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multimilfs · 1 year
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Queen Ravenna x Fem!Reader: Beyond Fury
Summary: escapetodreamworld sent... Queen Ravenna + 14 -- “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”
AO3
Prompts found here!
A/N: This is the first fic I wrote for this challenge and I love it. Charlize is amazing and getting to write for Ravenna was a lot of fun, she's a bit difficult, which makes it a nice challenge. I hope you enjoy!
Full Ficmas List
Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix
Warning(s): Non-con elements, Blood
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It’s after nightfall when the Queen summons you. Her brother arrives at the door to your rooms, a leering grin on his mouth. You almost trip over your own dress in your haste to put distance between the two of you. 
“Where is Sir Maynard?” You ask. 
His grin gets wider, “Indisposed, I’m afraid. My sister has sent me in his place.” 
The room is freezing despite the roaring fire and furs on the floor. It feels like a trap. Sir Maynard is always the one to escort you to your Queen, his hands startlingly gentle even in the beginning; A rapport and trust building between you as your affection for Queen Ravenna grew. Fear courses through you at the thought of something befalling him. 
But nothing inspires more fear than her brother. You don’t know his name, don’t care to, for there’d always been a curious distance between the two of you. Whispers of his… proclivities reached you, and you operated under the assumption they reached your Queen too; your heart had always been warmed by the idea of her keeping you safe, even from her own family. 
Now, you wonder how you’ve deluded yourself into believing you’d ever be away from him. 
“An escort is unnecessary, Sir,” You say, trying to infuse your voice with strength, “Queen Ravenna knows I’ll come to her willingly. Though I thank you for your willingness to assist.”
His advance on you is swift and sure. In a second, his face is inches from yours, eyes boring into you. You look anywhere else. The unpleasant warmth and stench of him make your stomach twist. 
“My sister, for some reason foreign to me, may let you get away with what you wish. Watch your tongue around me unless you want to put it to good use.” He punctuates the statement with a glance downward. Your face burns with shame and rage. 
“I’d sooner lose it.” You snarl. 
A hand clasps itself around your neck and the point of a dagger is aimed at your chest. Your skin bends to make space for it. One wrong move and it will slice through, spilling blood on the dress you adore. 
You want to believe you’re protected, but you can’t say for certain; you can never say anything with certainty about your Queen. Wisely, you stay silent as he increases the pressure of his weapon and his hand. 
“You’re a stupid, vile girl.” 
The hand around your throat tightens.
“And one day I’ll have the luxury of doing what I want with you.” 
He steps back, infinitesimally, and his hands fall away. One pulls at the sleeve of your dress and pulls it down your arm, the neckline moving with it. You shiver as more of your skin is exposed to him. He stops before any of your chest is bared. 
With a lazy spin, he slashes downward. The skin splits open. You let out a pained noise, clutching your hand over the now-bleeding gash. The Queen’s brother pulls a white handkerchief from his belt and presses it into the wound roughly. Wincing, you flinch away, but hold the cloth in place. 
“Fix your dress,” He snaps, “My sister is waiting.” 
You pull up the sleeve and neckline so it hides the reddening handkerchief. A threat lingers in his eyes as he watches, then shoves you ahead. Dark soldiers flank your sides. You shiver against the chill in the air and follow their lead; you know the way just like the route to your own rooms—down several twisting halls, a few sharp lefts, and you’re before her doors—but they’re taking you somewhere different. 
Instead of the final left, you take a right. You’re brought to two large, iron doors, etched with sigils and writing you can’t understand. One of the guards pounds his fist against the door three times before opening it. 
Across the expanse of dark stone and pillars she stands facing away. Fire rages in the center of the room, drawing her full attention. You can feel the warmth of it from here and wonder how she can stand to be near it. 
“I’ve brought the girl.” Her brother says. You jump, having forgotten he was there. 
She turns and her eyes find you in an instant. You can’t help the blush you’re sporting, bowing your head and offering a polite curtsey. A smirk pulls at her mouth. 
The smirk drops as she addresses the other occupants in the room, “Leave us.” 
The soldiers offer bows and turn in sync, stomping out of the room. Her brother hesitates. His eyes flicker to her and then to you, giving you a long, serious look. Then he follows the soldiers. Your blush has vanished by the time he’s gone. 
“You kept me waiting.” She says, low voice covering the expanse—both physical and mental—between you. You’re relieved to see her shoulders relaxed, “You never keep me waiting.” 
You can sense the question in her statement, can practically hear her shouting what was more important than your Queen? But instead of raising her voice, she tilts her head, and waits. 
Lying has never been a skill in your arsenal. And with your Queen looking at you like she’d unwrap your flesh from your skeleton should you cross her, you’ve never had the guts to try. 
Skating the truth might work, you decide, “I was speaking with your brother, My Queen. He offered me a lesson on courtesy.” 
She huffs out a laugh. 
“I’d say that’s one skill you don’t need a lesson on.” 
You blush. Now that the danger of tripping her wrath has truly passed, you take slow movements to her, coming to stop at the bottom step leading to the room of fire. Her eyes are intrigued when they look down at you. 
“And what skills do I need a lesson on, My Queen?” You ask. 
She lifts an eyebrow. 
You’re quick to correct, “Ravenna.” 
Ravenna’s eyes slip closed like her name from your lips gives her power. There’s a split second of bliss there, like when you’ve finished your usual duties with her, but it feels more intimate this time. You look away. 
A blush pulls at your cheeks and you can’t fathom why; you’ve seen her in various positions and states of undress, heard things drip from her tongue that’d make any reasonable woman melt with shame. You’ve never had an issue being a witness before. You blame it on the heat radiating from the room behind her. 
Fingers tilt your head back to look her in the eye. Ravenna’s closer now, armor clad body nearly pressing to your own. A finger, adorned with a black talon, scrapes along your bottom lip. 
Her kiss is demanding and brutal when you’re locked in it, claiming every inch of you she can reach. You let out a whimper against her. Teeth find and tug at your lip, insisting on torturing you just within the bounds of what you can handle. You’re running out of air but can’t make yourself pull back. 
Ravenna’s taloned hand ghosts down your neck and makes you shiver. You feel her grin against your lips when she starts to move to your chest and you moan pathetically, pushing yourself into her embrace. She freezes before fully touching where you desire. 
You laugh against her, used to her teasing, but you open your eyes to shards of ice staring you down. 
Her eyes have landed just about where her hand is and you gaze downward, freezing. There, next to her hand, blood has seeped through the exquisite fabric. Some of it stains her fingertips. You feel lightheaded. 
“Take off your dress.” She commands, no longer Ravenna, but your Queen. 
“My Queen, I…”
“You heard me. Take. It. Off.” 
The control she had before is gone. When you step back to pull down the top of your dress, she stays rooted to the spot. Her eyes are sharp, deadly, and you know armies trembled beneath this gaze before but you’re not, whether it be stupidity or comfort. 
Pulling down your dress reveals the bloodstained handkerchief and you peel it off of your skin. The gash is angry, blood still seeping from it, though in smaller amounts this time. You don’t dare wipe it away. 
Ravenna steps to you and brings her own hand out to touch at the gash, hand shaking with barely contained rage. You try and fail to stop your wince. 
“They’ll pay in blood.” Ravenna forces through gritted teeth, “Tell me their name.” 
You go cold. Her brother has been her longest and fiercest companion, even uttering his name would assure her rage be directed at you. She’ll choose family everytime. You don’t want to die, not when there’s still so much time you haven’t shared with her. 
“I…” 
“A name!” Ravenna shouts. 
Shaking your head, you try to pull back, but her left hand clasps around your arm. You’re caught in an iron grip. 
“You’ll be furious with me.” You whisper, voice pleading. 
“We’re beyond fury,” Her voice trembles, “A name.” 
Wincing and looking at your feet, you accept your fate, “It was your brother.” 
Emotions from defeat to pure hatred flicker behind her eyes before she settles on one; betrayal. Her hold on you loosens and you step closer, reaffirming the contact. She doesn’t react to it. 
A vulnerability lingers in her muscles as she deflates, a lone tear tracking down her porcelain cheek. You ache to wipe it away. She’s staring past you, mind caught in something you can’t hope to understand. You remain an anchor to the physical world as you take her hand and bring the palm to your lips, your own tears falling onto the skin. 
“I’m sorry,” You whisper, not sure she can hear you, “I spoke out of turn and upset him. It was my fault.” 
Her hand tightens around your own. 
“He knows the limit.” 
Ravenna drags you to the door and your heart nearly beats out of your chest. She’s reached her limit with me, you think, as she throws open the doors with an ease that startles you. 
“Guards!” She shrieks and they come running.
You wait for the command that will sentence you; you wonder if she’ll do it herself or if she’ll just have you thrown onto the streets to rot with the people. Will she slit your throat or take your heart? 
Her hand ghosts over the gash and the lingering pain fades. Looking down curiously, you find the skin mended. 
“Take her to her rooms.” Ravenna commands the guards, “And bring me my brother.” 
Eyes widening, you examine her face, shock rendering you speechless. Her face remains the portrait of indifference as you’re led away. Disbelief floods you when you’re in your rooms, even as your ears hear the screams across the castle, and even as the whispers tell you he’s dead. 
You feel dread at being responsible, but can’t help the lingering affection. You were protected after all. 
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multimilfs · 1 year
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Maleficent x Fem!Reader: Watching, Waiting, Wanting
Summary: Maleficent + 93 -- "Say you want me, and I'm yours."
AO3
Prompts found here!
A/N: I rewatched the Maleficent movies recently and they made me so happy. I'm so glad I could write this!
Full Ficmas List
Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix
Warning(s): None
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You duck under the willow, careful not to be spotted. All you need is one last detail to make this work. Phillip looks up quickly, but relaxes upon seeing you, and you let out a small laugh. 
“Nervous?” You ask. 
He straightens his spine, “Is it that obvious?” 
“A bit,” You nod. When he deflates and begins to fiddle with his armor, you wince. You’re definitely not helping his nerves, “She loves you, Phillip. Nothing could make her say no. All you have to do is ask the question and we’ll handle the rest.” 
As if on cue, Pinto ducks through the willow branches; your last detail, falling into place; or rather, walking into place. You kneel down into the soft grass as Pinto gazes up and lets out a garbled, fey version of your name. 
You’ve come to know every fairy, pixie, and wallerbog by name since coming to the moors. And though you’d never, ever admit it, Pinto has been your favorite so far. The spiky little fairy is loyal and tenacious. If you ever found yourself in a pinch, you trusted Pinto to get you out of it. Now, though, you’re trusting her to get you into one. 
“Perfect timing, Pinto. I need your help.” 
She tilts her head and poses you a question. You don’t speak the language she does, but you understand the meaning well enough—with what? Pinto asks. 
Laying your hand on the soft grass at her feet, she takes the cue, hopping into your palm. The look on her little face is very serious and you smile. Your chest is filled with excitement. 
“Alright, here’s the situation…” 
Pinto is suitably filled in and plays the role of distraction perfectly. You watch from the crowd of creatures, trying to hide your excitement; Aurora is your dearest friend and confidant, you want nothing but happiness for her. 
You see how Phillip brings her joy. The smile on her face and sound of her laughter is enough to banish any sadness from your heart on the worst of days. Aurora has been a loyal, true friend, and you’re honored to orchestrate this proposal for her after all she’s done for you; giving you a home when you arrived in the Moors wounded and alone, giving you a family in herself and the fey folk, and introducing you to Maleficent. 
Though as the willow fairies swarm and dance, revealing the overjoyed couple, you worry you’ve somehow betrayed Maleficent by doing this. A pit forms in your stomach as you watch Diaval fly towards the Dark Fey’s nest. 
But a pair of arms wrap around you and there’s a laugh in your ear. The worry melts away. 
“Thank you, thank you!” Aurora giggles.
“Don’t thank me! Your dashing Prince did all of the hard work.” 
Aurora pulls back, holding your hands in her own, “Without you, my Aunties or Pinto would have led me to the wrong tree. You’ve worked hard too.” 
“It isn’t hard work when it’s for you.” You say softly, honestly. 
Her eyes are glazed with happy tears and she throws her arms around you again. You laugh as you’re spun, the soft grass tickling your ankles, little fairies giggling with the two of you. Life had once been so cruel and now you know only joy. How lucky you feel. 
But the pit sits in your stomach again. 
Your friend must be having similar thoughts, if the hesitance on her face means anything. She bites her lip uncertainly and plays with your hands still in her own. 
She asks quietly, “How do you think my Godmother will react to the news?” 
“I think she’ll be… happy that you’re happy… eventually.” 
Aurora grumbles and pulls away, pacing back and forth while you watch on. You see Pinto mirror her behavior out of the corner of her eye. It takes all your willpower not to also join in, but you decide to remain strong for all of you. 
That strength nearly crumbles when you hear Pinto gasp and the Aunties yell to hold on. 
The great force of her wings nearly drives you back, but you remain mostly in place. You stand back by the willow as Aurora and Maleficent talk. Though now and again you can feel eyes on you, boring into your skin, and you shrink bit-by-bit. 
You were taken by Maleficent the moment you saw her years ago. 
When Aurora and the fey folk dragged you wounded to the former’s throne, you had wondered if the injuries would overcome you. You had mourned the life you didn’t anticipate getting to live. But in what you believed to be your last moments, you were grateful to be surrounded by beauty and kindness. 
Then Aurora called out to Maleficent, and she came. Her abnormally bright eyes landed on you and you knew nothing else would compare. 
She healed you, slowly and carefully, at Aurora’s request, talking all the while though it was clear she was uncomfortable. The days after she made herself scarce and you felt the loss keenly. 
Since that day, there was rarely a time when you strayed too far from the Dark Fey. You had no desire to be anywhere she wasn’t. Her dry wit and humor put you off at first, but the sincere emotion behind them endeared you to her. Maleficent had become your greatest confidant. She’d also stolen your heart, though you’d never dare tell her.
“I suppose you had something to do with this union.” Maleficent says, loudly, and you know she’s talking to you. 
You meet her eyes and nod, “And if I did?” 
“Then you can find another nest to sleep in.” 
“Godmother.” Aurora murmurs. 
Maleficent rolls her eyes, glaring at the girl. Aurora only stares back. 
“You at least could have warned me.” Maleficent says. 
Crossing your arms over your chest, you raise your eyebrow. Had you told her the surprise would have been spoiled and she knows that as well as you. You also worry, secretly, that the to-be groom would’ve disappeared. 
“You’d have reacted no better two days ago than now, Maleficent. Your nest would have been in shambles and I’d be warning off concerned fairies instead of celebrating with Aurora.” 
Maleficent’s head tilts to the side. Her eyes are more intense, extra focused on you. 
“Aurora, will you leave us?” 
Shooting you a look of concern, Aurora nods. She wanders completely out of the clearing and you want to yell after her. You do no such thing as Maleficent steps forward and closer to you. She’s notably missing her staff; her steps still uneven from the years she’d adapted to living without wings. 
Fierce green magic spreads from her palms where she clenches them at her sides. You ache to take them in your own, to soothe her emotions, but you fear it’s unwanted. 
“You didn’t tell me.” Maleficent whispers. She almost sounds betrayed. 
“It would have upset you.” 
“I’m far more upset now.” 
“I want her to be happy, Maleficent,” You say, pleading, “Is that so terrible?” 
“She’s happy here. A whole kingdom loves and attends to her everyday. She wants for nothing. Her happiness doesn’t need to come from that boy, not when she has me. Us.” She says fiercely. 
The magic in her hands flares. You take her hand this time, feeling the power seep into your skin when you lace your fingers together. Maleficent stares down at your joined hands. 
“You’re right. She doesn’t need him to be happy, but if he brings her joy, why should we deny her that? Love isn’t so terrible.” 
“Love doesn’t always end… well.” 
You see the fear in her face, and can feel the effects of it seep into your skin. You want to do a number of heartless things to the late King Stefan; though not for the first time. 
Maleficent means well. Her love for Aurora is what changed her and made her whole again, but it didn’t heal the scars her Father left behind. It isn’t so simple, unfortunately. Your heart aches in your chest to take away her pain and fear. But if you don’t let her feel it and come to terms with it, she’ll never come to terms with Phillip and Aurora’s marriage. 
“It doesn’t always end terribly either.” You say. And in a moment of madness, your mouth opens, and you say more, “I mean, it can’t, right? Not when we’re so content.” 
Maleficent’s eyes widen and your heart drops. Did you really say that? You could kick yourself for letting your traitorous mouth give you away. But you can’t, not when you’re pinned by a pair of bright eyes, emotions behind them you can’t decipher. 
Aurora and Diaval had prodded you to confess for so long and you chose the worst moment to do so. You’re even more embarrassed when you notice Pinto to your left, watching with barely concealed interest, eyes moving back and forth between you and Maleficent. 
“What do you mean by that?” Maleficent asks slowly. 
Gathering the fractured remains of your courage, you swallow. 
“It means that I love you, Maleficent,” You whisper, “I’ve held it in worrying it’d be too much for you… but say you want me, and I’m yours. I think I have been since the night I met you.” 
There it is. 
The truth, unfiltered, and honest; out in the open with the rest of the swirling feelings. You avoid her eyes and stare intensely at your joined hands. You suppose it’s a good sign that she hasn’t pulled away yet, at least she’s not disgusted. 
Silence stretches on and you wonder if she’s plotting your murder. It’d be a good time, with Pinto being the only witness. She might not go through with it immediately though if it’ll sully Aurora’s happiness and you hope you’ll at least get to see the wedding. 
You try to distract yourself with the details; will it be here in the Moors or in Ulstead? Will Phillip’s parents approve of the union? Will they approve of Maleficent?
