#this is kind of a character study into james | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lorefolked · 1 year

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going through the motions was just a facet of james' life. fleeting, swirled faces that never lingered for long, pressing questions from all sides ; like a thick pair of jaws fastened around him, canines sinking in until he was bled dry, thin and weak. the queries never ended, nor did the expectations. he was this kind of figure now, clad in dark shades, hair wild and untamed -- a figment of his signature. he practically bled black.

he'd become somewhat, undeniably, accustomed to the press conferences. skin thickening with each discussion, once soft-toned and demure responses edging into something more curt, abrupt and monosyllabic, as brief as james could possibly be. instead of answering he'd begun volleying back his own questions -- "how do you feel about it?" "what is there to say?" "is that how you interpret it?" seeing the looks on those journalists' faces was perhaps better than any kind of acid ( now criminalized, just like those reporters the moment their quizzes were turned back on them ). his reputation had tacked on words like jerk and evasive, headlines screeching warnings of WATCH OUT and RIVERS BACK AT IT AGAIN! without care to truly understand the intention of his words. james had never cared much for the press -- he found them to be sleazy; sell outs; only interested in one thing, and it was never the truth. they'd likened james to a petulant child in the two years he'd been an artist, so he'd turned his back on them and done the same. their faces red with embarrassment and irritation, brows furrowed and jaws clenched, fully inked pens gripped by white-tipped fingers. why won't you answer? why? why? look in the mirror.

but those moments of satisfaction had been swallowed by the other mounting feelings wedged in james' chest. sly smirks gave way to thinned lips, expressionless and cold. this was who he was now. empty, barren hotel rooms, untouched sheets. a narrow spine pushed against the wall, black collared jacket swept around his feet, legs pressed into his stomach. the tears never came. sickness churned in his belly, fingers curled around porcelain toilets as he bent over, dry heaving. platform saddle shoes digging into the dirty tile underneath. help me. he wanted to cry out, wanted to beg god for forgiveness, but the sky lay empty at night and no deity ever answered him back. hands covered his face, fingers tangled in messy black hair. he was alone.

then he met oliver noble ( and after that, he'd never felt more alone in his entire life ). sleek brunette hair, stylized and gelled ; deep brown eyes focusing in on james' face, never leaving, like they belonged there. fleas on a dog's hide, burrowed deep. he smelled of citrus and wood, a crackling hearth, sparked with amber flames. he looked like he shaved daily. for james, brushing his teeth was a chore -- jaws gnashed as bitterness ran through him. noble was older, only a little, and wore tailored suits. wrinkles pressed out and tie expertly wrapped. he held out a hand, a grin on his face. one that screamed shark. james took it anyway, felt the softness against his own callouses. backed away, intent on getting away and slipping through the crowd, but noble followed.

james expected many things. questions that he'd heard a million times, something any idiot could find in the paper. headline material. he had already begun working up a detached answer to the usual "how does it feel to be the most highly regarded artist right now?" but what came was neither what he expected nor what he wished to answer. a deep look in those sharp browns, like they saw something no one else did. "how do you handle performance anxiety, mr. rivers?"

performance anxiety. as if james didn't live in front of crowds. as if a camera wasn't always in his face. as if his hands didn't tremble before he stepped on stage. teeth clenched, adjusting his sunglasses, wanting something to do with his hands as the question speared through him. he felt protected by his shades, like his eyes couldn't be bored into. even though noble's face looked like he was staring right through him. "it's just life. how do you handle life?" he bunted back. waited for the cross look. it never came.

noble nodded slowly, like he'd come to understand something that was never there in the first place. "life is difficult. i understand what you mean. but dealing with it -- now that's the million dollar question, isn't it?" he replied, voice silky sweet with sympathy. like james was liquid putty in his hands, molded and shaped however he saw fit. i'm worth twenty thousand of you, he wanted to say. wanted to scream. how did he deflect a question when it was no longer his answer?

"people deal with life in different ways. it all comes down to what you know," james said reluctantly. you're manipulating me. was it manipulation if he knew it? or was he, at that point, just as guilty?

"and what do you know, mr. rivers?" noble positioned himself in front of james, staring at him. he wasn't even holding a pen or a notepad. like he was committing all of this to memory, as if someone of his stature cared that much. he looked more like a renowned businessman to james than anything else ; a carnivorous hound, teeth bared and jaws foaming. each word was like a clap of thunder, and if noble was a hound then james was nothing more than a house dog, shaken and frail. weak underpaw, walking a line he didn't quite know how to tread yet. trying to be delicate but feeling as though he'd just shattered fine china. but it was his life. his life. how could someone take away all he knew in such a short amount of time?

james didn't want to answer. where had that person gone, the one that fired back at journalists like this? where was that cold mask? why were his hands shaking when he should be cool and confident? noble was using him, twisting up his words in order to pad his story with interest. and yet, james couldn't help but wonder how much of what noble was twisting up was true. "i'm just a singer. i'm no scholar. if i was a scholar i wouldn't be singing, would i?"

"many would beg to differ," noble responded, quick and light, weightless. "you're a hero to so many. your words carry power." james heard the undertone of mockery, saw the veiled interest in noble's eyes. nothing he could say would ever resonate with this man. he'd already made up his mind about james -- prick. cagey. uninteresting.

that familiar resentment ran flush through him, sinking into the cores of his teeth. the marrow in his bones. who was he to change noble's mind? who was he to change anyone's mind? embracing the idea that he was this character now ( black clothed, reticent, strung out ) was what felt like the current best option. let noble have his headliner. let everyone see james for the person he put on. who would have the last laugh then? it had to be him. it had to be. they'd all be fools, because james would know what he was. he'd never lose sight of himself. and even though the empty space in his chest was an open chasm, maw wide and gaping, he wouldn't allow himself to fall in. sidestepping was easy, a dance he knew well. this was just another part of himself he'd keep from the world.

"power is only what people give it," james murmured, motioning out toward the crowd choked around them. "and if people see me as a hero, then maybe i am one. what are you doing about the state of things? writing columns about me?" hazel eyes narrowed at noble, taking in the acceptance on the other man's face. expectations had just been met. "maybe it's you who needs to think about how to handle life. i'm certainly doing a better job of it than you."

james didn't wait for an answer. he couldn't. he just saw noble's lips press into a thin line and then he was off, desperate to be away from this place and these people. returning home -- or whatever he could truly call home, living in the desolation of a hotel room. a black abyss, calling out to him. and the time passed, as it always did. that night was just a ledger in his mind. and for a moment, he'd thought, he isn't writing about me. he'd deflected, successfully. was that all it took? speaking highly of himself?

and then the magazine landed across his desk days later. the ledbetter, it read. title : IS JAMES RIVERS WORTHY OF PRAISE AFTER ALL? author, oliver noble. james felt sick as he read it. tanned hands picked up the pack of newports, bringing the cigarette to his lips. he breathed smoke, lived in it, ash in a fire. the last one standing in a burning house. hearth-dwelling noble, setting the place ablaze. james had never felt worthy of his celebrity standing, but this certainly overwhelmed any other criticism -- and to be so wrong at the same time? it was no hullabaloo magazine, but people would certainly read this. chapped lips parted as smoke puffed out, trailing thick tendrils through the empty white room, legs lifting to set his feet upon the desk. he scrubbed a hand through his hair. when was the last time he'd even bothered to wash it? it all just felt so far away, a distant echo crying out in a bottomless cave. nothing matters. nothing ever has. nothing ever will. he eyed the setlist sitting on his desk, wondered what those people thought of him. but then, did it really matter? what of oliver noble? what of mary, his own manager? if the world saw him one way, was that really who he was? maybe it only mattered what he was deep down. but if no one else saw that, was he even human at that point? or was he just a cardboard cutout, a caricature?

anger swelled inside of him, gripping the magazine and throwing it across the room, watching the gaudy pages flutter in the air. a kaleidoscope of color, planting to the ground. his chest heaved, his hands shook. he had a show tonight. there was no reason to get worked up. but oliver noble had found him, crooked and bleeding, and kicked him in the face. watched him go down, laughing, laughing, laughing. that grin haunted his mind. commensalism was so often the relationship between musician and reporter. but what of this?

james shook his head, bit down on the cigarette and closed his eyes. maybe he'd write a song about this. call it parasite. the suckling leech, oliver noble. he just hoped to never see him again. it wouldn't be far out if he didn't. but those words would continue living in his head, at least until james could let it go. but the idea of being bested stuck with him, and so it never slipped his mind.

performance anxiety. what a joke.

#*dumps 1800 words on you*#PHEW #this was very difficult but fun #just a little character study <3 maybe even a look at james and oliver's first meeting?#this kind of strays from my usual style BUT i'm trying to be a little more descriptive here and just get better at writing in general #and woo boy is this guy fun to explore #so many issues lol. of course as he's my character but ... so many problems #messy messy boys !!!#i'm a little tired of writing after this but i'm sure i'll whip up something again soon #as my brainrot is full with these characters rn #so ... enjoy anyone reading #JAMES RIVERS.#OLIVER NOBLE.#writing

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hairmetal666 · 1 year

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The note shows up in Eddie's mailbox cubby on Valentine's Day.

It's nothing fancy, loopy cursive handwriting on lined paper:

"I know this is probably silly but I can't go another day without saying it, and today seems appropriate for this kind of confession. Seeing you in the morning is the best part of my day. You're so gorgeous it leaves me breathless. I hope you don't mind if I don't leave my name. Just wanted you to know that you're beautiful."

His eyes fill with tears that he blinks back, a goofy smile stretching his mouth wide.

"You good there, Munson?" Robin Buckley asks.

"Oh, yup, yeah, all good." He laughs. "Just got one of those 'you're my favorite teacher Mr. Munson!' notes."

He squeezes the letter to his chest before slipping it in his pocket.

---

The worst thing about Eddie's new job is that someway, somehow, Steve-fucking-Harrington works here too. PE teacher, JV basketball coach, of-fucking-course. Once a douchebag jock, always a douchebag jock. What makes it all worse is that he's still the prettiest guy Eddie's ever seen.

---

The first week of March, there's a commotion in the hallway that has him rushing out of his room, ready to breakup a fight. He finds Harrington already there, holding Dustin Henderson and Will Byers by their shoulders. Troy Walsh and James Dante stand across from them, wearing matching snarls.

Of course Harrington is picking on little nerd kids; he knew it. But before he steps forwards to break it up, Steve speaks, voice low and angry. "You want to tell me what happened here, Troy?"

"Byers tripped. He really should watch where he's going," Troy says. James laughs.

Steve's glare goes even more icy, more disdainful (it's so fucking hot, Eddie hates it). "You want to take that again? And try being honest this time, or you're suspend from the team."

Troy splutters for long enough that Eddie finally notices Will's stricken face, the sketchpad and snapped colored pencils littering the linoleum.

"I saw you take those things from Will, and unfortunately, I'll have to call your parents and you will be responsible for purchasing a new sketchbook and pencils. You're also benched for the next four games."

The boys shout, but when Steve raises a hand they quiet immediately. "You want to complain more, or do you want it to be five games?"

"No, sir," they answer before scampering off.

Harrington faces Dustin and Will. "You boys okay?" he asks them.

"We're good, Mr. H," Dustin answers.

"Glad to hear it." Steve begins collecting Will's ruined belongings, stops to study one of the drawings.

"This is really good, Will."

Will flushes. "Thanks. It's my character for dnd,"

"Dnd? That's that game that El and Max are always talking about? With the character sheets and the dice?"

"Yeah!" says Dustin. "You know it?"

Steve's smile is a little bashful, and it tugs at Eddie's heart in a way he has to ignore. "Not much. Just from what the girls have said. You want to tell me about it?"

"Really?" Their eyes light up.

"Really. You can stop by the gym during lunch. Only if you want to, though."

"Cool," says Dustin.

He pats them both on the shoulder, and they hurry away, leaving Steve and Eddie suddenly alone.

Eddie should head back to his class, hasn't been needed in this situation at all, really, but before he can disappear, Steve spots him and his eyes widen.

"You need something, Munson?" Steve's cheeks go a faint pink.

He shakes his head, feels wrong-footed. "Uh, that was really cool what you did just there."

"They're really good kids," Steve says. "I know them a little. Used to babysit El Hopper." He slides his hands into the pockets of his khakis and, seriously, fuck Harrington for looking like that in a pair of Dockers.

"Babysitter, Harrington? Never thought I'd see the day. Or that you'd be the one defending a bunch of nerds," Eddie says. He means it teasing, but Steve's face warps into a frown.

"Y--yeah, I guess. I mean. I'm trying not to be that guy anymore, and Robin's really helped--"

"Shit, man, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant, at all--"

"--I feel terrible about all that shit I pulled back in school. That King Steve stuff? I was awful and you didn't deserve--"

"Steve!" Eddie cuts him off. "I forgive you. For everything." He looks down at his shoes. "For all I didn't want to believe it, you really have changed."

They're both pink faced now, avoiding each other's eyes. "Thanks," Steve says. "I should get going, but--for the future-- I really wouldn't mind--um--trying to be friends."

The grin that passes across Eddie's face is huge. "Yeah, Harrington, I'd like that."

Eddie has to run to make it to his classroom on time. He passes Dustin and Will and the rest of their gaggle of friends, rushing them along, but forgets all about it as he steps in front of his third period juniors.

---

He and Steve are...friendly now. They chat, they joke, they share smiles that have Eddie's heart beating too fast even though it's not like that. Turns out Steve is kind and funny (a little bit of a bitch too, but in a way that ties Eddie's stomach in knots), and a hell of a teacher.

---

His freshman are in small groups, peer-reviewing an essays, when Max Mayfield catches his eye. She's one of his favorite students and absolute trouble.

"What's up, Mayfield." He asks.

"Are you friends with Mr. Harrington?" She asks.

He chuckles. "Sure, Max, we're friendly enough. Why?"

She narrows her eyes, like she knows he's not being totally honest. "Oh, nothing. He just talks about you all the time."

He's blushing horribly and Max, and all of her friends, smirk up at him. "He does?" He chokes out.

"Mmhmm," Lucas Sinclair says. "Says he thinks you're really cool."

"Definitely one of the best teachers here," Mike Wheeler adds.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Okay, very funny, guys. How're your essays going?"

They answer, but before Eddie goes to help another group, Will says, "he really does like you, Mr. Munson. A lot."

El nods earnestly up at him. "It is true," she says. "I know him."

"Thanks, kids. I'll keep that in mind." He gives them a smile, tries not to let their words get to him. When he reaches the next group, though, he notices his hands are shaking.

---

Gifts start turning up in Eddie's cubby. It starts with a bag of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from his favorite bakery. There's a small note that says "from your secret admirer," on the packaging. Every two weeks or so, something new shows up in his little mailbox; a woven friendship bracelet, a yellow rose, Hershey kisses, a delicately painted dnd figure that gives Eddie a small crisis because it's his own bard character, an Iron Maiden cassette, a bag of dice that almost brings him to genuine tears.

Eventually, he gets another note. This one is typed and reads: "I would love to have coffee with you 11am this Saturday at the Cafe on Main Street."

---

He walks into the cafe at 10:50am, wearing his favorite pair of ripped black jeans and a burgundy button-down, his hair pulled into a loose bun. He doesn't recognize anyone there.

Eddie gets in line, studies the menu, and the little bell above the door rings. He whips towards the sound to find none other than Steve Harrington in little wire rim glasses, a butter colored sweater, and jeans the man must have painted on, Jesus Christ. Honestly, the whole thing is enough to give Eddie a coronary (and to, embarrassingly, chub up in his own tight jeans).

"Steve?" He asks. He's overwhelmed with the (stupid, stupid) hope that it's been Harrington all along. "What are you doing here?"

"Henderson asked me to meet him. He around?"

"Uh, no?" Eddie feels heat creeping up his throat.

Steve shakes his head, as though he expected as much. "You alone? We could grab drink."

"I can't believe this." Eddie hides his face in his hands, knows it's gone horrifyingly crimson.

"What's wrong?"

"My secret admirer told me to be here now, so we could meet," Eddie's misery slices through his words. "I'm such an idiot."

"I--your--what?" Steve stammers.

He gathers himself enough to look Steve in his hazel eyes and ask, "I'm assuming it wasn't you leaving notes and gifts for me at work?"

And he expects Steve to say no. To laugh and ask why he'd ever do something like that, but instead, instead he flushes a deep red. "O-only one note."

"What?"

"I, uh," Steve clears his throat. "I left you a note. On Valentine's Day. I--we weren't friends yet, and I wanted you to know how much I liked you. It's --uh--it's pretty silly, huh? Robin's--"

"Steve," Eddie interrupts. He's going to tell Steve that he reads the note often enough that he has parts memorized; that it's the kindest thing anyone has done for him, but what he says instead is, "Dustin Henderson told you to meet him here at 11?"

"Yeah. Said he had something to show me."

Eddie remembers running into Will and Dustin and their friends that day in the hall, the weird conversation in class, the dice and the miniature. Something must click for Steve at the same time because his mouth drops, blush getting somehow deeper.

"Oh my god. Henderson! I'm gonna kill him. They figured out I had a crush on you."

"They WHAT?" Eddie says, loud enough that several looks are aimed their way.

"I'm so, so sorry, Eddie. Holy shit, this is so humiliating. You have to believe me, I had no idea they were doing this. God, I'm really starting to think it is possible to die from embarrassment."

"You have a crush on me," Eddie says instead of any of the dozens of helpful things he could say.

"Um. Yes?"

Eddie takes a deep breath, straightens his spine, and asks, "You wanna have coffee with me?"

"I'd really like that." Steve's return smile is so beautiful, it makes Eddie weak.

---

Eddie Munson is making out with Steve Harrington in the backseat of Steve's BMW. He and Steve spent the day together. They've kissed for so long that the sun has set, both of their lips are swollen, their skin red from stubble, and Eddie is nowhere near ready for the night to end.

