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donatellawritings · 11 months ago

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cherry - bang bang, kiss kiss - r. jerimovich

pairing(s): richie jerimovich x f!reader

warning(s): language & age-gap

song: taco truck x vb by lana del rey

Laying flat on your stomach, wearing nothing but an oversized printed shirt from college and skimpy boyshorts that hopelessly failed to keep some of your peeking skin concealed, you scrolled on your phone. Soft alternative music hummed through your speaker as you bit down into the swell of your bottom lip - who knew that putting together a dating profile for yourself would prove to be such a meticulous task? An exaggerated sigh was pushed from between your lips as you raised yourself onto your knees, before leaning yourself against the headboard as you carefully chose your three best photos.

Now, it was time for the best part of creating your profile: Age, Sex, Location, Age-Range, and the question of all questions: What are you looking for? It was easy for you to answer the first three questions, yet you found yourself wiping the suddenly clammy palm of your hand against your shirt as you pondered. Sure, being in your early twenties, you've had your fair-share of experience with guys who were in the same age group as you, but what if, maybe, you extended that age-range? Fuck, I mean, your friends have had their own trysts with older men, so, what harm could it bring to you?

Scrolling through the thirties, you found yourself stopped at the ripe age of 45 - the mere thought of being with a man over 20 years your senior bringing a subtle drop of fear to your belly that was quickly overpowered by your sudden excitement. You quickly breathed out a small giggle as you found yourself hovering over the final question. You'd always been precocious, you always knew what you wanted and you went for it, bo questions asked. You wanted to be desired, you wanted someone who would give you the world and everything in it - maybe, it was the hopeless romantic in you, but you'd always envisioned yourself to have a love that was unconditional ... one that you'd give up everything for. So, you sat and typed, and deleted, until you'd found your answer: I want it all.

Once you'd finalized your profile, it didn't take long before you'd found yourself pacing around your room, sifting through what seemed like a never-ending sea of Chicago men who didn't seem to strike you. It seemed as though you'd paced around your room for about an hour, before catching your reflection in the mirror. There you stood, a bit pathetic, maybe even needy? After taking in your reflection for a brief moment, you laughed, "fuck."

Tossing your phone onto your bed, you'd decided you'd wait, give it an hour, you'd shower, eat some dinner, maybe even finish your assignments that you'd been purposely pushing off, until the absolute last day - you will wait.

And so, you waited. You purposely decided to binge an episode, or two, of reality television, you even thought about squeezing in one more episode, before choosing to take a shower where you'd shaved, exfoliated, and washed your hair - hell, you even decided to do an in-depth brushing of your teeth as your peel-off face mask dried. Yet, you now were seated on your bed, laptop open as you tried to force yourself to keep your attention on the blank PDF document before you - you should have been tending to the essay that was worth twenty-percent of your grade, but you found yourself grabbing your phone and unlocking it, aimlessly clicking onto the dating app thats become an instant hyperfixation in your brain.

Swiping through what appeared to be another sea of useless men, you took a breath as you stopped on a handsome, yet deliciously rugged man with piercing baby blue eyes. Straightening your back, you subconsciously pressed your thighs closer together and you scrolled through his photos - fuck, he was hot. He was tall, slim, and worked in a restaurant that didn't take you long to recognize - he wasn't too far from you. Richie was his name, he was 45 years old, and he's a single dad - a divorcee.

This was all fresh, new, and raw territory for you. Not only were you seeking out an older man, the one who'd finally caught your eye was a father - but something about him drew you to crave him just a bit more. Maybe it was the bags of exhaustion that clung to his eyes, or the way that his gold chain clashed against his tan skin, or even the way his suit perfectly fit his slender form? All you knew was that it took one swipe, one millisecond and you'd made your interest in him apparent.

And in that same millisecond, his interest in you was crystal clear as your screen glowed in victory - you and Richie were now matched. "Oh my god," you mumbled, setting your laptop to the side of you as you flipped your damp hair behind your shoulder.

How does one start a conversation with a man she's attracted to, who just so happens to be significantly older than her?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck - okay," You muttered, sighing as you hastily tapped against your phone screen, the sound of your acrylic nails tapping against the glass, bouncing off of the thin walls of your bedroom.

A pathetic squeal left your lips as you quickly sent the message, before placing your phone face-down on your bed.

Richie sat on his worn couch, a spare cigarette tucked behind his ear as he aimlessly ran his finger around the rim of his beer can. The thoughts in his ever so busy mind raced as he stared blankly at his television - his focus a wreck after yet, another intense and draining day at the restaurant. He was sat with his legs spread, his undershirt on full display, courtesy of his unbuttoned dress-shirt as his undone tie laid comfortably over each of his shoulders.

The older man let out a huff as he brought the beer can to his lips, allowing his head to roll back while he downed the rest of the bitter liquid. The abrupt sensation of his phone vibrating against his thigh caused him to slightly flinch as he placed the now-empty beer can onto his coffee table, "shit."

Running his free hand over the scruff of his beard, Richie unlocked his phone to reveal a notification from you. He'd subtly adjusted his back against the couch as he read over your message.

Richie was selfishly drinking you in from the moment his anxiety-ridden eyes fell on your photos. He'd quickly familiarized himself with all three: how plump your lips looked as you pouted for the camera, how perfectly your breasts were cupped by your lace top, and how your eyes bored into his as you posed before what appeared to be a webcam. It was obvious that you were younger than him, and sure, Richie has had his own experience with hooking up with someone younger, but that's all it ever amounted to - a quick fuck that never progressed into anything more.

You enticed Richie, to say the least. You wanted it all, he chuckled. He wasn't much of a devoted romantic, thanks to his failed marriage and seemingly rocky road of relationships that lingered in all aspects of his life.

Would you care that he had a daughter? I mean, fuck, Eva was his entire life - his motivation to keep going, even if everything else around him fell apart at the seams.

The older man cleared his throat, adjusting his hips once more, before typing his response, taking a quick look at the time displayed at the top of his phone screen, before sending.

It was 10:47 PM.

are u awake?

The hum of your phone vibrating against your comforter triggered you to pause your typing on your laptop. You couldn't help but blush as you bit down on the tip of your nail. He responded. Once again, your laptop found itself pushed aside as the bright light of your phone screen met your strained eyes. You nails carelessly clicked against the glass screen as you rushed to respond.

yes

Your heart steadily began to race as you watched the text bubble, indicating his impending response pop up on the screen. A small smile tugging on your lips as his response came into view.

are u real?

"That's fair," you mumbled, eagerly typing your next response.

yes ... do you want me to prove it to you?

A flash of nerves filled swirled at your core as you leaned your head against your headboard - what would you do, if he said yes? You were attracted him, despite having your reservations. There was a part of you that already ached for him, despite only knowing of his existence for not even an hour. Though majority of your psyche went rampant with nerves and fear, there was a small sliver of exhilaration and desire that slowly consumed you.

Your eyes widened with excitement as you screen glowed with Richie's response.

yeah ... just wanna make sure

You responded.

video chat?

He replied.

what's ur number.

You quickly typed in your phone number, before placing your laptop onto your lap and allowing some of your damp hair to fall over your shoulder as you adjusted your reading glasses to sit comfortably on the bridge of your nose. You hastily adjusted the hem of your shirt to sit over your thighs as your screen glowed with a video-chat request.

A short breath seeped through your lips as you allowed the call to ring for a few seconds, before allowing the call to connect.

A warm sensation of relief overtook you as Richie's face came onto the bright screen of your laptop. "Shit, let me fix this fuckin'-" you couldn't help, but smile as Richie adjusted himself to have be appropriately shown on camera, "okay, there we go", he spoke, his raspy voice like warm honey in your ears.

"Hi," You waved, breathing out a short laugh.

You were even more beautiful than your photos. There was something about the way your oversized shirt clung to your breasts, and the way you managed to adjust your glasses with almost every movement made that allowed Richie to feel his hand grip his phone just a little bit tighter. And your voice, god, your voice was laced with nothing but sweetness - Richie could tell that you were nothing, but good ... and that peaked a bit of fear into the back of his mind.

Clearing his throat, Richie spoke, "So, uh, you're real."

You laughed, "yes, I am real, Richie".

Fuck, he loved the way his name dripped off of your tongue, his perked up ears not missing the slight accent that laced your words. Richie's knee began to bounce - he was so fucked.

The two of you sat in silence for a beat, before you decided to break the tension, "I've never- um, I've never did this kind of thing before," you consoled, Richie's eyes not missing the way yours silently pleaded with him to say one cohesive sentence.

"I have, uh, they just-" Richie pauses, a nervous laugh leaving his lips, "they didn't end up going so well to be fuckin' honest."

You nodded wordlessly, indirectly beckoning him to continue his rant.

"I guess, um, I'm just glad that you're real and not one of those fuckin' nerds who sit on their computers and pretend to be pretty girls online." He thinks that you're pretty. Richie continued, his brash tone bringing a blush to your cheeks and you carefully took in the way his eyebrows furrowed when he voice his displeasure.

"But, uh, you go to college, right? That must be fun?" The older man questioned, doing anything he can just to be able to hear your voice fill the walls of his lonely living room.

"Yeah! This is my last year, so I'm pretty excited."

"Cool- that's cool, uh - d'you live with your parents or,"

"No, I have an apartment pretty close to the city."

A gorgeous and educated 20 something year old girl living alone in the streets of Chicago? Richie could drop to his knees - either he has become the luckiest man on earth, or things are about to go horribly wrong and for his sake - he hopes it's a stroke of luck. However, he immediately felt a need to protect you, to make sure that you're ... good.

You take note of the chest hairs that peek out from Richie's undershirt as he lays back against the couch and lowers his phone a bit, there's a part of you that aches to see more, yet you'll just have to settle for pressing your thighs together for a sense of relief.

Richie wants you and in his mind of minds that is crystal clear. But, he is a realist - he realizes that he is a 45 year old man with a kid and quite frankly, he has no time to waste and is a bit too old to continue playing the game of online dating that leads to nowhere. So, he has to ask you-

"Have you ever been with an older guy?" He speaks, his piercing baby blues searching your eyes for answers as he watches you shift your body.

You're unsure how to answer, the fear of your inexperience with dating older men poking at you, yet you decide on being honest - I mean, what is a relationship without honesty and trust?

"No, I, uh, I haven't." You answer, somewhat firmly.

"Well shit, I guess there's a first time for everything." He counters.

You smile.

The two of you let out awkward breathy laughs - you fiddle with your long nails as Richie runs a hand over his face. It's clear that you are both exhausted, yet neither of you are brave enough to say so ... you're both greedy and want nothing more than to soak in the other's presence. But, someone has to - and it won't be you.

"It's pretty fuckin' late and I'm sure that you have classes that you have to be up for and I gotta go to this fuckin' job in the morning, so I guess I will talk to you ..." Richie drones on, unsure on when you wanted to talk to him again - if you wanted to talk to him again.

"Tomorrow?" You ask.

"Tomorrow, yeah."

You bite your bottom lip with a smile, your voice low and sleepy, "good night, Richie."

Richie's knee stills - he's definitely fucked, "good night."

You disconnect the call, your heart pounding in your chest as you let out a breath that you didn't even realize you were holding in, to begin with. Richie was intoxicating, and you knew that, but you just couldn't seem to get enough of him. You'd just hoped that he'd feel the same way about you too.

Little did you know just how addicting Richie Jerimovich truly was.

hi <3 that's part 1 of this series - i hope it was not too long, i just wanted to lay the foundation of their initial reactions to each other so i hope you all enjoyed this - i can't wait to progress this story with you all

#the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic #the bear imagine #richie jerimovich #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #fanfiction #richie jerimovich fanfic #richie jerimovich imagine #richie jerimovich smut #richie jerimovich x reader

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ohbabydollie · 8 months ago

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currently imagining a jaded, deadpan lit teacher!schlatt. super intelligent, incredible teacher that all his students adore and love to learn from, but they all swear to god they’ve never seen him smile once

then comes along absolute ray of sunshine teacher!y/n, probably teaching some kind of fine art, and it is just like a moth to a flame. he cannot stay away from you!

you meet for the first time in the teacher’s lounge and he’s a little taken aback, he doesn’t know what it is about you but something makes his little brain flip a switch and it’s all sunshine and rainbows. not much longer after that, you start becoming friends, sharing cool little things about your interests or the subjects you teach.

he does a pretty good job of hiding these feelings from the kids, just because he wants to keep that side of him private from his students, but one day he slips up. you sneak in during a class of his during your free period to return a book he recommended to you. when you walked out, he had no idea that he was smiling but apparently the students noticed.

“mr. schlatt, were you just smiling?”

