#Marion x reader

[circle-of-mushrooms]

human! alastor, who is a serial killer, as we know, and a detective reader. you're trying so damn hard to find this killer, never knowing he's right under your nose because alastor is your friend. you have dinners together, meet at the bar for drinks, listen to music... besties !! childhood, even, if we want the drama. and your whole world is turned upside down when alastor is caught and you're looking at him from across the table - before an interrogation - and you don't know what to say. and you just wish he would stop smiling at you. OR if you find out only because he was shot whilst burying a body, so you never get to have closure. forever denying that your friend could so something like this, even when all the evidence and his strange habits line up

[fandomnerd9602]

Visits

Fem!Baron Zemo x Male Reader

For @wildcardjgambit

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You had gotten your daughter out of the blast zone that was the Battle of Sokovia. And yet with all the loss, it wasn’t enough for your wife Baroness Helga Zemo. Her heart had turned cold, cold enough to commit atrocities in the name of your home country. She wasn’t always this way.

She was your light, a loving wife and mother. And now you hardly recognize the woman that stands before you behind several inches of bulletproof glass, bound in a straight jacket.

“Why?” is all you can ask.

“I did it for our home, the people we lost.” she answers back, tears streaming down her face. “Where’s my baby?”

“S-she couldn’t make it” you lied. The truth was that when little Marie saw her mother’s image up on the news screen with the words terrorist written across it. It broke her little heart, “that’s not my mommy” she cried.

You didn’t have much else to say to Helga, you just slipped her the papers you were dreading to deliver. You hoped it would never come to this but it wasn’t much left for a marriage nor was it the best life for your daughter.

Helga sighed and signed them. “I don’t regret what i did” she whispered as she slid them through the opening to you. “they took everything from us”

“And I tried to rebuild it for you. I don’t blame the Avengers. I just wish you had thought of Marie and I.”

And with that, you turned and left. The microphone allowing you to communicate with Zemo was shut off. And a good thing too, because if it was still on, you would’ve heard her cries of anguish.

The helicopter left the Raft, with you aboard. It dropped you off not far from the border of Sokovia. You found yourself feeling empty but you were ready to rebuild.

You found yourself at a nearby coffee shop, just trying to plan out yours and Marie’s next step. Your thoughts ran rampant when suddenly someone spoke up.

“Excuse me” a young Sokovian woman asked you, “is this seat taken? Everywhere else is full”

“Sure” you gave her a gentle smile, “I’m just planning things out”

“I know the feeling” the redhead smiled back

“Sorry I’m (Y/N)” you offered your hand. She took ahold of your hand and shook it gently.

“Wanda. Wanda Maximoff”

You felt something jump within you when your hand shook hers. You’re not sure if it was the spark of something or maybe rather just finding solace with a fellow survivor. Maybe that’s all it had to be.

Fan Cast: Marion Cotillard as Baroness Helga Zemo

[dumbasssimp]

Its alot, like multiple notebooks of oneshots/ headcanons/fics. i just need to type up. Most notebooks are completely filled, but fair warning, most are spicy (i have not posted nsfw on my blog in the like 3 years I've had it, but that's probably gonna change). Theres multiple fandoms off the top of my head i can think of Forrest gump, Cobra, Camp Cretaceous, full metal jacket, Harry Potter, the Walking Dead, breaking bad, naruto, the outsiders, etc.

These are all the fanfic notebooks:

Ps: i take x reader requests, just send a ask with a fandom (im in a lot, putting main ones in tags) and what you want to happen. I dont really have many limits unless you're a depraved perv, then i probably won't write your oneshot. I'll also write gender neutral/male/trans reader. i don't have a problem with that. Just specify, or I'll default to fem.

[heliosrisingheroesimagines]

AAA URE BACK i'm so happy omg…you're one of my fav writers in this platform and i love rereading your fics and headcanons!!! ♪

i'd like to request coriander, daisy, fennel, peony and sweet pea from the plant asks for marion!! there's not enough marion content that i can find here I swear...I think he really deserves some more love 💔…but either way, thank you so much in advance and have a great day!! :] ★

(Marion is my beloved I'm always happy to write for him~)

Marion Blythe:

🌻coriander: what do they love the most about their s/o, both physical and personality-wise?

You’re some whose very easy for him to talk to. He doesn’t feel like you’re judging him, or underestimating his strength, or making any assumptions based on factors outside of his control. He feels like he could tell you anything, and having this emotional security is incredibly important to Marion; it’s always been difficult to let his real feelings shine through, but it wasn’t healthy for him to keep them inside constantly, so he needed a person who he felt could understand him. Even if you didn’t have the same opinions as he did, there was just something that made him comfortable speaking freely with you.

Marion likes your eyes. They’re like windows to the soul, or so Nova used to joke, but he never really understood the phrase ‘getting lost in their eyes’ until you. He could stare into your eyes forever if you let him but normally, you’d get too flustered, having to look away while Marion couldn’t possibly mirror you.

🌻daisy: what is their love language, both giving and receiving?

Giving: Acts of Service. This is more a goal set by himself but Marion likes to prove that he’s ‘useful’ to you; it’s nothing you’ve ever commented on, and you don’t quite know where it came from as its not like he has anything to prove. He just liked the feeling of knowing he was making your day easier, even when he was busy himself he still tried to fit in tasks that would make your day easier by the end of it. It’s not something he willingly admits to, of course, denying that it’s coming from the love he has for you as it would be too embarrassing to admit.

Receiving: Quality Time. Marion isn’t a high-maintenance lover, as much as his standards might have you perceive him that way. He doesn’t want you going out of your way to do things for him, nor does he have a need for endless gifts (although he won’t ever deny home-cooked breakfast). He always preferred doing things together when your free-time allowed it, like cooking together or watching movies with the entire family; at first he was nervous about spending time alone with you but now it’s exactly what he needs to keep his head on straight.

🌻fennel: what are their kisses like? where do they like to be kissed the most?

Marion’s kisses are thoughtful, always coming in a moment that you suspect yet still knocking you off your feet anyway. You can’t help but lean in to him and it’s exactly what he wants, that closeness that comes with being unabashedly in love. He preferred to take the moments slow, as much as his nerves were set alight when you kissed he couldn’t help but want to savor the moment.

He would say the lips if asked but he doesn’t have a preference, a kiss is a kiss but he does like ones he can reciprocate. When you’re quick with kissing him on the cheek or forehead he always tried to grab you before you could get away, which you now made into a game knowing he wanted to reciprocate any affection you gave him. It left you both giggling in a way you didn’t think Marion was capable of before dating him, kissing each other’s faces until your other responsibilities were remembered.

🌻peony: how do they get their s/o to blush? how does their s/o make them blush?

Marion is always proud when he managed to set up a perfectly romantic moment for the two of you to enjoy together, and the confidence he has about knowing you is something you can’t help but blush over. There are some partners who might take a more bashful approach to it but knowing you inside and out is a source of pride for Marion, who put endless effort into your relationship while training his hardest to be a great hero.

Marion is surprisingly easy to make blush, almost like its natural reaction to your presence. It happened when you leaned in close or suddenly start giving him physical affection before he can mentally prepare, or when you sincerely compliment an outfit you think he looks good in. Having any sort of praise coming from you pleased him, but romantic attention made him more nervous than other kids of attention from you.

🌻sweet pea: are they big on cuddling? what is their favorite position to cuddle their s/o in?

Marion enjoyed cuddling as long as he was in a good mood, as he preferred being left alone or not being confined if he was angry/worked up. There are times where he needs comfort that he’ll let you know it’s okay to be close to him, a comforting arm wrapped around his shoulder as he leaned into you and tried to get ahold of himself as he didn’t want your mood to tank alongside his. There’s something inherently comforting about having a person you can simply lean against and absorb their warmth without being questioned on it, although teasing is imminent especially when the cuddling happens on movie nights.

His favorite way to cuddle was when you were on the couch together, a nice blanket spread across your legs, either you curled up into him or him resting his head on your shoulder. He thought it was nice if somewhat distracting, the first few times finding it impossible to fully focus on the movie but eventually falling into a comfortable rhythm where Jacqueline wouldn’t constantly squeal about how cute the two of you were.

[pushingdaisies1]

For funsies , I decided to start something! Im making moodboards for the fandoms I write for. At first I started with doing Mighty Nein , but Im deciding to branch out more!! These are the ones I already have made (including Ruby of the sea , aka the best lay ever<3)

I wanted to make these to take place of gifs that I like to use for them , but I definitely gonna make more for separate fandoms and characters. Hope yall like it!! ^^ ARTISTS: @squillflower-art - (jester) ,  @elkk-en​ - (fjord) , @Ian MacDonald - (veth) , @merildae - (caleb) , @deerlordhunter - (marion lavorre)

[mrscorcoran]

One more secret won't hurt / Bunny x reader

Part 1 Part 2

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Chapter 3: Gossip sessions can be very productive

I reach my dorm and walk directly to my room, trying to avoid anyone in the hallways. Once inside, I close the door and drop all my stuff on the desk. I reach into my minifridge and grab a leftover sandwich, then drop onto my bed to eat it, staring quietly at the ceiling. I am usually much more productive than this. None of my assignments have ever been turned in late. How could I let something so lame as a group of dorks derail my Saturday like this?

'Not the group of dorks, just the one guy' says a tiny voice in my brain. I shake my head, as if to make the voice physically go away.

Is it right, though? The guy did seem interesting and all, but enough to make my brain this useless? If I wasn't so self-conscious, maybe I would've walked over to the group and talked to them, take the mystery away, then I might be able to focus on my homework. Maybe a nap will help clear my head. Yes, a nap. Good idea.

To make the image of the dorks go away.

And the guy, of course.

 The loud guy.

I finish my sandwich, throw the wrapper at the garbage can next to my bedside table, and miss epically. I close my eyes and try to think of anything else, hoping I will fall asleep soon. It's quite early, though, and I'm not very sleepy. I've always had a tough time sleeping during the day. I toss and turn, get under the covers, and quickly climb back out. I swear I can still hear the words in the strange language floating around in my head.

I wish I knew what they mean.

Or how to spell them so I could look in a dictionary for them.

Or even just know what language it is.

There is something so intriguing about how it sounds. Is that it? Or is it intriguing because it came out of his mouth? I wonder what his name is. If I wasn't such a coward, I could've asked him.

I'm wrestling with my thoughts when a loud knock on my door gets me out of my trance. I’m grateful for this merciful distraction from that spiral I was slowly falling into. “Coming!” I yell. I walk to the door, trying to smooth my hair down with my fingers after tossing in bed for half an hour. I open the door and I’m greeted by Judy’s bright smile. “Hey, girlie!” she says, quickly stepping into my room and throwing herself into my bed with a sigh. “Ugh, I’m exhausted!” Exhausted came out more like a grunt than an actual word. “Do you have any idea how many costumes I sewed today? Way too fucking many. Is it too early to bring out the wine?” she looks up at me from the bed.

-“Nah, it’s 5 p.m. somewhere!” I say, opening the minifridge, and reaching for one of the bottles. I take a seat on my desk chair and roll it closer to the bed.

- “Girl, you okay? Cuz, you look like you really need that wine.” She sits up and reaches for the glass I’m holding out to her.

- “Ugh, don’t even get me started. I was supposed to do a bunch of work today and did exactly zero percent of it.” I take a sip of my cheap wine. “I was actually hoping I could ask you about something I saw today?”

- “Of course! Shoot.” She leans forward, as if indicating I have her full attention, and looks at me expectantly while taking a big swig of wine.

- “Aight, so. I was in the library, and there was this group, I’ve seen them around before, but never so up close. They’re kind of weird, dressed kind of old fashioned, speaking in a weird language… ring any bells?”

- “Ah. I see you met the Greek class” she says, rolling her eyes dramatically. What else can you expect from a theater major…

Greek. I knew it had to be that or Latin. I nod at her, urging her to go on, provide more info.

- “Yeah, they’re very particular. They’re Classics majors, so they only take classes with one professor, I don’t think you’ve ever seen him cuz he’s just as weird as them, a complete hermit. His name is Julian, I think.” She squints her eyes, and bites hard on her bottom lip in that particular way, like she’s digging around in her brain for the correct info. “Anyways,” she shakes her head, coming back to reality, “what about ‘em? Did they say anything to you?” Her voice turning an octave lower at the end, the international Judy signal for ‘spill the tea!’

- “Oh, no, nothing like that. They were a few tables away from me, working on something in what I now know was Greek. They were just so mysterious, and I just can’t stop thinking about one of them.” I realize my mistake a second too late and see the smirk already forming on Judy’s lips.

- “Oooooooooooo someone has her very first Hampden cruuuush,” she says in that annoying sing-song voice she uses to tease me. It’s like I can physically see the goblin energy flowing through her body. “And on one of the Greek weirdos, damn Y/N, that’s bold. But honestly, you’re kind of weird too, so that makes sense,” she says, matter-of-factly. I should be used to her teasing by now, but I still feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, and I groan.

- “C’mon, Judes! It’s not like that. I’ve just never heard Greek before. It caught me off guard, I guess.” I finished my wine in one big gulp and poured myself another glass.

- “Right, right,” she says, rolling her eyes again, “quit being a wet rag and go back to the boy. Was he hot?” her eyes grow huge as she waits for my answer.

- “I mean, yeah, I guess?” I close my eyes, trying to picture his face again. Yeah, I would consider him good looking. I give Judy a nod.

- “Well, don’t get any ideas. As far as I know, Francis is very gay. Like. Gay as fuck,” the last bit comes out barely above a whisper. I’m not sure why this information disappoints me, it’s not like Judy was right about the crush. “I get you, though. His hair is to die for! I wish I were a natural redhead too. My mom always said that-”

- “Wait, redhead?” I interrupt her rant. “No, I did not mean the redhead.”

- “Oh, shit. Sorry! I mean, he’s the hottest one so I assumed you meant him. My bad. I’m guessing you mean Henry then, and he is kind of handsome I guess, but dude, he is so weird. Not just weird, he’s mean. It’s like, I don’t know, like he thinks he’s better than everyone else? That one really needs to pull his head out of his own ass, and out of that weirdo professor’s ass.” She’s ranting so passionately about this Henry that I can only assume she’s had a really bad experience with him in the past.

- “Judes, slow down. Which one is Henry?” I ask, already suspecting she’s got the wrong one in mind. What she’s describing definitely does not match the vibes I got from the guy. The wine bottle is half empty already, but I still pour us both another glass.

- “Tall one, dark hair, looks like he has a stick up his ass,” her hands are moving a bit more clumsily than usual, she’s tipsy already. For someone who drinks so constantly, she’s such a lightweight.

- “Yeah, no. Again, that’s not the one I meant. I was talking about the blond one, with the-” my words are drowned out by Judy’s screech as she jumps up,  her hands holding onto my shoulders as she lightly shook me.

- “Oh! Oh! Charles! You mean Charles! Dude, you have terrible taste, like, honestly. I mean, they’re all pretty weird already, but add the freaky twin thing into it... And don’t get me started on the girl twin, that bitch is legit crazy. Camilla. She came close to clawing my eyes out at a party one time. Swear to god. I was just minding my own business, spilled a little bit of beer on her by accident. I can be very clumsy, you know.” I swear she is doing it on purpose. I let her continue her rant, sipping my wine patiently. “That huge weirdo, Henry, was standing between us in a second. He looked ready to beat me up. Now she gives me the stink eye every time she sees me. And so does her twin. They are freakishly close, those two. Did you notice they dress the same? I swear she just wears his clothes half the time. I tell you; you don’t want to get involved in that twin mess. No sir.”

- “You done, babes?” I ask her, raising an eyebrow. Once she nods, I continue. “As I was saying, I meant the blond guy with glasses. Not Charles.” Her face contorts in a weird way, like what I said makes absolutely no sense. Realization creeps into her features, slowly at first and then all at once. She looks at me like I just grew a second head.

- “You can’t possibly mean Bunny? Let’s see, was he being the loudest thing in a 10-mile radius?” I nod. That’s a bit of an exaggeration, but he was kind of loud for a library. “Yup, that’s Bunny.”

- “Bunny…” I whisper, the name feels funny on my lips. “What kind of name is that?” I ask, eyeing her suspiciously, thinking she might just be pulling my leg.

- “His name’s actually Edmund Corcoran, but everyone calls him Bunny for some reason. No idea why. But dude, he’s like, I don’t know. He’s the most down to earth one out of the bunch, but he’s also the most annoying one. I mean, you saw him.” She chuckles and spills a bit of wine on my bed. I don’t think she even noticed. “I’ve seen him around at some parties. He’s nice, but again, quite annoying. Plus, he hangs out with the other ones, so, my advice is: stay the fuck away, girl.”

- “Yeah, well, I was just curious. It’s not like I was planning on speaking to any of em. You know I’m shy with strangers.” She squints her eyes at me, clearly not believing any of my bullshit.

- “Well, I’m just glad you were not talking about Richard, cuz that one’s mine,” she throws her head back and laughs. “Fellow Californian, he switched his major to classics recently, he’s pretty cool. Hope they don’t turn him into a pretentious ass before I can fuck him.” I love Judy, she knows what she wants and doesn’t fuck around. I wish I could be more like her in that sense. “But really, this Bunny guy…”

 I quickly try to change the subject, hoping she’s kind enough to just drop it. “So, what play are all of those costumes for?” She rolls her eyes, but immediately yields, and starts telling me all about their latest production of some Oscar Wilde play.

I pay as much attention as I can, asking a few questions, laughing at her little jokes, trying to follow her stories about disastrous stage mishaps, but part of my mind is somewhere else, wondering how hard it could be to learn Greek. Imagining the delicious feeling of those sounds, rolling off my tongue. And Bunny. Mysterious Bunny. His thunderous laugh disturbing the quietest corners of my psyche.

[miya-akane]

─ "i gave a second chance to cupid!"

→ Pairing. kisaragi ren, marion blythe, leonard wright jr. x fem! reader

→ Tw. none

❥ Kisaragi Ren

He never believed in love.

Can you blame him? He lost his family when he was little.

But, why? Whenever he met you, he felt like his heart is beating faster than ever. Do you have a power to do so?

Consulting Will definitely did not help. What Will mean that was because he likes you? He shakes his head thinking it was just Will saying nonsense.

How wrong he was.

You asked him to met in a cafe. A cat cafe to be exact. Him as a good friend he is(friend?), met you at the exact time.

He did not expect you got swarmed by cats at your table. You look...cute.

He DEFINITELY did not expect that you confessed to him in the middle of your conversation.

'Oh the way you makes me feel the love isn't real.' He thought to himself before smiling slightly at your enthusiasm.

'I do too. I do like you.'

❥ Marion Blythe

He cringed at the word love. A hero don't need love.

Oh how wrong he was.

Ever since you came to his life, he will space out while training thinking 'bout your stupid cute face. (His words not mine)

Even Gast point out his sudden behavior. Well I must say Gast got some beating for that.

He knows this feeling very well. Love. But he denies it every single time.

'Waiting around is a waste. ' He scoffed while thinking.

'Is loving as good as they say? '

Getting an unknown letter on his bed was definitely not what he was expecting when he came back from patrolling the sector.

'Who put this, Victor?' He glanced around the room seeing that his roommate wasn't here. 'Well I guess I'll read it.'

A love letter? That handwriting looks familiar...

'Yours only, (name) ?' The letter ends.

He burst into shades of red after reading that. You loves him? Seriously?

'hmmph, I'll make sure to respond to your letter properly the next time we met.'

❥ Leonard Wright Jr.

Junior is familiar with the word love. But not THAT kind of love.

He loves being a hero. He loves making music.

But for some reason, he met too many couple on the streets while patrolling today. It's irritating.

'Cupid is so dumb.' He thought that but..

Next time when he saw a couple, you somehow pop into his mind. What if..no you only view him as a friend. Right?

I mean a friend would always be there for him. A friend whose absolutely adorable when got teased by Faith.. A friend...that he likes..

Who is he kidding. He's hopeless when it comes to love. He's a fool for love.

Well when suddenly you gave him chocolate even though it's not Valentine's Day confused him. Then you also confessed to him?!

You just made him stopped working for sure since he took some time to reply.

'Yeah..! I like you too.. I guess.. '

'Hopeless boy is seeking someone who will share this feeling.He's a fool. A fool for love. A fool for love~♡'

notes. i absolutely adore these three. Somehow i lost ideas on how to make the junior one though

[ike-bana]

Happy birthday Marion

Underated as f

[baronessvonglitter]

Daddy Can Fix It

handyman!Joel Miller x fem!plus size!Reader

Word count: 5.4K

Summary: All the housewives in your neighborhood rave about the local handyman. And with very good reason.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Reader is plus-size, wears dress and lingerie, has hair and body hair, and manicure. Reader's age not mentioned so there is only as much or as little of an age gap as you'd like. TW - fat shaming, food shaming, infidelity (by reader, and it's technically warranted) Pet names (daddy for Joel; sugar, darlin', baby, sweetheart for reader). Housewife/trad-wife vibes. Totally a bored housewife fantasy. Mention of female masturbation. Breast/nipple play, oral (f & m receiving). Fingering. Body worship. Pussy pronouns. Unprotected piv (Joel is snipped, but still.. this is fiction). Light spanking. Rough sex. Creampie. Joel's kind of a big ol' slut for the lonely housewives but is also really useful around the house, so you're definitely getting a good deal 🛠️

Author's note: it's been a hot minute since I've written a one-shot for Joel but it was impossible to resist. It all started because of this pic:

so yeah, Pinterest strikes again. How could I not write a Joel fic based on this? I hope y'all enjoy 💖

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"He can come clean my pipes anytime."

Raucous laughter erupts from the group of ladies huddled near the cupcakes at the latest book club meeting. You listen from the other side of the room where one of the older members is asking you to help her with her Kindle. "I never know how to keep up with all this fancy technology," Marion huffs, adjusting her bifocals.

You're trying to be patient with her, but the conversation across the room is far more intriguing. "It just needs to be charged. Your battery is low," you say three times before Marion can even hear you.

When you've managed to extricate yourself from her, you go up to the ladies and, with a friendly smile, join in. "I couldn't help overhearing."

Some of the women exchange glances, as if deciding to let you in on their convo or not. "Becky's just showing us that she got her kitchen cabinets redone," someone finally pipes up.

"That's not all she got," another starts to crack up.

You look at Becky's phone screen. The before and after shots of her cabinets are nothing short of miraculous. "That's great, Becky! I know you've been asking Gerald for a renovation for awhile," you tell her, hoping she'll be pleased you remember the plight she droned on about for weeks.

"It is great," she says, eyeing you with something like suspicion. "I have a very good handyman."

"He does everything," a nicer girl, Isabelle, chimes in.

"Boy does he," another mutters, hiding her smirk behind her cup of lemonade while the others giggle behind their hands.

Amirah adds, "He varnished my dining room table, power washed my driveway, helped organize my garage," she counts on her fingers. "He's good for little things around the house, and his prices are decent."

"It's like he's just giving it away," Becky says with a smirk and this gets the group laughing again.

"Maybe you can give me his information later," you say politely. "I have a laundry list of things that I need help with now that Wesley's working so much overtime."

The women eye one another, and it's Amirah, the leader of the group, who gives the definite nod. "Of course, sweetie. After the meeting."

"Great!" Smiling, you try to make your way through the group, saliva pooling in your mouth at the tower of red velvet cupcakes on the table spread. You reach for a couple more.

"You've already had three," Becky reminds you, casting a not-so-subtle glance at your body. Her voice sweet as honey but her words carry poison. You know you're not as thin or as glamorous as the other women in this room. You dress the same as them, wear your hair perfectly coiffed and your nails are always manicured, but just because you're not a size zero they deem you unworthy to truly be one of them.

You hold your head high with what little courage you have in the face of Becky's bitchiness, your sinful little cupcake in your hand. "I actually had three. And right now I'm about to make it five," you say sweetly, licking a swipe of cream cheese icing before putting two cupcakes on a china plate and going back to your seat.

That night, Wesley doesn't ask about your book club. He doesn't ask how your day was. He doesn't do much except pour himself a drink when he gets home and sit in front of the TV to watch the news.

You're dressed for bed, a modest robe over a red silk babydoll chemise, a purchase you'd made on a whim in the hopes that you could spice up your sex life with him which, truth be told, has never been more than lukewarm from the start.

"Do you think we should.. go to bed?" you suggest, a naughty tone to your whisper.

"It's early," he grunts, barely giving you a glance.

"I just thought we could spend some time together.." you brush your hand across his knee but he impatiently swipes it away.

"Please, darling, it's a weeknight," he looks at you as if you'd just suggested a threesome with him and the milk man. As he leaves the room he looks back at you, but the hope that rises in your chest is soon shattered when he shakes his head upon seeing your lingerie. "Red is for streetwalkers," he tells you before he goes into his study.

Daddy Can Fix It

You run your finger over the business card Amirah gave you, with all the handy man's information. The card shows his white company van with the logo emblazoned on the side: Joel Miller, Handyman At Your Service so it says in black lettering. There's a phone number and a website as well.

You dial the number, expecting to hear a secretary's voice, but you're greeted with a rich, baritone "Good mornin', thanks for callin' Daddy, what can I fix for ya today?"

Jesus, the voice alone is enough to get you flustered. And Daddy? You weren't expecting that. "Um, hi, I got your number through a friend and I'd like to see if you're available to come mow the lawn today." You peek out your curtains, seeing how the grass has grown taller than you'd like since the last time Wesley has cared enough to cut it.

"You got a lawn mower, sugar?"

"Yes, I do, um.. daddy.."

You hear him chuckle on the other end of the line. "You can call me Joel."

"Joel. Yes, I do. Is there anything else you'll need?" New to the housewife lifestyle, you're still unsure of how to make such appointments. Before you met and married Wesley, you just mowed the lawn yourself, but your husband refuses to hear of his good and proper wife performing a menial act.

"Got any bushes that need trimmin'?"

You aren't sure why that particular sentence makes you feel the blood rush to your face. "I typically keep up with it on my own, when I'm tending to my garden."