“How can you love me?” Maleficent asks. 
Meeting her eyes, you’re surprised by the confusion in them, like she expects you to change your mind. 
“How could I not?” 
“I’m not good. I’ve taken lives and will likely take more, I’ve done horrible, evil things.” 
“I know.” 
“You… know.” She says slowly. 
Careful not to startle her, you place a hand on her cheek, feeling her cheekbone dig pleasantly into your palm, “I know. It changes nothing.” 
Maleficent looks at you like she can’t understand you; like she’s fathoming how you can exist. You vow that she’ll never again have to wonder how someone could love her. The rest of your days, you’ll use every bit of your power to prove her worthy of true, honest love. 
It surprises you how quiet the Moors are around you. Not even a breeze is blowing through. You wonder how many fey folk Aurora has watching with her, waiting for something. If you’re being honest, you’re waiting too. 
You decide to stop waiting. 
Leaning forward slowly enough to give Maleficent an out, you press your lips to the Dark Fey’s. She tastes like the berries growing inside the crystal caves. Her lips are soft and pliant, moving carefully against your own. 
Beyond initiating the kiss, you back off, letting Maleficent guide you through the motions. It goes without saying that this is one of the only kisses she’s shared. She’s an excellent kisser despite the lack of experience; though that may just be your delight at not being pushed away or rejected. 
When you pull away, you’re still curiously alone. Then you hear a garbled noise that sounds suspiciously like finally! from your feet. Pinto is looking up with delight and you laugh. Maleficent chuckles too. 
But when you look up, she’s not looking at Pinto. She only has eyes for you. 
You try to hide your blush as fairies flood the clearing, Aurora following behind. Her smile is knowing. Blushing even brighter, you meet Maleficent’s eyes when you hug her daughter, and let yourself sit in the joy. 
Aurora found hers happy ending and you did too… if only you knew how things would shift. 
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multimilfs · 1 year
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Miranda Priestly x Fem!Reader: Public People in Private
Summary: Miranda Priestly + 67 “Uh, am I interrupting?”
Prompts found here!
A/N: Miranda… my beloved. I need to rewatch this movie so bad, it’s been ages
Full Ficmas List
Tag List: @imtrashinflames @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul
Warning(s): None
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“You can let me out here, Roy. I’m going up today.” 
“Are you sure? I had a… colorful message from Emily this morning.” Roy asks, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. 
“I’ll risk it,” You smile, “I might be able to help out. At the very least, I’ll distract her for a few minutes.” 
Roy nods and you step out in front of the Elias Clarke building. You weave through the crowds and inside without a hassle. The attendant stands up straighter upon seeing you, even after all this time. Nodding in greeting, he lets you through. 
The crowds seem to part as soon as you’re past the front desk. Tall, rail-thin models step out of your way, some even stepping out of the elevator when you get in. You want to shake your head at the treatment. 
It’s a short ascent to the Runway offices and you can see why Emily is so stressed. Models and staff scamper past, barely looking your way. The front desk is in shambles as several men in suits hound the receptionist. 
Milena, the poor girl, looks absolutely beaten. You check your watch and find you have a few minutes before Miranda is expecting you. 
“Is there something wrong here, gentleman?” You ask smoothly, stepping in beside Milena like it’s your rightful place. 
The tallest and meanest of the bunch turns on you. His suit is rumpled like he’s been tugging at it nervously, face red and splotchy with anger. 
Milena cuts in softly before he can throw anything your way, “They keep saying Miranda is expecting them, but they’re not in her schedule.” 
You pat her shoulder. 
“We do have an appointment!” He almost shrieks. 
You look him up and down, raising a brow. It shuts him up long enough for you to dial a familiar number. You hold up a finger to the men while the line rings. 
His fists clench at his sides. He looks like the lawyer type, which means he’s not used to being made to wait, let alone by a woman. 
“Miranda Priestly’s office.” Emily’s clipped voice comes down the line. 
“Hi Em,” You say sweetly, “I’ve got three men waiting with Milena, claiming they’ve got an appointment on the books. Is there anything in her schedule?”
“Of course not. She has lunch with you.” 
“That’s what I thought. Thank you, Em.” You return the phone to the cradle and give a sharp smile, “You’re not on the schedule, gentleman. I trust you know where the elevators are and if you’ve forgotten, security will be more than happy to escort you.” 
“I’ll have your job, Miss—” One of the other men says. 
You grin deviously, “It’s Mrs, actually. Mrs. Priestly.” 
All three men blanch. Milena tries to cover her grin as you step around the desk. She discreetly dials the security line, watching you with bated breath. 
The tallest doesn’t look so mean now. When you step up to him, he takes a half-step back. You almost regret Miranda not being here to bear witness; you learned it from her, after all. 
When the elevator sounds and the doors open, the head of security and two of his burliest men step out. Milena nods in the direction of the three men you’re staring down. Tearing your eyes away for a moment, you nod.
“Clark.” You acknowledge the head of security. 
“Mrs. Priestly,” He says, “Is there a problem here?” 
“No problem. These gentlemen just need some assistance finding the lobby.” 
Clark nods and his two men step forward and usher the red-faced men from Runway. You watch them go with a satisfied smile. Folding your arms over your chest, you turn to the man at your side.
“Do we know how they got up here?”
“Front desk says they had an appointment with Mr. Ravitz this morning. They must have come straight from his office.” 
Your lip curls, “Irv. Of course.” 
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” 
“That’s all, Clark. Thank you.” 
He leaves without further fanfare. You watch as he sends a warm smile Milena’s way. Her responding blush makes you pause. Interesting development, you think, trying not to let your thoughts show on your face. 
Collecting your bag and accepting Milena’s heartfelt thanks, you continue back towards Miranda’s office. You wince when you catch sight of a clock. You’re five minutes later than you should be, but all you can do is hope your wife isn’t too upset. 
Following the familiar pathway to the offices, you try not to shake your head when nearly a dozen models and staff members scare upon seeing you. Honestly, you think, I wasn’t nearly as bad as Emily. Must just come with marrying the Editor-in-Chief, you decide. 
Speaking of Emily, the brit is boredly explaining something over the phone. You offer a small wave and she sends you a surprisingly-genuine smile. 
Miranda isn’t alone in her office; you can hear her soft voice bickering with someone else. Peering in, you see Nigel standing in front of her, hands motioning this way and that as he explains something. 
Knocking on the office door, “Uh, am I interrupting?” 
Both look up. Miranda’s severe expression softens slightly. When she checks the watch on her wrist, her lips purse and you know you’re not getting away with your tardiness, but she doesn’t say anything about it. 
“Not at all, darling. Come in.” Miranda stands. 
You meet Nigel in the middle of the office and exchange air kisses. He pulls back and looks you over, nodding approvingly. 
“New boots?” He asks. 
“They’re last season, actually.” You say, then stage-whisper, “Don’t tell Miranda.” 
“Oh honey, I wouldn’t dare.” Nigel winks. 
He gives Miranda a small nod and takes his leave. You cross around the desk to accept your usual kiss on the cheek. She’s a little slower to grant it today and you lean back, raising a brow.
“You’re late.” 
“There was a situation at the front desk,” You answer easily, “I would have been early, but Milena needed the help.” 
“If she needs help doing her job then perhaps she’s better suited for employment elsewhere.” Miranda says. 
“You know that isn’t what I meant.” 
“Do I?”
“Miranda.” You glare, “If you fire Milena I’m going to be extremely cross.” 
She rolls her eyes. Pulling out a few paper menus, she hands them over, and you peruse today’s selections. Smith and Wollensky rests on top and you try not to laugh. Miranda always puts her preferred option on the very top, but lets you have the final choice. 
You could go for a steak. And you should probably tread carefully with your lateness. 
Handing over the Smith and Wollensky menu, she nods, looking pleased. She calls Emily in to rattle off your orders while you move over to the couch in her office. 
Emily takes the notes dutifully. You wonder where the new second assistant is, having heard some interesting murmurs about her over the past few days. Emily was suitably frustrated with her—as was Miranda—but Nigel and Serena had been a little more kind. She was out of her depth, but meant well, that was the final verdict. 
You hardly notice when Emily leaves until Miranda sits down next to you. Leaning back against the couch, she eyes you. 
“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask. 
“Like what?” 
“Like you’re trying to figure me out.” 
Miranda chuckles, “Darling, figuring you out will take more than my lifetime.” 
“I can never tell if statements like that are a compliment or insult.” You narrow your eyes. 
“For you?” Miranda raises a brow and pretends to think on it, before her face softens infinitesimally, “A compliment.” 
“Miranda Priestly, are you going soft on me?” You tease, but lean into her space, “Imagine what that’d do to your reputation.” 
“I have.” 
There’s a look in her eyes you can’t decipher. You try not to think about it too much, stealing a quick kiss, trying not to badly damage her lipstick.
“So, tell me about today.”
You lean back and settle in for Miranda’s usual spiel about the incompetence of her employees, watching her fondly. 
520 notes · View notes
multimilfs · 1 year
Text
Donna Beneviento x Fem!Reader: While I'm Around
Summary: Donna Beneviento + 122 — “I’m not going anywhere.”
AO3
Prompts found here!
A/N: One thing I can never get enough of in Donna fics is Angie. Yes, she's creepy as hell, but I love that little doll.
Full Ficmas List
Tag List: @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul
Warning(s): Blood mention
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Your lips part in a silent scream. Pain suffuses your entire body and you hunch over, clutching at your now-bleeding leg. Angie giggles maniacally and takes off in the other direction. 
“Angie! Get back here!” You yell through the pain.
“No thanks!” 
“I’m going to turn you into firewood, I swear!” 
You start limping in the direction of where she disappeared, leaving a trail of blood on the hardwood behind you. She really got you good this time. And honestly, it feels a little personal, but you’re too angry to give that thought much power. 
“You wish!” Angie calls back, “I’m not going anywhere!” 
On a good day, Angie is manageable. Donna’s closeness often curbs her more feral tendencies. But on days like today, when Donna is summoned rather suddenly from the manor, Angie borders on insane. 
And despite how much you love her, it makes you want to chain her up in the basement until Donna gets back. 
Unfortunately, you were so surprised by Donna’s departure you didn’t stop to consider the option. Now you’re paying the price for it. All of it had started well, actually; Angie had been mellow and toddled after you while you went about tasks, asking questions and making funny, yet outrageous demands. Your favorite had been when she tugged on your pant leg—almost pulling the damn things down—and asked if she could try a raw egg. You said no. 
Somewhere along the way her curious and humorous questions descended into madness. One second she’s eating the cooked eggs you made and the next she’s tossing an empty bottle across the room. Trying to wrangle her hadn’t been too hard until her mouth clamped around your ankle; somehow, despite her lack of teeth, she’d done a good amount of damage. 
Now, you find yourself in the curious predicament of finding her. 
You can hear her giggling as if she’s all around you. It’s eerie. You hate to admit it, but her lack of control scares you a little bit, and you miss Donna. The problem is she’s unreachable when she’s in a meeting. 
“Angie,” You call, turning at the slightest of sounds, “Come out!” 
Turning, something dark in your peripheral vision catches your attention. Your eyes widen with horror as you stare. 
Angie’s in the walls. 
You fall to your knees and stick your hand in the hole she managed to create in the wall, trying to reach and grab hold of her. It’s a thin space for you, but the perfect size for her to maneuver through them. The fear of her getting stuck seizes you. 
If you can’t get her out, or worse, she gets stuck, you’ll have no idea what to tell Donna. She trusted you with the most important piece of her and you let her climb inside the walls where neither of you can reach her. 
“Dear?”
A pathetic little shriek leaves your lips. You turn, wide-eyed, to see Donna in her usual garb, watching you with her head tilted. 
“Donna!” 
A delighted noise comes from somewhere above you, “Donna?!” 
Pain erupts in your arm and you yank it back. Angie appears through the hole in the wall like nothing has happened, running to Donna, who crouches to receive her. The doll looks precious being wrapped up in her owner’s arms. 
“You’re home!” 
“I am,” Donna confirms, voice rough and yet, so gentle, “Why were you in the walls?” 
“Nothing. Getting away from her.” 
Angie points at you and you throw your hands up. 
“Why?” 
“What are you, the police?” The doll asks. 
“Angie.” Donna warns. 
“Ugh. You’re both boring.” 
With more attitude than befitting a sentient doll, she crosses her little wooden arms over her chest, and stomps away after being set on the floor. Both you and Donna watch her go. You scowl after her, but can’t help the little grin that breaks out when she’s gone. 
Donna stands perfectly patient and silent, hands folded in front of her. You step into her space and carefully fold back the veil of her garb. 
Her pale, shy face smiles softly back at you. 
“There’s my girl.” You smile sweetly. 
Donna blushes. It’s your favorite look on her, even after all this time. She hides behind her veil for everyone else and you think she’s still not used to being seen without it. 
“Hello.” You whisper, taking her hands in your own. 
“Hello, dear,” She whispers back, “Good day?” 
“Interesting for sure. Angie was… energetic.” 
“I should’ve taken her. I’m sorry.” 
She looks down at her feet and your heart lurches. You’re quick to press a kiss to one cheek… then the other… and then her forehead, and so on until you’ve kissed every inch of available skin and she’s laughing—soft and sweet—with all traces of sadness gone. 
Running a careful hand down the side of her face, your fingers play absently with a piece of black lace on her dress. It’s starting to fray from constant use and you frown. 
“Why does Angie act like that when you’re apart?” You ask curiously. 
Her eye searches you for any trace of judgment or anger, “Angie and I are the best parts of each other. When we’re separated, we lose those qualities.” 
“Donna, I love Angie… but her qualities aren’t what I would call… good.” 
“Decisive. Free. Playful.” 
Her voice is rougher. She rubs at her throat and attempts to clear it subtly. 
“I understand.” You say. 
It makes sense to you now and you wonder why it never crossed your mind to ask before. Angie was playful while Donna was calm, thoughtful. They balanced one another. You hadn’t realized sharing the same Cadou would tie them so closely. 
Perhaps that’s why you hadn’t balked at Angie in the beginning; you felt they were more similar than different. 
The door creaks open, both you and Donna turning. Angie’s eyes peek around the door. When you raise an eyebrow, she walks further into the room. 
She stands in front of you and kicks at the floor, “Sorry. I guess.” 
“Angie.” 
“Sorry.” 
You wait for something else; an addition of kinda or maybe. It doesn’t come. Angie looks up and waits. You think she’s waiting for you to say something and make the whole thing okay. 
If you’re honest with yourself, everything was okay the second Donna got home. Getting bitten hurt, but you have no desire to hold a grudge over it. 
“You’re good, driftwood.” You grin. 
“Driftwood?!” 
Angie plows into your legs and you’re ready. You laugh, picking her up and swinging like you’re going to throw her, only to keep her in your arms. A grumble leaves her mouth.
Over her head, you catch the look on Donna’s face, and melt. She looks surprised. It makes you wonder how many people have been so cruel, have written her and Angie off so quickly. You refuse to let them feel that again; not while you’re around. 
411 notes · View notes
multimilfs · 1 year
Text
Morticia Addams x Fem!Reader: Dark Hearts, Dark Desires
Summary: Morticia Addams + 35 -- "Stop laughing at me."
AO3
Prompts found here!
A/N: This is short and sweet. I wanted to imagine a little moment in the Addams household and this is what came to mind. I hope you enjoy!
Full Ficmas List
Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @leftoverenvy
Warning(s): Poison mention
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“Oh—oh my!” 
Flouncing into Wednesday’s room on your weekly weapons roundup, you haven’t been paying much attention. The door being open usually meant Wednesday was at school or off reading. 
So when you walk in and witness her in a bright pink dress, you’re stunned to say the least. Your grim little girl looks miserable and not in a fun way. 
“It’s delightful, isn’t it?” Wednesday asks, voice dripping with disdain. 
“Certainly, darling. Very bright.” 
“It’s hideous.” 
“Don’t be so hasty. Do you like it?” 
Wednesday hesitates. She turns slowly and stiffly in the mirror. Tugging her braids to the front, she turns again. You wait. 
With her getting older, you knew it’d be a matter of time before she began to experiment; you just hadn’t expected your first run-in with her experimentation to be related to clothing. She’s preferred black as long as you can remember. 
You despise the pink. It’s bright and cheery and the very opposite of what you’d expect of an Addams; but you want Wednesday to be secure and supported in whatever she chooses. So you wait patiently while she takes in her appearance. 
“I hate it.” She decides. 
A laugh leaves you. You’re relieved more than anything. 
“Stop laughing at me.”
“Oh, darling, I’m not laughing at you,” You assure, kissing her forehead, “I was laughing at myself. I was very concerned about how I’d wash something so pink when the rest of us wear black.” 
Wednesday hums, nodding, “Can I burn this?” 
“Only if you let your brother assist.” 
She pauses. Hands folded in front of her, she hums for a few, long moments, as if weighing the pros and cons. 
“Fine, but I get to start the fire.” She decides. 
“I’ll inform him of your terms. Any weapons you need returned?” 
You motion to the metal chest under your arm. Daggers and short swords glint in the dim firelight, some not at all, covered in rust and what looks like dried blood. 
Wednesday produces a few daggers; one from under her pillow, one from her desk, and one you somehow missed buried in the wall. She’s careful to hand them over hilt-first. 
“Thank you, darling. You remember our fire safety rules?” 
“Don’t set anyone on fire without their consent and no summoning the dark forces until I’m fifteen.” She recites. 
“Very good.” 
Wednesday runs off to find Pugsley and you continue your sweep of the house; you find more than half of the missing lot in Mamá’s room. Satisfied, you walk downstairs, peering into the kitchen and stopping short.
