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sanatomis · 10 months ago

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⋆.ೃ࿔* ── 𝐃𝐈𝐘-𝐃𝐀𝐃!

it’s career day, and megumi has to bring his dad to school so he can tell the class about his job. the problem? he only has a 20-year-old sorcerer-guardian who has the brain capacity of a walnut.

content. canon divergence (suguru’s alive and studying to be a kindergarten teacher), possible ooc characters, female!reader.

notes. guys i’m a sucker for satoru who really, really tries and isn’t just a goofy man-child ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ also ! thank you all for your patience, it took me a while to finish this piece bc of uni, so i'm vv happy it's finally done <3

taglist. | masterlist.

“I don’t have a dad.”

As cruel as it may be, a part of Megumi hopes that the sentence makes his teacher greatly uncomfortable. Demanding for a father to attend a Career Day at school simply isn’t fair to children without one—or, well, to the child without one. It’s not his fault his father hauled ass and left, so why is she making this so difficult for him?

“Oh,” she mumbles. It seems his arrow hit the target, as her eyebrows pull together in a frown and she shifts her weight between her feet. “Well, you, uh, have a male guardian, don’t you?”

Megumi grimaces. Instantly, he thinks back to last week. Satoru Gojo, self-proclaimed strongest, had hit his head on a kitchen cabinet. With a dramatic pout and an overexaggerated wobble to his lips, he clung to you for hours. Some affection will make it all better!

Of course, when Megumi criticised his skills surrounding his infinity technique—because, really, how couldn’t it block a simple cabinet—the sorcerer opted to ignore him. He suspects there was some foul play at hand.

“Barely,” he mutters, as the memory resurfaces.

His teacher lets out a startled hum. “I’m sorry?”

“Nothing,” Megumi says quickly. He watches as she starts typing on her computer, and the realisation that she’s probably currently taking a look at his file isn’t a particularly welcome one. “What about my other guardian? Can I bring her, instead?”

“This event is geared towards fathers,” she explains. It’s obvious she forgot her reading glasses today, Megumi thinks, as she needs to narrow her eyes to read the screen in front of her. “I have one Satoru Gojo noted down as your male guardian. Surely, he will be able to attend.”

Megumi pauses. He blinks up at her expressionlessly, and fights off the urge to push his teacher down a well. You often preach about being kind to others, and that wouldn’t be very kind.

“Can’t I take my oth—”

“I’m afraid not,” she interrupts him before he even gets the sentence out. It irks him. Megumi isn’t fond of speaking to begin with, so when he does, he’d prefer not to be cut off halfway through. “An exception will not be made. Please, make sure to bring Gojo-san to school.”

Megumi briefly, and for the very first time ever, mourns the fact that you and Satoru weren’t married. A small part of him calls the man a coward for not asking you to. If he’d simply taken the step, then Megumi would be able to pass you off as Gojo-san. Unfortunately, he can’t, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that there’s no way around this problem.

“Fine,” he grumbles. It takes all of his remaining willpower to not stomp out of the classroom. Once again, he thinks of you. It’d be extremely bad manners. He can’t find it in himself to wish his teacher a nice day this time, though, and so she’ll have to make due with a slightly less polite Megumi for today.

There’s nothing he can do about it. Satoru will have to come to the school.

Megumi suddenly despises the idea of Career Day.

“I need you to come to my school next week.”

Immediately, all chatter around the dining table stops. For once, Megumi finds himself annoyed at the sudden appearance of silence. Before he said it, he knew his words would most likely have such an effect—he just didn’t expect it to be so instant.

He tries his best to feign nonchalance, as if the topic that’s coming up didn’t make him feel stressed-out beyond belief. The confused, startled glances you and Satoru share don’t do much to help him, either. Perhaps it’s because Megumi is looking straight at him; him instead of you. Yeah, Satoru, he isn’t a fan of it, either.

“Me?” The man asks then, and Megumi has to resist the urge to say, ‘no, I meant the snail in the backyard—yes, you,’ in the most sarcastic voice he can muster up. Satoru once again steals a look at you, ever so oblivious to Megumi's mental remarks. “Don’t you mean—”

“I don’t,” Megumi cuts him off solemnly. His lips are pursed shut, and he pokes the slices of pork belly in his bowl with his chopsticks. One didn’t need to be of particularly high intelligence to notice the boy’s displeasure. “I have to bring a male figure for Career Day.”

It’s slow, the morphing of Satoru’s face, but it happens gradually and doesn’t stop until he’s positively beaming. Megumi doesn’t like it one bit. Nothing good happens when he looks like that, and he’s quite sure that all that will spew out of his mouth in a few seconds will be nothing except for pure nonsense.

“Well, luckily, I will have the day off, then!” Satoru chimes, with a smile so wide it causes two dimples to appear on his cheeks. You copy his smile, and gently go to poke the little dent in his skin—Satoru lets you, as he always does. Megumi would think of it as cute if he weren’t so annoyed. “I will be there.”

It seems he was right. Satoru’s words are pure nonsense.

“I didn’t tell you when,” he comments dryly.

The sorcerer blinks. His smile is still on his face, but it’s fading, and the dimples do so with it. Your hand hovers halfway in the air, stuck with nothing to poke, and you slowly bring it back down to your side. It seems neither of you had taken time to think about that small fact—Megumi blames Satoru for dragging you down with him; him and those indentations in his cheek that you always seem to coo over.

“Oh,” Satoru mumbles. A crease between his brows forms as his brain hurries to catch up with the newfound information. A few seconds pass, and then the previous bravado returns. “Well, it doesn’t matter! I can take the day off. When do you need me? Tell me, and I’ll be there.”

Megumi very much doubts he can take days off all willy-nilly like that, especially after he pushed his workload onto someone else to attend his science fair last time, but then again, what does he know? If Satoru didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, then Megumi wasn’t about to break his own head doing so, either.

“Next Friday,” he mumbles. From the tone of his voice, it’s quite clear that he’d rather be saying anything else. “We have to leave at eight a.m., please, be on time.”

“Sure thing!” Satoru chimes, and with that, Megumi thinks the dreaded conversation has finally come to an end.

All in all—it could’ve gone worse. At least Satoru didn’t prolong it unnecessarily. Nor did he add a bunch of relentless teasing. He glances at the sorcerer. Satoru is happily munching on the dinner you’d prepared, both his cheeks stuffed full with entirely too much rice. It’s unbecoming, and a reflection of his poor manners, Megumi thinks, and he doesn’t understand how you look at the man with such hearts in your eyes.

Though, your more than adequate cooking seems to have saved him from one of Satoru’s onslaughts. He’s grateful. Even if he doesn’t particularly enjoy the sight in front of him.

“Hey, ‘toru?” You ask, breaking the silence with a slight hesitation to your voice. It nearly sounds nervous, and both Megumi and Tsumiki look up in alarm. Satoru hums, still chewing away. “What are you going to tell the class?”

Satoru stops eating. His chewing comes to a halt, and his chopsticks freeze in the air. A slice of pork drops from between them, and falls back into his bowl—It’s not hard to see the cogs turning in his head. “Uhm, I. . .” He swallows the food still in his mouth, and clears his throat.

Right. It’s Career Day—but Satoru can’t tell a bunch of seven to eight-year-olds that he hunts and kills grimy, ugly, and freakishly scary curses for a living, now, can he? Megumi doesn’t think that would go over well with the other parents. The boy sighs. It’s just one thing after another. He grimly believes the world might just be out to get him.

“I. . .Oh! I can tell them I’m a teacher,” his guardian scrambles for a solution, and Megumi can’t help but think it’s a little lack-lustre. Who would believe that guy is a teacher, anyway? Then again. . .Megumi doesn’t know a better fix for their current problem, either. He was so focused on the fact that it was Satoru that had to come to the school, he all but forgot about the fact that the dear thorn-in-his-side didn’t possess a normal job. “Suguru has told me a thing or two about his internship. I can take inspiration from there.”

Ah, yes. The famed Suguru Geto. Megumi has met him before. He hasn’t actually spoken to him, however. The man often visits, and has twin girls clinging to him when he does, and while Tsumiki seems to really like him—and them—Megumi doesn’t have an interest in seeking out some form of interaction, yet. Whenever he comes over, Megumi opts to hide in his room. Suguru never tries to disturb him, nor does he try to coax him into coming out. He’s very grateful for it.

So, despite never speaking to him, Megumi knows about Suguru. Well, he knows enough. He knows Suguru went to school with the two of you, and he knows something really, very bad (nearly) happened that caused the man to take a step back from the world you all live in. What exactly happened (or what didn’t happen), Megumi doesn’t know for sure. You and Satoru almost never speak about it, and when you do, it’s in hushed voices—and you always stop immediately when he enters the room.

But that’s okay. He doesn’t need to know. Suguru doesn’t force himself upon Megumi, and so he will extend him the same courtesy. “I thought Geto-san wasn’t a teacher, yet?” Tsumiki speaks up from beside him, tilting her head to the side in confusion. “Mimi and Nana said he’s still learning. How can he be teaching, already?”

“He’s not a teacher, yet, munchkin, well spotted,” Satoru answers with a proud grin. The nickname annoys Megumi—the feeling of irritation has been conditioned into his very being after Satoru chose it as the designated nickname for both of them. “An internship helps him build experience in the field. It means he is still learning, but he will do so while teaching.”

Tsumiki nods in understanding, her mouth opens and her lips curl into a small ‘ah’ as the information settles in. “So, you will pretend to be a teacher, then? At Megumi’s school?”

Satoru bites on his bottom lip, seemingly deep in thought. Seemingly—as Megumi is quite convinced he doesn’t ever think before he speaks. “I think so, yes,” he explains, and unknowingly retorates Megumi’s train of thoughts. How annoying. Satoru looks towards you for approval; it’s something he does very often. “It’s probably the safest route, no?”

“It’s our best option,” you say, and bring a thumb up to the corner of Satoru’s mouth. Gently, you wipe away a grain of rice stuck to his skin. It’s effortless, and nearly automated. Megumi wonders how many times you’ve had to do that. “Pretending to be a teacher shouldn’t be too difficult a task. Right, mochi?”

“Right,” Satoru echoes. His eyes track your every move, and the slight, pink colouring of his cheeks doesn’t seem to embarrass him even a little bit. Megumi thinks it should. Have some decorum. “I can do it, no problem.”

“Alright then,” you say, and smile. First at Satoru, and then at Megumi. You look at the boy for a few seconds; you’re about to ask him if he’s okay with it. He knows you are, because you always do. “Is that okay for you, Megumi?” It’s like clockwork, almost.

Megumi feels the need to answer with something snarky. Something akin to the sound of ‘What choice do I have?’ but he doesn’t—because you’re being kind, and you don’t deserve such a response. So, instead he turns towards Satoru.

“. . .Just don’t mess it up.”

Satoru delivers a whole spiel about how ‘he’d never do that’ and that he’s ‘more than capable’ of telling a little white lie, but Megumi dilutes it to background noise rather quickly. He continues sputtering his nonsense when Megumi and Tsumiki stand up to clear the table, and still hasn’t stopped even when you and him start loading the dishwasher together—Megumi chooses to seek reprieve in his room while he’s distracted.

It isn’t until many hours later, when Megumi leaves the sanctuary of his room to swipe a quick snack from the kitchen, that he first hears Satoru speak about something other than his great, and very much sufficient, ‘capabilities’. Your voices are muffled, and Megumi has to focus to make out your words. His soft, inaudible padding down the illuminated hallways comes to a halt. As if that would make his ears function better.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Satoru?”

The boy frowns. With such gentleness in your voice, it’s hard to identify the worry lingering beneath the surface. Megumi moves a bit closer. He stops one step shy of bumping into the wooden surface, and peeks through the groove. The door is ajar—it’s something that allows him to watch how your eyes follow Satoru’s large frame as he paces around the room. It’s strange. Seeing him so. . .frazzled.

Satoru nods. “I can do this, I know I can,” he says, and quits his pacing to look at you. Megumi can’t see his face, but he can see yours. He might as well not have, though, as he can’t make out the emotion that fills your eyes. It’s not one he himself has in his repertoire, that he knows for sure. “He never asks me for anything, princess. I have to do this right.”

Ah, this isn’t a conversation Megumi is meant to hear. He should probably seize his eavesdropping, he thinks, and winces a little when he properly analyses Satoru’s words. They’re truthful. Megumi doesn’t go to him when he needs something. His first thought is to go to you—and his second, Tsumiki. And if he’s being honest anyway, his third thought very likely isn’t Satoru, either; He’d try to solve it on his own if it came down to it. Megumi frowns again. He doesn’t like how that realisation makes him feel.

A careful shuffle of footsteps breaks him free from his thoughts. Megumi looks up, and catches how you place a hand on Satoru’s cheek. “I’m sure you’ll do great, baby,” you mumble. There’s a small, soft smile on your lips, one that quickly makes way for the peck Satoru places upon them.