Joel gives a small chuckle and it warms your insides. "That ain't no problem. Today around eleven good for ya?"

"Eleven sounds perfect."

"Pricing'll be about fifty, but we can come to an agreement once the job is done."

"Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you." You give him your name and address, hanging up with a sense of accomplishment.

His van appears in your driveway just a minute before eleven. You're impressed with his timeliness. What you don't expect is the gorgeous stranger on your doorstep.

Joel Miller is tall, broad-shouldered, skin bronze from working out in the sun, and his dark brown hair is greying handsomely. If you had to guess his age you'd say fifties. He's in a grey tee shirt and work jeans. What stand out to you the most are his eyes: almost black in color, appraising you as you wait in the doorway, prim and proper housewife, lips parted, eyes wide.

He asks for you by name and you nod, chuckling slightly.

"If you can show me where the lawn mower is I'd be happy to get started," he offers, and the voice you recognize from the phone makes you melt.

You lead him outside to the garage and he takes out the mower, filling it up with some gasoline first. "Is there anything else you need?" you ask politely.

"No ma'am," he looks over his shoulder at you as he pushes the machine to the front yard. "Get inside and get outta this sun. I'll handle it from here," he smiles and it makes you want to giggle like a schoolgirl.

From inside you watch him through the window, deftly maneuvering the lawn mower over, trimming the grass to a neat, short length. It's not yet the hottest hour of the day, but you see him sweating, and when he stops a moment to remove his shirt, you suddenly feel your pulse in the deepest part of your cunt. You wonder what it would be like to lick up every drop of sweat off his chest.

Like a slow motion scene from a movie, you watch the motion of his arms, the rippling of his back as he guides the machine over the lawn. Biting your lip you take in the sight of him, the determination on his face redirecting your thoughts to how he would look above you: hot, sweaty, hard, plunging into your drenched pussy.

How long has it been since you've had a man? Wesley prefers his Saturday nights like clockwork. But you want more. Stupidly thinking marriage was the best way to be treated right and fucked properly, you realized it was not the title but the man, and the particular man you chose was lacking in all area which mattered.

You aren't even sure you love him anymore.

But right now, watching Joel is a treat, and fantasizing about him is a little secret you'll harbor for later in the day when you'll inevitably find yourself using the showerhead attachment.

He finishes the front and back yards, and through the blinds you peep him putting his shirt back on, running a hand through his wavy curls before putting the mower away and coming to your door.

You answer it before he knocks. "Thank you!" is the first thing that comes out of your mouth. "Please come in and we can settle payment."

He cleans the bottoms of his boots on the welcome mat before stepping inside your home and following you to the kitchen. "You have a very nice home, ma'am."

"You're too kind," you're modest about his compliment, but it's thrilling to have someone say something nice about the hard work you put into keeping house. "Would you care for some iced tea? I've just made it fresh."

"I won't say no to that," he chuckles lightly, and you're happy to fill a glass with some of the fresh-brewed tea over ice.

Joel leans back against the sink, pouty pink lips pressed to the glass as he tips it back, opening just enough to take a sweet sip. You watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows, and you wish you could lick a stripe up along his the length of his delicious-looking neck to collect all the sweat that's beaded there.

"Is there anythin' else you need help with today?" he asks, his question carrying a hint of something more.

You blank for a moment, getting lost in the depth of his obsidian eyes, still caught up in your little fantasy. "No.. no, I don't think so." Taking a look around your eyes dart to every corner, taking mental stock of the upstairs rooms as well. "No," you finalize with a smile.

"If you're sure.." he says in that same low tone.

You give him fifty dollars and chat a little while he finishes his drink.

"If there's nothin' else I'll get goin'. Feel free to call me again if you need somethin' done, or looked at. Ain't nothin' I can't fix," he winks at you on your doorstep and you feel a waterfall in your panties.

Isabelle calls later in the day. "So? You had Joel over today, right? How'd it go?"

Dinner is in the oven and there's about an hour before your husband gets home. Phone on speaker, you start peeling potatoes. "It was fine. He did a great job. I'm sure I'll use him again."

Over the line you hear Isabelle sigh. "Isn't his dick beautiful? I swear, just thinking about it gets me so wet!"

You nearly slice a finger off, shocked by her words. Even though you're alone in the house, you pick up the phone and take it off speaker. "What are you talking about?"

"I think it's at least eight inches, and the way it curves at the end," Isabelle sounds like she's moaning.

"Okay, I'm lost. I hired the handyman that you and the others referred. That's who came over today."

"Exactly, dear! Did he fuck you? You don't have to give details of course."

Your brain is put on pause as only silence fills your throat.

"Oh dear," Isabelle continues. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?"

She sighs, possibly settling herself on her chaise longue out by her pool she's so proud of. "Joel Miller is a handyman, yes. But we also pay him a little extra for other services."

"Oh." You sink onto the living room settee, the closest thing to you.

"Mm-hmm. Mind you, it's not an all-the-time thing. But we've all had him. It's just something fun. You get some help around the house with your honey-do list, and then a good fucking after. Or whatever pleases you."

"And you.. you've.. slept with him?"

"I wouldn't call it sleeping, honey, but yeah I've been with him. It's all for fun. Nobody really takes it seriously."

"And everyone else at the book club?"

"Pretty much. Do you really think any of our husbands could compare to that god of a man Joel Miller?"

No, no you doubt any man could hold up to the stud who'd just helped you with the lawn.

He's on your mind constantly, but as tightly as Wesley keeps his wallet to himself, you can't validate having Joel's help every day. You make the choice to wait until the following week.

And what a long wait it is. Jealously you wonder whose house he's going to. Jackie down the street? Bitchy Becky with her face like a rat, no tits and no ass?

You consider calling Isabelle to beg for the details (which she'll probably give you without a fuss anyway). But a sordid part of you wants to find out for yourself. You already know he's well-endowed. He's at least twice as big as Wesley, who wouldn't know what to do with a big cock if he was blessed with one overnight.

A week to the day since he made his last visit, Joel comes back to replace the batteries in your smoke alarms. It's a job you've done yourself, perching on a stepladder, but it'll be more fun to have Daddy fix it.

The phone call to schedule him was practically foreplay. That smooth-as-chocolate voice had your panties drenched. When he's finally here, inside your home, inside your needy little cunt.

Your eyes rove over his form as he uses your stepladder, only needing the first rung. It doesn't stop you from staying right there with him, holding it steady on the other side. You hear his little grunts as he gets to work, watch his thick, strong fingers handle the batteries with a delicacy you can imagine he uses in other things.

Licking your lips, you realize you're face-to-face with the faded blue denim crotch of his jeans, those Levis hugging him tight in all the right places.

"I'm 'bout done here," he says, putting the smoke detector back in its place. "Anythin' else you need help with, lil' darlin'?"

Your hand presses to the bulge in his jeans, and you're delighted when you feel him twitch in response. "As a matter of fact, I do need your help with something else.."

"That right?" he murmurs, pressing your hand against him, letting you feel him grow hard under his palm. "Been waitin' to see if you'd ask.."

He steps down, keeps his dark eyes on you. "Pretty lil' thing like yourself don't get enough attention, huh?" he whispers, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

Softly you sigh, unashamed at how needy you've been for a simple touch. "No.. but I'd like you to help with that."

"That's what I'm here for, darlin'," he smiles, his thumb tracing your soft plump lips. "What do you want me to do, baby?"

"Everything," you answer quickly. "I'm not.. really sure what the usual is.."

His smile is kind as his hand traces down your neck, leaving goosebumps to rise on your skin. "You want me to fuck ya, give ya somethin' nobody else is doin'.. that it?" He places your hand back on his bulge and you respond by rubbing him, your own cunt pulsing around nothing in excited expectation.

"Yes.. I need to get fucked," you agree emphatically, pulling him into your bedroom.

Now he's here, in your room, and you think you're dreaming. He's letting you take the lead, completely at your service. All the women in your book club were probably more open with their desires, knowing immediately what they wanted and how to get it. All the fantasies about Joel you've created and harbored in the deepest part of your heart are now as impalpable as gossamer.

"You tell me what you want, honey," he drawls in that molasses-rich voice of his. His hands gently trace your waist, smoothing down your dress as he moves towards your curvaceous hips. "God damn, I bet you look fuckin' gorgeous outta this dress. Wanna show me?"

Biting your lip, you nod, tugging off your apron and dropping it to the floor. Not gonna be a damn housewife while he's with me..

A tiny smirk on your face, you gently push Joel back onto your bed, and he rights himself with an equally mischievous smile as he watches you. He palms his hard cock through his jeans as you do a little striptease, tantalizing him as you slip your prim flower-print dress off your shoulders.

"There we go, baby," he growls as the dress falls down to your hips, your scarlet satin bra revealed, your breasts practically spilling over the cups, making Joel's mouth water. You turn around for his help in unzipping the bottom part of your dress, finally feeling free as it falls away, pooling at your feet.

Joel lets out a wolf whistle as he takes in the sight of you in your ruby undergarments, the same you'd tried to seduce your husband in. Now they're finally being put to good use. "Red's your color, gorgeous," he mutters, his hands on your hips, mapping out your generous curves and the soft rolls of your belly.

You've almost forgotten what it was like, this power to entrance a man and make him see you as the only woman in the world. Marriage to an uncaring and unfeeling idiot had left you cut off from your sexuality. Now you're reclaiming it.

Joel's hands travel back up to your waist, fingers deftly unclasping your bra. He unwraps you like you're the goddamn Christmas gift he's been begging for for months. His tongue wets his lips as your plump breasts are revealed. With one hand on your lower back, the other palms your tit with a rough hand. Your nipple rises to his touch and he dips down to swirl his tongue around it, gently coaxing it further with his teeth. Your head falls back as the sensation zings straight to your cunt. "Fuck, Joel.."

He smiles against the softness of your skin. "Sensitive here, huh? Bet these ain't been properly played with in awhile. Gonna change that right now." And with that he gives another hard suck, his dick already leaking when he hears your needy moan. He treats the other breast with the same attention. You take one of his hands and lead it to the drenched front side of your panties, but he stops you.

"Not yet, baby. Want you to see yourself before I fuckin' ruin ya."

You lay on your side on the bed as you watch Joel undress. It's a sight you won't soon forget: skin tan from working outdoors, with a smattering of chest hair that's also showing some grey, chiseled arms, and a happy trail that leads from his navel to the front of his boxers, which are tented. He wears a little smirk as he pulls them off and your reaction is priceless.

Joel is fucking hung.

You've taken big cocks before, but his is formed of pure fantasy, like a dildo from your favorite sex shop. Isabelle wasn't exaggerating about his size. And his cock is so beautiful you want to cry. Watching as he gives it a couple strokes, all eight thick uncut inches, the rosy pink tip glistens with precum, the veins and ridges prominent. Even the curve Isabelle mentioned is sexy, bound to hit all the right places inside you. His balls, rounded and heavy, move with his motions.

Thank God I did my yoga this week.

You beckon him to you, pulling the boxers away completely and dipping your head to taste him. Your tongue laves across the salty slit of his tip, and you relish the hitch of his breath. He's not here for you to please him, but it gets you wet wrapping your lips around his cock, suctioning your mouth and stroking upward from his base. When you start to massage his balls he stops you. "Don't wanna shoot too soon, baby," he says breathlessly.

He pulls you up off the bed and into a kiss, his hands playing along the edges of your panties as his tongue tastes yours. His cock, still wet from your mouth, nudges against your soft belly. "You deserve to feel good," he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his tongue tracing the outline. At last he pulls your panties down, a rumble in his throat when he sees the sweet glaze between your thighs, glistening in your triangle of hair.

"Sit on my lap, baby. With your back to me," he orders in a soft growl.

His flesh is warm beneath yours, and god it feels good just to be touched again, to feel desired by someone. You haven't known it in so long. He sits back against the headboard, moving the pillows on either side. His arm instinctively wraps around your waist as he leaves soft, feathery kisses across your shoulder.

"So soft," he murmurs. "C'mon, baby, look at yourself," he nods to the mirror in front of you.

When you catch your reflection you're exhilarated at the sight: you, naked, with Joel behind you, kissing your neck, fondling your tits, thumb brushing over them and lightly pinching them to hardened peaks. "Spread your legs for me, baby," he whispers, getting started by brushing his hand from your knee to your petal-soft inner thigh.

It's lascivious, watching all this unfurl before you in the mirror. You're spread open, on full display. Your pussy is gushing over with need, and you trace your folds with your fingers.

Behind you, Joel's cock twitches, and he rubs himself lightly against your back. "Lemme do that.." he whispers, gently pulling your hand away, bringing your fingers to his mouth and sucking your juice off them. "So sweet," he murmurs, and your belly is hot with lust.

His touch is soft and careful at first, exploring you and figuring out what you like, what you need. It feels like he's memorizing every inch of you. His thick fingers glide over your lips, circling, teasing you so you'll beg him for more.

"Joel," you whine, lifting yourself to him, trying to get his hand to position itself where you need it most. But he evades you, a dark chuckle emanating from deep in his throat. "You're payin' me to do a job and I wanna do it right. Not fair to rush me."

Your eyes close in frustration. "Joel, please.."

"Nuh-uh. Daddy."

"Fuck," you whimper. "Please, daddy."

"That's more like it." His touch finds your clit, throbbing and needy, and you nearly see stars at the feeling. He presses once again before sliding two fingers into your warm, welcoming cunt. "Christ, she's really suckin' me in there," he grunts, shifting behind you as his dick becomes nearly impossible to ignore.

"Yes," you moan at the sweet intrusion, the easy glide of his fingers in your drenched pussy. "Just like that."

"So fuckin' tight," he says through gritted teeth. And Jesus, his fingers are thick, the calloused thumb swiping over your clit, making you twitch and your hips arch up for more. "She's pulsin' around me," he mutters, his rich voice in your ear, lips brushing against your lobe. His fingers glide in, stretching you as you coat him.

"Ah, she's gettin' all creamy for me," he coos as he pulls them out a moment, licking off one finger and giving the other to you. You taste yourself, salty and sweet, humming in appreciation as you release his digit from your mouth with a pop.

He returns to his work, his hand pistoning against your folds, the squishy sounds of your soaked cunt beautifully obscene to your ears. Your voice trembles as you cry out, a sweet vibrato that resounds throughout the room as Joel's fingers curl in on your g-spot. He adds a bit more pressure to your clit as he tries to get you there. Moaning, he nuzzles his face into your neck.

It feels like you break open under his touch, hips arching up, swallowing his delving fingers deeper inside you as you spasm uncontrollably around him, a string of curses falling from your lips.

You barely have time to recover before he's on you again, moving in front of you as you lay against the pillows, like Venus in a Titian painting. His hands lift your thighs, softly kneading their thickness as he plants kisses on either side, trailing up to your cunt, your scent all around him.

"My husband never goes down on me," you whisper, heart racing as quick as a hummingbird's wings.

"Ain't he a waste of fuckin' space," Joel grunts, a wicked gleam in his eye as he dives in, flattening his tongue to lick a stripe upwards to your needy, throbbing clit. Your hands grab at his hair, pushing him forward as his groan is muffled by your sweet, saturated pussy.

"God.. damn!" you gasp at the delicious feeling of his tongue on you, lapping up every drop, tracing your lips and tickling your clit. He's relentless in his pursuit of making you come, switching up the tempo, adding a finger and then another, praising you when you cry out again. "Squeezin' so hard on me.. she's just about ready, ain't she?" Before he finally suctions his lips around your puffy clit and sucks, humming around it.

It's as if your soul leaves your body for a precious few moments, muttering monosyllables in sweet relief. You've never come so hard before, ever. And when you look up at Joel you wish you could worship him.

"Like the sweetest tea I ever drank," he says, licking his lips.

"Fuck me, Joel," you whine, still not fully come down from your climax.

"C'mere," he growls, putting you on all fours so you're facing the mirror again. You look at your reflection: hair mussed, eyes shining bright, skin glowing from your orgasm. Joel lines himself up behind you, smiling as you watch yourself. "Got every right to look at yourself, darlin'.. someone as fuckin' hot as you, with these hips, this ass?" He grabs one cheek and gives it a slap. You gasp, jolting forward, then wiggle your ass at him, wanting more.

"You a naughty lil' thing," Joel smirks, teasing your folds with his tip. "Wanna get this pretty lil' pussy ruined?"

"Yes, daddy," you moan, pushing back on him.

"Fuck me, I like the way you say that." He bites his lip as he continues teasing you. "Once I fuck you, you'll never let that limp dick husband of yours touch you ever again, I promise you that."

Your reply is cut off when you feel him nudge inside, your walls breached by his thick cock. "Oh god... yes!" you exclaim, clutching the bedsheets. "Fuck.. your cock is so huge.." You can feel the tip just kissing your cervix.

"Yeah, you like it? Like gettin' fucked by this big cock? Gettin' stretched out? Gonna leave a big ol' gapin' hole for your husband to come home to."

He bottoms out, grabbing your ass cheeks with both big hands, watching the smoothness of your skin as your cunt clenches onto him. "God damn what a pretty sight.. you oughta see this. Pussy's barely fittin' me as it is. Only tighter thing would be your little ass.." and he pulls out all the way to slam back in, glorying in the way you scream his name.

"There she goes, gotta get 'er used to me," he grunts, eyes on your swollen pussy lips wrapping his cock in a vise with each steady thrust. "Jesus, sweetheart. So tight I gotta try not to blow my load."

The sound of his name on your lips, the way your body reacts to him, is like gasoline on an already raging fire. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "Say my name, baby. I wanna hear it." He quickens the pace, pressing deeper inside you.

"Daddy! Daddy!" you shout in time with each delicious snap of his hips. "My god, you're so fucking deep.." you moan.

"That's it, take all of me. You like the way I fill you?"

"Yes daddy!" Your fingers clutch the sheets as the bed rocks with your movements. "So full of you.."

He presses a hand to your abdomen. "Feel me there, baby? All up in your guts. No one else is ever gonna fill you the way I do. No one's ever gonna come close. This needy lil' cunt's gonna be cryin' for me every day until I come back and give her what she needs."

His dirty talk is getting you wetter, your juices running down between your thighs, making his cock all sloppy, the sound of it making you feral for more. "Fuck me, Joel.. fuck me fuck me fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme.." you mumble, face down, ass up, slack jawed as you drool on the sheets.

He speeds up, hips slamming against yours, balls thwacking under you. "Yeah? Want me to fill ya up, blow all this fuckin' load inside ya? Got snipped years ago, baby, 's up to you."

"Fill me up, make me dirty and messy," you groan.

"You want daddy to give you everything he's got, baby?" he repeats. "You want me to fill you til you're all messy and drippin' with me?"

"Yes.. yes please," you're barely able to get out.

"Fuck," he growls, grabbing hold of your hips as he pounds into you ferociously. Once he has control he places one hand on your back, keeping you pressed down as he angles himself to hit that delicious little spot inside and he knows he's hit it when you cry out, cursing and shivering, clamping down on him like a damn vise right before he lets go, streaming jet after jet of his hot come inside you. There's so much it's already leaking out while he's still inside you.

The rest of the week you make a list of things for Joel to do next time: perhaps check out what's going on with the washing machine, or maybe he could regrout your bathroom, or help you rearrange your living room furniture right before he rearranges your guts again.

Even Wesley notices the bright and cheery mood you're in, and how attractive you've become since taking on some of the home improvements. That weekend he does you a huge favor, and sits back in his armchair as he waits for you to discover it.

"Wesley? What were you doing in the garage for so long? I heard a lot of noise," you tell him, arms crossed, a look of suspicion on your face.

He looks pleased with himself. "Well honey, you've been so agreeable these past few days that I thought I'd cross off some little projects on your to-do list."

"Like what?" you ask slowly.

He lists off everything you've had planned for Joel to do in the coming weeks. Small things, of course, but Wesley has done all of them, leaving you with nothing for daddy to fix.

"I thought you'd be happy," he says, his face cloudy now that you're unhappy again.

"Happy? Not quite." You leave a moment and return with a hammer, heading towards your husband.

He cowers, ducking as you completely pass him by and swing the hammer into the drywall of the living room wall, over and over again. When you've let your anger out and Wesley is rightfully afraid of your next move, you simply smile sweetly, holding the hammer pressed to your apron with your well-manicured hands. "Looks like I'll have to call the handyman after all!"

dividers by @thecutestgrotto 👑

tagging those who showed interest when this baby was still just a wip: @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @604to647 @inept-the-magnificent @clawdeewritesfanfic @manuymesut @bitccchmood @everybodylovedcontractors

[cece693]

I absolutely loved well mannered son. I think it was some of your best work. I hope we have a sequel

Well Mannered Son Pt. 2 (Norman Bates x M! Reader)

Thanks for the sweet words. I initially wanted it to just be a stand-alone, but then I thought about it and wanted to show more of Norman's psycho side.

link to part one

After that kiss, Norman's world spiraled into a hazy blur, where nothing seemed real except the lingering warmth of your lips against his own. He clung to that memory, obsessively replaying it like a film loop in his mind—the taste of you, the heat of your breath, the way your hands had pulled him in as though you couldn’t bear to let him go. The vacancy sign outside flickered through the rain-streaked window, casting dim shadows that danced across the motel room. The storm was relentless, drumming steadily against the roof, keeping others at bay while he indulged in the fantasy of what could be.

But then, the loud chime of the door’s bell shattered his dreamlike state, snapping him back to reality. His heart clenched when he heard your voice mingling with another, lighter and sickeningly sweet. His eyes darted outside, narrowing when he saw you speaking to a woman. Marion, she had said her name was. Pretty, young, with a smile that shone through the rain as she leaned in just a little too close.

Norman’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the windowsill. The way she stood there, flirting with you so brazenly… and you didn’t push her away. You didn’t tell her you were his. No, instead, you just stood there and let her laugh, let her touch your arm like she had any right to. It was maddening. If you had kissed him, it had to mean something, didn’t it? That you loved him? That you wanted him? There was no other explanation.

"Look at her, Norman," Mother's voice slithered through his thoughts, dripping with scorn. "She's trying to steal him away. She thinks she can take what's yours. Are you just going to stand there and let it happen?"

For once, her words felt like a welcome comfort, wrapping around his mind like a cocoon. She was right. He wasn’t going to let some cheap little nobody take you away from him. You were his. It was fate. And fate wouldn’t be denied—not by some worthless girl who had wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time.

"There’s only one way to deal with a trespasser, Norman," Mother whispered, her tone laced with dark approval. "Make sure she never touches what’s yours again." The thought was a sudden, visceral rush, adrenaline coursing through him as he grabbed the knife.

When the deed was done, Marion’s lifeless eyes stared back at him from the blood-soaked bathroom floor. Her face was a grotesque mask of shock, a silent accusation that no longer held any power. Norman stood over her, breathing heavily, the metallic tang of blood filling the air, but instead of the usual horror that followed these moments, there was only calm. Satisfaction. A perverse kind of pride in knowing that he had protected what was his. She would never come between you again. No one would.

When you appeared in the doorway, Norman’s heart lurched. There you were, the object of his every fevered thought, every restless night. Your gaze swept over the scene, taking in the gore with a calm that seemed to resonate through the air. There was no revulsion in your eyes, no fear—just a faint glimmer of amusement, a dark fondness as you stepped closer, your boots leaving faint, bloody prints on the tile.

"You really didn’t like her, did you?" Your voice was low, a teasing growl that sent a shudder down Norman’s spine. You reached out, your hand curling around his jaw, tilting his face up to meet your gaze. Your touch was firm, commanding, making his breath hitch.

"I—I couldn’t let her take you," Norman stammered, his wide eyes glistening with a frantic devotion that bordered on madness. He leaned into your touch like a starving man who had finally found his sustenance. "You're mine…I…I know you feel it too. You have to��You wouldn’t have kissed me if you didn’t love me."

Your chuckle was dark, vibrating against his skin as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "I never said I didn’t like it, Norman," you murmured, your voice dripping with amusement. "It’s adorable, really, how far you'd go just to keep me."

Norman’s breath hitched, his pupils dilating as your words washed over him like a caress. Your approval was intoxicating, making his pulse race and his limbs tremble with a strange mixture of fear and desire. The knife slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor as you pulled him closer, crashing your lips into his with a raw, possessive intensity that made his head spin.

"I’m not going anywhere," you whispered against his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair and tightening just enough to make him gasp. "But know that I also will kill whoever thinks they can steal you away from me."

[courtingchaos]

Bad Man

Steve Harrington x Fem Reader

Summary: Steve is always asking you the same question. Do you think you’ll ever give him a different answer?

A/N: hm. This one got away from me. Went in too many directions and I had a hard time settling with it. Hope you guys enjoy it all the same ❤️

Warnings: Cheating (reader has a bf), Sex, Mentions of driving drunk, Two drunk people having sex, Fingering, Unprotected Sex

NSFW 18+ No Minors

Oh and I won’t ask a single question

A question about who you’re supposed to be

I already know the answer

And the answer

Is you’re right here with me - Bad Man; Fightmaster

“When are you gonna let me take you out?” He asks, leaned over the partition of his register to smile at you. He props his chin on a folded up arm and lets the other one dangle free, his watch clacking against the wood.

“Take me out? Like on a date?”

“No.” He scoffs. “Like a hitman. Of course on a date.” He rolls his eyes, warm hazel full of mirth at his own joke. “C’mon. I know this cute little place over near Marion. Cozy, dim.” He tilts his head and watches you from under his lashes. “Perfect for a date.”

You sigh. You laugh too but the sigh is the precedent you need to set. “I’m sure it is.”

“I mean I know we’re playing this whole game of hard to get, but just admit it.” A customer comes up to his register with a baby on her hip and a handful of formula. “You’ve been got.” He winks at you before turning around to turn on his customer voice. An octave higher and a bigger grin, the lascivious one he’d been giving you gone while he coos at the infant. You bite your tongue though, holding your retort back for later. You know he’s going to corner you in the break room after you both clock out, his shoulder pressed into the row of lockers to ask you again.

