was so much of his identity. He's always been the one to most pointedly distinguish his squad from regs because of their "superior" traits that he thinks will make the Empire value them, and he clearly internalized the way the Kaminoans only care about clones as weapons to be used in war. And it all betrays how little value Crosshair actually believes he has deep down. It was easy to go into S3 being especially worried about his fate because he's believed so long that he's not good for anything but fighting and he's the character it was the hardest to imagine adjusting to a different life.

But in retrospect, it was stupid to think they'd let him off that easy and of course the whole point is that it takes a lot to get him there. What exactly he went through on Tantiss beyond the electroshock torture we've seen is never delved into but personally, I think being a soldier is something that's poisoned for Crosshair after he becomes a victim of the Empire himself and subject to their attempts at reconditioning. He's not psychologically able to be that person anymore, but for a long time is still trying to largely rely on himself and his own strength. He tries to sacrifice himself for others because he's still holding onto that part of himself in a way.

But for once in Star Wars we've gotten a fully realized redemption arc showing that sometimes what's harder than giving your life in a redemptive way is to actually have to figure out how to live with the bad things you've done and be better. Some of the people Crosshair hurt were his family, and he has to learn he can only make things better by being there for them. He has to learn that he actually can survive and figure out a way forward from his life as a soldier if he lets himself rely on them, just like he only survived Barton IV with help from Mayday. As @moonstrider9904 explains so well in this post, that is what's so important about Crosshair losing the hand and making that final shot to save Omega with Hunter's support. Symbolically he's had that toxic part of himself actually cut off and it's the final, most painful part of his rebirth. But because of that he's forced to find that he can live on without it, that he's surrounded by people who love and believe in him anyway, and that having superhuman skills as a killer was never what gave him worth.

No, having his shooting hand cut off doesn't "fix" anything or mean that Crosshair is healed. He's probably only begun to recover from everything he's been through. But all we really need to see is that he's firmly found his place as part of a family instead of a squad, and he's not going to be alone as he deals with all of that.

#the bad batch #the bad batch meta #crosshair #tbb crosshair #commander mayday #star wars #meta #my meta

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warblogs17282 · 2 months ago

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Stolas within parties, and unhealthy coping mechanisms. (Featuring Blitz)

Let's start with a bit of concerning behavior in regards to the happy pills.

We see Stolas take two pills at the start of the day, the day where he's about to meet Blitz again for the first time in years.

But when we see Stolas again after the events of s1 e7? He takes three pills, so at some point between these two moments in time, Stolas upped his dosage, and honestly, my guess is that the of events of s1 e7 is the start of Stolas upping his dosage, although I don't have any evidence to support this. While this doesn't point to anything in specific, it's still behavior to be a bit concerned about.

The Parties and Problem Drinking.

One of the things that interested me the most was Stolas being able to call Verosika's party as being about 'mutual pettiness' so quickly, and that got me thinking about the similarities between the parties that Stella hosted, and the parties that Verosika hosted.

In this part, Stolas feels rather isolated in contrast to the rest of the party talking to each other and having fun, and it's also clear to see that Stolas feels uncomfortable as well. Both of these are obviously because of the fact he still has feelings for Blitz and has just generally been isolated his whole life, but it also shows us a noticeable parallel between this party and the ones that Stella would throw.

Stolas is isolated and uncomfortable yet again. Sure Stolas is uncomfortable at Stella's parties for different reasons, but there's still two links between them I can notice.

The first being the reasons why both parties have been thrown in the first place, and the second being Stolas' relationship with alcohol in regards to parties.

"Stolas, you know I like throwing parties!" This implies that Stella throws parties quite often, and considering how these parties are really just thinly veiled excuses to allow Stella to gossip and chat shit about Stolas to her friends while being right next to Stolas, it gives us another reason as to why Stolas is uncomfortable being at Verosika's party besides his feelings for Blitz and being isolated his whole life.

It's because one of the main reasons Verosika's parties were thrown was to shit talk and to antagonize Blitz, or 'celebrating mutual pettiness' as Stolas rightfully calls it. There's various other reasons why I don't exactly believe that the primary reason why Verosika threw the parties was to 'help others cope', that I've covered before. It's clear in her behavior both inside the party and outside the party (for example, s1 e3), that Verosika hated Blitz for what he did to her before. (I'm not claiming that Verosika isn't allowed to be angry at Blitz for that, but her behavior up to this point is 100% going overboard.)

Alongside the violence against the Blitz shaped merch and cakes (which I will cover in this post), we see Verosika openly insulting Blitz to the entire crowd, and we know that Stella would insult Stolas to her friends at her parties. So, it wouldn't surprise me if another part of the reason of why Stolas is so uncomfortable is because he's been in a similar situation before to what Verosika is doing with the parties in regards to Blitz.

So, another thing we know is that Stella uses physical violence against Stolas, as shown by the time she attempts to backhand him in s2 e1.

Guess what we see a whole bunch of during the party against the Blitz dolls? Sure it's a bit exaggerated with the knives and mallets etc, but it's still physical violence, so it's reasonable to assume another part of the reason why Stolas was uncomfortable at the party was because of his own experiences with physical violence.

"Plus, it's true, so you know you can come if you want." - Stella

"I felt it rude not to stop by." - Stolas

I believe that these two quotes point to a sense of obligation to show up and stay at the parties for at least a little bit regardless of if the party makes you feel uncomfortable. Like that Stolas felt like he had to at least make an appearance and stay for a little bit.

Which begs the question, why does Stolas stay so long at Verosika's party, despite saying "I really shouldn't stay long."?

Two interconnected reasons come to mind. The first being the fact that Stolas was already starting to get himself drunk at the start of the party, which just naturally leads to Stolas just drinking more.

The second reason is probably because of the song. Stolas was very much just thrown into the spotlight and told to sing about his relationship with Blitz, so I wouldn't be surprised if that indirectly pressured him into drinking more, something I cover in the next section.

I think something that we haven't really considered is the PROGRESSION of Stolas drinking in both parties.

Stella's Party: The party starts, Stolas naturally doesn't want to be there and feels uncomfortable, but most likely feels like he's obligated to stay and make an appearance, so he starts it off by drinking a little wine. Then the most difficult part of the day happens, Stella starts talking shit about Stolas to her friends, right in front of Stolas as well. So I assume in an attempt to make the party more bearable for him, he gets the strongest thing he can get his hands on and just starts chugging the bottle.

Verosika's Party: Stolas joins mid-way through, feels uncomfortable being at the party for a few reasons, but again, most likely feels obligated to stay for at least a little while to make an appearance, so he starts drinking from the cups a little. Then Stolas gets to a difficult and emotionally taxing part of the night, the part where he's basically thrown into the spotlight, and made to sing about his relationship with Blitz, around 23-24 hours after the full moon argument. So the emotions surrounding that are still very raw for Stolas.

After that point you see Stolas start drinking a lot more, starting to chug that cup. Plus, when Blitz starts talking to Stolas, he also starts chugging the bottle itself quite a lot, in what I guess was because he was already partly drunk by that point, and in what I think was an attempt to dull his emotions more to most likely make the night more bearable for him.

At least, I think that was the general thought process behind the progression of Stolas drinking in both parties. The scenarios between them both are quite different, but I still think that there's some similarities to be noted here.

So, in conclusion, I believe that part of the reason why Stolas has an issue with problem drinking is because of Stella's parties, and that there's quite a few similarities to be noted between Verosika's party and Stella's party.

Of course, I can't make a post on problem drinking without mentioning the time that Stolas most likely got blackout drunk after the events of s1 e7.

Blitz and Addiction.

Now, I wonder just how many of you thought the question of 'Why is Blitz so concerned about Stolas throwing it back like this?' and the answer lies in Blitz's history with drinking, and addiction.

Let's start with Blitz's father, Cash, it's implied that he's an alcoholic, both from the picture below and from the line "Remember how you used to distract my dad so I could steal his booze?", which tells us that Cash kept himself stocked up on booze all the time. So it shows us that Cash's likely alcoholism was always a part of Blitz's life, all up until Blitz left the circus.

There's also Barbie Wire who got addicted, although on a substance named H-8, instead of booze. We don't know exactly when Barbie Wire got addicted to H-8, but because Blitz says "Oh. Thank, Satan.", and the fact that Barbie Wire means a lot to Blitz, it shows that her getting addicted to H-8 most likely effected Blitz in some negative way.

Finally, Blitz has seen it again with Verosika, who is also an alcoholic, who went to rehab for it but got out because of her celebrity status. When she exactly became an alcoholic and went to rehab we don't know.

Something to note here is that, according to a study, addiction tends to run in families, and dialogue in the Queen Bee episode suggests that Blitz attended those parties Beelzebub hosts a lot in the past, because of this line "He-hey, I knew it was you! Fuck, man, where you been? You here for the party?" and "Come in and show us all up again.", implying that Blitz used to be a regular at her parties.

Plus, in truth seekers, Blitz admits to doing a lot of drugs in college.

The only times we see Blitz drink during this show has been in social settings, and sure while Blitz did invite Moxxie and Millie once on screen to a dive bar, that doesn't change the point I'm making at all.

So, what the show is trying to tell us is that Blitz did a lot of drugs and alcohol in the past, and nowadays he's not completely avoiding alcohol, but the only times he'll drink is in social settings.

Regardless of how bad things have gotten for him, such as Ozzie's for example, Blitz refuses to drink or do drugs at all, he just ended up having a cry session on the couch and just consumed ice cream. Compared to Stolas who dealt with everything by most likely getting blackout drunk.

I imagine that Blitz very intentionally limits himself on doing drugs and alcohol, because he knows so many people that have the issue of addiction.

#helluva boss #blitzø #blitzo #stolas #stolitz #helluva boss stolas #stella goetia #hb verosika #LONG POST #MY LONGEST POST YET #helluva boss meta #helluva boss analysis

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extremely-judgemental · 3 months ago

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Subtext is completely lost in this fandom. I partly blame SJM for it. This is a rant from both reading and writing standpoint and leans towards the characters since I like to psychoanalyse them.

The one thing that tired me the most in these books is the excessive narration. I don’t mean the wordy description to support world-building but the never-ending monologues. SJM takes ‘show, don’t tell’ advice literally with the visual cues when it should apply to the characters and their personalities as well. Where subtext usually exposes depth of these characters and lets you decide who they are, SJM strips away that chance by writing it down for you word by word. The reason so many are going with 'in the book' argument is exactly this.

Here’s what I mean.

In real life, people don’t think linearly. They have an idea about themselves as much as they have about everyone else around them. There are self-imposed restrictions on their thoughts based on who they believe to be and who they strive to be. And it shows in their interaction with outside world. Say, when someone is ashamed of their actions, they will deny it for as long as possible. Someone who regrets something, they will sugarcoat it.

But in her books, her characters think clearly—way too clearly so that you latch onto the ideas she perpetuates. You don’t get to know them based on their thoughts, words, and actions, and see how these three support each other. You don't get a chance to draw conclusions as to if they are the hero/villain and good/evil based on their actions. If their behaviours match their words or if their choices are acceptable. Because SJM sets it in words for you. The characters come with a label beforehand. (Feyre, Rhysand and Inner Circle are good guys. Tamlin, Eris and Nesta, sometimes Lucien are evil.) It's why so many toxic and abusive themes are dismissed because it’s the 'good guy' or the 'morally grey guy’ who does it.

And so, her lead or ‘good’ characters fall flat since they have everything figured out. They know themselves inside out. They are never wrong about themselves, there’s no part they hide from themselves or the others. There’s nothing for you to read and identify the beauty or ugliness in the character. There’s no depth in them because they don’t contradict themselves, they don’t struggle to be someone they always believed to be. They don’t have to prove anything to themselves or others. They say what they think and they do what they say. They are very aware of their shortcomings and they all seem to know the exact consequences of their decisions.

