#i put a stop to that because that's when i worked opening shifts at a coffee shop and on my days off i liked to sleep in until 7am

[wileys-russo]

don't look back II l.williamson

don't look back II l.williamson

your body clock putting in a shift lately you weren't surprised to see it was hours later than you thought you'd be up, leah of course still very much dead asleep beside you, back turned and you could see her shoulders rising and falling a little the only sign of life.

you turned and attached your body to the defenders, slotting your leg in between hers and placing a tender kiss to her bare shoulder blade, the blonde not even stirring as you called her name softly a few times.

when a gentle approach didn't work, leah's eyes still shut and not even a grunt sounding, you sat up and shook her a few times, a tired exhale and some mumbled gibberish in response.

"lee, baby come on, wakey wakey." you cooed, poking at her cheek as the older girl scrunched her nose and grumbled something, pushing your hand away and scooting across the bed right to the very edge, clearly trying to move away from you making you scoff.

"leah how often do we both have the whole day off? it's like midday, we're running out of sun. please get up!" you groaned, shoving your girlfriends limp body as she sighed heavily, once again pushing your hands away.

"cmon don't be a pest babe, just let me sleep for a couple more minutes." the blonde mumbled tiredly, arms snaking around her pillow as she pulled it closer, eyes not even flickering open.

"you can sleep when you're dead leah. come on lets go for breakfast, coffee on me?" you scooted over from your side of the bed and ducked down to kiss her cheek a few times, getting nothing but silence in return.

"leah catherine!" with a huff you grabbed the extra pillow from the floor, sitting up and repeatedly whacking the older girl in an attempt to get her to stir.

you knew she'd been out late with the team last night after a big win, but mid season it was rare she'd drink enough to have this bad of a hangover, though you also couldn't quite remember what time it was she even joined you in bed.

"you're so annoying man. just fuck off and let me sleep if you can't lay here with me!" the defender snapped harshly, finally opening her eyes and snatching the pillow off you, hauling it to the other side of the room and turning onto her stomach with a grun.

"seriously? you're in this much of a mood? what did you do drink the bar dry last night?" you scoffed, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes down at her, rolling them at the singular middle finger which popped out in response to your question.

"m'not hungover, m'tired."

"leah you haven't even let me sleep in the same bed as you without a pillow wall for the last couple of weeks. i'm gone of a morning when you get up and you're gone of an afternoon when i get home. we both have the day off, and isn't the point of a relationship that you want to actually spend quality time together occasionally?" you accused, glaring down at her where her eyes remained firmly shut.

"need i remind you love the pillow fort is because we made a pact no more sex till the end of the season because it tires me out. and cause you've been on a weird sleep schedule with switching out from working nights. if you get in here with me and even so much as touch my thigh, one of us will crack and then it's no stopping from there, its a few more weeks babe you'll live." leah sighed, arm extending out and smacking around blindly until she found your leg, giving it a little squeeze in what she likely assumed was supportive, but really you were more than a little hurt by her blunt honesty.

"right. so I'm basically only here to fulfill your needs when you're horny, run to and from collecting your shit when you leave it laying around and can't find what you need, cook your meals, do your laundry and clean the place up when you trash it because you can't keep it tidy enough to find anything?" you started in disbelief.

"so basically i'm a glorified maid? yeah perfect enjoy your sleep in leah, maybe i can find someone else to give me a kiss every now and then, wish me good morning and grab a coffee with me like i'm not some chore." you spat, swinging out of bed and making a beeline for the door as your girlfriend hurried to sit up.

"no no hey babe wait you know that's not what i meant-" the girl started with a sigh, running a hand through her hair and pausing for a moment, blinking with a wince as her eyes adjusted making yours roll.

"actually no you know what? i don't need to explain myself you know i love you and just because i want a lie in on my day off doesn't mean i don't. stop being so sensitive!" the defender blew it off, flopping back down and turning her back to you.

even further in disbelief at how little this seemed to bother her and that she'd seem to only hear half of what you were saying your mouth was open and ready to really let her have it, all the two of you seemed to be doing together lately was to argue anyway.

but not bothered for the sharp tongued comeback which leah wouldn't mean but would no doubt hurt your feelings even more you decided to leave it.

pulling on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, grabbing the first shoes in reach you left, making sure to slam the door behind you to really send a message.

the winter chill settling in you looked back at the front door, contemplating going back for a jacket or a vest of some kind but with a sigh you decided against it and ran a hand through your rather disheveled hair.

really the only person first and foremost you wanted to talk to right now was leah, and when you'd first started seeing one another it seemed that all the pair of you did was talk.

for hours and hours you covered every topic big and small, you'd often even fall asleep on the phone together, playful teasing following the next day about whose fault it was you were both so exhausted after staying up much later than needed.

you were a paramedic so you were much more well adjusted to a lack of sleep than leah, in fact you weren't sure if leah actually could survive without eight hours a day, well warned by the blonde herself that she was not a morning person and incredibly grumpy.

though you seemed to be the exception to that, leah waking up purposefully early to meet you after your night shift for breakfast, bringing you flowers and showering you with compliments that had your ears turning red and her face painted with a victorious grin at the sight.

you'd always heard of the 'spark' of a relationship dimming, especially from older married coworkers who complained about a lack of romance and spontaneity, feeding this back to leah who would always reassure you with a soft kiss that only happened to 'boring old people'.

yet here you were drowning in the same reality your girlfriend had always gone above and beyond to assure you would never be so, quelling your fears and anxieties with her undivided attention and unconditional love as much as she could spare it.

sometimes you'd think back toward the first year of dating leah and your chest would hurt, all of the romance and the dates and the late nights and the flowers, and you found yourself wanting to scream for taking it all for granted.

nowadays it seemed you and leah were no longer dating, merely...co-existing perhaps? you couldn't quite pinpoint when the 'spark' had begun to dim but what was once a fully lit bonfire was now barely a smoldering ember and the worst part of it was how blind leah was to that even happening.

so though you craved your girlfriend, there was really only one person you felt like going to talk to now.

~

"so you're hanging out with me on a day off." your best friend commented as she sipped at her coffee seemingly amused.

"meaning?" you raised an eyebrow curiously, the blonde smiling with a small shrug. "i love you, but i am not normally your first call for a friday coffee anymore." alessia chuckled as you flushed pink with embarrassment.

"hey i'm just joking, unclench." the striker teased, kicking you under the table seeing the apology about to be hurled her way and the obvious worry in your eyes that she was actually upset.

"i've had years of coffee's with you, you know i've quite enjoyed the break really." the blonde hummed as you now kicked her and rolled your eyes, a small smile playing on your lips.

"so not that i don't like seeing you, but i'm guessing there's a reason you called? you don't seem yourself." alessia guessed, tone softening and laced with concern as you sighed heavily. "oh its that bad? right come on then." the girl stood, nodding for you to follow her into the living room.

you wasted no time leaving your coffee on the side table and flopping down on the couch you'd slept on a few times now after other arguments with leah, though back then they'd usually blow over by the morning where she'd pick you up with flowers in the front seat and a hundred texts apologising.

but lately your arguments had been different, more personal, more hurtful, you knew one another like the back of your hand and as beautiful a connection that could be, it also meant that leah knew every little insecurity and doubt to pick at in order to hit you where it really mattered.

"okay. let it out!" alessia made herself comfortable in the armchair she'd dragged to sit across from you, legs crossed and somewhat resembling a therapist as you laid down on the couch and exhaled, taking a pause before word vomiting what you'd been holding in for weeks now.

"-and now its like she doesn't even care if i'm there or not, so why am i even there?" you finished, throwing your hands up as the room fell silent and alessia seemed to take a moment to process everything.

"oh my god she's your captain and your team mate and your friend less shit this wasn't appropriate!" you had a sudden realization as you sat up panicked and the blonde hurried to sit down next to you.

"hey hey no, it's fine, breathe." alessia inhaled and exhaled deeply as you copied her, nodding once you'd managed to slow your heart rate a little.

"yes leah is all of those things, but you've been my best friend since you cried at the school gate on the first day of school and my mum made me come over and ask if you were okay." alessia teased as you groaned and covered your face with a pillow.

"less that is not how it happened!" "that is absolutely how it happened."

"but meaning, leah is also my best friends girlfriend, and besides who was it that introduced the two of you anyway?" alessia reminded as you exhaled and she yanked the throw pillow from your grip, tossing it to the floor.

"i love leah yes, but the way she's treating you isn't okay. you're way more than just something warm she comes home to or someone who pairs up her socks and does her laundry." alessia squeezed your knee as you puffed out air in an attempt at a chuckle.

"she really is terrible at keeping her socks in pairs."

"you're also the girl in the stands she looks at every time we do the post game lap, and who makes her smile at her phone like an idiot, who she is always proudly boasting about and why she lies about needing to leave training ten minutes early so she can pick you up food before you get home from work." alessia smiled sadly which you returned, sighing when you realized you couldn't actually remember the last time those things had happened.

"but, i really think you need to tell her all of this though. i love you but you do sometimes think people can read your mind and know how you're feeling without you expressing it in the slightest." alessia poked your forehead as you huffed.

"thats not to excuse how she's been acting, but i think she needs the wake up call of hearing from you how she's been acting is actually making you feel." alessia promised as you nodded, the blonde pulling you in for a hug as you sighed and rested your head on her shoulder.

"i love you less." "i love you too, even if my mum forced me to be your friend." "that is not how it happened!"

~

pulling into the driveway you cut your car off and took a moment to collect your thoughts, having been driving around rehearsing what you wanted to say for awhile now until you'd charged up the courage to go through with it.

letting yourself inside you were surprised to see leah had actually moved from the bed, head turning to look at you from where she was sat on the lounge watching something, draped in a vintage arsenal tracksuit.

"you're back! babe where'd you go? i texted you, no reply." the blonde shook her phone at you, clearly having paid no mind to the argument you'd had this morning or else her first words may have been an apology, but you on the other hand weren't letting it go that easily.

"oh sorry i went to go and learn how not to be so sensitive." you pouted sarcastically as her once happy expression dropped, but you ignored it and walked off to the bathroom.

"christ i look a mess." you mumbled, wincing at the bags under your eyes and looking around for your brush to pull through your semi knotted hair.

"hey love come on don't be like this, i didn't mean what i said." leah rasped, arms encircling your waist from behind and resting her forehead against your back with a hum. "you know how i am in the mornings. how about we go for lunch yeah?" leah suggested as you rummaged through the vanity cupboard.

"fuck off leah." you muttered, pulling her arms off of you and finally grabbing your hairbrush, trying to walk off but her hand grabbed your wrist tugging you back toward her.

"babe i'm really sorry, you know i love you more than anything." the defender husked quietly, grabbing your other hand and interlacing your fingers, bringing your palm to her mouth with a kiss and a soft smile that normally would melt you like butter.

but today, all it did was make you angry.

"of course you do. i do whatever you want, whenever you want it. we fuck when it suits you, i go to your games, go out with your friends, come home from working a twelve hour shift and do your washing so you have a clean uniform for training." you wrenched your hands from hers and poked at her chest with every accusation.

"but when i want to actually spend a night sleeping with my girlfriend and have her touch me in a way thats filled with love and not just lust. thats not okay because you're like some horny teenage cretin who gets a metaphorical boner when i touch your thigh? we're both in our twenties and sleeping with a pillow wall between us, do you know how ridiculous that sounds leah?" you laughed but it was one of desperation and panic, not a drop of humor to be found.

"so i'm here for what? moral support? to look at? to play with when you're bored?" you questioned rhetorically, shaking your head and throwing your brush to the floor, making a beeline for the bedroom as you heard her scoff behind you.

"i am trying to make up for this morning and trying to show you that you're so much more to me and you won't even look me in the eye. if you don't want an apology then what the fuck do you want?" leah called out, tugging at her hair in frustration as you paused.

"what do i want? how about my girlfriend back i'd fucking love that leah, because whoever this is-" you spun around and paused to gesture at her. "-sure as shit isn't my girlfriend, or at least the one i remember falling head over heels in love with." your tone dropped in those last few words, pausing to squeeze your eyes shut and take a breath.

"baby i'm still here. i'm still me. i'm still your girlfriend and last time I checked you were still mine." leah replied with an air of confidence that made your stomach drop, really solidifying for you that she may have been listening to you but she wasn't hearing you.

"really? because last time i checked when you have a girlfriend you go on dates with them, you make time for them and you actually enjoy that time with them." you shook your head and threw your hands up.

"and you hold their hand, and you talk to them about anything and everything because you want to. you kiss them out of love and not obligation, you say good morning and goodnight and when you lay in bed with them you can hold one another without it turning into sex. and when it does turn into sex it's supposed to be filled with intimacy not just a quick fuck with no feelings attached and where you ignore the person afterwards and put up a pathetic pillow wall leah!" you spat, wiping a single angry tear that escaped.

"and if you can't see that lately you haven't been acting like my friend let alone my girlfriend, then maybe I should go stay with my parents and wait for whenever my girlfriend comes back, because I miss her leah." you finished as your voice cracked and your chest heaved with shallow breaths, waiting for her to say something, anything.

but when the silence became suffocating you shook your head and made your way to the front door. throwing it open you gave one last look back and could see the blonde begging you to stay with her eyes.

but you didn't want a look, you wanted words. words you knew she'd say after you were gone, words she thought you wanted to hear and that would get you to return to her but wouldn't contain any actual substance.

words that would come through voicemails and text messages and that would kill you to ignore, but if she wasn't hearing you through words, maybe silence was the only way to get through to her.

"i'll come back for some of my stuff later, goodbye leah." you muttered dejectedly, forcing your eyes away and stepping outside.

you paused to take a breath before wrapping your arms around yourself, giving the comfort and hug you'd been after from the blonde behind you for far too long now.

maybe your girlfriend would come back to you, or maybe she wouldn't.

[aebinspa]

meant to be

PAIRING: karina x y/n reader

SUMMARY: Your life couldn’t have been worse. You aspired to make a living as a photographer, but instead, you found yourself working in a fast-food restaurant alongside a colleague who rarely offered you any good company. Everything changed when the famous model Karina showed up at your workplace. After a few days, she managed to convince the editorial team to hire you as the photographer for her photoshoot. However, your career faced another threat when Karina pressured you to assist her with a strictly confidential operation.

GENRES: angst, lies, loneliness, we will face suffering in this life, but eventually, things will improve, and we will start over again and again, fluff at the end.

WORD COUNT: 6.9k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: english is not my first language! i'm not cut out for writing long stories. i went crazy countless times while writing this one :)) i added a little bit every day and it made the story more confusing. the next five things I write will be fluff, no more angst for a while + thank you for all the support you have shown for what i wrote. i am extremely grateful and happy that someone was able to appreciate them!

Life didn't end when you lost all your friends because of bad choices, didn't know where to put your hands, or stopped recognizing yourself in what you did and said. Life didn't end when you turned twenty. At least that's what you told yourself every morning to convince yourself to get up, when even what had previously seemed sensible lost all meaning.

In the eyes of your parents and your old friends, you had remained imprinted as a sour girl, difficult to manage but who, beyond some character problems, had always shown herself willing to help. Never to be helped. Perhaps this had a powerful impact. In your daily life, no one asked how you were in the morning. Was it more difficult for others to reach out to you and always receive a refusal or was it more difficult for you now to be alone, without anyone? And yet loneliness had always been so dear to you; a space where you could truly be yourself.

After trying to attend political science university for a few months and failing the first exam, you soon realized that it wasn't for you. The only luck was having met a girl who, between one lesson and another, had introduced you to the world of photography.

In photography, you discover a kind of joy that you could share. Often others would ask you for photos and you, with a big smile, couldn't wait to take one. Of course, everything got complicated when you had to come to terms with reality. There was no longer just photography, you also had to think about earning some money.

That's how you ended up working at a fast food restaurant that was open all day and, with the constant fear of running out of money at any moment, you signed up for all the night shifts. Someone had set you up by telling you that they paid more, but only when your first paycheck arrived did you realize that your dear colleague only wanted to get rid of the difficult shifts.

That night, you and Sunwoo, the beloved colleague who had actually made fun of you a few years earlier, were at the counter of the fast food restaurant busy playing UNO. It was more than rare to see customers at two in the morning.

“UNO!” Sunwoo shouted at the top of his lungs. “Fuck you, asshole! I’m tired and you dare win my favorite card game!” you threw the remaining cards of the deck off the counter. Sunwoo huffed and, with an agile leap, got off the counter and went to retrieve the poor cards that were now lying on the floor that was far too clean for the hygiene standards of the place where you worked. “It’s the only card game you know how to play, Y/n”

It was cold outside. A cold that froze the bones. Your winter uniforms didn’t warm you enough and the heating had suddenly stopped working the day before. Sunwoo didn't let it show, but he hated working more than you did. He had a dream more ambitious than yours and unfortunately, every door was closed in his face. The fast food place where he worked with you was the daily confirmation that failure was a constant in his life. And you were experiencing the same situation first-hand.

Sometimes photography gave you work, but you couldn't eat from it. Small jobs are undoubtedly formative, but not appealing to the taste of those big companies that looked at your disastrous portfolio.

While Sunwoo began to sweep the clean floor, you, lost in your thoughts, froze, feelinglessly staring at the street you looked at every night. Suddenly, you saw a black limousine approaching, and, scared that someone important might be there, you shook Sunwoo’s arm and pointed to the car. His eyes widened as well.

But to your surprise, the first person to step out of the car was a man in a tuxedo who then proceeded to open the back door facing the fast-food restaurant. A girl of medium height came out, wearing a black dress that hugged her body in all the right places. When she was closer to the door, you immediately noticed, illuminated by the decadent lights of the place where you were, that she had heavy makeup on her face that beautifully framed her eyes.

The young raven-haired girl sat on the stool in front of the counter. Sunwoo was still speechless. He could only mutter a shy, unprofessional “Ah, hi,” to which the girl responded with a sweet smile. Her gaze shifted to you and you flinched.

“Can I order?” she reached out to grab the menu Sunwoo had sat on earlier. “I guess so.” “The menu with the fattest, greasiest, biggest sandwich you have, please.” Sunwoo snatched the menu out of her hands and shouted “Right away!”, disappearing into the kitchen and leaving you in front of the girl. Outside, you noticed her date glaring at you.

“Not many customers come by, do they?” “We don’t usually see anyone. That’s why your visit surprised us a lot” The girl laughed in a strangely loud way. Strange, I thought she was more composed. “God, please. We will be more or less the same age, don't be so formal,” she wiped her hands on her dress laughing, and then looked at you ready to shake your hand “I'm Karina. It’s a stage name. I model full-time."

You shook hands with her, apologizing for how cold and greasy it might feel. “Well, I… I work here.” The girl smiled at you. “And do you like working here?” “What?”

Sunwoo came with Karina’s order and placed it before her, avoiding her gaze. When he crossed yours, you noticed that the boy had red cheeks. I whispered something to you but you didn’t understand.

It’s been too long since someone asked you what it was like to live a life you no longer wanted. Your mouth dried up and you were unable to answer. Karina shrugged and began eating the sandwich undisturbed.

With her mouth still full from the bite she had just taken, the model opened up to speak. It was evident she was nothing like the stereotype of a typical model; her authenticity was refreshing. Feeling overwhelmed, you moved two stools away from the client, seeking a bit of distance as you listened, intrigued by her unique charm.

"You took those, didn’t you?" Karina found it difficult to eat that part, but she couldn’t help but examine the few decorations in the fast-food restaurant. "Ah, those pictures," you turned your entire body to look at them. "Yes, I took all of them. They’re from our customers who left a special tip." "Special tip?" Karina asked, intrigued. "Yes, for a change of $4, you receive a Polaroid and agree to have it displayed on this wall. It’s not worth much, though, because I’m required to take two pictures for the price of one."

"They are all very pretty. I know some people." "There are a lot of people passing by. Sometimes they tell you their story, take a picture, and then leave, never to return. It’s almost as if-" "Romantic, yes" Karina finished the sentence for you, to your great surprise.

The silence that was created afterward was strangely comfortable. For someone like you who was always uncomfortable when she met strangers, the situation was quite strange. Karina, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease as she was happily humming and chewing at the same time. When the crow finished eating, she got up from her stool, stretched her arms, and put ten euros on the counter.

"Please don't make me change." "Pardon?" "I would like one of those photos. I'm looking forward to experiencing this too." What enthusiasm!

You took the Polaroid and waited for the young woman to pose before taking the picture. Karina made a big heart with her arms and gave you a wink. She is truly a model… "Are you done?" "Done!"

