#but you both know better - nothing will be the same after this :)

[superhoeva]

𝐧𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 - 𝐜. 𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, +𝟏𝟖) | in desperate need of this man fr, that's all i can really say at this point! i feel like this is not good but maybe that's just because i've been staring at it for the past two days?? warning(s) include smut, language, bodily fluids (mentioned), foreplay (no penetration), carmen having ZERO patience when it comes to you. also, reader is written as someone with a vagina, but no other gendered terms are used. we can all benefit from some more inclusivity whether it's pronouns or otherwise! hope you enjoy! <3 (w.c. - 1.5k)

Carmen finds you in the middle of his couch, hunched over your papers of notes and laptop as you work. Dressed in nothing but a white tank and underwear so thin he’s not even sure if he can call them that. It’s only a plus that you’ve got reading glasses on, Carm biting the inside of his cheek at how they frame your face.

Shuffling his way to the couch, he stops behind where you sit. He smiles at the chuckle you let out when his hands softly grip your shoulders.

“You’re supposed to be almost done…” Carmen trails, not even trying to hide the neediness warping his tone. Or his arms, for that matter, when they trap you in a hug around your neck that weighs you further into the couch.

Carmen bends, squeezing you in a way that steals away your attention. You sigh in his arms, palms finding home on the strong muscle surrounding you.

“I am, baby,” you promise him, glazing over the work in front of you. “Just a few more things to check off, then I’m all yours, okay?”

The chef holds back his whine, but not the way his bottom lip pokes out. He sniffs, arms untangling from you only to take hold of your shoulders once again and bend down a further. Your skin jumps at the unexpected peck. A lengthy hum leaves Carmen after he kisses you again and takes in a long-lasting inhale.

“No, not okay. But you smell good,” he mumbles against your neck. “Look even better.”

You smile to yourself, your attempt to return to the computer on your lap interrupted by wandering, tattooed hands.

“Bear, come on–”

“Just for a sec,” the man promises, closing and scooting your laptop and notepad onto the next cushion over “Wanna love on you some. Can I do that?”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer, words somewhere far with the way Carmen’s started mouthing at your neck with open kisses. He drags his tongue up and up to the spot behind your ear, as he maneuvers the tilt of your head to turn and face him.

His snog drives deep, hand on the back of your head to draw you even closer. He’s bent over the back of the couch, grip sneaking under the cotton of your tank to flick his fingers against one of your nipples. The slight twirls and tugs he pairs have you jolting with a gasp that he only lets break your mouths apart for a fraction of a second.

He’s quick to slide his tongue back into your mouth, lips slick with a mixture of the both of you. Something crass sounds when he sucks at you, and he moves to the other nipple with the same pulling and tugging that has your eyes rolling.

“Fuck,” is what he mumbles, but you can’t make it out over the heavy pants that leave your nose in loud huffs. Your hand reaches up to tangle in his hair, and he releases another noise at the slight tug you give it. Nothing too painful, but enough for him to feel it.

Something igniting in Carmen, he retreats his fingers from your chest just to work them down across your stomach and fiddle with the waistband of your underwear.

He also pulls away from his kiss, causing a while to trail from you. Your pout, however, quickly turns when your eyes pry open to see him looking at you. He stares at you with a stirring haze, fingers delving into the warmth of his mouth.

Popping them out after an extensive second, he holds them for you to do the same. Heat fills his gaze when you wrap your lips around his digits, coating them with spit just like you know he wants you to.

“That’s it,” Carmen hushes out, nosing at the side of your face as you grab at his hand to push it deeper. He’s pressing a tender peck into your jaw as you slide the fingers out slowly. They’re wet and shine in the warm light of the room as he lowers his hand back down, pinkly expertly sliding the thin material covering you to the side to glide the fingers into your dampening slit. His drag up to your clit is not as fast as it could be but is weighty with churning intention.

Your head throws back, lips breathlessly tumbling out a useless mixture of words. Carmen leans further into the couch, holding you as you squirm. There’s a pattern to your movements, tensing and relaxing as he strokes his fingers up and down. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever seen,” Carmen rasps out, eyes wild as they take in the angle. Chest stretching the tight fabric of your top, your nipples are visibly pebbled. He grunts, a spark of eagerness hardening him further. The crotch of the sweatpants he sports hangs heavy with his cock, a dark spot of sticky precum already staining the material in more than one spot.

Your back bends into a slight arch when he stops to circle and press on your swelling clit, the pads of his fingers rubbing at you with growing fever.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan brokenly, grabbing at his forearm that kneads against your abdomen as he massages your center with fat strokes. Both of your thick and heavy breathing mix with the squelching from down below. 

“So fuckin’ wet for me,” Carmen huffs, pulling his hand up to get a quick taste before plunging them back against your opening. He gathers your seemingly endless wetness, using it to continue his slipping over your throbbing clit. “Put your hand over mine, gorgeous. Put it over mine and do it how you like, okay?”

You obey immediately, fingers pushing against his to add a gratifying pleasure that has you bucking up against the union of your hands. You grind and twist your hips harder, clit pulsing with a pleasing throb. Carmen’s fingertips are drowning against you and slip so easily along with yours. He takes every bit of your direction, letting you push him wherever you want.

He isn’t even inside you and you’re close to exploding. The heat has lowered to settle heavy around your pussy that clenches around nothing, strings of incoherency streaming from your kissed-swollen lips.

Carmen tilts your head again, staring at you close and ignoring how his arm is starting to cramp. That’s nothing compared to how you feel against his hand and how his cock twitches all alone against his sweatpants. You breathe in each other, inhaling all you can get and you focus the entirety of his attention right onto your clit. The drooling of your entrance makes it disgustingly sloppy, but he doesn’t look away from you.

Faces nearly touching, Carmen circles across your pearl at just the right angle that you start seeing starts. You huff and pant and cry into him as he clutches you, your entire body twitching against him as you come.

“There we go, just like that. Oh, fuck, yeah, gimme all of it. Nah, keep ‘em open,” Carmen instructs, arm reaching down to stop you from clenching your thighs together tight. His hold is strong against your leg as he rubs and rubs at you, who can only weep out while grasping to grip at whatever part of him you can get ahold of. “Keep ‘em open, I wanna see you come all for me.”

After a while of your unrestrained groans and his own quiet expels of pleasure to talk you through it sounding out into the room, his stroking slows. You hold onto Carmen tight as you continue to twitch in your ecstasy. The only thing keeping you grounded is the rumbly I know, baby. I know. So fuckin’ good for me. Always so good for me from your boyfriend as you inch down from the high.

“You okay?”

The question seems far but you nod anyway. He grins with a kiss to your damp forehead, hissing a bit as his clothed dick hits the couch. You catch this sound a little better, eyes opening to meet this.

It’s your turn to initiate the kiss, pulling him back down into you. Folded half over the couch, Carmen cradles your face with one hand, using the other to palm at his dick. You heighten to your knees and spin on the couch, slipping into his waistband.

All you have to do is feather a light touch across the wet head of his seeping tip, and he’s damn near collapsing into you. He grabs you with hot hands, a moan punching from his chest as he mumbles messily against your lips.

“Can I take you to bed? Can I take you to bed, please? Wanna fuck you so bad, need to fuck you, baby.”

You settle Carmen’s pleas with a hand on his chest as he awaits your answer with hooded eyes and heavy breaths.

“Here,” hurrying kisses into his jawline and giving another squeeze to his dick. “Fuck me hre instead.”

Carmen pulls back with a pause before lugging himself over the back of the couch where your work sits long forgotten. Staring into you with a barely contained ferocity, he whispers to you with a hair-raising husk.

“Bend the fuck over.”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[cntloup]

Mafia!Simon x Bartender!Reader implied rape, the aftermath

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“Hey, love. You have to eat something. Please. Just a bit. Try for me, yeah?” he says, sitting beside you on the bed where you’re lying, drowned in your thoughts, you can barely make out what he’s saying. 

It's all just a blur, all the sounds and images. The world around you feels all foggy. 

“What?” you ask, shaken out of your trance and you begin to come back by the sound of his voice calling out to you. 

He raises the bowl in his hand and you get the message, “ ‘m not hungry.” you say in a weak voice and turn your back to him. 

“I'll leave it here in case you wanted to eat.” he says, disappointed and heartbroken that you have turned down the food again. 

He reluctantly opens the door and takes a last glance at your form before leaving the room. 

You haven’t eaten properly for days. You have no appetite. And there’s the gnawing nausea at the pit of your stomach that keeps it churning constantly. 

Silent tears cascade down your face as you lay down on the bed for hours, bearing no energy to move a muscle. 

He sits on the couch with a half-empty bottle of whiskey, furious at the monsters who did this to you, frustrated at himself for not knowing what to do, how to help you. 

His heart shatters into pieces as he sees you slowly wither away right before his eyes. 

He's gone through the same horrifying thing long ago and he starts digging in the depths of his mind to find something. Something that would somehow help you. 

And it dawns on him that you just need someone by your side, not someone to jump in and ‘fix’ it, but someone who is there to listen and hold your hand as you process the whole thing and move forward at your own pace. 

He never had someone like that. And it just now occurs to him how much he needed it. So he decides to be that person for you. 

He enters your room once again after a few hours, “Love?”, “Hmm?”, “Do you want to go out? We can get something to eat too.” 

You turn to face him from your lying position, “Yeah, I'd like that.” you respond after thinking for a while. 

“I need to take a shower.” you say as you struggle to get off the bed. He stretches his arms to help you, but stops and looks into your eyes, waiting for your approval. 

You nod and he gently slings an arm around you to help you get on your feet and step into the bathroom. 

He starts to leave the room, but stops when you call him, “Yeah?”, “Can you... can you stay by the door until I finish up in here?” you ask sheepishly, “Yeah. Ok. ‘course, love.” he replies and sits outside by the door, his mind racing a million miles an hour. 

Until you step out of the bathroom, “Thanks, Si!”, “ ‘s no bother, love.” 

He leaves to let you have some privacy and waits for you on the couch to get ready. 

You trudge on down the stairs in your oversized hoodie and baggy pants, “Ready?” he asks, “Yeah.” you say with a faint smile, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by him, the simple gesture making his heart flutter. 

You drive around the city for some time, the cool breeze caressing your skin and the faint sound of music bring a soft smile to your face. 

You stop by your favorite place. Even though you still can barely eat, you try to get some food into your stomach after some coaxing on his part. You know you need nourishment, even the small amount you can stomach right now is better than nothing. 

“Good girl!” he praises after you take a few bites, “I can’t anymore though!” you say, almost ashamed to disappoint him, “It’s ok. I'll tell them to wrap it up for you.” he says with a smile that’s only reserved for you. 

“I’m proud of you, dove.” he utters when you both walk to his doorstep, “Thank you. Couldn't have done it without you.” you say as you stop to face him by the door, a lovely smile dancing on your lips and your eyes glinting again, not as bright as before, but it’s a step nonetheless. 

And you open your arms and step closer to him. He takes you in his arms, nearly shedding tears as he finally embraces you after so long. 

[lilasamaaa]

Missed chances | Max Verstappen x Reader.

Genre | Angst, Hurt, Fluff.

Word count | 4.1K

Warnings | Mentions of heartbreak, alcohol consumption, Max being an asshole.

Summary | It's been years since you've had a crush on your best friend's brother. But him too, right? Or is kissing you every chance he gets just a game for him?

Author's note | Angsty Queen is back at it! This piece is the result of this poll. Thank you so much for all the feedback on the previous pieces, I'm so glad you like them. Enjoy this one! (Not proofread yet, sorry!)

You and Victoria are thirteen when you cross paths for the first time. The shy blonde girl stands upright, nervously nibbling her lip. It's the first day of school, and you're both waiting to find out which class you'll be in, hoping to be with friends. Her gaze meets yours, and she offers a timid smile. You're not friends. Not yet. You just have mutual friends. Your names are called almost simultaneously, indicating that you're in the same class. Instinctively, you head towards her, giving her a big smile. You don't know anyone else in the class, so you'll have to get to know each other. Stick together.

A few months later, as your father drops you off in front of Victoria's house before rushing off to your little brother's soccer practice, you take a moment to observe the pale blue house from the outside. Upstairs, a curtain moves, catching your attention. You don't see anybody, though. You knock on the door, and Victoria opens it, immediately throwing herself into your arms.

"I'm so glad your parents agreed to this," she says, excited. "This is gonna be so cool. My parents aren't home so Max is supposed to look after us, but he'll probably lock himself in his room. Boys, you know..." she finishes, leading you into the hallway.

Max? For months, you've been sharing your lives between classes, but you've never heard this name before.

"Who's Max?" you ask, curious.

"My older brother," she replies, rolling her eyes. "We don't get along so well these days. He thinks he's all grown up... Barely even acknowledge me," Victoria says, frustration evident in her voice.

"I can relate," you reply sarcastically. "Well, mine's younger, but not that interested in me either."

You spend the afternoon in her room painting your nails, braiding each other's hair, and sharing your secrets (you're starting to run out, after all this time), until night falls. You're deep in conversation when someone knocks on the door. That must be Max, you think, waiting for the door to open.

And it is Max, indeed. His face appears, and your heart skips a beat. He's cute. He seems a bit grumpy. Not in the best mood, that's true. But there's something immediately touching about his big, wide eyes and annoyed expression.

"Diner's ready," Max says before closing the door.

"I bet he made fish sticks again," Victoria grumbles, getting up. "That's the only thing he knows how to cook."

Sitting at the table, cutting a fish stick in half with your fork, your gaze shifts from Victoria to Max, who sit across from each other, not exchanging a word.

"So..." you start shyly. "What's your favorite subject, Max?" you ask, immediately regretting your words as the boy glances in your direction, brows furrowed.

Of course, your only topic of conversation is school. You've always been one of the top students. A real bookworm, as they say. Plus, you're not exactly comfortable around boys, especially those around your age. Victoria shoots you a desperate look, eyes wide open. But right now, anything seems better than this uncomfortable, excruciating silence.

"Erm," Max says, grabbing a green bean with his fork. "Geography, I guess. I don't know."

Silence falls once again, lingering until each of you finishes your meal, and then Victoria and you retreat to her room.

"Don't even bother trying to talk to him," the blonde says as she slips into her pajamas. "Nothing interests him except go-karting."

The next time you encounter Max, you're fourteen, and he's sixteen. Victoria and you are participating in an endurance race to raise funds for a charity, and your families have been invited to attend the event. Your parents, who have crossed paths several times at school meetings and other events, find each other in the stands and share enthusiastic greetings before sitting down. Already on the track, you watch the reunion with a smile when your eyes fall on him. Max is here? you think. He never attends these things.

The race begins, and Victoria and you take off along the lake, completing lap after lap. On one of them, as you pass by the stands, particularly the one where your parents are seated, you turn your head, hoping to catch a glimpse of them. You don't see your father or your mother. Your eyes only see him. Max. And he's looking at you, too. Your eyes don't leave each other until your foot slips on a stone, and your ankle twists violently. You fall to the ground, letting out a cry of pain as your father rises, rushing to your aid.

A little less than an hour later, as Victoria finishes her run and joins you at the infirmary, the blonde gives you a worried yet disapproving look. "You're too distracted," she says, hand on her hip. "What was it this time? Did you see a cute boy or something? Was it Jan?". You don't respond, giving a sheepish smile to your friend. A cute boy, yeah...

As the years go by, you see Max less and less. At the beginning of your friendship with Victoria, you often ran into the young man when you spent afternoons or nights at the Verstappen's, but the aspiring driver has started to become increasingly scarce in his own home. One evening, though, as you're racking your brains over a philosophy essay, your phone vibrates, signaling a message from the person who's become your best friend.

"Max is throwing a fucking rager at home. Please come, I beg you. I'll shoot myself if I have to deal with his drunk friends all alone."

Thirty minutes later, you're on your bike, covering the five kilometers that separate your house from Victoria's. Summer has begun, with only a few days of classes left, which certainly explains Max's sudden urge to throw a party. On your bike, you're anxious, your stomach tying itself in knots. Despite your daily visits to Victoria, it's been almost a year since you've last seen her older brother. You try to convince yourself that the fact you applied a bit of mascara to your lashes or straightened your hair has nothing to do with his presence. You just wanted to tidy up a bit, that's all. Nothing else to it.

When you arrive at the blue house, your first instinct is to anxiously glance at the surrounding houses. How has no one called the cops yet, you think, impressed by the decibels pouring out of the open windows, and the number of people you can already see inside the house. Leaving your bike in the grass, you venture into the house, passing by the wide open front door. On the way to the living room, drunk bodies cling to you, spilling beer on your shoes, shouting incomprehensible words in your ears. Wow. Victoria wasn't kidding. This thing is a huge mess.

Spotting your friend in the middle of the kitchen, you make your way to her.

"What the fuck is happening here?" you ask, casting a glance over the room.

"Can you believe this asshole?" Victoria replies, fuming. "Mom has been gone for five hours. Five! And I haven't even finished my fucking essay," she says, despair filling her eyes.

"Forget about it," you reply, stifling a laugh. "That's not happening tonight."

Victoria launches into another tirade about how much her brother annoys her when you catch sight of him in the middle of the living room. He's wearing a shirt that looks slightly too big for him. Maybe borrowed from his dad. He's holding a beer in one hand. A girl in the other. The sight twists your heart and brings a bitter taste to your mouth. Clinging to his arm, the blonde —who you recognize as Sanne, a girl from his class— can't seem to tear her gaze from Max, looking at him as if he belonged in a museum.

"Hey, are you listening?" Victoria says, bringing you back to reality.

"What?"

"They want to play a game," Victoria repeats. "Seven minutes in heaven."

"Seven minutes in heaven?" you repeat, eyes wide.

"Yeah. Sanne suggested it."