Steve breaks away, gently pulling their mouths apart, but arms still tight around Eddie. "Hey, what kind of gifts were they giving you anyway? The kids?"

"Oh," Eddie blushes. "Uh, cookies, a dnd mini, lots of candy, a set of dice."

"Oh my god," Steve says, he pulls a little more away. "Oh my god, I'm going to kill her, Jesus Christ."

"Who are are you killing, sweetheart?"

Steve groans. "Robin. She was helping them. We found a set of dice at this little bookstore and she told me to get them for you, and--" he breaks off with a helpless, frustrated noise.

Eddie doesn't mean to, but he starts to giggle.

"It's not funny!" Steve says.

That only makes Eddie laugh harder. "Your best friend," he squeaks. "And a group of literal children set us up. That's hilarious, Harrington."

Steve's mouth drops and for a second Eddie thinks he'll be upset, but then he's giggling too, his whole face crumpling into it.

Steve pulls Eddie close once the laughter subsides, his eyes trained on Eddie's lips.

"We could pretend we didn't get together," Eddie manages to say.

"What, like, make them think they failed?"

"Yeah. We could tell them I got stood up, but you and I hung out. Had a bro day."

Steve giggles again, and it's the best sound Eddie's ever heard. "I'm absolutely on board with this plan, but you should definitely kiss me some more."

"Oh, yeah?" Eddie asks, his voice low. "And what'll I get out of it?"

"Why don't you get over here and see."

As if Eddie could turn down an invite that enticing. He slides a hand behind Steve's head, drawing him in, and they're kissing like they never stopped. It only been a few hours, but Eddie knows--without a doubt--he's already head over heels.

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hubbypossession · 19 days

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James discreetly was trying to take a picture of himself in the mirror for his new Grindr profile. The gay man was a known thirst trap that loved to do this kind of stuff in public. He loved living on the edge and taking risque picture all the time... and rightfully so. He had an attractive body that he kept in shape with regular gym sessions and eating healthfully. Wearing a tank top and booty shorts at the gym was a regular thing for him.

As James sat down on the bench and admired his body in the mirror, he couldn't help but grin and let out a muted laugh. He loved all the attention he was getting on his profile. Guys were messaging him left and right and James was loving it.

As James reveled in his fun, a suited man watched him from across the gym with a curious eye. He studied James and his behavior with an unknown intent...

James seemed to get a little bored and got up, now glancing around at his surroundings. He seemed to be eyeing another guy across the gym. His name was Dean. James studied Dean and his behaviors closely but didn't make it obvious he was eyeing him up and down. To any onlooker, it would seem James had a crush on the man.

As Dean seemed to finish his workout, James got up and followed him towards the locker room. As he approached the door, James touched Dean's shoulders and a jolt of energy seemed to flow through the two men. James now looked bewildered and confused. Dean, with a new glint in his eyes, offered to help James and guided him towards a seat, grabbing him some water and bringing it back to him. As James seemed to adjust and gather his thoughts, the suited man was now eyeing Dean as he grabbed his bag and made his way towards the locker room, finishing his workout.

The suited man followed Dean in quietly and saw him posing flamboyantly in the mirror, thinking he was alone.

"I know who you are." He stated calmly, now barricading the locker room door. "Please don't run."

Dean suddenly turned around, clearly startled, but not breaking character. "Fuck man. W-what do you want?" He stammered. "What is this? Is this about that dude out there? I was just trying to help him. He seemed confused."

"I promise I'm not here to hurt you. You don't have to be afraid of me." The suited man stated calmly.

Dean bolted towards the suited man and grabbed his hands, trying to initiate another body-hop.

"That doesn't work on me. I appreciate the effort though. You're quite fast and strong in this body. I was anticipating you would try that though." The suited man applauded as he motioned to a ring on his finger. "I've been watching you for quite some time. I had to be certain you were a body-hopper."

Dean looked bewildered and frightened as he backed up, now realizing he was out of options. It wasn't like he could fight his way past this guy, even in this body.

I understand you are scared, but I promise I'm an ally. Please sit." He stated as he prompted Dean to take a seat, which he reluctantly did.

"What is your name?" The suited man asked.

"Uh, well right now it's Dean. Dean Windley. I, uh, don't have a name myself." He said shyly, now realizing this was the first time he's ever been outed and had to explain himself. He felt so exposed, now wearing another man's body.

"Well Dean. I'm not here to kill you, or take you in. I need your help." He stated plainly, taking a seat next to Dean. "A body-hopper like you can really do a lot of good for the world you know. I'm not here to preach about all the good things you are capable of. I know you are not a bad person and you treat your bodies with respect. You live out their lives in-character and never do anything they wouldn't, correct?"

Dean nodded shyly. "I just... I can't remember who I used to be. I don't remember my name, or my gender. When I take a body, I become them, fully. Even this guy is secretly gay. That's why I felt comfortable posing like that earlier. I wasn't planning on staying long. He has a girlfriend."

"We'll find you a new suitable body. If you are willing to come with me that is. I will not force you, but I promise we will treat you well."

"We?" Dean asked quizzically.

"There are others like you. A few others. Similar hoppers that can change bodies at will. Please consider the offer. I will not pressure you now as I know this can be a bit overwhelming." The suited man stated as he stood up and pulled a business card out of his pocket. "Give me a call if you decide you want to help."

With that, the suited man left the locker room and nodded towards the body-hopper before rounding the corner. Dean looked at the card for a few seconds and let out a long sigh. He pulled out his body's phone and decided to ruminate on the idea overnight. It was fun being whoever he wanted, but he really was lonely. Maybe making a positive difference in the world is exactly what he needed.

Just then, another gym bro came storming into the locker room making a huge ruckus with his mates. Dean recognized him as one of the douchebags that would make others feel bad at the gym and show off his body constantly. Well, one more body-hop wouldn't hurt anyone...

____________________________________________

Sorry this ended up being way longer than I anticipated! Let me know if you guys liked it! I have no idea if I will do a part two. This idea was based off a novel, Touch by Claire North. Highly recommended read if you enjoy body-hopper stuff!

#male possession #male body swap

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uniquexusposts · 4 months

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The best friend - James Beaufort (3)

Click here to go to part 2

Main characters: James Beaufort x reader Genre: fanfiction, fluff, TV show Word count: 3547 Note: I just love writing for Maxton Hall. Pls hire me as a scriptwriter xx

Summary: from best friends to... more? When Y/N visits the last lacrosse game of James, things will take a turn

Y/N walked across the campus of Maxton Hall, her footsteps confident on familiar terrain. She wore a polite smile on her face, the kind that spoke of fond memories and an unspoken connection to this place. She had graduated from Maxton Hall just last year, but the school still felt like a second home.

As she made her way to the lacrosse field, where Maxton Hall was playing its last game before the winter break, she couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over her. She greeted a few students when they greeted her. When Y/N arrived at the lacrosse field, she looked around; the game had already started. She expected to be on time, but she was not. Her eyes scanned the field and then the tribune, looking for familiar faces, and she smiled when she spotted Lydia. Y/N tried to blend in with her outfit, but her outfit didn’t match the uniform. However, Y/N was wearing a blue jeans, trainers, a shirt and a in-between coat, it didn’t even came close to the uniforms.

“Hey, hey,” Y/N smiled when she sat beside Lydia and her friends.

“We were almost scared you wouldn’t make it,” Lydia said. “James wasn’t sure if you would make it.”

Y/N put her hands in her pockets and looked at the field. “There was so much traffic in town. But I’m here now.” Her eyes lit up when she spotted the blue jersey with the number 17 on it. “Did I miss anything?”

Lydia chuckled. “Not much, just the usual. James is playing really well today, though.”

Y/N watched James skilfully manoeuvred the field, his movements fluid and confident.

“How are you?” Lydia asked. “Long time no see.” The girl looked at Y/N. Lydia had always looked up to Y/N, and she still did. Y/N had everything she didn’t have. Y/N had a gentle soul and a bright spirit, qualities that Lydia cherished. Lydia was blessed to have a friend like Y/N in her life.

“I’m fine,” Y/N nodded. “Busy with work, making coffees and listening to those endless conversations of customers,” she said and looked at Lydia. “And how are you? Started on studying for the exams yet?”

Lydia sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Barely. It feels like there’s never enough time. Between the regular classes, family, Beaufort and trying to have a sort of social life, I’m barely keeping up.”

Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. “Yeah, I’m glad I had it all last year,” she breathed. “But I’m happy to be here. I missed it here. I missed spending time here with you, at the field, the library… I feel like I entered an entirely different world now.” She nudged Lydia. “But you got this. You’re one of the smartest persons I know, Lyd.”

“Thanks, Y/N/N. If I have questions about anything related to exams, can I call you then?”

“Yes, of course! Even if they are not exams related.”

A grateful smile came on Lydia’s face. “Anyway, how are things going between you and James?”

There had always been a special connection between Y/N and James. Lydia wasn’t the only one who noticed it. Everyone thought they would have been together by now, replacing the best friend title with girlfriend and boyfriend, but they were still lost in the best friend zone.

A careful smile came on Y/N’s face; she knew what Lydia was trying to do: she was fishing for information, as always. “Just the usual,” she replied. “We barely have time to see each other. The last time I saw him was during the boat day. We FaceTime every now and then, but we’re both busy.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Do you miss him?”

Y/N’s eyes shot to Lydia, who was grinning. “Of course, I miss him. He’s my best friend, and we used to see each other daily. It’s the same as I miss you and all my other friends from here.”

“Uhu,” Lydia hummed and squinted her eyes. “Well, we miss you, too,” Lydia said. “Happy to see you here.”

They both focused on the game. Y/N found herself increasingly drawn to James. She couldn’t help but admire his dedication and skill. There was a moment when he scored a goal, and the crowd erupted in cheers. She widely smiled and looked around; it was just wonderful to see everyone go crazy: all for him.

Since the boat day, something changed in Y/N, and something switched in her mind and heart. For weeks, she doubted. Y/N and James grew up together; they knew each other from when they were eight years old. She wasn’t exactly sure when it happened. Or even when it started. It could be the day on the boat, it could be before that day, it could be after that day. But she started to realise that she was falling hard for him right here and now. And she could only hope that he was feeling the same way. She wouldn’t tell him about her feelings. She didn’t want to give up their friendship because of her stupid feelings.

Y/N bit on the inside of her cheek when she felt her cheeks heating up. She could feel Lydia’s eyes burning on her face, but she stared in front of her. She could see Lydia smile from the corner of her eye.

“Ah, miss Y/L/N! What a surprise to see you here,” Principal Lexington said when he spotted a former student on the tribune. “How have you been? What are you doing now?”

The right timing, Y/N thought. She engaged in the conversation with Lexington and shared some life updates while looking at the game occasionally. Y/N knew Lexington was being extra kind to her since her parents were paying a lot of extra money at Maxton Hall, even more than the Beaufort’s.

The final whistle blew, signaling the end of the game. Maxton Hall had won, and the players celebrated on the field. The people in the stands also started to cheer; their team had won. Y/N and Lydia walked down the steps of the stands and headed to the side of the field.

Everyone in the team took off their helmets and laughed with each other. It was a messy game, but so much fun. James looked towards the side of the field, hoping to see one person. His face lit up when he was Y/N, talking to Lydia. He jogged over with a brilliant smile on his face, his blue jersey clinging to his frame, sweat glistening on his skin. His hair was messy. His eyes sparkled with excitement and pride.

“Hey,” he said surprised. “You made it.” He dropped his helmet on the grass. “I want to hug you, but…” He looked down, looking at his dirty and sweaty jersey.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Y/N replied, holding up her hand.

James gave her a high five instead of a hug. Their gaze met, and they widely smiled. He waved his fingers together and held her hand for a few seconds before letting it go. “Are you cold?” he pointed at her red cheeks. Y/N and cold? Not a great combo. James knew she was cold when she had red cheeks, kind of like blushing.

“A little,” she shrugged.

He looked at Lydia, but she grinned and shook her head. James nodded and walked to his bag. He grabbed a hoodie and handed it over to Y/N. “Here,” he gave her his hoodie.

“Ey, Beaufort!”

James glanced over his shoulder and saw his teammates grinning and waiting for him. He turned back to Y/N. “I’ll see you in the canteen, Y/N/N,” he said warmly. Then, he jogged back to his team, who were all whooping and cheering. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he laughed.

Y/N watched him go, her heart fluttering. His smile lingered in her mind, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of longing. But she quickly recovered and looked at Lydia, who looked away. They decided to go to the canteen and wait for the team there, since it started to drizzle.

As everyone returned to the main building, many greeted Y/N and Lydia. Y/N's time at Maxton Hall had left a lasting impression; she was a familiar face to students and staff. She carried a name everybody knew, not because she stood out dramatically, but because she had a quiet, magnetic presence that drew people to her. She was popular in a way that didn't rely on drama or trouble, quite the opposite of James, who had a knack for getting into mischief.

The contrast between Y/N and James had always intrigued people. Their friendship was like yin and yang; she was the calm, composed one, while he was the lively, unpredictable spirit. Their dynamic was amusing and fascinating to those who watched them navigate their school years together. Some saw them as the perfect couple; Y/N was a beauty, and James… You just fell for James.

Once inside the canteen, the warmth and noise enveloped them. Students and faculty were milling about, celebrating the victory and catching up with one another. A group of students waved and called out as Y/N and Lydia passed by. Y/N returned their greetings with a warm smile, her presence lighting up their faces. Lydia also smiled.

“Sometimes… I feel like we are royalty. I imagine myself moving, smiling and talking like a royal,” Y/N smirked and found a free spot at a long table in the middle of the canteen. She removed her coat and slid on James's hoodie, trying not to react to its familiar, comforting scent.

Lydia laughed and took off her coat as well. “Look at yourself,” she replied dramatically, tossing a piece of hair over her shoulder. “No, I get you. Long live the media training we had.”

Even though Y/N didn’t have to deal with the same media pressure as James and Lydia, she still had to attend media training this summer. Well, it was more like she wanted to do it. Y/N’s brother had to do it, and he asked Y/N to join him. Luckily, it was interesting, and Y/N also learned a lot from it.

Lydia and Y/N talked about some fashion and beauty trends to kill time. It seemed like forever for the boys to arrive at the canteen. To Y/N, it felt like yesterday, she started her final year at Maxton Hall. She was one year above James and Lydia, while Y/N wasn’t that much older than them. They all had their own friends but still found each other during breaks to hang out.

Finally, the doors to the canteen burst open, and the entire lacrosse team entered. The peaceful hum of conversation was replaced by the loud chatter and laughter of victorious players. Everyone walked to the long table Lydia and Y/N had claimed and sat down with more friends. Lydia got up and moved to another chair to let James sit beside Y/N.

“Looks good on you,” James winked while sitting beside Y/N.

Y/N’s lips curved into a smile. “Congratulations, you were amazing. That goal, though,” she said impressively.

He placed his arm on the backrest of her chair and satisfyingly smiled. “Thank you, thank you,” he said with a broad smile, still slightly flushed from the game. “I didn’t see you when we started. When did you arrive?”

“Just missed the start,” she said and shrugged. “The traffic was drama.”

James moved close to her face. “I almost thought you forgot it,” he whispered.

Y/N turned her head to him. His face was close. “Never,” she replied. “And even if I had to, I would let you know.”

They were talking about the game and later moved on to other topics like work, school, and other things. They hadn’t seen each other for over two months, and even though they FaceTimed, they had to catch up on a lot of things.

Across from Y/N and James, his friends and Lydia were looking at him, laughing and talking in ways they hadn’t seen before. James seemed so happy to talk to Y/N and couldn’t stop smiling. Y/N was always smiling, but this smile meant more.

“They say they are best friends, ‘just friends’, but literally everyone who ever looked at them when being together, like now, just knows they are something more. It’s so fucking obvious they had fallen for each other, but they just don’t admit it. Look at her; the way she looks at him is like he is her world, and the way he smiles is just happiness when he looks at her. And he barely smiles this happy,” Alistair said.

Eyebrows around him raised. “Did you really say that?” Wren asked.

“How poetic, didn’t know you had that in you,” Cyril added, taking a sip from his drink.

Alistair sighed and shook his head. “Do I see things wrong, then?”

“No,” Cyril smirked. “They’re both so fucking blind.” He looked at Lydia, who seemed to agree with everything the boys said. “Would it be a problem if they get together?”

Lydia took a moment to think. “I don’t think so. She has the name. And our families do businesses.” She leaned back on her chair. “However…” She squinted her eyes. “I don’t see Y/N being part of Beaufort or Y/L/N. Her brother is going for Y/L/N because he wants to. Y/N doesn’t have to do so…”

“Thanks for your technical opinion,” Cyril replied. “But they are allowed to get together. Where are we waiting for?”

“Let them be. They’re close. Give them just a few more days, possibly hours,” she responded.

As the afternoon progressed, the energy in the canteen remained high. Cyril and Wren planned a party tonight to celebrate their win and the beginning of the winter stop.

“Y/N—” Cyril started but paused when he saw Y/N yawn. He raised an eyebrow, and she felt caught. “You are invited to the party tonight. So be there.”

James looked at her, smiling, hoping that she would join. It had been a while since she attended a party.

“I’d love to,” Y/N said, dodging another yawn. “But I’m passing.”

“Y/N…” several people protested in unison.

“I’ve been awake since five o’clock this morning and worked five days this week. Don’t mind me,” she defended herself. “But go party. You do you. Have fun.”

James’s smile faltered slightly. He understood her exhaustion but had hoped she’d be there. He reached out and gently touched her arm. She looked at him. “Are you sure? We can go home, and you can take a power nap,” he softly said.

She bit her lip, reconsidering her decision. “I’m passing… But you should go. I will be there next time, I promise,” she smiled. “I just don’t feel like it today.” She looked back at the boys. “Next time, amigos.”

“Next week,” Cyril said. “Put it in your agenda. You show up, okay? No excuses.” He pointed at her.

Lydia sighed. “If she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to go.”