“Thank you,” Satoru whispers. One of his hands reaches for yours, and Megumi suddenly feels as if he’s intruding on something when the man brings them up to his lips to press a tender kiss to them. Okay, no, definitely intruding—ew.

The boy scrunches his nose up in disgust, and hurriedly darts back towards his room. Suddenly, he has lost his appetite for a late-evening snack. Megumi lets out a deep sigh once he’s all tucked into his sheets again. Perhaps giving Satoru a shot wouldn’t be that big of a problem. Just one, though.

. . .Yeah, just one should be enough.

It’s the final, conclusive thought Megumi has before dozing off to sleep. Blissfully unaware of the conversation you and Satoru share—now behind a very closed door.

You stifle a giggle. The disappearance of Megumi’s presence outside your bedroom was quick and rampant as soon as Satoru started to kiss your hands. Something the sorcerer did very deliberately. It’s as if the boy suddenly forgot about the very special, very effective pair of eyes his guardian possesses. And with a cursed energy output such as Megumi’s, it would be hard not to recognise his presence.

“You did that on purpose,” you comment. “How cruel of you, mochi.”

Satoru hums, and kisses the inside of your wrist. “Maybe, the little brat shouldn’t eavesdrop, then,” he defends himself. There isn’t an inkling of guilt to be seen on his pretty face.

. . .Though, both of you still take some extra care to shut the door next time.

Megumi faithfully believes that, as of today, he has used-up all of his luck for the next five, no, ten years. It can only go downhill from here. For some inexplicable, mind-boggling reason—Satoru is actually pulling this off. That’s not all; he’s not merely winging it, he’s genuinely doing well. The boy can’t quite believe his eyes.

When he’d walked to the front with such an overexaggerated pep in his step, and an overabundance of bravado rolling off of him in waves—Megumi couldn’t help but watch on with a grim look, and a healthy dose of negative thoughts. It only amplified the nerves he’d collected so far during the walk to school. Somehow, watching Satoru give your flashcards a frantic do-over did very little to ease his bubbling anxiety.

There were many of them, flashcards that is. All possible questions his peers or his teacher could ever think of are written on those little pieces of cardboard. Courtesy of you, and your boyfriend. Megumi’s able to recall all those nights the two of you spend at the kitchen table—practising. He thought it was silly at the time.

But, as it turns out, it works.

Satoru is fun. To other people; Megumi doesn’t share the sentiment. Against all odds, he’s dynamic, and speaks with conviction. His flamboyant hand gestures have others think of them as amusing—captivating, even. Satoru is talking, and they’re all hanging onto his every word. No matter the fact that they’re all cleverly disguised lies.

Megumi can’t wrap his head around it. He doesn’t need to, however. If anything, he’s relieved that his peers think of his guardian as cool. While he certainly does not share the opinion, he isn’t too dense to admit that such a belief will save him a lot of embarrassment in the future. So, for this one, single day, he will let Satoru Gojo be cool. His snarky comments can resume tomorrow.

“Ah, it seems you have a deep love for your profession, Gojo-san,” his teacher says. She interrupts Satoru’s rant, and catches his attention as well as Megumi’s. Her voice is light and airy, and carries nothing that should cause him to fear the worst. Still, the boy feels on edge. “Though, I don’t remember the grade you are teaching. Could you tell us, again?”

Ah, and there it goes. The very first card in the elaborately built castle of lies.

Satoru pauses. A second passes, and then two, and three, and so on. He doesn’t speak for a good thirty, and Megumi can nearly see his mind leaf through his beloved flashcards—flashcards that are now neatly tucked into his pockets and entirely out of reach. That’s good. Because the absolute last thing Satoru should do now, is resort back to the flashcards.

Megumi shakes his head no as a signal.

“Ah,” Satoru says. “I teach kindergarten.”

Satoru didn’t catch the hint. Megumi wishes the ground would swallow him up. It would have been the correct answer—it is the answer that’s written on the flashcards—if Satoru hadn’t decided to go off route. Getting too caught up in the story he’d been free-writing, and allowing himself to get carried away by the looks of awe is resulting in his downfall, which, consecutively, will end with Megumi’s downfall, as well.

“Huh? But! What about the science experiment that exploded?” One of the children in his class whines. “I didn’t get to do that in kindergarten!”

“And the backflip you taught your students!”

“What about the first prize in the talent show? I thought your students were famous!”

The little bit of colour that normally resides in Satoru’s face steadily disappears, and he clenches his fist at his side. Ah, it’s great to know he’s at least aware of his mistake. That won’t help either of them at the moment, though. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow, and a feeling of distress overtakes him. It shows on his face. He doesn’t exactly go through the trouble of trying to hide it—there are bigger problems right now.

How utterly humiliating to be caught lying.

Satoru’s eyes find him. They’re just as troubled as his own. It worsens his anxiety.

“Oh, uhm, you see. . .” Satoru stammers, and Megumi’s stomach churns when the children around them continue to ask more and more questions. The wince his guardian lets out does little to soothe him. Megumi sighs, and looks at the ground. “Ah, I see. It seems you guys saw right through me.”

Megumi slides down in his seat. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, the ground would absorb him. It’s currently looking like a preferable fate.

“. . .I’m actually a detective.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“And. . .And for a detective, it’s very important to listen to what people say, because they could be lying!”

It’s a sad, pathetic excuse for a save. Megumi briefly ponders the distance between his seat and the door. Perhaps he could make a run for it. The subway station is very close by—getting on and travelling to an entirely new city to start a new life doesn’t seem like such a bad option. He sighs. No, that’s not possible. You and Tsumiki would be very worried. What else is there to do, though?

“You all picked up on my lie, which tells me every single one of you could make a great detective in the future.”

Megumi thinks Satoru might have some underlying mental problems. Though, they can’t possibly be as severe as the problems his classmates have—for they all believe the nonsense he’s giving them. Bright eyes, filled with hope and admiration, stare up at the man at the front of the class; impressed hums and entertained smiles get passed between the parents standing at the edge of the room. And Satoru, well, he seems entirely too proud of the fact that he made a bunch of children think they’re destined for a career in law enforcement. But, be that as it may, it works.

The children stir up unrest—the good kind this time, the kind that vocalises their excitement—and all rush to ask the detective a question. But, before they can even open their mouths, Satoru claps his hands together. It seems he has decided enough is enough, and it’s one of those very rare moments where Megumi agrees with him. The boy needs this to be over already.

“Alright, that’s it for today,” Satoru says, and feigns disappointment. He pretends to be affected by the sad groans of the children—keyword being pretend, as to the trained eye it’s quite clear that he wishes to leave. “I’m not allowed to tell you more.”

Ah, see, now that’s a good card.

“Wait, but, what about. . .”

“Ah, sorry, that’s confidential. Detective stuff, y’know?”

Confidential. Megumi thinks that might just be his new favourite word. The lingering feeling of anxiety slowly starts to subside with every step Satoru takes towards the back of the room—to the back, and away from the spotlight. His eyes follow the man’s large frame, but Satoru never chooses to look at him in return. His line of sight is firmly focused on the floor. It confuses Megumi, but he chalks it up to a mere whim.

All things considered (and minus the near cardiac arrest he went through), today went pretty well, after all. Much to his surprise.

Perhaps Megumi doesn’t hate Career Day. A strong dislike is more like it.

Megumi can’t count the times he wished for Satoru to be quiet. The exact number is much like the digits of Pi—huge, and absolutely never-ending. He can, however, count the times he didn’t wish for him to be quiet. As of today, that stands at a very solid one.

The birds around them chirp, and the bustle of other people is heard all around them—but they’re the only sounds gracing his ears. There is none of Satoru’s incessant chatter, nor is there even a glimmer of gloating about a job well-done. It’s eerily silent, and Megumi isn’t sure what to make of it. This isn’t quite how he imagined the walk home to go. Far from it, if he’s being honest.

“What’s up with you?”

It’s possibly the first time Megumi decides to break the silence, ever. The boy frowns, and fiddles with the straps of his backpack. There isn’t a middle-ground with Satoru, he has found out. Either he speaks entirely too much, or unnervingly little. There’s a tiny pebble in his path, and Megumi feels the need to kick it forward—so he does.

“I kind of messed up there, huh?”

The kick doesn’t have nearly enough force to it. Megumi watches as the little rock skips forward. Once, twice, and then it comes to a standstill again. “Yeah, kind of,” he agrees.

“I’m sorry,” Satoru rushes out. It’s said so fast, as if it physically pains him to say it. Perhaps it does. It’s sincere, however. There isn’t even a hint of a joke to be found. Something must be bothering him. “It didn’t go how I wanted it to go, and I don’t know why I went astray, and forgot about the cards. It—well, it was pretty stupid.”

Megumi doesn’t exactly feel the need to deny it.

“So, I get it, okay?” He continues, seeing the boy’s silence as an empty space for more conversation—more rambling. Since that’s what it is; rambles, plain and simple. Megumi doesn’t see the need for such a fuss. “I shouldn’t have strayed from the plan, and. . .”

“It’s fine.”

Satoru blinks at him. “What?”

“I said it’s fine,” Megumi repeats. Because it really is fine. Admittedly, it wasn’t smart of Satoru to all but discard your carefully planned presentation, but it ended well enough regardless. No harm, no foul. “Thank you for coming.”

That small, short sentence is enough to stop Satoru in his tracks. Megumi doesn’t, however. The man is very tall, he’s sure to catch up in a jiffy; he doesn’t need him to wait. There’s another small silence, though this one feels a lot more comfortable than the last. Satoru takes his time to process, and Megumi lets him.

“W—What?” The sorcerer stammers in shock. There is no need for Megumi to turn around and see—he can hear the smile curling onto his lips. “Did you just. . .”

“I won’t say it again,” Megumi grumbles definitively, and picks up his pace. The very tips of his ears heat up, and the apples of his cheeks turn red. The feeling of embarrassment. This wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned it to appear when the day started.

Satoru attempts to run after him, to catch up. “Megumi!” He calls out, the very prominent, very familiar whiney lilt now back in his voice. Megumi didn’t miss it. “Wait for me, I didn’t hear you! Could you repeat that?”

“Yes, you did!” Megumi says, and throws him an annoyed glance from over his shoulder. He tightens his hold on the straps of his backpack. “Stop lying.”

“Nuh uh!”

“What are you? Six?”

Satoru’s toothy grin is infuriating. But—it’s familiar. And Megumi discovers he’s much more at ease when that grin is on display, than when the man in question is moping around. It’s a lot less alarming.

“And a half,” Satoru adds.

The scowl that’s on Megumi’s face appears almost instantly when he goes to ruffle his hair. For a man whose technique largely surrounds being untouchable, he has a surprising lack of awareness concerning this thing called personal space.

“Ugh,” Megumi groans, and pushes him off. It doesn’t work. Satoru gravitates towards him again—almost as if he’s a magnet. He doesn’t attempt to move a second time. In moments like these, it’s best to let Satoru get it all out of his system. “You’re so stupid.”

It’s true. He does think Satoru is stupid, but he can’t deny it—Satoru tried his very best today, and in the days prior. Which makes him one of the very small, barely existent group of people who have done so for him.

It seems one shot was enough, after all.

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#ꕤ — sanatomis darling: fushiguro megumi #ꕤ — sanatomis darling: gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x platonic!reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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merlucide · 3 months ago

Text

GIVING THEM A FLOWER CROWN!~ ♪

notes: aha… not my normal content! The alien stage brainrot has gotten to me and there is NOTHING for this fandom 😭

characters: Mizi, Sua, Till, Ivan, Luka, Hyuna

warnings: light curing, cringe but who gaf, not proofread

You carefully weaved the red flower stems together, fingers gently tugging on the petals to perfectly secure the crown. You examined your work, satisfied with the quality of your labor. You got up from the grassy shade you were sitting under and looked around for your s/o, whom you finally found in the cafeteria, sitting alone in a secluded corner munching on something to their liking.

Her eyes immediately brighten when seeing you hehe

She stands up from her spot and slams her hands onto the table

“Y/N! Guess what!! They’re letting me have sweets!! It’s just this once but still! Would you like some?”

To which you happily nod your head, letting her feed you a spoonful of strawberry shortcake.

“Isn’t it good? Ugh it’s amazing!” Mizi sighs happily, licking the frosting of her spoon.

“Everything all good though?”

You fiddle with the petals behind your back, slightly nervous.

“Well, I have something for you, close your eyes!”

Mizi goes ‘😲’ to ‘😊’

She patiently waits for you give present her with whatever it is

You place the delicate crown onto her awaiting soft hands.

She blinks open her eyes and a bright smile adorns her pretty lips

“I- For me?! Really?! Oh wow!! It’s so pretty!” She gasps excitedly, her index finger hovering over the red petals barely touching the soft skin.

