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luminoustarlight · 9 months

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Had It Up To Here | Anakin Skywalker

After an argument, Anakin's patience with you has grown thin.

Very, very loosely inspired by the lyric "I've had it up to here" in the song Just A Girl by No Doubt

rating: explicit | pairing: anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 4.6k | read on ao3 warnings: SMUT [dom!anakin, rough sex, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, cream pie], dirty talk, jealousy, flirting

i hope you enjoy my first ani smut. there's more to come (hehe) :)

If you’ve never received the cold shoulder from Anakin Skywalker, consider yourself lucky.

It all started two days ago after he and Obi-Wan retrieved you from Nal Hutta. Your mission was successful so you weren’t quite sure why Anakin had looked so… displeased when he saw you. Of course, you didn’t expect him to greet you with open arms, given that Obi-Wan had accompanied him on the trip. But the scowl on his face was enough to make your very exposed skin prickle with goosebumps. And that’s when you realized— you didn’t have a chance to change into your everyday threads before you met Ani and Obi-Wan at the extraction point. You were still wearing a rather scantily clad ensemble, one that certainly would’ve had Anakin jumping out of his pants if you two were alone.

“You did well,” Obi-Wan praised. “I can imagine you were quite alluring to the Hutts.” Obi-Wan’s tone was playful, knowing just how magnetic you can be. In contrast to Obi-Wan’s friendliness, a deep-set frown had made itself comfortable on Anakin’s face. He didn’t like what you were wearing and he definitely didn’t like Obi-Wan making light of it. Your secret boyfriend shrugged off his own robe and threw it over your shoulders.

“Thank you, Anakin,” you said. Anakin replied with an unpleased grunt. Even after Obi-Wan settled himself in the cockpit and you two were alone, he didn’t hug you or kiss you or even act like he was happy to see you. “What, you don’t like my outfit, Ani?”

“No.” His tone was clipped.

“Really?” you smirked, opening his robe, revealing your bare torso and accentuated breasts. “I really thought you would have.”

“That’s enough,” Anakin said, shutting down your flirtatious smile. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Then off he went to join Obi-Wan in the cockpit, not saying another word to you until you were in your private chambers.

Hours. It seemed like you and Anakin were having a conversation about your outfit on Nal Hutta for hours. As a Republic spy, you have no issue with becoming the character the mission requires you to be. Most of the time you’re invisible. After all, that’s the point of being a spy, isn’t it? However, you were far from invisible when the job required you to weed your way through the Hutt Clan. It made Anakin’s blood boil to know that your beautiful body, which should only be reserved for him, was exposed to some of the slimiest scum in the galaxy.

Of course, your bodily autonomy is your own. And Anakin knows this. But you are also his and because nobody actually knows that you’re his, he doesn’t particularly enjoy when anyone gets to admire you and not face repercussions. He has to consciously remind himself not to stare at you during meetings and briefings. He can’t tell you you’re beautiful, he can’t kiss you whenever he pleases and it drives him mad. Because of this, you two have become quite the experts at stealing kisses in empty hallways, locking pinkies in passing to silently say I love you.

You had been looking forward to taking a nice bath to decompress. Maybe open a bottle of wine. And you wanted to do that with Anakin. It was abnormally quiet for him on the war front so he’d been given a couple days off. But Anakin just can’t seem to let go of your disagreement about what is appropriate for you to wear. Spoiler alert: you can wear whatever the stars you want and he just has to deal with it. Because you’re both too stubborn and petty for your own good, you’ve decided to dress up in a nice, form-fitting emerald dress with triangle cuts on the sides of your waist, meeting to a point over your belly button.

Anakin is sitting in the lounge, flicking through the HoloTV. He’s hardly said a word to you since you ended your argument last night with, “You don’t control me, Anakin.”

While that might be true in almost every sense, there is a different persona Anakin often takes on when you’re intimate. And he would venture to say that he is in full control of you in the bedroom.

When you emerge from your sleeping quarters, you swear you can hear his heart stop. He promptly turns off the TV and reaches you in five quick steps. You’re securing your earring, tilting your neck to show off the supple skin Anakin loves to nip and kiss so dearly. You’ve put on the perfume that makes your skin shimmer in the light, making you look like his very own angel. Anakin squares his hips against you, backing you into the wall. “Where are you going?”

You look up at him through thick eyelashes. Your lips are coated in a clear gloss, all tantalizing and tempting, probably the one that tastes like pears. “Out,” you reply. You escape from Anakin’s blockade to head towards the door, but not before he grabs your forearm with his gloved hand.

You know he’s dying to kiss you, to have you right there up against the wall. But Anakin doesn’t cave that easily. We’re back to that stubbornness you two share. “Without me?” Anakin grits.

You let out something between a scoff and a chuckle. “If you’re not going to talk to me then I figured I’d go out and have a drink at Helios. I’m sure there are plenty of people willing to talk to me there.” You mean to flirt with. Harmless flirting, of course. You and Anakin only do it to rile the other up. You don’t do it often, what with the continuous war going on, the two of you don’t find yourselves socializing with civilians all that regularly.

“Watch it,” he warns, his grip on you tightening. You look down to where his leather fingers are wrapped around your arm. It’s a strong hold. Just say the word and I’ll let go, Anakin conveys through softened eyes.

“Watch me walking away from you and out of the door.” You snatch your arm away from Anakin. You take fast and confident steps so he knows you mean business and open the front door. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Anakin stands in the foyer with his jaw and fists clenched. He lets you walk away, mainly because he knows he’s been acting like a prick. He knows you’re right. He knows you were doing your job and not purposefully drawing attention to yourself by what you were wearing. And so what if you were? You can wear whatever you want. Stars, most of the time Anakin loves seeing you dressed up or in next to nothing.

And truthfully, Anakin loved what you were wearing when he picked you up from Nal Hutta. It was Obi-Wan’s comment that put him in a foul mood over it. Just two words, the same word repeated twice, actually. “My, my,” was all the older gentleman muttered. Anakin hated that his Master could make such a comment about you without anyone being suspicious of his intentions or feelings. If Anakin had made the same comment, with that same suggestive tone, he’d be in deep Bantha fodder.

Anakin thinks about this next move. Do you truly want space? Or is this just a little foreplay? Afterall, he still hasn’t kissed you. Maker, what is wrong with him? All he ever wants to do is kiss you, taste you, wrap you up in his arms and never let go. Because you are his and only his.

He’s made his decision. He’s going to Helios.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Helios is one of the nicer clubs downtown. It doesn’t usually attract the wrong crowd, making you feel safe whenever you go alone or meet with friends. It’s not like you can’t protect yourself should anything happen, though. It’s one of Anakin’s favorite things about you: your precise marksmanship and dexterity with a knife. Not to mention your mean uppercut.

The crowd is booming, but not enough so that your laugh can’t be heard by Anakin when he walks into the club. His eyes immediately track you to the bar, elbows on the counter, laughing at something the Twi’lek on your right must’ve said. The routine pit of jealousy begins building in his stomach. It’s been a while since you two have played this game. He can’t remember if he loves it or hates it. He loves knowing that the men who want you can’t actually have you. He loves knowing that he’s the one who will be fucking you— or making love to you depending on the day— at the end of it all. That you are his and only his. But damn it, does he hate watching someone else make you laugh. Especially when he’s done so little of that since you got home.

Anakin comes up behind you and places his left hand on your back, not so subtly pushing himself between you and the Twi’lek. “Pardon me,” he says.

You straighten your back. You knew he’d come get you. His jawline looks impossibly sharp under the lavender light in the club. His hand is warm on your back, fingertips digging into the exposed flesh of your torso. “Hello, Anakin. I was having rather nice conversation with Vik before you interrupt us. Say hello to Vik, Anakin.”

Anakin does no such thing and orders a shot of something strong instead.

“Sorry, are you two…” Vik waves a finger between you and Anakin.

You reply in unison, although your answer is “no” and Anakin’s is “yes”.

It is never “yes” because you never know who might be listening. Anakin must really be peeved.

Vik’s flirty eyes turn frightful. “Listen, I don’t want any part in a lovers quarrel.”

You place your hand over Vik’s. “We’re not lovers, Vik. Anakin is just a friend.”

Anakin downs his shot. It burns going down, but no more than hearing you call him your friend. He’s too touch-starved to play this game any longer. His hold on you is possessive, but clearly not enough for you to get the message.

“You might wanna tell him that,” Vik hooks his thumb at your boyfriend.

“I insist, Vik,” your voice wavers only so much that Anakin would notice. You can’t keep up this act much longer. Not with one drink already in your system and Anakin’s hand searing into your skin. “He’s just here for a drink. I’d much rather continue our conversation. Anakin, would you mind leaving us?”

“Yes, I mind,” Anakin replies sternly.

“Excuse me?” you blink at him. His blue eyes are drowning in darkness and you hesitate to say your next thought. Biting the inside of your cheek, you decide to say it anyway. “I kindly asked you to leave. I’d like to have another drink with Vik.”

That’s it. He’s at the end of his fuse. Anakin turns to the Twi’lek, persuasion laced through his voice. “You want to go home. You’re not feeling well.”

Vik promptly stands up from the stool. “I want to go home. I’m not feeling well.”

“Anakin,” you say tentatively, knowing you’re in trouble.

“I’ve had it up to here with you,” Anakin puts his hand above his head to show just how far you’ve tested his patience. “Let’s go.”

You obey, making your way out of the club with Anakin’s hand still on your back. “I don’t want to hear a word from you until we get home,” he says into your ear. His hot breath makes you shudder. You nod and silently get into the speeder.

Like the bubbles in a bottle of sparkling wine, excitement fizzes beneath your skin. You can’t wait for what Anakin has in store for you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As directed, you are silent until you enter your apartment. Which is really your shared apartment with Anakin when he’s not a the Temple. Little pieces of your Jedi knight litter the space that had once been your own. Trinkets that he’s collected from all over the galaxy, unfinished inventions that he tinkers with to destress. Not to mention his scent. It permeates every pillow and blanket that you own, making it that much easier to miss him when he’s gone.

“Ani,” you begin gently, setting your bag on one of your dressers.

“Ah-” he holds up his hand. “What did I say?”

“You said you didn’t want to hear a word from me until we got home,” you answer immediately. “We’re home.”

The corner of Anakin’s lip quirks up before he catches himself. You almost had him.“You think you’re clever? That mouth of yours gets you into trouble sometimes, doesn’t it?”

You nod and gulp. Your thighs have become sticky with arousal given the fact that you chose not to wear anything beneath your dress. A fact that Anakin has yet to discover. He holds your chin in his gloved hand and angles your head upwards. “Good thing I have a better way of putting that mouth to use.”

Anakin encourages you to your knees. The short hemline of your dress creeps up your thighs but not enough to reveal your exposed cunt. “No touching. Understand?”

You nod again, sitting complacently on your heels as you watch Anakin remove his pants. Your lips are parted as you anticipate his length in your mouth. You claw at your thighs when you see the prettiest droplets of precum on the crown of his cock. It’s been too long, you think.

“I know it has, angel,” Anakin answers your thought. Damn him for getting in your head. No matter. He’d know you want him even without reading your thoughts. You’re practically drooling for him. “Be a good girl and open that pretty mouth for me.”

As soon as you drop your jaw, Anakin wastes no time putting his dick in your mouth. The weight of him on your tongue makes your pussy pathetically clench around nothing. Even though it’s been a while since you two have been intimate, the feeling, the taste, it’s familiar. It’s comforting. Even when his spongey tip is hitting the back of your throat when he ruts his hips forward. This makes you gag and grab onto his thighs for stability.

“Fuck,” the profanity slips from Anakin’s lips. He can’t deny how much he’s missed the feeling of his cock in your mouth. The sinful image of it being too big, too thick, making you choke. He relishes the way you whimper around him, how it sends shocks of pleasure through him as you beg for him to fuck your mouth. You want to wrap your hand around the base of him, but Anakin was clear in his instructions. No touching. Instead, you squeeze his thighs, urging him to continue. You relax your throat, opening wide so he can use you how he pleases.

The friction of his length brushing past your soft lips makes his stomach tighten. His strong quads are contracting beneath your hands as he thrusts himself in and out of your mouth. His musk makes you dizzy. Your eyes are stinging and a lonesome tear falls down your cheek. “Finally decided to behave, hm?” he wipes your tear with his thumb. “Don’t think for a second that you��re forgiven for how you’ve been acting.”

Anakin pulls his dick from your mouth, a messy string of saliva connecting the two of you before landing on your chin. Your chest is heaving as you attempt to catch your breath. “I shouldn’t even let you cum tonight. Do you think you deserve to cum?”

“Please, Ani,” you answer quietly. Your throat is raw and you still can’t seem to get a good breath in your lungs. “I want to cum.”

Anakin shakes his head. “I didn’t ask if you wanted to cum, I asked if you deserved to cum. Because from where I’m standing I don’t think you do. You’ve been a brat ever since you got home. Insisting that you can wear slutty little outfits just because it’s part of your job… flirting with that Twi at the bar… telling him I’m your friend,” Anakin spits.

Your knees are aching but you don’t dare stand up. Anakin hasn’t been dominant in a long time and you want to savor this. “I had to seduce the Hutts, Ani. It was for the job.”

“I’m done hearing your excuses.” Anakin wraps his artificial hand around your bicep, lifting you off the ground. “I want to hear you say you’re sorry for being a brat. For disrespecting me at the club.”

Maker, you wish you were still on the floor because Anakin’s words are making your knees buckle. “I’m sorry,” you say.

“That’s not good enough,” he hisses. You love this side of Anakin: dark and demanding while knowing he’s going to take care of you when all is said and done. After all, he’s just your sweet boy from Tatooine. He never used to want to inflict pain on purpose. But over time, with your permission and encouragement, you allowed him to experiment with stirring desires. Spanking you, tying you up, being the dominating presence in the bedroom. Giving him all of the control he never felt under Watto.

Anakin is not always dominant and you’re not always submissive. Sometimes he likes to be taken care of, likes it when you’re in control. Sometimes you two just make love, only concerned with making the other feel good with your bodies. But tonight, you understand very clearly that Anakin wants to dominate you. Reclaim you as his.

“I’m sorry for being a brat, Anakin. I’m sorry I told the Twi’lek we weren’t together.”

“What was his name?” Anakin inquires. You give him a puzzled look. “The Twi’lek. What was his name?”

“V-Vik,” you stutter.

Anakin tucks your hair behind your ear. “Good. Now forget it. The only name you’ll be needing tonight is mine. Understand?”

“Yes,” you reply. Anakin raises his eyebrows. “Yes, Anakin,” you correct.

“There’s hope for you yet,” he replies. “Let’s get this dress off of you.”

You turn around so he can undo the zipper. Anakin’s lips ghost over your pulse, hands caressing your shoulders before finding the little tab at the top of your back. “I really do love this dress, baby. But I know it’ll look better on the floor.” He begins a trail of kisses down your spine as he drags the zipper down your back. The opening stops just above your hips and you remove your arms so Anakin can drop the fabric from you completely. When he sees your bare ass in front of his eyes, he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. Or to you.

“You little minx,” he murmurs. “I should be mad at you… but you made it that much easier for me to access what I really want.” Anakin drags two fingers between the folds of your pussy to see how wet you are. His cock jumps with anticipation. Now he’s the one thinking it’s been too long. “Get on the bed, sweetheart. On your knees.”

As you situate yourself on the bed, Anakin removes the rest of his clothing. The mattress dips beneath his weight and lays down beneath your legs, face right below your leaking cunt. “Sit,” is all he says. You’re wracking your brain trying to think of a time you’ve ever sat on Anakin’s face. Won’t it be too much? How will he breathe? You apparently take too long to follow orders as Anakin’s hands are on your hips and lowers you down to his mouth.

“Oh, Anakin,” you whine, fingers fisting in his wavy hair reactively. You’d been aching and throbbing for any kind of contact and this almost already too much. His warm tongue swirls around your hole and he’s groaning into you, as if this is just as pleasurable for him as it is for you. He goes back and forth between using the tip of his tongue inside of you and using the flat of it to lap up all that you’re giving him. “Ani, that’s so good- I’m gonna-” your thighs begin to tremble as your pleasure grows.

Swiftly, Anakin has you on your back and returns not only his mouth to your cunt, but two fingers as well. The new stretch makes you cry out his name once more. He drags his fingers along your wall while flicking your swollen clit with his tongue. His face is smeared with your juices and the sounds coming from his throat is intoxicating. You think he loves giving more than you love receiving. But then your back arches off of the bed when Anakin’s fingers hit that particular spot inside of you. Everything begins to unravel as Anakin cups your breast and finger fucks you until you see stars. “Anakin!”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Anakin soothes, kissing the inside of your sticky thigh. “I never want you to forget…” another kiss on the other side, “that I’m the only one who can make you cum like that.”

“Ani.” You roll your head against the mattress as your body begins to settle from your orgasm. Your fingers brush Anakin’s cheek as he kisses along your hip bone, across your soft tummy, and up the valley of your breasts. His leaking tip hits you between your folds, tempting you with what you crave so deeply. He presses a kiss over your thrumming pulse while running his hands over your whole body. The contrast between his warm hand and cool leather glove makes you shudder. You lift your hips in a meager attempt to get his cock inside of you. “Ani, please.”

Anakin’s lips smirk against your neck. “Please what? Please… split you open with my cock? Please… fuck you until your pussy is sore? Tell me. What do you want?”

Oh. Anakin’s low, gruff voice is enough to make you tremble. But these words? There aren’t enough words in the galaxy to describe how they make you feel. He’s never spoken to you like this. Dirty talk is one thing but Maker, that is kriffing filth. And you want it. You want everything he said. You want to be fucked so well, so hard that all you can think about is Anakin and how good he makes you feel. Anakin grabs your hands, threading his fingers between yours and holds them by your head. His nose brushes yours and you’re acutely aware that he still hasn’t kissed you. The last time he kissed you was before you left for Nal Hutta two weeks ago.

“I want you to kiss me, Ani,” you say sweetly. “And then… and then I want you to fuck me until I’m sore.”

That’s enough for him. His lips finally slant over yours as he rolls his hips toward you, cock slipping into your hole with little resistence. It’s not that it’s an easy fit— it’s just that you’re always nice and ready for him. Always wet and always willing to feel that lovely stretch. You’re both moaning into each other when Anakin bottoms out. You clench your walls, eliciting a heavy groan from the bottom of Anakin’s throat. He starts slow, going nice and easy on you before setting a brutal pace. You can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as he glides in and out of you. Your ankles lock around his waist and he wraps his arms around your back. He captures your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls away from you. He drops his head beside yours, wild curls tickling your cheek as he begins thrusting into you just a bit harder and faster.

“Oh, Maker, Ani-” you squeal. “It’s g-good, so good.”

Anakin’s hips halt. He lifts his head and stares at you with brows knit together. “Just good?” he chuckles dryly. “Good isn’t good enough.”

“That- that’s not what I meant, Ani-” you’re cut off when he pulls out of you and roughly grabs your hips and turns you over.

“You and I both know I’m better than good,” Anakin’s words are covered with venom because how dare you insult him? With one hand still holding strongly onto your hip, he drags his cock through your slick folds but has no mercy with easing into you. He thrusts into you sharply, making you gasp and grip the sheets for purchase.

“Anakin!” you yelp, squeezing your eyes together so tightly colors dance behind your lids. Anakin’s hips snap against your ass harhsly as he holds firmly to your hips.

“Remind me of word you used, sweetheart. Good? Is this good enough for you, baby? Or do you need it harder?”

Harder? He can go harder? Of course he can. Anakin Skywalker wields more strength and power than you can possibly understand. You’re not sure he even knows the full extent of his abilities. “Mmh,” you mumble against the mattress. “Hard- oh, Maker!”

Anakin pulls on your hair, bringing your back up against his chest. “What was that, baby? I couldn’t hear you.” His mouth hovers over the shell of your ear and your head falls back against his shoulder. You’re absolutely blissed out when his hand finds your tight bundle of nerves.

“Hard- harder,” you fumble the word again because the pressure on your clit sends you soaring. Now coupled with the intense friction of Anakin’s relentless pace, you indeed feel like you’re being split in half.

“This is ruining you, isn’t it? Letting me fuck you so hard you can’t even speak…” Anakin nips at your neck, leaving bruises only he can make on you. “Mine. You’re mine. Your body, your pussy, your orgasms. It’s all mine. I’m the one you’ll come home to. Every. Single. Time,” he accentuates those last three words with three blunt thrusts. He releases his seed, warmth spreading through your belly.

“Yours,” you say through a whimper. You’re fluttering around him, reaching behind you to tangle your fingers through Anakin’s hair. “Love- fuck, Ani-” you can’t even finish your thought as you orgasm abruptly. It wracks through your whole body and you are certain to collapse if it weren’t for Anakin’s strong arms supporting you. “Ani… Anakin…”

“I know,” he soothes, his voice returning to the gentle cadence you’re so used to. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He lays you back down on the bed, his cock coming out of you feels like a void you immediately want refilled. As if what he’s just given you isn’t enough. Aftershocks course through your limbs and you instinctively curl your legs inward. Anakin draws you near, resting your head on his chest. He runs his hand over your hair. “Was it too much?”

“No,” you whisper, fingers drawing swirls on Anakin’s toned abdomen. “It was perfect, Ani. I missed you so much. I hated that you were mad at me.”

Anakin sighs. “I was never truly mad at you, sweetheart. I was… I was mad at myself for overreacting. Because I know you’re right.”

You perk your head up. “What? What did you just say?”

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes but flashes the smile that still makes you swoon. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“Please? Just once,” you tut your bottom lip out and bat your lashes. Oh, how can he say no to that?

“You were right.”

“Of course, I was,” you say smugly. “I just had to let you come to the conclusion on your own.”

Anakin pinches your side playfully. “You have very interesting methods.”

“And you don’t?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Anakin kisses the top of your head, followed by a yawn.

“You sleepy, Ani?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “Very sleepy.”

Your sweet boy is back. And you wish your sweet boy only the sweetest of dreams. “I love you, Anakin Skywalker.”

MWAH MWAH THANK U FOR READING I HOPE YOU ENJOYED :D

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#anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker fan fiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin skywalker #dom!anakin

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serverusslaype · 9 months

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Shameless, pt. 9

Severus Snape x professor!reader fic

Shameless Masterpost

hello my fellow snape lovers. i think you will love this chapter. hehehehe. thats all i am saying. and you might hate mcgonagall. </3

you can thank harry styles' song 'fine line' for the ending of this chapter. oop.

thank you for reading so far and for all your kind comments, likes and reblogs! I LOVE YOU GUYS <3

i apologise in advance for any typos or anything along those lines, i suck at proofreading.

VAMOS!!

Your throat tightened as you stared at your dishevelled appearance in the dirty, old mirror that sat crookedly in your greenhouse; overgrown vines of poison ivy enveloping it, slowly reclaiming it.

"Shit..." You muttered, angling your face to gaze at the marks that Snape had so graciously left on your jaw. "For Merlin's sake..." You spun away from the mirror with a distressed huff and headed towards your cabinet in a sweep, kneeling down against the mossy tiles, searching for a herb of some sort that had healing properties. Or something along those lines. You were desperate at this point. "Dittany, dittany..." You mumbled to yourself, digging through shelves and shelves of dusty glass jars and containers. At once, your eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning as the sight of a worn label caught your attention. You thumbed the dust off of the yellowed and faded label, reading it aloud, "D.. di-di-an...y?" You muttered, only noticing how worn the writing really was once you pulled it out into the light. How long has this been in here...?

That has to be dittany, you thought, curious eyes scanning the long and slender, deep mossy green stem that branched out with smaller rounded leaves. You blew against the jar with a sharp breath, a ball of dust and dirt puffing up in your face. You coughed and quickly retrieved your wand, swiftly flicking it to make the heap of dust dissipate. Well, you'd certainly lacked on cleaning your cabinets during the past year, but it's not like that kind of thing had any space in your mind. It was full of... other things.

Your fingers clutched the lid of the glass jar and lifted it upwards, a gentle, spicy yet mountainous smell filling your nostrils. As you placed the lid down with a loud clack, you reached your hand into the jar to retrieve a stem of dittany. You hoped to god this would work, otherwise you'd reluctantly resort to make-up, and that would be even worse. Not that you were awful at using it, but your skintone was almost impossible to match perfectly. You padded back to the rusty mirror in your greenhouse, the richer herbal smell of the dittany invading your lungs as you held it up to your face, preparing yourself to rub it vigorously against the darkening fingertip marks upon your jaw.

"Merlin, please, let this work." You mumbled with a deep breath, pinching the dittany and beginning to massage it into your marked face. You couldn't bear to watch for fear of it not working, so you shut your eyes, avoiding your own reflection. Desperately rubbing a herb against your face to get rid of some suspicious looking marks so the man you were seeing wouldn't accuse you of seeing someone else? Yes, that's you. Dedicated clown.

Hesitantly, you wrenched open your eyes. From what you saw, the herb had done nothing but give you a red rash, in fact, it actually highlighted the purpling bruises. You wanted to launch a rock through a window. Why couldn't Snape just keep his hands off of you? Why did he always resort to touching you? Not that you were complaining- well, actually, this time you were. His reckless actions were going to get you in trouble, but you couldn't exactly blame him. You hadn't told anyone that you were seeing the infamous Benjamin Bluewater. So why wouldn't he... grab your jaw in a fit of rage? Speaking of this, you hadn't really discussed a label with Ben, though, sometimes, he made you think that he wasn't particularly interested in putting a label on your relationship. It didn't bother you, but you'd prefer to know what you were. Were you exclusive? Not exclusive? Was he dating or seeing other people?

What really piqued your interest was what Snape would think of you dating Bluewater. He despised that boy with a burning passion. He'd probably lose a lot of respect for you, surely? But Ben had changed, you'd seen it for yourself.

"Hagrid, tell me that you didn't willingly let the students approach Buckbeak without proper guidance..." You sighed deeply, perched on a felled tree stump as you watched the half-giant-half-man gather some herbs from his personal garden. As the day had progressed onwards, the marks that littered your skin had died down a little, so much so that Hagrid hadn't noticed. Perhaps the dittany did help?

"Am tellin' ya, Y/N, the boy didn't listen!" Hagrid exclaimed, quite clearly stressed. He picked and pulled at the luscious shrubs rather aggressively, placing the stems and leaves into a wicker basket he was holding in his opposite hand. "I told 'im ta' stop!" He continued, his voice strained and panicking. Hagrid stood straight for a moment, his head shaking in a quick back and forth motion. "T-They're gonna want to 'ave Buckbeak slain, I tell ya," he stuttered, "they won't let this go! I'll lose me job too, Y/N!" His voice went up an octave as he glanced at you, his eyes glossed with fear. Hagrid truly cared for his animals deeply, and it pained you to see him so distressed over an accident.

"Hagrid, it'll be alright, I-"

"Y/N," Hagrid interrupted you, a stern look adopted his worn features. You instantly shut your mouth. "This is the Malfoy's we're talkin' abou'. They don't care for nothin', n' they ain't care for anyone but themselves." He finished, turning to look at his hut for a moment, big and grey clouds were starting to push their way across the dim blue sky.

"So... there's no other way? Buckbeak will be killed...?" You asked hesitantly, a lump forming in your throat as the thought of the silver hippogriff slipped into your mind. Hagrid was right, Buckbeak didn't deserve this. But what could you do? You were powerless.

Hagrid only nodded at you gravely, averting his eyes back to the garden in front of him, sucking in his bottom lip as if to stop the tears that had formed in his eyes from falling. You quickly rushed from your tree stump to Hagrid, wrapping your arms around him as much as you could. In this very moment, all you could offer the man was comfort. And so you did.

"It'll be alright, Hagrid." You mumbled against his musky smelling, tatty brown jacket, pressing the side of your face into his large, protruding stomach. A sharp inhale of air sounded from above, and you knew he was sobbing now. "It's okay." You whispered with glossy eyes, leaning back to glance up at Hagrid as he stared sorrowfully at the ground; his big, brown eyes wet with regretful tears. Gods, this was breaking your heart.

"He don't deserve this, Y/N!" Hagrid cried, his gigantic hands rushing to clutch you against his shaking body as he sobbed. "He don't, he's a good boy, he is." He muttered through broken cries. You had to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from breaking down into sobs too. As much as you wanted to cry with Hagrid, you wanted to be strong for him - like he was when you came running, crying hysterically because of... Severus.

It felt weird to use his first name. You hadn't used it since... you couldn't even remember when. You only called him Snape now, and it hurt you to do so.

A couple days had passed by since your incident with Snape, and he had found himself lurking in your greenhouse, sneakily searching for ingredients for his upcoming future classes. The screech of an owl hooked Snape's nose up and away from your cabinets and to the door of your greenhouse. He ducked, cursing, as a Spectacled Owl swooped over his head, the sweep of it's wings making Snape's raven-black hair fly outwards. He watched as it dropped a rather beautiful bouquet of flowers on your desk with a muffled thud, proceeding to fly out of an open ceiling window and perch itself on a tree branch to the right of it. The owl hooted as it watched Snape curiously with big, beady eyes. The Potions Master observed it for several seconds, his eyes narrowing inquisitively. Once he deemed it safe to move, Snape shuffled towards the bouquet, his eyes instantly finding a note attached. He slowly shifted his fingers towards it, opening the folded piece of parchment. His brows furrowed as it read:

Dearest Y/N,

I hope these stunning flowers find you well, the moment I saw them, they instantly reminded me of you, and I had to have them.

