#CALL ME A TRAITOR MY DUDE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solxamber · 3 days ago

Text

Trash Novel Chronicles: My Consort Calls Me Shrimpy || Floyd Leech

You get isekaid into a novel where the perfect Empress got absolutely wrecked by the plot, and now you have to juggle a bland heroine, a traitorous consort, and a delightfully unhinged eel who’s oddly good at solving your problems.

Series Masterlist

You’re about three hours deep in line, squashed between a woman wearing an unsettling amount of dragon-themed jewelry and some dude intensely vaping in front of you. The line inches forward at the pace of continental drift, and you’re in no mood to be here.

You're here out of pure, misguided loyalty to your best friend, who’s practically shaking with excitement at the idea of meeting their favourite author—the world-renowned queen of girlboss fantasy.

In a valiant effort to distract yourself from your eternal boredom, you pull up her previous novels on your phone. Maybe, if you understood her work better, you’d understand why people would willingly spend this many hours standing on asphalt.

After skimming through some of her top titles, you can barely believe these are real book plots: Slaying the Patriarchy with My Stilettos? Lipstick and Blood Magic? Each one more ridiculous than the last, filled with protagonists who blast their enemies with a "feminine fury" and, honestly, you're just not buying it.

Why did I agree to this? you think, suppressing the urge to gnaw on your own hand out of boredom.

Suddenly, you spot a stray bird above—a pigeon, wobbling through the sky like it's had one too many lattes. You barely register the bird's existence until it lets out an alarming squawk and, in a tragic twist of fate, plummets from the heavens right towards your head.

In a perfect shot, it bonks you directly in the face, knocking you backward with an impressively dramatic flair. You spiral down, your vision blurring as you fall in slow motion, gasping.

In the last seconds of your consciousness, as chaos erupts around you, one solemn thought echoes through your mind: I hate pigeons.

And with that, you drift off into oblivion, serenaded by the panicked cries of your best friend and the distant wail of someone’s Lipstick and Blood Magic audiobook playing on full blast nearby.

You wake up, blink, and immediately realize that your bed is both way too luxurious and way too large. Rich, velvet curtains drape around you, shimmering with gold embroidery.

A chandelier overhead sparkles with enough jewels to fund at least three public libraries. The air smells like a mixture of incense, rose petals, and maybe faint hints of… burning tyranny?

Oh, dear God. You’ve been isekai’d.

Straight into that novel you were doom-scrolling through to survive the crushing boredom of line-waiting.

Your mind reels back to the summary you’d read. The heroine, a weepy maid with all the emotional range of wet toast. The consort, a charming traitor with “dreamy eyes” who betrays his own Empress for said toast. And then, of course, the villainess.

That poor, genius Empress who actually had talent and ambition, who could annihilate anyone with a flick of her wrist and yet was somehow destined to lose it all because of a love triangle involving a glorified housekeeper.

And now—you are that Empress. The Villainess Extraordinaire, Scourge of Kingdoms, War-Waging Prodigy, Mary Sue on Steroids… and now you're stuck in this tragic play of bad romance tropes.

You shoot upright in bed, taking it all in. Lavish room. Silk sheets. Jewels littered around like confetti. And then you notice a presence by your bedside. You whip your head to see… her. The heroine.

She's standing there, looking down at you with the wide-eyed wonder of someone who hasn’t yet discovered a single personality trait. Her face is soft, angelic, and you already know that beneath those doe eyes lies… absolutely nothing.

She's here to dress you, a task that apparently requires thirty minutes of excessive hair-braiding, enough layers to construct a mattress, and endless, mind-numbing conversation about the consort.

Oh, right. The consort. Your dear, disloyal boy toy who’ll soon be scheming against you. He’s probably off somewhere sharpening his cheekbones in a mirror, wondering if he can pull off “soulful yet traitorous” in the same expression.

The heroine starts tugging on your hair, a bit too enthusiastically for your taste. "Your Majesty," she coos, “Your consort was asking for you yesterday. He misses your attention."

You mentally scream. I'm running an empire, Susan! Who cares about his feelings right now? You're barely awake, freshly isekai'd, and trying to mentally tally your enemies, not exactly in the mood for his fragile ego.

And, technically, aren’t you the one in need of support here? Not the consort, who apparently needs a throne, a palace, and a shoulder to cry on every two hours.

"Oh," you manage to reply, voice dripping with an irritation that you pray she interprets as imperial grace. "Tell him… I’m thinking about military reforms."

The heroine’s eyes flicker in confusion. "Military reforms?"

"Yes. Reforms. Vital to the stability of our empire." You wave a hand, and she clearly has no idea what you're talking about. This maid was not hired for her intellectual curiosity, that’s for sure.

Then comes the worst part: her doe eyes start misting over. Great. You forgot. Crying is, apparently, her most crucial skill set. She clutches a sleeve to her chest, looking at you as if you’ve announced the arrival of a natural disaster. "Your Majesty… but what about your consort?"

You take a deep breath. Focus. How did this woman end up so crucial to the plot? What was it about her that was supposed to outshine an entire empire? It’s as if she’s constructed entirely from damp tissues and vague romantic inclinations. And this is the girl who’s going to take you down?

But you’re already devising a plan. You’ll keep tabs on her. Outwardly, you’ll play the role of the intimidating yet graceful Empress, while inwardly making sure that neither she nor the consort gets a single chance to stab you in the back. And as for the consort himself…

Well, when he finally arrives for his “audience,” you’ll be sure to give him the warmest, most menacing smile in your arsenal. For now, you’ll have to endure the heroine’s dramatic sniffles and the hundred layers of fabric she’s convinced you need.

As she fiddles with a particularly elaborate golden sash, you look at her with an eyebrow raised. “Tell me,” you say, feigning curiosity. “What would you do if the palace were to… burn down?”

Her face goes blank for a second. Then, she frowns and wrinkles her nose as if this question is somehow unsolvable. “Um… cry?”

Of course. Absolutely riveting. You sigh and try to look satisfied, which is hard when you’re mentally questioning how this woman has a heartbeat, let alone plot armor thick enough to take you down.

By the time she finishes with your dress, you've already come up with about sixteen ways to save the empire and seventy-two reasons why this love triangle is absolutely ridiculous.

In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself. You’re the picture of beauty and deadly grace, an unstoppable Empress who could wield the fate of kingdoms.

And they want to reduce you to a footnote in the saga of this girl’s whimpering romance?

Well, that’s not happening. You’ve read the novel; you know how this story ends. And now that you’re here, you’re rewriting that ridiculous fate.

You try to keep a dignified expression, but inside, you’re screaming.

The entire reason you’ve gathered the harem is to graciously cut them loose and rid yourself of the ongoing melodrama. Because if there are no consorts, there’s no backstabbing love triangle, no tearful betrayals, and no doomed political coups.

You can practically taste the freedom already—so you clear your throat and begin, putting on your most diplomatic voice:

"Esteemed consorts,” you say, hands clasped. “Thank you for your service and devotion. You are now free to leave and may claim land and titles if you wish to remain in the empire.”

You pause, waiting for cheers or at least some relieved sighs. Instead, dead silence. You glance around and spot the heroine sneaking glances at the traitor consort, eyes brimming with pure unadulterated… something.

She looks like she’s five seconds away from throwing herself across a fainting couch. The consort looks at her for a moment and then back at you, entirely unimpressed.

Maybe they’re just in shock, you think, trying to keep it together. Maybe they need a moment to process the incredible gift of freedom you’ve just given them.

But then, from the back of the room, someone clears their throat—Floyd Leech. He raises his hand, a gleeful glint in his eye that makes your stomach churn.

See, Floyd was not a character that should’ve belonged in this novel. The man was unhinged. Slightly terrifying, if you’re being honest. He treated warfare like a casual hobby and had a grin that said I could absolutely cause problems on purpose.

And the worst part? Floyd was actually one of the few who stuck around in the original plot. After the Empress dies on the battlefield, he takes her body back to his home country, out of sheer love.

He's also the only one who got to call the Empress Regnant herself "Shrimpy" and lived to tell the tale. You'd swoon over the romantic implications if you weren't that same Empress who had bigger problems right now.

You steel yourself. “Yes, Floyd?”

“Can I stay?” he says, looking entirely too happy. “These other guys are boring, but you’re kinda fun to watch.” He stares at you like you’re some sort of exotic animal in a zoo. “Besides,” he adds, throwing an arm over a very uncomfortable-looking consort, “who’s gonna protect you if I leave? These losers?”

God help you.

Before you can even answer, the traitor consort steps forward, expression so intense you can feel it from across the hall. He clears his throat dramatically. “My Empress,” he says, taking a deep, tragic breath. “My heart is bound to you, like—like the tides to the moon. Like—”

In the background, the heroine lets out an audible, swooning sigh. Oh, please, you think. You’ve seen better monologues in toothpaste commercials. The consort glances at the heroine, clearly confused, then goes back to gazing at you with what he probably thinks is soulful longing.

Meanwhile, Floyd is grinning at him, shark-like. “Nice speech, buddy,” he says, clapping the guy on the back hard enough that the consort nearly goes sprawling. “But I think she liked mine better.” He leans in to whisper, loudly, “Besides, I bet you don’t even know her favorite food.”

The consort’s face scrunches. “Do you?”

“Nope!” Floyd beams, looking at you as if expecting some kind of reward. “But I’m gonna figure it out.”

The consort looks like he wants to protest, but before he can, another one of the harem—Lord Something-or-Other—steps forward, visibly shaking with emotion. He kneels, clutching a hand to his heart as if he’s about to propose.

“My Empress,” he says, voice wobbling with way too much sincerity. “Without you, my life is a barren wasteland. I would rather endure the endless, scorching sands of—”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Floyd groans. “Do you guys hear yourselves?”

“Can you not mock me while I pour my heart out?” Lord Something-or-Other snaps back.

“Sure I can. I’m multi-talented,” Floyd replies with a grin that’s somehow both playful and threatening. He leans against the throne, looking completely at home while you fight the urge to dive out the nearest window.

Now everyone’s in a frenzy. Every last one of these men—your so-called “consorts”—are lining up to deliver heartfelt soliloquies, tragic metaphors, and similes so flowery they might as well be a bouquet. You can barely keep a straight face as the next one steps forward, proclaiming that he would “gladly suffer a thousand winters if only to see her smile.”

As if on cue, the heroine wipes a tear from her eye, sighing dreamily. The consort she’s apparently in love with looks at her again, this time with an expression somewhere between pity and terror. But she doesn’t seem to notice, too busy whispering to herself, “Oh, how romantic…”

And then Floyd leans down and whispers in your ear, voice gleeful. “Y’know, if you let ‘em keep going, they might just start fighting each other for you. Free entertainment. Whaddaya think?”

You feel a headache coming on. “Floyd, please, I’m begging you—”

“What?” he asks, grinning wider. “I thought this was fun. C’mon, Empress,” he drawls, giving the title an absurd little flourish. “Let me stay. I promise I won’t let any of these guys stage a rebellion.” He smirks at the traitor consort. “Unless you feel like rebelling, huh?”

The traitor consort scoffs, bristling. “Unlike some of us,” he says, glaring at Floyd, “my devotion is genuine.”

“And boring,” Floyd mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine, Floyd. You can stay,” you say, hoping that giving him what he wants will end this disaster. You’re immediately filled with regret as his grin widens.

“Awesome! And you know what? Since everyone’s so devoted, why don’t we all stay? Make it a real party.” Floyd tosses an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the death glares from half the room.

Now you’re stuck with fifteen poets, one unhinged eel, and a heroine who’s still making heart eyes at a man who clearly isn’t interested. And as you sit there, feeling your last shreds of sanity slip away, you think, This is going to be a very, very long reign.

You’re making your way through the moonlit palace corridors, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the… experience that spending the night with Floyd Leech is sure to be.

Mostly, you’ve chosen him because, unhinged or not, he’s at least the most loyal out of this whole ridiculous lineup. Plus, there’s a kind of chaotic charm about him, like a very large, very untrained puppy with fangs.

But before you can even make it to his side palace, you’re intercepted.

“My Empress…” It’s the traitor consort. You sigh as he blocks your path, looking like he’s about to burst into tears. He’s clutching his chest dramatically, as if he’s seconds from fainting, and his voice wobbles with pure tragedy.

“Do you not love me anymore?” he blubbers, eyes shining with tears. “Why do you never choose me? Have I done something wrong? Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve graced my chambers?” He’s practically sobbing at this point, clutching at your sleeves like some tragic hero in a soap opera.

You stand there, blinking. “Uh… dude. I… what? ”

He looks at you with the heartbreak of a thousand rom-coms. “I thought you cared about me. I thought I meant something to you…”

You’re trying to process what exactly is happening (and failing spectacularly) when you hear an all-too-familiar voice.

“Yoo-hoo~!” Floyd’s voice echoes down the hall as he appears at the other end, looking like he’s just won the lottery. He practically skips toward you, a grin stretched across his face, his shark-like teeth glinting in the moonlight.

“Shrimpy!” he calls out cheerfully, giving you an exaggerated wave. But his cheerful demeanor drops like a rock the moment he sees the traitor consort clinging to you, tears streaming down his face.

Floyd’s grin turns into a much darker smirk, and his eyes narrow dangerously. He tilts his head, sizing up the blubbering man like he’s something he might enjoy crunching on for a midnight snack.

“Oi,” Floyd says, stepping closer, voice dropping into a lower, much more menacing tone. “What’re you doin’, crybaby? Gettin’ all snotty in front of my Shrimpy? That doesn’t seem real respectful, y’know?”

The traitor consort pales instantly, his tear-streaked face going from tragic to terrified in half a second flat. “I—I was just…” he stammers, trying to find an escape route.

“You were just what?” Floyd grins, but there’s absolutely nothing friendly about it now. “You got somethin’ you wanna say to her? ‘Cause I could help you say it better, y’know.” He cracks his knuckles for emphasis, and you swear the traitor consort’s soul nearly leaves his body.

And you? You’re exhausted. Normally, you’re pretty sure the original Empress would step in, say something appropriately royal and dignified to diffuse the situation. But at this point? You’re too tired to deal with either of them, and honestly, watching Floyd scare this guy senseless is a little too satisfying. So you just sigh and cross your arms, waiting it out.

“Look, I— I didn’t mean anything by it,” the traitor consort mutters, eyes darting between Floyd’s unsettling grin and your unimpressed stare. “I’ll… I’ll just go…”

And before you know it, he’s stumbling off, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to escape Floyd’s glare. You can still hear his sniffles echoing down the hall as he disappears.

Floyd watches him go, then turns back to you with an exaggerated pout. “He didn’t even say bye. Rude, huh?” Then, just as quickly, his mood switches back, and he gives you a toothy grin. “C’mon, Shrimpy! Let’s go. You’re finally here!”

And without another word, he loops an arm around you, practically dragging you the rest of the way to his palace. By the time you arrive, you’re half-expecting him to start a monologue or make a big romantic speech, but instead, he plops down on the massive, plush couch, pulling you down next to him with surprising gentleness.

“There we go! See? Ain’t this way better than dealin’ with crybabies?” He laughs, leaning back and throwing an arm over your shoulders.

You give him a look. “Do you actually scare all of them off on purpose?”

Floyd grins, showing all his teeth. “Only the boring ones.” He taps his temple like he’s sharing some brilliant secret. “Can’t have anyone else thinkin’ they’re more special than me, right?”

Honestly, you’re too tired to argue. So you just lean back, letting Floyd prattle on about his grand plans for “getting rid of the competition.” At least, you think to yourself, you’ve successfully survived another day of being Empress.

The banquet table stretches out in front of you, each seat filled by one of your fifteen consorts, who are locked in an elaborate battle of “who’s the cutest?” You watch, sipping your wine like it’s medicinal, as they coo, flirt, and — at least in one unfortunate case — attempt a juggling act.

A consort on your left even starts singing a heartfelt ballad he very obviously wrote himself. You silently make a note to ask Heroine if it’s possible to declare some sort of moratorium on public serenades.

Just when you think the evening can’t get any more surreal, the doors burst open. Floyd strides in, late as usual, with all the grace and subtlety of a pirate commandeering the dinner table.

Without breaking stride, he makes a beeline for the coveted King Consort chair, ignoring the man who’s been trying to occupy it and who now looks as if he’s about to faint.

Floyd’s “gentle” suggestion to move aside comes in the form of a rather forceful nudge, and the poor consort goes skidding two seats down, clutching his untouched plate of tiny hors d’oeuvres.

Floyd plops into the seat, throws his legs up on the table, and proceeds to grab a handful of grapes like he’s claiming territory.

Instantly, fifteen men start having what can only be described as a collective meltdown. One consort gapes at Floyd, cheeks puffing like an indignant chipmunk; another begins audibly hyperventilating. Somewhere on the far end of the table, a man has already shed a single, dramatic tear.

Your maid Heroine sidles up to you, wide-eyed. She whispers loudly, as if she’s sharing a forbidden secret, “Your Majesty! You’ve broken their hearts!”

You stare at her, bewildered. “How? By letting Floyd sit down?”

Heroine nods, lip quivering. “They think you’ve… chosen! That’s the King Consort’s seat!”

“What? ” You glance at Floyd, who’s now lying back, casually chomping on a drumstick he must have acquired from who-knows-where. He doesn’t seem perturbed in the least.

“Yes!” Heroine sniffles, pulling out a lacy handkerchief. “It’s the sacred chair of royal favoritism!” She dabs at her eyes, gazing at you with something akin to heartbreak. “And here I thought you were a romantic.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” You rub your temples, feeling a headache coming on. “I just wanted a quiet dinner!”

One of the consorts, evidently hearing this, begins to wail, “But why, Your Majesty? We loved you!” It’s clear he’s already going to be composing several tragic stanzas about this moment.

