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harmonicakai · 28 days

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Like Real People Do

Pairing: Gyuvin x Reader

Summary: You find yourself falling for the cute boy whose writing assignments you proofread, and discover that your lives have been intertwined for longer than you thought.

Tropes: tutor!reader, basketball player!gyuvin, writers, soulmates, college AU, fluff

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: literally none it’s so cute

A/N: This is a formal apology for my Beomgyu angst <3

“And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me?” —Invisible String, Taylor Swift

Gyuvin certainly doesn’t need any help with English, but it gives him a good excuse to spend time in between classes and basketball practice staring at you.

If anything, your talents would be better suited to helping one of his classmates understand all the old poems or crazy novels that they get assigned, but he’s the one who lucked out when your former professor suggested you read her most promising student’s work.

From the first draft, you were hooked, and had somehow started a writer’s circle where just the two of you meet weekly to share your works in progress.

In no time, you’ve helped Gyuvin become one of the top students in Writing 101, and he’s worried you’ll notice that he’d be just fine if you stopped helping him. Still, the A’s keep rolling in and you keep meeting up with him anyway.

When Gyuvin’s latest short story gets nominated for a departmental prize, you’re over the moon for him.

“You are so amazing,” you smile up at him. “We should celebrate! That’s a really big deal. I was nominated last year, but didn’t come close to winning.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he points out, looking down at the ground and rubbing the back of his neck. “Really, Y/N. If I win, it would be just as much your prize as it would be mine.”

“Don’t be silly,” you say, packing up the rest of your lunch. You usually only see him in the library at your designated meeting time, but today, he sought you out in the courtyard to make sure you were the first person he told. “I’m just the editor. All of the ideas came from you. Plus, I’m only good at English because I grew up speaking it. It’s much more impressive for you to have learned it recently and write at the level that you do.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Y/N,” he replies, helping you up off your picnic blanket. Before you can do it yourself, he’s already reaching down to fold it, his long arms handling the fabric with ease. “You’d write circles around me any day.”

“I don’t want to get into another compliment war,” you giggle, swinging your backpack over your shoulder. Recently, it’s been filled with way too many books, and your classes are so jam-packed that you never have time to run back to your room in between them.

“Here, Y/N, let me,” he says, taking your backpack from you. He’s already got his own on, but he wears yours over his front, barely even flinching at the extra weight. “Where are you headed next? I’m done with my classes for the day, so I can walk you.”

He’s always been desperate to ask you to hang out outside of your brainstorming sessions, but every time he thinks he’s worked up the courage, you’ll laugh or smile or even just glance at him and his brain short circuits.

“I have a music class across campus in thirty minutes,” you reply. “Don’t you live the other way, though? You really don’t have to walk me. It’s pretty far.”

“I want to,” Gyuvin reassures you. He offers his hand. “Here. I walk pretty fast, so let’s make sure I don’t leave you behind.”

You hesitate for a moment before taking it. You’ve had a crush on Gyuvin ever since the two of you first crossed paths—he’s the literal embodiment of sunshine trapped inside a cute boy—but things have only ever been friendly between the two of you.

His hand is big, wrapping itself around yours almost entirely. The walk is silent, although you swear you can hear your heart about to beat out of your chest as you pull him along your usual route. Gyuvin makes sure to always let you lead.

“You know,” you start, still not looking back at him. “We’re kind of like Orpheus and Eurydice right now.”

Gyuvin lights up at the reference, with mythology being one of the first things you two really bonded over. “If you looked back at me, the only thing I’d probably die of is how cute you are, Y/N.”

You’re glad you’re turned away so he can’t see the bright blush that’s spread across your cheeks. His words get you so flustered that you don’t even notice you’ve stopped walking.

“Did I say something wrong?” Gyuvin asks, his voice laced with concern. He moves to face you, your height difference causing him to crane his neck down. Meanwhile, your gaze is locked on your shoes.

“Gyuvin,” you say, still refusing to meet his eye. You pull him over to a nearby bench. “Remember when I said I liked the love story you wrote the other day?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he confirms. “You complimented me on how realistic it was and I told you it was only because I based it off of real life.”

“Was it…” your words catch in your throat, unable to face the embarrassment of if you’re wrong. “Was it about us?”

“Yes,” he admits almost immediately. You finally turn to face him, greeted by a nervous look. “Listen, Y/N. I only wrote it because I knew you’d read it, and I thought maybe if you saw how good characters that were a lot like us could be together, you’d give me a chance in real life. But you didn’t really notice, or maybe you just wanted to ignore it, so I kind of abandoned all hope of us ever being together.”

You blink back at him. How could you be so oblivious? Your entire major was based on analyzing words, and you couldn’t even see that he wanted to be with you so badly that he had to write it into existence.

Words always come easy to you, except at this very moment.

“You abandoned all hope?” is all you can manage to get out. You try to pull your hand away, but he only grips it tighter.

“I tried,” Gyuvin says, his voice soft. “But you’re all I ever think about. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever be capable of writing someone who even comes close to how wonderful I think you are, Y/N. There just aren’t words to describe all the ways in which you’re special to me.”

You laugh, his words making tears well up in your eyes. “You know, I used to go to basketball games a lot before we even met, just so I wouldn’t have to feel so lonely all the time. And I remember liking your smile and the way you always encouraged your teammates. I would go home and wish I had someone like you in my life.”

“You’re kidding,” he says, taking out his wallet. You knit your brows in confusion, watching as he pulls out a small piece of paper and unfolds it. “Here.”

He hands it to you and your eyes widen at the words printed out. It’s the poem that you had published in the school’s literary magazine last spring about wanting to romanticize your life. Talking about your feelings makes you anxious, but nobody reads those publications. Except for Gyuvin, apparently.

“I liked you before we even met, too,” Gyuvin confesses. “Your poem is actually the reason I got into writing in the first place. I used to read it before all of my games, but I know all the words by heart now, so I just keep it in my wallet for good luck.”

This all feels too good to be true, but his touch keeps you grounded in reality.

“Maybe I should start coming to basketball games again, then,” you think out loud. “I stopped going because I felt awkward not knowing anybody.”

“Well, now you’d know me, and I’ll make sure the whole team gets to know you, too, okay?” The way he smiles at you, his eyes so full of light, takes your breath away.

“Really?” you ask, looking at him in disbelief. The thought of meeting so many new people at the same time scares you, but if Gyuvin likes them, you’re sure you will too.

“On one condition,” he says, closing the gap between the two of you. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand settling on your cheek. “I get to introduce you as my girlfriend.”

“Deal,” you grin, inching closer until your lips are pressed against his. You’re nervous that he’ll somehow figure out that you’ve only ever read about kissing in books, but the way he melts into you tells you that he doesn’t mind.

“You’re going to be late for class,” Gyuvin reminds you, pulling away. He desperately wants to keep going, but not at the expense of your grades.

“Class can wait,” you say, leaning in for another kiss. Your fingers lace themselves through his soft, messy hair. “I said we’d celebrate your nomination, so let’s celebrate.”

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notdeadyetnatural · 2 years

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Trying to decide weather or not I should go drop off my resume at this ice cream shop where I’m thinking of trying to get a summer job

#idek if they are hiring.#but it’s a Mexican ice cream shop where iv heard a lot of the employees speak Spanish #and I’m taking the AP Spanish test next May. and the study guide says the best way to get ready is real world experience #like helping English learners or tutoring Spanish or getting a job where you might speak Spanish a lot #idk. I probably won’t but I might #maybe #og #personal stuffs

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helen-with-an-a · 12 days

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Something About Finals pt 1

Hiya, so this was originally supposed to be all 1 story, but then I wrote almost 10K words so I've decided to split it up so the next part/s will be out tomorrow etc. This is inspired by the Pokal final when Lena fell and shouted 'mein Knie'. I hope you enjoy

Lena Oberdorf x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2

Description: There's something about playing in a Final that R really hates

Word Count: 3.7k

Moving to Wolfsburg might have been the best thing to ever happen to you. Was it a huge risk? Maybe. 18 years old – almost 19, as you kept reminding your parents – and wide-eyed, moving to country where you didn’t speak the language and you had no one to call a friend to help settle you in. It could have been the worst mistake of your young life. Except, it wasn’t. Yes, moving had been terrifying … packing up your belongings into suitcases and buying a one-way ticket was something you hadn’t anticipated doing at such a young age. But the offer from Wolfsburg was too enticing. You made your debut for your childhood club at just 16 years old and the national team came calling a year later. Offers came flying in when you expressed to your agent that you might consider leaving the club. You had expected it to still be in the WSL; one of the Manchesters perhaps, or Chelsea, or Arsenal. You hadn’t considered even the slightest possibility that an international league was looking at you. But you couldn’t not go; this was a chance to play with the greats, to play in another league, to gain even more experience.

Your flat was small, a shoebox with a too small kitchen and an even smaller living room and bedroom, but it was yours. All yours. It also helped that you weren’t the only newbie … and by some coincidence, you lived right across from each other. You officially first met at your media and signing days.

“Hallo,” she said merrily. “Ich bin Lena, aber alle nennen mich Obi.” She stuck out her tanned hand, a wide smile on her round face. You understood the first part, but the rest confused your somewhat.

“Ha-hallo. Ich bin Y/N.” Your German was very stilted, but you were trying. You had a Club appointed tutor every Tuesday and Thursday to help you get to grips with the language. You had a Duolingo streak going, you tried to watch as much TV in German as possible, but you still weren’t the best.

“Do you want me to speak in English?” She asked, smiling wider at your relieved sigh.

“I promise I am trying, I’m just not very good.” You explained, you didn’t want to come across like a stereotypical Brit, you really were putting in the effort to learn the new language.

“It’s not a problem, I’m sure you’ll pick it up in no time.”

And you did … although it helped that you spend basically every day with Lena who insisted on being your personal teacher. At first, it was on your way to training, since you lived opposite each other, you car shared. She would drive as you fiddled with the radio, slowly incorporating more and more German into your conversation. Then the car rides became after-training coffees where you would spend far too long chatting the afternoon away. Then the coffees became dinners and breakfasts, and before you knew it, Lena had cemented herself firmly in your life. She was your everything. Your best friend. Your person. And you wanted more. You wanted your post-match snuggles to be more than just two tactile best friends recharging after a hard game. You wanted your shared dinners to mean more than just two friends hanging out. You wanted your daily cuddles, your shared wardrobe, your stuff in her shower, your pictures on the wall to be more than just friendly interactions. You wanted to hold her hand, and place kisses on anywhere you could reach. You wanted to have to hold you and tell you how well you played and how proud she was of you. You wanted to look after her and for her to do the same. Looking back, it was easy to see how innocent you were.

It took the team’s Christmas party and an intervention for you to finally admit your feelings for each other. Too many of the girls had become too fed up with the strange push-and-pull dance you and Lena were doing to let you get away with it. Ingrid had marched straight towards you as you stared longingly at your best friend, oblivious to the looks you would receive back when your eyes darted away. Ingrid took you firmly by the wrist and dragged you into the bathroom, instructing you to stay put as she disappeared again. You were too shocked to do anything else until an equally confused Lena was shoved into the bathroom as well.

“Talk to each other, for crying out loud.” Frido had shouted through the door.

“You both are head over heels in love with each other.” Ewa clarified. The silence that followed was so, so awkward. You stared firmly at your feet as Lena leant against the sink.

“Is it true?” Lena asked first, breaking the quiet. You took a deep breath, this was it. You gulped, eyes never leaving the patch you had decided to stare at. “Look at me,” she demanded softly. You shook your head. You couldn’t watch your best friend, the person you considered the most important person in your life, reject you. “Bitte sieh mich an, liebling.” How could you refuse when she spoke so softly, so sweetly? You let your eyes drift up, taking in her outfit appreciatively before settling on her chocolate eyes. As your gazes met, your racing heart slowed slightly, your ragged breathing evened out, your nervousness melted away. She always could calm you down. “Is it true?” she asked again. “What Ewa said … that you … love … me? Is it true?” Your eyes danced nervously away, unable to hold her intense stare. “Please,” Lena surged forward, one hand coming to your waist as the other cupped your cheek, guiding you back to looking at her. “Is it true?” Her eyes scanned your face, taking in the festive makeup, the blush that she was fairly sure was due to her proximity rather than any product you put on or alcohol you had consumed. You bit your lip, nodding slightly.

“Yes,” you whispered so quietly it was barely audience. She sighed, relief flooding her system (although you didn’t know that) as she closed her eyes. You also squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to look at Lena as she voiced her flattery, but she really didn’t feel the same way and that you would always be her best friend and nothing more.

“I feel the same.” Your eyes flew open. The shock must have been apparent on your face as she huffed out an amused snort, her thumb rubbing at your cheek. “I want … this … us, for however long you want me.”

“You … you do?”

“Ja, of course I do.” You let out a surprised laugh. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought that Lena liked you back.

“Do you wanna go out for brunch tomorrow?” You asked hopefully, a crooked smirk appearing on your face. She chuckled lightly, a loving expression filling her face.

“Like on a date?” She asked, raising a questioning eyebrow. You nodded. “Yes, liebling. I do want to go out for a brunch date with you tomorrow.” An infectious grin graced your features, hers following similarly.

It took three dates for Lena to officially ask you to be her girlfriend. It took another one for you to take initiative and kiss her. It took 4 months for you to properly confess you loved each other. After a year, you officially moved in with her. She was your everything and you were her all.

It wasn’t until the Euros that you realised just how much she meant to you.

You had always known this was a possibility. You were drawn in different groups, and then different quarterfinals, and then semifinals. And then you were facing each other in the European championship finals. Your home Euros. A packed Wembley and the nation backing you from their homes. All you had to do was beat Germany … beat Lena. Your victory would mean her defeat. Despite reassurances from her that regardless of the result she would still love you, you couldn’t help the nerves from bubbling up. Yes, you knew that logically she would never hold your success over you in that way – just like her winning wouldn’t change your feelings for her – but you were a worrier. After your Sweden game, you had spent over an hour on the phone, giving and receiving reassurances of your love, your pride and your well wishes.

