#I know this Bertie doesn’t look like Bertie | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

websterss · 4 months ago

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A LOVE SO TRUE — GUILDFORD DUDLEY

REQUEST: A request for Guildford Dudley x fem verity reader, in which they are married and Guildford can control his Ethian form, but she doesn’t know that he is Ethian yet. She gets sick and discovers that is pregnant but doesn’t tell him and Guildford is worried about her. Just to highlight they have married for love and they are so in love with each other. Something like this, I just can’t get enough of the series haha.

WARNING(S): angst and fluff, mentions of being nauseous, mentions of being pregnant, missed cycle, also if you have emetophobia I wouldn't suggest reading this.

WORD COUNT: 4,454

PAIRING: Guildford Dudley x Verity!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

"There, there now. Better out than in My Lady…" You coughed and then heaved as you bent over a bucket. Bertie, yours and Guildford's servant holding your hair back and rubbing your back in soothing circles. You were ill. It was the only possible explanation. You were ill perhaps with a stomach bug. Perhaps poisoned at your family feast. That could have been it, you were certain of it. You hadn't been able to keep the remnants of your meals in your stomach lately. "I shall fetch a doctor, my lady. Your state of health has not improved. It has been a week." Bertie helps you upright. Your face flushed with beads of sweat. You silently thank her for the cloth to wipe against your lips.

"N-No, no, please. No doctor. I would rather not be poked and prodded with medical equipment. I-I am fine." In your weak attempts to gently send Bertie away, you sway in your step forward. Guildford caught you effortlessly before you could meet the harsh ground. "It will pass…" You inhale deeply. Your tired state did not bring him a calm state of mind.

"My lady, you are far from fine. This is the sixth time you have been sick this week." Bertie interjects gently. Guildford moves quickly to walk you back to your bedroom, he settles and tucks you back under the covers, placing a hand on your forehead.

"Gods you're burning up. It will not simply pass, it seems to be getting worse. You are feverish, constantly vomiting, and…you're tired, my love." Guildford did not bother to hide the concern etched on his features.

"I-I'm fine, truly." You attempt to protest weakly but fail as another wave of nausea hits you. You cover your mouth just as Guildford quickly grabs a nearby bucket, placing it between you just as you retch into it. He shakes his head, discomforted by your worsened condition.

"I'm sending for Jane." He tilts his head to firmly meet your eyes. Your timid stare submits to his determined look. "I'll retrieve her myself if I need to. If you won't see a doctor then you'll see her. You love and trust Jane more than anyone else, my love. You'll see her because I cannot bear to see you suffering anymore." He lifts your head up to place a tender kiss on your temple.

"Please. Don't make a fuss over this. It is only a stomach bug surely. It will end soon..." Guildford's heart breaks a little with your protestations. He knows you're scared and trying to hide it behind a facade of stubborn nonchalance.

"You are ill. I will not sit back and watch you get worse. You are stubborn but you're not a fool, love. You know this is not just a stomach bug. You're terrified. I can see that." He cups your face gently. He lets out a sigh as he studies your sweaty, flushed face. His hand caresses the side of your cheek affectionately as he silently prays that you'll get better soon.

"Will you at least rest in bed while I fetch Jane?" He implores softly after a moment of silent contemplation. "You are over-exerting yourself. As your loving and scared husband, I command you to not leave this room." His failed attempt to sound serious falters as you meet his gaze with a raised brow. "...please."

The stubborn streak in you wished to protest, to insist you were alright, that there was no need. However, you could not. You were tired, exhausted from all the vomiting and aching, and in all honesty, your illness was beginning to scare you a little. There was no strength left in you to argue. You simply give him a small nod before collapsing against him heavily. Your head on his chest. His hands curling around your hair pressing you to him.

"It has been a week. You are in no condition to be up and about at this time. It has to be serious. If your nkt slightly better by tomorrow, I'll be fetch someone other than Jane to have a look at you. You will not protest. You will not." He pulls away and cups your face. His expression softened a bit at your pitiful appearance. Your eyes sunken in with dark circles, your hair untamed. He goes to lean in but your hand stops him in place. He huffs then settles with a kiss against your cheek, another softly laid on your neck. You sigh in contentment at his affection. "I should be back in half a day's worth." He fluffs up your pillow and tucks you underneath the cover. He places the bucket alongside the edge of the bed, within your reach to fetch with ease. "I love you..." He kisses your head.

"And I, you." You muster a faint smile but it's the fear-stricken warriness and tears that tell him enough.

He presses a palm against your cheek, gently wiping a tear that falls down your face. He retracts it without another word other than. "Take care of her, Bertie."

"She's in good care, Lord Guildford." With a swift exit, Guildford's footsteps grow distant.

Bertie bows and watches as Guildford closes the bedroom door behind him. With you now tucked in bed, and your husband's worried features no longer in sight, you drop the pretense of being fine. You turn to your side and sob into your pillow.

Bertie walks over and sits on the bed by you. A sympathetic look on her face. She gently threads her fingers through your greasy hair. "He only does it because he cares for you." She says.

"I-I know…" Your tears don't stop as you continue to weep. Bertie continues to run her fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you, all the while shushing you quietly.

Guildford had kept his word. Only half a day's worth of traveling. The night turned into day rather quickly than you remembered. Bertie tended to you as you helplessly waited for him.

You could hear the horse that you both owned neigh in the distance. It had urged you to sit up in bed. The creature signals their arrival. You had yet to see the barn yourself. Guildford and Rupert had but all dissolved any ideas of you visiting the horse. Telling you to remain in the house. To the gardens, but never the barn, ensuring there was nothing but unpleasant welcomes from the beast itself. You did shiver at that. You could imagine your shoes stepping in something disgusting.

You didn't know where the newfound energy derived from but you were glad the nausea hadn't taken over your want to see your husband, to greet your friend upon their safe return. It was a mere thought of consciousness before you scurried to dress yourself into somewhat of a decent household lady. You hadn't concerned yourself much about your rat's nest of hair. Leaving it be in its wild manner. You had just about slipped your right shoe on before Bertie entered with a tray of breakfast.

"You should be resting!"

"I'm feeling much better Bertie-" You promised as your foot was now securely settled in its place.

"Nonsense come, get those shoes off your feet deary before the master sees ya-"

"That is what I venture out to seek Bertie. Guildford and Jane have returned and since I've never been to the barn. Well, I thought it best to accomplish two wishes in one venture rather than two, so don't mind me, Bertie. I'll be back in time to help set the table for breakfast. Surely the two of them or hungry and worked themselves an appet-"

"No, no, no, my lady!" Bertie's shrill shriek halts your words and feet. She carefully places the food down and stomps over to you. "You have been vomiting your body weight consistently for the past week and you wish to see a horse?? I thought you more clever than that." She grabs the comforter and begins to remove the old ones. “My Lady, I implore you to rest." Bertie's usually meek demeanor changed to a firm tone, the tray of food forgotten in favor of fixing up the bed. Guildford had specifically told her to take care of you. "Master Guildford will be very unhappy with me if he finds you in this state outside and he– My Lady you have not bled…"

"Pardon?" You whip around to face Bertie who removed the sheets from the bed to exchange them for new ones. "Bertie?" Your eyes fall onto the clean, non tainted sheets They were still white. Surely there had to be a reasonable explanation for why they were white. It was only just last month before that you bled. So why hadn't you- you hadn’t bled last month…

You had missed a month. No. It couldn’t be. Surely.

Bertie continues exchanging the blankets, but her eyes are fixed on the sheets in her hands. She was just as shocked as you. How many days have you missed? A few more? “My Lady…?”

“I’m with…child?” Your eyes linger with unspilled tears. Your hands and arms move independently, naturally placed upon your stomach. You look down at your nonexistent bump then up to Bertie.

Her hand came to her mouth in shock, her eyes widening to look into yours. The sheets fall from her hand and land on the floor. “-By the Gods-“ She scurries over to you and pulls you into an embrace. “My Lady-“ She exclaims, trying to keep her voice down. “We must have a real doctor come immediately. We must have a physician look you over. You have missed a month, my Lady. Perhaps two. This will not go unnoticed by the Master. We must tell him of the ne-”

“N-No.” You shake your head.

Bertie pulls away from the embrace. She grabs your forearms, the grip is nothing painful but you can tell she is attempting to keep you from swaying in place. “My Lady? Why not? This is the happiest of news. A child. A product of yours and Master Guildford’s love. Why would you want to keep this from him?”

“I… I don’t know. But I’d rather it be confirmed with Lady Jane than to give him false hope.” You give into her, in hopes she’ll believe you. You aren’t entirely sure you know the reason yourself for not wanting to tell him. You two were newly wedded. Surely he’d find your situation a damper on your honeymoon. Right?

Bertie considers this for a moment. You look exhausted. Not to mention you still were unwell and had lost all color to your face.

“I-“ She shakes her head. “Very well, we can confirm with Lady Jane first, then tell Master Guildford. But I beg of you, do not work yourself into the ground, my Lady. Allow me to do all the chores that require your energy. Do not lift a single thing.”

“Alright…” You muster a faint smile and nod before you grab your robe and head out of the room.

You begin your walk to the barn. The journey is long given the property is quite sizeable, and your legs almost buckle with every step you take. The thought of pregnancy was still reeling in your head, making your steps heavier. Your stomach churns with the feeling of nausea that still hasn’t gone away, and the nerves of the conversation you were about to have made you queasier. Would Guildford be thrilled? Would he want a child early into your marriage?

Finally, the large structure of the barn comes into view. As you get closer, you can hear the neigh of the horse growing louder with every step you take. The anxiety was building with every step. You were a mix of excitement and nervousness. You were about to speak upon swinging the barn door open but the voice of Jane fills your ears.

"We cannot keep hiding this from her Guildford. She is your wife and my dearest friend. I despise the idea of her remaining in the dark about this secret. If you won't tell her then I will!"

“-You will do no such thing!” Guildford rebuts defiantly, his usually calm nature quickly dissolving. You step closer to the barn doors and listen to their conversation that clearly was not meant for your ears. You hear Guildford release a tired and weary huff. His words are a whisper but they cut through the space. “This is my concern alone. I’ll talk to her about it later-” But he is interrupted by the firm tone of Jane.

“When will that be? Years from now? When she’s well and pregnant with your child?” Jane retorts, her voice stern. “This is not just your secret, Guildford. It involves your wife. Someone who deserves to know the truth about her own husband.” You wince at her words. The nausea feeling from before had returned.

“You are no better than me in this regard!” Guildford argued back. You can hear the agitation in his voice as it rises. “I want to tell her as much as you do. But given the state I have seen her in these last few days, I worry my words will bring more harm than good!”

A pause. You press against the cold wood of the barn door. Listening to the conversation unfolding inside. The muffled voices of your husband and your closest friend fill the space. Another huff from Guildford. “I don’t want to hurt her."

“And you won’t.” You hear Jane say. Her voice was calmer than before. “She’ll understand your circumstance. Your reasons. You underestimate her love for you.”

You sink your back into the wall as their voices grow closer to the door. “I love her, Jane. I’ve always loved her.” You hear Guildford exclaim. The door pushes wide open. You see him run his hands through his hair. He’s stressed. You can hear the strain in his voice. “But if I tell her. If she finds out what I am…” Your breath hitches in your throat. “…I’m afraid she won’t forgive me.”

