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saturatedboy · 3 years

Note

Greetings! it is me again

im here for another request for m'lady donna

Could you do Mafia Donna x Mafia Reader

Enemies to lovers please ( ╹ v ╹ )

Donna Beneviento x GN!Mafia!Reader

Words: 6k

Warnings: Mentions of death, gore and violence

Requests: Open

Smoke drifted into the crisp cold air as the clouds overhead began to turn into a darker grey, carrying the weight of all their pent-up water. The breeze had turned against the sky, picking up speed as time went on. “Seems to be a stormy night tonight boss,” A croaked voice spoke out, putting out their lit cigar as they scraped it alongside the cobbled wall that they were leaning on.

With an audible sniff and eyes turning upwards, a smile was drawn upon your lips. “Seems so. However, don’t let the simple trickle of water make you forget your place. We are doing this tonight, rain or no rain. I can’t have any more fuckups you hear me?” The other cowered down a little, turning their head to face the other way down towards the open entrance of the alleyway that both of you were hiding in.

“Yes boss,”

“Good, now get the horse and cart ready, we have an order to deliver.” soft noises of the worker footsteps travelled down the alleyway, echoing with each step. Once out and turned, you shook your head and pulled fingers through your hair. The slight texture of grease made you sigh, disappointed at the fact your hair wasn’t as soft as it had been in previous days. “I need a shower,” you moaned, glancing up as you felt the first drop of water touches your skin and slide down. The feeling of its coldness made you groan, pulling your hands away from your hair onto your shoulders where the hood to your poncho over your head keeping you dry from any further water droplets. Once you made sure it was secured, you began to set trail off down the same way your partner had travelled, down the alleyway and made a sharp right as you entered back onto the streets of the village. Although it was bustling with life, you found not many people had travelled down the small areas of darkened light between houses. So instead, you and your team began to meet up there to discuss matters upon next delivers.

Keeping your head low, you walked down the dirt pathways, only to look up when the noises of soft neighing could be heard. A horse stood tall; its brown of its body being sploshed with bits of dirt along with the odd leaf in its mane. Smiling at the beautiful creature, you ran your fingers through its mane, starting with the top of its head and working your way down, picking the fallen leaves out and throwing them onto the ground. Beng caught up in pleasing the horse, a sudden tap of your shoulder made you turn and huff. “What.” You spoke, the word coming out as a demand rather than a question. Another partner of yours looked at you, rubbing the back of their head sheepishly as they cracked a long-side smile.

“Time to get going, everything is ready.” Nodding, you looked back at the horse one more time and placed a soft kiss upon its mussel, cooing as you stared into its black eyes.

“Aren’t you just magnificent.” You whispered, giving one last stroke through its mane before you walked away, letting your hand wonder over the side of its rather plump body. The horse whimpered under your touch, missing the feeling of your warmth soothing its headache from staying up all day since the crack of sunlight.

You stopped just behind the horse, grabbing hold of your partners hand as they pulled you up upon a wooden cart that had the edges as benches and the middle being filled with bags. Waiting for the rest of your team to climb on, you fiddled with your dirt and cracked nails letting your mind wander. Everything had changed after the disappearance of Mother Miranda. People had no one to worship so instead a vote for mayor had been decided as the village needed someone to keep everyone in shape. Although the Lords and Ladies still existed, no one had really known much of them as it sometimes felt like they too had disappeared. ‘Fools’ you spoke within your mind, leaning back against the wooden rest as you relaxed your body slightly, opening your legs taking up much space since a small of your group would be coming with you for this delivery.

Soon once everyone was settled, the cart began to move with the horse towing it. As the journey had begun, you checked in on everyone in your team making sure that they were okay and that any sort of fuck up they make, you would handle it appropriately- not like they really made ay fuckups; a generous pay drop would be the worst thing you could do to them. Back to your thinking, you smirked as a sudden image crossed your mind.

The fair and sweet Lady Beneviento.

Oh, was she a kicker to your reputation amongst the vast of villages. Although not many knew this, but their ‘oh so wonderful’ Lords and Ladies hadn’t actually disappeared. They just worked in more secretive jobs, like you. Now, being a contraband giver was more of an illegal crime now that the mayor had placed down laws but what's the fun in following when breaking them gave you such more of an experience to be truly alive. Now, knowing the whole area, you had knowledge of where the Lords and Ladies were hiding away and doing their own nasty deeds.

When you first got into business by delivering the ‘secret bags’ as the Duke would sell them to their buyers, you had stumbled across The Lord Heisenberg being someone you were delivering to. It didn’t come to any shocker that you and him got along almost instantly. The dynamics of your relationship with the fourth Lord was nothing more than a buddy to see very now and again- it was your listening skills that got him to like you on a mutual level.

In the past 3 years, you had stumbled across what the other lord and Ladies were doing. Lord Moreau would ask for you to deliver DVD’s that he could watch, Lady Dimitrescu would ask you to deliver your services to her to help out with her three daughters and lastly, Lady Beneviento. She has never asked you for such things. She was quite secretive in the past, keeping to herself. You did expect so much her to keep that up- but you never expected to find her doing such activities like yourself.

It was a dark night that you saw her for the first time. You both had crossed paths that faithful night. You were doing a private mission of walking to Lady Dimitrescu’s castle for a ‘play date’ with her three daughters. Upon arriving, you had bumped into the Lady Beneveinto and knocked her onto the floor. The doll cradled in her arms came to life and attacked you by the legs, with small bruises, you huffed and picked up the doll, holding her out at arm reach so her long limbs of wood couldn’t hit you. The Lady on the floor stared up at you as the impact had revelled something one might describe to be ‘horrifying’ to the human eye. She had quickly began engaged with red as she stood back up and swept her veil back over her face, walking over to you and giving you a straight punch in the face just as you were trying to apologise for your mistake. The impact had you falling onto the ground, and the doll was released being brought back to its owner the doll maker. “How dare you,” She spat out, letting the doll in her arms glide above her shoulders.

You got up again and muttered a ‘sorry’ before trying to proceed past her, already knowing you were going to be a little late to the ‘play date’. However ,it seemed the doll maker had other ideas, seeing as you did reveal something she was so self-conscious about she had the doll at her shoulder swipe down at you, using a thin string to wrap your arms behind your back. The quick movements of the doll flying about had you unbalanced as you tried to keep up with the doll’s movement moving around your head. Misplacing your step, you fell back onto your knees and received a harsh blow to your face by a black shoe. With your head tilted to one side, blood running down your nose with the taste of metal between your lips, you could feel a sweep of warmth burst in your chest as your senses began to argue whenever you should try fight the Lady or scream for help. You didn’t know what to do so you kneeled in silence, waiting the next move. “I see you again I’ll make you more broken than porcelain doll that has fell of the highest shelf” Lady Beneviento had spoken, walking out with her doll back in her arms. It wasn’t till the daughters had gone searching for you that they found yourself in a bloodied state, holding back their hunger and instead getting you cleaned up. You kept the meeting between yourself and the doll maker a secret, saying that you were simply ambushed by a maid that worked at the Castle not really thinking about their lives since anyone who worker for the Lady Dimitrescu would be dead anyway.

The cart had come to a sudden stop, awaking you from your memories. Biting your lip, you could feel one of your canines scrape along- the tooth being chipped after being kicked in the face. A frown came to your face, another day doing business was not the most amusing thing you could be doing but none the less you had to get it done. A day’s worth of money was more you could ask for, being the secretive organisation that brought the outside technology and knowledge into the homes of those willing to pay large amounts for such items. Scanning the cart, watching as your team for this mission take some of the bags from the middle, you readjusted your hood on your head and jumped out after. Turning around to face the empty cart, you leaned in and collect the last of bags that were carrying such items that you didn’t know since the Duke gave no information what-so-ever, just to deliver the goods and collect the money.

“Let’s go.” You called out, walking in front of your team as you felt the water of the rain come more intensely down, matching your sudden mood. Rain was the worst of the weather; it wasn’t like you had anything to shield yourself from its droplets since your last umbrella was back at the base. Water fell off your frame, your poncho soaking it up and letting it cling to your clothes underneath. Shaking your head, you took in your surroundings. It appeared you were in a wood, maybe forest? You weren’t sure, you hadn’t exactly explored such parts since you were a child. “Charles, recite what Duke said,” You called out behind you, waiting for the other to respond.

“he said we should head Nother-West to deliver these bags. A mansion that he had spoken of should be there and we are to give the bags to the house owner.” Nodding to the words, you kept along a path that was littered with the dried leaves and dust from the dirt below. It was as though the bright colour from the grass had been taken away, leaving nothing more than distress and dust of those had become one with the ground. As you walked with your team trailing behind, the hairs on your arm shad spiked up, peaking interest at the sudden change in atmosphere. It felt as though you were being watched, maybe by the owls, maybe by the squirrel's that gazed down at your forms from the high trees- all that you knew was that you had eyes watching you and your every move. You felt mildly disturbed.

Deep breaths had calmed your nerves slightly, a silent voice in your head telling you that you were safe yet the nagging guy feeling had you on your toes, leaving our shoulders to be tensed. The quietness had been broken by one of your team mates, them speaking up in a high pitch voice. “What was that?!” Turning heads stared at him as he looked to the side, his eyes focusing on the trees that were staggered about.

“What was what.” You asked, arching a brow as you stopped walking. The man that had spoken up stayed quiet, staring at one spot until he shook his head getting rid of his thoughts.

“Nothing, let's keep moving. I thought I saw the doll moving.”

“Great he is going insane,” A woman had joked, making others around you laugh at her comment.

“Keep talking and each word you all say is a deduction of your payment. Let's go, we can’t be late.” That had shut them all up, this time you all were walking a faster pace to find the mansion, still sticking on the path hoping it led you there.

Each minute that had passed, you felt the feeling of your disgust growing. You were fine with the one doll that was laid against a tree a moment ago, the thought of a child that came through crosse our mind and they may had left it but every minute that passed and the deeper you followed the trail, the more dolls that were hanging, left and stuck to trees, branched and the floor had grown in popularity. Mentally you were no prepared for such toys, ever since the doll maker had attacked you, you had grown disgusted of the creation finding it to be a taint onto your pride to let such a dainty, yet somewhat nerve-ticking woman to beat the crap out of you. How she made the blood that circled your body become thick with hatred. “I can see the house up ahead!”

Your team and yourself had heaved the bags onto the front porch of the mansion, being wary to not knock over any plant pots that were settled amongst the rocking chairs that were soft rocking in the wind. Pulling down your drenched hood, you rolled up your sleeves of your grey dress-shirt and knocked against the door waiting for the house owner to answer. “This place is giving me the creeps,”

“You can say that again, I mean look at that doll in the window.”

“Oh gosh, it’s so large.”

“That’s one creepy ass-looking doll.”

Rolling your eyes at your employee's comments, you knocked again getting slightly impatience waiting for the owner to answer. It was hammering down with rain; the wind was picking up and not to mention you have yet to head back to base and sort through all the money this week to give out. You were a busy person; you had no time to be waiting around for-

The door had creaked open slightly, letting the small amount of light from the inside pour into line on the dark porch. “We have brought your package.” You spoke, stepping into the small amount of light in between the double doors hoping to see who the buyer was. The door creaked more open and you stepped back, taken back at the sudden appearance who you were facing.

Lady Beneveinto had stood, her veil over her face and swarmed by her feet were many small dolls, dressed and suited in different colours. You could feel your nose twitch, the sudden reminder of what she had done to you last time. You bit back a hateful comment and breathed out heavily. “Your order...ma’am.” You stepped aside so she could stare behind her veil at the bags your employees were carrying. She slowly nodded and she took a step outside to stand next to you. In a low voice she had spoken.

“Please, leave them inside by this door and you may get going.” She turned to look at you. “I’ll give your...boss their money.” Oh, you could clearly here the smile playing at her lips, the way her voice had deepened slightly when saying the last part brought your jumble of nerves to appear more. Hearing your team agreeing, you watched as each of them entered her house and left unharmed by the dolls that sat waiting patiently by the door. You did however find it humorous how each one of them had carefully stepped over them, as though they would come to life and attack them if they dared to accidently touched them. Once all bags were safely inside, they nodded at you and began to leave the porch, disappearing the further they walked as a lonesome fog had taken up the atmosphere. Soon, it was just you, Lady Beneviento and the creepy dolls. “Why so tense,” She spoke up suddenly, scaring you half-to death. Placing a hand over your fast beating heart, you looked away and pulled your hood over your head.

“Because its cold,” You weren’t going to back down to her, yeh she has creepy dolls but you have pride and dignity to not be stricken down by such a sly woman. Her laugh had caught your ears, it was eerily soft and gentle, as though she was the one nervous in this situation.

“Hm, sure. Do come in then whilst I fetch your money- if your cold you’ll warm right up.” She backed away into her home, looking back waiting for you to make your move. Looking back at the fog becoming thicker, you quickly gathered the much-needed courage to walk into her home and close the door behind you. You couldn’t lie, you almost moaned at the heat you felt surrounding your body. Seeming to approve, Lady Beneveinto began to walk away and out of your sight, leaving you with the hundreds of dolls surrounding you. Leaning against the wall by the doors, you looked down at your nails and picked at them finding comfort when doing so...

“Boo,” A voice had whispered into your ear, making you jump and grab the hunter knife that was hidden in your boots. Pointing the knife at the offender who floated above you, you scowled at the so-called-being. “Oh, I see your nose isn't bleeding. How sad, red is a pretty colour on you.”

“What do you want,” Sneering your words at the doll, it in response laughed at your facial features.

“Ya know you squint when your mad, that’s pretty cute but that isn't why I’m here. Lady Beneveinto was hurt deeply when you scared her- and I don’t like those who harm my mistress in any way.” The doll had stepped onto the wooden ground Infront of your feet. It slowly touched your left knee and watched in amusement as you tucked them under your body, being sat on your knees holding the knife out at it. “Sadly though, you work for the Duke and we can’t harm the only person being a life saviour brining the goods to us.” She smiled as you lowered your knife, a little relive that you won’t be dead within this place that you now wanted to badly leave.

Taking another step, the doll was now close to your position, looking up to see you staring down at it. “You work for a mafia, right?” It asked, it’s eyes never leaving yours.

“Maybe, though I see it much more as a bunch of individual enjoying breaking the law.” You responded, not even noticing the feeling of small hands gripping your knees gently as they lean up further to your face.

“Enjoy breaking the law hm? Too bad we can’t break your nose again-” the doll spoke, fully climbing onto your thighs ignoring your protest against it. “Your kind of fun,” it said, smiling up at you. “I’m Angie, and you are play mate?” You grimaced at the word. Playmate. It sounded weird.

“(Y/n), pleasure.” The doll giggled, jumping up and down slightly and clapping her hands.

“I have a name to a face, how fun. Playmates don’t normally get to speak their names, but you're weirdly different.” an awkward laugh erupted from your throat, you were silently hoping that the Lady would come back and save you from the doll of hers. “She hates you.” Angie said, humming slightly at your reaction. You pursed your lips into a thin line and nodded.

“I hate her to, she didn’t have to attack me and neither did you,” Angie stared at you, her smile disappearing of her face.

“You revealed her insecurity, how could you take her safety and pull it away from her.” Her posture on your lap held little aggression, yet her voice held anger. You were taken back from her change in mood, what had you done exactly?

“I don’t understand, what has she to feel insecure about?” Your question lingered between the both of you, the other dolls that you didn’t even bother to register had stood off to the side in a line watching you, hushed voices of their own talking amongst each other.

Angie turned her head slightly to look at the, you followed her gaze and a small gasp came from you. You hated dolls even more- BECAUSE THEY FUCKING MOVED AND THEY WERE MORE OF THEM! “Jeese calm down, they aren’t going to hurt you...unless you want them to-”

“No, I’m good thanks.”

“Okay goodie! Now let's talk more! You revealed her face! Everyone knows Lady Benevento hides her face for a reason. And you went ahead, pushed her and made her veil show her face to you. Of course, she hates you! I do too! Well- sort of. You’re fun!”

You sweated at Angie’s word, giving a half-smile. “Yeah, you said that earlier that I was fun. Now c’mon. She has nothing to hide, she’s pretty why would she need to hide her face? -wait I didn’t mean to say pretty she’s average, ya know? Like all females, average and cute- not cute just-”

“Shut up, please. You’re becoming less fun and more annoying.” You nodded and stayed quiet, going back to biting your bottom lip. Any further conversation between you both had been left alone. You just wanted to get your pay and go back home, to everyone in the village and to never come here again. You’ll have to talk to Duke about this.

“Apologies for waiting, I was caught up in looking at one of my finest creations all dolled up for me. And had to make sure the others had done their jobs.” Her clicking of her shoes had you pushing Angie of your thighs and as swift as a fox grabbing prey you stood up, your hood falling down and splatting against your shoulder remining you of how wet you felt around yourself.