Then Floyd — who’s been watching this entire scene with the amused look of someone who’s just discovered he’s won the jackpot — clears his throat, aiming a rather shark-like grin at Heroine. “Hey, little miss servant girl,” he says, his voice sugary sweet with a terrifying edge. “Maybe stop making Shrimpy feel guilty, hmm? Unless you want to join ‘em in the Royal Seat Shuffle?”

Heroine squeaks, as if he’s just offered to turn her into a garden gnome, and stammers an apology, hands fluttering as she edges away.

In the silence that follows, you decide enough is enough. “Thank you all for coming,” you announce, giving your consorts a forced smile. “This has been… lovely. But we’re done for tonight.”

The consorts hesitate, as if they want to protest. But when Floyd gives them one of his very special grins — the kind that says he just might take a whole different seat next — they practically stampede out of the dining hall, leaving behind a trail of emotional debris: teardrops, wilted roses, and a half-eaten plate of pastries.

As the door closes, Floyd leans back with a smirk, throwing an arm casually over the back of his new favorite chair. “So, looks like Shrimpy’s all mine tonight.”

You chuckle, half-exasperated, half-relieved. “Well, seems you chased everyone else off.”

“Don’t be like that,” he purrs, clearly pleased. “You know, you’re different now. Last time, you’d have been practically begging those guys to come back.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I’m just too tired to care anymore.”

He leans in, gaze softening. “Nah. You’ve just gotten tougher. And it looks good on you. The new Shrimpy’s got a spine.”

You smile, almost despite yourself, as Floyd raises his glass, winking. “To the new Shrimpy: long may she rule.”

The annual Talent Showcase Extravaganza for the Empress’s Affections has begun, and your consorts are pouring every ounce of drama and flair they possess into their performances, each desperate to secure that exclusive week at the countryside villa with you.

Unfortunately, it seems that the traitor consort — Mr. ‘I-know-the-theme-because-Heroine-can’t-resist-my-cheekbones’ — is dominating the competition. He’s wowing the audience with a perfectly themed tapestry, and you can already hear the maid giggling over in his cheering section.

This calls for drastic action.

You glance over to where Floyd is occupying himself by tormenting a pair of unfortunate ministers with tales of his more “creative” fishing techniques. With a sigh, you snap your fingers. He looks over, feigning annoyance at being interrupted in what he surely sees as “Minister Horror Story Hour.”

“Shrimpy, what gives? This is the first fun I’ve had since I got here,” he says, hands on his hips.

You clear your throat. “Actually, Floyd, I need you to… win this competition.”

He raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “What, by doing some fancy painting or something? Boring. If you want something painted, Shrimpy, I’ll fish out an octopus to do it for me.”

You take a deep breath. “If you do this, I’ll grant you any wish you want. Plus… an extra reward.”

Floyd pauses, smirking as he steps closer, his voice dropping into an exaggerated whisper. “Any wish, huh? Dangerous promise, Shrimpy.”

You raise an eyebrow, undeterred. “You in or not?”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he sighs. “Fine. But I’m not painting. I’ve got something much better planned. Just try not to faint in awe, yeah?”

When Floyd finally unveils his “masterpiece,” the room falls silent. Somehow, he’s cobbled together a mosaic made entirely out of shiny rocks he probably pilfered from the palace’s prize garden.

The piece is of you, looking bold and triumphant, wielding what can only be described as a “battle spoon” against some sea monster (you’re guessing it’s supposed to be a shark, but it might just be a rock that looked vaguely fish-like).

“Ta-da!” Floyd announces, throwing his arms out. “The Empress: Rock ‘n’ Roll Edition. I call it, ‘Shrimpy, Queen of the Waves.’”

Despite yourself, you’re mildly… no, very swoony. Somehow, it’s both absurd and… kind of amazing. Floyd’s grin is pure mischief as he winks at you. “Like it, Shrimpy? Don’t worry, I can make one for the garden too.”

But your moment is interrupted by a loud sniffle from across the room. The traitor consort, clearly irate at being outshone, is tearing up, looking at you with big, watery eyes as if you’re the villain in this scenario. Heroine looks one step away from bolting to his side, but he raises a hand, his voice trembling as he murmurs, “No, I only want the Empress to comfort me.”

You shoot a silent plea to the universe, practically chanting, “Please, mercy, mercy…”

Floyd, never one to ignore an opportunity, steps up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Sorry, bud. Shrimpy’s already spoken for tonight. You’ll have to get in line. Oh, and try not to tear up over her rock portrait, yeah? Not all of us can handle the majesty.”

The crowd erupts in applause, one point to you and Floyd — and you’re pretty sure Heroine’s sulking in the corner, still staring longingly at the sobbing traitor consort, but that’s a future problem. For now, you’ve got a mildly unhinged art piece to hang up and a certain mischievous consort to thank.

It’s another late night in the study when you notice the Heroine, your ever-loyal (if not a little clueless) maid, lingering by the doorway, watching you with an odd expression. At first, you chalk it up to her usual eccentricities. But as the minutes tick by, she doesn’t move, just stands there with a faraway look in her eyes. Finally, you set down your work and gesture for her to come in.

“Hey,” you say gently, “what’s on your mind?”

She hesitates, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “It’s nothing, really…” Then, in a small voice, “It’s just… I never got to study like this.”

Your brow furrows, and as she opens up, the full picture starts to form. The Heroine, despite her noble blood, was barred by her father from studying—her dreams of an education crushed under his outdated beliefs.

She clung to the traitor consort, she confesses, because he seemed like an escape, even if a flimsy one. He was a nobleman with some level of authority, and for her, he felt like the only ticket to a different life.

Understanding sinks in. It’s not love she feels for him at all. It’s desperation, something almost like a distorted version of Stockholm syndrome.

She’s convinced herself he’s her only way out, though it’s clear as day that he doesn’t deserve her loyalty. The man’s barely got two brain cells, but he’s got freedom—and for her, he must have looked like her only way out.

The realization hits you hard, like finding out your favorite dessert is made with broccoli. No wonder she’s been swooning over that guy. She’s not “in love”—she’s just starved for any path out of her cage. Your heart softens, and you give her a gentle, if slightly exasperated, smile.

“Well, that won’t do,” you say firmly. “How about this? I’ll teach you myself. Then, when you’re ready, we’ll get you the education you deserve.”

Her face goes through a series of hilarious expressions, from shock to joy to the kind of wide-eyed, wobbly-lipped excitement normally reserved for puppies seeing their owner after a long day. And so, your lessons begin.

Over the next few weeks, you teach the Heroine to read, and she devours each lesson like a kid in a candy store. She’s throwing herself into her education with such energy, it’s like she’s forgotten the traitor consort entirely.

And you’re thrilled—partly for her growth and partly because it means your coup odds have just dropped by a solid 90%.

Soon, Heroine’s loyalty to you is ironclad, her former starry-eyed infatuation with the traitor consort completely extinguished. You’re so relieved you could dance, and, maybe more importantly, you realize that the kingdom’s other daughters deserve the same chance.

In a flash of imperial inspiration, you draft a new law requiring all daughters, noble or otherwise, to attend the academy. The state will foot the bill, so no one has an excuse to hold their daughters back.

Later that night, feeling unexpectedly sentimental, you return to your room to find Floyd sprawled on your bed, grinning like he’s just heard the world’s juiciest gossip.

“You look smug,” you say, arching an eyebrow.

“Nah, just… pleased,” he drawls, giving you that signature mischievous smirk. And before you know it, he pulls you into a surprisingly tight hug, his arms wrapping around you with unexpected warmth. “Look at my Shrimpy, changing the world one law at a time.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks despite yourself. “Oh, stop it,” you mutter, though you don’t pull away.

He chuckles, giving you an affectionate squeeze. “Nah. You’re doing great, Empress. I’m proud of you.”

You’re speechless. Floyd? Sentimental? But as he holds you, laughing at your stunned expression, you can’t help but feel a little…smitten.

You’re reviewing reports in the study, savoring the rare, blissful calm, when the double doors burst open like some villain from a badly written romance novel. There stands the traitor consort, dressed in what looks like…a suit made of loose, strategically placed peacock feathers, a sequined sash, and—oh, yes—face glitter.

He strikes a pose, does a dramatic hand flip, and announces, “Behold! My love for you is eternal, as boundless as the stars, and as bold as my outfit!”

You're thinking about ordering Floyd to chase him out with a chair, when you catch Heroine’s expression—somewhere between horror and volcanic rage.

With a fierce gleam in her eye, she steps in front of you, looking like she’s about to deliver an exorcism. “You…” she begins, her voice so cold even the peacock feathers on his shoulders look like they might molt in fear. “You miserable, egotistical, fashion-disaster-in-waiting!”

He’s stunned, blinking like a child caught sneaking candy. “W-what? Heroine, you used to help me with my plans!”

“Yeah, well, that was before I got a brain cell,” she snaps. “I actually know my worth now, and it’s definitely not tied to whatever fever-dream cape situation you’ve got going on.” She points to his glittering sash. “What, did you rob an arts-and-crafts store on the way here? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

He stammers, visibly shrinking, feathers quivering with fear. “Y-you were always there for me…”

“That was when I was too naive to realize you were the human equivalent of a trash fire!” She’s in full swing now, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, spitting out insults that would make the court jester blush. “Please, the Empress has standards, and you’re down there with questionable cabbage soup.”

He reels back, totally caught off-guard. By this point, you’re honestly not sure if you should applaud or slowly back away.

With a smirk, you lean forward and say, “Well, since you’re dressed for the occasion, why don’t you strut that ridiculous ensemble back to your own country?”

He opens his mouth, gapes like a fish, and finally closes it, completely defeated. Without another word, he shuffles out, feathers dragging behind him in a sad little pile.

The second he’s out of earshot, you sigh, look up, and thank the universe for finally sparing you from that headache. The Heroine just dusts her hands off, grinning like she’s just won the greatest battle of her life, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how terrifyingly competent she’s become.

Floyd has been hounding you about his reward for days now, showing up at all hours with the persistence of a cat at dinner time. You’re mid-sentence in a policy meeting, mid-sip at dinner, even mid-bath when you hear him shout from outside the door, “Hey, Shrimpy! Remember my prize? Don’t forget now!”

Finally, in a moment of resignation, you sigh and wave him in. “Fine, Floyd. What do you actually want?”

He grins, and there’s a gleam in his eyes that should probably have you worried. “Make me king consort.”

You open your mouth, ready to laugh and then say something like, “No chance,” but then…you pause. Because—why not? He’s loyal, he’s your particular brand of chaos, and honestly, the idea of using it as an excuse to disband the harem is almost too good.

You’d get to tell everyone you’d found the “love of your life” and keep your mornings free of peacock-feathered declarations of eternal devotion.

“Alright, Floyd,” you say, shrugging as if you just agreed to a dinner plan and not a royal title. “You’re king consort.”

For a solid five seconds, he’s frozen, blinking like he’s not sure if you just announced the best prank of the century or an actual royal decision.

Then, with a roar of laughter, he picks you up, actually tossing you in the air like a sack of grain. “SHRIMPY, I’M KING CONSORT! WOOOO!”

Ministers nearby practically leap out of their chairs in terror, and one drops his teacup with a spectacular crash.

“Oh, and by the way,” he says, setting you down but keeping a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t think I forgot—I still get that week alone with you in the countryside. Just you, me, and the great outdoors.”

You’d expected to feel dread, but instead…you’re kind of excited? Because it turns out, when there’s no glittered consort in sight, Floyd’s brand of mayhem might just be exactly what you needed.

You’re slumped on the throne, staring into the void as a minister drones on about the scandalous rise in scarf-wearing among the commoners.

The man is red-faced and foaming at the mouth as if he’s narrating the downfall of civilization itself instead of just… knitted accessories. With each drawn-out sentence, your urge to grab his own scarf and dramatically tie it around his face grows stronger.

“And, Your Majesty, don’t you agree that such… frivolousness undermines the dignity of the empire?” he sputters.

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, one mental toe dangling into the sweet abyss of existential crisis. How did your life get to this point? Did the previous Empress really deal with scarf politics? You contemplate just passing the crown to the nearest potted plant. Surely it couldn’t do worse.

Then, like a savior bathed in sunlight, Floyd appears. He slinks in casually, eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of glee and malice. He takes one look at Wedgeworth’s scarf-induced fervor and rolls his eyes. “Oh, I see the scarf issue is really eating away at the Empire,” Floyd deadpans, clearly unamused at the absurdity.

The minister stammers, blinking like he’s never been interrupted in his life. “Well, actually, I was explaining to Her Majesty—”

Floyd raises a hand. “I’ll take it from here, Lord Scarfington. Very urgent royal matters, wouldn’t want to keep the Empress from them, now would we, hmm?”

The ministers exchange horrified looks, but when Floyd locks eyes with them, his expression darkens into a gaze that could probably scare the teeth off a shark. Ministers shuffle out, muttering about “the sanctity of scarves” and how they “never liked those shellfish folk anyway.”

When you’re finally alone, you look at Floyd, and he gives you a grin. “Come on, Shrimpy, I’ve got a surprise.”

He leads you through a series of narrow, winding hallways you didn’t even know existed until you arrive at a small, hidden courtyard surrounded by high walls and shaded by some flowering trees.

In the middle of it is a picnic spread that looks… questionable. There’s food you don’t recognize: odd, glistening items that could pass as snacks in a very brave galaxy.

“I brought some delicacies from the Coral Sea,” Floyd announces, looking way too proud. “I even cooked some of this myself.”

You smile, hoping he means the less suspicious dishes, but as you take a bite of one of the “unique” items, you immediately realize your error. It’s a taste explosion, and not in a good way; you’re fairly certain you just ate something alive. Floyd’s already laughing, watching you try to hold back a gag.

“Oh, that’s rich, look at your face!” He claps his hands, doubled over with laughter.

But then you try the food he actually cooked, and it’s… it’s really good. Your eyes widen. “Floyd, you didn’t tell me you could cook!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Guess you just have that effect on me, Shrimpy.”

As you eat, you feel the weight of scarf debates and mundane ministerial crises slip away. Floyd’s teasing you about your reaction to the Coral Sea snacks, you’re pretending to smack him, and somewhere between the laughter and the food, you realize you’re completely relaxed. You’re even… happy.

Then he casually picks up a pillow, eyes glinting with mischief. “Hey, Shrimpy,” he says slowly, “bet I can take you down.”

“Bring it, fish-boy,” you fire back, grabbing a pillow.

A feather flies. Then another. In no time, the two of you are engaged in a full-on pillow war, feathers floating through the air in chaotic puffs. You swing a pillow with all your might, narrowly missing Floyd, who dodges and counters with a playful shove, sending you sprawling onto the blanket, laughing so hard you’re almost crying.

In the flurry of feathers and laughter, you realize just how much you care about him. And as if reading your mind, Floyd suddenly stops, pinning you down, his face hovering just inches above yours. His usual playful grin fades into something softer, more serious, and you find yourself staring up at him, completely captivated.

You kiss him, right there, surrounded by scattered feathers and half-eaten snacks. “I think I’m in love with you, Floyd,” you whisper.

He grins, looking almost smug. “Knew you’d come around eventually, Shrimpy. You’re a smart one.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, and pull him into another kiss, feeling lighter than you have in ages. Whatever royal nonsense tomorrow brings, you know you’ve got him—and for now, that’s more than enough.

Vacation plans with Floyd start out so simple in theory, but the minute he said, “Countryside? Nah, Shrimpy, we’re going under the sea,” you just nodded because, hey, you did promise a reward. Plus, how bad could it be?

Bad, it turns out, is relative. Upon arrival, Jade, Floyd’s brother, gives you a grin that says welcome, poor soul. “So, my brother’s finally gone and gotten himself an Empress. How unexpected,” he says with a glint in his eye that suggests he’s got a bet running on how long you’ll last.

But you’ve barely survived Jade’s interrogation when Azul, Coral Sea’s resident business octopus, swims up with an entire briefcase of contracts and a grin that spells danger.

“Welcome, Your Majesty! I thought we might discuss a mutually beneficial agreement,” he says smoothly, his tone so charming you almost miss that the contract slides in a 50-year lease on your kingdom’s fishing industry.

“So that’s how it is here,” you think, snapping back to business mode. You haggle until both sides are happy, but the second you reach across to shake Azul’s hand, Floyd swoops in, sighing dramatically. He grabs your hand, practically prying it out of Azul’s. “Alright, Shrimpy, enough time with the fish dealer. You’re mine this week.”

Before you can blink, he’s thrown you over his shoulder like you’re a stray potato sack, striding away from an open-mouthed Azul and an utterly delighted Jade who looks like he's a minute away from bursting out popcorn.

By the time he hauls you to your guest room and plops you on the bed, his usual grin has given way to an expression you’ve only seen on annoyed cats. He’s holding your hand in a grip that could rival steel, not letting go even as he sulks like a kid who just lost his favorite toy.

“Floyd,” you say slowly, “is something wrong?”

He looks away, puffing out his cheeks, refusing to answer. It's downright adorable in an overgrown, slightly unhinged eel sort of way. You squint at him, reaching over to grab his face, smushing his cheeks together until he finally makes eye contact. “Hey, I can’t read your mind, Floyd. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He mutters something too low to hear, and you lean closer, arching a brow. “What was that?”

“You’re my Shrimpy,” he grumbles louder, still not meeting your eyes. “And the handshake with that fish scammer went on too long.”

It takes every ounce of self-control not to burst into laughter. “So that’s it, huh?” A laugh slips out despite your efforts, and his pout deepens, though his grip on your hand stays as firm as ever. “You silly eel,” you chuckle, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “As if anyone could match me like you do?”

That does it. His expression softens, the pout melting into that slightly unhinged, overly excited Floyd smile you know too well. “See, Shrimpy, that’s why you’re the only one for me!” he practically shouts before pulling you into a spin that has you clinging to him for dear life.

He kisses you again, and you’re so breathless you half-expect a storm outside to rise to match.

But it doesn’t matter—he’s too busy swearing up and down that he’s not letting anyone else get a “single fin” on you. And somehow, as you laugh together, it feels like you really are on a vacation you never knew you needed.