Morticia—goddess she is, bathed in shadows—stands at the counter, mixing something in a bowl furiously. You raise an eyebrow. 
“Something the matter, Tish?” You ask. 
“Not in the slightest.” 
“You’re mixing that like you’re trying to torture it. I’m not jealous, but is there a reason for that?” 
She sighs, “I didn’t pick enough nightshade berries to make the mixture black.” 
You smile fondly and round the counter to kiss her. Her lips taste faintly of Belladonna and you have to pull away, lest you find yourself distracted. Looking into the batter, you hum sympathetically; it’s a deep purple rather than a midnight black.
“Simple,” You say, “I’ll go pick more.”
“Are you sure, darling? Ever since we used the wrong potting soil, it’s been trying to eat us—even Mama. You must promise you won’t let it get you.” 
“Never without you, Tish. I’ll take Lurch. It likes him.” 
“He’s the only one it couldn’t hope to digest.” Morticia nods. 
“I feel like there’s a beautiful metaphor in there somewhere,” You say, admiring Morticia as she goes back to her work. 
“To be certain. We always want what we can’t have.” 
“Except us.” 
Her red lips part in a smile, “Except us, my dark heart.” 
514 notes · View notes
multimilfs · 1 year
Text
Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: The Kisses of Melissa Schemmenti
Summary: Anon sent... Melissa Schemmenti + 78 -- "I can't get enough of you."
Prompts found here!
A/N: I'm in love w Melissa Schemmenti... that's all.
Full Ficmas List
Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld @carolncwman
Warning(s): Minor Violence, Slight NSFW
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One kiss means hello. Two kisses mean goodbye. Three kisses mean I love you. 
What does it mean when there are too many kisses to count? 
1 – Neck 
You’ve never seen Melissa happier than in the kitchen, aggressively stirring a sauce that makes your mouth water almost as much as she does. She’s a vision; wooden spoon in hand as she sways, humming absently, hair pulled up high on her head. 
It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself. Her hips move as she dances around the kitchen in a haze of fresh garlic and red lipstick. But Melissa has one rule if you’re going to be in the kitchen with her; No touching. 
She never did specify whether that meant her or the food. 
It’s easy to take your chances when she’s in a pleasant mood. It’s easy to sneak from your chair across the kitchen and into her space, wrapping yourself around her middle and taking in the way she feels in your arms. The easiest is when she spins you and you’re backed against the counter, red lipstick marking Melissa’s path down your neck. 
2 – Cheek 
“Are you coming to bed?” 
You rub your eyes from your place against the headboard. The lamp on the desk illuminates her silhouette; her sculpted shoulders and beautiful curls. There’s faint scratching coming from her direction and her arm is moving, red ink marking the papers she shuffles through. 
Melissa doesn’t turn around. She’s too focused, intent on the goal she’s set for herself—though you’re not sure what that goal is exactly. 
“Soon, honey.” She responds. 
Soon is Melissa’s way of saying ‘not soon at all.’ You begrudgingly remove your blankets and patter across the room. Looking over her shoulder, you read quick, sweet notes on graded homework. The most recent child doesn’t seem to have done very much, but Melissa’s little note in the corner is still encouraging. 
A few of the better scoring kids get stickers. There’s a smiling strawberry you’d have killed to receive when you were in school and you’re almost jealous, even now. 
You lay your hands carefully on her shoulders and lean in, leaving a sweet, lingering kiss on her cheek. 
“Come to bed soon, sweetheart.” 
3 – Forehead 
When you use the key to let yourself in, you’re surprised by the silence. 
Melissa’s house is many things, but quiet isn’t one of them. There’s always something simmering and popping on the stove, or a timer going off, or a smooth record playing from the living room. None of that greets you now. 
You quietly set your things down by the front door and kick your shoes off. Her beat-up sedan was in the driveway, so you know she’s here—it’s just a question of where. 
Checking the kitchen first, you find it empty. There’s a fork in the sink that you don’t remember from this morning. It’s a good sign. If she’s eating something, she’s not in trouble, just having a rough day; in which case, you know exactly where she is. 
A trail of clothing from the bedroom door to the master bathroom leads the way. The quiet unnerves you a bit, but here it’s interrupted by the sounds of moving water. You breathe a little easier now that you know she’s here in the house. 
Peering into the bathroom, you melt, “Rough day?” 
Melissa is lying in the bath, hair pulled up, with a full wine glass on the floor next to her. There’s no spark in her eyes when she looks up. It twists your heart, bringing you to your knees on the mat next to the tub. You run your fingers through the bubbles on top of the water. 
“You have no idea.” Melissa says, sounding beyond exhausted. 
“What can I do?” 
She looks almost shy when she looks up through her lashes, hesitant, “I wouldn’t complain if you made dinner tonight.” 
You ache to lean over and kiss her lips, but kneeling on the hard floor is tearing up your knees. Struggling back to your feet, you do lean over and kiss her forehead. Melissa’s eyes flutter shut.
“You relax,” You murmur against her skin, “I’ll take care of you.” 
4 – Lips
A hand grabs your waist and you spin with a smile on your face, surprised to find yourself face-to-face with a man you definitely don't know. You stop moving. His grin is wide and he looks you over like he wants to devour you. 
“What’s a woman like you dancing alone for?” He asks. 
“I’m not.” You frown. 
Around you, your friends and Melissa’s pause, watching the scene cautiously. In the few moments Melissa had taken to go grab a drink you managed to attract unwanted attention. You seem to be a magnet for it anymore; just last month something similar had happened when you took Melissa out to dinner. 
Catching a familiar flash of red hair in your peripheral vision, you relax slightly. It unfortunately eggs the man holding you on. 
“You don’t have to play hard to get with me, baby.” 
You offer a tense smile, eyes full of disgust. 
“You see the redhead over at the bar?” You ask, nodding your head in the direction of where Melissa is propped against the bar, beer in hand, watching with cold interest, “That’s my partner. She’s not exactly a fan of others touching me, least of all strange men.” 
Where anyone would see Melissa and recognize the threat in her stance and back off, he’s not smart enough to read body language. And since there’s no recognition of who your girlfriend is in this part of town, you guess he isn’t a local. 
He takes Melissa’s demeanor and your words as a challenge. You’re relieved when he lets go of you, but then he’s puffing his chest out, and glaring over at where she stands. 
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.” He says. 
“You really shouldn’t,” You advise, but he’s already sauntering over in her direction. When she sets down her beer and stands up to be eye-level with him, you wince, “Fuck.” 
You’re not sure what he says—you don’t care to, honestly—but it’s enough to suitably piss Melissa off. She offers up a cold, painfully fake grin, before reeling back and punching him square in the throat. He drops like a sack of potatoes. 
A few people look over their shoulders, but look away just as quickly as they realize who punched him. He lays on the ground wheezing and coughing. No one moves to help him. They get back into their games, drinks, or dancing without thinking twice about it. You try not to laugh. 
He hauls himself back to his feet, voice hoarse, “Is nobody going to do anything?!” He shouts. 
No one does. 
You’re smirking at him from the middle of the dancefloor. The man looks around helplessly before grabbing his things, storming out in a huff. 
Someone at the bar says something to Melissa. She nods, laughing, and tips back the rest of her beer. You raise a brow when she meets your gaze. Motioning to all of the couples dancing around you, you give her a look. She pushes off the bar. 
“What a show.” You comment when she’s in range.
Melissa scoffs, “Someone had to teach him some manners, honey.” 
“If you say so. All I know,” You pause. Her arms are back around you, swaying you to the music, “is that it was very attractive.” 
Her pink-painted lips pull into a smirk. She leans forward and captures yours in a slow kiss. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was trying to send a message, but you watched the nameless man stomp out of the bar already. 
5 — Hand 
You’re picking up and turning over the tomatoes, checking for any bruising or other marks, when Melissa kisses the back of your hand. Tomatoes forgotten, you turn. Her eyes are soft as she places another kiss in the exact same spot. 
You tilt your head, asking fondly, “What was that for?” 
“You’re beautiful when you’re picking out fresh produce, that’s all.” 
Her smile is uncharacteristically soft. You know there is something she isn’t saying, but you won’t push, not when you’re enjoying the way she’s looking at you. It makes something in your chest melt. 
“Just when I’m picking out fresh produce?” 
6 — Temple 
It’s always a surprise when you see her during the work day. Sometimes it’s passing each other on the way into work or like now, when you walk into the Cheesesteak spot on your lunch break, and she’s there with Barbara—and Janine, occasionally—in tow. 
You’re on your way out and have less than five minutes to get back to your classroom at Addington. She’s walking in, laughing with Barbara while the other woman shakes her head. Both of them look surprised to see you. 
“Hey, Barbara,” You smile, nodding, then look at your partner, “Hey, stranger.” 
“Hey, hon.” Melissa smiles. 
Checking your watch, you wince. Four minutes left. You give Melissa a quick kiss, just a ghosting of your lips over her temple, and then you’re out the door. 
“See you at home!” You throw behind you. 
The only answer is Barbara’s chuckle and her barely-concealed mumble of girl, you’ve got it bad to Melissa. It keeps a smile on your face the whole way back to Addington. 
7 — … 
“Don’t you dare stop.” 
Melissa hums from between your legs. The vibrations make you moan out as your back arches, every muscle in your body taut as you’re thrown headfirst into overwhelming pleasure. Your hands are fisted in the sheets, nails digging into your palms even through the fabric. 
When you come down from the high, you drop down, panting. You can’t even muster the strength to open your eyes. It feels like it’s been hours. 
The bed creaks as Melissa shifts and moves to lay down next to you. You wrap yourself up in her, cracking your eyes only to find her lips, pulling her in and kissing her breathless. The taste of yourself on her makes you moan. 
Your kiss provokes something and her hand starts ghosting over parts of your body, pinching and squeezing at your flesh. It takes your breath away. You ache even though reasonably you should be more than content with the orgasm she just gave you. 
“Mel—” You start, but her pretty pink lips latch onto your neck, and the rest of her name becomes a strangled sound. 
“I can’t get enough of you,” Melissa says into your ear between kisses, “You’re so addicting like this.” 
A million clever little statements hang off your tongue, but the mere feel of her drives them from your mind. She’s driving away any sense of yourself the longer this goes on and you’re powerless to stop her. You don’t want to stop her. 
Instead of saying something clever, you just moan. 
424 notes · View notes
multimilfs · 1 year
Text
Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: Stairway to Heaven
Summary: Anon requested Melissa Schemmenti + 132 -- "I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much."
List of prompts found here!
A/N: Happy ficmas everyone!! I have been working really hard to get ready for kickoff today and I hope you'll all enjoy what I have in store! Enjoy!
Special thank you to the amazing @arewecoolio for reading this over for any errors!! You're the best 💖
Full Ficmas List
Tag List: @multifandomfix @greenawayprentiss @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul
Warning(s): None
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Gary is cool. He's even funny on occasion, when he remembers the punchline. He treats Melissa like a Queen—though she deserves nothing less—and worships the ground she walks on. But you’re not convinced he’s good enough for her. 
You’re watching the two interact across the lunchroom with simmering jealousy. It’s an ugly emotion you’re not fond of feeling, but one you can’t seem to shake these days. The grip on your grading pen tightens as Melissa laughs at some joke of Gary’s. 
“Girl, you’ve got to do something about all… that.” Ava says, motioning to your expression, “Channel that anger into something productive. Like packing orders. Or sex.” 
“I’m not participating in your pyramid scheme.” You answer. 
“Oh, so you’re going to get some? Finally. It’s hard having to entertain you with my stories when I’m not getting anything back.” 
“To be fair, I never asked to hear about your sex life,” You point out. Ava shrugs and you continue, “If you tell me about Tyrone one more time I might lose it.” 
“Tyrone? He’s old news. I’m onto Jamal now, keep up.” 
“Jamal? What about his sister?” 
“She was into some weird stuff. I’m freaky too, but even I draw the line at dolls.” 
Ava shivers and you decide not to ask. It’s better for your sanity that way, though you’re morbidly curious. Ava never tells a bad story. 
Another presence joins the table as Janine sidles up, looking far too awake and positive for 9 am on a Tuesday. She smiles obliviously. 
“Dolls? I loved dolls as a kid.”
Ava scoffs, “Yeah, I bet you made them kiss each other and all that nonsense.”
“Of course I did. It was like directing my own little show!” 
“Is that where the control issues started?” You ask. 
Janine’s oblivious smile drops and she levels you with a look. It’s closer to matching Barbara’s with every day that passes, it’s almost impressive; but unless Barbara herself levels one at you, you’re going to remain unphased. 
“Don’t shame my childhood development just because you’re jealous over Melissa and the vending machine guy.” 
You turn red, “I am not jealous!” 
“Right. And I wasn’t named tastiest doomsday prepper in Philly.” Ava says, rolling her eyes. 
You and Janine lock eyes, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Everytime you talk to Ava you learn more about her; that isn’t always a good thing. When Janine opens her mouth, you give her a subtle shake of your head. Once the two get started it’s impossible to get them to stop. 
Unfortunately, Janine is too stubborn, and has to do things her way; she engages the Principal in a battle of wits she can’t win. You tune it out the second she starts in on how doomsday prepping is futile and the kind of neurotic spending reaction it induces only benefits the government. That isn’t a can of worms you feel like glancing inside. 
You decide to torture yourself emotionally instead. 
It should be easy to watch Melissa laugh and grin in that smug, bright-eyed way she pulls off so well, but it turns your stomach to know Gary is the cause of it. He’s nice enough—that’s the excuse you try to use everytime, to no avail—but he isn’t you. And against the slim odds of someone like Melissa ever wanting you romantically, you wish it was you. 
Does he know her favorite restaurants, her favorite soap operas? Does he know about the years Melissa dedicated to caring for her Nana? Does he know how incredibly fucking lucky he is to have Melissa Ann Schemmenti wrapped around his finger? 
The likelihood of him knowing anything important is slim-to-none. The redhead is too private to share information so soon, but the little green-eyed monster in your head prods you, asking what if he does? Your fists clench in your lap. You’ve been climbing the stairway to heaven this whole time and Gary’s probably on the highway. 
“Hey, hon,” You’re surprised from your thoughts to see the object of them in front of you, leaning on the table, smiling. 
You smile back, “Hey, Mel.” 
“What are you doing tonight?” 
Hope claws up your throat. You shove it down violently, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest. 
“Depends. Why?” 
“Gary was asking about you, he wants to meet ya. I was thinking you could bring your secret lover on a double-date tonight. You meet my guy, I meet yours.” 
You tilt your head, brows scrunching, “Secret lover?” 
“Oh come on,” Melissa rolls her eyes. She levels you with a look that says don’t give me that bullshit, “I’m not blind. You suddenly go silent on all things romance and think I wouldn’t figure out what that meant?” 
Nerves and mortification make you nod, smiling sheepishly. Your chest hurts. Of course she’d notice; after several years of friendship and teaching together, how could she not? The two of you were practically glued at the hip before Gary came along. No topic had been too much and then for you to go silent… you can see how that’d come across. You’re glad she didn’t suss out the real reason. 
“I’m not sure. Things are still pretty new…” 
“I’ll buy your drinks.” 
That makes you pause. 
Then you see how she’s looking at you. She’s leaning down into your space, grinning like she knows she's won. You can’t deny her anything, not when you know how much it’ll mean to her for you to really meet Gary as her romantic interest rather than a passing acquaintance. It’ll kill you. Watching her laugh with him will undo your feeble grip on sanity. 
It’ll kill you, but you’ll do it for her anyway. 
“When and where?” 
— — 
This is a terrible idea. 
The place Gary chose is a total dive, and not the good kind; every surface is covered in a fine layer of grime and ash, ninety percent of the men and women at the bar smoking like chimneys, and the beer you ordered tastes like if someone decided to waft alcohol in the direction of their drink. All of this you could forgive. 
What you can’t forgive is the absence of a proper pool table. 
Every table in the place is falling apart at the seams. There’s maybe two cues per table and some of the nets have holes large enough to send grown men chasing after solid and striped balls alike. 
The worst part? Melissa stands in the center of it all, smiling like none of it bothers her. You know better. Her smile is strained at the edges, her eyes slightly pained. If only she’d say the word, you’d sweep her out of here. She just maintains that strained smile when you walk up to her. 
“Where’s the secret lover I was promised?” Melissa asks. 
You smile, though your heart isn’t in it. It’d taken endless promises to get her to agree, but eventually—
“Sorry I’m late y'all. There’s a guy selling mixtapes outside and I had to hear it before I bought anything. Can’t be too careful, you know?” 
Melissa’s smile melts from her face. Her eyes bore hard into you, dark with emotion. As she looks between you and Ava—who leans against the table next to you, either totally oblivious or uncaring—her jaw tenses. 
Gary chooses that moment to speak, a jovial smile on his face, “Now I did not see this coming! I never would’ve guessed you two would be seeing each other.” 
“Neither did I.” Melissa says. 
You want to disappear into the floor. Despite the fact that Melissa is openly seeing Gary, you feel you’ve done something wrong. 
It doesn’t help that Ava drapes herself against your side. She makes deliberate, intense eye contact with Melissa, and takes a slow sip of a drink you failed to notice. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. You’re grateful for the absence of anything sharp. 
“What can I say, I lucked out. Anyone would be lucky to get a piece of her.” Ava says. Her tone is startlingly sincere. 
You give her a hard look. She just shrugs. 
“No drink for me?” You ask, anything to distract from the way you can’t look at Melissa. 
Ava raises a brow, “If you want something, you just gotta ask.”
“I’d kill for a gin and tonic.” 
“Got it.” 
“I’ve got it, you two sit.” Melissa interjects. 