You stared at her, looking down at her hand to see she was carrying a money bag that looked rather filled. She walked further towards you, her expression unseen to your eyes as she held the bag out for you to reach. With itching fingers, you grabbed the bag and nodded a ‘thanks.’ “We do hope to have you over again, maybe this time we can play with you.” She tilted her head, hands clasping in front of her. You gulped and didn’t reply too shocked or scared to even use your words.

“I’m going to head back now,” You whispered, turning around to face the double doors and grabbing hold of the handle. When pulling the handle, a familiar hand caught your laying over it.

“It’s quiet the storm tonight, Stay over hm? I’m sure you can stay the night.” Her voice was right beside your ear. You felt intimidated by her as her grip on your hand had soon stung as the iron handle under your grip had pushed itself up into your flesh, marking it with red.

Not answering her, she let go of you and walked away again, letting her shoes echo against the wooden floor. “Take those wet clothes of you, you’ve already started to make a pond in my house and I don’t appreciate it from the likes of a low-life like yourself. At least my dolls do high quality services and not try to strip someone of their safety.” Body freezing up, you dropped your hand to your side. You still didn’t understand why she was so mad at that- she's a Lady for Mother Miranda’s sake. She has no need to feel self-conscious about herself, in fact you didn’t even think of any questions about when you saw her face. She was somewhat...pretty you guess.

“Oi daydreamer, c’mon. I’ll show where you shall be sleeping- that is if you can even manage to sleep hehe!”

‘stupid fucking doll’ the thought of even sleeping in this house surrounded you with dread, a frown placed upon your face however it was soon wiped away when you felt Angie’s hand wrap around your own. She led you up the stairs that were on the right, pulling up and chanting that you should ‘hurry up’ like there was something chasing after you both. Once making to even the top, after slipping one time on the stairs, she unshed you to continue forward and into a room that was plain. A simple single bed with a wardrobe and rocking chair in the corner. You looked back to see Angie gone and a sigh of relief was released between your clenched jaw from holding back your tongue when it touched you. Finding yourself wandering to the bed, you stripped your poncho off and let it sit on the windowsill, opening the window a little to let cold air rush in, and after you laid back on the bed. Getting yourself comfortable you laid down against the pillows and closed your eyes, letting your hands lay upon your stomach interwind with each other. “Quicker I get to sleep, quicker morning will come,”

The feeling of something petit touching your cheek had you groaning. “What is it mum?” You mumbled out, forcing an eye lid open. Soon the tiredness within your eyes had been slapped out of exitance as you scrambled awake. Letting your body scrunch up as you laid fully back up against the head board of the bed. Sat on the other side of your bed, near the bottom, were a range of different size dolls. All of them were giggling, making you once again grabbing the hunter knife in your shoe and pointing it all at them. “Stay back!” Your throat felt slightly sore, only have woken up. The dolls all looked at each other as though they were whispering to each other, soon they had scrambled off the bed and out of the door, running past the Lady. “I see you’re all dry now,” She spoke, walking into the room with a silver tray in her hands.

You quickly let your fingers glide over yourself, finding new clothing on yourself. This time a baby blue dress-shirt accompanied with white pants. You glared up at the Lady as she placed the silver tray on the end of the bed. “You changed me whilst I slept?”

“Why yes, it took all my power to not turn you into a doll when doing so.” Her remark sent shivers down your spine, your body reacting by feeling your skin just to make sure you weren’t actually wood. Your shoulders slumped when you felt your skin, finding the meat still on and attached. “I suggest you eat up; my dolls don’t like guests that stay too long and I’m very busy today.” She left the room in long stride, having the decency to close the door behind her. Wiping a hand down your face, you leaned towards the end of the bed and grabbed the tray, gabbing it and pulling it towards your body. Upon the tray sat a plate of toast and a cup filled with water. Hearing your stomach rumble suddenly, you dug into the food which soon settled the unknown hunger. Once done, you swung your legs out of bed and placed your shoes on that were settled under the bed. Once they were slipped on, you took your partially dry poncho of the window sill and placed it over and arm- like a butler would do with a towel or a waiter.

Walking out the room, you jumped slightly back as the smaller dolls once again were running bout, each carrying different doll limbs with themselves. Waiting for them all to go past, you stepped fully out the room just to have Angie swing by quickly. “Hey there! Morning, now c’mon you can be helping hands!” She exclaimed, grabbing your hand like she did the previous night and dragging you along with her.

“B-But Lady Beneveinto said I had to le-”

“Thats because she doesn’t want you to get mixed up but oh well- now c’mon slow poke!” You could already tell Angie was trying to sit trouble between yourself and the Lady, you were so close to going back home as well. Following you complied, going through hallways and down the elevator shaft with the many dolls.

‘I hate dolls’

“Why are they here Angie,”

“They can help”

“Why would I want them to help us, we are doing fine.”

“But it’s nice to have a more interactive company”

“Angie”

“They can be of use.”

You were sat on a stool, overlooking a deceased child body that was paced on a medical table. At first glance, you had almost thrown up your breakfast into your mouth however you weren’t going to give the Lady satisfaction of getting under your skin with her wicked ways a ‘mortal can’t handle’. The body was cut open, limbs cut and replaced with wooden and iron ones. It wasn’t until you saw the sun and moon crest that had been burned into a wooden leg attached to the body that some things made sense.

‘so, she is the one that sends the so-called gifts and toys into the village.’ you thought as you placed a hand over the creates and stroked it, feeling the indents under your skin.

“Okay fine, if you want to stay then stay. Don’t touch anything you hear me?” The Lady spoke, pulling back her veil and rolling her sleeves to her black dress. You nodded and stayed in your place, staring at the body again.

‘They aren’t giving me any sort of reaction...no words spoken even.’ The Lady stared at you, feeling a little more comfortable with the situation. A small smile even broke out on her lips, eyes drooping a little as she felt a warmth claim her normally cold body. “If you could grab the screws over there on the able behind you, that would be helpful.” You turned to face her, nodding and got up out of your seat to do as told. Angie waited until you had sat down again, nodding at the teamwork you both had unknowingly fell into. Soon she left the room, leaving you both alone to work on the ‘gift’ for the children down in the village.

“So, I’m guessing these creepy things are given to the children?” You spoke up, watching as Lady Beneveinto as she weaved stitched upon the open cuts on the body.

“Yes,” she spoke out softly, tying a knot at the end of her thread and cutting it. “It’s so I can keep an eye on everyone. The dolls, I can look through their eyes and watch the world play. Mother Miranda had ordered me to do so before she left to wherever she had to go.” You listened, muscles relaxing as you watched her work.

“I’m sorry for taking your safety away, I honestly didn’t realise what I had done to do so but I believe an apology from me is the right thing.” She stopped her hands, looking up at you with a soft smile.

“My veil hides my deformed face; it hides the scar on my right side. I’ve been told by...villages when they accidently saw it that it scares them.” Her words had wiggled their way into your heart, you felt so much sympathy for her as she had been outcasted by such people. “But you didn’t scream...It was a new feeling.”

“I suppose we are all feeling new feelings. I didn’t even question your scarring, it’s a part of you. It shouldn’t make you different.”

“For someone who does illegal crimes, your oddly nice.” You chuckled at her, sending a smile of your own her way whilst a soft heat took over your ears.

“Many people are within the business; we just are hidden from the society we are forced to grow up in.” Your words hung into the air; the conversation cut off as Angie came flying in screaming as a fox chased after her.

“Angie!” Lady Beneveinto had shouted, grabbing her and bringing her close to her chest as the fox clawed at her leg. Getting your hunters knife at, you jumped at Lady Beneveinto and made a clean cut through the fox, blood splatting onto the floor. The heavy breathing of Angie was only heard now, Lady Beneviento to shocked to even say a word whilst you stood above the now dead fox, hand dripping in blood a little. ”Like I said...your oddly nice.”

A total of a week had passed after that day, Angie was house bound for at least another week after she had brought in the fox chasing her. Within that time, you and Donna (as you found out), had settled differences and began acquaintance with one another. Whenever you didn’t have an order to give out from the Duke, you would visit her to join her and Angie for a tea party or to just help around the mansion. Her company was far more peaceful than you would expect, she had slowly started to greet you without her veil over her face and instead a warm smile is what you would see when she answered her doors.

Weeks had turned to months, and months had turned to years. You were still a successful business runner for contraband, still not caught by Mother Miranda as she had returned from wherever she had gone off to. Life was running smoothly, you felt safe when at Donna’s house, the dolls somewhat warming up to your presence and not giving you so much of a creepy vibe.

On this particular day, you were sat on the front porch in the rocking chairs with Donna, a China cup in both your hands. “How has the selling been Donna?” You asked, sipping upon the herb tea feeling your body settle in comfort. Donna shifted in her chair, looking over at you on her left side.

“I’ve heard so much gossip lately so you better be careful out there. They are starting to get suspicious of your recent buyers, the blacksmith in particular. Apparently, he left a ‘television’ out in his workshop and the sewers wife with her child by her side was suspicious. Luckily, he lied and spoke that it was a random object he created.”

You chuckled and leaned over, resting your hand on her knee. “You worrying about me? Isn’t that sweet.” you teased, only fake pouting when she slapped your hand playfully.

“Oh yes, I worry about you a lot. So much I’m scared one day I may not kiss you being alive.”

Time stopped, her words replaying in your mind. “You...want to kiss me?”

“Well yes, isn’t it obvious I have taken a liking towards you?” Her forwardness had you blushing deeply, your whole face, neck and ears covered by the red. You opened and closed your mouth like a cod fish, making her sigh and lean over this time to meet your face in the middle. Using her free hand, she cupped your cheek and forcefully pulled you into a soft kiss. Her lips moved in sync with your, yours reacting to the feeling of both love and affection almost immediately. The moment was blissful, you enjoying the feeling of her being closer than ever to you.

Until you dropped your China cup upon being to focus on the kiss- making a perfect memory for your first ever kiss with your future wife.

#lady donna beneviento #lady beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #donna beneviento #re8 angie #angie the doll #resident evil angie #resident evill village #resident evil 8 oneshot #house beneviento #angie beneviento

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reidsconverse · 4 years

Text

memories • spencer reid

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: none! just 4000 words of pure angst

This was an old fic reworked to be about around spencer so its taking a lottt of creative/artistic liberty with the character, so it kinda sucks im sorry! 😁

Every moment you had with him was one to be remembered and cherished for better or worse.

It had been a few weeks since Spencer had officially ended things, he had moved all of his stuff out of your apartment and now it seemed as if he had never even existed in the same place as you, as though you two were strangers. That is had it not been for the images of memories the two of you held. So, here you were sat alone in your room, your only company the half-empty bottle of wine and photographs of the two of you which sat strewn carelessly across your floor.

You picked up a picture and stared at it realising you both looked so happy. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder, a cup in his hand and his signature grin sitting across his face. Your head was leaning against his shoulder, the smile on your face reminding you of how free you had felt that night, you had never felt happier and you recognised that night as the night you realised...you were so in love.

"We should have a party," Spencer yelled despite there being no one else other than the two of you in the room.

"Right now?" You looked at him as if he was insane, not only was it completely out of character for your boyfriend but also, it was 1 am on a Wednesday and although your friends weren't those with a regular schedule you presumed most of them would decline a house party in the middle of the week.

"Yeah right now, c'mon doll I'll call Derek and some of the others and you call your friends." His hand was already on his phone texting Derek before you could protest so you followed his instructions and went ahead and invited your friends before getting up and preparing for this impromptu party.

It had only been 10 minutes when you heard Derek and some others open the door shouting for Spencer and you walked over with a grin on your face, "Hey D, Spencers being a diva and redoing his hair, he'll be right down." You said, rolling your eyes as Derek pulled you into a hug, he may have been Spencer's best friend but he thought of you as a sister and always treated you as such.

"Well I have look good for my girl," You heard Spencer say from behind you quickly placing a kiss on your cheek before doing his weird handshake with Derek, "Hey, thanks for coming'."

The three of you made your way to the kitchen to grab some drinks and greet some more guests who had congregated in that area and before you knew it, you were 4 shots in, feeling way past tipsy and in the mood to dance.

"Hey Spence," You said walking over to where he was now sat, a cup in his hand as he held a conversation with JJ and Emily about something that you didn't care too much about. You waved a quick hello to the girls so as not to be rude and then placed your head on his shoulder to let him know of your presence.

"Hey darling, you feeling good?" He turned his face and flashed you a wide grin before wrapping an arm around you to pull you close to him. He enjoyed being near you whenever he could, when he was away he would long for the days where all he did was sit and hold you close to him regardless of what the two of you were doing, so now whenever he had the chance he would hold you close.

"Feelin' great Spence.. wanna dance with you..." You said pulling out of his hold and grabbing his hand leading him onto the 'dance floor', which was just the open space in your living room. He laughed and quickly finished his drink, discarding the cup somewhere in the room and held you as you both danced to the music playing through the speakers.

After a couple of songs, you both made your way to get another drink and get a break from the crowd, you sat at the kitchen island and passed him a drink."You know, considering you're a genius, I would've thought you'd be able to coordinate a bit better." You said teasing him about his choice of moves which had essentially been him waving his arms in the air attempting to be in tune with the music.

He looked at you in fake shock and scoffed, "Yeah well it was still better than whatever you were trying to do." Referring to your horrendous attempt at trying to be sexy which in truth was never going to be anything but embarrassing. You stuck your tongue out in a childish manner causing him to laugh and quickly move to place his lips against yours giving you a soft kiss.

You jumped down from the counter after pulling back as a couple of your friends walked in and struck up a conversation about nothing interesting yet you made the effort to look engaged as Spencers's arm slipped over your shoulders and you placed your head against his shoulder.

"Hey guys, look here." You both turned to see your friend Harry, as always with a polaroid camera in his hand. You and Spencer gave each other a quick smile before grinning wide for the camera, both your faces full of love and happiness.

You sat there thinking about how quickly things can change, the people in the image you held so young and naive to the struggles the future would hold. Taking another sip of your wine you skimmed through some more pictures before stopping at one that held a bittersweet meaning. A picture that was taken a few days after what had been your worst fight, you both looked happy but all you could think about the events leading up to the image being taken.

It was your and Spencers 5th anniversary and he had promised he would make it to dinner. You hadn't seen each other in weeks because he was away on a case but he had promised he wouldn't miss this day, he had asked for permission from Hotch to leave for a couple of days so he would be there. "No excuses, No ifs and buts...I'll be there babe. I promise."

But there you were, alone at a table for two. The look on the waiters face held nothing but pity as he walked over for the fourth time to ask if someone would be joining you. Finally, you gave up and shook your head to let him know you would be leaving and would like the cheque. You had never felt so humiliated walking out of the restaurant head held high but tears building up in your eyes and so you cried. You felt so broken, almost as broken as all those promises Spencer had made you. The word promise and sorry had lost all meaning in the last 5 years, simply a courtesy rather than meaningful.

The minute you got home your phone began ringing, it was Spencer.

"Hey doll, I'm so sorry I couldn't make it, the team wanted to go out last night and I kind of missed my -." He began to explain causing you to scoff, 'no ifs or buts' my ass.

"How could you?" Your voice cracking as you tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill for the second time that night. "I waited for 2 fucking hours Spencer, I felt like a fucking idiot."

"What? What are you talking about?" His voice was full of confusion. "Didn't you get my text?"

"No, I fucking didn't. I didn't get a fucking text. But that's not the fucking point, You should've been here, you promised you would be here."

"Babe, I'm so -," He began but you knew what he was gonna say. The only conversations you seemed to have were stuck on a loop like a broken record.

"Save it. Don't say you're sorry when you don't mean it, stop saying sorry and show it instead."

"Look, I'll get on the first flight out. I'll see you in a few hours, I'll make it up to you I prom-." You hung up the phone before he could continue, his promise worth nothing to you anymore. Walking over to the couch, you fell asleep the minute your head rested against one of the many cushions populating the seat.

You woke up to keys jingling in the door, yet you made no effort to move from where you were. The sound of his footsteps got louder as he approached.

"Babe? I know you're up." He said, kneeling beside you making you sigh and sit up. "Babe, I'm so sorry. I fucked up."

You just stared at him, it might have been petty but you didn't want to give in to his apologies just yet, he had to understand just how much he had hurt you first.

"I couldn't care less anymore, Spencer. I just need to remember that I'll always come second to work and that's fine, it's important to you and I understand that." You got up and walked over to the kitchen to gather yourself.

"Babe you are the most important thing to me, I'm sorry-."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. "Here we go again, Spencer there's only so many times you can say you're sorry before it loses all meaning. I'm sick and tired of this, I don't know if I can do this anymore. You're never here, you make promises you can never keep and I'm pretty sure you've told me you're sorry more times than you've told me you love me."

"Please don't do this. I love you." His voice was shaking, breaking down at the thought of you leaving him. He moved over to you and turned you so you were facing him. "I know this means nothing to you but I am so sorry. I've been so shitty to you and I know it."

"Spencer, I deserve better than this and I'm sick of forgiving you and acting like I'm fine with how you treat me, you might not mean it but it fucking hurts. I love you so much and I know you love me but would it kill you to put me first for once in your fucking life."