Karina approached you, then stood behind you and waited for the Polaroid to be ready. When she was ready, the girl screamed full of joy. You smiled unconsciously. "I love it, thank you!" she leaned it delicately on the counter and then turned quickly towards you, continuing to talk. "Let’s take the other one! Let’s do it together. Where is that boy? Boy! Boy! Ehiii!" Sunwoo ran out of the kitchen alarmed. "What- what happened?" "Nothing, Sunwoo" You put your hand on your forehead. "Can you take a picture of us? So we can hang it there." Sunwoo looked for your eyes but you avoided him, unable to explain. At which the boy approached the polaroid and urged you to pose. Karina chose the same place where all the other clients had been, saying she would keep the theme, and invited you to place yourself next to her.

Karina was a little taller than you, maybe a few centimeters, but in your eyes there seemed to be a huge difference. You stood closer to her to form the heart and pretended a smile of convenience to allow Sunwoo to take this photo. The proximity to the model sent a bizarre sensation creeping along your spine. Intrigued, you paused to take a closer look at her. In that moment, when no one else was watching, the radiant smile she had worn so confidently faded entirely from her face. Her eyes, once sparkling with warmth, now seemed overshadowed by a deep, unsettling darkness that only amplified her presence. Without warning, the model turned her gaze toward you, her lips curving into a wide grin that revealed a perfect set of thirty-two gleaming teeth. A chill swept over you, wrapping around your body like an icy blanket, leaving you momentarily breathless and disoriented. What the fuck?

"You did such a great job, girls. It's rare for Y/n!" You woke up from the nightmare of falling and responded to Sunwoo with a raised middle finger. "Oh, she's got quite an attitude. I need to leave," Karina said, finally letting go of you after holding you tightly. That girl was beginning to stir strange feelings in you. "The photo turned out just fine. Let me sign it and put the date on it. Come on!" Sunwoo timidly passed the Polaroid to the girl and watched her do everything she said.

With your arms folded you waited for her comfortable finish. Karina approached the corkboard and put your Polaroid on it. He smiled at her and turned, heading for the exit.

"Y/n!" Hearing your name pronounced by the model, you turned to her with an interrogative look. "Tell me" "See you!" and ran off into the limo, leaving behind a trail of expensive perfume and a cheap Polaroid.

That night passed faster than expected and Sunwoo told you - with attached photos - how this fantastic Karina was one of the most popular models in recent years. Besides being beautiful, she was about to debut in the cinema world. The moon was full and the cold was more bitter than usual. An uncomfortable feeling was in your chest, but you let it pass.

While you were going to work the next day, you took some pictures at the illuminated windows of that night. One of the projects you had since moving to that city was to create a collection of photos showing nightlife, although it was difficult to call it "life", of the traders, workers, or people just going out for fun. But you didn’t have enough prestige and money.

When you arrived at work, you greeted Sunwoo coldly, who returned. You worked hard until three in the morning because, as you well know, on Saturday mornings there were waves of guys full of life coming back from bars where they had only drunk, or from discos in the area. You found it a good opportunity to take some pictures for your photo project.

In no time at all it was six o'clock. The sun was beginning to rise and the first rays of sunshine came through the large windows of the structure. You and Sunwoo were getting ready for the end of the shift, but the boy seemed particularly agitated so you told him to leave before you. You would have waited for the other girl to give her the keys and start the shift after. Sunwoo thanked you and ran away. You knew how much he cared about his passion.

The sound of the door creaking open cut through the stillness of the room, jolting you from your thoughts. You glanced at the clock on the wall, your brow furrowing as you noted it was already twenty minutes past the time your colleague was supposed to arrive. Just as you were about to call out, "You’re lat—" your words caught in your throat. Standing in the doorway was not your expected colleague, but the enigmatic man who had accompanied Karina the night before. He stood there, an air of mystery surrounding him, his presence both intriguing and unsettling as he caught your eye.

"How can I help you?" you asked, even though you were pressed for time and the only one in the room. "I was looking for you. It was lucky that I found you right away," the other person replied. You tightened your grip on the broom you had been pretending to sweep with just moments before. "For what purpose?" you inquired.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp white card, sliding it across the table to you. You glanced down to see a neatly printed address alongside the name: Vogue, Karina’s Photoshoot. Confusion washed over you as you looked back up at him. "What does this mean?" you asked. He shifted uneasily, avoiding your gaze. "Miss Karina has requested that you oversee her new photoshoot," he explained, his tone heavy with discomfort. "The previous photographer was let go… rather abruptly. I expect you to be at the studio in two days."

Your hands shook as you faced a big opportunity. You nodded slowly, your mouth half open, unsure what to say. The man smiled and walked away, leaving you stunned. The broom fell from your hands and clattered to the floor. Your knees felt weak, and your mind went blank for a moment. You couldn’t think. You wondered how powerful Karina was and what she wanted from you.

The next day you showed up in the hall of the huge palace, waiting fearlessly for someone to come and call you. You had spent the night before reading and browsing photography books or looking at random palettes that could help you match any clothing you found on Karina.

A tall woman approached you slowly, her expression grim as she pointed to a location on the map she had just tossed at you. What a kindness… You quickly walked toward the meeting place and, upon finding the door, opened it carefully. Inside, a crew of about twenty people turned their curious gazes toward you, along with Karina and her manager.

You slowly approached your collaborators and thanked them timidly for their attention. "We will do everything that needs to be done and we will accomplish it together. All we should do is unite everyone’s ideas and give life to some of the most beautiful photos ever made" Karina, sitting in a velvet chair, put her hand in front of her and laughed candidly.

It didn’t take five hours to create everything that needed to be created. The ideas came from everyone like a river in full flow. Fill a room with artists who are also competitive people and you will get the exact personification of an erupting volcano. You were the Vesuvius and the fashion industry was your Pompeii. The next day you swore to finish the project so that you could go on with the production of the photos.

Karina, who should have been bored at least by having spent the day waiting for others to do their jobs, approached you with a remarkable delicacy and touched your shoulder. "Can you come over there?" Karina pointed to a closet nearby; it was her dressing room. "Uhm, sure" There was no reason to say no. You looked over your shoulder before entering the dressing room with the girl with the brown hair. It was the first time you saw her in a suit and all you could think about was how well she wore anything. It must be nice.

Karina invited you to sit in the two-seater chair with her. Hesitantly, you approached and sat face to face with the girl who flashed a smile revealing thirty-two teeth. "I brought you here because—" You interrupted her before she could finish. "Let’s say you fired the photographer from Vogue so I could come here." "An insignificant detail," she replied.

In Karina's eyes, you saw the same darkness you had observed a few days earlier. It made you hesitant to speak, fearing the words wouldn't come out right. "You must help me," she said. "Why should I?" you asked. Karina rose from her chair and stood in the middle of the room, her expression unreadable as she continued to gaze at you.

"You must. And if you don’t, I’ll take the only real opportunity you’ve got in your miserable life off your hands." "What’s the excuse?" the conversation seemed too much for you, so you immediately put yourself on defense. "You are a beautiful girl, you are good at what you do. I like your photos, I am sincere" "But?"

The frigid air enveloped the room, wrapping around you like an unwelcome shroud, making each breath feel laborious and strained. With every second that passed, a chilling sensation crept through your body, as if the very warmth within you was being siphoned away, leaving you increasingly vulnerable to the oppressive cold.

“You must photograph the emerging actress and model Yuna at a moment that could cause a scandal and ruin her career forever.” “This is fucking crazy,” you jumped up and approached Karina, who didn’t move an inch “I’m leaving, I don’t intend to keep this job and do whatever bullshit you came up with. I knew you were crazy, I understood it immediately"

Karina rolled her eyes, grabbed your arm, and pushed you into the seat. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m capable of destroying your present life and your future life. Be careful what you do. Listen to me and calm down” Karina’s hands were extremely cold but your gaze was even more icy.

“Speak then, cheap model” “It will all be anonymous. Become her friend and her photographer. You have one week. The clock runs out before the day you have to send the completed photoshoot to the Vogue editorial office” “It’s called blackmail” “It’s called seizing opportunities. You won’t get them again”

You looked away for a moment before getting up from your chair and moving back to the center of the room. You walked back and forth, occasionally glancing at Karina.

“They’ll kill me anyway when they realize it’s me” “Don’t worry,” Karina stood up to get closer to you, “We’ll use an external computer and no one will ever know” “A person will be involved, I don’t think I’m capable of it” “She won’t die” Karina had an amused grin on her face.

You thought back to Sunwoo and how he loved what he did like no one else. However, the most selfish part of you had surfaced. You wanted to pursue a career in photography, and you were unconcerned about the people who would be affected by your ambition. You would have done anything to make your dream a reality.

“I’m in” You held out your hand to Karina, surprised by your sudden change of heart. When Karina squeezed your hand you noticed it was as cold as yours. And that perhaps you were more similar than you could have imagined.

You never imagined that the next day you would find yourself taking pictures of the woman who had asked you to ruin the life of another model without remorse. You had discovered that all your collaborators considered Karina a sweet, kind, and always available girl, while in your eyes, every time you looked at her, you felt like you were looking at a monster.

Once the photoshoot was over and, therefore, the work you had to do for Vogue, you walked into the Karaoke where Karina had asked you to meet. The room was insolently small - maybe the girl liked everything smaller - and the nauseating smell made you immediately understand what kind of dump it was.

“Don’t you like it here?” asked Karina, who was cross-legged and munching on some chips, which she offered you and you refused. “It’s pretty disgusting” “It’s okay. We won’t be here long”

Karina took her Gianni Chiarini bag and pulled out three photos. One was of Yuna, the other of a girl you couldn’t identify, and in the last photo, there was you.

“What does that mean?” “Yuna is having an affair with this girl.” Karina touched the face print of the girl whose name you didn’t know with her painted nail and then continued. “In case you didn’t understand, your photo is there because I wanted to let you know that I had you followed a week before I showed up at your place of work by a trusted friend of mine.” “What?” you were visibly shocked. “Don’t worry, honey. I will only use the information I have on you if you don’t cooperate.” A disturbing smile made you doubt her sincerity.

“Why are you so mad at this girl?” “Because she can’t keep what’s hers.” “What does that mean translated…?” Karina huffed and put the photos back in her bag. “We grew up in this industry together. We achieved success together. And then she cheated on me.”

You were stunned. “All this just because he didn't hold your hand throughout the journey of your life? Are you crazy-” “She cheated on me countless times. She told my parents that I’m a lesbian, they haven’t spoken to me since that day. And to top it all off, she stopped me from working for a year, taking away the most important collaboration of my life”

You almost felt sorry, but you didn’t say anything. Her eyes radiated something else. Maybe she too was human and was simply tired.

“Become her new fuck buddy. Treat her well and then you can be sure that you’ll end up finding her making out with someone else. Take as many pictures as you can and you’ll be free forever” “I don’t- Who told you I like women?” “My dear friend” “God, fuck Karina” “Um, maybe this collaboration will lead to something good?”

You looked up in shock and found a rather smiling Karina. “Do you start talking about sex when you're done talking about revenge? You’re crazy.” “I can’t help it if revenge turns me on like crazy.” Karina slowly ran her tongue over her upper lip, while you looked at her with wide eyes.

“Are you really… My god, you do this to everyone?” “Everyone who? You’re probably the last woman in three years that I’ve found truly attractive!” You rested your face on the fist you’d created with your right hand.

“Do you feel lonely?” Karina looked at you intently and nodded, gently moving her head. “Me too. That’s why I’ll help you. I see reflected in your eyes the same sadness that I feel." That's what it was.

“Y/n” “Tell me” “Do a good job” “I’ll try”

Karina finished all the chips that were left on the table, while you looked at her intently and prayed that the day you would meet Yuna would never come.

Unexpectedly, you received a call the next day: a very familiar voice invited you to participate in a graphic project that involved twenty different photographers who would take pictures of Yuna during a typical month of hers at the beach. Fans are certainly crazy to buy this, but it's all for the career, right?

Your first encounter with Yuna was ordinary. Where normal means you were struck by how tall and beautiful she was, even though Karina had gotten you used to it well. Yuna walked over to you and pulled you into a tight hug. “Y/n, right? I saw some photos of your portfolio and I loved them. The way you capture what's around is extremely sincere. Thank you for accepting. I am eternally grateful”

Yuna was warm. You noticed it immediately. Her body temperature had nothing to do with Karina's. Yuna's smile, moreover, really showed a sincere kindness. The photos you took were delicate, beautiful, and… real. But you remembered what Karina had told you and quickly came to your senses.

You spent two days taking photographs for one of the most beloved women in the world - that's what the charts said - and on the last evening, Yuna and her manager dragged all twenty of you to a pub.

Yuna, clearly drunk, stood up on a chair and started screaming. “Thank you! You were amazing! This project will come out amazing. Now let’s get our glasses up, we have to celebrate!” As everyone downed a few glasses of beer, you noticed a familiar face looking sweetly at Yuna. It was her girlfriend. You asked the boy next to you to switch seats and, perhaps nodding his head, he permitted you.

"Hi, I'm Y/n" "Ah, nice to meet you, I'm Haseul! Yuna showed me your photos. They're beautiful, congratulations" How cute, I almost feel sorry for using her like that. "I see you're looking at Yuna with sweet eyes… Is there something underneath?" the little laugh you let out right after should have helped break the tension, but it only made it grow even more. Haseul wiped the sweat on her pants and then spoke to you.

"I love her more than anyone else in the world" Ah. "It must be nice to love someone" You ran a hand uncomfortably behind your neck. "It's nice to have someone by your side. We're almost always together. I only have her. After what Yuna went through last year, she's become even stronger" A strong curiosity grew in you.

"What happened to her?" "Her ex-girlfriend cheated on her, Yuna found out and told her parents to shoot her an arrow that would cause her the same pain" "That's not possible" "Plus Yuna lost a very important job with Saint Laurent. She spent sleepless nights because of Karin-" Haseul quickly covered her face with her hands.

"Karina. Are you sure it was her fault?" "Ask anyone you want. She lied to everyone and messed up half the plans of people here just to go out and cheat on her girlfriend. Everyone hates her. She's just a pretty face in this industry"

Your head started to spin, maybe from drinking too much alcohol. “I’m going to get some fresh air!” “Shall I accompany you?” “It doesn’t matter, thanks.”

Outside, on the side of an empty road, you threw up next to a dumpster. Karina had been lying to you. She was evil, she was crazy, and a total dickhead. Everyone knew it but you. Because you had been a normal person until the week before. You had seen the surface, never what was underneath.

You understood that Karina would treat you like Yuna. You understood that the only solution would be to refuse, but your career was at stake.

Yuna came out and walked over to you. “I’m sorry you found out. I know everything. Karina isn’t the only one who can spy on people without being accused.” “Do you know everything?” “From the stupid meeting at the fast food restaurant to the job opportunities she offered you. Her dear friend, aka her manager, is Shin Yuna here’s dearest friend.”

You looked into her eyes. “I’ll have to… No, hurt you. I don’t want to.” I wanted to, but now I don’t want to anymore. “It doesn’t matter. Do it.” “How could I?” Haseul came closer to the two of you. “You can’t hurt us. When you find someone in life who loves you, life has a whole different meaning.”

The cold suddenly hit you. And, strangely, you thought for a second that those two were crazy. “Yuna would lose her job,” you continued “But I will never lose the people I love. And anyway,” Yuna put her arm around Haseul’s waist, “I won’t be in this industry for long.”

Haseul looked you in the eyes and smiled. “Don’t worry.”

As you made your way home, your eyes caught the massive posters of Karina that adorned the streets yet, beneath your admiration, a swirl of conflicting emotions surged inside you; you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she was not only a bit unpredictable but also a master of deception. Despite all that, you felt an undeniable urge to kiss her.

The karaoke seemed more rotten than usual. Karina didn’t seem to belong there at all. The last day, the decisive one, had now arrived. You sat down, like the last time, in front of the raven-haired girl.

“Hi, Y/n. I see you well. How are you?” “Better than you can imagine” “My ears only want to hear good news”

You took her usual bag of chips from her hands and started munching on them. “What do you think of your modeling job?” “I hate it” Karina, to your surprise, answered without even thinking for a second. “Why?” “There is no sincerity in what I do. But it is the only job that puts me in contact with hundreds of people a week. It makes me feel less alone”

You put the chips on the table and took out the incriminating photos. “Yuna and Haneul, as you asked me and here I have,” you took out the USB stick, “the murder weapon!” Karina looked at you with wide eyes. “Did you… Do it?” “Your charm won me over, unfortunately, I have to admit it” Even though You were ironic, Karina's cheeks turned pink.

Karina pulled out a computer without making eye contact with you. Then she ordered you to open it. In front of your eyes was a fairly famous site where you were supposed to upload incriminating photos of Yuna and Haseul.

“Y/n. I have to tell you something" As you wrote the description of the photos you would publish immediately after, you signaled Karina to continue.

“Maybe it's because I haven't felt someone's affection for a long time, maybe it's because I can't look at myself in the mirror anymore without crying but…” “After Karina, after” “You said…” “Let me talk”

Seeing Karina so vulnerable and with teary eyes made you feel guilty, but what you wanted to do you would have done without complaining. Karina, however, seemed ready to let go of everything, to take a decisive step.

“Karina, kiss me” “Why should I do that? Are you crazy?” “Last time you seemed intent on doing much more!” you raised your voice. “If I kiss you it’s only because I want to show you how I feel!”

You both were incredibly close. The intensity of the conversation had drawn you from the karaoke sofas, and now you stood face to face, the air feeling thick between you. Karina was the first to make a move. She reached behind your neck, gripped your hair tightly, and swallowed hard. You didn't want to initiate the kiss; you wanted her to take the lead. And that’s exactly what she did. Karina leaned in and pressed her lips against yours, but the kiss was tentative, almost shy. She clearly wanted you to respond, but you held back. The kiss ended before it truly began.

“Why?” she asked, embarrassed. You, in response, checked your phone and went back to finishing the article on the computer. You connected your phone to the computer and transferred the photos.

“What about the USB stick?” “I’ll give it to you as soon as I’m finished”

Five minutes passed before you closed the computer. The die was cast. And so is your life and Karina's. There was no turning back, in any way.

“Y/n?” “Done” “Good…” Karina grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around herself. You did the same.

“Why did you lie to me?” “What are you talking about, Y/n? “Tell me the truth. Haseul and Yuna told me everything. I also spoke to other colleagues. All the same version. You’re a liar, Karina.”

Karina looked back at you with a blank stare. “And what are you?” “That’s not the point.” Karina slammed her fist on the table. “From everything they told you, did you only understand that I’m a liar?” “How can I trust you, Karina?”

Karina hugged the blanket and started biting her nails. "You know when I'm lying. You can feel it. You know when I’m not natural. I understood immediately when we met that there was a different connection between us." “Do you say that to everyone?” “You’re not funny, Y/n!” Karina screamed and threw the bag of chips in your direction, making a mess in the room.

“It’s not funny to make fun of people. You used me.” “I didn’t!” “So what did you do, Karina? How would you call what you did?” “I tried to keep you as close as possible… I don’t have anyone. Yuna wanted to leave me and I had sex with someone else the next day! Our relationship was over.” “People can’t love you if you pretend to be someone else.” “Everyone abandoned me. They abandoned me when I pretended to be the sweet and kind Karina and when I was the real Karina!”

Karina seemed to have reached a point of no return, but you could do nothing but pity her. Now you just had to tell her your truth.

“Karina, listen to me. Yuna got what she got because she moved on and recognized that love can be found anywhere. Her career is worth a thousand times more than a career like yours that was built on pain. Just forget about this life. Start over again." “The only one I have is my manager. I have no ambitions, I have no love. I just wanted someone to feel the way I do.” “We all fight for something, Karina! I fight for photography and you’ve been fighting against yourself for too long!”

Karina seemed to be furious. “You don’t understand. I’ve been alone all my life! The only one who’s close to me is my manag-” “No, he’s Yuna’s informant. When he handed me the ticket for Vogue, I immediately understood that he was not on your side, Karina”

“Karina” “I hate you. Will you stop throwing the truth in my face? I know, damn, I know I’m alone. I've never gotten along well with anyone. But with you, I had a good time. Time never seemed to end. You’ll abandon me too. You all do the same when I show you how I am”

You turned the computer towards her. “Karina, I posted the photos. Look at them. First, breathe and then rationalize” Karina did as you said, too vulnerable to go against you.