The ceremony for crowning Floyd as your King Consort goes all-out, much to your delight—and, judging by the expressions around the room, their absolute horror. The whole throne room is so packed with flowers and banners it might as well be a festival.

You’ve made sure that this is a spectacle the diplomats and ministers will never forget. After all, the more smitten you look with Floyd, the less they’ll try to “reason” you out of it. And if they have any opinions about your choice, well, they can keep it to themselves—or they can talk to Floyd.

As you lean in to place the crown on Floyd’s head, he’s giving you a smirk so bright you swear it’s practically a stage light. The second the crown touches his head, he dips you into a kiss that is equal parts “fairytale ending” and “scandalized gasp from the old guard.” The ministers are barely holding in a collective gasp. Someone clutches their chest like they might need medical attention.

Over on the sidelines, you can see Jade and Azul clapping way too enthusiastically for the room’s mood. Meanwhile, everyone else looks like they’re watching you deface a holy artifact. You pull back with a satisfied smile, fully aware of the whispers swirling through the room.

Now, to seal this newfound reign in your own… unique way.

You turn to the front rows where your now-ex-harem stands, looking various shades of awkward and confused. These “prizes” will be going back to their respective nations, and it’s about time. “Ambassadors,” you announce, your tone absolutely oozing sincerity, “I believe you’ll be taking back your… prizes. Enjoy.”

The diplomats exchange looks, clearly unsure if they should feel insulted or relieved. You give them a regal wave and watch as they shuffle out with the ex-consorts in tow, one of whom lets out a dramatic sigh loud enough to reach the rafters.

Just as the room finally starts calming down, you glance over at the row of your ministers—many of whom look like they’d rather have run off with the consorts.

These are the ancient relics of nepotism who have only ever accomplished growing their own egos and possibly a few money-siphoning schemes. You decide now’s the time to deal with them, too.

Smiling so politely it almost looks sweet, you say, “Ministers, thank you for your service. But I’m sure you’ll understand when I say…” You pause, voice dropping to an icy sweetness, “You’re dismissed. Please kindly fuck right off.”

Several of the men freeze, as if unsure they heard you correctly. One or two start spluttering, “But—Your Majesty—this is—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Floyd cuts in, grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You’re free to go! You wouldn’t want to disappoint the Empress, would ya?”

It takes a second, but the room clears of protesting ministers soon enough. Then you turn to the waiting group of young scholars, women who fought their way up to the top on pure merit, many of them owing their presence here to your recently passed education reforms. “Welcome,” you say with a genuine smile. "Your interviews will be conducted tomorrow"

Their reactions are priceless. Several tear up on the spot, whispering thank-yous so heartfelt you nearly tear up yourself. One of them murmurs, “This is a dream come true. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

You feel a swell of pride. This is what you’ve wanted to see—a competent court, fresh talent, and the chance to make a real difference. Just as you’re soaking in the satisfaction of this triumph, Floyd leans over, clearly up to something.

“You’re done now, yeah?” he asks with a conspiratorial grin.

“Uh, yes?” You've barely said the words, only for him to suddenly scoop you up and throw you over his shoulder, entirely ignoring the royal dignity of it all. The young scholars stare, completely unsure of whether to salute or run.

“Floyd!” you half-laugh, half-scold. “You could at least let me walk out on my own!”

“Nah,” he says, casually strolling down the hall with you like you’re a sack of potatoes. “You’re mine now, Shrimpy. And besides, it’s tradition for the King Consort to carry his Empress, isn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure it isn’t,” you mutter, but you wave cheerfully at everyone as you’re carried off.

As he strides out of the throne room, ignoring the horrified gasps and protests behind you both, Floyd grins. “Any more old men to fire? ‘Cause I’m having a great time.”

You shake your head, smiling. After all, you’re the Empress—who’s going to stop you now?

Your empire has transformed. The old guard, once weighed down by nothing but scarves and scandals, has finally given way to a bright-eyed group of scholars and ministers, most of whom—much to the old ministers' horror—are brilliant young women now leading the realm.

Among them is your ex-maid, the heroine herself, newly appointed as Minister of Diplomatic Affairs and already so intimidatingly competent that foreign diplomats quake just a bit when she enters the room.

And the grandest twist of all: you declare that your successor will not be by blood but by merit. The heir to the throne will be the sharpest, most capable mind in the empire, regardless of their birth.

You’re already giddy as you imagine the ambitious parents prepping their offspring for the grueling tests you’re planning—challenges you’ll design alongside your newly assembled council.

After hours of being regal and respectable, you finally get back to your chambers, ready for a night of blissfully ignoring politics. Floyd, your beloved eel, is already sprawled on the couch like he’s conquered half the known world, arms open and ready to receive you. You practically collapse into his embrace, sighing as you burrow against him.

“So, Shrimpy,” he drawls, smirking. “Fix the whole empire yet?”

“Almost,” you laugh. “At least I’ve retired the Scarf Parliament. That’s enough for today.”

You snuggle closer, closing your eyes, and for a second, you think back to the ridiculous, drama-filled story that threw you into this life. Maybe the original author had a point, or maybe she just really liked throwing you curveballs.

Either way, cuddled up with the love of your life while your empire flourishes, you can’t help but think, yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech x you #floyd x reader #floyd x you #floyd leech #floyd #trash novel chronicles

490 notes · View notes

blasphemousclaw · 9 months ago

Text

WHO IS THIS SAULTRY LITTLE BINCH

ok this is my extremely unpolished breakdown of MESSMER THE IMPALER from the shadow of the erdtree trailer

The first thing that stands out about this dude is that he’s wearing EVERY possible symbol of treason against the Erdtree: SNAKES and FLAME

Messmer has snakes on his sigil, helm, and 2 snake friends who have dragon wings. Volcano Manor is known for its statues of winged serpents, but the wings are feathered, not dragonlike. these snakes are bright red-orange and are very unlike the Great Serpent we all know and love, who has a heavier build and is blue-grey in color.

Regarding snakes as symbolism, the Duelist Helm description reads,

“Bronze helm decorated with innumerable snakes. Worn by gladiators who were driven from the colosseum. The wearer becomes a slightly easier target for foes. The snake is viewed as a traitor to the Erdtree, and the audience delighted in seeing these bronze effigies beaten and battered.”

We can bet that whoever is associating themselves with snakes is a confirmed Erdtree hater (Rykard, hello!!!) or perhaps, this dude could even be part of the reason why snakes are considered traitorous in the first place?

In addition to us seeing Messmer wield fire, this line from the trailer (which I think is spoken about Messmer but not by Messmer) implies that he’s known for his fire: “Those stripped of the Grace of Gold shall all meet death. In the embrace of Messmer’s flame.”

It’s well known that flame is in many ways a taboo power; particularly the flame of the Fell God, which has the power to burn the Erdtree (the cardinal sin). Messmer’s fire is weird, in some ways it reminds me of the Rune of Death since it starts out black and turns red, but it’s also far too orange to simply be the Rune of Death’s power.

There’s also this description of the DLC: “The Land of Shadow. A place obscured by the Erdtree. Where the goddess Marika first set foot. A land purged in an unsung battle. Set ablaze by Messmer’s flame.”

I’d guess that the Land of Shadow was the place of Marika’s first conquest, and perhaps Messmer either aided her in razing it or that’s just something he did later?

so WHO is this dude????

for starters, his name is Messmer the Impaler — M like Marika! Melina, Malenia, Miquella, Mogh, and Morgott. seems to be a pattern...

He says in the trailer, “Mother, wouldst thou truly Lordship sanction, in one so bereft of light?”

Whoever Messmer’s mother is, she is in a position to “sanction lordship” meaning to give official permission for a lordship to take place. that screams Marika — she is THE goddess, and is responsible for guiding Tarnished to becoming Elden Lord. I can’t think of anyone else who might be called Mother who is in such a position as to allow someone to ascend to the position of Lord. He's also sitting in the same type of throne that the demigods sat in that we see in Morgott's cutscene.

theres 2 ways to interpret this line:

Messmer could referring to himself when he says this; as if he’s saying, would my mother truly allow me to become Lord even though I’m so dark and edgy?? in a kind of sarcastic way. the flames he produces start out black, and he’s covered himself symbols treasonous to the Erdtree. OR, he’s referring to us, the Tarnished, when he says this; as if he’s saying, would you really let a person with such little light inside them become lord, mother?? (rude!) I’d say we need more context to determine exactly what he means

ALSO, interestingly, his left eye is sealed shut… you know who else has their left eye sealed shut? THAT’S RIGHT… OUR FRIENDS MELINA AND RANNI

The scarseal and soreseal items of Marika and Radagon are also carved into eyeballs… could eye trauma be an empyrean trait?? could Messmer also be an empyrean, one who the current demigods didn’t know the existence of???

with all that being said, I really doubt that this guy is Rykard or Rykard’s child as I’ve seen some people speculate… these other clues in the trailer point towards him being another, separate demigod. so what do we make of all the similar imagery?? I think that Messmer might be working against the Erdtree toward his own ends, and he’s embracing similar powers that Rykard did when he turned traitor.

who is he then? I think he’s a demigod child of Marika, and possibly of Radagon because of the hair (unless his hair color comes elsewhere? a curse?). I think he got banished to the shadow realm for treason reasons, given the heretical symbols. perhaps he was an empyrean with his own agenda who was disposed of by Marika, like the Gloam Eyed Queen? perhaps he has ambitions to return to the real world and become Lord, destroying the Tarnished who might take his throne?

I did this instead of sleeping I hope you’re all happy

#elden ring #elden ring dlc #shadow of the erdtree #messmer the impaler #messmer #elden ring lore #ok now ive got that out of my system i can go about my day

2K notes · View notes

aliaology · 1 year ago

Text

NOW THAT WE DONT TALK

summary: jack realizes yns music is quite literally a call out, directed towards him, and his brothers egg it on. pt.3

series masterlist

“i called my mom, she said ‘that it was for the best!’ remind myself the more i gave, you’d want me less”

jack could’ve hit his head against the counter ten more times and the song would still be ringing through his ears like a splinter that wouldn’t come out of his hand.

quinns hand made contact with the back of jacks head. “knock it off, jack.”

jack groaned, shoving his head into his arms. he groaned again, this time the noise being muffled due to the his arm. “she wrote a song about me, quinn.”

quinn rolled his eyes. “you don’t know its about you” he told.

jack scoffed, head shooting up. “she literally called me out. the parties, that stupid red sea reference, even the chorus. its so obviously me. and then her newer single that dropped thirty minutes ago?’

quinn shrugged, “could be about trevor”

jack rolled his eyes, “no way in hell, quinn. they never hooked up and her newer one is about some guy hooking up with her later on—“

“you sound obsessed, jack.” quinn told. jack looked down, embarrassed.

“whats jack obsessed with?” trevor asked, walking inside the kitchen. he stole a grape from jack and popped it into his mouth.

“y/n’s song” quinn spoke.

trevor scoffed, “why are you so hung up on it? its just music.” trevor shrugged.

“hes upset because hes getting called out.”

jack groaned again, head hitting the counter.

quinn rolled his eyes again. “you’ve gotta stop doing that dude. listen— she probably made these ages ago and just now got to releasing them.”

trevor popped another grape in his mouth. “not too sure about that, but i know she started writing them when you two broke up.”

luke slowly walks in. “seriously? you guys are torturing the man talking about his ex.”

jack nods, signifying lukes words to be true.. luke goes into the cupboard to grab a plate. “just ignore it.” he shrugged.

trevor snorted. jack sent the boy a glare, causing his laughter to abruptly stop. “how can i just ignore it? shes getting big and her music is everywhere already.” he asked.

quinn gave him a look. “then face it, jack. you can’t keep putting yourself in denial for something you caused.”

jack let out an exasperated groan for the 100th time. “gee, thanks quinn. way to make me feel better.”

“dont start giving him shit, jack.” luke spoke.

jack rolled his eyes. “whatever, im going to my room.” he got up and went for the stairs.

all three boys looked around at each other. silence fell through the room. suddenly, the sliding door opens. “whats going on?” cole asked.

“quinn picked his side of the argument.” trevor spoke, slightly glaring at quinn.

quinn gave one back, “dont act innocent, trevor. you screwed her over too. you and jack need to own up to it and stop cowering like little kids. you are both in your twenties for fucks sake. grow up.”

quinn went off to his room, leaving a wide eyed group of boys behind.

jacks brows furrowed as he listened to the song in his earbuds. his girlfriend napped next to him as he sat up on the bed. he hates to admit it, but he kinda deserved this.

“lets fast forward to three hundred awkward blind dates later. if shes got blue eyes, i will surmise that you’ll probably date her. you dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor, you search in every model—“

he stopped the song, taking his earbuds out and tossing them to the floor. he cheated, and now was dating the girl he cheated with. it was sad, really.

fiona, she was a woman who loved money. jack, was a man who loved attention. maybe that’s why they were together. but she wasn’t horrible like people said, right?

quietly, he went to tik tok and made a fake account, that way she knew he didn’t stalk her profile. i mean— she has no idea he even uses it still.

jack searched fionas name up, ultimately clicking on her profile. she had one video up. he clicked on it.

ick ick ick ick

she was lip syncing that really terrible audio that went ‘he chose me, he dont want you. he chose me’ and honestly, jack was appalled.

but before he could open the comments, she started to wake up. he swiped out of the app and deleted it, tossing his phone to the side afterwards.

“hey baby.” he smiled.

now that we dont talk!

tags! @honethatty12 (if u want tags, just ask <3)

#hockey #jack hughes #nhl imagine #new jersey #new jersey devils #nhl #nhl hockey #quinn hughes #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes #trevor zegras #cole caufield #mitch marner

511 notes · View notes

bucca2 · 3 months ago

Text

okay not to wax poetic about a minor side character in Skyrim that annoys the fuck out of most people, but it really does sadden me that most people are like “he’s annoying, kill him!” and then do no self reflection on the fact that they only killed him because of a petty personal gripe and because they were sent to do so by a power tripping traitor who LATER ALSO TRIES TO KILL THE LISTENER THEMSELVES.

For a long time I’ve had Thoughts™ on the phenomenon of Gamers (derogatory) who treat any NPC who is even slightly an inconvenience with disproportionate and often violent vitriol, but this post is already getting long. General musings on the tragedy of Cicero’s character and how it’s objectively the wrong choice to kill him below.

Thanks to my partner @wrenanigans I’ve had reason to re-examine Cicero’s character, and his past just makes me so deeply sad. Of course, his journals only cover DB-related events, so maybe he had a personal life he just didn’t write about, but it kind of struck both of us that he feels the loss of his fellow DB members so keenly and yet never really mentions any personal relationships outside of obligation to his fellow assassins. (i.e no family or lovers pre-insanity when he was a normal, extremely capable man) Like of course he went insane. The organization that was his entire life’s purpose not only promoted him to a position where he could no longer do what he joined them to do, but then he watched the organization dissolve around him and all his friends be slaughtered.

Then he was alone with the Night Mother waiting for her to talk to someone and give him direction for eight fucking years!!! Of course he went completely off the deep end! If I was isolated, paranoid (but is it paranoia if they’re actually out to get you?) and constantly on survival mode for that long, I’d be relieved if being a little quirky and doing little dances was the extent of my deviant behavior! (The murder comes with being in the Dark Brotherhood, so I don’t wanna hear any whining about him being stabby. Murder isn’t OK if the Dragonborn does it, but suddenly immoral if people you don’t like do it. In video games.)

I think for most people who don’t put much thought into Cicero and his actions, they just vaguely think “oh, Cicero betrayed the family and tried to kill Astrid, so killing him is justified irrespective of her later betraying us”, which is simply not true. There’s a very interesting post I saw floating around lately about how you can’t treat religion in fantasy worlds like TES the same way you would with religious groups IRL, because in TES there is tangible proof that gods exist, and they can and will fuck with the mortal world for their own whims. The point of the DB quest line is that the Tenets matter, and straying from them and the Night Mother almost snuffed the DB out for good. The narrative of the game explicitly justifies Cicero’s actions and QUITE LITERALLY tells you that killing Cicero is not the right call.

TES has a lot of creative interactivity with picking your own outcomes and going with your own solutions, but quests don’t usually end with “go kill this guy. but you can also spare him… ;)” They usually don’t give you an old wise dude whose spirit you can summon who tells you not to kill that clown. And then if you spare Cicero, he comes back and is a potential companion. Like…I don’t know how much more obvious it can get that you’re not supposed to kill Cicero. I get for most people it’s not that deep, but this is TES. We talk about lore here.

#thank you to my sweety for reigniting Cicero Examination in me once more #he could probably write an essay on Cicero and his c-ptsd #Skyrim #the elder scrolls #tes #Cicero #Cicero Skyrim #Skyrim Cicero #dark brotherhood

126 notes · View notes

sugdenlovesdingle · 6 days ago

Note

can you write a story where Tommy hides a relatively minor injury from buck and when buck finds out he freaks out( angry) but everything turns out okay in the end

"You brought me here? You ratted me out?"

"Dude, look at the state of you. Don't you think your husband of six months would notice?" Eddie said, parking his car in front of Buck and Tommy's house. "I still don't know why you called me instead of him."

"You're a medic! I needed medical help. "

"Yeah, we have these great places called hospitals. You can go there if you need medical help and they give it to you. They can even give you painkillers or numb the area if you need stitches."

Tommy rolled his eyes.

"Enough with the sarcasm, Diaz. You could have brought me to your place. I would have been fine there for a couple of hours until Evan went on shift. I would have had 48 hours to patch myself up and he wouldn't have had to worry." he moved to try and open the passenger door without hurting himself more, but it was yanked open before he could do so.

"Tommy! What the hell happened?" Evan caught him just before he could faceplant onto the pavement.

"It's worse than it looks." Tommy said and then scrunched his face up. "Wait. No. It looks worse than it is." he corrected himself. "Rough landing. It's fine."