Since the day we parted from each other, you have not left my mind. You have ensorcelled me. Enchanted and charmed me. The sweet sound of your perfect laugh lives in my mind, and Merlin, how I miss the way that your smile bewitched my heart each time I had the honour of laying my blessed eyes upon it.

I do hope Hogwarts is treating you well. If it isn't, you know where to find me.

B.B x

Snape's stomach instantly twisted into a painful, egregious knot as his eyes continuously scanned over the sentimental note. You were seeing someone? Since when? More importantly, who was 'B.B'? Was it serious? It seemed to be, from Snape's basic knowledge of flowers, he knew they were high-quality, expensive ones. The thick, shiny material they were cocooned in also added to his conclusion. Whoever you were seeing was willing to spend a good amount of gold on you. Then, perhaps, was it an admirer? Someone trying to court you? No, it couldn't be, the note said-

Almost as fast as those thoughts had entered Snape's mind, he wiped them away, shaking his head aggressively as he let go of the note between his fingers, backing away from the flowers like a fearful doe. No, he wasn't doing this today. Not ever, actually.

Snape's eyes reluctantly fell to where you usually left a quill and parchment - specifically for him to note down what he'd taken. But it wasn't there. His brows knitted together, perplexed, as he glanced around the room for your quill and parchment. His eyes fell back onto the bouquet of flowers that 'B.B' had sent you. Snape's jaw clenched as he grudgingly padded forwards again, his hand reaching out slowly to lift up the neatly-wrapped bouquet. His hunch was right. That damned bird of yours had dropped the large bouquet on top of his quill and parchment, almost like a silent 'fuck you'. Snape had to force himself not to hex the poor animal as he retrived the materials, placing them beside the flowers to quickly scribble down the ingredients he required.

Snape felt something like a knife poke at his heart as he let his eyes glance over at the handwritten note again, staring at it with cruel eyes. A wave of disgust rushed through his body as he re-read the sickly sweet words. As much as he despised and envied the person behind the note, he couldn't help but agree with how they described you.

Over the next week at Hogwarts, more and more notes, flowers and small gifts began to turn up in your greenhouse. You had felt a bit smothered by Ben, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt - perhaps gift-giving was his love language. As time went on, you noticed that Snape began to slack in leaving notes of what he'd borrowed for his lessons. This confused you slightly, Snape was not someone that neglected agreements or promises. So, you just put it down to being an accident rather than on purpose. You weren't sure if you did that for the peace of your own mind, or hoping it was true.

Snape found himself assigned to the nightly patrol shift this Friday evening. He was a little miffed about it since he had planned to kick back in his room and bury his nose in a book he'd picked up on a subtle trip to Hogsmeade. Ever since he'd read that note in your greenhouse, he'd turned a little more bitter towards people. Including you. The only way he had figured out to hide something as petty and trivial as the feeling of jealousy was by acting a little colder to people. Everyone knew him as the callous and heartless Professor Snape, so it's not as if the students or staff alike would be alarmed by his extra bitterness.

As the Potions Master was strolling absentmindedly in the outside grounds of Hogwarts, two shadowy figures had caught his eye. Instinctively, he drew his wand, his fingers tightening around it. He crouched down a tad, narrowing his eyes in a feeble attempt to try and work out who the possible intruders were. Surely it was just two students out after curfew, right? Though, that idea came crashing down when he heard the sweet sound of your muffled laugh. His body ran cold as another heavenly, song-like giggle reached his ears. What were you doing out so late at night? …And who were you with?

"I'm sorry I kept you so late," Ben said quietly, squeezing your hand as you glanced up at him, the two of you strolling through the outside grounds of Hogwarts. The two of you kept your voices down as it was past midnight now, and you weren't exactly desiring the idea of getting caught. "I didn't expect the pub to stay open past eleven o'clock!"

"It's alright, work was rather stressful this week anyway. I needed a good break." You giggled, quickly placing a hand over your mouth to muffle it. Ben couldn't help but grin amusedly at your widened eyes.

"And you told me I had to be quiet," Ben mused, his eyes flicking back to the ground in front of him. You rolled your eyes at him and nudged him with a playful elbow. "But what happened with work? Annoying first years?" He teased. Oh, he had no idea.

A class of seventh years had been stressing you out since Tuesday afternoon when Jasper Greenlichen, a very intelligent and passionate budding Herbologist, made some fatal mistakes on a mock exam. The second you handed his results back to him, you hadn't expected, nor prepared yourself for such an intense meltdown of emotions. Since that moment, he was nonstop asking questions and asking for your expert opinion on certain ways to structure answers. The boy was absolutely obsessed with improving, and it was becoming extremely tiring for you. You could only help him so much.

"I wish," You groaned, shaking your head for a moment. "Seventh years, actually, one of them had a total meltdown when he did quite badly on a mock exam I'd set up for them." You explained, sighing exhaustedly. "From then on, it was chaos for me. I'd actually started dreading teaching for once!"

"Oh blimey," Ben grimaced at your words. "Sounds terrible." He added with a laugh, pulling you into his arms with a tug. A quiet squeak slipped from your throat as you fell into his chest, his hands snaking down to your waist suggestively.

"Ben," You warned, trying to hide the smile that was tugging at your lips. The bright, pale moonlight glimmered down upon the two of you, illuminating you like two shards of broken glass in the sunlight.

"What?" He asked innocently, frowning as if he was being falsely accused of murder. "I've missed you." He muttered. Your stomach twisted at his words. Had you missed him as well? The only time Ben had poked at your brain was when you'd been with Snape...

"Me too." You replied, staring up at him. Did you just lie to him? Perhaps. Is it terrible if you felt nothing the moment those three words left his lips? Definitely. What a fucking mess.

With Ben facing against the moonlight, the shadows cast on his face made his nose appear slightly larger, and his eyes seemed to turn dark. Were you imagining this...?

Before you could continue to question yourself, Ben's smile faded and his brows furrowed as his hand rose up to your jaw, grasping it gently with his fingertips. Your blood ran cold as he angled your jaw towards the light, encouraging it to illuminate the fading bruises on your jaw. Fuck, there was no way this was happening right now.

"What's this?" He questioned softly, his tone flat. You swallowed, anxiety bubbling at your fingertips as they began to tingle. What the hell were you meant to say?

"Oh, it's nothing," You laughed lightly, leaning away from his concerned touch. Sure, some bouncing bulbs could have caused small, red marks on your face, right? "I was teaching some first-years a couple days ago, some bouncing bulbs got loose." You quickly lied, smiling up at Ben, praying he'd just let it go.

"Are you okay?" He asked once more, his eyes flicking up to yours, burning with worry. A wave of relief washed over you as he believed you. If you'd told him the truth, you weren't sure how he'd react. Perhaps he'd curse Snape's classroom to smell awfully for eternity, or maybe he'd do worse... but you didn't want to think about that right now.

"Yeah, I'm alright, it's happened before." You laughed again, quietly, staring at Ben for any sign of doubt on his face. He continued to study your injured jaw, not seemingly convinced.

"Alright," he nodded at you with a curt sigh, letting it go. "As long as you're not in pain." Ben smiled down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your marked jaw, trailing his lips to towards your parted ones. A gasp left your lips as Ben pulled you closer to him, his fingers digging into your waist hungrily. He kissed you a little harder, and you had to push him away slightly, releasing yourself from his lips.

"Ben, remember where we are." You said quietly, nodding to the grounds of Hogwarts that the two of you were currently stood in. "Someone could see us." You warned, a sheepish and awkward smile picking at the corners of your lips.

"So what?" Ben smirked as he leaned in to kiss you again, his reckless personality rearing it's head once more. You placed a firm hand against his chest, placing some space between you.

"I'm serious." You said again, your tone switching from playful to stern. Ben sighed, nodding, as he waved his white flag and surrendered to your demands. "Thank you." You smiled up at him, patting his chest gently, watching how as he turned his head, that familiar looking shadow cast over his features again, transforming him into your true desire. You tore your gaze away from his face as your heartbeat began to pick up in speed, memories of you and a certain brooding Potion Master flooding your mind. "I should really get going now." You quickly muttered, swallowing the lump of anxiety in your throat as you glanced to the right, avoiding his eyes.

Was this how your life was going to be now? Everytime you looked at someone you tried to move on with, his face would appear? Everywhere you looked, the thought of him would slide into your mind effortlessly - at this point, you were wondering if he had slipped you some sort of potion when you weren't looking.

"Oh right, yeah... I forgot it was so late," Ben laughed awkwardly, noticing your subtle change in demeanour. He wondered if he'd done something wrong. "I'll come and see you again soon, Y/N." He pushed past the niggling feeling in his mind and smiled at you, leaning forwards to press a kiss to your cheek. His hand brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you returned his smile, the overwhelming feeling of guilt beginning to nibble away at your bones. This man was treating you like a princess and all you could think about was the man that had roughly grabbed you by your jaw the other day, leaving bruises on it.

"Send me an owl first, I'd like to be prepared this time." You hummed, referring to how Ben had caught you in your messy casualwear, tending to the plants in your greenhouse and covered in filth. It wasn't a pretty sight - well in your opinion, at least. "See you soon, Ben." You smiled at him as you turned to leave, a ghastly, freezing breeze of cold air suddenly tickling your skin.

"See you later, and... get back safe, please." Ben said wearily as he glanced about, having noticed the sudden drop in temperature as well. You nodded at him and pulled your shawl tighter around you, trying to ward off the cold that was now biting at your bare shoulders. You'd quickly slipped on a dark, rich emerald green dress that fell to the floor, and was slightly cinched at your waist in a shirred fashion, with baggy, ballooned sleeves that reached your wrists. You'd also opted to bring a thick, warm dusty rose-coloured shawl that was currently wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

Walking back to the grand entrance of the castle, your brows knitted together as your eyes stared at the ground that was suddenly frosting over, wilting flowers and withering plants. A feeling of uneasiness permeated your ice-cold skin as you let your eyes glaze over the frozen ground, the clouds above you suddenly turning deathly grey. Your heart began to pound as you immediately took off in a sprint, desperately trying to reach Hogwarts before whatever the hell was coming could get to you.

The air was dead, silent and motionless. Only the sound of your crunching footfalls and your chattering teeth pierced the blanket of silence. You were praying that you were only imagining this, there was no way you could fend off a dementor. As you ran, your hands began to clench and unclench, a layer of sweat forming within them as you continued to run as fast as you could, your chest heaving with complete fear as the cold began to invade your body. You felt as if you were going to die right then and there, dementor or not, your heart was going absolutely mental, pounding against your ribs like an insane prisoner, begging to be let out. Your legs began to slow as the freezing cold began to overpower your body, numbing your legs and sending you tumbling to the ground. You fell to your hands and knees, tears streaming down your face, still desperate to escape as you clambered forwards in vain.

The chilling temperature was becoming too much for your body to withstand, and so you fell to the side, a paralysing scream leaping from your lungs as your worst nightmare suddenly swept in front of you. It floated in front of you, as if taunting you. The haunting noise of a rattling, sucking-like sound surrounded you like a bubble. You stared up at the dementor, your mouth agape in horror, fearful tears brimming your eyes as you watched on helplessly. Your lungs burned with each strangled breath you stole, your limp body falling backwards against the ground, as the dementor glided closer to you, finally kissing you.

You felt as if you were drowning. Your lungs felt as if they were filled with water, stealing your breath away, leaving you to suffocate. All you could see was the dementor, it's menacing appearance rendering you immobile. You were paralysed. You couldn't move, you couldn't run away. This was it, this was how you died.

Then, suddenly, a bright white light pierced the darkness that had almost swallowed you whole. It was almost blinding as you glanced towards it, your vision blurring. You struggled on the ground, your eyes fighting to stay open as they caught a glimpse of what looked to be like... a... doe?

As you let your eyes roll back to the gloomy and black sky above you, it felt like you were in slow motion - everything was spinning and the lids of your eyes were feeling heavier and heavier; the freezing cold that once had you within it's grasp subsiding. The roar of rushing blood in your ears muffled the screaming voice from afar. You wanted to scream out, to beg them for help, but you couldn't. Your voice was no where to be heard.

As you laid motionless upon the frosted grass, your muscles relaxed, your body finally caving as the black abyss swallowed your vision.

Peace.

A quiet rustling of what sounded like metal against metal stirred you awake. You felt your fingers twitch as you gradually shuffled the tiniest bit against some soft sheets that you'd been carefully wrapped up in.

"She's awake." A soft, feminine voice called out from beside you; your eyes slowly, but painfully fluttering open.

"How are you feeling?" A familiar, warm voice poked at your ears. You blinked as your eyes followed the source of the sound, a blanket of relief encasing you as you saw Professor Lupin perched on a chair beside where you laid.

"Erm," You croaked, sitting up on your elbows in a leisurely manner. "What the hell happened?" You asked quietly, confused. Glancing about the room with squinted eyes, you noticed that you were in the hospital wing, sat in a bed, neatly wrapped up like a cocooned caterpillar in blankets.

"You were attacked by a dementor." Lupin put it simply, though he kept his tone soft, a hint of concern laced beneath. "Do you remember anything?" He further questioned you, curious. You looked back to him, letting yourself fall back into the bed. "Here," Lupin reached into his pocket, pulling out a chocolate bar. "It'll help." He said, offering it to you.

You took it gratefully, unwrapping the crackly plastic covering slowly, feeling your mouth suddenly salivate at the sight of the sugary treat. "Thank you, Remus." You smiled weakly at him whilst trying to wrack your brain for any remaining memories of the attack, taking a bite out of the chocolate. You sat there for a moment, staring down at your lap as you sifted through your memories, chewing at a slow pace. You remembered leaving Ben, then the cold... that was it... "No, I'm sorry." You mumbled, feeling a little useless.

"Don't apologise, we're all just very glad you're okay." Remus smiled at you, his moustache twitching. You nodded in agreement with him, keeping quiet. "You were lucky that Severus was there to save you that night." Your eyes instantly snapped to Lupin's, widening in surprise.

"Wait, what?" You choked out. It felt like someone had just punched your chest. Snape saved you? How did he...? Remus seemed a little concerned at your reaction as his brows knitted together in slight curiosity. "Sna... Severus was the one...?" You breathed out, shock stiffening your body, your throat tightening as your lips spoke his name.

"He was." Remus tilted his head at you, inquisitive blue eyes studying you. "He was on duty that night and heard your screams."

You couldn't believe what was coming out of Remus's mouth. Were you dreaming? Were you in some horrible, twisted nightmare? You had so many questions running through your mind that you couldn't keep up.

"Also, you keep saying 'that night', how long have I been... here?" You questioned Lupin, your voice weakening as you glanced around the hospital wing, noticing how empty it was. Only one other person was here and it was a student dressed in a Quidditch outfit with an icepack resting on his forehead. You deduced that he had probably fallen off of his broom during a match.

"Just over two days, Y/N." Remus replied slowly, continuing to observe you for any possible ailments. You blinked.

"What day is it?"

"Sunday," The professor replied before twisting his arm to check his watch. "Six fifty-two in the evening, to be exact."

"Right," You exhaled slowly, staring up at the ceiling, becoming lost in your thoughts. You thought you were alone outside. Why did- how did Snape know you were there? Did this mean something? Was this his way of- no, don't be silly, for Merlin's sake.

It's merely a coincidence, you chastised yourself. I should be glad he was there, I wouldn't be sat here right now if he wasn't, you thought, sighing frustratedly through your nostrils.

"I need to talk to him." You said quickly, beginning to sit up but Lupin quickly pushed you back down into the bed, his mouth flattening into a straight line.

"You need to rest." He replied sternly, his hand resting firmly against your shoulder as he forced you back down.

"I feel perfectly fine, Remus. I appreciate your concern but-"

"I'm sorry, but it's Madam Pomfrey's orders." He cut you off, an apologetic look softening his features. You sighed at him, a little irritated, but you understood where he was coming from. You did need to rest up, you didn't feel like you were in the best of headspaces. You still felt a little disorientated.

There was a moment of silence before you reluctantly gave in, giving Lupin a soft nod, avoiding his eyes. "Fine." You settled into the hospital bed, glancing out at the window to your right, watching quietly as beads of rain dripped down the glass pane.

"If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask me." Lupin smiled warmly at you. You hummed quietly, returning his smile.

"Actually, Remus, erm," You cleared your throat, shuffling under the pale white sheets. "I was hoping to ask you if you could mentor me? To produce a patronus charm?" You asked, fidgeting with your fingers. Lupin's brow quirked at your proposal.

"Of course," Remus nodded as the surprised expression that had slipped onto his face clearly showed that he wasn't expecting you to ask him such a question. "We can start on Tuesday, seven o'clock. My classroom."

You felt your body relax at his answer. "Thank you so much." You said, your smile widening.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N, now please, get some rest." A gentle chuckle rumbled within Lupin's chest as he tilted his head at you like a parent would at their child. You scrunched your nose up at him jokingly and rolled over onto your side, tugging the blanket up and over your shoulders.

"Goodnight, Remus." You said quietly with a hint of amusement in your tone, closing your eyes. As the echo of his receding footsteps began to grow quieter and quieter as he left, you let your body finally rest, gradually dozing off.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Snape's deep, languid voice echoed from behind his door, sending a nervous shiver down your spine. You'd slipped out of your hospital bed once you had woken up, determined to pay Snape a visit, despite the storm of butterflies swirling in your stomach. When you checked the clock before leaving, it had struck almost eleven-thirty at night.

You pursed your lips, slipping inside his office and leaning against the back of the door as it clicked shut. "How did you know it was me?" You asked a little awkwardly as your eyes flicked to Snape who still had his nose buried in a pile of assignments atop of his neatly-arranged desk. A flutter of envy flew through your chest as you silently admired how organised the man was. Your desk was a mess, you barely had enough time to keep it clean, let alone organised.

"Few people opt to bother me at such an... ungodly hour." Snape sighed, rather exhaustedly, not bothering to glance at up you. Usually you'd chastise him for ignoring you, but you felt like you owed him your life from the whole ordeal a couple days ago, so you chose to brush past the bitterness in his voice. Snape spoke again after several seconds of silence. "Speaking of, what is it that you need from me?"

"Erm," you choked, eyes falling anxiously to the floor, "I just wanted to... say thanks." You said, silently dreading Snape's reply as you looked back up to find him staring at you. Your body ignited at the sight, and you could feel your cheeks starting to burn. Nothing has changed then, you thought, a little embarrassed and somewhat disappointed in yourself.

"I believe we spoke about saying 'thanks'." Snape quirked a brow at you, his dark eyes scrutinising you as you leant against his office door. You huffed at him. He paused for a moment, studying your weak, pale-looking body. "Nevertheless, you're welcome. I suppose such a situation... warrants a thank you." He added, tone flat.

There was another blanket of awkward silence. "Who were you with?" He asked. Your blood ran cold. Here we go, you thought.

"Remember a year ago, when we were brewing the Mandrake Draught?" You spoke hesitantly, avoiding Snape's intense gaze. He hummed, as if to encourage you to continue. "Remember when we spoke about Benjamin Bluewater?" You added, voice going quiet at the end. You braved a glance at the Potions Master, who now looked very disappointed. Fuck.

"You were with... Bluewater?" Snape tried to hide the jealousy in his voice. "Why were you with such a scoundrel so late at night?" You flinched at his harsh tone.

"He's changed, Snape, he's not the same troublemaker as he was in school," you sighed, "he's working at the Ministry of Magic, for Merlin's sake."

"I highly doubt a boy such as him can 'change', Y/N." Snape hissed, averting his eyes back to the parchment in front of him. He felt his skin burning with anger as you spoke about Bluewater so casually. Your heart leapt at the sound of your name leaving his lips.

"And how do you know that, Severus?" You scoffed at him. Snape's hardened eyes snapped up to yours, your harsh tone obviously hitting a nerve in him.

"Boys like him do not change, Y/N, they merely manipulate you to think so." He sneered at you. "And a woman like you is an easy target." He added, igniting a once-extinguished rage within you.

"Excuse me?" Your brows furrowed together furiously. Snape stared at you, an icy glare plastered on his pale face. "A woman like me?"

"You are far too trusting, Y/N," Snape bit, baring his teeth as he rose from his desk, "you are a true Hufflepuff. You have no respect for yourself; you struggle with the prospect of being alone so you reduce yourself to be with a lowlife such as Bluewater." The booming of your heart began to deafen you as you listened to Snape's ruthless words, each syllable digging a knife deeper into your chest. "Are you so afraid of the idea of loneliness that you really think you belong with a miscreant such as him?" He spat at you as you spun on your heels, rushing towards his door, the reality of his words becoming too hard for you to handle. You were breathing so heavily that each breath you took was starting to burn your throat, like you had swallowed the thorny stem of a rose.

Your shaking hand hovered over the handle of his office-door, lingering as you debated between running away like you always did, or confronting your fears.

You turned around, facing Snape with glossy eyes and red cheeks, unafraid. "You have no idea what you're talking about." You hissed at him furiously, stalking towards the raven-haired man with such determination that it made him flinch out of surprise.

"Don't I?" Snape mused, returning to his usual stoic and cold demeanour. He stood tall, towering over your shorter figure, his lips curling up into a sneer as he bent down to look at you in your teary eyes. "I taught the boy for seven years, Y/N. You think I do not know him better than you do?"

"I..." You stuttered, snapping your jaw shut as you tipped your chin down, submitting to Snape's cruel tone.

"You deserve better than him." Snape said quietly, softening his tone as he noticed your form trembling with bottled rage and frustration. He pitied you in this moment, in fact, he wished he could save you from such heartache, but it wasn't his place. Not now, not ever.

"You don't know what I deserve, Severus." You bit back in a harsh whisper. Snape's jaw ticked and your chest tightened as his name fell from your lips for the first time in months. He swiftly moved from behind his desk in a sweep, his long, billowing cloak trailing behind him as he stood in front of you; an unusually calm expression softening the cold, unfeeling glare that once laid upon his features.

Snape parted his lips, staring down at you, mulling over his words for a brief moment. "No, I don't," He said quietly, tilting his head at you, studying your distraught eyes. "However, that does not mean I can't usher you in the right direction." He added, clasping his hands behind his back. "It... pains me to see you so... unhappy." You looked up at him, a stray tear embarrassing you as it rolled down your cheek. You quickly swiped it away, and looked away from him, staring at the record player that you had accidentally triggered all that time ago. You felt another bout of tears brim your eyes again as your mind replayed the tender memory of you and Snape sharing such an intimate moment together.

"How did you know where I was that night?" You questioned him quietly, ignoring his previous comment, desperate not to break down in tears in front of the man you had grown to adore.

"It wasn't hard to pinpoint your location when you were screaming bloody murder." Snape replied, a hint of faint amusement lingering in his tone. You huffed at his words, prompting him to quirk at brow at you questioningly.

"Yeah, well," You swallowed thickly, glancing back up at him through your wet lashes. If you asked him any more questions you were certain you'd start hysterically sobbing. "Thanks. Again." You choked out, nodding gently.

Severus hummed at you. He felt unusually warm as the two of you were silent, quietly savouring the rare, peaceful moment.

Your cheeks had pinkened again as you studied his face, your stomach going bananas as your eyes became glued to his. You felt yourself subconsciously leaning towards him, slowly, like the pull of two magnets. Snape's breath hitched in his throat as he watched your eyes drop to his lips, eyeing them hungrily. He hesitated slightly, his mind beginning to race with plentiful amounts of reason as to why he should stop what was about to happen, however, he found himself tossing them to the side, carelessly.

The way the soft, amber hue of the candles illuminated your wet cheeks made you look so fragile, he just wanted to cradle you indefinitely; an aching urge protect you from the outside world. You felt Severus nudge his prominent nose against yours in a gentle, tender gesture; your eyes fluttering at the intimacy. His hot breath was dancing across your face as the two of you grew closer, noses grazing.

Though, before your lips could meet, Snape's office door swung open, revealing Professor McGonagall clutching a candle dressed in her nightgown.

"Severu- oh!" She gasped, watching as the two of you quickly dispersed from each other. "Am I interrupting something?" McGonagall eyed the two of you inquisitively, her lips pouting together. You cleared your throat and clasped your hands together in front of you, blinking quickly. Your cheeks were still scorching hot.

"No." Severus quickly answered, broadening his shoulders as he dared to glance at you. He straightened his posture and averted his attention to his older colleague, staring at her expectantly. "What's the matter, Minerva?" He asked, an underlying tone of irritation in his voice. Your heart fluttered as you looked to Severus, noticing his usually pale face had a tinge of pink to it.

"Black is in the castle." She said with a worried voice, prompting you to snap your head up at Minerva. What? Sirius Black is inside Hogwarts?

Part 10!

oooooo THEY ALMOST KISSED? mcgonagall the cockblock, whoops. i hope you enjoyed another long chapter, please let me know what you thought!! <3 have a great day/night, im about to get some much needed rest :) im so excited to write the next part tomorrow oh my lordddd

taglist:

@a-laufeyson

@emilynissangtr

@livillain00

@meowskii

@nooneeveryonenoone

@vesperbatty

@biggest-simp-eversposts

@881127fara

@freshmoneyalmondathlete

@sonoluvr22

@v3lv3tvampir3

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@camilla-black

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@ms-snape

@captainrogers-19

@once-upon-an-imagine

405 notes · View notes

rubyreduji · 1 year

Text

my boyfriend's in a band — kmg

summary: there are many things you hate about your boyfriend

tags: established relationship, fluff, minor angst, gn!reader, idol!mingyu, stylist!reader, non-linear timeline, they’re so annoying w.c.: 4.2k a/n: based off 7 things by miley cyrus (they’re out of order from the song fyi) but the title references brooklyn baby by lana del ray 🤩🤩

You hate Kim Mingyu. Which is probably a strange sentence to claim when he’s been your boyfriend for two and a half years. The thing is that in those two years you’ve compiled a long list of things you deeply despise about your boyfriend. Some of those include the way he leaves his socks in the living room instead of taking them to the hamper, always forgetting to put the toilet seat down, and his awful time management. Those are just the top of the barrel though and they don’t even go into what really grinds your gears.

Albeit some of it isn’t just Mingyu but rather the air of his job. Some of it truly is Mingyu though. The hatred for the man started even before you were dating, back when you two were just coworkers.

01|

At the shout of your name you look up to see Kim Mingyu approaching. Kim Mingyu is…well he’s a famous idol, and you’re his stylist.

“Good morning Mingyu-ssi.” You nod at him politely. You and Mingyu are complicated. To put it simply, Mingyu is a flirt and even though he promises he “likes you very much” he doesn’t want to do very much about it.

“You know, you don’t have to be so formal with me Y/N.” Mingyu cracks a smile at you as he gets up on the platform for his fitting.

“You’re late,” you say to him, instead of addressing what he said.

“And you’re mad at me, okay,” Mingyu sighs as he starts to pull off his street clothes.

“I’m not going to discuss this with you right now. I have a job that needs to be done.” You move around the room to grab the few outfits you need to fit Mingyu in. When you turn back to Mingyu he’s dressed down to his underwear. If you weren’t used to seeing the man practically naked for your job, you would probably be flustered.

You and Mingyu make little to no conversation as you go through his fitting. You make notes about each outfit before you release Mingyu. As Mingyu is getting dressed he turns to you.

“Y/N. Can we please just talk?”

“About what Mingyu?” You swing around to glare at him. “About how you asked me on a date and then didn’t show up? About how I was waiting for you for two hours before I decided to just give up? It’s been like this for months, Mingyu. I’m so sick and tired of believing in you and thinking that maybe this could be something more than you just messing with me.”

“Y/N, please just let me explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it anymore, Mingyu. Please just leave me be. I get it, I’m nothing more than your stylist who you like to play with,” you sigh.

“I promise I do like you.”

“You can’t use that excuse forever. This isn’t the first time this has happened and you can be cute and flirt all you want, but I’m over it,” you say as you start to put everything away.

For the past few months Mingyu has been playing with you. Flirting and asking you on dates but then not showing up or not even acting like he knows you outside of the fitting room. You’re done with him. You decide in that moment you hate Kim Mingyu, and you’ll never fall for his tricks again.

02 |

The first time you met Mingyu you decided you didn’t like him.

You were young and just started off as a stylist. Getting to work with an idol group like Seventeen was a literal dream come true. That is, until you had your first appointment with Kim Mingyu.

When he first walked in everything seemed…fine. You noted he didn’t bother to introduce himself or catch your name either, but that’s not something you can dwell on too much. The problems didn’t really start until after you started to fit him for his clothes.

“Hmm,” Mingyu hums, looking at himself in the mirror.

“Is there a problem?” You ask, ready with your clipboard to write down any changes needing to be made.

“Can this be sleeveless?” He asks.

You frown. “Uhm, no. The concept requires all the members in matching outfits and it was decided everyone would be wearing long sleeves. Is there an issue with the long sleeves?”

