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cheralith · 14 days ago

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APARTMENT 345 — EP TWO : WEDDINGS

feat. karasu, otoya, yukimiya || wc: 9.4k synopsis: moving into a new apartment with three men isn't exactly the most easy feat, but you think there's something quite unusual about your new roommates that makes life seem a little more fun. ↳ episode synopsis: when otoya asks you to be his plus-one for a wedding, you find out that there's more than him that meets the eye. so much so, that it somehow wounds you accidentally locked in a bathroom alone together. contains: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, roommates au, modern au, fluff, slight crack, forced proximity, reader wears a dress and heels, subtle classism, family issues series masterlist ☚ previous next☛

Otoya Eita is a curious case of someone who you suspect isn’t who he seems to be.

Something bugs you about him, something gnawing in a little crevice of your mind. Perhaps it’s that seemingly nonchalant exterior that you think is a little too lax for someone with adult responsibilities like him. Or maybe the way he’s much smarter than you think he was initially. Something of the sort, there’s a lot of peculiarities about him that just don’t seem to add up to what he thinks he’s trying to convey to you.

He says he earns the least out of the four of you—yet he owns a Lexus, multiple expensive colognes, and he’ll show off some new pieces of Chrome Hearts or David Yurman he bought. You figure that one watch of his is at least a third of your salary.

He says he’s not looking for something serious in a relationship—yet you’ve seen him wallow in his misery a few times when some girls wouldn’t call him back. Then he’ll get back up in a matter of two days or less to find someone new to play with.

He says he can't pay the rent this month to you and your other roommates dismay—yet he somehow always pulls through with the money at the last minute to a mysterious degree. Where he gets it from, you think you’re better off not knowing… especially since you’ve eavesdropped on a few of his conversations with someone shady on the phone, asking about a boon of some kind.

Otoya, to you, at least from a few months ago, was the most open roommate out of the other three. Now, you’re not so sure. Unlike Karasu and Yukimiya, who have gotten closer and more amicable as times went on, Otoya seems to have shut himself in with you to your dismay in the past weeks, despite him being the first roommate you were truly comfortable around. He seems to be an enigma to you more than anyone you’ve ever met—you don’t know how to decode him. And to be honest, you’re not sure if you should. Maybe you’re best placed in this pool of ignorance you’ve been trying to get out of to understand your roommate, absorbing it and letting it linger around you.

He has this outer layer to him; a mask of a seemingly chill guy who goes with the flow, someone who lays back and lets life do its work for him. He’ll just simply follow along wherever the wind takes him.

But something eats at you, that gnawing feeling always just lingering about. A gut feeling whispers in your ear that there’s something deeper, more intrinsic about him. You’ve acknowledged the suspicion, but you’re not too sure if you should try and operate on Otoya to properly pluck out his brain. After all, there might just be nothing there and you’ve been paranoid this entire time. Maybe it’s best just to stay out of his business (though, you sometimes find it hard not to, especially when you sometimes find him talking to someone on the phone with pinched brows when you enter the apartment, only for him to hang up the call when he notices you, his default face placing back onto his visage.).

And you’ve been doing a good job at it. Until now, when an opportunity presents itself for you to prod your nose around the hidden secrets of Otoya Eita. All because of an extended wedding invitation from him.

“I need a plus-one from my cousin’s wedding next Saturday,” he had said to you a week prior, scratching the back of his neck lazily. “I’d ask Tabito or Kenyu, but uh. I don’t want my folks to get the wrong impression, ya know?”

You had snorted under your breath, laughing, but said yes without thinking of the consequences at the time. It was only yesterday that it hit you that you’d be meeting Otoya’s family despite only knowing him for a few months whilst nothing absolutely nothing about Otoya’s personal life despite what he gave to you, much less what kind of people his family were.

So you ran to Karasu, who had known him the longest, and in a panic, asked him what sort of people they were. Unfortunately, he wasn’t much help, only giving you a sheepish smile and telling you, “They’re quite the weirdos, ‘s all I’ll say—at least from when I met ‘em. Sorry, sugar.”

When you asked Yukimiya, you ran into the same dead end. The brunette also only gave you a pitiful look. “Just try not to talk to them too much. The less you know, the better.”

Their responses did nothing to calm your nerves. If anything, it amplified the apprehension from twice it was before. You wish you felt it earlier in the week, however, since that at least allowed you more ample time to actually buy a better dress than this dusty rag that you had worn for a friend’s garden party a few years back.

You think this is the longest you’ve stared at yourself in the mirror that you’re becoming an eyesore to yourself. The baby pink dress with puffed short sleeves and layered tulle feels out of date; it’s weird around your waist and just doesn’t seem very elegant for the type of wedding Otoya had described. Too casual, too childish.

A knock comes at your door suddenly.

From the door reveals a dressed-up Otoya Eita before you, uncharacteristically sharp in his crisp grey-black suit and pistachio green tie. His hair is parted neatly, his bangs usually grazing his face now pushed to the side to show the entirety of his features.

A smirk displays itself on your face. “Someone looks rather handsome.”

Otoya hums with satisfaction at your approval, taking a singular finger and dragging it along his jawline. Something called mogging, if you call correctly. “It all comes naturally to me.”

He lets himself in your room, whistling at your messy bedroom littered with disarrayed clothing that you were trying to pluck out and make a nice arrangement with. “A little birdie told me you were having trouble choosing an outfit.”

Your shoulders droop when you spot yourself in your mirror again, your dress looking like it was just plastered on you rather than fitting you.

“I’m assuming my groans of despair were louder than I thought they were,” you sigh despondently, hands attempting to try and fiddle with the layers of the dress so it seems right at least in the mirror.

“I know you said to dress nice, but this is all I have…” you turn to Otoya, who curiously pinches one of your business dresses in his fingers. “I’m sorry, I would’ve totally gone shopping sooner had I known it’d be a big deal.”

Otoya gently places down the dress and turns to you with a barely-visible quirk of his lips. “It’s not bad but I might have something else in mind that might help ease your mind.”

He excuses himself out of the room and returns back not even a moment later with a large white zippered bag hung by a hanger. It’s thick and padded, clearly a bit of weight to it. You’re a little appalled, not expecting Otoya to go out of the way and quite literally get you a dress of his own means. But this also meant that if Otoya was doing more than what he was used to, swaying from his normal route of winging it and actually doing proper preparation for this, it ultimately meant that this was a much bigger event than you anticipated it to be. And you surely had to be ready to size yourself up for such a manner.

Otoya delicately places it on the mountain of clothes on your messy bed, carefully unzipping the bag to reveal a magnificent, floor-length, pear green sequined dress that reflected light so elegantly, it almost created a natural spotlight on itself. Held by thin straps, the chest area was highlighted from all the sequined and carefully-placed cherry blossoms speckling about that brought out a certain uniqueness to the dress. It looked preciously handmade, as you think no machine could delicately craft such petals from fabric and sequins.

It was magnificent and mature, something that clearly contrasted with your current dress. You couldn’t deny that Otoya had great taste when it came to fashion, both for men and women it seems, only second-best next to Yukimiya, though he came damn close to taking over his position on the podium.

You gasp aloud at it, clearly impressed at its meticulousness.

Otoya holds it up by its hanger, showing its full glory to you. “I’m really hoping it’s your size, but d’you like it? You wanna try it on?”

“I—” you falter. The dress was just so elegant that you don’t think someone like you should be adorning it; it was clearly fit for someone more high-class like a socialite or an actress. “Where did you even get this?”

He shrugs, nonchalant as ever. “Bought it on my way home yesterday. Thought you might want to wear it as a backup just in case.”

“I’m really hoping this is a rental,” you worry about, biting at your fingernail. Something seems rather ominous about all those sequins flashing about, like they’re warning you not to touch such preciosity. “How much was this?”

“Mmh, not telling,” Otoya says and slips the dress off its hanger to your panic. “Just know I’ve got it covered.”

You frown.

“Rent’s coming up soon,” you warn, “so if I find out you chucked some money out the window just for a mere dress, you’ve got a storm coming, bud.”

Otoya chuckles fondly. “Relax. I already gave my stuff early, so don’t stress about it anymore and just try it on.”

Ignoring your protests, he forces the dress in your hands and makes his way out, waving his fingers as he leaves you in the desolation of your room.

A pull of his neck releases the tension from it, rhythmic cracks from bones echoing in the hallway your room was located from. Otoya sighs, the weight on his shoulders heaving down on him more than ever today that he hopes will expel from himself once this day is over.

He feels bad, dragging you into this mess. But Otoya thinks that he can’t handle the masses by himself, he needs some sort of stabilizer, someone to help him keep on his feet. Karasu and Yukimiya knew about everything already, so they knew about the trials and tribulations that he faced back then, and clearly didn’t want to go through them again. He couldn’t drag someone from his roster either—he didn’t even know half of their last names.

It wasn’t his fault you just happened to be right there. With your grace and presence, you were the perfect person to have at his side for those hours he’s going to have to face head-on. All he has to do is just pivot his attention to you, knowing that it’ll be his that you’ll be yearning for as well in a room of strangers. It was an equal exchange.

Still. Even though you’ll be at his side, it doesn’t shake off the unease that lingers about.

Otoya settles himself on the couch, feeling tension stiffen his joints again. A warning sign to expect the worst, he assumes. Whatever. It’s just a few hours. He’ll reset and return back to normal in no time. This too shall pass, or whatever bullshit Yukimiya spews.

He cracks his neck again, making Karasu, who sits lazily next to him, cringe.

“Don’t do that near me,” he mutters, averting his attention to the soccer match on the TV. “Freaks me out.”

“It’s just bones, don’t think your two-hundred six are any different from mine,” Otoya insists, going to crack his knuckles to Karasu’s displeasure.

In the corner of the couch, Yukimiya throws some popcorn from a bowl in his mouth, grinning when he sees such a dapper Otoya in front of him. “You look good. For once.”

Otoya mopes, a light offense grazing him. “‘For once?’”

Yukimiya shrugs, still stupidly smiling. “Guess you wanted to look good for (Y/N).”

He frowns.

“This is a wedding. Why wouldn’t I try to look good?” Otoya remarks, clearly unamused. He’s not sure if he’s up for a childish banter right now, not when he’s got too much on his plate.

Karasu snickers at his appearance. Normally it was him and Yukimiya that looked rather tidy in their outerwear, so it came as comical to see the person who donned himself in the first clean thing he blindly plucked from his closet to be adorned in such fashion. “Took some money outta yer trust fund to get that suit o’yers, huh?” he slyly asks, nudging Otoya with his elbow.

Otoya rolls his eyes. “I’ve always had this, dumbass,” he insists with folded arms. “I just don’t like to wear it unless I have to.”

Yukimiya is next to chortle. “Maybe he used the money to buy (Y/N) that dress. Looked pretty expensive to me.”

Otoya thins his lips. Then looks away, the tip of his ears revealed by his slicked hair dusted with red.

Karasu and Yukimiya clearly take notice of his reaction that clearly can’t guise a lie even if Otoya tried to create one, bursting out into laughter when they make eye contact with one another.

“Aw, lookit this loverboy over here!” Karasu hollers and grabs Otoya by the neck, making him wince at Karasu's strength. “Didn’t know ya liked her that much!”

“I don’t…” Otoya grits his teeth, “I just… wanted to get her something nice.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Yukimiya cackles and lightly kicks at Otoya whilst he throws some popcorn his way, speckles of yellow-white fireworking over the living room floor. “Get your non-girlfriend plus-one a real fancy dress out of the blue, yeah? How much did it cost Prince Charming?”

Otoya sighs. “You idiots can’t decipher the fact that this is all for a wedding, can you?” he states with a flat voice. “You both know how my family is… I just don’t want her—”

Heels click softly suddenly, a shy pattering coming from the hallway.

“I don’t mean to interrupt but…” your voice breaks through the playful atmosphere, making all the men pause and look in your direction. “Er, sorry Otoya. Is this how it’s supposed to fit?”

Three spotlights turn to you from the coach from your roommates at once, suddenly drenching you in shyness at such vapid attention. Otoya is stunned at what he sees, breath hitching slightly when you present yourself before them.

He has to give himself a pat on the back because not only does the dress fit you right, it fits you so perfectly that it looks like it was made just for you. You’re going to blend in perfectly, he thinks.

Otoya abruptly stands up from the couch, clearing his throat and sending a soft smile your way—a rare feat considering how stony Otoya’s face could be.

“Fits like a glove on you, babe,” he compliments.

You warmly smile at him, relieved. Karasu and Yukimiya glance at each other, suppressing some teasing smirks, shoulders shaking.

The clock is ticking, and Otoya figures that you and him have to get to the venue soon before traffic starts. You wrap up some last minute adjustments to your outfit before you and him bid Karasu and Yukimiya goodbye with a wave.

“Get us some goodies if they’re offerin’ any!” Karasu shouts.

“Give my warm wishes to the couple!” Yukimiya calls out just as Otoya closes the door.

His sedan looks sleek as ever in the parking lot and you think this is the first time that Otoya actually looks the part to own such a luxury vehicle. He seems to be the gentleman tonight, seeing as how he opened up your car door for you to let you in, a hand holding yours to help keep you steady from the imbalance your heels might offer.

“Am I getting the princess treatment tonight?” you ask playfully as Otoya settles himself into his car.

“When do you not?” inquires Otoya as he slings back one of his arms on the back of your headrest, veering his head to help him reverse despite having a back camera with sensors. You roll your eyes jovially at his antics, supposing that his flirting tactics just come a little too naturally to him even when he wasn’t trying to do so.

The car ride is not too long, the venue being a lot closer than you thought initially. And clearly, a lot more grand, the pictures you saw from Google not doing it justice as you drive by it to its back parking lot.

It’s a large garden conservatory, filled with lush flora all over both inside and out and glittering the place with natural color and textures. A large window dome ceiling looks overhead the space, all the windows letting the setting sunlight in in a manner so majestic that you think it was haloed by the hand of the Sun itself. Two large ponds sit before the entrance on the grass, koi fish swimming about the many lilypads and lotus flowers that bloom before you.

Weariness grows within you when you stare at the building. You want to ask Otoya if you’re sure this is the right venue when he moves forward in the line of many cars to get a parking ticket, seeing as how you’ve never seen such a lavish venue before, but when you pass by a banister that reads a familiar last name of the groom, your words falter.

Welcome to the Wedding of Otoya Teruo & Hirai Hiromi, the banister states.

Up comes the gnawing feeling of suspicion again, like Otoya is hiding something, especially when you see his eyes narrow at the banister. Something is off. His mask is slipping, you think.

You know you should stay cautious and try to mind your business about him, but you’re just his friend and roommate after all and you’re not as close to him as Karasu or Yukimiya. But you feel pressured by an unknown force to try and squeeze something out of him that can help you gain a sense of the true Otoya.

Your fingers itch to lift the mask off of him, to truly see him for who he is and not just the nonchalant, flirty roommate.

“This wedding is pretty extravagant,” you admit after Otoya gains his temporary permit from the parking attendant. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Otoya drums his fingers on the steering wheel of the car, blowing some spare hair out of his way. “Yeah. There is.”

Your eyes go to glance at him, body unmoving. “Well…” you start, fiddling with your fingers when he doesn’t elaborate, “are you gonna say something?”

“You might not like it,” he says honestly, his own gaze focused on trying to find a space, his car moving at a snail’s pace. “You seem stressed enough as it is.”

He’s observant, a trait you’ve picked up from him over the course of the months. Almost a little too much so… were your anxieties that obvious that they leaked out without your knowledge?

Your lips pull a frown. “I can handle it. I’d rather know too much than not know enough. I’m meeting your family, after all.”

The mention of the word “family” irks him a bit, a slight tick from his jaw. A sigh drifts out from him, like he was expecting this from someone who’s mindset was so head-on for most things. “You should be careful about what you wish for.”

“Otoya,” you declare a little more sternly. He purses his lips at your calling of his name, akin to a mother scolding a child.

“Fine then, you asked for it,” he mutters, swerving his car suddenly into a blank space and jutting his gear stick into park. He leans his elbow on the center console and somehow forces you to look at him without touching or commanding you. You stay still where you are, but you focus on the droning look of Otoya’s green hues that bore into you, warning you almost.

“My family owns a subsidiary business of a large investment management company,” he begins with a tone so robotic, it sounds almost generated. It doesn’t sound a bit like him.

You were planning to uncover the true essence of Otoya Eita and why he’s been rather shut-in recently from you, but you never expected him to reveal everything about himself all at once because he spits out everything to you in the matter of seconds, leaving barely any for you to stay curious since he seems to ask every question you have in mind immediately.

“Specifically, we handle index funds. Yes we’re wealthy. Yes, I’m a trust fund baby. I just try to earn money my own way since I don’t want to rely on my parents that often. No, I can’t just give you money flat-out. No, do not ask me if you can dabble in them through me—Karasu already tried. I’ve got barely any knowledge in business and I want it to stay that way.

I have two sisters. Both of them are following my parents’ footsteps, which makes me a black sheep in the family. Stay away from them if you can, same with my parents. I don’t keep in contact with my family a lot for that reason and I only came here because Teruo is the only relative that I’m close with and that gets me.”