It was barely 10 minutes into the game when it all went wrong. Funnily enough, you were marking Lena, stepping towards her to crowd her out of possession. You had succeeded as well, tipping the ball away just enough for Keira to collect it and start the English attack. It was as you turned around, extricating yourself from Lena … no, not Lena, it was just a German player, just a part of the opposition and not your girlfriend at this point in time … that you felt it. You had planted your foot and twisted, pushing off the grass to run into the open space. It was a move you had done thousands, if not millions of times in your life, both on and off the pitch. Something pinged, and then popped and your knee felt strange. You gasped at the pain, a shocked intake of air that had Millie and Leah looking at you in concern. The shout you let out as you went to the floor had Sara and Marina slowing their defensive block. Eventually, the ref’s whistle went when it was clear that you were not about to get up and continue play.

“Kid, talk to us, what’s wrong?” Lucy asked, her hand coming to smooth over your back. All you could do was let out a whimper in response, still clutching tightly onto your left knee, trying to push back the agony that was radiating through your leg.

“Medics are on their way, honey. Just hang in there.” Millie scratched at your head tenderly. All Lena could do was look on in deep, deep concern. She was frozen in place, near enough to the huddle of England players to hear the worry in their voices but not close enough to see your face. It was Lauren Hemp who nudged her, nodding at you, and telling Lena that you needed her.

“Obi,” you called out weakly for your girlfriend. All you wanted was her to wrap you up in her warm, strong, soft arms and tell you everything would be fine. Lena jumped into action, lightly pushing through the England girls to crouch at your side.

“Hey, liebling,” she cooed as she grasped onto your hand. You clutched it so tightly that she thought you might have broken her bones. “Is it your knee?” She asked, praying that it wasn’t as severe as it looked. You moaned, nodding slightly. The girls in the huddle around you all made eye contact with each other. You had gone down off the ball … in a twisting motion … and now your knee was causing you enough pain that you couldn’t speak properly. “Ok, liebe. The medics are here.” The circle split away, most of the English players leaving to regroup slightly further away. Lena had gone to move to the side as well. She could see the German team looking on with worry etched on their faces. You were good friends with most, if not all of the players – knowing them either through Wolfsburg or having being introduced through Lena in the 18 months you had been together.

“Don’t go.” You whined as the medics rolled you onto your back, looking up at her with tears in your eyes.

“I’m not, liebling. I’m right here.” She squeezed your hand three times. Ultimately, though, you were separated. You were loaded onto the revolting orange stretcher and carried off the pitch to a loud round of applause as Lena went back to the German huddle.

At half-time, Lena had tried to look for you on the England benches or in the tunnel but had no luck in spotting you.

“She’s still getting tests and stuff.” Jill took pity on the younger player, walking down the tunnel side by side. Lena nodded, clearing her throat slightly.

“She’ll be ok,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, trying to keep the nerves and bad thoughts from creeping in.

“She’s a tough little cookie,” Jill agreed. “We’ll make sure someone tells one of you if there’s any updates.” Jill had always taken an embarrassing aunt type roll in your life, keeping a solid eye on you during national camps and was one of the first to be introduced to Lena, alongside Lucy and Millie.

“Tell Poppi, uh … Alex Popp, if there’s anything to know.” Lena said quickly. Alex was injured and definitely wouldn’t be playing this game; she would be able to get the information and make a judgement on whether to tell the squad. Jill smiled and nodded before turning to the English back rooms.

Mixed emotions flooded you when the final whistle went. You had just won the countries first piece of silverware since 1966. You were European Champions. But it was at the expense of your girlfriend. You watched from the sidelines, crutches keeping you upright and stable, as Lena sank to the ground, head in her hands. You slowly hopped onto the pitch. You were slowed even further by the other England girls, they swarmed you, pressing kisses to your foreheads and gently squeezing you as you told them the news. Eventually, you made your way to Lena. She was in Poppi’s arms, Alex whispering reassuring and comforting words in her ears as they both cried. You didn’t clear your throat or make any indication you were there and waiting for her. Instead, you busied yourself with looking around the stadium, taking in the crowd singing along to Sweet Caroline.

“Hey, mausi.” Alex smiled at you.

“Hi, Poppi.” She pointedly looked at your crutches and then raised an eyebrow, silently asking you to confirm what she already knew. You nodded, a sad smile forming. She closed her eyes for a second, nodding and letting go of Lena and moving away, giving you to privacy.

“Hey, bubba.” You stood awkwardly, grimacing as you met her watery eyes.

“Hi.” She said dejectedly. You crutched forward once before Lena snapped out of her daze, rushing to you, and pulling you into a hug. “I’m so, so proud of you.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out.

“No, no, liebling, don’t be sorry. You deserve this, more than anyone else. I’ve seen you put in the work for this-” she stepped back, hands on your shoulders and she looked in your eyes.

“But so have you. And-”

“No, I won’t hear any of that. You are not apologising.” You sighed but nodded, nonetheless. “My girlfriend is a European Champion.” She smiled at you as she shook you very gently, quietly cheering for you. You couldn’t help the wide grin that appeared. It wasn’t until Lena scanned your body that she seemed to fully clock the crutches.

“Your knee,” she gasped. You hated telling anyone any form of bad news, but this … this was a thousand times worse than anything you’ve done before.

“I’ve done it. It’s torn. I’m having surgery back in Germany in like a week or so.” You blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears from falling. You couldn’t even say the words … you had torn your ACL in a European Championship final … it made it too real.

“Oh, liebe …” Lena pulled you very gently back into a hug. “It’s ok. You’ve got this, ja. I’m not going anywhere, you will not be doing this alone,” she reassured you emphatically. You nodded, breathing in her slightly sweaty scent. “Now,” she said as you pulled apart after a long minute, but not long enough in your opinion. “You are going to go and celebrate, but not too hard,” she teasingly warned. “I’ll text you, ok?” You nodded, closing your eyes as her hand cupped your cheek. “Ich liebe dich.”

“Ich liebe dich auch,” you responded, letting her press a long and gentle kiss to your forehead.

Lena was true to her word in very sense of it. She had managed to finagle her way onto the same flight as you back to Germany – pulling both suitcases through the terminals and holding your hand for the whole duration of the flight. She walked next to you, never complaining at the snail’s pace that you crutched along the busy streets of Wolfsburg. She was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes after the surgery, the familiar grip of her warm hand helping you reorientate yourself in the land of the living. When you went from two crutches down to one, she was there, intertwining your fingers with hers as you tottered the length of the gym. When you finally got rid of both crutches, she was the first thing you walked to. It had been a surprise for her as she entered the gym, coming to collect you from your rehab as she finished her regular training session. You were alone in the gym – something that was very unusual considering the session had just finished and medics and trainers should be writing up notes all around you – but she watched with nervous anticipation as you gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher before you dropped your crutch and hobbled, very slowly, into her embrace. She had quietly cried into your shoulder as you pressed hundreds of kisses into her freshly washed hair. She was your personal cheerleader as she watched you run for the first time, laughing at Jule’s teasing comments from behind the camera as your progress was documented. When you finally ran on the grass, she had been like an excitable puppy – the unbridled delight she exhibited at your movements was infectious, lifting everyone’s spirits as the team watched on from further away.

Very tear you had shed; she had wiped away. Every harsh word and angry comment you threw her way; she had taken it in her stride. She had been your rock throughout the whole ordeal, and you don’t think you could ever repay her. You had surprised her with a fancy homecooked meal the day you told her about your return to full fitness. You had been given the all clear to rejoin team training that afternoon and you had been buzzing to tell her. It took everything in you not to spill as you arrived in the changing rooms. But instead, you had persuaded her, Jule and Sveindís to go spend the afternoon doing some light shopping, something that Lena had been missing out on recently due to your injury. You had rushed around the kitchen, cooking up a storm as you prepared all her favourite foods. You had just placed the finishing touches to the meal when she returned. You both had matching tears in your eyes when you told her the news. You were lucky, you where healing nicely and quicker than the average player. She had stood far too close to be considered work appropriate at training the next day, her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your back into her chest as you listened to the pre-training huddle. She had snapped you up as her partner for every drill, ignoring Alex’s, Svenja’s, and Jill’s comments about sharing you with the rest of the team. You couldn’t hide your excitement from her when you were cleared to return to the match day squad. You had bounded out of the medical offices and straight into the gym, squealing in pure joy as you approached her. She set the weights down quickly as you barrelled into her. She had kissed you with as much passion as possible when the words tumbled from your lips, sticking a middle finger up at the jeers from the rest of the team.

It was a cold evening in early March when you stepped back on the field. It was poetic justice really that you offered Lena the most perfect cross into the box for her volley into the back of the net. Barely 4 minutes on the pitch and you were back. It was like you had never been away. Each time you were made as a substitution you had an almost instant impact, creating chances as soon as you stepped onto the pitch. Your first start back had been one of the best experiences you’d had at Wolfsburg. The players were humming with enthusiasm for you, Lena’s arm wrapped around your shoulder until you had to walk out. Despite being subbed off at 70 minutes, you were still hot and sweaty at the end of the match, but you didn’t care as you jumped onto Lena, laughing as she staggered under your unexpected weight.

“Sie ist zurück,” Lynn cheered as Lena span around in circles, you clinging to her as your joint laughter filled the pitch.

“Ich bin so zurück!” You stuck your tongue out at Lynn jokingly.

Lena had been with you when you received the email from Sarina. If she wasn’t, she would have thought you were dying with the loudness of your scream when the England team email popped up in your inbox. She had wrapped you up in her strong embrace as your tears spilled over. You spent the day on the couch, watching Disney movies and definitely breaking your diet, your weight fully on her as you snuggled, both of you drifting in and out of sleep. It had been a rough 7 and a half months for you, filled with many, many dark days. But Lena had been there to hold you through it all, to guide you out of the tough times with gentle words and soft kisses filled with love and hope. You didn’t know if you could ever, ever repay her for everything she had done for you.

And then you were off to the World Cup.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3<3

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openconceptpanicroom · 8 months

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IMAGINE BEING AN: American student at JJK

2006!Geto x fem!reader

2006!Gojo x fem!reader

Summary: Your first few months as an American at Tokyo Jujutsu High. Shoko is the best.

Note: fluff, hints of pining, flirting, culture clash antics.

Coming in as the new girl is never easy. Especially not when you’re in a completely different country with different social norms and rules.

Sure, your Japanese was passable, but you weren’t conversational yet. And there were so many rules to follow when speaking to someone. It was enough to make you mute for the first two weeks of school. Sometimes guys would approach you and you would get excited, thinking they were flirting with you… only to find out they wanted you to tutor them in English. Other students were nice enough to only talk about you behind your back. American bullies are way more straightforward. It was sorta refreshing to just be politely shunned as opposed to being loudly excluded like you were used to.

The first person to be nice to you was Ieiri Shoko. She was laidback, knew a surprising amount of English, and could see you needed a friend. She taught you better phrases to use in conversation, “So you won’t sound like a freakin’ textbook,” she’d say. You started hanging out with her outside of class too. Shoko knew good places to eat and spots in Tokyo that weren’t terribly crowded. The only problem(s) were those two guys she had hanging around her all the time.

Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.

Those two were the superstars of the school. Two students who were guaranteed to be the strongest sorcerers alive once they graduated. Everyone adored them, except for a few sensible people. You would ask about them sometimes. Mainly things like: “Are they like, always like that?” or “How do you stay sane around them!?”

Geto was polite. You could say that much. Other than that, you found him very intimidating. This tall, lanky young sorcerer with piercing dark eyes and that mocking smirk. He had some, uh, interesting thoughts about America. Nothing you hadn’t heard before. Americans were lazy, arrogant, thought the world revolved around them. What irked you was when he said that American sorcerers “mix too much,” with ordinary folk. The day you caught him staring at you, you left class to “go to the bathroom,” and just didn’t come back. It took a long chat with Shoko to be convinced he wasn’t going to corner you in an alley and kill you. Geto would speak to you only in Japanese, and he would speak slowly. Like you were an idiot. The nicest thing he had said to you in those early days was a bit conceited. He’d complimented you by saying, “I’ve heard of your family. They’re a modest bloodline, I wouldn’t have assumed you came from them… they must be proud of you.”

Gojo was the most irritating. Surprisingly loud and cocky, totally unlike most of the boys you had met so far. And, unlike most boys, he would not stop pestering you about American pop-culture. He knew absolutely no English, except for dated quotes or catchphrases from movies. Sometimes he would shout your name just so he could say something corny like, “Stay golden, Ponyboy.” You were certain he was making fun of you. And, like Geto, you were very intimidated by the most powerful student in school.

He also had no concept of personal space and had made it his mission to get you to talk. Which meant a lot of him popping up out of nowhere and slinging an arm around you. There were a lot of jealous girls that assumed you were dating. All he wanted was to have bragging rights that he got you to talk. Needless to say, Gojo was devastated when he found out Shoko was talking to you outside of class. It had been a nice day, Shoko was going to meet up with you at a park to get sorbet and chat. Then Gojo found her.

“She talks to you? To you?!” Birds took off to the skies. An elderly woman shot him a dirty look, dropping her handful of birdseed before hobbling away.

Shoko took a drag of her cigarette, “Yup.”

Gojo flopped down onto the seat next her. She hoped he wouldn’t be too obnoxious, this was a public park “But I was supposed to be the one to break down her walls!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so pushy, she would talk to you,” she deadpanned.

They continued to bicker, with Gojo insisting he had been nothing but an excellent ambassador of good will and Shoko calling him an idiot. You had showed up to hang out with Shoko, only to freeze when you saw Gojo. Just as you tried to sneak off, you bumped into Geto. This casual hangout with Shoko had turned into a foursome and neither boy was letting you weasel out of it.

Thankfully, Shoko kept you calm enough to have a good time.