"It doesn't look fine. You look like you just went ten rounds with Mike Tyson." Buck said and turned to Eddie. "What happened?"

"I don't know. He just called me and asked if I could pick him up at Harbor." Eddie shrugged. "He wouldn't let me take him to the ER so I cleaned him up best I could with the med kit I keep in my car... but it's not ideal. That's why I texted you, maybe he'll listen to you."

"Traitor." Tommy said, annoyed. "You're supposed to be my friend."

"I am your friend. And I'm also his. And my ankle still hurts on rainy days so I'm not getting in between the two of you again."

"That was years ago!" Buck protested.

"Tell that to my ankle." Eddie replied. "You good with him on your own?"

"We're fine." Tommy said and tried to slam the car door shut while also keeping himself upright and not letting Evan know how much he was hurting.

"Yeah I can handle him. Can you tell Bobby I'm not coming in today? I'll call him later to explain."

"Evan you don't have to stay home to babysit me." Tommy said both both men ignored him.

"Sure. Let me know if you need anything. I can swing by if we have some downtime."

"Thanks." Evan shut the car door and took Tommy inside and deposited him on the sofa. He gently grabbed his chin and turned his head from left to right. "Did Eddie stitch up your eyebrow?"

"Yeah... I told him to just stick a bandage on it but he insisted. It's fine."

"You keep telling yourself that." Evan told him and sat down on the coffee table in front of him, looking him up and down, trying to figure out if he had any other injuries. "Want to tell me what happened? Without using the word fine?"

Tommy took a deep breath and tried to hide the wince when he did. Evan just raised an eyebrow at him.

"The new probie. I shouldn't have left him fly in this weather."

"He crashed?"

"No, no crash. Just a rough landing. We got knocked around a little. it's f- not so bad."

"You're going to be black and blue in a couple of hours. Have you taken anything for the pain?" Buck asked, accepting he wasn't going to get a more detailed answer right now.

"I was going to get something from the place near Eddie's house. Before he ratted me out and drove me here."

Buck rolled his eyes and got up.

"You're impossible, you know that? I'm getting you some ibuprofen." he gently kissed the top of Tommy's head. "You're lucky I love you."

----

send me prompts and I'll write you a ficlet!

#Anonymous #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #tevan #tevan fic

108 notes · View notes

sainteplays · 1 month ago

Text

twins returned to onychinus’ base after completing a mission that sylus gave them

luke, as he sees sylus walk by: oh, hey boss! did you get my report on the murder?

sylus, to the twins: yeah i looked it over. nice work

luke: good. thanks dad

(everyone stops what theyre doing to stare at luke)

luke: why is everyone staring at me

mc: you just called sylus ‘dad’. you said ‘thanks dad’

luke: what? no i didnt i said ‘thanks man’

sylus: do you see me as a father figure luke?

luke: no! if anything i see you as a bother figure cause youre always bothering me

kieran: hey! show your father some respect

luke: i didnt call him dad!

sylus: no no no no luke. i take it as a compliment

random onychinus member: its not a big deal. i called vivian ‘mom’ once and shes my fiancée

luke: guys, jump on that. he has psycho sexual issues

another random onychinus member: old news! but you calling sylus ‘daddy’

luke: hey, daddy is not on the table here

traitor they kidnapped: but you did call him dad, dude

luke: you shut up. youve done nothing but lie since you got here

traitor: alright alright, i was lying about the hold up but

the dad thing, that happened

luke, still trying to argue his way out of his embarrassment: aha! he admitted that his alibi was a lie. it was a trap, all part of my crazy devious plan

sylus: i believe you…

luke: thank you

sylus: … son

luke sighs, knowing he’s never gonna live this down

sylus: you wanna talk about this later over a… game of catch

luke: …i’d like that

(a/n: script taken from brooklyn 99; i literally had this pop up in my head after waking up from my nap)

youtube

#sainteplays #love and deepspace #love and deepspace shitposts #lads shitpost #lnds shitpost #sylus #lads mc #lnds mc #lads sylus #lnds sylus #lads luke #lads kieran #lnds kieran #onychinus #Youtube

74 notes · View notes

sunshineting · 4 months ago

Text

⭐︎two sides of the same fucked up coin pt3⭐︎ pt1 pt2

toxic!eren x toxic!reader

word count- 2376

summary- eren sends a spicy voice note to you while you're broken up and your drunken self decides to send one back... and he eventually shows up on your doorstep once AGAIN 🤭

here’s pt 3! :D sorry it took so long LMAO dude an anon sent me the ask about this like literally so long ago omg I am so sorry 😭♡

minors DNI PLS

You’ve been broken up with Eren for a month now. You’d decided to call it quits one day and hadn’t looked back since. Of course, he had plenty to say about it; long text messages, emails, DMs, phone calls, he’d even written you a letter. It took a lot of willpower, but you eventually took yourself out of the equation. Your relationship was toxic, the two of you weren’t good together. Yes, he was so incredibly sexy and intoxicating, but he brought out some of the worst in you. You hated that you enjoyed arguing and fussing at him. You couldn’t even admit to yourself that you liked it when he pissed you off. It made you wonder if you were really the sweet girl you thought you were.

You resort to sending almost everything he’d ever bought you to his parents’ house; you knew if you sent it to his place, he’d send it right back to you. All the jewelry, all the clothes, all the cute little trinkets he bought when he thought of you. A few specific gifts, you opt to keep. It would be incredibly awkward sending sex toys to his parents’ house. The printed pictures of you two have been stuffed in a shoe box, tucked away in the back of your closet. It hurt to look through everything and relive all your memories together, so you tried your best to just throw shit in boxes without looking.

You’re curled up on your couch and on your fourth glass of wine when you hear your phone ding. Pausing the movie you were half paying attention to, you see a text from an unknown number. An audio message? Drunk and curious, you open it up and give it a listen. The audio is muffled at first, sounding like someone clumsily trying to record. After the initial rough noises, you hear slapping and what sounds like a woman moaning. What the hell? The slapping sounds continue, and you begin to recognize them as someone having sex. Before you have time to react, you hear a male voice.

“Take this shit, baby,” the voice commands. There’s no way. You know that voice. Eren fucking Jaeger. You throw the phone to the other side of the couch with a yelp as if it burned you. Your mind races. Why would he send this? What is wrong with him? And… why do you find yourself missing the way he fucked you? Thoughts are whirling through your mind when–

“Fuck, Y/N,” Eren groans. Did he just…?

“That’s not my name, what the fuck?!” the woman who was just moaning exclaims. There’s some muffled noises of movement and the audio stops. You can’t even process your thoughts because your traitorous pussy is wet and needy now. 'Awww, he misses me', you think. 'No, don’t fall for it, bitch, you’re just drunk,' you shake your head. No way did Eren just send you a recording of him fucking someone and saying your name. And no way were you getting wet about it. You try to delude yourself into thinking that this was all a drunken fever dream, but you know the truth. You miss being manhandled and fucked by Eren. You felt jealousy pool and bubble inside you as you thought about him fucking some other bitch. You know you really don’t have a right to be jealous because you broke up with him. Yet, here you are.

Another glass of wine later, you find yourself pinching your nipples and biting your lip. Eren’s audio undoubtedly turned you on. Fuck, you missed him. The way he caressed you, the way he squeezed you, the way he marked you. If you thought about it hard enough, you could practically feel his rough hands on you. One hand staying on your nipple, the other trails down, lightly dragging against your skin, all the way to your covered core. Slight goosebumps arise.

Blaming it on the wine, you felt a bit bold. You shimmy your silk pajama shorts down and trace your slit up and down. Shit, you could feel your panties dampening already. You slip a hand into your panties and rub tiny circles around your clit. Inhibitions lowered, you reach your other hand out to grab your phone and press record. The wet, squishing sounds of your pussy fill the air as you swirl around your clit and dip a finger into your hole. Breathy sighs and whimpers escape your throat.

Closing your eyes, you can imagine Eren; sexy, toxic Eren. His vibrant green eyes, his long hair, his hot mouth. Fuuccckkk, his mouth! Eren really was your best eater. You remember how slick he was with his tongue as you try to emulate it with your fingers. That flicking motion he did that always sent you over the edge just wasn’t the same with just your fingers. You whine in frustration. To try something different, you slide your middle and ring fingers in your pussy. That’s a little better. The squelching noises amp up as you pump your digits in and curl them up. You can feel yourself start to get close. Thinking of how he’d fingerfuck you and lick your clit at the same time, you feel yourself slicken even more. The thought of his thick, rough digits curling up in you, brushing against your spot. The thought of his quick tongue licking and suckling your achy, swollen clit. Your orgasm comes fast, hard, and loud. Your cream coats your fingers, which has been all but pushed out from the tight squeezing of your cunt. Your body shudders, waves wash over you as you ride your high.

Out of breath, you reach a shaky hand to pick up your still recording cell phone. The audio is sent before you can even think about changing your mind. “Shit,” you laugh, drunk from your orgasm and the wine. With your muscles loosened and worn out, you feel sweet sleep calling your name. You drift off with your cell phone still in hand.

Loud rapping on your door awakens you. 'What the hell…' you think. As you peel your eyes open from drunken slumber, you lick your dry lips. You had no clue what time it was or who the hell was knocking on your door. You quickly slip back on your silk pajamas and go to look through the peephole. Oh no. Who else would it have been other than the devil himself, Eren fucking Jaeger. With a groan, you find yourself unlocking the door. There he stood– tall, intense, and fucking sexy. And damned if it didn’t turn you on. You couldn’t let him know that though, you had your dignity to maintain. Before you can tell him off, the bastard swoops into you and engulfs your lips in his. That rough, demanding touch was what you'd longed for. Your fingers and toys could never replace this. Not even Rosequan, your rose toy. A wanton moan seeps its way from your lips.

“I knew you missed me baby, I knew your little pussy missed Daddy’s touch,” Eren murmurs between kisses. You hadn’t even let this man all the way in yet and he’d already gotten you weak in the knees. You’re able to get out between breaths, “Cum— um, come inside.”

He pulls away from you long enough for you to allow him in and close the door behind him. As you go to lock the door, Eren grips your hips from behind. Leaning down, he nibbles your ear and says, “You know how much I thought of you? Every time I fucked my fist, I pulled up a picture of you. I couldn’t even get you out of my head when I fucked that other girl. You’re infecting my fucking brain, baby.” He kisses down to your neck, nestling into a sensitive spot to suck on.

Your moans nearly drown out the words you were able to squeeze out. “I hate yooouuu,” you whimper.

“I know, baby, I know” is all he says. You can feel his hardness pressed against the top of your ass. God, you missed it.

“Waitwaitwait,” you rush out breathlessly. With those words, Eren pulls himself off of you. You turn to face him. “What the hell are you doing here, Eren?” it comes out more bratty than you intended it to, but whatever.

“You sent me that little audio, so I took that as an invite,” he chuckles, running his hand on the back of his neck. Seeing his smile made your heart flutter. Wait, audio? It comes rushing back to you, the erotic audio you’d forgotten about in your drunkenness. Heat floods your face.

“Yeah, I did. So what? You were clearly thinking of me when you sent your little audio,” you say in an attempt to put on a brave face, “which– what the fuck, by the way?” You shoot him a stank face.

“It’s from a while ago... and cause I was thinkin bout you,” he leans in, kissing the top of your head. “I never stopped thinking about you for real,” he murmurs, trailing kisses from your temples to your lips. Eren’s enticing lips pull you in; his hot tongue swiping along your bottom lip to gain entrance. Your lips part for him, your mouth soon being filled. He always tasted so good, like sweetmint. The heat from his hands light your skin on fire.

“Fuck, you feel good,” you moan. Your hands scramble to unbutton his belt. With ease, Eren slips off your pajama shorts, letting your needy pussy breathe. The belt finally off, you slide your hand down his pants. His girthy cock presses heavy into your palm. You hear a groan escape from him. You free his cock after stroking it through his underwear a few times. The smooth skin of his tip felt so nice and plump. Before you can do much, Eren picks you up and holds your back against the door with your legs wrapped around his waist. “Eren!” you squeak in surprise.

“There we go, I missed hearing you say my name,” he smirks. His smug face makes you bite his bottom lip. With his lip still between your teeth he says, “I missed your little crazy ass.” He resumes kissing you, quickly gaining the upper hand and biting your lip in return. Your pussy clenches at the slight pain.

Holding you up with one arm, Eren uses his opposite hand to guide his cock to your weeping hole. He swipes once, twice then uses your juices to slip in. Your cunt stings at the stretch, but fuck it felt heavenly. Eren quickly bottoms out, filling you to the brim with his cock. “F u c k,” you gasp out.

“Shit, baby, you’re made just for me. You feel that? That pussy knows who it belongs to,” he grunts, gripping your hips with both hands. Each thrust he gives you, you feel the cold door against your ass and back. You couldn’t be bothered to consider the noise your neighbors could be hearing. You cream around his length, coating every inch. Eren gives you thrust after relentless thrust, your poor pussy is taking such a beating.

Your pussy’s bully decides to carry you to your bedroom after momentarily slipping himself from your heat. Eren sets you on the bed while he goes to your bedside drawer. “I know you still have them,” he mutters while going through your shit. “They weren’t in the shit you sent back to my parent’s house and I know damn well you didn’t throw them away…” Your cock drunk brain doesn’t even really process his words. Before long, he finds what he was looking for and you hear a buzz.

“Ereeennnn,” you whine. He says nothing and the next thing you know, your rose toy is placed perfectly on your swollen clit. You yelp.

“I just wanna hear you make those pretty noises you made on the audio. You can do that for me, right?,” you all but hear the smirk in his voice. You buck your hips against the toy in his hand. Eren then slides himself back into you, the dual sensations making you feral. A pornographic moan rips out of you. It was just so much. His long, thick cock pounding into you mixed with the relentless vibrations against your clit– it was so overwhelming. Before you know it, an orgasm rips through your body, causing you to whine and tremble. Your cunt milks Eren’s cock for all it has.

“Fuck!” Eren exclaims, not expecting you to cum so fast, your hot and gushy walls sucking him in. Ramming against your cervix, he fills you with his spend. His length twitches inside of you before softening. Eren leans down to kiss your forehead and all over your face. After you’ve both come down from your high, Eren pulls out of you.

“You’re the bane of my existence,” you laugh breathlessly. You hear him laugh as well.

“Yeah, well, you’re the reason for mine,” he says with a slight smile.

“Shut up,” you mutter. He always had a way with words and that charming smile to make you fall for him again, but you had to stay strong this time.

“I’m for real. I want us to work out. You mean a lot to me and I keep fucking up. So,” he shrugs, “Imma do better.”

You roll over to look into his emerald eyes. In them, you see everything the two of you had been through together. The good times as well as the bad. But you could tell something had changed, though. Maybe he’d done some growing up in the past month. Probably not. You couldn’t tell for sure. But at the very least, you could get some dick from him on occasion, you ponder. A moment of silence passes before you speak out loud again. “Listen, not enough time has passed for me to trust you again. We’re both fucked up and we both need to focus on ourselves, to be honest,” you pause, “but maybe we caan take things slow.”

Eren takes your words in for a moment. “Yeah. Slow works,” he says with a satisfied smile. “ I am the slow stroke king, after all.”

#hi hi #its been a while #aot fanfic #aot smut #aot x reader #eren jeager #eren jaeger x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren smut #toxic!eren #not as toxic!reader #but still kinda #toxic!reader #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan smut #kait's writes #toxic!eren x reader #eren fucking jaeger

77 notes · View notes

lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year ago

Text

Cinderella | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

You awoke to the kneading of a suited cat against your chest. Slow to wake you let your head fall back into the plush of your bed only to be called by a peeved meow.

“I know. I know Luci. I’m coming.”

Not even bothering to change out of your pajamas you slipped into your cat-themed slippers and followed behind the cat bee-lining it to his feeding tray. You took out the pre-plated meal as quickly as possible and heated it. Lifting yourself off the ground onto the adjacent counter you saved yourself from the anxious pawing that Lucius was doing on the floor parallel to the activated microwave. Hearing a familiar tune play you opened the mini door to promptly bring the feisty cat his meal. You sighed, satisfied as you heard the wet and determined sounds of a feeding house cat.

Looking out from the kitchen and foyer you spied the moving shadow under the door of the study. You skipped across the threshold being sure to quiet yourself to tiptoe as you creaked the door open. Within the crack, you watched your stepfather move across the bookshelves, eventually turning so that his back was to the door. Fighting giggles you let yourself be careful of where you stepped to avoid the creaking floorboards, doing your best to creep up on the old man.

“Good morning to you as well (Y/n).”

You sucked your teeth, sitting on one of the many plush armchairs.

“Awww man I thought I caught you good!”

The old man let a ghost of a smile on his face as he made his final selections.

“What did I say about talking like that? At this rate, you will say whatever comes to mind.”

“You already know I do, old dude!”

He turned with a shake of his head carrying the stack he’d made out of the room; you followed suit. Up the stairs and down the hall past the doors of the ones who still had yet to wake. Past the bathroom, the powder room, and into the music room. It was a big room with only two instruments in the corner, two stools, and a flimsy podium to match. He said it was for better acoustics but you guessed he just wanted a room without the clutter that seemed to follow those two.

Setting his books down on a faraway coffee table, he only bought one over to the podium. Adjusting it until he deemed it perfect he stopped to see his dear cat enter the room. Scooping him up, he walked over to your leaning form against the door.

“Thank you for feeding Lucius. I’ve been diving…into some old texts. You know how I get so distracted with that.”

“It’s fine. I know you struggle with the microwave, anyway.” The snide comment has Mozus bristling with embarrassment.

“I don’t struggle with it…I’m just…learning as I go along.”

“Sure. Sure. But we know the truth, right Lucius?”

“Mreow!”

You laugh, hearing a hushed ‘traitor’ as you make your escape headed back to your room. You wonder if it is too soon to make a wish, that you’ll be back in bed before they wake.

“Oi oi Frog what are you doing up without waking me!?”