“I’ll be there next week,” Y/N said, grabbing her phone. She looked gratefully at Lydia. With just a few clicks, she added the event to her agenda. “You guys go and have a blast. I’ll catch up with you soon, but I’m going home now.” She got up and grabbed her coat.

James looked at her. “I will bring you home,” he offered and got up as well. Y/N parted her lips, ready to say that she had her own car, but he shared that one look; the look that it was his decision and nothing could change it. “I will see you, boys,” he said.

“You will be there tonight, Beaufort,” Wren sternly said.

James walked away with Y/N on his side, throwing his hand in the air, but not saying anything. He wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulders and lightly grinned when Y/N wrapped her arm around his waist. With his other arm, he threw his back over his shoulder. Together, they walked through the halls of the school to the parking lot.

“I drove myself to here,” Y/N reminded him.

“Uhu,” he hummed. “I know.”

They walked in comfortable silence, the echoes of their footsteps filling the empty corridors. James's presence felt reassuring and warm, and Y/N found herself leaning slightly into him as they moved. Within minutes, they were standing next to Y/N’s car. Well, her parents’ car.

“Last time, you drove. Now it’s my turn,” he said.

She squeezed her eyebrows together and looked confused at him. “Aren’t you supposed to go to that party? You’re the star of the show, after all.” She was searching for the keys in the pockets of her coat.

“I just heard there’s also a party next week, with my star on my side,” he replied and snatched the keys out of her hand. He opened the trunk of the car and threw his stuff in it. “There are more parties. They can party without me.”

“Who are you, and what did you do to James Beaufort?” Y/N crossed her arms in front of her chest, tilting her head. “Since when do you say no to a party?”

James smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Since I want to spend time with you,” he casually replied. “I haven’t seen you for ages.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, the playful banter catching her off guard. “Really?” she asked, a hint of scepticism in her voice. “What happened to the party animal I know?”

James stepped closer, his expression softening. “Sometimes priorities change,” he said quietly. “And right now, you’re my priority.”

Before she could respond, he cupped her face gently, his touch warm against her skin. Without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her. It was a soft, lingering kiss, filled with all the unspoken feelings that had been building between them for years. He pulled back and looked at her with a wide smile, while she stood still, processing what had just happened. Her arms hung limply by her sides, her heart racing in her chest.

James smirked, stepped away, and walked around the car to get in. Y/N just stared ahead, blinking a few times as she tried to comprehend the moment. Her fingers reached for her lips, where he had been just seconds ago. The warmth of his kiss lingered, sending a shiver down her spine.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approaching pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced towards the school entrance; his friends and Lydia were standing there, all looking shocked and impressed at the same time. It meant that they saw it happening. Y/N’s jaw dropped, and she looked at them. Then she covered her mouth with her hand. They all laughed at her reaction. She covered her entire face when she felt she was blushing. Y/N took a deep breath and walked to the passenger’s side of the car.

“Take him, Y/N,” Wren said on an average volume, but Y/N still could hear him.

Her eyes shot up to the boys, Lydia and everyone else standing there. They were all grinning. Alistair stomped on Wren’s foot, likely as a signal to give them some privacy. Y/N quickly stepped into the car, closing the door behind her. James sat relaxed, trying to act like nothing had happened, but the blush creeping up his cheeks betrayed him. It was a sight Y/N had never seen before; James Beaufort, blushing.

She bit her lip, trying to process the moment. James swallowed hard and turned to look at her. When their gazes met, both their expressions straightened, the weight of the situation settling between them.

Without another word, Y/N leaned in and kissed him once again. This time, it wasn’t out of surprise or uncertainty; it was deliberate, a confirmation that they were on the same page. The kiss was gentle yet filled with a new intensity, a silent agreement that whatever was between them was real and worth exploring.

James responded instantly, his hand finding the back of her neck, pulling her closer. When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he confessed, his breath warm against her lips.

A smile tugged at the corners of Y/N's mouth, her heart soaring at his words. "Me, too," she admitted softly, her voice filled with the same depth of emotion.

Taglist: @notacoffeedrinker @tvshowgirl81 @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @chocolatefartstrawberry

#james beaufort #maxton hall #maxton hall the world between us #james beaufort fluff #james beaufort x reader #james beaufort reader fluff #james beaufort reader #james beaufort y/n fluff #maxton hall die welt zwischen uns #damian hardung #james beaufort x y/n

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blackbirdi · 6 months

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Rain and Realizations

Brief Description: James is so in love with Y/n and Y/n loves the rain.

Point of View: 3rd Person

Word Count: 797

Character: James Potter x Reader

James and Y/n were studying in the common room together. Well, Y/n was studying, James was just there to have an excuse to stare at Y/n for hours on end.

Outside, rain clouds were gathering, darkening the ground of Hogwarts, and sending students inside at the threat of rain soaking them to the bone.

Y/n lifted her head after what felt like years of studying to adjust her neck; thanks to looking down at her work for so long, she had gotten a crick in it. She smiled at James (who returned it with a lovesick smile) before she looked out the window. Her smile widened as she saw that rain had begun to fall.

"James, look," she said softly, pointing at the window. "It's raining!"

James swooned. Merlin, did he love the sound of her voice.

His eyes finally left Y/n as he turned towards the window. The sky outside was dark, covered by grey clouds compared to the usual bright blue that it normally was. Raindrops hit against the window pane, racing down the glass; it was indeed raining.

"It is," James replied, looking back at Y/n. "What does it matter?"

"I love the rain," Y/n cooed, looking at the window longingly. She gazed out the window for a moment longer, then her face lit up and she turned to James. "We should go out there," she suggested.

James hesitated to reply. He would hate to reject her proposal and make her sad, but he'd also rather not go outside in the pouring rain and get soaked to the bone.

Sensing James's hesitation, Y/n pleaded, "Come on, please, Jamie?"

Red bloomed across James's face, he looked away from her in shyness as she used his nickname, reserved for her, and only her.

How could he say no to her when she was practically begging him?

"I – okay," James sighed, finally agreeing with her.

Y/n grinned happily, quickly packing her things away as James followed suit. Her things were put away faster than James, as she tossed her book bag to a corner of the common room where no one would touch it.

"Hurry up, James," she urged him, rushing towards the portrait hole, waiting eagerly to get outside.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," James reassured her, setting his book bag down next to hers before walking over to her.

When James was close enough, Y/n grabbed his hand, rushing them both out for the common room, through multiple corridors, and down into the courtyard.

The rain was falling down from the clouds in a light drizzle, the perfect kind of rain for Y/n. For James, it was another story: his vision had been blocked from the rain smearing his glasses. Y/n giggled as she realized this, taking a step closer to James and removing his glasses from his face.

"Can you still see?" Y/n asked him.

"Yeah," James whispered.

He almost couldn't catch his breath with her this close, her face inches from his. His head felt funny as her scent invaded his nose, not even the rain unable to block out her lavender scented perfume.

Y/n looked away from him, holding his glasses tightly in her hands, being careful to not break or drop them.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Y/n murmured, smiling softly as she looked across the courtyard, then up at the sky, the rain hitting her face and cooling her down.

"Yeah," James agreed, looking at Y/n longingly. "It really is."

And in that moment, that very moment, James realized just how in love with her he really was.

All he could see, all he could think about, everything came back to her. Whenever someone smiled, all he wanted was to see hers. Whenever someone laughed, all he wanted was to hear hers. Whenever he made eye contact with someone, all he wanted was to gaze into hers. Whenever he was alone, he craved her presence. He was in love, madly and wildly in love with Y/n L/n.

But she didn't love her, and that much was easy to see for him. Sure, he knew that he meant a lot to her, that she cared for him, but she cared about everyone, all her friends meant a lot to her. And that's all he was to her: a friend.

But he could live with that, right? It was enough to be her friend, right? He still got to help her when she was down, laugh with her whenever she broke into a fit of giggles, be at her side though everything. That was enough, wasn't it? Even though it wasn't in the way he wanted, he still had her. And that would be enough, right?

Right?

#james potter #james potter x reader #james Potter x y/n #james potter x you #x reader #prongs #prongs x reader #prongs x y/n #prongs x you #marauders #marauders x reader #marauders era

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hotdaemondtargaryen · 3 months

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EWAN MITCHELL PHOTOGRAPHED AND INTERVIEWED FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES MAGAZINE.

ABOUT BEING RECOGNIZED

Like most people, Ewan Mitchell is accustomed to anonymity.

So during a recent trip to Manhattan, he was surprised by what a hotel doorman asked when he arrived: “You haven’t packed your eye patch?”

The actor is still getting used to strangers making the connection in public.

“I wouldn’t think people would recognize me, but they do.”

“I think it’s because of my strong chin.”

“When I’m dressed up as Aemond and catch myself in the mirror, he scares even me a little bit.”

When he’s not in character, Mitchell is soft-spoken and occasionally flashes a boyish grin, though he retains much of Aemond’s seriousness and quiet intensity.

He is also very private: He stays off social media and in the past has shied away from sharing much with the public.

“Once you lose the mystery, you can’t really get it back.”

HE KNOWS THAT AEMOND'S KEY ROLE IN S2 MEANS HE MUST ALSO EMBRACE THE SPOTLIGHT:

“There is a point where you have to go, now’s the time to pull back the curtain.”

Like Aemond, Mitchell is a second son.

He grew up in Derby, an industrial town in the middle of England, and his parents expected him to follow his older brother’s footsteps and work at Rolls-Royce (the aerospace and industrial technology company, not the carmaker).

HIS INSPIRATIONS AND BECOME AN ACTOR

Inspired by films like “Citizen Kane” and “Taxi Driver,” Mitchell knew early on he wanted to become an actor.

When he was 13, his teacher asked each student in his class what they wanted to do when they grew up.

“Then it came to me, and I said, ‘I’m going to be an actor,’ and everyone laughed at me.”

His family could not afford tuition for drama school, so Mitchell attended a two-year vocational school, where he studied design and technology while working part-time at a restaurant and in customer service at a local soccer club.

Midway through the program, at 17, he was accepted into the Nottingham Television Workshop, a drama group that trains young people in acting.

Through the Workshop, Mitchell landed a leading role in a 2015 short film called “Fire,” about a young man who leaks fire from his hands.

Once the short was released, Mitchell downloaded it onto a dozen CDs, took the train to London and stopped by the offices of every agent he could find, handing them each a copy.

The one person who called back continues to represent Mitchell.

“By hook or by crook, I wanted to make sure that I was going to be in this business.”

ABOUT BEING CASTED AS AEMOND TARGARYEN

Aemond’s growing prominence in the show requires Mitchell to embrace the spotlight as well.

“There is a point where you have to go, now’s the time to pull back the curtain.”

But being cast as Aemond in “House of the Dragon” has been his biggest professional turning point by far.

“Since landing him, I feel like I’m able to now steer the course of my career.”

Mitchell had been rewatching the classic Hollywood adventure film “The Vikings” (1958) and musing about how he wanted to play a morally dark character similar to the one played by Kirk Douglas when he received an email inviting him to submit a taped audition for Aemond.

When he eventually auditioned in person, he left a lasting impression on Ryan Condal, the showrunner for “House of the Dragon.”

“When Ewan came into the room, he just had this presence to him that I can best describe as unsettling,” Condal said.

“It was kind of quietly terrifying the way he performed it, and it was totally different than everybody else. And then he thanked us very politely and left the room.”

Condal recalls asking Kate Rhodes James, the casting director, “Is he always like that?”

She replied, “Oh no, he’s just a very intense northern boy.”

To prepare for his role, Mitchell did not watch “Game of Thrones.” Instead, he read portions of “Fire & Blood,” the book by George R.R.

Martin that inspired the show, and studied the performances of Michael Fassbender in “Prometheus” and Peter O’Toole in “Lawrence of Arabia,” each playing a figure who wields power for his own ends.

ABOUT MATT SMITH AND DAEMON TARGARYEN

On his first day on set, Mitchell consulted with Condal and decided that he would avoid interacting with Matt Smith, who plays Aemond’s similarly menacing uncle and rival, Daemon, in order to heighten the tension between the two characters.

Mitchell had grown up admiring Smith’s performance in “Doctor Who.”

But on set Mitchell avoided any eye contact with him, keeping his distance until the climactic scene near the end of the first season when Aemond and Daemon finally face off.

“There’s this addictive kind of quality when you’re in the shoes of a character.”

“When you lose yourself for a moment, it’s almost like a dream.”

ABOUT HIS HOME AND HIS DOGS

When he isn’t acting, Mitchell still lives at his family home in Derby and spends time with his dogs, three whippets named Eva, Bella and Bonnie.

“Now that I’m on it.”

“I’ve just got to stay on the dragon.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 days

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Killing Time 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, includes violence, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a job offer could be an escape from your old life, but the new one, may not hold freedom.

Characters: Kraven the Hunter, August Walker, Lloyd Hansen, James Conrad, God the Bounty Hunter, Court Gentry

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

Your frustration mounts as you click the permissions again to allow the camera and microphone access. It’s so annoying! It just keeps running you in circles. Great. This is off to a good start. Late for the interview. That’s always the best first impression.

When at last your firewall stops blocking the call, you flinch at the sight of yourself in the corner. You’re further jarred by the man staring back at you. Your mouth opens and for a moment, you’re frozen. You were so focused on troubleshooting, you forgot about what was waiting on the other end.

“Oh, hi,” you squeak. “Sorry, I--” you look around, glancing through the clear walls of the library study room. It’s the first time you’ve been to this branch but you didn’t think the clutter of your apartment would make a good backdrop. “I was having issues with my camera.”

“Quite alright,” he responds with a grin and a lilted accent. He sounds as professional as he looks.

He wears a grey jacket over a muted teal shirt that lights up his eyes, even over the screen. His short hair is combed back neatly and there’s not a speck of stubble on his jaw. Under the structure of his attire you can tell he’s well-built.

You resist the urge to look down at yourself. A white blouse. Boring but professional. It gets the job done. Hopefully.

You force a smile.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he begins through your nervous silence. “I do appreciate your time and I would hate to waste it. So, we can hop right in.” He looks unflinchingly into the camera, “oh, let us not go so far past courtesy. I am James, we’ve been corresponding, yes?”

“Uh, yeah, I remember. James.” You gulp.

He says your name with a keen inclination. “This is rather not the position which requires those cliche questions so I won’t trouble you with asking what animal best reflects your personality.”

You cough out a humouring chuckle and fold your hands on the desk.

“Forgive if I should seem to the point. You see, it’s a very practical position. I think it’s best we go over what is expected before we go into the finer details; expenses, relocation, dates--”

“Mm,” you squeak and put a finger up, “s-sorry, um, I thought we were interviewing but it sound like you’ve made a decision?”

“Well, yes, I’ve reviewed your CV and your submitted profile and your answers to the questionnaire were acceptable. I didn’t think there was much else to consider,” he intones. You shift and try to hide your surprise.

“No, of course, that makes sense,” you say. “Thanks, I guess I was confused.”

“Not to worry. I find that written communication can often lack clarity so I thought it best we have a face-to-face in this circumstance,” he looks down as if he has a book or paper before him. “So, did you have any questions before I proceed?”

“No, no, really, I'm sure you’ll answer them all.” Your cheeks bloom in a half-smile. You were so nervous about getting the job but you’ve already got it.

“Right then,” he sits back and once more stares down the camera. “It is a very old property but the upkeep has been consistent. There should not be any glaring necessities for maintenance, this more of a custodial position. So, you would be the one to keep the place clean, make sure it is aired out, tend to the lawns but we do employ a grounds keeping service that comes fortnightly to trim.”

You nod. It’s intriguing. You were sent photos of the property but you’re not quite sure of its purpose. Judging by the clustered pines in the background, you would guess it’s remote. A getaway that could be a goldmine for those wanting a vacation from the urban jungle.

“You would have a roster, you see, of those you could contact for service so you will not require any specialisations. You are the day-to-day and would be expected to bring in the appropriate support for higher-touch difficulties.”

“Right,” you try not to show your anxiety.

“Albeit I should warn you that the reception in that location is not the greatest so if you cannot call out, you would need to keep trying. It will eventually catch but uh, not to mind, as long it is attended is what matters, not when,” he says.

“Mhm, that makes sense. Um, can I ask what the property is? Is it like a summer home or...”

“Ah, family inheritance,” he answers primly. “I’ve not much use for it past the sentimental value and I thought of leasing it for traveling parties but I’ve heard horror stories. Right now, I’m merely sitting on it until I figure out exactly what to do with it.”

“Oh, right. Wow. Quite the inheritance.”

“Hm, yes, my uncle did rather adore me. I was the only one named in his will but he was a bit of a curmudgeon.” He laughs. “Now, I must ask the most important question--”

Before he can, the door swings open and you jump in your seat. Your heart sinks. You signed the room out for ninety minutes. You thought it would be more than enough. Surely it hasn’t been that long.

Shoot. It’s him. How did he find you? You deliberately went out of your way so that he couldn’t.

“Jake,” you stand and turn to him, trying to block the computer. “What are you doing?”

“There you are,” he touches his chest as if he should be the one so afraid. “You didn’t come home--”

You growl and cross your arms.

“Jake, go away,” you grit out. “Not right now. Please.”

“I had to make sure you’re okay,” he steps into the room and you push yourself back against the table. “Who else is going to look after you?”

“I will scream, alright,” you warn. “Now leave me alone. I’m tired of telling you.”

He sighs and his jaw squares. “I don’t get you. You act like I’m such a bad guy and I haven’t done anything to you. I never hurt you but you hurt me. You just spit in my face--”

“Pardon,” the voice rises from the speaker at your back. “If I may, she is occupied and you are interrupting. I have a mind to contact emergency service should you persist.” Your mouth falls open and you turn to look at your laptop. James leans forward to glare at the lens, “Not sure who you are, fellow, but the lady has been clear.”

“Who-- who is he?” Jake sputters.

“Please, just go,” you plead. “Or I will call the police.”

Little good they will do, you think, but that doesn’t need to be said aloud.