With how sheltered Gojo had been, there were aspects of his own culture that were novel to him. There were lots of movies and tv shows that were new to you both. Not to mention junk food. Gojo needed Shoko to help him translate certain things, but he was actually a fun guy. He kept you laughing most of the time. If only he would stop hugging you from behind like he was your boyfriend. Geto was quiet, trying to absorb the sound of your voice. Listening to how you pronounced words in English and Japanese. He would never say it out loud, but he found your interest in the temples and folklore to be cute. He did join Gojo in teasing you. Both boys tried to get you to call them by their first name. Insisting “No, no! It’s fine! No need to be formal. We’re all friends now, right?”

You took a swig of yuzu flavored cream soda and said in Japanese, “I know what first names mean here. We aren’t close enough for that, people at school would think we’re dating.” With a pout you added in English, “And no hot guy is worth getting torn to shreds by a jealous fan club.”

Geto only leaned down to you, smirking as he said, (in English) “Then you can call me Suguru… in private.”

You gagged on your drink. This was how you found out Geto Suguru knew five different languages fluently. Gojo begged Geto and Shoko to translate what was said. You just focused on calming down. What a lovely start to an awkward friendship.

#jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk #shoko ieiri #geto suguru #gojo satoru #geto x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader

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literary-illuminati · 5 months

Text

Book Review 68 - Babel by R. F. Kuang

Overview

I came to Babel with extremely little knowledge about the actual contents of the book but a deep sense of all the vibes swirling around its reception – that it was robbed of a Hugo nomination (if the author didn’t outright refuse it), that it’s probably the single buzziest and most Important sf/f release of 2022, that it was stridently political, and plenty more besides. I also went in having mostly enjoyed The Poppy War series and being absolutely enamoured by the elevator pitch of an alternate history Industrial Revolution where translation is literally magic. And, well-

It is wrong to say I hated this book, but only because keeping track of my complaints and starting organize this review in my head was entertaining enough to keep me invested in the reading experience.

The story is set in an alternate 1830s, where the rise of the British Empire relies upon the dominance of its translators, as it is the mixture of translation and silverworking, the inscription of match-pairs in different languages on bars of worked silver and the leveraging of the ambiguity and loss of meaning between them that fuels the world’s magic. The protagonist is pluckted from his childhood home in Canton after his family dies in a cholera outbreak and whisked away to the estate of Professor Lowell, an Oxford translator he quickly realized is his unacknowledged father. He’s made to choose an English name (Robin Swift) and raised and tutored as a future translator in service to the Empire.

The meat of the story is focused on Robin’s education in Oxford, his relationship with the rest of his cohort, and his growing radicalization and entanglement with the revolutionary Hermes Society. Things come to a head when in his fourth year the cohort is sent back to Canton to, well, help provoke the first Opium War, though none of them aware of that. The final act follows the fallout of that, by which I mean it lives up to the full title of “Or the Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution”.

To be clear, this was technically a very accomplished book. The writing never dragged and the prose was, if not exactly lyrical, always clear and often evocative. Despite the breadth of space and time the story covers, I never had any complaints about the pacing – and honestly, the ending was, dramatically speaking, one of the more natural and well-executed ones I’ve read recently. It’s very well-constructed.

All that being said – allow me to apologize for how the rest of this is mostly just going to be a litany of complaints. But the book clearly believes itself to be an important and meaningful work of political art, which means I don’t feel particularly bad about holding it to high standards.

Narrative Voice

To start with, just, dear god the tone. This is a book with absolutely zero faith in its audience’s ability to reach their own conclusions, or even follow the symbolism and implication it lays down. Every important point is stated outright, repeated, and all but bolded and underlined. In this book set in 1830s England there are footnotes fact-checking the imperialists talking heads to, I guess, make sure we don’t accidentally become convinced by their apologia for the slave trade? Everything is just relentlessly didactic, in a way that ended up feeling rather insulting even when I agreed with the points Kuang was making.

More than that, and this is perhaps a more subjective complaint but – for an ostensible period piece, the narrative voice and perspective just felt intensely modern? This was theoretically an omniscient third person book, with the narrative voice being pretty distinct from any of the actual characters – with the result that the implicit narrator was instead the sort of person of spends six hours a day getting into arguments on twitter and for this effort calls themselves a progressive activist. The identities of all the characters – as delivered by the objective narration – were all very neat and legible from the perspective of someone at a 2022 HR department listing how diverse their team was, which was somewhere between a tragic lost opportunity to show how messy and historical racial/ethnic/national identities are and outright anachronistic, depending. (This was honestly one of the bigger disappointments, coming from Kuang’s earlier work. Say what you will of The Poppy War series, the narration is with Rin all the way down, and it trusts the reader enough not to blink.) More than that it was just distracting – the narration ended up feeling like an annoying obstacle between me and the story, and not in any fun postmodern way either.

Characters

Speaking of the cast – they simply do not sound or feel like they actually grew up in the 19th century. Now, some modernization of speech patterns and vocabulary and moral commensense is just the price of doing business with mass market period pieces, granted, but still – no 19th century Anglo-Indian revolutionary is going use the phrase ‘Narco-military state’ (if for no other reason than we’re something like a century early for ‘narco-state’ to be coined as a term at all). An even beyond feeling out of time most of the characters feel kind of thinly sketched?

Or no, it’s not that the characters are thinly sketched so much as their relationships are. We’re repeatedly, insistently told that these four students are fast friends and closer than family and would happily die for each other, but we’re very rarely actually shown it. This is partly just a causality of trying to skim over a four-year university education in the middle third of one book, I think, but still – the good times and happy moments are almost always sort of skimmed over, summarized in the course of a paragraph or two that usually talk in terms of memories and consequences more than the relationships themselves. The points of friction and the arguments, meanwhile, are usually played out entirely on the page, or at least described in much more detail. In the end you kind of have to just take it as read that any of these people actually love each other, given that at least two of them seem to be feuding at any given point for the entire time they know each other.

Letty deserves some special attention. She’s the only white member of Robin’s cohort at Babel and she honestly feels like less of acharacter and more a collection of tropes about white women in progressive spaces? Even more than the rest, it’s hard to believe the rest of the class views her as beloved ride-or-die found family when essentially every time she’s on screen it’s so she can do a microagression or a white fragility or something. Also, just – you know how relatively common it is to see just, blatantly misogynistic memes repackaged as anti-racist because it specifies ‘white women’? There’s a line in this that almost literally says ‘Letty wasn’t doing anything to disprove the stereotype of woman as uselessly emotional and hysteric’.

Also, she’s the one who ends up betraying the other three and trying to turn them in when they turn revolutionary. Which is probably inevitable given the book’s politics, but as it happened felt like less of the shocking betrayal that it was supposed to be and more just, checking off a box for a dramatic reverse. Of course she turned on them, none of them ever really seemed to even like each other.

As a Period Piece

So, the book is set in the 1830s, in the midst of the industrial revolution and its social fallout, and the leadup to the First Opium War (which is, through the magic of, well, magic ,but also mercantilist economics, make into a synecdoche for British global dominion more broadly). On the one hand, the setting is impeccably researched, recent and relevant historical events are referenced whenever they would come up, and the footnotes are full to bursting with quotes and explanations of texts or cultural ephemera that’s brought up in the narration.

On the other, the setting doesn’t feel authentic in the slightest, the portrayal of the British Empire is bizarrely inconsistent, and all that richly researched historical grounding ends up feeling less like a living world and more like a particularly well-down set for a Doctor Who episode.

The story is incredibly focused around Oxford as a city and a university. There’s a whole author’s note about the research and slight changes made into its geography and I absolutely believe its portrayal as a physical location and the laws about how women were treated and how the different colleges were organized and all that is exactly as accurate as Kuang wanted them to be. The issue is really the people. With the exception of a few cartoonish villains who barely get more than a couple pages apiece, no one feels, sounds like, or acts like they actually belong in the 19th century. The racism the protagonists struggle with all feels much more 21st century than Victorian, and the frame of mind everyone inhabits still comes across more as ‘unusually blatantly racist Englishman’ than 19th century scholars and polymaths.

This is especially blatant as far as religion goes. It’s occasionally mentioned, sure enough, but to the extent anyone actually believes in Christianity it’s of a very modern and disenchanted sort – this is a society that sends out missionaries as a conscious tool of colonial expansion, not because of anything as silly or absurd as actually wanting to spread their gospel. Also like, it’s Oxford, in the nineteenth century. For all the racism the protagonists have to deal with, they should be getting so much more shit from ‘well-meaning’ locals and students trying to save their (one Muslim, one atheist, one probably Christian but black and protective of Haitian Vodou on a cultural level which would be more than enough) souls.

Or, and this is more minor, it is a central conceit of the whole finale that if a few (like, two) determined revolutionaries can infiltrate Babel they’ll be able to take the entire place hostage with barely any trouble. This is because the students and professors there are, basically, whimpy bookworms who’ll faint at the sight of blood and have no stomach for the sort of violence their work actually supports and drives. Which – look, I really don’t want to defend the ruling class of Victorian Britain here, but I’m not sure physical cowardice is really one of their failings, as a group? I mean, there’s an entire system of institutionalized child abuse in the boarding schools they went to to get them used to taking and dealing out violence and abuse. Basically every upper-class sport is thinly disguised military drill or ritual combat (okay, or rowing). Half of them would graduate to immediately running off and invading places for the glory of the queen. I’m not sure two sleep-deprived nerds with knives would actually have been able to cow the crowd here, is what I’m saying. (This would stick out less if the text wasn’t so dripping with contempt for them on precisely these grounds.)

Much less minor are our heroic revolutionaries themselves. And okay, this is more a matter of taste than anything but like – the Hermes Society is an illegal conspiracy of renegade current and former Babel scholars dedicated to using their knowledge of magic and access to university resources to oppose and undermine the British Empire in general and the work of the school in particular. Think Metternich’s worse nightmare, but in Oxford instead of Paris and focused on colonial liberation (continental Europe barely exists for the purposes of the book, Britain is Empire.) So! A secret society of professional revolutionaries in the heydey of just that, with a name that just has to be Hermetic symbolism, who concern themselves with both high politics and metaphysics.

They are just so very, very boring. This is the age of the Conspiracy of the Equals, the Carbonari, the Seasons! The literal Illumanti are still within living memory! Where’s the pageantry, the ritual, the grandiosity? The elaborate initiation rituals and oaths of undying loyalty? They’re so pragmatic, so humble, so (and I know I keep coming back to this) modern. It’s just such an utter wasted opportunity. Even beyond the level of aesthetics, these are revolutionaries with remarkably little positive ideology – the oppose colonialism and racism for reasons they take as self-evident and so don’t feel the need to theorize about it (and talk about them with the vocabulary of a modern activist, because of course they do), but they’re pretty much consciously agnostic as to what world should look like instead. They vaguely end up supporting a sort of petty-bourgeois socialism (in the Marxist sense), but the alliance with Luddites is essentially political convenience – they really don’t seem to have any vision of the future at all, either in England or the various places they claim as homelands.

On Empire and Industrialization

The story is set during the early nineteenth century, so of course the Industrial Revolution is a pretty core part of the background. The Silver Industrial Revolution, technically, since the Babellers translation magic is in this world a key and load-bearing part of it. Despite the addition of miracle-working enhancers and supports to its fundamental technology, the industrial revolution plays out pretty identically to history – right down to the same cities becoming hubs of industry, despite steam engines using enchanted silver instead of coal and thus, presumably, the entire economic and logistical system that brought this particular cities to prominence being totally unrecognizable. This is not a book that’s in any way actually about tracing how something would change history – which isn’t a complaint, to be clear, that’s a perfectly valid creative choice.

It does, however, make it rather galling that the single actually significant difference to history is that the introduction of magic turns the industrial revolution into a Legend of Zelda boss with a giant glowing weak point you can hit to destroy the whole enterprise.

On a narrative level, I get it – it simplifies things and allows for a far happier and more dramatic ending if destroying Babel is not just a symbolic act but also literally sends London Bridge falling down and scuttles the entire royal navy and every mill and factory in Britain. It’s just that I think that by doing so it trades away any chance for actually making interesting commentary on anti-colonial and -capitalist resistance. A world where a single act of spectacular terrorism really can destroy a modern empire is frankly so detached from our world that it ceases to be able to really materially comment upon it.

Like, the principle reason to not take the Luddites as your role models is not that they were morally vicious but that they were doomed – capitalism’s ability to repair damage to infrastructure and fixed goods is legitimately very impressive! Trying to force an entire ruling class not to adopt a technology that makes whoever commits to it tremendous amounts of money (thus, power) is a herculean task even when you have a state apparatus and standing army – adding an ‘off’ button to the lot of it just trades all sense of relevance for a satisfyingly cathartic ending.

(This is leaving untouched how the book just takes it as a given that the industrial revolution was a strictly immiserating force that did nothing but redistribute money from artisans to capitalists. Which certainly tracks as something people at the time would have thought but given how resolutely modern all the other politics in the work are rings really weirdly.)

All of which is only my second biggest issue with how the book presents its successful resistance movement. It all pales in comparison to making the Empire a squeamish paper tiger.

Like, the book hates colonialism in general and the British Empire in particular, the narrative and footnotes are filled with little asides about various atrocities and injustices and just ways it was racist or complicit in some particular atrocity. But more than that it is contemptuous of it, it views the empire as (as the cliche goes) a perpetually rotting edifice that just needs one good kick; that it persists only through the myth of its own invincibility, and has no stomach for violent resistance from within. Which is absolutely absurd, and the book does seem to know it on occasion when it off-handedly mentions e.g. the Peterloo Massacre – but a character whose supposed to be the grizzled cynical pragmatic revolutionary still spouts off about how slave rebellions succeed because their masters aren’t willing to massacre their own property. Which is just so spectacularly wrong on every axis its actually almost offensive.

More importantly, the entire final act of the story relies upon the fact that the British Empire would allow a handful of foreign students seize control of a vital piece of infrastructure for weeks on end and do nothing but try to wait them out as the national physically falls apart around them. Like, c’mon, there would be siege artillery set up and taking shots by the end of week two. As with the Oxford students, the Victorian elite had all manner of flaws – take your pick, really – but squeamishness wasn’t really one of them.