Of course she did, you think, biting your lip. Of course Sanne, who clearly has a big crush on Max, would suggest a game where the goal is to get locked in a narrow closet with someone for seven minutes.

"Listen to me," Victoria says, suddenly serious. "If Max has to be locked in a closet with anyone, I want it to be you. We'll figure it out. We'll cheat at the draw," she continues. "I hate Sanne. At least with you, I know nothing will happen."

You swallow loudly, completely at a loss for words. Getting locked in a closet with Max? The Max who's never really noticed you? Who's always seen you as nothing but a kid because you're a year and a half younger and his sister's friend? You don't have much time to think about it because already, you're sitting in a circle in the middle of the living room with a dozen other people, a bottle in the center.

Johannes, a friend of Max's, spins the bottle, which lands on Sanne. The girl's eyes sparkle with excitement, her gaze fixed on Max. Johannes spins the bottle again, and this time, it stops in front of another girl you don't know. You glance at Victoria, who seems particularly amused by the situation. Sanne looks absolutely gutted.

"Rules are rules, girls," Johannes says, laughing.

A boy from your class escorts the girls to the closet by the entrance before locking them in and starting a timer. The seven minutes pass, filled by various discussions. When the alarm goes off and the girls are freed, Sanne sits back in the circle, her face closed off.

"It's my turn to spin the bottle," she announces, seizing the plastic object.

She's quite skilled, as the bottle spins twice before landing directly in front of Max. Sanne grabs the bottle again, sending it spinning, and it rotates for a while before stopping right in front of you. Sanne seems beside herself, but your attention is focused on Victoria, who gives you a discreet thumbs-up. Your eyes meet Max's, and it's safe to say the young man doesn't look too pleased. But as Johannes said, rules are rules, and the two of you get up before walking towards the closet.

The space is ridiculously tiny. Max ventures in first, one foot behind the vacuum cleaner, the other squeezed between two shoe shelves. There's barely enough room for two people to fit, and as Johannes pushes you inside unceremoniously and you hear the lock click behind you, you realize you're standing between Max's legs, your hands on his chest.

"Sorry," you say, trying to get away, your back hitting the door.

A heavy silence settles between you as outside, you hear the lively conversations resume in the living room.

"I'm sure you would have preferred to be locked in with Sanne," you say, trying to fill the silence that's slowly eating away at you.

"Not really," Max responds, evasive.

"Aren't you two together?" you ask, curious.

He scoffs against you, sending vibrations to your chest.

"She would like to, yeah," Max says, as you feel his breath against your face despite him being twenty centimeters taller than you.

"And you don't?" you ask, trying to appear nonchalant even though you fear his answer.

"I don't have time for her."

"Oh. I didn't realize your time was so precious," you reply, stunned.

"Depends on who it's spent with," Max replies, his voice deeper.

You're suddenly incredibly grateful to be plunged into darkness because your cheeks are definitely burning red. Is Max Verstappen flirting with you?

"You've changed since the last time I saw you," he continues, as you feel like the temperature in the closet has risen several degrees.

"Changed how?" you ask, seeking his gaze despite the darkness.

"You're taller. Your hair seems longer. It's lightened up a bit, it's nice," he says. "Sixteen suits you. You're not a kid anymore."

You're going to suffocate. Die in a closet.

"We're only a year and a half apart," you reply, breathless.

"I know," he replies, as you feel his hand caress your cheek. "I'm not a kid anymore either."

His lips crash onto yours before you even have time to comprehend what's happening. You melt into him, closing your eyes, savoring the contact you've dreamed of for years. His hand rests on the back of your head, bringing you closer to him, as your hands find their way back to his chest. You bite his lip, and he lets out a groan before wrapping his arms around your waist. You thank the loud music from the living room for drowning out the sounds you're making in this closet, pressed against one another. Your hands find his neck, and his crawl to your ass, squeezing it as you let out a moan against his open mouth.

You thought you couldn't get any closer, but one of Max's hands slips under your right knee, lifting your leg. You've never kissed anyone. Never touched anyone. Yet, as your two groins press against each other, everything feels so easy, so natural. You could stay here for hours, exploring his mouth, his face, his body, but already, footsteps echo in the hallway, and you pull away from each other as if you'd been burned.

"Time's up, lovers!" Johannes says opening the door, prompting laughter from the living room.

"As if," Max says, getting out first. "That's disgusting, bro. She's like my sister."

You stay in the closet for a few seconds, watching the two boys go back to the living room, catching your breath. Several hours later, lying in Victoria's bed as the music has stopped and most of the guests have left the house, you stare at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep, despite your best friend softly snoring by your side. Getting up to get a glass of water, you walk blindly through the dark hallway, passing by Max's room.

"Can we talk?" a voice suddenly rises, making you jump, your hand finding your heart which threatens to leap out of your chest.

You remain silent. Not quite sure if you want to talk, let alone with Max. And certainly not to talk about earlier, in the closet, and be rejected by the boy who stole your heart.

"Come here," he says, pulling you into his room before closing the door behind him. "I don't want Victoria to hear."

You're about to pour your heart out, tell Max how much he hurt you, when he pulls you towards him and presses his lips to yours. Again. Everything you had planned to say escapes your mind as your tongues meet and the hands of your best friend's brother slide under your shirt, stroking your back. Max pulls back, sitting on his bed, pulling you onto his lap, one leg on each side of him. The kisses intensify, your noses brushing, your hands getting lost in each other's hair. Your lips speaking without sound, your hearts opening up without words.

"I don't understand you," you admit between kisses.

"Don't try," he replies, biting your lip.

Max grabs your butt, pressing you against him, and a flash of panic grips you when you feel him against you. Hard. You moan, and suddenly, all the reason seems to come back to him. It's you. His sister's best friend. He pulls back, avoiding your gaze.

"I..." he starts, breathless. "You should go," Max says before pushing you off his lap. You stand here, facing him awkwardly for a few seconds. Waiting for him to say something. Anything. When nothing comes, his head still low, you turn on your heels. Back in Victoria's room, slipping under the covers of your best friend's bed, you let out a tear, feeling a sadly familiar ache tugging at your heart.

Max and you cross paths again a year later, at your high school graduation ceremony. You and Victoria are among the top students in your class, and you're invited to go on stage to give a speech with eight other people. One of these people is Niels. Your boyfriend. You've been together for a few months now. He welcomes you on stage, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before holding you close. In the audience, your eyes meet those of your parents, proud. Those of Victoria's parents, proud. And those of Max. Icy.

The speeches go by quickly, and just before the buffet begins, you apologize to Niels and your parents, saying you need to make a quick stop at the restroom. In the deserted corridors of your high school, your heels click against the floor, soon joined by the sound of another pair of shoes. You turn around, surprised, seeing Max approaching in the distance.

"Niels Harmen?" you hear the boy say. "Really?"

"What do you want?" you reply, eyes cold.

"That guy was still picking his nose last year."

"It's good that he stopped, then," you respond, annoyed.

"Why are you dating him?"

The question makes you laugh. Not a sincere laugh. A laugh that says "mind your own business" and "screw you" at the same time. An ironic, ugly laugh that you don't even recognize.

"When we kiss, I'm not afraid that he'll reject me the next second," you reply, even though you know it's hitting below the belt.

Max scoffs, crossing his arms.

"Is it what it is? Some sort of revenge?"

"I'm not seeking revenge on anyone. My life doesn't revolve around you," you spit before turning on your heels.

You haven't taken a step before a hand grabs your wrist. You already know what's going to happen. So you try to resist. You know you shouldn't turn around. That if your eyes meet his, you'll fall back in. Start another round of false hopes. Disillusionments. Heartaches.

Yet, you do. You turn around, and, of course, his lips find yours. It's almost routine now, mechanical. You close your eyes, your heart torn between the joy of feeling his touch again, and the anticipation of the pain that will undoubtedly assail you in a few hours. When he'll reject you, again.

You're lost in each other when the sound of applause brings you crashing back to earth. The two of you quickly pull away before turning towards the source of the noise. Sanne.

"Don't you have a boyfriend waiting for you?" the girl asks with a fake smile.

"Get out of here, Sanne," Max says like a warning.

"What happened to "I'm not interested in her", Max?" Sanne asks, one hand on her hip. "Or to "She's just a kid, and not even my type"? Or, wait, what was it, the last time?" Sanne continues, stroking her chin. "Oh, yeah. "She was just there, and I was bored"."

You look at him, mouth agape, but Max carefully avoids meeting your gaze. Sanne's words tear at your heart. In a way, it's even worse than being rejected by him. You turn on your heels for good this time, passing by Sanne who's looking at you like you're the most despicable thing on earth. You're vaguely aware of Max saying... no, screaming your name, but you keep on walking, not looking back once. For a second, you thought you were gonna cry, break down in tears in the middle of the hallway. But nothing comes. You don't feel anything. Your heart has given up, surrendered. Returning to the ceremony, you smile at your parents before grabbing a flute of champagne, toasting with Victoria.

"Have you seen Max?" your best friend asks, and you don't miss how the mention of his name doesn't make your heart flutter, for the first time in years.

"Nope," you reply, smiling at her.

Three years later, you're in Victoria's car, on your way to the Zandvoort Grand Prix. You don't even know why you agreed to come with your best friend. You don't watch F1. You have no interest in the sport. Curiosity, your inner voice whispers. You wanted to see him again. You shake your head to dispel those intrusive thoughts when Victoria turns to you.

"I'm so glad you agreed to come. Max is so happy, too."

"What?" you ask, turning to her.

"He told me over the phone. Is that so surprising?"

Well, it is. Max and you haven't exchanged a word since the last ones thrown in the hallway of your high school. But Victoria, of course, doesn't know that. Victoria thinks you're friendly. Like two people who grew up together, gravitating in the same universe without ever colliding.

"He got us VIP passes", your best friend continues. "We'll be able to go everywhere, even see the pit stops!"

"How kind of him," you mumble.

"Look," she says, looking over at you. "I know Max wasn't the kindest... or the warmest, growing up. But he's changed, so much. You'd be surprised!"

"Oh, I bet," you say, smiling at her.

Victoria parks her small car in the VIP space, and a RedBull staff member greets you, handing you two passes before guiding you through the paddock. A stress you haven't felt in three years creeps into your head, into your body. Your thoughts collide, your hands are sweaty. You're beginning to wonder if coming here was a good idea after all when you spot him. At the end of the aisle, in his racing suit. Helmet in hand. Victoria's phone suddenly rings, and she apologizes, gesturing for you to continue without her.

You take the few steps that separate you from the driver. He's changed. So much. His teenage roundness has vanished, replaced by sharp features. His hair is longer, his eyes darker. He gives you a warm smile that twists your insides. It's impossible, you think. After all these years. Having so much power, so much hold over me.

"You came," he says, still smiling.

"For her," you reply curtly.

"Well..." he says, laughing softly. "She's not the one racing."

The silence falls again. Cold. Heavy. You turn your head, spotting Victoria a little further away, hoping she hangs up soon.

"You look beautiful," he says, and you know he means it despite you wearing the blankest blue jeans and white shirt ever made.

Silence, again.

"I'd hoped you'd no longer be mad at me." Max says, and you scoff.

"I'm not mad at you."

"You're cold."

"You broke my heart."

The driver winces, looking away.

"I should have called," he says, softly.

"I wouldn't have answered," you reply.

"I should have come to see you," Max starts again.

"I wouldn't have opened the door."

Your eyes meet his. Fire and ice.

"Well, I should have done something. Fight for you," he continues.

"Fight for who?" you ask. "The girl who was just there?"

Max runs his hand through his hair, embarrassed.

"You were never just that to me. You were so much more. I was just too young, too stupid to realize it. I have. Now."

You hadn't planned on getting into deep explanations with Max today. Not here. Not now. You're about to respond when Victoria returns, linking her arm with yours.

"Maxie!" she says, kissing his cheek. "Are you catching up on lost time? Did she tell you she's still dating Niels? Rumor has it that he's going to propose soon!"

Max's eyes glance down at your hand, and something in his demeanor shifts. It might be the breath he holds, or the way his shoulders seem to slump, defeated.

"She hasn't," he says, smiling faintly at his sister.

"We should go," Victoria says. "The race is about to start. Can we go to the stands?"

"Yes, no problem," Max replies as Victoria begins to head towards the garage, leaving you face to face once again.

"Congrats on your future engagement, I guess," he says.

"Thank you. I'm going to break up with him," you reply, crossing your arms.

"What?" Max says, astonished.

"It doesn't feel right. Him and I."

"If it has anything to do with me, please, tell me," Max breathes, as you avoid his gaze. "I was so focused on my career these past few years that I never wrote to you. I knew I didn't have the time to make it work. I knew it'd be selfish. Unfair to you," Max admits.

"Here you are, once again, thinking that my life revolves around you", you say, smirking at him. "I'm not waiting for you, Max. I haven't been for a while now."

The driver nods, swallowing hard.

"Of course," he says. "I'm sorry for assuming."

"I'm not against the idea of grabbing a drink with you sometime, though," you say, winking at him. "Just text me when you're free."

"I will," he says quickly, blue eyes boring into yours.

"See you around," you say, running to catch up with Victoria.

Watching you leave, Max stands there, grinning like an idiot, before unlocking his phone.

"How about tonight?"

Sent.

[mouthfullofmunson]

After work

Summary: Eddie has another late night at work and needs to unwind. Some cute domestic fluffiness with lots of smut ❤️‍🔥

The apartment is dark with a light flown from the television static that’s been on for the past hour and a half.

The door finally cracks open after being sealed shut all day, the hinges hissing almost like they are relieved to finally stretch. The smack of boots on the floor introduced a new sound in the apartment other than static rolling and stove burners hissing from pasta boiling over. “Hey,” Eddie half whispers, his body achy and sore from being bent over tattooing all day.

“Hi baby.” Y/n gives a sleepy smile to her boyfriend. No matter how many times he’s told her not to wait up on late nights she always does anyways. “Dinner is done.” He gives her a small smile, tucking his boots under the little bench at the entrance before rubbing the kinks out of his neck. “Sounds perfect, thank you sweetheart.” He creeps over to Y/n, wrapping his arms around her waist and sitting his head on her shoulder. He inhales her scent, appreciating the soft power smell coming from her skin. She smells like home.

“TV is out again.” She mentions while rubbing his back. He nods, letting out a sigh before pulling away from her. “I’m going to shower, I’ll be back.” He slaps the top of the television as he walks back to their shower, a random film coming on and filling the room with a better background noise than what was previously on. “I’ll be here.” She softly calls from the kitchen, waiting to hear the water fall from the shower head.

Fifteen minutes later Eddie walks into the room, a gray towel wrapped around his waist as his long hair drips down onto the floor. “How was your shower?” He wraps his arms around her waist from behind, his skin still warm from the undoubtedly scalding hot shower water. “Relaxing.” He presses a kiss to the skin of her neck, trailing them down her arm while she tries to fold clothes.

“Yeah?” He nods, threading his fingers with hers as he pulls her around to his front. He gives a quick nod before pressing his lips to hers. He basks in the sweet warmth of her mouth on his, how delicately she kisses him like he might just break. Eddie can't help but softly laugh in her mouth at the thought. “What?” he pulls back with a tiny smirk on his face. “Nothing, sweetheart.” his hands fall to her hips where her shirt ends, his thumbs pushing it up.

“What about dinner?” Y/n asks, her arms wrapping around his neck.

“My dinner is right here” he softly jokes, pulling her shirt over her head to reveal her soft bare skin under it. The smile doesn’t leave his face, his cold hand coming to her warm breasts, his thumbs rubbing against the sensitive buds. “My pretty girl, huh? You’re so gorgeous.” Y/n’s cheeks heat up, avoiding eye contact. No matter how long they’ve been together she never gets less shy; his words always have the same effect on her.

He leads her closer to the bed, dropping his towel and laying back on the bed before he pats his thighs.

They softly laugh as they both struggle to pull down her panties, hushed whispers about how it would’ve been smarter to do it before they got on the bed.

Y/n straddles his waist, her heat hovering above him. Eddie’s hand slips down, checking if she’s wet before he slides his fingers inside of her carefully, softly grinding his palm into her clit. He watches her face, paying attention to how she reacts, her breath hitching, her chests rapidly rising and falling, her eyes blinking hard to try to stay open. He pulls his fingers out of her, sliding them into his mouth to taste her. “Tastes sweeter than ever, baby.” His hand comes back up, brushing her cheek before his thumb softly pulls at her bottom lip.

“Why don’t you put me inside? I know you want it.” She works slowly, her hand wrapping around his pink cock and pumping him a few times before lining him up and sinking down onto his big cock.

She whimpers, her mouth falling open at the feeling of him throbbing inside of her. “Fuck, sweetheart. You know how to ride me so well.” His thumb rubs her clit, making her shudder. She bounces on his cock, clenching around her. He sits up, filling her even more while making her gasp, a sob of pleasure leaving her lips. Y/n grips at his shoulder, using Eddie to balance herself. He slides his tongue inside her mouth, their tongue dancing together, Eddie swallowing down all of her moans.

“Youre so fucking wet. I can feel you dripping down me, pretty girl.” He laughs into her mouth, thrusting up into her to get her to moan his name again. His kisses fall to her chest, pressing them randomly until he gets to her nipples. His tongue teases the sensitive skin, teeth softly grazing the buds then slipping one into his mouth. He sucks at her nipple while his hand is still occupied on her clit.

“Eddie” her voice shakes, breathless as his dick hits her g-spot over and over again. “I know” he smiles, just as out of breath as she is.

His head falls back, groaning at the feeling as she picks up pace. “Keep going, sweetheart. I want to fill you up. You know just what to do, fuck.”

She grabs his arm tighter, squelching filling the rooms as she sloppily fucks him.”I’m getting close, Eddie.” she chants a mantra of his name the closer she gets.