“When are you gonna let me take you out?”

It’s his weekly question for you always asked with a grin and short laugh like he knows the answer is going to be different than last week. You tidy up your register and flip aimlessly through your stack of laminated grocery codes and pretend to not look up at the back of his head. He’s been out in the sun recently, lighter brown streaks shot through the darker. His fingers that run through the shaggy locks have a golden hue to them, the moles that pepper his skin dark in contrast to the glow. Broad shoulders flex under his polo and that laugh, as fake as it is, makes you smile to yourself.

So no you aren’t staring and no he isn’t taking you anywhere. A glance down at your watch tells you there’s approximately 47 minutes before you’re off. 47 minutes before you have to let him down again like he doesn’t already know.

The locker door swings shut and you laugh, something from the back of your throat. His smile is bright in the corner of your vision, teeth white and straight behind pink lips.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, I just think I’m getting my psychic visions under control finally.”

“Hm.” His brow furrows before he pushes himself off the lockers. “I’ve got a friend who’s good at that, I can give you her number.”

You can’t be mad at him but you are tired. “What do you want Steve?”

“You know what I’m gonna ask.”

“And you know what I’m gonna say.”

That smile drops off his face. Shoulders relaxed while he shoves his hands into his coat pockets and he scuffs a shoe against the linoleum floor. “Can you tell me something?” He scratches at his eyebrow and squints past you.

“What?” You wonder what else he needs to know about your uneventful life.

“What does he do for you?”

“What?” You ask again and aggressively blink at him while you clutch your bag to your hip.

“What does he do for you? Like, ever.” He asks it so plainly like it isn’t some direct invasion into your life. You want to snap at him and tell him to mind his own business but you stop. It isn’t his fault that he doesn’t think this is out of line, who else do you tell first thing every work day when your boyfriend has fucked up again?

“He…he’s my boyfriend, Steve. He does a lot for me.” You yank on your bag to finalize your lame reason. “I don’t have to tell you everything he does for me.”

“No, but I don’t think you’ve ever said one positive thing about him.”

“He has so many-” You cut yourself off because you can’t even lie about that. He doesn’t have so many positives. He might have two and it’s that he’s never raised his voice at you and he doesn’t get on to you when you forget to pay the water bill on time again. Steve looks at you expectantly but you just huff at him.

“I’m not going on a date with you.” You’ve never said it like that before, so plainly. To his credit Steve doesn’t flinch, just nods his head deeply and swings his keys around his finger while avoiding your gaze.

“Understood.”

The routine of every closing shift with Steve goes the same. He shows up five minutes before he has to clock in to find you reading your last chapter in your book. He’ll compare lunches with you and you’ll talk about your leftovers and he’ll ask.

“Oh, did you make dinner again?”

Steve won’t put any feeling into that question. A simple tilt of his head, a comment about how it sounds delicious. A joke about how you should invite him and Robin to dinner some night because neither of them can cook more than mac and cheese without fear of burning something.

You’ll both head up to the front office to find your night manager and Steve will bump elbows with you on every other step. He’ll talk about the game that was on the night before and you’ll nod along. Rich, your boyfriend, also watched the game but it wasn’t as interesting as when Steve tells you. You’ll tamp that thought down though before it grows legs and runs away with your better judgement. He’ll ask about your night and when you don’t have anything to say?

“What’d you and Rich get up to then?”

The usual. He watched TV and yelled at the Packers for loosing again and you made dinner after being on your feet all day, unlike him and his office job.

“You know,” you’ll say “he’s home a full four hours before me and still didn’t take the chicken out of the freezer.”

Steve will nod and frown while he counts his till before turning on his light for the customers.

“Every night?”

“Every night! And he didn’t wash my sweater again. I swear I’m speaking friggin’ Greek some nights.”

Steve will sigh and huff along with you. He’ll bitch about his date the previous weekend, how she wasn’t interested in hearing about his hiking trip with Robin. How it seemed that it was more a pity date than anything.

“You and Rich got any plans this weekend?”

Of course not. You can’t remember the last time he took you out on a date, much less even went with you to the grocery store. Another slip up in your tales to Steve when you derail and tell him this. Barely a date night in the past year and every time you’ve brought it up it’s met with a sigh. With a hand wave and a promise for next month, when things calm down at work. When he isn’t so tired.

“What’s he working so hard for?”

You wouldn’t know if you even cared to ask. It’s in these conversations where you realize a few things. Every day gives you a new insight and Steve more fodder for his never ending question.

You like working Saturday’s with Steve because Robin usually shows up at closing and he’ll invite you out for a drink. She’s funny and he plays off of her well and by the end of the night you’ve usually forgotten that you’re probably showing up to an empty apartment.

“I’m not leaving until I see you walk in.” Robin chirps, her seat pulled too far up into the steering wheel. She’s the soberest out of the three of you and you roll your eyes at her with a giggle. “I know Rich is there but-”

“No he’s not.” Steve cuts in from the backseat. You see him shake his head in the rear view and Robin gives you an open look.

“Oh don’t get all weird with me, he’s just out with his own friends.”

“He doesn’t invite you out too?” Steve mumbles from the dark.

“Steve.” Robin warns over her shoulder.

“No, it’s okay. They get together earlier than I get off work.” You play with the zipper of your jacket and don’t make eye contact. “I don’t really like his friends anyways.”

“He should get new friends then.”

“Steve.” Robin turns her head sharply to stare into the dark backseat where her roommate sits in the shadows. There’s a silent game of chicken happening between them, something tense and unsaid and you unlock your door to try and cut the rising emotions.

“Thanks for the ride, I appreciate it.”

“Let me walk you-”

“I’m okay, thank you though.” You smile through the headrests at Steve and his insistence, his eyes glassy in the light from the street lamps. You stumble only a little on your way out of the car and once you make it to your door, darkened window greeting you like normal, you can hear the muffled volume of Steve and Robin arguing before she drives them both home.

Steve hasn’t asked you for a date in over a month. He still keeps close to you during working hours but he doesn’t hang in the break room. On Saturday he doesn’t ask you out with him and Robin and he doesn’t ask if you have any plans that weekend.

“Is Robin picking you up?” You ask timidly from inside your locker where you have your head buried, pretending to look for your wallet.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. We’re going to a friends house for a game night.” He waits for you by the door, still intent on walking you to your car. You’re waiting for him to do the courteous thing and ask if you have plans but when he stays silent you bring them up anyways.

“I actually have plans this weekend.”

“No shit?” He sounds surprised but you think you weren’t supposed to see the eye roll.

“Yeah, Rich is taking me to that little place in Marion.” You give him a big grin. “He said he heard good things, wanted to take me somewhere nice.” Deep down you want him to be jealous. You want Steve to feel a little bad for shit talking your boyfriend, even if you agreed with him. You know you shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place, none of his fuck ups or passive attitude, but maybe this could make up for it. Maybe you could show Steve you didn’t have that poor of taste.

Steve nods and bites his bottom lip. You wait for him to open his mouth to say something snippy but he lets the conversation die. He waits for you still, to walk you to your car, but when he gets you to your door he tells you to try the vodka sauce at this little restaurant and leaves you with a small wave while he hunches into the car.

Dinner is…fine.

It’s fine! Rich definitely took you to dinner and he did hold the door open for you and yeah the sauce was amazing and so what you had a brief ten minute interlude of quite between you and your boyfriend where you thought, briefly, about Steve sitting across from you and explaining the different types of pasta that his friend Eddie was learning in his culinary classes.

Then later during the quiet drive home when Rich had turned the radio over to some game he’d missed for your date you’d maybe had let your mind wander again, a wide palm that would rest on your knee and squeeze. Fingers that drift inwards with a promise for a continuation, conversation that makes you fawn and giggle and-

Steve pops up behind you while you shove your purse into your locker. “So, how was dinner?”

“It was fine!” Maybe a bit too snappy with the way he pulls his head back but you flash him a smile.

“Fine?”

“Yeah.”

He leans a shoulder on the lockers beside you, a curious look on his face. “Just fine?”

You swallow when the hand that scratches at his chin brushes your arm on the way down. “Yes Steve. It was…nice.”

“Oh now it’s nice.”

Your sigh is loud and full of exasperation. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to know how your dinner went.” He’s picking on you. That easy grin tells you everything.

“No, you want to know if he messed up somehow.”

“Maybe.”

“He was fine.”

“Oh then I could definitely do it better.”

That makes you pause. Your eyes flick between his trying to decipher his angle while you try to ignore how you can feel the heat coming off of him standing this close. “Excuse me?” It comes out quieter than you meant.

“If I take you out it isn’t gonna just be ‘fine’.” He scoffs.

“If?”

“It’s just a matter of time now.” He slides forward along the locker doors, face closer to yours, enough to feel the edge of his breath he huffs through his nose. “How many more ‘just fine’ dates do you want?” There’s a shift in his demeanor. A squaring of shoulders when he crosses his arms, his gaze softer as he looks down his nose at you.

“Steve, I-” You jump when the break room door opens and he just stands up straight to tug his shirt down before he raises an eyebrow and walks around you to head to work.

“You free tonight?” He asks you during lunch, half his sandwich shoved in his mouth.

“For what?”

“Drinks.”

“You don’t have another game night?” You try to ask it playfully but it comes off a little snooty. All throughout your date you’d caught yourself drifting and wishing you were at that stupid little hole in the wall with Robin and Steve. Once you’d realized how the night was gonna go all you could think about was Steve buying you another round, another cheep beer or the nickel shot of the night. How he’d circle his arm around to place the drink in front of you, careful to wrap himself around your back for a moment.

“Nope.” He pops the word for emphasis and gives you a dopey grin. “All free for you.”

It makes you bashful but what does he do that doesn’t? When you’re finished with your food he wordlessly grabs his trash and yours, even your empty tupperware to rinse it out.

“You don’t have to do that Steve, I have hands.”

“I’m being nice.” He hands you back the dried container. “It’s just a dish.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It isn’t just a dish. His arm brushes yours on your walk back to your registers and you barely keep up with his story about the art gallery with Robin from a few days ago. Lost in the little moments of things he does for you just at work, like walking you to your car. Rinsing your dish out for you and grabbing extra stacks of bags when he’s grabbing his own. Small, minute little things that he just does without you having to ask. It’s a strange concept to you, not having to ask for the small things.

“You aren’t listening are you?” He smiles at you again without irritation or an eye roll. Another thing you haven’t had the privilege of in a long time with Rich.

“I’m not, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll hold you hostage later and explain what Robin told me about the Haitian art.” He hooks an arm around your shoulders to pull you in. “All it’ll cost you is a single round.”

“Deal.”

Robin is nowhere to be found after work. The parking lot holds just a handful of cars, yours included, and no maroon beemer in sight.

“Are we meeting her there?”

“Uh, no.”

You pause with your key in the driver door. Turned away from him so you don’t have to look at him when you ask. “So just us then?”

“Mhm.”

What you should do is tell him no. Give him a ride home and then head back to your place where you can make a single serving of something and then fade away in front of the TV until your boyfriend calls you from his trip entirely too late and wakes you up.

Instead, “This isn’t a date, okay?” You get in your car and unlock the passenger side for him.

“Sure.”

“I mean it Steve.”

“That’s why you’re buying the first round.” He’s all wide grins and quiet giggles that turn infectious while you navigate to the bar. He finally has your attention so he finishes his art gallery spiel and you have to ask, it’s something that’s been burning in your back pocket forever.

“So when you go on all these dates, is Robin upset or…”

“We’re not together.” Steve sighs and shakes his head. “It really isn’t like that, we’re just friends.”

“Yeah but you two get along so well.”

“It’s…complicated.” He isn’t cutting you off but it’s the answer he’s giving you right now. “Not between us though, we really are just friends.” He points out the street you’re supposed to turn on and you have to make a quick right. “You got nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried.” You shoot him a glare as you park, the sudden silence when you turn off the car deafening. “First round on me, right?”

You open a tab when you get there, hellbent on paying your own way to prove to yourself that you aren’t trying to turn this into a date. It’s two friends hanging out, that’s it, and Rich wouldn’t care anyways because you’re allowed to have friends.

You buy your friend Steve a beer and he tells you about his parents retiring to Florida and you talk about your mom’s new boyfriend. Your empty barely hits the table and Steve has a cold can waiting, sliding it across the table at you.

He talks about his friends Nancy and Johnathan getting married and you vaguely mention that Rich is out of town for his brother’s bachelor party. Two shots get set down in front of you and the conversation gets louder with the music and the crowd.

You forget the lines you drew for yourself and reach a hand over to tap Steve’s leg while you’re trying to remember the next part of your story. His nose is red from the cheap whiskey but his cheeks flush when you have to use him for support when you stand, hot palm pressed into the thick of his thigh.

Steve listens to you talk about the drawing class your taking and when you think your starting to bore him he waves you off with a laugh.

“What would give you that idea?”

“I don’t know, Rich kind of drifts if it isn’t about him.” You’ve got enough liquor in your system to start bypassing your filter and you tell it like it is. “He doesn’t give a shit about my ‘stupid little class’.”

“His words or yours?” Steve asks over the rim of his beer. You just shoot him a look and take your shot with a grimace. “Well, keep going. I want to hear more about it.”

The night goes by quicker than expected and suddenly you’re drunk. You realize this while standing in the single stall bathroom while you hold yourself up over the sink to stare at your reflection.

“Get it together.” You make yourself chuckle. “Seriously, what’s going on with your mascara?” You swipe your still wet hands under your lashes to wipe away the black fallout. A moment of embarrassment when you think about Steve seeing you like that but he’d been laughing too, and the bar was dark.

“It doesn’t matter.” You point at your reflection. “He laughed at your jokes.” Your smile is florescent in this dingy bathroom for only a moment when you remember those lines you laid so carefully and then so quickly crossed. The corners of your mouth fall and you sway when you stand up too fast. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be drunk. You shouldn’t be here and drunk with only Steve.

Almost as if he’s heard your thoughts he’s knocking at the door rapid fire while a muffled voice tells him that’s the ladies room. “I know, I’m looking for my lady.” He laughs and the girl laughs and you start laughing and god you can’t keep a thought in your head now after what, 6 shots? 3 beers? You open the door and Steve greets you with a surprised face and an arm around your middle.

“See, I found her!”

“Steve,” you giggle against his shoulder while he walks you to the bar so he can pay the tab you were supposed to be picking up, “I shouldn’t drive.”

“Then I’ll drive.” He looks down his shoulder at you with hazy eyes.

“I don’t think you should drive either.” You’re slurring makes him laugh and under his right arm he reaches his left hand through to grab your fingers pulling at his coat.

“A cab then.”

“You’re so smart, you know that?” You stare at him in awe before laughing again, your fingers flexing in his grip and staying put.

Steve blushes doubly so with the alcohol and your words going to one of his heads. He whips his head to the bartender waiting for her pen back and he smiles brightly at her. “One cab please.”

You both fall into the bar top giggling while this poor bartender rolls her eyes and drops the phone in front of Steve so he can call for his own chariot.

He follows you right into the back seat and falls directly onto your side when your shoe catches on the rubber mat that lines the floorboards. The driver looks back at the two of you caught in laughter and sighs, waiting for one of you to give him an address. When you try to give Steve’s first he tuts and gives the driver yours instead, “That way I know you got back safe.” His breath tinged with cheap beer brushes your cheek, his nose almost pressing in if only you’d turn your head a little more.

“Yeah okay.” Instead you just look at him from the corner of your eye while your heart beats a hundred miles an hour. Steve adjusts as best he can, his limbs heavy with liquor so he just huffs into his corner of the bench seat, halfassed clipping his seat belt on.

“I mean it. Rich isn’t there.” Air quotes around your boyfriend’s name and a deep mocking frown accompany it.

“Steve.”

“What? You said he was gone.” He rolls his eyes but closes his mouth when he sees you getting that little notch between your brows. He drops his hand off his lap and inches it over the seat till he’s reaching out to poke your leg once. Twice when you don’t react and then hesitantly he hooks his pinky out for yours draped over your thigh.

God his hand is warm. You can feel it through your jeans where the side of it rests against you. He hooks his pinky and you don’t move a single digit on your hand for fear of turning this into something it shouldn’t be. You feel sober suddenly when it hits you where you are and with who.

“Hey.” He tugs your hand till it falls onto the seat and he can grab it. You don’t fight it, not when his voice has that gravel to it from speaking all day. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Steve starts to let your hand go but he’s taking that warmth with him and you finally latch on to him, holding his hand down against your leg. You lean over to lay your head on his shoulder and stare out the windshield. It’s foggy out, the mist collecting on the glass to starburst the streetlights and you stay pressed against him.

The cab comes to a stop in front of your building and before anyone can say anything you finally look up at Steve. A tug on his hand and a quiet question only for him. “You wanna come up?”

The stairs try to trip you but Steve is there with a balancing hand at your hip. When you fumble with your keys he holds out his palm for them and you hope he can’t see the nerves rolling off of you. Your apartment is dark just like you expected but for the first time ever it seems to hold a promise in it, something in the shadows that doesn’t feel so sad. Behind you Steve closes the door and cuts off the light streaming in from the hallway and a switch is flicked inside you.

He’s right there when you turn around to grab the front of his coat and press your lips to his. No startled noise just his hands coming up to cradle your head. You cling to the front of him and he tries to sooth you with thumbs rubbing gently across your cheekbones.

None of this matters in the dark and you need him, need him to understand that. You turn into a flurry of movement trying to get him out of his layers. He laughs and breaks the kiss while you push at the lapels of his coat and tear at the buttons on his polo. You’ve spent months staring at the back of him, his broad shoulders and sun kissed skin. The moles that dot his neck and the chestnut hair that he’s always futzing with.

He’s running those big hands down your neck and over your shoulders.

“We don’t have to rush.” His voice cuts through the quiet hum of the appliances and runs down your spine with its deep timber. “No one else is here.”

He dips his head to kiss you again but the fervor is gone, replaced instead by a slow build of want. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth to gently bite and you melt into his chest. Hands lay limp against him while he begins your undoing with his kisses. They trail off to your cheek and to your ear and when he’s at your jaw his jacket falls from his shoulders.

He works at your clothes methodically the same way his mouth works at your neck and when you try to tug him towards your bedroom he pauses.

“We don’t have to go in there.” He gives you a soft look, almost pitying. “The couch is just as good.” A small smile against your small frown.

“I want to.” You pull and he steps with you. “It’s my bed anyways.”

Your back hits the bed and he follows you down with laughter and roaming hands. They pull at his own clothes and yours till you finally can touch all that warm skin of his, fingertips tracing between moles on his chest inbetween sloppy kisses.

You can’t remember the last time you felt want like this. Everywhere his fingers drag feels like live wires under your skin. They dance along your collar bones and behind your knees, sensitive skin graced with featherlight touch.

“Please.” You pant while he kisses along your jaw.

“Please what?” He drags his touch up the inside of your thigh and grazes your mound, dancing around where you want him most.

“Please touch me.” Your voice wobbles with emotion, unshed tears stuck behind your lashes. The nerves of the night settle deep into your bones, deep enough you think you might shake apart with them. Long fingers split you open, a slow drag upwards till he hits that ache that you’ve been ignoring all night. Uneven circles drawn while he pants against the side of your neck, open mouthed kiss pressed into your pulse.

Deft fingers pull your pleasure forward quick, a practiced hand between your legs that rivals your own. He hasn’t come up for air since he planted his face against you, tongue and teeth working in tandem against the sensitive spot under your ear while those long fingers dip lower. You can feel his smile like a tattoo on the front of your throat when he sinks one finger in, and then two, his moan singing along with your gasp. Quickly the pads of his fingers find that spot and your knees snap together around his wrist.

“Right there?” It’s all breath in his ask, your nod vigorous. “Come on.” He grits and keeps his pace up while you spiral when he presses the heel of his palm down. “Come on baby, let go.” Teeth scrape against your neck and help to send you over the edge while you grind down on his hand firmly to chase the tails of your pleasure.

Aimless kisses help bring you back to focus along with Steve’s hands gripping you to slide you down the bed. Hooked in the bend of your hips he jerks you to him, thighs hitting his and his cock is there against you suddenly. Hot and heavy between your thighs when he leans down over you to catch your lips in a deep kiss. Short rolls of his hips make him catch on your overly sensitive clit to make your legs shake just a little more.

“Do you know how much I’ve thought about this?” He says against your mouth, sloppy and desperate as he ruts against your heat. “I think about you all the time.”

“Yeah?” You sound just as desperate, rolling hips meeting his own so he can keep nudging your clit. The tip of his cock edges lower but too slow, especially now with him staring wide eyed at you and panting.

“When you went to Marion I-fuck” He looses his composure when you sneak a hand between your bodies to help guide him, fingers wrapped around the thick length. “-I thought about crashing your date.”

You choke on your ‘what?’ when he finally sinks in and the size of him makes you gasp. He pauses for a moment when his eyes slip shut and you hold him between your thighs. When he doesn’t move you shift to get his attention and those blown out eyes find yours in the dark. Hands planted beside your head to cage you in and all you want to look at is his open expression. The grin he wears so well flashed at you while he rocks himself deeper.

“I know it’s crazy.” He half laughs as he starts a deliberate pace. “You make me feel crazy.” Every thrust is a punch of pleasure against that spot he’d found earlier. Precise and slow he drags this out so he can watch your face fall slack.

“I’m sorry.” You sob when he drives in deep and makes your eyes roll.

“No, no it’s me. You’re just-“ he hisses at your nails dragging behind his neck and up into his hair to grab fistfuls, pulling him down closer.

He takes the opportunity to kiss along your collar and mumble against your chest, slurred words only for your ears. Small bites along the swell of your breast and his long fingers rolling a nipple between his knuckles to make your breath hitch. He calls you beautiful and perfect and if you weren’t heading fast into your second orgasm you might cry from the attention.

Everything is big and hot in here. Louder and quieter at the same time. Steve holds onto you while he fucks you, hands gripping and lips searching. No marks but he lets his teeth nip at bared skin before he moves on, letting his fingers press into soft fat at the backs of your thighs and chest. You haven’t felt this kind of passion in a long time, the never ending want for more. You need him deeper, you need him to cover you completely. You want him to suck marks into your skin so you can see them in the morning and know this wasn’t you letting your fantasies get out of control again.

A faltering in his movement before he speeds up, hot breath fanning over your cheek where he kisses wetly up and down and to your ear, his quiet moans making your toes curl. It’s the deep, halting groan that pours out of him when he comes that has you clenching. He grips at you to hold you in place while you shake under him and he talks you down off your precipice. Mumbled praise and reminders of your beauty while sweat begins to cool. He doesn’t let his full weight fall on you but he does lay over your chest, skin sticking and sliding as his hand searches for yours to hook fingers together.

Beside your head you can hear him taking breath, readying to say something and you have a moment of doubt suddenly. He’s told you too much and not enough and maybe your brain is staring to catch up to your actions.

“I’m not drunk enough to say something stupid, but I need you to know something.” He uses his free hand to prop himself to hover over you, his grin skewed over his flushed cheeks. “I really like you.” A stray hair gets pushed out of your rapidly narrowing vision. His look is too soft and his wandering hand too light. It makes you shed a few tears that he seems to catch in the dim light.

“Steve…don’t…” You try to bury your face in the pillows but he’s quick to turn you back to face him.

“Don’t what? Tell you?” His grip on your chin is firm but his fingers don’t press in. He holds you still while his bloodshot eyes flick back and forth over your own. “I don’t…if you want me to leave I can do that.” It’s not a threat but it makes your heart seize regardless. “I’m just not gonna come in here and pretend like this is a one off or something.”

Knees still pressed to his hips holding him close, legs locked behind his knees where he kneels, you slide your hands up his sides for more points of contact. He’s real under your palms. Breathing and hot and sweating and telling you how he feels. The two orgasms barely hold a candle to the blossoming feeling in your stomach when he stares down at you with care.

“Steve-“

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I don’t think-“

“Yes or no.” He sits back with his arms spread wide. “I can go right now and we can pretend this didn’t happen.” He looks hurt when he says that but he holds your teary gaze. “I’ll get my shifts moved so you don’t even have to see me at work.”

You reach for him again, need him under your hands to ground you in the moment. “Don’t do that.” Face pushed into his shoulder sloppily when you rush up to meet him in the middle of your bed.

“If it makes it easier-“

“I don’t want it easier.” You hush. “I want you to stay.” A gentle tug at him to follow you back to the pillows. “Please.”

He falls easily with you, gets his arms around your shoulders to roll you into his embrace. “Okay.” Fingers over your scalp and down your neck to sooth your heavy breathing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He smells like the bar and his soap and the remnants of cologne that cling to his jacket. Scruff from a full day rubs against your forehead while you get comfortable against his chest and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Your bedroom is quieter than normal with his heartbeat under your ear and his breathing above you, a steady hum that calms you down. You begin drifting off when the liquor catches up to your satiated brain and your fingers loose some of their grip on his sides.

You think he’s still asleep with how quiet the room is but his voice is a deep rumble in the morning after. “Robin is going to kill me.”

You can hear the rub of his palms over his face and through his hair, that deep groan when he rolls either away or towards you, you’re not sure.

You find your own voice then, creaky and worn from yelling laughter at him all night through cheap whiskey shots. “I thought it wasn’t like that.”

“It isn’t.” His long fingers creep over your shoulder to pull gently. “She told me to leave you alone.” When you don’t unwind from yourself he uses you for leverage and rolls into your back, arm snaking around your waist. “And I told her I would.” A chaste kiss pressed to the back of your neck that makes you shiver, nothing chaste in the way it makes your chest flutter. “Obviously I lied, and she’s not fond of me lying to her.”

You turn your head slowly to look at him over your shoulder, mainly trying to prevent a wave of nausea but also to hold off the inevitable guilt hanging over you from dropping like a guillotine. In the late morning rainy light he’s even more handsome, bed-warm and rumpled. His hair sticks up on one side where it was pressed into your pillow, same pillow leaving lines on his cheek. He looks soft and out of focus and warm.