On Magic

So the magical system underlying the whole story is – you know how Machinaries of Empire makes imperial ideology and metaphysics literally magical, giving expert technicians the ability to create superweapons and destroy worlds provided that the Hexarchate’s subjects observe the imperial calendar of rites and celebrate its triumphs/participate in rituals glorying in the torture of its ‘heretics’? It’s not exactly a subtle metaphor, but it works.

Babel does something similar, except the foundational atrocity fueling the engine of empire on a metaphysical level is, like, cultural appropriation. As an organizing metaphor, I find this less compelling.

Leaving that aside, the story makes translation literally capable of miracle-working – which of necessity requires making ‘languages’ distinct natural categories with observable metaphysical boundaries. It then sets the story in the 19th century – the era of newborn nation states and education systems and national literatures, where the concept of the national-linguistic community was the obsession of the entire European intelligentsia. Now this is not a book concerned with how the presence of magic would actually have changed history, in the slightest, but like – given how fascinated it is by translation and linguistics you’d think the whole ‘a language is a dialect with a navy’ cliché would at least get a light mention (but then the book doesn’t really treat language as any more inherent or natural than it does any other modern identity category, I suppose.)

As an Allegory

Okay, so having now spent an embarrassing number of words establishing to my own satisfaction that the book really doesn’t work at all as a period piece, let us consider; what if it wasn’t trying to be?

A great many things about the book just fit much better if you take it as a commentary on the modern university with Victorian window-dressing. Certainly the driving resentment of Oxford as an institution that sustains itself and grows rich off the exploitation of international students it considers second-class seems far more apt applied to contemporary elite western schools than 19th century ones. Likewise the racism the heroes face all seems like the kind you’d expect in a modern English town rather than a Victorian one. I’m not well-versed enough on the economics of the city to know for sure, but I would wager that the gleeful characterization of Oxford as a city that literally starts falling to ruin without the university to support it was also less accurate in the 1830s than it is today.

Read like this, everything coheres much better – but the most striking thing becomes the incredible vanity of the book. This is a morality tale where the natural revolutionary vanguard with the power to bring global hegemony to its knees through nothing but witholding their labour are..students at elite western universities (not, I must say, a class I’d consider in dire need of having their egos boosted). The emotions underlying everything make much more sense, but the plot itself becomes positively myopic.

Beyond that – if this is a story about international students at elite universities, it does a terrible job of actually portraying them. Or, properly, it only shows a certain type; just about every foreign-born student or professor we meet is some level of revolutionary, deeply opposed in principle to the empire they work within. No one is actually convinced by the carrot of a life as an exploited but exceedingly comfortable and well-compensated technician in the imperial core, and there’s not really acknowledgement at all of just how much of the apparatus of international institutions and governments in the global south – including positions with quite a bit of real power – end up being staffed by exactly that demographic who just sincerely agree with the various ideological projects employing them. Kuang makes it far too easy on herself by making just about every person of colour in the books one of the good guys, and totally undersells how convincing hegemonic ideology can be, basically.

The Necessity of Violence

This is a pet peeve and it’s a very minor thing that I really wouldn’t bring it up if that wasn’t literally part of the title. But it is, so – it’s a plot point that’s given a decent amount of attention that Griffin (Robin’s secret older brother, grizzled professional revolutionary, his introduction to anti-colonialism) is blamed for murdering one of his classmates who had the bad luck to be studying while he was sneaking in to steal some silver – a student that was quite well-loved by the faculty and her very successful classmates, who have never forgiven him. Later on, it’s revealed that this is an utter rewriting of history, and she’d been a double agent pretending to let herself be recruited into the Hermes Society who’d been luring Griffin into an ambush when he killed her and escaped.

This is – well, the most predictable not-even-a-twist imaginable, for one, but also – just rank cowardice. You titled the book ‘the necessity of violence’, the least you can do is actually own it and show that violent resistance means people (with faces, and names, not just abstractions only ever talked about in general terms) who are essentially personally innocent are going to end up collateral damage, and people are going to hold grudges about it. Have some courage in your convictions!

Translation

Okay, all of that said, this isn’t a book that’s wholly bad, or anything. In particular, you can really tell how much of a passion Kuang has for the art and science of translation. The depth of knowledge and eagerness to share just about overflows from the page whenever the book finds an excuse to talk about it at length, and it’s really very endearing. The philosophizing about translation was also as a rule much more interesting and nuanced then whenever the book tried to opine about high politics or revolutionary tactics.

Anyways, I really can’t recommend the book in any real way, but it did stick in my head for long enough that I’ve now written 4,000 words about it. So at the very least it’s the interesting sort of bad book, y’know?

#book review #babel #r. f. kuang #sff #lesbian space atrocities #-ish #hatermode

284 notes · View notes

lemonandlime22 · 9 months

Note

May I request Vil, Azul, Trey, and Jade with a Gn! yuu who’s first language isn’t english, so they struggle speaking and struggle with the assignments.

Vil, Azul, Trey, and Jade with Yuu that has a different native language

Warning(s): cussing, fish mafia doing fish mafia things, not edited

A/N: ty for requesting! i hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vil Schoenheit

I personally hc that Vil's native language is German so he understands some of your struggles

he went through the same thing when he was first learningWhich I’m sure was when he was very little

But anyway, he’ll sometimes offer tips on how to pronounce things correctly and remember some grammar things that can get tricky.

If you ask he’ll usually help translate assignments or help you understand them,

You’ll probably have small language study sessions with both Vill and Rook

Heck maybe you’ll learn both French and German if you don’t already

Overall, he's a willing tutor if you ask and p good one at that! Also prob the most helpful out of all these guys

But warning, he is ruthless and incredibly strict if you make it a normal tutoring session.

Good luck!!

Azul Ashengrotto

Get ready to be exploited bb <3

he's like a mini Crowley

Any whooo

As soon as he found out you were having trouble he swooped in and offered you a deal

he'll help you with assignments and learning the language

and you help him reach a wider customer base!

Your basically his free employee.

Btw there is like a 50/50 chance that he either is genuinely helping you or using the twisted wonderland version of google translate.

But there is a small chance that he just so happens to have been wanting to learn your native language

In that situation then you’ll just be helping each other

you tutor his abt your native tongue

and he helps you understand assignments and any words your having trouble with.

Overall, not a terrible experience, tho he is taking advantage of you there’s not much of a downside other then you having to translate the whole menu.

Trey Clover

Another one that would be happy to help

except you don't have to make a contract with him for that help.

He will help you the best he can but it's not much

I can see him kinda knowing one other language, but just enough to get basic info across

but that's about it

whether that's the same as your native language or not, he'll do his best to assist you in understanding some assignments.

He tries to make it fun too, like for every correct answer your able to get, he’ll make you your favorite baked good

If you don’t like baked good, then he’ll use his unique magic on it

Trey will also be very curious abt your culture and see if or how different it is from his.

Overall, prob the most pleasant experience, not rly the most helpful but at least he got the spirit.

Jade Leech

Your basically his free entertainment

this mischievous little bitch will intentionally give you the wrong translations of things

and fuck up your grammar with the power of gaslighting.

Buuut if he were to want to genuinely help you,,,

he would take advantage of the situation to tell you all abt

Every. Single. Type of fungi.

For every new dish you try of his is an assignment he’ll help you with.

Overall, good luck! In school and I’m eating those dishes.

You will need it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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die-pink-maus · 3 months

Text

📖 Mein Tutor 📖

❤︎ Darawing Credits: @shkretart ❤︎

Synopsis: Reader makes a New Year’s resolution to be more productive, finding herself fascinated with language, she decides to hire an in person tutor to give her the run down on Deutsch. However, turns out that learning German isn’t the only thing on readers mind…or her tutor, König’s 🤭

TW: 18+, MDNI, heavy smut, fluff fluff fluff, MDom, age gap relationship (26/41), dirty talk, female pronouns used, fingering, p in v, eye contact during seggs, size kink, female reader, vanilla seggs

AN: This is a ✨one shot✨ all the goods are here and there aren’t any additional parts. I would say this is a “medium” burn lol, there’s quite a bit of background and dialogue before we get into ITTTT. I’m learning German at the moment and my tutor is really cute, so it made me think hmm…😂 Also, I do tend to write König as a softer character, so this won't be for you if you don't like fluff, but I'm going to try my hand at a more domineering version of him soon. I hope you guys like it!

Word Count: 5,412

❤︎Like & Reblogs Are Greatly Appreciated!❤︎

Enjoy! 💋

I’ve never really been one for New Year’s resolutions, but considering how chaotic my life was last year, I figured setting a goal or two for myself would probably do me some good. I’d been searching for new and productive ways to spend my free time for a while now, and discovered that I really enjoy learning new languages. Language has always been incredibly fascinating, but I never realized just how fascinating it could truly be until now. He’s retired, ex military, and practically everything about him is unknown, down to his name as he only goes by his former callsign which is König. He’s shrouded in mystery with just the right amount of danger — everything from the way he caries himself to the black ski mask he wears during our lessons is telling of his obscure and likely troublesome past. But behind this large secretive wall appears to be an overall happy man, one who chooses to spend his free time teaching people such as myself how to speak in his native tongue — German. He’s an incredible teacher, he’s taught me more than I ever thought was possible in two months. He makes our lessons enjoyable and fun, I’m almost always ready for our next lesson the minute one ends. I practically count down the days of each week, patiently awaiting 7pm on Friday nights when he graces my front door, barely able to walk through the door frame without bumping his head due to his unbelievably tall and brawny stature. I think about him more than I’d like to admit. The sweet praises that escape his lips at the end of each lesson, how the wrinkles around his stunning blue eyes crinkle up when he listens to me say a new word he’s taught me — I assume he’s smiling considering I can’t see anything other than his eyes. “Very good, schatz.” He says as he gives me a playful round of applause. There’s something about him that draws me in. I don’t really know what he looks like, but from what I can see, he’s perfect. Probably the tallest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, a muscular physique that never goes unnoticed even in loose fitting clothing, it’s damn near impossible for my mind not to wander off. I know he’s much older than me, and for all I know he could have an entire family with a wife and children. Considering how sweet he is, it wouldn’t be surprising at all. I’m not too sure if German is considered a language of love by many, or anyone at all, but he has a way of making it sound so sexy. I’m damn near hypnotized by the rough and rugged tone that coats each word he speaks. Even in English, his accent is absolutely endearing, it takes everything in me to keep my composure as my core heats and arousal slowly begins to glaze the soft pink cotton of my panties.

Our lesson is almost over for the evening, but I’m feeling a little bold…another thing I promised myself this year is that I won’t allow fear to control my life. I doubt I ever cross his mind. He probably doesn’t look at me or think of me in all the many ways I do with him given our age difference, but I’m old enough to know what I want. Tonight’s the night I start making it clear that I’m interested, and if it’s not reciprocated, at least I tried. He began packing away his notebook and heading towards the foyer when my eye caught a glimpse of a vintage bottle of red wine I’d bought earlier in the week. “Um,” I began hesitantly, my mind sorting through ways in which I could make him stay a little longer. I walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed the bottle of wine, along with two glasses from the cupboard above. “Any plans for this evening? I was thinking…maybe you’d like to have a glass of wine with me?” I blushed. The look in his eyes was reminiscent of a deer in headlights. Figures he’d be caught off guard, considering we’d never spent time together outside of our lessons. “Well, I don’t have any plans at all,” he laughed, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, the wrinkles around his dazzling blue eyes crinkling up. “Are you sure there isn’t anyone else you’d rather share that with? Looks like an expensive bottle, don’t think your boyfriend would appreciate you sharing this with the strange masked Austrian man who comes by to teach you German once a week.”

“Well, who said I had a boyfriend?” I giggled, my cheeks ablaze from slight embarrassment at his assumption. “I just assumed that a beautiful young woman such as yourself…” He began as we held each other’s gaze. “So is that a yes or no?” I smirked.

“Alright, wine it is.” He said hesitantly as he removed his boots. “I’ll invoice you for the extra time later.” He teased. We both took a seat on my sofa “Prost!” I smiled after I poured us both a glass, and raised my glass with him. “Sehr gut, Schatz!” He praised before raising the edge of his mask up to his nose and taking a sip. This is more of him than I’ve ever been able to see. His jaw line is strong and chiseled, peppered with an even layer of stubble. “Alright, you have to tell me,” I began. “Why do you wear the mask?”

He paused for a moment, thinking of an answer to a question he probably gets quite frequently. “There are quite a few reasons…” he sighed. “The military has and always will be a large part of my life, I suppose there’s some comfort in it for me. Maybe I just feel a little exposed without it because I’ve worn one almost every day of my life since I was a teenager.” He laughed. “Also, there’s the matter of safety…”

“Why would you need your mask for safety?”

He sighed, “It’s complicated, but there are situations you can sometimes get yourself into that cause you to make enemies out of people you wouldn’t really want to make enemies with.” He said. It hadn’t really occurred to me until just now that he’s more than likely had a hand in ending someone else’s life. It sounds silly, because he was in the military so I should have just assumed, but aside from the mask and his large, intimidating body, it’s kinda hard to picture him as some ruthless assassin. All of our interactions thus far have been so pleasant, and he’s never been anything other than a gentleman, there’s a part of me that wonders… “Are you okay?” I asked, a pang of immediate regret stirring within me as soon as the words left my lips. I guess I just can’t imagine having to do the things he probably had to do. I don’t think I’d be okay, I don’t know how I could cope with taking another life, or watching the life of someone else get taken. He cocked his head to the side, eyes slightly squinted as he let out a brief chuckle. “You know,” he began. “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before…” he trailed off. “I would say…I wasn’t always okay, it was very hard in the beginning, but over time I’ve learned to be okay.” He beamed, a softness gleaming in his eyes, almost as if he was glad I asked. “I’m happy to hear that” I smiled.