Too late. You traipse tiredly toward the redheaded misfit seeing that he’s dressed for the day and already sporting a mean face.

“Well sorry,” you dragged the word with a roll of your eyes. “Next time you want to wake up this early leave your cat door unlocked!”

“Eeegh!? And let the furball go through my stuff!? No way!”

“Then don’t come out whining then.”

“Hey don’t you tell me how to-”

“Good Morning you guys!”

With a yawn, in came Deuce with a kinder disposition than Ace. You gave him a ‘morning’ to which Ace only scoffed before letting his eyes land on you. Seeing as they were both up and dressed you guessed you’d deliver the news.

“Guess who’s having lessons today?”

“You?” Deuce tried.

“Ha no, flute and piano! Plus whatever’s in the ‘old texts’”

They groaned once again letting their eyes fall on you and staying there before you shooed them off. Letting them pass you, you watched as Deuce walked robotically down the hall followed by Ace who was slow to leave. With a smirk on his face, he turned to you.

“Feeling cold in just your jammies, huh?”

You squinted your face in confusion before a look down had you crossing your arms around your chest. You shot him a disgusted look as he skipped into the music room; another roll of your eyes and you retreated to the comfort of your room.

Dressed for the day you wandered back to the music room; peaking in on the instruction they needed. They were huddled around Mozus as he instructed movements with his pointer stick, you compared it to that of a wizard in a book of fiction. The looks on their faces were serious–a rare thing for the idiots that never grasped anything. You leaned in only to catch snippets of what they were saying.

“...protect them…whatever it…takes…”

“... even…?”

“Yup, I mean who wouldn’t?”

Before you could listen any further they quieted upon someone’s alert of your presence. The cat meowed loudly at you through the crack of the door; you shushed the cat as you let yourself in giving him the pets he probably wanted. It wouldn’t be odd if it weren’t for their immediate actions to look as if they were doing something else. Mozus and Ace played it easy either looking at a book or blowing a raspberry before writing something. Deuce was the dead giveaway; eyes widening and darting across the room as he flailed to read a book upside down.

“Sooo what’ya doin’?

“We’re about to begin a music lesson if you’d like to join us?”

Ace was at the piano cracking his knuckles and hands as if he were about to do manual labor. Deuce was turning red as he practiced harsh blowing techniques into the air before bringing the flute to his lips.

“No no! I’m good.” You frantically spoke. You’d been cursed to hear their harmonies before and you would not let yourself be tortured in such a way again. You began to back out of the room only for Mozus to call for you.

“(Y/n) if you’d be willing would you mind running some errands?”

“Sure!” You liked to go on errands, it was the only thing you were really allowed to do.

“Make sure to take Lucius with you!”

The cat was already meowing at you down the hallway going into your room. He had the right idea the moment they touched those instruments.

“Thanks again, Trey! You know how much Trein loves your bread.”

“Oh? Is he the only one?” Trey teased as he placed the wrapped loaves into your basket.

“Well…maybe…I’ll help myself to a few slices if there’s any left. Ace and Deuce are ravenous.”

Behind his frames, you could see his eyes glaze over in a disgruntled haze but as quickly as it came it left; letting a smile spread across his face.

“Then maybe I’ll give you an extra loaf. Just for you to enjoy.”

Lucius gave a pensive meow.

“Ah, I don’t know…I have other errands to run and I don’t have anything extra.”

“No worries, I’ll give you an extra for free… it's a…creme special…”

You tilted your head in thought genuinely trying to think of what wouldn’t leave you in a bad light.

“But I wouldn’t want you wasting product on something yer givin’ for free.”

“No worries it was going stale anyway, just wait here just a second.”

The baker disappeared behind into the kitchen; in the meantime, you rocked on your heels. Shushing the cat that seemed to get antsier by the second, making you internally plead that Trey hurries it up. As if to answer your call the baker emerged looking flushed but proud he handed you the clear-wrapped piping hot bread with a white glaze on it. Adding it to the other loaves of bread you dismissed yourself with an honest curtsy figuring it’d leave you less in debt to him.

“Thanks again, Trey! Though I doubt this was going stale!”

“Please it was on its way out! Have a good day, (Y/n)!”

“You too, man!”

You waved, walking out the door of the bakery straight to your car gingerly placing the bread basket and Lucius in the backseat. You made sure to give the needy kitty a rub before driving to your next destination: the tailor. Ace and Deuce had a nasty habit of somehow destroying everything they owned within a twenty-hour period; suits were no exception. So for your last errand of the day you were collecting an order of suits for them. With Trein’s name, you let the stuttery attendant disappear into the backroom before letting your eyes wander in wait.

“Ooh, that suit…”

Speaking to no one you eyed the mannequin sporting a character of a suit. Exaggerated points and a tail that gave it a regal feel; you imagined yourself fitting snugly in its place. You imagined a jealous scoff of Ace and the awe on Deuce’s face as you posed next to their plain, irresponsible suits. You smirked to yourself, nodding to the ceiling as you imagined the scene so vividly.

“You should get it.”

Your eyes snapped open to someone new, a boy with lilac hair and soft features. His short stature leaned against the counter as he stared in your direction. You straightened yourself out crossing your arms as you got a read on this dude’s emotion,

“Excuse me?”

“You like the suit, don’t you? And we both know you’d look good in it so just do it.”

Your eyes drifted longingly to the suit before darting back to the man or rather in his general direction.

“Hey?! What do you–mean by that?”

Before you could search for the mysterious complimenter, the attendant returned with two wrapped suits letting you carry out the transaction. You let your eyes roam the shop once more before asking the fidgeting attendant.

“Hey, who was with you today?”

“W-what?”

“T-the the little man, he was trying his best to sell that suit over there. Is he a new employee or–?”

“Uhm I’m the only one on staff today..did someone come into the shop?” She murmured as she looked to the distance in thought,” Maybe the bell rang and I didn’t notice?”

You shook your free hand in an attempt to calm her down, “It's fine it’s fine, I’m probably just hungry. Welp thank you and have a good day!”

You dismissed yourself going back to your air-conditioning car with Lucius sitting in the front seat as if waiting for you to return. Thanking the cat for not honking your horn, you draped the suits on the passenger seat; scooping up the cat you took the car out of park. Sending one last look towards the tailor before driving off.

For a good half of the ride, you kept going back to the strange fellow in the store. He did have a different kind of energy around him…it felt almost…sparkly? That aside you decided to forget about the whole encounter and instead focus on the road. Speaking of, your feline passenger was being especially quiet; a far cry from the usually vocal meowing as he tries to sit in your lap. Waiting until a stop light you let yourself look in the rearview mirror to spot Lucius pawing at the opening of the bread basket.

“Lucius, please don’t touch that.”

You cursed yourself for not bringing a toy for him; focusing on getting home fast enough before any damage could be done. When you pulled into the driveway you could already see the vehicle of another one that represents the royal convoy. You hurriedly grabbed everything you’ve gathered leaving the door open to let Lucius run in himself. The cat did just that with a certain loaf in tow.

“Lucius!? Hey! That’s my bread, Lucy come on!”

You struggled to follow the cat inside as you juggled the suits and the bread basket hanging on your arm. Nonetheless, you made your way in completely unaware of the company your family was entertaining.

“-as I was saying we will not be needing any more invitations.”

“And as I see it you will be needing more invitations.” The determined voice came from who you assumed must’ve been the owner of the royal vehicle. “Ruggie if you please.”

Peeking out from behind your little pile you spied the royal colors of orange and black worn by a beefy guy with dark skin and white hair. You quickly averted your eyes when his amber eyes stared intensely into yours, disappearing into the kitchen you fanned yourself to fruitlessly calm the heat that enveloped your face; missing the dispute your father and the knight seemed to have with your father.

“I will repeat..that is but a servant: someone who best stays with the house for our livelihood.”

“So you insist…” The amber-eyed knight sneered in disbelief looking at his confidant who reentered the room with a framed photo in his hands.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like this…servant of yours…is all that depended on to sort your house.” Snickering to himself Ruggie flung a decorative globe from his pocket leaving Deuce to lunge as he caught the item. “Which is the house of an upper-middle-class family that can certainly afford a night on the town. Though I get why you’d want to keep them a secret they are quite the…catch.”

On the last word, the royal attendant threw the frame in Mozus’ direction which he caught gingerly holding the frame to his chest as the knight further glared at him. The royal envelope was also shoved in his direction dropping it at his feet when he made no moves to receive it.

“His Highness expects all to be there. Good day.”

“Hishishishi, bye-bye.”

Both knight and attendant left with a glare and smirk respectively before leaving as swiftly as they came; leaving their hosts in a dreary position. Ace and Deuce entered the foyer both cradling various pictures and artistic decor. Exchanging dark looks with one another as you finally entered the foyer, awkwardly swinging your arms back and forth as you picked up on the tense atmosphere.

“Sooo you guys want to tell me about what happened there? Did Ace finally get caught for some stupid crime?” You tried to lighten the mood as you poked fun at Ace. But he didn’t react to you simply looking away as Deuce caved.

“Well no it's more like we have something to tell you–what?”

Elbowed in the ribs the boys begin something of a glaring contest which has Mozus intervening. Sending them away with a look you and your step-father are the only ones left in the room as the two grumbles to their rooms.

“So what’s this all about?”

“The prince is holding a banquet..in hopes of finding a spouse.” Mozus sighed as he moved towards the study; sitting in his chair. “His employees were adamant that we all make an appearance.”

“All of us?” Sitting across from him you looked into his tired eyes.

“Yes. I’m under the impression that they believe us to be…abusive to you…so they were insistent that you attend.”

You sucked your teeth in annoyance. “Can’t we like makeup an excuse…like that my formal wear got destroyed or something? I mean if they had any doubts I could just back it up.”

Mozus let out a weary sigh as he stared into the distance.

“But I doubt that would work, they are royalty after all.”

“Royalty Shmoyalty we pay our taxes and as such, we should be allowed to marry who we please. And not be forced to play bachelorette with this prince-guy.”

He laughed at your statement, settling into the chair as you do the same. Smiling at his ounce of joy that settled into a look of trust.

“So…will you be alright not to attend…under such circumstances?”

“Yeah of course! Lucius and I can have a ball of our own…all under a happy accident.”

___________________________________________________

“Told you they’d be slippery.” Prince Leona laughed as he listened to the feedback of the conversation. Amused by the way his knight and attendant’s eyes widen as they listened in. As he predicted his prey and their herd were a slippery bunch; collectively united to make his hunt that much harder. While he did prefer to nap rather than hunt he didn’t mind the means all that much when the end would be so fulfilling.

“Uh, you sure you really want this one? I don’t know if it’s worth marrying into a family brave enough to defy the crown.”

“I- ’ll have to agree with Ruggie-senpai on this one. Would you really want to mate with someone with so many…admirers.”

The knight spoke frankly, having tailed the auspicious character that everyone couldn’t help but swoon over. Too often had he watched the citizens sink into the darkest depths of depravity all in pursuit of this…(Y/n)-character. For all, he could deduct it wouldn’t be bizarre that those with more sway in nobility or even other kingdoms may come to desire them the same way. They could use their power after being exposed to them either through violence or diplomatic servitude.

(Y/N) Trein was a dangerous specimen, to Jack, for someone so unaware of their effect on people they easily captivate anyone that so much as glances at them. He didn’t know what scared him more the prospect of many endangering the life of his prince or the pull of his own desire for you. It was shameful but he found no solace in running from his emotions. All he knew is that it’d be trouble if his master decided to wed you…

“Heh. Don’t you think that’s a good enough reason anyway?” Leona snickered at his subordinates’ blinking in confusion.

“Who else will have the resources to keep such a snare, locked up tight?”

“Then what about the bigwigs? Won’t they want to see them?” Ruggie tested, hoping to catch the Prince off-guard. Leona only laughed flashing his canines in a toothy grin.

“I doubt you’d two would let that happen,” He laughed at the shocked look Jack would make as he turned to see Ruggie’s expression of panic. “Don’t think I couldn’t tell, they are practically irresistible.”

“A-aren’t you…worried that we’d steal them from you?”

Leona leaned back with his hands behind his head, letting his legs cross on the center console smirking to himself.

“Tch steal them and face the entire fleet of my brother’s kingdom? Fat chance. Jack’s too uptight and Ruggie’d run out of money,” the two shrugged and turned away in affirmation.

“Besides we’re all quite good at sharing with one another. Right, Jack?”

“Hishishishi”

Jack’s cheeks dusted with heat as Ruggie snickered, bashfully putting his arms behind his head. Letting the hyena calm his laughter, the knight cleared his throat already paging the royal tailors.

“I’ll go ahead and place the orders. One for a simple delivery and the second one for their untimely incident.

__________________________________________________________

“Ooops the outfit I just got from the royal family ended up in the furnace. Oh—ACE! Are you paying attention!”

“What?”

He looked up at you with the residue of whatever he was eating on his face as he gave you a stupid dumbfounded look. You sneered and rolled your eyes resisting the urge to pull at his ear or smack him upside the head but since his eyes were on you you continued.

“Ace. Look at what’s happened to my outfit from the royal family, I’ve accidentally thrown it into the furnace. See?”

“Uhhh okay? You wanna medal of somethin’?”

You just needed a witness. You just needed a witness. Carrying what you could ‘save’ from the furnace you put it in a metal bucket as you carried it to your father who sat dutifully writing a letter to the prince’s staff. You sweatdropped at his old-fashioned style as you set down your evidence for your computer already typing the beginning of his letter.

“Hey, it might arrive in time if we email them a picture..”

“...I guess that would serve our cause just as nicely.”

While you weren’t worried about informing them of your absence so early you didn’t want your Father who was guaranteed to possibly run into those intimidating lackeys to be accused of not even attempting. With hours until the banquet it would put the royal family in the impossible position of producing a tailor–made masterpiece in time. You left him to type awkwardly at the computer, hoping to save him from the embarrassment of your pity.

“Well, then I ought to get ready for the night.”

You had grand plans to enact a night full of debauchery as you relished in the emptiness of the house. Which consisted of finally going through the steamy selections Trein believed to be a pile of ash. Along with preparing to prepare for the turf war of pranks that Ace and Deuce seemed to endlessly rule. It would be glorious! That being said, you wasted no time bugging the duo to prepare for their departure as well as protecting their suits from whatever disaster seems to follow them.

Trein was also kept busy not only preparing his email but steeling himself as he slid his wand into the undercoat of his suit. Despite your attempt to help he was certain the prince wouldn’t take kindly to this…incident. He was prepared to lose the battle himself but his sons were the only ones he needed to keep safe. Anyone would carry out his will, should the worse come to be, it’d be them.

“Y-you don’t think we’ll have to use these…do you?”

Deuce’s breathless whisper weighed heavy on Trein’s heart but he steeled himself. They need to be strong and as their only role model left he needed to embody that. So with eyes cold and distant, he encouraged them to be prepared.

“I won’t cry for you old man because you’re not dying. And (Y/n)’s not going to end up with that pompous prince anyway! Not if I have anything to say about it!”

“Y-yeah.”

Could a father be more proud? His hugs were tight and firm, a silent reminder of his love before facing you. You have always been a joy to nurture. Prideful and loving it hurt not to warn you of his possible end but he couldn’t bring himself to worry you now. So with an ache in his heart, he smiled a woeful ‘farewell’ as you giggled something unread. But he couldn’t have asked for a better send-off.

“Yes! Now that they’re gone I can be an absolute menace!”

And your night of menacing would begin as you begin your plans for the night. Completely unminding of the sun setting as you continued to enjoy your time in an empty house. All was well traps were set, and treats were had but then an ominous knock at the door had you shooting off the couch.

“Delivery of the royal family.”

The sound of steps quickly receding and the sound of tires skirting off. You rushed to the door, opening it to find a dreaded copy of the outfit you destroyed hours before. Were you wrong? Was the royal family truly so prominent that they were fast enough to prepare this!? You took it inside and began to pace…surely they shouldn’t expect you to show up with your family’s car already gone? But if they were so adamant about something as small as this perhaps they would send a car. Or some form of transportation so that your father would not be at fault, right? Right?!

You stuck your head out into the dark and chilling night, looking down the street across the estate. Alas, no car or limo was in sight nor the sound of any vehicles on the street. With a heart full of anxiety you turned back into your home, closing the door. You kept your eyes trained on the wooden floorboards as you wracked your brain for some solution.

“Well, that’s convenient.”

The sultry voice has you snapping in horror to the living room where a man or rather three were hovering around. In the armchair facing the door was a man with blonde hair and purple tips that curled at the sparkling surface of his purple suit that’s back curtained into a tuft half-skirt. He wore a full face of makeup, sporting a knowing smolder and a raised chin giving a look of refinement. The other man with blonde hair in a bowl cut stood just behind the same chair dressed in a matching tail suit that reached dramatically at his calves. He tipped his hat with a widening smile as you met his emerald gaze.

“Bonjour mon cheri, it's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“F-finally?”

You were slow to join them in the living room despite their unchallenging demeanor. Only moving forward when the third male with soft features was lackadaisically rifling through the frames of your family on a nearby coffee table. You ran over taking it from him to put it back in its place, the lavender-haired male shrugged returning to the side of the man with folded hands in the chair. You scratched at your head as you took in the odd throuple.

“So what are you? How did you get in here? Why are you–”

“We don’t have much time (Y/n) so I’ll make this short. Rook!”

The blonde with the hat stepped forward, “Yes My Queen!”

Clearing his throat he opened his hands as he presented each of them.

“We are your fairy…helpers. This Roi du Poison: Vil and this is Monsieur Crabapple: Epel and as you’ve heard I am Rook! We are at your service for the night!”

You opened your mouth to respond, stopped by Vil’s raised hand. He sighs and shakes his head.

“I’m certain you have questions (Y/n), but we don’t have time for that. At this moment Mozus Trein is ingesting the poison that will kill him at the stroke of midnight.”

“What–! Why didn’t you say something sooner!”