You are stunned and stuck in place, leaning on the wall for support. You could sense the despair and anguish in Guildford’s words. It broke your heart, knowing he was holding something so deeply inside him, unable to tell you the truth. You want to step in, to confront the two, but your legs suddenly feel weaker than ever, a wave of nausea passing over your body.

"Make your way back to the house. Y/n should still be in bed for you to examine her. Let me know of her condition when I get back!" Guildford begins to walk.

“Where are you going?” You hear Jane inquire from inside the barn.

"I need to clear my head before I am to see her."

You hadn't expected what was to come next. You hadn't expected it at all. Your feet moved on its own accord as Guildford transformed into a….a horse. Your eyes widened in shock, in fear of the unknown and what presented itself before you. No longer was your husband, now stood a brown beautiful steed. "Guildford…?"

The sight was almost incomprehensible. One moment, your husband was there, his back turned to you with his head in his hands, and the next- there stood a horse. A magnificent, tall chestnut steed whose body stood where Guildford once did. You wanted to move. To yell out. But the shock rooted you to the spot. Only your thoughts raced around your mind.

You take another step forward, trying to keep your balance and regain your breath. Your head was spinning with all the information you took in. Guildford is different. A creature. Something otherworldly who was afraid of hurting you.

Guildford, or rather, the horse, perks their head up towards you. His ears are alert and focused in your direction. You couldn't read his expression. A neigh ripples out of him as he steps closer to you. Your legs were trembling even more now, threatening to give out any second. Before you know it your knees met the ground harshly. You gasp as Jane and Guildford react quickly.

“Y/n!” Jane comes in from behind you. But you were more entranced by the yellow hue and transformation of your husband. The horse had knelt on its front legs before your husband's face was in your line of sight once again.

“I��I don’t understand.” You whisper, your hands reaching out to caress his face. He places his palms over yours keeping them steady and close. He nestles into your palms.

He tries to speak but stumbles over his words, shocked by your presence. His eyes darted over your body. You looked terrible. Your hair was in disarray, and with eyes, tired and red. Yet you were the most beautiful thing in his eyes, but you looked as if you could fall over with just a gentle nudge. One of his palms slipped and touched your stomach. You shuddered at the feeling. He then touched your face with his other palm.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his warm hand touched your cheeks. It was soft and smooth, yet calloused with years of experience and swordplay. His gaze was intense, but something in his eyes showed him to be conflicted. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, as if in confusion. He had so much to say to you but just didn’t know how to. "My love…won't you say something?”

You can't tear your eyes from him. You were supposed to be resting in bed, tending to the nausea that had plagued you. Yet here you were, in the barn, staring at your husband who had somehow transformed into a horse. You see his eyes dart across your face, studying every feature of yours. He was afraid. Terrified of your response.

You wanted to say so much. You wanted to yell at him. To hit him. To cry and ask him why he would keep such a secret to himself. But looking into his eyes, all you saw was the pain that was within their depths. All you saw was the love he had for you. "I-" You attempt to say but the nausea in your belly suddenly makes an appearance. Bile rises in the back of your throat. The familiar taste of acid burned your tongue.

You feel the contents of your stomach travel back up your throat. Guildford’s eyes widen in fear at the realization of what’s coming. He knows what's about to happen. He moves to grab you, to hold your hair out of your face but you turn your head away to the side and vomit on the ground.

Tears spill down your face as you lean back against him for support. Guildford brushes back your hair. Shushing and reassuring you that everything is all right. "I think I'm pregnant…and you're Ethian." You exhale deeply. Closing your eyes for a moment's worth of rest.

Both Guildford and Jane are stunned into silence. Neither of them knows what to say. The air is filled with a heavy density. You can feel Guildford behind you, his hands still around your face. You try to make eye contact, and he turns you back around to face him. “You’re…pregnant? With…With our child?” He asks hesitantly. The question was posed almost as if he couldn’t believe that you said it.

"You've kept your Ethianism a secret this entire time..." You muster. Your fingers trace across his bottom lip. Guildford places a kiss on your fingertips in response.

Guildford looks down in shame. “I-Yes, I did.” He looks up again, his expression pleading. “I was afraid that if you found out, you’d detest me. That you would be revolted at who I truly was.” He reaches out again, to caress your face. "My love, you just said you might be pregnant…you are with child?"

You want to cry, to scream, to laugh hysterically. But Guildford’s words ring through your ears and you can tell the desperation and worry behind them. You could also see his surprise at just how calm your demeanor currently was. The situation was so absurd. You weren't even sure how to feel right now. "Bertie…she believes so." You daze off. "My sheets were still white this morning...It appears I've missed my monthly bled." Guildford huffed in disbelief, but his expression never faltered with delight.

You feel him lean his head down to rest his forehead against yours. His breaths mix with yours making you dizzy, yet you want to relish in the moment of him being so close. He pulls you in against him, his arms wrapping around you, a kiss against your cheek displaying his love, his affection for you. He’s warm and familiar. Home. “You’re with child...” He whispers again into your hair, his voice shaky and thick with emotion.

His hands brush your hair away from your face and neck, his lips placing soft kisses against your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw. The warm breath you feel against your skin is a comfort. You can't help but feel small though, can't help the fear that stirs within you. "You're not upset over the news?"

Your question halts his kisses that were on your skin. You feel him pull away just so he can look at you. “Upset? How could I be upset? This is a gift, a blessing.” He says with disbelief lacing his words. His hands never leave your face, keeping you angled at him. You can see the tears welling at the corners of his eyes. "I am overjoyed. Overjoyed beyond belief." He replies, his voice shaky with emotion. "I love you." He declares just like he's done time and time again.

"And I, you." Tears prickle from your eyes now.

He is taken by your reaction. Guildford pulls you closer to him. You could hear the rapid beat of his heart against your ear. “I don’t deserve you.” He mumbles into your shoulder. You can tell he means it, but you scoff at the absurd statement. Pulling away slightly, looking directly at him with intense determination behind your eyes. "Are you upset with me, for not telling you I'm Ethian?"

"No. I am just sorry you couldn't find the comfort you sought out, with me, enough for you to tell me. I'm not mad you could find that comfort in telling Jane." You reassure them with a timid smile. You glance over to Jane, extending your hand out for her to grasp.

Jane looks at you dumbfounded. She expected yelling. She expected screaming, tears, and sobs. Yet you had said nothing more than a few words. You were calm. Jane grabs your outstretched hand, giving it a warm and comforting squeeze. The air is still filled with a sense of uneasiness but she offers a kind smile.

Guildford pulls away. You feel his hands leave your body and you suddenly feel very alone without them. You suddenly become afraid that he’s going to leave.

"I should have told you." He exhaled deeply, the words coming out more like a statement of fact than an apology. "I should have told you. I knew it wasn’t fair to you. But I was afraid of your reaction. Afraid of what you might think of me. Afraid of how you might look at me, knowing that deep down I was a beast." He confesses, and you feel a tug at your heart as his words ring in your ears. "I should have known better…'cause even after knowing, you aren't afraid of me. You still look at me with love. You are the most fearless, stubborn, determined, strong, beautiful woman I know.” He reaches out to hold your face in his hands once more. "You are my wife, my love. The woman carrying our child. And you don’t look at me any differently. You don’t run in fear. Yet I did. I was a fool to think you’d detest me. That the news would disgust you. But here you are as beautiful and sweet and loving as you have always been. You forgive me in a heartbeat.” He runs his thumb across your cheeks to wipe away the tears that had spilled down your face, but new ones had formed at his words.

"You are a fool." You breathe out a laugh. As you place your hands over his to keep them in place.

"Well, I for one, second it!" Ah yes, Jane was still here. You breathe out a laugh as you both turn to look at her. She raises her hand in greetings, knowing you'd forgotten about her, but she was well alright with it. She adored Guildford's love declaration for you. "Guildford you continue to surprise me with your poetic...dialect."

Guildford rolls his eyes. He was used to being teased and ridiculed by his best friend. His hands grip yours tight as he moves closer to you again. His fingers intertwine with yours. He brings your knuckles up to kiss them softly. "My love, I think it best to head to the house. Let Jane give you a proper examination, for certainty."

You nod in agreement, your mind already spinning at the thoughts swirling through your mind. You were with child. With Guildford’s child. You were carrying the next heir of the Dudley line.

Guildford offers his arm for you to hold on to, and you gladly take it. He leads you over to the house, with Jane in tow behind. The walk to the house was quiet. No one spoke, everyone was too wrapped up in their thoughts to even try. You felt Guildford rub his thumb over the back of your hand. He occasionally looks at you with a smile, as if he can’t believe everything that just happened. You feel his hands constantly squeeze yours. The gesture was his way of reassuring you.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I was hoping you would say that..."

Guildford stops in his tracks, causing you to stop as well. He turns to look at you. He brings his hand up to the side of your face, the pad of his thumb caressing your lower lip. "I could never leave you. Not in a millennium."

“I'd hope not.” You breathe a laugh. Your smile graced him. Your eyes crinkle at the corners. He can’t help but mirror yours.

As you arrive at the front door, Guildford opens it for you, letting you and Jane walk in first. He looks at you with a smile before following you through, closing the door promptly behind him. “You’re stuck with me, love.”

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messylustt · 2 years ago

Note

Hello! I was wondering if you could write something kinky with Ethan Landry where reader is maybe a young professor in Blackmore University? Sorry if it is too much and have a wonderful day! 🩷

babe I love this idea. this was a little too fun to write

pretty professor — ethan landry + reader ( scream ) : ethan has a crush on his pretty professor.

contents : female oral. kissing. student x professor. allude to male oral. wc 2.9k

pt one pt two

Walking into the lecture hall you adjusted your skirt, your notes in hand. This was a hard job to attain, and here you were, a young professor at Blackmore University. New York has always been a place you wanted to work, the bustling city was something you appreciated and thrived in.

Though one of your downfalls and weak point for criticism was your age. A young professor wasn’t unheard of, but at Blackmore there was minimal to none. So, you did notice the judgmental looks from other professors, the passing comments on how you dressed far too scandalous for a school.

You dressed modestly, simple skirts and blouses, but the older generation only saw your bare legs and thought ‘hey, theres one of those thirsty girls’. You try your best to ignore it, knowing you earned this position. Rumours were rumours. And you’d think that adults were far too mature for bullshit like that, but you guess any age is open for bitchy gossip.

You reach the desk, the large projector displaying your subject behind you, as students began to fill the seats.

Ethan walks in with Chad, hearing him explain something he’d missed at the party the other night. But when he reached the entry to the lecture hall his hearing was lost and his eyes were focused. Ethan watches as you organised yourself, leaning over your desk to reach a pencil or something. Ethan couldn’t see what because his focus was somewhere a little less…innocent.

His first class with you had gone horribly for him because his hearing always seemed to stop working when he was in your presence and all his senses filtered solely to his gaze. You were gorgeous. And Ethan couldn’t look away.

It was wrong in the sense that you were his professor, but it wasn’t like he was ogling Mrs. Bertie, the old lady with a forming monobrow. You were young. But you were still his professor.

He knew many of the other students felt things regarding you, with the way they smirked and eyed your chest, wishing they could use your desk to their advantage. Ethan would always scowl when he caught this, mainly because his thoughts weren’t far different. But he doesn’t watch you like your some meat he wants to try, he watches you like a woman, a mature, beautiful woman, that happens to make his pants feel tighter than usual.