I’d like to think I was able to gain his trust that night, something I know is probably a challenging task for many others. Since then, we’ve made it somewhat of a tradition to share a bottle of wine after each of our lessons. Sometimes he even cooks dinner and chefs up a few of his favourite Austrian dishes. Nothing makes me melt more than seeing how overjoyed he is that I’ve enjoyed something he made. Another two months have gone by, and it’s safe to say that he and I have been growing…closer, but be has yet to make an actual move. The ball is now in his court, so let’s see what he does with it. It's Saturday and I'm bored as hell. We spoke earlier and since we both aren’t doing anything, we decided maybe it would be a good idea to do something together, so I invited him over. This would be the first time we’d be spending time together where a lesson hasn’t taken place beforehand, so as excited as I am, I’m also feeling quite nervous. I made a small plater of appetizers for us to snack on while we do whatever it is we’re gonna be doing. Ultimately there’s no set plan, so I’m thinking we’ll probably end up watching a movie or two. My doorbell rang a few minutes later, and there he was holding a 6 pack of German beer and an extra large pizza. “You told me you enjoy pizza last time, so I figured I’d bring some for us to share.” He smiled.

“Great choice.” I giggled as I moved aside so he could come in. “I did half meat lovers, and half extra cheese with pineapples.” He said as he opened the box to display the pizza, the look in his eyes hinting at how proud he was for remembering the toppings I like. “Very simple order, but it’s something very few can seem to get right,” I laughed as he placed the pizza on the counter top. “Thank you, König.” I said as I wrapped my arms around his torso. He’s huge so a proper hug just doesn’t work, but no hug in this world compares to a König hug. Those big muscular arms wrapped around me, engulfing me into his strong chest. He always smell amazing, like fragrant musky oud and aftershave. “Natürlich, Schatz.“ he whispers as his hand roams over the back of my head, fingers gently playing in my hair. I could stay in his arms forever, I’ve genuinely never felt safer than I do right here. We haven’t really had a moment quite as intimate as this one. We’ve hugged many times before, but not like this. We pulled away and smiled at each other. I cleared my throat before heading over to my kitchen to grab plates and napkins. "So how has your day been so far?" He asked a he took a took a seat at the breakfast bar. "Honestly, it's been pretty boring thus far, I'm counting on you to entertain me" I teased.

"And how do you expect me to do that?" He smirked.

"That's your job to figure out, not mine." I winked.

"Alright, what's you opinion on horror movies?"

"Love 'em!"

"Paranormal or slasher?"

"Hmm, haven't watched a slasher in a while..." I said as I took a seat on the stool beside him, grabbing a slice of my half of the pizza.

"Okay, I'm gonna count down, we're both gonna say a slasher on three and then go from there."

"Alright."

"Eins, Zwei, Drei..."

"Saw marathon." We both said before proceeding to burst into laugher. "Well that was easy," He laughed. "Never would've pegged you for a Saw type of woman though."

"Hey...ya girl's got good taste alright?" I laughed as I took a bite of my slice. We moved everything to the couch and setup Netflix. Luckily for us, Netflix happens to have all of the saw movies available for streaming. I took a seat on the couch after figuring everything out with the TV. "Why are you so far away?" He asked. I sat frozen for a moment, not sure what to do, the blood rushing to my cheeks as I face him. One of his arms rested gently behind the couch, signalling for me to come closer. I smiled bashfully before sliding closer to him, his large robust arm swinging around me and nuzzling me into his side. I gently placed my hand on his chest, before looking up at him. He looked down at me, the wrinkles around his eyes doing that thing I love so much to give away that he's smiling. He gently rubbed my arm, lifting his mask up to his nose, as he placed his finger underneath my chin. He leaned in close, gently rubbing his nose against mine. "May I kiss you, Schatz?" He whispered.

"Ja." I breathed.

"Sehr gut..." He smiled, taking note of my Deutsch response, as he closed the gap between our lips, enrapturing me in a kiss so deep my body turned to jello. His tongue entered my mouth, taking the kiss to new heights. It was dripping with passion, riddled with fervour and yearning. It was hot. Sensual and inviting, I was practically speechless when he pulled away, a string of spit connecting our swollen lips from the brief make out session a few seconds prior. He pulled me back into his chest, gently placing a kiss on the top of my head. Seems like he’s doing something with that ball after all.

By the time we’d finished watching the movies, it was nearly 2am. We were both slowly beginning to doze off before König took notice of the time. “Schiße,” he groaned as he rubbed his eyes. “When did it get so late?”

“No idea.” I yawned as I gently rose from his chest. Ugh he’s so comfy, I really didn’t want to get up, but I didn’t want to push things too far along by suggesting that he spend the night, no matter how badly I wanted to, and fuck did I want to. That one kiss alone was more than enough to have me practically dripping through my panties and down my thighs. He’s such a phenomenal kisser. For a good hour throughout the first movie, I pretty much had to fight myself to keep my mind off of imagining those lips of his covering my entire body in wet gentle kisses. Feeling them enclosed around my nipples, sucking and nipping at them with his teeth while his large calloused hands roam about my body. Picturing him between my legs, his sweet, rough tongue lapping over my swollen nub and dipping between my folds, blue eyes piercing my gaze as he watches me writhe in pleasure beneath him. I would let him have me all over the house, on every piece of furniture, every corner and crevice, I want to be able to look anywhere in here and remember how hard he fucked me…but I don’t want to come off too eager. We got up from the couch and headed towards the front foyer. “I had a great time tonight.” I blushed. “I’d love to maybe do it again sometime.”

“I agree,” he said. “But maybe, only if you’d like to, I could take you out for dinner somewhere nice?”

“Yes,” I said a little two quickly. “I would love to.”

“What about after our next lesson this week?”

“That works for me.”

“Perfect.” He said as he finished putting on his shoes. “I’ll see you then, Schatz. Guten Nacht” he said, gently pulling me in for a tight embrace, placing a kiss on the top of my head. “Let me know when you make it in.” I said.

“Roger.” He smiled, playfully saluting me as he headed out the front door.

Sundays are what I like to call Self Care Days. I’ll normally do a full deep clean of the entire house, engage in some intensive skincare, play my favourite music, drink my favourite wine and eat my favourite foods. It wasn’t until I was finished washing off my clay face mask that I realized I was missing the wine and food. I quickly slipped into a pair of black leggings and a white hoodie, then grabbed my car keys and headed out to the grocery store a few minutes away to grab a bottle of Chardonnay and a few ingredients I’m missing to make lasagna. The supermarket is relatively empty today, which is quite surprising considering it’s a Sunday, but I have zero complaints. I definitely prefer it this way, there’s less anxiety surrounding finding the things you need as you can simply take your time. After grabbing my favourite jar of tomato sauce, ricotta cheese and big bottle of Chardonnay, I began walking off towards to the cash register. As I mindlessly drifted through the aisle towards the cashier, I caught a glimpse of someone familiar. My eyes trailed over the produce section of the grocery store and I saw him — König…but he wasn’t alone. Beside him, a beautiful statuesque blonde, gently rubbing his arm as a little boy around maybe around 3 or 4 years old sat nestled between his arm and chest. My heart practically sank and fell right out of my body and I froze dead in my tracks. No, nothing is set in stone between he and I, but what the hell is going on? Why spend any time at all with me outside of our lessons? Why kiss me the way he did or ask me out to dinner? It’s not like we sit and talk about German for hours over multiple glasses of wine, watch movies on opposite ends of my couch in complete silence, or conjugate verbs while he cooks me Käsespätzle. I’m no fool, I see the way he looks at me…but if he’s married, I want absolutely nothing to do with him. Once I’d gotten over the initial shock of what I’d seen, I was enraged. I decided the next course of action was going to be absolute pettiness. I began heading over in his direction, a gigantic phoney grin plastered across my face as I approach him and his family. “Oh wow, König!” I exclaimed. “Had no idea you and your family also shopped here too.” I said through nearly gritted teeth. “Yes, I’m surprised I haven’t run into you here before.” He smiled, seemingly oblivious to being caught. “I’m one of König’s students, nice to meet you.” I smiled as I turned to the blonde.

“Karina, likewise.” She smiled.

“She’s my Friday evening student, she’s progressing quite well!” He laughed.

“Ahhh…I’ve heard quite a bit about you actually.” She smirked.

“I’m sure you have…well I just wanted to come over and say hello. Take care” I said before I walked over to self checkout. As angry as I am, more than anything else, I feel foolish. Of course he has an entire family, and of course she’s beautiful. Good thing I grabbed the big bottle of wine today. The first thing I did when I got home, aside from pour myself a glass of wine, was cancel the rest of my lessons with König before blocking his number all together. I feel so disgusting and betrayed. Why wouldn’t he tell me about her? Was he hoping I’d be interested in being some sort of mistress? Considering this is something that was initiated by me on the basis of “I’m gonna get what I want this year”, this is a little embarrassing.

The thunderstorm brewing outside was the perfect addition to this mess of an evening. About 3 glasses of Chardonnay and 3 slices of pizza later, I still can’t get over seeing him with them. I just feel so stupid. I genuinely thought this could have been the beginning of something…special. As mad as I am, I cannot get over how amazing he looked with that baby in his arms. Considering how patient he is with me during our lessons, I just know he’s probably the most amazing father, but I have to just try to move on I guess. I got up to pour myself another glass of wine when my doorbell rang. Very strange seeing as it’s 10pm and I’m not expecting a visit from anyone other than a brutal hangover, but I’m not expecting that till tomorrow morning. I opened my phone to check my Ring camera before going towards the door. It’s him. What the hell is he doing here? Was today not enough? I walked over to the door, taking a very deep breath before proceeding to open. He’s soaking wet from head to toe. His white, crew next t-shirt sticking to his body, revealing a clearly defined chest and sculpted abs. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“You cancelled your lessons…and then I tried calling you and never got through. I thought maybe something happened to you.” He said.

“Really? König, please, spare me the pity party.”

“What? What are you talking about? What pity party?”

“Wasn’t it enough for me to have to see you with her? And then you act as if it’s not weird as hell for me to be interacting with your wife.” I spat. He stared at me for a moment before doing something I never thought he would do. He pulled his mask up and over his head. I stared at him, dumbfounded. I drank him in, assessing all of his features — he’s beautiful. He has a buzz cut, which is different than what I’d always pictured, and a scar the slits through his eyebrow that looks…pretty damn good if I’m being honest. His expression grew soft, mildly amused as he watched me stare at his maskless face. “Schatz,” he said. “That is my sister, Karina, and her 4 year old son Markus.” He laughed.

“Fuck…” I cursed under my breath.

“Can I come in please?” He asked. I nodded as I moved aside to let him through the front door. I really don’t know what’s worse, me assuming that the similarly large blonde hair blue eyed Austrian woman standing beside him was his wife, or the outburst I just had. I would crawl under a rock and live there for the rest of my life if I could, because I genuinely cannot handle the embarrassment. I walked over to the linen closet to grab him a towel to dry off. “Thank you,” he said as he put the towel to his face. “Now, what’s all of this about me having a wife?” He asked, smirking knowingly as he clearly already knows the answer. I’m not at all ready to have this conversation, but here goes. “I guess when I saw all three of you, I just assumed that was your wife and child.” I sighed. Looking back, especially now that I’ve seen his face, I definitely see the resemblance between him and Karina. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together after lessons…that kiss last night…I thought there was something between us.” I blushed.

He stepped closer to me. “Of course there is, I asked you out for a reason.” He laughed in mild disbelief. “But I do have a hard time understanding why you would be interested in me…You are so beautiful, too beautiful, but I’m so much older than you and all the things I’ve done —“

“König, I don’t care about any of that. All I care about is how I feel when I’m with you.”

He smiled as he raised his hand up to my face, cupping my cheek in his palm. My heart began to race at the sensation of his touch. “Why do you think she said she’s heard a lot about you?” He laughed. “I help her out with my nephew while her husband is deployed. Admittedly, you are all I can ever seem to think or talk about these days. I am happiest when I’m with you.” I never thought I’d hear him say these things, but God does it feel so good to hear. He leaned down and I leaned upward to close the gap between our lips. I never understood what people meant before when they said they felt a spark when they kissed someone, that is until he first kissed me. I never want it to end, but I also want more and I can tell he does too. He picks me up, effortlessly walking us both over to the kitchen before placing me on the countertop, his kiss growing hungrier and hungrier by the second. My hands sauntered about his torso through his damp shirt. He pulls away briefly to take it off before returning to my lips. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him in closer between my thighs. A small moan escapes my lips as I feel his hardened length push up against my pussy through his grey sweatpants. Fuck, looks like he’s big all around. My pussy weeps at the thought of him splitting me in half with his big stiff rod. His hands slip beneath my oversized shirt, softly massaging and caressing my tits as we continue to kiss, his hips slowly grinding against my sopping wet heat through my panties. Christ. I could cum right here. The motion of his hips alone is enough to send me spiralling out into a fit of intense pleasure. I can’t wait to feel him fill me up, and see the look on his face as he slips into the slick mess he’s created. He begins to roll and pinch my nipples between his fingers as his lips move towards my jawline, slow soft kisses trailing down my neck as I whimper and moan, my sensitive nipples growing harder beneath his touch. I pull my shirt up over my head, allowing his lips access to my exposed chest. His lips continue to trail downward towards my breasts, taking one of my nipples into his mouth, while his hand continues to massage the other. “Oh, König…” I moan quietly as my head falls back, goosebumps slowly decorating my entire body as he takes his time catering to my nipples. “Your body is incredible,” he breathed as he came back up to meet my lips. “I love the way it reacts to me…” he said lowly, his hand trailing along my side until it reaches the hem of my panties. “Oh…I wanna taste you.” he whispered in my ear. I placed both feet on the countertop and leaned back onto my elbows, slowly sliding my panties off and down my legs, flicking them off to the side in one swift little kick. He fell to his knees, spreading my legs apart to admire my sticky wet folds. “Schiße, Schatz…” he moaned as he looked up at me, placing gentle kisses along my inner thighs. “I’m going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He smirked as he planted slow purposeful kisses against my heat. He nuzzled his face between my folds, his tongue lapping gently at the arousal pouring from my tight cunt. “Ohhh…” I moaned out, my hand resting on his head as he picked up the pace, my clit throbbing uncontrollably as his tongue ferociously flicks against it. “Fuck, König…God, you’re gonna make me cum.” I whimpered, legs beginning to shake as his hands held on tight to my thighs, fingers digging into my plush flesh as I squirmed beneath his lips and tongue. He began sucking my clit while his tongue continued to flick against my swollen nub, my orgasm building as I watched him indulge in me, enjoying and savouring every ounce of my sweet juices. He came up for air, licking his lips as he took in every inch of my naked body. “I could eat your pussy all day, Schatz. Fuck, you taste even better than you look.” He praised.