“finish your essay.”

also am i allowed to be 🥥 anon

ofc, welcome 🥥 anon

before you came along schlatt was the most obviously exhausted and stressed teacher, but his students loved him.

from stapling mcdonald’s job applications on failed tests to talking about his cats. his students very clearly loved him and adored him, but he just seemed so sad in a way, especially when one of them got him to talk about his dating life.

single, with multiple failed dates under his belt

then you transferred to the school after the last art teacher had quit.

he had heard about you from his students, the new young single art teacher making sure to emphasize on the single part, but he always told them to focus on getting their assignment done over focusing on the teachers dating lives.

he really didn’t care for you, probably would be done in a few weeks if you couldn’t handle how rowdy and rough some of these kids could be. he gave you a month at best.

then you came into the teacher’s lounge getting snack after snack out of the vending machine as he watched in silence. not out of judgement, but he was just mesmerized completely

the concentration on your face as you punched in number after number watching the snacks fall before grabbing a cardboard box to place it all in was all so adorable to him, he didn’t even realize he had been staring until you looked over at him with a big smile.

“hi, i don’t believe we’ve met!” you chirp, “i’m y/n the new art teacher” you say extending out a hand for him to shake. he politely takes it, giving you a semi-awkward smile

“i’m jay, i teach english in b103” he says feeling himself turn red

“oh wow! i’m only down the hall from you, my room is c102” you say parting from the hand shake and picking up your box “well i’ll see you around” you say pushing the door open

and just like that you were gone as soon as you came

and schlatt had a new goal in mind, you

the next period he had came back better than ever. his normally deadpan and tired voice had more excitement and life to it and his students noticed for sure, waiting until the lesson was over to pry into him, but they all got the same response.

“jus added a shot of expresó into my coffee this mornin” he says starting to grade the assignments from his last class.

they had assumed that was it, nothing more to it until the next week where he seemed to be radiating with joy, when they pried into him again all he said was, “jus had some coffee from my favorite spot this mornin, nothin else”

he hadn’t mentioned it was with you.

over the next few months they noticed more and more change, fixing his hair more often, wearing his nicer clothes and whatever he could to look better.

as a student asked “so who’s the lucky lady?”

you had walked in holding a book, causing the room to fall silent. you practically floated to his desk as everyone watched you.

“hey, thanks for letting me borrow your copy, it was really good” you say handing him the book

“oh..it’s no problem, anytime” he says softly as you smile

“ ‘kay, well i’ll see you later, oh and your glasses are a little smudged” you say heading to leave as he watches in awe.

once you’re out, he’s taking off his glasses, smiling to himself with a small chuckle as he cleans them off, basking in the moment, completely forgetting his students were there until someone speaks up.

“mr. schlatt, are you smiling?” he asks teasingly before schlatt immediately drops the smile and goes deadpan again

“finish your assignment before i fail you”

#schlatt x reader #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #jschlatt x y/n #schlatt x y/n #schlatt x you #jschlatt fluff #schlatt fluff #🥥 anon

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sufferingsokkatash · 10 months ago

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THAT famous zukka hug in the atla north and south comic : an essay you did not need, by me.

i was thinking about how, in writing, there should be no accidents or coincidences in how and why something is described, or the detail the writer chooses to use. for example, zuko tapping his hand on his desk would be used to show that he is impatient or anxious about something.

so THEN i decided to apply this to the zukka hug, because why not be delulu about these things idk.

first of all, here are the zukka hug pages for context:

disclaimer: i don’t really know how the fandom feels about the comics. personally i like them, so i will proceed with that bias in mind. also please take this with the humour that is intended, it’s more fun that way.

i go down a sabre tooth moose lion hole below the cut.

this whole scene to me is largely what we all love about atla - humour and good characterisation combined with serious subject matter. king kuei and bosco are the comic relief and oblivious party in the face of quite a complicated issue, as zuko himself acknowledges. this humour then extends to kuei offering zuko the chance to join in on his hug with bosco, which zuko politely refuses. obviously, there is the clear issue of zuko being afraid of being eaten by a bear, but we’ll pretend that ernest hemingway is grading our papers here, okay.

it is a very deliberate writing choice and contrast to have zuko refuse hugs from one person/animal and then immediately and happily accept one from sokka. (see also: sokka running excitedly with a big grin on his face at the bottom of page 17 to greet them, naming zuko first, but remembering that he is a good ambassador to the swt and using their proper titles despite his excitement. more silliness mixed with seriousness. see also, also: HE RAAAAAN!) zuko may be touch averse and not a huggy person, but screw that when it’s sokka who’s offering the hug.

remember there are no accidents in good writing. kuei happily says: hello friends! to which, in both that panel and the next, he is clearly ignored. sokka and zuko are so absorbed in hugging each other that sokka neglects his duties in welcoming them both properly. zuko : 2 swt ambassador role: 0. also ignored is the fact that kuei brought his bear, which would normally be subject to some kind of smartass comment from our boomerang boi, even if he knows he’s obsessed with his pet from the ba sing se episodes.

this could be an actual mistake, but sokka ran towards zuko, who was standing in front of kuei. but in the hug panel, sokka is between them. that means kuei walked all the way around them trying to get their attention, and it still didn’t work. sokka, nor zuko, say a further word to kuei. like exactly how much tunnel vision is there in this, my goddddd.

bosco is protecting kuei and sokka is protecting zuko. could be why they mirrored them and their positions in the hug panel, so not a mistake. a swt person says: protecting foreigners, sokka?! but that is exactly what he does by ignoring the protesters and telling zuko not to worry about them. despite wanting to do his duty to everyone sokka puts zuko first, basically, and doesn’t care about what they all think of him. that’s kind of huge for sokka.

yes, hakoda is injured at this time and yes he’s proud of sokka, but surely as chief he would have gone to meet the earth king and firelord? why did the writers go to so much effort making sure that sokka was there to meet zuko and have them hugging take up a third of an entire page when printing and space in the comics is such a consideration? it is clearly important, y’all.

their faces when they see each other. sokka can’t stop grinning and zuko closes his eyes in relief he’s so happy. enough said.

sokka says: thanks so much for coming! like he doesn’t already know zuko would travel the world just to make him happy or help in what’s important to him. have you forgotten boiling rock, sokka? because that dude you’re wrapped around, acting like he’s been starved of you, sure hasn’t.

this comic is all about nations coming together and traditions being upheld and shared. in other words, marry him sokka. it is in your diplomatic interests to do so.

in utterly insane conclusion:

i am always surprised at how much they made the effort in the writing for this one scene. i don’t see the comics as something that tease ships, they aren’t natla. what i do see is two guys who clearly care about each other, almost to the detriment of their roles and responsibilities, and their relationship was worth the effort taken in the writing and artwork to show that. it is super heckin sweet. does this mean i think zukka is canon or could be? no. maybe did i have fun pretending and overanalyzing every detail? yes.

ps in all seriousness, the answer is that this is about my fav boy and how far he has come in his character growth journey - exhibit a from ‘the avatar returns’ episode:

the end, i am getting blocked and going to jail but it’s okay because zukka is my bosco hug.

#zukka #unhinged ramblings #tash goes feral on nonexistent zukka lore #PLEASE YOUR HONOR #i love sokka so much i want to rip things up when i look at him

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moniquill · 8 months ago

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youtube

Watership Down - first the film, then the book, is one of the most formative media influences in my life. I’ve written about it briefly, here https://i-blame.tumblr.com/post/69030937937/moniquill-moniquill-kucala-moniquill

but having watched the above video essay, I want to say more.

The first time I saw a deer up close was in my grandfather’s back yard; I was about four years old. I don’t remember the reason that my mom dropped me off at my grandfather’s house for an afternoon, but I know that it was unplanned - because he was in the middle of processing a deer. It had been field dressed, organs already removed, and was hanging by its ankle tendons from the t-shaped steel pole at one end of the backyard clothesline. I was startled, worried, concerned that the animal was hurt. There was blood! There was flesh!

My grandfather responded by calmly explaining what he was doing, step by step. Explaining why he was skinning the deer, and quartering it, taking it from this https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White-tailed_deer to this https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venison

He talked about hunting, and about gratitude, and about humans and our proper place in the world - what meant to live in a good way.

By the time my grandfather was cooking tenderloin medallions and plating them up to me with grape jelly (don’t knock grape jelly on meat until you’ve tried it!) and instant mashed potatoes, I wasn’t startled or concerned anymore. I had a deeper understanding of the way the world worked, of my role as a consumer, a predator. Of the responsibilities that entailed. I couldn’t have explained it then, of course, with my 4-year-old mind and vocabulary - but Philosophy had been set into motion. This is a core memory for me.

I did not have nightmares about the butchered deer.

I was six when I first saw Disney’s Bambi. I DID have nightmares about that; between Bambi and The Land Before Time, I was absolutely convinced that my mother was going to die. That I was being presented with these media themes to educate and prepare me for that eventuality. I am the youngest daughter of a youngest daughter, and I have an extended tribal family. My grandfather died when I was six. His was one of many funerals I attended at that age; his generation succumbing to age and illness. I was aware of mortality.

I wasn’t a ‘normal’ child, by the standard of the community that I went to school in. I was too poor, too indigenous, too very obviously autistic (without being diagnosed). I had very different media influences and interests than the other kids at my public school. No one else was deeply obsessed with David Attenborough’s documentaries (Life on Earth 1979, The Living Planet 1984, Lost Worlds, Vanished Lives 1989). No one else had even heard of Dot and the Whale. No one else in my class had Lifeways Lessons classes, because they didn’t have tribes.

I wasn’t terribly interested in most media intended for children; it was boring because it was simple. I didn’t feel motivated to watch Disney movies over and over. Don Bleuth films had more staying power in my mind; An American Tale, All Dogs Go To Heaven, The Land Before Time. More complex stories, stories that confront suffering and death. My mom read me CS Lewis and JRR Tolkein, Jack London and EB White - lots of other stories that were not ‘age appropriate’, stories that were written for People, not Children.

I watched Watership Down for the first time when I was about five, and my mom read the book to me when I was about six. I was not disturbed by the violence, being far more interested in the themes explored in the video essay above. I had, by this time, seen a rabbit skinned IRL. I’d eaten rabbit stew.

I did not have nightmares about Watership Down.

I failed to make friends with the kids at school, for the most part - I primarily socialized with my cousins. In fourth grade (age 9), my class did a unit on tropical rainforests, and I brought in this video: I did not think that there was anything at all controversial about it, but at about 32 minutes in David Attenborough talks about the Guarani people and their traditional ways of life. There’s footage of an unclothed man climbing a tree. His penis is briefly visible. THE CLASS WENT WILD, and the teacher rushed to turn the video off, and I was sent to the office. It caused a school-wide incident, and bringing in videos was thereafter banned. I was deeply, deeply confused by this series of events. The video had come from the public library - how could it possible be offensive? But the incident became a vector of bullying that followed me until middle school - the adults had confirmed to the kids that I had done something taboo, that I was fundamentally wrong in some way. I quietly came to the conclusion that Most People(™) are very stupid and very reactionary, that one has to carefully coddle and explain things to them.

It took me many years to only mostly overcome that conclusion.

Later that same year, I had my first real success in making a childhood friend - someone who came to my house after school and had sleepovers and such. She had transferred from another school and didn’t know I was THE WEIRD GIRL the way my other classmates did. I remember trying to introduce my favorite movies to her, as she introduced her favorites to me. She was a Horse Girl(™) and much more interested in Age Appropriate Girl Things than I was, but we shared a love of My Little Pony - I had a bunch of episodes on VHS, recorded off TV. She thought that https://mylittleponyg1.fandom.com/wiki/Rescue_at_Midnight_Castle was ‘too scary’ and preferred https://mylittleponyg1.fandom.com/wiki/My_Little_Pony:_The_Movie.

I showed her Watership Down. She freaked out about it. It gave her nightmares.

She was, as many people, deeply disturbed by the violence of the film. She had not, at the age of nine, seen animals butchered. She didn’t seem to care about the deeper meanings and philosophical treatises presented; the fact that there was violence and death was too shocking.

I’m not sure how to conclude this essay, except with this: Watership Down is now a litmus test, for me. If a person is aware of it and appreciates it, we’re intellectual compatible. If a person’s whole reaction is shock and disgust and cries of ‘nightmare fuel!’ then we are not.

#watership down #media censorship #media for children #media for adults #Youtube

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fadingdaggerr · 1 year ago

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would that i

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: melissa knew what love should look like, and learned what it shouldn’t be. learning what it actually is takes time | 3.4k

translations: nonna/nonno (grandma/grandpa), t’amu (i love you) | reminder that sicilian is slightly different from italian in dialect

warnings: allusions to cheating (minimal), allusions to unhealthy relationships (minimal), making up my own melissa lore bc i’m so normal about her, kissing/making out

note: a little bit of this was an homage to my grandparents, the people that showed me what love should be. thank u and love u

When Melissa was in sixth grade, her teacher assigned a two-page essay on what they thought of when they pictured love. The moment Mrs. Erikson said this, Melissa knew she was going to write about her Nonna and Nonno.