Ethan was shy, and everyone knew it. He’d never had experience with a girlfriend, but now whenever Chad would point to a girl he would always compare her to you. And every time they would fail his silent assessment, because they didn’t have your legs, your eyes, or your smile. They weren’t you. But Ethan couldn’t have you, not that he would have the balls to make a move.

You’d deny him. You’d have to. He was your student and that��s all he was to you. He hated that, because he wanted more.

You gained the attention of your students, beginning the lesson with a smile. God, you were so sweet.

“Bro, you should totally tap that.” Whispered one of the frat boys to his generic friend. Ethan’s jaw clenched as he watched the two boys eye you, trying to lean back to see if they could look under your skirt. Ethan felt the urge to kick them, since he was in perfect reach, seated behind them. But he knew the trouble that would be brought to him if he fucked with a house member.

Ethan readjusted himself as he shifted his gaze back to you. A slight hint of his anger dissipating.

You were always eager to answer questions from students who needed help, always supportive and understanding. Everyone practically loved you. Ethan’s hearing drowned out as he watched you move and point to your examples, your careful fingers running along the long stick you used to point to said examples.

Ethan’s breathing turned slightly heavy as the class went on. God, he loved the way you styled your hair.

A while later he noticed people packing up, the lesson finished already. He held back a groan at how fast the time flew. Too fast, because his lesson after lunch was with fucking Mr. Steven, the devil himself.

“Bro.” Chad nudged Ethan, before gesturing to the front. Ethan turned his head to see that you were staring at him, a slight tilt to your head.

“Ethan, could you see me for a moment.” You kept your voice light, not trying to draw too much attention.

He stared at you, computing your words. You were smiling at him, and you were asking to see him. In a professional sense, but still. Ethan gulped. “Y-yeah.” Fuck, he thinks. Why did he have to stutter? He stands and Chad holds back a chuckle at Ethan and his little crush.

“Have fun, man.” Chad whispered before he followed the throng of students out.

Ethan followed you back to the desk, gulping down all his nerves. You turned to him, leaning slightly against the wood.

“Ethan, I didn’t want to say this in front of the class, but your failing.” You say, looking thoughtful.

“I am?” Of course he was. All he could focus on was you and the way he wanted to touch your skin. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” you begin, turning to the exit. “I have your papers in my office, if you could give me some of your time we could go over the troubles your having?”

Ethan tries not to nod too eagerly as he follows you to your office.

Opening the door, you immediately head to your file cabinet, rummaging through names.

Ethan gazes around. He’d been to your office once before, he remembered your large desk the most. And the way you would look so lovely pressed to the wood as you begged for his—”

“It must be in the storage cupboard.” You sigh, breaking Ethan’s train of thought. He turns red, trying to clear the erotic images of you wide and open for him. Your pretty big eyes looking at him with lust, and want.

You head to the side door, swiftly walking in to search for Ethan’s notes and assignments. Ethan watches as the door swings open further. And he hated to see it as an invitation you unintentionally offered. He stands anyway, walking to the doorframe.

“I’m sorry Ethan, I should have been more prepared.” You say as you bent down to reach a box.

“That’s alright, professor.” His breath hitches as your skirt rides up dangerously high.

You stand straight, resting your hands on your hips. “Why don’t you head to lunch. We can catch up next time.” You smile, having had no luck in finding his work.

Ethan steps inside. “I already ate earlier. Plus I’d rather get this done now.” He tries to sound indifferent as he reaches your side. You smelt so sweet. “Let me help you find it.”

“If your sure, then maybe check that box in the corner.”

Ethan obeys, walking past you and to said box. He ignores the way your arm brushes past him, your chest extremely close.

He crouches down, rummaging through the different names.

After having no luck he turns, still crouched, only to freeze.

Your trying to reach something on the high shelf, your body stretched along with your clothes. Ethan can see straight up your skirt.

His skin burns as he spots your lacy panties. Quickly standing, he coughs, as you lower and turn.

“Any luck?”

Ethan shakes his head, not trusting his words. You run your hand through your hair in annoyance. But all Ethan can focus on his how your lips pout in your state. He gulps.

Your facing him, back nearly pressed to the shelves. He could imagine you whining as he sucked your neck against them, his hands caging you in.

Ethan then catches your expression and realises he’d stepped closer.

You stare at Ethan, watching as he gulps, his chest heaving fast. Your brows furrow as you step closer. “Are you feeling alright?” You reach your hand up to press against his forehead. He felt warm. “Maybe you should go to the nurses office?” You shift your hand to his temple and then to his cheek. He felt extremely hot.

Ethan is frozen. Your a breath away and your touching him. His pulse beats in his ears as watches worry swirl in your eyes. You thought he was sick. His heart lurched at your concern for him. God, he wanted to kiss you. What if he just…

He steps a fraction closer, your hand falling away. He watches as you tilt your head in slight confusion. But before you can voice any thoughts Ethan’s breath is on your lips. You stop, opening your mouth and Ethan gives in, smashing his lips to yours.

At the force you stubble back into the shelves as a Ethan follows. He places his hand at your back before you hit the metal.

He tries not to moan into your mouth, feeling almost dizzy. He laps at your tongue like a desperate puppy, already feeling high off your taste. He presses himself fully against you.

You can feel how hard he is against your hip and your gasping. “Ethan!”

Ethan breathes against your lips. “You want to know why I keep failing?” He asks. “Because every one of your lessons all I can focus on is your gorgeous body. I can’t hear a thing because I’m imagining what you taste like on my tongue.”

Your utterly shocked. You had always seen Ethan as a shy student. And now hearing the dirty words spill from his lips has you pressing your thighs together. “Ethan…”

He lets a groan slip as his name tumbles from you lips. “Oh, god.” His grip has grown possessive on your hip as he eats at your lips. He can’t pull away, not now that your finally in his arms. You hate the fact that your letting him. Christ, your still at school. What if a fellow professor just walked in?

“Ethan we can’t.” You try. “The other professors already think I’m some whore.”

Ethan’s eyes flare. They what? “Some whore? Do they think you fuck all your students?”

You gape at him. He licks at your top lip, already growing addicted to the feel of your mouth.

“You haven’t let any one of them bend you over your desk, have you?”

He kisses you again, pressing you further into the shelf. “You wouldn’t let another student fuck you.” He explores your mouth, becoming very acquainted with your tongue. Your pressing your thighs together as you try to ignore the wetness pooling between. You were student and professor. Ethan and you both knew that.

“What if someone sees?” You mutter.

Ethan’s eyes shine with eagerness. “Does that mean you’d let me touch you if we weren’t here?” He feels ecstatic. “You’d want me to feel you?” He loves the thought of you wanting him back. “I would touch you everywhere if you’d let me.” He rasps out.

Ethan then pulls down the collar of your blouse as he places a sloppy kiss just by your breast. “Your not some whore, your a beautiful woman who makes boys like me fall to their knees.”

You gasp, as he kisses up your neck to hover over your lips again. “But you don’t need those other boys on their knees. You only need me.” He licks a stripe across your bottom lip. “I can make you feel so, so good, professor.”

Your light-headed. Shock isn’t a big enough word. You’d seen the lustful gazes form some of your students. But Ethan you’d never caught eyeing you. Ethan of all of them, you hadn’t imagined would be doing this.

“Your just so pretty.” He breathes, sucking your bottom lip as he shifts against you. He slightly shudders as his dick glides across your hip. His breathing picks up as he tries to hold back from grinding into you pathetically.

“Ethan, that’s…sweet, but you know this is forbidden.” You say, making Ethan catch your gaze.

“Sweet? You found that sweet?” Ethan probes.

He doesn’t know where this confidence has come from but maybe it’s the fact that he has you nearly trembling in his hold. That sense of power has him almost panting.

“Well, then there’s no harm in letting me touch you. If you think me kissing you is sweet. Then your only making your student happy.” He runs his lips across your jaw. “You want your students to be happy, right?”

Your shuddering, your breathing getting caught in your throat. “Shit, Ethan.”

Ethan grins against your skin, as he slightly moves his hips to rub against you. Pleasure shoots straight to your pussy as you choke a moan.

“I-I’m your professor.” You weakly try.

“And I’m your student.” Ethan responds as he trails his hand down your stomach, and along your skirt. “One who would love to just take a bite out of you.”

His hand slips under your skirt making you jolt. He reaches your panties, and quickly bypasses them to touch your soaking cunt. “Oh.” Ethan hisses out, as he spreads your wetness along your clit.

Your choking on air as you clutch his shoulders. “Isn’t it so sweet that your letting your student play with your pussy?” He hums in approval. “You may have been unprepared with my papers, but your certainly prepared for my fingers.” Then he inserts one, as you hold back a whine.

“You do so much for us, it’s about time I return the favour, don’t you think?” He pushes two fingers inside you and begins to pump in and out, as his thumb rubs your clit. “Your always so understanding, teaching frat boys who eye you like meat.” He then grabs your jaw, as he continues to finger you. “You know I don’t look at you like that, right?”

“I—” pleasure is wrecking through you.

“I’d never look at you like that. Your too pretty to be seen as anything less than a woman. Your too pretty to be neglecting help from a willing student.” He then fastens his pace as you moan. “Let me help ease some tension.”

Christ you’ve never been more turned on in your life. Your falling apart at the hands of your student, one who you now realise as to why he’d always been so attentive in class.

“Ethan, fuck— you—”

“Is that an offer?” Ethan thrusts his fingers harder into you as you whimper and moan. Your high is coming and your grabbing at it through Ethan’s shirt. Your grip turning deathly. But he slips his finger out, dropping to his knees.

He pulls you into his mouth, your leg over his shoulder as you use the shelf for better balance. He eats you like he’s never been more hungry, lapping at your folds, as he whimpers into your pussy.

“Oh, god.” You moan as you bite your hand to quieten yourself. Your nearly rolling your hips onto his face as his hands tighten around your thighs.

Fuck you tasted better than he imagined. All his fantasies could never compare to you being wide and open for him, your pleasure his cause. His blunt nails are nearly digging into your flesh by how turned in he is.

Your hand shoots down to his hair, making him shudder open mouthed on your pussy. Your gripping his curls as he brings you to your high. Your biting your hand as pleasure fills you in waves. Shit.

Your breathing hard when Ethan stands, his hand still on one of your thighs. He’s licking his lips as if he just tasted the best desert.

You place your hand in his chest, trying to regain control. You can tell Ethan is eager to do more. But your nerves are shot.

“Ethan, I could get fired if someone found out.” You gulp as you try to straighten your skirt. As if that will make everything go back to normal.

“Professor, if you wanted to stop then why did you let me eat you out?”

“Ethan! I never knew you were so blunt.”

Ethan chuckles, wiping his lip to get some access of your orgasm off and licks his finger clean. Your trying not to shake. “I’m just being honest.”

“If any one of those professors find out I just let…” you couldn’t finish the sentence.

“If any of those professors find out, they won’t ever be back at school to tell.”

Your brows slightly furrow as his tone dropped, lust still evident in his eyes.

“Just let me feel you.” Ethan begins, grabbing at the bottom of your blouse. “Let me feel all…of you.”

You gulp, images filling your head. You shake your head to clear them. Before swiftly walking back into your office. Ethan is hot in your heels, but before he could grab you, you lock the door.

Ethan freezes as you turn back to him. “I feel bad,” you look down. “Leaving you, after you…”

Ethan can fill in the blanks as he follows your gaze to his hard on. He almost fell over. You’d actually…

“Sit down.” You say, and Ethan doesn’t need to be told twice as finds a chair. Your then walking closer, before dropping g to your knees, your hands on his thighs. “This is as far as it goes.”