She extracts herself from Gary and stands at the same time Ava does. On another night, you’d take Melissa's offer as the kind act it is, but tonight it feels strangely like a threat. 
The two are caught in a strange staring contest. You want to reach out and tug Ava down into her seat, but you’re frozen, wondering what the hell is going on.
“I’ll get it.” Ava says.
“She’s my friend.” Melissa crosses her arms over her chest. 
“She’s my date.” 
Melissa’s body tenses at the word. 
You’re too busy watching Ava, trying to decipher where she’s been hiding this acting talent. She had been reluctant to join your ruse and now it seems like she couldn’t be anywhere else. For a moment it feels authentic enough to make your stomach turn.
Gary cuts in before Melissa can back down, “I could use another beer if you’re going towards the bar.” 
“Sure. You got it, Gar.” 
The two walk away in tense silence. Melissa keeps looking at Ava from the corner of her eyes, while the principal pretends she isn’t there. 
It leaves you with Gary and you smile. Trying to pretend there’s no tension is easier with the women across the bar. 
“It’s good to meet you,” He says, friendly enough, “Melissa talks about you enough I feel like I already know you, but I’m glad she got you to come out tonight.” 
“Yeah. It’s good to meet you officially. Besides the occasional run-ins during lunch, I mean.” 
He nods and drinks the last swig of his beer. You take a few seconds to glance through the haze of smoke towards the bar. Melissa leans one arm on it, waiting while the bartender runs around helping out rough-looking men and women. She looks perfectly placed and yet stands out; she’s probably the most beautiful woman to ever set foot in this place. 
Ava’s chatting up a woman at the bar like Melissa isn’t even there. So much for her putting on a good act. 
Even if she’s not looking at Ava directly, you know Melissa’s listening, cataloging everything. You’ll get an earful about having self-respect when choosing partners later. 
“There’s another reason I had her ask you here tonight.” Gary says.
His face is serious. You’ve never seen the man without a smile and it unnerves you. Trying not to let that show, you raise an eyebrow. 
“I wanted to meet the woman Melissa’s in love with.” 
You blanch. 
“Gary, that’s—she’s not—“ 
A hand settles on top of yours and his smile makes an appearance. It’s kind, kinder than you deserve after all the things you’ve thought about him. 
“I knew there were three of us in this relationship when I went out with her the first time. But I’m giving you the chance to make it two again,” He says, “She’s crazy about you and I can see you feel the same way. She’s all yours.” 
You should be overjoyed. Melissa feels the same way about you, you have a shot? Instead, you feel angry. 
“You’re going to give her up just like that?” You snap. 
Gary startles you by laughing. 
“I can’t exactly give up what isn’t mine.” 
“She chose you.” 
“Sometimes people make mistakes.” When you seem unconvinced, he shakes his head, “Melissa’s a good woman, she deserves someone who makes her happy. That just happens to be you and not me. I’m not mad about it.”
You’re reeling. The room feels like it's spinning and you don’t have time to regain your focus before the women return. Ava sets down your gin and tonic with a nod. 
Melissa starts up an animated conversation with Gary, who nods along, adding in his own comments. He keeps glancing over at you when Melissa won’t. The whole thing makes your stomach turn; you have no clue what you’re doing. 
You grab Ava’s hand, flashing a strained smile at the pair, “Excuse us for a moment,” and drag the principal off to the bathrooms. 
 Once you’ve shoved Ava in the ladies room and locked the door behind you, you spin on your heel towards the other woman. 
“I know you want this to bother her, but dragging me into the bathroom for a quickie is a bit much, even by my standards.” Ava says. 
“That’s not what this is.” 
“Right, why else am I here then?” 
“When you and Melissa went to grab drinks, Gary told me Melissa’s in love with me.” 
Ava stares at you. 
“That’s it? I could have told you that months ago.” 
You blink, “What?” 
“Yeah, neither of you are subtle. You practically have it written on your billboard sized forehead.” 
Suddenly self-conscious, you reach a hand up to your forehead, before reminding yourself to focus on the task at hand. Ava knew Melissa returned your feelings the whole time. You wonder who else knows and has let you stew in jealousy for weeks. 
Melissa’s reaction to Ava makes a lot more sense. It’s almost comforting to know that you’re not the only one who has been fighting with jealousy. You feel very, very blind.
“Who else knows?” You ask. Your friend gives you a blank stare, “Seriously? Everyone knows?”
“Yes. Do me a favor though and play dumb a few more weeks? I’ve got good money on this.”
“You bet on me?”
“I bet on Melissa, actually, which is why I need you to keep quiet.”
“Ava, I’m not going to ignore this because you want to win a bet. Come on.” 
Ava rolls her eyes, “Fine, I’ll cut you in on the bet.” 
“Ava!” You glare.
“This could be your chance to support a young, black entrepreneur. It’s hard out here.” 
“Try that on Jacob.” 
She lets out an ugh and throws her hands up. You want to be upset that she’s asking you to keep quiet, to lose more valuable time with Melissa, but you can’t be; even if she did leave you oblivious for weeks. If you’re going to be upset with her, you have to be upset with everyone. 
It comes from a place of letting you make your own decisions; you know that and admire it just a little. But you were oblivious. Melissa seems like she is too, if Gary’s talk told you anything. Would they have let the two of you circle each other the whole time? 
You would be miserable if Gary—Gary, who you’d been unfair towards this whole time—hadn’t spoken up. He’s sacrificing his chances with Melissa so you can have your own. Mentally, you make a note to get the man some kind of ‘thank-you’ gift. 
Ava snaps in front of your face and you jerk back. 
“What are you going to do?” She asks. 
“Uh… talk to her?” 
“Not the energy I was looking for, but good enough. Let’s go.” 
Ava grabs your arm, not unkindly, and drags you to the door. You drag your feet. 
“Now?!” 
She doesn’t even dignify your question with a response. The bathroom door is opened and you’re nudged through it. You walk, but throw a glare over your shoulder, annoyed at her sudden silence. Ava doesn’t acknowledge it. 
Gary is the only one left at the table and you panic, eyes searching the room. The heart in your chest settles when you catch a glimpse of familiar red hair. 
Melissa’s across the bar at one of the more put together pool tables, surrounded by women in a shocking amount of leather. Her eyes are focused right on you. They move briefly to Ava, though she doesn’t seem to find anything damning. The focus of her gaze moves away when one of the other players nudges her and she leans over the table to line up a shot. 
You’re caught for a second in watching her. Her eyes narrow before she settles in to take the shot and when she pulls back the cue, she makes direct eye contact, and sinks a solid ball in one of the pockets. 
Cheers go up from the woman you assume she’s playing with. You don’t bother to look at her. Instead, you make a direct beeline for Melissa; her eyes following you every step of the way. 
“Can I talk to you?” You ask when you reach her. 
You’re well aware of the glances her fellow players are throwing in your direction, but you don’t care. Melissa seems curious, but she gives nothing else away. 
“I’m in the middle of a game, hon.” 
Laying your hand on her arm, “Please, Mel.” 
Like magic, you watch her soften. She nods and hands off her cue to the nearest person without looking. You lead the way outside, wanting away from the noise and smoke for a few minutes, if only to clear your head. 
The silence is too tense for your liking, but neither of you are doing anything to break it. You breathe deeply. You’re at a loss on what to say; how do you tell someone you’re in love with them? 
Instead of anything rational coming from your mouth, you ask, “How do you feel about Gary?” 
Melissa jerks in surprise, “That’s what you pulled me out here for?” 
“He seems to think your feelings, your heart, lie elsewhere,” You barrel forward, hoping it works in your favor, “Namely, with me.” 
Her eyes widen slightly before she schools her expression. It’s all you need to feel more secure in blindly following Gary’s word. 
“I’m not sure where he got that idea.” Melissa says. 
“But you’re not denying it.” 
“Does it matter? You seem to have things pretty easy with Ava.” 
A note of bitterness slips into her voice. You soften, recognizing the underlying jealousy you’d been feeling only this morning. 
“It matters to me,” You say, “because I’m crazy about you, Mel, and I need to know you feel the same way.” 
Melissa doesn’t bother to hide her surprise this time. You smile, but fidget under all of her attention. You want to reveal every thought and feeling to this woman in a way that’s overwhelming. She seems so shocked, you can’t help but want to assure her of how real your feelings are. 
“I didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much,” You admit. It feels odd to say it out loud, “But you make a lot of impossible things feel possible.” 
She looks at you like she’s never seen you before. It’s daunting. 
“You really mean that?” Melissa asks. 
“Wholeheartedly.” 
“And what about Ava?” 
You chuckle, “I bribed her into playing the part. She’s a surprisingly good actress.” 
“Good.” 
Melissa leans forward and kisses you. 
It isn’t the kind of kiss you expect, but it’s the kind you always daydreamed about; the soft, almost hesitant way she claims your lips, while her hands dig into your hips. You’ve never felt so awkward and so pleasant in your life. You have no idea what to do with your hands. 
The other kisses in your life never felt so strange. You wonder how much they really meant to you, if this is what a real, loving kiss feels like; unsure and yet, eager. 
Throwing your nerves out the window, you give in to all of it. You sink into the whirlwind of emotions and wrap yourself around Melissa. Her kiss grows more insistent and you match it, pulling where she pushes, moving with every forceful press of her lips. 
You’re on your last shred of oxygen when she pushes you back. Only an inch of space separates the two of you taking in furious gulps of breath, cheeks flushed pink and wearing matching smiles. It hardly feels real. 
“You’ve been holding out on me.” Melissa says. 
“Hardly. I’d have kissed you in a second if you asked.” You say sincerely. 
“Me? Why would I be the one to ask you?” 
You raise a brow, “Well, you were the one seeing someone else.” 
“I wouldn’t have gone out with him if you said something.” 
A laugh leaves your lips unbidden. Your eyes sparkle when you look up at Melissa, wondering how you managed to get so lucky. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to answer that question. She’s wonderful and kind and beautiful and all the things you feel you don’t deserve. She’s yours anyway. 
Her eyes shine as she stares back. Wishing you could jump into her mind, you get lost in them. Then you do as she wants and capture her lips in another kiss. It’s shorter than the first and more comfortable, but the feeling of newness still lingers. 
Not for the first time, you wonder how much time you’ve lost being jealous. But you try not to dwell too much; it’s difficult when the most beautiful woman in the world is staring into your eyes. The lost time doesn’t matter when you have it now—when you have her now. 
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multimilfs · 1 year
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Alcina Dimitrescu x Fem!Reader: No Place Like Home
Summary: Alcina Dimitrescu + 38 -- "Can we go home yet?"
Prompt from this list here!
A/N: Writing this made me very happy. I love fics that focus on the whole Dimitrescu family, they're very wholesome (as wholesome as they can get) and I love them. I hope you all like this, please don't hesitate to leave a comment :)
Full Ficmas List
Tag List: @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld
AO3
Warning(s): Blood, Minor gore, Ambiguous relationships
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According to Daniela, there are several reasons why winter is awful. 
Number one—it’s freezing! How could anyone enjoy their day when their limbs are half-numb with cold?
Number two—they’re stuck inside the Castle. This is one that bothers you as well; you failed to realize how much of a handful three castle-ridden girls would be. 
Number three—and Daniela’s least favorite, there is nothing to do. 
Winter has been your favorite season since you could walk; The holidays, the snow, the warmth of blankets and drinks. Your fondest memory is curling up with your sisters beneath a blanket after spending the day in the snow, fingers slowly warmed by ceramic mugs full of hot chocolate. It’s one you held onto your entire life. One you want to share with your new family. 
So you’ve decided to disprove Daniela’s points—or the last one, at least. 
“You’re quiet tonight.” Alcina comments. 
She glances across the room to where you’re curled up by the fireplace, book in your hand forgotten while you stare at the flames. You’re unsure how long you’ve been distracted. Her place in her own book is marked by a finger as she waits. 
“I’m just thinking.” 
“Ah,” She nods, “And here I thought it was the fireplace producing smoke.” 
You roll your eyes, but can’t stop the upturn of your lips, “Very funny.” 
Alcina wears a smirk as she goes back to her reading, leaving you to your thoughts. You can’t figure out how to bring winter to three girls who’ll die from the cold. They have to stay warm, there are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Unfortunately, both hot and cold can’t coexist for what you want to plan. 
Sighing heavily, you put your head in your hands. You want to give up and call off the whole idea. Think, your mind argues, You’re a Dimitrescu now, and Dimitrescu’s don’t give up. 
“Alcina?” 
She hums, not looking up from her book, “Hm?” 
“Has the village ever celebrated the holidays? Not in the religious way, but in the festivities, giving kind of way.” 
“Not that I can recall. Mother Miranda frowns upon celebrations that aren’t tied to her. Though she could be forgiving this year, with Eva being freshly returned.” 
Ah. There’s the basis of your issues then; Mother Miranda. You nod and stand. Crossing the room, you’re delighted to remember that Alcina’s at level height with you since she’s sitting. You lean in and steal a long kiss. 
You pull away, red-faced and breathless, “Can I use the phone in your office?” 
And then you’re standing at her desk, the large phone clutched in your hand and ringing, ringing, ringing… 
“This better be good.” A cool, venomous voice drips down the line. 
You ignore the venom, “Mother Miranda.” 
“Little human.” 
Her voice has ticked higher in pitch, though otherwise nothing about the woman changes. You can hear the giggles of Eva somewhere in the background. 
“I trust you’re well?” 
“Skip the pleasantries. What do you want?” 
You wince, but relay your desires to the Goddess. It takes promises and a dash womanly charm to coax her into your ideas. You’ve agreed to watch Eva anytime she requires, as well as assisting her once a month in her studies. 
If you’re being realistic, you got off far easier than you expected to. You’d anticipated a lot more flirting and agreements of a bloodier nature.
Dodging questions about your call at dinner that evening, you head into the village the next day, alone. The few villagers shy away from the Dimitrescu carriage with fear in their eyes. You knock firmly against the inside of the carriage and bring it to a stop. 
Stepping out into the cold, snow crunching under your feet, you watch the people relax. Their grips are no longer white-knuckled and they nod in your direction. Some even dare to meet your eyes and you do your best to reward them with a smile, especially the curious children. 
You pat the flank of Alcina’s loyal horses, “Aștepta.” 
Beelining to the back of the village square, you slip quietly into the butchers. It’s empty save for you and the graying woman on the other side of the counter. Her back is facing you, rusty red curls slipping from the black scarf around her head, hacking away at a carcass with a cleaver. 
“Be with you in a moment.” She throws over her shoulder. 
“Take your time.” 
The cleaver clatters onto the table and she spins. Her eyes are wide, one hand clutching her chest as it rises and falls too quickly. 
“My Lady!” 
“I said take your time, Detta,” You sigh, “Will you ever listen to me?” 
“Her Ladyship would dislike it very much if I kept you waiting.” 
“My wife isn’t here. Finish up your task and then you can help me, not a moment before.” 
Detta hesitates as if waiting for a trap. You mentally curse the Lords—not for the first time—for inspiring so much fear into the people of their domain. Your love for your wife and her family is unending, but there are many times you could smack them for being so cruel. It makes interactions like this all the more difficult. 
You sense eyes staring in the shop, following your every move. You wonder if Detta feels them glued to her back as well. But you peruse the selection of dried meats as if they’re not there. 
There’s an attractive set of hindquarters hanging behind the counter. A heavy layer of salt covers the outside, dark red made pale pink. You wonder if your girls would appreciate it; it’s hardly their preferred fare of man-flesh, but Bela and Cassandra were fond of venison on occasion. 
Apparently satisfied with her work, Detta turns back to you, arms splattered with blood. You hardly notice it. 
“How can I help you, My Lady?” 
“I have an interesting request for you.” 
“Anything.” 
You level the woman with a look, “I’m not my wife, Detta. You’re allowed to refuse me.” 
Detta nods, but her eyes flicker behind you, to where the village no-doubt watches on. There’s sweat on her brow and you know it isn’t from her hard work. You sigh. You can hardly blame her for being so afraid, she’s grown up in the village and seen the countless atrocities committed, but you don’t want to be viewed as an extension of the bloodshed. 
Never have you raised a hand against any of them, but it’s done little to make you more favorable. You suppose that became your lot when you took the Dimitrescu name. 
“I… What is your request, My Lady?” 
“I’d like to set up a bit of festivity here for the holidays, including stalls for businesses like yours. Mother Miranda has given me her blessing. You’re highly respected amongst the people and I’d like you to spread the word around.” 
She hesitates. 
“You don’t trust me.” 
“It’s not that, My Lady,” Detta says, “The winter season has been hard on the village. It will be hard to join the festivities with no product.”
“What would the village require to make this happen?” 
Another glance behind you, a deep breath, “The lycans need to be disposed of. They hunt all our game and stock, trample crops, and terrorize us all around. Rid us of them and celebrations will be easier.” 
You nod. Heisenburg hardly needs the foul creatures anymore, the threat of Ethan Winters and associated groups having been eliminated. It will take a lot more than agreeing to watch Eva to convince Mother Miranda, but the woman has always been partial to you for some odd reason. You’re not convinced Alcina will appreciate what you have to agree to. 
Detta seems to take your silence as evidence of anger; she’s backed herself away from you, as far as she can without being rude. Her hand grips the handle of her cleaver. You could almost laugh at the absurdity of the scene, but you need her favor. 
“Give me a week.” You say, “And I’ll take the hindquarters behind you. What are those, venison?” 
The piece of meat goes over well. 
“None for me, girls.” Alcina turns it away, sipping at her wine. 
“Mama?” Daniela turns to you. 
Motioning to your plate where a cooked piece rests, “I’m alright. Thank you, bug.” 