An apt pause goes by in the car.

“Ah…” you mumble, eyes wide as you nod slowly.

You thin your lips, not sure if you should say something at the moment, an exponential flurry of questions constantly rising to thoughts that you think you should hold yourself back from asking in the meantime as clearly this was just too much information to digest at once.

Otoya snaps you out of your thoughts with an actual snap of his fingers. You blink.

“This is important, so listen carefully,” he states, atypically serious. There’s almost this pleading look on his face if you look deeper into it. “All you need to do is keep your pretty little head down and let me do the talking, yeah? Don’t try to pretend to be someone you’re not if someone asks you who are—rich snobs can sniff out a phony in seconds. Just don’t give them too much information. Any questions?”

This is very unlike the usual Otoya you saw, and you think this is finally the real version of him that he’s finally allowing you to see; this more vulnerable, more historical side to him that you would’ve never guessed the current Otoya you knew (or thought you knew) well came from.

“Uh… who else should I avoid other than your sisters and parents?” you ask.

“Quite literally almost everyone on my side of the family, ‘cept for Teruo and my great aunt Hisako. She’s weird, but chill. Everyone else?” Otoya rolls his eyes. “Chances are if they look like me, then just stay away.”

You affirm with another nod. “What are your sisters’ names? Just so I can be wary.”

“My oldest sister goes by Eimi, my baby sister goes by Eiko,” Otoya describes. “Avoid nee-san the most—she can see through people easily. Eiko’s got a baby-face, but don’t be fooled. She’s a spoiled brat and a bitch if you tick her off.”

You wince at the insults he throws at his sisters, but you have no room to judge. Otoya grew up with them, you did not.

“Er, how about your parents?” you inquire.

“You don’t have to worry about them,” his shoulders sag a bit, “‘cause they’ll probably avoid me if anything.”

Otoya suddenly turns to you and you can see this foreign tiredness to his eyes; it’s not the normal lethargicness you see him being casted upon, but rather from exhaustion.

That’s what happens, you suppose, when you come from such a family of prestige—you can’t even imagine the amount of expectations he probably had to live up to prior to being your roommate. You’ve never seen him in this way before, seeing him almost defenseless before you.

Eyes closing, he breathes slowly, trying to regain his natural lull again as best as possible. Otoya cracks them open again, a familiar glaze over lime green.

“Just stay close to me,” he mutters almost beseechingly. “Okay? For both our sakes.”

Otoya was right. Money really makes people much too vain for your liking.

Despite looking the part of the family, Otoya himself had an aura that made him stand out in all the wrong ways, drawing side-eyes and whispers from people that knew about him and his reputation as you and him walked about the conservatory, trying to find the groom. You’re a part of it too, his notoriety stretching to you. Every time you try to sneak a glance at one of those dirty looks you think is being thrown your way, just when your vision clears up, they go back to talking in nonsensical manners amongst themselves and laughing much too sweetly.

An older middle-aged woman in a yukata suddenly begins to approach you and Otoya, a faux smile on her face that he doesn’t return. Her face is placidly smooth, eerily so, but the botox can’t always hide the essence of bitter time, and you think that smile is just as fake as her lips.

“Eita, what a pleasure to see you here,” she greets. “Teruo will be happy to see you.”

“Auntie Kazuko,” Otoya replies simply. “It’s good to see you.”

Her smile doesn’t falter and she draws her beady eyes to you, lighting up in mischief. “Hello there. I’ve never seen you before.”

You can feel Otoya stiffen before you, but you squeeze his arm in reassurance that you can temporarily handle yourself.

“My name is (Y/N) (L/N),” you greet with as much false compassion as you can muster, giving her a slight bow of respect. “I’m his plus-one for tonight. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“(L/N)...” Kazuko draws on her tongue, tasting your last name delicately. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a family. What do you all dabble in?”

“She’s not one of us, Auntie, she’s just a friend of mine,” Otoya cuts in before Kazuko can make a judgement. His tone is so much sharper than normal, serpentlike, almost equivalent to his aunt’s.

Kazuko’s smile stretches wider, eyes widening and you swear her pupils constrict themselves like a cat venturing for its prey. You swallow.

“Ah,” she murmurs, lilting her head to examine you fully. “My apologies. I just thought with your looks and your dress that perhaps I just wasn’t akin to your name. Seems I’ve been mistaken.”

Your dress suddenly feels constricting on your body, too tight. “Oh, I just—” you start, shuffling.

“Oscar de la Renta’s Summer 2023 collection, yes?” she asks you. A shiver runs down your spine when his aunt refuses to move her formidable gaze away from you, almost testing you.

You go rigid. No wonder why you felt so intimidated by the dress; a piece crafted by a distinguished fashion house was given to you by Otoya. And while you’ve dabbled in the world of high fashion before, you’ve never been in a status that allowed you to just casually wear $2,000 pieces like they were nothing.

Words fall heavy on your tongue, trying to compose yourself so as to not seem small in front of her. “I don’t really—”

Otoya beats you to it first, swooping down to save you before you accidentally embarrass yourself.

“His Pre-Fall 2025 collection, actually,” he says, face still blank.

Your throat feels dry. Kazuko had a trap set up ready for you and if it weren’t for Otoya’s quick reflexes, you probably would’ve ended up dead meat not even fifteen minutes into this wedding.

Kazuko’s smile falters a bit. Her gaze hardens at you but pivots to Otoya. “I’m sure she has a voice of her own, Eita.”

“Where’s Teruo?” he inquires boredly. “Just wanna give him some support before the big show.”

Kazuko huffs, but silently points to the right corridor of the hallway, her eyes cold and sharp and daggering when they burn into the back of your back as Otoya leads you away from her.

“I’m assuming she’s one of yours…?” you ask softly, noticing how Otoya’s own gaze softens and body loosens when she’s out of view.

“She’s his mom,” Otoya admits as you trail down a hallway of doors as you approach the large door at the end of the hallway. “It’s crazy considering they act nothing alike. Or look alike. I can’t tell if it’s because of all the botox or if just being a bitch ages you quicker.”

A stifled giggle muffles itself under your hand, a small bit of humor distracting you from the tension in the room.

True to his word, you meet the rather outlandish and loud Teruo, whose naturally extroverted nature is a breath of fresh air in comparison to everyone else. He shakes your hand warmly, telling you thank you for being here with Otoya, who many thought wouldn’t even show up, with a date nonetheless. You can understand why he and Otoya get along so well—they’re quite the oddities in the family.

He tells you and Otoya to go get settled soon in the venue with a shining smile, clearly excited to meet his shining bride. A lovesick man is always a treat to witness you think.

Skittering eyes are on you when you and Otoya settle down in your chairs and he can sense that your unease has amplified. It’s not like the same eyes that scan you aren’t observing his every move as well. Oddly, your out-of-place disposition that just seems to draw more attention than him than he would’ve liked brought him this solace—knowing that he wasn’t alone in not quite fitting in with the rest of the crowd. It was cruel to perhaps place you in a co-dependent position with him for the time being, but he figured he had to be just a bit selfish to keep his sanity.

You lift your gaze a bit and suddenly make accidental eye contact with a man in front whose head is turned ever so slightly to examine you, only breaking it when you notice him. There’s a few other eyes on you and Otoya, some even going to whisper behind their hands to share gossip.

You swallow dryly again, hands feeling clammy until a warmth slithers its way to one of them, squeezing it lightly.

You turn to Otoya, who idly gazes at you from the side and gives you a comforting nod.

“You’re fine. We’re fine,” he mutters softly. “Just ignore them. They won’t remember you tomorrow, anyways.”

The Otoya you’re familiar with somehow creeped back into this persona Otoya has been guising under, that coolness he’s notorious for bringing you comfort in knowing that this feeling won’t last for long. Relief in knowing that part of him isn’t entirely buried for the time being warms your nerves.

The lights dim.

You breathe steadily. Otoya squeezes your hand again and you return it, a silent agreement that you and him just have to stick it out for a few more hours together.

Despite the evident class and structure of the reception’s venue, the reception itself is rather rowdy. It’s too close and personal with the families, so you and Otoya have stowed away somewhere isolated and quiet, where you watch him play rhythm games on his phone intently.

“You suck,” you state as he misses a note.

“You swa—”

Otoya pauses mid sentence, closing his mouth.

You stare at him intently with a plastic grin, eyes wide and unblinking as he tries his best not to look at you and focuses his gaze on his phone. The douchebag jar was nearing its halfway point, if you could recall correctly.

“Finish that sentence, I dare you.”

“I’m good… thanks,” he mumbles.

“Good choice,” you cheerily state to his dismay as he begins another level.

The low hum of the game echoes through the part of the corridor where you and him settle yourselves in, the quietness lulling you both from the apprehension earlier. You can hear the cheers from the reception, but you and Otoya are better off just absorbing it rather than partaking in it. It’s not like they wanted you there anyway.

He’s much more relaxed now, ever since you and him moved away from all the commotion of his family that you witnessed in full light were just as everything Otoya had said they were. Judgemental, proud, and conceited.

“Hey,” you begin softly, resting your head on his shoulder and watch his thumbs prance about. “How come you didn’t tell me any of this before…?”

Otoya hums questionably, feeling the warmth of you radiating onto him. “What? My family?”

You nod. The fervent taps of his phone and echoes from the party are the only things that ring out into the silence for a bit, but Otoya eventually breaks after choosing his words carefully.

“Unless I’m forced to, I don’t like telling people about them,” he says, monotone and unfeeling. “For reasons you obviously saw. Also ‘cause I hate associating myself with them.”

That’s understandable, you think to yourself. You don’t think that you would be able to live with yourself if fate forced you to be a part of such a snobbish collective of rich folk without trying to break it off and make a name for yourself.

“It’s why I refused to go into the financial business field in college and chose music instead,” he continues to your astonishment. Not necessarily a man of many words in regards to himself, Otoya was always more of a secretive person to you, especially in consideration of recent weeks, so to hear him unsheathe truths of himself without you prying came as a small surprise.

But this is good, you think, to let him be vulnerable around you. To take that mask off.

“Your parents weren’t mad?” you ask.

He snorts loudly, shaking his head. “Oh no, they were pissed. Threatened to cut me off and everything.”

You perk up. “But you said you’re trust fund baby?”

“I am still,” he confirms with a nod. “Because I told them if they did, I’d reveal to the press all the scandals they covered up. And there’s more than enough to hand out to properly damage their reputation.” Otoya shrugs loosely. “My uncle on my mom’s side especially has quite the stack. Really likes that one gentlemen's club down on Twenty-Eighth.”

Your eyes widen at his quiet ferocity. Only a few hours prior, you would’ve never thought that Otoya you saw on a day-to-day basis would dabble in such matters, only doing his own business as he liked. But seeing this new side of him stirs sparks of interest within you, seeing as how there’s this undertone of determination and ambition he nurtured himself, very much unlike the lethargic, easy-going roommate you saw.

Otoya, without averting his eyes away from his phone, senses your shock and cracks a grin.

“Surprised?” he inquiries, a subtle slyness in his voice.

You’re nothing but. You let out a brief laugh in astonishment.

“A little bit,” you murmur. “Sorry, I just kind of always took you as—”

“—a slob? A sloth? A laggard?” Otoya lists down. “You can say it, I’ve heard it all before. They’re pretty much true anyway.”

“I was going to say ‘laid back’,” you mutter, shoving him a bit to his amusement. “‘Care-free’ even, you dunce.”

He cringes at the familiarity of the nickname. “Gross. You’ve been hanging out with Tabito too much.”

You’re about to hurl an insult back at him but Otoya stands up abruptly when two feminine voices suddenly trail through the hallway. His face remains still, but there’s a seriousness to his eyes that narrow when they grow closer.

“I feel as though Teruo went over his budget,” a familiar voice drawls steadily, two pairs of heels clicking in synchronicity. “All for a commoner girl?”

“Well, Teruo-nii has always been like that,” the other, younger in intonation, replies in what seems to be an attempt at comfort, but comes off as standoffish. Otoya’s brows knit in concern at the second voice, clearly accustomed to it. “Always loud and grand. Explosive, some may say.”

“I hope your brother won’t be doing that with that girl he came along with,” Auntie Kazuko’s voice chides. “Then again, I doubt he’ll ever get married anyway. He doesn’t seem like the type to do so.”

The younger voice laughs in amusement. “It might be better for us anyway. We don’t need more drama from someone who’s stirred up quite a storm already.”

Your eyes soften in pity at the implication of Otoya, who just stares at the two approaching shadowy figures in the hallway. You want to refute their statement, but your words falter when Otoya suddenly grabs your arm and pulls you further from them, your heels rapidly clicking against the floor.

“Hey!” you exclaim with a slight yelp in pain from his grip. “Where are we—”

“Just away from them,” he grimaces. “I don’t feel like talking to nee-san today.”

His older sister. Eimi, if you could recall, the one who was able to see through people. You’ve never heard of her until today, let alone know what she looks like, but you can already tell from Otoya’s urgency to get away from her that she’s not a force to be reckoned with.

Otoya leads you down one of the corridors leading to the entrance but hisses out a swear when he sees a cherub-faced woman talking politely with an elder, a head of long snowy white hair with that strike of green mimicking his own. He turns back, only to see the shadowy figures from earlier approach you both closer and closer as the seconds pass.

He groans out loud. He hates things like this—problems that require too much worrying. It was such a waste of time dabbling on things that were out of his control, such as this scenario before him, and Otoya thought he had gotten away from the hazards of it when he left the family but he supposes that he’s doomed to face such troubles whenever they’re in radius.

His eyes scan his surroundings for a way out, not finding any that won’t lead him to cross paths with people until he spots a certain door.

“Sorry babe,” he mutters lowly to you and pulls you to the men’s bathroom to your horror. “This won’t take long, I promise.”

You gawk at him when you see the male symbol on the door.

“Dude!” you shout in protest, but to no avail does it work in changing Otoya’s mind seeing as how he slams the door shut and locks it, pressing himself up against the door as a barricade.

To your relief, it was a single stall bathroom with no one in it to bother you both, one gold-plated toilet sitting next to the door and a marble sink across from it. Otoya swallows thickly, pressing his ear up against the wall to properly hear outside. He can hear the semi-condescending voices of his sisters murmur through, his name being bounced around once or twice to his displeasure.

A small velvet stool sits right in front of the door and you let yourself take a break from the stress of your heels, watching closely as Otoya observes the outside within the inner safety of the bathroom with his ear.

“I think we’re all good,” he asserts when turning back to you.

You don’t enjoy seeing him like this—it felt uncharacteristic of him to be so restless around people he was supposed to have fun with. It’s clear that he didn’t want to come from the very beginning.

“Hey,” you start, “I get that Teruo is your cousin and everything, but we can go home if you really want to.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I promised him I’d stay for at least the majority of the reception. Just until the toasts. Said I didn’t have to interact with anyone, but he wants me here. I owe him that much.”

“Well that isn’t worth being uncomfortable for nearly five hours, I’m sorry,” you remark tiredly. “You don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I think it’s just best if we leave.”

Otoya turns to you, a slight furrow in his brow. “He’s the only person in this family that I refuse to let down. Everyone else can go fuck themselves, but I’m doing this for him.”

You sigh, rubbing your forehead, a little vexed at this foreign stubbornness considering Otoya would usually go along with most things.

“You haven’t let yourself breathe even once the entire time we’ve been here,” you point out with concern. “I’m sure he’d understand.

Otoya takes your words in for a moment to consider, but ultimately shakes his head again. “It’s just a few more hours. Let’s just tough it out.”

Frustrated, you get up and dust yourself off, moving towards the door. You’ve had enough for one night; you’re tired, your esteem has been kicked down from all the shady comments sent your way, and all you want to do is just take off this dress and makeup and sleep. Meddling around in rich folks’ business was not your ideal Saturday night.

“You can stay if you want,” you huff, grasping the handle and whipping your head around to face him. “But I’m gonna grab an Uber. I’ll see you back home. I’ve done my part.”

Otoya shrugs loosely, unfazed as he takes your spot on the stool. “Go right ahead, princess.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

You throw him another judgemental look, one that he doesn’t do much with except for give you a questioning raise of his brows as you tug on the doorknob to swing yourself out of the reception’s venue.

Oddly, however… it refuses to budge.

You pause. Then jerk it again. Nothing happens. The door stays where it is.

“What…” you mutter, pulling on the doorknob again, fiddling with the lock multiple times to get the right latch. With every turn of the lock, however, you run into the same problem. “You can’t be serious? It’s stuck?”

“No way bro can’t even open a door right,” Otoya snorts and stands up. His hand goes to grip the doorknob and give it a pull from his own means, but even he can’t seem to get it to open.

“I’m telling you, it’s stuck,” you insist as he repeats your own methods, all reaching no avail.

Otoya constantly pulls on the doorknob, each yank being harsher than the previous. “It literally just opened a minute ago—hold on…”

“Don’t pull too hard,” you warn when he begins adding more of his strength. “You might—!”

