#good job ms author

[kashilascorner]

Find this little detail here quite interesting: when running away in distress and grief, Trtistan has put on Mark's own armor. He takes it off when he's prepared to just let himself die and renounces chivalry, and this is the middle point in his madness before he completely loses it and even forgets who he is.

Could it be that renouncing to Mark's armor, Tristan being his heir and probably closest family relation, is one more step in losing himself? Also yet another thing that distances him from Mark, who would never lose his grip on reality like this, much less over ''love''

[room-surprise]

New Ryoko Kui interview dropped!!!

(This is a quick and dirty translation made using machine translation, and which I've lightly edited to add clarity. I'm not fluent in Japanese so I may have gotten things wrong. I'm sure others will do a better job later.

ADDITIONAL CONTEXT: This article is from a Japanese gaming magazine, like the previous interview in Famitsu, so they focus on video games and don't discuss other influences, even though they do get mentioned and are clearly pretty major.)

Kui was able to write "Dungeon Meshi" because she was not good at eating food and participating in human relationships. In this interview, we dig deeper into the influence of games, and how Ryoko Kui focuses on things she likes and dislikes while writing. [Writers of the Gaming Generation]

Dungeon Meshi.

This manga is attractive for its unique theme of "dungeons, defeating monsters in the labyrinth, and cooking them," as well as the unique characters, detailed human relationships, and deep worldview depicted in the labyrinth. It is currently being made into an anime, and adventurers from all over the world are fascinated by the world of "Dungeon Meshi."

So I thought , "I wonder if this work was drawn by someone who loves food and people." The depiction of such delicious-looking food and the construction of delicate human relationships and characters. Surely, it must have been drawn by someone who absolutely loves it.

However, in reality, the author, Kui Ryoko, says that she "is not good at either food or relationships."

So why was he able to continue drawing things she was not good at?

During the roughly 10 years of serialization, Kui has continued to confront "things she dislikes." This interview delves into Kui's unique creative techniques... and at the same time, it also delves into her "favorite things."

That's the "game"!

Those who are familiar with the subject may already know this, but Kui is also a big gamer. And it seems that "Dungeon Meshi" is heavily influenced by RPGs such as "Wizardry."

As a result, this interview turned out to be "I asked Kui a lot about her likes and dislikes." Likes and dislikes. They are the source of all interests and curiosity.

So how do we use this knowledge in our creative endeavors? How does this knowledge manifest itself in Dungeon Meshi?

How were those charming characters and the deep world created? We spoke to the original author, Kui Ryoko, and the editor, Masaru Hiroi, about things they could only talk about after the series was completed.

This is a game with the volume of a great labyrinth. I hope you will explore it all the way to the final floor!

Dungeon food. It's eat or be eaten. There is no superior or inferior, to eat food is simply a privilege of the living. Dungeon food. Ah, dungeon food.

First, I want to ask about how Kui first encountered video games.

--What are some influences from games in Dungeon Meshi? What was your first game, Ms. Kui?

Ryoko Kui (hereinafter referred to as Kui): I played traditional RPGs such as [blank?] and "Final Fantasy."

I think the first game console I ever played was a Famicom, which my parents won in a lottery . So before I knew it, we had a Famicom at home. I think my parents bought me the Super Famicom and PS1 after that...

After that, I took a break from games for a bit around the time of the PS2, but around the time of the PS4, I was finally able to buy games with the money I had earned myself .

--Why were you able to stay away from games around the time of the PS2?

Kui: I was too busy with exams, so I thought, "Well, I shouldn't be playing games," and left. When I started living alone after that, I couldn't play games because I didn't have a TV. My computer was also a Mac. [Macs aren't compatible with many games.]

--What was the trigger that made you think, "I want to play games" again?

Kui: I think the biggest thing was starting the serialization of "Dungeon Meshi."

Fantasy stories all have different settings, but at the same time, there are also things they share in common. For example, if you want to create a fantasy work, but you only know "Dragon Quest," it will end up resembling "Dragon Quest." It's scary to copy the setting of only one work.

So I just wanted to play a ton of different fantasy games and get an idea of ​​what the most common general understanding of fantasy is.

--Did you start playing it while you were still developing the concept for Dungeon Meal?

Kui: That's right. If I'm going to talk about "eating food," I have to play a game that has a system for eating food .

So I was interested in "Dungeon Master." However, at the time there was no easy way to play "Dungeon Master" on a real machine, so I played "Legend of Grimrock", which can also be played on a Mac.

["Dungeon Master," is a computer RPG released in 1987. Time passes each time you take an action in the dungeon, such as moving, fighting, or resting, so its biggest feature is that the game progresses in real time according to the player's actions. "Legend of Grimrock," is an action RPG released in 2012. It has a game design similar to "Dungeon Master."]

Until then, I had felt that overseas games and games played on PC were too difficult, but I felt like I had overcome one obstacle there. I thought, "Oh, this is pretty easy," and started playing a lot of different games.

-- Those two games are quite heavy even among RPGs, I think, so did you actually have that much difficulty with them?

Kui: No...I would say that my impression is more that best-selling games are easy to play (laughs).

I'm not that good at games myself, so I usually play games that allow you to adjust the difficulty on a super easy setting. So, games that allow you to lower the difficulty are always a lifesaver.

-- I've heard that apart from RPGs , you also like games such as "13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim" and "Paranomasite FILE23: The Seven Mysteries of Honjo ." Do you have a favorite genre, Mr. Kui?

Kui: I guess I'm just not very good at games that require you to use your brain through trial and error.

But in RPGs, if you just level up and keep tapping, you can win and progress in the game. Also, in novel-type games, if you read the text, you can progress. By this process of elimination, I quite like RPGs and text-based games .

Personally, I like games like Disco Elysium the most, which are text-heavy, top-down, and have maps to explore.

...Even I think that's a pretty negative reason (laughs).

Everyone: (laughs).

Hiroi Masaru (hereinafter referred to as Hiroi): But, Ms. Kui, you have really played quite a lot of games, haven't you?

Kui: No, the reason I'm able to play so much is because I play in a pretty callous way ...

I often buy a game, play it, and then just don't play it. So there aren't that many games I complete... I only complete a few a year. I play around 40 games, and if I complete 5 or 6, that's good.

When I asked if I could draw at Comitia, I got scolded.

-- Have you had any exposure to fantasy outside of digital RPGs?

Kui: I think it's not just games, but also the fact that I've always loved foreign fantasy novels . I was given books like "The Neverending Story," "The Lord of the Rings," and "The Chronicles of Narnia."

-- Dungeon Meshi gives off an atmosphere of Western fantasy like gamebooks or tabletop RPGs, rather than the typical Japanese fantasy games like Dragon Quest.

Hiroi: I think I went to Kui's house before the series started. At that time, we were discussing the name of a sci-fi manga called "Drawing Inside the Brain," which I had rejected many times.

Ms. Kui said she wanted to serialize this sci-fi manga... and when he was on the fourth draft, he said, "No, this isn't going to work," and when I looked at the scribbled notes next to her desk, she had already drawn the original version of "Dungeon Meshi" ! (laughs)

Kui: ……………No, I don't remember much (laughs).

Everyone: (laughs).

Kui: But I had wanted to draw a manga about exploring a dark dungeon, like Wizardry .

Since I was in elementary school, the manga I drew in pencil in my notebooks were all fantasy stories about swords and magic, so I had always wanted to draw a proper fantasy manga. However, there weren't as many fantasy manga in bookstores at the time as there are now, so I wondered, "Maybe fantasy doesn't sell."

Hiroi: At the time, there were a lot of people in their teens and twenties posting fantasy illustrations on online communities for artists, such as pixiv, and Kui was one of them.

I thought, there are so many people who want to write fantasy, so if she writes a fantasy aimed at this generation, it might sell.

And when I saw Kui's notes, I thought to myself, "Let's make a straight-forward fantasy manga, without making it weirdly twisted."

Kui: I originally thought of making this "dungeon exploration manga" as just a hobby... When I asked Hiroi if I could draw it at Comitia first, he got angry.

[Comitia is a comics convention in Japan for original self-published comics.]

Everyone: (laughs).

Hiroi: I said, "If you're going to draw at Comitia, then make sure you draw it as a proper serialization!" (laughs)

However, at that time, Kui had already published two collections of short stories, and they were being reprinted. In other words, she had a certain number of fans even before the serialization began.

So I decided, if Kui creates a pure fantasy for those fans, we can't fail badly. If it doesn't work, we'll just learn that fantasy is difficult to sell after all.

--By the way, were there any discussions between you and Ms. Kui about the fact that fantasy doesn't sell?

Kui: I remember vaguely talking about how fantasy manga doesn't sell well and how difficult it seems. I don't know much about light novels, so that might have been there for a while.

However, since a lot of fantasy manga were coming out around the same time, it was probably a "transitional period ." Maybe it was just when people started to feel more and more like they wanted to draw and read fantasy.

Not everyone is that interested in the things I like

-- I feel that "Dungeon Meshi" is a title that has breathed new life into the fantasy genre. How did you go about creating the setting and world when dealing with fantasy?

Kui: I try to think, "Not everyone is that interested in the things I like."

I like to think about pointless settings endlessly, but there are times when I think , "When this setting is actually made into a manga, people probably won't be interested in this story." So I try to include things that will make people interested, and cut out things that will distract people as much as possible.

For example, in "Dungeon Meshi" I initially wanted everyone to speak various languages. On top of that, I wanted to make the characters "only able to communicate with each other in one language"... but Mr. Hiroi said "Don't do that" (laughs).

Everyone: (laughs).

Kui: Even when I'm drawing it myself, I think, "It takes more than six panels to explain this setting...", and if I explain the setting more than necessary, it slows down the pace of the story.

Moreover, since "Dungeon Meshi" was a monthly serialization, unlike a weekly series, there wasn't much time for extraneous stories. Specifically, I had to draw one episode of about 30 pages per month.

In that case, there was no time to add in settings like "Actually, he was thinking about this behind the scenes" or "Actually, he can speak two languages." So, rather than there being any clear choices, there were quite a few times when "there was no time to do things normally." If it had been a weekly serialization, I might have included more.

--Does the scene where Chilchuck yells insults in his own language feel rather "forced"?

Kui: That's right (laughs).I thought, this only takes one frame...it's my chance [to include information about language]!

--So you haven't thought through all of these "fictional languages" yet?

Kui: If Dungeon Meshi were to be my life's work and I were to spend my whole life creating this world, I think it would be more fun to think about it...but initially, I thought that Dungeon Meshi would end in a few years.

Hiroi: Initially, I said, "It'd be nice if it continued for about five volumes" (laughs).

However, Kui's first draft really had a lot of material... so the editors cut out a lot of it. I understand that it's the parts the readers want to read, but I cut out the parts that deviate from the main story. So it's a battle between the "author who doesn't want to be cut" and the "editor who wants to cut."

--By the way, what kind of discussion took place between the "parts you want to cut" and the "parts you don't want to cut"?

Kui: There were a lot of them every time, but I can't remember them specifically now...it was just small, unimportant details that got cut.

In the scene where the hams made by the Red Dragon go back into the pool of blood, I remember saying, "You don't need these," and they were about to cut them off, but I remember desperately stopping them by saying, "We'll need them later!" I'm glad they weren't cut off.

But once I think of the setting, I want to include things, and then they get cut out, so at first I didn't want to expand the world too much.

I also wanted to complete the story within the dungeon. I didn't want to reveal the name of the country, and I didn't want to give the characters surnames. But in the second half, Hiroi-san told me, "The world is too small, so you should make it bigger," and I was like, "Are you sure?"

--Mr. Hiroi, why did you say that?

Hiroi: As the story progressed, it became clear that "Dungeon Meshi" was no longer just about saving a sister in a dungeon. So I decided that it would be unconvincing if the story had no involvement with the outside world, since what was happening in the dungeon was something that would affect the fate of the whole world.

For example, in real life companies, the more important a decision you make, the higher your superior's rank becomes, right? When I thought about it that way, I felt something was off about the idea of ​​Laios and his friends deciding the fate of the world on their own. "How can they make that decision without anyone knowing about it?"

The fact that the Canary Team was there meant that there must have been a system of reporting, contacting, and consulting here, because that's how "society" and "organizations" work.

In short, I think we were thinking about the situation and asking, "If an organization were to get involved in saving the world, how persuasive could they make it given the society that exists in the story?"

Kui: Well, the plot hasn't changed at all.

From the beginning, I had intended to write a story about saving the world, but I also thought it was possible for the world to be saved by only a select few people in the dungeon who knew the circumstances. Changing it was what Hiroi-san thought would make it more persuasive.

When I was drawing the first half, Hiroi told me, "You don't have to decide anything yet." I was in a hurry to move the story forward and explain the world and story setting, but he told me, "It's better to limit it to introducing the four main characters until about the fourth volume." But in the second half, he said, "Introduce more people and expand the world."

Everyone: (laughs).

Hiroi: Kui-san was like , "That's not what you said originally!" (laughs) But both had meaning...

Kui: I was the one saying, "If we expand the world there, the story will never end, right...?"

After drawing it through to the end, I realized that the balance between holding back and expanding didn't work the way I had expected. I think this is one of the reasons why the serialization of "Dungeon Meshi" took so long.

-- But there are a lot of characters in "Dungeon Meshi," and the relationships between them are complicated. I heard that you also created the relationship diagram for "Taikaishu" [※3] ...

Kui: No, I haven't made one [I didn't do that?]!

[Taikaishu is a full-color web comic by Funako Tsukasa that began serialization on a website in 2005 and is still ongoing. Its unique worldview has earned it a loyal fanbase, especially on the Internet.]

-- Eh? Is that not the case?

Kui: To be precise, I just created an account on the fan wiki.

When I started reading "Taikaishu," I struggled with the complex setting and the large number of characters...and I thought "it would be easier to read if there was an explanation or a list of characters."

So I searched for a bulletin board where readers were sharing their thoughts and asked if there was a summary, but they said there wasn't. So I thought, "Maybe if there was a place where someone with more knowledge could summarize it," and I just made a wiki account.

So I didn't actually edit it. It seems like I've been given credit for someone else's work, and I'm sorry about that...

Dungeon Meshi was created from a sense of guilt about food?

-- "Dungeon Meshi" started off with the catchy theme of "cooking monsters," but little by little the darker aspects and deeper world were revealed. Was the structure of "little by little revealing the darker side" something you had in mind from the beginning?

Kui: I thought I needed a theme to serialize it so I thought I'd try "food education." There were a lot of gourmet manga at the time, but I felt like there weren't many that focused on food education.

-- Considering that the theme is "food education," it makes sense that the nutritional value of the dishes in the story is clearly written down.

Kui: With the theme of "food education," I also thought up a rough outline of the story. Rescue the kidnapped princess, defeat the evil wizard, defeat the final boss, and become king... the framework is pretty simple.

But when I actually tried to proceed with the plan, I realized, "No, this story can't be done so lightly..." At first, I thought I could draw it in a more light-hearted manner.

Hiroi: At first, you were trying to finish the fight against the Red Dragon in one episode, right? I was like, "is that possible?" (laughs).

Everyone: (laughs).

Kui: When I tried to actually tell it in one episode, it ended up feeling like a very brief summary... In order to tell the story I wanted to tell, I had to tell it more thoroughly than I originally thought.

-- Did you have any special thoughts about the theme of "food"?

Kui: No... well... if I had to choose, I'd say I have a strong grudge against food.

Since I was a child, I was a very picky eater, and mealtimes were a pain for me. I hated eating in front of other people, and there was a time when I hated seeing other people eating, so I would look for toilets that were rarely used and eat my meals in the toilet.

When I was doing it, the word "toilet meal" didn't exist, so when the term actually appeared in society I was so happy, thinking "everyone was doing it!"

[Toilet Meals are a social phenomenon in Japan.]

Everyone: (laughs).

Kui: I was thinking, "This is so terrible, right...?" but it was a relief to realize that other people were doing the same thing.

--So what made you choose the theme of "food education"?

Kui: My parents, who were struggling with my picky eating, taught me many things, including the "triple eating" method, but it was no use and I continued to be a picky eater into adulthood. My parents had instilled knowledge about food education in me, but I was not able to put it into practice.

[Kui might be talking about Triangular Eating but I'm not sure.]

So the only thing that remains is that I feel an enormous amount of guilt when it comes to food and eating...

Hiroi: If you think about it objectively, the series starts off on a very negative note.

Kui: But now I've gotten over the habit of eating with other people... or rather, I've come to like it. My editor takes me to lots of delicious places.

--When I was a student, I was trying to leave my udon bowl at school, but my teacher found out and made me eat the packet of udon by myself. There was no soup, and it was really hard to eat the udon by itself.

Kui: It must be tough. I tried to hide it, but my teacher found out and I got really angry.

Hiroi: I've tried to hide it in a drawer before. Then, something dried up came out of the drawer... (laughs bitterly).

How can I draw things I hate?

-- Or rather, is it the fact that you're not good at it that gives you a higher level of insight into the food?

Kui: I think it's because you're interested in it that you either like it or dislike it. Inevitably, you spend a lot of time thinking about it.

Since "Dungeon Meshi" depicts a lot of food, one might think "Do I like eating?", but in fact there are many times when I draw it because I dislike something .

--Aside from food, do you also draw things that you dislike?

Kui: Maybe. For example, human relationships, modern times, fashion...?

-- Perhaps the relationships between the characters in "Dungeon Food" are portrayed so delicately because the author is not good at dealing with human relationships?

Kui: I've always been very curious about things like, "(This person is usually so cold, but has such a charming smile in front of other people)" ...

I feel the same way, but I think people are different in the way they show their true colors. I think it's strange that it stands out to me...

-- I have a simple question. When you draw something you hate, how do you feel? No matter how much you hate something, do you find it fun to draw it?

Kui: The events in the manga don't directly involve me, so I don't dislike the things I'm drawing as much. Also, when I draw while looking for the good parts, it can lead to new discoveries.

Also, I think it's scary to draw only what I like.

In my work, the important thing is "what to capture with the camera," and there's no need to go out of your way to capture filthy things, but at the same time, I think the world will look bigger if you keep in mind that "there are a lot of inconvenient, dirty, and unpleasant things outside the camera." That's the feeling I have when I paint/create manga.

When playing a game, if I have to choose between a game where I only feel like I'm in the world inside the game screen, and a game where I feel like there are lots of people living on the other side of the screen, and that the people in that world could travel anywhere they wanted, I think the latter is more fun to play.

I'm always thinking about how to express that "sense of the vastness of the world" ...and I personally like games that have "a world" to them.

-- Do you ever incorporate elements from the game into your manga?

Kui: On the contrary, I think that is a part that cannot be adopted .

The best thing about games is that each person has a different experience. Games that have lots of endings are also a result screen for what you've done up until that point. When I see something like that, I think, "That's so cool."

Personally, I think that's the game's greatest appeal, and something that could never be replicated in a manga that doesn't have players.

If you're so busy, when do you play games?

-- I'm personally curious, how do you find the time to play games? Even though you're busy with your work as a manga artist, you play quite a lot of games.

Kui: I often use the Steam Deck before going to bed or during breaks between writing manuscripts. In fact, I almost only use the Steam Deck now. I keep it by my pillow, so I can take it and play before going to sleep, or during breaks...

--Is Steam Deck really that convenient?

Kui: I recommend it. The screen is small, but it can run Cyberpunk 2077 .

Also, personally, I've gotten tired of having to turn on my PC to start up a game...with Steam Deck, I can just turn it on and it starts up instantly, even when I'm lying down. How do you writers usually play games? There are times when you have to play games for work, aren't there?

--When it comes to work, I calculate backwards how long I'll be playing before I start playing...If it's a game that can be completed in about 60 hours, I usually estimate that I'll play for 3 hours a day and complete it for 20 days in a row.

Hiroi: It's a lot of work!

Kui: That's amazing... You really are a gamer.

I've always thought that I have a talent for playing games ... but I'm not really good at that. If I'm given a game that's a little difficult, I get tired of it right away, and I'm not very good at trial and error. The range of things I can enjoy is very narrow.

I wonder if game developers around the world are also struggling with the question of "Should I make my games accessible to a wide range of people, even those who aren't particularly gamers?" or "Should I make games that are challenging and can be played deeply?" The same problem exists with manga, too.

When there's a game that I can't play well, I feel happy because it means the creator decided that there's no need to pander to people who can't keep up.

-- By the way, when you play games, do you do it as a normal "hobby"? Or do you play more often to find material for your manga?

Kui: Of course, a big part of it is that I play games as a hobby, but it is alleviated by the fact that playing games might be useful for my work (laughs).

Even if I'm not that interested in a game, if I think "it might be useful for work," I'll find the courage to buy it, and no matter how expensive a gaming PC is, I can still buy it if I think of it as a work tool. So the hurdles for many things related to games are lowered for the reason that it's "for work."

--So, when you read manga, do you feel like you're reading it for work?

Kui: In my case, manga has become my job, so when I read it I can't help but think of work.

However, I still enjoy gaming as a hobby . That's why I don't want to lose this hobby... and I don't think I'll be able to enjoy it as much if I get involved in games as a job, so I don't take on any games-related jobs.

Does the depth of the world come from the fact that it is "not decided"?

-- I heard in advance that "Dungeon Meshi" was written with a clear awareness of "what should be explained" and "what shouldn't be explained," so could you tell me more about that?

Kui: Having read a variety of fantasy novels and games, I thought that the "moment of discouragement" was the "repeated use of foreign words." When you write something like "XX of XX of XX," if there are three or more katakana characters, there is a high chance that it will be skipped over by Japanese readers.

That's why I try to refer to town names as "the neighboring town" whenever possible, and refer to characters who appear in flashbacks as "uncle" rather than by their full names, so that readers can understand without having needing exposition.

The magic used during battles in "Dungeon Meshi" is depicted in such a way that you can "understand what kind of magic it is just by looking at the picture."

-- What other aspects of Dungeon Meshi are there that you deliberately left out of its concrete settings?

Kui: Numbers and language are the settings I avoided touching. For example, just by deciding the month of birth, it is first determined that there is a moon in this world. From there, it is also determined that there is gravity.

What's more, just the concept of a "birthday" means that there is a division into a "year" and that the world is determined to have a 365-day cycle. It quickly becomes complicated.

But on the other hand, if I were to set the details and make it something like "This country's currency is 1 gold, which is worth 5 yen," it would be a burden on the reader. When reading the work, the reader would be forced to convert it into "1 gold = 5 yen" in their minds every time. That's why I try to write it with "readability as a priority" as much as possible.

However, if you're creating a "fantasy" in the truest sense of the word, it would be better to create something that corresponds to that world's calendar or metric system in order to really immerse yourself in that world, so it's difficult to get the balance right...

-- I think that style of "deliberately not giving explanations" is quite amazing.

Hiroi: I think that 's definitely partly because "Dungeon Meshi" is a silly title.

The "mindset" of the reader is a little different...I think that from the very beginning, the reader is made to recognize that "this work isn't going to say anything too difficult."

Kui: Also, we had to give a bit of thought to coming up with the character names.

For example, the main characters in Wizardry are given names that correspond to their professions, such as "Warrior" or "Wizard." The "Senshi" in Dungeon Meshi was taken from that ... I named him after thinking, "I want that person to play an active role."

That's why I wanted the overseas version of Senshi's name to be "Fighter", but I was worried that overseas readers would be like, "What does that mean...!?" so I kept it in my head.

--The character names in "Dungeon Meshi" tend to be around 3 or 4 letters long and fit nicely.

Kui: If the name gets too long, it won't fit in the speech bubble...It's generally said that a line in a speech bubble should be about 7 to 8 characters long to be easy to read.

So "Chillchuck" is really long... I actually thought that the abbreviation "Chill" could be used more, so I named it that way, but it didn't work out so well, so in the end I just kept calling it "Chillchuck". Even I was thinking "that's long" while drawing it (laughs).

Everyone: (laughs).

Kui: Anyway, there are quite a few manga-like circumstances where "maybe four characters would be enough."

--By the way, are there any rules for naming the characters in "Dungeon Meshi"?

Kui: It's not detailed, but there are "settings within the story" and "meta-settings that are just for my own enjoyment."

For example, [if Dungeon Meshi was a game] the Shuro party has names that would be given by a certain type of player. When playing a games, some people give their characters themed names that follow self-imposed rules. In that sense, meta-wise, the Shuro party is played by a player who names their characters with a plant-based restriction.

Also, since the player likes girls, the party members are all girls, and so on... (laughs).

Hiroi: Oh, I didn't know that!

Kuon: ...While it's fun for myself, I also create characters by asking questions like, "Why is the party mainly made up of women?" or "Why do they all have similar names?"

However, even if I revealed these settings in the story, it wouldn't have made the story any more interesting, so they are merely "settings that only exist in my own mind."

-- What are some specific examples of "settings that you deliberately didn't reveal"?

Hiroi: I still remember when I said, "I want you to depict the elven kingdom in more detail," Kui replied, "That's going too far."

The dwarven country was depicted quite a bit, so I personally thought it could have been shown a little more...

Kui: I felt that if I depicted that, it would limit the reader's imagination.

There are definitely "lines that suggest something might happen," and when it comes to parts that are better left to the reader's imagination, I often choose not to draw them.

Also, even when we present settings that readers think they can just skim through, they often try hard to remember them...

It all started with the manga "Eating soba through your nose."

--Let's go back to the topic a little. How did Ms. Kui and Mr. Hiroi meet?

Hiroi: I think we scouted her.

I saw a short story that Kui had posted on Pixiv and sent him an email asking if I would like to draw a manga. I remember that he had a really funny four-frame manga called "Eating soba noodles through your nose ." It was about a character eating soba noodles through his nose and crying out in pain... I think I was drawn to his drawing ability, which made me feel like "Wow, that looks painful" when I saw it (laughs).

And from that point on, we have come to this point.

[This may not be the exact comic that Hiroi is talking about, but it's a comic Kui posted on her blog about someone eating soba through their nose.]

Kui: Oh, is that so? Isn't it something like "Shugaku Tenshi" [※4] ?

Hiroi: No, that's not true! The manga about eating soba noodles through the nose was made before "Shingaku Tenshi". By the way, that manga was planned to be published in "Rakugakihon" , but when I asked Kui-san "Can I publish this?", she was very against it...

Kui: No, that's fine, but... I didn't think other people would find it that interesting.

Everyone: (laughs).

Hiroi: But that was more than 10 years ago...

--By the way, was Mr. Hiroi the first publisher to contact you?

Kui: Before that, an editor at East Press had contacted me. I was originally publishing fantasy manga that I had drawn as a hobby on my personal website. I compiled them into a self-published original comic and exhibited it at Comitia, and they asked me, "Would you like to publish this long manga as a book?"

However, after the editor asked around to various people, it seems he was told that "this will be hard to sell"... so the plan was dropped. Instead, it was decided to release a "short story collection" of short manga that had been published at the same time . This is "The Dragon's School is on the Mountain: A Collection of Works by Ryoko Kui" published by East Press.

I was contacted by a few other people as well, but the two people I still keep in contact with are Mr. Hiroi and the editor at East Press.

-- When you went from drawing short stories and web comics to starting a commercial serialization, did you study anything like "how to draw a serialized work"?

Kui: I learned almost everything about how to draw manga from Mr. Hiroi and the editors and writers at Harta .

I had absolutely no understanding of whether panel layout was good or bad, so up until the middle of the serialization, I would rearrange the storyboards one panel at a time, and I would get lectured like "Don't put a panel like this here."

I was also impressed when I was shown original manuscripts by other artists. They look beautiful in print, but the real thing is even more impressive. This is what it means to be good at drawing manga.

It didn't finish as I expected

-- Speaking of "serialization," you mentioned earlier that you initially intended to end it at about volume 5. Did "Dungeon Meshi" continue longer than you had anticipated, Ms. Kui?

Kui: First of all, I didn't really understand what a "serialized" comic meant, so I didn't even know how much of a story I could get done in how many pages. So, I thought I could wrap up the story nicely in about five years, in five volumes.

But I never quite got around to finishing it. It was so hard... (laughs).

Hiroi: To be honest, when I first heard "Volume 5,"I thought to myself, "(Are you kidding me...?)" I didn't say it out loud though (laughs).

--Honestly, even as a reader, around the time of the fight with the Red Dragon in volumes 4 and 5 I was starting to feel like, "Huh? It seems like it's coming to an end soon..."

Kui: From the beginning, my goal was to "defeat the Red Dragon at the halfway point." However, I was supposed to fight the Red Dragon in Volume 4, even though it was supposed to be 5 volumes. So I thought, "Huh? It's not over yet," and I gradually lost interest.

By the time I got to around volume 10, I felt like no matter how much I drew, it would never end. I didn't want to drag it out, but no matter how much I drew, it just never seemed to finish.

Hiroi: Even from an editor's perspective, it seemed like Kui was getting very anxious from around volume 10 onwards.

-- Having finished the long-running serialization of "Dungeon Meshi," did you experience any changes in your mindset?

Kui: I think it was great to have the experience of learning that it would take 10 years to draw a story of this scale. And when I think about my lifespan and how many more works I can draw... it makes me dizzy.

Hiroi: I feel like I'm constantly fainting...

-- Ms. Kui, are there still any works you want to draw in your mind?

Kui: Not that much. But I love drawing manga, so I want to draw a lot. I don't know if I'll have the stamina to continue for another 10 volumes, but I want to continue working as a manga artist somehow.

But maybe... I don't think it will sell that well next time...

Hiroi: Stop! Don't say that!

Everyone: (laughs).

Kui: In that respect, "Dungeon Meshi" sold well, so I was able to draw what I had imagined to the end. Next time, I think it would be better to consider the opposite scenario of "if it doesn't sell" and make it shorter.

That's the next new challenge.

-- In addition to the expectations for your next work, do you feel any pressure?

Kui: In my case, the first collection of short stories I published was fairly well received. For a manga I drew for the first time, that's about it.

That was a relief, but at the same time, I felt that "Ideally, the reputation of my next work will also steadily increase, but there will definitely be ups and downs." If the reputation of the next work is bad, will I be able to continue drawing without getting discouraged? I realized that the "battle with myself" had just begun , and I was terrified when I read the first volume.

What game has cute illustrations, in your opinion?

Kui: This is a completely different topic, but you 've played SaGa Frontier 2 , haven't you? Aren't the pixel art in SaGa Frontier 2 really cute?

--The pixel art in SaGa Frontier 2 is...the best!

Kui: The illustrations in "SaGa Frontier 2" have such exquisite balance... if you try to express that in a picture, you can't reproduce that cuteness. It's like "exquisite head-to-body ratio."

-- In your opinion, Ms. Kui, are there any games that have cute illustrations?

Kui: The first one that comes to mind is definitely SaGa Frontier 2. Also, I still remember how cute the character designs were in Final Fantasy Tactics.

But back in the day, I used to trace characters from FF7 . I thought, "There are so many cool designs in the world..." (laughs).

Hiroi: Nomura (Tetsuya)'s drawings are amazing, aren't they?

Kui: I traced Cloud and Aerith on tracing paper and quietly said to myself, "So cool..." and got really excited. I noticed something while I was working on the "Dungeon Meshi" anime...basically, games and anime are made by many people, aren't they? So I always thought, "Many people must be giving various opinions to make them."

But when I got involved, I realized that one person's power is quite large. This was quite surprising. I thought that there were multiple people who wrote the script and storyboards, and that each person had their own responsibility, but... the power of one person is quite large.

──No matter how much the work is divided up, it's important to have a director or supervisor who brings it all together.

Kui: Yes, in the end, it depends on the power of the person who takes the lead ...

However, at the same time, I think that the division of labor between scriptwriting and storyboarding is something that would never be possible with manga. In the end, you have to create everything in one person's mind, so "bias" inevitably arises. So personally, I don't like the idea of ​​it becoming a "world created in one person's mind."

Hiroi: However, not only in manga but also in novels, the individual author's personality is strongly expressed. I wouldn't go so far as to say "ideology"... but the person's way of thinking is strongly expressed.

Kui: Speaking of which, people who create games alone, such as indie games, are amazing.

It's often said that manga artists "come up with everything, from the art to the story, all by themselves," but I don't think they can compete with independent game creators who create the music, programming, and art all by themselves.

Moreover, even more than manga, no one can give their opinion until the game is completed. If you think about it that way, making a game by yourself is really a "one-man battle." At the same time, what I like about games is that there are quite a few "works that are not made with much consideration for cost" ... I enjoy it a little bit.

-- Do you ever think, "I want to make a game?"

Kui: I once bought RPG Maker , but it ended up being a complete failure... (laughs).

Everyone: (laughs).

Love for "classic RPGs" was a major influence on "Dungeon Meshi"

-- I'd like to ask you, Ms. Kui, since you play a lot of titles on Steam and other platforms, have you ever had any problems playing a game?

Kui: Simply put, a "game that doesn't work" is a problem (laughs).

This sometimes happens with games made by individuals on Steam... they don't have any reviews, so there's no way to deal with it other than contacting them directly. There have been a few times when I've been stuck and wondered, "What should I do?"

Other times, I'll buy a title that just happens to pop up at the top of Steam's rankings. Sometimes I'll play it thinking, "The graphics are kind of cute, so I'll give it a try," only to find that it's incomplete beyond the framework.

--So now people are playing titles that aren't that major.

Kui: Also, when I played Planescape: Torment, which is said to have influenced Disco Elysium.

While playing, I came across a character who was suffering from a terrible curse that made his whole body smell and become sticky. A quest was triggered to ask the NPC who had cast the curse to lift it, but when I asked them to lift the curse, I ended up being cursed with a curse that made me have constant hiccups ...

So when I was walking around the town, the "hiccup" dialogue started popping up all the time. What's more, every time it happened, I would freeze up for about 0.1 seconds. All the dialogue was filled with "hiccups." Anyway, it was a troubling curse.

