#dwelling on how uncomfortable I am at all times :) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yandere-daydreams · 26 days

Text

file #5: the lactation fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!sukuna x reader (jjk).

length: 1.8k.

warnings: afab!reader, heian era sukuna, vaguely dubious consent, lactation (not the way you’d expect though), fem!dom, verbal degradation (m. receiving), breast milk, and mentions of death/cannibalism.

If you could say you’d learned anything about Sukuna, it would have to be that he was not the kind of man you could expect predictability from.

That was, if you could even call him a man at all. It would be more accurate to say that he was not the kind of monster you could expect predictability from, which made sense – monsters were rarely known for having a rational motivation for their senselessness. With Sukuna, though, it was less that you were forced to guess how violent he’d be and more whether he’d be violent with you at all. It was as common for him to demand that you spend the afternoon laying on a shady riverbank, feeding him honey and grapes, as it was for him to threaten to gut you like cattle should you make one more snide comment about the bloodstains his constantly wandering hands tend to leave on your clothes. His other servant, the inexpressive butcher who spoke to you rarely and reeked constantly of blood, claimed to be able to find a pattern to the chaos, but whatever knowledge they might’ve gleaned over their time with him, they’d never seen fit to share with you. You found your own ways of coping, though.

Like right now, for instance – as you hung limply over Sukuna’s shoulder, kept in place only by the hand pressing into the small of your back. Despite the way his arm bit into your stomach, a slight scowl that’d been playing on his lips when he snatched you away from what you’d been doing, you did your best to keep your mind empty, your thoughts limited to a blank ambiance. If there was as good of a chance that he was going to kill you and feast on your decaying flesh as there was that he simply needed someone to fix yet another tear in his favored yukata, you didn’t want to make it worse for yourself by panicking prematurely.

Still, you were vaguely aware of the passing scenery as he hauled you through grand, vacant halls and into the master’s chambers. Sukuna would find a place to dwell wherever he roamed, whether that meant sleeping in a damp cave or on a bed of woven cloud and quail feathers, but a part of you was undeniably (and guiltily) glad that he had a clear preference for the latter. Currently, you were biding your time until Sukuna’s next feeding spree in a palace that used to belong to a wealthy merchant; a merchant whose organs were, if memory served, currently being divided into portions and dried on a rack of—

You were pulled out of your thoughts as Sukuna dropped you onto a bed of down-stuffed pillows and silk sheets. Wordlessly, he fell beside you and, using his lower set of arms, hauled you onto his chest, forcing you to straddle his abdomen. With only a slight huff, a roll of your eyes, you settled into place – bracing your hands on his midriff. “My lord, I have other obligations to—”

“I am the only obligation you should be paying any mind to.” His tone was clipped, his voice gruff. Clearly, he was in one of his poorer moods, today. “Get on with it” he barked, making with a vague gesture to his upper chest. “I don’t have all day, brat.”

You spared a half-second to scan over him. He treated you like a tailor, among other things, but at the moment, his chest was bare, and this wasn’t exactly comparable to the countless times he’d dropped the tattered shreds of a kimono or yukata into your lap and told you to make something more or less wearable. “I… I’m afraid I don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to be doing, sir.”

He rolled his eyes, and you bit back the urge to return his irritation. “Y’know, just…” Another gesture to his chest, this one shortly followed by a disappointed, breathy noise. “Empty them out. It’s starting to get uncomfortable, again.”

Empty them…?

Again, you glanced down, your attention landing on the swell of his chest. He was always sickeningly bulky, prone to wearing his strength on the layers of muscle blanketing his biceps and thighs, but his chest did seem more swollen that it normally was, now that you thought to look, the usually hardened flesh visibly more plush, more tender. You shifted your weight, your fingertips digging into the swell of his right pec, and you felt something warm and wet trickle over the back of your hand and onto the velveteen cushions below you.

Sukuna let out an airy groan, and your mind went entirely blank.

Reflexively, you tried to pull away, but Sukuna had always been faster than you. His hand was wrapped around your wrist before you could so much as break contact, keeping your palm pressed into his pec (breast?). “Don’t act like such a baby. It’s a task even an idiot could manage.” With his hand draped over your own, he ground the heel of your palm into the plush of his pec, and this time, you weren’t lucky enough to look away in time – your eyes falling to his chest as a thin stream of a surprisingly white, surprisingly thick fluid dribbled out of his nipple in short, stilted bursts. Milk, your mind filled in, against your will. Except, it couldn’t be. Sukuna wasn’t human. Sukuna wasn’t supposed to be able to do that.

More out of curiosity than anything, you pressed your palm down again with just a little more force, a little less trepidation. The jet was stronger, this time, and Sukuna’s eyes closed, his lips soon drawn into a thin line only occasionally parting to let out a deep breath or raspy groan. His hand dropped away entirely as you fell into a steady kneading pattern – both of his upper arms soon crossed above his head, as he often did when he was lounging in a particularly entrancing patch of sunlight, while their lower counterparts remained on your waist. “Use both hands,” he grunted, and not bothering to suppress your scowl, you did. Soon enough, milk (because, as unsettling as it was, you just didn’t know what else to call it) frothed steadily, painting both sides of his chest with unorganized streaks of splotchy white – delicate ribbons spread over a canvas of ink and scars.

Despite yourself, you found yourself focusing on that. The word, almost jarringly quaint, repeated in the back of your mind; milk, milk, milk. Almost in a trance, you found yourself bowing your head, lowering yourself until your chest was slotted against his. After making sure his eyes were still closed, his attention still on the steady movement of your hands, you ran the flat of your tongue over his left nipple and—

Oh.

It was sweet.

His hand was on the back of your head in an instant, but you were already latched on – your lips sealed around his nipple, sucking harshly. There wasn’t a point trying to be gentle with Sukuna, not when you’d seen him take spears to heart without so much as a wayward flinch, but any passing temptation to veer towards delicacy was quickly forgotten as thick fingers knotted themselves in your hair, a reverberating moan tearing past his lips as you lapped and suckled, letting whatever you couldn’t swallow down flood out of the corner of your mouth. He could’ve pried you away, if he’d wanted to, could’ve torn off your head with little more than a flick of his wrist, but all he offered was a weak – pathetic – tug, a few garbled curses spat under his breath. “Brat,” he hissed, as you drank greedily. “Just— Just do your damn job and—”

“You’re so fucking loud,” you muttered, pulling back just far enough to be audible. “For once in your life, would it kill you to be quiet?”

You couldn’t see him, but you’d seen him baring his teeth often enough to recognize his tone. “Know your place, huma—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. Before you could think better of it, you braced yourself and bit down, burying your teeth into the tender meat of his chest. You tasted blood, heard Sukuna moan, and felt his body jolt underneath you, hips jutting against yours as something long and thick twitched against your ass. You pulled away as quickly as you could, already grinning. “Are you…?

“Be quiet.”

He was. You could feel his cock against your ass - already hard, already pulsing. Or, his cocks, rather, both standing stiff against his lower stomach despite the loose fabric of his robes. Carefully, you shifted back, straddling his thighs, as you slowly removed the thin sash sitting low on his waist, as you dragged the silken fabric aside in favor of wrapping your fist around the thicker of his paired cocks; your fingers barely grazing each other where they were supposed to overlap. “No wonder you’re always so temperamental,” you went on, speaking slowly, giving him every chance to cut you off, to throw you to the side, to tear you limb from limp. He only scowled, though, only pouted, clenching his eyes shut as thick beads of arousal blotted and dripped over the back of your hand. “To think the King of Curses would get this hard from some powerless human sucking on his leaking tits… You must be so pent up, you just don’t care who touches you, huh?”

His hold on your hips tightened, threatening to bruise. You barely noticed, already distracted by the slight tremble in his bottom lip, the pitchy whine that escaped his grit teeth as you shifted your weight onto your knees and aligned the blunt, flushed tip of his cock with your entrance. You took measured seconds to lower yourself onto him, ignoring the burning stretch in favor of focusing on the heat of it, the immediate and overwhelming fullness. You’d barely gotten the head of his cock inside of you when you stopped, going completely still. A second passed before Sukuna seemed to notice, another before one of his many eyes flickered open – immediately landing on you.

It was barely a whisper, a breath. He was mumbling, as much as you knew Sukuna would loathe you for accusing him of something so meek aloud. “Do your—” A bubbling groan, a hitched gasp as your pussy clenched around him. “Do your damn job, brat.”

Your attempts to bite back your wide, beaming smile were only half-successful. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

You rolled your hips as you lowered yourself back to his height, trapping his unsheathed cock between your body and his as your mouth found its way back to his nipple. It was barely another minute before he was swearing, groaning, bucking into you from below in short, stilted thrusts – like he was afraid of so much as coming close to slipping out. It was all you could do to stay concentrated on the task at-hand, to stop your mind from wandering from the taste on him on your tongue, the feeling of his cock throbbing inside your pussy. Still, you found the time to allow yourself a single, self-indulgent thought – one so ridiculous and so simpering that you couldn’t help but laugh against his skin.

Maybe, just maybe, there were sides of Sukuna that weren’t so difficult to predict, after all.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #yandere sukuna #sukuna x reader

1K notes · View notes

feyascorner · 4 months

Note

okay first of all i ADORE ur writing… wanna take a bite out of it..

anyway… uh… can i uhh… order a uhh…. astarion x tav.. and like..tav has a fucking insane pain tolerance and always has.. and like… uhh… one time she gets fucking TOTALED in a fight and like obvi it would hurt… and shes like crying subconsciously.. and when some1 points it out shes like “what???? why am i crying wtf???” and like looks down and is just fucking BLEEDING… n then.. astarion comfort…

only if u want thoo!!!!

a/n. Im like the exact opposite I'm very dramatic about the slightest pain but this is such a cute request so Ty!! ALSO PLS EXCUSE IF THIS IS A LITTLE CLUNKY I HAD TO TYPE THIS OUT W MY FINGERS🫠🫠

Astarion is grateful for your tolerance to pain.

Of course, he doesn't particularly enjoy watching you in pain, but he’s no fool. He knows the sting and the soreness that comes after he drinks from your neck. Well, at least, it should sting. However, it never seemed to bother you, and for that, he's forever grateful for it.

These strange sentiments expand past his thirst for blood, as the relief he feels when you’re battered up after a battle and you smile at him as if nothing’s wrong is incomparable to any other feeling he’s felt.

That relief does not come currently, however.

The battle was nearly hopeless. Overwhelmed in number, mages casting counterspell, fighters constantly aiming at you…he’s lost track of it all. By some miracle you and your companions stand victorious, and when he sees that you offer Karlach a lopsided smile, confirming that you're fine, he reaches to pick up one of his daggers.

“Tav—what in the hells, are you okay?”

It’s then that he spots the way your lip quivers and tears glisten threateningly at your eyes. And when you meet his own, they begin to drip down your cheeks like crystals and roll off your chin. He's seen you in tears before, but out of something more positive—not from pain. Before he can even tell what he's doing, he's rushing toward you.

“Why are you—” he sees the blood seeping from your stomach, and his face would've gone pale if he could.

You finally lift your hands to your face, eyes wide when your fingertips brush against the dampness of your cheeks. “Oh. Why am I?…”

Shadowheart scrambles to scrimmage around her bag. “Here, let me—gods, where did I—did we use all the healing potions?—”

“Oh for hells sake. Because you're bleeding!” Astarion hisses, his hand intertwining with yours as he drags you toward the nearest tree where he sits you down. He freezes when you flinch but you shake your head, wiping at your eyes. Your other companions are still searching the enemy corpses for anything that might relieve you of the pain, but they're taking far too long for his liking.

“I’m okay, it doesn't really hurt that much.”

“You’re crying.”

“I didn't even know I was-” you wince.

His eyes narrow. “Lay down.”

“What? No, I’m really fine!”

“Gods, love, please for once, listen to me. It’s quite straining to watch you clamber around with that ghastly wound on your stomach.”

You frown, but he guides you down anyway, careful to lay down your head against the grass. “Now wait patiently. Maybe if we’re lucky, our dear friends will find a potion before I start developing wrinkles.”

A momentary silence hangs in the air. It’s by no means uncomfortable, but there are words on the tip of his tongue he wishes to say. And when he notices you staring, he sighs.

“If you're hurt, tell us. I don't care how high your pain tolerance is—if you're hurt, call us. Call me. Don't be a fool and bleed out over a few enemies when we’ve been through so much worse.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost embarrassing. But with the way you're watching him so seriously, he can't bring himself to dwell on such irrelevant factors.

Then, you smile again, as if you've forgotten about the pain. “How minor can the pain be for me to call you?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Can I call you when I stub a toe?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I will.”

He stares at you with lidded eyes and you laugh. He feels the weight on his shoulders get a bit lighter.

“You may call for me whenever you wish.”

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #fluff #bg3

849 notes · View notes

jakescakeislateforourdate · 2 months

Note

Hey girly!! Im too shy to ask this without the anonymous filter but first of all I’ve been reading through your blog and I love it honestly. I was wondering if you are open to requests if you’d be able to write up something about joe rantz (I am absolutely LIVING for blonde callum) and maybe a coaches daughter trope? he saw her when he went to sign himself up, at the practices all that jazz and just them like becoming friends then more than friends, the boat scene where he gets his seat taken away from him maybe? thank you so much and again I love your work! xx

Hello, my lovely anon. Glad to see you in my inbox. I apologize for the wait but I've been coming out of an awful slump and I was trying to make this piece not total garbage. I hope you enjoy it and I hope I see you in my inbox again.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Joe Rantz (Callum Turner’s) x reader

wc: 4,600

Joe finds himself utterly gobsmacked when he discovers that the pretty face he’s seen at the shell house is the coach’s daughter and not his wife.

Enjoy this garbage!

…

Joe Rantz had come to the shell house in search of work. He’d hoped that making the team would cover his tuition and get him a room and he needed it so desperately. Roger Morris stood next to him, chewing nervously at his nails. “Sorry, Joe, didn’t realize competition would be so tight.” He mutters, spitting out a shred of his fingernail. Coach Ulbrickson was going over the basics of practice. It sounded like absolute hell to Joe but he was out of options. He fidgeted with the number painted on his jersey. Sure, he was strong from a lifetime of rough labor but so were the other boys. Most of them were broke too and just as desperate. Joe didn’t know if he had what it took to stand out but he’d be damned if he couldn’t make a life for himself because he couldn’t muscle up some money for college.

As Ulbrickson speaks, a shadow appears in his office window. It’s too far for Joe’s nervous gaze to actually study the figure. He tries to focus on coach but the shadow continues to draw his attention. Roger notices too. “Who the hell is that?” Joe just shrugs. The shadow never leaves the window even as Ulbrickson finishes up and the boys get split up. Joe can’t dwell on the figure any longer because he’s being herded into the middle of shellhouse. He begins a horrible set of workouts. His body is made for hard work but he’s never actually worked out before. His muscles aren’t used to straining this way.

It’s not long before his breathing becomes labored and sweat is pouring down his back. His curls hang down his forehead, sticking to his skin uncomfortably. And just when the pain is becoming unbearable the coaches are swapping them out and Joe is put on a junky old boat and an oar is pushed into his hands. They start rowing and instantly, the only thing on Joe’s mind is how bad his back hurts. Pained grunts and groans echo across the water as the boys struggle to keep pulling the oars.

Eventually, it’s all over. Joe stumbles onto the dock in front of the shellhouse and feels his knees shaking with excursion. Men begin to drain away from the shellhouse and as the numbers dwindle, the shadow in the window of Ulbrickson’s office reappears. It moves through the glass panes like a swan through water. Then the office door opens and Joe sees your face for the first time.

“That was some tough practice, huh?” Roger bumps Joe’s shoulder, a crooked smile on his face. Joe cannot respond and Roger follows his gaze. “Washington, Washington, what finery you enjoy.”

You descend the steps and take a place between Ulbrickson and Bolles. Ulbrickson puts and arm around and Joe feels his heart wither a little. You’re probably Mrs. Ulbrickson. Though he can’t shake the impression that you look a little too young to be with Ulbrickson.

“Alas,” Roger throws up his hands, “Finery we cannot also enjoy.”

“Don’t be crass.”

“I’m not! How was that crass?” Roger purses his lips and nudges Joe.

Joe just buttons up his jacket and picks up his books, “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

The very next day, Joe is suffering through practice. He aches all over and his muscles scream at him. He’s already shaking when he gets done with the basic strength building exercises. Most of the boys are. There are fewer numbers today but this does not better Joe’s odds by much. They clamber into Old Nero and start rowing away. His wrists twinge and his knees spasm. He rows and rows until he thinks his body will give out and then Ulbrickson is directing them back to the shellhouse. Jow crawls out of the boat, soaked to the bone and stiff as a board.

Then he sees you again, this time your sorting registry papers with Pocock. Your back is turned to him, so you don’t notice his longing stare. He keeps telling himself that you’re a married lady and that he should be focused on making the team, but nothing seems to chase you from his mind.

Coach Ulbrickson sweeps across the dock and places a hand on top of your head, an odd gesture between husband and wife but Joe wouldn’t know about those things. Since his group was the last to use Old Nero, they get the privilege of stowing the oars. Joe begins unlatching the mechanism when he shifts on his knees.

It happens so fast he can’t clock what’s happening. First there’s the sensation of slipping, the horrible thrust of his legs flying out from beneath him. He twists mid slip, and his side smacks the dock painfully before he’s swept off the dock by his own weight. He plumets into the cold water with a catastrophic splash and agonized shriek.

When Joe resurfaces a dozen hands are reaching for him. He grasps onto George Hunt’s forearm and allows Shorty to hoist him onto the sodden wood planks. A fluffy white towel is draped around his shoulders; firm hands rub his chilled biceps. “Are you alright?” You face appears before him.

Joe is almost too stunned to speak, “I—yeah, yeah I’m okay.”

You tuck the ends of the towel into his hands, “Better get showered up and dressed.” Joe just nods and stumbles past you and into the locker room. Roger follows closely behind, teasing Joe relentlessly.

“You’re fallin’ harder than I thought.”

“Roger!” Joe grinds his teeth, huffing and puffing. “You need better jokes.”

Joe spends that night struggling to focus on his schoolwork. He has math homework that needs doing. He has books to read. The one in his hands now periodically goes in and out of focus as Joe’s mind wanders. On the page is the story of a western novel, a man had found a girl walking alone the road at dusk, all on her own. He didn’t want to leave her to the coyotes, so he offered her a ride into the nearest town. They were riding horseback across the prairie. Her arms wound tightly around him; her hands splayed over his chest.

Her hands—

What is wrong with you, Joe?

Joe reads this line over and over again. Each time he nears the end his brain short circuits and all he can think about are your hands on your shoulders. You hadn’t even really touched him, at least not his skin. Yet the only thing shooting through his neurons are the sensations of your fingers along his skin. That imaginary touch he can conjure up so perfectly. He eventually gives in and skips down a few paragraphs. He reads late into the night and the phantom touches are still nagging his senses when he closes the book and rolls over to sleep.

…

Day after day, Joe sees you at practice. You congratulate him when he makes the team and help him with his technique every once and a while. “Roll your wrists just a bit more.” Your fingers would poke at his forearms and direct him in graceful strokes. It fries his brain. You give pointers to the rest of the team too, working closely with Bolles and Pocock to get them in racing shape. It’s not long into the season when Ulbrickson decides to switch coxswains.

“This is Bobby Moch. Your new jockey.” Bolles announces one day. Bobby is short and slender and sharp tongued. The second he climbs in the boat and starts barking out commands, Joe is flabbergasted. Who is Bobby to talk to the team this way? But they all find themselves obeying his every word. What really irks Joe about Bobby is how friendly he is with you. You exchange jokes and poke fun at each other. Joe tells himself that he just thinks it’s inappropriate to flirt with the coach’s wife but beneath it all he’s incredibly jealous that Bobby can make you laugh so easily. It makes Joe pine for attention in a way that he never has before.

The day of their race against California, Joe is all jitters and nerves. He bounces on the balls of his feet and shakes his hands, trying to loosen the anxiety. Streamers and garlands of flags decorate the locker room and the campus. People have gathered in clusters along the course and wave flags of purple and gold. The smell of popcorn and peanuts permeates the air and Joe promises to indulge himself if they win.

As the crew carried their shell down to the water, they begin chanting to themselves. “Bow down to Washington!” They neglect the varsity’s jeers and clip their oars into position. They spot Coach Ulbrickson in the stands, you at his side. And then there’s another woman. And Ulbrickson hugs her. And then he kisses her.

Right in front of you! What is going on?

“Rantz! Eyes on me!” Bobby hollers. But Joe can’t help stealing another confused glance. “I said quite drooling over coach’s daughter and LOOK AT ME!”

Joe feels like an idiot. He puts his head down in shame and tightens his grip on the oar. Ulbrickson joins them on the dock and gives one of his famously encouraging speeches. Joe is only half paying attention. They push off and are left with lovely Bobby hyping them up while they wait for the race to start. They lean forward, like a bow drawn for a shot. And then the white flag flies and the boats shoot away from the docks.

There’s nothing but blur as Joe rows. He can only focus on the muscled shoulders of Don Hume in the stroke seat as Bobby screams at them. “28!”

About halfway through the course, Bobby demands the stroke rate be upped and Don performs. The shell lurches forward, eating up the distance between Washington and Cal until the JV boat surpasses the Berkeley blokes. Then the boat is cutting across the finish line, a clean win. Adrenaline rushes Joe’s veins. He throws his fists in the air as the team splashes and roars. They’re inevitably drowned out by the crowd who bursts up in a shower of peanuts and Washington flags.

Coach Ulbrickson, the new woman Joe assumes his Ulbrickson’s wife, and you rush the dock as the boys climb out of the boat. “Excellent job.” Mrs. Ulbrickson shakes their hands as they unclip their oars. Bolles is compassionate enough to give them each a pat on the back as they hoist the boat over their heads and haul it off.

Joe can’t help but notice the copious amounts of onlookers pooling around the shell as they carry it back to the shellhouse. They set it down on the stands and before they can even take their hands off the shell, they are bombarded by Washington fans. Girls reaching out to stroke their biceps or kiss their cheeks. Joe has never received attention like this once in his life. He’s as polite as possible, brushing off a few girls here and there and shaking the hand of the occasional fellow. Shorty has accumulated a few lipstick stains on his cheek. Don Hume is blushing from the tips of his ears down to the point of his freckled nose. Chuck and Roger accept a few hugs. They bask in the winners’ glory for only a few moments until the varsity team strolls by. They make a comment to Moch that Joe doesn’t catch but judging by the way Bobby’s shoulders square he can make obvious conclusions.

“You rowed so well today, Joe.” He hears your voice, and his palms start to sweat.

“Thanks, I uh—” It occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know a thing about you. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your name.” You smile at him, and syllables fall out but the crowd is too loud. “What?” Your grasp his shoulder and lean in, the sound of your name echoes off the shell of his ear.

When you pull away, you’re still smiling but before Joe can ask you another question, Bobby is buzzing by with a play-by-play of exactly what happened in Bobby’s world.

You shade your eyes and peer down at the docks, “Looks like dad is almost done with the varsity. I should get down there.” You say, and Bobby turns around to talk to Shorty. “Hey. Will I see you at the party tonight?” Your hand rests on Joe’s shoulder. He prays you can’t feel his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Good. You had better save a dance for me, Joe Rantz.”

You leave him breathless, the butterflies in his stomach so vicious that he shudders. He watches you disappear down the pathway to the dock and his heart starts hammering with anticipation. You want to dance with him. You want to touch his hands, touch him. And then he remembers that you already did that, he was too focused on the motion of your lips that he’d hardly registered the sensation of your hands on his arm. Damn! What had it felt like? He’d remembered it’d made him flabbergasted and choked his speech but he couldn’t remember how the grooves in your palm felt as they brushed over his skin. The warmth of your fingertips. He curses himself out and vanishes into the locker room to get changed.