He frowns and his eyes glint dangerously. You stare back at him, tense, fingers curling and uncurling nervously. That man on the screen won’t stop him and you don’t know if anyone would hear you from the desk.

“Fine, guess I’ll see ya around,” he relents and backs out.

You don’t move until he snaps the door shut. You hurry over and twist the lock on the inside. You don’t know why you didn’t do that before.

“Are you alright?” James asks, drawing you back to the desk.

You sit and look at the keyboard, “I’m very sorry. I...”

“He doesn’t sound like a friend,” James says. You shake your head. “Well, then, it does sound like you’re in need of a fresh start. I do hope this can be that for you.”

You look up and bat away the glimmer on the brims of your eyes. You’re not just afraid, you’re embarrassed. His kindness is as comforting as it is unexpected.

“Thanks, um, anyway...” you exhale, “you were going to ask something.”

“Yes, uh, yes, I was,” he reconfigures and puts another smile on. “When can you depart? I would of course arrange travel to be sure you get here safe and sound.”

“Oh, when... whenever is best. Not to be too desperate but as soon as possible,” you say.

“Wonderful,” he praises, “absolutely wonderful. Is tomorrow too soon? Pardon my own desperation.”

“Tomorrow?” You utter and shake your head. “Tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow.”

It's sudden and scary but it’s good. The sooner you go, the less time Jake has to figure out what you’re doing. The less chance he can follow. It’s an escape. Not a perfect one but it’s all you have.

🩸

You spend all night packing. You parse down what you have to the essentials and put the rest in bags. You don’t care about the furniture. You say as much in your email to your landlord, telling him to use your deposit for the disposal.

You whittle your life down to three bags. A large suit case, a knapsack, and a single purse. You have it ready to go by the door.

You feel uneasy about it. You stare at your luggage, the lights off, windows closed. Your phone buzzes and you put it to silent, ignoring the messages from your personal pest. You’ll be done with him too. You wonder if you should just toss your cell.

You don’t sleep. You can’t. You still can’t believe you’re getting out. You hope you haven’t given the game away.

There’s a tap on the window. You nearly roll onto the floor. You look over and hear it again, a harder impact. Are you serious? He’s throwing stones. He could break the damn glass.

You shake your head. You won’t fall for it. Not again. You remember when he came to your door and cried until you opened up. He even smeared ketchup on his face to make you think he was hurt. It’s hard to tell the difference through a peephole.

Almost there. Almost out. You just need to make it a few more hours.

As you ignore the incessant tapping and the light of your phone glowing ever few minutes, your thoughts turn bitter. You should message everyone who turned their back on you and tell them exactly what they’ve put you through. Somehow, you think they’d care as much as they did before.

Sleep eludes you but a foggy daze comes over you as the windows soften with the early morning. There’s no more pebbles bouncing off the pane. Just you and the buzz of the sleeping city.

Your alarm chimes and you get up as your head pulses. You’re used to the constant fatigue. It will ease up and you’ll just feel a bit heavy. When it’s normal, you don’t notice as much.

You get ready and have an instant coffee by the door. James messages just before nine. Your car will be there in ten. Oh, early. You don’t mind about that.

You won’t go out and wait. You’ll stay here, where it’s safe.

When your phone goes off again, you expect it to be Jake. It’s James. Whew. You’re so close, you can’t believe it.

You grab your knapsack and purse, and drag your suitcase out behind you. You lock the door and throw the key through the mail slot. You hurry down the hall and take the stairs over the elevator.

You don’t look back or anyway but forward. You look at your cell. 'Black Jaguar’ followed by a plate number. Jaguar? Holy moly.

The tinted window rolls down and reveals the same face from the Zoom call. You didn’t know he was coming himself. You assumed he was sending a cab or something. You slow as you come out the door. He smiles and pops open the door.

Before you can come forward, another figure appears, blocking your way.

“Hey, I've been calling all night,” Jake says. You stop short and nearly yelp. Of course!

“Jake, move.”

“Where are you going?” He looks at your bags desperately. “Wait, you can’t--”

“Pardon me, sir, is there some issue?” James strides up behind him.

Jake turns to face him and stiffens, “and who are you—wait, you’re that guy from the computer.”

“I’m none of your business, as is her life,” James insists. “Now, seems you’re used to picking on those smaller than you but let’s see how you do against me?”

James steps closer. He’s a few inches taller than Jake. You can’t move as they stare each other down. You wait, expecting chaos.

“I was only talking,” Jake shows his palms and shrugs. “It’s whatever. She’s a bitch anyways.”

He turns and snarls over his shoulder at you. You back up. As Jake turns, he’s knocked off kilter as James hurls his fist into his jaw. The shorter man staggers and falls to one knee, catching himself in the grass.

“Well, that was a lovely chat,” James smirks and beckons to you, “shall we?”

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hurts2think · 1 month

Note

Suggestive Young Hook headcanons??😝(Pretty please)

🏴‍☠️Young!James Hook x Reader Suggestive Headcanons🏴‍☠️

Reader pronouns: Unspecified

Pairing: Young!James Hook x GN!Reader

Plot: You and your boyfriend tease each other to DEATH

Extra: Warning, this is obviously suggestive. Nothing too explicit since I'm 17 and his character isn't canonically 18. This was kinda nerve-racking to write since I've never written or posted anything like this so please like 🫶 also I've been visiting family so no oneshot tonight sorry

- This is suggestive and not explicitly sexual, but you two are Seniors and 18 years old.

- This man is CLINGY. You thought your hands belonged to you? Nope. They're his. Always holding them.

- Lots of kissing too. Kisses you every chance he gets. Sometimes you deny his kisses just to tease him

- If you're (playfully) pulling away from his kissing he grabs you by the waist and holds you still so he can actually kiss you without you moving away

- He's obviously very respectful of your boundaries. He won't push you into anything you don't want or anything you're unsure of.

- You often convince him to go study with you in the library but those study dates always turn into him pulling you into a hidden corner to makeout

- Trying to keep quiet while in the library feels impossible. You've never been caught but it's like he tries to get noises out of you when you're there

- His hand immediately up your shirt once the makeout sessions start

- Usually holds you against walls, or bookshelves, or just any surface near by. Maybe even a deskz

- He's an amputee to his hook IS real but he takes it off because he doesn't want to hurt you accidentally

- He always whispers in your ear, feeling up your torso.

- "You taste so sweet"

- He kisses you all over. Your lips, forehead, cheek, neck, chest, legs, literally anywhere skin is showing

- He can get a little aggressive and carried away but he always checks to make sure you're comfortable

- If you're a little sensitive he tries to be as soft and gentle as he can, still very touch but softer touches compared to rough ones

- Now, if you like it a little more rough, he will happily grab and pull and kiss until both of you have bruised lips

- Likes to tease you. Gets you worked up before immediately pulling away just to watch you get flustered and frustrated

- He's not really into being sensual when other people are around, but occasionally he might whisper something in your ear

- Pulls at your hair if you're into it

- Jealousy is his middle name

- He's not the kind of person to get jealous when you have friends or talk to other people, but if he senses any kind of tension he is visibly not happy

- Grabs your waist and kisses you to show that you're his and he's your's

- If he's especially jealous/possessive he might pull you around the corner and hold you still and kiss you just to remind you that no one else is worth your time

- He mocks you very very often.

- "Aw, is someone frustrated?" "Don't tell me you're getting worked up over a touch," "Oh look at that scary expression. Did you want more?" While he laughs at you.

Now, if you're more into being the dominant one—I have great news for you. He LOVES when you take the lead

- Tell him what to do and he'll obey like a lost puppy

- He gets real quiet when you take control of any situation, mostly frustrated grunts. But he loves it.

- Also enjoys having his hair pulled

- Sometimes when you're at the library on your study dates, you're occasionally the one who starts to get touchy with him

- Once you start rubbing up and down his thigh, slipping to his inner thigh, he gets a mess

- Frustrated type flustered

- He talks real sweet to you if he's the one in control but aside from him being pretty quiet, he might glare at you or mutter curses at you

- ^ he loves it all though, communication is key. He says he loves it, the glares and curses are actually a big sign he's loving it

- Don't mention how he acts when you're in control or he might die of embarrassment

- He loves praise. A couple compliments and he's basically at your feet

- He might whine a little bit sometimes if you tease him too much

- If he gets jealous, you just have to tease him. Tell him he's being dramatic while you kiss down his chest and his face goes red

- You can get pretty jealous occasionally too. Not as bad as him but you might get a little more rough when you are

- Sometimes he purposely makes you jealous if he wants you to get a little more rough

- If he teases the shit out of you and frustrates you enough, you gotta flip it all around. Literally flip positions.

- After makeout session you just lay there with him and just talk.

- You guys never go further than touching or makeouts, clothes are usually always on. You both don't feel necessarily ready for anything else

- Plus you guys are happy with how this dynamic is and don't feel it needs to change right now.

- As sensual as both of you can be, most of your relationship is actually more wholesome than not. Lots of cute dates, hand holding, cheesy couple everyone hates.

- He looks at you like you're the only person in the world, the person that saved him

114 notes · View notes

five-miles-over · 1 year

Text

Tom Hiddleston Characters: How They Would Propose (To You)

(Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or images. This is just a fun listicle, not designed to offend anyone. As always, please feel free to leave comments and/or constructive criticism below. Thank you, and without any further ado, please enjoy!)

Characters in this list: Will Ransome, King Henry V, Prince Loki Odinson, Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim, Bill Hazeldine, Coriolanus, Jonathan Pine, Robert Laing, Magnus Martinsson, Oakley, Thomas Sharpe, James Conrad, and Jaguar Villain! Tom Hiddleston.

Also, my sincerest apologies - they all turned into mini-fics.

Will Ransome from The Essex Serpent

Reverend Will would propose to you after a Sunday roast dinner, after your family invited him to your home. You were helping to clear the table with the rest of the ladies in your family when Will coughed to announce his presence. At once, everyone cleared the dining room, leaving you alone with the vicar.

"A word please?" He politely called you by name, his hands clasped in front of him. Will sat you down in one of the empty chairs. Gods how he wanted to reach out and tuck one of your stray hairs behind your ear in that very moment, one of the intimate things that he longed to do with you. Intimate things that would be proper in the eyes of God if you were his lawfully wedded wife. He did not sit down, and gently began talking to you. "For some time, I have been charmed by you. Not just your looks, that is not to say that you are not a lovely woman. You are most lovely, but I have also been charmed by your kindness, your humility, and your…virtue."

Will knelt before you, looking up with the most earnest gaze. "If you will bestow upon me the fortune of being your husband, then in return I shall do everything to keep you safe and comfortable. I shall speak to your father, and we will be wedded in holy matrimony. You and I shall walk together upon this path of life, and I have no doubt that a virtuous woman like you will aid me in carrying out what the Lord decrees of us. My sweetest, please say that you will marry me."

Henry V from The Hollow Crown

With Henry, there was not much of a proposal to begin with. The marriage between you and the King of England was arranged by your father and his men, along with the king and his men. Still, Henry coaxed your father into having at least one private audience with you before the wedding ceremonies, so that he may properly court you as any suitor would.

'My dearest lady," Henry began as soon as he was alone with you in his study while your father and his men stood vigil outside. "Lower thy veil, and let me behold your face." He reached forward and removed the hood of your cloak, smiling as he beheld your beauty for the first time. "Cheeks rosier than the flowers that bloom in springtime. Your lips and eyes are so enticing, they call to me like sirens. Yours is a face that I shall never tire of seeing.

I confess to you, my lady, that words are not my greatest strength. Were it so easy that I could simply strap on armor or fire an arrow into a target or vault into my saddle for a wife, I should quickly vault for a wife. Alas, tis not so. For a woman's heart is truly one of the most difficult conquests to embark upon. Nevertheless, tis a conquest that I shall duly pursue if you can deign to love me.

If you can love such a man as me, someone whose words are not their strongest suit and someone whose fidelity to you is true, then take me. Take a soldier, and in taking a soldier, you will take a king." Henry knelt before you and offered you his hand. "Sweetest of all maidens, canst thou love me?"

Prince Loki Odinson of Asgard

"I have called you to discuss a matter of great importance, my lady." Loki enunciated the formal title at the end in an attempt to conceal the butterflies in his stomach. He summoned you to the palace gardens at the house before twilight, when the sky would be decorated with streaks of orange and pink. You walked alongside him through the bushes and the groves of flowers. Loki clasped his hands behind her back, walking as if he ruled every inch of earth on which he stepped.

He continued, "Yes, tis true that Thor, my brother, is the one whom my father has decreed to ascend the throne of Asgard," The younger prince of Asgard looked forward with a solemn expression while you listened with intrigue. "But he is incompetent." Loki turned to you. "He is idiotic and brash. You know as well as I do that he does not encompass the values of a king.

"Was he not the one who wished to invade Jotunheim alone, my prince?" You stopped in your tracks, just as the sun began setting into the horizon behind you.

"Yes, he was. It was all his idea, my lady." Loki did not bother to include his role in instigating Thor, it would not help him in this moment whatsoever. If he delayed this moment any further, he was convinced the words would be stuck in his throat, forever unable to escape. "You are one of the few people with whom I can share these thoughts, my lady." He sighed, his gaze fixated upon you and your beauty. "It is why I have called you here. In the coming future, I will need to protect Asgard from my brother's foolishness. And for that I should like to have a worthy companion by my side."

Loki conjured a shining dagger with a gold hilt out of thin air and promptly fell to one knee before you. The hilt of the dagger was engraved with the words, 'Min hærr, duonningen av mitt hjerte' (My beloved, Queen of my heart) Still on bended knee, Loki looked up at you with an expression of innocence that you never knew existed within him - wide eyes, baited breath, a meek expression. As if all his life were being wagered on a single thing right now.

"I wish to make you my wife," Loki declared, his lips trembling. "Should you accept, I will bring my proposal to your family, and then we will be wed with due ceremony. And if you decide otherwise, then I shall…" he swallowed, "I shall respect your choice."

Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim from the Marvel Cinematic Universe

"This looks like something stolen from the Graham Norton Show." You raised an eyebrow when Loki handed you an orange and purple card.

"It's a scavenger hunt." Loki said with a twinkle in his eye. "Every clue leads you to the next one."

"I know how a scavenger hunt works, Loki." You rolled your eyes and flipped over the card. "Was this your idea, or is this some ridiculous team-bonding activity put together by Steve Rogers?"

"No. You see,…I have some errands to do, but at the same time, I have an obligatory excursion with the Lady Valkyrie."

You crossed your arms. "So why the scavenger hunt?"

Loki brightly answered. "Well, it makes the errands all the more fun!"

"Alright, but you owe me, Loki."

"Good girl." The God of Mischief kissed you not the cheek and disappeared into thin air.

You glanced down and saw that the first card, which told you to pick up six cupcakes ordered under Loki's name. The cupcakes were from a specific café….that just so happened to be the place where you and Loki had your first date, which was set up by a far-too-enthusiastic Thor. The moment you got there, a waiter brought you a "complimentary" cupcake of your favorite flavor…along with another orange and purple card.

The second card took you to the library, on the pretext of picking up a book that was on hold for Loki. There, the librarian handed you the book - Divine Comedy by Dante - and another book that you recognized. It was Pride and Prejudice, one of the first pieces of "Midgardian literature" that you introduced to Loki, a book that you were all too happy to fangirl over. But inside the book was - yes- another orange and purple card.

The third card sent you to pick up Loki's dry-cleaning. (Really, Loki? Dry cleaning?) At the dry-cleaners, the person at the register handed you a transparent garment bag containing a black tuxedo with a ruffled white shirt. And then you were given a second garment bag with an emerald green gown embellished with diamonds. You couldn't help but stare a few moments at the pretty, expensive-looking gown. Before the person at the register could hand you another card, you made a mental note to ask Loki about the gown and whom it was for. You guessed it was probably for himself for the times he was feeling fabulous. Actually, Loki also liked to wear absolutely nothing when he was feeling his most fabulous…but that didn't matter right now.

The fourth card took you to the park where Loki confessed his love for you for the first time, on the pretext of picking up Loki's forgotten jacket and buying a bouquet of white flowers.

The fifth card took you across the city just to get a particular bottle of liquor that Loki had liked. Okay, now this guy was having a little too much fun with you right now.

You were relieved when the sixth card, given to you by the liquor store clerk, led you back to the Avengers compound, to the same room where you began this entire scavenger hunt. You huffed a little, setting the box of cupcakes, the books, the two garment bags, Loki's jacket, the flowers, and liquor gently on a table. "Loki? Loki, where are you?"

Loki stood in the middle of the Avengers' common room, wearing polished gold armor over a black and green leather tunic with long, dark trousers. His hair was combed perfectly in place, and his hands clasped behind his back. He stood surrounded by a few candles and fairy lights hanging against the curtains.

"Okay, I need answers…" You sighed, already tired from running around all afternoon. "Loki, I got your things, just tell me what the gown is for and the…the liquor and the…Are you throwing a party or something?"

"I'm getting married."

"What?!" You gulped, reaching for the nearest couch. "I…what? You're getting married, why didn't you tell me? And…" You felt your head start to spin, preparing yourself for the worst. Whatever happened to all the times he said he loved you? Was he just using you to put together some kind of romantic gesture for someone else, just a tool?! Perhaps this is what you get for letting the God of Mischief into your life. Betrayal. "Well, I hope they make you happy, Loki." You relented, putting your head in your hands.

"She does."

"Good." You murmured, trying your best not to cry in this moment. That was the last thing you wanted him to see. "Is that gown for her too?"

"Hm-hm. Of course, it'll probably end up on the floor after the engagement party, hehe."

"Loki, I am in no mood for your jokes right now." After a few moments, you looked up.

"Come on,…have a sense of humor."

"NO!" You yelled, getting up from the couch. "No, I will not have a sense of humor right now! You used me! You used me, and lied to me. You told me to do all of these errands, like picking up dry cleaning, and buying liquor, without telling me that you were going to propose to someone else! You could have at least told me, just so I'd have some kind of closure. But no, you couldn't even think to do that. You told me it was a scavenger hunt, like I wasn't worth knowing the truth.