This annoyed him, the lack of sleep and being overworked leaving him less patient and more irritable, "That's not fucking fair, you knew what you were signing up for when you started dating me, I'm doing my fucking best. I go to work for US, to support US. If I could devote all of my time to you if I could, but I can't and it fucking kills me. You can't understand how much I miss you when I'm not here."

Tears welled in your eyes seeing him breakdown, unable to keep up the unbothered facade you had on, "I just...Spence, I miss you too. It hurts not being able to be near you and so when you're not there when you promise you will be, it hurts it really fucking hurts not to mention it's terrifying, how am I supposed to know you're ok if you do shit like that."

He pulled you into his arms as you sobbed into his chest, all the emotions you'd kept bottled up during the argument letting go. "I know baby, I'm so sorry I hurt you. I promise, and I mean it this time, I won't let you down again. I love you." He mumbled into your hair, slowly kissing your forehead whilst consoling you and holding you like he never wanted to let go.

The two of you went to bed that night in silence, not a word was spoken until the next day wherein Spencer switched off his phone and dedicated the whole weekend to you and only you. He kept his word once he had to leave, always fulfiling his promises, never pushing you to the side and communicating with you always. The two of you felt strong again, you were happy.

You put your glass down and walked out of your room and began pacing around the living room, pictures of you and him still up on your walls, the walls that no longer belonged to the both of you. You thought back to when he asked you to move him, how nervous he was and how excited you were.

It was movie night at Spencers house. Each week he invited everyone over to watch a film, everyone taking it in turns to select a film. This week Emily had chosen Midsommar, a film you were yet to see so you were excited. You were sat beside Spencer on the loveseat, his arm around you and your face resting against his chest, a blanket covering you both for extra comfort. You looked up and saw Derek and Penelope lay spread across the floor whilst JJ and Emily sat on the sofa. Bowls of popcorn and sweets were scattered around the room and beer bottles were piling up. It was nights like this that you wanted to treasure forever, for the first time you felt like you had a family, people to call your own, people you could trust.

"Watcha thinking about?" Spencer asked, glancing at you and realising your mind wasn't directed at the movie anymore.

"Nothing, just really lucky to have you in my life," You reached your hand up to hold his face and gave him a soft kiss. "I love you."

He pulled you in closer if that was even possible, "I love you too."

"Ugh, get a room." Derek groaned making you both chuckle.

Spencer responded by throwing some popcorn at him, "Aw is someone jealous, don't worry you'll find someone soon enough."

Derek murmured a quiet, "Fuck off" before turning his attention back to the movie, making everyone laugh.

The movie ended shortly and everyone was discussing what to watch next, you were in the mood for a comedy but Derek wanted to watch Die Hard for the millionth time. After several minutes of slight arguing, you finally decided on rewatching Moana for the 12th time.

Everyone was pretty much settled, drinks refilled, popcorn replenished and everyone back in their positions. Emily was about to press play before JJ stopped her, "Wait before you start I'm kinda cold can I borrow a sweater?" She asked Spencer.

"Yeah sure, take one from our room." He said casually like it was normal but it made your breath hitch in your throat, did he just say our room? As in, yours and his. Unofficially he wasn't wrong, it was your room as much as his, you spent pretty much every night here making having your own apartment redundant, but he hadn't yet asked you to move in with him. You couldn't help the small blush on your face and the way your lips turned upwards at his words. It made you happy knowing he thought of it as something for both of you.

"What has you so happy?" Penelope asked in a teasing tone, she'd picked up on Spencer words and knew exactly why you were smiling.

You just stuck your tongue out at her and looked up at Spencer, "Our room huh?" You asked making him smile.

"Yeah I mean, you're here every day, maybe more than I am. You should just move in at this point." He let out a little laugh after he said leaving you confused as to whether he was being serious, so you just laughed along and waited for JJ to come back so you could start the movie.

A couple of hours later almost everyone was half asleep, everyone apart from you and Spencer. You began making your way to his room followed by him carrying the blanket he had taken from his bed. The two of you went about your night routine, Spencer had insisted on keeping at least half of your things at his place hence why you never had to leave. You quickly changed into one of his shirts which fit you just right and climbed into bed where he was already sitting, reading a book.

"Spence, were you being serious...earlier when you said I should move in?" You asked him, making him put down his book and look at you.

"Would you like that? You don't have to say yes but I would love it if you moved in. The mornings when I wake up and you're still next to me, are the best mornings. Honestly, knowing I'm going to wake up next to you makes falling asleep easier. Plus Tesla and Edison love you, maybe even more than they loves me." He asked, the mention of his fish making you laugh despite the fact your eyes were welling up, what had you done to deserve the sweetest man to walk the earth.

You shifted yourself so you were straddling him and held his face in your hands, "I would love to move in with you." You answered placing a soft kiss to his lips.

"I love you so much," He said as you moved back to laying down next him. "You make me the happiest man alive and I'm so lucky to have you."

"God, Spence you gotta stop before I start crying, I love you too." You said, as he laughed and pulled you into a comfortable sleeping position.

"Goodnight love." He mumbled, already falling asleep.

"Goodnight Spence." You responded, closing your eyes and beginning to drift off but not before saying, "By the way, the fishies definitely love me more."

You hadn't realised you were crying until a tear fell onto the frame you were holding. The image just as blurred as the memories it held. You carefully placed the image face down onto the table rather than placing it back up. Making your way to the sofa, you got your phone out and glanced at the image that had left you in this state. A picture of him and her, his hands holding hers as tight as they once held yours, the grin on both of their faces wide. He was happy, only it wasn't because of you anymore. You closed your eyes again, remembering how it all ended.

He had been distant since he had come back from this last case, he had been away for almost two months trying to catch this unsub and you had thought he'd be more excited to come back to you and finally be home. But he hadn't spent more than 10 minutes with you, the only time the two of you were in the same room for longer than that was when you fell asleep. Recently that had also stopped, he spent more nights away from home and at clubs with Derek and Emily , only coming back once he knew you weren't there. It was killing you but every time you questioned it he shrugged you off, telling you he loved you.

You wanted to scream at him if he loved you why isn't he showing it, why does he refuse to acknowledge you. You knew he was lying to you, he didn't love you anymore, you could see it in his eyes, how he never looked at you as he used to, he never held you like he used to. It was killing you and you knew you should ask him but you also knew that would lead to conversation you didn't want to have, an ending you didn't want to happen. So you kept quiet, went about your day and didn't question his actions, you had decided you would rather have the worst of him than not have him at all.

But that didn't last long. A few weeks later something happened, something you could ignore. Spencer had barely been home, only coming back to grab new clothes and leaving again often returning at 4 am or not all. The nights you spent alone, his side of the bed going cold broke your heart bit by bit. But you weren't ready for it to completely shatter, the images Penelope sent you of him holding that girl, a little too close, a little too tight, a little too much, start to fill your screen causing a lump in your throat and tears threatening to spill. You walked to the kitchen, surprised to see him there, he was sat at the counter head in his hands and a coffee in front of him.

"Spencer, what fuck is going on?" You all but shouted.

"Shh, my heads killing me." He said, burying his head in his hands attempting to block you out.

"You fucking asshole." You screamed at him, the pain and hurt evident in your broken voice as you tried your best not to cry.

This made him look up, far quicker than he should've causing his head to fill with pain and throb, but he didn't care, the memories of last night were coming back he knew he had fucked up. "I-I'm sorry, I was drunk and she was just there, nothing happened.

"You're sorry? Are you fucking kidding me?" You said, moving away from him as he got up to come closer to you. "No, don't fucking touch me. I'm done."

"What? No look I'm sorry, it won't happen again, I love you." The words were said, but the tone held so much uncertainty you couldn't tell if he was trying to convince you or himself.

"No you don't Spencer, not anymore. I know you don't and I've been lying to myself, saying that I'm ok with it when I'm not. I love you so much but I can't keep hurting myself by pretending like we're fine, We're not fine, we haven't been for a long time. Yes that fucking hurts, I thought we were forever, I thought we were going to grow old together and have kids and show them that we were soulmates. I thought we were perfect but we aren't."

"I never wanted to hurt you, I love you so much but-" He started with a sigh.

"You're not in love with me anymore..." You finished for him

"I'm so sorry. I wish things were different, I wish I could control how I felt. You were everything to me, I really did picture a future for us but things changed, I don't know why and I don't know how. You don't deserve this, I'm so sorry."

"I know Spence, I know." You moved closer to him and he held you like it was the last time... because it was. "I'm sorry too."

You pulled away from him."I'll grab some stuff and go stay at my mom's for a few days. I just need to find a new place to move my stuff to." You said, trying to brush some tears away but failing as they kept falling.

"No, it's fine. I'll go, this is just as much your home as it is mine. I'll stay with Derek for a bit, you take your time sorting stuff out ok?" He said, using his thumbs to attempt to wipe away your tears. You sighed but nodded knowing he wouldn't take no for an answer.

You sat down as he went to the room to gather some things, your mind reeling from the last half hour. How could so much change in such a short period of time, years spent together thrown away so quick.

"I'm done, I'll get going ok?" He said placing his duffel bag down beside by the door.

"So this is it huh?" You said, with a sigh. You felt him walk towards you and take a seat next to you.

"The last 10 years have been the most incredible time of my life, you put up with so much of my shit and loved me unconditionally and I can't thank you enough for giving the eager 25-year-old who wanted nothing more than to impress you a chance. I'm never going to stop loving you, you know that. I'm never gonna forget about you, my first love, the first woman to capture my heart. I'm so sorry things didn't work out like how we'd imagined them. If I could change how I feel I would, I wanted nothing more than for this to be a silly phase, for me to wake up one day and feel how I felt again. But it didn't happen and it fucking sucks."

"I get it, Spence, you have to do what makes you happy and I'm not gonna stop you. I'm just sorry it wasn't me that could give you want and need, but you're gonna make some girl out there very happy if you're even half the man you were when you were with me." You gave him a soft smile as he stroked your hair and kissed your forehead.

He stood up and walked to the door. "Call me when you're ready ok? I love you." He turned and gave you a soft smile before picking up his bag and walking out the door.

You just broke down, you don't know how long you sat there sobbing your heart out but it felt like forever. Everything hurt so bad you didn't think you'd ever feel any emotion other than heartbreak for as long as you lived.

You took a deep breath as your hand hovered over the delete button on your phone, it was time to move on just as he had. As you released the breath you were holding, your finger pressed against the button, deleting all the pictures you had with him and you felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders and the realisation sunk in.

You loved him so much, but he wasn't yours to love anymore.

He was just a memory.

tagged: @gcblers @187-reid @mgg-theprettiestboy @mggbler @snitchthewitch

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer fluff #my works!

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

crayons & caresses

summary: you know it’s wrong, that pining after your student’s father is wildly inappropriate, but gosh if john deacon isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

word count: 12k+

warnings: pining to the extreme!, slight angst, discussions of parental death, health scare + medical response, alcohol, language, innuendo, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: mechanic/singledad!john is everything i didn’t know i needed in my life. also: WOW this took me a long ass time because i find john the hardest to write, but i love him so. much. so hopefully it’s worth the wait.

(photo: originally from @davidgayhan i think?? ugh look at him. i drool. yes i did set this during the brief short-perm-montreal moment. sue me)

september, 1981.

you love all of your students equally. each one is like a fingerprint on your heart: unique in their own way, made up of patterns and histories you will never be able to appreciate in full before they are whisked away to their next year. it is safe to say you adore the collection of twenty-four seven year olds who walk into your classroom each morning. their bright faces, some still chubby with baby fat, fill the lonely parts of your soul, and you leave your flat each morning with a sense of purpose and duty. you are their teacher, their guide through some of the most crucial parts of learning. it is an honor and a privilege to teach them—each and every one. but there is one student who sticks out among the rest.

his name is beau deacon.

beau is remarkably quiet. he’s small for his age, both in height and in weight. at times, he appears frail, what with the way he sits by himself in the corner during reading hour, flipping through a picture book with glazed over eyes, never really concentrating on what’s before him. he walks slowly during recess, preferring to stay by himself and drag a stick along the blacktop than play a game of kickball with the other boys. he whispers when he speaks and avoids meeting the eyes of those who do try and pry a few words from him.

you try to engage him—really, you do—but nothing seems to stick. not the participation reward system you build just for him, but use for the entire class. not moving his desk closer to yours. not even coercing your best friend ami to bring in her therapy dogs one afternoon early in the year. despite your best efforts, beau remains decidedly uninterested and removed.

it bothers and worries you to the point of questioning your colleague on the matter. martha is sixty, but spry as ever. she’s been your confidant this last year. you’re new to teaching, green as ever, but she has welcomed you with open arms and a plethora of advice. you feel comfortable sidling up next to her in the car-line one friday afternoon. it’s hot outside, summer not yet allowing autumn to take root, so you hold a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun.

“can i ask you something?” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the children who filter out of the school and into their parent’s waiting vehicles.

“as long as it’s not about sex,” martha mutters. “haven’t had a good romp in so long i don’t even know if it still works the same way.”

you swallow a laugh as a trio of students pass you by. their mother waves over her shoulder, shouting her thanks, before shoving the children in the backseat of a tan mini-van. you watch the van pull away, another car rolling forward to take its place, before asking your question.

“beau deacon,” you start, hoping that, if you simply say his name, martha will fill in the gaps herself.

blessedly, martha twists and nods with a knowing smile. “i know that tyke well. had him last year.”

you release a huff of air in relief. “oh thank goodness. i’m almost beside myself. i don’t know what to do with him.” you frown as you attempt to speak as diplomatically about your student as possible. “he’s awful quiet. he doesn’t play with any of the children and barely looks at me when i speak to him. how’d you manage?”

to your dismay, the older woman just shrugs. “i didn’t really. his mum died all sudden like about halfway through the year, and he clammed up. no matter what i did, what tricks i tried to pull, he stayed completely unmovable.”

“oh.” your shoulders drop in defeat. “i didn’t know.” truthfully, your heart tugs for the child. to lose one’s mother at such a tender age? you can’t imagine the world of hurt he lives in. it’s no wonder he sticks to himself.

“you didn’t speak with his father?”

“no. was i have supposed to?”

“no, not necessarily. mr. deacon was helpful on a few occasions last year. we were sort of a united front, i’d say, when things were particularly bad in the beginning. perhaps give him a call. at least to let him know you’re in his corner.” she smiles and squeezes your bicep. “and you can always come to me, love. i may not have all the answers but i do have some.”

“thank you, martha. i think giving mr. deacon a call might be smart—” you turn at the tell-tale sound of feet dragging against the ground. in the few weeks since classes have started, you’ve grown to know the sound of beau deacon’s footsteps better than your own. he’s always on your mind, the sullen little boy with glasses, so it’s hard not to pounce on him with love when you turn around to see him in the school doorway. “oh! beau! we were just talking about you.”

beau stops walking, and his grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t look up at you, doesn’t say anything. he simply stands there, as if he’s listening but doesn’t know how to respond, so you soldier forward.

“do you have any big plans for the weekend, beau?” you ask.

he shakes his head.

“none with your father?”

another shake of the head.

“well, perhaps you’ll do something fun and you can tell us about it on monday, yeah?”

to your surprise, he nods, which is more than he does most days. you can’t help the smile that claims your lips and the way your arm waves a little too hard to his retreating form. he walks to a faded old corvette and opens the passenger door with ease. you can hear a muffled voice—his father’s no doubt—and see the man stretch his arm out to take beau’s backpack.

but then the car door is shut, and the chevy pulls out of the parking lot with too much speed to be safe when a child is in the front.

you glance at martha. she rolls her eyes and mouths men. you can’t help but agree.

a week passes before you finally find the time to phone beau’s father. you find his name—john richard deacon—and a telephone number in beau’s emergency contact form, shoved amongst a stack of other hastily filled-out parent paperwork. there’s no secondary number listed—not even a distant relative or family friend—so if the call doesn’t work, you aren’t sure what your next move will be. even so, after all the children have left and the other teachers are beginning to close their classrooms for the day, you slouch at your desk and punch the numbers into the phone. it rings three times before someone picks up.

“taylor auto-repair. this is rog.”

the voice on the other end is high and scratchy. you’re taken aback, both by the man on the phone and the blaring rock n roll music in the background. you aren’t an expert, but it sounds like zeppelin. not what you’d expected.

“hello?”

you shake yourself free of surprise, and the wheels beneath your chair scrape against the linoleum floor as you sit forward. “oh, sorry. i thought i was calling the deacon residence?”

“deacon? like john deacon?”

“yes, i’m beau’s schoolteacher. i thought—well, this was the number on the contact form.”

there’s a sigh, and the phone brushes against something rough before rog says anything more. “hold on.” when he speaks next, his voice is distant yet poorly muffled. “deaky! there’s some bird on the phone for you! what have i told ya about putting the shop’s number down instead of the house’s? fuckin’ hell, mate.”

you frown, pressing your fingers to your lips as you wait for... deaky... to take the phone from his co-worker. when a new voice does appear on the line, you again find yourself surprised.