He thinks he’s going to pass out, not really processing your words. “You have to stay quiet, Ethan.” You warn as you watch his eyes fall heavy with anticipation.

“Ethan?”

“Yes, professor.”

#. ( psychos )#the ethan effect #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x reader #jack champion smut #jack champion x y/n #jack champion x reader #jack champion #scream #scream 6 #scream smut

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veritas-scribblings · 5 months ago

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disagree / challenge - @jegulus-microfic - words: 972

The door slams behind Regulus.

James is left standing alone in an empty room in the apartment he shares with Sirius. He doesn’t quite know how they got here. He doesn’t quite know what they’d been arguing about or when the switch had happened, because they’d been holding each other on the couch a moment ago. There had been kisses involved, some friendly jibes, and James had been showing Regulus Sirius’s record collection.

It had been lovely. James had been happy. Thinking to himself, how lucky am I? Thinking, isn’t this wonderful? And, let’s stay like this forever.

And then somehow—he just isn’t sure how—an argument had started, and Regulus had yelled at him, and James had been so taken off-guard that he’d snapped back.

And now Regulus is gone.

And James just really, really, really wants him to come back. However, if his experience with Blacks are anything to go by—if Sirius can be used as a point of reference—Regulus is just going to need his time and his space. Time and space are precious commodities for Blacks, who very frequently have control taken out of their hands. They can’t be forced to so anything before they’re ready, or they snap and they bite and there are wounds.

‘Tough break,’ Peter says. He drops down onto the couch next to James and offers him a Bertie Bott.

James wrinkles his nose, because, what are they? Ten? Regulus is unpredictable enough. James doesn’t need his food to be equally unpredictable.

Peter shrugs, pops a bean into his mouth and dramatically gags. He doesn’t spit it out, though. He swallows. James would have a dirty, witty quip about that, normally, but he’s not in the mood.

‘Hey,’ Peter says, thoughtful. ‘You know when Moony and Padfoot started dating, and they’d always be getting into fights and Sirius would be just doing really shit things? And we were like, what gives? You’ve been…excuse the pun…mooning over Moony for ages and now you’re being an asshat?’

James sighs. Peter can never take the direct route to a point, and James is so very tired of the scenic route. He’d like to be infantilised, please. Break it to him easy. Treat him like an idiot. No fucking riddles, thank you very much.

‘Yes,’ James says, and he hopes that the stress he pours into the word is enough for Peter to just…be fucking direct.

‘Strange that,’ is all that Peter says, and then rifles around in the bag of beans for something that looks vaguely safe. It’s pink. Possibly candy floss.

‘I’ve had a long day, Wormtail, please just get to the point.’ James takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, hoping that being just a little bit exaggerated about it all gets his point across.

The bean obviously isn’t candy floss, because Peter wrinkles his nose as he chews and swallows. ‘You’ve read the Sirius Black manual. Think of Regulus as a…smaller, meaner version of Sirius. When Sirius and Remus were having trouble, what did you say?’

James blinks. Frowns. ‘Stop being a git?’

‘Actually, I think the specific words you used were, “stop being a dick head”, but no. After that. What did you say?’

James groans, dropping his head into his hands, because..well, he gets it. They took the scenic route to the point, but they got there in the end and Peter looks damned smug about it all. He always does after dropping words of wisdom. Like he feels like Albus Dumbledore, taking your hand, guiding your way.

When Peter pops a bean into his mouth, James can’t help the little spark of satisfaction he gets when Peter once more gags.

James waits exactly five hours before going to find Regulus. Probably not enough time, but he’s impatient and he’s been watching the clock. And he just wants to take Regulus in his arms, kiss him, and then tell Regulus he’s an idiot and very, very wrong and James isn’t going anywhere.

He would have done exactly that, but when Regulus answers the door he still looks angry. The ‘I’ll bite your tongue off if you try to kiss me’ kind of angry.

So James just says, ‘I’m not going anywhere, so you can stop.’

They haven’t been together long and it’s all still so very new to James: Regulus and Regulus’s person, and Regulus’s habits, and Regulus’s beliefs, and Regulus’s unique characteristics. James knows that the Sirius Black Handling Manual will get him partway, but he also knows that Regulus is different enough from Sirius that if James tried to literally call him out on things the way he does with Sirius…

…well, Regulus is enough of a bastard that he will probably actually leave and never come back. Or he’ll kill James. Whichever Regulus felt, that particular day, would be easier for him to deal with.

Regulus doesn’t say anything, just narrows his eyes and stares at James like he could set James on flames with sheer willpower.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ James says, very much heartened by the fact that Regulus has not slammed the door in his face. ‘I really like you. I might…’ James pauses, wants to say: I might actually love you, but he doesn’t want to scare Regulus. ‘I might…more than like you. And, couples fight. And, I think you’re worth it, that we’re worth it. You know.’

James wants to say, I believe in you. He wants to say, you deserve love, you’re worthy of it. He wants to say, you don’t need to test me, I won’t leave you.

But he doesn’t. Because while it works with Sirius, he knows it won’t work with Regulus. That to Regulus, actions speak louder, so James will just have to show him.

And not go anywhere.

#spent too much time writing (y)earn and didn't have time to microfic #harry potter #fanfiction #myfanfiction #microfics #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #james x regulus #regulus x james #myjegulusmicrofics

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cookie-crumblr · 5 months ago

Note

i’d hump jaspers boot💔 but i’d also suck on lucy b00bs💔 its hard to choose when youre a pervy loser for both

DW nonnie, mama cookie’s got chu bb <3

MINORS DNI!!!

CW: M!reader, reader referred to as he/him, reader has a penis, sub reader, PERVY LOSER READER <3, M!Masturbation, dry humping, titty job, bj, double hj, p in b(jasper’s p in reader’s b), lots of teasing reader, anal fingering, spanking (just once ;3), scent kink, reader forced to panty sniff and then again on our own, exhibition, bullying, orgasm denial, overstim, not proofread like at all i’m sorry XD

🪓🧸Lucy~

I imagined first an alternate route where you perv over her since the start. instead of in Lucky🎀 i wanna expound this one XD like just have reader masturbate all the time to her, but i also just wanted them to FUCK. XD!!!!

status: First known introductions

“Just because Ezra’s too scared of your lil girlfriend to touch you, doesn’t mean I am” The group of guys shove you against the rattling wall in the locker room.

They had pushed you into the women’s locker room on campus. You don’t know Lucy either, you’ve only ever perved over her, so you aren’t sure why they’re saying girlfriend, or why Ezra would be scared of her.

Two of the guys in the group broke into Lucy’s gym locker, which happened to have a really expensive looking pink bag in it.

They tore through it as if it were plastic, and out came a pair of her frilly, baby blue panties, covered in lace and ribbons. “What are you—” You start, before the article is shoved into your face.

You’re forced to inhale, a very sweet but, very naughty scent permeates your senses, and panic swells within you! No!! You’re not that much of a creep! You swear!! You fight to get the guys away from you, but they end up shoving you inside her locker and closing the door.

“Fuck!” You slam your fist as hard as you can into the metal, but your arm is pretty well squished at your side.

Her panties are still in your hand, when you think about how long you might be in here for, you wonder if it would be fine to just…

She smells sweet and a little salty, your eyes close, and your hand travels to your pants, when the door to the locker you’re in opens wide, light spilling onto your guilty and hot face.

It’s Lucy.

Her eyes are wide and unreadable, she must be in shock, you’ve seriously fucked everything up!

Until…

Something miraculous happens, she gets down on her knees and motions for you to be quiet, with her index finger pointing over her lip. There’s a glint of mischief in her eyes now, and she smirks wickedly up at you.

Soon her slightly freckled tits are out, and so is your cock, she has it sat like it’s a holy idol on a ceremonial pillow that is her chest. She licks her lips staring at it before she starts to move, squishing her boobs around your shaft, you watch it get swallowed up by her cushiony breast.

A disembodied voice comes from around the corner. “Yeah, so can you believe that Luce?”

“What?” She says in a way that’s a little ditsy and has your dick twitching up as she kisses and suckles on the tip. Her soft mounds massage the underside in a way that’s making your legs feeling like jelly.

“About bertie!” her friend calls.

“Oh right! yeah, i don’t know what her problem is recently!”

“Right!?”

When she looks back up at you again, her eyes look about as hazy as you feel right now. How is this even happening?

You’re already close when you sigh, and start to shudder, and she grabs you more violently, hand choking your dick, and she gets up, her chest still out and very distracting on top of her iron grip on your appendage. You realize you’re holding in your breath when she takes her panties from your hand and shoves them into your mouth, then puts your hand on your dick to replace hers.

She kisses your cheek, her eyes so soft and filled with adoration for you, and then she slams her locker door back in your face.

🤍💻Jasper~

So idk if i can picture Jasper taking it without still being in charge, so hopfully it’s what you wanted!!

Also this is my first M x M writing ever!!! 🙈

Status: Dating🎀

“Do you really think you deserve it?” He had been laying on his stomach on the floor, pillows everywhere, minding his own business playing something on his phone when you were overwhelmed by desire, like a miasma in the room that you’re inhaling and barley seeing through the think pink fog of it!

You kneed his ass, and you need it! “I need it Jasper!” You repeat out loud. guilt roils your guts but you know he enjoys you. He wouldn’t keep you around if he didn’t…

“So desperate~” He sighs, with a smirk on his face.

You lay over top of him, slotting your clothed dick between his ass cheeks. You grunt as you rut into him, “Oh my gods!!” It already feels so good, through the harsh fabrics you feel his hot flesh, bouncing back into you.

“You better enjoy it while you can, I’m almost done with my dailies.”

Your hands roam his lithe frame, squeezing his hips, and his sides, and traveling up his arms, until you almost fall and have to catch yourself and you take hold of his hips this time for purchase.

“mmmm~,” He hums, as he puts his phone down, and grabs you.

He pulls you the opposite way as he rolls over so that you land on pillows beneath him.

You inhale sharply, “Sorry!!! sorry!!! I couldn’t help it!!!” tears prick at your eyes, but, he wipes them away and kisses you.

“You’re such a pretty person~” He licks your neck, before biting down on your flesh, “So tasty too~!”

Jasper pulls back and you whine, reaching up to try and claw him back to you, until you realize he is unbuttoning his and your pants.

Once out, his pale, slender fingers wrap tightly around both of your dicks together, and he squishes the tips and rubs them against each other. “did you bring lube?” You watch mesmerized as they almost seem to meld together, his shiny silver piercing in the middle.

You gulp, feeling scared of getting in trouble.

“You wanted to fuck me and didn’t even bring lube?? how cruel.” He laughs before spitting into his hand and rapidly massages your shafts together, getting them nice and slicked up.

Your dick head is smushed up against his hot tip, leaking precum, as Jasper runs his thumb all around your glands. You close your eyes tightly, all the pressure building and he hasn’t even started! You need to calm down! But you can’t, your a writhing moaning mess to his fingers.

He flips you over again, now so that you’re on your hands and knees, his hand now only massages your dick now, running up and down your fully errect length and back up to your base, and down again.

His other hand slaps your ass cheek almost full force, definitely enough to bruise! “Ow!!! ahhhmmmm!” It stings and you mumble out your cries. Your skin buzzes with the pain.

