#multimilfsficmas2022

[multimilfs]

Queen Ravenna x Fem!Reader: Beyond Fury

Summary: escapetodreamworld sent... Queen Ravenna + 14 -- “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

AO3

Prompts found here!

A/N: This is the first fic I wrote for this challenge and I love it. Charlize is amazing and getting to write for Ravenna was a lot of fun, she's a bit difficult, which makes it a nice challenge. I hope you enjoy!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix

Warning(s): Non-con elements, Blood

It’s after nightfall when the Queen summons you. Her brother arrives at the door to your rooms, a leering grin on his mouth. You almost trip over your own dress in your haste to put distance between the two of you. 

“Where is Sir Maynard?” You ask. 

His grin gets wider, “Indisposed, I’m afraid. My sister has sent me in his place.” 

The room is freezing despite the roaring fire and furs on the floor. It feels like a trap. Sir Maynard is always the one to escort you to your Queen, his hands startlingly gentle even in the beginning; A rapport and trust building between you as your affection for Queen Ravenna grew. Fear courses through you at the thought of something befalling him. 

But nothing inspires more fear than her brother. You don’t know his name, don’t care to, for there’d always been a curious distance between the two of you. Whispers of his… proclivities reached you, and you operated under the assumption they reached your Queen too; your heart had always been warmed by the idea of her keeping you safe, even from her own family. 

Now, you wonder how you’ve deluded yourself into believing you’d ever be away from him. 

“An escort is unnecessary, Sir,” You say, trying to infuse your voice with strength, “Queen Ravenna knows I’ll come to her willingly. Though I thank you for your willingness to assist.”

His advance on you is swift and sure. In a second, his face is inches from yours, eyes boring into you. You look anywhere else. The unpleasant warmth and stench of him make your stomach twist. 

“My sister, for some reason foreign to me, may let you get away with what you wish. Watch your tongue around me unless you want to put it to good use.” He punctuates the statement with a glance downward. Your face burns with shame and rage. 

“I’d sooner lose it.” You snarl. 

A hand clasps itself around your neck and the point of a dagger is aimed at your chest. Your skin bends to make space for it. One wrong move and it will slice through, spilling blood on the dress you adore. 

You want to believe you’re protected, but you can’t say for certain; you can never say anything with certainty about your Queen. Wisely, you stay silent as he increases the pressure of his weapon and his hand. 

“You’re a stupid, vile girl.” 

The hand around your throat tightens.

“And one day I’ll have the luxury of doing what I want with you.” 

He steps back, infinitesimally, and his hands fall away. One pulls at the sleeve of your dress and pulls it down your arm, the neckline moving with it. You shiver as more of your skin is exposed to him. He stops before any of your chest is bared. 

With a lazy spin, he slashes downward. The skin splits open. You let out a pained noise, clutching your hand over the now-bleeding gash. The Queen’s brother pulls a white handkerchief from his belt and presses it into the wound roughly. Wincing, you flinch away, but hold the cloth in place. 

“Fix your dress,” He snaps, “My sister is waiting.” 

You pull up the sleeve and neckline so it hides the reddening handkerchief. A threat lingers in his eyes as he watches, then shoves you ahead. Dark soldiers flank your sides. You shiver against the chill in the air and follow their lead; you know the way just like the route to your own rooms—down several twisting halls, a few sharp lefts, and you’re before her doors—but they’re taking you somewhere different. 

Instead of the final left, you take a right. You’re brought to two large, iron doors, etched with sigils and writing you can’t understand. One of the guards pounds his fist against the door three times before opening it. 

Across the expanse of dark stone and pillars she stands facing away. Fire rages in the center of the room, drawing her full attention. You can feel the warmth of it from here and wonder how she can stand to be near it. 

“I’ve brought the girl.” Her brother says. You jump, having forgotten he was there. 

She turns and her eyes find you in an instant. You can’t help the blush you’re sporting, bowing your head and offering a polite curtsey. A smirk pulls at her mouth. 

The smirk drops as she addresses the other occupants in the room, “Leave us.” 

The soldiers offer bows and turn in sync, stomping out of the room. Her brother hesitates. His eyes flicker to her and then to you, giving you a long, serious look. Then he follows the soldiers. Your blush has vanished by the time he’s gone. 

“You kept me waiting.” She says, low voice covering the expanse—both physical and mental—between you. You’re relieved to see her shoulders relaxed, “You never keep me waiting.” 

You can sense the question in her statement, can practically hear her shouting what was more important than your Queen? But instead of raising her voice, she tilts her head, and waits. 

Lying has never been a skill in your arsenal. And with your Queen looking at you like she’d unwrap your flesh from your skeleton should you cross her, you’ve never had the guts to try. 

Skating the truth might work, you decide, “I was speaking with your brother, My Queen. He offered me a lesson on courtesy.” 

She huffs out a laugh. 

“I’d say that’s one skill you don’t need a lesson on.” 

You blush. Now that the danger of tripping her wrath has truly passed, you take slow movements to her, coming to stop at the bottom step leading to the room of fire. Her eyes are intrigued when they look down at you. 

“And what skills do I need a lesson on, My Queen?” You ask. 

She lifts an eyebrow. 

You’re quick to correct, “Ravenna.” 

Ravenna’s eyes slip closed like her name from your lips gives her power. There’s a split second of bliss there, like when you’ve finished your usual duties with her, but it feels more intimate this time. You look away. 

A blush pulls at your cheeks and you can’t fathom why; you’ve seen her in various positions and states of undress, heard things drip from her tongue that’d make any reasonable woman melt with shame. You’ve never had an issue being a witness before. You blame it on the heat radiating from the room behind her. 

Fingers tilt your head back to look her in the eye. Ravenna’s closer now, armor clad body nearly pressing to your own. A finger, adorned with a black talon, scrapes along your bottom lip. 

Her kiss is demanding and brutal when you’re locked in it, claiming every inch of you she can reach. You let out a whimper against her. Teeth find and tug at your lip, insisting on torturing you just within the bounds of what you can handle. You’re running out of air but can’t make yourself pull back. 

Ravenna’s taloned hand ghosts down your neck and makes you shiver. You feel her grin against your lips when she starts to move to your chest and you moan pathetically, pushing yourself into her embrace. She freezes before fully touching where you desire. 

You laugh against her, used to her teasing, but you open your eyes to shards of ice staring you down. 

Her eyes have landed just about where her hand is and you gaze downward, freezing. There, next to her hand, blood has seeped through the exquisite fabric. Some of it stains her fingertips. You feel lightheaded. 

“Take off your dress.” She commands, no longer Ravenna, but your Queen. 

“My Queen, I…”

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.” 

The control she had before is gone. When you step back to pull down the top of your dress, she stays rooted to the spot. Her eyes are sharp, deadly, and you know armies trembled beneath this gaze before but you’re not, whether it be stupidity or comfort. 

Pulling down your dress reveals the bloodstained handkerchief and you peel it off of your skin. The gash is angry, blood still seeping from it, though in smaller amounts this time. You don’t dare wipe it away. 

Ravenna steps to you and brings her own hand out to touch at the gash, hand shaking with barely contained rage. You try and fail to stop your wince. 

“They’ll pay in blood.” Ravenna forces through gritted teeth, “Tell me their name.” 

You go cold. Her brother has been her longest and fiercest companion, even uttering his name would assure her rage be directed at you. She’ll choose family everytime. You don’t want to die, not when there’s still so much time you haven’t shared with her. 

“I…” 

“A name!” Ravenna shouts. 

Shaking your head, you try to pull back, but her left hand clasps around your arm. You’re caught in an iron grip. 

“You’ll be furious with me.” You whisper, voice pleading. 

“We’re beyond fury,” Her voice trembles, “A name.” 

Wincing and looking at your feet, you accept your fate, “It was your brother.” 

Emotions from defeat to pure hatred flicker behind her eyes before she settles on one; betrayal. Her hold on you loosens and you step closer, reaffirming the contact. She doesn’t react to it. 

A vulnerability lingers in her muscles as she deflates, a lone tear tracking down her porcelain cheek. You ache to wipe it away. She’s staring past you, mind caught in something you can’t hope to understand. You remain an anchor to the physical world as you take her hand and bring the palm to your lips, your own tears falling onto the skin. 

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, not sure she can hear you, “I spoke out of turn and upset him. It was my fault.” 

Her hand tightens around your own. 

“He knows the limit.” 

Ravenna drags you to the door and your heart nearly beats out of your chest. She’s reached her limit with me, you think, as she throws open the doors with an ease that startles you. 

“Guards!” She shrieks and they come running.

You wait for the command that will sentence you; you wonder if she’ll do it herself or if she’ll just have you thrown onto the streets to rot with the people. Will she slit your throat or take your heart? 

Her hand ghosts over the gash and the lingering pain fades. Looking down curiously, you find the skin mended. 

“Take her to her rooms.” Ravenna commands the guards, “And bring me my brother.” 

Eyes widening, you examine her face, shock rendering you speechless. Her face remains the portrait of indifference as you’re led away. Disbelief floods you when you’re in your rooms, even as your ears hear the screams across the castle, and even as the whispers tell you he’s dead. 

You feel dread at being responsible, but can’t help the lingering affection. You were protected after all. 

[multimilfs]

Maleficent x Fem!Reader: Watching, Waiting, Wanting

Summary: Maleficent + 93 -- "Say you want me, and I'm yours."

AO3

Prompts found here!

A/N: I rewatched the Maleficent movies recently and they made me so happy. I'm so glad I could write this!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix

Warning(s): None

You duck under the willow, careful not to be spotted. All you need is one last detail to make this work. Phillip looks up quickly, but relaxes upon seeing you, and you let out a small laugh. 

“Nervous?” You ask. 

He straightens his spine, “Is it that obvious?” 

“A bit,” You nod. When he deflates and begins to fiddle with his armor, you wince. You’re definitely not helping his nerves, “She loves you, Phillip. Nothing could make her say no. All you have to do is ask the question and we’ll handle the rest.” 

As if on cue, Pinto ducks through the willow branches; your last detail, falling into place; or rather, walking into place. You kneel down into the soft grass as Pinto gazes up and lets out a garbled, fey version of your name. 

You’ve come to know every fairy, pixie, and wallerbog by name since coming to the moors. And though you’d never, ever admit it, Pinto has been your favorite so far. The spiky little fairy is loyal and tenacious. If you ever found yourself in a pinch, you trusted Pinto to get you out of it. Now, though, you’re trusting her to get you into one. 

“Perfect timing, Pinto. I need your help.” 

She tilts her head and poses you a question. You don’t speak the language she does, but you understand the meaning well enough—with what? Pinto asks. 

Laying your hand on the soft grass at her feet, she takes the cue, hopping into your palm. The look on her little face is very serious and you smile. Your chest is filled with excitement. 

“Alright, here’s the situation…” 

Pinto is suitably filled in and plays the role of distraction perfectly. You watch from the crowd of creatures, trying to hide your excitement; Aurora is your dearest friend and confidant, you want nothing but happiness for her. 

You see how Phillip brings her joy. The smile on her face and sound of her laughter is enough to banish any sadness from your heart on the worst of days. Aurora has been a loyal, true friend, and you’re honored to orchestrate this proposal for her after all she’s done for you; giving you a home when you arrived in the Moors wounded and alone, giving you a family in herself and the fey folk, and introducing you to Maleficent. 

Though as the willow fairies swarm and dance, revealing the overjoyed couple, you worry you’ve somehow betrayed Maleficent by doing this. A pit forms in your stomach as you watch Diaval fly towards the Dark Fey’s nest. 

But a pair of arms wrap around you and there’s a laugh in your ear. The worry melts away. 

“Thank you, thank you!” Aurora giggles.

“Don’t thank me! Your dashing Prince did all of the hard work.” 

Aurora pulls back, holding your hands in her own, “Without you, my Aunties or Pinto would have led me to the wrong tree. You’ve worked hard too.” 

“It isn’t hard work when it’s for you.” You say softly, honestly. 

Her eyes are glazed with happy tears and she throws her arms around you again. You laugh as you’re spun, the soft grass tickling your ankles, little fairies giggling with the two of you. Life had once been so cruel and now you know only joy. How lucky you feel. 

But the pit sits in your stomach again. 

Your friend must be having similar thoughts, if the hesitance on her face means anything. She bites her lip uncertainly and plays with your hands still in her own. 

She asks quietly, “How do you think my Godmother will react to the news?” 

“I think she’ll be… happy that you’re happy… eventually.” 

Aurora grumbles and pulls away, pacing back and forth while you watch on. You see Pinto mirror her behavior out of the corner of her eye. It takes all your willpower not to also join in, but you decide to remain strong for all of you. 

That strength nearly crumbles when you hear Pinto gasp and the Aunties yell to hold on. 

The great force of her wings nearly drives you back, but you remain mostly in place. You stand back by the willow as Aurora and Maleficent talk. Though now and again you can feel eyes on you, boring into your skin, and you shrink bit-by-bit. 

You were taken by Maleficent the moment you saw her years ago. 

When Aurora and the fey folk dragged you wounded to the former’s throne, you had wondered if the injuries would overcome you. You had mourned the life you didn’t anticipate getting to live. But in what you believed to be your last moments, you were grateful to be surrounded by beauty and kindness. 

Then Aurora called out to Maleficent, and she came. Her abnormally bright eyes landed on you and you knew nothing else would compare. 

She healed you, slowly and carefully, at Aurora’s request, talking all the while though it was clear she was uncomfortable. The days after she made herself scarce and you felt the loss keenly. 

Since that day, there was rarely a time when you strayed too far from the Dark Fey. You had no desire to be anywhere she wasn’t. Her dry wit and humor put you off at first, but the sincere emotion behind them endeared you to her. Maleficent had become your greatest confidant. She’d also stolen your heart, though you’d never dare tell her.

“I suppose you had something to do with this union.” Maleficent says, loudly, and you know she’s talking to you. 

You meet her eyes and nod, “And if I did?” 

“Then you can find another nest to sleep in.” 

“Godmother.” Aurora murmurs. 

Maleficent rolls her eyes, glaring at the girl. Aurora only stares back. 

“You at least could have warned me.” Maleficent says. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you raise your eyebrow. Had you told her the surprise would have been spoiled and she knows that as well as you. You also worry, secretly, that the to-be groom would’ve disappeared. 

“You’d have reacted no better two days ago than now, Maleficent. Your nest would have been in shambles and I’d be warning off concerned fairies instead of celebrating with Aurora.” 

Maleficent’s head tilts to the side. Her eyes are more intense, extra focused on you. 

“Aurora, will you leave us?” 

Shooting you a look of concern, Aurora nods. She wanders completely out of the clearing and you want to yell after her. You do no such thing as Maleficent steps forward and closer to you. She’s notably missing her staff; her steps still uneven from the years she’d adapted to living without wings. 

Fierce green magic spreads from her palms where she clenches them at her sides. You ache to take them in your own, to soothe her emotions, but you fear it’s unwanted. 

“You didn’t tell me.” Maleficent whispers. She almost sounds betrayed. 

“It would have upset you.” 

“I’m far more upset now.” 

“I want her to be happy, Maleficent,” You say, pleading, “Is that so terrible?” 

“She’s happy here. A whole kingdom loves and attends to her everyday. She wants for nothing. Her happiness doesn’t need to come from that boy, not when she has me. Us.” She says fiercely. 

The magic in her hands flares. You take her hand this time, feeling the power seep into your skin when you lace your fingers together. Maleficent stares down at your joined hands. 

“You’re right. She doesn’t need him to be happy, but if he brings her joy, why should we deny her that? Love isn’t so terrible.” 

“Love doesn’t always end… well.” 

You see the fear in her face, and can feel the effects of it seep into your skin. You want to do a number of heartless things to the late King Stefan; though not for the first time. 

Maleficent means well. Her love for Aurora is what changed her and made her whole again, but it didn’t heal the scars her Father left behind. It isn’t so simple, unfortunately. Your heart aches in your chest to take away her pain and fear. But if you don’t let her feel it and come to terms with it, she’ll never come to terms with Phillip and Aurora’s marriage. 

“It doesn’t always end terribly either.” You say. And in a moment of madness, your mouth opens, and you say more, “I mean, it can’t, right? Not when we’re so content.” 

Maleficent’s eyes widen and your heart drops. Did you really say that? You could kick yourself for letting your traitorous mouth give you away. But you can’t, not when you’re pinned by a pair of bright eyes, emotions behind them you can’t decipher. 

Aurora and Diaval had prodded you to confess for so long and you chose the worst moment to do so. You’re even more embarrassed when you notice Pinto to your left, watching with barely concealed interest, eyes moving back and forth between you and Maleficent. 

“What do you mean by that?” Maleficent asks slowly. 

Gathering the fractured remains of your courage, you swallow. 