Something clicks, and Otoya figures it’s the latch. He gives it one last harsh tug, only for the actual knob of it to snap off suddenly to your horror, a gasp pulling from your throat.

He steps back a little, examining the chunk of metal in his palm. He gives you a blank look.

“So… we may be stuck,” he says all too obviously, making you smack your forehead.

“Well duh!” you groan out loud and examine the broken lock that seems completely hopeless to try and solve a way to maneuver it.

Otoya is quick to pull out his phone. “Lemme call Teruo and see if—shit, my phone’s dead.”

He shows you the empty battery icon flickering on his screen, your dread expanding.

“I didn’t think rhythm games took up that much battery…” he falters, tucking it back into his pocket. “Try yours.”

Thankfully, you have your phone still at 40% battery when you pull it out, the number keypad at the ready, only for you to whine miserably when you see the No Service text on the corner of your screen. Of course you somehow land in the only place in the venue that is just slightly out of service.

“First rule of thumb whenever you enter a place,” Otoya holds a finger up, one that you have an urge to snap from the irritation that boils within you. “Always ask for their wifi password.”

That’s not how it works… you hiss at him in your mind, trying to avoid escalating this situation. You stare at him darkly, his lax personality not doing much to help your unease in this moment and wonder how many hours it’ll take for you to go insane and strangle him.

Two, you think. One, if he tested his luck.

Surprisingly, after three and a half hours have passed, Otoya still has a beating heart. He’s been the patient one out of you two, watching you as you pace back and forth to try and conjure a plan to get out while he was just riding on the wave of hoping someone would come by soon to try and use this bathroom.

You’ve tried going on his shoulders to try and receive a signal, pushing the vent to see if you could spy-movie—only for it to be much too small for a human body to fit, and yelling for help whenever someone passed by, only for your shouts to be drowned out from the music.

The music has died down, but your voice is gone from all the shouting. You’ve given up at this point, just hoping that a custodian will somehow break their way through after hours.

“Has no one attempted to look for you yet?” you question wearily when you slump down next to him on the stool.

Otoya gives another one of those loose shrugs of his again as he bunches up his suit jacket, plopping it on his lap. “Bold of you to assume that family gives a damn about me.”

The way he says it seems too casual, like he was used to this. Like this was normal for him. It’s unsettling to you, knowing that such a large and prestigious family would think of one of their own so scathingly that his existence barely mattered.

He sees you giving him a pouted look and sighs. “You don’t have to pity me. I chose to leave that life while knowing the consequences.”

“But even so… it doesn’t bother you?” you question with sympathy laced in your voice. “When they talk about you like that?”

“Hah,” Otoya gives a smileless laugh, rolling his eyes. “I promise you, I could not have given less of a shit about what they think of me. They can say whatever they want; I got what I wanted at the end of the day while they’re stuck slaving away at an office.”

You give him a stony look, silently reminding him that you and his other two roommates worked corporate.

“My fault,” Otoya excuses with guilty haste.

The rigidity in your face softens once more, your mind trailing back to all of those side-eyes that everyone had thrown in Otoya’s direction from before.

The Otoya you saw today just seemed so different from the one you were used to at home, so much so that you still can’t decipher him out and if anything, the Otoya that you had witnessed today just even caused more confusion to you. The usual Otoya, the one you suspect is just a mask, is this composed and carefree guy that dawdled around the apartment as he pleased, doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to do it. This Otoya however, was much more uptight, much more weary of his surroundings��you almost think that he’s mimicking his family in some manner.

Maybe that’s why he’s been so closed-off with you recently. Family can bring out the best and worst in people, so the days leading up to this event were the reason why he’s been so strayed from you lately.

“You know,” you start quietly, earning Otoya’s attention. “I wish you didn’t feel the urge to have to hide something like this from me. Unless I made it seem like you had to…?”

Otoya examines you in full, scanning how bleak your face is, how sincere it was.

He remembers the first day you came into the loft—you, sitting there on the couch with your fidgety self squirming about. Originally, Otoya had not really thought that hard about you during the first few weeks you and him were living together, seeing you as no more than just a girl he wasn’t allowed to cross boundaries with to ensure nothing unnecessary would blossom. Even Yukimiya and Karasu had told him not to try anything funny, though he insists he wasn’t going to anyway.

But times change, as they always have. A crack was made in the wall he put between you and him from a specific day he saw you bring home a certain vinyl, one that he already owned from his own collection. That was his first break with you, your shared love of music—the start of everything. Of you and him. A unique relationship with a girl he’d never had before.

He thought it’d just be nothing more than that, casual chats over new albums and artists and whatnot. Until the small hangouts started to arise, where it’d just be the two of you venturing around places like record stores or flea markets. It was nice, being able to hang out with a girl without any other intentions. Perhaps that’s why Otoya allowed himself to get closer to you—you were a safe option. Someone he was able to breathe around just like Karasu and Yukimiya.

Someone he saw as an escape from the roots of himself.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” he says. “I just never brought it up because I thought I didn’t have to at first,” He shuffles his feet about, almost ashamed.

He never even realized he was closing himself in from you when he received the wedding invitation all those weeks ago, a reminder to not forget where he came from, who he was supposed to be. That no matter how many times he attempts to bury it, that lost potential he never wanted to live up to was still a remnant of him.

“I figured that if I possibly did, you’d view me differently,” he admits, “you’d view me as someone I’m not.”

He had a point; money does a plethora of things—one of them being the way people see each other. Whether one person saw the other as a walking piggy bank, or someone they could depend on financially, or someone they should envy, money was always attached to some sort of ugly feeling that you figured Otoya didn’t want you associating with him. Not from someone he had such a unique connection with.

“I didn’t want that,” he confesses and raises his head to face you in full. You can feel your heart skip a beat when he goes to directly stare into your eyes with those lime green eyes of his that hold nothing but genuinity. “Especially not from you, (Y/N).”

The way he says your name is delicate, like it’s fragile. The lack of endearment and nickname reveals the earnesty of his nature.

It comes to you suddenly, that epiphany you had been searching for.

You had spent all this time wondering about who the true Otoya Eita was that you didn’t even realize you had been face-to-face with him this entire time. That, in reality, the seemingly-fake Otoya was the one you saw plastered on his face when it came to his family matters, people that brought the worst of himself to light. He kept it professional, keeping them at arm’s length as to not let anymore of those feelings only they could conjure to light. He was just trying to bury that part of him on your behalf to keep letting authenticity bounce between you and him.

But Otoya is a good man. A tad bit annoying, yes, you won’t deny you’ve seen some vices of his unfiltered self, sure, but at the end of the day, despite having that immense access to wealth, he still somehow lived humbly. It was ironic seeing as how he detached himself from his riches to become a happier person, but he’s clearly put in the work, seeing as how he seems to be content where he is. Everyone around him seems to be, as well.

You give him a gentle smile.

“I don’t think I would’ve viewed you in a different light even if I tried to,” you murmur. “You’re too much of a good person. I think everyone can see that, Otoya.”

His eyes widen a bit from your tender response before softening. Your response is tender, an honesty he’s not familiar with, but embraces nonetheless. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

One of his legs shuffles around with yours, linking them together in a loose manner. Otoya turns to you.

“You can call me Eita, by the way,” he proclaims quietly. “I don’t mind.”

The clicking of metal suddenly startles you awake, your body jolting so harshly, Otoya’s suit jacket falling to the ground from your body. Your head jerks up from Otoya’s shoulder, accidentally waking him up, whose own lied on top of yours for the small catnap you and him took, a groan rumbling out of him.

“Awhuzz happening…?” he asks blearily, eyes half-closed.

It takes a bit for your vision to adjust, but the inner mechanics of the broken doorknob are suddenly moving on their own, a muffled voice outside muttering about. You tap on his arm rapidly, pointing your finger towards it. “Look, look!”

Otoya’s drowsiness still stirs within him, but you go up and rap on the door, indicating to the person outside that someone was still here.

“Hello?!” you call out, hearing an exclaim from outside. “Hello! Sorry, but there’s two people trapped in here! Can you let us out please?!”

You watch eagerly as whoever is outside fiddles with the broken lock, the latch suddenly clicking and the door swinging open to your relief.

A custodian with his supplies appears before you, your unknowing knight in shining trousers. He widens his eyes at the both of you. “What on earth are you kids doin’ here? We’ve been closed for three hours already.”

I’m so sorry, the lock broke and we both got trapped inside since around eight or so,” you confess as you hand the custodian the broken knob. You check the time on your phone, the time reading 01:34 AM. “Oh gosh, we were stuck in there for that long?”

The custodian eyes you both suspiciously, raising a bushy brow. “And exactly why did you both move into the same bathroom when clearly…?” he eyes you up and down, moving his gaze to the male symbol on the door.

It was your turn for your eyes to widen, a heat rising on your cheeks.

“N-no sir, it wasn’t anything like that…” you stutter, shaking your head. “We just—will you shut up!” you snap at Otoya, who quietly snickers behind you to your disbelief.

The custodian sighs, dismissing it and just wanting his job to be over with.

“Y’all better get movin’,” he warns, checking behind his shoulder. “Security doesn’t take too kindly to who they think may be trespassers.”

When you both finally walk outside for the first time in hours from the bathroom and pass by the reception venue, it’s dark and completely devoid of all the decorations you saw earlier, eerily desolate. Otoya’s car is the only one that remains in the parking lot, with the exception of the night crew, and you couldn’t feel more relieved to be sitting on something other than a velvet stool for once. Who knew cold leather seats could feel so pleasant?

“It would’ve been easier if you just went along with what he was implying,” Otoya points out as he travels down the road, a smirk toying on his lips. “Would’ve been funnier, too.”

Your jaw grits, a familiar reaction whenever he says or does anything preposterous to you. He’s lucky he’s driving and not still stuck in the bathroom with you, because if he wasn’t, you most definitely would’ve strangled him by now.

“Twenty bucks in the douchebag jar when we get home, Eita,” you hiss.

He stifles a chuckle, a warmth within him blooming when he hears his name falling from your lips. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

☚ previous next☛

a/n: this chapter sucked the absolute life out of me good god im glad it's over... a little bit of a serious one, but dw i'm pinning that clown nose on otoya again soon! also, this was the dress that otoya had reader wear; it's an actual piece from the oscar de la renta's collection otoya stated.

yukki's chapter is next, one that i'm quite excited for! i think that's where all the drama is going to start to happen so i hope you'll stay tuned (spoiler: they dance together aaa)

thank you sincerely if you made it this far, i hope you enjoyed reading! comments and reblogs are the best way to support your writers; they're always appreciated and never unnoticed <3

taglist (link to join): @okkotsuus @solaqes @cz19y @kiritokunuwu @/ilovenijironanase @cyberheartrebel @tecchouss @/inojinieee @beoms-sugar

*those with /, please turn on the ability to tag you in posts!

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meguwumibear · 20 days ago

Text

Three Little Words

After 48 hours of radio silence, Zayne decides to pay you a visit.

TW: omegaverse (alpha!zayne and omega!reader), brief oral (f) receiving, brief fingering, unprotected piv sex, knotting, minor scent kinkiness

You’re ignoring him.

You are.

In fact, you’ve been ignoring him for a whopping forty-eight whole hours. The two-digit number seems absurdly large to him—there are, after all, nearly nine-thousand hours in a year—but reminding himself of the scale does little to dispel the budding anxiety that begun to eat away at him after the first twenty-four.

It’s not like he expects you to answer all his calls or respond to all his texts. Zayne understands that you’re probably busy, that your dangerous work keeps you from your phone and that your needy friends often siphon away the remainder of your energy forcing you to party with them. His rational mind can think of ten, twenty, thirty different reasons why you haven’t responded to any of his texts, but his emotional mind—the mind in which he cages his alpha—ignores them all.

Two days without so much as a peep from you simply is unusual. It just isn't like you to leave him on delivered or send him straight to voicemail. Typically, when conversation begins to lull—he’s never been particularly good at carrying one—you often bombard him with lines of emojis he must decode like hieroglyphics just to drag out the exchange.

Though he knows he should let sleeping dogs lie, accept—like any rational man would—that sometimes texts go unanswered, especially texts punctuated with curt, dark periods instead of the welcoming curve of a question mark, he cannot. He doesn’t understand what he did to drive this wedge between him and you, but he is determined to remove it.

He spends the drive to your place convincing himself his visit is purely clinical; once he confirms your radio silence is a result of acute emotional distress and not life ending injury, he’ll leave you alone to sulk. Though he’s certain he is easily the best receptacle for your anger or anxiety or whatever it is you may be feeling, he will allow you to process the emotion however you deem necessary, even if that means ignoring him.

The sharp sound of his knuckles rasping against your sturdy doorframe echoes loudly around the abandoned hallway, disturbing the precarious peace. Zayne takes deep, steadying breaths as he waits for you to answer, hoping his concern hasn’t etched itself into his flesh or colored his skin.

It takes longer than it should for you to respond to the knock, and it soon becomes clear why. The door creaks open barely a fraction of an inch, but he can smell the silken honey of your heat laden scent anyway. The thick, heady odor sticks to your dewy skin.

Your bloodshot eyes widen in surprise when you see him, and Zayne’s sensitive nose doesn’t miss the way your scent changes as your, no doubt, foggy mind registers that an unclaimed alpha now stands before you, willing—maybe—but definitely able to provide you with a much needed knot. It sours briefly, before transforming into something down right syrupy sweet.

“Zayne,” you whimper, and oh how he’s always loved the sound of his name in your mouth, how the ‘z’ vibrates between your teeth, how the ‘aye’ sits in the back of your pallet, how the ‘n’ so sonorously slips out between your slightly parted lips. “Sorry, I-”

You slowly blink at him through dark, matted lashes, lids heavy, pupils blown wide. Whatever it is you want to apologize for stays stuck in your throat. White teeth worry at chapped lips as your eyes slip from him. They fixate on the dark toes of his shoes.

“Let’s get you back inside,” he says, voice steadier than expected given the animalistic way his mind and body are responding to your debauched state. His pants, for example, feel a good deal tighter than they did when he first pulled them on this morning.

You don’t open the door to accommodate him, and—despite the urgings of his inner alpha—Zayne doesn’t bully his way inside. He is in control of himself, of the shaking hands that yearn to press a cool palm against your feverish forehead, of the restless legs that itch to close the distance between him and you. Even as saliva begins to well in his mouth as he takes in lungful after lungful of pure, unadulterated need, Zayne is in control.

“But,” you protest weakly, lithe fingers gripping the doorway for support, “I’m in heat.”

Yeah, he knows. He can smell you.

“I understand,” he replies, wishing for maybe the first time ever to rid himself of the adhesive patches that help keep his scent at bay. His covered glands itch as they strain against the dense medicinal covers, secreting what little soothing hormones the compact space allows. “I want to help.”

Your brows knit together as you digest what he’s shared. Then your lower lip begins to wobble and salty tears begin to streak steadily down your darkened cheeks as you let out an absolutely gut-wrenching sob.

Both Zayne and his alpha recoil at the raucous little hiccups that escape from your throat as you try unsuccessfully to choke back your cries. Wolfish instincts scream at him to comfort you, but he isn’t sure how to without crossing any of the carefully maintained boundaries that the relationship he has cultivated with you are built on.

Tentatively, he places his palm against the cold surface of your door and begins to gently push at the barrier, just hard enough for you to register his ask. You could stop the door from opening, if you really wanted. You could stop him from entering too. Instead, you take a cautious step back away from the entrance, and allow him to shoulder his way inside.

First things first: he makes his way over to your kitchen and fills a glass with water. Omegas in heat need to stay hydrated, but their hormone addled bodies sometimes forget to complete even the most basic activities of daily living in the pursuit of a knot. If he had to guess, you haven’t had anything to eat or drink in at least twenty-four hours.

Which is why he can’t understand why you eye the hydrating liquid so suspiciously. You need it. Your already sore muscles will cramp without it. Your head will begin to ache. Hydration is a basic part of tending to oneself in rut or heat, and you’re already on, what, day two?

“You need to drink,” he tells you, which, to his confusion, only makes you cry harder. Omegas are prone to crying spells during heats—especially when they are unable to fulfil their sexual needs—but the tears are usually a result of happiness and pleasure. Something must be terribly wrong if the thought of drinking water has brought you to tears. Like he said at the door, he wants to help you through this. He’s trying to take care of you. Can you really not understand that?

“’m okay,” you slur out between sobs. “Thank you for checking on me. You can go now.”

Zayne blinks at you as if clearing his vision will make clear for him why you’re in such emotional distress. He doesn’t doubt your tears were brought on as a side effect of your heat, but your heat alone doesn’t fully explain the way your scent keeps getting sicker and sicker as you stare at the water he’s offered.

“And, why would I do that?” he asks.

“Because,” pause for another chest-rattling cry you’re unable to swallow down, “because you don’t like omegas.”

Hold on. What?

Zayne closes the gap between the two of you in three deceptively calm strides, water forgotten on the counter. He tucks his index finger beneath your chin and lifts it so that you’re forced to look him in the eyes. Yours begin to wander—looking anywhere other than at his—but they eventually settle where he needs them.