“I just really wanted to show off my arms. I’ve been going to the gym a lot and I think the Carats deserve to see all my hard work.” Mingyu flexes, still looking at himself in the mirror. You roll your eyes, of course that’s the reason.

You did some research on the idol group before starting the job and everything seemed to come up positive for the tallest member. You know he’s one of the main visuals of the group but you didn’t realize it would come with such a cocky attitude.

“Yes well, there will be plenty of other opportunities to show your arms off, but for this particular vision, the sleeves have to stay on,” you inform the idol.

“Shame,” Mingyu mutters. Then he turns to you, finally looking at you for probably the first time since he walked through the door. “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do about it? Do it for me?” He shoots you which you assume is his award winning smile, but your face doesn’t change from the neutral position it’s in.

“I’m sure, Mingyu-ssi.” You’re trying to maintain a professional tone of voice. You know you have a short-temper and it really wouldn’t be the best if you accidentally got too annoyed at the idol.

Everything you saw online talked about Mingyu’s goofy, sweet personality and nothing about him using his good looks to try and get what he wants. Apparently you can’t trust content that’s so heavily curated to build a good image. Who would have guessed?

“But I’m the visuals. The Carats need something nice to look at, and that something nice is me. Do you know how much better this concept would do if I got to show off?”

“I’m sure it would, but our designs have already curated everything and the only changes we can make now are taking it in or out to fight right. So if you could just confirm it fits correctly, you can be on your way and I can move on to my next appointment.”

Mingyu sighs, almost whines, as he stares at himself again. He flexes a couple more times and you finally allow yourself to roll your eyes, as Mingyu’s back is turned to you. This is going to be a long contract period.

03 |

You stare at yourself in the mirror. You frown at your hair, not happy with it for some reason though you just spent an hour trying to style it. You then huff at your reaction, mad that you care so much about putting in so much effort for Kim Mingyu when he’s probably just going to stand you up, again.

You don’t know you even agreed to this date. That’s a lie, yes you do. His stupid adorable pleading face with the big brown puppy eyes that you couldn’t resist because you knew if you did he would whine and you’d feel guilty.

You head out the door and when you exit your apartment building, you’re shocked to see Mingyu standing next to a car. He’s got a mask on, but it’s unmistakably Mingyu. Your heart flutters at the sight of him and you have to remind yourself not to trust him just yet.

Cautiously, approach the man. “I thought we were going to be meeting up at the restaurant.”

“We were, but I wanted to prove to you that I would actually show up. I want you to know I’m serious about this. About us.” Mingyu reaches over to grab your hand in his, squeezing it tightly. His large hands envelope yours easily and you stare down at them. His hands are warm and soft but his grip is firm and leaves tingles against your skin.

You know Mingyu can be charming (it’s why you keep falling for him despite all of the issues that come with it) but this is a whole new level of weaseling his way into your heart. You force yourself to pull your hands out of his, crossing your arms over your chest instead.

“How do you even know where I love?”

Mingyu at least has the decency to look sheepish at the question. “I may have asked Soonyoung-hyung.”

You sigh. Soonyoung once drove you home after a long day at the company building. You felt bad making the idol take you home but he claimed he didn’t mind. You’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing he told Mingyu.

You eventually let Mingyu open the door of the car for you and you slide into the passenger seat. While Mingyu drives you do your best not to stare at him. He’s dressed nicely in a pair of dress pants, a dress shirt, and a blazer. You’ve seen him wear plenty of outfits in a similar fashion, but you’re usually the one putting him in them.

Mingyu made dinner reservations at some place only celebrities can get into. He hands the keys off to a valet when you two pull up and he wraps his arm around your waist to help lead you into the building. You’re glad for your job and the ability to know how to dress or else you would be wildly underdressed right now. Even the hostess is in a basic evening gown, elevating the opulent atmosphere of the room.

After Mingyu pulls your chair out for you, you have to admit that he is being the perfect gentleman and you start to let your guard down.

The doing goes…surprisingly well. You and Mingyu spend the whole night talking and you remember why you keep giving Mingyu so many chances. You can’t help but be drawn to his adorable demeanor. After the first few bumps in your relationship, you’ve realized over time that Mingyu is a sweet guy and you can see more of that side of him tonight.

After dinner Mingyu decides to take you on a walk along the river. It’s late enough that not many people are out. The reflection against the water pairs nicely with the cool breeze in the air and Mingyu’s hand in yours.

“And then my grandma would always-”

“Mingyu!”

Mingyu’s story is cut off with the shout of his name and Mingyu quickly drops your hand. When he turns there is a group of girls running up to you and the idol and Mingyu quickly slips a charming smile onto his face.

Your heart starts to sink as you watch Mingyu interact with the fans, entertaining their questions and taking photos with them. You’re not sure why it’s bothering you so much. It’s his job, of course he has to have a good public presence. It still makes your stomach churn and your throat close up.

When it’s clear that Mingyu isn’t even trying to get away from the group you roll your eyes and start to walk off yourself. It doesn’t matter how much Mingyu claims he likes you or how perfect he acts, he will always be Kim Mingyu from Seventeen, and that will always come first.

You call an Uber home and when you get a text from Mingyu later in the night, you swipe the notification away before going to bed.

04 |

“I think we should break up.”

You look up from your phone to stare at your boyfriend incredulously. You’re sitting on the couch in your apartment, your legs thrown over his lap as you two try to find a restaurant to get takeout from.

You scoff. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

“No, I’m being serious!” Mingyu whines. You’re not sure how he can even be whiny in a situation like this, but leave it to the overgrown puppy of a man to figure out how.

You laugh right in Mingyu’s face, a mix of disbelief and cruelness. “You’re really trying to break up with me? Right now?”

Mingyu straightens his posture in an attempt to get you to take him more seriously. You still don’t. “Yes I am, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped laughing.”

“I’ll stop laughing when you stop being an idiot. Give me one good reason why you’re trying to break up with me, after pursuing me for how long?” You and Mingyu have only been dating a few months and he chased you for nearly a year before getting together. He has to be absolutely out of his mind.

“I just don’t think this is working anymore,” Mingyu tells you, gently pushing your legs off his lap. He stands up, pacing the living room. “I’m always busy and it’s like I never see you unless we’re at work.”

“We’re seeing each other right now. Not at work.”

Mingyu ignores you, talking right over you. “And like we have nothing in common.”

“Opposites attract.”

“And we’re always fighting.”

“We’d fight less if you weren't so stupid.”

“Can you just let me break up with you!” Mingyu shouts. “Stop countering all my points.”

“I will when you give me an actual reason to break up.” You’re starting to get fed up with Mingyu. And he wonders why you two are fighting all the time.

“Fine, you want a reason? You’re neurotic and bossy and mean and always have to be right about everything to the point you never let me win. You’re jealous all the time and I swear I can’t do anything without you breathing down my back and -” Mingyu’s voice finally breaks when he sees the look on your face.

A lump has grown in your throat and you’re on the brink of tears. At some point your arms have snaked around your body, hugging yourself as your fists clutch onto the fabric of your shirt. “Well then. I guess those are some real reasons. I-” You can’t choke out the rest of your sentence, tears starting to stream down your face.

“Wait, wait, no!” Mingyu quickly runs back to the couch. He tries to grab you but you shove him off.

“God, just leave Mingyu. Isn’t that what you want?”

“No, wait, baby, I’m sorry.” Mingyu is still clinging onto your hand even though you keep kicking at him. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t- what the fuck is wrong with you Kim Mingyu?” You’re still crying a bit and your voice is strained as you yell at your boyfriend.

“I don’t know! I just wanted to push your buttons a bit, I didn’t mean to say all those things! Like I mean, they’re all true, BUT that’s what I love about you.”

You stare at Mingyu incredulously, not sure how to respond. “What?”

“I love everything about you, and I love that you’re bossy and possessive and mean. I just wanted to see if you would actually let me go, make sure you didn't secretly want to break up with me, but I took it too far. I’m sorry, I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

You’re still a bit shook by the whole conversation and you glare at the man still trying to cling to you. “Fine, you can break up with me.”

“What? No! I don’t actually want to break up!”

“So? I do. You can ask me out again next week, but this week you’re getting dumped for that stunt. Get out of my apartment.” You stand up and pull Mingyu over to the door. He whines the whole time but you’ve already set your mind to it. “Maybe next week I’ll be done hating you for that.” With that you push him out the door and shut it in his face.

05 |

In the almost year and half of knowing Mingyu, you’ve never seen him this nervous before. He’s basically trembling as he stands in front of you, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his grip. You’re sure he’s bent a couple of stems with how tightly he’s holding them.

His face is red, most likely from exertion of running or walking up the stairs to your apartment, and his hair is a mess. You stare at him with a slightly annoyed face.

“What do you want?” You know your tone most likely isn’t going to help the worried look on his face, but he is bothering you at one in the morning, so you’re not that sympathetic.

“I- can I come in?” Mingyu’s voice is a bit strained and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s out of breath or because he’s about to cry.

You glare at him slightly but still step aside to let him into your apartment. You tell yourself it’s just so he doesn’t bother your neighbors standing in the hallway. Once you close to the door and turn around you come face to face with Mingyu staring at you intently.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your jaw drops. You and Mingyu aren’t even officially dating, let alone on L-word levels. “Excuse me?”

Mingyu also looks a bit stunned. “I- that wasn’t supposed to come out. I, uhm, well so-”

“Spit it out already. If you don’t remember you have work tomorrow, meaning that I have work tomorrow. It’s one am and you woke me up pounding on my door, I’m sure my neighbors heard and now you’re rambling about nonsense so-”

“Can I be your boyfriend?” Mingyu cuts your own rambling off.

You snap your mouth shut. You and Mingyu have only been on a couple dates, and most of them have ended on a sour note. You can list maybe two or three dates where things sailed 100% smooth. It doesn’t mean that you don’t like Mingyu, but you don’t think you two are at a place to be making it official.

“No,” you finally tell him.

Mingyu visibility deflates. “Really? No?”

“Yes really.” You sigh before continuing, “Mingyu, I like you, I really do, but we just aren’t at that place yet. I want to keep dating you but I don’t want to rush into things and put us in a situation that could go sour too quickly.”

“Is this because of Kook?”

You blanch a bit at the question. “Jungkook? What does he have to do with this?”

“I just, I saw you two talking the other day and you two seem pretty comfortable, and I know that he thinks you’re pretty.”

You snort at that. “Jeon Jungkook thinks I’m pretty?”

“Yeah! A lot of people do. I do.” Curse Mingyu’s adorable puppy eyes and soft voice.

“No, this isn’t because of Jungkook. I was actually talking to him about you, you idiot.”

“About me? Then why are you rejecting me? Did I do something wrong? I promise whatever it is I can fix it. I know I’m clumsy and loud and sometimes I forget my manners and I’m a giant idiot but-”

You walk up to Mingyu and grab his face. The feeling of your palms against his jaw makes him shut up. His eyes widen a bit as he looks at you. “You are an idiot, but I unfortunately like it. You need to learn how to listen though. I like you Mingyu, I just don’t want to rush this. I want you to be my boyfriend, we just need a little more time, okay?”

Mingyu takes a moment but he nods, his face still in your hands.”I just thought that maybe I did something wrong, or there was someone else. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, okay? And stop being insecure, it’s not a good look on you. I like it when you’re a bit cocky,” you admit.

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

You let go of his face and roll your eyes. “Not too cocky though. Now c’mon on.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“Bed? It’s one am.”

“You’re letting me stay the night?”

“Do you not want to?” You cock your hip, sending him a pointed look. “Aren’t you the one always begging to cuddle.” That gets Mingyu moving, quickly scooping you up and carrying you to your bedroom.

06 |

“Gross,” Chan mutters as he watches Mingyu place a wet kiss on your temple. You also cringe a bit at the feeling, wiping the saliva off your forehead.

“Aw, leave them be Channie, they’re in love,” Jeonghan coos.

You roll your eyes. Working with Seventeen and dating Mingyu means you’re around the boys all the time which means you’ve also become susceptible to all of their teasing. Instead of addressing the other two, you move over to where Mingyu is now trying to put charms in his hair.

“Stop that,” you tell him before dropping the charms back onto the table.

“Isn’t your job to make Mingyu look cute?” Joshua asks as he messes with his own hair in a mirror.

“My job is to make Mingyu look nice. He doesn’t need to be too cute, the Gyuldaengies are already too obsessed with him.” You reach up to brush Mingyu’s hair out of his eyes.

“Awww, you’re jealous,” Soonyoung teases and everyone else starts to join in.

“You’re all jerks,” you grumble.

“Yeah, leave my partner alone!” Mingyu steps up and you scoff.

“You’re the worst of them all!” You give him a playful shove. “You entertain the fangirls too much.”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do!” Jeonghan pipes up again, always the instigator.

“It’s because he likes seeing you jealous,” Joshua snickers. You glare at your boyfriend who doesn’t look guilty at all.

“Oh don’t act like you don’t also make Mingyu jealous,” Jeonghan says.

“I do not!” You shout. All of the boys give you a look and you glare at them. “I hate all of you.”

07 |

It’s been months, months, since you’ve seen your boyfriend in person and you’re practically bouncing off the walls waiting for him to get back. Seventeen has just wrapped up their latest tour which means you can finally have your boyfriend back to yourself and you can’t stop seeing thirst posts about him on your social media feed.

Normally you would have just gone on tour with them, but then a family emergency came up and you had to sit out. It’s been driving you crazy not seeing your boyfriend everyday and you've been irritable in the past few days and you know it’s all because of Mingyu’s absence.

You pace around the room anxiously. You know they’ve landed in Korea already (nearly an hour ago) which means he should already be here but he isn’t and it’s starting to piss you off. You know there’s probably traffic or paparazzi or something annoyed because he’s an idol and he has to be good for the cameras but really he should be dropping everything and rushing back to you.

You don’t have to wait too long because soon the door is opening and Mingyu walks in. Your heart pounds in your chest at the sight of him but it doesn’t stop a glare from spreading over your face.

You’re mad at him. You’re seething with rage and you want to just wring his neck. You stare at him as he stands there and it fills you with even more anger. He reeks of that cheap ass cologne he always buys despite being a rich K-Pop idol and his outfit is comprised of all black but none of his blacks match and it grinds your gears to no end. You’d think after how many years of being dressed by professional stylists and having a best friend like Minghao he would know how to dress but he still apparently doesn’t.

Your blood is boiling as you approach the man and you don’t even let him speak before you grab him by the collar and pull him into a searing kiss. His lips taste like orange Fanta Lip Smackers and that too makes you angry, just because it does. You don’t pull away from the kiss though, pulling him further into you. He doesn’t complain as he holds you tight against him, kissing you back just as passionately.

When you finally do pull away you’re panting and a frown finds its way onto your face. “You need a haircut.” Your fingers tug at the grown out hair at the back of his neck.

Mingyu snorts. “You know the Carats like my hair like this.”

“Yeah sure,” you mutter.

“You’re so jealous,” Mingyu teases. “You know you’re the most important person in my life.”

“And you’re the biggest pain in mine,” you retort.

“Aw jagiya, I love you too,” Mingyu coos. “Now drop that grumpy act, it won’t work on me anymore. You think after being apart for so long you’d be nicer to me.”

“That’s why I’m so grumpy,” you grumble. “I hate you, you know. If you didn’t make me love you so much I wouldn’t miss you as much.”

Mingyu giggles. “I’m so sorry, I’ll be more considerate of you and your feelings in the future.”

“You should be! Call me more.”

“I won’t have to call you, because I’m here now. You have me all month.”

“A whole month?” Your face finally lights up and Mingyu smiles back and nods. “Just to myself?”

“Just to yourself. Though…I thought you hated me,” Mingyu teases.

“I do. But now you have a whole month to remind me why I love you too.”

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991 notes · View notes

sundrop-writes · 8 months

Text

Ghosting

Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Mike has been in love with you for as long as he can remember. For about as long as the two of you have been best friends. He always thought he would have more time to work up to confessing those big, dangerous feelings for you - until something more dangerous swooped in and stole any time he had left with you.

Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader. Star-Crossed Lovers. Pure Angst. Set during the events of the movie (and features spoilers for the plot).

Word Count: 3,700

Horror Characters Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this fic contains major spoilers for the film - so if you haven't watched it yet and you're just here for Josh Hutcherson being sad and beautiful (and if you want to watch the film unspoiled) be warned; this fic does use Y/N; this fic is almost pure angst - the beginning is fluffy, but that only exists to make the angst hurt more; this fic does not have a happy ending; hurt, no comfort; this fic has mentions of Mike's past traumas and him having symptoms of PTSD; the reader is a mother figure to Abby; Mike refers to the reader as his 'wife' (in his mind, not in dialogue); Mike is in love with the reader (and it's implied that she knows this/can sense his feelings) but he doesn't get a chance to actually confess to her and they aren't in a romantic relationship at any point during this fic; (uh, kind of spoiler for the fic but this was in the prompt/request) - major character death: the reader character dies after being stabbed by Springtrap/William Afton/The Yellow Rabbit (gotta love fnaf - when a character has that many names); mentions of blood; descriptions of violence - descriptions of the fight between Afton and Mike, descriptions of the reader being stabbed by Afton; Abby is there to witness the reader's death; idk what the other warnings are aside from major angst - this will be an emotional gut punch. Anyway, please enjoy it lmao.

A/N: The title of this fic comes from the song Ghosting by Mother Mother. I was listening to different songs trying to pick a title, and I really like how this one fits. How their romantic love was like a ghost in their lives - not discussed, but felt between the both of them, and after she's gone, she becomes a ghost in his life.

...

Mike woke up to the smell of pancakes.

Typically, mornings were his least favorite time of day. Seeing as he was the kind of person who didn’t sleep well, didn’t sleep at all, or found himself consumed by nightmares when he did - most mornings, he was too tired to comprehend the world around him. Mornings were a chaotic mess for him as he tried to pull himself back from the brink of insanity while operating his sluggish body with far too little energy until he got some coffee into his system. He came to resent mornings, as for him, they existed only in a dreadful haze.

And he rarely ate a proper breakfast because of it. Most of the time, his ‘breakfast’ consisted of a large cup of coffee and a few pieces of Eggo waffle that he would snag off of Abby’s plate going out the door as he scolded her for not finishing it all.

The second that the pleasant smell of freshly cooked food reached his nose, his stomach growled.

Through the sleepy fog of his brain, hearing voices - multiple voices - coming from down the hallway, he realized that it wasn’t just Abby and some muffled cartoon characters from the TV.

“Which one?” Abby posed, her voice bright and curious as ever.

“Personally… I like the red sweater. It matches the red laces in the shoes you picked,” You replied, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the sizzling of the pan.

You were helping her pick out her clothes. Abby would have never wanted Mike’s help on the subject. So often she scoffed at him if he suggested that he could help her put her hair in a ponytail or if he told her that she should put on a jacket if it was cold outside. But she asked you for your advice about clothes because she admired you. She thought you were pretty, as she had told Mike on multiple occasions (not so subtly hinting that he should date you).

Mike heard footsteps thundering down the hallway as Abby rushed to her room to get dressed, likely carting along the clothes you had helped to pick. He distantly wondered how you had gotten into the house before he was even awake.

And then, he remembered - a few weeks ago, he had given you a key to his place.

It was something that had come after he had accidentally locked his own set of keys in the car, his mind jumbled and forgetful after not having much sleep the night before. And with the evening ticking on and the takeout you had picked up for the three of you quickly getting cold in your hands (everyone eager to simply get into the house and eat) - Mike had been hit with the realization that any solutions to unlock the car - the spare key, a metal coat hanger, a phone to call a mechanic - were all locked in the house.

So he had hoisted Abby in through her bedroom window (after scolding her for not locking it) and gotten her to unlock the front door. And shortly after that, he had given you a house key, because generally, you were better with things like that.

You were much more organized - your mind a clear, calm palace compared to the chaos that Mike often found himself swamped in. You were someone who worked incredibly well under stress, and that was why Mike valued you so much in his life. Right from a childhood where the two of you had pulled pranks together and he had been copying your homework, to the time he had leaned on you during the initial stress of Garett’s disappearance - up until now. When he was a messy, disorganized adult who still needed you far more than he was ever willing to admit.

It was just one of the many reasons he admired you so much. You took care of him in ways he couldn’t even put into words.

He smiled to himself as he heard more of your chatter with Abby. Previously, he had remarked that the key was for ‘emergencies only’ - but he couldn’t bring himself to care all too much about the breach of that rule as he tumbled out of bed. Especially when the smell of bacon also reached his nose as he walked to the bathroom.

It was when he was pulling on his pants that he glanced at the clock and realized he was already running on the late side. Not too late yet, but he had to put some urgency in his step. He had somehow forgotten to set his alarm, today of all days, when he would be meeting with a career counselor after the disastrous incident that got him fired from the mall.

He rushed down the hallway struggling with his tie, bringing his usual air of chaos with him. His heart instantly warmed at the sight of you and Abby - you had her sitting at the table, somehow so much more polite and cooperative for you, with a glass of juice beside her plate while you scooped freshly made pancakes onto it.

“You know, usually when most people break and enter, they don’t make breakfast,” Mike commented, his voice cool and jovial as he grew increasingly frustrated with his tie.

He thought he was forming the knot correctly, but it kept falling loose in his hands, causing a deep crease across his brows as he frowned at the fabric.

You giggled at this - both at his words and at his obvious struggle. You put the pan on the counter as you walked toward him, leaving Abby to pick up the bottle of syrup and begin thoroughly drowning her pancakes while you weren’t looking. You knocked Mike’s hands away in that wordless kind of care and began calmly tying his tie.

“Well, I considered going the traditional route, but there’s nothing worth stealing here.” You remarked, playing off the banter that was only built between the two of you after years of friendship. “Plus, The Breakfast Burglar has such a nice ring to it.”

“That makes it sound like you steal people’s breakfast.” Abby giggled.

“I would, if certain little girls didn’t drown their pancakes in syrup.” You replied, not bothering to look over your shoulder at her to know what she was doing. “That’s enough, Abs.”

She rolled her eyes harshly at this, but put the bottle of syrup down and picked up her knife and fork.

Mike grinned widely at this. You were more like a mom to her than their own mother ever was. And the fact that you knew her so well and took care of her without question always brought him joy.

His smile only widened when you smoothed a warm hand down the front of his chest, and he looked down to see a perfectly neat knot in the front of his tie. He felt a tingling swarm of butterflies in his stomach at your touch - something that threatened to spread through him and turn him into a dizzy, lovesick fool. Urgently, he needed to distract himself with something else.

His eyes shifted over to the side table, and he realized that his keys weren’t where he usually threw them down when he got home.

“Have you seen my-?”

Once again, you were two steps ahead of him. More organized than him.

“Keys.” You said, turning around to the counter and holding the key ring up on your fingers. “Your resume, formatted and printed.” You held up a folder that contained this as well. “Your wallet, and breakfast burrito.”

You gathered up his wallet and a warm bundle wrapped in tinfoil - his breakfast. The small notion of caring, the fact that you thought ahead to make something he could eat while rushing out the door - it caused that dangerous tingle to overtake his stomach once again. As you crossed the room and placed all the items in his hands, he had the intense urge to lean over and kiss you - he knew the domesticity was crippling.

You had been his best friend for years, you had helped him take care of Abby for as long as the little girl could remember. You felt more like a wife to him than anybody else ever would.

And yet, you had absolutely no clue how he felt about you. It would have felt like the most natural thing in the world for him to lean over and kiss you goodbye before leaving - just like a husband would do with his wife. But the two of you weren’t married. You weren’t even dating. You took care of him because you were his best friend. Because you had always taken care of him the way a best friend should.

“What would I do without you?” He said, knowing that the pure fondness in his voice could have easily given him away - if he didn’t talk to you like that all the time.

“Hmm… probably run around naked and starving,” You chuckled, shrugging as you walked back over to Abby and sat down beside her at the table. “Now get going. I’ll take Abby to school.”

“Have a good day, Abs.” Mike said, wishing his sister well - only to receive a mindless nod in reply before she went back to chatting with you about something, excitedly telling you a story involving one of her imaginary friends while you watched her with absolutely rapt attention.

He moved toward the door, but he found himself caught up in the sight of you. You were a hero in their little world as you rushed to save one of Abby’s drawings from some syrup that dripped off her plate. When you complimented the picture, she glowed with a smile he hadn’t seen in days.

That was a huge part of it, too. The love he felt for you that grew more agonizing each day. You brought out all the best parts of Abby, as well as keeping Mike himself from going truly insane.

For a single moment, he wondered if he should tell you. He wondered if he should just blurt out the words before running out the door, leaving you to simmer in it. Giving you time to think about it - to yell at him about it later.

It hovered on his tongue.

I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years.

But when you looked over and saw him still standing by the door, he locked eyes with you, and suddenly it was gone again, swallowed up inside of him like a nasty ache that would live there forever.

“Go, Mike! You’re gonna be late!” You said, your voice edging with casual laughter.

You picked up one of the couch cushions and swatted him with it as you walked by to get Abby a paper towel from the kitchen.

No. He would tell you some other time.

Perhaps he wouldn’t work up the courage to tell you at all.

…

He was going to die. He was going to be killed.

And he wasn’t going to get the chance to tell you that he was in love with you.

Strangely enough, that was the one thing Mike was thinking about as he laid on the cold, dirty floor of Freddy Fazbear’s condemned pizzeria. His stomach burned with searing pain as he received another kick from the large, intimidating monster that he knew only as the Yellow Rabbit.

He was going to die. He wouldn’t get to tell you how he felt. He would never get to see you ever again.

He was going to save Abby. He was going to make sure that she got out of here, escaped somehow. And you would take care of her. That thought was a singular comfort to him as he felt one of his ribs crack from the metal (poorly disguised by the foam and fabric around the edges of the suit) colliding with his torso.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The Rabbit mocked him. “I killed your brother, now I get to kill you. Symmetry, my friend!”

“Get away from him!”

Mike almost thought that the intense pain had caused him to hallucinate, or that he had hit his head on the floor hard when he had been thrown down - it couldn’t actually be you.

But he heard your voice, fierce and fiery as ever, defending him as you had so many times before. He struggled to get his head up to look, but he caught a glimpse of the Yellow Rabbit as the strange animal collapsed.

You had picked up one of the chairs, and brought it down over the Rabbit’s head, perfectly imitating something that would have been on Monday Night Raw. Except this was pure wood, not a collapsing chair, and all the pieces that splintered and fell in front of Mike as the Rabbit collapsed were because of the pure force of your hit. The fury of which you defended him and his life.

“Y/N!” Abby yelled your name from across the room.

She rushed into your arms as you stepped over the Rabbit’s prone body, and you swept her into a tight hug.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?” You rushed to ask, brushing her hair out of her face to inspect for any injuries.

“I’m fine.” Abby told you. “Mike-” She then turned to her brother, frantic, and pulled away from you to fall to her knees by his side.

“Mike, what the hell is going on?” You asked, on your knees at his side just as quickly.

You turned him over on his back, inspecting him for injuries now - definitely not liking what you found.

Abby held his hand and he grasped it right back, his head still dizzy from the thorough ass-kicking he had just experienced.

You gasped when you saw blood leaking through his shirt. He grunted in pain when you pressed your hand into the wound, clearly trying to lessen that bleeding.

“What - what are you doing here?” He croaked out.

As much as he was thankful for you swooping in and saving him, he wished that you were safe somewhere else. Anywhere but here.

“Abby left her jacket in my car, and when I went to return it, I saw your Aunt Jane passed out on the floor, and - and, I just had a bad feeling.” You rushed to explain. “Somehow, I figured you’d be here.”

Mike hadn’t exactly told you the details of what was going on.

As close as the two of you were, he wasn’t sure if you would be entirely receptive to the concept of Abby being ‘friends’ with robots that were controlled by ghost children, and Mike somehow feeling connected to his own missing… dead brother by being in this place. He had simply told you that his new job was a night shift at a creepy old abandoned pizza place.

But of course, you were two steps ahead of him. As always.

You pulled back your hand to inspect the bleeding, and Mike groaned again.

“Should I call an ambulance?” You asked, and Mike shook his head furiously.

“No, we have to-”

We have to leave. You have to leave. You have to get Abby out of here, to safety.

All of those words dissolved on his tongue as he watched with utter shock. He wanted to scream as a big yellow hand clasped onto your shoulder from behind, and soon, a pair of large rabbit ears rose up from the floor.

He wasn’t down for the count.

Before he could speak, before he could move, Mike’s throat became choked as he saw your expression shift from the kind concern that you had worn for him many times - to pain. A brutal shock of your own.

The Rabbit had shoved his knife into your back.

A bright pool of red began to form in the middle of your shirt as the tip of the knife just barely poked through the center of your chest.

“No!” Mike shouted, rushing to sit up despite the pain screaming in his body.

He put a shaking hand to the middle of your chest as though it mattered, as though he could save you from this. He hated how warm your blood felt underneath his fingers.

Abby let out a scream beside him. Distantly, in the back of his mind, he felt a pang of guilt that she had to see this. That she would spend the rest of her life trying to get over this.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” The Rabbit mocked him. “It always hurts more when you love them!”