…

The dance rolls around rather too quickly and Joe is swimming in nerves. He has to tie his tie twice because he messes up so badly, he can’t even draw it tight to his neck. Roger found out all too quickly and hasn’t let Joe catch a break.

“A date with coach’s daughter. Careful Joe, Ulbrickson might throw you off the team if he catches the wrong look in your eye.”

“Shut up, Roger, I’m not greasy like you”

“Ouch, that hurts me.”

“Clearly not enough.” Joe hisses as he finally gets his tie right.

“Feels like I’m a father about to send his kid off to prom.”

Joe sighs and throws on his suit coat. “Oh, please—”

“Look at you fly, shooting out of your league.”

Roger works a smile onto Joe’s face, and they set off for the party. Spring is finally warming the campus up from a brutal winter and a few couples mull around outside. Joe and Roger find their way into the crowded gymnasium, both shocked by just how loud it is. Joe can’t even hear his own thoughts. They spot the team almost immediately, clustered around tables, drinks in their hands. A few of the boys are dancing with some lovely dames, a few are leaned against the wall having close conversations. Don is sitting by himself on a bench a few feet away from the refreshment table, watching the dance floor. Joe is turning to follow Roger towards the other boys but an arm loops through his, “Thought you weren’t going to show.” You practically shout.

Joe can’t help but grin as you capture his attention. “You weren’t joking.”

“Not a bit, Rantz, didn’t have any other dancing plans except for this one.”

“Guess I should make it worth your wait then.” Joe leads you into the thicket of bodies.

He prides himself on the laugh you let out, “please do,” you say as he takes your hands and spins to face you. He places his hand high on your waist and cradles the other gently in his palm. He can feel the smooth plains of you hand against his. Each crease and each callous. His are no doubt unbelievably rough from the rowing and he would feel bad but right now all he can feel are your fingers lacing through his. “You’re not half bad.” You tease. Joe knows his cheeks are heating up to a flaming red. Probably his ears too.

His hand migrates to the small of your back as the music changes into a soft slow song. “I’ll be completely honest,” he starts, “I had no idea you were the coach’s daughter.”

“Then who else would I be?”

“I thought you were his wife.” He looks away sheepishly, but your laughter is so unrestrained and whole that Joe’s heart melts. You can’t stop laughing either and it’s contagious.

“You’re an engineering student, right?” Your shoes brush as you sway with him.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Joyce.” Joe’s heart drops. In his infatuation he’d forgotten all about her. “She was trying to hit on you, but she figured out that your attention was elsewhere.”

“You too are good friends then?”

“Just since the start of the year. We have an English class together.” You and Joe talk for a while, it forces you to be close and neither of you care to separate. Eventually, you move outside and sit with sit with Joe on the steps of the gym. It’s still chilly out and you sit close to Joe which he doesn’t mind one bit. At some point your head rests on his shoulder and you close your eyes. Joe can do nothing but stare down at you, his mouth agape.

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” You trace his knuckles with your pointer finger.

Joe’s head pounds, his mouth dry, “This has never happened to me before.”

“None of the girls from high school? Never?”

“Not one.”

You look up at Joe and reach to smooth back a blond curl. “Shame, they were missing out.” This makes Joe smile again and he’s immensely pleased with how easily you do that to him. Make him happy. He hasn’t felt like this since… he can’t remember when. Sure, he was happy when the team won but that was different. That was pride. So was making the team. This feels more affectionate, closer to the heart. He wonders if this is what love feels like but that would be silly; he’s only known your name for a day. He’s also never been flattered quite like this. Besides Joyce, he can’t think of anyone else who’s actually been interested in him. Certainly not one who compliments him the way you do.

People start to drain out of the gym very slowly and Joe checks his watch. “So late already?”

“Guess I should get home; my dad will be wrought with worry.” You joke and straighten out your skirt.

“Can I walk you home?”

“I would love that.”

Joe offers you his hand, “Where does coach live?”

“Not too far.” You accept his calloused hand and direct him off campus. Surprisingly, Joe has read the book you’re reading for English and time flies as you discuss the book. Then Joe makes a sobering comment that makes you stop and study him.

“His parents remind me of my own.”

Joe realizes what he’s let slip, “Don’t worry about it too much. I’m okay.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Joe presses his lips into a line and stares down at his worn shoes. A wave of self-consciousness washes over him as he realizes how ragged of a life he has lived and just how much it shows. “Well—”

“Is this why you have a hard time trusting your team?”

“Hey now,”

“Sorry.” You take his hands.

He grimaces and squeezes your soft palms. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

Joe sighs and swipes a thumb across your knuckles. “My Pops just… left me one day. Told me I’d be fine on my own.” Joe gives you parts of the story. Mostly what he feels like stomaching at the moment.

When he’s finished you let go of his hands and cup his cheeks. He sinks into the touch, soaking it up like a flower budding in sunlight. You don’t say anything, you just look at him. You look at him like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered and his heart trembles because he has never once known what it’s like to be that for someone else. And then you stand on tip toes and plant a hearty kiss on his forehead. “This is it actually,” you gesture behind you at the hosue that must be the Ulbricksons’. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice?”

“Yeah.” The spot on his forehead that you kissed tingles. “Nowhere else I’d want to be.”

…

The Poughkeepsie Regatta rolls around all too quickly and Ulbrickson has to make a decision. The varsity boat who deserves it. Or the JV boat who could win it. His hands sweat as he stands on at that pulpit and reads off his preplanned speech. As he talks, he thinks about the future of the rowing program. The jobs it has provided him and Bolles. About how Pocock would have to find work elsewhere and it’d kill Al Ulbrickson to send him away.

He leans into the mic and spits, “and that boat is our JV boat.” It has to be them. They have to win. Moans and groans blow his way as the crowd rejects his announcement. Regret washes over him but he cannot take this back. He has to be right about his crew. He tips his hat and hustles off the podium as the JV bursts into celebration. He has to be right.

…

Joe is more than pleased to see you on the train to Poughkeepsie. He slides into the car with you, and you chat away. You were fast friends the night of the dance and have since become closer. The kiss on the forehead still lingers sometimes, especially when Joe sees your lips form your smile. You entice him into some card games and eventually a game of chess. At some point, he decides that he needs to sleep and bids you goodnight so that he can find a train car to sleep in. But before he does, he sneaks a chaste kiss onto your knuckles.

His good mood is stamped out the very next day when the team takes to the water. They don’t row good, and frustration starts to build. Bobby and the coaches try and get them working together, telling them that it’s just nerves and new water. But tensions rise regardless. The days start to dwindle, and the crew is getting worse and worse.

Blame starts to turn to him, and Joe is at a loss. He doesn’t want to believe that he’s holding the team back, but he thinks back to what you said that night he walked you home. But the most awful feeling creeps over him, not an ounce of care. What’s wrong with him. This crew has been the only family he’s had in years. He needs them. But he can’t bring himself to admit it.

Before he knows it, it slips and Ulbrickson is exiling him from the boat. As the crew watches Joe storm away, their spare crawls in and they set off for another row. Bolles taps you on the shoulder, “you had better see if you can do anything. Enlist Pocock if you have to.” Your father nods along.

You set out to find him, not that it was hard there’s not many places he can go alone. He’s stuffing his suitcase when you find him. “Don’t start.” He snaps. Then he sees your expression and his anger sours. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t—”

“Don’t give up on your team, Joe.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you’re quitting and throwing everything you’ve worked for away.”

“Don’t, don’t even start to pretend you know me.” He realizes too late that he’s made everything so much worse and before he can fix a thing Pocock is at the door.

“I could use some help putting another coat of oil on the shell.”

You duck past Pocock and leave Joe with a painful pit of remorse in his stomach. He follows Pocock and takes the talking to straight to the heart. As he lathers on a thick coat of oil, he figures he can bargain with Ulbrickson in the morning, but he should make a proper apology to you now. He racks his brain for anything that would make it right, but he’s horrifically inexperienced and it’s crippling him now. He feels like a child having a tantrum. He feels miniscule and insignificant.

After Joe dunks his brush into the whale oil can for the last time, he figures he’d better just confront the issue head on since he has no way of handling it delicately. He has no grace and he’s sure you’re aware of this. Pocock gives him an encouraging pat and takes the can from him. Joe winds his way back to the hotel and through the halls. Your room is on the second floor, third door down. He knocks gently, eyes lingering on the hideous carpet and tacky sconces. The door swings open after a moment and Joe is met with your disapproving glower. His tongue seems to swell in his mouth so badly that he worries it’ll flop out when he tries to speak.

“Coffee?” You ask when you realize he will stand there silently forever if you don’t let him in.

“No… I just wanted to—to apologize.”

“Oh really.” Your eyebrow quirks.

Joe is fumbling for words. You stand aside and motion for him to step inside so you can have this discussion in privacy. “I know that was wrong to take out my frustration on you. That wasn’t fair and none of it is your fault.” He twiddles his thumbs. How does he go about this without absolutely butchering it? “I just—” As he trails off, he notices a hurt dullness in your eyes. He recognizes it as pity. “You and the crew are really all I’ve got, and I’m so scared I’m going to lose it.”

“These boys aren’t going to leave you behind unless you separate yourself from them like today.”

“I know.

“Really?”

“Pocock made sure I know.”

The edges of your lips tilt up. You pull him down onto the foot of the bed and take his hand. “Are you actually going to try and trust them?”

“Don’t have enough faith to put it in anyone else.”

You squeeze his hand and trace a finger along his jawline, sweeping a knuckle under his chin. You force his stubborn gaze to you and find nothing but desperation. Wanting things like this doesn’t come natural to Joe and it shows, but he’s not so different from the other boys in that boat.

You reach up and fiddle with a curl, “apology accepted.” Tears pool in the corners of his eyes and he tries to choke them down. You place a hand on his chest and rest your forehead on his. His breath fans over your cheeks. The tip of his nose brushes yours. His shoulders sag inwards and he reaches for your waist.

“Can I—may I kiss you?”

Joe’s sweetness never fails to amaze you. You cradle his face and bring him closer. “Yes, Joe.” His breath hitches and his lips finally meet yours for the very first time. He’s gentle but generous and lets you kiss him for as long as you like. His arms wrap around you fully and hold you to his chest. He gets the feeling that he’ll be craving these moments all the time now, finally understanding what Roger and Chuck rave about. He’s hooked on your lips and your weight against him and when you pull away it breaks his heart.

“You should get cleaned up before you talk to my father, you smell like whale oil.”

...

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading this. If you'd like to request, feel free to do so. I always love you in my inbox. I hope you enjoyed this fic and if you like it please check out my masterlist for more. Have nice day.

-the author

#boys in the boat #Joe rantz #callum turner #joe rantz x reader #callum turner x reader

275 notes · View notes

tainsan · 10 months

Text

misfits III (college!ateez x reader)

{a/n: this one is a little bit crazy so buckle up!}

do not steal my work or repost on places other than tumblr.

taglist: @lilactangerine @plutoneu @abby-grace @sunkissed725 @lixiel0ver @acciocriativity @hyukssunflower @sunukissed @khjcoo @stopeatread @meginthebuilding27 @mychickentendou @sunnyhokyu @rxnexxi @croa-yevon @arabelleum @randomness7198 @dysftopia @lucymultistan @sookacc @starillusion13 @daceydeath @theamazinggrace-00 @smilingtokki @hasgalore @pytssamworld @just-a-really-bored-kpop-fan

i{f you asked to be in the tag list and dont see your name, I am incredibly sorry but your account cannot be tagged. Again, my apologies.}

-----THIS IS AN 18+ FANFICTION MINORS DO NOT INTERACT-----

⇢ master list ⇠

previous chapter ⇠ ⇢ next chapter

warnings: small anxiety attack, someone is a dickhead to reader

word count: 7k

_______

“I’m sorry I just can’t....

”“What do you mean?” Wooyoung’s voice is full of remorse as he cuts your words off. Yeosang can feel his heart drop down to his stomach.

“Let me finish,” you say softly, “I was going to say I just can’t believe this is happening.”

Wooyoung tilts his head to the side, whereas Yeosang’s hands gripped tightly, his nails digging into his palm.

“What do you mean?” Wooyoung repeats himself, not understanding the situation.

“Look I’ll spare you the sob story but my entire life I’ve kind of been treated like shit, it’s extremely hard to believe that something incredible like this is happening, it doesn’t seem real at all,” you admit, looking at your hands which are now full of sweat. Your comment pierces the hearts of the two males standing in front of you.

“It’s happening, okay?” Yeosang takes your hands into his own, and you fail to see the way Wooyoung’s jaw clenches, “sometimes bad things fall apart for good things to fall into place.” Your heart stops for a second as the words leave his mouth. It was something your mother used to say when you were younger. You aren’t sure if it was his words or the way he was caressing your hands in his, but something made you not able to move an inch. “I think…”

Abruptly your words are cut off by the sound of the front door opening, and some noisy voices entering into the building. Looking between Yeosang and Wooyoung, you realise the rest of the house was finished with their classes and now home. Much to your dismay, you were hoping to only have to talk to one or two people today. Silently hoping that none of them go to this room, you take your hands away from Yeosang’s grasp wiping the sweat on the sides of your legs. Yet your hopes are crushed when you hear multiple footsteps pounding around outside. Of course, this room had to be so close to the kitchen. You hear a familiar voice call out for Wooyoung and Yeosang, causing your heart to clench momentarily. They seem to notice your behaviour change, not answering the call, still studying your body language, and trying to figure out how to get you out of this situation. Their efforts are futile though, as you hear a knocking on the door.

“Don’t tell me you are dwelling in this room waiting for,” the door opens, and you see San scanning the room. His eyes widen as he makes eye contact with you, not being able to believe you are here.

“___? You came?” His voice is soft yet the hints of enthusiasm that spill through his cold exterior are unmistakeable. It’s the first time you’ve seen San since the tutoring session, however, you aren’t as ecstatic as you thought you’d be to see him again, wishing it was under different circumstances.

Not grasping how to proceed, all you do is wave in response, a forced smile plastered on your features. Fortunately for you, San is fairly able to read the situation, noticing the way your body is tensed up and uncomfortable. He too speedily tries to think of a way to help you, but unfortunately, the only way to get out is through the kitchen it seems hopeless, and he isn’t about to let you go out through the window, as much as you’d gladly throw yourself out right now.

“Sannie what is taking so long?” You hear another familiar voice get closer to the door. Realising there is no way out of this situation, you grudgingly decide to trail the three men out of the room headed for the kitchen. As your eyes make contact with the kitchen, you see five men either sitting or standing around the island, talking boisterously about what seems to be for dinner tonight. Groceries are laid across the island in multiple plastic bags. You can recognise Jongho and Mingi, which makes you feel a little at ease, yet when your eyes land on Hongjoong, your heart races even quicker remembering the act with him two days ago. You immediately take your eyes away from him and that’s when your eyes land on two unfamiliar faces, they must be Seonghwa and Yunho. They both have black hair and are undeniably stunning. It is Jongho who looks towards where you and the three others are entering, his smile growing on his face when he sees his roommates, the first time you’ve seen his full smile and it makes you comprehend how close they must all be. Luckily, none of the men in the kitchen sees you half hiding behind Yeosang.

“What took you so long?,” he says, feigning annoyance. At that moment all the guys look at you, and you hide entirely behind Yeosang, not knowing what to do. It’s one thing being with three of the Ateez members, let alone all of them in one space.

“Who is that?” You hear Mingi's query. ‘Fuck’ you think, knowing he noticed you, even though you were expertly disappeared behind Yeosang’s broad figure. Wooyoung looks to his left and observes you almost flat against Yeosang’s back, concealing from the view. His attempts to hold back his laugh and it does not go ignored by the five men in the kitchen.

San bends down slightly to meet your ear, “Just come out, nothing bad is going to happen.” His voice is again soothing and calm, only you Wooyoung and Yeosang hear it.

Not realizing you are hiding behind him, Yeosang turns to see what is occurring behind his back. Due to his motion, you are uncovered to the five men residing in the kitchen. As their eyes meet you, there are mixed responses seen across the room. Jongho’s smile spreads throughout his face, Mingi has a sort of shocked-glad look adorning his expression, and you swear you see the corners of Hongjoong’s lip turn up ever so vaguely. However, the two men you are new to have unreadable looks on their faces. A deathly silence follows your reveal behind Yeosang, and he feels extremely guilty for uncovering your concealment.

Before you can say hello, one of the two unidentified faces stands up from his chair behind the island, and you notice he is incredibly tall and well-built, he is undeniably the tallest of the group, his height reaching above Mingi’s.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” His voice is venomous and cruel. He does not utter another word before storming past San, bumping roughly into his shoulder, definitely on purpose. Then disappearing into one of the bedrooms behind you. Sighs are heard from the kitchen, some seeming shocked yet some of them appear as if they expected it.

Looking over to your left, confusion on your face, you go to ask San if he is okay from the impact of the tall male.

“I’m fine,” San replies, his scowl being replaced by a light smile, momentarily feeling delighted you are concerned about his health. You fail to notice the way the six others in the room frown at the man who has your consideration.

“San,” Hongjoong speaks out, getting the notice of the male next to you. His voice is authoritative and sharp, but not in a foul-mouthed way. Rolling his eyes, San moves away from you and towards the room where the man who just stormed off was residing in. Gently, Wooyoung places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards the kitchen, his fingers on fire from the contact with you.

“So how do you like the house? I’m sure Wooyoung and Yeosang have given you a good tour?” Hongjoong asks you as you are still in your place, Wooyoung swiftly takes a place to your right whereas Hongjoong takes a place to your left. Yeosang grumbles as he makes his way towards the empty seat across the island.

“Um yes, it’s lovely.” You reply, your voice is hushed and soft. Hongjoong’s look is unfazed.

“That’s great. So, when are you moving in?” He is straightforward with his words and the inquiry hangs in the room causing the others to become tense for your reply, not sure if you are moving in or not. The harsh actions of the man bounce around in your brain, and you are not even sure if it was Yunho or Seonghwa, or if that was even their name.

“It’s a great place but isn’t it going to look kind of weird if I’m living with eight guys?” you reply truthfully, deciding to ignore your many thoughts and questions about what just happened. You are hoping for people to not be assuming things, if you were to live here, you’d prefer people not to know. Knowing that if it got out you were living with them, then the attention directed towards you would be extreme and way too much for you to handle.

This time Wooyoung replies “We thought you might say that. But it’s not like you have to share a bed with any of us,” he bends down to your level once again, “unless you want to.”

You are extremely taken by surprise by this comment, your cheeks heating up almost instantly. It’s the first time anyone has ever spoken to you like this and you definitely have no idea how to react.

Noticing your stunned expression, Mingi quickly steps in, “he’s just joking, don’t take anything he says too seriously.” Rolling his eyes, Wooyoung moves away from your frame, resting down on the barstool next to you.

“I see this is what you meant by overbearing?” You ask Hongjoong, half joking, half serious. However, the look on Wooyoung’s face, when the word comes out of your mouth, is too amusing to not laugh at. He has an open mouth and places his hand over his heart, simulating to be offended.

“In a way, yes,” Hongjoong responds, his lips twitching up a little.

“To answer your question,” you start, all the men in the room holding their breaths in suspense, not knowing what the answer would be, “if I am to move in here, I want to ask some questions, if that’s okay.”

They breathe out slowly in relief, it’s not a definitive no, they still have a chance.

“What would those be?” You look over to the person who asked the question, it is the man you are unfamiliar with. His voice is deep but smooth, like honey. For the first time, your eyes make direct contact with his and for some reason it feels like it’s not the first time your eyes have met his. It feels like there are lost memories in his eyes, and if you look close enough, you will be able to recover them. There is a strong emotion on his face, it’s concentrated and undeniable, yet you can’t quite grasp what exactly the emotion is. You stare long into his deep eyes, wanting some sort of answer to a question you don’t even know the words to. Swiftly you break the eye contact, avoiding getting lost in the familiarity of his gaze. The small interaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the group and they are momentarily worried that there was something wrong, or maybe that you realised something.

“Um, well first I want to know if I’m allowed to have friends over?” You query, hoping they say yes. If you are going to live here, you better be able to have Jisung over. Sleepovers are a must for the two, if you need the space from everything to just be together and talk about all the little things.

“It’s preferred not,” Hongjoong answers directly. Immediately feeling a little bummed, you start to frown, making a mental tally of the pros and cons.

“But if it’s only Jisung it’s okay. As long as you let us know if he’s coming over.” Jongho quickly adds, ignoring the way Hongjoong sends a deathly glare in his direction. Jongho sends the look back, knowing he is in the right. Nodding at the extra information, you think about your next question.

“What is food like here, do we buy food separately and eat by ourselves or do we share?”

It is silent for a second before Hongjoong answers, it seems like he is the one in charge of the way things roll around here. Makes sense why they call him ‘captain’ “We eat breakfast and lunch separately most of the time, but for dinner, we will always eat together, unless we are busy with work or assignments.” You find this sweet and smile to yourself hearing this answer. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten dinner with people like a family. Always liking communal dinners, this goes as a pro in your books.

“I have some things I want though, if I am to move here.” You declare, trying to sound as authoritative as Hongjoong, but likely failing. Yet, the men around you nod and let you continue, with smiles on their faces.

“It sounds dumb, but you’d have to knock on my door before entering.”

“Done.”

“No eating my food if it’s in the fridge.”

This time Yeosang talks up, “We have some rules about that too, just make sure you put your name on it, and then it’s yours.”

Mingi also adds to the conversation, “And if it’s in there for longer than a week then we throw it out, just so we don’t have unnecessary space being filled.” This makes you feel relieved, glad that it is somehow so organized in this house. In your past experiences in shared dorms, you have always seemed to have bad luck with roommates. Eating your food, being unnecessarily noisy at ungodly hours, being overall dickheads and just nuisances.

“We have a question.” The nameless man is talking now, you try to make eye contact with him yet fail miserably, resorting to just nodding in his direction, hoping he doesn’t take it as being rude. “If you have any issues like illnesses or allergies, we’d like to know just in case we need to avoid certain foods and things?”

“Well, I don’t have any illnesses or allergies, just some problems with mental health I guess.” You disclose, uncomfortable to be sharing this information with so many strangers at once. Some part of you wonders why you even said it. They did not need to know that they meant physical illnesses. Whatever, if they are going to be your roommates they might as well know, you guess. The shoulders of the man who questioned you drop slightly, yet strangely he nods as if he already knew the answer. Luckily, they do not ask further questions about your mental state, much to your relief.

“Any more questions?” Hongjoong inquires.

“Please don’t go into my room without my permission. It’s not like I’m hiding anything, I just need the privacy.”

“That’s fine, we also prefer it that way too, snooping in other rooms is not acceptable here.” Hongjoong reacts to your statement causing you to nod and beam gratefully for the consideration.

“What do I have to do regarding the rent payments? Would I need to go somewhere so they can process my move?”

“We have that sorted out already, all you would need to do is sign a form and contract which I can show you later.”

“Okay fine.” You utter, almost as if you were holding in a breath for years. Around you, the five men look positive, hoping what you’re leading to is what they desire to hear. You continue, “When can I move in?”

Wooyoung and Mingi jump up from their chairs, Yeosang sits up straight, not believing his ears, Jongho and the nameless man seem to share a relieved look, and for the first time, you see Hongjoong’s smile reaches his eyes.

“I have one last question though,” You start speaking again looking towards the male who you have not met before, “I’m sorry I don’t know your name yet.”

His eyes open hugely, and he answers, “When they said you didn’t know about us, they weren’t lying,” he rises from his chair and makes his way toward you, making you ever more confused as to why his face is so familiar, reaching out his hand softly to shake yours, “I’m Seonghwa, and the other guy was Yunho.”