“What ever gave you that impression?”

Your eyes flick to his neck, where, hidden beneath his shirt collar, two scent patches prevent him from producing the aromatic oils his body, an alpha’s body, naturally creates to attract omegas, to attract mates. It occurs to Zayne suddenly the last time you ever caught his natural scent may have been the day before he left you all those years ago.

“That’s not why I wear them,” he tells you. Well, that’s not technically why he wears them anyway. The patches do keep away omegas, but they also help him wrangle his alpha. He doesn’t like how strongly he smells. Doesn’t want to stink up the office or operating room. Doesn’t want to scare his patients. And, he certainly doesn’t want to attract any omega who isn’t…

“Take them off?” you ask as your body begins to list towards him.

He lets you press yourself against his chest and nuzzle your nose against his pec. His scent is probably strong there, though he imagines whatever smell sticks to his chest is faded and dulled. The active ingredient in his soap is meant to neutralize his body’s natural odors.

“I can’t,” he says, as you continue rub your face against him, nose traveling left of his pec to the crevice of his armpit, where his scent is likely the most potent.

“Please,” you beg, neck straining to resume eye contact, if only so you can blink beseechingly at him with red-rimmed, doe-like eyes. “You said you want to help.”

“I do,” he affirms. He rubs soothing circles into your back to placate you. Perhaps if the two of you had discussed this prior—what you like and dislike in the bedroom—he could do more for you, but he doesn’t want to take advantage of you in your primal state. “Do you have any heat aids?”

Your cries have softened, no longer the violent, rib-splitting wails from earlier, but the tide of tears hasn’t completely stopped. He thumbs a few stragglers away, and you lean eagerly into his touch.

“Don’t want a heat aid,” you tell him, tongue darting out of your mouth to wet your dry lips. Zayne can’t tell if you’re intentionally trying to rile him up, or if you’ve surrendered completely to your inner omega. “I want your knot.”

Zayne strokes your cheek with his thumb, “I can’t give you that today.”

“Why not?” you ask him, squirming a bit to reposition yourself. Too late does Zayne realize you’re pushing your body firmly against his groin, “I can smell how much you want me. Your scent patches don’t mask the salt of your cum.”

Damn his alpha biology.

But, you’re not wrong; he does want you. He’s wanted you from the moment he first presented. He could picture, even then, sucking the smooth skin of your neck into his mouth and sinking his incisors deep into the depths of your scent gland, claiming you, mating you. That’s why he wears patches. That’s why he takes pills. His alpha craves you with a ferocity that he struggles to bring to heel.

“That’s your heat talking,” he replies, though he knows the words are a lie even before they leave his mouth. The patches and pills may keep his scent at bay, but they do nothing to suppress yours. It always sweetens when he’s near, and sours when you part. He’s spent every year since reconnecting with you attempting to convince himself that your scent changes like that around all capable alphas, not just him. That’s how scents work, right? They change based on the parties present. They communicate what a person feels.

“You’re wrong,” you snarl, top lip hiking in anger. “Stupid too, if you really believe that. Are you stupid Doctor Zayne?”

The answer to that, it turns out, varies depending on the circumstance. It would be stupid of him, for example, to carry you to your bedroom and tuck you back into your nest—his eyes find a few of his missing ties near the foot of the bundle, and he chooses not to dwell on what that could mean. It would be stupid of him to help you peel the sweat-soaked cotton t-shirt that you tossed on to greet him away from your sticky, moist skin. All this, would of course, be stupid of him because it just makes him want you more, more, more.

He does all this anyway.

“I’ll behave,” you whine, legs instinctually falling open, hands wandering south towards your glistening folds to part your lips for him.

Zayne tears his eyes away from your squirming form, determined to preserve what he can of your dignity.

“That isn’t the issue,” he says. The dulcet squelch of you playing with yourself takes up residence in his head, right behind his temple. He wonders how many times you’ve brought yourself to the brink of an orgasm within these past forty-eight hours, hoping to alleviate the lecherous itch only to agitate it further.

“Then what…”

The squelching stops. Zayne chances a glance at you, at your face only, not the supple flesh of your thighs or plumpness of your breasts or plush skin of your ass. Zayne is a gentleman in perfect control of himself. He’s thinking only about providing for you in your time of need. He is not thinking about crawling between your spread legs and attaching his tongue to your cunt. Not actively anyway. Those thoughts are intrusive, out of his control.

“Have you considered the risks?” he asks gently, eyes still glued to your face. Just your face. Just your lips and your nose and your lashes. Just your temple and forehead and cheek.

“What risks?” you demand.

“I’m not wearing teeth guards.”

He tried a few times, but the rubbery caps never sat right in his mouth.

“So?”

Astra save him do you even know what you’re insinuating?

“I could bite you,” he patiently explains.

“And?”

And mate you, his alpha brain unhelpfully supplies. You clearly want him too. Your neck keeps lolling to the side, baring your unprotected, raised scent gland to him. Traitorous fingers move without his blessing. A thumb presses down on the slippery skin, coaxing out some of its oils. You let out a sanguine sigh.

“Zayne,” you whimper, arching yourself further off the bed, pressing your leaking gland against the pad of his thumb. “Alpha.”

What a dangerous word. One you’ve never said like that before. It’s always spit out, harsh and angry, accompanied with the roll of your eyes. Now, you drag out each and every syllable, savoring the weight of the vowels on your tongue.

“You really don’t have a heat aid?” he asks. He doesn’t understand how you’ve made it through all your past heats without one, unless you’ve heat shared with someone else, with someone who isn’t him. One of your coworkers does seem unusually attached to you…some painter you met on the job does too. Something ugly coils in his gut at the idea of anyone else seeing you like this. “We’ll have to purchase you one for the future. Until then…”

Until then what? He really, truly shouldn’t touch you anymore than he already has. Not without your explicit consent. Which you can’t give in this state. Maybe he could use his fingers to satisfy you? His whole fist if needed. He isn’t sure what your pussy is able to accommodate or what will simulate the feeling of fullness you’re craving. If his fist isn’t an option, it’s possible you have something thick and phallic around the apartment somewhere.

Trying to picture the different ways to satisfy your needs proves fatal. The hallucinogenic lucidity with which he can suddenly picture you all fucked out on his fist nearly sends him into a fit of hysterics. Gods he hasn’t even touched you, yet he can feel a wet patch blooming in his briefs from his pre.

He needs to focus on something else. Fast.

There’s no heat aid, no silicone toy, no faux phallus he can use to help you. The only instrument in his possession is himself. He looks at your neat little nest—it’s a sparse, thin thing in need of additional blankets and shirts—and you seem to understand the question forming in his mind.

“Please,” you beg, your voice a siren song, drawing him near, pulling him under. When he doesn’t immediately succumb to the melody, the next noise out of you is a piercing, high-pitched trill.

Even if he wanted to, Zayne couldn’t stop his alpha instincts from responding to the call. His knees give out, and he topples onto you, long, stiff limbs tangling with yours. A disembodied hand claws at one of his scent patches, ripping the oppressive thing away from his neck so he can rub himself against your skin and scent you proper.

“Thought you said you would behave,” he pants once he has thoroughly coated you with his oils. His inner alpha screams at him to remove the rest of his patches, to let his scent mix and mingle with your own.

“Thought you said you would help,” you huff. Then, your lower lip begins to tremble. When you bare your neck to him this time, it isn’t to titillate or tempt him, but to hide the onslaught of tears that you can’t stem in the pillow by your head. “Do you not like me?”

Fuck. Maybe he is stupid. So stupid. Oh-so-terribly stupid.

“I like you,” he says, pressing his lips against your temple. Your breath begins to steady, so he repeats the three little words again and again and again until your heartbreaking sobs finally stop and your head is no longer buried in your pillow like an ostrich’s in the sand.

“I like you. I like you. I like you a lot.”

If he could effectively communicate just how much he likes you, he would, but he isn’t sure how he could possibly transcribe into written or spoken word his all of his mawkish affections. There is no language in all of history that could accurately allow him to share the characters or alphabet of his soul with you. So, instead of telling you, he’ll have to show.

He peppers wet, open mouth kisses that are more tongue than lip all the way down your body—shoulder, breast, naval—sparing no patch of skin, acutely aware of the spit forming in his mouth at just the slightest bit of your taste.

You taste like all of his favorite things. Like mooncakes and macaroons and the strange foreign sugar-infused, sometimes doughy, sometimes flaky pastries he gorges himself on to satisfy his insatiable sweet tooth. Danishes. Croissants. Pain au chocolat. Crepes.

The sheets beneath your cunt are soaked through with your fluids, which, his alpha brain tells him is an absolute waste. The licks he begins to lavish your folds with are born of salacious desire. There’s no skill or method. No rhythm or pace. Just his tongue against and your pussy and raw, animal instinct to lick. To devour. To taste.

He slips the muscle inside you, deep as he can get it, and he feels your walls constrict around it in an effort to fill itself up. If you weren’t in the throes of heat, he’d take his time with you—warming you up on his tongue, lapping away at your slick—but right now, you need more than what his tongue can provide. Two steady, long fingers replace his tongue, reaching, further, deeper into you. They slip in too easily, so he quickly adds a third. Index. Middle. Ring. All pumping in tandem against you, working you towards a release.

“More,” you whine, sinking deeper onto his fingers, stopping only when your hips kiss his knuckles.

Zayne uses the fingers already inside you to test the stretch of your walls, scissoring all three apart. Your pussy accommodates the spread with ease, so he slowly slides in the requested fourth, slotting his pinky up against his ring, its descent aided by the natural lubricant your body so dutifully supplies.

He swipes at your clit with his thumb, assessing the sensitivity of the tiny bundle of nerves. You flinch violently as he grazes it, body seizing as if electrocuted, which is a pretty apt comparison. That’s how the nervous system works, after all. A series of electric impulses traveling from neuron to neuron, carried from branching dendrites to sturdy axons to minute synaptic bulbs.

“Knot,” you beg, plead, pray. “Please alpha—Zayne. I wanna cum on your knot.”

Zayne’s throat bobs as he swallows down all the saliva that’s been pooling in his mouth. A knot is, technically, the quickest, most effective way for him to help you through your heat. If he wants to get food and water into you, he first needs to satiate your more libidinous needs.

It’s just, Zayne is your senior, your doctor, your friend. He is reasonable, responsible, rational, and his reasonable, responsible, rational brain begins to bombard with him a series of excellent questions. Questions like: What if it’s only your omega that wants him? What if all current desires are only present due to an influx of confusing hormones? What if, once the dregs of heat have abated, you’re horrified to discovered what actions you took in the midst of it?

What if—his inner alpha, which is not reasonable or responsible or rational but rather horny and base and hopeful chimes in—you really do want him? What if you always have? What if you’ve spent all your past heats alone because he never offered to spend them with you? What if you never had to spend a heat alone ever again?

“You really want it?” he asks, just to be sure. He doubts in the short span of time it took him to come up with the question, you’ve changed your mind, but he needs to hear you say it at least once more.

“I want it,” you affirm. “I want you.”

Zayne never could deny you.

He crawls out from between your legs and up your body so that he can lock eyes with you.

“Okay,” he relents. Most medical texts argue that omegas in heat retain some of their basic faculties. They can and do verbalize protests against incompatible alphas. If you keep asking for him, for his knot, that means there is a part of you that really, truly wants it, “but I want to discuss this further after. Once this wave dies down and we get some food in you.”

You seal the deal with a kiss to his jaw.

Zayne moves as slowly as you allow him to, which isn’t very slow at all. Now that he’s agreed to knot you, you are an unstoppable force of carnal desire. Each time he tries to kneel to kick off his slacks, you pull him in for another messy, open mouth kiss. His boxer briefs, at least, are easy to shirk due to the elasticity of the cotton, and his cock is fully hard with the beginnings of a knot already forming at the base.

He rubs the tip against your slippery folds a few times before sinking balls deep inside your wet, hot cunt in one smooth thrust. The taste of your sweet nectar still lingers on his tongue like a fantastical philter, keeping him drunk on you as his hips piston with purpose into and out of your pulsating core. His eyes find your swollen, unmarked scent gland and narrow at the thin, sleek skin. He slots his lips against your own to keep his teeth away from your drooping. vulnerable neck.

You cum before he even gets his fingers on your clit, pussy seizing around the swelling bulb of his knot. He always imagined his first time with an omega would feel earth shattering, but his fat knot slips in with a quiet, anticlimactic pop. Your greedy cunt clamps around it, and he cums with the thing pressed up against your womb, cock spasming against your tight walls. The sensation isn’t earth shattering, but it’s right. A key in a lock clicking into place. He is sheathed inside you and it feels good.

Sexually satisfied, you manage to nod off, coming to only when his knot has deflated enough for him to safely slip it out of you. Like a good alpha, he planned to grab you some water and snacks to refuel, but in your hazy, post orgasm state, you refuse to let him leave you alone, so he must bring you with him as he rummages around your kitchen for something caloric to feed you.

Only once he’s certain your belly is full and your mind is temporarily clear does he ask if you want him to spend the rest of your heat with you. The look you give him brings your earlier question to the forefront of his mind.

(Are you stupid, Doctor Zayne?)

Apparently, he is.

Because he could have had this years ago.

Because this feeling has always been mutual.

Because he’s going to make you his.

#zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne lads x reader #zayne lads x you #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads x reader #lads x you #tw omegaverse #reader can be the game mc but doesnt have to be

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chilliradio · 25 days ago

Text

Carlos didn’t see him after the race. Even waited around in the paddock, dodging all the ecstatic Mclaren staff rushing past him to the garage as he waited for Oscar to show. Carlos wasn’t brave enough to venture into a celebrating sea of papaya to find him, so he tugged his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Oscar’s messages thread as he slinked away, unnoticed, rain-damp jacket blending in against the dark blue pavement.

Carlos hesitates with the words for too long, wondering what to say, what Oscar might want to hear. He dodges more people making their way past him and accidently hits the send button too soon, realises he doesn’t know how to fix it, so he just leaves it as is anyway.

Still at the same hotel tonight. If you need

Oscar doesn’t reply.

Carlos is half expecting an immediate response. A few simple words at the least, a cryptic sentence at the most. He’s also half expecting to not hear from Oscar again until next week, once he’s cooled off and pushed everything back down into the bottle of his seemingly endless emotional storage. Could swing either way. Carlos has spent long enough trying to decode Oscar’s silences that he would like to think he’s getting better at it, but all he has right now to gauge Oscar’s mood by is his race, the movements of his car reading like an extension of Oscar’s own physical tells.

There was anger, a firm set to his mouth, wheels spinning in the grass. Frustration, the cold set of his eyes, water spraying off the edges of the racing line. Determination, the furrow between his brows, getting too close to barriers and breaking late into every corner.

Carlos doesn’t hang around the paddock any longer than he has to. He briefly entertains the idea of storming into the gaudy orange motorhome as he walks past it, eyes downcast to watch the puddles ripple under his shoes. But he doesn’t know what he would even do if he did find Oscar hiding in his driver's room, rightfully licking his wounds. Besides, he’s got family around this weekend to help him. He’s got support if he wants it. He doesn’t need Carlos.

But the traitorous, longing part in the back of Carlos’s mind likes to think that maybe Oscar does need him. Maybe he needs someone that isn’t disappointed in him. Someone who understands what it’s like to make one mistake and get stuck in a mental loop of reliving that moment, wondering how to fix it, how to restart the race and make sure that never happens. Someone who can feel the steering wheel snapping too hard. The helpless, uncontrollable slide of the car going sideways.

Carlos’s phone stays silent on the way back to the hotel. He gets a text from Alex when he’s in the lobby, which he replies to by re-congratulating and politely declining the invitation out in favour of sitting on the floor of his room with back against the bed, waiting.

He sends Lando a congratulating message too, knowing he’ll be too busy to reply anyway.

Carlos has almost managed to convince himself that he won’t get to see Oscar in this hotel room again and that he’s perfectly fine with that, right when there’s a short knock on the door. Carlos stops tapping his fingers against his ribcage and pushes himself to his knees at the end of the bed. He looks over the neatly made sheets and lets the memory of Oscar’s hands push him against them. He thinks of the incessant rain, wearing a headset instead of a helmet.

Another quiet knock on the door. Carlos scrambles to his feet and yanks it open.

Oscar stares at him, unmoving. He’s wearing a black cap, orange symbol front and centre, and a plain black hoodie. Carlos can’t even see any sign of the rain on his shoulders. The material is too dark.

Oscar opens his mouth and struggles to fill it with words, instead just gesturing vaguely to the room behind Carlos. He clears his throat.

“Can I…?”

“Of course, sorry. Come in.” Carlos steps back, leaving plenty of room for Oscar to go past him, but he brushes close as he walks into the room. The sensation of his shoulder brushing against Carlos’s chest sends shivers running out his limbs, down to the tips of his fingers and toes. He wonders if the sharp feeling that being around Oscar brings out in him will ever dull. He isn’t sure if it would be a relief for it to lose its edge, or if it would just be yet another thing to miss. Crave.