“How did you know these were my favorites?!” Mizi asked eyes wide

“Heh, well you’ve mentioned it to probably anyone who would listen, and they are the only flowers that grow freely in here,” You giggle, which a soft blush coats her cheeks.

She whispers a soft “oh..!” 😮

You took the crown and place it on top of her pink hair

“So pretty, my princess,” you teased lovingly

She thinks something happened by the way you just speed past everyone straight to her lmao

“..Where you looking for me? Sorry, I should’ve told you where I was headed,” Sua softly said, wiping the corners of her mouth politely.

“Everything alright?”

To which you wave her off, saying simply ‘I just needed to see you,’ which makes her feel all mushy n’ loved ><

“Now! Close your eyes,” you playfully demand, which Sua obeys.

You take her hands and hold them out open for the crown

And then placed your creation in her palms

“Okay- open now!”

Sua blinks her eyes, surprised at the sudden gift, a soft smile settles on her lips

“It’s so very pretty, y/n, thank you,” Sua beams, placing it upon her head.

“How do I look?” She asks

You look BEAUTIFUL Sua 🥹

You smile back at her, “Stunning as ever! Red is such a pretty color on you Sua.”

She then places a soft kiss on your cheek.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything else to give you in return, I hope this will suffice for now,” Sua cheekily whispered.

“Yeah, that took a lot of my time and energy so I’m gonna need a few moreeeee 😏”

Currently gouging little sandwiches down his throat lmao

He was scarfing it down like a starved man probably was ☹️

You’re unsure if he hears you or is simply in sandwich heaven because he isn’t responding to you calling his name ‘Till, Till, Till, TILL?? TILL?!?”

“TILL?” You almost yelled, tapping him

His head frantically shot up and distraughtly began choking and coughing.

Which you’re freaking out bc you though you just killed him somehow

You aggressively pat his back, flower crown long forgot on the floor lmao

His coughing fit calms down, and a tear slips down his red face.

Just kill him now, he CANNOT look you in the eye after you just witnessed that

“Till?? Are-Are you okay?? Sorry- I didn’t mean to, scare you? Are you okay?” You awkwardly rub his back

“Fine.” He grunts out

He awkwardly clears his throat, fixing his gaze on the floor

“So um, didja uh, need anything..? Or something?”

“Oh yeah! Um, well I have you something, if that’s okay,”

Till blushed at the thought that you cared enough to give a gift to him

“Okay! Close you eyes!” You beamed

you bent down and picked up the crown.

He thought of every possible outcome it could be- his imagination likes the idea that the gift was a kiss >.<

Which has Till beet red, awaiting for a kiss that never came

“Alright- open your eyes!”

He peeled open his eyes, settling them on the flower headpiece you made

He was unsure what you had meant by this

Like?? You want me to wear it?

“What do you think? Hm?” You peered

“Y-you made this for me eh?” He awkwardly asked

You nodded as he took the crown from your hands and gave it a good look

“It’s very, ah, pretty..? Thank you y/n,” he gave a smile to you, putting the crown on the table

You softly frowned. “You’re not going to wear it?”

Oh Till wish he would have just shut his mouth-

“WHAAT? No!! Of course I am?! What the hell are you talking about!?” He scrambled to find something to say to make you happy again

Till aggressively put the crown on top of his head

“S-SEE?!” Till nervously yelled, causing a few heads to turn

You giggled at his reaction, oh he was so cute :3

“I’m glad you like it Till, mwah” you placed a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth

Till rn: 😳😦

Basically he’s broken yk

“Okay- I’m leaving now byeeeee!~” knowing what you just did left him a mess

“Out looking for me so soon?” He teased

“Oh hush would you,” you playfully snapped back, sitting beside him.

Ivan curiously leaned to see what you were hiding behind your back-

Which you leaned back further so he couldn’t heh

“Abababa!- No peeking, you’ll see soon enough,” you grin

Ivan dramatically sighs and sits back, waiting for what you’ll do next

You exhale “Alrighty, close you eyes,”

Which Ivan did as you told

After a few times of peeking his eye open to annoy you just a bit

You grabbed his hands and opened them flat, and then put down the crown upon them.

Ivan opened his eyes and made a ‘:o’ face

He moved the crown around, looking at all of the intricate braidings you did

“..It’s lovely, thank you y/n,” Ivan grinned

He installed it on top of his head, making sure it’s secure.

“Now, did you make this all special for me?” He coyly asked, already knowing the damn answer 🙄

You scoffed, you felt your face warming up at his teasing

“You’re so annoying..”

Ivan rn: :3

“Yes stupid, I made it just for you, because I love you. Happy with that answer?” You mocked lovingly.

Ivan was kinda caught off guard at your honest answer tbh

His face was dusted with a glowing crimson, and eyes slightly widened

“Mn, good,” he softly smiled “I love you too,”

He pressed a soft kiss to your hand and offered to make you a crown in return :)

(Luka + Hyuna’s parts doesn’t take place in Anakt Garden 🗣️)

He was aware of you nervously tip-toeing around him, and he was rather curious to what you’ve been hiding

“So, what is it hm? What is it you don’t you want me to see?”

And you were kinda like ?!

You thought you were being sneaky, huh

“Well ah, I’m not hiding anything-“ “Really?” “Nope,” “Then why are you so nervous, hm?” Luka continued to press

He was soo annoying like this, ugh

You sighed, leaving the room for a moment and returning with something behind your back

Luka’s brows raised expectantly

“I wasn’t sure if you’d like it so ah,” you fiddled with the crown nervously.

Luka could be very condescending and belittle your feelings, and just be a jerk yk

Which was a totally valid reason to be scared to give him a gift you made!

“It’s silly but um, here, I made this for you,” you said handing him the flower crown

Luka’s expression was unreadable, which kinda stressed you out more

Luka placed the crown on his head, “What do you think, hm?” He asked

“It’s rather suiting for the prince, don’t you think?” He mused, his purple fingers tucking a piece of your hair out of your face.

“My star, don’t be shy to spoil me with gifts, I won’t reject you y’know”

You all felt silly and embarrassed :> heh

“..mm right,”

“When did you even have time to make this?” He asked curiously

“Well, my ‘owner’ is less strict then yours,” you scoffed “I’ve been bringing good money n’ popularity with my photoshoots and other gigs . It apparently values ‘self expression’ , heh, so it let me wander a bit.”

Luka hummed in acknowledgement, continuing to play with you hair

“I’ll get you something pretty next time,”

She was like all stressed out because the gang was supposed to have already left the area and you weren’t anywhere to be seen

She’s looking around everywhere for you, and Aliens and androids are starting to figure out what was happening- a raid

Right before she’s about to go rouge and take the motorcycle

She sees you running towards her 🙏 Which she lets out the deepest sigh out ever

She takes your hands and drags you into the jeep

Dewey slams the gas and everyone speeds off, luckily without anyone being caught

Nooow… as for what happens when you guys get back at base

She so pissed LMAOO

I mean she has every right to be upset, you done fked up dawg 🧍‍♀️

She scolding you for going off the plan and wandering off- especially during a raid!!

“What the hell were you thinkin’ huh?! What if they caught you? You wanna be forced back into that life?! Hyuna yelled, gripping onto your shoulders

You could only try to defend why you did it, but it would only fall to deaf ears

You knew she was right, and what you did was stupid- but you haven’t seen those kinds of flowers in what seemed like forever!

They were like a strange comfort, an odd memory of ‘home’

You also could see how overwhelmed Hyuna was by everything recently, the main plan was getting ready to be in motion

You thought you could give her the flowers, hopefully brightening her mood somehow.

“I really am sorry Hyuna, I just had to get it!” “Get what? Get what hah?” Hyuna pressed

You sighed and pulled out the squished flower crown from your bag

Hyuna’s eyes slightly widened as she watched you

“I found them, the flowers from the garden,” You paused. “‘Made it for you, Hyuna,”

She paused, slowly taking the crown and touching the petals,

He shook her head softly.

“You’re ridiculous you know that,” she scoffs, her lips curling into a soft grin

“Unbelievable, really, no sane person literally risks their life for flowers, babes,”

You smile “Heh, I don’t think anyone here is sane,”

She leaned forward to place a lingering kiss onto your forehead

“I really am sorry yun’,” You whispered

“It’s done now, please don’t do that again though. I can’t do this without you y/n,” She smiled at you

“I don’t think I’ve seen these since we left? I didn’t even know they grew out here!” Hyuna laughed

erm sorry for the cringe .. 🧍‍♀️ also sorry for the shortness of Mizi’s + Sua’s 😭 I had a brainfart w/ them

Made Nov 6th 2024

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beloveds-embrace · 2 months ago

Note

you wrote this:

Kyle offers to escort you on walks, but you refuse, choosing instead the quiet solace of the garden paths shared with König. Simon’s attempts at conversation are met with cool civility, and Johnny's food largely goes untouched. You allow none of them closer than courtesy demands.

I can see the conversation with johnny playing out. you're sat at the table for the first time in ages, having dinner with john and simon when johnny notices you haven't touched your food.

"Is something wrong with the meal? I can make you something else if it's not to your liking."

and you say just as polite as can be, "I didn't want to mention it before because i didn't want to embarrass you but your dishes were always a bit lacking. you seem to have trouble with the timing of the meals and sent food out burnt or undercooked. I felt it was better if I just didn't have any so as not to hurt your feelings. a delicate stomach, you understand."

and johnny has to stand there called out bc what reader said is technically true but it was said so politely, and he's really not a bad cook. he just can't argue with you about it without saying he did it on purpose.

anyways i'm loving all these stories, the way you're telling them is wonderful!

<33

You got it so perfectly like yes 😩

Original Post

I’m just imagining the way the room falls into stunned silence. John freezes mid-cut into his steak, his eyes flicking between you and Johnny. Simon raises a single brow, his expression unreadable but his gaze sharp with interest. Johnny, meanwhile, stands there as though struck, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

The words are technically true, delivered with such measured civility that he can’t argue without admitting the malice behind his past actions. His face reddens, his hands clenching briefly at his sides before he forces a tight smile. “Of course, Your Grace. I’ll… I’ll do better next time.”

What else can he even say? Fully admit that he’d been purposely, pettily feeding you horrible food?

“Thank you,” you just reply with a nod, already turning your attention back to your plate. The faint clink of silverware resumes as you cut into the fruits instead, unbothered by the tension that now thickens the air. Still… “I am sorry, I didn’t mean it in a way to… embarras you.”

“It’s… alright, Your Grace. I understand.” And thus, Johnny leaves, mouth pursed shut like a wound trying to stitch closed.

Across the table, John clears his throat, attempting to dispel the awkwardness that settles. “It seems you’ve developed a sharper tongue than I recall, Duchess.” He says, his tone light but laced with something.

You look up briefly, your expression serene. You skewer a grape on your fork, and let it hang there for a few seconds. “Only when necessary, Your Grace.”

From his place in the shadows just outside the dining room, König listens silently, his pale eyes narrowing beneath his mask. He says nothing, but the satisfaction in his stance is palpable. When you finally leave the dining room, ignoring the heavy stares from Simon and John the entire dinner, König falls into step beside you as always. Closer to you than your own shadow.

“You spoke well, mylady,” he murmurs as the two of you step into the cool night air of the garden. His voice holds a note of pride, and he offers you his arm. “They deserved no less.”

You glance up at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I’m glad you think so. Your opinion.. it’s the only one that matters.” And with that, you take his arm, leading him toward the quiet paths that have become yours and König’s alone.

#noona.asks #cod x reader #cod x you #cod #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #tf 141 #konig x you #konig x reader #Konig Drabble #cod konig

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pickingupmymercedes · 4 months ago

Text

Grovel - Lewis Hamilton

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Grovel - April Jai - anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: angst bc i wanted to feel something

wordcount: +1k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Y/n watched from the mirror as Lewis paced across the room. He’d been like this for weeks now—tense, irritable, and locked in his own head.

She’d tried to be patient, she really had, but there was only so much silence she could take, especially when he was taking his frustration out on her with those sharp, thoughtless remarks.

Two nights prior though, they had reached a breaking point.

Dinner had been quiet until she’d asked how his day went, and his response was sharp, cutting like glass.

“Why do we always have to talk about my day?” he snapped, his tone brittle. He pushed back from the table, scraping his chair loudly against the floor, and stormed out of the room without another word.

Y/n sat frozen, her grip tightening around her fork. She took a deep breath, willing herself not to follow him, not to demand an explanation like she usually did.

Instead, she decided to give him the space he apparently needed so badly. Maybe he’d realize that space wasn’t what he wanted after all. And if he did, it would be on him to come back to her this time.

She cleared the dinner plates herself, the clattering of cutlery against porcelain echoing in the empty kitchen. The silence in the house had a weight to it, pressing down on her shoulders, wrapping around her like a blanket she couldn’t shake off. Even the hum of the fridge felt louder in the quiet.