Before you can really comprehend anything else, his two long fingers are dipping inside of you, curling around and pressing that spot that has you moaning out louder and louder! “That’s it, Y/N, you feeling good f’me?”

“Mhmm!!!!” You nod vigorously.

“I don’t know, do you really deserve my dick? Or should I make you just get off on my fingers?”

You push back onto his hand further, “Please put it in me!! Please, Jasperrr!” You slur his name, and god he loves how it rolls off of your tongue like a heavy boulder whenever you’re drunk off of him.

“Maybe I should just keep going, you’re so close! You don’t need my dick,”

“I need it! I need it! Please Jasper! Fill me up!!” You beg.

He sighs, “Oh alright, since you asked so nicely~” with that his pierced tip breaches your entrance. It’s so much hotter than the rest of his skin, it melts your insides around it. You feel ecstatic as he bottoms out inside you, all while his hand squeezes your shaft base.

After he’s inside and allows you to adjust for a second he starts pumping around your cock and he pulls out slowly, before rocking his hips back in. It’s instantly too much and you cum with a cry, you didn’t mean to finish so soon!

“Such a good job, look at how much you came!” Jasper coos you, as he rocks his hips into your ass, he pets your back gently down your spine.

You shiver, even after an orgasm his dick feels so good inside you, you’re so full and hot, and the warmness that shot through you at your apex is now flowing throughout your body to a lesser but still pleasant extent. You’re moaning as he sweetly fucks you.

“Want my cum, darling? I think you’ve earned it,” He makes you feel so loved and well cared for, no matter what scenario.

“Mhm,” You moan, and as soon as you do, he obliges, he must’ve been really into prepping you today, he finished so fast! He must really love you!

and he does :3

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thezoraprince · 2 months ago

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Classmates - zora x reader headcanons

“I know you’re closed bestie but I’m just sending this in before I forget it in my goldfish brain. I have a particular classmate in my geology courses that takes every opportunity they can to work with me, and he basically doesn’t do his own work and makes me teach him things even when I don’t understand. I’ve have to talk to professors about him before, and I thought he’d finally leave me alone and then BAM the fothermucker was back at it again!! I get so drained from working with him, and it honestly ruins my day. But I can’t tell him no or else I look like the bitch. How would Bazz/Sidon/Ledo/literally anyone defend their sweetheart from this behavior when they noticed?” - @rocklover719

you and @bertie-bats are literally keeping my blog alive. not because of the requests, but because you both motivate me to write stuff lmaooooo (i have 0 drive to do anything right now, so your presence in my inbox is greatly appreciated)

i only did zora's for this one, and i wanted to add more, but my brain is literal mush rn. i made Bazz's the longest though, just for you :)

i hope you enjoy :)

(p.s.: i’ll kick someone’s ass if i need to. i’m willing to make the 24+ hour cross country drive <3)

Sidon

he listens so intently as you vent

and he has half a mind to go talk to this person for you

but he knows it would be best if you did it yourself

“Y/n… if you come off in a way that seems… bitchy… then that’s his problem.”

he’d do his best to make you feel better

“You can do it. I believe in you.”

but of course he’s coming with you

because he wants to be there for emotional support

Bazz

as soon as you begin to vent, he’s ready to kick someone’s ass

and you have to sternly tell him no

“Y/n…”

“Bazz…”

“What? He’s a grown adult. He should know how to behave and that his actions have consequences. Let. Me. Handle. It.”

he’d sneak into class with you and watch everything unfold, watching how this guy weasels his way into your space and practically steals your work

and as class ends, he’d walk up to the both of you, pulling this guy to the side

“May I speak to you for a moment?”

you know shit’s about to get real

“I don’t really appreciate how you’re using y/n’s knowledge for your own benefit.”

you can hear them from just around the corner

“It’s uncomfortable to watch, and I can’t even begin imagine how [they] feel. Please stop, or you’ll be seeing more of me.”

he’d come find you after, walking with you to wherever you needed to be next

“If he tries that again, let me know.”

RIVAN

this whole conversation is ‘I’m not listening as your partner. I’m listening as your bff.’

“Omg he did wHAT? That’s CRAZY!”

he actually lets you vent without trying to solve your problems

being a single dad has taught him a few things

“I think someone has a crush on you. Oooh!”

but he’ll definitely ask if you need him to step in

“But in all seriousness, if you need me to do something about it, you know I will.”

eventually, Rivan would sneak into your class

and instead of talking to the guy about the situation…

he’d give him a taste of his own medicine

Rivan would practically beg this guy to work with him, claiming to be a new student that got transferred in late

and you can bet after that, this guy will never speak to you again

Ledo

Ledo is 100000% taking this class with you

so he knows exactly how everything plays out

after class he’d pull you aside, making sure you’re out of ears reach from this guy

“Next time that asshole tries to pull that stunt, say you’ve promised to work with me.”

he’d sit next to you every day after that

and he’d be sure to give that guy dirty looks when you’re not looking

Torfeau

you vent ONE TIME

just once

that’s all it takes for Torfeau to ‘discuss the situation’ with him

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takumasheisty · 1 month ago

Text

You’ve been away all day, and you left your precious Bertholdt at home. Alone. Not only did you leave him by himself, but you gave him a firm order; do not touch yourself.

He can remember exactly what you said before you left to run your errands. And the tone you said it in.

“Wait until I get home, and I’ll have a surprise for you. Be a good boy, bye!” Then you smiled and shut the door like you didn’t just give him an impossible challenge.

“O-okay.” He responded, long after you had already gone. Bertholdt wandered the house, wondering what to do to pass time. He sat down and put on a random viewing of a show. He tried to focus on the show but he couldn’t. Soon he got up and walked to your shared bedroom. If he couldn’t find anything to do then he would just sleep the time away.

He crawled into the bed and found a comfortable position. Trying to put himself to sleep, he grabbed his phone and began scrolling through some random feeds on his page.

“This is stupid. When will she be home?” Bertholdt dropped his phone on the bed and sprawled out, staring at the celing. He missed you greatly, and hated to be away from you for any period of time, but of course it wasn’t possible to be next to you at all times, you were your own person.

He picked up his phone once more, and began scrolling through his following out of boredom. Scrolling and scrolling until he found your user. His eyes lit up with happiness at the sight of your name, and eagerly clicked on your profile.

As he scrolled through your posts, he noticed a specific photo of you and him together at your graduation banquet. He sighed lovingly, you were just so beautiful with your dark skin and thick lips. Those lips that suck-.. what? He shook that thought from his head and continued scrolling through your page.

Soon, he comes across a beach photo from a few months back. You and him had taken a little photo shoot on the beach, Bertholdt your photographer. The photo is captioned “beach date with my Bertie :)” Although he wasn’t very fond of nicknames, he cherished the one you gave him the most.

He admired your dark curls and beautiful smile, wishing that you were there with him. But his eyes start to wander, down to your breasts, and how cheeky that bathing suit was. A gorgeous sage green bathing suits with brown accents that he had bought you for your birthday. His face became slightly red, as he thought about how you’re all his, and he’s all yours.

And he thinks back to the “suprise” that you’re bringing him later.

All of a sudden, your sweet Bertie is hard.

“S-shit.. I promised I wouldn’t.” He thinks to himself, squeezing his thighs together to try and null some of the pain, but it seems as if it’s getting worse.

“No. I c-can’t” He squeezes his eye lids shut and tries to forget about you, knowing that’s impossible.

The second it seems like he has his dick under control, he gets a notification, a sound that is unique to your messages. Quickly, he turns to his phone, smiling.

He opens the message, and he sees a photo of you. You in lingerie. “How does this look, Bertie? Or should I get a different color?” His eyes widened at the sight of the green lace, tied together with pretty white bows. His favorite color.

“Beautiful, my love. I love green on you so much.” He responds, almost after a good 5 minutes of looking.

“Thanks Bertie! I hope you’re being a good boy for me at home :)” You knew what you were doing to him. You just had to. There was no way!

He looks at your message and places his phone down. Now he’s really hard, and there’s no way rubbing his thighs together will suffice.

“She doesn’t have to know.. right? If I just do it really quick before she gets home it’ll be alright.” Bertholdt tells himself. He reaches into his sweats and pulls out his hard dick.

He sharply inhales at the cold sensation of his hand, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m pathetic. I can’t even wait a few hours for her to come back.” He scolds himself, but it’s too late to stop once he’s started.

He begins moving his hand up and down his shaft, breathing unsteadily. Closing his eyes, he imagines you and your soft hand, doing it for him. He even switches to his left hand to make it easier to visualize you.

He takes his other hand and runs it up and down his body, trying to mimic your movements, and it does help a little. Slowly, he begins picking up the pace, using his precum as lube.

“H-hah..” Bertie whimpers, still imagining it’s you stroking his cock. He occasionally uses his thumb to create circles around his leaking red tip, then he picks up the pace.

“A-ah.. please Y/N” he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. All he knows is that he wants, needs you badly.

“I-it feels so.. so g-good Y/N.” As he strokes himself, your name rolls off his tongue like honey. He loves you so much. So much you make him lose focus. So much that he doesn’t hear the jingle of your keys in the door.

Still whimpering your name, Bertie feels that feeling in his stomach. He’s now shifted his free hand to fondle his heavy balls. Making him writhe in pleasure. How he wishes you were here with him.

“Bertieee. You there?” You coo as you walk through the house. Still, your Bertie was too lost in the pleasure to realize you were home.

“F-fuck.. please Y/N, please- please.. come home to me. N-need you.. please..” He knows he probably said that too loud but he doesn’t care, you’re not home anyway, at least that’s what he thinks.

You pause for a moment in the hallway. You call out to him but he doesn’t answer. Slowly you walk up to the door of your shared bedroom and as you’re about to push the door open you hear something.

“Y/N help me.. help me please.. it hurts.. c-can’t.. can’t cum without you..” Was that your precious Bertie..? Begging for you? You can’t help but admit, your panties were getting soaked as you listened to him whimper your name over and over again. You wanted to go in and help him so badly, but you remember what you said before you left home.

Quietly you open the door, careful not to alert Bertholdt. You watch him silently for a few seconds as he aggressively jerks himself off.

“C-close.. please, I’m close..” he whimpers into the room.

“Bertie.” You say in a slightly condescending tone that causes him to suddenly open his eyes. He swears he felt his heart stop for a minute. He rips his hand away from his cock too, unintentionally edging himself.

“Bertie.” You repeat. “My Bertie.. what are you doing?” You ask him, although you know exactly what’s going on.

“N-nothing.” He stutters, face flushing red. He always stutters when he lies, and he knows much better than to lie to you.

“Are you sure? It didn’t seem like you were doing ‘nothing’” you look at him and tilt your head, waiting for a response.

“Hm? I’m waiting Bertie. He averts your eyes, looking around nervously.

“I-I.. um.. sorry!” He winces and looks down like a kicked puppy.

“Sorry for what baby?” You question him.

“I-I disobeyed.. you. I’m sorry! Please forgive me.. I tried. I promise I really tried..“ he pleads, trying to lessen the guilt.

“Hmm. Bertie. You didn’t listen to me. Why?”

“I’m sorry! I really am.. I just missed you so much a-“ he begins rambling and you interrupt him.

“Ah. That’s enough, Bertie.” You say in a disappointed tone and he looks down. The tone he hates the most. You begin to walk over to him and sit on the edge of the bed.

“You know I don’t like when you don’t listen, right? I know you’re a good boy. It must’ve been so hard for you. Hm?”