I...I did this because I care about you, Loki! I care about you like some kind of idiot who actually thought that you might like me the same way that I liked you. That right there, making me like you might just be the worst thing you have ever done me." You took a moment to breathe, and ran your hands through your hair.

"Ugh…And you made me even pick up her engagement dress! What kind of person makes someone do that?!" You couldn't even think about the words you were spitting out, too busy with the hot tears clouding your vision.

"The kind of person who knows how good it'll look when you wear it."

"What?!" You were taken aback all of a sudden.

Loki approached you with a hint of nervousness. "Darling, you are one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I know I'm not easy to be with, that I drive you mad sometimes, and I make you put up with a lot. I...I should've practiced this more." He laughed under his breath. "Why didn't I?" Blinking, he pushed his hair back before continuing.

"What I'm trying to say is,...my life has never been the same since I met you. You're the most steadfast ally, a wonderful friend, and best of all, you are the most passionate and loyal person I have ever known. I could never imagine my life without you, and I never want to. That's how much I love you."

The God of Mischief fell to one knee, and held up a small emerald ring with a gold band.

"Will you marry me?"

Bil Hazeldine from Suburban Shootout

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise, sweetheart." Bill pulled his father's car into a driveway, and took your hand. "Just close your eyes, alright?"

"Alright…" After a few steps, you could hear Bill opening a door and the sound of a shopkeeper's bell, along with the muted conversations of various patrons. The scents of vanilla and grease reached you almost immediately.

Bill held you close and whispered that you could open your eyes now.

When you opened your eyes, you laughed a little. "We haven't been here in a while…"

"You remember it?"

"How could I ever forget?" You kissed him on the cheek, and let him find a table for you.

Bill's proposal began with him taking you to the milkshake diner where the two of you had your first date. After a bit of small talk over a banana split, Bill not-so-discretely excused himself. While you sat at the table with your spoon and checked your phone, Bill made his way to the jukebox with his hands in his jeans' pockets, feeling the small box inside. He'd almost thought about wearing a suit for this occasion, but his mum said it would make you suspicious. And his father suggested hiding the ring inside your ice cream to be more romantic , but Bill was terrified by the idea of you accidentally choking. Yes, keeping the ring with him was a better idea.

Bill took a deep breath and slipped a coin into the jukebox, flipping through the various tracks to find one of the songs you enjoyed. When he found one, he pressed play and called your name. Bill extended his hand out, offering to dance with you. He twirled you, and the two of you swayed in time with the music, smiling all the while. At the end of the song, Bill proudly kissed you on the lips.

He gently said your name, and pushed a bit of hair out of your face. "You're the one I want to dance with to every song…There's just no one like you, no one I could ever dream of that's just as wonderful as you are." Bill reached in his pocket for the small box, and fell to one knee, not caring who might be watching you in the diner. Inside the small box was a 0.3-carat diamond ring with a silver band. "Would you make me the happiest man in the whole world, and marry me?"

Caius Martius Coriolanus from Coriolanus

Coriolanus invited your family to dine with him and his mother one night on the pretext of an important matter concerning two important families of Roman nobility. It was not the first time he'd done such a thing, inviting your family to break bread with him and his mother. He had even visited your father's home before, sharing wine with your father and your brothers from time to time. It was through those meetings that Coriolanus fell more in love with your smile, the way you bit your lip when you were thinking,…and even the way your laugh infected him like a plague. And if there was anything more deadly to him than your simple, unadulterated laughter, then it was your beauty which had him fighting the urge to smile whenever you walked into a room or whenever he heard your voice.

But despite his best efforts, it became quickly aware to everyone in your family how besotted the general was with you. The way his head unintentionally bowed whenever he was in your presence, as if you were the sun and he would go blind if he looked you straight in the eye, never went unnoticed. The fact that you were the only person who could make him laugh, and that the simple mention of your name was enough to make the powerful General and conqueror of Corioles lower his usual barking voice made your family - and anyone else in the general's presence - giggle under their breath.

So when everyone had finished the prima mensa, Coriolanus stood up and raised his cup. "I have called you here tonight, to make a proposition," he declares with the same voice that he would use to speak to the Senate. "An alliance between our families…" The general turned his gaze to you for a moment, and exhaled to calm his racing heart, which only quickened when you looked back up at him. "If you will bestow upon me this honor, I wish to make your daughter…my wife. She is virtuous, and kind,…endowed with a noble background."

He waved for two of the servants of his household to present your mother and father with gifts of imported silk and valuable coins. And for you, the general had his servant gift place a set of golden jewelry - a girdle, five bracelets, and a layered necklace with rubies - in your lap. Underneath the girdle was a small piece of parchment with the words,

"I long to see you wearing these on our wedding night, my lady. Only these."

You turned red, and looked up and the general, politely expressing your thanks.

"Should you accept," Coriolanus gave you a nod and turned to your family. "We shall make our alliance official in the presence of the gods. Your daughter shall be my wife, and I her husband. I will defend her from harm and protect her, as I have defended Rome time and time again. Your daughter will be cared for, and all I ask for in return, is your fidelity. Pledge to me your allegiance, for I shall need your influence when the time comes for the elections in the Senate.

Instead of a dowry give me your loyalty, and I swear that your priceless gem of a daughter will want for nothing for as long as I live. Do I have your word?"

Oakley from Unrelated

"Let's get married." Oakley off-handedly said while the two of you stood outside, leaning against the wall while he smoked a cigarette.

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding?"

"No." He took another drag of his cigarette and turned to you with his ocean blue eyes and tousled, dirty blond curls. "We should get married."

"Who are you and what have you done with Oakley?"

"What, you don't think I'm good enough to marry you?" He protested.

Shaking your head, you laughed. "No, it's not that…"

"Well, then what is it?" Oakley crossed his arms and furrowed his brow at the sight of you laughing. "We have fun together, we make each other laugh,…we look good together, especially when naked-"

That was enough for you to playfully hit him on the shoulder, causing him to chuckle. He continued, "We like each other. We have this great relationship."

"But are you sure this is what you want?" You asked. "Don't you want to explore, try things? Do stuff before you're tied down?"

"Why would I do that? When there's this…beautiful, funny, smart, and sexy girl right there with me, I'm not even looking at anyone else." Oakley simply countered. "I like what we have, and i don't want to let it go. We can travel, explore the world, and I'll do it all with you." There was no sign of hesitation in his voice, but maybe it was just the cigarette fueling his courage. He came closer to you, and looked dead serious. "I don't want what we have to be just something we try for as long as we can, something we leave up to chance. I want forever with you."

"Forever?"

"Forever." Oakley knelt before you, his eyes going from a vivid cyan to a soft, almost pale bag blue. "I don't have a ring but…" He removed his necklace and presented it to you like an offering at an altar, calling your name. "Marry me."

Jonathan Pine from The Night Manager

Jonathan had been working with MI-6 for almost two years, embarking on various mission for them after he gained acclamation for helping to carry out Operation Limpet. He, along with officer Angela Burr, took down the infamous arms dealer Richard Roper once and for all.

Since then, Jonathan found himself a new home in London and got back in touch with you, the one who stole his heart back when he was still working as a night manager. He didn't know how much he truly missed you until you answered his letter, telling him about the twists and turns your life had taken since your last encounter with Pine. After about three weeks of exchanging handwritten letters - simply because they reminded you both of a simpler time and felt more personal - with Jonathan using a pseudonym to protect you, he invited you to visit London for a holiday.

And those five days you spent in London were some of the best five days of Jonathan's life. He delighted in your innocence, the way you happily took his arm and strolled through the city, randomly surprising him with kisses. Arm in arm, without a care in the world except for each other, enjoying all that life would have to offer…This is how it should be, Jonathan thought to himself as he gazed at the sparkle in your eyes, the color in your cheeks. He listened as you talked about everything you liked about London, everything that disgusted you, and everything you hoped for in the future, simply taking in the opportunity to just be with you.

After a few moments, you asked him about what he wanted in the future, and all Jonathan had to say was one word.

"You."

You looked up from your cup of tea. "Me?"

He took a breath. "Yes." Jonathan affectionately said your name, and reached for your hand. "I never grew up in a house with both parents, doting on me." He told you about how his life up until joining MI-6 was an abominable quest for order. How his time in the military and working in the hotel business was part of an aim to find a direction in his life, and how little happiness it truly brought him. How alone he felt whenever his life wasn't being threatened.

Jonathan sighed, not used to telling so much about himself in a single conversation, laying his heart out on the table to be cut into and devoured. "I promised myself that I would find the one person that I could care deeply for, and love them. I promised myself that I would make friends, find a home…a place to belong. Maybe someday become a parent."

You looked upon him lovingly. "That's beautiful, Jonathan."

He raised your hand to his lips and kissed it. "I want all of those things, and I want them with you." Jonathan declared, quiet enough for the two of you to hear. "These past days with you have been…incredible. When I look at you, I see everything that I have wanted, the life that I want to be living five years from now, ten years from now."

He continued, "You make me believe in a future that's worth building. The way you smile…, the way you look upon me and everyone with stars in your eyes…I want to be the one who keeps that smile on your face, the one who makes you laugh. I want to be the one who kisses you good night, and the first one you see in the morning. I want to be the one you come home to every evening, the shoulder you lean on."

Jonathan stroked the back of your hand with his calloused thumb. "I know it's soon, but if there is anything that I've learned, it's that when you see something worth keeping in your life, you do everything you can not to let her go. You just do it." He looked into your eyes. "Marry me?"

James Conrad from Kong: Skull Island

It was the third time this week James had a nightmare. After thrashing and groaning, fighting an invisible beast, James found it in himself to call you - his neighbor whom he'd been dating for two years - on the telephone. His forehead and his chest were dripping with sweat, his expression one of agony, when you approached his bed. It was obvious that he had been in a lot of pain.

James wasn't the type of person who wanted to expound upon the terrors he was feeling; he was a man of action who preferred expressing his emotions nonverbally. So, you respected that and simply talked about mundane things, things about civilian life that would temporarily distract James. As you both fell asleep, you made a mental note to remind James setting another appointment with his therapist, the one MONARCH had prescribed for him.

You woke up to an empty bed. It wasn't unusual for James to go out on an early morning walk to be alone with his thoughts. It was one of the things he'd learned from his therapist when he asked about how to be a better sweetheart to you while recovering from his trauma. You washed your face and brushed your teeth with a heavy heart, hoping it wouldn't be too long before you saw James again.

While you styled your hair, you heard the door unlock. James walked inside, carrying a bag of breakfast pastries. "Good morning." He greeted you in a low, casual voice.

"Good morning…" You would've asked if he slept well, but given the events of last night, that question made no sense. "I'm sorry I stayed over."

"No need to apologize." James set the pastries down and placed a kettle on the stove. While the water rose to a boil, James unwrapped the two chocolate croissants he bought, and glanced up to find you standing in the kitchen. You walked up to him slowly, and without missing a beat, James gently kissed you with an arm gently holding your waist. He murmured your name again, his breath warm against your lips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

James gave you a chaste kiss on your forehead before going into his bedroom. "I brought breakfast for us both. Should I make us some eggs?"

"No need…" You watched James open one of his drawers. "Before I forget, do you want to make an appointment with your therapist?"

"Uh, I will." James returned to the kitchen with a small box in his right hand. "Thanks for reminding me."

"What is that?"

James took a deep breath. "Just something to thank you for last night,…and for everything you've done."

"James, you really didn't have to-"

"No. I've been wanting to do this for a year, it's time."

Your breath caught in your throat as James opened the box to reveal a small, simple sapphire ring. He began, "I should've done this sooner, and I'm a fool for not doing so." James fell to one knee, and you gasped. "Darling,…Over the years I've known you, you have helped me…become a man again. You've remained by my side as I've made attempts to return to civilian life. You've comforted me during my worst hours, and you have given me something worth living for."

"James…"

"You're someone worth fighting for." He laughs a little. "I love you. And if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life making you feel loved and caring for you in the ways that you have cared for me.

Darling, will you marry me?"

Magnus Martinsson from Wallander

"Marry me." Magnus groaned with relief when you brought him a plate of eggs, some coffee, and an aspirin. He was laying on your couch, hungover after a night out with you and some of his mates from the police station.

You simply rolled your eyes and laughed a little. "Eat your eggs, you'll feel better with some food inside you."

Magnus kept his eyes on you while you both drank coffee, his headache slowly diminishing. "That a yes?"

"No, Magnus." You flatly said. "You had a lot to drink last night. Just…eat your eggs and finish your coffee. I'm not saying yes to a guy that passed out on my couch after throwing up into the bushes outside."

He grimaced. "I did that?…Sorry." Magnus looked down and shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "Whatever, it was just a question, not like I meant it or anything." He pretended to brush off the matter. "You doing anything else today?"

"Tidying the house. You?"

Magnus closed his eyes for a moment to taste the savory flavor of the eggs. "i have a few things to do at the station for Kurt. Won't take long."

You and Magnus finished breakfast in silence before Magnus thanked you for letting him crash on your couch. "I'll see you soon." He said, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You almost found it funny, the way he groaned for you to marry him, and chuckled to yourself. For all of his sarcastic quips and his cold exterior, there were times Magnus was an unintentional sweetheart. You'd known him for about seven months, how endearing he was whenever he tried to show off at darts or pool. You thought about the time he brought you soup every night when you had a flu that lasted for a week. And during that one time he showed up late to one of your date nights because of a case, he spent the rest of the evening simply snuggling with you until you fell asleep in each others' arms. It was one of the first times you'd ever seen him smiling so blissfully like a newborn baby.

About a few hours later, you could hear it rain outside, a bolt of thunder rumbling across the sky. While caught up in some trashy television, you heard a knock on the door.

There was Magnus, standing outside drenched from head to toe.

"Magnus, what are you-"

"I meant it." He confessed while the raindrops rolled down the sides of his face. "Marry me." He repeated when you asked him what he was talking about. Magnus reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small gold ring with three tiny diamonds. "You're the most perfect person in this entire world. And it's not just because you make the best eggs." He said, making you laugh. "You're stunning, even when you've just woken up. You put up with a lot, and…I can't really say what it is you do to me, but I can't help it. I…I…"

"I love you too, you crazy detective!" You finished.

"So, is that a yes?" Magnus asked again, with a big grin on his face as he presented the ring to you.

Robert Laing from High-Rise

"We need to talk." Robert broke the silence while the two of you shared a candlelit dinner in your flat.

All traces of a smile disappeared from your face instantly. Usually nothing good ever followed those four words.

You put your fork down. "What did you want to talk about?"

Robert looked you in the eye. "I moved to this high-rise to be alone, to be away from people. This…a relationship was the last thing that I wanted." He blinked, looking down at his plate for a moment. Then, he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

You tensed in your seat, preparing for the worst. God, Robert. If he was trying to break up with you, then he just picked the worst time possible.

The doctor stood up. "I thought I wasn't built for love…So I tried to be alone as much as I could, avoiding every chance to be attached to someone." He swallowed. "And then you came."

You let out a sigh, assuming that Robert was going to say something awful about your relationship.

"It was like I couldn't even recognize myself anymore. What you did to me…" Robert called your name and walked over to you. "I cannot go a day without hearing your quippy words…, without seeing you when I come home,…without kissing you. It's more than anything I have felt in years." He confessed, his fingers tracing the back of your chair. "If you were to disappear from my life, it would feel like losing everything I've ever known. And…truthfully, the idea of that terrifies me. Maybe I could live without you,…but I don't know if I would be able to call it living.

"So what are you trying to say?" You murmured.

Robert sighed. "Forgive me, I'm not used to having these conversations."

"It's okay."

"You did it again." The doctor remarked. "You're making me fall in love with you, sweetheart." Robert went to the coat closet where he kept his blazer, and pulled a small box from one of the pockets. He returned to your side. "What I'm trying to say is,…that I'm in love with you. I'm in love not only with you, but with the way that you make me…feel things. The way that you remind me that there's a future ahead of us both. A future that can be much more than just dreary parties and squabbles between the upper floors and lower floors. You make me very happy, darling, and I think that you should know that."

Robert took a deep breath and fell to one knee, next to your chair with the box opened to reveal a silver ring with a diamond heart. "Would you marry me, and make me an even happier man?"

Thomas Sharpe from Crimson Peak

You were sitting on the swing set in the garden of your family estate, enjoying the mid-morning sun and the gentle breeze. Idly moving your legs back and forth, you played with a small cluster of Baby's Breath in your lap. It was nice to be away from the bustling drama and the incessant gossip, and instead be surrounded by fresh air.

"My lady." You were awoken from your reverie by a smooth, vaguely familiar baritone that belonged to none other than Thomas Sharpe. He was a guest who'd been staying at an inn near your family's home, having joined your family for supper at least ten times in the past two weeks. In your eyes, he seemed mysterious and yet full of stories to tell, always having an anecdote about a place he'd visited or a trick to show you and your siblings. There was something about him that made you drawn to him as soon as he walked into a room, you were unable to articulate what it was.

"Good morning. What brings you here, Baronet?"

The baronet gave you a smile, and leaned against a tree, watching you enjoy yourself on the swings. "I was speaking to your father and his, erm, associates about a business venture."

"About clay, right? Mining it?"

Thomas nodded. "Precisely, my lady. And you, have you been enjoying your morning?"

You blushed as he took a step closer. "Yes, Baronet."

"No need for such formal titles now, my lady. We're not at a ball, nor are we at supper. ''Thomas' will do." He gently said. "May I share your company for a while, my lady, if it would not be much of a bother for you?"

You allowed him, giving the Baby's Breath to him as a token of affection. No, not a token of affection. Simply a nice gesture that would hopefully give you a place in Thomas's good books. Maybe he might even ask you for a dance at the next ball.

"Will you be attending the ball this Saturday, Bar- I mean, Thomas?"

He nodded, taking a moment to smell the flowers. "You?"