Every morning, Nonna made breakfast and coffee, she packed Nonno’s lunch, and always left a note that said T’amu in her flowy cursive. Every evening, Nonno brought in the laundry off the line and folded it while Nonna made dinner. Even when they fought, there was never a loss of their kiss good morning, goodbye, and good night. Only on anniversaries was Nonno allowed in the kitchen, and they’d dance while sauce simmered on the stovetop. Love between them seemed easy and gentle. Melissa spent every Saturday night and Sunday morning across the street at their house, and every time she found something to add to her list of what love looked like and how it should be.

Melissa thought she had found love with Tommy Adkins in eighth grade. She’d even bought a new dress to wear to autumn formal, pink and ruffled and perfect. By the time she was ready to leave, her face almost hurt from the amount of times she redid her makeup so that Tommy would call her beautiful instead of bangin’ for once. That night she watched him dance with Jennifer Milano with a half-baked excuse of him “not wanting to kiss a chick with braces.” Melissa cried for two hours while Nonna told her she was better off, a bowl of pastina pushed her way. She forgot about him by the time Monday rolled around.

High school boyfriends came and went, but in college Melissa fell in love for the first time. A true, deep love with a firefighter-in-training that knew her neighbor. Everytime Joe visited Brian, he stopped across the hall to see Melissa, leaned against the doorway with an easy smile. He was charming, respectful, and funny, everything she had been looking for. Two months after she graduated, he dropped to one knee and she jumped into his arms. They moved from their apartment to a home in south Philly. Melissa worked during the day, and Joe started night shifts at the fire station for the extra pay.

Night shifts began to extend, and Melissa never saw him. He’d eat the plate she’d prepared in the fridge and leave the dirty dish on the counter. Dirt and ash from his boots tracked across her rugs and carpets, scuff marks in her living room. What almost killed her was the dirty cast iron skillet left in the sink. When she brought anything up, he’d deflect and leave. Every now and then, he came home with flowers “just because.” But then flowers began to follow every extra long night, and she could smell the floral perfume that didn’t belong to her and didn’t match the flowers. It took her months to say anything, and all she was met with was eyes that couldn’t look at hers.

Melissa began to think that what her grandparents had could never be hers. A loving life was in the cards, and Joe had only solidified this. She stayed at Barbara’s that night.

—

A few years later, her perspective was changed when a new fourth grade teacher joined the staff mid-term. Never in her years had she allowed someone in so easily, allowed them to be her friend and not just a coworker. Somehow, in two years, Melissa realized she’d never felt so cared for and loved by anyone.

—

“Is there a chance I could pour a cup of coffee before you start bursting my ear drums?” Melissa says when Jacob and Janine start babbling behind her about something she didn’t care about at 7:30 on a Friday morning. Ever since she turned onto the street the school is on, a headache had been growing steadily. Staying up late to finish grading was the worst idea she’s had all month. The two teachers cringe slightly, lowering their volume. When the door opened again for you and Barbara to enter chatting with each other, volume lowering at the sight of Melissa sat at the table with fingers pressed to her temples. She hears a bag drop on the table quietly, opening one eye to see you trying to be as quiet as possible as you dig around.

When you finally stop, you pull out a bottle of ibuprofen and pass it to her. She waves it off, muttering a don’t need it. When you don’t reply, she peers up to see you still holding the bottle out with an expectant look on your face. You shake the bottle, “don’t suffer just to look tough.”

“Melissa Ann, take the damn pills,” Barbara orders from her seat, spooning some sugar into her coffee.

“I don’t need ‘em,” she mumbles out again.

You push your hand forward more, “please. If not for yourself, for your students. You’re irritable when you have a headache.” Barbara chuckles and sends a knowing look to Melissa. Janine and Jacob, on the other hand, turn and look at you, fully expecting the red head to make some harsh reply or threat back to you. All she does is puff out a laugh and grab the bottle from your hands. She decided not to remark on the weird looks she was getting from the peanut gallery.

When getting the kids ready for recess, she sees you peering around the corner to the doorway. She holds a finger to ask you to wait, and gets a double thumbs up in return. After zipping many jackets and helping with gloves, she watches the little eagles run outside in the chilly autumn air. As she walks back into her classroom, she sees you sitting in her chair waiting patiently for her. “You know, I don’t let anyone sit in my seat,” she jokes as approaches.

“Good thing I’m not just anyone, now am I?” you joke, standing to meet her.

She fights her smile as she answers quietly, “no, you’re not.” She takes a second to breathe when she sees a grin cross your lips at her comment, “we still on for dinner at mine tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” the grin on your face growing, the giddy feeling in Melissa’s chest with it. You loop your arm with hers and walk towards the lounge.

When Melissa opens the front door, you expect a greeting, but instead you get a groan as she stomps back to the kitchen. Dropping your bag and shrugging off your coat, you walk into the kitchen, placing the box of pastries on the table. Melissa returns to angrily rummaging through the refrigerator, desperately trying to find something. It wasn’t until two hands pulled her back by the shoulders, turning her around. She relaxes into your touch, closing her eyes.

“I’m out of basil,” she says through a sigh.

“Want me to go to the store?” you ask, wanting to remove any stress from her.

“No,” Melissa answers as she opens her eyes, “you just got here, that wouldn’t be fair.”

You laugh, “we could go together. Or we can just be lazy, order a pizza, and not get off the couch.”

“Second one,” she sighs out, pulling away to clean up the dishes she took out. While she’s distracted, you take the time to call in the order, pay, and tip over the phone so that Melissa won’t even have the chance to say herself.

“If there’s pineapple on there, I’m kicking you out,” she yells from the kitchen after she hears you hang up.

“No, veggie. And yes, I asked for no mushrooms. One of these days though, I’ll convert you to being a pineapple woman,” you joke tilting your head back to see her standing behind you, “plus, you wouldn’t dare kick out the person who brought you zeppole.”

She gets closer, leaning over with her hands holding the backrest on either side of your head, “is there chocolate sauce?” The excitement was evident in her tone, bringing butterflies to your stomach. You can’t form words with her standing over you and smiling like that, so you just nod.

Later into the night, the TV played Weeds while you sat in comfortable silence, only breaking it when you both repeated the same joke out loud every now and then. Your legs were thrown over her lap, her fingers playing with the folding fabric of your jeans as she watched the screen. Her subconscious drew her attention toward you, eyes tracing over smile lines and the glowing reflection in your eyes from the TV. She watches you lean forward to grab a zeppole, ready to offer it to her. It’s only then that you catch her stare.

“You okay?” you ask, turning and scooting closer to give her your full attention.

She gives a quick squeeze to your leg, “yeah, hon. I’m better than okay.” She feels even better when you lean into her, placing your head on her shoulder. She drops her head to yours, a deep breath leaving her as she finally relaxes fully for the first time all day.

—

Some time between then and now, things had changed, Melissa wasn’t exactly sure when. At some point the Friday dinners turned into Saturday plans, then Sunday since the farmer’s market was open, no other reason. Breakfast on those days translated to bringing coffee to each other at work, ignoring the questioning gazes of other staff members as she passed you your coffee, despite having never asked how you took it. What had started with you sleeping on the couch when the night grew later, migrated to the spare bedroom.

On a Sunday night, it changed again. You watched the tail end of an Eagles’ game while sitting in her bed after helping grade book reports. As always, your head rested on her shoulder with her own resting on yours. Anytime something that wasn’t a point being scored happened, she explained it to you, though she knew not a thing she said would help make sense of it. It didn’t matter to you, all you wanted was to hear her voice and have her attention.

“Your bed is comfy,” you mutter when the commercials begin before the last quarter.

A smile crosses her lips, “treated myself to a good mattress when I kicked bozo out. Glad you approve.”

“You deserve nice things,” you say as you settle into her more, and through a yawn add, “the best things.”

That night, you’d both fallen asleep slumped against the headboard, leaning into each other for comfort.

Melissa woke up to a rhythmic thumping under her ear and a hand in her hair gently playing with amber waves. The small smile that came to her lips would have been foreign to her if she wasn’t so comfortable, the content feeling in her chest would be almost alarming. When her eyes cracked open, she recognized her bedroom and sheets. She groaned into the cold morning air, and the hand moved from twirling the ends of her hair to scratching her scalp, making her tuck into the warmth beneath her even more.

“Good morning,” you rasp out, having only been awake a little longer, the only response being another groan. She finally rolls off of you, much to your dismay, and sits up on her elbows, looking at you with sleepy, squinted eyes.

“It’s Monday,” she grumbles.

You chuckle, grabbing her glasses off the nightstand for her, “fine, just morning then.”

Something about this morning felt different to Melissa. You’d never spent the night on a school night, let alone sleep in her bed, but that wasn’t what shook her. It wasn’t you making her coffee, sipping it to make sure it tasted right before handing it to her. It also wasn’t that you turned off her alarm and woke her up yourself without making her ears bleed. She thought it could be that you’d opened the door for her on the way out, or how you offered to drive her to and from work to make up for staying late, but not that either.

Maybe it was how she didn’t want to get out of bed, or how her coffee tasted better than any time she’d made it herself. Or how she hadn’t slept that peacefully in twenty years. It could have been how much she enjoyed being driven to work, and having full control of the songs you listened to on the way there, or the fact that she sped ahead to open a door for you this time. She doesn't have time to dwell on it once she gets to her classroom, a knock on the doorframe comes the second to place her purse on the desk.

“I thought you weren’t in today, I didn’t see your car in the parking lot,” Barbara says as she walks in.

Without looking up from her bag as she pulls out folders, Melissa answers, “I got a ride in.”

“Did you now?” Barbara asks with an amused tone. “And would that someone happen to be the fourth grade teacher that practically lives with you?”

“We don’t live together,” Melissa says incredulously, “we just fell asleep, so we drove in together. It’s not a big deal, it’s not like we’re actually together.”

Barbara can’t hide her laugh, “you fell asleep? Both of you? And where was that?” Melissa only mumbles back, so Barbara presses, “where did you both sleep, Melissa?”

“My bed,” Melissa finally says a little louder, but not much. She wants to send her head through a wall knowing that Barb just figured her out.

“Oh, girl. You are in deep,” Barbara says with a smirk. After she leaves the room, the spiral in Melissa’s head goes faster.

Said spiral carries her through lunch, and only stops when you sit across from her and stare at her for a moment. Her face contorts in a what? look before you reach across the table and brush your fingers through her hair. When you pull back, there’s a purple string from the third graders’ projects between your fingers. Barbara kicks her from under the table, and she kicks back with equal force. They both see you look at them weird, before brushing it off and going back to getting your lunch out. Barbara cocks her head to you, staring at the red head, silently telling her to do something. The look the kindergarten teacher gets back replies not now.

When the end of the day rolls around, Melissa is anxious for your eventual arrival in her doorway, keys swinging around your pointer finger. All she could think about since you parted ways this morning was your hands in her hair and your heartbeat under her ear. She hadn’t felt so content and so at peace in so long, the feeling was so new that it almost scared her. Melissa had to remind herself that this was about you, not anyone else. You’d never hurt, belittled, or offended Melissa, you’d never made it your mission to anger or disregard her, nor had you ever tried putting yourself before her. She knew that feeling this way about you shouldn’t scare her, but it did.

The sound of keys and footsteps in the hallways alerted her to your approaching presence, making Melissa quickly rise to her feet and grab her things, realizing she’d been spaced out since the last student left. As she predicted, you stood there spinning your keys, smile growing when she turned toward you. It drops slightly when you see her smile not reach her eyes. “Ready?” you ask.

“Sure, yeah,” she clears her throat, “let’s go.”

You can tell her mind is running into overdrive as you pull onto her street. When you park in the driveway, you unbuckle to turn in your seat and face her.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She turns to you with a scrunched face, “what are you, 90?”

You shrug and point to her sleeves, “you’re thinking. You play with the thumb holes when you think.” She’d curse you for noticing if it didn’t make her heart clench. “You don’t have to tell me,” you add, “but I’ll listen, if you want.”

She looks at you for a moment, surrendering with a, “wanna come in?” You only answer by taking your keys out of the transmission, hopping out, and opening the door for her.

The discussion gets put on hold while Melissa heats up leftovers from the night before. She carries both bowls out to the living room where you’re turning on the TV back on for background noise. As Melissa sits down, she faces toward you and you mirror her pose. “Sorry I was acting weird,” she mumbles before taking a bite.

You shake your head, “you’re only allowed to apologize when you’ve done something wrong. Thinking isn’t doing something wrong.” When she doesn’t speak again, you offer up something else, “Ava almost had a heart attack over you this morning.”

She looks at you confused, “were we wearing the same shade of green again?”