“Y-yeah.. I’m sorry.. I should’ve listened to you. Please don’t be upset with me..” he looks at you with tears in his eyes, pleading for your forgiveness.

You cup his cheek with one hand, and he leans into your touch even more. With your other hand, you rub down his back, softly.

“You were whimpering my name weren’t you? You need my help hm?” You say with a seemingly sympathetic tone.

He looks away, embarrassed that he was caught. “Y-yes..”

“Since you wanted to cum so bad, I’ll help you.” You take his cock in your hand and squeeze it not so gently. He curls over, sharply inhaling at the sudden friction that he was receiving. He looks over at you with a worried expression, realizing that he’s in for something tonight. You suddenly begin jerking him off, mercilessly.

He moans and whimpers in pleasure as your hand glides up and down his shaft, of course occasionally focusing on his angry tip.

“A-ah.. feels.. feels so good.. love you.. love you a lot Y/N..” you run your hand up and down his toned torso, pinching his nipples slightly harder than usual.

“.. f-fuck.. mmf, c-can’t hold it much.. longer.. going to c-cum soon.” His abs flex more often, indicating his approaching orgasm.

“Y-Y/N g-going.. cum..” he’s not even speaking in full sentences anymore, he’s so fucked out and he just needs release.

“Yeah? Yeah? You gonna cum Bertie?” You encourage him, pushing him closer towards the edge.

“Y-yeah.. yes Y/N! C-cumming! Oh f-fuck!” He releases his cum all over his stomach and the bed sheets.

“T-thank you! Thank you Y/N..!” He cries thank you’s continuously, like he always does when he reaches his release. His cum comes out in thick spurts and doesn’t stop. It seems as though he was really pent up, making you feel bad for what you were planning to do him.

You continue to stroke him through his high, his dick releasing less cum each spurt. But your strokes don’t slow down.

“T-thank you..” Bertie looks at you waiting for you to let go of his dick. But he soon realizes that’s not what you had planned.

“W-wait, Y/N, what- ngh.. what are you.. doing..? He asks you worried.

“Helping you. You wanted to cum right? You insist.

“But.. I already finished..” His cock is still hard, and you continue stroking him even though he’s come down from his high.

“Please.. please slow down.. a-ahh. ‘m s-sensitive.. I can’t go again.” You look up at him with your beautiful brown eyes and he quiets down. He knows this is his punishment, but can he endure it?

“I’m sorry.. please. I won’t do it again. I promise I’ll listen from now on. I promise.. hic- it hurts..”

“My Bertie.. you should’ve thought about this before touching yourself.” You scold him like a misbehaved child.

Tears fall from his deep blue eyes, and he knows his begging won’t do any good. So he sits there and takes what you give him. Throughout all of this, his cock is still hard, contradicting his state of mind. As you continue to stroke him at the same pace, he whimpers quietly, gripping the sheets tightly.

“Ngh- ah..” you and him can both tell the second orgasm is coming soon, and you slightly pick up your pace, spending extra time on the sensitive underside of his cock.

“F-fuck..! H..hurts..! N-no! It h-hurts! Please Y/N I can’t!” He begs desperately, gritting his teeth and shifting left and right. It’s so hot and he’s so overstimulated and he just needs to get out.

“I know, I know. Almost there Bertie. Just hold out a little bit longer, okay?” He shakes his head and cries out.

“C-can’t!”

“You will. You have to.” He opens his eyes to see your firm look, knowing that you’re dead serious.

“M-mhm..!” Now he’s chasing his release that’s so close yet so far. He grips the sheets even tighter and begins thrusting into your tight hand. His breathing becomes more unstable and his moaning gets even louder than before.

“I-it’s coming! oh it’s coming Y/N!.. A-ah..!” He lets go of the sheets and grabs your hand to hold onto as his cock releases his cum. He has a firm grip on your hand, holding onto it as if you’re going to disappear any moment.

“You’re so adorable Bertie. You did such a good job baby.” You hold onto his hand, comforting him. He nods his head slowly at the praise, mouth slightly agape. Can he even hear what you’re saying? His cock releases almost as much as his first orgasm, although the cum isn’t nearly as thick. You still stroke him through his high, slowing down slowly.

When he comes down, he sits up and hugs you tightly. Although you’re a little shocked, you hug him back.

“I’m sorry Bertie, was I a little too hard on you? I think I got a little carried away.. you just looked too cute moaning for me.” you explain to him.

“Uh-uhn… I deserved it. And I kinda… liked it.. that side of you..” he shys away, fiddling with his fingers. You hold back a little giggle, stroking his brown hair.

“Missed you.. so much Y/N.” He whines again.

“I know. But hey! Don’t forget you’re still on punishment. You won’t be getting that suprise tonight.” You scold him while holding his cheek.

“Okay. That’s fine. I think.. I’m tired. I just wanna.. wanna sleep. With you.” The big boy puts more of his weight on you, almost knocking you back.

“Bertie! You’re heavy!” You giggle, pushing him back forward.

“S..sorry..” It’s no use though, looks like he’s already fallen asleep in your arms.

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natsuki208 · 2 months ago

Text

The 104th Squad sibling headcanons 💜

(I thought I did this one before but apparently not lol)

———

Eren - We all know about his older half-brother Zeke. Eren used to look up to him when he was younger, but now is displeased by Zeke’s unemployed lifestyle. But is free to help him anyway.

Mikasa - She has a little brother, five years younger than her, named Markus. He resembles his dad in every way. Sometimes he’s too hyper for her to handle, but luckily Mikasa is a very patient girl.

Armin - An only child. He could’ve asked his parents for him to have a sibling, if they didn’t travel to another country for work, and that was years ago.

Jean - Also an only child, and he prefers it that way. Despite the fact that he has to deal with his mother doting on him, his friends are like siblings to him anyway.

Marco - He has a little sister Lina, six years younger than him. Just like Marco, his mother raised her to be polite, cheerful and respectful to others. Although she takes after her brother more.

Connie - Sunny and Martin, Connie’s two young siblings, play a prank war on each other all the time. Even Connie joins in repeatedly even though they tell him that he’s always unfair.

Sasha - May have been born an only child, but there’s one kid in her neighbourhood who she treats like a little sister. Kaya invites Sasha over to her house and then vice versa.

Historia - The girl may have a lot of half siblings, but the only one she likes (and remembers) is her older half-sister Frieda, since she’s the one who’s the nicest to her. She even allows Historia to live with her.

Ymir - For an orphaned girl, she doesn’t remember anything about if she had siblings or not (like she cares). But lucky for her, she has a future sister-in-law to keep her company.

Annie - Once again an only child, and she never once asked about having a sibling (I mean she only has her father).

Reiner - Do cousins count? Does his cousin’s friends count? Does his schoolmates count as well? They do so to Big Bro Reiner Braun.

Bertholdt - Reiner has been like a brother to him ever since they met, and he wouldn’t dare to change that. Despite Reiner being more outgoing, and Berty prefers indoor activities.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #jean kirstein #marco bodt #connie springer #sasha braus #historia reiss #ymir aot #annie leonhart #reiner braun #bertholdt hoover #aot headcanons #modern au #sibling oc #siblings

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ohtobealady · 5 months ago

Note

Love your writing so much, may I be a bit cheeky and ask for another one? Would you do 'future'? <3

Oooo be as cheeky as you like, friend! This word was hard for me! I don’t know why. You deserve a better one. But I’m glad for the exercise!

—————,’—————

Future

They both laughed at the way Tiaa rounded the tree, snapping at the ball, pieces of grass flying from her abrupt change in direction.

The children called out the dog’s name and ran after her, the heavy cricket ball firmly lodged in her teeth. She looked as if she was smiling as she bolted out of Tom’s reach.

She heard as Edith laughed harder still when Bertie turned to them, his shirtsleeves rolled, his thin hair flopping over his forehead, and shrugged in defeat. George, Mary saw, similarly forfeited. She watched her son’s blond head drop back, his square chin lifting to the sky, before he loosely slung his cricket bat to the ground.

“Chasing her won’t do any good,” she called to them all. “If you ignore her, she’ll come to you.”

But Mary’s advice was largely ignored, and she and Edith looked on as Tom, Bertie, and the children tried to woo the dog, sweetly sing-songing her name and promising her all manner of treats.

Mary sighed and sank further into her chair. Beside her Edith laughed into her glass of lemonade, and Mary could see that she tracked Bertie’s movements before she quickly looked to her, catching her eye. Edith’s brows furrowed, and Mary knew Edith sensed the quiet disappointment that Mary was trying her best to hide away.

After all, Edith knew her. She always seemed to know her better than anyone else, for better or worse.

“What is it?” Edith asked, smiling, and Mary shook her head.

She looked away and across the lawn. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Edith pressed. “You’ve been very quiet since this morning.”

“Well, it really should be nothing. I wanted it after all.”

At this Edith angled towards her, the wicker chair creaking slightly amongst the laughter on the grass before them.

“Henry?”

Mary nodded, but she didn’t look at her sister. She couldn’t. She kept her eyes trained on her mother’s parasol bobbing along in the distance. “It’s difficult. I’ve asked him to claim adultery so that it can go ahead easily.”

“And will he?”

Mary still watched, far beyond them on the gravel, as her papa lifted his head and laughed at something Mama must’ve said. His hair looked so much grayer in the sun. She drew in a breath. “Yes. After all, how could it not be true? We’ve hardly seen one another in months.”

“That may not mean anything—-“

But Mary shook her head, and she looked at her sister. “I think it does. Even if it doesn’t mean adultery.” She lowered her eyes and smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt. “Anyway, I’ve got the documents now. They came in the morning post. It’s only a matter of telling Papa before we proceed.”

“Oh, Mary.” Edith turned away from her, and Mary assumed she searched out their father as well, closer to them, Mama’s fingers clutching at the bend of his elbow. “I wish there was a better way. Seems unfair to have to place fault on someone in a divorce. Everyone’s unhappy enough as it is.”

Mary tipped her head. She agreed.

“How do you suppose Papa will react?”

“I don’t know. He said he worries for me. He doesn’t want me to be alone,” Mary answered. She looked and saw her parents were nearer, but had paused. Mama’s parasol blocked her view of their faces, but she saw the way they stood still together, at a distance from their family. She saw the way their feet moved to face each other, and Mary looked away. “He just can’t understand that I already am.”

In her periphery, Mary noticed that Edith had looked to their parents now as well. And eventually, when the silence had gone on for a few moments more, she turned to Edith who still watched across the lawn as Mama and Papa began to move again towards them. They were smiling. “No. No one with that kind of luck could understand.”

Mary sighed. “Not just luck, Edith.” They both watched their parents now, and Mary felt her lips soften into a smile. “They decided to want each other. And in the end, I deserve to be wanted, too.”

#cobert drabbles #one word prompts!#thank you!!!

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upontherisers · 5 months ago

Text

a/n: this was supposed to be all epistolary, no prose but then. but then.

Dear Mr. Rosenthal,

I had dinner with your mother last night. It was wonderful to catch up with her; I hadn’t seen her since the day we packed up your office and you left for Alabama. We ran into each other at Putnam Central last week (you missed a swinging show!) and she invited me for a meal. What a cook she is! Soup and cabbage and those little flaky pastries with nuts and spices for dessert (I hope I’m not making you jealous.) And of course she wouldn’t let me lift a finger to help, both out of host-liness and care that the food would be edible. Jeanette joined us for the meal but stepped out with some friends for the rest of the night, so it was just me and Rose (you don’t mind if I call her Rose, do you? She insists) in your lovely home.