When she saw the article with the photo of you she couldn’t say a word. She just asked you, in a weak voice, why you did it. “We can start over, Karina. They already had everything. In their eyes, I saw what was missing in ours. Rise from the ashes Karina or die forever, it would make more sense than continuing to pretend to live in someone else’s body”

You got up from the room, knowing that the news with the photo of you and Karina kissing would do more harm to her than to you. You shut the door behind you. You turned around. Outside you waited for Karina, hoping she would come out so you could comfort her. But that didn’t happen.

The news caused a scandal. The billboards with Karina disappeared, her role as the lead actress in that new movie was deleted and for more than a month, all anyone talked about was that photo. No one recognized your face; next to Karina, you looked quite bad. Yuna called you and guaranteed that your name and work would remain in the photo book. The Vogue photos were never published. You stuck them up, with Sunwoo’s help, in the fast food restaurant.

Sometimes someone stopped to observe them and Sunwoo took care of answering their questions. Very naturally, he said that Karina loved coming to this fast food restaurant - before it disappeared - and that you were her favorite.

Six months had gone by, yet the ache in your chest refused to fade, a constant reminder of the unresolved feelings haunting you. Each night, you lay alone in bed, tears soaking your pillow, knowing that no one would come to comfort you—and that no one would offer her the same kindness. In those haunting hours, you grappled with memories and regrets, feeling the weight of your sorrow pressing down on you like a heavy shroud.

“What a beautiful day! Life has never been so beautiful!” “Sunwoo, it’s just your first role in a stupid TV series” “A stupid TV series that you’ll watch!”

You and Sunwoo had become great workmates again. This time, you were the one who requested more hours, and Sunwoo, despite having found a second job, had decided to work alongside you in each of them.

Sometimes you look at the street illuminated by the street lamps. You hadn't been able to move on. After Yuna’s photobook came out, your name appeared on many other projects. You had started working with many more idols. But there was no one like her.

“Still thinking about it?” “My mind is occupied with her, Sunwoo” “You couldn’t contact her?” “No one has her number and no one has been close to her. At least I know she’s not dead” “Yeah…”

It was four in the morning on a random Thursday when a black car pulled up on the road and parked in front of the fast food restaurant. Sunwoo let out a scream and hid behind the counter. “Is that the police? What have you done, Y/n?” “Stop it, you idiot, and get the emergency number ready. You never know”

But a woman with blonde hair, no makeup, and wearing a sweatshirt that looked very expensive, stepped out of the car. At first, you and Sunwoo couldn’t figure out who she was, you could only guess that she was extremely attractive from the way she walked.

When the first light from the fast food restaurant hit her face, Karina revealed herself to you with a shy smile. “Sunwoo…” she waved at the boy. “And well… Y/n… How are you doing?”

Sunwoo let out another scream. This time you did the same. Then you started to cry, unable to control your emotions. Karina threw herself at you and hugged you with teary eyes. After you both calmed down, Sunwoo fried you two large portions of fries and left the place for a moment, pretending to have received a call.

“Y/n. I look at you…” “Terribly, terribly” “Yes, well. You’ve lost weight” You squeezed her hands tightly. Warm tears fell onto Karina's white hands.

“Sorry” “Stop it, it’s okay. Look at me” Karina took your face in her hands and forced you to look at her. Then she continued to speak. “It had to be this way. I was reborn from the ashes, okay? But I want you to do the same. Let’s help each other. We’ve been alone for too long and…”

Karina stopped to look at the road, her eyes shining. “I missed you. The real you is so annoying, sexy, and cute at the same time. I'm happy to hear you're well."

Karina then looked back at you and looked at the palms of your hands. “Come with me. I'm full of money. Let's run away from here, let's go where no one knows us" "Karina" "It doesn't matter if you tell me now. You destroyed my previous life though! I expect you to pick up the broken pieces and put them back together"

She made you laugh and you thanked fate for having met her. You gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek. Karina looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you just kissing me back?” “Karina, there’s a time for everything” “You know, Y/n, I have a few things I need to tell you about myself. Did you know that I especially love dark chocolate and hate milk chocolate?”

“Karina,” you stood up from the stool and locked your eyes with his. "Tell me, Y/n" “We have all the time to learn to love each other” “And we have all the time to learn to live”

Sunwoo burst into the fast food restaurant, his eyes glistening with tears of joy. He couldn’t contain his excitement as he shared the incredible news: he had secured a role in a film directed by a renowned filmmaker. The moment was electric, filled with laughter and heartfelt congratulations as you both celebrated his achievement. Before leaving this familiar place, you and Karina decided to capture the memory with a photo at the very spot where your journey had begun. As the camera clicked, you were acutely aware that this moment marked a turning point. You stood there, smiling and cherishing the memory, knowing deep down that you were ready to embrace the future and leave the past behind, resolutely moving forward without looking back.

[crguang]

imagine in kafka violinist AU, reader works in a classical music record store or maybe even an instrument store and kafka decides to check out the place and they meet after so long ☹️☹️

[ ok, i'm imagining it. this has no right being over 3,5k words but i swear sev and i do think of cute scenarios with them... sometimes. ]

“now i am stuck between my anger and the blame that i can't face, memories are something even smoking weed does not replace.”

//

She’s sixteen again, boredly waiting around with the back of her head against your locker and a biology textbook nestled in her arms. People walk by her impatient gaze holding hands firmly, complaining loudly so everyone shares their annoyance, half-asleep as they drag their feet across the school hallways, and she watches them pass her by in silent judgment. They are all so uninteresting, so mundanely boring, and her eyes soon grow hazy following the shift in her thoughts while she waits. She remembers the movie tickets she still has to buy behind your back before Friday, then tells herself she will have time to take the bus to the movie theater on Wednesday after class when neither of you have music practice. She knows you dislike horror movies, but she finds them funny and she really wants to see this one. You’ll refuse when she asks you to come with, then begrudgingly take her hand when she produces the tickets from her backpack because you feel guilty about her already spending money on an outing for the two of you. She forgot the leather gloves she loves so much this morning, too hurried to make sure they were indeed put in her coat yesterday evening, so she’ll ask for one of yours before heading to the bus stop. Despite it only being minutes away, you’ll absentmindedly throw it her way. She smiles to herself. Her head lowers and she takes a quick glance at the thin watch around her wrist: ten minutes until the final bell. You’re late. With a disgruntled noise at the back of her throat, she straightens up and adjusts the strap over her shoulder. She won’t stain her perfect attendance record because you missed your 7 AM alarm, she’ll demand explanations at lunch and enjoy how you avert your eyes from hers in embarrassment. 

You’re not sitting at the back of classroom 311B waiting for her with your lunch on your lap, and her lips curve downward into a displeased pout. You didn’t show today, then. She wonders if you got sick between last Friday and now and makes a mental note to come knocking on your door after practice, if only to make sure you’re still alive even if you’re moaning in misery. She drops her backpack on a chair, plopping down at a nearby desk. Her AP Maths homework is laid out on the surface and she spends the free hour getting ahead in her classes within the quiet room, her cheek lazily resting on her palm.

As her literature teacher expands on the use of literary devices in creative writing, she thinks she might bring something to your house later. You were weird Friday and you’re missing practice, she’s now sure you’re feeling unwell. Peach gummies should do it, maybe, you’re so easy to please. You still have that shitty drawing the both of you made together when you were eight plastered beside the album posters on your wall. She hates looking at it every time she comes over but you threaten to have it framed, so she rolls her eyes and ignores the glaring reminder of her attachment staring down at her mockingly. 

Kafka blinks rapidly and her vision instantly focuses on the fading tendrils of cigarette smoke swimming in the air in front of her. The roll is secure between her index and middle fingers, pointing towards the open back window of her sleek black car. She regains her bearings. Her gaze darts to the driver’s seat where Blade’s head leans back on the headrest, eyes closed and arms crossed as he awaits new instructions. Her lips stretch into a small smile at her ridiculous train of thought and she looks outside the window, bringing the cigarette back to her mouth. There’s nothing to see, only passersby and concrete buildings, the front doors of multiple stores aligned on the narrow street. She takes a slow drag and allows the tobacco smoke to sit on her tongue before exhaling softly. She calls it reminiscing during a moment’s reprieve, but that would require the act to be voluntary and peaceful. It’s happening more frequently recently, her mind escapes her for a few minutes as she smokes and it’s starting to defeat the purpose of her cigarette breaks. This weight you hold, impossible to forget, is now slowing her down instead of feeding her ambitions, and anything that is not actively serving her is unnecessary. These memories are unnecessary. They’re pathetic, the same moments rotate through her mind in a broken loop she’s unable to pull the plug on, yet so undeniably haunting. The lack of control over her own thoughts irritates her to no end, her fingers are tight around her violin’s neck, her right arm stiff and reminiscent of the first time she held one in her hands. Another breath past her lips and she makes up her mind. 

Kafka puts out her cigarette on the ashtray resting on the cupholder to her left. She reaches for a pocket mirror in her handbag and flips it open, observing the makeup on her features. Her lipstick has faded a little in the middle of her bottom lip, so she reapplies it carefully. It’s an alluring peach color, her favorite. She smacks her lips and smiles to herself as if to make sure there isn’t a crack in her impenetrable facade, then puts the mirror back where it was initially and sprays her signature perfume over her pulse points. Kafka shakes her head, carefully brushing the dark magenta strands of her bangs away from her cheeks. She sits in the car for another moment, bracing herself, then unlocks the back door.

“Be back in a few, Bladie.” 

The driver doesn’t flinch when the car door shuts firmly behind her. Kafka lowers her prized sunglasses over her eyes. The car is parked a couple of minutes from the vintage record store she’s heard mentions of prior to traveling to Europe for performances, the street is better explored by foot and having her vehicle positioned directly in front of the store while she pondered things would have attracted unnecessary attention. She strolls down the decorated street and its colored asphalt the way she had almost three weeks ago, taking in the local shops and restaurants. Though it’s the middle of the day, only a little past one in the afternoon, the place isn’t as crowded as it usually is when she drives by (twice a week, for three weeks now.) She checks out the window apparel of two clothing stores then decides to step inside another time. She makes it to the record store a minute later and stands in front of the large window offering a glimpse of its interior, an index finger rhythmically drumming against her thigh. It’s empty, save for a blonde woman with a purple streak dyed into her hair that she’s seen work the floor before. Kafka checks the small watch around her wrist. It’s around the same time she passes by on her way to practice. She pushes the door open and steps inside.

A small bell rings out, announcing her presence, and the blonde worker doesn’t even look up from the thick textbook laid on the register counter. She scribbles away, brows furrowed in concentration. Kafka ignores her in turn. Her fingertips trail on packaged vinyls as she makes her way to the jazz section of the store, taking note of the relative stillness of the space with only low radio music to fill the silence. Her heeled boots clack along the ceramic floor with every leisure step. She’s waiting, pausing in front of a particular record and turning it over in her hands, aware of the other person in the room. She listens deeply while she pretends to read the cover and the perpetual easy smile on her lips widens infinitesimally at the sound of cardboard boxes getting ripped open in the backroom behind the register. She glances at her gloved hands. Steady as always.

“Holy fu—!” The blonde worker exclaims in surprise then quickly collects herself enough not to swear, clearing her throat once. 

Kafka’s disinterested gaze lands on her. She closes her textbook with a thud and leaves her post at the cash register to stand in front of her in record time, a gleam in her eyes and a grin on her face like she just won the lottery.

“Are you Kafka? The violinist?” Her voice lowers conspiratorially and she slightly leans forward in excitement. 

Kafka tilts her head to the side in amusement. “I might be.”

The woman takes a breath and claps her hands together over her lips in a praying gesture. “You have no idea how much you just brightened my day, Kafka. Can I have a picture, if it’s not too weird? My phone’s in the backroom, I can go get it. It’ll be super quick.”

She’s promptly walking away before the other can reply, a bounce in her step. Kafka follows her figure until it disappears past the door. She turns back to the record in her hands, then puts it back on the shelf to continue browsing the aisle. She’s not looking for anything in particular but if she does leave the store with a few more records under her arms, she won’t complain.

“They asked for me personally?”

“Yep! Go, go, I’ll take care of this batch.”

Her ears pick up on the conversation happening in the backroom, the voices getting louder as they approach the front of the store, and her next exhale is audible despite herself; yours still sounds the same. She reminds herself that she already smoked ten minutes ago.

“But who are they?”

“I don’t know, a customer. Just go!”

“Fine, jeez…”

Kafka lifts her gaze to the backroom door the moment it’s pushed open and instantly meets yours. She’s taken by the sudden sunlight in the room, all of it on your features; softly tracing the curve of your nose and the bow of your lips, resting over your cheek like a warm palm, sun rays kiss half of you and hold you close in a way she’s no longer sure she remembers the feel of. If she could tear her eyes away, she would notice the afternoon sun reflected on every surface of the store, a detail previously overlooked. There are bags under your eyes and something so small grows into a striking detail because this is her first time seeing them on you.  Your hair is put away from your face today, different than it was last week when Blade drove past the place, every line and shadow is  presented for her viewing pleasure and she drinks them in during a suspended instant. You’re older. That fact shouldn’t surprise her, she feels ridiculous. Her hands are immobile in the air, two vinyls between them brought up for comparison, and her mouth unknowingly twitches downward, about a hundred words she refuses to say push each other to be the first out of her lips, but she keeps it tightly shut. Your eyes widen the next second— for someone who always closely keeps track of time, she doesn’t know how much has passed since your eyes first met— and Kafka’s lower to your bobbing throat. Your hand goes to your rapidly rising chest and you turn your back on her as if frightened. 

“S-Serval, are you sure you don’t need help?” The tremor in your sentence and your averted gaze pulls Kafka out of her thoughts. She almost rolls her eyes at your lame attempt to run from her. Again. 

“I’m sure! Everything’s good here!”

You lean forward and try to regain control over your breathing for a few seconds, shoulders tense, before you slowly turn on your heel to face her once more. Guilt. She recognizes it easily, it’s laced in the curve of your brows and your colored irises. You swallow another time, your hands limp at your sides, and look at her helplessly. Out of the kindness of her heart and against her petty wish for you to keep that haunted look on your face, Kafka helps you out. 

“…I’m hesitating between these.” She holds up the records in her hands.

You blink. It takes you another moment of silence to register her words, and when you do, you reluctantly begin to make your way to her. Your steps are short and slow like you’re walking to the gallows, Kafka can’t help the bitter amusement in her smile. She feels a strange sort of vindication from your behavior, her past hesitation now forgotten. She watches you get closer through the filter of her sunglasses. You stand next to her a polite distance away and glance at the vinyls she’s holding.

“…What are you looking for?” You avoid her gaze and take the records she hands you, instead reading over the album titles and songs. 

Kafka doesn’t look away from you. “Something… relaxing. Slow tempo, the kind you sway to.”

You put the records back on the shelf and reach for another, presenting it to her. “This musician’s good.”

“Mmm. You listened to it?”

“Not this album, but some of his other songs. His music always has the same theme to it, it might be the vibe you’re searching for.”

“What theme is that?”

She knows what it is, she already has a copy of that record at home. It’s a childish delight to witness your reluctance to answer, but she doesn’t care.

“Regret.”

Kafka lets the following pause stretch longer than necessary. She finally tears her eyes from your form to continue browsing the shelves, fingertips trailing over the numerous records neatly stacked one next to the other. She walks some steps away from you as she skims the artists’ names and tilts her head your way when you hold up a different album for her to decide on. She makes a show of pondering about it before asking for another option. She does this for a while, finds a reason to criticize every record you present to her and observes the rapidly deepening frown on your lips. It’s stupid, she thinks fleetingly, how easily you turn back into a child in her mind. You made that face whenever you missed a note in the middle of practice, too. You lifted your eyes in exasperation just like this after another one of her lame jokes, too. You often fiddled with the beads necklace on your collarbone back then as well. Kafka looks away. It's a silver dog tag now. 

“What about this one?” Your tone is slightly more clipped than it was five minutes ago. She ignores it. “It’s a collection of ballads–- older New Orleans swing, soulful, soft. I’d say it’s what you’d like to listen to based on all of your critiques. You’d sway to that, right?”

Kafka takes the record and carefully looks it over. It’s a good suggestion and most of the songs on there are so far personally unheard of, on any other day she actually would have bought it. She puts it back on the shelf where you found it, then faces you.

“Maybe a decade ago. I might be in the mood for something more Romantic, actually.”

You pause, a little taken aback. Your thumb and index fingers take hold of the tag around your neck. “Uh�� okay. I’d consider those ballads romantic, though.”

Kafka chuckles quietly. “The era.”

“…Right.” You turn away from her in embarrassment. “That’s another section, then.”

“Lead the way.”

Since she’s the only customer in the store at present, you can’t escape from repeating the same frustrating pattern as before: you suggest a record, it is “not quite what Kafka is looking for”, and she follows that comment with passive aggressivity so subtle that you would have been fooled by her harmless smile if you didn’t already know what she was referring to. Kafka can see your growing exasperation but you have different tells now, it’s all in the purse of your lips and the curl of your fingers at your side. The way you speak, your eloquence when expressing yourself and describing music and the knowledge you bring to the table allows her to fill in some of the blanks washed out by time and space. You’re becoming irritated and she is learning you through it. You work in a record store, you don’t question any of the musical terms she employs and you clearly know what you’re talking about when recommending diverse pieces to her. You haven’t given up on the medium, then. Kafka pushes her relief aside.

“What is it that you’re looking for in particular?” You ask, aggravated after yet another shot down from her and crossing your arms over your chest. There’s a crease between your brows but she notices your shoulders have relaxed significantly since you started conversing.

Kafka doesn’t even have to think about that one. “Violin sonatas.”

She’s not looking at you, pretending to read over the back of a record, but she can almost hear the grinding of your teeth as yet another moment of silence is filled by the pop music over the radio speakers. Though she can’t help the bitterness growing around her organs like mold, neither of you actually acknowledge knowing each other before this afternoon. What is left unsaid spreads to every corner of the store, suffocating fumes charged with your guilt and her hurt, and you both stand in the middle of it, stubbornly breathing in the toxic air. 

If anything, Kafka commends your efforts in attempting to maintain your composure. Your chest falls with a soft exhale and you return to the shelves, browsing the selection with her preferences in mind. She glances at her watch. She has a commitment in an hour, she didn’t think this would take as long as it had. She briefly remembers Blade waiting around in the car, probably dozing off behind the wheel until she returns. 

“Here,” you speak and her head lifts to look at the vinyl you’re handing her. “It’s a miscellaneous collection. If there’s an exact sound that you want, it’s likely there.”

“I already have this one.” A white lie. Kafka doesn’t take the record, instead raises her eyes to yours. “I thought maybe this store would have something out of the ordinary, given its local reputation.” Her gaze boredly sweeps over the empty store before settling on you again. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

“Enough,” you’ve finally had enough of her implications, she watches you put your foot down with rapt attention. “What do you want me to do, record my own shitty playing before you’re satisfied?”

Shitty? She almost scoffs, personally offended. The missing key to her art, shitty?

“Maybe. Would you run from that as well?”

Your features first twist in shock at her dry reply, then twitch involuntarily as you try to mask the hurt that laces the natural curve of your bottom lip. You blink, averting your eyes the way you so often do now, and Kafka pauses at your reaction, almost daring you to contradict her. Another awkwardly charged silence falls upon you both. You seem to have many of those. She’s tempted to break it with a nonchalant remark, but the words freeze on her tongue at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows and trembling lips. She stands and stares as you bring a hand to your face, uselessly attempting to reign in the emotion drawn across the lines of it. By the looks of it, you try very hard but are ultimately unable to stop your throat from bobbing with every difficult swallow and your lashes from fluttering to keep the sting of your eyes at bay. You’re suddenly taken with emotion, and Kafka stares in disbelief concealed as apathy. You briskly walk past her and make a beeline for the register counter, using its surface to support your hands and turning your back on her again. The distance could not be clearer, this time dug by her own hands. She hears your shuddering breaths, watches the growing tension in your back and shoulder muscles, and a sensation she does not recognize stops her from uttering anything. You look small, you sound weak, and it goes against every thought she's had of you for the past decade. It goes against the space you occupy in her mind--- unrelenting, expansive, insisting. You are not the teenager she sees when she looks at you nor the quiet child she thinks of when she's had too much to drink, you are simply a crying stranger she has no right to unravel, and yet she finds it difficult to look away.