You expect that guilt to bubble up and spill out of your mouth in a wail but it doesn’t exist; there is no guillotine here.

You shuffle onto your back so you can look at him more intently, so you can stare at the green flecks in his brown eyes that roam over your face. “If anyone is gonna be in trouble, I think it’s me.” Barely a wobble to your words. He slides his hand up your stomach, fingers coming to rest in the valley between your breast. No rabbit heart under his palm. No gasping breaths to steady yourself under his gaze. You’ve made your bed and you would really like to lie in it, consequences be damned.

“It was fun.”

“It was.” You blink at him slowly. Rain patters against the glass and the clock in the kitchen ticks down the rest of your day. He tucks his other arm up under his head to look at you better before he sighs.

“I can go. If it’s easier.” Repeats himself from last night but your answer hasn’t changed. You frown lightly but don’t answer and he seems to take that as his sign to get up.

“No.” You reach out for his arm before he can set his feet on the floor. “I don’t want you to go.”

He laughs through his nose before settling in an upright position. “You don’t seem convinced.” A thumb to his nose twice while he stares at a spot at the foot of your bed.

“I’m thinking.” You sit up next to him and lean into his back facing you. Cheek resting on the back of his shoulder you stare at the moles that dot his skin and run a finger between them.

“About?”

“Breakfast.”

His laugh is louder than you expect but it’s nice to hear. “Hungover?”

A dry kiss where your cheek was resting before you scoot to your side of the bed in search of your underwear. “Something like that.”

Quiet shuffling while you two get dressed, Steve wincing at the smell of the bar stuck in his shirt that he shoves over his head. When he passes you to go look for his wallet he stops to lean down for a kiss. Unhurried and soft it leaves you with that same deep want from last night, especially when he hides a grin as he turns away. Bashful like you two weren’t just drunkenly fooling around until the early morning hours.

“There’s a place just do-“

Shrill ringing cuts you off on your way to the front door and you both stop to stare at the phone hanging in the kitchen. Steve looks suddenly adrift in your apartment, unsure while probably Rich tries to call you at too early a time. You let it go until it stops and the silence sits between you until Steve clears his throat.

“You still wanna get breakfast?” Quiet now that reality has stuck its nose back in. He shifts his weight from one hip to the other and you reach over for him, hands sliding under his jacket for a loose hug.

Your smile might be sad and the turn of his chin down at you shows the shadow of doubt on his mind but you wanted this. He did too and the aftermath of your shared night sits around you. The chair out of place from running into it, your shoes kicked in front of the tv and your bed just out of sight with its sheets melting onto the floor.

Guilt doesn’t exist here. Not when Steve told you all his secrets last night. Not now with the memory of gentle kisses and burning touch still searing your skin. You’ll face the consequences tomorrow when your normal comes back into town but for now, “Yeah, I do.”

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Summary: Eddie's past in Chicago is revealed after he reaches his breaking point, but he's not the only one facing a crisis.

Warnings: mentions of drug use/addiction, neonatal medical trauma, panic attack, mentions of learning disability, brief allusion to Kurt Cobain's death, Reader's grandma has dementia.

WC: 7.2k

Chapter 7/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie was no stranger to bad report cards, failing grades, and dissatisfied teachers. You don’t fail twelfth grade twice without dealing with all three of those. He’d learned to shrug it off and move along with his day, mostly unfazed.

Those same things directed towards his son was a different story.

Ms. Marion’s words rattle around in his brain, wrapping around his lungs and choking him from the inside out.

Constantly interrupting 

His heartbeat pulses in his ears, drowning out the background noise of other parents chatting as they wait their turn to meet with the teachers.

Incapable of paying attention and following directions

A bead of sweat trickles down the back of his neck to his spine, then another, until he feels his t-shirt sticking to his skin. Despite the stifling heat building up in his body, his teeth chatter together noisily as a deep shiver rips through him.

Socially and academically behind his peers

He knew this day might come; he should’ve been prepared for it to happen. Has he only been fooling himself, pretending like everything was going to be fine?

At this rate, he won’t be ready for kindergarten

Eddie swears he’s walking to the parking lot, one foot in front of the other, keys clenched in his right hand until he feels their serrated edges digging into the calloused skin of his palm. Yet he finds himself at your classroom door jamb, leaning up against it with a soft thud.

You’re struggling to stay awake after the long day you’ve had. You roll your shoulders, wincing as you hear the small pop. You’ve just finished the last conference with Frankie’s mom, Carol, and she was a bitch and a half. She’d insisted that her son was gifted and demanded that you recommend he start kindergarten early.

A noise draws your attention to the door, and you’re suddenly wide awake when you see who’s there.

“What’re you doing–hey, what’s going on?” Your curiosity morphs into concern when you clock Eddie’s ragged breathing and tear-streaked face. He’s repeating something, but his voice is so low that the words resemble a hum, and you can’t catch them until you get closer to him. 

“Harris–falling behind–all my fault.” Eddie speaks as though he’s in a trance. His brown eyes are saucers, and more tears fall with each blink of his eyelids. “Falling behind–all my fault.”

You haven’t the slightest idea what he’s referring to, but you do know that you need to get him inside the classroom before anyone else sees him breaking down. You reach for his wrist, and he instinctively flinches and pulls away before seemingly snapping back to reality and resting his hand in yours. One calloused palm trembles in your smooth one as you lead him to the table where you’d just been speaking with Carol Perkins, only letting go to steady himself into the chair.

“Falling behind–all my fault.”

You take both of his hands this time, and he doesn’t draw back when you do. “Eyes on me, okay? We’re gonna breathe together.” It’s the same technique that you’d used with Harris on Halloween. In for three, out for three. Eddie watches you a few times before joining in, breath hitching slightly before evening out. “There ya go…here, let me get you something to eat.” You offer him a small, kind smile that he doesn’t reciprocate before rummaging through the bottom drawer of your desk and pulling out a little bag of mini pretzels and a half-pint of water. “These good?”

He manages a nod, eyes locked onto you even as he twists open the snack and absentmindedly pops one in his mouth. He’s still in a daze, but no longer at risk of hyperventilating. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” you cautiously ask, not wanting to trigger another panic attack.

A solid ten seconds passes before he answers. When he finally does, the hoarseness in his voice startles you. “Could you, um, close the door?” 

“Of course.” The wheels of your swivel chair skid against the tile floor, but Eddie’s too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice. When you return to your seat, he doesn’t even register your presence until you say, “whenever you’re ready.”

“I, um,” he clears his throat. “I just had the parent-teacher conference thing with Ms. Marion. And, apparently, Harris is destined for failure, just like his old man.”

He relays everything the old woman told him; the racing thoughts all spill out like bees fleeing their hive. 

“She starts off by saying that he’s already behind the other kids, which may not seem like a big deal now, but, apparently, it means he’ll fall farther behind as he grows up.” He gnaws on his lower lip and continues. “And then she said that him interrupting and not paying attention is because he ‘lacks structure at home,’” he adds with a grimace. 

“But y’know what really fuckin’ got me?” he asks, rubbing his hands over his jean-clad knees until his palms are tinged red. “She said to me, ‘Some kids aren’t cut out for school, and if Harris is struggling with preschool, it’ll be a long road ahead of him.” Eddie’s eyes are shiny with the prospect of a fresh batch of tears. “What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”

You try to quell your temper for the sake of professionalism, but your boiling blood makes it almost impossible. “None of that is true. Harris having trouble doesn’t make him impossible to teach. And it doesn’t make you a bad parent.”

Eddie can’t manage eye contact when he says, “But what if I’m the reason why he’s having trouble?” His voice is so small that you can barely hear it.

“I’ve taught a lot of kids with a lot of different needs, and none of them–”

“You’re not listening!” Eddie slams his fist on the desk, rattling your jar of pencils, and you reach out to steady it. His eyes blaze with fury, but this time, it’s not towards you. “It is my fault, because I am a bad parent! I let this happen!”

You crease your brows. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” What, exactly, is his fault? What could he possibly have done?

Eddie shakes his head despondently. “I-I didn’t know…Harris’s mom, she…Christ, it’s a long story.” But you can practically see the words on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for permission to be spoken.

So you give it to him.

“You can talk to me,” you murmur, resisting the urge to grab his hand and lace your fingers through his. Just to comfort him, you tell yourself. “You can trust me.”

Eddie lets out a slow, low breath and looks up at the ceiling. There’s a long silence; for a moment, you worry that you’ve said something wrong. Overstepped your bounds. Harris technically isn’t your student anymore, and God only knows where you and Eddie stand. 

Finally, Eddie begins to speak. “I met her out in Chicago when I was twenty-four? Twenty-five? She was a groupie, I guess. We never said we were seeing each other exclusively, but after a while, I realized that she was the only person I was sleeping with, so…” He shrugs. “A couple nights before my band and I left for tour, she told me she was pregnant. Too far along to, um, do anything about it. She apparently didn’t even think to test until she complained about gaining some weight and her friend brought it up.” His gaze shifts to the window over his right shoulder, and all you hear is the sound of his sneakered feet nervously tapping a fast rhythm against the tiled floor. “Look, I’m not proud of this, but I used to party. A lot. And at these parties, there were, um…”

“Drugs?” you supply before you can bite back the comment, clenching your fists at your side where he can’t see you chastising yourself.

Eddie just laughs, a throaty chuckle that escapes despite the seriousness of the conversation. “A shit-ton of ‘em. I was partial to coke; helped me stay awake when I wanted to crash. But I swear, I only used when I was partying. And when I found out I had a kid on the way, I stopped using completely. Cleanest tour of my life.” His lips turn up in a semblance of a smile that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “Figured she’d do the same…she said she would, but…”

Your heart sinks; you know exactly where this is going, but you don’t dare interrupt him this time.

“I was at some dive bar in Cincinnati when I got the call that she was in labor; ran right off the stage and caught the first flight back home. I got there in time to watch him be born; and it was the best goddamn moment of my stupid life, until…” His voice breaks on the last word, and he can’t stop the tears from leaking out of his eyes. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. “He was six weeks early. Fuck, I shoulda known, but I was just so excited to be a dad. He was shaking so hard that his tiny little body was practically blurry, and, like a total moron, I’m going, ‘Is he cold? Does he need a blanket?’ No one would answer me; they just fuckin’ whisked him away before I could even hold him. And when they brought him back, they told me that he tested positive for cocaine and had something called Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome because of it. Said it can affect his learning, his attention span, everything. Kid wasn’t even two hours old and I’d already fucked him up.”

Your response seems meek; far too pathetic for the intensity of what he’s just admitted. “But it was his mom…”

He tucks his lips into his mouth, pressing them together until the outer edges turn white. 

“Yeah, she was the one using,” he relents, but his tone is so thick with self-loathing that you couldn’t claw through it if you tried. “But where the fuck was I? On the road, thinking I could be a rockstar and take care of a family. If I had stayed back, I could’ve stopped her. I would’ve seen that she wasn’t just doing it at parties or shows; she was an addict. I could’ve gotten her help; I could’ve saved my son from being born a goddamn coke addict!”

“You can’t make someone stop doing drugs,” you say feebly, though you’re certain he already knows this.

“But I could’ve done something! Fucking anything! And it would’ve been better than not being there.”

You have to choose your next words wisely, mulling them on your tongue before talking. “Is she still involved in Harris’s life?” 

He shakes his head forlornly. “I invited her to his first birthday party, and she came, surprisingly. All the way from Chicago. I thought maybe she was getting her life together. Then, right before we were gonna cut the cake, she came out of the bathroom with white residue under her nose. I told her to leave and not to come back until she got clean.” He barks out a gruff laugh, as though he still can’t believe it. “Haven’t heard from her since.”

You don’t know how to respond to this. It’s going to be okay seems too patronizing, because nothing about this is okay. I’m sorry? What are you sorry for? Harris’s mom is an atrocious excuse for a human being, and so is Ms. Marion? Kind of tips the balance towards the unprofessionalism you’re striving to avoid.

Eddie continues, not noticing your failure to respond. “The doctors would tell me that he was developing slower than he should be–walking and talking and stuff–but he always got there eventually. But hearing his teacher say that he wouldn’t…fuck, if that’s true, I’ll never forgive myself.” He puffs out his cheeks as he exhales; tendrils of hair flow upwards and flutter back down with the exaggerated breath, and you realize that he’s trying to ward off another crying spell.

You can’t remove the guilt that eats him alive, but maybe he’s not asking you to. “I’ve never met a more determined little kid than Harris Munson,” you say truthfully. “Name one time that boy gave up.”

“For better or for worse, I can’t think of any.” His eyes still don’t meet yours, but you see a flicker of happiness at the mention of Harris’s perseverance before his expression darkens again. “Call me stupid; that’s fine. But my son is gonna be better than I ever was.”

Your heart pangs with sympathy when he puts himself down. “You’re not stupid.” He bristles at your reassurance, puzzling you even more. “What?”

Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth. “That’s not what you said before.” The comment isn’t accusatory, just a simple fact, as though he’s talking about the weather. “On the first day of school, you told me to leave before I said anything else ‘ridiculously stupid.’”

“I just–”

“Look, I’m not saying the Cat-and-Mouse is the nicest thing to do,” he interrupts, cheeks aflame at the mere mention of it, “but I guess it really fucked with me for someone I…someone I just met…to call me stupid.” The phrasing is clunky and awkward, and he sinks his teeth into the tip of his tongue in a paltry attempt to stop the word flow.

You take in his shameful expression, mulling over a response. Knowing what you know now–that his little game was a poorly-designed coping mechanism after being put through the wringer–your comment was harsher than he deserved. “I was hurt, and I…I should’ve just said so. I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Just an asshole?” He tilts his head, finally looking at you. The corners of his mouth turn up to form his first smile of the evening.

“Just an asshole,” you confirm playfully. Another silence fills the room, only interrupted by Eddie crunching on the pretzels you gave him. He’s nibbling on them from the outside, as though savoring each bite. “Mr. Munson?”

“Eddie,” he says, crinkling the empty pretzel bag in his fist and tossing it into the nearby waste bin. “Please, just call me Eddie.” Mr. Munson awakens memories of his father; specifically, the way the cops addressed him each time he got arrested for various offenses.

“Eddie.” Though you’d called him that on the night that you two had fooled around, the name feels foreign in your mouth. Too casual for what you’re about to propose. “Eddie, um, back to the stuff with Harris…” You swallow your nerves and push through, knowing that you need to do what’s best for Harris, even if you have to face his dad’s wrath. “If I suggest something, promise you won’t get mad.”

Eddie flinches, but not for the reason you think. No, it’s because he hates that you’re fearful of his reaction. He hates that he’s made you afraid of him. “Fuck. I mean, yeah. I promise.”

“What…what if we talked to the school psychologist about getting him evaluated for a learning disability?” The words tumble out, and you worry that whatever semblance of acquaintanceship will shatter, leaving you unable to pick up all of the pieces. And even if you can, even the best adhesive can leave visible fractures.  

His jaw clenches; his shoulders draw up and biceps flex with a twitch, fight or flight instinct kicking in. This was a horrible idea; he’s already emotional from the conference with Ms. Marion, and now you’ve crossed a line. You’re so caught up in deciphering his body language that you don’t catch his softening eyes as he silently reminds himself that you’re on his side. On Harris’s side, at the very least.

“What does that involve?” he asks. It’s inquisitive, not judgmental, and you permit yourself a small sigh of relief at the narrowly-averted crisis.

You explain the process as Eddie intently listens, nodding to acknowledge that he’s following along. “Nothing invasive; just asking him questions and giving him some tests, and then if he does have a learning disability, we’d figure out what modifications we can make so he can learn alongside the other kids.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, considering your recommendation. “Will they know? The other kids, I mean. Will they know that he needs, like, extra help to learn?” 

“Nope.” You shake your head. “I don’t know how Ms. Marion runs her classroom, but I always emphasize that everyone learns differently anyway.”

He nods, drumming his fingertips on the desk in a rhythm you can’t decipher. “Do you think…if we do the evaluation, would he go to kindergarten on time?”

“Well, as a teacher, I’m not supposed to say. But as a friend,” you shrug, “I think it’s worth a shot.”

As a friend. A friend. Friend. The word reverberates around Eddie’s brain, replaying like a melody he can’t pause. But he doesn’t want to stop it. He wants you to call him your friend over and over again, enveloping him in your kindness, never letting him go. He wants to wrap his arms around you in a hug and bury his face in the crook of your neck, while he laughs or sobs or a combination of both.

Do friends do that? Or is that something more complex than he can allow himself to imagine?

Your voice brings his perseverations to a grinding halt. “And you can be there while they evaluate him. So he won’t have to be alone.”

Another nod, another pregnant pause. He twists his curls around his pointer finger, brushing them over his lips. “Could you come, too?” he murmurs, quickly clarifying, “for Harris?”

“Of course.” You agree without a second thought, watching as his body unstiffens when he leans back in the chair with a sigh. “And if you want, I could tutor him after school once a week. Catch him up and stuff.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “You’d do that?”

“Mhm,” you beam. It’s like cracking a complex code after aimlessly spinning the dial, hoping to land on the right combination of numbers. “Just…it would have to be at my place, so I can stay home with Grandma. Medicare only pays for her aide to be there for a certain number of hours. I’m actually paying out of pocket so I could be here tonight.” While you’d initially been annoyed at having to spend your hard-earned money just to talk to ungrateful parents, this time with Eddie has made it worth every penny. 

“Yeah, no problem,” he easily agrees, starting to stand and brushing some rogue pretzel crumbs from his jeans. “Oh, um, how much do you charge? For the tutoring?”

At this, you giggle. “Eddie, you’re not paying me to work with my,” you lower your voice mid-protest, even though the door is closed and no one else is around, “favorite student.”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest defiantly, denim jacket creasing at the elbows. “Well, I’m not gonna let you work for free, so name your price.”

“Fine,” you huff, feigning annoyance. “It’ll cost one…pizza.”

“Seriously?” Eddie asks, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Seriously,” you confirm, walking to the supply closet and grabbing your coat. The inside of the sleeves are chilly, having not been exposed to the heat churning through the classroom, and the temperature shift makes you shiver. “Saves me from having to worry about making dinner. And Grandma loves pizza, so it’s one less thing for her to argue about.” 

The arguments in question were still happening frequently, though her verbiage was decreasing with each subsequent spat. Last night, you’d told her that she had to turn her TV down so you could sleep. Grandma had repeatedly yelled “no” and “hate you” until you gave up and smushed one half of your pillow over your exposed ear in a pathetic attempt to muffle the sounds of the infomercials blasting from her room. 

“I can do that,” he agrees, following you towards the door and stepping out of the way so you can flick off the light, plunging the classroom into total darkness. “Any toppings?”

You think for a moment, tapping your forefinger to your chin as your other hand rotates the key in the door until you hear the soft click of the lock. You twist the knob just to make sure, only turning from the door once you’ve confirmed that it doesn’t open. “Ooh, we both love olives. Get those.”

Eddie scrunches his nose in disgust. “I’ll do half olives, half plain, so Harris and I won’t have to suffer.”

You stop in your tracks. Eddie’s chest bumps against your back. “Oh, I…” 

“Shit, that wasn’t an invitation, was it?” He’s blushing, cheeks turning a deep crimson at his gaffe. “Sorry, totally misread–”

“No, no, I’d like the company.” You’ve come to appreciate how much easier it is to navigate Grandma’s moods when there are other people around, but you can’t ask someone to endure that just for your comfort. “‘S just that my grandma…well, you saw her at the hospital that night. She says things that are mean, or inappropriate, or don’t make sense…I don’t want Harris to hear that.”

Eddie just laughs, waving off your concern of Harris. “He grew up around me and Wayne. He’ll probably be teaching her some bad words.” 

“Oh, God,” you shudder at the thought of Harris and Grandma swapping swear words. “Then, yeah, I’d love to have you over for dinner. Are Wednesdays at four okay? We can start tomorrow, if that works.”

“Perfect!” Eddie chirps, tossing his car keys upwards and dramatically snatching them mid-air. “I teach guitar lessons, so Wayne’ll drop him off. I’ll swing by around five with the olive pizza.” His pronunciation of the topping is obnoxiously whiny and snide, and you roll your eyes, pushing open the main doors to the school while he trails behind you. 

You’re normally not at work this late, and it feels almost unnatural to walk out to a night sky. Clouds obscure the stars, and the dim streetlights do little to pave a discernible path. Eddie seems to be walking in the same direction, and there’s a sense of comfort knowing that you don’t have to navigate the parking lot alone. 

The volume of Eddie’s voice lowers considerably as he says, “You’re…you’re kinda the best, y’know that?”

“About time you realized.” You smile as the two of you approach your car. You slide into the driver’s seat, tugging the seatbelt over your shoulder. “Where did you park?”

“Um…” Eddie squints, pointing to a spot clear across the lot. “Right there.”

Your jaw drops. “Eddie!”

“What?”

“Why’d you walk all this way, then?” Your keys sit in the ignition, waiting to be turned over.

“And leave you to trek across this vast terrain all by your lonesome?” He presses his hand to his heart, staggering backwards until he bumps into another parked car. “Ow, shit. So, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yup.” And as he closes your car door with a small wave, it occurs to you that you’re actually looking forward to seeing Eddie Munson.

Elise wasn’t exaggerating when she’d warned you that Grandma was in a mood today. In addition to the usual song and dance to the tune of “those pills aren’t mine,” she’s insisted on changing her clothes no less than four times in the hour since you’ve been home, grumbling that every outfit doesn’t look right. As you wipe down the kitchen counter, sweeping crumbs from your after-work snack into the garbage bin, you hear banging against the living room wall. Never a good sign.

“Grandma?” you call out as you abandon your chore and start towards her. She’s struggling to hold onto the large painting of a sailboat that should be mounted on the wall. You get to her side just before she can topple over, grabbing the artwork from her grasp. “What are you doing? Why did you take this down?”

She looks at it–and you–with utter disgust. “S’ugly,” she mumbles.

There’s no sense in telling her that it was her favorite or that she picked it out herself years ago. Instead, you heave a frustrated sigh. “Okay, well, we’ll just leave it here,” you say, carefully leaning the cherry-lacquered frame against the wall.

“No!” She shakes her head, tousled gray hair brushing against the wrinkles etched into her cheeks. “No, no!” Anger creeps into her voice, and tears appear along her lash line. Truth be told, your tears are not too far behind.

“Look, I’ll just…turn it around. See?” You swivel the painting so it faces the wall; all that’s visible now is the sad beige frame backing. It’s hard to believe that she finds this view more appealing than the soft watercolor brushstrokes of blues and greens, but you leave it as is, until she inevitably demands to know why it’s no longer hanging up.

The harsh buzz of the intercom brings your quasi-argument to an abrupt end. You can hear some shuffling, and then an older man’s raspy voice instructs, “say who you are so she knows you’re here.”

“HARRIS!” The little boy exclaims loudly. “Oh, and my Grampa Wayne!”

The sound of his voice alone is enough to bring a smile to your face. You press the button that lets them into the building, quickly ushering Grandma into her room and putting on the Animal Planet. A rerun of Wildlife SOS blares through the TV, and you can only hope that Harris won’t be too distracted by the noise. It certainly beats being the recipient of one of her incoherent rants.

The frantic knock on the door ushers away your anxious thoughts. “Ms. Sweetheart, I’m here!”

“Relax, buddy,” the older man–Wayne–gently reminds him. 

You open the door, grinning as Harris barrels into the apartment. His little arms wrap around your waist as he envelops you in a tight hug. “Ms. Sweetheart! I’m at your house!”

“You are,” you agree with a laugh, patting his back with your palm before offering your hand to his grandfather. “And you must be Grampa Wayne.” 

The older man chuckles as he shakes your hand in his own calloused one. The whiskers above his lips and on his chin are white, flecks of gray stubble peppered along his jawline. “‘S nice to put a face to the name. All I hear about lately is how wonderful Ms. Sweetheart is.” He bashfully scratches at the wisps of hair that lay flat along the crown of his head.

Taking compliments is not your strongest suit, but you manage. “Trust me, I’ve heard some great things about Grampa Wayne, too. I’m just glad Harris loves being my student as much as I love teaching him.” 

“Huh?” Wayne’s forehead crinkles in confusion before he catches himself. “Oh, yeah, Harris. Right.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, Ed’ll be here at five.”

“He’s bringing PIZZA!” Harris shouts, unable to contain his excitement as he pumps a tiny fist in the air.

Wayne shakes his head, as if to say, this kid. “C’mere, Har. Give me a hug goodbye.” Harris all but leaps into his grandpa’s arms, spider-monkeying his legs around his waist. Emotion wells within you as the gesture reminds you of the easy way love used to flow between you and Grandma. No questions or doubts about who you were or how she would perceive you in that moment. 

As soon as Wayne leaves, Harris tugs on the hem of your shirt, peering up at you with a gigantic grin. “Daddy telled me that you’re gonna teach me again! But not at school.”

“Mhm!” you say, guiding him over to the kitchen table. You’ve cleared a spot for the two of you to work. There’s a stack of flashcards in front of your chair, and Harris eyes them curiously. “Those are gonna help you learn letter names and sounds. You’ll be reading like a pro in no time.”

He eagerly nods, flinging one little leg onto the chair and climbing onto it haphazardly. He’s facing the back of the chair with his knees tucked underneath him, and he shifts until he’s sitting on his bottom, eye-level with the tabletop. “I can’t see anything!” he harrumphs grumpily.

“Here, you can face me,” you tell him, holding the chair steady as he swivels around again. “There ya go. This works out better anyway.” You tap the deck of cards on the table, watching as Harris kicks his feet in anticipation. “We’re gonna play a game with these,” you say, keeping your tone full of excitement. “I’ll hold up a letter, and you tell me what the letter’s name is and the sound it makes. And if it’s a little tricky, there’s a picture on the back that might help you out. Sounds good?”

Harris considers this, tongue poking out between his lips, and you can’t help but notice the way he mimics Eddie’s actions. “Can I see the picture even if it isn’t tricky?” he asks.