“I’m telling you now so hush. We’ll give you the antidote but-”

“But?”

Rook excitedly chimed “You must be back by midnight! Otherwise–”

This time it was Epel who spoke in a hasty tone, “Or we’ll be forced to collect a form of payment from the life that was saved.”

“Do you accept?”

His made-up smile was unreadable but his eyes smiled with curiosity. As though you’d have any other answer to their proposal.

“I accept.”

Rook cheered while you unraveled the gaudy garments that matched the kingdom’s colors. Vil grimaced and gagged.

“Oh no, I am not letting you arrive in that! Especially not late!”

As if he was gliding he stood up from his seat to stand nearly chest to chest with you. You pulled away when he moved his hand to your face, flashing you a look of solemn sarcasm before materializing a wand in a flash of sparkles.

Smiling at your dropped jaw he waved the wand over your head. Just like its appearance the wand sprinkled sparkles all over your lounge clothes transforming them into a magnificent outfit, with frills and folds that added a new type of elegance. You even felt a tiara appear on your head before Vil slapped your hand away. The final touch was a stylish pair of sneakers, you flashed him a curious look while he sighed.

“Judging by the time,” He flashed a look at the clock. “You’ll need to move fast, ballroom wear isn’t exactly what you need.”

“Touche”

Rook appeared from behind him with a mirror in hand showing the unfamiliar reflection of you in stellar makeup.

“You look like rêve dans la vraie vie!”

“Uh, thanks?”

Smoothing out the outstanding frills and floof you hurried to the door before returning to Vil who shook his head again before handing you the vial with a color-changing liquid. You held it close, finding a secure pocket to store the vial before once again heading to the door to make a hard stop with sunken shoulders.

“Guys! I don’t have a car!”

Vil deadpanned, “Not my department.”

“It’s mine!” Epel shouted, smiling widely as he took your hand with his leading you out the door. Holding you behind him, he enthusiastically pulled out his wand and waved it wildly around, much less precise as Vil had done.

Similar sparkles popped wildly about to reveal a coolish blue and purple vehicle. Screaming slim and sleek it looks like the latest edition of motorcyle. Noting how it matched your look, you jumped as the engine revved animatedly as though it was calling out to you. Turning to Epel who was proudly smiling at your shocked face.

“B-but I don’t know how to ride–”

“Don’t worry! It’s magic! Now go! go!”

He pushed you along to start running towards the bike. You leaned forward, gripping the handles feeling a warm urge rush over you as you reeled your right hand back to try the engine. Booming loud and spiking your adrenaline you almost missed the warning he gave as you kicked up the stand.

“Once you get closer to the time limit it’s not going to work the same.”

“Okay got it! Bye, and thanks!”

You hurriedly waved to the three who were standing on the front door steps, each waving to you with their varied levels of energy. Jetting off you let what must’ve been the magic course through your veins as you mindlessly turned through the empty streets towards the castle banquet hall.

“I’m coming, Dad! Just give me time!”

_____________________________________________________

Deuce could barely stand to sway with the woman who had asked him to dance. He was too busy keeping his eyes on his father. Engaged in conversation with the prince’s guard looking especially terse as he smoothly sipped at his champagne glass.

“Hey, boy!? Are you paying attention or am I just that nice to hold?”

“S-sorry!”

He hurriedly released his hold on the woman, quickly wiping his hands against his suit before scampering into the crowd of beautiful people. Baby blue eyes searched frantically for his brother, feeling the burning weight in the pocket close to his chest. His searching proved fruitless as he lost his tact in maneuvering between the giant dresses and tailcoats.

“A-ace?”

“Hey!?”

“S-sorry!”

Breaking out of the crowd he found himself in the darker section of the garden. Away from the floating lights and mingling guests. Collapsing on a bench to clutch at his heart that was beating a mile a minute. How could he be so useless? His father was possibly having the biggest confrontation of his life and all he could do was search for his brother in hopes of intervening. He couldn’t recall when he became such a coward. Maybe it was the day he lost his new mother? Or when (Y/n) was almost abducted? Or that time Ace left him in that closet? But what did it matter? To blame any one moment distracted from the outstanding major point–that Deuce was a coward that might be losing someone soon. Two if he didn’t get up soon.

He tried to stand but was cruelly returned to his spot when he felt his body trembling. Could he take on anyone with such fragility? Without Ace’s loud presence to hide behind?

Deuce shakily inhaled and exhaled.

“What are you doin’ out here?”

The voice was gravelly and deep as if its owner had just awakened. Easing his fear with curiosity the ravenette looked to the bush across from him. The owner of the voice was yawning and stretching from out the previously neat shrubbery. Dark-skinned with cat-like eyes and unruly hair, Deuce thought he looked familiar but couldn’t place his face. Leona on the other hand, let a fanged smirk spread across his face, and recognized him right away.

“Uh, what are you doing…sleeping in a bush…at a party?”

“Probably the same reason, you’re out here crying.”

“I-i’m not crying!”

Leona chuckled, leaping out of the bush to tower over the still-sitting Deuce. With sly intention, the prince sat next to him feigning sympathy as he probed further.

“Oh? Then what are you doing? Did you just get dumped, maybe?”

He sighed, “No…I’m just getting over an…insecurity, I guess.”

“Insecurity?”

“I just…get kind of anxious and recently I’ve just been scared.”

“Scared?”

“Yeah. I think I’m just worried because my Da–father’s life is kind of in danger and I’m just not–”

Leona was mentally rolling his eyes. This guy just kept going on and on. But perhaps if he could show a little sympathy it’d help smooth things over in the future. After all, it'd be helpful to have his brother-in-law willing to speak well in his spouse’s ear.

“Well, I think you should focus on getting some security.”

“Security?”

“Yeah, whatever option certifies your status and family’s well-being no matter how small.”

“Wait what was tha–?”

Deuce’s question was interrupted by the crux of gasps from the party guests. Who all seemed to be gawking at something deep within the party hall. Deuce stood up, wasting no time to fight through the crowd; praying it wasn’t shock from someone’s untimely death. On the other hand, Leona sauntered, slinking around the crowd to watch what caught everyone’s attention.

_______________________________________________________________

In the sea of guests dressed in the earthly colors of the kingdom, you were sure you stood out. Your outfit was a macrame of blues and purples, sparkling beyond any normal amount. This is why you couldn’t fault the entire gaggle of guests guffawing at your wear and if looked under a speculative scope could be considered a direct protest of the crown. It might have been an unintentional perk but you’d take it nonetheless.

Almost immediately you spotted Mozus looking shocked with his drink in hand. Still panting from running up the steps, you strode with confidence purposely taking—whoever this man was to the prince—by surprise as you guided your father away.

“Excuse me, I must speak to my father for a moment.”

“Uh, y-yeah–I mean, yes.”

You didn’t wait for his response while you led your father away, sneakily slipping the drink out of his hand. Finally coming to terms with you being there, Mozus spoke trying to keep his composure as you started to waltz, joining the still-staring crowd as you spoke.

“(Y/n) you look–”

“Stunning? Dazzling? Remarkable? I know.”

He smiled and shook his head at you.

“But what are you doing here? I thought we agreed you’d stay home.”

He twirled you and you responded, “We did. But they sent another.”

“Another?!”

“Another.”

You two followed the steps, both of you taking a look at the non-dancing folks. The prince is among them. Sucking your teeth, you took your father’s hand dragging him off the dance floor to the table holding drinks. Pulling the vial out of your pocket you didn’t bother to hide it as you frantically dumped the vial into a glass before holding it out to him.

“I don’t have much time. You need to drink this.”

He looked at you like you were Ace–stupid. You leaned in keeping your voice low as you laid it out for him.

“I got a tip that you have been poisoned,” you put your finger up as he looked ready to argue.

“ You did drink? Didn’t you?”

His embarrassed silence told you everything you needed to know.

“Which is why you need to drink this cure and I have to leave before we’re in debt for it.”

Mozus opened his mouth and closed it, finally taking the glass from your hand. Holding it to his chest as he looked at you.

“Are you certain?”

“Of what?”

“Of this…being a cure.”

“...”

“(Y/n)--”

“Please! I don’t want to take the chance…”

He couldn’t resist the way you looked at him with those pleading (e/c) eyes, so much like the toddler he’d fallen in love with from day one. Mozus Trein would always have a strength weakness and you were one of three.

“Fine.”

He downed the champagne like a madman, going back to his stoic expression. He raised an eyebrow as you continued to stare at him as if expecting some immediate change to happen.

“Don’t you have to leave before we’re in debt?”

“Ohhh! You’re right!”

You hugged him before sprinting through the crowd, unfortunately on your way out you could already see the stuttering man and another running to catch you before you reached the door. In your dash, you took a detour using the crowd to stifle their chase, looking around for those familiar pair of troublemakers.

“Oi! I said we’re dancing, didn’t I!? LET’S GO PRINCEY!”

It was Ace dragging the scowling prince to the dance floor away from the position that would have been your doom. You silently thanked him as you spotted the night sky, about to jump down the steps you stopped because of the burly man guarding your exit.

“I apologize! But per my prince’s orders, I can not let you through!”

Before you could retaliate you were stilled by the increasing cry of Deuce flying by!

“ I AP-OL-OGIZE!”

Crashing into the man his momentum sent the both of them tumbling down the stairs. You ran behind them passing by to get to your magic motorcycle. Shouting behind you, you stuck your thumbs up.

“Thanks, Deucey!”

Instead of words, you were met with the continuous grunts and fleshy sounds of being punched. You stopped yourself from looking and instead focused on mounting your ride once more. But something wasn’t sitting right, wasn’t there another–?

“Hi, there!”

“Whoa!”

Standing right in front of you was a leaner male, smaller than the prince, and the guard smiling mischievously as he blocked your ride.

“Where are ya goin’ so fast?”

“None of your business!”

“What? Don’t you want to–”

His smile became a smirk as he raised his hand toward you. You felt like you were having an out-of-body experience where you couldn’t control any of your movements.

“Laugh With Me?!”

At that moment a flash of sparkles seems to sprout from your outfit shooting into the man’s face. He reeled back, falling to the ground and curling into himself as he clutched his nose. Recognizing the sparkle you sent a kiss to the sky before zooming off on your motorcycle.

“THANK YOU!!”

Riding off into the night you let yourself breathe. One hurdle at a time. The next one is getting home in time which should be fine. As long as the prince and his goons are occupied at the very least you’ll get home in time.

_____________________________________________________________

“Are you sure that was okay?” Epel asked as he worriedly watched you ride on the motorcycle he had spent months crafting.

Vil didn’t respond, watching with mixed feelings as he zoomed in on your determined face. Setting the mirror down he leaned into the armchair as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Technically yes. Usually, the fairy godparent should have done everything within their power to assure their success…”

Epel grimaced, “But we don’t want that, do we?”

At Vil’s silence, Epel went on grazing his fingers along your face on one of the framed photos.

“We…don’t keep them if they make it back, right? So we should want them to fail…so we shouldn’t help right?”

Vil exasperatedly sighed as he looked at the decor of the home. He scoffed lightly, threading his gloved hands through his hair as he let a defeated smile grace his face.

“But we love them so dearly, we can’t help but want the best for (Y/n). That little Minx.”

Playfully cursing at you as he watched you through the glass of his all-seeing mirror. Epel returned to his side looking over his shoulder with a look Vil couldn’t pinpoint.

“But what if–the situation with the prince, right? It’s not going to get better, right? Then maybe we can have them then?”

“In exchange for saving them from a forced marriage and protecting their family?.... That’s incredibly dubious Epel. It breaks every rule in the fairy book.”

The petite boy smiled playfully wagging his wand.

“But we’re not fairies are we?”

Vil couldn’t help but cackle laugh alongside his junior’s snickers. Before turning back to the mirror with a settled mind and a happy smile.

“Then it's settled, we'll let them return home in time. Successfully complete the payment and we collect our darling during the next tragedy. Are we all in agreement?”

With vigor, he’d never had towards Vil before he shouted, “Yeah!”

“Hold on…Where’s Rook?”

__________________________________________________________

You should have been in the clear, a straight shot home would be the end of this night. But whatever small objects whizzing by you on your ride might be telling a different story. You took the backroads surrounded by the woods to keep your pursuers off your trail. Looking in your rearview mirror, you found no lights that said otherwise, and yet why did it feel as though you were still being chased?

You didn’t want to turn off the road but when you felt the break of wind again, you heard the hissing of one of your tires. As quickly as you could you turned back to the main road, finally coming to a stop when you made it to the shopping square.

Getting up from the toppled motorbike to inspect the flat tire expecting to find some small puncture. Instead, you dug through the larger hole to pull out an arrowhead. Immediately you stood up, frantically looking around until you witnessed a flaming arrow landing on your fallen bike.

Backing away from the growing inferno you could finally see the faint outline of a shadowy pursuer. In the darkness of the night, they reeled their arm back and released after another arrow seemed to fly by you. Without another thought, you took off ducking under closed stalls and parked cars as you made your way to the only place you could think of where you could hijack a motorbike.

“Sorry, Trey!”

You quite easily rigged his motorcycle to run after locking the door of the bakery’s private parking lot. As the banging against the door intensified, it had you working fast and you couldn’t help but thank Deuce for his bad egg era. Mounting the motorcycle you waited until your assailant broke down the door, before firing away through the door and over the guy.

You didn’t bother looking for the identity of the masked individual or if they were getting up again. Continuing on your route you flashed a look at the radio clock on the motorcycle, speeding as much as you can. It was a small window but you could make it!

______________________________________________________

With minutes to spare you, crashed the motorcycle into the cobblestone of the estate’s entryway climbing your porch and quickly unlocking the door to your home. Stumbling in, you hardly noticed your disintegrating garments returning you to your comfy attire. Bent over and heaving on your knees you took a minute to compose yourself.

“...Congratulations (Y/n). Saving your step-father and returning all in one night is no easy feat.”

“Good job, (Y/n) we knew you could do it!”

Light-headed and heart still beating erratically you gave a lopsided smile to them both, puffing your chest and putting your hands on the backside of your hips.

“All…in…a day’s work. Whoo.”

Suddenly feeling a wave of tiredness come over you, letting your eyes droop and your shoulders sag. Looking down in a startling realization you could feel the light quake of your legs whether from fear or exhaustion from holding you up; you decided on one thing.

“I’m really tired.”

Vil gave a knowing smile as he stepped toward you, putting a warm hand on the middle of your back he let you lean into his touch. Holding you against himself, he let his arm curl around holding you close as he guided you up the stairs and to your room. It didn’t matter to you then that there was no hesitation before opening your door.

Laying you delicately into the mattress, his face brushing against yours raised no alarm only vaguely tickling your nerves as you welcomed the plush of your pillow. Vil was speaking to you, something important indeed but your body didn’t care. Already filling your vision with splotches of black and your eyelids filling the space; you melted into the warmth of your bed.

“--When that time comes all of you is mine.”

_____________________________________________

Waking to the muffled angry cries and pawing of a frustrated cat, was a jarring start to your morning. It didn’t help that your body ached and throbbed with the unprepared tension of the night before. With great struggle you raised your lead-heavy limbs from the bed, dragging your feet as you dressed quickly. Just a brush of your teeth, a wash to the face, and putting on your robe—far too tired to change out of your comfy clothes. When you opened your door the cat sped past your slippers; hissing at the state before rubbing himself all over the surface.

“Why are you so miffed it's not like I…had anyone over.”

When you woke you were too caught up with the pain to recall the madness of the night before. Fairy helpers. Magic clothes and a motorcycle. Antidotes to poison. Escaping royalty. A hunter with arrows. It was a timeline of an action movie all of which you didn’t have time to register before now.

“Oh gosh, Trey’s bike!”

Forgoing feeding the cat you ran down the stairs and out the door, dreading that’d you’d find the wreckage you vaguely remember. To your horror the motorbike was twisted in an odd angle, scrapes all over its details, and a concerning amount of arrows lodged into the tires.

“Trey I am so sorry.”

Already preparing for the shifts at the bakery you’d be willing to pick up or any outlandish favor he could come up with in exchange. Letting out a defeated sigh you waved a dismissive hand before heading back inside. Looking for anything out of place you took your time scanning the living room trying to spot a stray footprint or glitter coming up short.

“Hey!” You looked to the stairwell seeing an angry Ace, trailed by Deuce stomping his way down the steps.

“What d’ya think you were doing?! Trashing my room like you did and then showing up to the ball you not to go to!?”

“I didn’t trash your room. And it was an absolute emergency.”

“Well, couldn’t you have an emergency quietly?! You literally wore the craziest outfit—”

“I thought y-you looked really nice.”

“Thanks, Deuce.”

“And got the prince’s attention! The exact person we were trying to avoid!”

“I told you: it was an emergency!” “Oh yeah?! And was getting Deuce beat up worth it?”

“Sorry but yeah. And what about you Casanova you got to dance with the prince?”

“Shut. It.”

Ace continued to complain but you stopped listening looking around for the one this was all for. Pushing past those two to open the doors of Trein’s study. For a moment there was fear, that the poison was not cured or that the antidote was the opposite of what you’d hoped. That you’re dearest stepfather would not be standing there. That he’d be in the coroner’s office having his case dismissed on the Royal family’s behalf.

But he was there. Standing healthy and firm as he looked at something small nearly invisible. Having heard you come in he squashes it between his fingers turning to you with fondness.

“Judging by the bike outside you had quite the night.”

You chuckled, “I did? I don’t know about that, I wasn’t the one whose life was on the line.”

Mozus gave a look of disbelief before accepting a hug from you. You were happy the night had gone the way it did if it meant saving your dearest dad. Neither of you pulled away as Ace barged in pointing his finger as he was still attempting to berate you. Stopping when he saw neither of you pulls away.

“What is this? A fluffy party? Don’t think just cause you're hugging him doesn’t mean I’m going to get all fuzzy with you!?”

“Don’t get all pissy just because I’m getting hugs!”

“I’m not–” “Did you say hugs? I want in.”