“It means that I love you, Maleficent,” You whisper, “I’ve held it in worrying it’d be too much for you… but say you want me, and I’m yours. I think I have been since the night I met you.” 

There it is. 

The truth, unfiltered, and honest; out in the open with the rest of the swirling feelings. You avoid her eyes and stare intensely at your joined hands. You suppose it’s a good sign that she hasn’t pulled away yet, at least she’s not disgusted. 

Silence stretches on and you wonder if she’s plotting your murder. It’d be a good time, with Pinto being the only witness. She might not go through with it immediately though if it’ll sully Aurora’s happiness and you hope you’ll at least get to see the wedding. 

You try to distract yourself with the details; will it be here in the Moors or in Ulstead? Will Phillip’s parents approve of the union? Will they approve of Maleficent?

“How can you love me?” Maleficent asks. 

Meeting her eyes, you’re surprised by the confusion in them, like she expects you to change your mind. 

“How could I not?” 

“I’m not good. I’ve taken lives and will likely take more, I’ve done horrible, evil things.” 

“I know.” 

“You… know.” She says slowly. 

Careful not to startle her, you place a hand on her cheek, feeling her cheekbone dig pleasantly into your palm, “I know. It changes nothing.” 

Maleficent looks at you like she can’t understand you; like she’s fathoming how you can exist. You vow that she’ll never again have to wonder how someone could love her. The rest of your days, you’ll use every bit of your power to prove her worthy of true, honest love. 

It surprises you how quiet the Moors are around you. Not even a breeze is blowing through. You wonder how many fey folk Aurora has watching with her, waiting for something. If you’re being honest, you’re waiting too. 

You decide to stop waiting. 

Leaning forward slowly enough to give Maleficent an out, you press your lips to the Dark Fey’s. She tastes like the berries growing inside the crystal caves. Her lips are soft and pliant, moving carefully against your own. 

Beyond initiating the kiss, you back off, letting Maleficent guide you through the motions. It goes without saying that this is one of the only kisses she’s shared. She’s an excellent kisser despite the lack of experience; though that may just be your delight at not being pushed away or rejected. 

When you pull away, you’re still curiously alone. Then you hear a garbled noise that sounds suspiciously like finally! from your feet. Pinto is looking up with delight and you laugh. Maleficent chuckles too. 

But when you look up, she’s not looking at Pinto. She only has eyes for you. 

You try to hide your blush as fairies flood the clearing, Aurora following behind. Her smile is knowing. Blushing even brighter, you meet Maleficent’s eyes when you hug her daughter, and let yourself sit in the joy. 

Aurora found hers happy ending and you did too… if only you knew how things would shift. 

[multimilfs]

Miranda Priestly x Fem!Reader: Public People in Private

Summary: Miranda Priestly + 67 “Uh, am I interrupting?”

Prompts found here!

A/N: Miranda… my beloved. I need to rewatch this movie so bad, it’s been ages

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @imtrashinflames @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Warning(s): None

“You can let me out here, Roy. I’m going up today.” 

“Are you sure? I had a… colorful message from Emily this morning.” Roy asks, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. 

“I’ll risk it,” You smile, “I might be able to help out. At the very least, I’ll distract her for a few minutes.” 

Roy nods and you step out in front of the Elias Clarke building. You weave through the crowds and inside without a hassle. The attendant stands up straighter upon seeing you, even after all this time. Nodding in greeting, he lets you through. 

The crowds seem to part as soon as you’re past the front desk. Tall, rail-thin models step out of your way, some even stepping out of the elevator when you get in. You want to shake your head at the treatment. 

It’s a short ascent to the Runway offices and you can see why Emily is so stressed. Models and staff scamper past, barely looking your way. The front desk is in shambles as several men in suits hound the receptionist. 

Milena, the poor girl, looks absolutely beaten. You check your watch and find you have a few minutes before Miranda is expecting you. 

“Is there something wrong here, gentleman?” You ask smoothly, stepping in beside Milena like it’s your rightful place. 

The tallest and meanest of the bunch turns on you. His suit is rumpled like he’s been tugging at it nervously, face red and splotchy with anger. 

Milena cuts in softly before he can throw anything your way, “They keep saying Miranda is expecting them, but they’re not in her schedule.” 

You pat her shoulder. 

“We do have an appointment!” He almost shrieks. 

You look him up and down, raising a brow. It shuts him up long enough for you to dial a familiar number. You hold up a finger to the men while the line rings. 

His fists clench at his sides. He looks like the lawyer type, which means he’s not used to being made to wait, let alone by a woman. 

“Miranda Priestly’s office.” Emily’s clipped voice comes down the line. 

“Hi Em,” You say sweetly, “I’ve got three men waiting with Milena, claiming they’ve got an appointment on the books. Is there anything in her schedule?”

“Of course not. She has lunch with you.” 

“That’s what I thought. Thank you, Em.” You return the phone to the cradle and give a sharp smile, “You’re not on the schedule, gentleman. I trust you know where the elevators are and if you’ve forgotten, security will be more than happy to escort you.” 

“I’ll have your job, Miss—” One of the other men says. 

You grin deviously, “It’s Mrs, actually. Mrs. Priestly.” 

All three men blanch. Milena tries to cover her grin as you step around the desk. She discreetly dials the security line, watching you with bated breath. 

The tallest doesn’t look so mean now. When you step up to him, he takes a half-step back. You almost regret Miranda not being here to bear witness; you learned it from her, after all. 

When the elevator sounds and the doors open, the head of security and two of his burliest men step out. Milena nods in the direction of the three men you’re staring down. Tearing your eyes away for a moment, you nod.

“Clark.” You acknowledge the head of security. 

“Mrs. Priestly,” He says, “Is there a problem here?” 

“No problem. These gentlemen just need some assistance finding the lobby.” 

Clark nods and his two men step forward and usher the red-faced men from Runway. You watch them go with a satisfied smile. Folding your arms over your chest, you turn to the man at your side.

“Do we know how they got up here?”

“Front desk says they had an appointment with Mr. Ravitz this morning. They must have come straight from his office.” 

Your lip curls, “Irv. Of course.” 

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” 

“That’s all, Clark. Thank you.” 

He leaves without further fanfare. You watch as he sends a warm smile Milena’s way. Her responding blush makes you pause. Interesting development, you think, trying not to let your thoughts show on your face. 

Collecting your bag and accepting Milena’s heartfelt thanks, you continue back towards Miranda’s office. You wince when you catch sight of a clock. You’re five minutes later than you should be, but all you can do is hope your wife isn’t too upset. 

Following the familiar pathway to the offices, you try not to shake your head when nearly a dozen models and staff members scare upon seeing you. Honestly, you think, I wasn’t nearly as bad as Emily. Must just come with marrying the Editor-in-Chief, you decide. 

Speaking of Emily, the brit is boredly explaining something over the phone. You offer a small wave and she sends you a surprisingly-genuine smile. 

Miranda isn’t alone in her office; you can hear her soft voice bickering with someone else. Peering in, you see Nigel standing in front of her, hands motioning this way and that as he explains something. 

Knocking on the office door, “Uh, am I interrupting?” 

Both look up. Miranda’s severe expression softens slightly. When she checks the watch on her wrist, her lips purse and you know you’re not getting away with your tardiness, but she doesn’t say anything about it. 

“Not at all, darling. Come in.” Miranda stands. 

You meet Nigel in the middle of the office and exchange air kisses. He pulls back and looks you over, nodding approvingly. 

“New boots?” He asks. 

“They’re last season, actually.” You say, then stage-whisper, “Don’t tell Miranda.” 

“Oh honey, I wouldn’t dare.” Nigel winks. 

He gives Miranda a small nod and takes his leave. You cross around the desk to accept your usual kiss on the cheek. She’s a little slower to grant it today and you lean back, raising a brow.

“You’re late.” 

“There was a situation at the front desk,” You answer easily, “I would have been early, but Milena needed the help.” 

“If she needs help doing her job then perhaps she’s better suited for employment elsewhere.” Miranda says. 

“You know that isn’t what I meant.” 

“Do I?”

“Miranda.” You glare, “If you fire Milena I’m going to be extremely cross.” 

She rolls her eyes. Pulling out a few paper menus, she hands them over, and you peruse today’s selections. Smith and Wollensky rests on top and you try not to laugh. Miranda always puts her preferred option on the very top, but lets you have the final choice. 

You could go for a steak. And you should probably tread carefully with your lateness. 

Handing over the Smith and Wollensky menu, she nods, looking pleased. She calls Emily in to rattle off your orders while you move over to the couch in her office. 

Emily takes the notes dutifully. You wonder where the new second assistant is, having heard some interesting murmurs about her over the past few days. Emily was suitably frustrated with her—as was Miranda—but Nigel and Serena had been a little more kind. She was out of her depth, but meant well, that was the final verdict. 

You hardly notice when Emily leaves until Miranda sits down next to you. Leaning back against the couch, she eyes you. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask. 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re trying to figure me out.” 

Miranda chuckles, “Darling, figuring you out will take more than my lifetime.” 

“I can never tell if statements like that are a compliment or insult.” You narrow your eyes. 

“For you?” Miranda raises a brow and pretends to think on it, before her face softens infinitesimally, “A compliment.” 

“Miranda Priestly, are you going soft on me?” You tease, but lean into her space, “Imagine what that’d do to your reputation.” 

“I have.” 

There’s a look in her eyes you can’t decipher. You try not to think about it too much, stealing a quick kiss, trying not to badly damage her lipstick.

“So, tell me about today.”

You lean back and settle in for Miranda’s usual spiel about the incompetence of her employees, watching her fondly. 

[multimilfs]

Donna Beneviento x Fem!Reader: While I'm Around

Summary: Donna Beneviento + 122 — “I’m not going anywhere.”

AO3

Prompts found here!

A/N: One thing I can never get enough of in Donna fics is Angie. Yes, she's creepy as hell, but I love that little doll.

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Tag List: @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Warning(s): Blood mention

Your lips part in a silent scream. Pain suffuses your entire body and you hunch over, clutching at your now-bleeding leg. Angie giggles maniacally and takes off in the other direction. 

“Angie! Get back here!” You yell through the pain.

“No thanks!” 

“I’m going to turn you into firewood, I swear!” 

You start limping in the direction of where she disappeared, leaving a trail of blood on the hardwood behind you. She really got you good this time. And honestly, it feels a little personal, but you’re too angry to give that thought much power. 

“You wish!” Angie calls back, “I’m not going anywhere!” 

On a good day, Angie is manageable. Donna’s closeness often curbs her more feral tendencies. But on days like today, when Donna is summoned rather suddenly from the manor, Angie borders on insane. 

And despite how much you love her, it makes you want to chain her up in the basement until Donna gets back. 

Unfortunately, you were so surprised by Donna’s departure you didn’t stop to consider the option. Now you’re paying the price for it. All of it had started well, actually; Angie had been mellow and toddled after you while you went about tasks, asking questions and making funny, yet outrageous demands. Your favorite had been when she tugged on your pant leg—almost pulling the damn things down—and asked if she could try a raw egg. You said no. 

Somewhere along the way her curious and humorous questions descended into madness. One second she’s eating the cooked eggs you made and the next she’s tossing an empty bottle across the room. Trying to wrangle her hadn’t been too hard until her mouth clamped around your ankle; somehow, despite her lack of teeth, she’d done a good amount of damage. 

Now, you find yourself in the curious predicament of finding her. 

You can hear her giggling as if she’s all around you. It’s eerie. You hate to admit it, but her lack of control scares you a little bit, and you miss Donna. The problem is she’s unreachable when she’s in a meeting. 

“Angie,” You call, turning at the slightest of sounds, “Come out!” 

Turning, something dark in your peripheral vision catches your attention. Your eyes widen with horror as you stare. 

Angie’s in the walls. 

You fall to your knees and stick your hand in the hole she managed to create in the wall, trying to reach and grab hold of her. It’s a thin space for you, but the perfect size for her to maneuver through them. The fear of her getting stuck seizes you. 

If you can’t get her out, or worse, she gets stuck, you’ll have no idea what to tell Donna. She trusted you with the most important piece of her and you let her climb inside the walls where neither of you can reach her. 

“Dear?”

A pathetic little shriek leaves your lips. You turn, wide-eyed, to see Donna in her usual garb, watching you with her head tilted. 

“Donna!” 

A delighted noise comes from somewhere above you, “Donna?!” 

Pain erupts in your arm and you yank it back. Angie appears through the hole in the wall like nothing has happened, running to Donna, who crouches to receive her. The doll looks precious being wrapped up in her owner’s arms. 

“You’re home!” 

“I am,” Donna confirms, voice rough and yet, so gentle, “Why were you in the walls?” 

“Nothing. Getting away from her.” 

Angie points at you and you throw your hands up. 

“Why?” 

“What are you, the police?” The doll asks. 

“Angie.” Donna warns. 

“Ugh. You’re both boring.” 

With more attitude than befitting a sentient doll, she crosses her little wooden arms over her chest, and stomps away after being set on the floor. Both you and Donna watch her go. You scowl after her, but can’t help the little grin that breaks out when she’s gone. 

Donna stands perfectly patient and silent, hands folded in front of her. You step into her space and carefully fold back the veil of her garb. 

Her pale, shy face smiles softly back at you. 

“There’s my girl.” You smile sweetly. 

Donna blushes. It’s your favorite look on her, even after all this time. She hides behind her veil for everyone else and you think she’s still not used to being seen without it. 

“Hello.” You whisper, taking her hands in your own. 

“Hello, dear,” She whispers back, “Good day?” 

“Interesting for sure. Angie was… energetic.” 

“I should’ve taken her. I’m sorry.” 

She looks down at her feet and your heart lurches. You’re quick to press a kiss to one cheek… then the other… and then her forehead, and so on until you’ve kissed every inch of available skin and she’s laughing—soft and sweet—with all traces of sadness gone. 

Running a careful hand down the side of her face, your fingers play absently with a piece of black lace on her dress. It’s starting to fray from constant use and you frown. 

“Why does Angie act like that when you’re apart?” You ask curiously. 

Her eye searches you for any trace of judgment or anger, “Angie and I are the best parts of each other. When we’re separated, we lose those qualities.” 

“Donna, I love Angie… but her qualities aren’t what I would call… good.” 

“Decisive. Free. Playful.” 

Her voice is rougher. She rubs at her throat and attempts to clear it subtly. 

“I understand.” You say. 

It makes sense to you now and you wonder why it never crossed your mind to ask before. Angie was playful while Donna was calm, thoughtful. They balanced one another. You hadn’t realized sharing the same Cadou would tie them so closely. 

Perhaps that’s why you hadn’t balked at Angie in the beginning; you felt they were more similar than different. 

The door creaks open, both you and Donna turning. Angie’s eyes peek around the door. When you raise an eyebrow, she walks further into the room. 

She stands in front of you and kicks at the floor, “Sorry. I guess.” 

“Angie.” 

“Sorry.” 

You wait for something else; an addition of kinda or maybe. It doesn’t come. Angie looks up and waits. You think she’s waiting for you to say something and make the whole thing okay. 

If you’re honest with yourself, everything was okay the second Donna got home. Getting bitten hurt, but you have no desire to hold a grudge over it. 

“You’re good, driftwood.” You grin. 

“Driftwood?!” 

Angie plows into your legs and you’re ready. You laugh, picking her up and swinging like you’re going to throw her, only to keep her in your arms. A grumble leaves her mouth.

Over her head, you catch the look on Donna’s face, and melt. She looks surprised. It makes you wonder how many people have been so cruel, have written her and Angie off so quickly. You refuse to let them feel that again; not while you’re around. 

[multimilfs]

Morticia Addams x Fem!Reader: Dark Hearts, Dark Desires

Summary: Morticia Addams + 35 -- "Stop laughing at me."

AO3

Prompts found here!

A/N: This is short and sweet. I wanted to imagine a little moment in the Addams household and this is what came to mind. I hope you enjoy!

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Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @leftoverenvy

Warning(s): Poison mention

“Oh—oh my!” 

Flouncing into Wednesday’s room on your weekly weapons roundup, you haven’t been paying much attention. The door being open usually meant Wednesday was at school or off reading. 

So when you walk in and witness her in a bright pink dress, you’re stunned to say the least. Your grim little girl looks miserable and not in a fun way. 

“It’s delightful, isn’t it?” Wednesday asks, voice dripping with disdain. 

“Certainly, darling. Very bright.” 

“It’s hideous.” 

“Don’t be so hasty. Do you like it?” 

Wednesday hesitates. She turns slowly and stiffly in the mirror. Tugging her braids to the front, she turns again. You wait. 

With her getting older, you knew it’d be a matter of time before she began to experiment; you just hadn’t expected your first run-in with her experimentation to be related to clothing. She’s preferred black as long as you can remember. 