“Now I want you to cum for me.” He said, slowly sliding two of his fingers inside me, his thumb rubbing swift circles against my clit. My back arches up off the counter as the room fills with the loud, obscene noises of me growing closer to succumbing to my orgasm.

He leans over me, fingers curling upward and into that delightful spongy spot inside me. He kisses me slowly as I cum all over his fingers, bringing them to his lips to lick them clean. “Sehr Gut.” He smirks as he pulls away, my eyes immediately drawn to the large bulge in his sweatpants. He pulls them, along with his boxers, down, revealing his long, hard, uncut cock. Fuck…he might actually split me in two. He’s gotta be at least 9-10 inches with a fair amount of girth, and a thick vein that embellishes the side of his length. I sat up as he placed his hands on my hips. “Are you sure about this, Schatz? I don’t wanna hurt you…you’re so tight.” He said.

“Yes, I’m sure.” I said, gently taking his hardness in my hand, slowly stroking him as I held his gaze. “I want you, König.” I breathed as I positioned his thick leaky tip at my entrance. “I’ll be gentle.” He breathed against my lips before kissing me , slowly pushing forward. I leaned back onto my hands to allow him more room to go deeper, his hands resting on the counter on either side of me. “König,” I gasped as he went deeper, slowly thrusting in more of himself little by little. “Am I hurting you?” He asked, expression awash with concern as he takes a brief pause. “No. I want more,” I moaned. “I want it all.”

He smiled, “Gutes Mädchen.” He said, holding my gaze as he continued to push into me, my eyes widening at the delicious feel of his fullness. “Fuck.” I moaned.

“Mmm, look at you…” he smirked. “Schiße, you take me so fucking well.” He breathed, watching his fat cock slip in and out of me, letting out a guttural moan as he bottoms out. “Mein Got, you’re so fucking tight.” He said as his thrusts began to pick up pace. “So…big…” I moaned as he thrusted harder, eyes glued to mine, basking in my aroused expression as he continued to fuck me. “Harder.” I panted.

“You sure you can handle it, Schatz?” He asked.

“Yes. Please” I begged. He stood up, gently pulling me towards the edge of the countertop, placing my legs in the air, and wrapping one of his arms around both of my thighs before slamming into me repeatedly. “Oh my God.” I cried out, his thick tip kissing the sweet gummy edge of my cervix over and over. “This is what you wanted, ja?” He taunted.

“Y-yes.” I moaned, barely able to speak.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Schatz? Thought you could handle this?” He smirked, watching as my pussy gushes around this cock, dripping down it’s base. His free hand moved towards my clit, his thumb continuing with those hypnotizing circles as he mercilessly pounds my cunt, his face and chest glistening with sweat. I can feel myself about to come undone. “You are so beautiful.” He whispered. I’ve never been fucked this hard before, or taken anything nearly as big as him. I am completely overwhelmed with pleasure in the best way, and the look and his face let’s me know the feeling is mutual. I damn near explode all over his cock, coating majority of his length in my creaminess. He pulled out, I could tell his orgasm was about to follow mine. I climbed off of the counter top and got on my knees, licking my slick off of his shaft before wrapping my lips around the head of his cock. He grabbed hold of my hair and I began sliding my lips up and down his shaft. “Fuck…” he whimpered. “I’m gonna cum.” He moaned. I picked up the pace, sucking him vigorously. I continued until he couldn’t hold back anymore, shooting ropes of his hot, sticky cum down my throat. I held his gaze as I swallowed. “Fuck….” He exhaled, trying to catch his breath as I rose to my feet. He pulled me into him, kissing me hard as we both came down from our high. “That was incredible.” He smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “It was.” I blushed. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

He laughed. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Schatz, especially not after that.”

“Would you like to spend the night?” I asked sheepishly.

“I would love to.” He smiled as he gave me a kiss on the cheek, before scooping me up into his arms bridal style. “Let’s go take a shower, Ja?”

“Lead the way!” I laughed as he headed towards the stairs.

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vitzi9 · 1 year

Text

Pretty when you cry

Ethan Landry x GN!Reader

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

content warning: manipulative ethan; stalking; obsessive; maybe sub!Ethan; mention of murder; he's still ghostface; guilt trapping; worshiping; knife

English is not my first language sorry guys, if i did any grammatical mistakes lmk !

2924 words (7/05/2023)

"Hi" he said simply. As if we were speaking to each other for the first time, but in the same tone with which one greets an old friend. It was ironic how I wished for weeks for him to come and talk to me and when he finally did, all I thought about was running away. He hadn't changed. And so much the better. He was still so handsome. Today, he wore a white shirt and a kind of jeans in a shade between dark gray and black. After taking a brief tour of his outfit, I look up at his face: the most beautiful part of his person. His frizzy curls looked fresh, as if he had just washed them. This thought was confirmed by the smell of shampoo that came to me on a light breeze. His cheeks were tinged with a pale pink that highlighted the small and discreet freckles that sported his cheeks. His gaze escaped mine, watching the floor with a strange and sudden interest as he pressed his lips together in a thin line. He was embarrassed, no, dead of shame. After all, I still hadn't answered him. I've only watched him so far. And I surely would have continued if I hadn't noticed his shaking hands.

What am I supposed to say to him? I greet him too, I compliment him? I ask him directly why he came to talk to me? After all, the only times we had spoken was to get him to tutor me. Are we even friends? After he stood me up without any explanation, approximately two weeks ago now, we haven't spoken to each other since.

“Hi” I simply replied. Ethan scratches his cheek as he smiles nervously at me, his gaze flicking briefly above me to look behind me. The redness on his cheeks getting worse.

“You uh… Your classes, how are you doing ? I… Like, you're good ?”

To be honest, it wasn't. Which is the main reason as to why I was asking him for lessons, by the way. So he knows all about those four out of twenty that I love so much. (Wrong, I hate them, I just don't have the IQ to have more) How handsome he was. Earlier this year, I had this fantasy where Ethan, who I hadn't spoken to at the time, came up to me and asked me out. Later, having learned about his shyness, I dreamed of seeing him overcome his bashfulness to come and declare his love for me while stuttering.

"I manage. And you ? Are you able to follow the program?

Of course he did. We are talking about Ethan Landry, the best student in the whole establishment. He succeeds in everything. Except talking to people, it seems. For the umpteenth time now, he glances over my shoulder. His eyes alternated with bewildering speed between my face and what was behind my back. Finally, I turn to see the only person in the hallway besides us, Chad, watching us with a big smile on his face and thumbs up. He lowers his arms the second my eyes notice him and he puts his hands in his pockets, pretending to turn around.

"Isn't that Chad?" I knew it was him, Ethan's best friend. But I just wanted confirmation.

-N-no aha, it’s… I don’t know who… It’s not Chad.” His laugh was forced and it showed. He was staring at the ceiling, shrugging and laughing nervously. Too smiley to be true. If he weren't already incredibly uncomfortable and flushed, his friend's intervention would have caused him to be.

"Why did you come talk to me Ethan?"

Our last discussion was two weeks ago. We had seen each other on Tuesday for my private lessons and it had gone incredibly well. He had scheduled a session for Thursday, of which I was counting every second until D-Day. I was smiling just reading our messages over and over again. Then Thursday arrived after an endless wait. I headed for the library, as usual. My smile glued to my lips, impossible to remove. I was on cloud nine. But Ethan was late, yet he had never been with me. I waited and waited and waited but after an hour and a half I left. He hadn't sent a message, nothing. Since then, not a word has been exchanged. In the hallways, not even a single look had been shared. We walked ignoring each other, like strangers.

"I'm sorry.

-For what ?"

I had some idea why he was sorry but I didn't want to get my hopes up. His eyes water, he opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Ethan extends his hand towards me which I grab by reflex. To be honest, he was starting to worry me. Was he really going to cry? Was it because of me?

“Ethan, are you okay? I forgive you if this is what bothers you so much but please don't put yourself in such a state. Do you want me to walk you home? I'll tell the teacher that you are not feeling well.” As I said that, I adopted the softest voice I could muster.

The curly man holds my hand, he intertwines our fingers together. His tears finally running down his cheeks. A few tears escape him.

“No… he almost sighs.

-'no' what ? I ask, worried.

-I'm not feeling well…"

My concern increases considerably. Forget him which stood me up. His state is much more worrying. Without really thinking about it, my hand rests on his shoulder. I start guiding him to the exit but he seems to realize it. He plants his feet on the ground, shakes his head, then grabs my hand resting on his shoulder.

Ethan was keeping me here.

He raises his angel eyes to me. He was so handsome. His pupils were glowing. The boy opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Frustrated, his tears seem to intensify. He lowers his head, his beautiful curls falling in front of his eyes that I love so much.

"Ethan, you can tell me anything."

I was hoping he would open up to me a bit more. We were close, certainly not like best friends, but I considered myself loyal enough not to snitch his problems to everybody. Plus, I wasn't lying. He could tell me anything, I will help him as best I can. Ethan runs his thumbs over the backs of my hands, a slight smile on his lips. For a second, he seemed at peace.

“My love… he whispers and I almost thought I was dreaming.

But this peace does not last

-What ?

"I..." His lips quivered.

Did he really call me 'my love'? My heart was beating wildly. He sniffles and tries to swallow back his tears, to no avail. Finally, Ethan snaps.

“I…I can't sleep anymore, I can't do it anymore! he exclaims between two cries. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face. I miss you, I want to continue to give you private lessons, even my homework if necessary. I'lldo them for you. Everything, I'll do everything for you…” he had spoken so quickly that he was out of breath. His tears had not stopped, quite the contrary. He had let go.

His sudden outbusrt make me retreat for a split second. The curly man's hands squeeze mine tightly, as if to keep me from moving further away. I don't understand, my absence has affected him so much? Why didn't he come talk to me sooner, then? And since when does he feel that way about me? His words were excessive and I thought he was going a little too fast. He was so desperate that he saw my face all the time? That he was willing to do 'everything' for me? I thought that my crush was not reciprocated, worse, than he considered me as a simple classmate. If I expected that! But where does this outburst come from?

“Breathe Ethan, breathe.”

Like a child, Ethan nods. He tried to calm his breathing while I tried to slow my heartbeat. I knew Ethan hadn't had a lot of conquests in his life, but I never would have imagined him to be so dependent.

"I'm sorry, really sorry...

-Why are you apologizing?

-I left you alone, I swear I haven't forgotten you. I've been thinking about you all the while i was doing it...

So he was really apologizing for that. But why is he making a fuss about it? I had already imagined this scenario and honestly, I expected an apology, a justification and that was it. Why was he so affected? That guilty? His words got mixed up and in the end, I lost track.

- It's okay Ethan, it's not that important. Is that what stresses you out so much?

- What can I do to make you forgive me?

-Ethan, I already told you, I forgive you, it doesn't matter.

-No, he shakes his head, tell me.

Feeling that if I didn't take matters into my own hands the situation was never going to end, I decided to ask for a simple favor.

-Where were you that day? I ask, alluding to the day he stood me up.

-That's stupid." Despite his words, I give a nod encouraging him to continue. Promise me not to be afraid.

-Why would I be afraid of you Ethan? I ask, laughing softly. He's an angel, how can you be afraid of him?

-Promise me."

His fingers gripped my wrist tightly. It almost hurt me. For a moment, the thought that indeed Ethan could scare me crossed my mind. However, I thought of it too late.

-I was supposed to be only ten minutes late, and I apologize for that, but you had to be outside your room for me to get in it.

-What ? I ask laughing, not understanding where he was coming from.

-When I got in your room, there was a perfume that was not yours. But I had already felt it somewhere, on someone. And… I-I'm sorry that pissed me off and… I-I thought you were cheating on me and I was scared and… I cried but I kept smelling the perfume of that-

-Ethan, stop here, I don't understand anything. What are you talking about? I was no longer laughing, the strange details he gave me seemed too precise.

His tears flow, without warning, he takes me in his arms and presses me to his chest. He hugged me tightly, I almost couldn't breathe. His face plunges into my neck, which he was soaking with his tears. He kept saying he was sorry over and over while I tried to understand. Was he telling the truth?

-I felt so guilty for hurting them that I didn't dare come and talk to you. I was terrified that you would run away from me when you eventually find out. It was horrible. Never again. Never part from me again, I beg you. I'll die of it.

I felt his every word knock against the skin of my neck. He was whispering, as if telling me a secret. And maybe it was. I was praying that another student would come down the hall and see us but the odds were low, very low. Ethan had cornered me at the end of my class, everyone had left. The sun was already falling asleep outside the window. Panic quickly set in within me.

-Ethan you're crushing me! I wasn't even sure he heard me since buried in his chest, my voice was muffled.

-I thought you were cheating on me b-but… I’m sorry for thinking that, sorry sorry sorry sorry...

What did he do ? Who was he talking about when he said “having hurt them”? Where is the shy Ethan who softened my heart? Unconsciously, I start to shake. My arms try to tear themselves away from the grip he had on them but he was crushing me too hard; I couldn't move. His arms clung to mine along my body.

-I should never be mad at you again, ever again. Do you forgive me ?

