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gguk-n · 1 month

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Max Unravelled

Unravelling Max's Mystery (Max Verstappen x Online Friend!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Max accidentally made an account on google plus in 2013. He came across a poetry page and enjoyed reading them. He ends up friends with the poet. He loved the normalcy she brought to his life. He didn't realise when the comfort he felt for her turned into love.

{Max's POV}

2013

I was searching for something on my gmail account when a pop up for google plus came through; without much thought I clicked on it. Some how, I'm yet to figure that out, I ended up with a google plus account. One of the few accounts I got recommended was a poetry and story account. They wrote very eloquently; I could feel the emotions in every word. I started reading all their posts in my spare time and even commenting on the ones I liked. I found my self constantly checking back to their page to see if they posted something. Their poetry was relatable and understandable. I hope they always have a good day since their words always pick me up when I'm down.

The poet I had been enjoying so much is a girl, and her name is Y/N. She's around my age; I guess that's why I related to her work so much. We spoke for the first time ever on her birthday. She made a post about it being her birthday so I wished her. She was sad about not being able to enjoy her birthday, I felt bad for her so we talked for a while until dad called me to practise. That was the start of our friendship. We ended up talking on google plus a lot. We shared the same sense of humour and best of all, she didn't know about racing. It was like a breath of fresh air to not talk about racing. She doesn't even seem interested in it; so I can live as Max for a while now.

My birthday was shit but talking to her made everything better. I can't believe I got excited about talking to someone and that someone made me feel good even on one of my shittiest days. She's one of the nicest people I've had the pleasure of talking to. I really do wanna talk to her on phone, typing everything I want to say out feels tedious.

2014

I've gotten busier since this year with Formula 3. We barely get to talk anymore. She did send me her number and we chat on Whatsapp whenever we can. But obviously it is not the same. I've suggested talking on call a few time and she finally agreed; I just need to find the perfect time to get away from everything to talk to her. I felt so nervous to talk to her for some reason, what if she thought I was weird and didn't enjoy talking to me? What if she heard me and decided I wasn't fun? What if we had nothing to talk about? I called her while sitting in my driver's room, she picked up quite quickly after 2 rings to be exact.

Max- Hi, Y/N! Y/N- Hey, Max!! How are you? Max- I'm good, what about you? Y/N- Yeah, I'm good too. haha!! This is so weird talking to you. Max- yeah, you sound pretty. Why would I say that? That sounds so fucking creepy, I face palmed myself so hard. Y/N- You sound nice too. I mean....you have a nice voice. Max- haha, thanks, this is the first time some one has said that. She thinks I have a nice voice, do I? Y/N- soooo, what have you been up too?? You've been so busy lately. I could hear people outside the driver's room. I quickly locked the door before answering her question. Max- yeah, I've been busy with stuff. I'll be done soon for a while now. Y/N- That's great I need my best friend back! Did she just call me her best friend? I've never had a best friend before.

We ended up talking on calls a lot more. I would have her contact ringer saved with a separate ringtone so that I would know to answer it. She usually called at reasonable times, where ever I travelled as if she knew my schedule.

2015

I got signed with RedBull Racing's junior team, making me the youngest driver. It was such a surreal feeling. But this also meant I couldn't talk to Y/N as much as I wished I could. Training and the races kept me very busy. But she was very understanding and would always welcome me back, no matter how long I was gone for.

2021

The first time I'm regretting not telling what I do to Y/N was today when I won my first World Championship. I was surrounded by my team, my girlfriend and my family as I got out of the car after I finished P1 at Abu Dhabi but it felt strange; like I was missing someone. I wish I could share this win, the biggest in my life yet, with the person who makes me feel so special yet so myself.

When I asked her about Formula One, she didn't know about, she didn't even know the prominent figures. So, I wasn't as worried about her finding out but I did worry now; since my win was controversial according to the media. However, she never asked. Was she really unaware or playing dumb? I wasn't sure if I should be grateful I get to be just Max or sad that I can't share a huge part of my life with my best friend.

2023

Y/N and I have been friends for the past 10 years. Time really flies. I've gotten a lot better at balancing my personal and work life. Y/N is my well kept secret; like I'm the only one who knows her. She moved out for college and we've only video called since. She is still funny and still writes. I think it's so cool of her to stay passionate about what she loves and keeping at it. She loves my cats more than I love them sometimes, she get's so excited when I send pictures of them. She says they cheer her up and that Jimmy and Sassy are her virtual pets. They loved her too honestly, they would always recognise when she was on call and jump into my lap or the phone to see or hear her. She still doesn't know what I did for a living; we've kept that a 'secret' you could say. But really I just didn't know how to tell her I was a Formula One driver and a 2 time World Champion.

Today was like any other day, I hadn't spoken to Y/N at all. Whenever I called her, I would usually close/lock the door depending on who was at home. My girlfriend didn't know about Y/N. I didn't even know how to bring it up, honestly. I sat down on my SimRacing chair after I switched the livestream off. Her phone rang for a few times and then stopped ringing but she didn't answer the call. I tried again thinking maybe she was busy or didn't hear it. I called a couple times before texting her; no reply. I was freaking out. This was the first time in 10 years that she hasn't answered my calls. She won't even reply to my messages. I found myself pacing around the house. The door to the room opened to my girlfriend's daughter standing in front of me, "Maxie, why are you walking in circles?" She asked after observing me for sometime. "It's nothing" I said, trying to calm myself down more than give a reply to her question. All these horrible thoughts swirled through my mind; what if she was in an accident and no one knows? What if she got robbed? What if she hurt herself and can't get help? What was I supposed to do? I didn't even know where she lived. I just couldn't think straight. My hair was a mess with how much I was running my fingers through it, a few stands coming along when I almost pulled them out of frustration.

After 7 hours, she replied to my text. I had almost given up hope, but she said that she was fine and that her phone was about to die. I felt relieved knowing that she was ok. But the text was so out of character for her. I texted her everyday after that in hope of talking to her. We always spoke everyday and it had been years since we didn't speak for so long. Almost every text was left on delivered. I had a race this weekend which I won and went out to celebrate with everyone because they wanted me to tag along. I didn't see the text Y/N sent me a while after the race since I was at the club. I only saw it when I got home. As soon as I saw it, I called her. She answered after a few rings.

Max- Schat, how have you been? Haven't heard a word from you in days. You could clearly hear the worry in my voice. Y/N- I've been busy, school year ending and stuff. Why didn't you sleep yet? Max- You know my sleep schedule is non existent. Y/N- Yeah, I guess I do. What did she mean by that? Her voice seemed hoarse, was she sick?Y/N- You know how I do freelance editing Max- You've told me about it Y/N- The latest author I'm working with is a sports author. I was hoping you could help me since you are a walking encycylopedia. Max- sure schat, but what's up with you? You know I'm always there for you Y/N- Yeah it nothing, just stressed. Max- Take off, you deserve it I wish she took care of herself instead of working so hard without breaks. Y/N- The summer break is here soon, I'll be fine. So about that author... Max-Yeah, what sport does she write for? Y/N- Formula One. I don't really like reading lengthy articles and I'm sure one article wouldn't do a sport any justice. I felt the ground slip from under my feet. My palms had gotten sweaty suddenly. Max- You did not go through google yet, right? (I stammered out) Y/N- Oh no, what do you take me for? I got excited to learn about something new. Do you know who the reigning champion is? I felt like I was about to lose everything. I didn't know what to say, my mouth was dry. No matter what I said, I don't think I could fix this situation. Y/N- Some dude named Max Verstappen. You guys share the same first name. He has 2 cats too; named Jimmy and Sassy, who look exactly like your bengals. I mean he even looks like you, with horrible sleep schedule just like you. He even sounds like you. There was horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach and my lungs felt like there was no air in them. Watching her tear up was the worst feeling.

Max- Schatje, I can explain. Y/N- You don't have to Max. I never asked you what you did. You don't have to explain anything. Max- I wanted to tell you, it just never came up in conversation. Y/N- I get it, it's difficult to tell your friend who has amounted to nothing that you are the World Driver's Champion, best of the best in Formula One. Max- Y/N, it's nothing like that. You're great, you're kind, you're funny. She laughed, but that stung my heart for the first time when her laugh was my favourite sound in the world. Y/N- Those are character traits I possess, they don't describe my career goals or achievements. I know I work 2 jobs to stay afloat while you make millions, I know I wish I was an author and not their editor, I know you probably thought I was too stupid to understand your rich and fancy world. Max- No, no, you're so talented. I've read your work and I'm sure the right publication will pick your work up. Y/N- I got rejected for the sixth time today. All of this is fine except that you lied to me about being single while having a girlfriend for years and having the happy family you dreamt off. You didn't have to introduce me to her; not like my boyfriends met you. But it would've been nice if I knew. Max- It just never came up. (I held my head in shame) Y/N- I...we joked about setting you up with someone all the time. Please don't. I get it, we didn't tell each other about work goals or what we did as a job but personal life; I literally told you about every guy I've ever been with. I felt bad telling you thinking you were single. I feel stupid right now. I wanted to reach out and wipe her tears but I couldn't. Max- I'm sorry,Y/N. I promise I won't hide anything anymore. Please, don't cry. Y/N- My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I majored in literature in Uni and now work as a primary school teacher and freelance editor. I'm trying to get my book published soon. I broke up with my boyfriend 2 months ago. This fucking hurt, everything she said and the way she said it. Max- Please don't do this. Y/N- I believe at least one of us should be honest. Max- Let me fix this. Y/N- Don't worry. There's nothing to fix. Max- Please don't say that. You mean a lot me. (I felt tears in my eyes.) Y/N- Me too. That's why, I need time. I'll talk to you when I'm ready. Max- Please, I can't lose you. I felt like my world was crashing. Y/N- You won't. I'll always be there for you. I just need time. Take care Max I was crying as she said it. Max- Bye, take care Y/N. I'll always be here. And the screen blacked out, I could see my reflection on the screen, tears streaming down my face.

After I was able to clear my head I texted her telling her that I would always be there for her and I would like to clear up the misunderstanding when she's ready. I spent the next few months thinking about her. It was starting to affect my relationship. I couldn't really give my girlfriend time when my mind was occupied with thoughts of Y/N. When my girlfriend brought it up how we were growing apart; I had a fight with her. I don't know what came over me, but not talking to Y/N or not knowing what was up with her was making it very difficult for me to focus on anything. The fighting became a constant after that. I didn't understand why she couldn't let me be. I missed my friend but she wouldn't get it.

I was SimRacing when Y/N's name popped up on my phone asking me to call her. I guess she was ready to talk it out. I really wished that this wasn't the end of our friendship. I really hoped that we could get over the misunderstanding and still be friends. I told the team I had some work and called her immediately. She answered like always; I waited for her to speak with baited breath. She started talking and we cleared everything up. I apologised for hiding the truth from her. I told her how much of a constant she was for me in my ever hectic life; how talking to her made everything better. She listened to me, I listened to her and then finally asked her to come to my home race. I wanted to meet her. I couldn't live knowing that I had the resources but didn't meet the one person that mattered to me the most. She was hesitant at first but I offered to get her the tickets and insisted on her joining me at the biggest race of the season for me and finally she agreed. I was over the moon. As soon as we ended the call, I sent her the tickets. I found myself counting down the days to the race for the first time.