Taking his hand in yours, you shake his hand with a small smile on your face, when he smiles back, you swear you could’ve fainted from his beauty. You are starting to understand why this whole group is so popular. Seonghwa lets go of your hand gently, before turning back to his chair and sitting back down, though the beam on his features does not falter as he keeps secretly stealing glances at you. Deciding to reply to his comment, you speak up, “As I’ve said before, I live under a rock,”

“She said she doesn’t give a shit about us,” Wooyoung says, teasing you further.

“Hey, I said that I didn’t care about all the gossip and group stuff, and with no offence,” You glare playfully at him, bringing your finger up to your mouth to jokingly signal him to keep his mouth closed. His smile is contagious as he reaches up and ruffles the top of your head, the action making your heart skip a few beats. Immediately looking down at your hands, avoiding Wooyoung’s eyes, you miss the envious stares pointed at the second youngest.

“Do you not care about the rumours surrounding us?” This time it’s Mingi who talks. As fast as you can blink, the entire room is thick with tension, and you can feel the glares pointed towards the man who spoke up. Pondering on your answer for a second you decide to answer truthfully.

“I’ll be honest, I was a little worried,” The men around you deflate with sadness filling their hearts, and Yeosang and Mingi start to feel the familiar anxious feeling in their throats. You resume talking, “But in the end, rumours are just rumours, it’s up to the person hearing them whether they believe it or not.”

“What do you believe?” Seonghwa is quiet as he speaks, careful with his words. It is deathly silent in the room and you start to wonder why they care so much about the way you view them.

“I’m not sure.”

Wooyoung’s eyes start to sting, thinking of any way he can to make you change your mind, to see him for him.

“But so far, I like you guys, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. For now.” For the nth time today, the boys let out deep breaths they didn’t realise they were even holding in.

“So do we have to get into your good books then?” Yeosang jokes, leaning on the island with his arms, breaking the tension and causing small chuckles to sound across the room. At this moment, for a split second, you’re incredibly impressed by the fact they barely speak over each other, always letting each other speak without being ignored. They have likely known each other for a long time, you conclude.

“If you’re up for a challenge? Go ahead.”

“I like our odds.” Hongjoong turns towards you, leaning his body towards the island, smirking lightly. You are confused by Hongjoong’s behaviour and the way it seems to change so easily, but you are guessing you may have to get accustomed to it. The look he gives you is intense and almost seductive, if you’d stare any longer you likely would fall for him. Swiftly looking away, you glance towards your watch to check the time, 17:13.

“How much stuff do you have to move here?” San appears from around the corner, his ears are red and his hair is slightly ruffled, it looks like they had an intense discussion in there, he doesn’t look upset, but there is some emotion along his features, however, it is extremely unreadable and confusing.

“I only have a suitcase of clothes.”

“Do you not have any other furniture?”

“It was burned down in the fire, but the owners of the building are going to reimburse me for the lost things. I just need to go shopping when I have the money and the time.”

All seven men nod in understanding, and then Hongjoong speaks up. “If you want to move in this evening that’s fine with me. Yunho and I will go and help you grab your suitcase.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I can grab it myself, but I appreciate the offer.” It’s one thing to be travelling across campus with two of the members of Ateez, let alone people seeing them walk into your temporary dorm room. Already knowing whispers are going around about Hongjoong entering your class and demanding to speak with you, you aren’t too eager to fuel people’s gossiping needs. You also would rather avoid the person who just stormed out of the room with a bitter look on his face. Not wanting to start anything unnecessary.

“It’s really fine, I’ll get Yunho now,” Hongjoong insists, moving to go towards the room where Yunho is residing, he gets halted in his movements as said man appears in the kitchen.

“If you think I’m going anywhere with her you are wrong, the last thing we need is more rumours being spread so she can get her fifteen seconds of fame.” Yunho’s glare pierces through you, his full height peering down at you, causing you to feel incredibly small.

“Yunho we are going.” Hongjoong declares, his voice easily matching his.

“In your dreams,” The tall male walks nearer to you, stopping when he is directly in front of you. Wooyoung rises from his seat and tries to push Yunho back slightly, but he is overpowered by the taller man. Behind you, the rest of the males stand up from their chairs ready to intervene if things go wrong, yet knowing Yunho, they doubt he would ever hurt you physically. Yunho carries on speaking, “Just because they let you in here doesn’t mean you are welcome.”

“Yunho.” Hongjoong’s voice is stern and threatening, attempting to make Yunho back up. You flinch from the sharpness of Hongjoong’s voice.

“Just because they are nice to you, doesn’t mean I will ever be. You are nothing, you will never be. Stop trying to get into our pants and leave us alone.”

“Yunho, stop.” Seonghwa’s voice booms in the background, causing you to flinch again, yet your eyes cannot break contact with the tall man in front of you. The nerves in your body are on fire, you start to feel nauseous and dizzy. This situation reminds you severely of some of the past encounters you have had with your father. Yunho doesn’t spare a glance toward the two eldest males, his eyes solely focused on you. Finally, he starts to step back slowly. Letting out a scoff at your scared frame, he walks away, back to the room where he emerged from.

Feeling overwhelmed with emotions, you have no idea what to do other than speed to the exit of the house. Seonghwa attempts to stop you as you flee, yet you slip past him. Hongjoong storms after Yunho, slamming the door behind him, making you flinch even more. Feeling tears prick your eyes, you’re hit with flashbacks from long ago which you have tried so hard to push to the back of your mind. Hurriedly pulling on your shoes, not even bothering to grab your jacket on the coat stand, you escape from the house, tears running freely from your eyes. Seonghwa quickly runs after you, reaching you under the light of a dimly light streetlight.

“___.” Seonghwa’s voice calls out from behind you. “___,” he calls one more time before gently grabbing your arm and pulling you towards him. Seeing the tears fall from your eyes makes his heart clench impossibly hard.

“Please come back, you shouldn’t be walking around alone when it’s dark.” Seonghwa is softly spoken, his hand not leaving your upper arm, his thumb unconsciously stroking your exposed skin.

“Look I know you’re not stupid, so if you were in my situation, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to live with someone who just talked to you as if you are nothing more than the dirt underneath their shoe.”

“He doesn’t mean it, trust me. He just has trouble with new people.” Seonghwa tries to explain.

“So do I, but you don’t see me talking to people like they are pieces of shit?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve let someone in our house, let alone live in it. The last time it happened, it didn’t work out too well, he’s just trying to prevent something wrong from happening.” Your features soften slightly at this admission, but still not enough for you to even think about forgiving Yunho and his actions.

“I know I said I was maybe going to live with you guys, but if he is going to be like that all the time, I am not going to able to handle that. It’s too similar, to him, I can’t relive that. You can’t make me relive that.” Your breathing becomes uneven as your throat tightens up in a familiar feeling of panic, flashbacks of the past flashing in your eyes. Dropping down to your knees, Seonghwa catches you in his arms, cradling your limp body. He understands your feelings, and your pain, more than you know. Yet, all he can do right now is comfort you, stroking up slowly up and down your back. Unbeknownst to you, Jongho walks out of the building, your jacket in his hands. Seeing you on the floor, tears falling from your eyes makes his chest tighten. Jongho reaches the two of you, bending down to squat at your level, he wraps your jacket around your shoulders. ‘

“Let’s get your stuff here so you can go to sleep early.” Jongho’s voice is gentle, just above a whisper, he sees you flinch at the thought of going back to the house which makes his chest hurt even more

“Hongjoong is dealing with Yunho, you don’t have to worry about him. You can trust me, ___. Hongjoong has a way of disciplining us” Jongho grabs one of your balled-up fists and helps you to stand up, Seonghwa momentarily missing the warmth of your body against his.

“We will come with you to get your things. I know you’re likely worried about people seeing us with you, we don’t blame you, you don’t want to be a target.” Jongho says.

Wiping away your tears, and calming your breath, you manage to get some words out, “I don’t care about becoming a target, I’m just not a fan of people talking about me behind my back.” I explain.

They both nod in understanding and then Seonghwa says, “You can’t have nowhere to live, ___. We can both promise that Yunho will never speak to you like that again.”

Reluctantly, you nod in agreement. “Okay.” You are surprised by the way you believe the two men so easily, trusting them faster than you have ever trusted anyone before. Of course, not fully, but you can see yourself trusting them in the future, which is weird to you. Very weird.

_______

Walking to the student dorms was an interesting experience, you get to talk to Seonghwa a little bit more learning he is taking an accounting course whilst Jongho is taking a marine biology course. What is interesting is the way they walk so closely to you, since you are outside of the school campus, you don’t mind the looks of random people who you are very sure don’t attend your school.

What you fail to observe is the way they glare at all the males who dare to look towards your direction, moving closer to your smaller frame. However, when you enter the front gate to the campus, the distance between the three of you disperses almost immediately. You feel glad that the two who took you are so understanding of your boundaries and wishes. Strolling behind you, Seonghwa and Jongho are in a distant chat, acting as if they don’t know who you are and just happened to enter at similar times. It makes you feel comfortable and pleased by the kind gestures they show. The trip to the residences is going smoothly until you are suddenly stopped by a very familiar face.

Your walking stops immediately, causing the two walking behind you to halt extremely fast, almost making the youngest trip over as the elder grabs his arm and pulls him to the bush to their left.

“Jeongin! What are you doing here?” You ask the white-haired male, glancing towards the bush where the two men have just bolted for, you see the head of Jongho sticking out slightly and start to worry. Peering back at Jeongin, his smile is contagious, his dimples showing on his cheeks, and you briefly forget the situation.

“I was looking for you, I need some help with this dumb biology lab report, I’ve calculated the results from the experiment over ten times and they are all coming back as inconsistent or inconclusive, I have no idea what I’m doing wrong. I was wondering if you could help me?” Jeongin looks desperate as he hands you his tablet displaying multiple tables with numbers displayed on the screen.

“When is the report due?” You question, praying it isn’t before midnight tonight.

“It’s due on Sunday, before midnight.” He tells you. Glancing down at your watch, you see it’s currently Friday. Perfect.

“Are you free tomorrow? I am a little busy right now.”

“I’m free in the morning, but in the afternoon, I have a date.” You raise your eyebrow at him, slightly proud of him for getting himself a date, knowing his awkwardness around people he has an interest in.

“I’ll see you in the morning then. Meet me in the library at ten?” The boy seems restless, obviously worried about this lab report.

“Hey Jeongin, it’s okay,” you place a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, “we will work it out, just try to get some rest tonight, you need to look good for the lucky person.” At this the young male smiles and gives you, his thanks. He bids you a goodbye, before walking away, likely to his residency.

Looking around you for any sign of people, then surely there is no one near, you make your way to the bush and the sight almost makes you topple over with amusement. Jongho has his head in the bush, yet his entire body is showing, and Seonghwa is lying flat on the grass face down, his body straight and stiff.

“You guys can come out.” You can barely hold back your laughter, tears forming in your eyes. Jongho immediately appears from the bush, his hair messy leaves entwined in his brown locks. Seonghwa takes his time standing up, rubbing his back and complaining about his stiffness.

“For a group of people who is supposedly terrifying, you guys aren’t that scary at all,” you admit, reaching into Jongho’s hair to take out the loose leaves. Seonghwa secretly curses at the younger, wishing he was the one who put his head in the bush.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Jongho says, cheeks red from your actions, “Who was that by the way?”

Seonghwa and Jongho both have curious looks on their faces, mixed with something else unreadable. You are starting to get tired of the difficulty reading the eight men you’ve briefly met.

“That was Jeongin, he’s in the same friend group as Jisung,”

“Are you guys close?” Seonghwa asks, acting as if he isn’t interested but you can tell he is slightly curious.

“Not particularly, he comes to me for advice with dating sometimes, he always ends up dating guys who are huge red flags.”

The two men in front of you let out ohs of realisation, feeling suddenly embarrassed about their questions.

“Okay, you guys wait here whilst I get my suitcase.” You turn towards the entrance of the building, but quickly you revolve back around to face Seonghwa and Jongho, “stay away from the bushes.”

The trip to Yeji’s apartment is quick, just throwing the last few things into the suitcase before zipping it up and trudging it down the stairs because of course, the elevator is never in order. As you reach the exit, you use your back to open the door. Weirdly, as you look around, you don’t see the two you left there earlier. You start to think they have abandoned you leaving you to walk back all alone. Or maybe they don’t even want you to come to their house, only playing around with you. They only wanted you to feel secure so they could play with your heart.

“You look lost in thought.” A deep voice is heard from your right, as you look over you see Seonghwa with Jongho and your worries quickly melt away.

“I was starting to think you had left me alone.” You admit, feeling relieved they didn’t disappear into thin air. Your anxious overthinking dispersing very quickly.

“Sorry, we saw a group of people walk out of the building, so we quickly went to the back,” Jongho explains, feeling upset that they made you second-doubt them.

Jongho holds your suitcase, even though you told him not to, he simply ignores your complaints as he walks with it. The way back home is similar to the walk there, however, this time Seonghwa and Jongho pay more attention to their surroundings, knowing there will likely be some creepy men around this area during the late hours of the night, and make sure you feel safe with them. During the quiet walk home, you take this time to think about the past few hours, from arriving at the house to the tour and the occurrence with Yunho. At this moment you decide that you’re not going to cower down from Yunho, you will just live with it. You’ve done it before; you can do it again. Besides, you’re not alone, you have at least seven people who will be kind and welcoming to you. If this is the price you have to pay for an amazing accommodation, then so be it.

The second you reach the house, Mingi throws open the door, extremely relieved you decided to return, his smile covering his entire face.

“I made your bed up, I had some spare bedsheets so that’s what’s on your bed for the time being. We can go shopping for some ones that you like when you have the time.” Mingi smiles at you as you make your way back into the house. When Jongho and Seonghwa send him pointed glares, he simply winks at them, proud he was the first to add something of his own to your room. Jongho lifts your suitcase to your room, causing you to thank him profusely. Mingi and Seonghwa follow closely behind you into your room.

“Do you need help unpacking?” San asks, his head popping around your doorframe.

“I think I’ve got it but thank you.” You reply, hoping they drop the subject.

“Are you sure? We’d be happy to help.” Seonghwa insists, hoping you say yes, just so he can spend more time with you.

“As much as I appreciate it, I’d prefer to sort out some of my clothes myself.” You admit, heat crawling up your neck. Immediately, the four men around you realise the meaning behind your statement, and apologies spill from their mouths too, hoping you didn’t view them as some form of perverts. When you start laughing, their hearts swell, happy they didn’t make anything too awkward. Eventually, you manage to usher them out of the room so you can start organizing your things. It takes about five minutes before you get a knock on your door, feeling a little exhausted from the constant attention, you take your time to make your way to open the door. When you open the door, Wooyoung stands there, a flustered smile placed on his features. In his hand is a plate of food. You momentarily feel bad for taking your time to unlock the door.

“We ate dinner when you were fetching your things, I made sure to leave you some. Next time we will eat dinner all together.” He hands you the plate, it is full of a delicious meal, much fancier than all of the instant meals you buy from the supermarket.

“Thank you Wooyoung.” You gratefully take the plate from him.

“Enjoy.” He says before closing the door behind him as he leaves.

You take your time eating the food, revelling in how delicious it is. It’s the first time in a while that you have had a homecooked meal and it warms up your entire body. You could get used to this.

When you finish your meal, you go to the kitchen to wash up your plate and get a drink of water. After washing your plate, you look up at the vast number of cupboards in the kitchen, not remembering the one which holds the glasses. Opening a few, you see plates, bowls, spices, pasta but no glasses.

“Looking for a glass?” A voice speaks from behind you, shocking you, causing you to almost scream out in surprise. You rapidly turn around to see who it is who spoke.

“I’m sorry, did I scare you?” the owner of the voice is Hongjoong. His face has an amused grin plastered on it.

“Uh yeah, sorry I wasn’t expecting you to just appear behind me.”

Hongjoong is standing directly against the island, just about a metre between the two of you. Silently, you wonder how on earth he managed to get there without you hearing him.

Instead of going around you to grab a glass, he steps forward, his chest almost colliding with yours, trapping you between the counter behind you and his strong frame. Reaching up, he opens the cupboard directly above your head and takes out a glass, placing it on the counter behind you.

When he looks down at you, your eyes are once again getting entranced by his deep pools of honey. Once again, his eyes are familiar to you. The familiarity of his eyes draws you in impossibly close, your mind racing around various memories to see if you can find a match for the mysterious eyes. Where have you seen them before? It’s almost as if you’ve seen them in a dream, vivid in consciousness yes when you try to remember details, it renders empty in your head. Trying to focus on the situation at hand, you stop your attempts of racking your brain for lost information.

Concentrating back on the man in front of you, he makes you feel awfully small once again. Hongjoong isn’t tall, but the way he’s peering down at you, trapping your body against his, makes him feel at least six feet tall.

“Thank you,” you manage to get out, before turning around and grabbing the glass with a deadly grip.

Hongjoong moves back to his previous position, resting back against the island. His eyes follow you as you fill the glass with water.

“Do you like your room?” Hongjoong is calm as he speaks, acting as if nothing had just happened.

“Yes, it’s lovely.” You reply, cursing yourself in your head telling your brain to make your cheeks cool down.

“That’s great to hear. I hope your bed is nice enough for you, I found it super comfortable.”

“Oh yeah! The bed is super comfortable.” Suddenly, his words hit you and they render in your mind, “How do you know it’s comfortable?”

“It used to be my room, the bed too,” Hongjoong confesses, smirking at the way your body language becomes flustered. This explains why the sheets were messy earlier, but that also means he was sleeping in it today. This very statement causes your mind, to again, burst up into a spiral of thoughts. Did Hongjoong give up his room for you? Of course not, why would he ever do that?

“Oh, that’s nice.” Your head is abruptly full of thoughts of Hongjoong residing in your bed. Why are you even thinking about that? It’s not like he is going to be in your bed from now on.

“I’ll let you get to sleep, tomorrow dinner is at seven. Are you able to make that?” The man with dirty blonde hair asks.

You can only nod in response, your words jumbled in your brain. Luckily you only have one class tomorrow, it finishes late, but you can for sure make it for seven.

Hongjoong’s lips turn up ever so slightly, and he nods back at you before departing the kitchen. As he leaves, you watch his figure move towards the staircase, not able to think straight. You would have been better off not knowing the information he just provided. Why would he even give up his room in the first place, did he move out of it because there was something wrong with it? Maybe there are cockroaches in the room. Then you remember where your house is, there is no chance there are cockroaches in such a clean house. What if Seonghwa and Yunho are super loud? Whatever it is, you are likely to find out soon. Now you wish you had asked Hongjoong why he moved out of the room. You decide to ask him another time, not keen on walking up the stairs after him just to ask one question.

Trudging back to your room, you place your glass on your bedside table and grab your phone that was charging. You immediately message Jisung, telling him that you two needed to talk tomorrow. If there’s anyone you can talk about anything to, it’s your best friend. While Jisung is a little immature and chaotic, he is a great listener when he wants to be. Even if he is sometimes all over the place, his advice is most of the time very good and reasonable.

Jisung immediately sends a message asking if you want to talk now, yet the tiredness of the relentless day has caught up to you and you manage to send him one more message before carrying out your night-time routine. Almost jumping into the huge bed, you’re pleasantly surprised by the rich scent emitting from the sheets. Remembering they are Mingi’s sheets, and also Hongjoong’s bed you feel flustered for being so close to something so personal to the boys. However, your thoughts simply disappear as you feel your eyes starting to get heavier. As you fall into a deep sleep, your mind replays the events of the day, you are excited about the future of you living here. Yet the nervousness residing in the bottom of your stomach is still there, yet you have high hopes it will slowly disappear.

----

687 notes · View notes

lovesickry · 7 months

Text

- let the light in.

┈⋆⭒ lando norris x rival femdriver!reader [2.3k] ┈⋆⭒ prologue !

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ find all parts here! ˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ contains: swearing .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ a/n: this is an enemies/rivals to lovers and I am so incredibly excited to write this so here's the prologue. :)

2022 season, driver for Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula 1 team.

You hadn't had a problem with Lando Norris. You weren't friends by any means but you used to smile at him, give him a pat on the back when he did well on the weekend. You used to scoff at some of his sly jokes he made to reporters. You used to be polite acquaintances. That was until the moment you saw something in him you despised. Something that you saw as unforgivable.

-MIAMI GRAND PRIX 2022

You were on pole.

You were actually on pole.

For the first time in your career you had taken pole.

The feeling was something incomparable to just about anything you’d ever experienced.

Stepping out of the car, having everyone congratulate you as you beamed, walking to the media pen for post-qualifying interviews smiling like an idiot. It was your first pole in your career and it warranted something to talk about. Though it had taken years for the interviewers to not comment on your gender, you relished in the fact that not a single interview today had asked about how it felt to have long hair or if it was uncomfortable wearing a racing suit and also having tits. Or how it felt that your competitors would always have a “biological advantage”. There was not one single comment made even similar to the quietly yet blatantly sexist comments you were so used to receiving and combatting. These interviews as pleasant as they were remained about the car, about the race and about the track. Things you loved to talk about when people actually listened. You look back at Carlos and Charles and they both whisper congratulations mid-interview. Miami definitely wasn't your favourite, the track was alright but what you hated the most (nevermind sounding stuck up) were the fans or atleast some of them. You'd already had too many shit experiences with middle aged white men telling you that Mercedes was a team purely for “show” or that they shouldn't make formula one a “political” sport. Are you fucking joking?

On the other hand, all the women you met were lovely, telling you how proud they were, how amazing you were. But all the men, oh they would either compliment you or insult you, both were equally uncomfortable experiences. Nevertheless, it was something you’ve sadly gotten used to and something you refused to dwell on this weekend. Your pace was superb, you had got pole after all and the idea that a win was in the books was one that kept you awake that night. Although needing the sleep just as bad.

The morning brought a wave of heavily suspected nerves, your hands were shaking annoyingly and you kept having to hide the fact from the cameras, so as to not make a story out of it, something that you inwardly (and outwardly) despised journalists about. Their ability to stick their nose in things so clearly marked “Keep Out!” You'd already seen about seven articles this year, making up some bogus story about how you and charles were secretly dating or some weird romantic trope, getting all these photos of friendly interactions and marking it up to PR interactions and we were secretly dating. It was funny actually, the lengths people would go to just to somehow justify their hate for you. At Least if you were dating a driver they could say you were only in the sport because, oh how did Christian Horner put it. “The drivers are good looking.” Which is exactly why you’d made sure to stay strictly friends with every single one, dating completely and totally outside the Formula 1 fucked up family circle.

As the media commitments finally wrapped up and you did the final interviews before being let go to prepare for the race you bumped into Alex, you admired him as a driver and he was always kind to you, he wished you good luck and congratulated you on your first pole before excusing himself to be escorted to the Williams garage. As you said, you were friendly with most of the drivers. You reach your drivers room and let out a sigh of relief seeing your physio standing there already. You do some quick warmups, stretches exercises before she asks if anything is hurting. You mention a point in your lower back in which she focuses on and does a few different methods on relieving some of the pain before you need to get in the car. You weigh in and settle into the car, brain fuzzed and hands though not shaking were sweaty and your heart was beating so loud you thought you might die, the sound feeling as though it was echoing around your helmet. Checking through the last thing with the engineers, suddenly you were alone on the track, open track ahead of you for the first time, you were starting alongside Max, who you knew was heavily tarnishing your chance of a win, but there was still the hope for a better start and better strategy. Maybe just maybe you could keep him behind?