Feyre doesn’t change in the three books. Her ‘rags to riches’ story doesn’t lead to much character growth. She starts out as an adamant, reckless child and ends up being arrogant, reckless woman with a crown. She doesn’t undergo a shift in personality but climbs up the social hierarchy. And that’s considered character development. Rhysand remains the same throughout. He starts out as a villain but later revealed as a good guy playing bad. Instead of growing into a hero—given his crimes, his ill deeds are negated with sympathetic backstory. And from there, it’s a flat line. There’s no growth.

In the end how does the character change in the aftermath of the events? Which of their beliefs are shattered and rebuilt? What is the emotional impact on the other characters? SJM does offer some closure on these regards but they are solely focused on a list of traumas and specific reactions set by SJM herself. And so readers refuse to think for themselves how these scenarios may play out and take the words relayed through the unreliable narrators who are essentially preaching SJM’s biases. Also, when they are so explicitly written down, there’s not much room for subtext. After going through pages and pages of justification, it tires you from using reason.

Even if we get past this (writing) flaw, there are other major issues. Story telling is a way of experiencing life. It helps build empathy, compassion and understanding of the world. Even in a fantasy book, when that world doesn’t exist, when the characters aren’t real, their journey are drawn from real life experiences. Relating to these characters is subjective and solely depends on the reader, but determining the rightness of their actions is not. This too is warped as SJM dictates which behaviour is acceptable and how far through her lead characters(Feyre vs Nesta imprisonment). Instead of allowing you to judge the choices, the verdict is spoon-fed through the ‘hero’. If the characters are forgiven, it’s not abuse. It’s a simple mistake. (It’s a mistake if it happens once and if there’s a changed behaviour after the apology.) If the characters are happy in the end, their acts are admissible. Unless SJM stamps the word ‘abuser’ and ‘bad guy’ in block letters herself(Tamlin), it's not even considered a possibility.

In short, in this fandom, ‘reading between the lines’ is acceptable as long as it supports what the author preaches. When it contradicts ‘it’s in the books’. Logic is valid only if you use it to justify the fan favourites and applaud them. Empathy is conditional. Compassion is conditional. Critical thinking is so discouraged that it’s pitiful.

#feyre critical #rhysand critical #inner circle critical #adding critical tags to keep the stans away #nesta #tamlin #eris #lucien #acotar critical #sjm critical #acotar writing criticism

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saturngas · 5 months ago

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Hello! I hope you are well 🩷

E It may sound cliché or a bit stupid, but I'm genuinely curious about the fandom's opinion on Gojo's ideal type. The few things I found are a little shallow and nothing very elaborate, or from a few years ago when we didn't have so much Gojo in the manga. SO WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THIS? 🥺

gojo’s ideal type

helloooo thank you so much for this ask. I love this kind of asks because they make me think hard hhaha

but anyways I really think gojo wouldn't have like an exact idea of an ideal type regarding personality and appearance, the only thing he would focus on/prefer is that his s/o understands him.

so we are hinted multiple times throughout the whole story that gojo feels alone, especially after geto's departure, and that the main reason is his unreachable strength. he is the strongest sorcerer. he doesn't really look for a super strong partner, but I would definitely think he prefers someone strong or with a cool technique.

some people affirm that gojo values people measuring their strength, and I kind of agree with it, but to say he only see the strength of people is wrong, I would say that he looks for people with potential (like he has stated before with megumi) and definitely people with a strong mindset.

so I really dont wanna make this a gojo's character analysis hahah sorry so ill answer your question directly, just wanted to make that clear before stating my beliefs.

I think gojo would settle for someone who thinks like him, regarding the jujutsu world. he wants to change it, so he wants people who think like him to be next to him.

if that person, like I said before, has a strong mindset and unbreakable personality, I think that would be a huge plus. I feel like gojo likes dense people, someone who doesn't really changes their opinion like super fast, someone in control of their beliefs.

now regarding a bit of personality, I think gojo would get along with almost all personalities. he is very smart and honestly very kind at heart, so he would look for positive traits in every personality. buuuut if I had to be a bit more specific, I think he would like a bit more a woman with a demanding personality. like not exactly someone who is dominant over him, but kind of. hahah he likes seeing someone trying to boss him around considering he is the strongest and can do anything he wants, so meeting someone with such guts makes him wanna know more about that person.

a kind person would also be a plus. well, not exactly super kind, but someone who helps others. lets remember he is a teacher after all, so he would look for someone who cares for others, especially the younger generation. I think he would prefer someone with a similar profession as his. it doesn't have to be an educator just like him, but like I said before, someone who cares for the youth.

a bit of an unpopular opinion hehe but I simply cant see gojo with someone who doesn't have a similar humor as his. like we always see people getting annoyed at gojo for being such an idiot, so I really think his partner needs to-has to be just as silly and goofball as he is. like someone who supports his jokes and antics. I cant see him with someone super serious or someone who is plainly boring.

I think the perfect match for gojo is someone with the same energetic and passionate energy as him. he would love someone who is also clingy or physical as him, I feel like he loves giving and receiving physical affection. that doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate the other love languages, but I think he loves receiving touches, words of affirmation, and service acts.

so in summary, I think gojo's ideal type would be someone who agrees with him/has the same purpose as him regarding the corrupted jujutsu sorcery, someone who is fraternal and supportive of the youth, someone who can match his silly and quirky personality, someone with a corresponding humor as his, someone physically and emotionally strong, someone passionate and intense about their own dreams and goals, someone who understands his position as the strongest and is there next to him anytime he needs reassurance, someone who can read him easily since he isn't overly open, and someone who would love him and demonstrate love just as him or even more (he would love that).

I definitely think he is a tits guy.

taglist: @snwvie @fanficsforkicks @soulaires <3 so guys right now im out of town so I won't be making super long and specific content for a few days. but once I get back to home ill be working on parts 2 of some fics :))

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo headcanons #gojo hcs

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kallie-den · 1 month ago

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Faithful to the Source Material

Laura and Carmen turn the tables on their homophobic bully by hypnotizing her to act like the lesbian vampire she’s dressed up as for Halloween… but will things get out of hand?

If you like my writing, please consider supporting me on Patreon! For less than the price of a cup of coffee each month, you can get immediate, early access to everything I write - 4 pieces of hypno-smut a month, including the latest chapters of all the multi-chapter stories I write. Your support helps me keep writing and is greatly appreciated <3

---

Vicky had gone all-out with her Halloween costume. From the bottom of her heart, Laura detested the bully, but she had to hand it to her for that.

Vicky wasn’t one to half-commit. She had even dyed her hair jet black to match her gothic, lacy, corseted dress—complete with high collar, chest cut-out, and long, flowing sleeves—and the black gemstones in her earrings and on her necklace. Her makeup was just as on-point; deathly pale powder, not just on her face but all the way down her neck and across her chest, plus viciously dark, shadowy eyes, carefully accentuated cheekbone shadows, and rich, crimson lipstick. She was even wearing deep red color contacts. But the cherry on top of the cake was, of course, her fangs. Laura knew they had to be fake, but they certainly looked real enough when the way Vicky’s malevolent smirk pulled back her lips made them visible.

She really did make for a perfect vampire.

It was the best Halloween costume Laura and her girlfriend, Carmen, had seen all night. It was striking and gorgeous, and high-quality enough to almost seem real without sacrificing that fun hint of Halloween tackiness. And as much as it pained Laura to admit it, the vampire getup made Vicky look unbelievably, irresistibly hot.

It was just such a shame that Vicky was a mean, bullying, irredeemable, homophobic piece of shit.

And that she had decided to spend her Halloween ruining Laura and Carmen’s night.

“Wow,” Vicky drawled, as she stood in the doorway and regarded Laura and Carmen with a sadistic, disgusted glare. “I didn’t realize they let dykes into this party.”

Laura flinched. She loved that word, and hated the way Vicky made it sound like something shameful.

“Christ, Vicky,” Carmen groaned, a furious scowl on her face. “You know it’s not nineteen-fifty anymore, right? Just leave us alone.”

“I’d love to,” Vicky retorted. “But if someone doesn’t keep you freaks in your place, the whole sorority house is gonna end up smelling like rug-muncher. Ew.”

Laura surreptitiously tugged at Carmen’s sleeve. “Maybe we should just go?” she whispered.

Of the two of them, Carmen had always been the most inclined to actually stand up to Vicky and her bigotry. Laura wished she found it as easy to be so brave—but tonight, in particular, she’d been hoping for nothing more than a fun, relaxed, festive night with her girlfriend. Now that it had already been ruined, she couldn’t find it in herself to want to stay.

It was especially discouraging that this was exactly what Laura had worried would happen when the two of them had made up their minds to go to that year’s big sorority Halloween party. It was sure to be a blast—but Vicky was sure to be there. She was in the sorority, after all. In the end, Carmen had persuaded Lauren that the sorority house would be huge and packed, and that Vicky would have better things to do. Besides, what other time of year did you get to enjoy dressing up as creeps and ghouls?

Apparently, they wouldn’t get to enjoy it at this time of year either.

When she had accidentally locked eyes with Vicky across the room, Laura had immediately dragged Carmen upstairs to one of the private bedrooms reserved for hook-ups, hoping that Vicky would soon lose track of them and forget about them. No such luck. She’d tracked them upstairs like a bloodhound—and here they were.

“What are you two lesbos supposed to be dressed as, anyway?” Vicky snorted, stepping into the bedroom. “A nerd, and… a cartoon mom?”

“A… huh?” Carmen blinked, incredulous. “I’m a mad scientist. I figured it was pretty obvious.”

It was. Laura’s girlfriend was wearing a distinctly singed white lab coat, with big eye-protection goggles up on her forehead, her hair wild, and an assortment of measuring instruments and test tubes placed carefully throughout the costume. Personally, Laura was having a great time seeing her psychology student girlfriend really lean into the vibe.

“And I’m the bride of Frankenstein,” Laura put in. She thought she’d done pretty well with her costume—not just the dress and face paint, but the hair too.

“OK.” Vicky stared at her like she’d just told her that the sky was orange. “So… why the stupid hair?”

Laura blinked. “Like… the movie?”

Vicky just went on staring, nonplussed.

“Look,” Carmen said, standing up from the bed the two lesbians had been perched on. “Can’t you just leave us alone, Vicky? Just for one night? This is ridiculous.”

Their college was in a pretty conservative state; finding people who were bothered by Laura and Carmen’s sexualities and their relationship wasn’t all that hard. But mostly, those small-minded idiots restrained themselves to some mean looks and the silent treatment. Only Vicky had made it her business to follow the two of them wherever they went and make their lives miserable. It was as if nothing made her happier. At least this time she didn’t have her usual gaggle of followers along for the ride.

“Oh, trust me, I have plenty better things to do.” Vicky folded her arms and smirked. “But I just had to see how the two of you decided to fuck up Halloween. I guess it really is true what they say: dykes have no style.”

For some reason, the comments about their costumes were what was causing Laura’s temper to flare. “Oh yeah?” she shot back. “And what about you? A slutty vampire? Jeez, how creative!”

Vicky bristled but didn’t lose her cool. “Vampires are iconic,” she retorted smugly. “They never go out of fashion. Nobody needs to guess what I am. Vampires are peak Halloween. Peak horror. Everybody knows that.”

“Ugh. What do you know?” Laura replied furiously. She and Carmen both loved horror—and she knew perfectly well that Vicky didn’t. She was nothing more than a poser. To her, Halloween was nothing more than an excuse to dress up in a way that had the frat boys drooling over her even more than usual. “About lesbians, about Halloween, about vampires—or about anything else.”