This time though, she refused to be the one to chase after him, to coax out what he wouldn’t willingly share.

And for the next few days, their home was a quiet battlefield.

Lewis had retreated further into himself, throwing himself into training, music, meetings, and avoiding anything beyond the most surface-level conversations. Y/n kept herself busy, focusing on work and spending time with friends, leaving him to his own devices.

They shared a bed, but even that felt distant, like he was miles away despite lying right next to her.

Every time he tried to casually engage her, she gave him curt, polite responses, maintaining her distance—emotionally and physically.

It was like there was an invisible line between them, one she refused to cross. And he seemed to notice, too. She caught the way his eyes lingered on her, as if he were trying to figure out what had changed. But he didn’t ask, and she didn’t offer.

She’d asked herself a hundred times over the last few days if she was being too hard on him, if she should just reach out first. But every time, she thought back to the way his words had cut into her, sharp and careless, and reminded herself that he needed to understand what that silence felt like.

It was his turn to come to her.

On the third night of silence, their last one before he flew for a triple header, he finally broke. They were getting ready for bed, the quiet between them thick enough to choke on, when he turned to her, confusion and frustration etched across his face. “Y/n, what’s going on with you?”

She paused in front of the mirror, her reflection staring back at her, tired and worn from the days of carrying this tension. She turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I could ask you the same thing, Lewis.” Her tone biting.

This wasn’t the first time they’d had a fight like this, but each time it happened, it chipped away at her patience a little more. It was like he thought he could just bury his feelings, shove them into a corner of his mind until they disappeared.

But they never did; they festered until he couldn’t hold them in anymore, and she’d end up bearing the brunt of it. And she was done being his emotional punching bag.

He needed to understand that his silence had consequences, that she couldn’t be the only one trying to bridge the gap between them. She’d tried to be understanding of the pressure he was under, but enough was enough.

“You just gonna ignore me, then?” His voice was defensive, but she caught the flicker of uncertainty beneath it.

She looked up, keeping her focus on his gaze, almost daring him to repeat himself. “You’re the one who walked out.”

His jaw clenched, and she could see him fighting with himself, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t quite find the right words. “I needed space,” he said finally, the frustration still evident in his voice.

Y/n let out a short, humorless laugh. “Right. Because clearly, that’s what’s been helping you so much lately.”

His frown deepened, confusion mingling with irritation in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shifted on her balance, and for the first time, she let her anger spill out. “It means that you’ve been shutting me out for weeks, Lewis. You snap at me, you avoid talking, and then you think you can just come back like nothing happened and expect me to be okay with it. But I’m not. I’m tired of you treating me like I’m some stranger who doesn’t get to know what’s going on in your head.”

He blinked, taken aback by the sudden force of her words. “It’s not like that. I’m just dealing with a lot right now—”

“Oh, I know you’re dealing with a lot,” she interrupted, her voice rising. “But I’m your partner, not some sounding board for when you decide you’re ready to explode. Do you have any idea how it feels to watch you struggle and not be able to do anything because you won’t let me in? To have you snap at me over the smallest things when I know they’re not the real problem?”

He shifted on his feet, running a hand over his face as he let out a sigh. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—everything’s so messed up right now. The car, the pressure… I can’t even think straight.”

“And you think I don’t get that?” she shot back, the hurt in her voice cutting through the air. “I’ve been here, right next to you, watching you try to handle it all alone. But you act like talking to me is some kind of burden, like I wouldn’t understand. You keep everything to yourself until you can’t anymore, and then you take it out on me. It’s not fair on us. It’s not fair on me.”

His shoulders sagged, and for a moment, she saw a crack in the armor he always wore. “I don’t know how to do this,” he said quietly, his voice sounding almost defeated. “I’ve always been the one to just deal with things on my own. I’m not good at… at letting people in.”

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to rein in the wave of emotions washing over her. “I’m not asking you to be perfect, or to have all the answers. I’m asking you to trust me enough to try. To stop treating me like I’m on the outside looking in.”

He moved closer to the mirror, sitting down on the edge of the bed end bench, though he kept his gaze fixed on the floor. “I’m not used to this—to having someone who actually wants to know.”

She softened a fraction, but the hurt was still too fresh to let go of completely. “Well, get used to it, because that’s what being in a relationship means. You don’t get to just disappear into your own head whenever things get tough.”

He reached out, tentatively touching her hips, and she felt the roughness of his fingers against hers. For a moment, she almost pulled away, but she forced herself to hold still, to let him make the move. “I know I messed up,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to push you away. I just… I don’t want you to see how messed up I feel sometimes.”

Y/n closed her eyes, the weight of his words settling heavily in her chest. “You think I don’t know that already? I see it, Lewis. I see how you’re struggling. And I don’t care if you’re ‘messed up’ or not—I just want to be there for you. But I can’t do that if you keep shutting me out.”

He exhaled slowly, and she could hear the vulnerability in the way his breath hitched. “I’m scared of letting you see all the parts of me that aren’t so put together. And I can’t lose you because of that.”

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze head-on. “I’m scared too. I’m scared that one day you’ll get so used to being alone in your head that you’ll forget I’m even here. And that I’ll keep waiting for you to open up until there’s nothing left to wait for.”

He swallowed hard, and she could see the emotion flashing in his eyes, the way he fought to hold it back.

She sighed, her anger ebbing away, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. “Just... trust me, Lewis. Even if it’s messy, even if it doesn’t come out right. I’d rather know the ugly truth than be kept in the dark.”

He nodded, a hesitant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Okay” he said softly.

She stepped forward, allowing him to hold her by the waist, his head resting on her stomach as she ran her a hand on his shoulders “I love you, Lewis, but I won’t be the person you turn to only when you’re ready to talk. You and I deserve better than this.”

She could feel the steady beat of his heart on her lower stomach, and for the first time in weeks, she felt like she wasn’t fighting alone.

“Thank you” he whispered against her shirt, the words barely audible, but she heard them, and they brought a small, tentative smile to her lips.

“Just don’t make me fight you on this again” she murmured, a trace of her earlier fire returning to her voice. “Or I’ll be the one who walks out.”

He chuckled softly unwrapping from her and reaching for her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist. “I’m sorry, for everything.” She pulled back enough to look at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but all she saw was the man she loved—imperfect, stubborn, but trying. “I know” she said, her voice softening. “I’m here, okay? But you have to let me stay.”

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

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@hiireadstuff @f1-football-fiend

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 scenario #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton #lh #lh44 #lewis #lewis x reader #lewis imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lh44 x reader #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton x you #ella1k

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utilitycaster · 15 days ago

Note

Here’s my C3 hot take: I think Matt just messed up. I think att just didn’t do a good job DMing this one, and I’m sad but I don’t think the players could have solved the problems entirely on their own. The lack of a session zero makes no sense, but more to the point I think Matt just has to much Catholic Trauma tm to have told this story. His blind spot to religion v. Personal worship in his world building is to big to stick this one. His excitement about the culmination of these narratives after 9 years made him play story beats to close to his chest looking to surprise and shock his players, and also, because he was so tied to it, he didn’t pivot, or change the story to guide the players through. The pacing, especially at the beginning feels like he was entirely to excited to get to the clever plot.

Honestly… and this makes me sad, a lot of the issues feel like he sort of started believing his own mythology. I am so happy for him to be self confident but this all feels like a story guided by someone who thinks their terribly clever and so don’t have to rely on the same level of hard work, collaboration, prep, planning etc. of previous works (and also wanted to be novel, I just think of their original campaign announcement where they said “anything might happen” and sigh a little).

My bit of hope? That’s a really easy thing to come back from! I hope they reflect and improve going forward!

p.s. this isn’t to say the others couldn’t have made things BETTER, they could have, for sure.

Hi anon,

I disagree with most of this. Most crucially, this is not the form of campaign I think would come of Catholic religious trauma. Matt's mentioned he was raised nominally Catholic but he's also mentioned his parents were artists, hippies, and D&D players, and he seems to be on pretty good terms with them. I think this is a vast overstep on your part that came from basically nowhere, especially since the logical outcome of a Catholic Trauma campaign would in fact be one that actually did portray Vasselheim as a vast controlling force within the world regulating the worship of the gods across it. A pretty massive hole in the worldbuilding, at least as this campaign demands we see it, is that we really haven't seen religion as an oppressive force except in one highly specific case, and even that was spearheaded by mortals and not the gods and is indistinguishable from a purely political land grab. Like, the blind spot you mention is actually a sign that he was not raised particularly religious; someone who was raised strictly Catholic would be extremely aware of religion as a highly organized hierarchy with clear rules and a vast worldwide network and not "a few missionaries who didn't kill anyone or even forcibly convert anyone, Vasselheim seen as a good meeting spot for a worldwide conference, and Ludinus's grievances are all highly personal." Like, the Catholic Trauma version of Exandria has Vasselheim at war with the Empire for their banning of half of the prime deities, or going full Inquisition/Crusade on Hearthdell.

I want to be clear: when I accuse fans of projecting religious trauma it's because they outright have said shit like "I always like when a narrative kills the gods bc I'm a white southerner who was raised Christian". I do not say it just because they are affiliated with a specific religious denomination.

I also don't think the issue is so much believing his own mythology as much as the one major correct thing you said, which is the lack of not just a session zero but a heavy hand in character development, coupled with a very specific plot he wanted for this campaign. Campaign 1 worked because he tailored a campaign heavily to the interests and stories of the characters, and built a world around them. Campaign 2 similarly allowed for that same give-and-take; characters like Trent and Uk'otoa and Marion and the Gentleman came from the backstories the players came up with. Some of the players' ideas were changed as part of that heavier hand in character creation. The guidance for that campaign (morally gray and complex) was actually accurate, and when the characters took a sharp turn away from the planned story, Matt was able to pivot quite gracefully.

The problem really is that it's clear Matt had a very developed vision of this campaign and didn't realize that the characters of Bells Hells largely failed to fit within it. I don't think hard work wasn't done (I think there was in fact a TON of prep that we haven't seen, eg, I 100% believe Matt has an extensive amount of work done on Otohan, Ozo Cruth, Marquet, the Apex War, etc that Bells Hells simply did not see); I think, in fact, that like three hours of work that probably would have resulted in scrapping or drastically changing the characters to fit the intended story would have fixed the vast majority of problems here. It is only, frankly, because the characters are such a bad fit that the issues we're talking about (little establishment of organized religion vs. personal practice) even became issues! But it's literally that - it's not realizing that even a longform campaign can live or die on character creation. It might even be that too much prep was done ahead of time and he was too unwilling to abandon it.

#answered #anonymous #cr tag

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tilebytiles · 7 months ago

Text

infallible beliefs - a.t. (part 1)

summary: as it turns out, professors are actually capable of feeling things, and alex feels more things for you than he’d like to. word count: 7.8k warnings: age gap (reader is 21 and alex is 30), mentions of violence, abuse (physical, emotional and financial) a/n: the reason he's 30 is bc i personally didn't feel comfortable writing an age gap bigger than that ! lets all just use our imaginations and pretend that the looks are there </3

you liked to consider yourself the kind of person that had everything together. to some degree, you thought you did — you went to school and kept your grades up, you had a part-time job at a local pet store that you loved, and you shared a lovely flat with your boyfriend of three years. by all appearances, you had your life together. but that was the exact issue, wasn’t it? what good were appearances supposed to be when you constantly felt like you were on the brink of falling apart?

coffee in hand, you rushed into the english building and made a beeline for your british literature professor’s classroom. due to the smaller size of your class, it was never in one of the lecture halls, meaning lessons always felt more intimate. you knew everyone’s names — you couldn’t say the same for the astronomy class you’d taken during your first year, or the nutrition class you were taking this term in an effort to chip away at your electives. you were normally one of the more participatory students, asking questions and answering any your professor posed to the class. your love for literature ran deep, hence why you intended on getting your degree in english. it was easy for you to be invested in the lessons.

“good morning, ms. l/n,” your professor called from the desk at the front. he was doing something on his laptop, presumably trying to get the slides for today pulled up.

you smiled softly at him. “good morning, mr. turner.” you walked to your usual seat and set your bag down on the floor, settling down into the chair. your coffee felt like it would run cold soon if you didn’t finish it.

you were in your third year of university — in the middle of the spring term — and mr. turner was the nicest professor you’d ever met. you’d taken one of his classes before, and when the term had ended, you were half-tempted to sign up for every class he was offering. would half of them even fit into your schedule? no. did you really care? also no. there was something about him that made his class actually enjoyable; maybe it was the way he spoke — soft yet sure, polite even when he was being forced to listen to the stupidest thing he’d ever heard — or the way he presented material, like he was genuinely interested in it and he wanted you to be, too. whatever it was, you were utterly captivated.

the clock struck 10am, and mr. turner shut the door to the room before turning to the class. “good morning, everyone. today, i thought we could discuss charlotte brönte and the impact of her writing, most notably jane eyre.”

rent was due soon. you needed to remind john to pay it. speaking of john, he’d told you to ask for a raise at the pet store, but you really didn’t think you needed it. your current wage was enough, wasn’t it? plus, you didn’t want to come off as money-hungry by demanding more pay out of nowhere. was he concerned about money? you knew the two of you had enough. you took a sip from your coffee and tried not to make a face; it was lukewarm. in your eyes, coffee either had to be piping hot or freezing cold to be enjoyed. you preferred iced coffee; the risk of frying your taste buds prevented you from chugging hot coffee as soon as you got it, so you tended to opt for iced instead. you were suddenly glad you didn’t try to get john coffee; he would be as displeased by the temperature as you were. he only liked hot coffee. would you see him for lunch? if you did, you could remind him about rent then. you hoped he wouldn’t want to go back to your flat to eat.