“No. She thought you didn’t come to work this morning cause your car wasn’t there, was going off about how she was going to have to sub because there’s still a shortage in the area,” you laugh, “I had to tell her I drove you in, which also ended me in a twenty minute interrogation during my prep period.”

“What sort of interrogation?” she asked, already nervous.

You look down the bowl in your lap as you speak, poking the food around, “the kind where she asks for a detailed account of my whole weekend. Weird amounts of detail too, mealtimes, where I slept, where we went, what shows we watched.”

“What’d you tell her?” Melissa can feel fear creeping into her bones.

“That we went to the farmer’s market, watched sitcoms, and I slept in the guest room,” you answer truthfully, “and what did you say to Barbara?” Her head snaps to you, you lean your head to the side, “she stopped by to ask me about my weekend, she seemed a little too excited to see me if you hadn’t spoken to her first.”

Melissa moves to place her bowl on the coffee table before looking back to you, “she asked why we drove in together. I said we fell asleep, and she asked where we fell asleep. Might’ve told her you slept in my bed.”

“It’s impossible to lie to her,” you say as you copy her move. You’re silent for a moment, then finally ask, “what were you thinking about?”

She takes in a deep breath and exhales to calm her nerves, “this morning. This whole weekend, but mostly this morning.” She glances up, and sees your face had dropped, worry setting in, and she’s quick to revise her statement, “in a good way. This morning, this weekend, they meant a lot to me.”

At her words, your lips stretch into a smile, “it meant a lot to me, too.” She can see you internally question saying the next part, “and you. you mean a lot to me, a crazy amount.”

It’s her turn to smile like an idiot now, a pretty blush covering her cheeks, “you mean a crazy amount to me, too. Being around you it’s... It’s easy. I like being with you.”

“I do, too. Sometimes, when I’m here I almost forget I live somewhere else. The second I step inside and I’m with you, I don’t know, leaving just feels wrong,” you say honestly, eyes flickering over her face as you speak, scanning for a rejection you won’t find.

“Waking up to you was nice,” Melissa mumbles, “you’re a pretty good pillow, if I do say so myself.”

Your airy laugh makes her heart race, it goes even faster when you lean in to reply, “I wouldn’t mind waking up that way again... and again, and again.”

She matches you lean in, smiling, “yeah?” Your noses are almost touching, she can feel your breath just barely touching her face. Her eyes flick to yours and see you looking back, faint lines forming as your lips turned upward as her gaze.

“Being with you makes sense,” you say quietly into the space between you, eyes flicking to her lips then back up.

Her hand moves up to your cheek, warm hands and cool rings holding with gentle affection. Olive eyes look into yours for permission, but your answer is closing the space between you. Her other hand flies to hold your neck, your hands holding her wrists. They slide from her arms to her waist, pulling her closer and crawling beneath her shirt to rest on her skin. She takes the chance to straddle your lap as her tongue slides over your bottom lip, asking for the instantly granted entry. Her lips were soft, savoring the feeling of yours against hers, committing it to memory.

Your arms tighten around her, holding her as if she’s this precious thing, and it makes her only give more into you. Her lips slow, and you can almost feel the love she’s trying to convey in her action. But your lungs can only survive so long, and she pulls her lips away, resting her forehead against yours.

“Stay?” she whispers through her breaths as she recovers.

“Wasn’t planning on leaving,” you mumble back, dazed from her kiss. You duck foreward, hugging her as she still sits in your lap. Her arms circle your shoulders, hearing you mumble into her neck, “I love you.”

She presses a kiss to your head, “I love you.”

Melissa’s heart beat against your ear, calm and steady. The smell of her perfume and honey shampoo flooded your senses, making you nudge into her further. You tilted your head, lips pressing softly to the skin of her neck, moving upwards back to her lips, pressing a long, sound kiss there. You pull away to look at her, smoothing back copper strands.

“Is it too early to go lay in bed for the rest of the night?” you ask quietly.

She huffs a laugh, “I was gonna suggest the same thing.”

By the fifth episode of Weeds, Melissa noticed your breathing even out. She peered down at you where you lay curled into her side with your head on her chest, arm slung over her middle, lips slightly parted. She presses a kiss to your head as she shuts the TV off, and lays there to just bask in you being with her. She’d never felt so adored, so cared for, so at ease. This is was it was supposed to be.

feedback appreciated as always <3

title from would that i by hozier (i’m sure everyone knew that. we’re all gay here)

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #lgbtq #lgbtq fanfiction #lesbian

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ms-snape · 3 months ago

Note

snaddy x readere angst, maybe where the nex dada professor

Title: DADA

Warning: Angst

Words Count: 3000+

Masterlist

---

Y/N stood at the edge of the Great Hall, watching as the students filed in, their voices a steady hum of excitement for the start of the new term. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the cloudy sky outside, casting a soft, dim glow over the long rows of tables. She had been at Hogwarts for less than a week, and while the castle was as breathtaking as she'd remembered from her own school days, there was an undeniable tension simmering in her chest. This wasn’t how she imagined her first day as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would be.

Y/N smoothed the front of her robes, forcing herself to take a deep breath. Teaching was something she had long dreamed of, the culmination of years of study and experience. She had spent so long preparing for this, but now that she was here, all she could think about was how wrong everything felt.

And then she saw him.

Severus Snape, dark and imposing, swept into the hall with his signature black cloak billowing behind him. His presence seemed to draw a line through the room, as students instinctively shifted their attention elsewhere. There was something about him that demanded authority without ever needing to speak a word. His eyes, black as coal, flicked toward her, and for a split second, their gazes locked.

Her stomach flipped.

She knew of Severus Snape, of course. Everyone in the wizarding world did. His reputation preceded him—brilliant, mysterious, and feared in equal measure. And though Y/N had spent only a few days at Hogwarts so far, she had already heard whispers from the staff about his resentment over her appointment. He had wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts position for years, but once again, Dumbledore had passed him over. Instead, he had chosen her.

The thought made her feel uneasy. She had earned this position, hadn’t she? She had the qualifications, the passion. But it wasn’t lost on her that in taking this role, she had also taken something from him, something he had coveted for years.

“Y/L/N.”

The low voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Snape stood before her, his presence overwhelming. He was taller than she had imagined, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as they roamed over her. She felt a chill creep up her spine, the intensity of his gaze unnerving.

“Professor Snape,” she greeted, trying to sound confident, even though her heart was pounding. She extended her hand toward him, forcing a polite smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Snape stared at her hand for a long moment, as if it were something distasteful. He didn’t take it. Instead, he raised one eyebrow, his lips curling into something that was not quite a smile.

“I wasn’t aware that anyone would consider this position ‘nice,’” he drawled, his voice laced with a cruel edge.

Y/N’s smile faltered slightly, but she refused to let him rattle her. She dropped her hand, shifting her weight uneasily. “Well, I’m looking forward to it,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I’ve always wanted to teach.”

Snape’s dark eyes flicked over her again, assessing. There was something almost predatory in his gaze, and Y/N had the sudden feeling that she was being weighed and found wanting.

“Ambition is a curious thing,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “It often blinds people to their own limitations.”

Her stomach twisted at the veiled insult, but before she could respond, he turned on his heel, his black cloak sweeping dramatically behind him as he walked away. Y/N stood there, frozen for a moment, her hand still hovering awkwardly at her side. The encounter left a bitter taste in her mouth.

This was going to be a lot harder than she had expected.

The first weeks of the semester passed in a blur of lesson planning, classroom management, and a never-ending stream of essays to grade. Y/N tried her best to settle into her role as a professor, but every time she thought she was making progress, Snape would find some way to tear her down.

His disdain for her was palpable, and it wasn’t just confined to their private interactions. He made it a point to undermine her in front of the other staff members during meetings, offering sharp, pointed criticisms of her teaching methods or her knowledge of defensive spells. It was as though he relished in watching her struggle, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips whenever he found an opportunity to belittle her.

“What were you thinking with that Shield Charm demonstration, Y/L/N?” he sneered one afternoon during a staff meeting. His voice carried through the room like a whip crack. “Do you think sending third-years into the Hospital Wing is part of the curriculum now?”

Y/N’s face flushed with embarrassment as several of the professors turned to look at her. Her Shield Charm lesson had gone a little off-track when one of the students had been too eager with their spell casting, causing a minor explosion that resulted in a few singed eyebrows. But she had managed the situation, hadn’t she?

“I… It was an accident,” Y/N stammered, trying to defend herself. “I handled it.”

“Handled it?” Snape’s voice was sharp, dripping with derision. “Perhaps next time, you might consider teaching them proper restraint, or at the very least, monitoring their incompetence more carefully.”

Dumbledore, seated at the head of the table, glanced between the two of them, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. But he said nothing, choosing instead to let the exchange run its course. Y/N bit her lip, resisting the urge to snap back at Snape. What good would it do? He would only twist her words against her, just like he always did.

“I’ll take your suggestion under advisement,” she replied through gritted teeth.

Snape smirked, clearly satisfied with her submission. The rest of the meeting passed uneventfully, but Y/N’s mind was spinning. His insults were becoming more personal with each passing day, and no matter how much she tried to ignore them, they ate away at her confidence. She began to dread their interactions, the knots in her stomach tightening every time she saw him enter a room.

She couldn’t understand it. Was this simply his bitterness over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, or was there something else? Some unspoken hostility that went deeper than mere professional rivalry?

By the time the winter holidays approached, Y/N felt like a shadow of her former self. The bright enthusiasm she had brought with her at the start of the term had long since faded, replaced by a dull sense of dread that hung over her every day. Her students seemed to enjoy her classes, and for the most part, they were performing well. But nothing she did felt like it mattered when Snape was constantly tearing her down.

She had tried everything—keeping her head down, avoiding unnecessary interactions with him, even seeking advice from other staff members on how to deal with his unrelenting hostility. But no matter what she did, Snape’s cold cruelty persisted, an ever-present thorn in her side.

One evening, after a particularly brutal day in which Snape had publicly criticized her handling of a difficult fourth-year lesson, Y/N found herself sitting alone in her office, staring down at a blank piece of parchment. The weight of the past few months pressed heavily on her chest, and as she sat there in the dim candlelight, a thought that had been lingering in the back of her mind finally solidified into something tangible.

She was done. She couldn’t do this anymore.

With a heavy heart, she dipped her quill into ink and began writing her resignation letter.

The next morning, Y/N stood outside Dumbledore’s office, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched the folded letter in her grasp. The gargoyle guarding the entrance slid aside as she gave the password, and moments later, she found herself standing before the headmaster, who looked up from his desk with a gentle smile.

“Professor Y/L/N,” Dumbledore greeted warmly, motioning for her to take a seat. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before placing the letter on his desk. “I… I’ve come to resign, Headmaster,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dumbledore’s expression softened as he reached for the letter, unfolding it slowly. He read the contents in silence, his sharp blue eyes scanning the page with a mixture of sadness and understanding.

“May I ask why?” he inquired gently, folding the letter back up and setting it down in front of him.

Y/N swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. She had promised herself she wouldn’t mention Snape—she didn’t want to sound like she was running away because of him. But the truth was gnawing at her, making her feel small and powerless.

“I just… I don’t think teaching is for me,” she said, her voice hollow. “I thought it would be different, but I… I’m not cut out for this.”

Dumbledore watched her closely, his keen eyes piercing through her flimsy excuse. “Are you sure that’s the only reason?” he asked, his voice laced with quiet concern.

Y/N hesitated. She wanted to tell him everything—to lay bare the truth about how Snape had made her life miserable, how his constant belittling had drained every ounce of joy from the job she had once loved. But a part of her didn’t want to give Snape the satisfaction of knowing he had broken her.

“I just don’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would,” she said finally, her voice small.

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment , studying her with an intensity that made her feel exposed. Finally, he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Y/N, I can understand that teaching can be a challenging endeavor, especially here at Hogwarts,” he began thoughtfully. “But I must ask you to reconsider. You’re an excellent educator, and the students have greatly benefited from your knowledge and passion. If it’s merely a matter of adjustment, I would implore you to at least finish the academic year. I can’t deny that I’ve noticed some tension between you and Professor Snape.”

Y/N felt a flush of indignation rising within her. “It’s not just about him!” she snapped, the emotion spilling over before she could catch it. She took a breath, forcing herself to calm down. “I mean, I don’t like teaching anymore. The constant second-guessing and criticism have worn me down.”

Dumbledore nodded, his expression kind yet resolute. “That may be true, but I believe that you are more capable than you give yourself credit for. In the meantime, I will speak with Severus about his treatment of you, as it’s evident that it has had an impact.”

Her heart sank at the thought. The last thing she wanted was to be the subject of more scrutiny or gossip among the faculty. She appreciated Dumbledore’s intentions, but it felt like he was missing the point entirely.