“hello? this is john deacon.” john’s voice is almost lilting, like a song. it’s soft, comforting—though how you determine this from four simple words is beyond your understanding.

“mr. deacon, hi! my name is [y/n] [y/l/n]. i’m beau’s teacher. i thought we might have an over-due chat, if you have the time?”

“oh, hello.” there’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s considering whether or not he’ll entertain your out-of-the-blue phone call. “has beau done something wrong?”

you laugh despite the worried edge to his tone. “no, absolutely not! beau is a delight. he’s practically a model student. however, i do have a few concerns... do you have a moment?”

“yes, i can have. just give me a second.” the line goes muffled again, the only sound a fading rolling stone’s song before all goes quiet. you hear a door shut and the squeak of a chair before john speaks again. “i suppose this is about beau’s shyness?”

you choose your next words carefully, uncertain if john simply cannot accept his son’s retreat into himself or if he does not see it. you’d rather not jump to conclusions and alienate him on your first phone call, but you must admit your unease at hearing the word shyness. beau is far more than shy. despite the frown puckering your brow, you hold your concerns close to your chest for the moment.

“shyness is a word one could use, yes.”

“he’s been that way since his mum died last year.”

rolling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “i heard. i’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

john makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt and does not acknowledge your paltry offer of condolence. “if you’re calling to ask how you can fix ‘im, i don’t have any answers for you.”

“i don’t want to fix him, mr. deacon,” you say. “i simply want to help.”

“i’m sure you’ve spoken with mrs. cooper then.” he sighs, and the sound seems to rattle the receiver pressed against your ear. “look, i appreciate what you both are trying to do for beau. but he’s young, and the pain of losing his mum— i just don’t want him to rush into moving on.”

“oh, mr. deacon, that’s not my intention at all!” you wince at the high-pitch of your voice and clear your throat. good lord, this was not going as you’d planned. “i just want him to feel comfortable in the classroom, that’s all.”

“that’s kind of you, but i think it might be easier if you just let beau work it out for himself.”

you fall silent and glance down at the hem of your blouse. there’s a blue thread dangling from the article of clothing, and you pull on it, watching the thread unravel until it falls free from the shirt itself.

in all honesty, you’re puzzled by john’s hesitance to so much as entertain your concern. anyone—student, teacher, classroom parent—who comes across beau knows he’s more than shy. it’s written in his face, in the way he holds himself, in the way he shuffles aimlessly to and fro. god, he breaks your heart. you want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the cruel world.

but you’re not his mother. you’re merely his teacher, and you must respect john’s wishes despite how wrong you think they are. perhaps, in time, he will come around, see the need for a little concerted effort in helping beau work through his obvious grief-stricken state.

“is there anything more i can do for you, ms. [y/l/n]?”

clearing your throat again, you sit straighter in your chair and fiddle with a pen on your desk. you click the depressor up and down, up and down. “no, there’s not. i’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“you didn’t,” john says—and his voice has that indescribable soft quality you noted the moment he first spoke. “really, it does mean something to me that you even thought to call.”

“i care for my students a great deal.” you aren’t sure what brings the words to your lips, but the second they fall past your tongue, a flush crawls up the back of your neck. you’re sure you sound like a petulant child, whining at the mere inconvenience of a rejected idea.

“i can tell.” his tone is anything but salty. in fact, the truth dripping from each word leaves you decidedly flustered. you click the pen faster, your leg bouncing beneath the desk.

“yes—well—i’ll leave you to it.” though you add, “if ever there’s something i can do for beau, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“i’ll be sure to.”

after a rushed goodbye, you drop the phone to its base. the hard-plastic clatters, the coiled wire dropping in a pile on the desk. you press your fingers to your eyelids and groan. both deacon boys, it seems, have the power to infuriate and melt you at the precisely the same moment.

this, you think, does not bode well for the rest of the year.

if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you think of john deacon often as the school year falls into a comfortable rhythm. no matter how hard you try to forget the phone call, forget the way his voice lulled you into a strange sense of serenity, he’s like a specter in the back of your mind: always there and definitely uninvited.

still...

when the children work silently at their desks, you sit behind yours and struggle to keep your mind from wandering to either of the deacon boys. when you greet beau as he walks through the door each morning, you resist the urge to drop a question about his father’s well-being. when the faded red corvette pulls to the curb each afternoon, you bite your tongue and fist your hands at your sides to keep from introducing yourself properly through the open window.

it’s embarrassing, really, how much the phone call with john deacon has affected you. it’s embarrassing how... interested you are in his life. you’re a schoolgirl with a crush—a crush on a man you’ve never even seen! if you were to admit your undue fascination with the deacon household to your best friend ami she would laugh in your face and remind you how desperately you need to get out more. you keep your wonderings and your daydreams to yourself to save her the trouble of telling you what you already know.

come mid-november, when the students are well-adjusted to their daily routine and you’ve learned how to juggle so many personalities at once, you finally pause to take a breath. the breath comes at the end of a school-day. it’s drizzling outside—not raining, but not dry either. the sky is a wash of gray and a deep purple. there’s a storm coming, a bad one too from the looks of it. humming to yourself and contemplating whether or not you should stop by the grocery on your way home, you tug on your jacket and step outside the school into the chilled autumn air.

you’re about to cross the parking lot to your car when you hear a harsh sniffle come from your left. you pause, keys in hand, and twist to see a huddled form on the curb. it’s clearly a student and a young one at that. knees drawn to their chest, backpack large over their back, fingers interlaced on their knees, they are the picture of a frightened schoolchild. the hood of their blue raincoat obscures any defining features, so you hustle to their side and kneel down, but not before glancing at your watch.

nearly four. someone’s been forgotten.

“hey?” you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse of the face beneath the shade of the jacket hood. “did mum not come through the car line?”

you barely stifle your gasp when the slick raincoat crinkles as the student turns to meet your gaze.

it’s beau deacon.

his eyes are puffy, tears still clinging to his blotchy cheeks. beneath the wide frames of his glasses, fear swims across his gaze. he draws in his lower lip and rubs his hand under his nose. his eyes flicker to the ground, his toes tilting inward.

you press a hand to his shoulder. he feels so small beneath your palm, like a fragile piece of clay, molded by tragedy and loss in such a short span of time. “where’s your father, beau?”

he shrugs. “dunno.”

“i guess he’s running late.” you look at your watch. very late. “should we give him a call?”

beau nods, and you stretch to your full height, offering your hand to help him from the curb. beau does not take it as he stands. he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows you inside the school office where he hesitates in the doorway as you borrow the receptionist’s phone to call the auto-shop.

no one answers.

lowering the phone to its base, you look over your shoulder. through the venetian blinds you can see the sky darkening as you hem-and-haw. in the distance there’s a flash of lightening, and fat raindrops dot the tan sidewalk.

you could leave beau with the receptionist. it’s not uncommon for parents to run late or completely forget about their child. normally, betty calls the child’s guardian and gives the waiting student a granola bar and coloring page or picture book to flip through as they wait for the mortified adult to speed to school. there’s nothing obligating you to stay.

just as there’s nothing obligating you to offer to drive beau home.

you look at betty and calculate the words of your offer. “would it be wrong of me to drive beau home? he lives on my way ‘s all.” boldfaced lie—at least, you think—but what betty doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

betty doesn’t stop clacking on her electronic typewriter. “i don’t think so.” she peers over her glasses at the clock hanging over the door, still typing. “i’ve got a dentist appointment in half an hour, so i don’t have time to wait around today. you’d be doing me a favor, love.”

“alright, it’s settled then.” you slip the thin strap of your purse over your shoulder and turn to beau with a toothy grin. “i’ll drive you home. maybe your father just isn’t feeling well today and overslept?”

beau frowns, and inwardly, you cringe, your smile faltering. beau’s mother died of an illness, so it likely disconcerts him to think of his father in a similar state. in a piss poor attempt at an apology, you grab a piece of chocolate from the bowl near betty’s desk and slip it in beau’s hand as you make your way to the parking lot. the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face as he methodically unwraps the candy. you take that as a sign of forgiveness.

once beau is snug in the backseat of your station wagon, you pull into traffic with a bubble of giddiness in your stomach. what you’re doing is ridiculous. though you feel horrid beau was left behind, there’s a sick park of you that is glad for it. it’s unlikely you’ll ever meet john deacon unless fate throws you together. he did not attend back to school night, and as a single father, you doubt he has time for any of the other parent-student events on schedule for the rest of the year. in all honesty, you’re taking this opportunity to put a face to the man behind the phone call that’s plagued you with daydreams since it occurred.

if you can just see his face, just learn what he looks like, perhaps the fascination with fade. unless, of course, he turns out to be as attractive as your mind has made him out to be and then you’ll be in even hotter water than you are now.

adjusting yourself in your seat, you glance in the rearview mirror. beau has his head pressed against the foggy glass of the window, his eyes scanning back and forth as he takes in the surrounding scenery. rain droplets create dark shadows over his face, and you wonder if that’s what he feels like on the inside: foggy and rainy and shadowy. you shake the thought free; you read too many melodramatic novels.

“so, beau, what’s your address?” you ask, your tone obnoxiously chipper. he tells you, and you shrug as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “gotta give me more than that, hun. do you remember how to get home? do you think you could tell me?”

beau nods and scoots away from the window, leaning nearer the space between the driver and passenger seats. there a gleam in his eye. you catch sight of it as you turn right at his instruction and see him hovering near your shoulder. it seems that with each turn you make his voice inches a decibel louder until you can hear every word with a clarity previously unknown. he’s confident when he’s instructing you, when he knows what he’s supposed to do.

he’s confident when he’s helping.

you tuck the bit of knowledge away for later as you pull into the cracked driveway of a red-brick bungalow. the house is small and unadorned, the homes on opposite sides just as plain and simple. a single spruce tree, like something out of a holiday catalog, is the only foliage in the yard. gauzy curtains are drawn to block the sunlight coming through the two bay windows framing the white front door.

you turn the car off as beau slides across the bench to open the car door. grabbing your handbag, you all but tumble after him, hastening up the sidewalk.

“wait a minute! beau!” you punctuate your call with a breathy laugh and smooth the sides of your hair back as you approach the front door. the bubble of giddiness from moments before has turned to a bubble of nerves, and once again, you realize this moment is entirely ridiculous. still, you adjust your blouse and straighten the crooked edge of your collar.

beau’s left the front door open, his shoes and backpack already tossed on the living room floor. you hesitate at the threshold. you haven’t been properly invited in, but the open door might just be beau’s way of telling you it’s alright to invade his home. at least, that’s the message you decide to take.

crossing the threshold, you hold tight to the strap of your purse and glance around the cramped front living area. beau’s nowhere to be seen, and the home is silent as the grave. you bite the tip of your tongue when your gaze falls over a photograph of a woman holding a baby. it’s beau and his mother; has to be.

maybe... maybe you’ve overstepped your—

“beau, is that you?” the sound of heavy footfalls on stairs snaps your attention away from the photograph. before you can slip away and forget you ever had the silly notion of meeting your student’s father with the intent of something other than a professional hello, a man rounds the corner.

your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. it’s not the john deacon you’d imagined.

he’s shorter than you pictured, only several inches taller than yourself. his jaw is sharp, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache almost covers his upper lip. a white wife-beater tucked into green trousers completes the ensemble, and his bare feet pad across the floor as he sticks his hand out in greeting.

“you must be the teacher!” he pumps your hand up and down, his grip crushing but his smile wide. his voice is friendly and welcoming, though you can’t be sure it was the voice you heard over the phone. so many days have passed since then, perhaps you just forgot, though it’s highly unlikely.

“i’ve been trying to call deaky ever since i got here, but the damn fool just won’t pick up. i don’t even know where beau’s school is so i couldn’t come and get him myself. the ship we run here isn’t very tight.” he rolls his eyes with a grin. “thanks for bringing him home, darling.”

your head swims as you struggle to keep up with the man’s fast pace. so, he isn’t john deacon? and john deacon isn’t here? you open your mouth to ask the first of several questions but he beats you to it.

“hell, you look positively confused. shut the door, won’t you? the rain’s getting in, and molly was always worried about the the hardwood. i’ll put on the kettle.”

“oh, i don’t—”

he bumps your hip toward the door. “nonsense! deaky will want to thank you for driving beau home.” he’s around the corner before you can refuse, so you shut the front door against the steady rain and slip off your shoes, leaving them beside the two pairs already against the baseboard.

you’re quick to follow him to the kitchen. the walls are a muted yellow, the countertops clear but the sink full of unwashed dishes. the refrigerator in the corner is bare save for the back to school letter you gave to each student to bring home to their parents. that—and a photograph of four men in a basement. it appears to be a homegrown band of sorts, and the man behind the drumkit is shouting at the man who looks like an overgrown string bean. you’re not sure which one is john, so you turn away, feeling rather out of place when the man at the stovetop says:

“beau’s probably in his room. he always holes himself away as soon as he gets back. doesn’t come out until supper. that’s when deaky gets home.” a pair of mugs clatter against each other as he pulls them from a cupboard. “brian says it’s just a phase, that he’ll grow out of it once he processes molly’s death, but i’m not certain.” the man’s eyes flicker to you, and he laughs, loud and short. “oh dear, i’ve done it again! i forgot you’re not in the loop. i’m freddie,” he explains. “part-time nanny, full-time diva.”

you accept the mug of tea as freddie passes it to you, a smile lifting your tight mouth. “[y/n] [y/l/n]. so you’re beau’s... nanny?”

freddie drops to the round kitchen table shoved in the space between the kitchen counter and the wall. you follow suit and stir a drop of sugar in your tea. “you could call it that. i just watch him in the afternoons, between school and deaky getting home.” he sighs. “since molly... well, things have been hard to juggle.”

“i thought mr. deacon picked beau up from school? unless that was you in the car i saw?”

“heavens no! i don’t drive!” freddie laughs again. “that was deaky you saw. he takes his break at the garage long enough to pick beau up and bring him here. i guess he and rog were overrun today. bet beau was terrified. poor dear...”

you glance over your shoulder, down the dim hallway leading to, you assume, beau’s bedroom. there’s a half-full laundry basket deposited outside another open door, perhaps the bathroom. a few mislaid toys litter the carpet. it’s reassuring, knowing that beau has a few good men in his life, willing and ready to raise him. still, there’s a pervading sense of loneliness throughout the bungalow. you saw it in the photos on the living room wall, but it’s here too: in the dead roses, brittle to the touch, in the table vase; in the index-card note tucked on a notch in the cupboard, the feminine handwriting unreadable from your spot at the table.

freddie’s voice is somber when its breaks through the thick air. “complications of pneumonia,” he says, following your gaze to a wedding photo on the hallway wall. “it came on quick but didn’t last long, thank heaven.”

unbidden, tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’ve never felt more like an intruder—and you know why.

your crush on john deacon is misplaced. you see that now. realizing what you’ve done in coming here—twist a child’s terrified moment of abandonment for your gain—makes you sick to your stomach. what kind of person are you? assuming a recently widowed father would be at all interested in his son’s pesky teacher? the thought brings a flush to your cheeks, and you rise from the table all too fast. the mugs of tea wobble when your knee connects with the underside of the table.

freddie frowns at you. “you okay, love?”

“i—” how to explain yourself without sounding a total fool or heartless woman? “i think i’ve overstayed my welcome” is all that comes to mind, and you aren’t surprised when freddie uses his foot to push your chair back out from under the table.

“sit down. john will be home soon. let him thank you then you can go.”

from where you stand, you look to your right. the front door practically screams for you to politely decline freddie’s insistence and high-tail it to your car, to get out while you still have the chance. but he’s making it too easy to stay for what you’ve come for: a peek at the illusive john deacon. you know you should go, that you should leave well enough alone, but despite your best intentions, you find yourself sitting down again and allowing freddie to bombard you with questions about teaching life.

half an hour later, when your sides hurt from laughing while freddie regales you with the dramatic story of beau’s birth, the door to the garage opens and closes with a loud click. you twist in your seat, arm draped over the back, and bite your lip hard to keep from drawing in a sharp breath.

by god, he’s a stone-cold looker. better than you could have imagined.

john deacon stands in front of the garage door, his head of tight curls wet from the rain. he’s tall but not towering, his shoulders made broad by the leather jacket across his back. he hasn’t noticed you or freddie as he’s too preoccupied with wiping the grease on his fingers across a piece of soiled cloth. he turns, not towards you, but towards the hallway when beau tumbles out of his room with a shout of joy. beau races down the hall, his arms extended, and jumps into his father’s waiting embrace. john mumbles something in his son’s ear, ruffling his hair, before dropping him back to the ground. the sullen little boy jumps around his father’s feet, chattering in great detail about his day at school, though he forgoes mentioning his father’s absence in the car-line.

you exhale, a wash of new tears covering your eyes as you stare at beau. he can be happy. you’d thought it impossible.

you must have exhaled louder than you thought because john looks over at the sound. his brow tightens in a frown of confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between yourself and freddie, but freddie is quick to explain. he stands from the table and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“deaky, this is [y/n] [y/l/n], beau’s teacher. remember you spoke to her on the phone?”

your cheeks heat at the thought of him mentioning the phone call beyond the walls of the auto-shop. warmth spreads over your face even further when he gives you a tight-lipped smile and extends his hand. you slip your fingers over his palm, and he shakes your hand.

for a moment, your hands linger as john glances at beau, who is tucked behind his leg. he cringes, groaning. “please tell me you didn’t go out of your way to bring beau home today?”

you drop your hand from his and clasp your fingers before your waist. scrunching your nose, you tilt your head to the side. “well...”