Kafka is uncomfortable, rooted where she stands, and for once at a loss of what to do. She's relieved from doing anything as the blonde worker from earlier, Serval, stalks into the room with a frown bending her lips. There's no trace of her previous excitement, she immediately rounds the register to place herself next to you and rests a kind hand on your back, murmuring concerned inquiries that you can only shake your head to. Serval faces Kafka with a perfected customer service smile, all past pretenses gone.

"You should go, I'm sure a bigshot like you has more important things to do in a day than linger here."

Kafka smiles. "I do." She adjusts the silk gloves over her hands and spares a last glance at your back. She reaches into one of her coat pockets, steps closer to the register, and slides a sleek card with a minimalist design toward you with two fingers. "If you want to put your shitty playing to use."

The entry bell rings out as Kafka walks out of the record store.

[vezpr]

corporal: ch 2 - expectations

SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ HEIAN ERA AU ☽☾ ONGOING SERIES ☽☾ AO3

☽☾ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: CH1: PUNISHMENT ▪︎ CH2: EXPECTATIONS

☽☾ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You are such a menace that your father decides to offer your eternal servitude as a gift to the King of Curses.

Sukuna has not accepted such a tribute in years, more often opting to eat the young girls rather than put them to work, which is perfectly acceptable as far as your asshole dad is concerned.

Will the demon make an exception for you?

☽☾ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+MINORS DNI, blood and gore, violence, abuse, true form sukuna, eventual smut (still not yet), references to cannibalism, angst, I suck at tags

☽☾ 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sodapop182 ; @moonchhu

☽☾ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: CH: 3.5k TOTAL: 7.7k

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please comment something to that effect. But please put an age in your bio so i don't have to block you. lmk if I'm doing this right, I'm an absolute virgin and open to suggestions. Thanks for reading. 🖤

Tearing through the woods outside of the shrine, you don't think about your sister, this time. You don't think of your father or his men, your mother, nothing. No memories, pleasant or unpleasant, swim up through the ink of night as the trees claw at your clothes and skin. Your mind is eclipsed with a fear as hot and red as the fire in your lungs.

You have not known fear like this for a long time, perhaps ever. All the running that you did from your father and his men was done more out of spite than fear. You had certain expectations of them. You were familiar with their cruelty and the limitations placed on it by society, or by your mother, perhaps. You father was not a kind man, by any means, but his eyes softened somewhat when they looked at her. The only power that you had was that of being able to put them through their paces. Here, you did not even have that. The comfort of expectations does not exist for the monster at your back, no more than the limitations of ordinary men. 

So, you run, spurred by terror long after your rapidly depleting stamina should have forced you to stop. It feels like hours have passed when you finally come to a halt, hands on your knees, panting, muscles burning. Hyperaware of every sound, every sensation, even the trickle of sweat down the line of your back is enough to raise your hackles, but there is nothing but the ragged sound of your own breathing in the stillness.

As you try to slow your respirations, you ask yourself what it is you're so afraid of. Pain? You are overly familiar with pain. Your heart gradually slows as you come to the conclusion that Sukuna can only hurt you or kill you, just like any other man. Pain you can endure. And death? Well, if you are dead, then you won't be bothered, will you? You'll just be dead. What would wound you more is humiliation. Your mouth presses into a grim line as you ponder it.

Did the bastard confiscate your things and let you go, trusting that you would meet your own end in the forest without his help? Not the worst plan, you decide, as it occurs to you, for the first time, that you really have no place to go, no plan beyond running. Beyond escape. You've never had to plan beyond that because you've always been outnumbered, overpowered and dragged back.

Does he think you will return on your own? You scoff into the darkness at the thought. I'd sooner hang myself from one of these trees, you think to yourself as you look up at the branches, silver in the Autumn starlight. Still. Quiet. Unnaturally so, as if the earth itself is holding it's breath. Hiding. 

Even before you hear it, you feel it, looming large and lethal at your back. Larger than Sukuna, even. Much larger. It shifts it's enormous weight, rustling the leaf litter. As you peer over your shoulder, your eyes widen and your heart hammers against your ribs like you never stopped running. A reptilian chittering sound blooms out of the dark: a bony whisper, a rattlesnake kind of warning. The moon outlines it's dark shape in indigo, a moving mountain that tears trees right out of the earth as it moves after you. How you didn't see or hear it before is a mystery. 

Your feet slam against the shuddering ground with the slowness of nightmares as a scream claws it's way out of your throat. You don't make it very far before a root hooks your foot and sends you sprawling. A sickening snap followed by bright sparks of pain shoot up from your wrist as you catch your fall with your hand. When you look down to see splinters of bone jutting out of a ragged wound, a hysterical sob escapes your mouth. You clutch your injured limb against your chest as your heels churn at the dirt, propelling you backwards, too slow as the monster stops short in front of you. 

It is too awful to look at, a twisted amalgamation of drooling faces and colorless eyes shining with idiot hunger as it prepares to stuff you into its many jagged mouths. You dig your chin into your shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut and baring your teeth as you feel it's hot, putrid breath against your skin. Thick, black saliva drips into the dirt between your feet and burns it like acid, white tendrils of smoke rising from the bubbling pool.

The chittering sound rises again, like a demonic chorus of cicadas. Distantly, you realize the effect is created by all of those throats babbling at once. You find yourself too breathless to scream as it's clumsy teeth try to find purchase in the flesh of your calf, only succeeding in lightly scratching and slobbering all over it. Perhaps in frustration, its crying slowly rises in pitch, high and keening.

Then, there is another, quieter sound, that cuts the wailing short. It is soft like a whip cutting through the air before it cracks, like the hiss of lightning parting the sky before the thunder of it crashing back together. Crashing like the quivering weight that descends upon your lower body as the monster inexplicably falls to pieces at your feet. You blink owlishly at the dismantled pile of flesh, hardly daring to believe that it is truly dead, even as its quivering breaths grow still.

Your legs throb under the lifeless weight of it. It is impossible to drag yourself out from under it with your one good arm, so you resort to wiggling on your back in the dirt, removing yourself inch by excruciating inch. You haven't yet had the time, nor the prescence of mind to worry about what lurking horror might have so effortlessly ended the dead thing that pins you to the dirt. That mystery is soon solved for you when a familiar voice comes out of the dark behind you.

"Tch. Pathetic."

You cease your struggles and crane your neck back, pressing the back of your head into the dirt to meet Sukuna's garnet gaze. He leans against a tree, as if he can't be bothered to hold himself up, looking only vaguely interested in the scene before him. 

"Me, pathetic?" You spit, redoubling your efforts to writhe out from under the dead thing. "Was I not easy enough to kill? You had to sic your pet on me?" The thought had only now occurred to you, that Sukuna had unleashed this thing on you, but the notion already has your blood boiling with rage.

Sukuna snorts, "Not mine." His eyes leave you in favor of examining the corpse. "Hm. A grade two, this one," he mutters.

Your eyes follow his and you notice a jagged, black fang, about the length of your outstretched hand, lying in the dirt by your hip.  Glancing back to ensure his eyes are still focused on the monster, you stretch out your good arm and wrap your fingers around it. The edges bite into your fingers, but you clutch it like a lifeline, headless of the pain. 

"Well, do you intend to finish the job, or are you just going to stand there, blabbering nonsense?" You sneer, craning your neck to look up at him. 

His eyes snap back to yours and he smirks, lazily peeling himself away from the tree and stepping towards you. "So eager to die, arent you?"

He lifts the bulk of dead flesh away from you with one hand as he hooks another into the pit of your injured arm and drags you to your feet.

Gritting your teeth, you swing your good arm, arcing your makeshift weapon to catch him in the back, but he snatches your wrist away with yet another arm. Now, you are leaning awkwardly against his chest as he supports most of your weight. You legs are not as useful as you might have hoped. They burn painfully and buckle at the knees as the blood rushes back to your cramping muscles. 

He eyes the monster's tooth in your hand with mild interest. "You want to hurt me with that?" He asks with a mean grin. "Go ahead."

With that he lets go of you and takes a step back.  You cry out in frustration as your traitorous legs buckle underneath you and you land on your knees at his feet. He throws his head back and laughs as you snarl up at him and swing your makeshift weapon at his legs, which dodge your clumsy blows effortlessly. 

"For weeks you lived in peace with me and now all these theatrics, for what reason?" He muses as he steps this way and that to avoid your rageful attacks. It doesn't take long for him to grow bored of this game, and you are taken aback when he sinks to his knees in front of you. Even so, he towers over you so that you have to hyperextend your neck to see his face. His lower set of hands snatch you up around the waist while the upper pain pin your arms to your sides. You grunt at the pain in your broken wrist, but he takes no notice.

"I asked you a question," he snarls, holding you at eye level. 

He huffs when you only writhe in his grip and scream in his face until your throat is raw and you are too breathless to continue.

"Fucking feral little rat," he mutters. "Is it because I touched your leg?" He asks, eyes dragging the length of your body. 

You scoff. Of course it wasn't just that it's...

"Are you throwing a tantrum because I didn't ask permission? Hm? And what was the plan? Where will you go?" He cuts off your thoughts by echoing your own thinking from earlier. It has you subconsciously biting into your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Infuriating.

He smirks. "Just a spoiled little princess playing at running away. Well. Time to grow up, little girl, and realize that you will always belong to a man. Before, you belonged to your bitch of a father, and now, you belong to me."

No longer able to hold in your rage you shreik and slam your head forward in an attempt to split his smirking lips. Of course, he leans away and you only succeed in tossing your hair, drawing another cackle from his mouth. 

"You want to hurt me? Try, brat," he bellows to be heard over your shreiking as he presses his forehead against yours hard enough to bruise. The moment he releases your good arm you sink the oversized canine into his temple and drag it down, flaying his cheek. A second swing and his larger, upper eye is reduced to a wobbling jelly running into the bleeding wound. Slick with gore, the tooth drops from your hand and Sukuna slams you down on your back with enough force to steal the air out of your lungs. 

Then he is folded over you, hand on your jaw tilting your gaze to his wounded face. "Look at me," he instructs and your stomach lurches as the flesh bubbles and warps. Then it is takes its old, unmarred shape, as new and smooth as ever. You stare at it, blinking as if that brief interruption of sight might return it to ruin, as it was seconds ago. As if to dispel your disbelief another of his hands grasp your broken wrist, lifting your hand so that your fingertips brush his new skin. At the same instant, your injured joint transforms the same way his wounds had until it is new and free of pain.

Speechless you stare at your hand on his cheek until you realize that he is no longer holding it there. He leans in until his lips are nearly brushing your ear. "I can touch you however I like, whenever I like," he says, slipping a hand from your waist to trace the angle of your hip bone and the curve of your outer thigh through your ruined kimono. "I can break you and mend you, break you and mend you and never, ever let you die." His hand slips from your jaw to your throat where he squeezes briefly before, suddenly, he hauls himself off of you.

"So, brat," he says, standing over you haloed in the pink light of dawn, "if you are ever so lucky as to have me touch you again, try not to overreact."

All you seem to be able to do is slide your eyes stupidly from your healed wrist to his unblemished face until all the breath decides to leave your lungs at once. The sky, blushing with dawn and tattooed with skeletal branches, fades to black.

...

Emika, grinning, face tilted toward the dappled sunlight, laughter bubbling out of her throat. It is a musical sound until it changes, distorts into a horrible chittering, vacous and reptilian. Her mouth opens, impossibly wide, a poisonous womb that delivers a wailing many-faced blackness that swallows the world. Closer, the newborn horror leans in until all you can see is a single wet, red maw screaming its hunger and eager to feed on you. It is made of hunger and fear. Its tongue lolls out and begins to twist and warp. It pales and changes shape, grows four garnet eyes, a tattooed jaw, a laughing mouth. Sukuna's face leaning close to yours. "Look at me," he says, surrounding you, a universe that leaves you no choice. He is still laughing when he tilts away, falling out of orbit as gravity pulls your back into the dirt. He is replaced by a robin's egg sky seen in patches through the green leaves of spring.

Emika's face glides into view, a smiling autumn moon in the Spring sky.

Her bamboo sword taps your neck.

"Dead," she says.

Dead like the warrior she once daydreamed of being, with a katana on her back and a pretty servant girl at her side.

"Dead." She smiles, haloed in sunlight.

Your eyes blink open. Even as the nightmare fades you realize it holds too many parallels to waking life for comfort. Finding yourself suspended above the ground in an unfamiliar position, your body jerks, your legs inadvertently tightening around Sukuna's waist. He is carrying you like a child on his hip, his lower arm hooked under your backside while his upper one supports your back. Your chin rests over his shoulder, your cheek pressed into his neck. Finding this abhorrent, you squirm weakly.

"I can walk now," you mutter, but you are so tired. Your eyelids, leaden. 

"Walking has caused you enough trouble, wouldn't you say?" He chuckles, a sound that is becoming increasingly annoying. 

In any case, the dead weight of your body against his is enough to refute your claim. 

Your eyes flutter closed, head lolling against his neck. He smells of smoke, blood and earth and he is warm against you. The effect is like a sleeping tincture.

"I want to know," you mutter against his skin as you struggle against your rapidly retreating consciousness. "I want to know what is expected of me."

You are too exhausted to think of your statement as an acquiesence, but that is what it is. Sukuna is taking you back to the shrine and you are accepting it. Perhaps that is why he laughs. Your eyes pop open at the hateful sound and you hope that he does not discern the increasing tempo of your heart with the way that your chest is pressed into him. Wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"Expectations," he says. "You can't live without them, hm? How, then, would you rebel?"

You clench your teeth. He is unbearable. You hate him. God, you hate him. But you are just so tired right now.

"I have no expectations of you, rat." He continues after a pause, although he thinks to himself that you are really more of a mouse, at the moment, as you go limp again with sleep.

...

When you wake again, from a long sleep that is blessedly dreamless, there is nothing to greet you but silence and the shrinking light of early evening. You lie for a moment on the futon, staring at the dark grid of ceiling in your chambers.

Under the thinning haze of sleep that still clouds your mind, a flickering flame of rage persists. When you look down at yourself, filthy with mud, blood, and mystery secretions from whatever that thing in the forest was, it grows brighter. Cast off and forgotten like a broken doll. You flex your healed wrist. Why does it make you even angrier?

I have no expectations 

You tear off your kimono and toss it aside, fuming.

Rat.

You tear the linens, ruined by your dirtiness, off of your futon and thrust them away to join your clothing on the floor.

"Maybe I will go around naked, then," you fume, stomping towards the door, but you stop there, losing your nerve. "Bet you wouldn't expect that. Bet you would find that you have some expectations after all."

spoiled little princess

"Maybe I will go around like this is my home and you are an unwanted guest," you hiss into the silence.

time to grow up and realize you will always belong to a man

You retrieve your dirty kimono and shrug into it, gathering the fabric loosely around your chest with one hand while you rip something clean out of the wardrobe with the other. The shoji door slams against the doorframe as you storm out of the room not bothering to close it. 

now you belong to me

Uraume and Baba look up from their work, picking vegetables for dinner in the courtyard as you tear across it without sparing them a glance. You make quite a sight, blood-streaked and furious. 

"He'll be getting his kicks with that one for quite some time, I'll say... yes," Baba croaks as her milky eyes track your movements.

"Baba!" Uraume scolds.

"It's the truth," Baba crows. "It is!"

...

The steaming water of the hot spring soothes the aching muscles of your legs. This makes encroaching on his territory doubly satisfying, even if he, being a morning bather, in your limited experience - doesn't find out. You close your eyes and hold your breath, sinking to the bottom on your knees. Your fingers rake through the matted mess of your hair, breaking loose the dirt and dried blood. You stay under until your lungs burn and then burst to the surface with a sharp inhalation. 

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?"

You startle at the sound of Sukuna's voice booming over the soft gurgling of the water. He is standing at the opposite end of the spring, kimono pooled around his feet, hands frozen at his waist in the middle of loosening his hakama. 

"Whatever I want, since you have no expectations," you retort, having recovered quickly from your surprise.

He snorts. "Alright."

You glare at each other through the rising steam.

You are the first to avert your eyes when Sukuna resumes undressing, unceremoniously dropping his hakama. 

Your back is turned and you make a point of staying submerged to the shoulders as you make your way to the edge of the pool. You movements increase in urgency, heart thumping faster as you hear him splash into the water behind you. Unwilling to let him see your bare skin, you pull your clean kimono into the water and put it on while still submerged. 

When you drag yourself over the lip of the pool in your dripping robes, he is laughing. Your skin erupts in goose flesh that cannot be entirely attributed to your soaked clothes and the chill in the air. Although it pisses you off to no end, you try to at least appear unperturbed. Chin held high, you make it a point not to look at him as you march back toward the shrine, as if he is beneath your notice. You hope he feels it.

"Come here, rat." 

You pause, your back still turned to him.

"I said, come here." He repeats.

Vacillating between the desire to defy him and the desire to seem unafraid, you settle on the latter and make your way back to the water's edge. There is a deliberate slowness in your movements, to show that you are in no hurry to obey him.

Sitting on the lip of the pool, you let your calves dangle over the edge, lazily treading water. 

"What do you want?" you hiss, meeting his crimson gaze.

[fuchsea]

moving to the UK has made me develop an irrational fear of ordering take out

[idledreams-burninghearts]

Kinda hate my neighbors -_-

So I live in an apartment and we have a shared laundry facility. I had to buy a little trashcan because people kept dropping their lint and dryer sheets all over the floor.

But people can't be bothered to empty out the trash can either. Once it's full they just keep dropping the dryer sheets and the lint all over the floor still!!!! And the worst thing is, there is a dumpster RIGHT OUTSIDE the laundry room. It's not that hard TT-TT

I don't do my laundry down there every week because it's downstairs and I'm too disabled to walk down and up and down and up every week when I already do that to walk my dog and go to work. We bought a mini washer so we can do small load up here so thank goodness I don't have to deal with it often. But I'm literally the only one who cleans up down there and it's infuriating.

This isn't even that bad because I cleaned up down here like, what 2 weeks ago? A month ago? I'm not good with time but it was so much worse than this. At least one person tried to help by buying another trash can but they bought the one with the lid and the lever or whatever that you step on to lift the lid and that's broken so no one is using it even though it's pretty easy for me to lift the lid with my foot and toss the lint in.

And when I cleaned it last time I also cleaned out a lot of dirt that comes in through the metal screen door of the laundry room that the landscapers blow in with the leaf blowers and clothes that had been left behind. I really wish the landscapers would stick to the front. The back is just parking, there is no greenery at all. All the green is in the front. And why are people leaving clothes??? Why don't you pick up after yourself the next time you go in and see your missing sock or scarf or whatever??? And I'm definitely the only person who cleans down there.

[chaotic-birds]

1-800-red-hoods-gas-station-attendant-service

Your boyfriend's not fond of you pumping your own gas at night, so he insists you don't do it alone.

🩹 G/AUs: fluff, est. relt. 🩹 TW: reader (f) is called beautiful, pretty, princess, baby, doll (i love nicknames okay leave me alone 😭), mentions of blood and fighting 🩹 WC: 1.5k 🩹 A/N: Inspired by this reel (sfw). Just a little fun and easy read 💗 enjoy!

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)

masterlist

Ever since Jason caught a group of people trying to rob someone at the gas station a week ago, he’s insisted you not get gas alone—especially at night.

Your arguments fall on deaf ears. He’s put his foot down and covered it in cement. There’s nothing you can say to make Jason change his mind.

“Hey, beau”—grunts—”tiful. Need somethin’?” Jason asks after the fourth ring.

You can faintly hear the sound of fists hitting skin in the background.

“You busy, handsome?” you wonder, eyes glancing at the low fuel light glaring at you. You already know his answer and the real answer before he speaks.

“Nope,” he answers followed by more grunting. “You home from your ladies' night?”

Upon seeing a gas station in the distance, you signal to take the highway's exit ramp.

“Not yet. I called because I’m low on gas and need to get some to make it home. I figured calling you while I pumped—”

“Where are you?” he asks instead, voice slightly strained.

“Near upper west side.”

“Come to the diamond district, and I’ll meet you there.”

You pull into an empty pump station.

“I’m already at a gas station, Jay. Just—”

“It’s not safe.”

“You’re tracking my location and you can hear—”

“It’s not safe to use your phone while getting gas too,” he continues to interrupt.

You heave a sigh and lean back into your seat, unable to stop your eyes from checking your locks. Although you’ve always been weary of pumping gas at night, you try not to be too paranoid. You hate being on edge all the time.

“Please, doll?” he pleads, breathing heavier.