“Vampires drink blood, they can’t go out in the sun, and they’re scared of crosses.” Vicky counted her points off on her fingers as she made them. “It’s not that hard, genius.”

“Actually,” Carmen put in. “There’s a lot more to vampires than just that. A whole lot of folklore that most people don’t know the first thing about.”

Laura threw her a look. Unusually, Carmen didn’t sound mad. She sounded like she was up to something.

“Whatever.” Vicky shrugged. “That sounds boring. This is a party, you know? I guess dykes don’t know how to have fun either.”

“It’s actually a lot more interesting than you might think,” Carmen continued. The hairs on the back of Laura’s head stood up when she recognized the tone of voice her girlfriend was slipping into. “Modern vampires are based on legends, and the roots of those legends still shape our modern perceptions. For example, you know the count from Sesame Street? His obsession with numbers is actually rooted in vampire folklore.”

“Huh.” The look on Vicky’s face was still utterly hostile but it was clear that despite herself, she was interested. It helped, of course, that Carmen’s voice was so easy to listen to.

“You see, according to folklore,” Carmen went on, “vampires feel compelled to count things. A traditional way to ward off a vampire was to scatter grains around the entrance of a house. The vampire would need to count them all before entering, and would end up burning up when the sun rose.”

“That’s stupid,” Vicky said guardedly.

“Maybe,” Carmen admitted, smiling. “But I wonder if it would work on you. After all, you’re clearly so in character.”

Vicky scoffed. “Of course it wouldn’t. That’s really stupid.”

“You’d be surprised,” Carmen told her with provocative confidence. “Take it from me, as a psych student: the urge to count is already natural and sometimes, the way we dress can deeply influence our thoughts and behaviors. I bet you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“You bet, huh?” Vicky suddenly grinned. “Fine. OK. Sure. Let’s bet. Try out your stupid anti-vampire trick on me. If it works, I’ll give you a pass for the night. If it doesn’t, the two of you lesbos have to leave us normal people to party in peace.”

“You’re on,” Carmen was grinning too. “Should be easy for you. All you have to do is keep your head.”

“Bring it!” Vicky said savagely.

Laura wasn’t surprised she was taking the challenge. Vicky was just that arrogant. She was surprised, however, by what Carmen was trying to pull.

“Babe,” she said quietly. “You sure about this?”

Carmen just winked at her. Laura couldn’t help but find that hot.

“OK, let’s do it like this,” Carmen said to Vicky. “Both of us are going to count—you under your breath, me out loud. I’ll count the Fibonacci sequence. You count back from a hundred in threes.”

“The what sequence?” Vicky demanded impatiently.

Carmen sighed. “You know, each number the sum of the previous two? Like… zero, one, one, two, three, five?”

“More nerd shit?” Vicky sneered. “Fine. Back from a hundred in threes sounds easy. I’m a business major, you know. We do a lot with numbers. How do I win?”

“Easy,” Carmen told her. “All you have to do is make it to zero without being distracted by my count.”

Vicky’s grin widened, showing her fake fangs. “Sounds like you’re practically handing me the win! Well, I won’t complain about the chance to kick a couple of loser dykes out of my sorority house. Fine.”

“Laura,” Carmen said. “Why don’t you count us in?”

Laura was already shivering with anticipation. She knew what was happening. And she knew Carmen was going to win.

“Three,” she counted. “Two. One. Go.”

Immediately, Vicky’s lips started mouthing as she counted out: ‘a hundred, ninety-seven, ninety-four.’ She was moving fast but not rushing; pacing herself, so she didn’t make a mistake. After a moment, Carmen started counting too.

“Zero,” she said, her voice suddenly and unexpectedly soft and song-like. “One. One. Two. Three. Five. You know, the sequence always catches me out a little at first. It’s tricky to remember how it starts. Zero, then one—but one plus zero is one, so there’s another one. And then two, of course. One plus one.”

Vicky’s brow furrowed. Already, her counting was slowing down as her numbers became mixed up with the flow of Carmen’s words.

“Sorry, I’m just rambling,” Carmen assured her. “Silly of me. I’m just giving you extra time, aren’t I?”

Laura couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Vicky clearly suspected Carmen was trying to throw her off. Laura knew her girlfriend was intent on something far more fun.

Hypnotizing her.

It was one of Carmen’s passions, born out of her enduring interest in human psychology. Hypnosis had begun as her research subject and progressed to something she and Laura were exploring privately. Just thinking about some of the creative bedroom uses they’d found for hypnosis made Laura’s cheeks burn. And she knew neither of them had been able to help fantasizing about using hypnosis to give bigots like Vicky their comeuppance.

Now, Carmen was finally giving it a shot.

“Eight,” Carmen counted. Her voice was all but irresistible. Laura knew that from experience. She was struggling not to dip into a trance herself. “Thirteen. Twenty-one. Isn’t it funny, how quickly it starts ramping up? Suddenly, the simple addition is getting a little trickier. Isn’t it hard not to wonder about what comes next, Vicky?”

Vicky was slowly blinking as she fought to concentrate. It was clear that she was torn between wanting to tell Carmen to shut up and wanting to try to ignore her completely. Caught on the horns of that dilemma, Vicky was unable to stop herself from following along with Carmen’s count. From doing the very same math Carmen was distracting her with.

“Thirty-four,” Carmen went on. Her voice was perfectly, irresistibly hypnotic. “Fifty-five. Eighty-nine. A hundred and forty-four. Isn’t it crazy how it jumps up into three digits? It almost doubles in just one go. Of course, really, it’s not crazy at all. It’s just the sequence following its own simple rule. Completely predictable. Completely natural.”

Vicky was starting to lose her place. Laura could see it. She was in the seventies, but her lip movements as she counted were growing less and less certain. She couldn’t help listening to Carmen.

“Of course, your sequence isn’t like that at all,” Carmen added. “It’s nice and regular—and it goes down, instead of up. That’s important, isn’t it? Down, down, down. Not adding. Subtracting. Getting close and closer to zero, with every number you count.”

“I…” Vicky breathed, before she could stop herself. Then, she simply froze.

“Lost your place?” Carmen suggested. “That’s OK. You can find it again, right? Or maybe you can even start over from scratch. All you need to do is keep going down. Two-hundred and thirty-three. Three-hundred and seventy-seven. Isn’t that a fun pattern? What comes next, Vicky?”

Strangely, Vicky no longer seemed to be struggling to concentrate. It was like the fight had gone out of her. Her lips were still moving, but they formed nothing but weak, addled gasps that went nowhere.

“You don’t know, do you?” Carmen offered. “The numbers are getting higher and lower and longer and shorter, and you’ve lost track. Why don’t you count along with me instead? Six-hundred and ten. Nine-hundred and eighty-seven. Aren’t these numbers getting large?”

Laura couldn’t help but shiver at the way Vicky’s lips started moving purposefully again—only this time, she was following Carmen’s sequence instead of her own, long-forgotten count.

“Oops,” Carmen smirked. “Look at you. You’re going the wrong way, Vicky. You’re all turned around. All confused. Don’t you remember what you’re supposed to be doing?”

Vicky’s brow furrowed. It was like she was trying to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. She was on the verge of falling.

“Why don’t you just relax, instead?” Carmen whispered seductively. “Give up. Relax. It’s only natural, Vicky. When we get overwhelmed, we just want to relax, instead. To let the numbers fade away. To forget our silly little game and just let yourself… drop.”

She imbued that last word with a singular, forceful intonation, and it seemed to hit Vicky like a physical blow. She swayed for a moment before her shoulders slumped and her head dropped down to her chest.

Hypnotized.

“Oh my god,” Laura said in a hushed, excited voice, after a moment of disbelieving silence. “Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Carmen replied, her excitement barely constrained. “Yeah, it did.”

“She’s in a trance,” Laura stated. “We… we could do anything with her.”

“We sure could,” Carmen agreed.

They exchanged looks.

“It would be wrong,” Laura asserted quickly.

“Would it?” Carmen mused.

“Yes!” Laura told her, trying to make herself believe. “I mean… uh… consent, right? Like between us, or in your experiments, or…” She looked at Vicky again. Their bully wasn’t moving. “I… I can’t believe it was that easy.”

“Guess she’s not such a skeptic after all,” Carmen said.

“Huh?”

“Hypnosis is all about the power of belief,” Carmen explained. “Sure, there’s a bunch of psychological tricks—but at the end of the day, belief is what matters most. It’s surprisingly easy to hypnotize someone who truly believes in it.”

“Right…” Laura swallowed. “We should probably wake her up.”

“We will,” Carmen decided. “Eventually.

“Babe…” Laura warned.

“C’mon,” Carmen wheedled. “We’ll just have a little bit of fun. What’s the harm? It’ll be embarrassing for her, at the worst. Doesn’t she deserve at least that?”

Laura couldn’t find it in herself to deny it. “So… what did you have in mind?”

“I think Vicky needs some help finding her Halloween spirit,” Carmen answered a touch menacingly.

Against her better judgment, Laura giggled. “Yeah?”

Carmen took a step toward Vicky and addressed her in a firm, clear voice. “Vicky, listen to me. In a few moments, I’m going to wake you up, and until I say ‘drop’ again, you’re going to be able to think and move and act just like normal. The only difference is that you’re going to realize that, on Halloween, it’s extremely important that you’re completely in character as a vampire, and that all your behavior is perfectly faithful to the source material. Understand?”

“Yes,” Vicky replied. Laura shivered at the utter lack of emotion in her voice.

“Perfect.” Carmen licked her lips. “Then… one, two, three, wake!”

Vicky lifted her head and her eyes flickered open—and at once, she was transformed.

“Well, well, well,” she purred, with an air of menacing theatricality. “What do we have here? A couple of delicious mortals with which I can sate my thirst!”

As one, both Laura and Carmen burst into laughter.

It was, above all, the contrast. Vicky was the kind of girl who would never, ever have allowed herself to commit to the bit so earnestly. But here she was, throwing herself into the role of a silly, campy, evil vampire with shameless abandon; stalking around the sorority house bedroom and leering at the two of them with an arrogant, ravenous glare.

“You laugh,” Vicky hissed, posing and preening like a dark queen. “But soon you shall know the terror of the vampire’s bite!”

Laura’s laughter redoubled. “Oh my god, babe!” she wheezed. “She really went all the way with it, huh?”

“I didn’t realize she had it in her,” Carmen cackled.

Vicky bared her fangs and let out a much louder hiss. “I loathe to stain my fangs with your degenerate filth!” she declared, lifting her hands with her fingers spread apart like talons. “But it will be my pleasure to rid my unholy domain of your stench.”

Laura quickly stopped laughing. “Wow,” she remarked, a touch impressed. “Even as a vampire, she’s completely homophobic.”

“Why don’t we fix that?” Carmen winked at her.

“How dare you!”

Vicky rounded on Carmen and lunged toward her, mouth open, as if to sink her fake, plastic fangs into her neck. But before she could, Carmen started to speak:

“Vicky! Three, two, one… drop.”

At the word ‘drop,’ Vicky slumped once more. In an instant, all that vampiric theatricality was gone, leaving her nothing more than a blank, hypnotized vessel.

Laura hated finding Vicky attractive, in any context. But seeing her like this really was driving her crazy.

“Dropping nice and deep,” Carmen soothed. “Now, Vicky: remember what I told you about being faithful to the source material? You might not know this, but some of the earliest modern literature surrounding vampires—especially female vampires—is actually about lesbians.”

Vicky seemed to stir for a moment, brow furrowing.