“ms. l/n?”

the sound of mr. turner’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up at him. “i’m sorry?”

his expression didn’t change, but you could have sworn you noticed a subtle shift in his eyes. “i asked what you thought of the feminism in jane eyre.”

“oh, uh …” silence filled the classroom, the kind that was all-consuming and threatened to swallow you, your classmates and your professor whole. there was a metallic thunk as someone near the back set their water bottle down. you looked down at your notes, as if they’d save you, but you’d written a whole of three sentences before clocking out. speaking of clocks, what time was it? how long had you been deep in your own thoughts?

you finally acted as your own saviour and managed a meek, “i think it’s a product of its time.”

mr. turner’s eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly, and he nodded slowly. you were waiting for him to point out your spacing out to the rest of the class, but he said nothing of the sort. all he said was, “that could be argued, yes. brönte didn’t write jane as a hyper-feminist that smashed all stereotypes and expectations of women in the 1800s. in fact, many have argued that jane eyre has no true feminism due to jane’s submission to gender roles by the end of the novel …”

the rest of the lesson went by in as much of a blur as the first half did, except now you were actually trying to pay attention. eventually, mr. turner dismissed all of you, and the room was filled with bags unzipping and the clacking of pencils and pens being picked up off desks. you got your things together and stood from your seat, preparing to head out (and throw out your disgustingly cold coffee on the way). you were stopped, however, by the sound of your professor’s voice as he said, “ms. l/n, could I have a word with you, please?”

you made a quick trip to the bin beside the door and tossed out your coffee cup, then circled back around and stepped towards the desk at the front of the room. mr. turner had looked down for just a moment, marking something on a sheet of paper, but as you grew closer, he looked up, offering you a small smile. it did nothing to calm your nerves. gulping slightly, you said, “you wanted to speak to me?”

“yes. it’s about your …” he looked off to the side as he searched for the right word. “… inattentiveness in class recently.”

the alarm bells sounded in your head, and your brain was a breath away from sending a signal to your legs to get you the fuck out of there. sensing your impending panic, he quickly added, “you’re not in trouble, i promise.”

your brain halted. “oh. i’m not?”

“no. believe me, you’re not the first student i’ve had zone out during my lessons.” he waved his hand dismissively as he spoke, as if trying to shoo away your worries. “however, it is strange coming from you. you’re normally a very active participant, but recently, you’ve hardly spoken. i just wanted to know if something was going on.”

you didn’t know if you were relieved or even more scared. “no, i’m fine,” you replied, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “i guess i’ve just had a lot on my mind, is all.”

“well, you can always talk to me if you just need somewhere to dump your thoughts. you’re one of my best students, and i wouldn’t want to see you fail.” he smiled again, and you managed a small smile in return. you appreciated his offer, although you weren’t sure if you’d be using it anytime soon. you didn’t want to burden him in any way.

you hadn’t noticed the way his gaze latched onto your wrist. at least, not until his brows furrowed. he raised his hand, but didn’t touch your wrist, just gestured to it. “where did that come from?”

you looked at your wrist, equally as confused as he was, and saw the small bruise that had formed just below where the bone protruded. the alarm bells started back up, and your brain began drafting up that signal for your legs. “oh.” you gulped. “it’s nothing. i just bumped into a table in my flat.”

his eyes narrowed, and his hand dropped back to his side. “are you sure that’s all it is?”

“i’m fine, mr. turner,” you said quickly, already turning around to leave. “i appreciate the concern, really, but i’m just clumsy. i have to go now.” you beelined for the door. “see you on friday!”

“… right. have a good day, ms. l/n.”

it took everything in you to not run down the hall and slam through the doors. you forced yourself to keep your pace at a brisk walk, gently pushing the doors open once you reached them. you spotted john’s car in the nearby parking lot with relative ease and headed towards it, cursing yourself internally for the shitty excuse you’d made for mr. turner. bumping into a table? really?

as you slipped into the passenger seat and settled your bag into your lap, john leaned over the console and kissed your cheek. “how’d your class go?”

“it went okay.”

you secured your seatbelt, and john reached over, gently grabbing your wrist. he turned it over, examining the bloom of purple by the bone. “why didn’t you try to cover this up with makeup?”

“i was in a rush this morning. i didn’t think to.”

his grip tightened, his fingers digging into the bruise and making you wince. “no one saw it, did they?”

“no.” you didn’t dare mention your professor’s questioning.

“good.” he released your wrist, then put the car in reverse and looked up at the rearview mirror as he began backing out of the parking spot.

the car ride was silent as john drove the two of you to wherever he planned to take you for lunch (not your flat — you’d already passed the street he would normally turn onto). you were content to stare blankly out the window the whole time, but he had other ideas. “you know i love you, right?”

you looked over at him, a little surprised. “yeah,” you said quietly. “i know.”

“i would never intentionally try to hurt you like that, baby. last night was just …” he sighed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “i was just frustrated, that’s all.”

the frustration in question arose when you had asked if you could buy the starry night lego set. van gogh was one of your favourite artists, and you’d been dying to get the set since it had first released. when you told him what the price was, though, john was practically seeing red. the bruise did come from a table, but it was less because you’d bumped into it and more because he had shoved you and sent you crashing down against it. you had apologised and promised to never bring the set up again.

“i love you, y/n,” he said, dragging you out of your thoughts and back into the car.

“i know,” you repeated. you couldn’t remember the last time you had said you loved him.

the car eventually came to a stop, and you looked up, spotting the café he had brought you to. the two of you had eaten there a few times before; you quite enjoyed the food, although john wasn’t very fond of coming because he was convinced the male waiter stared at you. the last time you were here, you’d made a point of checking for stares, and every time you looked, the waiter’s eyes were nowhere near catching yours. you kept that to yourself, though, not wanting to have a shouting match with your boyfriend in the middle of lunch.

as you both headed for the door, you wondered if this was his way of trying to make amends. you knew it would take a lot more than a lunch date for you to forgive him, but you at least appreciated his efforts; it was better than him doing nothing at all, right? his fingers were stiff between yours as he held your hand just a bit too tight to be comfortable, guiding you through the café as the employee behind the counter led you to an open table. you sat down across each other, and the employee informed you your waitress would be with you in a couple of minutes before disappearing, presumably to return to her post. you picked up one of the menus and opened it up, quickly scanning the options available to you.

sure enough, your waitress came just a couple of minutes later, notepad in hand. “hey, friends,” she said with a warm smile. you liked her already. “my name is alina, and i’ll be your waitress. what can i get you guys to drink?”

“can i have a margarita, please?” john asked, looking up from his menu.

alina nodded and quickly jotted it down before looking to you. you did your best to return her smile and said, “just water, please.”

“alright, a margarita and some water. i’ll be back with those drinks as quick as i can, and then we’ll get going on food, okay?”

“thank you,” you said, watching as she departed from your table. you eventually looked back over at john, doing your best to mask your mild disapproval. “are you sure you should be drinking this early in the day?”

he scoffed. “y/n, i can hold my alcohol. i’ll be fine.”

“but you’re driving —”

“i’ll be fine,” he repeated, his voice growing cold. you nodded and looked back down at the menu, pretending to suddenly be interested in the café’s sandwich selection.

eventually, alina returned with john’s margarita and your water and set both drinks down on the table before getting her notepad back out. “what can i get you guys today?”

“i’ll have the salmon benedict with a side of chips, please,” john said, looking down at his menu before looking up at alina.

she nodded and wrote down his order before turning to you. “and for you?”

“she’ll have the caesar salad.”

she looked back at john, slightly surprised, but nodded and wrote it down anyway. “will that be all for you two?”

“yup.”

“alright, i’ll get this to the kitchen.” she smiled at the two of you and collected your menus before departing once more.

john reached over the table and lightly tapped your nose. “hey. what’s wrong?”

“hm?” you looked up at him. “nothing.”

“you could try to look happier, you know.” you sighed through your nose and forced your best smile. he rolled his eyes. “not like that.”

“i’m not unhappy, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“could’ve fooled me. you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” you kind of would, but you didn’t tell him that. “you haven’t even thanked me for bringing you here when you know i hate coming here.”

“thank you, john.”

“for?”

the image of you dumping his margarita right into his lap flashed through your mind, but you quickly shooed it away. “thank you for bringing me here even though you don’t like being here.”

he nodded, as if to say your thanks was satisfactory enough. “you’re welcome, y/n.”

you were beginning to wonder how much longer you could do this for.

•••••

“alexa, i could’ve come here on me own.”

“you could’ve, but i wanted to come with you. you can shop for your cat, and i can shower the animals in attention.”

alex sighed and pulled the door to the pet store open, allowing alexa to step through first before following her inside. it was the middle of the week and just shy of turning to 6pm, so there weren’t many other customers inside. he kept running through the list he’d made in his head, not wanting to forget anything, and headed for one of the aisles while alexa flagged down an employee to ask about petting the puppies.

he hadn’t intended to become a cat owner, but during an outing (with alexa, funnily enough), he’d come across a stray black kitten shivering to death in a cardboard box. the sight of its small, furry form teetering between life and death was too much to bear, and it’d taken hardly any convincing on alexa’s part before he was picking up the cardboard box and carrying it back to his car. they’d immediately gone to the vet and had the cat taken care of, and it turned out to be a male. alex named it herbert.

that was a couple of weeks ago. although herbert had the basics — food, a collar (for when he was actually big enough to fit in it), a bed (that he didn’t really use because he always slept with alex) — he didn’t have much in the way of entertainment. alex wasn’t sure which toys he’d like the most — which toys any cat would like the most, actually. he wasn’t used to taking care of animals.

he slowed to a stop in front of a shelf full of cat toys and bent down to grab a small plush mouse. he turned it over and over in his hand, trying to decide if herbert would like it. it was a mouse, and cats were obsessed with mice, weren’t they? if the wild misadventures of tom & jerry had taught him anything …

“mr. turner?”

he looked up at the sound of his name and locked eyes with one of the employees over the shelf. “ms. l/n,” he said, blinking a couple of times in surprise. “i didn’t realise you worked here.”

you smiled at him, perhaps a little shyly, and he instantly recognised it as the kind of smile you donned in class whenever you were invested in the topic at hand. for a brief second, he questioned why he even remembered what that smile of yours looked like, but he tried not to dwell on that for too long. “i’ve worked here for a little over a year now,” you told him, dragging him back out of his own head. “it’s a nice excuse to deal with animals all the time.”

you liked animals, then. he made a mental note of that, although he wasn’t sure why. “that’s entirely reasonable,” he replied, managing a small smile that mirrored your own. “i became a literature professor because … well, i love literature.”

you laughed at that, a small, soft laugh that bordered on a giggle. “i don’t imagine you’d become a literature professor because you love science.”

he chuckled. “no, certainly not. science was never really my thing, anyway.”

“what are you doing here, anyway?”

“ah, i needed to pick up some things for herbert.” when you stared at him in confusion, he realised his error. “my cat, i mean. i wanted to get some toys for him, but, er, i don’t really know what cats like.” he held up the little mouse toy in his hand for emphasis, and your confusion quickly morphed into understanding.

he watched as you walked around the shelves and made your way to the aisle he was on, coming to stand beside him in front of the row of cat toys. “do you know how old he is?”

“uh, not even a year, i don’t think. he’s a tiny little thing.”

you nodded slowly and seemed to think on it before reaching out to grab a toy that perfectly resembled a fishing rod. it was one of those sticks with the line of string at the end and something attached to the string, but the something in question was a little stuffed fish. clever marketing, really. “kittens tend to be more energetic, so he’ll probably get a kick out of something like this.”

you held it out to him, and he took it from you. “thank you, ms. l/n.”