I was waiting for her at the airport when she got here. My heart was beating very fast as I waited for her to come out. When I saw her; she was beautiful, shorter than I expected but she looked cute with her bag in one hand and a back pack on her shoulder, her hair in a low bun, a small smile graced her feature. I don't think I've noticed anyone with such detail ever before. Our conversation flowed easily. It didn't feel like it was the first time we were meeting. I dropped her at the hotel and went off to do media duty's at the paddock when I came back she was still asleep, traveling must've tired her out. She got dressed while I waited for her to get ready, even giving my 2 cents on what she should wear. She looked gorgeous, I couldn't help myself, staring at her. The black satin dress hugged her curves in all the right places. Her hair flowed down her back, the jewellery sparkling against her body. We went to have dinner at a fancy dutch restaurant. She loved the food especially the apple tart. The moan she let out as she devoured the dessert made blood rush downwards. I found my cheeks heating up, thankfully the whole place was dimly lit. We walked around for a while after the meal, she made fun of my name but I couldn't care less. I apologised and she accepted it and hugged me. Her arms were soft and the embrace warm. I found myself wrapping my arms around her, my face buried in her neck. I was scared I was gonna lose her, forever. I've never been scared to lose anything but a race until now and the thought of not having her in my life seemed scary. She consoled me and we headed back to the hotel.

The rest of the weekend was uneventful except for my girlfriend being pissed; she fought with about Y/N. I don't get what her problem is, she's just a friend I've known since forever. I'm just showing her around. I was giving interviews when I saw her talking to Lando, I saw them laughing along in the corner of my eye. It made me feel strange, there was this feeling in the pit of my stomach and I didn't like it. When I got back, Lando had left since it was his turn. She found Lando cute and it irked me, I was annoyed hearing her ask me to set her up with him. We got back to RedBull hospitality when my girlfriend asked me to talk to her, I left with her reluctantly leaving Y/N with Checo.

"Listen Max, I get it, she's your childhood friend and all, but it's so weird how she suddenly cropped up when I or for that matter any one knew nothing about her. People are saying stuff about us since she stepped on the paddock and the way you are dragging her along." my girlfriend spoke. "What are people saying? I will not stand any slander against her" I cut her off. She laughed dryly. "WOW, they are saying stuff about us, Max, us, that you are cheating on me with her. You've been so distant for months until a month ago, I didn't know what went wrong and you wouldn't talk either." she said running a hand through her hair. "It's nothing really. She just knows me as Max and not Max Verstappen and that's why I'm closer to her. Nothing more." I said. "It's pointless talking to you" she said turning around. "If we're done, I'm leaving, Y/N doesn't know anyone here except me." I said leaving for the door. She huffed before she followed me out. Y/N looked worried about what was going on between me and my girlfriend but I calmed her down and we spent the day together. She tagged along during quali too. I saw her praying before quali, it made my heart swell. I was starting pole and we spent the night watching a movie even though Y/N wanted me to rest before the race, I wanted to make the most of the little time we had.

Y/N hugged me before the race wishing me. I wanted to win so bad, I'd won here twice before but this was different. I wanted to win in front of her. I raced like a mad man and then I heard it. I crossed first and my happiness knew no bounds; knowing she was watching. I got out of the car and immediately ran to her; hugging her. It was cathartic. Y/N said my girlfriend looked annoyed, but I couldn't care less. I watched my girlfriend leave, annoyed. When I received the trophy at the top step of the podium knowing she was watching me from below made it so much more worth it. Y/N wanted to go out to celebrate my win and I wasn't one to say no. I went back to the hotel to get cleaned up and ready for the night.

I was greeted by my girlfriend in the room, it was dimly lit as she was sat at the corner of the bed with tears streaming down her face. "HOW COULD YOU DO THAT MAX?" she screamed at me. "Am I a fucking joke? I let it slide, you said you were friends but the first person you go to after winning your race was her, what do you think people were whispering when you did that?" she said in between sobs. I didn't get what she was saying. "Do you like her?" she asked. "What? We're friends" I stated. She shook her head, "No, Max, you aren't. The way she looks at you is how I look at you. The way you look at her" She cried, "You've never looked at me like that" she lamented. "It's nothing like that" I began. "You should've respected me at the very least and broken up with me if you liked someone else, I'm not gonna be some girl's place holder till you can have her." she cried out. "You're not a place holder for her" I said. "Feels exactly like that" she said wiping her tears. I felt nothing my 2 year long relationship might be ending and I didn't care. I didn't even try to correct her, did I really like her? Was Y/N really more important to me? "We're through Verstappen, if you can't even fight for us, I'm not about to fight for us" she sighed dejected. I walked towards the bathroom to wash up while she packed up to leave. When I got out she was gone. I went to pick Y/N up.

She kept asking me about my girlfriend but I never told her that we broke up. I didn't want her to feel responsible for my decision. At the club, she got close to everyone pretty quickly. She was unstoppable, downing one drink after another. I hadn't touched alcohol since I was driving. The others kept handing her drinks much to my dismay. She asked me to come dance with her but I had the others to look after too. She was busy dancing surrounded by too many guys, one of them going as far as to touch her and grind against her. All I saw was red, I bid the guys good bye and stormed the dance floor to drag a reluctant Y/N with me; I ended up carrying her out on my shoulder. She wasn't very happy, screaming and hitting me till I put her down. She puked as soon as I put her down and joked about missing my expensive car, I didn't really mind if she hadn't since she was more important than the car. I got her medicine and left them at her side after putting her to bed.

We spent the next few days after the race sight seeing. Y/N brought up my girlfriend a few time and I ended up avoiding her. When we were cuddling while watching Barbie I felt my heart beating out of my chest as she scooted closer to grab tissue. When her hand brushed against my skin, it burnt and a weird feeling erupted in my chest. She seemed completely unaware of how she was making me feel. We fell asleep on the couch that night.

I wasn't able to avoid the girlfriend question any longer and told her that we broke up without making any eye contact on the way to drop her to the airport. My eyes stung and there was a lump in my throat; I wasn't sure it was because of my girlfriend or Y/N. I bid her farewell, she would turn back towards me to wave after every few steps; my eyes were blurry after sometime trying to prevent the tears from falling. I ended up crying after she left.

All the races after, I ended up going shopping after or before every race to collect some trinkets or stuff that was special to that place and mailing it to her with small notes attached. She would graciously open them in front of me on video call; the smile she gave me the first time she received was unparalleled. It made my stomach turn over. I wanted to make her smile every chance I got. That's how I ended up sending her a package after every race from every country until I got reprimanded by her for the excessive amount of gifts. She asked me not to send one after every race and stick to one or two in total; I was forced to agree to that request.

We were planning on spending Christmas and New Year together; she wanted to leave after Christmas but I was able to convince her to stay until I had to leave for pre-season training. I couldn't wait for the season to end and to spend the year end with Y/N. We celebrated me winning the championship on video call; even though I had hoped she could be present in person but it wasn't possible with her schedule. This championship felt better than the last two since I was able to celebrate it with her. 2021 me wouldn't believe me right now.

Y/N flew in as soon as winter break started for her. I had cleaned up the house as much as possible. I had told my cats about Y/N visiting who seemed excited. I picked her up from the airport and when we got home the cats were very excited to meet her; a lot more receptive than the other guests I've had over. We spent the next few days going to places and the Monaco GP circuit. She cribbed about walking the entire time we walked the path. It made me laugh.

The night before Christmas we fell asleep on the couch cuddling; I hadn't slept this well in a very long time. When I woke up, Y/N was no where to be seen. I sat up waiting for her to return when she came back, she looked so cute in her jumper and shorts with her hair a mess. We opened up presents after some time. She had gotten me a Sid plushie, an ugly sweater and perfume. I got her a Formula One book with my face, a coffee mug and a pendant. I wanted to get her more stuff but I was sure she would make me return it if she saw every thing. I think the house would be over run with the amount of stuff I wanted to get her. Then she brought the matching sweater she got with me; I put it on immediately. I wanted to match with her all the time. We had a bit of back and forth on the dinner but agreed on Turkish kabab.

New Year came too quickly, which meant Y/N would be leaving soon. We went clubbing on New Year eve. She didn't drink like the last time we were at the club but made friends with some of the guys there. Having a social butterfly for a friend was a bad idea. We counted the time down to midnight as the clock struck 12 and I turned towards her to celebrate I saw she was kissing one of the guys she had befriended when we entered. If the club was quite you could hear my heart shatter. That's when I realised that all these weird feeling and all the times I couldn't stop thinking about her was because I liked her, no scratch that, I loved her. I felt my heart constrict when she turned towards me and hugged me later. I didn't want to talk about it, this would ruin our friendship.

All I could think about was how it felt to watch her kiss another man. I hated it, the worst feeling, worse than DNFing or not winning. I hated knowing another man could touch her and feel her. I wasn't even sure how to bring it up since what were we if not just friends. I put myself into training for the upcoming season but those feelings I felt when she kissed another man were still fresh in my head and I couldn't get rid of them even if I tried.

I was able to convince her to join me during her spring and summer break. We had fun, I loved having her waiting for me at the end of the race. I didn't really enjoy all the media questions that had cropped up about Y/N when she was seen with me, before or after the race. During my summer break, I spent it at her place. When I got there, it was a small apartment; but it had a homely feel. She would cook food for me and we would watch movies; I had a few commitments with the team and would leave for some time but then be back. It was so nice to have some one to come home to. When she was having her book launch, I went to meet her at her launch with a bouquet of flowers. "Congratulations" I said while handing her the flowers and giving her a hug. "Thank you" she replied, a smile playing on her lips. We had celebratory dinner after. Immediately after that, we were on the news. It read that I had a girlfriend, she kept apologising but it didn't matter. It made me a little warm, I'm not sure what emotions I felt hearing people speculate that she was my girlfriend.

I flew back to Netherland for the race early, she would only be joining me on the race day due to work. It dampened my mood but there wasn't much I could do about it. She flew in the morning of the race; it made my day watching her walk out of the airport. We talked all the way to the hotel where she got changed and we headed to the paddock. I had thought it through; after the qualifying, I had planned on telling her how I felt. I was gonna win this race and confess to her. Knowing that I can't hold her while someone else can was eating away at me and I wanted to take the chance before it slipped away from me.

I started the race P2 and finished it at P2. In the final laps, the only thoughts running through my head were, I really wanted to ask her out as a race winner, I can't do that now. She probably doesn't even like me like that, did I really want to ruin everything I had with her. I stumbled out of the car towards her, a big smile on her face. And suddenly I said it; "I wanted to ask you out as a race winner" emotions were running high. She insisted me to continue and when I did, she agreed to go out with me. I was over the moon, my head was reeling. This race ending was not what I hoped for but Y/N's answer was something I really was hoping for.

She waited for me in the driver's room. I couldn't help but not touch her. Her skin against mine send electric shocks through me, I couldn't help but smile at the feeling of her against me. I wanted to have this feeling for the rest of the life. I wanted to have her next to me; it took me a while to figure that out but now that I had, I didn't want to let go. I loved her and I wanted her.