I had no idea how to deal with this either, so I decided to just kill the NPC who had put the curse on me. The NPC also challenged me by saying, "Maybe if you kill me, the curse will be lifted?", so I tried killing him, but... it didn't lift the curse at all (laughs).

Everyone: (laughs).

Kui: I thought maybe the quest would progress in other places, so I walked around here and there, but the curse was not lifted after all. I was really curious, so I looked back at overseas information exchange thread online, and I found someone had written a lecture that said "You know what happens if you kill an important NPC without thinking about it, right?"

So I realized that this curse can never be lifted again. Even if I wanted to rewind, it was an auto-save, so I had to go back almost to the beginning... I was really... in trouble!

-- But "Planescape: Torment" hits a pretty impressive spot. Was it something that just happened to catch your eye while you were browsing Steam?

Kui: I originally liked games in the same genre as Baldur's Gate, so I think that's how I got into Planescape.

Also, I saw information that a huge amount of text in Planescape was translated by one person... I'm not very good at English, and games like Planescape have a lot of text to begin with, so I'm at a loss if it's not translated into Japanese .

However, when extraordinary people like those who make Planescape use their precious time from their lives to accomplish great things, I feel very grateful.

-- So, Ms. Kui, do you prefer games that are closer to the classics?

Kui: That's right. The first game I played was The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, and it was so much fun that I searched for "games similar to Skyrim" and played a lot of the games that came up.

All of them were completely different games from Skyrim, but they were fun. However, I don't like "old games". I think that newer games are generally more polished and well-made.

-- Wizardry, which influenced Dungeon Meshi, is also a classic work.

Kui: When I was a child, I saw my father playing Wizardry V : The Heart of the Maelstrom. As time passed, I remembered that there was a game called Wizardry. The game I played at that time was Wizardry VI: Forbidden Pencil.

I also played Wizardry V , but it was hard to see the map unless I chanted a spell. I was directionally challenged, so even though I had a guidebook at hand, I couldn't progress.

--By the way, were you more interested in making a manga out of "Wizardry" than the tabletop RPG "D&D" ?

Kui: When I was researching fantasy, "D&D" was often mentioned... but I had never even heard of "TRPG" before. First of all, you can't play it without friends, and I was shocked to find out that lots of people have friends they can play with like this...!?

Everyone: (laughs).

Kui: So when I looked up TRPGs on Wikipedia, I couldn't imagine that people actually played this kind of game. I was more confused and thought, "How can people really role-play in front of other people?"

After that, I watched replay videos on YouTube and it was only then that I understood how games like D&D worked.

Games, manga, novels. What is the purpose of all creative works?

-- What was the last game you played?

Kui: Recently I played a school management game called "Let's School." It's made by a Chinese company that also made "My Time at Sandrock."

Hiroi: You really like that kind of game, don't you? (laughs) Oh? Haven't you played "FF7 Rebirth" ?

Kui: I'm thinking about playing the remake of FF7 once it's completed.

Hiroi: No, no, if we don't do it now, we'll never finish it! It'll be a long time before we do it!

--Honestly, I also thought it would take about 10 years for FF7 Rebirth to be released.

Hiroi: I thought it would take about that long too... I really wanted it to be completed while I could still see. So, please do it!

Kui: Once it's finished...I want to play it all at once (laughs).

--Do you and Ms. Kui often talk about games?

Hiroi: Ms. Kui sometimes says, "I want to talk about this game, so I want you to play it." I played "Red Dead Redemption" because of that. Also, a long time ago, Ms. Kui recommended "13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim."

Kui: Whenever there's a game I want to discuss with someone, I always recommend it to Hiroi.

But maybe I haven't been playing games as much lately. Until now, I've been playing games because I thought of it as "for work," but now that the serialization of Dungeon Meshi has ended, I've been playing less games.

Moreover, I'm not the type of person who gets that into one game...I don't generally play through a game in repeated playthroughs, and I'm usually satisfied once I've finished the story.

Hiroi: Then we have to start [a new ] serialization soon.

Everyone: (laughs).

-- I'd like to ask you personally, do you have any "recommended indie games"?

Kui: I highly recommend "Papers, Please" and "Return of the Obra Dinn."

First of all, "Papers, Please" is a simple "spot the difference" game, so I didn't have high expectations at first. But when I played it, I felt like there was a proper "world" to it . Also, I was curious to see how the story continued.

And "Return of the Obra Dinn" had a great atmosphere. There were hints to solving the puzzles if you looked closely, but there was also a good balance of being able to force your way through, and the music and production were cool.

Hiroi: Come to think of it, you read quite a bit of the novel after the serialization ended, didn't you?

Kui: Ah, you mean "1984" by George Orwell? That was good...

I've always thought that creativity isn't necessary for life... It's entertainment, so it's not essential to life. But after reading "1984," I thought, "I guess creativity is necessary after all."

Humans need stories to experience things that should never come true, to prepare for bad things, and to prepare for understanding other people... You might think, "You should have already learned that when you were younger," but I was deeply moved by this realization.

Anyway, I feel that it would be great if people could learn things they didn't know before through this work.

Hiroi: ...Overall, it just felt like we had a fun time talking about games (laughs).

Kui: We just used the interview as an excuse to talk about the game (laughs).

-- No no, thank you very much for sharing your valuable story! (End)

I think I can understand a little bit about being interested in things you hate.

It's easy to analyze "why do you like something?" when you like it, but it's surprisingly difficult to analyze "why do you dislike something?" When you understand the reason, it seems that "why do you dislike it" is often more meaningful.

Perhaps creative works exist in part to help us understand the things we dislike.

I was able to hear a lot of deep "creation stories" that made me think about such things. Also, Ms. Kui is a huge gamer. Mr. Hiroi also likes games quite a bit. Since serious talk and game discussions alternated, the content may have been emotionally confusing. But I feel like "Dungeon Meshi" has a similar atmosphere.

If you haven't read "Dungeon Meshi," please take this opportunity to read it. It depicts a fun adventure. On top of that, it may help you prepare for difficult things that might happen in your life someday. Of course, it's also extremely interesting as a manga. I think it's definitely one of the best "entertainment" of our time.

Why does the body want to live? What does the mind want?

This is because we have a "desire" to pursue what we like and dislike. In fact, "things we dislike" are just as important as "things we like." By understanding our own "likes and dislikes" through creative works and entertainment, humans can prepare for things that happen in their future lives. Food and creative works are equally important for human growth.

...That said, I'm not sure if it has a nice punchline, or maybe not.

To eat. To experience creative works. These are truly the privileges of life. In order to live, we must continue to eat.

Now it's time to eat. What shall we eat today?

[luveline]

could i request teacher!reader with hotch? like maybe she’s jacks teacher

thank you for your request! fem!reader, 1.2k

You're a teacher: you're always tired. Overworked, underpaid, everybody knows how it goes. And maybe you've let yourself go because you don't have any real material hopes for the future beyond getting Macy Danish to read at a first grade level, but how were you supposed to know that Jack Hotchner's father would be so overwhelmingly attractive? It's not fair. 

He's handsome though older than you'd been expecting, but that isn't the cut and dry of it. When he comes in, it's alone, in a well-fitted suit. He's tall and remarkably dark-eyed, shaking your hand without trying to impose any authority, as some of the fathers tend to do, and when you call him Mr. Hotchner, he says, "Aaron, please," but continues to call you Ms. L/N.

"Aaron," you say, pulling your skirt under your thighs as you sit down. You're dressed in nice clothes for the parent-teacher conferences, but you could've covered your sleeplessness better. "Jack is the nicest boy in class. He's actually my loveliest kid. Um…" You search through your notes for the preliminary assessment of Jack. "Sorry, two seconds." 

"Take your time. I know what it's like to dig through a mountain of paperwork every day." 

"Jack mentioned you work in the government, he calls you a special agent," you say, smiling. "You get the bad guys." 

"I am a special agent. Supervisory." Aaron is conscientious enough to pretend he doesn't notice your surprise. "I'm chief of the behavioural analysis unit." 

You can't even begin to guess what that entails. "Oh," you say breathlessly. 

"I understand that it sounds fantastical." 

"It sounds impressive," you say, floundering to correct yourself. Behavioural analysis? It must be obvious to him how nervous he's making you, then, and when you realise that, you get worse. "I'm so sorry about this. I should be more organised. I usually am." 

"That's alright. Take your time." 

Does he always speak that way? His voice is like fucking silk? Is he messing with you?

You yank the notes you made for Jack from the pile and flatten them across the desk. "Okay, sorry. Like I was saying, Jack is really the nicest kid, him and his friend Molly. They're both lovely, and teachers shouldn't have favourites, please don't tell the other parents, but they're my favourites." You smile at him quickly and return your eyes to the paper. The words swim in front of your eyes. "Jack can read better than you could ever hope for a first grader, he's immensely intelligent for his age group. He's patient. He'll explain anything to anyone if they ask him too, and he does it well." 

"I'm glad to hear that," he says, again so softly. 

You pick up one of your skinny biros to have something to fidget with. He's a very good looking man, but you're a good teacher. You can focus on what to say. Some parents need good things only. Some need reassurement that they're doing a good job. Aaron is harder to read, but you know what he needs, too. 

"He can be lonely," you say, looking him in the eye. "I don't think that that's down to any fault. I'm sure you know better than I do why he might feel that way." You know about his mom's passing over a year ago. You've seen grief in children too many times. "He… I understand if this isn't okay with you, but he eats lunch with me sometimes. I encourage him to sit with his peers, of course, but I think he runs out of energy pretty quickly." 

Aaron nods thoughtfully. His brows quirk into a furrow that you're afraid is directed at you. 

"I don't think he necessarily has trouble connecting with his friends." 

"What do you think?" 

"I think something awful happened to your family, and Jack will feel it for the rest of his life, but that it won't stop him from being great. It already isn't. And… he clearly has a father who loves him and who he admires. You're his second favourite topic." 

"What's his first?" he asks. 

"He's really into Fruity Fridays," you say with a laugh. "I bring in fruits you don't get often in America. Someone would've had to sign a form." 

"No, I remember signing it. He likes that?" His smile is golden. "I can't get him to try new things." 

"He had all the leftover gold kiwi last week." You rub your lips together. Time is ticking. You have nearly thirty parents to see tonight, but talking to Mr. Hotchner has been so normal. He's a regular person in a sea of inattentive helicopter narcissists. It's a relief and a half to meet him and know a kid as gentle as Jack is in good hands. "Mr. Hotchner, I have to tell you, I'm really relieved to meet you." 

"Aaron," he corrects.

Your tone drops too low. "Aaron." 

"I'm more than relieved," he says. "I knew that this year would be harder for him. I didn't know… I'm grateful to you, for being so kind with him." 

You look down at your notes, flushed from head to toe despite your airy skirt. Crossing your legs, you shake your head. "It's my job." 

"To let him take up the only break you get all day?" he asks. 

"It's not like that. Jack doesn't bother me." You fold your notes in half. "I can see his role model measures up." 

"I could say the same thing." 

The next time you see Jack, bright and early Monday mooring shepherded by his aunt Jessica, he's very happy to see you. You offer him a hug and pat his back when he wraps his arms around your hips. "Hello, Jack. Was your dad pleased with your drawings?"

Jack smiles at you. "I have a note for you." 

"You do? Can I see? Where is it, honey?" 

Jack takes off his backpack and pulls out the note and a tupperware container. "Oh, wow, did you make treats for the class? Jack, that's so nice!" 

"No. Dad said those are for you. He said you should have nice for nice, or something," Jack informs you. 

"You'll share with me, though? I can't eat them all by myself," you whisper. 

He nods with enthusiasm and runs off to put his backpack in his cubby and his coat on the hook. You look down at the cookies and note, which is actually an envelope. 

You open it with your thumbnail. The writing is Aaron's usual tight cursive.

Dear Miss L/N, 

I hoped to thank you again in person, but work makes that hard. I appreciate everything you do for Jack. There are teachers who work, and there are teachers who go above and beyond. I can feel confident anywhere in the country knowing Jack is being taught by the latter. 

Gratefully yours, 

Aaron Hotchner. 

P.S. Please don't feed Jack too many cookies. They're not for him. 

You keep the letter even if it's lame to do so. When is the next parent teacher conference, anyways?

[ashwhowrites]

Wrong story

Heavily inspired by the film Miller's Girl. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it because Jenna Ortega is excellent 👌🏻

Modern AU

⚠️smut, smut and more smut

Summary - Y/N has a crush on her teacher, filled with inappropriate thoughts she needs a release. So she writes it out...and accidentally sends it to him.

I hope you guys enjoy this and love it! 🫶🏻

Y/N knew it was a horrible idea to have a crush on her English teacher, but she couldn't help it. The second she walked into that class and saw him standing there in dress pants and a button-up, she was in trouble.

The first week, she did not learn a thing. She couldn't think straight when he'd look over at her. His dark eyes, his long hair that rested perfectly on his shoulders, and the tattoos that peaked through his rolled-up sleeves. She wondered if he had tattoos elsewhere, and how much of his skin was inked. Did he have naked skin that she could mark herself?

She also knew it was inappropriate to think about him the way she did. She spent so many nights in her dorm room alone, dreaming of being fucked on his desk. She wanted his hands all over her, his teeth on her skin and his tongue tasting her.

Now, she had more control over her thoughts and could pay attention in his class. Before she knew it, her writing and understanding skills blew him away. He talked to her about her work, always praising, and challenging her.

"Another great assignment," He said as he placed her paper in front of her. She clenched her thighs as he walked past, his scent lingering behind.

"Thank you, Mr. Munson."

He turned around and gave her a small wink, and she felt like she melted into a puddle.

"You are all dismissed, have a good weekend."

~

"He was so checking you out," Tate teased as she and Y/N left the classroom.

"Will you shut up! He was not," Y/N scoffed.

"Another great assignment, wish you used those fingers for more than just typing," Tate said in a seductive voice, deepening her voice to sound like Eddie.

"Oh stop," Y/N laughed as she shoved Tate. "I wish, but he probably has a girlfriend, someone his age. And not someone he'd lose a job for dating."

"Believe what you want, but I've got two eyes and I watched as he landed on your ass yesterday when you wore that plaid skirt. I bet he was having little schoolgirl fantasies." Tate gasped with a huge smile.

"Do you think of anything other than sex, you perv?" Y/N teased as they walked out of the building.

~~~

Y/N couldn't lie, she thought about what Tate said all weekend. Was he checking her out? Or was Tate poking at her crush?

Y/N folded her laundry and her hands touched the red and black plaid skirt. She felt a smile stretch across her face as she thought back to Tate.

Maybe she should see for herself?

~

Y/N felt a rush of confidence as she walked into Eddie's class. Her skirt flowed against her thighs and her black long-sleeved body suit hugged her body.

She'd deny it but she spent extra hours getting ready in the morning.

"You little slut," Tate snickered

"What?" Y/N asked, acting dumb as she stood in front of Tate's table.

"The skirt, the tight bodysuit. Someone is putting on a show."

"I just...wanted to find out for myself." Y/N shrugged, it wasn't a big deal.

"Ms. Y/L/N, mind taking a seat?"

Y/N turned around to see Mr. Munson waiting for her. She blushed and quickly ran to her seat, a quiet apology on her tongue.

"After you finish your book for the independent reading, I want you to write a story written in the same way as the author."

Y/N felt the color drain from her face. She didn't know the book she picked would matter. And there was no way she could write a story and face him after he read it.

~

The second class was over she walked up to his desk. Tate watched with delight as she stayed in the back.

"Um, Mr. Munson," she said shyly.

Eddie looked up and smiled. She felt her heart race as his full attention was on her. His eyes looked into hers.

"I wasn't aware the book we chose would matter, and the book I've been reading is a tad mature." Y/N blushed.

"That's alright. You are an incredible writer and I don't think you'll have any difficulties." Eddie explained

"That's not the issue. The book is um," she leaned down so Tate couldn't hear. Eddie noticeably shifted as her face got closer to his. His eyes were quick to look down at her chest before snapping back up. "It's smut." She clenched her eyes shut in embarrassment.

Eddie felt his face heat up as he coughed, "Oh! Um you...uh...yeah. Different book then?" he stuttered out.

"Thank you, Mr. Munson," she said before she rushed out of the room. Eddie couldn't help but look as she walked away. He bit his lip as his eyes traveled down to her exposed legs, then up to the roundness of her ass and the way her hips moved.

He jumped out of his daydream when Tate coughed. She sent him a little knowing smirk then went out after Y/N.

~~~

Y/N finished a different book and stared at the blank paper on her computer. The assignment was due tomorrow and she had gotten nowhere in the past week.

She couldn't focus, all she could think about was the dirty words in her other book. She was guilty of imagining the male lead as Eddie, so now she was distracted by how sexually frustrated she was.

She opened a new tab and let her imagination go wild. All the dirty images flowed into words as she typed. She clenched her thighs as she wrote about him. She needed it out of her system so she could focus on her real paper.

~

Finally, at midnight she finished her real paper. Her eyes burned and her fingers were sore but she finished the assignment. She yawned as she sent the paper to his email. Once she heard it send, she shut down her computer and headed to bed.

~~~

It was Sunday morning and Eddie dedicated the day to reading through all the papers he had to grade.

He looked through his email as he rested in bed, still in his boxers and naked chest. His laptop rested on his stomach as he scrolled until he found the one he was searching for.

He smiled once he found Y/N's name. He knew he wasn't supposed to have favorites, but she was so creative and smart. He was her top student. He loved watching her work and seeing the passion she had. It was something they had in common.

He opened her story and began to read it.

"Her skin was burning with desire as his skillful hands slithered up her thighs. She panted as he tugged her skirt down to her ankles, the air hit her bare cunt as she shivered. Her nipples hardened as he looked at her, his deep brown watched her expression as he slipped a finger inside of her. He felt his own desire crashing over his body like a wave. She put her hands behind her, her palms flat on his desk as she threw her head back. With her back arched, her hard nipples teased right in his face. He couldn't help but lean forward, wrapping his warm lips around her left nipple, swirling his tongue around the flesh. Another finger slipped inside of her, then another.

He was three fingers deep in her soaked cunt as his teeth scraped against her nipple. He removed himself with a pop before he moved to her neglected one. Just like the left, he wrapped his lips around her right nipple. His tongue played with her as his fingers picked up their pace. "

Eddie swallowed as he felt himself getting warm. He felt like he should have stopped reading. They discussed doing a different book, did she change her mind? He felt dirty for imagining himself in the fantasy, and even worse that he imagined it was her cunt around his fingers and her nipples in his mouth.

He scratched at the itchiness in his facial hair as he debated on reading further. He also wasn't sure if he'd be allowed to grade this.

He skimmed past a few paragraphs, maybe it was a big opener or something.

"His hard cock pulsed as she bent over his desk. His right hand worked down his body, he grasped his cock in a tight grip as he slowly jerked himself as he looked at her.

"Spread," his demanding voice cut through the thick air. She obeyed, her breasts against the wood as she bent fully over. She spread her legs apart, she waited for his next move with anticipation. He growled as he watched her cunt spread open, he licked his lips as he watched her wetness start to drip down her thigh. She shivered as she felt it.

"Touch me, please," she pathetically whimpered. He smirked at the sound of her wrecked voice. She panted as she heard his heavy footsteps move towards her. His left hand trailed up her spine, up over her shoulder, then harshly gripped around her throat. She choked as he cut off the air to her lungs. His hot breath fanned against her ear as he bit and tugged on her earring.

"I'll touch you when I want to touch you," his voice was low and deep. And his grip on her neck tightened. She felt her body growing weak as he controlled how much air she'd receive. He waited a few seconds before he released her. She gasped as she choked for air, her head feeling light. But she loved every second of it. Every second of being nothing but a body for him to touch, a body for him to fuck, a body for him to torture. He removed his hand from his cock, the building orgasm set aside as he focused on her ass in the air.

His right hand came down to slam down on her ass. The skin burned and flamed as he smacked it over and over. She gripped the desk until her fingers went white, her lip bleeding from how hard she bit her lip to stay quiet. The sound of his skin slapping her flesh echoed throughout the empty classroom. He growled as her skin changed colors and how his handprint burned into her."

Eddie looked around his room, almost scared that he was going to be caught. He felt his cock pulsing in his boxers and he fought to ignore it.

"Finally his thick and hard cock slid inside of her. Her soaked cunt happily stretched open for him. Her legs shook as he fucked her hard. The desk squeaked under their bodies, his hands bruised into her hips. She clawed at the wood as he took no mercy on her. He was fucking her so hard that her body jolted forward with every thrust. She wanted to turn her head to see him, but when she tried his hand pushed her head against the desk.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? Wearing those tiny skirts to my class with that sweet cunt so easy for me to see. Do you think I don't notice you spreading open your whore legs when I'm lecturing? I can't imagine what you think when you fuck this pathetic cunt, but I know you think of me. But no toys are as big as me, huh?" He mocked. She whimpered at his words, knowing he was right. "And no toys are fucking you as good as me."

"Fuck, Mr. Munson, you fuck me so fucking good." She moaned"

Eddie stared at the screen in shock. Did he read his own name? Was she writing this as...herself? Eddie shivered at the thought, the movement caused his cock to move, and his tip hit something cold and wet. Eddie set his laptop next to him as he threw off the blankets.

He felt embarrassed when he looked down, a huge wet spot of pre-cum stained through his boxers. The pulsing was too hard to ignore, so he reached down to palm himself softly. Just a little touch to ease the ache. The simple touch caused him to moan loudly. He wanted to pull his hand away before he got too caught up but his hand at its own mind.

He slipped his hand inside his boxers, slowly jerking himself as he threw his head back. He sighed at the relief as his cock pulsed in his hand. His eyes looked over to his laptop, and his free hand reached over to scroll.

"He pushed himself fully inside of her, forcing her to feel just how big he was. He sighed in delight as she clamped around him. Like her cunt didn't want him to go anywhere. She was tight and wet, a perfect mixture to make his head spin.

"Feels like you were meant for me," he moaned. She began to move her hips back to match his rhythm. His hands were tight on her hips as the sound of their skin smacking filled their ears. She was moaning and whining, every sound drove him closer to his release."

Eddie moaned as he jerked himself faster. The images flashed through his head as he read. His head was thrown back in pleasure as he pictured her soft body bent over his desk. He was guilty of thinking about it before. Guilty of thinking about her hands and lips wrapped around his cock as he fucked her throat in between classes.

"She came with a loud scream of his name, her body limp against the desk as he fucked her through it. His hands were gentle as he traced up and down her spine, but his cock still drilled inside of her. She shook in sensitivity as he chased his orgasm.

"Cum for me, Mr. Munson," she whimpered, "fill my slutty cunt with your cum. Make me yours."

Eddie felt his eyes roll in the back of his head as he panted. His hand jerked himself faster, the feeling of bliss in his stomach. He read the last sentence over and over until his body thrashed as he came. His sticky cum painted his hand and stomach as he jerked himself empty. He imagined filling her cunt, and stuffing her full. The idea of his cum dripping down her thighs made him shiver.

He pulled his hand away with a hiss when he felt himself grow sensitive.

He took a few minutes to collect himself. Then the guilt rushed in. He slammed his laptop shut with his clean hand. He just jerked himself off to a student's smut. What the hell was wrong with him?

He got out of bed, legs a little shaky as he moved to his bathroom. He washed his hands and cleaned off his stomach. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror without disgust. He was an adult, he should have closed it the second he saw it was a sex story.

~~~

Eddie sat at his desk, his leg shook with anxiety as he waited for his class to come in.

His eyes looked up and caught hers. She offered a small smile as she walked in. He looked away and pretended to be busy with his desk work.

She tried to ignore the blow she felt as he ignored her. Maybe it was a hard morning for him. She walked over to Tate's table as they talked. Eddie noticed she wore a different skirt with a tighter-fitting top. He felt displeased with himself as he felt his cock get a little hard. He couldn't look at her without thinking of her words. And the disgusting thing he did while reading it.

"Y/N, please don't make me ask you to take your seat every day."

His tone was sharp and annoyed. Even Tate looked at him confused as Y/N blushed in embarrassment again.

"Sorry," she rushed out as she raced to her seat

"Don't say it, show me." He snapped

She shrunk in her seat, her eyes looked to Tate to see if they were thinking the same thing.

The whole class period he never once looked her way. Which was odd because he always looked over at her. Even when she raised her hand to answer all his questions, as she always did since she was the only one who listened to his lectures. He just ignored her and waited until someone else answered, even if it took minutes.

She couldn't help but feel neglected. It wasn't a big deal, but it made her feel like shit.

She sighed in relief as the class was dismissed. Tate walked over to her as the two began to walk out.

"Ms. Y/L/N? Can you stay back a second?" His voice called out

Y/N gulped and looked nervously at Tate. She sent a small smile and closed the door behind her. Leaving Eddie and Y/N alone in an empty classroom.

"Yes, Mr. Munson?" she asked, her voice shaking with nerves as she looked down at him.

He stood up and grabbed a stack of stapled papers from his desk. He looked into her eyes as he handed it over.

"Can you just read the first paragraph, please? To yourself is fine."

She took the paper, confused. But she did as he asked. The color drained from her face as she read the first few words. She sent in the wrong paper.

"I'm so-" she went to apologize but Eddie cut her off.

"This behavior is highly inappropriate. We discussed you would change your book. Not only is it against the school's rules, it is not appropriate to write about a teacher in that way. If you have a crush, write in a diary, not my assignment. And I'll need a new paper if you want to pass this class" His voice had no emotion as he scolded her. She wanted to shrink until he couldn't see her anymore. She was so embarrassed.

"I understand," she whispered with her head down, she would never be able to look him in the face again.

She kept the papers as she began to walk towards the door.

"Oh and Y/N?"

She turned around, her eyes on the floor.

"Even if this school doesn't have a dress code, I think you should dress more appropriately."

Any sort of confidence she ever had vanished with his words. She didn't say anything, she turned around and raced out the door.

Hot tears streaming down her face.

"What happened?" Tate asked as she held the crying girl in her arms.

"I sent in the wrong paper and now he knows I have this giant crush on him. You were wrong! He doesn't like me at all. And he wasn't checking me out, he was judging me for wearing slutty clothes!"

"He said that to you?" Tate gasped

"Not in those words, but he said if I had a crush I need to write it in my diary and not his assignments. Then he said I need to wear appropriate clothes in his class." Y/N cried as she hugged her best friend tighter.

"What a dick! He has no right to talk to you that way." Tate growled.

"Let's just get out of here," Y/N sighed as she let Tate go.

~~~

Y/N dreaded going to class the next day. She printed out the correct paper this time. Her head was low as she walked silently into the class, she dropped the paper on his desk. She didn't bother to look at him, no idea if he looked at her or not.

But of course, he looked. Her perfume alerted him that she was there before any movement did. He watched as the new papers landed on his desk and she walked silently to her seat. He eyed her outfit, completely different from anything she ever wore.

She was covered in clothes from head to toe. A big hoodie on her body with baggy sweatpants. He felt guilty seeing her body deflate in her seat. He knew he was wrong to ever say anything about what she wore but he couldn't handle seeing her in outfits he wanted to tear off. It didn't work, even in a hoodie and sweatpants he still imagined what was underneath.

The class seemed to go on for hours for both of them. She never looked up from her desk.

"Does anyone know the answer?" He asked out loud, his eyes already moving to her frame. He was met with silence.

"Do you happen to know, Y/N?"

She shrunk as he said her name, his and the whole class's eyes on her as she looked up.

"No, sorry" she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. It pained him to see her high head so low. She shined with confidence and he took it away for his own selfish reasons.

"Her hand wasn't raised, Sir," Tate growled. She wasn't sure what Eddie's problem was but she knew it wasn't because he disliked that paper.

"My apologies," Eddie said with a tight smile. He answered for the class as he continued his lecture.

He dismissed the class a few minutes early. Barely able to keep himself together. He watched as Tate wrapped her arm around Y/N's shoulder as they walked out.

~

Eddie spent the night grading Y/N's new paper. He wasn't surprised by the perfect story she told. He was glad he didn't destroy her writing ability like he did with everything else.

The next morning he placed the paper on her desk. The compliment left his lips as a routine.

"Excellent work,"

She gave a small hum as she didn't look up. No thank you or smile sent his way. He ignored the pit in his stomach as he moved on with the class.

"The next assignment will be with partners, so please find someone you are comfortable to work with."

Eddie gave the class time to find someone as he grabbed the rubric for the assignment. He figured he'd see Tate sitting up front next to Y/N when he looked up, but he felt a lump in his throat when he saw Alex sitting there.

Alex was a good student, he was dedicated and smart. Since when did he know her?

Eddie passed out the rubric, he tried not to eavesdrop on the conversations happening around him.

"We'll probably have to work outside of class, so maybe I can get your number and address?"

Eddie kept the growl in his throat as he walked past Alex and Y/N. He hated the way she smiled and nodded.

It was dumb but Eddie acted out of jealousy.

"You'll get weeks and weeks of in-class work time so don't worry about working out of school hours." A huge lie, he jeopardized his lesson plans and would deal with the consequences later.

"Bummer, I was kinda using that as an excuse to ask you out," Alex said, Eddie watched as she blushed and giggled into her hand.

He shouldn't be jealous. He knew that. He's the reason they can't even look at each other. He acted childish and was cold. He rejected her and embarrassed her, and fuck did he regret it. He regretted making the adult decision, he wished he caved. He wished he smashed his lips against hers and turned that story into reality.

"Maybe you don't need an excuse?" She shrugged with a smile. Alex was cute and he always caught her eye. Not the way Eddie did, but it was clear that would never happen. It was selfish, but maybe Alex could make her feel better about herself again.

Eddie gulped as she wrote down her number and passed it over.

~~~

Shortly after that, Alex and Y/N spent more time sitting next to each other in Eddie's class. He watched the class work together, his eyes kept shifting towards her. It had been a long week of no words shared between them. She still covered her body and kept her head down.

All she focused on was Alex. She kept her eyes on him and never once shifted to Eddie. But his eyes were always on her.

They kept laughing and she smacked his arms. He'd smile at her reaction and push to make her laugh harder.

"Please stay focused," Eddie demanded from his desk. His annoyed tone made Y/N finally look up. He stared at her as she didn't look away. He didn't move a muscle, he hoped if he stayed still she wouldn't look away.

"Sorry, we'll go back to the project," Alex said, Eddie growled as he spoke. Y/N snapped out of her daydream and smiled at Alex as they went back to their assignment.

"This Friday I'm throwing a party, and I would love to see you there. Maybe as my date?" Alex asked, he sent a warm smile her way as he held her hand.

She felt her heart race and smiled.

"I would love to."

~

Friday arrived faster than Eddie wanted. He knew he wasn't supposed to be upset that she was going on a date. He should have been happy for her, but all he felt was jealousy.

"Wow, wow and wow."

Eddie looked up as he heard Alex's voice. He looked in the direction of Alex's eyesight and felt his breath being kicked out of his lungs.

Y/N walked in with a huge smile, and a flowy black dress framed her body. She wore light makeup that made her face light up. Her confidence was back.

"You like? I was thinking of this for our date," Y/N said as she wrapped her arms around Alex's neck.

Eddie rolled his eyes as the couple leaned in for a kiss.

"Take your seats," Eddie demanded, and the couple pulled away.

"Sorry, Mr. Munson," she said, smiling as she took her seat and dragged Alex to sit next to her.

Eddie ignored the shiver her voice sent through his body. Hearing his name leave her lips sent Eddie into a spiral.

During the class, Eddie focused on not blowing up. His hands were in a tight fist, and his fingers were white. He clenched his jaw as Alex's hand rested on her bare knee.

He watched as Alex whispered in her ear. Eddie didn't what he said, but the way Y/N's eyes went huge and her mouth opened with a gasp, made him guess a few things. He watched as her thighs clenched together and Alex squeezed her knee before it traveled up her thigh. His hand went higher and higher until it disappeared underneath her dress.

The class was dismissed and Eddie couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Y/N, can I speak to you?"

Y/N and Alex stopped at the door

"Um, yeah," she said confused, Alex pecked her cheek goodbye as he walked out.

"Can you shut the door?"

Y/N was confused but closed the door, and then walked over to his desk.

"How can I help you?" she asked

"I'd appreciate it if you and your boyfriend kept your focus on the project and not each other," Eddie said he stood tall as he placed his hands on his desk and leaned forward.

"The project is finished, Mr. Munson. And we still have a few days before we turn it in. I don't think we are doing anything wrong." she argued. She was tired of him telling her what to do with her life.

"Him feeling you up underneath a table isn't doing anything wrong?" He argued, his eyes dark as he glared over at her. He leaned forward, even more, his face close to hers.

She tried to ignore the heat she felt between her thighs as he leaned over her with his tight shirt bulging out his arms. His tie dangled in between them as she looked up at him.

"And whispering in your ear? I'm sure I can think of a few things he had to say." Eddie said as he rolled his eyes

Y/N couldn't help but feel an exciting feeling bubble in her stomach, was he...jealous?

"What do you think he said?" she asked, as she leaned forward. Her voice was low as she looked into his eyes. She could see the lust in his eyes as he licked his lips.

"Something along the lines of wanting to be under your dress, between your legs, and make you scream his name," Eddie growled. He watched as she smirked, a tingle worked through his body.

"Was that his thoughts or yours, Mr. Munson?" She challenged.

"Pardon?" Eddie asked, his tone a little shocked as his eyes widened.

Y/N didn't back down, she placed her hands on his desk, mocking his posture, as she leaned forward.

"Nothing, it just seems you are kinda jealous? I mean you shouldn't be, right? Since you had me in the palm of your hand and sent me away." Her words sent more tingles down Eddie's body.

He chuckled in mockery as he bit his lip. He smelled her perfume, turning his brain into a puddle. His lips were inches away from hers, teasing him as they puckered.

"You'd like that, huh? You've got Alex, and still wondering about me? Shame for that poor boy."

"I think I would. He's cute and knows how to touch me. But he'll never be you, Mr. Munson." She confessed, the more she spoke, the closer they got. Their words went down to whispers.