The words have hardly left your mouth before the three swarm, teeth ripping into the raw meat. You’re thankful the aging process left it with less blood. Leaning back, you watch as you always do, with a sense of horrified interest. 
A large hand comes to rest on your thigh beneath the table. You glance up into golden eyes, offering her a fond smile. She smirks in response. 
“Your trip to the village proved worthwhile, it seems.” She comments. 
“To a degree, yes. I still have much to do,” You shift, sitting up and turning to face her. Alcina’s eyes meet your own and narrow, “Some of which you may not… enjoy.” 
“Oh?” 
“I need Mother Miranda’s approval and my methods may have to be… different, this time.” 
“No.” 
“Alcina, please.” 
Her wine glass is slammed onto the table. It shatters, Sanguis Virginis running over her gloved hand. The girls don’t notice. 
“She can’t have you.” Alcina snarls. 
“What is one night with her compared to an eternity with you?” You ask, “It’s only my body. You own the rest.” 
“I own all of you!” 
“Alcina, this is an opportunity to endear the village to us. I know you’ve been searching for one. You can hardly scoff when it drops into your lap!” 
“I can when it involves loaning out my wife!” 
You stand and move into her space. Slowly, you drag a finger up her arm, until you meet her gaze with eyes full of desire. Her jaw clenches. 
“What if you’re there too, hm? You’ve always enjoyed watching.” You whisper. 
Alcina exhales heavily through her nose. She rakes her eyes over you slowly and you can practically see the images behind them. You, in various positions, another pair of hands pinching and pulling at flesh, while all she can do is watch in a delicious state of helplessness. The interest and hate rolls off of her in waves. 
Her hand wraps around your smaller one. Your wrist is pulled to her nose and she inhales, eyes darkening with the scent of you in her senses. Teeth dig in and pull blood from the veins. You try not to whine. 
Three sets of eyes look up from their meal. 
Alcina pulls a tasteful amount of blood from you before pulling away. It colors her lips like another shade of lipstick. 
“You are mine, understood?” Alcina asks. 
“Only yours.” 
Cassandra gags, “Ugh. Get a room.” 
“Or at least let us have a taste!” Daniela smiles, blood and flesh in her teeth. 
“What did we say about boundaries, Dani?” 
Daniela wilts under Bela’s chastising look. She curls in on herself, muttering obediently that having them is important while the blonde nods. Should the Cadou parasite not be the right path for you, you’d want to go in a way that benefits your family; where they consume you, down to your marrow; you gather now isn’t the time for such admissions. 
Cassandra has leaned back in her seat to watch the scene unfold with thinly-veiled disgust. She’s using her sickle to pick flesh from between her teeth, accidentally flinging some into the center of the table. 
“Cassandra.”
“Sorry, Mother.” 
The middle daughter doesn’t stop despite her apology. Alcina digs her nails into the arm of her chair, the night’s events taking a toll on her sanity. You can’t blame her. There’s surely more news she’ll fill you in on when you’re wrapped up in bed. 
Something else finds its way into the center of the table, staining the white cloth red, and you see Alcina tense. 
“Girls, you’re excused.” You say quickly. 
All three nod, crossing around to offer brief affection before leaving; Cassandra the quickest of all, you can’t help but feel sorry for any maids that may cross her path. Daniela and Bela are slower and more intentional, offering a kiss on the cheek to you and Alcina. Daniela skips from the room and Bela waits for her to leave before following. 
It leaves you and your wife alone in the room, the latter with her head in her palm, releasing heaving breaths. You wait. Sipping at your soup politely, you spare glances her way. 
“You’re intent on going through with this?” She asks. 
“I am. I want to give the girls something to brighten their spirits.” 
“And there’s no other way?” 
“The village wants free of the Lycans and Karl won’t let them go unless Miranda tells him to. I’ve already made steep promises for my plans to happen at all, but this… there’s only one thing left to bargain with.” 
Alcina seethes, “Very well.” 
You lay your hand on the table between you, palm up. 
She stares at it for a few long moments. Placing her own hand over your own, you smile, and bring it to your lips. You kiss the back of it reverently. 
From there your plans unfold nicely. After a long meeting with Mother Miranda—in person, to Alcina’s disgust—the two of you settle on terms; she’ll permanently rid the village of lycans for 24-hours of unhindered access to you. It’s too easy, but that’s a problem for later. 
Within a week the village is free of the twisted creatures. Detta seems both pleased and surprised you managed it when you visit, but makes good on her end of the bargain. The people are informed of your plans and the square undergoes an exciting transformation. 
All of it is on your and Alcina’s dime of course. The Duke is all too happy to provide what you need for the lei you offer. He’s friendly enough though and you’re not naive to business relations, so you don’t take it too hard when he vanishes after collecting payment. 
It feels like a whirlwind until the day of the festivities rolls around. You bounce on your heels in the hall of four, waiting for your family. Alcina descends the stairs first, wrapped in pure white fur, smirking at your apparent excitement. 
“I’m glad to see you so pleased, draga mea.” Alcina presses a kiss to your lips. 
“I just hope the girls like it.”
“They will,” She assures you, raising her voice, “Daughters!” 
The familiar swarms race down the stairs, coming to a stop and forming your girls. Cassandra and Bela stand properly and nod at their Mother. Daniela throws herself into your arms, making you spin to catch her. She squeals in your ear. 
“I’m so excited, Mama! A real winter festival!” 
“Darling girl, try not to deafen your Mama.” Alcina suggests. 
You kiss Daniela’s forehead, “I’m excited for you and your sisters to see it, bug.” 
Cassandra clears her throat. You all glance her way. 
“If you’re so excited, why are we still standing here?” She asks. 
It’s a valid point. You miss the warning glance Alcina gives over your head, taking your wife’s arm and leading the way outside. The Dimitrescu carriage waits, the horses whickering and shaking their heads, eager to move. A maid holds open the door for you and your wife first. 
You let Alcina step in, followed by your daughters, but don’t enter yourself. All four give you curious stares. But you rush to the front where the horses wait with forced patience. 
They, like your family, are beautiful in a twisted nature; all a dappled gray, with midnight black manes, their flesh sunken in to reveal their skeletons. Their mouths drip black like they swallowed an inkwell. Where eyes once were are empty, red sockets. Though they lack the organs, you can still feel them follow your movements. 
In a pouch you’ve tied to your hip are five apples you dipped in clotted blood. The first, Negatio, noses the bag with interest. You pat one side of his face while feeding him an apple with your other hand. You go through the same motions with the other four until they’re pleased and your family is suitably impatient, making you smile. 
You’re tucked into Alcina’s side for the trip, enjoying the warmth of her body despite the heat in the carriage. 
“Mama?” Bela asks softly. 
“Yes, sweet bug?” 
“How are you keeping the carriage warm?” 
“A generator and heater I affixed to the back,” You answer. When they all stare blankly, you correct, “Technology I purchased from the Duke.” 
They all nod in understanding. You bite your lip to keep from laughing, leaning back against the seat and enjoying the gentle sway of the carriage. Out the window a fine layer of snow has started to fall. Alcina takes your hand in her own. 
You open your eyes and look up at her. She kisses the back of your hand, eyes impossibly fond. Cassandra rolls her eyes across from you. 
“Can we go home yet?” 
Alcina’s eyes are ripped from you as she glares. You raise your eyebrows at the reaction, saying nothing. 
“Cassandra.” 
“What? I’m just asking a question.” 
“You know how much time your Mama has put into this. The least you can be is grateful.” 
“I never said I wasn’t grateful! I just want to know how long this will take, there’s an old sword in the armory I had to stop working on.” 
You lean forward, “If you’d rather, we can take you back to the Castle, Cassandra.” 
“Absolutely not.” Alcina snarls, making murderous eyes at her middle daughter, “Cassandra will join her family for the festivities you so carefully planned and like it.” 
Cassandra grumbles and crosses arms over her chest. When you’re sure your wife isn’t looking, you meet Bela’s eyes, the both of you looking lost and confused; silently asking what the fuck was that? Neither one of you can come up with an answer. 
The youngest bounces eagerly in her seat by the window. It grates on Cassandra’s nerves the longer it happens and you’re waiting for all hell to break loose, you curse yourself for not telling the group to leave their weapons at home. 
The carriage rounds a final bend and the lights of the village come into view. All four of your family members lean forward to get a look, eyes wide. 
String lights hang from every tree and building around the village square. In the center stands a tall tree decked out with ornaments of all shapes and sizes. Some are brightly colored orbs and others a mesh of wood and glue, courtesy of the first graders at the school. 
Near the back, in front of where Detta’s shop is, stands a long white tent. People dip in and out, some bearing arms full of goods, others clutching only a steaming drink. 
When the carriage comes to a stop, you’re pleased to see minimal reactions to your arrival. You wave your girls out first. 
“After you.” 
Daniela shoves past her sisters and out into the air. She turns in circles and giggles, looking at you and Alcina with a large smile. 
“Mother, it’s warm out here!” 
“What?” Bela says aloud, while Cassandra scoffs out, “No way!” 
Soon enough the three of them are standing outside of the carriage, looking surprised and excited. Daniela and Bela even join hands and dance childishly for a moment before Alcina clears her throat. You elbow her hard. 
“Let them enjoy this.” You say. 
“I am, but they’re still Ladies of House Dimitrescu. They need to uphold the image.” 
“For who?”
“Mother Miranda strictly explained—“ 
“Mother Miranda needed you and the girls to intimidate so she could take what she wanted. The villagers are already frightened and Miranda’s achieved her goal. Let the girls be girls or I’ll have the carriage take you home.” 
Alcina’s eyebrows reach her hairline. You hold your breath and wonder if you’ve gone too far, but she smirks. 
“How refreshing,” She purrs, “Speak to me like that again and you may lose your tongue, draga mea.” 
“Yes, Alcina.” 
“Good girl.” 
You’re led into the festivities on your wife’s arm. Though you helped set everything up, it looks better than you expected. 
Detta waves shyly from across the square and you smile. The Duke sits next to her, gesturing passionately with his hands, and Detta blushes. You wink at the two. 
Your girls have disappeared into the tent to harass the local vendors and you’re about to join them when Daniela skips out, hot chocolate in her hands. 
“So,” You start, “still think Winter is awful and boring?” 
“Pretty much! But this is nice. Maybe it’s not so bad if this happens.” 
You laugh, shaking your head. Daniela grins and vanishes. You’ve done all you can to spruce up this winter for them and you’re rather proud of yourself. 
You already have a new set of ideas for next year and a whole 12 months to plan this time; you’re looking forward to firmly changing Daniela’s mind… eventually. For now you’ll just settle for being together. 
692 notes · View notes
multimilfs · 1 year
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Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: Melissa's No Good, Very Bad Cover-Up
Summary: 5 times Melissa Schemmenti tries to pretend she doesn't feel anything +1 time she stops pretending.
AO3
A/N: So I watched Abbott Elementary and fell in love with (1) South Philly redhead. She is everything. I was very surprised at the lack of x reader fics for her and well, I had to fix it myself.
If this is not your cup of tea, please don't read! Thank you!
Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld
Warning(s): None
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If someone asks Melissa Schemmenti how she feels about the new teacher, she’ll tell them she doesn’t feel anything about her. 
Mistake number one? Never ask Melissa Schemmenti about feelings. Mistake number two? She looks at the new girl a little too much and too fondly to ‘feel nothing.’ That’s a problem with Melissa, her stories are always a little off; any cover-up is. 
And this cover-up, well… Melissa had done better covering for her Aunt at 15 years old. 
1
“I have a problem.” Janine announces, walking into the Teacher’s Lounge with the camera crew at her heels. 
Without looking up from the papers, Melissa nods, “Your self awareness is improving.” 
Janine makes a point to ignore the comment, as well as the grins both you and Barbara try to hide. Dropping unceremoniously into a chair–one of the wobbly ones, the imbalance almost sending her to the floor–she sighs. She doesn’t wait for Melissa to look before starting on her point. Though true to fashion, Melissa pays attention anyway. 
“Sayed’s parents still haven’t paid the overdue balance on his lunch account. I’ve tried calling, sending notes home, nothing! And I’m running low on cash.” 
Barbara offers up a sad smile, “His Grandmother was in the early stages of memory loss when I had him in my class. I can’t imagine she’s improved much, and his Mother is entirely out of the picture.” 
“How did you handle it?” 
“It was the first year we had extra funds. I kept some snacks in my desk; it wasn’t much, but he wasn’t going hungry.” 
Nodding, Janine still looks distraught, and you know all too well where that leads. You dig through your bag and pull out a foil-wrapped sandwich. You hold it out. 
“Make sure he’s not allergic and offer him half of this,” You smile, “keep the other half for yourself. I know you didn’t bring anything.” 
You ignore all of the questioning looks from the group–namely Melissa’s stare burning holes in your head–and keep smiling. It was rare you said much during lunch, preferring the company of some big over-the-ear headphones and a choice playlist. 
“What about you?” 
“It was an extra I was saving for dinner, I’ll just cook instead.” 
She looks between you and the foil package. Eventually she nods. Her eyes are a little glassy as she looks back at you and for an instant, you wonder if you’ve done something wrong. The smile on her lips is enough to set your fears to rest. 
“Thank you.” Janine says genuinely. 
Waving off the thanks, you pull out a familiar case from your bag and unfold your big headphones, sliding them over your ears. Relief washes over you as the rest of the room is blocked out by the playlist of your choosing. Your chest feels full with the knowledge that you did something nice–something good–even as you know you won’t have the energy to cook tonight. 
The room misses the way Melissa’s mouth turns up in a fond smile as they go back to their own meals. The camera’s don’t, though. 
— 
2
It’s a Tuesday when Melissa ventures past your classroom with her own kids in tow. The silence makes her glance in and stop, eyebrows raising. The room is full. With a quick glance to her watch and a hand up to make her class wait, she tiptoes in. 
Your students look up and you follow suit after a few moments. The surprise on your face must show as the redhead grins. Whispers start breaking through the room and you put a finger to your lips, squashing it just as quickly as it started. 
Melissa crouches next to your desk and you make eye contact briefly, “How do you get them so quiet? I can never keep mine quiet before lunch.” 
“We always have quiet time, so they’re used to it,” You whisper back, “It lets them color or read without having to meet some kind of requirement.” 
“And you?” 
“It’s… nice to be free of the noise for a few minutes.” 
She wears a knowing smile on her lips and you wonder how she seems to read you so easily. It must be a South Philly trait, you decide. That’s what Barbara and Janine always tell you; Melissa is so different, so resourceful, because of her upbringing. You don’t think they’d lie to you. 
“Might have to try this quiet time thing myself.” 
You think you sense some approval there. Looking at her, you’re shocked to see how she’s staring back; you’ve only ever seen her look at Barbara so… sweetly. It drops away pretty fast though and she nods, standing back up and stalking out of the room without a word. 
Attempting to savor the last few minutes to read your book, you try, and fail, to ignore the feeling of doing something wrong. Melissa smiling at you felt so nice, like she approved, like she liked you. But you weren’t Janine, Barbara, or even Jacob. 
Maybe… you could be. 
Parent-Teacher conferences, you decide, are awful. 
Not because you’re expected to interact with strangers outside of your scheduled work hours—though that puts a wrinkle in your demeanor—but because all it turned out to be was several hours of waiting, for nothing. Energy drains from you the longer you sit, glancing up at every bump hoping for a little change; if you’re going to use your reserves, you’d rather it prove productive.
Your stomach growls and you’re made acutely aware of the last time you had something. Lunch was a cheesesteak from the corner store and a bag of chips, both of which you scarfed down without a thought of saving any for later. You could kick yourself for it now. The corner store is closed and your energy is gone, which means sleep for dinner. 
Mood soured, you still force a smile everytime you think footsteps come near your door. Just because you’re feeling down doesn’t mean you can’t do your job. It’s a relief that years of practicing a toothy, winning smile haven’t let you down yet. 
Time passes and you flip through pages of your book unbothered. Out of habit, you glance to the doorway and jump when you find it occupied. A familiar redhead is leaning against the door and watching with a blank expression. Your heart drops as you throw your book down, perfect smile forgotten as you fumble for composure. 
“Melissa,” You say, withering internally at how your voice wavers, “How long have you been standing there?” 
She says nothing and the few moments feel like an eternity. Her green-eyed stare feels like it's cutting through you, breaking you down to small little pieces—can she see how frazzled you feel? The way she leans, arms crossed over her chest reveals nothing. 
“Have you eaten?” Melissa asks, your question ignored. 
You want to lie and end this conversation as quickly as possible, but dishonesty makes your skin crawl, “Not since lunch.” 
Melissa lets out a noise that you can’t interpret. She cranes her neck to glance at the clock on your wall, red hair shielding part of her face. Your sudden realization of how beautiful she is only adds to your overwhelm. 
When she turns back to you, all you can think about is how her hair frames her face, and it infuriates you; you’re at work and she is your colleague, why on earth should it matter? Why are you so distracted all of a sudden? You’re all too glad to blame it on hunger. 
“Come on, I’ve got some Lasagna from home you can have.”  
“But, conferences don’t end until–” 
“I know when conferences end. Are you coming or not?”
You hesitate and stand. The action earns you an approving nod and she walks out of the room, expecting you to follow behind, which you do; feeling a little too much like one of her students trailing at her heels. 
“Did you have any parents show up?” You ask somewhere between your room and her’s. 
“One or two,” She nods, “They came early, so it’s been me and my thoughts for a while.” 
“I haven’t had any parents show tonight.” 
“That’s usually a good thing. Some parents don’t have time for these things, but the ones who do only come if there’s a problem. Consider it a compliment.” 