We were both in the hotel room at the end of night in each other’s embrace, "Can't believe you're my boyfriend" she exclaimed. "Can't believe you're my girlfriend either." I exclaimed back. "I've liked you since I've known you" she mumbled. "What?" I asked shocked. "Yeah, I've always had a crush on you. Teenage me would lose it right now if she saw" she said. "I'm sorry it took me so long" I muttered pressing a kiss against her lips. "better late then never" she laughed wrapping her arms around my neck, flipping me to straddle my hips. She bent down to kiss me again.

I could spend the rest of my life like this, if it meant I could have her forever.

Hope you had fun. Thank you for enjoying the story!!

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merakiui · 11 months

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crow & goat in courtship.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, dub-con, coercion, religious symbolism/imagery, mentions of pregnancy, implied breeding kink, obsession, alcohol/intoxication, slight codependency, non-consensual touching/groping, au in which you attend classes at nbc instead of nrc under rollo's supervision note - the crow is always on call.

i. “but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death” (james 1:14-15).

Rollo answers on the third ring.

He always does—claims it’s polite to answer after three chimes just as it’s right to knock thrice before entering a residence. He’s stubborn in his ways, a crow bound by routine, only ever doing things in threes. Habitual to a fault, strictly so. You are similar in that regard; you find solace in the familiarity of predictable patterns. The relief that stems from knowing what will come next—in being prepared for all manner of events even if you haven’t yet reached the first.

But then you also like fun, and the best sort of fun is often had with a disregard for habit. Disorder and spontaneity. Throwing all caution to the wind. Trusting in the arms of the crow who will catch you, the carefree goat, when you fall.

“Good evening,” he mutters into the phone, his voice sounding so close despite the distance between you and him. “It’s rather late. Is there a specific reason you’re calling?”

“Rollo! Hey! Hiii,” you drawl, grinning like a fool. You stagger through the door into the chilly, starless night, your heels slipping on cracked, frozen pavement. “Whoa!” You stumble against the railing with a carefree giggle. “Almost lost my footing!”

There’s a stalling silence on his end. And then, with a deep inhale, he asks evenly, “Have you gone out?”

“Mm. Yeah. Went out to celebrate with some friends.”

“Some friends?”

“Like one or two…or a whole house full of ’em.”

“(Name).”

“What?” When he doesn’t reply, you laugh. Not because it’s humorous or embarrassing, but to merely fill the silent gap. “What? Roro, you’re sho stern. Don’t lecture me!”

“So you’ve been drinking.”

“What?! No!” With an offended scoff, you shake your head even though he’s not here to witness it. “You know NBC’s no-booze rule. I’m not gonna get caught—won’t get caught.”

“You slurred your speech and called me ‘Roro’—both in the same sentence, mind you.”

“So what? Rollo, Roro. Tomato, potato.”

“It’s to-may-to, to-mah-to. And—” he exhales an exhausted breath— “Never mind. That’s besides the point. Why, pray tell, have you called me at midnight?”

“Why’re you up at midnight?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Not fair! I asked first!”

“Not quite.” There’s a smile in his voice when he speaks next. “If I were to visit your room right now—knock on the door and wait there—would you let me in?”

“Yeaaah,” you start to say, only to catch yourself halfway in the trap. “No!”

“No?”

“No…thank you. No visitors tonight. S’late and I gotta study for tomorrow’s exam.”

“And a party will somehow aid in that endeavor? (Name), you do realize you’ve spun one too many lies and now you’re woefully entangled.”

“Less poetry and more picking me up.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is about.”

“Rollo, please be nice,” you whine, your lips twisting into a pout. “S’cold and I didn’t bring a jacket and I’m kinda-maybe-sorta a little…”

“A little…?” he encourages, and you can just envision that self-satisfied smirk of his.

“A little-drunk-but-also-not-really-drunk-but-also-totally-drunk,” you hastily admit in a string of syllables. Snowfall swirls around you, and you grasp the bannister to prevent yourself from falling over. “Oh, it’s snowing.”

“I can see perfectly clear from my window. Beautiful, is it not?”

“So stop being an obtuse dick and come get me before I freeze!”

“Should that come to pass, you may just rival the Righteous Judge at the entrance. I’ll be sure to polish you every month.”

“I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna poison your coffee and watch you drink it, and then we’ll see who’s stiffer than a statue. It’ll be you—in death, y’know!”

“Will you now?”

“If you don’t pick me up, yeah!”

There’s the distinct sound of shuffling. You hear crisp pages turning and then a book closing before the rustling of fabrics invades your keen ears. You picture your responsible friend pacing around his room as he dresses himself for the weather.

“Very well,” he says after a moment, ever the composed gentleman. “Send me the address.”

“You’re the best. Love you lots. Thank you! Thank you!” You press your lips together to mimic obnoxious kissing sounds, which elicits a huff of amusement from him. “It’s not a far walk. Promise.”

“Stay on the phone with me. I’ll be there shortly. And don’t go anywhere.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“You do realize sneaking out is against the rules, yes?”

“Aaand here comes the lecture. Gimme a break. Can’t a girl celebrate her birthday in peace?”

You drag your hand over your mouth and wipe sticky wine residue away. In the process, you smear black lipstick. Dark like night, like a crow’s inky feathers, it leaves your once-flawless appearance in disarray.

“There are much better ways to celebrate. Did I not say I’d take you into town this weekend and we could celebrate then?”

“That’s so far from now.”

“It’s three days away, (Name).”

“Still too far.”

“Don’t expect me to provide cover if you get caught.”

“And you can just leave campus whenever you please?”

“This is different.”

“Yeah?” You giggle into the speaker, warm and fuzzy and endlessly entertained. It’s enough of a distraction to keep winter from seeping into your marrow. “How so?”

“This is official Student Council business.”

“Really?” you ask with an impressed whistle.

“Indeed. On account of my being President, it’s only natural I punish students who conduct themselves poorly. Shall we review your list of infractions and decide on a suitable penalty together?”

“I’d rather we not.”

“Oh, but I insist. Perhaps our discussion and the cold will sober you and teach you a valuable lesson about integrity.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you lower onto the step to await his arrival. The icy stone digs harshly into your rear, which is hardly covered by your too-short dress. It’s definitely not fingertip length or weather-appropriate. You shiver and stuff your hand into the pocket of your cropped sweater. You should take shelter inside, where it’s plenty cozy and inviting, but your inflated pride disagrees. Retreating to the warmth after you’ve already bid farewell would be foolish. At least, that’s what the alcohol in your system is telling you.

So the goat endures the cold, for it knows that that is all that awaits it as the crow closes in.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an academic criminal. Get on with it, President Flamme.”

“Let’s see. You’ve disobeyed campus curfew, snuck out on a school night, attended a party when your grades could use improvement, neglected your studies, drank carelessly, called the one person who can and will punish you for this and the aforementioned…”

The sound of crunching snow pierces the air then, and you look up in time to see Rollo approaching. He’s dressed in a long woolen overcoat with a scarf twined around his throat and a hat pulled down over his ears. He smirks at you from where he stands on the pavement, cutting the call and sliding his phone into his pocket. Tilting his head at you, he pulls another coat from under his arm and offers it to you.

“And you’re dressed for your death.”

“Okay, that one’s personal.”

Rolling your eyes, you rise on unsteady legs. He meets you at the stairs, climbing two of them to help you into the coat. It’s an embrace more welcoming than that of a lover’s, so soft and comfortable that it immediately rejuvenates your weary skeleton. It smells like Rollo, too—like coffee and weathered pages in an old book. You hum your approval, snuggling into the fluffy fabric. He’s plopping his hat on your head next, tugging it so far down that you almost slip on the slick stoop. Like he always has, ever since he first met you, he catches you.

“Hello to you, too.”

You blink back at him. “Yeah, thanks. I owe you.”

“Let me see your hands.”

He takes them in his, runs his thumbs over the tops, and then procures mittens from his pockets. You watch him slide both over your hands, rubbing them together briefly to generate heat at a faster rate. Your body sways, gaze unfocused. He’s just about to unwind his scarf from his shoulders when you reach out to stop him.

“I’m good. This is enough.”

“You’ll catch your death—”

“And you won’t in just a coat and scarf? At least let me give you your hat back.”

He shakes his head, holding his hand up in objection. “You’ve been out in this weather longer. It’s only fair. But, really, did you have to wait out here? Couldn’t you have gone inside?”

“My pride’s on the line.”

Rollo’s unamused stare cuts through you. “You won’t have much pride left if you’re encased in ice.”

“Then we’d best get moving. Campus awaits!”

You wrap your arm around him, clinging out of instinct. Rollo peers at the proximity, his lips upturned in a covert half-smile, and his arm snakes slowly around your waist in return. You don’t notice this, for you’re too busy dragging your feet through the snow while he acts as a helpful crutch, stable in a way you just aren’t. Not right now, at least.

But then the goat is never stable enough to survive the inevitable—the swift, sacrificial blade that befalls and beheads, leaving gory spatters to run red and visceral in the wake of the end.

You’ve never known, and you never will. How could you when he’s been nothing but cordial? A clean slate. Admirable guidance. A helpful friend. Your only friend.

The crow descends in three knocks. He lets himself in regardless of whether you wish to have him as a guest. He is unwanted and feared, the very foundation of death and destruction, and he has set his beady eyes on you—the goat.

It’s common knowledge that you cannot pray away the crow. He persists, as always, quiet even when his wings beat against his sleek, feathered body like the loudest war drums. And the caw—the dreadful caw! It’s a most disturbing cry, one that pierces through the dark like jarring slivers of light in shadow. Or a butcher’s blade through flesh, sawing through sinew to get to brilliant bone beneath. The hoarse call of Death’s crows—they circle in a murder, swooping down to meet you as harbingers of malevolence.

Rollo has always strived to lead a virtuous existence defined by a rigidly righteous moral compass. In the gloomy pits of misery and hatred, where he festers in a bundle of tar-colored feathers, he does not hope for sunshine. He no longer knows the uplifting ebullience of life’s greatest miracles. Because there is no miracle in death or tragedy. Because there is no happiness to be found in a doomed hand, every card showcasing Death and its many forms. Not for him. Never for him.

But then, amidst the despair and despondency, each all-consuming, a goat fell into his lap.

A divine offering to the crow, who is so far from divinity himself, can only mean one thing. It is neither conciliatory nor a reward.

It is a sacrifice.

But then the City of Flowers adores its goats—reveres them for all that they are. Goats are cherished, not sacrificed. But to drag a nameless, magicless goat from the grounds of its far-off, inconceivable pasture—is that not the cruelest form of sacrifice? To drop this goat into the equitable embrace of the crow—is that not the sweetest gift? Generous yet unfair. Plucked right from the folds of another heaven.

The mortal coil can be callous, which is precisely why the crow is permitted to exist in impartiality. Death does not care for who you were in life and who you will be in the next, and the crow only ever oversees finales. Never beginnings. Much like a deity does not care for what good you can do if you do not first adore them in copious adequacy.