Eddie felt that jealousy burning through him again at the thought of Alex touching her.

"You are jealous. I can see it," she smirked. Now she had him in the palm of her hand. She tossed all her fucks out the window as she grasped his tie in between her fingers. "So why don't you do something about it?"

Eddie took her challenge and ran with it. He knew there wasn't a single thought in his head that was going to send her walking away like last time.

He wanted to cave

He stood up, his tie falling through her fingers

She watched as he walked around the desk, but she didn't move. He walked over to the door, the sound of the lock turning as she waited.

She gasped when his hands landed on her hips, and he shoved her body against his. She loved the feeling of his hard chest and cock pressed against her.

He pushed aside her hair and pressed his lips against her neck. She moved her head to the side, giving him more room as she melted into his touch. His lips were hot and wet against her soft skin, he moved close to her ear, sucking on the skin right below it.

Eddie's hands trailed down her body and bunched up her dress. He removed his lips from her neck and pushed on her back. She took the hint and bent herself over his desk. He held her dress against her back with his left hand, she shivered when he yanked down her underwear with his right hand.

"Did you touch yourself when you wrote that story?" He asked, his right hand massaged her ass.

"Not immediately, but I did when I woke up." She confessed, her thoughts took her back to when she read it over and over as she fingered herself. No idea she sent it. "Did...did you?" She shyly asked, her eyes staring forward at the whiteboard.

She jolted forward when his right hand cracked down on her ass. She gripped the desk as she moaned when he cracked down a second time.

"I did," he admitted, she felt a smile spread across her face.

"Really?" She asked she turned her head to look at him. She purred in delight at the hungry look in his eyes as he stared at her ass, his hand massaging the skin gently as the skin burned.

"I read it when I woke up, soaked my boxers before I even got to touch myself. Quite the imagination you have, pretty girl."

She blushed when his eyes snapped up to hers. He gave her a cheeky smile.

"I came so hard, thinking of painting the inside of your pretty cunt." He reached up and unzipped her dress, she stood up so it fell at her feet. She kicked it aside and turned around.

She stood face to face with him, her body naked as she reached and unbuttoned his shirt. He sat back and let her strip him, he loved the feeling of her hands skimming down his chest as she worked his belt.

She dropped to her knees as she pulled down his dress pants and boxers. She licked her lips as she softly wrapped her hands around his cock. He moaned as her touch set him on fire.

She licked up his length then wrapped her mouth around his thick tip. He dug his hand into her hair as she forced him further down her throat. She kept taking him until she felt herself gagging around him. He praised her as he bucked his hips forward. She felt his tip hit the back of her throat, she didn't pull back until he did.

She panted as his cock left her mouth. He felt amazing in her throat and tasted better than she imagined. She couldn't help but grow even more excited as he waited to see what he felt like inside of her.

She raised to her feet and jumped on the desk, she spread her legs open and grabbed the tie that still rested around his neck. She yanked the tie as he smirked. He allowed her to drag him forward, his lips hungrily landing on hers. She moaned as his tongue easily slipped inside her mouth. Their tongues battled as he slipped two fingers inside of her.

He swallowed her moans as he fucked his fingers inside of her, stretching her out. She tried to keep up with the kiss but struggled as his fingers felt amazing inside of her.

Eddie pulled away but kept his fingers pumping inside of her.

"I knew you'd be tight," he moaned as he removed his fingers. She watched with heavy eyelids as he sucked his fingers clean.

"Just fuck me," she whined as she clawed at his chest.

He laughed at her eagerness, but he wasn't patient himself. He grabbed his cock and lined his tip with her entrance. She spread her lips open as he began to shove himself inside of her.

Her head was thrown back as he filled her completely, she felt herself being stretched by his length.

His eyes were lost as he stared at his cock moving inside of her. He watched as he pulled out, his cock soaked in her before he pushed himself back in. He loved how easily he slipped inside of her.

He wrapped her legs around his waist as he picked up his pace. All his pent-up aggression, regret, and jealousy flowed through him as he took it out on her.

She gasped and whined as his pace quickened. His skin smacked against hers, and she let her body fall back. Her body jolted and her breasts bounced with every thrust. His hands touched up and down her body. He touched every inch of skin he could reach. He loved watching as her eyes shut with bliss and her body gave into him.

"Fucking beautiful," he moaned as he leaned down to smash his lips on hers. Her brain spun as he fucked and kissed her all at once. His hands were soft as they skimmed down her stomach, goosebumps rising on her skin. Then his hand slipped between their bodies as he began to rub her clit. He removed his lips from hers to kiss down her chest, biting the skin.

"Fuck, Mr. Munson, getting close," she whimpered. She wasn't surprised by how fast her orgasm was approaching. Her body has never felt anything like this. His kiss, his touch, and his cock worked perfectly together to make her stomach burn.

Eddie had flashbacks to her paper, growling as he remembered the fire he felt when he read his name. And how she begged to be filled by him.

"Yeah? You wanna cum? Soak me in your cum?" He teased, his fingers moving faster against her clit as she shook beneath him.

"Please, please," she begged

Somehow his pace got faster and she could feel his balls slapping against her. It didn't take long for her to snap and the instant relief of an orgasm washed over her.

She reached up and gripped his neck as she came. She bit into his shoulder to silence her screams.

Eddie hissed as her teeth sunk into his skin but he loved it. He hoped it left a mark and he could see it every morning before she came into class.

"Good girl," he praised softly into her hair, he gently removed his fingers from her clit. Careful to not make her too sensitive as he chased his orgasm.

"Fill me up, Mr. Munson," she whispered heavily into his ear. Her hands tugged on his hair. His hot lips landed on her neck as he silenced his own moans and growls as he emptied himself inside of her.

He gave a few final thrusts as he pushed his cum inside of her. He breathed heavily as he slipped out of her. He slipped his arms around her body as he pressed her against him.

She panted and waited for the air to return to her lungs before she pulled away.

"Yeah, you definitely read it." She joked as she let out a breathless laugh.

He chucked with her and pecked her shoulders and neck. His kisses moved up and all around her face.

He stepped back and grabbed her dress, he helped her get it on as she slipped off the desk with wobbly legs. He turned her around as he zipped the dress, kissing her spine until the material covered the skin.

She turned the favor and helped him get dressed. He was fully clothed and she noticed her cunt was still bare.

"Where is my underwear?" She chuckled as she looked around the classroom floor.

"Right here," Eddie teased as he waved it in the air. She rolled her eyes and tried to grab it but he raised it over their heads.

"Nah uh, I think I'm going to keep this." He said as he slipped her underwear into his back pocket. The sight itself made her cunt pulse. "I think you should walk out of here with my cum dripping down those thighs as you tell little Alex that date is no longer happening." His voice was deep and dark as he wrapped his hand around her neck.

She turned submissive all over again under his touch. She nodded without a single thought. He smiled and pecked her lips, slowly pulling away so she'd chase his lips.

She pouted when his touch left her completely and he grabbed paper and a pen from his desk. She watched as he scribbled something down.

"This is my number and address, I'll see you tonight, don't bother dressing up. It'll be on my bedroom floor, anyway." He winked as he slipped the paper into her hand.

She sat shocked as he smirked unlocked the door and walked out.

But she couldn't help the huge smile across her face when she saw her underwear peeking out from his pocket.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt

[zae-heeyyy]

Recalcitrance

Summary: You and Ms. Grimshaw just can't get along. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,763 Tags: fluff, kissing, high honor Arthur Warnings: camp violence, angry Arthur, suggestive themes

a/n: I have mixed feelings about Grimshaw. I think she's a very enigmatic character. Still, based on interactions I've seen with her, I feel this isn't too far off. These always end up super long for some reason. Idk how that keeps happening. Anyway, I hope you enjoy; thanks for reading!

recalcitrance: resistance to authority or guidance, often characterized by defiance or disobedience. It implies a refusal to comply with rules or expectations, despite attempts to persuade or control.

You and Abigail Roberts went way, way back. Working girls stuck to a code; part of that code was looking out for each other and ensuring you returned after one of your "shifts." Abigail ran away for a while, leaving you to assume she'd met a rich man and settled down.

When you met her again, she introduced you to Dutch Van Der Linde and company; you fell in with them shortly after. Since then, you constantly scrubbed blood from clothes, slept on the ground, and ate whatever game Pearson could find for the stew. Many girls you knew would never trade that life for this one, but you had a family to return to, even if they weren't the most conventional. And amidst it all, you'd found something you didn't think possible for you. 

You were drawn to Arthur Morgan instantly. The little things spoke volumes for you—how he checked on you in passing, the moments spent playing dominos together, and his overall politeness towards you. The bar was in hell, but he treated you so differently than any man ever had. Arthur's dumb cowboy act didn't fool you for a second, and you were captivated by him.

After one too many inadvertent shoulder grazes and incidental hand touches, the chemistry between you had become undeniable. Following a game of dominos he let you win, the stocky man asked you to take a walk with him. You weren't too far away from camp before you found yourself pressed against a tree by him in a heated kiss. So many thoughts swirled around your head. You were in the middle of nowhere; it was pitch black, and you were being hunted by the law, yet there against that tree was the safest you'd felt in a long time. 

Then, on another fateful night, you were alone with him at the campfire while everybody else had settled down. A sly smirk crossed his face, and he scooted closer to you, grabbing and kissing your hand. You giggled, maintaining eye contact as he kissed up your arm, gradually, a low groan escaping him. One thing led to another, and he guided you into his tent. You let him have you, and you, him. 

It was then, when you were on the brink of your climax, half-lidded eyes staring upward into his, that you finally understood what people meant by lovemaking. When it was all over, you got up to leave out of habit, but he drew you back into his arms and asked you to stay.

Since then, you've been his girl, and he made sure everybody knew, always kissing you before he left for a job, settling you into his lap at the poker table, or sneaking you away from your chores to spend time with him. You saw each other for what you were, not the labels that had been applied to you. And you loved him so much.

For the first time in a long time, your life was good. Well, mostly, except you hadn't quite mastered the life of navigating Ms. Grimshaw. Over the almost year you'd known her, she was rarely nice to you. She seemed more tame when Arthur was around, but he wasn't today.

By noon, you had gotten sick of hearing her voice, and she seemed more ornery than usual. The nagging was constant: do this, don't do that, do this faster, do this slower. You wished she'd shut the hell up and leave you alone. Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, you saw her speed-walking towards you.

You were sitting, about to light a cigarette, when she approached, red-faced, huffing, and talking fast, "There you are," she started, putting a finger in your face. "Sitting around like always. I have had it with you!" You stood quickly out of instinct and opened your mouth to speak, but she cut you off. "You're useless around here, so why don't you go into town and start selling yourself again. At least then you'd finally be carrying your weight!" 

Her words stung like branding, making your heart race and your eyes sting. The few people left at camp had gone quiet. Mary-Beth looked on nervously while Karen was glaring at the older woman. Your heart pounded in your ears, and you spoke faster than your brain could process.

"All you're good for is being an ugly, hateful bitch." As soon as the words left your mouth, she swung on you. It was a backhanded slap that stung and broke the barrier that was holding back your tears. You recoiled, holding your stinging face.

"Know your place, girl, before you end up somewhere worse than on your back. Now get!" She pointed towards the edge of camp.

"Screw you," you said, quickly wiping away a falling tear, "I'd rather fuck every man in town before I keep letting myself be treated like this." You stepped up to her, " Want me to leave? Well, I'm goin."

And you did. You collected what little belongings you had into a bag and charged out of camp, eyes forward and your head held high. Tilly and Mary-Beth tried to stop you, but you marched down the dirt path until they couldn't see you anymore.

"Look what you gone and did you old hag," Karen spat, "Oh, just wait til Mr. Morgan gets back. Bet you won't be so high and mighty then." 

Arthur didn't ride in until sunset; he searched for you before even getting off his horse. His face fell confused by your absence, and just as he was about to inquire, Mary-Beth and Tilly approached. He knew instantly that something was wrong.

"What, what is it?" His eyes searched theirs. They looked at each other, silently debating who'd break the news to him. It was Tilly who stepped forward, putting a calming hand on Arthur's arm. She talked low and cautious, "Arthur, she—her and Ms. Grimshaw—they—" She was cut off by Karen and Ms. Grimshaw beelining towards them.

Karen's voice boomed, speech slurred. "Go ahead, tell 'em." She waved her beer-clutching hand between Arthur and Ms. Grimshaw, defiantly meeting Susan's gaze before tearing her eyes away to meet Arthur's. "That wench Grimshaw smacked her across the face and ran her out!"

Clenching his fist involuntarily, he leaned into Karen, talking low and steady. "The hell are you talking 'bout?" His chest was rising and falling quickly now.

Ms. Grimshaw stood resolute and waved him off. "This doesn't concern you, Mr. Morgan. This is my camp, and these are my girls and my rules," she finished, arms crossed, staring at Arthur.

Stepping close, he imposed his broad figure on Ms. Grimshaw, flashing a smile that was anything but inviting. He took on a tone he rarely used with the women.

"Oh, Susan, that's where me and you disagree. This may very well be your camp, and you can make up all the rules you want, but she's my girl." His face had straightened into a scowl by the time he finished.

"Well, I'll—" she began incredulously, hands still on her hips, but Arthur threw up a halting finger.

"Look, Ms. Grimshaw, I respect how you run this camp, but that girl, she's off limits. Now, I'm gonna find her and bring her back, and you can raise all the hell you want, but if you lay a finger on her again—" 

"Arthur..." Tilly cut in warningly. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, ending his conversation with Susan. "Where'd she go?" he asked no one and everyone at the same time, speed walking to his horse.

"She took off down the road," Mary-Beth called out, but his horse was already kicking up dirt. Riding as fast as he could, he reached the nearest town at record speed. He hitched the horse outside the train station, forcing the doors open with his shoulder. The place went quiet, everybody focusing on the sudden disturbance. Arthur ignored the looks he was getting, scanning faces for yours. Spotting you took no time, and you stood as soon as you recognized him. He rushed to you, taking your hands in his; concern riddled his face— a rare sight. Guilt washed over you as you looked up into his eyes; you opened your mouth to speak, but he started before you.

"You alright?" he asked, looking you up and down. Dirt had stained the hem of your skirt, and your eyes were tired; his frown grew as he looked you over. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your head to his chest and nodding.

"Wasn't gonna go, just needed to get away for a while," you murmured into his chest. Rubbing your back soothingly, he exhaled with soft, relieved laughter. One arm still around you, he gently tilted your head to meet his gaze with his free one.

"Don't you go walking out on us. Least without tellin' me first."

You agreed with a quick bob of your head, and he pulled your chin in towards his, kissing you on the mouth. He withdrew and gestured to the bench you'd risen from earlier; you both sat. Arthur wrapped a big arm around you, and you buried your face into his shoulder.

"That woman hates me," you grumbled with a pout. Arthur squeezed you closer, and a faint grin formed on his lips.

"Nah, she never liked any girl I brought around. Give her more time." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "It's all outta love, I think," he concluded. You huffed at that, disbelieving.

"She got a funny way of showing it."

"Sure," he chuckled again. He sat for another minute before gently nudging you off his shoulder. Grabbing your bag and standing, he asked, "So you gonna come back with me?"

You tried to sulk but couldn't when he was standing there waiting patiently with his hand out. You finally relented. 

"Fine, but I ain't just gonna take it next time," you declared, taking his hand. A big smile stretched across his face. 

"You ain't gotta do nothing you don't wanna. If any of those fools have a problem with it, send 'em to me." You made your way out of the train station, hand in hand. You paused, gazing at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"I can handle myself just fine, Arthur Morgan." Another chuckle built up in him as he threw your bag on the horse. He turned to kiss the top of your head before grabbing you by the waist and lifting you up on the horse.

"I know, darlin'."

[primofate]

A Shot in The Dark (Chapter 1) Wriothesley x fem!reader

Summary: As the upcoming Weapons Master of the town, you've started to take more responsibilities in your father's shop. Little did you know that taking up this job would cause you to get thrown into the messy world of criminals and the messy world of confusing feelings for the Duke of Meropide.

Warnings: Slow burn, this is gunna be long. Like Ruthless Prince long, maybe. Nothing much happens. This is the first chapter after all. Excuse any mistakes, I am a busy mother.

Author's Notes: Tell me what you think?

Read other parts: Coming Soon

In the shop, a quiet tick-tock rang around as you stood behind the counter, drumming your fingers against the table, watching as the short hand of the wooden clock slowly inches towards the number 7.

You take a deep breath through your nose, squaring your shoulders up, holding the air in your chest for a second before puffing everything out in one go.

It was your first time alone in the shop, and while your father didn’t have a lot of customers these days, you heard that he was quite the sought-after weapons master back in the old times.

A small chime takes you out of your reverie. That was your cue that the day had to start, going around the counter with a slight hum, opening the door to the outside and flipping the store sign “Open”.

You took a moment to look around the small street of Vasari Passage. From where you stood at the shop’s entrance, you had a good view of the swirling fountain in the middle of the Court of Fontaine. There are a few other shops lining the street: the snack shop, the fruit stand, up a set of stairs was the House of Hearth and further down the street was Café Lutece.

It was a nice location, close to the entrance to the city and walking distance to food if you were too busy or too lazy to cook for yourself that day. The shop was on the ground floor, but your father and you resided above the shop, one floor up.

The apartment was rather modest. A two bedroom with wooden floors that now sort of groaned when you stepped on certain places. A dining room that also served as a living room, a 4-seater table in the middle with a fireplace off to the side. A kitchen, where your mother used to spend all her time, cooking up something wonderful for the family. And lastly, one bathroom that was strangely quite spacious with a bath and built in shower.

You pull the shop door open once again, a small ring from the tiny bell hanging above reverberating in your ears. You had only taken a few steps forward, barely even reaching the counter when the tiny bell rang again, followed by the closing sound of the door.

“Welcome to Hammer and Hand, how can I—” you twist around just as you reach the counter and there stood a very, very familiar face. “Oh, Ms. Clorinde,”

No, you had never spoken to her before. Nor were you in any way acquainted. But she was someone that everyone knew and as soon as her name left your lips you felt nervousness crash into you, as if a wave of Primordial Sea water was trying to pull you under its depths.

Clorinde regarded the shop briefly. Looking up at the shelves on the left and right. Surveying the carpet on the floor. Eyes glancing at the several chairs littered around for waiting customers. Then, she looked at you. “…I heard that there might be someone who could take a look at my pistol,” she wasn’t asking a question and she sounded as if she might be in a hurry.

“That would be me,” you sighed out with a forced smile, hands fumbling under the counter to take out a sleek, velvet-lined, black box for the Champion Duelist to rest her weapon in.

A quick click-clack of her heels, Clorinde placing the pistolet into the box and you, hovering your hands above it. “May I?”

Clorinde made a quick sound of approval, and your hands gently took the weapon, now examining it for what might be wrong.

Clorinde peered at you through her hat, just a quick look.

Truth be told, she wasn’t the kind to judge others by appearance…but you looked very, very young to be a weapons master. After a moment of silence, just the little clinks and ticks of your hands tapping on the pistol, Clorinde decided to speak up. “…I was told the shop owner was a man,” She kept her eyes on you to gauge for a reaction, perhaps wary that she might have offended you.

On the contrary, you were unphased, and didn’t take your eyes off her pistol. “My father,” you curtly answered, eyes narrowing at the frame of the gun. “He’s off on vacation at the moment…He hasn’t been on one in a while so I’m stepping in for him for a bit,”

Clorinde made a sound of understanding. That made more sense. “…Everyone needs a vacation,” she said in a different tone to what she used earlier, almost as if she was striking up a casual conversation.

This caught your attention the slightest bit, eyes involuntarily dragging up, meeting hers, then awkwardly breaking the gaze in a split second, going back to the weapon.

“There seems to be a problem with the firing pin, Ms. Clorinde,” you lay the pistol back on the velvet box, then take out a number of small trinkets and tools that would help you open the weapon.

You didn’t talk as you worked, Clorinde was mostly impressed by how much you knew of a weapon you just met, and how your hands were almost as steady as hers when she took aim.

“…You use this often?” She hears you ask and she takes a moment to reply.

“…You could say that,” again, she replies in a short manner.

You let out a little hum in thought. In the next 5 minutes you spend some time taking out different types of firing pins. You explain what each one does. One valued speed. One was a chunkier, sturdier type. One was absorbent of elemental energy, so on so forth. Clorinde explained what she usually used the pistol for, and what attribute she valued over others.

With that, the firing pin was easily replaced and the pistol felt as good as new in her hands.

“My sincere thanks,” Clorinde nods her head, and for the first time that morning sent a small yet satisfied smile your way.

“My pleasure, Ms. Clorinde, do come back if there’s anything else wrong with it, or if it doesn’t feel right in your hands,” you keep your back straight and tense until the Champion Duelist walks out and the door creaks closed. You puff out another sigh of relief, shoulders slumping and yourself crumpling on the counter.

“Of course my first customer has to be a celebrity!” You freak out on your own, cheek pressed against the table and trying to replay the whole interaction in your mind. If you had said anything weird or awkward, if you had stumbled over your words at all—a little CLINK had you scrambling straight up and smiling at the door yet again. “Welcome to—”

“I just came back to warn you,” Clorinde was only halfway into your shop. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should have said anything at all. “You might get a few more…odd customers in the next few days,”

She didn’t explain herself, and you were thoroughly confused. What exactly was her definition of “odd”? The Duelist had already left before you could say anything, not that you could think of anything to say anyway.

The rest of the day had actually been quite slow, despite Clorinde’s warning. A few gardes came by, an aspiring duelist, a collector…Nothing as surprising as your very first customer of the day.

From 7 in the morning it had turned into 7 in the evening. The short hand of the clock started yet again inching closer to the number 7…it was then, yet again, that the door rattled open and in came a rather grand looking young man, different from all the other customers of the day.

Wriothesley had a greeting at the tip of his tongue. “Hey old man,” or something of the sort. Except, he didn’t see an old man at the counter. “Uhh…” he started, looking around the place as if he was lost.

Something about this man seemed familiar, but you couldn’t place your finger on it.

“If you’re looking for my father, he’s on vacation at the moment,” You help him out, knowing that he probably wasn’t expecting to see you manning the shop. Your eyes dropped to the gauntlets tucked under his arm. “Were you wanting to get those looked at?” Head jerking forward to signal towards his gauntlets.

Wriothesley stood like a deer in headlights in the middle of your shop, now looking more surprised than ever. His eyes narrowed and his hand came up halfway to point at you shyly “You’re Y/N?”

You were taken aback, eyes evidently widening. “…Yes…? Do I…know you?” It was your turn to squint your eyes at him. His black hair was a little unruly, his build was of a seasoned fighter’s. The coat draped on his back gave him a sense of importance, and the way he carried himself screamed of confidence.

No. No lightbulbs came up to give you a clue.

You could only smile sheepishly when he didn’t offer an answer and you had to speak up in the silence. “I’m sorry, I don’t really recall where we met,”

It was only then did he chuckle and finally stepped forward to meet you at the counter, placing his gauntlets atop it. “I don’t blame you. Anyway,” he brushed away the subject quickly and proceeded to tell you that his gauntlets had been feeling a little “clunky”.

You, in all your consciousness, felt horrible that you didn’t recognize someone who seemingly knew who you were. The man, however, seemed like he didn’t want to breach the subject anymore.

“Hmm…?” You bring your hand up to your chin as he finishes complaining about his gauntlets. You scour over them with your eyes and notice a few marks on the glossy finish of it. “This looks like…it’s been damaged,” you rub a finger over the area you’re talking about. “…by…a pistol…” An image of Clorinde passes through your head. "...Are you…a criminal?” You look up to your current customer, a mix of worry and intrigue etched on your face.

Wriothesley blinks, and suddenly bursts into short laughter. “Me? Not recently no,” he answers with a chuckle on his lips.

Then why would Ms. Clorinde shoot at you? Was your first thought. He cuts through your thinking quite fast.

“You can tell this is a pistol mark?” Wriothesley didn’t hide that he was impressed.

“Specifically Ms. Clorinde’s…” You take your hand away from his gauntlet, now wary of your visitor. “Why would she shoot at you?”

“You can even tell it’s Clorinde’s?” He barked out another set of laughter, running his hand through his hair in the process.

“Well…She came by this morning and I had a good look at her pistol, so…” You didn’t elaborate that Clorinde’s pistol was a special kind, it was easy to tell that the marks left on his gauntlets was definitely from her pistol.

“Oh did she?” He seemed to be a very chipper guy. Everything you said, he was somewhat amused by it. It was then that he dismissively waved a hand. “It’s alright, we were just…sparring. I’m the one who told her to come ‘round to your old man’s shop. We went at it too hard and…well, more customers for you,”

“Uh huh…” you start, still unsure. “Well, in any case, I’d like to have your name, please? It’s just good manners to know your customer’s name,” You smile a bit, and quickly add under a whisper “or in this case, my potential killer's,”

Wriothesley hears you, another chuckle emanating from his chest. “It’s Wriothesley,”

Something clicks in your mind. A very, very far off memory.

“…Oh!” One of your hand involuntarily shoots up to your mouth, at the same time your eyes widen, you stare at him “Wriothesley!?” You look him over, up and down, then back to his face. “You…You grew up a lot!”

“So did you!” He has a sincere smile on his face, arms crossing and looking rather proud.

“Oh, oh my Archons,” your hands fumble to find each other and you gather yourself once again, straightening up “I didn’t realize it was you, I’m so sorry. Oh and you’re the Duke now, right? I’m SO sorry, I didn’t mean to call you a criminal—or a killer!” Your words start to skim over each other in your embarrassment and desperation to explain yourself.

Wriothesley gives somewhat of an awkward and guarded smile, if only you knew, “It’s not a problem, just…call me Wriothesley,”

“Right... Right! Erm…” You focus your attention back to his gauntlets. “So these are, uh…just needs a bit of polishing and erm…” You’re still trying to gather your racing thoughts. There were bits and pieces of memories coming back to you that were connected to him. Most of them were from your father, and you quickly recalled that you’d met the Duke as a teenager, just a few odd times, really not a lot. “I have a suspicion as to why you think it’s getting clunky…”

You reach under the table again to look for a tape measure, “Do you mind if I measure your hands?” somehow getting most of your brain and thinking back, you ask him to extend one of his arms out and he complies rather easily.

As usual, you quietly work. Taking various measurements of his wrist, fingers, arm length and the sort.

“…You’ve gotten really good at this,” he remarks, just to fill in the silence. You maintain your concentration and mumble back absentmindedly.

“Mmhmm…Well, I did study this in school…and my father has taught me a lot,”

Wriothesley had wanted to comment that yours was still an extraordinary skill. He didn’t think that you’d be so good at assessing weapons and finding solutions for it, he dare thought that you were getting even better than your old man, but he kept quiet, seeing your concentration.

“As I thought,” you breathe out, rolling the tape measure back into a circle. “Your gauntlets are a tad bit small on you now…you’ve probably gained a bit of muscle, or something,”

“Oh,” was all he could let out, not expecting the answer to be so simple.

“I can resize it…but…” you glance at the clock. 7:32 pm. Way past closing time. “…You can leave it with me and pick it up tomorrow or…come back with it tomorrow? I imagine you might not want to part with it, even just for a night,” You don’t know what the duties of a Duke are, but if he was in charge of Meropide… you guessed that the one thing he really needed with him was his weapon. “I mean, it still fits you, it’s just… not in optimal shape.”

“I understand,” he moves to take the gauntlets back with him, but gives you an appreciative nod. “I’ll come back tomorrow morning then,”

“Okay,” you whisper, holding his gaze, the edges of your mouth turning up the slightest bit. “See you tomorrow then,”

Wriothesley keeps your gaze for only a few moments longer before he gathered his weapon and tucked it under his arm again. He then returns your smile, briefly. He steps away to turn, his coat swaying with him. “See ya,” he throws a hand back as a goodbye and as he exits the store, it is suddenly quiet.

You stand there for a moment to replay the interaction. The quiet helps you organize your thoughts. You can’t help but think that he had grown up to be a good man, and there was no denying that he was good looking—anyone with eyes could see that—you hum a bit, and keep the thoughts to yourself.

You close the shop up, feeling rather good of how the unexpected events of the day unfolded, and went to sleep easily.

Chapter 1: End

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[heliza24]

Thoughts about Domesticity, Carework, and the American Dream in episode 2.5 of Interview with the Vampire

I’ve been mulling over episode 2.5 a lot. There was so much to love in the episode (the incredible writing, the kitchen sink off Broadway play of it all, the chemistry between Luke, Jacob and Assad, the vulnerability in Eric’s performance). But my mind keeps circling a couple of themes, trying to piece them together. So as usual I’m here on tumblr to try to work it out. 

I keep coming back to the way that Armand was gendered in this episode. His big complaint to Louis was that he was “home picking lint off the sofa”. He arrives with “mop and misery” to clean up the mess. Louis insults him by calling him “the good nurse”. All those things are feminized. They’re also extremely of the era; these are Feminine Mystique, mid-century housewife type complaints. The wife’s job is to make the husband’s life smooth and never worry about her own happiness. Obviously in the 1970s we’re seeing this begin to change thanks to second wave feminism. We’re in the process of trying to ratify the ERA, Ms. magazine has just been founded, and things are shifting. The kind of cheery domestic American dream of the 1950s is definitely shifting, and we see this in the episode as well. Betty Hutton selling sewing machines competes with Spiro Agnew resigning on TV. The watergate scandal signified a loss of faith in American authority, a kind of parallel destruction of the country’s father figure (brought down by journalists, no less). The comfortable lie of domesticity, the “prison of empathy” that Armand has created around Louis is crumbling. Armand is boring but he’s also bored, like a housewife taking valium to get by. The whole episode is set in an apartment that reeks of divorce, according to Daniel, and we’re seeing it play out in real time. When Armand lashes out to hurt Louis, he does it not through direct violence, like Lestat, but by holding his failure as a father over him, telling him that Claudia  never loved him. That jab, in combination with the way he’s edited Louis’s memories (gaslighting, another time honored form of domestic abuse) is enough to get Louis to hurt himself. LIke a wife who is always outwardly obedient to her husband but spends her time exacting petty revenge against him for the way he takes her for granted, Armand’s methods are never violent. They are soft and subtle and targeted.

I have to thank @bluedalahorse for first alerting me to the way the crumbling domestic American dream is threaded through this episode. And after she mentioned it I saw it *everywhere*. 

Obviously there is a level of complexity here in the Loumand relationship that this metaphor cannot fully capture. For one thing, Armand is a man. He was turned in a time before modern understanding of gender and sexuality really solidified, so in some way it makes sense that he would be the most gender fluid of our main characters, but his position would be a lot different if he were a woman, even a woman vampire. And Armand is very powerful. His insecurities and crippling fear of being alone keep him from exercising this power and walking away in a way that would perhaps be healthier for both him and Louis. But he is not trapped economically or socially in the way a wife would have been in this era. (That being said, I get the sense that *something* about the way the fire happened in Paris has made Louis and Armand go to ground. Maybe there is an element of being “trapped together because of fear of exposure”. But even then, I think my point still stands.)

To drill down and become more specific, there’s an extra added layer to the way Armand is feminized in this episode. I’ve written a lot about disability in this show and also the way it approaches eugenics, and those things were very on my mind as I rewatched this episode. (To be fair, they are always on my mind when I watch anything. Being disabled will do that to you.) Anyway, the specific way that Armand casts himself in this episode is as a caregiver. He is a beleaguered, bitter caregiver to those weaker to him. I think you hear this especially when he describes to Louis what happened: “you said the worst things you ever said to me, and then you walked into the sun. And now you are a convalescent.” The absolute sneer on the word convalescent.  The absolute disdain for being put in this position again. The way he denies Louis the blood and keeps him out of his coffin for so long. The “final act of service” in calling Lestat. And then the tenderness laced with fear. Will he “be on suicide watch for the next 1000 years?”. 

Armand is fascinating to me because of the way he seems to instinctively reject people who remind him of his own past weaknesses. Those weaknesses are buried down deep in his characterization, but they’re there and they’re important. He was sick and wasting away when he was turned. And before that he was an abused sex worker. You can see the way he dismisses people in similar situations in the way he treats Daniel in this episode. He calls Daniel a “broken boy” when he’s talking to Louis. He casually rejects the idea that there might be any sort of truth captured in Daniel’s tapes. The interviews on those tapes are with a sex worker and gay veteran and his disabled refugee husband. All of these people are so close to Armand in so many ways. I even think this is why Armand comes down so hard on Claudia, and why he cannot abide the true empathy and love Louis has for her. Claudia was turned when her body was weak. Weaker and more disabled, so to speak, than Armand. But they are not dissimilar. But Louis loves Claudia anyway, and respects her strengths. No one ever shown the love Louis shows to Claudia to Armand. No one ever granted him true empathy. The only way he has been able to hold on to any love at all is to grovel, to manage, to care give. The only way he experiences care is to give it. Of course he’s broken, of course he’s bitter.

So now we come to Daniel. The broken boy who has suicidal ideation and a drug problem, things that make him imminently dismissable in Armand’s mind. But Daniel also has a drive, a passion for life, and a love for the people who slip through the cracks. Louis and Daniel definitely share this great affection for humanity, and it’s what allows them to connect in San Francisco and again in Dubai. And it’s what makes him inscrutable, and captivating, to Armand. Because there really is no greater act of service than telling somebody’s story. Daniel describes himself as a therapist ironically in Dubai, but what he’s doing is carework. It’s real empathy. And Armand doesn’t understand that. Armand doesn’t understand what someone is doing recording the stories of people who were just like him. A whole universe of possibilities opens in the moment when Armand almost starts telling Daniel his story. Out of all the ways Daniel tries to save himself, that little life line of empathy is what almost snags Armand. But then Armand clamps back down, realizes he’s staring into a “black hole”. He’s trying to insult Daniel when he says that, but to me it just sounds like he’s describing himself.