You were the main topic of conversation, of course, but I found my knowledge of you fell short of what your mother hoped. She misses you terribly. I had the sense that she was looking for commiseration for the space you’ve left in our lives, but I was only your legal secretary and I work for another man now. (As much as I despise it. Please do come back to the firm when this is all over. Sidney isn’t half the lawyer you are and twice the hassle.)

I suppose you’re wondering why I’m writing. Your mother mentioned that besides Jeanette, you ain’t got a gal to write to ya and I don’t think that’s right. Every fella should have a gal to write to that’s not their mother or their sister, whether it’s a friend or a cousin or their dame. It’s hard to say certain things to family or you might have a story that they’d find appalling and anyone else would think is a hoot. I’d also like to keep visiting your mother for dinner and have something of substance to say (but all your secrets are safe with me, I promise). Jeannette’s gone during the day and I know how lonely a quiet house can get.

I hope Texas is treating you well. Keep safe and keep warm! I just read the most shocking piece in the Times about how cold it gets in the air. I’ve sent a scarf along just in case. Write when you can (if not me then your mother, please.)

Yours,

Isadora C. Montgomery

Burnham whistles as Rosie pulls a swath of textured pale cream fabric from the package. Lacy’s hand reaches out to trace over the cloth lovingly, her dressmaker’s daughter heart moving her body before her head could catch up. He doesn’t mind.

“Who’s that from?” Elton asks.

“My secretary,” Rosie replies as he scans over the long scarf and brings it to his nose. There it is, the faint citrusy spice that comes to linger on all of Isadora’s things. “She’s worried about the cold.”

Lacy snorts.

“Tell her it’s hot,” says Burnham.

“Tell her about the eggs,” adds Elton.

Rosie waves them off, tosses the scarf on the hook next to his hat above his bed, and picks up the letter again as he sits back down. It’s easy to get lost in the inky slashes and swells of Isadora’s handwriting, the practiced rows and roving, squat words as unique as their writer. She brings him back home in an instant with the sounds of Putnam Central on a Saturday night, horns blowing, bass rumbling around the room, and the keys lighting up his spine like his were the bones being played. It might be her up there, nimble fingers dazzling across the ivory and black or his mother and her clarinet, or Nettie and her double bass. All three of their voices eventually combine as they put their spin on the Andrews Sisters or Ella, and he’s the happiest man in the room to have a night of good music from good people.

He’ll have to ask who played, if Fat Bertie bellowed over his saxophone and demanded that his Dora get up and play that piana’, or if they had an out-of-towner. Were they any good? Any singers? Anyone who could remind him that there’s a world outside of Texas, one that’s free from the heat and the dust and the sour-tasting food. He’s pulled back into the letter, to the little flaky pastries with nuts and spices and despite the humid press of air in the barracks, his mouth waters for the warm, sweet dough that still steams when you break it apart. Rugelach, he thinks. They’re called rugelach, Dora.

She’ll know that before long if she keeps having dinner with his mother. She’ll know rugelach and blintzes, matzo ball soup and the good bagels from Schuman’s on Avenue T and Ocean. It makes him smile to think of her in his neck of the woods, her face soaking up the sun of southern Brooklyn’s wide streets not yet shaded by the tall buildings that are stacking up all around the rest of the borough, like in her Crown Heights. He wonders what it looks like now, if the drive to her apartment is more crowded, if she still chuckles at every errant ball that rolls into the street and waves at every older brother dragging their kid sister out of the way.

Then he’ll watch her climb the stairs and smile over her shoulder at him as she unlocks her door, and then she’s inside and he wishes she would’ve lingered on the steps a moment longer.

I know how lonely a quiet house can get. He wishes he could go back home, even for just a day, and take Dora to a show on Broadway or pick up Delilah and Daniel for a day with their sister at Brighton Beach. She’ll spend all her time in her apartment when she’s not at work, waiting and hoping, unless someone drags her out, someone like Ma.

While he hadn’t considered it before, it’s important to him now, this bond between Ma and Dora. He’s glad they have time for it, he’s sad to miss the raucous conversation that always arises from two jazz musicians in the same room. Hopefully they didn’t spend too long on him; there’s too much he wants them to share—music, movies, their love of fashion—for Ma to keep the conversation on him. The vibrant life that thrums through the both of them will spark, surely, and he can finally put aside some of his guilt.

“Are you gonna do it?” Lacy asks as he stows the letter away in his foot locker. His confusion must be obvious because she smiles softly. “Are you gonna write her? It’s such a beautiful gift. You really oughta.”

Her blue eyes turn to the fabric hanging on the wall and the way it catches the light streaming in from the window, gold and shimmering, reminds him of the Flatbush apartment, the flutter of the curtains in their small kitchen on an evening when they’re all home.

He’s not like other cadets; there are no weekly care packages or pages and pages of letters coming in daily. His mother and sister write when they can and send what they can, but something like this, a genuine piece of home, is a rare find. He’s grateful and as soon as he can wear it without sweating to death, it’ll be airborne and he can take a piece of the ground to the sky with him, and from Dora of all people.

There’s no way he’ll wear it as well as she does, in elegant loops piled around her neck to protect from the snow or draped over her head and tossed over her shoulder as she gets in the car on their way to lunch in Midtown, but he’ll try. He’ll try for her and her insistence on maintaining his ‘lawyerly appearance,’ never afraid to fix his hair or reknot his tie with a tsk when he’s not up to standard.

The memory makes him laugh.

He thought of her often since he left New York. Going from having one friend at work to none left him missing the former greatly, and he’d started a letter to her in Florida but never got around to finishing it. He’s scared, maybe, not of the propriety or the scandal any letter from someone who doesn’t share your last name causes in an Army barrack, but of what she’d think. It might be for the best that he didn’t write—he’s out of her hair for the time being, and she’s busy enough with the firm without him obligating her into correspondence. But as he thinks of her words, every fella should have a gal to write to, I know how quiet a lonely house can get, he’s resolved to do them both a service and write. It won’t be any too prosaic as he doesn’t have much to talk about now, but it’s a place to start for when he might really need a friend in the future.

Elton barks a laugh. “Of course he’s gonna write her. Not writing is how you get a Dear John letter.”

Burnham smacks his co-pilot in the chest. “It ain’t like that! She’s his secretary.”

And suddenly, three pairs of eyes are staring at him expectantly.

“I–I will write her,” he starts, but doesn’t let Elton gloat yet. “She’s a friend, a good friend, not just my secretary.”

That seems to appease the men as they get up and procure baseball gloves. Burnham tosses him a ball. “You pitching?”

Rosie shakes his head and tosses it back. “Not today, boys.”

“Yeah,” says Elton like it’s obvious, “he’s caught up on a girl.”

Burnham cackles and they chase each other outside, shoving through the group of pilots who just came in from the last practice flights of the afternoon.

The afternoon break before chow is not to be taken for granted so while the lowering sun of early evening lulls the brashest of personalities to some sort of peace, he starts to write after pulling out some stationery, paper braced on a book Jeannie had sent when he was still in Alabama.

Lacy speaks up after a while. “It means somethin’ when a gal gives you a scarf, y’know, ‘specially when there ain’t enough scarves to go around.”

That gives him pause and he pictures Dora coming in from the cold with a red nose and hunched shoulders. He’s stuck for a moment before Lacy laughs aloud. “Don’t send it back. Just let her know you’re thankful.”

She sits back in her bed and returns to her needlepoint, which her mother had just sent her, and Rosie blinks at her for a few moments. He hadn’t known what to make of her when they got the order to integrate officer barracks. She’s a quiet soul but surprisingly humorous, and steady, always right as rain. Anyone would be lucky to have her in the seat next to them—hell, he’d volunteer if they’d let girls and guys fly together—and he much prefers her company over the boisterous, posturing pilots that fill in the rest of the beds around them. Betty Lacy is good people. Dora would like her, he thinks.

Dear Ms. Montgomery,

I just received your letter and your gift. Texas winters are too hot for scarves, but I’ll put it to good use eventually. I’m sure you’re getting snow in New York and I’m green with envy. I’d do anything for a nice blizzard right about now. We fried eggs on our instrument panels last week (and sometimes we fly in our skivvies. Don’t tell Ma.) There’s no sea air here, not even in the sky, so the heat just sits on you like a wet blanket. Forgive me if I sweat through this letter.

I am jealous, not only of your delicious dinner with my mother (the food isn’t as dire as Alabama, but it’s still bad (again, don’t tell Ma, she’ll have a fit)) but a swinging night at Putnam Central. That’ll be my first stop when they let me out of here. Who played? I hope you got up there and if you didn’t, I got a request for next time. God Bless The Child. They played it in the PX the other day, a brief reprieve from the twangy warbles they like down here, and Billie doesn’t do it quite like you. It shouldn’t surprise you that I’ve been banned from humming in the barracks—all my love of music and I can’t make a note of it. No one in my bunk has a decent voice, so we’re a musicless bunch until we can get away.

Still, it’s a good time. I find myself the fourth in a small group of similarly-minded pilots. John Burnham is from Connecticut, Claybourne Elton is from California, and Betty Lacy is a schoolteacher from Georgia. We bonded over our restlessness and have all passed certification on the B-17, so we should be assigned to crews soon. There’s practice and lots of card games in the meantime.

I hope you're well and warm. I’ll send the scarf back if you need it. There’s no reason to go without for my sake; the Army has taken enough of your silk, coffee, and gas already. And don’t let Sid run you ragged, either—he may have the experience but you’re the senior member of the firm. Go to Mr. Freidin if he keeps bothering you and I’m sure he’ll set him straight.

They just called us for chow. It’ll be sandwiches or spaghetti—mealy, bitter noodles with tomato paste as sauce. I’ll pass and think of lunches at Rosetti’s fondly.

Be safe and write back.

Yours,

Robert Rosenthal

“P.S. God Bless The Child, if not for me then for my mother. Well,” Gertie Simmons-Montgomery says as she sets her granddaughter’s letter down, “you gotta play it.”

Isadora sighs. “I don’t know when I’ll be back there. Mr. Wacker’s got a big case coming up and he’s working me until I’m the last one in the office. I can barely keep my eyes open on the bus.”

“Go to this Mr. Weeden—”

“Freiden.”

“Go to Mr. Freidin. Robert seems confident that—”

“Robert is a brilliant litigator who keeps clients coming back. I’m a secretary,” she says and leans down to kiss her grandmother on the forehead before moving onto her brother and sister and taking her seat at the dinner table.

“Are you gonna write back?” Daniel asks.

“Of course she is,” Delilah snaps, “Mr. Rosenthal is very handsome.”

“Mr. Rosenthal is my friend,” Isadora corrects with a warning eye to the teenager, “and my boss.”

Delilah scoffs. “Not right now, he ain’t.”

“Alright,” Delrose Montgomery claps his hands as he enters from the kitchen and moves to the head of the table, “enough of this letter talk. I have my grandchildren all together for the first time in a month. I’d like to revel in family.”

Isadora smiles and Delilah kicks her twin under the table and gets chastised by their grandma, but it’s warm and cozy despite the snow outside. As they take each other’s hands and bow their heads to pray over dinner, Dora feels a playful twinge of guilt as she begins to compose her next letter in her head.