“A compliment that I sat around for hours doing nothing?” You raise an eyebrow. 
“If that’s how you want to see it, sure.” 
You look around her room and smile at the art on the walls, scribbled pictures that she clearly values. If you were being honest with yourself, you hadn’t expected Melissa to care about her job like she does; she had too similar a demeanor to your teachers back in school when they’d grown to despise their jobs. There had been a few pointers to her caring more than she let on, but they hadn’t fully hit you until now. 
Pointedly ignoring the camera crew in the corner, you sit down across from her. She’s rifling through her bag and pulling out a worn, stained tupperware container. The smell when she lifts the lid off is amazing, but the visual turns your stomach a little. You forgot how much went into lasagna. 
“Don’t tell me you came over here and you don’t like lasagna?” Melissa asks, squinting at you, “You got something against Italians?” 
“What? No,” Shaking your head, “Lasagna just has a lot in it. It can be overwhelming sometimes.” 
Melissa looks at you like she understands, like she sees you, and you freeze. Have you let on a little too much? Some teachers can be outdated in their views. It squeezes your heart that she might be one of them, but she says nothing. 
She holds out the tupperware and you can only stare at it. You aren’t sure you feel hungry anymore. Rolling her eyes and huffing, Melissa digs a forkful out of the container and holds it out. 
“Open up.” She commands, “This is your chance to prove you’re not anti-Italian.” 
Silence. 
Another sigh. 
“Come on, hon.” 
You lean forward and wrap your lips around the fork, eyes slipping closed. The taste and texture are perfect. You’d always wondered about Melissa’s cooking, but never had an occasion to try it, or the bravery to ask. 
“That’s… amazing.” You sigh out, smiling. 
The corner of her mouth turns up in the beginnings of a smile, “Good. Then take the rest, ‘cause I’m not feedin’ ya.” 
Obedience is a strong suit of yours when Melissa is involved, it seems; you take the meal from her eagerly. The two of you settle into silence as you eat and she grades and for once you don’t mind letting the quiet stretch between you. It’s… nice, you decide, but only with Melissa. And probably only this once. 
You try not to think too hard about why that bothers you. 
4
“You’re getting awfully close to the new teacher.” Barbara notes, watching the students all line up outside. 
“I’m not sure what you mean.” 
The look Barbara offers is one that says ‘oh really?’ and Melissa does her best to brush it off. She’s being nice to you, that’s all, you aren’t growing close—she doesn’t do close, not since her divorce. 
Her story will be the same as long as she can manage it; she isn’t fond of you, you aren’t growing close, and she definitely doesn’t search for you in a room. You can’t pry the information from her lips.
But Barbara only grins slyly and shakes her head when you appear around the corner and Melissa lights up. Her eyes brighten, a soft smile forming, and she walks to meet you instead of making you come to her. 
Your smile is shy when you see Melissa, but you can’t help but light up yourself. The South Philly woman has a way of making that happen. She walks to your side and strikes up a conversation like it's nothing, her shoulder bumping yours as you walk side by side towards the door. 
Barbara laughs under her breath, looking knowingly into the camera. 
Your chair being empty when Melissa enters the teacher’s lounge sets off warning bells in her head. She can count how many times you’ve walked in after her on one hand. Ignoring the knowing glances from her colleagues, she can’t help but keep staring at your empty chair. Another five minutes and she’s up; following any sign of you like a bloodhound. 
Curious stares follow after her, but she’s too preoccupied to care. The hallways are empty with the kids at lunch and she makes a beeline for your classroom. Darkness covers your room in a blanket and she wonders where else you could have gone off to, only to find her attention caught by a flicker of light somewhere inside. 
Slipping the door open loud enough to be heard, Melissa hears noise coming from behind your desk. Her chest deflates as she lets out the breath she’d been holding. 
“Knock, knock,” The redhead says softly, drawing your eyes to her. 
As much as you’d like to, you can’t force your voice to work, only offering a smile. It surprises you when she crouches down and settles at your side. It surprises you even more when Melissa pushes a piece of hair behind your ear to see your face. 
Hiding the puffiness around your eyes is impossible despite the low light. It’s why you’d confined yourself to your classroom, you wouldn’t have to draw attention to it. You hadn’t expected anyone to come looking. 
“What’s going on, Hon?” 
You want to shake your head, push away the worry etched into her face, but you can’t; not when she decided to miss lunch and seek you out, not when she’s looking at you like she is. It takes a few tries before you can speak around the lump in your throat. 
“Today has just been… a lot.” You say lamely. 
“I’ve never seen you like this. You need me to handle someone?” 
Seriousness is plain on her face and you know she would given the chance. You wonder what lengths Melissa would go to, has gone to; and though it may be awful, you don’t care. It touches you to feel included. 
When you shake your head, her hand settles on top of yours. Your face feels warm. 
“There was a combination of little things but this,” You pull your headphones from your bag, clearly broken in half, “Took the cake.” 
“How the hell did that happen?” 
“I let Bria borrow them since she seemed overstimulated, but the other kids wanted a turn. I looked up and they were in two pieces.” 
It shouldn’t upset you the way it does; it’s just a pair of headphones, you know that, but really it’s so much more. Working at Abbott was your passion and yet, the conditions of the school often left you without any control over your situation, and everything could be so much sometimes. The headphones were a small way to establish control… or had been. 
Melissa is up and jogging out of the room before you can blink, throwing a ‘wait here!’ behind her. So you do, watching the doorway for her shadow. She returns a few minutes later with something held behind her back and a small smile on her lips. 
“Close your eyes.” She says. 
“Melissa–” 
“I’m not going to wait forever, just close ‘em.” 
You make a show of sighing, but do as she says. Footsteps shuffle to your side and then the sound is muffled as something is placed over your ears. Reaching up and touching the headphones, you open your eyes, offering a watery smile. 
“They’re nothing special, just a set from the days we had a computer lab, but they’ll do until we can get something better.” Melissa says, fixing your hair around the headphones, “They feel okay?” 
“Yeah, they’re perfect.” You’re perfect, you want to say, the warm light from the hall surrounding her in a halo. Her grin is cast in shadow, but still the most radiant thing you’ve ever seen. 
Melissa’s hands settle on your face, fingers running over the apples of your cheeks. The action only serves to make you smile wider. One hand moves back to a strand of your hair while a thumb rubs circles over your skin. She’s much closer than you realized and you wonder how inappropriate it’d be to kiss her right now. 
The bell cuts through the possibility. 
She doesn’t pull back or let her hand drop away, but her smile drops and she’s back to no-nonsense Ms. Schemmenti. You miss her smile already. With one last stroke on your cheek, she releases you, leaving you feeling cold. 
“Take good care of those.” 
+1
You never expected late nights as a first grade teacher. Had you taught high school, maybe then you’d have prepared; what you failed to plan for was how in-depth lessons had to be for a first grade class. 
Sometimes the kids just didn’t understand what they were being taught and that you prepared for. It didn’t bother you to take some extra time from a lesson to further explain, that was your job, and you were happy to do it. It didn’t account for the way you’d have to slice out different lessons or cut into your grading time, leading you to late nights like this one. 
The clock hit six and a knock on your door drew your attention away. Melissa was leaning in, red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, offering you a tired smile. Your chest filled with warmth at seeing her. 
“Late night for you too?” You ask. 
She nods and crosses to stand in front of your desk, “What are you doing here so late?” 
“The lessons went long today, so it cut into a few things. I’m reworking it all for tomorrow’s lesson.” 
Melissa’s hands come to rest on the edge of your desk as she leans against it. You make a concentrated effort to keep your eyes on her face. Her hand is reaching out to rub at something on your face and you offer up a questioning glance, but find yourself distracted. 
Her lips are parted in concentration as she continues to rub at something you don’t know about. It gives you a minute to just admire her. Everything about her melts you. She’s strong and tough on the outside, but with a soft heart inside, and you wonder how many people really see her as she is; how many people got caught on the no-nonsense demeanor without looking beyond it. 
At some point during your musings, she stopped moving. Her hand stays holding your chin, thumb running back and forth near your lips. You meet her eyes and find them locked on you. 
“Kiss me,” You blurt without thinking. Her eyes go wide and yours do too, mortification going through you, “I’m so sorry, I just–I meant–” 
You’re cut off when her hand slides to the back of your neck and she pulls your lips to her’s. For a brief moment you freeze, shocked that it’s really happening. How many times had you thought about kissing her like this? How many times had the two of you leaned so close, only to pull away at the last second? 
When you sink into the kiss, it fills your chest to the brim. Melissa is a soft kisser to your surprise. You’d always imagined she’d be more demanding; she was a woman who knew what she wanted, after all. But she’s careful–slow–like she’s savoring it. 
“You’re—wow.” You breathe out when she pulls back. She laughs then, lipstick smudged attractively around her mouth.
“Let me buy you dinner.” Melissa says, near-whispering with how close the two of you still are. 
“Are you asking me on a date, Ms. Schemmenti?” 
“Get your things,” She ignores your teasing, “I’ll wait outside.” 
When she turns away from you, Melissa can’t help the soft, giddy smile on her lips. 
So much for not feeling anything. 
477 notes · View notes
multimilfs · 1 year
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Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: No Kiss For Cupid
Summary: Melissa Schemmenti + 15 - “Hi, I’ve been subtle at hinting that I want your attention all day and you haven’t noticed once and now I’m pissed.”
AO3
A/N: This request was from back when I did the grumpy affectionate prompts. I totally forgot about this one, I'm so sorry!! But I'm making it right, now! I hope you enjoy!
Prompt comes from this!
Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @merci-bitch @carolncwman
Warning(s): None
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“Janine,” You whisper, “This is an awful idea.” 
“There’s nothing awful about love!” Janine whispers back. 
You don’t know how she roped you into this, honestly. One minute you’re both discussing your plans—or lack thereof—for Valentine’s day and the next, well, you’re here; sneaking through Abbott’s halls at 3am, arms full of pink and red decorations to play Valentine’s fairy. 
Cupid! Janine had said tersely when you called yourself that, but Cupid was the last thing you were going to play. You had no interest in shooting someone, even if it was with an arrow of love or whatever. It doesn’t matter what it is, a weapon is a weapon, and you work in a public school—the two don’t mix. 
“Someone is going to catch us and we’re probably going to get in trouble for being here.” You say.
“Yeah, right. Who else would be here this early?” 
A third voice says behind you both, “Someone who knows how to whisper.” 
Janine shrieks and drops her box of decorations. You drop yours too, but not before grabbing something to defend yourself with; a styrofoam arrow with a heart on the end, much to your dismay. 
Turning on your heel and brandishing your styrofoam weapon brings you face-to-face with Mr. Johnson. He’s looking pleased with himself, hands folded behind his back. 
You groan, “Mr. Johnson, for real? You could have killed me.” 
“Less mess than whatever you’re planning.” He shrugs. 
“These are decorations, not trash.” Janine pipes up. 
“Looks like trash to me.” 
Janine looks to you for help, but you just shrug. He isn’t exactly wrong. Janine managed to recycle her decorations from last year, including the dusty crepe paper she had hanging from the ceiling for a little too long. It should be trash. 
She throws her hands up and then crosses her arms. You smile sympathetically. Janine is your friend, and you admire her ability to get the most out of everything, but the early hour has affected your patience. 
“I just want to do something nice for everyone.” She says. 
You sigh, “I know, I’m sorry.” 
Even Mr. Johnson looks a little apologetic. 
“We’ll try not to make too much of a mess, Mr. J,” You smile, “Promise.” 
He shakes his head and walks off, grumbling about how there will be a mess anyway. It speaks volumes that he’s letting it happen. You won’t let yourself take it for granted. 
You nudge Janine, “Come on, we’re wasting time.”
The both of you pick up your boxes and head in the direction of her classroom. There’s a little more pep in her step now, making you release a relieved sigh. 
You haven’t exactly been honest with Janine. 
You do have plans for Valentine’s day, but she had seemed so in the dumps when asking that you hadn’t wanted to upset her more. It’s how she roped you into the decorations; she didn’t want anyone else to feel left behind in all of the festivities. Janine was so kind it could make you tear up. 
But the week before you asked a certain redhead to be your Valentine. It wasn’t often Melissa Schemmenti got shy, but at dinner you surprised her with flowers and a cheesy one-liner, and you bagged yourself the most beautiful Valentine Philadelphia had to offer. 
Now, though, running on significantly less sleep than you wanted, you’re wondering if you should have just told Janine the truth. 
Pouring yourself an extra large mug of the burnt teachers-lounge coffee helps. It warms you up from the inside, you only hope the caffeine will kick in before your class. Sometimes your students are tired enough to fall asleep at their desks, one of you needs to be awake and alert. 
You turn and lean against the counter when Melissa walks in. 
Behind your mug, you offer up a smile reserved only for her. She returns it before letting her face drop when a few other teachers walk in. Barbara is one of them. She sits down in her usual chair looking so perfectly put-together it almost makes you envious. 
When Melissa brushes against you to grab some coffee, though, it’s all forgotten. You prop one hand on the counter next to her own, wiggling your fingers; a silent request for Melissa to hold your hand for just a moment. She must be really tired though because it never comes. 
You hide your scowl when she turns and plops down next to Barbara in comfortable silence. 
— 
“Hey, don’t you have lunch duty today?” You ask, tilting your head at finding her in her classroom. 
She puts a finger to her lips and motions silently to her rug, where a couple of her students are either napping or reading silently. You offer a small wave to the ones who look up. You crouch next to Melissa where she sits at her desk.
Melissa’s voice is soft, “Traded with Barb. I’m a little out of it today.” 
“Everything alright?” 
“Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just had my sleep interrupted when someone texted me at 4am.” 
You wince, “I did tell you to put your phone on silent…” 
“What were you even doing up that early?” She raises her brows. 
“Janine and I were coming in to put the decorations up.” 
Melissa nods, but looks a little confused. Between working so much and your conversation with Janine, you must have forgotten to fill her in. Oops. 
Careful to make sure the action is blocked by her desk, you put your hand on her knee. She doesn’t blink or acknowledge the action. You frown. Your text message must have really messed with her sleep. Guilt floods you. 
“I’ll explain later,” You promise, “Tonight, maybe?” 
She smiles in her fond way, “Tonight.” 
You stand up and try to ignore the pain in your knees. Offering her a wink and her students a smile, you walk—limp—back to your classroom. 
It’s your class’ turn for gym class when you pass by Melissa in the hall. She’s bringing her class back, walking in the opposite direction as you. The kids are out of breath, practically bouncing in their single-file line. Once upon a time you would have expected the kids to come back from gym tired; that was before you knew better. 
Melissa is joking around with Mya and one of her other students when she catches sight of you. You wink and she grins, nodding in your direction. 
You fold your fingers into your palm as you approach, with the exception of your pinky. It’s something you pulled from Bridgerton when you forced Melissa to watch it with you; her compliance with it is begrudging, as she refuses to let you pick shows to watch anymore. But it comes in handy to show a little affection without alerting anyone else. 
You pass, pinky out, but her’s never makes contact. 
It takes all your willpower not to stop in your tracks. Somehow, Melissa has managed to miss every indication of wanting touch you’ve shown. She’s usually just as eager to return it. 
Before you can think on it too hard, you’re rounding the corner to the gym, just barely stopping your students from breaking their line and rushing inside. 
Knock, knock, knock 
At the third knock, you glance up. Melissa walks in and closes the door behind her. She’s bundled up in her coat and green scarf, bag slung over her shoulder. 
“Hi.” You smile 
“Hey yourself, hon. You almost ready?” 
“Almost…” 
Melissa raises a brow. 
“I've been subtle at hinting that I want your attention all day and you haven’t noticed once,” You say, leaning back and crossing your arms. Jokingly, you add, “and now I’m pissed.” 
“Oh, I’ve noticed.” Melissa says. 
Her smile is downright evil. It’s the one she reserves for home, when she’s intent on getting you worked up, or worse, when she can tell you’re already worked up. 
The reaction in your body is immediate. You shift a little in your desk chair, licking your lips as she approaches, but she doesn’t do anything to invade your space. She stays standing tall. It’s almost more delicious in the way she looks down at you. 
“You just have to use your words, honey.” 
You swallow. Your mouth is suddenly dry. 
“Melissa…” You start. She waits, “Please, kiss me?” 
She does lean into your space this time. Her perfume fills your head, but you can’t look away from her lips. Somehow her lipstick has stayed in place all day long. You want nothing more than to smudge it, to wear it yourself. 
Melissa leans closer. There’s a breath between you when your eyes flutter shut. 
You’re stunned when she kisses your cheek instead. 
“Time to go.” 
Melissa’s grinning over her shoulder when you open your eyes, opening the door and disappearing through it. It takes you a few moments before your brain catches up. When it does, you hastily throw everything in your bag, and run after her.
364 notes · View notes
multimilfs · 1 year
Text
Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: One, Two, Three Strikes 
Summary: "You're the only one who gets to call me that, you know."
A/N: Prompts found here!
This... got a little out of hand. I wanted to include the throwaway line from this last episode where Jacob mentioned Melissa getting pissed about the bartender at the batting cages cutting her off. I felt that wasn't appreciated enough! I also ended up doing some research on places in Philly so I could give names of real places.
So Phield House and JinWei are real places. However, I altered Phield House to fit what I needed from it. I couldn't find any actual batting cages in South Philly to use, just baseball fields. This was the closest I could find. Anyway... little ramble over. Please enjoy!!!!
Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld @greenawaysprentiss
Warning(s): None
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“Hey Melissa, what’s the address for the batting cages?” 
Janine pops her head into Melissa’s class during quiet time, doing a very bad job of whispering her question. The redhead rolls her eyes as all of her students look up. Awkwardly, Janine smiles and waves. 