“Headmaster,” Y/N began, her voice wavering slightly, “I’d really rather not make a scene. I just want to leave quietly.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with understanding. “As you wish, Y/N. But do take some time to think it over. Sometimes, when we’re under pressure, our perspective can become clouded. I would hate to see you make a decision that you might regret later.”

Y/N nodded slowly, knowing he meant well but feeling cornered by his gentle insistence.

“Very well,” she murmured, standing to leave. “I’ll consider it.”

The rest of the day was a blur. Y/N moved through her classes in a daze, answering questions but barely retaining focus on her students. She could feel the weight of Dumbledore’s words pressing on her shoulders, mingling with her sense of dread about Snape.

Later that evening, as she entered the staff room to prepare for her next lesson, she noticed Snape was already there, his back turned to her as he meticulously arranged potion ingredients on the table. The sight of him sent a rush of anxiety through her, and she hesitated in the doorway.

“Professor Y/L/N,” Snape’s voice cut through the silence, low and disdainful without looking at her. “You do realize that the ingredients are supposed to be measured, not simply dumped haphazardly into the cauldron?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the anger bubbling inside her. “I’m not in your Potions class, Severus,” she replied evenly, crossing the room. “I’m here to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, not to take lessons in potion-making from you.”

He turned to face her, his dark eyes narrowing in irritation. “Perhaps if you focused on the subject you’re actually teaching instead of taking cues from everyone else, you wouldn’t find yourself struggling so much,” he snapped, his tone harsher than necessary.

For a moment, Y/N’s anger flared, igniting a fierce response inside her. “You don’t know anything about my classes, Severus,” she shot back, her voice rising. “You don’t have to be so cruel! I’m trying my best here!”

His expression shifted slightly, something unreadable flickering across his features before he returned to his impassive demeanor. “Your best is evidently not enough,” he replied coldly.

The words cut deeper than she anticipated, and the lump in her throat grew as she fought back tears. How had they come to this? She had started this journey filled with hope, but now, she felt completely defeated.

“I don’t need to listen to you anymore,” she declared, feeling the tremor of emotion in her voice. “I’m resigning, Severus. You’ve made it clear that I don’t belong here.”

As the words left her mouth, the silence in the room became suffocating. Snape’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Y/N thought she saw something shift in his expression—confusion, perhaps? Regret?

“You’re serious,” he said slowly, his voice devoid of its usual bite. “You really intend to quit?”

“I can’t take this anymore. I’m tired of your constant insults. I thought this job would be fulfilling, but you’ve turned it into a nightmare.”

Snape opened his mouth, hesitating as if to say something, but then closed it again, his expression darkening. “You think I enjoy this?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer, almost incredulous. “You believe this is personal?”

“What else could it be?” Y/N shot back, her emotions bubbling over. “You’re just cruel for the sake of it!”

His expression shifted again, something vulnerable flashing in his dark eyes before he turned away. “You’re wrong, Y/N,” he murmured, almost to himself.

She blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “What do you mean?”

Snape turned to face her again, his gaze intense. “You believe I’m merely tormenting you because I’m spiteful. But this isn’t about you. It never was.”

“Then what is it about?” she pressed, her heart racing as his words hung in the air.

“It’s about me.” He stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking. “I was angry when you arrived, angry that Dumbledore chose you over me. And instead of addressing it, I channeled that anger into something I thought would make me feel better.”

Y/N’s heart raced at the revelation. “You think pushing me down will make you feel better?”

“Perhaps it was a misguided way of coping,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “But the truth is that I… I’ve felt something else when I’m near you. Something I’ve fought against. And in my attempts to push it away, I became cruel.”

The confession hung heavy between them, and for the first time, she saw him—really saw him. Behind the bitterness and disdain, there was a flicker of vulnerability. She was taken aback, her resolve faltering as she processed his words.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said softly. “You don’t have to keep pushing me away.”

He held her gaze, something softening in his expression as he stepped even closer, closing the distance until they were mere inches apart. “I don’t know how to be anything else. It’s easier to lash out than to confront what I truly feel.”

Y/N’s heart raced, and the anger she had clung to began to unravel. “And what do you feel?”

The air between them crackled with tension, an electric charge that sent shivers down her spine. Snape looked at her, his dark eyes searching hers as if trying to decipher something within her.

“I feel drawn to you,” he confessed, his voice low and raw. “I didn’t want to admit it, but it’s true. I pushed you away because I didn’t understand it.”

“Severus…” she whispered, caught between confusion and a flicker of hope.

Before she could say more, Snape reached for her, his fingers brushing against her cheek, a gentle yet tentative touch. The world around them faded away, the distance that had felt insurmountable only moments ago dissipating into a shared understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

And in that moment, she knew he meant it. The warmth of his palm against her skin ignited something inside her—an unfamiliar feeling that made her heart race.

She closed her eyes, surrendering to the pull between them, and leaned in, their lips meeting in a tentative kiss that quickly grew deeper. It was a kiss filled with all the unspoken words, the frustration, the longing, and the undeniable connection that had been building between them all along.

As they kissed, the rest of the world fell away, and for the first time in months, Y/N felt free. Free from the weight of expectations, free from the bitterness that had clouded her heart.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Snape’s expression was softer than she had ever seen it. “Can we start over?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N smiled, warmth flooding her heart as she nodded. “I’d like that.”

As the year progressed, the transformation between them became evident. Snape was no longer her adversary; instead, he became an ally in the classroom, offering her support rather than criticism. Their conversations shifted from hostile exchanges to something more meaningful, filled with laughter and a deeper understanding of one another.

They spent late nights in the staff room, discussing spells and strategies while sharing their hopes and fears. Snape revealed glimpses of his past, and Y/N found herself opening up about her own experiences, their bond growing stronger with each passing day.

The change in their relationship did not go unnoticed by the other staff members. Dumbledore observed them with a knowing smile, pleased that the tension had lifted, replaced by a genuine camaraderie that breathed new life into the atmosphere at Hogwarts.

By the time the end of the semester rolled around, Y/N was no longer considering resigning. Instead, she found herself excited about teaching and learning alongside Snape. The darkness that had clouded her spirit for so long had finally lifted, and in its place was something entirely new—hope.

On the last day of classes before the holiday break, Y/N stood before her students, a smile on her face as she wrapped up the lesson. “And remember, practice makes perfect. Keep working on your defensive spells over the break!”

The students filed out of the classroom, laughter and chatter echoing in the hallways. As the last student left, she turned to see Snape leaning against the doorframe, his expression softer than it had been at their first meeting.

“Are you ready to leave for the holidays?” he asked, a hint of warmth in his voice.

Y/N nodded, feeling a surge of joy at the thought of spending time with him. “I can’t wait.”

As they stepped out into the corridor, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. For the first time, Hogwarts felt like home, and she knew she had found a place for herself here, not just as a teacher but as someone who belonged.

And in that moment, as she walked beside Severus Snape, she realized that sometimes, love could blossom in the most unexpected places, even in the shadows of the past.

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zeravmeta · 6 months ago

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my own hot take on visual novels as a concept is that the same people who are derisive or dismissive of their value as a medium or quality of works tend to also be the same people who think of media as "content" to be consumed and are perfectly fine not engaging with any sort of work deeper than having it on in the background and maybe watching one video essay about it to then turn up their noses and say that their "media diet" is varied and sufficiently "complex" enough to then act like they have any sort of deeper understanding for how a work conveys its stories themes and messages past the 7th grade literature class they ignored in favor of the latest 3 hour marvel commercial movie because visual novels chiefly are not something you can engage with passively. it's incredibly telling in the way these people will talk about all the animes and cartoon shows and live action stuff and games (lets plays) they went through but that type of bragging is never extended, WEIRDLY ENOUGH, to books and by extension visual novels because you cant go through those passively. it turns out you have to actually sit your ass down and read them, properly engage with them and understand what they are trying to say. and unfortunately not many people want to do that because it's just easier to say that the written word (with music and pictures no less) is not accessible enough

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theragethatisdesire · 2 years ago

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much ado about nothing chapter 1 - eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

i am so excited for you guys to finally meet the eren that has been haunting my dreams for the last few weeks lol.

specific cws for this chapter: drug use/mentions, alcohol use, a wee pinch of smut (fantasizing specifically), swearing, floch being the actual worst

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?” - As You Like It by William Shakespeare (Act III, Scene 5)

You take advantage of the short ride to your fourth-floor apartment to release your heavy tote bag from your shoulder, wincing as it crashes against the elevator floor. The little boom makes your head pound, and you rub your eyes hard enough to see stars, trying to suppress a frustrated groan. It’s week six of the semester, midterm week, and as an undergraduate professor, you’re feeling the pressure as much as your students.

You’re feeling the pressure twofold; you may have thirty-five midterm essays to grade, but you also have four to write for your Master’s program, absolutely none of which you’ve started. You’ve called Eldia University home for the last six years, and while the library is essentially a second apartment to you at this point, the four thirteen-hour days you’ve pulled there just this week are starting to take a toll on your sanity.

The front door of your apartment looks like an oasis in a desert, and your knees nearly buckle when you crack the door and the scent of home hits your nose.

“That you?” Historia’s voice reaches your ears, floating from living room.

“Yeah,” you call back, placing your keys on the little decorative key holder Historia bought junior year, slumping with relief when you abandon your tote by the door. You’re burnt out, but Historia has lived with you for almost four years now; being around her is as good as being alone. You scrounge around in the fridge for a well-earned beer, popping it open and rounding the corner to join her in the living room. To your surprise, she isn’t alone.

“Stor?” Your initial reaction is confusion, quickly elevating to alarm when the man sitting across from Historia turns his body to you, giving you a glimpse of several baggies full of pills. Your cute, hand-painted coffee table is currently covered in drugs.

Historia smiles sheepishly. “My professors fucking hate me. Just a little study aid.”

You nod slowly, the panic dissipating in your chest– so she hasn’t fully gone off the deep end. You’ve both used Adderall to get this far along in your academic careers, not liberally, but desperate times and all that.

Now that the source of the pills is sorted, you draw your attention to the unfamiliar man looking laughably huge in comparison to the little Urban Outfitters bean bag he’s perched on. He’s lifted his face to look at you now, eyes none-too-subtly flicking down to where your tits are being pushed together by your crossed arms. Scummy, you think, but oddly enough, you don’t mind. He’s hot, like where-do-they-even-make-guys-like-you hot, deep brown hair pulled into a messy bun and brooding, bloodshot eyes scanning you up and down. The side of his pouty mouth quirks up.

“Hi,” you state awkwardly, offering your name. You’ve partied, sure, but you’ve never been into the druggie scene, never gotten the hang of interacting with these guys that possess the nonchalant confidence that only drug dealers can tout.

“Eren.” The name fits him well, simple but unique. His voice is deeper than you expected, a low rumble. He shuffles through the pill baggies he’s brought with him. “Want anything? I have 40 and 60 milligram Adderalls and Vyvanse, some extended release…”

“I’m clocked out for the day,” you tip your beer bottle at him meaningfully. Eren’s smile grows at your little quip.

“Thought I’d ask while I’m here.”

“Thanks,” you say, unsure of what to do with yourself now. You settle for plopping down beside Historia on the couch, sipping your beer quietly as you watch the little transaction take place on your coffee table. You’re not involved, not after the obligatory introductions, but he’s piqued your interest. You listen as he walks Historia through what she’s purchased, how many, and how much it will cost.

When Historia leaves to grab her wallet, he turns his gaze towards you. “Grad school?”

You’re surprised; he’s so casual, borderline bored, with the way he carries himself that you hadn’t expected idle conversation from him. “Yeah, I teach a couple undergraduate classes, too.”

“That’s a lot,” Eren looks impressed, “you must be pretty smart, then.”

“Pretty broke, you mean. I get a huge discount on my tuition if I teach while I take classes,” you explain. Eren nods along, a curious glint in his green eyes. It strikes you that he’s not just hot, he’s actually pretty, in a grungy, bad-boy sort of way. Historia returns with a beer for herself and her money, snapping you out of your private realization and whatever strange tension has begun to build across the coffee table.

You find yourself admiring his large hands, taking note of the little sparrow tattoo nestled on the back of his hand behind his thumb, watching intently as he counts Historia’s cash. Your stomach twists in a way it hasn’t in a very long time as he bids you goodbye. Oh boy.

“I take this as a sign that we’re going out tonight?” Historia gestures to both of your beers. You’re a little shaken from the last five minutes, blinking slowly as your Shakespeare-saturated brain works through what she’s said.

“I mean, I wasn’t going to go out out, but I could definitely blow off some steam.”

“Thank god you said that,” Historia sighs dramatically, flopping back into her seat beside you and taking a long swig out of her bottle, “Ymir’s going home this weekend, and I’d look like such a sad sack if I went and sat at Scout’s by myself.”