Oscar stands in the middle of the room with his hands in his hoodie pocket. There’s a dejected slope to his shoulders that has Carlos’s chest aching. He steps closer, hands already reaching out, and Oscar. Oscar folds.

Carlos has always loved the fact that they’re pretty much the same height. It has always made hugging Oscar feel so right, like they just fit. When Oscar steps into his arms this time, it’s different. He crumples. Wraps his arms around Carlos’s waist and rests his head on his shoulder, curling over to rest his weight against him.

Carlos holds him as tightly as he dares, wary of making Oscar feel too trapped, overwhelmed.

Carlos counts four heartbeats in the silence before Oscar murmurs something into his shoulder.

“Huh? I cannot hear you.”

Oscar shifts so his face isn’t stuffed into the material of Carlos’s hoodie. He leans back, hiding his face under the brim of his cap as he says, “Sorry ‘bout your race.”

Carlos feels the urge to cry and laugh at the same time. The abrupt end to his race feels like a lifetime ago already. He lets his hands slip to Oscar’s shoulders, digs his fingers in for a moment like a mini massage.

“Thank you. And I am sorry about yours.”

Oscar pulls back from Carlos’s touch, eyes downcast, and steps over towards the window. The sun has already set, but there’s patches of murky purple sky beyond the city skyline. The orange glow of lights reflecting off the clouds creates a halo around Oscar's silhouette.

Oscar hums noncommittally. Carlos pulls the drawstring of his hoodie between his fingers and rolls it back and forth.

“Are you going to…” Carlos starts to ask, then realises he doesn’t know quite what he’s trying to ask. He quickly swerves around the idea of celebrating a home race being lost. “Your family, they are expecting you, no?”

Oscar shakes his head and finally turns around so Carlos can see his face, his nose scrunched up briefly.

“Nah. Told them I just needed… time.”

Oscar shrugs like it means nothing and glances over at the abstract art hanging on the walls. A splatter of what looks like black ink on white background, nestled in a sleek frame. Carlos can’t make heads or tails of it. It looks like a mistake, a mess to be cleaned up, yet it sits behind sparkling clean glass.

Carlos nods absently and sits on the edge of the bed. His fingers continue fiddling with the drawstring of his jumper, wanting to feed it between his teeth so he has something to focus on, other than imagining walking across the room and physically picking Oscar up and squeezing him. He’s got all kinds of strange energy coiling up in his stomach and shapeless thoughts flitting through his mind, unable to pin any of it down.

He feels a bit like the splatter of ink at the moment. He can't make anything he feels make sense. Can't wipe the slate clean either, forced to see it all behind a cold shield of glass.

The mattress shifts, sinking slightly to Carlos’s side. Oscar mirrors Carlos’s position, sitting on the edge of bed an arm’s length away, then Carlos watches as he folds himself in half so he can lay on the creased sheets, perfectly aligned so his head comes to rest in Carlos lap.

Carlos blinks. “Oh.”

His fingers stop pulling at the loose thread poking out from his hoodie string. Another heartbeat and Oscar shifts, knocking his own hat off his head with a flick of his hand so it falls to the floor and he settles in properly, letting all his weight rest on Carlos’s thighs.

It feels like Carlos can’t breathe around the swell of emotion that rises in the back of his throat, but he takes the obvious invitation and settles his fingers over the nape of Oscar’s neck, gently scratching through his hair, from the base of his skull to the crown of his head.

Oscar sighs, and Carlos can feel the warmth of it through the material of his sweatpants. He tries to think of something to say, anything that would sit well with them in the quiet of the room, but his mind is coming up blank. Instead, he focuses instead on the unwinding coils of his stomach as they relax, breathing in time with the rhythmic rise and fall of Oscar’s chest.

He doesn’t know how long they stay there. Carlos cards his hand through Oscar's hair in soothing, repetitive motions. It's soft against his skin. Clean from a shower after the race. Then it slips through his fingers entirely and out of reach when Oscar sits up again and looks at Carlos.

His hair is flopping down in his eyes now without a hat or Carlos’s hand to hold it. Carlos doesn't dare move. He feels a bit like he’s trying to not to scare Oscar off, like he is a stray cat who’s trust needs to be earned with stillness and patience. Carlos is more than willing to wait.

He watches Carlos with heavy eyes for a moment before he moves, digging his knees into the mattress and crawling closer so he can hitch a leg over and settle in Carlos’s lap.

Carlos’s hands hover uncertainly for a moment, fiddling with the edge of Oscar’s hoodie as he smiles up at him. “Hey.”

Oscar offers a half smile, eyes going soft and crinkly around the edges. One of Carlos’s favourite looks. “Hi.”

He doesn’t give Carlos a chance to say any more before he dips his head and captures his lips in a slow kiss. Oscar cradles Carlos’s jaw, threads his fingers through the back of Carlos’s hair as he presses close, mouth moving with a kind of calm reverence that feels more like he’s reciting prayers, whispering secrets against the sharp edge of Carlos’s teeth where he knows they will be kept safe.

Carlos holds Oscar’s hips firmly now, trying to ground himself more than anything, and he can feel his mind going floaty, body going lax under the comforting weight of Oscar on top of him. He flexes his hands and grips the edges of Oscar’s hoodie to bring himself back into focus and reluctantly breaks off. Brain buzzing with distant questions, Carlos rests a hand on the small of Oscar’s back as he pulls away so he knows he doesn’t want him going anywhere.

“Oscar.”

The soft light from the window casts Oscar’s face into gentle shadows. He nudges forward, bumping their noses together. Carlos stares at the flutter of Oscar’s eyelashes, knowing he’s looking at Carlos’s lips and feeling like a messy splatter of ink about it.

“Hmm?”

I just needed… time.

Oscar could have gone anywhere tonight. Been with anyone. There’s a whole city out there, a place that cradled a younger Oscar, a place that now cheers for him. He could be anywhere he wants to be. But he’s here.

“What do you want?” Carlos murmurs the question quietly. He runs a hand up along Oscar’s spine as he speaks, marveling at the way he arches under his touch. His breathing is uneven, choppy. Carlos isn’t doing much better.

“Uhm.” Oscar gently pulls Carlos’s hair, twisting it between his fingers. “A fuckin’ time machine, maybe.”

Carlos snorts. His hand reaches the back of Oscar’s neck where he holds him firm. Oscar somehow presses his body even closer.

“Yeah? Like the one from- what is it? Back To The Future?”

“Exactly like that. Just drive right on back into the past. That'd be perfect.”

He’s smiling, a gentle thing. Carlos mirrors that smile without thinking. He’s just happy to have got a reaction out of Oscar at all.

“And how far back would you go?” Carlos asks, a bit selfishly. Always wanting to know what is going on in Oscar’s mind is a kind of hunger that Carlos has become accustomed to by now. He lets it sit in his gut like a stomach ache, feeds it whenever he can.

Carlos tries to guess his reply before he says it. He thinks of the race, the rain, sitting at the pitwall in jeans and a jacket. Watching the screens. Watching Oscar.

Oscar hums and squints one eye closed, then smiles, mischievous, before he answers. “Reckon I’d go back to… Wednesday. Tuesday, even.”

Carlos sighs and closes his eyes, knowing exactly what Oscar means. The last time Oscar was in this room. In this very bed.

Carlos makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, going for indignant and failing miserably. He didn’t expect Oscar to pick the best moments to relive, instead of the worst moments to fix.

“Well, then you must take me with you, Oscar.”

“Well, of course,” Oscar says through another achingly soft smile.

Carlos leans forward to hide his grin against the line of Oscar’s jaw, pressing kisses against the moles dotting his skin.

“And what else do you want?”

Carlos feels like he is fishing for a specific answer, but even as he asks the same question again, he still doesn’t know what it is he wants to hear. His stomach growls with hunger for more of Oscar and scraping his teeth against the taunt muscle of his neck does little to sedate it.

“Ah, um…” Oscar shifts in his lap, a tremor running through his body. “Been craving churros lately.”

Carlos can’t help but laugh a bit wetly into the collar of his hoodie.

Oscar’s hand still cradles his head, holding him gently, running a thumb over the shell of Carlos’s ear. The delicate touch opens a pit of a yearning somewhere deep inside Carlos, and for an embarrassing moment he feels the urge to cry until he bites down on the inside of his cheek, hard, and the tidal wave subsides, roiling around his ribcage instead.

“Churros, eh? We could have room service if you want.”

Oscar’s eyes are shining when he tugs Carlos’ head back, searching his face.

“Not yet. I also want-” Oscar cuts himself off, worrying his teeth against his bottom lip. Carlos is so close, he can see the shudder of Oscar’s jaw as he forces the words out.

“I want you.” The words land like a shove to the chest. Carlos tries not to gape but he cannot keep his mouth closed, apparently. “I always want you, actually.”

And there it is. Carlos realises this is what he wanted to hear. Why Oscar chose to find safety in Carlos’s room instead of anywhere else tonight.

Carlos’s voice is tellingly thick when he speaks but he doesn’t care. The unexpected moment of vulnerability, Oscar showing him his soft underbelly without flinching has Carlos’s heart clenching in his chest. He cracks a smile anyway and jokes, “Say it one more time? I do not think I heard you.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. He’s still smiling. “Oh, fuck off. You heard me alright.”

Oscar’s hands land square on Carlos’s chest and he pushes him back against the mattress, holding himself up with hands on either side of his head. Carlos stares up at him, slack jaw and wanting eyes. The yearning in his chest twists violently.

“Say it again,” Carlos whispers. Greedy to hear it. Selfish, to make Oscar repeat himself.

Oscar cradles Carlos’s jaw and brushes his thumb over his bottom lip. The gentleness, overwhelming, is what slices Carlos open.

“I want you, Carlos."

#2.6k of carcar bc i have Feelings #and its my first f1 tumblr fic lets go!!#the freedom of posting without going through the horrors of the ao3 tagging system feels too good to be true #carcar #carlos #oscar #f1 #f1 fic #my writing

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starsandsuch · 4 months ago

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Some notes on Shatabhisha 🔮🗒️

Shatabhisha -the 24th nakshatra. Ruled by Rahu contained writhin Aquarius rashi. The yoni animal is a female horse. The symbol is 1000 stars. The diety is Varuna.

Here are some observations I made about them from my perspective. This can apply to Sun, Moon, Ascendant, or Atmakaraka in Shatabhisha. Honorable mention Ketu in Shatabhisha.

⌦ These natives are tall. Especially men with this Nakshatra will be very tall, lanky build.

⌦ Similar to the other Rahu Nakshatras like Ardra and Swati, Shatabhisha has piercing eyes. No matter the color, these natives have an intense gaze that instantly melts people. It is common they have a shocking eye color, that seems electric. Like shocking green or blue eyes.

⌦ They tend to look famous. Something about them is unique and distinguished, yet highly attractive. They naturally have that “it” factor. They look cartoonishly good, like a anime character.

⌦ Now one thing I’ve noticed is these natives behave a lot like how the name “Shatabhisha” sounds. It sounds like you’re saying “shadow”.

⌦ They can be involved with shady things like with their career or on personal life. There’s a lot people don’t know about them. They tend to disappear a lot.

⌦ Their facial features also create a lot of shadows on their face. Like defined brow bones, angled nose, hooded eyes etc.

⌦ The men especially tend to be very athletic. They have very active childhoods, being involved in sports, Boy Scouts, extracurricular activities etc. they can be very physically strong.

⌦ In physical activities they have the ability to move very fast. Like a lightning bolt across the field or court.

⌦ They usually are the orchestrator or the maestro of things. Group leader, team leader, the facilitator. They do well in groups, or teams being instrumental to the functional goals of that group. Even being the “hidden” power of that group.

⌦ They prefer to have some sort of social power other people don’t have, then allocate it accordingly to how they see fit.

⌦ It’s likely for them to be involved in some sort or official group, but one that has secrecy to it. Like a secret society, fraternity, sorority, “Illuminati” etc.

⌦ They are good at hiding things and keeping secrets. They seem to know a lot of things, but never reveal their sources for anything. The type to be a secret genius.

⌦ At some point in their life they were known as a “party girl” or someone known in the nightlife world.

⌦ It’s is common they have a job/career that takes place at night. Unconventional work hours.

⌦ A lot of them have some type of addiction at some point in their lives. They conceal their addictions well though.

⌦ It’s common that they have academically accomplished parents. They could work in the academic field/higher education. Or I’ve seen they have parents who are self made entrepreneurs, or have a family business. Some are nepo babies but mostly for Shatabhisha Ascendant.

⌦ In their early childhood they could be left alone a lot for one reason or another. Their parents were traveling often or always working. They could’ve had their material needs met but been somewhat isolated.

⌦ They can be confusing people. Like they say one thing, then have different behavior. Or their actions can be questionable. Or you have to decode things they say, or they say stuff that has double meanings. They always leave a big question mark in people minds.

⌦ They can struggle to relate to people around them but they know how to appeal to people overall. This is why they make good celebs. They can sell an image, be viral or trending, have a relatable “reputation”. But their actual personality in 1 on 1 dynamics are harder to connect with.

⌦ They are funny and know how to make people laugh. They have funny/clever one liners.

#vedic astrology #nakshatras #shatabhisha #sidereal aquarius #astrology observations #astro observations #starsandsuch #2024

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theoccultz · 9 months ago

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How do they really see you ?

Req.

Minors dni (18+ mention's )

General reading, take what resonates , leave what doesn't

Pics and dividers not mine , credits to their rightful owners

Thank you for all the reblogs , likes and comments i appreciate it 🖤

See ya at your pile !!

Pile l . Pile ll. Pile lll.

Pile 1 .

Queen of wands , 8ofpentacles, 4ofpentacles

Hyena

They see you as helpful and relient you will pass the opportunity if you feel like others need it more ,you guys are good at guiding others you may be a teacher or you're just that friend who is able to decode easily you can read faces like a book you guys look well put together you may know what suits you and what doesn't very well . They think you get a lot of attention although you look interested in what others have to say , your mind wonders somewhere else you may have r-b-f so its hard to read to read your expressions , you're professional in a sense . you look relaxed most of the time they may see you working a lot you always seem to be focused on something, they think others bother you ,people want to talk to you but they dont respect your boundaries and they kinda feel you get annoyed when someone is interrupting you in your day to day life , they thought you were arrogant when they first met you but they've gotten used to your rbf ,they understand it was them projecting.

They think you love food and you take care of your health, they think you have good hygiene, you may style your hair or they like your hair , you respect others space ,if you say No others wouldn't force you because there's this sternness in your voice , they think you're closed off though you may interact with others you kind of hate spending too much time with others , they love whatever language you can speak i'm picking up on an accent here , they think you have a graceful presence like say there's a meeting or a party you have dressed up exactly how the dress code expect you to be , they think you are a minimalist . You are not that person who sings like they own the party there's something very ethical and well mannered.You seem to do your own thing i dont think you need help in almost anything, you can figure out things for yourself this person seems to be impressed with your qualities or persona because they're somewhat like this too and they think its a rare quality to have . They think you're more head than heart /intellectual maybe ? They dont like to think of themselves as helpless and you exactly seem to replicate that , they think people are fake these days and would stab you without a second thought , this person is not like this they are loyal until they die , either you are this gossip bee just trying to be someone you're not LMAO this person has seen you turn down others it was satisfactory, there's a lot of gossip bess here hmmm , anyway they think you dont give a shit ☠️✋🏼 although its risky and you have to give in to social pressure but you just mind your own business even though you know about the disadvantages . Yeah

They think you shouldn't be disturbed for some reason , not like you're a wild person who'll start yelling at them but they just see you enjoying your presence and being relaxed?they dont think you get excited about a lot of things like you're very Sophisticated, you dont play games . I dont know if you speak to this person but this person is down bad for your voice ,for your vocabulary like what ...???they think you're kind of cutthroat that you can hurt them with your words if they mess with you ,thry think you have anger issues but they like it 😭a bad bitch with anger issues ? yes sir ....they may have seen you lash out and they think its for everyone's good you are silent fff this person was turned on .

They think you're very sweet & cute although no one would agree with them , they seem to look for you when you're not there like they randomly start to think about you , they kinda miss you when you're not around, this person unknowingly observes you i'm seeing a vision of someone working and the other person is like 👁️👄👁️ , this person is atrracted to your essence they're addicted to your mannerisms idk who is this ...could be a boss , a friend, but they really admire you , this person is a powerful person themselves, they share a good connections with others, they're more good at understanding & convincing others than you . They think how you're are a free thinker , you love to learn about things , you guys are great advice givers ,you guys are very open and direct to the point it intimidates them , you look youthful and dress creative you have energetic boundaries they wouldn't wanna touch , you guys carry individualistic quality,you dont get easily influence by societal norms , you're not gonna follow everything the world puts out , you use your own guidance.This is someone who has gained interest in you after a long time , you may knew each other or knew of each other but you didn't really care at first , i see even if this is a platonic connection the feelings are developing, this person finds you really beautiful physically and wants to be closer but they themselves is a little aloof and doent like to get attach to anyone ,they're everyone's friend but who is actually "their" friend? This person seems be a professional, they are mindful and careful unlike pile 3's person , this person do not wear this heart on their sleeve , they are over prorective of themselves, this person is still on that stage of getting to know you , like they think a LOTT.