They both moan out each other's names, Eddie's hot cum filling her pussy up. Once they calm down he gently pulls himself out of her, letting her flop back on her side of the bed.

Eddie looks over at her, a matching sleepy smile painted on both of their faces. “I love you.” Y/n kisses his hand that pushes her hair out of her face. “I love you too, Ed”

He groans like an old man as he lifts up from his spot, hovering from his spot before he sinks between her legs, admiring his milky cum that leaks from her pretty cunt. “I'll clean you up then it's lights out for me.” he swings her thighs over his shoulders, getting to work.

Sorry about the crappy ending :( I’m excited to get something out again tho! I’m actively working on other things as well and constantly have stuff In my drafts that I add onto all the time so expect that stuff too! Let me know your thoughts!!

:)

[moonlit-imagines]

No One’s Sidekick

Jason Todd x teen!reader

warnings: needles and guns and death mentions ya know

a/n: ok i was gonna do headcanons for this but honestly it sparked a lot of inspiration so im actually writing a oneshot for it this is a ONE IN A MILLION CHANCE bc im very picky about when to write oneshots ily. might do hcs also just cuz arkham knight is my passion. (honestly i should have just done hcs idk if i like where i went with this LMAO)

prompt: anonymous: “hi idk if you write Arkham Jason Todd but if if you do is it possible if you can do a Arkham Jason Todd x fem teen reader and reader is his sidekick”

Imagine a life where you had nothing, you were the lowest anyone could go, and you were just a kid. Now imagine that there was someone standing in front of you, telling that same story, and offering you a chance to turn it all around because they knew how it felt to be you.

That someone was Jason Todd. You found each other by chance, somewhere in the Gotham slums. He walked past you down a dimly lit alley full of used needles and rotting trash, noticing a kid just a few years younger hiding from the world. You noticed a guy in a hoodie hiding a nasty scar on his cheek.

He reached out a hand, hoping you’d take it. He saw a look in your eyes that you’d been like this a while. And you might have noticed the same in his. Which is why after trusting nobody for years, you took this stranger’s hand. “I remember when I was a kid waiting in shitty places woth the hope someday it’d change. And it did one day. Someone found me and changed my life.” He explained after buying you a burger and fries.

“Was it for the better?” You asked him with a mouthful of food.

“I don’t know anymore.” He looked shaken himself, and you could tell by the bags under his eyes this may have been a subject that kept him up at night, maybe took up his waking moments, too. “How long have you been alone?”

“Practically forever. Every once in a while I felt like I was on steady ground and then…something always happens.” You sighed, taking a sip of your soda. “But I learned how to get by on my own. I had to. And I have to protect myself.” Jason raised a brow.

“You protect yourself yet you’re willing to go off with a stranger?” He asked, giving you a warm smile.

“Jason, right?” He nodded at the question. “Jason Todd?” His expression dropped. Before he could stammer out a response, you leaned back on your side of the booth and said, “everyone around here knows you one way or another, but everyone thought you were dead after you disappeared.”

“Did you know who I was when you came here with me?” Jason spoke lowly.

“Nope.” You flatly responded. “But I figured it out along the way. You used to live in my building when I was a kid, I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”

“3B?” He asked.

“That’s the one. You remember?” You smiled.

“I remember a scared little kid with dirt all over their face no matter what time of day.” You both chuckled. “Wow, it’s been a long time. I guess I’m glad we ran into each other.”

“It’s nice. I just don’t know where to go from here.” You took the last few bites from your meal, averting your eyes from his gaze, nervous for what was to come, but also hopeful. At this point, you didn’t care what you did or where you went, as long as you had some kind of purpose. Spending your youth in sleeping in wet boxes or crashing on a sunken-in, stained couch was no longer something you could stand doing.

“I had an idea. A while ago. But I just didn’t know how to go about it.” He revealed with a long pause, mustering up better details to share. “I dont know. It sounds crazy, but maybe not anymore.”

“Can you get to the point?” You tilted your head, eager for a bit more.

“Yeah, yeah…” He gulped. “I talked to this guy, it was after some really bad shit went down,” he brushed his scarred cheek, “this high-profile assassin wanted to train me—work with me. There are some demons I have to face, but I need some help to get ready.” You stared blankly for a minute, fingernail scratching the tabletop as you thought about his words. “It’s out of the country, somewhere in South America.”

“You’re crazy.” You stated. “I’m in.” Jason’s eyes widened. “Anything to get me out of Gotham. And you’re Jason Todd, I’d trust you with my life, even after all this time.” His expression softened and he kind of chuckled, in disbelief of you and himself.

“I—I guess I gotta go make a call.” Jason knocked his hand on the table. “Go ahead and order dessert, I’ll be back in a few.” He stepped out the front door and opened his phone, scrolling down to a contact labeled “S. Wilson.” It rang twice. “I’m in, and one more will be joining us.”

“I’ll make the arrangements for your travels, stay on the line.” Said Slade, there were faint keyboard clicks. “I have a private jet that awaits you at eight a.m. tomorrow. I will send you the address, don’t be late.” The phonecall ended abruptly and Jason went back to your table, finding you eating a slice of pie.

“Tomorrow morning we get to fly in a private jet.” Jason saw your face light up. “Never been?”

—————

Venezuela was incredible to you, even if it was a bit more humid than you were used to. On the plane ride, Jason told you everything. He didn’t spare one detail, he didn’t care. You were another Gotham City orphan with a dark past and a bright future. You two were ready for anything.

It was grueling. It was incredible. It was nothing you’d experienced before. Which was terrifying. But invigorating. You could tell Jason felt right back in his element, but you were desperately trying to catch up. He’d had much training before this, relevant to the current situation. You’re training went as far as standard Gotham Slums scuffling. Your skills included switchblade maneuvers, aiming for the crotch, running from trouble and climbing from trouble. Nothing like this ever seemed possible for you. But Jason knew what it felt like to be brought from your level to his. And as Deathstroke brought Jason to his level, he’d make sure you’d catch up.

—————

“I think you two are ready.” Slade announced as both of you stood before him. Straight backs, eyes forward, and arms behind your backs. “The plan is to be enacted soon, and you,” he turned his attention to Jason, “it’s up to you what we do from here. Gotham City finally meets its match?” He suggested. Jason nodded his head once and you followed. And so it began, the planning phase.

—————

You looked at Gotham from down below. Smaller than you remembered. The whirring of the helicopter blades lulled you away from reality for a few moments before Jason tapped you, motioning for you to come up front with him. You slid your headset on and heard him begin barking orders at the militia before setting your comms to private. “How’s it feel?” Jason asked you.

“I don’t know, actually.” You replied, doing a final check to make sure your guns were loaded and secured. “What about you?”

“It feels like I’m finally getting my revenge.” His voice modulator sent a chill down your spine and you soon landed in Gotham. The plan went off without a hitch. Gotham evacuated, scum running loose, Batman distracted, and his allies scattered. It was exciting, but something was off. Scarecrow’s plan didn’t sit well with you. It was gruesome, even to you. You never really cared about anyone but yourself, but as Jason lost his humanity, you gained it. “I’ve got your back, y/n. You got mine?”

“Always, Knight.” He chuckled as the chopper began to descend. “Let’s kill the Batman.”

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @summersimmerus // @xoxobabydolls // @evilcr0ne // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 // @deanzboyfriend //

[crguang]

games people play

You belong on the stage, you think, under blinding lights and at the forefront of an applauding audience. Most importantly, you only care to play along if Kafka stars in the play right alongside you.

afab!reader, kinda fluffy actually, smut, toys used, kafka is strapped and im not talking about the gun, dom!kafka, sub!bratty reader, some edging, rope play, kinda possessive kafka, 6.3k words…

A/N: this got away from me. i have nothing to say for myself.

Infiltration missions are your favorite; slipping into another person’s skin for a few hours, coming up with traits both obnoxious and serious in nature and performing in front of a naive, ignorant audience fills you with exhilaration.

Improvisation is even better, the anxiety of making up things on the fly feels like a hundred little bees buzzing in your stomach and you’ve grown so accustomed to its uneasiness by now that you often seek it out, it’s become a sort of addiction. Your team doesn’t understand— Silver Wolf prefers causing trouble from behind a screen and away from the action unless she needs to stretch her legs, Blade has too much on his mind to bother adding different characters into the mix, Firefly dreams to only live as herself. None of them share your excitement for acting and it would have been a great disappointment if it wasn’t for Kafka. Beautiful, guarded, eccentric Kafka. Constantly in search of adrenaline and always in movement, she is the only other member of your little illicit troupe of performers. Being with her is often the same as stepping on stage, what with all the half-truths and misleading statements, she is hidden under layers of costumes sometimes extravagant and other times impressively mundane. Even now, if she truly wishes to keep you at bay, you won’t be able to read her. It’s intoxicating. She plays you like the lines of a movie and together, under glaring lights and unsuspecting spectators, you dominate the stage.

You’re clasping the buttons of your shirt at the wrists, often slipping and having to start over, but despite the faint feeling of annoyance as you get dressed, you’re excited. Another evening of performing is ahead of you and it’s in times like this where you truly enjoy the work of the Stellaron Hunters. Having to blend in, to navigate a crowd of arrogant businessmen and pretentious admirers of the arts in order to steal the prized item of this auction feels like a scene straight out of a spy movie. What’s better is that you’re not meant to do this alone; Silver Wolf will be on comms as usual, hacking into the building to assure that the infiltration goes smoothly and Kafka will be right by your side, gloved hand in yours. Pre-performance jitters tingle your fingertips and toes. The sensation is welcome.

You tuck your shirt into your slacks and buckle the belt around your waist. You can hear shuffling and rummaging from the bathroom connected to the bedroom because of its open door. You pick the tie you laid out on the bed with the rest of your outfit earlier and wrap it around your neck, fiddling with it for some time before accepting the fact that you have no idea how to tie a tie and letting out a sigh of frustration. This is your first time wearing such a professional-looking suit complete with the loafers and tie, and you don’t know how to feel about it. It was slightly altered by your request, so it isn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. You stand in front of the full length mirror with your undone tie, turning this way and that. Your hair is done in a style you like and with the shoes on you have to admit that you look nice.

You hear the faucet being turned on in the bathroom and stalk towards it.

“Can you tie this for me?” You ask as you step inside and glance at the mess of beauty products on the counter. Some of them are yours used in your hair, but most are Kafka’s. This is her room, after all.

Kafka’s applying a thin coat of mascara on her lashes when you walk in, focused on her reflection in the mirror. She doesn’t spare you a glance until she puts the brush back into its tube, flutters her eyelashes a couple times and deems her work perfect. She turns to you, an amused smile growing on her lips at the tie resting around your neck.

“Don’t know how?” Kafka steps into your space and runs her fingers over the fabric. She starts to loop it around and over itself as you stand.

“Never had to learn.”

From this close, you can appreciate the eyeshadow at the corner of her eyes and the highlights on the apple of her cheeks. She hasn’t put on perfume yet or finished doing her lips, but she’s dressed in a form-fitting dark magenta dress that ends a little above her ankles, with thin straps and an open back. You feel no shame observing her backside through the mirror since she’s facing away from it. She’s stupidly gorgeous; you bring your eyes back to the dangling pearl earrings in her ears and the few strands of hair that cover them. If for some reason she stands out from the crowd tonight, it’ll be because she’s the most beautiful person in the room.

Kafka finishes tying your tie and pats your chest twice. She steps back and looks you over with a hum and a couple knuckles under her chin. When her gaze travels back up to meet yours, you catch a shimmer of appreciation in it.

“Well, you look dashing,” she says, her eyes following the movements of your hands as you smooth out your shirt.

You grin playfully, approaching her to lightly rest your hands on her waist. “The suit is doing it for you, isn’t it?”

Kafka lifts your chin with two fingers. “It is.”

Her honesty makes you huff out a laugh and the smile on her lips grows somewhat at the sound.

“I’ll have to come up with excuses to get you to wear it more often.”

“You could just ask.”

“That’s boring.”

You roll your eyes, glancing at the watch on your left wrist. “We have to meet Silver Wolf outside in 20 minutes.” You lean forward to plant a chaste kiss on her lips before letting go and leaving her to her makeup.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re shrugging on your coat when Kafka emerges from the bathroom to clasp a necklace around her neck and put on her heels. She carefully handles her own coat as she takes it out of the closet, putting it over her shoulders to complete her look. Her hair is secured in a low ponytail, as usual. The chain of her pendant rests between her breasts and the low neckline of her dress draws your attention to her chest for half a minute while you wait for her near the door.

You meet up with Silver Wolf with two minutes to spare and set off for the venue. It’s this city’s grandest museum, its marble columns can be seen from a distance as you approach in car. The streets are bustling with activity, glowing lights are shining on skyscrapers and stores have their doors open to assure a healthy flow for the customers coming in and out of them. The arts are greatly valued here, it shows in the pristine buildings and advertisements all around. You know it’s only because this is a richer neighborhood and surmise that the rest of the city doesn’t look as well put together. The ride to the museum is filled with Silver Wolf’s rock music in the speakers. Everything is in place, the comms she gave you are installed and all that’s left is to put on a show that the audience won’t forget.

Silver Wolf acts as your valet when you reach the venue and step out of the car, Kafka’s hand in yours. She slips into the driver’s seat and drives off to park somewhere close and inconspicuous. She’ll be supervising the mission from the back seat while the two of you do the heavy lifting.

Kafka curls a hand around your arm as you walk up the steps of the museum. You feel a little smug knowing that she’s here with you, at your arm. Getting inside is child’s play; your invitations are checked and the metal detector is no match for Silver Wolf’s genius tech, not that you’d ever tell her that. The interior is as impressive as its outside, with high ceilings, ceramic floors and precious artifacts displayed inside tall glass cases. You and Kafka make your way to where the Attouine Universal Auction will take place in one system hour, stopping to mingle with previously chosen targets on the way. You mingle among the upper crust, politicians, businessmen, academics alike so that Kafka can use her Spirit Whisper on them. The guest list isn’t large, only up to a total of 67 people, including you two. Lying to them is easy, pretending to be in love with Kafka is easier and you’re actually having fun half an hour in.

Kafka doesn’t let you do all the talking, she has no issue following your train of thought and assuring her advantage in the conversation. It’s admirable and effortless, you don’t get tired of seeing her in action. She has a champagne flute in one hand, occasionally pensively stirring the clear liquid inside. Her smile is rehearsed and comes as naturally as breathing when a couple sparks up a conversation with you. You’re happy to play along in front of the short woman and her husband, judging by the wedding band on her finger.

“What a beautiful pair you two make,” the brunette says, an air of forced politeness about her. She seems a little out of place, like she’s not used to these kinds of events. You guess that she’s only accompanying her husband to them and that he’s actually the one with recognition.

Her husband, however, stands with his chin high and his shoulders straight. He belongs there, or believes he does, and makes a show of showing everyone else.

You take Kafka’s hand in yours and bring it to your lips. “Thank you. She’s a diamond, isn’t she?”

The man follows the motion with his eyes but his wife replies before he can open his mouth. You hear Silver Wolf gag over the comms.

“Oh, how cute! Have you been together long?”

“A year, just about,” Kafka answers, looking at you. “This one’s always a charmer.”

“I can see that!”

You smile. “I’ve got to keep you around somehow… I’m aware of what a blessing you are.”

A sparkle of amusement shines in Kafka’s eyes, the corner of her mouth lifting ever so slightly at your cheesy reply. You maintain your facade, but you also feel like laughing at how silly you sound. It’s not an untrue statement per se… it’s just weird to say such things out loud because all the both of you do is beat around the bush when it comes to genuine emotion. You’re playing a character but it feels a little like the lines between fiction and reality are blurring.

In your ear, Silver Wolf groans, “One more corny line and you’re getting muted. You both disgust me.”

The woman poses a hand on her husband’s arm, addressing him while keeping her eyes on you. “They’re just like us, aren’t they, Len?”

Your gaze flickers to his at the mention of his name and he immediately looks away into the distance to pretend he wasn’t staring at the necklace between Kafka’s breasts. You feel a faint tinge of annoyance flare up inside your chest.

“Yes, very lovely,” he says, faking the unbothered tone of his voice.

You don’t know what offends you the most; his atrocious acting or his unashamed ogling.

“I notice neither of you are wearing rings,” the woman continues with interest. “Will things be made official in the near future, perhaps…?”

Kafka lets out a chuckle— you can tell it’s a genuine one— and turns to you with a teasing smirk, “Oh, I don’t know… will they?”

You feel the familiar sensation of bees in your belly as you’re put on the spot. All three of them expect your answer so you decide to play Kafka’s game. You meet her stare with the most innocent, lovesick look you can muster, your thumb rubbing the base of her ring finger. You find that you don’t have to try that hard.

“I don’t know about the near future, but… I know I’ve never been in love before knowing her.”

Kafka’s face doesn’t change, her meticulously practiced mask never slips, and you look at each other with equally heavy stares. Time seems to slow if only for the few seconds it takes for your new acquaintance to make an exaggerated sound of excitement. The moment breaks, you both look away at the same time and the conversation quickly resumes with pointless inquiries about your (fake?) relationship and the auction.

After some time, you glance at your watch and feel somewhat vindicated by the fact that the auction will start soon, giving you a reason to excuse yourself from the conversation. You’re also excited by what will happen next.

“It was nice meeting you both,” you offer the woman a smile and a nod, not dwelling on the blush of her cheeks, “but we have to find our seats. It’d be a shame to be all the way at the back with so many almost priceless items on display tonight.”

She laughs quietly and you miss the furtive look Kafka sends your way.

“Of course, of course…” The brunette sighs, then smiles sweetly. “Maybe we’ll end up seated next to each other.”