“It’s Phield House, near Chinatown,” Melissa says. When Janine only stares back blankly, she sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, “Near the Vine Street Target?” 
Her eyes light up with recognition and Melissa wants to sigh again. No matter how long they’d been in the city, these kids would never know how to traverse it. Just last week she’d had to break down the way to City Hall to Jacob. City Hall! And didn’t they have Google like everyone else? She’d never understand why they couldn’t do a search, but hey, she was happy to help. 
“I know where that is!” Janine says eagerly, “Thanks, Mel!” 
Melissa’s neck snapped as she glared, jaw clenched and lips pursed as she narrowed her eyes. The younger teacher jumped slightly and held her hands up, “I mean–Melissa, thanks Melissa.” 
Turning and rushing from the classroom, Melissa didn’t relax until she was well out of her sights. 
When grading papers, Melissa has a tendency to grumble under her breath. The habit goes unnoticed by her and usually it's soft enough that it doesn’t disrupt lunch. Today, though, she’s practically growling as she marks with her red pen; damn Ashley for distracting her class, these quizzes are atrocious. 
Jacob pulling up a chair and flipping it so he can sit backwards is the last thing she wants or needs, but it happens anyway. He folds his arms on the back of it and she can see him smiling in her peripheral vision. 
“Melissa,” Jacob says, extending the end of her name, “Mel, what’s up?” 
She pauses to put her pen down, taking off her glasses and folding them. 
Her voice is calm, “What did you call me?” 
But her eyes are hard and dangerous. Jacob’s own widen and he stutters, scrambling for some kind of explanation, assuring her that he didn’t mean anything by it and he wasn’t meaning to hit a nerve. When her stare doesn’t change, he stands abruptly and trips over the chair, stumbling back to his own table. Melissa isn’t satisfied until he’s sitting and avoiding her eyes at all costs. 
“You gave that boy a heart attack.” Barbara says, shaking her head. 
“And?” 
“Nothing, Melissa, nothing.” 
— 
Gregory looks awful—like he’s seen some shit he can’t unsee. He’s staring at the wall when Melissa happens to pass by and glance in. The room is empty and he should be grading the newest round of quizzes before meeting everyone at the batting cages, but he’s staring blankly at the wall instead. 
His trance is broken when Melissa steps into the doorway. The young teacher can’t bring himself to straighten his posture or his clothing, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. 
“Sup, Mel.” 
“Try again.” 
The intense look on her face and her arms folded over her chest finally make him sit up. He nervously straightens his tie, hands fidgeting. 
“I mean Melissa–uh, Schemmenti–Ms. Schemmenti. Hello.” 
She’s silent, staring him down. Then she nods. Backing out of the room and continuing on her way, it isn’t until he can no longer hear her heels that he lets out the breath he was holding. 
The Abbott crew is surprised at how busy the Phield House is when they walk in. It’s a Thursday, why on earth are so many people out this late? They weave their way around the basketball courts to meet Melissa who is leaning against one of the batting cages, drink in hand.
“Glad you all made it,” She nods, “Anyone been here before? Just me? Alright well, choose a bat that works for you and we’ll set up the speeds on the machines, I reserved two cages.” 
Some of them start at the bar, but it doesn’t bother her too much. They’ve got plenty of time. The next day is a holiday so they all have an extra day off, meaning it won’t hurt them to stay out late. Melissa can feel herself yawning anyway. Damn school nights. 
Janine and Gregory are picking out their bats, Janine giggling over some comment that she can’t hear, but the way Gregory looks at her is like a scream in the face; it’s a soft, fond smile she’d know anywhere. She wonders when he’ll work up the courage to ask Janine out. They’d be good for one another. 
Jacob has sauntered over to the bar and ordered himself a large, neon-colored drink with an umbrella. He’s leaning against the bar while Ashley loudly flirts with the bartender; a young guy with big biceps that must be new. When he slides her drink across the bar—also large and neon—Ashley tactlessly puts her hand over the bartender’s when she takes it. The action makes Melissa cringe. 
Caught up in a date with her Husband, Barbara is notably absent. Melissa can’t help but miss her best friend. She was the only one from work who’d come with her before and they had a pretty good system to keep things fun; whoever missed the most baseballs bought the next round. Melissa was usually pretty good and tipsy by the end of it and they’d call Gerald to drive them home. 
When the doors to her right fly open and she catches the scent of familiar perfume, Melissa looks up to see you in the door, looking around, clothing and hair haphazard. You smile when you catch sight of her and rush over, “Mel!” 
Everyone’s heads snap to look at you, fear freezing them in place, but you remain oblivious. Melissa’s face is soft. 
“Hi, honey,” Melissa greets you, taking your hand as soon as it's offered and placing a quick kiss on the back of it, “Nice to see you showing up on time.” 
“Don’t start, alright? The parking situation here is awful.” 
“Maybe it would have been better if you arrived on time.”
“If tardiness bothers you so much, you could have picked me up. Listening to your road-rage is one of the seven wonders of my world.” 
“Oh, yeah? And what’s the first?” She raises an eyebrow, sipping her drink.
“Don’t fish for compliments, Schemmenti,” You laugh, pressing a quick kiss to her lips, “Now, introduce me to your coworkers so we can crush them?” 
Melissa has always been open and proud of her love for both men and women, but showing affection—or being shown affection—around her coworkers makes her blush. She’s got a reputation to uphold. Blaming the blush on her drink, she introduces you to everyone while dodging every knowing glance from Janine and Jacob. 
A round of baseballs is under your belt and a few drinks in your system when Melissa catches the glint in your eyes. The two of you have just crushed Jacob and Ashley; the pair missed nearly every baseball—Jacob flinching from every one and Ashley insisting she’d been a dancer, not a baller. 
She’s wary of the look in your eyes. It’s too similar to the one her brother gets when he approaches her about money, insisting this will be the time the Jets win. She’s started to tell her brother to piss off, but she hasn’t worked up the ability to say so to you. 
“Behave.” Melissa murmurs as you pass. Your smile tells her you’re going to do the exact opposite. 
“I have a proposition,” You say, making sure everyone is paying attention, “Losers next round pay for drinks.” 
There’s a murmur of excited agreement and one ear-splitting cheer from Ashley. Melissa just sighs. She wishes absently that Barb was here to help manage everyone, but knows with a few drinks in her system that the woman is just as bad. 
“Prepare to be well and sufficiently liquored up, gorgeous.” You smile and hand her the bat she chose, stealing a kiss. 
“Like I’m not already?” 
“Liquored up for free, then.” 
Melissa purrs, “Now that is more my speed.” 
Your knees go weak when she takes the bat from your hands and tips back the remainder of her drink. It’s sexy watching Melissa do something physical; the way her hands flex around the grip and she swings with precision like she’s sober. Watching her drop and swing the bat between balls makes your mouth water. It’s almost as good as the time she delivered a right hook to a guy who was a little too eager to get in your space. 
She’s such a dreamboat. 
When Janine and Gregory start swinging, you’re a little nervous about your wager. The pair is good. Janine’s a little off, the alcohol in her system helping little, but Gregory is like a machine. His form is mechanical and stilted but he hits accurately every time. 
Melissa has started to notice too. Her grip is white-knuckled and her body impossibly tense. Your stomach twists. Losing honorably is not a trait Schemmenti’s have and when she misses a swing, you can feel this going downhill very quickly. You step up to the chainlink separating the two of you. 
“It’s just a friendly wager, honey,” You say, “If we lose I’ll pay for your drinks anyway.” 
She glares, “We are not going to lose.” 
And so it goes on. Melissa hits and so does Gregory, both snapping the balls back like a missile. You hit and Janine misses. Gregory hits and Melissa gets a little too angry, missing by barely an inch. On… and on… and on. You want to bite your nails. 
It comes down to the last hit when Jacob tells you this will decide the round. If either misses, it’ll go to the opposing team. Melissa squares her shoulders and Gregory fixes his feet. Both are gearing up to swing. 
You remain silent, not bearing to disrupt the redhead’s focus, no matter how badly you want to tell her it’s just a game. Damn your moment of cockiness. 
“You got this, Gregory!” Janine cheers right as the ball launches. 
Melissa swings. Gregory does too. 
Melissa makes contact. Gregory misses. 
A cheer goes up around you. So focused on the pair, you failed to realize that a crowd had formed to watch. Melissa doesn’t acknowledge them when she steps out of the cage and hangs up the bat. Her eyes are set on you. When she’s close enough, she fists two hands in your shirt and yanks you into a mind-numbing kiss. 
God, you love it when she wins. 
She’s a confident woman on any given day, but winning gives her an extra boost. The smile on her face gets impossibly smug and she holds herself like she’s infallible and she kisses like there will never be another opportunity. 
“Well done.” You whisper, feeling her shiver. 
Melissa drags you to the bar and orders—the cheapest drink she can get, you notice with a knowing smile—but the mood dissolves when the bartender denies her. She’s been cut off, he says. If it weren’t for your hold on her arm, she’d be pulling it back to throw a punch. 
Everyone at the bar seems to freeze when he says it. This is Melissa Schemmenti he’s talking to, not just any broad in Philly. A Schemmenti. You try to explain this, putting yourself between Melissa and the young bartender, but he just waves you off in a way that makes your blood boil. You ache to let her at him. The usual bartender—Vinny—would never dare to cut her off, especially not when she was barely tipsy like this. 
“I don’t know who you think you are,” Melissa says, “but you have no idea who you’re dealing with!” 
“Ma’am either you walk away peacefully or I have to call security.” 
“Security?! Who the fu—” 
You can see in your mind exactly how this is going to go. Putting your back to the bartender, you wrap your arms around her neck, moving her away from the bar. It’s enough to make her pause. 
“Mel, gorgeous,” You whisper sweetly, “He’s not worth it. We can go to Ricky’s and get takeout from Jinwei after, alright? Don’t let some dumb kid undercut your win.”
Melissa doesn’t say anything. She stares you down, almost glaring, but you’re unphased. You pull her into a secluded area and run your fingers through her curls until her muscles relax. Leaning forward, a quick kiss turns her to putty in your hands. 
It takes a few moments before she says anything. She takes a second to look you over and appreciate the view, wrapping her arms around your waist. 
“You’re the only one who gets to call me that, you know.” Melissa says, surprising you. 
“Call you what?”
“Mel.” 
You can’t help the sweet smile that spreads across your face, “Softie.” 
“Oh, fuck you.” 
“Mm. Name the time and place.” 
Melissa rolls her eyes, but looks at you in the way you know and love. She is a softie on the inside though she may try to hide it. You love every bit of her and can’t help but feel touched at the information she’s shared with you. 
You can’t help but kiss her again and she accepts it eagerly. Before it can get too intense, though, she pulls back. 
“You said something about Jinwei?” She grins. 
309 notes · View notes
multimilfs · 8 months
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what festers in silence
[READ ON AO3]
Rosemary Winters is a twin, but her sister proves unnecessary in Mother Miranda's plans; how convenient that the great Lady Dimitrescu is in the market for an infant. Accepted into the fold with ease and no shortage of love, a threat comes to loom over Castle Dimitrescu, a threat named Ethan Winters. With his arrival comes a question...
Are we so very different from the monsters we condemn?
Chapter(s): 2/2
Relationships: Alcina Dimtrescu/Reader, Alcina Dimitrescu's Daughters & Reader, Alcina Dimitrescu & Original Character(s)
Words: 19970
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence
Additional Tags: Human/Vampire Relationship, Motherhood, Family, Moral Dilemmas, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Blood and Gore, Loss of Sanity, Bloodlust, Mania
73 notes · View notes
multimilfs · 1 year
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Mother Miranda x Fem!Reader: A Taste of Mercy 
Summary: You've injured yourself in service to Mother Miranda. Before you can hide the damage, her eyes are upon you, and you're left to wonder if your time with her has truly expired.
AO3
A/N: So this is actually part 1 in a series of connected stories! I unfortunately can't post them and connect them as easily here as you can on Ao3, but whenever the others are posted, I'll link them here too.
I love Mother Miranda for just how... aloof her character is. We never see enough of her to understand her emotions or fondness like we can with Alcina or Donna. But the whole story comes to fruition because Miranda wants her daughter back so bad that she can't be completely heartless. I think she just has to... relearn showing love without lacing it with cruelty.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first piece!
Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix
Warning(s): Light body horror, Talk of death
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You cradle the hand to your chest, squeezing your eyes tight to will away any tears. Your hand shakes violently. The wound is quickly spreading, pain searing over your flesh and nerves. 
“Show me.” 
Eyes blazing open, you spin on your heel, nearly knocking over the remainder of your project in the process. Standing just behind you is Mother Miranda. She holds her hands folded in front of her, wings resting placidly at her back. Gone is her usual gilded mask. Her metal talons remain on the hand she holds out to you. 
“Mother Miranda, I-” 
“Your hand.” She demands, straining with forced patience. 
You set your injured hand in her own. She closes her talons around it, metal scraping against the wound. It takes everything in you not to flinch. She pulls on your arm, forcing you closer, as she holds your hand close to her face for inspection. 
There is a ruffle of her wings behind her. A sign of displeasure, no doubt. It is hardly the first time you have managed to injure yourself. You have an uncanny way of doing yourself harm–and your goddess has an uncanny way of bearing witness to it.  
The crumpled parchment was barely enough to bear the ramblings of your mind. Harried as you were, your hand grazed the hot glass of your experiment, the force sending it toppling. You reached out to catch it; your reflexes graced you with triumph for a single moment before you felt the bite of your stupidity. Dark, molten liquid seeped onto your hand, promptly burning a path through. Tendons snapped like rubber bands, flesh–once solid–melted away like the wax of worn candles. 
“You have done yourself remarkable damage,” She comments, “Explain yourself.” 
“I-I was attempting to heat Lord Heisenburg’s blood, Mother Miranda, so I could examine how it would react with the Cadou in a frenzied state. While I was writing notes, I knocked it from its place and attempted to catch it. The blood did this.” 
Mother Miranda turns your hand with a critical eye, nothing showing on her face. You watch her wings for a sign. 
“This is not the first time you’ve injured yourself so gravely.” 
“No, Mother Miranda.” You agree. 
“I have no use for broken things, little human,” Her cold voice sends a pang of sadness through your chest, but you nod in understanding. Mother Miranda’s gaze is blank as she seems to look through you, “You understand this?”
Your voice wavers, but holds strong, “I do, Mother Miranda, I… I’m sorry.” 
The goddess releases a tch before digging her hand into your wounds. You bite back the shriek rising in your throat. You understand that your use dies when your health fades, but it hasn't stopped you from hoping–hoping that maybe, against everything, your worth to the cruel goddess before you was based on more than labor. Did it not count that you had been with her the longest? Had remained loyal at her side despite the amount of damage she’d dealt? 
You had always wondered how death would feel–would it be a moment of seemingly endless pain or true bliss. It was one of the only unexplainable things in this world to your bright mind. The curiosity had nearly made you long for death on several occasions, though only to feel it and satiate your interest. You hadn’t felt such a desire for understanding since Mother Miranda had plucked you from the village, sequestering you into her home, her laboratory, and filled your mind with experiments. 
It seems now that death falls under the latter. Complete bliss fills your senses. You open your eyes, curious and eager to take in whatever afterlife you’ve been granted. But you aren’t in the afterlife at all. Mother Miranda still stands before you, resplendent in her unholy glory. Her blank, cold eyes look back at you. She drops your hand from her grasp. For an instant, you swear you can see something new swim through her eyes. 
“You have a penchant for disobeying my orders, but still I must give them,” She says, ice coloring every bit of her voice, “Do not injure yourself like this again.” 
“I won’t, Mother Miranda.” 
Mother Miranda is not a foolish woman. She certainly isn’t foolish enough to believe your promise, try as you might to fulfill it. No amount of hope could stifle the inevitable. 
How lucky you are, then, that your goddess keeps you whole. 
268 notes · View notes
multimilfs · 1 year
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Mother Miranda x Fem!Reader: The Line Between Mercy and Affection
Summary: You're growing bolder in your role as Miranda's assistant. When invited to attend a meeting of the Lords, this could prove enlightening... or painful.
AO3
A/N: This is part 2 to 'A Taste of Mercy' so if you haven't read that, you should probably hop back and do so! I'll do my best to reformat the masterlist to properly outline the series, but if it's difficult to understand, I've also included the ao3 link.
Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld
Warning(s): Blood, Light torture
Part 1 of what keeps us close, yet so far
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“Mother Miranda?” 
The Goddess doesn’t look up from her experiment when you address her. Her eye is glancing down the stalk of a microscope, carefully following whatever lies on the slide below. Her wings flutter and move behind her every now and again. 
“Hm?” 
“What is my… role at this meeting?” You ask timidly. 
As she looks up, you look down, pretending to write something important on the parchment you hold. You’re scribbling words and phrases in romanian. Her gaze is intense on your face. Try as you might to will away the flush rising in your cheeks, your body wins out. 
You can never replicate the same cold distance Mother Miranda maintains. You have no doubt it’s taken ages to perfect; though you have no idea how old the Goddess is—you value your life too much to ask—a mature wisdom rests behind her blue eyes. 
“Your role.” She repeats. Though she doesn’t phrase it as a question, you know it is one. 
“Yes, Mother Miranda,” You start softly, before meeting her eyes. The corners of her mouth are turned down. You square your shoulders, doing your best to summon confidence, “You’ve never allowed me to join a meeting of the Lords before. I don’t understand what use you see in it now.” 
Her wings stop moving. 