Song : damn is this an ex?

Thanks for reading !!

Pile ll.

Ace of pentacles, king of swords , the high priestess

Black swan

They see you as someone who'll be victorious wherever you are , you have a likeable personality and a charming aura that really draws others to you, they love your company, they love your smile the most, they love your hair , your lips , your dressing sense , your piercings, they think you ALWAYS look fabulous, they think you're a breathe of fresh air ,you light up their world , they're very grateful to have you in their life , they love to talk to you and they really look forward too .They kind of put you on a pedestal, this person really see "you" the crazy you , the childish you , the sweet you, the angry you and they love everything version of you 😭they think people are really lucky to have you , they think you have a healing presence , they see you as someone that needs to be protected you're just so kind , generous and welcoming ...they feel jealous that your energy is put there , they love your personality they love to spend time with you or they want too , you could be an introvert and they are like an open book .

This person is telling me that they feel accepted in your presence , they love your music taste, you feel s if you're their lost missing piece , your interets ate very similar,they think their inner child really flourish in your presence, i'm getting this .....when i'm with them all of my worries are taken by god kinda vibe ....they think you keep your issues to yourself and that you need to release and let go they want to help you in the process of it , you have a positive effect pn people,they think there are some people in your life who troubles you and they fucking hate that, they think you are photogenic, they love your hair , they think you're really fun to be around, you bring a lot to the table , they wanna heal & grow with you even if you lose contact someday they'll remember you as if you're there to celebrate every best thing that happened in their life , this person kind of feel pressured to do more because they see you doing so much , they're insecure and sad about something and nobody knows it and there isn't a lot of thing's that gets them excited or bring joy but you do , you may travel together, study together, you may know their family, they could be your cousin , they could be someone you have a crush on .

If this is someone not platonic & the feelings are Mutual , you should find out and openly give them hints . They think their efforts are ignored sometimes like they're that friend who do the most and they get ignored, they want to ignore you but they cant , there are some thing they dont communicate because they dont want to ruin this relationship but they really dont like others interference in your connection ,they think you ignore them when you have others company

Alright k thats it (: looking back at your reading, they seem to be someone you have helped in some way and that's why they like you so much because that was something really heavy weigh-in them down ,you helped them unknowingly or knowingly , they also seem conglict free and likeable but they dont like a lot of people thats the issue .

Your song: i love when the song matches the vibe of the reading .

Thanks for reading!!

Pile lll.

Death, the devil , the world rx

Bee

Well what do i say , the cards speak for itself + i dont get any different vibe from the original interpretation of cards

Alright let's start this is about to be confusing......this person finds you attractive, they think about you obsessively and they dont want you to know , you're a though that cross their mind and stays there forever, this is someone who is sexually attracted to you or they admire your body , they kinda have wild assumptions so stick with me ,i'm not getting toxic vibe rather a really enamoured one ,they think you are more sexually experienced than them , they compare themselves to you a lot , they think you'd up for fwb without emotional connection, this person thinks of you as a mystery they want to know "Everything" about you , you intrigue them , wouldn't be surprised if they stalk you online , this person try to hide so much its Insane , they dont want to let you know that they are interested in you they feel as though you will avoid them or you will make fun of them ? They could annoy you on purpose, this person is a little annoyed themselves, they feel stuck and they want to take action , they cant just keep fantasizing about whats not real . They want to be friends with you .

This person wants to be involved in your life and be there for " you" , they think you guys are compatible although they are more sociable than you , I'm feeling surprised because they seem to be wayy invested than they think they would be , they would analyse your mood and wonder about it , they think you dont pay much attention to them like heck you dont even seem to know them that well even though you may have known them longer than they think , this person's energy is straight up hopeless i think this is someone who gets a lot of attention and praise , they seem to have it all , they could be in a authoritive position in life , like they could own libraries or they are the big sister /brother of the family or their friends rely on them for support, they have this natural ability to make others feel secure , they are helpful and sweet , they dont like drama and they are big on action and manifestations , they are also very stubborn and wants things their way , they could fit in to societal expectations but they feel as though they put up a front and pretend to be someone else , they get drained easily and they seem to like books especially mystery books , they like to have their own space they could own a bigg ass house as well , they seem to work a lot like they're damnn busyy in their life but they still like to check up on you its their daily routine, this person has had a lot of hope from the very beginning, they kind of accepted they liked you, this person is possesive asf , it ticks them off its their insecurity. How would you recognise this person? Others see them as a fun but a disciplined person , They are the well liked cool person in their community and they are intelligent with their words , they have attractive eyes and they wear lighter colours , they are their neighbours favourite, they also dont seem very fashionable, they stick to formals and basic . Yeah , this person also think you are imaginative and artistic and they want to like your interests so bad to connect deeper with you and to make themselves familiar , they could have water placements specially pisces , i feel like they may look tough and big but as a child ??? they were just everyone's little troublemaker but also a sweetheart awwww this is so cute . Their friend circle is influential tho , they are judgemental as well hmm interesting. This could be an online connection but it doesn't have to be , you guys just don't interact that much although both of you are intrigued, this person could have a controversial past lol ,its just something about their eyes they seem like a deep thinker although they may not look like one , this person reminds me of suga from bts , you know how he's so tough on the outside like he doesn't care but he's so aware & invested about his friendsdislikes & likes , he knows them better than they think he does

ahhhh anyways this was heavy .

Your song : see i told you

Thanks for reading!!

#pick a card #pick a pile #tarotblr #free readings #intuitive reading #spirituality #vd

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bakubonez · 4 months ago

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Sunday or dan heng x reader plsplspls

So down bad for these men

It doesn't matter what, i just need to kiss them and worship them so bad istg

Dan Heng x GN!reader || fluff

Summary: Dan Heng isn’t a fan of Sunday seemingly taking a shine to you. Jealousy sews its propaganda into his mind, and he needs a little bit of reassurance.

A/N: sorry for the shade I throw at Sunday thru out this, I’m still mad at him for not coming home 😇 I love Dan Heng he’s my baby

Dan Heng wasn’t the type of person to get jealous. Not easily, anyway. He was quite secure in his relationship, and he trusted you wholeheartedly to not take advantage of that. So far, you hadn’t given him a reason to retract his trust in you, and you didn’t have any plans to change that any time soon.

…Though, when a new handsome bachelor joined the express, it was difficult for Dan Heng to keep the seedlings of jealousy sewn into his heart from sprouting.

No, it wasn’t Caelus—he was far too busy being stupid to really catch your eye. No, no, the mild threat that had Dan Heng’s feathers ruffled was Sunday. Pun intended.

Initially when Sunday joined the express, he hadn’t been welcomed with open arms. After everything that had taken place on Penacony, the only person that was even remotely kind to him was Pom-Pom. And Shush, but Shush was nice to everyone so he doesn’t count right now.

Despite the rough start, Sunday had started to try to weasel his way into the little family that resided on the train. Dan Heng’s main concern was Sunday’s interest in you.

He’d occasionally catch you and Sunday chatting about new entries in the data bank, or chatting over a drink in the party car. Dan Heng knew you wouldn’t cheat—you wouldn’t stoop so low. Especially not with that… that… feathered creature. Regardless, the portions of time that you spent on Sunday when you could have been spending them with Dan Heng irked him a little bit. Just a little bit.

And, while he didn’t want to bring it up, you had noticed a very minute change in Dan Heng. Not a bad one, necessarily, but a change regardless. He started to seem a bit clingier. From keeping you in bed to hold you for longer or going as far as to hug you against him around the others, especially Sunday, you had picked up on his changed demeanour. He was still as loving and level-headed as always, just a tad bit more demanding.

With him resting his head on your chest, eyes closed but not asleep quite yet, you opt to bring it up. You wouldn’t prod too hard if he didn’t want to talk about it—after all, maybe he had just subconsciously started yearning for you more. But, you’d try to figure out what was going on regardless.

“You okay?” You ask carefully, twirling his layered hair around your fingers idly.

“Mmh?” he mumbles, face still buried against your shirt.

You take his inconclusive response as an invitation to go on.

“You just seem a little bit different recently. Not-not like a bad different, just…” you trail off.

Dan Heng shifts to look up at you, striking eyes meeting your own as you speak. “I am fine,” he assures you. “I don’t like Sunday.”

“What?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” you ask, a little bit bewildered by his declaration. You weren’t Sunday’s biggest fan either, but you didn’t mind at least being polite to him.

Dan Heng mumbled to himself non-committally, a very faint red tinging his ears.

Well, now you’re both confused. You’re trying to decode his grumbling, and he’s trying to put his feelings into words without sounding like an idiot.

“I don’t… I don’t think I like how much time you spend with Sunday,” he said finally, drawing you out of your thoughts and allowing you both to return to the conversation you were trying to have before the two of you were knocked off balance by Dan Heng.

“Oh,” you say foolishly, not really sure what to say to that. “You’re jealous of Sunday? Of all people?”

“No.”

“Yeahhh, I think you might be.”

“No.”

It brings a very faint smile to your lips, finally being able to figure out the root of Dan Heng’s influx of affection. Its also nice to know that he values your time together so much. Though, it does tempt you to giggle at the fact that Dan Heng thought there was any chance that you’d favour Sunday over him.

You lean forward to press a kiss to the top of Dan Heng’s head, and he seems to automatically relax at the touch.

“It’s okay. You aren’t in any competition with him,” you say, voice soft. “My time with you takes priority. If you don’t want Sunday stealing it, that’s perfectly fine by me.”

Dan Heng makes a little contented noise, the jealousy that had been lashing about in his head finally quieting. Deep down, he did know that you’d say something like that. He knew you’d choose him over Sunday. He just wanted the little bit of reassurance.

He hoped you’d always be around to give it to him.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr fluff #hsr x reader #dan Heng #Dan Heng x reader #Dan heng fluff #Sunday I’m going to kick you in the sunballs #come home #rn #will be plucking his feathers #Dan Heng can do no wrong though #what else can I say here #send me more requests #plz

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necromancerbunny · 2 months ago

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I’ve got a secret, can you keep it? || #1

summary: Aaron corners you at your parents’ anniversary party to tell you what he wants.

warnings: age gap, dbf!Hotch

If your parents knew what thoughts are plaguing your mind every time you look at Aaron at their anniversary party, they would lose their marbles. But how could you not think about him? How could you not think about the way he looks at you from across the room, how much his expression softens when he’s talking to you? The signs are there, you’re just unsure if you’re decoding them right.

It’s probably the age difference that makes you so uncertain, prompting you to wonder if he would even want something from you. Aren’t you too young? Aren’t you too naive? Why would he want you? Still, the way he looks at you always pulls a dreamy sigh from your lips. Just one chance. All you need is one chance to find out what if.

There’s something about him that keeps pulling you in, that gravitational field forged from his quiet confidence, from the way he acts so nice and polite despite being the unit chief of one of the FBI’s most prestigious teams. And those eyes? And that rare smile? They haunt you in your dreams. Oh, those dreams…

“I need your help. It’s an emergency,” you hear your cousin’s voice a mere second before his fingers clasp around your wrist to pull you away from the terrace door.

You love Liam, he’s only sixteen, but he’s dating his first proper girlfriend now, so he can be pretty lost sometimes, and he doesn’t feel like asking for his parents’ advice. So, you became the person he turns to for a few wise words, which is kind of funny considering you haven’t dated anyone properly in a while.

Despite your love for this kid, your attention often slips away during the conversation, because you know Aaron’s eyes are watching you closely, putting a sweet pressure on you by making it hard to focus on your relative. When you dare to throw a casual glance in his direction, as if you were just scanning the room without looking for anyone or anything, you see that damn smug smirk on his face.

Suddenly, your cousin’s phone starts playing his favorite song, his girlfriend’s name flashing on the screen. He looks uncertain, but you want to take this chance to get rid of him. With a kind, supportive smile, you tell him to be a man and talk to her, tell her why exactly he doesn’t feel like introducing her to his parents just yet.

With a sigh, you head to the backyard, following the path that leads you to your parents. Not because you want to have a chat with them, but because Aaron’s there. He’s busy explaining someone to a woman you don’t know, but you can see that look in her eyes, that smitten look with those sparkling eyes that tell you what she wants from him. He doesn’t seem to notice, or rather he’s just good at hiding his emotions.

It’s jealousy that’s clawing at your heart, leaving an ache behind you don’t want to feel, so you flash a smile at your mother who’s watching you with curious eyes, then take a step back to leave the group. But your body freezes before you could walk away, because you suddenly feel his hand on the small of your back. When you look at him, you see the way the corner of his lips curl into a barely visible smile.

No one seems to notice, not even that woman who’s still watching him with those wide, doe eyes. You can’t help but wonder how long that might last, because you instinctively bite your lower lip when his fingers spread on your back. He’s gonna be the death of you, but god, wouldn’t it be the sweetest possible death?

“I’m sorry, do you happen to have some painkillers? I can feel a headache coming,” he suddenly says, giving your parents an almost awkward smile. Your mother tells him they have some in the master bathroom, but when she puts her champagne flute on a table behind her, he’s quick to speak up. “No, it’s your night, I’m sure your daughter knows her way around.”

It takes a second to register what he just said. He wants you to go with him, he wants you to join him on this trip into the house. A part of the house that is usually off-limits to the guests. Panic fills you, but you manage to take a deep breath to calm your nerves. It’s just an innocent request, he surely doesn’t have some ulterior motive. And if he did, then what? That’s what you want, after all, isn’t it?

Before you know it, Aaron leads you toward the house, passing through the crowd in silence. There aren’t any curious looks, no one seems to wonder what you’re doing there together, because you’re an adult, and he’s just a family friend. A recently divorced and stupidly handsome family friend, someone you have very, very indecent dreams about.

God dammit.

When you reach the master bedroom, he closes the door behind you and stops. You turn back with a questioning look, but he’s just standing there, brown eyes observing you curiously. Gulping, you decide it would be for the best if you just moved on to the bathroom to get what he asked for, so you don’t have to face him. The way he’s watching you? That’s pure torture. It’s like he wants to say something, but he’s hesitating, as if something was holding him back.

You find some Advil in the bathroom, but when you take the box from the shelf, you hear the sound of footsteps behind you. “I don’t really need that,” you hear him say, so you turn around to see what he wants then.

Aaron’s smile reaches his eyes, making you melt on the spot. No wonder that woman was all over him, who in their right mind wouldn’t be? Sometimes you can’t help but think about what he must be like behind the scenes, because there has to be something, a reason why Haley left him. You heard the story from your parents, but you never dared to ask him about that.

“But you said–”

“I know what I said, but that was a lie,” he informs you casually. When you give him a questioning look, he flashes a smile at you. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

At first, you just stare at him, mouth agape. But then your brows furrow as you take a deep breath, preparing to ask the stupidest question you can think of. “Nothing. Why do you ask?” you wonder out loud.

There’s a beat of silence before he steps closer to you. “Dinner. I have a reservation for eight, so I’ll pick you up half an hour earlier, okay? Wear something nice.” When he sees that you froze from the suggestion, he lets out a quiet chuckle. “You’re so beautiful when you’re confused,” he says as he reaches out to push a strand of hair behind your ear.

A secret relationship with Aaron Hotchner is like a rabbit hole. You dive in, following the flow, and only hope things would work out in the end. But damn, isn’t it the best thing ever? He’s nice, handsome, confident, and did you mention handsome?

Yes, you’re screwed.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you

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hyunnielix · 4 months ago

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texts I can't send. | hwang hyunjin

Series Masterlist

— hyunjin x (f) reader (ft. other skz members)

— word count: ongoing 26.6k (will be updated)

— genre: artist!hyunjin au, romance, explicit/adult themes. 18+ minors dni, non-idol au, dancecoach!reader

— warnings: angst. explicit themes/eventual smut.

→ playlist on spotify

The void he left behind wasn't immediate— it crept in, settling into corners of your life like a ghost. At first, you tried to fill the silence with noise—late nights with friends, a new hobby every week, countless books— but nothing drowned out the echo of his absence. You caught glimpses of him everywhere, in the brushstrokes of paintings you couldn't bear to visit in galleries anymore, in the faint scent of water colour paint that clung to his old sweatshirt hanging in your closet. Moving on became a necessity, and it came in small, painful steps. The photos together, packed away and his online updates became muted. You stopped pretending that you didn't want to cry every time a love song played and the ache remained— the reminder of a dream he pursued which didn't include you.

→ part one: "skinny dipping"

→ part two: "read your mind"

→ part three: "things i wish you said"

→ part four: "bad for business"

→ part five: "how many things"

→ part six: "tornado warnings"

→ part seven: "already over"

→ part eight: "bet u wanna"

→ part nine: "decode"

→ part ten: TBA

→ part eleven: TBA

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pluviatrix · 4 months ago

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helloooo do you have any tips for writing a character with a southern accent? i don't really have a specific area in mind but i Am asking because i'm writing the hero of twilight lol. is there any general slang or word variations i should use in his dialogue?