You chuckle, thinking fondly of the grimey dive bar you’ve both developed an affinity for. “That would be pretty pathetic, but I’m happy to be of service. Scout’s it is.”

“Should we text Sasha?” Historia starts rattling on about what she wants to wear– something cute, but not too cute, but not trying not to look cute– and your tired mind drifts back to…Eren, oddly enough. You want to think into why he asked if you were in school, why he looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn’t put together, but you were as realistic as you were imaginative. Sure, Eren didn’t exactly seem the type to make small talk, but you’d known him for all of five seconds. And maybe that wasn’t a look, maybe it was just…his face? You’re out of ideas, mulling it over when Historia snaps her fingers in front of your face.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

You sigh, busted. “Nope. Not one word.”

“Are you seriously that braindead from the library? And here I was thinking you got home early today,” Historia shakes her head pityingly.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, and before you can stop yourself: “How do you know that Eren guy?”

“I was going to ask how you didn’t know Eren,” Historia says, eyes widening incredulously, “who was your dealer in college?”

You grimace. “Floch.”

“Figures,” Historia rolls her eyes with a visible shudder, “I still don’t know why you ever–”

“Stor, focus,” you reroute her before that unfortunate conversation can be rehashed, “Eren?”

“I think he sold Ymir and me some molly at a party sophomore year– no, wait, maybe junior?” Historia shrugs. “I don’t really know, actually. He’s just one of those guys everyone knows one way or the other.”

“Not me I guess,” you take a sip, trying your best to look nonchalant. Historia knows you too well, however, a wicked grin playing at her mouth.

“You think he’s cute, don’t you?”

“What? No, he’s like, a sketchy drug dealer. No way.” Your face grows warm, betraying you.

“Eren’s not sketchy,” Historia says decisively. She catches the disbelieving expression on your face. “He’s really not. He lives like, three blocks from us, and he hangs out with Armin and them.”

“Armin?” You picture the soft-spoken blonde man you’ve befriended from your graduate courses who always wears sweater vests and prefers tea to coffee. Armin’s damn near a genius, far too bright for your small program. “Like, Armin Armin?”

“They’re like, best friends,” Historia affirms, “see? Not sketch. Plus, he’s super fucking hot.”

“You’re literally a lesbian,” you deadpan, “how would you know?”

“I may fuck women, but I have eyes,” Historia smirks, “plus, he was totally checking you out. When was the last time you even got laid?”

Embarrassingly, you have to think on that one. It’s been at least since before the semester started, and you were so busy with those summer courses, not to mention that bartending job you’d taken for extra cash… “I…I honestly don’t know.”

“See?” Historia wiggles her feet under her bottom excitedly, sitting up on her knees. “I have his number–”

“I am literally twenty-four years old. Don’t you think we’re a little too mature to run around fucking our drug dealers?”

“On account of my lovely, beautiful girlfriend and aforementioned lesbianism, I am. You, on the other hand, are not,” Historia grins, pulls out her phone, “you sure you don’t even want his Snapchat?”

“My Snapchat career died when I drank my last Four Loko like, three years ago,” you scoff, shoving her phone away from you. “Don’t you have a not-cute outfit to put on, anyway?”

Historia narrows her eyes at you. “It’s not not cute, it’s trying not to be cute while simultaneously being cute!”

“What?”

“I actually confused myself a little with that one,” she admits, scratching her head, “but you’re right. The sooner we can get to the bar, the better.”

You both scramble through the pile of clean clothing on your floors, each of you too busy and overworked to bother putting it away, and before you know it, you’re in your happy place: chatting with Sasha and Historia, tucked snug against the sticky bar at Scout’s. You’ve all been coming here since the fake ID days; you still remember Historia’s twenty-first, when she had smacked her real driver’s license into the chest of the grumpy old barkeep, Levi, with a triumphant “Ha!”. He’d given you all a round of free shots, and then promptly thrown you out and banned you for a week as time-out. You’d all taken to calling him “Captain” because of the way he ran his bar tight like a navy ship.

“Oh, Captain Levi!” Sasha sing-songs down the bar at him, waving her empty beer bottle and blowing him a kiss. Levi’s unimpressed, dropping another Bud Light onto a coaster in front of her and walking away without a word. “He hates me.”

“He hates you,” you agree, nodding into– what is this, your third beer? Fourth? You’ve already resigned yourself to a lazy Saturday morning, deciding (after some prodding from Historia and Sasha) that your overworked brain deserves more than a two-hour break.

“I don’t get why,” Sasha pouts, digging her hand into the complimentary peanuts the Captain had flung at you upon arrival, “I always tip well.”

“You have to tip well because you annoy the shit out of him every time we come,” Historia corrects her, glancing towards the door.

You frown at her. “Who are you looking for? That’s like, the fourth time you’ve checked the door since we got here.”

Historia makes a show of faux-innocence, checking her phone and looking back at the door again. “No one.”

“Ymir’s out of town, and we’re both here, so that rules out the only suspects I can think of,” Sasha shrugs. You watch Historia closely, the way she checks her phone every few moments, the way her eyes haven’t landed anywhere but you or the door for the last ten minutes, remembering the way she had insisted you tug your shirt down to bare a little more cleavage a few minutes ago…your heart drops.

“You. Fucking. Didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Historia’s got a smile tucked under her teeth now, another glance toward the door.

“You didn’t!”

“Didn’t what?” Sasha whips back and forth between you two, panicked. “Didn’t what?”

“You did not invite him.”

“I didn’t invite him–”

“Who?” Sasha demands. You seethe, refusing to take your withering glare off of Historia.

“Her fucking dealer.”

“You have a dealer now, Stor?” Sasha’s eyes fly wide with worry.

“He’s not my dealer,” Historia rolls her eyes, “it’s Eren.”

“Eren Jaeger?” Sasha calms instantly, even looking bored. “Why does that matter? Is he bringing Armin?”

“He came over earlier, and he was totally checking her out–”

You interrupt Historia’s explanation, exasperated. “How does everyone know Eren?”

“I told you, he’s just one of those guys–”

“Everyone knows, I know,” you grumble, taking a long sip, “but even Sasha knows him, and I don’t? I mean, come on.”

“I only know him through Connie,” Sasha pets your arm, chastising, “and my old roommate was hooking up with him for awhile. He’s seriously packing.”

“I heard that!” Historia practically squeals, shaking Sasha’s arm. “Is it true?”

“Who cares?” You shoot daggers at both of them, well aware that you’re making a show out of your annoyance. A small part of your brain does care what’s lurking behind Eren’s zipper, but it’s not like you’re going to act on it. “Why did you invite him, Historia? We don’t even know the guy.”

“I told you,” Historia shows you her phone, proof on the screen, “I didn’t invite him. I just happened to mention we’d be here, and it turns out he’s coming anyway. See?”

> thanks for coming by such short notice earlier! is anyone having a kickback tonight? we’re stopping in at scouts but not sure ab later.

> Not that i know of but me and min will be there later i have a few guys picking up around 10 see u then.

The English major part of your brain instantly hates the way he texts; what kind of psycho doesn’t include a single punctuation mark in between three independent clauses excepting a period at the end?

“He texts like he’s illiterate,” you wrinkle your nose. Historia and Sasha groan.

“He’s a dude, he probably is illiterate, but who cares? I’m talking like eight inches–” Sasha’s cut off by Captain Levi reaching across the bar to slam her beer back onto its coaster from where she had moved it onto the hardwood, fixing her with a disgusted glare. “Oops.”

“Poor Captain,” you muse, watching as he dutifully polishes a set of clean tumbler glasses. “No wonder he hates you.”

“He hates everyone, if it makes you feel any better.” A familiar voice floats over your shoulder, and you smile, swiveling on your barstool to lock eyes with Armin. You hug him like you hadn’t just seen him this morning, the few drinks you’ve had pushing you to be a little over affectionate.

“How are you?”

“Thirsty,” Armin responds, smiling bashfully. Your excitement fizzles into nerves when you notice who’s behind him. Eren got his hands tucked into the pockets of a well-loved, olive-green hoodie (that makes his eyes pop, an unhelpful part of your brain notices), one corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Funny seeing you here,” Eren exchanges a conspiratorial glance with Historia, one that makes your entire face warm.

“Very funny,” you say dryly, shooting a nasty look in Historia’s direction, “work or pleasure?”

“Mostly the former,” Eren says, reaching over the bar to grab two beers from the ice well, “but might as well.”

Your jaw drops; you look back to the Captain, waiting for him to throw Eren out of his bar, but the Captain simply nods coolly at Eren, returning to his polishing.

“How did you just survive that?” You can’t help but gape at him. Eren hands one of the beers to Armin, shrugging.

“I keep half of his late-night staff awake and on-task. Call it a perk of the job.” You want to hate the ease with which he says it, but the lack of arrogance in his voice stops you. He’s not like other dealers you’ve met, always covered in tacky face tattoos and posting Instagram stories of, like, three hundred dollars, showing it off like it’s enough to buy more than a decent used TV with. In fact, you couldn’t picture Eren showing anything off; he’s self-assured, but not smug. Cool, but not out of touch.

“We’ve been coming here for years, and the Captain still hates us.” You’re loath to admit it, but you’re a little– but just a little– impressed. Eren raises an eyebrow at Sasha behind you, telling some story to Armin that evidently requires so much enthusiasm that she’s waving her hands wildly, nearly knocking her beer over. Armin catches the bottle as it happens, looking over his shoulder anxiously at Levi.

“I wonder why.”

“Sasha’s just…” you want to defend your friend, but she’s busy tipping her beer over for the second time, “easily excited.”

“And you’re not?” Eren asks quizzically, amusement clear on his face. In comparison to his unreadable resting expression, any form of emotion looks good crossing his features. A nervous fluttering erupts in your stomach, one you desperately try to quell.

“Hey! I’m fun, just…not as fun as Sasha.”

“I don’t think many people are,” Eren agrees, wincing as Sasha’s beer finally escapes Armin’s quick fingers, crashing over the bar. Levi rushes over to scold her, something that makes both of you laugh.

When you turn back to Eren, his eyes are looking over the top of your head in the direction of the door. A sandy-haired frat dude has entered, looking around and tapping his foot with an obviousness that rivals having walked in with a huge neon sign that read Looking for my plug. Annoyance flickers on Eren’s face for a moment, and he sighs.

“Gimme a sec,” he sets his beer beside yours, “I’ll be right back.”

You haven’t indulged in the conversation long enough to require the promise of a return, but as you watch him walk towards the door, steer the frat dude into a corner you know the cameras don’t catch, you catch a hint of excitement in yourself for him to come back. You pick anxiously at the label on your beer bottle, putting conscious effort into looking anywhere but the back of Eren’s head until an unpleasant, familiar scent envelops you. Your stomach roils.

“Hey you,” Floch slides into Eren’s formerly-occupied spot, smiling saccharinely sweet, “where have you been hiding?”

You can practically feel Historia and Sasha bristling behind you; Floch isn’t an ex, exactly, more like a prolonged series of lapses in judgment. You sigh, trying to look just interested in him enough not to be rude.

“You know me, I stay busy.”

“So busy you can make time for Scout’s without inviting me?”

You feel the grimace flicker momentarily across your face. “You’re here anyway, aren’t you?”

“Would have come earlier if I knew you were going to be here,” he gets closer, his tacky cologne clouding the air around you. You nearly groan; what had ever possessed you to hook up with this guy? Multiple times? The thorn he is in your side now is what you deserve for your stupidity.

“Can we just cut to the chase?” You surprise even yourself with how curt you sound. “I’m too busy for anything like…that at the moment.”

Floch pouts, contrived innocence on his freckled face. “Anything like what?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Eren’s pushing his way back into the spot he’d been standing, interrupting whatever weak-willed excuse you were preparing to offer Floch. Floch’s clearly flustered, moving aside to make room for Eren, eyes flickering between the both of you.

“Hey Jaeger, good to see you again, man,” Floch slaps a stiff hand on Eren’s shoulder. The look on Eren’s face can only be described as a mixture of bewilderment and thinly-veiled distaste; you have to hide your snicker behind your hand.

“Yeah, you too…?”

“Floch Forster,” Floch’s eyes dart off to the side, a light flush rising to his cheeks. “I think we actually met a while ago, at Onyo’s birthday thing? I’m a friend of hers.”

Eren’s eyes meet yours; you try to make the most subtle expression you can to alert Eren to the fact that you and Floch are most definitely not friends. Eren inclines his head ever so slightly to confirm that he’s picked up on your signal, turning to Floch and using the few inches he has on him to bully the other man further out of your space.

“Okay well, Floch, we were sort of in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind…”

You blink, startled at Eren’s bluntness, the sort of outright tone that’s only used by someone who can back up their shit. Floch’s taken aback, backing up by a foot or so, but he furrows his brow. He’s never been one to go down easy.