Trein opened the hug, extending a hand to Deuce. Who eagerly pushes past his brother to accept the invitation.

“You may join us, just watch your strength. It would be problematic if you injured (Y/n).”

“Right!”

“He doesn’t want to say it but he’s scared you’ll break his broken back even more.”

“(Y/n).”

“I promise to be gentle pops!”

“I’m not made of glass.”

“...”

“Ace…”

“...Whatever. I’m only coming over because you sad saps won’t stop looking at me like that.”

In a suffocating heap, you hugged your family; relishing in the asynchronous beating of their hearts. It was comforting–their obvious signs of warmth even as they all departed on the pretext of it being too hot, brought a smile to your face.

You did it. They were safe.

The startling knocking on the door broke the moment causing all of you to snap your heads toward the source. With a pensive sigh and shake of your head, you went for the door giving a guilty face to their curious looks.

“No doubt probably Trey who's about to hound me for his bike.”

So sure you swung the door open fully expecting to see an angry green-haired baker. Only to be overcome with dread as you recognized the royal colors decorating the uniforms of the prince and his entourage.

“You’ll have to excuse us (Y/n) (L/n). We have some business with you.”

In no time at all the prince had lazily sprawled himself on an armchair and his guards on the couch, leaving Mozus to take the only other chair in the room. After closing the door on the growing crowd of onlookers you stood dutifully next to Ace and Deuce who stood on both sides of the armchair. Mozus spoke with a pensive bow.

“Your Highness it's an honor. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

The prince was still leaning comfortably in the chair, resting his boots on the coffee table in between. The scrawnier attendant spoke, who you vaguely recalled somehow attempting to stop you.

“His Highness is more than captivated by the daisy, who left the celebration all too soon.”

Their hungry eyes were all on you to which you fumbled your rebuttal.

“A-are you by chance talking about Ace?”

Deuce caught your wandering gaze, shaping his lips into an ‘o’ before joining you.

“Oh yes, I-i saw that His Highness shared a lovely dance with our precious Ace. Did you perhaps fall head over heels in love with him?”

You held in a snicker and so did the slim attendant, doing a terrible job silencing his amusement behind his hands. The prince seemed to growl as he sent a glare in Deuce’s direction who immediately shrunk back in some sort of reprimand. As if intending to break the tension the burly attendant spoke, who you now recalled was the one Deuce tackled for your sake.

“Who we are referring to is (Y/n) (L/n) and as you’ve deduced His Highness is formally asking for your hand.”

A strong silence fell over your family. A collective horror gripping your hearts.

“What if…I planned to refuse?”

Deuce and Ace released a gasp and Mozus turned to look at you, heart aching at the sweat that beaded your brow. The attendants sent a look toward one another before looking to the Prince who sat unbothered, before laughing out loud. It was a scornful laugh. A laugh that made your cheeks burn with stupidity. As if what you had proposed was so outlandish that you might as well paint your face, wear bells on your head, and become a jester.

His laughing stopped as he brought his feet off the table; placing his elbows on his knees and carding his fingers to rest along his chin. Emerald eyes narrowed and challenging he spoke with a rumbling authority.

“Do you think it's a good idea to refuse me? I know you’re not stupid (Y/n). Would you rather be married without any family, prospects, or a clean record? Or would you rather come happily into the royal family without our behest?”

“But you're still threatening me–”

“And? I’m being nice with all the running you’ve been doing from me. I love a good chase but I’m about tired of pushing past these obstacles. And I’m about to knock them down. Permanently.”

The message was clear.

Your family’s protective streak for you was being tested. And so was your own will. More than anything you would have loved to hide behind your father and brothers. But that would be folly against someone who truly had no problem getting rid of your family. It wouldn’t do much to refuse…even if it killed you to lose your freedom to this.

Mozus stood up, angrily gripping the armrests of his chair as he dangerously turned red. Ace and Deuce mirrored his actions more than ready to be thrown into action. So were the attendants who seemed to be waiting for the chance to spring into action.

You have to diffuse this.

You need time to think.

“Dad… it's okay…please.”

With a hand on his shoulder, you guided him back into his seat before turning to the smirking prince.

“I…will…need a minute.”

You didn’t wait for him to answer dashing past Deuce and Ace as you ran into the nearby room: the study. Having half a mind not to cry you began to pace. What could you do? What could be done? The cards have been set and you had the losing hand. All you could do was to give in. And after all, you’d gone through? For the hero you were before, it would all mean nothing.

Even with the force of magic that you’re family had, you couldn’t expect novices and one senior to protect against an army. No. If it was magic you’d need something stronger. Something that has proven to give results. To be a definite victory for you and your family. Kind of like…your fairy helpers.

“I had a feeling you’d need me.”

You turned to see Vil in all his radiant, glittery glory smiling as pridefully as he did before. You ran up to him with a conviction and helpless plea, fully prepared to beg on your knees if you had to.

“Vil…the prince he– he said if I didn’t marry him willingly he’d hurt them–but I really don’t want to sign my life away to that horrible brainless—Do you have anything that can help me?! Or just some way where I can guarantee that my family will be safe?”

A warm hand rubbed against your back and the smell of cedar filled your nose. It reminded you of that one fellow…

“Ohhh~ pauvre biche, Vil we must offer our help!”

There was something about the way he said it. The sing-songy tone that was typical for him had a hint of mocking nature. But surely that was out of understanding perhaps it was something of a minor problem for fairies such as them or that it was all an act in the first place.

“Yeah, Vil, (Y/n)’s our friend we’ve got to help them.”

Epel was on your other side letting his shoulder touch yours in a form of support as he looked to Vil. Seemingly convinced Vil pulls a vile from his pocket. The solution glows a sparkling purple that flashes gradients of green. It was alluring to simply glance at.

“Alright then (Y/n) I have a proposal for you: you drink this and your family will be safe from any others who may wish to harm them,” You opened your mouth to agree, stopping when a gloved finger pushes against your lips.

Vil continues, “But you must agree to accept the journey that comes with it. “

Your eyebrow rose with a question on your tongue only to be stopped by more fingers on your lips.

“I can’t elaborate on that further. All I can say is that we’d be with you the whole way and no one. No one will ever threaten you again.”

It was your choice.

“To concede or thrive? Mon filou, what will you choose?”

“You’ll make the right choice (Y/n)~! I’m sure of it.”

You held your gaze on the swirling solution in the vile.

It was up to you.

742 notes · View notes

dark-night-hero · 5 months ago

Text

Sealed deal (Rowan Theodore)

⤷ One day when your parents came up to you and told you that you would soon have a fiance, you already had a certain person in mind. So why the fuck is this guy in here?

You: Dude, guess what.

Theo: What?

You: Mom and dad told me I have a fiance. Ngl, I knew this day would come but come on now. I'm not even 18, I have yet to fuck someone I like. Why should I get tied up to someone I probably don't even know let alone like.

You: Lucky you, your mom and dad doesn't force you to get engaged to some spoiled brat here and there.

Theo: Pity.

You: I know right? I knew I could count on you.

Theo: Pity the person about to become your fiance.

You: You know what, fuck you. U ain't invited to my wedding.

Seen.

Looking at the text messages between you and your childhood friend a couple of days ago. You cannot help but to frown and throw you head back in frustration fingers reaching out to losen your tie as you felt suffocated. What a fucking bastard, you thought. Currently on your way into the fancy restaurant that you are meet your fiance. And there was already someone in mind in that matter. The child of your mother's friend, someone who was in the same circle as you and Theodore. What was the name again? Matil.. Sanda.. you forgot.

You groan, wishing everything was just a dream. Honestly you cannot believe your parents who dragged you in here out of your own will. Making you wear these uncomfortable clothing just make up a good impression. What was the rush? You were only seventeen, it is not like you would run out of fiance once you turn old. And even if you did run out of fiance, that would be an even more pleasure for you who can live your life the way you want, out of romance and just by yourself. You cannot even take care of yourself properly, what more would you treat your fiance?

"We're here young- wait! Where are you going?! The madam and master was already inside-?!" Startled, your chauffeur shouted after you once you make a run for it. Running away from the restaurant and was about to call for a taxi when you felt your getting lift up by your collar. "What are you doing?" "Theo!" Your eyes sparkled upon meeting with a pair of green ones. "I knew you wouldn't abandon me! Quick, get me out of here!" You beam at him only to be faced by harsh reality once he started dragging you inside the restaurant and you upon realizing what he was doing. "Traitor! Let go of me!"

"Oh my! Just in time you two, Theo, my dear. What took you two so long? We were about to get worried you two might not make it in time." ??? "Come on you two, sit. Sit here, we were just talking about the time and date of your engagement party as well as the families to be invited..." What the hell is happening? You are so fucking cofunsed as you sat down on your seat across his. You were pretty sure you were to be engaged to someone else, not him. Not him. You were to sure because you heard your parents talking. There is no way in hell he was your fiance. But there he is, right in front of you. You are so fucking confused and taken a back. At the same time, you felt a huge amount of relief.

Looking at the man right across you, his fluffy brown hair stays in place despite his movement. The way he cuts his steak gracefully and elegantly. Then your (eye color) iris met with a pair of green ones. 'Eat' he mouthed you causing you to pick up your utensils with trembling hands. Nevertheless, you woukd never forget the way your heart beats widely on your chest as he reminds you to keep your smile after that. This guy... was not so bad after all. "So what do you think you two?" "I'm fine with it if (First name) is." Suddenly all attention turn towards you and with no hint of urgency. "I like it, let's proceed with that. Mom, dad, aunt, uncle." You smiled.

"Gahhh! That drained me. I thought I was about to throw up." "Dramatic." He roll his eyes at you before slamming the car door behind him. The two of you where right in front of a city view on a hill side. The one the two of you would often go, all kudos to Theo having a drivers licence. "No, because you didn't even told me you were the one I was supposed to be engaged to. I was genuinely about to run away." That earn a flick on the forehead from him. "I was only told this morning, I knew nothing about this. Who would have ever thought I was the pitiful bastard I was talking about?" He spoke but you swear you saw him smirk for a moment.

"So? What's the plan now smartass?" You asked as silence passed by. Just the two of you looking at the stars. "Plan? Why do we need a plan? Rather than that. What are your thoughts about this?" He asked, looking at you for a moment before bring his attention back into the view. Onec again there was a moment of silence. "My thoughts? Well I must admit I was relieved that it was you." "Really?" "Yeah. It makes things much easier. It's not like we actually wanted to get married to each other so let's cancel the engagement once we reach 25!" Maybe it was because you were too focused on the stars, but you missed the way his green eyes had such dangerous gaze on them when you said those words. "Why?" "Why? Whats you mean why? No offence but I do not want to get married. I could not even take care of myself. Besides, you are not really my type." You roll your eyes at him. "Perhaps if you have a black hair, things would have been different." You whispered.

"So? What do you think? Let's break off the engagement once were 25, in the mean time, no one is allowed to have another in those years. I doubt our parents would let that be. We could also go on occasional dates, well we do hangout regularly, let's just treat that as a date. That would be enough to fool our parents for a decades." "And if you fall for me?" "Huh?" You scoff at him and laugh. "Then I guess I might end up marrying you. But I doubt that." You roll your eyes at him. "And that matter about you wanting to fuck someone else?" "What?! Why would you bring that up now?!"

And so you decided to tease him. "Oh well whatever, that should be none of our business. I already fucked with them yesterday-" "Who?" "Huh?" Why does he look so damn scary right now? "Who is it that you fucked with?" "Who- the who- you look like you're about to kill someone! Why should I tell you?!" Seriously what is up with this guy who cannot even take a joke? "Mon chère, answer while I'm asking nicely hmm?" Mon chère? Argh whatever! He started talking insane again! "You! I'm just kidding! I'm kidding! Why do you kept taking things seriously?!"

"You should have said that earlier!" He suddenly laugh and messed with your hair causing you to protest. At the same time in that swift moment, he mouthed the man watching from afar 'cancel mission' in which they quickly disappeared as if they were never there. "Whatever. So enough nonsense- do we have a deal?" You spoke, holding up your pinky finger. "Whatever you say (First name)." He roll his eyes nevertheless linked his pinky with you before quickly letting it go. "Hey! Take this seriously will you!" "Yeah yeah whatever."

: badly want to make this rowan x m.reader but sure, let's get this gn as possible lmao.

#dark night hero #oc imagines #oc x reader #rowan theodore #x reader #reader insert #oc x you #mafia x reader

146 notes · View notes

stervrucht · 4 months ago

Text

Proximity - Part 8

● Part 1 ● Previous ● Next ● AO3 ●

cw: sexual content

“They think I’m doing drugs.”

Steve's voice sounds soft and distorted by the electric sound of the telephone.

It’s late at night. Eddie should be sleeping already if he wants to get anywhere near the recommended hours of sleep. Tomorrow is another early morning; a day filled with heavy lifting. Only Steve can’t call unless his parents are asleep and he hasn’t been over in a few days because his dad wants him home for the nights.

Now Eddie knows why.

“Drugs?” Eddie echoes.

“My neighbor, Mrs. Sanders, saw you at the house a couple of times. Guess she told my parents about some weird dude’s nightly visits.”

Eddie tightens his grip on the phone. It bothers him—bothers him a lot—but he doesn’t want to let Steve know. It’s one of the few moments they have during the week and he won’t let the words poison him. Instead, he does his best to make his voice sound light.

“You picking a fight, Harrington?” Eddie quips. On the other side of the line, Steve chuckles and Eddie feels the tension melt away.

“Depends.”

“Depends?”

“On what I get when I inevitably win.”

Eddie is grinning into the phone. Grinning so broadly it hurts his cheeks. He thinks that maybe he kinda loves Steve. Just a little.

“You are very confident for a guy who is known to lose fights.”

On the other side, he hears Steve let out a soft gasp. “That little traitor.”

Eddie laughs. “Trust me, Dustin sings your praises like a fucking bard.”

“He better or it will be back to biking for him.”

For a moment it’s quiet on the other line and Eddie had almost forgotten why Steve called him in the first place.

“So I guess there’s no more sleepovers, huh?”

“Eh, depends. I’ve gotten pretty good at sneaking out over the years.”

“Just gotta make sure we get you back in time, right, Cinderella?”

“Or I let down my long, long hair and sneak you in.”

Well, that just sounds like music to his ears. The thought of breaking the rules with Steve sends a pleasant shiver down his spine.

“Surprisingly fitting for someone known as ‘the hair’.”

Steve laughs and even through the phone’s distortion, the sounds fills him with delight.

“You should get some rest. Don’t want you in zombie-mode tomorrow,” Steve says, then follows up in a far more gentle tone, “Good night, Eddie.”

“Rest well, princess .” Eddie hears Steve snort and then the beep on the other line indicates Steve has hung up. Eddie places the phone back in its socket on the wall and looks around the trailer.

Tomorrow he’ll be tired as shit, but hearing Steve’s voice was worth it. He walks back to his room, still smiling to himself as he lets himself fall back on his bed. The objects on Steve’s shelf sit unmoved and Eddie sighs as he moves to turn the lights off.

Just as things were looking up, Steve’s dad had to come in and ruin it.

Eddie’s bed isn’t particularly large, but all by himself it feels bigger than ever. He rolls over to his chest and pulls his pillow close.

When he buries his face in it, it still smells like Steve.

It’s Friday, nearly 11 PM when Eddie drives up to Family Video. It’s raining and the puddles outside shine red with the reflected neon light of the store sign. His guitar lies in its case in the back—coming back from another rehearsal—and he’s a little high on the excitement of the night; a little drunk on Gareth’s unyielding optimism.

The electric shrieking of a guitar dies down from his radio as Eddie kills the engine, and suddenly the van is cast into silence. When he jumps out of the van, his boots land heavily into a puddle and he feels water soak his socks.

Gross.

Eddie pushes his way through the doors and is greeted by the familiar jingle. Robin looks up from behind the counter while she’s helping a customer. It’s one of the few people still lingering in the store this close to closing time.

She gives him a little nod and Eddie makes his way into the store. He mulls about, browsing some of the new arrivals while he waits for Robin to finish up. Once the customer has left, he wanders over to the counter and throws himself on top of it with outstretched arms.

“Robin,” he wines. “Why do they make you work on movie night.”

Robin opens the register and pulls the drawer out. The jingle of coins hitting plastic sounds loud amidst the quiet of the empty store.

“Technically, every night here is movie night,” Robin says.

Eddie groans in response. “You know what I mean.”

“I take it you’re here for your boyfriend?”

Eddie cringes.

“He’s not my—” the words die on Eddie’s tongue, killed by Robin’s piercing stare, “Just…don’t say that to his face…lest you wish the king’s wrath befalls you,” he finishes dramatically.

“I think the king,” Robin pauses and looks towards the backroom, “Could use some exposure therapy.”

She clicks her tongue, eying the store entrance. “Will you get the sign? I’ll go get him for you.”

Eddie turns towards the door and flips the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’. Behind him, he hears a ruckus stirring until Steve’s voice transitions from muffled complaints to perfectly clear objections.

Eddie turns around just in time to see the door close behind Steve’s back.

“For fuck’s sake, Rob, I was working on that.” Steve sighs before looking up and when his eyes meet Eddie’s a shy smile appears on his face.

“Hey, stranger.” Eddie smiles at him.

The last few days have been hard. He didn’t know it was possible to miss someone so quickly—to have the feeling be so immediate. And yet, he finds Steve’s absence in every corner of his house — the untouched shelf, the extra toothbrush in his bathroom.

The single mug of coffee he makes in the mornings these days.

Eddie hadn’t realized how gradually their lives had intertwined over the past few months. It happened so seamlessly that Steve’s presence had become the default and his absence a deviation.

Steve smiles back but doesn’t say anything. Instead, Eddie watches as Steve disappears behind the counter, only to pop back up with an arm full of VHS cases.

“Here,” he says as he shoves a pile in Eddie’s direction, “Help me put them away.”

Eddie takes it, almost drops it in the process, and stares at Steve. “I have a feeling you’re abusing your powers here.”