You don’t say anything to that. Kafka politely bids them goodbye and walks in the opposite direction, the hand laced with yours tugging you along. You meet with the rest of the guests, spark up short conversations from every corner of the room. Despite enjoying your performance, you find your audience lacking. Arrogance and pretentiousness reside in every business man, celebrity, political figure that you talk to and you quickly develop disdain for almost every person at this event. None of them deserve the social advantage that they have; you feel restless with the desire to humble them.

With each guest filing into the auction room until all the seats are filled, it’s time for the next part of the script to unfold. You take your seats at the front right near the small built-in stage. Two staff members carefully roll out the auction items as the auctioneer steps before the microphone and greets his audience. Kafka’s hand is on your knee, forefinger tracing insignificant patterns into the fabric of your pants while you wait for the last and most important item to be presented. The Stellaron, trapped inside a large, almost translucent mineral, emits an energy felt by the entire room as it’s brought on stage in a glass case. It glitters in the light like a precious jewel and catches the attention of each buyer. Kafka squeezes your knee once. It’s go time.

Stealing the Stellaron is laughably easy. Due to Kafka’s Spirit Whisper, not a single member of the audience can find the strength to stand up from their seat as you hop to your feet and saunter on stage. The auctioneer stammers about it not being allowed, but he’s dealt with just as the others are and soon, he’s frozen where he stands, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Confused murmurs and panicked shouts fill the air when the guests realize their predicament, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Kafka handles the Stellaron with care while you browse the selection of items on display with a pensive hum.

An antique vase catches your eye. It curves at the top and opens like a blooming flower; designs that mean nothing to you seem carved right into the glass, so you take it out if it’s case for a closer look. It’s a bit heavy despite measuring less than two feet. You decide to keep it and eventually gift it to Kafka knowing she would be able to find the beauty in it. As the clamor of people’s voices rise around you, an idea strikes you. You turn to Kafka.

“The script only said we would steal the Stellaron and leave the museum at 20:56 system time…”

A small smile appears on Kafka’s lips. “What are you thinking?”

“This place reeks of supposed social superiority,” you trail your fingers on top of a case containing an old ceramic disk with contrasting colors and patterns. You push it off the table and it explodes into cutting shards. Amidst the chaos, loud gasps of indignation follow. “I want to tear it down.”

Kafka’s smile widens.

Twenty minutes later, you’re on your way back to the base exactly as Elio foresaw, with Silver Wolf in the driver's seat making a quick getaway as the museum’s alarms sound behind you. You huff out a breathy laugh once in the back seat, heart thundering in your chest from the adrenaline. You had to incapacitate some security guards on the way out, the chase is your second favorite part. It feels great, your fingertips twitch with exhilaration as the car swerves between other vehicles on the road, ignoring red lights and stop signs. Kafka leans on the head rest next to you, looking at you with something you can’t fully decipher. In the darkness of the backseat it’s hard to read her gaze, especially with her contacts on, but you recognize the way her eyes flicker between yours, then to your mouth. She doesn’t have to say anything, your hands suddenly cup her cheeks and your lips crash into hers. The breath is knocked out of you with both her kiss and the lingering adrenaline. Her hand snakes around your neck to bring you closer, her teeth sink into your bottom lip when she pulls away for half a second. She’s rougher than usual with a sense of urgency accompanying her touches; her free fingers sneak under your coat to grip your shirt.

“Can you not?” Silver Wolf makes a noise of disgust and her sudden intervention pulls you out of the daze you were in. “I swear, I’ll crash this stupid car.”

Kafka chuckles, separating herself from you. Her hand stays beneath your coat. “Don’t be so dramatic. A mission well done deserves a proper celebration, don’t you think?”

“I don’t care what you do, as long as it’s not in front of me.”

“We’re behind you…” you mutter, inhaling deeply to calm your shaky hands.

You ignore the middle finger Silver Wolf sends your way. You lean into the seat, eyes closed, and regain full control of your body with a few slow breaths. Kafka’s hand trails down your shirt to your lap. As you turn your head to look at her, you find her gaze already on you. The unfamiliar glint in it is still present, seemingly making her irises darker, then the corners of her mouth lift in a softer smile than she’d normally offer you.

“Let’s play a round of Truth or Lie,” she says suddenly.

Apart from being a fun game you both enjoy, it’s somewhat become your way of discussing serious matters without having to lay yourselves bare. The existence of a lie adds a layer of protection that neither of you can go without. You tilt your head at the suggestion.

“Okay. You start.”

Kafka takes a few seconds to reply, as if thinking of how to phrase her question. You’re careful to school your features into a picture of neutrality so as to not be caught off guard. She hums, then speaks up.

“Did you mean what you said earlier, to that woman?”

You don’t need to ask for clarification on what she’s referring to. Though her smile hasn’t slipped off her face, Kafka’s expression is guarded.

“Am I that good a liar you couldn’t tell?” You tease, an eyebrow raised.

“Is that one of your questions?”

You look past her as you think. Yes, something in you meant what you said then. You recognize this certainty, it’s as real as the earlier thrill in your veins. Being with Kafka is never boring, always brings something new, and you’ve never felt this way before meeting her. It’s an electrifying feeling that travels from your toes to wake the rest of your body, not unlike a shock, except that this is something you can’t help but crave. Beyond the curtains of this beautiful stage you act in lies a sort of yearning for more of how she makes you feel, of her hand in yours as you reenact this rehearsed play of two emotionally guarded beings finding closeness in each other. Are you in love with her? Yes, you are.

“No,” you shake your head, “to answer your first question. I was in character.”

Kafka stares at you for a moment, searching your face for the truth. You smile at her.

“Mm. You turn.”

Your fingers fiddle with her hand on your lap. Silver Wolf takes a sharper turn than necessary and the car swerves to the right. “Are you disappointed by my answer?”

“…No. I’m not.”

You can’t read her at all. You suppose that’s the point of the game. You arrive at your destination before you can finish the round and Silver Wolf wastes no time in hopping out of the car and into the building. There’s a spring in your step as you follow suit with Kafka in tow.

You’re already working towards unbuttoning your coat and uncuffing your shirt when you step into Kafka’s dark room. She flicks the switch behind you, illuminating the room. She takes off her earrings and you take a seat on the bed after slipping out of your loafers. You stretch your arms above your head, letting out a long sigh. Kafka discards her jewelry on top of a dresser.

“You know…” she turns to you before leaning into the furniture and looking you over like she did earlier this evening. You stop loosening your tie as she speaks, lifting your head to meet her eyes. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

You feel a playful smile stretch your lips. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mm. You nearly had that poor woman combusting in place.”

Your brows furrow briefly as you recall the exchange. You viewed her interest as superficial, something she felt compelled to be because of how obviously uneasy social events of that nature made her. It showed in the way she clung to her husband and how clumsy she was at navigating the conversation. Still, Kafka’s words are laced with a tinge of possessiveness you almost never see in her. A smirk slowly spreads across your face.

“She had a husband,” you remind her.

“Who spent half the conversation looking at my chest. They likely had nothing between them. But you knew that.”

You did not. You genuinely thought she was overcompensating and were too busy playing a clip of her husband getting fatally injured over and over in your mind after catching his eyes on Kafka. It’s funny that she would think you were flirting on purpose, though.

Kafka takes slow strides towards you. She stands in front of you and a bare foot slides between your calves to nudge them apart. You take hold of her waist, looking up at her with an innocent smile.

“You liked the attention,” she states with a finger under your chin. She wears a smile as her other hand comes up to strike your hair.

“You sound jealous.”

Kafka laughs softly, fingers splaying out over your cheek. Her thumb soothingly rubs your skin. You resist the urge to close your eyes. “Cute. What’s there to be jealous of when you’re pliable in my hands?” Her knee sinks into the mattress between your legs and she leans closer. “A block of clay to be shaped and molded. That’s what you are.”

“And you’re so eager to put your hands on me, to have me for yourself that another woman laughing at my jokes tickles you.”

Her thumb traces the outline of your bottom lip. “Eager?”

“Like a pup.”

Her smile doesn’t waver. She pushes her digit past your lips and it gets caught between your teeth as you make a noise of surprise at the sudden intrusion. You relax after a second, your tongue swirling around her finger while you maintain eye contact with her. There’s a dangerous heat in the way she looks at you, an unsaid warning that you choose to ignore.

“Brat.” Kafka takes her thumb out of your mouth and observes how it shines in the light. “You know what I do with them, don’t you?”

“You fuck them?”

The smile on her face grows larger. The way she touches you is inherently condescending, the overly sweet strokes of your hair and fake gentleness as she cups your cheek and leans close to you as if to kiss you are subtle reminders of her control over you. You stare into her eyes with fluttering eyelashes.

“Sweet girls get orgasms. A brat like you, on the other hand…”

You feel her breath on your parted lips and expect a kiss that doesn’t come. Instead Kafka tears herself from you and straightens up. Your hands leave her waist as she takes a step back and brings her hand to her chin in contemplation.

“I think I’ll tie you up.”

She does just that. You bite your bottom lip to muffle a whine, wrists absentmindedly tugging against their pretty, silken restraints. Kafka’s ropes hold your arms above your head to each corner of the headboard and slightly dig into your skin the more your muscles struggle. She effortlessly ties you up like a lovely present before you can prepare a snarky remark. The pink webs obey her command, unlike you, and keep you in place while she climbs over you to leisurely undress you. She starts at your neck, loosening your tie to place wet kisses on your skin. Her teeth sink into your flesh and she is without remorse when you hiss at the sensation. She suckles the bite, her tongue occasionally darting out to soothe the mark in slow strokes. Her hands expertly undo the button of your shirt without needing to look at her work. You feel her warm tongue trailing down to your collarbone as she removes your shirt. One of her knees stays between your thighs, unmoving.

Kafka lifts her head to look at the reveal of your skin once your shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor. Her palms travel up and down your stomach, squeeze at the waist and knead your covered breasts over your bra, all the while following their movements with lidded eyes. You swallow. You don’t say a word because you know she’ll go even slower if pressured to pick up the pace, but your skin is hot and your cunt already pulses between your legs at her tame ministrations. Kafka pulls down the cup of your bra with a finger, freeing a hardened nipple.

“Erect already?” She teases. “I only took off your shirt.”

“Shut up,” the words leave your mouth without thinking and your lips part in surprise when she uses two fingers to harshly twist your nipple. “Ah!”

“Wanna try again?”

You take a breath. “Acting like I’m the eager one when I know you’ve already ruined your pan— Mmh!”

Pleasure courses through you as your nipple is pinched between her fingertips. Her hands run around your chest to unclasp your bra and toss it aside, then resume their work on your breasts. Her thumbs swipe over your nipples, applying pressure that pathetically quickens your breathing. Kafka licks her lips but doesn’t use her mouth on you. She watches how your plush mounds move under her hands and take whatever shape she wants them to. She grabs a handful of each breast, squeezing and kneading until you’re exhaling through your mouth. Then she slowly moves down to your hips, rubbing the skin. She has to adjust her position in order to take off your pants and she settles between your thighs once the task is done.

Your thighs spread apart to accommodate her body. Kafka looks up at you, amused, but doesn’t comment on the gesture. Her palms rub into your soft skin, trailing up and down your inner thighs. A dark spot spreads from where arousal dampens your gray underwear.

“If only you could see how wet you’re getting,” she sighs lustfully, “maybe we should do this in front of the mirror. What do you think?”

You bite the inside of your cheek at the suggestion. Kafka hooks a forefinger under your underwear and pulls to reveal your glistening sex. Her voice lowers perceivably.

“Mm? Is thinking about me fucking you in front of a mirror getting you all wet?”

Her index trails down your folds and touches your clit as it does, making you suck your lip into your mouth to keep in a low moan. Kafka observes her finger between your lips, how your arousal coats the better part of it as it teases your pussy. She’ll have you a complete sticky mess before the night is over. The thought makes her cunt clench. She slides your panties down your legs until they no longer hide your puffy pussy from her sight. She uses two fingers to spread your lips and looks up at you.

“If you were well-behaved, I’d be licking you clean right now. Too bad you’re not.”

You groan in slight frustration. “Come on. Just fuck me like you mean it.”

“Oh, I’ll fuck you.” Kafka’s eyes narrow. She pulls her fingers away from your cunt completely. “And when I do, you won’t be able to remember a thing but how good I feel inside you.”

Kafka stands upright, ignoring your little whine to rummage through her drawers instead. She picks up a couple of things and you’re breathless when you see the strap-on and vibrator in her hands as she returns to your side. Your thighs clench together in a fruitless attempt at relieving pressure in your lower belly. You feel your arousal on your inner thighs, coating them in sticky juices. Kafka waves a hand and silk threads wrap around your flesh, forcing you to keep your legs spread for her. You try to move but apart from the quiver of your muscles, nothing happens.

“You haven’t earned that one yet,” Kafka gestures with the plastic cock and tosses it on the bed. She turns the small vibrator over in her palm, messing around with the settings until she finally settles on the lowest one. It pulses as it’s pressed against your cunt and you don’t bother covering up the moan that escapes you. “This will do for now.”

The vibrations on your pussy are so good, so relieving you throw your head back with a breathy moan. You feel each one reverberate through your body and soon, your hips are trying to move along for more friction. You buck your hips, hoping the movement will make it touch your clit for even a second. Kafka watches your growing desperation with apathy. She runs the vibrator up and down your slit, purposely ignoring your aching clit. Positioning it at your entrance covers the head in arousal and she’s tempted to push it in just to see how your cunt greedily sucks in anything she gives you. She makes you suffer longer, caresses your labia with the toy and pulls it away when she sees you clench from the pleasure. With it being at the lowest setting, the throb is a welcomed sensation but isn’t enough to make you come. Trying to move your body is useless; the thin ropes around your limbs keep you exactly how Kafka wants you: defenseless.

You inhale sharply through your mouth as she rubs the toy into your cunt. You know begging won’t help your cause and will only serve to humiliate you. Pleading to her good conscience is just as worthless, but you need to come so badly and Kafka will only allow you to do it on her terms. So, you provoke her.

“That— Mmh, that woman from the auction,” you manage to breathe out, and Kafka instantly meets your eyes. “Bet… she’d be so eager to make me come if I asked.”

Kafka doesn’t move for a moment. The vibrator is still pressed against your pussy, making you let out little whines, but her hand isn’t moving and she’s simply looking at you like she’s trying to figure you out. You know she sees through you, your mind is too taken by the idea of pleasure to bother hiding yourself from her searching gaze. She seems to debate with herself on something and when you think she just won’t bite your bait, she turns off the vibrator. You watch as she stands to let her dress slip to the floor. Apprehension curls around your throat as she steps into the harness of the strap-on and adjusts it around her hips. Her silence makes your gut flutter with nervousness. Then she chuckles to herself and that only worsens the feeling.

Kafka hovers over you, fingers digging into your skin as she grabs your jaw and guides your gaze to hers. Her nails will surely leave crescent marks behind, but you can only focus on the dull pink of her irises. With her free hand, she guides the plastic cock between your folds, coating it in your slick and grazing your clit in the process. Your following moan is muffled by the grip on your jaw. She spreads your arousal over the dick, pumping it once, twice, three times before her sticky fingers grip your waist and she pushes half of the length into you at once.

You groan in surprise, unaccustomed to the sudden fullness. You feel the toy stretching your walls and Kafka doesn’t allow you to get used to the sensation before thrusting the entirety of it inside your fluttering cunt.

“Fuck, w— wait…” you gasp out, wrists struggling against the ropes and thighs trembling. “I was—” A whimper escapes you as Kafka pulls out almost completely just to drive into you again. “Was joking, baby…”

“Shut up and take it.”

You have no choice but to comply. Kafka thrusts into you, unrelenting and apathetic to the way the sensations overwhelm you instantly after so much teasing. Her dick rubs your walls deliciously and the wet sounds of it pounding into you has you choking out a cry. You don’t get used to the pace, it’s too rough, too fast, and has your orgasm building after only a minute of her inside you. You can’t last, not with Kafka playing you as rigorously as she does the violin, fingers digging into the flesh of your love handle for stability. You take her cock as she orders you to and whimper against her lips when she leans forward to press her mouth to yours for the first time tonight. Her kiss is as rough as her strokes, leaving you breathless, a mindless puppet only able to mutter her name. As her tongue enters your mouth to tease yours, the hand around your jaw leaves so that her middle finger harshly rubs your clit. It’s too much for you to handle at once. Your cunt swallows her cock as you come with her name out your lips, squeezing her like a vice.

Kafka doesn’t slow down her thrusts, fucking you through your orgasm and maintaining the pressure on your pulsing clit until you feel another one coming.

“Kafka—” You whine, throat hoarse, “too much…”

“Mmh? That’s what you wanted. Be grateful I didn’t leave you there, cunt aching for me to fill you. You’ll take what I give you.”

Her eyes drink you in, she commits your twisting brows and trembling lips to memory; her mind takes live pictures of you under her, whimpering as you greedily take her cock, until there’s an entire gallery of your fucked out expression inside her head. The sight makes her wetter and needy for release, but it’s not enough. With an arm around your shoulder and the use of her webs, Kafka manipulates your weak body into straddling her lap as she sits up on the bed. Your wrists are still tied together, your arms around her neck, but your thighs quiver as the ropes vanish around them. She holds you up with two hands on your hips and pushes you down onto her length. Your eyes are closed, your lips parted, and you let her guide you up and down her cock until you’re coming again. Kafka watches your slick slide down the dildo and groans, wishing she could pump her own cum into your cunt and watch it leak out of you as she fills you. The toy is drenched in cum and she doesn’t look away as it disappears inside your throbbing pussy, can’t; she feels her own slick run down her thighs just from watching how messy you’re getting her cock.