"I will."

"And have you chosen a gown, my lady?" Thomas decided to humor you a little. He smiled while you sheepishly described the dress that you had your eye on for that special occasion. "Well, I'm sure you will look divine wearing it, my lady. Do you often spend time here in the gardens, all by yourself."

"Yes. I enjoy the flowers, and the breeze. It's beautiful when the weather is pleasant."

"I can imagine, my lady. It's been a long time since I have relaxed in a garden." Thomas places the Baby's breath in his front pocket. "My lady, there is something I wish to know of you."

You stopped swinging, and asked him what it was.

"I would like to know if you would be interested in marrying me." Thomas knelt by your side, looking up at you with eyes that bore the same hue as a cloudless sky. "For some time, my lady, I have admired your numerous charms from afar. And with each passing day, my affections for you have grown stronger. I find myself thinking about you at the most unpropitious times of day." He sighs, "While I may not be a man of great fame or great brawn or of great wealth, I am a man of dignity." Thomas promised you, despite knowing it was a blatant lie. "I will make sure that you lack nothing as my wife. And to treat you with nothing but the compassion and the love that you deserve. All I ask in return, is that you try to find it in your heart to give me even an iota of your affections.

Would you be willing to do that, my lady?"

Jaguar Villain!Tom Hiddleston

Ever since you moved into the flat Mr. Hiddleston bought for you, the most powerful man in London always had a designated town car sent to pick you up from work or school every day. His favorite chauffeur would show up at the same time every weekday, give you a friendly greeting, and drop you off at your flat. And once you got there, you'd be greeted by a doorman that Mr. Hiddleston personally hired to make sure that you reached safely.

Today, however, the chauffeur did not drop you off at your flat. At least, not right away. "Monsieur Hiddleston had something different in mind for today," he said with a small grin, like he knew something was going on. The chauffeur dropped you off at the nail salon for a manicure paid for by your powerful beau.

After being pampered by the nail technician for about forty-five minutes, you returned to the town car to find a bag in the backseat with the word 'Harrods' on it. "You went shopping?" You asked the chauffeur while he drove you to your flat.

"Non, it was all Monsieur Hiddleston. He was keeping this dress on hold, and asked me to pick it up for you. He would like you to wear it tonight."

You thanked the chauffeur with a smile. Inside the bag was a beautiful Carolina Herrera gown in your favorite color. And right on cue, your phone buzzed with a text from your beau, asking if you liked his gift. As always, you texted back saying that it was perfect.

The chauffeur dropped you off at your flat, and asked you to be ready by seven-thirty…but not before taking a good look at your manicured nails and saying an early 'congratulations'.

"Gordon owes me a favor," Mr. Hiddleston bragged a little when he arrived in front of your building at seven-thirty sharp. He opened the door of his favorite black Jaguar, and helped you inside the front passenger seat. "You look stunning tonight, darling."

"You look amazing too," you couldn't help but say. It was the truth after all. "When you said Gordon, did you mean…?"

"We're going to the River Restaurant in the Savoy Hotel, darling." He kept one hand on the steering wheel, placing the other one on your knee. "Hungry?"

"Nervous," you sheepishly said.

"I'm here, nothing can harm you." He turned his eyes to the road. "Your fears are far behind you."

The moment you arrived, the host of the restaurant immediately led you both to one of the outdoor terraces, where there was a table for two set up. Mr. Hiddleston pulled the chair for you before sitting down, and a waiter poured both of you some Dom Pérignon.

"This is beautiful." You gushed, watching the most powerful man in London raise an invisible toast. You clinked your glass against his.

He replied with a dramatic flair. "Nothing compared to you."

"So…what did you to get this favor?" You leaned in and asked him while the waiter placed a charcuterie board for the two of you to share. "This is a seafood place, charcuterie isn't on the menu."

A twinkle in his cerulean eyes, Mr, Hiddleston fed you a piece of cheese. "That's confidential, darling. Just enjoy the night."

"I will."

The two of you made small talk about your day, and about Mr. Hiddleston's upcoming business trip to Paris. You would be going with him of course, Mr. Hiddleston would make sure of that. The waiter refilled your champagne, and your beau discretely gave him a twenty-pound note, whispering that it was time for the main course.

The waiter took about fifteen minutes to bring your elegantly-arranged entrees out onto the terrace. And as he came out, you could hear an orchestra from inside the hotel begin to play "All I Ask of You" from Phantom of the Opera.

"Enjoying yourself?" Mr. Hiddleston leaned forward with a smirk as he noticed you listening to the music.

You admitted this was one of the songs you enjoyed, and said it reminded you of the first time you'd ever heard of the musical. How much you wanted to be Christine in that moment, serenaded with the promise of a life with no more darkness.

"Well there's one more thing I have for you tonight, darling." With a smirk, Mr. Hiddleston reached into the pocket of his blazer, retrieving a small box labeled 'Harry Winston'. He slowly got out of his chair and made his way towards you.

You gasped, covering your mouth almost immediately. You swore you could feel your heart stop just for a moment when his eyes met yours. It all made sense now: the manicure, the accidental 'congratulations', the gown,…

"Oh my god…"

Mr. Hiddleston fell to one knee and opened the box, which contained a 1-carat diamond ring with a platinum band. "Love me. It's all I ask of you."

Tag list: @thatdummy-girl @icytrickster17 @mischievoushiddleston,@lokischambermaid , @lady-rose-moon , @lokisgoodgirl , @lokisninerealms @jennyggggrrr ,, @tom-hiddleston-imagines , @lokiismineforever @smolvenger @winterfrostlovetriangle , @the-haven-of-fiction , @turniptitaness @cakesandtom ,@sallymagnoliaposts @leahs-reading-nook @holdmytesseract @muddyorbsblr @evelyn-kingsley @anukulee @acidcasualties @lotsoflokilove23 @caffiend-queen

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manicpixiefelix · 8 months

Text

and other things that happened by the red staircase

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: Like with all events at Saltburn, you take great care to learn all you can about the guests for the upcoming Catton Family Reunion, to make sure you can make a good impression. You and Venetia, however, discover that Felix may be making too good of an impression on his recently un-estranged cousin.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: felix fingering(/possibly going down on) his cousin but its not super explicit, reader having a social anxiety regarding the social event, venetia being kind of a nasty little perv i love her

A/N: 3841 words. this was meant to just be a little something about venetia and reader teasing felix after finding out he accidentally fingered his cousin, something i could write on my phone before bed. which i did but i didn't stop writing for 4 hours and it became too long for just an answer. also because there's a bunch of catton family lore ive invented and put it all in here.

also before any discourse arises, there's a character briefly mentioned here, Marv, who is an old butch lesbian who uses he/him pronouns. he is not trans, but chooses to use he/him, look into queer history if this bugs you, or go outside and off of my blog. you're reading the writing of an agender it/its lesbian, my blog is not a place for queer discourse, it's a place for being freaks about Jacob Elordi and Barry Keoghan.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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It's been a particularly stressful event for you; so much of Felix's family is in attendance and you're desperate to impress them. It had been called a reunion, but nothing at Saltburn was ever so simple, nor so informal. As always you've prepared ahead of time; Duncan and Elspeth, as they always did, walked you briefly through the guest list, however unlike usual, instead of leaving you alone with the detailed dossier of guests, Elspeth herself had sat with you in one of the numerous studies - the lilac one - and gone through in meticulous detail. The family friends they refer to as cousins, the family they refuse to acknowledge beyond a handshake - and why. All the Catton branches and the gossip that haunts each. Things like how it's the first event in ten years that Sir James' estranged, illegitimate half-sister and her family were invited to. She's laughing, and you act like your nerves aren't on fire, like there isn't bile rising in your throat out of fear of the faux pars you could see on the horizon.

"Oh they're going to love you, darling," she assures. The minute she leaves you start nervous crying over the dossier, which quickly becomes an anxiety attack. It's been a very long time, especially since they'd kindly set up this system to alleviate your known anxieties, that you'd been this afraid of a dinner.

None of them can know.

You're almost eighteen, you're meant to be well past this, meant to have learned to cope with it by now.

On the night of the event, Farleigh's the only one looking as queasy as you feel - the family's pitying looks and grating questions have him going for a smoke break almost every five minutes. Still, Venetia's never without a drink in hand despite her mother's disapproving looks, and Felix is nowhere to be seen. At least at this family affair there's a number of people your own age. Many related, but many not - more friends of the family, or illegitimate offspring. Still, you don't want to put your preparations to waste, want to make a good impression.

There's mean laughter from by the fireplace as you find yourself in conversation with Sir James and his second cousin Barty, praising the man for his recent and lucrative foray into financially supporting broadcast television. James gives you and incredibly surprised and approving look, while Barty lights up with delight, claiming that there was hope for the young after all it seemed. Casting a glance to the fireplace, you see a few mean looking teens all watching you with sneers.

Barty asks how you found yourself here, and James pats you on the back before you can answer, claiming you as one of the wards of Saltburn; a good influence on his dear son, Felix. Pride flares in your chest. But you can still hear the teens call you a freak.

Its taking everything in you to not try and find sanctuary in the company of Felix, Venetia, or Farleigh. Its incredibly tempting, considering the abundance of desperate eye contact you and Farleigh especially are sharing, but you worry that if you don't keep face, don't put your information to use, don't remain visible to everyone in the room who you've convinced yourself are even tangibly related to Felix and his immediate family, every single one of them will hate you.

One day you will reckon with how profoundly your upbringing effected the expectations you place on yourself. Today is not that day. So you smile at Mildred Catton - by marriage, second cousin, young widow and now spinster. Well, she has a girlfriend, judging by the way Elspeth had spoken about her roommate of twenty-five years, and she has a kind and knowing smile as she compliments you - so beautiful, what a handsome young thing you are, oh you do remind me of Marv like this, back when we first met, of that's cute, you'd love him. Marv is short for Marvel Elizabeth, the butch woman who lives with Mildred and runs a bike shop and who you'd spent probably too much time looking at in the dossier, his arm around Mildred in her photo, both of them smiling so wide.

You kind of wish he was here. When you share the sentiment, Mildred looks a little crestfallen; you get the impression that not a lot of the Cattons share your feeling.

Still, talking to Mildred helps ease your nerves considerably. At least until you realise that it's been quite some time since you'd seen Felix.

You don't need him at all times... Don't need to know his whereabouts at every second of every day... But you've found yourself trapped in a conversation with a gaggle of the newer, younger, shinier wives of Felix's various uncles-something-times-removed, and one hadn't been updated in the dossier and you greeted her as the wife she'd replaced. So now you're mortified, like a deer in the headlights as they're all judging you, and you know you're on the verge of panicking or throwing up -

"Need to steal our lovely Y/N for a moment," Venetia, your saviour. She slips an arm in yours and doesn't wait for an answer.

"Venetia, dear -" Christie, owner of a failing fragrance business that she desperately doesn't want people to know is failing, but that her husband had drunkenly, forlornly confessed about to Sir James, barely get two truly disdainful words in before Venetia brightly throws over her shoulder -

"Love your dress, matches your roots, talk later Auntie Chris," and you can only imagine the flustered fury on Christie's face as the other women try not to compare the dark dress to the woman's dark roots peeking through her blonde hair. You, however, are gone speechless in your nauseous panic, and press yourself to Venetia's side as she pulls you through the crowd, "you looked about ready to kill yourself like one of those dishonoured samurai," she says quietly but casually.

"Yeah, that was the rough plan," you managed to joke weakly. Your heart was racing; you hated being like this. It takes you a moment to properly focus back in on the moment, and realise Venetia was dragging you along with considerable purpose, "are you okay?"

"I need your robot brain to help me decide if something's funny or just gross."

"My robot brain?"

"You know everyone here because - and I say this with love - you're a freak about these things-"

"Didn't know Iona," you muttered, once again horrified, gaze going glassy as all you can think about is how you called her Misha. Her husband had a type; models from northern countries and very little sense of humour, it seemed. Venetia snapped her fingers in your face, frowning, keeping your mind from wandering too far.

"They got married a month ago, you probably won't even see her again," she rolled her eyes, taking you by the shoulders, leading you from the main entertaining area towards the main parlous, "but the point is, I know we refer to everyone as Aunt or Uncle or Cousin or whatever, but I'm not even actually at all related to like half of them," Venetia pauses, looking at you very seriously, "but you know the difference, right? Like if I pointed to someone, you'd know how exactly they're here?"

"Uh, yeah, of course," it's who you were, it's what you did, "don't you?"

"Not," she visibly hesitates, gaze shifting to look around the room, "not really," she admits, they're all just, you know, family. There's always been too many to bother with the how or why of any of them, unless mum or dad felt it was important for me and Felix to keep in mind specifically," but after a beat she met your gaze with a wolfish grin, "or if it was particularly scandalous." Okay, you think you're starting to get her intentions.

"So who are you wondering about and why?"

The way Venetia was smiling could not possibly mean anything good.

"So," Venetia took you by the shoulders and steered you through the grand foyer towards the stairs, as if on her way to yours or Felix's room. Her voice had gotten quieter, conspiratorial, "I've been watching this unfold all night," she explains gleefully, "and I did think it was rather bold to be looking to get someone in bed at a family reunion, though I supposed that there is a good chance that they're not even related; as we've discussed, family is a rather loose, fond title for many of them here tonight," she's choosing her words incredibly carefully, skirting around her point for dramatic effect, "and," she stops in the doorway by the red staircase; you think you can hear faint moaning not too far away. Venetia's voice is a whisper, "I wanted to give the benefit of the doubt, considering I'm pretty sure I've actually never seen this girl in my life, so I can't say who she belongs to here."

Around the corner there's an attempt at a shushing that sounds more masculine, judging by the whisper of laughter that accompanies it, and a young woman's giggled apology, followed by a breathy gasp, and the faint sound of wood scraping against the marble floor. You and Venetia peer around the corner like the Hardy boys, you ducking down and her leaning over you.

The girl in question is leaning back against the antique, wooden end table at the end of the short hall, head throw back, chest heaving with wanton breathes. Wearing a flowing, green dress that looked almost like silk, but was clearly rayon when you had seen her up close earlier, you knew immediately who she was. More importantly, you were surprised to see someone in a suit on their knees in front of her, beneath her dress.

Alyssa Morelli has seemed absolutely out of her mind with boredom and disdain for this entire affair in the brief few moments you'd spent with her. Like you she was seventeen, and was the eldest daughter of Sir James' estranged half sister. Having barely any information about her, and also trying to focus on not losing your cool regarding that fact, it had made conversation, at least for you, incredibly difficult.

She hated the wine, hated her mother for dragging her along, hated the way rich people talked about nothing, and thought everything about Saltburn, the Cattons, and the entire night was a frivolous display of meaningless excess and wealth. Rich people are such freaks, she'd told you, with a look that clearly said that includes you, and she's finished another glass of champagne with one large gulp and a shudder. For a long moment you'd looked at her - perhaps you could have been a little less unnerving about it, but she'd caught you off guard - as you tried to think of something to say.

"I think you'd thrive at university," you blurt out. She gives you a look like you were some kind of unpleasant bug, having the audacity to continue speaking to her. One of the staff passes with a tray of more champagne, and you pluck two glasses off, handing one to her as you continued, "however I would be fascinated to hear your thoughts on the way our classicist society prioritises and celebrates formal tertiary education" you let your gaze roam, holding your glass in both hands with the tips of your fingers, a dead giveaway of your nerves without you even realising, but for some reason she's still letting you talk, "and the idea of the pursuit of knowledge without that being a financially sustainable life choice anymore if you do it the wrong way. Why celebrate scientists when we just disregard modern philosophers?" You take a sip of your champagne and try and tell yourself to shut up, "I know the answer's 'because you can't profit off of philosophers as easily as you can scientists', but it just kind of sucks, don't you think?"

A long, uncomfortable silence follows.

"I swear at least Felix, Farleigh, and Venetia aren't freaks," you blurted out. Alyssa's shoulders relaxed just a little. At least you were self aware.

"Who?" Its... less hostile. You point out Felix and Farleigh headed out for a cigarette with a few others around your age, and Alyssa sighs, rolling her eyes. She's still clearly got Catton blood in her, her eyes and nose even remind you of Venetia. Still, she headed towards the side door; even her walk seemed to ooze contempt for the night.

Now, watching her, moonlight peaking down the stairs to catch the way she's beginning to glow with sweat, white-knuckled grip on the dark wood and her once perfectly straight, dark hair turning curly with moisture around her face and by her shoulders, you're actually a little glad to see it. At least she seemed to have found one person not entirely unbearable.

You knew all too well how overwhelming and isolating these events could be. As much as you felt you could relate, you couldn't really understand what she'd be going through, her first time at an event like this, feeling that there's people in the room who truly think you and your family outright don't belong. She should take her fun where she can get it, you think.

Shoving Venetia back to give the couple their privacy, you push her back into the parlour.

"Who is that?" Venetia demanded in a whisper, eyes bright. You sigh, shaking your head.

"Alyssa, she hasn't been to something like this before, just let her have her fun," after a beat, you step in a little closer, hands finding Venetia's hips as you attempted to distract her, "you know we could -"

"Alyssa who?" It hasn't worked. Venetia takes your hands, "this is important." There's something that goes beyond mischief in her eyes.

"Morelli," but she makes a face like that's not enough, "Aunt June's daughter." Venetia frowned.

"Aunt June's daughter married one of those Dubai millionaires five years ago and hasn't sent her a single pound or even a message since."

"That's your Great Aunt June- Juniper," you clarified without missing a beat, "she's not even related to any of you; your mum doesn't know who she was initially tied to in the family." Venetia takes a few moments to give you a look of faint, disbelieving awe. Clearing your throat, you looked back over your shoulder as the suggestive noises around the corner were growing louder, "Estranged Aunt June."

Venetia's eyes lit up with what could only be described as malevolent glee.

"So she's my cousin."

"Yes."

"Actually? Blood and all? Not just one of my uncles' weird friends who's been hanging around for decades so now we have to call them family?"