The Rabbit let out a brutal laugh and then yanked his knife from your back, and you released a sharp breath as the Rabbit shoved you toward Mike, causing you to collapse into his lap in a bloody heap.

Somewhere far away, in another world, Mike heard Vanessa shouting from the doorway. Maybe he felt some sense of relief, thinking she would shoot the Rabbit down and this would all be over. But as the Rabbit’s attention was drawn away from him, he turned to where you were draped across his lap, the small pool of red on your shirt now soaked into a large puddle as you sputtered and some of that harsh bright red blood came out the corner of your lips.

“Mike-” You choked out, reaching for him.

“Tell me what to do,” Mike choked out.

His mind was miserably blank. He felt your fingers clutching at his bicep, like he held the key to saving you, like he could restore your life - but his mind was screaming and his chest collapsed in on itself.

You were always the one that guided him. He didn’t have an idea if you didn’t plant it in his head first.

“Y/N,” Abby sobbed.

“It-it’s okay.” You told her, struggling, gurgling, choking on your own blood. You took your grip off Mike, extending the hand weakly to her, and she took it. “It’s g-gonna be okay.”

She let out another harsh sob, and Mike felt his lungs fill with stone.

“Tell me what to do,” He said desperately, not realizing how thick his own voice was, how close he was to breaking down. He ran a trembling hand over your face, brushing away some stray hairs - he hated how cold you felt to his touch. “Please, tell me what to do.”

He thought you might suggest some first aid. An ambulance. Tell him where your car was so he could carry you there, cart you away, get you to safety.

“You-re g-gonna take c-care of her-r.” You told him, shifting your eyes distinctly from him toward Abby, giving her hand a squeeze. “You’re gon-na m-make it ok-ay.”

“Y/N.” Abby cried, thick tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Abby. You’re gonna b-be s-strong.” You grinned at her - your teeth were covered in blood, and it looked as menacing as it did fond. “You’re g-gonna be good for-r M-Mike, right? My little a-artist.”

Abby nodded, more tears leaking from her eyes.

And then, with some gears turning in her head, these words seemingly having triggered some line of thought, she looked up and spotted something across the room. She muttered something about the drawings and leapt up before Mike could stop her. He didn’t have the strength to chase her - he only hoped that she was leaving, escaping while the others were distracted.

When he looked back down at you, your face was falling more limp, and your shirt was somehow even more soaked in blood. His jeans were wet, and he couldn’t even process why. He pressed a hand to the front of your shirt, trying to cover the wound as you had done with him - his muscles shook even harder when blood gushed out between his fingers and seemed to leak from you harder, as if to spite him.

“Y/N,” He sobbed, leaning down. He cradled the back of your head and touched your forehead against his own.

For a moment, he dreamed about putting his lips against your own and bringing you back to life with a kiss. Like some stupid fairytale.

“Y/N, I-”

I love you.

“I - I know.” You croaked quietly, cutting him off. “D-don’t w-waste it on me now-w.”

He felt the puff of your last breath as it expelled out against his cheek - he felt you go completely limp in his arms.

“No-” He choked the word off in his throat, swallowing down sobs.

No.

He held you tighter against him, and feeling how cold you were, he let out a shuddering howl of a sob. He clasped your lifeless body against his chest - somehow believing that he could use the power of his grief to inject more life back into you.

The rest of it was a blur. The deadly snap of springlocks, Vanessa shouting at him to abandon you - to abandon your body as the building collapsed in on itself.

Mike didn’t truly break down until he was scrubbing his blood off your face in the bathroom sink that night. Seeing the red washing down the drain and knowing that it was the last traces of your life he was washing away - that was what truly did it. He collapsed onto the floor and stayed there for hours, sobbing more than he breathed, unable to move.

When his cries finally died down, Abby slowly crept in and asked him how he was feeling. He lied, telling her that he was feeling fine. She raised up a shy hand, offering him one of your sweaters that you had accidentally left on their couch a few days prior.

He thanked her and then finally peeled himself off the floor. He tried to make pancakes and Abby remarked that they weren’t as good as yours. It felt impossible, but her words made him smile. It was a small, dull smile - but it was a smile, nonetheless.

A few days later, when he finally fell asleep for the first time after you had died in his arms, it was with that sweater wrapped around his pillow, wafting your faded smell into his nostrils. It was the first time in years that he didn’t dream about Garett. The dream he had about you was just as haunting.

...

A/N: Also, I don't know if Afton's knife would actually be long enough to go through someone's back and pierce out the front of their chest but - one, it's a cool imagery, and two, the knife looks pretty large when compared to the scale of the Springtrap suit hands. Anyway, I don't actually care all too much if it's accurate or not, I had fun writing this lmao.

#sundrop writes #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x y/n #blood tw #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie fanfiction

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kny-ficsss · 1 month

Text

I'll put the ring on when you ready

Synopsis: Your husband, the cold and calculating billionaire Muzan Kibutsuji, has a tradition that you can’t help but indulge him in.

Characters: Muzan Kibutsuji, black!fem!reader

Pairing: Muzan x black!fem!reader (established)

Setting: Modern AU

WC: 473

Note: The title is lyrics from a song.

Note 2: this is my first time writing for Muzan! Please let me know how I did!

Sitting at your vanity, having already done your makeup, curled your silk press, and gotten dressed, you were ready for whatever the day had in store for you.

Well, almost.

Looking in the jewelry box, your eyes took in the familiar pieces of jewelry you owned: necklaces, bracelets, anklets, earrings and rings. Some were silver but a majority of them were gold, since you liked how they complimented your brown skin. Such as your love ring from Cartier which had the gem of your birthday embedded in it. Just like the earrings you had put in.

Both were presents that Muzan had gifted you on your birthday.

But there was one piece of jewelry that you treasured the most and it wasn’t in its usual place, separated from the rest of the jewelry: your wedding ring.

Where was it? You didn’t misplace it.

And it couldn’t have been stolen.

None of the maids would enter the master bedroom, where you and Muzan slept, without expressed permission from either you or him.

Lest they wanted to incur Muzan’s wrath.

Speaking of your husband…

Perhaps he knew what happened to your wedding ring. Just as you reached for your phone and entered the passcode, you felt a familiar presence behind you, a familiar weight on your shoulders. The hands of your husband. Looking in the mirror, his crimson gaze met your own, his normal cold and gaze, softened at the sight of you.

“Good morning, beloved.”

“Morning, Muzan.”

“Looking for something?” Muzan’s sixth sense of whenever you were looking for something or when you just needed something in general had been unnerving in the beginning of your relationship with him. Just like his silent footsteps. But now, you are used to it.

“Actually, yes. My wedding ring. Do you have it?”

“I do.” His tone was nonchalant, as if he was discussing something mundane, like the weather. “Won’t you indulge me in this tradition of mine, beloved?”

Whenever you took off your wedding ring for whatever reason, Muzan always wanted to be the one to put it back on your ring finger. And if he couldn’t, then it would lead to him being irritable during the day, until he could.

And you could deny him, of course. But you didn’t. There was something intimate about this small tradition between the two of you.

“Of course, Muzan.”

Giving you a soft smile, Muzan reached into the pocket of his suit and took out your wedding ring and slid it onto your ring finger. It was a perfect fit. Like always.

“I adore you.”

“I love you too, Muzan.”

#kny #kny imagines #kny x reader #kny x black reader #black!reader #female reader #reader insert #black!fem!reader #kny fluff #modern au #muzan kibutsuji #kny muzan #muzan x reader #muzan x you #muzan x y/n

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amomentsescape · 5 months

Note

Bro, I love your writing so much and it’s so cool to see some new Gotham stuff pop up on my feed s🥹❤️❤️🥹❤️🥹 if it’s alright, could I please have some fluffy and slightly suggestive headcanons of some Gotham boys, including but not limited to the J squad, with a punk or alt s/o? If you don’t want to do anything suggestive, tho, I totally understand

Please and thank you in advance if you decide to do this ❤️

J Squad + Oswald, Victor, & Bruce with Punk! Reader

Includes: Jerome, Jonathan, Jervis, Oswald, Victor, Bruce

A/N: I hope you enjoy! I wasn't able to make every character suggestive, but I tried my best to make the HC's fit your request!

Jerome Valeska

He loves your aesthetic

Has asked you time and time again to help him get dressed before a heist

Thinks your outfits would not only look badass while murdering people, but they would also help you blend in at night

"Practical and sexy, doll"

Loves when you place your tall, leather combat boot on his leg, asking him sweetly to help you lace it up

He likes to trace his fingers along your leg at this, sometimes going a little too high which earns him a swift smack to the hand

He just lets out a chuckle at this

"I'll get you back later..."

If you're out and about and he notices people looking at you, he immediately helps you embrace it

Will twirl you around in the middle of the street and place a big kiss to your lips

Whispers in your ear how gorgeous and sexy you are whenever he gets the chance

If he's out on a heist and he sees something he thinks you'll like, he'll take it

Even if it steers him off his current mission a bit

Starts having you paint his nails religiously as "good luck"

But in reality, he just likes how his pretty fingertips look wrapped around your neck

Jonathan Crane

This sweet boy is in awe of you

Your edgy looks, your interests, everything

He's never been introduced into this genre before, but you've opened a whole new world for him

Absolutely falls in love with the music you listen to

He just connects to it so well

He also adores being a dress up doll for you

Want to try out a new makeup look on him? Go for it.

You want to see what he'd look like in an edgier outfit? He's ready.

You want to dye his hair a crazy, experimental color? Let's do it!

Seeing him dressed similar to you empowers him in a way

He's used to being hidden in the background, so you pulling him away from that insecurity is like a completely different life to him

Gets extra touchy when you have chokers on

Will softly give you little kisses just above and below the accessory

He's ashamed of it, but he lets his eyes wander for just a little too long when you get all dressed up

He tries to hide it but will turn into a huge blushing and stuttering mess if you catch him in the act

Jervis Tetch

He's definitely intrigued by you

He's used to his world being full of chaotic color and fantasy

But you have this certain edge and uniqueness about you that he hasn't come across before

They say opposites attract for a reason

He feels like you balance him out

You actually help him feel his emotions and openly discuss the things floating around in his head

But of course, being opposites still come with a few disagreements

He finds your taste in music and makeup a little... much

His taste is a little softer and more elegant, but he's not one to judge what you enjoy

He's just tried listening to a couple of your favorite songs and found them scary

He's also not very knowledgeable in this particular genre

So if you bring up something, he'll simply look at you like you've grown a third head

But besides that, he's overall supportive on whatever you want to wear or do

Loves when you both get dressed up together for a night out

It gives him a deep sense of thrill when people look at you both while out

You two may have opposite styles, but your aesthetics are similar in the fact that they don't "fit in" with the public eye

And Jervis honestly loves that

Oswald Cobblepot

You caught Oswald's eye almost immediately when he first encountered you

Something about the way you held yourself drew him in

And when he got to know you?

He was so interested

He wanted to learn more about your clothing choices, the music and art styles you liked, what made you interested in the aesthetic, etc.

He might not share the same exact passion for the things you do, but he will always be very respectful on supporting your interests

He also just finds your look to be super attractive

He doesn't mean to, but he finds himself becoming a little more submissive around you

He's used to throwing out orders and making decisions in his normal day-to-day life

But coming home to you immediately allows him let go of those reigns

You just tell him what to do, and he'll do it

You've accidentally gotten him to whimper a couple times just by complimenting him or giving him words of praise

When you kiss him, you can feel his whole body fall into you

He literally turns into Jello

But he's still an emotional man too, so give him lots of love and attention, and he'll be fully content

Victor Zsasz

Well, obviously he adores how you look

I mean, he wouldn't consider his own look to be punk, but he's aware that he's taken inspiration from the genre in the past

Honestly thinks you two make a badass duo

Even the Zsaszettes admire you whenever you're around

He also likes how easy it is to spot you in a crowd

Not that he stalks you while he's out "working" or anything

He loves your normal outfits of course, but if you wear anything that shows a little skin?

Oh boy, does that dark gleam shine in his eye

He just about sinks his teeth into you (literally)

Victor is known to keep his cool no matter what, but you are able to tell when he really likes a particular outfit that day

A hand on your lower back, a lingering glance, and a teasing smile are all signs

But he also will not hesitate to pinch your butt at the most random times too, public or not

Makes you hold his weapons sometimes because he thinks they make you look even edgier

He also has a thing for any piercings you have too

He's not sure what it is, but he's fascinated with how the cool metal sinks into your skin

He'll play with them too if you let him

He's careful not to hurt you

Unless that's what you want, of course...

Bruce Wayne

He honestly doesn't really think anything of it or notice it much

Which isn't a bad thing by any means

Bruce doesn't judge based on looks, so however you decide to present yourself is just who you are in his eyes

But he also cares a lot about your interests

He'll happily sit beside you and listen to your music, shop with you for new clothes, and come with you for your latest piercing or tattoo

You name it, he's there

If it means a lot to you, then it means a lot to him

But he does think it's pretty cool to have such a badass partner

Has helped you dye your hair a handful of times

He kind of gets a slight thrill from knowing that he's the only one that gets to see all sides to you

People may see you one way when you're out in public, but he also gets to see you when you're at home sleeping in his bed or cuddled up on his couch watching some crazy show he's never heard of

He just likes knowing that he gets all of you

He finds it pretty romantic

Really likes any leather pieces you own

You may have persuaded him to buy a couple jackets based on ones that you already had in your closet

But he especially loves the leather on you

Becomes a bit touchier when you have it on, tracing his hands along the material

He thinks it looks great on you and will definitely let his gaze linger a little longer than usual

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lavendercharm · 4 months

Text

Linger, Chapter 5: Kiss With A Fist/Human Nature

A/N:

Ya'll. Writing this chapter felt like a marathon. But I think I'm ultimately very happy with it. Please let me know what you think!

This chapter is a bit longer, and I think it deserved to be named after two songs because of that. "Kiss With A Fist" by Florence + The Machine definitely fits the first half of this chapter and was one of the first songs I added to my playlist when writing this story, so I knew I wanted to use it for the big public confrontation.

The vibes toward the end are different. I discovered this song earlier this week and haven't been able to stop listening to it, so maybe I'm just reaching to try and justify including it lol. But "Human Nature" by Barrie is what I decided to use for the second half of this. Cause they're spitting facts when they say "Human nature doesn't always come easy" lmfao.

This is far from the end of this story, but it may be a second before you hear from me, depending on how busy the next few weeks are. I say that - watch me turn around and post something this weekend lol.

Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me thus far. I love you and I'm so grateful to know you're along for the ride.

---

Summary: From the moment you meet her, you can't stand Melissa Schemmenti.

Warnings: Strong Language

---

Barbara Howard did not take days off. It was only recently that she allowed herself her first mental health day, and while she could see the benefits, she had been eager to get back to her classroom, her students, her best friend, and even her coworkers. The life of a teacher was unpredictable, and the life of a teacher at Abbott Elementary came with its own unique set of challenges, but Barbara had seen a lot in her decades of teaching. With some hard work, support from her fellow teachers, and the grace of God himself, she had seen and survived it all. Barbara Howard could conquer anything thrown her way.

However, if Barbara had the magical gift of foresight, she might have chosen Monday morning to take her second mental health day in her entire history at Abbott.

As it was, Barbara could not see into the future, and so she entered the teacher’s lounge at 6:30 AM, on the dot. She claimed her usual spot, made herself a cup of coffee, and began sorting through her lesson plans for the week. She enjoyed her few moments of serenity in the lounge prior to the arrival of her more talkative coworkers. It wasn’t unusual for Melissa to arrive a bit later, especially on a Monday, so Barbara thought nothing of her absence. She politely greeted Janine and Jacob as they entered together; she did the same for Gregory shortly after. As the three younger teachers gathered at their table and discussed their weekends, Barbara continued her work, occasionally reacting to what she overheard. And when you entered the lounge, your first time visiting in the morning, Barbara was mildly surprised, but she shot you a warm smile all the same. She noticed you seemed to be a bit tense, but she chalked it up to the fact that you were still very new.

Melissa had talked her ear off about you last Monday, of course, explaining your tardiness and the shots you’d taken at her about her age. When Barb pressed her for details about your confrontation and what you’d said to each other, she simply said, “I took care of business, a’right?”

While Barbara agreed it was unprofessional of you to arrive late, she also knew Melissa better than anyone else in Abbott did; she knew Melissa could take things too far. Melissa was as passionate as they came, which meant she was one of the best teachers at the school. On the flip side, she also had a short fuse. Barbara knew she didn’t have all of the details, but she didn’t think much of it - you were a sub, after all. She expected she’d never actually meet you.

So when you arrived in the lounge for lunch the day after your explosive argument, she was shocked. While skeptical of you, she couldn’t help but admire your tenacity. You’d come face to face with the wrath of Melissa Schemmenti and still returned to Abbott. You’d introduced yourself, and as far as Barbara could tell, you were perfectly polite and well mannered. The displeasure and hostility radiating off of Melissa was felt by everyone in the lounge, but aside from giving her close friend a pointed look, Barbara chose to ignore it.

You’d continued showing up the rest of the week, greeting Barbara every day before taking a seat with Janine and Jacob, as well as Gregory, occasionally. The younger teachers seemed to have taken an instant liking to you, the four of you sharing stories from previous schools or discussing the latest movie releases. You’d even had a good-natured exchange with Ava one morning. The principal had leant against the corner with her phone and talked you through her “roster”, whatever that meant. Barbara was sure she didn’t want to know.

Barbara observed how seamlessly you integrated into Abbott’s social circles - with the obvious exception of the red head who always sat to her right in the lounge. Melissa pretended you didn't exist, which would have been fine if it wasn’t the elephant in the room. Your first day in the lounge, Janine had tried to talk to Melissa about you. She’d turned to Melissa with a huge grin on her face and said, “Man, Melissa, you’re so lucky to have such an awesome sub as your aide.”

Melissa had glanced at Janine over the rim of her cat-eye glasses, and in a sharp tone, retorted, “What sub?” That’s all it took for everyone in the room to grasp her unspoken message: If you value your life, drop it. The only reaction Barbara saw was a sharp flash of your eyes before you turned your back to the older woman and called Janine over, changing the subject.

But last Friday, Melissa caught up with Barbara after the school day ended and explained that you’d just given her two VIP tickets to the Eagles game on Sunday. If there was anything that would help Melissa forgive your transgressions, it was that. Once again, Barbara found herself impressed with you - you took the initiative to make amends and you’d knocked it out of the park. She was happy for her friend. She’d told Melissa, “Just think of how much you’ll be able to accomplish now that you and that young woman can work together. Now, you and Gary go enjoy that ball game.”

A week after your first morning at Abbott, all of the water was seemingly under the bridge, and the staff room could breathe easy again. No one paid much mind to the anxiety radiating off of you. For the most part, the energy in the room was calming as the day began.

The sudden CRACK of the door slamming into the shelves violently ripped the room’s occupants out of their morning zen. It was enough to cause everyone to nearly jump out of their skin. Heads whipped in the direction of the doorway as Melissa’s furious form charged into the lounge. Her attention was initially on Barb, but as she opened her mouth to speak, her eyes locked on you. The blush of fury rose instantly in her cheeks. She ripped her bag off of her shoulder and tossed it in the direction of her regular table, nearly hitting Barbara in the process, and as her eyes narrowed, you could practically see the steam rolling off of her as she hissed out, “You.”

And that’s when Barbara knew any chance of a peaceful morning had gone out the window.

—----------------------

As your weekend began, it didn’t take long for it to sink in that you were well and truly fucked. You completely failed to consider the consequences of your little scheme. There’s no way in hell Melissa wouldn’t be out for blood at the start of the next school week. The smartest thing to do would be to never return to Abbott, move to a new city across the country, and change your legal name. You went back and forth between chastising yourself for being ridiculous, and being so ridden with anxiety that you couldn’t eat. You felt so stupid - what did you think would happen?

Ultimately, you reached a point where you couldn’t handle the crushing weight of what you’d done alone, so you’d spilled to Ava. Her response had been about the least reassuring thing she could have said.

You did WHAT? I didn’t know you were crazy like that! You’re gonna die girl. I’m not even joking. We gotta go out this weekend, cause it’s your last one alive. I’ll make sure you have fun tho. Do you own any latex?

After refusing Ava’s offers to make your last days on earth worthwhile, you spent most of the weekend drowning in anxiety and imagining how Melissa would bring about your demise. You decided you had to do your best to prepare. You literally couldn’t afford to not go back to Abbott, especially after getting your headlights repaired Saturday afternoon. Under the anxiety, you could feel the ember of your rage, still pulsing with a red-hot glow, so you decided to grasp ahold of it. What you’d done was shitty, sure. But compared to smashing headlights? All you’d done was get even.

Seeing as you couldn’t afford to uproot your whole life and leave Philadelphia, the next most logical thing to do was to never be caught alone in a room with Melissa ever again. You were pretty sure this was something you could pull off - you figured you had two weeks left at Abbott tops, and as long as you had kids or other teachers in the same room, you would have witnesses who could recount your violent death should Melissa murder you.

This is what caused you to arrive at Abbott on Monday morning a full hour and a half before you needed to be there. You’d dithered in your car for about fifteen minutes, debating driving away and then talking yourself out of it. Eventually, you braved the outdoors, darting into the building and down the hallways as quickly as you could. You practically sprinted past Melissa’s classroom door - the lights were out, but even though you logically knew she wasn’t in yet, your mind conjured a vivid image of her jumping out of the shadows like a monster in waiting. You slowed down and tried to control your breathing as you entered the teacher’s lounge, and you were immediately soothed to see how many people were already there. Even better, Melissa was absent.

As you passed Barbara, you gave her a hesitant smile. You actually liked Barbara, as much as you can like someone who’s polite and whom you don’t know very well. You figured it may be the last chance you get - surely the woman would turn against you once Melissa told her what you’d done. Janine, Jacob, and Gregory were all sitting at your usual table, and after preparing your morning coffee, you quickly situated yourself in a seat, thankfully facing the door to the lounge.

“Hey!” Janine said, shooting you her adorable, slightly gapped-toothed smile. “How was your weekend?”

“Oh, uh… it was fine,” you said, your eyes darting toward the door as it opened. Not Melissa . “Mostly caught up on chores… had to get some work done to my car, fun stuff like that.”

“Car problems are tough,” Gregory said, spooning a bite out of his bowl of plain oatmeal. “What was wrong with it?”

“Uh…” you hesitated, unsure if you wanted to share what was really wrong. It would inevitably lead to questions and the last thing you wanted was for everyone to know the details of your feud. It was one thing for everyone to know Melissa didn’t like you - there were very few people Melissa actually liked in general. But it was another entirely for them to know she’d smashed out your headlights. Something generic - a bad alternator, maybe - would suffice.

You didn’t even get the chance to lie.

Despite the fact that you could see the doorway, the resounding SMACK of the door slamming open still made you jump. Before your brain knew what it was processing, in stormed Melissa Schemmenti, thick heels clacking on the linoleum tiles. She wore a form fitting pink sweater, the neckline questionably appropriate, and skin tight black pants. Her saint necklaces shimmered from their home on her collarbones. You supposed she wanted to look hot when she killed you.

It only took a moment for her eyes to lock on you, and in that moment you knew things were about to get ugly. To your surprise, seeing the flustered state she was in created a feeling of immense satisfaction. She was furious because your plan had worked. You didn’t even fight the smile that began to find its way onto your lips. The anxiety wasn’t gone, but you relished in the triumphant feeling of landing a critical hit.

“ You,” she hisses, tossing her bag from her shoulder. The tension in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife.

Your eyebrows shoot up, feigned ignorance in your voice as you point at yourself and respond, “Who, me?”

She starts toward you, and everyone else at your table scatters. You’re shocked to see Janine step in front of you, her hands up placatingly. “Melissa-”

“Shut it, pipsqueak, and get out of my way ,” she growls, her gaze over Janine’s head burning holes in you.

“Hey!” You spit out, anger spiking and crowding out your anxiety. You’re suddenly standing. “Don’t call her that!”

Janine turns to you, holding a hand in your direction now too. “It’s fine, she calls me that all the time-”

“It’s not fine!” You shout, fists balled. Your eyes are glued to Melissa’s. “You think you can say and do whatever you want because no one will stand up to you. Well, I’m not going to put up with it!”

“Oh my god, please stop this. I will never psychologically recover from seeing your dead body,” Jacob pleads, wedged between the corner of the room and the fridge for cover.

“Can’t believe I was dumb enough to trust ya,” Melissa growls. “And after all that bullshit about ‘olive branches' and bein’ cordial.”

You smirk. “Oh, right! How was the game?”

Melissa starts forward again and Janine has to physically hold her back. She’s shockingly effective in spite of her small stature.

“Ya know I didn’t get into the game! Gary and I went all the way to the stadium, but you gave me fake tickets! We wasted our whole afternoon and got harassed by security!” she shouts.

“So what are you gonna do about it? Beat me up? Call the cops on me?” you challenge.

A deeply offended look crosses Melissa’s face as her jaw drops. “Are you callin’ me a snitch?” she snarls. She surges against Janine one more time, who manages to keep her back again. “That’s low, even for you!” Melissa says nastily over Janine’s shoulder.

“Oh, that’s low?” You ask incredulously. “Low like smashing someone’s headlights out?” There’s an audible gasp from Jacob in the corner, and you feel the heat of everyone’s gaze turn from you to Melissa, the whole room enthralled by your verbal tennis match.

Melissa glances around her before pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Ya can’t prove that was me!” You thought someone would have to have been born yesterday to believe that; anyone who worked at Abbott knew that’s exactly something Melissa would do.

“Oh yeah, because everyone else here keeps a bat taped under their desk like a neurotic asshole!” you proclaim, throwing your hands up in the air.

“I’ll show you ya stronza- ” Melissa hisses, pushing past Janine and beginning to reach for you. Your arms come up to instinctively protect your face, but before she can reach you, a figure closer to your height blocks your vision.

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” Barbara Howard bellows. The whole room comes to a standstill, frozen in time. Even Melissa has been stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide in shock as Barbara looks accusingly between the two of you. You feel immediately ashamed. “Are you both not grown adults? I cannot believe the absolute foolishness I’ve just witnessed!” She rounds on Melissa. “Especially from you!”

“Barb, she-” Melissa starts.

“I don’t care if she insulted your cooking to your face, you do not behave like catty teenagers! We are professional, grown people! Acting like this in front of your peers? Disgraceful! ”

She rounds on you, her eyes narrowing. “And you. To think that I was beginning to think highly of you. You went to all that trouble to make fake football tickets, just to get back at Melissa? Have you ever heard the phrase ‘An eye for an eye’ ?”

The pit of shame in your stomach is sickening as you slowly lower your arms, your eyes unable to meet Barbara’s. Feeling like a petulant child, you couldn’t help but mutter, “She started it.”

“And now I’m ending it!” Barbara yells. You feel her grip the sleeve of your sweater and pull. You stumble after, seeing her grasp Melissa as well. “You are both coming with me!” The rest of the lounge doesn’t move a muscle as Barbara Howard physically drags you into the hallway.

She marches with both of you in tow, Melissa sending you the nastiest glares she can muster from the other side of her friend. Stopping in front of a classroom full of bright colors and tiny chairs, Barbara turns to both of you. “This has gotten completely out of hand! You are both going to sit in my room and we are going to work through this. I don’t care if it takes all day - you will NOT be allowed out until you can act like civilized adults!” She folds her arms and gestures her head forward. You stare back for a moment, thinking she must be joking, but the woman doesn’t budge. After a moment longer, you enter the classroom. You’re followed closely by Melissa, who stalks to the other end of the room.

Barbara closes her door and pulls down the window blind. She turns to you both, her eyes closed and her shoulders rising in deep, even breaths. Eventually, she opens her eyes, and commands, “Take a seat.”

You glance around and only see chairs for children. You begin to protest, but the look on Barbara’s face prompts you to simply grab the nearest chair and plant yourself in it. Your knees are comically close to your chest and you don’t know where to put your hands. You settle on resting them on top of your knees. Melissa is pacing back and forth, muttering to herself - you guess she gets to ignore Barbara’s request.

“Now,” Barbara begins. “We are going to talk out your problems so we can put this whole mess behind us. Your students deserve you at your best, and you cannot be your best when you’re at each other’s throats!” She’s stern, chastising, and you feel ridiculous. “Where did all of this animosity start? Why are you angry with Melissa?”

You can’t help but scoff because the answer should be obvious. Barbara presses her lips together in annoyance and you quickly reply, “Well, where do I begin? Aside from smashing my headlights out, she’s done nothing but disrespect me since I stepped foot in her room. She was insulting me before she even learned my name!”

“I never learned your name,” she pipes up spitefully, and you whip your head around to glare at her.

“Memory not as good as it used to be?” you retort. A muscle in her jaw jumps out as she clenches her jaw, her face coloring once more.

Before she has a chance to rip into you again, Barbara cuts you both off with a stern, “Knock it off!” She looks exasperatedly between the two of you before pinching the bridge of her nose. “The Lord is testing me today,” she whispers to herself, shaking her head. She turns her attention to the fiery woman across the room. “Melissa?”