“Oh yes,” Carmen lectured. “The book ‘Carmilla’, for instance. It’s a seminal text, truly. You can’t help but be inspired by it.”

“Can’t…” Vicky echoed, her voice a ghost of itself. “Help…”

“That’s right,” Carmen assured her. “You can’t help it. You need to be a lesbian vampire.”

“L… les… bi…?” Now Vicky was really stirring. Her shoulders tensed, and Laura thought for sure that she was on the cusp of waking. “N-no… that’s… ugh.”

“Just think about it,” Carmen urged softly. “It’s not that you’re a lesbian, Vicky. You’re just pretending. Just dressing up. Isn’t that what Halloween’s all about?”

“I… s’pose,” Vicky murmured—a touch suspiciously, but her stirrings were subsiding.

“Of course,” Carmen agreed. “It just makes sense to pretend on Halloween. To pretend to be whatever you’re dressed up as. And since you’re dressed up as a lesbian vampire, that’s what you’ll pretend to be.”

“Yeah…” Vicky slumped again. “Pretend. Lesbian.”

“Uh-huh.” Carmen was determined to press her advantage. “It’s acting, basically. But here’s the thing about acting, Vicky: the best kind is method acting. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s when you totally embrace the role you’re playing, inside and out. It’s when you truly feel it. Right?”

“Right,” Vicky echoed slowly. Her resistance was gone. She was a prisoner of Carmen’s words.

“So,” Carmen concluded. “When I wake you up again, you’ll be a lesbian vampire inside and out. You’ll feel that way. You’ll act that way. You’ll be perfectly faithful to the ideal. Understand?”

“Yes.” Again, Vicky’s voice was devoid of all feeling.

“Perfect.” Carmen took a beat to exchange eager, excited looks with Laura. “Then: one, two, three, wake!”

This time, when Vicky looked open and opened her eyes, Laura and Carmen found themselves in the presence of a very, very different kind of vampire.

“My, my,” Vicky drawled, glancing between Laura and Carmen. “This ought to be a truly delicious night.”

This time, as she started walking around the room, she moved with a distinctly seductive gait, chest held high and hips swaying with each step. Her eyes roamed ravenously over the two lesbians’ bodies, and her voice was thick with a hunger that was as much lust as thirst.

Laura and Carmen started laughing even harder than before.

“Oh my god,” Laura howled, wiping tears from her eyes. “If she could see herself…”

“Told you this was a good idea,” Carmen cackled. She was laughing so hard, she had to rest a hand on a nearby dresser for support.

Surprisingly, Vicky laughed lightly along with them. “You two make a delectable couple,” she declared. “Such complimentary flavors… I can’t wait to savor the taste.”

She opened her mouth, brandishing her cheap, plastic fangs, and then, as she locked eyes with Laura, extended her tongue and stroked it carefully across both pointed tips.

Laura stopped laughing, and a familiar shiver raced down her spine.

She was finding this way, way too hot.

Vicky was hot. As much as Laura wanted to recoil from the thought, there was no use denying it. She had a killer body, and the flashy, gothic vampire getup she was wearing was devastatingly attuned to Laura’s tastes. Normally, the fact that she was a bigot and a bully was more than enough to put Laura off—but now that she was a lesbian vampire, she wasn’t sure she could resist her.

“Tell me, Laura.” As if sensing her weakness, Vicky advanced on her. “Have you ever yearned to be devoured?”

“I… um…” Suddenly, Laura found herself sweating bullets—and she was the one Carmen was giggling at. “That’s… n-no…”

"It sounds perplexing, no?” Vicky was alarmingly close to her now. “But let me let you in on a little secret, mortal: there’s a thrill to be had in being prey.”

The intense, menacing theatricality she poured into that last word made Laura shudder. Carmen was still giggling behind her hand, but Laura could no longer see the funny side. She was too busy wondering how Vicky had figured out that she was the bottom in the relationship.

“Ah, I can see you already feel it.” Before Laura knew what was happening, Vicky had slipped around behind her and was pressed up against her back, the hypnotized girl’s hand cradling her waist. “I can feel your heart beating, Laura. Pumping your veins full of hot, red crimson. Isn’t it intoxicating?”

“Um!” Laura squeaked. She was melting like putty, and it was deathly embarrassing. The worst part was that Vicky was right. She could feel it too. Her heart was pounding with thrilling arousal. “C-Carmen?”

“Shush now,” Vicky whispered. “Her next. We can make it a girls’ night. But you first. I can’t wait to taste every part of you.”

Hearing those words in Vicky’s voice, of all people’s, was doing a number on Laura. It was more than she could handle—especially when Vicky reached up and tipped her unresisting head to one side, and bent in until Laura could feel her breath on her neck.

“C-C-Carmen!” Laura squeaked. She couldn’t take any more of this—and she could tell Vicky wasn’t going to stop.

“OK, OK,” Carmen swiftly stepped in before Vicky’s fangs could meet Laura’s skin. “Vicky. Three, two, one, drop.”

Laura felt the hand on her waist fall away, and she was finally able to slip free of Vicky’s grasp. When she turned to look at the bully, the light in her eyes was gone. Just like before, she was hypnotized.

“O-oh my god,” Laura panted. “That was… uh… um…”

“Hot?” Carmen supplied mischievously.

“Embarrassing!” Laura corrected, blushing fiercely. “I mean, I… that was… with Vicky? No. Nuh-uh. No way.”

“I dunno.” Carmen was still smirking. “It would have been an experience, that’s for sure. And face it: you were into it.”

Laura averted her eyes. “L-let’s just wake her up, yeah? We’ve had our fun.”

“Aw.” Carmen pouted. She looked great when she did that. “No, c’mon. We’re only just getting started. Look, I admit that one got a little out of hand. How about we turn the temperature down a bit?”

“Carmen…” Laura said reprovingly, although she could already feel herself swaying.

“C’mon, babe,” Carmen pleaded. “This is once in a lifetime.”

Laura couldn’t keep the smile from her face. Saying ‘yes’ to her girlfriend was such a delight.

“Fine!” she threw up her hands. “What did you have in mind?”

“Vicky,” Carmen said, addressing the hypnotized bully. “You’re doing good. You’re doing very well, so just keep dropping for me, OK?”

Not a stir. She was completely gone. Laura was in awe of how totally Vicky had fallen under Carmen’s hypnotic power.

“Now, there’s something else you need to start thinking about,” Carmen told Vicky. “You’re a great lesbian vampire, but if you really want to be faithful to the source material, we need to start thinking about where vampires are from. Where is that, Vicky?”

“Trans… Transylvania?” Vicky supplied after a moment, in that distant, empty, trance-voice of hers.

“That’s exactly right,” Carmen agreed. “And Transylvania is in Romania. Eastern Europe. So this time, when I wake you up, you’re going to make sure you have an appropriate accent. Understand?”

“Yes,” Vicky responded.

“Uh… wait,” Laura bleated, eyes suddenly wide. “H-hold on, Carmen, that’s-“

“Oh, it’s just a bit of fun,” Carmen scoffed, before turning back to Vicky. “One, two, three, wake!”

Before Laura could figure out how to stop her, Vicky was already opening her eyes and slipping back into the haughty, preening vampire pose she’d previously been strutting around in. Only this time, when she opened her mouth, her voice was even more ridiculous than before:

“Vell, vell, vell,” Vicky drawled, in a cheesy but surprisingly close approximation of an Eastern European accent. “Vhat a pleasure it is, to zee that ze blossoms of ze new world are so ripe and so lovely.”

Immediately, Carmen bent double and started laughing so hard she almost choked. Laura couldn’t blame her. That way that Vicky, of all people, was throwing herself into the accent was beyond ridiculous. Anyone would have been laughing.

But not her. Instead, beads of sweat were forming on Laura’s forehead.

“My dears,” Vicky said, once again drawing close to Laura. “Von’t you let try a bite?”

Laura tried her very hardest not to let it show—but when Vicky slipped her hand around her waist again, the combination of her natural beauty, her unbelievable costume, and the honeyed, lilting accent pouring out of her mouth, Laura couldn’t help but let out a shrill, needy gasp.

Carmen seized upon it mercilessly.

“Oh my god, babe,” she laughed. “That does it for you?”

“It’s…” Laura whimpered. Her face was burning up. “I-I just have a thing for accents.”

“Vonderful,” Vicky cooed. Eager to torment her, she put her lips as close as she could to Laura’s ear and spoke to her in a sinister, syrupy whisper. “Then, let me speak to you of ze poetry of ze night, and have you vall into my unholy embrace.”

As cheesy as the line was, it had Laura squeezing her legs together with need. It didn’t help that Carmen was also staring at her, and the wicked, malicious look on her girlfriend’s face was equal to the one hypnotically plastered on Vicky’s.

“P-please,” Laura found herself saying, as the fetishistic allure of her situation momentarily overtook her sense of restraint.

“As you vish,” Vicky intoned mockingly.

And bit down on Laura’s neck.

Laura moaned and saw white. Until she felt Vicky’s tongue on her skin, she hadn’t realized quite how turned-on she’d become. But hypnotism, vampires, accents—she had kinks for all of them, and the intoxicating combination had gotten all the way under her skin. Above all, the fact that it was Vicky was getting to her—their homophobic, sorority girl bully, turned silly, seductive, sapphic vampire. It was too much. Even the pain felt good, when Vicky bit down on Laura as if her plastic fangs could actually pierce skin.

“Three, two, one, drop.”

Laura almost resented it, when Carmen used the hypnotic trigger to drop Vicky back into a trance. Still, as the pleasure receded, she acknowledged that it was probably a good thing Carmen had put a stop to matters before anything got truly out of hand.

Then she learned that Carmen intended exactly the opposite.

"Vicky,” Carmen began. “We’ve already established that I know much, much more about vampires than you. Haven’t we?”

“Yes,” Vicky intoned emptily.

“Carmen?” Laura whispered. Her legs were still jelly. She couldn’t move.

“Then you should listen to me about vampires, no matter how absurd what I tell you might seem, should you?” Carmen told Vicky, ignoring her girlfriend.

“Yes.”

“That’s right. And with that in mind, I have something very important to tell you about lesbian vampires. They don’t drink blood. They eat pussy.”

As Laura gasped in shock, Vicky started to twitch violently. “But… ugh… that… gross,” she whined sleepily.

“That doesn’t matter,” Carmen insisted swiftly. “Performers do all kinds of things they’d normally consider gross if it’s for a performance, don’t they?”

“I… suppose…” Vicky was clearly repulsed by the notion, but Carmen’s soft words and confident demeanor were quickly soothing her.

“This is no different,” Carmen told her. “Eating pussy is no different.”

“No…” Vicky was fighting to shake her head. “But…”

“Repeat after me,” Carmen insisted. “Lesbian vampires eat pussy.”

“Lesbian… vampires…” Vicky’s reluctance was obvious—but she was giving in. “E… eat…”

“Lesbian vampires eat pussy.”

“L… Les…” The fight went out of her. Any hint of disgust or disobedience disappeared from her voice, leaving her blank and willing once more. “Lesbian vampires eat pussy.”

“Great.” Carmen licked her lips. “One, two, three-“

“Wait!” Laura blurted out. She was still flushed and flustered beyond belief, but she had to say something. “C-Carmen, we can’t!”

“You want to,” Carmen pointed out.

“I don-“ Laura looked away. “T-that’s not the point. It’s wrong. It’s evil.”

“It’s Halloween, baby,” Carmen winked. “It’s the time of year that evil wins. How about you just sit back and enjoy it?”

Laura wasn’t sure how to convince her. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to. The grin on Carmen’s face was infectious. And when were they going to get another chance to get even with Vicky?