You despise the pink. It’s bright and cheery and the very opposite of what you’d expect of an Addams; but you want Wednesday to be secure and supported in whatever she chooses. So you wait patiently while she takes in her appearance. 

“I hate it.” She decides. 

A laugh leaves you. You’re relieved more than anything. 

“Stop laughing at me.”

“Oh, darling, I’m not laughing at you,” You assure, kissing her forehead, “I was laughing at myself. I was very concerned about how I’d wash something so pink when the rest of us wear black.” 

Wednesday hums, nodding, “Can I burn this?” 

“Only if you let your brother assist.” 

She pauses. Hands folded in front of her, she hums for a few, long moments, as if weighing the pros and cons. 

“Fine, but I get to start the fire.” She decides. 

“I’ll inform him of your terms. Any weapons you need returned?” 

You motion to the metal chest under your arm. Daggers and short swords glint in the dim firelight, some not at all, covered in rust and what looks like dried blood. 

Wednesday produces a few daggers; one from under her pillow, one from her desk, and one you somehow missed buried in the wall. She’s careful to hand them over hilt-first. 

“Thank you, darling. You remember our fire safety rules?” 

“Don’t set anyone on fire without their consent and no summoning the dark forces until I’m fifteen.” She recites. 

“Very good.” 

Wednesday runs off to find Pugsley and you continue your sweep of the house; you find more than half of the missing lot in Mamá’s room. Satisfied, you walk downstairs, peering into the kitchen and stopping short.

Morticia—goddess she is, bathed in shadows—stands at the counter, mixing something in a bowl furiously. You raise an eyebrow. 

“Something the matter, Tish?” You ask. 

“Not in the slightest.” 

“You’re mixing that like you’re trying to torture it. I’m not jealous, but is there a reason for that?” 

She sighs, “I didn’t pick enough nightshade berries to make the mixture black.” 

You smile fondly and round the counter to kiss her. Her lips taste faintly of Belladonna and you have to pull away, lest you find yourself distracted. Looking into the batter, you hum sympathetically; it’s a deep purple rather than a midnight black.

“Simple,” You say, “I’ll go pick more.”

“Are you sure, darling? Ever since we used the wrong potting soil, it’s been trying to eat us—even Mama. You must promise you won’t let it get you.” 

“Never without you, Tish. I’ll take Lurch. It likes him.” 

“He’s the only one it couldn’t hope to digest.” Morticia nods. 

“I feel like there’s a beautiful metaphor in there somewhere,” You say, admiring Morticia as she goes back to her work. 

“To be certain. We always want what we can’t have.” 

“Except us.” 

Her red lips part in a smile, “Except us, my dark heart.” 

[multimilfs]

Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: The Kisses of Melissa Schemmenti

Summary: Anon sent... Melissa Schemmenti + 78 -- "I can't get enough of you."

Prompts found here!

A/N: I'm in love w Melissa Schemmenti... that's all.

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Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld @carolncwman

Warning(s): Minor Violence, Slight NSFW

One kiss means hello. Two kisses mean goodbye. Three kisses mean I love you. 

What does it mean when there are too many kisses to count? 

—

1 – Neck 

You’ve never seen Melissa happier than in the kitchen, aggressively stirring a sauce that makes your mouth water almost as much as she does. She’s a vision; wooden spoon in hand as she sways, humming absently, hair pulled up high on her head. 

It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself. Her hips move as she dances around the kitchen in a haze of fresh garlic and red lipstick. But Melissa has one rule if you’re going to be in the kitchen with her; No touching. 

She never did specify whether that meant her or the food. 

It’s easy to take your chances when she’s in a pleasant mood. It’s easy to sneak from your chair across the kitchen and into her space, wrapping yourself around her middle and taking in the way she feels in your arms. The easiest is when she spins you and you’re backed against the counter, red lipstick marking Melissa’s path down your neck. 

—

2 – Cheek 

“Are you coming to bed?” 

You rub your eyes from your place against the headboard. The lamp on the desk illuminates her silhouette; her sculpted shoulders and beautiful curls. There’s faint scratching coming from her direction and her arm is moving, red ink marking the papers she shuffles through. 

Melissa doesn’t turn around. She’s too focused, intent on the goal she’s set for herself—though you’re not sure what that goal is exactly. 

“Soon, honey.” She responds. 

Soon is Melissa’s way of saying ‘not soon at all.’ You begrudgingly remove your blankets and patter across the room. Looking over her shoulder, you read quick, sweet notes on graded homework. The most recent child doesn’t seem to have done very much, but Melissa’s little note in the corner is still encouraging. 

A few of the better scoring kids get stickers. There’s a smiling strawberry you’d have killed to receive when you were in school and you’re almost jealous, even now. 

You lay your hands carefully on her shoulders and lean in, leaving a sweet, lingering kiss on her cheek. 

“Come to bed soon, sweetheart.” 

—

3 – Forehead 

When you use the key to let yourself in, you’re surprised by the silence. 

Melissa’s house is many things, but quiet isn’t one of them. There’s always something simmering and popping on the stove, or a timer going off, or a smooth record playing from the living room. None of that greets you now. 

You quietly set your things down by the front door and kick your shoes off. Her beat-up sedan was in the driveway, so you know she’s here—it’s just a question of where. 

Checking the kitchen first, you find it empty. There’s a fork in the sink that you don’t remember from this morning. It’s a good sign. If she’s eating something, she’s not in trouble, just having a rough day; in which case, you know exactly where she is. 

A trail of clothing from the bedroom door to the master bathroom leads the way. The quiet unnerves you a bit, but here it’s interrupted by the sounds of moving water. You breathe a little easier now that you know she’s here in the house. 

Peering into the bathroom, you melt, “Rough day?” 

Melissa is lying in the bath, hair pulled up, with a full wine glass on the floor next to her. There’s no spark in her eyes when she looks up. It twists your heart, bringing you to your knees on the mat next to the tub. You run your fingers through the bubbles on top of the water. 

“You have no idea.” Melissa says, sounding beyond exhausted. 

“What can I do?” 

She looks almost shy when she looks up through her lashes, hesitant, “I wouldn’t complain if you made dinner tonight.” 

You ache to lean over and kiss her lips, but kneeling on the hard floor is tearing up your knees. Struggling back to your feet, you do lean over and kiss her forehead. Melissa’s eyes flutter shut.

“You relax,” You murmur against her skin, “I’ll take care of you.” 

—

4 – Lips

A hand grabs your waist and you spin with a smile on your face, surprised to find yourself face-to-face with a man you definitely don't know. You stop moving. His grin is wide and he looks you over like he wants to devour you. 

“What’s a woman like you dancing alone for?” He asks. 

“I’m not.” You frown. 

Around you, your friends and Melissa’s pause, watching the scene cautiously. In the few moments Melissa had taken to go grab a drink you managed to attract unwanted attention. You seem to be a magnet for it anymore; just last month something similar had happened when you took Melissa out to dinner. 

Catching a familiar flash of red hair in your peripheral vision, you relax slightly. It unfortunately eggs the man holding you on. 

“You don’t have to play hard to get with me, baby.” 

You offer a tense smile, eyes full of disgust. 

“You see the redhead over at the bar?” You ask, nodding your head in the direction of where Melissa is propped against the bar, beer in hand, watching with cold interest, “That’s my partner. She’s not exactly a fan of others touching me, least of all strange men.” 

Where anyone would see Melissa and recognize the threat in her stance and back off, he’s not smart enough to read body language. And since there’s no recognition of who your girlfriend is in this part of town, you guess he isn’t a local. 

He takes Melissa’s demeanor and your words as a challenge. You’re relieved when he lets go of you, but then he’s puffing his chest out, and glaring over at where she stands. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.” He says. 

“You really shouldn’t,” You advise, but he’s already sauntering over in her direction. When she sets down her beer and stands up to be eye-level with him, you wince, “Fuck.” 

You’re not sure what he says—you don’t care to, honestly—but it’s enough to suitably piss Melissa off. She offers up a cold, painfully fake grin, before reeling back and punching him square in the throat. He drops like a sack of potatoes. 

A few people look over their shoulders, but look away just as quickly as they realize who punched him. He lays on the ground wheezing and coughing. No one moves to help him. They get back into their games, drinks, or dancing without thinking twice about it. You try not to laugh. 

He hauls himself back to his feet, voice hoarse, “Is nobody going to do anything?!” He shouts. 

No one does. 

You’re smirking at him from the middle of the dancefloor. The man looks around helplessly before grabbing his things, storming out in a huff. 

Someone at the bar says something to Melissa. She nods, laughing, and tips back the rest of her beer. You raise a brow when she meets your gaze. Motioning to all of the couples dancing around you, you give her a look. She pushes off the bar. 

“What a show.” You comment when she’s in range.

Melissa scoffs, “Someone had to teach him some manners, honey.” 

“If you say so. All I know,” You pause. Her arms are back around you, swaying you to the music, “is that it was very attractive.” 

Her pink-painted lips pull into a smirk. She leans forward and captures yours in a slow kiss. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was trying to send a message, but you watched the nameless man stomp out of the bar already. 

—

5 — Hand 

You’re picking up and turning over the tomatoes, checking for any bruising or other marks, when Melissa kisses the back of your hand. Tomatoes forgotten, you turn. Her eyes are soft as she places another kiss in the exact same spot. 

You tilt your head, asking fondly, “What was that for?” 

“You’re beautiful when you’re picking out fresh produce, that’s all.” 

Her smile is uncharacteristically soft. You know there is something she isn’t saying, but you won’t push, not when you’re enjoying the way she’s looking at you. It makes something in your chest melt. 

“Just when I’m picking out fresh produce?” 

—

6 — Temple 

It’s always a surprise when you see her during the work day. Sometimes it’s passing each other on the way into work or like now, when you walk into the Cheesesteak spot on your lunch break, and she’s there with Barbara—and Janine, occasionally—in tow. 

You’re on your way out and have less than five minutes to get back to your classroom at Addington. She’s walking in, laughing with Barbara while the other woman shakes her head. Both of them look surprised to see you. 

“Hey, Barbara,” You smile, nodding, then look at your partner, “Hey, stranger.” 

“Hey, hon.” Melissa smiles. 

Checking your watch, you wince. Four minutes left. You give Melissa a quick kiss, just a ghosting of your lips over her temple, and then you’re out the door. 

“See you at home!” You throw behind you. 

The only answer is Barbara’s chuckle and her barely-concealed mumble of girl, you’ve got it bad to Melissa. It keeps a smile on your face the whole way back to Addington. 

—

7 — … 

“Don’t you dare stop.” 

Melissa hums from between your legs. The vibrations make you moan out as your back arches, every muscle in your body taut as you’re thrown headfirst into overwhelming pleasure. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, nails digging into your palms even through the fabric. 

When you come down from the high, you drop down, panting. You can’t even muster the strength to open your eyes. It feels like it’s been hours. 

The bed creaks as Melissa shifts and moves to lay down next to you. You wrap yourself up in her, cracking your eyes only to find her lips, pulling her in and kissing her breathless. The taste of yourself on her makes you moan. 

Your kiss provokes something and her hand starts ghosting over parts of your body, pinching and squeezing at your flesh. It takes your breath away. You ache even though reasonably you should be more than content with the orgasm she just gave you. 

“Mel—” You start, but her pretty pink lips latch onto your neck, and the rest of her name becomes a strangled sound. 

“I can’t get enough of you,” Melissa says into your ear between kisses, “You’re so addicting like this.” 

A million clever little statements hang off your tongue, but the mere feel of her drives them from your mind. She’s driving away any sense of yourself the longer this goes on and you’re powerless to stop her. You don’t want to stop her. 

Instead of saying something clever, you just moan. 

[multimilfs]

Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: Stairway to Heaven

Summary: Anon requested Melissa Schemmenti + 132 -- "I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much."

List of prompts found here!

A/N: Happy ficmas everyone!! I have been working really hard to get ready for kickoff today and I hope you'll all enjoy what I have in store! Enjoy!

Special thank you to the amazing @arewecoolio for reading this over for any errors!! You're the best 💖

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Tag List: @multifandomfix @greenawayprentiss @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Warning(s): None

Gary is cool. He's even funny on occasion, when he remembers the punchline. He treats Melissa like a Queen—though she deserves nothing less—and worships the ground she walks on. But you’re not convinced he’s good enough for her. 

You’re watching the two interact across the lunchroom with simmering jealousy. It’s an ugly emotion you’re not fond of feeling, but one you can’t seem to shake these days. The grip on your grading pen tightens as Melissa laughs at some joke of Gary’s. 

“Girl, you’ve got to do something about all… that.” Ava says, motioning to your expression, “Channel that anger into something productive. Like packing orders. Or sex.” 

“I’m not participating in your pyramid scheme.” You answer. 

“Oh, so you’re going to get some? Finally. It’s hard having to entertain you with my stories when I’m not getting anything back.” 

“To be fair, I never asked to hear about your sex life,” You point out. Ava shrugs and you continue, “If you tell me about Tyrone one more time I might lose it.” 

“Tyrone? He’s old news. I’m onto Jamal now, keep up.” 

“Jamal? What about his sister?” 

“She was into some weird stuff. I’m freaky too, but even I draw the line at dolls.” 

Ava shivers and you decide not to ask. It’s better for your sanity that way, though you’re morbidly curious. Ava never tells a bad story. 

Another presence joins the table as Janine sidles up, looking far too awake and positive for 9 am on a Tuesday. She smiles obliviously. 

“Dolls? I loved dolls as a kid.”

Ava scoffs, “Yeah, I bet you made them kiss each other and all that nonsense.”

“Of course I did. It was like directing my own little show!” 

“Is that where the control issues started?” You ask. 

Janine’s oblivious smile drops and she levels you with a look. It’s closer to matching Barbara’s with every day that passes, it’s almost impressive; but unless Barbara herself levels one at you, you’re going to remain unphased. 

“Don’t shame my childhood development just because you’re jealous over Melissa and the vending machine guy.” 

You turn red, “I am not jealous!” 

“Right. And I wasn’t named tastiest doomsday prepper in Philly.” Ava says, rolling her eyes. 

You and Janine lock eyes, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Everytime you talk to Ava you learn more about her; that isn’t always a good thing. When Janine opens her mouth, you give her a subtle shake of your head. Once the two get started it’s impossible to get them to stop. 

Unfortunately, Janine is too stubborn, and has to do things her way; she engages the Principal in a battle of wits she can’t win. You tune it out the second she starts in on how doomsday prepping is futile and the kind of neurotic spending reaction it induces only benefits the government. That isn’t a can of worms you feel like glancing inside. 

You decide to torture yourself emotionally instead. 

It should be easy to watch Melissa laugh and grin in that smug, bright-eyed way she pulls off so well, but it turns your stomach to know Gary is the cause of it. He’s nice enough—that’s the excuse you try to use everytime, to no avail—but he isn’t you. And against the slim odds of someone like Melissa ever wanting you romantically, you wish it was you. 

Does he know her favorite restaurants, her favorite soap operas? Does he know about the years Melissa dedicated to caring for her Nana? Does he know how incredibly fucking lucky he is to have Melissa Ann Schemmenti wrapped around his finger? 

The likelihood of him knowing anything important is slim-to-none. The redhead is too private to share information so soon, but the little green-eyed monster in your head prods you, asking what if he does? Your fists clench in your lap. You’ve been climbing the stairway to heaven this whole time and Gary’s probably on the highway. 

“Hey, hon,” You’re surprised from your thoughts to see the object of them in front of you, leaning on the table, smiling. 

You smile back, “Hey, Mel.” 

“What are you doing tonight?” 

Hope claws up your throat. You shove it down violently, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest. 

“Depends. Why?” 

“Gary was asking about you, he wants to meet ya. I was thinking you could bring your secret lover on a double-date tonight. You meet my guy, I meet yours.” 

You tilt your head, brows scrunching, “Secret lover?” 

“Oh come on,” Melissa rolls her eyes. She levels you with a look that says don’t give me that bullshit, “I’m not blind. You suddenly go silent on all things romance and think I wouldn’t figure out what that meant?” 

Nerves and mortification make you nod, smiling sheepishly. Your chest hurts. Of course she’d notice; after several years of friendship and teaching together, how could she not? The two of you were practically glued at the hip before Gary came along. No topic had been too much and then for you to go silent… you can see how that’d come across. You’re glad she didn’t suss out the real reason. 

“I’m not sure. Things are still pretty new…” 

“I’ll buy your drinks.” 

That makes you pause. 

Then you see how she’s looking at you. She’s leaning down into your space, grinning like she knows she's won. You can’t deny her anything, not when you know how much it’ll mean to her for you to really meet Gary as her romantic interest rather than a passing acquaintance. It’ll kill you. Watching her laugh with him will undo your feeble grip on sanity. 

It’ll kill you, but you’ll do it for her anyway. 

“When and where?” 

— — 

This is a terrible idea. 