The crow carries with him a most fearsome knell—the chime of judgment, to be delivered right on time like an execution staged for noon.

All throughout life, you can plan for the crow and all that he shall deliver, and still you will never be fully prepared to greet him. He brings misfortune bundled in baskets woven from the bones of sacrifices past. In holy scripture, it is the goat who is punished most often—who is slaughtered at the altar, who is arranged as peace to quell the torrential fury of the deity, who is made to suffer at the hands of those hoping to avoid damnation or godly wrath, who is meant to shoulder the blame when no one else wants to. Favors have been bought with the blood of the goat, its head nestled amidst verdant grasses, pure forevermore even when it is dyed carmine. It appeases and pleases.

So it’s just—religiously so—that the crow takes the goat for himself, strips it bare, and proves to the prying eyes in heaven that the greatest sin is more than lustful temptation.

For the crow—for Rollo—the heaviest sin, a vile, cursed burden from his very first breath—it is existence itself.

And only the blood of a pure goat can wash away such filth—can cleanse what has been rotting within. The goat can make a garden out of the crow—bring life and love to its barren insides regardless of however fleeting its presence may be. It is within this garden—within the softest, fertile soil—where the crow shall sow the most special seeds.

You cross the bridge with Rollo, your laughter filling the cloudy sky as you recall all manner of amusing stories from the past few hours. Drinking games paired with drunken gossip. Delicious wines and snacks. A party with an energy so lively it could rival the city’s annual festivals. Even though he doesn’t seem outwardly pleased to hear any of it, he listens well and occasionally stops to steady you before you can topple over the railing into the water below. Your heels clack against smooth, frosted stone, and the wind whips at your face, each snowflake biting and vicious. Noble Bell’s vast campus waits just beyond the wrought iron gate, standing proud and backdropped by the night.

“You think anyone’s up?” you ask, curling your fingers into his arm as he guides you through.

Rollo eases the gate shut. “They might if they hear you. It would be best to keep quiet.”

You pantomime zipping your lips and discarding a nonexistent key. He quirks a small smile at that and then hurries you along. Nights are always peaceful at Noble Bell. The halls are desolate and quiet, devoid of all signs of student life. Your and Rollo’s shoes click in unison as you walk through the hall and past the courtyard. You gaze at the arched openings, counting each one as they become fainter with the growing distance.

Your breath materializes in front of you when you sigh. “I’m so sleepy. I wanna go to bed for a thousand years.”

“You’ll miss your exam if you do that,” he chides, tutting. “And every other exam that will follow.”

“That’s the point!” Your voice bounces off the walls, returning to you in a reverberating echo. Cringing under Rollo’s disapproving glower, you speak softer. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Just how much have you had to drink? You can hardly walk straight without leaning on me for support.” He narrows his eyes, his lecherous gaze crawling down to your bare legs. “Not that I mind…”

His words don’t reach you, for they’re swallowed in a howling gale as it sweeps across the courtyard. You spy the dormitories then, each one looking more like gingerbread covered in confectioners’ sugar instead of buildings dusted with snow. Your eyelids droop while you cross the distance to reach your designated building, your every movement feeling slower than molten molasses, and by the time you’re actually inside the dorm—Rollo’s shushed you more than once—you’re yearning for the warmth of your bed.

So it’s bewildering when, rather than your own room, you stop at Rollo’s instead.

He opens the door and steps inside with you in tow. You keep your mouth shut, too tipsy to think coherently. After he clicks the lamp on, which leaves the room awash in soft shades of amber, he shrugs his coat off, draping it over a nearby chair. You drag yourself over to his bed and flop down, squeezing your eyes shut to block out both the light and your spinning surroundings. Rollo doesn’t say anything, but you hear him shuffling about his room, crossing to close and lock the door before walking back towards you. The mattress dips under his weight, and you feel nimble fingers working to undo the buttons on your coat.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” you ask, cracking your eyes open just as he’s pulling the coat from your person.

Rollo folds it neatly and sets it aside. “You’re practically melting into my bed already. It would be quite the undertaking to make the walk back to your room at this hour.”

“So considerate,” you tease, grinning up at him. Sleep stretches your expression into something dazed, and you yawn loudly. “Then I’m gonna sleep here. Wake me up before class.”

You almost drift off, but those frigid fingers are moving to tug you out of your sweater next. They crawl across your bare shoulders like a spider on a web.

“You really are something,” he marvels, glancing at your body sprawled beneath him. “To brave the cold in such thin material…”

“Stupid choice. I know.”

“It appears we’re in agreement.”

“Shut up,” you snap back with a weak laugh. “You’re no better, showing up so cozy and then giving everything to me.”

Rollo memorizes the way the form-fitting dress hugs your figure. He inhales a shaky breath and brings his hands back to his sides. Your chest is right here. So close. So frustratingly close.

He can’t indulge. He really shouldn’t. It’s unbecoming to show such unfair favorability when he’s meant to remain impartial. Death should not lust for the beauty of life because it only knows endings—or the beginnings of ghostly eternity. The crow should not allow himself to be swept up in tumultuous temptation.

And the goat is the only friend he’s known—the only one who understands the crow, if only by a few meager slivers. But someday the goat will know.

Rollo swallows his inhibitions, beating his urges away with a stick. He’s not one for rash decisions; he’s meticulous and thoughtful. He would never take such a risk—would never nosedive into a crude confession. He’s plotted it in his diary, but it’s never come to fruition. He restrains himself because he must. Because it’s the polite and proper thing to do when caught up in courtship. Because if he opens his torso and allows you to poke around inside, you’ll find that he is not the friend you’ve known for all these months.

He is a fiend, devilishly so, wearing the hide of a goat to put the real one at ease.

Warring with rationality, he slides away from you and intends to recover at his desk. He’ll scrawl all of the things he wishes to do to you in there and that will be enough. That will help clear his head of the intoxicating fog that settles whenever he’s with you in private. But then he’s reaching to untie the canopy draped over his bed, each corner undone within seconds. The sheer curtains fall in thin layers, confining the both of you to this island in the middle of a barren sea. It’s darker in here, dimly lit by the faint glow of the lamp outside.

You blink up at him, owlish.

“You…” He stops himself, shakes his head, and turns away. Hastily, he fishes his handkerchief from his pocket. With this enclosed propinquity, he can smell your perfume. It’s spiced and flowery—alluring and adorable all at once—and it assaults both his nose and mind. “You should sleep. It’s late.”

This is for the best. The crow is only meant to look after the goat, remain unaffected even in the face of lustful, fateful sacrifice.

But you’re here. You’re splayed like a spill, perfectly imperfect, and your shoulders are a canvas coveting kisses. He clutches his handkerchief in a white-knuckled fist.

“Mm, okay. Night…”

“Yes… Yes, good night,” he mumbles, lowering his handkerchief. He swallows thickly.

This is for the best.

But even though he thinks this, his arm is stretching out. Closer. Closer. So close, until his hand is hovering just above your chest. He’s so close.

When will he ever have another chance as fortuitous as this?

His hand closes around your breast and he squeezes it experimentally. It’s soft when his fingers dig in gently, depressing with the pressure of his digits. Rollo’s green hues flick to your face. Your eyes are shut, and soft snores slip from your parted lips. He glimpses your chest again and, with the utmost care, slides your dress down to free your breasts. They’re mostly bare, save for the heart-shaped pasties covering your nipples. Rollo heaves a disbelieving sigh.

“Promiscuous,” he mutters, plucking the edge of the first adhesive and peeling it away to reveal the perky nipple beneath. You look so soft, so clean, so pure… What was he even worried about? No one’s had you before. He’s sure of it.

He’s about to remove the other heart when your voice freezes him.

“What…are you doing?”

He holds your gaze. It’s tense for a moment, unspoken accusations brewing between the both of you.

“A massage,” he blurts, but there isn’t a hint of haste in his tone. He suspected this outcome when he chose to traverse the line of right and wrong—and ultimately sided with the former. Because to him it’s right, even if it’s wrong. He knows what will soon follow: disgust and detestation.

Instead, you giggle. It’s sleepy and silly-sounding, but it’s also light and lively.

You catch his hand in yours and drag it back to your chest. “If you wanted to touch, just ask,” you murmur, your words slurring. “Nothin’ wrong with it.”

You’re not just perfect and pure. You’re everything.

Yes, it’s the alcohol blurring your brain and the intimacy of being trapped in a quiet, comfortable space such as this one that allows you to desire him. Would it be the same if you were sober? He can’t quite say, but he doesn’t wish to know. This is enough. This is paradise.

He kneads slow, steady motions into your breast, and you watch from where you’re lying on the bed. His other hand slithers between your legs to search for your clothed clit. Your breath hitches just as his fingers brush it, and he presses in, rubbing with his index. Your arm falls over your face, and your chest rises with every breath.

“How does it feel?” he asks, rolling your nipple between chilly digits.

“Not enough,” you bemoan, curling your fingers into a fist. “S’not enough…”

“How fascinating. I suppose cheap wine truly does turn you into a pute.”

“No… Was definitely expensive. The fancy kind.”

“Was it now?” He circles your clit, predatory and shark-like, his eyes alight with glee. “You say that, but look at the state it’s left you in. Utterly disheveled.”

“That’s because of—” you gasp, your voice rising in pitch— “because of you…”

His heart hammers in his chest, a resounding, pounding melody.

The City of Flowers treasures its goats, and the crow loves his fiercely even though he shouldn’t.

“Did you enjoy drinking yourself foolish and indulging in debauchery?” His fingers dance along your inner thigh, hooking around the hem of your underwear. “Was it a fun celebration?”

You lower your arm to glare halfheartedly at him. “Someone sounds jealous.”

“More so disappointed, mon chou chou,” he coos, sugary, sickeningly sweet. “Someone could have taken advantage of you. Someone could have tainted you with magic.” His lip curls up into a nasty sneer. It lingers for a moment before fading into something calm. He gazes at you, oddly tender. “That didn’t happen, though, yes?”

You shake your head and flinch when he drags your panties down. Dewy strings of your slick come away with it, and you shudder at your newfound nudity. He hums approvingly and drags his finger through the wet patch staining your panties. Driven by libertine compulsion, he stretches viscous strands of your essence between two fingers.

Your eyes find his deceitful greens once more. Silence sparks between the both of you, quickly broken by your exhalation. Rollo kneels before you, taking in the sight of you as your face wavers through the stages of consideration. Upon arriving at your conclusion, you sit up slightly and shuck your dress over your head. And then you’re lying back, shaking your panties from off your ankle, and wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him in closer.

You grin, coquettish. “Why not search for yourself if you’re so worried, Mr. Student Council President?”

There’s no turning back. Not that he ever would. Not when the goat’s given him the signal. The blade doesn’t fall, but he does.

And this is better than dreams and erotica. This is real.

He surges forward to fit his lips against yours. Sloppy and inexperienced, he molds himself to your body. You tug him against you, your hands working to undress him. Clothes and shoes are cast aside between open-mouthed kisses, torn off half-buttoned and ripped away from soles. You breathe him in, gasping into his mouth. Translucent strings of saliva connect your mouths when you part, soon broken when you lean in for a chaste peck.