“Absolutely.” You shuffle the deck, making a dramatic show of closing your eyes and folding the cards into a bridge. “Let me give you an example.” You grab the card off of the top, the letter R printed in bold, black lettering. “This is the letter R. It makes the rrrr sound.” 

“What’s the picture?” Harris squeals, clapping his hands together, the sound muffled by the cast on his wrist. When you flip the card around to reveal a cartoon robot, he cackles like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. “He has triangles for eyes! That is so silly!”

“That is silly,” you agree with a laugh, putting the card at the back of the deck and holding up the next one for him. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Remember, just do your best. This is just so I can see what we need to work on.”

He nods, sitting up straight as he reads the letter F. 

“Nice job, Har! And what sound does F make?” This is more difficult for him, and he squints as though it will help him remember.

“Umm, eh?” He knows it’s not correct, and you watch as his shoulders begin to slump dejectedly. “I…I don’t know.” His lower lip juts out, quivering as he admits it.

You keep your tone light and breezy. “No worries! We can always look at the picture, and if it’s still tricky, we can figure it out together.” You show him the french fries on the back of the card.

“French fries!” Harris exclaims giddily.

“And what sound does french fries start with?” You enunciate the start of the words, but he still can’t seem to get the pronunciation. His breath hitches with frustration, chubby fingers digging into his tousled curls to pull at them. “You can ask me for help if you need to. That’s what I’m here for!”

His tiny “need help” is almost inaudible, head drooping towards his chest in defeat. “Everyone needs help sometimes,” you say kindly, pointing to the flashcard to draw his attention back to it. “F makes the ffff sound. Go ahead, try it.”

Harris emulates you, bits of spittle flying as he makes the noise over and over again. “This is fun!” he cheers, eyes widening when he comes to a realization. “Hey, fun starts with the fffff sound, too!”

“Sure does!” You raise your hand for a high-five, shaking it in mock-agony when he slaps it. “Wow, Har, you’re super strong! Okay, let’s try the next one.”

With a few breaks to release some energy, Harris continues stumbling through the rest of the alphabet unceremoniously. He’s definitely behind, you realize, but not so badly that he’s unable to catch up with some extra help.

“Only a couple more to go,” you assure him, presenting the card with the letter P.

“P!” he yells, a grin spreading from ear to ear across his sweet face. “An’ it makes the puh sound!” He reaches out and plucks the flashcard from between your fingers, turning it to see the picture on the back. “It’s a princess.” His eyes flit between you and the pink poofy dress-clad cartoon. “Me an’ Daddy think you’re pretty like a princess.”

There’s no time to ask for further clarification before a loud bang erupts from Grandma’s bedroom. You swear silently, somehow still aware of the four-year-old beside you as you dash to her door. Instinctually, you grab the knob and twist, only to be met with resistance. 

“Grandma!” you call out, pounding your fist as loudly as you can. “Grandma, open the door!” You hear the soft, slow pad of her footsteps, watching as the door knob turns slightly before it stops. 

“‘S broke,” Grandma says from her side, and relief temporarily floods your senses with the knowledge that she’s unscathed enough to get to the door. 

“No, it’s just locked. I need you to unlock it.” Another brief twitch, then nothing. “You…you have to turn the little dial on it. See how it’s horizontal—um, left to right? It needs to go up and down. Can you switch it?” Jiggle jiggle, silence. No attempt to toggle the dial. 

“Ms. Sweetheart? ‘S everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, honey,” you lie through your teeth. “Why don’t you go look at the pictures on the—”

BZZZT!

“Pizza delivery!” Eddie croons through the intercom. “One half plain, half gross—sorry, half olive—”

“Eddie!” you press your finger to the button, cutting him off more sharply than you mean to. “Eddie, my grandma locked herself in her room, and she can’t remember how to open it.” Your voice catches in your throat, and you swallow the lump in a determined attempt not to break down in front of your guests. 

There’s a pause before his voice floats through the box again. “Gimme a sec.” That’s all he says before he’s gone as quickly as he arrived, and you turn to face the inquisitive little boy who remains glued to your side. 

“Har, why don’t you go sit at the table until Daddy comes.” Thankfully, he doesn’t put up a fight, and you’re able to turn your attention back to the crisis. “Grandma, can you please turn the dial?” But when you’re met with another disheartening turn of the doorknob, you have to accept defeat.

BZZZT!

“It’s me; let me up,” Eddie’s words are straightforward but not brusque or curt, and you buzz him in without wasting any time. He’s at your door in a hurry, and you open it before he can knock twice. He’s got the pizza box balancing in his right hand and a small rectangular container tucked under his arm. “Is she hurt?” he asks, handing you the box as you lead him towards Grandma’s room.

You shake your head. “I don’t think so. She’s been twisting the doorknob, but she doesn’t understand what I mean when I asked her to unlock it.”

He nods, examining the knob for a second before unfastening the box’s latch and pulling out a tool that resembles a miniature hook. Splitting his stance, he squints and pokes his tongue from his mouth, just as his son had done earlier. Within seconds, you hear the telltale click of the door unlocking, and you exhale audibly. Relief floods your body as your shoulders untense; you hadn’t even realized you’d pinched them together. Behind Grandma, the TV has toppled to the floor, screen now resting on top of the beige carpet, but that’s the least of your concerns.

“Are you all right?” you ask her, checking for scrapes and scratches, but she luckily appears to have escaped unscathed. “How did this even fall?” You pick up the TV, wincing as you get a glimpse of the spider web of cracked glass right in the center.

“Dunno,” Grandma shrugs, moving past you to get to the piping hot pizza that you’ve placed on the kitchen table. She slides into the chair you’d just been sitting on, pushing the pile of flashcards away clumsily. “‘M hungry.”

You look at Eddie and Harris and muster up a smile. “Guess it’s dinner time! Oh, Grandma, wait for a plate.” You grab four of the plastic pale blue plates from the cabinet to set the table, giving one to Grandma first. You place one at the spot Harris had just occupied, and one in front of the third and final chair–

“Shit,” you whisper under your breath before addressing the boys again. “Um, we only have three chairs. ‘S normally just me and Grandma, and sometimes her aide–”

“No worries,” Eddie waves off your concern, scooping Harris up and resting him against his hip. “Harris can sit on my lap.”

“Or I can sit on Ms. Sweetheart’s lap!” Harris squeals, wriggling out of his dad’s grasp. “Or Ms. Sweetheart can sit on your lap!”

You cough as Eddie turns bright red, cheeks the same shade as the marinara sauce buried under a thick layer of cheese. He sweeps Harris on top of his thighs and snags a slice of pizza for each of them. “Uh, yeah, no,” he mumbles, taking a gigantic cheesy bite in an attempt to end the conversation.

Dinner goes as well as it possibly can. Harris asks to try an olive, promptly spitting it onto his plate as soon as the taste hits his tongue. Grandma tells Eddie no less than five times that she likes his shirt, thoroughly embarrassing you, but he just politely says “thank you,” each time as though it’s the first. At one point, Harris gives him a bewildered glance, but before he can say anything, Eddie whispers, “I’ll explain later, bud.”

The rest of the meal is filled with conversations about work and school. Eddie tells a story about how a customer came into the store completely frazzled after listening to a Nirvana album. “She thought it was about Buddhism, and was very distraught when she got Kurt Cobain instead. Guess she missed the whole…” He mimics holding a gun to his head, and you laugh at the crude gesture, slapping his hand out of the way before Harris can see. Luckily, the boy is too engrossed in dissecting his slice to notice.

Grandma retreats to her room as soon as she finishes her dinner, and Harris gets bored soon after, squirming to the floor and dashing to the living room TV set–now the only working one in the house. That leaves you and Eddie at the table alone.

“I can take your plate if you’re done,” you say as you lean over, scoffing when Eddie starts to get up and bring his empty dish to the sink. “Hey, let me clean up. You brought the pizza.”

“Yeah, because you tutored Harris,” he reminds you, swooping in to grab your plate as well. “So we’re even.”

“Even?” you ask incredulously. “After you rescued my grandma and kept us company during dinner? Do you know how long it’s been since I had an actual conversation during a meal?” 

Eddie chuckles at this. “I think ‘rescued’ is a bit dramatic. All I did was unlock a door; not exactly superhero stuff.” He shakes his hair back behind his shoulders.

“She could’ve been hurt,” you point out earnestly, following him to shoo him away from the pile of dirty dishes, “and without you, my only option was to take a battering ram to the door. I don’t even know where I would buy one of those.”

“Have you tried Melvald’s? They sell everything there. ‘S actually where I got Harris.” Eddie teases, hand inching towards the faucet.

“Eddie, sit down and relax. Don’t you dare turn on the water.” Your eyes widen as he locks his gaze with yours, flicking on the spout indignantly and grabbing the sponge without breaking eye contact. “Eddie, I mean it–”

He smacks the sponge against a plate and harshly brushes it up and down, still staring at you. “Oops,” he deadpans, rinsing it and haphazardly placing it in the dishrack before picking up another one. “Oops again.”

“Give me that!” you charge over to him, yanking it away before he realizes what you’re doing. You squeeze the bottle of soap over the already-saturated sponge just to emphasize your point. “Go watch TV with your son and let me clean up.”

He’s quiet for a moment, leaning back next to you. The hem of his shirt makes contact with some water that sprayed out of the sink, but he doesn’t notice; if he does, then he doesn’t care. “I don’t usually have anyone to talk to at night, either. And with Harris–I mean, I love him to fuckin’ death, but a guy can only hear so much about the latest episode of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.” He clears his throat, but the words come out even softer somehow. “I like talking to you.”

The water runs uninterrupted by any movement as you look into his warm eyes. Flecks of gold punctuate the deep chocolate orbs that are drinking you in. They're the same eyes that you looked into on the night that he’d brought you back to his place. The eyes that shot daggers at you while he spewed venom at you in the music store. The eyes that could barely look at you when he’d somberly confessed his past, more motivated by anxiety than trust. The eyes that could flip your world upside down if you let them.

He lets his thumb graze yours as he grabs the newly clean plate from your hand, wiping it with a towel until it’s impossibly dry. You can’t look away from his lips, the way they practically scream kiss me. And you want to. Fuck, you want to so badly.

But you’re not stupid. Possibly naive, hooking up with him nearly three months ago and thinking it would have no emotional impact on you, but not stupid. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

“Same time next week?” you blurt out, taking you both by surprise. It’s too abrupt to be natural, but you don’t care. You need to stop this before it starts. Again.

Eddie recovers quickly, though his nod is a bit delayed. “It’s a date. Uh, a tutoring date. For Harris.”

“For Harris.”

Harris is at your classroom door the next morning, knocking excitedly. “Ms. Sweetheart, I got something for you!” Digging into his backpack, he produces a plastic bag tied in a knot. Bradley’s Big Buy is stamped on the side, but the contents aren’t anything you’d find in the supermarket.

It’s a lockout kit; the same kind that he’d used last night to unlock Grandma’s door. There’s a note Scotch-taped to it, and you read it silently:

I hope it doesn’t happen again, but I wanted you to be prepared in case it does. 

-Eddie

P.S. Don’t try to pay me back. It was much cheaper than a battering ram.

--

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[ddreamywitch]

Chapter One - Dinner and Diatribes

knight!benjicot blackwood x princess!reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: benji is (hot and) bothered, probably inaccurate depiction of knighting ceremonies

song: Dinner & Diatribes - Hozier

a/n: I only fleetingly proofread this, please excuse any mistakes <3

prologue

It is a swelteringly hot day.

Humid, stale air presses down upon the kingdom, torturing anyone who dared to venture to so much as lift a finger.

Weather like this is not made for exciting endeavours.

In fact it is made for remaining in a shaded area, or within the castle walls or in the cool waters of the sea, but you are not granted any such indulgences today.

Your handmaiden, Marion, winces at your gasp for air. “I am sorry, princess. Would that I could spare you this, but a lady of your status simply cannot leave her chambers without a corset.”

You smile at her reflection in the mirror. “It is not your fault, dear. I shall suffer the confines of a corset, just as the common folk suffer their afflictions. ‘Tis but a small price to pay for a lavish dinner.”

Marion returns your smile but it does not look at all convinced, rather than dread-filled.

She does know her princess well, after spending many years in your service and loyally devoted. She knows when you are happy and she knows you as you are now, which is decidedly unhappy and yet determined to convince your surroundings of the opposite.

Marion does not understand why you always are so insistent upon these matters, she figured you might be a little less ashamed to be honest with your handmaiden, who had seen you bare after all.

But Marion also does not understand how hard it is to be outwardly emotional after being taught over and over, for years and years, that you may do nothing but smile tepidly and sit prettily.

You let her finish the lacing of your corset and briefly you clutch the back of your vanity chair. “God be good, that I might survive in this merciless warmth,” you mutter through a haphazard giggle.

Your handmaiden directs your gaze at your dresses. “I have picked out your simplest gowns, princess, should you think them fit for the occasion?”

A knighting ceremony has never happened in the time she had worked for you.

Or they have, but you were simply not the one to be doing the knighting, so the question of the wardrobe did feel rather overwhelming, with nothing to go off of.

Your head tilts slightly to the side as you take them all in and though you can feel your heart, in your now uncomfortably squashed ribcage, scream out for a thin and modest dress, you know deep down that it would be much better to wear something more precious.

To your knowledge, a fair share of the nobles were to attend this little festivity.

A sigh escapes you and you shake your head. “Might you fetch me the gown with the flowers embroidered? I do believe the king would like me to make a good impression upon our visitors tonight, it would be about due time that he attempted to convince me of marriage once again.”

This time Marion’s smile seems genuine, at the light ridicule of your father. “I shall see to it, princess. In the meantime, I think Ser Rodrick would like to bid you his goodbyes.”

You cannot help the pain this causes you. The notion of having to part ways with your former knight did not sit well with you at all.

Your robe drapes around you and the door creaks open.

Marion is always impossibly quick and quiet. She flits through the castle not much unlike a little mouse and you do not even know in which moment she leaves.

Whereas Ser Rodrick with his ever imposing silhouette was not ever subtle.

Your gaze meets his in your mirror and you think that you could weep right then. He seems to share this idea.

“I wish I were but a few years younger, princess, so that I could remain by your side a little longer.”

There is a thick clot in your throat, so thick that you may choke on it. “You’ve performed your duties beautifully,” you say, fighting tooth and nail against the tears threatening to spill.

Slowly you turn to face your sworn protector.

A man like Ser Rodrick, you found, is hard to come by. His kindness and honour seeks its match and after the many years together, he had long transcended his position and become more of a confidant, dare I say, friend instead.

He had known you from a sticky, wild childhood, through the years of your growth until now.

Long gone is the babe he was sworn to protect, with its clumsy movements and relentless howling, replaced by what you are now; the realm’s delight, a fair young woman, grown into the shape of a dedicated princess.

He bows his head down. “I shall miss you dearly, princess.”

Your laugh is a watery, wet thing. “Oh, you shall not. I will write you many letters. Your retirement shall not be as peaceful as you think, my good Ser.”

The setting sun reflects in the shine of his armour, a chest plate painted hues of gold and orange in this light. It bears the sigil of your father’s house and it heaves now with his heavy breathing.

“Your brother has asked me for guidance on who to pick and I put forward the youngest Lord Mormont. A northerner with a northerner’s honour.”

You nod, fingers fiddling with the belt of your robe, fiddling to find the right words now but they do not come to you and so you remain silent.

There could not be a good replacement for your knight, how could anyone ever understand you again, the way that Ser Rodrick had.

“Child, do not fret. I am away from court, not from the world,” he says. “And I shall reply to your letters with great pleasure.”

“How come you are not to be at the ceremony? Should my old protector not be there to see me off to my new one?”

Rodrick shrugs. “It is the way of tradition. I will be dismissed by your father and leave the court in mere moments.”

It is unfair really, it is almost embarrassing to you, to insult Rodrick and have him retire, like an old horse, as though he is no longer a capable fighter.

It had come as a bit of a surprise to you as well, not much of a warning of any kind had been given to you, before your father informed you not even a week ago of this rather drastic change.

The thought that you were to share every waking moment with a stranger bothered you relentlessly.

You cross the room quickly, manners and protocol thrown to the wind as you throw your arms around your knight’s neck.

It is awkward and tense, his iron and steel exterior boring into your soft flesh, but nonetheless he does not pull away, offering you comfort the best he can.

You are the third born child of the king, and though it was undeniable how popular you were at court and with the smallfolk, your father did not care much.

You were not an heir or a spare, you simply were there and as you bent and broke yourself to garner his attention, it was Ser Rodrick who would look down at the flushed cheeks you so often donned as a child and impose his gentleness on you.

As you grew you found yourself wondering how much the blood in your veins meant, what it mattered that the king had put you into your mother’s womb, when it was somebody else who you found yourself in the care of.

“Oh dearest, your mother would be so overcome with delight at the sight of you today,” he whispers when you finally pull back, one large rough hand on your shoulder. “What a marvellous person you’ve become.”

The hurt and love in your heart intermingle and threaten to burst through its seams. The gripping force in your neck does not fade and so, to the best of your abilities, you inhale a deep breath.

“You must visit soon, Ser Rodrick. Whenever you’ve grown sick of spending your days lazing about,” you attempt at a jest.

He shoves at you a little bit. “And you must remain out of trouble. At least for a few weeks.”

You huff. “I am nothing short of a saint.”

“You are,” he says. “You truly are.”

You dare not let the tears spill from your eyes and you dare not look into his, where you are sure you will find the same sheen as in yours.

“I must go, but rest assured a piece of me remains with you.“

In the most royal demeanour and grace you can muster, you curtsy to him. “I am indebted to you forever, Ser Rodrick.”

He kisses the back of your hand, unmarred and soft against his, not a speck of dirt beneath your well-kempt nails. “Farewell for now.”

You do not wish to say farewell and so you do not. You would see him again after all, at least on your birthday, you would certainly see to it.

Silently you watch him leave you behind and though you know that you are not truly without protection, you do wonder who else at court would ever be so honest and gracious with you again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You regret not having given into your desires, the moment you put on this wretched ball gown.

Though the sun is almost entirely gone now, its force still lingers in the air and you think you may be strangled by it.

With great urgency you cling to your wine chalice, about the third pour deep in hopes of ridding yourself of your sweaty discomfort.

It was a wonderful gown, a pale green shade, its bodice and hems embroidered with rosy flowers. The king always liked you in these distinctly girlish dresses, the perfect picture of an obedient and compliant daughter.

He sits to your right, drunk and distracted by his latest mistress next to him.

Lady Cathcart, a notorious sinner, as many liked to say.

Marion had once told you that Lady Cathcart was an expert at fellatio. You do not know what that means, but you assume it could only be of immoral nature.

Bile rises at the sight of them, unapologetic and public shame brought to your mother’s memory.

You avert your eyes and redirect them to your brother next to you.

His attire clashes with yours, a dark purple, not at all youthful and much more suitable for the heir to the throne. He looks just as annoyed as you feel, though you’ve gone to great lengths to hide it.

“Tristan?” You tap your chalice against his.

He breaks out of his reverie with wide eyes. “Sister.”

“When is the ceremony to begin?”

With nervous eyes he scans the room. It bustles with gowns and nobles and servants. “Not much longer,” he somehow ascertained through the sight of this. “Why do you ask?”

“I would like to be excused for a few moments,” you explain and your brother does not question why.

He was often a very crass and forward young man, but he did harbour a certain softness to his younger sister. With the wave of a hand he gives you permission and you do not wait any longer, your chair screeching across the floor immediately.

Fingers curled around your skirt layers, you make haste for the gardens, lest you fall unconscious before you get there.

It was too late to change your dress now, so the sweet solace of the royal gardens would have to serve you as an opportunity for a breath of air.

Air that wasn’t stained with the ladies’ expensive perfumes or the intense spices of dinner.

Air that wasn’t tainted with your father’s misbehaviour.

Your breathing had become quite laboured and you cursed the extravagance of your family, especially now, as your gown had become your body’s prison.

Guards open the doors and the moment you are out of prying eyes you drop into the grass beneath you.

It is no longer soft and ticklish, the way it had been a few short weeks ago, in the wakes of spring. The harshness of summer had turned it coarse and mean against your exposed arms.

It is not very suitable to lay around on the ground like this, but the stars above are spinning and you feel you could have died if you spent a moment longer upright.

Lord Mormont, you think to yourself. A very quiet man, your senior by a few years. You had only spoken with him fleetingly and never about anything of great interest, to either of you, you assumed.

It leaves you wondering whether he would become this constant distanced force in her life. Not only a protector but also somebody who would keep her in line.

In your many years with Ser Rodrick, you had worked out a rhythm with him. You had gotten used to one another and therefore, after so many hours spent together, a strong foundation of trust rests beneath your friendship. He had never chastised you for your shortcomings as princess, he had let you venture outside the castle walls with Marion and had not uttered a single word to your family.

You’re not sure that Lord Mormont would be so tolerant. Northerners were notoriously serious about their duties, he does not seem like the type to take lightly to things like this.

With your face turned upward to the moon and your mind racing, you do not hear the approaching footsteps until it is too late.

A face leans above you.

The young man has a crooked sort of look to him, not as princely as the faces you are accustomed to.

A scar graces his lip, accompanied by a bend in the slope of his nose.

Princes and noblemen rarely carried traits like this, he looks rather common.

Right now he also looks at you, rather confused.

“Looking for anything down there,” he teases as heat shoots into your cheeks, more than the high temperatures had already caused.

You sit up, fumbling to straighten your appearance at least a little bit, the rash movement sending you back into your previous state of low-level vertigo.

The man does not think to offer you a hand and you are once again taken aback by his…commonness.

“What is a lady like you doing, tumbling around in the gardens at night?”

His hands land on his hips.

Maybe he was the stable boy of one of the Lords that were visiting.

His clothing reveals no sigils to you, a simple black attire with a red cape.

No, he could not be highborn.

“What, cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes widen at the realisation that you are simply sitting there, not speaking.

“I felt a bit faint,” you explain. “Would you offer me a hand, young man?”

His brow raises a little but he extends one to you anyways.

Like Rodrick's, his hand is witness to hard labour, again a stark contrast to yours.

Unlike Rodrick though, he grips you with more force, all but yanking you upwards. Nausea brews in you.

“I thank you,” you mumble. What a queer young man.

He is more brave than a servant, to address you so haphazardly.

He grunts in lieu of a real answer.

“Tell me, what’s this place like? Seems like a fucking shitshow so far.”

It clicks then. He does not know that you are the princess. He thinks you to be of a lower house. It would make sense, with the position he found you in but your appearance surely does not speak to that of a lower house.

Men are always so indifferent to these details, they do not realise their worth.

You clear your throat. “Well, the royal family is rather kind. And there are many feasts and festivities held here. It can be quite interesting,” you say.

He shakes his head. “´Course you’d say that,” he mutters just beneath his breath.

You cross your arms. “What do you imply?”

“You capital people are all the fucking same. Insufferable flatterers.”

It is not often that people speak so frankly to you. You are not sure whether that might be why his words offend you or because he is simply wrong.

“I am no flatterer.”

His nose scrunches. “Yeah? You’ve never seen the princess and doused her in compliments? Never made eyes at her boring brother?”

“I would have you know that her brother is not boring and the princess is a very humble person. She does not care much for feigned niceties.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, birdy.” He lets the name roll over his tongue like it is a term of endearment, delicious and something to relish in.

Now you take a step back. “Watch who you are speaking to, you fool.”

He does not seem troubled by your reaction, lets one hand run through his wild dark hair. “And who is that?”

“A lady. You would do good in learning the pillars of chivalry.”

He laughs, bitterly and full of sarcasm. “Oh trust me I know chivalry and I know it well.”

The garden feels different now, charged with an energy you could not quite put your fingers on. He seems an iresome lad and you decide that you needn’t handle such treacherous behaviour displayed in front of you.

What a fool he is, to speak so lewdly of your family in the very heart of your father’s kingdom.

“Well then, you should learn to mind your tongue. This is no place for words as yours,” you spit and once more grip the skirts of your dress. “I shall bid you goodnight.”

He does not do the same, you think you even see him roll his eyes before you turn your back to him.

It is the curse of manhood to always think they have a right to something. It is what leads them into violence and wars and their own demise.

Women are not troubled with such foolery, women are taught to keep their mouths shut and they hold the wisdom of listening in high regard. It is why they always know the secrets of the castle before any of the Lords hear of it.

You cannot help but shake off your head at this rude intrusion of your peace, this imbecilic attitude.

He would learn his lesson soon enough, he would not make the same mistake unscathed with any other courtiers.

Before you enter again you reach into your hair, checking to see whether it had fallen apart in your short time on the ground, but Marion is too good at her job. Despite hours of dancing or riding or windy weather, it seems that no hair falls amiss no matter how intricate or complicated the style.

A blind man could have picked you out as the princess, you are sure of it.

Huffing and puffing with anger, you drop back into your seat next to your brother, willing this god-forsaken day to finally come to its end.

Your brother ushers a servant to refill your cup. “Are you quite alright?”

“I think my corset is laced too tight and my closest friend has left the city but other than that, I am splendid,” you reply, a misdirected hit of venom toward your innocent brother.

He nudges you with shoulder. “Are you not excited about meeting your new knight? I’ve heard great tales of him.”

You shake your head no and gulp down the sweet wine in a hurry. “I cannot imagine.”

“What? He’s more a myth than a man.”

Liquid goes down the wrong pipe and you nearly choke. “Mormont? In what world?” You ask, entirely incredulous.

Tristan’s eyes widen. “Father has not told you?”

Your eyes tell him to be honest with himself. When has their father ever given you the graciousness of staying informed? He hadn’t even told you of your mother’s death, leaving it to your oldest sister to do so. It does not come as a surprise that once again you are left in the dark about matters that directly concern you.

“It is not Lord Mormont. Father attempted to create peace in the Riverlands,” Tristan begins to explain.