“One,” Carmen counted, sensing Laura’s capitulation. “Two. Three. Wake.”

When Vicky’s eyes opened once more, she had the same hungry look on her face, the same preening, arrogant bearing, and the same ridiculous accent. The only difference was that she wasn’t staring at Laura’s neck anymore.

She was staring between her legs.

“Mortal!” Vicky declared, lapping at her fangs with her tongue. “I vant to drink your cunt! And it is time for ze unholy feast to begin.”

Even Laura had to giggle at how stupid the line was. But her laughter soon turned to needy moaning when Vicky surged forward and sank to her knees, flashing Laura a saucy look before flipping up the hem of her dress and burying her face between her thighs.

When Laura felt Vicky’s tongue touch her cunt, her legs turned to jelly so completely, she had to lean back against a nearby wall for support.

Given that Vicky was completely straight, it was a little ridiculous that she was so good at this.

Perhaps it was simply her naked enthusiasm. Vicky was eating Laura out like her life depended on it. Like every single drop of wetness that touched her lips was the nectar of the gods. She was voracious. A predator tearing into her fallen quarry. Laura had never experienced anything quite like it. It was totally different from the slow, detached, teasing way Carmen usually ate her out. For a queen bitch like Vicky and for the vampire persona she was acting out, the blatant neediness was surprising.

Carmen clearly agreed.

“Three. Two. One. Drop.”

Laura whined loudly when she felt Vicky’s tongue go still.

“C-Carmen!” she complained. “N-not fair.”

“Sorry, babe,” her girlfriend giggled. “I just know how you like it, and I know you’ll enjoy this even more if you get put in your place properly.”

Laura whined louder still. “B-but,” she protested. “It’s Vicky!”

Carmen winked at her. “Exactly.”

The hot flush of shame and arousal that washed over Laura completely robbed her of her words. In the face of her silence, Carmen turned to address the hypnotized bully.

“Remember, Vicky,” Carmen encouraged. “Vampires aren’t just lesbians. Aren’t just blood- I mean, pussy-licking predators. They’re dominant. Powerful. Godlike, even.”

“Dominant,” Vicky echoed, rocking back on her knees. “Powerful. Godlike.”

“Exactly,” Carmen agreed. “Vampires are so arrogant and prideful. They’re always in charge. Even when they’re taking what they need from someone, they never let anybody forget that they’re far, far more powerful than the mere mortals they feed on.”

“More… powerful,” Vicky said slowly.

“Perfect,” Carmen whispered.

Laura swallowed nervously. They had already seen how completely Vicky took to whatever suggestions she was fed. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Carmen was about to create a monster.

Carmen, though, pressed on without a second thought. “One. Two. Three. Wake.”

When Vicky opened her eyes, Laura braced herself for the worst. She wasn’t disappointed. In a single, graceful motion, Vicky rose to her feet—and then disdainfully threw Laura off-balance and sent her sprawling onto the bed. Laura let out a surprised yelp but, like a mouse caught in the jaws of a cat, found herself helpless to move or resist. In an instant, Vicky was upon her, spreading her legs apart and lowering her face toward Laura’s dripping cunt with a merciless look on her face.

“Oh, babe,” Carmen giggled, from behind the hypnotized bully. “You’re in for a treat. I can just tell she’s going to ruin you.”

Laura whimpered in delicious anticipation at the tease. Vicky, though, had a very different reaction. She seemed to freeze up for a moment—and then, curiously, she started backing off. Slowly, Vicky lifted herself off the bed and turned her attention away from Laura.

To Carmen.

Carmen cocked an amused eyebrow as Vicky regarded her with a disdainful glare. That only seemed to light a fire inside her.

“Oh, I zee,” Vicky mused, in that ridiculous accent. “Perhaps you, mortal, vill be my first meal.”

“I will, huh?” Carmen could barely contain her laughter. “God. Who knew I’d have Vicky, of all people, begging to lick my cunt on Halloween?”

“Beg?” Vicky let out a humorless laugh. “No. No, I do not beg. I simply take.”

“Uh-huh,” Carmen scoffed. “And how do you propose to do that?”

From where she was lying sprawled on the bed, Laura could just about see the slow, calculating grin as it spread across Vicky’s face.

“Look,” Vicky said in a very slow, deep voice, after several long moments. “Look into my eyes. Deep into my eyes.”

Laughter erupted from Carmen. “Oh my god. Oh, you cannot be serious.”

“Oh, but I am,” Vicky warned. “You vill look into my eyes. Deep into my eyes. You cannot resist ze eyes of ze vampire.”

As she drew out each word, her accent became more ludicrous than ever. Laura wasn’t laughing, though. She was still too stunned by this turn of events—and besides, when her voice was this slow and soft, there was something oddly compelling about the way Vicky was speaking.

"Fine, fine,” Carmen said, rolling her eyes before meeting Vicky’s gaze. “I’m looking. Deep into your eyes.” She started mimicking Vicky’s accent. “I cannot resist ze eyes of ze vampire.”

“Very good,” Vicky cooed. “That’s right. You cannot resist. The eyes of ze vampire hold power over you. Look into my deep, crimson eyes. Let yourself be ensnared by ze red glow.”

She spoke with absolute confidence. It was as if there was no doubt in her mind that she would be able to hypnotize Carmen. The look of dismissive amusement on Carmen’s face remained, but she kept humoring Vicky.

“You know, those color contacts are actually pretty good,” Carmen remarked, after a moment. She was leaning in, looking carefully. “Almost real. Really rich, deep shade of red.”

Vicky looked faintly baffled by the reference to contacts, but she pressed on without comment. “Rich. Deep. Impossible to resist,” the hypnotized bully drawled. “You feel yourself fascinated by them. Drawn into them. Captivated by them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Carmen mocked, as she held Vicky’s gaze. “Fascinated. Drawn. Captivated.”

“You cannot look away.”

“I cannot look away.”

“You veel yourself slipping into a trance for my eyes.”

“I…” Carmen twitched uncertainly. It was like she was trying to pull away—but couldn’t. “I feel myself… slipping into a trance?”

Laura’s blood suddenly ran cold.

“Zat’s right,” Vicky said, in a throaty, predatory purr. “I zee that you, mortal, are skilled in ze art of mesmerism. But your foolish mind games are nothing compared to ze vampire’s might. Your knowledge will only be your undoing.”

Laura recalled what Carmen had told her earlier. The more you believed in hypnosis, the more effective it was. And Carmen most certainly believed.

Oh no.

“Falling into my eyes,” Vicky menaced. “Lost forever in my eyes.

“Falling…” Carmen echoed. “Lost…”

The look of bemused disbelief on Carmen’s face had relaxed into a vacant, slack-jawed, captivated grin. Laura had never seen anything like it. Carmen was usually always so focused. So dominant. Seeing her like this was terrifying.

Even if it was also extremely, wildly hot.

“C-Carmen!” Laura called out. She needed to put a stop to this. She needed to make sure Vicky didn’t get any further out of hand. “Wake u-“

“Quiet, girl!” Vicky hissed. Her voice was like the crack of a whip. Still light-headed and weak from her earlier treatment, Laura found herself instinctively lapsing into silence. She couldn’t quite bring herself to disobey Vicky.

“L-Laura…” Carmen blinked slowly. “I was… what was I… were you…?”

“Hush now,” Vicky soothed, slipping back effortlessly into her seductive, hypnotic patter. “Remember. Looking only at me. Only into my eyes. Into ze vampire’s eyes. Letting ze vampire’s eyes consume you.”

“I…” A shiver raced down Laura’s spine as she saw her girlfriend try to look over at her—and fail. “But you’re… not… uh…” Carmen made one last effort to rally herself. “Vicky. Three… two…”

“Shush,” Vicky said swiftly. She reached out and placed one of her fingertips on Carmen’s lips. That was all it took to silence her. “None of that, now. So hard to speak. So easy to look into my eyes instead.”

“So…” Carmen bleated. Her resistance was gone. There was nothing in her eyes. “Hard… easy…”

“Zat’s right,” Vicky purred. “And you should not call me like that, from now on. You shall address me as Victoria.” She licked her lips. “Mistress Victoria.”

“Yes… Mistress Victoria,” Carmen replied mindlessly.

Laura’s entire body throbbed. This was so wrong. This was so hot. It was completely out of control. They had created a monster, and Carmen was no longer capable of putting on the brakes.

“Very good,” Vicky told her. “Now, my thrall. On ze bed. With your beloved. Present yourself to me. I wish to feast.”

“Yes, Mistress Victoria.”

Slowly, robotically, Carmen clambered onto the bed next to Laura and reclined into her back. With Laura still powerless to intervene, Carmen obediently reached down and unbuttoned her slacks, shucking out of her pants and her boxers to expose her pussy to the air. Vicky’s eyes widened, and she licked her lips once more.

“Delicious,” she purred, mounting the bed and lowering her head between Vicky’s thighs. Before she began to eat her out, she turned her head to glance at Laura. “You vill be next,” the hypnotized bully vowed. “And zen ze rest of the pretty young mortals in this sorority house. And then… who knows.”

Laura was left stunned and dizzy as she contemplated that, and then increasingly shocked and aroused as Vicky started licking and lapping at Carmen’s cunt. Carmen had always been the dominant partner in their relationship. A giver, not a receiver. But not anymore. For Vicky, she was nothing more than a weak, prone, mewling submissive.

It was one of the hottest things Laura had ever seen.

She couldn’t help but anticipate her turn with a certain growing eagerness. Laura wasn’t sure when Vicky might come to her senses, if ever, and she wasn’t sure what would happen when Vicky tried to seduce some of the other girls at the Halloween party. It could go badly, although Laura couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, Vicky would manage to pull it off. That would be quite something.

And above all, she found herself thinking: no matter how events played out, Vicky was much, much better this way than she had ever been before.

---

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imaginedanvrs · 9 months ago

Text

where did you go?

part 1 l part 2 l masterlist

natasha x reader.

word count: 5.5k

warnings: alcoholism, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of torture, break up. ik you asked for a happy ending...

Your throat burned unbearably as you expelled the last few hours of poison you had consumed. The moment Natasha had left you had stumbled towards the bathroom unceremoniously and acquired several future bruises on the way. You were thankful that the redhead had cleaned the bathroom the day before as you clung to the toilet like a lifeline and threw up until your stomach ached. You barely jumped away when you felt a soft hand on your back, too drained to even consider fighting off any intruder. Fortunately, it was Wanda.

“Hey, sweetie,” she called softly as she crouched down next to you and rubbed your back soothingly. You whimpered in response and she tied back your hair gently. “You’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a state, huh?” She enquired as she continued to rub small circles below your shoulder blades.

“Yeah,” you hiccuped. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she assured you with a compassion you were sure you didn't deserve.

“Why are you here?” You asked as she passed you a glass of water.

“Nat called,” Wanda said honestly. She didn’t need to say any more. Even through your disorientation you could piece together what that meant. Natasha must have called the brunette after she left, knowing that it was dangerous for you to be left alone as you were.

“I fucked up, Wanda,” you told her. You hadn’t exactly lied when you finally expressed your fears to the redhead. They were all possibilities that you found yourself wondering every time you had a drink, but you had never meant to put them on Natasha in the way you had. You didn’t really blame her for any of it, you had just gotten so intently caught up in your anxieties that your developing habit of pushing her away had peaked in the worst way, adamant on keeping her away. Natasha was the best thing in your life, but you were certain that she didn’t deserve to be with someone who was afraid of her. It really was no fault of her own.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Wanda replied instead, not wanting to promise a reassurance that might not be kept. She didn’t know what had transpired between you and the other Avenger, but given that it had forced Natasha out of the apartment for Wanda to be by your side instead, she gathered it wasn’t something that could be fixed overnight.