YES !!!!!!!!!

(prepare for yapping)

i have been WAITING for this one. sat up in my chair and rubbed my hands together like a fly. so often i have read things where people have clearly never been in two feet of a cow or a fried oreo and i will do everthing in my power to avoid that. letsgo

FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS: what kind of southern accent are we considering here?

southern accents and dialects are incredibly diverse along geographic, ethnic, and socioeconomic lines. but, in my anecdotal experience, there are two accent 'types:' a drawl, and a twang. i don't personally hear a drawl a lot where i'm from so i can't totally advise on this one.

a twang is, well, twangy. it's quicker and sharper. IMHO my accent (which is not strictly southern but very very related to appalachian accents) falls in here, and since I give twi an appalachian accent, that's what i'm gonna be referencing lol

(there are some broader characteristics to a character's speech that will flag them as southern, but some of these are specific to me)

a lot of people do not like accents written out phonetically (like, for example, see the points two points below) so that might be something to consider.

i am an editor by trade but just on instinct i find myself struggling with (standard english) verb-noun agreement. i catch myself writing stuff like "they was" and "we was". I don't tend to see "i were" i think that's more an across-the-pond thing, but correct me if i'm wrong anyone.

words will mash together so easy. there's stuff like: jeet (did you eat). wouldna (wouldn't have.) gonna. hafta. wanna. it's about efficiency.

i cannot remember the last time i said the final consonant of contractions or -ing verbs. i am allergic to g's and i am allergic to t's. don. walkin. doin. talkin. some people put apostrophes where the missing letters are and personally that drives me crazy but it's honestly just a matter of taste.

i see people changing and to an'. yes that's how it sounds. i sometimes turn 'of' into 'a' in dialogue so i'm not immune. keep in mind just how much abbreviating you're doing cuz sometimes i gotta decode dialogue between all the abbreviations. it's written, not heard.

ain't, naturally. runner-up: cain't.

someone's gonna tell you that y'all is the be-all end-all of the southern/appalachian plural you. WRONG. consider her sister: the appalachian yunz/yinz, underappreciated, ignored, so sad.

double negatives. TRIPLE NEGATIVES. "You ain't never"

this is more of a twang-type accent characteristic. (note: 'of' is often ommited in phrases like 'more of a.') z-sounds like "wasn't" turn into "wudn't," but for those who don't like writing dialectic speech phonetically this is not necessary

another characteristic of this accent i write twi with is that sometimes words just fully get dropped. certain constructions of verbal clauses using present perfect tense drop the modal completely. i call this the have-drop just in my own head cuz it happens the most with "have been" sentences, where "have" is just removed.

same with above, the standard english sentence is, "The car needs to be washed." i have never said that ever in my life. It's "The car needs washed." It's a holdover from Scots-Irish english.

VERY IMPORTANT: even with all of this, if you don't get the word choice right, or the melody, or the sayings, it's not gonna sound right. I can't really summarize this so I'm gonna use examples from my own writing for clarity.

"i seen" and "they got" and "em"

not sure if this is a southernism. but certain verbs -- something keeps, someone is wallerin all over you (like. smothering you and in your business and not leaving you alone. children and dogs do this) -- kind of ping the sensor imho.

"bubba," "i done told you," "don't be ugly," "have a conniption," "bless your heart," "ornery," that's kind of what i'm talking about. honestly i'm pulling a blank on wild appalachianisms my family say but like, inserting any of these is gonna make your dialogue sound real ... real.

my grandma's told me she's "down in her back," i've missed something so close to my face "if it were a snake it woulda bit me," we "love her to death, but..", we're "praying for him," my mother's nose is upturned so she's "gonna drown in the rain". they can get real fun and real silly.

important bits:

christ if i hear one more time that bless your heart is an insult i'm gonna have a conniption (lol). it is NOT. it certainly can be. it can be passive aggressive. but that's like, one use. it's pity, it's sympathy, it's humor, it's commiserating. if a kid has a big bruise and his mother's telling you that he fell down some stairs at school you gasp and say bless his heart. that's what i mean. and also you can use it to insult somebody with the art of the implied insult of course.

don't be ugly doesn't mean you're ugly. it means you're making a scene or you're being cruel or you're not obeying your mother.

it's about being emphatic !!

it can also be dependent on who you're around. people's accents can be thicker back home and around family and friends and stuff and sometimes it can just be a little twist on a vowel or two!

lastly: have fun. these are not hard and fast. these are silly. this is just my experience. i fully encourage anybody from anywhere else in the south or in the appalachians or her sister regions to weigh in as well.

#writing #linked universe #ask #also this is common more so with older people but i hear “what” substituted for “that”

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gghostwriter · 6 months ago

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I've been thinking so very hard about Spencer with a professional wrestler whose pretty strong and she meets the team like they go out or something? and somehow it leads to her drunkenly picking Garcia up just to prove she can. sorry this is all over the place...

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Established Relationship; Fluff! Just fluff! wc: 1.3k A/N: Apologies it took a while, I was having ups and downs with my writing. I also don’t know much about wrestling so I tried my best in incorporating the request. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗 Main masterlist

Lightweight. // Spencer Reid

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The beating organ nestled by your ribs threaten to flutter right out of its cage. Its drumming rhythm echoing loudly in your ears, a secret staccato only you could hear.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

A chant soon accompanied the rhythm. Litany of words that you’ve learned to whisper for no one to hear but Nike—the goddess of victory. It was your prayer before stepping on the padded mat and it’s invisible barrier of a circle that dictates who wins and loses.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The rough texture of your faded blue jeans against your clammy palms drag you down to the present. The mirage of a gymnasium filled with spectators and judges replaced with faded red brick walls and neon blinding lights that read ‘bar open’. Tonight was a different kind of battle. It didn’t require your muscles being worn down to its core, wrestling an opponent as eagerly thirsty for a qualifying spot for the Olympics team—the type of mental and physical combat you’ve prepped for all your early formative years. No, tonight was a match to impress your boyfriend’s found family—a team of highly respected profilers for the FBI.

A warm calloused hand intertwined with yours, its hold familiar and soothing. “They’ll love you regardless,” Spencer murmured words of encouragement. The man you’ve fallen in love with always knew where your mind went like the back of his own hand. It was as if he had found an ancient decoder meant just to qualm your fears and ease your nerves.

You nodded once, feeling grateful for the man he was. “Okay, I’m ready.”

He leaned in for a whispered kiss. So light and quick as if they were the hummingbird’s wings. It was a welcome distraction, the kind that had you on your tip toes following its wake as he pulled away.

“What was that?”

“A kiss for courage,” he smiled before pushing the glass door open, allowing a waft of stale beer and grease entice you inside.

As the sun start to set outside, the place slowly started to come alive. The bartenders were stockpiling up crates of alcohol for the upcoming Friday night crowd and the early birds were busy choosing the optimal spot for their night of good company and bad decisions. The set of profilers sitting around a booth, tucked against the wall, were no different.

A blur of blond hair and glitter side-way tackled you into a hug.

“Oh you must be her,” she gushed in this high pitch voice, visibly bouncing from excitement. “I’m so happy to finally meet you! I really tried my best to not invade your privacy but—what am I saying, I’m Penelope Garcia! You can call me Pen, Penny, Garcia, your resident tech—” she leaned in for another squeezing hug. “—anything at all really and I can tell we’d be really great friends!”

A chuckle escaped from the man standing beside your boyfriend. If you could take a guess, this must be Derek Morgan—the pseudo older brother. “Baby girl, breathe. You’d scare her away if you don’t.”

“Derek Morgan, don’t make me hate you,” the bracelets on her arm jingled as she hit his muscular defined bicep.

“Like you could ever,” he teased back before reaching over for a handshake. “Derek Morgan, it’s finally nice to meet the girl who’s got our pretty boy flustered.”

You smiled, accepting his hand with a firm grip and introduced yourself. “It’s great to meet you too—” you turned to flash Penelope a smile. “—the both of you. I’ve heard a lot of things—”

“Only good things, right?”

Spencer’s flushed, clearing his throat, as your giggle gave him away. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Kid, you have some explaining to do,” Derek teasingly threatened before clearing a path to the table occupied by four more people. “Come, meet the rest of the team.”

———

The neon bright lights of the bar were starting to streak in your vision. Its’ concrete floor feeling mush beneath your feet and the voices from your boyfriend’s founded family muffled as if you were straining to hear from underwater.

You giggled. Everything felt different—not bad different or good, just different.

It was official, you were walking the tight, tight rope between sobriety and tipsy territory.

“Sweetheart, I need you to drink this for me, okay?” Spencer’s worried voice broke through the alcohol haze with a glass of liquid in his hand.

You nodded once, a sweet smile stretching your lips. “Hmm—okay.”

“Kid, I didn’t expect your girlfriend to be lightweight,” the burly man—Derek Morgan, you belatedly remembered his name—observed.

“She doesn’t usually drink—” Spencer paused to watch you take small sips of water. “—a little more, sweetheart, I need you to drink a little bit more—drink this much at all.”

You gulped, fingers pushing the glass away from your pouting lips. “Off season, Spence. Coach—coach won’t know and besides I’m not drunk.” The slurring of words didn’t help make your lie any more believable. “I’m really not drunk.”

“I know, I know but I wish you’d pace the drinks more,” his lithe calloused fingers pushed the loose tendrils away from your face. “I don’t want you to wake up with a headache tomorrow.”

You hummed in agreement, your chest warming from his need to take care of you. He had always been this way—it was one of the many things that made you fall for him. How he always placed you as top priority the best he could and how he showed up for every wrestling competition you had. The memory of him with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and a big smile on his face as you won the qualifying match to enter the Olympics wrestling team was the moment when you knew he was the one.

A giggle escaped from your newly found best friend, Penelope. “Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“That—” her pink nail finger pointed at you then at her, hiccuping as she did. “—you are not drunk.”

Spencer immediately tried to shut it down. “No, no. There’s no need to prove it, sweetheart. I believe you.”

Your eyes narrowed, having caught a whiff of a challenge and by default, you were never one to back down. “How do I do that?”

“By carrying me, of course!” She clapped her hands with glee.

“Oh no, no. There’s really no need to prove it,” your boyfriend vehemently pleaded.

You pouted your lips. The arresting, pleading look that painted your face was Spencer’s kryptonite. It was the same look that had him on his knees, willing to give you anything you wanted.

“You don’t think I could do it?”

“Of course not. I know you could do it, sweetheart—”

A grin broke from your face, taking his answer as affirmation. And before he could even finish his sentence, you had gotten up on your seat and sloppily crossed the table to Penelope.

“Up you get, princess.”

She squealed, bouncing up from her seat, trembling from excitement.

You shot Spencer a look of challenge with its matching smirk before weaving your arms around her waist and the back of her knees and bracing your thighs and core for a princess-style lift.

“Told you I could do it,” you proudly stated as Penelope landed back on the ground with giggles erupting from her mouth.

Morgan hooted with pride.

“Never doubted you for one second,” Spencer smiled.

Emily raised her bottle of beer as if to cheer for your win.

JJ quickly interjected. “Ooh, me next!”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid request #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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comfortscripts · 1 year ago

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The Way I Love You ¬ Coriolanus Snow

Plot - All you want is one night with Corio, the real him. Pairing - Young!Coriolanus Snow x Best Friend!Female!Reader Notes/Warnings - Corio is ooc in this, but the idea is that he is slightly hinged for her and he is aware of his redflags. Possessive? Mentions of deaths. Reader is lowkey just blind to Corio's darkness. First fic back so let's see how it goes! Word Count - 1,443

9pm

“You promised!”

“And when exactly did I promise this?”

He watched as her fists clenched the corners of her skirt, breath dripping with exasperation. Calmly watching from the comfort of his leather chair, nursing a glass of amber whilst his eyes followed the milky fabric adorning his best-friend’s figure. Almost 30 minutes of her attempting to convince him to leave his opaque penthouse.

“Last year, when you were too busy on my birthday, you promised me that I could choose whatever I wanted to do for one da-” Stilling her movements, frozen as realisation washed over her. “You sneaky fucker! Not once have you forgotten a promise between us.”

Corio wanted to laugh as her face scrunched with faux anger, but all he did was cock his eyebrow as a gentle smirk settled on his lips. “Of course, I didn’t forget. However, this little song and dance has been quite amusing.”

Resting his drink to the side, he rose to full height and reached his delicate hand out towards the girl. “I will agree, purely on the premise that nothing we do could harm either of our reputations.”

A smile brighter than freshly fallen snow crept onto her face.

“You have my word.”

1am

Corio may have noticed the ache in his legs if he didn’t have such a captivating distraction hanging from his bicep. After aimlessly strolling through the Capitol, the myriad of hues illuminating their faces as they spoke of the most mundane aspects of their adult lives to giggling at memories of their youth. Having known one another since the tender age of 10, there is little left unsaid between the pair. Perhaps only one thing.

“I’ve missed you Corio”

Shifting his head to where her figure was pressed against his side, their tandem steps slowed. Only those who understood the inner works of Coriolanus Snow could see the cogs turning behind those azure eyes. Flickering across her face, attempting to decode her words.

“Don’t be silly. We see each other constantly; your office is barely 20 steps from mine.”

The young woman bit back a sigh. In all the years she had known Snow, he excelled in many things but struggled with matters of the heart. “No, I see Coriolanus Snow constantly. Future President of Panem, prodigy Gamemaker. I can barely remember the last time I had a conversation with the real you, Corio, before tonight.”

Stilling completely, allowing her arm to slip from the loop of his. It was a rare occurrence for the young man to be devoid of words, only having ever been rendered speechless by the very same woman only a touch away. In all truthfulness, he yearned for her presence. He longed for the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with delight when indulging in dessert, her uncanny ability to understand his thoughts, and most importantly, the way she allowed him to be himself.

He missed her too.

Perhaps it was his silence, or perhaps it was the cool air that unsettled her. Bubbles of anxiety began to rise in her stomach, fearing that she had overstepped or somehow offended the blond. “I only mean that you have sides to you. Whilst I like all of them, the one I care about most is the real you. I’m sorry, but I miss my best friend.”

“I barely know the real me anymore.”

It was truth. Being betrayed by Lucy Gray, the blood on his hands, the character he has had to play since; it was exhausting. The darkness swirling inside of him corrupting his daily thoughts, paranoia and greed clouding his mind. It was all too much to expose to her.

She embodied life, a breath of fresh air in a world torn apart by capitalism and violence. Coriolanus could never understand why she cared for him, why she befriended him. But he could never jeopardise losing her. The darker side of him wishes to lock her up in the Penthouse, so her sun only shines for him. Keep away the prying eyes of men who wish to glimpse the sweetness of her smile. But alas, he cannot. An innocent fragment of his soul forbids his darkness from tainting her, even if he must create distance to do so.

“After all that has happened, the Corio you know barely exists anymore.” Those stormy eyes refusing to meet her gaze by fixating on the gleaming silver ring adoring his finger. “If only you knew, you wouldn’t look at me the same.”

The warmth of her hand sliding into his captures his focus. “If only I knew about what happened during the games? If only I knew about Lucy Gray, and those people you killed? If only I knew how dark your soul feels? I know Corio.”

Snapping to meet her gaze, he feels as if she had knocked the air out of his lungs. How could she possibly know? Why would she be standing here with him? Was she going to hold this over him? A flurry of thoughts stormed behind his eyes, as she only tightened her hold on his large hand.

“Did you really think you could lie to me? I know you better than I know myself. When you came back from District 12, I could see behind those lies you were spewing. I saw the hurt she caused, the trauma you had witnessed, and how it broke the light inside of you.”

For the second time tonight, Coriolanus was speechless. Perhaps she didn’t know whose blood coats his hands, or the exact details of what happened those years ago, but she knew enough. And she was still standing there in front of him.

“And you still care about me?”

“I will always care about you Corio. Now come on, I want to take you somewhere!”

And with that, she pulled him further into the night.

2:45am

Neither of them had uttered a word since their conversation.

Laid side by side on the refreshing emerald blades of grass as they look towards the stars above, only their subtle breathing filling the air. Despite the silence, the interlocked fingers expressed a thousand words.

A hitched breath broke the still atmosphere of the hilltop.

“Do you love me?”

Her words stopped his heart mid-beat.

“What? Of course, I love you. You are my best friend.” His words flow smoothly, as his thoughts run erratically to concoct the perfect lie.

The grass shuffles as she turns her head to face him. “No, do you love me like I love you?”

Corio continues staring straight towards the constellations, knowing that her alluring eyes could weaken his resolve in mere seconds.

“Because the way I love you is more than someone who loves a best friend. Almost as if you are the only person who makes my heart dizzy with joy. If you don’t love me the same way, it’s okay. Just needed to finally tell you.”

The breeze acts as a ticking clock, emphasising the lack of response from the young man and amplifying the anxiety building in the woman as she faces the stars once more.

Its almost too quiet to be heard, a whisper in the wind, but she hears it clearly. “I do love you the way you love me.”