The place Gary chose is a total dive, and not the good kind; every surface is covered in a fine layer of grime and ash, ninety percent of the men and women at the bar smoking like chimneys, and the beer you ordered tastes like if someone decided to waft alcohol in the direction of their drink. All of this you could forgive. 

What you can’t forgive is the absence of a proper pool table. 

Every table in the place is falling apart at the seams. There’s maybe two cues per table and some of the nets have holes large enough to send grown men chasing after solid and striped balls alike. 

The worst part? Melissa stands in the center of it all, smiling like none of it bothers her. You know better. Her smile is strained at the edges, her eyes slightly pained. If only she’d say the word, you’d sweep her out of here. She just maintains that strained smile when you walk up to her. 

“Where’s the secret lover I was promised?” Melissa asks. 

You smile, though your heart isn’t in it. It’d taken endless promises to get her to agree, but eventually—

“Sorry I’m late y'all. There’s a guy selling mixtapes outside and I had to hear it before I bought anything. Can’t be too careful, you know?” 

Melissa’s smile melts from her face. Her eyes bore hard into you, dark with emotion. As she looks between you and Ava—who leans against the table next to you, either totally oblivious or uncaring—her jaw tenses. 

Gary chooses that moment to speak, a jovial smile on his face, “Now I did not see this coming! I never would’ve guessed you two would be seeing each other.” 

“Neither did I.” Melissa says. 

You want to disappear into the floor. Despite the fact that Melissa is openly seeing Gary, you feel you’ve done something wrong. 

It doesn’t help that Ava drapes herself against your side. She makes deliberate, intense eye contact with Melissa, and takes a slow sip of a drink you failed to notice. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. You’re grateful for the absence of anything sharp. 

“What can I say, I lucked out. Anyone would be lucky to get a piece of her.” Ava says. Her tone is startlingly sincere. 

You give her a hard look. She just shrugs. 

“No drink for me?” You ask, anything to distract from the way you can’t look at Melissa. 

Ava raises a brow, “If you want something, you just gotta ask.”

“I’d kill for a gin and tonic.” 

“Got it.” 

“I’ve got it, you two sit.” Melissa interjects. 

She extracts herself from Gary and stands at the same time Ava does. On another night, you’d take Melissa's offer as the kind act it is, but tonight it feels strangely like a threat. 

The two are caught in a strange staring contest. You want to reach out and tug Ava down into her seat, but you’re frozen, wondering what the hell is going on.

“I’ll get it.” Ava says.

“She’s my friend.” Melissa crosses her arms over her chest. 

“She’s my date.” 

Melissa’s body tenses at the word. 

You’re too busy watching Ava, trying to decipher where she’s been hiding this acting talent. She had been reluctant to join your ruse and now it seems like she couldn’t be anywhere else. For a moment it feels authentic enough to make your stomach turn.

Gary cuts in before Melissa can back down, “I could use another beer if you’re going towards the bar.” 

“Sure. You got it, Gar.” 

The two walk away in tense silence. Melissa keeps looking at Ava from the corner of her eyes, while the principal pretends she isn’t there. 

It leaves you with Gary and you smile. Trying to pretend there’s no tension is easier with the women across the bar. 

“It’s good to meet you,” He says, friendly enough, “Melissa talks about you enough I feel like I already know you, but I’m glad she got you to come out tonight.” 

“Yeah. It’s good to meet you officially. Besides the occasional run-ins during lunch, I mean.” 

He nods and drinks the last swig of his beer. You take a few seconds to glance through the haze of smoke towards the bar. Melissa leans one arm on it, waiting while the bartender runs around helping out rough-looking men and women. She looks perfectly placed and yet stands out; she’s probably the most beautiful woman to ever set foot in this place. 

Ava’s chatting up a woman at the bar like Melissa isn’t even there. So much for her putting on a good act. 

Even if she’s not looking at Ava directly, you know Melissa’s listening, cataloging everything. You’ll get an earful about having self-respect when choosing partners later. 

“There’s another reason I had her ask you here tonight.” Gary says.

His face is serious. You’ve never seen the man without a smile and it unnerves you. Trying not to let that show, you raise an eyebrow. 

“I wanted to meet the woman Melissa’s in love with.” 

You blanch. 

“Gary, that’s—she’s not—“ 

A hand settles on top of yours and his smile makes an appearance. It’s kind, kinder than you deserve after all the things you’ve thought about him. 

“I knew there were three of us in this relationship when I went out with her the first time. But I’m giving you the chance to make it two again,” He says, “She’s crazy about you and I can see you feel the same way. She’s all yours.” 

You should be overjoyed. Melissa feels the same way about you, you have a shot? Instead, you feel angry. 

“You’re going to give her up just like that?” You snap. 

Gary startles you by laughing. 

“I can’t exactly give up what isn’t mine.” 

“She chose you.” 

“Sometimes people make mistakes.” When you seem unconvinced, he shakes his head, “Melissa’s a good woman, she deserves someone who makes her happy. That just happens to be you and not me. I’m not mad about it.”

You’re reeling. The room feels like it's spinning and you don’t have time to regain your focus before the women return. Ava sets down your gin and tonic with a nod. 

Melissa starts up an animated conversation with Gary, who nods along, adding in his own comments. He keeps glancing over at you when Melissa won’t. The whole thing makes your stomach turn; you have no clue what you’re doing. 

You grab Ava’s hand, flashing a strained smile at the pair, “Excuse us for a moment,” and drag the principal off to the bathrooms. 

 Once you’ve shoved Ava in the ladies room and locked the door behind you, you spin on your heel towards the other woman. 

“I know you want this to bother her, but dragging me into the bathroom for a quickie is a bit much, even by my standards.” Ava says. 

“That’s not what this is.” 

“Right, why else am I here then?” 

“When you and Melissa went to grab drinks, Gary told me Melissa’s in love with me.” 

Ava stares at you. 

“That’s it? I could have told you that months ago.” 

You blink, “What?” 

“Yeah, neither of you are subtle. You practically have it written on your billboard sized forehead.” 

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach a hand up to your forehead, before reminding yourself to focus on the task at hand. Ava knew Melissa returned your feelings the whole time. You wonder who else knows and has let you stew in jealousy for weeks. 

Melissa’s reaction to Ava makes a lot more sense. It’s almost comforting to know that you’re not the only one who has been fighting with jealousy. You feel very, very blind.

“Who else knows?” You ask. Your friend gives you a blank stare, “Seriously? Everyone knows?”

“Yes. Do me a favor though and play dumb a few more weeks? I’ve got good money on this.”

“You bet on me?”

“I bet on Melissa, actually, which is why I need you to keep quiet.”

“Ava, I’m not going to ignore this because you want to win a bet. Come on.” 

Ava rolls her eyes, “Fine, I’ll cut you in on the bet.” 

“Ava!” You glare.

“This could be your chance to support a young, black entrepreneur. It’s hard out here.” 

“Try that on Jacob.” 

She lets out an ugh and throws her hands up. You want to be upset that she’s asking you to keep quiet, to lose more valuable time with Melissa, but you can’t be; even if she did leave you oblivious for weeks. If you’re going to be upset with her, you have to be upset with everyone. 

It comes from a place of letting you make your own decisions; you know that and admire it just a little. But you were oblivious. Melissa seems like she is too, if Gary’s talk told you anything. Would they have let the two of you circle each other the whole time? 

You would be miserable if Gary—Gary, who you’d been unfair towards this whole time—hadn’t spoken up. He’s sacrificing his chances with Melissa so you can have your own. Mentally, you make a note to get the man some kind of ‘thank-you’ gift. 

Ava snaps in front of your face and you jerk back. 

“What are you going to do?” She asks. 

“Uh… talk to her?” 

“Not the energy I was looking for, but good enough. Let’s go.” 

Ava grabs your arm, not unkindly, and drags you to the door. You drag your feet. 

“Now?!” 

She doesn’t even dignify your question with a response. The bathroom door is opened and you’re nudged through it. You walk, but throw a glare over your shoulder, annoyed at her sudden silence. Ava doesn’t acknowledge it. 

Gary is the only one left at the table and you panic, eyes searching the room. The heart in your chest settles when you catch a glimpse of familiar red hair. 

Melissa’s across the bar at one of the more put together pool tables, surrounded by women in a shocking amount of leather. Her eyes are focused right on you. They move briefly to Ava, though she doesn’t seem to find anything damning. The focus of her gaze moves away when one of the other players nudges her and she leans over the table to line up a shot. 

You’re caught for a second in watching her. Her eyes narrow before she settles in to take the shot and when she pulls back the cue, she makes direct eye contact, and sinks a solid ball in one of the pockets. 

Cheers go up from the woman you assume she’s playing with. You don’t bother to look at her. Instead, you make a direct beeline for Melissa; her eyes following you every step of the way. 

“Can I talk to you?” You ask when you reach her. 

You’re well aware of the glances her fellow players are throwing in your direction, but you don’t care. Melissa seems curious, but she gives nothing else away. 

“I’m in the middle of a game, hon.” 

Laying your hand on her arm, “Please, Mel.” 

Like magic, you watch her soften. She nods and hands off her cue to the nearest person without looking. You lead the way outside, wanting away from the noise and smoke for a few minutes, if only to clear your head. 

The silence is too tense for your liking, but neither of you are doing anything to break it. You breathe deeply. You’re at a loss on what to say; how do you tell someone you’re in love with them? 

Instead of anything rational coming from your mouth, you ask, “How do you feel about Gary?” 

Melissa jerks in surprise, “That’s what you pulled me out here for?” 

“He seems to think your feelings, your heart, lie elsewhere,” You barrel forward, hoping it works in your favor, “Namely, with me.” 

Her eyes widen slightly before she schools her expression. It’s all you need to feel more secure in blindly following Gary’s word. 

“I’m not sure where he got that idea.” Melissa says. 

“But you’re not denying it.” 

“Does it matter? You seem to have things pretty easy with Ava.” 

A note of bitterness slips into her voice. You soften, recognizing the underlying jealousy you’d been feeling only this morning. 

“It matters to me,” You say, “because I’m crazy about you, Mel, and I need to know you feel the same way.” 

Melissa doesn’t bother to hide her surprise this time. You smile, but fidget under all of her attention. You want to reveal every thought and feeling to this woman in a way that’s overwhelming. She seems so shocked, you can’t help but want to assure her of how real your feelings are. 

“I didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much,” You admit. It feels odd to say it out loud, “But you make a lot of impossible things feel possible.” 

She looks at you like she’s never seen you before. It’s daunting. 

“You really mean that?” Melissa asks. 

“Wholeheartedly.” 

“And what about Ava?” 

You chuckle, “I bribed her into playing the part. She’s a surprisingly good actress.” 

“Good.” 

Melissa leans forward and kisses you. 

It isn’t the kind of kiss you expect, but it’s the kind you always daydreamed about; the soft, almost hesitant way she claims your lips, while her hands dig into your hips. You’ve never felt so awkward and so pleasant in your life. You have no idea what to do with your hands. 

The other kisses in your life never felt so strange. You wonder how much they really meant to you, if this is what a real, loving kiss feels like; unsure and yet, eager. 

Throwing your nerves out the window, you give in to all of it. You sink into the whirlwind of emotions and wrap yourself around Melissa. Her kiss grows more insistent and you match it, pulling where she pushes, moving with every forceful press of her lips. 

You’re on your last shred of oxygen when she pushes you back. Only an inch of space separates the two of you taking in furious gulps of breath, cheeks flushed pink and wearing matching smiles. It hardly feels real. 

“You’ve been holding out on me.” Melissa says. 

“Hardly. I’d have kissed you in a second if you asked.” You say sincerely. 

“Me? Why would I be the one to ask you?” 

You raise a brow, “Well, you were the one seeing someone else.” 

“I wouldn’t have gone out with him if you said something.” 

A laugh leaves your lips unbidden. Your eyes sparkle when you look up at Melissa, wondering how you managed to get so lucky. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to answer that question. She’s wonderful and kind and beautiful and all the things you feel you don’t deserve. She’s yours anyway. 

Her eyes shine as she stares back. Wishing you could jump into her mind, you get lost in them. Then you do as she wants and capture her lips in another kiss. It’s shorter than the first and more comfortable, but the feeling of newness still lingers. 

Not for the first time, you wonder how much time you’ve lost being jealous. But you try not to dwell too much; it’s difficult when the most beautiful woman in the world is staring into your eyes. The lost time doesn’t matter when you have it now—when you have her now. 

[multimilfs]

Alcina Dimitrescu x Fem!Reader: No Place Like Home

Summary: Alcina Dimitrescu + 38 -- "Can we go home yet?"

Prompt from this list here!

A/N: Writing this made me very happy. I love fics that focus on the whole Dimitrescu family, they're very wholesome (as wholesome as they can get) and I love them. I hope you all like this, please don't hesitate to leave a comment :)

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld

AO3

Warning(s): Blood, Minor gore, Ambiguous relationships

According to Daniela, there are several reasons why winter is awful. 

Number one—it’s freezing! How could anyone enjoy their day when their limbs are half-numb with cold?

Number two—they’re stuck inside the Castle. This is one that bothers you as well; you failed to realize how much of a handful three castle-ridden girls would be. 

Number three—and Daniela’s least favorite, there is nothing to do. 

Winter has been your favorite season since you could walk; The holidays, the snow, the warmth of blankets and drinks. Your fondest memory is curling up with your sisters beneath a blanket after spending the day in the snow, fingers slowly warmed by ceramic mugs full of hot chocolate. It’s one you held onto your entire life. One you want to share with your new family. 

So you’ve decided to disprove Daniela’s points—or the last one, at least. 

“You’re quiet tonight.” Alcina comments. 

She glances across the room to where you’re curled up by the fireplace, book in your hand forgotten while you stare at the flames. You’re unsure how long you’ve been distracted. Her place in her own book is marked by a finger as she waits. 

“I’m just thinking.” 

“Ah,” She nods, “And here I thought it was the fireplace producing smoke.” 

You roll your eyes, but can’t stop the upturn of your lips, “Very funny.” 

Alcina wears a smirk as she goes back to her reading, leaving you to your thoughts. You can’t figure out how to bring winter to three girls who’ll die from the cold. They have to stay warm, there are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Unfortunately, both hot and cold can’t coexist for what you want to plan. 

Sighing heavily, you put your head in your hands. You want to give up and call off the whole idea. Think, your mind argues, You’re a Dimitrescu now, and Dimitrescu’s don’t give up. 

“Alcina?” 

She hums, not looking up from her book, “Hm?” 

“Has the village ever celebrated the holidays? Not in the religious way, but in the festivities, giving kind of way.” 

“Not that I can recall. Mother Miranda frowns upon celebrations that aren’t tied to her. Though she could be forgiving this year, with Eva being freshly returned.” 

Ah. There’s the basis of your issues then; Mother Miranda. You nod and stand. Crossing the room, you’re delighted to remember that Alcina’s at level height with you since she’s sitting. You lean in and steal a long kiss. 

You pull away, red-faced and breathless, “Can I use the phone in your office?” 

And then you’re standing at her desk, the large phone clutched in your hand and ringing, ringing, ringing… 

“This better be good.” A cool, venomous voice drips down the line. 

You ignore the venom, “Mother Miranda.” 

“Little human.” 

Her voice has ticked higher in pitch, though otherwise nothing about the woman changes. You can hear the giggles of Eva somewhere in the background. 

“I trust you’re well?” 

“Skip the pleasantries. What do you want?” 

You wince, but relay your desires to the Goddess. It takes promises and a dash womanly charm to coax her into your ideas. You’ve agreed to watch Eva anytime she requires, as well as assisting her once a month in her studies. 

If you’re being realistic, you got off far easier than you expected to. You’d anticipated a lot more flirting and agreements of a bloodier nature.

Dodging questions about your call at dinner that evening, you head into the village the next day, alone. The few villagers shy away from the Dimitrescu carriage with fear in their eyes. You knock firmly against the inside of the carriage and bring it to a stop. 

Stepping out into the cold, snow crunching under your feet, you watch the people relax. Their grips are no longer white-knuckled and they nod in your direction. Some even dare to meet your eyes and you do your best to reward them with a smile, especially the curious children. 

You pat the flank of Alcina’s loyal horses, “Aștepta.” 

Beelining to the back of the village square, you slip quietly into the butchers. It’s empty save for you and the graying woman on the other side of the counter. Her back is facing you, rusty red curls slipping from the black scarf around her head, hacking away at a carcass with a cleaver. 

“Be with you in a moment.” She throws over her shoulder. 

“Take your time.” 

The cleaver clatters onto the table and she spins. Her eyes are wide, one hand clutching her chest as it rises and falls too quickly. 

“My Lady!” 

“I said take your time, Detta,” You sigh, “Will you ever listen to me?” 

“Her Ladyship would dislike it very much if I kept you waiting.” 