“oh, you don’t have to call me that,” you said quickly. “you can just call me y/n.”

his brows raised a little, although he didn’t object. he knew your first name, of course — he knew all his students’ first names — but he always opted to refer to everyone by their last name, seeing it as the polite thing to do. calling a student by their first name felt … foreign, admittedly. if you wanted him to, though … “right,” he said, smiling faintly. “thank you, y/n.”

you returned his smile, and he hated the faint flutter he felt in his chest at the sight. “of course, mr. turner.”

silence settled between the two of you, although it wasn’t necessarily awkward. a question lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase it. he wasn’t sure if it was even his place to ask (it probably wasn’t). still, before he could catch himself, the words tumbled from his mouth. "are you ... doing any better?" he had half a mind to run out of the store and quit his job.

the way you were staring at him wasn't helping.

"oh, um ... yeah," you said, your voice quieter than it'd been before. "i mean, it healed." you held your wrist up, and his gaze dropped to the smooth skin beneath your wrist bone. sure enough, the purple blemish that had been there before was gone. a part of him was relieved, but another itched to know why you'd even had a bruise in the first place.

"that's good," he murmured, his gaze flickering back up to meet yours. "y/n ..." he paused, then sighed. it really wasn't his place to ask, but — "iff you're alright with me asking, where had that bruise really come from?"

he watched as your own gaze fell upon your wrist. you slowly turned it over, as if you were expecting to find some new mark you would need another half-assed excuse for. nothing was there, though. you eventually opened your mouth, a syllable of a word escaping your throat, and he was immediately bracing himself for the answer — one he knew he wouldn't like — but you never got to tell him. at the same time you began to speak, alexa came over, nudging her shoulder against his. "did you find anything?"

he jumped slightly at the sudden contact and looked over at her, blinking once or twice. "oh, er ... yeah. she helped me." he gestured to you, making alexa glance over at you. "she's one of my students," he added.

alexa smiled at you and held her hand out for you to shake. you did so and offered her a small smile. "pleasure to meet you. i'm ms. chung in the design department, but you can just call me alexa. i don't think i've seen you around campus before."

"i'm y/n," you told her. "i'm going into literature, so that's probably why we haven't crossed paths."

"alex didn't have to bully you into that, did he?"

you laughed and shook your head. "not at all. i'd already decided a while ago what i wanted to study. he's been a wonderful professor, though."

you thought he was wonderful?

it was stupid, and he felt like a teenager again, his head partway in the clouds and partway stuck to reality as he bought the cat toys and some extra food for herbert. stupid and reckless, that's what it was. you were his student, and as far as he knew, you were that nice to everyone. you considering him a wonderful professor didn't mean a damn thing, and it was insane of him to think it did — no, scratch that, to want it to mean something.

those feelings of his weren't entirely out of the blue; he'd just gotten good at ignoring them and maintaining a professional boundary between the two of you. even if it wasn't illegal — you were 21, and he 30 — it was morally reprehensible and went against everything he stood for. sometimes, though, he still found himself staring at you for just a second too long, and sometimes your enthusiasm in his class made his heart skip one too many beats. throughout the term, he had done his best to never cross the line he'd personally drawn, but when he'd seen the bruise on your wrist ... it was difficult to deny the feelings it stirred up within him. he didn't like the worry he felt seeing it, and he didn't like the cloud of concern that followed him for the rest of the day as your shitty excuse and your forced smile played on repeat in his head.

"earth to turner."

alexa waved her hand in front of his face as they walked down the sidewalk together, heading back to his car so he could deposit the bag of goods for herbert inside. he blinked in surprise and looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "what?"

"you're thinking awful hard over there."

"i've just — got a lot on me mind, is all," he said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand.

her eyes narrowed, but she didn't press him for answers. she just shrugged and sighed, redirecting her gaze to the world in front of them. "whatever you say, al." He knew she could see right through him, although he was silently grateful she didn't say anything else; frankly, he wasn't sure he even had any answers for her.

what were you doing to him?

•••••

you weren’t fond of bars. you didn’t mind alcohol — although you usually kept your drinking restricted to special occasions — but having to deal with other drunk patrons wasn’t the greatest way to spend your time, you thought. having to deal with your drunk boyfriend wasn’t great, either.

you weren’t fond of bars, but when john wanted to go to one, you weren’t really in a position to say no.

although your boyfriend seemed to go all-out every time the two of you left your flat, you couldn’t be bothered. you pulled on a white skirt that went down to your knees and a grey jumper than had some american university you were unfamiliar with printed on it (you had gotten the jumper from a charity shop, if you were remembering correctly). despite it being spring, days were still cold in london, and the nights weren’t any better. plus, you preferred to show as little skin as possible, especially if you had to be around drunk men.

you stuffed your phone, wallet and keys into your bag and double-checked that you had everything before zipping the bag shut and slipping the strap over your shoulder. john finally re-emerged from the bathroom and ran a hand through his hair, raising an eyebrow at the sight of you. “that’s what you’re wearing?”

“i don’t see an issue with it,” you said. your voice was a bit curt, showing that you weren’t in the mood to deal with his persnickety bullshit, and he seemed to get the message. instead of responding verbally (starting an argument), he just nodded and grabbed his keys.

fifteen minutes later, after an uncomfortably silent car ride, you found yourself sat beside john in one of the booths at the back of the bar, nodding absentmindedly and giving false hums in an effort to make yourself seem like you were paying attention to whatever it was he was rambling about. you were only really picking up bits and pieces — his older brother was disappointed in him, he was convinced his parents didn’t love him even though you knew from firsthand experience that they very much did, all things you’d heard before. it wasn’t that you didn’t care; to a degree, you did sympathise with him. but it was only to a degree.

as he drunkenly babbled on in your ear, you glanced around the dimly lit bar, your eyes scanning dozens of faces you didn’t recognise. you could pick out a couple — students you’d seen around campus before — but the rest came together to form a sea of unfamiliarity in front of you. you sipped from your glass, wincing as the alcohol carved a burning trail down your throat. the bar you were in had live music on the weekends, and tonight, the performer was someone you hadn’t caught the name of. he had a shaved head, wore what appeared to be a leather vest with nothing underneath and a pair of black skinny jeans, and his eye makeup was leagues better than anything you could pull off. he seemed cool, and you liked the sound of his voice. you made a mental note to figure out who he was before you went home with john.

“i have to use the restroom,” you said suddenly, standing up from your seat and cutting john’s sentence short. you looked down at him. “i'll be right back.”

his brows furrowed, and he grabbed your wrist. “i'll go with you.”

“i’ll be fine, i promise. just wait here.” you pried his hand off (due to his inebriated state, he wasn’t gripping you very hard) and slipped out of the booth, heading straight for the bathroom. you kept your head down, doing your best to avoid eye contact with anyone.

the music was muffled and, admittedly, a little less headache-inducing in the bathroom. you stood in front of the row of sinks and sighed, rubbing at your face with your hands. you examined your reflection in the mirror, immediately noting the dark circles under your eyes and the almost gaunt appearance of your cheeks. had you lost weight recently? you hadn’t noticed. you’d been too busy with everything else …

“fuck you!” a shrill voice screamed, bounding into the bathroom as the heavy door swung shut behind the owner. you jumped at the sound and turned your head, watching as a girl stomped behind you, stopping in front of the sink beside you. she was huffing, her chest heaving, and for a second, you swore you saw steam pouring out of her ears.

it wasn’t really your place to get involved, but she looked like she was a breath away from blowing the building up. slowly, you asked, “are you alright?”

she slammed her bag down onto the countertop — that, too, made you jump — and began rummaging through it, pulling different things out. ah, she was fixing her makeup. “my stupid fucking boyfriend started chattin’ with some other girl and thought i wouldn’t fucking notice,” she said, opening up a pack of makeup wipes. “it’s not even the first time he’s done it, i’ve just been too nice and let him off.”

“did the girl know you —“

“if she did, i’m rippin’ her fucking face off,” she muttered.

fair. you turned the water in your sink on and let it warm up for a few seconds before leaning down to splash your face. “is he still your boyfriend, then?”

she scoffed. “absolutely not. i told him he can go find some other girl to be a wanker around since he’s so desperate to get away from me.”

as you rinsed your face off, you wondered if you should have been grateful that john wasn’t a cheater. as far as you knew, anyway. sure, everything else he did was … less than ideal, but at least he wasn’t going behind your back. right?

“men are shite,” the girl said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

you turned the water off and reached for the paper towel dispenser. “yeah. they are.”

you could only think of one man (besides your father) in your life that wasn’t utter shite.

you left the bathroom after drying yourself off and intended to head straight back to your booth, but the sight of a familiar head of hair gave you pause. it wasn’t like he was the only one with that haircut, and for all you knew, you were about to look creepy as hell walking up to some random bloke and asking if he was someone else. still, you couldn’t stop yourself from quietly approaching, hesitating before reaching up and tapping the figure’s shoulder. his head turned, his eyes seeking out yours, and for some reason, you felt comfort in being right in your assumption.

your literature professor, the only man in your life that wasn’t utter shite, got up from his stool and turned to face you fully. “y/n,” he said, raising his voice a little more than usual so you could hear him over the music, “i didn’t expect to see you here.”

“i’m here with my boyfriend,” you told him, and if you weren’t paying attention, you easily would’ve missed the subtle shift in his expression before he schooled it back into a state of neutrality. “i could say the same of you.”

“professors need a break, too, you know.”

he had a point.

you awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say now. you felt like you were seeing something you shouldn’t; like you were a child finding your teacher in the supermarket. you were both adults, sure, but the scene gave you the same feeling you’d had in the pet store. encountering him outside of lessons just felt odd.

he seemed to feel the same as you, struggling to find anything to say. eventually, he opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted by the sound of a voice behind you. you immediately knew who it was, and the way his gaze hardened confirmed it.

you turned and came face to face with john, who was nothing short of seething. “you said you were going to the restroom.”

“i did.”

“so then why the fuck are you here, chatting up some bloke instead of talking to me?”

“john —“

“answer me,” he demanded, reaching out to grab your wrist. his grip was much tighter this time, almost bruising, and you winced at the pain that shot through you.

“i think there’s been a misunderstanding,” mr. turner began. “i’m just her —“

“you’re not a part of this, you fucking wanker,” john spat, glaring at him before looking back down at you. “why are you talking to him?”

“he’s just my professor,” you said, forcing yourself to stay calm. “john, please.”

“just your professor?” he echoed, ignoring your plea. “why the hell’re you talking to your professor in a bar, hm? is there something you’re not telling me?”

“don’t do this.”

“gettin’ him off for a good grade? is that it?”

you felt sick to your stomach. “john, stop it, now.”

“i always knew you’d do this to me, y/n! can never fucking trust you with anyone! am i not good enough for you? everything i’ve done, and you’re shaggin’ your goddamn professor?”

“john, shut up!” you shouted, the last bit of your restraint slipping.

with your restraint went his — or what little he’d had left. eyes wide, he lifted his free hand and quickly swung it in your direction.

you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the impact, but it never came. the musician’s guitar stuttered. the drums missed a few beats. you opened your eyes and were met with the sight of mr. turner gripping john’s wrist, the veins in his forearm protruding with how hard he was holding it. his brows were furrowed down in rage, and you could see the anger that swam in his eyes, threatening to drown him and you and everyone in that damned bar. “let go of her,” he said quietly, “and get the fuck out of here. now.”

you’d never heard him swear like that before.

john stared at him, then at you, then at him again. he yanked his wrist from mr. turner’s grasp and finally released your own, turning to leave. not, though, before saying to you, “don’t bother coming home.” and then he was gone.

the loud chatter within the bar’s walls had been reduced to mere murmurs by the scene that had just unfolded. you were shaken up — quite a bit. you were used to him exploding, hurting you, but not in public. never in public. he had gotten good at making sure his outbursts were kept behind closed doors.

“y/n.”

you jumped at the sound of mr. turner’s voice and looked up at him. your heart was thumping in your ears. you felt shaky. you needed to sit down. he could tell you were on the verge of a panic attack, and he put a hand on your back, murmuring something about finding you a seat as he led you to one of the back booths. it was a more secluded spot, away from the stares and whispers of the other patrons. you were grateful.

murder was illegal. murder was illegal. murder was illegal.

that was the only coherent thought alex was immediately capable of making. he let you slip into the seat first before slipping in beside you, making sure to keep a respectable distance between the two of you. you stared down at the table, and he stared down at you, thinking of a million things to say and not finding a single one of them appropriate given the circumstances. the more empathetic side of him wanted to dance around the issue, tiptoe around what had just happened, but he knew he’d never get any real answers if he tried to play nice. this couldn’t go on.

“y/n,” he said again, crossing his arms and setting them down on the table, “how long has this been going on?”

you were silent for a few moments, making him panic internally and wonder if he’d already fucked up in his line of questioning. eventually, though, your answer came to soothe his worrying brain. “at least a year, maybe more.”

“a year?” murder was illegal. “has he been hurting you this whole time?”

“he doesn’t usually hit me. that’s only when he gets really pissed about something.”

“when did this start?”