An odd feeling of dread creeps into your bones. “And?”, you inquire, voice taunt but before your brother manages to get out an answer, your father rises.

He is drunk, he sways softly from side to side and you can see his Lady Cathcart’s fingers curl around his leg in an attempt to keep him steady. The room falls quiet, eager to hear their monarch speak.

Insufferable flatterers, the young man pierces your thoughts again.

Some bit of skin is pinched, right beneath your breast and it sends a sharp pain down your side when you straighten your back once more, harsh enough to leave you distracted.

It is odd, you cannot seem to find clarity today, your thoughts distant and flimsy, like water in your hands.

“A special honour shall be bestowed on one of you young lads. The honour of protecting the sanctity of our kingdom's delight, my beloved daughter,” King Alexander boomed, the slightest hint of slur to his words.

Polite claps follow suit and beneath the table you begin to twist the rings on your fingers.

“Now, our council has given great thought to our choice and we are certain that we have picked the most suitable man in the kingdom, for his reputation exceeds him.”

Whispers flood the room and it takes much of your self-constraint to not take your brother’s hand like a little child.

“Benjicot Blackwood, shall be sworn in, in our midst, tonight.”

Bloody Ben.

Tristan is right. There’s many tales to be told of the heir of Raventree, none of which have anything to do with knighthood and to you, all of them are terrifying. A man like that to watch over you with hawkeyes.

You would have much preferred the stoic Lord Mormont.

You swallow thickly.

“My dearest shall knight him herself.”

Your father has not looked at you yet, perhaps he does know that he will face nothing but contempt. He is a drunkard but he is a king and perhaps even a good one and it does take at least somewhat of a brain to be one.

You blinked, once, twice and then you smiled—a practised smile, not much alike to a real one—and got up.

The lightness in your head leaves your periphery blinded, but you have learned after many years of life under the watchful eyes of the nobility, to not stumble, no matter your state and with graceful steps you walk around the table reserved for the highest ranks.

Well, and Lady Cathcart.

Your knees bend very deeply before your father as his sword slices the air.

Nobody thinks to keep you up to date, but nobody needs to tell you about things like this. The manners and the conduct of behaviour at court are ingrained into your brain.

You do not have to be told when to bow or when to rise.

The sword is heavier than expected, it quivers a bit in your hold when your father passes it across the table to you.

It’s gorgeous, with engravings along its blade, flowery gardens, lush hills, stormy seas, it shines in the candlelit hall.

The grand doors creak upon and you cannot bear it any longer, you whirl around, all dizziness ignored, impatient to see the legendary bloody Ben.

At the end of the path he stands, simple black clothes, dark red cape and crooked nose.

Your jaw drops, only by a little.

From the distance parting you, you can’t be certain but Benjicot Blackwood looks about as surprised as you.

He shouldn’t be surprised, you think, he should be worried.

The sword is still awkward in the gip of both of your hands, but the face you make is practised.

Marion had once compared it to Rodrick’s steel armour.

It takes the man a torturously long time to finally reach you, each step dragged as though something was pulling him the other way.

He looks at you, like he wishes to challenge you, but he kneels, not with poise, moreso dropping before you like a sack of potatoes.

Through strands of hair he peaks up at you and it is a funny little turn, you wonder what you must have looked like looking up at him in the garden

Solemnly you clear your throat.

“ Wilt thou, upon this day, pledge thy fealty to the House Aprikate, and stand as a Knight of the Crown?” Your voice drips with an authority that feels strange on your tongue, an unfamiliar power vested in you.

“Yes, your grace.”

You almost feel bad for him, it does not seem so honourable to be kneeling like this, head firmly directed down, so clearly beneath you for everyone to see.

“Doth thou wish to abandon thy self, and be sword and shield for the sake of the greater good?”

This time he pauses a little longer. “Yes, your grace.”

You lift the sword from where you hold it against your mid, slowly and pray to god and all his saints that the tremble of your hand is not too noticeable.

With much tenderness you touch upon each of his shoulders.

“I do hereby dub thee, Benjicot Blackwood, knight of honour. May your courage and devotion become a shining example throughout all the land.”

And so it is done, your chest constricting and heart writhing within. You cannot say what it is that pushes you over the edge, but you see the way he looks at you, as though you have damned him to hell on earth.

Something jolts down your spine and finally your arduous work of remaining composed unravels, darkness cloaking your sight.

A gasp reverberates, mayhaps yours, but you are unconscious before your body tumbles to the ground.

[formulauno98]

Yacht Girl Summer - Chapter Six / Tuesday - George Russell x Reader, Toto Wolff x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: 🌶 This one is spicy, 18+ only. This is going to be a slow burn and if you're uncomfortable with the idea of two-timing don't read this.

Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction. No use of Y/N and minimal descriptions because I want everyone/anyone to be able to enjoy this.

TUESDAY MORNING

The unexpected interruption jolted you. George's expression hardened, his grip on your hand tightening reflexively before he dropped it and moved to sit down on the bed. You exchanged a quick glance with him before you moved to open the door.

Toto stood in the hallway, his usually composed demeanour now tinged with uncertainty. His eyes met yours, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face, concern, regret and something deeper that you couldn't quite place.

"Can we talk?" Toto asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, aware of George's presence sat on the bed behind you. He remained silent and brooding, his eyes fixed on Toto.

“I’m not sure if now is the best time. Can we talk in the morning?” you asked, knowing that you needed to explain the situation to George and disappearing with Toto would send the wrong message.

After a tense moment, Toto replied, “Fine. I will see you in the morning. Sleep well.” 

Closing the door once more, you turned to George to explain yourself further, only to see that he’d flopped down fully clothed, fast asleep. 

Sighing, you set about getting ready for bed, knowing that when he woke up in the morning, it was going to be more than awkward.

– – – 

You woke up in the warm embrace of George. His touch was gentle, his mind only on one thing as he snuggled closer, his hand caressing the curve of your thigh. A wave of surprise washed over you. Considering what you revealed to him last night, you hadn’t expected this reaction.

“Morning beautiful,” he said. A very odd reaction indeed.

"Morning,” you murmured, before adding “You’re perky this morning, do you remember anything from last night?" trying to keep your tone casual.

George groaned softly, shaking his head. "Nope. The last thing I remember is dancing with you. Everything after that is a blur. I couldn’t tell you how we got back here. How about you?”

Guilt gnawed at you. Deciding not to fill him in entirely, you forced a smile. "Things are hazy. Must have been the drinks," You extricated yourself from his embrace, knowing you needed some space to think. "I need a shower, I’m hanging badly," you lied.

“Ugh me too,” said George, “I’ll snooze for a bit, maybe shower after breakfast. I doubt Toto has anything planned for today.”

Nervous at the mention of Toto, you nodded as you disappeared into the bathroom, “Yeah probably not. Everyone drank a lot.” 

– – – 

Heading to breakfast, hand-in-hand with George, you had a knot in your stomach. The thought of facing Toto was daunting and you weren’t ready for that difficult conversation. A small part of you hoped that he’d be hit with the same alcohol-induced amnesia as George but deep in your heart, you knew it wasn’t the case. He hadn’t been anywhere near as drunk as the others and had appeared sobre when he’d knocked on your cabin door.

As you joined your fellow guests at the breakfast table, it was clear that they were all nursing severe hangovers, worse than the previous morning. James was silently sipping his coffee with a haunted stare, Cara had dark sunglasses on, her head hanging low and John kept rubbing his temples. Marion was nowhere to be seen, presumably too delicate to make an appearance.

Toto, conversely, looked wide awake, alert. “Good morning,” he said, somewhat stiltedly.

“Morning boss,” said George chirpily, causing Toto to raise his eyebrows.

“You’re in fine form this morning,” he said, his eyes not leaving yours as he was clearly trying to suss out whether George was onto him.

“I slept like a baby! I don’t know what was in those drinks but it was some strong stuff,” said George, “I was just saying that I honestly can’t remember how we got back last night. 

Toto’s eyebrows raised even further, turning to you, “And do you?”

Stuttering you blinked, “It’s a little blurry here and there.”

“Interesting,” said Toto, still looking at you transfixed, your fellow guests distracted enough by their hangovers that they didn’t clock the awkward interaction.

Throughout breakfast, he continued to look at you with an intensity that made you almost uncomfortable and as George was chatting to James and the plates were being cleared, he asked you in a low tone, “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” you said cooly, “Maybe you can show me the sea kayaks you were telling me about?”

Getting the message, Toto raised his voice, “Ah yes, the sea kayaks, I’ll show you them now and you can take them for a spin later  if you’d like?”

‘Great,” you said, your smile not meeting your eyes before turning to your boyfriend, “George, love, Toto mentioned he has some sea kayaks we can take out later. He’s going to show me where they’re stored and how to take them out, is that cool?”

Oblivious, George waved you off without a thought, "Yeah sure, go ahead, sounds cool. I'm going to take a shower in a bit anyway."

– – – 

Away from the group, Toto's steely manner shifted, his expression warming considerably. "I kissed you last night," he started, his voice low and apologetic. "I shouldn't have, considering George."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "Yes, I know and I felt guilty. I told George when we got back, but he doesn’t remember."

Toto looked taken aback. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to complicate things or to upset you. I couldn’t help myself though. Have you not felt the same way these last few days?"

His question caught you off guard so you told a white lie, "No. I was too drunk last night to know what was going on. It was just a drunken mistake. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."

Disappointment flickered across his face, "Not at all. In that case, I should be the one saying sorry. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. It’s been refreshing to talk with someone not about racing.” he paused for a moment before adding, “But yes, let’s put it down to a drunken mistake."

You nodded again, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Great, well if that’s all, I should go."

You turned and made the great escape before Toto could say anything else. As you made your way back towards your cabin, tears began to fall, what on Earth were you going to do? 

TUESDAY AFTERNOON

Fully repaired after the storm had damaged the electrics, the yacht had successfully headed back out to sea, setting sail for one last round of the Mediterranean before returning to dock in Port Hercule. You’d had a lazy day spent sunbathing and reading a book, trying to clear your mind. 

In the late afternoon, you got up and stretched on the lounger you’d spent the last few hours on. Deciding it was time to get up and do something, you thought a swim might do the trick, "Anyone interested in going for a quick swim before dinner?" you asked the group.

“I don’t think I can physically move.” groaned Cara, “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’m done for,” said John, equally as lethargically, “We’ll come tomorrow.”

Much to your despair, Toto volunteered, “I’ll come.” he said, sitting up on his lounger.

“George?” you asked, hoping he would join you.

“I’m working on my tan,” he said, stretching out luxuriantly. “Tomorrow I’ll come.”

“No worries,” you said, not able to back out of it. You gathered your things, kissing George on the cheek as you left, "Go. Enjoy." he said, quickly returning to his sunbathing, unbothered.

– – – 

Reluctantly, you found yourself alone with Toto once again, diving off the back of the boat, Toto following close behind. You swam out a little way, the tension palpable.

Floating ten metres from the boat, you felt the presence of Toto in the water beside you, "Sorry, I thought George would want to come too.” he said apologetically, “And it was weird to change my mind immediately.”

Your eyes softened, “No, don’t be silly, it’s nice to have some company.”

Toto quirked his eyebrow, “I didn’t get that impression this morning.”

Turning to face the older man, you sighed, “I’m sorry. Last night was… something. It was surprising. That’s all. And I feel guilty because of George…”

Toto looked at you, his eyes full of concern, “I feel guilty too. I shouldn’t have kissed you. George is my employee and my friend but I just couldn’t help myself. As I said this morning, getting to know you has been interesting. It’s the first time in a long time I find myself enjoying talking to someone.”

Surprised by his admission, you weren’t sure how to respond. 

Filling the silence, Toto swam a little nearer, his voice dropping low, “Look, one last question and we will never speak of this again. It’s driving me crazy talking like this over and over.” he paused, looking you dead in the eyes, “Do you love him?”

You couldn’t respond. The silence stretched between you, heavy and laden with unspoken feelings. Glancing up at the sun deck as if to check no-one was looking, Toto swam even closer, approaching you gently, one hand gripping your waist, pulling you close to him, and the other caressing your face. "Do you honestly feel nothing?" At that, he leaned in for a kiss, his touch tender, softer than the passion of the night before.

Breaking the kiss, you gazed into his dark eyes, shining warm amber in the late afternoon sun, finding them sincere. “Toto…” you started, before catching his lips once more, wrapping your leg around his torso as he effortlessly kept the two of you afloat with his free arm.

Time froze as you remained locked together, intimately embraced as the waves lapped around you. It was then that you knew. You had fallen out of love with George. George didn’t kiss you like this, he didn’t make your stomach lurch with butterflies. It was too early to tell if you loved Toto - Christ you’d only just gotten to know him, but you knew the potential was there.

The kiss growing more heated, you forced yourself to break apart, “Hang on, we need to stop.”

“Why,” asked Toto, growling as he pulled your leg further up his torso, grinding into you under the water, his growing hardness apparent.

You let out a moan, your heart not wanting to stop but your brain telling you otherwise. “It’s not the place.”

Reluctantly, Toto released your leg, “Sorry, I was getting carried away.”

“Don’t be silly,” you said, reaching up to cup his jaw as you pressed a chaste kiss once more to his lips, “I was too. But we just can’t. Not unless I end things with George.”

Looking somewhat deflected, Toto released you entirely, returning to treading water by your side, “You’re right. This is so not right.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, you’d of course heard his infamous “Michael, this is so not right.” during a Grand Prix a few years ago. Realising what he’d said, you were surprised to see his face tinged pink. 

“Sorry for laughing,” you said, stopping your giggles, “But look, let’s not do anything stupid.”

“Agreed.” said Toto, his face stoic, “Shall we head back to the boat?”

“Sure,” you said, keeping a careful distance between yourself and Toto as you swam back towards the yacht, your head racing with thoughts.

What you hadn’t clocked was the figure on the sun deck, leaning over the railings, mouth hanging open having witnessed your and Toto’s intimate moment.

TUESDAY EVENING

That evening, dinner was more relaxed, with the group discussing plans for your final day at sea. Plates were filled with delicious food and the air buzzed with an easy camaraderie, the previous nights’ shenanigans well and truly breaking down any remaining airs and graces.

You settled into your seat beside George as he leaned in intently to listen to what Toto was planning for the following day. After what had transpired in the water, you couldn’t quite look the tall Austrian in the eye as he proposed taking the jet skis out for the day. 

James nodded in agreement, "Jet skiing sounds fun. We could also set up a race. You know, just for laughs."

Rolling your eyes at the forever competitive older man, you knew George would not be able to resist the idea of a race. As if on cue, he nodded eagerly, “I’m down for a race.”

“Such a surprise,” you said dryly under your breath, Toto smirking at your comment.

Raising an eyebrow, Cara seemed to share your sentiment, "Friendly competition, right? Count me in.”

Sipping her wine, Marion nodded, "Agreed. But maybe first some sunbathing on the deck. I was all for a chilled morning."

Toto clapped his hands together, “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow let’s relax in the morning and a jetski race in the afternoon.”

George agreed enthusiastically, "That sounds fantastic. We could set up a course around that island we passed today. Start here, loop around the buoy near the cliffs, and back."

Nodding, John chimed in, "Yeah and let’s time each other. The winner gets bragging rights for the rest of the trip."

“The rest of the season,” said George mischievously, knowing that he would likely have the edge.

Stroking his chin, James added, "We could add some challenges too, maybe a slalom through some buoys.  Keep it interesting."

“Are you guys ever not competitive?” you asked, the men denying it in unison. Shaking your head and laughing, you stole a glance at Toto, noticing his dark eyes lost in thought.

Breaking eye contact, Cara leant across the table to clink her glass with yours, "Here’s to our silly other halves."

Marion raised her glass in tandem, "Cheers to that.” before turning to Toto, “ And to good friends."

Smiling at everyone, Toto raised his glass in turn, "Indeed. Cheers. Thank you for making this week very enjoyable. We needed this break."

You raised your glass, joining the toast to the memories you had made together. As the conversation shifted to other topics, you caught Toto’s eye across the table. He gave you a reassuring smile which you promptly returned. The butterflies were back.

Clearly privy to this moment, Cara suddenly piped up, “So how was your swim earlier?” she turned to you pointedly, “I saw you two out there, it looked like you were having fun.”

The blood drained from your face. No. She couldn’t have seen. Could she?

You exchanged a worried look with Toto, Cara’s face lighting up as she knew it meant that the two of you had been rumbled.

“It was lovely thank you.” you said politely, “Actually, we spotted an interesting island, if you’d like to see it I can show you from the sun deck?”

Catching your drift, Cara nodded, “I would love to, maybe we can head up before dessert comes out?”

“Great idea.” you said firmly, excusing the two of you from the table, George looking a little confused at your sudden departure and Toto shooting you a look as you disappeared up the stairs behind Cara.

– – – 

Once you were up on the sun deck, safely out of earshot you turned to Cara.

"Okay, spill it. What's going on?" she asked, “I saw you two canoodling in the water. How can you do this to George? What on earth were you thinking? Has this happened before?”

Feeling overwhelmed by the barrage of questions, you paused before admitting, "I don’t know. Like I told you, things between George and I are… not great. And then last night at the club, Toto and I... we kissed. I don't know what came over me."

Cara listened quietly, her expression turning serious as she processed your confession. Her eyes narrowed, “So then you went in for seconds today?”

“It wasn’t like that.” you said quietly, “I told Toto that we shouldn’t.”

Cara raised a perfectly pencilled brow, “But you did it anyway. Look I will say this once. These things happen, but you need to sort this out. George is a lovely lad, he doesn't deserve to be messed around.”

You nodded, tears welling up, feeling somewhat cathartic after sharing your guilt, “I know. I feel terrible about this."

Seeing your regret, the older woman’s expression softened as she gently put her hand on your arm, "Okay darling, take a deep breath. We'll figure this out. Just... be honest with yourself about what you want and who you want to be with."

You nodded gratefully, thankful for Cara's understanding and support. 

"Be careful though," she advised. "Toto is much older than you. You’re probably smitten because of all of this,” she gestured around the yacht, “If you’re not happy with George, end things first. Don’t jump into something with Toto. He’s likely only after a fling. I’ve never known him to be serious about any woman since his divorce and even during his marriage he had a wandering eye."

Her words left you at a loss. Had you misjudged Toto? After all, what kind of man pursues a woman who is already taken? Let alone one taken by someone who works for him.

“I will be,” you said, thankful that the woman seemed to be level-headed. “Thank you, Cara, I hope you don’t think badly of me.”

“Not at all,” she said kindly, “I can see it’s upsetting you, but equally, please be careful.”

You smiled, the warmth of her friendship offering comfort amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling inside you.

She turned suddenly, "Let's head back before they send out a search party. You've got a lot to think about young lady."

“Indeed,” you said, following her back down to the dining table where thankfully the chat was flowing freely once more.

Settling back down in your seat, George barely registered your return so you found yourself once again chatting away with Toto. This time talking about dancing, having shared opinions on the music last night. 

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” asked Toto, leaning in with a smile.

“Self-taught.” you teased, “How about you?”

He smirked, “Years of practice, I suppose.”

“Well you got moves,” you said with a smile.

“If only you knew,” he said suggestively, dropping his voice so only you would hear, your companions deep in conversation around you, oblivious to the overt flirtation. 

Blushing furiously, you tried to steer the conversation back to more innocent territory, “So a jetski race tomorrow huh? Think you have what it takes to win?”

Ever humble, Toto chuckled, “Probably not. George and James will have the edge. Perhaps I can beat John, Cara and Marion. You, I’m not so sure.”

You laughed, “Wanna make another bet?”

“Why not?” Toto asked, amused at your competitive streak.

“If I beat you, you have to jump off the boat and skinny dip tomorrow night.”

Toto quirked his brow, “And if I beat you, you are going to do that?”

You chuckled, not having thought this through, “Hm, maybe not.”

“Why not?” he asked, “It makes the race interesting.”

“Ok, deal.” you said, your eyes sparkling, taking his hand in yours to seal it “I’m ninety per cent sure I’ll beat you anyway.”

“That’s confident,” he said, dropping your hand, “Something you probably don’t know, I used to rally.”

Fuck. Maybe the bet was not so wise after all.

“What are you guys shaking on? Making a bet?” asked George, suddenly noticing your exchange with his boss.

“Yep.” you said, “On who will be faster tomorrow? We all know you’re going to win but for us normal folks, we’re spicing it up.”

George laughed, “I’m not sure about that, a jet ski is a bit different to a car. Besides, you’re much lighter, I reckon you have the weight advantage.”

“Are you calling me fat George?” said Toto, his eyes widened in mock horror.

“No, no.” said George, backtracking, “Well, you’re much taller. And all muscle. Very muscular. Yes not fat. I mean no… not fat.”

The table were now all engaged in your exchange and laughed at George’s furious backpedalling.

“What’s the forfeit?” asked John.

“To be decided,” said Toto tactfully, not wanting to share the true nature of the bet.

“Walking the passerelle?” suggested James with a laugh.

Toto’s eyes sparkled, the irony not lost that James wasn’t far off your wager, bar the nudity clause “Yes, let’s say that.” 

– – – 

Later that night you found yourself lying in your bed in your cabin, unable to sleep once again, heart pounding with uncertainty. George had quickly drifted off to sleep beside you, wrapped up in the duvet, looking cosy as a bug. 

You had to talk to Toto. Despite the easy banter at dinner, the kiss, his confession and Cara's words swam around your mind. With a deep breath, you slipped out from under the covers, careful not to disturb George. Quietly, you tiptoed across the cabin, pulling on a bathrobe and snuck out into the narrow corridor, trying not to make a noise as the wood beneath your bare feet creaked.

Toto's cabin wasn't far. You navigated the dimly lit hallway, your thoughts racing as you approached his door. With a hesitant hand, you knocked softly, hoping he was still awake.

After a brief moment, the door opened a crack, revealing Toto's silhouette against the soft glow of his cabin lights. His eyes widened slightly in surprise before a warm smile spread across his face.

"Can I come in? We need to talk," you said, keeping your voice low, not wanting to wake anyone.

Toto nodded silently and opened the door wider, allowing you to slip inside. The master cabin was spacious and elegantly appointed, a stark contrast to the cozy simplicity of yours. Toto closed the door behind you, the latch clicking softly into place.

You stood awkwardly in front of him, painfully aware that he was wearing nothing apart from a tight pair of boxers. Of course, you’d seen him in swim shorts but this was much more compromising. You gulped, he wasn’t making your life any easier standing there looking like that.

Noticing your awkwardness, he crossed the room, taking a seat on the large bed, “Sit down,” he said, patting a spot next to him, “What's on your mind?"

You perched on the edge of the bed, nerves fluttering in your stomach. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of recent events hanging in the air. You were very much aware of the fact that you were now sitting with a half-naked Toto on a bed. A very handsome, half-naked Toto. One move and you could be back in deep water.

Stealing yourself and meeting Toto’s gaze, you spoke to him from the heart, "Today... what happened between us. I don't know how to explain it. I shouldn't have..."

His voice gentle, Toto surveyed you, "It's okay. We talked about it. You don't need to apologise."

You shook your head, "But I do. Cara saw us. She knows."

Toto looked at you wearily, “You snuck out of bed to come and wake me up and talk about Cara?”

Taken aback, you retorted, “No, what I’m saying is I don’t know what to do. She told me some things about you.”

“Like what?” Toto asked, curious.

You sighed, “Basically she told me to be careful.” 

Breathing steadily, Toto looked at you fondly, "And you think she’s right?"

“I don’t know,” you said helplessly, fighting not to react to the fact that Toto was edging nearer to you. "I feel so confused. About everything."

"I understand. These situations are never simple." Toto offered up, his eyes darting down to where your bathrobe was gaping, offering him a view of your skimpy nightdress.

Silence settled between you, the gentle hum of the yacht's engines filling the cabin. Toto's eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of understanding and something more difficult to define.

"What do you want?" he asked breathlessly, leaning closer.

Answering him wordlessly, you brought your lips to his, this time your lips locking in fiery passion. 

Breaking the kiss, he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said, shaking slightly, not having planned to do this when you’d snuck out of your cabin.

“Well if you insist,” he said, suddenly scooping you up and throwing you back onto the bed so you were now splayed out underneath him, your bathrobe flapping perilously open to reveal your thin cotton nightdress that left little to the imagination.

Dipping down, he kissed along your neck, whispering in his deep voice, “But this has to come off.”

Tugging at the belt, you got flustered as you tried to extricate yourself from the terry-towelling prison, Toto growing impatient and pushing it down off of your shoulders as you finally managed to untie the knot.

Hands exploring everywhere in the heat of the moment, Toto’s hands quickly found your breasts, palming them through your nightdress, setting you on fire. You reached around, clasping one hand around the back of Toto’s neck, pulling him closer, the other grabbing at his broad shoulders. 

As you kissed once more, Toto began to grind his hips into yours, his hardness more than apparent as you gyrated underneath him, desperate for contact.

Just as you were starting to find a rhythm you froze suddenly, painfully aware that you were about to cheat on your boyfriend. This was not just so not right, this was downright wrong. You glanced towards the door, a pang of guilt tugging at your heart. George was fast asleep in the cabin down the hall, unaware of your clandestine activities.

Noticing your hesitancy, Toto stopped, his hands dropping to your waist, holding you tight. “Are you okay?” he asked, for the first time looking nervous. “If you want to stop we can.”

Torn between feeling guilty and wanting to carry on with what you were doing, you looked up into Toto’s eyes, the warm brown meeting yours with concern.

“I’m more than fine,” you said, leaning up to kiss him once more, too far gone to stop now.

As the kiss deepened, Toto began to divest you fully of your bathrobe, then making quick work of peeling off your nightdress and throwing it wildly behind him, leaving you in nothing but your lace panties underneath him. Shy under his gaze, you shifted a little awkwardly, feeling exposed.

“You.” he kissed your neck, “Are,” he kissed your collarbone, “So,” he kissed your breast, pausing to take your nipple in his teeth, “Beautiful.” he kissed your stomach.