“Can’t take it,” you breathe out, “mmh…”

Kafka looks up at you. She briefly takes your nipple in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, before letting go and murmuring into your skin, “You can, baby. You’re taking me so well.”

You whine, hips faltering. The length of her cock buries into you in a harsh thrust upwards and you can’t make a sound as you come hard, your face in Kafka’s neck. Your arms shake from the pleasure that assaults you at once. Your toes curl and the breath leaves your lungs. Kafka doesn’t pull out as you come down from your high a panting mess. Your limbs feel twice as heavy. Her hand strokes your hair while you breathe in and out sharply. She gives you some time to calm down, then pulls you away from her neck with the hand in your hair and kisses you messily; you feel her tongue on your bottom lip and her saliva mix with yours. She breathes out into your open mouth, a low moan escaping her.

Kafka squeezes your hip and mutters into your mouth, “You’ll give me another one, won’t you?”

Though it’s phrased as one, you know it’s not a question at all. This is what you get for provoking her, and she won’t stop until she’s entirely satisfied.

[suguann]

an. a little 'and-they-were-roommates' drabble series to get me back into writing because it's been an age. | masterlist | part two

It starts as a situation built off convenience: he needed someone to take care of his place while he was gone, and you needed a place to stay. 

Simon never thought he’d get anything out of it other than coming home to a house that feels lived-in and the entryway clear of envelopes from months of neglecting his mail—another voice throughout the day besides the intrusive ones in his head that spun like a carousel with the word work etched on top. 

It’s not until you show up on his doorstep, three boxes and a measly duffel bag crowding your arms, that he thinks he really should’ve thought this through better. He’ll only realize this after the fact—weeks late, sleepless nights filled with images of daisy-shaped buttons down the front of a summer dress and a smile that nearly knocks him flat off his feet.

As it is, he’ll blame it on the handful of sleepless hours from tiny airplane seats and energy drinks sleuthing through his system that clouded his judgment, then admit it’s nice coming home to a woman who looks pretty reading a book on his living room couch.

Only his soap-slick fist in his bathroom late at night will know the honest-to-God truth. That is if there was ever a god he believed in. 

He never claimed to be a good man. 

(Can anyone claim to be good in his line of work?)

Just an honest one.

So it goes something like this: he tries not to come off as an obsessed, lonely fuck (the jury is out on either) by just existing in the same space as you whenever the opportunity arises—reading the paper while you make breakfast on the stove he hasn’t touched in too long to remember when, flipping through a book Simon didn’t even know he owned while you water plants you picked up on your way from work, watching whatever you have on the telly before you both go to bed—then he’s on a plane, being shipped out to who knows where with a gun holstered to his hip.

Rinse and repeat. 

The fourth time he comes home after an assignment keeps him away longer than expected, he finds you in the kitchen, covered in flour, a cute, frilly apron tied around your waist that he’s never seen you wear before. A smile curls the edges of your mouth as you look over at him, everything in your face soft and attentive—a vision suddenly takes shape.

You with a ring on your finger, Simon calling you his little wife, getting to hold your hand whenever he feels like it, and not because yours accidentally brushed up against his. His hand fisting in your hair, bending you over the counter, your cheek covered in powdery confectionery, fingers rucking up your skirt and apron because he can.

He blinks once, twice, and the little fantasy falls apart. 

Except you’re still in his kitchen, smiling prettily and happy to see him of all things. Imagine that.

Your lashes flutter, making crescent shadows across your cheeks. “How was your trip?” you ask. “You look more tired than you usually do.”

A shrug, a dismissal. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I have some tea that might help.”

“Tea.” He repeats to fill the quiet if only to stand there a little longer, his bag still slung over his shoulder and his clothes smelling like recycled air. 

“Yeah, I got it from a friend a few weeks ago when I caught this cold that was going around the office.” Sometimes, you ramble, and he can do nothing more than let you get it out of your system—not that he minds. “I swear it’s nothing janky or anything. Just try it; it might help.”

You’re so damn earnest about it that he can’t bring himself to say no.

“Sure,” he says and watches a wide, satisfied smile stretch across your face.

It’d be easier if you weren’t so sweet and gave a sincere fuck about the comings and goings of his life. If the smell of your perfume wasn’t following Simon everywhere—sugary vanilla faintly clinging to his balaclava even after he’s washed it—as a reminder of what’s just out of his reach.

(A mindfuck is what it is.)

[songsofadelaide]

In the summer of your seventh year, as your parents hosted a high-ranking guest in your home, a silver-haired boy stole a kiss from you under the blooming trellis in your family's sprawling garden. Your family called him a little god reborn and warned you to steer clear should your path ever cross with him again. ("He might steal more than a kiss the next time around," your older brother told you.)

There was no avoiding him, though, especially when he has taken quite an interest in you. Your kind, noble parents disliked his entitlement, but who were they to refuse the wily whims of a godling so besotted with their daughter? Their refusal would be tantamount to treason, even more so when the council elders and the oracles deemed you his other half. ("The stars said that you were born for me specifically... Or something like that," said Gojo Satoru, the Crown Prince, a little god from a house much higher and older than yours.)

His boyish presence filled your family's estate for many summers to come after he stole that kiss from you, his eyes so clear and blue and steadfast and he knew better than to lie to you when you asked him if he really liked you. ("I like you this much," he said, tracing an immeasurable, invisible line from his heart to yours.) The confirmation came in a formal declaration, on paper, that you were to be his bride when you both come of age.

In the summer of your sixteenth year, Gojo Satoru asked for your hand in marriage. ("I know it's been declared and all, but I'm asking you for myself now because I truly care for you— and I want you to know that what we have is more than just a simple arrangement by those old farts in the council," he told you with a smile so tender that you thought you were fast asleep on your feather bed, dreaming this all up.)

On that very same summer, a bounty is placed on the Crown Prince's head. A coup is declared against the head of your homeland, the Empire of the Six Eyes, and foes from within the imperial noble circle claim the prince to be a threat to the already fragile peace between the many high and noble houses. ("They cannot touch me, of course," he told you with a chuckle as he brought your freezing knuckles to his lips, warm and ablaze. "I am the strongest. And with you by my side, I will be invincible.")

Years passed and the internal struggle did not relent, even when the instigators were brought to light. The Crown Prince, now the Emperor they loathed and feared made manifest, permitted their existence in court, for he didn't want to be the tyrant they made him out to be. You wondered where you fit in the equation— the Empress— one born under an auspicious star so similar to her husband. ("You need not wonder where you belong, my heart. By my side is your place, always," he whispered to you in the midst of a banquet, as though you were the only two people on earth.)

("By your side, I'll remain then, my heart," you whispered back to him, and he responded to you with a face flushed with glee and a laugh that let on just how nervous he still was when it came to you.)

He called you his heart, but neither of you knew that the oracle lied to the Imperial family, that you were not his heart, not his other half, but the very sword that would pierce his heart instead. Neither of you knew that the true enemy— and the downfall of the Empire— was far closer than you expected.

When your brother became the lord of your noble house, he once asked if the Emperor was ever unkind to you. It was a question you vehemently rebuffed, for Satoru has been nothing but kind to you throughout your marriage. ("And even from before," you reminded your lord brother with a smile. "Have you forgotten how deeply he cherishes me so?")

And when the coup reared its ugly head once more, you couldn't believe your eyes when you saw the leader of the fray— your kind brother, his eyes alight with a vengeance you couldn't recognise. Your digging through the Imperial archives proved fruitful when you finally realised the depth of his rage. ("—Eyes led the annihilation of the ⬛ family, the decimation of their bloodline, save for two of their house's offspring—" said the words on the weathered book.)

As the Imperial castle burned down at dawn, your brother dragged you out kicking and screaming in the pretence of rescuing you. Satoru searched everywhere for you and saw the ensuing struggle, so he rushed to you. He was faster than your brother and had his blade at the ready, but he did not expect your jewelled knife to be the one to pierce him first.

You thought he was going to kill your brother.

"My heart," he mustered with his laboured breath. "I suppose this is a fitting end for a liar like me."

The knife was for your self-defence. It fell from your hands the moment they were stained red. "You knew?"

"I knew," he nodded at you. "I knew and yet was still so foolish to think that I could change my... our fate."

In the summer of your twenty-eighth year, the Empire of the Six Eyes fell to the hands of other high houses. The young Emperor perished in the onslaught and the Empress was nowhere to be found. (In the summer of your twenty-eighth year, Gojo Satoru is lost to you. He does not know about his parting gift to you, and neither do you. The grief that burdened your heart nearly stole it from you, too.)

The coup concluded but the internal war for the throne raged on for many more years to come, and it came for you and your peaceful life, too, in the summer of your forty-fifth year.

A silver-haired boy enters the fray, wielding an ancient power thought to be long gone. He says he will take back what is rightfully his, what was stolen from his parents, and he will not be as kind as his father was before him. ("Perhaps the oracle was wrong," he stated before the men who cowered under his cold gaze. "Perhaps...")

[izvmimi]

cw: dead dove do not eat. horror. love as consumption (bad). cannibalism. true form sukuna. reader with female pronouns.

Uraume doesn’t like you, hasn’t from the very second they met you, and never will. 

Uraume doesn’t like a lot of people, especially not any of the wives, and you’ve once wondered if the way that wives get disposed of when they’ve outlived their duty has anything to do with their own specific…recommendations, but it’s all moot point. All that matters is that Uraume hates you particularly, possibly because you are the favorite, but not favored concubine, and it has nothing to do with envy or malice, it’s something far deeper than that.

Uraume is actually smiling, a severe upturn of both corners of their thin lips that crinkles their eyes and looks painfully unnatural, as though imitated from a painting with minimal practice, when the heavy, padded doors that carry out your confinement finally unseal. 

Light floods the dark room and blinds your eyes practically. You’re not sure what time it is; it’s been hours since you’ve been locked within these four walls, and you don’t remember the last time water or food has graced your lips. It must be over a day you think, typical of the punishments he doles out to you because despite the fact that he acts severe, in some small way he does truly dote on you. After all, it’s been a year and you’ve yet to be digested or maimed, all of your limbs present down to the fingers and toes, skin unmarred, both eyes still able to look at Uraume in the face and piss them off, lips and tongue still pleasing to the demon’s scarlet eyes and hard at work in the depths of night.

Uraume lowers their eyes as they approach you, then bows. It’s ridiculous that Sukuna makes them do this, a mockery even, because you’re both slaves to that demon’s wit and power and you know intuitively that even if Uraume is poised as subservient to you, they are of far more use and necessity than you are. Warm bodies are a dime a dozen, even if you’ve managed to convince the owner of the harem that your pussy is particularly pleasing. Either way, right now, he’s mad at you, and while you have not died, your starving stomach turns at the same time as it growls, disorganized like a thrashing tantruming child, and your brain wants to entice you to vomit, even if your mouth is watering.

Uraume thinks it’s particularly hilarious to see you like this, frenzied as the wafting smell of the food they’ve brought you hits your nostrils and they flare like a beast. 

Perhaps it hasn’t been just a day. Perhaps longer. Your breathing is deep and straggled as you hold your arms around your growling stomach, and try to collect yourself into a kneeling position, lacking the strength to stand. 

“Princess,” Uraume says mockingly. Sukuna does not require them to call you this, wouldn’t dare call you this in front of him, but they are doing it now grinning as they present the tray to you. 

The food smells contradictorily heavenly, and you hate that such an evil human being (if you can call them that) is such a good cook. The savory aroma can practically put you in a frenzy, almost as powerful as the desire that swells up inside you when you’re filled with Sukuna’s ample presence, but you know better.

This isn’t the first time. You know better.

“Eat.”

Uraume’s tray practically drops in front of you, and you reflexively clamor towards it. An ornate assortment, dressed in red. Red wine, red meat, red, red, red. Red strawberries fed to you by candlelight as your body was stretched to the limit, palms pressed against Sukuna’s chest, pushed into your mouth, skewered by the point of a clawed finger. Sweet juices running down your chin, your slick running down the shaft of Sukuna’s cocks, saliva pooling in your drooling mouth. 

You can’t eat this, but you are so, so hungry.

“Who is it?” you venture to ask, but your voice only comes out as a hoarse rasp.

Uraume snorts.

“Does it matter? You’ll still feed like a dog.”

As they berate you, you’re already hand in plate, forgoing any utensils, eating rabidly. The meat has a sweet aftertaste to it, again like the strawberries you covet from him. You gorge yourself, Uraume watching with a sneer, in part disgusted, in part entertained.

Uraume doesn’t have to remind you that the cup you use to force down the bolus of food you’ve just taken in is blood diluted thinly. The irony aftertaste is barely perceptible when you’re this ravenous. Tears run through the corner of your eyes as you continue to eat. Uraume’s food is an orgasmic experience, you’re always moved, no matter what they prepare. You’d eat by the mouthfuls, drink by the gallons if you were allowed to.

Funny how you’re only allowed this experience when you misbehave.

Uraume stands in wait as you continue to bite and chew and swallow and sigh, then shakes their head. 

“Do you still want to know?” they ask finally, once the plate has been licked clean. Your face is tearstained but your belly is full, and in a couple more hours you can leave to service your master once again. As a treat.

Perhaps he’ll feed you something sweet again. Perhaps not strawberries this time, perhaps something that’s no longer red, something with a myriad of colors along with a complexity of taste. You’ve only been shrouded in darkness for the past few days after all, you’d love some light.

Now that the food is gone, you don’t want to think anymore.

“No,” you whisper, trying to contain the moroseness in your voice.

Uraume snorts.

“Remember that child you smiled at?” they start, anyway. You reflexively cover your ears and Uraume won’t force your hands down, they know you’ll hear them anyway. “In the courtyard, on your daily trip. You’re supposed to keep your eyes straight ahead, remember princess? You wanted this opportunity, didn’t you?”

You curl into a ball but Uraume would like it if you crumbled. The food was delicious, you do not have to know where it came from. He would have eaten that child anyway. It doesn’t matter if it was you. You are but part of the whole. A small part. The whole is Sukuna. The evil is him.

The smile is back on Uraume’s face - perhaps they will get that practice after all.

“I’ll be back shortly to clean you up for tonight’s service. I’ll leave the gate open. Enjoy the fresh air.”

The fact that all the food doesn’t come back up as fast as it went down is proof enough that you are no longer being reprimanded, you are being trained.

[andromeda-nova-writing]

"Are you laughing at me?" "Yeah, I am. What are you going to do about it?" - Wriothesley Request from @isekyaaa

When Clorinde said she knew someone who could teach Y/N the basics of a different hand-to-hand combat style she wasn’t expecting that Wriothesley would be the one to teach her. One would think it would be easy to take the guy seriously but all the stories from Clorinde and that his back was absolutely covered in stickers made it so hard. It would have been easier if she said she would just show up to the fortress for her lesson rather than agreeing with him to take advantage of the nice weather out at the beach. With his coat on, the stickers were at least out of sight.

“You know I never got the reason why you agreed to this.”

“Clorinde didn’t tell you?” He was focused on wrapping his hands.

“Nah. Just said she knew a guy.” Her head tilted to the side. “Is there something I should know? Heard from her that you both like betting. You lost?”

He sighed. “Yeah, but this is better than me winning and my shelves filling up with more law books.”

Y/N laughed. “So you’re the reason I end up swinging by the bookstore to pick up a law book for her every now and then.”

Wriothesley rolled his eyes with a smile. “Seems so. You ready over there.”

“Been. You were the late one.”

“Work’s a bit far from here to be fair.”

“I thought I was gonna have to tell Clorinde you were a no-show. I’d be back on the hunt for an instructor. Probably could find someone better if I spent more time looking.” She teased.

“You’re gonna give me a headache.”

“Don’t tell me I’m too much for you to handle.”

He looked away biting his lip, he pushed his bangs back before letting them fall in front of his face. “Let’s just get this started.”

It didn't take long for Y/N to begin understanding the basics. The only issue was that she kept falling back into the stance of her normal fighting style. It was definitely something she’d have to work on to fix but at the same time being able change styles mid fight could be an advantage. 

After some time of just focusing making sure she was picking things up correctly. It didn’t hurt to test some things out in a small scrimmage. It would just be a few blows back and forth with no real weight behind them. 

Y/N had thrown a punch Wriothesley way. She focused on pushing him further back towards the water. It was her best bet with that they were in two different weight classes. It wasn’t hard for him to dodge. But in doing so he tripped backwards trying to avoid stepping on a crab and fell into the waves that crashed against the shore.

She couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. Yes, he had been a more than perfect teacher the entire time. But with the knowledge he was helping cause of a lost bet, the stickers that covered his back and that he was soaked beyond belief she let go of everything that kept her from laughing at the man.

He looked up at the woman who was now towering above him as the waves gently splashed at him leaving no part of his clothes dry. “Are you laughing at me?” He wasn’t mad but he for sure knew he had to look a bit stupid.

“Yeah, I am. What are you going to do about it?” She teased. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it.

He sighed. “You’re right nothing I can do. Help a guy up?”

Y/N wiped a tear that formed from her laughter before holding a hand out to him to pull him back up standing. Wriothesley took her hand pulling himself up just slightly before pulling her down into the water with him.

“Ugggh, You asshole!” She laid in the water beside Him.

“It's what you get.” He let go of her hand before splashing her lightly.

“It’s not like I was the one who pushed you in.”

“You were laughing enough where you might as well have.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe Clorinde set me up to learn from a man who doesn’t know how to even treat a lady.”

“I don’t know if our activities here would even have you being considered lady like.”

“I think it’s very lady like knowing how to defend yourself. After all you never know when a big oaf is going to pull you into the ocean.”

“You say that like you haven’t been having a good time.”

She turned her head away to hide the smile that was creeping onto her face. “Let’s just go dry off already.”