Melissa comes to a stop, planting herself and leaning her weight onto one hip. She rolls her eyes, gesticulating wildly as she speaks. “If we’re goin’ back to the start, then first things first, she strolled into my class thirty minutes late. Didn’t even have the decency to apologize.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to!” you protest. “I hadn't even stepped into the room before you were criticizing me. It’s not like I did it on purpose, it was a complete and total accident. And then you started insulting how young and inexperienced I look.”

“I was just givin’ you a hard time, that’s all,” she says indignantly. “How was I suppose ta know you can’t take a joke?”

Your head whips toward her. “And smashing my headlights? Was that a joke?” you retort incredulously.

Her eyes narrow and her tone is venomous as she hisses, “Nah, that was for throwin’ away my school supplies, stealin’ lunches, and callin’ me a bitch.”

You hear Barbara’s sharp inhale and jump to defend yourself. “Those supplies were all broken or unusable! You have so much on your hands with two classes and I was just trying to help you. Also, Janine gave me that lasagna because I forgot my lunch, I didn’t steal anything. You wouldn’t give me a chance to explain myself before jumping down my throat. Not to mention calling me degrading names in Italian!”

Barbara raises an eyebrow and gives Melissa a knowing glance. “Melissa uses gabbortz quite often, it’s nothing to get offended over,” she says, an attempt to reassure you.

Melissa’s eyes dart to Barbara’s as she huffs, “Uh, it’s gabbadost , Barb. And I mighta used somethin’ more… vulgar.” To your disbelief, the red head practically looks sheepish at this admission. Her arms cross in front of her as she shifts her weight, and your eyes are drawn to how the motion causes her cleavage to swell ever so slightly. Feeling heat flood your cheeks, you dart your eyes all over the room, attempting to find something else to fix them on. Luckily, neither woman seems to notice. Barbara’s eyebrows are furrowed in an inquisitive way that suggests she’s waiting for the shorter woman to elaborate. Melissa lets out a puff of air. “I mighta used the ‘P’ word, a’right?”

Barbara’s eyes widen as her mouth drops open in a gasp. “The ‘P’ word? Melissa Schemmenti, you don’t mean-”

“Yeah, yeah, the one I save exclusively for Kristin Marie. That ‘P’ word.” You don’t know who Kristin Marie is, but Barbara looks positively scandalized.

Tearing her eyes away from Melissa, Barbara stands and turns away from both of you, hands on her hips and head shaking in disapproval. As she takes her turn pacing across the room, the disappointed silence from the older woman allows the weight of the last week to settle on you, and you find yourself suddenly exhausted. You lean forward, your head in your hands and the shame rising inside of you like a tidal wave. How did you get here?

“Well, I think you both have been sufficiently horrible to each other,” Barbara says, turning toward you. “Now explain how this has all made you feel.”

You and Melissa groan in unison. “Come on, Barb,” Melissa starts, but Barbara holds up a single admonishing finger to silence her. The Italian woman becomes subdued immediately, and you notice how different Melissa’s reaction is to being silenced by Barbara.

“How has this made you feel?” the older woman presses, her tone of voice a warning to comply. Melissa leans against the wall, refusing to budge. You all sit in tense silence for what feels like an eternity, and you wish the floor would swallow you up. She was using the same tactics on you that you might use on two fighting eight year olds.

Eventually, you can’t handle the tension any longer and you burst out, “I feel totally disrespected!” You look to Barbara and she gestures for you to continue. “I uh… I feel belittled, and like you don’t take me seriously, but I think the worst part is I never got the chance to prove to you that I belong here… you wrote me off before you even met me. I’ve worked hard, and I love what I do, so to have you disregard me right off the bat, just because I made a mistake and I look young… it felt pretty shitty,” you admit, the confession coming out of you in one long rush.

“Especially because… I was excited to work with you,” you add quietly. You’re suddenly enamored with the floor, unable to bring yourself to look either woman in the eye. You feel exposed and vulnerable, and you’re majorly uncomfortable with it.

You’re forced to endure your feelings of discomfort for a few more torturous minutes. Suddenly, your eyes widen in shock as a husky voice meets your ears, and it takes a moment for your brain to process the words.

“I guess I feel a lot of the same,” Melissa admits. You raise your gaze to meet hers, and she’s staring at you intently, the earnestness reflected in her jewel-green eyes making your heart skip a beat. “Felt like you didn’t really care when you were late. Some a’ these kids? They got plenty of adults outside of these walls that don’t really care. That’s the last thing they need here. And then ya walked in and you look so young… I couldn't resist teasin' ya. But then you got me back and I got defensive, and I shouldnt’a.” She shifts her weight, casting her eyes to the floor. “I bought all those supplies with my own money,” she admits. “So seein’ you throwin’ em away, it really rubbed me the wrong way. But… you were right. I was tryin’ to stretch em when there was no more room to stretch. And then seein’ my lasagna on your desk… I know I can be a real hot head, and I took it out on ya and it wasn’t fair.”

As you look at Melissa, her red hair shining under the fluorescents and her evident unease at her own candor, there’s a swelling feeling in your chest and a warmth slowly spreading in your limbs. “Melissa,” you say, and her head snaps up to meet you. You search her eyes, waiting for her to snap at you for using her first name. She doesn’t. She simply waits, holding your gaze, and you can’t quite read what’s behind her eyes, but you suspect it’s something far softer than she’s shown you before.

You allow yourself to swim in those emerald pools for just a second longer before you admit, tenderly, “I’m sorry.” You see her shoulders drop ever so slightly, tension releasing as she allows your words to sink in. “I’m sorry for what I’ve said about your age. I’m sorry for throwing your things away without asking. And I’m really sorry about the Eagles tickets. That definitely wasn’t my finest moment.” You say the last bit with a touch of humor. You pause for a moment, before adding, “I’m not going to apologize for the lasagna, though. Janine insisted on giving it to me, and it was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever tasted.”

You see her eyes widen, her brows raising in surprise. A genuine satisfied smile graces her lips, and you can’t help but momentarily wish things had been different over the last week so you could have seen more of those. That smile made her entire demeanor change.

“Well,” she says, eyes flashing with her own humor. She shoots you a sly grin, and you return a small smile of your own. “If I’m bein’ real with ya, I’m impressed. Fake tickets? Pretty diabolical,” she continues, admiration in her voice. Her smile fades, though, and she brings her hand up, pressing a knuckle to her lips briefly in thought. She sighs, murmuring, “I’m sorry too. I shoulda given you a chance before jumpin’ to conclusions. And, uh… I’ll pay for ya to get your headlights fixed.” She mutters that last part, and you notice that she didn’t apologize for smashing them - but you know it’s as close as she’ll come, because you’re not sure she entirely regrets it. You’ll take what you can get.

“Thank you,” you murmur, and once again you suddenly can’t look at her anymore. Luckily, Barbara draws your focus to her as she clears her throat. You both look toward the older teacher as she stares down at you, a smug, triumphant smile dancing across her full lips.

“Now, was that so hard?” She asks, her voice teasing both of you. For the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe fully again. Melissa rolls her eyes, pulling herself away from the wall, but you detect a hint of relief radiating off of the woman as well.

“Don’t expect us to hold hands or nothin’ Barb,” she says as she heads for the door. When she reaches it, she pauses and turns to you. She considers you for a moment, and you begin to feel warm underneath her gaze. Finally, she says, “Well, ya comin’? We got lessons to plan for the day. How do ya feel about teaching Science?” Her tone is gruff, commanding, no nonsense. The carefully curated tough exterior of Melissa Schemmenti is back in place. But you’ve seen the slightest glimpse of the human being underneath.

“Right behind you,” you reply, and a tentative grin breaks out across your face as you stand and begin to follow the short woman. You pause briefly though, a thought entering your mind, and you turn to Barabra. Your hands grasp each other behind your back as you rock forward onto the balls of your feet, and you convey your gratitude by giving the older woman the warmest smile you can muster and uttering, “Thank you, Barbara.”

She returns your smile, her own radiant and warm, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve been blessed a bit. “My pleasure, dear. Go on, I’ll see you at lunch.” You nod in agreement, and turn on your heel, following after your lead teacher. You’re not friends - seeing as your time is limited at Abbott, you don’t imagine you ever will be. But you feel lighter, and there’s a newfound respect for the short woman. And for the first time since you stepped foot inside Abbott Elementary, you feel excited for the day before you.

-------

A/N:

Yes, I'm sorry, Gary will be briefly mentioned/perhaps even making small appearances. Stay strong lol. Controversial opinion but I don't hate Gary. Did I think he was good enough for Melissa? HELL NO. Do I think he should have respected her wishes and listened to her when she explained her boundaries? HELL YES. But ultimately he was just a big dumb guy who was infatuated with Melissa Schemmenti, and to that, I relate. Still, I wasn't mad about that split.

Fun fact - if you've watched season 3 episode 4 already, I wrote the Ava roster line before that episode aired. I died laughing when the kids were talking to Gregory about his roster. We don't need to talk about the firefighter exchange... denial is my favorite state.

#melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #Spotify

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lastoneout · 1 month

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Making this it's own post bcs I don't want to detract from the racism discussion on the last post I reblogged(and also this is rambly as hell, sorry) but like I always find the critique that "x genre of music is only about drinking, sex, and violence" wild bcs....almost ALL music in every genre is about that?? Like with rap/hip-hop it ofc this argument ties directly back to racism but even with other genres that get shit on like country people are like "they just sing about getting beers with the boys and driving their trucks" like???? Yeah, I could grab 50 songs from other genres that are about that and beloved regardless??? Getting beers with the boys is a fucking cherished meme on this webbed site!! Or that one Ed Sheeran song people roast all the time like "how dare he write a song about finding his girl's body attractive" bro, are you new here. 99.9% of popular music is "my partner is really hot and I want to have sex with them" and that's like the ONE song of his I know of that's just about fucking like he writes about other stuff, people just ignore those bcs it doesn't fit the narrative of him being a shallow misogynist everyone here loves to drag around and beat like a dead horse.

Why is this a bad thing when people you don't like do it, but fine when the people you do like do it, huh? Hozier is one of the most popular artists out there rn, this site worships the ground he walks on, and yeah his music has a lot of layers of poetic meaning but a lot of it is just about sex and falling in love and violence and drinking. The two are not mutually exclusive!!

Which is kinda the root of it, them not being mutually exclusive, bcs imo even if a genre was entirely saturated with songs exclusively about drinking and sex(which no genre is, you just haven't gone looking for the other stuff), I just don't think that's a problem or means the music is bad or less artistically meaningful?? I genuinely don't think there's a damn thing wrong with writing a song or twelve about finding someone attractive or talking about the violence a lot of people live with every day of their lives or even just churning out a fun party anthem for people to play while they get white girl wasted at a tailgate. Who cares if the art is shallow, why does it have to be "deep" to be worthy of respect, and why does deep and worthy of respect mean "no sex, violence, or drinking", three things that have been part of the human experience since we fucking became humans!

Honestly if you really are looking down on rap and country for being about sex and drinking and violence I want you to ask yourself why you think some artists should be denied the right to write about shit everyone else is writing about all the damn time to massive critical acclaim. Why should black people and rural poor people and women(bcs this is also a critique I heard a LOT aimed at female pop stars) be denied the right to explore the full spectrum of human experience and emotion in their art. Why do they HAVE to tell stories about something else to be taken seriously when their fellow artists can churn out entire albums full of songs about sex and violence and partying and not have anyone bat a fucking eye.

And, on top of that, please ask yourself why you think that something can't be deep while being about sex, drugs, partying, and violence. Bcs that is some fucking discount moral panic bullshit that needs to get knocked out of your head before it festers and you start insisting people who like horror are weird because violence can't be art.

#sorry been sitting on this one for a few days in my head and decided to get it all out #music

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howdoesagrapewrites · 6 months

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𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐕 ✴️

Taglist: @faespace @baellabass @ejs398

Plot: Imagine being the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen, and having a very devoted family.

Cw: incest/targcest, yandere/lovesick behavior, unhealthy relationships, platonic and romantic yanderes, not everyone is romantically involved with reader, yandere EVERYONE x reader, sexual content, no actual smut, mentions of noncon

>Alicent and her children had been guarding your sleep the whole night, the night of the king's passing

>Aemond saw his mother just observe you while displaying an unreadable expression, he prides himself with being able to decipher people and use it to his benefit, but this time, his mother seemed out of reach to him. If he had to guess, she was attempting to treat you like a pawn, trying to dehumanize you to gain control over the political situation, and she was failing

>For his part, his thoughts while observing you, were much tainted he was watching your chest rise with every breath, examining your boobs and how they would slightly change shape when you laid on your back, much rounder. He would love if his mother and sister left to grope and caress, even just over the cloth, even for just a minute. Just a minute to smell your skin, your natural scent now free of the perfumes you would wear to fit in court

>He would love to have a minute, but he wants a whole life, Aemond is sure not even growing old with you would leave him satisfied, he would look for you again

>He wondered what would you think of him, he has a plethora of fantasies depending on your reactions. The most obvious one, disgust. He would cage you his his arms, hold your wrists with one hand while using the other to rid you of the bothersome clothing, sucking and biting at your neck, then your niples. You resist, but he is able to bring you pleasure regardless, some of your screams turn into moans and by the time he's kissing below your navel and starting to use a finger to play with your slit, your pleas of "no" and "please do not" are almost automatic, you do want him to go down on you, but you continue to chant the words as if to preserve what's left of purity

>But that fantasy would soon get old, he wished to exert power over you, yet have you willingly submit

>If you could only look at him the same way that you used to while consoling him over his lack of a mount

>Helaena was there as well, Jahaera and Jahaerys had been brought by her, but taken to bed by the maids in no time

>Helaena sung intelligible songs while playing with the threads in-between her fingers, for the little audible parts, Aemond heard the songs speak of dragons, swords, fire and blood

>His mother had arranged for Aegon to usurp the throne, he would never say this out loud, he knows his brother is a usurper, but he encourages this, as he wants the strong bastards away from the line of succession as one can be. Better off dead, but that's too much to ask

>Everything was in place, except for the king. Aegon was missing, «of course Aegon was missing» he thought

>Otto wanted to send ser Criston to find him, but Alicent protested it would leave you alone. They went back and forth until Otto said they would entrust Daeron with your guard. Aemond rolled his eye.

>Helaena had left without him noticing, possibly to mother the twins and whatnot

>He was in his mother's chambers, Otto alongside her, discussing the future of the realm. «This is the real small council» he said to himself

>"I will find Aegon, mother" said Aemond

>"That is already taken care of, Ser Criston will not rest until-" Otto spoke

>"He doesn't know where Aegon is, I do"

>"Then speak at once, boy" Aemond grimaced at the words of his grandsire

>"I am not to speak, I am to search, this is matter that requires involvement" he paused "But I want something"

>"We shall send Ser Criston, you will join if he fails"

>"And waste all that time? He may be as well as dead halfway through ser Criston's crusade"

>"Name your prize" Otto replied, breathing defeat in every syllable

>"You will hear it after" Aemond saw Otto arch an eyebrow and open his mouth to speak "Do not worry, I have no interest on the crown, or land, or titles, I would have acted before had been that my goal" His mother urged him to speak, but he had to remain silent, he was sure she would understand

>Him and the royal guard were underdressed in rags to blend in, Aemond wore a cape to cover his silver mane

>He had to endure the obnoxious Cole knocking on every brothel door like he was a lost peasant

>He was very uncomfortable when he found the madam of that one place, staying stiff and shivering under his cold facade

>He thanked the seven you could not see him like that, weak

>Once they found the White Worm, she said the prince would be handed over a ridiculous sum that they bargained

>But before they could leave with Aegon, he remembered something. The White Worm weaves silk through far and wide in the realm. The White Worm who is the paramour of the prince of the city, the White Worm that could have been your mother

>Aemond would order extra vigilance on you that night, while Misarya was known to be a slimy, untrustworthy woman, she had never been known to betray Daemon, or to betray gold for that matter, and Daemon was not going to skimp on you

>He had to say he was anything but surprised when he learned of that idiotic scheme of his brother to leave the city. Aemond imagined he'd waste his small fortune on whores as soon as he arrived, feast with men who are just waiting for him to surrender his better judgement to a glass of wine, then steal whatever is left. He always thought Aegon would likely die with his pants on his knees, possible covered in vomit and other fluids, choking on a chicken bone, or something as meaningless as a cherry pit, his women would steal his gold and he'd die slowly, lonely, pathetically, he had to say the idea did not displeased him too much

>But then, he could only cash his prize if he retrieved him, in one piece no less

>Aegon had returned, being almost locked up in his chambers, and the death of Viserys continued a secret to the world until the preparations for Aegon's ascension were finished. By the third day, the corpse of his father started to stink, he had already been rotting in life, and death was not stopping that. He looked at the king, he found him graceless, he had nothing, he was an absent king and absent father, Aemond would do better if he had the chance

>A couple hours after Aegon's arrival, you had woken up, almost immediately you were taken from your room and (to your perspective) randomly put on another, the maids insisted it was for your safety, and you decided to not waste a breath asking them questions that were for someone else. You wanted to see Alicent, and you wanted to see Viserys

>No one would give you answers, and you had no way of communicating with your family, not your father or even your family in the castle, for that matter, you only had ser Criston as a form of familiarity, not even your usual maids were to be seen anywhere. Even though you did not wish to think of it, it was probably because Aegon had chosen them to place his "affections"

>The second night you were awake and isolated, you commanded sir Criston to come into your room and talk to you, give you whatever detail of information he had. He refused again and again, with excuses of how he answered to the queen only, how he was to the door to protect you, how it was improper

>But he ended up giving in

>He told you all he could say, was that the king had died, and that now a conflict of ink and ravens was arising

>You wept the lost of your uncle, and (awkwardly) ser Criston put a hand on your shoulder, ghosting over it. And he told you to fear not, you were in good hands

>You wanted to believe him, you did

>Back to Aemond, he had come to speak with his mother as soon as he was done arranging your room transfer. He felt accomplished by commanding, especially when commanding for your well-being. Alicent knew what Aemond would ask for, and she had tried to ready herself to hear it

>"I want lady Y/N, wed her to me" he did little to stop the smile growing on his lips

>Alicent could have said many things, but she just asked her son one thing. "Do you understand the consequences, Aemond?"

>He nodded, he did not care, if the consequences of taking you were fire and blood, so be it. Never in the seven kingdoms had existed a more lovely lady, and Aemond was only blind in one eye

>He wanted to marry her before Aegon's crowning, and he had threatened to get the supreme septon to do it in secret if he had to, he was smart, and knew it was just a matter of time before Daemon and Rhaenyra caught wind of everything, and he will not lose you

>Daeron had come to face him, Aemond never thought he had the balls to do it

>Whining about his lack of honor, how he was stealing their cousin, dragging them when she was practically engaged to him already

>Aemond let his anger simmer, he smiled while the boiling blood warmed his body, the delicious liquid reminding he was alive, he lived for the taste of rage, his or from others

>"Worry not, little brother, you can now take your vows as a white cloak, so you can become my wife's sworn sword and stand behind her door when she and I share our bedchamber"

>Daeron reached for his sword, he did the same

>"Uh uh, are you sure?" He teased while Daeron seemed on the verge of tears (sadness, ire, who knows)

>His younger brother simply walked away from him, in shame

>You were losing your mind in confusion, and no tantrums from you were enough for the servants to let you leave your chambers to visit Viserys' corpse

>So imagine your surprise when the maids came with shiny new silks, to dress you for your wedding day

>Two ladies, one named Olivya Swann and one named Celesse Hightower, announced themselves as your new ladies in waiting. They said your measures were needed to confect a wedding gown for you, you refused to strip until they spoke and told you what was going on, you felt bad for them, as they were clearly not the ones to blame for the mayhem

>It took a while, the maids genuinely did not know much, the orders came from above and they obeyed. But it was Celesse who finally broke down. They were sent to aid the preparations for your wedding to prince Aemond

>You had to sit down on the bed, your head was spinning around, now there was nothing to do, you were a prisoner in King's Landing. And it was easy to put two and two together, they were not planning to bend the knee to Rhaenyra, and you were there as a pawn in their twisted game of chess

>You yelled at the women to leave you alone, and despite their attempts to calm you down, you ordered them to go. You knew they would come back later, but you simply could not stand there like nothing was happening

>How could Alicent allow this? If they wanted to marry you to the greens, why Aemond? It was clear you and Daeron had far more in common, and comments were made about betrothing you to him, why Aemond?

>Aemond was cruel, and you could never decipher what he wanted from you, he took pleasure on hurting your family, and you were further perplexed on why would he want to marry a bastard

>Maybe he was being forced to marry you too, it would have made you almost sympathetic if it were not for his previous actions

>You tried to sleep, you layed fully dressed on the bed without covering yourself with the blankets

>You dreamt of nothing, and were awaken once again by the maids looking to measure you

>They came in, and helped you undress as to avoid the measures be altered by the thick of your clothing

>You were sleepy and docile, allowing them to carefully place the meter in your waist, bust, hips and shoulders, they also measured your arms

>Olivya presented you with squares of several luxury fabrics, one stack was several shades of white, and the other was a similar amount of shades of green.

>You did not let the opportunity slip, this would probably be the one choice you would have on your marriage

>You made your ladies show you each and every square of fabric, you took all the time in the world. Finally, the chosen ones were pearl white with emerald and laurel green. The colors reminded you of your dragon, you missed him so much, but the gods only know where he could be, he was too large for the dragonpit and therefore set free, he would have come to your calling once you left with your family, that was what was supposed to happen

>You spent three more days locked away, at least you had Olivya and Celesse now. Celesse came from Oldtown, she was the daughter of Hobert Hightower, you made her tell you stories of Daeron, as you were unable to see him. You fondly smiled when thinking of him, your dragon knight

>Olivya was from the stormlands, but she had been raised in King's Landing, as her uncle was serving in court, and she was brought to keep company to princess Helaena

>You told them of Pentos, then of Dragonstone, you told them of your little brothers, so small and cute, you also told them about dragons, you told them about your home, in all its meaning

>Three days after the measuring, the wedding gown was ready, you were amazed, and wondered how many people had been working in full speed in order to complete such an intricate piece in so little time. There was pearls and little gems embroided in the translucent sleeves, a green dress, a beautiful Hightower green dress

>Celesse spoke highly of your soon-to-be husband, telling tales of his skill with the sword and his intelligence

>Olivya told you you would enjoy married life, that the prince was a fine suitor with "admirable manners"

>You remained silent, luckily, your saddened face was covered by a white veil

>What you saw could hardly be called a ceremony, there was Alicent, Aemond and a septon. You slowly walked towards the altar, and recited the vows you had learned when fantasizing as a little girl, none of your fantasies happened this way

>Like always, Aemond was unreadable, and you did not care to try to read him anymore

>There was no feast, no celebration, nothing remotely similar to the wedding ceremony of a prince

>Like everything around the castle, it was rushed, poorly done and with second intentions behind it

>You struggled to look at Alicent, she was dear to you once, but now you debate whether should you trust her

>During the dreaded wedding night, you expected Aemond to humiliate you, to take you by force and call you names, to degrade you

>Anxiety pooled in your stomach, and your eyes burned as you tried to hold tears in

>But instead, he kissed your hand and laid next to you, not even touching you

>You must disgust him, he was forced to marry you, and he has no interest in you, you thought you found yourself in the position of Rhea Royce

>But you could speak plainly to Aemond, you always had

>"An unconsummated marriage can be easily annulled" you pointed out

>"You don't sound at all aroused with the idea, you appear hardly seductive" Aemond replied

>Aemond sat down on the bed, you copied him

>"I am not Aegon, I found screams for help less than enticing. Besides, you would never love me if I raped you" he stated as if he was talking about his day

>"Who says I love you now?" Maybe you should have not been so bold, but you were

>"We are married, you'll learn to do it eventually"

>"As humble as ever. Then let me ask why I should I love you, and you are free not to"

>"I love you, Y/N" you could feel the scorching heat coming from his eye, the sapphire shone in the candlelight. You were speechless, it would have been hard to believe if he wasn't gazing at you so intensely, he carefully took your hand in his

>"You have not acted as such" was the only thing you thought to answer

>"I am not Daeron" your eyes widen in shame. It is not unfaithfulness, yet shame makes you feel as if it is "But again, you have not treated me like you treated Daeron, have you?" He knew what he was doing to you

>"He never called me a bastard"

>Despite the topics of conversation, you both remained calmed, vulnerable in the cocoon of the sheets, your hand was still intertwined with his

>"Neither have I" he squeezed your hand a little

>"But you continue to humiliate Jace, Luke and Joffrey for it"

>"And I paid with my eye. And with you" you look at him confused after he says that, so he continues "After I bonded with Vhagar, you pushed me away, you never forgave me for it"

>"You never asked for forgiveness"

>"And I will not, not for what I did, but perhaps the way I did it"

>You and your husband talked for what it felt like days, for what it felt like years of lost time

>By the hour of the nightingale, you felt like you married one man and now lay with another. Despite his hardened exterior, you now smile at Aemond the way you did once when you were children

>"We still have time to make this wedding night exciting, my lady wife" he smiled mischievously, you looked at him with slight distrust, hoping he was not expecting sex after all that heartfelt talk "would do me the honor of flying with me?" You smiled

>"Dagahrion is not here"

>"There's plenty of room in Vhagar, I ride the largest dragon in the world"

>"You clearly have not seen mine lately" you teased

>"I suppose we'll have to clear that matter once he returns"

>You dressed up and sneaked into the dragonpit, this kind of mischief made you think of happier days, made you forget about the mess

>You missed Vhagar, she used to be Laena's, and she remembered you

>You rode with Aemond until sunrise, in that moment it was just the three of you. No marriage, no usurpation, no conflicts, nothing but the wind in your faces

>Until you had to come back, and you found the preparations for Aegon's coronation being set in place

>"This is outrageous, disgraceful, illicit! This is simply- this is bullshit, Aemond!" You shouted to him once alone "Aegon will be the worst king since Maegor and you know that"

>"I am not the one who sat him on that throne, don't you shout at me for it"

>"It's true, but you are not doing anything to stop it, Rhaenyra should be crowned"

>"Of, course, then Jacaerys Strong can become protector of the realm" he snickered sarcastically

>"May his father be Ser Harwin, Laenor or the damn mushroom, we are sure he is of Rhaenyra and that is what matters"

>"If he was born of Rhaenyra's husband then it truly would not matter if his sire is mushroom or whoever may he be, he is a bastard"

>"So am I! Appoint me leader of the bastard council If you want, because I will defend his claim to the throne, Rhaenyra is the heir and you and I know Aegon is a depraved drunk"

>"Bastard or not, you are my wife, and I will not argue anymore, you are mine now. And when you are called, I want you pretty and smiling when witnessing his coronation, because your husband says so" you had not even realized when he had caged you against the wall, his eyes burning with rage. No trace left of the man you spent last night with

>"Yes, my prince" was all you said. He nodded, kissed your forehead and left the room

>Your father used to call the court "the nest of vipers" and now you understand, the only way to survive was playing their game

>You called in for Olivya and Celesse. Told them to dress you and arrange you to attend Aegon's coronation

>You were pleasant, smiling when you had to, staying right at your husband's side, one may think of you as tame

>You even let Aemond fancy himself your hero, standing before you when Meleys interrumpted the ceremony

>Rhaenys looked at you, you knew she could not steal you away from this, so in her eyes, you imagined her apology

>You decided you will come back to your family, and so, after Aegon's coronation, you told Alicent you needed to go to the Sept, being so throughly shaken. As Aemond said you needed to be guarded all day long, you asked for Daeron to accompany you. Aemond would have never allowed it, but Aemond was not there, he was with the small council talking about recruiting the loyalty of different houses

>Once in the Sept, after praying, you looked at Daeron, it pained you to ask

>"Do you love me, Daeron?"

>"You are married to my brother, my lady"

>"We know what happened. And I did not ask you that"

>"It is improper for us to talk this way"

>You felt rejected, but once again asked "Do you love me, Daeron?"

>"I do" he bashfully responded

>"Enough to run away with me?"

>"Don't make me choose between honor and love"

>"I fear I have to"

>"Enough to run away with you"

>"Then meet me at the dragonpit at the hour of the bat"

>"Y/N, please-"

>"I will run regardless, but I would rather you are with me"

>You rose from your knees looking at him

>He came closer, your lips were near, but not touching, you could feel his breath

>"Kiss me once we're far away, do whatever you desire then" you say before leaving the Sept

>You decided to wait in the library until it was time to go, on your way, ser Criston asked if he could scort you there, you were reluctant, but skillfully lied and said it would be a pleasure

>"My lady, may I speak plainly to you?"