Dear Mr. Rosenthal,

I wouldn’t have sent the scarf if I wanted you to send it back. And yes, I’ll play Billie Holliday for you...

#rosie rosenthal x oc #masters of the air x oc #my writing #isadora montgomery #isadora x rosie #honey you got a big storm coming etc etc #why is it rosie and speirs and gale that are so hard to write #straighten up and fly right

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beetle-goth · 3 months ago

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please share your goth jeeves thoughts i am very interested

Goth Jeeves thoughts let’s go!!

I’ll start with my least coherent and go towards my most

Honorable mention: music is tough. The first real instance of goth music came in the 50’s and in the one story that took place in the 50’s we hear no mention of music. However, Jeeves is not a fan of popular music or showtunes and shows preference for classical music. Not goth, per se, but Bach and Beethoven do kinda have some goth-y vibes.

First, he’s very into serious literature and poetry. Which isn’t saying much but gothic poetry and literature was very prominent in forming the subculture and it sort of seems like the stuff that Jeeves would be into. He likes philosophy and lots of gothic literature has overarching philosophical thought on the nature of good and evil, man vs creator, the nature of death and mourning. And for poetry, the stuff he quotes in Joy in the Morning makes me feel like he’d enjoy Edgar Allan Poe, especially his more romantic stuff like Annabelle Lee and The Raven

“ "It is indeed, sir. I always feel that nothing is so soothing as a walk in a garden at night."

"Ha!"

"The cool air. The scent of growing things.

That is

tobacco plant which you can smell, sir."

"Is it?"

"The stars, sir."

"Stars?"

"Yes, sir."

"What about them?"

directing your attention to them, sir.

Look how the foor of heaven is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold."

"Jeeves

"There's not the smallest orb which thou beholdest, sir, but in his motion like an angel sings, still guiring to tho young-eyed cherubims."

"Jeeves-

"Such harmony is in immortal souls. But whilst this muddy vesture of decay doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it."

"Jeeves-

"Sir?" “ —pages 107 and 108

Second: his fashion! My man does not like colors and while we mostly see him in his uniform, I feel we can make some assumptions based on his non-uniform clothes and the way he tries to dress Bertie. His black, calf length outdoor jacket is such a goth win! Bertie doesn’t own anything like that and we rarely see other domestic staff wear something like that so it’s easy to assume that Jeeves picked that out for himself. He will wear tan, we’ve seen him wear tan clothes coming back from his vacations but that could be because of class status and/or the standards of driving clothes. Because when we do see him on his nights off, he’s still wearing clothes that look like his valeting uniform (black waistcoat, black tie, black jacket, ect). Bertie also mostly wears tan when he’s driving bc it hides the dirt better.

What’s interesting is how he tries to get Bertie to wear dark and subdued colors. Lots of navy, lots of greys. It makes you wonder if that’s how he’d choose to dress if he had the option. Also related to clothing, Jeeves shows an interest in both jewelry and silver in Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit and Jeeves in the Offing, respectively. He was a jeweler apprentice briefly under his cousin. Accessories, especially feminine jewelry and silver, is very goth.

Third: he’s simply a spooky bitch! Season 2 episode 5 he immediately knows a local folktale about a boogeyman called Old Boggy who roams the streets. In a town he doesn’t live in, at night where he cannot access a library. Which leads one to believe that he reads about the folklore about places he and Bertie visit with special focus placed on ghost stories. And in Right Ho, Jeeves he has this whole section.

“'You smile, Jeeves. The thought amuses you?'

‘I beg your pardon, sir. I was thinking of a tale my Uncle Cyril used to tell me as a child. An absurd little story, sir, though I confess that I have always found it droll. According to my Uncle Cyril, two men named Nicholls and Jackson set out to ride to Brighton on a tandem bicycle, and were so unfortunate as to come into collision with a brewer's van. And when the rescue party arrived on the scene of the accident, it was discovered that they had been hurled together with such force that it was impossible to sort them out at all adequately. The keenest eye could not discern which portion of the fragments was Nicholls and which Jackson. So they collected as much as they could, and called it Nixon. I remember laughing very much at that story when I was a child, sir'

I had to pause a moment to master my feelings.

'You did, eh?'

'Yes, sir.'

'You thought it funny?'

'Yes, sir.' “ pages 765 and 766 of the Jeeves and Wooster omnibus.

Smiling?? He laughed very much?? This story stuck with him into adulthood?? So much so that he thought it would be funny to tell Bertie this story moments before Bertie has a late night bike ride?? No matter how you interpret this scene, Jeeves is a morbid and spooky bitch for this. Rip Jeeves, you would have loved watching the Final Destination movies.

My point is that if he could, he would have loved being goth. He’s spooky and morbid, he loves dark, subdued colors, his loves poetry and literature with philosophical themes, he likes silver and jewelry and he likes slower, more subdued music without saccharine and cheery lyrics (let us not forget his disgust while Bertie was singing Sunny Disposish)

Hopefully I didn’t forget anything important but I feel like I’ve covered my bases on this headcanon

#jeeves and wooster #reginald jeeves

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analysisn3rd · 3 months ago

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Reginald Jeeves

Personality

Jeeves has one of the most remarkable and characteristic personalities I’ve ever seen. There’s no character quite like him, even if he’s rather similar to Sherlock Holmes.

He’s, to put it rather simply, brilliant; it’s one of the most notable characteristics of his. Not only does he like to handle things in a more analytical approach than anything, but he’s also rather sharp-witted, very quick at thinking, and coming up with solutions to fish Bertie & Co out of the soup ever so often. Although I think that he’s naturally just that brainy, I believe that his experiences as a valet and working with a lot of the upper-class folks like Bertie has given him a lot of knowledge on how to dissolve any issues that he might have to solve despite not really being involved in them. Additionally, he’s a very logical person who would ignore or dismiss anything that didn’t make sense to him.

Something that goes hand-in-hand with his smartness is his creativity. Jeeves is creative in thought more than in forms of art, unlike Bertie with his brilliant piano playing skills. His solutions to most of the problems that he’s presented with (mostly by Bertie) are all rather inventive; things that the other parties involved have either entirely dismissed/forgotten about or hadn’t noticed at all.

Alongside his intelligence, he’s incredibly observant. I would even go as far as to say that he’s the only observant character in this series with the rest overlooking things so easily in such a silly way. He often does this while trying to not be physically there (much like other servants, butlers and valets) or while watching things go down and trying to get involved as minimally as possible.

Aside from being incredibly bright, he’s sort of an information-hoarder. He knows a lot about several topics, including fashion, literature, silver, philosophy, music and cooking, amongst several others. All of which are things that he likes to talk about, mostly to Bertie. He’s also a bit of a nerd, mostly reading philosophy and what Bertie would call “intellectual books” and whatnot.

One of the most characteristic things about Jeeves is his formality. His so called “feudal spirit” is incredibly strong and unwavering. It’s because that’s how he’s taught to interact with people, especially those of a higher social class than him and I think he believes that this propriety must, at all times, exist, even if he could be more informal. I also think that Jeeves doesn’t really know how to interact with others too well without having some form of guidelines (which are present in his normal life in the form of his “feudal spirit”) or a part to play (like in the New York nightclubs), so the loss of formality, like when Bertie acts incredibly friendly with Jeeves, would be odd and distressing to a degree for Jeeves because it’s not how things should be.

Despite being very stiff and much like a stuffed-frog as Bertie likes to say, Jeeves can be rather mean and awfully judgy at times. This has occurred several times throughout the series, and he would usually judge Bertie’s more colourful or flamboyant fashion items or Bertie’s idiotic friends (where Bertie rightfully joins him in the judging here). He usually does this by either subtly insulting the offending item, usually a flashy hat, or by staring in a slightly judgy manner that most wouldn’t notice it, due to Jeeves’ facial expressions being rather subdued, except for Bertie.

Even though he can be rather mean, he deeply cares about those he loves, namely his family and Bertie, who, I would argue, is more like a friend (if not more) to Jeeves than an employer. He, much like Holmes, just shows it in an odd, unorthodox way, which is kind of funny since everything about Jeeves is supposed to be very normal aside from his intelligence. He shows his care to Bertie, in particular, by “fishing him out of the soup” (as Bertie would say) and by making sure that he looks how a gentleman ought to as well as by listening to Bertie’s various anecdotes and rambling, in turn, about things that he finds interesting that Bertie would also be interested in (though he usually does this at rather unsuitable times).

Insecurities and fears

Although he is painted to us as a paragon, a god amongst men, by Bertie, Jeeves is very much human, and he, too has his flaws, insecurities and fears. However, I would say that I will be talking more about his flaws and fears because I couldn’t pinpoint any particular insecurities throughout the show; this, obviously, doesn’t mean that he hasn’t any. He probably just hides them really well, much like his emotions.

Speaking of his emotions, Jeeves is emotionally repressed to a degree. As I previously mentioned, he’s a much more logical person than an emotional one and that sort of means that he understands his emotions; he knows how to identify what he’s feeling (to a degree) and what caused it. However, he rarely expresses his emotions openly, unlike Bertie, and I think there are several reasons for that. One of which is his social upbringing, he might’ve been taught that he ought to hide what he feels, that it’s shameful, that it’s unsuitable for a man and a servant, someone who’s meant to blend in with the background. His opinions and feelings shouldn’t matter as much as his employer’s, so he learns to hide them. A way that this presents itself is his minimal facial expressions (though I think there another reason for this, though I’ll be talking about it in another essay) and his quoting other people’s, usually authors’, words to describe how he feels about or thinks of a certain situation.

Another flaw that Jeeves possesses is overconfidence. It’s understandable why he could be, after all, he’s great at his work and he’s a brilliant individual who can easily get himself (and his employer and his employer’s fat-headed friends). I would, however, say that he’s rather subtle about it; he doesn’t really boast about any of his achievements or accomplishments, which I think is both due to class difference (where the servant should be more humble/less noticeable or notable than their employer) and Jeeves simply not thinking much of what he does. His overconfidence shows in how smug he is, which is rather often.

One of Jeeves’ biggest fears, I would say, is losing Bertie or no longer being Bertie’s valet. Despite not exactly seeing Bertie as a friend (due to “feudal spirit” more than anything really), he still deeply cares about him and he doesn’t want to be too harsh with him, like he was at the end of season 1 with the bike ride in the rain, because he doesn’t want to lose him. When they were separated because of the “unfortunate incident”, as Jeeves called it, with Bertie’s, rather poor attempts at playing the trombone, they were both very clearly upset about the whole affair. Considering how judgy Jeeves can be, I believe that the only employer of his that he somewhat approved of was Bertie, and he also makes it very clear that he admires Bertie’s seemingly never-ending kindness, even though it is the reason why he gets in the soup most of the times. He respects Bertie a lot, and Bertie respects him as well, and I think that he doesn’t want to lose that at all. Bertie means a lot to him.

Conclusion

I just want to mention that I’m talking about the 90s Jeeves and Wooster adaptation and not the books. I would say that they’re very similar generally, but, then again, I’ve only read one of the books so far.

I love Jeeves so much. He’s undoubtedly one of my favourite characters of all time. His dynamic with Bertie is incredibly interesting and I really enjoyed watching them interact together. Jeeves and Wooster is such a show that I’d enjoy; the character dynamics, personalities and the time setting of it are all things that I really like. I just hope that I did him justice.

#analysis #writing #character analysis #p g wodehouse #wodehouse #reginald jeeves #jeeves #jeeves and wooster

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