With the aid of her magic, Wanda lifted you to your feet and supported you through the small apartment and into your bed where you collapsed in a heap and immediately passed out. The Sokovian methodically worked to adjust your body properly into the bed so you wouldn’t wake up aching more than you already would, then placed a sick bowl, painkillers and a fresh glass of water by your bedside. She couldn’t leave you as you were so she grabbed some blankets from your closet and made a bed up on the sofa with the door between you wide open.

Natasha typed away furiously on her laptop as she set her focus on the task at hand and would not allow it to waver. It had been some time since she had stayed in her old room at the tower. Even in the previous weeks where you and the redhead had been on unstable grounds, she had never desired to spend the night away from you, perhaps hoping it could possibly make up for the seven that she had. She had gotten some questioning looks from Tony and enquiries from F.R.I.D.A.Y when she had returned and ignored both as she made a b-line for her room with her laptop in hand. The billionaire had surely seen how Natasha’s face was flushed from previous tears, but he knew better than to approach with the present look on the spy’s face. She had cried enough on the drive there and refused to feel sorry for herself any longer. She had amends to make.

Natasha had no intention of asking for help regarding tracking down your kidnappers anymore. Instead, she was set on doing it herself and putting all of her time and energy into the task until she yielded the results she needed. Once she found the people she was looking for, she would kill every last one of them, protocol be damned, in an effort to give you one less thing to worry about. Though she hoped that if you knew that threat was gone, you would be more open to letting Natasha back into your life, the redhead was prepared for the act to be one purely out of revenge if not for reconciliation. One way or another, Natasha was going to add a few more drops of red to her ledger.

The headache that greeted you when you awoke was splitting. You winced and grabbed the back of your skull that felt as though it had been cracked wide open as you slept. You took the glass of water from your side and chugged half of the glass before you spotted the painkillers you didn’t recall placing there. You took them anyway and finished the glass before laying your heavy head back down with a quiet groan. Hangovers were not getting any easier.

Gradually, you started to recollect the night before until you could unmercifully remember every harsh word of your argument with your…with Natasha. Fuck, you cursed internally as you struggled to put aside the wholly heartbroken look in her eye at the unfair atrocities you had accused her of. Oh god, what had you done?

“Are you gonna puke again before I make you breakfast or are you saving it for after?” Wanda asked from the doorway, faltering when she saw your crestfallen expression. She walked over to your bed silently and sat by your side as you exhaled shakily.

“I can’t believe I did that,” you muttered. “Did…what did she say to you?” You asked when you noticed Wanda’s hesitation to respond.

“Nothing much, she just asked me to check in on you,” Wanda answered honestly.

“Oh,” you mumbled, unsure if you wanted to admit to the things you said to Natasha. “How did she seem?” You asked instead.

“It was only a text and she hasn’t answered me since,” Wanda told you, her features etched with her own concern.

“I said some shitty things,” you admitted shamefully.

“You were drunk,” Wanda stated though not as an excuse. “Why?” You weren’t sure you knew how to answer that.

“Did you say something about breakfast?” You asked instead, avoiding Wanda’s gaze. She shifted and stood up.

“Yeah, I’ll make something up,” she said, though you could hear in her voice that she wasn’t willing to let the subject go yet. That was understandable, you just needed some time to sort through your thoughts of the night before first so you got out of the bed and headed for the shower.

When you stepped out of the bathroom you were greeted by the hearty and generous smells of Wanda’s cooking that never lingered long enough for you to completely enjoy. You had been in the shower for a while, but you were surprised to see Wanda pull out a tray of breakfast muffins just as you strolled into the kitchen. You didn’t even think you had all the ingredients for it, but didn’t put it past the Sokovian to find a way around that and still have the muffins taste incredible. They also just so happened to be your friends go-to bargaining chip to get you to talk to her.

“I hope you won't offend me by not asking for seconds this time,” she teased as she placed the perfect hangover meal together on a plate for you before doing her own. You smiled sheepishly, knowing that your appetite hadn’t really grown since the last meal she had generously made for you. “So what’s going on with you?” She asked once you were both sat down.

“You don’t want to hear what I said to Nat first?” You countered but Wanda wasn’t phased.

“No, I want to know why I found my best friend almost passed out in her own puke,” she told you whilst refraining from giving you the look she wanted to. There was no point kicking you while you were down, but it was clear that Wanda wasn’t pleased at what she had seen. “How often does that happen?”

“That was the first time it was that bad,” you said honestly. “I just…” you sighed. “I needed something to tune out the memories.” Wanda considered that as she looked at you, knowing that there was a hefty weight to your thoughts because she could feel how they were dragging you down. Except that the night before, Wanda could feel them crushing you, whether you felt it or not. “And I know it’s a habit I can’t have but it’s the only thing that helps me cope,” you told her.

“But you’re not coping, y/n,” Wanda said. “And I think you know that.” You did, it was just hard to accept.

“That doesn’t make how I treated Nat okay,” you muttered. Wanda wasn’t quite ready to move on from what she saw as the more important topic, but she let it slide for the time being for you to say what you needed to. “I blamed her for what happened.”

“Is that how you really feel?”

“No…” you paused. “I was just pissed off and scared,” you admitted upon reflection.

“Scared of what?” You bit your cheek, not wanting to admit it sober.

“Everyting,” you muttered instead. Wanda nodded though she saw that there was something more specific you were holding back.

“I think you should come stay with me for a bit,” she said, something you weren’t expecting.

“I can’t burden you with that-” you started.

“You’re not and I don’t want you to be on your own,” she insisted with an adamance you recognised you couldn’t dissuade her of. She didn’t want to outright say it, but she was also determined to stop you drinking. “Besides, how much longer does your sick pay last?” Your stomach dropped as you thought of all the emails and texts you had been ignoring from your workplace that only knew vaguely of what had happened. Your reaction was enough for the brunette.

“Thank you.”

Despite her body’s natural response, Natasha forced her breathing to deepen and steady as she examined the five men ahead of her. Usually, she didn’t have to think twice about steadying her breathing when she was faced with opponents on missions. After all of the tedious training from the red room, the spy’s body had become somewhat conditioned to calm itself at any sign of danger or potential threats, and yet when faced with the unremarkables ahead of her, Natasha struggled to subside her emotions. She wanted to kill them all. She would, but not if she rushed ahead and disposed of the first five too hastily.

Eventually, the three more men that Natasha had been waiting for emerged to join the five. She could name all eight of them, but she didn’t care to. The extensive research she had done when she finally discovered the identities of those that took you had only been for the purpose of Natasha discovering their weaknesses. She had no interest in talking to them and making them see their wrongdoing. She wasn’t going to capture them and hand them over to S.H.I.E.L.D and let the government hand them their punishment. She wasn’t going to tell them how exactly they had fucked up badly enough to sign their death warrants. She was going to make them suffer.

Just as one of the men lit up his lighter and held it up to the cigarette between his lips, Natasha threw the sleek gas cylinder out from around the corner and pressed her back to the wall despite wanting to watch. The cylinder only made a noise when it hit the ground at the group’s feet, by which point it was too late for them to avoid because the gas expelled from the small device and immediately reacted to the small flame. The explosion was grand, but it wasn’t enough to kill all eight of the men. That worked just fine.

Natasha emerged as the remaining targets struggled to get their bearings and understand what had just hit them. Some of them would never know because two Natasha shot dead the moment she approached. Another received a knife to the neck that the redhead kept lodged in a second longer than necessary. For the rest, Natasha brought out her batons. She struck the remaining three over and over, caught in a blaze of anger that she couldn't get a handle on. She was striking them down on autopilot, barely able to see through the screen of red that told her to keep hitting. Hundreds of bolts shot through their bodies at any one time but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would be for what they had done. They had destroyed the woman she loved and no amount of pain Natasha could inflict would rival what either of you felt. She could still try.

Natasha’s hands were still stained red when she returned to the tower. She cursed when she noticed, only then coming down from her adrenaline and rage enough to be able to see clearly. The spy grabbed her wipes that she kept in her glove compartment and methodically started to swipe at each of her digits, concealing what she had done as best she could because nothing about it had been allowed. Natasha had used her own weapons that she kept secret from all of her coworkers and friends, she had driven in the dead of night, no one knew she had found your captors. She had done everything she could to cover her tracks, but her head remained foggy and it put her at risk of slipping up. Even though she wouldn’t have been arrested for killing your captors, she would be in deep shit with Fury. She wasn’t even entirely sure if she should tell you.

“Couldn’t sleep?” A voice asked as Natasha stepped out of her car. She recognised the voice immediately and turned around at a casual pace to see Maria sauntering towards her with her own keys in hand. Though she didn’t live there, it wasn’t unusual for the agent to spend the occasional night at the compound if it wasn’t deemed safe for her to return to her own home after a mission.

“No,” Natasha said simply.

“Me neither,” Maria told the redhead, apparently oblivious to the real reason Natasha was in the tower’s garage. “Want some company?” She asked as she leant against the hood of Natasha’s car with a glint in her eye that the Russian recognised from before she had started dating you.

“I was just about to go up,” Natasha dismissed, not clearly enough.

“So was I,” she continued with an easy grin Natasha couldn’t reciprocate. She had no interest in hooking up with Maria, even if she wasn’t in a relationship at that moment. It would still feel like a betrayal towards you and the love she couldn’t seem to let go.

“Maria,” Natasha said slowly, feeling herself grow tired from her excursion. The agent nodded after a moment, knowing that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with the redhead.

“Okay,” she sighed. “I’ll see you around, Romanoff,” she said as she ventured back to her car while Natasha continued on, not sparing a glance back so that she could instead pull out her phone. She looked briefly at her unanswered texts to you, unsurprised to find them still ignored, then went to Wanda’s contact. She knew that there was little chance she would get a response from the Sokovian at two am, but she tried her luck anyway.

Nat: does y/n need anything bringing over? I thought I’d come and see her tmrw, she typed and stared at the screen for a few moments before turning it off.

Wanda chewed her lip as she read the message, trying to put together something in her sleep hazy mind that wouldn’t hurt the redhead. Wanda: no need : ) let’s raincheck that for now, she sent off.

Nat: she doesn’t want to see me? Natasha replied instantly.

Wanda: it’s only been a couple weeks

Nat: how is she?

Wanda: better, Wanda typed honestly.

Nat: keep me updated, she replied, knowing that was all she could do.

Wanda: get some rest : ) Natasha didn’t respond as she smiled weakly at her phone before laying down on her unhomely bed. She missed sleeping next to you. She doubted that you missed it though.

You really had improved since you started staying with Wanda, even if it didn’t feel like it to you. You had stopped drinking, but the nightmares were back. You didn’t like being on your own, but you also struggled to stay in anyone’s company for too long, Wanda included. You had been out a handful of times with the Sokovian to the grocery store around the corner, keeping close to her side the entire time and needed some days to recover before trying again. You were beyond frustrated with the mental barriers that dented your progress and Wanda’s reassurance didn’t help when your self loathing was as high as it was. You just wanted life to go back to the way it was, that included Natasha’s part in it.

That was the cause of most of your distress: wanting to be back in the Russian’s arms and yet unable to imagine what would transpire once you were. You knew that she would never hurt you, but you couldn’t unsee what your mind had conjured up when you had been taken. You couldn’t have mistaken how her usual comforting smile had been twisted in something sinister as she rained down her torments on your helpless body. You couldn’t forget.

Wanda had encouraged you numerous times to open up about that week to her. She wanted to offer you some understanding and empathy about the moments you were plagued by so relentlessly in hopes of driving them away, but you could never face recalling them to your friend. You were aware that it could help, you just weren’t sure if it was worth it.