When Armand is lulling Daniel into death, the thing he chooses to describe to him is the American domestic fantasy. He describes it as a fate worse than death. He describes it as a boring trap. And he specifically casts Daniel in the masculine, straight role in that fantasy, with a wife “vacuuming on valium” who “counts down his thrusts”. In some ways Armand is painting his own relationship to Louis as the worst possible fate that Daniel could suffer. (And it makes me wonder– did Armand ever wonder if he would amount to anything? Does he think his life has any meaning at all, if you subtract the vampiric powers? Armand has never stopped to introspect like this, but I wonder what would happen if you forced him to.)

But Daniel is stubborn, and his desire to tell stories and empathize with people resists death. I love that he still defends himself, still claims that he’s “a bright young reporter with a point of view” and that that is worth something. Because it is.

When Louis asks Armand to save Daniel, Daniel unwittingly becomes a symbol of Louis and Armand’s continued marriage. He’s a wedding ring, a vows renewal. He’s emblematic of the continuation of failing vampiric domesticity. And when Louis tries to repair the damage Armand has wrought, he isn’t able to offer Daniel soothing words about his ability to find a spouse or raise children or understand love. Louis doesn’t understand those things, so how could he teach Daniel about them? But Louis has always understood stories and humanity, so he is able to gift Daniel his writing and his reporting back. 

I think you can interpret Daniel’s failed marriages and difficult relationship with his children in a lot of ways. We could say that he was always going to fail at these things, regardless of whether or not he met the vampires, because of the discontent that Armand sensed in him. Maybe the trauma that this aborted gay hookup with Louis created was enough to re-closet him, and send him down a dark road of unfulfilled straight relationships. Or maybe Armand’s words really did echo around in his head and pull him down as much as Louis’s lingered and sustained him over the years. Maybe we’ll get more answers about this as the show goes on, or maybe it will live in the ambiguous world of memory and manipulation the show so often plays in.

Regardless, I think this episode was a masterpiece, and the way it firmly established these themes about the failure of domesticity and the burden and joys of carework are going to really matter, I think, as we hit the brutal conclusion of the season. When emotions are at a breaking point, especially between Armand and Louis, they are going to resonate because they were grounded in this little claustrophobic wonder of an episode.

As a little postscript, I’m not quite sure where we’re going with Devil’s Minion after this episode, or if we’re even going there at all. If a DM timeline happened in the past, it would require additional editing of Daniel’s memory, and I’m not quite sure if that reveal would work structurally. (I would love to be proven wrong about this though, because I would love for young Daniel and Armand to have interacted more, for Assad and Luke’s chemistry if nothing else. They were so wonderful together.)  If it were to happen in Dubai, or to happen again Dubai, however… well that’s interesting. Because older Daniel is disabled. He’s even more firmly in this category of people that Armand is apt to dismiss. And if they were to get together, there would probably be some aspect of caregiving on Armand’s part. And there would also be some caregiving on Daniel’s part, in his ability to listen to Armand. So that has the potential to be really fascinating, and maybe mutually beneficial to both characters. But I think we have to cover a lot of ground before we would be able to get there.

[notlhecxzsa]

The Shade Of Harkness - A.H

Summary: Finally, the day has come for you to have an interview in the company your friend has applied you to. Almost flying away from the known notorious CEO, Agatha Harkness, you were caught in her orbit—and you don't even know it yet. Was it an accident that you also saw her in your workplace, the one you told her you work on? No, maybe it wasn't. Just like how you saw her again at your school.

Author's Note: Happy holidays! Here's the first chapter of CEO!AgathaXFem!reader, mweheheh. Hope you'll like it! Again, this is inspired of 50 Shades Of Grey, so you might see some preference and familiar lines along!

Warnings: Cursing, stalking (but, y/n doesn't have to know that, right?), not that much for now, a little weirdo agatha (what's a dark fic if she's not weird), SIMP AGATHA

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3rd Person's POV:

"The 5th interviewee will come up in 5, Agatha..." Wanda called out to her boss—who she could also call a friend, peeking her head through the unreasonable huge doors of the room when she was met by a wide view of the expensive city through the big windows behind the woman who was sitting in the middle of the room.

"Hmm..." Wanda rolled her eyes at the answer she received, already used to it as the right hand of one of the woman who seemed to be colder as the ice in Antarctica and harder than the stone that littered on the moon.

Agatha finished what she was reading as Wanda closed the door, almost rolling her eyes at the thought of another stupid presence to float in her orbit. Shame on Wanda for even thinking an assistant would do her any good—unfortunately, the countless employees who ran out crying from her office were not enough for Wanda.

After putting the red head in a higher position, she refused to be Agatha's part time assistant. Knowing that Agatha wouldn't fire her for declining the demand of the job, Maximoff won.

"Y/L/N?..." Y/n snapped her head from looking at the direction where an interviewee had come running to— crying as she did so, to the red head who has been the one managing them all. Ms. Maximoff, whom she learned her name of, was a beautiful red head dressed in a very professional dress, making her feel so self conscious.

All of them here are so beautiful, so professional that Y/n thought she'd only fit in and get a job of a cleaner. Shaking her thoughts away, she stood up, clad in her jeans, comfortable sandals and a cute plain blouse that was covered by a blue cardigan. God, why did she even let Miya send an application to this kind of company?

"Ms. Harkness will meet you now." The warm welcoming smile almost made Y/n feel a little less scared, she was the last one and so, she entered the hug doors that was held open by Ms. Maximoff with little to no hope in her heart.

She offered a small nod and a small nervous smile in return, gripping her bag in front of her as if she was trying to hide from the fatal truth that she has no chance in this and probably just wasted her time driving for almost an hour just to get here.

Before she could even appreciate the view that was laid out in front of her, she tripped and landed on the floor, with the door already closed, she didn't have Ms. Maximoff coming towards her to help her up. Only the sound of heels marching towards her is what she was met with. Immediately looking up with a flustered face, she saw the woman who she'd only seen on billboards and countless news and articles.

She was wearing a noticeably expensive red suit, that Y/n could confirm. Without even thinking anymore, she scrambled up on her feet, already standing up to take the hand that was supposed to help her up and shook it, almost cursing herself with how her hands trembled and felt cold.

Y/n could feel a shiver ran down her spine at the striking look she received from those blue eyes. Great! Just great, now she has more reason to run away and never look back from this place.

"Ms. Y/L/N?" Even her voice sounded so expensive, Y/n thought as she she stammered for the answer she could barely offer the woman.

"Y-yes..." Immediately clearing her throat, the flush in her face was already spreading on her neck. "Yes, Ms. Harkness." Swallowing the lump on her throat, she saw how the woman's gaze stayed on her face with something she couldn't fathom before it went down to their hands that are still entwined. "Oh..." She almost inaudibly let out before pulling away, keeping her gaze down on the floor.

"Come sit." Looking up, she saw that Ms. Harkness was already walking away from her and towards the big and once again, expensive office table in the middle of the room that Y/n wished to take her time exploring her eyes on.

Y/n waited until the woman was sat, waiting for her to motion to her that she can start introducing herself. She couldn't help but to analyze the woman in front of her. She looked so much more beautiful than the pictures she'd seen online, she's breathtaking.

Once again, feeling conscious about how she looked like, her gaze snapped down on what she was wearing, swallowing the invisible rock that seemed to be stuck in her throat.

"Do you want me to wait for you until you're done checking yourself or what?" Y/n eyes widen as her head snapped up faster that any human could to face the woman.

"I-I... I'm sorry, Ms. Harkness..." Clearing her throat, she saw how the woman opened the envelope that she gave to Ms. Maximoff earlier that contains everything about her. Deciding that it was her sign to start introducing herself, she inhaled before starting to talk.

"I'm Y/n Y/l/n, I'm currently graduating for college and I applied in your company hoping for it to give me a certain experience that I will need for when I start working." Gazing at the older woman's face, Y/n could feel her heart trying to escape her chest as she noticed the woman's eyes scanning the whole application form.

"And what exactly are you expecting from my company..." Before Y/n could even continue, Ms. Harkness spoke up, trailing off as she slowly gaze back up at the young woman's face. "Ms. Y/l/n?" She saw how she swallowed for the nth time ever since she came here, Agatha's gaze trailing from her neck up to her lips as she started talking.

"Uh... I know how big your company is, Ms. Harkness and so I do expect that you will give me a job that would make me credible for any position that I would want to have in the future. I can do so many things..." Y/n could feel her throat tightening with how the woman was gazing at her face—like she knows all her secrets, all her problems and all that she is. "I uh... I worked before, in a coffee shop... uhm, I also joined in a lot of organizations from high school and until now..." She tried to find some more things to say, her voice trailing off only to think of nothing when the older woman stood up slowly, her head moving up at the same pace.

She watched as the woman sauntered in front of her slowly. "Hmm? Tell me more of what you can do, Ms. Y/l/n. I'm sure my company—well, I, could give you experiences you've never done before... and you could use in the future." Y/n could feel the heat from earlier now boiling with an anticipation bubbling up inside her, one she couldn't name what kind.

Stopping in front of the table, leaning her lower part on it, Agatha crossed her arms, looking down at the girl who seemed to have caught her attention more that she intended to give a person. "W-well, I also write books... uhm, I am currently working as an employee in a hardware shop. And now, I am looking for a more... compatible job for the course I'm taking and for my future job, which I-..." Y/n shrugged, looking down as if her next words makes her feel shy.

Maybe that was the reason, or maybe it was because she couldn't handle holding the gaze of the woman in front of her anymore. "... I hopefully get."

"Hmm..." Squinting, Agatha, exhaled. "You don't seem too... sure about your... future." It sounded like she was mocking her, and if it weren't for the nervousness that Y/n was feeling, she would've thought about that.

Looking up through lashes, Y/n bit her lip as she tempted what to tell the woman, not noticing how Agatha's fist seemed to be tightened up beneath her arms that was crossed. "I am currently taking a Psychology course... I am sure of it... it's just that..." Seeing the serious attention she was getting from the woman, Y/n continued.

"My parents never really... supported it. So now, I'm hoping for a flexible experience when I can still use my degree on for when I apply for a job in the future." Y/n doesn't seem to notice it, but as she let out an information she never knew she'd be getting out in this, the weight on her shoulder flew away little by little as she continued.

"They kept... thinking that Psychology isn't a good start on having the perfect life they wished for me to have, but, it was what I wanted so I went with it. I know it wasn't just about mental care just like what they always think about... but, sometimes I just hope they supported me a little more." Biting her lips, she looked down, not wanting to witness the pitiful look that she would always receive from Miya, her friend whenever she would talk about that.

But, she doubt Ms. Harkness would even give her such thing.

You do know your parents loves you yo death, and they make you feel that, always. You just wished sometimes that they are better when it comes to the things you wanted, such as taking that course where you see yourself being in the future.

"Stop biting your lip." A small frown of confusion appeared on her face as she looked up at the woman in front of her again.

Still biting her lip, Agatha took her time scanning the younger girl's face. Her eyes held an amusement she never inteded to give as her lips was in a thin line that almost gave away what she was thinking.

It wasn't often that people would open up personal things like that with Agatha, but whow as she to compalin when she was the one who asked of it. Just confused with how easily the girl seemed to be talking to Agatha with everything, the woman felt a little surprised.

"You should not think of what the others though of you... what you do." Agatha shrugged, uncrossing her arms before putting both of it on her side, her palms flat on the table as she crossed her foot. "Your destiny is what you want it to be..." Gazing at the girl who was looking at her that made her feel an unknown... warmth. A familiarity she wasn't familiar with.

An unexplainable feeling of unknown.

"Your future is yours to hold and make." She finishes, still gazing deeply in your fac, as if she was trying to remember every part of it like how she did in the many application forms that fell on her desk.

The 2x2 professional picture on your application form did not do you any mercy, that she could confirm.

"Well... they're my parents." There was a sudden small chuckle that came out of your mouth as if what she said makes you laugh.

"And? Are they the ones who will make your future for you, Y/l/n? The ones who will do the hard work while you offer your life to a boss that doesn't show you an ounce of appreciation? They are your parents, but they are just your parents, and you... you hold what you will be." Agatha said so casually, she almost wanted to stop talking when she became self aware of how personal the conversation are seeming to become.

But, with those eyes that seemed to be catching every word that came out of her mouth, those wandering eyes that seemed be so... sparkling with so much wonder than the world had intended it to be. She couldn't stop, as if your attention caught her tounge... and it makes her seek more of it.

"I guess, I just... care about them too much..." Y/n said, as if she's talking herself.

There was a moment of silence, as you both hold your gaze. Agatha could tell that you were lost, seeing the gears running inside your head to process what she just said. She couldn't help but take her time on scanning your face once more, analyzing too deeply than she intended herself to do.

Too deep that she had ever done.

The line that was invisible in the atmosphere above you that seemed to be getting longer in each moment, was cut short by the knock in the door. Only your head snapping to it, only to see Ms. Maximoff's head and half body poking through it.

Out from the trance you were in, but your attention on the certain red head, the pair of eyes that was burning holes on the side of your head weny unnoticed by you.

"Time's up, the next interviewee will come see you now-" She was cut off by the voice that seemed to be less cold earlier when talking to you.

"Cancel it, we're not done yet." Seeing how the red head's eyes narrowed in wonder, you cleared your throat and got up.

"N-no, it's... it's fine, Ms. Harkness." Looking back at the woman, you almost flinched with how she was looking at you. As if right there and then, she knew that you were the one who ate Miya's cake from the fridge last saturday night. "I can go now-"

Agatha's head turned to Wanda, dismissing you as she stood up straight. "Cancel all the remaining interviews. I'll tell you when we're done." She said, only to receive a nod from the red head that held a hopefull gaze.

The gaze you didn't noticed as you stood there, all your attention on the woman in front of you. Just then, you noticed the height difference between that both of you, how she overtowered your small frame and how her scent invaded your senses.

You hands trembled as it hold the strap of your bag, not knowing what to do or think. Then, it was like a fleeting moment before her eyes were on you again, it didn't hold the sharp professional gaze she gave the red head earlier. There was a certain amusement with how she looked at you, a spark you couldn't name if it's confusion or something along the lines of wanting more information.

As you stand there, you watched as one of the side of her lips turned up, before walking towards the expensive singke sofa beside yours. Sitting down on it oh so casually, she patted her hand on the arm of the sofa and motioned her gaze for you to sit back, which you did.

"So, tell me more about you, Ms. Y/l/n."

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"Its smart business." Agatha explained after Y/n asked about the charity she did on Africa."You don't agree?" Agatha immediately asked, seeing the uncertain look she received from the young girl.

"I don't know enough about it." Y/n said truthfully, her face full of innocence about businesses. "I just wonder, if your heart might be a bit bigger than you want to let on?" She continued, saying it carefully as if she fears that she'll say something that the woman would not like or be offended from.

"But some people say I don't have a heart." Agatha sai flatly, her eyes looking for something on Y/n's face before looking away.

"Why would they say that?" Seeing the confused frown for the young woman's face, she smiled as if she was asked about a joke.

Shaking her head as if she's in disbelief, she answered, "Because they know me well." Hearing the silence from the other person inside the room with her, Agatha felt her heart jump a little at the distant look on Y/n's face.

Agatha thought deeply on what she might be thinking. Does she think bad of her now? Just like what everyone thought her to be. Made her to be.

Before she could even overthink more, a question casually fell out of Y/n's lips that she had caught herself gazing at for the nth time.

Y/n shook the thought of her interaction with the famous CEO in the city of Westview, one of the big cities in the country of New York City. Y/n thought how she was so far from what they pictured her to be.

Those tabloid that reported how men and women were left on her trail with a heart broken and a company crumbled into pieces. She's the infamous CEO that either often bad mouthed on or praised. Y/n doesn't know, but she saw she saw and experienced what she did.

There was kindness underneath that walls that Y/n could see she built so high, it makes her think so deep if she's the only interviewee that Agatha had talked to like that, maybe, the universe was just in good mood.

The interview ended when Ms. Maximoff once again went in, telling the CEO that she has an important meeting to go to. It might've been just Y/n being delusional, but she saw how Ms. Harkness—or should she say, Agatha, stared at her for too long. Contemplating wether to end the conversation or once again cancel something.

With a few more serious demand from the red head, she heard the CEO sighed and they bid their goodbyes with Agatha accompanying the young girl on the way to the elevator.

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Y/n's POV:

"Y/n." Agatha said, it sounded so rich. My mouth agaped as the elevator dinged, surprised with how it rolled off on her tounge. I'd die to hear it one more time—what?! No, shut up, Y/n.

Before the door closed, I managed to let out, "Agatha." A smile playing on my face.

Shaking my head as I restock a layer of locks, being in the hardware could so boring, tiring and at the same time satisfying. And what I mean by satisfying is I get to organized things like this.

"Hey, would you mind helping me back there?" Eric asked snapping me out of my thoughts, one my co-worker who is on shift today with me.

"Oh-, yeah, yeah, sure." He nodded with a grateful smile and walked past me, going straight to the storage room.

Sighing, I put aside the box and took a mental note to finish it all off later. Inhaling with closed eyes before I started walking off, stretching my neck as I did so.

"Thought it was you." Jumping at the sound of a familiar voice, deep and with a certain playful tone.

"What the fuck?..." Thankfully, I managed to whisper it and tone my voice down, but with the look on her face, I knew she heard it.

"What a pleasant surprise, Ms. Y/L/N." She said with the same smirk that she gave me so many times back in her office.

"Y/n." I blurted out, waving her off as I started walking slowly towards her unconsciously. "Just... Y/n." Stopping when I'm a few feet away. "You're here?" I asked, looking behind her when I saw that another customer just got it.

She shrugged. "I was in the area of business. Need to pick up a few things." She looked back behind her, noticing that I was checking the hardware. "Are you free?" My eyes snapped at her, not clearly understanding what she was asking.

Mentally cursing myself, I immediately answered. "Yeah, what can I help you with?" She shook her head before looking down while chuckling quietly, as if having a silent conversation with herself.

She started listing off the things she needs and I nodded. "Cable ties, yes we do have those. I can show you if you want." I offered, looking at her as I bite my lip, waiting for her answer.

I caught her staring at my lips, making me pull away and lick it. "Lead the way, Ms. Y/L/N." She said, now with her voice sounding a little bit lower than usual, just then her gaze met mine.

Smiling slightly. "It's Y/n." I reminded before turning to lead her where the cable ties are.

"You know, when you said you were working in a hardware... I was having thoughts about it. But... here you are." Frowning as I gave her the cable ties, which she accepted immediately.

I saw a smile playing on her face. "Why?" I asked curiously, a short giggle coming out from my mouth.

She shook her head. "Nothing, just that... you don't seem like a girl who would deal with so much testosterone around her." Shrugging, she pointed on the rope, and gestured a number 6 with her fingers.

Nodding, I went over to it and started measuring. "Hmm, stereotyping, aren't we, Ms. Harkness?" I narrowed my eyes at her and once again, I was met with one of the most gorgeous chuckle in my lifetime.

She looked at me with a certain amusement playing in her eyes, shaking her head as she took the rope from my hand. "Just kidding." She put everything in one hand, before looking around. "Do you have tapes?" I nodded and pointed on an aisle we haven't passed through.

"We have one inch and two inches, but the truly self respecting handyman would have both in his tool box. Of course he will. It's rare to find a connoisseur these days..." I rambled, not giving her chance to reply, I gave her both.

"Are you a girls scout?" I smiled and shook my head.

"I told you, I'm a member of so many recreational... organization." I said as I look at her things, only then noticing what she was wearing. She looks so simple but so... argh, magnificent at the same time. Clad in purple long sleeves and slacks.

"Are you done checking me out or do I have to wait til I can check these out?" She joked, and I giggled, looking away, trying to hide the mark of an embarrassment crossing my face.

"I just thought how you'd be a perfect casting for a serial killer in a movie right now. We have overalls, if you'd like. Blood might stick on your million dollar clothes." I bite back, looking up at her teasingly, only to find her smirking at me as if she's very entertained by our banter.

Well, I am too. I don't know where I'm getting all that courage to even try on coming toe to toe with her. Maybe it's the way she seemed to be listening so intently on me, hanging on to every words that I say, or maybe it's because I feel comfortable in her atmosphere.

"Could just take off my clothes." Immediately pulling out the smile on my face, my eyes widen a little before she chuckled once again.

"Okay, let me lead you to the counter now." I said, finishing whatever's going to happen in our conversation.

She was still chuckling quietly until we reached the counter when I started checking out the things she got. "Did the company emailed you already?" She asked out of nowhere, making me frown in confusion and look at her face.

"Hmm, my laptop's down... I haven't really checked my email yet, why?" Looking at the computed before I bagged her things up, not thinking much of her question.

"Well, you should. Wanda's been tearing my ear off because you're taking too long to answer and she's—unfortunately, getting tired of me." Rolling her eyes while shrugging.

My eyes narrowed. "Wait... does that mean?..." I asked, not knowing what to say but she seemed to know what it was as she smiled softly and nodded.

"If you don't email back until today, I might change my mind." She shrugged, looking at me teasingly and I gasped, jumping on my tippy toes.

"No! No, no! I'll check it out and send something as soon as possible! I promise! I'll just borrow Miya's laptop." I rambled, and she nodded.

"Your friend, right? Roomate?" She said, taking the bag from my hand and I smiled, amused and surprised that she even remembered that.

"Wow, you remembered..." I said, amusement lacing my tone. "Yeah, yeah, my friend and roomate." I confirmed.

"Well then, I'll be waiting for your email, Y/n." She smiled at me before a person lined up behind her to check out.

"Very well, Agat—Ms. Harkness." Smilling back up at her.

"It's Agatha." She replied, already turning to leave.

"Not until today." I said, giggling, only to receive a shrugged from her, just like that she's gone.

God, the universe might have been having a very good week.

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Sighing, I got out of my knocked up classic car—still the car that I love so much. It's from my dad, gifted it to me for Christmas when I turned 18. Thankfully, it was not that busy on the hardware earlier today, I managed to get off of work early.

It's almost dinner, I doubt Miya would be here, since she's been spending more time on her girlfriend's house for the semestral break. But, as soon as I step inside the house, a body collided with mind and warmth filled my body as I smiled.

"Oh my god! I missed you!" I giggled, almost carrying her with how she's putting all her weight on me.

"Miya! You're here." I laughed. "When did you get home?" I asked and it took her several seconds to pull away before answering, pulling me with her on the couch.

"Yelena dropped me off earlier, and you! We have so many things to catch up! What happened to the interview? How've you been? Did you get that dog you've been wanting to adopt?" I looked at her weirdly but in a playful away, putting my hand on her mouth.

"Okay, okay, slow your horses down." She giggled and pushed my hands away, only to intertwine hers with it and put it in between of us. "First of all, you're acting like we haven't seen each other in months, gosh." I exasperated, rolling my eyes with the same smile playing on my face.

"Hey!" She pulled her hands away and crossed her arms in front of her. "A week is too long! We barely even text." She bit back and I rolled my eyes.

"Well, if you didn't always choose your girlfriend over me then you won't miss me big time." I teased. "Okay, let's stop this..." I crisscross my legs and put my whole front facing her.

She giggled and did the same, looking at me with awaiting eyes, making me smile once more. "Start at the interview! Was she hot? Oh! Is she like... mean? God, I bet all you could think was those fictions you read on wattpad." She laughed, throwing her head back and I frowned.

"Hey! You mean, those weird things that you made me read? And, I am certainly not like that or into that. Okay, wait! The interview went..." I trailed off, now did I only pondered deeply how did it really went. Gosh, I knew I thought of it—or her, mostly.

I mean, I knew I won't pass the intervew and get the job, the less expectations the better. That's why I was really shocked to hear her say that I got it, which I took a mental note on borrowing Miya's laptop later that she left on her room.

"Well?..." I said, not knowing even to myself if I am saying it to her or myself. Her mouth opened and I knew I am getting a whole bunch of heavy and loud questions, demanding a straight answer, but before she could even continue, the doorbell rang and we both looked towards the door then back at each other.

"I got it!" She stood up quickly, rushing to it and I was left thinking what should I tell her.

I mean, I know she'll think of so many things if I told her that the interview didn't really went as an... interview about the job, right? And, I can't tell her about how oh so casual did the famous CEO of our city acted so... casual and normal with me. God, I certainly can't tell her that I saw her again earlier.

Miya will yap my ear off about her weird fantasies that I sometimes get tired of... and also plagues my mind in the most annoying way.

"Hey, you got a gift." Before I even knew it, her feet came into my view and I looked up at her frowning, looking at the big box in her hands, not daring to take it.

"What? What's that?" Full of curiosity lacing my voice.

"How could I know, dumbass." She dropped it on my lap before taking a sit next to me.

I was left to hold the box, gazing at it as it would give me answers only to see a note peeking on the side. It was only a paper folded in a half, making it easier for me to get a glimpse of what is inside when I opened it, which is a short letter and an initial at the end.

Hoping for my assistant's immediate answer, Ms. Y/L/N. Maximoff so close to resigning.

-A.H

"What does it say?" Leaning towards me to get a glimpse of the note, she pondered. "A.H?" She asked out loud.

Then it hit me. Before I could even take it away from her sight, I heard her gasp. My heart jumping miles away from the sky. Not bothering to look at her, I opened the box and was met with a brand new MacBook that probably cost my income for 10 months.

"Oh my god..." I mumbled, not knowing what to feel.

"Ms. Hakrness sent you this?!"

"Oh god."

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Author's Note: Merry Christmas! 🎁

[leafostuff]

Welcome to the CATS club [Ft. kep1er Chaehyun]

Tags: Fluff, Cuddles, Comfort-ish?, Sweet talk, No beta we die like Chaehyun's Scalp

Author's note: worked on this for a while but i am proud to finally release this, make sure to tune in later for an announcement regarding my activities on the app

And have fun reading this cute fluff

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“Are you sure this is the right place?”

You say to your best friend through the phone, you are confused after he calls you at 8 AM claiming he has found a way to cure your loneliness, which all he did was send you a random address to a place called “CATS” without much explanation

You were reluctant to agree but after thinking out loud, you realize that there isnt much to lose, worst case scenario you wasted an hour or so trying something new.

“Im sure bro, i had a friend of my cousin go here, 2 hours later and he never felt more relaxed” he speaks with confidence and without a choice you sigh in defeat

“Ok, whatever” you say, saying a quick goodbye before ending the call, you look at the place: quite the average look for a morning club, you can see from the outside people having casual talks, some laughing and overall having a good time,

As you get inside the place you hear a ding from the doorbell above you, soon after hearing a feminine voice saying “Hey, come here”.

Locating the origin of the voice it comes from the counter at the other side of the lobby, a girl around her early twenties, close to your age waves at you, signaling you to walk toward her

“Welcome, it's always a treat to see a new face coming here, what's your name” she asks, her voice is quite soft yet energetic.

“Oh, i'm Lee Jihoon, nice to meet you ms…” you say, reaching your hand for a handshake, she simply laughs and shakes your hand back

“Chaehyun, Kim Chaehyun” she exclaims, smiling lightly at you before she continues to talk “Now then: how did you find out about our club?” She asks

“Oh, a good friend of mine recommended me this place” you answer “i must say though: for a club that calls itself ‘CATS’, there isnt a lot of cats going around here, are they like sleeping or something” you say, trying to see if you miss any however as you look back at Chaehyun she looks quite puzzled

“Why would there be any animals here?”

“This is a cat cafe, no?”

Your question make her surprised for a second but soon after she begins to giggle, you are not sure if you said something dumb.

“I guess your friend didn't tell you when he recommended this place didn't he” she asks, you are not sure what to respond but she continues, “CATS is an acronym for ‘Club against touch starvation’” she explains but you are still confused.

“Club Against touch starvation?”

“Basically: this place is a cuddle club” she says cheerfully as everything makes more sense now, looking around again you notice how people are holding hands, laying their head on someone's, some even hugging each other as you could feel yourself getting more and more uncomfortable

“Oh…i didnt turn turn you off from the idea, didnt i?” She asks, tilting her head as she looks worried, it may be part of her job to ask however her eyes genuinely looked like it was real.

“No no, its not that…its just”

“Not what you were expecting?” She asks as you nodded, “Well makes sense, our club name is easily confused, and i guess your friend didnt know” she added, you sighed as this logic did seem sound considering your best friend didn't really explain to you about the club itself, as you were starting to turn away and walk out of the club, Chaehyun quickly moved in front of you.

“i have an idea” She exclaimed, “I will have today for you completely on the house, i will show you around, you just try to soak in the vibe of the place and after this you will make your decision about this club? I have a feeling you will really like it here” she explains

You couldn't lie to yourself that even though this idea seemed completely off from what you expected when you got in here, you were curious about this place now, more than before, so as you look around, you slowly nod as Chaehyun eyes shine at your response

“Great!!, follow me will you?” she said as you happily joined her, throughout the tour she showed you all of the places you need to know, from the lobby to the cafe itself, the place is full of sofas where people are all cuddled up with each other (“just know that if you are not comfortable with cuddling you can always sit on the barstools” she says, she knows you are still nervous).

“Hey, you're there? You look like zoned out for a sec there” Chaehyun’s voice gets you out of your inner monologue.

“yeah yeah i am here, is the tour over?” You ask

“Almost, the only thing left is the quiet rooms” she says, pointing toward them. “Those rooms are mostly used for people that feel uncomfortable cuddling in public, or just some people who wants to nap” she adds

“This is actually is my favourite part of the club, as i go there to nap during my breaks” she jokingly says, letting herself release a quick laugh as from her pocket she takes out a key and opens one of the doors, “Lets go in?”

You both head inside, the room itself isn't that big, just enough for a double mattress and 2 couches, “Wow… i got to say, this place is quite impressive” you say, now sitting on the couch as Chaehyun finds her spot on the mattress.

“I know, right? I am actually one of the Co founders of the place” she says, catching you off guard

“You are joking right?”

“Dead serious, my best friend is the owner of the club, and i am the first one who joined her business” she explains, her position now switches from her sitting on the bed to now lying front down, looking at you with a peaceful yet still sweet smile

A bit nervous, you ask, “why are looking me like that”

“Sorry sorry its just like…what are you doing here?” She responds with a question

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, people come here because feel depressed, lonely or just…need someone to hug her, but from the 30 or so minutes that i know, you seem like someone who doesn't really need this place” she explains, you can see from her face she is trying to navigate that question without offending you.

“Well, my friend is the one who suggested me this place, you can always ask him” you respond, jokingly

“Well, he must've suggested this place for a reason, no? So something must go on in your life”

You stay quiet for a moment as the moment became more serious even Chaehyun's face changed from cheerful yo to worried, not sure what to say but soon you continue talking

“I mean…it has been a while since that happened but i did break up with my ex 4 months ago” you explain, just remembering this makes your heart ache again.

“I see…makes sense why your friend told you to come here” Chaehyun says

“I dont know, i doubt that i am feeling sad just because of that” you respond however she simply sighed before she continues to talk

“Well you see, while breakup itself may have not been affecting you, it is something important when it comes to touch deprivation, have you two used to cuddle a lot?” She asks as you respond with a simple nod, “so your body does miss the physical touch you had" she adds

“Hmm…that makes sense, and its not like i hug others” you add, thinking about her explanation

“You see, for a lot of people, the idea of being hugged or even being touched by someone that isnt your partner is inappropriate or even weird…but not here” she explains, now patting the side of her signaling you to sit as hesitantly you get up from the couch and move to the mattress near her, getting up and now sitting near you

“In this club we believe that physical touch is the best way to heal from the life experience, if its a breakup with your special one or a loss of a family member” Chaehyun adds, you now notice that while she was talking, her hand inched slowly toward you before stopping near your hand while her eyes directly staring at yours, as if telepathically she asks ‘Can i?’

Your heartbeat starts to race while your cheeks reveal a shade of pink, but you manage to take a deep breath and nod in agreement, Chaehyun smiles lightly at your response.

“And if you feel uncomfortable just say and I'll stop, okay?”

“Got it” you answer, her hand now intertwining with yours, “I am just starting with this ok?” she says, now her thumb rubbing on the skin of your palm.

“You can also rub mine if you want” you oblige as your thumb joins her, “just like that hehe…yeah” she giggles, try to make some form of eye contact with you but your too nervous so the best you can do is look down.

“This first step is good for people who have been touch deprived for a while” she adds

“You really…know your way about this stuff don't you?” You ask, it isn't too weird, right? You are already feeling awkward by the situation, so this would turn it up to 11.

“Yeah haha” she chuckles, now its her turn to blush, “this is actually my specialty In this place, so knowing about all of this stuff is kind of my job”

“What do you mean?” You ask

“Well, for a lot of people, this type of club is embarrassing for the first time, so I am there to ease people into the concept,” Chaehyun explains, now her thumb doing little drawings on the back of your hand instead of just rubbing it.

“Oh…that's cool” you sheepishly hum, looking away, your hand holding mate noticed you as she giggles lightly.

“You are doing very well Jihoon, i am surprised you already getting comfortable as someone who just came here 30 minutes ago” Chaehyun says, her left hand now grabbing your left hand, mirroring the right hand in rubbing your skin as you could feel the heat of your cheeks rising higher and higher.

“Would you like to go to the next step?” She asks

“There is a next step?”

“Only if you are comfortable, it's nothing drastic” she reminds, nod in response as her smiles grow larger, as her palms leave your own, now travelling across your arms, wrists to shoulder

You are a blushing mess right now, her touch too soft for you to handle thinking straight, you could swear your heart rate is on 200. “it feels good…” but you dont mind, if everything you wont mind if it could last forever.

“I'm happy, you can do the same to me” you oblige and follow her movements, time might as well pass like a snail, the moment is serene, pure even. The only indicator that you know time did not stop is that you could feel both of you falling into the mattress, both lying facing each other as your hands still moved around the arms.

Eventually you become bolder as you ask “Can…i hug you?”, Chaehyun face is surprised but quickly returns to her default smile.

“Of course, let me scoot closer, ok?” Chaehyun says, now inching closer toward you, practically you are at a nose length of each other as she now lets her arms wrap around you.