“In the middle of what, exactly? We can’t all be friends?”

Eren chuckles lightly, but the threat is there. “No.”

Floch’s features twist with anger. “What’s your problem, dude?”

“No problem,” Eren says coolly, “just in the middle of something.”

Floch looks to you to confirm, and you nod your head silently, angling your barstool towards Eren to make your point. “I’ll see you around, Floch.”

“Yeah,” Floch’s frown grows deeper, but he mercifully makes his way back to his table, “see ya.”

A beat of pregnant, awkward silence passes between you and Eren as Floch retreats, the unasked question weighing the air down between you.

“So, he’s not–”

“Please tell me that isn’t–”

You both speak at the same time, cutting yourselves off with a laugh. Eren brings his beer to his lips, grinning. “You first.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s not an ex.”

Eren raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Could have fooled me.”

“He’s just…a bad decision or two, that’s all.” That’s as gently as you can put it without bringing up the days when you were as fun as Sasha, maybe even more so, pounding as much tequila as you could get your hands on and going home with more than a few unsavory characters. You’ve left most of that life behind now, but Floch loves to rear his head at the worst moments and rarely backs down without a fight. “Thanks for getting him out of here, by the way.”

“You didn’t seem overly interested,” Eren finishes his beer, leans forward onto the bar and makes a little hand signal to Levi. You smirk.

“Only get the first round free?”

“Two more,” Eren ignores your teasing to speak to Levi, pointing between himself and your near-empty bottle. He pulls out a twenty, slides it to Levi, holds up his hand when Levi offers him change.

“Big spender too, huh?”

Eren rolls his eyes, something playful toying at the corner of his mouth. “Just because me and ‘Min drink for free, doesn’t mean you do. If I’m getting you a beer, I’m going to pay for it.”

“And tip triple what it’s worth?”

“Honestly,” Eren leans close to you and lowers his voice, something woody and intoxicating wafting off of him, “I think I pissed off your ex, and if he’s anything like the guy I think he is, he’s going to get trashed and try to fight the pinball machine in the corner. It’s the least I can do.”

His proximity goes to your head, makes your brain cloudy. He’s close enough that you can see his pulse thudding in his throat. You swallow hard, scramble for a response. “Aren’t you quite the philanthropist? And he’s not my ex.”

“Go tell him that,” Eren scoffs, “get the pinball fight on early.”

“Do you talk to every girl like this?”

“Like what?”

“Patronizing,” you say accusingly, letting a sip of cold beer wash over your tongue, hoping it will shock you out of your little trance. To your surprise, a divot appears between Eren’s thick brows and his bottom lip sticks out a bit in a pout.

“‘M not trying to be patronizing,” he leans on the bar, god, now he’s even closer, “sorry if it came off that way.”

“I was teasing,” you smile half-heartedly, leaning back in your barstool to get a few precious inches between you two.

“I just…really don’t like that kid. Gives me a bad vibe.”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head there,” you agree, chancing a glance back over your shoulder to the redheaded man at the hightop. Floch doesn’t notice you peeking, too caught up in making a group of underclassmen who are definitely underage giggle demurely at whatever he was saying. That was always something you hated about him; he was so showy, always having to establish himself as the center of attention in every room. He was just so unlike…Eren. You want to smack a palm to your forehead, knock the thought right out of your brain.

Something catches Eren’s attention, and you turn to look. Yet another antsy frat boy is hovering by the door, sweating bullets. Eren glances down at you apologetically, but you only smile back at him, understanding.

“Go ahead.”

“Two seconds,” Eren promises, pressing his beer into your hand as a guarantor of his return.

The next hour or so passes in mostly the same fashion; Eren alternates between standing beside you and making inconspicuous handshakes with a few more customers that come ambling into the bar. Some are anxiety-ridden like the first two, some appear to be friends, clapping Eren on the back and pulling a bright, genuine smile out of him that makes your stomach do backflips. You shoot the shit in the meantime, bickering over trivial topics like the best late-night pizza shops around and which streaming service is actually worth the money.

You don’t learn anything too substantial about Eren, but you do learn a few things. He seems to enjoy listening to you talk about literature, a welcome change from Historia and Sasha, psychology graduate students who tend to zone out whenever you let a term like “character development” slip. His eyes light up when you go into a detailed rant about how Hamlet isn’t overrated and anyone who thinks it is just doesn’t know how to properly analyze it, and he cackles when you inform him that Dante’s Inferno is essentially Bible-based fanfiction that has irreparably altered the Christian religion for the worse.

You learn that family is a sore spot, an innocent, obligatory question from you about life back home casting a shadow over Eren’s face. You immediately backtrack, of course, but pocket his reaction so you can avoid the topic later. You learn that he’s a cat person; he has a little black kitten at home named Gumi from his favorite anime. You learn that he’s deathly allergic to pistachios, but not any other nuts for some reason that his childhood doctors could never pinpoint. Most recently, you’ve learned that he hates tequila, basing this observation on his fake-retching reaction when Sasha orders a round of shots.

He raises his eyebrows, impressed, when you throw yours back without flinching. “So you’re a tequila girl, huh?”

“I’m blowing off steam,” you brush him off. You can hear your voice developing a slight slur to it, though, and behind you, Sasha and Historia are starting to sing some old, classic rock song you used to pregame with. You know your fun night out has started to reach its expiration date.

“Not driving, right?”

“God no,” you shake your head vigorously, “I live around the corner, remember?”

“That’s right,” Eren’s mouth quirks up in a way that makes you think he’s not thinking about the past, but of a potential future he could file that address away for. Warmth pools in your stomach, bubbling low and molten in your core; yeah, you need to get out of here.

“Speaking of…” you pull your purse around to set it in your lap, rifling through it for your credit card, “we should probably head that way soon. When I start taking shots and Sasha starts singing, it’s bedtime.”

Eren blushes; you have to hold back a giddy laugh at how cute it looks on him. “You don’t need that.”

“Don’t need what?’

“Your card.”

You roll your eyes at him. “I get that you have friends in high places here, but my name is permanently engraved on the Captain’s shit list, so I actually have to pay my tab.”

“I, uh, sorta took care of it while you were in the bathroom. Figured you’d be heading out soon.” Eren rubs a hand over the back of his neck. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he almost looks bashful.

You blink, processing his words. “Eren…you didn’t have to do that.”

“Wanted to,” he shrugs, turning to face the community of sticky bottles on Levi’s side of the bar, the pink on his cheeks deepening.

“I’m going home alone,” you clarify, just in case you’ve given him the wrong impression. Well, it might not necessarily be the wrong impression; you’ve been trying to keep the simmering under your skin contained all night, but you’re still not going to take him home…at least not the first day you’ve met him, you tell yourself.

“Yeah, I know,” he chuckles, “I didn’t pay because I thought it’d convince you to go home with me. Sometimes people are just nice.”

You’re a little stunned. Somehow you think you’d be less surprised if he had said he paid it with the expectation of you fucking him. “...right. Well, thank you, anyway. You really didn’t have to.”

“No problem,” Eren’s air of casual coolness has returned, he slings an arm around your shoulder when you slide off of your barstool to land on the floor beside him, squeezing your body tight to his in a little half-hug. “It was cool talking to you. Sure you don’t need an escort?”

He eyes Sasha and Historia behind you, giving their goodbyes to Armin via a peppering of kisses all over his now-red face. You shake your head up at him, feeling rather incapacitated with the weight of his muscly arm bearing down on your shoulders. “I think we’ll survive.”

“I’ll see you soon, then.” The promise glitters in his eyes as it leaves his lips, leaves your head in a whirl.

To your disappointment, he hugs Historia and Sasha goodbye, too, and you make your drunken way home, arms linked as you charge through the October chill. Your friends beg for details of your night, Historia gloating intermittently, but you aren’t even sure what to tell them. Nothing of importance had really happened, and yet, it felt like it had.

As you drift into what will hopefully be a long night of much-needed sleep, you try to make a mental list of all the things you need to do to set up your class’ next unit. You’re moving onto Shakespeare, but your hazy mind keeps inexplicably wandering back to green eyes, plush lips, long fingers wrapping around a sweaty bottle. You hadn’t actually been lying to Floch when you told him you were far too busy for anything remotely resembling male companionship for the time being, but something about Eren…he was stuck to your dwindling consciousness, the most irrelevant details of your conversation together playing on a loop in your head. Much ado about nothing, indeed.

#aot x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren x you #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #mabn #aot fanfiction #aot smut

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starrmarr · 20 days ago

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What books would you recommend someone to read?

I’ve gotten this question a few times and I’ve avoided it because I’ve thought it too difficult to answer. No big deal Mia, relax.

The idea is to build a personal library. I usually find publishers I’m into and go from there and keep an active Goodreads account and a wishlist on ThriftBooks. To deviate from what the algorithms may recommend so that I’m not reading the same sort of material, I also make it a point to stop at any independent bookstore I see and search, even when I travel, usually alone too so no one bothers me about the extended time I need to nerd out. My favorite reading site is 4chan Lit, the people on there actually read. I fucking love it, I don’t care. I have a kindle, too, so I pirate shit all the time, lol TOR life. Fuck the feds. If you’re reading this, come and get me and see what happens.

I digress. I’ll read anything as long as it’s well-written. My favorite publisher is NYRB— their entire selection is so good, they focus on “reviving” lesser known classics in all genres and have a subscription as well. Modern Library and Vintage are great, too.

This year, my reads have been pretty eclectic, as with every year since like the seventh grade. I’m all over the place. A few of my favorite recent titles include: The Crowd by Gustave LeBon, The Uncollected Essays of Elizabeth Hardwick, The Chrysalids by John Wyndham (amazing), Interior Castle by St. Teresa of Avila, Tropic of Cancer by the freak Henry Miller, and Strangers to Ourselves: Discovering the Adaptive Unconscious by Timothy Wilson. My recommendations are usually spontaneous and if I list all the stuff I like or have read this year alone, it’d be a lot, a little too much. I also need to gatekeep a little, feel me? I might get into Moby Dick next, lol. Might as well.

<3 thanks for asking

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jamneuromain · 1 year ago

Text

Wild Child Chapter. 5

Series Summary:

As the granddaughter of the sole Duke in your country, you know that you were going to marry some douche prince, because it is the only way to solidify the grasp the future king has on the Upper House. On the flight home, you come up with a brilliant plan to defy your upcoming matrimony.

Bringing a random man to your grandfather's place, and say you have a boyfriend already.

"Is there anything else I should know about? Before I meet your family?" Ari cocks his head to the side, watching you adjusting your cerulean Valentino dress when you wave your hand dismissively.

"Just say we're in love and help me get out of marrying this D-bag."

Ari Levinson x You

#i didn't know he is my fiance-douchebag-prince

#when i did, it was too late

It was not the first time that he met you, while on the plane. Ari jogged his memory by going through the photobooks (back when printed photos and digital cameras were a thing, Christ, he sounded like someone from the 70s). He stared at a small photo which had you and him on it. It was the only photo of the two of you, at the start of the royal ball, where he was ordered by his family to act like a prince and agree to all photos taken for him.

Ari flipped to the next page, where people gathered at the end of the ball to take a picture together. He saw your father right next to his father, both smiling as fake as possible. But he couldn’t find you in this picture.

Where had you been?

That ball happened a decade ago, when you had just reached your teen years and he was ending them. Looking back at his early twenties, He wrote essays about the burden of the king, and why people should vote for a functioning government rather than rooting for the royal family. Ari knew that he despised the monarchy back then, even though he was a prince.

Naturally, he was just as obnoxious regarding the planned marriage. Attending his coronation and the celebration ball with reluctance, he tried his best to maintain a stoic expression when his parents – the King and Queen – nudged him to smile and wave.

“I need a breather.” He grumbled as soon as the guests started dancing, ducked from his mother’s hand and slipped out from behind the curtains, turning a blind eye to his mother’s warning glare, stepping into the royal garden.

He hated the fucking crown. He hated the photo shoot before the ball that made him look like a monkey up for display. He hated the first dance with his mother which made him feel like he was a 6-year-old boy. He hated his fiancé who was allegedly six years younger than him, which means when he was starting his sophomore year at the University of Ancetol, she had just finished her 8th grade.

How on earth could he marry a fucking child?

He mumbled these questions to himself, but they travelled in his head and returned with no answer as he ventured further into the royal garden, surrounded by bushes and trees, in the middle of a small track.

“I know. It’s unimaginable.” Spoke a voice from his left softly, “You’re Ari, right? I’ve heard about the plan to arrange a marriage between you and the Y/L/Ns.”

Ari turned his head in your direction. He vaguely remembered you had taken photos together, meaning you were either a daughter of the ministers and ambassadors, or one of the young kids from the noble family.