"I'm beginning to get afraid of your intentions, Ven," despite your wary smile, you weren't really joking. Venetia completely disregards this, however, holding your shoulders so tightly it begins to hurt.

"That girl," she points sharply, the kind of intensity in her eyes that absolutely means trouble, "just around the corner, moaning like a whore, getting fingered, tongued, whatever -" she wets her lips in some kind of anticipation, "is my actual, blood related cousin? And you're entirely sure of that?"

Taking a deep breath, unsure of what the repercussions of this all will be, you slowly nod.

"Yes..."

Venetia steps back, has to clap her hands over her mouth to muffle her positively gleeful laughter. For some unexpected reason, this piece of information seems to be some of the best news she's ever received in her life. It almost brings her to tears. After she calms down, you think you hear her mutter something along the lines of I'm never letting him live this down as she fans herself, attempting to calm herself.

"Ven, are you okay?" Still utterly confused about what any of this means, you can't help the concern you feel. Venetia's nodding, fighting back aftershocks of giggles, gazing often at the doorway.

"Yes, I- you're wonderful, thank you for helping me with that-" overcome by another, brief fit of giggles, it takes her a moment to compose herself, "I love you and your robot brain so very dearly -"

"Oh my god~" from around the corner, and another, louder shush. Venetia buries her face in her hands, echoing oh my god as she chokes on laughter once more. When she resurfaces, face bright red with amusement, you take her hand and try to insist that you should give them privacy.

"Yes, of course," Venetia agrees, suddenly trying to appear as serious as she's able, "I just have one other favour to ask you."

"What?" You ask flatly, unsurprisingly wary, watching her struggle not to grin.

"Could you tell my brother?"

The question hangs in the air for a long, confusing moment.

"Tell him what?"

"That Alyssa's our cousin."

"Sure...?" you frowned a little, peering over her shoulders, "I don't know where he is though, I haven't seen him in a while." Venetia smiles like the Cheshire Cat.

Oh... no... she isn't implying -? But Alyssa's timing is unfortunately perfect.

"Oh my god, Felix~"

Your mouth drops open in shock upon hearing that.

"Oh my God," you groaned, pained by the realisation as your face scrunched up with sudden understanding and disappointment, "Felix."

Venetia is absolutely right, he's never living this down.

"You had me prattling on for fucking ages about nothing, just letting them go at it all the while? You could have just asked!" You hissed, already mortified on his behalf.

"You're letting them go at it now!" She crowed quietly, and ah, fuck. Yeah, she had a point there.

Rounding the corner briskly, you cross your arms but at the very least keep your gaze to the floor.

"Felix -" you clear your throat.

"Oh, fuck off," Alyssa, seeing it's you, groans with frustration. There's movement beneath her dress when you glance up; there's something almost comical about knowing what you're seeing is Felix sitting up straighter under there.

"I know that's you, Y/N," Felix had enough dignity to not sound ashamed or caught out. But he should, "just, yeah mate, could you fuck off a bit?" Its not a particularly sharp request, and if this were any other situation, of course you'd obligingly fuck off. However...

"Well don't fucking stop," Alyssa hisses to him, sounding almost embarrassed by the fact that he was giving you the time of day right now, "seriously, fuck off!" She tries to whisper-shout, but halfway through her voice turns to an unsteady moan and her head falls back against the wall again, "OhmygodFelix~" she whines, bringing one of her legs up over his shoulder.

"So should I wait until after you get her off to tell you?"

"Tell him what you little pervert?" Alyssa, furious at your refusal to leave, demands.

"Hey, be nice to them," you hear, vaguely muffled from under her skirt. You have to snort a laugh.

"Thanks Fi, I'll just tell you now, uh," you can't look at them in this moment, fighting off your embarrassed smile at you look to the ceiling, "I don't think this is what your dad meant when he suggested you get to know Aunt June's kids; this might be too welcoming for your recently un-estranged cousin."

Around the corner you hear Venetia cackling like a banshee, clearly having been eavesdropping.

Felix scrambles back from under Alyssa's dress, looking an absolute mess.

"You what?"

"Oh my god." There's nothing lewd about it this time, Alyssa herself sounds absolutely fucking mortified.

----

The next morning, over breakfast, the mood is... strained. Its Sir James who breaks the ice, brightly - though it's clearly forced - commenting on how the night took such an unexpected and unfortunate turn. Felix, who likely doesn't even remember the end of the night considering how thoroughly plastered he got after his unfortunate affair with his cousin, looks to his father very suddenly, the sudden fear in his eyes about what his parents may know hidden by his large, dark glasses. He'd threatened to drown himself in the lake if you or Venetia told anyone, but his memory got fuzzy from there. The hangover that he's half worried might actually kill him doesn't help.

"Such a shame," Elspeth sighed, "I would have thought June would raise them better than that."

"Estranged Aunt June's daughter, Alyssa," you leaned over to Felix to stage whisper the context to him, half worried the paranoia might kill him there at the table. Venetia does however feel the need to smugly butt in and remind him -

"Our biological cousin."

"Apparently convinced her younger brothers to riot and start breaking all the crockery," you finished. Felix frowned in vague confusion, a feeling which Farleigh seemed to share.

"And it was so unnecessary, like she knew it was the first family thing her mom had been invited to in a decade -"

"She hates rich people and thinks we're freaks," you sat back, shrugging, "she told me so herself."

"Who, June?" Sir James sounded downright heartbroken at the idea, so you quickly shook your head.

"Alyssa." It seems to alleviate some of his concerns, but not a lot, and Sir James goes back to his breakfast still looking rather put out.

"Well maybe," Venetia leans her elbows on the table, bread knife in hand that she was using to flippantly gesture with, "there's some rich people that she should hate," her gaze and smug smile lands on you, as does the nonchalant way she's pointing with her knife, right before she flicks her wrist as if pointing at her brother by pure chance, "and some of us who are freaks."

Felix glared down at his breakfast.

"I don't know why we un-estranged Aunt June in the first place," he grumbled mostly to himself, though not quiet enough that the rest of the table didn't hear. Sir James sighed with disappointment.

"I think in future we may have to limit June's invitations to only her and her husband," he says, shaking his head. Elspeth kindly tells him that it's probably for the best.

Venetia, still apparently feeling petty, threw a bread roll at her brother, who hadn't looked up from where he seemed to be trying to divine life's secrets from his plate of sausages. It glances off his forehead, but knocks his glasses loose and into his breakfast. A second later Felix officially gives up and follows suit, faceplanting into his food.

"Oh my god, Felix!" His mother gasps with concern.

Despite Elspeth sounding nothing like Alyssa had the night before, the familiar phrase sets Venetia off, cackling with laughter at the top of her lungs. While the rest of the table is utterly confused by the series of events that have just occurred, you scoot your chair over close to Felix, patting him sympathetically on the back. Beneath the table, he rests his hand on your knee to give a grateful squeeze. When he talks, only you can hear it, resigned and half muffled by scrambled eggs.

"Hate this family."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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foursaints · 2 months

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helllo! u sometimes talk about ur mutuals circle and i was just wondering would u like to namedrop them? cos i think i already follow some of them but i feel like they probably all have very correct opinions and good taste and would like to follow them

oh i would love nothing more than to namedrop. in fact i will make you an index of what i admire about them (readmore for length)

@fernhelm <- leading scholar on the black sisters, arthuriana, and the overlap between marauders & ancient greek classicism. we are neighbors and childhood friends irl but that's unrelated

@jewishregulus <- THE regulus black understander & originator of the carrow twins. half of everything i say is paraphrased from the essay length saintsivy dms

@carniferous <- THE james potter understander & creator of nuanced tenderness and melancholy & one of my favorite fic authors before we became friends.... read their theatre-based fic NOWW

@sixlane <- i passed the Premiere Bartylily Understander hat to lane long ago.... we all definitely already know lane of "get him back (read on ao3)" fame but it bears repeating. one of the few fic authors who i stalk for updates. but i also stalk for anon responses because they are always uniquely thought-out and hilarious

@itsjaywalkers <- LAURIEE is one of the best people on here & i scroll their blog like the morning news. the vibe on there is always so fresh and fun and kind and playful (and occasionally searingly tragic or erotic). THE james potter enjoyer on this website. this is the other fic author who i stalk for updates.....

@quillkiller <- jen was my first mutual on here 🥺 (hi jen). our most beautiful resource for Bellatrix Black enjoyment and nuanced discussion of feminist theory. i consider them half of the powerduo of Rarepair Creation on this site (hi kara) that has given us bangers like effiebarty and regtunia and the most searing wlw fic

@static-radio-ao3 <- im embarrassed to talk to mil because their jegulus fic is just genuinely that good. its crazy how every single one reads like a fully fleshed-out romcom novel i would read in one sitting at barnes & noble. another barty understander i daresay

@sugarsnappeases <- THE OTHER HALF OF THE RAREPAIR BUREAU. kara's microfics hit me like 9/11 every single time (that searing bella sirius-death character study? the BARTYLILY DRESS FIC?) and they are another lesbionic understander of women. when people say they want more marauders girls content they should just go to kara lmfaooo

@rottin6 <- can't talk about layla without offering my hand in marriage sorry. princess of the bartylilysphere i rather think... hottest most erotic microfics i've ever read in my life, thank god for the people who understand barty's Trashboy Dick on a cerebral level

@veryinnovative <- we all definitely already know ino but that's okay. probably divinely gifted to come up with the most unexpected & niche AUs that still manage to make perfect sense and hit every single time.

@moon-seas <- KAYY. my favorite artist on here hands-down. a true dirtbag barty understander & they produce the most stunning digital collage-work. a privilege to see

@sommerregenjuniluft <- now where would i be without lune's barty understanding... yes their jegulus microfic porn is masterful but WHAT ABOUT their ability to put barty in the strangest situations ever (he's an electrician?? a circus clown, now???) and have it integrate perfectly with his character. that's good writing babe!!!!

also you should follow @dracure @royalthorned @morsmortish and @katakosmos for more good rosekiller content. we don't talk but I admire from afar ......

#a #we were just talking about my parasocial anons. but really the parasocial one was me all along

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mulletpermsicantlookaway · 2 months

Text

The Jockification of Jeremy

This is Part 1 of a sequel to The Cupbearer, Part 2. The characters of Jeremy and Chase are my invention. The characters of James (the originally unnamed narrator of the previous story), Tyler, Steve, Derek, Brittney, and Becky were created by the earlier writers.

We start where the last story left off, seen from Jeremy's point of view.

__________

Dear Diary,

I can’t believe I’m actually going to get to make out with Steve and James! They are so effing hot! Steve’s the cuter one, but they are boyfriends, after all, so it’s a package deal. That’s fine. James is sexy, but he’s scary, too. He’s not tall, and he’s quite a bit shorter than Steve, but he’s big! He almost looks like that linebacker guy Derek’s younger brother, except that Derek is blond, and James’s hair is so dark it’s almost black. They’re not related as far as I know, other than being total jocks. Derek has the reputation of being one mean SOB, and he looks the part. All the freshmen are terrified of him. But the freshmen avoid James, too. From what I hear, he’s stuffed one or two guys into a locker before.

The bottom line is that there’s no way I want to get on James’s bad side. He made it clear this was a one-time thing, and if I bother Steve and him after this, he will seriously mess me up. I believe him. You don’t tell a guy like him No.

It’s funny; despite him looking like a walking stereotype of a dumb jock, rumors have it that the guy’s super smart. If he is, he sure doesn’t come off that way. He doesn’t seem gay, either, but neither does Steve. Our football team has several gay jocks, and unless you see one of them kissing a guy, you can’t tell them apart from the straight jocks. Certainly no one makes fun of any of them for being gay. And, to their credit, they’ve made life easier for all the gay guys at school. The gay jocks may not like nerds or geeks much, but they will intervene if they see any gay kid being harassed for being gay. That’s really cut down on the homophobia, because you’re taking your life in your hands making an anti-gay remark if one of the gay jocks overhears it.

Steve isn’t as intimidating as his boyfriend. He’s very cute, especially for a football jock. He’s tall, and plenty built, too, but he doesn’t have the sheer size his boyfriend has. James’s thighs look big enough to crush a bowling ball. I can’t imagine him wearing jeans; it must be hard for him to find clothes that fit. In fact, I don’t remember seeing him wear anything but athletic shorts, even this time of year, but a lot of the jocks wear shorts all the time. James and Steve seem to find shorts that are a lot shorter and more form-fitting than what most of the other jocks wear. Maybe that’s how you can tell gay jocks: they’re not afraid to show off how built they are.

Dear Diary,

Tonight’s the night! I’m going to meet them at Steve’s house for a “study” session after dinner. Hopefully they forget to shower after practice. I hear that they and several of the guys on the football team have monster cocks, and from the look of the bulges in their shorts, I don’t think I’ll be disappointed.

I feel a little bad that I’m hiding all this from Chase. He’s been my best friend since grade school, and we share practically everything, but he doesn’t like jocks. At all. And he sure doesn’t get why I find them hot, so I don’t want to get him started.

Dear Diary,

I have a lot to tell you. First off, Steve’s got a nice, big room, and his house is huge. Clearly his parents have a lot of money. Other than being big, his room is pretty much what you’d expect of a jock: athletic gear and clothes lying around, and more than a whiff of locker room smell. One thing’s odd, though; he’s got a large, fancy, and expensive-looking chess set in his room. Hardly the kind of thing you’d expect from a football player. I heard somewhere he used to be on the chess team, although that’s hard to believe. Second, you really have no clue how big guys like that are until you see them out of their clothes. Steve’s gorgeous like an athletic model, but I about fainted at the sight of his cock. I knew he had a big package, but that thing’s obscene! And James’s is just as big, if not bigger. Now James is one hairy dude: chest, legs, arms, everywhere. He’s even got 6-pack abs you can hardly see for all the hair. Steve’s got hardly any chest hair, just a few hairs around his nipples, but he’s got a lot of leg hair and a nice treasure trail leading up to his belly button.

It was a hot time, but kind of overwhelming. I actually felt a little queasy afterward. Maybe one of them had a cold, because my voice is kind of scratchy and hoarse now, and I feel “off”, as if I’m coming down with something. Well, whatever happens, it was absolutely worth it! I even got a little souvenir! I’m not sure whose jockstrap it is, I’m guessing Steve’s, just because it was his room. It’s huge and stretched out, but that tells me nothing: either one of their packages could have done that. I know some people think some of the football players must be on steroids to be so big, but it can’t be that. Even I know that steroids shrink your balls, and there’s nothing shrunken about their balls.

Dear Diary,

When I went to bed last night, I slept with the jockstrap as a reminder of what a good time I had. I think I’ll wear it to school. Under my clothes, no one will know I’ve got it on. Not even Chase.

Dear Diary,

Wearing the jockstrap to school was interesting. It’s obviously way too big for me, so I wore it under a pair of my briefs so that it’d stick close to my balls. It must be my imagination, but it felt kind of warm and tingly down there when I had it on. Another weird thing is how that jock smell seems to get stuck in your nose. I even imagine I smell it on myself even when I’m not wearing the jockstrap. I still feel a bit “off”. I’m not as hoarse now, but I seem to have a lot of phlegm, and I’m having trouble clearing it out. My nose isn’t stuffed up, but my voice kind of rumbles as if I’ve got a cold.

Dear Diary,

I’ve worn that jockstrap to school all week, and now it’s getting kind of gamey. But it’s recovered amazingly from being stretched out by jock football player monster cocks; it’s not loose at all now. In fact, I think I could wear it by itself without the briefs to hold it in place. To avoid chafing while wearing the extra material, I found I had to start walking with a bit of a rolling swagger. It just feels more natural. I can’t believe I used to just mince around. This feels so much more, I don’t know, confident, I guess.

Dear Diary,

My balls and cock started to feel itchy all the time, and I was scratching a lot, so I decided I’d better give up and wash that jockstrap out. I’ll have to do it myself. I don’t want to put it in the laundry and have my mom ask me what I’m doing with it.

Dear Diary,

I finally washed the jockstrap out in the sink and then let it dry in my room overnight. I think that got all the smell out, but since I kind of have that smell in my brain all the time now, it’s hard to tell for sure. Anyway, washing it seems to have shrunk it a lot. I wouldn’t call it tight, but my junk fills it just fine, and I certainly don’t need briefs to hold it on. That’s a good thing, because my briefs all suddenly got tight and uncomfortable, and now I’m sticking to boxers. My throat isn’t scratchy anymore, and the phlegm finally cleared up, but my voice hasn’t gotten back to normal. I don’t sound sick or anything, but everything comes out in this low rumble that doesn’t sound like me. A few people have made comments about it, including Chase, who asked me why I sounded so douchey. Maybe my voice hadn’t quite finished changing? I’d been hoping to audition for the winter musical, but unless my voice recovers, I don’t see how I’d be able to sing any of the leads.

Dear Diary,

Mom must have messed up something in the laundry, because all the sudden my clothes are all tight, and my pants have shrunk and they’re riding highwater. Even my shoes are tight; she must have tried to wash them, too.

Dear Diary,

As much as I hate to give it up, I think I’d better stop wearing that jockstrap. Chase came over to work on our joint class project, and the first thing he said was that my bedroom smelled like a locker room. I guess I just don’t smell it anymore. I’m itchy down there again, so it’s probably time to wash out that jock anyway. Then I guess I’d better put it away. Too bad. It’s been fun while it lasted.

Dear Diary,

I had the weirdest dream last night. I was in the locker room suiting up for a football game with Chase, Derek, James, Steve, and Tyler. I’ve never even talked to Tyler. He’s one of the other jocks on the football team. I think he’s friends with James, not that it matters; all the jocks seem to hang out together in one big herd. Anyway, that dream kind of freaked me out. First, what’s Chase doing playing football? It didn’t even really look like him; it was like a jock version of Chase, which was kind of hot. Second, why would I dream about Tyler when I hardly know who he is? Third, I’ve never played football in my life. Football season’s about over, anyway, but our team’s in the playoffs this year for the first time in forever, apparently. Everyone’s saying what got them there was all the new players we got this year, like Tyler, James, Steve, Zach, and some others. With that much talent and size, we’re creaming the other schools.