>"You have my permission"

>"I saw you asked for prince Daeron to accompany you in your prayers. Please don't look for him, he loves you, my lady" he made a melancholic pause, and again, his hand ghosted over your shoulder, his face close to yours "And noble ladies only run away with the knights in tales and songs"

>"I understand"

>Ser Criston's words left you with a strange feeling, he seemed sincere, did he know something you did not? Maybe you should wait before running, maybe you should find a better way to do it

>But you remained firm, and slipped out of bed once Aemond was asleep

>You went to the dragonpit, singing to the dragons, and hoping for Dagahrion to come back, if not, you'd have to leave on Tessarion

>You heard steps, thinking it was the dragonkeepers, you hid

>"Riñaaa~" you heard Aemond's voice, and you feared. You don't know if he would be capable of doing you harm, but you'd rather keep wondering

>His voice kept chasing you, in a mocking tone

>Until he finally found you

>You were a the center, and you felt the gazes of the dragons, but by far the fiercest one was Aemond's

>He pressed you against the wall, his sword unsheathed

>His body was pressed against yours, you felt him practically vibrating with wrath

>"I have wanted you for years, yet I held back, I was patient and devoted, and you run away at the first chance you get" he spat

>"I guess we had a rocky two-day marriage" if you were dying, you were doing it with your head high

>"I should have broke you, but I was a fool" it was all tension, you did not know if he would snap, or when would he, and kill you or gravely injure you

>He grabbed your face with his sword still pressing and threatening to break your skin

>He kissed you roughly, like he wanted to mark you as well as harm you, like he was tasting both heaven and steel

>When you were recovering your breath, you spoke "will you slay me?"

>"I will take you back and treat you like the backstabbing bastard cunt you are, the way I should always have" you knew this was probably the last time you will be like this, unbroken, whole

>You missed him back, tasting all the poison inside him, it was messy, rough, teeth crashing, you took him like he was your last breath. You were just saving courage

>All that could be heard was your labored breathing, Aemond's sword never moving. You felt an ache in your chest, you were scared. You wished for the mother, the celestial mother, the one that never left you, unlike every other woman you had though of as a mother. You wished for your father, although violent and rude, unpredictable and sour, he loved you with his whole heart, body and soul

>Maybe you were just going to make a fool of yourself, you hoped so, that Aemond would just laugh at you

>You took a breath of the second-hand air, smoky and anything but clean, and when your lungs were full, you screamed so loud your throat felt raspy

>"Dracarys!"

>Dragons obey their masters, and Dagahrion was not here, so it would work, supposedly

>The last thing you saw was the startled face of your husband when all the dragons around you spat scorching hot fire and burned both bodies

>Less than an hour later, prince Daeron found your remains. Some dragonkeepers said your voice commanded all the dragons to attack, others say that it was impossible, that it must have been Vhagar trying to kill you by Aemond's command, accidentally getting caught in-between

>The death of lady Y/N Targaryen, daughter of prince Daemon Targaryen, [allegedly] at hands of her own husband, Aemond Targaryen made the dance of dragons a conflict of fire and blood

#dragon jaws #yandere aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #hotd fanfic #yandere hotd #hotd x reader #yandere daeron targaryen #daeron targaryen x reader #yandere targaryens

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tenpintsofsundrop · 10 months

Text

The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary:

While undercover inside the Separatarian Sect, you and Spencer realize something important: you can't live without each other.

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Fake Dating. Hurt and Comfort. Set during Season 4, Episode 3.

Word Count: 8,200

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Full list of warnings and author's notes below.

Warnings: Lots of spoilers for the canon episode - so if you haven't watched Season 4 of Criminal Minds yet, steer clear of this fic for now (especially because watching the episode provides some context for this fic/makes things make more sense); the reader uses she/her pronouns and has the ability to get pregnant (she is not pregnant during the fic and there's no smut, but due to discussions in the fic, it's not unreasonable that she could get pregnant); fake dating in the form of a fake marriage - the reader and Spencer pretend to be married under the Christian religion to 'appeal' to Cyrus; because of the fake marriage, Spencer uses the term 'my wife' to refer to the reader; lots of mentions of religion (Christianity), religious extremism, mentions of pedophilia/child brides (in line with the canon episode); mentions of systemic sexism and gender roles enforced by cultures of organised religion and religious extremism; use of y/n and l/n (in this case meaning 'your last name'); the reader pretends to follow the Christian religion while undercover but I never stated if she believes in a less extreme version of these things or not (the reader's true religious beliefs are never stated); protective!Spencer, possessive!Spencer; mentions of Spencer being taller than the reader (which, again, I think he would be taller than most people) - the reader's body/body type is not described in any other way; mentions of guns and gun violence (not described in deep detail) - in line with the canon episode; the reader and Spencer fear for their lives; dangerous/live-threatening situations; the reader and Spencer are threatened with a gun; Cyrus is just generally creepy and sexist toward the reader; Spencer is pistol-whipped and the reader is threatened with sexual assault (it does not happen, Spencer protects her); mentions of pregnancy/the reader being pregnant (she is not pregnant during the course of the fic); mentions of the reader being a mother/having kids (Spencer makes up fake kids to sell their fake marriage story); the reader realizes she might actually want to be a mother because of Spencer's fake kids story; mentions of an explosion (as in the canon); love confessions; angst with a happy ending. Hopefully that is everything.

A/N: The title for this fic comes from a Fall Out Boy song of the same name. The theme/lyrics of the song don't really fit the fic, but I love the way that this title fits - how everyone in this fic is lying in some way but Spencer is someone with good intentions while lying. Making him the Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes. I love how it fits. I wrote this while suffering with heat exhaustion so idk if it's good or even makes sense. I rewatched the canon episode and it doesn't 100% align with what happened in the episode in terms of the timeline and stuff, and I am too tired to rewrite the whole fic to make it align with the episode. So uh - alternative canon? But I really love the basic concepts and I do really love how it turned out. I hope you guys like it too!

...

You thought it would be an easy day.

Maybe that was foolish on your part. So far, you hadn’t seen a single ‘easy’ day while working with the BAU. Between chasing down scumbags and then reliving every single gory detail while doing the paperwork - none of it was ‘easy’. It was worthy, accomplished work - making the world a safer place to live in. (At least that’s what you told yourself.) But it was never easy.

There was always someone who made the job easier. Someone who made you smile every single day - especially on days when you didn’t think you were even capable of feeling a tiny shred of joy. Someone who made you feel safe, who you always felt had your back no matter what. So you were glad that he was by your side today, along for the ride.

“Tell us about Cyrus.” Reid prompted.

He looked to the woman driving, your new companion for the day - Nancy Lunde, someone who worked with the state department and had set up the interviews with the children at the Separatarian Sect.

“Benjamin Cyrus. No criminal record. In fact, there’s no record of the guy at all.” Nancy explained.

“That’s odd.” You commented. “Usually someone being accused of something like this would have some past offenses. Especially because it would give him a reason to move into isolation to continue the criminal pattern of behavior.”

“Well, I couldn’t find anything on him.” Nancy shrugged.

“What about the 9-1-1 call?” You asked.

“A fifteen year old girl called in saying that a man was ‘laying with her’ and claimed it as ‘God’s will’. I believe the ‘he’ referred to is Cyrus.” Nancy explained. “The age fits with Jessica Evanson, but I’ve managed to negotiate interviews with all the children, just to be sure. It wasn’t easy.”

“They’re incredibly weary of outsiders.” You commented. “Our boss warned you not to identify us as FBI, right?”

Nancy nodded. “I got you some spare credentials, just in case.”

She took one of her hands off the wheel and reached into her pocket.

“You’re going to be using your real names. You’re going in as Child Victim Interview Experts working with Child Protective Services. No association with the FBI.” Nancy explained, handing Reid your fake credentials.

He nodded, inspecting the IDs before handing you yours where you were sitting in the backseat.

“Oh, before I forget.” You noted, reaching into the pocket of your cardigan. “The rings.”

You pulled out a small plastic bag that Hotch had given to you before you left. It was a bag containing a fake diamond ring in your size and a fake golden ‘wedding’ band for Spencer.

Reid reached over the seat to grab his ring from you, and Nancy gave the two of you an odd look.

“Rings?” She questioned.

“Fake wedding bands.” You explained.

“It was our Unit Chief’s idea.” Reid added on. “He believes that presenting us as a ‘godly’ married couple to Cyrus will make him more likely to open up to us. He’s less likely to see us as hostile outsiders if he believes that we share a similar system of beliefs.”

“It could also have a calming effect on the teenagers we have to interview or the kids there who have had more time to go through indoctrination at the Sect.” You continued to explain. “Even if their parents are hesitant to let the kids speak with us, they may be more willing to have their child speak with us or even leave them alone with us if they believe that we’re fellow Christians, rather than hostile atheists there to poison their children’s minds.”

Reid nodded at you through the rearview mirror.

“Make sure you put on the left hand.” He told you. “That’s the position for marriage.”

You nodded at this.

You placed the ring in the appropriate position, and you couldn’t help but to take a moment and stare at it. It was jarring to have a wedding ring on - especially with the thought that it represented you being married to Spencer. But you supposed, of all the people to call your husband, he would be one of the best. He was honest, intelligent, kind, and… if you were pressed, you would definitely say he was handsome.

But you couldn’t get too caught up thinking about all of that. Because it wasn’t real. It was a false projection you were wearing for the benefit of a self inflated sociopath.

Spencer liked the feeling of the ring. He didn’t take too long to stare at it after he had put it on, because he knew his mind would wander if he did. When Hotch had first proposed the idea of the two of you pretending to be married, Spencer had almost tripped over himself to oppose it - mostly because he didn’t think that he would be able to handle simply pretending to be your husband for the day. It was just too cruel.

Having something he wanted so badly dangled right in front of him and knowing that it was all just a farce - it bothered him, but he delighted in the play nonetheless.

When he caught the fake gold glinting in the light, Spencer had to remind himself that it was fake - that you would just be playing his wife for the day. He had to push back any internal glee that he felt at the idea that he got to be ‘taken’ by you while wearing that ring. It wasn’t real. It was just for the day.

“Isn’t that deceptive?” Nancy asked. “Won’t Cyrus be even more angry if he finds out that it’s not true?”

“He won’t find out.” You replied confidently. “And besides, we use deception in interrogations all the time. It’s a very basic tactic: align yourself with the suspect. Make them think you share the same beliefs, that you’re on their side.”

Reid grinned at this. He always loved it when you spoke so confidently.

…

“We’re looking for Mr. Benjamin Cyrus.” Nancy announced as the three of you got out of the car.

“Then you’ve found him.” Cyrus announced confidently.

He was pretty much what you had expected him to be - dressed informally, slouched over, faking meekness, holding a bible near his chest as though it were a shield. He had planted himself there purposefully, wanting to be the first person to interact with the outsiders as three of you came into the Ranch.

You hovered back near Spencer, letting Nancy make the first introduction.

“I’m Nancy Lunde.” She said, giving a small nod toward the man. “We spoke on the phone regarding the allegation.”

“‘Savages they call us, because our manners differ from theirs.’” Cyrus rhymed off a quote, obviously positioning himself and his group as martyrs being attacked for having ‘different ways’ that the world simply didn’t understand.

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr. Cyrus.” Nancy reminded him, hoping to keep the religious zealot on track.

“Actually, it’s Benjamin Franklin.” Reid corrected her, talking about the quote.

That did surprise you, but you didn’t find it surprising that Reid knew this fact right off the top of his head. It was just one of the many amazing things about him - his perfect memory and his ability to use it.

Of course, him saying this immediately drew Cyrus’ attention toward the two of you. So Spencer stepped up to introduce you.

“Hello, I’m Spencer Reid, and this is my wife, Y/N L/N.” He said motioning toward himself and then to you as he introduced the two of you. Hearing him refer to you as his wife - you hated to say it, but it caused a jolt through your system. Almost as if you had been waiting forever to hear him say those words and hadn’t even known it yourself. “We’re Child Victim Interview Experts, here on behalf of Child Protective Services.”

Of course, you couldn’t get too caught up in deciphering how those words made you feel, because you had to focus on the task at hand. The job that you were here to do.

“How far from God’s word must we have strayed for there to be a need to invent a job called ‘Child Victim Interview Expert’.” Cyrus said, his tone even, quiet.

You knew that covertly, it was his way of saying that the two of you didn’t belong there, because he ran the Ranch with God’s word, so nobody had actually been harmed (in his opinion). He believed that he had done nothing wrong. Obviously, he thought your time and resources were better spent with ‘actual’ victims who didn’t have his power wielded over their lives.

“I can assure you, Mr. Cyrus, we try to bring God into our work.” You told him, trying to appeal to him. “The children we visit usually need prayer and God’s light the most.”

Spencer gave you a sideways glance, clearly holding back a grin at how thick you were pouring it on - how much intense, feigned passion you said these words with.

“Well, I can assure you that a lack of prayer and God’s light is certainly not an issue for the children here.” Cyrus said, giving you a clever little grin. He thought that you would simply interview the children, praise him for what a good job he had done, and then leave. “You can go and see the children whenever you like. They are up at the school, as I indicated in our phone call.”

Nancy walked toward the school, and you paused before you followed.

Before you walked off, you looked to Spencer. In a completely silent conversation that only worked so well because the two of you had been in so many tense situations before, thinking around UnSubs and planning miles around them before they could even know it, he gave you a small nod and you instantly knew what it meant. He had established a small bit of trust with Cyrus, so he would stick back and see what else he could get out of the man.

You nodded back, and then - completely surprising yourself, you leaned in and kissed Spencer on the cheek. You were just playing the part, you told yourself. It’s not that it felt entirely instinctive to say goodbye to him with some kind of affection, like the many hugs you had given him before. It’s not that you felt so entirely scrutinized with Cryus’ piercing eyes on you, and you needed the anchor of Spencer’s touch.

You were just playing the part.

Spencer tried not to get caught on being kissed on the cheek like he was some blushing virgin, and instead, focused his attention back on Cyrus instead of watching you walk away. (Even though every single one of his instincts told him that he needed to keep a more careful eye on you because you both had to leave your guns in the car.)

He took a step closer to where Cyrus was leaning on the concrete, and easily picked a topic of conversation.

“Solar panels.” Reid said, motioning to the large devices sitting behind Cyrus on the grass.

“Yes.” Cyrus nodded. “We’re completely self-sufficient here. Food, electricity, water. Benjamin Franklin said ‘God helps those who help themselves’.” He explained. “You look surprised.”

“No, uh, impressed, actually.” Reid easily lied, trying to appeal to his ego.

“Thank you.” Cyrus said. “Most men wouldn’t admit that.”

“Well, I suppose that I’m not like most men.” Reid shrugged in return.

“How long have you been married?” Cyrus asked, motioning toward Reid’s ‘wedding ring’.

Reid panicked slightly, knowing that the two of you likely should have coordinated this story during the plane ride to Colorado so that your answers to these simple questions wouldn’t be different. But he just made up an answer and hoped that nobody else would ask you the same question and find out the deception.

“Three years.” He said. “I’ve been very blessed.”

He used the language purposefully, knowing that the simple phrase could get him on Cyrus’ good side. That, and he hoped it would draw the attention away from any possible signs of his blatant lie.

“Your wife is very beautiful.” Cyrus commented.

He gave a wicked smirk as he said this. It was a simple, fairly ‘innocent’ comment, but it was immediately off-putting to Spencer. It took everything in his body not to glare daggers at Cyrus or throw out some protective comment in return. He could only imagine what was going through Cyrus’ mind as he thought about you, and he hated even imagining it.

Reid knew that it was a basic logical good, the instinct to protect you because you were his partner on this case and he was supposed to have your back. But it was also something more. Something in every fiber of his being that screamed you were his and no man should ever be thinking of you that way except for him.

“Has it been a godly union?”

He was lucky when Cyrus spoke again and distracted him from his mounting rage.

“We try to be as godly as we can be.” Spencer took the simple, diplomatic answer.

“Your wife didn’t take your last name.” Cyrus pointed out.

Nancy had used your name on your false credentials because Hotch had only come up with the fake marriage idea the day before. There hadn’t been time to inform her about it and have ‘Reid’ put on your ID as your ‘married’ name. So he had introduced you by your name to keep everything consistent with the reuse.

It did make Spencer wonder if you would keep your last name if the two of you ever did get married. It made him almost dizzy, thinking about you as ‘Mrs Reid’. Thinking about your kids having his name. Or your name, if that’s what you wanted.

But naturally, he pushed past all those thoughts and formed an excuse.

“Typically, married women aren’t very well perceived in our line of work.” He quickly excused. “She doesn’t even get to wear her ring that often. She couldn’t change her name on paperwork at our office because a working married woman… it’s heavily frowned upon.”

“Well, I’d have to agree.” Cyrus grunted. “A woman shouldn’t be out working. A woman should be at home raising a family.”

“I - I suppose you’re right.” Reid agreed through gritted teeth.

He walked away toward the school before he got too angry again.

…

A few hours later, everything had gone to hell.

Some authority - the police, the military, you didn’t even know - had charged into the Ranch shooting. In response, Cyrus and his followers had come into the school toting large semi-automatics asking you and Spencer if you knew about a raid.

You didn’t. You wish you had known about a raid. You would have warned Hotch and gotten them to call it off. You certainly would not have been there while it was happening.

When they had pointed those guns in your face and forced you into the tunnels - it wasn’t very difficult to pretend to be Spencer’s wife then. Cowering in the bunker, confused and scared, you flung your arms around his waist almost instinctively, and he buried his nose in the top of your hair as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders like a shield, promising you that everything was going to be okay.

Whispered to you like that, coming from him - it was almost easier to believe. Even with the chaos going on around you and the fear pumping through you in response.

Nancy had run off trying to get them to surrender and did not come back. You had a feeling that you knew what that meant.

And now, with the kids from the school ‘evacuated’ into the church, you were being held in the cellar at gunpoint. They had forcefully separated you and Spencer, making you sit in chairs at opposite sides of the room.

Spencer was fidgeting. His eyes kept flickering from the door, to you, to the man standing beside you holding the very large gun.

You knew that you had ugly tear tracks down your face, and oddly enough - you wanted nothing more than to be back in his arms. As you were forced to sit there, just a few feet across the room away from him - you ached for it.

There was a very large possibility that you were going to die today. And you selfishly needed the comfort of being in the arms of someone familiar - someone safe. Someone you knew would never hurt you. Someone who had made you laugh with dumb science jokes and puns for the last five years that you had worked together with him.

When Cyrus charged back into the room with two men flanking his sides, you and Spencer stiffened up once again.

“God will forgive me for what I’m about to do.” Cyrus announced to the room, presenting a handgun from his belt.

Your insides quaked, and Spencer’s eyes grew wide.

You couldn’t contain the fearful whimper that erupted from the back of your throat when he raised that gun and placed it near the middle of Spencer’s forehead. You clasped a hand tightly over your mouth to keep yourself from crying out in protest, knowing that would only make things worse.

“Which one of you is the FBI Agent?” Cyrus asked firmly.

Which ‘one’?

So he knew that you were undercover, that you had lied about your job titles - but he thought that only one of you had done so. Where the hell was he getting his information?

“I - I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Spencer told him quietly, looking him in the eye the entire time.

You hoped that his stutter could be passed off as nervousness from the gun being pointed in his face, and wouldn’t be pointed to as deception.

“Which one of you is it?” Cyrus pressed.

“We are not FBI Agents.” Spencer said, more confidently this time. “We are Child Victim Interview Experts. We were only sent here to ensure the wellbeing of the children. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Well, that last part wasn’t a lie.

“You’re lying.” Cyrus told him, entirely confident in this. “God expells those who lie, devils in sheep’s clothing.”

There was a tense moment, and then Cyrus cocked the gun.

Spencer didn’t flinch. You resisted the urge to scream.

“Proverbs 12:22 says: ‘The Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in those who tell the truth.’” Cyrus said, actually citing scripture this time.

He was giving Spencer one last chance to tell the truth. As if using the bible verse to say that his punishment would be lesser if he simply told the truth now.

Spencer didn’t take the bait.

“I’m not lying.” Spencer said firmly. “What? You think I wouldn’t know if - if my wife was an FBI Agent? This is the woman I wake up next to every single morning, the woman I go to sleep next to every single night, we work together every single day, we-”

Cyrus interrupted Spencer’s ranting with a sharp hit to the face, pistol whipping him across the cheek.

This caused Spencer to go flying off the chair, and you couldn’t help when you let out a wounded cry. It took everything in you not to jump out of your own chair and rush to Spencer where he had collapsed onto the ground, clutching his cheek.

“Someone is going to tell me the truth.” Cyrus said gruffly.

“It must have been Nancy!” You said, the idea finally popping into your head.

You seemed to be more clever with the pressure of Spencer’s life being threatened. Cyrus stared you down, turning his attention fully toward you now. You caught Spencer’s eye for a moment and he gave you a small nod - as if to say ‘yes, keep going with that’.

“The woman we came in with! Nancy!” You reasoned, continuing to point the finger at the woman you had to assume was dead. “We - we just met her today. Our boss introduced us to her, but we had never met before that. If she was FBI, we had no clue. We swear.”

Cyrus turned to you then, and tightly pressed the barrel of his gun into your forehead. You could feel the imprint of it so tight in your skin that it hurt, and you could only lean away so far before threatening to knock the chair backwards.

“It’s very convenient to pin this crime on someone who isn’t here.” He grunted at you.

“It’s the truth.” You sniffled out quietly.

“Hmm.” Cyrus hummed thoughtfully, and then, much to your surprise, he removed the gun barrel from your forehead.

You barely had a moment to breathe in relief before he began skimming the gun down your neck, touching the metal whisper-gentle across your bare skin - clearly taunting you. It was something that made your whole body stiff with alarm, and caused Spencer’s eyes to go wide once again.

“Perhaps I should strip you naked to ensure that you’re not wearing a wire.” Cyrus said, teasing the gun along the buttons at the front of your cardigan.

You held back a sob at the thought of it - at the idea that he could make you do almost anything for the fear of you being shot. Truthfully, you were more afraid of what he might do to Spencer if you didn’t comply, but it was all the same in your mind now. His life was just as valuable as yours, and you would do whatever it took to protect him.

Before Cyrus could take these threats any further, a heroic voice intervened.

“That’s enough!” Spencer yelled.

He gathered himself off the floor and oddly enough, none of the men moved to stop him as he came to stand beside Cyrus. Perhaps they didn’t see him as a threat. Perhaps it was because Cyrus didn’t bark any orders at them to stop him. He was entirely unflinching, keeping his focus on you and keeping his gun held between your breasts as Spencer crowded into his personal space, trying to press himself between you and the awful man.

“We’ve told you everything that we know.” Spencer told him lowly, his voice heaving with well controlled anger. It was something that you had rarely ever heard from him.

Cyrus kept his eyes locked on you, so Spencer continued.

“We don’t know anything about the FBI - we have a simple job advocating for children who have been abused. That is it. We came here to investigate a most likely false claim against someone in your community and we truly didn’t mean to get caught up in all of this.” He said firmly, clearly trying to appeal to Cyrus. “So I suggest you get that gun away from my wife before you and I truly have a problem.”

Spencer’s voice was dark, so thick with rage. More pent up rage than you had ever heard from him when he was talking to any suspect, people who had done the worst of the worst. Something about Cyrus threatening you had truly boiled his insides.

The way he said the words ‘my wife’ - growling it out like he was a feral animal and this threat to you had activated every single one of his protective instincts. Hearing it made something inside of you yearn for him on such a deep level that you didn’t know was possible. You wanted to feel that kind of protection cast over you every single day. It made you feel invincible, having Spencer watch over you like that.

Cyrus lowered the gun then, and Spencer grabbed your arm as you dissolved into hysterical tears. Instinctively, he lifted you up into his arms. You thought that you heard Cyrus mumble out ‘my apologies’ as he left the room - but he was barely on your radar. Your entire world became narrowed down to nothing but Spencer, your safety net as he built a wall of protection around you.

He used his height to block you from seeing anything but him, letting you push your face into his chest as you cried. He wrapped you in his arms once again, letting you feel truly safe for a few moments as you sobbed into the fabric of his sweater. Your arms clutched desperately at his waist, needing to keep a hold on him - needing to ensure that he didn’t leave you.

“Hey, shh. Shh. It’s okay.” He said, leaving gentle kisses on the top of your forehead and your hair, rubbing across your back with one hand, comforting you in the only way he could in those moments. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Of course, he wanted to break down too. But he had to be strong for you.

“Spencer,” You called his name in an utterly wounded voice, pulling away from his chest to look up at him.

When you saw his injury up close - a sharp, purple-red bruise that was blooming across his cheek, it looked so utterly painful. Your insides ached at the thought that he had taken a blow for you. You hated to imagine what more they could have done to him if they had not believed your lies.

You instinctively reached a hand up to touch it and he caught your fingers halfway, instead, gently grasping your hand and laying it on his chest. The intimacy felt so oddly rehearsed - so worn in, so ‘normal’. It felt like you had been married to Spencer for years. Like it wasn’t a play at all.

Your two souls had been calling out to each other for years, just waiting for the dam to break. But you couldn’t quite put it into words - not like that.

“It’s okay.” He said quietly, knowing you were horrified by the injury.

He was so gentle, so comforting, so calm. Everything the men pointing guns at you were not. Unlike Cyrus - Spencer Reid was a true blessing from God.

You couldn’t hold yourself back then.

You surged up and kissed him, fully embracing his mouth with yours in a kiss. Though it was so sudden, it was something he easily returned. The kiss so full of urgency, so needy, so passionate. Like he was trying to tell you that it was okay, that he would protect you no matter what.

He would protect you because you belonged to him.

In those moments, the two of you were basically alone. One of Cryus’ men was guarding the door, watching on boredly. But Cyrus was off in the church, funneling people in to prepare for his ‘loyalty’ test. It didn’t matter if he saw you kissing or not - it wouldn’t have sold the reuse of you being married any better.

This was just for the two of you. This was comfort.

When you pulled back from the kiss, Spencer looked stunned, almost as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. You didn’t give him time to question it.

“Thank you.” You said quietly.

It was twofold:

Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for giving me comfort.

Spencer didn’t have too much time to marinate in the meaning of the kiss before Cyrus’ men came back and fetched the two of you, wanting you to observe the loyalty test.

…

After the mock poisoning (which Spencer figured out rather quickly, making you admire his cleverness once again), Cyrus kept you and Spencer in the church with a few of his closest, most loyal followers while all of the low level followers dispersed back to their homes.

You and Spencer were lingering in the back quietly while Cyrus was on the other end of the room, talking to his men about how to proceed. The plans for their ‘final stand’.

“We need to get some kind of signal to the others.” Spencer whispered quietly. “Maybe they’ll take pity on you and let you go if-” He swallowed sharply, cutting himself off abruptly. Oddly enough, he didn’t want to voice whatever was on his mind.

“If what?” You probed. You wondered what the hell you could possibly be thinking.

“If we tell them that you’re pregnant.” He said, whispering so lowly that you almost didn’t catch the words.

You rolled your eyes sharply at this.

You had gotten married and had kids all in one day. What a miracle.

(In those moments, clouded by fear, you couldn’t see it for what it truly was - Spencer blatantly revealing his unconscious desires to have a baby with you.)

“We could convince them to release you. As a show of good faith. A pregnancy would be good leverage in that. You know how religious people are about fetuses-” Spencer reasoned.

“Yeah, and what if they give me a test?” You probed, punching a large hole in his logic. “We don’t know what kind of infirmary they have here. They obviously believe in modern technology. What if they want to give me an ultrasound to check on the fetus after the stress of the day? To prove that they did no harm to the precious unborn child,”

Spencer was easily caught on this point. If they examined you and found that you weren’t pregnant, all the lies would fall apart.

“Well… what if we tell them that you have a baby at home that you need to get back to?” Spencer reasoned, jumping to the next logical conclusion in his mind. “It’ll likely garner the same level of pity.”

“Your imaginary sperm is powerful, isn’t it?” You whispered back sharply. Spencer rolled his eyes this time. But he didn’t redact the plan as unreasonable, so you continued on. “Okay, what do I even do when I get out there? I’m not gonna be of any use to the tactical team. We don’t know what Cyrus’ final play is yet.”

Truthfully, you couldn’t bear to be separated from Spencer. Knowing that he was inside, potentially being beaten up more, potentially being shot and bleeding out from a wound without you knowing - it would kill you with stress. You need to be by his side. You needed to know that he was okay.

“Has God blessed your union with any children?” Cyrus appeared behind you suddenly.

You wondered if he had heard you say the word ‘pregnancy’ or if this was just a random topic that had come up in his mind.

His sudden appearance behind you caused you to whip around and crowd into the comfort of Spencer’s arms again because you were frightened. Naturally, Spencer wrapped his sheltering touch around your shoulders. Your back was gently pressed into Spencer’s front, his arm shielding you protectively as it was wrapped around your chest, holding you with his hand on one of your shoulders, unconsciously stroking his thumb across the fabric of your cardigan. The position had you both facing Cyrus, watching the fan in an offensive way.

And of course, Spencer didn’t miss a beat.

“Yes.” Spencer answered easily. “We have two kids at home. A boy and a girl. Iris and Hugo. Iris is almost three years old and Hugo is eleven months. His first birthday is coming up in June.”

You knew that Spencer could be very good at talking off a suspect’s ear under pressure, but when you heard him rattle off these ‘facts’ so easily, it hit you.

This wasn’t simply statistics or physiological knowledge - this was a very elaborate backstory for your supposedly real marriage. Perhaps he had thought about all of it on the car ride up (which was odd not to share it with you, in case Cyrus asked you a similar question and your answer didn’t match up with Spencer’s).