“bloody hell,” john murmurs. he screws his eyes shut and runs a palm down his face. “i’m sorry,” he says. “you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“it was no trouble, really. in fact, you live on my way home.” the comment isn’t a falsehood. you’d realized as beau pointed his way home that your flat lie only a minutes down the road. just as it had then, the realization sends a nervous clench to your stomach now. the thought of the deacons so close...

“you must think me a horrible father.” as he says this, john reaches around to smooth his hand across beau’s back. the gesture, done mindlessly, almost makes you laugh. how could anyone find him a horrible father?

“absolutely not, mr. deacon.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something close to a smile. “john, please.”

you roll your lips together and blink rapidly to keep your eyes from going wide. john. “lots of people miss the car-line. it happens more often than you think.”

“well, let me give you something for your trouble.” he slides past you, the scent of cologne and car oil in his wake. his movements are stiff, hampered by beau who insists on clinging to his father’s leg, his ankles crossed over john’s foot.

“i don’t want anything, john.” you almost trip over his name. it tastes good, strong and steady. god, you’ve got it bad. “it wasn’t a hassle.”

john ignores you as he slides open a kitchen drawer. unsatisfied with its contents, he reaches for another before meeting your eyes with a wry smile. “all we’ve got is take-out menus anyway.” he shuffles nearer, beau still heavy on his leg. “thank you, ms. [y/l/n], for bringing him home. i got sidetracked at the shop and—” he sighs. “anyway, just... thanks.”

“again, you’re welcome—and call me [y/n].”

there’s a moment where you’re simply staring at one another, the room around you lulled to a comfortable silence. john is handsome, of this there is no doubt. perhaps he’s not striking in a classical way but you’re sure someone would have killed to chisel a bust of his face during the sixteenth century. it’s regal and sure in all the right places, but soft where it counts: around the eyes. when he chuckles at something freddie says, his eyes fold around the edges, and your heart all but gives out.

“what do you say, [y/n]?”

“sorry?” hopeful no one caught you ogling, you bring your attention front and center, turning to freddie. his proposal dawns on you a second too late to be anything but obvious. “stay for dinner? no, i can’t do that.”

“why not?” freddie reaches out to pinch your forearm. “it’s our way of saying thanks, and neither of us will try to poison you with our cooking. we’ll just have brian bring something ‘round.”

you shake your head and scoot around freddie to lift the handbag hanging from a kitchen chair. “i’d like to, but i’ve stayed too long already. perhaps another time.”

prying beau from his leg, john trails behind freddie as you make your way to the front door. freddie wishes you well, reminding you to drop by any time, and john simply lifts his hand in a motionless wave. on the front stoop, hair tangled around your face by a sharp wind, you lean your torso across the threshold.

“mr. deacon—i mean, john,” you say quickly, willing your voice to sound stronger than you feel. “if you’d like, i can drive beau home in the afternoons. i live not five minutes from here, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

john hesitates. beau stands in the kitchen, his head poked around the corner. john looks over at his son then back at you. “that’s a kind offer, but i like coming to the school.”

your eyes flick to beau, to his round, soft face and intelligent eyes. yes, if you were his mother you’d enjoy coming to pick him up too.

with a nod, you retreat into the wind. “well, the offer still stands.”

as you slide into your car and pull out of the driveway, waving to beau who now stands in the doorway, you hope against hope that john will accept the offer one day—just so long as it means you get to see him again.

he calls during the middle of show-and-tell. you nearly forgo the call as abby sinclair insists on lifting her pet toad for all to see and you’re worried she’ll drop it, but you’re waiting for a message from the front desk—missing package again—so you pick up on the last ring.

“hello?”

“hi, ms. [y/l/n]. it’s john deacon. is this a bad time?”

“oh, mr. deacon!” you wince at the delight coloring your voice and tear your eyes away from abby, who has handed her toad off to max. “i was expecting a call from the front office.”

he snorts out a rushed laugh. “sorry to disappoint.”

you brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “no, not at all.” out of the corner of your eye you catch max squeezing abby’s toad between his palms, and you push the phone away from your ear. “oy! max, knock it off! abby, please put the toad back, dear?”

john is chuckling on the other end of the line when you return to the call. “sorry,” you say. “show-and-tell.”

“i know. beau was excited this morning.”

with a smile, you glance at the boy in question. “he did very well. everyone was impressed with what he brought.”

“brian made that for him as a birthday gift, so he can’t take any of the credit.”

“he didn’t! he explained who made the planets, but he did want to be clear about who painted the stars.” you hesitate, the sound of laughter over your shoulder reminding you not to get too entangled by the sound of john’s voice. “is there something i can do for you, mr. deacon?”

“right, yes. well, it’s a bit awkward... do you remember a few weeks ago when you drove beau home?”

you nod, the memory lifting from your heart with ease. how could you forget? you only replay the evening like a film every night before you fall asleep. “of course”

“do you remember offering to drive him home again?”

“yes.”

“i’m in a jam at the shop and can’t leave this afternoon. would you mind? taking him home, that is.”

you answer without hesitation. “i can do that. it’s not a problem.”

“you’re a life-saver. it’s just with freddie not driving... i guess what i mean to say is thanks. it helps me out a lot.”

“i’m happy to do it, john.”

“i promise i’ll make it worth your while this time. proper take-out and all.”

“you really don’t have to do that,” you say, hoping he does anyway.

“no, freddie will insist. i’ll let you get back to class for now. thanks, [y/n].”

“don’t mention it. good luck with your jam at the shop. i hope it’s cleared up soon.”

“me too. all the sooner to get back to beau—and you.”

he hangs up before you can respond, and you’re left with your jaw scraping the floor and your heart in your throat.

all the sooner to get back to you.

the words circle your head like a drug for the remainder of the day. you can barely focus as you teach, stumbling over your words and through math equations and spelling tests.

surely he didn’t mean it like that. he probably just tacked you on at the end of the sentence in his haste to get back to work. he probably wasn’t thinking when he spoke.

but, by god, you were listening.

you’ve never been so head-over-heels for a man in your life. each day when you wake up with john at the forefront of your mind, you wish for a morning where you can stay in bed and dream of him all day—his voice, his smile, his gentle way with beau. it all makes you crazy. ami calls your fascination puppy love and claims it will fade with time, but you wonder if it’s gone deeper. you’re interested in more than john deacon’s looks. you’re interested in what makes him tick and whether or not he’s in a band with the three other men who constantly appear in every conversation you share and whether or not he misses his wife and what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning. you what to know him and be known by him.

all the sooner to get back to you.

perhaps it’s wishful thinking—a dreamy idea on the part of a lovesick woman—but part of you wonders if he feels the same way about you.

driving beau home becomes part of an unspoken routine. after sharing dinner at the deacon household that second evening, john admits when walking you to your car how overwhelmed he can feel between his job at the auto-shop and his responsibilities with beau. with a tentative hand on his forearm, you promise you’ll help lighten the load. he thanks you by squeezing your fingers with his, and then he’s gone.

it begins by driving beau home every monday, wednesday, and friday. you enjoy your time with him. as soon as he settles in the back seat of your station wagon, he comes alive. the protective shell he wears in the classroom is replaced by the bright and earnest eyes of a seven year old boy, curious about the world and all it has to hold. he asks you questions and tells you stories, and you laugh as you watch the light dance in his eyes. he’s a sweet child, and you truly treasure the afternoons you spend with him.

one friday, you drop him off and find the cozy bungalow empty. beau has stopped retreating to his room once returning from school—at least, this is what freddie tells you—so you’re not completely surprised when beau invites you in for an afternoon snack. you are surprised by the empty house, however. freddie is nowhere to be seen and neither is john. what concerns you even further is when beau opens the refrigerator and slams it shut with a huff.

“nothin’,” he mutters, slumping to the table with a groan.

“what?”

“there’s nothing in the fridge.”

“what do you mean by that?” you cross the floor and open the fridge, hoping beau’s comment is nothing more than a hungry child displeased with the array of choice and nothing to his liking, but you find his statement to be true. the fridge is woefully stocked—naught but a half-filled carton of orange juice, three apples, and a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. you glance over your shoulder. “is it always like this?”

“no.” beau circles about on his chair. “but it’s happened a few times since dad and uncle rog got more busy at the shop.”

“well, that won’t do. grab your shoes, beau, we’re going to the market.”

once returned from your grocery run, you teach beau how to make spaghetti. he stands beside you on a stool, pushed up on his toes as he watches you prepare the boiling water and pasta. as you wait for the pasta to soften, you set about crafting a homemade pasta sauce. it’s your mother’s recipe, and it’s easy to make. easy enough that you allow beau to carefully slice the tomatoes under your supervision and dice the onions and sprinkle the spices.

the kitchen smells like your childhood: fragrant yet simple, sweet and comforting. somewhere in the waiting for the sauce to simmer, beau turns on a radio and draws you to the center of the kitchen. he holds your hand tight and kicks his feet to the music. you laugh and mirror his movements. he grabs your other hand and steps on his stool, forcing you to bend in an awkward twirl around his finger. you struggle but complete the movement, though he attaches himself to your shoulders like a barnacle. you whirl around on your socked feet in attempt to toss him off, but he holds tight, his fingernails digging into the skin of your collarbone. he squeals in your ear, a mixture of laughter and gasping breath and shrieks.

“mama, mama, stop!”

he says it without thinking, his head lolling against your shoulder as you stop short at the sound of his breathless voice. he giggles against your back then releases himself and slides to the floor. you stare at him, feel his words in the back of your throat like an uncomfortable burn, and then you hear the garage door shut.

you swallow hard and force your eyes from the yellow-and-white linoleum floor. beau hops from his stool, sauce-covered spoon in hand, and rushes to his father’s side.

“daddy, look, we made dinner! miss [y/l/n] and me!” he tugs on john’s shirtsleeve, but john’s just staring at you, his face unreadable. beau turns to one of the other three men crowding the hall behind john. “uncle roggie, taste it!” he forces the spoon in the face of a mulleted blond.

eager to break the thick tension, you motion to the spaghetti. “i—there wasn’t anyone home so...” your sentence trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

so many eyes on you. you feel exposed against them all, caught in a domestic moment with a child that’s not your own in a home that’s not your own.

john looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing in anger. “fred?”

freddie winces. “about that, deak.” he rubs the back of his neck and glances at beau. “i can explain later.”

“you’d better,” john mutters.

“i should go,” you say at once, hastily grabbing your things from the table. your keys jingle in your hand with the force of your anxiety, and you stub your toe against the floor in your hurry to put your shoes back on.

john’s hand on your arm stops you. you look up, stooped as you try to slip the back of your sandal over your heel. he looks down at you, face still remarkably unreadable. “no, please stay,” he says. “you made supper.”

you shake your head and rise to your full height. “i’ve intruded enough already.”

you’re embarrassed, too. the gaggle of men heard beau’s slip up; they heard him mistake you for his mother—and certainly they saw the immediate flush of happiness rise over your cheeks at the sound.

mama. you’d always hoped, always wished, someone would call you that one day. you just didn’t think you’d hear it from a student with a deceased mother and a father you pined after first.

“[y/n], stay.” john’s voice is soft, breathy, and his eyes flit back and forth between yours with a startling amount of intensity.

how can you say no?

once the dinner has been divided, you sit beside john on the couch in the living room. the kitchen table is too small to host the gathering, so the living room was deemed appropriate just this once, to beau’s great delight. he sits on the floor at the coffee table, a tall glass of milk beside his plate of pasta, his eyes bouncing over everyone in the room with unrestrained joy.

“beau, why don’t you introduce everyone for miss [y/l/n]? she doesn’t know all your uncles.” john nods to his son in encouragement, and beau is only happy to take the job.

standing, beau crosses first to the impressively tall and curly-haired man sat beside him on the floor. “this is uncle brian. he likes space and teaches all the big kids at uni.”

he moves to freddie, who sits on a plush armchair. “this is uncle freddie, but you already know him.”

the last man leans against the foyer table, his ankles crossed and sunglasses still perched on his nose. beau pats his arm. “this is uncle roger and he works with daddy.” in a stage whisper, he adds, “he thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is.”

roger guffaws and lightly pushes beau’s head to the side. “oy, you twerp, take that back!”

glancing about the room, you nod in greeting. “it’s nice to meet you all. i’ve heard quite a bit.”

brian smiles at you from the floor. his legs are bent awkwardly beneath the coffee table, and you’ve noticed the way he helps beau cut his side salad and keep sauce from dripping to the area rug. “all good things i hope?”

“oh yes, of course.”

“[y/n], dear, you really must tell brian what that student of yours did last week,” freddie pipes up. “it had me laughing well into the night. i’m sure some of his twenty-year olds are much the same.”

“i shouldn’t, fred.” you look at beau, who is watching you in interest.

freddie nods in understanding and tugs on his earlobe. “little ears, yes. maybe another time.” he pushes brian’s shoulder with his foot. “really is a riot of a story.”

as supper progresses, conversation twists and turns down different avenues. you explain how you came to teach in the area and find you used to work with one of brian’s newer colleagues. freddie tells the group about his recent run-in with an angry bird watcher in the park. his gestures are so grandiose he whacks roger in the chest, who has come to sit on the arm of fred’s chair. there’s more laughter than there is silence, and you settle back in the couch. at one point, john drapes his arm over the back of the couch—not around your shoulders, but close enough to send your heart into overdrive. it’s all you can focus on—the proximity of his muscular arm behind your head—as brian explains to beau the difference between the big and little dippers. even as roger describes the ramshackle band they four participate in on the weekends, you barely register the words because you swear to the high heavens you feel john’s pointer finger purposefully brush against your shoulder.

beau begins to yawn sometime near the eight o’clock hour, and you jump from the couch when you realize you’ve stayed so late.

“good lord, i’ve got to go!” you shuffle about the room, gathering your belongings, as john rises behind you. “i didn’t know it was so late!”

his hands are in his pockets, and he studies you as you put your shoes on. “got a big date tomorrow?”

you frown. “no,” you say on a laugh. “i’ve actually got breakfast with my mum.”

he looks away for a moment, but you can’t help but note the edge of a smile.

he grabs his jacket from the coat-stand when you’re ready. “i’ll walk you out.”

at the door you wave to the others. “good night, all! it was nice to meet you.”

roger tips an imaginary hat. “i’m sure we’ll meet again, [y/n], if deaky has anything to say about it.”

freddie kicks the back of roger’s leg, and the injured man doubles over in a yelp of pain. “you fucker!” freddie mutters. “you know that—”

john ushers you out the door before you can see or hear any more.

the night air is chilly, and you warm your arms around yourself. you reach for your keys in the depths of your purse and slide them into the lock on the driver’s side of your car. it’s dark out. you can barely make out john’s features beneath the light of the moon, but when he shuffles to the side, an automatic flood light turns on above the garage. you blink against the sudden light and smile, chuckling beneath your breath as your vision adjusts. you’re not eager to leave quite yet, and he doesn’t seem eager to send you away, so you both stand, looking at one another in the darkness of the drive.

“your friends are nice,” you say.

he hums in agreement. “m’yes, they are. we just started as a screw-around band a few years back, but when molly got sick...” he pauses, clasps his hand on the back of his neck, and shrugs. “they’ve been my lifeline, y’know?”

“i can’t imagine what that was like, losing her. i’m glad you had them around.” you suck in a deep breath. “about earlier... i didn’t know beau was going to say that, and i’m sorry it happened. i realize that my... involvement might appear to be me wheedling my way into your family, but that’s not it, really! i mean, i like you and beau—as friends—but i’m not trying to...” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m sorry it happened ‘s all. i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

before you know what’s happening, john’s reaching out to cup your cheek. his smile is soft in the glow of the moon and the floodlight, and your heart stops in your chest.

his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “i haven’t seen beau that happy in a long time. you’ve brought a lot of joy back into the house, [y/n].”

you’re sure you’re sweating despite the chill of night. you shake your head, but his hand holds fast against your face. “no,” you whisper. your voice sounds heady, even to your own ears. “beau’s just a good kid.”

“yes, and you’re a good teacher.”

is his face inching closer? you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

“a good teacher and a good person.”

if it weren’t for your firm hold on the car door handle, you think you might slip to the ground in a puddle of goo.

his lips are on yours, then, and you fall into his arms as he holds you against himself. you have dreamt of this moment far too many times to count, but you never thought it would happen. really, you thought you would finish the year without ever knowing the taste of john’s deacons lips.

but there he is, and there you are, and he tastes like the wine he drank during supper. he is more eager than you thought he would be, and soon he has your back pressed against the door of your car. you huff into his mouth and feel your eyes roll back into your head when he drags his lips across your jaw, inching closer to that spot behind your ear. your arms practically quiver around his shoulders, and you open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of a particularly bright star winking down at you.

he catches your lips again, and you feel hot and delicious all over.