Dear Diary,

What the fuck is going on with the laundry? Just when I think Mom is done shrinking my clothes, she does it again. It’s getting to be pathetic. I mean, people are looking at me funny, even Steve and James. That Tyler guy, the one from my weird dream (and he is one husky dude; he’s nearly as big as Derek), he looked at me sideways in the hall and said something like, “You been working out, little bro? You ever think about trying out? Football’s about over, but basketball and wrestling are starting, and I think they’re both short a few guys. I don’t think I’ve noticed you before, but you’re getting some height on you, and some muscle, too.” I mean, he’s talking to me as if he thinks I’m a jock. I don’t get it. Just because my pants are shrinking doesn’t mean I’m getting taller. And I certainly haven’t been working out.

Dear Diary,

Steve and James were looking at me weird again today. I don’t know what those dudes are staring at me for. I haven’t said word one to them since we made out. As I said before, bros, I don’t want a mean-looking motherfucker like James to beat me up because he thinks I’m trying to hit on his boyfriend. Not that I haven’t been horny as hell lately. I keep zoning out in class thinking about naked football players or basketball players or wrestlers or whatever, and by the time I snap out of it, half the school day’s gone by, and I hardly remember any of it. I think about Chase, too. Sometimes I imagine Chase as a naked football player or wrestler, and then I really get horny. By the way, I had to start wearing that jockstrap again. I bought myself another one, too. It was just too uncomfortable to go without wearing one. I think I wore that first fucking strap too long and got used to the feeling. If I’m not wearing one now, my balls feel all heavy and shit, and my dick flops all over the place when I walk, and I feel as if I’m lumbering around with this huge weight in my pants. I guess I just need the support, especially since none of my briefs fit anymore.

Dear Dudery, Dear Di – Let’s just drop this dweeb diary shit and I’ll just write what happens, okay?

Things keep getting weirder. Today James came up to me in the hall and said, “Little bro, I think you and I need to have a little bro talk. Let’s take a walk.”

James strolled until we’d reached a hallway hardly anyone was in, and then he turned toward me with his eyebrows slightly raised, as if he’d asked me a question and was waiting for the answer. I said, “What’s up, dude? I’ve left you and Steve alone, so what’s your effing beef?”

James said, “You have, and that was smart. Trust me, you do not want to be on my bad side. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, not exactly, anyway.”

Then I said, “So? What’d you want to talk about?”

“You, little bro. I wanted to talk about you – and your future. Think of me as kind of like a guidance counselor,” he said with a chuckle and a one-eyebrow-raised smirk on his face. “Seriously, though, are you feeling okay, little bro? You notice anything different about yourself lately?”

“No, I feel fine,” I said, puzzled. “Well, I’ve been kind of itchy, but my clothes are too tight. My mom’s been doing something with the laundry. She keeps shrinking everything.”

His smirk widened into one of those shit-eating grins that all the jocks seem to do when they think something’s funny that you don’t. He said, “Look, little bro, don’t go blaming your poor mom. A mom’s a gay bro’s best friend anyway, but that’s another story. Let’s get back to what’s been going on with you, little bro, because Steve and I – and Tyler, and some others – have seen this kind of thing happen before. Your clothes haven’t changed, little bro, not at all. You have. Are you really that clueless? Have you given yourself a good look in a mirror lately?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, James?”

“Yeah, there it is. That’s what I was waiting for. Starting to lose it, aren’t you? You really don’t want to push it with me, little bro, but I’m going to be – magnanimous – and let that pass. As I was saying, I’ve seen this kind of thing before. You’re feeling super aggressive right now, and super horny, and that’s why you’re lashing out. Otherwise, you’d know better than to try to get me mad. Let’s get back to the point. Have you seriously not noticed that you’re at least three inches taller than you were a couple of weeks ago? You’re taller than I am now. And you’ve gotten bigger. It’s not a lot, but I can see it. You’re scratching yourself a ton when you think no one’s looking, so I’m guessing you’re sprouting some new hair. Your voice is lower, and – how do I put this – you don’t exactly talk like a theater queen anymore. You’ve also been looking kind of distracted, as if something’s on your mind. And I can guess what it is, because those tight pants of yours leave nothing to the imagination.

“Anyway, little bro, even if you haven’t noticed that you’ve been changing, other people have.” Then he leaned in so closely that I could feel his hot breath on my face. He whispered, “And – assuming you remember our recent get-together – Steve and I know very well that your package wasn’t nearly that big when we saw it, okay? We’re guessing that jockstrap you filched from us fits you pretty well by now, right? So go take a good hard look at yourself in the mirror and then tell me what you really see, because right now, you’re either really dumb or you’re in complete denial. Or maybe both.”

I couldn’t say a word. I couldn’t think. Suddenly I was so filled with rage I couldn’t see straight. I wanted to lash out; I needed to hit him or hit something, but James said, “Calm down, little bro. I know you really want to go there, but don’t, okay. You may be taller, but I’m a lot bigger and stronger than you are, and I really don’t want to hurt you. That aggression you’re feeling right now will get more manageable in time, trust me.”

My brain was spinning a thousand directions at once, trying to make some sense of what James was telling me, but all I could think to say was “Why do you keep calling me ‘Little bro’?”

“Because you’re almost a bro, but not quite.” Then he smirked at me again and added, “Oh, before I forget, expect a talk from the basketball coach about trying out for the team. Maybe the wrestling coach, too, but I know for a fact that my bro Derek talked to the basketball coach about you.”

“Why the fuck would I join the basketball team, bro? I don’t know how to play basketball.”

“Because, bro,” he said pointedly, with an even bigger smirk, “Jocks belong to a team. Before I joined the football team, I didn’t know how to play football, either, so not knowing how is fucking beside the point. You’re here in school to learn, right? So you’ll learn – the way I did. Resistance, little bro, is futile. You know,” he said, with a strange look on his face, “You were kind of a cute little dude. It’s almost a pity. But there are – compensations – to being a jock, as you’re about to find out, and there are worse things than turning into the kind of guy you’re attracted to. I’m sure you’ll end up pretty hot, but your days of being a cute little geeky dude are over.”

I couldn’t understand what he was trying to tell me, but oddly, my spinning brain again latched onto only one thing in what he had said, and I sputtered: “Wait, Derek? That mean-looking linebacker dude with a neck wider than his head? He doesn’t even know me. Why would he talk to the basketball coach about me? What’s going on?”

James barked out a laugh, “I’ll have to tell Derek that one. You’ll make his day. But little bro, back to the point, seriously, are you that dense? I told you: you may not have noticed how much you’ve changed, but other people have. Important people. Take it from your guidance counselor, little bro. Later!” And with that, he swaggered off.

“What the? How? Wait, you think I’m turning into a jock or something? I’m not dumb. You must be crazy! Wait!” But he was gone.

I felt kind of nauseous, so I decided to go into the men’s room and take a good hard look at myself, as he’d suggested.

I was determined to be completely honest with myself. The first thing I noticed looking in the mirror is that my clothes looked geeky and awful. No wonder people were looking at me funny. My pants were ridiculously tight and riding a good three inches above my ankles. I looked stuffed into my shirt, too. At least the shirt didn’t ride up like my pants, but what was I thinking dressing like this? None of it came close to fitting. I looked like some dumb jock dressed up as a nerd for Halloween. Wait. Did I really look like a jock?

I looked at myself again and reminded myself to be honest. James was right: I was taller than I remembered. And I had a little muscle in my arms and chest that I didn’t remember, either. But the real shock was my face. How could I have changed that much without noticing? I hardly recognized myself. My brows were heavier, my jaw was firmer, my lips were a bit fuller, and I had a lot of scruffy hair growing on my face. How often did I shave now? Clearly, it was no longer enough. As I stared at my strange face in the mirror, my slightly pouty lips were hanging agape, giving me a distinctly dopey look. Is this really how I looked to other people? I scratched at the fuzz on my cheeks and suddenly felt restless. I needed to go do something, you know, run, jump, hit something, or whatever. I couldn’t just stand still. I left the men’s room and ran down the hall. I was way late for my next class, and no one was in the halls. Still running without realizing where I was going, I found myself down by the locker rooms where the coaches’ offices were.

I stopped then and stood for a minute at a loss, wondering what I was thinking, just coming down there when I should be in class. I was about to head back upstairs when a tall well-built man in athletic clothing started approaching from the other end of the hallway. He was in his middle thirties, or maybe early forties, and very handsome, even though he was old enough to be my dad. When he got close, he said, “Well, this is a surprise! Jeremy, isn’t it? I’m Coach Sanders. I was going to try to catch you later today, but since you’re here, come into my office!”

I followed him without saying a word, as if I’d been struck dumb. Once in his office, the coach had me sit down in a chair facing his desk. “So, Jeremy,” he started. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. I’m the basketball coach, and I like to talk personally with any young man who shows the kind of potential you’re showing right now. I don’t know if you remember our former football coach?” I shook my head, my mouth hanging open like an idiot. “Well, our new coach has a fine program, and the football teams are doing an amazing job finishing up their season. But he’s reaping the benefit of the special training and conditioning regimens the old coach had developed for bringing young men like you to their true potential as athletes.”

I nodded dully as if I understood what he was talking about, but then I said, “Young men like me?” What did he mean by that?

“Yes,” said the coach. “Young men like you that don’t have an athletic background. He did some incredible work with guys like you. For example, I think you know Steve O’Connor? And his boyfriend, James? And James’s friend Tyler. They were all part of his program. And there were others as well.”

“Oh,” I said, “I had no idea those guys hadn’t come from an athletic background, as you put it, Coach. They all seemed like total jocks to me.”

“I’m sure they did, Jeremy, and that’s exactly my point. His work was truly amazing. Just think of it: some of our biggest football stars had never played football before, and now they’re such ‘total jocks’, as you put it, that you had no idea that they hadn’t always been jocks. Steve O’Connor, for example, used to be on the chess team.”

“Excuse me, Coach, but I’m not sure I understand why you’re telling me all this.”

“Because, Jeremy, I wanted to let you know that you have the potential to excel just as much as those young men have. You see, I am very familiar with the old coach’s methods. I assisted him frequently, and I still have a lot of his program materials. Given where you are now, I feel I have the means to help you reach your potential.”

“That sounds really interesting, Coach,” I said, “But I should get back to class. As it is, I’ve already missed half the period.”

“Don’t worry about that, Jeremy. I can excuse you from class. As you said, you’ve missed half the period already, and by the time you get back you might as well have not gone at all. But if you’re willing to give me just a few more minutes of your time, I can show you a bit of what I have in mind for a conditioning program for you. Follow me!”

We left his office and entered the men’s locker room, passing through it into a smaller room with an old couch, a television, and a couple of chairs.

“Now, sit down and make yourself comfortable for a minute, Jeremy,” he said, indicating the couch. “But those clothes of yours, son, they don’t come close to fitting you. You’re way too big for them, and I want you to be comfortable. I’ve got a spare basketball uniform you can wear. I’ll be right back.”

Reddening with embarrassment, I stripped down to the jockstrap, and I put on the basketball shorts and tank top the coach brought me. Both were a bit big on me, but it was a relief after being cramped in such tight clothes.

Once I’d finished changing, he came back in the room and said, “Okay, Jeremy, now that you can relax, there’s a little video I want you to watch. Just sit here, watch the video, and I’ll come back to get you when it’s over.” He queued up the video on the TV, gave me a pair of headphones for the audio, told me to lean back in the couch and relax, then he dimmed the lights and left the room.

I really didn’t expect much from the video, but it was amazing. I remember how exciting it was, and just thinking about it now reminds of how proud it made me feel to be a jock. It’s funny, though, because now I really can’t describe what it was about, something about commitment, drive, and sports, I think. It didn’t seem very long; at least, I don’t remember watching it for very long. But I must have fallen asleep or something, because the next thing I remember was the bell going off. The lights were back on – again – I think, but I was sitting there blinking my eyes and trying to remember where I was. I was in Coach Sanders’s office. The coach was sitting at his desk, and Derek was standing next to him, looking at me curiously.

I said something like, “Oh shit, dude. I mean, Coach, I’m so sorry. I must have zoned out. I’d better get to my next class. I’m so fucking late! Sorry about the language, Coach.” Something about me sounded off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Jeremy, son, snap out of it. That was the final bell. Classes are over. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, Coach, I feel fuh, I feel, uh, effing awesome, actually. All revved up and ready for practice. I didn’t miss practice, did I? Am I forgetting something? You wanted me to watch a video or something?”

“You already watched it, Jeremy.”

“Oh, okay, Coach. Sorry. Yeah, that’s right. I did watch the video. Did I see everything you wanted me to see, then?”

“Yes, you did. You’re doing just fine, Jeremy. You’ll be feeling like yourself again in no time. And don’t worry about your classes. You’re excused for today. But just remember that you need to keep your grades up if you’re going to stay on the team, particularly when you’re doing two sports.”

“Understood, Coach,” I said. “Uh, grades shouldn’t be a problem for me, I think.” At least, they’d never been before. “But, uh, sorry, what two sports was I doing again?”

“Basketball and wrestling, son. Look, I know maybe grades aren’t a problem for you generally, but you know you’re not the brightest kid in school, and you’ll have a lot more, well, distractions in your life right now. Both teams are counting on you. And remember that the weight program and diet I’ve outlined for you are just as important as practice. You have a ton of potential, but to realize that potential, you need to start packing on some serious muscle.”

“Got it, Coach. I know it’ll be a lot of work, but I’m really motivated, and I’m super stoked about your program.”

“Glad to hear it. Well, you’re already suited up for practice, so get out to the gym and start warming up. And remember, we’re hitting the weight room after practice.”

“Sure, Coach. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Okay, get out of here, big guy,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “Derek will show you the way. I’ll see you at practice.”

I had to say it was super cool of the coach to take all that time with me personally, especially since I wasn’t a very big guy, at least not yet. I caught my reflection in the mirrors as I went back through the locker room. The basketball uniform fit me well. Of course, it was nothing like my wrestling singlet, which was skin tight and hid absolutely nothing, especially my bulging package. The basketball shorts were loose and hit a bit above my knees. My long, hairy legs were skinnier than I liked, and my upper body was the same, but I could see the beginnings of some pec muscles under the tank top, and deltoids, biceps, and triceps starting to form on my shoulders and arms. I looked rangy, not built, but I’d be packing on muscle soon with Coach’s program. I hadn’t realized how bushy my armpits had gotten, and there were a few fine chest hairs showing above the neck of the tank top. I’m glad I finally got a haircut, though. I look really cool with the high fade. It’s way more practical, especially for wrestling. Most of the other bros keep their hair short, too, although not all of them keep it as short as Derek does with that blond buzz.

Anyway, basketball practice was great, and the other bros on the team are awesome! Everyone seems super chill, and I just fit right in. There are even some gay jocks on the team like me, and they’re all really hot. Steve O’Connor’s one; it’s nice to see someone I already know. Steve introduced me to Zach Davis, who’s one of the gay jocks, and he’s almost as cute as Steve.

After hitting the weight room, I showered and went back to my locker. I guess I’d left a clean outfit in there, but the clothes didn’t look familiar. I didn’t see any underwear, but there was a pair of compression shorts, so I pulled those on, stuffed my package into them, and then put on a T-shirt. The compression shorts felt soft and silky against my cock and balls, although the bulge was a little obscene. The support was almost as good as a jockstrap. I’ve really hit a growth spurt recently, and everything’s gotten bigger, if you know what I mean. The bulge wasn’t so obvious once I put a pair of regular athletic shorts on over the compression shorts. That reminds me; I need to tell Mom and Dad that I need some more jockstraps. My balls have gotten so big and heavy that I really need that extra support, especially for basketball.

When I finally got my phone out of my locker and looked at it, I had a bunch of messages from Chase wondering where I was. I don’t know what his problem was; it should have been obvious: I was at practice. It’s not as if I’d been gone all day. Sometimes I wonder why I’m friends with a geek like him anyway. But he is awfully cute for a little dude, and I’m pretty sure he’s into me. Maybe if I went out with him, I could talk him into going out for wrestling. He could certainly stand to pack on some muscle. Anyway, I had other plans for the night. Derek invited me over to his place to watch the game with some of the other bros. His girlfriend Becky was going to be there, and Tyler and his girlfriend Brittney, plus Steve and James. I guess James and Tyler have been best friends forever, and Becky was friends with Steve and James, who had fixed her up with Derek. It’s so cool that the straight bros and gay bros get along so well. Zach was supposed to be there, too. Maybe I’d get to know him a little better.

Anyway, I texted back Chase: “Chill out, bro. Was at bball practice. C U tomorrow @ school. Got plans 2nite.”

Chase sent: “Plans? U OK? Someone got ur phone? Since when u play basketball?”

“Going to Derek’s to watch the game. Tell u bout it 2morrow. Later!” Anyway, I had a great time hanging out with the bros and watching the game. Zach seemed nice, but I wasn’t really into him, and I don’t think he was into me, either. I kept thinking about Chase. He kept blowing up my phone, but I ignored it. I was trying to decide what to do, but it was hard to think; I was so tired after practice and working out. I finally went home and collapsed on the bed. I barely managed to get my clothes off before I fell asleep, and then I dreamt about hot, hairy bros, but all the bros had Chase’s cute little geek face. It made me think how hot Chase would be if he were a jock, too. That woke me up, and then I realized my cock and balls needed some serious attention before I could get back to sleep. When I finally came, my balls must have been really backed up, because I made a huge mess. I had to clean it up the best I could, because I couldn’t exactly get up and change the sheets without waking everyone else up. But I sure felt a lot better. My thoughts calmed way down, and I felt really mellow and chill. I fell right back to sleep.

To be continued...

#jockification #jock tf #nerd to jock #jock transformation #mental change

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