“You’re okay,” he says, the words practically bleeding onto your own tongue with how close he is. “Still as pure as the day I first met you.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“The best thing.”

His third and fourth fingers prod at the depths of your pussy, pressing inwards. Shallow at first. He watches your face unblinkingly, burning every pleasured contortion into his brain, and slides his thumb along your clit. Your breathing staggers, coming in quick huffs, and you grab at the bedsheets to steady yourself. Rollo works you open on those fingers, curling and scissoring in equal measure. The slick squelches join in the salacious symphony you’re currently producing. Every sigh and groan come together in perfect harmony. You’re a heavenly harp, and he’s plucking your strings like an expert musician.

“Tonight is unforgivable,” he adds, and you blink through blissful tears to view him. “Folly is the worst distraction.”

“Then be stupid with me,” you joke, running your hands over his shoulders. He’s so cold. “Warm yourself with me.”

And he will because he’s always wanted to. He’s desired it. Craved it. Coveted it. Thought of nothing else for days and days, each delusion so cyclical it often felt tangible.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, sliding his other hand up your hip and towards your rib. He traces the path of where it lies beneath layers of flesh before pressing down to feel it. “So beautiful…”

Your hand glides into his, fingers twining like silken thread around a spool. A lopsided smile lifts your lips, and you preen under him. “Yeah? Am I really?”

“I wouldn’t lie about the obvious…” Your walls hug his fingers tighter then, and a shiver electrifies your nerves. He hums again, quite pleased. “Oh, did you like that?”

“I did. Very much.”

Lashes fluttering against your cheekbones, your head thrown back in ecstasy ever-mounting, you render him ensorcelled. Like a prized Renaissance nude, a goat laid to sacrifice in the crow’s nest, you are beatific. Divinely so.

“Allow me to reiterate then.” He hastens his pace, pumping his fingers relentlessly. You tamp down a shameless moan. “You’re exquisitely beddable. A work of art. Enchanting. Une belle femme.”

You’re nearing the edge—very gradually, but not quite—and so it’s devastating when he slips his fingers out, each one thoroughly coated in you. They shimmer in the dim light, reminding you of where they had previously been.

“Put it back in,” you beg with wide, glossy eyes. “C’mon… Please don’t stop now. Was so close. So close and—”

Your complaints are curbed when you follow his hand as it moves to wrap around his half-hard cock. He strokes himself thrice, using your slick as lube, until his cock is curving up against his stomach. You stare at him; he stares right back.

And then you realize he intends to go all the way.

“Wait, Rol…lo… S’not my safe day,” you say, shifting away. Whether impatiently or anxiously, he can’t tell, but he can certainly guess. Your world spins once, a dizzying blur, before it promptly clears. In the very center of your vision, as he’s always been, Rollo remains. “S’not safe…”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with levity. “I know.”

He’s kept track, dutiful like always.

You attempt to crawl out from under him, but he stops you. Your stomach churns.

“I’ll pull out in time,” he promises, rubbing soothing circles into your plush hips.

Even with the alcohol still buzzing through your system, you aren’t convinced. “N-No, really, we should stop here…”

“You’ll feel so good. Come now, aren’t we nearly there already?”

Rollo lifts your legs onto his shoulders. You squirm with more determination this time, but his fingers dig into your thighs. With a startled squeak, you sink into the mattress, cowed into submission.

“We… We can’t.”

“Why not?” The smooth, soft head of his cock prods curiously at your pussy.

You chew your lip, admitting in a meek tone, “I… I could get p-pregnant…”

“Pregnant,” he parrots, tasting the word as if it’s a delicacy he has yet to sample. His cock twitches. “Pregnant…”

“So… So that’s why…”

“Do you not want children?”

“I… Well… Now is kinda…”

He presses onwards, sinking in slowly. Your breath hitches; your heart stumbles. The intrusion is not entirely unwanted, for your slick, snug walls cling to his shape, and you almost give in to bodily inclination. But it doesn’t feel right. You’re scared. No matter how naturally your body reacts, you don’t want this.

“Rollo, wait—”

“It would be a wonderful thing—to see you rounded with my children.” Rollo props himself on either side of you, his body pinned to yours in sinful, sweaty connection. He exhales a deep breath, restraining himself as he pushes deeper. Patience is a virtue, after all. Your expression tightens with discomfort, and so he peppers your face with placatory kisses. “To see you grow in and—mmh—out of the most flattering maternity wear. To behold every change that blesses this beautiful body of yours… To see you swell with my love, filthy as it may be. Ah, but pregnancy is just as messy… Nevertheless, it shall be a special bond for us—a sacred vow, if you will. We are connected here—” he punctuates this point by slotting the rest of his length inside, and your legs involuntarily close around him to keep him there— “and soon here when life develops within.”

One hand splays across your stomach to pat it with fondness. You choke on your helpless whimper when he rocks his hips once, experimenting with the movement. It’s awkward, but it reminds you that he’s inside. So close to your womb that in just a few more thrusts he might—

“No… No, please… Rollo, you have to—oh—have to pull out. Please pull out. Don’t wanna get pregnant…”

“Oh, but you would be so beautiful.” He breathes you in, savoring sex and floral fragrance. “If I’m allowed one miracle—just one for all the anguish I’ve endured—let it be this.”

You know not of what anguish he speaks, for he’s never verbalized it, but even so it can’t possibly be so agonizing that it would warrant such invasion.

The vise-like hold your velvety walls have on his cock is deliciously addictive. He groans while he ruts into you, his eyelids fluttering. He could be animalistic and cruel in his movements—ravish you as if the world is faced with annihilation and this is his final hour—but instead he settles for exploratory leisure. His hand fits into yours and he squeezes it gently. A feeble protest builds in your throat and so he swallows it with a hungry kiss, his mouth molding against yours.

Your nails dig into his shoulders when he draws back and slides in again, filling you deeper than before. You breathe between kisses, panting and licking into his mouth in even intervals. He does much the same, anchored to you in a way that is both temporary and yet so permanent.

The world narrows down to this single sliver of space, enclosed in a canopy. And in it, laid bare and fertile, the goat is sacrificed to the crow. Death cannot reach either one here. There is only the promise of new life, thrust upon the goat all at once.

You don’t have the willpower to object, for you’ve already found yourself entrapped, so instead you cry. Tears track down your cheeks; your mascara runs with it. Ruined. So, too, is your pitch-black lipstick, smeared along the edges of your lips and printed onto Rollo’s porcelain skin.

Rollo’s hips stutter to a halt and he holds you against him when he spills thick and hot inside. Nothing is wasted; it’s all emptied deep within. If you’re lucky, it won’t take. But if some mischievous fertility goddess has cursed you, you’ll wake nauseous in the coming weeks.

If you have anything worth praying for, it’s the former.

The both of you are panting in the aftermath, but only one is coming down from his glorious high. You remain unsatisfied, your peak not yet breached. Rollo rolls his hips once more for good measure before easing out. You crumple into the wrinkled sheets, frigid and still as a statue. Carved empty and hollow, yet stuffed with sin.

The crow has come. Though this time the gift of tragedy is something between boon and curse.

— — —

The curtains are drawn to let in sunlight. It filters in through frosted glass, each pane stamped with snow, and it blinds you the moment you try to open your eyes. You twist and turn in bed, feeling heavy with hangover. A splitting ache cracks your head in half, and you groan loudly.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you hiss, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. “This sucks…”

You force yourself to wake after two more minutes of rolling around. Groaning once more, you sit up in bed. The canopy has been tied back in place, and when you glance sidelong at Rollo’s desk you notice something. A glass of water and a plate are waiting for you, seeming more enticing by the second. You throw the covers off, realize you’re nude seconds later, and promptly snatch them back. They’re wrapped around you like a comforting cloak. You stagger out of bed to check the contents. Two croissants, a single orange, a dollop of strawberry marmalade, and two tablets are arranged on the plate.

Hangover medicine, you realize, lifting one up to scrutinize it.

You peer around the room. It’s empty. And then you see the clock. It’s a little past noon.

“Oh,” you mumble, lowering into the chair. You clutch the blanket closer. “Rollo must be in class.”

Amidst the piercing migraine, which you quickly resolve by throwing your head back to swallow both tablets in a single gulp of water, two things occur to you. You’re in Rollo’s room. Naked. In Rollo’s room. Surely you must have spent the night after you returned from the party. Why are you naked?

But more importantly…

“Shit! My exam!” The excitement doesn’t help your current state, and you slouch in your seat, even more exhausted than before. “I completely missed it… Rollo’s gonna kill me.”

You scrub the sleep from your eyes and reach for a croissant, content with giving up. You don’t want to endure the walk of shame from Rollo’s room to yours. If anyone were to catch you, they’d certainly be left wondering.

As you nibble on the croissant, admiring the way Rollo’s arranged the contents of his room, you spot the edge of something beneath the plate. Perplexed, you push it aside to reveal a note. Penned in Rollo’s effortlessly pretty script, it reads:

I’ll forgive your transgression just this once if you’ll forgive mine. For now, get some rest. I’ve left breakfast here. Stay for however long you’d like.

You scowl at his attempt of ‘breakfast,’ and your stomach rumbles in dissatisfaction.

“Right?” you say to your stomach, clicking your tongue. “If anything, this is hardly a snack.”

But you’re grateful for his efforts. He cares. He always has. From the very first day you found yourself in this world, he cared.

While you peel the orange, pondering foggy recollections of last night, you begin to realize just how sticky you feel. As if someone’s slobbered all over you and left it to dry. The feeling persists between your thighs.

You pause momentarily, overcome with an uncanny sense of panic as you piece the puzzle together. The still-forming picture does not look good.

“Shit…” you whisper, haunted with a fragmented timeline. “What the hell did we do last night?”

You know. The deep, dark part of your brain knows, but you don’t want to confront it. Because Rollo wouldn’t, right? He couldn’t. He’s always done what’s best for you, so he wouldn’t.

Right?

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere rollo flamme #yandere rollo flamm #yandere rollo flamme x reader #yandere rollo flamm x reader #yandere rollo #yandere rollo x reader #n/sfw #tw: dubcon

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pixie-ass · 11 months

Text

Tim LaFlour x F!Coquette(ish) reader

Readers a girl in his english class, inspired by the scene of him reading Langston Hughes. They're opposites bc I think the opposite aesthetic trope is so damn cute.

I have a lot of ideas for this trope that I'll try to add!

Warnings - none except for fluff with my fav punk!

°•♡•°

Tim was not the best at poetry. Needless to say, english literature wasn't one of his strongest suits. That's why when the professor had assigned a very long, very taunting poetry book along with an analysis, he was fucked. Not only that but he didn't really know anybody in that class to ask for help and he was sure his roommate, Daryl, was as clueless as him.

As class was dismissed and all the students were beginning to leave, Tim packed his stuff up, sighing as he began to think. The class size wasn't big, so as people walked out, he looked around for anyone who seemed helpful, only to catch eyes with a particular girl.

He'd noticed her since the beginning of the semester. She always sat second row on the right and would never talk unless called on. He noticed all her supplies were a light shade of pink, which he thought suited her. She'd always dress with light colors too, very put together. Tim sat in the row behind her a few seats to her left so he'd always find himself zoning out on her, only because she stood out.