There are curses in the background that don’t sound like Jason. His attackers must not like him much.

“Alright, but hurry. My light’s on,” you say. You sit straighter and shift gears to leave.

“I’m on my way now. Hey, Red Ro—”

The line cuts off, but you figure Jason’s recruiting Tim to take care of his loose ends. You feel bad for taking Jason away from his work, but you don’t want him to be upset with you for getting gas by yourself. He’s not fun when he’s grumpy.

Jason’s sitting comfortably on his motorcycle when you turn into the station.

When he sees your car, he stands and waves. You know there’s a grin behind his helmet.

The gas station is empty except for the convenience store worker. He looks at the vigilante suspiciously from inside.

You park at the station he’s at, turn off the car, and pull the lever that opens the gas tank. You climb out and smile at him, holding your card in one hand.

“Hi there, cutie. You come here often?” you tease.

He chuckles and swiftly pays for the gas before you can. You give him a disapproving look that he ignores.

“Only for you, princess,” he replies.

You put your card away as he takes the pump and untwists the tank’s cap.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, feeling guilty again. You figured he’d come and watch the area, not actually pump your gas for you.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You can sit back down and jus’ look pretty for me, baby.”

“That makes me sound like a spoiled brat,” you huff but do as you’re told, keeping the door open so you can converse.

Jason leans against your car as he fills your tank.

“Well, you’re only half right. You are spoiled, but that’s the way I like it.”

You shake your head at his reply, but there’s a smile on your face. Truthfully, it’s a little nice to not have to worry about anything—to just let Jason care for you.

Your eyes scan his tall form, taking in his armored-covered body and shiny helmet. You notice a few dark spots on his gloves and clothes that you figure are blood.

“It’s a little funny seeing the Red Hood pump my gas,” you quip as you grin at him.

“What can I say? I’m here to help the citizens of Gotham in any way,” he jokes.

“You have a busy night?” you ask, recalling the phone call from earlier.

“Nothin’ too extreme,” he replies.

When your tank is full, he returns the pump and twists the cap back on.

He moves in front of you, resting one hand on the car’s top while he leans down.

“If it weren’t for that goober watching us like a hawk, I’d give you a kiss,” he says.

“Only a kiss? I’d pull you in the back seat and have some fun,” you say with a flirty smile.

He laughs and lowers his head more. You’re so tempted to kiss him.

“We’ll have fun at home,” he says.

“You’re coming back with me?” you ask, eyes opening wider with hope.

He shakes his head. “Sorry, princess. I still need to go help Tim. I’ll be back soon though.”

“Define soon,” you reply with a slight pout.

Jason drops in a squat so he can take your hands; the act is hidden by your door.

“An hour or two?” he says. “But don’t wait up. It could be longer.”

You nod solemnly.

Jason squeezes your hands, thumbs rubbing your skin tenderly.

“Text me when you get home, ‘kay?” he asks.

“Okay,” you say.

Jason releases your hands to rub your thighs.

“Thank you for calling me,” he adds.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want my boyfriend upset with me,” you huff halfheartedly.

Jason squeezes your legs.

“Just want ya safe, doll.”

“I know,” you sigh and place your hands over his.

“I better get going,” he says and reluctantly begins to pull away.

You grab his hands to hold him close.

“Ya know, you might as well just kiss me. I think the worker knows you’re not just here to pump a random Gothamite’s gas.”

Jason chuckles and takes a peek at the window. The worker still looks on, but now with a confused face. When he notices Jason staring, he averts his gaze. Though, Jason knows it won’t last long.

“Fine,” he relents and leans down.

You grin, reaching out to cup his helmet as you kiss the cool material. Of course, it’s not the same as feeling his lips on yours, but the sentiment is felt.

“Love you,” you murmur as you pull away and drop your hands.

Jason sighs longingly. “Love you too, beautiful. See you at home.”

“See you,” you reply.

Jason ends up following you for a while for extra precaution before heading back to his patrol shift. He doesn’t come home for another three hours.

When he does, you’re on the brink of sleep. Still, you turn in his arms so you can snuggle your face against his chest.

“Missed you,” you mumble.

His chest vibrates as he laughs. “You saw me a few hours ago.”

“And what ‘bout it, Todd?” you huff.

He pulls you even closer and rests his head against yours. His body feels so nice. You wish you could stay in his arms for days.

“Nothin’, doll. I missed ya too,” he says in a deep, tired voice.

“Hmph! Thought so,” you reply and carefully lift your head to give him a triumphant smile.

Jason releases an amused puff of air.

“Get some sleep, silly,” he says.

“Kiss first,” you demand, puckering your lips dramatically.

Jason grins and angles his face to give you a tender smooch.

Your lips spread in a grin upon feeling him directly.

When he goes to pull away, you whine in protest and chase after him. You capture his mouth again before he can get too far.

Jason laughs into the kiss, pulling you on top of him. His hands trail up your sides to cup your face. His warmth spreads from your cheeks to your heart.

There’s a dopey, sleepy smile on your face when you pull away.

“God, I love you,” Jason says with the utmost sincerity that squeezes your heart.

“Not as much as I love you,” you sing-song, leaning down to peck his lips.

“Yeah, right,” he chuckles and moves his hands back to your sides. He slides them under your shirt to feel you directly.

Instead of arguing, you lean down to kiss him once more.

“You’re comfy,” you mumble.

He can’t stop the happiness that shows on his face at your words. He gently eases you down by pressing lightly on your upper back and says, “Good. I like you like this.” 

He adjusts his head against his pillow and closes his eyes, arms holding your body to his like a teddy bear.

“I like being here,” you reply and lay your head on his chest. You love hearing the rhythm of his heart.

You feel him give your head a kiss before he gets settled. It’s not long before his breathing gets steadier, and his arms lax slightly around your body. As you join him in dreamland, you realize you’ll never feel safer than in his arms. 

A/N: I have this for my other blog, so I wanted to share it here too: For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[the-witty-pen-name]

Meddling Mr. Munson

Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Wayne is your favorite regular at work. Plus- his nephew is really cute.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff and good feels you’ll get a toothache, allusions to pregnancy, alcohol mentioned, mentions of bullying

The first time you meet Wayne Munson, you’re eight hours into your six hour shift at the only diner in Hawkins that's open twenty-four hours. You’re working the overnight shift, and you were supposed to be relieved at 4:00am, but the waitress who was supposed to relieve you called from a payphone to tell you her bus broke down and she can’t get to work until the replacement arrives. So now, you’re brewing a fresh pot of coffee for the only patron you’ve had before the breakfast rush- which hopefully you’ll be missing.

You chit chat with Mr. Munson while he sits at the counter nursing his black coffee. He works overnight at the plant you’ve learned, and he asks you questions about your college classes. He doesn’t admit it, because he’s not the type, but he really enjoys the daily chats with you as stopping at the diner after work becomes one of his routines.

“You should come meet me for breakfast on your way to school,” Wayne suggests one night when he and Eddie are watching TV. His suggestion is met with Eddie blowing a raspberry and a grumble about not wanting to wake up that early. Wayne tosses his hat at Eddie, harmlessly making Eddie jump. “I ain’t asking,” Wayne reiterates and Eddie nods sheepishly, sinking into the couch.

Your eyes light up when you hear the bell on the front door. You already know it’s one of your favorite regulars before you even look up. “‘Morning, Mr. Munson,” you say cheerfully, “Take a seat, I just put on a fresh pot.” You look up and you’re surprised to see he isn’t alone. “Oh, hi Eddie,” you say with a grin, surprised to see Wayne isn’t alone. Eddie’s brain short circuits because he doesn’t know how you even know him, and you are very pretty.

You step out from behind the counter with two mugs in hand as they slide into a booth. “You don’t remember me,” you tease, filling both the mugs with coffee. Eddie fumbles over his words apologetically and Wayne smirks to himself. “That’s okay, we weren’t really friends,” you explain and tell him your name, “You sat in front of me last year in Ms.O’Donnell’s class. We didn’t really talk much.” He’s silently thanking you for omitting that you didn’t talk because he was hardly there. However, he’s practically soaring that despite that you somehow remembered him and aren’t recoiling in disgust.

“Eddie’s got her again this year,” Wayne interjects and Eddie wants to roll under the booth. He’s suddenly embarrassed that he’s repeating senior year again and he wished you didn’t know that. Wayne means nothing by it, literally just making conversation, and the news Eddie is in her class doesn’t seem to even phase you.

“She’s brutal,” you exhale, “If you want, I think I still have my notes somewhere. They’re all yours.”

“T-that’d be great,” he manages to get out. You smile at him and his limbs feel like clay.

“Yeah, of course,” you wave it off like it’s nothing. “I’ll come back in a few and grab your orders, take your time.”

Wayne is using his menu to hide his grin from Eddie. He didn’t know if Eddie and you would hit it off, he just had hopes. He’s not one to meddle, especially in his nephew’s love life, but when you had told Wayne you didn’t have a boyfriend, he immediately wanted to introduce you to Eddie. He knew Eddie would just reject the idea, so he didn’t say anything.

“She’s cute,” Wayne says after a minute when you disappear behind the door to the kitchen.

“God, cut it out,” Eddie exclaims, dramatically covering his face with his hands. His face is bright red. This seriously can not be happening right now. “Wayne, seriously, you are not seriously trying to set me up right now?”

“I’m just trying to treat my nephew to breakfast, I thought it would be nice. We haven’t done this in a while,” he says evenly, but Eddie knows the truth. “I think I’m gonna get the meat lover’s omelet,” he muses, acting oblivious to Eddie’s antics.

Eddie’s nervous bouncing of his leg is making the booth shake, and the coffee spills out over the rim of the mugs ever so slightly. Wayne slides over extra napkins, and chastises Eddie about leaving rings on the table.

“Are you all set?” You ask, getting your notepad out of the front pocket of your apron. Wayne nods and Eddie is staring blankly at the menu in front of him, paralyzed.

“The pancakes are really good if you’re still trying to decide,” you offer, thinking Eddie is actually reading the menu.

“U-uh yeah, that sounds good,” he replies. You nod and scribble it down on your pad.

“Your usual Wayne?” You ask and he nods.

“You’re the best,” he smiles, passing you the menus.

“It’ll be right out,” you reply, “Do you want me to top these off?” Wayne offers you his empty cup and Eddie manages to shake his head no. You disappear behind the doors again to ring in the order, and Wayne nudges Eddie to snap out of it.

“You’re being rude,” he says, “Look I get it, I’ll stay out of it. But you don’t have to freeze her out. She’s being lovely.”

Of course you’re being lovely, Eddie screams internally. You are lovely! He can’t bring himself to correct his uncle that he’s not ignoring you to spite him, but he’s actually tongue tied and completely fumbling. He can’t give Wayne the satisfaction of being right and he also doesn’t want to say anything out loud in utter fear you’d hear him.

“Food should be right out,” you say with a sweet smile. You walk over to the opposite side of the diner and wipe down a few of the empty booths. Eddie flexes his fingers over his thighs repeatedly to try to relax. Wayne watches Eddie, starting to notice he’s a lot more twitchy than he usually is. Eddie’s always animated but this is new. Maybe, Wayne muses, his little plan might actually be working.

Wayne really only ever wants Eddie to be happy. He’s had a front row seat to the abuse Eddie has received from his peers his whole life. Under the tattoos and the hair and the ripped jeans, Wayne still sees the little boy he tucked into bed and the little boy who sat on the kitchen counter while he helped clean his scraped knees. He wished the pain he had to help Eddie navigate was still that simple. Wayne thought maybe you’d see Eddie the way he did.

You’re nice, and genuinely so. Wayne thought if anyone could see Eddie, truly see him for the amazing kid he was, it would be you. Even if this whole stupid plan of his amounted to nothing more, you’re treating Eddie with such a normal level of human decency and you have no idea how much that means to the both of them. For Wayne, that’s more than he could ever ask for. He knows as much as he’s resisting, Eddie will leave here and go to school feeling a little bit better. For a brief moment in an empty diner, he can see the world isn’t always out to get him. Sometimes, the world is nice- with pretty girls to talk to and uncles who love you more than life itself.

When you bring out the food, Wayne watches the way your eyes linger on Eddie. You’re also being a little shy. He smiles to himself, keeping his head low while he starts to dig into his food. You ask Eddie about his band, and Wayne watches his nephew’s eyes light up, his usual confidence returning to the forefront as he tells you all about Corroded Coffin. You listen, and Wayne realizes you’re not just placating Eddie, you actually care.

“I’ll have to come to another show sometime,” you say, “I say you guys at The Hideout like a couple months ago actually.”

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes widen in disbelief. You giggle, and nod.

“Yup, you guys were awesome,” you assure him. “If you guys ever sell a tape, let me know. I want one.”

As they finish up their breakfast, you drop off the check, and Eddie thinks he might die when he sees you’ve scribbled your number on the receipt for him. The check has been comped and the note read:

“Wayne, Happy to treat my favorite customer! Eddie, in case you’d want to go out sometime? No pressure.” With your number underneath.

The most recent time you saw Wayne Munson, he pulled you into a hug and thanked you for inviting him over. It’s the first time you and Eddie are hosting a holiday in your new apartment.

He smiles as he looks around. You and Eddie have really done an amazing job making a cozy little life together. He smells the turkey finishing up in the oven and he can’t believe he can finally witness his nephew this happy. The two of you insist he sit in the living room while you both finish cooking for him. He’s enjoying watching the two of you work in the kitchen together, moving synchronously like you’ve done this dance a million times before- and you have.

He settles in and Eddie brings him a beer. Wayne looks around at Eddie’s and your new home and he can’t help but beam with pride. This is all he could’ve asked for Eddie- all he’s ever wanted to see him have. Eddie’s still as dopey grinned and smitten as he was the first day back at the diner. Wayne knows you’re the one- he knew before you or Eddie knew.

Eddie’s his son, even if he’ll never be called Dad. He doesn’t want that anyways. But, he knows your the best daughter-in-law he could have ever asked for. A best friend and a confidant from the first day he met you. He’s so glad to have you both together in his life. Little did he know, that tonight after dinner when he’s long past just full- but not too full for pie- Eddie would hold your hand and you’d both sit across from him, giving him the best news he could possibly hear in this lifetime.

His small trio, will shortly be adding a fourth band member.

[suguann]

There comes a point where Simon finally admits that he hates your new boyfriend—not that he’s liked any of your past relationships over the years, but this one he’s more vocal about—with a name not worth remembering. Matt? Martin?

He’d stopped trying after his first week back from work.

“I don’t fucking trust him,” he says one night while at the pub right under your apartment; it’s become a weekly ritual of sorts when he’s on leave ever since meeting you there on Soap’s birthday several years back. 

“You say that about every guy I have you meet,” you tell him in that know-it-all voice that you always use with him. “You hardly even know him, and his name’s Marcus, by the way. It wouldn’t kill you to use it.”

He snorts. “Love, the bloke would put his cock in anyone with tits and a warm cunt.”

“He wouldn’t,” your voice is soft because maybe you already know.

He would.

You’re so fucking oblivious that you don’t even realize this, but there’s nothing except stars in your eyes whenever you look at (or even talk about) the Naval officer who thinks he’s some bigshot because he can fly a plane. 

Even now, at your boyfriend’s promotion after-party in some back alley nightclub, he’s hardly talked to you or offered to get you a drink. You’re always too nervous to order one by yourself, and only Simon—tall and imposing standing beside you—could have the grumpiest bartender reach for the blender to make a blended cocktail. 

When he comes back with your drink—too big fingers unfolding the tiny umbrella for you—he watches your boyfriend (Marcus) flirt with a girl in a tight leather dress on the other side of the room. It’s that moment that he decides he’s tired of you giving your attention to someone who doesn’t deserve it, tired of you lying belly up for men who only want to sink their teeth into you and leave once they’ve had their fill. 

He likes to think he’s a pretty good friend—opening your eyes to something better is a job he takes rather seriously.

“It’s just a bit of fun,” he says after coming back with your third margarita, a small amount of frothy liquid sloshing over the side when he sets it down in front of you. “It’s okay to want it.”

You bite your lip, eyes dropping down to where he’s patting his thigh. “Just fun?”

“Yes, love.” He smiles. “Just fun.”

Let me.

Whether you’re tipsier than he thought or he’s just really persuasive, it’s easy to get you crawling into his lap in the corner of the cracked leather booth. His hands wander the span of your smooth thighs where your short skirt doesn’t reach, and he muffles a groan in your shoulder when you start squirming against the tent in his jeans.

You say his name like a warning when his hands find their way under your skirt, yet you’re biting back a moan and don’t tell him to stop.

Simon undoes his jeans and shifts them down before pushing up the back of your skirt and adjusting your hips to watch the tip of his dick slide between the covered cleft of your ass. Nobody in the room can see what the both of you are doing with your skirt fanning around his lap, but someone could if they were truly looking, and that has him tugging your panties to the side so he can feel you.

"Your boyfriend is too stupid to realize you're sitting here riding my lap. What do you think he'd say if he saw you like this?"

 “W-wait, Simon!” you squeak. “What if he sees—”

He’s almost tempted to roll his eyes at your blind devotion—I’ll deal with it—dealing with it would be him making sure the prick never tries talking to you again.

Then, his fingers, like iron at your hips, jerk you back to impale you on his cock. "Fuck," he says, voice trembling around the edges.

“O-oh! It’s too—ah—too big!”

He wraps a hand around the slender slope of your throat, fingers digging into vulnerable flesh as he pulls you back until his lips are at your ear, nose pressing into the soft skin of your cheek. “Come on, love. I know you can take the whole thing. Right inside this tight cunt.”

Simon thrusts into you shallowly, just the tip going in and out, and you whine, little fingers scrabbling at his wrist—gasping and shivering and bucking in the trap of his arms.

A smirk curls at the edges of his mouth when he finally bottoms out in your hot-wet cunt for your boyfriend to see from the other side of the room. He'd laugh at how his jaw drops, but he can only manage little choked intakes of air at the feel of you wrapped so tightly around him.

“Squeeze my cock for me—fuck, there you go.” He presses a kiss below your ear and reaches down to pet your soaked clit with his thumb. Feels the moment you realize that your boyfriend is watching when you tense up.

“I’ll deal with it,” he says again and again until you’re melting into him, thighs trembling around his. “Promise. I promise…”

I apologize if you see this again! I was trying to edit it, and it wouldn't format right with the gif. You can find part two here.

masterlist

[lucyrose191]

TAME THE WOLFF| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Angry!Toto Wolff x Calm!Wife!reader

Summary; A few scenarios in which Toto is angry and frustrated and you’re there to calm him down and save his poor team from his wrath

Warnings; angry Toto.

F1 Master List

It was no secret that during a race weekend Toto could get a little….frustrated.

Okay, frustrated was putting it way too lightly, the man got way too passionate about his work and when things didn’t go the way they’re supposed to it was like a volcano was erupting in his mind and he just loses all sense of control leading him to his famous actions of smashing headphones.

The Austrian was already intimidating enough with his tall stature and the confidence he eluded but when he was angry he wasn’t just intimidating, he was scary.

The way his dark eyes seemed to turn almost entirely black and how the veins in his forehead throbbed were signs that had the Mercedes team shifting in their seats and the moment he started running his hands down his face was the moment the higher people in the team would get their phones out and call for help.

That help being you.

It had taken a long time for the team to acknowledge the effect you had on their team principle because he never got angry when you attended races but it was when you arrived to races later in the day that they started to see how things changed.

It was one particular day when Toto had arrived to the track already a bit frustrated, whether that was because of your absence or not they didn’t know but the pile up of disastrous events had lead to the team principle throwing things and shouting at the top of his lungs.

Then you arrived.

You certainly hadn’t expected to walk into the garage and be greeted by your husband in a fit of rage and the entire team stood frozen like petrified animals but the sight of fear on their faces had upset you greatly, especially knowing that it was because of Toto’s, quite frankly unnecessary, tantrum.

You walked over to your husband, who hadn’t even noticed you amidst his anger, and gently placed your hand on his arm.

Any member of the team would’ve called you crazy in that moment, walking over to the beast of a man with no fear on your face when he could have easily turned around and launched you across the room without even thinking.

He had been ready to throw a fist at the person who had the gall to touch him before he saw that it was you, his beloved wife looking at him with nothing but love in your eyes even as he was acting like a brute.

The team had never seen him change personalities so quickly in that moment.

You didn’t say anything to him, instead you placed your other hand on his back and guided him away from everyone, you wouldn’t have been able to move him by yourself but he allowed you to guide him away with absolutely no argument.