“when we moved in together. he had always been kind of … kind of rude before that, i guess, but once we saw each other every day, it was like he just snapped. i guess he realised he finally had power over me.”

of course. if the flat was in his name, then he could kick you out at any point he wanted. one wrong move on your end, and you would be out on the streets. he’d backed you into a corner; a corner you hadn’t left in over a year. alex’s heart felt heavy. “he’s always been kind of rude, you said. what … what do you mean by that?”

you sighed and sank a little further down in your seat. “he makes comments on my weight sometimes. he never calls me ugly or fat, but the implication that he’s unsatisfied with how i look is always there. he likes to poke fun at the books i like and the music i listen to and the films i watch. it’s like — like he wants me to be a carbon copy of him.”

“y/n, your weight’s fine,” alex said with a frown. “you look like you’ve lost weight, actually. i’m worried about you.”

you looked up at him, and the resignation in your eyes added extra weight to his heart. “i’m fine, mr. turner.” even though you clearly weren’t.

silence fell between the two of you, leaving alex to swim in the pool of his thoughts. realistically, the most he could do by the school's terms was offer you resources for abuse and maybe help you get your boyfriend reported to the authorities. the issue, though, was that as far as he knew, your boyfriend wasn't a student. you being one — one of his, for that matter — didn't immediately give him the right to get involved in your private life, even when you were clearly in danger. there was also the matter of whether or not you even wanted him to get involved — that one, he wasn't really sure on. he didn't want to betray your trust and interfere with your relationship if you asked him not to, but he also hated the thought of turning a blind eye to what was happening.

alex had never been one for violence. that wasn't to say he was a total pacifist, but he typically believed things could be talked out rather than resorting to fists (or worse). when he had seen your boyfriend grab you, though, and prepare to hurt you in public with such ease and no shame, he was pretty sure he was a breath away from knocking that bastard to the floor and giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“he didn’t mean it when he told me not to come home,” you finally said, dragging alex back out of his thoughts. “i just have to give him some time.”

time. of course. “if you’d like, i can drive you home.”

“i would appreciate that, mr. turner. thank you.” he offered you a small smile, and you did your best to mirror it. it didn’t quite reach your eyes, but he appreciated the effort.

you would have given a more genuine smile, but you were embarrassed and still shaken up, and really, all you wanted was to curl up in bed and cry for a while. you knew that, realistically, it wasn't embarrassing to be in an abusive relationship, and you knew that mr. turner was one of the last people on the planet that would ever be judgmental over it. you certainly wouldn't judge anyone else for being in one. when it came to yourself, though, it was just ... you couldn't help but wonder if this was all your fault.

you weren't sure how long you and mr. turner sat in that booth, but it had at least been long enough that you were sure john had either cooled down or passed out in your flat. the pair of you got up and headed for the door, but not before he stopped to say something to the musician that'd been playing, who was now sitting at a table and nursing a beer. "sorry i can't stay for the rest o' your set," he told him, "i've got somethin' i need to take care of."

the musician glanced at you, and understanding flickered in his gaze. "course, al. don't even worry about it. i'll see you 'round, yeah?"

"yeah." mr. turner flashed him a smile before turning back to you and leading you outside.

as he took you to his car, you asked, "who was that?"

"miles Kane. he's a friend of mine. we go way back."

"oh." miles kane — you did your best to remember his name for later. "i like his music."

"me, too." he opened the passenger seat of his car for you, and you quietly thanked him and slipped inside. he went around the front of the car and got into the driver's seat, turning the car on and fastening his seatbelt. you did the same.

after you gave him your address, the two of you fell into yet another bout of silence, although this one wasn't as uncomfortable as it'd been in the bar. mr. turner fiddled with the radio, eventually settling for a station playing rock songs from the 80s. you recognised a few of them, although you were more familiar with the general tune than the lyrics. you could occasionally see him tapping out the beat against the steering wheel from the corner of your eye.

unlike the drive to the bar with john, which had felt like an absolute drag, the drive to your flat with mr. turner was much more bearable and hardly felt like ten minutes, let alone fifteen. once his car slowed to a stop in front of your block of flats, you undid your seatbelt, the soft click seeming to echo in his car. "um, thank you," you said quietly, popping the door open. "i really appreciate it. sorry if i ruined your night or anything."

"no, no, it's fine," he said quickly, shaking his head. "you didn't ruin anything, alright?"

"okay." you nodded.

you stepped out of the car, bag in hand, and were about to close the door when he suddenly said, "y/n."

"hm?"

"can i put my number in your phone?"

ashamedly, your brain immediately jumped to what you deemed the most logical conclusion: he was proving john right and hitting on you. "huh?"

"so i can check on you, i mean." he smiled apologetically at you when he noticed the brief flash of panic that darted over your features. "i'm not, er ... i'm not like that, i promise."

"oh. yeah." now you felt foolish. you unzipped your bag and fished your phone out, handing it to him. he was quick to create a new contact for himself and handed your phone back to you. his contact name was 'alex turner', and you didn't know why it surprised you. maybe you were just so used to calling him 'mr. turner'.

"if anything ever happens, please don't be afraid to contact me, y/n," he said softly. "i may just be your professor, but i'm also a human being. you can talk to me."

you nodded. "thank you, mr. turner."

"of course. you should go inside now, it's getting cold out."

after exchanging a final quick goodbye, you headed into your block of flats, taking a silent trip up in the lift to the floor you lived on. you retrieved your keys from your bag and unlocked the front door to your flat, immediately noticing that the lights were still off. you slipped in, shutting and locking the door behind you, and crept through the living room, being careful to not wake a sleeping John on the sofa. as you'd suspected — he must've fallen asleep after he got back. had he been waiting for you?

you threw a blanket over him before continuing to your bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as you could behind you. you let out a small sigh and leaned against the wood for a few moments, shutting your eyes. this was not how you'd anticipated your night going. you eventually reopened your eyes and turned the light on, depositing your bag into the armchair in the corner. out of curiosity, you stepped up to the window, peeking through the blinds to see if mr. turner's car was still there. he was already gone, though.

after getting changed into your pyjamas for the night, you collapsed onto your bed and held your phone over your face, peering at the screen in the newfound darkness. you kept reading mr. turner's name over and over, the image of his quiet rage permanently seared into your brain. you were so used to him being calm and collected at all times — quiet, too. granted, he hadn't exactly raised his voice, but somehow, that was scarier than him shouting could ever be.

and it was all because of you.

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @supernaturalandpain / @not-a-big-slay

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #the car era #arctic monkeys #am #fanfic #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #divider by plutism

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 1 year ago

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ok I got an ideaaaa 🤭🤭

Mitsuri reader as the Goddess of Love from another pantheon and she met Aphrodite? But reader caught the attention of some greek gods? Like she did a kind act(u decide what) and then that caught the [gods] interest. Like bcs they never saw their own Goddess of love do something amazing like that lololol ig

W/ Greek bros, Hermes, Apollo mwah tyyy💕

-You were originally human, living and dying as a human, but you died for another, dying for love and for your sacrifice, several gods allowed you to ascend to Valhalla and you became a love goddess.

-While you weren’t as powerful or well known as goddesses like Aphrodite, you were adored by the gods who knew you.

-You were hardworking, from your time as a Demon Slayer, as you were a powerful warrior even if you didn’t look or act like it, and you had taken to your duties with helping others with love with ease.

-Your diligence and willingness to work is what caught the attention of so many, as you wanted everyone to get love, despite not having it for yourself, but you could tell that those who had come around that they wouldn’t be good matches for you.

-Many reminded you of the men you had marriage meetings with back on earth, ones who told you how odd your hair was, or that your large appetite and inhuman strength was a turn off.

-You let them all down gently, being polite before helping them find the person they were supposed to be with, playing matchmaker, but it made you happy, seeing everyone paired up with others that made them happy.

-You were unaware of a set of eyes that had been watching you from afar, as you were so unlike the goddess of love in his own pantheon, Aphrodite.

-You were always willing to help others, smiling so warmly, and treating everyone, men, women, and children, with such gentle kindness- it was refreshing really.

-It was your physical strength that made him finally get the courage to approach you. A rude god who had interrupted your time with some children who were making flower crowns and adorning your hair with flowers, grabbing your wrist, and demanding you go on a date with him.

-You politely refused, trying to turn him down gently while the kids all hid behind you, scared, but this god didn’t take kindly to your refusal, trying to drag you to go with him.

-This is when (Love) arrived, seeing you being accosted and he went to defend you before you glared up at this cocky god, “Fine, if you can beat me in a test of strength, I’ll go with you.”

-The god just laughed loudly, but agreed, not knowing of your true strength as you both got on either side of a table, for an arm-wrestling contest.

-When the god went flying, after you easily beat him, sending him head over heels and through a nearby wall, the kids all cheered for you as you beamed brightly, your hands on your hips in a victory pose.

-You heard someone else laughing behind you and you turned, seeing (Love) there, approaching you and the children. You smiled, greeting him warmly, unaware of the effect it had on him before he spoke, “Are you all right?”

-You flexed your arm that the asshole had been holding, showing him that you were perfectly fine, “Yes- nothing I couldn’t handle!” he was surprised, giving you a soft smile.

-The children all shared a look before making a quick exit, confusing you as you looked around, wondering why they had rushed off so quickly before (Love) held out a hand towards you, “May I have the pleasure of take you out for tea?”

-Your face quickly flushed red, from your neck to the top of your head, as you could tell, unlike the others who came to you, just for your beauty, his feelings were genuine, and you had only dealt with true feelings of another once before, back on earth.

-Hermes- He smiled softly, seeing you so flustered- you were truly a pure maiden. It was rather adorable, but he felt his heart soar as a smile appeared on his face as you accepted, placing your hand in the hand he held out to you. Hermes was a gentleman, holding the door open for you, pulling out your seat, and ordering a tea set, which included pretty looking cakes. Hermes was unlike any other man you had come across- he was so doting on you; he was so sweet. He would never tell you that he had been hesitant in approaching you, as he found you so perfect that you were intimidating, in his eyes. He wanted to stand by your side and you by his own side for the rest of eternity.

-Apollo- You knew of Apollo and how much of a ladies’ man he was, with the nymphs he usually surrounded himself with, so you were a little hesitant on accepting his invitation. He could see that, but he didn’t berate you or try to convince you otherwise, as that wouldn’t be honest of him, but he was surprised when you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear as you shyly took his hand, “Just tea, right?” You could feel the warmth he was radiating from elation as you at least accepted his invitation. You were willing to give him a chance at least to take you out, but you wanted to be his one and only, selfish of you to say, but you didn’t want to share your love. Apollo was nothing but a gentleman with you, giving you his full, undivided attention, asking about your likes and dislikes, and reciting poetry to you- he was so romantic! He was praying you were willing to give him a chance, and if you did, he would only focus on you. He was willing to wait- to prove himself to you.

-Ares- You were surprised when he approached you, as you knew that he and Aphrodite were an item, on and off again, but still! Ares was so sweet to you, asking you out to tea and when you accepted, he flushed so hard. He wasn’t used to soft affections like this, as Aphrodite was more interested in his body and bed skills, while with you- it was like you wanted his heart, you wanted the real Ares. He adored you and showered you with so much affection and when you returned it, he melted, easily falling even harder for you and it was hard not to fall for him either. The two of you became the cutest couple around, even Poseidon acknowledged how nauseatingly sweet the two of you were together. The only person not happy with you two going out was Aphrodite, who viewed you as a threat to one of her favorite boy toys, but Ares was willing to keep you safe from her, just as long as you kept loving him, which you had no issues doing.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror hermes #ror apollo #ror ares

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saltylandland · 2 years ago

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🦇Every Good Girl Needs a Creepy Vamp🦇

Warnings: overstimulation, sex while high, noncon/dubcon, corruption kink (kinda), going off my nsfw headcanons that Paul likes to be degraded for being a creep, reader is in high school but she’s still 18, fem!reader, reader’s not a virgin, uses the term “mama” but reader isn’t pregnant/nor will she become pregnant, I guess this my as well count as yandere, stalking, an obscene amount of cum, I’m talking about A LOT, Paul can make phantom sensations as one of his vampy powers bc why not. Do you ever write something that makes you go ‘oml what the hell did I just write?’, no editing man, I like my men bloody, slutty, and pathetic.

Walking down the sidewalk you turn onto the residential neighbourhood where your family’s home resides. Out of the corner of your eye you spot the same guy. You’ve met him quite a few times on the boardwalk, smoked a joint with him almost every time as well, despite how unnerving you found him at times. But you really couldn’t blame yourself really, having been viewed as a good girl most of your life. Approaching the kids who would be able to get you it was a no go, not only attracting attention by interacting with them in general, you’d have nowhere safe to smoke it without getting caught.

So when you went looking for a possible summer job alone on the boardwalk, your chance came up to you on a golden platter. This new ‘friend’ seems to preen at your attention, not at all frustrated or wary of your shy prude-ness. And not at all aware or at least acknowledging how you only seem to come to him to smoke the devils lettuce.