You could almost instantly feel how the stress that built up in your body starts to disappear as by instinct your head finds its rest on her shoulder.

“You’re so exhausted baby, you really need this don't you?” was that a pet name? Eh you are too tired to think, it's probably part of her job and honestly, who cares? so instead just let your arms go behind her back and let yourself melt into the embrace

“Mmm” you lightly nod, you don't even have the energy to talk from how soft you feel right now, Chaehyun’s right hand gently rake your hair while her other hand slowly scratches your back

You slowly raise your head, slowly looking at Chaehyun, her eyes mirorr her mouth in her bright smile while your timid eyes looking directly into hers, a small giggle comes as she asks, “i think you want to stay like this for a little more, don't you?”.

Even though your brain might as well be mush from how soft her entire body is, wrapped around yours and letting you feel her warmth surrounding you, you have enough energy to mumble words of agreement as her hands pull your head back into her neck

“Good, just let yourself enjoy it”

=================================

“So?”

“So what?”

“For the first time, what do you think?” Chaehyun asks, both of you out of the silence room, looking at your watch you see that only 2 hours has passed since you got inside there however it might as well be the entire day by how relaxed you feel.

“It's good, honestly it felt really good, i get what you meant when you said i would like it here,” you answer, still surprised that you actually were just cuddling someone for that long of a time.

“Really? I'm glad that you had fun,” she exclaims, her eyes shining brightly, eventually the both of you are back at the same counter where you met the girl in front of you. “So I will see you next week?”

“Next week?” You ask, a bit confused

“Of course, sessions like those are perks of new club members, and you did say you will join the club in the quiet”

“Yeah…i guess i did” you say awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck while the both of you share a laugh

“So what do you say? Are you joining the club officially?” She asks now, as you remember how up until now you never felt more happy than now, you have your answer in mind.

“Yeah, why not, it will probably be fun” you say as Chaehyun's face brightens up from excitement.

“Great, i am so happy you decided to join” she says, giving you a high five and a small hug, “I will see you next week then” she adds as you wave goodbye, walking out of the club, but not before looking back, seeing the smiling girl returning the waving, the rather chill and relaxed atmosphere as you think to yourself.

“I think I am gonna enjoy it here”

=================================

Posted on June 27th 2024

[thepersonnamedsam]

she got this - op81

pairing: oscar piastri x academic!girlfriend

summary: oscar visits his girlfriends bachelor thesis defending

word count: 1.3k

face claim: phoebe bridgers

warnings: a swear word, some angst - mentions of a panic attack

note: this is for my baby @lissyontour, you got this, pls wish her good luck for today <3

oh and it’s my first oscar fic, hihi, enjoy it

and there is some of the bachelor thesis… i had to include some of it, thanks to chat gpt

masterlist / taglist

Fuck, was she nervous. Her head was spinning and her legs were jelly - no, scratch that - her legs were liquid.

Her eyes were trying to focus on something, just something that would help her back to reality. She knew she was somewhere else right now, somewhere where she shouldn’t be.

Why wasn’t Oscar with her? Why was she alone? This was not how she planned it!

Her heart was beating, she felt it nearly pop out of her chest. It almost hurt. Oscar should’ve been here with her, but a last minute meeting with Zak just threw her plans overboard.

Her breath quickend and her hands searched for the only safe thing she could think of, her phone. Her fingers quickly glided over the screen and Oscars answer made her hold her breath for a second.

Standing in front of the auditorium, the heavy red doors made her uneasy. It’s gonna be time soon.

Oscar had to hold himself back not to text her that he was actually sitting in the front row and waiting for her to enter the room. He knew it was cruel. But he just had to do it.

He was so much more nervous than her. He watched her write that bachelor thesis for over six months now. At every race she was sitting in his drivers room with at least ten books and her laptop. Only just for the last five laps she came out of the room to watch him race.

He appreciated her coming, she could’ve just stayed at home and studied, but she always came with. Multitasking her way through her studies. And he was so proud of her. There was no way he would miss her final step of the way.

And he knew his cruelty was all worth it, as she stepped into the room and her eyes spotted his. Her whole face lit up and he could almost spot some tears of relief.

„What are you doing here?“, she mouthed. A small smile on her lips. „Supporting you“, he mouthed back, matching her smile.

„Welcome Ms y/l/n!“, her professor welcomed her. „I am exited to hear you defend your bachelor thesis about; How Greek Mythology influenced modern literature.“

She smiled at her favourite teacher and took out her thesis. She closed her eyes for a second, breathed in and out again. She was ready. Oscar knew she studied English literature and oh did that make her sexy.

But he had no idea of Greek Mythology or modern literature by any means. Yes, he read her thesis at least twice, but did his brain understand anything she meant? It did not. Being the smart one was all her job.

„Welcome Professor McAllister, dear colleagues, guests and friends. I hereby welcome you dearly to my defending of my bachelor thesis: How Greek Mythology influenced modern literature.“

Oscar listened intently and always smiled when she looked at him for reassurance. His heart was swelling with proudness. He soon had a girlfriend with a bachelor degree.

„In the vast tapestry of literary evolution, Greek mythology stands as an enduring thread, weaving its timeless narratives into the very fabric of modern literature. As contemporary authors navigate the labyrinth of inspiration, they find themselves entwined with the rich tapestry of gods, heroes, and mythical creatures that originated in ancient Greece.

The resurgence of interest in Greek mythology can be traced to its profound impact on archetypal storytelling. From the lofty heights of Mount Olympus to the depths of the Underworld, these tales resonate with universal themes that transcend temporal and cultural boundaries. Authors draw from the exploits of Zeus, the sagas of heroes like Achilles, and the tragedies of figures like Oedipus to explore complex facets of human nature. The gods' capriciousness mirrors the unpredictable forces that shape our destinies, while the struggles of mortals against divine intervention echo the perennial human quest for agency in the face of cosmic uncertainty.

Prominent literary figures, from James Joyce to J.K. Rowling, have paid homage to Greek mythology, infusing their works with echoes of ancient narratives. The hero's journey, a concept rooted in the mythic structure of heroes like Perseus and Hercules, serves as a narrative template for protagonists in contemporary novels. These echoes are not mere nostalgic nods; they represent a perennial dialogue between past and present, a dialogue in which timeless themes find new expression.

Moreover, the enduring allure of Greek mythology lies in its malleability. Authors wield the myths as allegorical tools to explore issues ranging from power dynamics and hubris to the nuances of morality. The Hydra of Lerna becomes a metaphor for societal challenges that sprout anew when seemingly eradicated, and the labyrinthine trials of Theseus mirror the complexities of modern ethical dilemmas.

In essence, the enduring influence of Greek mythology on modern literature is a testament to the universality of its themes and the perennial resonance of its characters. As authors continue to delve into the wellspring of ancient tales, they discover not relics of a bygone era, but rather a living reservoir of inspiration that fuels the imagination of generations, perpetuating the eternal dance between the ancient and the contemporary.“

Her voice angelic as it could be, drew in people who never even heard of the topic. You didn’t have to be interested in Greek Mythology to listen to her thesis, because she delivered her speech that even Oscar understood and left him wanting to know more about it.

My god was he proud. He was in awe, his beautiful girlfriend standing up there, speaking about her passion and delivering it in a way he never thought she could.

Even the look on Professor McAllister made him proud. She looked at his girlfriend with a proud smile, nodding along with her and reassuring her. She was gonna ace this.

Oscar was snapped out of it when the whole auditorium clapped. She was standing with the biggest smile on that stage. Oscar just had to get a picture of her. His new wallpaper.

„Thank you, Ms y/l/n. This was magnificent! We‘ll just discuss real quick and we‘ll be back with your grade. You can be proud of yourself, Ms y/l/n“, Professor McAllister told the young woman on stage.

And as soon as they left the room, she squealed and ran to Oscar. He opened his arms and let the girl spring into his embrace. „Hi“, he whispered. „Hi“, she whispered back. „I thought you weren’t coming?“

He laughed, a real deep belly laugh. „I had to surprise you!“ She hit his shoulder and said: „I hate you, but I’m glad you came.“

„You did so well, my love. I am so proud of you! We have to celebrate afterwards, anything you want.“

The time together was cut short, when the door opened again and the four professors walked in again. „Ms y/l/n, please, have a seat“, her professor said and pointed to the chair sat in front of the four.

She nervously walked over to them and smiled at them. „No need to be nervous, you did well, you can be proud of yourself.“

They talked stuff Oscar didn’t understand. But when he saw a big smile form on her face, he knew she received the best grade she could’ve. Proud, that’s the only word that came to Oscar’s mind.

„I love the boys“, she told Oscar. He smiled up at her and said: „I know you do, but only I can celebrate with you today.“ She giggled and would’ve almost kicked her feet, if it weren’t for the others in the room.

Professor McAllister handed y/n her diploma and told her they’d see each other at official ceremony. After that, Oscar and his girlfriend almost sprinted out of the auditorium.

oscarpiastri

liked by yninsta, landonorris and 82‘729 others

oscarpiastri how did we get from that to this?

view all 22‘219 comments

yninsta the first one is NOT me, idk where you got this from

user1 weren’t we all at that point during our studies?

user2 yes, yes we were

yninsta glad i wasn’t alone…

oscarpiastri so it was you

yninsta oop-

landonorris congrats, y/n! when we gonna get a lecture about greek mythology from you?

yninsta any day you want

landonorris now?

oscarpiastri no, now she’s busy with me

landonorris ewww, my eyes are scarred, don’t ever come back to the mclaren garage

oscarpiastri i didn’t mean it that way

yninsta he did

landonorris you’re just kids

user3 we love an academic wag

user4 so proud of you, y/n!

mclaren congratulations, y/n, next podium is for you 🍾

yninsta thank you, admin

yninsta thank you, baby

oscarpiastri i am so proud of you, darling

loganseargant i cannot believe i have a friend with a bachelors degree…

yninsta better believe it, american boy

user4 do u even know what a bachelors degree is..?

user5 american slander, we love it

alex_albon we are all proud, y/n

user6 we really are

yninsta thank you all so much, i love you guys so much

georgerussel63 oh no, she’s getting sentimental, let’s stop here guys

°°°

@ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @biglittlesecret , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21 , @youkissedareaderinthedark , @mikauraur , @thybulleric , @lpab , @fdl305 , @mellowarcadefun , @teti-menchon0604 , @vildetry06 , @bibissparkles , @aurora-maria , @lunnnix , @sya-skies , @Buckywifeyy , @dakotali , @rechtrecht , @noncannonships , @1eclerc16 , @pitlanebabe , @sopheeg , @avengersheart , @thatsadsmallchild , @peachiicherries , @idkiwantchocolatee , @callsign-scully , @mehrmonga , @badbatch-simp24 , @lissyontour , @din0nugs , @elliegrey2803 , @gay-for-victoria-de-angelis , @10vely-yutazen , @daggersquadphantom , @azriel-the-shadowsinger , @i-love-scott-mccall , @darleneslane , @mikauraur , @heartmetaphor , @darleneslane , @ellswilliams , @thxtmarvelchick , @nataliambc , @dontjudgeabookbythecover , @hockeyboysarehot , @thehistoryone

[thecuriousbeauty]

Traitor-The Present

Chapter 1

Synopsis:y/n is a hard working painter, trying to make the ends meet. She lives with and takes care of her sick Uncle, the only one she has for a family. She has dreams to make it big, and when the desperation for money strikes, she has to make a choice. Walk away after listening to an incredible deal that would fix all her problems, or take up the deal. A top secret, risky deal, which involves meeting Harry Styles.A man once rumored to be a dangerous secret weapon of a leading mafia. artist!y/n x mafia!harry (he's also a doctor)

Word Count: 3601

Author's note: This chapter is just a start to what I hope will be a very interesting thriller. This is my fan first fiction, but I've made sure that it's all planned out properly for you guys. Warnings will be mentioned at the beginning of every chapter. Please re blog to support me if you like it! Next chapter will be up very soon:)

Warnings: Talks about mafia, gold smuggling, accident.

___________________________________________

"Ms. y/l/n, this is the second time I'm calling you, I'm afraid I cannot wait longer. I may have to-"

y/n closes her eyes, bringing her index and thumb finger to squeeze at the skin of the bridge of her nose. "No, no! Mr. Timothy please give me some time, I promise I'll send everything I owe you, just give me some time."

She was due on her rent on the little place she and her uncle call as home.

"I can't give you any more time, Miss. By tomorrow 8 pm, or I'll have you evicted.", Mr. Timothy told her on the phone. 

"Yes, um thank you." y/n sighs as she keeps her phone on the table, and looks around at the mess of her living room. It was a small flat, with a decent living room, a comfortable couch, a TV where her uncle usually spends away the day when she's out working, and two bedrooms. 

Her phone beeped, with an alarm to make sure her uncle took her medicines, and she walked to his bedroom. He was resting on the bed, back supported by a pillow as he read a book. He loves books on underworld mysteries and mafias. She never gets it. 

"Uncle Luke, it's time for your meds.", she says. 

From the time she remembers, y/n was raised by her uncle. She doesn't remember having a father, or a mother, she only has her Uncle Luke to call as family. Whenever she asked him about her family, he would stroke her hair and tell her that no one realized how special she was.

She loved her uncle, he was her father figure. Uncle Luke got diagnosed with Alzheimer's a few months back, and he had to retire from his job as a librarian. Sometimes, he appears completely normal. y/n's heart breaks when she sees the painful expression on her uncle's face as he tries to remember something that shouldn't have been that difficult to remember.

"I took them.", her uncle smiles at her, lifting his eyes from the book. "Are you okay? You seem stressed."

She smiles for his sake, nodding. "Just tired. You need anything?"

Uncle Luke shakes his head, before taking her hand. "Is it money? I can help you out, go back to my job-"

"-No, Uncle Luke, I got it.", y/n squeezes his hand. "I just need you to rest up and be okay. I'm gonna try and squeeze in another job, I'll work something out. I've gotta go now."

Uncle Luke nods, gently ruffling her hair. "Off you go, y/n."

"See you in the evening!"

y/n rushes out the door, and takes the train to the cafe. She doesn't work as a barista, the cafe wanted someone to paint beautiful pictures on the canvas while their customers enjoyed their service. The Golden Cup cafe was a beautiful place. Covered with greenery, sweet smelling flowers and little tables around. 

y/n set up her canvas, paints and brushes. "Morning.", her best friend Sania nudges her elbow. Sania works as a server in the same cafe, and they have been best friends since the first day they met.

"Good morning. It's not good though, I hope yours was good.", y/n rambles, stressed about her desperate need for money.

"Woah, what happened?", Sania asks watching her mix a few colors onto her palate. y/n tells her about the rent problems, and Sania nods understandingly. She also had her debt issues, but recently, she was doing well. y/n thought her rough patch would also be over soon, but she had no hope now. 

"I can set you up an appointment with the people I was talking about.", Sania tells her, and it gains her attention. "They can help you."

"I don't want to do anything illegal Sania-"

"-No, it's not illegal. It's off charts, but you're gonna get money in exchange for a task they assign you. It's simple!"

"That task may involve illegal activities.", y/n shakes her head. Last thing she needed was to go to jail, leaving her uncle all alone.

"No, it won't. Come on y/n, they helped me.", Sania smiles at another coworker, and lowers her voice. "You don't even have to agree immediately, you can decide and get back to them. This job isn't going to be enough to make ends meet and you know that. Think about it."

"Sania take table 4 please!"

"Yes.", Sania nodded at y/n. "I have to get back to work."

y/n also had to get to work, she smiled at the customers before putting her brush to the canvas. She doesn't decide on what to paint. She just lets the inspiration take over. The customers watched in awe as her hand moved skillfully, without an effort. y/n didn't think about her problems when she painted. When she painted, she was in her own world where everything was alright. That was why her paintings all turned out extraordinary.

She talked to the customers who came up to her. During her break, she sat with her cold mint lemon tea and thought about everything Sania said. She was right, she needed the money. Just talking with them wouldn't hurt would it? 

She approached Sania later on that day. "I'll um, I'll talk to them."

"Good! I'll set you up a meeting tonight.", Sania smiled and gave her a side hug. "The choice will be yours babe, to take up the offer or not."

y/n looks around nervously as Sania leads her through an alleyway. It was a sketchy place. There were no people around. 

"Are you sure this is the right place?", y/n whispers.

"Yes.", Sania holds her hand. "They like to be discreet."

"Why? Because of their illegal businesses?"

"Stel. I don't know if they have illegal businesses or not, but they won't involve you in anything like that. There, that's the building. Third floor."

"You're not coming with me?", y/n asks as she stares up at the tall building. It looked musty and old. Much like a haunted house.

"No, but I'll wait for you in the car, okay?", Sania says and y/n sighs, wondering if this was a bad idea. "You'll be fine.", Sania assures.

y/n nods, and goes inside the building. She took the elevator, and waited until it got to the third floor. The building didn't look as bad inside.  

"y/n, y/l/n?", a man asks. He was tall, clad in a black shirt and black pants. He had an AirPod in his right ear, an expensive watch on his left arm. 

"Yes.", y/n answers and the man nods, before walking towards the end of the hallway. y/n assumed she was supposed to follow him so she did. They stopped at a room, and he opened it, stepping aside for her to enter. "Please."

The door closed behind her as she entered the room. She noticed the velvety purple couch in the middle of the room, where a bold looking woman sat. Neat white blouse tucked into dark red pants, along with red heels and red lipstick coating her lips made her look like the boss. She was the only one sitting, the other two men were leaning against a table, and the other was looking outside the window, not paying attention to her. They wore similar clothes to the man who brought her here.

The woman looks her down, her dark brown eyes trying to stare into her soul. Her short hair was sleeked back. 

"Miss y/l/n, please take a seat.", she gave her a smile, but y/n knew it wasn't a warm smile, it was more like a challenging smile. 

"Thanks." y/n sits on the chair in front of the woman. "I am Romania Pelt, nice to meet you.", the woman said, no shake of hands. 

"I guess you already know my name.", y/n replies nervously.

"Come on Hans, where are your manners? Ask our guest if she'd like something to drink.", Romania looks at the man leaning on the table and staring at y/n.

"Anything to drink?", he promptly asks.

"Um, mint lemon ice tea?", y/n blurts out nervously, and the man smirks in amusement, before turning around and fixing her a water. "Water will do too, thank you.", y/n takes a sip, and keeps the water on the table, before keeping her hands on her lap. 

"So Miss y/l/n, we know about the trouble you're in and we want to help you out.", Romania tells her.

"If you want to help me out, I have to do something for you. Let me tell you, I will not take part in anything involving illegal issues like drug dealing, or sexual favors for anyone.", y/n put it out.

"Okay.", Romania nods. "Anything else?"

"You know illegal includes dealing with unauthorized guns, stealing, trespassing-"

"We're aware what illegal covers.", Romania cuts her off, and the man chuckles like she was funny. "You're right about doing us a favor. Let me tell you about it."

y/n nods. "We have a big business, all around the world. We do a lot of things, which involves a lot of side operations.", Romania said in a way y/n wouldn't know what the things were. "But now we're at a little bit of a loss."

"I um can't help you with business.", y/n murmurs.

"I know. But you can help us bring back our main player."

y/n raises an eyebrow as Romania continued. "He was our leader. He was the best at everything. Masterplans, hacking, leading our opponents into traps. He was mainly in charge of the gold smuggling. One night when he was travelling with the gold along with his partner, something happened between them. All we know is that there was a blast, and his partner died. The gold was gone too."

"He didn't die?", y/n asked.

"No.", Romania smiled. "Harry Styles does not go down easily."

Harry Styles. y/n liked the story but she didn't like what she was going to hear. "In the blast, Harry suffered a severe head injury. He was in a coma for a while, but he came back. Unfortunately, he doesn't remember anything that happened.", Romania said. "He has forgotten everything about his past life. We know it must have scared him deeply, losing his partner. She was his lover. Reagan Jones. She was the only one in our unit who was just as good as Harry. They both were literally, a power couple."

y/n felt bad for the guy. "When Reagan died, Harry permanently lost a piece of him too. Not a small piece. A large part of his past life."

"W-What's he doing now?", y/n asks.

"He is a doctor.", Romania says. "Only we knew him as who he was. On the outside he maintained an image as our Doctor. He remembers about being a doctor, so that's how he's leading a living now. Everyone knew about Reagen and not to mess with her, but Harry was our secret weapon, and we need him back. We've given him enough time to sulk about Reagen. It was unfortunate, and we all hate that we lost her but we need Harry back in his bearings."

"What do you want me to do about that?", y/n asks confused.

"You need to befriend him.", Romania says. "Talk to him, get to know him. We heard from Sania that you love talking, and you're great with customers. So do your thing. Eventually, we need you to ask him about what happened that night, what really went wrong, where is the gold?"

"You just said he doesn't remember."

Romania and Hans smile, even the man who was looking outside the window up until now and ignoring y/n, now turns around. "You are going to make him remember.", he said in his gruff voice.

"I'm not a brain surgeon!", y/n scoffed out a laugh. Who do these people think she is?

"We think Harry remembers everything. But he is putting on a show, a mask, to hide whatever he knows. He knows something huge, that's why he does not want to come back to his old life. We need to crack his shell somehow. We've all tried y/n, but someone like you is who we need. Do whatever you need to do, but please, you have to make him remember." Romania had a desperation to her voice now. "Oliver, please."

The bearded gruff man Oliver, pulls out a wad of cash. "Thirty thousand dollars, you can take this now, if you accept our deal."

y/n's eyes widens at the cash. "It's not black, it's real money.", Romania assures. "And on completion of the task, we will give you the rest. Five hundred thousand dollars in total."

"W-Why would you pay me so much?"

"Because this is important to us. We need Harry back.", Oliver says slowly. "I need my best friend back."

Hans pats his arm like he was offering the man comfort. "You'll have to report to me weekly, and you get four weeks to make him remember.", Romania says.

"Four weeks?!", y/n was surprised. How can she make a man remember things he doesn't want to remember in four weeks?

"You can do it.", Romania tells her. "Let me show you his picture. Hans?"

Hans nodded and handed y/n a photo. "That's him. The most wanted man. By now, our opponents also know about Harry. They knew Reagan alone couldn't carry off what she did. So Harry has a lot of people wishing him dead. They don't want to risk him remembering and going back to the person he was."

y/n looked at the photo of the man as the thoughts ran in her mind. A man who lost his lover, and lost his memory. Now he's living without knowing that he is a live target for the big thugs. He was handsome, y/n thought. Luscious brown hair, styled neatly, a little and his green eyes were so deep, like they held a forest inside them. This was the person she was supposed to befriend.

"You can take your time to think about it, give me a call by tomorrow.", Romania slides her card over to y/n. "Nice talking to you, Miss y/l/n."

"I'll escort you outside.", Hans says, and y/n understand that they're done talking to her.

_____________________________________________________________

"Well he's a handsome man, Reagan must have been lucky.", Uncle Luke says as y/n shows him the photo of Harry and tells him the story. y/n shared everything with Uncle Luke. Sania was her best friend, but she still didn't share some things with her that she would with Uncle Luke. 

"Well she's dead.", y/n mumbles. "What do you think?"

"This man must be important.", Uncle Luke says, and y/n nods. "If they're willing to pay so much just in return for his memory."

"What if he doesn't want to remember Uncle Luke?", y/n asks softly. "Reagen died. That must have scarred him deeply. Maybe there's something more to it. Maybe someone attacked them and he couldn't save her. He must be in pain, that's why his mind is shutting it all off."

"Don't get personal, darling.", Uncle Luke advises. "We don't know what kind of a man Harry was, so don't feel for him. Your job is just to befriend him and make him remember."

"I'm too curious to let this go now.", y/n says. "I only read about mafias in novels! I told Sania they were real."

"Mafia?", Uncle Luke laughs. "You confirmed they're mafia?"

"Of course. Business, she said. So secretive! You had to see the building and all the men.", y/n laughs too. "You're right, I won't get personal. I just need the money. Maybe we can get out of this town sooner than we thought, Uncle Luke."

Her uncle smiles, patting her hand as he closes her eyes. "Reena said she'll come over for dinner."

y/n's smile freezes as she hears that. Reena was Uncle Luke's daughter, she had died in a fire. She hates when the disease does this. Uncle Luke had early onset Alzheimer's, so it wasn't as bad as him not being able to recognize her. But she still hated it. 

"I'll make her favorite pasta.", y/n whispers, fluffing his pillow. "You get some rest, Uncle Luke. I love you."

She had to get him the best care. He took care of her all her life. She took the card, and called Romania.

"Miss y/l/n, good to hear from you.", Romania's voice says.

"I'll do it.", y/n said before she could change her mind. "I'll bring his memories back."

___________________________________________

She decided to go with the classic method of meeting first. Go out for drinks. y/n wasn't a big drinker, most of the time. She wasn't going to drink too much today, she wanted to be sober enough to remember everything she got out of the man. 

Romania sent her the details of the hospital in which Harry worked, and told her that he goes to the bar down the street after his working hours sometimes. y/n hoped this would be one day like that, as she set out to the bar. y/n wore a chrome yellow fluffy, silky top along with her jeans and heels. She let her hair out. 

She looked around the bar as she entered, not spotting her target. She decided to wait.

"What would you like, ma'am? New here?", the bartender smiles at her. 

"Uh yes, first time here." She skims through the names of the drinks. 

"First drink on the house. I'll get you our special cocktail?", he asks.

"Okay!" 

Anything on the house sounded amazing.

"I'll be right back.", he winks at her and goes away. y/n turned on her chair to continue scanning the crowd. The bartender was cute, but she had stuff to do.

Her drink came faster than Harry, and she was disappointed he wouldn't come to the bar that night when she finally saw him.

The photo didn't do justice. Harry Styles stood tall, six feet two at least, she thought. His stubble had grown out, and his hair had curls peeking out. Sharp cheekbones that could slice through skin and strong shoulders that hid beneath his light blue shirt. 

He appeared stressed as he ran a hand through his hair, and sat on the empty chair a few seats away from her. "Usual.", he nodded at the bartender, who got to making his drink right away. y/n watched him roll his shirt sleeves back, and sit with his head on his hands. He must have had a rough day.

Then he lifted his head up suddenly and looked straight at her, like he knew she had been watching him. Their eyes connected for a second, before he looked away. 

y/n felt a shiver up her spine. 

That was close, y/n breathed as she sipped the concoction. 

She waited until he had drowned a drink, of what looked like whiskey, before she made her move. 

She gave him her best smile as she took the seat next to him. "Hi, rough day?"

He didn't spare her a look, but he grunted in reply.

Very polite.

"I had a rough day too.", y/n goes on. "Being an artist isn't easy. Sometimes it's hard to get into the creative head space. I had some decisions to make today, and that interfered with my work."

"Artist?", his voice was smooth and deep.

"Yes. I paint.", she answers. "What do you do?"

"ER Doctor.", he looks at her with those eyes looking like they were brimming a storm behind them. "I like art."

"You do? You should come to the cafe sometime, then.", y/n says, treading on careful steps. 

"I don't get time to take a stroll into a cafe.", Harry scoffs, taking a big gulp of his drink. 

"Your job is difficult.", y/n agrees. "Do you like being a doctor?"

Harry tilts his head to study her. "Yes."

y/n waited for him to say something more, but he didn't. Great. He does love talking.

"What do you like about art?", she asks. That, she could talk about.

"The colors.", he answers, looking away from her again. "They have a hidden meaning, most of the time. The artist might not even have an idea when they start, but it turns out beautiful when they're done. Like they gave life to it."

That was the most he had told her since they started talking, and Stella smiled at his description. "I have a small studio too, you should stop by when you have time, Doctor-"

"Turner.", he completes. "Harry Turner."

Either he changed his last name, or he doesn't remember. y/n offers her hand to shake. "y/n, y/l/n."

He nods, and she feels the rough callouses of his fingers as it brushes hers. His hand was warm, and she liked the feel of it on hers. It made her feel safe. Why did it make her feel like that? Why did she feel like it was a familiar hand?

Chapter Two

[aspirationalpeony]

Quit Playin' Games (With My Heart)

Summary: While you're trying to puzzle out the mysterious Ms. Schemmenti, Janine invites you to a dinner party--at Melissa's house. Board games, bonding, and lasagna... What could go wrong? (See author's note at the end for prompt credit.) Content Warnings: A brief paragraph discussing homophobia. AO3 Link

Does Melissa Schemmenti like you?

You've got everyone else figured out. Janine would befriend an electrical pole if it had a smiley face stapled to it; Jacob befriends anyone Janine befriends. Gregory stays a little aloof, but he's been warming up the more you show him your LEGO sets. Barbara--well, she sees you as another one of the kids, you think, but you know she appreciates your self-sufficiency, tolerates you with a smile when you're in the conversation. And Ava is... Ava.

Melissa? Who knows? She called you by the wrong name the first month you were at Abbott, knowingly, watching your face with a wry twist to her mouth, waiting for you to take the bait. When you didn't, you earned your name back. She started making dry comments to you, like "You got enough glitter glue there, Martha Stewart?" as you passed her in the hall, arms full of art supplies. She saw you struggling with the copy machine one day and said, "Here," giving it a swift kick that brought it wheezing to life, but followed up with, "Thought your generation was good with tech. What do we keep you around for, huh?"

After those backhands you'd be in a spin, wondering and confused; then later that day or the day after she'd say something else, like, "Hey, not bad, shortstop," when you got something off a high shelf for her (why shortstop when you’re taller than her? Reverse psychology?), or "Good job on lunch duty. They didn't kill ya," and you'd go warm all over and your confusion would deepen and all you would think was: does she like me or not?

You’re just not sure. So you try not to listen the day they’re all in the break room, talking about a party at Melissa’s house. You can’t help but overhear snatches—Janine insisting she’ll bring lasagna, Jacob saying he’ll do dessert, Melissa saying “oh, brother” and Barbara assuring her gently, a smile in her voice, “And I’ll bring the wine”—but you keep your head down over your lunch and turn the page of your lesson plan and ignore them until Janine realizes, suddenly, that the room isn’t empty, that you’re at the table just next to them, and burbles, “Hey, you should come, too!”

Your eyes go to Melissa right away. She glances up over her cat-eye glasses and her look is inscrutable.

“Oh,” you say, “um, I don’t know. I have, like, a thing—“

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Janine says. “We’ll eat some amazing food—“ she flicks a curl over her shoulder, playing at an Ava-like preen—“we’ll play board games, we’ll bond…”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding!” Janine looks imploringly at her friends. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Melissa says at last, still looking at you. Your heart thumps. “You should come.”

And that’s how you end up here: Melissa’s house. You crossed the welcome mat reading GO AWAY, a cheesecake in your hands, and tried not to make it obvious how badly you wanted to stare around yourself, scrutinize every photo and every piece of furniture, trying to get a window onto this woman you can’t figure out. Everyone’s piled onto the couch or onto chairs, plastic creaking under them as they lean forward to the table to swipe a snack or their glass of wine, and there’s an open box, a few stacks of cards.

“I found this amazing get-to-know-you game,” Janine declares, sliding down to sit on Mel’s carpeted floor. “So, you spin the spinner, right, and whatever it lands on, you take a card with the same color, and then you ask the question that’s on it, and everybody answers, and—“

“How do you win?” Melissa says. She’s holding a glass of wine, its rim printed with her pink lipstick. She’s got her hair in a ponytail that leaves lots of little curls hanging everywhere. She’s wearing a tank top. These details feel incredibly important; you try not to think about them.

“Oh, uh…” Janine frowns at the instruction booklet. “I don’t think you win.”

“What’s the point of a game if nobody wins?” Melissa leans over to the coffee table, grabs a grape off a serving plate, pops it into her mouth. She glances over at Barbara, who’s perched very straight-backed in a plastic-covered armchair, nursing a little bit of wine.

“I, for one,” Jacob says, “think competition is over-valued in our society. American individualism—"

“Just spin it, Janine,” Barbara says.

Beaming at the approval of her mentor, Janine spins. She plucks a blue card: “What’s your favorite sexual—“ her eyes widen. “Uh.”

“Oh, this just got interestin’,” Melissa says, and sits up straighter.

“Let me take another one.” Janine puts that card aside. “Have you ever had a threes—okay, no. Are they all like this?”

Gregory, a silent presence sitting stiffly alongside Janine, turns over a card from the green and red piles. He reads one: “How do you like your partner to style their pubic hair?” Then, the red: “Confess to a sexual fantasy you’ve had about… A member of the group.” The questions sound even more bizarre in his level voice, although his lifted eyebrows and widened eyes telegraph his discomfort. His gaze darts to Janine, then away.

“Janine, what’s the name of this game, please,” Barbara says, looking as though she’s one syllable from combustion.

Janine lifts the lid of the box. “Adult Dinner Party. But I thought, you know, adult dinner party, a classy kind of—oh.”

Jacob picks up a blue card gingerly and turns it over. “Have you ever had sex in a public place?”

“I have,” you say. Every face in the room turns toward you. Your cheeks heat. Your eyes flicker between each incredulous look. “What? We’re supposed to answer them, aren’t we?”

“This just got interestin’,” Melissa repeats. There’s a strange look on her face, not quite amusement; you wonder if it’s respect. “Me, too.”

“Melissa!” Barbara gasps.

“What? You never got fingered in a dark ride at an amusement park?”

Barbara stands up with her wine and walks out of the room, muttering to herself. Glances pass between the rest of you. The corner of Melissa’s mouth curves up. “Spin again,” she says.

The next few questions are mercifully tamer: do you think French kissing is overrated, what’s one thing you’ll never do for a partner? More wine is poured, Melissa going around and topping off each glass, saying to Gregory and Janine, “Lighten up a little, will you?” Eventually she comes to sit on the floor with everyone else, four people around the coffee table. She’s picked a spot right at your side, your knees bumping, thighs aligned.