You opened the door of his makeshift office, saying nothing as he strode straight past you without a glance, steam practically spilling from his ears, you could feel the anger radiating off of him.

Apart from his unsettled shuffling the room was filled with an intense silence as you shut the door, simply watching as his chest rose and fell harshly, you could see that he was trying to calm himself down now that he was in your presence but he was struggling to do so and that was only frustrating him further.

"Sit down," you gently instructed him, nodding towards the small sofa pushed up against the wall of the small room.

He wanted to argue but he stopped himself and did as he was told, sitting down on the sofa he buried his face into his hands.

You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around the back of his head, allowing him to lean into your stomach, you ran your hands through his hair.

"I understand you’re stressed and that things aren’t going the way you want them too but the way you’re shouting is unfair to the team, they are not your verbal punching bag but you’re treating them as they are."

Toto closed his eyes, releasing a heavy sigh, he wrapped his arms around your body to bring you closer.

He knew you were right, you always were and that’s what he loved about you, how you were always there to talk some sense into him.

He didn’t say anything though, he just held you firmly but gently and used your presence to calm him down.

There were many things he needed to be doing right now but he couldn’t find himself to care, right now the most important thing was calming down and spending time with you, no matter how long that took.

When the Mercedes team heard the door to their boss’ office unlock and saw the man himself walk out completely calm with you following shortly after, they were beyond amazed.

It was that day that the members of the team who had your number put you on speed dial in preparation for when an incident like this happened again, which it no doubt would.

"It seems that Toto Wolff is beginning to get a little bit frustrated down in the Mercedes garage."

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the unnecessary commentary that wasn’t helping in the slightest.

Your husband was getting agitated and the nearby team members were nervously glancing in his direction as though they were mentally preparing themselves for him to blow his top.

Instead of waiting for Toto to lose it, you stood behind him and loosely wrapped your arms around him, thumbing at the collar of his shirt.

Everyone around could see the tension immediately release from his body just from your comforting touch.

Toto grabbed one of your hands with his own, stroking his thumb back and forth across your skin, using the motion as a way to ground himself.

The whole garage went silent at the sight of both of their cars spinning off the track in turn 1. What once was going to be a promising race from starting second and third has turned into a disaster in such a short amount of time.

Everyone was utterly speechless as the entire team just sat there staring at their monitors in shock.

But then they actually acknowledged that it was silent and all simultaneously turned towards their boss with confused stares only to see you blocking him from the cameras that were pointing into the garage, leaning down and whispering, what they could only guess were calming, words to him.

Whilst the cameras couldn’t see his face, the team could and they could tell he was, rightfully so, furious as the situation, he wasn’t shouting or throwing things.

He definitely wanted to but he wasn’t.

You weren’t really in the mood to be in the garage today surrounded by so much noise to the point you could barely hear yourself think and the smell of fuel so strong it made you nauseous but you still wanted to support your husband as you weren’t able to accompany him everywhere he went so you settled in his makeshift office on what was possibly the worlds smallest sofa with your laptop sitting in your lap and your headphones placed over your ears to block out the noise from the team outside and the cars on the track.

It had been hours and you were content in the alone time you were getting, it was just you and your music playing in your ears that you didn’t notice the multiple calls you were receiving.

Unbeknownst to you, outside of his office, your husband was kicking off and nothing anyone did or said could calm him down.

The team had never witnessed Toto as angry as he was right now, the veins in his forehead more prominent than ever and whilst most didn’t understand the German words coming out of his mouth, they knew he couldn’t be saying anything nice.

Bono was trying to get a hold of you for possibly the twentieth time and he was still having no luck, he felt the pressure of the teams eyes on him, begging for the news that you’d be coming knowing that he was only one of a few that had your number and the means to find you right now but he wasn’t getting anywhere.

Poor Lewis and George were getting the brunt of the Austrian’s anger and even though they hadn’t a clue of what he was saying, they were starting to question the security of their jobs.

Luckily, a mechanic who had just entered the garage and was completely taken aback by the scene in front of him, awkwardly side shuffled to Bono and questioned what was going on. "He’s acting crazy! I can’t get a hold of Y/N."

"Didn’t she go straight into his office when they arrived earlier?" The mechanic asked.

Bono looked at him in shock and relief before jumping to his feet and wasting no time as he jogged in the direction of Toto’s office.

It was rude but he didn’t bother knocking, he almost cried when he saw you sitting there.

You got the fright of your life as the door burst open but the sight of a frantic Bono caused you to remove your headphones and look at him in confusion.

"Oh thank god you’re here! Toto’s gone mental!"

You released a sigh at his words and pushed your laptop to the side and got up from the sofa. "What for now?"

"I honestly have no idea but if he doesn’t calm down soon then Lewis and George might just start crying and Toto looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel."

The moment you stepped out into the short, narrow corridor you heard your husbands angry German shouting. "Mein Gott," you muttered to yourself.

Entering the main part of the garage you weren’t greeted by a pretty sight at all, Bono wasn’t overreacting in the way he described Toto, Lewis and George and let’s not forget about the rest of the team.

You headed straight for your husband, not acknowledging the looks of relief you saw build on everyone’s faces, especially the two drivers’.

You didn’t even need to say anything to Toto, you just stood in front of him and looked up at him with a stern gaze that soon got him to shut up but his eyes were still blazing with fury as he looked down at you, you knew his anger wasn’t aimed at you, he was just still pent up with emotions.

You nodded in the direction of his office and simply walked away, expecting him to follow after you if he knew what was good for him.

He followed you.

The moment you heard him close the door you turned to him. "This needs to stop."

He looked at you furiously, "how am I supposed to stop when I have two drivers that can’t even get through a lap without crashing into each other!"

"Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Torger!" Your voice cut through the air as you glared at him which soon caused his face to shift from angry to wounded as you scolded him.

"How hard is it for you to simply sit them down and give them a stern talking to, there’s no need for the way you completely blow your top, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum."

He was still beyond angry, you could see it in his eyes and the way he shifted on his feet and he was about to retort but you cut him off. "I don’t want to hear you right now, I want you to sit down in silence and calm down before a single word comes out of your mouth."

He pursed his lips, not at all happy but he did as he was told and sat down in the chair behind the small desk, you didn’t spare him a glance as you sat yourself back where you were before Bono came searching for you, pulling your laptop back onto your lap to finish what you had been doing.

It was a good 15/20 minutes later when you heard him get up from his seat and make his way over to you. He sat beside you and rested his head on your shoulder causing you to roll your eyes but a smile grew on your face at his actions, you were glad he couldn’t see it though.

You continued to carry on with what you were doing, letting him decide how he wanted your conversation to go and so it remained silent for a few more minutes with you and Toto simply sat there, him resting against you simply soaking up the comfort of your presence.

He shifted and pressed a kiss to your temple before returning back to his position. "Are you mad at me?" He asked when you remained silent.

You closed your laptop and put it away before shifting the both of you so you were up straight and looking at each other. "No," you told him honestly, "I just wish you wouldn’t let your frustrations get the best of you all the time."

He looked down at your words before looking back into your eyes with a sincere look, "I’m sorry."

"It’s okay," you smiled at him, reaching out a hand to brush his hair back. "We just need to find a way for you to keep yourself together."

"You’re the way," he replied immediately which stunned you and he was okay with that. He pulled you into his arms and you both just sat there.

You could be quite the opposite at times but you were content with that because you would always be there to ground him whenever his emotions got out of control.

[covenofagatha]

Birthday Girl

On your 21st birthday, your friends drag you to a bar to get wasted when you decide it's a good idea to drunk-call Professor Agatha Harkness.

Word count: 3400+

Warnings: smut, fingering, oral, intoxication, mentions of underage drinking, teacher x student (legal)

“One, two, three!” Wanda chants and you and your friends tap your shot glasses on the bar counter and quickly down them. 

You gasp at the burn and they laugh at you. It’s your 21st birthday and your best friends Wanda, Rio, and Natasha had dragged you out to the closest bar to get you wasted. They had all already turned 21 the year before; you were the baby in the group. 

“Fuck, that’s disgusting,” you groan. 

“Another round, please!” Rio motions to the bartender. He sets down four more tequila shots and one is shoved into your hand. 

“Think you can get to 21?” Wanda jokes and the thought of 20 more shots makes you want to gag. 

“I might puke after this one,” you say and your friends laugh. You were never a partier in high school or college, always preferring to curl up on the couch and watch a movie. You’d only had some sips of alcohol a few times, but you had never been drunk. 

“You deserve this!” Nat shouts in your ear. “Harkness has been working you to the bone!” 

You shrug and wave your hand dismissively, suddenly uncomfortable. Agatha Harkness is your History of Witchcraft professor at Westview University. She’s known around campus for being cold to everyone and rarely giving out A’s. She expected nothing short of excellence and would not put up with excuses. Everyone was terrified of her. 

Everyone except for you. 

Something about the older woman captivated you. You were obsessed with meeting her standards, dreaming of the day she would look at you with pride. You poured over your books for her class, rereading every sentence you wrote thrice, just to try to impress her. It had taken your friends days of begging to convince you to come celebrate your birthday with them because you had a paper for Agatha’s class due in a week and you were already worried about it. 

“I don’t know how you’re surviving,” Wanda says. “I had her last semester and got a C in the class. Third highest grade. She’s the worst.” 

“She’s not that bad,” you defend, not quite sure why. Something about Agatha getting so much hate for pushing her students rubs you the wrong way. 

“Yeah she is,” Rio joins in. “I heard that she’s a real witch.”

You roll your eyes. “Can we please stop talking about her? I thought you guys brought me here to get away from school.” You take the shot that’s still in your hand and it goes down smoother this time. 

“Yes, there we go!” Rio whoops. 

Two more shots later and your head has gone completely fuzzy. You feel as if you are floating on air and everything around you is happening in slow motion. You get off your stool and immediately stumble, Wanda catching you with her arms. 

“I think I’m a little drunk,” you tell her. She laughs like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. 

“No shit, y/n, you don’t have to yell!” 

You didn’t even realize you had. “We should probably go back to the dorms!” You look around to see Nat chatting with some girl and Rio throwing darts at the board in the corner. 

“Not yet,” Wanda says, picking up her rum and coke. You’re not sure how she’s still drinking after she also did four tequila shots. “I’ll get you some water.” She signals to the bartender and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your vision to go back to normal. 

When you open them, you see dark hair in the corner. Is that–? You shift so you can get a better look and feel sorely disappointed when you realize the person is not Agatha. Why are you disappointed? The thought echoes in your head for a second, and then is replaced by a sudden urge to see your professor. 

“Drink this,” Wanda orders, pressing a glass of ice water into your hand, but you’re too busy scrolling through your phone. You know she put her number on the syllabus somewhere and you are too far gone to think that this might be a bad idea. 

You feel a thrill run through you when you find it. You read the number over and over, like you’re afraid it’s going to change somehow. 

“I’ll be back,” you slur to Wanda and then step out the side door into the alley. You type the number into your phone and your finger hesitates over the call button. You know you shouldn’t. But fuck it. You press the button and lift the phone to your ear. 

It rings. And then rings again. You’re about to hang up to spare yourself the rejection when the call connects. 

“Hello?” It’s actually her. 

Your breath catches in your throat and you stand up straighter. “Professor Harkness?” 

“Y/n? Is that you?” 

“Yeah.” Shit, this was a bad idea. Even with your head still swimming, you know that. You can’t just hang up though. 

“Why are you calling me at 10:30 on a Saturday night?” 

“Um,” you say, trying to think of something. You’re definitely going to have to drop her class after this. You’ll never be able to face her ever again. “It’s my birthday?” You offer lamely. 

Agatha scoffs. “Happy birthday. Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, no, Professor, I just wanted – we’re at a bar – I thought you were – and just wanted to say hi,” you ramble, knowing you’re not making any sense, and you can almost hear her smirk through the phone. 

“Y/n, are you drunk right now?” Her voice perks up and it sounds like she’s finally interested. 

“No!” you protest. “Well, maybe a little. But I’m 21 now!” 

“What bar are you at?” 

“Jimmy’s.” It’s a local dive bar that is a popular place for Westview students to hang out at. 

“I’ll be there in ten. Wait out front.” There’s a click and then she’s gone. You stare at your phone, dumbfounded. Is Agatha coming to pick you up? Why?

You walk back into the bar and order a Dirty Shirley. The call had sobered you up a bit and if you had already drunk-called your professor, why not get even more hammered. Wanda comes back over to you and giggles when she sees the new drink in your hand. 

“Alright, time to party!” she exclaims. You pick up on the fact that she’s a little drunk as well. You stand up, vision blurring for a second. 

“I actually called an uber,” you lie, even through your hazy mind knowing that your professor coming to pick you up might sound strange to them.

Wanda pouts and then throws her arms around you. “Happy birthday,” she says into your ear and your arms tighten around her. 

“Thank you,” you breathe back. You’re close with Rio and Nat as well, but they don’t have the same bond you and Wanda do. You pull back and then go say goodbye to your other friends. 

The wind outside does very little to sober you up and you shiver from the coldness. You’re wearing a purple crop-top and a black mini-skirt, something Nat had found buried deep in your closet. You watch the time on your phone, heartbeat picking up as it gets closer to ten minutes since Agatha had hung up on you. 

And then right on the dot, a slick black Range Rover pulls into the parking lot, and you immediately know it’s her. The car stops right in front of you, the passenger window rolling down, and your breath catches. 

It’s Professor Harkness, clad in a maroon suit, wavy hair falling over her shoulders. 

“Do you need me to open the door for you, too, princess?” Agatha says, sarcasm dripping over the words, when you haven’t moved. You shake your head, partly to answer and partly to clear the fog. You settle into the seat, not missing the way Agatha’s eyes rake over your skimpily clothed body.

“You didn’t have to come get me,” you mutter, putting real effort into not slurring your words. 

She glances at you and sees you struggling with your seatbelt. She reaches over and you freeze at her close proximity. Her breath is hot against your cheek and her fingers brush your stomach as she takes the seat belt from your hand and buckles it for you. “Thought I would spare the other people you drunk-called,” she says. 

Embarrassment runs through you. “You were the only one,” you say meekly, picking at a scab on your hand. You dare to peek at her, only to find her smirking, one eyebrow quirked. 

“Oh?”

“I shouldn’t have called.” This time, it’s harder to keep your words from running together. “We were talking about you and then I thought I saw you and I just wanted to see you.” You need to stop talking, now. 

Agatha hums. “Did you, now?” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ears as she shifts the car into drive and you watch her fingers. 

“You’re really hot,” you blurt out and then clamp a hand over your mouth. Fuck. 

Instead of pulling over and making you get out, like you thought she would, Agatha simply reaches over and pats your leg. “And you’re really drunk, sweetheart.” 

The pet name makes you swoon inwardly. “Not that drunk,” you say unconvincingly. “I only had one…two…” You trail off, attempting to count the number of drinks on your fingers. Agatha stifles a chuckle. 

“Is this your first time drinking?” She asks, amused. 

“No, but it is my first time drinking this much,” you admit. “My friends dragged me out since it’s my birthday. I was going to work on the essay for your class.” 

“You were going to spend your 21st birthday doing school work?” 

“Your essay’s due in a week. I wanted to make sure I-it was good enough for you.” 

She notices your slip of tongue and her smirk sends heat down low in your stomach. “You’re always good for me. Your essays are some of the best I’ve ever read.” 

Your heart skips a beat and your face flushes. “I have a B in your class.” 

“You have an 88 in my class. That’s the highest I’ve had in years. Can’t make it too easy,” she says with a wink. 

“You could make it just a little easier,” you grumble, the alcohol clearly getting rid of any inhibitions. 

“You keep doing what you’re doing, sweetheart, and it’ll go up, I promise. I’m very impressed with the work you’ve been turning in.”

A hot flash runs through you. “Just wanna be your good girl.” And if it wasn’t clear how you feel about her now, it sure is. But she doesn’t look disgusted or creeped out, only intrigued. 

She finally stops the car and you peer out the window, expecting to see your dorm. You haven’t been paying attention to where she’s been driving at all, and you’re quite surprised to see you’ve arrived at a two-story house in a cute, suburban neighborhood. 

“This isn’t where I live,” you say dumbly. 

“No, it’s not,” she agrees, getting out of the car and walking over to help you. You stumble up the steps to the front door, Agatha’s tight grip on your shoulder keeping you upright. You can feel her fingers playing with the ends of your hair. 

She unlocks the front door just as a wave of nausea hits you. “Oh, god,” you say weakly, holding a hand in front of your mouth. Agatha doesn’t even seem phased; she leads you to a bathroom in the hall and leaves, only to re-enter with a glass of water moments later. You gulp it down and feel better. 

“You okay?” she asks softly, stroking your cheek, eyes tracing up and down your face. You’ve never seen this side of her and you really like it. 

“I think so. Thank you again,” you murmur and you realize that you’ve been staring at her mouth. 

“Anything for my favorite student.” 

And then, because you’re apparently determined to fuck everything up even more, you lean in and press your lips to hers. Agatha stands still for a second before you pull back, horrified with yourself. 

“Professor, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to–” 

She draws you back in for a longer kiss this time, tongue licking into your mouth. You let out a long moan and she breaks away. 

“You’re drunk,” she tells you again.

You clasp the lapels of her blazer. “I know. But I want you.” 

She softly pries your fingers off her suit and smiles. “You need to sleep. And then we can talk about this in the morning.” 

You pout and she runs her thumb over your bottom lip, slightly pulling it down. You suck her finger into your mouth, delighting in the way her eyes darken. She steps back.

“Let’s go. You can sleep in the guest room. I’ll find you some pajamas and toiletries.” Her hand on the small of your back guides you up the stairs and to the room on the right. The guest room is simple but cozy and you immediately go to the bed and flop onto it. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” Agatha warns and then leaves the room. 

She comes back in a few minutes, an old shirt and sweatpants in one hand and a toothbrush and toothpaste in the other. She pats your legs in an effort to get you up but you can barely move, suddenly weighed down by all the drinks. 

“Come on, hon,” Agatha says and helps you stand up. You don’t move as she works to take your shirt and skirt off, your cheeks and upper chest flushing red. You try to cover yourself and she smirks. 

“M’sorry,” you mumble. 

“Don’t be. I’m enjoying the view.” You stare at her longingly, silently begging her to fuck you right there and then, but she helps you step into the sweatpants and pull the shirt over your head. She watches you brush your teeth and moves the covers so you can get into bed. “Do you need anything else?” 

Your hand grabs hers. “Just you,” you try again hopefully, but she chuckles and wrenches free of your grip. 

“Good night, birthday girl,” she whispers and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. And then she turns off the lights and leaves the room.

You fall asleep immediately. 

***

Sunlight streams through the blinds, waking you up. It takes you a minute to get your bearings and then the events of last night come back to you. 

The bar. Four shots of tequila and half a Dirty Shirley. Calling Agatha and her coming to pick you up and taking you to her house. Kissing her in the downstairs bathroom. Shit. 

You groan, head pounding. You see a container of Advil and a glass of water on the nightstand beside you. You take two Advil and drain the glass, heart warming at the thought of Agatha taking such good care of you. 

And then you remember that your relationship with her will forever be complicated by your actions. 

You solemnly brush your teeth and pull back on the clothes you wore to the bar last night, neatly folding Agatha’s pajamas and placing them on the bed. You hope she hasn’t woken up yet so you can sneak out without her having to tell you how inappropriate you behaved last night. 

No such luck. The second you get downstairs, Agatha perks up from where she’s typing on her laptop on the couch.

“Good morning, darling,” she purrs, shutting her computer. You gulp, taking her outfit in. She’s wearing a robe that ends mid-thigh and the neckline drops low. 

“Hey,” you say casually, trying to hide how much you’re internally freaking out. 

“Do you want something for breakfast? I can cook you something.” She stands up and walks to the kitchen and you follow like a lost puppy. You involuntarily lick your lips at the way her hips are swaying. 

“What are my options?” Your voice is raspy, still feeling hungover. She glances back at you and her eyes dart up and down your body. 

“I can make eggs. Bacon. I think I have pancake mix in the pantry. What would you like?” 

You’re a little confused that she hasn’t scolded you yet. And then you remember something else. She kissed you. 

You swallow hard. Whatever else you may have done last night that you can’t remember, she doesn’t hate you for it. She might even want you back. 

“Are you on the menu?” It comes out before you can even realize what you’re saying. 