That's when it comes back to me; the framework. Coming home the evening of the day Ethan and I ended our relationship, my frame was splintered to the ground. The shards of glass had been flying all over my room. The photo remained intact; a picture of me and my roommate, but the frame was dead. I hadn't given more importance than that to the situation itself, my window was open and then said roommate was at home during the day. I just thought that a draft had knocked it down or that my friend was clumsy: it happens after all.

No, it was him.

-Ethan, I speak in a shaky voice, please let me go.

-No ! he yells. You promised me ! You promised me you wouldn't be afraid of me!

-E-Ethan please….

- I'm sorry, i'm sorry !

Ethan, six feet tall, collapses to his knees in front of me. He buries his face in my stomach, his arms wrapping around my waist. He speaks in my skin, muttering countless excuses and promises. Immediately seizing the opportunity, I grab him by the shoulders and push him with all my might to the ground. Surprised, he let me go. His back hits the floor, he lets out a plaintive moan mixed with his cries. Without thinking, I turn my back to flee. But Ethan is strangely fast. He gives me a powerful kick in the shin which in turn makes me fall on my stomach.

Ethan is crying. His cheeks are drowned in tears and red. I don't find him as handsome as before when he slightly pulls up his t-shirt to pull a knife out of his pants.

"Why are you doing this to me ?" he growled, his face lowered to the ground. So far, he's let it go. But there, his energy had changed. He was a murderer.

I crawl on the ground, moving away from him, my eyes filled with terror. I'm gonna die. I'm going to die here, alone, killed by the boy I loved. Ethan towered over me, taking small steps towards me.

“I'm begging you…” I cried.

I was desperate, there were no more solutions. I thought, as I disappeared, maybe Chad would figure out who my killer was, since he was the last one to see me other than Ethan.

"You told me you wouldn't be scared..." he pouted as he crouched down on top of me. Afterwards, his actions keep surprising me as he sits on my pelvis. He had fun bringing his knife to my neck and caressing me with it. The coldness of the metal makes my hair stand on and shivers appear all over my body.

"Ethan, please take that away from me... yelling at him wouldn't get me anywhere, so I was begging.

- No, don't be afraid. You know very well that I would never hurt you.”

His promises, I wanted no more. I wanted him to leave me alone, forever. My hands were free, yet I no longer controlled them. They were completely flat on the ground. I couldn't lift a single finger.

“Do you want me to prove my devotion to you? the curly boy points the knife at him.

The sharp tip of the weapon is now to his throat. Ethan looks at me and smiles. His free hand lay comfortably flat on my chest, holding me firmly to the floor. The vision unfolding in front of me was horrific. I was praying that he wouldn't be able to take his own life in front of me, on top of me! I didn't want to see it though, my eyes refused to look away. I was terrified that he would plunge his knife in me without warning.

- You love me too, right? he asks, stroking my cheek with his thumb. Tell me that you love me. You love me so much, my love. You love me so much you're ready to die for it.

-Ethan listen…

-Answer." he orders.

The roles had switched. He had given me a position of superiority, adoring me, throwing himself at my feet for even a pardon, but he was sick of it. And now not even my pleas will reach him.

“Imagine how romantic that would be, huh? May the students meet us tomorrow morning, both dead and entwined. It would be wonderful.” His smile was that of a sick man. What more do you need, my death? You want me to stick this pretty little knife in my heart for you? That I tear it down and give it to you as an offering? Come on, tell me you love me. I know you do.”

Finally, I manage to close my eyes. His description had managed to repel me enough to allow my brain to kick in the survival instinct. Ethan laughs mischievously. I feel him move, all his weight crushing my body. His lips settle on my neck for a second.

“You want me to kill myself, huh? I'll kill myself because of you. All because you don't love me. How can you be so selfish? he kisses my cheek. Tell me you love me, my love. I need it. His thumb passes over my eyelid gently, making me open my eyes.

I knew I was stuck. He was one step ahead of me, physically and mentally speaking. He had me stuck. My eyes were red and swollen.

-I… I love you… I whisper, choked cries leaving my mouth at the same time.

-Where is my first name, pretty ?

And to think that I was dreaming of saying those words to him a few minutes earlier.

-I… I love you Ethan… The curly man's face lights up, a gaping smile erasing his crazed expression.

- There, it wasn't so complicated now, was it?"

That was my first story in english. please do not hesitate to gives me advices whatsoever, like if you think that the plot was too quick, ethan too out of character, not enough details, everything ! I hope you liked reading it anyways.

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #ethan landry #scream 6 #yandere x y/n #yandere ethan landry #yandere boy #ghostface #ethan landry fanfiction #sub ethan landry #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x gn reader #vitzi9writings

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neil-gaiman · 1 year

Note

Hello Mr Neil,

I hope your writer strike is going to be successful and I am sorry you have to strike at all but I’m rooting for you and everyone else involved! That said, I have a question, or rather, I seek your advice. I am, more or less, studying English, and this apparently requires classes on pronunciation, which means, in my case, that I have to speak as perfectly posh RP English as I can manage. Most students and at least some tutors are against this since, as we’ve also been told, only like 3% of anglophones speak RP and having to learn specifically that as The Correct English seems uhh not ideal, but alas we do not get a choice (unless we want to do General American instead which I personally would be very bad at). All this to say – part of our final oral exam in this class consists of reading out a short narrative prose text (300-400 words) of our choosing, ideally with direct speech in it. I have already made up my mind to read something of your writing, because I find the flow and melody of it very pleasant to read out loud. However, as a tiny act of protest that’s available to me, I’d like to read something that can be considered at least a little bit, well. disturbing? fucked up? “what the hell are you reading there?”-like? so my professors will have to judge my pronunciation of Fucked Up Stuff if they have to judge it at all. Is there any text/passage of your writing you might like to recommend for this purpose?

(Ideally something I have personally available, probably, unfortunately... so, Good Omens, American Gods, Anansi Boys, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, The Graveyard Book, Coraline, Stardust, Neverwhere, Smoke & Mirrors, or Fragile Things. Or Sandman, but that probably won’t count for “prose with direct speech”.)

If you have nothing to recommend or no opinion, thank you very much anyway, just for reading this ask and for making your amazing writing publicly available for us to read! Have a wonderful [insert time of day here]!

Ash

The Bilquis scene at the end of Chapter 1 of American Gods?

"Tastings" or part of "Snow, Glass, Apples" in Fragile Things? Or part of "Foreign Parts" in Smoke and Mirrors?

"Other People" or "Feeders and Eaters" from Fragile Things?

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canarycolemine · 7 months

Text

The Cardinale

Pairing: Cardinal Terzo x Female Reader

Summary: Cardinal Terzo is one arragont motherfucker.

AO3 Link

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only. hate sex. lots of it. cardinal is a little cheeky piece of shit. WC 4.4k.

Heavily inspired by @mardyart's depiction of Cardi T. Such a phenomenal artist!

Cocky, arrogant, headstrong.

The third Emeritus brother, destined to become Papa one day, nepotism to the highest degree. His suave, angular face and his overly confident charms - how he assumes every Sister will fall into his bed.

How I despise him. How I hope to never fall under his gaze, never be subjected to his attention.

Imagine my rage when Sister Superior informed me that I, her star pupil, will be responsible for tutoring the bastard in English.

He was “reassigned” to the country-side Abbey after displaying what I can only imagine was simply inappropriate behavior for an upper clergy member. The man believes that he can seduce and bed any living thing! Perhaps it’s not a matter of belief, but a goal, rather. At his current pace, he will have had most of the Sisters in his bed before the year is up!

Watching him saunter through the halls, smoking his little cigarettes - inside! I always made a concerted effort to cough as I walked past, head held high. He would simply perish, it seems, if he did not attempt to woo a woman a day. Kissing their hands, wearing his stupid white gloves, and winking that shining white eye.

I love my Sisters, but please, have some self-respect.

Quite frankly, I’ve always been appalled by his behavior. He has never led an entire black mass by himself, needing his brothers to finish the job. There was even one instance where I could have sworn he had a sister hidden under the pulpit from where he stood, evidently having communion. No, Cardinal Terzo only ever wanted to lead the rituals - the demon and ghoul summonings (he needs new things to fuck), the mystic elements (anything he can light on fire), and of course, orgies. (duh!).

It was early fall when Sister Superior invited me to her office. I was promised tea; secretly, I had hoped she would invite me to teach a seminar or two over the semester. My lecture series on the invocation of Lilith and Samuel could rival even the Dark One’s knowledge, himself!

But, no.

“The Cardinal is in desperate need of more restraint, and he could benefit from a more rigorous understanding of the English language. He prefers to speak in his mother tongue, and truthfully, it is not accommodating to international chapters.” Superior started, my ears perked at the mention of my personal enemy. I brought the steaming cup to my mouth. “I could think of none other to teach him all of these skills rather than you, Sister.”

I could hardly register the hind notes of the tea before it went straight through my nose, burning the whole way up! I coughed and sputtered the hot liquid at the shock of my assignment.

Still catching my breath, “My apologies, Sister, but… why me?”

“Give yourself credit, Sister. You are a star pupil!” A shine in her eyes, a smirk in her mouth let me know two things - she meant what she said and there was another reason, too.

My eyes narrowed, seeking the answers in her eyes.

“And you’re the only student that the Cardinal has not gotten to know… intimately.” Her lips pursed, looking towards the ground.

“Sister Superior…” I started, not above begging.

“Sister, I will make it worth your while. I will make sure you have your lecture series as a mandatory presentation for all first-year novicates.” A smile crossed my face, but dropped; still, the deal was unsatisfactory.

I sat up a little straighter, now making a dare. “And, no kitchen duty for the entirety of his lessons.” I hated the kitchens. Everything I’ve ever made was burnt to a crispr, so I’ve always been delegated to cleaning the dishes - the worst thing in the world.

She nodded, “That can be arranged.”

I smiled, relaxing a little, but how it only lasted so long. Resigned to my fate, I was excused to prepare for my lesson with the Cardinal this Tuesday.

A pause from my duties was provided in anticipation - he needed to be assessed for his English skills - grammar, vocabulary and pronunciation. From my understanding, he had a functional grasp on the language. But I did not really know.

Truth be told, I have never spoken even a word to the Cardinal - always avoiding him, always souring my face when his eyes gazed at me. I wanted to be wholly unappealing to the man. For the most part, he had taken the hint and left me alone. Although, I could have sworn he said something in Italian as I walked past, something like “how I want to be the stick up her…” I didn’t inquire further.

By Lucifer’s grace, I had successfully avoided him. Until the sunset on the second day of the week, when our paths collide.

I arrived at our designated location - one of the older classrooms, repurposed for private studying, long abandoned by the day. Thirty minutes early to the beginning of the lesson, how I tidied our space, laid the materials out and cleaned the chalkboard.

The hanging wall clock, the ever present heartbeat, kept steady. It was almost unnerving, as if keeping me in tempo with the eventual encounter with the asshole. The old bell tower clock rang out 6 times.

And the aforementioned asshole was not here. The door was unlocked, the sun firmly setting. My lips tightened to a pout. I will give him five minutes - no more.

Electing to sit in one of the old desks I rearranged, I pulled out a trusty book, as I had anticipated his tardiness.

Some twenty odd pages in, and I had lost track of time entirely - forgotten the reason I was in this dusty room. The bastard didn’t even show up, easily thirty minutes late! Quite frankly, it was embarrassing that I managed to stay this long. But now, I elected to start the process of cleaning my things.

In the morning, I planned to tell Sister Superior that I will simply not take the Cardinal as a student, he had no respect for my time. Future Papa or not, not enough breaths on this Earth could be spared for a man with little regard for others.

I managed to talk myself through this script as I cleaned up my belongings, nearly whispering her retorts back. But I would not be deterred! Lost in the monologue, I heard a hoard of boys giggling, getting closer to the door.

No, no. It could not be.

The door opened, the raven haired cardinal stumbled in - his pack of brothers falling behind him. Laughing at some lewd joke, no doubt. He turned to look at me, suddenly stiffening his posture. The smug smile falling from his face. He offered some excuse to the men behind him, closing the door to the two of us. He leaned against the old door frame, creaking under his weight. As if that would make him look cooler. The black cassock he preferred was immaculately ironed - surely not by his own hands. Maybe he was screwing the laundry girls.

I tried hard to keep my gaze away from him. My rage and my pride wouldn’t allow it.

“Scusa sorella, I, eh, lost the time.” He offered with a shrug of his shoulders. His voice was rich with his mother tongue.

“Well, Cardinal, I won’t keep you long, then. Our lesson is canceled.” I coldly retorted.

“Che cosa?”

“Canceled, cardinal.” I spat back, lifting my book and walking towards him. “You were late.”

“But I am here now, no?” That white eye twinkled - a charm that assuredly got him into many sisters’ beds.

“And I have been here, Cardinal. For thirty minutes past our scheduled time. Either your watch is broken or you have so little regard for others that time is no object to you?” I said, every syllable articulated, glaring at him.

His eyebrow quirked, a challenge, he supposed. A grin crossed his face, a chuckle that died in his throat.

“It really is you, eh sister?”

“What?” I shot back, whatever could he mean by that?

“You - you,” he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulling one to his lips, lighting it, and puffing the smoke away from us, “I thought my school would be with you. You are the sister that always walks with a stick up her ass.”

I made a pointed effort to cough at his smoke.

“Some of us have priorities besides fucking an entire congregation, Cardinal.”

“Am I really so evil, Sorella?” he feigned offense, the cigarette affecting his enunciation. Removing from his lips, another puff. “To celebrate our eh, how do you say, istinti?”

“Instincts.” I corrected.

“Ah, si, instincts. That is why we are here, no? Our Lord calls us to do just that.”

“You’ve got quite the head start on the sin of lust, Cardinal, I don’t think you could ever live long enough to dedicate your life to such… dedicated studies of the other sins.”

“It is my favorite.” His white gloves took the cigarette from his mouth, curling it between his fingers, before dropping it to the ground to extinguish the flame. His shoes shined brilliantly, even I could admit, but as I gazed at his shoes, I swore he winked at me through the reflection of his face.