“Do you know how to do this?” He'd take his chance and ask her, she seemed so sophisticated taking notes everyday, he was sure she'd know what she was doing. Her eyes widened and she seemed to go from shock, to confusion, to acceptance all in the span of a second. “Yeah, we're just going through the book assigned and analyzing the poems. Pretty easy.” She smiled as she swung her backpack (light pink of course) over her shoulders.

“I got that, but I don't get it, like how we're supposed to analyze. I suck at this class.” She giggled in response, causing Tim's brows to knit in confusion, he couldn't find what was amusing. “It's pretty simple, if you want, I can help you.” She offered him a sweet smile that caused him to smile. He nodded, “Yeah, that'd be awesome! We can work in my dorm.”

She nodded, “I'm y/n by the way.” She offered her hand out for him to shake. He slipped his hand into hers, feeling her soft skin and admiring how well taken care of her nails were. “Tim! Nice to meet ya." He stared into her eyes almost dumbfounded as he shook her hand, a dumb smile plastered on both their faces.

------

A knock on the door startled Daryl as he sat in the living room, tense from the drug effects. Tim opened the door to his dorm, quickly walking over to the front door and opening it, “Hey! Welcome, welcome, you can make yourself right at home. My rooms over here.” Daryl raised a brow as he watched the very opposite girl walk in. Her light clothed and accessories a blinding contrast to everything Tim owned. It was almost comedic.

“We’re gonna be studying, dawg, so don't interrupt so we can get smart.”

“Yeah man, don't worry. You have fun.” He responded, a teasing hint in his tone.

As the girl walked into his room, she couldn't help but look around, admiring all the punk posters and dark themes. She stood out like a sore thumb. Her white sweater, blue jeans, and pink accessories were almost blinding in there. Tim noticed straight away, letting out a small chuckle as he shut the door. “You listen to any of them?” He asked, pointing to his various punk band posters. As expected, she shook her head, “No, haha. They look sick, though.” This caused Tim to smile as she set her bag down on the floor next to his bed. He motioned for her to sit, and she did.

Immediately, she began pulling out the poetry book and some paper. I guess she was here for business. Tim sat down across from her, getting his own stuff out. As she got a paper, she began explaining, Tim nodding in response as he listened. It seemed a hundred times easier to listen to her than the professor. After explanations he began to understand, they'd take turns reading poems out loud, analyzing, highlighting, and annotating what they agreed was important, (though it was mostly Y/n who would point out most and Tim would just agree since she seemed so pleased).

Tim noticed that when she would concentrate she would chew on the end of her pencil, her glossy pink lips attracting him like a moth to light. She had pretty lips and he couldn't help but stare at them, his own mouth seeming to slightly open as he stared until he had to catch himself multiple times.

After about 2 hours of this, they'd finished more than half the assignment, and they were both more than exhausted. It was nearly midnight. Yawning, y/n shut the poetry book, packing her papers into her folder. They hadn't chit chatted a lot, Tim didn't want to interrupt her focus so as they cleaned up Tim spoke up.

“So do you enjoy poetry? You seemed really into all the poems.” Y/n shrugged as she packed away the last of her things, “I guess I do. I like the beauty and emotion put into poems. They're really beautiful if you read them right.” Her response was said in a sleepy tone but was so sincere, Tim found himself feeling a sort of admiration along with a tingling in his stomach.

He smiled at her as she broke out into a yawn again. “You seem tired, we should get to sleep, eh.” He suggested standing up and fixing his bed to rest. She also stood up, stretching her body. “How fars, your dorm? I can walk you. It's pretty late, so I wouldn't want you to get spooked.” She giggled as he said it. Mostly, his tone was what made her laugh.

“It's all across campus, on the other side of the main hall.” His brows raised in concern. “That far? That's like a 10 minute walk.” He knew it wasn't far but she seemed so tired he wasn't sure if she'd even make it, she looked one blink away from knocking over like a leaf in the wind.

“You'd be better off staying here.” She raised a brow at his comment, a frown appearing on her soft face, “I'm not dumb enough to stay in a college guys dorm for the night. If you're thinking what you are, know I'm not the one.” Her sleepy voice was now stern as she headed for the door, her walk telling him that his comment had made her upset.

“Hey, hey. I didn't mean it like that. I promise! I'm on a no sex, drugs, or anything sinful pact so I swear I didn't mean anything that you're thinking.” He raised his arms up in defense, watching as she stopped and turned around, eyeing him.

“I was just saying, since you look so tired. I think it'd be better for you to just sleep here than walk all the way over there.” She stared at him in silence for a few long seconds.

She was only thinking it through so much since she really found Tim to be cute. Ever since she'd laid eyes on him as he walked in through the door mid-lecture, she'd felt her cheeks go pink. Something about the way he looked, or carried himself, or talked, it all fascinated her, and soon enough, she found herself crushing on him like a high school girl.

Sighing, she responded, “Okay, fine. But only because I really am so exhausted.” Tim's face seemed to go from upset to a beaming smile quickly. “Awesome! You can borrow one of my T-shirts if you want. And you can take the bed. I'll take the floor.” He exited the room after tossing a t-shirt onto the bed, leaving her a very flustered and hot mess. Her heart was racing as she lifted up the shirt he'd left for her. It was of a punk band. It smelled just like Tim. She blushed as she put it on. She blushed as she got into Tim's very soft and warm bed, blushed at how sweet it was for him to offer to sleep on the floor.

As she tucked in, Tim knocked, walking in after she answered and smiled down at the view of her covered in his blanket, completely bundled from neck down.

"Thank you for helping me by the way. Learned more from you then the professor, goodnight.”

He shut the lights off, and y/n heard as he shuffled on the floor. Looking down, she saw him lying with a comically small blanket and a decor pillow. Her heart raced in her ears as she decided if she should speak or not.

“You can sleep on the bed, Tim. It's your bed anyway, so I'd feel terrible if you slept on the floor.” She was also pitied by the sight of his tall figure under that poor excuse of a blanket. She heard him shuffle and next thing he was standing.

“You sure? Really, I'm alright sleeping on the good ole floor.” He chuckled.

“Im sure.” She scooted over to the other side, patting the bed. He didn't hesitate even a second as he tucked in beside her, far enough to not make her uncomfortable. As her eyes adjusted, she could begin to make out his silhouette in the dark. That's when she realized how close he really was, and she found a new found heat on her face. She went to cover her head with the blanket as if he could see her reddened cheeks.

“Tim.? You still awake?” She spoke softly under the covers. The soft ruffle of the pillow case sounded, “Yeah. What's up?” He whispered back.

Her hands seemed to tingle along with the butterflies in her stomach. She uncovered herself and moved her body so she could stare at him and him at her, he was already facing her direction though.

“Thank you for letting me stay, I didn't tell you, but it means a lot that you care.” She offered a sleepy smile as she stared into his face. He smiled back, and though she couldn't see it, she could see the outline of his cheeks when he did so.

“It's no biggie. Just the right thing to do. You tell me if you had a pretty girl in your dorm who was tired and lived far away that you wouldn't feel bad if she was alone.” His statement caused her to let out a small giggle into the sheets, which in turn caused her heart to flutter.

She scooted closer to him, not much, not enough to be noticeable in the dark but enough to where she could feel how warm he was, a huge grin spread across her face. "Goodnight, Tim…" Her eyes were far too heavy to keep open now, she shut them, and without a thought cuddled into Tims side causing him to freeze.

He slowly looked down at her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, her closed eyes and her features. Gently he wrapped his arm around her, feeling her shift closer to him, his heart ramming against his chest. She was so small in his arms, so warm, he felt himself leaning into her head, resting his head against the top of hers, caressing her back as she slept. He wasn't sure why he was doing this or why he felt so much in his gut.

All he knew was that he was happy, holding her and admiring her. That he was feeling far too much all at once.

He'd have to talk to her about this tomorrow. His emotions would be the death of him.

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riordanness · 8 months

Text

i think he knows - [l.laurence]

wordcount: 1.3K

requested: no (but i am working on all my requests)

warnings: maybeee a wonka reference (my bad)

I lay side by side with Jo March, our hands intertwined, staring up at the clouds.

“You’re kidding, right?” Jo laughs. “That is definitely not a giraffe. It looks like a flamingo.”

I wrinkle my nose. “No way. It looks closer to a melted chocolate bar than a flamingo.”

She nudges me and laughs again. “Whatever.”

I sigh and close my eyes, my spare fingers playing with the blades of grass we’re lying on.

“This is the life,” Jo says quietly, as if she can read my thoughts.

“Mhm…” I reply, feeling sleepy and sun sick. We’ve been out all morning in the hot summer sun, and the effects are finally catching up on me.

“You know what would make today better, though?”

“What?” I’m barely paying attention now, my sleepiness wanting to take over.

“If Laurie was here.” Jo says it like it’s poetry.

I’m immediately awake. I sit up. “What did you say?”

Jo looks amused. “I said…that today would have been better if Laurie was here with us.”

I try to downplay my reaction with a shrug. “Yeah, that would have been nice I suppose.”

“Oh, y/n,” Jo teases. “Don’t try to pretend you aren’t head over heels in love with him.”

I look at her sharply. “Jo, don’t talk about such things.”

“It's true, though,” Jo insists. “Isn’t it?”

I look away. Of course it was true. Laurie Laurence was the one person I could never imagine not having in my life. I needed him like I needed air in my lungs. He was my sunlight, my happiness, my joy and my energy and my smile. He was my everything.

“Maybe it’s true,” I whisper. “But it’s not important. I will never matter to him the way that he matters to me.”

Jo is quiet for a while, her eyes narrowed as she stares into the deep blue nothingness of the sky.

I lay beside her, in comfortable silence, as my thoughts drift, as always, back to that boy with the laughing green eyes, unruly but beautiful dark hair, and that smile that fills me with everything I need.

I first met Laurie through the others. I’m lifelong friends with all the Marches, and being an only child, my days tend to be lonely. Marmee has me over as much as humanly possible. Sleepovers, performances, club meetings and dinners, walks and piano lessons, days at the beach, sketching in the garden, dances and dumb adventures. I do it all with those four girls.

Then one day, a boy joined in on our fun.

At first, it was nerve-wracking, doing all our usual antics in the presence of a boy. But I soon learned that Laurie was anything but judgemental, and better than that–he was amazing fun.

We became best friends.

Now, everything I did was with Laurie, or nearly everything. I’d spend every second with him if I could.

It’s like there’s magic in his smile.

“Laurie!” I shove open his front door, yelling up the stairs.

His curly head pops over the stairs, grinning down at me. “Hey, you.”

I squint up at him. “What are you doing? I thought we were going out today. You promised we’d go ice skating.” I wave my skates at him to prove my point.

Laurie winces. “I’m sorry, y/n. I know I did, but–” He makes a face. “I’ve got a cold and Grandfather forbade me to leave my room.” His features turn mischievous. “In fact, I’m risking his wrath just being out here in the hall.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Well, I guess I’ll have to come up there and entertain you then.”

“You’ll get sick!” Laurie shakes his head at me.