Formation lap, returning back to your places, you were doing what you were taught, think of nothing, think of nothing, close the door, close the door. Close the door. Breath, you dont dare to blink as you watch the lights one by one before they all go off. Zooming off into the first corner your mind is blank as you like it and you are focused. You’re aware of your jaw tensing as you keep max behind going into turn 8. Your engineer is giving you lap by lap updates but its not helping as you push and push to keep him barely 1.2 seconds behind. You managed the pace but you noticed going into lap 23 that the rear tires were sliding, feeling it through turn 14 and 15 as you glimpsed max in your mirrors just as you swerved slightly. You were still in the lead however and feeling confident enough that pitting know and losing places would just mean others pitting later. You mention on the radio about the rears and they tell you to watch the tire deg for a few more laps and then they’ll bring you in. you reply in a quick yes before racking your brain on how the fuck youre going to handle these for another “few” laps. Not surprisingly max overtakes you on the next lap at turn 10 and you immediately opt to pit. You exit the pit lane acutely aware of the position you will come out in. P10, great. The tires took what felt like years to finally heat up and for you to actually start gaining positions but once you gained one, it all fell into place. The undercut had worked as everyone stopped to pit for fresh tires you gained time and on the 38th lap you’d found yourself right back in p2, comfortably looking at the rear wing of max verstappen who was yet to pit as he started on the hard not the mediums. But, you figured he'd be feeling the rears go soon and you could just wait it out but also, as you were reminded by your race engineer: manage paceand defend behind. Going into the 39th lap you watched as verstappen pulled into the pit lane and your jaw for the first time in nearly 40 laps, relaxed. If you could just keep the tires until the end this was yours. Your engineer alerted you that max had come out in p11 and although he was on mediums, it would still take him what they estimated to be 12 laps to reach the top pack again. Currently you were driving steady, your gaze was forward and you remained ahead by 2.3 seconds, an honourable lead but you could always push. The straights seemed to test the car more as Charles gained 0.8 in the straight but lost that same time almost immediately in the corners. Going into lap 49 your engineer alerted of the gap between you and p2,3,4 and 5. It was only 3 seconds. fuck , fuck fuck. Verstappen was still climbing and you were still losing grip with 8 laps left could you seriously make these shitty tires last, your questioned was answered as you grazed the wall coming out of turn 2, your rear tires simply giving out as you righted the car.

“Did you just see that?”

“Yes we did” “What can I do? I'm losing grip”

“Norris is .9 behind”

“Yeah alright thanks”

No help, cool. But now norris was behind, what happened to Charles. Aw what the fuck these tires were shit and the only hope was the brief 5 laps, however they seemed to be stretching out hopelessly as you locked up again and again. It was nearly undriveable approaching the 54th lap.

“Norris is .7 behind, he has been advised to overtake”

You don’t bother to respond, you’re trying to figure out how the fuck to still win this race, focusing all your will power into defense now as the McLaren inches dangerously closer to your rear wing. You’re cautious as you follow the racing line through turn 11, but your brain clocks out the minute that you glance in the mirror and see Lando Norris’ wheel impossibly close to yours as he attempts an overtake on the outside. You pray for no contact and it's futile, all the fucking effort you put in and the tire management was all fucking useless, because thanks to Lando Norris and his bullshit strategy and sheer fucking selfishness he hits your rear wheel sending you into straight into the barrier. What should’ve been your first win in formula one was made into a fucking joke as you watched the McLaren drive off unopposed. There were simply no words to describe the sheer anger you felt, your jaw tensed again, your teeth fucking shook and suddenly you wanted to cry. You knew you shouldn't.

Reminding yourself of where you were, you lifted your head up, being met with the red and yellow of the barrier.

“Are you okay?”

You have nothing to say, afraid your voice might break or you'll scream. You reach out and lift yourself out of the car.

Nothing could've prepared you for the red that filled your vision as you watched Lando Norris lift up that first place trophy that should've been yours.

Of course you were jealous but you weren't just that. You were fucking furious. Not only had he crashed into you, ruining your race. He had blamed it all on you, in a post race interview he said-

"yeah, no. I mean I don't think anyone is to blame but I also think she was in a position where she should have let me by and when she braked late she sent her wheel into mine."

A fucking lie. nobody is to blame? maybe the person who actually hit your fucking wheel maybe, the person trying to steal my fucking racing line maybe? There was no fucking consoling you as you made your way as quietly as you could to the McLaren garage, at least hoping for an apology. You spot him talking to Carlos and you go over, initially only facing Carlos, congratulating him on his points before turning to Lando, who is standing there with a smug look on your face. You want to punch him.

"I'm sorry about how your race ended Dylan, I really thought you had this one" Carlos sounded genuine and he rubbed your shoulder while he said it. It was a nice thing to say but you were acutely aware of Lando's presence.

"Thanks Carlos" I nod

"sorry but do you think I could speak to Lando alone please?"

he nods and walks off as Lando outwardly groans, you turn towards him and wait. For anything.

"Nothing? Really?"

he raises his eyebrows "What?"

Your nostrils flare and you swallow as you try to fathom this.

"No fucking apology Norris?" its not the most polite thing, but its the most polite things on a list of things to say to him.

he pouts his lips jokingly and then pops his lips.

"Nup."

That's it, something in your brain fizzles over, you're as angry as you can contain and you just stand there stoic looking at his smug fucking face as he holds what should've been your trophy. There is a bitter taste in your mouth as you smile out of sheer disbelief, an unnerving smile before leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

"I didn't brake late and you fucking know it"

You ignored the way his lips twitched into a kind of twisted smile or the way he went to respond before you walked away.

As you walk away from him your breathing is shallow and fast, he doesn’t try and argue with you and you are still fuming as you reach the hotel and try to sleep. Ending up on the treadmill, running until you couldn't be angry anymore but the minute you stopped it all came flooding back, blood on fire again and you were back in those fucking barriers. Your jaw tensed, you would never ever look in the direction of Lando fucking Norris again.

#source: cafekitsune #f1 #f1 fic #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris enemies to lovers #lando norris smut #lando norris angst

611 notes · View notes

parvulous-writings · 1 month

Note

Could I request headcanons for Wyll, Rolan, and Zevlor react to being stuck in close proximity with gn crush?

Warnings: None!

Notes: These may be a little short/uneven, but these were so cute to write!! Anon, you've become such a prominent asker, that I'd love to give you a nickname of some sort, if you're comfortable with that! <3 My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

Wyll

Wyll is a gentleman about the whole situation - or at least he tries to be. He gives you as much space as he is able to, even though he's squishing himself into a corner, he's more than happy to do that so that you're comfortable.

He tries to keep up conversation with you, to try and distract from the somewhat uncomfortable situation; mostly mundane questions, like 'What's your favourite...' or 'Have you ever...' It's also partly to distract you from the fact that his cheeks are burning hotter than the hells. Who'd have thought it'd be easy to fluster the Blade of Frontiers, even if it were only slightly, by being so near to him?

He cannot take his eyes off of you. Not even for a moment. He tries, at first, but finds it astronomically difficult, and eventually just gives in. He loves gazing at you - your presence brings him such peace, even in such a compromising position such as this.

Once the two of you are found/make your way out of the confined space, Wyll apologises - even though it was not his fault - and offers to make it up to you at some point, by however you see fit.

Rolan

Rolan is entirely speechless. He cannot find the words to say anything to you, not even a half-handed snappy quip. His eyes rarely meet yours, and are rather more often aimed off to the side, or somewhere above your heads. It's... Quite awkward.

You try anything to break the silence between the two of you; "Can you move your leg, please, Rolan?" Followed by a quiet shuffle as Rolan tries to move a little bit further from you but still remain comfortable. It is of little use on either front, but he tries. Any question of "how are you feeling?" Or "You okay?" is met with either complete silence, or a quiet grunt of acknowledgement.

Rolan doesn't know what to do, he's never been in a situation like this before - much less a situation where he can't find the words to express himself. His heart is pounding against his ribcage, harder than he can recall it ever being in his life. He's entirely tense, and he has no idea what to do; his normal confident facade has completely crumbled away, leaving little besides anxiety, and a slightly fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever you speak.

The first chance he gets after the pair of you can separate, he all but disappears from view - for several hours. You had wanted to talk to him about it, but couldn't find him anywhere. Eventually you do find him, but as soon as you bring up the situation, he turns his gaze from you; "I... Would rather not dwell on the situation... If it's all the same to you." He's just too flustered still to be able to process any of it.

Zevlor

Zevlor is constantly asking how you're feeling. "Are you sure you're well?" followed a few minutes later with, "Is there anything you need? ... Yes, I am aware I can't go and get anything, but I'm sure you understand the sentiment..."

He constantly asks you if you're alright, comfortable, etc. Neither of you know how long you're going to be stuck in this situation, so is completely understanding of the constant need to shuffle to keep your limbs from going dead. This being said, he'll always tell you if he's going to try and move himself, just so that he can try not to kick you, and you can brace yourself just in case of this outcome.

He tells you of his time in Elturel before it's descent into Avernus, his time as a Hellrider, all sorts. He finds it very easy to share things with you, since he's so sweet on you - it would usually take some probing for anyone to get that kind of information out of him. But, since he would like to establish more of a relationship with you, he's willing to part with some of it.

Once the two of you are out in the open again, Zevlor double checks that you're okay. "I would have hoped to have had some of those conversations in a more... Traditional way. But, I suppose, one cannot deny the deft hands of fate, hm?"

210 notes · View notes

anantaru · 1 year

Text

✧ ۫ 𑄼ల۫ ۪ sfw xiao boyfriend headcanons

because he‘s a lil honey bunch sugar plum 🍀

genre: fluff, gn! reader, sharing kisses, he's struggling, reassurances, xiao‘s clingy

+ ˚ quality time and doing his eyeliner for him

well, xiao needs you close, all the time, your body soothes his skin and loosens his tensed up muscles, it‘s so calming he truly cannot believe it but the moment your soft fingerpads rule on his rough skin, he can finally rest greatly.

as a matter of fact, whenever you do his eyeliner for him, xiao beckones you to sit on his lap.

at first when you suggested to draw it on for him, xiao was more or less flustered and unsure, he doesn‘t want to be a bother but the moment you gently held onto his face to apply the liquid, he found comfort on your tenderness.

besides, it was a win-win situation for him, wasn‘t it?

first, he doesn‘t have to do it himself and second, you‘re so close to him, so warm and soft, he simply cannot stop watching your face slightly tense from concentration.

how you cradled and handled his skin, as if he was made out of the finest, most sensitive material in all of teyvat, operating with great caress.

it’s safe to say that it‘s difficult to you as well, to somehow focus with xiao‘s golden eyes piercing and watching you that intently, gifting you a faint sweetness of a smile.

+ ˚ being vulnerable with each other

eventually, the irrational, darkened thoughts in xiao‘s mind will plague him like an incurable disease, a current of parasites eating him from within, inch by inch, until nothing was left to gnaw on.

at this point xiao‘s expression will change to something haunted and terribly wounded, the air in his lungs heightened and hitching within every newly taken breath in.

for that, you have to be patient. He insists he was okay, yet it's not hard to guess that it was evident he wasn't.

in that, he wouldn't speak much, less than he already did in the first place and keep himself sheltered, xiao doesn't want you to see him in such, weak and disgusting light. he loathed himself very much right now, it brought him to tears which wouldn't fall.

and no matter how many times you tried to get him to open up, in the beginning of your relationship he will not talk nor say anything but a simple "i am fine".

to give him enough space and time was key. there was no victory to be received if you'd urge him to do something he was uncomfortable with it, unfamiliar and embarrassed about.

at this you have to tell xiao that regardless of it all, you will remain where you are and he knew where to find you.

as your emotional bond continues to grow, he will gradually come back and speak, not much, just a bit, reaching his hand out for you to take it as you dwelled in each others warmth together on a cold night in wangshu inn.

the sheer fact that he made an effort to even seek you out despite it all was everything you needed to know.

xiao had it hard and difficult, yet after a while even he will gradually open up and tell you about his worries, the painful suffering he endured and the scaring sensation whenever he got too close to you, whenever he was terrified to hurt the love of his life.

+ ˚ getting used to your touch

to add to the difficulties of the previous point, xiao will admit that your touch might be much easier to get used to than talking about his feelings and concerns.

in the first instance, you will take his rough hand into yours, tracing a single finger over the silent scars on his teared skin.

xiao will shiver, but you carried on with comforting circles on his flesh. his adams apple will bob harshly at every swallow when you placed his hand on your chest at last, on where your heart was located.

in midst of it all, his eyes were wide and glowing, focused on your faint heartbeat and archons, it made him want to protect you even more. it sounded so fragile and tiny underneath his palm.

his free hand you held onto too, intertwining your fingers and keeping him close, relaxing on each other.

it is easy to lose himself in you, to melt into you and seek you close. He was an overly clingy boyfriend, yet he was also oblivious to said fact.

but you did not mind it, his unwavering attention on you was flattering and made your heart flutter with consuming love.

xiao needed nothing but the best and you were here to give it to him, he slightly wiggled himself out of your hold to take your hand into his fully, drawing you closer to his lips to place a soft kiss on each of your knuckles.

one, two, three and four, savoring each kiss and worshipping your person alone.

+ ˚ conclusion and his karma

at last, you will watch his golden eyes and he will oblige to your gaze, the vulnerability laced around them was clear, xiao wanted to be good at this, to be a boyfriend that would make you happy and fulfilled.

even though he wasn't the greatest in searching for help, nor accepting it in the first place, he was ready to come clean with his emotions to you.

yes, it will take time, quite an impressive amount at that but he learned to trust you, after all you were there, right now, aiding him with his karma and handing him enough time to get comfortable with the newfound passion he experienced with you together as one.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #xiao x reader #xiao x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact xiao #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #xiao fluff #genshin impact xiao x reader #xiao x y/n #genshin impact #xiao x reader fluff #genshin impact alatus

2K notes · View notes

eldritch-spouse · 10 months

Text

[Part 8 of Gifted. Fem reader.]

Previous poll winner: Give yourself to Krulu (70.1%)

TW: Strong cultish themes; Macro/micro; Mindbreak; Squirting.

⋆✩ You've reached the end of the run ✩⋆

It's not much of a choice, is it?

If you wanted the easy way out, you could have taken it at several instances by now. Picked someone who was likely to bludgeon you, get on everyone's nerves... You're sure you could have gotten killed in many situations. And perhaps even in a less traumatic way- At the hands of a sick monster, rather than the deity dwelling in this rotpit.

But you've lived this far, survived the menaces who got their grimy hands on you. Only to choose death now? No. No, that's hardly admissible.

You're going to buck till your last dying breath here. Or at least try to.

Summoning strength you don't have, unable to meet the god-entity's eyes, it takes far too long before you can croak out a response.

" I... Offer myself to you. "

The finality of your own words hits you like a train. This is definitely not the type of being that'll let you walk back on your decision, so you've laid down the foundations for your brand new future with that statement alone.

Whatever giving yourself to Krulu implies, you have just signed up for it, and now you'll deal with whatever comes forth. It was your choice. It was the fate you wrote, at least some solace will come from that reminder.

The charred giant squints at you, long and hard. You're not sure what he hopes to gleam behind your eyes. They say eyes are the window to the soul, maybe there's some actual merit to that, aside from mere romanticism and poetic frivolity. Does he hope to find a lie? Deceit? You're sure there's nothing to show but fear, resignation, confusion. Defeat.

" A wise answer. "

Is it really? You'd argue dying would be saner. But you've abandoned hopes of staying sane, you are now remaining alive out of spite. A stubborn bull's desire to have its way even as a torero stabs it time and time again. And the crowd cheers, hoping you'll fall.

When all points of contact are severed between you two and an oppressive silence settles easily, there's no clue as to what your next move should be, so you stand like a statue, risking only chaste glances at their figure.

That's... That's it? It can't be.

" It seems I will have to teach you everything. " The entity spits. " Just as I did with my vessel. I expect you to come out of this apt for service. So listen well, for every time I am made to repeat myself, you will suffer. "

Something behind you knocks harshly onto your back, sending you tumbling forward on the altar, hands and knees on enchanted marble. Your entire upper body throbs with pain and you attempt to wheeze some air in and out of your lungs.

The moment an attempt to sit up is made, a rough foot keeps you down. You're well aware he's not putting half of his weight on it.

" Your first lesson is humility. " Krulu begins. " You shall know your place here, profess yourself to me properly. If you fail to do such, I see no reason to spare your ego. "

You're sure he's not talking about your dignity and pride when he says "ego".

How does one "profess themselves" to a god? What does he want you to say? You take a moment to think about Admin's mannerisms. He clearly likes the woman, and she's visibly -Perhaps manically- devoted to him, so whatever she's doing must be adequate. You suppose you ought to copy the purple-clad woman.

A rising rumble from above lets you know time is of the essence. The weight of a clawed foot increases on you, staggeringly powerful as it forces you to curve further the longer you disappoint this entity. Words force themselves out before you can think too hard and risk being compressed into a sheet of paper.

" M- My lord...? I... I belong to you. " That does not sound natural at all. In fact, it's painfully uncomfortable.

A disinterested chuff reaches your ears after a measured pause. " You sound far from appreciative. I am not convinced of your candor. "

A confused, terrified mind runs a mile a second, trying to think of anything more adequate, more appeasing.

" Allow me to help motivate you. "

Within seconds, the strength on your back is so great that it becomes oppressive, hindering your capacity to breathe further. Something creaks within you, awakening a brand new level of desperation as you fight to get the right answer out before he can smash the means to do such with.

" Please! Please my lord- I'll do anything you ask of me, I'm humbled by your mercy- " You choke, trying to get air into your lungs. " I live to serve you! It's my role. I'm yours. Please spare me! "

And, almost mercifully, the weight recedes a good deal. " Better. Albeit sub-par. "

You aim to survive.

Words cannot begin to express the relief you feel at the loss of his strength on your figure, taking a pained, desperate inhale. As if they could decide to steal your breath away at any moment now. Krulu takes several steps back on the altar, and once more, you're not too sure what to do. Is this what it's like for her? Constantly having to guess what to do in order to please this entity? Having no guides or clues, just the whispers of flames and the ticking of an impatient clock counting the seconds to failure... You can't take that. You couldn't take that for an hour, much less a lifetime.

" But that is forgivable. "

He begins, after a long moment leaving you to your thoughts, it seems.

" The most important task your mouth must perform is pleasuring, after all. "

Something bitter curls in your stomach at that declaration. You chose this. It's this or dancing six feet below the ground.

The massive entity squats upon the marbled surface, easily keeping their balance, arms shifting this way and that as they think, eyes poised on you. Although Krulu is an admittedly gnarled creature far from easy on anyone's eyes, you can't help but think that, sometimes, the light bathes his figure in a manner that's almost soothing. An elegance he has no right to hold. His home is in the shadows, you can tell, but somehow, light gravitates towards him too.

What is a being like this doing here? On Earth. Who is he? What is he? How long has he been pacing in this cage of a building, like a hidden mole? Something in you insists he shouldn't be here, and it's not just animal instinct, it's a... Warning, an idea that crawls to the forefront of your mind, as if you've always known it. He wouldn't be here if he didn't have to.

It's not pity that you feel for this immeasurably powerful being, but something like confusion. For a moment, you see a wounded animal limping on the side of the road after trying to hunt something much greater than itself. It's nature, in a way.

He must have caught that image in the reflection of your eyes, because the way his frown deepens into a scalding snarl has you instantly cowering like a leaf in the wind.

" Come. " They begin, causing your heart to leap into your throat. " Your first trial greets you. "

First trial...? Him? Before you have the chance to utter a single thing, Krulu raises a finger.

" Remember this. All you do is only ever permitted. "

Brows furrowing in an attempt to make sense of his riddle-like wording, you ultimately opt not to spend too much time standing around like an idiot and begin awkwardly closing the distance.

On the second step, something unseen and long bats itself onto the floor hard enough to make the ground shake violently. You fall onto your ass with a pained grunt, horrified and further confused.

" Must I open those ears? " He sneers, a pair of long arms crossed over his chest.

" N- No! I'm sorry- " Palms show in what you hope might placate the being. He's not stomping after you at least. That slitted stare is expectant however.

What does he want now? He said for you to approach, so what was so wrong there...?

All you do is only ever permitted.

Ah. Permission.

Doe eyes glance up. " May I walk towards you? " This sounds like a waste of time, frankly. But you have no idea how gods operate. Maybe this is standard etiquette for them.

His glare softens when you guess what to do correctly. " No. "

Uh. Okay.

" You may not. Crawl, like the worm you are. "

Sighing, you swallow the thoughts that second-guess your prior decision and lower to your hands and knees. The trek towards Krulu isn't long, but it manages to feel depressingly unflattering all the same.

You don't feel sexy or confident, just demeaned. This is not a place for confidence. It's hard to tell what his endgame here is.

" Enough. "

Cautious, your hands settle on your knees and you straighten up, awfully close to the large being's groin. Afraid even looking that way can incite their wrath, scared hues cast themselves to the candles again, trying to siphon that warmth.

The scream you let out once something grabs your whole head cuts off into a startled gasp as it's swiveled back to his likeness.

" On this altar, your eyes are to be fixed on me. "

" Y- Yes, lord. "

It seems the sooner you act accordingly, the faster he stops inducing fear on you, grip relenting.

Another standstill unfurls.

The persistent inability to know what to do next causes slight irritation to bud within you, but all he does is wave one hand dismissively, as if to tell you he's getting bored. To get on with it. You really hope that you didn't misinterpret it when he said "trial." You hope and pray you're not going to get ripped in two with these next words.

" May- " The hairs on your back stand and your voice escapes, defying your will, making you sincerely consider running from this creature. Even if it means certain death. " May I service you? " It comes out your mouth murmured, the death rattle of all dignity.

" Yess. "

With a gulp, you chance a glance at what you're working with, thanking the slight amount of illumination currently available. Like many other monsters you know of, at first glance, Krulu's pelvis appears barren of genital attributes. Though, given his size, it would be a bit hard to miss a thin seam of yellow where his slit parts slightly in this squatted position. Or is it just that he's already bothered? By you? No. No, there's no way...

So, a phallus at least. You're hoping. Who knows what the fuck could be in that pouch at this rate. But that's not the only thing you can see from this position. There's... Something moving below. With a confused squint, you tilt your head and note what appears to be two appendages parting ways like petals unfurling. More yellow reveals itself to you, two small and pointed growths curve forward. It takes you a moment to realize that you're looking at his strange, alien vulva.

Two sets. They really weren't kidding when they called this a "trial". Even when you scoot closer, the nervousness must be crawling all over your face, because he makes a comment.

" Explore. I will correct you. "

Far from reassuring. But then again, he must be incapable of such. Or just uncaring, that's more likely. What are you to him, if not the toy you agreed to be?

Well, time to be smart about things.

Time to set aside the mania in your brain telling you that you, a mere human, are going to engage sexually with a being whose oppressive totality you can't even comprehend, and focus on making things easier for you. Chances are that, taking this entity's magnificent size into account, avoiding his slit is a more intelligent choice. You don't need to be a scientist to know whatever's coming out of that will be scarily massive. Unmanageable perhaps. You're not looking forward to being literally impaled in an effort to appease a charred god.

Heading for his lower set is, by far, the safest bet.

Spreading your legs, your stature sinks further, and you can angle yourself to be mostly beneath his foreign pussy. The deity hums at your choice, adjusting their stance slightly, hips canting and arms moving to support his frame as it is ever so slightly presented to you. Behind him, a rough tail sways slowly, like the pendulum of a clock.

Given a much better look now, you realize that his labia are actually prehensile, moving every now and then. His vaginal opening doesn't seem to differ all that much from a human's in structure, at least outwardly, but what catches your attention is what must be his clitori. Two of them! That must make orgasms fun... They're large too, seeming to poke out their hood without difficulty, like thorns on a rose. For a pause, you're just observing him.

" Do you think it wise to test my patience at this moment? " He says in response to your mute awe.

" N-No! Forgive me, lord. " The fear response has kicked in more effectively, though it's not enough to drown your fascination. " ... You're beautiful. "

Krulu genuinely blinks in surprise. Subtle shock is replaced by a frown. A long finger dances under your chin, claw dragging on the fickle flesh, forcing you forward when it hooks upwards. " Pleasure, pet. Not flattery. "

Fair enough. You didn't mean to let that slip so easily.