“john,” you mumble against his mouth. “john.”

loathe as you are to stop the moment, you do, pushing his shoulders until he pulls himself away. his hand still cradles your hip, and he looks flushed in the moonlight. you’re sure you look equally as rumpled.

you grin. “well.”

he matches your smile, though it’s fleeting. “call you, yeah?”

unlocking your car door, you nod. “please do, mr. deacon.”

he shakes his head on a chuckle and shuts the door, waving gently as you pull out of the drive. when you’re several homes away, out of eyesight, you drift to the side of the road and blast the air conditioner. then you pound your fists against the steering wheel and let out a muffled squeal of delight.

he doesn’t call you.

when you sit down to think about it, it’s not that great of a surprise. you’ve been around him only a handful of times, and though you’ve both been comfortable in those moments, you don’t blame him for resisting whatever it is he feels for you. there’s beau to think about. you’re his teacher; surely there’s some line you shouldn’t be crossing? there’s molly too, and her memory and the years they spent together and the child they had together.

if anything, you figure he’s using you to test the waters of romance again. those stolen touches and deep stares and that kiss in the drive—it’s all just experimentation. the conclusion drawn from those experiments? he’s not ready.

you sigh, take another sip of wine. maybe you should stop driving beau. you like john; you like him a lot. and after that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you thought about him before, but never this much. he threatens to consume your every waking moment, and it scares you because he’s not interested. desperately pining after a disinterested man means one thing: ruin. if you stop driving beau home, put some distance between yourself and the deacons, the puppy love and infatuation will fade over time.

it has to or you’ll go crazy.

it’s early evening, and your stomach grumbles. your flat is quiet as you putter around the kitchen in search of a suitable supper. there’s not much in the cupboards and even less in the fridge. you desperately need to go to the grocery store. take-out it is. withdrawing a handful of menus, you spread them out on the counter and flip through them mindlessly.

your thoughts are elsewhere. always on john.

you wonder what compelled him to kiss you. he’s an enigma, john deacon. you’ve seen him in moments of great levity—when he’s around beau or his friends or recounting a story from his youth. he has an infectious laugh, delightful crinkles around his eyes, and a quick wit. but he can be hard, too, like an immovable stone. he’s quick to toss a glare at anyone in his way in those moments of weakness, and his biting wit can turn sour at the drop of a hat. you chalk it up to weariness, those moments. weariness, loneliness, frustration. it doesn’t phase you, though perhaps it should.

with a groan, you drop your forehead to the cool counter and shut your eyes. the kiss lingers on your lips; it has the entire week since. you want him badly—in more ways than one.

the telephone rings, and you startle, clutching a paper menu to your chest. “fuck,” you whisper. you need to get a hobby other than daydreaming. pressing the phone to your ear, you barely get out a word of greeting before someone’s shouting at you on the other end.

“[y/n]? it’s fred! we’ve got a fuckin’ problem over here.”

you frown. “freddie? what’s going on? why are you are john’s? it’s a saturday.”

“no time for that! how fast can you get here?”

“well, i don’t know. i’ve got to—”

“beau’s sick! he’s on the bathroom floor, moaning and groaning and—shit!—[y/n], i don’t know what to do!”

“i’m sure it’s just a tummy ache, fred,” you say. “i see it all the time in my class. give him some pepto and he’ll be fighting fit in the morning.”

“no, [y/n]!” something in fred’s tone—a raw, animal fear—has you standing straight, your heart stuttering in your chest. “he said he feels like he’s gonna die just like molly did!”

“okay, okay.” you begin to move toward your bedroom, but are yanked back by the phone chord attached to the wall. you stumble backwards with a grunt. “okay, i’m coming, fred. just hold tight.”

“fucking hurry!”

you slam the phone down, rush to your bedroom to change from your nightclothes, and jump in the car without a pair of shoes. as quickly as you can you race to the deacon household. the sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the suburban streets lined with family cars. you grip the steering wheel tight, your heart thumping a prayer of protection for beau.

the driveway of the bungalow is empty, the garage door thrown open. the old convertible john toys with in the evenings is parked inside, but his everyday vehicle is gone. cutting the engine of your car, you run through the garage and into the house. fred stands in the hallway, pressed against the bathroom door. he looks ridiculous, clad in a bright yellow bathroom and bunny slippers, but he pounds his fist against the door, pleading for beau to unlock it and let him in. he turns at the sound of your bag dropping on the carpet.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes. he grabs your arm and wrenches you to his side. “beau, miss [y/l/n] is here. why do you talk with her, huh?”

before you say anything to beau, you frown at freddie. “where’s john?” your whisper sound harsh in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“at the shop. overtime. i can’t reach him.”

you jerk your head to the phone sitting on a side-table in the living room. “go try again and i’ll stick with beau here.” when he’s gone, you slide to a sitting position on the floor and press your ear to the thin wood of the door. “beau? beau, honey, it’s me.”

beau only groans in response.

“beau, can you please open the door? i want to help you. that’s it; just help.”

there’s a pause then you hear: “no. go away.”

“it’s okay if you’re embarrassed, beau. we all get sick sometimes. fred and i just want to help you feel better.”

there’s the sound of water sloshing and then a hard sniff. “i want my mommy.”

“oh, baby, i know.” you clear your throat to work past the lump rising to the surface. “come on, just let me in. i promise it’ll be okay.”

“but... what if i die like her too?”

“that’s not gonna happen, beau. i promise.” he doesn’t respond, so you plead once more. “please let me in.”

he shuffles to the door, unclicks the lock, and cracks it open. through the opening, you can see his pale face gleaming with sweat. gently, you push the door open further.

beau’s curled on the floor, his head bent toward his knees. his arms tighten around his stomach, and a spasm ripples through his body. he’s dripping with sweat, his star wars pajamas soaked through. hot air clogs the room, and you switch on the overhead fan. pressing your fingers to his forehead, you cringe and draw back. he’s burning up.

“beau, baby, what hurts?” you finger some of the sweat-matted hair away from his forehead.

“my tummy.”

“what’s your tummy feel like?”

beau shakes his head into the floor. “bad.”

“do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”

“already did. on my floor.” he opens his eyes long enough to stare at you through thick lashes. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize about that. we’ll get it cleaned up later. i’m just gonna go get you some water, okay?”

he groans, shifting against another spasm of pain. “okay.”

stepping back into the hall, you grab freddie’s arm before he can slip into the bathroom. you tug him to the safety of the kitchen. his eyes dance between yours, expectant.

“well?”

“did you get ahold of john?”

“no, the fucker.”

“we’ll have to go pick him up then.”

fred’s brow twitches. “what? why? what’s wrong with him?”

you throw a glance down the hall when beau whines. “i think it might be his appendix. my dad’s burst last summer and he looked a lot like beau does now.”

“fuckin’ hell.” freddie runs a hand across his mouth. “just what deaky needs.”

you nod in agreement. “i know. we’ve got to take beau to a hospital, though, before it gets any worse.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. go get the car started and i’ll meet you in a minute.”

several minutes later, you’re en route to the auto-shop, freddie cradling beau in the backseat of your station wagon. the drive is tense, your bare foot hard on the gas pedal. beau wrestles and whines against freddie’s hold, continuously asking for his parents and where you’re taking him.

no one wants to say the word hospital, so his cries go unanswered.

freddie directs you to the auto-shop, his phrases terse, and you pull into the drive with a sharp squeal of tires on gravel. with the car still running, you hurry across the parking lot, loose pebbles catching on your feet. music blasts from a stereo within the garage. it’s loud and obnoxious and keeps you from locating john fast enough.

“can i help ya, miss?” a lithe man steps out of a side office, his hairline receding and face near gaunt.

“yes—i’m looking for john deacon.”

the man continuously wipes his hands on a dirty rag. none of the oil and grease on his fingers budges. “he’s down there.”

dirt and grime covers the bottoms of your feet as you race down the shop. cars of all varieties line the wall to your left, some stationary on the ground, others lifted towards the vaulted ceiling. there’s a handful of men at work, but you don’t recognize any of them as john. you’re prepared to start shouting his name when a familiar voice stops you.

“[y/n]?” it’s roger. “can’t get enough of our deaky, can you?” he’s chuckling as he steps out from behind a truck. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s beau,” you say, and his face falls.

“over here.” roger wastes no time in finding john beneath a volkswagon beetle. only john’s legs are visible, his knees bent and leather boots firm on the floor. he curses when roger hooks the toes of his shoes around a curve in the sliding plate on the floor and drags john out from under the car.

“what the fuck, rog? i—” john stills when his eyes land on you. his muscle tee is loose over his chest, and a line of grease mars his forehead. he swallows. “[y/n]... i...” he sits up. “i’ve been meaning to—”

though you’re curious about the end of his sentence, you cut him off. “beau’s sick. we’ve got to take him to hospital.”

the blood drains from john’s face in an instant. the wrench in his hand clatters to the cement ground, and he’s grabbing your elbow, pulling you toward the exit, before you can say anything more.

“crystal, i’m gone!” he shouts, practically shoving you in the direction of the car.

there’s either no reply or you don’t hear it because john shouts for freddie to move the fuck over and give him beau. you slide behind the wheel and pause, twisting to catch a look at the scene in the back.

beau looks like a newborn swaddled in his father’s arms. his face is wet with tears and sweat, and he sobs in his father’s grasp. john feels beau’s forehead and frowns, muttering an oath under his breath. then his eyes flick to yours.

“what are you waiting for? go!”

you don’t need to be told twice.

it’s another fifteen minutes before you reach the hospital. your head throbs under the stress of it all: beau’s pitiful moans for help, john urging you to go faster, freddie barking directions as he slaps the headrest behind you. before you’ve pulled to a complete stop, john is out, beau in his arms. you shoo freddie after him.

“go! i’ll park the car.”

by the time you’ve found a parking space and picked your way across the parking lot, beau’s been admitted for emergency surgery. his appendix, as you suspected. it’s a routine procedure, and he’ll be fine within the next hour. relief floods your system at the news, and you find john and freddie sitting beneath a large fish tank in the waiting room. you take the open spot beside john and cross your ankles.

“your feet are disgusting,” fred says. he points to the bottoms of your feet, dark with dust, dirt, and grime.

you shrug. “forgot shoes.”

the quiet of the waiting room is both a comfort and annoyance. a clock on the wall ticks loudly, and the fish tank bubbles at an uneven rate. every breath you take feels too loud, and the antiseptic smells cling to the inside of your nose.

still, the quiet gives you a moment of rest. you catch your breath. you let the knowledge of skilled and capable doctors working on beau ease your heart-rate. it will all be okay; he’s going to be okay.

you glance at john. his fist is pressed against his mouth, his eyes shut. his leg bounces, and you dare to reach over and lay your hand against his knee. he stills, his eyes flashing to you.

“he’s going to be okay, john.”

on the other side of john, freddie jumps to his feet. “i’m going bananas just sitting here.” he rubs the side of his head. “might burst. i’m gonna give brian a call.” he stalks away, his bunny slippers slapping against the linoleum floor.

you shake your head, biting back the urge to smile.

but then john’s fingers curl around yours, and you can’t help but give into the grin.

you look up, meet his eyes.

“i didn’t call you,” he says.

“no, you didn’t.”

he shifts in seat and looks to the floor. “you should be wearing shoes.”

at the turn of conversation, you frown then follow his gaze. “yes, i suppose.”

“take mine.” he releases your hand to bend down and undo his laces.

“no, john, don’t be silly. i’m fine.”

“please, [y/n], take the shoes.” he slides the boots toward you, and you begrudgingly slip your feet into the warmth of his shoes.

you look silly, the pair of you—your ill-fit mtv t-shirt, loose jeans, and oversized leather boots; his muscle tee with the aptly faded word muscle scrawled across the chest, his faded jeans, and socked feet. one of his toes pokes through the end of his sock, and his exposed arms look cold in the frigid air of the waiting room. you laugh.

“we look like a pair of bikers or something.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “not much of a biker. that’s crystal’s territory.” he doesn’t look at you when he continues speaking. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

on a sigh, you drag the boots across the carpet. though it pains you to do so, you let him off the hook. “it’s not a big deal, john. it was just a kiss. no promises.”

“i know.” his head tilts to the side. “but i wanted to call you. nearly did twice, but i chickened out.” he turns, then, and meets your eye. “i like you, [y/n].”

you smile, but know it doesn’t reach your eyes. still, you reach for his hand again. “i like you too, john. i’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family.”

he shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is firm. “no, i like you. that’s why i kissed you and that’s why i didn’t call. because you make me so bloody nervous.”

your shoulders drop, as does your jaw.

“ever since you dropped beau off that first time, i’ve been thinking about you and about you and him together and then he called you mum and i saw the way you acted with him and—” he pauses for a breath. “molly was different with beau. i mean, she loved him, but she was always so fragile and worried and—and that’s not the point! the point is that you make beau happy and you make me happy. and i want to be happy again.”

“john...”

his grip on your hand tightens as he leans closer. “make me happy, yeah? i’m stubborn as a mule and shy, too, but i want you—badly.”

the fire in your heart spreads at his words. it spreads throughout your body until you feel like you could burst and shine a light into even the darkest corners of the earth. a laugh bubbles forth from between your lips. you lift a hand to stifle it.

“you want to know something?” you ask.

“what?”

“i’ve been pining after you, john deacon, ever since i heard your voice over the phone. i was content to just wallow in my daydreams, but this seems better.” you lift your fingers to brush his chin. “a lot better.”

“i can’t promise i’ll make a good boyfriend. i’m pretty rusty.”

“me too. we can be rusty together.”

he grins, leans forward further, his nose brushing yours. “can’t promise there won’t be hiccups. i’ve got baggage.”

“i can carry it.”

he kisses you, his hand on the back of your head, keeping you firm against his mouth. you grin, your teeth knocking his as you laugh. his curls are soft against your fingertips, and you hold on for dear life when he chuckles into your smile.

“mr. deacon?”

john kisses you once, twice more, before pulling away to look at the doctor. “yeah?” he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed to be caught in such a position in the middle of a hospital waiting room, but you hide your face against his neck. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide.

“beau’s ready to see you now.”

john stands and extends at hand. “comin’, dove?”

your footfalls are hard against the ground, the boots heavy around your ankles, as you walk with him hand-in-hand to beau’s hospital room. you lean against his side, breathe the comfort of him in, and smile.

yes, this is much better than your daydreams—baggage, boots, beau, and all.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #queen #queen fic #j writes

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ramuoto · 4 years

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TOP 10 MANHWAs

if anything good came out of 2020, it’s my discovery of manhwas.

well, it’s not like i’ve never read a single manhwa in the past 15+ years but tbh, the ratio of manhwa:manga i consume on a weekly basis has jumped exponentially this year. previously it was like 1:99 and now it’s like 90:10 LMAO.

so, just to remind myself that the world is still full of good things, i had to make this list. which i will probably edit in the future, if i can be bothered to. :)

anyhow, this list was not made in any particular order, just whichever came into mind. it’s loooong so be prepared! (I’ve read way more titles than mentioned but just included the ones worth checking out)

for whoever stumbles across this list, i hope some of these resonate with you and i hope they make you as happy as they made me.

pic credits: https://geekculture.co/geeks-guide-to-transmigration-novels-avoid-death-at-all-costs/

1. Ebony

https://mangadex.org/title/41838/ebony

Bahahah omg he looks evil there! But our dearest archduke is hardly that aww. Soz, I just ripped off the covers of the manhwa cos I can’t find a panel I liked more than another. I mean, this manhwa is a GEM. I can’t even begin to describe this because everything about it blew me away. This is not something you read when you are craving for fluff, or just wanna have something brainless after a hard day at work or if you just wanna have some eye candy lol. This is something you pick up on a weekend, when you have time, because you need those hours to digest, appreciate, clutch your chest, tear a little because you find yourself falling in love with these characters. It doesn’t have any of that cliche isekai, romance, revenge themes going on. It has a solid plot, backed by incredible characters, beautifully woven by the authors and artist with incredible pacing that keeps you on your toes and keeps you looking forward to the next chapter. Maybe I would have been happier if I found it after it was completed lol. HAVE I CONVINCED YOU ENOUGH TO MAKE YOU WANNA READ IT?! like, idk, just go. JUST GO READ IT GDI.

p.s. it says there romance but naaaaaaah, dont go in with that expectation. :) this story is so much more than that.