“My wife isn’t here. Finish up your task and then you can help me, not a moment before.” 

Detta hesitates as if waiting for a trap. You mentally curse the Lords—not for the first time—for inspiring so much fear into the people of their domain. Your love for your wife and her family is unending, but there are many times you could smack them for being so cruel. It makes interactions like this all the more difficult. 

You sense eyes staring in the shop, following your every move. You wonder if Detta feels them glued to her back as well. But you peruse the selection of dried meats as if they’re not there. 

There’s an attractive set of hindquarters hanging behind the counter. A heavy layer of salt covers the outside, dark red made pale pink. You wonder if your girls would appreciate it; it’s hardly their preferred fare of man-flesh, but Bela and Cassandra were fond of venison on occasion. 

Apparently satisfied with her work, Detta turns back to you, arms splattered with blood. You hardly notice it. 

“How can I help you, My Lady?” 

“I have an interesting request for you.” 

“Anything.” 

You level the woman with a look, “I’m not my wife, Detta. You’re allowed to refuse me.” 

Detta nods, but her eyes flicker behind you, to where the village no-doubt watches on. There’s sweat on her brow and you know it isn’t from her hard work. You sigh. You can hardly blame her for being so afraid, she’s grown up in the village and seen the countless atrocities committed, but you don’t want to be viewed as an extension of the bloodshed. 

Never have you raised a hand against any of them, but it’s done little to make you more favorable. You suppose that became your lot when you took the Dimitrescu name. 

“I… What is your request, My Lady?” 

“I’d like to set up a bit of festivity here for the holidays, including stalls for businesses like yours. Mother Miranda has given me her blessing. You’re highly respected amongst the people and I’d like you to spread the word around.” 

She hesitates. 

“You don’t trust me.” 

“It’s not that, My Lady,” Detta says, “The winter season has been hard on the village. It will be hard to join the festivities with no product.”

“What would the village require to make this happen?” 

Another glance behind you, a deep breath, “The lycans need to be disposed of. They hunt all our game and stock, trample crops, and terrorize us all around. Rid us of them and celebrations will be easier.” 

You nod. Heisenburg hardly needs the foul creatures anymore, the threat of Ethan Winters and associated groups having been eliminated. It will take a lot more than agreeing to watch Eva to convince Mother Miranda, but the woman has always been partial to you for some odd reason. You’re not convinced Alcina will appreciate what you have to agree to. 

Detta seems to take your silence as evidence of anger; she’s backed herself away from you, as far as she can without being rude. Her hand grips the handle of her cleaver. You could almost laugh at the absurdity of the scene, but you need her favor. 

“Give me a week.” You say, “And I’ll take the hindquarters behind you. What are those, venison?” 

—

The piece of meat goes over well. 

“None for me, girls.” Alcina turns it away, sipping at her wine. 

“Mama?” Daniela turns to you. 

Motioning to your plate where a cooked piece rests, “I’m alright. Thank you, bug.” 

The words have hardly left your mouth before the three swarm, teeth ripping into the raw meat. You’re thankful the aging process left it with less blood. Leaning back, you watch as you always do, with a sense of horrified interest. 

A large hand comes to rest on your thigh beneath the table. You glance up into golden eyes, offering her a fond smile. She smirks in response. 

“Your trip to the village proved worthwhile, it seems.” She comments. 

“To a degree, yes. I still have much to do,” You shift, sitting up and turning to face her. Alcina’s eyes meet your own and narrow, “Some of which you may not… enjoy.” 

“Oh?” 

“I need Mother Miranda’s approval and my methods may have to be… different, this time.” 

“No.” 

“Alcina, please.” 

Her wine glass is slammed onto the table. It shatters, Sanguis Virginis running over her gloved hand. The girls don’t notice. 

“She can’t have you.” Alcina snarls. 

“What is one night with her compared to an eternity with you?” You ask, “It’s only my body. You own the rest.” 

“I own all of you!” 

“Alcina, this is an opportunity to endear the village to us. I know you’ve been searching for one. You can hardly scoff when it drops into your lap!” 

“I can when it involves loaning out my wife!” 

You stand and move into her space. Slowly, you drag a finger up her arm, until you meet her gaze with eyes full of desire. Her jaw clenches. 

“What if you’re there too, hm? You’ve always enjoyed watching.” You whisper. 

Alcina exhales heavily through her nose. She rakes her eyes over you slowly and you can practically see the images behind them. You, in various positions, another pair of hands pinching and pulling at flesh, while all she can do is watch in a delicious state of helplessness. The interest and hate rolls off of her in waves. 

Her hand wraps around your smaller one. Your wrist is pulled to her nose and she inhales, eyes darkening with the scent of you in her senses. Teeth dig in and pull blood from the veins. You try not to whine. 

Three sets of eyes look up from their meal. 

Alcina pulls a tasteful amount of blood from you before pulling away. It colors her lips like another shade of lipstick. 

“You are mine, understood?” Alcina asks. 

“Only yours.” 

Cassandra gags, “Ugh. Get a room.” 

“Or at least let us have a taste!” Daniela smiles, blood and flesh in her teeth. 

“What did we say about boundaries, Dani?” 

Daniela wilts under Bela’s chastising look. She curls in on herself, muttering obediently that having them is important while the blonde nods. Should the Cadou parasite not be the right path for you, you’d want to go in a way that benefits your family; where they consume you, down to your marrow; you gather now isn’t the time for such admissions. 

Cassandra has leaned back in her seat to watch the scene unfold with thinly-veiled disgust. She’s using her sickle to pick flesh from between her teeth, accidentally flinging some into the center of the table. 

“Cassandra.”

“Sorry, Mother.” 

The middle daughter doesn’t stop despite her apology. Alcina digs her nails into the arm of her chair, the night’s events taking a toll on her sanity. You can’t blame her. There’s surely more news she’ll fill you in on when you’re wrapped up in bed. 

Something else finds its way into the center of the table, staining the white cloth red, and you see Alcina tense. 

“Girls, you’re excused.” You say quickly. 

All three nod, crossing around to offer brief affection before leaving; Cassandra the quickest of all, you can’t help but feel sorry for any maids that may cross her path. Daniela and Bela are slower and more intentional, offering a kiss on the cheek to you and Alcina. Daniela skips from the room and Bela waits for her to leave before following. 

It leaves you and your wife alone in the room, the latter with her head in her palm, releasing heaving breaths. You wait. Sipping at your soup politely, you spare glances her way. 

“You’re intent on going through with this?” She asks. 

“I am. I want to give the girls something to brighten their spirits.” 

“And there’s no other way?” 

“The village wants free of the Lycans and Karl won’t let them go unless Miranda tells him to. I’ve already made steep promises for my plans to happen at all, but this… there’s only one thing left to bargain with.” 

Alcina seethes, “Very well.” 

You lay your hand on the table between you, palm up. 

She stares at it for a few long moments. Placing her own hand over your own, you smile, and bring it to your lips. You kiss the back of it reverently. 

From there your plans unfold nicely. After a long meeting with Mother Miranda—in person, to Alcina’s disgust—the two of you settle on terms; she’ll permanently rid the village of lycans for 24-hours of unhindered access to you. It’s too easy, but that’s a problem for later. 

Within a week the village is free of the twisted creatures. Detta seems both pleased and surprised you managed it when you visit, but makes good on her end of the bargain. The people are informed of your plans and the square undergoes an exciting transformation. 

All of it is on your and Alcina’s dime of course. The Duke is all too happy to provide what you need for the lei you offer. He’s friendly enough though and you’re not naive to business relations, so you don’t take it too hard when he vanishes after collecting payment. 

It feels like a whirlwind until the day of the festivities rolls around. You bounce on your heels in the hall of four, waiting for your family. Alcina descends the stairs first, wrapped in pure white fur, smirking at your apparent excitement. 

“I’m glad to see you so pleased, draga mea.” Alcina presses a kiss to your lips. 

“I just hope the girls like it.”

“They will,” She assures you, raising her voice, “Daughters!” 

The familiar swarms race down the stairs, coming to a stop and forming your girls. Cassandra and Bela stand properly and nod at their Mother. Daniela throws herself into your arms, making you spin to catch her. She squeals in your ear. 

“I’m so excited, Mama! A real winter festival!” 

“Darling girl, try not to deafen your Mama.” Alcina suggests. 

You kiss Daniela’s forehead, “I’m excited for you and your sisters to see it, bug.” 

Cassandra clears her throat. You all glance her way. 

“If you’re so excited, why are we still standing here?” She asks. 

It’s a valid point. You miss the warning glance Alcina gives over your head, taking your wife’s arm and leading the way outside. The Dimitrescu carriage waits, the horses whickering and shaking their heads, eager to move. A maid holds open the door for you and your wife first. 

You let Alcina step in, followed by your daughters, but don’t enter yourself. All four give you curious stares. But you rush to the front where the horses wait with forced patience. 

They, like your family, are beautiful in a twisted nature; all a dappled gray, with midnight black manes, their flesh sunken in to reveal their skeletons. Their mouths drip black like they swallowed an inkwell. Where eyes once were are empty, red sockets. Though they lack the organs, you can still feel them follow your movements. 

In a pouch you’ve tied to your hip are five apples you dipped in clotted blood. The first, Negatio, noses the bag with interest. You pat one side of his face while feeding him an apple with your other hand. You go through the same motions with the other four until they’re pleased and your family is suitably impatient, making you smile. 

You’re tucked into Alcina’s side for the trip, enjoying the warmth of her body despite the heat in the carriage. 

“Mama?” Bela asks softly. 

“Yes, sweet bug?” 

“How are you keeping the carriage warm?” 

“A generator and heater I affixed to the back,” You answer. When they all stare blankly, you correct, “Technology I purchased from the Duke.” 

They all nod in understanding. You bite your lip to keep from laughing, leaning back against the seat and enjoying the gentle sway of the carriage. Out the window a fine layer of snow has started to fall. Alcina takes your hand in her own. 

You open your eyes and look up at her. She kisses the back of your hand, eyes impossibly fond. Cassandra rolls her eyes across from you. 

“Can we go home yet?” 

Alcina’s eyes are ripped from you as she glares. You raise your eyebrows at the reaction, saying nothing. 

“Cassandra.” 

“What? I’m just asking a question.” 

“You know how much time your Mama has put into this. The least you can be is grateful.” 

“I never said I wasn’t grateful! I just want to know how long this will take, there’s an old sword in the armory I had to stop working on.” 

You lean forward, “If you’d rather, we can take you back to the Castle, Cassandra.” 

“Absolutely not.” Alcina snarls, making murderous eyes at her middle daughter, “Cassandra will join her family for the festivities you so carefully planned and like it.” 

Cassandra grumbles and crosses arms over her chest. When you’re sure your wife isn’t looking, you meet Bela’s eyes, the both of you looking lost and confused; silently asking what the fuck was that? Neither one of you can come up with an answer. 

The youngest bounces eagerly in her seat by the window. It grates on Cassandra’s nerves the longer it happens and you’re waiting for all hell to break loose, you curse yourself for not telling the group to leave their weapons at home. 

The carriage rounds a final bend and the lights of the village come into view. All four of your family members lean forward to get a look, eyes wide. 

String lights hang from every tree and building around the village square. In the center stands a tall tree decked out with ornaments of all shapes and sizes. Some are brightly colored orbs and others a mesh of wood and glue, courtesy of the first graders at the school. 

Near the back, in front of where Detta’s shop is, stands a long white tent. People dip in and out, some bearing arms full of goods, others clutching only a steaming drink. 

When the carriage comes to a stop, you’re pleased to see minimal reactions to your arrival. You wave your girls out first. 

“After you.” 

Daniela shoves past her sisters and out into the air. She turns in circles and giggles, looking at you and Alcina with a large smile. 

“Mother, it’s warm out here!” 

“What?” Bela says aloud, while Cassandra scoffs out, “No way!” 

Soon enough the three of them are standing outside of the carriage, looking surprised and excited. Daniela and Bela even join hands and dance childishly for a moment before Alcina clears her throat. You elbow her hard. 

“Let them enjoy this.” You say. 

“I am, but they’re still Ladies of House Dimitrescu. They need to uphold the image.” 

“For who?”

“Mother Miranda strictly explained—“ 

“Mother Miranda needed you and the girls to intimidate so she could take what she wanted. The villagers are already frightened and Miranda’s achieved her goal. Let the girls be girls or I’ll have the carriage take you home.” 

Alcina’s eyebrows reach her hairline. You hold your breath and wonder if you’ve gone too far, but she smirks. 

“How refreshing,” She purrs, “Speak to me like that again and you may lose your tongue, draga mea.” 

“Yes, Alcina.” 

“Good girl.” 

You’re led into the festivities on your wife’s arm. Though you helped set everything up, it looks better than you expected. 

Detta waves shyly from across the square and you smile. The Duke sits next to her, gesturing passionately with his hands, and Detta blushes. You wink at the two. 

Your girls have disappeared into the tent to harass the local vendors and you’re about to join them when Daniela skips out, hot chocolate in her hands. 

“So,” You start, “still think Winter is awful and boring?” 

“Pretty much! But this is nice. Maybe it’s not so bad if this happens.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. Daniela grins and vanishes. You’ve done all you can to spruce up this winter for them and you’re rather proud of yourself. 

You already have a new set of ideas for next year and a whole 12 months to plan this time; you’re looking forward to firmly changing Daniela’s mind… eventually. For now you’ll just settle for being together. 

[multimilfs]

Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: Mysterious Ways

Summary: Melissa Schemmenti + 10 — “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

Prompts found here!

A/N: We’re nearing the end of ficmas and I’m both excited (to relax) and sad. It’s a lot of fun writing so many new things as a challenge but all the time… I would not survive. Thank you for joining me on this fun little journey and I hope you enjoy the last two fics!

Also happy christmas eve to those who celebrate!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @carolncwman

Warning(s): None

You smile as you pass Barbara in the hall, “Good morning, Miss Howard.”

“Good morning.” She smiles, greeting like a melody with the way she drags it out. The happiness Barbara’s radiating is infectious.

You continue on your way to your classrom. There’s half an hour left before the kids start pouring in for the day and you’d like to organize your classwork before then.

There’s a squeak behind you as Barbara turns on her heel, “Miss Y/L/N.”

“Yes?”

“When are you going to speak with Melissa?”

Taken aback, you gape, before collecting yourself. You tilt your head to the side. Barbara laces her hands in front of her and waits, smirking, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” She sounds almost disappointed, “It is almost the new year. Be brave.”

“Mrs. Howard, I appreciate what you’re saying, but… Melissa and I are just friends.”

Shaking her head, Barbara throws her hands up in defeat. No one can say she didn’t try. She’s just not a miracle worker. Lord willing, her meddling isn’t for nothing.

You hear Barbara mutter a disapproving Mm, mm, mm as she walks towards her classroom. You didn’t lie to her; you and Melissa are just friends, after all. Even if you wish it was more.

But one thing you learned early on is not to mix personal and workplace relationships.

If you make a pass at Melissa and it’s unwanted, you ruin the amazing professional relationship you have. Teaching is worth it, but no one ever said it was easy; Melissa makes it easier.

She always has your back. If you ever needed it, she’ll call in any favors to get you what you need. Loyalty like that is hard to come by in anyone.

You’re content with her friendship… even if you’d give up a lifetime of cheesesteaks to kiss her just once.

Going through the day, you ignore the regret in the back of your mind.

——

“Miss Y/L/N?”

“Yes, Alex?” You look up from your papers.

Alex looks deep in thought. His elbows are up on the desk and he’s resting his head in his hands. You lean back in your chair and wait.

“If there’s a Black Panther, can there be a Mixed Panther too?”

You blink.

“That’s a good question. I think the answer is a little complicated though.”

“Why?” He asks.

All of the class is paying attention now. Their worksheets on long divisions are forgotten, all eyes on you. You didn’t want to get into a conversation like this today. The kids are naturally curious and you love that, but some topics are meant more for parents.

The problem is that once your students get a question or idea in their heads, they won’t let it go. You’ll be badgered for days. You can almost admire their dedication.

“Well, why do you think you need a ‘Mixed Panther?’” You ask carefully.

“Because Black Panther is Black, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Do you think you’re not Black if you’re Mixed?”

One of your other students pipes up, “My Grandmama doesn’t think so. My daddy says when I was born she asked whose white baby I was.”

That prompts an uproar of conversation and laughter from various parts of your room. With your door firmly shut, you let it stand for thirty seconds before clapping out a familiar pattern. All of the children stop to clap back the same.

A few stragglers are still talking and you clear your throat, waiting. The pointed stares of their classmates quiets them.

“If you want another super hero that looks like you and your friends, Alex, I see no reason why there shouldn’t be. But there’s no degree of Blackness, okay? Black Panther is meant for you just as much as your friends who look a little different.” You say, hoping they’ll all understand what you’re saying, “Now, I’m glad you’re all interested in this, but we have long division questions that still need to be filled out.”