“Is Barbara okay?” you ask. You can smell her perfume; it’s spicy and floral and it makes you feel tipsier than you are.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Melissa says. “You don’t wanna know how many of my parties she’s walked out of. Hey, Barb!” She bellows it close to your ear, making you wince; it’s followed by a twinge of peculiar affection that so much volume can come from one little woman. “Check the lasagna, will ya!”

There’s an indistinct answer from the other room, full of barely-contained irritation. Melissa slugs back another swallow of wine as Jacob flicks the spinner.

He draws a card and reads, “Have you ever kissed a member of the same sex? Oh, well—obviously.”

Gregory and Janine shake their heads.

Melissa says, “Listen, what happens in cheer squad stays in cheer squad, alright,” to scandalized gasps from her audience. She looks at you. “How about you? No girls, huh?”

You’re arrested by her green gaze so close, the wine on her breath, the question itself. You start to tell her, yes, plenty of girls, but you’re blushing again, embarrassed, all your bravado from earlier draining away into the floorboards.

“Here,” she says, and leans in. You register the thought Holy shit in the moment before her lips touch yours. Her nose brushes your cheek. Her mouth is very soft and a hot breath puffs over you in the instant before she delicately parts her lips and you feel the sweet flick of her tongue. She leans back again. “Now you’ve kissed a girl.”

“Melissa!” Janine says, outraged, bewildered.

“I bet Ava would have come, if she’d known it was this kind of party,” Jacob mumbles to the bowl of pretzels in front of him.

“I’m going to go check on Barbara,” Gregory says, his shellshocked eyes firmly on the ground as he gets up.

“Hey, I’ll come with you,” Janine says, all nerves, “maybe the lasagna needs more parm,” and scrambles up after him.

Melissa’s pouring herself the last of the wine. She’s smiling to herself. You don’t get it: what was that for? Was it bait, like your name, like the ribbing comments, trying to get a rise out of you? Or maybe just out of the people around you—trying to be the most shocking in the room? You stare, trying to read the look of satisfaction on her face.

"I'll--the bathroom," you say, and get to your feet. "'Scuse me."

You've got kind of an idea where it is. The problem, you realize, is that you have to cut through the kitchen to get there. It's savory-smelling, rich with tomato scent, and full of furious whispering that dies instantly as you cross the threshold; Janine, intently grating parmigiano into a bowl, gives you a guilty look as Gregory quickly parts from her side. Barbara is at the island counter, maybe only half-participating, but she looks at you, too, and you know they've told her.

You feel it all over again: these are people who've had years to get to know each other. Who are you to them? Not really a friend, just a colleague, half-acquaintance. You're the new invitee, the odd one out, and even though it was Melissa that kissed you, you'll be the one who gets the blame for the ruined party, the awkwardness now swamping Mel's rowhouse. Your gut clenches. "Excuse me," you repeat and dart past them to the bathroom.

You run cold water from the tap and stick your wrists underneath the faucet, like you've got heatstroke. You wet your hands and press them to your cheeks, your neck, your nape, trying to quiet your thumping heart. You look in the mirror: there's a glazed look in your eye; you're conscious your lips are tingling. Why'd she do that?

You've been played with by straight women before. Not always out of conscious cruelty: some women, you've realized, are hungry for a kind of attraction that doesn't have fear and imbalance, and they can't always have that with men. They want to be wanted by someone they think won't hurt them, and they pick you--never thinking about what it does to your heart; never imagining that desire for a woman can be real, that it can mean anything to anyone.

Is that Melissa? She said that thing about the cheer squad. If she likes women, too, why would she mess with you? If she thinks you're straight, is she just trying to shock, the way she did Barb with that dirty answer about fingering, needling at what she thinks are your reservations and limitations? Because that's what she does, what she's been doing. Poking and poking, trying to get a rise. Should you have shouted? Should you have cried? What would satisfy her?

"Melissa Ann Schemmenti," you hear Barb say from the kitchen, muffled on the other side of the door. You freeze a moment, heart pounding all over again, then turn the water down to a trickle and inch toward the door, leaning closer. All you can hear are bits and pieces of what must be a thunderous lecture: "That girl... Well, I won't... You know that... Sweet, but... Learn to behave."

There's a sulky rumble in Mel's voice in answer.

You're going to have to go out there eventually. You listen a few more seconds, but if there's footsteps of people dispersing, or more conversation as they linger, you can't hear it. You resign yourself, turn off the water, dry off your hands. You give your cheeks a last press with your cold fingers, trying to ground yourself. You'll go out there and pretend it didn't happen. You'll make it through the night and see what happens tomorrow. That's all you can do.

Of course, you go out into the kitchen, and everyone else is gone, and Melissa's there.

She's frowning deeply and scrupulously wrapping the parmigiano in plastic. She says something under her breath; you catch a Sicilian curse and a "kids don't know..." When she hears the bathroom door click, her head goes up, and there's a moment, her eyes meeting yours, where she looks as nervous as you feel. She looks back down at the cheese, tightly sealing and wrapping its edges, then crosses to the big stainless fridge to put it away.

"Guess I scared you back there," she says. There's a challenge in her voice. Suddenly, your fear and loneliness uncoil; they spool out into anger. It's one thing to mess with you in words. You could call that friendliness, call it teasing. It's not fair to mess with you like this.

"You didn't scare me," you say. Your voice is stronger than you expected. Not loud, but sure. "I've kissed more girls than a cheer squad."

"Huh, look at you," Melissa says, "big player."

"What is your problem with me?"

The question catches her in the act of moving to the oven. She looks sharply at you--then away. There's something strangely un-Melissa about the act. She fiddles with the oven dial, then leans her hip against the counter and folds her arms over her chest. "Hon, if I had a problem with you, you'd know."

"Then what the hell was that?" You catch yourself starting to cross your arms, to mirror her, and lower them to your sides, where your hands clench tightly.

"I kissed ya." She lifts her chin and looks at you. "What, you didn't like it?"

Your anger wobbles; the question stumps you. "It--that doesn't--look, you've been doing this all year. Pushing me around. I don't get it. I didn't do anything to you. Maybe you think I'm annoying, or stupid, or--"

"Pushing you around?" Mel moves closer. Her voice gets a little tighter, a little louder. Her eyes glitter with challenge. "I invited you to my house."

"Yeah, you invited Jacob and Janine to your house, too."

"I don't like them the way I like you," she says, and freezes. You have a sense she's blurted something she didn't mean to say. It's stopped her right in the tracks of what she might have made an argument, draining the confidence out of her posture.

Your heart is thundering in your ears again. You replay that delicate, barely-there kiss: her face leaning toward yours, spicy scent of her perfume, wine on her breath, her green eyes, her soft, hot mouth. Her tongue. "What?" you say.

Her mouth twists. There's something faintly absurd about it, how it turns a grown woman toddleresque, and you get another pang of that strange affection from before, when she yelled right in your ear. It's strong enough to filter through your anger.

She shifts from foot to foot. With her shoes off in her own home, she suddenly looks half her usual height. Fondness washes against you. "Look," she says, "I'm forget-about-it years older'n you and I don't have time to play games, so--"

"This isn't playing games?"

She ducks her chin toward her chest. It's another gesture that's strangely unlike her. You hear Barbara's voice in your head: Melissa Ann Schemmenti... Learn to behave.

You move closer again. Her eyes flick up to yours and there's a sulky defiance in them, even when they drop briefly to your lips.

"Is this..." You don't know how to ask it. How do you ask Melissa Schemmenti do you want me in her own kitchen? "Melissa, what do you want?"

"C'mere," she says. She takes your chin in her grasp and brings you closer and kisses you again.

Wine, perfume, her skin. This time, it's not some playful schoolgirl thing. You can feel intention behind the slow press of her lips against yours. She lets it linger for a second, two, then leans back, looking into your eyes.

Whatever she sees has her turning you, your back against the counter, a hard line of granite. This time, you lean forward into her kiss. Her body presses into yours, all hips, soft belly, breasts. Her hands bracket your body against the edge of the countertop. Her way of deepening the kiss is to nip your lower lip and make you gasp, so that her tongue can flick into your mouth, brushing against yours and sending tingling ripples through your whole body.

You cup her jaw. She’s so, so warm. You slide a hand back and brush some of those loose, careless locks of red hair behind her ear. You kiss her and kiss her; when your tongue teases against hers, deliberately now, she makes a sound like a whimper that you feel head to toe, like a current of lightning passing through you, dispersing into the ground.

“So,” she says, with you securely pinned, flushed, breathing hard, “what do you think?”

What do you think? You go back in for another kiss. She chuckles against your mouth and can barely kiss you back for her smug smile. This time, it’s your kiss, not hers, and you explore exactly how you want to: sucking and nibbling her lower lip, licking into her mouth, your hands dropping to her waist, pulling her against you. She melts into you, and there’s a thunderous sense of power and desire in you, tied to how her arms come up to loop around your neck, how her spine softens and her body sways into yours.

When you’ve got your breath back, you ask her, “Should we go back out there?” You know you have to, but you don’t know how you’ll manage it. You’re sure you have this moment written all over your face, glassy-eyed and out of breath. Melissa does, too: her lipstick is smeared. “Maybe in a few minutes?”

“I think,” she says, “I should kick all of ‘em outta here, and you’n’me keep the game and the lasagna, and we have some fun.” Her hand drops, intervening between your body and the counter so she can firmly grab your ass. You squeak. “Huh?”

“I—I think that would be pretty rude.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” she says, though she doesn’t let go of your ass. “And they planned this whole thing for us, so…”

“Wait—” you lean back a little to get a clear picture of her face. “What?”

“Janine’s idea,” she says. “I found out after they invited you. They knew I thought you were cute—“

“You told them that?”

“Course I didn’t,” Melissa says, “I look like somebody who goes splashin’ their business everywhere? ‘Specially where Janine can hear it? I’ll tell you about what she did to me’n my sister some time. They figured it out on their own. I mighta been lookin’ at your ass at work.” She gives it a pinch.

“So the board game…” You frown.

“I think that was an accident for real.” Her face pinches in a frown. “‘Magine Janine tryin’ to get us to talk dirty to each other out there?” The frown vanishes and the leer she gives you makes you feel very, very naked. “We could talk dirty in here, if you wanna.”

“Okay,” you say, “I think we have to go serve dinner.” If you let her keep going, you don’t know if you’ll have the will to stop her. You hear the next thought in her voice: What? You never got fingered in a kitchen with all your coworkers right outside? “Wait—“ your brow creases. “Did Barbara seriously go along with this?”

Melissa clears her throat. “She didn’t know at first—and then, I wanted her here, y’know, in case, uh…”

“Things went badly?” you supply. Melissa pinks. You smile at the sweet strangeness of it. “Were you guys going to drink a bottle of wine so you could… Mope about me?”

“I wasn’t gonna mope about ya,” Mel says, “because I knew you weren’t gonna turn me down, and you’d be an idiot if you did, so.”

“I would,” you agree, and have to go back in for another kiss, two, three. “I would be an idiot,” you murmur against her.

“Okay,” she says when you can finally stop kissing her, “okay.” She gives your ass a slap that makes you gasp. Her eyes narrow, cataloguing that response, and her smirk, of course, resurfaces. “You take the lasagna out of the oven. I gotta fix my lipstick.” She steps away, and pauses. “You might wanna…” She gestures to her mouth.

You rub your tingling lips and your fingers come away with the pink of her lipstick. Your face heats.

“Or keep it,” Melissa says, “looks good on you,” and she gives a preening toss of her high ponytail as she turns away to the bathroom.

You watch her go, her hips swaying as she moves. You have a sense of the world tilted on its axis: all that teasing and game-playing—because she likes you? More than likes you—wants you? Janine inviting you, Jacob and Gregory playing along—because they really do care? Barbara scolding Melissa in this kitchen—because she wants her best friend to treat you right?

You find a napkin and scrub the lipstick off your mouth. Each step you take across the kitchen feels like levitation, an inch or two above the floor. You check the lasagna. There’s two: one big lasagna, and another small, plain one for Gregory. You lift each casserole dish out of the oven, and they smell better than ever in a house full of friends.

You cross to the doorway and peek out into the living room. “Lasagna’s ready,” you say to the four faces that turn to yours, and you know you’re smiling like an idiot, but you can’t help it.

Janine bounces up. “I can’t wait for you to tryyyy itttttt,” she sing-songs. “I learned from the best!”

Barbara passes you to find plates and ready the table. She gives your arm a little pat as she goes—the first time she’s ever touched you. You feel a Janine-like burst of effervescence at the thought that Melissa’s best friend approves.

Melissa reappears. She picks up a cutter for each lasagna, an armful of cloth napkins, another bottle of wine. Jacob and Gregory gather the glasses from the coffee table. You stick your hands back into the oven mitts to carry each dish in.

As everybody gets settled in, pulling out chairs, Janine proudly adding her bowl of grated parmigiano to the table (“just in case!” she burbles), you catch Melissa’s eye. She’s looking at you, a soft fondness in the gaze; the tender creases at the corners of her eyes make your chest squeeze around your heart, which feels three, four times as large as it was before.

“What do you think?” you ask the table. “Should we bring over the cards?”

Your friends laugh. Barbara shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Melissa Schemmenti, looking at you, smiles.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Author's Note:

My next fic was intended to be a sadder hurt/comfort fic, but I received the following prompt from @morgana-larkin:

I love your first fic and I wanted to know if you could do one more on the fun side. Where the whole group goes to either Melissa or reader’s place for game night and they all end up playing truth or dare while drunk and someone dares one of them to kiss the other. Then after everyone leaves the two of them end up admitting their feelings. Thank you!

I did make some tweaks to the premise to suit my storytelling style, which I hope is okay. I did my best to honor this fun and lovely prompt. Thank you so much!

[iamthesilentwriter]

Detectives for a Day

Harry Potter x Wolfstar!Daughter!Reader

Summary: It’s Career’s Day at school, and you and Harry are tasked with interviewing James and Sirius about their work as Aurors.

Warnings: fluff, slight angst, (please let me know if I have missed any)

Authors Note: Hey guys! How have you all been? Sorry, I haven't posted in a while; and most likely, won't post again for another couple of weeks. I hope you all enjoy this oneshot; sorry it's a bit long - honestly, I think my oneshots keep getting longer and longer... oh well. Thanks for reading!!

Word Count: 9,562

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The classroom hums with the faint rustling of paper and low whispers. Sunlight streams through the windows, painting streaks of gold on the tiled floor as the final lesson of the day nears its end. You’re seated beside Harry, your desk cluttered with doodled-on scraps of paper and a pencil teetering on the edge. Outside, the sun hangs low, casting a warm afternoon glow.

At the front of the room, Ms. Carter claps her hands to gather everyone’s attention. “All right, class, settle down! I’ve got something exciting to announce,” she says, her bright smile matching the colorful floral dress she wears. She picks up a piece of chalk and writes Career Day on the board in bold, swooping letters.

Harry leans toward you, muttering, “Bet it’s another boring writing assignment.”

You elbow him playfully. “What if it’s not? What if it’s actually fun?”

Ms. Carter’s voice lifts above the quiet murmurs. “Your next assignment will be a little different. Next week, you’ll visit one of your parents at their workplace to see what they do. Then, you’ll write a presentation about it to share with the class!”

The room buzzes with excitement as kids chatter among themselves.

“Does it have to be both parents?” someone asks.

“What if my dad works far away?” another chimes in.

Ms. Carter raises her hands for silence. “It can be one parent or guardian. I’ll send home letters with all the details today. Be sure to give them to your parents!”

You glance at Harry, who’s practically vibrating with excitement. “We have to go to our dads’ work,” he whispers, his green eyes wide.

“Obviously,” you whisper back. Images of bustling hallways filled with wizards, magical gadgets, and secret missions flash in your mind.

“I bet they’ll show us all the cool Auror stuff,” Harry says, his grin widening. “Maybe they’ll even let us help!”

You giggle at the thought of solving cases like detectives in a storybook. “We’d be the best Aurors ever,” you say, eyes sparkling.

When the bell finally rings, the classroom erupts into motion. You and Harry grab your bags, clutching your Career Day forms, and dart out of the classroom, weaving through the crowded hallways.

The crisp afternoon air greets you as you step outside. The schoolyard is alive with laughter and chatter, the sun casting long shadows across the pavement. Just ahead, you spot Lily and Remus waiting near the gate, Lily’s red hair glowing in the sunlight.

“There they are!” Harry exclaims, tugging you along.

You both dash over, skidding to a stop in front of them.

“There’s my boy,” Lily says warmly, wrapping Harry in a hug. She turns to you with a smile. “And our star student. How was school, you two?”

“Good!” You and Harry say in unison as the four of you begin walking home.

“So, what did you get up to today?” Lily asks, her tone light.

Harry eagerly recounts how Ms. Carter read a funny story during morning lessons, and you chime in about the science experiment after lunch. Both adults listen with amused expressions as you and Harry try to outdo each other with details.

“And then Ms. Carter told us about our new assignment!” you add, your excitement spilling over.

“Oh?” Remus asks, his brow lifting. “What’s the assignment?”

“It’s Career Day!” Harry says with a wide grin. “We get to go to one of our parents’ jobs and write about it. Then we’ll present it to the class!”

You pull the crumpled form from your pocket and hand it to Remus. “Here, Dad. Ms. Carter said you have to sign it.”

Remus scans the paper, his expression growing thoughtful. You’re too busy talking to notice.

“It’s such a cool idea! I can’t wait to go to Daddy’s work! I bet it’s full of Auror gadgets and secret cases!”

“Detective gadgets,” Lily echoes with a wink, keeping the moment light.

“Right, detective gadgets!” you say, grinning.

“It’ll be awesome,” Harry adds. “I’ll get to see how my dad solves mysteries!”

Lily laughs. “I’m glad you’re both excited. And I think it’ll be great for you to go with your dad, Harry.”

Remus’s voice is quieter, more measured. “I’m… not so sure about this.”

You slow your steps, frowning. “Why not? If Harry gets to go, then I should too!”

“It’s not that simple,” Remus says, his tone cautious. “Your daddy’s job can be… complicated. I’m not sure it’s the best place for you to visit.”

“That’s not fair!” you protest, your voice rising. “I want to see what he does! I promise I’ll be careful!”

Remus’s hesitation lingers, but Lily steps in, her tone soothing. “You’ll both have to be careful about what you say during your presentations. We can’t exactly tell your classmates what your dads really do.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, his brow furrowing.

“Well,” Lily explains, “we’ll need to come up with something muggle-friendly to say. Something simpler.” She smiles at you both. “Remus and I will help you write it so it’s just right.”

Harry shrugs. “That’s fine. We’ll just call them detectives. That’s basically what they are, right?”

“Exactly,” Lily says, laughing softly.

You glance at Remus, still uneasy but keeping quiet. Harry nudges you with a grin. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “It’s going to be amazing. You’ll see.”

Despite your dad’s reluctance, you let yourself imagine the thrill of visiting the Auror Office, your excitement bubbling back up as you envision the adventure ahead.

The evening sun dips below the horizon, casting a soft golden glow across the kitchen. Shadows stretch lazily along the walls, softened by the warmth of the overhead light. You sit at the kitchen table, pencil tapping against your notebook as you work on your assignment. The smell of herbs and spices drifts through the room, and your stomach growls, urging you to ask if dinner is almost ready.

Instead, you swing your legs under the chair, barely able to sit still. Your attention wavers between the words scrawled across the page and the front door, your eyes darting to it every few minutes.

At the stove, Remus is a picture of calm. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing faint scars on his forearms as he stirs a pot with practiced ease. A wooden spoon clinks softly against the side of the pot, and steam curls into the air. He hums quietly, a tune you’ve heard a dozen times but can’t quite name. The sound wraps around you like a cozy blanket, soothing in its familiarity.

"When’s daddy getting home?" you ask suddenly, your voice cutting through the quiet.

Remus glances at you out of the corner of his eye, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Soon. You’ll know the second he walks through the door because you always tackle him before he even has a chance to say hello."

You grin, not denying it. "I just miss him when he’s gone."

"Mm-hmm," Remus hums, his tone laced with amusement. "Now focus on your assignment before dinner gets cold."

You groan dramatically, slumping over your notebook. "This assignment is boring."

"What’s it about again?" Remus asks, even though you know he already remembers.

"Career Day," you reply with a sigh, twirling your pencil between your fingers. "I get to write about what I want to do when I grow up, and I get to go to Papa’s work and see what it’s like."

Remus pauses for the briefest of moments, the wooden spoon hovering over the pot. "That’s quite the assignment," he says carefully, resuming his stirring.

"Yeah! I’m going to write all about how daddy is the coolest," you declare proudly, your eyes lighting up at the thought.

Remus chuckles softly, shaking his head. "I’m sure your teacher will be impressed."

The faint creak of the front door interrupts the moment, and before Remus can even turn, you’re out of your chair. Your notebook lies forgotten on the table as your chair scrapes loudly against the floor.

"Daddy!" you shout, your voice echoing through the house.

Sirius barely manages to push the door closed before you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding on tightly. He stumbles slightly, caught off guard, but quickly recovers with a laugh.

"Missed me, did you?" he teases, ruffling your hair with one hand while his other sets his bag down by the door.

"So much!" you exclaim, tilting your head back to look up at him. "You got home safe!"

"I always do, love," he says warmly, crouching down so he’s eye-level with you. "Did you behave for your dad while I was gone?"

"Mostly," you answer with a cheeky grin, making Sirius laugh.

"All right, all right," Remus’s voice calls from the kitchen, cutting through the moment. "Let your daddy breathe. Go wash your hands—dinner’s ready."

You pout but do as you’re told, darting down the hallway toward the bathroom. Sirius watches you go, shaking his head fondly before heading into the kitchen.

"Smells amazing in here," he says, stepping behind Remus and slipping his arms around his waist.

"Don’t distract me," Remus says lightly, though the corners of his mouth twitch upward as he leans into the embrace for a moment.

"How was your day?" Sirius asks, pressing a kiss to Remus’s cheek before letting him go.

"Quiet," Remus replies, plating up the food. "She’s been excited about this Career Day assignment all afternoon."

"Ah," Sirius says knowingly. "She’s been asking about coming to work with me for weeks now."

Remus stiffens slightly, but before he can respond, you bound back into the room, your hands still damp from washing.

"I’m ready!" you announce, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet.

"Then sit down," Remus says, gesturing to the table. "Dinner’s served."

You slide into your chair, Sirius taking the seat beside you as Remus sets the plates down. The clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation soon fills the room.

"So, how was school today?" Sirius asks, glancing at you as he spears a bite of food.

"It was good!" you say around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, earning a raised eyebrow from Remus, who gestures for you to swallow first. "Guess what, daddy? For Career Day, I get to come to your work with you! Isn’t that the coolest?"

Sirius’s face lights up, his grin matching your excitement. "That sounds awesome, kiddo! You’re going to love it."

"I know! I want to see all the gadgets and the cool cases you solve—"

"Hold on," Remus interrupts gently, setting his fork down. His expression is calm, but there’s a slight edge to his voice. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."

You frown, your excitement faltering. "What do you mean? Daddy said it’s cool."

"It’s not that simple," Remus explains, his tone measured. "Your daddy’s job isn’t always… safe. I’m not sure it’s the best idea for you to go."

"But I’ll be with him the whole time!" you argue, your voice rising slightly as you turn to Sirius for support.

"We’ll talk about it later," Sirius says firmly, though his tone remains calm. He meets Remus’s gaze, something unspoken passing between them.

"After dinner," Remus agrees, though his voice is tight.

You slump back in your chair, your appetite dampened by the nervous flutter in your chest. The conversation shifts to lighter topics, but the tension lingers, a quiet undercurrent beneath the surface.

Later that night, you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, your thoughts racing. The house is still, but the faint sound of voices from down the hall draws your attention. They’re not loud, but there’s a sharpness in their tone that cuts through the quiet.

Curiosity and unease gnaw at you. Pushing the covers aside, you slip out of bed, your feet making barely a sound on the floor as you pad toward your parents’ room. The door is mostly shut, but the murmur of voices leaks through the crack, too muffled to catch every word but clear enough to feel the tension.

"You can’t just promise her things like that," Remus’s voice rises slightly, sharper than you’re used to hearing from him.

"She’s my daughter too," Sirius shoots back, his tone defensive. "And she’s excited about this. I don’t see the harm in letting her see what I do."

"The harm," Remus bites out, "is that your job is dangerous, Sirius. You know that better than anyone. How many times have you come home bruised or worse?"

"It’s not like I’m taking her on a mission," Sirius argues, frustration thick in his voice. "She’d be in the office. Just the office. She’d be safe—there’d be dozens of people around to make sure of that!"

"Safe?" Remus repeats, incredulous. "You think that’s the only concern? It’s not just about safety—it’s about what this teaches her. She already worships the ground you walk on, Sirius. What happens when she sees all the flashy parts of your job and none of the cost? What if she thinks this is what she wants to do one day?"

There’s a heavy pause, and you lean closer, your heart hammering in your chest.

"And what’s wrong with that?" Sirius’s voice drops, quieter now, but there’s a hard edge to it. "You don’t want her to see my work because you’re afraid she might admire it? Admire me?"

"Don’t twist my words," Remus snaps, his own voice losing some of its usual calm. "Of course she admires you. I just don’t want her idolizing a version of you that isn’t real. Your work isn’t just gadgets and clever plans, Sirius. It’s late nights, danger, and—you know it—it’s loss. I don’t want her thinking it’s all some kind of… adventure."

"She’s not a baby, Remus," Sirius counters. "She’s curious. She’s smart. If we explain things to her—really explain them—she’ll understand. She’ll see the whole picture."

"You think she’s ready for that picture?" Remus asks, his voice dropping again but no less intense. "She’s a child, Sirius. A child. Do you really think she can grasp what it is you do?"

"Maybe she can’t," Sirius admits, his tone softening. "But maybe it’s better she hears it from us than makes up her own version in her head. She’ll see the truth eventually, one way or another."

"Not if I can help it," Remus says, and there’s something steely in his voice now.

The room falls silent for a moment, the kind of silence that feels heavy, crackling with unspoken words.

"You always make everything so black and white," Sirius finally says, his voice quieter but tinged with frustration. "It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. We can let her in a little, on our terms, without putting her in harm’s way."

"And what happens if she wants more?" Remus counters. "What happens when a ‘little’ isn’t enough?"

"Then we handle it," Sirius says simply. "Together. Like we always do."

The silence returns, but this time it’s different. Not heavy, exactly, but not settled either.

You step back from the door, your chest tight. Their words swirl in your head as you retreat to your room, slipping under the covers as quietly as you left them. The voices fade as you burrow into your pillow, but the weight of their argument stays with you.

You’d wanted to see daddy’s work so badly, but now… you’re not sure what to think. The excitement that had filled you earlier feels tangled now, knotted up with confusion and guilt. You want to be proud of him, to see the world he steps into every day. But if it causes this much tension, is it really worth it?

Sleep doesn’t come easily that night, the echoes of your parents’ voices lingering in the back of your mind.

The sound of laughter fills the Potter’s living room as you and Harry construct your fort. It’s a chaotic mess of cushions, blankets, and chairs teetering dangerously, but to you and Harry, it’s nothing short of a masterpiece.

"We need one more chair for this side," Harry says, pointing to a sagging corner of the fort.

"I’ll grab it!" you say, scurrying off to find another chair.

When you return and the fort finally stays upright, you and Harry cheer loudly, your voices echoing through the house. You both duck inside, settling into the small space with triumphant grins.

As you sit cross-legged, Harry glances at you. "So, did your dad ever say if you can go to Career Day with your daddy?"

You frown, picking at a loose thread on one of the blankets. "Not yet. He’s… he’s worried about it."

Harry tilts his head, his green eyes curious. "Why’s he worried?"

You sigh, leaning back against the makeshift wall of the fort. "He says Daddy’s work is dangerous, and he doesn’t want me to think it’s all fun and exciting. He thinks I might get the wrong idea or something."

Harry nods slowly, considering this. "I mean, your dad’s kind of got a point. What your daddy does… it can be dangerous, right? He deals with bad people and stuff."

"Yeah, but I wouldn’t be doing any of that," you protest. "I’d just be in his office, meeting the people he works with. I wouldn’t be in danger."

"I get that," Harry says, his voice calm and thoughtful. "But I also get why your dad’s worried. He just doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Being scared for you—it’s kind of normal, isn’t it?"

You look at him, your brow furrowed. "You think so?"

"Yeah," Harry says with a shrug. "I mean, if my mum or dad thought something might hurt me, they’d be worried too. It doesn’t mean they don’t trust me or think I can handle it—they just care about me."

You’re quiet for a moment, his words sinking in. "I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that."

Harry grins. "Your dad’s just trying to keep you safe. It doesn’t mean he won’t change his mind if he sees how much this means to you."

"Maybe," you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Thanks, Harry."

"Anytime," he says, nudging your shoulder. "Now, are we making a second floor for this fort or what?"

You laugh, diving back into your plans, but his words stick with you, making you feel a little better.

From the kitchen, the hum of voices drifts through the house. Lily and your dad sit at the table, mugs of tea in hand.

"I just… I don’t know, Lily," Remus says, his fingers tracing the rim of his mug. "She’s so young. I don’t want her to think Sirius’s work is all fun and excitement. It’s not like that, and it’s not what I want for her."

Lily leans forward, her voice gentle but firm. "I understand where you’re coming from, Remus. You want to protect her. That’s what parents do. But you can’t shield her from everything forever. She’s curious—about Sirius, about his work—and that’s not a bad thing."

Remus sighs, his shoulders slumping. "I just… I’m worried about the example it sets. She already sees him as larger than life. What if this just adds to that? What if it gives her ideas—dangerous ones?"

Lily reaches across the table, placing a hand over his. "That’s where you come in. You and Sirius both. She doesn’t just look up to him, Remus—she looks up to you, too. You’re her balance. You can help her see the whole picture, the reality of it. It’s not about hiding it from her; it’s about helping her understand."

Remus is quiet for a moment, his fingers drumming softly against the table. "And what if I say yes, and she doesn’t understand? What if it’s too much?"

"Then you’ll talk to her," Lily says simply. "Like you always do. She’s smart, Remus, and she trusts you. You’ll know how to handle it. You always do."

A loud crash from the living room pulls their attention, and Lily stands to peek around the corner. "You two all right in there?"

"Everything’s fine!" Harry shouts, his voice muffled.

"We meant to do that!" you add, giggling.

Lily shakes her head, amused, and returns to her seat. Remus exhales a quiet laugh, some of the tension in his posture easing.

When it’s time to head home, you and your dad linger at the Potter’s kitchen table for a moment. He clears his throat, looking a little unsure. "Hey, kiddo. Sit down for a second. Let’s talk."

You slide into a chair, glancing at him curiously.

"I’ve been thinking," he starts, folding his hands on the table. "About Career Day. And I’ve decided you can go with your daddy to his work."

Your eyes widen, excitement bubbling to the surface. "Really?!"

"Really," he says with a small smile. "But there are going to be some ground rules."

"Okay," you say eagerly, sitting up straighter.

"First," he says, holding up a finger, "you stay with your daddy at all times. No wandering off, no matter how curious you get."

"Got it," you say, nodding earnestly.

"Second," he continues, "you listen to what he and his coworkers tell you. If they say something’s off-limits, you respect that."

"Of course!"

"And third," he says, his voice softening, "we’ll talk about what you see afterward. I want to make sure you understand everything, okay?"

You nod quickly, a grin spreading across your face. "Okay, Dad. I promise."

Before he can say anything else, you throw your arms around him in an impromptu hug. "You’re awesome! You’re the best dad ever!"

"Hold on—"

"Nope," you cut him off, squeezing him tighter. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you so much, Dad."

He chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around you. "I love you too, kiddo. Just remember, this is a big responsibility, okay?"

"I will!" you say brightly, pulling back just enough to beam up at him.

For a moment, the worry in his eyes softens, replaced by something warm and fond. He ruffles your hair gently before letting you climb into the car, a small smile tugging at his lips.

As the car pulls out of the driveway, you lean back in your seat, already imagining all the cool things you’re going to see at your daddy’s work. Remus glances at you in the rearview mirror, shaking his head with a small, affectionate smile.

He still has his concerns, but for now, he’s content just seeing you happy.

You pull your coat on, excitement bubbling under your skin as you hop around the living room, searching for your shoes. Sirius is already waiting by the door, arms crossed and a smirk on his face as he watches you dart from place to place.

“Shoes, Darling,” he reminds, tapping his foot.

“I know!” you call, your voice muffled as you check under the couch cushions.

Remus steps into the room, holding the shoes you’d abandoned by the kitchen door. “Looking for these?”

You beam up at him, sliding them on as fast as possible. “Thanks, Dad!”

Remus folds his arms and gives you a look—a mix of fondness and the usual sternness that comes when he’s trying to make a point. “Before you leave, young lady, a few things.”

You groan theatrically. “Dad…”

“I’m serious,” he says, though the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s holding back a smile. “I want you to behave yourself. No wandering off, no pushing your daddy to do anything reckless, and you listen to him. Understood?”

“Yes, Dad,” you promise, though the sparkle in your eyes suggests you’re already scheming.

Remus crouches down to your height, his hands resting on your shoulders. “I mean it. Daddy might make it look like fun and games, but what you’re seeing is serious work. Stay close and pay attention.”

You nod, seeing the worry etched in his eyes. “I’ll be good. Promise.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead before standing. “I’ll hold you to that. Sirius—”

Sirius raises a hand in mock solemnity. “Scout’s honor, Moony. I’ll keep her safe and out of trouble.”

“Hmm,” Remus says, clearly unconvinced. “She’s a lot like you, so good luck with that.”

With a grin and a wave, you head out the door with Sirius, who claps a hand on your shoulder as you walk down the path.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Sirius begins, picking up where Remus left off. “Your dad’s right, you know. Listening to me isn’t just for show—it’s about staying safe. The Ministry’s no joke, especially for people like us.”

“People like us?” you ask, glancing up at him curiously.