2. Bring the love

https://mangadex.org/title/44472/bring-the-love

This...this!!! THIS MANHWA NEEDS MORE LOVE. If you need a lot of fluff, a little, ok maybe quite a bit of sadness and tragedy, sweet sweet romance, cutie pies, please, look no further!!! Again, pacing, character development are so important to me and this manhwa aces it. I love the 2 MCs very much. And the side characters too. :)

3. A Stepmother's Märchen

https://mangadex.org/title/39474/a-stepmother-s-m-rchen

When I first read this, i fucking cried. like please don’t ask me why. it’s not like its an absolute tragedy but I was just rooting for the MC so much and I really want for everything to go her way. That’s how much I adore this MC!!! I LOVE HER. I LOVE HER MORE THAN YOU DO NORA! HAHAHHA. okay soz. I need to keep this spoiler-free.

Anyhoo, there is nothing typical about this time travel plot. Sure, she goes back to try to undo the stuff that went wrong but phew, she certainly changed things so much everything that comes her way have made it so her previous experiences can hardly help aaaaaaand that’s what makes it fun! I sometimes wish the pacing could be a little more consistent, and there could be more characters I could love a little more wholeheartedly (so i wont have to be in so much despair when i read this sometimes lol) but omg the art, isn’t it pretty?! I’ve re-read this soooooo many times but the art blows me away all the time. And have I already mentioned how much I love her?! I LOVE YOU SHULI! AND I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY!

4. Lady Baby

https://mangadex.org/title/34691/lady-baby

I literally LOL-ed when I saw this cover. WHO THE HELL ARE THEY. WHAT LADY BABY?! ehehehe. okay anyway, uhm, this is already incredibly popular. im not sure if i need to elaborate but yes, it’s adorbs!!! i dont think i like the MC as much as i love her family lol. and everyone else who adores her. im looking forward to when they get older. :) actually not really. please stay cute for as long as yall can! but yeah, i do wish the plot can move a lil faster. i want to see more character development in the other kids too COME ON!

5. Death Is the Only Ending for the Villainess

https://mangadex.org/title/47754/death-is-the-only-ending-for-the-villainess

am i allowed to reveal how shallow i am rn? like the previous choices were all like ‘wow-deep-plot’, ‘wow-character-development’ and this one i just included cos of AESTHETICS ALONE?! the novel covers are breathtaking!!! the manhwa art is amazing as well. and the harem is great! LOL. as for plot... uhm... it’s alright. it’s pretty engaging and i quite like the MC, she’s smart and independent and i love how she views them all antagonistically at all times HAHAHHA. her past is kinda... weird though and i do wish they’d stop referencing it. cos... girl why do you wanna go back to reality!!! stay here! it’s way more exciting!

i love the whole isekai/reincarnate/transmigration theme and this is honestly one of the better, not-so-cliche or cheesy ones HA.

6. Beware of the Villainess!

https://mangadex.org/title/47286/beware-of-the-villainess

do you already see the whole villainess theme?! am i suppose to start feeling embarrassed about my choices?! NO! cos this one is AWESOME!

again, another wildly popular title. for good reasons. it’s hilarious, our MC is as real and candid as it gets and LOOK AT THAT BLUE HAIRED BEAUTY. DO YOU SEE HIM?! IMPLANT HIM INTO YOUR MEMORY NOW!

it’s highly entertaining and breaks all isekai-reincarnation-villainess plot stereotypes. definitely one of the titles i look forward to every week.

7. Who Made Me a Princess

https://mangadex.org/title/32506/who-made-me-a-princess

what? why did i choose this?

BECAUSE OF CLAUDE OF COURSE. ahahaha. okay aside from the amaaaaaaazing art and the beautiful people, the plot is not too bad. a little extreme at times but it’s interesting enough to keep me going. it’s currently on hiatus though and i was highly annoyed by how the first season ended. (YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENED? NOTHING.)

i hope the plot can move faster in the next season! and that our dearest MC athanasia can you know, finally be a little more useful... like omg just tell lucas already!!! and tbh girl, no matter which guy you choose, i approve. :D

8. The Flower That Was Bloomed by a Cloud

https://mangadex.org/title/37648/the-flower-that-was-bloomed-by-a-cloud

i featured this before, mostly out of frustration HAHAHA. do you see why i chose this cover?! yeah, i support this (unpopular) pairing okay! the other one is doomed!!! no matter what the author is trying to do now!! I DONT SUPPORT IT!!! lol.

anyway, i had to feature this cos the art is unique! and the story is great. :) and i looooooove listening to the ost while i read it. it starts out kinda slow but as the pace picks up, you won’t be able to stop. and you find yourself conflicted at various points. it did win an award for a reason.

no matter what, i still think dowun is best for her okay. it’s dowun or nothing. he’s devoted to her, we all know that! he just needs to ditch that annoying female guard!!! ok yknw what, maybe nothing is better. :/ *cries*

9. Solo Leveling

https://mangadex.org/title/31477/solo-leveling

why do i even bother? this manhwa is popular enough.

the art is great. the MC is great. i use him and his gang as my wallpaper.

im just not sure i like how this season’s plot is progressing. :/ but i guess it brings us nearer to solving the mystery in the first leg of the manhwa. i just enjoyed the whole part of him leveling up and now that he isn’t really leveling up anymore... idk. am i hoping for more plot shit like bleach (oh wow now u quincy?)... idk man. anywho, no regrets starting on this series and marathon-ing it to death.

cross fingers the plot picks up and doesnt get too complicated for its own good.

10. The Reason Why Raeliana Ended Up at the Duke's Mansion

https://mangadex.org/title/31606/the-reason-why-raeliana-ended-up-at-the-duke-s-mansion

okay, tbh, by the time i reached 10, i still have like 15 other series i was considering LMAO. i even considered lengthening this top 10 to top 15. but that would just be more of me and my nonsense. so... why did i choose this?

COS I LOVE THE 2 MCs!!! they’re adorable. the plot is again, kinda far-fetched at times (i literally laugh my head off at some parts) but it’s isekai-reincarnation okay! anything is possible in whatever magical crap country you end up in! lol. and i like how straightforward it is... in the sense there’s no 2nd lead. like okay i mean they are there but we all know they have no chance. oops. sorry!

and cos i can’t give up on the other titles i have, imma just list them down, without pictures... cos im tired. HA.

11. Doctor Elise

https://mangadex.org/title/29474/doctor-elise

Kudos to the huge improvement in art style lmao. The good... lovable MCs, engaging plot. The bad... sometimes lengthy, incredulous medical moments (i work in the medical field so i... idk. sometimes this borders on iryu LMAO and i need to remind myself this is romance) otherwise, this is a highly highly entertaining read.

12. Seduce the Villain's Father

https://mangadex.org/title/46775/seduce-the-villain-s-father

This is another of my ‘father-love’ whims. MC is adorable and ML is handsome. enough said.

13. The Villainess Lives Twice

https://mangadex.org/title/49644/the-villainess-lives-twice

This is like a lesser version of Ebony and Bring the Love combined HAHAHA. The plot and premise is great and it’s awesome to marathon! I don’t find myself loving the MC as much as I should but the ML is a darling! I just find her a little toooooooo gloomy. Like come on girl, be more spunky!

14. The Stereotypical Life of a Reincarnated Lady

https://mangadex.org/title/46790/the-stereotypical-life-of-a-reincarnated-lady

I dont know why I like this so much HAHAHAHA. It hardly has a plot. I just find the MC and ML amusing i guess lol.

15. I'm Stanning the Prince

https://mangadex.org/title/45586/i-m-stanning-the-prince

Sometimes I wonder if I should be ranking this higher but I kinda feel this manhwa is trying to achieve too much with an underpowered MC. I love her... but I just don’t like how she’s just a pawn of everyone else and I dont know how she can change this situation of hers. It’s cute though. the MC and ML. and the ML reminds me so much of american/jap Mackenyu.

16. The Villainess Reverses the Hourglass

I HAD TO. the art is so pretty! but girl, dont use the hour glass so much! you look a little too old! i would appreciate it if MC stops basing too much of her moves on the “past” tho like idk you are gonna sound unoriginal soooooon like develop your own thoughts soon okay? <3

17. Inso's Law

ANOTHER ONE. omg. im a lil on the fence regarding this but i like MC too much. and her harem LOL. i dont see where the plot is going either but i just hope for a happy end... ):

18. Why Are You Doing This, Duke?

HAHAHA. this is sooooo sooooooo cute, i would have ranked it top 15 if it wasnt licensed by tapas tho cos they are a joke. WHY NOT TAPPY GDI.

19. Miss Not-So Sidekick

Uh-oh. Is this a top-20 list now? anyway, the MC for this series is GOLD. im not liking where it’s currently heading tho thus the lower ranking.

20. IRIS - Lady with a Smartphone

omg IVE NEGLECTED THIS FOR TOO LONG. lemme go buy more chapters hahahaha. it’s a tad too lengthy... otherwise i like the MC and yummy ML!

still not enough?

Special Mentions - Okay, these will be unranked cos I don’t think these are that good but probably still worth a read.

I've Become the Villainous Empress of a Novel - this is new, im looking forward to how it progresses wheeeee.

Lady to Queen - It’s a ruthless manhwa. There was a point i started reading all sorts of sadistic content (i was running out of content i swear) and this was one of the better ones. I appreciate the MC very much. the plot now is a little weird and im a bit wary of the MC’s sister... hopefully the ML can be more useful. he’s pitiful though. but dude come on, dont rely on the wrong gal.

Goodbye, In-law - I’m not sure if i like the current progress buuuuuuut MC and ML are cute so who cares.

The Duchess' 50 Tea Recipes - plot is still engaging. MC and ML are cute. i dont know where the plot is heading towards though.

A Falling Cohabitation - this is interesting and fun but a lil lengthy.

Light and Shadow - the sequel is out!!! i highly enjoyed this entire series!!! i would have probably ranked it a lil higher if i did this post earlier but too many series have overtaken this in my heart lol.

This Girl Is a Little Wild - is the hiatus ending yet? i would add it back to top 20 if it came back LOL. it’s highly entertaining tho. ML is adorable.

The Duchess With an Empty Soul - pretty nice. MC and ML are a little boring. i think it can end soon. LMAO.

A Capable Maid - it’s amusing how she gets her powers for all sorts of situations lol. the prince is creepy tbh. and im secretly rooting for the other king hehe.

Beware of the Brothers! - it’s cute and heart-wrenching at the same time! not too sure im digging the latest plot development but okay... i’ll take it. they’re all cuties.

Living as the Tyrant's Older Sister - hehehe. it’s cute. duke is kinda silly but the latest chapter made me squeal!!!

The Evil Lady's Hero - idk where the plot is going but MC and ML are adorable!!!

The Dragon Next Door - HAHAHA. it’s hilarious.

The Youngest Princess - she’s growing uppppp noooooooooooo

Virtues of the Villainess - ginger is hilarious. i dont see where the plot is going tho... and cant say i like the ML yet. i dont even get to see him much, hello?!

The Justice of Villainous Woman - pretty wholesome... i like the MC! (the ML is fine. no one else to contend with so...) can u end already?! lol.

Amina of the Lamp - hey, what happened to this? it’s pretty inconsistent but i do like the MC and ML... and the art...

The Villain's Savior - this is some sadistic shit. i reserve it for when i feel sadistic. i pretty much wanna see MC happy but idk if she’s making the right choices. :/

I Don't Want to Be Empress! - HAHAHAHA uhm it’s getting interesting. i just want ML to step up more...

La dolce vita di Adelaide - I FINISHED THIS! and it’s wholesome, feel-good and cute. some parts felt a lil extra but ah whatever.

The Black Haired Princess - plot. move. faster!!! otherwise the MC and ML are pretty cute.

The Abandoned Empress - im a lil on the fence but i know how popular this series is. it started out HORRIBLE. i hated the ML so much. and then i found the green hair boy creepy. like MC, you need better taste in boys. it’s certainly getting more interesting now though. so please, continue to make my money’s worth!!!

Lucia - i. am. not. guilty. of. anything. *smut warning* anyway go read the novel. it’s better. hehehe.

What's Wrong with Secretary Kim - i do not need to elaborate any further.

Past loves

I created this section just to remind myself, that what i could like one day, i could hate the next LOL.

The Monster Duchess and Contract Princess - I know this is wildly popular. but i lost interest in it once she grew up. i dont think she’s particularly lovable. soz.

Survive as the Hero's Wife - another popular choice. I find the plot kinda boring now. MC and ML are cute though.

Sincerely: I Became a Duke's Maid - another popular one. again, boring plot. like cant it end yet? oh you mean we need to wait for the real female lead to show up? dont need luh.

I Am a Child of This House - wow. the plot is shit now. and i do not support the MC and her guard. soz. she’s OVERPOWERED tbh.

This Is an Obvious Fraudulent Marriage - idk what happened but my enthusiasm for this died.

Charlotte and Her 5 Disciples - i don’t get it. i dont get their obsession for her.

#manhwa #fav manhwa #ebony #bring the love #a stepmother's marchen #lady baby #death is the only ending for the villainess #beware of the villainess #who made me a princess #the flower that was bloomed by a cloud #solo leveling #the reason why raeliana ended up at the duke's mansion

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arlakos · 3 years

Text

The dissapointment I feel over the Truth and Lies episode dualogy

I’m not gonna lie, I kinda feel really dissapointed by the fact that both episodes of ML had both the Lukanette and Adrigami ships being broken up, for a variety of reasons I might add.

Like, I knew this was eventually going to happen, mainly because the show would eventaully have to reach the desired ship outcome, but I was legitimately shocked, sad and angry over how quickly these ships were immedieately terminated, despite both of them being one of the key finale changes in the end of Season 3.

To summarize into dot points, these two episodes dissapointed me for a lot of reasons, said reasons being:

Plot reasons - These ships could have become a key plotline in season 4 , being developed over the course of the season and having said ships develop the main characters in different ways. I knew the Lukanette and Adrigami ships would eventually end in a breakup, but they could have replaced the episodes with something more engaging than just 2 episodes worth of heartbreak (though ngl, I would have kept in Lies for the most part, but changed the ending to have Adrien reveal himself as Chat to Kagami, and have them build a deeper relationship over the course of the season, would have been so cool.)

Status Quo reasons - The amount of episodes having status quo resets in this show is annoyingly massive, resulting in no plot progression, but these relationship developments were probably one of the biggest changes to the show as a whole, so I was legitimately excited to see how these relationships, alongside the lack of romance between Adrien/Marinette, and Ladybug/Chat Noir would affect this season. Apparently the miraculous team realised that as well, because Mr Thomas “I cant write for shit so I just create shipping teases to hide how much of a bad writer I am” Astruc decided to break these ships immediately. All so that we can go back to ‘cute’ and ‘charming’ Adrienette teases that were spammed since season 1. Yay >:(

Romantic reasons - I legitimately felt sad for the people who liked the Adrigami and Lukanette ships. Plain and Simple. I mean, I didnt like either ship personally, but as I watched the episodes, having to see so many kiss copouts by both couples really made me feel sad for people who were hoping to see all of this plus actual romantic moments between them, only to have so many copouts slapped in their faces and have both couples end before they could even start. It made me really sad for those fans, and angry for Astruc for straight up playing with peoples expectations as well as their hopes.

Salt reasons - Not shipping related, but Lies did my boi Chat Noir dirty. God, I can imagine the cheers from all the Adrien salters who had something new to complain about him, it made me want to find them and shove dirty socks in. (btw if you are an Adrien salter, hello and frick you :). leave my sunshine boi alone)

So fair to say, im dissapointed. These episodes did everything to make me lose whatever hope i had in this show getting better, and it legitimately made me feel sad for the fandom after so many episodes of lackluster romance progression and plot progression

To all the people who liked Lukanette and Adrigami, my heart goes out to all of you, despite our differing ship preferences im sorry that you had to go through all that just to be spat on at the end. To all the people that salt on Adrien, stop overexaggerating about how he is a monster, you know he’s nothing like that. To the miraculous team, you could have done so much better, but took the easy path so you had to put in less effort in writing believable romance, and you should feel disapointed in what you have done.

And to Thomas Astruc himself? Shame on you. Aside from how much you push Marinette to be seen as amazing at the cost of everything else about this show, to the point of making her a Mary Sue, this is probably the third worst thing you have done, right behind trying to make a 13 year old girl be “irredemable” just because you wanted to personify her as everyone who disliked you.

So...yeah Zag, Ghost Force season 1 when?

#Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug salt #ML salt #Truth #Lies #Thomas Astruc salt

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notgalaxii · 4 years

Note

ah! can you do 55 with asmo?? ❤ please

Woo! This one was fun if we ignore the fact that I've written it twice now because I wasn't satisfied. There might be grammar errors here and there because Im sick and all foggy headed and shit, I'll edit her another time. Anyways, happy reading! Thank you for the request my love 💕🤞

Prompt: Shut up and kiss me already

"MC, how about we go out tonight?~"

It was a sweet prompt from one of your best friends in the world, not just in the Devildom. However, it almost always led to something chaotic. Some nights Asmodeus disappears into the night and takes part in some wild orgy; some nights he tries to hook you up with someone; some nights he gets crowds when he really doesn't want to. Nine times out of ten, something happens.