“Too late,” I say, as I drop my skates and coat at the door, and dash up the stairs.

Laurie watches as I hop, skip, and jump at the top stair, as I do every time (because he did it first, and I like to do everything he does). He stares at me with a small smirk on his face.

“What?” I ask, coming to a stop only a metre away from him. “It’s fun doing that at the top of the stairs. Like a little celebratory moment for conquering the staircase once again.”

Laurie laughs under his breath as he shakes his head slightly. “It’s nothing, my dear y/n. Hop at your heart's content.”

I shrug and head into his room, a lage, ornate chamber full of antique paintings and old books and clothes strewn all over the floor.

“Oh, my,” I say disapprovingly. “Laurie, you really need to tidy this place up a little if you want to get any better, you know.”

“I know,” Laurie sighs, falling sideways onto an armchair. “But I just don’t have your work ethic, y/n. I love being lazy and useless and spending my time doing silly, worthless things.”

I click my tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous, Laurie. I know you. You have it inside you to do great things with your life. You just have to want it enough, and to work hard for it. You can do it. I believe in you.”

I wander around the room busily, picking up dirty laundry and discarded books, and straightening the bedsheets. I can feel Laurie’s eyes on me, but it’s not an awkward feeling. If anything, it’s comforting. Being around him, everything is easier, safer. My words come out of my mouth easily. I don’t worry about saying the wrong thing or coming across as too blunt or anything like that. They can come right from my heart, because I know him better than anyone, and I see what Laurie is capable of.

“And you know, you can always–”

“Y/n.” Laurie gets to his feet.

My voice dies, and I frown at him uncertainly and I drop a small stack of books onto his desk.. “Yeah?”

“You know how the other day, um, you and Jo were hanging out in the gardens, watching the clouds?”

My eyes narrow a little, but I nod slowly. “Yes…? How did you know about that?”

Laurie doesn’t meet my eyes, rolling his tongue around in his mouth nervously. “I might’ve been spying on you?”

My hands are instantly on my hips as I give him a look. “Laurie Laurence.”

“I’m sorry!” he says immediately, holding his hands up like he’s surrendering. “I just… well, I heard what you were talking about.”

I try to think back. What would Jo and I have been talking about that was so important he’s bringing it back up now? I didn’t think we were discussing anything that exciting, except…

Oh.

My face goes slack, and my mouth drops slightly open. “You-you mean–”

Laurie nods and gets to his feet. “So it’s true?”

I want to lie, to shake my head and laugh it away, but my reaction has already made it obvious. I slowly nod my head yes, once, then twice.

Relief floods into Laurie’s features. “Oh, thank goodness.”

“What?” I ask, but my question is lost when Laurie attacks me with a hug.

“I love you, y/n,” he says softly into my hair. “I’ve loved you ever since Jo first introduced me to you that day in the attic. You might’ve been shy and wearing that silly costume; a battered overcoat and tattered suitcase, but I’d never seen a prettier girl. You help me be a better person, you’re always so encouraging and kind and hard-workig, and I just… I really love you.”

He pulls away, holding my shoulders and gazing at me.

I’m in disbelief, staring up into his eyes, my mouth still open.

He laughs, ducking his head a little. “You don’t have to say anything, y/n. You said enough the other day.” He pauses, licks his lips a little. “Y/n, can I kiss you?”

I can’t help but to smile. “Of course you can.”

His mouth meets mine, and it’s better than anything else in the world.

#timothée chalamet #laurie laurence x reader #laurie laurence #little women #fanfic #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet x reader #laurie laurence fanfic

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buttercupagere · 3 months

Text

mr. keating as a caregiver <3

"hey there, kiddo. see that? the sun's gone to bed, and now mr. moon is up there taking over. it's about time for you to go to bed, too. here, let's sit and i can read you a bedtime story. which one's your favorite? i'm partial to charlotte's web. i know — you think bedtime's no fun. but i think sleeping can be extra fun. that's when we can have dreams. whenever i read before bed, my brain is happy with me, and it gives me marvelous dreams. let's try it."

requested by anon!

it's been wayyy too long since i've seen the movie, i may be a little rusty!! sorry. headcanons under cut!

he is the absolute best at being a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on! he lets you sit with him while he gives you a mug of tea or cocoa, and then when you've calmed down, he asks if you want advice

he keeps some kids books in his desk for you. alice in wonderland, the secret garden, you name it. sometimes after classes are over, you'll cuddle with him as he reads to you by candlelight

speaking of reading aloud, he does all the voices! anything to be silly and creative and make you laugh <3

he always encourages you to be daring, but he's very careful to make sure you do it safely and don't do anything really dangerous

if you want, he will help you climb up on his desk with him! he'll let you hold his hand if you're scared

he reads poetry to you, and writes his own for you! if you write one, he'll praise it to no end, calling it a literary masterpiece

#age regression #agere moodboard #agere #moodboard #agere board #fictional caregiver #fictional cg #fandom agere #fandom regression #dead poets society agere #dead poets society #dps agere #dps #caregiver mr keating #cg mr keating #mr keating #dark academia

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ttpdpoetryweek · 8 months

Text

TTPD Poetry Week!!!

masterlist! hey swifties! for the weeks leading up to ttpd, we have decided to arrange a taylor swift poetry week, where every week you may write a poem based on a random song from taylor's discography. Poems can be interpretations from the song, or experiences with the song that have impacted you or anything else about the song! Be creative! Have fun with it! Participants should post poems to the tag #ttpdpoetryweek every friday night and after accomplishing the assigned song poem for the week, you are of course free to write poems of songs of your choice! The random song will be posted every monday at 9 AM EST! We will try our best to reblog every poem written to @ttpdpoetryweek, so you may also tag that account <3 Feel free to ask any questions to @ttpdpoetryweek or @timeless-pdf! We hope you have fun with this event! week 1 poems!

-crediting : @torturedpoetsalchemy (WHY CANT I TAG U) for the original idea and @the-tortured-artists-department for helping me manage this and giving me several ideas! (and also @anervousmirrorball for being the first domino that kickstarted this plan <3 ily this wouldnt have happened without u)

#taylor swift #ttpd #ttpdpoetryweek #the tortured poets department

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faceofpoe · 4 months

Text

Somehow, Tech survived, but instead of Hemlock it's actually *Tarkin* who has him and he's got him working on Project Stardust and he wanted Hunter & Wrecker & Echo brought back to Eriadu for "questioning"/but actually coercing Tech's cooperation much like Hemlock wanted Omega to coerce Nala Se.

(get it it's like poetry it rhymes it - *slips on banana peel*)

Tech is actually the one who convinces Tarkin that Hemlock's project is a waste of time and he should probably start harassing Hemlock about funding because gosh tough luck he just can't make this thing go without vastly more resources.

(secretly Tech's worked out like 6 methods to construct a Death Star because it's just a fun puzzle to keep himself busy)

He could escape any time really, but figures it's best to keep an eye on this bullshit and keep undermining it, until Tarkin finally catches on a solid half a decade later, prompting Tech to skedaddle right on out of there and Tarkin to call Krennic and tell him he better hunt down that Erso guy after all.

(Tech put Galen in contact with Saw and told Saw the *least* he could do after kind of *cough* putting them all in this damn position is help this scientist get his family out of the Empire's clutches and help them settle somewhere remote where they can farm, Lawquane family style)

Somewhere roundabout 13BBY Tech comes strolling into the family digs on Pabu just like 'hey, you got a dog, neat' and sits down to breakfast.

#there it is #Poe's crack TechLives! proposal #EXCEPT - I would still want to know what the FUCK was up with CX2 so none of it would make me happy #the bad batch #tbb #“the operative's gone rogue!” fuck off

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steddiealltheway · 2 years

Text

Steve tries his hand at writing poetry. Emphasis on try.

It’s not… great. He never was the best writer in high school - just ask Nancy. But really he tries.

Unfortunately, his hobby is discovered by Robin who relentlessly makes fun of him, stealing his little journal away and shouting out some of his lines. Thankfully, the Video Store is empty.

Until Eddie walks in.

Neither Robin or Steve notice him, too busy fighting over the journal with Robin still calls out a few stanzas every so often.

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, loud enough to get the pair’s attention.

Steve and Robin both look towards him. Steve turns bright red, and Robin races up to Eddie, giddy with excitement yelling, “Steve writes shitty poetry!”

She waves the journal towards Eddie who takes it from her. Steve races up to the counter but noticed that Eddie is already closing it and handing it back to him.

“I have my fair share of shit poetry. I’m sure we all do,” Eddie says casually, trying to brush off Robin’s comment, seeing the slight hurt in Steve’s eyes at the insult.

Steve smiles at him tightly, thanking him with a nod.

Eddie changes the subject.

Over the next few days, Robin, unaware of the damage done, will not stop teasing Steve about the journal. And, of course, she blabs when Nancy comes to the Video Store, unable to stop herself from talking or thinking when she’s around her.

Nancy laughs and comments how she would love to see if he’s improved at all from high school. Joking that maybe Steve can be published in the Hawkins Post.

Steve storms off to the break room, shame and anger taking over his senses. It’s stupid really. They’re just teasing. But Steve was actually excited to fill out this new journal he bought. To have something for himself that wasn’t just sports and babysitting and being known as a dumb asshole in high school.

After a few minutes, the door to the break room opens, and Steve pinches his nose, not in the mood to deal with anymore teasing.

“Hey, you okay?” A voice that is definitely not Robin’s asks.

Steve turns to find Eddie hovering in the middle of the room unfamiliar to him. “When did you get here?” Steve asks.

“A few minutes ago. Robin and Nancy filled me in on… things,” Eddie replies fidgeting with his rings.

Steve nods and sits on the nearest chair, running a hand through his hair. He deeply sighs.

Eddie nods towards the small leather journal Steve left on the counter. “Is this it?” He asks.

“My notebook filled with shit poetry? Yes,” Steve replies, the venom in his tone heavier than he intended.

“May I?” Eddie asks, hand reaching towards it.

Steve nods.

Eddie grabs it and opens it. He flips through a few pages, pausing, squinting, and sometimes zoning out in deep thought. He keeps flipping through pages, reading what seems like every word Steve has written.

Steve can feel the blood rush to his cheeks, embarrassment flooding his veins. Especially when Eddie’s eyebrows furrow while he looks at one page for a few moments too long.

After a while of unbearable silence - except the sharp turning of pages - Eddie says, “It’s not terrible. In fact, it’s actually pretty good.”

Steve scoffs, “Yeah, right.”

Eddie rushes towards Steve and squats in front of him, opening the journal towards the page he was stuck on for so long. “Steve. This right here has so much potential.”

“That right there, is pure shit. You heard Robin and Nancy,”

Eddie runs a hand over his face and admits, “Yes, some of these might be shit poetry. But you know what all of these are?”

Steve ignores the familiar sting of disapproval and deadpans, “What?”

“These are all great song lyrics.”

Steve groans.

“I’m serious!” Eddie says, he starts digging through the drawers in the break room, finally coming across a pencil. “May I?” He asks again gesturing towards the journal.

Steve nods.