“I know nothing of these powers you speak of.” Steve shoots him a cheeky smile and walks to one of the shelves.

They stock the shelves in silence and Eddie thinks it may be the highlight of his day, as stupid as that sounds.

He is working for free after all.

Behind him, Eddie hears Steve’s soft breathing over the hum of TL light, backed by the quiet patter of rain against glass, and the sound of plastic cases being put back into place. Squatted between the shelves they’re hidden from the street and Eddie thinks he might risk it, with the store being closed and Robin tallying the register in the back. His heart is beating fast with anticipation, and it feels forbidden, part of it, because this isn’t the privacy of their homes.

Eddie lets himself fall back onto the floor, making a soft thud as he shoves himself into the shelf, beside Steve. He’s close enough that his thigh is touching the rubber of Steve’s sole.

Eddie leans his head back against the shelf as he watches Steve work. “You’re doing that wrong.” Steve looks over and gives Eddie a questioning look. And that’s when Eddie moves. He tugs Steve gently by the back of his neck, pulling him closer until he can kiss him. Pulls until he feels Steve transition from rigid surprise into soft acceptance as his lips move in response.

It’s gentle and unhurried, and in this moment Eddie thinks Steve may love him too.

“Oh my god.”

Eddie pulls away as if burned, only to see Robin towering over them at the side of the shelves. Steve’s cheeks are flushed as he focuses on restocking once again, pretending that nothing happened.

She smiles, a little bit too happy—a little bit too cheeky. “Hurry up, yeah? I want to go home.” And then, before she turns around to leave. “I’m watching you, Munson.”

Eddie can feel the glee radiate off her and when he catches her gaze from behind the counter.

She looks almost proud.

It feels like the stuff of movies, Eddie thinks as he stands beneath Steve’s window.

Eddie parked his van a couple of streets away, just outside the fancy part of the neighborhood to avoid having the cops called on him. It took him a good five minutes to reach the Harrington Residence by foot, but when he got there, Steve’s window was open, just as they discussed on the phone.

It’s late. The light of day is only an indigo echo against the blackness of the night sky. Steve worked late and Eddie started early. And that seems to be the way things are these days.

He hates how their schedules conflict now. It makes him ache for the days when free time seemed abundant; when he could hang out at Family Video during the day while Robin and Steve worked.

The urge to run away is increasingly hard to suppress and he wonders what Steve would say. If he’d join him in his madness.

Eddie looks at the gentle pouring of light from Steve’s room.

It feels kinda thrilling — a little dumb too — to be sneaking into someone’s room at twenty-one. On the bright side, that’s one high school cliché he can cross off the list, even if it’s a little late.

Eddie grabs the drainpipe and gives it an experimental shake. It seems sturdy enough. And it’s one thing that Eddie is actually good at—climbing.

He may not be the best at basketball, but he can run just fine and he can climb, and roll, and jump. Back in high school, whenever he was dealing at the occasional house party, he had his fair share of close calls when running from the cops. Some of which definitely included a little climbing every now and then.

Eddie hoists himself up on the drainpipe and is pleasantly surprised by the ease with which he does so. Seems like construction work, despite being generally horrible, has some perks after all. It doesn’t hurt that Steve seems to like the added definition Eddie has gained.

Once he pulls himself onto the roof, he can walk the last part to Steve’s window. He takes care, walking slowly and placing his feet thoughtfully so as not to create a sound. He cringes when he hears the room creak under his boot, waits a second to gauge a reaction, and when none comes, continues.

When he reaches the window he finds Steve lounging on his bed, messing around with a sketchbook in his lap. He’s wearing sweatpants and a simple T-shirt and seems deeply focused as he draws illuminated in the warm hue of a lamp on his desk.

Eddie stares a moment, watching the tranquility on Steve’s face, and feels a fondness settle in his heart.

“I’m kinda missing that hair you promised,” Eddie says as he rests his head on crossed arms on the window sill. Steve jumps up, visibly surprised, and quickly makes his way over to the window.

“Tone down on the volume. My parents are at the end of the hall,” Steve whispers as he shoves the window open a little further.

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie slips his legs through and quietly — as quietly as he can manage — lands with his heavy boots on the carpeted floor of Steve’s room.

Steve cringes at the sound and looks towards his bedroom door. Eddie follows his gaze.

“I don’t suppose you can lock that?”

“My parents don’t believe in privacy. It comes with some trauma, believe me.”

Eddie raises an amused eyebrow. “Daddy caught you choking the chicken, slapping the ol’ salami, stroking the one-eyed sn—”

Steve slaps a hand over Eddie’s mouth, his eyes wide. “Oh my god, will you stop it,” he hisses.

Eddie just laughs and licks a wet stripe over the inside of Steve’s hand. Steve pulls his hand away, grimacing.

“Dude.” Steve rubs his hand on his sweatpants. “But no, it was my mom. More than once, unfortunately. I’m pretty sure she’s equally traumatized.”

“But not enough to get you a lock.”

“Apparently not.”

Eddie feels something brewing in his gut. An irrepressible need for some mischief; to tease Steve a little.

“It’s kinda exciting too right? The possibility of being caught?” Eddie takes a step towards Steve, walking him back until the back of his calves hits the bed.

Steve’s eyes widen slightly, a flush creeping up his neck. “Really? That’s your takeaway?”

“What? Like this isn’t a booty call?” Eddie pushes Steve back until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, then moves the straddle him, placing himself heavy on Steve’s thighs. His hand finds the curve of Steve’s neck, thumbing at his jawbone and ghosting his lips there.

Steve rests his hands on Eddie’s hips, fingers playing absent-mindedly with the hem of his shirt. He looks back to the door again, brows furrowed as he seems to think.

“We have to be quiet,” he whispers finally, turning his head back to Eddie. His lips are so close that Eddie can almost taste the words; feels them prickle on his skin with heat and intention.

“Then you better be quiet.” Steve opens his mouth to protest, but it’s reduced to a quiet groan as Eddie softly moves his lips over Steve’s.

He pulls back abruptly and Steve whines in response. “Hold on, I got you something.”

Steve eyes him curiously while Eddie digs through his pocket. When he feels his fingers hit soft plastic, he wraps his hand around it and pulls it out. He holds it out in front of Steve’s face and smiles broadly.

“A joint?” Steve looks at the baggy with a frown.

“I can’t stand having you falsely accused.”

“And your solution is to have me rightly accused?”

“Exactly!”

Steve slaps a hand over Eddie’s mouth, making a shushing sound. This time, Eddie pulls it away gently and holds the hand, intertwining their fingers. He leans in, speaking his words against Steve’s lips.

“What do you say?”

“I say,” Steve breathes, “You’re every bit the bad influence Mrs. Sanders thinks you are.”

Eddie leans forward, briefly capturing Steve’s lip before pulling back. Steve chases them and Eddie feels a flutter in his chest at the movement. “Let’s get on the roof. This stuff kinda reeks.”

Eddie steps away from Steve, pulling him up to his feet by their intertwined hands, and guides him to the window. Eddie climbs through first, followed by Steve whose exit is smooth and quick, painted by experience, and Eddie wonders how often Steve has sneaked out and why. It’s probably girls, and it stirs something ugly in his gut.

Jealousy , he thinks.

Eddie isn’t stupid, he’s heard the rumors. He knows Steve has been around and it makes him a little insecure. He doesn’t mind it, not really. He’s hardly set on that purity bullshit. It’s just that Eddie hasn’t had much experience.

Eddie sits down on the roof and waits for Steve to join him. He puts the joint between his lips and strikes his zippo — one, two, three times — to light it. He takes a few short drags to let it truly catch and when it does finally inhales fully before handing the joint to Steve.

The scent drifts around them, up into the cloudless sky. Before them the pool glows blue and the trees outside the garden are little more than black smudges against the midnight sky.

“It’s been some time since I’ve done this,” Steve says as he shifts a little closer to Eddie’s side. They’re as close as they can get, side to side, and Eddie slides his arm behind Steve to try and keep him a little warmer in the night’s chill.

Steve takes a tentative pull, and breathes it in, not too deep, before releasing the smoke from his lips with his head tilted towards the sky.

They sit in silence and smoke until the joint is halfway gone. Eddie stubs it, saves it for later, as he leans back as well. It’s a clear night and stars dot the sky more brightly than he’s ever appreciated in Hawkins.

“When did you know you liked me?” Steve asks from his side. His voice sounds a little slow.

“Bold of you to assume I do.” Eddie stares straight ahead, keeping his face as neutral as he can manage.

“Oh, shut up.”

Steve playfully slaps at his arm and Eddie breaks, a grin growing on his face. “Fine, guess I will—shut up that is.”

“No, tell me,” Steve whines.

And Eddie feels like he can’t refuse Steve anything. He’d probably set the world on fire for this guy if only to keep him warm.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, “It was probably somewhere after you started dating that girl.”

Eddie doesn’t know why but he feels himself grow nervous. His hands are itching for something to do and he briefly considers lighting the joint again. It’s too soon. Instead, he twists at his rings — the skull one on his ring finger — with his thumb as he waits for Steve’s response.

“What? Jennifer?” Steve frowns.

“Right. That’s the one.”

For a moment, Steve is silent. Eddie can hear his lips move as if he’s silently speaking to himself, and then he does.

“Can I tell you something? Promise not to laugh.”

“Cross my heart.” Eddie lays a hand over his chest.

“I think I only started dating her because I was confused.”

Steve’s voice sounds fragile and from the corner of his eyes, Eddie can see Steve looking at him—gauging his reaction. But that can’t be right, because Steve always seems so confident. So unapologetically affectionate and intimate that it makes Eddie’s head spin. Now Steve looks vulnerable.

“Confused?” Eddie echoes.

Steve is playing with the hem of his shirt. Folding it over and back again between his fingers.

“About my feelings….for you.” Steve looks away. He’s blushing. Eddie is making him blush .

It’s the first time it really hits him, that maybe he affects Steve just as much as Steve does him. That maybe all that time he anguished over Steve’s confusing behavior, Steve actually was confused himself.

That maybe there was little to rationalize.

“Pray the gay away, huh?” Eddie feels the words slip his mouth, and they feel more mean than he intended them to.

“I’m not—” Steve cuts himself off, “Anyway, yeah, that’s why it didn’t work out. She caught on pretty quickly that something wasn’t right.”

It stings because he knows what Steve was going to say. And perhaps he just needs more time, who can say? Eddie tries not to show the hurt on his face. Instead, he focuses on whatever Steve is willing to give him. And it’s a lot, isn’t it? More than he ever expected. More than he dared to dream.

“You tried to get her back anyway?”

“I don’t know. I was a mess. I just wanted to get out; wanted you there with me I guess.” Steve still isn’t looking at him; still fidgeting with his shirt.

“You know, that night I thought you were going to kiss me.” Eddie lets out a nervous chuckle.

Steve is silent for a moment.

“I thought so too,” he admits. It surprises Eddie—Steve’s frankness. Back then, he figured he had gotten it all wrong. That it only looked that way. Never did he dream it might actually be—

“You’re a confusing guy, you know that?” he tells Steve.

“Like you aren’t.” Steve sends him a little smile to soften his words and Eddie can’t help but smile back.

They really are a bunch of idiots.

“Look, since we’re on the honesty train here, I’ll tell you something too.” Eddie starts. He fidgets with his ring, fixing his gaze back on the pool. He imagines its depths and from up here on the roof, it looks nearly bottomless — a blue void, or a portal to another realm.

“In the beginning, I was just— fucking around with you I guess? Testing your limits, pushing your buttons. Trying to get a rise out of the great King Steve. You were a total buzz kill by the way.”

Steve frowns. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is,” Eddie turns to face Steve—really face him as he shifts his arm from behind Steve, moving it lower to steady himself. Steve looks back, brown eyes searching his face. “I was getting close to you, like, physically close, only to push you away. But you, Mr. Harrington, are impossible to spook. And at some point, I began to like it. The way you would stand so close to me; touch me so casually. I guess I’ve never really had that. Never allowed anyone to. You totally broke me.”

“In a good way?” Steve eyes him questioningly, his gaze a little troubled.

“Definitely a good way. Like a piñata. Cracked me open and I’m full of candy.” Eddie lets himself fall back on the roof with spread arms behind his head.

“You are so weird,” Steve chuckles, then continues, “I bet you taste like candy too.”

Steve leans over then, capturing Eddie’s lips without hesitation. A small, more sensible part of his brain tells him that it’s kinda fucking dangerous to get frisky on a roof, even if it isn’t that sloped. But Steve’s tongue is like a dagger and Eddie’s sensibilities susceptible to piercing damage.

He allows himself to be pushed back; to have Steve press his weight into Eddie while he works his mouth. Steve cradles his jaw and wills his lips to part. Steve’s tongue slides hot against his own and Eddie lets out a small desperate sound as Steve’s other hand makes its way down until he finds the hem of his shirt. He moves over his skin, fingers leaving behind a trail of electricity as they feel and explore.

It’s overwhelming, maybe more so than before.

Eddie digs his hands in the back of Steve’s shirt, pulling the fabric taut until there is no more give. He aches for Steve, aches for his touch—everywhere.

Steve breaks the kiss, moving his lips down until they find the crook of Eddie’s neck, and kisses him there. Sucks and bites in a way that gives him goosebumps all over.

“Do you think Mrs. Sanders is watching?” Eddie breathes in Steve’s ear.

“So what if she is?” Steve rolls his hips and it sends a shockwave through Eddie. Makes him tingle all the way from his head to his toes.

“Then we better give her a sho—” Eddie’s words are interrupted by another roll of Steve’s hips and he feels himself gasp, fingers digging harder into Steve’s back, pulling at the fabric until Steve’s back is exposed to the world.

He needs to feel Steve. Needs to be skin to skin as he pulls at Steve’s shirt—pulls it over his head until it comes off and Steve is looking down on him. But Eddie’s clothes aren’t that easy. He swears at himself. At his stupid choice of wardrobe—shirt and jacket over jacket.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” Eddie feels slightly out of breath. Steve nods.

Eddie removes his jacket and shirt with a haste he has never known in his life. Removes his pants for good measure, just like Steve, until they’re both naked.

When Steve pushes him back on his bed, it feels familiar against his back. He is reminded of the first time he slept here, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Only now the ceiling is concealed by Steve’s hovering form. And instead of nervous awkwardness, he feels a sense of giddy anticipation when Steve’s lips find his.

He doesn’t try to think of the lockless door. Doesn’t try to, but somehow finds a renewed sense of danger and excitement in the idea.

He moves with Steve, parts his legs, and allows Steve to settle between them. To set a rhythm as he moves above him. And it feels good—so good—the slide of Steve’s dick against his own. Steve moves from his lips, down to the column of his throat, and then keeps moving, placing small kisses and sucking at the skin of Eddie’s chest without losing his rhythm.

Down—down.

Eddie’s heart is hammering in his chest with every kiss, every lick, and he doesn’t expect it when he feels a hand wrap itself around his dick.

When he moves his head to look down, he sees Steve’s mouth ghosting over his cock. The sight alone nearly tips him over and that’s all the warning he gets before Steve runs his tongue, base to lip over the length of it.

It’s so intense, so overwhelming that Eddie throws his head back into Steve’s pillow and he bite his knuckle to still the sounds begging to escape him.

Steve takes it as encouragement, taking him in as far as he can, guided by his hand, and Eddie loses all sensible thought. It’s just him and Steve and the overwhelming sensation of Steve working him, sucking him in like he’s made for it. He whispers Steve’s name like a chant. Tries to keep his voice down as he moans softly in tune with Steve’s movements. His hands grip uselessly at the bedding as he moves with it, feels his hips dying to buck under the sensation, only to be kept down by Steve’s insistent hand.

He’s good at it, so good. And it doesn’t take long for Eddie to feel that familiar heat bubble in his gut.

“Steve,” he whispers uselessly, his hand moving towards Steve’s hair, burying it there. “Steve I’m close,” he crooks out.

Steve pulls back then, lips pink and plump from the abuse. He moves his thighs underneath Eddie’s until their cocks line up and then grabs hold of them together, leaning forwards on one hand next to Eddie’s head and kisses him again.

And it’s too much—too much when Steve’s hand starts moving. When Eddie can taste himself on Steve’s tongue that licks itself into his mouth. It’s all it takes. Eddie drags his nails over Steve’s back, and Steve groans into his mouth as Eddie feels his hot release fall between them on his stomach. Pleasure is ripping through him—ripping him apart as Steve works him through it — swallowing every sob, every whimper. It doesn’t take long for Steve to get there too and he buries his sounds in Eddie’s neck as he adds to the mess on his stomach.

Steve lets himself fall next to Eddie, catching his breath for a moment before leaning over again, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, then below his eye, and finally, his lips, lingering there for a sweet moment before getting up and fetching some tissues.

Steve makes a show of cleaning him up. Does so gently and quietly, before moving back into the bed next to Eddie, one leg draped over his body as he buries his face into his pillow.

They lie there for a moment, and Eddie feels exhaustion overcome him.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers. Steve lets out a soft groan in return. Eddie turns to his side and tries again. “Steve.”

This time Steve turns his head with eyes still closed. “Hm?”

“I think I should go,” he whispers into Steve’s hair. Steve groans again, and it sounds like objection.

“Stay,” Steve whines softly. And Eddie wishes he could as he pries himself away. As much as he would love to, it wouldn’t be wise. Nothing about tonight was wise—as much as it was fun.

They shouldn’t tempt fate.

Steve remains unmoved on the bed, opening a lazy eye as he watches Eddie dress. Once Eddie is fully dressed, he leans over to Steve, placing another kiss into his hair.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says before climbing his way out of the window. Steve doesn’t respond, and Eddie smiles to himself as he softly closes it behind him.

---

● Part 1 ● Previous ● Next ● AO3 ●

#steddie #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #pov eddie munson #steddie fic #mutual pining #my fics #proximity_fic #ster writes steddie

55 notes · View notes