They all grumble, but don’t seem too distracted anymore. You’re sure with a little time their brains will come up with another line of questioning to further distract from the lesson. That’s a problem for you later.

——

The teacher’s lounge is full and you balk upon walking in the door. On a good day, maybe three of the tables are full at once. Among the five tables in the room, not a seat is left unoccupied.

You spot Barbara and Melissa at their usual table. They sit just the two of them. The extra chairs at their table you could occupy are pulled away by others, holding teachers you only slightly remember.

Ava is curiously absent, you notice. Which is a shame. She said she’d be at lunch today.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, something wrong?” Melissa asks when you wander near their table.

“No, no,” You shake your head, “I’ve just never seen it so full in here.”

“Ava offered to watch over lunch today. Which is odd, since it’s, y’know, Ava.”

“Don’t be so hasty. Maybe she wanted to do something nice, that’s all.” Barbara suggests.

“More like she finds the new lunch lady cute,” Melissa says, “but sure, Barb, maybe she developed a mature personality for the afternoon.”

“I think it’s nice what she’s doing.” You shrug.

“See?”

You add, “It makes it a pain to find seating, though.”

Barbara stands up quickly and gathers the remainder of her lunch. She flashes you an award winning smile. Melissa looks stunned and confused, pushing her glasses on top of her head and leaning back to better look at her friend.

“I’ve got some last minute grading. Take my seat.” Barbara says, tone perfectly sweet.

“Mrs. Howard, really, it’s fine.”

“No no, I insist.”

Barbara doesn’t say much else as she turns and walks out of the room. With her back turned to you, you miss the wink she shoots at the cameras.

——

“That?” Barbara smiles out in the hall, “Just a friendly nudge. The Lord may work in mysterious ways, but so can I.”

——

You take up the spot next to Melissa with a nervous smile. When your legs brush, you nearly jump back, fearing even that is too much between friends. A flush works its way up your neck.

Even a minute with her makes you feel like an awkward highschooler again; wondering if looking at the girls in your grade for too long is inappropriate and avoiding any contact for fear it’ll be interpreted as something else. You hate feeling so nervous.

But Melissa is always easy-going. Even in her tougher moments, she’s easy to talk to. Her laugh alone relaxes the muscles in your body and you melt into every conversation.

“I heard you had an interesting conversation in your classroom today,” Melissa says between bites of ziti, “Tackling race theory seems a little involved.”

“One of my kids, Alex, asked a question and it kind of evolved into that.” You admit.

“Kids always have a way of finding the sweet spot with conversations like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, they do.”

You smile, but you can’t shake the awkward feeling of being too close, too much. The conversation lapses into silence.

Melissa pokes at her ziti while you push rice around in your bowl. You want to say something, anything, but can’t make your mouth move.

Melissa sighs, “When are you going to ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

“On a date. It doesn’t need to be anywhere fancy, you know?”

You blink. Staring at her hard, you’re trying to figure out if you’re hearing right. Melissa Schemmenti wants you to ask her on a date? Like… a real one?

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, honey,” Melissa sighs, “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. Now, when are you going to ask me?”

You’re overwhelmed and shocked, but elation takes over it all, “Today after the kids go home. My classroom… and don’t be late.”

[multimilfs]

Angelique Bouchard x Fem!Reader: Someone Cared For

Summary: Angelique Bouchard + 23 — “It’s hard to get used to…” “What is?” “Being someone that someone cares for…”

AO3

Prompts found here!

A/N: And we come to the final fic of our 25 days of Ficmas! This was a lot of fun, but also a ton of work, and I’m very tired but happy I did this. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did and thank you all for sticking with it!

Merry Christmas!!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @elenaguarnieri @evil-feather @imtrashinflames @nonbinary-cryptid-baby

Warning(s): None

Finding the downstairs cabinet empty of what you need, you grumble, and trudge up the staircase intent on Angie’s office. She’s never without an extra pack. You only hope you don’t interrupt anything important.

Knocking, you wait, bouncing in place.

“Come in.”

Throwing the door open, you don’t even greet her before raiding her drawers. Angie stops signing the paper in front of her to watch. You huff and search tirelessly without a word.

“Something you’re missing, sweetheart?” She asks.

“Yes. A cigarette.”

She reaches for the familiar box near her left hand and flips open the lid. One of the cigarettes finds itself between her lips and she lights it with a flick of her finger. Taking a long drag, she plucks it between two fingers and offers it to you.

You take it and kiss her, tasting the lingering smoke. It soothes some of your stress.

“Why are you worked up?”

A long drag, “The decorations are being delivered.”

“Oh, and they need a check? If they’re hounding you about money, darling, all you had to do was call me down.” Angie frowns.

“No, it isn’t that.”

“Alright…”

“There’s a lot more than I expected, that’s all,” You admit, “I thought you weren’t fond of Christmas.”

“I’m not. Religious holidays aren’t for me, but I’ve hosted a party or two and had to play the part.”

You hum. The second you opened the door to see an enormous truck full of totes, panic had set in; you’re glad now you didn’t buy any extra decorations. You have no idea how you’ll dress the house in time with all that’s being delivered already.

It’s a little… overwhelming, if you’re honest. Angie’s house isn’t small. It’s not nearly as enormous as Collinwood, but still large enough to concern you.

Angie pushes back from her desk and stands. You hold out your cigarette and she leans forward, taking a drag of it from where it rests in your fingers. Her pen is capped and put in its case and you raise your brows.

“Let’s go, sweetheart.”

You follow, “Where are we going?”

“To sift through the decorations. We’ll keep what you want and send the rest back.”

“It isn’t just about what I want, Angie,” You stop her. She looks put out, “This is your Christmas too. And your house.”

“Our house.” She corrects.

“Angie.”

“Sweetheart,” She flashes her award winning smile, “We could be using this time to look through the decorations.”

You stub our your cigarette in the ashtray on her desk and shove the remaining pack in your pocket. Meeting her eyes, you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow.

Her willingness to take care of you makes you weak in the knees. But today you don’t want to be taken care of, you want a partner. You want her invested in this too.

Angie sighs.

“What is it you want?” She asks patiently.

“For you to care about what this means. This is our first Christmas together.”

“I… apologize,” Angie sighs, struggling to get the words out, “It’s hard to get used to…”

You tilt your head, “What is?”

“Being someone that someone cares for…”

Her hands leave you and she shoves them in her pockets. She distracts herself with straightening something on her desk, making you watch fondly. You forgot how new this was for her too; after years of being alone, you would also struggle to open up and enjoy festivities.

You light one of the cigarettes and offer it to her. It’s a peace offering, an apology for not seeing her struggle.

Angie takes it and smiles, something small, intimate. It makes you want to hold onto her and never let go.

“Let’s sort through what they’ve brought us.” You suggest.

Angie nods, “Lead the way.”

And you do. You sort through all of it, keeping maybe the smallest fraction of what Angie owns. She sends the rest back with the movers, who look exhausted and none-too-pleased, but can’t turn down the good paycheck she’ll give them.

Somewhere in the throng is a three-piece fake tree. It’s fluffy with the slighest flocking. If you didn’t know better, you could guess—from a distance—that it was real.

Angie lets you direct her this way and that. Her magic comes in handy when locations are out of your reach or need adjusted just so.

There’s a large assortment of ornaments—all themed and soulless. You regret not having anything personal to add. You throw enough tinsel over the branches to make up for the lack, vowing that next year you’ll have something to add that isn’t a glass-blown silver or red bulb to put on the tree.

By the end of it, the house feels a little more cozy and festive. Angie’s shoulders are less tense and she’s smiling easier. You make sure to hang mistletoe above the doorway to the kitchen; everytime she walks through it, you jump up to give her a kiss.

Angie still holds you like she thinks you’ll vanish. She avoids staring at decorations for too long, worried it’s all a dream she could lose. But you fall asleep in her arms and wake up there and kiss her under the mistletoe again and again and again.

As long as it takes, you decide, to make her understand what it feels like to be cared for.

[multimilfs]

Queen Ravenna x Fem!Reader: The Untold Truth

Summary: Queen Ravenna + 15 — “Wanna dance?”

AO3

Prompts found here!

A/N: I wanted to spin this one a little differently. Ravenna, though I love her, is well and truly evil; that’s the beauty of her character. So the way she attaches herself to people would also be evil. That can be easy to maneuver around, but I wanted to see how it’d to to maneuver with it. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I had fun writing it!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld

Warning(s): Questionable Relationships

After first taking over the kingdom from Snow White’s Father, the narrator altered an important detail of the story; the part where Queen Ravenna attempted to rule her new kingdom… somewhat peacefully, for a time. 

They also missed what led to the downfall of the peace and the reason for such—a woman. But not the woman the stories would have people believe. Not Snow White, not Queen Ravenna, but another. One who managed to capture the decaying heart of the villain.

How sad that one so kind would cause such destruction. 

— —

Since her first day in the castle, when the King still lived, you’d been enraptured by the beauty of your new Queen. Snow White’s mother had been beautiful no doubt, but the new Queen—Ravenna, her name was—could stop your heart by looking at her. 

You had never imagined she’d look back. The idea of being seen was one that filled you with anxiety, making you bow your head to hide the ghastly scar across your skin. You traded human connection for a lack of whispers for so long. 

But your Queen didn’t look away. 

She took in your face, beautiful despite the raised wound that none could look past. And she didn’t flinch. Instead, she extended her hand to you, and asked for your name. Your voice had been breathless when you gave it. 

You can still remember the way a curious smile spread across her face at your reaction. 

“What an enchanting name…” She said then. The urge to hide yourself away was overwhelming, but you didn’t. You thanked her. 

From that moment, you’d scarcely been away from the Queen. Even when the King passed mysteriously in the night and her brother’s forces invaded the castle, forcing her hand. You watched as she navigated ruling while her brother held the power of his forces at his disposal. Their weapons could strike down Ravenna’s life at any moment and she acted fearless; you wish you were half as brave as she was. 

Her brother had allowed her one small thing, though; a ball. Beautiful and lavish, with more people than you had imagined. 

Your Queen had helped you choose a dress. One night, during one of your talks, she summoned her seamstress and a selection was laid before you. She watched, enraptured, as you tried on some of them. 

Ravenna stepped in and chose a beautiful, pale blue dress, and held it out wordlessly. When you put it on she stepped behind you in the mirror and examined you. You can still feel the way your heart fluttered when her hands settled on your waist. 

“This one,” Ravenna whispered in your ear, eyes on yours in the mirror, “It’s perfect.” 

“It’s too lavish, my Queen.” 

Her eyes hardened in an odd way, “I said it’s perfect. You will wear this one.” 

Not wanting to upset her, you nodded. You had to agree that it was beautiful. And now, in the middle of what must be hundreds of people, you feel just like everyone else. You feel enchanting. 

If the stares you’ve gotten all night mean anything, then the masses must think so too. 

“Excuse me, Miss,” A voice comes from behind you. You turn to see a handsome man in a dark outfit. He’s offering you a lopsided smile, “Wanna dance?” 

He motions towards the swirling floor of dancing couples. Shock fills you. No one has asked you to dance before. Offering a shy smile, you nod, and take the offered hand. 

You’re pulled into the masses of beautiful Lords and Ladies. It’s invigorating to move among them like you belong for once. The gentleman in front of you—who’s name you don’t know—smiles down at you in a charming way. You let out a gleeful laugh. 

Across the room, out of your view, Ravenna seethes, “What is she doing?” 

“I’d say dancing, sister.” 

Ravenna levels him with a glare. 

“Don’t be an idiot. What is she doing with him?” She spits. 

Finn inclines his head, “Perhaps, sister, you haven’t made her aware of your ownership.” 

“I give her everything she desires. I entertain her. I don’t allow her time with another. Her ownership has been made clear.” Ravenna says, her eyes full of fire, “It’s time this charade ended. A man’s beauty will do just as well.” 

As Ravenna steps forward to push through the crowds, a hand around her arm stops her. She drags her eyes slowly up to that of her brother’s face. Finn looks shocked, like he can’t believe the choice he’s made. It’s too late now. 

“If you do this, the charade is over. Everyone will know what you are.” He whispers. 

The nails on her other hand dig into his arm and he winces, but doesn’t let go. Things in the kingdom are progressing well. This will put an end to all of it. 

“Unhand me.” 

Helpless to stop her, he does. 

You don’t see Ravenna coming until it’s too late. You don’t see the other couples split apart or hear women shriek. It isn’t until a familiar, taloned hand wraps around your companion’s neck from the back and yanks, that you see her. Her eyes are dark and empty of everything but rage. 

The handsome man lets out a pained noise as her talons dig into his neck. Crimson blood slides from the wounds. You stand, wide-eyed. Your Queen has brief moments of coldness, but she’s never been like this, she’s never hurt anyone. 

Glancing past her shoulder, you see her brother surveying the scene. His face is carefully empty. He’s doing this, you realize. You step forward and around the young man to take her other hand. 

“My Queen, please, you don’t have to do this.” You whisper. 

Her eyes give away nothing. She twitches. The next words out of her mouth shock you to your core. 

“You belong to me. Everyone will know it.” 

She turns your dance partner around and opens her mouth, inhaling with an inhuman force. You watch the color and life drain from his face. His skin is gray and sunken when her’s brightens. When you look at the unbothered expression on her face, something clicks. 

Snow White’s disappearance. The King’s death. Her brother’s mysterious arrival and victory over the palace guards. The mysterious disappearances of beautiful ladies. Her unaffected nature towards all of the darkness happening. The whole time it had been her. 

“You… You did all of this.” You whisper in horror, taking a step back. Somehow she manages to hear it over all of the screaming. 

Ravenna smiles a cruel smile, “No, darling, you did all of this.” 

Gone is peace. Gone is happiness. Gone is light. 

The story goes on as told; Queen Ravenna rules with an iron fist and Snow White grows, all the while you remain kept in a locked room, only to be visited by the Queen. No one remembers the beautiful woman that started it all. No one remembers the enchanting beauty Ravenna would burn a kingdom before giving up. 

[multimilfs]

Alma Peregrine x Fem!Reader: Not-Birthday

Summary: Alma Peregrine + 17 — “You did all of this for me?”

AO3

Prompts found here!

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this!!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @evil-feather @elenaguarnieri @nonbinary-cryptid-baby

Warning(s): None

Things are actually going according to plan. 

You’re still waiting for something to fly off the rails, but overwhelmingly, everything has fallen into place; Alma took Olive and the other children into town, leaving you with Emma and Enoch to help.

Every month or so, you’ve started doing a ‘not-birthday’ for one of the children. Alma stopped celebrating their birthdays long ago to keep from reminding them of how time never passes. It’s a sweet thought. You felt that the children never got to be individually special, though, as a result and so; not-birthdays. 

“Miss Y/N, does this look okay?” 

You look up to see the pink paper-letters spelling out ‘Olive’ hanging on the wall next to the staircase. It’s perfectly straight, just the way you wanted it. 

“It looks perfect. What else do we have?” 

“You wanted to make a cake,” Emma says, “but you might not have time. Do we always have to do it in secret?” 

“Yes.” You nod, leaving no room for argument. 

Enoch clears his throat, “If you’re not going to offer me a task, can I at least go to my room?” 

“Enoch, you know Olive better than anyone. I need your eyes.” 

“Olive adores you. She’ll adore anything you put on.” He shakes his head. 

You take one of his hands and squeeze, “Please, Enoch. I want this to be perfect.” 

He sighs. 

“Alright.” He grumbles. 

You grin and squeeze his hands again. Back to the details, you focus on your list, trying to cross-reference what needs finished with how much time you have left. Alma is nothing if not efficient, but she knows the plans, and should take a little extra time. 

The idea of not-birthdays aren’t too far from an actual birthday celebration; which makes Alma twitch. She fears knowing how old they should be will make them itch for freedom from the loop she can’t provide. And while you can agree with that, the point of a not-birthday is that it’s completely random, and you don’t mention age. 

Plus, there were many years Alma didn’t celebrate before you came along. So the children have long lost their sense of time and their own age. 

The older three are always the trickiest to plan for. It is easy enough to get the girls out of the house, but getting Enoch away long enough to plan raised his suspicions. Every year you find yourself jumping through new hoops to surprise him. 

Olive, though, is the simplest. She’s so sweet, she never expects anything for herself; the thought gives you chest pains. Every time she’s just as surprised as before. And though you know she’ll love it no matter what, you strive to make it bigger and better each time. 

“Emma,” You call, making your way into the kitchen after a while, “How is the cake coming along?” 

Emma is leaning against the counter with a book in her hands. She’s flipping through it lazily, pointing at the oven without looking up. You resist the urge to shake your head. 

Cracking it and peering in, it seems the cake is coming along nicely. Emma made quick work of it. Though you do hope it’ll be done before everyone returns, you know it’s unlikely. 