The sensations drove you wild as Toto parted your legs gently and kissed his way lower and lower, from your stomach to your hip, pausing to lift up your legs and pull your underwear off before continuing to kiss you all the way down to where you were now dripping wet.

“Such a pretty little pussy,” he said, seemingly mesmerised. He took a moment to gaze with admiration before kissing his way from the inside of your thighs all the way to your core. His tongue lapping gently as he found your sweet spot.

“Fuck.” was all you managed as he went to town, his tongue skillfully swirling, expertly flicking your clit. “Fuck,” you exclaimed again, grabbing a handful of the sheets you were lying on.

Toto came up for air, his eyes almost black with desire, “Tell me how you like it.”

“Keep doing that.” you breathed, never having felt like this before. You felt another pang of guilt. George never did this, never made you feel like this.

His deep laugh rumbling against you, he continued his ministrations before coming up for air. “Sit on my face,” he commanded, his authoritive tone making you blush.

“Huh?” you asked.

“Sit down on my face,” he said, sitting in front of you before twisting around and grabbing your legs so that you were now straddling his face. “Sit down and smother me.”

Bracing yourself against the headboard, you did as he asked, his tone hard to resist. His strong arms held your legs apart and pushed you down, your thighs wrapping around his shoulders as you pushed into his mouth.

It was heaven. His tongue lapped gently, exploring, making your stomach do backflips.

You couldn’t stop moaning and it seemed the more vocal you got, the more enthusiastic he became, pulling you tighter to his face with every grind of your hips.

It wasn’t long before you were seeing stars, his tongue setting you on fire. “Fuck, Toto.” was all you managed to say as he pushed you up, his mouth wet with your pleasure.

“Gladly,” he said, promptly moving your legs off of him, pulling off his boxers and coming up to kneel behind you, his prominent bulge digging into you as he pressed up against you tightly, your legs pulled apart straddling around him as you sat on his lap. “Focus,” he said, lifting you up and teasing you with the tip of his cock.

He continued caressing your breasts, nipping gently at the patch of skin behind your ear as he lazily rubbed up and down, agonisingly slowly. “Toto,” you said, your voice hoarse with need.

“Yes,” he rumbled, right against your ear, “Tell me what you need.”

“Fuck me,” you begged, discontent with his slow teasing.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, lifting you up off his lap once more before easing himself in, taking things slow and pushing in inch by inch to allow you to adjust to his size.

“Fuck.” you breathed, “Fuck, this is nice.” As he bottomed out, you felt full, complete even.

“Nice?” he taunted, nipping at your ear lobe “That’s all?” 

“You know what I mean,” you muttered, starting to impatiently move your hips, grinding down onto his lap.

“Is this nice?” he asked, before lifting you up and slamming you back down onto his lap, making you feel as if you were about to be split in two.

“Yes.” you breathed, barely prepared when he did it once more, and then twice “Fuck.”

Slowing down, he pumped up into you, starting to find a rhythm, one hand creeping forward to caress your clit. Oversensitive already, you were almost on the brink from the first touch. “Does that feel good?” he asked, his voice vibrating through you as he continued to thrust in and out.

“Fuck yes,” you said, moving your hips against his, bracing yourself once again on the headboard.

“Hang on,” he said, suddenly pulling out, leaving you disappointedly empty before grabbing you by the waist and flipping you over onto your back.

“I want to see your pretty face,” he said, lining himself up once more, entering you again, this time at a relentless pace, leaning down to kiss you as he found a new, faster rhythm.

All you could do was lay back and try to meet his thrusts, his muscular build pushing you further and further back up the bed.

“Ouch!” you said, as one particular thrust had your head crashing into the headboard.

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” said Toto, slowing down, kissing your head where you’d banged it and impatiently grabbing a pillow to stack behind you, “Sorry, overenthusiastic.”

“I’ll survive,” you said, pulling him down for a deep, sensual kiss.

It wasn’t long before you were reaching your second orgasm of the night, losing yourself in pleasure, your bodies moving as one. 

You could sense Toto slowly throbbing slightly, nearing his own high so you slowed down, pre-empting.

“I’ll pull out,” he said kindly, “But I need you to cum for me first. Cum for me.”

Once again, his domineering instructions had you on the precipice and coupled with a few, short, sharp pumps, he pushed you over the edge once more, your entire body shaking as you experienced one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

You barely had the chance to recover when he expertly pulled out, tugging a few times before he too found his completion, warmth spreading over your lower stomach.

Collapsing beside you, he leaned across and kissed your forehead before getting up to the bathroom to go and grab a towel. Returning shortly after, he wiped you down gently, making sure to clean up thoroughly before dipping back down to pull you in for a cuddle, his strong arms wrapped around you.

You lay there in content silence before he broke it, “That was… I don’t know. Fuck, you are out of this world.”

Smiling, you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, tasting yourself, “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Looking pleased by your admission, he drew you in closer, enveloping you from behind. You snuggled contently, not wanting the moment to end but knowing that you had to leave so as to not arouse suspicion. What had you done?

Taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party @noooway555 @annewithaneofthegreengable  @xoscar03 @totowolfffcheco @justzluv @kravitzwhore @bborra @a-beaverhausen

[targaryenluvs]

PERMISSION TO SHOOT?

pairing: photographer!ex!jeon jungkook (non-idol au) x fem!bride!reader

summary: turns out allowing your soon to be husband to book your photographer can go sideways. especially when it ends up being your psycho ex! then again, you never had much willpower.

warnings: bridezilla you, annoyingly smug jungkook, teasing, cursing, obsession, jealousy 😣

wordcount: about 500 idk

a/n: got a surge of motivation with my free time :P

bridezilla, god if you hadn’t heard that word everywhere when it came to weddings. not that you’d be one, of course not!

but as you sat pinching your nose over your wedding plans sheer stupidity over forgetting to book in a photographer or videographer? the word seemed to resonate in your soul.

“if it’s a bit too much on you, i’m sure my assistant could look into it.” your husband kenji piped up from the side. his presence was honestly forgettable sometimes with how still he was. like a statue. but don’t ever think he isn’t listening. you sighed as you turned to him, “on such short notice? it’s only a week away.” marion, your planner got up from her seat with a tight lipped smile, eager to give the pair of you privacy and save her own ass.

he sighed, closing his eyes, “it’s not a problem baby, just go get some rest.” you should’ve asked more questions, but who were you to doubt his ability? it’s not like there’s a lack of photographers.

and out of all the ones in existence he had to book him?

jungkooks smile used to be one of your favourite things, in the morning and night. the wide smile on his face could solve a lot of problems in your opinion. but when it was mixed with the smug expression as he stood by your husband? a shot to the face would be favourable now.

“sweetie, meet jungkook.” he beckoned you towards him as jungkook smiled softly, “hi.” your lips pressed into a tight smile as you shook his hand. “you look absolutely stunning.” the compliments fell from his lips easily since it was true. the dress you wore was not only expensive, but worth it.

your husband grinned in agreement, “she does, doesn’t she? i’ll let you two discuss.” the reception was in full swing now, laughter and smiles galore. how hadn’t you noticed him beforehand?

“what are you doing here?” you hissed as he guided you to a quieter area, his hand on your back as you shrugged it off angrily. “the camera in my hand doesn’t explain it?” you rolled your eyes, “i can see it asshole, but why would you take this job?”

jungkook leaned against the wall, letting out a hefty laugh, “why wouldn’t i be here? hurts yknow? i didn’t get an invitation.” your hands curled into your dress to help refrain from touching him. somehow he looked even younger than before, his skin practically shone in the sun.

“why would you? you’re halfway insane. if you ruin this i swear to god—,” the words wouldn’t come out anymore, not when he stood in front of you, staring down into your eyes. “if what baby?” the dress had to be shrinking with how difficult it was to breathe now.

his hand trailed your jaw, “not much makeup, all natural. i love you like this.” jungkook bent down to whisper into your ear. squeezing your eyes shut, you shook your head as if to wake yourself back up. “shut up it’s not for you.” his fingers found their way to your collarbone, “this dress is cute, but i think you’re much cuter y/n.”

taking a step back your hands wrapped around the balcony. the beach villa overlooked the water, the setting sun glistened. another step forward, he ended up behind you. “did you miss me? tell me you missed me, please.” his large hands found their usual place on your shoulders.

“just tell me and ill go.”

and the thing was, you did miss him. your husband was a nice man, but he never remembers. not once did he ever order the right food, the right size, none of it. and you thought you’d be able to put up with it, but it sucked when he could remember a random woman’s and not your own.

and the nice big home was amazing, but it didn’t mean much when the only voice that echoed through it was your own.

“when he reached out to me, i couldn’t believe it yknow? but i knew it was a sign. you came back to me. and you can still be with me, he doesn’t have to know.”

perhaps now the house would echo twice over.

[mochinomnoms]

The Private (not) Thoughts of a Moray Chapter 3: They say it’s gotten out of hand, and I’m obsessed with you

Gender Neutral Reader x Jade Leech

Chapter 3 preview:

Hmm…maybe they’ll need tutoring? We can be alone then…perhaps in musicology, you’re not a very good singer, are you my pearl? …bitch. You huffed, turning your head to strictly face Riddle and Yev, blatantly ignoring Jade, who seemed confused, but still cooed.  Jade filled your head with an image of you pouting up at him, cutely rather than annoyed Are you pouting? What for? Oh, you’re so cute~  Stupid eel, it’s cause of you! Stupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupid—

[wc} - 8,471

[notes] - *dabs* enjoy and let me know if you can guess which characters the freshman are based on

back to chapter list

Chapter 3: They say it’s gotten out of hand, and I’m obsessed with you

You gazed into your cup as your coffee gradually lightened to a soft cream color from the oat milk, rubbing the tiredness from your eyes, despite the 9-hour sleep from last night, and stared at the young man that sat across from you in the cafeteria.

He was quite taller than many of your classmates, about Sebek’s height if you had to guess, though Sebek had grown a few inches over the summer. He was also fair, but still sported a warm complexion, which complemented his poofy, brown ponytail and dark brown eyes. In his hands, he fiddled with a small, golden necklace with a compass attached to it. 

Said man met your eyes and gave an awkward smile and wave, which you (equally awkwardly) returned before turning back to your cup of coffee to gulp it down in one go.

Fuck, fuck that’s hot. Why’d I chug thaaaaaat?

“Ah, are you okay Housewarden (Name)?” He gave you a concerned look. “That coffee was quite hot, wasn’t it?” 

You nodded quietly, clearing your throat, “I’m fine y-you don’t have to call me that, just my name or Prefect is fine James.”

Dammit, they told me that earlier! I’m sorry Housewarden (Nsme)! I don’t mean to disrespect!!

You sighed, I really wasn’t physically or emotionally prepared to have first-years in Ramshackle, damn you Crowley.

The student before you was James Bartholomew, Class A-12, and he was an eager, if a bit anxious man. He bore the rose-red vest and arm ribbon of Heartslabyul well, even if he wasn’t currently residing in their dorm. 

It seemed that, even with the chaos of last year, Night Raven College was practically bursting at the seems from the large influx of freshmen this year. Nearly 100 more students than average were accepted by the Dark Mirror, with no housing to accommodate. 

While Scarabia and Diasomnia were just bursting at the seams with their new students, Heartslabyul, Octavinelle, and Pomefiore were well over capacity. Luckily, Savanaclaw and Ignihyde were still rather spacious, as they had been the last few years, and students were placed in their spare rooms while the others were renovated. Crowley, ever soooo generous, offered your dorm up to the remaining students without consulting you.

James, as well as about 20 others, were said students.

“Good morning!” chipper, crisp voices piped up from behind you, interrupting the poor freshman’s internal panic attack.

Three more young students, triplets each sporting the deep midnight violet of Pomefiore, smiled cheerfully and waved synchronously. Despite being triplets, they looked remarkably different. 

“It’s us!” the one on the left began, “Wynfred!” He was average height, with short curly red hair that held two small braids with a golden moon holding emeralds, which framed his face. He was the palest of the three, covered in freckles and had sharp green eyes. Wynfred gestured to the sibling on his left. 

“Marion!” A short, maybe even more so than Riddle, man spread his arms up in joy as he shouted his name. Marion was more tanned than his sibling, and had softer, rounder features which included his droopy brown eyes. His hair was held up in a high ponytail braid, where the end held the same charm as Wynfred, replacing the stone with jaspers. 

“Silas!” The last shouted, jumping in front of their siblings, ignorant of their hands smacking into their faces. Silas was the tallest, fair, and had wide, light blue eyes. His hair was long, held in a half up-down do, with his hair band holding his matching moon charm decorated with an amethyst. 

Once the former two composed themselves, all three spread their arms out in theatrical fashion, before answering in synchrony, “The Salson Brothers!”

 …Why the fuck are they introducing themselves like that?

Stifling a laugh at James’s face, who seemed equal parts intrigued and disturbed at the triplet’s dazzling entrance, you instead cleared your throat and faced all four students. 

“Hello (Name)!” the triplets answered all at once. “Hello James!”

Oh, they are so fucking weird. 

“Hi everyone, how’s lunch treating you?” you stifled a laugh at James, and looked at the clock. “We have about an hour and a half! So we have some time to eat, and you can ask me anything you want regarding your classes.”

Clapping your hands together, you gestured for the triplets to sit at the table. While they did, you offered Grim part of your sandwich, who happily scarfed it down. 

Mmmmmhhh! Soooo yummyyy~

Marion and Silas sat next to both sides of you, while Wynfield had taken the seat next to James, who still looked mildly uncomfortable. Taking another bite of your sandwich, you clasped your hands together before speaking. 

“I’ll get it out of the way, I know Ramshackle isn’t the most glamorous of all the dorms—” you paused, sighing, “—it’s barely been a fully equipped dorm for a few months…”

It’s not too bad! We all get our own rules since there’s no one else! Silas seemed the most chipper of the tree, if his thoughts were anything to go by. I like the ghosties, they’re funny!

“As the…housewarden,” saying the words felt foreign. “I will do my best to make sure you’re all comfortable.” 

You shifted your eyes to stare at your hands, which were wringing nervously.

“I am a sophomore, a year your senior, and I am one half of a student with Grim, who you all met last night.” You looked up and smiled apologetically, as your familiar dozed off in a food coma.

“I’m afraid he’s rather food motivated, but I promise that he’s quite fun to be around.”

Gesturing your hand to the first freshman, you asked, “What’s your name, since we’ve yet to hear yours?”

EEK!

Jumping in his seat, said young man straightened nervously and took a deep breath. 

“I’m James Bartholemew! I’m from Neversea Harbor, on the western edge of the Queendom of Roses!” 

He took a bow, stopping midway and instead sitting back down out of embarrassment. 

“Sorry, force of habit…”

Wynfred stood up, and fluffed his hair before continuing, “I am Wynfred Salson, from Shalem, a nation out west across the sea, as are my siblings.” 

Gesturing to the two across the table, two brightened and giggled. 

“I’m Marion Salson—” his sibling interrupted

“—and I’m Silas Salson! Hehe!”

Smiling at the trio, you nodded, noticing a second pair of students join your table. These two were Octavinelle students. However, You weren’t sure if they were human. Apparently, it was rare for fae and merfolk to leave their homelands for a place like NRC. Azul once told you that merfolk, while fond of the stories like the mermaid princess, were at their core homebodies that were deeply attached to their homeland and wary of the surface. You remembered asking him why he and the twins had been three of only 5 merfolk at the school at the time.

“Human and merfolk relations have significantly improved in the last few centuries, but most still aren’t fond of needing transformation potions to consistently upkeep their legs. A visit once in a while is fine, but the paperwork required to simply receive a potion permit for non-magic users can take months. For those that stay longer, like the twins and I, it’s akin to a medication, lest you want to see us grow webbing and gills?”

You wouldn’t have been aware that the two were mermen if they hadn’t mentioned it. The smaller one of the pair was a tan young man just over 5 foot, sporting a slicked back black and gray undercut. Despite his height, the young mer was quite muscular and intimidating, sharp, and dark brown eyes that seemed to stare right into your soul. 

They probably would seem so if the following words didn’t tumble out of his razor-sharp toothed mouth.

“Your buddy's lookin' sharp today, Prefect! ou ain't gonna slip in a good word for me, are ya? Cross my heart, I know how to treat a dame proper!” he drawled, sliding himself in between you and Silas while draping an arm over your shoulders. 

“Mmph! T'ony, y'ur elbow's i' my face!" Silas whined, attempting to push against an unmovable object. 

Dame? Who—oh.

“Do…you mean… Epel?” you gestured at your friend who was currently sitting next to your usual group as he carved an apple into a spade for Deuce (who was delighted). 

“You see, a looker like her deserves a tough guy like me!” And, well, I can't do a pretty thing like you any favors. “Mama always raised a gentleman, so—”

You raised your hand up, interrupting him mid-sentence. Can’t do me any favors? What? 

“You do know that Epel is a guy, right?” you paused, giving you both a moment to look at Epel, who noticed and gave a happy wave. 

Waving back, you continued in a quieter voice, “He’s not fond of being mistaken for a girl, or being called cute, so mind your volume.”

Oh, she a he…

Tony paused for a bit in contemplation, before he made a sound of dismissal. “So, that a 'no' on introducin' me to him, or what?”

You snorted back a cackle, covering your mouth as giggles managed to escape you. You nodded at Tony, patting the surrounding arm in affirmation. 

“I’ll introduce you, no worries.”

Tony faced the rest of the freshman and began to introduce himself, “What's the word? Tony Lombardi 's the name, but you can just call me Jaws.”

Like the movie? That’s a bit spot on for a shark-mer.

Grinning, Tony barred his rows of pointy teeth that could rival the Leeches and snapped his jaw at James, who blanched at the sight. 

“That's how the crew back home knows me.”

Ridiculous, idiots the lot of you! 

You turned your head to look at the other Octavinelle freshman, who was as exasperated as his thoughts sounded. He was taller than average, built like a beanpole with how skinny he was. While he didn’t have any outwardly remarkable features that clocked him as another other than human, his light, wavy coral pink hair and light green eyes weren’t exactly common for even the most colorful humans in Twisted Wonderland. He also sported a beauty mark under his lip on the right side of his face, along with several soft freckles spread throughout his face. 

Meeting your eyes, the man scowled and raised his brow at you. 

What are you looking at? Stupid human. 

You quickly looked away from him, though you could hear his growing complaints.

Stupid humans with their stupid faces, I had to hear everyone talk about you all summer. You can barely do magic, what are you even doing here? The headmage should’ve thrown you out to sea to drown if he had any brain in him. 

Seemingly sharing a sixth sense for his friend’s animosity, Tony reached over to yank the unnamed fellow down to settle between you and Marion. 

“Hey, don't be a jerk, be a stand-up guy and say hello and introduce yourself proper.” Letting out a nasally laugh, Tony moved to whisper into his peer’s ear, just loud enough for you to hear, 

“Unless you're itchin' for me to spill the beans to your big bro—”

Tony was shoved off as the young man cleared his throat and straightened his uniform, “My name is Aspen Albamar, I’m a freshman in Octavinelle.”

Curt and to the point, can I go now?

Wynfred made a face as he eyed Aspen up and down, as said freshman followed in kind. 

“I saw that you had a transformation potion,” he started, ignoring Aspen’s sputtering noise. “You sure don’t look like an obvious merperson, what kind are you—”

“T-that was in my nightstand! W-why are you looking through my personal items?!” Aspen angrily hissed, his cool facade fading rather quickly. 

What is wrong with you???

“That’s not important, answer my question—”

“I will not! It’s none of your business!”

Wynfred rolled his eyes as he was interrupted again. So hostile! I was only asking a question!

Interrupted by an intentionally loud cough, you sighed in relief at the sight of your five friends. 

Jack was looking between Aspen and Wynfred as their small spat was paused mid-exchange, before opening his mouth, “Hey, (Name), how’d being a housewarden treating you? These freshmen giving you any trouble?”

Gasp! A dog! Silas perked at the sight of Jack, visibly in awe, to which the wolf beastman was oblivious to. James, on the other hand, stiffened in front of Ace and Deuce, who you remembered were technically his upperclassman.

You found the idea of your two boys being a “shining example” of Heartslaybul morals laughable. 

“Hi guys, no it’s fine Jack, we’re just getting to know each other,” you gestured to each of the boys as you introduced them, “This is James, Wynfred, Marion, Silas—dear please don’t touch Jack’s tail—Tony, and Aspen.”

I still have like 15 other students’ names to memorize, geez. 

“Guys, these are my friends, Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, and Sebek!” You beamed at them as they all greeted the freshman with various ‘hellos’ and ‘what’s ups’. “Jack and Sebek are actually vice-housewardens for Savanaclaw and Diasomnia, too!”

E-eh? Vices??

James looked close to puking while Silas still attempted to swat at Jack’s moving tail, their brothers looking amused. Tony, on the other hand, was quick to throw his arm over Epel’s shoulders, who looked visibly confused. 

“Hey there, doll. Names Tony, but you can just call me the dreamboat you've been waitin' for~” he cooed, either oblivious to, or blatantly ignoring Epel’s souring mood.

Jack, Deuce, and Sebek all made noises of confusion, while Ace snorted in amusement.

Eh? What's this feller reckon he's doin'? If he don’ mosey on outta my space, I'll just have to give him a good ol' nose-thumpin'...

Epel looked ready to snap at the other man, while Ace made eye contact with you and thought, I bet you that the frosh’s gonna get launched out the window in 30 seconds. 

Before that could, thankfully, occur, Tony yelped as Aspen reached over to pull at his ear, dragging him away from the now amused Epel. 

Aspen bowed his head politely and smiled at his upperclassmen. “I apologize for this brute’s behavior.”

He sided-eyed Tony, who was now whining about his ear, still currently pinched between his fingers, hurting. 

“I’m afraid he skipped his land training camp, so he’s not aware of the differences of courting culture for surface dwellers”

Ace let out a cackle before covering his mouth after Jack harshly elbowed him in his stomach. Deuce shared a look with Sebek as Epel turned pink in a flustered anger. You could hear Deuce mutter something to Sebek about short people getting ‘angry real quick, huh?’

“Well, here’s a lesson then,” Epel grumbled shaking a finger at Tony like a mother chastising her children, “Humans don’t tend to enjoy people who invade their personal space and call them names. So unless you want to get beat up, I suggest you respect that.”

Aspen and Tony both perked up, sharing a look before smirking and looking back. 

“Ah, well, some of the more predacious merfolk do enjoy a good bit of roughhousing with their mates.” Aspen chuckled as Tony continued. 

“Yeah! So fighting one of us for flirtin’ probably wouldn’ help.” The two giggled as Epel sputtered and grabbed onto your arm. 

“Ain’t chu their housewarden?” Epel hissed under his breath, “Tell them to quit with the teasin’! I’m their upperclassman, they should respect me!”

You patted Epel’s hand as you murmured some words of comfort to your friend. 

I should probably send Tony off to his next class, if just for your mental state. 

Giving your freshmen a smile, you asked, “Say, I believe some of you have your history class next? Why don’t the others take you, so you can find the best seats?”

Meh? When did everyone get here? Grim yawned, awoken from his post-lunch nap as he climbed Deuce’s shoulder. 

“Oh good timing, Grim!” The familiar perked up, still waking up from his early afternoon food nap. “I think we split up for this next class, why don’t you take James, Aspen, and Tony with you, Ace, and Deuce to Trein’s class?”

Why do I have to watch over a bunch of newbies? The Great Grim’s too great for something so little!

Ace and Grim groaned as you continued, “I’m pretty sure it’s on the way to your guys' duel class?”

You batted your eyelashes at the ginger, who rolled his eyes and gestured for the three to follow him. Yeah, yeah. I’m coming over tonight to eat your snacks though.  

Jack nodded, catching on to your plan. “We can take the other three over to Professor Kallpa’s botany class!”

The triplets stood to follow Jack, Silas still focused on the swishing tail, though he stopped trying to grab it. Wynfred and Marion started to excitedly ask Epel about Vil and “what was it like having THE Vil Schoenheit as your housewarden?” Epel deflated. 

You sighed as both groups left the cafeteria, looking up at Sebek who met your eyes with a firm look. 

Now, now. No time for resting! You’re a housewarden now!

Before he could open his mouth to reiterate this into words, you interrupted with a stretch. You could feel a satisfying pop from your spine. 

“Hey, Sebek, you wanna walk with me to the third-years’ halls? I gotta meet Riddle there, we share the advanced potionology class.”

Wonderful! I’d expect nothing less from the Young Master’s human! I should’ve never doubted his choice in friends!

“Of course! I can tell you all about the Young Master’s time back in Briar Valley! You know, you missed quite a lot after your visit! For example, did you know…” 

You smiled and nodded along to Sebek as he rambled about Malleus’s time back home. Particularly about the amount of times he simply disappeared from the castle, causing a massive ruckus until Silver found him admiring a new gargoyle added to the north tower. 

A few minutes in, you saw Riddle walking into your path from the adjacent hall. He perked up upon seeing you and smiled, nodding politely at Sebek. 

“Hello Prefect, glad to see you coming over early for class,” Riddle turned to address Sebek, “Sebek, I have three more freshmen that have shown interest in the equestrian club, could you please add these names and numbers to the list?”

The half-fae brightened at the prospect of new club members and nodded, taking the sheet of paper from Riddle’s hands and placing it in his folder. 

“Wonderful! I will be sure to send those reminders out tonight! I’m sure any self-respecting student would jump at the chance to join our club!”  

Beaming, Sebek noticed the clock on the wall and bowed his head goodbye to you and Riddle. “I must be heading off to my next class, I will be sure to send out the reminders for the first meeting, Riddle—Oh!”

“Prefect!” Gave you a stern look as he continued, “I will be coming over this weekend to start our weekly call with the Young Master. I expect you to put everything else on hold for him! I will see you after class.” 

 Riddle gestured in the direction of your shared potionology class, which was right down the hall. 

“Shall we? Now that you are a housewarden, I expect you to set yourself as an example for our freshmen as well.” he asserted.  