The weeks you had spent with Wanda had also come with some expected lows where your progress had wavered. You had stopped drinking but there had been numerous occasions where you had come close to breaking your promise to the brunette only for her to stop you at the last moment. You never lashed out at her for it, only feeling terribly ashamed to be caught and yet it still wasn’t enough to rid you of those cravings entirely. Although Wanda couldn’t be around all the time to watch you, you were fortunate enough that she was there when they hit you at your worst. That usually came when the nightmares did.

You grasped at your throat as you woke with a start, immediately kicking away from the body that loomed next to you. Your mind was racing too rapidly to process the gentle reassurance coming from the figure, nor did you stare too long to make out Wanda’s face in the dark until you were on the other side of the bed. You held a hand out to create some kind of barrier between you and the intruder until the comforting red expelled from her fingertips to illuminate her concerned features. Your breathing steadied marginally but your heart continued to pound. Your dreams had seeped through and it still felt like there was a constriction around your neck. You scratched at it as if to break free from the invisible force only for Wanda to settle on the bed and carefully remove your hands.

“None of that,” she instructed with hesitance.

“But there’s…” you panted, scanning the room.

“No one’s here,” Wanda reassured. You wanted to believe the logic of what she said, but you had seen the other woman as clearly as the day you broke her heart.

“I thought she was,” you whispered, as though the spy was watching from the shadows.

“Who?” Wanda frowned.

“Natasha,” you answered, eyes set on the window across from you. This seemed to make the brunette take you seriously because her eyes flickered over to the window as well. “It was just a dream,” you dismissed after a moment.

“What happened?” Wanda enquired as she tore her attention away from the window and onto you.

“I was there,” you breathed out. The Sokovian stilled. This was the part where you always shut off. “And so was she,” you added.

“Natasha?” Wanda asked with a slight furrow between her brows. You nodded, not looking at your friend. “Do you see her there a lot?” You scoffed but just as quickly a tear sprung to your eyes.

“She’s always there. She was there,” you muttered as you squeezed your eyes shut. “I know she wasn’t really. She would never…it wasn’t real but she…I saw monsters, Wanda. And Nat was one of them,” you admitted as you finally turned to your noticeably shocked roommate. She wasn’t sure how to respond but fortunately you didn’t seem to know how to stop as you continued to ramble on.

“They gave me some kind of gas that must have made me hallucinate because everytime they came all I could see was her. Sometimes there were others with her like those stupid fucking clowns from those horror movies Tony used to get us all to watch.” Wanda could recall those late night horror showings. You were great with them until Tony decided to put the clown ones on, then you hid behind Natasha the entire evening and apparently had a nightmare or two after. Wanda knew it must be easy to dismiss a fear like that until it felt as though you were physically at its mercy.

“And I know it wasn’t really her. I know it. But I can’t look at her without remembering what I’ve seen her do to me,” you told the Sokovian as your lower lip trembled and you couldn’t speak any longer.

“Oh honey,” was all Wanda could offer you as she pulled you into her chest and tried to piece together what that kind of experience would have done to her. She couldn’t imagine how she would see Pietro if she had thought he had committed such sadistic acts towards her. How would she ever move on from that? As you clung to Wanda’s frame, the young hero finally realised the extent of your pain and how little she could offer you in comfort when the only person you truly wanted it from had their image fractured. It was clear you both still cared for each other, but was that enough?

“I still love her,” you muttered.

“I know you do,” Wanda responded.

“Do you think she still loves me?” You asked.

“She does,” the Sokovian said honestly. “She misses you.”

“I want to see her,” you said with a certain determination to your words. “Tomorrow,” you added, deciding that you couldn’t spend any longer putting it off.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Wanda inquired.

“Maybe just part of the way?” You shrugged, already knowing where you wanted to meet Natasha.

“Okay, you better get some rest then,” she encouraged and you nodded. “I’m glad you told me all of that,” she said.

“Me too,” you smiled, watching as she left the room for you to take out your hardly used phone to text Natasha. She hadn’t messaged you much since she left, trying to give you the space you requested. It took you several minutes to put together a text to her.

Me: hey, are you free to meet up tmrw? I was thinking of our coffee shop : ). Natasha replied in less than a minute.

Nat: Yeah that sounds great, usual time? She asked as if nothing had changed. You appreciated that.

Me: yep : )

Nat: perfect, see you then : )

Neither of you slept much that night, both in equal shock that you had actually given Natasha an invitation to meet. Natasha was thrilled you wanted to meet and she took the location you chose to be a good sign. It was where you had your first date, an attempt at something any normal civilian couple would do despite you being anything but. You visited it often as the years went by and it comforted the spy to know that you still saw it as something you shared.

She told herself that over and over as she sat in your usual spot towards the back of the cafe as she waited for you. It wasn’t that she thought you wouldn’t show up because you had never been one to bail on her, but the redhead couldn’t help but wonder how you would deal with being in the city with her. However, when you stepped through the door, she almost forgot everything she was anxious about.

You smiled at Natasha from across the room, feeling everything else around you blur to the background as it always did when she was around. That was helpful then more than ever, knowing that she still provided some consolation to you when the world was too loud. You exhaled shakily and drifted towards her as she stood up.

“Hey,” she smiled, refraining from reaching out to hug you and instead pulled your chair out. “I’ll get your drink,” she told you at once.

“Thank you,” you said to her as she ventured over to the counter. You glanced out the window to the morning streets that you had successfully navigated with Wanda’s help, relieved that you had been able to make it to the cafe without any issues. It was good. You were doing good.

You thanked Natasha again as she placed your usual order down in front of you, not surprised in the slightest that she remembered and paid for it. “How are you?” You asked, beating her to it.

“Better, and you?” She said after a beat.

“Better,” you smiled as you took Natasha in. She was wearing loose jeans and a hoodie with her hair down as though it really was just another trip to the coffee shop. Even though you could pick up the indicators that she was tired, she still carried herself with that effortless beauty that had you stumbling over your own feet the day you first met.

“I’m glad you texted,” Natasha told you as she tried to catch your eye. You met them.

“I wanted to see you,” you told her honestly. “I didn’t like how we left things last time even though that was my fault,” you paused to consider how to say what you wanted.

“It wasn’t,” she jumped in as she looked down at your hands, refraining from leaning over to hold them.

“Nat, I made the decision to drink, that’s on me,” you told her firmly, not wanting her to keep making excuses for the actions that hurt her. She wouldn’t do that for anyone else. “The things I said,” you paused and Natasha shifted, “they weren’t fair.”

“At least it was honest,” she said.

“Not entirely. None of what happened was your fault, Tasha.” She brightened at the nickname. “You’ve never done anything except try to look out for me. With your line of work you know that even the gods can’t always save everyone,” you attempted to quip, finding yourself more at ease with the redhead than you had been in a while.

“I put you in danger when I asked you out,” she said but you wouldn’t let her fall down that rabbit hole.

“I knew the risk. I would take it again,” you replied simply. Natasha looked at you with hesitation.

“That’s not how you felt when you were drunk,” the redhead pointed out. She didn’t want you to start saying things for the sole purpose of making her feel better.

“It is, I was just trying to push you away,” you admitted shamefully. Natasha’s brows furrowed briefly as she tried to detect any lies from you.

“Why?” You sighed, peering down at your empty cup.

“Do you want to get some air?” There was a park just short of the coffee shop that would give you the chance to be more open with Natasha without having to worry about anyone overhearing you. What you had to say certainly wasn’t something you wanted anyone listening in on.

“Sure,” Natasha agreed, getting up as you did and walking several paces in front to open the door for you. You walked side by side in silence until you reached the park, Natasha in anticipation of what you had to say while you overworked your brain to piece something coherent together while being overly aware of your surroundings. Going out was getting easier, but it still had its moments of stress.

“You’ve been really good with me these past few months,” you told Natasha once you made it past the gates. “I couldn’t have asked anything else of you.” The redhead didn’t respond nor did she appear convinced. “But it was hard being around you.” It was a painful truth, but one she needed to know. “Because the last time I was, I was in there.” Natasha peered at you as you walked but didn’t dare interrupt.

“They kept me in this room that um…” you bit your cheek and dug your nails into your palms in an effort to give yourself something more uncomfortable to deal with to distract you. “There was this gas that came through the vents sometimes, before they came. It did something to my head. It made me see things.” Your heart started to pump faster as the images from your nightmares flashed before you. You had to keep going.

“I saw those creepy fucking clowns holding knives to me. I saw thousands of spiders crawl across the walls and over me. I saw each of the six walls contract. I saw diseased feral dogs. I saw you.” Natasha peered at you but you didn’t dare meet her eyes with what you were imagining.

“I know it wasn’t real. You weren’t there. You never said or did the things I felt but fuck it was all so vivid and I was scared and you just wouldn’t stop- but I know it wasn’t you but…” when you finally looked at Natasha, your saw tears brewing in her eyes as quickly as they were in yours. “They stole you from me,” you whispered, voice cracking without the realisation that Natasha felt exactly the same way. They had stolen you too. She stopped when she suddenly felt light headed.

“They’re gone, y/n. I fixed it.” She didn’t have to clarify, you knew exactly what she meant. You had known the spy long enough to know the difference between prison and grave. “But I think a part of us was buried with them,” she admitted as tears streamed down her pale face. You reached forwards and took ahold of both of her hands.

“That’s not fair,” you defied as you felt the small pressure below your eyes that always came before you began to cry. “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.” A smile cracked through Natasha’s features.

“We never were very good at them,” she said, causing a pained laugh to fall between you as you both shared the memory of how you left your first few dates with an awkward wave goodbye as you had both considered kissing the other until the moment had passed. So much hesitancy for something you both wanted at the fear of messing up. You had missed your turn of the roll of the dice then and had been fortunate enough to jump in at your next turn but you weren’t sure you were going to get another go in this game.

“Do you want me to call Wanda to come and pick you up?” She asked dutifully. This was so not fucking fair.

“No,” you defied again. “They don’t get to win. Not when I still love you,” you objected, unwilling to let go. “Will you…will you give me another chance?” You could see the hesitation in the way Natasha was looking at you and you feared that she had already grieved the part of you she had lost.

“Only if you let me help you,” she decided. You knew that agreeing to that was easier said than done and that there was a chance you could screw things up if you failed on your end of the deal. But that wouldn’t be fair and you were done disregarding the best part of your life based on a fear that had just had its foundations destroyed.

“Okay,” you whispered, a smile breaking through as you gazed at the redhead.

“Can I hug you?” She asked tentatively. You didn’t give her an answer, instead pulling her impossibly close and clinging onto the woman you loved and swore never to push away again. You would start over, make it better, make it right. You would heal, together, and regrow that part of you that had been lost into something far stronger.

#natasha romanoff #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha x reader #wanda maximoff #gxg marvel #natasha romanoff imagines

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wishluc · 11 months ago

Note

Hi!!! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write a yan!alhaitham/Kaveh or heizou for a fem!reader? Anything else is up to you! Totally cool if not tho - love the blog!!!

CW: Yandere! Kaveh (though on the subtler side), drunk Kaveh, manipulation, Reader makes poor decisions

PAIRING: Y! Kaveh x Fem! Reader

I really like Kaveh ♡ Sorry this took some time! Supposed to be a drabble but...(Happy Holidays!)

In retrospect, the first time was already a mistake.

It was hardly a sensible decision to make, but given his pitiable state and your bleeding heart, you couldn't just leave him slumped over behind some building in the city. Kaveh had always been friendly with you, sparing you a warm smile and going out of his way to make light conversation when he bumped into you, though the two of you weren't exactly close, and it would be heartless to walk away from him when you had a perfectly good room that he could stay in for the night. It wasn't the best idea you had—most things involving unfamiliar men weren't—but it would be the right thing to do, wouldn't it?