Agatha freezes and turns around. You shift your weight nervously, but then you see her pupils blown out. Her eyes are so dark you can barely see any blue. “What?” She asks carefully.

“You kissed me last night,” you say, a little breathless. You have absolutely no idea where this confidence is coming from. “You wouldn’t do anything else cause I was drunk. But I’m not drunk now.” 

She steps toward you and roughly grasps your hair. She tilts your head back, exposing your neck just a tad. “No, you’re not.” She regards you for a second. “You know you’re not going to get extra credit for trying to sleep with your professor.” 

You laugh. “That’s not why I’m doing this.” 

She smirks. “Good.” And then she licks a hot stripe up your neck and bites down, sucking a mark on your skin. You gasp loudly and tangle your hands into her hair. 

“Professor,” you moan and you drag her into a filthy kiss. She backs you up until your thighs hit the table so she lifts you up onto it. Your legs wrap around her to pull her closer. Agatha pushes up your crop-top and kneads your breast, thumb stroking your nipple, never once breaking your kiss.

Her hand creeps under your skirt and cups your mound over your underwear. Your hips jump on their own at the stimulation. 

“Please,” you beg. Her lips curl into a smile. 

“What do you want?” Her fingers have pushed your underwear to the side and have started lazily stroking through your folds, spreading your wetness. 

“You,” is all you can say before she sinks a finger into your hole. 

“Like this?” She asks innocently, thrusting hard. 

“Yes,” you pant, quickly untying her robe so you can touch her. She’s completely naked underneath and you lean down so you can take a nipple into your mouth. 

“That’s perfect, baby,” she sighs, setting a relentless pace with her fingers after she slips another one in you. “Is this what you hoped would happen when you called me last night?”

“I’ve been hoping for this since the first day of the semester,” you answer, and she falters for a second, thrown off by your honesty. 

She pulls out of you and panic runs through you, terrified that you said the wrong thing. But she just pushes you down so your back is resting on the table and she pulls out one of the chairs from the table. 

“What are you–” Before you can finish your sentence, she leans forward and sucks your clit into her mouth. Your back arches off the table, hands rushing down to hold her in place. “Fuck, Professor!” 

She devours your pussy like she’s a starving woman, pulling all sorts of loud noises from you. 

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum,” you chant, hips grinding on her face, trying to get the last bit of stimulation you need to send you over the edge. She knows what you need and presses her fingers inside you, curling them just right and gives your clit a hard last lick. You cum harder than you ever have before, her name on your lips like a prayer. She helps you ride through the aftershocks and then trails kisses up your body until she can kiss your mouth. 

“How was that?” she asks after you pull away to catch your breath. 

“That was probably the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten,” you say, which cracks both of you up. “But I’m not finished.” 

Her eyebrow quirks up and she smirks. “Oh?” You stand up, putting your hands on her hips and flipping her around so she’s leaning against the table. 

You sink to your knees in front of you, not even bothering with a chair. You slowly push her robe up so it bunches at her waist. “Can I return the favor?” 

A glint appears in her eye and she fists one of her hands in your hair preemptively. “I’d like nothing more.” 

[clockwayswrites]

A Bird and a Menace of Bats - Part 17

masterpost

“We could always look up where he lives,” Tim suggested.

Bruce gave his son a tired look, turning slowly that he was sure not to jostle the sleeping man on his shoulder. “No, we can’t.”

“Sure you can. WE has to have it on file.”

“That would be a gross misuse of my postilion and an invasion of privacy,” Bruce said. “As in something Danny could very well sue for as us taking him home has nothing to do with his work and why we would have his address on file.”

“What about his driver’s license?” Duke suggested.

“He doesn’t have one, or at least not on him,” Dick said. He had Danny’s jacket pulled open and was carefully feeling inside for pockets.

Next to him, Jason was going through the card pocket on the back of Danny’s cellphone case.

“He does have a rewards card for Lacey’s though, so good taste there.”

Bruce rubbed tiredly at his face. “Dick, stop looking for a wallet. Jason, put all the cards back where you found them, please, and no hacking the phone.”

“You’re no fun anymore,” Jason said in a mocking whine.

Stephanie stifled a snicker.

“Stephanie, stop stalking him on social media and Babara, stop using what she’s found to try and triangulate where he is from,” Bruce said.

“Jason’s right,” Stephanie said as she slumped dramatically back into the seat, “you’re no fun anymore.”

“Yes, how boring of me,” Bruce drawled, “not invading the privacy of a man so unwell that he fell asleep in a noisy limo full of near strangers.”

Cass leaned forward at that.

Bruce quickly shifted gears to try and reassure her. “He’ll be alright, Cass.”

“Breathing is shallow. Heart?”

Bruce nodded. “He said there was an accident when he was a child that affected his heart and pulse. It was very slow and weak early after he stood up from his seat and had to sit back down. But he also said that it wasn’t unexpected and that he’s been to his doctor recently.”

“He did take this week off.”

“Tim.”

“What?” Tim said defensively. “He befriended my sister, I had to check him out.”

At least that was a reasonable excuse in case Danny was hearing any of this.

“If he’s doing badly, he shouldn’t be home alone, right?” Stephanie asked far too innocently.

“Not that we even know where he lives without waking him. Shouldn’t we let him rest?” Tim added.

“I shall start to the Manor then,” Alfred said, bringing an abrupt end to the discussion so suddenly that was that.

For what felt like the millionth time that night, Bruce sighed heavily.

-

It rather said something about the family that they were both efficient and graceful in getting an unconscious body out of the car. Bruce, with Dick’s help, passed Danny to Jason who held him out of the way as the rest of the family climbed out. Bruce was surprised to have Danny passed to him the moment Jason was able, but Bruce was quickly distracted.

“Right?” Jason asked.

“Hn.”

“Hn? Hn what?” Steph asked, popping up at Bruce’s elbow.

“The guy’s too light,” Jason answered. “It’s like he’s got bird bones.”

Tim stifled a snicker. Bruce, once again, sighed.

“Tim, take Steph and go help Alfred make sure the room is ready,” Bruce instructed. “Dick, help wrangle. Cass, darling, go rest. Jason, manage the doors for me, please.”

There was a coarse of agreement and the children were off. Bruce and Jason followed more sedately to be gentle on Bruce’s sleeping cargo.

“Jokes aside, he’s too light,” Jason said, keeping his quiet words between them. “This might be more than just a weak pulse.”

What Jason didn’t say is that they knew it was more than just a weak pulse—or at least it had been that night. It was concerning to think what lingering effects the transformation might be having on Danny. Especially concerning because…

“Cass is already attached,” Jason said, as if finishing Bruce’s own thoughts.

“I know.”

“And now the others are curious. Well, more curious.”

“I don’t suppose I could pay you to keep them in line?”

Jason snorted. “Even you couldn’t afford that, old man.”

“I was afraid not,” Bruce said as he fought back a smile.

Despite Jason’s refusal, Bruce knew that his son would keep his eyes others. Jason wouldn’t likely stop them, but he would keep an eye on them. Danny was still enough of an unknown that Bruce couldn’t help but be wary of the man’s presence in the middle of the family.

At least the guest wing was on the other side of the Manor from the family wing. The spaced eased the anxiety, a little. Alfred was just finishing shoeing Stephanie and Tim from the guest room as they approached and Jason peeled off to take his leave with them. Bruce entered the room with Danny on his own.

And apparently it was going to stay that way as Alfred said, “I trust you to see our guest settled,” and closed the door.

Bruce resisted the urge to sigh one more time.

At least Alfred had already folded down the sheets.

Bruce laid Danny down and started with the dress shoes, mostly to delay having to decide just how much clothing was appropriate to strip a near stranger of. After all, Danny didn’t know that he had slept curled up with the whole family once before. Bruce was also aware that he had less propriety than most people, given his unusual night life.

By the time the shoes were off and set aside, Bruce decided that the bare minimum would likely be most comfortable for Danny in the morning. The tie and belt went onto the seat of the nearby arm chair while the suit jacket was draped over the back. Danny’s phone was set on the nightstand. Alfred, of course, already had clothing set out for Danny to change into in the morning, should he wish. Bruce left it at that and covered Danny lightly with the sheets before he took his leave.

[fabled-fiction]

Hiiii!! Can I request a hobie brown x fem reader where the hobie swings by the readers room and just cuddles with her because he’s tired from patrol and the reader loves it because he only has a soft spot for her! And it’s just very fluffy!

Open Window (Hobie Brown x Reader)

Summary: Hobie didn't realize how strung out he was until a certain someone crosses his mind.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: MINOR SPIDERMAN ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE SPOILERS

A/N: I tried writing in a fem reader and then realized as I was writing I neglected that. I tried going back it but it felt forced, I hope this still suffices!

It felt like he never slept.

When could he afford too? It seemed like every step forward he took in taking down Osborn and his regime, they took three. Every running start he had they moved the finish line.

It was exhausting to be honest.

And now on top of his own problems on his earth, this stupid watch wouldn’t stop beeping with anomalies that needed taking down and tethering back to their Earths.

Hobie could feel the bags forming under his already painted ones.

His head had been reeling recently. Jumping back to his Earth after coming from the Spider Society was never easy no matter how much radioactivity was coursing through his hardened veins. He had a theory that despite having the wristband that helped him jump back and forth, he needed one for his head. The shift in perspective, and what could be perceived as art styles of the different Earths were making his vision hazy. 

Perching himself onto the top of a billboard, Hobie hit the side of his head with the edge of palm. Maybe if he hit his head hard enough or in the right spot he could knock the buzzing in his brain out long enough for him to make sense of where he was. 

On occasion it almost felt like he was back in that stupid spider tower, or another unfamiliar Earth.

Shaking his head, he took a glance about the neon lit streets of his Earth.

Wait, he recognized this street…no wait. No yea he recognized where this street lead to. 

Pulling the edge of his suit wristband back, he pulled up the time on his watch.

4:32:02am

Hobie knew exactly what he needed to rejuvenate, to put the rock back in his roll. 

Standing from his perch, he felt his bones begin to ache as they realized where they were about to be. Pulling his mask back over his head, he was about to flip when his watch started to buzz.

The holographic face of Gwen popped up.

“Hey! Hobie, Im glad I caught you. You got a seco-”

“Sorry Gwendy, can’t talk right now.”

“Wait! I n-”

He couldn't swing fast enough.

There was a warm purple light coming from your window, leaking through your curtains like a holy light.

He’d have to lecture you about leaving your window unlocked for anyone to crawl into later, it didn't matter that you were on the 14th story of your building. But as of right now, as he peeled your window open he saw it as a blessing as he tumbled head first into your room.

Hobie hadn’t realized how long it had been since he had seen you.His spider work had always been number one, taking down the rising regime of fascism in his city. Even the Spider society jobs have seen more of him than his own bed. It almost felt like he was more Spiderman than Hobie Brown, his heroism taking priority over everything else.

Well, almost everything else.

But now as he stumbled about, throwing his sneakers and guitar in the corner of your room the only thing on his mind was you. More specifically crawling into your bed that seemed to always be WAY more comfortable than his.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed you.

Hobie was so preoccupied with getting out of his Spidersuit that was growing increasingly more annoying by the second, he hadn’t even realized you were now leaning against your doorframe.

Sometimes you thought he played up these so called spider senses. There was no way he let you sneak up on him as many times as you have.

“Where..I know you ‘ave it somewhere in ‘ere.” He mumbled to himself, digging through your drawers with little regard to your neatly folded clothes there were already in there. 

Placing your cup of water on your nightstand, you perched on the edge of your bed and watched as your once clean-ish room transformed to match the thought process of the sleep deprived Spider in front of you.

You knew what he was looking for, Hobie had a tendency to leave shirts in your room whenever he stayed over. He said it was for convenience, it made it easier to switch from Spiderman to Hobie Brown. You couldn’t count the amount of times on your fingers when you had done laundry and realized nothing in the basket was yours. He almost had a full drawer in your dresser.

“Try the very bottom drawer.” You yawn, a few joints popping as you stretched out whatever you could stretch out.

Hobie turned his head to look at you for only a moment, and you hadnt even realized that he had discarded his mask somewhere into the clothed chaos that was hurricane Hobie.

Falling back onto your bed, you let out another big yawn as you made yourself situated. You could hear Hobie shuffling about your room, making himself more than at home as he slammed the window shut. A very loud click of your window lock followed by a thunk of a thwip made you chuckle.

“You seriously need to considah lockin’ your window. Could’a been an unsightly fella.” He muttered as he reached to fully close your curtains.

“Well I know who to call if I see one of these so called unsightly fellas.”

There was a grumble that came closer to your bed, and what you swore you was the gulping down of YOUR glass of water followed by the creak of your mattress.

It was like a second nature to the both of you even though you hadn’t physically seen eachother in what felt like months (in reality it was only a week but you too were too clingy to admit to each other it had felt longer). Molding into one another was easy for you too.

Hobie’s arm easily found its way over your waist, pulling you as close to him as he physically could. The minute he had his head resting on your chest he swore he could feel the color coming back to him. Feeling your hand run over his wicks, and eventually come to rest on the nape of his neck made him break into a hazy smile.

But then his stupid watch started buzzing. Didn’t he take it off?

He tried ignoring it for a moment, hoping whoever was calling him would get the message.

When you had started to pull away was when he had enough. 

Ripping the watch off his wrist, he threw it across the room and webbed it to a random wall. Before you could even protest that he had yet again left webbing that would take months to come off, he wrapped his arms around you and flipped around so that you were laying ontop of him. His arms basically locked around you, and solidified that you two would not be moving for the rest of the night.

He needed this, and he could tell based off the way that you melted into him that you needed this as well.

“Hobie shouldn’t you have answered that?”

He could deal with the consequences later, right now he was exactly where he needed to be.

“Nah.”

[bunnys-kisses]

show-off (simon's version)

simon 'ghost' riley

cw: smut/pwp, size difference/kink, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, dirty talk, filthy, missionary, rough sex, mask kink, clothed sex, crying kink

price's version | johnny's version | kyle's version

simon loved his precious girl. he had been calling your "the missus" for months now. the task force was honestly surprised that simon managed to find someone. especially someone so.... cute? innocent? sweet?

the boys remembered one time you went all the way to base with a container full of homemade cookies because simon would be on base during his birthday. you somehow made your way onto base with no proper identification that would allow you on base. somehow you figured it out and ended up surprising simon with it.

so to get a video message in the group chat on a sunny afternoon was a bit of a surprise to price, johnny and kyle. simon never sent videos, he barely sent messages that were more than a word long.

so a lengthy video made the rest of the task force very interested.

"there's the pretty bird." simon cooed. you were all giggles as you tried to shield your face from the camera.

"si, stop it!" you giggled as you felt your cheeks grow hot under the lens of the camera. you were both outside in the backyard.

the task force knew about the high fence that protected the property you called home. even if someone could hear the both of you, it would take a lot for them to see it. the camera panned down to the sight of the skirt of your sundress pushed up to your waist and your panties were around your left ankle.

wasn't simon a gentleman letting you lie out on a checkered blanket. you had a smile on your face as the camera was pointed to you. the sound of simon undoing his belt, it was dropped by your head soon after.

your expression made it clear that simon had taken his cock out, your eyes went wide and the movement of your throat as you swallowed.

"tell the boys what you're lookin' at right now, birdie?" he asked, he let out a soft groan as he started to stroke his lengthy cock. he was situated at about seven and a half inches, almost eight if he was painfully hard.

you replied, "um.. hi, captain price, sergeants mactavish and garrick! i hope you're liking this video!" god you sounded so painfully cute. (by this point johnny had always came once, but he was working himself for a second round). you looked at simon, "it's embarrassing!"

"c'mon. it's nothing they haven't seen before." simon chuckled.

you made a face, "what are you doing when i'm not around?"

simon reached for you with his free hand and rubbed your soft cheek, "i mean in the showers, lovie. no one is takin' me from you."

you pouted, "good."

"now tell the boys what you see. give them a nice visual before i fuck you." simon's voice was soft. soft in a way that the rest of the team didn't even know if it was possible.

you looked up at the camera and held onto the bottom of your dress skirt that was bunched up around your waist. you looked embarrassed as you said, "si is wearing a green t-shirt and camo pants, he has his gloves with the bones on them, and his mask."

"do i look good, lovie?"

you nodded meekly, "you look very good, si!" you blushed more and smiled up at him. he used his free hand to put around your neck delicately, he wasn't choking you, just holding you. you leaned into his touch lovingly.

"but you're prettier, lovin' a dog like me." he laughed as he grabbed you by one hip and shifted your hips up. your cunt rested in his lap up against his cock. he tilted the camera down to get a good look at your glossy pussy.

he rubbed his impressive cock up against your pussy. how could something so big fit inside something so small. it was nothing short of a miracle.

"like that, lovie? like when i film ya for the boys?" simon chuckled as he stroked his cock and tapped it against the top of your pussy, "make ya open up for me."

you whined, "simon!!"

he chuckled lowly before he pressed his cock into your waiting hole. you made a low groaning noise as you clutched into the blanket under you. the wet noises sounded like a dream as you whimpered loudly.

simon kept the camera on your face and bouncing tits as he thrusted against you. the sounds of sex rang through the video as simon pleasured you. of course you looked like a sex goddess, your rightful throne on his cock.

you rolled your hips as he filmed you, his free hand on your bent knee as he moved against you. your cheeks looked warm as you panted heavily. the pleasure coursed through you.

"like what you see, boys?" he asked as he got a close up of your face as it was twisted with pleasure, "pretty little thing." he chuckled.

"si! please!' you whimpered, as you met his thrusts. they weren't extremely fast but they carried power that made your breath get caught in your throat. like he was moving your organs up with each thrust.

simon looked down at you, you couldn't read his expression due to the mask. you hated to admit but the thing was very attractive. it left him so mysterious as he rubbed your knee and held the camera in your face. he watched you with a knowing gaze, he knew what his teammates were thinking right now.

price was probably watching this with his morning coffee, johnny was stroking his cock like it was a lifeline, and kyle was casually watching it, monitoring your every facial expression. regardless the video would be in steady rotation in the task force 141's spank bank.

simon felt a surge of pride in his gut as he continued to fuck your sweet pussy, earning more sweet noises from you. it was adorable, you sounded like a dream to him. you were just the cutest thing ever, he couldn't even put into words how adorable he thought you were.

"pretty girl." his tongue was filthy, "everyone thinks you're the sweetest thing since sugar. but i've seen the damage you can do.' you love how big i am. you always said the bigger the better, even when it stretches your little cunny." you covered your face once more and he chuckled, "show me your face, lovie."

you slowly pulled your hands away and looked at the camera. he made a pleased noise as he continued to fuck you. you felt amazing wrapped around his cock. like a sexual fantasy come to life, it was arousing.

sometimes the arousal in you was so intense that you ended up tearing up. your bottom lip wobbled as he buried his cock into you, his balls gazed your ass as you took every last inch. you wiped your tears but simon only put the camera further in your face to get the best view of his crying little angel.

"poor girl, poor mrs. riley." he purred, "gettin' bullied by her hubby's fat cock."

you whimpered, "please, si." you felt your back arch as your heart thumped in your chest. the back of your sundress stuck to your sweaty back.

simon was a hungry man, a greedy, hungry man. he loved that his teammates are going to get off to the sounds of him fucking you. it wasn't long before the video's stabilization became a little off because simon was nearing his orgasm.

your clothed breasts bounced with each thrust, them almost tumbling out of the front of your sundress, and your tongue peeked out from your mouth as you panted heavily. it was arousing to the point where simon could feel his cock twitch inside of you.

"most beautiful thing ya ever seen." he said as his pace staggered and with a few thrusts, he pushed his cock all the way inside of you.

simon afterwards too his cock out, it was growing soft as he pulled out, a dribble of leftover cum came out.the camera for a brief moment showed your used cunt.

then the video ended. and there was an additional message from simon that read, "this isn't me sharing. i was just showin' off."

[strawberrymatchawhore]

baby

summary- babying your "tough" hubby rafe.. maybe some freakydeakyness at the end

note- this is the complete opposite of the rafe ive been writing about LMAOOO.. this man is SO BAD help me

it was 2am and you were in your bedroom scrolling on your phone, a random netflix show playing in the background. you've been waiting for your husband to get home for hours, being the wife to the chief of police did have its negatives. this was one of them.

you heard footsteps walking up the stairs and immediately turned off your phone, throwing the covers over yourself you pretend to be asleep. the door opens and you feel the weight of the bed shift.

"hey baby. sorry for getting home so late" rafe says giving your forehead a kiss, you jokingly ignore him.