Unsure how to go about this in a way that will please this being, whose sexual customs are vastly unknown, you figure starting timidly is smarter. Your hands lift, though the sharp glare you're given instantly make them dart to the marbled altar again.

" May-... May I use my hands? " Silence. " Please? "

" You may. "

At least that.

Tracing a slow path on the inside of this thighs, you edge upwards, marveling at the patterns engraved on the left one, scar tissue turned to infinite swirls. By the time you get to the inevitable, you begin by planting a kiss to the bottom of his entrance, trailing sloppy pecks upwards until your nose nudges against those two growths.

He looks down at you with an equally intense glare. Although where once it was filled with genuine irritation, now it's heated in a different way. No less intimidating however. A chuff is heard from above, those clits flex against the air in a motion that you find oddly erotic in spite of never having had contact with his species before.

A timid lap across the length of his opening is all you can manage to delay before focusing on those two. They look sensitive, they must be naturally, you fear too much direct stimulation can overwhelm him like it does some people. But it only takes a few experimental laps and kisses for him to "correct you". A palm drives your head harder against those buds, and he grinds on your face with a flex of long legs.

" I am not made of porcelain, lesser. "

" F- Forgive me- " Pressed against his cunt hard, all you can do is mumble the words onto it, face aflame. He seems to like the vibrations anyway.

" Take them into your mouth. "

Oh. Right, you can probably do that.

Circling one of their clits with a stubby tongue, you slip it into your warmth and, for lack of any guidance, suck on it cautiously. Krulu grunts something you can't interpret out, sighing when you pop it off your mouth to take care of the twin. With enough care, you manage to slip both in, sucking around the appendages, feeling them twitch on your tongue. It doesn't take long before he lets out a moan, this sound that seems to gently grace the walls, both high-pitched and low, as if two had reacted in unison.

It's a little hotter than it should be when he begins rolling against your mouth, almost causing you to bob. They taste of something intense, spreading an odd, nearly numbing tingle on your mouth. Something's popping in your tastebuds, bitter and sweet at different instances. It causes you to salivate excessively, drool trying its best to break down the complex substance you're coming in contact with. It's not an unpleasant flavor, so you find yourself easily suckling at him without a second thought.

The sound of faint dripping eventually breaks your focus.

You might be shamefully getting wet, but that's certainly not you. It takes a slight pause in your motions to incredulously peek down and spot his cunt clenching, empty, dripping slick in generous amounts. You hit the part of you that's drooling with a rolled up newspaper for being so impulsive. Still, when you quickly get back to servicing his clits, a stray hand coats itself in that viscous lubrication and you slip three fingers in without a hint of resistance. Then four. Honestly, you can slide your whole hand in there.

... Maybe you should?

Fuck it.

Your whole hand gets swallowed into Krulu's pussy, and while your eyes are wide in amusement, wondering if you could put your entire forearm in there, you're more focused in trying to find a spot to rub. It can't be that different from your anatomy, can it? You start palping and stroking with a purpose while slurping on him, determined to find that slightly ruggier tissue- Ah! There we are.

The higher arches, grunting, slipping more of your limb into himself with the jarring movement of his hips. It feels obscene, like you're fisting him. " Hhharder-! Harder, you hear me? "

He snarls, and like Hell you're going to risk unintentionally teasing him more. Your whole fucking palm rubs at what you think is his g-spot, feeling warm insides cling to your fingers, pulling you in with the force behind those reflexive pulses. Mesmerizing... This rolling rumble of a noise nearly shakes the walls, so you'll take it as a sign you're doing well. It's not too long before your arm is soaked by sloppy amounts of lubrication and your lips are puffed from sucking fattened clits. Krulu's sour disposition seems to be melting into a more tolerable demeanor, perhaps high on his enjoyment.

Better horny than angry, you guess.

More noises, this time from above, jolt your attention. Sensing movement, your eyes roam up to spot a sight that nearly makes you choke around the god's nubs. One hand coils over a glowing yellowed cock, shaped oddly just like the rest of him, some sections almost looking like rings. It strokes that length avidly, another hand from a different set of arms comes to rub circles around the head. He looks down at you lecherously, appearing to enjoy the show for a couple of heated moments where your gaze is locked on his and the massive being licks at their cruel grin.

When his head starts to tip upwards in the universal language of an approaching peak, Krulu drags you away from him by the neck, holding your pussy drool soaked face while the two of you catch your breath. The tingles on your tongue start to recede. The giant adjusts his position again, and this time, his massive cock faces you with a bob. Without extremities obscuring it, you can truly bask in its design, familiar, but so much better.

Your earlier point still stands however. There's absolutely no way in Heaven or Hell that cock is fitting anywhere inside you. Ever.

" Not as atrocious as I was expecting. But you are far from done, pet. "

Now curved forward, his great stature looms creepily. You don't see the nudge forward coming, nearly falling forth. Krulu makes an amused sort of titter.

" Resume. "

You almost don't want to crawl back towards him, but you know you need to tough through your own choice. He doesn't move a muscle, merely evaluating as you decide to start the same way you did with his cunt, kissing. One peck at the tip of his shaft, slicked by precum, then down the length you'll never take anywhere hopefully. It's admittedly impressive, the weight of it is such so that you require two hands to hold. And even then, you can't encompass his total girth. It's a beast of a cock, excusing the French.

Despite all odds, you try your best to do something that you think might pleasure him, struggling to jerk Krulu off. In fact, the motions are so clumsy that you believe he's purely just getting off on your pathetic attempts. Kitten licks are offered to a sensitive glans you can only suck at partially. The way those burning eyes shut just a bit further tells you he's at least taking enjoyment out of the whole thing.

It's still startling to feel something rough park at your bare pussy however. The rugged texture makes you believe it might be his tail for a second, but with the tapping of what can only be fingertips, you realize he's lowered a hand for you to sate yourself with. It rubs at your folds, spreading your own wetness and pressing knowingly over a bundle of nerves while you sigh around his girth.

" Are you daft? "

His voice isn't soothing at all. It's like... Wood bark in your ears, like branches snapping and scraping asphalt. You can only blink and gulp, befuddled.

" Fuck yourself on my fingers, you witless creature. "

That shouldn't have made your cunt clench the way it did. Though, at this point, you've stopped questioning why you're being aroused by gradually more obscene situations. In fact, enjoying this will make it a lot more bearable.

It's not too easy to multi-task, and given his impressive motor control of so many limbs, he must think your struggles are pitiful. Tentatively, you grind over his fingers, trying to slot them inside your warmth and getting struck by powerful shivers when he curls them helpfully. Thin and long, they slide into your walls with ease and reach places you've never been touched in before. Or maybe it's the way that he touches them. You have no doubt he could lift you by the cunt if he wanted to, and the bizarre thought has a quick moan making it past your lips, starting to roll into the friction with a little more gusto.

Krulu encourages you by hooking his phalange-like fingers, claws kept expertly folded. You feel your legs quaking and flexing in the wake of a god's touch, pleasure dawning upon you at a surprising rate. Although he's far from kind, far from safe, some itch in the back of your mind tells you to give in, to offer this entity your body and mind and all else they may crave of you. Because, somehow, someway, you understand that is your purpose. You understand you're looking at someone you should never defy and always, always seek to please.

He is your real God. And this is your new faith.

This sudden line of thought causes some genuine concern within you, as it's something completely out of left field. Never once have you felt so intensely about something. It must be his doing, it has to be. Ad yet, it feels right. Appropriate. Warming. You're not even aware your mouth is parted in silent bliss until Krulu appears to chuckle at your state.

" You will coat my hand in your effort to please me. And with your release, your role here is forever sealed. "

The hypnotizing finality of his statement is as striking as it is wonderfully arousing to you. Enough so that your heart cartwheels in your ribcage and your pace on his generous hand hastens. Maybe it won't even be so bad, you ponder while slicking his cock like a treat, you'd be protected, you wouldn't have to care about anything anymore. And you could get railed day and night by the monsters who lusted after you tonight, by the rest of them, the ones you can't help but fantasize about.

What would fucking the mimic be like? He deserves it for bringing you inside, for introducing you to your fate properly. And that slime, his kind has always exhibited such strange mating customs, how wild would things get? Oh, wasn't there a robot too? Your poor pussy drools as hard as your mouth does, each throbbing pulse of your walls hypnotically ebbing away your common sense. You're well aware pieces of your sanity have been chipping off like old pottery since the start of your contact with this god, but it doesn't feel as horrific as it should, it doesn't raise alarm or concern in you anymore.

Spiritualism isn't something you're very inclined to, but your mind tells you this is where you should be right now. And with that affirmation, everything seems to calmly slot into place again. Everything is as it should be.

" Y- Yes, my lord. "

Lashes flutter to a close briefly while you do your damndest to try to offer the deity more pleasure, unable to welcome him into your comparatively minuscule mouth. He grows fevered, legs shifting to feed more of himself into your grasp, likely frustrated by his mounting need, or perhaps being rough just for the sake of it. A jut of dark hips has that bright yellow length gliding on the side of your face in a debauched gesture that has you wondering if he could climax by simply grinding on your complexion. Eventually, slick, swift noises reach you, and judging by his moaning pants, you can only guess he's fingering himself to the scene.

Morbid curiosity has you peeking, the rhythmic plunging of equally dark digits into his sopping cunt confirming it. When you look back up, Krulu offers you a salacious rictus before thrusting hard, mean, just to jostle you.

" Lord- Lord Krulu- I'm doing my best, but I... I just can't fit you anywhere. I'm sorry- "

" Is it so? " The giant muses knowingly. " Well lesser, you will have to find a way to make me come somehow. Surprise me. "

Mind racing, you halt your motions on the now static hand between your legs, trying to figure something worth his time. A rotten little image finally surfaces, and you hope your filthy mind won't fail you now, of all times.

" Can... Can you please lower a bit more, Lordship? "

Krulu tilts their head subtly, elegant horns following, though your wish is granted. And so, you quickly scoot to be further beneath him, enough so that his heavy member rests on your front, from abdomen to chest and neck. The weight and warmth of it against your bare skin is a previously unknown sensation that you think you can get accustomed to, hands lifting to try to stimulate him in some manner, even pressing your breasts against him to whatever extent you can.

If he didn't think you were pitiful, he does now- Face flushed and dripping down his fingers, presenting yourself like some inanimate object to rut onto.

" Interesting... " He muses, and you can't be too sure if that's approval or an insult.

For some reason or another, the charred giant plays along, leaning forward to let himself grind against your body, each rock unavoidably powerful and gradually wetting you in his precum, a primitive marking ritual if there ever was one. Each back and forth has your face hotter than a furnace as you try, almost pointlessly, to lick at the end of him whenever it's close enough, oftentimes graced with a sloppy nudge against your cheek and mean-sounding chuckling from above.

Distantly, you wonder if this is what Admin goes through regularly. She's clearly his favorite, maybe this is a daily thing for them. It's easy to understand why her reverence of this being is so genuine and unbreakable. You can't help think that you'd be drawn here anyway, sooner or later.

Nothing matters anymore except doing as you're told, shuddering out moans and trying your best, apparently doing enough to warrant a reward as Krulu begins plunging his digits into you faster and harder than you've ever been fingered before, having tears prick at the corners of your eyes as it feels like he's fucking you himself in spite of being currently held between your breasts and arms. There's no mistaking the growls that dip into snarls low enough to rattle you, felt between every point of contact you have, rippling on your form, only speeding up your own approaching end.

Unable to squirm away from the relentless finger-fucking, it's all too soon before you're taken to the edge and near effortlessly tipped into a raging orgasm. Although it surprises you enough to let out a scream-like cry of ecstasy, you soon realize you're dealing with a god. He could probably kill you from orgasmic bliss alone if he wanted to. And you definitely feel something in your mind short-circuit, vision blurring with each pulse of a throbbing cunt around speedy, thin extremities. You're faintly aware of the fact that you just gushed onto Krulu's hand. Though neither of you are very concerned with that, you only struggle to breathe in the wake of growing overstimulation, arms now limp and body nearly falling back from how tensely it arches.

This feels like more than just an orgasm, if that's even possible.

Your lord detaches himself from your figure entirely, leaving a sweaty, goosebump-covered body to heave and sway, nipples as pert as the still twitching clit between your jelly-like legs. It's increasingly hard to focus on anything but the soft murmuring of the candles and the way light flickers off tapestry, but you register the motion of your head being yanked upwards to face Krulu while he rises to pump himself over you feverishly.

The erotic bucking of his hips into several pairs of lewdly moving hands over his own cock is hypnotizing. You can't help but watch his face keep contorting into different expressions of equally intense pleasure, until, all of a sudden, he makes a sound you can only call a roar. Loud and throaty and self-indulgent, reverberating in the very depths of your soul and rattling your skull with its volume.

The first splatter of cum on your body is jarring, eliciting a startled yelp followed by a heated groan when it's followed by more and more shots, all thick coats of Krulu's enjoyment of you. His approval of a brand new servant. Their seed all but leaves no part of you untouched, wide eyes having to shut themselves so as to not get pelted in the process. You can't help gasping and moaning like an animal at the sensation. Globs cascade down your belly and slide across your entrance. There's little else your boiled mind can do aside from merely pant and remain still like a depraved figurine covered in pearly white wax.

" Welcome to The Clergy's Eye, my present. "

Is the last thing you're able to coherently interpret before your mind starts distorting things again.

In between the following moments, could have been seconds or hours for all you'll ever know, you recall the image of a somewhat concerned and agitated green man with a pumpkin for a head looking you over. He murmured something fogged and unintelligible to your drunken self and seemed to carry you elsewhere in a hurry, much too fast for your muddled thought process and reflexes.

The glow of the elevator hurts your eyes.

The ballerina spins slowly on top of her stage, a soft, cheerful tune ringing across paint-splattered orange walls, the sound of rain softly cascading outside adding a homely element to things.

You sigh, comforted, leaning into Vinnel's gloved motions as he ties pink lace around your neck and forms a ribbon on the back. His gurgled hums fall in tune with the melody and he appears to be genuinely content. He always is when he gets to dress you up, it's become a beloved part of his routine.

" There we are, my pretty poppet! Do a spin for me! " The jester suddenly peels back, twirling in the air.

You stand in the frilled pink and white dress outfit he spent the better part of an hour perfecting, feeling gorgeous, softly painted cheeks rising and creasing the corners of your eyes when you smile for him. Grabbing the hem of your dress, you spin twice and feel warm at his exaggerated reaction.

" Uhuhuhuhu! Showstopping! Brilliant! " Vinnel titters, clapping enthusiastically before landing on the ground of his room to lightly boop you on the nose. " You're ready to head out then, missus. "

" Thank you, Vinnel. " And even though you sound perfectly innocent, when you hug him, one of your hands drifts down to palm at the heart shape on his groin, rewarded with a husky growl.

" Go on now, poppet. It's too early for games, you little slut. " He muses, stepping away to open the main door in his room so the two of you can head out.

Today, Admin requested to have breakfast with you, so you dutifully get on the elevator and head to the restaurant floor, finding the woman already seated in a pristine table, waving you over. Your feet quickly trot you over to her, sitting obediently and greeting your superior.

" Well well, look at our little model today. " She teases.

" Ah, thank you! Vinnel outdid himself. "

" Certainly. This is much more palatable than the bruises he likes to put on you usually. " You have to agree with her here, some spots of your body are still sore where he clawed at days ago.

Grimbly eventually zooms his way to the two of you with a tray containing your breakfast. A variety of pastries deposited on your side while Admin seemed to only want her coffee, always a shade of black so intense that it made it look as if she was drinking a void. The waiter wags his tail and beams at you, placing a sweet kiss to your cheek and cooing at your look before being waved away by the brunette.

" How do you feel about your stay here so far? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't appear to regret your decision. " She sips from the steaming cup.

The answer is almost automatic.

" O-Oh, it's been really nice! Everyone wants me here so much, I... I like all my coworkers, it really feels like home. " You confess, feeling a tad sheepish but standing by your words. " I can't describe how fulfilled I am nowadays. I'm happy when... Everyone's happy. It's hard to explain but I really feel like I've gained- "

" Purpose? "

You pause. Yeah. That's precisely the word. How come she's always so right? " Exactly. "

Admin nods, a tiny smile on small lips. She got whatever response she wanted out of you, it appears.

" I'm glad we see things similarly. " Her eyes unfocus, following the swirl of her bottomless coffee cup as if it calls to her sweetly. " It's... Nice, having a human acquaintance here. " It's said with a hint of shock, as if the revelation surprised even her.

You can't help but preen under the praise, offering the woman one of your palmiers. She declines politely, and it's when you return to staring at your plates that you finally see the little note attached to one of them.

Good morning, love. I'll see you soon, hopefully.

A small series of scribbled hearts circle the message, you know exactly who it's from.

" Santi. "

There's a hum from the brunette in front of you. " Mhm, he paid for those. "

" Aw... That's really sweet of him. " Truly, he's always been a sweetheart, since the very start of all this, however long ago that was. Time is barely a concern for you anymore.

" Sometimes he still gloats about being the first you chose, you know? " She grins for a short second. " I think you inflated his ego forever. "

The knowledge makes you actually burst out laughing for a few hearty second where the sound echoes off the vastly empty restaurant. That's adorable, honestly.

" Oh , he might just become my favorite if he keeps buying me treats like this. " A joke you know, had you said it to the rest of them, an argument would instantly break out.

" Why shouldn't he treat you a little today? " Admin's brow rises, head tilted in that way that almost reminds you of Krulu, when he's more comfortable. Still, she knows something you don't, causing you to blink and sit there like a dumbfounded donkey.

" ... You haven't put it together yet, have you? "

No. No, you haven't.

The chestnut-eyed woman crosses her legs and snickers quietly. A couple of seconds pass where she expects you to make a sudden discovery, but the eureka moment isn't coming any time soon.

Finally, she takes mercy on you with a shake of the head. " It's been a year since you were gifted to us. "

...

A year. Has it been that long already? It felt like a miserable few months, if that much. Everything is just so fast here, it really does feel like yesterday when you were screaming at Hellion and Pebble in the garden.

Has it really been that long since you left everything behind?

Strangely enough, bits and pieces of your life before becoming a part of The Clergy are becoming harder to recall in clear detail, faces blur and places become nameless. You don't know what you used to do for a living, or what your routine is. Where did you even live? It doesn't sound important anymore. It isn't.

You're exactly where you should be.

Suddenly, the seat you're currently on ripples and shifts bizarrely, a vibrating purr-like noise spreading across your legs as the chair appears to grow a discolored grayish set of shackled arms and grasps your stocking-clad thighs with them, something wet and slimy brushes against your ankles. The mimic relishes your startled yelp and only holds onto you harder, tittering at having fooled you efficiently. That goofy bastard.

" Hm, they're going to be all over you today... " She sighs like a disappointed babysitter.

" Get ready. "

#Krulu oc #Vinnel oc #Sybastian oc #terato #monster x reader #monsterfucker #monster smut #terat0philliac #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #Gifted🎀

400 notes · View notes

whiskersz · 2 months

Note

Hello, 👻 anon here! Saw that you're accepting three requests for Adam and well, he's one of my favorites so here I am!

I actually requested this on another blog a while ago, but I'm curious about your take on it. So, would you be willing to write platonic headcannons or ficlet (up to you) for Adam with a gender neutral teenage angel reader? Like the reader died as a teenager and somehow and for some reason Adam took them under his wing. And after a while, the reader starts to see Adam as a father figure and one time the reader accidentally calls Adam 'Dad' but they are very embarrassed about it.

Hope this makes sense, but if it's too specific for you, feel free to decline!

Hope you're doing well!

👻

Hey Ghost! This is such a sweet request, especially for Adam, since he doesn’t exactly have a heart of gold. Reader must have done something really special for him to take them under his wing.

Anyways, here is my interpretation; I ended up basically making up a short story lol, got really into it...hopefully you enjoy!!

Platonic Father Figure Adam x Reader

It took you a while to get used to residing in Heaven, that’s for sure; despite getting the warmest of welcomes from both Saint Peter and the other Angels who would later become your friends, you still found it hard to settle in.

That is until you met Adam.

Adam is very well known both for being the very first man ever created and also the first human soul to ever enter Heaven, and for his notable personality. He’s egotistical, cruel and an overall depraved soul, making you wonder what it really took for a deceased human to end up in Heaven. But let’s not dwell on that too much.

You and Adam met through the concerts of his band; not that he’s the most famous guitar player in Heaven, his band is rather small actually, but you actually have to thank that for getting you multiple meetings with him and the rest of the group. You kind of see them as a family at this point, Adam included.

You actually end up helping them sometimes, with either the lyrics of their songs or the sonority of their music in general. Everyone appreciates you a lot, although every time you express a negative opinion on how Adam’s bit sounds he’s not afraid of basically telling you off. He secretly values your opinion a lot though, and in his free time, when he’s not busy practicing with the rest of the band or taking care of Extermination matters, he revises on his own on whatever piece sounded off to you.

Either way, Adam ends up becoming pretty protective of you; he even warns his right hand woman, Lute, to never treat you in the wrong way, and from that moment on she gains a lot of respect for you as well.

You three are rarely seen walking around without each other actually, unless you’re out and about with your other friends your age, in which case he warns you that they better treat you right or you’re never seeing them again, to which you retort with saying that this is very unlikely since you’ve known them for a while and this is Heaven after all, if they’re here they must’ve earned it somehow. He simply replies that in the rare case that they do something distasteful to you he’s completely willing to send them where they belong – in Hell.

Adam manages to tone it down with the rude nicknames when it comes to you; he will still call you ‘bitch’ or anything of the like, or he might call you a little asshole from time to time if you do something that mildly annoys him, but he will never go too overboard as he doesn’t really wish to make you uncomfortable – the thoughts in his head though might sound something like: “Ah, shit. I basically became a father figure, call them something weird and they’re gone Adam, gone.”

The one time you manage to make Adam, the First Man, emotional, is the night before the Extermination.

With Charlie’s father, Lucifer himself, somehow getting her to visit Heaven and discuss with Sera and Emily themselves, you’re worried that he might be planning to make an appearance and hurt Adam.

Adam dismisses your theories, even dares to call them stupid, and in a fit of emotion you blurt out a “But I don’t want to lose you just for being careless, dad!”.

You quickly realize what you just said and both your hands travel to your mouth, a shocked expression on both you and Adam’s faces.

He mumbles a ‘shit’ before pulling you into a hug with his wing.

“Promise I’ll watch my back, kid.”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #x reader #adam x reader #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x reader platonic #platonic #hazbin hotel #hazbin

140 notes · View notes

bird-inacage · 7 months

Text

Only Friends: EP8 Sand & Ray's 'Never Friends' Scene

I wanted to do a deep dive into this scene, because it really exceeded my expectations. It sets the tone beautifully for Sand's current state of mind, and First delivers such a wonderful, nuanced performance here. Easily one of my favourite Ray/Sand interactions yet.

Sand is looking noticeably weary after witnessing Ray and Mew dancing in the bar. The poor boy just looks so tired and dejected, as if he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Unfortunately for him, the bar is where he works so he's not able to avoid being in a place Ray and Mew frequent together.

Ray approaches and tries to behave as he normally would. He asks to borrow Sand's lighter, a little call back to Episode 1. The camera lingers on Ray's reaction when Sand simply hands it over. Another nod to where Sand had lit his cigarette for him previously. A split second detail, a very clear message: 'It's not my role to take care of you anymore. You have someone else for that now'.

Sand being Sand, is still concerned about how Ray is doing and asks about his arm. They fall into a little routine patter before Sand gets straight to the point. I give him such kudos for doing this, for choosing not to skirt around the subject but confront it head on. Besides, it's not as if avoiding it is going to make it hurt any less. "So what's going on between you and Mew?" Sand frames it as a question, because he wants to hear it from Ray himself. It's the least he deserves. There's also a challenging air in the way Sand looks at Ray with his eyebrows slightly raised. 'Humor me. And don't lie.'