It's exhausting, having to drag an inebriated Kaveh down the streets of Sumeru City, but after a couple of gentle attempts at introducing yourself and making your intentions known, Kaveh seems to sober up a little. He rubs at his eyes and mumbles something incoherent, still stumbling on his feet as he tries to walk, but him being able to support some of his own body weight is enough to make the journey noticeably less strenuous on you and your conscience.

You lose yourself in nervous chatter while guiding him down the stairs and past large gates. You tell him about mundane things regarding your job and stories from your time in the Akademiya, and updates on the project you've been working on; the one he took special care to ask about whenever he saw you. (Kaveh was always so thoughtful, remembering the littlest of details. The kind of person who'd wait for you in the mornings with the snacks that always sold out before you could make it after you had mentioned it to him once. The kind of person you couldn't leave in such a vulnerable state.) In response, Kaveh only hums and yawns, his head bumping into yours and his arm almost sliding off you. He must have had more to drink than you thought.

When you first saw him sitting out on his own, you wondered where his housemate was, and if you should try to contact him. But you figured Alhaitham had a strict routine he abided by and wouldn't like being bothered at such a time, and the two of them may have gotten into a fight; which was far from an uncommon situation. For a minute again you consider taking him to the scribe, but one thought of the indifferent—or perhaps more likely, irritated—look he might shoot you and you stick to getting home as soon as possible.

At your doorstep, you sit Kaveh down beside you with a quiet sigh of relief and search your pockets for your keys. His head lolls sideways against your legs, his unkempt hair brushing against the side of your calves. You'd think it was endearing if not for how awkward the position was. After a few moments of struggling, you push the door open and lean over to lift up the dozing man again. But when your hands go to pull his face away from your legs and lean him against the wall instead, Kaveh slowly blinks and looks at you with a dazed look in his eye.

It dawns on you then that your position—crouched over him with your hands on his cheeks—coupled with where you had taken him, would look extremely suspicious to someone just waking up from a drunken nap.

"It's not what it looks like!" You cry out, immediately letting go of him. His head flops against the wall and you wince.

Kaveh blinks again, unaffected by the sudden movement, and says your name with a slight frown.

"You were passed out outside and I thought you might need a place to stay," you splutter, "I really wasn't going to—to—do anything else!"

Kaveh groans instead, a hand over his eyes, "Can we...talk later?"

"Sure! I'll just help you to the spare room—if that's alright? I'll leave right after, I swear, and—"

He reaches out for your hand with his free one, and you scramble to carefully pull him up. With a little effort on your side, you manage to take him to his bed for the night, ignoring the growing discomfort of having his head buried into the side of your neck at an uncomfortable angle. It wasn't like he was aware of what he was doing, anyway.

You catch a sigh of gratitude when you slowly lower him onto the sheets and tug off his shoes, and it's enough to make you feel like bringing him here was ultimately the right thing to do, even if a little out of the ordinary.

The next morning, Kaveh apologises to you profusely over breakfast.

“I can’t believe you brought me all the way here. I’m really embarrassed—I’m usually not so careless when I go out,” Kaveh only pauses his rambling when you fill his plate again, sending you yet another bashful look before continuing to eat.

“I’m sure anyone would have tried to help if they were in my position."

“Thank you, really. I’m…glad someone cared that much.”

You take in his slumped shoulders and the relief in his eyes. His mouth is drawn into a straight line and you find yourself making an offer without thinking.

“Kaveh," you begin, "if you ever need someone to talk to, you could always come here. I’ll be happy to have you.”

His eyes widen, "I don't want to trouble you again."

"It's alright," foolishly, you don't let yourself think over it for a moment longer, "I don't mind helping out when I can."

You know it's mostly out of pity, far from a sincere offer, and clearly not a rational one. But Kaveh is nice, you reason with yourself, he's polite enough to never take you up on it. And even if he did, he'd be considerate enough to not stay too long. You were certain that you knew all there was to know about Kaveh from the cordial smiles and the tranquil mornings. Certain that you would not regret the offer.

You start seeing Kaveh more, after what feels like an abrupt shift—far more than you ever had in your years of staying here. At every opportunity, he would make sure to ask you about your day (listening, you note, with unnecessary eagerness and an onslaught of questions you pretended not to have time for), and offer to have a meal with you. Each time, you find another reason to decline him. You even struggle to find a polite reply to his increasingly intimate compliments; from commenting on your outfits, the clips in your hair, and the color of your eyeshadow to your smile and the sound of your laugh. You thank him, your voice hollow, while desperately wondering when he'd run out of things to say.

It's not that you don't like Kaveh; it was only that his newfound interest in you was starting to be distressing.

But it wasn't enough reason for you to be suspicious.

He shows up, a week or so later, a little less drunk but far more talkative, and your evening is spent learning all about the fight he had with Alhaitham. You don't tell him that you agree with his housemate (if only out of courtesy), but you can't hide your shock when he casually mentions his bankruptcy.

"It's not that bad," he rushes to assure you, "I'm working towards fixing things. It'll still be a while before I can move out, but things could be worse."

You accept his explanation, realizing that there was no point in admitting that you were now certain that Alhaitham was right to chide him about his spending habits. Instead, you offer to let him stay for the night to cool down before going back. He beams at you and thanks you profusely, and you decide against commenting on the overnight bag he brought with him.

You wake up the day after to find Kaveh preparing breakfast in your kitchen.

"It's the least I can do for you," he says, carefully bringing over two plates to the table. He blushes when you thank him, and when he places your mug next, you're surprised to find that he's made you your usual drink. You pretend it doesn't bother you that he already knows how much sugar and milk you prefer to have and match his smile with a weak one.

Questions can wait until after breakfast, you think. Or after he's out of your house. But while you're halfway done with your meal, Kaveh hasn't even had a bite of his. His eyes are glued to your face with an expectant look in them.

"...It's very good." you swallow what feels like sand and rubber in your mouth, "thank you."

Kaveh grins before finally starting to eat. Was it his eagerness to please that made it difficult for him to hold on to money, too?

He takes your plate before you can stand up and goes to wash them, ignoring your protests. You've never felt more like a guest in your own home, but Kaveh's humming under his breath while scrubbing at your plate, still donning your apron.

"It's the least I can do for you," he parrots.

He eventually leaves, dragging his feet out sometime before midday with a somber look back at you. You only hope your smile doesn't betray your relief as you wave him off, anticipating lounging around without another lingering presence.

Some mornings Kaveh walks with you, arm pressed too close to yours and eyes on you. He picks up on every flicker of interest, offers to buy you the small trinkets that you pause to run your fingers over, and folds into himself every time you turn him down. It's only pity that forces you to swallow down any signs of discomfort when he reaches out for your fingers moments later, but Kaveh is oblivious to it all. He brightens up and tells you instead about the details of his latest projects. You hum, hoping your stiff fingers send the message for you. It goes unheeded; Kaveh is observant, but only when he wants to be. He's good at ignoring signs, too, when they upset him.

When he has to leave for a long trip into the desert, he frowns and drags his feet throughout the entirety of the morning. He looks at you, catches the concern in your face, and immediately springs upon you an invitation.

"It'll just be us two for a whole month," he says, as though you should find the prospect enticing, "and you've never been, have you? You'd love it there."

The sweetness of his voice candies the nightmarish reality of such a trip. Honestly, you might have entertained the plan if he wasn't always giving you strange looks and standing too close. A whole month, alone in an unfamiliar place with Kaveh? Your fingers curl into themselves as you shake your head. You mechanically recite an excuse from the top of your mind, meshing together mentions of work and obligations. Kaveh tries again, to lure you in with promises of adventure and excitement, but you take a moment to think of spending hours cramped with him and sharing meals only with him, and your refusal is stauncher this time.

The distance and time spent so far apart, you hope, would make him realize how uncomfortable his constant proximity was.

A week into Kaveh's absence, you find that you've never felt so excited to step out in the mornings. The days feel lighter, the mandatory trips out less daunting, and talking to people comes with an ease you've missed. A letter—the first of many—arrives and lays unopened on your desk.

You've fallen back into your usual (pre-Kaveh) routine by the start of the second week, and everyone around picks up on and fusses over your brighter demeanor. Despite this, you still have to bite back the frustration at the lingering mentions of your friend Kaveh and his whereabouts.

Nearing the end of the third week, you meet someone you've only ever been able to catch a glimpse of from afar on your way back home. Alhaitham regards you with a glint of curiosity and his mouth set in a straight line. He's more captivating up close, you realize—something you hadn't thought was possible—almost like a doll with the unusual color of his eyes and his impassive expression.

"Kaveh mentions you a lot," he says, in lieu of a greeting, "but I suppose that should come of no surprise to you."

"He talks about you, too."

He raises an eyebrow, sleek and fluid, "I don't expect that he would find me as pretty or as charming as he makes you out to be."

Your smile falters, "I don't think—"

"I received a letter from him the other day, and he asked me to check up on you. I think you would know why that may be."

"I haven't had the time to respond to him," you attempt to explain, "it's not on purpose."

"It doesn't matter to me," Alhaitham replies, "and I won't be writing back to him either. I only thought you'd want to know of this," then, after a brief pause, "You're too kind to him."

His parting words, coupled with a polite smile, sound almost like a warning to you. As he seamlessly falls back into his usual route, you wonder if it would have been the right choice, after all, to simply send Kaveh back to his housemate that night. At least, you're certain the unhappy looks would have been far more welcome than this puzzling conversation.

And maybe you are too kind to him. Too tolerant of his many unannounced visits, too sympathetic to his drunken admissions. Too careful of his feelings and too accommodating of his proximity despite how it troubles you. Maybe you should tell him to go home the next time he shows up, bottles of wine in hand. Put your foot down, and make it clear that you'd like to be alone.

Maybe you will try.

Kaveh stands, shifting on his feet by your door a few days later; earlier than you had expected him. As you approach the door from behind him, you entertain the notion of running away, but he turns around almost immediately, as though sensing your presence.

He's flushed, wringing his hands together, "it's been some time, hasn't it?"

He smiles at you and it's deceivingly warm. Your own smile is plastered on.

"I hope your trip went well."

He shrugs, then hesitates for a moment, "I missed you. Did you get my letters?"

You nod. Kaveh's smile grows tight.

"I didn't get anything back, so I figured..."

You stare at the bag beside him, "there was nothing for me to say. Nothing new to tell you about."

Kaveh follows your gaze and goes to pick it up, "for you," he says, and your stomach drops.

"I thought we could have dinner together."

"I already had my dinner," you tell him, gentler than you had hoped to sound; as though coaxing a distressed animal, "I'm heading to bed now. You should go back too, Kaveh. You must be tired."

"I don't mind. I can even spend the night here."

No, you think.

"I don't know," you say instead, "I'm really tired."

He steps forward, "just for a while? I really missed you."

At your lack of a reaction, Kaveh tries again, with yet another step forward, "I don't really want to go back yet. Alhaitham...wasn't happy with me taking up this job. I wanted some time before—"

He cuts himself off and sighs.

"But you're right, I should be on my way." He sends one last glance to the paper bag leaning by the wall and then a sorrowful look at you, before going to leave. You're reminded of his efforts; of the money he shouldn't waste on you and the letters he carefully wrote out. The sky, cloudy and restless, was starting to grow dark.

One night shouldn't hurt too much. You could talk to him in the morning, when the both of you are well rested, and you're certain he'd understand then. Certain that he wouldn't see through you and shut you down before you could even start.

You never learn from your mistakes, do you?

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