[peachhcs]

going to worlds

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

with worlds coming up, tensions get high in the hughes’ household between luke and samy.

2k words

so this is actually more samy x luke more than samy x will but here’s the sibling angst i mentioned a few days ago! i feel like we don’t see a lot of samy’s relationship with her brothers so i wanna try and write that more but i will be writing more about worlds between will and samy as it plays out! :))

au masterlist

“no, absolutely not,” luke immediately shook his head as he walked out of the kitchen. samy was hot on his tail as she followed him into the living room, watching as he plopped himself onto the couch, remote in hand. 

“why not? it’s not like i’m gonna be bothering you,” the younger hughes argued, hanging herself over the couch so she was right in her brother’s face. 

the boy pushed her away, “but it will be a bother when i have to look after you the entire month there. i’m not doing that shit. i’m not gonna be some babysitter at my own hockey tournament,” luke was being harsh which samy sort of expected, but not this bad.

“i’m 19 years old. you don’t need to look after me,” the girl fired back. 

“that’s not what mom and dad will say. plus, i kind of do because we’re in a fucking foreign country and i’m not that stupid to let you wander around czechia by yourself,” luke shot back even harder. a frustrated groan escaped samy’s lips. this brother was supposed to be easier than her other two. 

“i won’t be by myself. plus, i went to sweden and mom and dad were fine,” samy mumbled sheepishly. 

“what do you think you’re gonna do when we’re at practice almost the whole day? sit in the hotel? that’s gonna get boring real quick,” the curly-brunette shook his head, already very over the conversation and disregarding what his sister said.

“you’re being such a brat. i’m not 12 years old anymore, luke. i can take care of myself, you know. you’re not even 21 yet so right now it’s a one year age difference.” 

“why do you even wanna go? don’t you have your own shit to do instead of follow me to czechia,” the middle hughes rolled his eyes. although, his words hit a nerve. 

samy drew back off the couch, a frown settling onto her lips. sure, her and luke had their fair share of fights and arguments, but for some reason, his words hurt even more than any of those combined. 

“jesus, when did you turn into such an asshole?” now her words hit luke’s nerve this time. the older boy whipped around so hard samy swore he gave himself whiplash. his lips were set in a straight line along with his eyebrows pinched together. 

“who are you calling an asshole right now? you’re the one who needs to grow up right now,” the boy shot back quite harshly. 

“so me going to every single one of your ntdp games, home games at umich mean nothing to you? you just think i’m following you around?” the girl frowned, her hurt showing more than she anticipated as her voice wavered. 

“i- i..that’s not what i meant, sam. i just..it’s gonna be a bother and you just wanna go to make out with your boyfriend anyway,” luke defended himself, but his words didn’t sound any better than before. 

those words hurt samy a lot more than a few minutes ago. luke never called her sam ever. the siblings stared at one another, the silence engulfing them while luke awaited a response. “so that’s what you think? you’ve just forgotten that will’s still my best friend and i’ve been supporting him since we were kids along with you? you just think i wanna go to be some bother to you and have sex with my boyfriend?” samy’s voice finally rose to the point where they both knew she was angry. 

“i mean..am i wrong?” the wrong responses kept falling from the middle hughes’ mouth. 

“yes! you are wrong, luke! haven’t you and will always wanted to play on the same team together since we were kids but never could because you weren’t ever in the same age group? and now that it’s finally happening, i can’t go and support my brother and best friend who are playing for the same team because all you think is that i’m going to have sex with him all the time and be some fucking bother. i only asked you because i knew mom and dad would only let me go if you said yes and i thought you would because you’d want your sister there cheering you on like i have been for your entire life. maybe this whole fame thing really did get to your head,” samy stormed off before luke could even respond. her heavy footsteps carried all the way up the stairs until the boy heard her bedroom door slam shut. 

“woah, someone’s mad..” jack came out from the downstairs bedroom. his hair looked absolutely insane like he’d just woken up despite it being 2 in the afternoon. 

“i don’t know what’s up with her,” luke rolled his eyes, settling back into the couch like nothing happened. 

“she’s got a point, you know. you were kind of being an asshole,” jack shrugged as he wandered into the kitchen. 

“oh come on, not you too. if she goes, i’m just gonna have to look after her!” luke exclaimed, head falling back onto the couch in frustration. 

“she’s not some kid anymore, moosey. she’s 19. you’re not even 21. she can handle herself. she did in sweden,”  jack stuck up for their little sister. 

“that was different because everyone was there already. this isn’t the sam, jack. mom and dad will put me on babysitter duty because they aren’t there,” the younger brother continued his defense. 

“i don’t think it would be babysitting. more like making sure she’s okay. checking in? plus, i doubt she’ll even be in the hotel room that much anyway. she’ll wanna hang with smitty and leno,” jack started making himself a sandwich with the little ingredients in the fridge. apparently, ellen and jim hardly grocery shopped when they didn’t have four kids in one house anymore. 

“yeah and then that will lead to them having sex and then that becomes a whole thing,” luke rambled on. 

“is this really about not wanting samy there or is it about you thinking she’s taking away your moment if she’s there?” the older hughes brother proposed a new idea. he always saw through to his siblings hidden emotions they were trying to conceal. a beat of silence passed between the brothers and jack took the silence as his answer. he stopped making his sandwich for a moment to find a seat on the couch beside his brother. luke’s gaze stuck to the ground. 

“come on, rusty. talk to me,” jack nudged his brother’s knee. 

“it just feels like i never get to hang out with will because samy’s always there. or..he chooses her instead of hanging with us nowadays. being able to play on team usa together has been our dream since we were kids. i love that samy’s happy and so is will..i just..i really hoped this could be a just us thing. i don’t know. sounds selfish, i know,” the younger boy mumbled almost ashamed. 

“it’s not selfish, lukey. i get it. i’m still getting used to their whole dating thing too here and there. it is weird seeing one of your close friends date your sister,” jack sympathized. “i’m sure if you talked to samy she’ll understand. she’s always been your #1 supporter, luke. i know she’s not trying to come with you to wedge her way in between you guys. maybe set some boundaries?” 

“maybe i just feel so disconnected because i went to college and then was hardly ever around. feels like i don’t even know her sometimes anymore or will, you know? he used to be attached to our hips as kids and now..it’s just..not the same,” the curly-haired boy’s voiced faded off. a frown appeared on jack’s lips, rubbing his brother’s arm in a soothing manner. 

“talk to her, lukey. this can be your chance to reconnect with both of them the month you’re there,” the older boy encouraged. 

luke finally took to his words, agreeing as he got up and shuffled upstairs to hopefully reconcile. samy’s room sounded quiet the closer he got, so he gently knocked on the door.

“go away,” he heard lowly.

“please? just wanna talk,” luke mumbled from outside. 

a beat of silence passed until there was a small click and his sister’s gaze appeared through the crack, “about what?” 

“me being an asshole,” the older boy admitted in defeat that she was right earlier. the door opened wider, an indication that he could go in. 

luke’s gaze flicked around the room that he really hadn’t seen in..years almost. it was so similar, yet it felt so different in his eyes. so much time seemed to pass in samy’s room.

“you have five minutes to give me a good explanation,” the girl crossed her arms, snapping her brother back into reality. 

the guilt crept across luke’s face as he struggled on where to start. he was never the one to admit his feeling outright like this. “first, i’m sorry. i was an asshole about the whole thing,” he began.

“yeah, you kind of were. that really hurt, luke,” samy said seriously and the boy sighed. 

“i know..i don’t know why—i think i just…” he stumbled over his words and everything he just admitted to jack downstairs. “feels like i don’t really know you anymore just because i’ve been away and i hate that. we used to be so close and now it feels like we just don’t talk..same with will. i dunno. i guess i just didn’t want you there because i was being selfish and just wanted will and i there together. i realize now that you deserve to be there too to support us,” the boy continued in a long ramble that probably made no sense. 

he watched samy’s expression soften up a little, “you think we aren’t close anymore?” 

“i mean..not as close as we used to be. college and everything else seems to have made us drift..same with jack. same with quinn.”

yes, the hughes siblings were close, but not nearly as close when they all lived under one roof. one by one as each brother left, their bond slowly dissipated. texts became littler and littler. the time changes weren’t easy to work around sometimes. 

in some ways, samy saw where luke came from because quinn and jack missed a lot of big milestones in samy’s life yet she was there for all of theirs. 

“i-i’m sorry. i didn’t know you felt that way,” the girl frowned. 

“no, no, it’s not your fault. i just..have been feeling weird lately. i think having you there will be really fun. maybe it can even make up for some of the time we’ve lost,” luke offered a smile. 

“no, i don’t have to go. you’re right. it’s a you and will thing. something you’ve been waiting for since you were kids,” the girl shook her head.

“no, no, i want you there. i promise. plus, i think smitty would actually fight me if he knew i wasn’t letting you come. i’m serious. we can catch up. have fun in czechia together. i’m sure mom and dad would love our sibling bonding,” the two shared a laugh. 

“are you sure?” 

“positive. i’ve missed hanging around you,” luke opened his arms for a hug. the youngest hughes stepped into his arms and they shared a tight hug in what felt like forever. 

“we’re gonna have so much fun there. i already have an intinerary planned for your off days,” the girl grinned widely when the two pulled away. 

a laugh escaped luke’s lips, “of course you do. we’ll talk to mom and dad tonight, yeah?” 

samy nodded and she let her brother squeeze her shoulders one last time before leaving her alone for now. she excitedly called will next to let him know the good news that they’d be able to spend the next few weeks together. 

[angstydisaster02]

An analysis about why Bakudeku is one of the most inspirational relationships. (Manga spoilers)

First part : my thoughts

Tbh, I really have this impression the manga is coming to an end very soon, which breaks my heart because I don’t know what I’ll do without my daily leaks. However, I trust Horikoshi about the rest of the story and I do think he’ll make an open ending about which “ship” is canon, even if we all know that the biggest and most developed relationship in the manga is bkdk.

It would be interesting to see the “after” of this war, the hospital beds, the tears because they lost people, the relief because it’s over and the final conversation beg the ending. Knowing Horikoshi until now, never made things randomly because everyone is thinking in advance, including the conversation between Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo.

You can’t tell me the author of this manga who always did things with a smart brain will put aside such an important detail about the dynamic between his characters.

A part of me hopes we’ll have the bkdk talk at the hospital or somewhere else because there’s no way these two idiots keep living their lives as if nothing happened. I have high expectations due to the fanfics, but I’m pretty sure I’ll never be the same once the chapter with the bkdk talk comes.

Second part : the analysis feat manga panels

looking forward, it’s incredible how Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki’s relationship started in the worst way (I’m not including the childhood memories) and…Ended up being something like that.

I’m emotional when I think about everything they’ve been through, the many realizations about losing each other, the development of their relationship after an emotional scene such as Deku Vs Kacchan 2, the way they need to push each other’s up to be the best version of themselves in any situation.

It’s not a surprise if these two are mean to be canon (in a platonic or romantic to way, depends about your opinion !) and each little moment highlights this statement.

Think about it : they all learned one of few important things with the other’s presence by their side, on purpose or not. Their dynamic is something unique you can’t find in others shonen or mangas, because they have this specific bond, the one getting stronger though the years because their mistakes became a reason to improve and be a better person for this childhood friend they knew since the early days.

Izuku Midoriya needs Katsuki Bakugo like Katsuki Bakugo needs Izuku Midoriya.

You can’t take away this part of their soul, and even when people like AFO tried, they ended up paying the price by revealing how much they care about each other.

Don’t startd with the Heroees rising thing because I can write an entire novel about them, but this is another proof of how they’re made for each other. Their relationship improve though the years and it’s only the beginning, I can’t help but imagine how future bkdk will have an amazing relationship once they figured out everything and untold truths.

They’re each other’s pillars, holding the other up to do the best and watch from afar their other’s improvement.

That’s why the hospital conversation might be the peak of their relationship: the moment when they’ll both break their shield, welcoming the tears and listening how life is a fragile line on a thread.

None of them refuse to break this meaningful thread, because this is something they’ve built for years, and it’s their biggest strength (and biggest weakness like Shigaraki pulled out)

In conclusion: they’re driving me crazy and I have no regrets following their journey because it’s probably one of the best relationships I’ve seen (and I watched a lot of anime/manga, read a lot of books and they’re still superior !)

Thanks for reading my analysis because it’s one of my guilty pleasures when I’m passionate about something, especially my comfort ship ! Take care of yourself <3

[mononijikayu]

i wish— kamo choso.

He saw you both grow old together, each wrinkle etched into your faces telling stories of laughter, shared wisdom, and the occasional tears. Sitting together on a porch, watching the sun set into the ocean, you leaned against him, your hair silvered with age, eyes still bright with the love and fierce determination that defined you. There was satisfaction, there was acceptance. There was happiness.

Genre: Culling Games Arc to Shibuya Showdown Arc, 2018;

Warning/s: Emotional Trauma, Character Death, Angst, Romance, Kissing, Tragedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Purging, Unresolved Tension, Inner Turmoil, Flashbacks, Love and Loss, Slow Burn, Closure, Depiction of Depression, Depiction of Grief, Depiction of Physical Touch, Mention of Death, Mention of Killing, Mention of Harm, Immortality, Emotional Support, Sibling Bond, Sacrifice, Supernatural Elements, Family Themes, Deep Conversations, Existential Themes, Magical Realism;

masterlist

listen: i wish by renee rapp

note: i disappeared because my internet died for a bit but i wrote this when i got service and got tagged into twitter posts about the new jjk leaks and cried so bad and wrote this. i'm posting this because im not suffering alone!!! i love you choso, you'll always be the best brother and human in the world :((((

YOU WERE A CHANGE OF PACE IN CHOSO’S LIFE. Within the enigmatic depths of the Tombs of the Star, Choso came to a profound realization about the nature of your existence. Here, amidst the swirling arcane energies that filled this sacred space, you existed in a symbiotic relationship with the very fabric of the universe. You shared a unique duality with your sibling, Tengen. You were so similar and yet so different — you fit together, almost like two sides of one coin. Choso had always believed his life, devoted entirely to the love and protection of his siblings, was an exceptional calling. Yet, encountering you, he began to see that he was not as unique as he had once thought. In fact, he considered that perhaps your dedication surpassed even his own.

Your immortality, though less celebrated than Tengen's, was just as essential. It underscored a truth often overlooked: what is an eternal life without a companion, without that shared blood and bond? Your unheralded but pivotal role sustained not just the life but the spirit of the Tombs through countless ages, making you an integral thread in the continuity of existence itself.

Your relationship with Tengen was unique, perhaps the only one they truly had. It was easy to see how it was a core part of your existence to serve Tengen. While Tengen wielded overt power, your own strength was in your subtle. Yours was gentle, tenderness — the care of a loving and devoted sibling.

Your days repeated the same. You often were the one reminding Tengen to sleep and rest. You often brought Tengen their meals. At times you sit days on end entertaining Tengen with conversation. At times you sang to them, songs so old that Choso could not make sense of the words anymore. Day in and day out, Choso saw how you lived for Tengen. How you breathe every day to keep Tengen. Choso had felt like he understood you in that sense. He was, after all, an older brother. What you did for Tengen, he had done for his siblings. He wanted to do it for Yuuji too. 

Yuki told him that you were the crucial component for maintaining the equilibrium of the world. Keeping you alive means keeping Tengen alive and well. Keeping you both alive and well means that Choso can also do well by Yuuji. That was all that mattered, he likes to think. And so, he took his task seriously. He was with you, day in and day out. Because if you didn’t exist, there is nothing for Tengen but lonesomeness. Choso didn’t know how Yuki knew all of this about you, but he thinks it's better not to ask. 

Days melded into each other under the starlit dome of the chamber, and in those seemingly fleeting moments, your bond with Choso deepened. Choso doesn’t really talk that much, he only did when people talked to him. But your words were often expressed. You often wander to dreams—whispers about what it might mean to live a truly human life, to age, to experience the mundane. You smiled each and every time, ever so warmly. In these moments, Choso is reminded how you truly are. He often gets reminded of his mother. You both have the same warmth, he thinks. 

By the tranquil pond fringed with burgeoning water lilies, you and Choso found yourselves in a peaceful reprieve from the routine duties that governed your immortal lives. The soft ripple of water under your fingers created gentle disturbances that set the floating blossoms adrift. Choso, often a man of few words, sat beside you, his gaze occasionally following the serene movements of the lilies.

"I don't think I'm doing enough for Tengen-sama," you whispered to him, your voice laced with uncertainty and a touch of despair.

"Why do you think so?" Choso asked, his features furrowing with concern as he raised an eyebrow at you.

You sighed, feeling the weight of your worries press down on you. "Tengen-sama seems so stressed lately. And I... I don't think I've done enough to help with it." The admission felt heavy on your tongue, a confession of perceived inadequacy. "But I don't think they need me. I don't think I'm powerful enough to... to help them the way they need me to."

Your words hung in the air, a testament to the inner conflict that had been gnawing at you. It wasn't just about being useful or fulfilling a role; it was about the fear of not being enough for someone who mattered immensely to you. The idea that perhaps your presence wasn't as vital as you hoped was a quiet torment that echoed the struggles you faced in your eternal existence beside Tengen. Choso watched you carefully, his expression softening as he processed your words.

“You know,” Choso began thoughtfully, choosing his words with care, “power isn't just about the ability to perform grandiose acts or wield visible strength. Sometimes, the truest form of power lies in our presence, in the steadfast support we offer.”

He paused, ensuring he had your full attention. “Tengen-sama carries burdens we can scarcely imagine, and while you may feel that your support isn't changing anything, it could very well be the anchor that keeps them steady. Being there, being constant—that's a power in its own right.”

Choso's voice was gentle yet firm, trying to uplift your spirits. “And remember, it’s not about being indispensable but about being present. You give them someone to rely on, someone who understands them deeply. That’s not a small thing.”