Ray looks visibly uncomfortable and hesitant. I do believe Ray exhibits a conscience where Sand is concerned. He at least has the decency to feel guilty. I think he was hoping they could continue 'as normal' for a little while longer, so he wouldn't have to tackle this difficult conversation. Ray's wordless reaction gives Sand all the confirmation he needs.

Before Ray has anything to say, Sand jumps in with, "Congrats, you're no longer in the friend zone." The way he says this feels 100% genuine. I do think that Sand wishes the best for Ray, because he's in exactly the same position as Ray once was - pining after someone who doesn't return his feelings. So he gets it. He can acknowledge how nice it must be for Ray to finally be reciprocated. This is an example of Sand's 'if you're happy, I'm happy for you' response, because it means the attention is deflected off him.

What Ray says next is also quite telling. He's says things are good but it's very early days, and they're essentially seeing how it goes. "It's okay." Note how Ray doesn't gush or seem particularly animated. A few brief but fairly non-descriptive comments. You'd expect him to be over the moon. I feel like this is Ray's attempt to be minimise the damage by downplaying things. He doesn't want to overly dwell or flaunt his happiness in Sand's face. I also believe there's a degree of honesty here, that Ray has some genuine reservations about Mew and their future as a couple, (that perhaps he's been trying to ignore).

The next few lines absolutely gutted me. "Good, you can finally end the secret crush. Such a waste of time, right?" 'Good for you, you're no longer suffering (like I am)'. When Sand talks about a waste of time, he's referring to himself. 'At least you no longer have to kill time with me, when you really wanted to be with Mew, what a relief that must be.' Sand is massively self-deprecating here. The time they spent together was not special. It didn't have the same meaning to Ray as it did to Sand. Everything he did was meaningless in context because he thinks Ray was simply 'settling for second best' in the meantime. Sand often uses this tone to imply his own foolishness. For continuing to care so much for Ray when he's getting nothing back.

Ray then asks "Are you okay?" I've noticed that when Ray poses this question, he's not really asking. He already knows or he wouldn't ask in the first place. He's basically saying, 'You're not okay but tell me why', allowing Sand to further divulge. However, Sand is never going to give a honest answer to that question. He's always putting on a brave face and pretending to be okay even when he clearly isn't.

Sand then comes back with his classic, "Why wouldn't I be?" "You're seeing someone you've always loved. It's a dream come true." Not a single thing Sand is saying is about his own feelings. His own pain. His own turmoil. He's purposely shifting the focus to Ray, 'well you're happy so I don't matter. It's your dream come true, so my feelings aren't part of this equation' - which just breaks my goddamn heart. 'Who cares what I feel or think about this. I get no say.'

Ray ponders for a second or two. You can tell he's at a loss as to how to salvage things with Sand without losing him completely. So he offers the next best thing he can, in order to still keep Sand around. "Can we still be friends?" Which means, 'I still want to spend time with you. I still want you to be part of my life'. And Ray's face is full of hopeful naïveté that Sand will agree (this boy really has no idea how agonising that would be). For Sand, this is like adding insult to injury. 'Friends' has no clear definition in Ray's terms, and Sand is wary of Ray's tendency to blur that line. So Ray asking him if they can still be friends doesn't really mean anything, which prompts Sand's "You and I have never been friends from the get-go". 'We need to stop fooling ourselves that what we were doing was ever friendship. I've woken up, you need to too'. Sand is not prepared to participate in muddying the waters, especially now Ray is dating someone. It's not fair to anyone involved.

"We have nothing in common. Besides, I don't know why I should be friends with you." This is probably the harshest thing Sand says in this entire conversation. He's very pointedly trying to create distance. Despite evidence to the contrary, he's alluding to differences between them that should justify that distance, justify him pulling away. Sand is just so resigned and matter of fact about all this because he knows there's nothing Ray can say to refute his thinking. It's all far too late anyway.

Ray displays a moment of slight panic and he's clearly thrown by this. 'It's not like that. Don't reduce it to that'. One thing we can be sure of is it upsets Ray to imagine no longer having any connection to Sand. This indicates to me that Ray does value Sand in his own way. Right now he just has no idea what he can offer to keep Sand close to him, because there is no legitimate reason for doing so since he now has Mew.

As a form of consolation, or perhaps a last ditch attempt to tug on Sand's heart strings, he admits, "but when I'm with you, I'm so damn happy." Ray means well by saying this, as in you make me happy. 'That's got to mean something, right?' But by phrasing it this way, it comes across as he's making this all about him. Sand is desperately searching for evidence to prove Ray does care about him, and he keeps coming up empty. He's run out of reasons to stick around anymore. And Ray's not saying the right things to prove him wrong.

Sand deflects again. '(So what if I might make you happy?) You'll be happy with Mew too. I'm nothing special. You'll get to spend time with him in the same way we did'. "You might even be happier," said with a smile no less. Another absolutely gut wrenching line. Sand's sadness clears briefly and he looks sincerely like he wishes Ray the best. It almost feels like a farewell of sorts. 'He'll make you happier than I did. Because I'm not good enough. I'm not what you want.' This is yet further indication that Sand doesn't think he's left any lasting impression on Ray. Whatever they shared with one another, Ray can easily replicate with Mew instead. He's easily replaceable.

Ray reaches out to stop Sand from walking away. Ray is conflicted. He feels regretful over Sand, which he shouldn't be feeling. He's worried that this time Sand is really slipping from his fingers, and there's nothing he can do about it. Because what's done is done. He chose Mew. So what else is there to say?

Sand follows up with, "Let me go already." 'Stop torturing me. Stop giving me false hope when you've already made your choice. Forget me so you can continue being happy and I can move on. Don't make this difficult for me.' Even in this line, I can hear Sand's care for Ray permeating through it. Sand knows he's isn't what Ray wants. He can make Ray happy but not happy enough to choose him. So the best he can do is to send Ray on his way, and to wish him well. All he asks is for Ray to return the favour, and leave him alone to heal. Akin to his addiction, Sand is telling Ray that he needs to let go from clinging to him like a crutch. Because the only purpose he serves is a crutch and nothing more.

He wants Ray to want him for him, and not as a safety net. Not because he provides Ray with some form of temporary comfort or company. Not because he's a means to pass the time.

Why I adore this scene so much is due to the enormous strength and kindness Sand displays here. He could have been much colder with Ray. He could have been petty, outraged, bitter, resentful. But you truly sense his helpless love for Ray throughout the entire interaction. He's still trying to deliver his message in the most considerate way he can manage. He firmly holds his ground but without any malice. 'The tragedy is I can't help but love you, despite what you've done to me'.

#only friends #only friends the series #ofts #only friends meta #ray x sand #sand x ray #raysan #sanray #khaofirst #firstkhao #first kanaphan #khaotung thanawat #crying into my pillow #this scene hurt me so much #sand breaks my heart so badly #how many ways can you feel pain? YES #this BOY *sobs*

302 notes · View notes

deejayrockz · 1 year

Text

PAIRING — teacher!wilbur x teacher!reader

SUMMARY — the grumpy geography teacher gets teased about his slightly obvious crush on the english teacher across the hall.

NOTES — grumpy x sunshine trope, shy!wilbur because i said so, fem!reader (use of miss when referring to reader).

EXTRAS — i am in love with this idea so badly ohmyggoodd, written at 2am so might be sloppy my bad 💔 short little drabble i had, might expand on it tomorrow

Wilbur, or Mr. Soot as his students know him, was currently in his room, sitting in the most uncomfortable teachers chair you could ever imagine. The class he currently taught were silent, as they usually were for him, heads down working on some past paper he had found for them to complete.

Wilbur has never quite understood how teachers had enough time in the day to come up with fun learning ideas for their students, but he never dwelled on it long, as he enjoyed waffling on about different countries and places. His students didn't quite enjoy it (they made that clear after multiple students had called him the 'boring teacher').

"Mr. Soot?" He heard your voice from the doorway, causing his head to lift up, looking at you with a sort of calm expression. This was rare to see on his face, as it was usually flat with the odd smile every now and again.

"I believe these are yours," You walked closer, seeing the printed papers he had sent off just a few minutes ago, in your hand, "English printers are broken, had to use the geography ones, hope I wasn't too much of a bother."

You could never be a bother. Not to him, atleast. Wilbur had decided he had simply admired your teaching skills, nothing more, nothing less.

"You weren't, thank you," He muttered. He could feel his cheeks tingle slightly as your hands brushed when he took them out of your hand and placed them on his desk.

The minute you left he heard small snickers from his students, arguably causing his face to heat up more. He sighed, which had just made the students giggle a little more. He wouldn't deny the embarrassment he felt after realising the whole class had now believed that he and the sweet, caring english teacher had something going on.

After what felt like the most painful and excruciating 10 minutes of his life, the class had finally ended, leaving him alone in his classroom for break. Well, he was alone. Until you decided that those very embarrassing 30 seconds you spoke while in his room weren't enough.

"Hey, Mr. Soot," You smiled, walking into his room and perching yourself on one of the empty desks. He sent you a smile before forcing himself to look away, paying insanely close attention to the paper he was marking.

"Hey," He replied, looking back up at you from his desk

"You seem lonely." Your legs swung back and forth as you crossed your ankles together, leaning back on your palms.

"It's nice, prefer the quiet." Will leaned back in his chair, twiddling with a pen he had in his hand.

"So, you wouldn't enjoy keeping me company during lunch and breaks?" You raised your eyebrows, tilting your head in a mocking manner. He scoffed, as if you were joking. You weren't.

"Don't you usually have students in there?"

"I do, but they wouldn't mind an extra person. Besides, I much prefer talking to someone my age than some 15 year old," You smirked, standing up from your seated position on the desk, and making your way out.

"It'll be nice for a change, I promise," You smile at him and he swears his heart skips a beat. That shouldn't be normal. Should his heart be moving so quickly? He was forced to not send himself into a deep spiral of possible medical problems he could have wrong with him, as the bell had gone off, signalling third period.

Fourth period, with a class of year sevens that had just had a geography lesson, was arguably the worst. It was lunch next, and they were all hungry, tired, and usually annoyed from their last lesson. However, today seemed a little different. They seemed almost relieved, as if their last lesson wasn't so bad.

"Hey, Miss, did you see Mr. Soot today?" One of them had asked, as you paused from writing the date on the board.

"Yeah, I saw him earlier, why?" You turned, facing the smiling eleven year olds in their seats.

"Did you see how happy he was?" Another had asked, "He was standing up, moving his hands around, he even smiled more than three times, that's a new record."

"Oh, right," You smiled, going back to teaching literature as your class kept cutting in to babble about possible theories. A new girlfriend. A baby. God, they even suspected he had a wedding coming up, but that was quickly shut down by another student, claiming (and i quote), "He wouldn't have the guts to get down on one knee."

It was rude, but you let out a small giggle anyway, as did the rest of the students. After a long lesson of gossiping about the geography teachers possible love life, with a side of english, the bell had finally rung, dismissing the students to lunch. If you told everyone you heart didn't almost explode when a certain teacher had come into your room and sat down next to you, ignoring the small side eyes he got from some year 11s eating their lunch with you, you'd be lying.

"Mr. Soot, I thought you preferred eating alone? That's what you told us when we offered you join us," A student had asked, brushing their hands on a small napkin they were forced to clean the table up with after they ate.

He simply shrugged, tugging his chair slightly closer so he fit right next to you. Your knees almost touched. It took everything in him to not give you a slight nudge on the knee, fearing he'd stretch the teacher/co-worker boundaries too far. Those fears of his, however, were soon revoked, when you had moved your leg over to slightly graze his as you sat.

"I've been told by some little birdies that you were extra chirpy third period, any reason why, Mr. Soot?" You teased, placing the empty salad tub on your desk, planning to throw it out later. His face had been tinted a small pink ever since your knees brushed and he had started to realise just how pathetic he was.

26 years of age and he was blushing over some knees touching together. God, he needs to get his act together.

"I don't know what you're talking about," He muttered, smiling when he heard you laugh. Atleast you found him funny.

"Sure, Will, sure," You smirked, standing up and ruffling his hair as you walked past, presumably to go fill up your water bottle in the hall.

He didn't usually enjoy being called Will by co-workers. It always felt too personal. He had never fully had a bond close enough with one of his coworkers where he liked being called Will, but it felt different coming from you. The way it slipped off your tongue so easily would make anyone believe you had been friends for a while. A while as in two maybe three years, not two maybe three hours.

He had known of you, especially when you first joined around a year and a half ago, with all the students gushing about how patient you were with them, but he had never really bothered to get close enough to have a full conversation with you.

"Sir, are you and Miss dating?" A different student had asked, causing small giggles to arise from the few girls sitting around her.

"Uhm," He pursed his lips, feeling insanely awkward, "No, definitely not."

"Awh, I was starting to think we had something," You pretended to frown, patting his shoulder as you came back into the classroom. You were obviously teasing, but it still didn't fail to make his cheeks heat up a tad bit more.

"Shut up," He smirked, looking back down at the papers as the girls had laughed. The blush that coated his cheeks was most definitely noticeable, as you poked at a dimple he had on the left side, causing him to swat away your hand with a roll of his eyes.

Maybe some company during lunches wouldn't be so bad after all.

#wilbur soot #wilbursoot #professor wilbur #lovejoy #teacher wilbur soot #grumpy wilbur #grumpy x sunshine #wilbur x reader #wilbur x you #wilbur soot fluff #wilburfromlvjy #ccwilbur #fluff #trope

472 notes · View notes

heartateasee · 2 months

Text

“Six”

Word Count: 7.4k

(The final chapter of ‘Goodnight and Go’)

⋆★★⋆

*Night before the wedding*

I'm currently laying on top of my bed at the hotel I've just checked into. Gwen wanted the bridal party to stay in a hotel close to the venue the night prior to the wedding. She said it was so we would all be here and leave together to head to the venue tomorrow morning to get ready with hair and makeup - there would be no chance of anyone running late. I tried to tell her that I would be here on time since I only lived a few blocks away, but she wasn't having it. Of course, I gave in.

My hands rest on my stomach as I pick at one of my cuticles, chewing on the inside on my cheek. I had so many emotions flowing through me that I didn't really know what to feel. It's like instead of letting myself focus on one of them and bring it forward, I was just trying my best to push them all away.

Harry avoided looking at me at dinner after I told everyone I was moving, and I know it's because he's upset that I didn't tell him.

And I hate how good it kind of felt to keep something from him for once.

He kept asking my sister out on a date from me. He kept him planning to propose to my sister away from me. He kept buying a house with my sister away from me.

I was coming to the realization that he only hid the big things between him and Gwen under wraps - the milestones. As much as I wanted to get to the root of why that was, I knew it was better if I didn't dwell on it. I'm sure underneath everything it has something to do with his previous feelings for me. Maybe he feels the need to keep things really separated in that aspect.

I'm drawn out of my thoughts when I hear a knock at my door, and I sit up on my elbows - looking over to it. I wait a moment before it comes again. I push myself off the bed, thanking myself for not changing out of what I was wearing from the rehearsal dinner yet, and I open the door to reveal my mother.

"Mom, is everything okay?" I ask, and she just looks at me before making her way instead. I roll my eyes and close the door behind her before muttering under my breath. "Sure, just come right in."

Turning around, I see she walks over to the table that's in the corner of the room with a chair and she sits down. "Please take a seat on the bed, Carter."

The tone she's using has a knot forming in my stomach, but I swallow down my anxiety as best as I can. I do as I'm told, and I make sure to hold her eyes so she doesn't reprimand me any further.

"Do you want to explain to me why all of a sudden you're moving, and why you felt it was appropriate to announce that at your sister's rehearsal dinner?"

"Oh, well, I didn't think that-"

"Well of course you didn't think. I believe we've already established that with how you carried out your actions. The night before your sister's big day, a night that's supposed to have the focus on her, and you somehow go and make it about yourself again," my mother shakes her head before letting out a heavy sigh. "You had been doing so well for a while, and it's like after Harry's bachelor party you started begging for attention again."

I grimace slightly at her words. "My intention was never to have the attention on me tonight, and I can promise you that. I just figured that we had everyone in one place. I thought that it would be easier just to tell you all then instead of having to tell each person individually. Gwen tried making it a bigger deal than it was. But you also focused the attention on me when you asked me where Alfie was. You could've pulled me aside and done that separately."

My mother glares at me from her seat, and I have to force myself not to shift uncomfortably under her gaze. For once throughout the whole ordeal of wedding planning, I want to hold my own against her.

"And you want to say I'm selfish," I continue after a moment, moving to sit up straighter. "But don't you think I'm actually selfless? If I were truly selfish like you wish to claim I am, I would've told Harry how I felt a long time ago. I wouldn't have cared about Gwen's feelings, or ruining their relationship. So no, I'm not selfish."

"I called you selfish because you continue to treat your friendship with Harry like you always have when you know you're trying to hang onto it for deeper reasons," she snaps. I curl my fingers into the skirt of the dress I'm wearing to keep myself grounded. "That is selfish, Carter. That's selfish when it comes to Harry, but most importantly, Gwen.

"I still don't know what I saw outside during the engagement party that night, and you don't understand the guilt that I hold for not telling Gwen about it, but I'd like to believe that Harry wouldn't do that to her. You on the other hand, I'm not so sure about. The fact that you asked him to stay at your place after his bachelor party tells me all that I need to know. I know what your intentions were with him that night, and it's disgusting. You hoped that by getting him alone with just the two of you that you could finally make your move. When Gwen told me he stayed with you, I was sick over it. Harry assured her that nothing happened, and I believe him, but your hopes of what could've happened still stand."

Part of me wants to scream at her. I want to just tell her that something did happen between us, and that Harry was just as much a part of it as me - that it would've kept going had he had not fucked it up. I want to tell her that Harry admitted that he had feelings for me at one point, so this whole thing wasn't just one sided. This isn't all on me like her and Gwen want it to be so desperately to be.

"You saw nothing the night of the engagement party - nothing along the lines of what you think. You saw two best friends terrified of the change that they knew was coming, and how they didn't want to lose each other. Things have changed since that night, and I no longer feel that way," tears begin to burn in my eyes, but my voice remains steady. "I've already talked to Harry, and I told it would be best if we truly do start to separate ourselves from each other. I'll come over and hang out with him and Gwen at the house, and I'll see them at holidays, but outside of that, we will no longer communicate in the way that way used to.

"My reason for having him stay at my place after his bachelor party was to make sure that he didn't pay a ridiculous amount of money for an Uber. His intention was to stay for a while until the prices died down, but he ended up falling asleep on the couch. I got him settled and then I slept in my own bed. Alone. I was looking out for my friend. Besides, Gwen already made a comment about it, and she told me she was happy I stopped him from paying the price of the Uber. This whole situation has already been settled with the person it needed to be settled with. That person is not you."

My mother keeps her eyes on me as she pushes herself out of her chair and walks over to me. I can't help but cower away a bit, a little unsure of what she could do now that she was standing in front of me like this. She's never been one to put her hands on me, but I've also never mouthed off at her the way that I have tonight.

"I'm warning you right now, Carter. If you do anything, and I mean anything, to compromise your sister's day tomorrow - your place in this family may end up looking a little different."

I keep my eyes on her back as she walks out of the room, and I blink - sending the tears that had been threatening this whole time down my cheeks. Trying to keep my breathing steady, I form my lips into an 'o' shape and breathe out slowly before taking in a deep breath through my nose. I cup the end of the bed in my hands, and I close my eyes. I move my neck from side to side to try to work the tension out from being so stiff with her here, and I know the only thing that can really help me right now is a hot shower.

Pushing myself up from the bed, I open up the duffel bag that I had sitting next to me on the surface and pull out my pajamas. I also grab my bag of toiletries before heading into the bathroom, and I immediately start the shower and turn it on the hottest temperature. I redo the lock to my main door since I had undone it before I step back into the bathroom and strip myself of my clothing.

Once I'm under the stream of water, I let it run over my face and my hair. I lift my hands to smooth them over the top of my hair before I begin to wash it, and thankfully, I'm already feeling a bit lighter in my chest. Showers are always something that have calmed me down in the past. Something about the water washing over you kind of feels like you're washing away the things that may be troubled, or stressed you out during the day.

Unfortunately, my mind continues to wander back to Harry and Gwen, and I wonder if my mom was in her room with her right now - telling her about the conversation we had. I knew Harry had gone home to their house for the night, and he wouldn't be seeing her again until tomorrow at the wedding. It sucks that my instinct is to want to call him.

In the past, he was that comfort I would look for after a hard day in class, or if I dealt with a shitty client at work. He was always the best at cheering me up, and bringing me back around. That's something that had fallen off within these last few years, and I've come to the conclusion that it's started to weigh on my mental health. He was always an outlet for me, an outlet that was then stripped away almost unexpectedly, and I found myself lost as to who I could confide in.

Of course I had Kieran, her and I are still extremely close, but with Harry being the one I saw almost every day while in college, I had gotten so used to him being the one for me to go to. It had just become a constant for me.

Once I finish in the shower, I step out and dry myself off. I slowly make my way through my skin care, trying to hold onto my self-care for as long as possible to help soothe me, and then I head back to the bed. I lay down, and I eye my dress that's hanging in the small closet in the room.

The last thing I want to do is have to wear that dress tomorrow. I plan on donating it right after the wedding is over. I need to so that I don't have it around to serve as a permanent reminder of the day.

I slip my eyes shut, and I try to get my mind to shut off. I know I need as much rest as possible to get through the day tomorrow, but just like the night of their engagement, I know that sleep won't come easily to me.

⋆★★⋆

"Where the fuck is Carter?" I can hear Gwen as I open the door to one of the larger suites at the hotel that my parents had booked for her last night, and then her and Harry would be returning here tonight after the wedding.

We were all meeting in here, and then we were going to head to the venue to start getting ready. At the venue they had a bridal suite and groom suite for both Gwen and Harry to have their space to get ready, and off of those were larger suites for the parties to get ready in as well. I knew that Gwen would be spending most of her time in the bridal party suite with us for hair and makeup, but I knew that once it came time to get her into her dress, she would be in the bridal suite by herself.

It surprised me when we were reviewing the details over the phone recently. I thought for sure she'd haul herself away in the bridal suite all day to really see this 'bridezilla' thing through, but she said she wanted to spend as much time with all of us as she could.

The good thing about the bridal and groom suites is that they were on complete opposite ends of the venue. There was no risk of Harry and Gwen running into each other before it was time.

I step further into the room to see all of the bridesmaids and my mother standing with Gwen, and when she catches sight of me she lets out a large huff.

"There you are. What about we're meeting at nine o'clock did you not understand? It's now 15 minutes past."

"I-I'm sorry," I clear my throat, as I adjust my garment bag that I was carrying with my bridesmaid dress in it. "I didn't sleep well last night, and I ended up sleeping through my first alarm."

Rolling her eyes, she looks over to my mother, and they share a look before Gwen continues. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. Let's all head downstairs so we can all head to the venue."

There was a bus that would be shuttling us to the venue this morning, and then that same bus would be shuttling not only us back, but also other wedding guests tonight after the wedding was over.

As we step onto the bus, Gwen sits next to my mother, and then the other bridesmaid pair up - leaving me to sit by myself. It didn't really bother me considering I didn't really make an effort to get to know any of them. Most of them were bougie friends that Gwen had met while in college, so I really didn't care to fit in. All of their friendships seem extremely superficial.

I dig through my bag and pull out my headphones, popping them into my ears to listen to some music as the bus starts off towards the venue.