"c'mon now i know youre awake.. get up and hold me." he begged tiredly, you couldnt help but giggle at how desperate he sounded.

"fine." you mumbled into the sheets but stayed in your position, he hugs you putting all of his weight on your body.

"okay okayy, i got it. now get off me you fatty." you whined, pushing his large frame off of you. you leaned against the bed frame and opened your arms, the both of you adjusting to a more comfortable position. which was the both of you propped up against a pillow.

"im so tired." he yawns into your chest, you played with his hair as the both of you stayed in silence.

"i know you are, you need a day off. youve been working too hard." validating him, his hand plays with the ribbon of your pajama shorts.

"see? youre still in your uniform, youre gonna make the bed dirty." you patted his back and drew circles on it.

"what, you want me take it off? if you wanted to see me naked you couldve asked sweetheart." he looked up at you and smirked. you glared at him, lightly slapping his arm.

"not what i meant.." you blushed.

"youre so cute you know that rafey, honestly when i look at you i just want to eat you." you confessed and massaged his temples, his face nuzzles into your chest even further. clearly he was blushing as well.

"i dont know how i got so lucky, im so glad i have a such a beautiful boy in my life. everything about you is just perfect." you cooed admiring his sculpted face, the way his plump lips curled into a smile.

"stopppp" he whined. you couldnt help but pull out your phone and take a picture. because if you didnt, who wouldve believe that your 6'2 husband loved to be babied like this? not like you were going to show anyone, its just for your eyes only. you wanted to cherish this moment forever.

"did you just take a picture?"

"let me see it." he shot up and reached for your phone. you put your phone under your pillow and laid on it, making sure he wasnt able to grab it. the two of you started play fighting.

"nooo please, you look so cute. let me keep it!!" you laughed, he started to tickle you. and you slowly started to fall off the bed. your legs wrapped around his waist and dragged him down, if you were gonna fall he was going to come down with you.

the laughing coming from you both died down and you looked up at him, what a funny position. you both were on the floor and he was in between your legs hovering over you.

rafe leaned downed and passionately kissed your lips, his hand starts to play with your shorts. you eventually pull away and slap his hand.

"nuh uh. go shower first. you stink." you got up to your feet then helped your boyfriend get up as well. you looked up at rafe with your head tilted, what was this man plotting?

"not unless you join me.. you cant say no" he quickly said and grabbed you by the waist. hoisting you over his shoulder and carrying you to the master bathroom.

"ahhh! rafe stop!!" you busted out laughing, kicking your feet as he practically dragged you to the shower. he put you down and turned on the warm water, it poured over you both. you furrowed your eyebrows.

"great now my clothes are all wet." you pouted crossing your arms over your now soaked tank top.

"more reason to take it off... lift your arms f'me"

[blindmagdalena]

You Let Me Complicate You

18+ 4k homelander x f!reader. bickering, post-breakup sex, dubcon/coercion, angst, jealousy, emotional manipulation, implied murder, stalking, boundary smashing, breaking and entering, cunnilingus, penetrative sex. read on AO3. written as a follow-up to the breakup, but can be read as a standalone. gif credit.

Breaking up with Homelander is... complicated. After all, it is a god that loves you.

"What do I taste like?" You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over. "Love," he said at last. "Like you love me." You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you. If that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier.

Homelander is an aberration.

Stronger than a hundred men, faster than a bullet and sharp as a tack all paired with a teaspoon’s depth of emotional maturity. He’s volatile, twisted, broken in ways no amount of therapy could ever hope to duct tape back together. He’s no better off than a dog that bites to kill. No matter how he got to this point, the best thing for him–for the world–would be to put him down by any means necessary.

Too bad you can’t seem to stop fucking him.

It’s late when you hear the front door open with a distinct crack. You’re sprawled out on the couch in the living room, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. What comes next is no surprise to you–a shock of primary colors filling the narrow doorway, a handsome face made ghoulish by the haunting light of the television in an otherwise dark room.

“You nailed the door shut,” Homelander says, the inflection of his voice somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Because you broke it,” you throw back, a stale Twizzler balanced between your lips. It had tasted good enough when you started eating it, but now–in his presence–the sweetness of it has turned sour.

“You changed the locks,” he says with a light shrug, cape swaying as he meanders towards you. “My key didn’t work.”

“Your key? Stealing a key to my house does not make it your key,” you say tersely, lifting your foot to press it firmly to his thigh, stopping him in his tracks. 

He glances down, a mirthless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he catches your ankle in his gloved hand, yanking you down the couch so suddenly you lose your Twizzler to the floor with a gasp. It’s one thing to know that Homelander has strength enough to throw cars like frisbees. It’s another to feel it. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you like a jolt, followed swiftly by something hotter low in your naval.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” he begins, dropping your ankle. He lifts his knee and slots it between your legs, his opposite boot on the floor, his hand braced on the back of the couch, pinning you in place.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you cut in dryly, moving to shift up the couch, away from him. He snatches your shoulder, halting you with ease. His thumb strokes your skin idly, goosebumps erupting beneath his touch.

“And I’ve realized that this whole… thing between you and I, this ‘will they, won’t they,’ ” he says, bobbing his head side to side. “It’s getting stale. Don’t you think it’s about time we progressed the plot?” He asks, leaning in close.

You brace your hand against his chest, holding him in place as ineffectually as you did earlier. You both know it’s all a game. It’s all pretense. There had been fondness between you once–love, even–but you’re done with that now. You have to be done with it, or Homelander will swallow you whole. He’s a black pit, a murderer, and his need knows no end. He’ll destroy you and everything you know and love if he thinks it’ll satiate that need.

You’ve lost enough. You can’t afford to lose any more of yourself to him.

“Jesus Christ, you even think in TV script,” you say, pushing on his chest. He leans back, but not by much. It sends a terrible little chill down your spine. “I’m starting to think the only thing that might actually kill you is an original thought.”

His eyes narrow and his bright white teeth flash predatorily in the darkness. “You’re lucky I haven’t broken your neck,” he says, hand slipping from your shoulder to your throat. The sharp press of his thumb into your windpipe steals your breath, makes your thighs tighten on either side of his leg snug between yours. His lips split into an unkind grin. “Or maybe not. You’d probably like that.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit, gripping his wrist with your other hand. Your pulse is starting to throb against the leather of his glove. He moves his thumb from your windpipe to your jaw and turns your head away, leaning in with a deep, pointed inhale along your neck.

“Is that why your hormones are going haywire? Because I disgust you?” He asks, grinding his thigh between your legs in a way that makes you gasp. “Y’know, given how full of it you are, I was sure I’d smell the bullshit on you. But all I smell… is how fucking wet you are.”

He grabs your hip and the memories come to you like muscle memory. How good it feels to be gripped and fucked and loved by someone beyond your comprehension. To feel as if you’ve stopped the world turning and called the sun itself to shine on you alone.

You twist your chin out of his grip and level him with a heated stare. “I hate you,” you hiss, grasping for the knife you know will twist the deepest. 

It works for a second, his smug expression faltering, but only for an instant. His jaw sets, and his lips curl into that same unkind smile. “C’mon, babe,” he coos, the intimate familiarity woven into that pet name making your skin crawl. “We both know that I can always tell when you’re lying.”

He kisses you like he always has. Like you belong to him. In a way, you suppose you always will. There’s nothing you can do to pry your throat from Homelander’s jaws. Nowhere you can run that he won’t eventually find you. Like quicksand, the more you fight, the tighter he clamps down. Truth be told, though, that isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it is that the tighter he grips you, the less you want to fight him.

His tongue slithers into your mouth like a serpent into the garden and you bite down hard. While pliant between your teeth, the flesh doesn’t yield. It never will. He never will. Instead he moans a little chuckle that fades into a rumble against your lips.

“That how it’s gonna be?” He asks, the words rasped into your mouth. “Y’wanna bite and claw? Play hard to get?” He laughs, the sound of it reedy and light, like it’s all a silly little game of make-believe. “I can do that.”

He reeks of his own desperation for what he says to be true. More than anything, he wants to dress up his desires as yours. He wants to believe he’s giving you what you want. That way, he can trick himself into believing you need him.

He bites the middle tip of his glove and tugs it off with his teeth, tossing it aside. His bare thumb brushes your lip, smearing his spit and yours. “I saw you with that fucking loser,” he says, the airiness suddenly gone from his voice.

Your stomach drops. Two days ago you’d been with a man. You’d been so desperate to forget him that night that anyone would have done the job. You stumbled out with some nobody from the bar who’d been good enough for a sloppy makeout session in the back of his truck, but not good enough to bring home. It hadn’t ended well.

How close of an eye is Homelander keeping on you?

“I’d be angry if it hadn’t been so fuckin’ pathetic,” he says through his teeth.

“Liar,” you say tightly. You feel his fury in the tension of his body. He’s pissed that you’d seek this out anywhere else. As if he still has a claim over your body. Your pleasure.

His eyes flash up to yours. He sneers, pushing his thumb between your lips. “I watched you bite his lip until he bled. I watched him slap you,” he says, dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridges of your bottom teeth. The memories come to you as he speaks them, every moment of it made bleary by alcohol. “You wanted it rough, but he couldn’t handle you, could he? Because you’re used to something better. You’re used to a god.”

You sneer right back at him, yanking your head to the side, his thumb slipping from between your lips. “Could you be any more in love with yourself? Go fuck yours-”

“I still had to kill him, of course,” he continues nonchalantly, grinding your thoughts to a screeching halt. He laughs humorlessly. “For kissing you. And, well–for everything else, obviously. Slapping you,” he says, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. The same one the man had struck. “Humping your leg like a fucking dog.”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, throat tight. Bile burns at the back of it. All you wanted was to get away from this. The blood, the horror of it. Yet no matter what you do to dissuade him, he brings death to your doorstep. “You have everything. You could have anyone. Why are you–”

“Because I want you,” he hisses, words so sharp his sharp teeth snap together. “Because I love you, and that’s what you do when you love someone,” he says. You can feel the accusation building in his words. “You don’t give up on them. And if that means cleaning up every dirty little mistake you make,” he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So be it.” 

A cold shiver rolls down your spine. You stare woundedly at him, lips parted, brows pinched together, the misery of it all etched into every line of your face. He stares at you in turn, and after a beat, his own hard expression softens.

“Hey, hey,” he says, the heat of his breath a ghostly kiss on your lips. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. “I forgive you.”

He kisses you again, more tender now. Your eyes prickle with tears. His gentleness hurts so much more than his violence. It disarms you, carries you to a time when things were simpler between you. Sweeter and warmer. 

Homelander makes the world feel wonderful and dangerous, like standing in the middle of an electric storm. Being loved by him is the feeling of having your ribs cracked open, your heart cradled in his bare hands, possessive and bloody. What had been thrilling grew stifling, a feeling you realize now never truly went away.

He’s inescapable, literally and figuratively. Even when he isn’t inviting himself into your home or lurking in the periphery of your vision, Vought’s hero is plastered on every billboard and screen in the city. You haven't been able to breathe without inhaling the thick miasma of him.

Tears roll down to your temples as you kiss him back, both hands fisted in his soft hair, tugging. He makes a pleased little sound against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip. He’s always kissed like a man possessed–like every brush of your lips is a drop of salvation–but the hunger he’s developed since you tried to leave him is unparalleled. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole.

You bite back a sob, but the hiccuped noise of it catches his attention nonetheless. He breaks from you, looking down at you with a feverish mix of yearning, impatience and something that almost resembles pity, which might be the closest thing he knows to sympathy.

“Hey,” he coos, dusting your jaw with feather light kisses. “Don’t cry.”

“It’s awful,” you choke out.

“What is?”

“Your love.”

“I know,” he says after a prolonged pause. “It’s all I know.”

You look at him, the image of him bleary through your tears. There’s a morose resignation in his ocean-storm eyes, a distance that makes him seem far, far away from you, even as you taste the heat of his breath on your lips.

Focus returns to his gaze, and suddenly he’s present again. “It’s all I know,” he says again, his tone made of wood, stiff and splintering.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lift your palm to his cheek, hovering just shy of touching. He’s pulled to it like a magnet, nuzzling into your palm, eyes closing. His hand slides down the familiar slopes of your body, settling at your hip, where his fingertips sink in like claws, the pressure of them shy. For as vicious as things have gotten between you, he’s never hurt you. A fact he lords over you as if he should be applauded for it.

I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you? He’d asked you during that first fight. When everything went wrong. 

You’d only been able to nod then, trapped with a man you didn’t recognize wearing the face of the man you loved.

That’s right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?

Despite how desperately you’ve tried to fortify yourself against him, it’s still so easy.

Homelander is an aberration, but so too is he a man, and there was a time when the man was all that you saw. When the monster at the core of him reared its head, bloody and unrepentant, that became all you could see in him. Now, the two are so irrevocably tangled in the sinew of the other, you’re never sure which you’re looking at.

“I miss you,” you confess to the man in him, voice so soft only his ears possibly could have discerned the words. As if you can hide the words from the monster lurking behind if you speak them quietly enough. 

He looks as confused as your own aching heart. “I’m here,” he says, everything in his tone willing you to believe it. He doesn’t understand that you miss who he was before you knew what he was.

A mournful noise swells in your chest, but he kisses you before it can escape. “I’m here,” he says again, the hand at your hip turning into a fist in the fabric of your clothes, tearing them at the seams. “I’ll make you feel better,” he says between presses of his lips, hungry and rushing, like he can outspeed your miserable grief. “Let me make you feel good.”

Sex has always been an avenue of redemption for Homelander. Whether he’s frustrated, anxious, wounded or a combination of them all, he’s sought to remedy it through a good orgasm. He treats you as though the notion should hold true for you: the fight doesn’t count so long as he makes you come.

Yet again, you’re left stricken by him. As you have a dozen times before, all you can do is nod. Deep in your core, you know he’s right. He can make you forget this horrible ache in yourself, the grief and the fear. He can take you away to the dream you’d lived before you met the beast in his shadow. 

Coherent thought turns to water slipping between the cracks of your mind as Homelander’s bare fingers brush your inner thigh. You suck in a sharp breath that leaves you as a shudder and you clutch at his collar, twisting the fabric, unsure if you mean to push him away or pull him closer.

Homelander makes the choice for you, closing the distance and kissing you too gently, too sweetly. You spur him with your teeth, needing it faster, harder. Needing it to hurt just enough to not feel entirely right. He ignores your prompt, focused wholly on tasting you, on sliding his fingers up into the waiting warmth between your thighs. He presses the pad of his middle finger to your clit, deft and familiar.

You sigh, closing your eyes, ready to lose yourself to the feel of something good. He slides serpentine down your body, kissing you through your shirt, nipping at your skin through the fabric for the way it makes you jump. His lips trail down until they pass the hem of your shirt, finding where he’s stripped you. His mouth is unbearably warm, breath hot huffs on your bare skin, goosebumps erupting everywhere.

He mouths at your hip, sucks the skin dark before trailing further down, leaving a constellation with his lips. The scorching wet heat of his tongue feels like a brand on your clit, replacing his hand with his mouth. 

You thread your fingers into his hair, widening the spread of your legs to allow for the way he shoulders under and between them, lifting your lower half. He nuzzles into the nectary sweetness of you, moaning unabashedly for your familiar taste.

What do I taste like? You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. Everything about him fascinated you; did his super smell lend itself to super taste? Could he pick out each note of you, dissect your profile into sections?

He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over.

Love, he said at last. Like you love me.

You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you, if that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier. If he plunges his tongue to the core of you in the hopes he might discover lingering shreds of what the two of you once had.

A moan escapes you. His fingers bite into your thighs, tongue coaxing more. Restraint dissipating, you tighten your grip on his hair and tug, grinding hard against his mouth. He knows the stepping stones of your pleasure as well as you know yourself, knowing just when to suck, when to lick. He’s more relentless than any other man could hope to be, never needing to stop for breath, never succumbing to aching muscles. He maintains a pace that sends you careening so viciously towards release, you give a choking gasp when it hits you, your head thrown back against the couch as euphoric relief rolls through you in waves.

Homelander shrugs out from under your trembling thighs, his mouth slick and shining, eyes predator wide. You’re both panting, silently gauging the other. You’re first to break the standoff, his hunger infectious. You climb onto your knees and grab his shoulders, pushing his back to the couch, straddling him. He keens when you kiss him, an addictive sound that gives you a deceptive sense of power.

He murmurs your name in fervent repetition, dragging his mouth along your skin, inhaling you like a drug. You unbuckle his belt with the ease of experience, unzip his pants and slip your hand inside. Curling your fingers around his cock, you find it already hard and dripping in anticipation.

“Anything you want,” he breathes, the words coming between the prayer-like recitation of your name. “Money, diamonds, anything, I’ll make you a queen,” he says, eyelids fluttering at your touch. He pledges these things like an act of devotion, but you recognize this Faustian bargain for what it is. It will cost you your heart and soul.

“I’ll make you a god,” he moans at a particularly deft twist of your wrist.

Making you come will have to be enough for now.

“Fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly. “The way I like it.”

Like flipping a switch, the dazed pleasure in his eyes sharpens. The corners of his mouth tug, his upper lip twitches, eager tension slipping into his touch as his hands slide up your thighs, grasping your hips. His fingers sink in tight enough to bruise, despite the gentleness of his touch. The immeasurable power lurking within his unassuming frame is a novelty that never wears off, a thrill that shocks you to your core no matter how many times you experience it.

Like a vicious storm, he’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Caught in the eye of his maelstrom, the only thing left for you to do is weather him.

He guides you down onto his cock in one slow, agonizing pull. Even with his spit and your orgasm easing the way, it’s too much all at once. Relishing the aching burn of being split apart by him, you make a noise that gives him pause. You don’t let him stop. You brace your hands on his shoulders and lift off of him almost entirely before sinking back down deeper than you had before, wringing a moan from him in turn.

Homelander’s fingers dig securely into your back as your bodies slot together and find an old, familiar rhythm. By now he knows exactly the angle to take to best pleasure you. You let out a shaky sigh at the warmth that spreads through you, the pressure of your climax building, his heat sinking into you like the light of the sun itself.

You’re used to a god.

You cup his face and kiss him. You bite his lip until you should taste blood. You dig your nails into his skin so hard your knuckles ache. If he notices it, he’s only pleased by it.

“I’d move heaven and hell for you,” he swears between kisses, ripping the shirt from your body. The cool air hits your damp, hot skin like a shock. 

“I don’t want them,” you say, voice catching on one of his sharp and sudden thrusts. He’s close. You can feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the erratic, merciless way he drives into you.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice reedy, tight. He kisses down your chest, scrapes his teeth over the swell of your breasts. “They’re yours. It’s all yours. I’m yours.”

Those words should hit you like a prison sentence, but they don’t.

They make you come.

Homelander holds you tightly as he, too, breaks into pieces, filling you with light and heat. He chokes more promises against your skin, kisses the salt from your skin and licks it greedily from his lips. You spin in place in his arms, dizzy on your own orgasm, riding out the aftershocks with his cock throbbing against the quiver of your cunt.

For a long while there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant din of the television. The tremors wracking your body gradually fade, and the chill of the open air begins to set in.

Homelander holds you tight as the sweat on your skin cools. He kisses a trail from your neck to your shoulder, nuzzling there before he rests his head down, face tucked into the crook of your neck. You feel wrung dry, eyelids heavy. You card your fingers absently through his hair, body boneless against his. Your eyes ache from crying, but you don’t mind it. Strung out like this, the aches left in the wake of pain and pleasure both feel equally good.

“It’s late,” he says warmly, a smile in his tone. He sounds lovesick, the way you both did once upon a time. Back then, you thought you knew every dark corner of his insatiable heart. “We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you agree, voice frayed. He lifts you gingerly from his lap, adjusting to cradle your naked body to his chest. Despite how Homelander unspools himself before you, you’re always the one left reduced. Bare and vulnerable both physically and emotionally. You slip your arms around his neck as he stands, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I could take you to the tower,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine. “My bed’s bigger.”

“No,” you say, remembering a door you cannot reach, no matter how many times you grasp for it, and the god’s hands that sent you spinning. He’s already so capable of turning your home into a prison. You’re not sure you’d ever escape his penthouse. “I want mine.”

Perhaps the most terrible fact of all is that Homelander is neither a god nor a monster. 

He is simply a man without limitation.

“Sure,” he says, kissing your cheek. The touch lingers, dripping with his adoration. “Anything you want.”

So long as it includes him.