Eddie begins scribbling on various pages, crossing out lines, adding to them, writing in the margins, and at one point it even looks like he doodles something. He closes the journal and hands it back to Steve. “Take those as you will, but I really think you’re onto something, Steve. You can always show me anything you write, okay?” Eddie says, resting a hand on Steve’s knee.

Steve grabs Eddie’s hands and squeezes it. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

Eddie beams at him and stands, pulling Steve up. “Okay, now you have to pick the next movie I get. Robin’s last choice was… not great…” Eddie continues his rant, opening the break room door.

Steve makes eye contact with Robin who gives him an apologetic look, and Steve glances back at Eddie - who is still ranting - knowing he mentioned something to her. Something blooms in his chest, knowing that Eddie understood how he felt before talking to him.

After Eddie leaves, Robin goes on a rambling apology, telling Steve she didn’t actually mean it. Except for a few parts. But then she tries to take that back and fails.

Steve laughs and tells Robin that really it’s okay.

That night, he turns through Eddie’s notes, taking in every word, applying corrections, and writing a few questions and replies to Eddie’s words.

He lands on the last poem he wrote and turns the page which was once blank. Now, there’s a simple heart with the words, “Never change, Steve Harrington,” under it.

Steve stares at the page for a few moments, heart racing. Then, he turns to the blank back section of the notebook and writes a few lines about a boy with curly hair and brown, doe eyes.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #stranger things

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tell-me-a-tale-that-tells · 3 months

Text

TATTOOS

┏━━━━ ☙ ☪ ☙ ━━━━┓

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie is your friend and your crush since childhood. On a hot summer day, you couldn't take away your eyes from his tattoos.

WARNINGS: none, no spoilers, no explicit sexual content, and no vulgar language, just mild nudity I guess?

┗━━━━ ☙ ☪ ☙ ━━━━┛

Chapter 1

It was a very cliche summer day in Hawkings, too hot to do anything and go somewhere.

You and your friend since kindergarten, Eddie Munson, were at your little yellow house in Lover's Lake.

Sitting under the shadow of the porch, you were reading a poetry book while he was on the pier, throwing stones on the flat surface of the lake, making them bounce.

It's better to say that you were pretending to read, a hard task since Eddie, due to the heat, has discarded his black t-shirt, remaining only in his torn jeans.

You couldn't help yourself to watch his pale back, the expanse of white skin in contrast with his dark curls and his muscles shifting and contracting with each throw.

If only you believed in God you would have thanked him for making Eddie Munson that way, you loved him since third grade but It was a secret only you knew, no whispered confessions at pajama parties or to the pages of your diary.

Your book was long forgotten as you tried to take a peek at your best friend's tattoos, sure, you saw them before, but closely only the ones on his right arm.

After a lucky throw, Eddie called you.

"Y/N! Did you see that? It bounced about seven times before sinking! Damn, I'm learning how to do this, sweetheart!" he said turning around.

You thanked your reflexes because, by the time he was fully turned, your volume was in front of your face.

"Oh, sorry Eddie! I was reading a poem" you responded trying to be believable and apologetic.

He melted in a kind smile, and ran a hand between his hair, combing some strands that were sticking to his forehead.

"I hate to ask you, Y/N-" he commenced "but there's a possibility that I could steal one of your father's beers? I'm dying of thirst and he made his best puppy eyes.

The truth is that he doesn't even have to try hard.

"If you're thirsty, drink some water," you said playfully, not raising your gaze from the pages.

"You know? you're no fun Y/L/N" Eddie said laughing.

You closed your book and stood up from the wooden stairs and gestured to him to follow you inside.

He entered your kitchen and leaned against the counter, arms crossed while you opened the fridge looking for a beer.

You couldn't see him, but he was peering at you, the way your tank top raised on your back when you leaned down, the curve of your waist, how those shorts were fitting you well.

Twisting around you found Eddie staring back at you, but your eyes were glued to the tattoos below his collarbone.

A sly smirk appeared on your friend's features.

"You just have to ask, if you want to see them" he teased you.

"I-I just... Sorry, it's that I don't know many people with tattoos and I was curious about yours since the day you got them" you blurted out, embarrassment colouring your cheeks.

"Hey, no need to apologize, come here" Eddie reached out for your free hand, took the beer from the other, and pulled you close to him, the heat of his metal rings made you gasp a little.

You had to restrain yourself from running your fingerprints on the inked skin, wanting to follow the black lines.

"The spider is beautiful" you confessed and it was his turn to blush a bit.

He could almost feel your breath on his heated face and decided he wanted more.

"It's a black widow, one of the most dangerous spiders in the world" he told you, lifting your hand to touch the arachnid legs, to you It was like being electrocuted by a loose wire.

"And this," he said moving your fingers lower "it's a demons head"

"Creepy' you commented, leaving out a chuckle and he followed.

You were about to step away when a question crawled into your mind, so you lifted your head, watching shyly Eddie in the eyes.

"Do you...have any others?" you wanted to know so badly.

You saw his face reddens and his pupils dilate, while a sly grin played on his face.

Still guiding your hand, he trailed down his chest and abdomen, stopping right at his belt.

"Yeah, but only pretty girls get to see 'em" he whispered placing your chin between his fingers.

"Oh" you said almost disappointed.

"So I guess it's your birthright to see them" he grinned before letting you go and taking a big gulp from the beer bottle, locking I'm his eyes with yours.

You remained frozen to the spot as he passed by you, heading from the stairs to the first floor.

"So? Are you coming or what, isn't your room upstairs?' he called.

"Hell, yes" you murmured before sprinting to him.

──────⊱⁜⊰──────

Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. If you have a request for a fic just drop me a private message and I'll write it for you.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfic

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 8 months

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I haven't seen it yet but full hc for the m6 with an MC on the ADHD spectrum

The Arcana HCs: M6 with an MC who has ADHD

~ @themushroomgoesyeet hope you like these! I'm writing half from personal experience, half from what I've read and heard. Please let me know if there's anything that need correcting! ~

Julian

ADHD is a less familiar subject for him, if only because his areas of specialty so far have been contagious diseases and battle wounds

He's also not really one to judge you for difficulty keeping a sleep schedule, self-medicating with caffeine, or spending days on end obsessively learning everything you can about a specific subject

What's abundantly clear to him, though, is that you do not deserve to live with the guilt that comes from your own brain hijacking every commitment and interest that it doesn't prioritize

He knows what it's like to feel guilty for something that wasn't your fault, and he doesn't like seeing you live with it

The way he sees it, he's even more to blame for his shortcomings than you are, because you're actively working against your own brain and he's just ... sad (you'll have to tell him that this is not true)

This is going to become one of those shared challenges you tackle together as a couple

He'll write down all the bad effects of too much caffeine to motivate him to reduce your combined intake

You remind him to go to bed with you at a decent hour and call it "poetry time" instead of "bedtime" to trick both of your brains into not thinking of it as the end of the day

Asra

They love you. They love you so much. They never, ever want to get in the way of your preferences and vision

He enables you maaaybe a little more than he should

Staying up late is a great idea! Spending the entire day on your current fixation with no break to go outside or talk to people? Hey, don't let them ruin your fun ~

Thankfully, he cares about you far too much to leave you to engage in anything genuinely self destructive

Once the amount of caffeine you've consumed goes from "inadvisable" to "concerning," once your sleep schedule goes from "not ideal" to "dysfunctional", they'll step in in the gentlest way

Another cup of coffee? Let him get you some soothing tea. Another all-nighter? Snuggle him first, let him help you meditate a bit and see if you don't get drowsy

Nobody can combat executive dysfunction like this magician

All it takes is them feeling the slowly building dread through your bond, and they're lovingly poofing you off of the couch/floor/counter and into a very ticklish hug

His lifestyle is heavily ADHD coded as it is. He remains completely unfazed by the roller coaster that your brain can be

Nadia

To her, you are the best possible version of her opposite

She has a hard time changing between trains of thought. You reboot yours every time you walk through a door!

She sometimes forgets to slow down and appreciate the small things in favor of the bigger picture. You, on the other hand, are constantly pausing to notice them

And don't get her started on how much she admires your capacity to learn so much specialized knowledge in such a short period of time. It's truly astonishing and she adores it

However, she can tell that leaving it unchecked and untreated will make it difficult for you to function in the Palace's normal setup, much less follow regular routines

Quick to find a specialist in your condition and set up a few sessions with them, coming up with ways to work with your diagnoses and exploring medication options that you like

Insanely good at helping you keep your mind on track and regulate your attention and focus levels, even when it means pulling you away from a task that's about to eat up half your day

Likes to idly study the chaotic way you manage your personal spaces and try to figure out what the method to the madness is

Muriel

What, you think he's not used to living with a chaotic being that'll start three projects in a row before randomly walking out and not reappearing for several hours? Please.

Truthfully, there are some small things that annoy him. He likes predictability, and your base state of functioning is taking the next random tangent. That's not easy to not worry about

However, he knows that living with him takes plenty of patience as well. As long as you two can be patient with each other's quirks, and respectful when you lovingly intervene, that's what matters

He still loves hearing you ramble

He likes watching your eyes light up, listening to the excited lilt of your voice as you infodump all the new specialized knowledge you've gobbled up

That aside, he does love learning. Each of your new fixations is a new field of education for him by proxy

He's also someone who thrives on habit and routine and isn't afraid to put his foot down when your wellbeing is involved

He will scoop you up in his arms and lovingly carry you to bed when the bags under your eyes get too prominent and you start to nod off mid-sentence

Portia

Portia looks at you like you hung the moon. Portia thinks that every magical thing you do is mind-blowingly amazing. Portia assumes that all of your little quirks and non-habits are just you being you

Hey, if finding one specific food and eating it and only it for days on end is something you want to do, cool! Maybe it's secretly satisfying some magician's craving!

You're going to think about one thing and one thing only and learn everything there is to know about that thing? That's some badass scholarly behavior right there.

Well - except for the part where you forget something exists as soon as it's not in your hand anymore, or where time really does seem like a social construct, or where you somehow get physically and mentally stuck in one spot without being able to move

That looks ... miserable

Nobody can manage chaos like she can. She'll help you snap out of it, she'll remind you to eat and sleep and take your meds, she'll regularly ask when last you went outside or took a bath

And when you mess up - when you miss an event, or fall behind schedule, or leave things to pile up until they're too much - she'll be right next to you with an encouraging smile and plenty of grace

Lucio

This works either really well or really poorly, depending on the day, how he's doing, how you're doing, what you're both supposed to be doing, what the weather's like ...

It's unpredictable, but that's the fun of it!

Much of the time, your strong points support each other. There are few feelings Lucio hates more than boredom, but with a brain like yours around, there's always something new to try or think about

Few things cause the kind of bone-deep discouragement and guilt that constantly missing things does, but nobody values the importance of trying again like he does

On the other hand, sometimes you accidentally enable each other

Lucio's still learning the self-regulation involved with choosing to do something unpleasant and important over doing something enjoyable and completely useless

And if your brain decides that said pleasant thing is the only thing it's going to function for, well, not getting sidetracked is almost impossible. Good luck to you both

Thankfully, you both have a lifestyle that allows for unusual schedules and working styles. As long as you have each other to keep trying growing, you'll never get stuck for long

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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