My stomach has been in knots all morning, and I've been up since seven. I just stared at the ceiling while every single thought of how today was going to go rushed through my head. There's a big part of me that's hoping the conversation that Harry had with me a few weeks ago made him start to rethink the wedding, but I know that's a low possibility. I have to remind myself that if that were the case, he would've probably called it all off already instead of dragging it out to the actual day.

Not talking to him at the rehearsal dinner last night was difficult, but he didn't make the effort to speak to me, so I wasn't going to go out of my way to do it either. We had agreed on space.

This was space.

I fiddle with the zipper on my garment bag as we continue down the road, and I feel my phone vibrate. Pulling it out of the pocket of the jacket I had on, I see that it's text from Kieran. She was just checking up on me, and seeing how I was doing. I hadn't told her about Harry's confession. That wasn't something for me to tell her, as they weren't my feelings to share. I also have a strong intuition that if I were to tell her, she would become even more adamant about me doing the same with him.

Oddly enough, the first thought that popped into my head this morning when my eyes opened was to tell him - to come clean about everything. It had been tugging at my heart, and chipping away at my brain since then. I know that doing it on a day like today would be such a selfish thing to do. That's the only thing that's stopping me from doing so. In reality, that wouldn't be fair for me to spring it on Harry today.

I respond to Kieran and I tell her that I'm dealing. It isn't a lie considering that's all I really can do.

It's only a few more minutes until we're at the venue, and we all shuffle out and head inside. All the bridesmaids hang up their dresses on the rack they have in there, and it looks like my mother had arranged for a breakfast spread to be catered for all of us. Gwen says that we have thirty minutes until the makeup artist arrives, so we have plenty of time to eat.

As much as I don't have an appetite, I know that I need to put something in my system. I decide on half a bagel with cream cheese along with some mixed fruit and a small bowl of oatmeal.

The conversation around me carries as we all sit down at the table that was in here to start eating, and I remain quiet - just listening. I can feel eyes on me, and I look up to see my mother staring at me. She raises her eyebrows, as if she's asking me to be present, but I have nothing to contribute to the conversation that's happening.

They're all talking about things that I have no interest in. I don't even know where I could begin to contribute to anything.

"Carter," I hear Gwen say my name as I pull a bite of oatmeal off my spoon. I look over to hear, and she tilts her head to the side. "Are you ready for your speech?"

Shit.

In the midst of everything, I hadn't even thought about the fact that I would be required to give a speech at the wedding. I reach forward to take a sip of my water - stalling a bit of time before answering. "Yeah, I think so. I didn't bring it on paper or anything, and I'd rather not hold my phone while reciting it, so I just hope I-"

"You didn't write one, did you?" Gwen's mouth turns into a scowl, and I shift under her gaze.

I can see that everyone in the room is now looking at me. "And if I didn't?"

A few seconds pass before a laugh leaves Gwen, and she shakes her head. "I should've known."

I want to tell her that I probably wouldn't have had anything nice to say anyway, but I swallow that down.

The rest of breakfast continues with her talking to her bridesmaids, and eventually the makeup artist enters the room. She asks Gwen if she wants the makeup done a certain way, or if she's leaving it up to the bridesmaids, and Gwen says she's leaving it up to us.

"Okay, does anyone want something simple and subtle? Like natural looking makeup?" The artist asks, and I speak up.

"I do, yeah. Just something light."

"Yeah, of course. I'll go ahead and get you done first since you'll be quick," she sends me a smile as I stand up from the dining chair I was still sitting in, and I sit down in the chair in front of the vanity in the room.

Before she starts on the makeup, she begins to wipe down my face to cleanse it, and she introduces herself as Shay.

As she goes along she asks if I'm okay with waterproof makeup, which I agree to, and I'm silently thankful for. I knew that I'd probably end up shedding a lot of tears today, but for different reasons than everyone else. Shay ends up being really sweet, and she only asks me a few questions about the wedding before she moves onto asking me about what I do.

"Oh, you do tattoos?" Shay gasps after she complimented a few of mine, and I told her about how I was just getting on my feet with doing my own work.

I smile, and nod as she moves away to grab another product for my face. "Yeah, it's been really great."

"That's amazing, good for you! Are you local?"

"Well, I'm actually moving a couple of cities over next week," I tell her as I close my eyes to have her continue my eyeshadow. "But it's only a couple of hours away."

"I'd love to get your information before I leave, if that's okay. I don't mind having to travel," she states, and my smile widens.

"Yeah, of course. I'll have you follow me on my socials, and then you can reach out to me whenever you want to book."

Shay and I talk a bit more, and soon she finishes up my makeup completely. I get up from the chair, and I can see the mimosas have been poured. I walk over and grab one from the table as the next girl sits down to have her makeup done.

"When is the hairdresser going to be here?" I ask, looking over to Gwen.

"In the next hour," she tells me, but she's quick to start speaking to another one of the bridesmaids.

I nod before I sit down in one of the lounge chairs in the room after grabbing my phone from the dining table. Kieran and I text back and forth for a while, and I honestly don't mind that I'm secluded from everyone else. I once again get my headphones out so that I can listen to music. I plan on just drowning everyone out until it's my turn to get my hair done.

⋆★★⋆

Standing in my dress, I look in one of the many full length mirrors in this room. I have my nude heels on that give me a bit of height, and I turn around to get a look of myself from the back as well. My hair is loosely curled which has it trickling down my back.

I can't remember a time where I've looked so done up since college. I smile softly at myself, and as I begin to make my way towards the main area of the room, I can hear Gwen speaking softly with some of her bridesmaids behind a half-wall.

"I don't even know why I asked her to be my maid of honor," I hear Gwen groan. "My parents pretty much said that I needed to, but I can tell my mom regrets that now. She's just as sick of her as I am. When we were kids, we got along so well, but ever since she went to college, Carter has been so insufferable."

I stop walking, and I hide myself behind the wall so I can continue listening without being detected.

"God, Gwen, I'm sorry you have to deal with her," I hear one of the girls say, and I immediately can tell it's one of the girls from the bathroom at the engagement party. "And like...Bridgette and I didn't want to say anything, but the way she is with Harry is concerning."

"Don't even start with that," Gwen huffs, and I feel my stomach clench. "I found photobooth pictures from his bachelor party that they took together, and she's all over him. You can tell he's so uncomfortable, but he was just going along with it."

My lips part, and I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep myself from audibly gasping out. She was lying to them. I knew how those pictures turned out, I had copies of my own, and Harry and I looked overjoyed to be with each other.

"Why does he let her do that though?" Another girl speaks up. "I don't understand."

"They've been friends for years, you guys," Gwen continues. "I...I can't really fault him for still tolerating her. He doesn't really say anything negative about her or anything, but I think that they've both realized that they're not the friends they used to be. It's been quiet between the two of them these past few weeks."

Before the conversation can continue, I hear the main door to the suite open. "Gwen, we're ready for you to get into your dress in the bridal suite."

I can hear all the girls shrieking and giggling with excitement, and I wait until the door shuts again before I step out from behind the wall.

My sister's words didn't make me sad, and they didn't hurt me. I think that's actually the sad part of it all. I expect these things from her now.

But even though her words didn't make me sad, they did make me angry. They've ignited something that I've never felt before, and I think it's now or never after she's tried to paint me as someone who's holding onto unreciprocated feelings. Harry still sees me as his best friend, regardless of what's happened lately, and I know that for sure.

I need to tell him.

The bridesmaids are more than distracted with themselves, not extending any type of invitation to include me as they drink their champagne, and gawk over each other's hair and makeup - all while Gwen takes some bridal portraits outside.

Now was the time that I knew I could sneak away.

With my heart thumping against my chest, I make my way to the groom's suite of the venue - my hands trembling. I know this is something that I need to do. If I don't do this now, I'll never have another opportunity, and I know that I'll regret it for the rest of my life. I'd rather know the outcome than deal with the 'what if' of it all forever..

I raise my fist and knock on the door, immediately looking down at my feet. I hear muffled shuffling, and a curse word or two when it sounds like he stumbles, before the door opens.

Swallowing harshly, I continue to look at my feet - not knowing how I'm going to be able to look at him. It's not until I feel the brush of Harry's fingertips along the outside of my arm that I realize I'm actually about to do this.

"Carter," the corners of my lips immediately twitch down at the sound of my name leaving him. "What's wrong? Do you want to come in?"

I will myself to look up, and I allow my eyes to take him in. His chestnut curls are styled perfectly, and he's wearing a pair of dark blue trousers with an almost sky blue dress shirt on top. The points of the collar are more exaggerated than usual, and I know they're meant to hang over the lapels of his jacket once he puts it on.

I should've known that Harry would go non-traditional with his wedding suit. I'm just surprised that Gwen let him.

I give him a small nod, and Harry drops his hand away from me - stepping out of the doorway to allow me inside. His palm grazes along my lower back as I walk into the room, and I look back down at my feet. Hearing the door shut behind me, I can see that Harry has on a pair of white boots with a slight heel as he now crosses in front of me.

I can tell that he's leaning against the vanity that's installed into one of the walls, and I can hear ice clinking against a glass. I'm sure he's drinking tequila in the rocks for his nerves.

Neither of us know what to say, silence consuming us entirely, and I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands out of anxiousness. It's never been like this between us, and I hate it. This wasn't us.

"C'mon, Carter," Harry coaxes me, and I feel my throat tightening. "Please tell me what's going on. I've never seen you like this before, and I'm worried."

A few more moments of quiet pass before I speak.

"I love you," I whisper, and I immediately feel my bottom lip quivering.

I hear the glass that Harry had in his hand get set back down against the marbled counter. "What?"

"I-I love you," I repeat, a little louder this time, and I finally look up - making sure I look directly into his sage colored eyes so he knows I'm serious. "I love you, Harry."

Realization takes over his face, and I watch as his mouth opens, but he closes it quickly. We hold eye contact as he processes what I've said.

"You said you were selfish the other night, so I'm going to be selfish now," I force out although my entire body feels like I could collapse on the spot.

Harry pushes himself off the vanity to stand up straight, and he tucks his hands into his pockets as he gives me a nod to continue.

"I just had to come and tell you now, Harry, because I know I'd regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't. I know it's your wedding day, and it's the worst possible timing, but I have to tell you. I have to let you know because I couldn't live with myself if I...if I didn't try."

I walk towards him so there's not as much distance, and I watch as Harry takes in a deep breath - tilting his chin up a bit so that he's looking at me better.

"I have loved you for years," I tell him, shaking my head. "And I should've told you, and I feel like a fucking idiot that I didn't now that I know you felt the same way at one point. I didn't run away from you after the formal because you made me uncomfortable. I ran away because I realized that I loved you, and I was scared to ruin the friendship because I thought that you would never feel the same way.

"I tried to be angry with you after what happened a few weeks ago, but I couldn't because I love you so much. I feel so foolish right now because you already told me that you used to love me in this way, and that now it's strictly platonic, but I just have to tell you because..."

I choke on a sob, and I haven't even realized that tears have been streaming the whole time I've been talking. Harry's expression is one of pain, and sadness as he purses his lips to the side - tears of his own filling his eyes.

"Because I really hope you'll reconsider today," I gasp, shaking my head. "And I feel beyond guilty for asking that of you, but I can't help it. I-I need to know. I need you to tell me if you still feel the same way, Harry, please."

Harry's eyes hold mine again for a while before he's shaking his head slowly. "It's Gwen, Carter. It's always going to be Gwen when it comes to this type of love, because like I told you, I do love you, it's just a different kind of love now."

My eyes flutter shut, and I take in a deep breath as I realize the worst outcome of this decision is presenting itself to me. This isn't just a scenario in my head anymore - this is actually happening.

I nod at him and step back, feeling as if my chest could cave in on itself. "Okay," I whisper, more tears beginning to stream down my cheeks. "I just had to hear you say it again after knowing my feelings - just one more time."

"Carter," he goes to reach out for me, but he stops himself - his own tears now trickling over the skin of his cheeks. "You're still my best friend, you know that, right? I don't want things to change between us. I know the night I told you everything I said that maybe you were right if we tried to separate a bit, but I really don't want that. I don't want to lose you."

I let out a laugh, wrapping my arms around myself as I look away from him. "Things have already changed, Harry. They've been changing for years now. Yes, we've still been close, but you can't stand here and honestly tell me that our friendship has remained the same."

Silence takes over again, and I shake my head as I look back over to him. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "It's okay that things have changed. It's a fact of life, but there's no coming back from what's happened. I'll still be there for you, and for Gwen - I couldn't imagine completely separating myself from you both, but I'm glad I'm moving. You just have to understand that I can't be there like I used to. I can't be as close as I used to be because...."

I cut myself off as I swallow down a sob. "Because it just hurts too much now," I sniffle, dropping my arms by my sides as my eyes meet his once more. "But I'm happy for you. I'm happy that you found someone to share the love you have because you really do deserve it. So please, just forget this happened, and enjoy your day, okay?"

Starting to back up towards the door, Harry steps forward with an extended hand, but I shake my head again - recoiling from his touch. "Don't, Harry. Please don't."

We don't say another word as I turn around and quickly exit out the door. I move around the corner of the hallway before pressing my back against the wall, sliding down as I cover my face with my forearms - dropping my face into them as I try to muffle my sobs.

I knew that him telling me that things wouldn't change today due to my confession was a possibility, but I was really hoping that I was wrong. Even though I told him that I won't be separating myself from him and Gwen, I have no choice but to do so now. I'll still see them at holidays, and big events, but I can't be around them like that anymore. I'll never be able to face Harry and have things be like they always have been,

A few moments pass before I hear shuffling coming from around the corner, and I see Gwen in her wedding gown with her photographer.

I forgot they were going to be doing a first look.

She stares at me, and I can see that it hits her - the realization of what has me so upset. She looks over to her photographer and whispers something before she approaches me on her own. "I know you did not do this to him on our wedding day, Carter."

"I'm sorry, Gwen, I just had to-"

"Are you kidding me?" She hisses, still trying to keep her voice low not to cause a scene. "I can't believe you'd do this to me - to him. I suspected there was always something deeper. You're lucky it's the day of the wedding, and that I couldn't possibly change things around now because you would absolutely not be here, do you understand me?"

"Well, from what I heard earlier, you didn't even want me in the wedding to begin with anyway," I spit back at her, my tears of sadness mixing with tears of anger. "But sure, I understand."

Gwen scoffs, looking away from me for a moment before glaring at me once more. "After this wedding, I don't want you to come anywhere near us. I'm glad you're moving away so I don't have to worry about this happening again."

I stay silent as fresh tears begin to slip down my cheeks.

"Now get the fuck away from his room, and let us try to continue on with our day as normal," Gwen says, trying to hover over me as she always does to intimidate me.

"Fuck you, Gwen," I see her jaw tense at my words, but I also see her eyes slightly widen in shock. I've never spoken to her in this way before. "I can't wait for the day where Harry realizes what a self-absorbed bitch you are, because trust me, he will. I'll feel sad for him, but I'll be nothing but elated when it comes to you. I just know that I'll find out that he was the one to walk away from the marriage."

Gwen opens her mouth to speak, but I stop her from doing so.

"I just hope you never treat him the way that I've allowed you to treat me. He'll never deserve that."

I hold her eyes for a moment longer before I finally find it in myself to move away, and walk back towards the bridal suite to meet back up with the other bridesmaids.

⋆★★⋆

"Alright ladies, line up right here," Gwen's wedding planner extends her arm out in front of her. She then walks just one step over and does the same thing with her arm again. "And gentlemen, you line up here."

The groomsmen walk up next to us, and I realize that I'm going to be walking down the aisle with Shane. Holding my flowers in front of me, I send him a half smile as I hear the music start in the main part of the chapel.

I was more than thankful for agreeing to waterproof makeup because there wasn't much to touch up after I had gone to see Harry. My anger towards Gwen actually helped with getting my tears to stop. I think also knowing that I was going to have to look presentable for people in less than half an hour also helped me get it together.

"I can't believe Harry's getting married," I hear Shane chuckle next to me. "I've known him since I can remember, and you always know this day is going to come eventually, it's just so strange when it does. Do you feel that way about Gwen?"

I clear my throat, and decide to just play along with it. Shane is a sweet guy, and he doesn't deserve me being bitter towards him. "Yeah, it's definitely weird. She's been dreaming of this since we were super little. She was always drawing sketches of the dress she wanted, and I think she had more little wedding dresses in our dress-up box than princess dresses."

Shane lets out another laugh, but we're interrupted by the wedding planner opening the doors for us to walk into the chapel.

"Okay, just remember everyone, make sure the couple in front of you gets to the middle pew with the red flowers before you start walking," she instructs.

Walking closer to me, Shane holds his arm out, and I wrap my hand around the crease of his arm. We'll be the last ones to walk, so we still have a bit of time before we're actually heading down ourselves.

"Are you excited for the reception?" Shane whispers to me, and I nibble on my bottom lip before I shake my head.

"I'm not going to the reception."

He looks down at me with a raised brow as we take a step forward as the next couple starts to walk down. "You're not going?"

"No, I'm going to call an Uber after this. Head back to the hotel, and then I'm going home," I tell him simply with a shrug.

"Oh, I'm-"

"To be completely honest with you, Shane, I'd rather leave right now, but I don't want to look like a complete piece of shit in front of my extended family. I'd also rather not leave you all to deal with Gwen's meltdown once she were to realize that I wasn't here, and the balance of everything was thrown off, so..."

Shane takes a moment before he speaks again - giving me a small nod. "Understood."

I'm glad that he didn't ask me to elaborate any further as I didn't feel like rehashing everything again.

Soon we're the next two to walk down, and I make sure that I'm holding my flowers appropriately in front of my torso as we begin down the aisle. As much as I want to keep my eyes on my feet, I keep looking forward. I can feel that Harry's eyes are directly on me, but I don't look over at him at all. Shane and I separate, and I take my appropriate spot on Gwen's side as he files in right behind Harry.

The guests in the pews rise as the music switches over to the song that Gwen would be walking down the aisle to, and soon her and my father appear in the doorway that we had all just walked out of. I can see that some of the guests are becoming emotional, and I hear a few sniffs behind me from some of the bridesmaids, but I remain completely stoic - my expression unchanging.

I refuse to look over at Harry, and once my father is handing Gwen over to him, I drop my eyes down to my flowers. My plan is just to keep my sight on them for the rest of the wedding and think about anything but being here.

The officiant starts to speak once everyone sits back down, but his words sound completely muffled. It wasn't until the officiant asked for the rings a few minutes later that I remembered Harry's ring was tied to my bouquet.

I swallow harshly as I undo the ribbon, and I step forward to place the ring down into the palm of Gwen's hand, and then I step right back into place.

I stand beside Gwen, and I do my best to avoid looking at the face of the man I'm in love with as he recites his vows. His vows that are not meant for me, but for my sister - the woman he's in love with. I'm hearing the words that are leaving his mouth, and I can't help but imagine how they could've been for me if things had been different. If we both hadn't been so scared to be honest with each other.

I know that I'll always be grateful for those years that I had with Harry as my best friend. Those days are behind us now though, and I have to move on. Maybe one day I'll find what Harry and Gwen have with each other in someone else, and then I'll realize that I really didn't know what love was before that said someone - that I thought I loved Harry, but I didn't. I know eventually I'll be able to move on, especially being away from him. I just hope that Harry is truly happy, and that Gwen is really what he wants.

I'm brought back to reality as I hear the sound of cheering, and I see Harry dipping Gwen down - placing his lips against hers for their first kiss as husband and wife. They pull apart after a moment, and I see the wide smile on his lips - causing his dimples to sink deep into his cheeks. I don't think I've ever seen him look so ecstatic in my life, and that's what really seals it for me. Harry is happy.

In the end, as long as Harry was happy, then I am happy, regardless of it all.

THE END.

⋆★★⋆

A/N:

I know this isn't the ending that anyone really wanted, but it's the ending that I have envisioned since I first thought of this story.

Hopefully you guys won't be too angry with me...

Thank you for all the love that I've received on all of this. It's been so incredibly heartwarming, and I feel like just saying thank you isn't enough, but I don't know what else to say. I've loved seeing your comments, and reading over your theories on what you all thought was going to happen.

I'm sad that Carter and Harry's story was so short, but I think it truly held its purpose in these six chapters.

Until next time...

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry edward styles #harry styles ff #harry styles short story #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x oc

87 notes · View notes

starks-hero · 2 years

Text

Iris

Pairing: Crowley x human!Reader

Summary: “When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.” Or, Crowley finally decides to tell you, his human lover, that he is a demon. He's justifiably terrified.

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: hurt/comfort

a/n: shout out to the wonderful anon that chucked me headfirst back into my good omens' obsession. anyway, I'm not saying you should listen to Iris whilst reading this but–

Crowley loved your eyes.

Well, he loved the entirety of you. But there was just something about their alluring shade, the way they watched him so intently and with softness he couldn't recall last being regarded with. Their divinity reflected that of the cosmos themselves. Crowley should know, he built them.

He never really understood the whole ‘eyes are the window to the soul’ line before you. From Crowley's, albeit limited understanding, souls didn't have windows, and even if they did, it wouldn't be a very good indicator of one's character. Even the bleakest of days look more promising from behind the safety of a window.

You were the one to change that perception, to take it in gentle hands and mould it into something softer, more sentimental. You proved to him that maybe there was some truth to the verses he'd heard poets recite again and again over the millennia. When with you, Crowley could feel the unconditional kindness beaming from you like rays from the sun, a readiness and willingness to be good that made him fall for humanity all over again.

And yet despite everything your eyes inspired in him, you were yet to see his own. And for good reason. Crowley still didn't understand what miracle, (or lack thereof) had transpired for you to be with him, but he did know that he wasn't about to put it at risk. You were his anti-thesis; made up of all things good and loveable. The thought of how quickly you'd leave the moment you saw his eyes and all they stood for was one that plagued him daily. But on the other side of the coin, Crowley couldn't disregard the fact that you deserved to know. You deserved the truth. You deserved so much more...

It was time for the bell to toll.

And so, Crowley followed his usual routine of picking you up after your shift, only this time the music was cranked up double what it usually would be (already deafening) in an attempt to drown out his frantic overthinking. The windows shuddered with each guitar solo and Crowley was sunk so far down in his seat his foot was pressed uncomfortably against the gas pedal. If it weren't for the fact that the Bentley was somewhat sentient, he probably would have swerved off the road a mile or two back.

The moment he set foot in your home an uncomfortable burning sensation shot up his spine. He cursed whoever had blessed your house before realising that said uncomfortable feeling was in fact a combination of both his nerves as well as the conscious he forgot he had.

The drive back to the flat was tortuous, for Crowley at least. Your hand was on his thigh as he drove, drawing circles into the fabric. The ever-alluring sound of Freddie Mercury's voice droned on in the background as Crowley rehearsed what he wanted to say, swapping out words and rephrasing sentences before restarting altogether. The closer he got to home the more hopeless he began to feel and by the time he was holding the flat door open for you Crowley fought the urge to find the nearest cave, catacomb or other undisturbed dwelling to take a century-long nap in. He just wanted to wait this whole thing out.

The reminder that you wouldn't be here in a century served as an adequate kick in the arse as he closed the door behind him.

His shoulders were slumped and his steps slow as he moved through the apartment's halls in all their bleakness. The only room in the entirety of the flat that had any real colour was his conservatory, filled to the brim with succulents and tropical plants. The moment he entered said room he was met with the sight of green leaves and an earthy scent heavy in the air. It was an impressive sight, really; plants that stretched feet off the ground, leaves proudly pointed skyward, (although given Crowley’s presence it is far more likely this display was out of fear.) Ivy vines had begun to climb up the walls, something Crowley had intended to deal with before deciding he was rather fond of how they contrasted the greyness of the polished stone they clung too.

Among it all, in the very centre of the botanical display, the plant you'd gifted him proudly sat. A purple Iris, its petals bright and its leaves healthy and succulent. Its scent was sweeter than that of the other plants and the flower, despite its size, did not seem intimidated by the impressive foliage that surrounded it.