Sirius nods, his usual mischievous air dimming slightly. “Yeah. People who don’t quite fit their mold. Things can get dicey if we’re not careful. That’s why you stick with me and don’t go wandering off. Got it?”

“Got it,” you say, your voice quieter as you take his words to heart.

Before long, the two of you arrive at the prearranged meeting spot, where James and Harry are already waiting. James grins as he sees you approach, his glasses glinting in the morning light.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” James teases, ruffling Harry’s hair. “Alright, you two—got all your questions ready? This is your chance to grill us about the glamorous world of the Ministry.”

Harry glances at you, his expression a mix of excitement and nerves. “I think so…”

“Good,” Sirius says, pulling something from his pocket with a flourish. “Because if you forget any, I’ve got this.”

You blink at the tape recorder in his hand. “What’s that?”

“State-of-the-art Muggle technology,” Sirius replies proudly. “It’ll record every word for you. So no excuses if you miss something!”

James laughs, shaking his head. “Of course, you’d have a tape recorder, Pads.”

“Preparedness, Prongs,” Sirius says, winking at you.

The four of you set off toward the Ministry’s visitor entrance, the air buzzing with anticipation.

When you reach the unassuming red telephone box nestled in a quiet corner, Harry frowns, tilting his head. “Why are we taking the visitor entrance?”

James exchanges a look with Sirius, who grins. “Because, kiddo, you’re not employees. And last I checked, you’re not adults yet, either.”

James nods. “Visitor entrance is standard for anyone not on the payroll. Don’t worry—it’s all part of the experience.”

“Experience,” Sirius repeats, gesturing grandly at the phone box. “Now, step inside, and let the magic begin!”

Harry shoots you a look, part confusion and part amusement, as you both step into the cramped space. The adventure is officially underway.

The telephone box hums to life as James picks up the receiver, dialing an odd sequence of numbers. A calm, professional voice fills the cramped space.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

“James Potter, Auror,” James replies. “Accompanied by Sirius Black, also an Auror, and two visitors for educational purposes.”

The floor beneath your feet lurches, and the telephone box begins to descend. Harry grips the side, his eyes widening as you flash him a reassuring grin.

The lift comes to a halt, and the doors swing open to reveal the vast, bustling atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The ceiling is enchanted to shimmer like a twilight sky, its deep navy hues flecked with golden constellations. Ornate fireplaces line the walls, wizards and witches stepping in and out of them in bursts of green flames. In the center of the atrium, a golden fountain stands proudly, its statues of magical beings sparkling as water cascades around them.

“Wow,” Harry breathes, craning his neck to take it all in.

You nod in agreement, your awe mirrored on his face. The space hums with energy—heels clicking against polished floors, the soft buzz of magical correspondence zipping overhead, and the murmur of voices as Ministry workers dart to and fro.

Sirius places a hand on your shoulder to guide you forward. “Keep up, darling. Plenty more to see.”

James leads the way to a smaller set of lifts, pressing the button for Level Two. “Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” he announces as the doors close. “Home sweet home.”

The lift halts with a ding, and you step into a hallway lined with doors, bustling with witches and wizards in deep blue robes. The Auror Office is just ahead, its glass doors etched with the department's crest.

Inside, the office is lively but chaotic—desks crammed with parchment, enchanted maps hovering mid-air, and memos zooming past like tiny paper birds. Wizards and witches are deep in conversation or examining strange artifacts under magnifying glasses.

Sirius waves his wand at a cluttered desk in the corner, clearing off a stack of case files. “Welcome to the Auror Office. That one’s mine.”

James points to the desk beside it, which is equally disheveled. “And that disaster zone is mine.”

“Your desks look... busy,” Harry says diplomatically, earning a bark of laughter from Sirius.

“Busy is an understatement,” Sirius replies, plopping into his chair. “Organized chaos, I call it.”

Before you can comment, James gestures to a large enchanted map pinned on one wall, glowing with various colored dots. "This," he explains, "is our main tracking map. Those dots represent different magical signatures—dark wizards, strange magical surges, and even certain enchanted objects. It helps us keep an eye on trouble spots."

“Does it show everything happening in the wizarding world?” Harry asks, leaning closer to inspect it.

James shakes his head. “Not everything. It’s enchanted to highlight only specific threats we’re monitoring. Each color represents something different. For example—” He points to a red dot hovering over a city. “This one marks a dark object in transit. The system flagged it because it hasn’t been cleared by the Department of Magical Artifacts.”

“Cool,” Harry murmurs, scribbling notes in his notebook.

Sirius nudges you gently. “See, sweetie? I told you we do more than just chase bad guys.”

Frank Longbottom appears at his desk nearby, his friendly demeanour catching your eye as he waves. “Speaking of bad guys, don’t forget about the paperwork. Dark wizards don’t file their own incident reports.”

You giggle softly, earning a smile from Frank before he gestures to a stack of parchment on his desk. “That right there is my ongoing case log. It’s a mix of surveillance notes, suspect interviews, and evidence cataloging.” He grins. “Not as glamorous as it sounds, but it’s part of the job.”

“What’s the hardest part of being an Auror?” you ask softly, feeling brave enough to interject.

Sirius leans back in his chair, his expression softening. “Sometimes it’s seeing the aftermath of what dark wizards do. It’s not always easy to walk away from a case unscathed.”

James nods solemnly. “And balancing it with family. It’s not the kind of job where you can just clock out at the end of the day.”

Frank raises his hand dramatically. “For me, it’s the paperwork. Merlin, I didn’t sign up to be a scribe.”

Moody, who has been silently observing from a nearby desk, snorts. “Paperwork’s the least of your problems. The hardest part is staying alive long enough to retire. Constant vigilance—that’s the name of the game.”

Harry looks at you, raising his eyebrows at the stark difference in answers.

James quickly changes the tone, gesturing toward a set of magical artifacts on another table. “These are confiscated items,” he says. “Mostly dark objects or cursed items that were used in illegal activity. Each one has to be cataloged and analyzed before we can decide what to do with it.”

Sirius points to a sinister-looking locket encased in a glass box. “That one’s got a nasty curse on it. Took us weeks to figure out how to contain it without setting it off.”

Harry leans closer to inspect it, his curiosity shining through. “What kind of curse?”

“Blood magic,” Sirius replies, his tone serious. “Very old, very dark. It’s dormant now, but you don’t want to be anywhere near it if it wakes up.”

You shudder at the thought, clutching your notebook tighter.

The group moves on to another section of the office, where a wall of moving photographs catches your attention. James stops to point them out. “These are some of the most wanted wizards we’ve ever dealt with. Each one of these cases took months—sometimes years—to resolve.”

“Not all of them are resolved,” Moody growls, his magical eye flicking to a blank space on the wall. “Some are still out there.”

Sirius pats you on the shoulder, sensing your unease. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. They’d have to get through us first.”

Your dad’s words soothe you, but only a little. Your eyes drift back to the board, taking in the grim collection of faces. Each one seems to have its own haunting presence, staring back at you with sneers, cold eyes, or twisted smiles. You shiver, huddling closer to Sirius, but something catches your attention.

A name, scrawled in dark ink beneath the image of a woman with wild, dark hair and a cruel smirk: Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Bellatrix?” you murmur aloud, furrowing your brow. “That’s… a star, isn’t it?”

Sirius glances at the board and stiffens. His usual carefree demeanor falters for a moment, and he looks at you carefully. “Yeah, it is. In the constellation Orion,” he says slowly, his tone almost cautious.

Your curiosity sparks further. “Like your name. Sirius is the brightest star in the sky, right? And Bellatrix is a star, too.” You glance up at him, a question already forming in your mind. “Do you know her?”

For a moment, Sirius doesn’t answer. His hand falls from your shoulder, and his jaw tightens. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and measured. “I do,” he admits. “She’s my cousin.”

Your eyes widen, and you take a small step back, staring between him and the board. “Your cousin?” The idea feels impossible. The woman’s smirk is malicious, her presence on the board threatening. She doesn’t look anything like Sirius—nothing like the kind, brave man who always makes you feel safe. “But… how? She’s…” You struggle to find the words, your voice dropping to a whisper. “She’s up there with them.”

Sirius exhales, running a hand through his hair. “She’s up there because that’s exactly where she belongs,” he says darkly. His tone carries a bitterness you rarely hear. “Bellatrix isn’t just some distant relation, Starlight. She’s… well, she was the worst of us. A fanatic who believed in everything the Black family stood for—pure-blood supremacy, power, cruelty. She’s hurt a lot of people. Done terrible things.”

You can’t quite reconcile the venom in his voice with the fact that they’re family. “But you’re not like that,” you say, your voice firmer now. “You’re not like her.”

Sirius looks at you, his expression softening. “No, I’m not. I never have been. But I can’t change where I come from, and neither could she. The difference is, I chose to walk away. Bellatrix… embraced it.”

You glance back at the photograph. Bellatrix’s face is striking, sharp features framed by wild curls, her expression unhinged even in a still image. It’s hard to believe she and your dad share the same bloodline. “She doesn’t seem anything like you,” you mutter.

“She’s not,” Sirius assures you, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—sadness, maybe, or regret. “We grew up in the same house, under the same rules, the same… expectations. But she made her choices, and I made mine.”

You look at him, questions swirling in your mind, but another face on the board catches your eye—another name. “And… what about him?” you ask, pointing to a photograph of a young man with dark hair and a quiet, somber expression. His name is listed as Regulus Arcturus Black.

Sirius’s jaw tightens again, and his hand rests on the back of his neck. “Regulus,” he says quietly. “That’s my brother.”

Your stomach twists. “Your brother?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. My little brother. He… well, he followed a different path than I did.” His voice softens, carrying a weight that makes your chest ache. “He believed in the family’s ideals for a long time—pure-bloods, power, all that rubbish. But in the end…” He trails off, his gaze distant. “In the end, he realized it wasn’t worth it. Not the way they wanted him to live.”

You blink up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

Sirius sighs, crouching down so you’re face to face. “Regulus tried to break away from the family, just like I did,” he says, his voice steady but pained. “But it’s not as easy as it sounds. He didn’t want to be like them anymore, but he couldn’t outrun the expectations. And… he didn’t make it out.”

Your chest tightens at the thought of someone your dad cared about being caught up in something so dark. “He… he died?” you whisper.

Sirius nods, his hand resting on your shoulder. “Yeah. He did. But he realized the truth before the end, darling. That matters. It doesn’t make it right, but it matters.”

You glance back at the board, at the moving photographs of Bellatrix and Regulus, their faces so different yet tied to your dad in ways you never imagined. The weight of it all presses down on you. “That must’ve been hard,” you say softly.

“It was,” Sirius admits, his voice low. “But it’s ancient history now. What matters is the choices we make, not the ones others made before us.”

You look up at him, feeling a surge of pride. “You made the right choice, Daddy.”

He smiles at that, though there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Yeah, I did. And I’d make it again a thousand times over. But it’s not something I ever wanted to pass on to you.”

You nod, still trying to process everything. The board looms behind you, its dark faces and names a stark reminder of the weight your dad carries. But as he ruffles your hair and guides you away, you feel a little lighter knowing that no matter where he came from, he’s chosen to stand on the right side.

“Come on,” Sirius says, his usual grin creeping back onto his face. “Enough of this gloomy stuff. Let’s go find the Quidditch department. Maybe we can sneak you a team badge while we’re there.”

And just like that, the shadows of the past fade a little, replaced by the comfort of your dad’s hand on your shoulder and the warmth of his voice.

The Auror Office is buzzing with its usual energy—quills scratching, enchanted memos zooming through the air, and the occasional magical artifact emitting an ominous hum from a nearby desk. You’re perched on the edge of James’s desk with Harry, swinging your legs while Sirius leans casually against a filing cabinet, tossing a small rubber ball into the air and catching it repeatedly.

“Potter. Black.”

The gruff voice of Alastor Moody cuts through the noise like a thunderclap. You turn to see him striding toward you, his magical eye whirling wildly in its socket. He stops in front of James and Sirius, his gnarled hand clutching a rolled-up parchment.

“We’ve got reports of a cursed item causing a stir at a Muggle children’s park,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “Nothing too dangerous, by the looks of it, but it’s spooking the locals. Do you mind checking it out?”

James grins, standing up and clapping his hands together. “On it, boss.” He’s already grabbing his wand from the desk, looking more excited than he probably should be for what sounds like a simple mission.

Sirius raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A cursed item in a park? Sounds like our kind of job.” Then he turns to you and Harry, his grin widening. “What do you two think? Fancy seeing your dads in action?”

Harry’s eyes light up immediately. “Really? We can come?”

“Of course!” Sirius says, ruffling his godson’s hair before glancing at you. “What about you, sweetheart? Up for a little adventure?”

You nod enthusiastically, your heart already racing with excitement. “Yes!”

Moody lets out a grumble, his magical eye swiveling to focus on Sirius. “Just don’t let them wander off, Black. This is a retrieval mission, not a field trip.”

“Relax, Moody,” Sirius says with a wink. “They’ll stay close. Right, detectives?”

“Right!” you and Harry say in unison, grinning at each other.

James chuckles, motioning for you all to follow. “Alright, let’s go save the day.”

Sirius throws an arm around your shoulder as the four of you head toward the Apparition point. “Stick close, kids. You’re about to see how it’s done.”

The sun is high, casting long shadows across the colorful play structures of the park. The air smells faintly of freshly cut grass and sunscreen, blending with the happy shouts of children playing. James and Sirius survey the park with practiced ease, their wands tucked discreetly in their sleeves.

“Alright, detectives,” James announces, turning to you and Harry with a smile. “We’ve got a job to do. Sirius and I will handle the tricky bits, but we need your sharp eyes. Keep a lookout for anything unusual—something that doesn’t belong in a park, or feels… off.”

You raise your hand like you’re in class. “What kind of cursed item are we looking for? Is it dangerous?”

James crouches down to your eye level, his expression patient. “Good question. It could be anything—jewelry, a toy, even something like a piece of trash. The important thing is how it feels. If it gives you a weird sensation, like tingling or heaviness, don’t touch it. Let us know straight away.”

Harry tilts his head. “Why would someone leave a cursed object in a park?”

Sirius smirks, clearly enjoying the moment. “Sometimes it’s deliberate—someone causing trouble. Other times, it’s accidental. Cursed objects have a way of moving around on their own. Like a stray dog.”

“Or a stray Black,” James quips.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Funny. But seriously, don’t underestimate it. Even small curses can cause big problems in the wrong place.”

Harry nods, his brow furrowed in concentration. “So, if we see anything weird, we tell you. Got it.”

“Exactly.” James claps him on the shoulder before straightening up. “Let’s split up, but stay close. Harry, you check near the swings. Y/N, you take the sandpit. Sirius and I will cover the rest.”

You and Harry exchange a quick nod before heading off.

You crouch by the sandpit, scanning the soft grains for anything unusual. Harry joins you, pretending to adjust a stray plastic bucket. “Do you think it’s actually here?” he whispers.

“Probably,” you reply, brushing some sand aside with your shoe. “They wouldn’t bring us along if it wasn’t.”

“What happens if someone touches it?” Harry asks, his voice low. “Would it hurt them?”

“Depends on the curse,” you say, glancing at him. “Dad said some are just annoying, but others… they can be dangerous.”

Harry nods, his gaze flicking toward James and Sirius, who are inspecting the area around the merry-go-round. “They look so... professional. It’s weird seeing them like this. They’re always joking around at home.”

“Except Sirius,” you say with a grin. “He’s always Sirius.”

Harry groans, shaking his head. “That was awful.”

You’re about to retort when something shiny catches your eye near the fence. “Harry,” you whisper, nudging him. “Look. Over there.”

Harry follows your gaze, his eyes widening. “Is that it?”

“Maybe,” you say, your pulse quickening. “Let’s call them over.”

Before you can, a woman with a stroller pauses nearby, eyeing you curiously. “Lose something?”

“Oh, just an old coin,” you say quickly, thinking on your feet. “Family heirloom. We’re trying to find it.”

Harry nods, adding, “It’s supposed to be lucky. We think it’s buried here somewhere.”

The woman smiles, adjusting her grip on the stroller. “Good luck, then.”

As soon as she moves on, you wave to Sirius and James.

“What’ve you got, darling?” Sirius calls, already making his way over.

James crouches beside you, examining the shiny object. “Good spotting. This looks like the one.”

“What is it?” Harry asks, leaning closer.

“Cursed locket,” James says, carefully extracting it with his wand. “Nothing too dangerous now, but it’s better off in our hands than left here.”

Sirius slips the locket into a protective pouch, giving you and Harry a proud smile. “You two did great. Perfect teamwork.”

As you head back to the car, you feel a swell of pride. Watching James and Sirius handle the mission so confidently makes you realize just how skilled—and how cool—your dads really are.

The moment you step back into the office, Sirius strides toward the storage cabinet tucked into the corner, the cursed item wrapped securely in protective layers. You trail behind him, glancing around the space that feels both familiar and vast. Once the item is locked away, Frank Longbottom appears in the doorway, his expression serious but calm.

“Sirius,” Frank calls, his voice low. “Meeting’s starting.”

Sirius exchanges a glance with James, who nods and turns to you and Harry. “Alright, you two,” James says, gesturing toward your desks near the window. “Sit down and get started on that speech. We’ll be back soon. Stay at your desks, no wandering off. Understood?”

You and Harry both nod in unison. “Got it, Dad,” Harry replies, already pulling out the rough draft of the written speech from his bag. You follow his lead, settling in at your desk and reaching for your quill.

“Good,” James says, clapping Harry lightly on the shoulder before heading out with Sirius. As the door closes behind them, the room feels quieter, but the faint hum of activity in the building carries on.

The two of you begin working, the soft scratch of quills on parchment filling the air. Harry leans over slightly to whisper, “Do you think we’re supposed to include the part about the timeline here, or save it for later?”

“Save it,” you whisper back, “it’ll make more sense after we explain the context.” You chew on the end of your quill, thinking about how to phrase the next sentence.

That’s when you hear it—muffled voices rising from somewhere down the hall. At first, it’s easy to ignore, but then the volume increases, and the tone sharpens. You glance at Harry, who’s also stopped writing, his eyes flicking toward the door.

The older man’s voice booms through the hallway, even though the words are somewhat muffled. “You could’ve gotten us both killed!” he yells, the anger in his tone unmistakable. “Do you even realize how close it was? You weren’t paying attention!”

The younger man responds, but his voice is quieter, harder to make out. You catch fragments of an apology, something about being distracted, but the older man cuts him off.

“Distracted? That’s not an excuse! We’re lucky to even be standing here right now. If you can’t keep your head in the game, you’re going to get yourself—and everyone around you—killed.”

You and Harry exchange a look, wide-eyed but silent. The argument continues in the background as you both turn back to your work, though it’s harder to focus now. You keep sneaking glances at the door, the words from the argument replaying in your mind.

Is this what it’s always like for your dad? For Harry’s dad? You knew their jobs were important, but you’re beginning to wonder just how dangerous it really is. The thought sits heavily in your chest as you try to concentrate on finishing your sentence.

The sound of footsteps signals the end of the meeting, and moments later, Sirius and James re-enter the room. James walks over to Harry’s desk, his usual easy grin back in place. “Harry, want to come take a look at that new prototype before we head home?”

Harry brightens immediately, nodding. “Yeah, definitely!”

“Great.” James ruffles your hair lightly on his way out. “Hope to see you, your dad, and Remus at ours for dinner tonight.”

“We’ll be there,” Sirius replies, watching them leave. The door closes behind them, and the room quiets again. Sirius settles at his desk, pulling out a stack of paperwork. His quill scratches against the parchment, but he pauses when he notices you’ve gone unusually quiet.

“What’s on your mind, kiddo?” he asks, leaning back in his chair and giving you his full attention.

You hesitate, fiddling with the corner of your parchment. Finally, you look up at him. “I heard someone yelling in the hall,” you admit softly. “An older man was yelling at a younger man about almost getting them both killed because he wasn’t paying attention.”

Sirius’s expression softens, though there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes. “You overheard that, huh?”

You nod. “Is that... is that what your job is like? Is it really that dangerous?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair before coming over to sit on the edge of your desk. “Listen,” he says gently, “there are parts of my job that can be dangerous, yeah. But we’re trained for it, and we’re always careful. The man you heard—well, sometimes mistakes happen, and they can be scary. But we do everything we can to keep each other safe.”

You chew on your lip, still unsure. “But what if something goes wrong?”

Sirius leans forward, resting a hand on your shoulder. “That’s why we work together, why we have teams. And that’s why I come home every day—to you and Remus. I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Okay?”

You nod slowly, his words easing some of the tension in your chest. “Okay.”

“Good.” He grins, squeezing your shoulder before heading back to his desk. “Now, finish up that speech. We’ve got a dinner to get to.”

“Alright, who’s next?” Ms Carter asks, the classroom buzzes with quiet chatter as you and Harry step up to the front,  your project materials in hand. The whiteboard behind you is blank except for the title of your presentation, written in Harry’s neat handwriting: A Day in the Life of a Detective.

Harry sets down the props—a small wooden box filled with papers, a few pens, and a notebook—while you adjust the easel holding up your poster board. It’s covered in diagrams, timelines, and sketches, all carefully crafted to sell your story.

“Alright,” you begin, looking out at the room, “thanks for being patient, everyone. Harry and I are here to talk about what it’s like to grow up with parents who work as detectives.”

A few murmurs ripple through the class, some students leaning forward with interest. You glance at Harry, who gives you an encouraging nod before stepping in.

“Our dads have been partners for years,” Harry says, his voice steady and confident. “They work on really complex cases—missing people, stolen items, that sort of thing.”

“They’re really good at it, too,” you add, a touch of pride slipping into your tone. “They’ve solved some cases that seemed impossible.”

“Like what?” a voice pipes up from the back of the room. It’s Daniel, always the first to challenge anyone. “What kind of impossible cases?”

Harry grins, clearly ready for this. “Well,” he starts, “there was this one case about a guy who disappeared from a locked room. No windows, no secret passages, nothing. It was like he vanished into thin air.”

You pick up where Harry leaves off. “Our dads figured out that the guy used a trapdoor hidden under the carpet. It led to a tunnel that came out a block away. Everyone else missed it because the trapdoor was enchanted to—” You catch yourself, flushing slightly. “Uh, I mean, it was really well-hidden.”

“How did they figure it out?” asks Emily from the front row, her brow furrowed in curiosity.

Harry leans on the desk behind him, arms crossed casually. “They worked out that the floorboards in that corner of the room sounded different. They were hollow. And there was a tiny scrap of dirt on the carpet that didn’t match the rest of the room.”

You nod. “They’re really good at noticing little details like that. Stuff most people would overlook.”

Another hand shoots up. “What’s the most dangerous thing they’ve had to do?” Sam asks, his eyes wide.

You exchange a quick glance with Harry. You’ve talked about this, rehearsed the details so it sounds thrilling but believable. “There was a case where they had to track down a group of thieves,” you say. “These people were stealing priceless artifacts and hiding out in abandoned buildings.”

Harry jumps in. “Our dads had to stake out one of their hideouts for hours, waiting for the right moment. When they finally went in, the thieves tried to make a run for it.”

“They cornered them in this narrow alley,” you add, your voice dropping for dramatic effect. “It was tense, but they managed to arrest all of them without anyone getting hurt.”

“That’s so cool!” says Ava, practically bouncing in her seat. “Did they get scared?”

You hesitate, but Harry answers smoothly. “Sometimes, yeah. They always say it’s normal to feel scared—it keeps you sharp. But they’re trained to handle those situations.”

“Do they ever talk about their cases at home?” another classmate asks.

“Not really,” you reply. “They keep most of the details private. But sometimes they’ll tell us little bits, like how they solved a puzzle or tracked someone down.”

Harry nods. “They’re careful not to bring their work home too much. They say it’s important to have a balance.”

The questions keep coming, and you and Harry take turns answering, weaving a web of stories that blend just enough truth with fiction to keep everyone captivated. By the time you wrap up, the class is buzzing with admiration for your “detective dads” and their incredible cases.

As you return to your seats, Harry leans over and whispers, “Think they bought it?”

You grin, keeping your voice low. “Completely. We should be detectives ourselves at this rate.”

The evening sun casts a warm golden hue over the Potter household as you and Harry burst into the living room, laughter spilling out as you hold up your project board for all to see. The presentation had been a resounding success, and the excitement buzzes in the air like static.

“Mum! Dad!” Harry calls, his voice carrying through the house. “We nailed it!”

Lily steps into the living room, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Remus follows shortly after, holding a steaming mug of tea, a soft smile on his face as he takes in the sight of you both glowing with pride.

"Let me see, let me see!" Lily says, crouching slightly as Harry angles the board toward her. Her eyes scan over the carefully placed pictures, diagrams, and handwritten notes. "This is incredible, you two. Look at the detail!"

“We worked really hard,” you chime in, beaming. “And everyone loved our mystery theme!”

Remus nods, his amber eyes sparkling with pride. “I knew you two would do great. You’ve both been talking about this project for weeks. It’s clear how much effort you put into it.”

Sirius emerges from the hallway, his hands in his pockets and a smug grin plastered across his face. "Did someone mention mystery? Clearly, the two best sleuths had some inspiration from yours truly."

You giggle, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. He chuckles softly, ruffling your hair in response. “I’m glad you’re my detective,” you say, your voice muffled slightly against his chest.

He freezes for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the sentiment, before his arms wrap around you. “And I’m glad you’re my partner in crime,” he murmurs, his voice warm with affection.

“Oi, what about me?” Harry protests, mock offense lighting up his face. “I helped too!”

“Don’t worry, Prongslet,” Sirius says, releasing you and reaching over to pull Harry into a one-armed hug. “You’re my deputy detective.”

Remus shakes his head, hiding a small smile behind his mug. “I think Lily and I deserve some credit too. Someone had to teach you two where to look for clues.”

Harry grins and leans back. “Maybe you guys can help with our next mission.”

“Next mission?” Lily raises an eyebrow, amusement clear on her face.

“Oh, yeah,” you say with a conspiratorial nod, moving to stand beside Harry. “We already have ideas. It’s going to be even bigger than this one.”

“And, of course,” Harry adds, glancing at you with a playful grin, “we’ll need our dads to help us solve it.”

Sirius smirks. “Well, I am the best detective around.”

Remus snorts. “Debatable.”

The adults exchange amused looks before nodding in unison. “We’re in,” Sirius says dramatically, crouching slightly and holding out his hand like a pact.

You and Harry place your hands on top of his, and then Remus reluctantly adds his own. “This is going to end in chaos,” he mutters, but the soft laugh that follows betrays his excitement.

Lily watches the scene with a fond smile, her arms crossed as she leans against the doorframe. “Just don’t burn the house down,” she says, shaking her head.

“No promises!” Sirius and Harry say in unison, and the room erupts in laughter, the sound carrying into the cozy evening.

[kentobb]

hiromi higuruma x female secretary (AU).

here (chapter 01) > chapter 02

chapter 01

You swear under your breath as you look at your phone screen. Your alarm, smug and mocking, displays 8:00 PM in bold letters. PM. Not AM. You scramble out of bed, pulling on the first blouse and skirt combo you can find that isn’t too wrinkled. A quick glance at the clock sends your pulse skyrocketing: you have 10 minutes to get to your new job or risk starting your career as a late, disorganized mess.

The streets blur around you as you weave through the crowd, clutching your bag in one hand and your shoes pinching painfully with every step. Your breath comes fast and uneven, but you can’t slow down—not now. Not when you’ve just landed a position as a secretary at Higuruma Law Firm, one of the most prestigious firms in the city. You promised yourself you’d make a good impression, that you’d be on time and ready to learn. Yet here you are, sprinting through downtown like a crazed lunatic.

And then it happens.

As you round a corner, your shoulder collides with something—or rather, someone. The impact sends you stumbling back a step, your bag nearly slipping from your grip. The man you crashed into stares down at you, his coffee cup tilted at an unfortunate angle. You watch in muted horror as the contents spill out, dark liquid spreading across the pristine white of his shirt.

“I—oh my god, I’m so sorry!” you blurt, your voice higher-pitched than normal.

The man raises an eyebrow, his expression stone-cold. He doesn’t say anything right away, but the sharpness in his eyes makes you wish the pavement would swallow you whole.

You glance at your watch. Three minutes left.

“Really, I’m sorry!” you say again, already backing away. You don’t wait for his reply—what else can you do? Instead, you mutter another apology and sprint off, heat crawling up your neck and ears.

By the time you reach the towering glass doors of Higuruma Law Firm, you’re a sweaty, disheveled mess. You try to smooth your hair down as best you can before stepping inside. The lobby is sleek and intimidating, all polished floors and quiet murmurs. Behind the reception desk sits an older woman with a warm smile and kind eyes.

“You must be the new secretary,” she says, rising from her chair. “I’m Ms. Tanaka. I’ve been working here for 50 years, and I’ll be training you today.”

You nod, still catching your breath, and follow her deeper into the firm. She talks as she leads you past rows of offices and conference rooms, her voice soothing but filled with authority.

“We pride ourselves on punctuality and professionalism here,” she says, pausing to look back at you. “Our clients expect nothing but the best, and Mr. Higuruma demands the same from his staff.”

You nod again, the words sinking in like a lead weight. You can’t help but glance at the clock on the wall. Barely made it.

Ms. Tanaka gestures toward the far end of the hallway, where a large office sits with its door closed. “That’s Mr. Higuruma’s office. He hasn’t arrived yet, but—”

The sound of the front door opening cuts her off. The air in the room shifts as everyone’s attention turns to the man who strides in, his presence commanding without trying.

Your stomach drops.

It’s him.

The coffee man.

Your brain short-circuits as you watch him, now dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that’s slightly damp from earlier. His expression is unreadable as he surveys the room, but when his gaze lands on you, you swear the temperature drops several degrees.

“You…” Ms. Tanaka begins, looking between you and him with confusion etched into her face. “Do you two know each other?”

“No,” you squeak, far too quickly.

Higuruma steps forward, his face calm but his eyes sharp as ever. “I trust you’ll be more careful in the future,” he says coolly, his words cutting through the air like a blade. “We wouldn’t want any… unnecessary accidents.”

You can only nod, your voice apparently gone, as he moves past you toward his office. He doesn’t spare you another glance as he shuts the door behind him.

Ms. Tanaka turns back to you, her confusion now mixed with a hint of suspicion. “Well,” she says after a moment, “I suppose we’d better get started.”

You force a smile, though your cheeks are burning. It’s only your first day, and you’ve already made an unforgettable impression. Literally.

Behind you, the office door clicks open briefly. Higuruma steps out, this time in a fresh tuxedo. He doesn’t say anything—just casts you a pointed glance before disappearing again.

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

You stand in front of the dark oak door, your heart hammering against your ribs. The gold plaque reads Hiromi Higuruma, and just looking at it makes your palms clammy. Taking a deep breath, you knock softly, almost hoping he won’t hear it.

“Come in,” his voice calls out.

You push the door open and step inside, keeping your gaze fixed on the polished floor. His office is immaculate, with walls lined with bookshelves, each shelf packed with legal volumes. His desk is perfectly organized, with not a single pen out of place.

He doesn’t look up at first, his eyes focused on a document in front of him. You can feel his presence, sharp and exacting, like the very air around him demands perfection.

“I’m here to present myself,” you say quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m the new secretary in training.”

The silence stretches, and you finally dare to glance up. His gaze is cold and calculating, and you quickly look away again.

“Look at me,” he says, his tone measured but firm.

You lift your head reluctantly, meeting his eyes. They’re sharp and assessing, as if he’s already stripping away every layer of your being to get to the core.

“Take a seat,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

You sit down cautiously, folding your hands in your lap.

“This office operates on precision, punctuality, and professionalism,” he begins, his voice low and commanding. “I expect nothing less from my staff. You will handle your duties with the utmost care and respect for the work we do here. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Mr. Higuruma,” you say, nodding quickly.

“You are to keep my schedule in order, answer my calls, and ensure that all correspondence is handled promptly. Any mistakes will reflect poorly on this firm, and I do not tolerate incompetence.”

Your stomach twists. “Understood, Mr. Higuruma.”

He leans back slightly, his gaze never leaving you. “If you fail me, you will be dismissed. There will be no second chances.”

The weight of his words presses down on you, and you nod again, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Mr. Higuruma.”

“That’s all,” he says after a long pause. “You may go.”

You stand quickly, eager to escape the intensity of his presence. As you walk toward the door, your hand already on the handle, you pause.

He looks up, his brow furrowing slightly. “Is there a problem?”

You turn back toward him, your face burning. “I just wanted to apologize again, Mr. Higuruma. For the coffee earlier. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze unreadable. The silence is deafening.

“Dismissed,” he finally says, his tone flat.

You nod, bow slightly, and leave his office, closing the door softly behind you.

Inside, Higuruma exhales and leans back in his chair. For a moment, he simply stares at the closed door before pulling out your file. He flips through your résumé, his sharp eyes scanning the sparse details. A normal girl with an ordinary background. Yet something catches his attention—your work history starts at sixteen.

He pauses, tapping his finger lightly against the page. Sixteen. Why would someone so young need to work? Was it financial difficulties? Family debts? The thought lingers longer than it should. With a sigh, he closes the folder and tosses it onto the corner of his desk. This isn’t his concern.

Hours pass. The steady rhythm of ringing phones and clicking keyboards fills the office, but he barely notices. His mind is occupied with case files and court schedules. Eventually, he steps out to grab lunch, expecting the office to be empty.

But as he walks through the quiet space, he notices you still seated at your desk, a book open in front of you. Your brows are furrowed, your lips moving slightly as you read.

He slows for a moment, his gaze lingering. Dedication, perhaps? Or just nervousness about being the new hire? Either way, he continues on, pushing the thought aside.

When he returns after lunch, his office is just as he left it—except for the coffee cup on his desk. He freezes, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer. A sticky note is attached to the cup.

“I’m sorry.”

The handwriting is small and neat, and the coffee is from the same shop he frequents. He glances toward the far end of the office, where you’re still at your desk, quietly typing away.