He reached out, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You might feel that you're not doing enough, but perhaps for Tengen-sama, your continued presence and your care are exactly what they need. It's easy to overlook the value of simply being there, especially when you are used to thinking in terms of more direct actions.”

Taking in his words, you nodded slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. The idea that your value might not always be measurable in the conventional senses of power and strength, but rather in less tangible, yet equally significant ways, offered a new perspective. Choso's reassurance provided a comforting reminder of your role and importance in Tengen's life—not as a savior or a hero, but as a consistent source of support and understanding.

"You always seem so thoughtful," you remarked, smiling as you continued to play with the water, sending another lily spinning gently. "Tell me, Choso, what is it that you hope for in life? Beyond our duties here, what dreams do you carry? What do you wish for?”

Choso looked at the water before him, his expression reflective. "My life... it's bound to my brother, Yuuji. I want to do right by him, protect him, and ensure he can live fully. In many ways, I live for him."

Your laughter, light and understanding, echoed softly around the pond. "I understand that more than you might think. My existence, too, seems entirely woven around Tengen. I live for them, through them almost." Your smile faded slightly into a more contemplative expression. "But do you ever wonder, Choso, if it's wrong to want something beyond that? To live a life that explores the world beyond just being someone's shadow?”

Choso turned to you, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "It's a difficult question. Duty and love bind us, but it's human to crave understanding of the world, to experience it in all its breadth."

"Yes, it is human," you agreed, picking a lily from the water and examining its intricate petals. "And sometimes, I find myself dreaming of a life where I can wander freely, see the worlds beyond these walls, learn and love and perhaps even make mistakes. Just live, not as an immortal bound to duty, but simply as a person."

Choso nodded slowly, his usual reticence giving way to a more engaged demeanor. "Those dreams... they're not wrong. They're part of what makes us more than just guardians or siblings. They make us whole. And perhaps, in dreaming, we find parts of ourselves that duty alone could never reveal."

Your eyes met his, and in that moment, a shared understanding passed between you. Both of you were bound by immense responsibilities, yet within each of you stirred the universal desire to experience life beyond the predefined roles you occupied.

"Maybe, one day, we will explore those dreams," you suggested softly, a hopeful tone threading through your words.

"Maybe," Choso agreed, a rare smile breaking across his face. "And perhaps, in exploring them, we'll bring something back that can enrich the lives we dedicate to those we protect."

The time you spent together in the secluded spaces of the Star Chamber, amid ancient enigmas and whispers of immortality, became sacred. As you shared your deepest dreams and quiet confessions, the bond between you and Choso deepened, moving beyond mere companionship to something richer and more profound. This connection, once unspoken and tentative, blossomed with the ease of a well-nurtured bloom into a tender love.

Amidst the echo of your laughter, which bubbled up like a clear spring in the tranquil silence, and his thoughtful nods, a rhythm developed—an unspoken language of understanding and empathy that only you two could comprehend. Choso, often so guarded and stoic, found in you a solace that allowed him to express thoughts and feelings that he typically cloistered away from the world.

One evening, as twilight draped its violet shroud over the chamber, you both found yourselves by the reflective pool that mirrored the ever-changing sky. The water's surface danced with the light of the first stars, mirroring the flicker of possibilities that your conversations had awakened.

“You know,” you started, breaking the comfortable silence, “I never imagined that someone could understand this part of my life. The part that’s tangled up in duty and care, yet also yearns for something more… something deeply personal.”

Choso looked at you, his usual reserve softened by the topic at hand. “I feel the same. We’re bound by our roles, our responsibilities to those we protect. But speaking to you about dreams, about life beyond our duties, it’s… it’s freeing.” His voice, usually so guarded, carried a hint of wonder, reflecting his own surprise at this newfound openness. “It feels….daring……and human.”

Your laughter, light and genuine, echoed around the natural alcove. “Freeing, yes, and a bit daring too. Being human, in this way — it's hard.”

He smiled, a rare, full smile that reached his eyes. “Daring, but worthwhile. To dream with you, it makes those dreams feel possible, as if they could be more than just whispers in the dark.”

“You make them feel possible for me too,” you admitted, allowing yourself to reflect on the emotional landscape that had unfolded between you. “Before this, my dreams felt like distant stars—beautiful but untouchable. Now, they seem closer, within reach.”

Choso reached out, his hand brushing against yours, a tentative but intentional touch. “Maybe that’s what happens when dreams are shared. They grow, they take on a life of their own. They become something we can both reach towards.”

The simplicity of the touch sent a warmth through you, grounding the moment in something tangible. “And I’m grateful for that. For you,” you added, your voice soft but earnest.

He nodded, his hand gently squeezing yours. “And I am grateful for you. For this peace we’ve found in each other, amidst all the chaos of our existences. It’s a rare gift.”

The serenity that you and Choso had cultivated, a rare respite from the endless cycle of duty and vigilance, was not destined to last. In the realms where celestial fates intertwined, peace was but a fleeting shadow, easily dispelled by the stirrings of chaos. Such disturbance came in the form of Kenjaku, a figure synonymous with disruption and disorder. His intrusion into the sacred confines of the Tombs of the Star was not just a breach of sanctuary; it was a direct assault on the balance you had sworn to uphold.

Kenjaku's arrival tore through the calm like a tempest, disrupting the harmony you had momentarily savored. His motives were clear and malignantly aligned against Tengen's continued influence and your protective stance. With the air crackling with tension and the fabric of reality bending under the weight of Kenjaku’s dark ambitions, you revealed a power kept hidden from the prying eyes of foes and allies alike.

Your mastery over temporal loops, a rare and intricate skill, allowed you to manipulate the threads of time. This ability was not about mere manipulation of moments; it was about reshaping events within confined bursts, creating pockets of altered realities where outcomes could be rewritten, and destinies briefly redirected.

As you confronted Kenjaku, your hands moved with deliberate motions, weaving invisible patterns in the air that pulled at the seams of time. With each gesture, you unraveled  the immediate future, crafting short sequences where different possibilities played out in rapid succession. This was not just a display of raw power but a strategic orchestration of time itself, bending the inevitable towards a reality where balance could be restored.

As Kenjaku's menacing form advanced, the air thick with the threat of destruction, you and Choso stood side by side, united against the looming chaos. The battle's intensity escalated rapidly, with the forces of disorder clashing against the shields of time and duty you both upheld. Yet, amidst the swirling energies and the relentless advance of Kenjaku, you caught sight of the peril that Choso was about to face—a risk you could never allow to come to fruition.

Choso, sensing your sudden shift in focus, turned to you, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "What are you planning?" he asked, his voice tight with worry. He had come to understand you well enough to know when you were about to make a critical decision.

"I need to protect you," you replied, your voice resolute yet heavy with the burden of what you were about to do. "I can create a time loop, a place where you can be safe, where none of this can touch you."

Choso's eyes widened, realization dawning. "No, wait—you can't! What about you? We fight together, remember? You can't just send me away, not like this."

You reached out, grasping his hand firmly, imparting a finality that was both reassuring and heartbreaking. "Listen to me, Choso. This isn’t just about fighting together; it's about ensuring that at least one of us can survive this, and can continue to make a difference. I can manage this, but I need to know you're safe."

"But sacrificing yourself isn't the answer!" Choso protested, his voice rising with emotion. "There has to be another way. We can wait for Yuki; she might have a solution."

"Waiting could be too late," you insisted, your eyes scanning the battlefield, where the fabric of reality seemed increasingly unstable. "I've made my decision. This is the only way I know you'll be truly safe."

With a heavy heart and a sense of urgency, you began the incantation, the ancient words of time magic flowing from your lips. Choso tried to pull away, to argue further, but the spell was already weaving its complex, protective lattice around him.

"I'm doing this because I care, Choso," you said, your voice softening. "In that loop, you'll have peace, and we'll have a lifetime together, even if it's not real. Please, live a full life there, for both of us."

As the last syllables of your spell wove through the air, reality for Choso began to shift, the edges of the present blurring as a new world, shaped by your heartfelt wishes, took form around him. The chaos of battle, the tension of impending doom—all melted away, replaced by the soothing tranquility of a life envisioned with love and hope.

In this carefully crafted reality, Choso found himself in an idyllic version of the world he knew, a place untouched by the scars of conflict or the weight of eternal duty. There, the sun seemed brighter, and the air held the fresh promise of peace. By his side was you, free from the constraints of your immortal obligations, embodying the life you both could have cherished together.

Together, you walked hand in hand towards the sea, the vast expanse of water stretching endlessly before you, its surface glinting under the sun like scattered diamonds. The scene was picturesque, almost too perfect, as if it had leaped from the pages of a forgotten fairytale where every ending was happy, and every heartache healed.

In this serene world, you both raised a family—a dream so distant in your real lives, now vividly alive in this temporal sanctuary. Yuuji and Tengen, often subjects of your protective instincts, appeared not as burdens to be guarded but as children laughing in the garden, playing with others who called you their parent. The simplicity of this life, the joyous normalcy, was a stark contrast to the complexities you had both known.

As years rolled by in this looped reality, unburdened by the passage of time as it would affect the mortal world, Choso experienced every stage of a shared human life. From the vigorous days of youth spent exploring the world with you, through the tender moments of raising children, to the serene acceptance of age, each phase was a gift—a series of moments wrapped in the warmth of enduring love.

He saw you both grow old together, each wrinkle etched into your faces telling stories of laughter, shared wisdom, and the occasional tears. Sitting together on a porch, watching the sun set into the ocean, you leaned against him, your hair silvered with age, eyes still bright with the love and fierce determination that defined you. There was satisfaction, there was acceptance. There was happiness.

Even as this life was but a fabrication, a temporal construct meant to protect and console, for Choso, it felt undeniably real. He lived each day fully, the memories etched into his heart as if they were carved from the very essence of life itself. 

And as the spell reached its inevitable conclusion, with the loop designed to eventually unwind, Choso was left with the imprint of a lifetime spent in blissful peace—a stark contrast to the destiny he had been plucked from, and a poignant reminder of what could have been. This was your final gift to him: not just safety, but a glimpse of a life filled with unbridled humanity. It was joy, love, and the fulfillment of dreams that the real world could never have accommodated.

"Remember me, and live well," were your final whispered words that echoed in the looping reality, even as you turned back to face Kenjaku alone, ready to sacrifice your chance at peace for the safety of the world and the brother you had come to love. 

Outside the time loop, the confrontation with Kenjaku intensified as you steeled yourself for the final stand. The environment crackled with volatile energy, the very air charged with the raw power of clashing wills. Kenjaku, recognizing the depth of your determination, halted his advance, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation.

“You think to defy me with such feeble tricks?” Kenjaku’s voice was cold, dripping with disdain as he spoke. His stance was predatory, a hunter cornering his prey.

“You underestimate the power of sacrifice,” you replied, your voice steady despite the growing storm of power swirling around you. “This isn’t about tricks or defiance. It’s about protecting what matters.”

Kenjaku laughed, a sound devoid of any humor. “Sacrifice? You would throw away your eternal life, for what? These fleeting mortals? This doomed realm?”

“It’s because this realm and its people are worth fighting for,” you asserted, your resolve hardening. “You may crave power, Kenjaku, but you’ve forgotten the strength found in selflessness. I haven’t.”

“You’re a fool then,” Kenjaku sneered, stepping closer, the ground beneath his feet darkening with corrupt energy. “To throw away immortality for foolish mortals is the height of folly.”

“Perhaps,” you conceded, a sad smile playing on your lips as you prepared the final incantation. “But it’s my choice to make. And I choose them. I choose love and life, even if it’s not my own.”

With that declaration, you unleashed the full breadth of your temporal abilities. Time around Kenjaku began to distort, warping and weaving into complex patterns that ensnared him in an intricate loop of your making. His movements slowed as the layers of temporal magic constricted, binding him with chains stronger than any physical restraint.

Kenjaku roared in frustration, his voice echoing across the chamber as he struggled against the relentless force of your cursed technique. “You cannot hold me forever! You’ll break long before I do!”

“Maybe,” you whispered, feeling the strain of your powers consuming your essence. “But we’ll win, Kenjaku. One way or another.”

As the temporal bindings tightened, you felt your life force ebbing away, each moment drawing you closer to the end. With a final look at the world you were giving up, you poured the last of your energy into the spell, cementing it with the ultimate sacrifice.

“See you in another life, Choso.” you murmured, a tear tracing down your cheek as you faced the end with a quiet dignity. The last of your vision faded just as Kenjaku’s form started to battle against your power. You didn’t know if you’ll be successful in the end, but it didn’t matter. It bought time. It bought time for Tengen-sama to leave. It bought time for Yuki to come for Choso. It bought time for Choso. It was more than enough. That’s all that matters. “Tell me all about it then.”

In the quiet aftermath, the cacophony of battle faded, replaced by a resonant stillness that seemed to permeate the very walls of the Star Chamber. The ferocity that had surged through the area moments before now seemed like a distant echo, a turbulent memory overshadowed by the magnitude of your sacrifice. 

Choso, emerging from the temporal loop, was abruptly returned to a reality far grimmer than the one he had lived in his dream-like existence. The serene life he had known with you, filled with laughter, love, and the gentle aging of shared days, dissipated like mist at dawn. Yet, the weight of those memories clung to him, a tapestry of joy and sorrow woven into his being. Tears streamed down his face as the full impact of his loss, of the life that could never truly be, settled upon his shoulders.

Amidst his reeling senses, Yuki’s voice reached out to him, a tether pulling him back from the brink of despair. He could hear Kenjaku too, the sounds of struggle as the villain fought against the temporal bonds you had sacrificed yourself to forge. The air was thick with the aftermath of conflict, with the poignant heaviness of humanity—loss, grief, yearning, joy, love. These emotions, so deeply human, washed over him repeatedly, each wave a reminder of the life he had momentarily lived and lost.

Yet, Choso stood resolute amidst it all. He bore the weight of these emotions not just as remnants of a spell-crafted illusion, but as the real and enduring aspects of the human condition. He carried them because they were now part of him, imprinted on his soul by the experiences you had given him. And he carried them because that’s what you would have wanted. In bearing these memories, in allowing them to shape his path forward, he honored your sacrifice, turning profound loss into a source of unyielding strength.

That bleak winter day, as Shinjuku was engulfed in flames, Choso found himself at the precipice of his own demise. Engulfed in a brutal confrontation, he struggled valiantly to shield Yuuji from the malevolent Sukuna, whose dark intent was manifest in the fierce and unyielding fire around them. But as the flames consumed not only his physical form but also the last vestiges of his earthly bonds, Choso’s thoughts transcended the immediacy of his suffering.

His mind, resilient amid the encroaching shadows of death, wandered back to you and the ephemeral yet poignant life you had shared in the temporal loop. Those memories, vivid and tender, painted a stark contrast to the chaos that now surrounded him. Each recollection of laughter, shared secrets, and quiet evenings spent together in a world without fear or pain stoked a deep, calming warmth within him, distinct from the searing heat of the flames.

As his physical strength waned, the spiritual and emotional fortitude you instilled in him grew stronger. With each labored breath, the pain that racked his body seemed to diminish, overtaken by the growing serenity of his approaching end. The prospect of reuniting with you, of stepping beyond the veil of life into a realm where you awaited him, brought a profound peace—a solace he had yearned for since the wrenching moment of your departure.

Amidst the dance of the flames, where the heat scorched the air and the roar of the fire echoed the tumult of battle, Choso allowed himself a faint smile. It was a smile of acceptance, of readiness to transition from the tumult of his current existence to the peace that awaited with you. In that instant, amidst the devastation, his heart, burdened with loss and battened with duty, was finally ready to come home to you.

As the moment of departure drew near, Choso turned to Yuuji, who had been both a charge and a brother in arms. The words that passed between them were simple yet heavy with the weight of shared experiences and unspoken understanding. “Thank you, Yuji, for becoming my brother,” Choso said, his voice a hoarse whisper over the crackling of the fire.

Yuji, his own eyes reflecting the flames but alight with emotion, nodded solemnly, the bond between them unbroken even in the face of impending separation. “Thank you, Aniki,” Yuji replied, feeling the tears pour from his face. “Thank you.”

Choso thinks life is enough.

Even if it was only a little while.

He smiles one last time at Yuuji.

His wish was granted now and then.

It was all worth it to him in the end.

[xzhdjsj]

Regrets and Roses

Isaac x Reader

It's time for you to leave him. (Isaac's pov)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

"And when I'm back in Chicago, I feel it Another version of me, I was in it I wave goodbye to the end of beginning."

It's a normal day, just another normal day. That’s what I tell myself, it's what I want to believe. But truthfully, it's the day I either make the best decision of my life or the worst. Only time can tell the outcome and what taunts me the most is that after it's done, I can never undo it.

The last few months were unarguably the best of my life. All this time I've been surviving, but for a short period of time I lived, I felt deserving of the air that I breathe. Not only that, I loved and I still do, I probably always will. That just makes today worst for me, for us both.

I helped them haul the last of their luggage into my car, then watched as they stood with their hand on their hips observing our efforts.

"That should be all." They sighed.

I don't respond, just nodded curtly, and pulled the trunk closed.

The drive was silent, there was nothing I could say to fix this, and they knew there was nothing they could say that would change my mind. Still, I miss their idle chatter. It makes long drives bearable, and they tend to go by faster when we talk. Right now, it would definitely help the dull ache in my chest.

-

"Heh so this is it." They murmur, staring at the aircraft that takes to the sky but flashes me a smile before saying, "If you want to stop me, now's your chance."

"You know I won't."

I reach for their hand. One last time, I want to feel it against my cheek. The way they held me and comforted me when I needed it.