This night was no different for the two of you. He dressed you up, styled your hair to his liking, then ushered you into some crazy nightclub that you definitely couldn't have gotten into on your own. Now, you danced together, pinkies locked so you don't lose each other in the mass of drunk demons, holding your alcohol in your free hand. The pinky holding had been Asmo's idea; it was a lot cuter than handholding and less intimate so you weren't uncomfortable.

"Would you like a refill, cutie?" he quizzed, a bright smile stretching from ear to ear.

“Yes, please,” you hummed, passing your cup over to the demon. Asmo took the glass from your hands almost gracefully, as gracefully as he could when he was buzzed, before turning on his heel and waltzing back to the bar.

“I’ll be right back then, my dear!” he called over his shoulder. You chuckled to yourself, resuming the rhythm you had created to the beat of the music that was blaring through the club.

He did this pretty often: holding you close for a few hours and then disappearing into the night, coming back a solid half hour later with a drink and a lipstick stain on his cheek. It was a little annoying at first, but you grew accustomed to it throughout your friendship with him. Seeing him throw compliments and flirts at any passing beautiful face like he was asking the time of day made your stomach churn still, even though it’s a part of your new daily routine. Not only did he nonchalantly chat it up with anyone, but the demons fell for it. Even when he wasn’t using his charm, strangers seemed to throw themselves at your best friend left and right. It wasn’t the flirting itself that entirely bothered you. It was what they were looking at.

On the outside, Asmodeus was nothing more than a self-centered bratty perv who’s diet consisted of nothing but drama and attention. He was so much more than that to you, though. Asmodeus was a gentle and passionate man in more ways than one. When he loves people, he loves them. He learns them, he spoils them, he lives them, he breathes them. Asmodeus knows the ins and outs of everyone he cares for, what they like, what they don’t like, and every way to supply them with their needs. He’s thoughtful and kind.

The case was no different with you. You hadn’t spent a day without Asmodeus by your side since you started your stay in the Devildom. He’s taken you to all of his favorite stores, showed you all of the most beautiful sights to see, he’s fed you the most delicious food he could think of, and most of all, he’s spent quality personal time with you. Your favorite nights were those spent in his room before bed, trying out new face masks together, and just talking about life. For someone who seems self-centered, Asmodeus had always been the best listener when it came to you. In your eyes, he was no less than a glistening jewel that had caught the moonlight in the depths of a hidden cave.

Just as expected, you spotted your favorite demon in the crowd near the bar, chatting with a beautiful woman. The look on his face read a combination of, “I can’t wait to get out of this conversation,” and “I should buy more alcohol.” Hers, however, was reading unadulterated desire, something that you had learned to pick up on when spending time with Asmodeus. By some miracle, you managed to meet his sunset gaze through the mass. It felt almost as if the smile he directed towards you had roped you in, dragging you closer to him.

“Ah! It looks like you found me!” Asmo giggled once you fell at his feet.

“You’re not that hard to find, you know,” you teased, flickering your gaze to the woman he had just been chatting with. She was definitely more attractive up close, as she was shooting daggers at you with her eyes.

“Well, I believe we had a lovely chat but I have previous engagements to attend to,” Asmodeus told her, lowering his hand to lock his pinky with yours again, “Perhaps I’ll see you sometime again in the future?”

“I hope I can count on it,” her voice was low and almost sultry. Paying no mind to her comment, Asmo beckoned you to follow him off into a more secluded area.

“She seemed like a treat,” you scoffed before sitting down.

“Hmm? You seem like you desire something. Tell me, MC, what is it?” Asmodeus inquired, not bothering to sit down. You looked up at him, watching the way the pink and gold hues danced in his eyes with glimmers of content, how his champagne hair effortlessly curled just out of the way of his gaze, how his skin looked so delicate and soft to the touch. He was absolutely right, you desired something. You desired him. You desired to reach up and run your fingers across his perfect skin. You desired his sunset gaze to be fixated on you and only you. You desired him to make an attempt to charm you again even though he knows it won’t work in the way he wants it to. You were already charmed by him, no magic involved.

“I just want to know what possesses you to make you walk up to random strangers and try to charm them,” it wasn’t a total lie, but it definitely wasn’t what you really desired.

Asmodeus quirked an eyebrow at you in surprise, but it soon settled. The expression of shock was replaced by an arrogant smile. It was mesmerizing, the way his rosey lips pulled into an enchanting gleam. You wondered if he knew that he had your heart on strings and with every pull of his smile, he tugged on them.

“She approached me, actually. I just wanted to get you a drink,” Asmodeus leaned down closer to you so that your faces were level. In doing so, a few strands of his hair fell in front of his eyes. There was a new thing you had desired, to run your fingers through his hair, push it out of the way, see just exactly how soft it was. “Is that all you wanted, MC? I feel like there's something still locked deep away in your chest. Why don’t you help me open it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! If I had known that it was her doing then I wouldn’t have pestered you about it. Forgive me, Asmo,” you fumbled, brushing aside his last statement in hopes that he would drop it.

“Shh, just be quiet and kiss me already, would you?” Asmodeus cajoles, “That is what you’d like, isn’t it, love?”

A warmth invades your face, peppering your cheeks with a deep shade of red. It takes a brief moment of contemplating whether it’s worth it or not, sacrificing your friendship to soothe your inner desires, but you comply with the Avatar of Lust’s demand. Once you’ve closed the distance between the two of you, your lips melt right against his.

The kiss is everything you hoped it would be and more. Asmodeus’ lips were soft, smooth, and tasted faintly of the sweet chapstick that he had applied before the two of you set off. Unexpectedly, however, his kiss was gentle and loving rather than fervent and needy. He moved his lips against yours very slowly, yet skillfully. The feelings that Asmodeus’ touch gave you as his hands made themselves home on your waist and cheek were second to none; he sent ripples of euphoria throughout your entire body and chills down your spine.

“I-I was really hoping you didn’t figure that one out,” you scrambled for words the moment his lips vacated yours.

“I know you, MC,” he giggled. You almost hoped that he didn’t know you well enough to pick up on that you were desperate for more.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me one shot #obey me fic #omswd #omswd one shot #omswd fic #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus #omswd asmodeus #obey me asmo #omswd asmo #asmodeus x reader #200 prompts

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urmomsstuntdouble · 4 years

Note

If ur still doing the 100 followers thing, well I challenge YOU with deciphering Lithuania.

ok anon thank you so much for asking this question because i have in fact recently fallen in love with lithuania, because they are such an interesting character! (also hhhh im so sorry for how late this is)

Gender

As you may have noticed, I usually use they/them pronouns to refer to Lithuania. I hc them as being nonbinary and using he/they pronouns, though I personally prefer to use they rather than he in that case because. Idk what pronouns you use. But in my experience it’s really hard to get people to call you ‘they’ when you go by ‘he/they’ or ‘she/they’ or smth like that. Though I don't imagine any of the nations are very attached to their “birth gender” (are nations born???), lithuania is one of those who is a bit less attached. They’re just sort of there, in terms of gender. In my headcanons i also think this has something to do with religion, as lithuania was one of the last european countries to convert to Christianity- just because so much of gender as we know it comes from christianity and what people in the 16th and 17th centuries considered a ‘good’ christian. Thats not to say that there are no gender roles in other religions, but that the way westerners typically conceptualize gender has quite a lot to do with the religious conflicts occurring within christianity. Like you can trace the ideas behind the nuclear family archetype back to the protestant reformation. Additionally, I hc them as being Jewish, which further distances them from the western christian gender roles (though that’s not why i hc them as jewish! More on that later). Finally, i just like myself some trans/nb characters. There’s so few popular trans hcs and that makes me kinda sad ya know? Welcome to the trans agenda its just me projecting onto all my faves

Mental Health

Okay, so, i think it’s pretty well known that lithuania’s mental health is wack. They’re often characterised as being a very anxious person, but i think the ways in which they’re anxious is super interesting. For one, they are extremely conflict averse and like to avoid it by being a sort of people pleaser. It’s a sort of defense mechanism, because nobody can hate you if you do whatever they say. Like, if you let people be shitty to you, they won’t hate you for your personality. This is clearly flawed logic because then people are still going to be shitty to you, but. It makes sense to liet. In their mind, it’s okay to let people hurt if your reason is sound enough- Because if they’re not super emotionally engaged in a relationship that’s unhealthy for them, then they can’t get hurt, right? Of course, they can. A good example of this is their relationship with Russia. I think tolvydas sees compliance as necessary there, in order to avoid being hurt. The thing is…compliance is also hurting them, even if they see it as ‘worth it.’ To them, behaving in a submissive way is a survival tactic. A really bad one, but a survival tactic nonetheless.

This also plays into their tendency to be self-martyring. I think Tolvydas is very good at fighting, and all around a really awesome warrior (strong aragorn energy), which makes them think that they need to be the one to save everyone. Hero complex, sort of. This, coupled with their almost maternal care for Latvia and Estonia, makes them feel like they have a sort of weight-of-the-world on their shoulders. Though Estonia and Latvia do look up to them a lot, Tolvydas can sometimes fail to realise that they are also their own people and can fight their own battles. He feels a sort of obligation to protect them due to their shared culture and languages as The Baltic Trio, though it doesn’t go much further than a sense of obligation. They spent most of their youth fighting, to the extent that that’s most of what Tolvydas personally knows as ‘life,’ but they never actually got to know the other two Baltics very well until the modern day. They have to protect, have to be a caregiver, but they don’t actually know super well the things they’re trying to protect. It’s both a sense of obligation to protect as well as the sense that this is all they’re good at and as long as they’re fighting for a morally just cause, that’ll do.

I think something that would expose this flaw would be when they were first taken over by the Russian Empire in the 1790s, they were pretty miserable about a lot of things- Like the loss of all their territory and the sudden statelessness of their people- but a big one would’ve been the loss of Poland. This isn’t meant to be super shippy, but you know. They were united into one kingdom, and they had been for centuries, so i don’t imagine it was an easy separation. Though this is more up for debate where real people are concerned, these characters were essentially a big part of each other, ya know? Regardless of how much Lithuania actually likes Poland, they’re still a part of each other and that separation will undoubtedly be painful. Anyway, all that is to say that this separation was at the forefront of their mind during the beginning of the 19th century, and they let it sort of prevent them from taking care of the other Baltics. The issue with that is that they still considered themself to be protecting Estonia and Latvia, even though, in reality, nobody was. Also in reality, Lithuania was making themself out to be the worst off, and were generally sort of annoying to be around at this point in time. Their whole woe-is-me attitude wasn’t fun, and they were hypocritical in that they saw themself as being a better friend than they actually were. They still see themself as being a great friend, and though it’s improved in recent years, they’re still sort of. Flighty, i guess, where friendship is concerned. There was also a lot of annoyance by the other baltics about them being so self-martyring- Tolvydas was Ivan’s favorite, after all (that’s not necessarily a good thing, but. He was softer on them in certain ways). Anyway, I guess the big takeaway of this paragraph is that Liet often lets their self perception cloud the way they act in relationships.

Much of the stuff I’ve mentioned so far is a result of them having quite a lot of PTSD. I think Lithuania’s character tends to be explored through a few common lenses, those being the medieval vibes of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and through being oppressed by the Russian Empire/Soviet Union. Not to say that there’s not a lot of other content about them, but this is what I see most often. I think that all the nations have some form of PTSD, but with Lithuania it’s very pronounced, and it’s made clear that a lot of their tendencies are a result of past trauma- Like the need to take care of others. This is likely originating with their childhood, as they grew up in a very violent environment where their survival was never guaranteed (survivor’s guilt much?) and violence was just the way of things. This is where the need to protect comes from. There used to be several more Baltic nations, though you could argue that now there’s only two- Lithuania and Latvia, as Estonia does not speak a Baltic language and would really like to be considered Nordic.

Finally, Lithuania is also an interesting character where forgiveness is concerned. I think their sense of morality is very black and white, so some people (Feliks) will be easily forgiven where others (Ivan) will not. In reality, I think it would definitely be valid for Tolvydas to hate both of them, yet they don't- Because they decided that Feliks was a friend and Ivan was not. Both Feliks and Ivan care very deeply about them, but neither treats Tolvydas in a very good way. Of course, I’m aware that the situation in the Russian Empire/USSR and the Commonwealth were very different, but I’m talking about these three dudes and their relationships with each other beyond the lens of politics. Because Feliks tried to be their friend in a way that didn’t hurt them tremendously, and because. Look at them, Feliks isn’t 5’4 and can’t hurt you. They’re not an intimidating person and they’re not incredibly powerful like Ivan is. Though that’s not all of it- Feliks’ feelings for Tolvydas are definitely a purer, more selfless type of love than what Ivan feels for them- it makes it harder for Tolvydas to hold a grudge against them. Whereas for Ivan, their relationship was about control. He needed to control them as a way of expressing how he felt about them. He represents a lot of what Tolvydas fought against in their youth, so of course they hate him. Of course, I don’t think they like holding grudges. They want to be able to care for everyone, because they know that everyone deserves to be treated well and cared for and all that. You can't exactly do that if you hold a grudge against someone, so it actually kind of sucks for them when they see someone they hate suffering. It’s a sort of conflict of interest- The caregiving instincts vs the hatred for this person- and they often don’t know what to do in that situation. Usually they wind up helping but not happy about it. They just don’t want to see others suffer, despite the fact that they dislike this person (Russia is of course the exception. They don’t want to help him at all anymore).

Relationship with family

So, this is a bit of an interesting topic. I think the Baltics consider themselves family just because of what they’ve been through together, but they’re not actually blood related. Though they share similar cultures, and languages, they’re just not related. Maybe Lithuania and Latvia are cousins, but yeah. Lithuania sees themself as the head of their little family, as they have the oldest surviving European culture and language. They sometimes get in their head about that, and can act like both a mom friend and a mom who is bad at mom-ing. It’s a sort of self appointed thing, and can be really annoying to the other two. They don’t pay the utmost attention to their fellow Baltics, and are more concerned with physical well being than emotional well being, so, despite establishing themself as a caretaker, do not wind up actually caring for the other Baltics in the ways they need to be cared for.

Fighting style

So, as I’ve mentioned, Lithuania is a talented fighter. They go hard as shit, and can very much kick your ass. I think they prefer to be very technical about how they fight, with something boring like a broadsword as their weapon of choice, but are not afraid to fight dirty. Like rip off an ear with their teeth kind of playing dirty. I think they take fighting very seriously. Though Lithuania as we know it is only about 800 years old, I think Tolvydas is much older. The definition of a nation (a large body of people united by common descent, history, culture, or language, inhabiting a particular country or territory, according to the oxford dictionary) does not require there to be a central governing body, so I think it’s quite possible for Lithuania to be well over 2000. Anyway, all that is to say that they didn’t grow up in medieval times, so by the time they’re like. Achieving dominance in Eastern Europe, they’re already very old and well versed in many different styles of fighting. In the modern day, I think they’ve learned more different fighting styles from other parts of the world, but will always fall back on the way they learned how to fight in ancient times.

Religion

So as I mentioned earlier, Lithuania is Jewish in my headcanons (orthodox, specifically. I think they're kinda traditional). I have a couple reasons for this- There has been a historical presence of Ashkenazi Jews in Lithuania, going back to the 13th or 14th century, and this is due to certain legal protections granted to Jewish people under pre-Commonwealth law. They were legally on similar footing to the average free people of Lithuania, and were able to create a slightly more prosperous community than Jews in other areas of Europe. This was also affected by the Black Plague of the 1340s. Orthodox Jews tend to put a high value on cleanliness, and often have two sinks in their houses (my childhood home, for example, had two sinks, and i lived in a majority jewish area). They also happened to be concentrated in Eastern Europe, due to the protections. Because of this, Eastern European Jews have some of the highest sruvival rates for the Black Plague and actually brought up the survival rates of the region as a whole- Though this also resulted in some intense antisemitism, as many Christians blamed Jewish people for the plague even happening, due to their higher survival rates. Despite various expulsions and the loss of legal rights, the Jewish population remained relatively steady up until world war 2. Jewish people made up about 10% of the total population of Lithuania in 1941, and 45% of the total population of Vilnius. (To put this in perspective, the entire world population is only about 0.2% Jewish). Anyway, all this is to say that it’s not out of the question for Lithuania to be Jewish.

Extras/Fun stuff

Lithuania loves reading, especially the fantasy/fairy tale genre. It makes them nostalgic without the trauma of reading historical fiction.

They’re also very musically gifted, and can play the piano, bass, ukelele, and flute.

They wear docs.

They love hot chocolate.

They remind me of both Aragorn from lotr and Hozier. They’re such a sweet lad.

Bicon who has like 5 people thirsting for them at a given moment but is either oblivious or not looking for a relationship right now.

Here are my fics with lithuania as a main character!

My previous character analyses of lithuania (sorry they’re mostly in shipping contexts, rip) and another good analysis someone else did

My playlist for them

and i think thats it! of course i could always talk more about them, but those are my thoughts for now! thank you so much for the ask, i hope i was able to meet your challenge!

writing requests

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