But who were you to blame really? Upon first meeting you, he’d offer the joint unprompted and in return you’d hang with him until the boardwalk closes. That was your trade as far as you were aware.

As if sensing your eyes on him, he locks eyes with you and takes it as the signal to approach. You lock up a bit, remembering how… close you two have progressed on the boardwalk.

To be truthful you had been avoiding him for just a little bit now, which was easy considering you’d have no reason to go on the boardwalk besides your once in a blue moon shift at a carnival stand. But Paul seemed to have noticed your avoidance, finding him places you’d never expected too, each time a little closer to home.

But it was too late to run now without making it obvious, as Paul meets you with his characteristic non boundaries, practically draping himself across you as greeting.

Before you could think of a backup plan, you had reached your door, luckily you had accidentally left the lights on before you left. Making it seem like your parents were home despite them being a couple states away for work.

You try to think of a way to politely excuse yourself when Paul asks to borrow a lighter, offering to share a joint or two. As tempting as that was, you didn’t want to let him inside, nor did you want the possible smell lingering inside your home and get in trouble, you tell him the latter reason as you inch towards the door.

Paul offers the backyard as an alternative with a glowing smile, mentioning that your parents will know you're there, but you’ll sit away enough that you won’t get caught, and that’s when you give in. Walking into the house to fetch a lighter and ’telling’ your parents about hanging out in the backyard for awhile.

Paul gets settled quickly on the grassy path, pouting slightly when you sit beside him as opposed to on his lap as he eagerly beckons you too. Lighting up quickly he passes the joint to you and you’re quite proud of yourself and how you didn’t cough as you exhaled, welcoming that familiar warmth in your chest and fuzzy feeling crawling in from the back of your head.

Soon enough, Paul was back to his old tricks, hogging the joint and letting you crawl over him to try and get it back. Demanding some sort of reward for each hit you take, mostly little kisses. He’d prefer them on his lips, but he’s patient enough to let you build up to it, going on his forehead, cheek, and chin. Until he captures your chin and plants a kiss on your lips. Next holding you close and dizzying you with the quick succession of kisses.

Ah, this is what he does. His lack of boundaries upping to an eleven and his boldness holds no bounds as he gets high. Using your need for his weed to squeeze as much affection out of you as much as he could. Everytime it was you who stopped before things went too far, but gradually your resolve weakens as you start to crave more. The only thing holding you back was your perceived prudence. You were already pushing past the line with smoking weed, much less with a stranger, but having sex, all of those at once? It was too overwhelming.

Still that ache that often comes with the high, starts pooling in your tummy, letting Paul pull you into his lap despite your better judgement.

Yes, this is exactly what he does. It almost completely mirrors that night on the boardwalk before you started to avoid him.

Goading you on to his lap, holding your lips hostage as he winds you up. So worked up you don’t notice your hips moving, rubbing against his own. Fingers start to trace your body, seemingly seeping through your clothes to touch your skin, despite Paul's actual hands against your waist.

You jumped a bit, looking around to find no one else, the hands remained on your body, trailing against your sensitive breasts and thighs, constantly moving and overlapping with each other.

You had cum on his lap that night, and he tore off your panties just before you had managed to pull away, not seeming to mind the lack of underwear as Paul gave no chase.

In the morning you had woken and after realising you were sans panties, decided to keep your distance from both the boardwalk and him.

The reminder of your stolen panties comes to the forefront of your mind as you flush. And with the weed clouding your normal reserve you ask what happened to them, the grin Paul gives you almost regret your words. “Oh I think you already know huh?” You do know, you know exactly what a boy like him would do with stolen panties but you push anyway. Playing chicken with answers you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle. “Should I? I don’t have a dirty mind like you, you creep.”

You go to move off of him, but he pulls you back with a renewed vigour. “A creep really? Then you’re my good girl right?” Curling his hips upwards, you feel his chubbed up cock against your clothes. Once again you’re wearing a skirt without shorts underneath. You can feel the heat against your core.

“You’re the one I obsess over huh? The one that I climb into trees to get a glimpse of your bare skin? The one that I just can’t help but steal her panties, sniffing her panties so I can come over and over. Still craving her wet pussy all the while?” Smelling your hair makes him groan, his hips stuttering as he bounces you against him as he grinds up to you. “You’re my good girl huh? The one who’ll tease me to get what she needs? The one who’ll rub one out on her bed with her curtains open on the third floor, After getting the fix she needs and running away just as fast?”

Your eyes widen with fear as he reveals more and more intimate details. The more he talks the more it sounds like a confession, and with all the details he provided, you don’t doubt him. Shakily mentioning that you should go back inside, your parents might worry about how late it is. Paul only smiles with that same lazy smile and says oh so casually “I’m sure that won’t be a problem huh? We’ll be quiet enough as to not wake up the next state over.”

Before you start to thrash in his hold, Paul preemptively rolls you over, trapping you in his embrace, grabbing your panties and ripping them off again, this time unashamedly groaning against them as he huffs.

Dragging his hips back and forwards, Paul cums with a moan, his hips digging deeper into your own as he climbs back down, whining into your neck as he overstimulates himself, his pants dampening from his cum as he continues to rock his hips.

Climbing over, straddling your stomach, he pulls out his still hard cock, preening at your attention. He fondles himself as he speaks, cumming over your chest quickly. “I can’t even be satisfied with my hand anymore, can’t even cum with nobody else, I just need you pretty mama.”

With a shuddering moan, he pulls your shoulders down with unnatural ease. He now straddles your chest, as he continues to pump his dick with gross sounding ‘Schlick Schlick Schlick’s. With your panties still pressed up against his nose between words he whines loudly. “Don’t you feel bad for me? That shit you’ve put me through? If you wanted me so bad that you placed a spell on me, all you had to do was -fuck-ing ask”

His tip was an angry red as his hips jerk forward, his voice cracking between pleads and demands. “Uhhhhg fuck just kiss it won’t you? Open your mouth for me baby, you can do it for me, sugar, I know you can.”

Whether intentionally or not (most likely the latter) Paul’s hands snake up from the back of your nape and that makes you gasp lightly. Coincidentally, that is exactly when Paul rocks his hips forward, nearly gagging you on his girth as he slips forward with a guttural cry. “Fuck-fuck me sugar, like that, yea just… like that.”

Bowing over you, Paul keeps you in that position as he humps your mouth with very small movements, trying to stop his orgasm just yet. Only to cum in the back of your throat as he thrust in fully. His cries getting pitchier as he seems to overstimulate himself more, dragging himself on your tongue as you struggle not to choke on his cum.

Completely overwhelmed by the situation at hand, but your body seems to decide for you, that familiar ache of need that follows you whenever you get high has hit full force. Not being able to do anything about it has you squirming.

Pulling you away by your hair, he taunts you with misplaced smugness. “Fuck that’s so hot, you’re a natural you know that? Look how hard you make me” grabbing at your shirt he shreds it down the middle, grabbing at your tits like a tween boy. “There’s those beautiful tits.”

Familiarly, what feels like multiple hands start to grab at your body tenderly, looking around only shows nothing but the feeling is still there. Pawing at your neglected pussy, a hand gently spreads open your lips to the cold air, another teases at your clit and another starts to prep you open. The hands seem to work in tandem, so close together that they should be overlapping but that does nothing to deter their work.

Squishing your tits around his dick, he slides his dick between them as he watches your facial expressions knowingly. He quickly cums again, bending over to lick your face where his cum had covered as he continued to hump.

Pulling back by your hair he directs you back to his still throbbing erection. “Last time was cute, but suck like you really mean it this time yea? Don’t make me do all the work.” Giving you little time to even process that demand he goes to fuck your mouth again, a bit harder and with a lot less grace. Moaning around his dick, the hand prepping you slides in with two fingers. This time he seems to last longer, with a voice slowly becoming less human sounding he moans unabashedly “you’re doing so well for me, mama, fuck.” Pulling out suddenly, he cums on your chest, just as you were about to cum on the fingers, his seed catching on your open mouth as you pant.

The hands didn’t stop, nor did Paul as he tapped his still hard dick against your tongue. Very slowly moving down your body, he watches your body clench around nothing as if he knew what was going down.

“Stop looking you fucking creEP AH” another finger slips in as more hands cup your tits, toying with the sensitive nips as Paul kisses down your body with a gutteral hum. “Perfect mama, keep calling me that, sayin’ it like that. I’ll show you just how much I crave it.”

His dick slides against your clit, as the hand continues harshly. Rubbing gently at first but then a bit harder, a bit faster, watching you keen.

Pulling your legs over his shoulders as he keeps your thighs closed, Paul once again chases another climax with your thighs as you cum again against this invisible force.

Put still, nothing stops, not until Paul comes on your chest, licking up his cum and chasing down your mouth as he tongue fucks your own.

Kissing slowly down as he crawls in between your thighs, he gives a slow lick to your gushing cunt as you squeal. The warm, wet, and slimy tongue savouring your cum as if it was the best thing to eat. He lets the hands do most of the work, choosing to either watch from above you he makes an even bigger mess of himself, wiping your wet pussy with your panties to sniff. Or he licks you slowly, nursing on your clit with a patience you didn’t think he possessed.

But he was determined to make you cum more than he did, which was a feat in itself. Slowly, the invisible hands around your sensitive pussy faded away, leaving you gasping for breath and tired as hell. But Paul makes himself still very much apparent as he uses his palm to smack on your cunt a few times. Embarrassingly, soaking it as he did so.

Gathering your weak limbs, Paul slipped in easily, convincing himself that you were obviously made for him, not acknowledging how he made you this way. Instead preferring his delusions that you were perfect, just for him, as soon as he saw you on the boardwalk.

Wasting no time at all, Paul starts a punishing pace, meanly pinching at your teased nipples and smacking against your clit as you gush around him.

With weak arms you push at his chest, but he easily bats those away as he curls over you, giving you sweet little kisses as he rearranges your guts. Contrasted with the downright disgusting noises he makes as he moans unabashedly, his hips making loud clapping and squelching noises.

You cum around his cock but just as you were expecting he would, he pushes past your orgasm to chase the next one, making you outwardly cry from the overstimulation, barely making any noise as you pant from exhaustion. Paul only kisses up your tears, further silencing your moans as he tongue fucks your mouth.

After quickening up his pace you knew he’d be cumming soon, squirming under him, you really didn’t want to pay for plan b, but he isn’t moved so easily, pulling you back by your hips as he gasps, his forehead resting on your sternum. Just as you had predicted, his cum gushed into your spent cunt and you prayed that he would tucker himself out finally, but apparently god was determined to get your back broken, and so was Paul.

Hiking up your thighs over his own, your pelvis now elevated as your head still rests on the dirty ground, Paul starts to fuck you slower, but harder then before. Pushing up your shirt and bunching up your skirt at your waist, Paul all but salvates over them, laughing as he watches you try to cover them up embarrassed. Holding on to your forearms he uses them as leverage to fuck you deeper, making you cry out lewdly.

Time passes as Paul stays attached to you like a leech, and you start to wonder if he’ll ever let up. Swapping to different positions, trying to find the one he likes the best, but he just can’t seem to make up his mind as he fucks you over and over. Your only peace comes and you barely miss it but as a voice calls out, Paul slows down just enough. Dazed as all hell, you watch as Paul turns his head to regard the newcomers casually, not bothering to cover either of you up nor stop his menstrations.

You can barely understand the conversation but it seems to upset Paul, as he tightens his grip and growls, he fucking growls. And even more embarrassingly, the growl sends vibrations against you, making you mewl loudly. And that was met with whistles and chuckles, as Paul turns back to you to look at you adoringly.

The one who was mainly talking clears his throat, saying one last comment and despite the fact you expected Paul to pull away, instead he turns around and goes back to fucking you, turning your body sideways to where the three boys now stood. With one leg on his shoulder, he throws comments to the boys that you can’t process. It took two shuddering almost painful orgasms of yours until Paul came again. With no signs of stopping the two boys who kept quiet had to wrestle Paul off of you.

He growled, hissed, and made spitting noises like a cornered cat. But he eventually regained himself enough where they let him go. Allowing him to say goodbye, he crawls up to you again, using your panties to wipe both of your frothed up cum that spread onto your legs and abdomen, pocketing them and carrying you into your room through your open window.

Kissing you slowly he searches your room, for a keepsake or two as he looks for a pen. Grabbing your arm gently, he writes on your arm instructions before he kisses you again, tucks you into bed, locks up the window he just broke into, and lets himself out through the front door. Picklocking it closed behind him.

��When you can move again, meet me at the boardwalk or I’ll come to you ❤️’ -Paul

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #tlb fanfic #tlb paul #paul the lost boys #tlb smut #the lost boys smut #yandere the lost boys #yandere Paul #yandere smut

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