Turning in unison to face one another, his free hand reaching to caress the toasty skin of her cheek. Gentle strokes of his chilled fingers, drawing without destination on her skin as the blond builds the courage to speak once more.

“The way I love you terrifies me. You are the only one who brings me happiness, the only one who knows my sorrows, the only one I would sacrifice for. I obsess over you. I want to hold you and protect you. I wish to possess you. All because I love you the way you love me.”

Searching his irises for any fragment of dishonesty, her smile grows as she finds none. Inching closer to the man who has held her heart for a decade, his minty breath invading her senses.

With lips mere millimetres apart, a light whisper leaves her mouth “I’ll be yours Corio, for as long as you are mine. We can possess one another.”

As if those were the only words he ever craved, he intertwined his lips with hers. Soaking in the feeling of ecstasy as his hold on her tightens. She embraced the overwhelming sensation of complete bliss, revelling in every single second as her fingers interlock with his porcelain-locks.

Her lips fit with his so perfectly, it was clear that they were made to possess each other. And now that Panem’s king had his Queen, nothing could break him.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #president snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow imagine #the hunger games #tbosas #tom blyth x reader

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wholelottaprompts · 5 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 Emails I Can't Send Prompts ᡣ𐭩

from the album Emails I Can't Send, by Sabrina Carpenter

"And I still make excuses for you constantly."

"Sorry that I pulled the 'it's not you, it's me.'"

"You're not my friend, and baby, you never were."

"It's times like these I wish I had a time machine."

"Whatever, you're a waste of time."

“Oh, so you do have a type."

"Where else can we go?"

"I hate the way you left me dry."

"Give me a second to forget I ever really meant it."

"Don't say sorry now."

"One day, I'll make sure you get a real apology."

"I tried to look for the best in the worst."

"Oh, so you can reply."

"I'm so tired."

"You want me? I'm done."

"I wonder how many things you think about before you get to me."

"You're lucky I'm a private person."

"I'm over that son of a bitch."

"Don't make me cuss you out."

"You're so vicious."

"Nobody gets my jokes, everyone here thinks I'm fucking rude."

"Why were you somewhere else when you were next to me?"

"I can't help it, it's a habit."

"You act like a bitch."

"I never saw him and we never kissed."

"There's nothing left here to decode."

"Were you lying to me and the family?"

"If you wanted brown eyes, I could have got contacts."

"You don't feel remorse."

"That never made too much sense to me."

"I can't read your mind."

"Why'd you let me down?"

"You knew I would see that."

"Looking at you got me thinking nonsense."

"Bet you wanna love me now."

"How do you do this to me?"

"Tell me what's gonna happen."

"You knew I would notice."

"I'll drive you home."

"I don't even know, I'm talking nonsense."

"I want you there sometimes."

"She looks nothing like me."

"Your signals are mixed."

"Everything reminds me of you."

"I know you know it keeps me up."

"You drive me crazy."

"Chase me."

"Did you even give a fuck?"

"You disgust me."

"Now I'm a homewrecker. I'm a slut."

"Tell me I was more than just a decent opportunity."

"Why do you look so happy?"

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thanks to you, I can't love right."

"I know now even if I tried to change that somehow, you'd end up with her anyway."

"You fit every stereotype."

"Does she step out of the spotlight so you bathe in it?"

"Now I can't even look at you."

"You said I'm too late to be your first love, but I'll always be your favorite."

"I know what you're about to say."

"Does she get up on top of you more than I would?"

"He had it coming."

"I deserve my own consideration."

"I look up from my phone and think there's no chance it's you, but it is."

"He's good for my heart, but he's bad for business."

"I've got death threats filling up semi trucks."

"How am I supposed to close the door when I still need the closure?"

"All my friends think I've gone crazy."

"I care, but I don't."

"Please fucking fix this."

"Tell me that you miss me in your life."

"It feels so good not caring where you are tonight."

"You were all I looked up to."

"Was I being lied to?"

"I got ways to find you anywhere."

"You miss me? No duh."

"Maybe we should do this on purpose sometime."

"It was all so innocent."

"What the fuck is patience?"

"I can't even stomach loving someone else."

"God, I love you, but you're such a dipshit."

"You're good at impersonating someone who cares."

"I bet your house is where my other sock is."

#feel free to change the pronouns!#sabrina carpenter #emails i can't send #song prompts #lyric prompts #love prompts #breakup prompts #angst prompts

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ivys-garden · 6 months ago

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Here's a clearer version of the Hermit Falls Zodiac (+ the og Journal Page)

Here's everyone's roles in the au:

Sunbeam & Cresent Moon: Grian & Pearl (Dipper & Mabel) - twins of divorced parents who were sent to a Nowhere town for autumn break to reconnect after being separated. Currently living with their great uncle Scar. When Grian finds a strange journal in the woods he and Pearl become obsessed with uncovering the secrets of this town. Ps, Tilly is Waddles :3

Top Hat: Scar (Stan) - the twins Grunkle and the proprietor of Trader Scars: The House Of Wonders!, a local tourist trap. He seems to spend a lot of time in the basement.

Lowercase i: Impulse (Soos) - local handyman at Trader Scars, father figure for the twins.

Cool S: Skizz (Wendy) - cashier at Trader Scars, generally laid back but will deck you if you hurt his friends

Rocket Ship: Cub (Ford) - genius scientist who lived in Hermit Falls decades ago, Scar says he jumped towns and left the Trader Scars building to him, but no one's heard from him since

Fancy Mustache: Mumbo (McGucket) - local mad inventor living in the junkyard. Insists his name is "Big Ron" Cub always looked guilty when he saw him…

Gemstone: Gem (Pacifica) - daughter of a rich family staying in Hermit Falls on a business trip. gets bored and decides to have a rivalry with Pearl. Just cuz

Old Skull: Cleo (Robbie) - local artist and mortician. Sorta tried to kill Pearl on her first week in Hermit Falls. Tensions were high between them and Grian after that

@ Symbol: Joe Hills (Gidion) - owner of a rival tourist trap: Joe Hills’ Tent O’ Magic, where he puts on dazzling acts of poetry, music, Puppet shows and magic tricks. Everyone seems to like him, but Scar doesn't trust him

Joel (Bill) - interdimensional Demon watching over Gravity Falls. Burt his home dimension to the ground. Still hears her his friends in the back of his mind. Why did he do it?

Will I continue this? Maybe? I'm busy atm but I like the concept. I've sketched some designs but nothing I'm super happy with so far.

Ps If any of yall can come up with a surname that fits Pearl, Grian & Scar (maybe Cub two not devided if him and Scar are brothers yet) that would be cool ;)

Also, well done to @harley-the-pancake & @octopus-defence-squad at correctly decoding almost everything! I'd give you cookies if I could

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #gravity falls au #gravity falls #Hermit Falls #Hermit Falls AU

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hazz-a-bear · 1 year ago

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SIX MISSED CALLS, wen junhui

♡⸝⸝ when jun's voice comes out in a mess of sharp words and harsh comments, you know there's something more to it than the underlying frustration

.ᐟ angst. hurt/comfort. mention of anxiety. mention of panic attacks. unsafe driving.

a/n - i'm so sorry i keep writing sad boy jun ( i can't help it he's so :(( ) please leave some feedback, I appreciate it so much! ALSO, SHOULD I WRITE A PART II FOR THIS?

masterlist | taglist

Six missed calls.

That's the number of times you picked up your phone, pressed on Junhui's contact and put the phone up to your ear - waiting, hoping you'll finally hear his voice answer from the other side. You haven't been lucky yet. All your calls go straight to the voice messages before the line goes silent with a beep.

You stare at your phone, Junhui's contact staring right back at you in silence. Something heavy settles in your stomach in the form of dread.

Jun has a habit - a very unwholesome habit of abandoning his phone, cutting off contact with almost everyone and going radio silent whenever his life gets a little too wild. Over the time he had done it, you recognized it to be a form of escape for Jun. It was his way of a silent cry when things got too tense in his head.

It had been long since you adjusted to the rapid pace of Junhui's life. It was rough at first, trying to decipher how he could still hold his head up when his days consisted of a tiring routine of practice, rehearsals, schedules and all kinds of busyness. And in the midst of it all, Jun has never been the one to seek out whenever his emotions took the best of him. He would rather turn his back on everyone, and hide himself in a shell till he was discovered. It hadn't been easy for you to adapt to his life and his habits completely without constantly worrying about Junhui and his well-being. And Junhui got it.

It wasn't hard for him to understand where you came from. You practically carved out his heart from his chest and carried it in your palm after all. He decoded how it was valid for you to be concerned whenever his emotions soared and got too lost in his head. So, he had always made sure to warn you beforehand.

The last two weeks have been busy for both of you. The comeback was nearing the group at a rapid pace, and their days were packed from dawn to dusk with all kinds of preparations ahead. Jun was stressed - all of them were. A mix of anticipation and excitement runs through their veins in adrenaline whenever there's a comeback around the corner, and this time, you know that it isn't any different.

You had been busy as well, stuck to the neck under a pile of workload on top of you.

But still, you managed to squeeze a visit to Jun's during a rare off in the afternoon four days ago. You showed up at his place with a bag of take-out, hoping to forget all about your work stress and spend some time together.

Jun welcomed you with a tight hug and multiple presses of his lips against yours, equally as delighted for the chance to take a break and just sit on his living room carpet with his head tucked into your neck. At first, you thought he hugged you a little tighter than usual and his eyes were darker than most days. But as time passed, he had looked relaxed, with no signs of any distress on his mind.

Jun hadn't said anything about the lack of contact you're being subjected to right now.

Being a foreigner to the life Junhui has been accustomed to since a very young age, you never felt like you were in the place to counsel him. Though Junhui has never made you feel like you were any less than he was, it felt wrong to try and take away his forms of escape, even though it wasn't a very healthy way of doing so.

And truthfully, if you thought about it, you've never really had to. He had never given you a reason to worry to that much of an extent about him. It never actually reached a point where you've had to wait through six missed calls and a heart beating rapidly against your chest in unease.

Until, of course, right now.

You can't help the heavy feeling that sits low in your gut at how you haven't heard from your boyfriend in almost four days. At first, you concluded he was just busy, too tired to check his phone after returning from being in practice all day. By the third day, you assumed he must be feeling down, drained out of all his emotional and physical energy. Just enough for him to ignore all six of the good morning and good night texts you've sent to him for the past three days.

But today, your heart was really beating in anxiety. All kinds of thoughts from 'Is he okay?' to 'I need to get to him' whirring around every corner of his mind.

Deciding to just say fuck it and go for it, you press on his contact for the seventh time that day, watching the phone flash with another call to Jun. It's almost the time you have to sign off from work, so you start packing up your bag as the phone sits on your desk, still ringing.

A pause - and the room is drowned in silence.

"yn"

You almost drop the papers that you hold in your hands when Junhui's voice echoes through the speaker. Quickly putting them down by your bag, you scramble towards the phone before clutching it close to your ear. You almost feel the way your blood warms up a little after having turned to icy water a little while ago.

"Jun? oh gosh, I was s-"

"You called me seven times, yn"

It's the tone of his voice that has you halting in your step. A blunt sentence, very much spoken with a hint of bite and irritation. And the first thought that comes to your head is - something's not right

There had been only a handful of instances when Jun and you got into arguments that directed to sharp words being thrown at each other. Junhui is a very delicate person who's equally as competent, preferring to sit down and talk any disputes out and sort them out instead of picking a fight.

You're someone who hated conflict, willing to settle everything down through a talk before maybe moving on to a heavier argument. Junhui, even more so than you, never uses such a snappy tone to talk to anyone no matter how upset he is. Especially, to you.

"Yeah, yeah I did" You start explaining yourself in a staggered voice. "You weren't replying to me, Jun. I was just-"

"Yn, god. I was busy, okay? Fuck, You know that" That's the moment your suspicions are undirectly confirmed to be true.

The feeling that - something's really wrong - settles deep in your heart.

If there was something two years of loving had engraved into your bones, it's the fact that Jun and you knew each other like the back of your hands. From the way you remembered Jun's order from the nearby Thai place to the way Jun knew the look you gave him whenever you were hungry - knowing each other inside and out was something you took pride in. Almost everyone close to the both of you saw how well you could read each other without even a word being said. Your friends publicly envied the two of you for the way you understood the other with just a flick of a finger or a blink of an eye.

So it isn't hard for you to immediately pick up on the unfamiliar lilt of his voice. His words thrash against each other like it does whenever he's frustrated, annoyance seeping out of every syllable he speaks. From the other side of the phone, you're already grabbing your bag and throwing it over your shoulder as you listen to him continue to snarl at you.

"Jun" You try to intervene yet Jun successfully manages to speak right over you, voice still harsh as ever.

"What I'm saying is, you don't have to blow up my fucking phone, yn, god"

"Junnie" You almost plead into the phone, heading out of your workplace with your steps quickly. "I was just scared, okay? I tried to reach out but you wouldn't reply to me. I was so worried, Jun. I even called Minghao to-"

"Yn, what the fuck?" You're stunned into silence as you listen to the words Jun spat. "Why did you- wait, why did you call Minghao? God, yn, what the actual- shit, why are you so pressed at all? It's not like I fucking fell off the face of the earth"

Phone pressed to the ear, fingers gripping the straps of your bag, you stood. Your car was parked only a couple of meters away, almost in your peripheral vision. Yet, you were unable to take another step forward at all - too shocked to even move.

"Jun, don't-"

"I was just busy. You know how it is these days. Just because I don't answer once or twice doesn't mean I'm dead, yn You don't have to blow up my fucking phone. Do you kn-"

"Wen Junhui"

And immediately the boy on the other side is silent. The only thing you hear for a couple of seconds is the familiar sound of his breathing, heavy and ragged like it is whenever he's worked up.

"You're asking me why I'm so pressed, Junhui?" You take a deep breath as you start, eyes closing for a second to regain your composure. "You went silent on me for four days - four days, Jun. I was so fucking scared, do you know how hard it was to not drop everything all at once and come to you? I assumed you were busy or you needed space. So I gave you space."

"I know you, Jun. I know when you're spiralling and trying to distance yourself from everyone. I was so- Fuck, Jun. I love you. I love you so much, it hurts me when I know you're not okay. I want nothing more than to help you but you make it so hard for me to take care of you sometimes. So please, stop screaming at me for caring too much, Jun. I'm sorry- I'm sorry for bothering you but I refuse to stay silent and just watch you breaking by yourself"

You're slamming your car door when you finish. The line is silent in your phone, everything seemingly still around both of you. But it only takes three seconds for it to be broken by Jun, a harsh sob ripping out of his throat loud against your ear. In an instant, the engine of your car revives to life while your mind screams jun, jun, jun.

"yn"

"I'm coming to you, darling. Hold on a little for me, okay?" Jun stays on the phone as you almost soar along the roads, paying very little mind to traffic signals and probably breaking almost every driving rule. His voice comes from the phone in sobs, sounding so so broken it makes you want to jump out of the car yourself. As you glide down the road, you can just be thankful for the way you've trusted your gut and believed he wasn't doing okay as soon as he started talking earlier.

"Yn, come, please- please, yn. I ne- I need you. I feel so bad. I've been feeling bad and- just, come, please"

Your heart soared at his voice, pleading with just enough tears to have you speeding down the drive to his place.

"I'm on my way, sweetheart. I'm on my way. I love you so much, Jun. God, I love you"

Knowing Jun so well came with the practice of recognizing his moods. Aside from being a ball of sunshine most of the time, there have been more than enough times when he had delved into long periods of anxiety, spiralling and spiralling until he was nothing but a sobbing mess of emotions by the end of the night. You've experienced your fair share of Jun panicking, eyes welled up with tears and voice stammering as he screamed at you to leave him alone. Experiencing someone having a panic attack in front of you was alarming enough on its own. But whenever it took ahold of Jun- your sweet little lifeline- it broke you in so many than one.

After having held him through multiple, whispering love in his ears until he calmed down in your alms - you were quite accustomed to what you needed to do whenever he was panicking. So, as much as your heart was beating in dread, eyes welling up with your own tears and hands clammy against the steering wheel, you made it your mission to get to Jun as soon as possible.

The thought of Jun being by himself for the last few days made you want to scream - if only he had told you, you could've stayed close to him. You couldn't help but wince at the thought of Jun having no one to take care of him and you being unaware of how much he had needed some company, some help and some love.

Right now, as you step on the accelerator, there's only one thing on your mind. Junhui. You need to get to him and you need to get to him fast before he dives too deep headfirst into a pit of anxiety. Now that you know he was shutting himself out from the world, distancing himself from you for days and snapping at you since he was stuck in a state of haziness, you want nothing more than to scoop him into your arms as soon as possible.

Junhui is your love, your life, your everything. And you would rather slit your throat, bury yourself alive, walk through the fiery pits of hell and do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant the universe became kinder to him. Only the deepest edges of your heart know how you're willing to move any mountains and drain every ocean if it meant Junhui's pain would be taken away.

But for now, it's enough if you stick to six missed calls and thirty broken road rules.

thank you.

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