For a moment, he debates whether to acknowledge it. But no. He shouldn’t. His relationship with his employees is strictly professional. He picks up the cup and stares at it for a beat longer than necessary before walking to the trash can and dropping it in.

As he returns to his desk, a pang of guilt tugs at him, but he brushes it off.

This is the correct decision. Attachments, even small gestures, have no place in his world.

With a sigh, he refocuses on the document in front of him.

[ozarkthedog]

summary: while having a private moment with your boss, the ceo unexpectedly drops by… or so you think.

pairings: Boss!Layla El-Faouly x afab intern!reader x CEO!Marc Spector.

warnings: 18+ only -> mdni. Alt Universe. slight dubcon but reader is willing. power imbalance. free use. f/f -> f/m. established relationship (layla x reader). oral sex (fem receiving). fingering. sex in a private office. dirty talk. praise kink. cum feeding. cream pie.

word count: 3.8k 😅

author’s note: if a fic could come to life, i'd choose this one. thank you to @ghotifishreads for beta'ing and the mental support. i haven't written a fic this long in a while. hope you enjoy. 💙

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

“I have the paperwork all ready for you to sign, Ms. El-Faouly.”

Your boss, Layla, peers up at you with her deep brown eyes from behind her monitor. “Hey, one second. I’ve got to finish this email real quick.” She sends you a soft smile in return before nodding to the right towards a big stack of papers sitting messily on her desk.

Layla had one of the corner offices and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t your favorite spot in the entire building. It floods with sunlight all day long and it’s got a great view of the city. Layla was also another reason why it was your favorite.

“How was your day?” She asks, typing as you place the paperwork on top of the stack.

She’s wearing that dark gray, silk blouse and skirt combo you helped her pick out last week during a night out on the town. You told her it made her look powerful and inviting as you got down on your knees for her later that same evening. 

“It’s going alright.” You sigh, drawing imaginary patterns on the corner of her desk.

Layla clicks send on the email and turns her attention to you. She leans her elbows on the edge of her desk with a pensive brow. You can see her brain working on ways to fix your problems before you even tell her. “What’s wrong?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Nothing is wrong, I swear.” You raise your hands, shaking your head while the gorgeous woman looks you over quizzically.

Stretching your arms over her desk, you grasp her hands, giving them a squeeze. “Honestly, I’m fine. I just..”

 “What is it?” she asks, tucking a few strands of her wild curls behind her ear. She leads you around her desk by your clenched hands and pins your chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Tell me.”

Your eyes dance around the room, landing everywhere but on her. She gives your chin a slight shake and forces your eyes back to hers.

You take a deep breath. “Am I doing a good job?” 

Layla’s heart sinks. “Of course you are. Why on earth-”

“It’s just, it’s so much work.” You cut her off, spilling your worries now that the dam has been broken. “I hate not being able to get everything to you on time. Not to mention there’s so much paperwork. No one ever says thank you but they’ll definitely yell when you’ve done something wrong. I don’t know if I’m doing things right-”

“C’mere, baby.” She ceases your ramble and pulls you down into her lap and into a searing kiss that makes your head swirl.

Tender, yet fierce lips encompass your own, stealing your gasps with fond affection as she winds her arms around your waist and maneuvers you into the position she wants. 

You settle into the pose, kneeling over her lap with your legs on the outsides of her thighs, the cushion of her expensive chair a grateful soft bedding as she forms you to her body. 

“Should we really be doing this?” You ask between broken, breathless kisses. It was after 5pm, so it was less likely anyone would walk in on you and her. Still, hesitation nestled in your belly.  

“Everyone is gone for the night.” She confirms before lewdly dragging her tongue along the seam of your lips. “There’s no need to worry about them.”

Layla presses her forehead against yours sensing your apprehension. She searches your timid eyes for a moment trying to find the right words to express her gratitude.

“You’re doing a wonderful job. I’ve gotten no complaints from anyone. So if they have an issue, they haven’t told anyone,” she says, holding your gaze. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you more about how lucky I am to have you. My life has been so much better since you started working here.”

She holds your face, rubbing her thumb along the apple of your cheek. “In more ways than one.” She winks, playfully.

“Layla!” You gasp, lightly swatting her on the chest.

She sends you a look you know all too well. The raised eyebrow and slightly parted lips mean trouble is coming. In a good way.

“Oh, baby, you don’t know what you started.” Her hands tickle your ribs in a flash making your eyes bug as you try to keep your giggles at bay. You squirm incessantly in her lap, wishing you could break free but she had a strong hold around your waist.

Your skirt slid up your thighs in the process of all your wriggling, no longer hiding your want for her as your panties are noticeably soaked through.

“Oh, baby, you really are desperate for me.” She coos, eyes growing soft as she feigns a pout. “Poor baby.”

She skillfully undoes the pearly buttons on your white, flower-patterned blouse, sliding the thin material off your shoulders and onto the floor. Soft, warm hands palm your breasts, feeling your heartbeat beneath your skin before she makes you gasp by wickedly pinching your sensitive nipples.

She teases her fingers down further then and along the soaked cloth of your panties, drawing light circles over your throbbing, hidden clit. You whimper into her chocolate curls, a soft pathetic mewl, begging her for more as you perch wearily in her lap. 

“What do you say?” she asks with a sharp tongue and pointed stare. 

She weaves her arm around your hips, smoothing a palm over the curve of your ass and dragging your panties down in the process before seeking out your aching warmth once more. A well-manicured finger teases down the slick, puffy seam of you from behind, teasing and torturing you until she’s satisfied. She loves breaking you into little pieces and putting you back together. 

“Please-” You gasp as your hips buck on their own accord, chasing her fingers for relief. “Please, Layla.”

The older woman’s painted lips tug into a sly smile, “That’s my good girl.”

Your world is consumed. Her brunette curls smell of lavender and spice. They tickle your cheek and senses as she plays your body like a well tuned piano. Her hold on you is immense. There’s never any doubt that she doesn’t adore you.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” Layla coos, grasping the back of your neck with her free hand as her other cups your searing mound. You jolt from the touch but do as she says, meeting her soft yet stoic expression with watery eyes.

She pins you with a firm stare as she slowly presses two fingers into your soaked core. You know better than to turn your gaze from her but your eyes flutter as she finally grants you the sweet relief you’ve been begging for.

“That’s my good girl,” Layla praises as she fills you to the hilt, knuckles grazing your puckered hole and claiming every inch of your cunt.

Deft fingers glide with prowess as a steady, toe curling rhythm is set. Your body trembles as a  foggy bliss rolls into your mind. Your knees shake, desperately meeting her thrusts, wanting nothing more than to come around her fingers.

“You take what I give you, sweet girl.” Layla coos, nudging her nose against your cheek. She doesn’t like it when you get greedy. “You know that.”

One of your hands clutches the back of her chair while the other has her blouse in a death grip. A scolding is in your future but you could care less as you rock back onto her fingers chasing the pleasure she’s finally allowing.  

Something heavy in your gut twists. The knot Layla began tying when she first got you onto her lap starts tightening. Your muscles ache, ready to collapse under the pressure when she gives you the word.

Just then, a quick succession of knocks rap on her door.

Your head whips up as Layla’s fingers go still. Ice courses through your veins freezing the searing wildfire that burns in your abdomen. You knew it was stupid to try anything at work. Besides the occasionally secretive kiss, you both kept things to a dull roar. No one knew about your relationship and you wanted it to stay that way.

“Shh. Be still.” Layla whispers, unfazed, as she cups her free hand along your jaw. “You trust me. Right?”

You nod in her tender hold, hips pressing just a bit harder into her palm. “Good girl.”

“Who is it?” Layla calls out. Your body jolts as her fingers begin moving again and you send her a bewildered look.

“Marc,” a gruff voice sounds from the other side of the door. 

Shit — it was the CEO. 

Marc Spector built this company from the ground up. He and Layla had been working together since almost the beginning. They explicitly trusted and respected one another even when they didn’t meet eye to eye. 

You’d met Marc only once. It was a brief interaction as one of your coworkers showed you around on your first day. He was personable and made you feel welcome even though you were a lowly intern.

You thought he was handsome and could kill someone with his smile. His jet black quiff would curl on humid days when he forgot to gel it. It made you admire him even more for some reason. 

“Come in.” She answers while holding your worried gaze with her own unwavering one. 

Your heart jumps into your throat. “Layla, what’re doin-” you hiss, squirming to get free from her arms again.

“Remember your safe word.” she says, quickly just before Marc walks in.

“Layla, I was wonderin-” Marc starts as he steps into the office and instantly cuts himself off at the lewd display. 

You can’t breathe. Shame and embarrassment flood your system. If the floor could open up, you’d gladly jump in. 

Marc stands in awe. You couldn’t turn to face him but you spy his reflection in the darkened window and that’s more than enough. You don't know how you could ever look him in the eye after this.

“What’s this now?” He ponders, intrigue shaping his words as he steps closer, tapping his knuckles on Layla’s oversized desk.

“I was just rewarding her for doing such a good job,” Layla responds like she doesn’t have you propped in her lap with her fingers buried deep inside your cunt. 

You see Marc nod in the reflection and take another step closer. Your body burns like red hot coals as you feel his eyes on your body mainly where Layla’s fingers slowly thrust into your shiny, slick opening.

“That right?” Marc questions with a curious tone as he rubs a hand along his rough five o’clock shadow.  

“She’s so attentive and such a hard worker.” Layla praises, finally looking in your direction. “I had to show how much I appreciate her.”

Marc chuckles. It’s a deep huff of laughter that rumbles from his chest and it makes your insides melt. “Is she any good at helping relieve some stress?” he asks pensively while looking at your holes like he hasn’t eaten in days.

“She most certainly is,” Layla smirks, raising a sculpted brow before sliding a finger under your chin, tipping your face in toward her. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Your heart drops into your stomach. 

You’d been with Layla since the first day you started working, shared any and all free time together along with the inner workings of your bedroom. Explored each other’s bodies freely and with such passion. Falling to Layla’s feet came naturally to you and she made you feel complete; loved even.

You trusted her to push your limits whenever the time came but you didn’t think you’d ever be in this situation.

“Why don’t you show him how much you love being employed here, baby.” She dubiously insists, slowly nodding her head for you to comply.

You finally gather the courage to look over your shoulder. 

Butterflies flutter wildly in your belly as you take in the devilishly handsome man. His hair is mused, like he’d been running a hand through it all day and his button up shirt is loose at the collar, exposing a column of tan skin with two buttons undone and sleeves rolled up exposing his muscular forearms. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

A nervous chortle bubbles up your throat at the nickname. Your insides turn to jelly; and your brain to mush. Your core can’t help but clench as the older man takes you in with a ravenous gaze.

“Oh, she likes that.” Layla quips upon feeling your pussy clamp down on her fingers. 

“Does she now?” Marc croons, stepping up right behind you. He smooths his hands along the shape of you. His warmth feels good against your skin and you can’t help but moan when Layla curls her fingers along that spongy spot that makes you feel lightheaded.

“Damn, that’s a pretty pussy.” He drawls, crouching down behind your bent form. With your ass in the air, you already felt so exposed and now the owner of the company was getting a front row view of the most private parts of you. 

Sticky, wet noises fill the room as Layla splays her fingers deep inside your velvet channel. You bite your lip to keep your moans at bay. So overstimulated and heated, you’re not sure how much more you can take.

“Want a taste?’ Layla asks, jogging you from your stupor. 

Marc grunts in response. You look back in time to watch Layla feeding him her shiny, cream coated fingers. The debauched noise he makes while he licks and sucks her fingers clean has your heart falling into your lower half. 

You meet his lust filled gaze as he stands. Layla’s fingers leave his lips with a pop, and he palms his hard length through his dark slacks. “You gonna show me how good you are at serving your superiors?”

A nervous whimper escapes from your throat at his question.

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, lapping at some of your fallen cream as he pulls his cock out and gives it a languid tug. You watch dumbstruck as he pumps his length, from the obscenely thick base that’s littered with dark wiry hairs to a bulbous, desert blush tip that weeps in his hand after every twist.

“Is that a yes, sweetheart?” he questions. 

A smirk lifts the corners of his mouth at your stupefied gaze. Marc raises a hand and grasps the back of your neck, moving your head in a crude up-down motion. “This is how you say, yes.” 

Another deep chuckle burrows into your brain and makes you go even more dumb.

Fire ignites in your belly and races up your body, making your face burn. Your mouth bobs open and closed like a fish, wanting to answer him but you can’t even form the simplest word. 

“She tends to go a bit brain dead when she gets overwhelmed.” Layla thankfully answers for you. 

She thumbs your cheek. “But that pretty pussy of hers makes up for it.”

“You don’t say…” Marc quips before tapping his tip on your soaked folds. Your slick drips down your inner thighs showing that you would indeed make up for your lack of communication.

He notches the thick head past your dripping opening before slowly sinking into your cunt. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out, pressing his full length all the way and grinding the cut of his hips against your ass. 

“God damn.” Marc grits, hissing through his teeth at the way you squeeze him.

You whimper from the immense stretch. It feels like his cock is burrowing a new space inside your body. “Layla. Too much–” You gasp, having never felt so full before. “So. Big.”

She cups her hands around your face, hushing your cries. “I know, baby. I know.” 

Marc’s hips never falter. He plunges into your heat with an unyielding, merciless pace, pushing slick and cream from between your folds, making your belly twist in pleasurable pain.

His strong hands knead your fleshy hips, pulling you back on every brute shove, forcing you to take every inch he gives. “Such a good girl. Doin’ just what we say.” 

Your core clenches that much tighter knowing you’re making them happy. “You love it don’t you, pretty girl?” His heavy balls slap against your exposed clit making you mewl and writhe in the combined hold they had on you.

Sticky, sweet bliss drowns your senses. You’re a wanton mess. A plaything between two beautiful gods as they have their fun..

You whine when Marc slows his rhythm, canting his hips so his cock stays buried deep. “I thought you were one of the best.” Marc sighs with a shake of his head, his curls bouncing with the movement. “But it seems you’re not as attentive as I thought.”

Your brow furrows as you look at him over your shoulder.

“I think it’s time to show your Boss how much you appreciate her.”

Marc moves quickly, dragging you out of Layla’s arms and down onto your knees in front of her spread legs. Layla quirks a brow at him.

“What? I wanted to see how attentive she really was.” Marc says, talking about you like you weren’t speared open on his heavy cock.

Layla pulls her dress up over her legs and spreads her thighs. Her panties looked much like your own, wet, sticky, and just begging to be removed.

“Go on. Show her how much you love being on your knees for her.” Marc commands. With a snap of his hips, he jolts your bones and forces your head between Layla’s thighs. “Eat your boss’s cunt.”

Heat flames your face at his words when a familiar hand curves around your jaw. Layla pulls her panties to the side and leads you gently, well as gently as she can while you’re being plowed from behind, to her slick folds. 

She sighs as your tongue licks a long stripe from her weeping opening to her clit. You flick the tiny nub, drawing tight circles for a brief moment before sliding down her folds. You lap hungrily at her slit, freely licking into her tight hole and sliding your tongue in and out from her heat.

“There you go.” Layla coos down at you with a smile. She scratches her nails along your scalp making you purr against her clit. She grinds her cunt against your mouth, chasing her pleasure. Nothing made you happier than making Layla feel good. Your core throbs when she gasps and fucks her mound onto your tongue.

A rough, grating moan crawls from Marc’s chest as your cunt quivers and milks his length. “Such a good girl letting us use you like this.” He grits, slamming his hips harder into your ass and knocking your face steadily into Layla’s cunt. “Like you were made for it.”

Your core spasms at his words. You did love being on your knees for them. At their beck and call, wanting to be of service however they needed.

Marc lays his body along your spine, pressing his clothed chest against your bare back, and nuzzles his curved nose along your cheek. A large hand slinks around your hip and notches nimble fingers against your clit, swirling tight circles around the throbbing nub. “Wanna know all the pretty noises you make when you come.”

“Oh, they’re just the sweetest.” Layla moans, breathlessly as your lips lock around her clit. You suckle the tiny nub until 

she’s digging her fingers into your hair, writhing and gasping. 

Marc groans at the sight of his business partner unfurling with pleasure. His breath is hot in your ear and he crowds you even more, leaving no chance of escape.

“Come on, girl. Be good and come for us.” Marc commands, shifting his hips until his throbbing tip grazes that hidden spot behind your clit.

With Layla humping your face and Marc sheathing his cock further inside you with every shove, you’re pushed to the edge before you can even think. Your cream coated lips fall open with a feverish wail as your body locks tight. 

Your muscles shake uncontrollably as you careen off the edge. Your soaked core clenches like a fist, forcing Marc’s pace to stutter and drag him along with you. He lets loose a dark roar when his balls draw up and he fucks your trembling core to the brim with his thick seed.

His cock twitches between your folds, pumping you full with every last drop. “God damn, you weren’t kidding. She more than made up for going all dumb eariler.” He slowly eases from your core with a hiss and tucks his half hard length back into his slacks.

Your head is still reeling from the powerful orgasm and Marc’s compliment makes you just that much more lightheaded. Thank goodness you were already on the ground. 

“Oh you’re making such a mess.” Layla gasps when she sees the thick river of white that runs down your thighs. Your knees ache from being on the hard carpet for so long but the pain is forgotten as the pair crowds over you.

You whine as Layla and Marc drag their fingers through the hot stickiness and press them into your mouth. 

You gag heavily around the two sets of fingers, tears pricking your eyes as they cover your tongue in the combined spend. “Good girl. Clean up the mess you made.” Marc nods slowly, heavy lidded with a deep moan of satisfaction as you choke and sputter while Layla proudly smiles down at you. “Did so well for me; for us.”

She shares a curious look with Marc before turning her gaze back to you and thumbs the last bit of white into your mouth.

“Might need to borrow her again sometime soon.” Marc comments as they help you onto your feet. “You know how stressed I can get.”

Your legs are shaky, like a newborn doe, as Layla brushes down your crumpled skirt while Marc helps you back into your blouse, securely buttoning you up. 

“We’ll see about that.” Layla responds as she gathers you into her arms and sits back down on her chair, tucking your sleepy head under her chin. 

“I’ll see you ‘round the office, sweetheart.” He raises a hand and tenderly grazes your dewy temple with his knuckles. 

As he sees himself out, he winks at Layla and she smirks before he shuts the door leaving the two of you in peaceful silence. 

As you relax in Layla’s arms, burrowing yourself into her safe warmth, you notice through sleepy eyes that her monitor is still on. The email she was typing when you dropped off the paperwork lights up the screen.

𝚃𝙾: 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛 (𝙺𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚌)

𝚂𝚞𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝: 𝙵𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚙 - 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚏

𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝚂𝚑𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝙻𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚊 𝙴𝚕-𝙵𝚊𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚢

𝙲𝙵𝙾 𝙺𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚌

*evil laughter* they were in cahoots the entire time!

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

follow @ozzieslibrary for fic notifs!

[spnbabe67]

Bruises and Bitemarks

Kinktober Day 5: Marking (J.S.)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, PiV, Hickeys, Biting, Spit, Pussy-job

Summary: Tatum promised herself that her night with Jake was only gonna be a one time thing. But can she really resist him? And more importantly, can she keep whatever this is between them a secret?

Word Count: 3208

Authors Note: I know the title is a little on the nose, but its also the title of a song by Good For Grenades.

Tatum was fully intending for, whatever the hell that night with Jake was, to be one time and one time only. She’d kicked him out after the second round, citing not wanting to inflate his ego until his head was so big that he couldn’t get out the door as her reason. That’d earned her a smack on the ass as they were both getting redressed, well, Jake was at least. Tatum had simply crossed her arms over her bare chest, leaning against the wall and unabashedly watched him pull his clothes back on; the infamous Jake Seresin doing the walk of shame for once. She’d sent him out the door with a mocking waggle of her fingers, going to shower only once she took a moment to compose herself.

The next day it was like nothing had happened between her and Jake, not that they’d had too much time to interact. Tatum giggled under her breath as the dark haired man from the bar the night before turned out to be the instructor for this mystery mission, shocking Hangman and a couple of his cronies who had apparently given Maverick some flak after he had to buy the entire a bar a round and subsequently got thrown ‘overboard.’ Karma’s a bitch. It wasn’t like she cared, she couldn’t give two shits about what had transpired between her and Hangman, she could be another notch in his belt for all it was worth. She was worth her salt, she knew it and everyone else knew it. She was the last pilot to be taken out by Maverick in their dogfighting exercise, outlasting even Natasha, and what she did outside of training had no effect on her performance. 

That night she took her fellow pilots, including Maverick out to The Hard Deck, buying them all a round. She raised her glass to Maverick across the bar, giving him a smirk as he flirted with Penny. That man has his work cut out for him. Much to her surprise, Jake hadn’t shown his face at the bar, not usually one to turn down free drinks. Tatum internally shrugged, no skin off her back, and her wallet stayed a couple bills thicker. Tatum quickly downed her glass of scotch, watching Penny refill it before taking Natasha up on her challenge to a game of pool. The raven haired pilot engaged her in some trash talk as she racked the billiard balls and with a loud snap had them careening out of their neat triangular shape, ricocheting against the walls of the table.

“So,” Natasha started, lining up her next shot and narrowly missed knocking the striped ball she had been aiming for into its pocket. “You shacking up with anyone or are you stuck in the barracks with the rest of us?”

Tatum snorted a laugh, walking around the table, the pool cue loosely in her grasp. She was grateful for the easy friendship she had with Phoenix. Growing up, Tatum had always equated the other girls in Middle and early High School to sharks, always moving between friendships and could smell drama like blood in the ocean; she always made it a point to not piss them and their unnaturally dead eyes off. But when Natasha ended up in her class at Top Gun the two became fast friends, neither of them standing the wishy-washy nature of the other girls in their class, and not letting Jake or Coyote give them any shit.

“Is that your not so subtle way of asking me if I’m fucking anyone right now?” Tatum grinned and arched a brow at her friend as she pocketed the ball she’d been aiming for, moving to set up her next shot.

“Maybe.” Natasha’s tone was nothing but sly.

“Well, Ms. Nosey, there’s nothing to report.” The lie easily rolled off her tongue, mostly because in her mind, Tatum didn’t consider the one time thing between her and Hangman to be anything other than a slip in her morals, a way to break her dry spell and work out frustrations. What it wasn’t was a long term thing, not friends with benefits and definitely not an exclusive situation. “I’m single and subjected to the barracks like the rest of you. Unattached and unbothered, just how I like it.”

Tatum leaned back over the table, mindful of how the skirt of the dress she’d changed into rode up against her thighs, the flowy fabric brushing against her mid thighs. She uttered a curse under her breath as the cue slipped against her sweaty hands, sending the cue ball on an errant trajectory. 

“Bagman,” Tatum stiffened as Natasha called out to Jake who’d apparently showed up in the last couple minutes, perched on a stool at one of the high tops by the pool tables. “I was starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

Tatum looked over her shoulder to see Jake’s gaze already on her, looking her up and down before giving her a serpentine smile. “And miss an opportunity for Ice here to buy me a drink? No way.” Tatum rolled her eyes, moving out of the way so Natasha could angle her shot. “What’re you drinking Hayes?”

“I don’t drink.” Tatum heard Natasha huff a laugh at her blatant lie as she swiftly pocketed one ball, moving to line up another shot.

“Since when?”

“Since now.” Tatum watched Natasha easily sink another ball into its pocket, anything to try and ignore Jake’s eyes tracking her. 

Jake called out his order, and since Natasha was on a hot streak, Tatum sauntered over to the bar putting in his order as well as one of her own. Tatum handed Penny a couple bills in exchange for her Jack and coke, the beer Jake requested, and one for Natasha, thanking the bartender before returning to the pool table. 

“‘Bout time, bitch. I was about to take your turn for you.” Natasha teased.

“Is that so?” Tatum jested back, pulling the pair of longneck bottles back towards her. “Then I guess I’ll just give this one to Jake instead then.”

“Not a chance.” Natasha took the chilled bottle from Tatum, kissing her friend on the cheek in thanks.

“Deal’s a deal.” Tatum slid Jake’s beer over to him, taking a sip of her own drink before picking her pool cue back up and assessing the sorry state of the pool table, Phoenix having nearly all of her balls in pockets. “The fuck is this Nat?”

“Not my fault you suck.”

Tatum flipped her friend the bird, but could help breaking out into a smile as she managed to find a halfway decent angle. Tatum tried to concentrate on her shot but she could feel Jake’s eyes on her. She shook off the feeling, managing to sink a couple of her own into the pockets before she scratched. 

“I thought you said you didn’t drink?” Jake smirked at her as Tatum walked back over to the table.

Tatum took a sip, keeping eye contact with Jake before setting the glass back down on the table. “It’s just Coke.”

Jake narrowed his eyes, the only indication of his suspicion until he reached over, wrapping his hand around the glass and brang it to his lips. Tatum bit the inside of her cheek, not giving him the satisfaction of looking sheepish at being caught in her lie. 

“My question stands. I thought you didn’t drink?”

“Okay fine.” Tatum relented, watching as Natasha successfully hit the 8 ball into a pocket, raising her arms in victory. “I drink, just not with you.”

Natasha pulled Jake in for a match and Tatum migrated over to where Fanboy and Payback were playing darts. From where he was playing billiards with Phoenix, Jake watched Tatum throw her head back in laughter at some joke Payback made out of the corner of his eye. The way her hair was pinned up in a low chignon accentuated the curve of her neck, it drew the eye to the bare expanse of her back put on display by the halter neck of that dress that made her look sexy as hell. As she lifted that damn glass to her lips, Jake was mesmerized by the way her back muscles rippled under her soft skin. He could practically feel the memory of how her body felt under his hands. Jake tore his eyes away from Tatum, turning his attention back to the pool table, ignoring the stink eye Phoenix leveled at him. 

As the night progressed, more and more of the patrons filtered out of The Hard Deck until Penny signaled for last call. Tatum had ended up chatting with Penny as the night came to a close, only a few night owls still hanging around. 

“You need a ride home?” The bartender asked her as she dried the crystal tumblers, setting them back up behind the bar.

“I got her Penny.” Tatum glanced up as Jake walked to the bar, jacket slung over one shoulder. 

Tatum furrowed her brows. “You’re still here?”

“What else am I gonna do? Go back to the barracks?”

Fair. Tatum shrugged her shoulders as Penny gave her an inquisitive look. Tatum knew the bartender had her best interests, as close with her as she was with Natasha. She hopped off the stool, waving to Penny as she followed Jake out of the bar. Tatum knew something smart was about to come out of Jake’s mouth as he grinned either to himself or at her as they both climbed into his truck.

“So,” Tatum internally groaned at Jake’s tone, preemptively rubbing her forehead after she buckled her seatbelt. “Unattached and unbothered, huh?”

Tatum was confused at first, trying to comprehend what exactly Jake was referring to but then her conversation with Natasha earlier, right before Jake showed up.

“Eavesdrop much?” Tatum accused, crossing her arms.

“Not eavesdropping if you are having a conversation in a public place.”

Tatum mumbled under her breath about technicalities as she slid lower in the passenger seat.

“Still waiting for an answer, Ice.”

“Why does it matter?” Tatum countered. “I told you that thing last night was a one time thing that neither of us was gonna speak about again.”

“That thing?” Jake gave her an amused look as he pulled into the parking lot. “You mean where I fucked you into a quivering mess with you moaning my name?”

Tatum shivered at the memories his crude words invoked, squeezing her thighs together. “Jesus, Jake. You kiss your mama with that mouth?” His answering smirk had Tatum rolling her eyes and unbuckling her seatbelt and kicking the door open. “Goodnight Hangman.”

Tatum heard Jake slam his own door as he chased after her inside. His hands landed on her waist as she pulled the keys for her room out of her purse. She sucked in a shuddering breath as he placed an open mouth kiss against the junction of her neck and her shoulder. One time. One time was all this was supposed to be. But here she was, letting Hangman lead her by her wrist down the hall to his room. She should have heeded the warnings more, listened closer to the scuttlebutt about him. Because the next thing she knew she was urged inside his room, the door swiftly closed and locked. Then his lips were on hers, harsh and demanding, his hands roughly grabbing at her hips and waist hard enough to bruise. Tatum slid her own hands into his hair, letting her nails scratch his scalp, tugging on the short strands making Jake grunt into her mouth. 

They both stumbled backwards, Jake leading Tatum by the hips until he sunk down on his own mattress, pulling her onto his lap. With the change in height difference Jake kissed a hot trail from her lips to her jaw to her neck until he reached the spot under her ear that he knew drove her crazy. Tatum dug her nails into Jake's shoulders as he sucked and nipped at her neck, feeling each movement of his lips against her skin send jolts of arousal shocking through her. She rocked her hips back and forth against the buckle of his belt, her skirt hiked up high on her thighs from where she was perched on his lap. Jake sucked and kissed every inch of skin he could reach on the side of her neck and down to her collarbone before pulling the v of her neckline to the side, exposing her breast. 

Tatum tipped her head back, grinding her hips onto Jakes as his mouth closed around the skin just north of her pebbled nipple, north of where she wanted to feel him. Her breath came in short pants tinged with desire as Jake finally wrapped that mouth of his around her nipple, the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her waist coming up to palm the other. Tatum was breathless by the time Jake slid his hands under her dress, sliding the garment up and over her head to be thrown to unknown places in his room. 

His pupils were blown wide with lust as he surveyed her naked torso, the only thing keeping her from being fully naked was the black lacy g-string barely covering her soaked pussy. Jake stood, bringing Tatum with him with his hands gripping her ass. That was, until he dropped her back down onto the bed on her back. Instantly he was hovering over her, pressing a kiss to the valley between her breasts, his hand toying with the waistband of her panties, pulling them away just to let them snap back with a biting thwap. 

“Who are these for, huh?” Jake muttered against her skin as he kissed his way between her breasts up to the hollow of her throat where Tatum felt the tip of his tongue in the dip. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted me to find these.”

“You really like to hear yourself talk, don’t you.” Was Tatum’s only answer, though the flush of her cheeks was probably an answer in its own right. 

Jake just chuckled, removing his shirt, hands moving to undo his pants. Tatum sat up, helping remove the article of clothing, his jeans and boxers following a similar path to that of her dress and his shirt. 

Jake put a hand on her belly, pushing her back against the bed. Tatum let him lay her back, lounging on her elbows as she watched him fist his cock in his hand, giving his already hard length a few lazy pumps. He spit onto his cock, using it as lube as he slid his hand up and down his shaft a couple more times before he took hold of Tatum’s thighs, pulling her closer towards him. She bit her lip as Jake pulled her panties to the side, admiring her glistening folds. Her head fell back as Jake guided his cock through her soaked pussy lips, the underside of his shaft sliding against her throbbing clit. She tried to buck her hips up, wanting to chase the feeling but Jake pinned her hips to the bed with a large hand, using the other to guide himself through her slick. 

“Just fuck me already Seresin.” Tatum uttered through gritted teeth. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Jake rutted against her heat one last time before Tatum felt the head of his dick catch against her opening before he slowly pushed himself into her.

Jake tilted his hips back and forth, fucking her agonizingly slow. His hand against her lower stomach added pressure as she felt him slide impossibly deep inside her. He slid in and out of her at a snails pace, it must have been torture for him as much as it was for her. 

“Jake.” Tatum groaned, needing him to go faster.

“I’m fuckin’ ya, ain’t I?”

Tatum glared at him. “Fuck me for real.”

Jake cocked his head at her, running his hand up and down her thigh. “What’s the magic word?”

He couldn’t be serious. Oh but he was, not budging from that languid pace that he’d set from the moment he’d pushed himself inside her.

“Please.” Tatum moaned as Jake added his thumb circling in light, slow circles around her clit.

“Please what?” Jake crooned. “Tell me what you want. Gotta be specific.”

For fucks sake. “Please fuck me harder.”

“Again.”

“Jake, please.” Tatum refused to let her pleading turn to whining. “Please fuck me harder. Please.”

She could have cried when Jake finally picked up the pace, snapping his hips harder, bottoming out into her. Tatum moaned as he hovered over her, changing the way his thrusts rubbed against her walls. 

“What would our friends think if they saw you right now, huh? Begging for me to fuck you harder? What do you think Phoenix or Rooster would think if they heard you begging for my cock, begging me to fuck you like a whore.” Jake growled into her ear.

The pure filth dripping from his lips like honey should not have turned her on as much as it did. Tatum dug her nails into Jake's back, digging her heels into his ass to keep him on this pace. She murmured his name over and over as his cock brushed against her g-spot, the hand he’d slipped between their bodies making rapid circles against her clit with that perfect pressure. Her walls fluttered around him as her climax built and built until she teetered over the edge, burying her face into his neck as she came hard. Her pussy clenched around him, making Jake’s teeth dig into Tatums shoulder as he came with a series of erratic thrusts, his legs shaking.

Jake pulled out of Tatum with a low groan, turning Tatum so they laid with her back to his chest. He lazily placed open mouth kisses to her shoulders as they both came down from their shared high. Tatum hummed, stretching her legs out on the bed.

“I think your bed is bigger than mine.” She muttered, nipping the skin of Jake’s inner bicep with his arm under her head.

“I don’t think so. Feels just as small as yours.” Jake pinched her side, making Tatum squeal and hop up from the bed, discarding her underwear on her way to the bathroom in his room.

Tatum’s eyes went wide as she flicked on the light, the harsh fluorescence highlighting the red marks on her lower neck trailing to her shoulders and breasts along with the indentations of teeth on her shoulder. “Jake fucking Seresin! What did you do?!”

Tatum made Natasha swear her silence when she requested to use her friend's concealer the next morning. She refused to divulge who exactly turned her neck into their own personal chew toy, only relenting the fact that the sex was good, and no, it was not serious. 

When Jake came in a few hours later, his eyes immediately dipped to Tatum's neck and when he passed her in the hall that afternoon, he leaned in, whispering to her.

“Next time, I’ll make sure you can’t cover the marks I give you.”

And some part of Tatum hoped he was right.