“You really shouldn’t smoke, you know.”

“It is not good for me, this I know.” “I couldn’t care about what happens to you, the flame isn’t good for these old buildings. You’d burn down the whole abbey.”

“You say you don’t care about me sister.” He moved past me, further into the room, settling in one of the old teachers' desks. He kicked those expensive shoes onto the desk, relaxing back into the chair. “But I do not think that is so true.”

I faced him fully, still standing near the door. “I promise you, I do not.”

“Hm,” he chuckled, bringing his gloved hand to his mouth, running the fabric gently against his lower, unpainted lip. “No.” He said so sternly.

“What?”

“What?” he mocked me, a voice that was far too high pitched to be an imitation of me.

I let out an exasperated sigh, to which he laughed.

“Fuck you.” I went for my bag, still at the old desk.

“Do you want to know how I know this?” He said, staring at my rage.

“I doubt you ever shut up, so it doesn’t really matter what I want.”

“Sorella,” he sat up in the chair, his feet meeting the ground and his hands coming together on the desk. “We have not spoken any words to each other. But you hate me so much?”

I huffed. “You have no respect for anyone but yourself!” I could feel an all too familiar lump in my throat.

“How do you know this?” His patience now wearing thin, I could hear it.

“You walk around the abbey like you own the place. I get it, I know you’re the future Papa, but God damn it, you are so arrogant. You’ve never had to work for anything in your life! You think you can just fuck anyone and anything that walks through these doors. You’ve had everything handed to you by a silver spoon, and I hate it.”

My eyes watered, I couldn’t look at him. Whether from my rage or some secret hopes I had, I could feel the emotion.

“I’ve worked so fucking hard to get where I am, and I will never be anything close to you, just because you’re, fucking, you! And now, I have to waste my time teaching you English because you can’t stay focused for more than five seconds!”

My fist met the school table. His face leaned into his hands, thinking too carefully about the situation. His eyebrow quirked.

“... You are jealous of me, then?” He hid a smirk behind his hands.

I glared at him, how I wish my stare could kill.

“Fuck. You.”

“That does not sound like a no.” No effort in hiding his smirk now.

“Since when does ‘no’ matter to you?” I baited.

He feigned offense, yet again, bringing his hand to his chest. “Sorella, I am offended! I can promise you all of my sexual encounters have been enthusiastic by all parties. I would not dare to violate another!”

“What a well constructed sentence, Cardinal. It seems like you have no need for any help with the English language.”

“Ah, she has gotten me off of the topic…”

“All I had to do was talk about sex, so it wasn’t too hard, was it now?”

“No, no, no, we were talking about you, si! About how you are so jealous of me.” He ran that stupid fucking gloved hand through his hair, slicked with grease.

“Even now, you cannot say you are not jealous of me. Admit it.”

I paused. “So what?”

He clapped his hands, catching me apparently.

“She is! She is very jealous of my status and my future. But, I think she is jealous of not only me, no?” His tone shifted, in a direction I was not comfortable with.

“What?”

“She is also very jealous of all of the people that I get to fuck.” He punctuated the syllables far too clearly.

I huffed again, rolling my eyes. “There it is again. She does not say ‘no!’”

I hated how well he was reading me.

“Why do you even care? You fuck everything with a pulse, so why do you care?”

Fuck. I was not selling this very well. His gaze told me everything. The raised eyebrow, the smug pull of his painted lips.

He tilted his head, as if to study me further. I could feel myself recoil.

“You have done too much assuming, Sorella. About me, about yourself.”

He stood from the chair and stalked towards me. Instinctively, I crept back from him, nearing the wall for safety.

“You think I do not care about anyone but me, and that is not true. You think I abuse my future position, but that is not true either. And you think I fuck anything with a pulse.” He reached me, cornering me against the wall.

“And that,” he brought his finger to my chin, forcing my eyes to his, “is not true. I only fuck the pretty ones.”

Here is where I could be offended, he never fucked me. I thought that I was fairly pretty, so damn, that kinda hurt my feelings.

Sensing the monologue, “And you are a pretty one.” His painted lips gently touched mine.

God damn it. I hated how good that felt.

“So you see, sister, I knew you thought all of this.” His other hand reached for my waist, exploring the dip of my body. “I saw the way you scowled at me, pretending to hate me. It was all jealousy. But there is something about the way you hated me that pulled me so, so close. I needed to have you.”

“But how to get to you?” His hands reached for mine, holding them in place, behind my back.

“Who better to teach me restraint?” he purred.

“I act like an asshole for a while, speak in Italian with my friends. I get the attention of the Sister Superior, who will certainly demand I be subdued by studies.” His painted lips traveled a path along my jaw to my ear. “And who here have I not fucked?”

His teeth grazed my earlobe. “I could deceive the world for you.”

I bit my lip. His gaze returned to mine.

“Pretty good, no?”

“Pretending you’re stupid was a very believable act, apparently.” I mustered out, flustered as I was.

“Don’t deceive me now, Sorella.” His lips met mine again, pressing his forehead to mine. “There is one thing I need to hear you say.” His words left his mouth easily, but he was not unaffected. Just as flustered as I.

I huffed, pausing for only a moment.

“Si.”

His lips crashed to mine, with a fire that was barely restrained before. He released my hands from behind my back; his hands traveled to my hips, lifting me. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his waist.

We traveled through the room, locked in the heated kiss, when he sat me on the teacher’s desk.

“On the teacher’s desk?” I giggled, taking in the chosen location.

“It’s always been a fantasy.” He laughed back, then resumed his fury on my neck.

His large hands reached for my habit, pulling it off in a fell swoop. Evident of his experience, it hardly hurt. He pulled away from me, just gazing at me for a moment.

“Pretty one.” As if he didn’t know he said it.

Fuck.

I lead the charge back to his mouth, my hands now locking into his raven locks. The diligent work of unbuttoning that goddamn stupid black cassock. I gave it my best shot. My hands kept slipping on the buttons, struggling to unhook them. He chuckled from our kiss, removing my hands from him.

“Having trouble, darling? It’s always difficult.” His gloved hands made the show unbuttoning each cotton button - traveling down in body in quite the show.

Once to the bottom, he stepped out of the garment and removed his crisp white undershirt. I was out of my body, unaware of how I looked as I looked at him. Each new sight of his skin lit a fire in me. He was as slender as I thought he would be, well defined, certainly. A healthy patch of hair on his chest - he was certainly Italian.

A glance to his eyes knew how I enjoyed his spectacle.

Cocky, arrogant, and headstrong was the Cardinale.

“Your turn.”

He came back to my neck, teasing the delicate flesh. The first moan slipped from my lips as he sucked the skin purple.

“Good girl.” He purred. He lifted my habit from my legs, over my head, leaving me in my undergarments. Pausing his efforts to take in my form. A glance in his eyes - like my body was a feast for his soul. Another look at my undergarments, “Matching?” in reference to the black bra and panties I was sporting.

Guilty.

He leaned closer to me, resting an arm on the table. Teasingly, looking into me.

“Women match when they are planning to be fucked.” My eyes turned from his, embarrassing me again. His other hand came to my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “Was there someone else, Sorella?”

I opened my mouth, but the words failed me.

“No.” He answered for me, feigning sympathy. “There wasn’t, was there?”

My mouth hung open, but I couldn’t admit it.

“Say it, then.”

Bastard.

“Say it, pretty one, I do not have all night.” His voice nearly sang.

The fire his was stroking in me burned, “I need you to fuck me.” I whined, my eyes nearly starting to water.

His hand, holding my gaze, went to my shoulder, forcing me to lay on the old, creaking desk. Quickly, he made work removing my bra. Adoringly, he stared at the exposed skin.

Wordlessly, he painted my breasts with his lips. As his lips latched around my nipple, I whimpered, already so sensitive. His other hand toyed with the opposite breast, kneading the flesh. As his teeth grazed the delicate flesh, he nearly pinched the opposite.

Another gasp escaped.

“She likes it when it hurts?”

Obviously. I fucking hated him so much.

He mirrored his actions on the opposite breasts before trailing his kisses further down my torso. Nipping at the skin, kissing it, dragging his tongue.

He left a particularly gentle kiss below my navel, as he gazed back at me. Wordlessly asking.

I nodded.

He hooked his hands to the elastic of the lacy panties, dragging them off of my legs in a well-practiced motion.

“Spread your legs.” I obliged, as he pulled the teacher’s chair to sit in between my legs.

His gaze never left my core, which he could see how he affected me. He lifted my legs onto his shoulders, granting a better view. Biting the fingers of his gloves, removing them. Gently working the muscle of my inner thighs, unconsciously creeping higher.

Reaching my core, his uncovered hands spread me open further to him. He gazed reverently.

“Pretty, pretty girl.” He stroked my slit delicately, I shivered and whined at the feeling. “Such a pretty girl.”

He brought his face close, kissing my mound and licking the slit all the way up. He left gentle kisses onto my already sensitive clit, dying for attention. He latched his lips around the bud, suckling softly.

As his tongue flicked my clit, I bucked my hips into his mouth, firming my grip in his hair.

He unlatched to drag his tongue, flattened, up and down my core. His tongue prodded at my entrance, lapping at my slick. His fingers moved towards my center, replacing his mouth, pressing into me.

One finger - pumping slowly into me - adjusting the feeling. Adding another one, stretching slightly. His eyes studied my face for discomfort. Once I adjusted, his divine mouth returned to my clit, alternating between kissing and suckling. His fingers curled into me, searching. When they found the spongy tissue inside, the moans fell easily. Begging him. He teased the spot, expertly. Pressing into it with each pump, as he sucked on my clit.

“Cardinal-” I started. “I’m getting - close” I managed to get out.

I could feel a smile on his lips as he continued, speeding his actions.

The band in my stomach was burning, stretching, white hot. At the precipice, as my cries started to build.

When suddenly he stopped. Sitting back, removing his mouth and fingers from me.

I shuddered at the loss of sensation, being so close. I sat up slightly to look at him.

The fucker was wiping my slick from his chin, licking his fingers clean.

Apparently, my face told him how close I was, how it was moments away.

“I wanted to feel it on my cock, darling.” His eyebrow raised. “Plus, it feels better when you ruin it a little bit.”

A fight was breaking in my head, an internal debate I was having with him.

His belt jingled, his pants being slid down and discarded. Left in pristine white boxers, which he lowered. His cock sprang free, dripping with his precum.

“I could have came just from tasting you, you know?” as he began languidly stroking himself, using himself to lubricate the movements. “All of your little sounds, they sounded so sweet. And you were oh so close, weren’t you?”

His teasing was back, his hand sped up, only to build himself up more. I whined.

“Just think. Even an hour ago, you were cursing my name, wanting me dead. Look at you now - begging for my cock.”

He pressed his cock into my core, rubbing the reddened head onto my clit. A guttural noise fell from me. An animalistic cry.

“She was so jealous of me, too. And now all she wants to be is fucked by me. Maybe she’ll die if she doesn’t get it, what do you think?”

“Please, Terzo.” “Oh, using my name now? What happened to ‘asshole?’” His voice cracked, unaffected by his own need.

“Please fuck me.” I cried out, a tear falling from my eye.

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” Tumbling out.

On command, he aligned himself and pressed into my dripping heat. Feeling every inch of my warmth, he shuddered and groaned.

“So, so good” he whispered.

He filled me exquisitely, pressing in carefully, allowing me to adjust. My nails marked his back, savoring every inch.

His hips finally met mine, I swore I could feel him in my stomach. He let out a breath, unsteadied from restraint.

“Don’t have that restraint now, Cardinal.” I teased. “Move.”

A low groan from him, as his hips rolled, moving back. “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I don't.”

“Try your worst.”

He slammed forward again, now setting a punishing pace. Feeling the drag of his cock on my walls, I whined. His hands tilted my hips further up, angling to my sweet spot. I gasped at the pressure. It was returning - the precipice. He couldn’t rob me a second time.

“Perhaps, sorella, it is you who needs a lesson, eh?” He nearly coughed through, maintaining his pace. “I could teach you something.”

His hand moved towards we were joined, circling my clit. It was becoming too much - the sweet pressure of him inside and now his devious fingers.

His fingers moved quickly on my clit, building the fire again. My moans telling him it all. As if in perfect rhythm, his pistoning hips and circling fingers.

“Let’s countdown, darling. In Italian.”

His other hand came to my chin, forcing my gaze. He nodded, as if to reassert his power. “It goes…dieci, nove…”

The fire was reaching a breaking point, I knew what he was doing now. His fingers still moved with a steady speed.

“Otto, sette, sei…”

“...Terzo…” I whined.

“Cinque, quattro, tre…”

“I’m gonna…”

“Due, uno.”

The waves of pleasure crashed down on me, my legs shaking. My vision blurry, white hot. His hips stuttered, as I felt him swell inside, riding out my pleasure. Milking him for all he had. The course of our cries rang in the old room. His fingers didn’t stop until I whined with oversensitivity, his spend leaking from me.

He stayed inside, pressing his full weight onto me.

We held each other in an embrace, coming down from divinity. Our breaths in sync, slowing down.

My breath nearly returned to me as I came to, laughing with what air I had.

“What’s so funny?” His smirk shined with a warmth I had not seen before.

“A countdown to my orgasm. Cheeky.”

He laughed. “It worked, eh?”

“Don’t be too full of yourself.”

“I cannot, you are full of me.”

“Ew! Don’t say it like that, dumbass.”

“There is the girl that hates me. I missed her.” He gazed at me, smiling more softly now, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear. Holding my face in his hand, so gently. He placed the last soft his to my lips.

“And I’ll never stop hating you, Cardinal.”

“So be it, but it has worked out well for me so far, huh?”

Bastard.

#my writing #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iii x female reader #sister of sin #ghost band fanfic #Cardinal Terzo #terzo x reader #ghost band smut #papa emeritus smut #this is unholy #my apologies

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