But if you weren’t mistaken, this wasn’t simply a backstory for your fake marriage during the undercover mission. This was a fantasy of his. Those were names he had lovingly chosen for your imaginary children - kids he had dreamed up in his head and wanted to be real.

Your heart ached at the thought of it. You found yourself missing a set of children that weren’t even real. (And distantly, wanting to jump his bones to make it a reality.)

“Tell me, Mr. Reid, would you find it so shameful for your daughter to marry young?” Cyrus asked.

You found it odd to hear Cyrus call Spencer ‘Mr. Reid’, but you realized that he hadn’t introduced himself as ‘Doctor’ in this setting. You held your tongue when you felt the need to correct him as you had so many other people, wanting Spencer to receive his proper title.

Your mind almost couldn’t focus on the question that Cyrus had asked. Of course, he was trying to get Spencer to stroke his ego once again. Basically admitting that the whole reason the two of you had come here was true - he was being vastly inappropriate with a young member of the church, and getting away with it. And he saw nothing wrong with it.

And he was trying to get an outsider to admit that he saw nothing wrong with it too.

When there was a moment of silence - Reid obviously torn on how to answer the question, Cyrus continued.

“Is there really something so wrong with a blooming young woman marrying a man who will protect her under God’s laws?” He probed, his voice so entirely confident. Clearly confident that he was right.

“Well, I’m not sure if I would let my daughter get married so young.” Reid said, finally speaking up. “I just know that I would want her to marry a man that would protect her, and be the best possible fit for her. Someone who would cherish her and be good to her no matter what.”

His answer made you swoon. You reached up and gently gripped his forearm in response, giving a light squeeze to show your approval. He leaned in and kissed the back of your head - dizzyingly, you were imagining him walking your imaginary daughter down the aisle before you had even gotten married yourself.

Maybe it was being so close to death, being threatened in such dangerous territory that was causing your life to accelerate at light speed in your mind. If you were going to lose everything, you might as well enjoy the escapism of a fake life with a beautiful man in your mind instead of being stuck on the heart pounding terror of being held hostage, right?

Surprisingly, his words drew a smile from Cyrus.

“You’re a protective father, aren’t you?” Cyrus asked.

“Of course.” Reid confirmed.

“I can always admire that in a man.” Cyrus nodded. “A man should always pride himself on protecting his family.”

There was another moment of pause, and you were hoping that the topic had been dropped completely.

“Do you have a picture of your children with you?” Cyrus asked.

You wondered if - in a different version of reality, where you and Spencer really were married, where Hugo and Iris really did exist - if you had a picture of them in your pocket, would Cyrus only be asking this so he could use the picture to taunt the two of you? What other purpose would he have for knowing what your children looked like?

“Unfortunately, no.” You answered. “I keep my family pictures on my desk. In my office. We - we’ve just been praying to get back to them safely.”

Cyrus seemed perturbed at you mentioning that you had an office. Something dark flickered over his features for a moment and then disappeared.

“Well… if it is right, God will grant you that safe passage.” Cyrus said.

Just when you truly thought the conversation was done, he said something to you that entirely grinded under your skin.

“I find it entirely odd that a mother of two young children spends her days working a job where she takes care of other people’s children, rather than staying at home with her own youngins where she belongs.”

He said, using that same entirely confident, righteous tone that he always did. Even though you were not really a working mother, you had a hard time not boiling with anger at the sexism ripe in his statement.

“How much must you be missing of your sweet angels lives to instead partake in the horrors of devils you shouldn’t have to witness.”

Of course.

You had a hard time not rolling your eyes at this or saying something harsh that would set him off. Instead, you reached up to Spencer’s arm around your shoulder, squeezing his fingers, trying to keep your patience.

“I’ll have you know that Y/N is an amazing mother.” Spencer piped up, knowing that Cyrus respected him enough as a man that he wouldn’t beat him simply for speaking up. “Her nurturing and caring makes her infinitely better at her job.”

Again, you knew that there was so much personal truth in Spencer’s words. He thought that you would make an amazing mother to his children - at least theoretically. He was entirely firm in that conviction. And he thought that your natural caring made you amazing at the job you did as a Profiler. He knew this from the quality of work he witnessed you doing every single day.

You didn’t know it - but it was just one of the many things that had caused him to fall in love with you.

Oddly enough, Cyrus’ words prodded at something deep inside of you. It made you imagine a life for yourself where you weren’t spending your days witnessing horrors from unspeakable devils - but instead, at home, looking out for Spencer’s imaginary children.

You would have said it was the fear of the day, clouding your mind. But maybe it was the clarity of being so close to death that made you realize what - and who - you truly wanted out of life.

…

Hours later, after some of the hostages had been released (the ‘non-believers’ who had failed the loyalty test), Cyrus had requested that some food be sent up. Spencer gave you a sharp look when he saw the message written on one of the takeout lids.

The team would be storming in to end the hold-out at 3am. You had to somehow ensure the safety of the hostages by then.

Obviously, the fake pregnancy idea was still warping through Spencer’s mind, but you had come up with some much better.

“Cyrus,” You called out his name gently, getting his attention. “You said that you have a nursery here?”

It had come up, during his long winded bragging about how perfect the Ranch was. Something about how mothers didn’t have to raise their children alone. The children were raised as more of a ‘group effort’ and women took ‘shifts’ in the nursery, allowing the women to rest or get chores done in the interim.

“Yes, we do.” He nodded.

Spencer stared at you with his jaw set, wondering what you were doing but not daring to speak.

“I - I’ve been missing my children dearly. I was wondering if I could go to your nursery and see if they need any help? It would do my soul good to be around young ones right now. After all the commotion of these days.” You spoke meekly, trying to play the part of the shaken up, dainty woman well.

Which was too difficult, seeing as you were playing up the fear you had already experienced.

He grinned. It was a rather menacing smile, and you tried your hardest not to show any further fear, or disgust.

“That sounds like a splendid idea.” He nodded. “Christopher, why don’t you escort her down to the nursery and then come back? We need you here for our final preparations.”

You were finally falling to those gender roles that he had been pushing on you since you had arrived. He didn’t suspect a thing. He simply thought that you were a God fearing woman falling to your natural womanly instincts, needing to care for children lest your womb shrivel up and you die.

Spencer rose from his seat and Cyrus stopped him.

“Just your wife.” He said, putting a hand in front of Spencer’s chest to stop him. “There are still some things you and I need to discuss. Man to man.”

You went over to Spencer and didn’t hesitate to plant a kiss firmly on his mouth, which he returned with vigor. This one lasted only a moment - it was something precious for the two of you. You didn’t need to put on some pointed show for the men in the room.

“It’s okay.” You told Spencer quietly, brushing your fingers gently over his uninjured cheek.

You could tell that he was dying to ask you what your plan was. But he kept the words trapped in his throat, unable to speak in front of the many temperamental villains lurking about.

“Come on.” Christopher grunted.

Spencer gave you a longing look as you left. He didn’t want to think it, but as he watched your figure retreat out the door, he feared that it would be the last time he ever saw you.

…

Your plan worked flawlessly.

Getting to the nursery meant that you had unsupervised access to the women and children, especially away from Cyrus’ prying ears. Because you were a ‘delicate’ woman, nobody suspected you of having ulterior motives. You easily found a crack in Kathy, Jessica’s mother. You spotted her as the one who had made the original 9-1-1 call, wanting to get her daughter away from Cyrus. You convinced her to help you get everyone out, and you felt intense relief when you were met with a familiar face in the cellar as everyone escaped through the tunnels.

“Where’s Reid?” Morgan easily asked you, glancing behind your shoulder as if waiting for him to appear.

“He’s still up at the church.” You told him. “I had to separate off to help get the women and children out-”

“Go on, we have to get you out!” Morgan urged, trying to gently usher you along.

“We have to go get Reid!” You argued, trying to turn around.

“Go, go on, I’ll go get Reid!” He told you.

You were about to argue back, but you were cut off by a scuffle behind you.

Jessica was yelling about Cyrus - how her mother had betrayed her, tricked her.

Morgan pushed Kathy toward you and ran off screaming for Jessica. You took Kathy’s arm, gently convincing her that everything was going to be okay as you guided her the rest of the way out. You had to focus on this, convincing yourself that everything was going to be okay. You had to tell yourself that Derek was going to get Spencer out - that they were both going to be okay.

When you got outside, you were hyper focused on marching away, taking a path away from the church as directed by the officers in charge. You froze in your tracks when you heard it - an earth shattering boom. The ground beneath your feet shook. You felt a puff of hot air swell to touch your back.

You let go of Kathy’s arm and whipped around, and you couldn’t even pay attention to where she went. You almost thought you heard her weeping, but your mind couldn’t process it as your eyes were glossed in bright orange flame.

It was the church.

“Spencer?” You gasped quietly. “Spencer!”

You couldn’t help it, but you began to run toward it. Your feet carried you faster than you could think, and before you got more than a few feet across the ground, you felt a sharp grip on your upper arm.

“L/N!”

Hotch’s voice, sounding far too distant for the position he held right behind you, viciously gripping onto you as you fought against him, trying to get toward the fire - trying to get to Spencer.

“Hey! Hey! Stop it!” Hotch tried to order you around, tried to get you to stand down.

He got a hand around your waist, and you continued to kick like a wild horse, fighting against his grip as hot tears poured down your face.

“He’s in there!” You sobbed. “Spencer is still in there.”

“Calm. Down.” Hotch ordered sharply.

You collapsed back into him sobbing, all of the fight leaving your muscles at once. You couldn’t fake the reality in front of you.

“You running in there and getting hurt isn’t going to change anything.” Hotch told you quietly, a somehow distant murmur into your ear.

Through the blur of your tears and the sharp orange glow, you saw the shape of two bodies. You heard coughing as someone emerged from the blast, hobbling down the stairs at the front of the church. You forced your eyes open wider, trying to see who it was, and then:

“Y/N!” Spencer called out your name gruffly through the smoke he had inhaled, and you easily shucked off Hotch’s grip to race up the stairs to get to him.

He was leaning on Morgan for support and you were worried that he was hurt. But the moment you were close enough, he tore himself away from Morgan and the two of you met in the middle. In a pattern that was easily developing, you fell into the safety of his arms, holding him tight enough to bruise him - never wanting to let go.

“You’re so stupid, you’re so stupid! Why would you do that to me?”

You sobbed out, gripping both sides of his face, staring into his eyes, needing the recognition that he was right there, right in front of you.

He stared back with glassiness - intense fear, adrenaline, and something small that told you he was thankful for you, and needed you now more than ever.

Of course, your words were simple anger at the situation, not at Spencer himself. The terror of thinking that he was dead still pumping through your veins, causing you to shake.

“I know.” He said quietly. “I love you.”

His voice wrapped around the words so tenderly - it was the most sincere declaration you had ever heard from him. As if to say ‘I know how much that scared you. I know what this ordeal has done to us and I only meant it more because of how scared I am’.

“I love you too.” The words flew from your lips so naturally it hurt. You took a moment to recover, entirely shocked by your own lips. And then, you only found the need to say it growing more inside of you. “Spencer, I love you.”

You pulled him toward you with the grip you had on his face, and he easily met you in one of the most earth shattering kisses you had ever experienced.

It was no longer a show, it was no longer about displaying the fake marriage for someone else’s benefit - if it had ever been about that in the first place. It was about the two of you. It was about feeling that comfort, that safety. It was about the fact that your two souls were drawn together since the day you had met. The fact that you had always felt safe with each other. You had always been the other person’s shelter from the storm.

And you poured every ounce of those feelings into that kiss.

You combed your fingers through Spencer’s hair, taking a harsh grip on the back of it, holding him there so he couldn’t pull away from your lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist, fisting the back of your sweater. Both of you entirely refused to come up for oxygen, not even caring who saw the epically passionate, public display of your love for each other.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan and Hotch exchanged a look with raised brows as it happened. You and Spencer didn’t care. You were barely perceiving the world around you as the two of you kissed.

“You know if you’re not careful, people are actually gonna think you two are married.” Morgan said, being his usual sarcastic self.

Rather than pulling away from Spencer’s lips to sass him back - you simply flipped Derek off over Spencer’s shoulder.

On the ride home, JJ handed Derek five dollars. He had the over/under that the two of you would get together before the end of the year. JJ said that it wouldn’t happen for another five years, at least. Derek handed the fiver to Emily when she reminded him that the ‘fake marriage’ bit had actually been her idea.

When Emily and JJ relayed the story to Penelope, she squealed so loudly into the phone that JJ dropped it.

Hotch pulled you aside later and warned you that the fake rings were just cheap costume jewelry that Garcia had gotten and they would tarnish soon if you kept wearing them. He also recommended that you and Spencer put in the paperwork with HR if you were ‘serious’ about the relationship. You knew that it was him wishing the two of you his best.

A few days later when you came into work and found the HR request for an update of relationship status sitting on your desk, already signed by Spencer, you couldn’t help but to smile.

...

A/N: okay, I do have to admit, the ending kind of sucks imo (like the last few paragraphs) because I highly resisted the urge to end this with 'baby making' smut where y/n is like if 'you want kids for real, then we can have kids', and then Spencer just goes nuts. because I did like the more cheesy/romantic love confession ending, and I was getting way too tired to write smut for this. idk if I should do that 'x amount of reblogs for part 2' thing or if I'm just happy with this being a standalone oneshot?? idk. if people ask for a part 2, then I will set a reblog goal for it. and I will work on a part 2 for it after Lesson Two is posted.

#sundrop writes #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n

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m1ssunderstanding · 5 months

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Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 18

Staring John Lennon, as that kid I should’ve been nicer to in first grade who always smelled like PB&J and was never to be seen without his pokemon cards

The dancing is really too cute. They’re just absolutely giddy. Making each other laugh AND an excuse to touch? John and Paul’s heaven.

John saying he was too excited after yesterday to go to bed. Like a fucking kid on christmas.

Everybody is serving today. While the candy-land suit is fun, I actually just love that vivid purple so much that I think it’s better without the coat over it. Billy looks extremely suave and classy. And those red polka-dots on Ringo. Red suits him, and I think with his very frank, masculine aspect, he looks so beautiful and bold in feminine fits. Paul and John are both just wearing what they wore yesterday. Yeah. But John is still a cutie, and Paul, well, you all know.

The advice chain about finishing a song while you’re working on. Paul → John → George

Paul honestly does a great job being supportive of George and his work. Coming over and grooving with him, then hopping on drums then guitar (right-handed, may I add). Just to give George musical atmosphere to flesh out his song and start thinking of arrangement ideas, I assume. Then letting him bounce ideas around. And the whole time being overly-enthusiastic to build George up. Look how happy George is with the love and attention.

John helping move some equipment in. We love a man who sometimes doesn’t think he’s too good for manual labor.

Yes, clean that homeless man’s palm sweat off your instrument. Probably smart.

TFW you made Paul McCartney jealous of your musical abilities.

John really knew so well when to be his little impish self and when to be hard and intimidating. Exhibit A, going from, “Can we have our microphones, oh, mister, can we please?” to “And get one for Billy too.” In a matter of seconds.

George Martin stepping in when they’re all getting panicky about the sound and they need an authority figure to reassure them in ways that someone like Glyn Johns never could. Just, perfectly cool and collected, puts everything right as they’re all shouting at him like school children who’ve just had a terrible time in PE.

“Believe me, when I tell you.” “Oh, I do.” Oh, good. He did put it in. That’s nice. Right, and this is the moment Yoko decides to tell John her divorce has come through and pull him in for a big smooch. Honestly, it just shows how threatened she feels by Paul. Nevermind her whole, “good thing Paul isn’t a girl or he would have been a great threat,” quote. Clearly, he just is a threat regardless of sex.

And then John, “I’m freeeee.” At Paul. Honestly, the amount of things they direct specifically and aggressively at each other that should’ve just been general statements if there wasn’t some weird thing between them. It’s really something. Normally, you’d announce something like that to the whole room. But it seems John specifically wants to impress upon Paul that he and Yoko could get married right now if they wanted to. I mean, it’s a little difficult to make the point, because John and Paul almost aways seem to be talking only to each other. But through the whole discussion of Yoko’s divorce, John does not take his eyes off of Paul.

Oh my gosh, Ivan Vaughn is here? How many emotional support boyfriends does Paul need to make up for John having Yoko? Glyn, Linda, George Martin, Dennis, Robert Fraser, and now Ivan? Fuck’s sake, Yoko, you’re a powerful woman.

Paul’s Strawberry Fields piano. Let me be as vulnerable and broken as possible in my singing, since I can’t show you any other way that you’re killing me. Do you remember this song? That you wrote when we were at the height of our partnership only two years ago? How happy we were then? How beautiful the world seemed for that one brief moment? And John can’t look at him, because, yes he fucking remembers and yes he knows he’s hurting Paul. But for whatever reason, (my theory is he wanted something more Paul couldn’t give him. What that was and whether it was ever specifically vocalized I don't have a guess) going back to that time would be more painful to John than this has been.

So they’ve been goofing off and Paul gives this little speech to get them back on task. “Alright Chawn Love. I’ve gotta call order, John, now, valuable time, here, son. Cool down, son.” But John’s response, “Don’t let me down, babe” completely switches Paul’s gears. He now thinks it’s important enough to get in this little snatch of a *meaningful* cover, “Take these Chains from my Heart,” reversing the course of productivity he’d got them on and ignoring the fact that they were about to do a take on two-shilling-a-foot tape. My interpretation of this moment is a bit tin-hatish and long, but suffice it to say, John is not happy with the message.

Everyone convincing Paul to do another take of his song is surprising, considering everything we always hear about how Paul was a tyrant task-master who just forced everyone to keep doing his lame muzak over and over when they all clearly hated it. Mal, “You can always go back to it.” Paul, “Do you want your head kicked in?” John, “We’ll never get a chance to do it again.” Paul, “Okay, honey bunch. Let’s hit it one time, tutti-frutti.”

Yoko watching Paul check out her boyfriend’s ass. Classic. Also the fact that she literally copied his outfit? I get so much second-hand embarrassment for her, and it’s not when she’s being a weirdo and a statement-maker. It’s the having to physically stick the gum you were offering your boyfriend into this hand because he won’t take his eyes off his boyfriend for two seconds to look at you.

Everyone laughing at Perfect Paul being out of tune is so funny to me. Like when the nerd finally gets a question wrong and the whole class is all “ooooohhhh!”

Ringo having a grand old time on the drums. I love that he just knew that’s what he wanted to do from such a young age and he never wanted to do anything else. And why would he? He’s a genius at it.

Paul. “John’s got something at 1:30 and so have I.” Smirk emoji. Side-eye emoji. George is with me. “Yeah we've got something too. I’ll do Ringo at 1:30.” I'm dead.

This moment right here hurts me. Paul’s enjoying a nice cuddle with Ringo until he remembers the camera. You’re not going to get in trouble for having your friend’s arm around your shoulders, Paul. Why are you like this?

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #get back

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randomuser678 · 1 year

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So Harriet has shown on screen that she is terrified of living a mediocre life on the shadow of her clone mother and that speaks so well to people of color’s pressure into fitting into white definition of success and societal approval and so many things about Harriet’s plot lines reflect that

Harriet is constantly trying to appease Joan and try to sound as friendly and passive as possible.

And then when Harriet makes the slight criticism toward Joan, Joan throws a pity party and Harriet needs to back away for JOAN’s feelings, it feels really implicit how Harriet is trying to live up to white approval, by making a show that would get hollywood’s attention, casting the hot white couple of the school, by TWISTING herself backwards just to please a white woman’s sensibilities.

And as a result Joan just completely disregards Harriet’s art and makes it her own, and makes it way more whitewashed, and set on medieval times for some reason? (You could argue it’s bc Joan of Arc’s real life) but also! The fact that so many art that’s met with prestige is white and old and European, Joan understands these things are “meaningful and deep” but that is only meaningful to a specific set of ppl, as opposed to Harriet’s wide-appeal show. Joan is convinced she’s on a moral high ground but the way she communicates is mainly through a white person’s biases when creating art.

“I know I’m the clone of Harriet Tubman, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun silly stories too!”

Harriet genuinely likes the story she made and how silly and fun she is, but she lives in the shadow of an important social figure and is terrified of failing that image.

Many poc and specially black and brown ppl feel pressured into making their experiences and prejudice they face part of their art, that every black character on something set on the past is either a slave or non-existant, that art of color has to be about pain and tragedy that can spell out our suffering to a white audience, Harriet here wants to escape from the pressures from being a clone but also from being a black artist in 2023 in general.

The conflict between Harriet and Joan’s white womanhood is great bc it shows how Joan lets her feelings and desire to make a “meaningful” musical that is just a bunch of edgy stuff and white people is so well written, specially because it brings to question why do we make art at all? And how does one decide what kinda art they wanna make? Does making something black and white and dreary make it automatically more meaningful and therefore superior to a musical about twister? The answer to the last one is no, and I love how this episode showed these cool discussions.

And I haven’t even touched on the song about white guy confidence, because I think that was a plot b where that theme was the most apparent, and I wanted to show how the same theme of white privilege shows up in the plot a, Cleo, Carver, Sacagawea and Confucius also aim to get a white audience’s approval, that is what these characters all struggle with and it is an ungoing war called living through high school as a person of color

#clonehigh #clone high harriet tubman #my shit #clone high

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nicolikesmoms · 10 months

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gonna discuss two topics that are very similar in regards to pjo that may be controversial. One annabeth chase would not listen to taylor swift, i dont even think she would like taylor swift. And if you don't like this opinion please just block me, dont leave hate comments. Annabeth grew up in chb, with satyrs and nymphs. She would not support someone who's personal carbon emissions are as high as taylor swifts. There may be some projecting in this, as someone who doesn't like Taylor swift. People like to say taylor swift is proof you can rise to fame without nepotism especially because apparently she was raised on a farm (a Christmas tree farm i believe) but her family was well off as well i believe. I respect her remaking her albums and the reason behind it but i do not respect her carbon emissions and i believe annabeth wouldnt either. She wouldn't give her monetary support. I also believe even if she liked taylor swift she wouldnt be a huge swiftie, who practically worships her or even someone who views her as a lyrical genius,. Again maybe self projecting. Maybe a few quotes here and there. But every time any mentions not liking taylor swift they are called a pick me. I literally saw a video on tik tok with every agreeing with that statement. They bring up the taylor swift or Shakespeare thing like idc and i dont think annabeth would either mainly for the fact i think annabeth would for sure get it right. Any way i don't want to ramble on that however second topic i do think annabeth is very crane wives coded and would listen to them and her favorite song of theirs is hand that feeds, but the moon will sing is a song she likes to listen that reminds her of both luke and her dad in different ways in the fact that their relationship was very complicated and she fits the lyrics in a different depending on how she is feeling. And can not explain but keep you safe feels exactly like annabeth but not at the same time. Anyway my opinion please don't leave hate or anything just block if you disagree.

#pjo #percy jackson #trials of apollo #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo hoo toa #hoo #annabeth chase #anti taylor swift #the crane wives #pjo headcanon #annabeth headcanons

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romanarose · 5 months

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If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 6

Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction my beloved Fen, who I could not do this without. Thank you for being my emotional sounding board, my dear friend, my wonderful cowriter and helpful beta reader. I adore you.

Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Santi takes Candy out, and Javier gets jealous, but still he defends them both. Drama erupts, and Santi finds something out about himself.

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it. Covert/emotional incest in the past, Santi's mommy issues, m/m dynamics, internalized bi/homophobia

For the record, this is a fic that takes place in the drug trade and deals with the darker side of humanity, so anything from Narco's and Triple Frontier is liable to be discussed or mentioned here. This is your warning. This is not a dark fic nor is it centered around dark themes like Leather and Lace or Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside, but they are open to be talked about.

Reader has a nick name: Candy. Not her real name just what she goes by on her profession. Much of the inspo for this and for the title came from the Bruce Springsteen song “Candy’s room” so check it out for the vibes.

Reader speaks Spanish and has hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS!: Santi's panicy trauma response. Santi's mommy issues in full swing. Javier is jealous, lots of arguments. Cumming untouched, titty sucking. We're in for it boys!

THE SMUT WAS 100% WRITTEN BY THE AMAZING @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction i knew i needed mommy kink and he was the one to go to. If you like subby men, Fen, my dearest cowritter, writes great fics esp with Steven Grant <3 What Fen said when they wrote it "Yoooooo, what am I writing Romana? Madness? I think so."

6.7 words (I'm so fucking sorry okay A LOT WAS HAPPENING)

A/N Since I am apparently an incomprehensible writer, please know that the smut scene in the last chapter was not a threesome, it's Javi fingering Candy and Candy flashing back to her giving Santi a reach around handjob. I wanted to compare and contrast the way the two pairs care for and pleasure each other. but it came across as a threesome :(

Support writers! Reblog and comment!

***************

Santiago didn’t know why he was so nervous.

“What we need is to get out into the actual field!” Javier exclaimed, setting his mug down loud enough to make Santi jump. “Sorry, Garcia.” He muttered, wiping a bit of spilled coffee with his sleeve.

Santiago rolled his shoulders, reaching back to rub his spine over the scar. The surgery saved his life, but damn did it hurt. “S’alright. Listen, I had an idea, but I don’t know if it’s going to be anything. It does get us out of the office next week.”

“I’ll take it, what do you have, Pope.”

Santi smiled. “Well, the nickname is fitting. It’s a rally for the beatification of Laura Montoya.”

A smile quirked up on Javier’s grumpy face. Unbuckling his belt after a second round of stress donuts, Javi kicked his legs up on his desk. “Of course you would know that.”

“My tia invited me.” He shoved Javi’s boots off, then wiped his hands on his pants. “We know what his family looks like now, maybe they will be there? It’s something.”

Javier agreed, it was something. Tracking Lorea had not gone as well as Escabar had. Not that that was a flawless mission itself, but at least it had traction. Martin Lorea was far less public.

The pair settled into an easy rhythm of planning the event. Santiago would have to avoid his tia’s, he thought. That may be hard, considering he had 4 and several cousins who will likely be attending the event. Colombia doesn’t have a canonized saint yet, and she was recognized as venerable so her potential beautification was a big deal for Colombia. Still, he couldn’t be recognized at the rally, his family would want to talk and talk and talk and ask why he didn’t have girlfriend and talk and ask who Javier was, and Tia Lupe would ask him if he had a ‘modern arrangement’ with Javier which would make Santi sick to his stomach with anxiety and- fuck he felt like the donut he stole from Javi was coming back up.

“Gotta go, be right back.”

“I’ll be timing you.” Javier kicked his legs back up on his desk and closed his eyes.

Over the toilet, Santi dry heaved, unsure if he was really going to puke or just felt like it. What the hell was it with Javier these days that made him so anxious? Things had been going well, their friendship repaired in the months since Javier caught him and Candy together. Other than Frankie, who would always be his number one, Javi was his best friend. He’d die for him the way he’d have died for Will, Frank or Ben… but there was something more. Since the day they met, Santiago wanted nothing more than Javier’s approval, he strived for it… maybe it was that he saw Javi as a father figure, almost 15 years older than him… that wasn’t right either. He couldn’t place it until earlier this week.

The DEA ball was coming up, Javier had asked Santi if he wanted to carpool since they both didn’t have dates and lived near-by… to which Santi said he actually had a date. She was a surprise. So was the fact Javier wanted to go.

The “Oh” that had fallen out of his mouth though Santiago off. It sounded disappointed. Santi couldn’t stand Javier disappointed in him. That’s when the thought happened. ‘I wish we could just go together’ Not arrive together. Go together. As a couple. His first thought was no, that’s illegal. His second thought was no, he’d go to hell. His third was him mami, god rest her soul, would roll over in her grave.

He shook the thoughts away, but ever since then he began noticing the way he stared at Javi, the way his body buzzed with any incidental touch… He had to shove it down.

Certainly, Javier was open-minded, but he would to spend as much time as he did with him if he was gay, right? He wouldn’t incite Santi over for futball games on the tv, he wouldn’t take him with him to get lunch… he wouldn’t even want to work with him. It would all be over.

That’s what made Santi sick.

That, and the anxiety over who his secret date was.

You didn’t know why you were so goddamn nervous.

You had to admit, you were very surprised when Santiago showed up for his regularly scheduled appointment, flowers in hand, asking you to join him at the ball.

“Santi… sweetie… I don’t know…”

His large eyes looked nervous. “It’s a job! I’ll pay you, I’m not expecting anything free! And I I know what you’re gonna say, I don’t care about Javi freaking out. Imean, if you care I don’t wanna pressure you of course! I’m not trying to come between you guys, but I doubt he’ll even show. He hates these things.”

“It’s not that I’m worried about…” You take the flowers, thanking him genuinely, and walking to your kitchen. Santiago anxiously paced your walls, trailing his hands over your posters. “Sweetheart, I know we have a good time, but I am a prostitute, you know this.”

“I swear, I don’t have any notions about us being in love… I just want you there.”

Placing the flowers in the vase, you turn to look at him. “I just… well…” You hesitate, unsure how to not freak the poor kid out. “oh my god, there's no polite way to say this, but, Javier is far from the only DEA agent I’ve slept with. Hell, I slept with the janitor once.”

“Mario’s a cool guy, I don’t blame you.”