I’d expect nothing less of my favorite junior. Perhaps I should give you your own special seat at the unbirthday parties?

You chuckled out, “Of course, Riddle. Your freshmen have been particularly nice, I imagine you gave them a veeeery stern talking to before they came to me?”

He huffed, holding the classroom door open before he followed you in. 

“I simply told them that, unless they wanted to lose their heads, then they’d do best to treat your word as doctrine.” 

Ah, that explains James’s behavior, maybe I should tell him to take it back down a notch—

My pearl! Please wait right there for me, I must find a seat right next to you! 

You looked up from your peripheral vision and made eye contact with the 6-foot bane of your existence. Jade gave you a small smile. 

Darling!

Immediately grasping Riddle’s arm in a crushing grip, you yanked him to follow you to a pair of seats in the middle row, a student already in the spot next to your right, leaving Riddle to sit in the only available spot next to you. 

Yelping as he tripped over his feet and the desk chair, Riddle gave you a glare as you looked at him “innocently” in your newly, self-designated spot. 

“Look Riddle, seats right smack dab in the middle of the middle row! Isn’t this nice? We can see the board at, like, the optimum view now!” you gave the less than amused Riddle a nervous smile, looking at Jade as he entered the room rather coolly 

He was wailing in grief.

Noooooooooooooooooooooo, darling… why didn’t you wait just a bit longer…

“I believe,” interrupting your focus, Riddle crossed his arms as we softly muttered, “the middle of the row would be better for our academics, as—”

“Nope!” You interrupted, looking at the doorway which was now missing the shorter Leech. “Right here is fine, yessiry, take a seat. Take a seat. Right next to me.”

Riddle blinked. Huh. 

“Right there.”

Are you alright, Prefect?

“Sit. Now. Please?”

Okay…

Riddle took his seat next to you, looking more confused than annoyed now, as you sighed a sigh of relief. 

Listen to you sigh. You sound so tired, what’s exhausting you my love?

You stiffened, trying to pinpoint from where Jade’s thoughts were coming from. 

You do look oh so delightful in your uniform! Those are new slacks, I did like the skirt, but they fit you very well. Ah! And your cute little dorm ribbon, it’s wonderful—oh, I should say something about it, then I can have your attention. 

“Hello Prefect, how—”

“SAY RIDDLE!” You shouted, drawing your companion’s attention, as well as everyone else in and entering the classroom in an attempt to avoid any manner of interaction with Jade

What a weirdo…

I wonder what’s with the Prefect? 

Quiet the fuck down. 

“U-um, say, Riddle,” you said softer, cheeks turning pink as you smiled at him sheepishly.

I do cherish you so, but what is wrong with you my friend?

“Do you want to make some sort of schedule with me to—uh—make sure your students come and do their dorm duties and stuff?”

Yes! Good excuse! Sorry-not-sorry, Jade! I gotta do housewarden stuff with Riddle, no time to talky-talk! Nope, nope, nope!

“Ah! Great idea (Name), I couldn’t have suggested a better one myself” Riddle brought out his phone and started scrolling through a folder labeled ‘Freshman Schedules,’ showing it to you. 

“I was considering reworking the dorm duties shifts to make it so that the Ramshackle students would work less during the school week, but make up for it by working extra during the weekends.”

Riddle continued to explain his new shift system as you nodded along, attention flitting between him and Jade, who you noticed out of the corner of your eye was sitting in the spot right in front of you. 

Aaaaaaaah! I’m sitting in front of (Name)! I just wanna turn around and stare. You do have three of our students, yes? Perhaps I can use that excuse to speak with you! I can even ask you to meet me in private to discuss the details, oh~ It’ll work so perfectly! 

An image of you and Jade alone in what you thought was one of the private rooms in Mostro Lounge, lip locked and heavy petting each other flashed through your mind. 

“Jade, we’ll get caught here if we—Aaaah~” Jade was down on his knees, licking soothingly on the bite he’d left on your thigh while you ran your fingers in his hair. “Mmh, and? Everyone will know you’re mine then~” In response, you yanked Jade up to crash your lips against his, falling backwards so that you both fell on the couch with him on top. The two of you giggled against each other’s lips as you unbuttoned Jade’s shirt, hand gliding down his chest and reaching—

You covered your cheeks in your palms, shaking the scene away as if it was a bee hovering over your face. You rested your head in your hands, trying to pay attention to what Riddle was saying. Something about making two students head of the freshman, one for Ramshackle specifically. 

I’ll ask you now! Yes, then I can whisk you away. Riddle seems just about done talking anyway. 

The devil may speak in tongues, but he also speaks cruel truths, as Riddle ended his explanation. “Yes, I have a few students staying with you in mind to be the Heartslaybul leader at Ramshackle, let us meet tomorrow for the unbirthday party to work out schedules and choose one of those students.” 

You nodded, bracing yourself for the inevitable. However, it never came. Voice or thoughts, all was silent in front of you, though you didn’t dare move your gaze in front of you and test the sand. 

…Ah my heart is racing at the thought…are my palm’s sweaty? Is it just me or did they look scared seeing me earlier?

You took out your notebook and magipen, adored with a mauve gem that matched the one on Grim’s collar, and started to write the date and class subject on the first page. 

What should I say? Humans aren’t fond of spontaneous love confessions, so I have to work into that… It would be strange if I spoke to them too casually. Oh dear, this is a dilemma.

You relaxed, as mean as it might be, you were relieved that Jade seemed to be too anxious now to really have a conversation with you. 

“Hello Prefect, since you were discussing it with Riddle, may we speak about managing the few Octavinelle students you have in your care?”

DAMMIT! GOD-FUCKING-DAMNIT!!!

You looked up, still cursing Jade in your head, and gave him a small, but polite smile. “Sure, Jade, but it’d probably be better for Azul to be involved, about I come over later this week to meet with him? Could you see if he’s available?”

Jade, nonchalantly as ever, gave a polite smile and nod.

“Of course, I’ll be sure to speak with Azul tonight and have him reach out with a scheduled time.”

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

“I’ll send him a text, but based on the schedule I have, how does Thursday evening sound?”

Why don’t we discuss it! Alone! Just me and you, my pearl. I’ll even show you the makeshift greenhouse I built, you’ll just love it!

“Sounds good, I’ll only stay for a bit though! Gargoyle studies club is then and someone has to keep Hornton’s club up and running you know!” 

You thought you could see Jade’s eyebrow twitch at the mention of Malleus, but before he could speak, the sound of Crewel’s wand whipping in his hand echoed in the room. Everyone drew at attention at the professor, 

“Good afternoon pups, welcome to Advanced Potionology and Magical Pharmaceuticals. Today we will start by reviewing the syllabus and my expectations for this class.”

Crewel handed out small stacks of papers, you assumed the syllabus, to the students at the front rows to be passed out behind them as he continued. 

“Seeing that you all needed extraordinary marks in your previous potions class and final exams in order to place in this class, I expect nothing but the best from you pups.” 

As Crewel continued to explain his expectations, you saw Jade turning to hand you his stack. Pursing your lips, you reached over to take the papers, the tips of his fingers ghosting over yours ever so slightly. 

You recoiled, papers in hand, like you’d been shocked and nodded at him. Jade on the other hand was absolutely elated as his hands ever so slightly shook in excitement, hardly noticeable, turning back around to face the board. 

AAAAAAAAAAAA! CUTECUTECUTECUTECUTECUTECUTECUTECUTECUTECUTE—

You took a deep breath as you handed the stack back, trying to ignore the flood of infatuated thoughts from in front of you. You also decided to ignore the sudden images of you in maid lingerie.

Seriously?

“Each of you should have received a syllabus by now. For the structure of this class, we will be splitting you into groups of four, let’s see here…”

Crewel began naming off groups of four, waving his wand to rearrange the seats and tables for the groups, cauldrons, tubes, and similar items floating from the nearby closet and setting on. It kinda looks like a chemistry classroom now.

The first few groups set themselves up at their new tables, while you perked up hearing your name. 

“Riddle Rosehearts and (Name) (Last)” you and Riddle shared a happy look, sharing a smile. “With Jade Leech and Yev Quispe.”

YES!

Your smile dropped, a nervous look replacing it, much to Riddle’s concern. 

“Are you alright (Name)? You look a bit nervous?” Riddle placed a hand at the small of your back as he guided you to your new seating lay out. 

“It’s just Jade and Yev, you've met Jade before and Yev is very polite, if a bit full of himself.” Riddle whispered the last bit to you, making you giggle your nerves out. 

Crewel smacked his wand-whip for your attention again. “Once you’ve settled into your groups, start with a class introduction, become familiar with your group mates, as they’ll remain the same for the year.”

Clearing his throat, your red-headed friend took the lead. 

“My name is Riddle Rosehearts, Heartslaybul’s housewarden.” He gestured to the student next to him, which happened to be Jade. 

“You both already know me, but for our new friend here-” Jade politely nodded at Yev, who returned the gesture. “I am Jade Leech, vice housewarden for Octavinelle.”

Yev puffed his chest out, gracefully gesturing his hand to his chest. 

“I’m Yev Quispe, I was recently placed as Pomefiore’s housewarden, I do believe we had few interactions the last two years, so it’s a pleasure to met you.” 

Yev locked eyes with you, smirking as he eyed you up and down. 

And then there’s you.

“And I’ve yet to be properly introduced to you, the infamous Prefect. How about you introduce yourself?”

It’s you! My little pearl! You chose to not glance at Jade. 

You nodded politely, responding a bit shyly, “Hi, we met at the check in, but I’m (Name) (Last), I-uh-skipped a year aaaand I guess I’m Ramshackle’s housewarden? Hehe…” 

Despite the proximity between Riddle and Yev to you, Jade’s thoughts overpowered them, 

(Name)’s class introduction…their voice was… really cute. Their moans are probably really cute too. 

“Aaah~ R-right there Jade! Your mouth feels—mmf~”

You shut your eyes tightly, rubbing your temples and eyes harsh enough that you could see spots spattering across your vision. 

God I wish I could turn this off.

“Uh, Prefect?”

“Yes, Riddle?” you sighed, dragging your hands down your cheeks. 

“Are you alright?”

You held an ‘okay’ symbol with your hand. “Yep, what were we talking about?”

Riddle explained the class schedule for the semester, pointing out when certain papers and projects were due and working out a meeting time for your group. 

As the class continued, everyone’s thoughts mellowed out a bit, even Jade’s own. For the most part, your peers were focused on figuring out their plan for their groups and work. Surprisingly, there were very few thoughts about things like ‘what’s for dinner?’ or ‘I wanna take a nap after class today.’ or even ‘this class is boring as hell.’

Maaaan, I’ve been hanging around A-Deuce and Grim for too long, I forget everyone in this class are a bunch of high-strung overachievers. 

You looked at Jade who was currently taking notes down as Riddle and Yev discussed (argued more like) about whose schedule should take priority. 

“Our meetings must be after 5:00pm! Rule number 345: Croquet must never be played after 5:00pm-”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not privy to follow the ridiculous rules of your dorm.” Yev sneered at Riddle’s angry flush. “I am not available after 5, I have a very strict self-care routine that must not be interrupted-”

The two continued bickering, cursing each other out in their heads. 

You pompous fool! Ridiculous? What’s ridiculous is you and the “secret” lab that everyone knows about! How is it secret when everyone knows about it!?

Who gives a damn about your 810 rules? One of them is contingent of a hedgehog sneezing, and I’m being ridiculous?

Your eyes kept darting between the two, slightly amused. It was like watching a game of tennis, where one thought the ball was hit just enough out of reach for him to win the match, just for the other to jump over and continue their fight. 

As they continued, you decided to daydream a bit and listen in to the other students and your professor. It seemed that Crewel was thinking about stopping at Sam’s at the end of the day for some treats for one of his dogs. 

Genghis has been a bit lethargic lately, maybe she’d appreciate a new snack…something heart healthy for her though so nothing processed.

A few of the students were thinking about what they’d have for dinner, one of the Scarabia students was lamenting about being put on chopping duty by Jamil. 

He’s gonna make me chop everything again I just know it! He always says I do it wrong, why does he keep making me do it then?

You hid your amused smile behind your palm as you rested your head against it. You decided to look at Jade, whose thoughts were rather quiet at the moment.  

Jade was still dutifully writing down notes, of what at this point, you didn’t know. He also was amused at the two housewardens still bickering, albeit less heated now. 

“May I suggest we meet during study hall?” Jade asked, drawing the other two’s attention. “I do believe they overlap for us, do they not?”

Yev shook his head and gestured towards you. “Not for the sophomores, don’t you have a morning study hall, Prefect?”

“Oh, yeah and I kinda need study hall anyways to catch up on all the practical magic stuff.” You replied sheepishly. 

“Of course,” Riddle chimed in agreement. “It’s to be expected since you didn’t grow up in Twisted Wonderland.”

Yev rolled his eyes, while Jade’s focus was shifted to you once more.

Hmm…maybe they’ll need tutoring? We can be alone then…perhaps in musicology, you’re not a very good singer, are you my pearl?

…bitch.

You huffed, turning your head to strictly face Riddle and Yev, blatantly ignoring Jade, who seemed confused, but still cooed. 

Jade filled your head with an image of you pouting up at him, cutely rather than annoyed

Are you pouting? What for? Oh, you’re so cute~ 

Stupid eel, it’s cause of you! Stupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupid—

“Prefect!” Riddle called for you, startling you out of your inner rant. “Pay attention! I asked if you had another suggestion for a meeting time?”

“Oh, um,” you cleared your throat. “Maybe during lunchtime? It’s the same for everyone, and we’ll be heading over here anyway soooo?”

Riddle nodded in agreement while Yev shrugged and replied, “I suppose that could work, I do have a private ‘lab’ of sort we could use-”

“Is it really private if everyone knows about it?” Jade asked, looking amused at a now visibly annoyed Yev. 

“Do you want the room or not?!” 

“We’ll take it!” You and the other two exclaimed together, right as the bell rung for the next class. 

“Alright pups!” Crewel spoke up over the bell as you and the other students began to pack up. “I do hope you and your group had a productive discussion, tomorrow we will review the class schedule and start our first module! Have a good day pups.”

You could here the internal groans and whines of some of your classmates. Quite a few spent the class time straight up arguing with their group, not unlike Riddle and Yev. 

Damn it, why’d I have to sit next to these dumbasses???

Crap, we just talked about our partners and dates, maybe I shouldn’t’ve grouped with friends? 

A shiver down your spine alerted you to Jade’s voice before you even heard it, like you were developing a sense for danger, much like an arachnid superhero from your world. 

Perhaps I should ask my pearl on a date? Yes, ease into it with a study session first, then we can follow up with a dinner at the lounge, I’ll make Floyd cook it. 

You froze in panic, images of the two of you transitioning from a normal, admittedly nice dinner to the both of you wrapped up in each other’s naked bodies in his bedroom.

Yes, I’ll lock him out of his room if he doesn’t agree. 

Contemplating the best escape plan, you clumsily stacked your notebooks and pen in your arms, locking on Riddle as your savior. 

“Riddle—”

“Ah, apologies Prefect,” Riddle started to walk away as he looked at the time. “Could you message me at the end of the day? My next class is in the wing across the castle, and I must leave now if I’m to make it on time. Goodbye!” 

Ah, good then perhaps I could escort them to class in his stead? Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jade approaching you. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuck, what’s that other asshole’s name? Yev!

You turned to ask Yev if he would walk with you to the next class. “Um, Yev could I—”

Ugh, what do you want? Yev smiled at you and gave a “sympathetic” look. 

“I’m sorry, could this wait until tomorrow? I must be getting to my next class.” He waved you off as he walked away and called over his shoulder, “I’m sure whatever it is, you can handle it, after all you’re the ‘Ramshackle Prefect’, ta-ta now!”

Shit! No, please! I don’t care if you’re an asshole, come back!

“Oh my Prefect, did you want someone to walk with you to your next class?” 

Startled, you looked up at the teal-haired man, who loomed over you with a glint in his eyes and his usual smile. You could tell he was holding back from just giving you a gleeful grin.

“Ah, no! It’s fine,” You started to stutter as you waved your hands around, “I have to go to alllll way to the botanical gardens, l walk by myself—”

Jade interrupted you as he placed a hand on the small of your back to guide you out of the classroom. “It’s no trouble at all, I’m heading to the fields for flight class, so it won’t be out of my way at all.”

Aaaaah! Cute! My cute little (Name)! So small, so soft, you’d look smaller even if you were on top of me…

No touchy! Nope! I’m not encouraging this at all!

You slightly sped up your pace, placing a small distance between him and you as Jade daydreamed about your thighs spread across his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as he shoved his face into your neck. 

“If you say so…” You quietly replied, moving so that you were walking side by side instead. 

Jade seemed disappointed at the lost of contact, but content to be by your side. 

We do seem like a couple right now, don’t we? After all what gentleman wouldn’t escort his beloved to their destination?

You stayed silent, hoping that the lack of conversation would deter him. The crowd of students in the hallways dispersed as you exited the castle onto Main Street, leaving you two alone minus a on or two other students. 

Ah, just the two of us, this is the perfect time to ask them out! 

Taking in a sharp breath, you braced for the words you dreaded to come out of Jade’s mouth.

Yes…

You waited. 

…Any moment now. I’ll ask.

Sam’s shop was in view, thus the spot where you two would spit was coming up. 

Hmm…my chest…hurts? Why is it hard to breathe?

The gymnasium was in view now. You peered at Jade from the corner of your eye. He still looked as nonchalant as you’d come to expect. 

This is fine. It’s not as if they’ll say no…probably. Ha…it’s very hard to breath now. Is this what drowning feels like? Why am I dreading this? I want to ask them out! …Right?

You cleared your throat as you walked away and into the direction of the gardens. “I’ll be heading over here, uh, see you tomorrow?”

Jade nodded and gave you a pleasant smile as the sounds of screams and sobs echoed in your mind. 

“Of course, I look forward to working with you Prefect, have a good day.”

CURSES! DAMMIT, DAMMIT, DAMMIT! WHYYYY—

You quickened your pace, almost jogging, as you heaved a sigh of relief. 

Finally, god I can’t wait to lay down and just pretend I never heard any of that!

“Aw, come on! Spill it!” Ace pouted as he lay across your bed, throwing one of your pillows in the air to catch. 

He must have some freaky thoughts! Tell me, I wanna blackmail him!

“No???” You looked at him in disgust, trying your best to not throw your history book at him. “Especially not for blackmail, what do you think he’s gonna do to you if you try and blackmail him?”

Deuce, tiredly eyes boring into his mathematics homework, replied in agreement, “Yeah, what do you think he’s gonna do? Laugh and say ‘you got me’?”

Uuuuuuuuugh you two are boring!

Ace threw the pillow at Deuce. “I don’t know man, I just want a leg up on him, I’m still not over the anemone thing, you know.”

You sighed, watching Grim through the window as he tried to show his prowess on the broom to one of the Scarabia freshmen in your care. Wincing as the broom zoomed out of his grasp and he splat face down into the ground, you slid down your armchair and crossed your arms over your head. 

“I’m tired of this already.” You whined, opting to ignore your homework, rather walking over and flopping ontop of Ace on your bed. The ginger softly shrieked, turning into a starfish underneath you. 

 Of homework? Cause mood. Deuce nodded sympathetically, daring to look back at the question he’d been stuck on for the last 10 minutes. 

“Mmpht! Th’t’s w’at y’ get—mmft git opp!” Ace shove you off him as he continued, “That’s what you get for being nerds, hehe!”

Kicking your friend, you made yourself comfortable as you took a pillow and rested your head, arms crossed underneath it. 

“Not about school, dipshit, I mean the telepathy.” You murmured, eyes closed. “I don’t want it anymore. I’m tired of it, it lost its appeal. Can you take it?”

Ace snorted as he rested next to you and started scrolling on his phone. “Nah, I’m good, Deucey?”

Huh? What? Deuce perked up, blinking in confusion. “What? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Take the mind reading! I’m sick of it! Someone else can deal with y’alls thoughts.”

Deuce made a sound of understanding, getting up to stretch his arms and legs before walking over and patting your back. 

“Uh, I think I’m good, if Jade is any indicator of the people in this school, I don’t think I could be mentally well hearing all that.”

You opened an eye to glare at Deuce. “… And you think I can?”

Deuce held his arms up in surrender, awkwardly thinning his lips in response.

“I just mean that, it came naturally to you, you know?” Deuce decided to sit on the ground and lean against the bed, tilting his head to look up at you.

“You got magic, then the mind reading? Maybe you’re meant to have it.”

“Oh yes,” you drawled sarcastically, “I’m meant to listen to each whine, complaint, mindless thought that everyone has, oh and don’t forget every horny man’s dirty thoughts! That’s especially important!”

You huffed, turning on your back and crossing your arms.

Aw, (Name) I didn’t mean it like that, don’t be mad. Deuce turned and rested his chin on the edge, giving you a puppy-eyed look. 

“I just mean that, there’s probably something great you’re meant to do?” Deuce grunted as you smacked a hand on his head before ruffling his hair. “I don’t know, just looking at the bright side.”

You hummed in response shrugging. “Maybe, who knows, not me, not Crowley. It’s just super fucked man, how ‘m I suppose to react?”

Blackmail, duh?

“Ace! Shut the fuck up about the blackmail, man!” 

Ace kicked your leg, to which you responded in kind. The two of you began exchanging kicks until you both of your feet were planted against each other. Pushing against each other’s foots for some weird form of dominance, the three of you started giggling. 

What the fuck? Deuce took his phone out to record as he laughed, “You two are so weird.”

The laughter grew as your left foot gave out, allowing Ace’s right leg to kick you off the bed. You gave a short scream as you fell on Deuce, still giggling. 

“HA! I win! I claim this bed as my prize!” Ace crawled over to look over you two before letting out a panicked yelp as you and Deuce yanked him down to join the floor. 

The three of you calmed down, sprawled out on the floor. Ace asked, “Does he actually say anything to you? Jade, I mean.”

Humming, you looked at Ace and scrunched up your face. “Eeeeeh?”

“‘Eeeeeh? What does that mean?” Deuce asked. 

“I mean, he acts and speaks the way he did before…he was gonna try and ask me out, but…”

But? Ace and Deuce’s synchronized thoughts created an echo in your brain, which seemed ironically empty after studying. 

“I think he’s…scared? To ask, I mean.” You made a sound of pity, pursing your lips. “It was…kinda sad actually? Now that I think about it.”

“Huh.” Ace hummed while Deuce mimicked your pitying sound. “He is just some guy, I guess. A scary, monster looking guy, but still just a guy.”

That does sound kinda sad, actually. He always seems so self-assured. Deuce clicked his tongue and spoke out loud. 

“Maybe he’s scared of rejection? He kinda seems like the type of guy that was never told no, growing up.”

“Ha,” Ace snorted, “probably because everyone was scared he’d eat them if they did.” 

“Yeah.” You replied in faux sympathy. “Just like how your girlfriend broke up with you ‘cause she was scared of the kids you’d produce with your ugly ass face.” 

You and Deuce started laughing at your offended friend. The laughter grew as he flipped you off. 

“You know what, I’ve decided I no longer sympathize, I hope he literally thinks about every single weird kink in existence with you, you fuck face.” Ace pouted as you two continued to laugh. 

Your laughter died down as you heard a knock on the door. Clearing your throat you called out, “It’s open, come in!” 

The Scarabia student from earlier, poked their head in and smiled nervously. 

“Hi, uh, Prefect? Grim got knocked out…he ran into the tree trying to show us a Spelldrive trick.”

The student entered, true to their word, cradling the now limp familiar as they placed him in your outstretched arms. 

“Also, one of the other Scarabia students, Yakub, finished making the dinner you suggested! They wanted me to call you down to dinner too.”

You smiled and nodded, grunting as you and the other two got up from the floor. 

“Thank you, I’ll be down shortly, you two,” You pursed your lips at Ace and Deuce. “Should he back to Heartslaybul, Riddle will probably be back from his club soon, don’t want to get in trouble so soon.”

Ace snorted as he grabbed his backpack from the nightstand. “Look whose talking! Dear ‘I broke an ancient chandelier on the first day of class’ Prefect.”

“That was also you, though??” Deuce gave Ace an incredulous look as he packed his stuff. 

Gods up above, why is he like this?

You chuckled, following the two as they walked out to the front door. 

“Ah, what would’ve I done if that never happened? I’m actually pretty grateful that turned out the way it did.” You smiled fondly. 

I never would’ve met you two if I didn’t. 

The two looked at you, needing no powers to know what you were thinking.

“Aww, is this where you confess your love to me?” Ace grabbed your shoulder and looked at you with a serious face. 

“Just so you know, I’m only into hot people.”

“Okay, goodbye!” You shoved Ace out of the door, waving as he and Deuce walked towards the Hall of Mirrors.

You sighed, still cradling Grim in your arms as you cooed down at him, “Let’s get you some food, I’m sure you’ll wake up once you smell some yummy din din!”

Locking the front door, you greeted the 20 freshman in your dorm. Silas, who decided to help with the cooking, noticed you and handed you a glass of what you presumed to be the apple juice Epel left you. 

“Here (Name).” He gently pushed you to the front of the dining table. “Give a toast!”

You chucked nervously as you obliged. “Alright guys, let’s christen our first evening at Night Raven College with a meal!” You smiled and raised your glass. 

“Ramshackle students or not, I am happy to be your housewarden this year. For however long you stay, may this old dorm bring you nothing but luck and cheer in your first year! Let’s dig in!”

The group shouted in merry agreement as you took a slip of your drink, unaware of the glower coming from the coral-haired man in the corner. 

Forgoing dinner and leaving the room in a huff, Aspen stomped into the room designated to him and three others. Muttering to himself, Aspen dressed down into his pajamas, before taking out a journal from his nightstand. 

“I’m going to prove to everyone what a sham you are,” He snarled, furiously writing something down. “Then, no one will have any reason to admire you, let alone like you!”

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