You try to keep your gaze from falling. Mother Miranda despises cowardice, but she loathes disrespect. Walking the line of her expectations often feels thinner than that of a tightrope. You have yet to fall. Still, it doesn’t keep your heart from nearly jumping from your chest each time you toe the line too closely. 
Microscope forgotten, she rises and appears before you in an instant. You drop your eyes out of instinct. Mother Miranda makes no effort to change your position. 
Her voice cuts through your chest like a blade, “Do you know what happened the last time someone questioned my judgment, little human?” 
Too afraid that your voice will fail you, you shake your head. 
“I removed his tongue and fed it to him.” 
She says it casually, as if it were a comment on the weather or notes on your experiments, instead of something to make you question your mortality. You have no doubt that she’ll take your tongue in the same way if provoked. She’s fond of making examples, you’ve noticed. It makes you shudder. 
Were it someone else in your position… you wouldn’t bat an eye at her choice of punishment. You would even revel in the curious way she enacted her punishments, though you hated to admit it. She had a monstrous grace about her. 
A finger beneath your chin makes you jump. The metal of her talons scrapes against your skin, though not unpleasantly. You allow her to lead your gaze upwards. She’s swift with punishments usually and you have no desire to prolong your own. 
You open your mouth to her. 
Her eyes widen for just a moment. It’s only a split second; quick enough to make you question if it truly happened. Then to your surprise, the corner of her mouth tilts up. You try to stomp out the pleasure it ignites in your chest. 
You’ve never seen Mother Miranda smile, this is the closest she’s come to it. It’s a sick kind of joy that you derive from her pleasure. You’re so willing to curate this reaction, just to see it, even if it means spelling out your own demise. 
Mother Miranda’s fingers grasp your tongue, the talon on her thumb digging into it. Even as blood fills your mouth, as tears flood your eyes, you watch her face with rapt attention. You watch her smile. You don’t want it to drop away from her lips. 
You swallow down the mouthful of blood and saliva, the metallic tang irritating your throat. Your whole mouth aches. It would be merciful for this to end, but you don’t dare expect anything from your Goddess. She acts as she sees fit and you’re content to let her continue that way. 
She releases your tongue a few moments later. 
“You’re useless to me mute.” 
Waving a hand, she motions for you to leave the room. You waste no time in following her command. She has you trained well.. 
Glancing between the Lords, it is a wonder to you how your behavior could be considered disrespectful. The meeting has been derailed by pointless squabbling nearly a dozen times in under an hour. All the while, you remain silent, watching in a muted sort of horror. 
You can’t begin to piece together how they accomplish anything. 
It had begun the second Mother Miranda entered, you following at her back. The Lords had been stunned into a moment of silence before Lady Dimitrescu spoke first. You tried to ignore the effect her words had on you as she practically purred them. Even now, they still play over again in your mind, creating a coiling feeling in your stomach. 
“How kind of you to bring such a morsel with you, Mother Miranda.” 
Where your eyes had been focused on the floor, carefully measuring your steps behind the Goddess, you glanced up at the Lady’s words. You couldn’t breathe when you met the eyes of the Countess. There was a sly smirk across her lips, a twisted warmth in her eyes. You couldn’t help but feel enamored with the woman. She was easily one of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen, a perfect, warm opposite to your Goddess. 
But her smirk had vanished the second Miranda’s eyes cut to her. Her wings had tensed, a sneer crossing her mouth. You could feel the temperature drop when the Goddess ordered Lady Dimitrescu to keep her impulses to herself. 
An odd feeling lodged in your chest when the smirk fell from the lips of the Countess. Something brief crossed behind her eyes, beautiful as they were, before they settled on you. She was quickly distracted as Lord Heisenburg proceeded to badger her. 
You can almost perfectly recount the way the Lady’s face twisted in an intriguing display of anger, when something closes sharply around your ankle, “Ouch!” 
Though you’re sure your Goddess is speaking, you have no idea what is saying as she stops. Her eyes turn to you. Everyone’s eyes turn to you. 
A bout of maniacal laughter comes from near your feet. Sitting there, wooden mouth clasped around your ankle, is Angie—Donna’s doll. You try to shake your leg, kick out to remove her. It only makes you hiss as the joint of her mouth catches your skin. 
Mother Miranda is before you when you look up. She levels a look into your eyes before she reaches down, digging her claws into the back of Angie’s neck. The doll releases your leg to complain and fight against her hold. Miranda’s eyes don’t leave you as she tosses Angie away, the doll landing on her feet and scampering back to her maker. 
Then her attention is gone, “Control your pet, Donna.”
Mother Miranda resumes her speech, but all you can focus on is the throbbing of your ankle. You glance down to see a pool of red blood dripping from the wound where Angie’s joint caught you. The heat of a gaze makes you look up. 
You’re not surprised Lady Dimitrescu focused on you. 
Her eyes slide down to your wound, pin-point pupils focusing on the slow drip, drip, drip of your blood. She looks back up at your face before turning her attention back to Mother Miranda. The attention—and subsequent lack thereof—leaves you feeling impossibly warm. 
The meeting continues, though you struggle to listen to any of it. Lady Dimitrescu and Mother Miranda seem to take turns making you the center of their attention. You’re left hot and cold by the trading of their stares. 
Mother Miranda levels you with a knowing look, accusation in her eyes—You’re not listening. You greatly fear what would happen should you continue the way you are. So you will yourself to listen, ignoring the way Lady Dimitrescu’s stare makes you want to melt. Ignoring how you’d much rather lose yourself in the eyes of these two women. 
It’s an impossible task, but luckily you’re capable of making it possible. 
You latch onto what little you know; The Cadou and its capabilities to create life–or rather, pervert it. The distinction is neither here nor there. Mother Miranda explains the proper conditions for the Cadou to take root for what she requires; and it goes without saying that your research together is the reason the conditions are understood. Every Lord in the room can read between the lines and it takes a lot to stop you from preening. 
“I’ve found a suitable host for my plans,” Mother Miranda says and you nod, before stopping. She didn’t tell me that, your mind whispers, “In a few weeks I’ll be pursuing them. Until then, I need every preparation to be made for my return.” 
The words ring through your chest, bouncing off the walls of your heart. You should be thrilled Mother Miranda has found a host. All of your hard work is paying off, but you can’t stop wondering where this leaves you. In a few short weeks you’re of no use. Mother Miranda will release you back into the village, back to a boring little life without so much as a thank you. 
You continue to jot down notes, but you have no idea what they say. You barely hear the words beyond remembering to write them down for your Goddess. Useless, your mind pokes and prods, you’re going to be useless. The thought hurts more than the idea of dying at the hands of your Goddess. At least then you’d have her full attention for a few more moments. 
So caught up in your mind, you fail to notice when the meeting ends. Your body remains perfectly cold. Not even the gaze Lady Dimitrescu offers as she leaves can warm you. It isn’t until Mother Miranda addresses you that you come back into your mind. 
“Your thoughts are very loud, little human.” She notes.
Mother Miranda walks to your side which gives you pause; in all your time working with the woman, she’s never walked. She appears in a flutter of wings or moves in the span of a blink. You watch her moves warily. The wings at her back are perfectly still and you can’t decide if that is good or bad. 
“I apologize, Mother Miranda.” 
Your apology goes ignored. Her eyes square in on your still-bleeding ankle, wings twitching at her back. You make no effort to stand from your chair and she stays standing above you. She begins to move before seeming to think better of it. If you didn’t know any better, you would think she intended to kneel. Instead, she holds out a hand. 
You lift your leg and offer the wound to her. She examines it as she examines everything–with a cool, critical eye. You watch her as you always do–with barely restrained admiration. 
“Spilling your blood was not the goal of this meeting.” Mother Miranda says. She rubs the flat of her palm over the open wound, collecting the blood there. You watch as it disappears from her hand. Her actions feel strangely like an apology, a fact that makes you squirm. 
“I should hope it isn’t the goal of any meeting, Mother Miranda,” You speak before you censor your mouth. Eyes widening, you rush to correct yourself, “but I wouldn’t dare to question your will.” 
“And why not?” 
“You… You’re a Goddess. Your will is divine.” 
“You believe Gods are incapable of making errors?” She asks slowly. The way her eyes focus on you makes you overly aware of every move you make. 
“I’ve never thought about it before,” You answer honestly, “I never believed it was my place to question higher powers.” 
Though it's the truth, you fear uttering it. You’ve been reprimanded for far less in your life. And with a being like Mother Miranda, it is impossible to tell if you’re pleasing or disappointing her with such honesty. Though you hope to believe it is the former. 
Her eyes trace the planes of your face like she’s never seen them. You allow the action, though confusion takes root in your chest. 
She changes the conversation like nothing was shared, “Donna lacks control over that doll. I have half a mind to remove the damned thing.” 
But I won’t, the words lay thick in the air. You want to ask why. You want to ask her a million questions, but keep your mouth shut, lest you toe that thin line again. Except… your curiosity over one detail eats at you, until you force words from your lips. 
“The doll holds a piece of Lady Beneviento, is that correct?” 
She nods. 
“Is it not right to believe that Lady Beneviento lacks control over herself, then? If Angie is an extension.” 
“My wings are a piece of me, but they exist and act outside of me. It isn’t enough for Donna to control herself. Angie may be a manifestation, but she has sentience apart from her.” 
“Almost like a child.” You add. 
A flicker behind your Goddesses eyes gives you pause. It holds something eerily similar to pain, but you can’t imagine anything touching her in such a way. You want to know more, but don’t dare ask. 
“Yes, like a child.” 
“I see.” 
And for once, you do see. 
You understand how her mind works for a split second. It is enough to leave you intrigued, eager for more. Mother Miranda is cruel, of course, but doesn’t lack fairness. She may punish the parent for the actions of the child, but she won’t punish the child for the shortcomings of the parent if she can help it. She… cares, in a small, confusing way. You’ve never known her to care for anything beyond her experiments. 
When you meet her eyes, you can see a softening around edges you once believed to be hard. She is just as much woman as she is God. Mother Miranda seems to sense this change in your thoughts. You can’t stop seeing the softness even as she distances herself. 
She lets your leg drop and turns away, throwing over her shoulder, “Come along.” 
You stand to follow, your chest warming at finding your wound healed. 
209 notes · View notes
multimilfs · 11 months
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what festers in silence
[READ ON AO3]
Rosemary Winters is a twin, but her sister proves unnecessary in Mother Miranda's plans; how convenient that the great Lady Dimitrescu is in the market for an infant. Accepted into the fold with ease and no shortage of love, a threat comes to loom over Castle Dimitrescu, a threat named Ethan Winters. With his arrival comes a question...
Are we so very different from the monsters we condemn?
Chapters: 1/2
Relationships: Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Alcina Dimitrescu's Daughters & Reader, Alcina Dimitrescu & Original Character(s)
Words: 8195
Rating: Mature (subject to change)
Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence
Additional Tags (part of them): Human/Vampire Relationship, Motherhood, Family, Moral Dilemmas, Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Bloodlust, Mania
85 notes · View notes
multimilfs · 1 year
Text
Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: Mysterious Ways
Summary: Melissa Schemmenti + 10 — “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”
Prompts found here!
A/N: We’re nearing the end of ficmas and I’m both excited (to relax) and sad. It’s a lot of fun writing so many new things as a challenge but all the time… I would not survive. Thank you for joining me on this fun little journey and I hope you enjoy the last two fics!
Also happy christmas eve to those who celebrate!
Full Ficmas List
Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @carolncwman
Warning(s): None
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You smile as you pass Barbara in the hall, “Good morning, Miss Howard.”
“Good morning.” She smiles, greeting like a melody with the way she drags it out. The happiness Barbara’s radiating is infectious.
You continue on your way to your classrom. There’s half an hour left before the kids start pouring in for the day and you’d like to organize your classwork before then.
There’s a squeak behind you as Barbara turns on her heel, “Miss Y/L/N.”
“Yes?”
“When are you going to speak with Melissa?”
Taken aback, you gape, before collecting yourself. You tilt your head to the side. Barbara laces her hands in front of her and waits, smirking, eyebrows raised.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” She sounds almost disappointed, “It is almost the new year. Be brave.”
“Mrs. Howard, I appreciate what you’re saying, but… Melissa and I are just friends.”
Shaking her head, Barbara throws her hands up in defeat. No one can say she didn’t try. She’s just not a miracle worker. Lord willing, her meddling isn’t for nothing.
You hear Barbara mutter a disapproving Mm, mm, mm as she walks towards her classroom. You didn’t lie to her; you and Melissa are just friends, after all. Even if you wish it was more.
But one thing you learned early on is not to mix personal and workplace relationships.
If you make a pass at Melissa and it’s unwanted, you ruin the amazing professional relationship you have. Teaching is worth it, but no one ever said it was easy; Melissa makes it easier.
She always has your back. If you ever needed it, she’ll call in any favors to get you what you need. Loyalty like that is hard to come by in anyone.
You’re content with her friendship… even if you’d give up a lifetime of cheesesteaks to kiss her just once.
Going through the day, you ignore the regret in the back of your mind.
——
“Miss Y/L/N?”
“Yes, Alex?” You look up from your papers.
Alex looks deep in thought. His elbows are up on the desk and he’s resting his head in his hands. You lean back in your chair and wait.
“If there’s a Black Panther, can there be a Mixed Panther too?”
You blink.
“That’s a good question. I think the answer is a little complicated though.”
“Why?” He asks.
All of the class is paying attention now. Their worksheets on long divisions are forgotten, all eyes on you. You didn’t want to get into a conversation like this today. The kids are naturally curious and you love that, but some topics are meant more for parents.
The problem is that once your students get a question or idea in their heads, they won’t let it go. You’ll be badgered for days. You can almost admire their dedication.
“Well, why do you think you need a ‘Mixed Panther?’” You ask carefully.
“Because Black Panther is Black, Miss Y/L/N.”
“Do you think you’re not Black if you’re Mixed?”
One of your other students pipes up, “My Grandmama doesn’t think so. My daddy says when I was born she asked whose white baby I was.”
That prompts an uproar of conversation and laughter from various parts of your room. With your door firmly shut, you let it stand for thirty seconds before clapping out a familiar pattern. All of the children stop to clap back the same.
A few stragglers are still talking and you clear your throat, waiting. The pointed stares of their classmates quiets them.
“If you want another super hero that looks like you and your friends, Alex, I see no reason why there shouldn’t be. But there’s no degree of Blackness, okay? Black Panther is meant for you just as much as your friends who look a little different.” You say, hoping they’ll all understand what you’re saying, “Now, I’m glad you’re all interested in this, but we have long division questions that still need to be filled out.”
They all grumble, but don’t seem too distracted anymore. You’re sure with a little time their brains will come up with another line of questioning to further distract from the lesson. That’s a problem for you later.
——
The teacher’s lounge is full and you balk upon walking in the door. On a good day, maybe three of the tables are full at once. Among the five tables in the room, not a seat is left unoccupied.
You spot Barbara and Melissa at their usual table. They sit just the two of them. The extra chairs at their table you could occupy are pulled away by others, holding teachers you only slightly remember.
Ava is curiously absent, you notice. Which is a shame. She said she’d be at lunch today.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, something wrong?” Melissa asks when you wander near their table.
“No, no,” You shake your head, “I’ve just never seen it so full in here.”
“Ava offered to watch over lunch today. Which is odd, since it’s, y’know, Ava.”
“Don’t be so hasty. Maybe she wanted to do something nice, that’s all.” Barbara suggests.
“More like she finds the new lunch lady cute,” Melissa says, “but sure, Barb, maybe she developed a mature personality for the afternoon.”
“I think it’s nice what she’s doing.” You shrug.
“See?”
You add, “It makes it a pain to find seating, though.”
Barbara stands up quickly and gathers the remainder of her lunch. She flashes you an award winning smile. Melissa looks stunned and confused, pushing her glasses on top of her head and leaning back to better look at her friend.
“I’ve got some last minute grading. Take my seat.” Barbara says, tone perfectly sweet.
“Mrs. Howard, really, it’s fine.”
“No no, I insist.”
Barbara doesn’t say much else as she turns and walks out of the room. With her back turned to you, you miss the wink she shoots at the cameras.
——
“That?” Barbara smiles out in the hall, “Just a friendly nudge. The Lord may work in mysterious ways, but so can I.”
——
You take up the spot next to Melissa with a nervous smile. When your legs brush, you nearly jump back, fearing even that is too much between friends. A flush works its way up your neck.
Even a minute with her makes you feel like an awkward highschooler again; wondering if looking at the girls in your grade for too long is inappropriate and avoiding any contact for fear it’ll be interpreted as something else. You hate feeling so nervous.
But Melissa is always easy-going. Even in her tougher moments, she’s easy to talk to. Her laugh alone relaxes the muscles in your body and you melt into every conversation.
“I heard you had an interesting conversation in your classroom today,” Melissa says between bites of ziti, “Tackling race theory seems a little involved.”
“One of my kids, Alex, asked a question and it kind of evolved into that.” You admit.
“Kids always have a way of finding the sweet spot with conversations like that.”
“Yeah, yeah, they do.”
You smile, but you can’t shake the awkward feeling of being too close, too much. The conversation lapses into silence.
Melissa pokes at her ziti while you push rice around in your bowl. You want to say something, anything, but can’t make your mouth move.
Melissa sighs, “When are you going to ask me?”
“Ask you what?”
“On a date. It doesn’t need to be anywhere fancy, you know?”
You blink. Staring at her hard, you’re trying to figure out if you’re hearing right. Melissa Schemmenti wants you to ask her on a date? Like… a real one?
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, honey,” Melissa sighs, “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. Now, when are you going to ask me?”
You’re overwhelmed and shocked, but elation takes over it all, “Today after the kids go home. My classroom… and don’t be late.”
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