"I know." They say, letting my hand guide their own to my face, following it with their eyes until it rested against my skin. I closed my eyes, basking in the gentleness of their touch.

"Fuck" They diverted their gaze, looking towards the night sky as tears welled in their eyes. It made their eyes shine brightly, just not with the curiosity and amusement I've grown to adore.

"I knew this was coming but I- I'm sorry- I just, I’m second guessing this because I know I'm about to lose the best thing that's ever happened to me." Their voice cracked and tears stream down their cheek despite their efforts to hold them back.

I reach out to wipe them away and they sighed. The way they leaned into my palm was enough for me to second guess my decision too. It made me want to pack their bags back into my car and drive them all the way back home while I listen to them sing along to the radio.

That would be a dream, though that's all it is, a dream. I know I can't stop them, we agreed to this. Both them and I. We agreed it would be better if they had a normal life, even if it meant leaving me. It's what they deserve. Though right now, if feels like it was my decision and they respected it for my sake.

There’s no taking it back anyways. Especially now, not even hours later, as I watch another aircraft take off into the sky, only this time I'm alone and standing in the rain. I’m cold and wet, but at least it hides my tears.

-

My house has never felt emptier. Only a few steps in, despair hits me hard and fast. There's no greeting at the door, no blanket thrown across the couch as the TV blends into the background, no movements in my kitchen or scent wafting through the house of something delicious being made. Worst of all, when I push open their bedroom door, there's nothing there but an empty room with a bed. It's all gone, they're all gone and there's nothing will ever be the same again.

I sat on what used to be their bed and finally recognise the feeling in my chest. Regret. It's all I'll feel for a while, but I'll get past it. I hope I’ll get past it.

I let my back drop onto the bed, sighing as my eyelids fall closed. At the very least, the bed still smells like them. It gives me a speck of comfort in the dark caverns of my mind. When it wasn't enough, I reach for a pillow, burying my face into it. It smelled like their hair; it reminds me of how I'd kiss the crown of their head whenever we hugged. Even if I didn’t want to, its hard not to reminisce.

I squeeze the pillow closer, then let my arms drop onto the bed. My right hand drops onto something that’s completely different texture from the bed sheets and scared me for a split second. I feel around for it, and now it feels like paper. Lazily, I lifted my body off the bed, looking over at the space that the pillow once covered. There was a sheet of paper, neatly folded, sitting beside a single white rose. I tended first to the rose; my arm had bruised the delicate petals. I set it aside on their bedside table out of reach from my destructive touch, the book they’d been reading is still there.

"Isaac, if you're reading this then I've already left, haven't I?

Finally, I open the piece of paper. It was a letter, a letter directed to me. It reads;

It’s crazy how life is, one minute I'll be in your arms and the next I'm on a flight to god knows where. Truthfully, I never wanted to leave at all, I wish I could stay with you until my very last breath. But I also know how stubborn you are and when you're stuck on a decision it's hard to change your mind. At the same time, I don't want to be an extra burden on your shoulders. I don't want you to constantly worry about my safety and always need to look over your shoulder. That's why I accepted your decision as my own too. You don’t deserve the anxiety that it brings. If I could, I wish I’d always be there to take care of you.

I'm sorry I wasn't completely honest with you, but as you said this is for the best right? I don't even know haha

I hope you won't miss me too much, but that seems silly to ask. I know for certain I’ll miss you. I’ll miss you so damn much, Isaac. I love you my dear knight and no matter where life takes me, I always will. I'll never forget you and I'm beyond grateful you were part of my life, even for a moment. Take care of yourself my love.

Forever yours,

Your Pickle"

In between the folded letter was a small picture. A picture of us. I almost don't recognize myself. The 'me' that I am with them seems so happy, grinning at their antics and laughing at their jokes.

It’s not fair. The way I feel isn't fair.

The feeling in my chest had escalated to a strangled pain and it was getting hard to breathe. I coughed out sobs and my tears dripped onto the paper and sheets.

I feel so foolish, so fucking foolish. I should’ve known. I was too worried about protecting them that I overlooked the possibility of them feeling like a burden to me. I overlooked many possibilities that could’ve led to them being in agreeance with me. But most of all

I.

Should.

Have.

Known.

I should’ve been more observant. Maybe then I would’ve been able to tell it wasn’t what they wanted.

Acceptance was going to be even more difficult now, and I might never be able to recover from regret. I hate that we only experienced the beginning of what our lives together could've been. Not that I'll ever know now that I've lost it all.

[whatifwewerebothgirls]

There's something uniquely heartbreaking about the little interactions when Andrew is forced to face the ways his parents treated him better than Ashley when they're at their house. The whole. "You know I'm just keeping up appearances right? And so are they." "Felt to me it was the same as ever." I'm sure he knew she was right, too. That their whole family life was nothing but keeping up appearances even when they were kids, and Ashley could never manage to do it. And in the burial end when she says "if for once she regretted both of us, then I'm happy." He just stares at her and he won't tell her what he's thinking, but I think he understood more than before. They've been talking past each other since they were kids bc they're both wrapped up in their personal moralities and forcing them on each other, Ashley with her "if you're bad nobody will like you" and Andrew with his "it's only bad if you get caught", but I think after seeing that scene in his dream he's kind of got it more figured out. As bad as his childhood was, hers was always worse, and that's why she's like this.

[lieslab]

Drowning

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Jeongin X fem! reader

Summary: After you suffer a miscarriage, it feels like the entire world is ending and nothing will ever be the same.

Genre: Comfort/hurt with angst

Word Count: 2.8K

Trigger warning: Miscarriage, child loss, depression, mentions of stillborn baby and all the effects that come with life after pregnancy.

A/N: I know I have requests waiting to be written, but this idea keeps buzzing around my head like a fly which leads me to believe that there's someone out there struggling with this. If you need it, I hope this finds you and I'm sorry because this is a different kind of hurt. Requests shall continue after this one, I promise.

_ _ _

People always talk about the pregnancy glow. They talk about the radiant skin and bright eyes. The aura of happiness surrounding the mother and the pep in their step. There’s a joy in bringing a new life into the world, but they don’t talk about what happens when it doesn’t work out. 

Laying on the floor of the nursery, you couldn’t understand why. Why did people get to bring a new life into the world, but not you? Your baby never got to see the way the world looked outside the womb. There were no colors and no sounds. Not the gentleness of a mother’s voice or the warm cradle from the father. 

Miscarriages didn’t happen to everyone, but it happened to you. After excruciating stomach cramps and bleeding, you went to the hospital. The worst part? You already knew. You knew something was wrong, you were just hoping the motherly instincts were wrong. You were hoping it was just your nerves. 

You’d go in and the doctor would see you. You’d be checked on and so would the baby. You’d get to hear the faint walloping of the heartbeat and you’d be relieved of all your worries while soaking it in, but…that didn’t happen. 

You saw it in the nurse’s face when she was pressing the ultrasound wand against your stomach. She excused herself from the room to get the doctor and you just knew. That little soft pitter-patter was gone and so was your everything. 

That glittering glimpse of a future you held onto slipped between your fingers. When the doctor sat on the stool, picked up the wand, and began to slip it across the cool gel on your stomach, the world seemed to stop. Before she spoke, you saw the sadness physically fill her eyes. 

The part where she explained your options became muddled. You couldn’t remember it, but somehow Jeongin showed up and entered the room. His teary eyes went to you and that’s when it finally clicked in your brain. Your baby was gone and they weren’t coming back. 

The messy finger-painted photos, you envisioned decorating your fridge, would never come to fruition. Memories of the baby shower and all the baby stuff you had would never be used. The clothes would remain folded in the small dresser and collect dust. 

That baby book you purchased with Jeongin, it’d never be used. The little hats and the conversations about newborn photos, gone. 

Gone. Gone. Gone. 

Everything was gone. 

The two of you hadn’t settled on a name. You both wanted the gender to be a surprise. Caught up in a mist of sadness, you still didn’t know the gender. The memories were hazy and nothing quite made sense. 

You remember screaming at Jeongin and then screaming at the doctor. Anguish gripped your heart until it burst. When a peach cup got thrown at the doctor’s head, nurses got involved. 

You remembered Jeongin’s teary russet eyes. The hand he kept over his mouth to stifle sobs as you lost it. He hadn’t just lost the baby, he lost you too. You turned into a shell of yourself. 

You stopped speaking and Jeongin had to practically beg you to eat. It was the doctor and Jeongin that decided giving birth vaginally wasn’t the best idea for you. They decided a C-section was a better option, but in your opinion, the best option would have been to let you rot with your baby. 

You were possessed by grief and didn’t know how to separate yourself from it. It wrapped around your wrists and pinned down your ankles. It wrestled in your stomach and tainted your bloodstream. 

It was easily the worst thing that you had ever been through. There was just a moment when you felt peace. When your baby had been slipped into your arms, swaddled in a soft green blanket. 

Tendrils of hair poked out of a hat that a nurse had stuck on their head. The pouted lips were pressed together and their eyes were shut. The color was drained from their face, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. 

The weight of their body in your arms felt normal. Your heart briefly bloomed before it withered again. You remember Jeongin standing somewhere off in the distance. His eyes glanced between the two of you as he held his breath while hoping that you’d be okay. 

A smile broke out on your face as you cooed softly. Your voice remained low because speaking too loud would wake them up. For a brief moment, you forgot that they were gone. You didn’t care about how stiff they were in your arms. How their tiny heart didn’t beat and their chest didn’t rise. 

During that moment, you were a mother. You would do anything to protect the bundle of joy in your arms. You’d give your life for theirs, but they were already gone. You clung to them and refused to let go. Even when Jeongin quietly tried to coax you away from them, you refused. 

He hated it because he knew how much it’d destroy you. The truth was that you had to say good-bye. You couldn’t stay attached to your baby. The skin would disintegrate and smell. It would rot away and your baby would wither in your arms. No matter how much you pleaded, he wouldn’t allow you to go through that. 

When you fell asleep clutching your baby to your chest, he managed to ease them from your grip. He knew how upset you’d be when you woke up, but it was for the best. Grief tends to do funny things to people sometimes. 

After waking up, it didn’t take long for nurses to sedate you. Your stomach was full of stitches, but you didn’t care. You were too pumped full of pain meds to realize the pain. 

It took nearly a week before Jeongin could bring you back home. Your house was haunted when you got there. The baby swing was still in your living room. Baby bottles were clean and neatly stacked in the cupboards. 

You bought new picture frames to add photographs of your baby to the photos around the house. You had plans to put one on the nightstand beside your bed. Unfortunately, there was nothing left. 

You couldn’t sleep on your stomach. You were haunted by your womb. You could feel how empty it was now. No tiny kicks and no punches. When you gently cupped below the stitches, your eyes watered. 

Out of all the people in the world, why did this happen to you? Why weren’t you good enough to make it through the pregnancy? You only had a few months left and that’s what made it really sting. 

You were so close and yet so far. Was it something in your body? Was this some sort of curse? Was it a sign from the universe that you weren’t meant to be a mother? 

Jeongin woke up to soft distant sobs that night. He started to feel his way around the darkened house and he found you laying on the floor of the nursery. You clutched the stuffed bear that the two of you had bought for your child. 

It was going to be their childhood stuffed animal. One that they could grow up with and clutch onto through their worst days. Maybe they’d take it with them everywhere when they were a toddler. Perhaps it’d be invited to tea parties or walk the plank while playing pirates. 

You weeped and clutched it to your chest. In the faint moonlight, the tears were illuminated on your face. In the nursery doorway, his heart shattered. You were a mother going through grief and he didn’t know how to help you. He couldn’t take away this loss, it was too big for him; much too large to physically carry with two hands. He couldn’t wrap it up and toss it in the trash, it was opaque  

You laid on the soft large circular rug that the two of you had claimed was for tummy time when your kid got older. Your arms wrapped around your chest with the stuffed bear. Your knees were tucked up towards your chest. You were exhausted and broken. 

Nobody talked about the weight of the grief from a stillborn birth. They didn’t tell you that you’d still go through lactation. Your breasts would still produce milk and it’d soak your bra. There’d be no tiny mouth to feed. No child to nurse and help grow big and strong. 

They didn’t tell you about the severe stomach cramps that sometimes were as sharp as knives and the ones that were dull and tortuous as your uterus reshaped itself internally. 

They didn’t talk about the hollow feeling inside your body. Knowing that you had attempted to carry your pregnancy to full term and then failed, you felt useless. You felt broken and you were so exhausted. 

If love could have saved them, they would have lived forever. You would have built them into the best person they could have been. You would have cherished every moment and remind yourself that you were a kid once too when the tough moments came, but now they never would. 

You and Jeongin spent hours fixing up the nursery for them. How ironic that you had picked a Peter Pan theme. You knew that your child would grow up one day, but you had been hoping that it wouldn’t have been too fast. How cruel it was to have them ripped away before they could take their first breath. 

You spent hours on that white rug, digging your fingers into the soft fibers, trying to put together disconnected thoughts. Your brain had disconnected from your body. The world was blurry and you weren’t sure how to continue going on. 

Jeongin was worried sick about you. So worried that he had to take off work to keep an eye on you. He was terrified that you’d harm yourself. You laid there on that rug with empty eyes. 

Whether you realized it or not, you kept talking out loud in a quiet voice. You kept discussing motherhood and he was pretty sure you were consoling the baby that didn’t exist anymore. When he first realized it, he had to turn around and leave you alone. Walking into your shared bedroom and shutting the door, he collapsed on the bed defeated and burst into sobs. 

The two of you were polar opposites during the whole scenario. You were orbiting around each other, but never touching. Your doctor told him that you just needed time. 

So he waited and he waited. He supplied you with store-bought peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and juice boxes. It was the only thing he could get you to eat. He came up with any reason he could to walk past the door of the nursery to check on you. 

On and on the days went until one day, you weren’t lying on the floor anymore, you were on the rocking chair. Unsure of what he was seeing, he froze in his spot before he went closer to the door and peeked his head inside. 

“Jeongin?” You croaked as you looked up. 

He paused for a moment before he slowly approached you. “Hi, honey.” 

“I don’t feel good.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

You shook your head. Tears began to fill your eyes again. Despite your body language, you continued. “How do I make it stop hurting?” 

“What?” 

“The ache of losing out on motherhood.” 

He slowly stretched a hand out towards you. Your fingers reached out and grabbed his. He pulled you up and led you towards the rug. Without a word, he got down and plopped down on his side. You followed his lead and curled up on your own side facing him. 

A silence fell between the two of you as you observed each other’s faces. You couldn’t remember the last time you laid next to Jeongin like this. The two of you had been distant for far too long. 

He reached out with a thumb and slowly wiped away your salty tears. You sniffled and kept your eyes on him. The truth was that you really were lost. You felt empty and useless. There was nothing inside of you. You didn’t know when the last time was that you remembered your own beating heart. You weren’t even aware that you were still breathing. 

“You didn’t lose out on anything,” he whispered. “Sometimes things like this happen, but we can always try again.” 

“I don’t think I want to try again.” 

“You don’t have to try again if you don’t want to. The most important thing is helping you feel better. Are you okay?” 

“N-No,” your voice cracked, “I’m hollow. I want to bring them back and I-” You squeezed your eyes shut knowing the floodgates were about to burst. “What did I do to deserve this?” Your voice came out shrill. “What did I do?” 

The knife had been lodged in his chest for weeks, but those words twisted it. He could feel the blood mix with sadness. He hated seeing you so broken. 

“Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes these things happen unplanned and it’s not your fault. You did your best, remember? Remember how you refused to eat seafood because of the baby? You even gave up coffee because you said caffeine was bad for them.” 

Your eyes reopened. 

“Do you remember how you read children's books every night before bed out loud? You used to sing to them every morning in the shower. I remember that you used to curl your hands around your stomach protectively while cooking.” 

A smile began to form on his face. He could see the gears starting to shift in your head. “And you used to lecture me when I drove a digit higher than the speed limit. You promised you’d never let me live it down if we got in an accident.” 

“And you said we could never be sexually intimate because y-” 

“I was afraid that we’d traumatize the baby.” 

It was a miracle that you started to laugh. The tears were still streaming down your face, but you were laughing. The sound was a melody to his ears. His grin stretched wider and his dimples showed. 

“What about that time you spilled food down the front of your shirt and some got on your stomach? You apologized to the baby for getting them messy.” 

“I guess I did, huh?” 

“So please don’t think you weren’t a good mother. You did what you could for them even if they didn’t make it out of the womb. They still heard your voice.” 

“And your singing,” you added. 

“We would have been the best parents in the world. Remember when I finger painted a smiley face on your stomach when you were sleeping? I took photos and you woke up whining and upset and you claimed I had painted on the baby.” 

“Because you did!” 

“I didn’t! It was your stomach!” 

“The baby was in there!” 

“And your skin protected them!” 

The two of you bickered back and forth until you burst into a fit of shared giggles. You shifted and moved closer to Jeongin’s warmth. Your head tucked into his shoulder. You let out a soft sigh and he wrapped an arm around your back. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled. 

“You know I love you, right?” 

“I love you too.” 

The two of you laid on the floor curled into each other appreciating the warmth. It was nice to be connected to your lover again. You spent so long away, you forgot about how much he felt like home. As the two of you continued laying there, your stomach suddenly growled. 

“Uh…honey?” 

“I hate to break this up, but can we go get Subway? I really want a sub. Maybe turkey or ham or oh! I know, maybe I’ll just get both.” You quickly sat up and got to your feet. 

Behind you, Jeongin watched you in amazement. He was happy that you were starting to act a bit more like your old self. It wasn’t going to last forever and you’d still struggle sometimes, so would he. 

However, with each other, there was a high chance that you could help each other through it. Through thick and thin, sickness and in health, until death did you part. 

After all, that’s what the matching wedding rings on your fingers meant. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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