“Miss Y/N.” Enoch calls.

Busying yourself with preparing the cake decorations, “Yes?” 

“They’re back early.” 

You freeze. Next to you, Emma does too. 

The two of you look at one another and then stare at the oven. There’s no way. Even if you had a way to manipulate time, there’s no possibility of finishing it before they come inside. You’re left to rely on your peculiarity. 

“Are you okay with keeping an eye on it?” You ask. 

Emma nods, “Of course. Try and distract them, please.” 

You nod back. With a flutter of your fingertips, Emma is hidden from view, as well as any indication that the oven is on. You race around the house doing the same with all of the decorations. 

By the time you’ve hidden all of the decorations, the front door opens. 

“Miss Y/N, we’re home!” Hugh calls out. 

Coming around the corner, attempting to smooth down your hair, you smile. The children seem none the wiser. Alma’s brow ticks up ever so slightly, a sly little smirk coming to her lips. 

“How was town, my darlings?” You ask. 

Your arms are suddenly full of Claire and Bronwyn. The latter nearly sends you flying backwards. If not for her strong arms holding you in place, you’re certain you’d be in another room. Her sheepish smile tells you she’s aware of that fact too. 

Claire wraps herself around you like she’s trying to become one with you. She’s careful to keep your arms away from her back-mouth. 

“The humans were more subdued today,” Olive says, coming to give you a little side-hug, “It was weird. They were almost… nice.” 

“Odd.” You agree. 

Alma cuts in, “It was likely the early hour. We scarcely visit so early. Shoes off, children.” 

They’re all quick to obey. Both sets of arms unwrap from around your waist as the children line their shoes up near the doorway. Even Millard, who is actually clothed this morning, thank the heavens. 

Alma is at your side. She offers a kiss on your cheek in greeting when she’s sure none of the children are watching. You smile, though you can see that curious smirk still on her face. 

She speaks quietly, “The house is normal.”

“How odd.” You say, giving her a pointed look. 

“Emma is also curiously absent.” 

“Is she?” 

“Darling,” Alma grins, “You went overboard, didn’t you?” 

“No, you just came back too early.” 

Alma shrugs. Her little smirk makes you furious and ravenous in equal measure. She seems to know it, if the twinkle in her eyes means anything. 

The children disperse back to their normal routines while you attempt to subtly continue the not-birthday details. It’s an infuriating game of pretend. Everytime one of the children walks into the room, you have to seem busy with something normal. 

A few of the younger children accept your behavior and go on about their business. The older ones stop and eye you, but ultimately walk off too. You breathe out a sigh each time. 

Three taps on your shoulder startles you from what you’re doing. 

Emma’s voice is in a whisper, “Everything is ready.” 

Making sure nobody is around, you snap, and Emma is fully visible again. She smiles. 

Behind you, a throat clears, and you turn to see Alma leaning against the doorway. The two of you offer smiles. Shaking her head, she turns to head back downstairs, throwing behind her, “I’ll collect the children.” 

And she does. 

The decorations are visible and when you hear the little gasp from the hallway, you know you were successful in surprising them. Olive comes into the kitchen with a look of wonder, eyes widening. 

In the center of the table is a pretty pink cake. It perfectly matches her dress, which is coincidentally her favorite color. 

“Happy not-birthday, Olive.” You smile. 

“You did all of this for me?” She whispers, staring at you with glossy eyes. 

When you nod, she hugs you tight around the middle. You laugh and hug her back. You could do the smallest thing for Olive and you know she’d love it. It makes you feel so warm inside to do something sweet for her, especially when she expects so little. 

She deserves more appreciation and love, they all do. You’ve made it your mission to make sure they get all they deserve. 

You fade into the background as the children bicker and fight over slices of cake. Emma, as always, steps in to mediate; taking the knife and doing her best to cut even slices for all of them. 

Alma discreetly takes your hand in her own. 

“You did well.” 

“Thank you,” You smile, looking into her eyes with your heart brimming with love, “You’re next.”

“Don’t you dare.” Alma shakes her head. 

“Too late, the plans are already in motion,” You sing-song, kissing her when the children aren’t looking, “You’re just along for the ride, Miss Peregrine.” 

She does her best not to smile at your apparent joy. Her unblinking gaze follows your every move, love in them. Her voice drips with sarcasm, “Fantastic.” 

[multimilfs]

Lilith x Fem!Reader: Second Chances

Summary: Lilith + 19 — “You did what?”

Prompts found here!

A/N: I haven't written for Lilith in a long time or watched CAOS in even longer, so if I faltered on her characterization, I apologize! I did my best to keep it within the bounds of her character

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Warning(s): Slight NSFW

Sabrina saw you. 

Sabrina saw you. 

Rushing away from the scene, you are quick to make sure no one else can see you. You weave through the masses of students effortlessly. No heads turn as you pass. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you see Sabrina search the crowds, no doubt coming up empty, before shaking her head. 

You only relax when she turns and walks up the stairs to her next class. You don’t relax much, though; you still have to tell Lilith. 

Dread builds with every step towards Wardwell’s—now Lilith’s—office. She trusted you to take care of this and you let yourself be seen. You’re not even sure how it happened. One second Sabrina is in a crowd of her friends, the next her eyes are locked right on you with growing horror. 

It was almost comical, if you think about it. 

Knowing how you’re going to upset Lilith though, you have other things to worry about; like how many years she’s going to bury you in the deepest pits of Hell for failing. 

You arrive outside of her office and take a deep breath. Lilith loves you, for all intents and purposes, but being loved in her way isn’t like loving anyone else. She’ll go easy on your punishment, but you will be punished. 

Knocking, you wait. 

Her voice filters through the door, “Come in.” 

You open the door and slip in. Her eyes find you in an instant, vanishing charm or no; she can always find you. It both warms your heart and spikes your blood pressure. 

“Darling,” She says, the term a sultry drawl, her eyes narrowing, “What’s happened?” 

“Lilith, my Goddess…” 

Her eyes go hard at your tone. Her voice is cold, “What’s happened?” 

“I was seen.” You admit, wincing. 

Lilith had been standing, hands on the desk as she leans forward, only to pause. She tilts her head and looks at you for a long moment. You can feel your heart beating a mile a minute and threatening to shoot from your chest. It’s so hard you can almost swear she can hear it. 

Her head turns and she looks away, eyes darting this way and that. She’s thinking hard about something. That isn’t good, you know; she’s likely deciding how to kill you and send you back to Hell until she gets there. It’s not Hell you mind as much as being without her. 

You start talking before you can stop yourself, “I was following Sabrina and her friends in the hall. I don’t know what happened, but I must have dropped my cover on accident—” 

“You did what?” 

“Lilith, please. You know I wouldn’t fail you on purpose.” 

“You don’t have accidents, darling,” Lilith says cuttingly, “That’s why I gave you this job. You don’t fail.” 

“I won’t. It was just a brief moment and then she couldn’t see me. I swear, let me make this up to you.” 

You fall to your knees in front of her as she crosses around to the front of the desk. Her brows raise slightly, but she only watches you. Usually you’re not so dramatic as this. It’s rare you fall to your knees without her command first, it’s even rarer for you to beg. You’re strong and fierce… except when it comes to your Goddess. 

She has an army of demons and twisted creations to enact these duties for her. Any of them would have answered her call. But she gave you the opportunity; you, the twisted little witch, the one she’s kept at her side and away from the grit of Hell’s chores until now. She could’ve chosen any of them and she chose you. 

If you admit defeat, you fear she’ll never choose you again. 

You’ve never failed her when you were just there to entertain her. You can’t fail her now, when it matters. If you do, who is to say you’re really worthy of the love she shows you? 

“Have I ever given second chances before?” She asks. 

Her voice is cold, but she runs fingers through your hair. It’s always astounded you how someone born of hell can chill you to the bone. 

You shake your head, “No. Not while I’ve been with you.” 

“No.” Lilith echoes, confirming your answer, “What makes you think I’d give you one?” 

Looking up and blinking the shame from your eyes, you try to summon your usual fierceness. Lilith’s lips twitch into an amused smirk.

“Because I love you.” 

Something in her posture softens. It’s slow and barely noticeable, but you notice everything about Lilith, even if sometimes you don’t want to. 

Her hand comes to settle on your cheek. Holding you in place, she absorbs the vision, soft eyes filled with interest. You want to know what thoughts race behind her eyes. Mary’s eyes. Her eyes now; you think everything about this body suits her beautifully, captures every detail of her soul and displays it perfectly for your eyes to see. It’s even better than the last one. 

“If you slip again, I’ll let Stolas feast on your eyes.” Lilith says. 

Hope and love fill you in equal measure. Your face breaks into a bright smile and you turn your head, kissing the palm of the hand she settled on your cheek. She laughs breathlessly. 

“I won’t fail.” 

Lilith nods, “Good.” 

Leaning over and capturing your face in her hands, she pulls your lips to her own. She’s rough and demanding. Your lips are only there to serve her, like the rest of you. And you love it. 

Her teeth pull at your bottom lip and break the skin. When drops of blood hit her tongue, she moans against you, sweeping the digit along your lip in search of more. A whimper leaves your lips. She swallows it down, smothering it, her sounds drowning out your own. You almost worry that it’ll reach someone outside. 

Then she pulls away. You whimper at the loss of her heat, but she tuts, shaking her head. Moving back and sitting in one of her chairs, she almost smiles. 

“Since you’re already on your knees, make yourself useful, will you?” 

[multimilfs]

Chessy x Fem!Reader: Operation 'Chunky Man' 

Summary: Chessy + 150 — “Stop distracting me.” 

Prompts found here!

A/N: This was really fun. My favorite thing about Chessy is just how much she means to the Parker family and how involved she is, so I couldn't write a fic without including Annie and Hallie!! I hope you all enjoy it!

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Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld

Warning(s): None

“I have eyes on the target. Over.” 

“Copy that, Big Bear. Can you make contact? Over.” 

“I think I can, Red One. Over.” 

“Red Two, are you in position? Over.” 

“Red Two is in position. Over.” 

“Good. Operation Chunky Man is a go. Big Bear, you are free to make contact with the target. Just keep in contact with the team. Over.” 

“Copy that, Red One.” 

You shove the mini walkie-talkie into your back pocket and saunter in the back door. Chessy looks up from her place in front of the stove and smiles, Sammy laying at her feet. The smell of chili and cornbread lingers in the air around you. 

“Hey, hon. Did you and the girls have a good day?” Chessy asks. 

“We did,” You smile, walking around the island to kiss her cheek, “Hal was a lot more interested in fishing than Annie, but they’re both having fun with the walkie-talkies.”

“I’m glad we let them open them early. They seemed pretty out of it.” 

“I think it’s weird for them to have both Nick and Liz gone, even if it's only for a weekend. How was your day?” 

You see Annie creeping into the kitchen out of the corner of your eye. Sammy perks up when he sees her, but you shoo her away when Chessy isn’t looking. She rolls her eyes and backs out of the kitchen again. 

Upon waking up this morning, Annie and Hallie had been far too glum for your tastes. To see both girls lacking their usual mischievous nature felt like a punch in the gut. So with a little persuasion, you convinced Chessy to let them open one of the gifts you’d both gotten them. 

The set of walkie-talkies had been perfect since you were taking them fishing. Being out in the woods, you always felt better having an alternative method of communication. You had even left one with Chessy for the day to be safe. 

“I got a lot done. Sammy here even helped, didn’t you, buddy?” Chessy coos and crouches to scratch the dog all over. He accepts the affection willingly, tail wagging a mile a minute. 

With Chessy’s back turned, you eagerly rush Annie into the kitchen. She patters softly over to the stove and ladles a few scoops of chili into the bowl sitting on the counter. You grin and wink at her stealth. Chessy has no idea. 

Offering a thumbs up back, she quietly begins to walk out of the kitchen, careful not to let the spoons clatter against the side of the bowl. You’re both impressed and concerned at how spy-like she is. Offhandedly, you wonder if Liz ever had any contact with MI6. 

“Hold it right there!” Chessy says and you jump. 

Somewhere in the few seconds you’d been distracted, Chessy turned, catching the girl red-handed. Your eyes widen. Annie looks like a deer in headlights, looking between you and Chessy. 

“We’ve been compromised, go!” You shout and wrap both of your arms around Chessy’s waist. 

Annie takes off through the doors and outside where Hallie waits. You’re grateful she’s running outside; some of the chili sloshes out of the bowl when she’s running down the porch steps. 

“Go get her, Sammy.” Chessy instructs. The dog takes off and outside, you can hear Annie squeal as he catches up with her, “And you—stop distracting me.” 

Chessy turns in your arms and offers up a glare. Unfortunately for her, you can tell there’s nothing behind it, and that she’s holding back a smile of her own. You kiss her cheek. 

“Where’s the fun in that, sweetheart?” You ask. 

“The ‘fun in that’ is getting to sleep in our bed instead of on the couch.” 

“Come on,” You bat your eyelashes, “You wouldn’t really send your poor, sweet partner to sleep on the cold, hard couch now would you?” 

“Oh yes I would, Big Bear.” 

Your eyes go wide and you gape at her. Her lips finally pull into a mischievous grin. From the back pocket of her jeans, she fishes out a walkie-talkie of her own. You’d forgotten that you’d left one with her when you and the girls ventured into the woods. She heard everything. 

So caught up in keeping her distracted, it had slipped your mind. Her oversized denim shirt had completely obscured where it rested in her back pocket. 

Clearly beat at your own game, you hold up your hands in defeat. Chessy shakes her head and steals a kiss, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, but pulling back as soon as you try for something more. You pout at the loss. 

She holds the walkie-talkie up to her mouth and presses the button, “Girls, come get cornbread to go with your chili. Over.” 

Several beats of crackling silence come down the line. If you listen hard enough, you swear you can hear Annie and Hallie squealing out on the swings in the backyard. They had clearly forgotten the same information you had. Your time at the lake had wiped all of your memories, it seemed. 

She doesn’t wait for a response and turns back to the stove, ladling out three more bowls; a separate bowl for one of the twins, one for you, and one for herself. You set to work on grabbing drinks and cutting the cornbread. Placing it all neatly on the table, you smile at Chessy’s nod of approval. 

You watch her move around the kitchen and smile wistfully. What a woman. When she comes and sets the bowls down, you catch her waist again, kissing her breathless. It surprises her, though not as much as it used to. Chessy hardly hesitates before melting into you. 

The two of you spring apart when Sammy barks outside and comes bounding in the back door. He comes to a stop in front of you and waits. Laughing, you make sure to fill his bowl and set it near his water dish. 

Chessy is about to summon the twins again when the walkie-talkie crackles and a non-accented voice comes over the channel, “We’re coming now, Chessy. Over.” 

[multimilfs]

Alma Peregrine x Fem!Reader: Artificial Permanence

Summary: Anon sent... Alma Peregrine + 9 -- "You need to wake up because I can't do this without you."

AO3

Prompts found here!

A/N: Damn I missed writing for Alma!!

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Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @elenaguarnieri @evil-feather @imtrashinflames @nonbinary-cryptid-baby @jojalie @ashpheh

Warning(s): Light body horror

You never intended on becoming a murderer. 

No one comes into the world with the intention of taking lives, but somewhere along the way, a piece of them changes and goes dark. You have spent your whole life trying to avoid a part of you going dark. You didn’t want to take lives, you wanted to save them. 

But it all happened so fast. 

One second you’re preparing a surprise breakfast in the kitchen with Emma and Fiona, the next Millard is calling you from the front door. You turn and rush to the door. Millard never yells, always the picture of the perfect gentleman, sometimes crossing the entire house to deliver simple messages to you. 

If he’s yelling then something is terribly wrong. Were Alma awake already—it’s a fluke she isn’t, but you’d enlisted the children’s help in making her a nice breakfast before she woke—she’d scold him for not using an inside voice. 

“What is it, Millard?” You ask. 

He pushes you towards the door and you step onto the porch. It’s the perfect day, but the breeze from the water makes you shiver, pulling your robe tighter over your nightdress. Seeing the police officer standing on the porch makes you glad you did. 

Your appearance is the least of your worries when you take in the scene. 

The police officer is a gruff, round man, with a permanent scowl etched onto his face. He stands in the center of the porch with Olive and Claire on either side of him. White-knuckled hands grip their shoulders and you stand straighter, fury building at the terrified, pained looks on their faces. 

“Can I help you, Officer?” You ask coldly. 

“Yeah, your wayward freaks set the Pub on fire this morning,” He says, glaring at you, “I need you or the Headmistress to come down to the station.” 

“They’re children, surely you’re not going to arrest them?” 

His grip tightens on the girls and they both wince. Your fist clenches at your side. It’s all you can do to hold in your peculiarity, the air around you thrumming with your own desire to lash out at the man. But you do nothing, too worried you’d hurt the girls in the process. 