“What I’m saying is,” She sighed out her words. “You’re a sweet young man, and I know you’re a lot younger than most of the guys there. I don’t want to cause you any trouble-”

“Candy-”

“And I know I’ll cause you trouble if I’m there. They are going to make fun of you for bringing a hooker to a ball.”

He shook his head. “I don’t care. There’s no one else I want there with me but you, and I don’t care what Javier says, or any of them for that matter.”

You smile softly at the young man. He was earnest, but although you believed he didn’t care about the other guys at the precinct, you didn’t believe him for one second about Javi. Santiago worshiped the ground Javier walked on, it was clear by the way he talked about his partner.

“If you really don’t care, then yes, I’d love to go.”

His youthful face lit up. “Really?!”

“Yes” You giggle. “It sounds like a great night.”

Santiago ran to you, making you squeal as he threw you over his shoulder. “I’m gonna make you cum so many fucking times on my face, Candy, you don’t even know.”

You had to admit you were a little nervous. A lot nervous. He said he didn't think Javier would be there, but you weren’t sure, and hadn’t had a chance to try and prod him for information. You’d asked around, and Javi had been spending several nights with Gabby. This was not unusual, he was known to bounce around women, but he always came back to you. Today, though, it made you jealous as all hell. Santiago made you nervous too.

You wanted to at least make a good impression for him, so you went out and bought a brand new evening gown for the occasion, something classy, showing the curves but not your tits. Your big Farrah Faucet curls that usually accompanied a night with Lorea and his men were dialed down more to a simple look, your make-up more natural that a night on the town with high rollers would see. Still you were beautiful and you knew it. Just less like a hooker.

Javier didn’t know why he was so fucking nervous. He never went to these stupid things, much preferring to spend a night undressed with his cock buried between a pretty woman’s legs than stuff himself into a suit that had only gotten tighter in recent years. But, Pope was gonna be there, he was gonna be dressed up in some overdone suite, Javi just knew it. And his stupid curls would be slicked back and inevitably a few would pop out and he’d spend the night trying to keep them back but they would want to be wild and he’d eventually mess with his hair too much and it’d be all every-which-way and, and, and…

So maybe he was late. So maybe he was a little tipsy. Maybe he had been taking pulls of a flask in the back of a taxi but there was coke baggie and a cum stain on the seat so was it really the worst the car had seen? He pulled up to the dance in his too-tight suit, stumbling out a bit, and attempted to find his way inside. He didn’t really want to see Santi dancing with a girl, but if he didn’t show, Santi would worry, and Javi didn’t like Santi worrying.

Javier hoped she was nice. A nice girl because he was a nice young man. Someone to take care of him in some ways, to let him care for her in others… Javi knew he could take care of Sant. He had when he was sick, hadn’t he? Therein lied the reason Javi was drunk. The burn of the liquor was to press down the feeling he couldn’t ignore sober. He wanted Santiago.

“Buenas noche, amigos. ¿Has visto Santiago?”

Javi asked as he stumbled on a few men from the DEA chattering in a corner

One of the men, Freddy, chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. “Oh, you haven't seen him yet?”

This caused all the men to laugh, but Javier didn’t get the joke. He got the feeling whatever it was, they were laughing at Santi. Javier knew Santi hadn’t really clicked with the men. He was too straight laced, too honest… too good.

“The fuck does that mean?” Javier asked with an obvious bit of bite. Santiago was his to protect.

“Young Garcia came here with a whore on his arm.” Another man, Josue, with a patchy mustache he should just call it quits on attempting to grow replies. “Wonder if he knows what she is, or if he’s going to wake up to a nasty bill in the morning.”

The group laughs, and Javier feels panic rising inside him. No. No way. Santiago couldn’t possibly be that stupid, could he? He was the smartest man Javier knew. He’d never risk her like this…

Freddy continued when he saw Javi’s confused look. “Yeah, Pena, thats what I thought too!” He said with a laugh that Javier knew was not the good natured ribbing he gave Santi. “You know Candy?”

“Uh, yeah, sounds familiar.” The room was spinning, lights and smoke and colors starting to blur.

“The whore on 7th that lets you play rough? Yeah, her.”

Javier snapped to attention again. “What did you just say?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe it either!” He turns to another man Javier doesn’t have it in him to focus on. “I bet Virgin Maria thinks he’s in love.”

Grabbing him by the shoulder, Javier turned Freddy to him. “What the fuck did you say about Garcia?”

“Relaje, Pena. You call him Pope, different name, same meaning.”

But it wasn’t. Santi was Javi’s friend, Javier cared about him. Javier called him Pope to his face and if he thought it upset him, Javi wouldn’t do it. Freddy and the guys were calling him Virgin Maria behind his back, intending on being assholes. It was meant to hurt, it wasn’t true (Santi wasn’t a virgin even before Candy), it was meant to make a mockery of his good nature, his religion, and his morals. The effeminate name was meant to mock his slight build and stature as well as his passive nature. None of them knew the Santiago that Javier knew. They didn’t know the intelligent, compassionate, incredibly capable young former special opes agent who had saved his life multiple times and had given more break throughs on Lorea than he could could.

“Tell me again what you said about Candy.”

Despite the fact everyone was staring at them, you had never seen Santi so happy, so relaxed. He had a few drinks and for his small body it probably left him feeling warm and content. You had opted to stay mostly sober, only drinking one glass of white wine from the open bar; Santiago’s generous and soft smile to the bartender only endeared him to you more.

He was so much fun like this. You loved the time you spent with him in bed, that was fun too, but you’d also come to genuinely enjoy the moments where he wasn’t making you orgasm on his lips again and again. You genuinely cared when you asked him about his day, and had made a mental note of all the names he mentioned at the precinct that were causing him problems that you recognized. You weren’t sure how without outting him, but you’d figure out some way to fuck with them. One who was a massive dick to him, Freddy, was also a massive dick to you too.

Santi was indulging in a cupcake, telling a story of his friend Benny hitting on a woman only to realize her husband was standing next to her.

“It took me, his brother Will, Fish and Redfly to break the fight up. He still won’t go in that neighborhood anymore!” Santi giggles, taking a bite of the vanilla.

You laugh along; he’s an entertaining story teller. “Did he learn his lesson?”

“No! No! That’s the best part!” Santi said as he waved his hands excitedly. “He immediately, and I mean as soon as we cleaned the blood off his face, went and hit on another girl! And you wanna know the worst part?”

“It worked?”

“It work- how did you know that?”

“Women are easy, Santi.” Swaying to the music, you set his cupcake down. He has frosting on his upper lip, just under where his mustache sat.. “We love our men bloodied.” You pull him in close, eyeing his upper lip for the frosting, but he looks like he’s going for a kiss, and who are you to deny such a handsome man?

“Even when they lose?” He speaks, voice soft and sultry. Santi’s eye flick to your lips, his own push pillows parting to receive you.

“Especially when they lose.” You close the gap, taking his lips in yours and licking your tongue over his sugar-covered upper lip, brushing over his mustache. Sweet, just like him. Your sweet man.

For a moment, you are lost in him, the sounds of the Jim Croce floating in the air.

'Cause every time I tried to tell you

The words just came out wrong

So I'll have to say I love you in a song’

CRASH!

Immediately, at the sound of excitement, Santiago is in front of you, guarding your body with his. He doesn’t move, thinking clearly and assessing the situation; looking for where the danger is at and where the best exit points may be. Keep Candy safe. Keep Candy safe. His only goal was her, keep her away from any narcos, terrorists, freedom fighters or drunken men that might be causing a stir. When the center of the commotion was coming from the north, Santiago took Candy’s hand and began to take her to one of the south exits, a lesser used one with less potential for a second assailant, when he felt her tug away.

“JAVI!” She shouts, running towards the danger in high heels, rust colored skirt fluttering just as her flowy sleeves did.

“CANDY!” Running after her, he catches up with ease without the hindrance of heels. Santi tries to stop her, not wanting her near the drunken brawl, but she is on a single minded mission. Javier was under Freddy, who Santiago did not like, and getting the shit beat out of him. If he had a second more, if his focus wasn’t so on Candy, he would have beat her too it… but Candy was quicker

Santiago watches in surprise as she lifts her skirt, pulling a knife out of her garter, getting behind Freddy and gripping his hair hard, knife to his throat.

Everything was a deadly calm, everyone saying so, so still to not disturb the crazy woman with a knife. When Santi looked to Javier to check if he was okay, he saw Javi looking up at her with his big brown eyes, clearly fucking enamored.

“Freddy, get off of him before I tell everyone the weird shit you’re into.”

The next few minuets were a blur. As soon as Freddy was off Javier and Candy’s knife was off him, he was a big man again and the group began arguing. Santiago couldn’t quite pick up what it was about except “KEEP HIS NAME OUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!” From Javi.

They were all three escorted out by security; weapons weren’t allowed at the ball.

Outside the doors, a second argument erupted.

Candy tried to approach Javier. “Javi, baby, are you-” But as her hands reached for his swollen face, the older agent stepped back and turned his attention to his mentee. “Are you fucking stupid, Garcia?!”

Santi and Candy both are taken aback by this, but it’s Candy that speaks first. “Don’t talk to him like that!”

Javier’s anger is turned back to her. “And you! You should know better than this! Than coming here!”

She rolls her eyes. “Javi. It’s literally a part of my job, I’m an escort.”

“FOR DRUG DEALERS!” Javier shouts, throwing his hands in the air and stumbling back. “Not for YOU!”

“So what, he’s too good for me to take out? Dirty whore like me belongs in dirty nightclubs and dirty crackhouses?”

“Oh for fucks sake THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT!”

Instinctively, Santi places himself slightly in front of Candy. “Tone it down, Pena.”

His icy glare turns condescending as a short, drunk, sardonic laugh escapes him. “HA! Do you think you’re in love, Santiago? Do you think you’ll be the magical man that can ‘save her’? That’s not how this works! You aren’t supposed to be bringing prostitutes to government functions, you absolute IDIOT! And you’re especially not supposed to bring HER!”

“ENOUGH!” Candy shouts at him, eyes flashing in anger. “You don’t get to tell him what he can and can’t do, Javi! And you certainly do not have possession over me! I am not yours! Just because we fuck does not mean you own me, and you don’t get to decide who I sleep with. Like you said, I am a prostitute, one of SEVERAL you frequent, so I wouldn’t be getting too high and mighty about being careful when everyone knows Helena nearly died working for you! I am not yours!”

Javier scoffs. “Oh, and he is? You think he’s your little lover boy, someone to play pretend that you are having a normal relationship with? He’s a scared child, he’s terrified of intimacy and thinks a finger in the ass will send him to hell!”

“Javier, fucking stop it right now.”

“He can’t protect you! He can’t take care of you!”

“Oh, and you can?”

“YES!”

Javier’s shouted words hung in the air, dripping with anger and venom. Santi simply watches, watches them like a scared child watching his parents fight, wishing it would just fucking stop, but it won’t. Not between them. Javier doesn’t back down and Candy isn’t scared of him.

Then, Candy starts to laugh. It’s short little laughs at first but grows louder. “Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME JAVI!” She laughs once more before shaking her head, tugging a bit at her hair as she walks a short circle. Candy shook her head, suddenly calm. “Thunder only happens when it’s raining, players only love you when they’re playing.”

Javi blinked, his voice now noticeably slurred. “What the actual fuck was that.”

Santi stepped up, sliding an arm around Candy’s waist. If she said what she wanted to say, he wanted to guide her away from Javier before he could be more hurtful to her. “It’s from Fleetwood Mac, Javi. You’d know that if you cared enough about her to look into her interests.”

Candy turned to him then, surprised, her soft eyes looking towards him; the hint of a smile on her face.

Javier, however, looked bewildered. “Her interests?You. Are not. DATING HER!”

“I still care about her!” Santiago defended himself. “Just because I’m not a sad slut who can’t emotionally attach to anyone anymore doesn’t mean I treat her like she’s not a person!”

Javier looked like he was about to speak, then shook his head. “This is fucking insane. This is not a Hollywood movie, there is no happy ending here, FUCK YOU GUYS and FUCK THE GODDAMN PRESINCT”

With that, Javier stormed off, angrily mumbling about one thing or another and his broad form shrunk down the street.

It was then Santi felt her begin to shake. Thinking quick, he took off his sports coat and wrapped it around her. “Hey, hey bebita,¿Estás bien?”

“Si” She shook her head a bit, then turned to him with an irritated look “He just really pisses me off sometimes, you know?”

Santi chuckled. “I know. He’s an asshole, let’s not worry about him, okay?” He wrapped his arms around her, and Candy allowed herself to sink into him. Santiago felt her relax, laying her head on him. He was angry, so fucking angry at Javier for the things he said to Candy, the way he spoke to her, it was hurting with jaw with how much he was clenching it… but it was clear Candy was upset too. His feelings didn’t matter, her’s did. He needed to be her man, be her strength, so he pushed his feelings aside.

Through the doors of the ballroom they could still here the live music playing, and he felt Candy gasp as The Eagle’s hit song, Peaceful Easy Feeling, began.

“I love this song…” She whispered, beginning to sway to the music. The stars were out, shining on her. It felt like they shined for her alone.

‘I like the way your sparkling earrings lay

Against your skin, it's so brown’

“I know.” Santi whispered against her skin. “I asked them to play it.” He sang the next line into her skin.

‘Y quiero dormir contigo en el desierto esta noche

Con mil millones de estrellas alrededor’

Candy took her head off him to look into his eyes. Fuck, she was pretty. So so pretty. He wanted her with him all the time, even though he knew it wasn’t possible. He wasn’t in love. Santi wasn’t sure he was capable of romantic love, honestly. He wasn’t sure he was capable of a love that was safe. But whatever he had with Candy right now it was good.

“You requested this song for me?”

‘'Cause I gotta peaceful easy feeling

And I know you won't let me down

'Cause I'm already standing

On the ground’

“Of course I did… wanted to make sure there was music you liked.” Santiago stroked her hair, careful to not mess it up, just enough to feel her. He began to dance with her in earnest.

“You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“And I found out a long time ago

What a woman can do to your soul

Ah, but she can't take you anyway

You don't already know how to go”

Santiago twirled her, making Candy giggle.

“You listen to Fleetwood Mac?” She asked him through her laughs.

‘And I gotta peaceful easy feeling

And I know you won't let me down

'Cause I'm already standing

On the ground’

He shrugged. “I didn’t until I saw you had three albums, a Fleetwood Mac poster AND a Stevie Nicks poster.”

“So you… just decided to listen?”

“They're clearly important to you.”

He sings to her once again in Spanish

‘Tengo este presentimiento de que te conozco

Como amante y como amiga’

Candy whispers in his ear. “I enjoy our time together. I hope you know that. I do consider you a lover and a friend, Santiago.”

‘But this voice keeps whispering

In my other ear, tells me

I may never see you again’

Santiago believed her, but the ever-presant anxiety inside him told him this was temperary. Don’t feel safe, don’t feel comfortable. You are expendable. You are only loved as long as you are useful. You are only loved as long as you are perfect and good and right all the time. You can never mess up. If you do, WHEN you do, she’ll walk away just like Javi did. Still, he shakes these thoughts off and tries to focus on her. Focus on Candy.

‘Porque tengo un sentimiento tranquilo y pacifico

Y se que decepcionarás

Porque ya estoy parado

En el suelo’

As the song ended, Santi dipped a giggling Candy down low, admiring the way the dress flowed over her beautiful body.

“Hey Candy, they aren’t gonna let us back in there, wanna hop some shitty bars?”

“I’d like nothing more, Santiago.”

Back at his apartment, Candy and Santi giggled their way into his bedroom. A slightly tipsy Santi flopped down on his bed, sighing out a declaration that this was the best night of his life. When he opens his eyes again, he sees you smiling at him. He thinks that he wants to see you in his home more often.

“You look really pretty in that dress, you know that?” Santi says with a love-sick smile plastered all over his face.

You can’t help but smile back, unable to hamper the little laugh that lightens your chest. He was a bit more tipsy than you’d thought.

He pouts a little, being overly dramatic on purpose as he leans up on his elbows, his left leg half hanging off the bed as you stand watching him.

“Don’t laugh.” He pulls a face that has the opposite effect.

You don’t give him the chance to retort again and poke his foot with your index finger, while you school your face into a mock disapproving scowl. “Shoes on in bed?” You tut, expecting another pout and tease back from him, a shrug and a chorus of ‘Well it’s my bed, I can do whatever I want.’

But instead, his eyes widened a little, a small dusting of light pink blossoming over his brown cheeks and nose and highlighting his faint freckles. “S-sorry.” He mumbles quickly, scrabbling up into a sitting position to undo his laces. He’s pulled off one shoe and dropped it carefully to the floor before you even have a chance to register what he’s doing.

“Hey, hey,” you sit down next to him, your thigh touching his, and stroke your left hand through his curls. They’re a little stiffer than usual from the product he used for the occasion; it hasn’t stopped more than a few rough strands from breaking free though.

Santi leans into your touch instantly, instinctively closing his eyes and sighing, a weight lifting from his ribs. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started purring.

“You okay?” You whisper, continuing to run your fingers softly through his hair.

He nods and hums an affirmative.

You’re about to ask again, unable to stop yourself from double-checking his well-being. That seed of affection for Santi that first settled in your heart weeks ago has now grown and rooted into your chest, its vines and leaves twisted around your rib cage, seeking out your love like sunlight.

Just as the words form on your tongue you notice the not-so-subtle bulge in his trousers and bite back a smile.

Ah.

Not distress. Not panic. Nothing like that at all. Not right now, anyway.

Santi can’t see your expression with his eyes closed. He’s shifted closer, his temple gently against your shoulder as you stroke his hair. He sighs happily, almost dreamily.

It’s nice to see him like this, relaxed into your touch. He too often seems anxious, worried, worrying about his military friends, worried about Javi, worried about his family although those details remain vague. He’s mentioned his sisters lives in the US, Atlanta she thought, his tia’s he saw so often here, and every now and then a brief mention of his mom but only in passing. You place a soft kiss on his forehead, leaving a faint lipstick stain on his skin and he presses closer to you, nuzzling into the nape of your neck.

Languidly you run your free hand up his thigh, just tracing your fingers over his crotch before you squeeze.

The sharp, low moan that escapes his lips is more than worth it, though the gasped word that tumbles out is a bit of a surprise.

“Mommy,”

He freezes instantly, his eyes going wide and teeth audibly snapping shut. In less than a second he’s racking his brain, trying to work out how, why, where did that word come from? What deep, dark recess of his mind forced that word to the surface? Something was wrong with him. Something fundamentally wrong with him, deep down in the recesses of his brain. He was fucked up. He was going to hell.

Maybe you hadn’t heard it. Maybe you wouldn’t notice it. But already Santi knew those hopes were a lost cause. The way your hand had tightened momentarily in his hair the second it slipped past his tongue. He’d had a drink, a few drinks- although they’d mostly worn off throughout the night- that was a good enough excuse right? Oh god. What must you think? What would you-

“You’re my good boy, aren’t you?” Your voice was low and sweet, a caress to his very soul and he shivered in spite of himself, moaning again and squeezing his eyes shut as you stroked his painfully hard cock.

He nodded his head rapidly, not wanting to disappoint you. He’d be good, he’d be so fucking good for you. His breath hot on your neck as he pressed closer, angling his body completely towards you with a soft whimper.

You continued stroking him for a moment longer, pressing the heel of your palm firmly against his thick base before you unzipped his fly and flicked open his trouser buttons. You always loved this, loved how needy he got, how desperate for you.

Santi groaned loudly, his lips against your neck, half muffling his words against your skin as he squirmed into your touch.

“Hmm?” You halted your actions teasingly, waiting for him to repeat himself.

The small sob and bob of his throat nearly broke your resolve, but he pulled his face away from you a fraction to speak.

“Mommy, please,” he whispered.

You couldn’t help yourself, it wasn’t like it was the first man to call you ‘mommy’ in bed, but there was something about sweet, innocent Santi who had blushed his way through your first encounter not that long ago speaking that world that set your blood ablaze.

“Please what?” You teased.

He squirmed again, bucking helplessly against your hand. “Please?”

“You’re gonna have to use a few more words than that pretty boy, or I won’t be able to help you.”

Santi let out an anguished sigh, pressing his face into your neck once more.

Quickly, you moved your hand away from his weeping cock and firmly pinched his chin between your fingers, pulling him back ever so slightly so that you could look into his dark brown eyes as you title his face up.

“If you don’t speak, Mommy won’t be able to help you.”

Santi audibly moaned, his eyes rolling back for a split second before he shut them tight. His dick twitched uncontrollably.

“Yes, please, sorry, I’ll be good, I’ll be a good boy.” His words were all rushed together and there was a hazy look to his gaze when he opened his eyes again, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

You petted his hair gently. “I know you will be, Mommy’s got you, sweetheart.”

He whimpered, rubbing his thighs together with every word.

“Now, tell me what you want.”

“Can I,” he swallowed again, placing his hand on the zip of your dress, “can I undo this?”

That wasn’t what you expected him to say, and you raised an eyebrow at him lazily as you smiled and nodded.

Santi let out a little nervous breath before hastily undoing the dress and carefully slipping it off your shoulders and down to your waist. You weren’t wearing a bra.

He held his breath as he gazed at your chest, his left hand hovering just above your skin as he stared with reverence. As if he hadn’t seen you semi-naked many, many times before.

You stroked his hair again. “You’re such a good buy, aren’t you? Asking for what you need?” You say softly, just to gently break him out of his trance. You did enjoy teasing him, but never for very long. He always listened, always did as he was told, and you were happy to reward him

He nods quickly, never taking his eyes off your breasts. The tip of his tongue pokes out and wets his bottom lip.

Ever so slowly he leans forward, placing a light, sweet kiss to your lips, the corner of your mouth, your cheek, before trailing down to your neck and collarbone. His kisses get messier, wetter, more urgent the further down he goes and you don’t expect him to pause, panting against your skin.

He looks up at you with large eyes that send a shudder of heat through your core. “Can I kiss your breasts… mommy?” He adds the name shyly, looking down momentarily so that his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks.

You keep stroking his hair as you nod, hooking your fingers around the nape of his neck and guiding him towards your chest. He takes the small movement and runs with it instantly, surging forward and covering your breasts in desperate, wet kisses. Switching back and forth between them constantly as if he simply had to lavish each with the exact same amount of attention. He moans as he lightly bites and sucks, his hands digging into your skin as he holds onto you for dear life.

You press him closer, urging him on by digging your fingers into his curls and scratching your nails along his scalp. He rewards you with another muffled groan, the vibrations reverberating along your skin and sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

Santi pushes closer, the force nearly knocking you onto your back as he latches onto your left nipple. You brace your right hand on the bed behind you so that you can keep your balance.

“Such a good boy Santi.” You whisper and he whines, looking up at you once with lazy, lust-blown eyes as he keeps his mouth against you. He sucks demandingly, the sensation almost bordering on too much, but still somehow not enough, and swirls his tongue around your nipple before lapping at it and starting the process all over again. His hips are bucking desperately, but he doesn’t dare ask for attention. He knows you’ll take care of him. You always will.

He sighs, shifting, simultaneously trying to get something and not knowing what he wants at the same time.

You know what he needs though.

You coo at him, soothing and sweet as you pull in closer into your arms, cradling his head as you gently ease him into your lap. He moans so loudly, the sound quickly becoming a whine in his throat as you embrace him.

For a few seconds, he seems to relax into you, all the stress of the day and previous weeks and months draining from his soul and bones as he gently sucks. But then he starts to squirm, his thighs shaking and stomach muscles tensing. He pulls his mouth off of you with a pop and low, desperate groan. His eyes shut tight and eyebrows knitted together as he whines and presses his forehead against your skin.

“Gonna cum.” At the very back of his mind he has a sense that he should be embarrassed, embarrassed that he’s this far gone and going to cum practically untouched. But he can’t fight the pleasure as it bubbles up his spine, doesn’t want to.

“You can cum Santi,” you whisper in his ear. “You’re such a good boy, cum for Mommy.”

He shakes his head, unsure why, tears at the very corners of his eyes, “please.”

“It’s okay,” you soothe, holding him tight and kissing his temple. “I’m here.”

He moans loudly, latching back onto your breast and sucking for all he’s worth.

“Mommy’s here.”

He groans again, pulling away a fraction to get his words out. His voice is breath and high. “Want Mommy to cum.”

The pleading in his voice spikes at the throbbing arousal in your core. “Santi, it’s okay-”

His whine is muffled against your chest as he reaches down, sliding his hands between your legs to caress your body the way he knows you like. You’d taught him exactly how you want to be touched, exactly how you touch yourself. He was an eager learner.

“Santi,” you manage to breathe out through his messy desperate kisses.

“Mommy needs to cum now please,” he murmurs, his speech slurred against your tongue,

Your breath catches, thighs squirming as he strokes you, the movements soft but sure. It only takes an embarrassingly short time before you’re moaning into his mouth and tensing as your release overtakes you in a rush.

When it’s clear you’ve cum, he tenses, his orgasm following through him and bursting behind his eyes. His cock throbs as he empties himself into his pants. You smile softly at his face as his forehead pinches in bliss, your hand still stroking his hair.

There’s a pause, a small moment of quiet just before he sighs deeply, feeling weak and boneless. And then he looks up at you with his dark, dark eyes. The softness, the relief, the adoration… the sleepiness.

“So good, Santiago… you’re so good. My perfect boy…”

Santi sighs against your skin, relishing in the tender moment as you play with his hair. “Was that weird?” He mumbles into your skin.

“Noooo, no not at all. It’s very common, actually.”

He looks up at you through heavy lids and suspicious eyes. “Really?”

“Oooooh yeah.” You chuckle. “More often than you think. I’m not here to judge anyone.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but he seems to relax. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

You opt to not talk about it anymore, at least for the time being. He’s so tired right now, coming hard and untouched, and you decide it’s time to put him to bed. By the time you lay him from your lap to his pillow, he’s half asleep, so you opt with minimal dress. Gentle, you unbutton his shirt and slowly, carefully slide his shirt off. When you take off his trousers and underwear fully, you replace them with sweats. You think he’s asleep, breathing slowly and eyes closed. He looks positively angelic. When your getting ready to zip up your dress again, and make your exit, you hear his voice once more.

“Stay the night?”

You sigh. “Santi, I dunno if that’s a good idea…”

His eyes open slightly, just enough so you can see him. “Please, I’ll pay you whatever you want, I just don’t want tonight to end…”

He looks so vulnerable in this moment… and you don’t want this night to end either. Rules be damned. Santi was different. Santi was better. Santi was good. And you? You deserved some damn good.

“Don’t pay me, I’ll stay.”

Santiago sits up ever so slightly. “No, no Candy this is your job. I don’t expect free-”

“It’s not free, honey.” You begin to strip down, Santi’s sleepy eyes drifting down your naked body, staring at the knife at your garter. “We’re going to sleep, just like I would at home. And tomorrow, you’ll make me breakfast. Sound like a fair trade?” The truth was, sleeping with Santi, actually sleeping with Santi, sounded wonderful. You didn’t want it to feel like a transaction.

So, you slip into his clothes. You wear a tee shirt and sweats and climb into his bed where you think he’s actually asleep this time. He snores lightly. He sleeps on his stomach, so you rub his back. He feels nice.

You want better for him. You want him to have a stable life, a loving wife who wasn’t a whore, kids if he wanted them, his family and friends surrounding him. He should have to live in danger, work a dangerous job. He should be allowed to be happy. It wasn’t a life you could give him, you knew… but you could imagine.

You kiss the scar on his spine.

******************

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for reading!!!!

If you're still hear, please drop a lil HI! It's 12 pm here, inching towards 1 but i promised to put this out so i will!!!

Everyone PLEASE GIVE A ROUND OF APPLOUSE FOR FEN FOR THE SMUT IN THE COMMENTS AND REBLOGS SO I CAN MAKE SURE THEY SEE ALL THE LOVE

I hope everyone is saying as safe as they can be in these temps, my heart goes out to all those struggling but especially those in war zones, poverty, homelessness, or in areas that were previously never this cold and thus unprepared for a harsh winter. I know us northerners joke about how cold we get, but I know its different when your infrastructure isnt equipped to take this on.

So tell me friends

Did Javier have a reason to be mad at Santi?

Or was he overreacting?

TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS ON THE ARGUEMENT AND YOUR THOTS ON OUR DEAR SANTI

@runa-falls @lunar-ghoulie @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @persephone-girl @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beelzebeth87 @pimosworld @millerscoffee @heareball @thatwonderouswoman @poolb @meveispunk @lovable-liar @millllenniawrites @read-and-wip @missdictatorme @the-fox-den @milkymoon2483 @k-ra @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rosellacwrites @legendary-pink-dot @dreamingofbucky @englandsgray @starsthatwatch @fairlyang @alwaysmicado @theywhowriteandknowthings @casa-boiardi @lostfleurs @ninebluehearts @puglover12 @sub-aro @laiisleiite @itspdameronthings @heareball @comfortlessjoy @csarab615 @calaveramangonda @bit-dodgy-innit @stevngrant @kirsteng42 @mrsjavierp @nanfafnan @lovable-liar @axshadows @cookielovesbook-akie @reallyrallyauthor @solar-fics @criticalarchitecture

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