Ari hummed, neither confirming nor denying what you said.

You didn’t look rejected by his indifferent gesture, merely opening the little purse in your hand and extending it to him, “Want some mini-burgers? I snuck them from the tables just now.”

Ari led you to a stone bench in the corner, facing the roses and tulip bushes, where you shared the slightly squished mini-burgers in your purse in silence. Faint music of the ball could be heard, but people were too busy to mingle, he guessed, that no one bothered to enjoy the clear moonlight and the beauty of the Royal Garden.

You patted the crumbs from your sparkling dress and stretched your arms and legs, untangling the buckle from your high heels before landing on the pebbled ground with your bare feet.

A few simple movements made Ari close to smiling. Glad to know he was not the only one who found the royal rules a huge pain in the ass – or in your case, feet. You looked like a kid, really, no younger than ten but definitely not as mature as a 20-year-old. Maybe somewhere around 13?

“Your parents set you up with someone else too?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You sighed, “My father said it’s all for the best, but…”

“But?”

“He’s full of bullshit.” You swatted the invisible dust from the hem of your pink fluffy dress, “And I don’t believe him.”

Perhaps it was the food that you shared, having Ari feel like he was some kind of big brother, somewhat obligated to help, to resonate with your worry, “It’s probably wrong for me to say this, but have you thought about running away?”

You scoffed, eyeing him with a strange expression on your face, “I have no money, no skill to support me, and no connections that I can use and get away with. I’m 15, you can’t be serious about trying to persuade a teen to run away from her home.”

Damn, he sounded like a creepy kidnapper.

“Have you ever thought about running away?” You asked.

“All the time.” Ari let out a dry chuckle, “Can’t, though.”

“Let me guess, your skill set is too custom-made for being a Prince?” You cocked your head to your side, lifting the corner of your lips.

“Something like that, yeah.” Ari spared a glance in your direction. He didn’t notice that he was smiling too, which was … weird.

It felt odd, to have his spirits lifted so easily. Like you were meant to be close.

Ari felt like you were meant to be family. Brother and sister.

He’d love to have a sister like you.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” You flipped your carefully styled hair to the back, looking into his clear blue eyes under the moonlight, “Go ahead.”

“Do you know Y/N Y/L/N?”

His face burned for a moment. Deep down, he knew he should have met his fiancé and not probing answers from someone he had just met for fifteen minutes. But he’d rather have a fresh pair of eyes who could provide something more than the standard answer, “a proper lady”.

“Yes.” You lowered your head, so that he couldn’t see your widening eyes, filled with panic. If your thoughts could make noises, it’d be blasting sirens all over the Royal Palace by now.

“What’s she like?” His question grew more hastened. It was rumoured that his fiancé spent most of her childhood on the outskirts of Ancetol, and had recently moved back to the family house downtown. He missed the first few balls and banquets in which she took part, resulting in never meeting his future wife in the 20 living years of his life, and he was frightened over the possibility that his fiancé was indeed a “proper lady”, which scared him more than if his fiancé has eight legs like a spider (Don’t laugh, he once had a terrible nightmare about his spider-fiancé when he was 15).

“Do you want the truth or a lie?”

Your question caught him off guard. Noticing that you were not looking at him, Ari furrowed his eyebrows and answered, “Truth, please.”

Hope Mr. Prince will like the truth then, “She’s … stubborn. A thick-head, if you will.”

“Sounds like you don’t like her.” Joked Ari.

“I don’t. And she’s not a Princess material.” The first two words sounded heavy in your mouth, which was why you lowered your voice and continued the vile comments you plastered all over your image – your image as his future wife.

“What, you are?” Ari threw the question back to you.

“No.” You sighed softly, your nails fumbling with the diamond necklace around the base of your throat.

“Then what are you?”

Call Ari intrigued, but he did want to know you better. At least he wanted to know you better than his future wife. Hell, maybe he would ask you for your company at later events such as royal dinners and celebrations.

Considering that he still had zero clue as to who you were, you answered with sincerity, dropping a slice of sarcasm here and there, “A rebel, a black sheep, a wild child.”

“Wild?” Asked Ari in a tone of disbelief.

“My parents want me to study Art History – Hey, don’t get me wrong,” You raised your hands, a gesture of peace-making, when you heard him snorting out a laugh, “I love art and painting and stuff, but I love debating more. I want to be one of those sharp-minded broadcasters in the future, or reporters, taking down bad guys.”

The faint music of On the Beautiful Blue Danube reached Ari’s ears. As reluctant as he was, reacting to this music, knowing that it signalled the ball coming to an end after the next song, he must put this lovely conversation to a halt.

“I’m afraid that’s my cue.” He grimaced at the waltz piece, standing up from the stone bench. His legs were slightly numb from sitting still in the same position for too long, but he didn’t mind. The little fragment of time where he could let go of the prince’s duty was precious and worthwhile. Sadly, he had to pick the duty up again. “Would you like a dance?” His eyes lit up, and he extended a hand to you. It would be a brilliant defiance to his father and mother, dancing with someone who was not his fiancé.

“Maybe next time.” You shook his hand as if turning a blind eye to the gesture of starting a waltz, “Nice to meet you.” You lifted the hem of your dress and made a curtesy, “Your Royal Highness.”

After that, you turned your back towards him, put on your heels, and disappeared into the trees and bushes of the Royal Garden.

He hadn’t seen you since.

Ari knew now that while he was studying at the University of Ancetol, you had applied for your undergraduate programme abroad. After that, he was dispatched to the Army to serve the country and also learn about the skills to command soldiers during battle.

By then, you had started your graduate programme at UCLA.

He seemed to have missed every event you attended, and vice versa.

Until now.

Putting the photobook back into place, Ari strode to the full-length mirror in the closet room, checking the two suits he had in mind to wear for today. Your text had sprung on Ari last night, informing him that your father has requested to see him, catching Ari completely off guard.

The business casual navy blue one, or the formal black one.

He did not want to intimidate your father, though that was what he preferred, knowing that your father treated you terribly because of this engagement. And the sudden “meeting” your father demanded was, without question, not your idea, or you would have warned him.

Or was that your purpose all along?

Maybe your father, after Ari called, thought you were joking about the new boyfriend? Maybe your father did not buy your carefully woven lie after all?

Ari threw these doubts to the back of his head, and finally decided upon the business casual one.

By the side of the large mirror stood a small table with a few things on it. His family ring - the golden crest with a lion, spear, and shield, a bottle of cologne he preferred, a folder with almost all of your information since birth (it might sound creepy, but you gave it to him), and last but not least, the to-be presents he had for you.

A small bouquet of roses, or a sapphire necklace.

The problem was, that he could not hold both gifts at the same time, while he was hoping that he would deliver his gift as a surprise.

A blonde emerged by the door to this closet space, clearing her throat, indicating her arrival.

"Do you think she'd appreciate the flowers more? Or this sapphire necklace?"

Ari consulted Rachel, his head security, who was standing by the door with her hand crossed. She could easily be mistaken as a statue if it weren't for her breathing.

"I think she would appreciate whatever you prepared for her, Your Highness."

"Less official answer, please." Ari shot her a pointed look.

Rachel sighed deeply.

Ballenia was going to be ruined by this hopelessly romantic and that cluster-fuck of a noble family.

"Based on the intel - the more sparkly one." Rachel pointed towards the velvet box on the table.

Despite the fact that you were raised away from your father and grandfather, you never lacked any material upbringing. You went to the best schools, the best universities, and had some of the best teachers the royal family could find for your education as a future Princess. Whenever you went out shopping for some gala, banquet, or ball, the jewellery store would be the first stop to visit – you liked sparkly gems and stones indeed.

And this necklace that he chose, with a dewdrop-shaped sapphire pendant and a ring of diamonds surrounding it, would look marvelous to go with your dress.

Still, he could not shake the feeling that you would appreciate the roses as well.

The roses seemed cheap and cliché, while the necklace seemed sparkly and expensive.

He should have gone with the necklace, right?

To guarantee his safety, Rachel had two other cars escorting His Royal Highness’s vehicle while she flew a helicopter over his head. Due to Ari’s protest, she did not come along as she was supposed to – in case you recognized this dutiful Royal guard, and as a result, him, Ari argued – but chose her dutiful second-in-command, a man named Ethan to be Ari’s temporal bodyguard slash driver.

Ethan was just as quiet as Rachel on the way to your home.

It was an ancestral building since the 1800s and took quite a few renovations to be as modern as it could. However, your family was on the verge of losing the house around the 1950s, until your grandfather made a deal with Ari’s grandfather, helping him to stabilize the Upper House, and in return, asked for a marriage for one of his children.

You were waiting by the fountain in front of the house when Ari stepped out of his car, wearing a blue dress tailored to your shape.

“Morning.” You welcomed him with a warm hug, whispering, “Have to keep up the pretences. My father is probably watching by the window right now.”

“Morning.” His hand landed on your back with a soft pat, chuckling, “What do we have today, Miss. Girlfriend?”

You took a step back, quickly shoving a velvet box into his pocket, “The usual. Family drama, that sort of thing.” You eyed his bulging pocket as subtly as possible, “A watch. Give it to me after we meet my father. Shall we?” You gestured towards the house.

“One second.” Ari returned to his car, fishing the rose bouquet and the necklace from the backseat, and presented you the necklace first, “A gift.”

Ari popped open the larger velvet box with care, dazzling you with the necklace.

You blinked, stunned at first but quickly shook your head, refusing the gift, “You really don’t have to. We agreed that-”

“But I want to.”

The answer slipped out way faster than his brain could process, Ari added hastily, “I know what we agreed upon, it’s just that…”

After spending years learning how a diplomat and a proper prince would talk, Ari, for the first time in his life, was speechless, in front of someone he barely knew.

He wanted to give her something that could belong to her, not that the watch she prepared couldn’t, yet there was a minor difference that he perceived. The necklace was something he could have a say, something that looked good on you, he was certain, but different, from the watch.

He wanted you to have it, no matter if the marriage works out or not, even though this piece of jewellery could be interpreted by you – supposedly his real identity was unmasked – as bribery.

… a faint proclamation that he cared. He cared about you.

Thousands of thoughts ran through his head, but Ari simply said, “Considering what you offered, I’ve been taking your advantage.”

You raised your eyebrows, dragging your tone lazily, “So this is your getting even?”

“This is my thank you.” He murmured, making up his mind to shove this stupid necklace into your bag if given the chance. Or throw it in the darkest corner of the Palace. Whichever comes first.

Not intending on dwelling for long, he pulled the bouquet of roses out of thin air, twitching the corner of his lips.

“And the other thank you.”

You gasped in surprise, the twinkle in your eyes was visible like the sun in the sky, shining brightly.

You hugged the roses into your arms, dipping your chin to feel the soft pedals caressing your skin, blooming a large smile on your face.

“I like it.” You watched as he reciprocated your smile, your voice faint as the teary glint in your eyes, “I like it a lot.”

A sharp inhale and the water in your eyes evaporated. You held the roses in your arm, and made sure every hair on top of your head stayed in place, trying to present the best in you before your father.

"Is there anything else I should know about? Before I meet your family?" Ari cocked his head to the side, watching you adjusting your cerulean Valentino dress when you waved your hand dismissively.

"Just say we're in love and help me get out of marrying this D-bag."

“Where have you been?” Queen Olivia, his mother, hissed in his ear, “You got me worried sick – Hello, thank you for coming. It is a great pleasure to have you here.” Forcing her face to form an impeccable smile as another guest approached and bid her and King Victor good night.

“A stroll in the garden. I came back, didn’t I?” Young Ari challenged her nerves when the Queen clenched her fists, “Anyway, I met -”

Fuck, he forgot your name. He forgot to ask. Well, he’d ask when you come up in front, to bid the King and Queen good night.

A servant whispered by the queen’s side. His mother glared daggers at him, announcing with a tone sharper than usual, “… Prince Ari’s suit has been stained; therefore, he went to another room in the palace to clean up just now.”

Behind one of the pillars of the ballroom, masked by the loud waltz, where the Royal family could neither see nor hear, your father slapped you hard across the face, “Filthy little liar. You heard that? The prince was changing his outfit just now. God knows what pig you have been flinging yourself to. Fucking imbecile, I gave you one simple task…”

He ordered one of the servants to bring you to his limo, for you had nearly disgraced and embarrassed him, while he straightened his tie and went greeting the Royal family.

Taglist (also tagging those who might be interested: @irishhappiness @patzammit @identity2212 @lokislady82 @petalj @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @magnificentsaladllama @xx-rennyxx @cringeycookies @autumnrose40 @hawkeyes-queen @vonalyn @theliheat @boo8008 @mrsevans90 @bradfordmyworld @delldenaro @molisighs @otpcutie

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#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson smut #ari levinson fluff #prince!ari levinson #royalty au #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson #wild child

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