You have a good handle on your peculiarity, but when you’re emotional enough, all bets are off. And you can’t claim to be calm at the moment. 

“I can and I will!” He roars. 

“You will not!” You snap back, stepping forward and into his space, “Now unhand my children.” 

There’s a split second where his eyes widen. You wonder what he sees in your face that inspires the fear you see, a twisted glee blossoming amidst your anger. He grasps for words and his grip loosens on Claire and Olive.

Claire tries to pull away, frightened by the raised voices. Her attempt at escape draws the Officer’s attention and he reasserts his grip. When he does, it is like steel as it clamps roughly on Claire, and she lets out a frightened cry. 

You don’t hesitate before spearing the knife in your hand through his chest. 

He gasps and releases the girls. You go to look into his eyes, only to find them gone. His face is seared by red, yellow, and blue markings criss-crossing across his skin. There are dark blue marks under the sockets of his eyes where his skin seared against his cheekbones. A thin, white substance drips down his cheeks. 

You realize with horror that the knife acted as a conduit of your peculiarity—which struck him as lightning this time—and the liquid you're watching drip down his cheeks are what would be his eyes… if they hadn’t exploded from the heat. A shriek leaves your lips and you let go of the Officer. 

His body falls backwards and flops onto the porch steps with a heavy thud. Your eyes are stuck on the knife protruding from his chest, black from the electrical heat. 

“Impressive.” Enoch says behind you. 

Turning slowly, horror settling in your bones as you look into several of the children’s faces, you stare at Enoch. He’s leaning against the doorway with a look of admiration on his face. Your stomach turns. 

“The lightning was a nice touch.” He adds. 

“It really is interesting, Miss. Miss Peregrine never lets us watch.” Olive says sweetly. 

You know Alma is no stranger to taking lives; being an Ymbryne in the current society of peculiars made her well equipped for that, but knowing it interested your children was another thing entirely. Folding your shaking hands in front of you, you force a smile. 

“Children,” You say, voice faltering, “Will one of you keep watch for any other law enforcement? I have to go speak with Miss Peregrine about this.” 

“No you don’t, I know where she usually puts the bodies.” Enoch says. 

He backs up a little when you stare at him and you wonder again how you must look, “Just keep watch, Enoch.” 

All of the children on the porch nod. You slip back into the house and start up the stairs, ignoring Emma’s concerned calls after you, not sure you have the strength now to explain it all to her. Alma would make this all easier. Alma would make this go away. 

Despite that, you can’t help but sitting with the information that you’ve just made yourself a murderer. You lost control and took a life. It makes your stomach turn and you stop in the hall, leaning against the bannister, holding back the bile threatening to rise in your throat. 

Alma is asleep peacefully, wrapped in soft blue sheets. You hate having to wake her like this. 

“Alma,” You whisper, rounding the bed and kneeling at her side, “I need you to wake up—You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” 

One blue eye squints open and you try to smile. Both eyes shoot open when she takes in your appearance; kneeling next to her side of the bed, shaking and on the verge of tears. Her hands grab your face. Her unblinking eyes are running over you, relieved to find nothing wrong, only to widen when she remembers the children. 

“What has happened?” Alma demands. 

She’s out of bed in a flash and wrapping herself in her own robe, talon-like nails ripping through the fabric, though she pays it no mind. When she’s steps from the door, you find your voice again. 

“I killed that police officer.” You admit. 

Alma freezes in place. Slowly, she turns on her heel, eyes piercing you. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

The dam breaks, “I sent the girls into town for a few things and he came back, saying they set the pub on fire, he was so cruel and he made Claire cry and—and then I stabbed him. In the chest. And his eyes exploded!” 

The Ymbryne deflates, coming back to sit on the bed. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sits as you stare at the floor in silent horror. 

You replay the scene in your head. It feels like a blur—you didn’t even remember having the knife in your hand until it was through his heart. Then he was discolored and eyeless. You shudder. Alma gently pulls you up onto the bed to sit next to her. 

“All of the children are alive and well?” She asks. 

You nod. 

“The only one harmed is the officer?” 

You nod again. “I’ll take care of it, darling. He’ll be alive again tomorrow. You’re alright.” 

“I killed someone, Alma.” You whisper. 

“That does happen at times.” Alma says. 

“How can you be so casual about this? I’m a murderer.” 

Alma can’t help it, but a small chuckle leaves her lips. You jerk away. Intent on soothing you, you’re pulled back against her, her lips pressed to your temple in apology. 

The idea of taking a life makes you feel like a monster. Yet, everyone else is unphased, even acting like the whole situation was humorous. You feel like you’ve missed a memo of some kind, especially if the children were unbothered. 

“Darling, you’re not a murderer if your victim is alive the next day,” Alma says, “You protected the children. That’s what matters. Not the cruel officer who will wake up none-the-wiser in a few hours.” 

“I still feel awful about it.” You admit. 

She nods, “That will pass with time. Now, let’s handle this, shall we?” 

Alma stands and offers you her hand. You take it in your own, letting the warmth of her ground you. You also use it to distract you from the twisted amusement on her face. 

You still feel no better about taking a life, but at least you know it isn’t permanent. 

[multimilfs]

The Weird Sisters x Fem!Reader: Beneath a Hungry Moon

Summary: The Weird Sisters + 101 -- "This feels dirty." "That's because it is."

Prompts found here!

A/N: This fic made me realize how much I miss CAOS. Might have to rewatch at some point soon!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix

Warning(s): Unconventional Relationships

For as long as you could remember, you dreamt of participating in the Lupercalia celebrations. The idea of running beneath the moon with someone and losing yourself in the pleasure that followed sent a shiver down your spine—or did, before you found three witches you couldn’t tear yourself away from, and realized the matching would tie you to a man for the night. 

You look down on the preparations with thinly veiled upset. Father Blackwood had forced your hand, all of your hands; you would participate in the Lupercalia celebrations or face strict punishment. His eyes had settled on Prudence when he let those words spill from his lips and you gave in to assuage the fear rolling from her. 

Forcing you to participate didn’t mean you would follow the rules, though. 

It’s a perfect plan. You’ll play along, circling the young warlocks until you inevitably have to choose one, but that will be as far as it goes. The night would be yours to experience with your three favorite witches with the tricks up your sleeve in play. 

Hands wrap around your waist and you lean back. A soft pair of lips kiss your neck. 

“What are you thinking?” Dorcas asks curiously. 

“Nothing,” You pat the hands around your waist, all too aware of listening ears, “Just taking in the scene.” 

“Are you still upset that we can't celebrate together?” 

You want to spill your whole plan because Dorcas sounds so sweet, worrying for you even though you know she’ll enjoy tonight no matter what. She has her eyes on a few of the more devious warlocks. Nick Scratch, if you’re being specific, though Sabrina Spellman will fight her every step of the way. 

Turning in her arms, you kiss her sweetly. She deserves nothing less for how considerate she’s being of you—how considerate she always is. 

“I’m not thrilled about it,” You say honestly, “but I want you to have fun.” 

“I don’t think I’ll participate—past the Matching, I mean.” 

You raise a brow, “Dorcas, you love warlocks.” 

“It will upset you.” 

“Sweetheart, I’ll be okay. Your heart will still be mine at the end of the night, won’t it?” You ask. 

Dorcas nods so hard you fear for her neck. As if to send the point home, she kisses you, pulling away to press similar kisses on any swath of skin she can see. It makes you laugh, holding tight to her. 

Her smile is relaxed and sweet and you know you’ve said the right thing. You haven’t lied—you don’t mind who any of your witches physically engage with, as long as their heart remains with you—but you don’t really intend on Dorcas enjoying whatever warlock she ends up with. It’ll just throw a wrench in your plans if she isn’t in the woods on Lupercalia. 

“You’re so good to me.” Dorcas sighs dreamily. 

You hum, “Don’t let anyone else know that. It’ll be our little secret.” 

She giggles and steals another kiss, before rushing from your arms and back to her room in a whirlwind. You should be preparing too, but you’re more worried about getting everything in place than dolling yourself up.

A flash of color in the corner of your eye makes you turn. Leaning against the bannister, watching you with an inquisitive stare, is Sabrina Spellman. You’re really not in the mood for her dramatics but plaster on a pleasant enough look anyway. 

“How are you okay with it?” Sabrina asks. 

“Okay with what?” You ask, tilting your head. 

Sabrina moves closer and stands at your side, the two of you looking down on the set-up with matching expressions of distaste. One of you does a better job masking it than the other. 

“Dorcas spending the night with someone else.” 

Ah, you think. You shrug and try to see it through Sabrina’s eyes; it must be odd to go from the image of married perfection to a world where monogamy is an old idea. You can understand the institution of marriage, as your parents were married, but they both engaged in their fair share of witches and warlocks. Being a witch is sin and that’s never been something you saw as an issue. 

Looking at Sabrina, you try to take her in, wishing you could read her thoughts. Does the sin and lust bother her? Her aunts raised her, but how much did they really show her of her magical community? Maybe Sabrina’s idealism towards humanity isn’t entirely her own fault. 

“It’s just sex,” You shrug, “It’s fun and pleasure, but it isn’t what we have.” 

“But Dorcas is yours. They all are, aren’t they? You’re not bothered by someone else having them?” Sabrina prods. 

You sigh, “I don’t own anyone, Spellman, that’s the point. We share things. Bodies aren’t sacred things to be hidden away for witches and warlocks, their vessels of lust and greed and pleasure. Why would I ask my girls to deny the very thing we were all made for?” 

“You say witches and warlocks don’t consider bodies sacred, but my Father did.” 

“Your Father was an anomaly. He had a few points about getting along with mortals, sure. But his views were… are odd for our society.” 

Sabrina is the one examining you now. She looks at you like she’s missing something and the answer is in your face. When you give nothing away, she sighs and puts her head in her hand. 

Teen angst radiates off of her. Whether it’s a Sabrina thing or humanity thing, it’s annoying, and you put some distance between the two of you. You don’t completely walk away though. Something feels unsaid and you’re in no rush, so you follow her line of sight to none other than Nick Scratch. 

You bite back a laugh. 

Nick Scratch is an entertaining guy, sure, but you’ve never understood why all the witches fawn over him. You remember a whole host of stories Prudence used to tell you about him when they were going out and he seemed like any other warlock. But Sabrina has latched herself onto him and you feel a kind of empathy for her. 

It’s hard when you love someone more than they love you. You remember the feeling before you found your witches. Nobody deserves to feel it, not even Sabrina Spellman, magnet for chaos. 

“You were upset when the rules of the Matching were explained to you and now you’re not. Why?” Sabrina says. 

“I was upset I couldn’t spend the evening with my witches,” You shrug, “But my enjoyment and theirs doesn’t depend on if we’re together. I just wish we were.” 

“Witches are weird.” Sabrina decides. 

You laugh and pull back from the bannister, patting her on the shoulder, “Okay, half-witch.” 

Sabrina rolls her eyes so hard you can practically feel it, but you continue past her and down the stairs back to your room. Dorcas is nowhere to be found and neither is Prudence, though her things are laid on her bed. Agatha sits at the mirror painting her lips a shade close to black. 

You walk over and lay down on her bed, watching her work. Agatha tilts her head when she looks at you. 

“You’re not getting ready.” She says. 

“I will,” You shrug, “I’m not in any rush.” 

“Are you still upset?” 

“No, just… disappointed. Warlocks aren’t really my thing, so it cuts the enjoyment.” 

Agatha sets down her lipstick and comes to sit next to you. She runs a hand through your hair, looking down with a smile, curious. You try to sit up and kiss her. A hand in the center of your chest stops you, her small smile now a wide grin. 

You pout and lay back down, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Don’t pout, I just applied this lipstick.” 

“You can reapply it.” 

She pauses as if thinking it over and weighing the time she has. A small spark of hope sits in your chest and you turn, propping your head up on your hands. Agatha looks gorgeous in white. It’s rare to see the gloomy coven in bright color and you can’t say you mind the change; black is good for any occasion, but white makes them look good enough you forget the occasion. 

You’re most excited to catch a glimpse of Prudence. As long as you can remember, she’s wrapped herself in deep blacks and purples, even an occasional red. The only thing you recall being brighter is the cream-colored slip she wears to bed sometimes. 

A pair of lips is pressed to your own and you startle before Agatha’s hands on your face soothe you. She takes her time and thoroughly explores your mouth with her own. It’s like being drunk and you feel like you could sway despite sitting down, clasping her arms to remain upright. 

It’s different to Dorcas’ quick kisses and Prudence’s teasing ones, Agatha kisses like she’s putting you in a trance. And you almost hate to admit that it works every time. 

When you pull back and stare up with glossed eyes, Agatha giggles, and wipes at your mouth. The dark color is spread all across her face and you can only imagine how it looks on you. 

“Are you happy now?” Agatha asks. 

“Extremely.” You smile. 

She shakes her head, but looks just as happy, “You really should start getting ready.” 

You open your mouth to offer an excuse. 

“She’s right.” Another voice interrupts. 

Prudence stands in the doorway, clad in a figure-hugging white dress. It’s longer than either Agatha’s or Dorcas’ with a split up the right side, exposing one of her legs. She looks practically ethereal. Something about the color brings out the glow in her cheeks and makes you swoon. 

She walks down the steps and makes her way to your side. When she looks at you, there’s something in her eyes you can’t decipher. But you forget it just as easily when she leans down and kisses you, slowly, but not long enough. She laughs when she pulls away and you try to follow. 

“You agreed to participate, darling. It’s time for you to get ready.” 

“Why? I won’t get much from Lupercalia.” You challenge. 

Prudence’s eyes are knowing and she smirks, “Oh darling, I don’t believe that at all.” 

Somehow, she knows. You can’t ask how with Agatha in the room, but she knows, and you know it. You nod and get off of Agatha’s bed to get your things from your chest. Kneeling at the end of the bed, the lock is warm in your hands, a sign your spell is holding tight. 

There’s an audible click! When you whisper the incantation under your breath and the lock opens. You sift through your valuables until you find the outfit you chose for the evening. It stands apart from that of your witches, but isn’t different enough that it’ll make you feel alienated. It’s a lovely silver garment that feels like silk in your fingers. 

Agatha and Prudence eye it with interest, eyes curious and lustful, but say nothing as they leave the room to let you get ready. 

Everything goes according to plan at the Matching; everyone is paired up, including yourself. You luck out with your friend Zander. He’s like a taller, wider Ambrose Spellman, with dark dreads he’s dyed white at the ends. Fortunately for you, he shares your lack of… interest. 

You’re careful to go through the motions and not arouse suspicion. The Courting is actually fun for the two of you. You paint one another with the blood and milk but lay under the moon talking. It’s nice, a relief to be near a warlock who isn’t driven by his lust for the festivities of Lupercalia. 

Then comes the Hunt. 

Your witches look stunning. It takes everything in you to even let them out of your rooms, but you give in, if only because your real plans involve being in the forest together. 

Ambrose blows the horn to signal the start and the chase is on. You do your best to keep your eyes on Dorcas and Agatha; you trust that Prudence will appear when the time is right, since she’s managed to catch onto your plans. 

You catch Agatha and her match first. The place they’ve chosen isn’t hidden well and before he can lay another kiss on her, you’ve stuck an eldritch root under his nose. His eyes roll back in his head and he loses consciousness. 

“Are you going to help me?” You ask Agatha, laying her match gently on the ground. 

She’s pouting, “I was having a good time.” 

“I had plans for the four of us… but I guess if you’d rather stay with him…” 

“No, I’m coming.” Agatha sighs. 

You kiss her sweetly, just long enough to assuage any lingering upset. 

“I’ll let you have some extra fun with him at Dorian’s tomorrow.” You promise

Her beautiful face splits into a giddy smile and you laugh. Grabbing her hand, you pull her with you through the crowds of still-running matches, ignoring the screaming of a few girls, though it threatens to grate on your nerves. 

There’s dozens of girls wrapped in red, but you can’t seem to find the one with red hair. Then you hear it. Somewhere ahead is Dorcas’ voice, declaring something in hushed tones. 

You don’t look to see who she’s hanging on before shoving the root beneath his nose too. He drops and you catch Dorcas before she can fall too. She fights your hands and turns, freezing when she sees you and Agatha. 

“I see what’s going on here,” Dorcas giggles, “This feels dirty.” 

“That’s because it is.” Prudence says. 

She’s appeared seemingly out of nowhere and leans against the tree behind you. Her smile is devious. You can’t help the excitement in your chest at everything falling into place. 

“Shall we, darling?” Prudence asks you, making Agatha and Dorcas turn to you as well. 

With a smile, you flee into the woods, laughing. You hear them laughing and calling behind you. It doesn’t take long before you’re captured and the four of you finally engage in the Lupercalia celebration, mad with desire, beneath a hungry moon.