Crowley’s fingers delicately ghosted over the leaves. the sentimental side of him liked to believe that the flower’s flourishing beauty was because it had been gifted to him by you. Something about everything growing better with love. The more reasonable part of him acknowledged that it was due to the fact the plant had been placed nearest to the window as well as being the first watered each morning and night. The battle between his sentiment and rationality was nullified by the fact that you were also the reason the plant received such treatment, favouritism having quickly steered his hand.

You just had that habit about you; inspiring beauty whether you meant to or not.

As Crowley studied the flower that in so many ways reminded him of you, he imagined the leaves becoming dry and shrivelled, of the royal purple petals withering beneath his touch. He pulled his hand away.

He found you reclined along the couch, one arm covering your face whilst the other hung weightlessly off the side of the furniture. Your dramatic pose was reminiscent of some tragic renaissance painting and the sight was one that inspired such fondness Crowley didn't even mention how you had your feet up on the fine velvet.

“Tired, love?” He asked instead.

“You have no idea. Today was an utter nightmare.”

Even whilst talking about the most mundane of things your voice was siren-like, resonant with divinity. Crowley could listen to you for hours, for the rest of his life. Until his immortal heart stopped and the earth beneath him turned to ash.

“I feel better now that I'm here with you.”

The words sent a dagger into his side, the following guilt twisting it in place. He moved to join you on the sofa and with a gentle tap to your ankle, he watched you move your feet before taking a seat beside you.

Your eyes were on him, he could feel it. The tension in his body and the seriousness of his expression was not something you were used to. He spoke before you could voice your concern.

“There's something I want–” He swallowed. “Something I need to tell you.”

“Okay.” Your breathy laugh that encompassed the word was an admirable attempt to hide your nerves but Crowley knew you better. “What is it?”

Silence followed.

Crowley opened and closed his mouth a few times, no words passing from his lips despite how hard he tried to voice them. There was a building pressure in his temples and he felt like his forked tongue was tied in a knot.

“Crowley.” Your hand travelled across the plane of his thigh and grabbed his own. It was a comforting touch yet he fought the urge to pull away. “What is it? You're scaring me.”

Another twist of the dagger.

“I– I just, it's that...” Crowley made a noise that fell somewhere between a groan and a whine. “I... I'm–” foreswearing words altogether, he reached for his glasses. With shaking hands, he pulled them away. “I'm not... good.”

He couldn't bring himself to look at you, to see the horror and fear in your eyes. “I'm quite the opposite actually.”

He felt your hand leave his own, the skin you'd once touched feeling bare. His chest hurt, his eyes stung and when he finally turned to you your fear and disbelief sent another sharpened blade through his chest.

“What–” The word fell quietly, the beginning of a sentence you'd never finish. Crowley took the liberty of answering regardless.

“Demon, unholy horror, the reason children are afraid of the dark.”

When you said nothing, he continued.

“I wanted to tell you. I should have told you. I never meant for this to go so far. I tried to stop it so many times but then you'd say or do something and I– just never wanted it to end. And I know that's selfish but–” Crowley motioned to his eyes. “That's what I am. Selfish, unforgivable– a bad omen.”

As his words set in you remained unmoving. Your eyes hadn't left his, not since he'd pulled off his glasses and laid everything bare.

“Love...” There was another stretch of silence and Crowley felt like he was drowning; like he was back at Mesopotamia with wind and rain at his back and a wave so large it blended with the sky fast approaching on the horizon. “Please, say something.”

You said nothing.

Rather, you raised your hand against his cheek, thumb timidly tracing beneath his eye, as if to ensure it was real.

Crowley flinched.

“This is what you've been hiding from me? All this time.” You asked. “And here I thought you just really didn't like the sun.”

Crowley blinked a few times, lips falling in a frown. He backed away from your touch.

“Crowley...”

“You've just found out that I'm evil incarnate and you're making jokes.”

“What would you prefer I do?”

“I'm a demon.” Crowley ensured to emphasise the word. “I'd prefer you did what anyone else would do.”

‘Leave.’ This part was silent. ‘For your own sake.’

You didn't waver. Your hand fell back against his shoulder, testing the waters and when he didn't pull away you continued.

“From my understanding, demons are supposed to be cruel, unlovable. So if you're a demon,” your hand ventured to his neck, Crowley's eyes falling shut despite himself as you traced his jaw. “Then no offence love but you're not a very good one.”

Crowley couldn't quite place the feeling that took hold of him at your words, but it left him feeling both hollowed and relieved. His eyes stung again, but this time he was smiling.

“You're being far too conversational about this.” His fingers encircled your wrist, he could feel the steady beat of your pulse beneath his thumb. “This really doesn't bother you..?”

You shook your head. “And even if it did, I'm in too deep now to get hung up on something like that.”

Crowley tried to think rationally but instead, he thought of the beauty of the cosmos, of dark purple petals and perfumed air. Of your eyes and their warmth and this time the idea of a withering flower didn't even cross his mind.

“You're sure about this, falling in love with a demon. Dangerous business, that.”

“I'll take my chances,” you mused. “Besides, being without you is the only real hell I can imagine.”

Crowley chortled, boyish and pure, a noise that certainly should not have come from a demon. "Aziraphale been loaning you his books, has he?"

“No, but I am trying to cheer you up." You gently nudged his side. “Is it working?”

Crowley's reaction told you it was. His eyes in all their vibrant brilliance shone so bright you felt you were staring at the sun. When he reached for his glasses, your hand worked on its own accord to stop him.

“Leave them off, please? I want to see you." Your words were cleansing and for the first time in an eternity, he felt worthy. Worthy of adoration, of love, of you.

Crowley kissed you, and you did not wilt.

tag list: @bakerstreethound @miraclesoflove @doozywoozy @mywellspringoflife

#sir let me kiss your head and spend the evening complementing your eyes in every language I know #man oh man did I have a field day with the title (the song his eyes AND the flower) 3 for 1 #crowley x reader #good omens #good omens crowley #good omens crowley x reader #crowley x you #crowley imagine #crowley x y/n #crowley good omens

1K notes · View notes

youthofpandas · 4 months

Text

Emil Sinclair & Frau Eva

A consistent problem I’ve run into while discussing the novel Demian is the rejection of Emil’s relationship with Eva in favor and treating it as if it is nothing but a tool to analyze the relationship that he shares with Demian. People treat his feelings towards Eva as fake, imagined, and entirely as misplaced affections that he holds towards Demian and become quite defensive when told that isn’t the case in the actual text of the book. I’m no stranger to interpreting things in ways that don’t quite match canon, especially when they make me uncomfortable, and it is clear to me that discomfort or even disgust is how a lot of people view this relationship as given the age gap between them and the general preference for seeing Emil with Demian instead of Eva. I have no problems with that aspect of this little debate, discomfort is more than allowed and I’m not writing this to force people into liking the idea of their relationship.

What I am writing this for, and what I do find a problem with, is the way that people attempt to force an erasure of this aspect of the book and will accuse people of misreading the novel when acknowledging its existence. To say that someone does not understand the book or Emil’s character because they made reference to his love for Eva or his general affinity for mature women just seems to signal that there is a confusion of what the book actually says. Emil does love Eva and it is not misplaced love for Demian. From the moment he dreams of her to the moment Demian passes a kiss from his mother to Emil, Emil loves her. (That doesn’t mean he doesn’t also love Demian, by the way, but this post/essay isn’t about that, so I won’t be dwelling on the feelings he holds for Demian).

This is not going to be a complete, in-depth look at her character and role in the story and will instead simply focus on the actual relationship Emil has with her throughout the story and the ways that the novel sets up their relationship and makes it explicitly clear what sort of relationship exists between them. I feel it has been a massive disservice to her character to view her as nothing more than a woman getting in the way of a relationship or as if all of the quite beautiful descriptions of her person and effect on Emil are inconsequential and/or imagined, so I hope that this does some justice to Hesse’s work.

All quotes taken from the translation of the novel done by W. J. Strachan.

To begin, I will actually be talking about Max Demian himself, because Eva can be understood through son as he acts as a bit of a proto-Eva in Emil's life. They have a similar appearance, as it is often noted, they both bear the ‘sign’, they are deeply linked to Emil’s personal growth and relationship with the world, so to get a full grasp of his relationship with Eva it is also important to look at how he sees Demian and the key overlaps between them. So, let's look at one of the descriptions Emil writes of his dear friend.

This remarkable boy seemed older than he looked; he did not in fact seem like a boy at all. He moved among us more childish members of the school strangely mature, like a man, or rather a gentleman. He was not popular; he took no part in games, still less in the general rough and tumble and it was only the firm self-confident tone he adapted in his attitude towards the masters that won him favour with the other boys. He was called Max Demian.

Note how it focuses on his age and maturity, even though he is literally a couple years older than Emil, spiritually, thematically, he is older than even that. He is like a man, an adult. Here's a similar passage from another moment where Emil describes his friend:

I saw Demian's face and remarked that it was not a boy's face but a man's and then I saw, or rather became aware, that it was not really the face of a man either; it had something different about it, almost a feminine element. And for the time being his face seemed neither masculine nor childish, neither old nor young but a hundred years old, almost timeless and bearing the mark of other periods of history than our own.

Once again we see that he is more than a child, Demian is aged, grown, but not old nor young. In contrast to Emil who is youthful and immature, someone who has not yet begun his true journey. Here we also see a hint at there being a feminine element to Demian. Demian represents not just the fact that he is mature and capable of leading Emil through the spiritual journey he so longs for, but that he is not limited to just one world. He is not stuck in the dichotomy of light and dark, of masculine and feminine, of age and youth, he is both and neither.

Continuing the subject of maturity, we can take a look at the moment we share with Alfons Beck, a relationship that Emil describes with "we seemed to have a perfect understanding of each other" and, while a character who does not stay around long, acts as a mentor in the way he teaches Emil to grow up when it concerns sexuality and affections. It isn't long after this moment that Emil begins his venture into the world of darkness and almost loses himself to indulgence and excess of drinking and what have you, but it is clear from the later scenes with Knauer that Emil retains this personal growth surrounding sex and desire.

I heard amazing things; things I would not have thought possible were trotted out as part of everyday reality and seemed quite normal. Alfons Beck had already gained experience of women in his less than eighteen years of life. He had learned, for example, that girls were only out for flirtation and attention, which was all very agreeable but not the real thing. There was more chance of that with mature women. They were much more reasonable. You could talk with Frau Jaggelt who kept the stationer's shop, and a book could not contain all the various goings-on behind her counter. I sat there spell-bound and stupefied. Certainly I could never have loved Frau Jaggelt - but nevertheless it was terrific. There seemed to be hidden springs as least for my seniors, whose existence had never suspected. It all had a false ring about it, a more ordinary and insignificant flavour than love should have, in my opinion, but at all events it was life and adventure and I was sitting next to someone who had actually experienced it and to whom it seemed a normal thing.

By the end of this talk, Emil feels like a boy listening to a man. He understands that in this area he is behind, yet still is drawn to it. Alfons Beck is here, quite clearly, setting up and building upon the themes of maturity, especially that of women. This is very important seeing how it is one of the first times he is so explicit about his feelings regarding sexuality, and it is not by accident that this conversation regards mature, older women.

Another element here is that Emil points out that he finds more passing encounters, attraction without the intent to form a significant relationship, to be not founded in love - or at least the type of love he desires. I point this out because it establishes the idea that the types of relationships and attraction Emil is most interested in are ones that are serious and lasting. Quick, temporary connections excite him, intrigue him, because of course they do, he is a young man away from home and free to explore the world for the first time in his life and he has wants and desires. But, as we will see in his actions towards Eva later on, what he is most interested in a more true kind of love.

I'm going to hop straight to the painting next, as it is the real start of his relationship with Eva. There's a lot with the painting that I don't believe needs to be quoted directly so I've chosen a description of his realization of who it reminds him of.

Then one morning when I awoke from one of these dreams, I suddenly recognized it. It looked so fantastically familiar and seemed to call out my name. It appeared to know me as a mother, as if its eyes had been fixed on me all my life. I stared at the picture with beating heart, the close, brown hair, the half-feminine mouth, the strong forehead with its strange brightness-which it had assumed of its own accord-and I realized that my recognition, my rediscovery and knowledge of it were becoming more and more a reality.

He says after this that it resembles Demian, it was not his features exactly but there is no mistaking the fact that it was ultimately Demian's face. A motherly, matured woman version of Demian. This will later be seen to be the same description he gives Eva, even beyond the fact that he explicitly states that it is her as I'll quote later.

The effects this painting have on him are, as we all know, quite extreme and trigger many contradictory feelings within him. It is obvious that he worships it, he puts it on the wall in a way he can look at the face first thing in the morning, the same way one would look at a lover in bed upon waking up, he cries over it and clearly experiences intense lust and attraction towards the figure depicted in it. He also finds these feelings towards it revolting and terrifying, and would sometimes call it a devil and a murderer. At this point in the story, he still has lingering shame for these sorts of desires, even if he has begun to embrace them in some ways, he hasn’t fully overcome his belief that the world is separated in two halves and as a result views many things in extremes of both the most beautiful parts of the world of the light and the worst of the tempting world of darkness.

But for full context on this painting, we also need to look at the dream in which its subject appeared in, the most important dream of his life that he dreamed of night after night.

This dream, the most important and enduring of my life, followed this pattern: I was on my way to my parents' home and over the main entrance the heraldic bird gleamed gold on an azure ground. My mother walked towards me but when I entered and she was about to kiss me, it was no longer she but a form I had never set eyes on, tall and strong with a look of Max Demian and my painted portrait - yet it was somehow different and despite the robust frame, very feminine. The form drew me to itself and enveloped me in a deep, shuddering embrace. My feelings were a mixture of ecstasy and horror, the embrace was at once an act of worship and a crime. The form that embraced me had something about it of both my mother and my friend Demian and also this embrace violated every sense of religious awe, yet it was bliss. Sometimes I awoke out of this dream with a feeling of ecstasy, sometimes in mortal fear and with a tortured conscience as if I had committed some terrible sin.

Here we see Emil's most important dream: one where he is filled with ecstasy when embracing a figure that is a sort of halfway point between his mother and his friend. I'm going to share another passage from later, when he sees Frau Eva for the first time since childhood.

Sensing my interest in them, she took me into the house, looked out a leather album and showed me a photograph of Demian's mother. I could hardly remember her but now that I had the small photograph before me my heart stood still. It was the picture of my dreams. There she was, the tall, almost masculine figure, looking like her son, but with maternal traits, traits of severity and deep passion, beautiful and alluring, beautiful and unapproachable, daimon and mother, fate and lover. There was no mistaking her! The discovery that my dream image existed on this earth affected me like some fantastic miracle! So there was a woman who looked like that, who bore the features of my destiny! Where was she? Where? And she was Demian's mother!

So, this figure he dreams about, the figure he paints? It is Frau Eva. And we see here that, much like how her son is described as feminine, she is described as masculine. She also is inherently full of contrasts: daimon and mother, beautiful and unapproachable. Frau Eva and Demian follow the same pattern of being opposing natures who exist in one, the deconstruction of the binary and embracing something that is less easy to categorize. They embody the same ideals as Abraxas, of Emil's dreams.

Speaking of Abraxas and Frau Eva, here is his proper introduction to her as an adult.

With eyes moistened with tears I gazed at my painting, absorbed in my reflections. Then my glance dropped. Under the picture of the bird in the opened door stood a tall woman in a dark dress. It was she. I was unable to utter a word. From a face that resembled her son's, timeless and ageless and full of inward strength, the beautiful, dignified woman gave me a friendly smile. Her gaze was fulfillment, her greeting a homecoming. Silently I stretched out my hands towards her. She took them both in her warm. firm hands. "You are Sinclair. I recognized you at once. Welcome!" Her voice was deep and warm. I drank it up like sweet wine. And now I looked up and into her quiet face, the black unfathomable eyes, at her fresh, ripe lips, the open, queenly brow that bore the 'sign.' "How glad I am!" I said and kissed her hands. "I believe I have been on my way here the whole of my life and now I have reached home at last." She gave a motherly smile.

Eva makes her entrance quite literally alongside the painting of Abraxas Emil painted not long after he put a name to the face of the painting he made of her. He describes this as reaching home, incredibly important to him after he has been feeling so outcast from the home he grew up in. And he loves her deep voice, her quiet face that resembles her son's, and her friendly, motherly smile.

Eva and Abraxas, the god he worships and adores, are linked beings. This all builds on to the Demian and Cain, Eva and Eve connections. Eve the mother of both Cain the murderer and Abel the victim, Eve the woman born of God who spoke to the Devil and committed the first sin (which to bearer's of the Sign was surely not a sin), is now properly linked to Abraxas and it all feeds quite well into a similar theme. Eva is mother and she is home.

Eva is the origin of Demian, an embodiment of his ideals with even more maturity, she created the one who created Emil in a manner of speaking. She truly represents a world that is not divided into light and darkness, the very world that Emil chases after and wishes to believe in. It only makes sense, then, that he would find her so attractive and want her, desire her. By this point, so late into the novel, Emil is quite grown up, literally and spiritually, compared to the young, lost boy he was at the start. He has accepted sexual desires, accepted the world is complex and rejected many of the beliefs he held as a child, and he wants Eva the way any grown man might.

But, of course as we established earlier, Emil wants more than a passing encounter fueled by lust. He wants a real kind of love. And when he has gotten to know her and understand her as a real person rather than just a figure in his dreams, he writes the following, detailed, heavily romantic, filled with yearning and love passage:

On many occasions I believed that it was not really just her as a person, whom I yearned for with all my being, but that she existed as an outward symbol of my inner self and her sole purpose was to lead me more deeply into myself. Things she said often sounded like replies from my unconscious mind to burning questions which tormented me. There were other moments when as I sat beside her I was consumed with sensual desire and kissed objects which she had touched. And little by little sensual and transcendental love, reality and symbol mingled together. As I thought about her in my room at home in tranquil absorption, I felt her hand in mine and her lips touching my lips. Or I would be conscious of her presence, look into her face, speak with her and hear her voice, not knowing whether she was real or a dream. I began to realize how one can be possessed of a lasting and immortal love. I would gain knowledge of a new religion from my reading, and it would give me the same feeling as a kiss from Eva. She stroked my hair and smiled with all her warm affection, and I had the same feeling as when I took a step forward in knowledge of my inner self. Her person embraced everything that was significant and fateful for me. She could be transformed into each one of my thoughts and each of my thoughts could be transformed into her.

This paragraph here always sticks with me, the way his love transcends reality. It mirrors the way that Demian's existence is questionably real, that the moments he shared with the Demian family are somewhere fundamentally between imagined and real. Does she kiss him or is it imagined? It hardly matters, because reality and symbol are mixing together and becoming one and the same. These are his manifestations, these are his calls to the world to make his love true. And that love is so true in his heart he can hardly tell when it is real.

Also I just want to point out how cute he is when he's in love... kissing the things that belong to her, linking his learning and his growth as a person to her. It is similar to his behavior with Beatrice, in that this woman is helping inspire him to improve upon himself, but now it is not the desperate clutch to an unknown figure as a guiding light he can never speak to, it is a woman who pulls answers from his own mind, a woman who exists as a symbol of his inner self. Frau Eva, again just like Demian, is an extension of Emil's self and soul.

Alright, so I have now established Emil's feelings towards Frau Eva, but what of her feelings towards him? This following passage comes immediately after the one before

When I arrived back at H-- I stayed away from her for two days in order to savour this security and independence from her physical presence. I had dreams too in which my union with her was consummated in a symbolic act. She was a star and I was a star on my way to her, and we met and mutually attracted, remained together and circled round each other blissfully in all eternity to the accompaniment of the music of the spheres. I told her this dream on my first visit on returning. "It is a lovely dream," she said quietly, "Make it true!"

Emil tells her that he had a dream of the two of them in which they consummated their union (which, just to make this abundantly clear, means having sex. there is no getting around that fact) through a symbolic act of entwining around each other for all of eternity and Frau Eva tells him to make it true. She tells him, explicitly, that this dream he has of them making love is lovely and that he should work on making it happen in reality. This is of course a further extension of her trying to help Emil manifest a kind of mutual attraction between them through his extended longing and deep, honest desires. While she does not currently reciprocate the romantic affections he has for her, she is clear about being open to the idea of that one day being the case.

Let's also look at this bit, which is mostly about Sinclair's affections towards her but provides a bit of a conclusion to this theme of manifesting her love.

One day this foreboding came over me with such force that my love for Eva flared up suddenly and caused me great pain. My God, what a short time I had left; soon I should no longer be seeing her, no longer hearing her good, assured step about the house, no longer finding her flowers on my table! And what had I achieved? I had luxuriated in dreams and comfort instead of winning her, instead of struggling for her and clasping her to me forever! Everything she had told me about true love came back to me, a kindred stirring, admonitory messages, and as many gentle promises and words of encouragement, too, perhaps; and what had I made out of it all? Nothing. I stood in the middle of the room, summoned my whole conscious being and thought of Eva. I wanted to gather all the power of my soul in order to make her aware of my love and attract her to me. She must come; she must long for my embrace, my kisses must tremble on her ripe lips.

Emil is realizing that despite her encouragements and his continued love for her, he has never truly spent the energy required to make his love reciprocated. These things, him wanting her be his forever, him wanting to kiss her so much that he shakes, to attract her to him so that she desires him in the same way that he does her... those are the things Eva wanted him to manifest. Now, this also makes it clear that for as much time as they spent together (the book mentions that Max was out for long stretches of time, leaving Emil alone with Eva for the majority of his days there), they did not get to do any of the things he wanted so passionately AND that she had still be encouraging him to manifest this.

And does she get this message? Yes! She does, only there is The War starting and so she does not go herself to him, but she does tell him that she heard his appeal and to do it again if he should ever need her.

Now, let's talk about the ending of the book, about the kiss.

"And there is something else. Frau Eva said that if things ever went badly with you, I was to pass on a kiss from her which she gave me … Close your eyes, Sinclair." I closed my eyes in obedience. I felt the brush of a kiss on my lips on which there was a bead of blood that never seemed to diminish. Then I fell asleep.

Demian (who is made clear to be a hallucination or a purely spiritual being at this moment, regardless of what you believe his regular appearances are that of a real actual boy or a reflection of Emil's self or a mixture of the two. in this scene he is a dream-like being existing from Emil's mind here to help conclude the narrative) passes on a kiss that his mother gave to him. Eva wanted to give this kiss to Emil after all of those appeals he made for her love, and uses Demian as a vessel to give this to him.

Now I am absolutely not here to deny any sort of queerness in this moment, in the fact that it is not Eva herself who appears but rather Max. What I am trying to say is that Eva and Max are linked people, especially in the mind of Emil, and therefore it makes thematic sense for the boy who had introduced him to the world of the enlightened and to the woman he would come to love to be here in this quiet, scary moment and pass on a message from his mother. I am trying to say that denying that this kiss is even the slightest bit from Eva and 100% Max's moment is ignoring her entire character and a large, large portion of Emil's.

I could’ve gone on for longer, I skipped over the story she tells Emil of the man in love with a star and how that star eventually came to love him in return and how Frau Eva is his star. His last description of her before leaving for the war is about the myriad of stars glowing in the night sky and it is quite romantic, but I feel getting into the star symbolism in Demian would double the length of this and her feelings towards him cannot get any clearer than the part where she encourages consummating their union, which itself is still linked to the star story. This was all done taking passages I remembered off the top of my head and not a full reread of the book, but I feel like this does more than enough to explain my point.

In conclusion: never tell me again that I misunderstood the 1919 novel Demian: The Story of Emil Sinclair's Youth by Hermann Hesse because I joked about how Emil is into MILFs. He is.

#hermann hesse #demian 1919 #demian #emil sinclair #frau eva #demian (1919)

96 notes · View notes